51

RACHEL SPED AROUND A sharp corner, nearing the end of the block. The rain turned the windshield into a blurry haze, and flashes of lightning ripped through the growing dark.

The chief’s cell went immediately to voicemail.

She cursed into the phone, still confused, still horrified by what she’d seen in Jude’s apartment. Chase Vallace’s face—a distorted, lifeless mess, jaw slouched open, eyes a pale, dead white. His physical makeup stripped of everything but a skeleton that was barely there. She couldn’t shake the image from her thoughts.

“Dialin’ the chief?” Whitney asked, his voice almost clouded by the subconscious chaos.

Ignoring him, Rachel attempted to punch the digits again, dropping her phone in the process. The car swerved, tires sliding in a deep puddle near the curb. The wipers could only do so much to cleanse the glass. “Pick up the—”

“I got it. Take it easy. Look, I’d be going ballistic if my partner did something like that, but try not to get us killed, okay?”

“Just get me the phone!”

He reached beneath her legs and searched. It was near the pedal. Once she eased up on the gas, he grabbed it and handed it to her.

“Maybe it was him all along,” Rachel said. “Maybe he was staging these murders. How twisted.”

Her eyes fell to the phone then rose again to watch the road. Several times the process repeated. She was thankful traffic wasn’t heavy tonight. Still, she found herself distracted by the few vehicles she did see. Her thoughts betrayed her, allowing for the idea that one of them might be next. After all, what if the murders didn’t stop at seven? What if there would be more?

“Be calm, Rachel,” she said to herself. “Be calm. It’s not that bad. I mean, you gave yourself to a murderer. What’s the big freaking deal?”

An alarm must’ve sounded between Whitney’s ears. “Come again? You actually slept with that demented psychopath?”

The silence that followed was choking. Rachel couldn’t entertain a dialogue in this state. She couldn’t divulge the bitter details. She had hoped things might be different. If only they were different.

She completed punching in the digits for another line in the department and pushed SEND. The color in her face glowed a disturbing white, as if she were waiting for the doctor on the other end to tell her that her life might end at any moment.

Just then, a voice came through.

“Mike,” she began. “Thank God! Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last ten minutes!”

“Catch your breath, Rachel. I was in the other room checking on some reports. Thought I had my phone with me.”

“We’ve got a problem. We’ve got a huge problem.”

“Bigger than a serial killer who’s on schedule to deliver two more bodies before the stroke of midnight?”

“Whitney was right. Jude killed Chase Vallace.” She’d never heard herself so clearly before, like every tone and syllable were made of glass that shattered as it came out of her mouth.

“Hate to say I told you so,” Whitney added quietly.

“I’ll be…Why would he do that?” Mike asked.

Rachel felt the tremor in his voice. “I don’t know. But he’s different. We’ve all felt it. Look, Mike, I’m sorry I defended him. There’s no mistaking it. Jude’s off the reservation.”

“That pit bull should be caged like the animal he is,” Whitney scoffed, wiping some dry snot off his nose.

“Where are you?” Mike asked.

“I’m on my way,” she replied. Her thumb fell on END. Rachel slid over a puddle and U-turned.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Whitney asked, puzzled. “I don’t like lying to the chief. We have evidence to report.” He held up the plastic bag containing Vallace’s recorder and his cell phone, which carried images of the reporter’s corpse. “You heard those sounds on the recorder, Rachel. They weren’t human.”

She swallowed hard. “I heard it. Same as you.”

“And still you’re not listening to reason here. He could kill you. Do you hear it now? Your partner could kill you!”

“I have to try and stop him.” He told me he loved me, and I turned him away. Did I help pull the trigger? “Maybe I can help him. He’s one of us.”

“No. He’s not one of us. He’s somethin’ else. And I’m not gonna let you pull a suicide stunt just to give this whack job a chance to suck you dry too. Stop trying to prove yourself!”

Rachel eased up off the gas as if she were going to brake for the red light. After quickly checking the perpendicular street, she dropped her foot on the pedal again and sped through it.

“I don’t have to prove myself to anyone. Not to you, not to Jude, not the chief.”

“So what are you thinking? Why are you doing this?”

“Because there’s a part of me…that believes…”

“What?”

Rachel turned toward Whitney for a split second. Rain flooded the windshield. She was looking at him in slow motion, waiting for the moment when her mind would provide her with an answer. She was still part of it; they all were. There was no cure left to reverse it. The struggle. The war. The reality of being alive. Jude Foster murdered a reporter. What good could there be left?

Her mouth was barely open when the cruiser hydroplaned and collided with a telephone pole at fifty miles an hour.

* * *

“I should be dead. Dad. Dead. Wh—”

It was a miracle that she could still move her arms and legs. She knew that. The facts that one of her eyes seemed blistered shut and her fractured rib made it hard to breathe were not the focus. “Jude. I have to get to him. I have to try.”

The vibrations in her thigh didn’t want to stop. How much longer before her body registered that she was still alive? Gasp. Full breath. Gasp. She blinked, and it hurt. Catching her reflection in the mirror, she understood that it was some of her blood that blanketed the dashboard. She blinked again, and the scene blended more clearly.

Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt. Her eyes scanned Whitney. His cheeks were stained with blood, some glass sticking out. The passenger side window had cracked and shattered upon impact. Rain poured in, smacking him in the face. But he wasn’t moving. His neck was twisted.

How had she not seen the telephone pole?

Because you lost focus. You took your eyes off…the road…for a second. You. Lost. Focus.

“I can get it back!” She bit down hard, making sure her jaw wasn’t broken. It ached. “Get it back, Rachel!”

Leaning closer to Whitney, she checked his pulse. Maybe his ribs were fractured too. Maybe it was a chore for his lungs to take in oxygen.

“Come on, wake up. Wake up, you creep!” She slugged him hard, hoping her force would call him out of the unconscious daze. It didn’t work. All it did was send sharp needles of pain through her wrist.

A fear slipped inside her then as she watched Whitney twitch but not breathe, as the rain pushed into his cheeks like bullets. It was a real, terrible fear, one she felt herself inhale. It didn’t come with shivers or with a skipping heartbeat; it came with a memory.

Dad.

The fear that welcomed her upon her arrival. The fear that said she would not survive.

“Ignore it, Rachel. You’re not dead. You’re. Not. Dead!”

She once again checked for Whitney’s pulse. Relief came with shut eyes and an almost breathless sigh when her fingers moved. It wasn’t much, but he was alive.

Rachel made a phone call. It was surprising to discover the storm hadn’t cut off service. She dialed dispatch and gave them her location. Whitney would be taken care of. She couldn’t take the risk of the chief ordering her to return to the department. The case wasn’t finished. She had to find Jude.

Rachel reached for the plastic bag on the floor mat and pulled out the recorder, pressing the play button. A horrifying voice statically came to life. It was Jude’s voice but with another’s overlapping it. Something not of this world. She’d heard it before in the motel room. What terrified her most was when it spoke its name: Azrael. “Let us in. You…let the dark…in.” Those words repeated, even after she stopped playback.

“Jesus,” she gasped. She wasn’t sure if that name was formed by shock or as a desperate plea or both, but for the first time she found herself thinking, really wondering if heaven could hear her cries.

It was clear what she had to do. Rachel eyed her gun, unsure if she’d have the guts to see this thing through. Unsure if she’d survive.