Dark Rite

Chapter 7

Cassie's heart raced as Grant gunned the engine and they left Wallen's Gap and Carl behind. Carl was going to be mad. She looked down at a hole in the thigh of her jeans and plucked absently at the thread, trying to decide where to begin. Now that she was alone with Grant, she couldn't seem to summon the courage to be honest with him. From the corner of her eye she saw him looking at her. She told herself not to blush, but she could feel her cheeks heating. He was cute, and not at all like the losers who populated her town.

“Can I say something?” Grant broke the silence so suddenly that she jumped. “About your boyfriend or whoever he is to you?”

Cassie nodded, not eager to hear whatever he had to say. She knew she should dump Carl, and her inability to do so embarrassed her. He was like an unsightly blemish.

“I've tried to be cool because I don't want to cause trouble for you. But I'm tired, and I'm fed up with the creepy ass people in Wallen's Gap, and if he steps to me the wrong way, or lays a hand on you where I can see him, I'm going to beat his ass.”

Now she did look directly at him. She saw resolve in his eyes and, when he directed his gaze back toward the road, looked him up and down. Cassie almost felt like she was at a livestock show as she sized him up. He wasn't bulky, like Cliff Stallard, but he was tall and lean with whipcord muscles. He looked like he could handle himself.

“Why are you telling me? I'm not the one you want to beat up.”

“In case it's going to cause a problem between you and Carl. You could…” He cleared his throat. “If you needed somewhere safe to go, you could stay at my dad's place. I guess it's my place now. I've got room.”

“There's already plenty of problems between me and Carl. Your fists won't make it better or worse. Besides, he wouldn't fight you. It's the Stallards you need to worry about. Those boys love to brawl, and they don't fight fair.”

“I met those three yesterday afternoon. They dropped by the cabin, claiming they wanted to see if I needed any help, but they were up to something. It was weird. I could almost hear the banjos playing in the background.”

She giggled and he laughed too.

“Do you think all their ancestors were brother and sister, or just the last few generations?”

“Hey now!” she protested, still laughing. “We're not all inbred hillbillies, you know.”

“Just the Stallards.”

“Right.” The moment was gone as soon as it had come, and they lapsed back into silence. Then something Grant had said rang a bell. “Hold on. You said the Stallard boys came by your place yesterday afternoon?”

“Yep.”

“Cliff Stallard was back up there late last night. He said he was driving around and ran out of gas.”

Grant snapped his head around and gave her a sharp look. “What does he drive?” She described the truck and Grant spat a curse. “He was still there this morning. When I went to leave, somebody cranked up a truck and drove away. I only caught a glimpse, but it's got to be him.”

Cassie didn't know what to say. Clearly, Cliff had stayed there all night for some odd reason. What was he doing? Keeping people away, or keeping Grant in?

“Wait a minute.” Grant arched an eyebrow. “How do you know he was at my place late last night?”

There it was. Cassie might as well tell him the truth.

“I came up there to talk to you, and he turned me away. I wanted to ask you about the book.”

Grant flinched and his face went ashen. “You know about the book?”

“I saw you reading it at the Cup of Joe, remember?”

Grant's features relaxed. “Yeah, sure. What about it?”

Cassie wasn't buying it. She could tell when someone was hiding something. Perhaps it came from her childhood, when her daddy was still bothering to try to hide his drinking from her mother. Or perhaps it came from dating guys like Carl, for whom deceit was so ingrained in their character they no longer knew how to tell the truth. In any case, Grant wasn't being honest with her.

“What book did you think I meant?”

“What?”

“I want to play poker with you sometime. I'd have your money, your car, and every stitch of your clothes, cause you can't lie for shit.”

“That last part sounded pretty good. Maybe later on tonight? I think I saw a deck of cards in the cabin.” He was trying to keep things light, but she could tell he was rattled.

“You've got a secret, Grant Shipman.” She swallowed hard. “And so do I. I've got nobody else I can trust, so how about we both come clean, and maybe we can help each other?”

She watched as he chewed on that for a minute, his jaw working and his grip tightening and relaxing on the wheel. Finally, he nodded.

“Okay, but not here. After the attorney's office, we'll find somewhere quiet and I'll tell you everything.”

