Billy broke into a run after slamming his pa’s back door. He wanted to be out of sight and far away before his pa had the chance to chase him down. How could they do that? It was a bad thing. Didn’t they know? Kelly had to have known… he could see that in her eyes... Why did she make him do it? Isn’t drawing the same as saying? Isn’t drawing showing without words? It was a bad thing!

Billy was scared. Now, because of his pa and that Sergeant Moss, they’d find him. Now, because of Kelly, his only friend, the only one he truly trusted–who shared the shadows with him, he’d rot in hell, like they warned he would. He ran on with nothing but fear and anger filling his head with thoughts. He knew he’d never be able to face his pa again, knowing what he had done to him– for they had said they would get his pa as well. It was all Billy’s fault for drawing that picture. Now, he and his pa were doomed.

Billy couldn’t clear his eyes as he ran. He stumbled several times, bumping into trees and brambles strewn along the path. Thorns dug deep into his flesh, sharp stings that went unnoticed. The tree was far away. It couldn’t hurt him, could it? So much blood. There had been so much blood. Now, would it be his pa’s blood that kept them alive. Like the boy and the others? Or would it be his? Oh why did they make him do it! That stupid picture! Why? He tried to warn them, but they wouldn’t listen.

He couldn’t face Kelly to tell her. She was a part of it, but she didn’t know the extent that she was.  He had seen her in his dreams, running in the fog. Running from the black bird. It was six feet tall, its wings spread, its beak open and ready to feed on her flesh and bones. He had tried to help her out of the fog, to show her the key, but she ran on, blindly. Not knowing the way. Was her blindness going to cost them all? As his picture had?

Will his picture bring them all back? All of them? He hadn’t seen them since. Since that day ... the day ...  the day he had stopped talking all together ... to keep it locked up. Keep it inside. But now part of it was out. He saw it in the woods, wearing a suit ... so much blood. But this time it looked different. Its hair wasn’t gray like the last time ... and it didn’t have wire around its eyes, like the last time. But the eyes were the same. They bore into him that day....

“Dummy Boy,” it breathed through its mouth. The words came out so thick that they near took on shapes themselves. “Did you like what you saw, Dummy Boy? Do you want a piece of the pie? I can give it to you ... you need only make a wish.” Fire burned in its eyes. The hand that had his arm was clamped down hard- the pressure digging bruises.

Billy tried to free himself but the thing held tighter. It wore no clothes. Blood made strange pictures on its body. The rest wore bed sheets with blood splattered on them in different patterns. They were singing, but the songs came out like talking. Billy was nine, but he was the size of boys thirteen and fourteen. He pulled again and broke his arm loose, but before he could get completely free, the monster pulled a knife under his chin.

Billy dared not move on his own–the monster controlled him with the knife, pulling him into the center of the circle. From there he could see the other boy, affixed to a strange looking tree by a long pole which pierced his body and held him in place. His eyes were like glass marbles, wide open; looking at nothing. He was smaller than Billy, maybe five or six years old. Along the pole the boy bled; the blood ran the length of the pole. It seeped into the tree and out again to be collected in a black bowl. Billy had seen the others drink the blood earlier, as he had seen them... do what? What was it they were doing… to themselves and the boy? They were mounting each other like his father’s dogs, and dancing. Around and around in circles they danced, switching partners as they touched each other, but never removing the robes. At times they would disappear entirely within the robes of their partners.

“Did you enjoy what you saw, Dummy Boy?” whispered the monster that held him. “Maybe you would like to give us your soul ... offer your salvation to free the king–” The monster stopped and turned. Another figure emerged from nowhere. His robes were red, instead of the white worn by the others.

“To kill us all?” asked the other. “Read his eyes, brother. Now is not the time.”

