DEAD PACIFICA

  Part 8

  I knew Charlie was coming to the diner before I even chose to be here. I saw him stepped out of his house (where he still lived with his parents), while I butchered Mr. Milford’s men in the woods. He got into his car, drove to Uncle Edgar and Aunt Jeanine’s house to pick up my other cousins, Julius, Liam, and Sabrina, and they drove to the diner together.

  Plum’s Diner had been the hangout place of little ol’ Point Hope ever since I could remember, all thanks to Tommy Plum’s foresight to purchase the bankrupt arcade next door, knocking down the wall between them, and created an access hallway from the diner to the arcade, attracting the local teenagers for something retro. A decade later, he also bought the space on the other side, extending the diner to include a bar so that he had an excuse to stay past two o’clock in the morning for the rich kids from Rothwell College, a private school, to find something to do during the weekends. From Thursday to Saturday, the bar’s open floor turned into a crowded clubhouse from ten o’clock to two-thirty in the morning, filled with drunk college kids and locals. Business had been booming ever since, and Tommy wore that success like a badge pinned crookedly to his chest.

  My cousins piled into a booth a couple tables down. Charlie slid in first. Erica leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, something that still surprised many people, the way their relationship had outlasted rumors of college and long summers apart. A year together in Point Hope might as well have been a marriage.

  Julius and Liam immediately started giving Charlie shit, leaning across the table and jabbing fingers into his shoulder. Sabrina rolled her eyes. They ordered pies and milkshakes, and talked about hitting the arcade once they were done. A few minutes later, Erica clocked out for her thirty-minute break and joined them, sliding into the booth with a club sandwich Tommy had slapped together in the kitchen.

  People stopped by their table. They always did around the Castles. A couple of years ago, Charlie Castle had been a star—football, baseball, student body president his senior year while I was still a year behind him, the 67th crowned Lumber King from the harvest festival last year—and he’d been the kind of guy teachers trusted and coaches loved, the kind of guy strangers wanted to speak to just for breathing the same air as them. Even now, even after everything, that magnetic pull to others hadn’t left him. He was a natural at it. A couple of Julius and Liam’s teammates wandered over, shouting challenges about Street Fighter and air hockey, loud enough to turn heads from other older folks. Charlie, Julius, and Liam laughed, promised to destroy them later, and waved them off.

  The Castles—my family—had deep, deep, roots in Point Hope. My death still lingered in everyone’s minds, more so now that the anniversary was creeping closer. Behind their little chitchats were forced smiles and silent pity on my cousins for having to relive that horror again. Finding out that someone they loved had died in a brutal way and from the people they once trusted (and that the whole community trusted) was traumatizing, especially knowing that Coach Hodge was the head of the snake. Charlie, Liam, and Julius had spent more time with him than I ever did in high school. I had grazed their thoughts and memories a few times in the past (when I was brave enough to do so), and I experienced their pain and longing to hear my voice and to see my face again.

  Only I couldn’t reveal myself.

  They wouldn’t understand what I had become.

  Then, I met Charlie’s eyes, and his face lit up with a smile.

  “My man!” he said, already sliding out of the booth. He crossed the space between us in three long strides and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “How’s it been, Sammy? I haven’t seen your old raggedy southern KFC around here all summer.”

  I felt the weight of his hand. I forced a smile into place. “Fuckin’ hell,” I said, drawling a touch of a southern twang. “Has it been that long, kid?”

  “Oh yeah. It has.” He glanced back at the booth, where Erica and Julius nodded, smiling. “We noticed.”

  “Huh.” I scratched at my jaw. “I was at Brighton. Visiting family.”

  “Oh?” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you had family out that way.”

  “I have plenty of friends.”

  “Good for you, Sammy.” He grinned. “Tommy Plum’s been asking where his best customer disappeared to. Thought you died or something.”

  “Fuck you mean?” I called toward the kitchen. “I’m not that old, Tommy!”

  From behind the swinging doors came Tommy’s voice. “Aren’t you like eighty, Sam?”

  Charlie laughed. I matched his grin and popped a fry into my mouth. “Try fifty-six, motherfucker.”

