Crimson Falls (The Depravity Chronicles) (5 page)

“No, sir, you
don’t understand! I
saw
it!”

“Don’t you mean
you saw ‘him’?” the sheriff corrected.

“No, sir, I mean
it
,” Matthew said defiantly. “Even if it’s human, it has to be pure evil
with a face like that!”

The sheriff
actually laughed. “Young man, you sound like the clergy. A noble profession. If
you want to fight demons, Mr. McMillan, become a priest. Leave the police work
to the professionals.” Then he hung up on Matthew.

Though he was
still furious about how he was treated, he did owe Sheriff Kelly a small amount
of gratitude. If it hadn’t been for him mentioning the priesthood, he probably
wouldn’t have started so early in life. As lonely as the priesthood could be,
Father Matthew had no regrets. He knew it was the right thing to do, and God
would not let him down.

“What’s so
interesting out that window, Father?” Martha asked as she continued typing.

“Not a thing,”
he lied. The events that had led him into the priesthood were unfolding once
more, just as he knew they would. And this time he was prepared. He had always
excelled academically, so when he entered seminary he attached himself to
influential faculty. He spent two years at the Pontifical North American College
in Rome, studying the occult, exorcism, as well as abnormal and parapsychology.
Though he could never explain it, Matthew had a gut feeling his training would
one day provide answers about the death of his father.

“Father?
Father?” a voice said, increasing in volume.

“Yes?” he
answered, turning away from the window and his dark thoughts.

“We’re ready for
you,” Dean Lofton informed. The chair of the finance committee, as well as a
cop, Dean was Matthew’s right hand man.

“I’ll be just a
minute,” Father Matthew said with a forced smile. He stepped into his office,
grabbed the necessary paperwork, and made his way down the hall to one of the
Sunday School classrooms beside the Social Room. He heard laughter from the
women’s group, and the deep voices of several men in the finance meeting. He
laughed to himself about how segregated men and women were in the Catholic
Church. Shaking his head, he put on his jovial face and pushed the past out of
his head as best he could.

“Father?” Dean
repeated a third time.

“I’m sorry, what
did you say?” Matthew asked.

“I was asking
about our investment funds and whether we need to transfer money into the
general fund to cover any excess costs involved with the new heating system.”

Matthew stared
at him blankly. Everyone looked at each other in awkward silence. They weren’t
used to Matthew being anything other than outgoing and brilliant.

“Father, are you
okay?” Stan Stellworth asked timidly.

“I’m sorry,
gentlemen,” he said. He tried to feign illness, hoping they would buy it. “I’m
feeling a bit under the weather tonight. I believe it must have been those
tacos I ordered for dinner!” He roared with his usual laughter, and the men in
the room visibly lost their collective look of concern.

“We can take
care of this, Father,” Dean said.

“I trust you. If
you need to move some money, you have my blessing. I think it’s time for me to
retire for the evening.”

“Good night, Father,”
a chorus of voices sang.

“Good night,” he
repeated. “I’ll be back to my normal self by the morning.” He laughed again for
good measure, then left the room. He prayed that no one would call him into the
Social Room. After briskly walking down the hall, he was happy to see Martha
walking out the front door. He slipped into the church office and then through
the door that led to the residence. Without slowing down, he walked through the
living room and into the small kitchen. He fed his dogs then grabbed the
cordless phone and dialed quickly as he walked through the dining room and into
his study.

“Pronto?” the
voice on the other line said in Italian.

“Buona sera,
Monsignore Bonatelli! Come sta?” Father Matthew said cheerfully.

“Ah, Padre
Matthew McMillan! I recognize your terrible accent anywhere!” Monsignor
Bonatelli shouted with glee in a thick Italian accent.

“But of course,”
Matthew laughed.

“What is
troubling you, my friend?”

“What makes you
think I’m troubled?” Matthew asked.

“The late hour,
Matthew. Or did your advanced mind forget that we are several hours ahead?”

Matthew slapped
his forehead in regret. “Oh, Monsignor. My apologies.”

“It is no
matter,” he said.

“I need your
prayers, Monsignor.”

“Go on,” he
urged.

“I believe that
darkness is descending upon our small town again.” For a moment, neither man
spoke.

“Phone again
when you are certain. Go with God, Matthew, you have the order’s prayers.”

“Grazie,”
Matthew said as he laid the phone on his desk. He started a fire in the
oversized fireplace, grabbed a book on demonology, and sat down in his favorite
reading chair.

* * * * * *

3

Anna pulled into
her driveway, expecting Tommy and Trisha to be waiting on the porch.

“I told them to
be ready to go,” Anna said to Trevor. “Go get them.”

“I ain’t getting
out of this car, dude,” he laughed. “And if I do, I’m taking your gun.” Anna
rolled her eyes and honked the horn. Tommy stuck his head out the door and
nodded. A moment later they filed out the door, backpacks in tow, and climbed
into the back of the cruiser.

“What’s the
deal, Mom?” Trisha asked, slightly annoyed. “I had plans to Skype with Levi
tonight.”

“I think you’ll
manage to skip one night,” Anna said. “Besides, isn’t he going to the football
game to see his brother play?”

“Nice,” was all
Trisha said. She was so much like Anna when she was thirteen that she knew the
old adage was true. You have one just like you.

“Mom, what’s
going on?” Tommy asked, concern in his voice. Of her three children, he was the
most expressive and supportive. Ever since her husband left, Tommy had tried to
be the man of the house. She felt the wave of guilt roll over her for letting
him play that role. That’s a lot of responsibility to put on any kid, especially
a sensitive one.

