Clara Stokes and the Demon Hunters
A week had passed since the people of Grace had seen the sun above their town, or the moon or the stars, or anything but the heavy cloud that kept them buried in dark. It was the first sight that greeted them in the morning, when they rose early and pulled open drapes, and the last at night, when they dropped to aching knees and said goodnight prayers.
They kept a half-eye on the horizon, on the wall of blazing sunlight that ran the town line and baked the surroundings hard.
It dropped each day, that’s what folk reckoned, so low that neighborhood kids threw baseballs at it and climbed on flat roofs and stood on toes to try and touch it. Sometimes it moved, swirled and twisted till a crowd drew and spread word it was time.
The widow Beauregard told a frowning group in Mae’s Diner that she reckoned it was the Bird, that he was back and summoning something so dark she didn’t sleep no more, just prayed and prayed ’cause prayer was the only weapon of the righteous. She’d been waved down when her back was turned but the Panic still gripped throats, so while the smoke was still just that, people began a slow search for the flame.
A couple small pieces had started showing up in the Brookdale Chronicle and the Maidenville Herald. Word did spread of the sights that could be seen on Hallow Road, that long straight stretch of road that led from Grace to beyond. Cars had been spotted, left lazy in the dirt halfway to the line, people littering the green fields, heads tilted and mouths hung as they moved between Grace and Windale, dark and light.
*
Raine rose with a sharp pain in her gut and first thought maybe it was the booze ’cause she’d snuck out with Danny Tremane again, but when she gulped water straight from the faucet the pain got worse. It was Summer; she had to get her sister back. The week had passed so quick and jagged, the fear climbing every morning she woke and saw her daddy beat at the kitchen table after another night of empty searching. And so she slipped from the house onto the dark streets of town and she walked them fast till her head pounded and her shirt clung damp to her back.
She called Danny from the pay phone on Jackson Ranch Road and he told her he was busy. She told him please and he cut the line, and she slammed the receiver down so hard it broke.
*
When Noah opened the door, Raine pushed past him and walked into the kitchen like she’d been there before. It was tired and the cabinet doors were falling off and he looked embarrassed.
“Are you okay?” Noah said.
She ran a hand up and tousled her hair. Her eyes were blackened ’cause she’d slept in her makeup. She saw his worry and it pissed her off ’cause he didn’t know nothing about her.
She pulled herself onto the kitchen counter, then crossed her legs and rubbed a hand along her bare thigh like the muscle was tight.
“Can I fix you somethin’? A drink?”
She shook her head, then she stared at him till he wilted. “I can’t sleep, Noah. I’m scared now.”
“We’ll keep lookin’, later, after I finish at the station.”
She rubbed her eyes like she might cry and he walked over. He put a hand on her shoulder and she slipped from the counter and laid her head on his chest, made a noise like she was sobbing but there weren’t no tears at all.
“I have to find her,” she said. “It’s been too long.”
She wondered how far he’d strayed from his depth. She could smell her own perfume, so sweet it made her gag, and beneath it the sweat and the fear and all that was turning real.
“Will you do somethin’ for me?” she said.
“ ’Course, anything you need,” he said.
*
Black drove down Lott Road, passing by Glenhurst and shooting a look in the rearview. He kept the speed down and flashed the lights at a couple dead turns. With the sky so dark they’d already had a couple of accidents to deal with.
Trix had taken the call. It’d come from Clara Stokes and it was about the Ryan girl. Clara wouldn’t give no details to Trix, wouldn’t talk to no one but Black, which weren’t all that surprising. Black knew Clara, knew she was the raw kinda lonely that meant it’d take an hour of iced tea and small talk before she got round to what it was. He’d left Noah behind, though he’d wanted to come. Black knew Noah was getting close with Raine so he’d told Trix to keep a lid on the call. That way he could stop the Ryans heading to Clara’s place and getting worked up on the drive.
Clara lived in a small house by a pocket of swampland that bled down to the Red. He’d been to her place five years back, when they had a long week of biblical rain that flooded most of the area.
He’d slept three hours the night before, woke in the dead night and reached for a bottle of whiskey. A week. The Ryans were more than anxious. Joe and Tommy had rolled through the square that morning in a fiery mood, stopping only to pick up coffee at Mae’s and shoot hard glances at everyone inside. Black had passed Summer’s details to Sheriff Ernie Redell but they were all working the assumption she’d run. That long year, girl after girl, it’d driven them all to the brink and none were keen to revisit. Ernie had a theory the Bird was dead, the reason behind it little more than wishful. The doubt was there though, it kept Black in his chair instead of bed each night, running over a copy of the thick file with a whole lot of nothing in it.
He pulled the cruiser into a patch of mud right outside Clara’s place. She was sitting out front on the porch. The house was low and old, every board needed replacing. There was a pile of soiled sheets and some engine parts strewn. Clara had a deadbeat son who was serving time over in Pickensville for some misdemeanor or another.
Black got out. There weren’t neighbors; it was quiet ’cept for the sound of a low branch scraping the roof of the house.
