After asking the Uber driver to call 911, Hollis rushed into Jack Richards' home. The Winchester, now free of the golf bag, was raised in his hands. The home's entry led straight into a kitchen and dining room on the right side, ascending stairs on the left, a wall, and past the wall...
The living room. There, kneeling on the floor between the couch and TV, facing the couch, was the uniformed cop who had been assigned to protect Richards. He was staring forward, mouth open. In his right hand, nearly tucked between his knees, was his service weapon.
Across from the officer, seated on the couch, was Jack Richards. His chin was resting on his chest; there was a sizable chunk missing from the rear of his skull and a rose blossom of blood adorned the back of the couch and the white wall behind.
"Goddamnit," Hollis whispered.
He was too late.
"So, it just... melted?" Kacey was standing inside the cabin, looking down at the spot where the black rock had been, where now nothing existed but a tar-like stain on the rotted floorboards. J.D. had asked her about twenty times if she was okay after she had exited Hollis's vehicle—to which she had emphatically replied that yes, she was fine. And she was, really; somewhat shaken, but that was about it. The bear was still lodged up front in the vehicle, but after it had collapsed, it reverted to a normal—though still just as dead—bear.
"Liquefied when I tapped all of the crystals, yeah," J.D. said, kneeling down next to the ring of quartz stones.
"So you destroyed the black rock..." she said with a slight hint of awe. After everything she and Hollis had tried...
"Well, I have a theory," J.D. replied.
"Of course you do."
"I don't think it was a rock."
Kacey's eyebrows knotted. "Okay, you lost me."
J.D. stood, still looking down at the stain. "I think that thing... the Traveler that Walks Unseen, the Beast that Dreams, whatever you call it... I think this was a piece of it."
Kacey's mouth hung open slightly. She walked to the couch that sat just inside the doorway facing the living area and plopped down.
What J.D. was suggesting was crazy, but... it seemed possible. As possible as just about anything else at this point. "If so, then what, this thing exists down there as some kind of a stone layer? Like the coal?"
J.D. shrugged. "Something like that, maybe. Maybe that's why it's 'sleeping'. Maybe becoming stone is how it hibernates."
Kacey thought of Piggy's words, back in Los Angeles: "It sleeps and it dreams... and in its dreams we tremble." She thought of the old man Eustis, whose uncle had said that something evil slept deep in the ground.
Her wheels were turning now. "So what if the 'Emanant Revival' has to do with bringing it out of hibernation? What if that's why it's collecting people? To draw their energy so it can 'wake up'? With everything its capable of now..." Kacey shuddered. What might the Traveler do to Pleasant Hills, to the United States, to the world if it were brought out of its slumber?
"These are all just theories," J.D. said, "but if we're right, you're overlooking the silver lining to all of this..."
"Which is?"
"Now we know how to kill it."
Hollis had considered fleeing the scene.
He had heard sirens almost immediately upon finding the dead bodies. He later learned that the officer—Sikes—had radioed dispatch that he was investigating a noise he heard behind the house. Later, when dispatch lost contact, they sent backup.
With more units arriving on scene so soon Hollis had known it would have been incredibly risky to run, and the last thing he needed was to be a fugitive. So he had decided to face the music...
And now he found himself inside a conference room at PHPD, sitting at the table while Captain Bryce paced on the other side of it. He had probably already turned in for the night when he had been called back to the station.
"I lost a good man tonight," Bryce said. "On top of that I've got the Chief of Police, the Mayor, the goddamned governor of the state on my ass to put an end to this insanity. And you..." Bryce wobbled a finger in Hollis's direction, "you expect me to believe that you were out in the county—with a rifle—when your car broke down and you had some... premonition that one of our protected targets was about to get killed?"
It sounded ludicrous, of course. But it had been the best Hollis could do at the time. He had been forced to come up with some reason as to why the Uber driver had picked him up out in the county and he sure as hell didn't want to mention the Coolidge Estate.
"That gun you had on you, is it even registered?" the captain asked.
"It's an antique," Hollis replied. His cell phone buzzed. He withdrew it, looked at the screen. Kacey. He couldn't talk now so he hit "ignore" and returned his attention to the captain.
"Jesus Christ. Doing some hunting out there, huh? With an antique rifle?" Bryce's brown eyes bored into Hollis, who remained silent.
"I know you're still chasing leads," Bryce said finally. "Despite me telling you not to. Despite being suspended. You and Dean. This is crap. You know that, right? Crap!"
Hollis thought Bryce might jump over the desk, the way the veins were standing out in his neck and temples. Pacing a few more times, the captain took a deep breath, then finally grabbed a chair and plopped down.
"You want the truth?" He leaned forward. "I'm barely holding things together here. I feel like the world's biggest jackass because I don't even know what's going on anymore. Things used to at least make some kind of sense but now... now my entire reality has been turned upside down."
Hollis nodded. If you only knew...
"I think maybe you've figured some of this crazy nonsense out— you and Detective Dean; but you're not sharing that info and I get that. I really do. But here's the thing: at this point, I just want to put an end to the craziness so I can get my reality back. More importantly, I don't want to lose any more officers. So is there anything you can tell me? Anything I can do to help?"
That wasn't at all what Hollis expected. The surprise was a pleasant one. Of course, there was so much Hollis couldn't say; so much that the captain simply wouldn't be able to wrap his head around. But...
"There is one thing," Hollis said. "If you could contact Bellingham hospital... the patients, the "chosen," we think it's possible they could wake up. Maybe sometime soon, and if they do... well if they do could you let me know?"
"Let you know?"
Hollis nodded. "Yeah."
Truth be told, he wasn't exactly sure what he would do with that information, not yet, but he was pretty sure that between himself, Kacey and, he had to admit, J.D.... they could come up with something.
Bryce sat looking at Hollis for a long time. Internally, there was probably quite a conflict going on in there, but finally the captain said, simply:
"You got a deal."
Slowly, a detached sense of self-awareness returned.
He knew who he was. Or who he had been: Ron Hanson. But who he had been didn't matter anymore; all that mattered now was what he was tasked to do.
His eyes opened to all-consuming blackness. Reaching up, he felt the smooth fabric of the coffin lining. The barrier was of little concern; lashing out, once, twice, he smashed through the lid. Hammering his fists downward he crushed the lower half of the coffin lid.
The grave liner was slightly more formidable; tucking his legs to his knees Hanson thrust his feet upward. Two kicks fractured the cement liner top into smaller pieces. Hanson retracted his legs, rolled onto all fours and rose, getting his feet beneath him and pushing upward, feeling the weight above slowly give way to his exertion. Soon the pieces of the liner top broke apart and fell around him, followed by soil. As the soil filled in the space inside the liner and the coffin, Hanson clawed his way upward, lifting his legs and pushing against the descending dirt, little by little...
Until his hands broke the surface. With additional effort he emerged at last to a cloudy night sky and an empty cemetery.
He extricated himself fully from the grave, stood and began walking. There existed in his semi consciousness a profound singularity of purpose:
The time of the Emanant Revival was at hand.
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If you ever want to waste a few minutes of your time, sound out the word "emanant" and look up all the different spellings you can think of. Emanant, imminent, eminent, they're all there, all with different meanings. Confusing as hell.