  Laughing felt good. I hadn’t done that in a while.

  I had been visiting Plum’s Diner for so many times over the past few months just to taste “real” food and met plenty of people, maintaining the illusion of being alive and normal. I was bound to run into my family at some point. I just hadn’t expected it to be Charlie.

  I was an only child, but that never really mattered growing up. Charlie and Claire had filled those spaces naturally, without effort. We’d been inseparable for years with video games, movie nights, sleepovers, and summers that felt endless. I was the youngest, always trailing behind, always trying to keep up with them. Charlie had been my big brother in every way that counted. Seeing him now, older, broader in the shoulders, still carrying that easy confidence he was known for, it hit me harder than I expected.

  Charlie slid into the booth across from me. “So?” he said. “Where’d you go this time, old man? Any fun stuff you got into all summer?”

  Besides feeding on delvers? I thought. Besides the screaming, the begging, the way their blood steams in the cold air as I extract their essences in euphoric glee…

  Yeah. No.

  Instead, I smiled and spun him a lie.

  I told him I’d somehow fallen in with a punk rock band out of Seattle, one of those loud, angry groups that were against “The System” or the “The government” that lived out of vans that smelled like cigarettes, weed, and cheap beer. I talked about dingy coastal clubs, repairing busted sound systems, fights with venue owners, and nights spent sleeping on floors that stuck to your skin while the band hooked up with their groupies. I embellished just enough to make it interesting, but not enough to sound impossible. I invented plenty of stories to anyone who talked to me in the diner, and Charlie was always outgoing and friendly, and he never doubted them.

  This was the ninth time we’d talked for more than five minutes, and every time, it felt like a small gift.

  The first few times were little polite chitchats by the bar over breakfast or dinner, and at one time, I helped him with a flat tire in the middle of nowhere (with the help of my magic). After that, he’d started recognizing me. Then greeting me. Then sitting down to talk for a few minutes, just catching up. He might have even considered me a friend.

  If only he knew who I truly was.

  “What about you, Charlie? What have you been up to all summer?” I asked.

  I didn’t have to. I had been watching my family lived their lives without me. Trying to carry on, pretending that they were going to be fine. At least for a little while. It was eye-opening and morbidly fascinating to see myself taken out of the picture and observed the people I love still have a life of their own. Hit the same problems and overcoming their personal obstacles. Talked to themselves outside of everyone’s earshot, sometimes in front of a mirror or to a therapist. Things that you wouldn’t normally see because you were too busy dealing with your own shit. Once you take that away, everything was just sad and melancholic in the way we carry on with our short lives.

  Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

  And these bursts of happy memories were few and far in between, and that was why we cherished them against a long line of mediocrity.

  Was that too pessimistic of me? To feel saddened that my family were cursed with a mortal life? Knowing that an agent of Death, and perhaps, Death itself, was sitting across the booth from them, waiting for them to kick the bucket so that they could join him on the other side?

  Charlie brushed off my question. “Same old thing, Sammy,” he said.

  “Did you get that job you were talking to me about? At the waterpark? Didn’t you apply last April?”

  “Nah, I didn’t get it,” Charlie said. “Too late now though. But I am still thinking about going to college.”

  “Oh! You’ve finally decided to go, eh?”

  “Yeah, I think it’s time.”

  “But why do I get a feeling you’re having second thoughts?”

  He shrugged again. “It’s, uh, complicated.”

  “Ah. Complicated, he said.” I took a bite out of my chicken fried steak. “It ain’t complicated when you’re going for free, right?”

  Ever since Charlie graduated high school, he had jumped across four jobs already. He thought of taking a gap year just to relax and take a mental break. Several universities had scouted him for either their football or baseball program with a scholarship, but he decided to take a year off after being overwhelmed by everyone’s expectations ever since he was eight years old and picked up a ball and a bat, or stepped on the football field. I couldn’t blame him. Uncle Kerry certainly didn’t make it easy, pestering him about going to college every day and making a name for himself.

  Everyone wanted a piece of Charlie Castle.

