Shattered Dreams (Banshee Book 3) Read online

  She pressed the loon bird plushy against his chest. “Hold Bartholomew for a second.”

  He numbly took hold of it as she rummaged in her backpack. Retrieving her mobile phone, she clicked a photograph. That done, she shoved the phone into the pocket of her skirt and plucked the loon from his grip. “We better catch up.”

  He caught up to her. “You can’t name that thing Bartholomew.”

  “Too late.”

  “That’s my middle name,” he grumbled as she picked up her pace.

  “So? You don’t own that name.”

  With one last fleeting glance back at the car, Benton picked up his pace and followed her into the hotel lobby.

  ***

  The rooms weren’t quite ready, so Dorothy had decided that they would all head across the street to a pizza parlor for an early dinner. Their group took up a few booths and most of the other tables had been filled with families also looking to get fed and go home before the storm hit. The constant clatter had been oddly comforting and Benton had relaxed into the flow of it. A few slices of pizza, and he actually got through a full conversation with Zack, the only insults being thrown around relatively harmless.

  Thunder cracked across the sky, loud enough to almost make the building rumble. The rain fell in heavy sheets and they had stayed a few more hours to see if it would let up, but it only showered harder. Eventually, the rooms were ready and they couldn’t put off heading back any longer. The short walk was enough to soak them all to the bone, and it was only when they were collecting their keys that Benton realized the hotel itself was actually divided into three separate buildings to allow people to pull their cars up to their rooms. It also meant that they would take another walk in the icy rain.

  A few were lucky enough to have rooms in the main building and headed up only after they had systematically mocked every person who had to head back outside. Naturally, Nicole was to share a room with her mother in one of the outside buildings. Since Benton’s parents were the other chaperones, they had a room in the building on the opposite side of the parking lot. The thought of leaving Nicole to dart into the rain alone hadn’t sat well with him. A ball of dread had formed within him and grew with every second. She reminded him that she was well protected and promised that they would meet up back at the vending machines in the main building after a warm shower and, hopefully, after the rain had died down.

  Ducking into the downpour, Benton had given up on preventing it from seeping into his eyes and instead turned his attention to trying to keep his bag relatively dry. He hadn’t succeeded, and almost everything he had brought was damp by the time he reached the far-ended room. His parents had been caught up making sure that everyone else got to their correct rooms, and he had entered the small room alone.

  Water dripped from him in rivets and soaked into the carpet as he dropped his backpack onto the small round table against the wall. Once again frozen to his core, his fingers fumbled over the zipper, the soaked material of his bag not helping the process of opening it. He tipped the contents out, searching for what had been left relatively dry. He found a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that would at least be better than what he was currently wearing.

  A flash of lightening rattled around the edges of the drawn curtains, chasing off the dull gray shadows for only a moment before allowing their return. With his items in hand, he padded across the room and into the condensed bathroom. It was only as he turned the shower on that he remembered it would have probably been smarter if he had taken off his shoes before entering the room. He quickly glanced at the carpet and found that he was able to trace each step he had taken by the soggy trail of footsteps looking like ink in the lingering dim light. But there wasn’t any mud, so he figured it wouldn’t be too big of a fallout for his absentmindedness.

  More thunder broke as he turned the shower on, loud enough to shake the florescent tube of the bathroom light against its case. He stared at it. The wind was picking up, turning into a raging howl and condensing the storm clouds now occupying the last rays of sunlight. It was going to get dark fast and he had to decide what was worse; the shadows or the memories that sound could dredge up. He remembered the weight of the woman on top of him and instead decided that the flashlight on his mobile would suffice for tonight.

  His fingers felt numb and useless as he pulled the device from his waterlogged jeans and set it up on the counter. Lightening severed the shadows, the thunder that followed strong enough to ricochet within his chest. By now, the wind howled across the walls and squeezed into every gap it found, like a gasped scream. He ducked out of the bathroom just long enough to snatch up one of the chairs and wedge it against the bathroom door. Modesty be damned, he wasn’t planning on getting stuck in there.

  Steam formed over the top of the shower curtain, the warmth it offered reminding him how cold he was. He pulled the wet clothes from his body, tossed them into a slush pile in one of the corners, and finally stepped under the wondrous spray. His skin flushed and he quickly set to work lathering the hotel shampoo into his hair.

  There was a faint noise.

  He froze, the suds streaming down his face as he strained to hear anything beyond the noise of the shower and the rampaging storm. Nothing. Maybe the wind just threw something against the window, he reasoned. At the same time, deep in the back of his mind, his brain identified the sound. Someone had opened the room door. With a few quick swipes, he washed his face clean. His stomach flipped as he pulled the curtain back just enough to slip his head through.

  Steam streamed out from the gap, curling in the cool air of the room. It played with the light from the phone, transforming it into a haze that dispersed and dulled the light at the same time. Goose bumps broke out across his skin as he leaned a little further out of the warmth of the shower, stretching and craning his neck to get a peek around the corner of the doorway.

