The Hollow Gods (The Chaos Cycle #1)

Chapter 29

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

Mason

Since childhood, Mason had little trouble falling asleep. His mind would sink into darkness, rarely distressing him with the afterimages of his hopes and fears. His dream life was, for better or for worse, not very rich. But that all changed since coming to Black Hollow. As if the incessant, racing thoughts during the day weren’t enough, his mind continued its ceaseless prodding while he slept. When he’d close his eyes, he’d see a young woman passing under the branches of the great willow. And every time she did, there’d be a shadow there—its shape indiscernible, though its intention clear; it was waiting for the girl.

Each time the shadow appeared, Mason would fight the dream, trying to slow its progression so he could make out what he was seeing—though he never had enough time. No matter how hard he tried, he always woke up just as he was on the verge of understanding what the shadow belonged to. Even though Annabelle had already told him, his mind simply wouldn’t accept it. It didn’t make sense.

He was plagued by this vision. The sequence would repeat itself for the entirety of the night until Mason awoke to the bright gold of morning sunlight streaming through his window. The last thing he’d see was the shadow—always lingering in the same place with unwavering patience. And every time it vanished, Mason knew he was too late. If only he could go back for a fraction of a second longer, he’d find his answer—one that was more satisfactory than what he’d already been told.

Mason couldn’t understand why he was so troubled by something he didn’t buy into. Was superstition finally slipping through the cracks?

The morning after his conversation with Annabelle, he was startled awake by his cell phone vibrating against his hand. The vision was sucked away, disappearing into the black hole of his subconscious. Fighting to open his eyes, Mason groaned sleepily as he groped around the mattress.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you awake Cap?”

Mason sat up, running a hand through his tangled curls. They were knotted together from a rough sleep. “Jaz? Why are you up so early?”

“I’m a nurse, remember?” She snorted on the other end. “Crazy, messed-up hours four times a week. Not even God knows when I’ll be awake.”

He glanced towards his bedside table—almost seven o’clock. “Wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t a Saturday.”

“Sorry, but I caught wind of something you might be interested in.”

“What is it?”

“There’s a town assembly today at ten, at the old church next to the community centre. It’s about the Dreamwalker, as bizarre as that might sound.”

He rubbed away the sleep keeping his eyelids glued shut. “What? Seriously? The town is actually calling a meeting over this? Who’s organizing?”

“A woman named Jenny. She’s pretty big on community initiatives.” He heard her munching on something—potato chips judging by the crunch. “I overheard some of the gals at the hospital talking. Just thought you’d want to know.”

“Wait—Jaz, you have to come with me. This is huge!” Mason swung his legs over the side of the bed.

There was a pause on the other end—hesitation, no doubt. “As much as I’m enjoying this rabbit hole of crazy, I have work, you know?”

“Right…” he trailed off, remembering that she was still responsible for people’s lives.

“Sorry, Cap. I’m with you in spirit, though.”

“Thanks, Jaz.” His voice was quiet, laced with the bitter reminder. “I think I’ll go check it out anyway.”

“I figured you would,” she scoffed. “Just be careful with these nutty bumpkins, yeah?”

“I will.”

With neither having anything left to say, Mason offered a goodbye and hung up the phone. He resisted the urge to spiral into self-doubt. He’d come too far to question, too far to consider whether this quest for the truth had morphed into something pathological.

“Better get ready,” he mumbled on autopilot. He spent at least forty-five minutes in the shower, killing time he would otherwise have to spend explaining himself to Annabelle. Towelling off, Mason let his hair air dry as he picked out his clothes. But it was only half-past eight, and he wouldn’t have to leave for another hour. He stared at his wardrobe; if he wanted to get into this meeting without arousing suspicion, he’d have to look unimpressive. Mason settled for his worn, faded jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a quilted vest.

When he finally snuck downstairs, he was grateful to find a note on the door from Annabelle, her impeccable cursive informing him that she was out shopping and would be back before lunch. Exhaling with relief, Mason slipped on his shoes and left the house.