  Then, he met Erica Sedowski, and he thought of taking another year off so that he wouldn’t leave Point Hope. Aunt Abby and Uncle Kerry weren’t happy about that, not when Rutgers University was at their doorstep, already expecting Charlie to join their baseball team for this school year. Erica’s dad still worked at Rothwell College as a professor in town, so she attended the first two years of college for free, but that meant they’d have a long-distance relationship if Charlie went to Newark three thousand miles away.

  However, Erica dreamed of going to New York and studying there for fashion, not Biology like her dad wanted, and finally, a school accepted her to transfer for this upcoming winter semester. But it was very expensive. Charlie had been saving up a lot to help pay for a portion of the tuition without knowing that Erica secretly hated it.

  “You should take it, you know,” I said. “Rutgers, I mean. You’ve got a full-ride, don’t you? I’m sure you’ve been itching to play baseball again.”

  Charlie smiled politely. “Sammy, there’s a lot of things going on, you know? They’re expecting me to leave in four weeks, but I don’t think I should. I can’t seem to find the right time.”

  “Why not? Sometimes, life just throws things at you unexpectedly, but it shouldn’t derail you. Don’t let this town keep you here, kid. Out there is a whole new world to experience. You should go out there and experience it.”

  “Thanks, but, uh, thinking about it is too hard right now. My cousins just want to hang out with me before l leave.”

  I grazed his thoughts. He also dreaded the conversation he’d eventually have with Aunt Abby and Uncle Kerry once he told them that he was turning down going to Rutgers, and imagined how that was going to go (exhibit A: not good).

  Charlie leaned in. “Have you heard about a show called Dead Pacifica?”

  I composed myself. “No, no, I haven’t heard of them,” I said, feigning ignorance.

  “Well, they’re a very popular show on the internet. Podcast, actually. Very huge. Do you know what a podcast is?”

  I snorted. “Of course, I do, Charlie. I’m not some ancient hermit that lived under a rock. I’m not Spongebob.”

  “You mean Patrick?”

  “Whatever.”

  Charlie chuckled. “Okay, okay. Well, their producer, uh, called me yesterday. They’re going to cover my cousin’s death along with the whole cult, and all. But it’s gonna center mostly around him, and they’ve reached out to a few of his family members. Only the ones that still live in the area. My aunt and uncle flat-out refused to do it, but they offered me some money if I can go and join the livestream and be interviewed. What do you think?”

  I was quiet for a few seconds. “Is that…appropriate? Profiting over your cousin’s death?”

  Charlie sighed. “They’re offering me five grand each day just to join me in their show for four days. That’s twenty K in total.”

  “That’s a lot. Is that normal?”

  “He called it an appearance fee. Plus, since it’s me, I guess they figured they’d need the cash to make me go along with it. He gave the impression that having a family member there is important. Apparently, they’ve got a ton of sponsors crawling over this thing so they’re pouring a lot of money into this production. They’ll pay me more if I can get Uncle Brandon to agree for an interview. They said having a family member in the stream will boost the show, according to their algorithm.”

  “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

  Charlie shrugged. “I have no clue what they were talking about. But it is a lot of money. I think it will help make it easier for Erica to attend Fashion school. Did I tell you about that? Oh, well. She’s thinking of staying back here while I go to Newark by the end of September.”

  “Is a long-distance relationship that bad, kid?”

  “No…I mean…I heard some stories, of course, but…I guess it’s not the end of the world. But it helps if we stay close to each other, don’t you think? She already borrowed plenty of student loans, but it isn’t enough to cover all that tuition stuff and for the housing, you know? New York is a very expensive city even with a cheap apartment. I think Twenty K will help a lot. If I play well with Rutgers, maybe I’ll get a couple of endorsements. Make a name for myself. Then, she won’t have to worry.”

  “I know a guy you can borrow from,” I said. “You don’t have to attend that hack of a show.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m not going to meet up with some of your loan shark buddies, Sammy.”

  “Jeez, not a loan shark. Who do you think I am? Now, there might be a guy I know who can help your girlfriend attend fashion school.”

  “You have a friend who’s rich?”

