Riverwatch

Chapter Thirty-seven: Requiem

Sam stared down at the body of his friend, rage and despair washing over him.

Jake was dead.

His friend had fought, fought like a demon himself, that much was clearly evident from the tableau laid out before him. Jake’s body lay crumpled where he’d last fallen; one arm lay trapped beneath him, the other flung over his head across the metal rail of the merry-go-round, his outstretched fingers firmly frozen into claws to ward off the evil that had flung him there like a used-up rag doll, discarded like so much waste.

His hands were covered with small plastic bags tied off at the wrists, the crime scene techs having worked quickly to preserve any and all evidence of the struggle, determined to drag from the ruins something to work with, some clue with which to trap the killer. Through the plastic Sam could see the splashes of violet that had dried beneath Jake’s nails, dried blood left behind from whatever injury Jake had managed to inflict on his attacker.

A technician pushed by, jostling him as he went past, causing him to look over at the expression on Jake’s face.

Raw determination and defiance were etched there for all to see, as if his last act had been to spit in the thing’s face. His lips were pulled away from his teeth, frozen now in a vicious rictus of a smile. A smile that even the pain of his death had been unable to erase.

When Sam first arrived, after receiving the call, Damon hesitantly filled him in, letting him know what they had managed to reconstruct of Jake’s last movements and the tragedy that followed.

Apparently he’d been out for a walk, and, as was his habit, he’d chosen to cut through the park instead of taking the long way around. Some hundred yards away from the road, he’d been struck and had fallen; the technicians had marked and measured the spot already, the marks of a scuffle clearly evident in the soft dirt of the ball field. The long ragged track left behind indicated that he’d re-injured his bad leg, dragging it behind him into the grass of the outfield as he tried to reach the safety of the lights in the playground. Halfway there he’d been attacked again, his blood staining the ground where he collapsed the second time. He must have turned to fight at this point, because bright blotches of the Nightshade’s own violet blood colored the grass along with his own. Somehow, and Sam couldn’t understand how, Jake had managed to pull free of the beast one more time, driving his fingers into the soft loam and pulling himself forward, ripping chunks of it free as he dragged himself, vainly believing the light might save him.

It hadn’t.

Moloch had caught him and had dashed his body down on the hard, unforgiving surface of the merry-go-round. From the angle of Jake’s body it was clear that he had struck the metal bars from a height, the shock of the landing snapping his spine like a dry twig. From there, the end had come quickly.

They hoped.

The officers were all around Sam now, trying to do their work, and he backed away, his eyes never leaving his friend’s face.

I’ll find it for you, Jake, he breathed silently. I swear to you, I will find it. He turned away then, unable to look any longer, as the coroner’s team began loading Jake’s body into the dark plastic of a body bag. Tears welled in Sam’s eyes, spilling down his cheeks. He looked around, into the gray light of the near dawn, wondering where the Nightshade had gone once it had finished with Jake. It was out there somewhere, hiding, waiting for the darkness.

He would find it, wherever it was, even if it took the rest of his life.

Then he would kill it.

He turned and walked away from the gathering group, and found Damon waiting for him by the Bronco.

The two men stood in silence for a minute, and then Damon spoke what they both knew to be true.

"It’s back, isn’t it?"

Sam could only nod.

Damon thought about it for several, long, silent moments, then said, "Whatever you’re planning, I’m in. I want to stop this thing once and for all."

For once, Sam had the distinct feeling they understood each other perfectly.

"Where do we start?" Damon wanted to know. "How do we find it?"

Sam wasn’t sure. He did, however, have an idea. He just hoped Katelynn was strong enough to go through with it. Jake’s death had driven her into hysterics.

He turned to face the Sheriff. "I have an idea of how to find this thing, but I’ll need Katelynn’s help in order to do it. Can you get someone to take me to her home?"

Damon nodded and called to one of his deputies. Turning back to Sam, he said, "When you’re ready, call me at the station. If I don’t happen to be there, have them patch you through to me on the radio, understand?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, his thoughts already far away as he considered what they were about to do. In less than twelve hours it would be dark again.

They didn’t have much time.