Voices (Whisper Trilogy Book 3) (5 page)

“Then why don’t you show me what has you so spooked and we can both get back to doing our jobs?”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Fisher started toward the hotel, but Kimmel stopped him. “No, not there. Like I told you, down here is fine. If you want to experience what I’m talking about so you can report back to Washington, then you need to follow me.”

Kimmel headed toward the rear of the hotel. Fisher followed, striding to keep up. They walked without speaking, the sounds of the forest accompanying them as they eased down the slight hill toward the river.

“I hope you didn’t take any offence at my words,” Fisher said as they made their way toward the bridge. Two of Kimmel’s men were waiting there, both armed. They stood and saluted as he neared. Kimmel returned the gesture as he strode past them, spit-polished boots thudding with dull regularity against the wooden boards.

“No offence taken. I understand you’re skeptical. It’s normal when facing something that makes no rational sense.”

“With all due respect, requesting a shutdown and quarantine of an entire town makes no rational sense either. If I don’t find good reason to authorize this, then it won’t happen. You better be sure your ghosts will be out to play this morning.”

As they reached the opposite bank, Kimmel veered to the left, making for a well-worn trail through the trees.

“They’re not ghosts,” he said as the pair went under the cover of the canopy, the drop in temperature noticeable as they left the sun behind. “This is something else entirely.”

“We’ll see.”

Kimmel stopped and turned to face the government official. His brow was furrowed, lips pursed. His cheeks were red from both cold and anger. “Look, I know you don’t believe any of this. You’ve made that clear enough. For your own sake, I ask you to at least respect the situation.”

“My job requires me to come into this with an open mind.”

“It doesn’t seem open. In fact, if anything, you seem determined
not
to believe this.”

“What is it, General? Are you afraid I won’t experience this evil juju you keep talking about with such conviction?”

“No.” Kimmel started to walk again, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m afraid that when you experience it, you won’t know quite how to react.”

They went deeper into the woods. For Kimmel, it was a journey filled with dread. For Fisher, it was one of curiosity. He was lost in thought, listening to the pleasant sound of birdsong, when he almost walked into the General who had stopped ahead of him.

“What’s wrong?” Fisher said, trying to ignore another ripple of goose bumps on his forearms.

“Nothing. We’re here,” the General replied. His booming, authoritative voice was gone, replaced instead with meekness and uncertainty. His eyes darted toward the trees, lingering on the darkened tangle of roots and branches which hid secrets away from his gaze.

Fisher smiled, glad to see the General’s discomfort. “Come on then, General Kimmel. Let’s see what it is you want to show me.” Before the general could respond, Fisher strode toward the clearing and back into brilliant sunshine.

He felt it immediately. The circular clearing bristled with an ominous energy. Fisher smiled, a nervous gesture which quickly faded. His throat was dry and he stared bug-eyed at the circular patch of dirt in which nothing grew. He realized then what it was that disturbed him so much.

It was the silence. The absolute, deathly silence. He could hear the ragged rattle of his own increasingly labored breathing as he soaked in the atmosphere. He realized he was clenching his fists, and forced himself to relax, if only so Kimmel wouldn’t be able to see how afraid he was. And he
was
afraid. He felt incredibly exposed, and crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing his biceps as he stared into the surrounding trees, sure he could see people moving just outside his field of vision.

Kimmel.

He wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was Kimmel’s men out there, creeping around and trying to put the frighteners on him. He could imagine how they would laugh at him later, making fun of how the little man from the government had been so easily spooked.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he heard Kimmel say at his shoulder. “But it’s not my men. That much I can guarantee you.”

“Then what the hell can I see moving out there?”

“The dead. Those who are destined to stay here for eternity.”

“Come on, Kimmel, don’t screw around with me. I—”

Fisher turned, expecting to see Kimmel right beside him. However, the General wasn’t there. He was hanging back on the edge of the circle, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as his agitation increased.

“How did you do that?” Fisher asked, his voice wavering. “You were right here next to me. I heard you.”

Kimmel shook his head. There was at least ten feet between them, and Fisher knew it was impossible for Kimmel to have said the words which he’d heard so close he could feel hot breath on his neck.

Kimmel was looking at him now, a frown on his brow. Realization came to Fisher that everything the General had said was true. He turned to leave, and felt something stop him, an icy grip on his upper arm. He stared at it, his eyes seeing nothing but his suit jacket despite the feel of fingers digging into his skin. Without warning, the trees shuddered, a coordinated wave traveling from left to right, each flutter of every leaf and branch coming together in a crescendo of noise.

He heard Kimmel – the real Kimmel – his voice distant and distorted as if coming from miles away instead of the ten feet which separated them. Fisher bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood, which seemed to increase the oppressive darkness stifling him. He was vaguely aware of men dragging him away from the inner periphery of the circle, fatigue-clad soldiers who wore the haunted expressions of men to whom this was nothing new. The soldiers half led, half dragged Fisher out of the clearing, back into the relative safety of the woods. It was a feeling akin to breaking the surface of the water after a particularly deep dive, gasping in precious air –
clean
air without the toxicity of that which existed within the clearing. Kimmel appeared over him, face looming in half-focus, a look of concern and smug satisfaction etched on his face. Fisher didn’t care though; he knew what had to be done. He swallowed, the taste of blood from his cut tongue thick and coppery in his mouth.

