I needed to get information fast if I was going to save Brooke’s life. I didn’t have time for finesse or subterfuge or a drawn-out investigation. The monster holding Brooke might kill her at any moment. If the Butler family had any clues that might help me, I was going to get it out of them as quickly and efficiently as I could. It was not going to be pretty.
The cops had taken my knife when they’d taken Brooke to the hospital, so I walked down the road a bit, looking in the windows of trucks. Sure enough, the second one had a gun rack with a pair of hunting rifles. God bless these rednecks. I tried the door, but it was locked; I walked around to the passenger side, hoping I wouldn’t have to break a window, and sighed in relief when the handle turned. I unsnapped the straps on the nearest rifle, a long hunting model like the one Derek had held. I pulled a pack of ammo from the glove compartment and loaded it quietly as I walked to the door of the house. I hated guns. They were messy and loud and impersonal. But they were scary as hell.
Ding-dong.
I listened for footsteps and rang again.
Ding-dong.
I heard a voice and hid the rifle just out of view behind the door jamb. A man opened the door partway, stopped after a few short inches by a metal chain.
“What do you want?”
“Hi, sir, my name’s David, and I’m a friend of Brielle’s. Is she home?”
“We’re not interested in visitors right now.”
“I know, sir, and I know Officer Davis told everyone not to let people in their homes, but the lockdown hasn’t started yet and this will only take a minute. I know you’ve gone through a lot lately, and I know it’s hit Brielle really hard, so I brought her a little something to cheer her up. It’ll only take a minute.”
Mr. Butler stared at me moment before speaking. “You’re that new guy just passing through town, right? With the girl?”
“That’s right, sir. I met Brielle at church.” Thank you, Marci, for insisting we go to church.
“Yeah,” said Butler, “I remember. You had that great dog. Basset hound?”
“That’s right,” I said.
“I love those dogs. And I do remember Brielle saying she liked you. Where’s your girlfriend?”
“She’s with Ingrid.”
“All right then,” he said. “I guess if it’ll only take a minute.” Apparently he thought Brielle was home, which fit with my theory that she could fake her own alibis—an invisible Withered could slip in and out with no problems. Or maybe she really was home, and the Withered that had Brooke was someone else, and I was terrorizing this family for nothing. No, I thought, not for nothing. For information. He closed the door, and I picked up my rifle, and when he opened it again without the chain I smashed him in the face with the butt of it, breaking his nose and pushing him back inside. He cried out, clutching at his face, and I hit him again, in the knee this time, knocking him to the floor. I closed the door.
“What the—?” He writhed in pain, trying to get up, and I leveled the rifle at his face.
“Quiet.”
He shut up instantly.
“Call your wife,” I said. “Keep your voice as calm and easy as possible or I will shoot you in the face and get her myself. Do you understand me?”
“Are you going to kill us?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m going to bind you, and possibly torture you. No pun intended.”
“Pun? What’s wrong with you?”
I paused, thinking. What was wrong with me? I never acted like this. Or at least I hadn’t since …
… since I’d been with Brooke. She kept me sane, and she was gone. I’d snapped more quickly and completely than I’d thought possible.
And I’d do a lot more before I was done.
“I promised a friend I’d walk through hell to get her back,” I said. “Don’t make me bring you with me.”
He nodded. I prompted him with the rifle, and he called out in the calmest voice he could muster: “Honey? Can you come into the living room for a minute?”
We waited in silence, and when Mrs. Butler walked into the room she yelped in shock.
“Stay quiet,” I said. “Do exactly what I say or I will kill him. Do you understand me?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Answer my question or I will demonstrate my seriousness.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I understand you.”
“Who else is in the house?”
“Just the kids,” she said. “All three—” she broke down, sobbing. “Both of them.”
“Call your son,” I said. “Don’t let him think that anything is wrong.”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “Noah!” Her voice quavered, and I raised the rifle—just a millimeter, to get her attention—and she called out again. “Noah, honey, can you come into the living room?”
This is where it got tricky. If Brielle was home, and if she was a Withered, she could walk in at any moment and kill me. I had a gun, but that was all posturing; I was a horrible shot. Glassman had fought off the demon, but I didn’t have the physical or combat training he did. I had to work quickly and hope I could learn something valuable before the Withered came back.