Chapter Thirty-eight
"We need to know why this entity brought me up here," I said when I'd hung up with Sherbet.
"And why it wants your kids," chimed in Allison.
Another very cold chill went through me. I began pacing in the bungalow. Who had come to my house? Who was outside of Kingsley's house? Why did they want my kids?
"I think we know who," said Allison, somehow following my frantic thoughts.
"I'm certain the Thurman clan reaches far and wide."
I sat on the arm of the leather sofa, ran both hands through my hair. My too-thick hair. Never was my hair this thick when I was mortal.
"He controls them all," continued Allison, "anyone with a drop of Thurman blood."
"Jesus," I said. "So how do we stop him?"
"That," said Allison, "is why you make the big bucks."
"Great," I said, and thought again about the image I'd received from Tara: that of her and Edwin digging on the north side of the island.
"A good place to start," said Allison, following along. "Except if she doesn't even know what they're digging for, what makes you think we would know?"
"That," I said, "is why they invented the Internet."
"I thought they invented the Internet for porn?"
"That, too," I said. "Grab your laptop, and let's see what we can find."
"Yes, ma'am," said my new friend, and did just that.
* * *
It didn't take us long to find something.
"A shipwreck," said Allison, pointing to screen. "Over a hundred years ago, right off the north side of Skull Island.
Okay, we are definitely venturing into Scooby-Doo territory here."
"Except Scooby-Doo and the gang didn't deal with a body-jumping demon who's after me and my kids. Read the article."
She did.
In 1896, a shipping vessel hit rough waters just north of Skull Island. Most of the crew of fifteen survived, except for the captain who went down, proverbially, with the ship. The remaining fourteen crew members, via life rafts, eventually washed up onto Skull Island, where they were soon rescued.
"Weird and cool all rolled into one,"
said Allison. "But I don't see how that helps us."
I didn't see it either. "What's the name of the historian quoted in the article?"
"Abraham Gunthrie, college professor from Western Washington University in a city called Bellingham."
"Where's Bellingham?"
She brought up the city and college on Google Maps. Bellingham was north of here, about an hour away as the eagle flies. Or, in my case, as the giant vampire bat flies. I bumped Allison rudely out of her seat and, while she protested and rubbed her bruised hip, I brought up one of my proprietary websites and entered in my username and password. A few clicks later and I had the information I needed.
The professor's home address.
"That's kinda scary how fast you can do that."
"I use my powers for good," I said.
"Mostly."
"You do realize that the storm is even worse. No one is leaving or coming to the island."
"Not everyone," I said. I logged off the site, got up and began packing myself a weatherproof bag.