The Hollow Season Chapters 7-9
By C.M. Clark
THE HOLLOW SEASON
Chapter Seven — Passing Through
The missing couple had been married for six months.
Nobody in Idaho Springs knew that yet.
Nobody knew their names.
Nobody knew they were missing.
At 4:18 on Friday afternoon, they were simply another pair of tourists getting off Interstate 70 because the woman had seen a sign for pizza.
‘Twenty minutes,’ Eric Mason said.
His wife looked at him.
‘You said that in Georgetown.’
‘I mean it this time.’
‘You also meant it in Georgetown.’
‘I was hungry.’
‘You’re always hungry.’
‘Marriage has changed me.’
‘We’ve been married six months.’
‘Exactly.’
Rachel Mason laughed and punched his arm.
They were driving home to Kansas City after eleven days in Colorado.
The back of their SUV was packed with luggage, hiking boots, souvenirs, three half-empty water bottles and a sweatshirt Rachel swore wasn’t hers.
They had photographs from Rocky Mountain National Park.
Photographs from Breckenridge.
Photographs from Estes Park.
Photographs of Eric pretending to fall from various scenic overlooks while Rachel told him he wasn’t funny.
Their honeymoon had been delayed almost a year.
Work.
Money.
Life.
So they’d finally taken the trip they had promised themselves.
Colorado.
Mountains.
No schedules.
They had a hotel booked east of Denver for the night.
Idaho Springs wasn’t on the itinerary.
Rachel looked through the windscreen as they descended towards town.
‘This is cute.’
‘See?’
‘You didn’t know it was cute.’
‘I sensed it.’
‘You sensed pizza.’
‘Same thing.’
They parked near Main Street.
By 4:32 they were eating at Beau Jo’s.
At 5:10 Rachel bought earrings from a small shop.
At 5:27 Eric bought a T-shirt he would never wear again.
At 5:41 they took a photograph together on Main Street.
It would become the last photograph ever taken of either of them.
Rachel stood in front.
Eric leaned over her shoulder.
Both smiling.
Behind them, barely visible between two parked cars, stood a dark-haired girl.
Nobody noticed her.
Alex was beginning to understand why people stayed in Idaho Springs.
Not tourists.
People.
There was something comfortable about learning a small place.
After only a few weeks, he knew which shops closed early.
Which coffee was actually good.
Which restaurant took forever when tourists packed downtown.
Which alley would save him five minutes walking home.
Which section of pavement outside Tommyknocker became dangerously slick after rain.
He knew where Jyllian would probably be.
That was becoming his favourite part.
She was sitting outside with two coffees when he found her.
Alex pointed.
‘That better be mine.’
‘No.’
‘You bought yourself two?’
‘I have needs.’
He took one.
‘Thief.’
‘You literally bought my order.’
‘I bought what I thought you would order.’
Alex took a drink.
Perfect.
‘That’s disturbing.’
‘What?’
‘You know my coffee.’
‘I know lots of things about you.’
‘I know almost nothing about you.’
Jyllian smiled.
‘Probably safer.’
‘See, that’s the shit I’m talking about.’
She laughed.
Alex sat beside her.
He liked her laugh.
That was annoying.
He liked a lot of things about Jyllian now.
The way she never filled silence just because silence existed.
The way she’d suddenly say something completely ridiculous after ten minutes of seriousness.
The way she watched people.
The way she seemed to know when he was thinking about his mother without asking.
The fact that she never once told him he needed to give Jessica a chance.
Most people thought advice was kindness.
Jyllian understood that sometimes kindness was simply not giving any.
‘What are we doing today?’
She looked offended.
‘Why am I responsible for entertainment?’
‘Because you’re local.’
‘You’re local now.’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘You live here.’
‘Temporary condition.’
Something passed across her face.
So quickly Alex nearly missed it.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘Get sad and pretend you didn’t.’
Jyllian looked at her coffee.
‘Maybe I don’t like temporary things.’
Alex didn’t know what to say to that.
So he bumped her shoulder with his.
She bumped him back.
‘Come on,’ she said.
‘Where?’
‘Anywhere.’
They spent almost three hours doing nothing.
Later, Alex would understand how rare that was.
At seventeen, doing nothing with the right person could become the most important thing you did all week.
They wandered Main Street.
They shared fries.
They went into three shops without buying anything.
Jyllian tried on sunglasses shaped like stars.
Alex told her she looked ridiculous.
She bought them.
‘Why?’
‘Because you hate them.’
‘Excellent financial strategy.’
‘Thank you.’
They ended up near the creek, sitting where the sound of water swallowed most of the traffic.
Alex stretched his legs out.
‘Can I ask you something?’
Jyllian groaned.
‘That always means something terrible.’
‘Why were you watching me when I first got here?’
She didn’t answer immediately.
‘Curious.’
‘About what?’
‘You.’
‘Why?’
‘I hadn’t seen you before.’
‘You’ve never seen lots of people before.’
‘Not like you.’
Alex turned.
‘What does that mean?’
Jyllian looked at him.
‘You looked angry.’
‘Romantic.’
‘I didn’t say I was attracted to you.’
‘You implied it.’
‘I absolutely did not.’
‘Too late.’
She smiled.
Alex caught himself staring at her.
Jyllian noticed.
Neither looked away.
The moment changed.
Just slightly.
Alex leaned closer.
Jyllian did too.
Then she abruptly turned towards Main Street.
Alex stopped.
‘Seriously?’
‘Quiet.’
‘That was brutal.’
‘Alex.’
Her voice made him listen.
She was staring towards the road.
‘What?’
Jyllian stood.
Alex followed.
A black SUV passed slowly.
Nothing unusual.
Then Jyllian started walking towards town.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Come on.’
‘You realise you do this constantly?’
She didn’t answer.
Alex followed.
Rachel Mason wanted one photograph of the mountains before they left.
That was the only reason they stayed.
One photograph.
The light had changed.
Late afternoon throwing gold across the buildings and mountains.
‘Five minutes,’ Rachel promised.
Eric leaned against the SUV.
‘You’ve become me.’
‘Impossible.’
‘This morning you made us stop for a barn.’
‘It was a good barn.’
‘It was a barn.’
Rachel walked a little farther down the street with her phone.
