Doomsday E-Book

R. L. Gemmill

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Doomsday Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 581

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

ORPHANED. HUNTED. ON THE MENU.

After seven years apart, Jon, Kelly, and Travis Bishop move in together with a foster family, and it seems their lives may finally be normal again. But while exploring little known Pandora’s Cave, a freak earthquake traps them deep underground. In the cave they witness an alliance between a mysterious businessman and a group of terrifying demons that promises to plunge our world into darkness and death.

The good news? The kids have video proof of the entire event. The bad news? The video may still be in the demon-infested cave, and nobody believes their story.

READ WITH CAUTION!

Leseprobe

DOOMSDAY

Book #1 of the DOOMSDAY Series

R L Gemmill

Cottingham McMasters Publishing House LLC

Copyright © 2015 R. L. Gemmill.

DOOMSDAY (formerly THE DEMON CONSPIRACY) All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 978-1-948543-60-6

ISBN-10: 1948543605

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

Printed in the USA by Cottingham McMasters Publishing House LLC.

“For you, Mom. I hope they have bookstores where you are.”

Books by R L Gemmill

The DOOMSDAY Series

Click on the title to learn more.

DOOMSDAY

THE DOOMSDAY SHROUD

DEVIL’S BITE

THE STREET WIZARD

THE BONE ROOM

DOCTOR NIGHTMARE

Contents

1. The Accident

2. The Bully—Seven Years Later

3. The Haunting of Pandora’s Cave

4. The Earthquake

5. Trapped

6. The Salesman

7. Flying Demons

8. Capture

9. Battle to the Death

10. Escape

11. Rescue

12. Much Work to Do

13. Memory Loss

14. Magic

15. Satan’s Sidekicks

16. The Fight

17. Fang II

18. Saturday Morning Manners

19. The Tournament

20. Spies

21. Pain

22. Attack of the Bully

23. Majik Juice

24. Jon Disappears

25. Chris Goes Insane

26. Return of the Salesman

27. A Very Nasty Plan

28. Ouija Board and S’mores

29. Monsters in the Night

30. Breaking and Entering

31. A Place to Hide

32. Demons Everywhere

33. We Wants the Kelly Bishop

34. Someone Else’s Name

35. Ladder Trouble

36. Klawfinger

37. Demon Proofing

38. Padded Cell

39. Do You Believe in Monsters?

40. Demon Fight

41. Sleeplessness

42. Ninja Turtles

Afterword

A Sample from Book #2 of the DOOMSDAY Series: THE DOOMSDAY SHROUD

Author’s Note

About the Author

Chapter1

The Accident

KELLY

The car windows were smashed. Pieces of glass were everywhere. Kelly pushed the button on the seatbelt, but it stayed locked, and she couldn’t get out. She pushed it as hard as she could, but it wouldn’t open. The belt made her tummy hurt, and she wanted to be free, but she needed somebody to help her. She wanted her mommy.

Where was Mommy? She couldn’t see her, but in her mind, Kelly could tell her mommy was hurt.

“Mommy?”

She sniffed. Something smelled like the gas in Daddy’s lawnmower. Kelly looked up, which was sideways because they were all sideways. Daddy hung sideways, too, still in his seatbelt. She couldn’t hear him at all and started to cry. She didn’t want Daddy to die, but his thoughts were completely gone.

She pushed on the seatbelt button again. It wouldn’t let go. She cried harder.

“Poor…Daddy. I love you, Daddy.” She kicked and wiggled, which hurt her tummy worse, so she stopped.

Travis was in his car seat beside her. He was blurry because her eyes were full of tears, but she heard him sucking on his thumb. He was still alive.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, sniffled, and hiccupped. “Help me!”

JON

Ten-year-old Jon Bishop woke up in a blur. His forehead ached and burned. He felt like he’d been baptized with a hammer. Where was he? Why did his stomach feel like somebody had tried to peel the skin off with a weed eater?

Jon blinked, rolled his head, and looked up. He saw Kelly hanging above him, arms and legs dangling. She was crying.

“Jon…h-h-help…me!”

“Kelly? What happened? Were we in a wreck?”

“No, we…w-w-were in a’ accident. Help m-me…Jon.” She sobbed. “M-m-my seatbelt got stuck! And my tummy…hu-hu-hurts real bad. I can’t get…out, and Mommy doesn’t hear me anymore!”

Jon’s mind cleared somewhat. Things became familiar. They were in the family minivan, but the van lay on its side with the windshield smashed out. The driver’s door was crushed inward and pressed against his father. Mr. Bishop was utterly motionless, still held in place by the seatbelt. His right arm hung limp, like the deflated front airbag beside him. Blood drained from a gash in the side of his head.

Jon had never seen so much blood. A coppery taste rose in the back of his throat. He couldn’t hold back the sudden spew of vomit that sprayed over the back seat of the van.

Jon couldn’t see his mom in the other seat. What had happened? Where were they? He worked hard to remember.

They’d been driving on winding back roads in the middle of nowhere when all at once everything had vanished. Jon sat up on full alert. The highway, the trees, even the stars disappeared. One minute it was all there, a second later gone! Jon looked right, then left, then up. Nothing. Was it fog? A moment later he caught the smell of burning plant matter.

“That stinks!” he said, pinching his nostrils. “What is it, Dad?”

“Forest fire,” said his father in the driver’s seat, pointing to the left. “About sixty miles that way. Been burning for weeks.” He slowed the car to a safer speed, but speed had nothing to do with visibility.

“How can you see where you’re going?”

“I can’t, but there’s no shoulder to pull off to. If we stop or slow down too much, and somebody comes up behind us…well, it’s better if we keep moving.”

Jon got the message and kept a nervous eye out the rear window. The only thing he could see was the reddish glow of their taillights reflected in the noxious gray smoke. A split second later, the air cleared. Jon blinked, startled. He watched the wall of smoke shrink away behind them.

“There,” said Mr. Bishop. “Much better.”

“Thank God,” said Mrs. Bishop, riding in the passenger front seat. “I don’t know how you drove through that.”

“Me either,” admitted her husband.

Mrs. Bishop let out a long sigh of relief, like she’d been holding her breath the whole time. The road looked clear now, but Jon knew she was too much of a worrier to relax.

