“I recently found a lead that might help in the search for my brother, William “Wills” Forte. A journal he had written, along with a cassette that was filled with what can only be described as very unusual field recordings. Kirk Hammett has agreed to quickly transpose the less complex portions of the cassette while keeping the integrity of the original field recordings intact. These you can play or loop alongside the reading of each part, to create the appropriate mood for these journal entries. We still advise you take precautions before listening to the recordings.” – Abigail Forte

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE: 40 Miles to Vegas

*Music for Part Five*

The rain had stopped.

I knew a few of the people standing around the open grave, but not all. I had never met any of Cristopher’s family before, and I’m pretty sure none of them really wanted to meet me. The hole had been dug the night before and was now enclosed by a plastic ring that rose above the pit. There was a hill of dirt, also covered by the black plastic to the side of the hole, but where the grave was shielded from the mourner’s eyes, the mound was covered in plastic flowers.

Celebrate what goes on top, not what lies beneath.

I knew I should stay back, let the burial proceed and keep my place as a spectator, but I had to say a last farewell. I could sense Francis stiffening in disapproval behind me. Ignoring him, I moved forwards. The sky was dark, crows were gathering on the grass and graves around us, waiting for the storm. I peered over the plastic, expecting to see a coffin, expecting to be able to say goodbye to Cristopher, and instead I see another hallucination. His body, tortured, disfigured, pale and bloody and wrapped in torn white plastic.

Most of the body covered, the plastic now dripping with the rain that has started to fall again, wisps of the wrap flicking across his face, his black hair plastered over his eyes, which open, showing nothing but blackness.

I fall backwards, trying to scream, but unable to breathe, no sound escapes.

I’m on the ground, shaking, rain falling on my face, still unable to make a sound, and I realize I’m looking up at grief-stricken faces, walls of dirt and earth moving up around me. I’m at the bottom of a freshly dug grave. I’m the one wrapped in plastic and unable to move. I’m the one trapped as Cristopher’s coffin is raised and moved over me, and slowly lowered upon me. I try to scream again.

All I can see now is the bottom of the coffin, and all around me is a stench of wet dirt and rotting flowers, and then the coffin is dropped upon me with its dead body weight.

**

I sit up fast, heart racing, head pounding. I’m in a car, seatbelt tight around me. I start to struggle.

“Wills, it’s okay!” Octavia, driving, glances over at me. It takes a couple of seconds for me to get my bearings, and then it hits me, “The guitar! Where is the guitar!?” Octavia nodded, “Bad news. Corso tricked us. We need to get it back.”

I stare out the window, the passing scenery unfamiliar, and I’m feeling a bit queasy. How long was I out? I look over at Octavia, and for the first time she looks worried.

She sees my concern, “I’m fine. You, however, are not. You’ve been drifting in and out ever since we left the motel. At least you’re still with us, so the guitar is still connected to you. The distance has got to be affecting you though.” "Us?" I ask and feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump, startled. “It’s just me, relax.” It’s Abbie. I shift in my seat to look back at her. “How did you get here?” I ask. “You don’t remember?” She says, surprised. “No, I got pretty much nothing after the Detective showed me that picture...”

My father. It’s not possible. I can remember the last time I saw him, and I remember he looked the same as he looked in the photograph. He hadn’t aged a day. Which wasn’t possible. Then I looked at Octavia, one hand on the wheel, her left arm crooked and hanging out the window, and I realize there’s a lot of nutty stuff going on in my life that’s not possible.

“Why was my dad at the bar? What was he doing there?” Octavia is silent for a moment, and then answers softly, “As far as I can tell, he’s the one who planted the pick that brought the Ekimmu to your whereabouts. I didn’t tell you then, but two of those bodies we found were no longer human, just emptied out shells. I think your father removed the demons from their hosts and placed the pick where you found it. That’s not something a mere mortal can do easily, so I’m also thinking your father may no longer be who you think he is.”

I nod and turn to look out the window, not wanting anyone to see how freaked out I was feeling. “So, where are we going and ... where the hell are we?”

