Chapter 24
Ipark a block away from the address I got from the location spell. The crystal landed on an old warehouse that sits empty for most of the year, opening in the fall to sell Halloween props and costumes before abruptly closing and storing their inventory overnight to sell again the next year.
The building is in shambles but has been brought up to code while keeping the creepy feel.
The owner says it helps bring in customers, and he must do pretty well considering that’s his only business.
The place is the perfect backdrop for an episode of Supernatural, and it’s almost annoying how stereotypical the killer is.
The building has been a subject of controversy among this neighborhood for the last few years.
It’s an obvious eye sore, and a rich developer has been trying to buy out the land from the storeowner.
They’ve gone back and forth and even landed in court.
I never paid much attention to the case, but it looks like they’re at blows again.
There’s a For Sale sign out front, with a public showing of the property in two days. People will pass through here…and discover a body.
My heart races so fast I can hear each and every beat resounding through my head.
I flatten my hands on my jeans, wiping them dry before pulling my gun from its holster.
Waiting until a car drives by, I get out of my car and make a dash across the street, slipping behind the ivy-covered chain link fence and out of sight from passersby.
Everything inside me tells me this is wrong.
I should have called this in. I shouldn’t be going into an unknown building without backup.
I’m going against every fiber of my good-cop being, but what am I supposed to do?
Call this in and say a magic crystal landed here on a map?
If I said I’m here on a hunch and it turns out to be nothing, I’ll have wasted valuable time and resources.
I’m not here on a hunch. I’m here because of magic, and there’s a good chance I’m walking into nothing.
Silently, I move through brambles and overgrown grass, inching closer and closer to the building. It’s quiet, though it’s not like I expected to hear Gemma’s screams of horror and protest.
The smell of cigarettes fills the air. I pick up the pace and move around to the back of the building. Bright sunlight streams down on me and I squint, looking at the building. The entire thing is dirty and dusty, and looks like no one has stepped foot in it since last Halloween.
Then I see the marks on the cement path by one of the doors. The door has been pushed open and closed several times, scraping clean paths in the dust on the cement. It could be the killer.
Heart hammering even faster now, I creep forward and see what looks like smeared blood on the doorframe. It’s been wiped away, leaving behind a rust-colored stain. It’s easy to overlook, but I’ve seen it enough to know exactly what it is.
Looking around, I pull my phone from my pocket and call the station, giving my location and requesting backup.
Protocol tells me to wait until they arrive, but my instincts scream that I don’t have much time, and if I don’t go in now, Gemma might not make it.
I go to the door, finger poised over the trigger of my gun, and listen for a moment.
Hearing nothing, I push the door open, immediately going on the defense. Nothing jumps out at me and attacks.
Waiting a beat, I close the door behind me so nothing looks out of place, and slink further into the building, going through the front of the store. The shelves are set up, and a few leftover Halloween decorations remain, casting eerie shadows throughout the building.
A set of swinging double doors leads to the storage room, which is filled with boxed-up decorations and costumes.
Through there, a single metal door opens into the rest of the warehouse, which hasn’t been touched since its days as a women’s hosiery manufacturer.
It’s dark and dank, full of halls and rooms that make it like a fucking maze.
Voices float down the hall, and I stop, ducking into a doorway, and raise my gun. But the voices don’t grow louder. Whoever is talking isn’t moving. I suck in a breath and turn my head to listen. The voices are muffled and I can’t make out the words.
Moving away from the door, I start down the hall again, following the voices. They echo, making it harder to understand. Then they suddenly stop talking, and organ music fills the air.
“What the fuck?” I mouth to myself. With practiced patience, I stay calm and continue down the hall, keeping constant vigilance. The music gets louder, and the tune is familiar but I can’t place it.
The hall comes to a T, and I pause, tipping my head to figure out what direction the music is coming from. The sound echoes throughout the building, making it hard to pinpoint.
I close my eyes, listening. Right when I think I determined where the music is coming from, it stops. The feeling of being watched hits me hard, making my skin crawl.
A chorus of voices breaks out, carrying the same tune as the organ, and it hits me. I know why it’s familiar. It’s a hymn commonly sung in church.
“Shit.” I run down the hall, and the music gets louder. Our killer thinks he’s ridding the world of sinners. If he’s playing prerecorded church services, Gemma might still be alive.
The hall stops at another set of double doors, but unlike the others, these are locked. I step back and look at the frame. Like the rest of this section of the building, it’s weak and crumbling. I’ll have better luck going for the hinges than for the lock.
Mustering all the strength I have, I kick the door, hearing the frame crack little by little each time. It weakens, hanging unevenly from the hinges. I step back and use my shoulder to hit the doors hard in the center. They cave in, and I tumble down, getting splinters in my hand on the way.
Ignoring the pain, I push up onto my feet, gun raised. I’m in a processing part of the warehouse, and the old machinery has been left untouched, collecting dust and cluttering this place. The windows have been covered, and I blink rapidly, trying to focus my vision.
A red light on a CD player glows from the back of the room, and next to it, tied up on one of the machines, is Gemma. She’s gagged but tries to scream when she sees me. Blood drips down her chest, and the start of a pentagram is smeared on the wall behind her.
Oh shit. I interrupted the killer.
Breath leaving my lungs in a rush, I hold out my gun and whirl around. The fucker could be anywhere, hiding behind a machine or lurking in the shadows. Fuck! I need to get Gemma. She’s losing a lot of blood and won’t last much longer.
I fight against the urge to blindly run to her, and force myself to take careful, calculated steps, looking ahead of where I’m going. I don’t see the murderer, but that doesn’t mean he’s not in here.
A preacher’s voice booms from the CD player, starting a sermon about cleansing the earth of the devil’s poison. What a fucking lunatic. I get to Gemma, and she starts thrashing against her restraints, tears rolling down her face.
I turn around again, taking one final look for the killer before lowering my gun. I keep it in my right hand and pull the gag from Gemma’s mouth.
“Ace,” she sobs.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her, forgetting I’m pissed at her and trying to untie the rope around one of her wrists. I can’t get it one-handed, but I don’t want to set my gun down. I fumble with it for another few seconds, hands shaking with frustration.
I don’t have time to waste. I have to untie her. The more time I waste, the less likely we are to get out of here alive. Setting the gun down on the machine next to her, I’m able to undo the knot on her left hand.
“Ace!” she screams as I reach for her other hand. I don’t get a chance to find out what’s happening. Something hits me on the back of the head.
And then everything goes black.