Quinn was in the back yard, checking that the boxes that contained the zombie-nun pieces were still sealed, when he heard Danni’s scream.
He moved like lightning, racing back into the house, tearing to the room where he’d left her sleeping.
“Danni?”
She was alone in the room. She had leapt up and grabbed the lamp off the little wicker table next to the bed and was holding it—ready to crash it down on someone’s head.
“Danni!”
She looked like an Amazon warrior, hair tousled around her face, eyes both fierce and afraid, body stiff and muscles tense, form beautifully held as if she were posing for a Greek statue.
“Danni!” he repeated, walking to her to take the lamp from her.
She didn’t blink until he was right in front of her. “Hey!” he said softly, reaching to take the lamp from her. She released it to him. He returned it to its spot.
“Where is it?” she demanded, shaking as she stared at him.
“Where is—what?”
“The zombie-nun. It was right here; it was right at the foot of the bed.”
Quinn enveloped her in his arms. “Danni, I came in through the back. I saw the whole downstairs. Nothing came at me, nothing was in here.”
“It was here,” she said, and pointed to the foot of the bed. “Here—right here!”
“The front door is locked; I came in through the back. Nothing, no one, passed me.”
She looked at him, shaking—and suddenly unsure. She seemed to collapse in his arms. “Oh, Quinn, I was having the most awful dream. There were hundreds of them. They were chasing everyone down Duval Street. We made it to Mallory Square and they were about to attack a fire-eater on a unicycle.”
“Danni, Danni, it’s all right. I’m here now. With Smith and Wesson.” He was quiet for a minute. “Maybe we should take a room at a hotel. This house itself might cause…well, nightmares that seem so real that they wake you up.”
She straightened then, pulling away from him. “No, no, we need to stay here. I don’t know why—I feel it. We just need to be here. I’m going to shower quickly. We’re going to go see Davy, and I’m going to sketch whatever it is that he tells me.”
“You better go quickly,” he said huskily, half teasing and half serious. The image of the naked Amazon warrior was still strong in his mind.
“We have to get there!” she said firmly. She grabbed up clean clothing from her overnight bag and headed toward the door. “I’ll be in the downstairs shower—don’t leave the house!”
“I won’t, I promise,” he assured her.
He didn’t.
Had it been a nightmare? Had to have been. He returned to the house the second he heard her scream. No one was in and no one was out. He checked the back door; yes, he had locked it, even as he run in like an idiot. Old training and lessons stayed with him, even by rote.
By nature, he went through the house, checking the upstairs—including the closets. He headed up to the attic, glancing in. Nothing had changed. Nothing.
Except….
The cat. Where the hell was the cat?
He hurried around the house, searching for Waldorf.
At last, he found him.
Waldorf was under the bed they had been sleeping in.
He was shaking and shivering and terrified. Quinn picked him up; the cat clung to him as if he were a life preserver.
“Come on, boy, treats,” Quinn said.
It took him several minutes to even convince the cat that he wanted treats; when he finally had the cat calmed down, he left him lapping up some milk in the kitchen.
Nightmares, he knew, could seem real, Quinn knew. And Danni might well have had a nightmare that stayed with her as she awoke.
But there was the cat…
He’d gone through the house from top to bottom. There had been nothing there. Nothing but the usual assortment of posters and masks and props and….
Hearing the bathroom door open, he raced back down the stairs. Danni was ready. They headed off to the police station.
***
“Mason held a press conference this morning, of course,” Officer Sandy Burnett told Quinn and Danni, as she poured bad coffee into Styrofoam cups for them. She’d been excited to tell Quinn what she’ discovered about the zombie-nun animatronics from the movie and Quinn had thanked her—as if he didn’t already have the information.
“He’s stated that were following up clues and he expects to have suspects in hand shortly. Frankly, that’s a load. The forensic people found hundreds of cigarette butts—that will prove nothing. The only real thing we have from the cemetery is that little patch of fabric you found, Quinn.” She sighed. “We have a roadblock up on Roosevelt—checking all cars heading north. And we have scores of officers out questioning people. Mason has sent out for officers in other cities to question the friends and parents of the dead men. We’re doing everything right, I’m sure, except that….”
Her voice trailed.