“We’re getting close to Grand Junction, about halfway to Vegas.” Octavia tells me. “The detective and his ... friend” she continued, with a hint of disdain, “Are meeting us there.” Abbie chimes in, “I came by your room last night. I was going to try to convince you to let me come along, but I didn’t really have to. Octavia thought it would be a good idea, and she filled me in.” “She told you everything?” I ask. “Never everything, darling, but enough.” Octavia replied with a wink. “But just so we’re all on the same page here, Corso made a deal with your Mr. Velvét..."

According to Octavia, while Corso and other demons cannot wield the powers of the guitar while it is connected to me, there is nothing to stop it from being played by another human. If Corso can show Harry which notes to play, and with a little blood and sacrifice, it is possible to redirect the curse. That would allow Corso to use the guitar against Mael, which is all he really wants. The only problem with this scenario is that I end up dead.

“Worse than dead, actually...” Octavia says. “Not helping.” I can feel the guitar pulling at my insides.

I know it’s only going to get more and more unpleasant until that thing is in my hands again. I glance back at my sister, “And tell me why it’s a good idea that you’re here?” “Wills, it’s because our father is involved. Look, I’m not saying you haven’t had things to deal with, but you didn’t have to deal with mom. He has to be accountable for what he did to our family, and that’s that.” She was right. “But watch it, this is serious business. You listen to us, and don’t try anything stupid.” I said sternly. “Oh, look who’s finally playing the part of the big brother.” Abbie snorted. “You still have the gris-gris bag?” “Yeah,” I say, patting my pocket. “Let me see that.” Octavia says. I dig it out and hand it to her. Still driving, she holds it in her right hand, as if weighing it. “This is a good one.” She glances at Abbie in the rear-view mirror, sniffs the bag. “You made this?” “No, our mom did.” “I’m impressed. Seems like there’s strong juju in your bloodline, Wills. Must be part of what attracted the Asag to you.” “Asag?” Abbie asks. I look back at her. “The demon in the guitar.”

I watched all the blood drain from her complexion as she sits back in her seat. I can tell it’s slowly dawning upon her. This isn’t just us looking for a guitar. There’s some real evil shit going down, and we are all in danger.

Octavia is still holding the bag. She hands it back to me. “It doesn’t affect you?” I ask. “I can feel its power, but I’m not challenging it. It’s protecting you. I’m not a threat, at the moment.” She flashes a quick grin. “I’m pretty sure it’s helping you deal with the distance of the guitar. Without it you might be experiencing even worse flashes."

We pull into a parking lot in front of an old diner.

“We’ve still got about seven hours before we hit Las Vegas, and I’m betting you won’t want to stop again.” Octavia says, “So here’s your last chance coffee stop.”

The three of us head into the diner. Abbie and I following Octavia. The doors are open, it’s bright inside, music is playing, but emptiness ... there’s no people. I notice an unpleasant but now familiar stench, like blood and rotting meat.

Octavia stops suddenly, “this isn’t right.” I agree, “Abbie, get back to the car.” “But...” Now.” I insist, turning around and pointing her back outside.

That’s when I saw an old beat-up yellow ford pickup pull out from behind the diner and drive away. The same vintage 50’s Ford that my dad used to drive. I couldn’t tell who was driving, but felt my stomach drop, “It’s a trap!” “Yeah, I had a feeling.” Octavia was looking at the door that led to the kitchen. It was swinging open slowly, but the thing coming out was definitely not our waiter.

At least not anymore.

Behind me I heard Abbie start to scream, while in front of me I watched Octavia transform into a more demonic form of herself. Her arms elongated slightly, her fingers stretching, nails sharpening. Her neck seemed to stretch up a few inches while something moved under her jacket, like her shoulder blades were trying to push out of her body.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. “One of those Ekimmus?” “No, this is a younger demon.” Octavia stops, lifts her head up, smelling the air. Her arms move back behind her, almost crossing. Long, stretched out, sharp and ready to strike. “But dangerous. A Nalai.” “Nalai?” Abagail whispers, beside me now. “Abbie,” I hiss. “Get out of here!”

But it was too late. The creature moved with a sudden burst of unbelievable speed, its wide gaping mouth drooling a blackish liquid. It had wings, unfurling like a bat attacking. I thought it was going for Octavia, but it swooped up and over, before diving down towards me...

No...

My sister!

I had seconds to react. I pushed her aside, ignoring her shout of protest. She fell between a couple of tables and the creature, horrible claws outstretched, missed her, but the talons scraped along my inner arm in passing.

