Dart and Boyd sat in the old Sheriff’s office, impatiently awaiting the results of the fingerprints. They both had their fingers crossed for a match.
Eddie Wong, a forensics expert, walked into the office with a folder in his hand. He laid the folder down in front of the two men and opened it up. “We have an exact match,” Wong said, slamming his finger down onto the paper inside the folder.
Dart and Boyd leaned in and studied the results. There was a picture of a young man on the paper with his name and information typed next to it. Wong explained:
“His name is Tom Parsons. He was picked up for drunk driving about five years ago, so we had his prints on file. He lives right here in Stewart Hollow, and has a mild history of anxiety disorders. He lives alone in an apartment building just down the street.”
“We got him!” Boyd shouted.
“Let’s go!” Dart said, jumping up from his desk and putting his jacket on.
Dart’s police cruiser flew up Main Street with its sirens blaring. There were multiple other cruisers following close behind. Dart was prepared for the worst.
In the passenger seat, Agent Boyd checked his pistol to make sure it was loaded and that he was ready for anything that might come their way.
All of the cars came to a screeching halt in front of a tall apartment building at the corner of Main and Franklin. All of the officers leapt out of their vehicles, guns in hand, and made their way towards the building.
“You guys stay here and be ready!” Dart order a group of officers. “You and you,” he yelled at two others, “follow behind me. Agent, you come with me too.”
In a strategic manner, Dart dashed for the front doors to the apartment building with Boyd and two of his officers following closely behind.
“Stay close,” Dart instructed.
“Look out!” An officer out in the street shouted. He pointed up at the building and everyone looked, Dart and Boyd included. A bright flash was seen in a window on the fifth floor and then the glass shattered as a burning figure fell from it, slamming down hard into the top of a parked car. The burning figure let out a blood-curdling scream as she slammed down to her death.
“Go there!” Dart yelled at his two officers. He ran into the building with Boyd right behind him. “Stay here in case he comes down!” Dart told Boyd, pointing at the elevator. Dart opened the door next to the entrance and ran up the stairs.
Dart busted open the door to the fifth floor and ran down the hall, looking for apartment 5-F, Tom’s residence. He stopped in front of it, and with one forceful kick to the door, it flew open.
Dart aimed his gun in and saw Tom Parsons standing in the living room with a knife held to his own neck. “Drop the knife, Tom!”
“I can’t stop!” Tom shouted in a maniacal tone.
“Drop it!” Dart yelled again at the top of his lungs. Tom stood there, trembling with the blade slowly starting to push into his neck.
“Deputy, you have to stop it,” Tom said, pouting.
“Stop what? Who just fell from your window?”
“Renee.” Tom was starting to cry uncontrollably. “She smelled the smoke on my jacket from the house.”
“The Ferguson house? You were the one who called?” Dart asked.
Tom nodded, and with her free hand wiped the tears from his face. “I’m sorry, Deputy. I just can’t stop doing it. I told you something was wrong with me.”
“Tom, drop the knife and come with me. We’ll get you all the help you need.”
“That can’t be done. I’ve made a mess, and I couldn’t help myself. I just couldn’t…” Tom pulled the knife quickly across his neck and blood began to spray out. He gurgled and dropped the knife, then dropped face first into the floor.
Dart lowered his gun, aghast by what he’d just witnessed. He watched as Tom bled out onto the carpet, motionless.
The thunder had returned to Stewart Hollow, and with it brought a dangerous display if lightening strikes. The rain continued to dump down from the dark sky, making the latest crime scene messier than it already was.
Inside Tom Parsons’ apartment, the police were gathering up every piece of evidence they could get their hands on. Forensic officers dusted for prints, flashed photographs and tried to get an accurate portrayal of the crime.
Dart put on his latex gloves and opened up a drawer on one of the end tables near the couch. He fingered through the miscellaneous items but didn’t see anything that struck him as odd. He turned around and grabbed one of the forensic officers.
“Have you found the murder weapon yet? Anything that could have caused Renee Black to be set on fire?” Dart asked.
“Not yet. No matches, blow torches, lighters…nothing. We’re still looking though,” the officer said.
Dart nodded and let the officer go. He then heard a commotion coming from down the hall. He walked out of the apartment and saw Eric Hughes trying to fight his way through the mob of officers and paramedics.
