Page 23 of Missing Moon
Conversation goes on mostly between Dusk and Mary Lou, who is very upset at the state of the property.
“I’ve been here a couple days,” says Dusk. “But I’m planning to stick around, clean the place up, and get it back to rights. Might even end up staying here for good to take care of Mom.”
“You’re the reason there’s not an ocean of trash outside in front of the place?” I ask.
He gives me a ‘yeah, it was pretty bad’ look.
“Do you have a place somewhere?” asks Mary Lou.
“Nah. Went full hobo in Europe.” He chuckles. “Sometimes, I’d rent a room for three or four months, but nothing permanent. Got no ties anywhere, so I might as well do what I can to make up for being away so long.”
Their conversation continues into more morbid topics, like the obvious need to make funeral arrangements for Dad soon and what to do with his car if we can find it. Where to bury him, that sort of thing. Yeah, I’m an adult now but... ugh. I’ll let Mary Lou deal with that. Sorry, sis. Happy to help financially if needed, but she can do the planning.
In a moment of odd quiet where everyone stops talking at the same time, a scream happens outside. It’s faint. I barely hear it, which means no one else in the room with the possibleexception of Anthony had any chance to notice it. I don’t think he’s got supernatural senses in the same way I do. Sometimes, he justknowsbad things are happening. Unfortunately, there are some bizarre rules in place. Angels, apparently, aren’t allowed to intervene in most cases no matter what’s going on.
Anthony isn’t a full-fledged angel yet. He’s not entirely limited by those rules. However, he’s not showing any sign he noticed the scream. If what he said about my mother is true—and I have no reason to think he made it up—it might be a better idea that he stays near her. Hopefully, he can figure out what happened.
The scream happens again. The very terrified scream. Sounds like a man. The voice is twisted with the sort of existential terror like he’s got a machete-wielding maniac stalking him…
Someone not too far from this house is in fear for his life.
I can’t just sit here ignoring that.
Not to disturb anyone else, I do my best to radiate a ‘don’t mind me’ as I get up and slip away from everyone.
I head down the hall acting like I’m going to the bathroom… but go right past it to the kitchen—and out to the woods. Curious and more than a little worried about what’s making a guy scream like that, I pop my wings and leap into the air, flying off in the direction the screams came from.
Chapter Eight
Hiker Snack
They lead me into the deep, dark woods.
Along with the sounds of someone running through the forest without being able to see where they’re going become clear. Alas, it all stops less than a minute after I take to the air, along with a loudoofthat makes me imagine the poor guy ran face-first into a tree and had the wind knocked out of him.
Skimming low above the trees, I fly in the direction the sounds came from, hoping the silence is due to the guy knocking himself senseless… and not because whatever made him scream caught up to him.
We sometimes get bears around here. Hmm. It occurs to me I’m heading in the direction of that corporate-owned farm I used to steal from as a child. Not talking grand larceny here, just a poor starving kid sneaking off with some produce.
Another few seconds go by and the farm comes into view up ahead. It’s probably half a mile or so from my parents’ house. As farms go, it’s notthatbig. It’s big for this area. In a shocking twist, the place looks run down and abandoned. The buildings are rusting. One of the doors on the giant barn has fallen off and lays on the ground. What few bits of farmmachinery remain all look like they could serve as background scenery for a bleak post-apocalypse movie.
The scream happens again, emanating from inside the huge barn.
I glide in to land just outside the gaping opening in the front of the barn, and let my wings disappear. Various huge machines fill the structure. I’m not sure what they are other than having something to do with large-scale agricultural processing. Mass-washing, peeling, or packaging… that sort of thing. None of it’s been in operation for at least a decade, if not more.
Rattling chain noises lead me forward around a big conveyor system.
On the left side of the massive room near the wall, a young man struggles to free himself from a chain padlocked around his neck. He’s tethered to another section of metal conveyor. The stench of old urine hits me. It’s obviously not from this guy, but it gets me wondering if he might not be the first person to have found himself trapped here.
Whoa. Am I dealing with a serial killer?
Thank God I am what I am—or I’d be too scared to risk going any farther into this barn. No matter how psychotic a mortal is, they aren’t going to betoomuch of a threat to me… barring the random chance they happen to have a silver weapon or a small nuke. I suppose someone with magic who knows exactly what I am would be a dangerous threat, too. But the chances of someone like that being a serial killer operating in the middle of nowhere are so small they’re laughable.
I walk closer to the struggling man.
He catches sight of me when my shadow appears in a swath of moonlight cast on the ground beside him from a big window. He stares back at me—and screams again.
“Hey, relax. I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.