Blind Sight Page 4

  Thank the late, great Steve Jobs for her iPod. She put the ear buds in place, cranked the volume up, and looked out the passenger window. Hours later, she felt Quinn slap her on the leg. She glanced over to see him jabbing the tuner button on the radio repeatedly. Jordan pulled the ear buds from her ears, silencing Rob Thomas in mid-song.

  “How in the happy hell does anyone listen to this mess?” Quinn pressed the button again, only to land on another bubble-gum-pop station. A popular teen boy was singing the same lyrics over and over. Jordan cringed.

  “He sounds like a dying cow in a hail storm! Grab me something decent to listen to outta my CD case, would ya?”

  She unbuckled her seat-belt and reached around the narrow bucket seat to dig through the mounds of junk. Finally, her hands touched leather and she pulled the case loose with a grunt. Another CD tumbled out of the mess and she picked it up before turning back around.

  “George Jones?” She looked at Quinn, amused.

  He glanced away from the road to the CD she held up for inspection. He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Case must’ve left it in here.” He made a face. “That’s too bad. I’m sure Nathan would’ve enjoyed listening to The Possum sing about rose-colored glasses.”

  Jordan laughed. “I’m sure he’s hearing all about how Garth has friends in low places.”

  Quinn cracked a smile. “I guess that’s torture enough, then.”

  She held up AC/DC’s Back in Black and he nodded his approval. She popped it in; seconds later, the familiar riffs from Angus Young’s guitar filled the car. Jordan rubbed her temples. A headache pounded in time with the music. She felt as weary as the sad, back roads they traveled. The bed at the hotel they’d stayed in the night before must have been a recycled torture device from the Middle Ages. She’d tossed and turned all night.

  Jordan made a pillow of her duffle bag. She couldn’t help but smile at the peaceful moment she’d shared with Quinn. Within moments, the humming of the tires on the road, the music, and the familiar smell of her brother’s cologne carried her to sleep.

  “Jordan…”

  “I don’t need to go to the bathroom. Lemme sleep.”

  “Jordaaannn…”

  That wasn’t Quinn’s voice. She sat up, panic making her hands shake. The road before her looked the same, winding - with no scenery to speak of. Music still blared from the speakers.

  “Do all humans sleep as much as you or is imitating slugs a talent of yours?”

  Jordan snapped her head to the left. Quinn was gone. In his place, driving his most prized possession was a man she’d never seen before – at least not in person.

  “What the hell…?” She grabbed for the knife on her hip.

  “Easy, G.I. Jane, I’m not here to hurt you. Aamon sent me to deliver a message.”

  Another demon. This was getting old real quick. Like angels, demons could only come to earth if they possessed a human (unless they were born demons). However, unlike angels, who only chose a person of deep faith who requested to be a vessel, demons hijacked whomever they wanted. They favored famous people; you’d be surprised how many actors, singers, and other high-profile members of society already have a seat reserved in Hell. This one had borrowed a rather short, very famous actor for a while. His feet barely reached the pedals of the Charger.

  “Dammit,” he muttered. “I knew I should have chosen someone taller.”

  “What do you want? Where the hell is my brother?” Jordan held the knife up to his heart. “You’ve got one minute to answer before I turn you into a pincushion.”

  The demon smiled. “You wouldn’t destroy a man who’s brought so much entertainment to the world would you? That movie with the fighter pilots alone is enough to keep him around. Besides, you can’t kill me, Jordan.”

  She pressed the point of her blade into his skin – not hard enough to cause serious damage, but enough to make him flinch. The reaction from the silver was instant. The tiny wound began to sizzle and pop as it burned. Demons hated silver (among other things) and enough of it into the heart would send them back to Hell.

  “I know I can’t kill you,” she growled. “But I heard the trip back home is a painful bitch. As for your puppet, well; I’ve never been a big fan of his.”

  “Your brother is fine. He’s around and he won’t remember any of this.”