His dad didn’t seem rattled at all. If he’d been even a little afraid, he didn’t show it. How’d he do that? How’d he stay so calm? Jon made a mental note to himself: look brave no matter what. Dad could pull it off, why couldn’t he? After all, everyone said they were practically clones. They had the same sandy blond hair, intense blue eyes, and easy-going manner. Mr. Bishop often joked that someday one of them would have to grow a mustache, so people could tell them apart. It made sense. If Dad could do something, Jon could too—with a little practice.

“Are we there yet?” Kelly Bishop popped up in the captain’s seat behind their father, still half asleep. Kelly was a miniature version of Mrs. Bishop with the same warm, brown eyes and matching curly hair. She was six now and would finish the first grade in another month, but she could already read on a fifth-grade level. That kid read just about anything. Jon didn’t see the point. He didn’t care about books unless they had something to do with karate, swords, or computers.

“Kelly, honey,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? It’ll be hours before we get home.”

Jon laughed softly. Suggesting something like that to Kelly was a bad idea, if that’s what you really wanted her to do. Kelly hated to go to sleep at night almost as much as she despised getting up in the mornings. Right away she perked up a little and tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“All you’re going to miss is a whole lot of nothing,” said her dad, winking at her in the rearview mirror. Jon got a kick out of that. Kelly tried to wink back, but she couldn’t shut just one eye, so she blinked them both. As usual, it made them laugh. Minutes later, Kelly closed her eyes and nodded off again.

“Travis has the right idea,” said Mr. Bishop. “He’s been asleep since we left.”

Three-year-old Travis Bishop sat in his car seat with his curly blond head tilted to one side. Travis had Dad’s blue eyes and Mom’s smile, but other than that, he hardly looked like part of the family.

“That kid could sleep through an earthquake,” said Jon, laughing. He slouched in the rear seat and stretched his long legs into the space between Kelly and Travis. There was a cardboard box on the seat beside him that contained two trophies. Jon took up the trophies and studied them in the dim light. The first trophy had a small karate figure on top, forever frozen in the middle of a big kick. The second showed a samurai sword surrounded by some leafy patterns. Jon put them back in the box while he dwelled on the single word engraved at the bottom of each trophy. Champion. Oh yeah.

He’d competed in two events, kumite, or fighting, and weapons—both in his age group. As he watched other kids in the tournament, he realized he could have beaten most of them, even kids who were years older than him. The strange thing was he didn’t just think he could’ve won; he knew it. Maybe next time Sensei would let him move up into another age bracket. That’d be sweet. He loved challenging competition.

Jon got the feeling he was being watched and looked up. His mom was studying him with her mouth scrunched over to one side like she was biting the inside of her jaw. She usually had that look when she was thinking.

“What?” he said.

“I wish your grandparents were alive,” said Mrs. Bishop with a sad smile. “They’d be so proud of you!”

Jon grinned and hung his head modestly. This was the most awesome day ever! He was entirely sure nothing could ruin it for him. Nothing.

All at once everything outside vanished again. Mr. Bishop quickly switched to the bright headlights, but it was like bouncing a spotlight off a mirror right back into their eyes.

“That didn’t work,” he said, dimming the lights. He returned to a lower speed. “I’m sure there’s an intersection around here. Wish I could see.” He’d barely spoken the words when a yellow glow appeared in front of them. Mr. Bishop hit the brakes. They skidded to a complete stop just as the light changed to red. Travis never stirred, but Kelly woke up immediately.

“Good call, Dad.” Jon gripped his seat with white knuckles. That was close. Scanning the area, he could just make out dim lights and the ghostly outlines of a few old buildings around the intersection. It looked like a small town comprising a half-dozen houses, a gas station, and some kind of store. People lived there, but the smoke made the whole place seem deserted.

“Are we there yet?” asked Kelly, groggily.

“We’re at Boyd’s Crossroads,” said their dad, looking right and left.

“I don’t remember this,” said Mrs. Bishop. “Do you know where we are?”

“Never been lost in my life. The smoke makes it look different, that’s all.” Mr. Bishop pointed ahead. “See? There’s the sign for I-95. It’s four miles to the interstate.”

“Does that mean there won’t be any more smoke?” asked Jon.

“It’ll be four lanes and a safer drive either way.”

“What time is it?” said Kelly.

“Why?” asked their dad jokingly. “Do you have an important meeting tonight?”

“Oh, Daddy, I was just wondering.” She rolled her eyes and giggled.

Mr. Bishop checked his watch. “Ten after ten.”

It wasn’t unusual for Mr. Bishop to tell them what time it was since he wore a watch, and they didn’t. Even Travis asked about it, now and then, as his vocabulary rapidly grew. But this was the one time of day that Jon would never forget as long as he lived.

The light turned green. Mr. Bishop eased the minivan forward. Smoke covered them like a shroud as they passed through the intersection. Jon wondered how his dad could even tell where the road was. Suddenly, a bright flash tore aside the darkness. Jon saw it coming. Headlights! A truck!

At that moment, he recalled the time. Ten after ten. It would be the last thing his father ever said. Then everything went black.

JON

Jon understood now. They had been in a wreck. His stomach hurt because the seatbelt had saved his life, but right now it was putting a major squeeze on him. He caught a pungent smell in the air. Gasoline. Something was smoldering too and smelled foul. The car could catch fire at any moment. They needed help fast. Somebody had to do something!

But nobody else was there. He was the only one who could do anything at all.

Kelly cried out. “M-m-mommy! Daddy! Help me!”

Jon released the buckle on his seatbelt and dropped to the passenger side window, which was now on the street. Slowly, he stood on wobbly legs and got his bearings. Kelly thrashed above him. She cried and kicked wildly. The toe of her shoe poked his forehead, nearly jabbing him in the eye.

“Kelly, stop! I’ve got you!”

She calmed enough for him to unlock her seatbelt and catch her. He reached overhead and manually opened the sliding door. “Are you okay?”

Kelly trembled with relief. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I…I think so.”

“Good. Get out. I’ll lift Travis up to you. Take him to a safe place, okay?”

Kelly climbed out the side door which was now on top.

“Here,” said Jon from below. “Don’t drop him.” He lifted Travis up through the door. Kelly took the little boy and set him beside her on the van. Jon frowned. His baby brother was utterly still, arms and legs dangling listlessly. “Is he all right? Is he, you know…alive?”