Eric checked his messages.
Three from work.
He ignored them.
A motorcycle engine started somewhere nearby.
Eric looked up.
A Harley rolled slowly past the end of the street.
Black.
Large.
The rider wore leather despite the warmth.
Eric watched.
Nice bike.
He’d wanted one for years.
Rachel would kill him.
He smiled.
Then realised Rachel had disappeared.
‘Rach?’
No answer.
He looked towards the shops.
‘Rachel?’
Probably inside somewhere.
He checked the nearest one.
Nothing.
Next.
Nothing.
‘Rachel!’
A woman carrying shopping bags looked at him.
‘You okay?’
‘My wife was just here.’
‘Maybe she crossed over.’
Eric stepped into the street.
No Rachel.
His phone rang.
He looked down.
Rachel.
‘Where are you?’
Static.
Then Rachel whispered:
‘Eric?’
‘Where the hell are you?’
‘I don’t know.’
Eric stopped.
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘I turned around and—’
Static swallowed her.
‘Rachel?’
‘I can’t find the street.’
Eric stared down Main Street.
‘What?’
‘Everything looks wrong.’
‘Rach, where are you?’
‘I can hear a motorcycle.’
The line went dead.
Eric called back.
Straight to voicemail.
‘Fuck.’
He ran.
Alex nearly collided with him outside the Buffalo.
‘Sorry.’
Eric barely noticed.
‘Have you seen a woman? Blonde, blue shirt, about this tall?’
Alex shook his head.
‘No.’
Jyllian had stopped several feet behind them.
Eric pulled up a photograph on his phone.
Rachel smiling beside a mountain lake.
‘My wife. She was right here.’
Alex looked at Jyllian.
Her face had gone pale.
Paler than usual.
‘Jyllian?’
Eric turned.
‘You seen her?’
Jyllian stared at the photograph.
‘No.’
Alex knew she was lying.
He didn’t know how.
He just knew.
‘Are you sure?’
Jyllian looked at Eric.
‘You should leave.’
Eric stared.
‘What?’
‘Get in your car and leave town.’
‘My wife is missing.’
‘I know.’
Alex grabbed Jyllian’s arm.
‘What the fuck?’
Eric’s face hardened.
‘How do you know?’
Jyllian realised her mistake.
‘I mean—’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘No.’
‘You just said you knew.’
‘I meant I understand.’
‘Bullshit.’
Eric stepped towards her.
Alex moved between them.
‘Back off.’
‘I just want to know where my wife is.’
‘She said she doesn’t know.’
Eric looked around wildly.
People were beginning to notice.
The Buffalo door opened.
Dan stepped outside.
His eyes immediately found Jyllian.
Then Alex.
Then Eric.
‘Problem?’
Eric held up the phone.
‘My wife disappeared.’
Dan’s expression changed.
Not surprise.
Something worse.
Recognition.
‘When?’
‘Five minutes ago.’
‘Where?’
Eric pointed.
‘Right fucking there.’
Dan looked down Main Street.
‘Did she go inside anywhere?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’
Dan’s eyes returned to Jyllian.
She shook her head almost imperceptibly.
Alex caught it.
‘What was that?’
Nobody answered.
‘Dan.’
Dan looked at him.
‘What?’
‘You two just did something.’
Eric stepped closer.
‘You know each other?’
Jyllian said, ‘We should call the police.’
‘Already doing it.’
Dan pulled out his phone.
Jyllian grabbed Alex.
‘Come with me.’
‘No.’
‘Alex.’
‘You know something.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Bullshit.’
She lowered her voice.
‘Not here.’
Alex looked at Eric.
The man was standing alone in the middle of Main Street, calling his wife’s name again.
Something about it made Alex’s chest hurt.
Missing.
He knew what that looked like.
The first few minutes.
When everyone still thought there had to be an explanation.
Bathroom.
Shop.
Wrong street.
Dead phone.
The period before the word missing became permanent.
Alex walked towards Eric.
‘Hey.’
Eric looked at him.
‘She’ll turn up.’
Alex hated himself for saying it.
People had said that to him once.
Your mum will turn up.
She’s probably fine.
There’ll be an explanation.
All the useless things people said because admitting somebody could simply disappear was unbearable.
Eric nodded anyway.
‘Yeah.’
Alex looked at Jyllian.
She was watching him.
She understood exactly what he’d just done.
Police arrived.
Then more people.
Someone checked businesses.
Someone checked alleys.
Rachel’s photograph moved from phone to phone.
Steve came out of the Buffalo sometime after six.
Alex hadn’t even known his father was inside.
‘What happened?’
‘Woman’s missing.’
Steve looked at Eric.
‘Jesus.’
Then at Alex.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Existing.’
Steve noticed Jyllian.
Alex watched recognition move across his father’s face.
‘You’re Jyllian.’
She smiled.
‘Hi, Steve.’
He froze.
Alex frowned.
‘You two met?’
‘No,’ Steve said.
At exactly the same moment Jyllian said:
‘Once.’
Silence.
Alex looked between them.
‘Which one is it?’
Steve stared at her.
‘I don’t remember meeting you.’
Jyllian’s smile vanished.
‘I was outside the Buffalo.’
‘When?’
‘Few days ago.’
Steve looked genuinely confused.
Dan appeared in the doorway.
He had heard enough.
‘Steve.’
Steve turned.
Dan nodded towards the bar.
‘Can I talk to you?’
‘Now?’
‘Now.’
Steve hesitated.
Then went inside.
Alex turned to Jyllian.
‘What the fuck was that?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You really need another word.’
‘I met him briefly.’
‘He looked like he’d seen you before.’
‘Maybe I have one of those faces.’
Alex laughed.
‘You have the exact opposite of one of those faces.’
Jyllian looked away.
Rachel was not found.
By eight, the search expanded.
By nine, police had Eric sitting inside the Buffalo because he was shaking too badly to remain outside.
His SUV remained parked where he’d left it.
Rachel’s purse sat beneath the passenger seat.
Her jacket was in the back.
Her suitcase remained packed.
Nothing suggested she had planned to go anywhere.
Alex watched from across the street with Jyllian.
‘This happens here.’
Jyllian didn’t answer.
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘People disappear everywhere.’