  “Just because I look homeless doesn’t mean I don’t have rich friends.”

  “Look, I’m not going to pimp my girlfriend for some sugar daddy.”

  “Please don’t use those words again.” I rolled my eyes. “And that’s not what I meant, okay? There’s a scholarship. There’s plenty of scholarships online if you know where you’re looking.”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Well, it’s not just about the money. I think having Dylan Griffin and Retto Kearns here might be…good?”

  I tilted my head. “How so?”

  “My family has been avoiding, for the better part of the year, talking about Mark. We Castles like to keep our grief quiet, I guess. Even my cousins try to pretend like he just went off to college out of state or something. And my sister just fucking dipped once the funeral was over. Uncle Ambrose didn’t even show up. But I lost my brother, Sammy. And I think…before I leave Point Hope…not knowing when I’ll be back…I want to talk about him. Even in front of a camera and a room full of strangers. I want to talk about him. I’m no stranger to who Dylan Griffin is, but I don’t want to give that asshole ammunition to paint him or this town in a different light. I want to tell Mark’s story.”

  “Even if that means revisiting where he died?”

  His eyes burned, but he didn’t let the tears fall. Instead, he turned toward the window, pretending to watch the streetlights flicker outside as the fog swirled around it. Erica was laughing somewhere behind him. He didn’t want her to see his face.

  “Even that, Sammy. I was the only one who was comfortable enough to go up into those woods.”

  “I know. You built a shrine there.”

  Charlie frowned, turning back. “How do you know about that?”

  I quickly recovered. “Um, your girlfriend told me.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I kept his shrine clean every Wednesday. I think even the Sawyer brothers keep it clean for me when I’m busy, or when I forget, which happens. Those hillbilly weirdos can sometimes be quite sweet and friendly.”

  I chewed the insides of my right cheek. “What if you find something about your cousin?”

  “Um, like…what?”

  I shrugged. “Just something.”

  “Mark kept to himself most of the time. Wherever he is, I think it’s best to tell his story from the people that cared about him, yeah?”

  I looked over his shoulder. “You’re going to get your cousins along with it, too?”

  “Oh hell no,” he said immediately. “One, they’re minors. And two, I am not dealing with Uncle Edgar and Aunt Jeanine losing their shit because I pushed their kids into a livestream next to a person who found a dead body in the woods and made fun of it,” He shook his head. “It’s just me. My sister and my girlfriend doesn’t even know.”

  I nodded slowly. “Okay, Charlie,” I said. “If that’s going to help you move on…then, do it. I just want you to know that you might find out some things about your cousin that you might not like.”

  Charlie barked a laugh. “You make him sound like he had a ton of skeletons in his closet,” he said.

  “Who knows? You never know.”

  “But Mark’s good, Sammy. I know him. He was just a kid. How many secrets could a teenager keep? I just want to let the whole world know that he lived a good life and that,”—he paused for a moment—“and that he was loved, you know? Before Coach Hodge and those maggots took that away from him.”

  “Have you already given them your answer?”

  “Not yet. I’m going to call them tomorrow.”

  “I see.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small silver coin. It was heavier than it looked, cold even in my palm. One side bore a twisted tree with a gemstone set at its heart, the roots clawing outward like vines. The other showed a jagged mountain range under a blank, watchful sky. I slid it across the table toward him.

  “Throughout my travels, I always carried this with me,” I said. “I’d like you to have it.”

  Charlie picked it up, turning it over between his fingers. “What is this? Looks like a weird quarter.” He frowned. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

  “I don’t know,” I lied easily. “The guy I got it from said it was a lucky charm from Eastern Europe or something like that.”

  Charlie snorted. “You actually believe in that kind of stuff, Sammy?”

  I shrugged. “Eh. We live in strange times. I like to think it kept me safe all these years.”

  “I can’t take this.”

  “No,” I said, firmer than I meant to then softened my voice. “Keep it. For now. When I come back and we see each other again, you can give it back to me. Until then…I hope it brings you some luck at least.”

