Her grandfather waves a hand. “Yes, that’d be fine. Put her on my floor, will you?”
The girl’s knees lose their strength, but the man steadies her, keeping her close. “The room next to mine will suit her better, I think. Closer to the restroom, closer to the stairs. Has a balcony. What do you say, sweetheart, would you like a balcony?”
Her mouth is dry, her lips cracked from the flames. “Yes, I—I think I’d like that, Javan.”
Javan!
Through the girl’s eyes, I sneak a look at the old man once again. At the cane trembling on his arm. My glance is brief before her eyes are slammed shut, but I’ve seen enough to know the girl’s fear is not in vain. I’ve watched this man try to buy children. I’ve watched him laugh at the terror leaking from their tiny frames.
Henry Madison.
I’m flailing, I know I am. Trying to get out of this girl’s head, out of this nightmare. I finally succeed in opening my eyes, but it’s Javan’s ghastly celestial form that stares back at me. The gaunt face, blackened skin stretched over it, dead black eyes. They swallow me whole and I scream out, finally wrenching myself upright.
The warm light of the old Miller place greets my frantic form. Jake’s just inches from my face, his arms around mine, holding me still. Marco’s sitting in the arm chair across from me, his eyes wide, his face white.
“Hey, hey. You’re all right.”
I’m slick with sweat, my hands shaking. Like the girl’s. The girl in Javan’s care. We have to do something. I will my eyes to focus and turn them on Jake. He has a scratch on his neck, and his eye is red and swelling fast.
“Did I do that?” I say, reaching for his face.
“It’s fine,” he says, taking my hands and pressing them between his. “What was that?”
His touch brings me back to the now, to the reality of where I am.
“Nightmare,” I say. “I had a nightmare.”
Jake’s eyes are asking all kinds of questions, but it’s the statement that escapes Marco’s lips that demands attention.
“You said Henry.”
I roll my neck, leaning back against the couch. “Did I? I don’t . . . He was there. In my dream, my nightmare.”
“Does he always visit your nightmares?” Marco asks, leaning forward in the chair, his hands clenching the cushion.
I glance at Jake, but he looks as confused as I feel. “No. Never before. Why?”
“Because I dream about that monster every night.”
11
Jake
The chest is still empty. Well, not empty. The dagger’s still there, inscrutable, taunting. Jake closes it away, careful not to wake Marco. He’s out, snoring softly on Canaan’s bed, his shag of black hair hanging over the side. Jake leaves him there and retreats to the kitchen where he takes refuge at the table. He sits, his hands in fists, his body unable to relax. He tries praying, but his mind won’t still.
Brielle’s nightmare was far too detailed to be just a nightmare. Too specific. Too terrible.
Jake has very little experience with visions and prophetic dreams. He’s heard stories, of course, read accounts in Scripture, but such things are less prolific now, it seems, less common than they used to be. He needs to talk to Canaan, but he’s been gone all night. So Jake sits up, hoping to catch him before the barbecue, hoping they have some time to discuss Brielle’s dream.
And Marco. Jake didn’t realize just how much Marco remembered about the night at the warehouse. It seems doubt didn’t shroud everything.
“I see him every night,” Marco said. “I see him laughing and clapping. Mocking the children he came to purchase. And then, right before I have the chance to show him what it’s like to be victimized, he disappears. Just like he did that night. You remember that, don’t you? Him disappearing. You remember that?”
He and Brielle sat in silence while Marco ranted. They dodged questions. They didn’t dare look at one another. But Jake’s certain Marco won’t let this go. As yet, he hasn’t been able to locate a last name for Henry, but it’s not for lack of trying. Jake stares into the darkness and wonders just how big a mission this has become.
If Brielle’s dream holds any truth, Javan’s out there somewhere. In Portland, most likely. Just hours away, reunited with Henry and terrorizing a young girl. Which means Canaan’s intel is faulty. And if his intel on Javan is faulty, who’s to say Damien is still suffering the pit?