The scratches burned as if flames had sliced my skin. The thing turned, wings scraping the floor like nails on a chalkboard, then dove back towards us. Reaching about for anything that might be used as a weapon, I grabbed a handful of silverware from the countertop, and let it all drop to the floor except for a knife.

As it flew towards me, I fell to my knees. Screaming from the pain in my arms I held the knife up steady, cutting into the creature’s belly as it passed above me. It let out a screech that made me drop the knife and cover my ears. I saw Abbie doing the same, now cowering behind the counter. The thing careened across the diner, its black blood splattering and squirting everywhere as it crashed through the serving hatch into the back.

Octavia, however, did not seem to be affected like we were. She dove after the creature, her body slimming and elongating as it moved through the narrow space above the counter into the kitchen.

I moved fast.

I help Abbie up and half pulling her, half dragging her, we make it out to the car.

“What the hell is going on? What the hell is that thing, and what the hell is that other thing you call Octavia?” Abbie yells at me as I practically push her into the car. “Demons. That’s all I got right now.” I mutter as I try to get the car started.

I’m expecting explosions, fire, screams, blood... But there’s just a quiet stillness followed by a slight breeze blowing by, then Octavia walks out of the diner talking to a young woman. She’s wearing a long flowy black dress, and long black hair with flowing streams of white.

Octavia looks up and waves, and I pause my frantic efforts as they approach the car. “Wills, we’ve got company.” Octavia says.

We rearrange our seating positions, so Octavia is behind the wheel, the black-haired woman is next to her, and me and my sister are in the back.

The woman turns around, and with a smile and a short wave says, “You can call me Mag.”

Up close I can see long scars along her arms, and dark patches of what looks like dried blood on her dress. “Are you...” I look at the diner then back at Mag. “The creature that attacked you? Yes.” She turns to face forwards as Octavia pulls out towards the interstate. My sister and I both lean back, look at each other, mouths agape, then glare at the woman in the passenger seat. “Octavia?” I say, both curious and suspicious. “Mag is a Nalai, a sort of ... vampire, I guess? And this was definitely a set-up.” Octavia says. “She’s sorry. Mag? say you’re sorry.”

Mag nods but doesn’t turn around. Her hand is clutching the door handle tight. Is this demon afraid? As if reading my thoughts, she speaks. Quietly and quickly.

“I hate cars. Don’t trust them. I usually travel alone, at night. Flying. I am sorry about earlier. I didn’t know who you were, but I was told you were here to destroy me. Hunt me. The Succubus tells me you are not. It was the other human. It smelled like you, but different. Something darker, broken...” “Mag, it’s okay. We’re good.” Octavia reaches over, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“So why did you attack Abbie?” I ask, leaning forwards. “I didn’t mean to. It was supposed to be you. But there was a wall. A protection. I couldn’t get to you. I was pushed off course. A mistake.” “The gris-gris bag.” Abbie whispered. She looked a little more together, though I could tell this was still making her uncomfortable. “It worked. It stopped her from getting to you.” “Why is my father trying to kill me?” I demanded. “It has to do with the guitar,” Octavia said. “And the way the curse moves. If you die before the curse runs its course, then the curse moves to another in your bloodline before it would move to someone else. If it was your father’s guitar, yet you now are the carrier of it, by all rights he should be dead. But now, if your father kills you and gets the guitar, I suppose he will also inherit the malediction attached to it.” “You say the guitar goes through cycles of six, but when I found it, there were already two figures on it. So I’m finishing something he started? And now he wants to kill me? But why would he want to do that?” I wonder. “Because he’s making a trade.” Abbie whispers, staring down at her hands, held tightly in her lap. “What?” Everyone turns to look at her, the car swerves, Octavia looks back at the road.

“I didn’t want to upset you. It was years after you left. I told you Mom was keeping her eye on you, from a distance. When you got in trouble, with the drugs, she knew. I’m not sure how, but you know mom. She always had a way of knowing things. It was you and your friend.” Abbie said. “Cristopher.” I said softly. “Yeah, Cristopher. I never saw dad after that last night, but I heard him. He called late one night. Mom was yelling at him, saying it was his fault you were a junkie, that you were gonna die far from home. That was when he told her. She got real quiet, then fell to the floor in tears. I ran to her.” “What did he tell her?” I asked. My sister kept her head down. “He said you were past saving, but your soul could’ve kept him alive. He said Cristopher took your place, and one day he would fix that mistake. That’s the trade, Wills, Cristopher for you.”