“He’s still asleep.”

“He really can sleep through anything! Can you see what happened to us?” Jon looked up and watched his sister scan the area.

“We were in a’ accident.” With a six-year-old’s vocabulary, she described the surrounding scene. The top of the van had jammed against a telephone pole. Smoke rose from somewhere inside the engine compartment and fluids leaked all over the street. About thirty feet away, a huge dump truck rested with its front partially smashed in. Steam rose from its engine, but she didn’t see anyone inside the truck.

“Go,” said Jon solemnly. He climbed through the door, poking his head into the night air. From there he kept a cautious eye on Kelly as she did her best to climb down the luggage rack to the street without losing her hold on Travis. She made it and carried her brother to a safe spot. Satisfied, Jon dropped back into the van. Two down, two to go.

He stepped over and around the captain’s seats until he got to his mother. Mrs. Bishop lay curled up on the passenger door, still in her seatbelt. He released the seatbelt and bent to pick her up. Jon was strong, and his mother was tiny, so he thought he could handle her weight. But her limpness made her heavy. It was everything he could do just to move her. Luckily, the windshield was completely gone, broken and scattered all over the street. He climbed through the opening and carefully took his mother under her arms. With all his strength, he dragged her out of the vehicle.

Kelly put Travis on a patch of damp ground and ran back to help. Broken glass crunched under their shoes as they dragged Mrs. Bishop to where Travis was curled up, sucking his thumb.

“Jon, you’re bleeding!” Kelly touched the edge of his forehead. A two-inch wound bled freely down the side of his face.

It explained why his head hurt. He turned away from her. “Don’t. I gotta get Dad.” He was about to go back to the van when he noticed Kelly staring oddly at their mother. Jon looked down. Something about her neck didn’t look right. It had an unnatural bend to it, as if snapped to one side.

Flames rose from inside the engine. They both jumped back.

“Jon!”

Jon froze. Was this really happening? He wanted to act, but his feet wouldn’t move. The van could explode at any second and all he could do was watch.

Jon! Hurry!

The words shouted inside his head. He recognized Kelly’s voice, but somehow her mouth hadn’t moved when she said it. The urgency in her eyes made him jump. He raced to the van.

“Dad! Dad, wake up!”

Fire spread over the van like a hot flood. The front license plate read BISHOP 5, but the letters curled and turned black in the intense heat.In the flickering light, Jon saw his father more clearly than before. His head and face were bloodier than he’d realized. Jon fought off a wave of terrible thoughts that his dad might already be dead. No! Not dead! He has to live!

Jon tried to crawl through the windshield. Scorching flames shot up and blocked the way. The fire was everywhere. How could he possibly save his father? He went toward the windshield opening again. The heat was intense. Flames licked at his face. He drew back in near panic. All at once he cried. He couldn’t help it.

“DAD!” he screamed. “DAD! WAKE UP!” Jon had never felt so helpless. Frustration gave way to desperation.

“DADDY! PLEASE, WAKE UP!”

His father never moved. But the fire responded with the roar of a hungry beast. Desperation gave way to madness.

Ignoring the danger, Jon broke through the wall of fire and got inside the minivan. Flames licked at him from every angle, but it didn’t matter anymore. He’d rather die with his dad than live without trying to help him.

Hot smoke filled the van. Jon tried to recall the fire safety tips he’d learned at school. But those lessons had only covered being in a burning house. This was completely different. The toxic fumes of melting plastic and burning fuels were suffocating. It didn’t seem to matter whether he stood tall or kept low. Either way, he inhaled scalding, poisonous gases. He groped around and found his dad.

Beside him, Mr. Bishop hung from his seatbelt, unconscious—or worse. His face and head were bloody.

“DAD!”

Jon tried to undo the seatbelt. The buckle was hot. It burned his fingers just to touch it. A strip of molten plastic dripped off the door and landed across his left forearm. It seared the flesh instantly.

Jon screamed in agony, but he never stopped fighting the seatbelt release. He pressed the release button with all his strength. It stayed locked tight.

“I can’t get it open!”

“Jon! Get out of there!” Kelly had moved closer to the fire.

“I’m not leaving him! Get away!”

Jon fought furiously with the seatbelt. His fingers burned every time he touched the hot buckle. He pulled and punched and even chewed on the belt. Nothing could open it. Any second now the van was going to blow up. If it did, he would die with his father.

Fine! he thought. Then I’ll die, too!

NO! cried Kelly inside his head. You can’t!

Jon looked up, stunned. It sounded like she was in his mind again.

“I can’t get it open!” He coughed, desperate for clean air. Tears poured out of his eyes. He needed to get away from the fire—but not without Dad.

Suddenly, Jon got the feeling he wasn’t alone. He looked back.

An older man in blue jeans and white running shoes also risked the flames. He stooped over the dashboard and reached out his hand. Resting in his palm was a Swiss army knife, the longest blade pulled out.

“Here, kid!” cried the man. “You’d better hurry!”

Jon took the knife and quickly sawed through the seatbelt. His father landed hard on top of him. Luckily, the man caught some of the load. Together they dragged and tugged Mr. Bishop out of the van. By now, several other people had arrived to help. Moments later, the van exploded in a ball of fire.

“I called the police and the rescue squad,” said an old woman who stood beside the man with the pocketknife. “An ambulance is on the way.”

Jon coughed uncontrollably in deep heaves. The man patted him on the back to help loosen the nastiness in his lungs. His face, arms, and hands were burned and bloody. The old woman started slapping his right leg just above the ankle.

“Your pants are on fire!” She quickly put it out.

“Kid, that’s the bravest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” said the man with the knife. “Or the stupidest. But I understand why you did it.” The man looked at the Swiss army knife and shook his head. “It’s strange. I didn’t own a pocketknife until a half hour ago. Some guy I didn’t know came up to me and put it in my hand. He told me it was a good knife and might come in handy sometime.”

Jon barely heard him. He looked down at Kelly, who sat beside their mom and little brother. She leaned close to her mother’s face and whispered to her.

“Mommy! Wake up, Mommy! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

Their mother opened her eyes ever so slightly. She half smiled at her daughter. Then her fading gaze settled on Jon as she let out a long, last breath and lay still. Kelly jerked and cried out like she’d gotten electrocuted. She grabbed her own head with both hands and sobbed.

