Page 19 of Brimstone Hollow
That’s what the message in Katie’s vision had said.
“And Daniel?” I ask. “Is this the same Daniel of lion’s den fame?”
“Yes,” Will says, with a soft, tired smile. “But that came later. He refused to back down and it often got him into trouble with those in power. He always did right by his people. He was—” He pauses, yawning into his fist. When he finishes, eyes watering, he says, “I’m so sorry. It’s been a very long weekend.”
“It’s okay,” I say.
“As for Brother Ezra’s daughter’s vision,” Will says, softly. “I hope the Lord reveals his meaning to her. The messages of our Heavenly Father are often subtle. Would you pass along my sympathies to her?”
“Of course,” I say. Though, now more than ever, I feel Katie’s dream and hallucination are nothing more than the latent images of a girlhood spent in church. It’s only a coincidence that her subconscious remembered that story on the morning of her father’s death.
Will sways on his feet, slightly, looking dazed. And I start heading past him, through the open doors, but I turn at the last moment to ask, “Who found the body? Was it you?”
“No,” Will says. “No, it was the church secretary, Thelma. She came in yesterday morning and went out to the parsonage to ask Brother Ezra a question. She saw him through the window and called the police.”
“Do you think I could speak to her?” I ask.
“Well, I…”
“Please,” I say. “The sooner I’ve made my rounds, the sooner I can head back to Louisville and report to Ezra’s daughter that there really was nothing going on here.”
He nods and says, “Thelma usually comes in on Monday mornings. She should be here tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I say. I take a card from my bag and hand it to him.
He really does look like he’s about to drop. I finally let him go and walk back to Honey, rev her engine, and pull away.
I ease down the mountain and back into the heart of BrimstoneHollow. I keep my eyes focused on the beam of Honey’s headlights casting a ghostly illumination on the road ahead. On the passenger side, an intermittent guardrail is all that stands between Honey and the steep bank beyond. Old and rusted, the railing looks to have been built in the 1950s and, like the cracked and pitted road, hasn’t been updated since.
I try to ignore the sulfur smell and the eerie feeling of the hollow and think, instead, about what I need to do the next day. Talk to the church secretary who found the body. See if I can worm my way into the coroner’s office to speak to him on a holiday. Interview Ezra’s other parishioners, if necessary. But, as my thoughts turn to the conversations I’ve already had, I begin thinking about what I’m going to say to Katie.
There’s nothing here, I imagine telling her.Your father took dangerous risks and it looks like those risks led to his death. He’d been bitten before and refused to seek treatment and got better, but these things have a way of catching up with us.
There’s nothing here, I repeat to myself.
And then I press my foot to the brake as we approach another sharp bend. And the brake has a weird, spongy feel. And then the pedal jitters. And then my foot hits the floor.
I pump. Nothing.
Whoomp!
My brakes are gone.
“Shit—” I breathe. The little braking action that I managed has only marginally slowed us down. The guardrail shimmers in Honey’s headlights, dull silver eaten away by orange-red rust.
Whoomp. Whoomp. Whoomp.
“Goddammit—”
I grit my teeth and cut Honey’s wheel to the side, hoping with everything I have that there’s no car coming from the other side of the blind bend.
“Shit. Shit. Shit…” I hiss.
We get lucky. There’s no one else on the road. Instead, Honey goes tailfirst into the guardrail. Her back end cuts through the rusted steel with ascreeching scream of twisting metal. The bottom drops out of my stomach as her back fender lurches over the edge.
I unbuckle my seat belt, yank it off, and throw the door open. I jump, diving away from the car, and hit the pavement hard.
Behind me, I hear the smashing crunch of steel and the shatter of glass as Honey skids down the bank and careens into the trees.