‘Not like this.’
‘You don’t know how she disappeared.’
‘You do.’
Jyllian looked at him.
Alex stepped closer.
‘You knew something was wrong before that guy even showed us her picture.’
‘I saw him looking for someone.’
‘No.’
‘Alex.’
‘You were scared.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘You are now.’
That stopped her.
He softened.
‘Jyllian.’
She looked down.
‘Some people shouldn’t stay here after dark.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You keep saying you don’t know things you clearly know.’
‘I know stories.’
‘Tell me.’
She shook her head.
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’ll start looking.’
‘Looking for what?’
‘Answers.’
Alex laughed bitterly.
‘My mother disappeared when I was eight. I’ve been looking for answers my entire fucking life.’
Jyllian looked at him.
There it was again.
That terrible sadness.
‘I know.’
‘Stop saying that.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Then tell me something true.’
Jyllian stared at Main Street.
Night had settled completely.
Most of the tourists were gone.
The shops were dark.
The Buffalo glowed across the street.
Finally she said:
‘People pass through Idaho Springs all the time.’
‘Okay.’
‘Some of them don’t leave.’
Alex waited.
‘You mean they stay?’
Jyllian looked at him.
‘No.’
A motorcycle engine growled somewhere in the darkness.
Jyllian went rigid.
Alex heard it too.
‘Is that—’
‘Go home.’
‘What?’
‘Now.’
‘Jyllian—’
She grabbed him.
Hard.
‘Alex. Go home.’
He stared at her.
‘Come with me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why?’
The motorcycle revved again.
Closer.
Jyllian looked towards the end of Main Street.
‘Because it isn’t looking for you.’
Alex followed her gaze.
One headlight appeared in the distance.
‘Who’s it looking for?’
Jyllian didn’t answer.
Across the street, Eric Mason suddenly came out of the Buffalo.
Dan followed him.
‘Eric!’
The man ignored him.
He was staring towards the motorcycle.
‘Rachel?’
Dan caught his arm.
‘That’s not your wife.’
Eric pulled away.
‘RACHEL!’
The headlight stopped.
The engine idled.
Alex could barely make out the rider.
Large.
Motionless.
Jyllian whispered:
‘Oh no.’
Eric walked into the street.
‘Rachel?’
Dan shouted:
‘GET BACK INSIDE.’
The motorcycle’s headlight went dark.
Everything became silent.
Eric stopped.
‘Rachel?’
A woman’s voice answered from somewhere beyond the parked cars.
‘Eric.’
He ran towards it.
‘RACHEL!’
Dan went after him.
Jyllian grabbed Alex before he could move.
‘Don’t.’
A scream tore through Main Street.
Eric.
Then another sound.
Metal.
Something heavy striking pavement.
Dan stopped at the corner.
Alex could see his silhouette beneath a streetlight.
‘Dan?’
No answer.
The motorcycle engine roared.
Alex spun towards it.
The Harley was behind them.
Twenty feet away.
He hadn’t heard it move.
The biker sat astride it.
Leather.
Long hair.
Hands high on the handlebars.
Jyllian stepped in front of Alex.
The biker turned his head.
Looked directly at her.
Even from twenty feet away, Alex could feel something pass between them.
Recognition.
Hatred.
Maybe fear.
Not the biker’s.
Jyllian’s.
‘Go,’ she whispered.
The biker didn’t move.
Neither did she.
‘Jyllian.’
‘Run.’
Alex grabbed her hand.
This time she let him.
They ran.
Behind them, the Harley remained perfectly still.
Its engine roared loudly enough to shake the shop windows.
But it did not follow.
At 6:03 the following morning, Eric Mason’s SUV was still parked near Main Street.
His wife was still missing.
Eric was now missing too.
Police found his phone near the corner.
The screen was cracked.
The last recording on it was twelve seconds long.
Mostly darkness.
A woman’s voice saying his name.
Eric breathing.
Then the sound of a motorcycle.
The final two seconds contained something investigators couldn’t identify.
A low sound.
Almost an animal.
Almost a person.
The search continued through the weekend.
Nothing was found.
No Rachel.
No Eric.
No blood.
No bodies.
Just another vehicle filled with belongings whose owners had somehow vanished.
For a while, people talked about it.
Tourists speculated.
Locals repeated rumours.
Someone posted online that the couple had probably staged the disappearance.
Someone else claimed drugs.
Another person suggested suicide.
People preferred explanations.
Even ugly explanations.
Explanations meant the world still followed rules.
By Monday, somebody had placed two missing-person flyers on Main Street.
By Tuesday, one had blown away.
By Wednesday, rain destroyed the other.
And Idaho Springs kept doing what it had always done.
It let people arrive.
It let most of them leave.
And every so often, for reasons nobody remembered anymore, it kept one.
——————
THE HOLLOW SEASON
Chapter Eight — Last Call
Idaho Springs, Colorado — February 1950
By midnight, the snow had buried Miner Street.
It came down in enormous flakes, thick enough to erase the mountains and turn the streetlights into pale yellow smudges.
Inside the Buffalo, nobody cared.
The stove was hot.
The whiskey was cheap.
And Earl Whitcomb was drunk enough to believe everybody liked him.
‘Another.’
Frank Dwyer looked at the empty glass.
Then at Earl.
‘No.’
Earl grinned.
‘Didn’t ask your permission.’
‘Unfortunately, you did.’
Frank took the glass.
Earl grabbed it back.
‘Don’t be an asshole.’
‘Go home, Earl.’
‘I am home.’
‘That’s depressing.’
A couple of men at the other end of the bar laughed.
Earl turned.
‘Something funny?’
The laughter stopped.
Frank sighed.
Earl Whitcomb wasn’t a bad man when he was sober.
That was the charitable version.
The less charitable version was that Earl Whitcomb was an asshole all the time and simply became a louder one after whiskey.
He worked at the mill.
Thirty-six.
Divorced.
No children.
He’d broken a man’s jaw the previous summer over a card game and spent three nights in jail for it.
He’d once fallen asleep in an alley behind the bar and woken convinced somebody had stolen his shoes.
Nobody had.
He’d simply taken them off.
Tonight he’d arrived shortly after eight.
By eleven he’d started telling everyone about the woman he intended to marry.