“I love you, too, Mommy! Oh, Mommy, please don’t leave us!” Kelly looked up at Jon. “She said goodbye. She said she loves us all. It hurts my head so bad!”

Jon stared at his mother in total shock and disbelief. “No! She’s not dead! I saved her! They’re just hurt!”

“No….” Kelly wailed in spastic throbs. “They’re…dead!”

Kelly flopped across her mother’s body and pressed her face into her breast. Jon looked down at his mom, then at his dad. Dad hadn’t stirred the entire time they moved him, and he clearly wasn’t breathing now. It finally struck him like a bolt of lightning. Kelly was right. Their mommy and daddy really were dead. Jon collapsed from the shock. The man caught him by one arm and set him on the ground.

The old woman checked Mrs. Bishop’s pulse. After a while, she bit her lip and went to Mr. Bishop. She shook her head sadly. “Little girl’s right. I don’t know how she knew, but she’s right.”

All at once Travis sat up, thumb in mouth, looking dazed. He smiled groggily at the woman. Then the boy curled up in the crook of his dead mother’s arm and went back to sleep.

Chapter2

The Bully—Seven Years Later

KELLY

I hate Kelly Bishop. I just wanna kick her face in.

The random thought snapped Kelly out of a deep sleep. She wiped drool off her cheek and pulled a strand of curly brown hair from her mouth. She looked up, totally confused by the room full of kids. Where was she? What day was it? Why was this puddle of saliva on her desk?

Then it hit her. Monday morning, first hour, math class. Oh yeah, talk about your major letdown. As usual, she’d dozed off listening to the teacher, Ms. Zach, drone on forever about the value of x or y or some other dumb letter. Ms. Zach was old and still single after like a hundred years. That woman could put the Energizer Bunny to sleep. Kelly rolled her eyes (something she was very good at) and was about to plop her head back on the desk, but the hate thought was a definite wake-up call.

Why would somebody think that about Kelly Bishop? she wondered. That’s me!

She had been an eighth-grader at Hinton Middle School in Chantilly, Virginia, for an entire month, so there were plenty of kids she didn’t know yet. But for someone to hate her already, well, that didn’t seem fair. She was sure if they knew her, they’d realize she wasn’t the kind of person people hated. Maybe they were thinking about some other Kelly and got the last name wrong.

If she could just find out who it was, she’d talk to them, even be friends. Of course, to do that she’d have to tune into their thoughts. Kelly started with three of the more popular and pretty girls in the next row.

Brandy Barnette: Anthony’s so cute. I wish he’d go out with me.

Heather Hoskins: If Anthony looks at me, I’ll die! How come he won’t look at me?

Ann Bockman: Should I invite Anthony to my pool party? He’d probably say no.

Okay, the only person those girls cared about was Anthony Mall, the tallest and cutest boy in the eighth grade. Since Anthony was in such big demand, Kelly got curious about which girl he might like. She peeked into his thoughts from across the room.

I bet I failed that science quiz. I’m gonna play pro football someday. I really like cheese pizza.

Kelly fought off a major chuckle. It shouldn’t have surprised her, though. He was a boy. She wiped the drool off the desk with a tissue and spent the rest of the period trying to track down the thinker who despised her. Minutes before the bell, she still did not know who it was.

Kelly first knew she could read minds when her younger brother, Travis, was just a toddler. Whenever he got upset, she could enter his thoughts like a light breeze and sing him to sleep, or just speak to him inside his head. He talked back to her that way, too, but he wasn’t telepathic. As far as she knew, she could read the thoughts of just about anybody, except crazy people and her older brother Jon. Crazy people were on a different wavelength, so she couldn’t tune into them. And Jon, well, Kelly could read his thoughts just fine until he sensed something was going on. Then he’d completely block her out. Travis and Kelly kept her ability a secret. Jon must have known since he blocked her all the time, but they had never talked about it.

No, Travis wasn’t telepathic, but he had an unusual skill, too. He could feel emotions in other people like they were his own. Usually, it was a good thing, but it took him a few years to get it under control. There was this time when he was seven, and he and Kelly were standing on a sidewalk waiting to cross the street as an entire line of cars went by with their headlights on. It was a funeral. All the sadness of the people in that funeral procession knocked Travis to the ground. He started bawling uncontrollably and couldn’t stop until the cars were way down the road. Kelly had just stood there, embarrassed, and looked at him like he was out of his mind. It had been a good thing she could read his thoughts and figure out what the problem was.

Kelly and her brothers had been orphans ever since the accident. The accident. It made her shiver every time she thought about it. A judge had forced them to live in separate state homes and with different foster families for seven years, which sucked. The foster families Kelly had stayed with had been kind enough, and she’d made plenty of friends at the children’s home where she lived, but she hardly ever got to see Jon or Travis, usually only at Christmas or on their birthdays. It was the loneliest time of her life until last month when Angie and Chris McCormick took in all three of them. They were two of the nicest people Kelly had ever known.

The school bell rang, and Kelly gathered her things. She pulled on her backpack and followed the rest of the class out the door. Along the way, somebody shoved her into the doorjamb. She lost her balance and nearly tasted floor wax. Without looking back, she figured it must have been her own fault.

“Sorry,” she said, but abruptly sensed something was terribly wrong. She turned.

Donnivee Fox glared back at her with fierce green eyes and a sneer on her face that would have scared a pit bull. Kelly didn’t have to scan the other girl’s thoughts to know she wanted to start a fight right there.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Donnivee clenched her fists.

“Nothing,” said Kelly, trying to walk away from her. Though they were the same height, Donnivee was heavier and probably stronger, too. Everyone knew she had been in fights before, and whether she’d won didn’t matter. Kelly didn’t want to fight her. Ever.

“That’s bull crap!” Donnivee pushed Kelly into the wall. Students gathered around to watch. Kelly realized she might have to fight just to stay alive. That would get her a black eye, maybe a broken nose, and probably a three-day suspension. What would Angie say about that?

A smallish pale girl dressed entirely in black stepped between them. Kelly had seen the girl before in science class, but they’d never spoken to each other. The girl stood before Donnivee with a tilted head and bulging eyes. Her lower jaw hung slack. She looked positively psycho. Was she going to drool next? Kelly didn’t read emotions like Travis, but it was clear as crystal that Donnivee was afraid of that girl.