  She pressed the knife a little farther in. The demon squealed.

  “I swear! He’s fine, now remove the damn knife! This shirt isn’t cheap! Good silk is hard to find these days.”

  Jordan moved the knife away from his skin, but held it in position to strike quickly.

  “Talk fast.”

  He gave the steering wheel a loving pat. “This is a nice ride. You know, I used to own a posh, 1968--“

  She sliced across his arm, drawing blood as the wound smoked. The smell of burning flesh permeated the car, mixing with the smell of sulfur demons always carried.

  “Hey--!”

  “I said talk! What the hell do you want?”

  “My puppet is not going to be happy about his shirt.” The demon fretted over the ruined material until Jordan raised the knife again. “Okay, okay! I was sent to tell you that unless you want to end up being your family’s next job, you need to learn to control your emotions.”

  Control her emotions? Why would she become her family’s next job? Shaking her head, Jordan poised herself to deliver the final blow. Big-time actor or not, this demon had to go.

  “Wait! I’m not lying to you!” In his haste to deflect the knife, he turned the wheel sharply and almost drove into the ditch.

  “Watch the road, dumbass! You’d survive a car wreck, but I wouldn’t!”

  The demon got the wheel under control. “It’s kind of hard to watch the road when a red-headed bimbo is trying to push a knife into your bloody heart! And you’d survive a crash just fine.”

  He was making no sense at all. “If all you’re gonna do is spout gibberish, then it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Don’t worry – I’m leaving. My time’s up. Just remember what I said. That pain in your eyes isn’t being caused by visions now.”

  “Where is my brother? Are you possessing him, too?”

  She looked up at the demon to find her brother staring back at her…with glowing red eyes.

  “Now I am.”

  Jordan jerked up in her seat, breathing like a race horse on its last lap. Sweat poured down her face, plastering her hair to cheeks, making her shirt stick uncomfortably.

  “Jordan! Are you with me? Jordan, answer me!”

  They were stopped at a vacant, crumbling store that had probably seen better days in the Seventies. The old mom-and-pop place was overgrown with vines, its windows were busted, its manual gas pumps were tilted from weather and neglect. Nathan’s face loomed before her.

  “A demon! There was a demon in the car and he possessed Quinn!”

  Nathan looked to his twin, who was pacing back and forth in front of the Charger. Quinn shrugged his shoulders, making circular motions with his finger beside his head, indicating he thought she was a few crayons short of a full box.

  Jordan looked around. She found her knife on the floorboard. “Look! I pulled my knife out and cut it. Look! There’s blood on the damn blade!”

  Quinn marched over, holding out his arm. “You cut me! Me, Jordan – not a demon.” He held his arm out. A cut marred the skin, no longer bleeding, but fresh – raw. “You were asleep and then suddenly you sat up, grabbed your knife and asked me where your brother was.”

  He ran his hand through his hair. Jordan had never seen him so rattled. It wasn’t a look he wore well. “I thought you were awake and asking about Nathan. The next thing I know you slashed my arm and I had to pull over. You kept asking where your brother was and talking about sending me back to Hell…I didn’t know what to think.”

  Jordan stared at his arm. She did that to him -- attacked her own brother! She shook her head in denial. “I wasn’t asking for Nathan,
” she whispered. “I was asking for you. He had you and I couldn’t…I couldn’t…”

  She trailed off. She could still smell it – the burning aroma of sulfur. Her eyes went to the driver’s seat. There, barely noticeable in the sunlight, was a patch of bright-yellow powder.

  “Quinn, come here!”

  He and Nathan rushed over. Uncle Case, for some reason, stood back. He hadn’t said a word at all.

  Jordan pointed to the powder. “Still think I was asleep?”

  Quinn put a finger in the substance, lifting it to his nose. His eyes grew wide in response. “It’s sulfur. How in the name of Michael’s manicured nails did sulfur get in my friggin’ car?”