The monster turned to face Billy. His twisted smile turned to anguish and anger. “You’d be a sorry excuse for an offering. You would be an insult!” it spat. “Transcender!” It roared and slammed Billy to the ground in the middle of a painted circle. All around him the others yelled at him, all at the same time. Half singing, half talking in deep voices. Billy tried to break free of the circle but the sheets flew up in his way and pushed him back. He looked for a way out but the circle moved so fast. It twirled in red and white as they sang and danced around him.

Billy started to cry, which only made the sheets whirl faster, the singing grow louder. He fell into a heap at their feet, unable to control his panting and crying. He was having a hard time catching his breath between the water of his eyes and the thick tears that caught in his throat. He prayed to himself; prayed that they would go away and leave him alone. It saw him praying and began to kick at him.

“That won’t do you any good, Dummy Boy!” it shouted grabbing Billy by the neck and holding him that way in front of the others. “Make a wish, Dummy Boy, and join with us,” whispered the monster that held him. Billy watched as the knife was thrust upward at his neck. He tried to scream but the tears trapped the scream deep in his throat. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could and waited to be next. He felt the sting of the blade but that was all. It held steady without diving in. He opened his eyes and the sheet people were all about staring at him. The quiet in the woods was overpowering after their singing. Then the thing put its lips to Billy’s ear.

“You are unworthy. You have no soul,” it whispered, the words were wet and Billy felt the moisture in his ear. “We have no need of you at this time, Dummy Boy. What you have seen here is a sanction of god. Our god is all-powerful, all knowing. If you breathe a word of this, we will find you. Your soulless flesh will rot in hell, as that of your father and all you hold dear. We will hunt you down and drain your blood. We are spirits of the shadows. You better lock this up, Dummy Boy, as deep as you dare, because there is no escaping us. We will find you!” said the thing. “We are everywhere! We are the owners of this world and beyond. We are the Keepers of the Way.” It dropped Billy to the ground once again, and to add importance to what it said it stomped down hard on Billy’s back. Sharp pain blinded Billy as the thing’s foot slammed down on Billy’s kidney.

Then the pain shifted from his kidney to the back of his head and all went black....

When Billy woke, they were gone. Only the boy was left, staring at nothing with dead eyes. Blood covered his body in many shapes. The blood that had once poured from the tree had now stopped. Only an occasional drip left the hole to land mindlessly to the ground in the absence of the black bowl. Around the edges of the hole the blood had already congealed. The blood trail was drying and flaking at its edges.

Billy stood and walked to the boy. He touched the boy’s hand and felt it twitch. Scars were on the boy as well as the bloody cuts. They also made patterns. When Billy looked again at the boy’s face he thought he saw it smile... Billy backed fast away. The boy, he thought, was still alive- the twitch and the smile–

But Billy couldn’t get far. The boy’s eyes held him. Then he noticed the boy’s mouth wasn’t smiling at all. It was merely cut at the corners and the skin was pulled. At the boy’s feet was a red bandanna. There was a small amount of blood on it, and teeth marks chewed into the cloth. Billy picked it up and tears escaped his eyes for the boy he did not know. He sat at the boy’s feet and wept for a long time. Then he stood and walked away, the bandanna still in his hands. He moved into the woods and never spoke again. Only in this way would he be sure not to let it out.

*  *  *  *  *

“Christ,” whispered Chief. “He’s still alive.”  He looked at his deputy. “Barely. We need to get him to the road, Mike. Try and cut down the time.”

“I’ll get the blanket from the car, and whatever bandages are in the first aid kit.”

“Hurry.” Chief looked up from Hank. “And Mike, be careful. Fred could still be around.”

Once Mike was gone, Chief gently pulled Hank as far out of the water as possible. Then he removed his jacket and covered Hank to keep him warm. At the gesture Hank’s eyes fluttered, then opened.

“Hugh,” he half coughed, half whispered. Chief noticed that no blood accompanied the syllable. That was a good sign. 

“It’s Chief Broden, Hank. You need to be still.”

“Hugh...” Hank whispered again. “He didn’t ... he didn’t mean it...”

“I know, shh,” Chief tried to keep him still and calm. 