Luckily, Mrs. Cecere, Kelly’s last hour teacher, walked by.

“Donnivee Fox!” said Mrs. Cecere sternly. “Go to your next class. Now!”

Donnivee never looked at the teacher. She tried to glare at Kelly, but her gaze kept darting over to the girl in black. “Yes, Mrs. Cecere.” She shot Kelly one of those I’ll-get-you-later looks, then stomped down the hall.

“Are you okay, Kelly?” asked Mrs. Cecere.

Kelly figured the fear must have shown in her eyes, or the teacher saw her hands shaking. It was hard to explain, but almost getting the crap beaten out of her scared her. She couldn’t lock away her fear the way Jon did.

“I’m fine.” Thank God her voice was steadier than the rest of her body.

“If you have a problem with her, you’ll let me know, right?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

The girl in black looked normal again and winked at Kelly as if nothing had happened, then she went down the hall. Kelly thought about winking back, but she couldn’t close just one eye. She didn’t wink; she blinked. It was embarrassing, like having dust in both eyes.

Kelly was still shaking well into her next class, and her stomach felt tied up in squishy knots. From that day on, she tried to keep mentally tuned into Donnivee whenever she was within range.

KELLY

When Kelly got to life science class at the end of the day, Mrs. Cecere had moved the girl in black to the vacant seat beside her. The classroom didn’t have desks, just those black tables with shiny tops where students could cut up crayfish or frogs or other gross stuff and the juice wouldn’t soak into the furniture. Each table seated two people, and since Kelly was the last person to join an already even-numbered class, she had sat alone. But not anymore. The girl in black came over and introduced herself.

“I’m Melissa,” she said, grinning with perfect, ultra-white teeth. “Melissa Godwin. Since we sit at the same table now, I figure we should get to know each other.”

“Kelly Bishop. Thanks for helping me.”

“No problem. You’re the one Donnivee hates so much.”

“Why does Donnivee hate me?”

“Because you’re way prettier than her.”

“No, I’m not. She’s got that gorgeous blonde hair.”

“She’s cute for a thug, but most boys are afraid of her. That’s because she’s beaten most of them up.”

“She beats up boys?”

“And girls. Sooner or later Donnivee hates you, and when she hates you, she beats you up. Your last name is Bishop, huh? That’s a good name for a chess player. It’s not as good as King or Queen or even McQueen, but it’s still pretty good.” As she spoke, Melissa reached into her backpack and took out a brochure. She passed the brochure across the table, and Kelly read the heading out loud.

“‘The Halloween Classic Open Chess Tournament’? Why’d you give me this?”

“If you’re really good at chess, you’ll want to play in that tournament. There’s prize money and stuff. Even if you’re not sure how good you are, find out.”

Kelly lightly explored her new friend’s thoughts.

Melissa suddenly looked her right in the eye. “What?”

Kelly stopped the scan and backed off. Had Melissa detected her inside her mind? “How do you know I play chess?”

“Easy. I’m gonna be a detective. And if you need a bodyguard, I’m your girl.”

Kelly sized her up from head to foot. Melissa was one of the smallest girls in the eighth grade. “Why is Donnivee afraid of you?”

“She thinks I’m crazy, and nobody messes with a crazy person. If I’m around you all the time, Manson Stanfield won’t bother you either.”

“Who’s Manson Stanfield?”

“Donnivee’s only friend. Manson isn’t tough, but she likes to watch fights, so she hangs out with Donnivee because eventually Donnivee will get in a fight with somebody. But not with you, if I’m around. I’m your only hope.”

Kelly wasn’t sure if this girl was serious, kidding, or just plain weird, but she liked her just the same. She played along. “Okay, you’re hired.”

“You’re safer already.”

Mrs. Cecere started class then, and they didn’t get another chance to talk until after the bell rang. Kelly decided that she’d stumbled onto her newest best friend. She liked this strange girl. They traded phone numbers and planned to go to the mall together that Sunday.

“I don’t have a cell phone,” said Kelly. “I live with foster parents. I don’t think they can afford to get us cell phones.”

“That would be rather pricey, three phones, for you and your brothers.”

She looked at Melissa sideways. “Seriously, how do you know so much about me?”

“Maybe I’m not really going to be a detective. Maybe I’m a stalker.”

KELLY

Kelly always figured she’d hate living with neat freaks. She had never had a lot of clothes and stuff, but she liked to keep what she had in its proper place on the floor, even though she’d had dressers and bins and closets to put it all in. It seemed odd, but that was her system.

The first time she’d seen where Chris and Angie McCormick lived, she figured they had to be neat freaks, and that could mean trouble. Their house was an ordinary two-story with a double-car garage, but they kept it in flawless, apple-pie order. They trimmed the lawn and shrubs like a golf course, and the country-style front porch was so clean you could eat off the decking. Not that she would, of course. Kelly preferred plates. The place was so perfect she never saw a single cobweb in the house. When she had showed up the very first time, Kelly just knew they’d yell at her for walking on the lawn, or dropping crumbs, or even sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch. She could almost hear them.

Stay off the grass! Pick up those crumbs! Don’t rock, you’ll scratch the decking!

Fortunately, Chris and Angie weren’t like that at all. They were neat, but not OCD. To prove it, all anyone had to do was look in their basement where they had stacked boxes, old furniture, and other junk from floor to ceiling. There wasn’t even space to play down there. Everybody needed at least one junky-looking room. Of course, after Kelly moved in, they had two.

To Kelly, Angie and Chris were a case study in how opposites attract. They were both around forty, but Angie seemed way younger and looked it, too. Maybe if Chris had more hair and lost a little weight, it wouldn’t have been so obvious. As different as they were, Kelly knew their feelings for each other were true. They reminded her of her real parents. She could tell Angie and Chris were in love.

Chris taught English at Woody High School, the same school where Jon had started his junior year. Chris was your typical guy—average height, build, paunch, and receding hairline. He wanted everyone to think he was laid back and easygoing, but Kelly knew he was a worrier. That man worried about everything from the economy to whether he should become a vegetarian to the possibility of UFOs existing. He even had a deep-down fear of becoming a zombie! That might have been why he’d lost so much of his hair. There wasn’t a cruel bone in his body, and he got along well with kids. Kelly liked him a lot.