Clara stood when Black reached her, filled a pitcher with iced tea for him, and then sat again.
“This cloud,” she said, by way of a greeting.
He nodded, sat opposite and sipped his tea, pleased to find it was laced with rum. He glanced at her, at the baked lines in her face and the thinning white hair and the coal-black eyes.
“I kept sayin’ the storm was comin’ but so far ain’t nothin’.” she said.
She’d lit a kerosene lamp. It flickered on the wood between them.
“I got a call about the cloud from –”
“Bailey from the church?” she cut in.
He nodded.
“He said he was gonna call. I told him there ain’t no point but he’s a stubborn old sumbitch.”
She rolled a cigarette, her fingers thin and shaking bad.
“How’s Carson doin’?” Carson was her grandson, lived over in Sweet Water with his momma.
She shrugged. “Reckon they call me?”
“Trix said you might know somethin’ about Summer Ryan.”
She licked the paper, stuck it down, then took a good while to get it lit.
“She left a note,” Clara said, squinting up at him, a grain of tobacco stuck to her lip.
“She did.”
“So she ran?”
“Looks that way.”
“But you’re gettin’ worried, right?”
He took a long drink and looked on silent as she topped it off.
“Joe and Ava?”
“As you’d reckon. So what’ve you got to tell me, Clara?”
“I saw her a couple times.”
“When?”
“Maybe a month back. Maybe two or three. I got pills, I can’t remember things too good when I’m taking ’em.”
“Right.”
“She weren’t alone. That’s why I called. I thought it was strange . . . I ain’t the type to meddle but it played on my mind. And then I heard she was missin’ and I thought I’d better call you.”
“Who was it you saw with her?”
“It was raining, both times. That kinda falling rain that damn near washed me outta my home. So I was standing out front those days, just in case it crept up on me.”
“Who did you see with Summer?” he said, gentle.
She dropped her cigarette to the floor and stamped it with her shoe. He saw blue veins on the top of her foot, pumped up high like they were trying to split.
“Didn’t seem right being as he’s much older than her . . . ain’t kin or nothin’. And he was holding an umbrella so I almost couldn’t make him out, but he’s got that hair.”
“Who?” Black said, this time pushing.
“Samson, from the church. Samson Lumen. The Angel.”
Black drew a breath, his mind running to Pastor Lumen. “You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
*
Noah and Purv laid back in the soft grass by the cypress tree, staring straight up at the dark sky and sharing a cigarette.
“You reckon we should pick up some silver bullets?” Purv said.
“Why?”
“For the Bird. In case we find him.”
“I think silver bullets are for werewolves.”
“A stake, then.”
“That’s vampires.”
“Well, what kills birds?”
“Rice.”
“I’ll pick some up from Ginny’s.”
“You realize he ain’t an actual bird?”
“We’re huntin’ motherfuckin’ demons,” Purv said, holding the hunting knife out in front. “I’ll slay the Bird. I’ll cut his fuckin’ wings off so he can’t fly no more.”
Noah laughed.
Purv traced the blade with his finger.
“I was thinkin’ about that temple they found in Hell’s Gate, by Hartville. All them bones. Some of ’em was human, that’s the way I heard it. A skull, maybe it was from a kid or somethin’.”
“Probably bullshit.”
“Probably.”
“Are you worried about what we’re doin’?” Purv said.
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah. I like stealin’, you know that –”
“I do.”
“But I take shit people ain’t even gonna miss. Stealin’ files from a police station . . .”
Noah had a copy of the file in the trunk of the Buick. Raine asked and he did it. She said if he could get Black’s file—the file on the Briar girls—the file with the names of the bad men, then they’d have a place to start. She said they wouldn’t do nothing but stop by the houses and watch awhile to see if there was any sign of Summer, ’cause she needed to do something, and time weren’t on their side no more. He got that.
So when Black was out on a call and Trix was busy and Rusty was sleeping in his chair, Noah had gone into the file room and searched. And he’d seen shit he had no business seeing, photos that’d keep him awake this life and the next.
“What you reckon we’ll do when we get to New Orleans?” Purv said.
Noah closed his eyes and smiled. It never took Purv long to swing talk to New Orleans. They’d made the plan when they were ten, on a day when Purv took a royal hiding and had turned up on Noah’s doorstep in the early hours looking for a place to hole up while he tried to figure out if anything more than his life was broke. They’d settled on New Orleans for no other reason than they’d heard about the women at Mardi Gras, and that was a sight both were keen to witness.
“I reckon we’ll find a cheap apartment to rent, nothin’ fancy. Then we’ll find work, maybe in a bar or somethin’.”
“Good thing I got the job at the Whiskey Barrel. I can say I got experience,” Purv said.
“That’s right.”
“I was checkin’ for the hospitals. There’s a couple units down there. We’ll take a look, choose the one with the prettiest nurses.”
Noah smiled.