  A bolt of lightning lit the sky, turning the driving rain into droplets of silver as the wind whipped them across the now empty threshold and into the room. The open door swung slightly from the gusts of wind, as the rain soaked into the carpet.

  “M…Mom?” Benton stuttered. He couldn't hear any reply over the shower and quickly turned the taps off with one hand as the other clenched the shower curtain in an attempt to cover himself. “Dad?”

  Thunder broke across the silence that filled the darkened room. On shaky legs, he stepped out of the shower, now wishing that he hadn’t propped the bathroom door open. The frozen air, that now assailed the room, only highlighted how exposed he was as it played against his bare skin. He had to lean across the open space to reach the towel rack on the far-ended wall. He stretched as far as he could but he had to take another step out.

  His fingertips snatched at the towel as his foot hit something slick and cold. His hip slammed against the tiles and he flopped onto his back, the soft towel scrunching up on his face as it dropped from the rack. Instantly, he jolted upright, using the towel to cover himself as he tried to see what he had fallen in.

  It was slick against his palm and he lifted his hand to his eyes, staring at the black gunk but unable to identify it. For an instant, a lightning strike turned the night into day and he could see the entire room in vivid detail. Mud. He was sitting in a thick trail of mud. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the front door, where the trail began. The lurching, splotched, drag mark stained the carpet, working its way across the room. Into the bathroom. The light dulled again but the glow of his phone was enough to see that the trail didn’t end where he sat. It slithered into the tub.

  The shower curtain shifted and bunched, the scanty material moving aside as the tips of fingers rose up from under it. His eyes bulged and he scrambled further back against the wall as the fingers slithered and jerked into sight. They clutched at the rim of the tub, broken nails clawing for perches, clumps of sodden earth dripping from its skin. The second arm flung out over the rim and slapped against the floor just an inch from his foot.

  Benton bolt
ed upright, bringing the towel with him less for modesty and more because fear kept his fingers from releasing their death grip on the fabric. He barreled out the door, across the room, into the ferocious storm without a single glance behind. The wind lashed his bare skin, driving the icy rain into him like stones as the torrents of water rushed over his feet.

  Two panted breaths were all it took for him to lose every ounce of warmth he had garnished. He whirled around, looking back to his room as he shivered from more than just the cold. A clap of thunder shook the ground under his feet as glacial water streamed over his face, blurring his vision and choking his every gasp for air. His hands were shaking as he worked the drenched piece of cloth around his waist. His hands clutched tight to the fabric, holding it just to have something to hold onto.

  A streak of movement caught his eye. He looked up to the ledge just above his door. Black, shadowy masses of owls lined the entire building, the pointed feathers looking demonic in the pouring rain. Like grotesque gargoyles, the birds lined every roof top, their eyes reflecting the lightning bolts like plates of polished silver. They swooped overheard, their massive shadows silhouetted by the sky. There was something familiar about the sight that made his heart stagger. A fear he had never known engulfed him, filling every inch of his skin like a sickening virus.

  The sky broke again in anger, and with the glow of the bolt, he saw the woman once more, crawling across the floor, her winding hand reaching for him as she vomited an endless trail of dirt and rot.

  He ran faster than the bolts of lightning in the dark sky above.

  Chapter 4

  Steam lingered, fogging up Nicole’s bathroom mirror as she finished brushing her hair. The storm had rolled in so rapidly that she was sure it would have moved on by the time she had gotten out of the shower. But now, she was showered, dressed, and almost ready to go meet the others, and it seemed like the storm was only getting stronger. The biting wind worked its way under her room door, filling the air and making her shiver.

  The long shower hadn’t helped her figure out just what had happened to Benton. She had known that it might not be an easy trip for him, given the history of the road and his new skill of seeing ghosts. But she had never seen him react like that. The true extent of his abilities was still a mystery to them both. Just when they thought they had everything sorted out, they discovered something new, or something changed.

  That level of uncertainty made it hard to know just how he would react, but she had seen him interacting with Oliver, seen how the ghost scared him, unnerved him, annoyed him. None of the ghost’s antics had ever caused a physical response, not a sight, sound, or even smell. And she had been prepared for all of that. She brought a portable charger for his phone to make sure his music kept playing. She also had several perfumed handkerchiefs in her bag, small enough to hide in the palm of his hand if he was feeling self-conscious about it. She had thought she was prepared to help him endure it.

  Gathering her long, straight hair over one shoulder, she placed her brush down on top of the toilet tank, the clatter of wood against porcelain was lost under the crack of a lightning bolt sizzling across the sky.

  “What did Allison do to him?” she thought aloud, her voice barely over a whisper. Straightening her back, she forced herself to meet her own eyes in the mirror. “Trip one was a failure,” she admitted to herself sternly. “That much is clear. So now you’ll just have to make sure that everything is ready for trip two. First step, force Benton to talk to you. Second step.” She hesitated, uncertainty creeping back in around the corners of her mind. Before it could take hold, she forced a smile and declared with confidence, “Do something about it.”