  Jordan pointed from the sulfur to Quinn and back again. “I told you; the demon was driving your car! He said he was sent by Aamon to give me a message. I kept asking him where you were, Quinn, and if he was possessing you, too. Then, you showed back up with glowing eyes and his last words were ‘Now I am.’”

  She snapped open the glove compartment and pulled out two silver flasks. She held up one with a pentagram branded on the front. “Is this holy water?”

  Quinn shook his head. “Uh, no; it’s whiskey. Try the other one.”

  Jordan uncapped the whiskey-filled flask. To her brothers’ and Uncle Case’s surprise, she tipped it back, taking two quick nips. She hardly ever drank (hello, only seventeen!) unless it was for medicinal purposes, but she made an exception in this case. The whiskey burned going down, scalding away her fear.

  She grabbed the holy water, motioning for Quinn’s hand. As she unscrewed the cap, he held it in front of her and she dribbled some water on his palm. Nothing happened.

  “Sorry, just making sure.”

  “Good idea,” he agreed, shocking everyone. Nathan smirked. “What?” Quinn asked innocently. “There was a demon in my car – driving my car! I want to make sure that creep isn’t me…or I’m him…you know what I mean.”

  Uncle Case kicked a rusty beer can. He tugged his battered Stetson lower, trying to hide his concern.

  “I don’t know what’s going on here, but we need to finish this job before we can think on it properly. When we get to the campground, we’ll take precautions to demon-proof the cabin. Those freaks of nature won’t be able to get anywhere near Jordan when she sleeps. I’ll call the angels and fill them in, too.”

  He walked back to Nathan’s car. That, apparently, was the end of it for now.

  Back on the road, Quinn kept throwing cursory glances her way. It made her uncomfortable, but she couldn’t blame him. What was going on? Demons -- although pains in the ass -- were usually not their main objectives on hunts. For the most part, they let other creatures do their dirty work – cause all the chaos. They only got their hands dirty if there was something in it for them. What did they want with her? She was a Slayer and former Seeker. She’d spent most of her life tracking down their kind, inflicting as much pain as possible – payback for all the innocent people they possessed and made to do unspeakable acts. By rights, they should want her deader than Marley’s ghost, and yet, they hadn’t hurt her. She’d seen the few times demons managed to take a Slayer down. They were anything but gentle and humane in their methods of killing. They made Jack the Ripper look like Santa Claus. Of course, many of the most horrific killers were possessed: Dahmer, Heidnik, Rader, Fish, and others.

  “Why do the demons keep contacting you?”

  Quinn hit the nail on the head. Why did they keep coming to her? They wanted something; that much she was sure of. The biggest problem was that her family was and would remain in danger until they got what they wanted.

  Chapter Six

  “How long you folks plan on staying?”

  The office at the campground could only be described as comfy with a touch of macabre. The plaid armchairs, side tables with rustic lamps, and deep, wood grain desk were charming. The stuffed deer heads, raccoon, and (Lord, help us) possum, not so much. The Elk Ridge Campground boasted a name far more illustrious than its facilities. Too bad the ambience in the office did not extend to the rest of the place. Campers had a choice of moldy tents that smelled of mildew and body funk or dilapidated cabins leaning on unstable stilts, threatening to fall over any second. Uncle Case chose one of the latter, signing them in under a fake name and paying with cash.

  “We plan on staying a few days,” Case answered. “We try to get a camping trip in at least once a year. I hear the fishing around these parts is some of the best.”

  Buck, the manager, shifted the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. His ample girth strained against the denim of his faded bib overalls. He reminded Jordan of Johnny Russell – a mixture of Santa Claus and redneck, right down to the twinkling blue eyes. He reached behind him, snagging a key off a yellowed peg board. He slid it across the counter to Case. “If it’s fishing you’re after, we got a huge lake, stocked full – nice hiking trails, too.”

