The Hollow Gods (The Chaos Cycle #1)

Chapter 10

Chapter

Ten

It didn’t take long to find the video. It was grainy and muffled, but clear enough to make out once Mason plugged in the earbuds he kept tucked in his pocket. He clenched the edges of his phone as he hit play.

“You killed your daughter,” said the detective, leaning over and looking the suspect in the eye.

Gene Robinson, an unremarkable-looking man in his fifties, glanced up, startled. His hands trembled on the table in the blank-white interrogation room. “I didn’t kill my daughter,” he insisted. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’re denying killing anyone?” the detective choked back a laugh. “Your own wife turned you in.”

“What I killed...” Gene trailed off, hiding his face in his hands as his voice broke. He sucked in a breath and straightened up. “The thing I killed was not Elle—not my girl. What I killed was a thrall of the Dreamwalker. The wolves lured my Elle away,” he sobbed, “and she’s lost to those woods forever. She’s never coming back.”

“You’re damn right she’s not,” scoffed the detective. “Someone get this guy a psych eval.”

“You don’t get how this works!” Gene Robinson slammed his fist down on the table, his eyes wide, tears streaming down his face as his composure crumbled. “All that returns is a shell. The girl goes into the forest but—but something else comes out.”

Mason was at a loss. How could this man have killed his own daughter? Gene Robinson appeared utterly grief-stricken, still going on about how smart, beautiful, kind, and dignified his baby girl had been. Mason knew of Capgras, or imposter syndrome, but most cases were so rare and outlandish, it was difficult to believe they happened outside of psychology textbooks.

“She started withdrawing,” Gene whispered, his face hidden again. “That’s how you know. They get depressed, moody, want to be alone all the time. They’re just...not themselves. You try to get your happy little girl back, but they just...they just pull further away. Then they disappear.”

They’re teenage girls! Mason wanted to scream at the video. How could this man be so stupid? Withdrawal could have signalled just about anything—stress, trauma, mental health concerns. How could he think normal adolescent behaviour was a tell-tale sign that his daughter had been abducted and replaced? It was terrifying.

“When she came back, she told my wife that someone had warned her to stay away from Black Hollow,” he added after a pause, “but she wouldn’t say who.”

“Let me guess,” the detective drawled. “The Dreamwalker?”

“Yes!” Gene’s hand struck the table. “Who else could it have been?”

Part of Mason wished he’d never watched the video, wished he could wipe it from existence. But both Mason and the people of Black Hollow were spellbound by the mystery of the Dreamwalker—even if for entirely different reasons. To the townsfolk, the Dreamwalker was fact, but Mason desperately needed her to be fiction.

Nearly an hour passed until Jazlyn finally returned. Her expression was forlorn, her lips downturned as she appeared rooted in thought.

Mason yanked out his earbuds and pushed himself to his feet. “What happened?” he asked as she stopped in front of him.

“Doctors rushed him into surgery,” she began, planting a hand on her hip, “suited up in less than two minutes, but by the time they got inside…”

Mason’s heart sank. She didn’t finish her sentence, but she didn’t have to. “He didn’t make it, did he?” Mason asked quietly, a sharp pain cutting through his chest. How could this happen again so soon? He’d worked so hard to get away from the traumatic death of his young patient. And yet, the day he returned to a hospital to see a friend, the day he finally began feeling capable of being a physician again, he was struck with yet another death. A distant one, yes—but it was still a cruel reminder of how ill-equipped he was to deal with life’s finale.

“Huh?” Jazlyn blinked, looking up at him as if noticing he was there for the first time. “Oh—naw, Cap. You got it all wrong. John Doe ain’t dead.”

“What?” His head snapped up. “Then what was with that morbid look on your face? If he’s not dead, then what is he?”

“That’s just it!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms out to the side. “By the time Dr. Callahan got the CT scan, X-rays—well,” she hesitated, stumbling on her words. It was a rarity for the girl he knew as a spitfire.

