Part One

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“Get in.”

This was a week after we all almost died at Julia Rafferty’s house. I hadn’t spoken to them since they dropped me back off at my car, and I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted to hear from them again. Still, when Mrs. Graves had called and told me where to meet them, I went. Partially because it was hard to tell them no, but also because I wanted answers. And when Mr. Holliman told me to get in the car, I didn’t move.

“No, hold up. Before I go anywhere with you, we’re going to have a conversation. About what happened. About what exactly is going on.”

Holliman sighed and rolled up the window before shutting off the ignition. The two of them discussed things inside the car for a few seconds and then they got out together, looking at me in the detached way that I might notice a bug crawling over my shoe. Swallowing, I forced myself to not take a step back or look away. Instead, I focused on Mrs. Graves.

“What happened? To Julia, I mean. Is she dead?”

The woman nodded somberly. “She is. When they are strong enough to do it, when one of these creatures escapes, they always kill the host before they leave. I’m not sure, but I think it’s because they believe they can be forced back via the host.” She gave a small shrug. “We’ve never tried that, but we do know that on the rare occasion that we express the nightmare too late…after it has grown too strong, the host invariably dies, and on one occasion we saw one have a chance to escape and instead it went back to end the host.” Her expression darkened. “A mistake on that one’s part, as it gave us the chance to capture it after all.”

I frowned. “So you saved that person…that host?”

Mr. Holliman cut in. “No, we used the distraction provided by it killing the host to bind it into the bag.” Seeing my expression, he waved off my reproachful glance. “Nevermind being sanctimonious. This is hard and dangerous work, and the risks we take make the world a better place, or will in time. I’m not going to apologize for doing whatever it takes.”

Giving him an uncertain nod, a new thought occurred to me. “So what about her family? Her…her parents were in the living room when we took her in there. Oh God. Are they going to think we murdered her?”

Graves shook her head. “Not at all. I texted one of our people to contact both them and emergency services as soon as we left that night. The poor girl was found unresponsive and the death has been ruled natural due to heart failure. Uncommon in one so young, but she had numerous documented health issues thanks to her passenger. As for the family, they were naturally very upset at first, but they’ve come to understand there was nothing more we could have done.”

I stared at her. “What do you mean? We leave a flooded room and…and a broken window and their dead daughter and what…they’re just cool with it?”

Holliman shot me a dark look. “No one is ‘cool’ with it. But we went and spoke with them later and came to an agreement.” His face broke into a small, cold smile. “We’ll never hear from them again.”

Swallowing, I looked back to Graves. “Okay. Let’s say I believe all that. And that I think we’re helping people, because overall, I do. My next question is what are we actually doing? What are those things? I’ve asked before, but frankly I’ve never gotten a straight answer, and I think I deserve one.”

Graves raised an eyebrow. “We ‘deserve’ very little in this life. And you are far from being in a position to make demands. You either want to continue on with our work, or you wish to end your employment here. That choice is entirely yours.”

I did look down then, though less to avoid their gaze than to study my own interior. I was afraid, and I didn’t know how much I could really trust what they were telling me. And that poor girl had died, as had apparently others in the past.

On the other hand, they had been trying to help the girl, hadn’t they? And had they ever done anything to hurt anyone or been bad to me? No, not really. They’d always been strange and tight-lipped, but they treated me well enough. And if the work really was important…

Mr. Holliman stepped forward with a grimace. “Look, kid. You have a good heart and mind. We can see that. See your potential. And we’re not trying to be unreasonable about any of this.” He gave me a small smile. “But this stuff…it is important. And dangerous. And while we wouldn’t be working with you if we didn’t trust you, there are levels of trust. We can’t just open the doors wide for everyone we run across. Not until we know you’re going to work out long-term. You understand, don’t you?”

I nodded as I held his gaze. “I guess I do. I don’t like it, but I get it at least.”

His smile widened. “Good. Then how about we get back to…”

“How many?”

His expression darkened again as Mrs. Graves stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “How many what?”

“How many helpers have you had before me?”

Holliman’s face fell a little, and his eyes grew sad. “Three.”

Mouth dry, I forced myself to go on. “And how many of them died doing this stuff with you?”

Mrs. Graves’ voice trembled slightly as she spoke. “All of them.”

Suppressing a shudder, I let out a long breath. “Okay. Well…that’s terrifying. But at least I believe you. And for now…for now I guess that’s enough. So let’s go.”

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We drove for two hours in relative quiet before arriving at the loft apartment of Wallace Minter. Wallace was a fifty-two year old investment banker that had started having profound night terrors the year before. At first he’d attributed it to normal stress—he’d gotten a divorce eight months earlier and his normally intense job had become even more tightly-wound lately. But when he woke up one night curled up in the corner of his kitchen, knuckles bloody from where he’d been punching dents into his fridge…well, he knew he needed something more than a sleeping pill. The start had been doctors and therapists, but things kept getting worse instead of better, and by the time we showed up at his door, he’d been on “medical leave” from work for over two weeks.

I knew this because Mr. Holliman and Mrs. Graves knew this. They normally only told me the name of the person we were visiting before we arrived, but this time it was different. As we parked, Mrs. Graves began telling me these details. I was interested—both in the information itself and this sudden expansion of what I was being told—but it also made me curious. I waited until she seemed finished with her summary of Wallace and then I asked my question.

“Why are you telling me this? I mean, I’m very interested and I appreciate you sharing more with me, but why now?”

Mr. Holliman glanced up in the rearview mirror at me in the back seat. “Because maybe you’re right and it’s time you knew a bit more. But more than that, it’s because you’ve passed a milestone. Two, in fact. You faced the expression of one of these things when they were strong and ready, and you’re still alive.”

Swallowing, I nodded. “Okay. And what’s the other milestone?”