Upon arriving at the church, he was surprised by how many people were lining the old wooden benches. No one bothered giving him a second glance as he walked in and took a seat near the back.

“Jenny Raymer will be addressing the gathering today.” The announcement came from a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair that peeked out over his ears.

The church was small and cozy, with a burgundy carpet running up the aisle, colourful stained-glass windows, beige walls, and a high wooden ceiling adorned with chandeliers. A microphone had been set up near the altar, and soon enough, a heavy-set woman with broad shoulders marched up to the podium. She looked to be on a mission.

“Thank you,” she muttered in a deep voice after clearing her throat. She turned to face her audience, her expression severe. “I am here today to share something with you all, something that happened to me recently. Now, I know everyone here has concerns—concerns that often don’t get taken seriously because we are living in the twenty-first century. Most folks are less inclined to believe in certain things.”

A few murmurs echoed through the room, followed by nods of agreement as troubled glances were exchanged.

“I’m not sure how many of you are aware,” she continued, “but another one of our girls is now missing.”

The murmurs grew louder, whispers slithering through the air as people grew restless. “Who is it?” someone called out.

“Emiliya Delathorne. I’ve known her since she was crawling on the carpets at our community centre daycare. And now she’s missing. Her parents called yesterday after Emiliya’s landlady informed them she hadn’t returned home from the hospital. According to Dr. Robert Callahan’s notes, obtained through a credible source, she was in the ER because of a sleepwalking incident. To make matters worse, her best friend says her phone is off. Her voicemail’s full, and she’s not responding to texts.”

Callahan. He was also Kai Donovan’s attending physician. Someone must have illegally leaked his files and implied a connection between the two patients.

“Emiliya’s parents are here with us today. They’ve flown in from Calgary to help in the search for their missing daughter,” Jenny continued. “While Andrea is working with authorities, Raymond has decided to join us.”

Her eyes wandered to a man sitting in the first row. He stood up and straightened out his navy jacket, then smoothed back his wavy, salt and pepper hair before turning to face the congregation. He was clean-shaven, with a long, thin face and brooding green eyes.

“My daughter, Miya, was always a good kid,” he began with a slight shake in his voice. “I’m ashamed to say I haven’t been the most present father lately. I trusted she was a responsible young adult, but perhaps I was wrong.”

Mason’s breath stilled as he took in Raymond Delathorne—the tightness in his voice, the desperation in his eyes, the barely constrained frenzy in his gestures. He was a man on the verge.

“I noticed something was wrong,” Raymond continued, throwing his hands out and shaking his head. “She was...different. She stopped calling us. She would never say thank you when we sent her cards and gifts. When my wife would ask if she was all right, if she needed help, she’d dance around the question, never giving us anything to work with, even when we knew something was wrong. She withdrew. She seemed moody, depressed, not at all like the beautiful little girl we raised.”

Mason wanted to jump up and protest—to scream that they were all delusional. His fingertips were ice-cold as he gripped the edge of the backrest in front of him until he got splinters. Raymond Delathorne’s words were almost identical to Gene Robinson’s, and the people here listening saw nothing wrong with it.

Was there LSD in the water—or worse, poison? There were no tell-tale signs of contamination, no sickness or delirium. And what of Raymond? He’d flown in from another province; he couldn’t have been affected by anything local.

“It’s just as the legend says,” an elderly man wheezed next to Mason, his hand trembling on the hilt of his walking stick. “It’s happening again.”

Happening again? Mason wondered if these idiots knew their own history, or even read the news.

“This thing is a real threat, folks. This time, our girl won’t come back. I’m sure of it.” Jenny walked across the altar, her face grim as she looked out at the townspeople. “I know how much everyone hates saying her name—the Dreamwalker—but denying her existence is only making us live in silence and fear. She’s taking our girls from right under our noses.”

It’s not the Dreamwalker , Mason battered internally. It’s you. You’re putting them six feet under.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak up; he knew they wouldn’t listen. The only thing he could do was find Emiliya before they did.

