CHAPTER
13

We ate breakfast—or Daniel did, anyway—in a thick silence. None of us wanted to talk about the night before, but every other topic felt silly and stupid in comparison. How could we talk about the weather or travel plans after what we’d seen? How could we talk about anything?

As shaken as we were, I didn’t feel uncomfortable. For some reason I felt weirdly connected to everyone at the table. Despite our differences and our disagreements, I knew I would rather be miserable with them than indifferent by myself.

Brenda made coffee, then filled four mugs and passed them out. Like automatons, we poured in cream and sugars, then sipped and stared at the polished surface of the dining room table.

I never would have believed that Daniel would be the first to speak.

“They were real,” he said, making eye contact with me for the first time in—well, ever. “I see them all the time.”

I blinked at him, then looked at the others, who were also watching Daniel. The boy didn’t seem inclined to say anything else, though, and went back to eating his cereal.

“The kid is right, but I don’t think they were aliens,” Tank said. He spoke slowly, as if carefully considering each word. “I don’t think that clown thing and his buddies came from another galaxy. They might have come from another dimension, and I’m pretty sure they’ve been on earth and around earth since the birth of this planet. I think they were demons, just like the ones we saw in action at the Institute for Psychic Studies.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised if Tank had begun to sing opera at the breakfast table. The big guy was usually two steps behind us, yet there he was, offering a theory that sort of made sense. But was it our answer?

“Demons?” Brenda looked at him with bleary eyes. “You’re telling me I couldn’t sleep last night because I saw a demon?”

Tank shrugged. “Fallen angels, demons—call ’em whatever you want. But they’re real and they meddle in people’s affairs . . . even though most sophisticated folks don’t want to admit they exist.”

“And that explains why you believe so devoutly,” the professor said. He twisted in his chair. “So what’s the point, Tank? What are we doing here? If these events are caused by supernatural forces, we mere humans may as well go home.”

“No, because we have gifts. And we have power.” Tank flashed a grin bright enough to be featured in a toothpaste commercial. “The power’s not in us, but God can give us the power to fight them and the people who work for them. And more important, I think God’s the one who brought us together. We’re supposed to cooperate and warn people. We’re supposed to interpret the signs.”

“I didn’t get a call from God,” Brenda said, “I got a call from Andi. And God didn’t fly me here, Andi’s grandpa did. As I recall, you were on the same jet.”

“Why did you come?” Tank asked quietly. “And don’t tell me you came because you wanted a few days in Florida for vacation. I know better.”

Brenda glared at him a minute, then looked at Daniel. “Don’t matter why I came, and what happened yesterday don’t matter, either. All that matters now is that we get Daniel back to—well, get him back for some help. This trip has stressed him out, and they’re not gonna let me see him again if I don’t take him back so he can get better.”

“Wait.” I looked around the table, frustrated that the others appeared to be giving up. “Aren’t we going to investigate this further? We didn’t solve anything. The animals—the planet—is still in danger.”

Brenda set her coffee cup down. “Nothin’ I can do about that. Like I said, I have to earn a livin’.”

“I’m done here, too.” The professor pushed back from the table. “My brain can only tolerate so much madness.”

I waved my hand, about to suggest that talk some more, but a blur of movement outside the window distracted me. People on the beach were running toward something in the water.

My stomach tightened for no rational reason. Leaving the others at the table, I went to the sliding doors and stepped out, then ran down the stairs. From there I could see something tumbling in the wavewash, something dark, with straight legs like a table. Something brown, like chocolate . . .

I broke into a run.

By the time I heard someone shout, “It’s a dog!” I was already approaching the water’s edge. I splashed into the shallows and gripped Abby’s collar, then pulled her onto the sand. Rigor mortis had already set in. Her legs were splayed straight out, as if she’d died in a standing position. Her brown eyes were missing, the empty sockets encrusted with sea salt.

I fell to my knees and balled my hands into tight fists, struggling against the sobs that welled in my chest. Soft murmurs from bystanders wrapped around me, and a moment later I heard the pounding feet of Daniel, Brenda, Tank, and the professor. They stood silently, watching me weep in the tide, then Daniel knelt beside me, too, bending to press his forehead to Abby’s.