The silence was deafening. Octavia drove, staring straight ahead. Mag, still with a white-knuckled grip on the armrest, stared out at the passing road.

**

An hour later, not much has been said. We’re driving through Green River, Utah. I’m wishing for whiskey.

Suddenly Mag reaches out, grabs Octavia’s arm and points towards an upcoming offramp. “We must go that way. There is something there. I can feel it. Something is calling. It is connected to the humans.” Octavia glances back at me, I shrug, “I don’t know, you think we can trust her? Seems like we’re all moving in the same direction, as long as we’re careful.”

Octavia nods and turns, veering to the north. There’s nothing but dirt and desert, and even though it’s October, the car is heating up in the autumn sun.

“Where are we going?” Abbie asks me quietly. “Not sure, but I bet it’s got something to do with dad.” Five minutes later Mag startles us, “Stop! Turn here.” We’re at a dusty little fork in the road. Bleak, no signs of life or of any other kind. “Are you sure?” I ask. Octavia gives me a little smile, “It’s a cemetery. I can smell it.” Of course. “Why’s it always gotta be cemeteries?” I mutter to myself.

We drive up, and suddenly we see a small square of heat dusted graves. It’s death in the middle of the desert, a dead cemetery in a ghost town. We get out of the vehicle.

“Why are we here?” Abbie whispers to me. “I’m not sure...” I reply. “Because the other one, the one who shares your blood, is here.” Mag proclaims as she sets a steady pace towards the center of the cemetery. “Dad?” Abbie’s voice quivers as she grabs my arm.

From out of nowhere a wind picks up, pushing us, as if it was trying to get us to follow Mag deeper into the dead dust square. We form a strange lineup, the wind blowing at our backs, the sands whipping up tiny dust devils above the burial plots. Octavia, the Succubus, her red hair a sharp contrast to dull earth tones surrounding us. Me and my sister, with a family overflowing with curses and superstitions, and Mag, a demonic vampire creature from another time. Ready to face what ... my father?

The wind stops, everything stops. The world is silent, but the heat continues to rise. I feel sweat beading up on my forehead, droplets running down the side of my face. Heatwaves rising off the land around us gives off the illusion that we are all standing inside some strange mirage.

And out of that mirage he appears, as if he parted invisible curtains and stepped through them. A tall angular silhouette shifting between sunlight and shadow.

Abbie takes a sharp deep breath but says nothing. Octavia and Mag remain silent as well. I can’t.

“Samuel.” I spit, knowing he hated when I didn’t call him dad. This time, however, there seems to be only a glint of annoyance in his eyes. He spat on the ground and directed his Gaze at Mag. “I guess you failed your task.” “If my task was a lie, then I did not fail. But you lie about something else as well.” Mag says, moving her hands in strange patterns, her fingers twitching, as if pulling strings in the air. “You are not human like this one.” She points to me, and her eyes widen, as if she suddenly realized what he really was. He gave a dismissive shrug and glared at me and my sister. “You weren’t supposed to be here. Either of you. You’re making this whole thing more difficult than it should be.” “Did you kill Cristopher?” I said between clenched teeth. He didn’t answer, I took a step forward, ignoring Octavia’s quiet warning and Abbie’s hand on my shoulder.

Again, but louder; “Did you kill Cristopher?”

He smiled than, a hideous, horrible smile. “He killed himself, son. It was his choice. I woulda preferred it was you that had gone to the guitar. But now I can make that right.”

Octavia was suddenly standing in front of me, her eyes flashing brighter than the desert sun. “Not without a fight.”

My father laughed.

