All the Inside Howling (Hollow Folk #2)(66)

Becca swallowed, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve been thinking about this for the last day. I shouldn’t have said it that way.”

“No, it’s ok. I mean, I didn’t even know River. Why should I care if he was killed?”

But then she started crying, and I pulled her against me, and she buried her face in my shoulder. It went on for just a second, barely long enough for me to feel the warmth of her against me, and then she drew back and wiped her eyes and tried to smile. It was like seeing a candle through a sheet of rain. Then the smile faltered.

“Vie, if we’re right, and if DeHaven Knight is Luke’s new vessel—”

“Flesh-bag.”

That didn’t get a smile from her. Not even a flicker. “If he is, then I think we’ve been wrong about something. You told me in that dream, in my dream, you could sense Mr. Big Empty behind it.”

I nodded.

“But you didn’t know what that . . . what that animal was. I mean that thing that attacked us. We couldn’t see it, but it cut the back of your neck.”

“I remember.” I wished my voice didn’t sound like I’d swallowed half the dust off the Bighorns.

“Vie, it couldn’t have been Mr. Big Empty because you would have recognized him. Just like you would have recognized him in the alley. I don’t think he can do that kind of thing—hurt people physically, I mean. Otherwise he would have started doing this weeks ago instead of now. And there’s still no reason Mr. Big Empty would care about Frankie. It doesn’t make sense for Mr. Big Empty to kill him.”

“You mean—”

“I don’t think you and Luke are the only special people in Vehpese anymore.”

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind, or the October sky, or even with Mr. Big Empty. “DeHaven Knight isn’t just a vessel. He’s the dream monster.”





For a moment, I tried to take in the impact of what I’d realized. DeHaven Knight wasn’t just a useful set of hands, he wasn’t just an ordinary killer the way Tony Galgano had been. He was more than that. He had . . . he had what I’d come to call an ability. Like me, like Mr. Big Empty. And Mr. Big Empty had control of him. Mr. Big Empty had control of those deadly powers.

Before I could think about it anymore, Sheriff Hatcher trudged across the highway and stood looking down on us. Dragging his hat from his head, he swiped at his forehead with the handkerchief and seemed to be considering something. Likely, I decided, he was trying to figure out whether to throw me in jail again or just call it quits and run me out of town for good.

All he said, though, was, “You lost a wheel, Miss Schockley. I suppose I’ll have to call your father and let him know.”

“Oh, no, that’s all right, Sheriff—”

He waved her to silence and turned his attention to me. Once more, the handkerchief made its pale track across his red face, and then he sighed and said, “I suppose both of you’d better ride with me.”

I opened my mouth, but Becca got in a rabbit punch before I could say anything. I swallowed a yelp and, when Sheriff Hatcher glanced back at me, I tried for my meekest, most obedient smile.

“Stop it,” Becca said in a harsh whisper. “You look like you’re trying not to puke.”

The sheriff, though, just raised an eyebrow, flapped himself with his hat, and trudged back to his car. Trailing after him, Becca and I traded anxious glances, but before long we were riding back towards Vehpese.

“If I don’t make this dinner, Austin really will kill me,” I said.

“If you don’t make that dinner,” Becca said, “I’ll kill you.”

As I started to respond with a nasty reminder of who had gotten me into this mess, the sheriff glanced over his shoulder at us. “Why don’t you start back at the beginning, Mr. Eliot? Tell it all over again.”

I started with what was safe: River had come to Bighorn Burger, he had gone to the bus station, he had left with Emmett and gone to Jigger Boss. After that, he had disappeared. Becca chimed in, confirming the details I had given and adding her own about the terrifying phone call with the screams. The sheriff nodded from time to time. When Becca told him about those screams, he wiped at the folds on his neck with that handkerchief, and he huffed a long breath, but he didn’t say anything. I added my conversation with DeHaven Knight about River.

When we’d finished, the sheriff said, “You’re suggesting that the same fellow who killed your drifter friend on the bus killed your other drifter friend in town.”

“Isn’t it easier to have one killer?” Becca said.

The sheriff frowned into the rearview mirror. “It is, Miss Shockley. It sure is. Mr. Eliot, what kind of coincidence is it that you are the only one in town who knew both of these victims—I’m assuming, for your sake, that this boy River really has gone missing. What are the odds on that kind of coincidence, do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Low, Mr. Eliot. Very, very low.”

The sheriff’s cruiser rolled through Vehpese now, and the battered shopfronts of the main drag faced us. At this hour, traffic had picked up, which meant that at the next stoplight a single car waited, and The Greasy Spoon had its lot packed full, and a gaggle of children played in the dry fountain in front of the tennis courts. After a few more blocks, the sheriff pulled in front of his office.