“Let me through! Where’s Tom?” Eric cried out.
Dart walked down the hall, taking off his gloves. “Who are you?”
“My name is Eric Hughes. I work with Tom; we’re friends. What’s going on?”
Dart pulled Eric aside and they stood at the end of the hallway away from everyone.
“What’s going on, Deputy?” Eric asked fearfully.
“Tom killed himself. He was the one setting people on fire. Did anything about him strike you as odd lately?”
Eric, in shock, tried to wrap his head around what Dart just told him. “No, he’s usually a pretty chill guy. He did snap though yesterday at Renee’s house. Her ex-boyfriend came by unexpectedly and it caused an issue. The police came and everything.”
“So, acting out like that is not a usual custom of his?”
“Not one bit. He’s always pretty calm. He was really hurt after the incident because Renee didn’t agree with him trying to protect her.”
“What’s her ex-boyfriend’s name?”
“Paul, I think. Paul Hilton.”
“Okay, we’ll have to try and track him down and question him.”
“So, Tom is…”
“I’m sorry for the loss of your friend,” Dart said, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “But this is all over now. We’ll get this mess cleared up by tomorrow, and maybe for once this town can enjoy Halloween.”
Eric didn’t know what to think. His friend just killed himself. And even more baffling, his friend was guilty of the murders.
8:00 PM
Agent Boyd walked into the police station. Dana sat at the front desk, and greeted him.
“Good evening, Agent,” she said with a smile of relief on her face.
He smiled back, “You can call me Mark.”
“The Deputy is in his office with the Mayor, Mark. Go on back.”
“Thanks, darling,” Boyd said as he removed his coat. He walked himself down the hallway and to the right where the door to the Sheriff’s office was closed. He knocked and let himself in. Dart was sitting at the desk, and Mayor Hopkins sat in a chair against the wall. They were in the middle of a conversation.
“I’m going to be heading back to Portland in the morning,” Boyd said, “I just wanted to stop in one more time to see what the latest was.”
“I was just explaining to the Mayor that we have enough evidence to prove that Tom Parsons was guilty of the murders of Carol, Renee, Vivian and Dawn. With all of the people we’ve interviewed today, we simply can’t get an alibi for him during any of the murders. His fingerprints were found at the scene in the woods, and he was obviously present when Renee was killed. Plus, his words up in the apartment – although odd – said it all. He claimed he ‘couldn’t stop’, and he ‘couldn’t help himself’.”
“The boys’ fear got the best of him,” Mayor Hopkins added.
The men sat in silence for a moment, reflecting on the days’ horrific events, and then the Mayor stood up:
“The bloodline killer is history, and I can already feel a calmness coming over the town. Maybe we can have a nice last couple of days in October for once.”
The Mayor extended a hand to Boyd and shook his. “Agent, it’s been a pleasure. Dart, I’ll be in touch.”
“Have a good one, Bernard,” Dart said. Mayor Hopkins left the office slowly.
“Anything else?” Boyd said.
“Nope,” Dart sighed big in relief. “I just have a couple things to wrap up and write my report. We interviewed Paul Hilton, and it turns out he’s the legal father of Renee’s son, Milo. So were letting Paul take his son. And just in case you wanted to come, Dawn’s family informed me that they’re having her showing and funeral on Saturday.”
“I’ll be there,” Boyd assured the Deputy. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Have a good night and a safe trip back in the morning. I’m going to call my officer down in Lake County and have him bring Sharon Ferguson back in the morning.”
“That’s like three hours away.”
“I had to make sure she was safe.”
“You’re a good cop, Jamie. Take care.”
Agent Boyd left the Deputy alone in the office. Dart picked up the phone and dialed a number. He let it ring a few times and then it went to a voicemail:
“This is Donald Rains, please leave a message,” the voicemail said, and then beeped.
“Rains, it’s Dart. Not sure if you saw the news, but everything here in Stewart Hollow is over. You can bring Sharon Ferguson and her family back in the morning. Call me as soon as you get this to confirm.” Dart felt relieved. “It’s all over.”
He hung up the phone and stood to his feet. After stretching, he walked out of the office and down the hall towards the lobby. He saw Dana sitting there, reading a book.
