me buy you a drink yet.”
Ash opened her mouth, about to cave into the charming inquiries of the handsome park ranger. And then the scream pierced the air.
The scream was certainly human—female, more precisely—but it stretched into an octave that Ash didn’t even know she was capable of hearing. It penetrated her eardrums so startlingly that she couldn’t help but clamp her hands over ears. The wail infiltrated even her deepest recesses, and her body transformed into a human tuning fork.
“Are you okay?” Colt asked.
“Okay?” she started to ask. Hadn’t he heard it too?
The screaming instantly stopped, as if the valve of pain had been wrenched to the off position. He placed a hand on her elbow.
“I . . .” Ash stopped herself and gazed around the Bent Horseshoe. The barflies were continuing their business.
Their laughter and harrowing stories of the woman—or the fish—that got away had been undisturbed by the 66
screaming. Even Ray was continuing to polish a glass as if nothing had happened.
Had she really been the only one to hear it?
“Migraine,” Ash lied. “Guess all that amaretto went to my head.” Better that he write her off as a lightweight than think she was some kook who heard imaginary screams.
Before Ash could even try to sell this theory, a second scream perforated her brain. This one was a short blast rather than a prolonged wail, but far crisper, as though the person screaming had settled on Ash’s frequency. Closer this time too. The screamer could have been standing directly behind her.
Then a cleaver chopped down and severed the connection between Ashline and the scream.
While the rest of the bar continued with their drinks undisturbed, Ash heard a splash of beads behind her.
Lily emerged from the pool room, spooked, and Ade and Rolfe appeared at her side, both looking equally alert and frantic. In the far corner Raja, too, had straightened up, a panicked gleam in her eye.
No way could it have been coincidence.
So they had heard it as well.
The scream still echoed hollowly in Ashline’s ears.
“I’m sorry, Colt,” she apologized, and slipped past him.
“I . . . I have to get some air.”
She vaguely heard Colt’s confused protests as she darted for the door, as well as shouts from Jackie and Darren. She stumbled over a stool on the way out, but 67
shoved it out of her path and dove for the door, barging out into the night.
The cold damp air was like a welcome slap to the face as she staggered into the parking lot. She placed her hands on her hips and paced, drawing in deep breaths.
She let the dew calm her, relax her, carry her away from the screaming.
With a crack the door shot open again. This time Rolfe, Ade, and Lily came through it, with Raja in their wake. Rolfe was tapping himself on the temple, as if he could knock the sound out of his head. It must have still been ringing in his ears as well.
The five of them stood there in silence, fanned out into a pentagon. Raja, with her arms crossed, was the first to speak. “So I guess I’m not the only one who heard the dog whistle from hell.”
Rolfe gave his ear a final slap. “If that was a dog whistle, I’ll eat my shirt. Although that would explain why Lily heard it.”
“Shut it, surfer boy.” Lily kicked him in the shin.
“I don’t know what it was either.” Ade scanned the parking lot. “But I think somebody needs help.”
On cue the scream echoed across the pavement, only this time it sounded like the typical scream from somebody who was in desperate trouble . . . and it was coming from the alleyway behind the general store, two storefronts down.
Raja was the first to spring into action, with the other 68
four in close pursuit. The dust flew out from under their feet, and they reached the edge of the general store in record time, slipping down the alley of the adjoining bed-and-breakfast. The scream descended to a series of shrieks and sobs, and when they drew closer to the
Ash opened her mouth, about to cave into the charming inquiries of the handsome park ranger. And then the scream pierced the air.
The scream was certainly human—female, more precisely—but it stretched into an octave that Ash didn’t even know she was capable of hearing. It penetrated her eardrums so startlingly that she couldn’t help but clamp her hands over ears. The wail infiltrated even her deepest recesses, and her body transformed into a human tuning fork.
“Are you okay?” Colt asked.
“Okay?” she started to ask. Hadn’t he heard it too?
The screaming instantly stopped, as if the valve of pain had been wrenched to the off position. He placed a hand on her elbow.
“I . . .” Ash stopped herself and gazed around the Bent Horseshoe. The barflies were continuing their business.
Their laughter and harrowing stories of the woman—or the fish—that got away had been undisturbed by the 66
screaming. Even Ray was continuing to polish a glass as if nothing had happened.
Had she really been the only one to hear it?
“Migraine,” Ash lied. “Guess all that amaretto went to my head.” Better that he write her off as a lightweight than think she was some kook who heard imaginary screams.
Before Ash could even try to sell this theory, a second scream perforated her brain. This one was a short blast rather than a prolonged wail, but far crisper, as though the person screaming had settled on Ash’s frequency. Closer this time too. The screamer could have been standing directly behind her.
Then a cleaver chopped down and severed the connection between Ashline and the scream.
While the rest of the bar continued with their drinks undisturbed, Ash heard a splash of beads behind her.
Lily emerged from the pool room, spooked, and Ade and Rolfe appeared at her side, both looking equally alert and frantic. In the far corner Raja, too, had straightened up, a panicked gleam in her eye.
No way could it have been coincidence.
So they had heard it as well.
The scream still echoed hollowly in Ashline’s ears.
“I’m sorry, Colt,” she apologized, and slipped past him.
“I . . . I have to get some air.”
She vaguely heard Colt’s confused protests as she darted for the door, as well as shouts from Jackie and Darren. She stumbled over a stool on the way out, but 67
shoved it out of her path and dove for the door, barging out into the night.
The cold damp air was like a welcome slap to the face as she staggered into the parking lot. She placed her hands on her hips and paced, drawing in deep breaths.
She let the dew calm her, relax her, carry her away from the screaming.
With a crack the door shot open again. This time Rolfe, Ade, and Lily came through it, with Raja in their wake. Rolfe was tapping himself on the temple, as if he could knock the sound out of his head. It must have still been ringing in his ears as well.
The five of them stood there in silence, fanned out into a pentagon. Raja, with her arms crossed, was the first to speak. “So I guess I’m not the only one who heard the dog whistle from hell.”
Rolfe gave his ear a final slap. “If that was a dog whistle, I’ll eat my shirt. Although that would explain why Lily heard it.”
“Shut it, surfer boy.” Lily kicked him in the shin.
“I don’t know what it was either.” Ade scanned the parking lot. “But I think somebody needs help.”
On cue the scream echoed across the pavement, only this time it sounded like the typical scream from somebody who was in desperate trouble . . . and it was coming from the alleyway behind the general store, two storefronts down.
Raja was the first to spring into action, with the other 68
four in close pursuit. The dust flew out from under their feet, and they reached the edge of the general store in record time, slipping down the alley of the adjoining bed-and-breakfast. The scream descended to a series of shrieks and sobs, and when they drew closer to the
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