“Siena, you can’t go in there,” she said, I could hear the weakness in her voice. She was getting sicker with every step she took.
“Go back to the trail,” I yelled. “Get help.”
I was on the sand now, in clear sight of the inn. I saw no one. I moved toward it, slower now, no longer running.
The smell was so bad, even in the freezing cold, when smells die. The stink of rotting fish mixed with sulfur was making my stomach heave. I pulled the coat collar around my nose. It blocked part of my face from the rain and lessened some of the stench. My foot stepped on something: hard at first, and then soft. I lifted my foot. The slime of rotting fish was stuck to my shoe. The eye of the fish stared blankly up at me. My stomach heaved; I could not control it.
I wiped my mouth, the stench threatening to empty my stomach again. I wanted to run away. I wanted to go back to my house, to hide, to sleep, to pretend none of this was real. The bile in my mouth tasted bitter and metallic. My stomach tried again to empty, I refused. Refused to give in to the impulses taking over my mind and body.
That was not the only fish. The sand around the inn was littered with them. Why? Why did Thomas crave death and destruction so much he’d kill fish? For no reason other than to create their death?
I stopped about fifty feet from the inn … the smell of sulfur now stronger than the dead fish. I turned back; Sam was no longer on the beach. She’d done as I asked and had gone for help. My heart sank. I was alone. Shaking, terrified, and alone.
There was movement, I looked up. Thomas was on the porch. The air caught in my lungs. Silently, he watched me. I stood straighter, trying to tell myself there was nothing to be afraid of. It was just Thomas, the boy I’d known my entire life. How could he possibly hurt me, and yet I knew that wasn’t true. His eyes dark, his face hollow. His hair tangled and unwashed. His clothes torn and stained. Nothing remained of the boy I knew—the boy I didn’t like yet didn’t hate. As I watched him now, I felt revulsion and hatred.
The fear I felt faded. “Did you do this?” I yelled above the wind and rain.
He leaned against the inn, his eyes trained on me. He did not speak.
“Where is Luca?” I asked, my voice louder.
He stared at me. From behind me, I heard something. I turned, praying it was Luca, praying we could leave.
“Dad?” I said as he came near me.
His face, too, was different. Gone was my gentle father, in his place, a warrior.
Thomas’s lips curled upward, baring his teeth as if he were a dog or a wolf watching its prey. His body straightened to its full height. I swallowed the fear I felt as he towered over me from the porch of the ruined inn.
The wind, the stench of the rotting fish and sulfur, the rain, nothing stopped or slowed my father.
“Where is he?” Dad called, glaring at Thomas.
Thomas growled and his shoulders hunched forward as if he truly were an animal.
“Where?” Dad repeated, passing me.
Thomas relaxed his shoulders and laughed. It sent chills through me. Evil was real and it was laughing a sadistic laugh.
“It’s been so long, Paul,” Thomas said, his voice knowing.
At this, my dad’s pace slowed, but he didn’t stop moving forward.
Dad yelled above the storm, “In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to tell me the truth. Where is Luca?”
Thomas paced across the deep porch. His movements were not brought on by fear or anxiety, as those movements would have meant in my body. In his they were threatening, signaling an attack was imminent.
My father moved in front of me, his body blocking Thomas’s view of me.
Thomas shouted, “It is odd you attempt to keep her from us now, not before. Though before, you did not know her. How short-minded you creatures are.”
My father’s posture stiffened.
“Where is Luca?” he repeated, his voice cracking. He was no longer fearless; something Thomas said or did had shaken my father.
“We knew his mother,” Thomas replied. “She was very good to us, but there is little hope for him.”
“Where is he?” Dad yelled, regaining some of his power.
Thomas stopped pacing, his pale arms loose at his sides. He felt no fear, no intimidation from us. “Where it is buried,” he said with amusement.
We were like a toy he was playing with. None of this was upsetting to him. The opposite was true: he was enjoying our discomfort.
“Which is where?” Dad asked, angling his body to more fully block me from Thomas’s view.
Thomas smirked. “You, of all people, should know, Paul.”
Dad stood perfectly still, Thomas’s coal-black eyes boring down at my father.
“Yes, we are the same,” Thomas said with a ghastly smirk. “The same ones you knew.”
“I never knew you,” Dad shouted.
“Oh, but you did. Not so completely as this one does, but you were close, so very close,” Thomas said with a hint of regret. “Your great-grandmother was such a friend. Far better than the boy’s mother. We could be ourselves with her. No need to hide. With the boy’s mother we could not be ourselves, but she brought us so many, so very many.” He thought hungrily on the memory.
“Where is Luca?” Dad asked, his voice shaking, his confidence gone.
Thomas scoffed and said, “There is still hope for you, Paul, for you and this daughter. Little hope for the boy. None for your wife.”
Dad’s anger rose and he stepped forward as if he was going to attack Thomas.
Thomas held his expression. “Oh yes, Paul, so much hope for you.”
Dad withdrew a couple paces. His voice made unsteady by rage, he called out, “In the name of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I command you to tell me where Luca is.”
Thomas laughed, stepping toward us. “You have no power over us. No power to command us with his name.” He spit with fury as he spoke.
“Hail Mary, full of grace,” Gigi’s voice called from behind us.
At this, Thomas backed up, his smirk faded, and he stood closer to the inn.
“The Lord is with thee,” Gigi said loudly, coming toward us.
“We hate that one!” Thomas roared in anguish. “We have always hated her. No hope, no hope for her.”
Gigi joined my father. “Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus!” she shouted.
Thomas shrieked again, falling to a crouching position, panting hard as he pushed his body against the splintered wood of the inn.
“Under the inn. He’s under the back corner of the inn,” Thomas said, choking on the words as if they were being forced without permission from his lips. “Now leave us. This one is ours.”
“Go,” Gigi said to my dad and me. “Touch nothing except Luca.”
“Are you sure?” Dad said with concern to Gigi.
“Oh, perfectly,” Gigi said, stepping toward Thomas.
Thomas remained rolled in a ball on the broken porch.
“Come on,” Dad said, signaling for me to follow him.
Behind me, I heard Gigi praying the rest of the Hail Mary and Thomas shrieking.
As we neared the back of the inn, the smell of evil was so strong and so repulsive that with each step I took, I was fighting against every instinct in my body telling me to run from this place and never return.