“Why are you doing this?” Abbie shouted from behind me. “What do you want from us?” “Everything, my girl. Everything.” He pauses for a second, stares up at the sun. I notice he doesn’t blink or shield his eyes, just looks straight into that thing, and then he focuses that unblinking stare directly at me. “It was never about the guitar, boy, though that is what carries the power. I made a deal with the Asag, and I need to keep my end of the bargain.” “What kind of deal?” I asked, horrified at what I was hearing. “There’s nothing those demons like more than devouring a solid bloodline, and it had already taken your grandpa as well as mine, so I promised, I swore, it would get you as well. In exchange I would be allowed to stay out for a few more years. Maybe a hundred, if I can swing it. It loves sacrifice, boy, and you — you are supposed to be mine.” “So why are you trying to kill me out here?” I asked, against a strange mix of terror, anger, and bewilderment. “Oh, I’m not trying to kill you. Not yet. I’m trying to hold you back. That guitar is holding my soul hostage, right up there above the bridge. But since Corso has the guitar, I’m hoping he’ll kill that other demon, good ol’ Mael, or they’ll kill each other. There are just too many creatures playing with my future right now.” “And Cristopher?” I shout. “Cristopher jumped in, gave himself up for you. He’s gone, but if I deliver you and your sister, I’ll get my soul back and I’ll get to play guitar for a long, long time. So, I’m just letting things play out as they do.” He stopped to glance at Octavia, “You however, I don’t need to keep alive.”

A few rows of graves away, behind my father, something shivers and grows. A thick dark tendril like a snake made of smoke curled around the edges. Just one, then two, then finally eight undulating tentacles. They push through the dust and the dirt, curling around my father’s legs as if they’re pets pushing against him. Showing affection, or perhaps waiting for dinner. He takes a step towards us, his lips cracking into that horrid smile again. Stained teeth showing underneath, as if he was also ready to eat.

Without hesitation Octavia leaps towards him, and surprisingly Mag follows. The two demons flying past my father and going straight for the thing creeping out of the grave. They both were transforming as they moved, shapes shifting, muscles ripping and limbs stretching, sharp things becoming sharper, and from behind both of them, wings appearing. Thin batlike and leathery appendages spreading out then curving back. It was like a scene from some Horror Western film.

“Showdown at fucked-up corral.” I mutter and step backwards, pulling Abbie with me, thinking it might be a good idea to retreat towards the car. My father isn’t paying attention to us, distracted by two she-creatures attacking a mess of tentacles. Then suddenly I’m down on my knees, clutching my stomach and feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut. Abbie grabs my arm, tries to help me up, but the pain is keeping me down and doubled over. “The guitar.” I manage to say, “Something’s happening with it...”

I glance up and see my father in almost the same position as I am. Down on the ground, face contorted into an almost mirror image of pain.

Behind him Octavia and Mag grapple with a growing bulbous mass of shifting darkness. As it stretches out over the cemetery in all directions its dark tendrils wrap around the succubus and the vampire-demon, pulling and stretching. Through my pain blurred vision I see the tentacles tear at Octavia’s wings, breaking through the membrane. She lets out a shriek of pain and falls to the ground. Mag darts and dives fast towards her, but not fast enough.

A thick pulsating mass shoots out and grabs her by the legs, pulling her back towards the center of the shadow. Mag disappears, screaming, into the nothingness that seems to be swallowing the ground around it.

Octavia stands and lunges at the thing, her claws ripping through it, sending shards of shadow flying around her. Her pain is covered by shouts of rage and anger, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. A wing is torn off and black blood mixes with shadow, and then she’s yelling, shouting at me. Warning me.

Now that the tentacles no longer have to deal with two demons a couple of them are slithering through the dirt towards Abbie and me.

I can barely move through the pain, but Abbie pulls me up and tries to lead me away from the approaching horror. Our dad seems to be faring better than I am and is hobbling towards us, chanting something in some unknown language. He’s gaining on us faster than the tentacles, and I realize we’re not going to make it.

“Stop.” I tell Abbie between sharp spasms of pain. “Leave me here, go for the car.” “I’m not leaving you now Wills. We’re in this together.” She insists.

Octavia reaches Samuel, there’s just no way I’m calling him dad anymore, before he can reach us, she grabs his arm, and pulls him towards her, her mouth is open, wider than I’ve ever seen, and her teeth...

But Samuel yells out and turns, his right arm swinging hard, connecting with the side of her head. He breaks free form the grasp of her talons and pushes her backwards. She’s shaken only for a second, but a second is long enough for the thing behind her to grab both of her legs and pull her back, screaming and clawing into the soil, until she, like Mag, is swallowed up by shadow.

