Motes of dust danced across the light, stirred to life in the wake of Merry's passing. She directed the beam towards the stairs. Merry appeared to have gone upwards. Up to where the evil lived.
Gripping the flashlight tightly, Shirley walked through the dust towards the stairs. The air smelled of decay and unwashed bodies. Obviously, it was still a haunt for those forced to scratch a living off the streets. It was odd, though, that there was no one here now—no one but Merry and whoever it was she'd come here for.
A floorboard creaked beneath Shirley's weight, the sound as loud as thunder in the silence.
She winced and hesitated. After several heartbeats, someone moved on the floor above.
It wasn't Merry. The footfalls were too heavy.
Reaching into her pocket, she turned on her mobile. If things started to go bad, she'd call for help. Larson might not like the publicity a call to the cops would raise, but if it meant the difference between life or death—her life or death—he could go to hell.
The staircase loomed out of the shadows. Shirley shone the light upwards. Something growled; a low sound almost lost against the thunder of her heart. She hesitated, staring up into the darkness.
It had sounded like some sort of animal. But what animal made such an odd, rasping noise?
One hand on the banister, the other clutching the flashlight so tightly her knuckles began to ache, she continued on. The growl cut across the silence again.
It was definitely no animal.
She reached the landing and stopped. The odd-sounding snarl seemed much closer this time. Sweat trickled down her face. The flashlight flickered slightly, its beam fading, allowing the darkness to close in on her. Shirley swore and gave it a quick shake.
The last thing she needed right now was the light to give up the ghost. Being stranded in total darkness was not a prospect she looked forward to.
The light flickered again, then became brighter. She moved on but kept close to the wall, just in case. At least she could use it as a guide, even if the peeling remains of the wallpaper felt like dead skin against her fingertips.
The hallway ended in a T-intersection. Moonlight washed through the shattered window at the end of the left-hand corridor. On her right, there was darkness so complete it almost appeared solid.
Merry was in there somewhere. Of that she had no doubt. But that odd sound had come from the left. Whatever it was, she had to check it out first. There was no way in hell she'd run the risk of being attacked from behind in a place like this. She turned left. Two doors waited ahead. One open, one closed.
Was it just fear or instinct that warned against entering either room?
The wind whispered forlornly through the shattered window, accompanied by a low moan that raced goose bumps across her skin.
It was definitely human more than animal. And it wasn't Merry. The teenager still waited in the darkness of the right corridor. Edging forward, she peered around the door frame.
Nothing moved in the moon-washed darkness, but something was in there, nevertheless. The sense of malevolence was so overwhelming she could barely breathe.
So why do you not turn around and run?
The thought whispered into her brain, feather light but hinting at anger. Shirley froze, fear squeezing her throat tight. Just for an instant, her mind linked with another. She tasted darkness and concern and the need to kill. This was the man she'd half seen near the fence—the man who'd followed her through the fog.
Turn around and leave. You cannot help the child now.
No. Why could she hear this man's thoughts? Telepathy had never been one of her talents, even though she'd been able to receive Jason's thoughts well enough.And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?
I merely try to save your life. You will not like what you find. Not in that room, and not with the teenager.
Yeah right. Who was this weirdo? A would-be prophet of doom?I have never run from anything in my life, and I don't intend to start now.
The lie gave her courage. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
****
Ethan Hunt hit the fence in frustration. The little fool had entered the room, despite his warning. Perhaps because of it.
She knew danger waited—he could taste the fear in her thoughts, despite the distance between them. So why wouldn't she run? Why did she continue this fruitless quest for the teenager? Given the strength of her psychic talents, she had to know the child was well beyond salvation.
He let his gaze roam to the far end of the house. Hidden by the darkness, evil waited for his next meal, ably served by his young companion. Unless she intervened, Shirley Ericson would become the fifth woman to go missing in this area.
Had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have particularly cared. His task here tonight was to trap and kill a murderer, not save lives. But her abilities added a dangerous dimension to his task. It was for those abilities, more than her blood, that Flinch hunted her.
He turned and walked to the end of the fence. The sudden movement caused pain to shoot through his head, but he resisted the urge to rub the lump forming near his temple. He had deserved that, and more, for being so careless. But he just hadn't expected the fool to use her kinetic abilities against him. Why he hadn't, he couldn't say. He smiled grimly. Maybe senility was finally setting in.
He stopped and studied the houses opposite. Like the area in general, the homes appeared deserted, forgotten. Yet several of the nearest were occupied; he could see the slight haze of life through the walls. Though he couldn't actually enter the main buildings, such restrictions didn't seem to hold when it came to garages. If he could find a container of some kind, he could siphon the gas from the cars.
Ethan glanced back up to the house. Flinch hated fire. Feared it.
It might be enough to save Shirley Ericson.