“Do we have coffee?” he asked.
“I can brew some,” she said, leaving the comforts of her desk.
Dart glanced back at the book on her desk. “What are you reading?”
“I’m still glancing through the Blood Coven stuff,” she said, filling the coffee pot with water.
“You’re still not convinced, huh?”
“No, I do believe that Tom Parsons was guilty. But his reasoning didn’t make sense.”
“How?”
“Well, he thought by killing the blood relatives, he could prevent the Coven from returning. According to Bud Lockwood, when he was ranting and raving in the cell last night before they escorted him out of here, he said what’s done is done; there’s no way to reverse what he’d done. You should talk to Bud.”
“Dana, its all folklore; supernatural tales passed on from one generation to the next. At the end of the day, it’s people who are evil. We’ve dealt with evil people for three straight years now, claiming to be something superior to what they really are. People are evil; that’s the bottom line.”
Dana reluctantly nodded and continued to make the coffee.
The rain was coming down hard, and the thunder continued to roll in the black clouds in the night sky. Boyd was driving through the winding roads in the woods to the north, heading back to his motel.
He flipped his windshield wipers on high and sat forward, trying to see through the hazardous weather. Something up ahead of him caught his eye. Flashing red lights to the left side of the road. It was a car, possibly broke down. He pulled up beside is and tried to look into it to see if someone was in need of help. He rolled down his window to see better – there was no one in the car.
“Hello?” Boyd called out into the rainy night. He looked around and didn’t see anyone. He pulled his vehicle up in front of the idle one and got out, putting the hood from his raincoat over his head.
A loud crack of thunder shook the Earth and startled him. He walked up to the mysterious vehicle and looked in the windows. No one was in there.
“Who’s there?” a man’s voice cried out from behind Boyd. He turned around and in perfect timing, lightening lit up the sky and the woods off the side of the road. He saw a man coming from the tree line towards him.
“I’m Agent Mark Boyd from the FBI? Is this your car, sir?” he asked.
“It is. What are you doing here?” the man yelled over the hammering rain. The man got close enough for Boyd to make him out. He noticed his gray beard first.
“I saw your car sitting here and didn’t know if you were in need of help. What’s your name?”
“Brian. Brian Burnside. I’m running a work site up here; we’re clearing some of the land for a shopping center due next year. I was up here checking out the site to see if this rain had messed with any of our work.”
“Oh, okay.”
“But then I saw something weird,” Brian added surprisingly.
“What?”
“There was a figure standing in the middle of the road in the rain. I couldn’t make them out, but it almost looked like they had on a large jacket, or some kind of hooded cloak. I pulled off to the side of the road and got out of my car, and they were nowhere to be found. I thought I heard some branches cracking off in the woods there, so I walked in a bit to see what it was, but then it all got quiet – then I saw you pull up.”
“Did you see this figure leave?”
“No. It was almost like they just vanished. I didn’t remove my eyes from it for maybe more than two seconds. That’s not enough time for someone to just disappear – especially since my headlights were on it.”
Boyd glanced around. “Maybe you should just head on home. I’ll call the Deputy and see if he wants to send someone up here to investigate.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Brian said as another boom of thunder vibrated the ground. “It’s getting creepy out here anyway.”
“Have a good night, sir,” Boyd said, and walked back towards his car.
Without warning, a sudden, heavy gust of wind buzzed just over top of Boyd’s head, causing him to duck, and made a splashing thud on the pavement behind him. “Whoa!” he cried, startled. “What was that?”
He stood back up and looked at Brian. Brian was pointing behind Boyd, his eyes wide in terror. He tried to say something, but a frightening tension prevented him from even speaking. He shook his arm violently, emphasizing that there was something behind Boyd.
Agent Boyd swung around quickly and a look of horror froze on his face. His eyes widened; he’d never seen anything like it in his life. Without warning, a burst of flames shot up Boyd’s legs and engulfed his entire body within seconds. He screamed and ran out into the road.
Brian turned and started to run back towards the woods, but was instantly caught ablaze. He collapsed in a muddy ditch on the side of the road and burned to death. Boyd ran in circles, screaming loudly, before falling to the ground. As the fire burned him from the inside out, he could have sworn he heard maniacal, inhuman laughter cackle in the stormy night.