Nobody knew who she was.
By midnight he’d forgotten her name.
Frank put Earl’s glass beneath the bar.
‘Last call was twenty minutes ago.’
Earl reached for the bottle.
Frank slapped his hand away.
‘Go home.’
Earl stared at him.
For a moment Frank thought he might swing.
Instead Earl smiled.
‘Fine.’
He climbed off the stool.
Nearly fell.
Caught himself.
‘See?’
He pointed at Frank.
‘Perfectly fucking sober.’
‘Clearly.’
Earl pulled on his coat.
The remaining customers began gathering theirs.
Nobody wanted to walk into the storm.
Nobody had a choice.
At 12:17, Frank locked the front door behind the last customer.
Except Earl.
Earl stood near the back of the room.
‘You too.’
Earl didn’t move.
‘Earl.’
‘Need to piss.’
‘Then piss and leave.’
Earl disappeared towards the toilet.
Frank began cleaning.
Glasses.
Ashtrays.
Tables.
The ordinary rituals of closing.
Outside, the snow continued.
By morning it would cover everything.
Footprints.
Tyre tracks.
Blood.
If there happened to be any.
At 12:31, Frank realised Earl hadn’t come back.
‘Earl!’
Nothing.
Frank wiped his hands.
‘If you’re asleep on the shitter, I’m leaving you there.’
No answer.
He walked towards the toilets.
Empty.
‘Earl?’
Frank checked again.
Nobody.
He looked towards the back door.
Still bolted.
That annoyed him.
‘Very funny.’
There weren’t many places a grown man could hide inside the Buffalo.
Frank checked the storeroom.
Empty.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Office.
Empty.
Then he heard something upstairs.
Three knocks.
Frank looked at the ceiling.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
He frowned.
There wasn’t supposed to be anybody upstairs.
‘Earl?’
Silence.
Frank walked to the staircase.
The building felt different after closing.
Every bar did.
During business hours, people filled the empty spaces.
Voices.
Smoke.
Music.
Arguments.
Glasses.
Once everybody left, the building seemed to become aware of itself again.
Old timber contracted.
Pipes clicked.
Wind found gaps around windows.
Frank had worked there long enough to ignore most of it.
He put one foot on the stairs.
Something moved above him.
‘Earl, knock it off.’
A floorboard creaked.
Then another.
Slowly.
One after another.
Someone was walking across the room upstairs.
Frank climbed.
He found the upstairs room empty.
Of course.
‘Goddammit.’
Frank turned on the light.
Nothing.
Boxes.
Old chairs.
A broken table.
Dust.
He checked behind everything.
No Earl.
He was halfway back towards the stairs when he heard laughter.
Downstairs.
Frank stopped.
It was Earl.
Definitely Earl.
A low drunken chuckle.
‘Son of a bitch.’
Frank hurried downstairs.
‘How the hell did you—’
The bar was empty.
Frank stopped.
Something was wrong.
He didn’t know what.
Then he saw the glass.
Sitting on the bar.
Earl’s glass.
Half-full.
Frank stared at it.
He had washed that glass.
He was certain.
‘Earl?’
Something knocked from beneath the floor.
Frank looked down.
Once.
Then twice.
Then three times.
The same rhythm he’d heard upstairs.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Frank backed away.
‘Enough.’
The knocking stopped.
For several seconds the only sound was wind pressing against the building.
Then the front door rattled.
Frank jumped.
Someone outside.
Thank God.
He walked towards it.
‘We’re closed.’
The handle moved.
‘Come back tomorrow.’
Another rattle.
Frank looked through the glass.
Nobody.
Only snow.
‘Jesus Christ.’
He turned away.
The handle moved again.
This time slowly.
Down.
Then up.
Frank watched.
Locked.
It couldn’t open.
Something scratched the other side of the door.
Not fingernails.
Something harder.
Frank moved closer.
Three long lines appeared through the frost on the glass.
Frank’s stomach tightened.
‘Who’s there?’
No answer.
Then someone whispered directly behind him.
‘Frank.’
He spun around.
Earl stood at the far end of the bar.
Frank shouted.
‘Jesus!’
Earl smiled.
Something about him looked wrong.
Not his face.
Not yet.
‘Where the hell were you?’
Earl didn’t answer.
His coat was gone.
His shirt was wet.
Frank stared.
‘What happened?’
Earl looked down.
Dark liquid covered the front of his shirt.
Frank stepped closer.
‘Is that blood?’
Earl smiled again.
‘Not mine.’
Frank stopped.
‘What?’
Earl started laughing.
‘What did you do?’
The laughter became louder.
Frank moved towards the telephone.
‘Stay there.’
Earl’s laughter stopped.
‘Don’t.’
Frank looked at him.
‘Don’t what?’
‘Call.’
‘If somebody’s hurt—’
‘Nobody’s hurt.’
Frank stared at the blood.
‘Then whose blood is that?’
Earl looked down again.
He touched it.
Raised his fingers to his mouth.
Licked them.
Frank recoiled.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
Earl’s expression changed.
Confusion.
He looked at his fingers.
At the blood.
Then at Frank.
‘Why am I bleeding?’
‘You just said it wasn’t yours.’
‘I did?’
‘Earl.’
Fear appeared in his face.
Real fear.
‘Frank.’
‘What?’
‘I think somebody’s upstairs.’
Frank looked towards the staircase.
‘Nobody’s upstairs.’
‘I heard her.’
‘Who?’
Earl whispered:
‘My mother.’
Frank stared at him.
Earl’s mother had been dead for twelve years.
‘You’re drunk.’
‘I heard her.’
‘Go home.’
‘She called me.’
‘Earl.’
‘From upstairs.’
Three knocks sounded above them.
Earl looked up.
Frank didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Earl smiled.
‘See?’
Then he ran upstairs.
‘EARL!’
Frank went after him.
The light upstairs had gone out.
Frank reached the landing.
‘Earl?’
Darkness.
He found the switch.
Nothing.
Bulb must have blown.
‘Earl.’
A woman was humming.
Frank froze.
Soft.
Somewhere in the room.
A lullaby.
He couldn’t place it.
‘Who’s there?’
The humming stopped.
Earl whispered:
‘Mama?’