“Yes?” he beckoned her to continue.

A mystified Jazlyn swallowed hard, looking him straight in the eye. “There was nothing to operate on.”

Mason squinted at his old friend as if she had turned into someone else. “What do you mean there was nothing to operate on? Wait—how did they find time to run tests on a guy just barely hanging on?”

She nodded quickly. “Exactly! He would have been lucky not to die on the operating table! But when the surgical team looked at him, a lot of the damage EMS reported wasn’t even there! Not only that, but his vitals were completely stable!” She sighed, shaking her arms out. “Callahan ordered the scans afterwards.”

“How the…” Mason mouthed the words and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at the wall as he processed this information, then turned back to a befuddled Jazlyn. “Are you sure the report on the patch phone wasn’t a mistake? Could it have been someone else? Did the surgical team get the right patient?”

She was already shaking her head by the time he asked his first question. She seemed to have forgotten about her obligations as she worked through the shock. “Nope. It’s definitely him. Asked Terry and three other EMS personnel. All say the same thing—that’s the guy they picked up. And yes, we checked the file three times over.”

“Did they report the trauma wrong, then?”

“No!” Jazlyn sounded frustrated. “Terry said he was mangled and bleeding out when they got there! There was no mistake!”

“And now? Where is he now?”

“In the ICU. He’s still in a coma, but stable. A few broken bones, but nothing we can really do for him. We don’t know his blood type, so Callahan ordered tests. I can’t tell if he healed or if it just...never happened.”

“Hold up—he’s drawing blood from a patient who almost died?” Mason looked at her as though this Callahan was plotting murder.

“Duh! What would you do?” she shot back, exasperated.

“Just give him O negative!” Mason sputtered. “How can he have enough blood for sampling?”

“ That’s how much he’s recovered!” she huffed. “They want him prepped for a transfusion just in case. But either way, wouldn’t you want this dude’s freaky blood on file? Pretty sure that’s why Callahan wants it drawn!”

“I guess…”

Mason paced the cramped hallway for the umpteenth time, then forced out a breathy laugh from his already-tight chest. “Jaz,” he suddenly stepped forward, gripping her by the shoulders. “I know this is totally against protocol, but could you let me see this guy?”

“What!” she leaned back as he grabbed her, eyes widening. “Are you nuts? Do you have any idea how much trouble I’d be in if I let non-medical personnel see a patient who just got out of surgery?”

“Come on,” he pleaded in a harsh whisper. He knew it was a bizarre request, unfair even, but what if the doctors miscalculated? What if Mason left the hospital thinking all was well, only to find out John Doe had actually died? And if John Doe was as Jazlyn claimed, how did he manage to heal so quickly? Mason couldn’t fathom leaving without a glance. “You know me. And technically, I am medical personnel. I’m a licensed doctor—a specialist at that! And you’ve been showing me around all day, so I’m sure it’s fine. Please, Jaz, I need to see this guy for myself. After what I’ve been through, this could really mean something. This could help me.”

His tone was desperate, sorrowful even, his eyes brimming with tears as he gulped down the emotions. How he yearned for something to take him back to his old self—the hopeful young med student who was ready to conquer the world.

“Fine,” she sighed after a drawn-out pause, then jerked out of his grasp to raise a finger to his nose. “But only for a minute. If they catch us, I could lose my job.”

“You got it,” he nodded like a puppy. “Only a minute.”

She nodded back stiffly, then turned around and waved for him to follow. The intensive care unit was only a short walk away. Jazlyn turned abruptly at the end of the hall, opening one of the rooms and poking her head in to ensure no one else was inside.

“Coast is clear,” she hissed back to him before holding the door open. “One. Freaking. Minute,” she warned. “I’ll stand guard.”

“Thank you. So much,” he replied emphatically, his eyes shining.

