The Hunt for Tyrell Banks

Chapter 38 - ... and too late

This is where my world ends. Where everything I've known and loved comes crashing to a halt.

"Senorita," Santos said. "It's time."

I took in a breath. Checked my watch. "Okay," I said. "Okay, sure. Yeah. They'll be done by now."

The floor-slider leading downstairs was fully opened now. I went down and pressed the button for the crypt camera.

Dad came up to it. The lights were on, and I could see mom in the background, washing her face.

"Bonjour, Hanna," dad said, and there was a wistfulness to his tone. Likely he was feeling a little bad about our shouting match last night. "You can open the door now, if you like."

I smiled, but it was pained and dad caught it.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"No, dad, sorry. Everything's not. We'll explain when you guys come up."

I let them out, and there were the usual rituals of the evening – but the worry on my face had now clearly spread its way to theirs.

"Your teacher?" mom asked, flabbergasted. "The one you said was really nice?"

I nodded. "Yeah. But he's not – he's not a teacher. I don't know what he is. I don't know if he's a monster like ... like the boys, or if he's something else. All I can guess for now is he's their leader."

"A head monster," dad said, and harrumphed. "Well, when the silver and the holy water turns up, we can put paid to any threat he and those kids pose."

"That's the thing, Jean," Riley said. He standing by the kitchen bench sipping on a mug of tea. "The silversmith Santos found in the Jewelry District said the various items won't be ready until next week. However, St. Neumann's said the caskets of holy water can be here tomorrow."

"Well, that's a start, at least. Santos? You have guns now?"

The big man nodded. He motioned to the bench, where a pair of identical Glock-19s sat as though they were the utensils of the world's most violent chef. "Better than just 'a start', eh, Jean?" he said, grinning. "I am thinking we – "

"Oh bugger!" Riley interjected, and pointed outside.

We all turned to look.

It was snowing.

"Is that ... snow?" mom said quietly.

"I think we better get you two back downstairs," Riley said, and grabbed one of the Glocks. "Promptly at that."

But I could see dad's face clouding with anger. "I want to see these mangy fils de putes for myself," he growled. "How dare they come onto my property like this!"

"Dad," I said urgently, "if you start turning, you'll also put us in danger! Let us handle them first, and – "

CRASH!

The sound had come from the entrance hall. The cold wind that suddenly blew from under the closed kitchen door meant the main entrance had been opened. With some force, at that.

"Hanna, get your parents downstairs on the double!" Riley ordered.

I didn't need to be told twice. Mom was gripping onto one of dad's shoulders tightly, squeezing and squeezing. They looked so frightfully helpless.

Santos dashed over to the lounge room, to the other side of the kitchen door. He, too, had a gun in his hands, and he raised it, aiming at the closed door