Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set

Chapter 8

Grant sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

Fished the phone out of his pocket and scrolled through the contact list.

Don McFee.

One of the first friends Grant had made after leaving the academy. One of the few who’d stuck around during those dark days after Paige disappeared in Phoenix and he’d been hell-bent on death by escorts and scotch.

Don answered on the fifth ring, a sleep-drawl in his voice.

“I wake you?” Grant asked, speaking low into the phone.

“It’s all right.”

“I’m going to owe you huge for this one.”

“Then I guess I’ll keep the tab running.”

“I’m at my sister’s place in Queen Anne. Twenty-two Crockett Street. It’s not far from your house.”

“You’re with Paige?”

“Long story. She’s not looking so hot right now. I’ve never seen her so thin. She’s wasting away.”

“Grant, we’ve been through this. You can’t fix her.”

“This isn’t like the other times. She looks like a chemo patient.”

“Let me come pick you up. We’ll get some coffee and talk about it.”

“I’m not leaving my little sister like this.”

“You want me to show up uninvited at ten o’clock so I can tell her she’s an addict? I love you, man, but that road leads nowhere. You want to do another intervention, fine, but let’s do it the right way.”

“I’m not asking you as a counselor.”

“Is her life in imminent danger?”

“No.”

“Then as your friend, I’m telling you this isn’t what she needs. An ambush will only work against you.”

“Did I mention she’s a prostitute? I haven’t seen her in five years, and now she’s fucking guys for cash.”

“Christ. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t make me do this on my own, Don.”

There was a long pause.

A blizzard of trumpet notes escalated into a wail that sustained itself for so long Grant suddenly felt the need for a deep breath.

“Have you been drinking tonight, Grant?”

“Little bit.”

“Let me come get you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sorry to wake you.”

Grant ended the call.

He needed a new plan.

The light above the sink flickered several times.

Went out.

Miles Davis gone silent.

Grant struggled onto his feet.

“Paige?”

The shower cut on, the cramped little bathroom filling with the noise of moving water as the pitch-black disorientation set in.

Where was the door again?

He stumbled forward into a towel rack as the toilet flushed of its own volition.

In a span of seconds, he lost all perception of space.

Need to get out of here.

He moved in another direction and ran into the sink.

The faucet turned on.

It felt like the room was closing in on him, the walls contracting, the ceiling pressing down, a completely illogical panic building, accompanied by a shortness of breath.

And then the lights kicked on.

He was staring at himself in the mirror and his chest was heaving and all that running water had silenced itself so quickly he wondered if he’d imagined the noise.