answer was several clicks and dead air. He’d hung up.
“No, wait! Roy! Oh for God’s sake,” she growled, poking a few buttons on her phone, hoping to capture his number on caller ID and return the call. But her screen had come up with the phrase “Unknown Caller,” and she was left gnashing her teeth in frustration, her heart pounding with a case of nerves. What “evidence” had Roy found? What was he talking about? Half a dozen possibilities, none of them good, had run through her mind as she’d hurried to meet him.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come at all. Cole hadn’t wanted her to. In fact he’d practically barred the door, completely infuriating her. In her mind’s eye she still envisioned his taut, worried face, and she recalled every angry word. He’d wanted to come with her, but she’d insisted on going alone. She’d hurried out the door into the cold, foggy night before he could bully his way into her decision making.
This was something she had to do by herself.
So now she was driving, in the middle of a moonless Louisiana night, toward the swampland where Roy’s uncle, Vernon, owned an old fishing cabin. If it still existed. The last time she’d been there, over ten years earlier, the place had already been going to seed. She couldn’t imagine what it might be like now.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw the worry in her eyes. What the hell was going on?
She hadn’t spoken to Roy in over a year.
Why would he call now?
He’s in trouble again, of course. You know Roy. He’s a prime example of borderline paranoia. The man’s got his own special brand of neurosis.
So why do you always come running when he calls, huh?
What kind of pull does he have over you?
What’s your own special brand of neurosis that you have to bail him out over and over again?
“Oh shut up,” she muttered tightly. The problem with being part of a post-grad psychology program was that she was always psychoanalyzing herself.
It got old.
She snapped on the radio. Notes from the tail end of some country ballad about a love triangle trailed into a commercial for the latest weight-loss program. Not much help. Switching stations and listening with half an ear, she peered through the rising mist. Vernon’s place was nearby, she thought. Squinting, she spotted a faded No Hunting sign that had been nailed to the trunk of a tall pine tree and blasted with a shotgun several times over, the letters nearly obliterated by buckshot.
Only one other vehicle passed by her as the road wound through the swampland. She shivered, though the night was far from cool. Finally her headlight beams splashed upon a burned-out snag of a cottonwood tree, and just beyond was the entrance to Vernon Kajak’s property. A rusted gate hung drunkenly on one hinge; the old cattle guard was still intact, causing her tires to rumble and quake as she entered the private acres.
The drive was little more than twin ruts. Where there once had been gravel, there was now only scattered stones and mud. Weeds scraped the Camry’s undercarriage. The car shuddered and bounced over the potholes and protruding rocks, and she was forced to slow to a creep as she picked her way through the bleached trunks of the cypress trees and brush.
God, it was dark. Eerie. The stuff from which horror films are made.
Eve had never been faint of heart, nor was she a coward, but she wasn’t an idiot either, and driving around in the middle of the Louisiana swamp on a gloomy night seemed like a bad idea. Years of practicing tae kwon do and a small canister of pepper spray tucked inside her purse didn’t seem like enough firepower to fight whatever evil might lie in the dense undergrowth. “Oh, get over yourself,” she said aloud.
She clicked off the radio and picked up her cell phone, only to note that it was receiving no service.
“Of course,” she said beneath her breath. “Wouldn’t you know…”
Her car edged forward, and she narrowed her eyes, straining to see the cabin.
Everything that had happened today was out of sync, just not quite right, and it had culminated in that fight with Cole.
How had that happened? Okay, so she’d been prickly after a visit from her father, but had that warranted the kind of cold fury that had been unleashed upon her by the man she planned to marry?
The call from Roy had sent her out here…into this seeping, clinging fog. Everything about this day and night felt a little out of kilter, and Eve gave herself a shake, trying to dispel the heebie-jeebies.
She checked her watch again.
In a few minutes it would be over.
The cabin was less than a quarter of a mile ahead.
The Reviver waited.
Trembling.
Anticipating.
Ears straining.
Every nerve ending stretched to the breaking point.
But the Voice was silent.
There was no praise for his act; no recriminations for not completing the job.
His heart raced, and he turned his face skyward as a cold spring wind rattled through this part of the bayou. The moon, nearly obscured by the rising fog, offered only a chilling slice of illumination in the night.
Senses heightened, he smelled the metallic odor of blood as it dripped from the fingertips of his gloves.
Talk to me, he silently begged the Voice. I have done Your bidding as best I could. She wasn’t there, not where you said she’d be. I couldn’t kill her. Should I track her down? Hunt her?
His breath quickened at the thought of stalking her, cornering her, witnessing her fear, then taking her.
But the night was deathly quiet.
No frogs croaked.
No cicadas hummed.
No crickets chirped.
There was nothing but silence and the sound of his short, rapid breaths—visible breaths that mingled with the fog in the still air.
The Voice of God, it seemed, had grown mute.
Because he’d erred.
Horribly.
And now he was being punished.
He tried to concentrate. Had he been mistaken? Hadn’t the Voice told him there would be two inside? Two to sacrifice? Yes, he was certain of it. A man and the woman, Eve, were both supposed to be inside, and yet he’d found only the man.
“Forgive me,” he whispered in agony. What would his penance be this time? He thought of the scars upon his back from flagellation, the burns on his palms from hot coals. He shuddered to think what was to come.
And yet…