  Charlie hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder at Erica, who was still laughing with Sabrina. Maybe she felt his eyes on her, because she turned and warmly smiled at him.

  He looked back at me.

  “Thank you, Sammy.” He slipped the coin into his pocket. “I’ll keep it warm for you.”

  “Go on, kid. Go talk to your cousins. I’d like to finish my meal at some point.”

  Charlie laughed. “Okay, old man. See you around?”

  “Yeah, yeah. See ya around, kid.”

  Then, Charlie scooted out of the booth to rejoin his girlfriend and his cousins.

  I took a sip of my decaf and sliced a piece of the chicken fried steak, chewing it slowly in my mouth.

  I had just given Charlie what could potentially be one of the most powerful loot drops in the dungeon as a gift; The Coin of Life. It was a magical item I did not purchase from The System itself, but something I crafted personally with the help of Lord Zal and Duke Henry as it required highly advanced necromancy and blood magic. My cousin went to my shrine more than anyone else, and I was afraid he’d walk into a scenario night and get sucked in by The System as a delver. Luckily, that did not happen yet. I was getting better at controlling who I designated as the players, but there were still risks.

  I could exclude him from the list of delvers, making him immune from the dungeon’s effects and monsters, same for the forty-three thousand people currently living in Point Hope when I designate the hunting grounds as the North Cedar Lake area. The town would become a temporary safe zone (unless the main delvers managed to reach it). But…if he intervened, no matter how small, to aid the delvers…then The System would integrate him as a player automatically, and he would be fair game for the reaping.

  So, this was my plan B to protect him.

  The Coin of Life has a simple trick: When a scenario commences, the delver wielding the coin will be highly resistant to the dungeon’s Dread effects for eight hours. Their Resolve will decay at half the rate compared to the other delvers within that duration. If they trigger the scenario at just the right time, the magic can shield them the entire night. Of course, the possibility of death is still there, but not as insanely high compared to the others.

  The rules of the System never mentioned giving mortals a gift—even a magical loot drops—before the night of delving. Only I couldn’t play favorites during the scenario. I reckoned that the other delvers in worlds blessed by the arcane winds of the universe had stronger gear and magical weapons before they delve a Death Core to increase their chances of survival. This coin was just like that. Charlie Castle would arrive at the dungeon with an advantage the same way Milford’s men came in with the big guns and flamethrowers.

  And if he won the night, I would reward him. I would set him for life.

  Ten million dollars.

  A hundred million.

  Hell—I could make this motherfucker a billionaire!

  If he wanted magic, I’d make him the most powerful mage on Earth. If he wanted to be strong, I’d make my brother the strongest man in the universe. A superhero? Fuck yes, that’d be easy. Be the best baseball player of all time? Done. Be the president of the country? Done, done. If he wanted Erica and him to live a fulfilling life, get married, have kids, and all that boring suburban stuff? Done, done, done.

  Anything he wanted, I could provide.

  He just had to survive.

  Please, Charlie. You can fucking do it. I know you can, I thought as I chewed the last piece of my plate.

  As long as he didn’t find out who I was. I knew he would hate the entity that made him go through all that the horror, but the reward was all that mattered. My archetypes were eager to find out if a Castle’s blood ran as strong as the Dungeon Lord. They had never hosted a relative of mine yet, and so the thought of it excited them; a challenge to mold Charlie Castle into an unstoppable survivor.

  Or…

  Dead. Meat.

  I finished my plate just as Erica clocked back in. She cleared the dishes on the table with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a thousand times, then paused when she saw the number I’d written on the receipt.

  “Oh, Sam… I can’t take this,” she said quietly, color creeping into her cheeks.

  I slid the pen farther away. “Too late. Pen’s down. That’s like some forbidden diner law.”

  “No, it’s not.” She frowned. “Look, this is way too much.”

  “Erica,” I said, smiling, “I don’t spend much. Don’t shop. Don’t want none of that iPhones or whatever’s popular these days. My life’s simple.” I leaned back in the booth. “I may look like a mess, but I’ve got enough tucked away to make sure a nice couple like you and Charlie can enjoy one last good weekend before summer ends. You can use that however you wish. Bring Charlie to a nice dinner. Buy a few books. Consider this a thank you for entertaining an old man like myself all these past few months. We old folks can use a friend sometimes.”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll take it. But the next time you come in, I’m telling Tommy to drown your plate in gravy and throw on another slab of chicken.”

