Danvers Pointe— Episode Thirteen

Last week: After showing Jackson the satchel and the mysterious journal, Darla bolted into the mill. Straight into the belly of the cult. Inside, her brother stood in a circle of robed figures.

Danvers Pointe, Massachusetts — 1938

He was staring into the center of the circle, focused, as if listening to something no one else could hear.

Tears burned behind her eyes.

“Cody,” she breathed.

Her voice vanished into the hum. His head shifted. Slowly. They’d always shared a connection. They could sense each other, tell when the other was hurt or sometimes just needed a hug. Their bond was always special. And this proved it was real.

His eyes swept across the sea of gathered figures. Her breath caught in her lungs, unable to escape, she felt like a child waiting for her gift on Christmas. Across the lantern light. They moved as if searching for something.

For her.

And finally.

They landed on her. She felt warmth flow up through her as their eyes locked.

Then just as quickly moved on. Back to the circle. Wait, he’d seen her, she was sure of it.

What was going on?

There was no recognition. Or was there? Did she see his eyes flicker for just a moment, or was it just her hopes?

“Cod—”

A hand slammed over her mouth.

Hard.

The world narrowed to bitter skin and pressure. An arm locked around her ribs, crushing air from her lungs.

The wool of her attacker’s robe scratched against her cheek. She tried to inhale through her nose, but the pressure was too much, there was no room for them to expand.

Another woman might’ve panicked in this situation. She bit down instinctively.

Flesh gave beneath her teeth.

A sharp intake of breath near her ear.

Her feet scrambled for purchase as she was dragged backward.

Her heart thundered so violently she thought it might burst through her chest. She swung back and down trying to land a blow to the family jewels. That always worked. Her attacker shifted away at the last second and her arm bounced harmlessly off his leg.

She willed Cody to look up, to see her, to help her. Across the circle, he didn’t move.

Where was Jackson? She needed him to punch first and ask questions later.

She tried to stomp on the attacker’s toes, but missed, her ankle twisted on impact with the wooden plank, the shockwave burst up through her spine.

Something began to hum.

A vibration that she felt as much as heard. Or maybe it had been humming all along and she was only just now noticing it.

She tried to bite again but failed to gain purchase on flesh. She twisted and clawed at the arm, but the coarse robe blunted her attempts.

The grip tightened.

Her attacker backed into something solid — a stack of barrels. The metal rang faintly with the impact.

Lantern flames flared suddenly, stretching shadows high and thin along the rafters. The chalk line runes seemed to pulse with suggestion — as if something beneath them shifted.

Her mind felt the familiar tug as it did outside the Historical Society building.

When she saw Cody the first time.

The hum deepened.

Not sound now.

Pressure.

In her ears, behind her eyes all through her chest. She tried to scream his name again, but it died in the palm crushing her mouth.

Her fingers clawed uselessly at the air — and then Cody was gone.