Shadows (Bayou Magic 1)

“A lovely man.”

“He probably deserved much worse than what Mama gave him.”

“Do you know how she killed him?”

“No, she never said. In fact, until yesterday, she never admitted to killing him—that I know of anyway.”

“But you knew she did?”

“One day, he was there, being an asshole of epic proportions. Hours later, he was gone, she said he was never coming back, and we had a new shadow in the house. I was old enough to put two and two together.”

“I see.” I nod and back away from her. “I won’t make any calls to have her picked up. But if I did, and they put her in an institution, it would be better than where she is now.”

“Let’s get through this, and then we can worry about my mother,” she suggests. “One thing at a time.”

“Deal.”“So, you’re telling me he’s currently holding four more victims,” Asher says, observing Brielle carefully.

“Yes.”

“Because you saw it in a dream.”

She blows out a breath and starts to pace. “There are now four girls following me. They came to me in the dream and told me to follow them. Then, the next thing I knew, I was in a room with four living girls. It looked like a torture chamber.”

“How so?” He starts taking notes. “Tell me what it looked like.”

“It was a big room.” She closes her eyes and begins to describe a workbench with tools, an electric chair, and the beds where the girls were tied up. “It’s filthy. They soil themselves there, and there’s so much blood by the workbench. Mostly dry, but there was some fresh blood, as well.”

“Look on the walls,” I instruct her as if I’m talking to a hypnosis patient. “Are there photos? Is anything written there?”

“Nothing’s written,” she says quietly. “But above the workbench, he has a bunch of things pinned in a line.”

“What is it?”

She opens her eyes and looks right at me. “Hair. Braided hair.”

“How many?” Asher asks.

“Thirty-two.”

I take a deep breath. “He’s killed thirty-two girls since he started this phase of his hunt. The braids are his trophies.”

“I hope you’re right. Because if I can get my hands on that hair, I can positively identify the victims and give the families some answers,” Asher says, then turns back to Brielle. “I need you to do this again, but I need more information. I need you to walk through that door and tell me who he is. And, most importantly, where he is.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Brielle says in frustration. “I don’t know how it’s happening in the first place, Asher. This is not one of my gifts. I’m a medium, and I have some psychic abilities, but dream-walking isn’t something I know anything about. I’ve never done it before.”

“Hey,” Asher says, holding up his hand, his voice softer. “Brielle, I get it. This is scary, and…well, just plain shitty. I hate that it’s in your head. But I have faith that you can do this.”

“Why do you suddenly believe me?”

“I didn’t disbelieve you before,” he says. “But we haven’t told anyone that the bodies show evidence of electric shock torture. Or that their hair has been chopped.”

She blinks, thinking it over.

“How many bodies have you found?”

“Six.”

“Six out of thirty-two,” I say calmly.

“You’re the profiler,” Asher says, turning to me. “Why aren’t we finding all of them?”

“He doesn’t want you to find the ones you have,” I reply. “Where did you find them? The bayou?”

He narrows his eyes, and I keep talking.

“He’s a sick fuck, but he’s highly intelligent. He’s dumping the bodies in the bayou because he knows they’ll likely get eaten by critters and there won’t be anything left of them. So, if you found them, it’s because they didn’t have time to get eaten.”

“The most recent was found by a swamp tour group. They saw her floating in the water and fished her out.”

“That’s horrible,” Brielle says softly. “I’m going to let you two do your jobs. I’m headed over to Millie’s for the day. She and Daphne are already there poring through the book we fetched from Mama’s yesterday. Maybe there are instructions in there for dream-walking.”

“I’ll take you.”

She shakes her head no. “It’s not far. I’ll text you when I get there.”

She kisses me, and then she’s gone.

“Watching someone you love go through something this horrible is its own kind of torture,” Asher says, watching me.

“I didn’t think I was made for it. Love.” I sit down again and sigh. “But she’s it for me. And I’ve only known her for a week. It’s fucking crazy.”

“Not too crazy,” he says, flashing a smile. “I didn’t know my wife much longer than that when I knew she was it for me. And she was held and almost killed by a serial killer.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“It was a few years ago, and she’s doing great now. But I know what it’s like to be afraid for the woman you love. We’re going to catch this bastard if it’s the last thing I do. Now, the profile.”