“Now do you understand?” Kimmel said, leaning close enough for Fisher to smell the minty scent of his chewing gum. “Now do you get it?”

Fisher nodded, unable to shake the vertigo.

“Then you know what we have to do? Damn it, Fisher, talk to me!”

“Close it down. Close the whole damn place down.”

Kimmel nodded, the relief on his face clear. “It’s about goddamn time.”

Fisher barely heard him. He could still feel the cold on his skin where the phantom hand had grabbed him, and hear the devious, sinister voice which he mistook for Kimmel. Worse than all of that was the fact that he couldn’t explain any of it. All he knew was Kimmel was right. Whatever existed there in the clearing was evil.

CHAPTER 5

Isaac Samson woke screaming again. This time it wasn’t the dream of the man with the knife, but the other one where he was dead, cold and alone in the dirt. Strangers surrounded him, staring, their voices distant echoes as the black things with slimy, slick tentacles emerged from the ground and grabbed him, pulling him under, the soft earth falling onto his open eyes and filling his mouth as he was dragged to whatever lay below. As he thrashed around in his sheets, his mother didn’t run to him, nor did she soothe his cries like she had when the dreams had first started. Instead, she sat at the kitchen table, head resting on her folded arms. This, after all, had become a regular occurrence. Physically and mentally exhausted, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She had been offered help by the authorities of course; invitations to counseling and therapy sessions for them both. She didn’t want to put her son through that, however, and had decided to ignore the persistent letters. Even child services had made contact in regards to Isaac’s wellbeing. The carefully worded letter had infuriated her, and she suspected that her busybody neighbor had been responsible for having involved them. Like the others, she had ignored all attempts at communication. Her son’s screams faded as he found a calmer place in his dreams. Melody was glad he hadn’t woken up. She was starting to resent him for the almost nightly routine which was getting worse week on week. Her phone pulsed on the table, and she gave it a cursory glance. Another text message from her sister, the seventeenth, along with the twenty or so calls that she’d failed to return. Melody wondered if it was perhaps she who had contacted the authorities out of concern and not Mrs. Richter. God knew she could hardly blame her for it. Although it wasn’t a deliberate decision, she had cut herself and Isaac off from everyone, partly because people wouldn’t understand what they were going through, but mainly because of fear. She only had Isaac left now and was determined to protect him no matter what.

Isaac started to cry, low moans coming from his bedroom, calling for her as he always did. Still, she didn’t move. Instead she stared at her hands, flat on the tabletop. Her phone pulsed again. Another message from her sister. Isaac continued to whine and beg for her to go to him.

Three weeks.

The number reverberated around her mind. Three weeks since she’d had a full night’s sleep. Three weeks since she’d last been able to think, or to function.

Three weeks since Isaac had slept without crying, or wanting, or needing.

Three weeks.

Rage, alien and unexpected, exploded within her. She swept the cup of cold coffee and the fruit bowl onto the floor, both of them shattering. She half turned on her chair, and before she could stop, she was screaming at him to shut up, to keep his whining mouth closed and go to sleep. Melody was crying herself now, an outpouring of emotion that she’d held onto for what felt like a lifetime. Isaacs’s cries took on a different tone. They were cries of confusion rather than fear. She barely heard them. Instead, the outpouring of anger continued as she raged at her son, then, as quickly as it came, it faded. She leaned her elbows on the table and put her head in her hands. Isaacs’s cries echoed around the apartment, not stopping until the police arrived.

CHAPTER 6

James Fisher stood on Oakwell’s Main Street, watching as Kimmel’s men loaded the last stubborn residents onto busses ready to be transported out of the town. He remained impassive, eyes hidden behind reflective aviator glasses, as the proceedings unfolded. Some of the residents, those who had decided to try and sit out the slump or had only known life in Oakwell, had been difficult to move, and it had taken the presence of soldiers with weapons to persuade them the alternative accommodation that had been arranged was for the best. Fisher hadn’t spoken of his experience at the clearing to anyone, and even though he was some distance away from it, he could still feel its clammy, sickening touch on his skin. He checked his clipboard, marking off another bus as it closed its doors and took its unwilling passengers away.

Kimmel strode over and stood beside him.

“Any trouble?” Fisher asked.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle. We should have the town emptied within the week.”

“Are they accepting the story?”

“Mostly. The old timers don’t seem too convinced. They’ve lived here long enough to know there are no sinkholes under the town. I suppose it’s going to have to suffice. What I want to know is what happens then?”

“What do you mean?” Fisher asked, turning toward the General.

“Once you empty this place. What then?”

“Nothing. We seal it up and forbid access. A small team will be stationed here on the outskirts of town for a while to deter the curious. With luck, the forest will reclaim this godforsaken place and that will be the end of it.”

“What about what we found under the house. Surely that changes things?”

“You don’t sound much like a man who wants to be out of here, General Kimmel. Why all the questions?”