I stand, shaking in pain, shivering in the heat, tired and exhausted and afraid for my life. I stand, arms at my side, fists clenched, and howl with hatred at this man, this thing, that used to be my father.

This thing that turns back towards me and starts running. A wave of darkness rises behind him. The thing swelling and cresting like a hollow wave of oblivion and then it all comes down upon the both of us.

And I’m lost.

**

My eyes open to blackness, and I panic. I’m in the creature, the shadow thing.

And then I see a blanket of silver pinpricks above me, and I sigh, relieved. It’s just the night. I’m on my back in the middle of nowhere, and all the stars are out. My vision starts to blur slightly, and I realize I’m crying.

“Abbie?” I call out, but nothing in response. There’s a slight wind, the air is cold, and I have a feeling it’s going to get colder before the sun comes up again.

I feel something warm against my leg, in my pocket. The gris-gris bag. Possibly the only reason I’m here, I think. But that doesn’t really help now. Samuel and Abbie gone. Mag and Octavia, possibly dead. The guitar, somewhere out there in the hands of a demon. And I’m shivering, feeling like a junkie again, in the middle of a dead cemetery.

I start walking, and about 40 minutes later I reach what sort of looks like a newer road. Not the highway, but I know I’m heading in the right direction.

For the first time in my life, I’m actually thankful I’ve experienced this pain before. This gnawing pit, this empty ache. It’s like a familiar friend is visiting, and the comfort of the anguish keeps me going for another six miles.

I collapse in front of a motel, but the way I’m feeling I’m not sure if I can even make it inside. Whatever’s going on is getting worse. The cold shifts to colder, and I feel a drop of rain. It shouldn’t be raining. There was nothing but stars a second ago, and now the sky is thick with thunderclouds. I don’t know if this is real or not. I stand, steady myself, and turn towards the motel doors, and almost trip over the dead body.

He’s wrapped up in an opaque sheet, but I can see the shades of ink underneath. I know it’s Cristopher. The rain starts coming down harder and there’s a movement under the plastic. I can’t see his face, just the darkness of his hair pressed against the tarp. I don’t want to see any more. I don’t want to see his eyes open, or his mouth move. I don’t want to see his lifeless body sit up; I don’t want to hear his corpse speak.

I just want to say how sorry I am and turn and walk the other way. But as I turn, Cristopher’s arm slides out from under the wrap and brushes against my foot. Just a touch, but I scream in shock and trip over myself. I flail and fall to the ground, scraping my elbows on the cement. I push myself backwards with my feet until I hit the wall. But it’s not a wall, it’s a pair of legs.

“Mister Forte?” I spin around, look up, “Detective Hawkes?”

He looks down at me, curious. I turn and point to the dead body, but there is none. And the clouds have vanished as well. It’s night, it’s cold, the sky is clear, and I am helped into the motel lobby by the detective and the silent and strange Sara Barrow.

**

My eyes open, and it’s daylight. My hands are shaking, and every single bone in my body hurts. My head hurts worse.

“You’re up.” A dry voice says from the other side of the room. It’s Detective Hawkes, sitting in a chair, watching me. I sit up on the couch and holding my head while trying to not throw up, I ask what happened.

“We were on our way to Vegas. Sara had a line on the guitar, and Samuel Forte ...your father.” “You knew?” “I did. But sometimes it’s best not to share all the information.” The detective looked up as Sara entered from the other room. “But now, I guess, it wouldn’t hurt to put all the cards on the table.” I nod slowly, watching Sara move around the room as if in a daze. “Is she okay?” “Yeah, she’s ... tracking.” He looks at me, “She got a bit tangled with her directions last night, probably a good thing, too. She felt, I don’t know what she feels, exactly, like a shift in the air. She can feel the darkness move. I don’t know, but she felt it, and instead of continuing to Vegas we ended up at Elgin Cemetery, a few miles away. Looked like a tornado had hit it. From there she knew how to get to you, though.”

