Haunted Rayne

25 | Touching the Void (part 2)

TRIGGER-WARNING:
The following chapter contains a depiction of self-inflicted gun violence resulting in death. Proceed with caution.

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The trees along West Street clung to the last vestiges of fall, brittle leaves crunching underfoot as the air carried the chill of winter and the scent of roasted chestnuts. Deputy Malik Thompson strolled along the idyllic storefront located in the heart of the small, rural town of Lockwood, Pennsylvania. He carried two steaming coffees, watching Doctor Henry MacGowan carefully.

Malik had been conducting this investigation largely on his own. The school's administration was notoriously tight-lipped, and he wasn't sure who he could trust within his own department anymore. Hope compelled him to believe that the truth may not lie within official statements, but perhaps within the fragmented whispers of those on the periphery. When he'd learned that MacGowan was willing to speak with him—despite the risk—Malik seized the opportunity. Perhaps this troubled faculty member could offer a glimpse into the darkness that seemed to suffocate the school.

The psychiatrist clutched his cup with a shaky hand, his knuckles white against the paper sleeve. The warmth seemed to offer little comfort, his nose as red as the rims of his eyes. Cold sweat dripped down the man's temple. His eyes darted between the quaint shops, their holiday decorations shimmering in the late afternoon light.

"You been drinking?" Malik asked, breaking the silence with a directness that matched the brisk pace of their walk.

MacGowan's gaze snapped to Malik, eyes wide. "You said you wanted to ask me about the student."

Malik adjusted his grip on the coffee. "Help me understand what's going on. You said you should have known—that you could've stopped it."

"If I speak with you, I'll be in breach of my contract."

"And yet, you're here." Malik raised his brow, glancing at the holiday lights flickering in the shop windows. "Look, I can see that you're scared, Doctor, and that's okay. You're a good man. I can see that in you. And confidentiality agreements don't bind you when it comes to the law." He took a deep breath, then asked softly, "What should you have seen coming?"

MacGowan's lip quivered, eyes falling to the ground, his steps faltering. "They keep dying. I can't stop it. I watch them, but I can't . . . understand the pattern." He dipped a shaky hand into his coat pocket, and Malik tensed for a moment, just before the psychiatrist withdrew a journal and handed it over.

"You watch the students?" asked Malik, flipping through its flagged pages. He nodded approvingly. "This'll be very useful, Doctor. Thank you. What about the faculty? Do you monitor your colleagues?"

"It's no man," said MacGowan, eyes shifting as though he was expecting someone to leap from the shadows. His fingers twitch over his other coat pocket.

Malik stopped, pulling his own windbreaker closer against the cold wind. "What do you mean?"

"I see that look." The doctor shook his head. "You have no idea what you're up against. You think you've got a serial killer on your hands."

Malik met his troubled gaze with a steady one. "What do you think?"

MacGowan hesitated, his breath misting in the frigid air. "Sometimes, the students involved in these incidents . . . They come to me before it happens. It's unsettling, but familiar. Every time, it's as though I'm no longer speaking with them . . . It's like, they have this glaze over their eyes, a frightening haze that makes me feel like I'm suddenly five years old again, staring at my father's face just before he beats me with his belt."