“Get my Handycam out and familiarize yourself with it. I’d love it if you’d get some extra footage while we’re out here. Think you can do that?”
“I’d love to,” I said and leaned in to give her a quick kiss.
“Knock it off, you lovebirds,” came a call from our side. We turned to look at Aaron, and he mimed gagging.
I laughed and shook my head, rolling my eyes a bit, and Lark stuck her tongue out at him before chuckling.
“Okay, I’m just gonna run and chat with him. Be back in a flash.”
She jogged off, and I walked over to where Aaron stood, digging in Lark’s bag for her Handycam. Nothing happened when I pulled it out and tried to turn it on.
“What am I doing wrong?” I mumbled, and Aaron came over.
“Let me see,” he said, and I handed over the camera.
He fiddled with it for a bit. “Well, shit. Looks like the battery’s dead.” He popped it out and looked at it.
“Lark just charged it before we came today, and she hasn’t even used it.” I scratched the back of my neck.
“Happens sometimes,” he said. “The spirits like to use electronics to give themselves the energy to manifest. I’d bet half the equipment people had with them when we were chatting with the group inside is dead now.”
“That sucks,” I said, thinking how disappointed Lark would be.
“It’s no problem,” he assured. “We always have extras in the van.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, holding them out to me. “Open the back. They’re in a gray tackle-box-looking thing on one of the shelves on the right. Should have a label that saysspare batteries.”
He dropped the keys into my hand, and I nodded, putting down Lark’s bag and heading around the side of the building with my flashlight.
When I got through the gate and to the street, I turned to look at the front of the house, thinking maybe I’d see Lark and Turner, but they weren’t there. I assumed they’d probably gone inside.
I grabbed the battery from the box in the van. Just as I was relocking the doors, I heard a weird sound from up ahead where Paxton had his vintage Ford parked. I stopped and listened, hearing it again. It almost sounded like a moan from somewhere near the truck.
I walked closer and shone my light near the tires and under the vehicle, then up ahead between the truck and the car parked in front of it. Nothing. Still, I heard the noise again. This time, however, I swore I heard a word after the groan.
I returned to the rear of the cherry-red truck and peeked in the back.
My blood turned to ice.
“Holy fuck,” I said, quickly lowering the tailgate and jumping into the bed. Turner lay on the bed liner, moaning and holding his head, mumbling under his breath.
“Fucking hell,” he said with a little more force.
I rushed to him and tried to help him sit up, setting my flashlight down and pointing at us so I could see. The streetlight was grimy and dirty here and didn’t give much illumination. Still, even in the low light, I saw that his hair, the side of his face, and the neckline of his T-shirt were covered in blood.
“Jesus,” I said. “Are you okay?” It felt like my heart dropped to my feet.
“Does it fucking look like I’m okay?” He flashed me a glare. At least he sounded like himself.
“You know what I meant,” I said and gently turned his head so I could see the wound better. “What the hell happened?”
He groaned. “I’m not sure. It’s all a bit fuzzy. I got a call inside. I didn’t know who it was, but it was from the area code of the ranch, and I feared that maybe it was the hospital or something with news about Mom.” He shook his head and then immediately turned to the side, dropped to an elbow, and threw up.
“Ah, fuck. Padre’s gonna kill me.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I assured. “Nothing a hose won’t fix. What else do you remember?”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then tried to sit up straighter. “I got out to the porch and answered the phone, but the connection was shitty, so I walked closer to the road, hoping that getting farther away from all the equipment and stuff would give me a better signal. I was still trying to hear whoever was on the other end of the line when I weirdly smelled cigar smoke and then felt a massive pain in my head. And then . . . nothing.”
He turned to look at me, and I saw him gag again. My concern grew. “Holy hell, I feel like shit.” He closed his eyes and huffed a breath out of his nose, swallowing hard.