I struggled to focus. It was surprisingly easy. I had just emerged from a dream state after stepping into a magically lit symbol ingrained in the floor of an old, abandoned house. I should be running for the door. Or huddled on the floor, rocking. But somehow it was like seeing red-eyed hounds and strange men who gave me boar's tusks. I could mentally lift the vision wholesale and stick it into the already overflowing "crazy shit I'll deal with later" box in my brain. At least I wasn't still trying to find rational explanations. That was progress. Or the sign of a complete mental breakdown.
I turned to TC. "Now can we go?"
He scampered out.
In the hall, I spotted him at the end, nudging that one closed door. "You have the worst sense of direction, don't you? That's locked--"
TC pushed it half open with his paw.
"No!" I said, lunging after him. "Not in--"
He dashed through. I didn't spend a second wondering how the heck a locked door got opened, because for once the rational explanation was the one that made sense. It was also the one that had me taking out my gun.
That door had been locked. Absolutely, undeniably locked. If it wasn't now, that meant I wasn't the only person here.
I suppose the intruder expected me to tear through after TC, having lured him in with some ripe-smelling tidbit. But while I was fond of my cat, it was a "break into an abandoned house for him" kind of affection, not "run into a death trap for him."
Gun raised, I kicked open the door and peered in. Steep steps rose into darkness. The attic.
"TC?" I called.
A bump sounded above, as if he'd jumped onto something. Then a loud thump, and I had to stop myself from running up after him.
"TC?" I called. "Are you okay?"
Another thump, lighter. Then an odd bump-bump-bump over the floorboards. I pointed my gun with one hand while lifting my flashlight-phone with the other. TC appeared, dragging something behind him. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and meowed.
"Come down here," I said.
He answered with a "No, you come here" yowl. When I didn't move, he nudged his trophy to the edge of the steps. I could make out a rough covering, like fur. He grabbed the fur and pulled the thing closer to the edge.
"Is that a rat?" I said.
It was too big for a mouse. Hell, it looked big enough to be a raccoon--a young one, at least. I stepped forward then stopped, as I remembered why I was staying at the base of the stairs.
"Come down," I said. "Now. I'm not chasing--"
He disappeared. I fought a groan. I should leave. I really should. But if someone was up there, TC might get hurt. I was about to call him again when the bundle at the top of the stairs moved. He was pushing it toward the edge. Determined to bring his prize with him.
"I don't want--"
Too late. He gave the thing a shove and down it came, bump-bumping over the steps as it rolled, while he trotted behind it. When his trophy was halfway down, I started to realize what it was, but I just stood there, light shining on the thing, watching it roll, telling myself I was wrong, had to be wrong, until it came to rest at my feet, and I was looking down at the head of Ciara Conway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I scooped up TC and got the hell out of that house, not stopping until I was on the front sidewalk. Then I called Gabriel. It went to voice mail.
"Goddamn you," I muttered, then said, "Gabriel? I need you to call me now. This isn't a joke. Call me."
I hung up and dialed 911. No more screwing around. I didn't care if Ciara's head vanished before the police got here. My conscience could no longer rest knowing that she was dead and I was carrying on as if nothing had happened. If Gabriel would have advised otherwise, well, then he should answer his damned phone.
My call went to the state police. I asked if I should report a problem to the local PD instead and they said yes. Did I want them to connect me? Just then my phone beeped with an incoming call from Gabriel. I asked the dispatcher for the number instead. Records would show that I'd placed this call. Better to speak to my lawyer now.
"I'm in town," Gabriel said before I could speak. "I need the address. If you don't know it--"
"Did you get my messages?" I said. "Any of them?"
"Messages?"