Frank’s skin crawled.
‘Earl, come here.’
‘She’s here.’
‘Nobody is here.’
‘She’s standing right there.’
Frank couldn’t see him.
‘Where?’
Earl laughed softly.
‘You don’t see her?’
Something moved in the darkness.
Frank stepped backwards.
‘We’re leaving.’
Earl screamed.
The sound was so sudden Frank nearly fell down the stairs.
‘EARL!’
Something crashed.
A chair.
Then another scream.
Frank reached blindly into the room.
His hand touched something wet.
He jerked it back.
The light came on.
Frank saw Earl.
And for the rest of his life, Frank Dwyer would wish it hadn’t.
At 6:42 the next morning, Deputy Harold Pike arrived at the Buffalo after Frank Dwyer walked into the sheriff’s office covered in blood.
Frank had said only four words.
‘Something killed Earl Whitcomb.’
Pike brought two men.
They found the front door locked.
The back door bolted from inside.
No windows broken.
No footprints near either entrance except Frank’s from when he’d finally fled through the front door.
The storm had stopped around four.
Everything outside was white and untouched.
Inside, the bar looked almost normal.
One overturned stool.
A broken glass.
Blood on the staircase.
Deputy Pike followed it upstairs.
He made it four steps into the room before vomiting.
Earl Whitcomb had been taken apart.
Not hacked apart.
Not butchered.
Taken apart.
That distinction appeared repeatedly in Pike’s private notes.
Both arms had been removed at the shoulders.
Both legs at the hips.
There were no ragged cuts.
No obvious saw marks.
The joints appeared to have been separated with an almost impossible precision.
The limbs had been arranged around Earl’s torso.
His right arm above his head.
His left below.
His legs bent outward.
His hands placed carefully against the floorboards.
Someone had constructed a shape.
Nobody knew what it meant.
Earl’s head rested several feet away.
Upright.
Facing the staircase.
His eyes were open.
His mouth had been sewn shut.
Pike stared at the stitches.
‘Who the hell did this?’
Nobody answered.
The thread was black.
Thick.
Crude.
Eleven stitches.
Later, the coroner would discover something worse.
Earl had been alive when his mouth was sewn closed.
But that wasn’t what disturbed Pike most.
It was the blood.
There should have been gallons.
There wasn’t.
Some on the stairs.
Some upstairs.
Some on Frank.
But nowhere near enough.
Pike looked around the room.
‘Where’s the rest?’
One of the men said:
‘Maybe downstairs.’
It wasn’t.
They searched.
Nothing.
No pools beneath the floorboards.
No soaked carpets.
No bloody tools.
No bucket.
No trail.
Nothing.
It was as if most of Earl Whitcomb’s blood had simply disappeared.
Frank told the story three times.
Each version was the same.
Earl went to the toilet.
Disappeared.
Knocking upstairs.
Glass reappeared.
Door rattled.
Earl returned covered in blood.
He heard his dead mother.
Ran upstairs.
Screamed.
Frank followed.
Then—
Frank couldn’t explain what he’d seen.
‘There was someone with him.’
Deputy Pike leaned forward.
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Man or woman?’
Frank rubbed his hands together.
They wouldn’t stop shaking.
‘Neither.’
Pike waited.
‘What does that mean?’
Frank stared at him.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You said someone was with him.’
‘Something.’
‘What?’
Frank began crying.
‘It was behind him.’
‘Describe it.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Try.’
Frank shook his head.
‘Too tall.’
Pike said nothing.
‘Too thin.’
‘What was it wearing?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you see its face?’
Frank covered his own face.
‘That’s the problem.’
‘What?’
Frank looked through his fingers.
‘It had Earl’s.’
Frank Dwyer was arrested two days later.
There was nobody else to arrest.
The newspapers called it a drunken killing.
The prosecution said Frank and Earl had argued after closing.
Frank murdered him.
Dismembered him.
Cleaned most of the scene.
Then invented a ridiculous story.
There were problems.
No murder weapon was ever found.
Nobody explained how Frank could have dismembered a grown man with such precision.
Nobody explained the missing blood.
Nobody explained why Frank’s clothes contained Earl’s blood but none of the tissue that should have covered him if he’d performed the mutilation.
Nobody explained how one man could have done everything within the available time.
Nobody explained the black thread.
It wasn’t found anywhere else in the building.
Frank’s attorney pointed all of this out.
The jury deliberated for six hours.
Guilty.
Frank went to prison.
The Buffalo closed for nine days.
On the tenth, it reopened.
The upstairs room remained locked.
For a while.
People talked.
Of course they did.
Some believed Frank.
Most didn’t.
Stories developed.
Earl had been involved with somebody’s wife.
Earl owed money.
Earl had been cheating at cards.
Frank had been insane.
Frank and Earl were secretly lovers.
Anything was preferable to what Frank said happened.
Years passed.
The story became smaller.
Then funny.
Then mostly forgotten.
Frank Dwyer died in prison in 1968.
He maintained his innocence until the end.
His final letter was sent to the man who owned the Buffalo at the time.
It contained only one paragraph.
I didn’t kill Earl. I know you don’t believe me. I don’t care anymore. But if you hear someone you love calling from upstairs after closing, don’t answer them. It knows their voices. That’s how it gets you to come closer.
The owner kept the letter.
He never showed it to police.
He also never went upstairs alone after dark.
Three weeks after Earl Whitcomb’s murder, a waitress named Betty Cole was closing the bar.
She was alone.
She’d been told not to be.
But the other bartender’s daughter had a fever, and Betty wasn’t afraid of ghosts.
She didn’t believe in them.
She stacked the final glasses.
Turned off the lights.
Checked the back door.
As she reached for her coat, something knocked above her.
Three times.
Betty stopped.
She looked towards the ceiling.
‘No.’
Silence.
She put on her coat.
Another three knocks.
Betty walked towards the front door.
Then she heard a voice upstairs.
‘Betty?’
Her hand stopped on the lock.
She knew that voice.
Impossible.
Her little brother Tommy had died during the war.
Normandy.
- 1944.
Betty hadn’t heard his voice in six years.
‘Betts?’
She began crying.
‘Tommy?’
Upstairs, something laughed.
Betty ran.
