Tom felt terrible for the guy, and he didn’t like making him talk about it. But for Roy’s sake, he had to ask. “But you think there was a reason.”
“Something in Butler House did this to me. I’m sure of it. Something evil. That’s why I begged Roy to stay away. And you should stay away, too.”
Tom pursed his lips.
“Look, your partner, your friend, Roy. He’s dead, man. Butler House got him. And if you go looking for him, you’re going to die.”
“Thanks for your time and insights, Rich. I’ve got to get going.”
Tom disconnected, guilty about his lie. He didn’t have to leave. He just couldn’t stand looking at Rich’s disfigured face anymore, and the conversation had greatly disturbed him.
Tom’s hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood at attention, and he had a very strong feeling he was being watched. By who? Eavesdropping co-workers?
Or was someone else watching? Someone, or…
Some thing.
Tom swiveled around, seeking the staring eyes he knew were on him.
But no one was there.
At least, no one he could see.
Realizing he was letting his imagination mess with him, Tom called Joan’s cell phone. Thankfully, his girlfriend picked up on the third ring.
“Tom? I’m in the middle of something. Director wants a rewrite on set, writer is throwing a hissy fit. Is this important?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice, babe.”
“That’s sweet. Can I call you back?”
“Yeah, sure. And hey, wait… Joan… you still there?
“Yes?”
“Did you write anything on my mirror?”
“What?”
“My bathroom mirror. Someone wrote I’m watching you on it.”
“Wasn’t me. Gotta go, lover. Call you soon.”
His long distance romance hung up, and Tom’s creepy feeling got a whole lot creepier.
THE NEXT DAY
Charleston International Airport
Frank
Dr. Frank Belgium walked out of the baggage claim area and onto the sidewalk, the warm blast of summer air welcome against his overly air-conditioned body. The plane had been chilled to meat-locker temperature, so cold he’d had to ask an attendant for a blanket. The airport had been similarly refrigerated.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the temperate heat warm him. But he couldn’t feel the sun’s rays.
Belgium squinted up at the overcast sky. The clouds were an ugly swirl of gray and black, but the air didn’t feel humid or sticky. It didn’t look like rain. It just looked ominous.
A man of science, Belgium publicly scoffed at the paranormal. Omens. Superstition. The afterlife. These didn’t hold up to the scientific method, and had no empirical evidence to support them.
But privately, he feared the supernatural. Because he had, in a way, experienced it. To Belgium, the sky looked like a warning meant specifically for him. Like a big sign that said GO BACK WHILE YOU STILL CAN.
Something reddish brown darted toward Belgium, swooping into his peripheral vision, and he dropped his carryon bag and ducked down, emitting a less-than-masculine yelp as he did. Covering his head with his hands, he prepared himself for another attack.
“It’s a finch,” a female voice said from behind him.
Belgium turned, squinting through his fingers. “What?”
“A house finch. They won’t hurt you.”
Belgium stared at the woman. She was maybe in her late thirties, short hair, baggy sweater, no make-up. He could guess, on a good day, she’d be cute. But it didn’t look to Belgium if she’d had any good days in a while.
He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry.
“Oh. Thanks. I I I thought it was a…” he let his voice drift off, and then picked up his bag and stood up, warily searching the area for more dive-bombing finches.
“You thought it was what?” the woman asked.
“Hmm? Oh. A bat.”
“A red bat?”
Belgium frowned. “You’d be surprised.”
The woman shrugged. Belgium glanced around, trying to get his heart rate under control, wondering why there weren’t any cabs. Shouldn’t an airport have cabs?
He watched a traveler cross the street, where he was met by a blue Honda. A woman got out, they had a quick but poignant hug, and then he loaded his suitcase and got into the car and they drove off.
“Where are the taxis?” the finch lady asked.
“I don’t know. I’m waiting for one one one myself.”
Another minute passed. Belgium considered renting a car. But he didn’t want to go back into that freezer of an airport. In fact, he didn’t want to be in South Carolina at all. The thought of being arrested for treason began to hold some appeal. At least, in that case, he knew what to expect. Knew who his enemy was.
There was security in knowing. But the unknown, however…
“Do you have a cell phone?” the finch lady asked him.
“Hmm?”
“To call a taxi.”
“No. Don’t carry one. You?”
“Me neither. We’re probably the last two people in the world who don’t.”
Finally, a lone yellow cab pulled onto the throughway. Belgium held up his hand and at the same time noticed his companion did as well. He’d gotten there first. And at the rate cabs arrived at this airport, this could be the last one of the day. But even though Belgium was rattled, and hadn’t been with a woman for a very long time, he still had a streak of chivalry in him.
“You can take it,” he summoned the courage to say.
“Are you sure? You were here first.”
The cab pulled up. Belgium took a quick look at the sky again, which was getting even uglier.
“It’s okay. I’m sure sure sure another one will come along.”
The lady smiled, and it took ten years off her face. “I didn’t know there were any gentlemen left. We could share it.”
“I’m heading west. Solidarity.”
Her brow crinkled. “Really? So am I.”
Belgium did a quick mental calculation on how coincidental that was, and considering Solidarity had a population of less than a thousand, he found the odds to be extremely high. Unless…
“The Butler House?” he asked.
The woman nodded, eyes wide.
He remembered his manners and offered his hand. “Frank Belgium.”
“Sara Randhurst,” she said. Her touch was soft and warm, her grip strong.
Belgium opened the door for her, then helped the cabbie put their bags in the trunk. When everyone was seated, he gave the driver the address.
“I don’t go there,” was the gruff reply.
“Pardon me?”
“The Butler House. No hacks go there. Bad news, that place.”
Belgium considered asking how close he’d take them, but then realized they’d have the same problem once they got there. Renting a car was still an option, but that would be a hassle.
Plus, he had the paranoid delusion that if he left the cab, the sky would open up and lightning would fry him.
“I’ll double your fare,” Belgium said.
“No way.”
“Triple it.”
The cabbie turned around in the driver’s seat to face him. “You serious?”
Belgium nodded.
The cabbie let out a noise that was part sigh, part shrug, and said, “It’s your funeral buddy.”
They pulled out of the airport parking lot and headed west, into the woods. Belgium kept his eyes out the window, trying to look casual instead of nervous. He was aware that the side of Sara’s foot touched his, and he was hoping she’d keep it there. That small measure of human contact was keeping him grounded.