Read Online Day 9 by Robert T. Jeschonek - Free Book Online

us."
    "No prints, though," said Quincy. "He had gloves on. I just wish I could remember more ."
    Dunne sighed and turned away from the piercing stares of Hannahlee and dead Luanne. "So what's next? Look for Gowdy's IP through Willowtopia? Where's the parent company located?"
    "It's called Sensophile," said Enrique. "It's based in Asheville, North Carolina."
    "Should we even be looking for Gowdy at this point?" said Quincy. "I mean, he's doing a perfect job of hiding from everyone as it is. Maybe he can take care of himself. Maybe we should focus on the surviving Willows cast members."
    "Yeah," said Dunne, "but the studio isn't paying us to protect cast members. They're paying us to find Gowdy." The truth was, Dunne didn't like any idea that increased his chances of crossing paths with the killer again.
    "I don't think they'd want the Willows dead," said Quincy. "Do you?"
    Suddenly, Hannahlee spoke up. "We stick with our assignment. We head for Sensophile tomorrow and keep tracking Gowdy."
    "Why's that, Kitty cat?" said Quincy.
    "We don't know which cast member the killer will go after next," said Hannahlee. "They're scattered across the country. If there's some kind of predictable order to the killings, I can't see it. I certainly don't know what distinguishes Scott and Luanne from the rest of us."
    "I can think of one thing," said Enrique. "You all were in their vicinity."
    Dunne seized the idea to justify his preferred plan. "Maybe the best thing we can do is stay clear of the survivors and find Gowdy."
    "You've got a point there." Quincy sighed and slumped. "We sure weren't much help to Luanne, were we?"
    Hannahlee's fiery green eyes lighted on Dunne, then slid onward to Quincy. "You did everything you could."
    Quincy put down the water bottle and rubbed his temples. "I just wish I could remember something about that guy. It was all such a blur ."
    "I know the feeling," said Enrique. "What about height and weight? Think you could make a guess?"
    Quincy didn't answer.
    Enrique raised his head from the table. "Quincy? You there?"
    He was...and he wasn't.
    Though Quincy still sat on the table, his eyes had glazed over. His lips moved, but no words came out.
    The only sound coming from Quincy was the squeaking of a thick magic marker as he wrote on the table. His hands made jerky movements as he pressed black lines and curves onto the Formica, scrawling letters that made up a word.
    When he got to the end of it, he lifted the marker. Seconds later, he snapped out of his trance-like state with a sudden inrush of breath. His eyes refocused, and his hand relaxed, letting go of the marker.
    It rolled across the table and dropped to the floor, where it rolled some more.
    "Hey, man," said Enrique. "You all right?"
    Quincy shook his head hard and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I...why do you ask?"
    Dunne walked over and pointed to the word on the table. "Because of that."
    As soon as Quincy saw the word, he winced. "Aw, hell. Not fagain."
    Hannahlee joined them. She read the word aloud.
    " Sendodansu'dinegaan ." She stared at Quincy. "Why'd you write that?"
    "Beats me," said Quincy. "I mean, I know what it means...but I don't know why I wrote it."
    Dunne nodded. "It was War Willow's trademark martial art in the show. His own combination of Ninja and Apache fighting techniques."
    "The 'clawed death dance,'" said Enrique.
    "What did you mean," said Hannahlee, "when you said you don't know why you wrote it?"
    Quincy shrugged. "How could I know if I don't remember writing it?"
    "So, what?" said Dunne. "Instant amnesia?"
    "Automatic writing," said Enrique. "Quite popular among las espiritistas , for talking to fantasmas ."
    "So you're channeling ghosts now?" said Dunne. "Is that it?" He knew he sounded sarcastic, but he couldn't help it. Quincy's list of annoying quirks just kept growing.
    "I don't know what I'm channeling," said Quincy. "All I know is, every once in a while, something or someone speaks through me. That's why I always carry a