Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle) (21 page)

“Agreed,” Logan says, squeezing my hand. “How should we proceed?”

“This one first,” I murmur, reaching for a bright blue folder half-buried in one of the piles. “It’s calling to me.”

I already know who is inside before I peel back the cover to see the raven-haired girl’s face staring at me. It’s a school picture, and while her smile is awkward, she’s still beautiful. As I run my fingers over the picture, I feel a tiny jolt. I snatch my fingers back, rubbing the burning tips. Logan takes my hand, placing a soft kiss on my aching fingertips. My eyes fly to meet his, and I’m lost for a moment in his gaze.

“This’ll be slow going if you two continue to moon over each other,” Daniel says with a disgusted snort. “Rule number one, Cici. Never touch a photo of someone you’ve had visions about. Until you’re ready, that is.”

Tugging my hand from Logan’s grasp, I give Daniel my best hard glare. “Care to elaborate?”

“I keep forgetting you’re flying blind,” he says, shaking his hair with a dramatic flourish until it falls over one stormy gray eye.

“I keep forgetting you’re an emoting asshat,” I reply. Tipping my head to the side, I plaster an exaggerated smile on my lips and blink up at him with wide doe eyes.

“Ouch,” Daniel says, clutching his chest. “And I paid a fortune for those Captain Kirk Intro to Acting classes,” he adds in a great mockery of the illustrious
Star Trek
Captain.

“So why did the picture shock me?” I ask, stifling a giggle at the smirk on Daniel’s face.

“Photos can contain powerful psychic vibes,” Logan says when Daniel just snickers. “Not only can you get a reading on the person in the photo but also anyone who touched it.”

“I’m guessing these photos soaked up enough negative vibes to blind us psychically,” Daniel adds, handing me a tissue. “Use this.”

I look at the guys, trying to determine if this is some sort of newbie joke. They both look quite serious now. Yet I wouldn’t put it past Daniel to try to ease the tension with something ridiculous and inappropriate.

“We wouldn’t joke about something like this,” Logan murmurs when he notices me eyeing them. “For safety, let’s keep a barrier between our skin and the photos.”

“What about all the papers?” I ask. “Wouldn’t they hold psychic energy too?”

“You’ve heard about the way some people react to having their picture taken,” Daniel says while sorting through the pages of the raven-haired girl’s file. “They believe it steals or captures part of the soul in the image. Perhaps it’s just the aura or psychic energy that’s captured. The paper should be fine. I’ll pick up the emotions of people who handled them, but you probably won’t. Not unless you can add clairsentience to your list of superpowers.”

“Since you seem to have a connection to this girl, start with her file,” Logan says.

He picks up a yellow file and moves to the other side of the room. When Daniel moves to another side away from both of us, I look up confused.

“We don’t want to influence each other,” Daniel says.

After a slight nod, I pick up the photo with the tissue and set it aside before starting in on the first page of the missing persons report.

Chapter Twenty-One — Thirteen Sacrifices

Chapter Twenty-One

Thirteen Sacrifices

Scanning the first page of the police report, I realize it contains nothing but vital statistics:

Oh God, she was held captive for thirteen days before her murder. No, that isn’t right. Flipping through the pages, I locate a brief summary of the autopsy report. Death occurred roughly seven to ten days prior to discovery. So the authorities discovered her body… but then shouldn’t her soul be free? On the last page, I find the records I’m looking for. The body was released to Kleavor Funeral Home on November 6, 1969. She was scheduled for burial at Meadow Dawn Cemetery on November 9, 1969. No notes on whether this happened or not, but I’d assume there would be notes if it didn’t. So if her body was found and buried in consecrated ground, then why is her spirit trapped with Yardley?

After placing the reports back into the file, I slip the picture into the folder and move on to the next. A familiar boy stares up from the picture clipped to the report. The platinum blond hair is unmistakable, though the last time I saw it, much of it was coated in blood. This is the nearly decapitated boy.

That’s strange. He was kidnapped twelve days before Halloween and he was twelve years old. Ellie was thirteen and taken thirteen days prior to Halloween. Closing Michael’s file, I set it aside and look through the other two. Carla, age seven disappeared October 24, 1969. Hector, age three disappeared October 28, 1969.

“I found a connection,” I blurt out in my excitement. “We need to compare ages and dates the kids were taken. Grab some paper from the printer.”

Logan hands me a few sheets of paper and a pen before flopping on the ground beside me. “I hope this will keep me from having to read more of these files. They’re heartbreaking.”

“Okay, just read out the ages in your files,” I say, scribbling down the ages as they fire them at me. “Look at this.” I hold up the paper. Both guys let out simultaneous gasps.

“They’re all ages one to thirteen,” Daniel says with a low whistle.

“Not only that, but there’s one of each age,” Logan adds.

“I think the dates they were taken will correspond with the ages—at least mine do,” I say, adding the taken dates to my entries.

Without a word, Logan and Daniel sift through their files, adding the kidnap dates to each entry. When they finish, my hunch is confirmed. The victims were aged one through thirteen and each was taken the number of days prior to Halloween that corresponded with their age.

