Page 3 of Sinistram
“What? Can’t hear you!” Travis tried to buy himself time to get his thudding heart under control.
“Fucker,” he heard Brent mutter. Travis turned off the water and toweled off.
Visions weren’t new to Travis. He had glimpsed snippets of the past, present, and future all his life. No matter how baffling they seemed when they first appeared, they usually turned out to be related to something he was struggling with in the present. Right now, Travis couldn’t imagine any connection to the fiery scene he had just witnessed.
He dressed quickly, threw his clothes in a plastic grocery bag to take back to the mission, and checked his hair one last time for cement before relinquishing the bathroom.
“All yours,” he said as Brent passed him on the way in with a stack of his own clothing. “Are there cookies?”
“I even left some for you,” Brent teased. “And if you drink all the coffee, make more.” He closed the door in Travis’s face, laughing.
Travis went out to the office lobby, which had once been a living room, and helped himself, sitting on the couch to wait for Brent. In the time they had been working together, the two loners had forged a solid friendship and trusting partnership, something Travis was grateful for but still found remarkable. Since their efforts were mistrusted as vigilantism by regular law enforcement, which didn’t openly acknowledge the existence of the paranormal, that bond mattered a lot.
“I left most of a pot for you,” Travis said when Brent joined him, still toweling off his wet hair.
“Alex is due to make a supply run, so running out isn’t really a problem,” Brent replied. “Cookies, coffee, pain killers, first-aid supplies, salt in the big industrial-sized container, and whiskey.”
“Sounds like what Matthew orders every week, except for the whiskey.” Travis didn’t have any issues with alcohol and often joined Brent for a drink, but out of respect for the halfway house residents who struggled with sobriety, he didn’t allow any on the property.
Brent raised his coffee cup in salute. “Cheers.” He shoved a cookie in his mouth and took a couple of swallows before giving a satisfied sigh.
“I don’t want to tempt fate, but we both got out of there fairly unscathed. That’s a rarity,” he observed.
“Don’t jinx us,” Travis cautioned. “Do you need me to bless some more holy water while I’m here?”
“Sure. Thanks. Comes in handy.” Brent ate a second cookie and washed it down.
“Does it seem like the ghosts have gotten more aggressive lately? Almost like they’re provoking a fight?”
Travis hummed in agreement with a mouthful of coffee. “Yeah, and there’s nothing to account for it—full moon, religious holiday, death anniversary. You think C.H.A.R.O.N. is doing something to cause it?”
Brent grumbled several uncharitable epithets. “Maybe. Maybe not, but I’m happy to blame them anyhow.”
C.H.A.R.O.N., which stood for Central Handling Arcane Relics and Occult Networks, was an elite, secretive paramilitary organization of demon hunters who tried and failed repeatedly to recruit Brent, whose distrust ran deep. Travis and Brent had just run up against CHARON on their last big case, proving that the organization hadn’t cleaned up its act or improved its ethics.
“Could just as easily be Sinistram,” Brent pointed out.
“True,” Travis allowed. “Although juiced-up local hauntings are small fry for them. They like the big world-ending, cackling villain apocalyptic shit.”
“Tell me how you really feel,” Brent teased.
Travis shrugged. “You asked.”
“And maybe it’s just a run of bad luck.” Brent brought over coffee and cookies. “Not everything that happens at the same time is related.”
“Cause and effect can be hard to see without a bigger picture. Not that I want more attacks, but we need more data points.” Travis took a bite of cookie and washed it down with the java. He needed a hit of sugar and caffeine to get a second wind.
“We can contact the other hunters we know in the area,” Brent suggested. “See what they’re hearing, and if things have been busier than usual in their neck of the woods. It could just be a coincidence. But if it isn’t…I’d rather catch it early.”
“I’ll make some calls too,” Travis said. “What’s your calendar like tomorrow? Want to go have a look at the Darr Mine—speaking of spirits acting badly.”
“Nothing I can’t shift around,” Brent answered. “Do you think the problems are random, or connected?”
“Won’t know until we look into it. Could go either way.” Travis refilled his cup and poured more for Brent while he was up.
“How deserted is it? Can we go in daylight, or do we have to sneak in at the dead of night?”
“It’s out near Van Meter, not too far from here. The mine entrance is closed, and the area is pretty grown over,” Travis replied. “It’s still the worst coal mining disaster in Pennsylvania history, even though it happened back in 1907. Which is saying something because there were two other big disasters that same year, one in Pennsylvania and one in West Virginia. If something supernatural was feeding off death and destruction, it sure got its fill.”