“Wait a minute—” A man dressed in a logger shirt and a thick hunting vest stood up. There were deep, purple bruises along the side of his face and neck; his lip was split open and his eye swollen half-shut. “We saw a girl in the woods just last week, when we were attacked by some psycho! He beat us up, snapped our guns. Guy looked human, but there was somethin’ in his eyes, somethin’ not right. Strong as a damn ox too.”

“What did he look like?” Raymond called out.

The man looked down at his friend—equally battered by the looks of it. They both shook their heads like they couldn’t quite remember. “Tall, dark hair, dressed like a bum.”

“Isn’t that the same guy who’s been attacking people in alleyways, taking their stuff?”

“If he’s really that strong, maybe he’s not human! The Dreamwalker always sends someone to do her dirty work. He was with a girl in the woods, right?”

“Shit—what if he’s with the Dreamwalker? What if he’s one of her wolves?”

“He might have taken Emiliya!”

Mason wanted to warn them they weren’t cross-checking their facts before jumping to conclusions—but something stopped him. The hunter’s description fit Kai Donovan’s appearance. It should have sounded ridiculous, but Mason couldn’t shake the suggestion that Kai Donovan was a wolf. And if that was true, was it a stretch to think he could be one of the Dreamwalker’s wolves? It was irresponsible not to consider, given the blood test results. Mason wanted proof that it was all fantasy, but he received the exact opposite, leaving him with no answers, not even a hypothesis. All he could do was remain a witness and see where this journey took him.

“While Andrea and Patricia are at the police station, nothing is stopping us from taking action. I say we organize a search party and go into the woods ourselves.” Jenny turned to the bruised hunters. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind, we would appreciate your assistance. If you could show us where you last saw the young woman with your attacker.”

Both men stood up, exuding an almost militant eagerness to follow. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever we can do to help Black Hollow get Emiliya back to her family.”

“If she’s still a girl,” an elderly voice interjected.

Jenny frowned, shaking her head in the direction of the old woman who’d spoken. “The Dreamwalker may be real, but let’s not jump the gun.” She put a reassuring hand on Raymond’s slumped shoulder. He looked half-broken. “If something’s wrong with Emiliya when we get her back, there are people who can help. Doctors, priests, psychics. We’ll find a way to get the spirit out of her.”

“I agree, let’s organize,” another woman’s voice chimed in, the suggestion quickly gaining traction as people got to their feet while Jenny gave out orders.

“Let’s get some supplies for the woods. Flashlights, batteries, water bottles, snacks, warm clothes for Emiliya when we find her.”

“Those with a hunting license, bring your rifles!” The call was met with cheers. “We don’t know what we’ll run into while we’re in those woods!”

“There’s always a hockey stick or a baseball bat if you don’t have a gun!”

Mason shot up from the bench and withdrew to the rear. He didn’t want someone to notice him—not while tensions were so high. But he had every intention of following the search party into the woods. He had to find Emiliya first—he had to save her. He knew all too well what would happen if the townsfolk found her.

Gene Robinson’s face, half-mad and grief-stricken, flickered before Mason’s eyes.

He knew what had to be done. Like an undercover spy, he would join their trumpeting cause without absorbing any of its substance. He could already hear Jazlyn and Annabelle protesting—the younger of the two swinging violently at his head as if a concussion would knock sense into him, while the other planted her hands on her hips and sternly told him he was aggravating her crows’ feet. No matter. Neither of them was here to stop him.

He felt like a boy again, reading Sherlock Holmes and the Hound of the Baskervilles , waiting for the moment the great detective would debunk the unsolvable mystery and explain the science behind the superstition. He needed to know that Kai Donovan wasn’t real. He needed proof that the villagers’ beliefs were a lie, that they had been led astray by their irrationality. There was no Dreamwalker. There was no wolf. There was no kidnapping. There couldn’t be. Because if there were, the ground would no longer be the ground, and there would be nowhere left for Mason Evans to stand.

But more than all that, Mason had a life to save. He wouldn’t let there be another Amanda or another Elle.

Light the torch of your grief.

Gavran’s words, once hollow, were suddenly imbued with meaning.