  Nathan ambled up to the counter, leaving Quinn to poke at the stuffed possum. “With a place as nice as this, I’d have thought there would be more people.” He motioned to the aging board behind Santa-Buck. “Sure looks like a lot of keys hanging there.”

  The manager sucked his teeth, as if trying to remove a bothersome piece of leftover food. Even from the other side of the room, Jordan could see he was buying time, wondering how much information he should divulge and if it would cost him more paying customers. She decided to help him out.

  “I overheard a couple outside when we got here; something about a missing camper? What’s that about?” She turned her attention to a stuffed vulture (sheesh! Who was this guy?), leaving the others to field the manager’s reaction.

  He held his hands up, a placating gesture. “Now, there ain’t nothing to worry about. Couple of days ago, we had a young girl go missing. She was here with her family from a neighboring town. They said she took a short hike up one of the trails. When she didn’t return by dark, they came to me to call the police. Cell phone coverage is a bit spotty up the mountain where they were camped.”

  Uncle Case looked to Jordan, as if pondering the fact that his niece was a young girl and he was worried for her safety. “Did they find her – the girl who went missing?”

  Buck looked uncomfortable. He suddenly became interested in the guest book, averting his eyes. “No…they didn’t. Police are still searching. They – they found her shirt a ways off the trail. It was torn to shreds. Amy wasn’t a local gal, she and her family lived one town over, but she hung out with some of the kids around here. It’s a damn shame.” He cleared his throat. Uncle Case started to say something, but Buck wasn’t finished.

  “Last night, two more went missing – a couple, Bradley Short and his girlfriend. He’d just started working for me about a week ago. It was his day off and him and his girl decided to spend a nice night together under the stars. They were camped in a different area of the park. Some other campers heard their screams and called 9-1-1. They managed to get a call out on their cell, but by the time police got to them, and then found the camp where the screaming came from, it was too late.” His looked out the window, his gaze distant, his frown an indication of some horror he’d seen. “The campsite was a mess -- tent shredded and splattered with blood, things strewn about. It looked like a pack of…of crazed freaks had a field day!”

  “Do the police have any idea what happened?” Quinn’s tone was subdued, a hint of anger running underneath. Jordan knew exactly who that anger was directed at. If looks could kill, she’d already be congealing on a slab at the morgue. Damn.

  Buck looked like a man torn. His eyes clouded over, as if a silent storm raged inside. “The park rangers believe it was a bear attack.” He shook his head. Clearly the manager wanted to believe this, too, but was obviously not convinced. “But I ain’t never seen a bear tear up a camp like that.”

  “Maybe you should shut down the campground for a while. You know, just until they find this…bear.”

  Buck dismissed Nathan’s
suggestion as soon as the words cleared his mouth. “I hate to sound selfish, but summer is my busiest time of year. My wife – she’s been sick for a while and our insurance don’t cover enough to keep my dog alive, much less my sweet Janus. If I don’t keep up with the medical bills, they might start denying her treatment.”

  His eyes pled for understanding. Jordan felt horrible for the man but had a hard time dismissing the fact he was putting innocent people in danger for the sake of his wife’s health. “I’m sure you all will be fine. I’ve been suggesting everyone take cabins instead of tents and park rangers are crawling all over this place like ants at a picnic. Lots of people are carrying pepper spray with them when they hike the trails, too. I don’t think there will be any more attacks.”

  The cabin looked even worse up close. Uncle Case managed to talk Buck into giving them the only shanty by the lake. He argued this particular dwelling was too secluded, and tried to convince them to take one closer. Uncle Case assured the manager they had plenty of experience and would make sure to take precautions on the trails.

  The lake was actually nice. Sweeping willows and hardwoods surrounded sparkling water that reflected the moon. Docks were set up at different points to allow for fishing or relaxing.

  “Ah! Camp Crystal Lake! How I’ve missed it.”

  Jordan smiled at Nathan’s joke. “Where’s your pepper spray?”