And Angie? Well, Angie was unique. She was so lovely with her slim body and short-cut auburn hair. Her large, dark eyes could stare a sarcastic hole right through somebody if they annoyed her. She did it often with Chris, but he probably liked the attention. It took a lot to get that woman bothered; she had a sort of philosophy of calm. In her own words, “Why worry? Action beats fear almost every time.” Kelly liked that.

Unlike Chris, Angie worked out often. She did yoga, lifted weights, and walked for miles and miles. Chris never walked with her. If he did, he’d have to run to keep up. She was a fitness freak. Since living with them, Kelly had even heard the A-word pop into their thoughts every so often—adoption. The McCormicks hadn’t spoken to each other about it yet, but the possibility was on both their minds. Kelly tried not to think about it. She didn’t want to get her hopes up for nothing.

Though the McCormicks kept a super neat place, the house next door to them was a real dump. It was vacant—and no wonder—with a sagging front porch, broken windows, and a desperate need for paint. Both houses sat side by side in a quiet cul-de-sac with the next nearest place over a mile away. Talk about privacy! There wasn’t even traffic noise. Everything around them was just an extensivefield and trees. Lots of trees.

When Kelly got off the school bus that day, she took her usual detour up the driveway between Chris’ Mustang and Angie’s minivan. She cut across the yard and dragged her fingertips over the bark of the enormous oak tree out front. Her family might call her weird, but she just loved touching tree bark. It felt so…rough. She dashed into the house.

She tracked down Angie in the family room, who was looking out the sliding glass door by the deck. “Hey, Angie!”

“Hi, Kelly. How was school?”

“Good. I have a new friend. Her name’s Melissa, and she’s good at math, and she’s way cool, and she saved my life today, and we want to go to the mall this weekend.”

“I hope you didn’t tell her Saturday. The cave trip should take up most of the day.”

“No way. I’m not missing the cave trip for anything. Oh, and she gave me this.” Kelly dug the chess tournament brochure out of her backpack and passed it to Angie, who looked it over.

“Do you want to do this?”

“I want to see if I’m any good, you know?”

“Chris thinks you are. I mean, you beat him pretty bad every time you play, and he was on the chess team in high school. Let’s see, it’s on Halloween weekend, two weeks away. Okay, I’ll enter you.”

“Thanks, Angie! What are you looking at?”

Angie pointed out back. “I’m watching Jon practice with his swords. He’s fantastic! I wish we could afford to get him into a martial arts class, or something. You wouldn’t know the name of his old instructor, would you?”

Kelly looked out the door. Jon didn’t know they were spying on him, and it might have been a good thing, too. The fifteen-inch knives he twirled—one in each hand—were razor sharp. As he stabbed and sliced the air, his moves were fluid, graceful, and incredibly dangerous looking. The mastery he showed with the long knives took her breath away.

“The only weapons instructor he ever had was Mr. Riker. When our parents died, we moved around, and Jon stayed with the Rikers for like four years. Mr. Riker was in the army. He was a black belt in karate and taught self-defense to soldiers. Jon was already pretty good at karate, but Mr. Riker taught him all kinds of new stuff, especially with weapons.”

“Where’s Mr. Riker now?”

“Dead. He got blown up.” Angie became quiet, so Kelly finished the story. “Afghanistan. Mrs. Riker liked Jon, but after her husband died, she fell apart and sent Jon back to the children’s home. Since then, he hasn’t had a weapons or karate teacher. Now he learns everything online.”

Kelly watched Jon practice as they talked. As usual, he wore school clothes—tan slacks and a snug-fitting blue T-shirt that just showed the muscles in his arms. He stood six feet tall now, with strands of dirty-blond hair dropping in and out of his eyes while he worked. She noticed his sword case was open on the steps. His other three weapons—a Marine Corps officer’s sword, a Roman gladius, and a Scottish claymore—glistened in the sun on a blanket spread across the deck.

Jon finished, stepped back, and bowed toward the woods behind the house. Then he twirled the fighting knives and slid them both into a pair of sheaths strapped under his shirt at the base of his neck. The move was slick and controlled.

His skill impressed Kelly. “Whoa! He’s way better. Last time I saw him make that move, he almost cut his finger off. It bled so much!”

Angie pulled her away from the door. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Come on, I cut up some fruit for a snack. You can tell me all about Melissa.”

“Melissa’s so cool. She’s kinda weird, but I can tell we’re going to be friends. She always wears black, you know.”

As they entered the kitchen, Chris McCormick came up the stairs from the basement, covered with cobwebs and dust bunnies. He looked like he’d been crawling under beds or something. He carried a baseball bat and a long steel pipe, one in each hand. “Angie, I don’t know what to do with these. I found them under the stairs.”

“Take them back where you found them,” said Angie. “That’s what you can do with them.”

Chris nodded. “Uh, right. So how was school, Miss Kelly?”

“Fine. What’re you doing, Chris?”

“Cleaning the basement. Well, I’m trying, but it’s a monumental job, and I don’t know where to begin. I want to make a room down there and rent it to a college student, so we can take in some extra cash, you know?”

“Get Travis to help. He’s good at keeping inventory and organizing stuff.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll talk to him when he gets home from school.”

“Want a snack while you’re working?” asked Angie.

“You bet.” Chris took a plate of cut up apples and headed back downstairs.

The patio door opened, and Jon came into the kitchen. He set his sword case on the floor, wiped his forehead on his sleeve, and grinned at his sister. “What’s up, Kel?”

“You’re all sweaty and gross is what’s up.” He was, too. Kelly was afraid he’d try to hug her and get her all slimy. Jon had been hugging Travis and her a lot since they’d moved in with the McCormicks. He’d missed his siblings badly, and Kelly knew he felt responsible for them. “Hey, you’ve gotten great with those knife thingys. We were watching.”

“Thanks.” Jon blushed, then his eyes became intense. “They’re Elvish fighting knives like Legolas carried in The Lord of the Rings movies. Mine are more flat, so you don’t notice them under my shirt.”

“You have incredible skill with them, Jon.” Angie passed him a plate of apple slices, neatly cut and skinned.

“I’ve got a long way to go with the knives, but at least I’m not bleeding this time.” He grinned at Kelly. “The claymore, that’s my best weapon. But if I’m gonna be a stuntman in movies, I’ve got to be good with lots of weapons.”