His eyes crinkled slightly as he grinned. “After everything you’ve seen, you still got back in the car.”

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When he opened the door, Wallace Minter looked like we’d interrupted his crawl to a grave. He’d been a heavy-set man at one point, but now pallid, greasy flesh hung loose on his cheeks and he had the ropy aroma of layers of old sweat and illness. I half-expected him to sound hoarse or congested when he spoke, but his voice was surprisingly smooth and deep.

“Yes? What do you want?”

Mrs. Graves gave him a smile. “We’re here to help you, Mr. Minter. We were referred by…”

“No. No more doctors. Bunch of goddamn charlatans. All you all want is money. And now you’re showing up at my door?”

Mr. Holliman leaned forward, his voice calm and soothing. “We are not doctors. And while we charge a nominal fee, that is not why we do this. We do this to help.”

Wallace furrowed his brow at him. “So not even doctors. What? Fucking snake-oil salesmen? Faith healers?” He started to shut the door. “Thanks but no tha…” He looked down as the door stopped, and seeing my foot there, he stared back up at me with weak outrage. “Get out of here before I call the fucking…”

“You’re going to die in there.”

He stopped, blinking. “What did you say?”

I held his gaze as I went on. “I said you’re going to die in there. If you don’t get help for this thing inside of you, that’s keeping you from sleeping, that’s keeping you scared and angry all the time, it will wind up killing you.”

His face went slack as tears welled up in his eyes. “How do you know?”

I gestured back at Holliman and Graves. “Because they know. And because I’ve worked with them long enough to know that they can save people like you. People that no one else can help.”

His face was swimming in emotions now—fear and anger, but also a kind of anxious, fragile hope. “You’re saying they can help me?”

I took in a deep breath, trying to find the right words. Confident, but honest, without letting on that I halfway wanted him to tell us no because I was shit-scared of being in a sealed room with whatever he had inside him.

“I’m saying that we will try our best. And that our best is probably the best shot you have left.”

Lips trembling, he nodded and stepped aside. “Okay. I…Come on in.”

I looked over at my bosses—when I’d been talking to him, it had never occurred to me that they’d want me to shut up or think I was overstepping my bounds. Now that it did, I searched their faces for anger or irritation.

Instead I saw fear.

A look passed between them as I’d first turned. It was quick, and they covered it as soon as they saw I was watching them, but it had been there. Some silent communication, a shared emotion of…what? Worry? Terror? Something in-between, maybe. I felt the air in my chest go thin at that look, but I forced myself to speak.

“Is that okay with the two of you?”

Mrs. Graves gave me a weak smile. “Certainly. Lead the way.”

I felt a little relieved at that, but only a little. Something was definitely wrong, but I didn’t understand what. Ducking my head a little, I edged past them to the stairwell. “I…I’ll go get the stuff up.”

---

Thirty minutes later the contract was signed and the room was sealed. I’d expected Wallace to question or argue against the stranger parts of our process, but apparently his resistance at the door had used the last of his strength. That got me to thinking and I pulled Mrs. Graves aside before we took him into the room.

“Are you sure we aren’t…you know…too late? I mean he really does look like he’s at the end of his rope. What if it’s been in there too long? Gotten too strong? What if it’s like last time?”

Her eyes were troubled as she looked away. “It’s a fair question. A good question that I’m proud of you for asking. And a good answer would be that I don’t know for sure.”

Heart pounding, I pushed on. “Would that be the honest answer?”

She glanced past me and let out a short sigh. “Partially. But a more fully honest answer would be that either way, I don’t know that we have a choice.”

I stared at her. “What? What does that mean?”

Licking her lips, she gave a small shrug. “We have certain obligations. And our failure last week has set us back.” Graves shook her head slightly. “This isn’t the time or place for this. Let’s get this done. No mistakes for any of us, understand?”

I started to respond, but she was already moving past me toward where Holliman was coming out of the bedroom with a questioning look. She waved it away, telling him that we were ready to begin. He glanced at me and despite the twisting in my stomach, I nodded. It was just nerves and excitement, I told myself. Everything was going to be fine this time.

Looking back on it now, there’s a part of me that wishes I could go back and stop that past self from gripping Wallace’s shoulder and leading him into that bedroom. Tell that earlier me that nothing was worth what came after, and that it all could have been avoided if instead of taking him into the bedroom I’d just listened to my fears and walked away right then and there.

I think the me of twenty minutes later, when Mrs. Graves had already given Wallace the injection and Mr. Holliman was trying to finish the Story while that horrible buzzing noise grew to a fever pitch…that me would have listened. Especially when the buzzing stopped and Wallace’s head split open, vomiting out the black squirming thing with too many faces and eyes.

I still remember the moment when it raised its head and looked at me. I felt my pants grow wet, but I wasn’t embarrassed. All I knew in that moment was that I was about to die.

I think that past me would have listened to just about anything I told him. Even if I let slip that no, you’ll get out of that room without a scratch, he still would have done just about anything to not feel so scared for another single second. And if I told him that it wasn’t too late, that he could still walk away from it all of it. Not just Wallace, but Holliman and Graves, the nightmares, everything. Just walk away free and clean if I just did it now…I think maybe that earlier self would have believed me and tried to do just that.

I can still see that thing crawling down Wallace’s legs, chittering from a dozen mouths on its misshapen, piebald head, a cold intelligence dancing in its oildrop eyes as it drew closer to my position at the foot of the bed. Holliman had opened the sack now and Graves was trying to whistle, but it only had eyes for me.

I’d tell that terrified me that it was okay. That I could still get away from not only this thing but everything that would follow. That there was still time to stop what was coming.

And it would be a lie.

Because as I would come to realize, it was already far, far too late.

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Part Three