She didn’t lock the door.
Didn’t turn around.
Didn’t come back to work the next day.
Or ever.
The Buffalo found another waitress.
It always did.
By spring, tourists were coming through Idaho Springs again.
Beer was poured.
Meals were served.
People laughed.
Nobody mentioned Earl Whitcomb.
Nobody mentioned Frank Dwyer.
Nobody mentioned the thing upstairs that knew the voices of the dead.
But beneath the bar, beneath Miner Street, beneath foundations laid by people who believed they were building something new, water moved slowly through the mountain.
And somewhere inside the Buffalo, three soft knocks waited for closing time.
———————
THE HOLLOW SEASON
Chapter Nine — People Who Stay
By Monday morning, Rachel and Eric Mason were officially missing.
By Monday afternoon, they were content.
Alex hated that word.
Content.
Their smiling faces appeared in videos.
Posts.
Local Facebook groups.
TikTok.
People who had never met them analysed the final photograph Rachel posted from Idaho Springs.
Somebody enlarged the background and circled random people.
Someone claimed Eric had murdered Rachel.
Someone else decided Rachel had murdered Eric.
A woman with four hundred thousand followers spent eleven minutes explaining why the position of Rachel’s handbag proved their marriage was troubled.
Alex watched thirty seconds before throwing his phone onto the bed.
‘Fucking people.’
His laptop chimed.
ASSIGNMENT DUE: ALGEBRA II
‘Fuck you too.’
Online school had advantages.
Math wasn’t one of them.
Alex looked out his bedroom window.
Grey sky.
Mountains.
Jessica’s car was gone.
Steve’s was gone too.
That didn’t mean anything anymore.
Alex knew where Steve was.
He always knew.
The Buffalo.
Sometimes Steve went there for lunch.
Sometimes a beer.
Sometimes he disappeared for six hours and came home smelling like whiskey, old wood and something Alex couldn’t identify.
Steve hadn’t been drunk every night.
That almost made it worse.
There wasn’t an easy explanation.
He simply preferred being there.
Alex opened his algebra assignment.
His phone vibrated.
Come outside.
He smiled before checking the sender.
Jyllian.
School.
Three dots appeared.
You’re staring out the window.
Alex immediately looked outside.
Nobody.
Where are you?
Outside.
I don’t see you.
That sounds like a personal problem.
Alex laughed.
I have algebra.
Gross.
Agreed.
Bring it.
Bring algebra outside?
Yes.
Why?
Because I miss you.
Alex stared at the message.
Read it again.
Something ridiculous happened in his chest.
He typed:
It’s been like 18 hours.
Her response came immediately.
Long 18 hours.
Alex closed the laptop.
Algebra could go fuck itself.
Jyllian was sitting on the front steps.
Alex opened the door.
‘How long have you been sitting there?’
‘Long enough to question your fashion choices.’
Alex looked down.
Sweatpants.
Hoodie.
‘I’m doing school.’
‘You look homeless.’
‘You look dead.’
Jyllian went still.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Alex laughed.
‘That bad?’
She recovered.
‘Worse.’
He sat beside her.
‘You said bring it.’
‘Did you?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Rebel.’
‘I punched someone my first day. We’ve established this.’
Jyllian smiled.
Then Alex noticed the paper bag beside her.
‘What’s that?’
‘Breakfast.’
‘It’s two in the afternoon.’
‘Time is a construct.’
‘That’s something people say when they wake up at noon.’
She handed him the bag.
Pastry.
Still warm.
Alex took a bite.
‘Okay.’
‘Good?’
‘Terrible.’
He took another.
Jyllian leaned against him.
It happened naturally.
Her shoulder against his.
Head against his arm.
Alex stopped chewing.
She noticed.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re weird.’
‘You’re lying on me.’
‘I can stop.’
‘Didn’t say that.’
She smiled.
Stayed.
Alex looked down at her.
For somebody who was constantly strange, Jyllian could occasionally make everything feel remarkably normal.
That might have been what he liked most.
They walked towards town around three.
Alex didn’t mention the Masons.
Neither did Jyllian.
He wanted one afternoon without missing people.
His mother.
Rachel.
Eric.
Whatever Jyllian knew.
Whatever his father wasn’t telling him.
They walked along the creek.
Jyllian found a flat stone and skipped it twice.
Alex found one and managed four.
‘Show-off.’
‘Natural talent.’
‘Luck.’
‘Jealousy is ugly.’
‘So are your sweatpants.’
Alex looked down.
‘I forgot I was wearing these.’
‘I didn’t.’
They wandered farther than usual.
Away from Main Street.
Away from tourists.
Eventually Jyllian stopped beside an old fence.
Beyond it, trees climbed towards the mountain.
‘Can I ask you something?’
Alex groaned.
‘You mocked me when I said that.’
‘I know.’
‘Hypocrite.’
‘Definitely.’
She became serious.
‘If you could leave tomorrow, would you?’
‘Idaho Springs?’
‘Yeah.’
Alex didn’t hesitate.
‘Probably.’
Something changed in her face.
‘Oh.’
He noticed.
‘Why?’
‘No reason.’
‘Jyllian.’
She picked at a loose thread on her jacket.
‘Just asking.’
Alex watched her.
‘Would you?’
She laughed softly.
‘Leave?’
‘Yeah.’
Jyllian looked towards the mountains.
For a long time she said nothing.
‘I’d like to.’
‘Then why don’t you?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Parents?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Money?’
‘Something like that too.’
Alex smiled.
‘Everything in your life is something like something.’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Where would you go?’
That question seemed to surprise her.
She thought about it.
‘I don’t know.’
‘You’ve never thought about it?’
‘I think about leaving.’
‘But not where you’d go?’
Jyllian shook her head.
Alex laughed.
‘That’s backwards.’
‘Maybe.’
‘I’d go somewhere warm.’
‘You hate heat.’
‘Somewhere moderately warm.’
‘Very adventurous.’
‘California.’
‘Too expensive.’
‘Arizona.’
‘Too hot.’
‘Oregon.’
‘That’s not warm.’
‘You’re making this difficult.’
Jyllian smiled.
Alex looked at her.
‘What about New York?’
She wrinkled her nose.
‘Too many people.’
‘Chicago?’