When night falls, only flames reveal the road ahead.

Mason strove to overpower his grief, but with Gavran’s help, he now understood its place. It would be the flame that guided him to Emiliya, and it would help him save her life.

“Let’s meet back here in two hours,” Jenny announced. “There’s plenty of daylight left. We’ll break after the sun goes down, but the search will continue at dawn until Emiliya is found.”

With that settled, Mason realized he had to return to Annabelle’s. He was ill-equipped to go into the woods. Annoyed he’d put so much effort into avoiding his hostess for naught, Mason trudged back to his lodgings, rehearsing what he’d say. The scent of roast beef wafted through the cracks of the front door, greeting him as he came up the porch steps.

“That you, Mason?” she called to him once he was inside, the bell on the door announcing his return.

“It’s me,” he answered, a little less enthusiastically than he’d intended. “Smells great in here!” Now that sounded too enthusiastic.

“I’m making a pot roast. You okay to stay for lunch?” she asked, turning the corner as she wiped her hand on a tea towel.

“Of course.” He smiled nervously. “But I’ll be heading out again after.”

He wondered if she’d be suspicious when he didn’t elaborate. He avoided eye contact while examining the lines in the hardwood floor.

“You’re going with the search party.”

It never ceased to amaze Mason how well-informed Annabelle was for a woman who spent her days in a farmhouse isolated from the rest of town. Her interactions with the villagers seemed limited to grocery shopping and trips to the bank. But perhaps it wasn’t the town that was feeding her information. Feeling caught, Mason tore his eyes from the floor, unable to gauge her intention as she regarded him calmly.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” she chided. “I already knew this was coming. I hoped you’d let it go, but I knew in my heart you wouldn’t. This town’s legends, its mysteries, and its secrets—they make you feel alive, don’t they?”

When he didn’t—couldn’t—respond, she smiled compassionately, as if to tell him he didn’t need to justify himself. “I think I understand. My Matty was the same. And the closer he got to the end, the more engaged he was with these big mysteries. I guess some people are just born detectives.”

He huffed and leaned back against the wall. “I think something terrible is going to happen. I can’t stop the villagers, but I can maybe get ahead of them, you know?”

“Is that all?” Annabelle questioned. “I don’t doubt you, but I think there’s more to it.”

“There’s more,” Mason admitted quietly. “I’m not as amazing as your son, Annabelle.” He hesitated, searching for the words. “I don’t want to believe in any of this. I really don’t. But when I see everyone else believing, I feel like I have to prove them wrong. For my own sake. I know that’s selfish, but I need to prove them wrong. If I can’t, it means I’m the one who’s been living a lie.”

“But what if you can’t prove them wrong?”

“It might destroy me,” he confessed, “but it might also mean there’s hope. I don’t want to be wrong, but I have to know the truth. This thing I’m chasing—it might even redeem me.”

Annabelle sucked in a shaky breath. “You can’t change the past, Mason. And it sounds to me like you want to be right even when you’re wrong. But I understand how you feel. You came here to escape. Seems like you can’t, though. Not until you put what’s haunting you to rest.”

“What about you?” Mason asked. “Do you believe?”

Annabelle nodded. “My son believed. And if he did, then I do too.”

She padded over to an old wooden desk in the corner of the lounge and forced one of the drawers open with a rough jerk. After rummaging through, she found what she was looking for and came over to Mason.

“Here,” she offered, handing him what appeared to be a folded map. “Mathias’s old hiking trails. The more he got into the fable, the more time he spent in the woods. Everyone’ll tell you the forest’s impossible to get through, but no one knows that place like my Matty did. If you get lost, these might help you.”

Mason stared down at the ratty old paper in his hand. “Thank you, Annabelle. You don’t know how much this means to me. But why are you helping me?”

“I don’t want to see anyone else get hurt, Mason.” The words were cryptic, but after seeing the meeting in the church, he knew what she meant. She stepped forward and wrapped her arm around him in a tight embrace, her warmth sinking into him.

“I hope whatever you find in those woods brings you peace, Mason.”