  “If Tommy allows it.”

  “Oh, I’ll make him.”

  I grinned. “I’d like that very much.”

  Then her smile vanished. The color drained from her face as she stared past me, toward the windows.

  “Oh no,” she whispered.

  I turned in time to see Molly Redding crossing the street.

  She was barefoot. Or maybe she’d lost her shoes. It was hard to tell. She wore a dark dress that hung loose and too thin to be out in this kind of the weather. Might’ve been a nightgown. Her hair was wild, her eyes swollen and red, cheeks streaked with dried tears. She walked fast, almost charging like a bull, like the world had narrowed itself down to a single target.

  A customer stepped out of the diner just as Molly reached the door. She slammed past him, nearly knocking him off balance, and didn’t even glance back to apologize.

  Her eyes were locked on one thing.

  The booth beside my cousins.

  Chief David Dilworth and Detective Ruben Bellisario were halfway through their meals when Molly reached them. Before anyone could stop her, she snatched Sabrina’s strawberry milkshake as she strode by and dumped it straight over Dilworth’s bald head. Pink liquid splashed down his face and collar, the rest spilling across the table and on his dinner plate.

  “Molly! What the fuck!” Ruben shouted, scrambling out of the booth.

  Dilworth didn’t move. He just stared at her, milkshake sliding down his temples. He knew exactly why she was there.

  “You closed the case off?” Molly screamed. Her voice cracked, then rose higher. “Closed. It. Off?” She laughed hysterically. “My husband is still out there!”

  Ruben held up his hands. “Molly, this isn’t the time—”

  “Fuck off!” she snapped, rounding on him. “You’ve done nothing. Nothing for this town!” She pointed a shaking finger at his chest. “Do you know how many people I’ve talked to? People who had friends or families who had gone up that mountain and never came back? Tons. Tons!”

  Her voice echoed off the diner walls. Ruben reeled away when he got a whiff of alcohol from her breath.

  “All you do is sit here, eat burgers and fries, and get fat!”

  “Hey!” Ruben started. “That’s uncalled for, Mrs. Redding. You’re drunk.”

  She ignored him and turned back to Dilworth. “So, what do you have to say, Chief?” she demanded. “Can you even protect this town? Can you even call yourself a cop anymore?” She spun, gesturing wildly at the frozen patrons. “Everyone’s pretending not to see the big fucking elephant in the room! You’re all SHEEP!”

  Phones were out now. Julius had his raised, recording. So did half the diner.

  “Seventy-six people!” Molly shouted. “Seventy-six missing or dead at Hell Rock in less than a year! That’s not counting the hundred tourists duct-taped and stapled to that board at the ranger station! And no one seems bothered by it? No one’s talking about it?” She jabbed a finger toward the door. “But oh, here come the podcast bros, swooping in to do the job our own police won’t!” She sneered at the chief. “They’re doing a better job than you ever did. Some man you are.”

  Tommy Plum stepped out from behind the counter. “Okay, that’s enough, woman. You’re scaring my customers!”

  “Don’t you fucking touch me, Tommy, you greasy old fuck!”

  Ruben threw up a hand, motioning for Tommy to step back. Everyone could tell Molly Redding was having a mental breakdown. Grief had finally clawed its way out of her chest and demanded to be seen.

  I could see it in Dilworth’s tightening jaw and the flash of heat behind his eyes, but to his credit, he swallowed his anger down. He slowly reached for a paper towel and wiped the pink streaks from his scalp and face. Then he stood calmly.

  “We did not closed the case, Molly, it’s just gone…” cold, was what Dilworth wanted to say but stopped himself. “Your husband—Daniel—I think it might be time we talk about the next steps. About his—”

  “He’s alive.” Molly pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “I don’t know how, David, but I know he’s alive. I can still feel him.” Her voice cracked. “Right here. I feel him.”