Purv cleared his throat. “I was thinkin’ as well, I know we don’t never talk about it, but what Missy said . . . You can’t skip no more sessions.”
“I know. It’s just with Raine needing us, and I got this badge on. I kinda forget awhile, you know?”
“Yeah. I know.”
They got to their feet when they heard steps. Noah saw it was Raine ’cause her hair was so light against the dark. When she got near she nodded at him, he nodded back and the three made for the Buick.
They spread out the file on the backseat.
“Shit, there’s a lot here,” Raine said.
“That ain’t even half of it. I flipped through the rest but it didn’t have no names in it.”
A couple of the guys were on parole, a couple had been arrested more than once but never held for long. Noah guessed Black would’ve run them down already.
When Raine was done she laid out the map and circled fifteen houses, stretching across six towns and three unincorporated communities.
“We’ll start at the nearest and work our way out,” Raine said.
They set off slow, heading toward the kinda darkness that made Grace seem light.
*
It was getting late when Savannah answered the door and for a minute her face fell. The fear, it was irrational, but she caught it quick and stepped aside.
Their house was lit, every room warm white, soft throws on the sofas and dark wood pieces her parents had gifted them over the years.
She led Black into the kitchen.
“Bobby around?”
“He’s out searching with the other men. Every night now. Is it important?”
“It can wait, just wanted to run somethin’ by him. I’ll leave you, you’re eating.”
She saw him glance at the microwave carton and she felt shame creep into her cheeks.
“I was at Pinegrove, I volunteer there. I was late getting back and I didn’t know what time Bobby was coming in, but he called and said he was stopping out –”
“I love mac ’n’ cheese too,” he said.
“Would you like some? There’s another carton.”
“Sure.”
They ate in the den and she poured them wine and Black drank it slow, which she guessed was an ask. She knew about him; there was talk as soon as they moved to Grace.
They’d already spoke a little about Summer and Ava and Joe, about the worry and the fear that Black was fighting hard to play down.
“Bobby loves her,” she said. “I mean, he loves having her around, talking to her and listening to her play.”
“Ava reckons she dotes on the two of you.”
Savannah laughed. “She follows Bobby around almost as much as Samson. But she’s a sweetheart, Black. I remember when we first met her.”
“She bring you cookies?”
“Oatmeal raisin.”
“She drops a batch at the station every Christmas, has done since she was ten. I don’t get near ’em ’cause Rusty’s desk is nearest the door.”
She laughed.
“She’s missin’ her lessons,” he said.
“I’ll make her catch up.”
He smiled.
“I once gave her a composition, by Dvořák. It was difficult and she slipped up like I knew she would, and I realized I’d rushed her, and after I felt awful, because I forgot, Black. I forgot she was fifteen and she hadn’t been playing all that long.” She sipped her wine. “A month or so later she sat down and played it again; I didn’t ask, she just played, and she played it near perfect. And she didn’t say anything after, she just got up and bowed and smiled.”
He finished his drink and she offered him another and he took it.
“It’s so dark outside. When Bobby opens the door and leaves each morning, it’s just so dark. He works late too.”
“Must be hard on you,” he said.
She shrugged like it was nothing, but truth was Bobby didn’t spend his time home with her, not just since Summer ran but since they got to Grace. It was supposed to be a fresh start for them, they drove the fifty miles in his old Honda because he was proud and she loved that about him. For a while it worked, she dressed nice every day, pearls and an apron, hand on hip and a southern smile. She could project like no other.
“He looked tired when I saw him,” Black said.
“He’s been out every night, helping Joe Ryan.”
“That’s decent of him.”
“He’s a decent man.” She said it flat.
“Are you all right, Savannah?”
She stared awhile, not at him. “We live Bobby’s life.” She cleared her throat. “He needed that, after –”
“I heard about your boy,” Black said, eyes down on his empty glass. “Sorry.”
“Thank you.” She said it rote. “It’s tough on Bobby . . . his son, you know.”
“Same for you.”
“Yes, same for me. Did you ever want children?”
“I got two; daughters.”
She looked up. “Oh –”
“They live with their mother, long way north. She married again.”
“What happened?” she said, then caught herself. “Sorry.”
“Life. Sometimes there’s turns you don’t see comin’, you know?”
“I do.”
There was something in his face, more than tortured, more than broke.
“We make our way, heads bowed ’cause that’s the way it is, and by the time we look up ain’t nothin’ the same. I don’t sleep well.”
“Bobby doesn’t.”
“We both took roles where good ain’t even in question, or shouldn’t be. We wear masks; what’s under though, it ain’t –” He looked up, met her eye like he forgot he weren’t alone. “It’s just hard.”
“What is?”
He smiled. “Being human.”
She thought of Bobby, of what she had done and how redemption was no longer an offer he could extend. The papers burned hot in the closet. It might ruin him and her but it might not. She couldn’t go on.
Black finished his drink and he held it like water. He stood and said goodnight.
When he’d gone she prayed on the flagstones in the kitchen, makeup running lines from her eyes like tears so dark.