Grant left the attorney's office and made his way to the cafe he and Cassie had agreed on. He felt marginally better about his father's affairs now that everything official was taken care of or in process. Red tape and bureaucracy were infuriating, but better than the worry of leaving something unfinished or some obscure law unheeded. Cassie sat in a window booth, staring worriedly across the street, playing with the straw in a big, empty milkshake glass. She looked the other way, hadn't seen him yet as he stood across the street. She was cute, but troubled. A part of him really wanted to get to know her better, but another part, maybe his sane side, screamed at him to pack up his father's stuff and get the hell out of this redneck, backwater hole.

Cassie tipped her head to one side and brushed a hand across her cheek. Was she crying? His desire to run away turned quickly to shame. This was a hole, but she was stuck here too, through no desire of her own. Cute or not, she needed his help. And, if he was honest, he needed hers. Perhaps she could help him learn more about his dad.

He crossed the street, making sure she would notice him coming and have a chance to gather herself.

“Hey,” he said simply as he entered the booth, sat down opposite her.

She gave him a broad smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Hey yourself.”

The waitress came over, took Grant's order of coffee, and raised an eyebrow at Cassie.

She shook her head. “That's all, thanks.”

The waitress gave them a wink and a knowing smile as she left.

Grant laughed. “Awkward.”

“Let 'em think whatever they like.” Cassie grinned and raised her eyebrows.

“I like that attitude.” And he did. Too often, she seemed beaten down, cowed even. When she showed a little spirit she was radiant.

They sat in silence for a while, Grant sipping his coffee, Cassie playing with her straw.

Eventually, Grant said, “So. Wanna tell me what's up?”

“Nice.” She smirked at him. “You make me go first? Some gentleman you are.”

“Okay, fine.” He raised both hands in mock surrender. “I found a creepy fucking book that looks like it's written in blood and bound in human skin, and while I was looking at it the pages came alive and moved and screamed.”

Cassie sat back in her seat, wide-eyed. He saw the panic in her, a trembling like a deer as it froze, trying to decide which way to bolt.

“You asked,” he said, before she could hightail it out of there. “And I'm pretty sure those Stallard boys are after the damn thing. Their mom came by, acting all neighborly with food and chit-chat while she stalked around the cabin looking for something. Didn't even try to hide it. Then she sent those idiot sons of hers around.”

“And you think they want the book?” Cassie’s voice was tissue-paper thin.

“Obviously. I don't know if there's anything else my dad might have left behind that they'd be after, but she did mention the book specifically.” He shrugged.

“Do they know for sure you have it?” She bit her lip, tension evident in her face.

“Not for sure, but I think they suspect. I didn't let on that I thought anything was up, and I think they don't take me seriously. Just a dumb city kid.”

Cassie nodded, said nothing. Silence descended again.

“So,” Grant said. “How about you tell me why that picture I was looking at spooked you so much?”

Cassie took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself. “I think I do things at night that I don't remember in the morning. I think I'm under some kind of control or something, like I'm acting out dreams or sleepwalking or who knows what. Carl always wants to stay over. He says he needs to look after me but I don't know if he's really helping or not. Some of the nights he's been there have been the worst. And when I saw that picture, it was like I was seeing one of my dreams or sleepwalks or whatever the hell they are.”

“You mean you dreamed a scene like that?” Grant remembered the three men, his father on one side, the ceremonial robes and all their hands on the big knife buried in the carcass of a goat.

Cassie lowered her voice. “This going to sound nuts, but I don't know if I dreamed it. It feels too real. I think I've been there, or somewhere like it. When I saw that picture it triggered a memory and I recall, I clearly recall, a dream where I was lying strapped to a wooden table and men like that, dressed that way, were all around me. Except it can't be a dream, Grant. The memory is too… real. I remember how rough the table top was, how the damp the air was, the little bit of breeze their robes made when they swished. That can't be a dream. I don't know how else to explain it.”

Grant pressed his lips together and kept his hands in his lap to control their trembling. After a moment, he said, “Can you remember any sounds?”

Cassie's face creased like she was about to cry. Grant reached out, took both her hands in his across the table.

“It's okay,” he said. “You can trust me. We can figure this stuff out.”

Cassie just nodded, face still scrunched up as tears trickled over her cheeks.

Grant took a deep breath. “There was a chant, wasn't there?” Cassie looked up sharply, so Grant carried on. “All the men and women, there were the voices of both, in a kind of repetitive, monotone chant. And over it all a deep, resounding drum, beating double hits like a giant heart.”

Cassie sobbed, gripped Grant's fingers so hard he thought they might break. She stared at him with haunted eyes. “How can you know that?”

“I had the same dream.”

A contemplative silence hung between them as Cassie took that in.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “But there's something weird going on, and we need to understand what it is.”