Rushing inside, he looked back at his stone-faced partner as she pulled the door shut, leaving him alone in the quiet. Over on the bed was the patient, lying perfectly still with a heart monitor and an IV bag hooked to his left hand. He had a chest tube between his ribs—treatment for a partially-collapsed lung. How could he have been well enough to bypass surgery and only need the tube? Walking over, Mason examined the young man he’d wanted to see badly enough to risk his friend’s career.

His face was bruised and lacerated, and there were bits of red on the sheets—clear signs that he was still quite hurt. Yet Mason felt uneasy, as though this man was somehow aware despite being unconscious. A scowl marked his harsh features like he was struggling through an unpleasant dream, fighting his way back to the land of the living.

Fumbling around the drawer for a penlight, Mason quickly inspected his target’s pupils. Indeed, everything looked normal. While the left side of his body was black and blue from soft tissue damage, nothing appeared severely broken, just as Jazlyn had said. Could this stranger have really been hit by a bus moving at high speed? If so, he should have been wholly mangled, if not dead.

How could a person recover so rapidly from being ground into the pavement by a bus ? Curiosity burning, Mason rushed over to the chair where the patient’s torn, bloody clothes and personal items were left in a plastic bag. Rummaging through, he gripped something leathery and solid—a wallet. Emptying its contents, he found nothing but some cash and a small, lilac piece of paper with a name scrawled across in chicken scratch.

Happy Birthday, Kai Donovan.

A knock sounded against the door, followed by Jazlyn’s voice.

“Are you done yet? I’m freaking out over here!” she hissed through the crack.

“C-Coming!” he jerked back, returning the penlight to the drawer and stuffing the wallet’s contents away before throwing it into the plastic bag. He rushed out of the room, giving the strange young man a parting glance as he closed the door behind him.

“Thank God,” Jazlyn huffed. “I thought you’d never come out.”

He smiled sheepishly. “You said one minute.”

“Yeah, and you were in there for at least two!”

Mason ducked his head as she glared at him. “Sorry—couldn’t help myself.”

“Of course not.” She rolled her eyes, taking him by the elbow and dragging him away. “Now let’s get out of here.”

Mason didn’t fight her as she yanked him along. He was still in a daze, confused but enthralled. He thought he’d be staring death in the eye again, but the universe was proving capable of mercy, after all.

When they turned the corner, the fast-paced squeaks of rubber soles against the beige tiles drew their attention as someone called out to Jazlyn. It was one of the other nurses, rushing towards them with a frantic expression.

“Jazlyn!” she cried out again when they noticed her. Her dark hair was tied back in a low ponytail, the light blue scrubs hugging her rounded hips.

“What is it?” Jazlyn asked as they walked further down the hall, a good distance from the room with the miracle patient.

“It’s his blood tests—John Doe’s, I mean. Something isn’t right.” Her cheeks were flushed, her hands gripping the folder until it bent.

“What do you mean?” Mason asked in concern, momentarily forgetting himself, only to be reminded by Jazlyn’s elbow in his side.

“Jazlyn! Amy!” It was another nurse, calling to them as she flew around the corridor from where they’d just been. “We’ve got a code yellow!”

Jazlyn’s jaw dropped, and Mason’s face turned borderline purple as he held his breath, sweat breaking out over his hairline.

“Seriously!” Jazlyn all but shrieked. “What is up with today? How—”

“I just went to check on the patient!” she explained, her voice wobbling as she tapped the folder Amy had in her hands. Visibly trying to calm down, she recited her every action in a slow, measured tone. “I went into his room…thought I’d got it wrong…checked my records…double-checked the room number…but I was definitely in John Doe’s room!”

Mason swallowed the lump in his throat as he considered if his day could possibly get any stranger. He had just been there. He had just been in John Doe’s room. The man was in a coma.

Horror, wonder, and an undeniable sense of excitement crept up his spine. This had to be some kind of joke. Or a dream. But it most definitely couldn’t be real. Although he’d told himself not to speak—not to get involved—he couldn’t stop the words from forming on his lips, his voice sounding meek and foreign as he said aloud what everyone already knew,

“He’s gone.”