  It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was a plan, and having one helped her feel like she was on solid ground again. Keeping her smile firmly fixed in place, she blindly reached for the jewelry that she had placed on the counter. She had fallen in love with the matching choker and bracelet set she had bought at the Sundance Festival a few months ago; it had quickly become her favorite. It fixed around her throat in a splash of red and black, while the thick trails of beaded chains created a large orange disk at the base of her neck. The bracelet had the same pattern set in a band of dullish metal. Her fingertips swiped over the chilled porcelain sink, unable to find the large mass of beads that should have been there.

  Nicole glanced down and frowned at the now empty spot behind the tap. A sickly feeling crept into her stomach and she quickly spun around. A thunderclap crashed overhead, shattering the silence as the basin rim became a solid press against her spine. The small bathroom was empty. Thin steam created a drifting cloud and the harsh light left little room for shadows. She couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean nothing was there.

  Reaching back, she clutched at the sink and tried to slow down her breaths, concentrating on that instead of the lurking fear that the Dullahan had come back for her. It was dead, Benton promised that it was and she trusted that. Still, after almost getting thrown to her death seemingly by thin air, it was hard to trust silence.

  Her body jerked with the next booming clap of thunder, her grip on the sink keeping her from falling on the tiles in a protective position. The sound rolled out, leaving behind a soft clatter of metal rattling against tiles. Turning again, she stooped down to glance around the chilled bathroom floor. In the far corner, propped up against the wall, was her bracelet. She crouched down, picked it up, and searched the room once more. No necklace. Just her bracelet, too far away from the sink and on too sharp of an angle to have simply fallen. Her stomach churned.

  “Dullahan?” she asked. The rain pattered against the ground outside. The wind howled as it toyed with the cracks in the building. But the room remained silent. Her tongue slipped out to wet her dry lips before she whispered, “Allison?”

  A startled squeal escaped her throat as someone began to pound against her room door. She stood up, fingers tightening around the metal in her hands, and watched the door shake with every strike.

  “Hello?”

  If there was a reply, the torrential rain covered it. The furious knocking grew louder, the blow hammering against the slab of wood, making it buck against its frame and forcing the chain lock to rattle. It and the deadbolt were both in place and she was certain that the twin locks would keep out any human intruder. But there were things other than human that no lock could stand against. That knowledge left her shivering as she edged to the bathroom door and called again. Still no response. Dread made her feet heavy but she forced herself to step out onto the carpet, closer to the door. It could be Zack, she reminded herself. He’s not good at being subtle. The comforting thought diminished with every step she took. Her eyes never left the rattling wood.

  “Who’s there?”

  Beside the now desperate assault against the door, there was no reply. Her head became a swamp of all the things that could be waiting for her on the other side. Monsters both paranormal and human. She couldn’t stop herself from remembering just where she was and what happened in places like this. It was quite possible that opening the door was a mistake that some of the missing girls had made before her. Nipping her teeth on her bottom lip, Nicole shook herself out of her stupor. She shoved the bracelet on her wrist and rushed for her backpack which was on the small table halfway between her and the door, her gun still stowed in one of the zipper pockets.

  The pounding on the door and continuous storm covered the soft scrape of her working the zipper open. Eyes fixated on the door, she slipped her hand inside her soaked backpack and pulled out her gun. Only the slightest hint of water covered the metal; far too little for it to affect the workings of the weapon. The heavy weight, solid in her grasp made her feel a little sturdier. With practiced confidence, she checked the gun the way her parents had taught her, making sure that everything was as it should be.

  Holding it in one hand, she crossed the remaining distance to the door quickly. This time, she didn’t call out. There was no need to try and keep her foot
steps silent. The rain, wind, and carpet worked together to smother any traces of her movements. Pressing one hand against the door, she stood on tiptoes, bit her lip, and glanced through the peephole.

  The patch of blonde hair removed her fear in a sudden rush as she slumped against the door.

  “Benton, you scared the hell out of me!” she yelled with a nervous laugh.

  Even though she was sure he would have heard her this time, he didn’t stop his frenzied onslaught. She fumbled the chain lock off with her free hand and flipped the deadbolt, half expecting him to rush in the first second he could. He only stopped slamming his fists against the door when she pulled the door wide open. He just stood there.

  Water plastered his hair to his scalp and trailed down his body in puddles, leaving him pale and shivering. His mouth hung open but he didn’t make a sound. He only heaved his breaths and stared at her with wide eyes. A drenched towel was wrapped around his hips but was steadily slipping, dragged down under its own weight. He didn’t make a move to stop it. Both of his hands remained in the air, as if he didn’t know what to do with them now that he couldn’t pound at her door anymore. He looked terrified.

  “Benton?”

  He only stared at her, water trickling from his lips each time he heaved a breath. Trying not to startle him, she slowly lifted her free hand to gently cup his wrist. She almost flinched away when the deathly chill that clung to his skin brushed against her own.

  “Benton, come in, okay?” she eased.

  Slowly, and with a lot more coaxing, he took his first step across the threshold. Water poured from him and soaked into the carpet, marking each of his steps with a noticeable squish. His eyes were locked somewhere over her shoulder but she was too focused on getting him out of the storm to pay it any attention.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.