But Hank took him by surprised as his hand pulled free of the muddy bank and clamped around Chief’s forearm. Hank’s eyes opened wide. “Chief… he’s going to kill Hugh,” Hank spat out. He had to catch his breath when he was finished. “Help him, sir... please...he didn’t mean...” Hank slumped back down into the mud. “He said he was going to kill him... he said ...when he was through...”

“Stay still, son,” Chief said. “We’ll get him later.”

“But Hugh-”

“You won’t do him any good dead, Hank. You need to pull yourself together and hold on for Huey. Can you do that?”

Chief was answered by a nearly imperceptible shaking of the head. “For Hugh,” whispered Hank, his eyes closed. “Hold on for Hugh.”

By the time Mike had made it out of the woods, Doc Granger was already pulling in behind the squad car. Mike met him as he removed himself from behind the wheel.

“Doc,” Mike said as he approached, “he’s still alive. We’re going to need to bring him up on a stretcher, though. He’s in bad shape.”

“I got one in the back,” Doc answered slamming his door.

Doc Granger drove a converted Chevy sedan. The back had a custom hatch and the back seat was removed as well as the trunk. The back end was built flat to allow injured to ride horizontally. It was patterned after the ambulances used in the city. He lifted the hatch and Mike removed the stretcher. Without bothering to shut the hatch, Doc followed Mike into the woods and along the path the deputy had been down twice that day. They moved quickly, ignoring the stinging thorns and slicing branches. Once at the creek, Doc pulled away from Mike and sprinted to his patient.

“How bad?” Doc asked Chief as he slipped in beside him on the muddy bank. In one motion he had his bag open and his stethoscope out. He went over Hank with the ease and grace of a ballet dancer, working quickly and confidently.

On several occasions he had Chief help him reset bones. After splinting and taping Hank up, he was ready to be moved.

“That’s it,” sighed Doc. “That’s all I can do for him here.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Chief asked in a hushed tone.

“If he doesn’t get to a hospital soon and get the internal injuries taken care of… he’s as good as dead,” Doc whispered back. “My concern is whether he’ll survive the trip back through the woods on that stretcher. His ribs are broken up pretty good, Bob. One jolt and– ”

“I understand,” Chief interjected.  “Let’s get him out of here.”

While Mike and Chief carefully lifted Hank, Doc slid the stretcher underneath, and then all three men took hold and carried him back through the woods.

The trip was much longer with the stretcher; they had to move slowly to keep from jarring Hank, who rode silently along, without a complaint. Doc had given him a local anesthetic for the pain, but, Hank refused to be put completely under. His breathing was labored and painful. He rode with his thoughts, on his brother, Huey. His father planned to kill Huey as soon as the boy was no longer useful. He claimed the boy was part of the cancer and belonged to the shadows. Hank didn’t understand those statements but he understood the threat. He hoped Chief would take his father down before he had a chance to kill his only brother.

Ninety minutes later they broke through the trees at the roadside and slipped Hank, stretcher and all, into the back of Doc’s Chevy. Doc checked Hank over again before turning to Chief.

“I almost forgot,” he said. “Sergeant Moss gave me this for you.” He pulled the message from his shirt pocket and handed it to Chief.

Chief’s expression shifted from interest to anger. “What the hell’s he up to now?” he said crumbling the note into a tight ball, his knuckles baring white. He glared at Doc.

“He said he was on to something and that he would leave word with Frank.”

“What is it?” Mike asked.

“The note says, quote, The Raven has taken wing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That he found a connection between this case and the one thirteen years ago.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Chief shrugged and shook his head. He turned to Doc.“He isn’t following his lead alone, is he?”

“He was excited–”

“Damn it!” Chief said under his breath and turned to Mike. “Drive Doc to the hospital so he can attend Hank on the way. Stay until Hank is in stable condition. Then you can ride back with Doc.”

“Sure, boss. I’ll call the house when we know anything.”

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