Waysider (The Voyants Book 1)

Chapter 24

December 2nd, 1984

Deadwood, Oregon

Lane County Security Hospital

6:06 p.m.

The clock ticked above Cass and Patrick.

Every moment the long second hand marked felt overly loud. Time moved differently in here, Cass thought, clamping her knees tightly against her folded hands. The brief flare of pain distracted her from the unease that had been clawing at her stomach for the past hour.

Cass’s throat was dry from talking for so long. She’d stopped to take a break, and also to think about what she should say from this point onward. There were details about Karen’s death the police didn’t know. Patrick could expose her, if he ever decided to tell her story. Cass had already said too much about Else Bellows. She’d mentioned avoiding the name, or any of the details that would lead Patrick to them, but Cass still felt like she had betrayed her non-disclosure agreement.

He was the one to finally end the silence between them. The cell and the hallway were so still that the sound of Patrick’s voice was startling.

“What happened after the Haunting?” he asked.

Cass swallowed, wishing she’d asked for a glass of water before coming in here. But no one had come through that door since it closed, and Cass got the sense that she wouldn’t be allowed back in once she left.

“Nothing,” she said, shifting in her chair. “But I kept dreaming about her every night. The revenant that attacked me in the library, and again at the party. Except now I know that Karen wasn’t attacking me—not really. She was trying to tell me who killed her. She just couldn’t seem to get there. She was confused, I think.”

“And did you find her killer?” Patrick asked.

Cass fell silent again. She really didn’t want to talk about this, and Patrick already knew the answer—she could tell by the glint in his eyes. He got off on her pain, just like he’d gotten off on theirs. The women he’d killed. As she stared at him, Cass felt a hot bolt of fury burn through her.

“You know, I think I’ve been pretty patient,” she said sharply. “I’ve played your little game without asking for anything in return. At least tell me how you know Ricky Ramirez.”

She expected him to react to the venom in her tone. Cal did, too, judging by the way he moved closer. But Patrick just leaned back in his chair and shrugged. “I don’t. Never met him in my life,” he replied.

Cass’s brow furrowed. “Then how do you know anything about him?”

Patrick tilted his head, tapping his bent knee with one index finger. “We have a… mutual friend,” he said after a notable pause.

“Who?”

But Patrick was done answering questions. He gestured at Cass and said, “Continue with your story, please. I’m eager to get to the part where you make your first kill.”

At these words, she felt even colder, and the hair on her arms stood on end. Cass fought the instinct to hug herself. “What makes you think I killed someone?”

“I already told you.” Patrick’s tone was admonishing. Then he smiled indulgently, as if he were humoring her as he said, “We have a mutual friend.”

“Well, your friend is wrong. I’m not a murderer. Not like you.” Cass was practically snarling now.

“That’s not what the police report says,” Patrick said with an exaggerated, perplexed frown. He leaned back and waved his hand. “But I digress. We’re getting off track. What happened next, after you defeated the big monster and impressed all your quirky schoolmates?”

Cass wanted to scream. She wrested with her anger again as she answered, “The rest of the semester was pretty quiet.”

“Did you see Michael again?”

Patrick’s demeanor was pleasant, as if he were asking about the weather. Cal hadn’t moved or made a sound for several seconds, but Cass was painfully aware of him behind her. By now he knew that she’d lied to him about Michael. That he was so much more than she had let on, the one time they’d talked about him. Cass kept her focus on Patrick. She wanted to demand, once again, what he knew. His question hovered in the cold stillness, and Cass heard the unspoken part. He wouldn’t give her anything until she finished the goddamn story.

“Eventually,” Cass ground out, answering him at last.

“Why?”

“It was… he came to…” Cass’s response was halting. Her heartbeat was unsteady. Why was this part so hard, after everything she’d already told him? Her gaze dropped, and she found herself staring at Patrick’s hands. They were clasped between his knees. Cass wondered how many lives those hands had taken. She swallowed again and said, “He came to make a confession. To… tell me the truth.”

“The truth about what, Miss Ryan?” Patrick prodded. There was the slightest edge to his voice—impatience. Cass forced herself to look up, and she tried to ignore the sense of violation tearing through her. The awful feeling that he was taking something from her. Something Cass hadn’t even known was precious.

“About us,” she said.