“A stuntman?” Angie nodded like she thought it was a good idea. “That’d be cool. Are you working tonight?”

Jon glanced at the clock on the kitchen stove. “Gotta be there in an hour. I better get cleaned up. Can I eat this upstairs?”

Angie nodded. “Bring the plate back down before you leave.”

“Thanks.” Jon hurried out of the kitchen with his sword case and the fruit. On the way up the stairs, he yelled, “Trav’s home!”

Kelly heard the school bus drive away. It was funny how she never noticed that bus unless it was leaving. A moment later Travis came in the front door. As usual, he stopped in the foyer and switched on the small crystal chandelier. Travis had a thing about chandeliers, and even the small ones amazed him no matter how many times he looked them over. He switched the light off, dropped his new backpack by the stairs, and ran into the kitchen.

“Fruit!” he cried. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He dug into the apple slices like he hadn’t eaten all week. One thing about Travis, he could eat and eat and never get fat.

Why do you eat so much? Kelly asked inside his head.

Cuz I’m hungry! thought Travis back to her. She smiled. Travis almost always kept it simple.

Travis’ white-blond hair stuck up wilder than usual. That kid had some crazy hair, for sure. He was pale, too. Except for his deep blue eyes, he almost looked albino. Travis smiled while he ate, which made Kelly feel good inside. When he was younger, he had rarely smiled around them because he was too worried about the next time they’d get separated. Since they’d moved in with Angie and Chris, he smiled more and worried less. He had a great smile, too. He usually won people over the first time they met him. Everybody liked Travis.

“Your turn to mark the calendar,” said Kelly.

Travis’ eyes got big as he munched on an apple slice. “Yeah!” He turned to the fridge and grabbed the black Sharpie that hung by a string on the door. He found today’s date and drew a big X through it. Travis must have scanned the rest of the month because he pointed to Halloween and looked back at his sister.

“You’re in a chess tournament? For real?”

Kelly shrugged like it was no big deal. Chess was cool, of course. But right now, for her, it was all about the cave.

“You guys aren’t too excited about the cave trip, are you?” asked Angie, smiling.

“I can’t wait,” said Kelly. “Jon’s excited, too, but he doesn’t show it. How many caves has Chris been in?”

“Chris doesn’t do caves. He’s more of a putt-putt golf kinda guy.” Angie paused. “I mean, the only cave he’s ever been in that I know of is Luray Caverns, but that’s got walkways and lights. This will be his first real cave exploration.”

“Is he gonna lead us?” asked Travis.

“Lord, no. A good friend of ours at the high school, Anton Edwards, will lead. He knows all about caves, especially this one. Anton is Jon’s English teacher.”

“Cool,” said Travis. “Does the cave have a name?”

“Yes, Pandora’s Cave.”

“Pandora’s Cave,” repeated Kelly. “I like it.”

Somebody had written Crystal Creek Park caving trip on the calendar for this coming Saturday. Travis made his usual countdown.

“Two more days till we crawl through cave slime. Yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”

Chapter3

The Haunting of Pandora’s Cave

NED

People were a pain in the butt. That’s what Ned Taylor thought, and he had a good reason. It was people who tore up the campground and left trash all over the picnic areas that somebody would need to clean up. It was people who’d sneak into Pandora’s Cave at night to party and write graffiti all over the walls that somebody would have to remove. And it was people who’d drink too much and get into fights that somebody would have to break up. Guess who that somebody was?

Yep, in Ned’s mind, people were a royal pain. But without them, he wouldn’t have a job.

Ned had been a seasonal ranger in Crystal Creek Park ever since he’d graduated from high school three years ago. The little park was about twenty miles south of Front Royal, Virginia, and backed up to the northeast boundary of the Shenandoah National Park. Ned had googled Crystal Creek Park more than once, but nothing ever showed up.

A wealthy old widow named Pandora Wilby still owned the park property, though she had already deeded the land to the National Park Service. On her death, the NPS would absorb the additional four hundred acres of forest and low mountains into the Shenandoah National Park. Until then, Mrs. Wilby’s shrewd attorney made sure the Park Service was solely responsible for maintenance and operation of land they didn’t even own yet.

Ned Taylor worked as a park ranger for three seasons a year. The salary wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep him in a small apartment, own a used car, and go to college. Working the graveyard shift never interfered with his accounting courses, and, luckily, people hardly mattered now that it was mid-October. The campground was closed, and the only reason anybody even came to the park was to hike or go on a picnic. As long as Ned worked eleven to seven, he wouldn’t have to deal with people again until next summer.

His cousin, Eric Wooden, had gotten him the ranger job. Eric was three years older and had been working in the park system for seven years. He loved the work, but he also thrived on confrontation. With Eric, the more problems people caused, the better he liked his job. Eric should have been a cop.

Ned parked his Jeep in front of the one-story log rancher that served as the ranger station. Lights glowed from inside the building and right away he heard the deep barking of Ripper the Wonder Dog in the pen around the back. Ripper was Eric’s dog, a black Lab-German shepherd mix and was the park’s unofficial mascot. Eric had originally gotten Ripper to keep him company on the lonely evening shifts, but now all the rangers preferred the dog around. Ned sure did, especially in the middle of the night when he finished studying and all the shows on TV were infomercials or reruns. Ripper was friendly, but he looked dangerous and answered only to the rangers. Campers and hikers had a healthy fear of the dog, which helped the rangers keep order.

“Hey, Ripper!” called Ned as he got out of the Jeep. “How you doin’ boy?”

Ripper whined and jumped excitedly. Eric and Ned had set up Ripper with a fenced-in dog run, a first-class house, and plenty of dog biscuits.

“You wanna cookie? I got a cookie!”

Ripper licked his mouth and barked.

Ned was a bit stocky, standing about five-eight, with medium length burnt-orange hair. He liked the outdoors and enjoyed quail hunting and fishing. He’d given up hunting larger animals ever since he’d shot and killed a seven-point buck four years ago. Man, that whole scene had given him nightmares. He’d never forget looking into the dark brown eyes of that dying animal and seeing the life fizzle right out of it. His hunting friends laughed at him and said he had Bambi syndrome. Ned didn’t know about that. He just figured he’d stick with quail. Ned zipped up his jacket against the chilly October breeze, then checked his pockets. Plenty of dog biscuits. Satisfied, he tossed his backpack over one shoulder and stopped by the pen to give Ripper some love and a couple of biscuits. Then he went inside the station.