“Okay, but what I don’t understand is why they were taken in this order,” Logan says as he flips through a file. “According to the autopsy reports I have, they weren’t killed the day they were taken.”

After comparing the approximate dates of death, it’s apparent there’s no obvious correlation, at least that we can decipher.

“Maybe the dates of abduction have more meaning to Yardley than the dates of death,” Daniel says, leaning back on his hands. “Without seeing the autopsy reports, we don’t even know how they died. I mean other than murder.”

“Ellie had her head bashed in and her legs were shattered,” I murmur, recalling my vision. “I think she tried to flee. In my vision there was always a broken doll next to her, but now I’m thinking maybe it was an infant. You think she tried to escape with the baby?”

“Could be,” Logan says, gazing at me with an intense look. “But if she was killed in a botched escape attempt, then can we assume time and type of death weren’t of importance?”

“I don’t think we’re ready to make that leap yet,” Daniel says, staring at the photo of Ellie. “But, yeah. I’m heading there myself.”

“Michael’s head was almost completely separated from his body,” I say with a shiver. “And the other boy, he was like ten or eleven…”

“Kenny,” Logan says, pulling out a green file. One look at his picture confirms his identity.

“His face was bashed in,” I murmur, gazing at the happy blond boy in the picture.

“So we aren’t looking at ritual sacrificial killings like the media suggested,” Daniel says, chewing on his lower lip. “Did he just kill them for fun?”

“Well, he needed something from them,” Logan says, stacking the files. “I think when we figure that out, we’ll know how he trapped their souls.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, stretching my legs. When I glance at the clock, I’m shocked to see that we’ve been in here for three hours.

“Well, I’m assuming Yardley did some sort of ritual to trap the souls,” Logan says, pulling me to my feet. “Most rituals use an item or something as a binder. We need the detailed autopsy reports to be sure.”

“He may have taken a piece of each victim for his ritual,” Daniel says at my confused look.

“No,” I gasp. Waves of nausea force me back to the ground. “That would trap them here?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Logan says, dropping to his knees beside me.

I wrap my arms around his back when he enfolds me in his embrace. Hot tears spill over my eyelashes, tracing a path down my cheek.
How can anyone be so cruel?
To not only torture them in life but then in death as well—it’s revolting.

“Why them,” I murmur, sniffing and swiping at my cheeks with my hand. Daniel hands me a tissue, and I bury my face in it. “It’s so unfair. He planned this out so carefully, but we still don’t know what they have in common. Why did he choose them?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason,” Daniel says from across the room.

“There has to be,” I argue. “He plotted and planned and stalked these kids. They weren’t random. Why them? How did he know who they were? How did he find them? How could he know their ages?” My voice rises with each question until I’m shouting.

“Cici, calm down,” Daniel says, moving to Mr. Kincaid’s desk. “I’ll start looking for a connection.”

“What should I do?” I ask, hiccupping on a sob.

“You are going to rest for a while,” Logan says, maneuvering my body so my head rests on his legs.

“I can’t rest right now,” I insist.

“Shh,” Logan murmurs. His hand caresses my hair in soothing strokes. “Yes, you can. You’ll need your strength this afternoon.”

My eyes drift closed, fatigue weighing on me now that I’m no longer fighting. When I roll over onto my side, Logan lies down and curls up behind me. His arms wrap around my body, and I snuggle against him. Right now the floor is much more comfortable than I ever remember my bed feeling. A short nap won’t hurt.

Chapter Twenty-Two — Back to the Beginning

Chapter Twenty-Two

Back to the Beginning

Branches claw at the top of the SUV. A shudder runs through my body—they remind me of the hook man urban legend. When another branch screeches across the top, I jump but manage to stifle the scream in my throat. Logan reaches across the backseat, taking my hand. I lace my fingers through his, clutching him like a lifeline. He caresses my thumb as I try to control my ragged breathing. The SUV hits a ditch in the gravel road, smacking me into the door.

My relief at leaving the gravel road is short lived. In the daylight, the manor looms, a dark castle-like structure worthy of any gothic novel. Two stone lions guard either side of the stairs leading to the front door. The house is three stories, maybe four. It’s hard to tell if the top section is an attic or another floor. I assumed it would be dilapidated, but it isn’t. Fresh paint in several different shades of blue does nothing to counter the dreary vibes I feel from the structure. Bright sunlight filters through the oak trees surrounding the manor. But even the sunlight isn’t enough to brighten the gloomy house.

Daniel pulls the SUV to a stop in the circular driveway. With a heavy sigh, I open the car door and step out into the warm afternoon. Crows line the railing on the wrap-around porch. The quiet birds watch our arrival, ruffling their feathers. All we need are some bats, maybe a black cat or two and we’d be ready for Halloween. As I gaze at the imposing structure, I try to see what Bob and Beth Carter saw in this place. The light gray stone façade is quite beautiful, and I love the twin turrets on either end.