“So now what?” I ask, still feeling disoriented and tired. “Now we get your guitar.” “It’s not going to be easy,” I said with disgust. “Never is. But we know what we’re doing. And I need to get to your father...” Detective Hawkes stops, seeing the look of pain and distaste on my face as I spit. “He’s not my father.” I whisper, trying to stand up. “Not anymore. And I need to get to him as well. He’s taken too much away from me, and I’m not going to let him take anything else.” Sara stops pacing and turns on her heels to face us. “We need to go.” “Right.” Detective Hawkes says, standing up and grabbing a jacket and gun hanging on the chair behind him. “I’ll settle up, meet you at the car.”

He’s out the door and I’m still trying to steady myself. Black spots spinning around my peripheral vision, and a constant feeling of nausea was not helping.

“C’mon, I got you.” Sara says, placing her hand on my arm and helping me out the room and down the stairs to the waiting slightly beat up and beige Dodge Diplomat. I had to laugh, though. It hurt. “That’s his car?” Sara nodded. “Typical.” I looked at her, the silver charms on her necklace clinking against each other as she walked. “Why does Detective Hawkes want my father? I mean, I get the guitar, but what’s the connection with my dad?” Sara didn’t stop walking, and didn’t look at me, but answered quietly, “Your friend, Cristopher? Detective Hawkes is his uncle, and as far as he’s concerned, your father killed him.” “Come on, people.” Detective Hawkes shouted, his arm sticking out the driver’s side window, waving us towards the car. “We got about 400 miles to go, so let’s get moving.”

**

Turned out the Detective was right on the distance, but wrong on the destination. We drove through Utah without speaking much. I know I was in and out of consciousness, feeling my insides being pulled apart and tied into knots at the same time. I would’ve killed for a hit of something, as if anyone had been holding what I needed a hit of. Six strings to save my goddamn life.

I know we stopped a couple of times for coffee and gas, and a couple of times so I could throw up on the side of the highway. Sometimes it was blood, sometimes it was worse.

We were in Nevada, the heat was hitting again, but I was shivering. Doing close to 80 down I-15 and closing in on Vegas, Sara leans forwards and then slams back in her seat, as if she’d been shoved by an invisible hand.

“Sara?” the detective said, concerned. He didn’t stop but moved into a slower lane. “What is it?”

He was surprisingly calm. It seemed like this is something she’s done before. He was definitely used to it, even if I wasn’t.

“We need to turn, get off the freeway.” She said “Here?” he asked, looking around, “We’re like nowhere.” “Up a half mile or so,” she insisted. “It’s coming up.”

And sure enough, there it was, a turn off to Valley of Fire Highway. Sounds about right, I thought. Detective Hawkes nods and gets off the Interstate.

I manage to sit up in the back seat and peer out the window. It doesn’t look good. It makes the little cemetery I was just at seem like an oasis.

We’re about forty miles outside of Las Vegas, driving down the Valley of Fire Highway in an overheating Dodge Diplomat. I’m feeling like I’m going to die, but if all goes well, I’m going to make sure that my father dies first.

“Wait...” I said. Something just moved past the car, on the side of the road, but we’re going too fast for it to have been an animal. Sara turns in her seat and looks at me, “What?” “I saw something...” I stop, stare out the window at the passing nothingness. It’s just dirt and heat out there. There’s nothing. “I thought ... never mind.” But there it was again, a shadow on the ground, keeping pace with the car. It wasn’t underneath anything, it wasn’t a shadow of something, it was just a shadow. Moving beside us. “It’s right there.” I whisper to Sara. “I don’t see it.” She whispers back, staring out the window. “Listen. Can you hear it?” I ask, noticing a growing sound, a sharp waiting tone, but sharper. A note that I couldn’t quite place. “I can.” She sounds surprised. “I don’t see anything, but I hear that.” “I hear nothing.” The Detective mutters, “but I have a feeling that means we’re going in the right direction.”

I have a sinking feeling we’re going in the wrong direction, and I silently hope I can hold it all together. The shadow stretches out alongside the car and then snaps back and speeds forwards ahead of us. My mouth tastes like lead, the pain in my stomach intensifies, as if the sound is making it bigger.

The sound, it grows inside of me.

• ​
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“Thank you for helping me get through this. We are nearing the end. It looks as if we have only one part left to offer. I hope this will lead me back to my brother, or at least help me learn what truly happened.” – Abigail Forte

PART SIX (THE FINAL CHAPTER)