“Old man Alan
Brickton is dead,” Trevor said flatly. “And there’s some sort of f’ed up beast
running through the woods.”

“Language!” Anna
shouted so loudly everyone winced.

“I didn’t even
say the whole word!” Trevor shot back.

“A beast!?!”
cried Trisha.

Trevor grinned.
“Yeah, and it almost killed me, too. It started running beside the truck…” but
he was cut off by Anna grabbing his arm.

“Enough, young
man,” she snapped. “I know you’ve been through an ordeal, but I won’t tolerate
you trying to scare your sister.”

“I’m not
scared,” Trisha insisted. But her voice was trembling.

“How did Mr.
Brickton die?” Tommy asked softly.

“We’re not
sure,” Anna answered, giving a harsh look to Trevor. “But I would just feel
better if you were with me at the station tonight.”

“Well if he
wasn’t murdered, then why would you make us stay with you?” Trevor asked
rudely. Anna slammed on her brakes and pulled the car to the side of the road.

“Listen up
everyone,” she said in her authoritative voice. “He was most likely murdered.
It wasn’t like people adored him. Teenagers played pranks on him all the time.
Hell, sometimes he even shot at people who accidentally trespassed on his
property. Regardless, someone is out there and I don’t know who it is or what
he wants.”

“What
it
wants,”
Trevor corrected.

Anna groaned.

“Mom, you didn’t
see what I saw. There’s no way that thing was human.”

“You watch too
many movies and read too many books, Trevor,” Tommy complained. “Vampires and
werewolves aren’t real, dude. Get a grip.”

“Go fu…”

“I said that’s
enough!” Anna cried. “A strong man can run alongside a slow-moving car, Trevor.
Just because he can run fast doesn’t make him some monster from the movies.
Honestly. You’re not helping anyone here with your wild tales.”

“Fine, don’t
believe me,” he griped. “You’ll see.”

“Well, I hope we
don’t see jack crap,” Trisha said. “Do you think I would be safer in a jail
cell?”

“Trisha,” Anna
began, but she started to laugh. Then laughter filled the car, temporarily
relieving the stress.

“But I’m serious!”
Trisha struggled to say, but continued laughing.

“Laughter is the
best medicine after all,” Tommy said.

“You’re such a
dork,” Trevor joked.

“And you’re an
ass,” Tommy pushed back.

Anna slammed her
hands against the steering wheel. “If I have to say ‘Language’ one more time,
so help me God I will put the three of you in separate cells and leave you
there until you graduate from high school!”

“Well, you can’t
do that while we’re sitting on the side of the road,” Trevor said.

“And we can’t
very well graduate from high school if I’m not even out of middle school,”
Trisha added.

Anna put her
forehead against the wheel.

“Come on Mom,”
Tommy said soothingly. “Let’s just get to the station.” Without another word,
Anna pulled onto the road and they rode in silence.

As they pulled
into the reserved space for the sheriff, the three kids jumped out of the car.
Anna watched as her three children trotted into the main entrance. She smiled
to herself. They were intelligent, good looking, and generally well behaved.
Thankful for her family, Anna walked through the doors and nodded to Janet.

“Hi, Sheriff,”
Janet said nervously.

“Janet, did you
get the number from the anonymous caller?”

“I did, ma’am.”
She handed Anna a post-it note with the number. “The trace says it’s from the
payphone by the Laundromat”

“Please, Janet,
call me Anna. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am. At least not yet.” She tried to
smile at Janet, but was simply too irritated to pull it off. She looked at the
note and realized the payphone was less than a mile from the Brickton property.

“I’m sorry,
Anna,” Janet said uncomfortably.

“About what?”

“The caller’s
voice was disguised by one of those voice distorters. Listen to this.” Janet
pushed a few buttons so she could play back the conversation with the anonymous
caller.

Janet
: Crimson Falls
Police Department, this is Janet speaking. How may I help you?

Caller
: Alan Brickton
is dead.

Janet:
I’m sorry?

Caller
: He’s dead.

Janet
: Who is this?

Silence.

Janet
: Who is this?

Heavy, raspy
breathing.

Janet
: Hello?

Caller
: Time’s a
wasting.

Click.

“Damn,” Anna
mumbled.

“I wish I could
have done more,” Janet said apologetically.

“There’s nothing
you could have done, Janet,” Anna assured her. She decided to call Michael on
his radio.

“Unit 14, this
is Sheriff Blackwood, come in.” After a brief pause, he answered.

“This is Deputy
Michael Mullins. What’s the 411?”

Anna laughed
quietly to herself. Aside from always using his full name, his formality over
the radio always caused other deputies to tease him. “Michael, I need you to go
to the payphone about three quarters of a mile up the road from the house.”

“You mean the
one in front of the Laundromat?”

“That’s the
one.”

“Sure thing
boss. What am I doing?”

“Dust the phone
for prints.”

“For prints?”

“That’s what I
said,” Anna said. “That’s where the call about the victim came from. We need to
see who’s been using that phone.”

“I didn’t even
think it worked anymore, Sheriff.”

“Well,
apparently it works. So get it done.” She handed the radio back to Janet and
walked toward her office where the kids were sitting at the conference table
across from her large, ebony desk.

“Sheriff?” Janet
said. Anna turned around to face her. “What’s happening? You brought your kids
here. Should I have Daryl bring the kids here, too?” Anna realized that she was
abusing her authority by allowing her kids a safe haven and not considering
other families.

“I think that’s
a good idea. Have them hang out in the overflow section of lockup.”