I Am Chosen

Synchronicity

Hollis had been none too pleased to find out about his car. He was, however, glad that Kacey and her brother had come through safely.

The ordeal they described was incredible; the bear attack description alone made Hollis's arm hairs stand on end. Most notably, however, they had destroyed the stone.

Following the events at the cabin, they had called Hollis and finally gotten through after his discussion with the captain. They had Ubered home and slept.

In the morning, Kacey drove her Daytona to pick Hollis up; then they had talked at their table in the Red Hook. After their recap, Hollis had told them of Jack Richards' death.

They had all agreed that if their theory was correct, The Traveler might very well be nearing its targeted number of "Chosen." The latest, the police officer Sikes, made thirteen. Hollis didn't know much about the occult, but he did know that thirteen was a popular number among people who were into that sort of thing.

He had said what they all knew already: there was no time to waste. It had been then that J.D. had said they needed to go to the Pleasant Hills Historical Museum.

Soon after, the three of them stood on the second floor of the museum staring at a giant wall map. It depicted Pleasant Hills, but overlaid on it were six lines, almost like wavy hash marks running diagonally, with another line crossing through the middle at the opposite angle. Where the lines ended, circling the entirety, there was a dotted line describing a border.

What they were looking at was a map of the coal mine workings below Pleasant Hills and the surrounding county.

J.D. explained that the solid lines represented the mine's slopes and gangways. The dotted line delineated the operation's outer limits. Near the southeastern edge, Kacey noted where the Coolidge Estate was located.

"I didn't even know this was here," Kacey said.

"Mom and dad made us come here when we were little but after that I'm pretty sure you never came back," J.D. responded.

He was right. Kacey had thought museums were reeaally boring. It was J.D. who had always loved them. Kacey backed up and took a pic of the map with her cell phone.

"So we have a good idea of the lay of the land," Hollis said. "But why else are we here?"

"Yeah," Kacey chimed in. "Back at the cabin you said that we know how to kill this thing. How does this help?"

J.D. went over and stood in front of the map. At the southeastern corner, two of the wavy lines fell shorter than those before it. The dotted border marking cut up and in. It was almost like a piece had been cut out of the overlaid illustration. "Here," J.D. said. "Westco had been mining the coal bed but when they came to this spot in these two gangways, they stopped. The whole operation stopped. The miners ended up in the asylum not long afterward."

"I see where you're going with this," Kacey said. "Before we can kill it..."

"We have to know where it is," Hollis finished. "You think that's the spot."

J.D. tapped the "void" in the corner. "It's where I'd place my bet, yeah."

"Okay," Hollis said, "Now we know the 'where,' let's go into more detail about the 'how.' How exactly do we put an end to this thing?"

"Well," J.D. responded, "I've got a theory."

Accessing experience from the time before, Hanson had come to the conclusion that his first task would be best performed at night.

He had spent the day among the city's homeless, again drawing upon past information and capitalizing on the knowledge that Pleasant Hills' impoverished were all but invisible.

With the setting of the sun, the time had come for Hanson to make his way north.

A light rain fell throughout most of his walk, though he had paid it no mind. The eight-foot wall encircling the Pleasant Hills School District bus barn was surmounted effortlessly. Once inside the yard, he traveled to the garage side door and kicked it open. He flicked on the lights and there against the inside wall, hanging from hooks, he found several bus keys with numbered tags. Selecting one, he retrieved it and searched the lot for the corresponding number.

Less than a minute later Hanson, now behind the wheel of Pleasant Hills School District Bus 101, smashed through the main gate and headed east three miles to the nearest freeway onramp. There he got on and began the drive to Bellingham.

Dan Simpson had come on duty three hours ago.

So far, it had been a quiet night at Bellingham Hospital. The staff was mostly talking about the new patient in D wing, another "Chosen." This time a police officer. Sikes was his name and from what Dan had heard this new guy was just as out of it as the others.

Being a nursing assistant, Dan wasn't privy to all that went on at the higher levels, but information had a way of trickling down. For instance, he had overheard two of the D wing nurses talking and gleaned that an enquiry from Pleasant Hills P.D. had been made. They wanted to know if any of the Chosen patients had woken up. Talk about wishful thinking. How nice would it be if they would suddenly just regain their senses? It would certainly make his life easier. There were so many of these patients now that they were doubling them up in the rooms. In the last few days, a rumor had begun circulating that they may start sending them off to Seattle for more advanced testing. Fine with him. Maybe Seattle would have better luck than Bellingham. As long as they had been here no doctor had effectively diagnosed their ailment.

He sighed, watching the floor indicator, switching the tray he carried from one hand to the other. Finally the elevator dinged. The doors opened and Dan stepped out, stopping briefly to inform the nurse, Sandy: "Gourmet meal for the new guy."

Sandy nodded as Dan walked through the automatic doors and around the corner. He had been up here a few hours ago with the cart, when he made his rounds with the other patients, but Sikes hadn't been transferred to his room then yet.

Even though they were out of it, the Chosen patients at least took food. You had to spoon feed it to them, but they swallowed it okay, so that was good. If only they were a little more self-sufficient, he wouldn't have the joy of changing out their bedpans.

At the end of the corridor, Dan turned left into room 403. He expected to find Sikes lying still, but when he crossed the threshold the first thing he noticed was that the patient was sitting upright, feet dangling off the side of the bed. He had removed his IV and heart rate monitor finger clip. Sikes's head swiveled over, stopping Dan in his tracks. Something about those eyes, that blank stare.

Across from Sikes was the bed belonging to Tom Brole, the man who had drug that poor woman out of the drive through window. Movement in Dan's peripheral vision drew his attention as Tom sat up, pulled the IV from his arm and removed his finger clip. He pulled his covers aside, collapsed the side rail and swung his legs over, all the while fixing Dan with a steady, unsettling stare.

As one, Tom and Sikes planted their bare feet on the white tile. The rustling of their hospital gowns was the only sound as they walked toward him in perfect synchronicity.

Heart pounding, Dan stumbled back out into the hall. Again, movement caught his eye. He looked left to see that every single one of the Chosen patients now filled the hallway, moving toward him in unison, each of them bearing the same vacant expression.

He knew he should scream for help, but a dry-throated squawk was all he managed before the Chosen closed in.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry Dan, wrong place, wrong time. One week from now is the right place and right time for you to read the next chapter! See you then!