  Dilworth nodded slowly, the way you do when you’re approaching an animal who might have gone rabid.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He stepped closer and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Why don’t I take you home, Molly? We can talk there, somewhere private.”

  Her body stiffened and shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t be in that house again.”

  “All right,” Dilworth said. “Then how about the precinct? My office. Just the two of us. Is that okay?”

  “No, no, no…!”

  Molly pushed him away with surprising strength for a woman her size. Dilworth stumbled back and nearly collided with a table and the patrons sitting around it. In that same motion, Molly quickly grabbed his holstered weapon and yanked it free.

  The diner erupted. People screamed. Chairs scraped. Bodies hit the floor. Someone bolted for the door. Another followed. Erica ducked behind the table beside me, hands over her mouth. Ruben drew his gun instantly, aiming it at her, but Dilworth threw his hands up.

  “Don’t!” he shouted. “Ruben, wait!”

  Ruben kept his eyes on Molly, but didn’t pull the trigger.

  I didn’t know what to do, but I sat on the booth, frozen, and yet fascinated at the display unfolding in front of me. I sensed my Dread suffused this room, hungry for the essence that resided in it. I tried to pull it back, but The System could smell blood, and it had forced its way into Plum’s Diner’s walls, floors, and souls.

  “Molly,” Dilworth said, his voice cracking despite himself and stepped slowly toward her. “Molly, don’t do this. There are kids here. Good folks. Honest folks.”

  She backed away, wild-eyed, the gun shaking in her grip. Her back hit the counter. “Stay back!” she screamed. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Molly…hand me back the gun…” Dilworth said slowly. “And then we can think about the case, okay? We can talk about it.”

  “No. I’m done talking. I’m done. We’re going to the mountain. You are going to resume the search of my husband. We are going into the woods and we are going to find him!”

  “We’ve searched those woods inch-by-inch, Molly. You know that.”

  “No!” Molly sobbed. “There’s evil here. Why can’t people see that? There’s something in that mountain. Why can’t people see that? Can’t you feel it? Aren’t you afraid every day?” She waved the gun around the diner. Patrons ducked and screamed as the barrel swung their way.

  “Molly! Keep your eyes on me,” Dilworth said. “Eyes on me.”

  “My husband is a good man, David. A sweet, caring, and loving man. Someone in that mountain hurt him. He doesn’t deserve that. He’s good. He needs to be home, to his family. To me. I just want…I want…I want to find him. If God is listening to me, that’s all I ask every waking moment. I want to find my Daniel.”

  Molly faced the window and her voice froze.

  Outside, in the middle of the street, surrounded by the dense fog stood a simple red door to The Selection Chamber.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  Then, louder in my head, Shit, shit, shit.

  I thickened the fog instantly, dragging it down like a curtain, folding space until the door vanished from my sight. The moment it was gone, I crushed it into nothingness. Fortunately, no vehicle or people drove or walked by to see it.

  Except for Molly Redding.

  System, I snarled silently, you motherfucker.

  “This is not a delving night,” I told it through my Many-eyes back at the cabin.

  As always, it did not respond nor gleaned what it was thinking. Probably annoyed by me that I was letting an opportunity to feed slip away.

  That momentary pause from Molly was all Dilworth and Ruben needed. They lunged together. Molly screamed as they tackled her to the floor. The gun skittered away across the tiles. Charlie kicked it hard under the counter. People surged for the exit again, while others stayed put, phones raised, documenting every second.

  Molly thrashed, hyperventilating, her screams tearing themselves raw until sirens from the ambulance and the cops wailed outside. Then, the paramedics came in and sedated her.

  “You saw it,” Molly whispered as the gurney rattled over the cracked pavement toward the ambulance. “You saw it, David. Didn’t you see?”

  Her words were stuck on a loop. Dilworth walked alongside her, one hand gripping the rail, refusing to let go until the paramedics forced distance between them. Red and blue lights washed over his face.