“Why did this happen to her?” I asked, glancing up at Tank. “You know who did it—I heard her scream. They are evil, and they did this because they hate. I never understood hate until this minute, but I understand it now. They hate us, so they hurt and destroy and inflict pain on the ones we love. . . .”

In a flash, I remembered how my grandparents spoke of the Nazis, and the people they knew who had lost mothers, fathers, siblings, and families in the Holocaust. Hatred—pure and simple and evil—had gripped Hitler and spurred him to blind his people with hostility and contempt. Whoever had tortured and killed Abby would do the same thing to a child, a family, anyone. That kind of hatred was elemental; it did not discriminate, but it loved to destroy innocence.

I lowered my head, too, and dared to place my hand on Daniel’s shoulder. I needed to touch him, and in that moment I think he needed to be touched.

The bystanders peeled away, probably uncomfortable with our open grief. When we were finally alone, Tank knelt across from me and Daniel. I thought he was going to help me carry Abby’s body up to the house, but instead he placed one hand on Abby’s side and the other over her ravaged face.

A rush of gratitude flooded my heart. He was silently telling me that he understood, and he was sparing me the sight of her awful wounds.

I placed my hand on Abby’s belly, next to Tank’s. “It’s okay,” I whispered, my voice as ragged as my emotions. “If you’ll help me carry her, we can find a spot to—”

I stopped, suddenly aware that the fur next to Tank’s hand felt warm. His hand had reddened, and Abby’s body seemed to grow warmer with every second. Tank’s eyes remained closed, but I could feel energy flowing from his hands, over the dog, even tingling my fingertips—

Abby whined. I righted myself so suddenly that I fell on my butt in the wet sand. Daniel laughed as he buried his fingers in Abby’s soggy fur, and Tank finally opened his eyes. He lifted his hands, releasing the dog, and Abby bounded up, then turned and shook herself off, her brown eyes sparkling above an enthusiastic grin.

I looked at the professor, who was speechless, probably for the first time in his life.

“Cowboy”—Brenda began, turning wide eyes upon Tank—“when did you become a superhero?”

Tank stood and brushed sand from his hands. “I dunno. Doesn’t always work. But I figured that God wouldn’t want the other to have the final word here, so I gave it a try.”

He extended one of his healing hands toward me and helped me up, then gestured toward the house. “Guess we’d better go give that dog a bath.”

Abby had not only been restored to me, but she seemed to have the energy and spunk of a pup. Tank and I knelt by Safta’s huge bathtub as my girl splashed and alternated between trying to eat the soap bubbles and kissing our chins. I was exhausted by the time Tank hauled her out of the tub and toweled her dry.

I watched, amazed, as my rejuvenated Abby ran through the house, then sat prettily and offered her paw to everyone, even the professor.

Not once did she go to the window. Not once did I hear her growl.

We were in the living room when I finally gathered the courage to ask Daniel the question uppermost in my mind. “Abby saw the evil, too, didn’t she?”

The boy slowly turned and met my gaze, then he nodded.

My heart thumped at the confirmation.

“And that evil—is it still out there?”

One corner of Daniel’s mouth lifted in a small smile, then he shook his head.

I felt my shoulders relax. I could leave now, knowing that Abby would be safe with Safta and Sabba.

“So what did we accomplish here?” Brenda asked, looking from me to the professor. “This wasn’t much of a vacation.”

“You got to see a dolphin show,” Tank offered.

The professor snorted.

“I think”—I paused to gather my thoughts—“I don’t think we did anything to that thing out there, but I think it did something to us.”

Brenda made a face. “Speak for yourself. I’m fine.”

“Not like that. I think it did something in us. We saw something horrible, and then we saw a miracle. The yin and yang, good and evil. And for now at least, the evil’s gone and we’re all here. Together.”

The professor pressed his lips together, displaying his disagreement, but what could he say? He’d seen everything we’d seen, and he had no explanations for any of it.

“I’m done with that kind of crazy stuff. For now, anyway.” Brenda stood and gestured to Daniel. “Let’s go get your bag packed, okay? It’s time to go home.”

After Daniel stood and followed her, so did the professor and Tank.

I sighed and did the same.