Ritual of the Broken (Haunted Hearts)

Chapter 12

Chapter

Twelve

O llie’s vision swam. Blurred shapes and muddled colors dissolved away to reveal… someplace not in the city.

The sky stretched, flamed in orange and purple clouds by a sun hung low in the sky. Rows of weathered tombstones loomed over manicured grass, granite tops streaked by recent rain. Sparse trees provided swaying shadows and dappled golden light of the setting sun.

A cemetery.

A light wind rustled through the branches, carrying petrichor and the rich, earthy scent of freshly turned soil. Nearby, a train clattered on tracks.

“I shouldn’t have let you go.”

A wave of loss hit him as if stepping into a violent surf. It came from the lone figure several yards ahead of him. A woman with slumped shoulders and eyes swollen from weeping, standing before a wide gravestone meant for two and a small heart above for the name of a third.

The first of the spaces held the name Eleanor Helen Barnes, 1987. This was her. The second space was chiseled with the name John C. Barnes, 1986 to 2023, and the heart was carved with Brayden Barnes, 2017 to 2023. Both John and Brayden had died on the same day.

Eleanor’s pain constricted Ollie’s heart, that sense of isolation, of going into a space once inhabited by others—by loved ones, by people important to her life—and finding it suddenly empty.

Eleanor kept her teary gaze fixed upon the gravestone, a bouquet of fall flowers, mums in a bright yellow and red, filling a stone vase in front of the marker. Her knees were dirtied, and the palms of her hands were stained from where she’d brushed away the leaves and soil covering the base of the grave marker.

Ollie watched her. She didn’t sense his presence. He was only an observer. Before, it was as if he inhabited Zachary O’Brien. Now, he stood separate, watching as if he was the ghost wandering the cemetery. And it felt different to him. The resonance of the area felt off. What was the ghost trying to show him?

His answer came when the cemetery’s tranquil atmosphere began to shift. The warmth cast by the setting sun seemed to leech away, leaving behind an ominous chill that raised the hairs on Ollie’s arms. The whispering leaves of the trees took on an urgent, panicked edge as the branches twisted violently in a sudden breeze .

Sensing the change, Eleanor’s expression shifted from mournful melancholy to uneasy dread. Her hand went to her throat, grasping at a small cross hanging from a slim silver chain. She took a shaky breath, cast one last pained look at the gravestone, and turned to leave the cemetery.

That’s when Ollie saw it. Moving between gravestones and lurking in the shadows behind two gnarled oaks was a dark wraith, vaguely humanoid, yet made of swirling darkness.

He’d seen the creature before. It looked like the one that took Zachary O’Brien’s soul.

As Eleanor quickened her pace, the shadowy beast began to take on a more solid shape, still obscured by the fading light but undeniably fixated on its prey. Ollie wanted to cry out, to warn her, but no sound emerged when he opened his mouth. A silent scream of terror lodged in his throat as the creature moved with a predatory grace, stalking Eleanor through the rows of tombstones.

Waves of raw, visceral panic crashed over Ollie. Connected to Eleanor Barnes as he was, Ollie’s heart hammered in time with hers. She saw the creature now, too. The urge to break into a desperate run threatened to overwhelm her, but some lizard-brained instinct seemed to warn that fleeing would only spur the beast to strike quicker. She maintained a brisk walk, eyes darting, breaths coming sharp and fast.

Pay attention ! A woman’s voice whispered to him again .

In the charged stillness, a deep, resonant horn cut through the cemetery. Another train approaching. His vision swam once more, and suddenly, he found himself standing next to a green and yellow building, a Metra train platform, and the blue and red hulking form of a diesel train engine bearing down on the spot. The sign overhead read River Grove.

But before Ollie could get his bearings on anything else, the cemetery bled back into view, replacing the platform.

As the shriek of the train sounded again, the beast became more imposing, a nightmarish creature of writhing shadows and wild eyes. It let loose an earsplitting roar and lunged toward Eleanor with savage speed.

Her scream ripped through the air, searing itself into Ollie’s mind. He could only watch, helpless and horror-struck, as the attack reached its violent crescendo, drowned out by the wailing train whistle.

When the train finally passed, its thunderous rumble receding into the distance, the figure of the beast had vanished. Ollie frantically searched for any sign of Eleanor. There, lying in the grass beside the roses, glinted a silver cross on a severed silver chain.

Ollie jolted violently back into the present. The screech of taxi brakes, the chatter of people on cell phones, and the smell of exhaust all flooded his senses.

He found himself cradled. Strong arms wrapped around him—Adrian, pulling Ollie protectively against his sturdy chest. For a moment, Ollie could understand what it was like to live with a nose like a werewolf as he breathed in the scent of him, the smell of his skin and the faint tingle of some fresh, leathery cologne on his shirt.

“Hey. Hey! There you are,” Adrian said to him in a soft voice. “Look at me. Look at my fingers.” Adrian snapped his fingers, and Ollie focused on them.

“I’ve called 9-1-1,” someone said. A woman.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Adrian said to her. “I think he’s coming out of it.”

Ollie sat up on his own. Adrian removed a solid arm from around him, and Ollie almost missed the warmth of it.

But he needed to focus. He needed to pay attention.

“I’m a police officer,” Adrian said. He must have shown the woman his badge because she straightened and brought the phone down from her ear.

The train, the beast. The clock. The position of the sun.

He understood. Ollie looked up at the early afternoon sky with the sun still high.

Ollie reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The clock on the screen read 3:58 p.m.

There were other people around, a few people circled around them and watching. Others were on their phones, too. Some filmed the scene, and Ollie pushed power into focus and struck out with it at their phones, careful to keep the brunt of the magic from him and Adrian .

One of the guys filming furrowed a brow as he looked at his phone screen then gave it a thump with a knuckle before trying the power button. Others were doing the same. It wouldn’t work. They’d need new phones.

Adrian’s gaze met Ollie’s. His eyes narrowed as Ollie reached a hand out to be helped up.

Still reeling, Ollie looked up into Adrian’s eyes. “I saw her. Her name is Eleanor Barnes.” Ollie’s voice shook as he recounted the vision. “And she’s going to die in the same way Zachary O’Brien did.” He reached up and put a hand on Adrian’s thick arm. “But it hasn’t happened yet.”