  “You take care now, Molly. These folks’ll help you feel better.” He said gently and leaned closer so only she could hear him. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

  Her hand shot out, fingers locking around his wrist with startling strength. Her nails dug in hard enough to hurt. “The door,” she rasped.

  Dilworth frowned. “What door?”

  “There was a door,” she said. “There was a door.”

  Before Dilworth could answer, the paramedics peeled her fingers away and slid her fully into the ambulance. The doors slammed shut. Dilworth stood there a moment longer than necessary, watching the vehicle pull away, its siren rising into the fog. Ruben walked up next to him and offered a cigarette. Dilworth took it.

  Tommy Plum decided to close the diner and the arcade for the evening, promising Erica and several of the staff that they’d still get their normal wages for the night. Charlie and my cousins waited for her to leave the diner and she hopped onto the empty passenger seat while Julius, Liam, and Sabrina sat at the back.

  “That was some night, huh?” Julius said, grinning as he replayed the video. “Damn, this thing’s already blowing up.”

  “Dude,” Erica snapped. “You posted it? What’s wrong with you?”

  “What? Everyone was! Look! I got plenty of likes.”

  “That’s super gross, man,” Charlie said as he pulled out of the curb.

  “Sucks we can’t play at the arcade though,” Liam said. “Do you think Tommy will let us?”

  Erica frowned. “I doubt it, dude.”

  “Oh well. So…movies then? How about video games? Sab?” Liam turned to Sabrina, who didn’t respond immediately. “Um…earth to Sabrina? Hello?” Liam nudged her shoulder.

  “Huh?” Sabrina blinked and turned around. “What?”

  “I said if you want to have like a game night?”

  “Oh, um, sure.” Sabrina closed her eyes. “Sure. I’m game.”

  Liam pumped a fist. “Game night it is!”

  “Are you okay?” Erica asked.

  But Sabrina shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s nothing. I’m just rattled.”

  “Well, you’re not alone,” Erica said. “Let’s just forget what happened and play video games.”

  “I hope that woman’s okay,” Charlie said.

  Julius snorted. “Everyone’s lowkey crazy nowadays, brah.”

  But Sabrina kept staring out the window as the ambulance disappeared down the street. Police lights reflected off the glass, smearing color into something dreamlike. Her gaze lingered on the empty patch of road where the fog still clung stubbornly low.

  An image rose in her mind.

  The red door of the Selection Chamber.

  Then her eyes flicked toward the sidewalk—and met mine.

  For a fraction of a second, something passed between us. Recognition, maybe. Or the faint unease of being looked at too closely. She lifted a hand and gave me a small, polite wave as they drove off.

  I reminded myself to be careful next time. Though I could control my appetite for now, The System had its own ways of fucking that up.

  Nearby, the police had started questioning the witnesses who stayed around the diner, and I wasn’t planning on getting interviewed. I’d overstayed my visit at Point Hope and I let go of the unnatural fog. In an hour, it would dissipate, bringing the summer heat back to this valley. As I turned to leave, I felt eyes on me.

  Strange and familiar eyes.

  I stopped on my tracks and looked over my shoulder.

  A block down the street, half-hidden by the strobing wash of police lights, sat a parked car. In the passenger seat, watching calmly through the windshield, was Leo Grady.

  He must had arrived into town a few minutes ago, saw the lights and got curious. His gaze lingered on me for a heartbeat longer, enough to make me uncomfortable. Then his attention shifted, clocking Dilworth, detective Bellisario, and Tommy Plum. Satisfied with what he had seen, he said something to the driver. Then the car drove forward and went past me.

  As it did, all I could think about was the hunger.

  A hunger I’d never felt before in weeks.

  His essence spilled off him in radiant waves, reeking and intoxicating, lighting something ancient and eager inside me.

  [ A veteran delver has entered your dungeon. ]

  [ A scenario is ready to commence. ]

  No. I stopped myself. Not tonight.

  I turned into a narrow alley and dissolved my avatar in a blink of an eye. The world peeled away and I could see everything around me. From that alley, my Many-eyes unfurled and followed Leo across town as his car headed south, watching as they stopped at a familiar neighborhood.

  They parked across the street in front of my old house.