‘Cold.’
‘Florida?’
‘Absolutely fucking not.’
Alex laughed.
‘Okay. You’re staying here.’
Jyllian’s smile faded.
‘I know.’
He didn’t understand why those two words sounded so sad.
Jessica was waiting when Steve walked into the house at 7:40.
She sat at the kitchen table.
No television.
No music.
No dinner.
Steve stopped.
‘Uh-oh.’
Jessica didn’t smile.
‘Where were you?’
Steve put his keys down.
‘Out.’
‘Where?’
He sighed.
‘Buffalo.’
‘Of course.’
Steve opened the refrigerator.
‘Did you eat?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Okay.’
He took out a bottle of water.
Jessica watched him.
‘Are you sleeping with someone?’
Steve nearly dropped it.
‘What?’
‘It’s a straightforward question.’
‘Jesus Christ, Jess.’
‘Are you?’
‘No.’
‘Then what are you doing?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You spend more time at that bar than you spend here.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘You were there five hours yesterday.’
‘I was talking to people.’
‘You don’t talk to me.’
Steve opened the bottle.
‘We’re talking now.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Do that.’
Steve leaned against the counter.
He was tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘I want you to tell me why you don’t want to be here.’
Steve looked at her.
There it was.
The question he’d been avoiding.
‘I do want to be here.’
Jessica shook her head.
‘No, you don’t.’
‘Jess.’
‘You don’t.’
Her eyes filled.
That surprised him.
Jessica didn’t cry often.
‘You moved into my house and immediately started acting like you’re trapped.’
‘I never said that.’
‘You don’t have to.’
Steve looked away.
Jessica continued.
‘Alex hates me.’
‘Alex doesn’t hate you.’
‘He absolutely hates me.’
‘He’s having a hard time.’
‘He’s always having a hard time.’
Steve’s eyes returned to her.
‘Careful.’
Jessica laughed bitterly.
‘See?’
‘See what?’
‘I can’t say anything about him.’
‘You can say whatever you want. I’m telling you he’s struggling.’
‘And what about me?’
Steve said nothing.
‘Exactly.’
Jessica wiped beneath one eye.
‘Do you love me?’
Steve felt something inside him drop.
Such a simple question.
He knew the correct answer.
He also knew the truthful one.
Unfortunately, they weren’t quite the same.
‘Of course I love you.’
Jessica studied him.
‘That’s not what I asked.’
Steve frowned.
‘You literally asked if I love you.’
‘Are you in love with me?’
Silence.
Steve hated her for asking.
Not because the question was unfair.
Because it wasn’t.
‘Jessica.’
She stood.
‘Wow.’
‘Don’t.’
‘You can’t even say it.’
‘I love you.’
‘That’s not the same thing.’
Steve stared at her.
She understood.
That was the worst part.
‘I think I’m going to bed.’
‘Jess.’
She walked upstairs.
Steve remained in the kitchen.
His phone sat on the counter.
He looked at it.
Then at the stairs.
He could follow her.
He should.
Instead, Steve picked up his keys.
Dan saw him walk back into the Buffalo at 8:26.
‘You again.’
Steve sat down.
‘You complaining?’
‘Depends how much you’re tipping.’
Steve smiled.
‘Whiskey.’
Dan didn’t move.
‘Beer.’
‘Whiskey.’
‘You look like whiskey’s already involved in whatever problem brought you here.’
‘Dan.’
‘Beer.’
Steve sighed.
‘Fine.’
Dan poured one.
Steve drank.
‘Relationship trouble?’
‘Do bartenders actually do this?’
‘Only when customers make it incredibly obvious.’
Steve stared at the bottles behind the bar.
‘She asked if I’m in love with her.’
Dan winced.
‘That’ll do it.’
‘I love her.’
‘Didn’t ask me.’
‘I do.’
‘Okay.’
‘But—’
‘Definitely didn’t ask me.’
Steve laughed despite himself.
Dan smiled.
‘Drink your beer.’
Steve did.
The Buffalo was quiet tonight.
A few locals.
Two tourists eating near the window.
Someone playing something soft on the jukebox.
Steve relaxed.
Again.
Always.
He hated how quickly it happened.
‘Dan.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Do you ever feel like this place wants you here?’
Dan stopped wiping the bar.
Steve laughed.
‘That sounded stupid.’
Dan didn’t laugh.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know.’
Steve looked around.
‘Every time I come in here, I feel better.’
‘That’s generally the business model.’
‘Not drunk better.’
‘I know.’
Steve looked at him.
Dan’s expression had changed.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You and my son would get along.’
‘Why?’
‘Everybody keeps saying nothing.’
Dan put down the towel.
‘Maybe spend less time here.’
Steve smiled.
‘That’s terrible business advice.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘Why?’
Dan looked towards the ceiling.
Steve followed his gaze.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
Steve laughed.
‘There it is again.’
Then something knocked upstairs.
Three times.
Dan froze.
Steve looked up.
‘Someone up there?’
Dan didn’t answer.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Steve frowned.
‘Dan?’
Dan walked towards the back.
‘Stay here.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Stay here.’
The knocking stopped.
Dan disappeared through the hallway.
Steve stared after him.
A few seconds later, someone sat beside him.
Steve turned.
Jyllian.
He startled.
‘Jesus.’
She smiled.
‘Sorry.’
‘Where did you come from?’
‘Outside.’
Steve looked towards the entrance.
He hadn’t seen her come in.
‘You’re Alex’s friend.’
‘Jyllian.’
‘Right.’
Steve studied her.
That feeling again.
Recognition without memory.
‘Have we met?’
‘You keep asking me that.’
Steve frowned.
‘Have I asked before?’
Jyllian’s smile disappeared.
‘You don’t remember?’
Something cold moved through him.
‘Remember what?’
She looked towards the hallway where Dan had disappeared.
Then back at Steve.
‘You shouldn’t be here tonight.’
Steve laughed nervously.
‘Everybody suddenly hates this bar.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘So was Dan.’
‘Then listen to him.’
Steve looked at her.
‘Why?’
Jyllian leaned closer.
For the first time, Steve noticed her eyes.
Not the colour.
Something in them.
Something impossibly familiar.
His stomach tightened.
A memory flashed.
