Page 30 of Death Wish

“Have you tried an exorcism?” I asked.

“That only works with possession. Like with your friend’s boyfriend.” He frowned. “I am close to finding the answers I need. Closer than I’ve ever been before.”

“How about other spirits? Can you see them? Haunts?”

“Like ghosts?” His brow rose. “No, I can’t. You’re the first and only dead thing I can see. Besides other demons, but they’re technically my kin, so…”

“Our previous theory about you and Xaver seeing me has been officially squashed, then.”

“Damn. You’re right.”

The sky above the trees in the distance brightened to a fiery pink as the sun began to ascend. I glanced at the dashboard clock. Five forty-five in the morning. “Is your friend going to be pissed that we’re about to wake him up so early?”

“Probably. But he’s used to it.”

We drove over a hill, and at the very bottom, Cole drifted the Jeep onto the shoulder. The trees and sudden bend in the road made it hard to see anything besides forest, so when he turned right, I thought we were heading from disaster. Instead, we careened down a dirt road that was so buried in the woods, tree branches scraped the sides of the car, making a terrible screeching sound that grated on my nerves.

It was a long, winding trip. The deeper we got into the forest, the less sunlight was able to peek through, giving the feeling of nighttime darkness again. Cole flicked on his high beams, but all I could see were the tire tracks that we were following and more and more trees.

Then we came up to a tall chain-linked fence that stretched deep on both sides. Barbwire lined the top and along the bottom, and a thick keylock sealed the gate closed. It was an intimidating sight.

“Either he’s trying to stay hidden way back here or he’s trying to keep people away,” I said, reading the posted signs. One read No Trespassing and the other Beware of Dog.

“I’d say a little bit of both.” Cole threw the Jeep into park. “Wyatt doesn’t particularly care for people.”

He opened his door and stepped outside. It was hard to see him in the darkness, but I could just make out his figure striding over to the gate and hear the jiggling of the chain and lock. Then there was a loud thud and a snap. The squeal of the gate being pushed open ripped through the silence of the early morning.

The angry bark of a large dog echoed farther down the dirt trail.

When Cole climbed back into the car, I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. Anxiousness started to rise up. But I couldn’t let it get the best of me. Especially if I was about to enter into a dangerous situation. There were too many unknowns.

The car lurched forward, and we began our trek again.

“He gave you a key?” I asked him as the Jeep bumped along. The holes and mud were worse on this side of the gate, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that had been done on purpose as another deterrent for trespassers. If Cole’s car hadn’t been an off roader with four-wheel drive, there was no doubt that we would have gotten stuck in one of these pits.

“Not exactly.”

The forest opened up finally to a large lot. The barbed wire fence encircled a rusty double-wide trailer, several unattached storage boxes, and discarded pieces of scrap metal. An old Buick sat farther off. Even though it was partially hidden behind tall grass, it was obvious the vehicle had been used for parts since it sat on only its axels, the tires and hood having long been removed.

This place looked more like a junkyard then a person’s home.

On the porch, a massive German shepherd barked wildly as we approached, spit flying from its jaws.

I must have gasped or something because Cole said, “Don’t worry about Angel. Once she gets to know you, she’s a sweetheart.”

My brows shot up in disbelief. “A-Angel?” I sputtered. “Really?” There didn’t seem to be anything angelic about this beast. The name had to be chosen ironically.

Cole stopped the car in front of the trailer and cut the engine.

“Does she like you?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Nope. Not in the least. But I’m working on it.”

Oh boy.

Suddenly, the trailer door flew open, the rickety thing crashing against the siding so hard it sounded like a gunshot. Or maybe it was an actual gunshot, because the first thing to come through the door was the deadly end of a sawed-off shotgun, followed by a man dressed in complete cowboy attire. Right out of one of those old Western movies. Wide-brimmed hat, grey hair spun into two braids, a scruffy beard, and skin like tan leather with a permanent scowl etched into it, all the way down to the dirty plaid shirt, ripped jeans, silver belt buckle, and boots.

This had to be Wyatt. Forget Virginia. This guy looked like he should be in the heart of Texas.

With determined fingers fixed on the trigger of his gun, he pointed the barrel in our direction, and uttered the two words that made my heart jump into my throat.

“Sic ‘em, Angel.”

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