The head ranger, who normally worked the day shift, was a serious-looking, dark-eyed woman named Melinda Laarz. In her late forties, Laarz had a friendly personality but with a take-charge attitude, especially during emergencies. She was a full-time, year-round ranger—a lifer, and that was okay with Ned. Somebody had to do it. One reason he stuck with being a park ranger was that he wasn’t in charge. Being a supervisor would make it seem too much like a real job. The only real job he wanted was to be an accountant.

“What’s up, Melinda?”

“Hey, Ned,” she said, marking on the work calendar. “Are you awake?”

He yawned and nodded. “How about you? You just pulled a double.”

“I’ll live. I hope Eric’s hot date is worth it. He’s the one pulling a double tomorrow.”

Ned laughed. “Eric’s never had trouble finding girls, so this one must be extra special. She’s that Russian girl who goes caving around here. Is there coffee?”

“That pot’s fresh. Russian girl? You mean Anya? She’s a pretty one, all right. I didn’t realize they knew each other.”

“They met at the summer camp.”

Laarz dismissed the topic with a shrug. “Keep an eye on the spotlights, okay? They went off twice last night, and I don’t know why. If they go off again, pop the breaker switch pronto. Are you going to stay awake?”

“I got a test tomorrow. I’ll be awake.”

“Good enough. I need a beer and some shrimp fried rice. See ya later.”

“G’night, Melinda.” When she left, Ned got out his books and poured a cup of coffee. Then he got to work studying.

Three hours later Ned got up and did a big joint-popping stretch. He felt pretty good about the test and decided to watch TV for a while.

Five hours to go, he thought, searching for the TV remote. Not so bad.

About then Ripper started barking like crazy. Ned flinched. The dog never barked like that unless someone or something was close. Ned swallowed hard, took up his flashlight, and went out the door.

Please don’t be a skunk.

All the spotlights around the station were off, including the ones in front of the cave. Ned gripped the long-handled flashlight like a club. If somebody was messing around with the breaker box, he might have to bash in some heads. He touched the cell phone in his pants pocket to make sure it was there. Sometimes even rangers needed to call 911.

Ned moved through the shrubs on the south side of the station until he came to the breaker box under the window. He removed the heavy padlock and opened the panel. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. He flipped several switches off and back on again. Everything outside stayed dark, but the inside lights were still on.

“Dammit.”

All the while, Ripper continued to bark. Ned shined the flashlight on the dog. Ripper’s full attention was on Pandora’s Cave, about thirty yards away. Ned aimed the beam of light at the cave entrance and finally saw what the dog did. Startled, he jumped to his feet.

A man stood alone near the cave entrance, staring back at him. He was tall, around six feet, and wore a dark, three-piece business suit with highly polished black leather shoes. He interlaced his fingers in front of him in an undertaker’s pose.

“Can I help you, sir?” Ned glanced over his shoulder at the parking lot. His Jeep was the only vehicle there. How’d this clown even get here?

Ned noticed a metallic-looking object on the ground beside the man shaped like a chrome fire hydrant and standing about hip high. What the hell was that supposed to be? He shined the light in the man’s face and approached him warily.

Ned stopped about ten feet away from the stranger but kept the light trained in the guy’s eyes. From that distance, Ned could see him clearly. “Sir?”

The guy looked so out of place it was ridiculous. He was dark and distinguished, with a neatly trimmed beard and a touch of gray at his temples. He was probably over forty and looked like a model in Gentleman’s Quarterly. The stranger smiled back at Ned as if amused, but never spoke. Slowly, he dropped one hand to his side, allowing his fingertips to touch the device beside him. Ned saw the movement and reached for his sidearm but remembered Rangers weren’t allowed to carry guns. One of the dumber rules of the job. His personal handgun and hunting rifle were in the Jeep.

“Sir? Do you understand me?” Ned tried to appear less nervous than he was, but this guy was spooking him out. Ripper was going nuts. “What’s that thing beside you?”

The man smiled at him again and shook his head. Then, without a sound, both he and the device disappeared.

Ned staggered back, stunned. Ripper barked even louder.

“Damn!” He shined the flashlight in every direction. Unless a UFO had taken the guy, there was only one place he could have gone. Into the cave. But how?

Ned swallowed hard and marched toward the entrance. Abruptly, he changed his mind and ran to the dog’s pen instead. He opened the gate and turned Ripper loose. The fierce looking dog bolted straight toward the cave. Ned followed at a cautious jog, watching their backs.

As they reached the entrance, a host of colorful glowing eyes appeared within the cave’s pitch darkness. Ripper skidded to a halt and settled into a low, ominous growl. Ned froze beside the dog. The eyes in the cave glared at them hatefully, glowing like dim flashlights. Some were red, some blue, some even bright yellow, but clearly, none were human. One of those things in the cave must have been at least ten feet tall. A snickering sound erupted from the darkness. Someone—or something—was laughing at him.

Ned’s legs shook. His heart pounded. Against his better judgment, he aimed his flashlight at the eyes. Something moved. A flash of blue! No, green! No, yellow! Whoever—or whatever—was in the cave turned and ran. Ripper yelped. The huge dog took off toward the station. Ned shuddered. A cold, stiff breeze blew across his neck as he moved away from the cave.

Were they wild animals? Or were they something else, something unnatural?

The floodlights popped back on, and Ned jumped in surprise, half blinded. He saw Ripper standing on two legs, pawing at the door of the station.

Thanks a lot, Ripper. The thought was sarcastic, but Ned totally understood why the dog had run. He listened carefully. The area was utterly silent. Ned swallowed hard. He had experienced nothing like that before. He had a frightening thought. Dogs were supposed to be sensitive to the presence of ghosts, and Ripper had indeed seemed overly sensitive to whatever was in that cave. A lonely chill raced through Ned’s entire body. With another shiver, he glanced back at the dark entrance.

Pandora’s Cave had never been haunted before, so why now? Ned decided it didn’t matter, but it was something he’d have to keep to himself. If Melinda Laarz thought he was losing his mind from working alone at nights, he’d be out on the street looking for a new job. No, he could never tell anyone about what had just happened.