Summer.
- 1975.
Nora running ahead of him.
A girl laughing.
A hand grabbing his.
Don’t tell Dad.
Gone.
Steve gasped.
Jyllian caught his arm.
‘Steve?’
He jerked away.
‘Don’t touch me.’
She looked hurt.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Who are you?’
Before she could answer, Dan returned.
He saw Jyllian.
His face darkened.
‘You.’
Steve looked between them.
‘You know her.’
Dan ignored him.
‘Jyllian. Outside.’
‘I’m talking to Steve.’
‘No, you’re not.’
Steve stood.
‘Hold on.’
Dan looked at him.
‘Go home.’
‘What the hell is going on?’
‘Go home to Jessica.’
Steve laughed.
‘How do you know Jessica?’
‘Because I live here.’
‘Everybody knows everything in this fucking town.’
Jyllian said quietly:
‘Not everything.’
Steve looked at her.
Another flash.
Nora.
Blood on a white shirt.
A motorcycle.
Someone screaming.
Steve grabbed the bar.
‘Dad?’
He spun.
Alex stood in the doorway.
‘What are you doing here?’
Alex looked at Jyllian.
Then Steve.
Then Dan.
‘Apparently interrupting something.’
Jyllian stood.
‘Alex—’
‘Why are you here?’
‘I came to find Dan.’
‘Why?’
‘Alex.’
‘No. You keep telling me this place is dangerous and then you’re hanging out inside it with my dad?’
Steve looked between them.
‘She told you it’s dangerous?’
Alex ignored him.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’
Jyllian stared at him.
‘I don’t want you involved.’
‘Little late.’
‘I’m trying to protect you.’
Alex laughed.
‘From what?’
Jyllian didn’t answer.
The lights flickered.
Dan looked towards the ceiling.
‘Everybody out.’
Steve sighed.
‘Seriously?’
‘Now.’
The two tourists looked over.
Dan pointed towards the door.
‘Sorry, folks. Problem with the building. We’re closing.’
One of them complained.
Dan didn’t care.
Alex stared at Jyllian.
‘Come with me.’
She hesitated.
‘Jyllian.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why?’
The lights flickered again.
Three knocks came from upstairs.
Jyllian’s face changed.
Dan whispered:
‘Oh, fuck.’
Steve looked at him.
‘What?’
Nobody answered.
Then a woman’s voice came from upstairs.
Soft.
Distant.
‘Steve?’
Steve went white.
Alex looked at him.
‘Dad?’
The voice came again.
‘Stevie?’
Steve stopped breathing.
Nobody had called him Stevie in decades.
Nobody except—
‘Nora?’
Jyllian closed her eyes.
Dan grabbed Steve’s arm.
‘Don’t answer it.’
Steve pulled away.
‘That’s my sister.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Nora?’
The voice laughed softly upstairs.
Steve moved towards the hallway.
Dan blocked him.
‘Steve.’
‘Get out of my way.’
‘That’s not Nora.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘I do.’
Steve shoved him.
Alex grabbed his father.
‘Dad!’
Upstairs:
‘Stevie, help me.’
Steve’s face collapsed.
For one horrible moment, Alex didn’t see his father.
He saw a frightened little boy.
‘Nora.’
Jyllian stepped forward.
‘STOP.’
Everything went silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
The jukebox stopped.
Refrigerators stopped humming.
Traffic disappeared.
Even the building seemed to stop breathing.
Jyllian stared towards the ceiling.
Her voice changed.
Lower.
Harder.
‘You can’t have him.’
Alex looked at her.
Dan did too.
Something moved upstairs.
Slow footsteps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Towards the staircase.
Jyllian backed away.
‘Everybody outside.’
Dan didn’t argue.
Neither did Steve.
They moved.
Alex grabbed Jyllian’s hand.
She came with him.
They spilled onto Main Street.
The Buffalo door slammed shut behind them.
On its own.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Steve stared at the building.
Alex stared at Jyllian.
Dan stared at both.
Finally Alex said:
‘Who the fuck is Nora?’
Steve looked at his son.
His eyes filled with tears.
‘My sister.’
Alex frowned.
‘I don’t have an aunt.’
Steve looked back at the Buffalo.
‘No.’
His voice broke.
‘You don’t.’
Across the street, Jyllian slowly let go of Alex’s hand.
Alex looked at her.
She was crying.
‘Jyllian?’
She wiped her face.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’
She looked at Steve.
Then at Alex.
For one terrifying second, Alex thought she might tell him.
Instead she stepped backwards.
‘Don’t follow me.’
‘What?’
‘Please.’
She turned and ran.
Alex started after her.
Dan caught him.
‘Let her go.’
‘Get off me.’
‘Alex.’
‘She knows something about my dad.’
‘I know.’
Alex stopped.
‘You know?’
Dan looked exhausted.
‘I know she knows.’
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘It’s the only one I’ve got.’
Steve was still staring at the Buffalo.
‘1975.’
Dan turned.
Steve whispered:
‘We were here.’
‘Who?’
‘Me and Nora.’
His face twisted as another memory surfaced.
‘Something happened.’
Alex stepped towards him.
‘What happened?’
Steve looked at his son.
‘I don’t know.’
And this time Alex believed him.
Jyllian didn’t stop running until Main Street was behind her.
She climbed.
Past houses.
Past lights.
Towards the darker edge of town.
Finally she stopped beneath the trees.
She bent over, hands on her knees.
Crying.
Angry.
‘You bastard.’
Nobody answered.
She looked back towards Idaho Springs.
‘Leave him alone.’
Wind moved through the trees.
Jyllian wiped her face.
‘You already got what you wanted.’
A voice answered behind her.
‘Did I?’
Jyllian froze.
She slowly turned.
Nobody.
Only trees.
Darkness.
Then laughter.
Not male.
Not female.
Old.
Jyllian backed away.
‘The deal was made.’
The voice came from somewhere else now.
‘Yes.’
Jyllian’s face hardened.
‘Then stay away from Alex.’
Silence.
For several seconds, nothing.
Then:
‘Which one?’
Jyllian stopped.
The colour drained from her face.
The voice laughed.
Jyllian ran.
And far below her, every light inside the Buffalo went out at once.
—————————
