Darrel laughed nervously. “You think we know what we’re up against? We still don’t know shit. But we do know that fire doesn’t work, and that it’s connected to your family, so we sever the tie. This Emma woman has to be related, right?”
“The name isn’t familiar. Probably a pseudonym. Where did they say she was from? Florida?” Paul had a faint recognition of a conversation from a long time ago. “I swear Katherine Smith told me her mom left a long time ago. That she and her father lived in Florida. It’s got to be her.” The realization struck him like a punch to the gut. The woman would be a cousin to his mother, or something along those lines. They were definitely related. Why had she returned?
“You think killing her will be enough?” Darrel asked, and Paul grabbed the man by the arm, tugging him so they were face-to-face.
“Darrel, we can’t go around killing people!” Paul shouted this and his voice rang out, carrying through the orchard.
“What do you think we’re doing here? We have guns… we’re not here for a parade, are we?” Darrel asked, and pulled his cap lower on his forehead. He did that when he was angry, and Paul could read the signs a mile away.
“These are just in case,” Paul said, but even he didn’t believe his own words.
“Yeah. In case we see Emma Jeanne, or whoever she really is. If she’s helping this monster, she deserves to die, Paul. And from what we’re hearing, she’s been the one nabbing the kids. With her own two hands. Do you think she deserves any other fate?” Darrel asked, his voice low against the wind.
Paul shook his head, because he did believe she should die. But Paul also wanted to make sure this curse, this horrifying monster, was killed in the process. They couldn’t kill Emma until they knew everything about it. “We have to make sure this Schattenmann is finished after tonight. We don’t kill her until we know. Deal?” Paul switched his grip on the gun to his left hand and stuck his right out.
Darrel spat on the ground and shook it. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, but if that doesn’t work, we do it mine.”
Paul could live with that. As long as Taylor, Terri, and Stevie weren’t nearby, he was going to be as content as possible.
They kept walking, and Paul paused as they neared the location of the derelict house that had once stood a half mile away from the main manor. That was where Cliff had found him in the basement when he was a kid. The same thing had been done here. It was torn down, which wouldn’t have been hard after the last time Paul had been here. A stiff breeze could have knocked the walls over.
Paul noticed the grass and other vegetation had stayed clear of the house’s footprint as well, and it sent a shiver through his body. This was evil. It was soaked into the earth beneath the orchard, and Paul wasn’t sure it would ever be exorcised, even if the entity was destroyed. It was likely tainted forever.
A pair of headlights lit up the parking lot, and Paul saw the sheriff’s car’s red and blues flash once before shutting off, as if signaling to them across the open grounds.
“We’d better go. I don’t see anything out here, do you?” Darrel asked, and Paul shook his head. There could be a hole somewhere, but having the nest access out in the open seemed to go against what the Smiths had done before. Paul eyeballed the condo building and knew that if a nest was anywhere, it was underneath the complex.
_______________
“Did you hear what Tyler said? We need to go now,” Taylor said, watching as the detective strode toward the drunks outside the bar.
Brent was jumping out of the backseat, and he was gone before Taylor could tell him to stop. “Looks like your boyfriend’s trying to get himself killed,” Isabelle said.
Taylor didn’t respond to her cousin’s comment. Instead, she got out of the car and followed Brent, running to catch up to him. “What are you doing?” she asked him.
He glanced back with dark eyes. “Helping Tom.”
Taylor grabbed at his arm, but he jerked it free. “Stay with us,” Taylor said, worried he’d get hurt by the goons smoking near the door. It was too late; they were already at the bar entrance, and Detective Bartlett had stopped a few feet short of the men. There were only two of them now; the rest had scurried away like cockroaches after a light was turned on.
Bartlett impressed Taylor with his calm demeanor. She liked the guy, even though he didn’t seem to believe their stories of the monster in Red Creek. She actually appreciated him more because he didn’t instantly give in to their wild tales. If he had, she would have questioned his position even more. Taylor felt he’d know the truth soon enough, if they managed to get the tire fixed and make it to the orchard.
She wanted to call her dad and see what was happening, but she was drawn to the impending altercation playing out before her eyes.
“Something funny, gentlemen?” the detective asked them.
Taylor took a good look at the drunk men and wished they’d stayed in the car. One of them was well over six feet and had to weigh two hundred and fifty pounds. His fashion was terrible: gray sweat pants and a green plaid shirt under an orange vest. His hair spiked up in random directions. The other one gave off the appearance of someone a little more normal, but the way he was swaying side to side, she knew he was three sheets to the wind. He was around forty, but didn’t want to accept it: tight jeans and a button-down long-sleeve shirt that was one exhale away from letting out his beer gut.
They were snickering back and forth when Bartlett asked them again,
