Chief’s eyes widened as he bolted from the kitchen. He pushed the door open and exited in one solid motion. In the distance he saw them: Blackney, his hands full around Moss’s neck, was shaking Moss three feet off the ground. To the right of them sat Huey on a large boulder. Chief could hear his laughter from where he stood.

Chief snatched the rifle next to the door, and set his sights. Through the scope he perceived more clearly the grip Blackney had on Moss as Moss’s eyes were bulging, his tongue stuck partly out, was turning black and his face was deep purple. Chief squeezed the trigger. He watched Blackney’s hand go to his bloodied cheek and Moss fall to the ground at his feet before fireing again, this time grazing the man’s temple. Out-flanked, Blackney dodged into the woods, his son, taking just enough time to kick Moss sharply in the kidney, followed.

Chief bounded up the hill, rifle in hand and fired additional rounds into the brush, aiming high enough to miss the boy.

“You all right?” he asked Moss who gasped and choked for air as he held his throat in his hands.

Chief knelt down and helped him to sit. Moss’s coloring was bright red. Bruises were rising rapidly around his neck. 

Moss gradually regained his color, though his eyes remained bloodshot.. Occasionally he glanced in the direction of Blackney’s disappearance, making sure they didn’t swing back. He moved away and sat on his own, noisily gulping air. He regarded Chief from this position and waited for the ability to speak. “How’d you know?”

“Bennet knew.”

Moss nodded, not wanting to pursue it further. “Was it worth it?”

“You have no idea.” Chief’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on Moss. “I’ll fill you in later. Let’s get out of here.”

Again Moss nodded and extended his hand and Chief pulled him to his feet. Moss leaned on Chief for support as they made their way down the embankment. His eyesight was still fuzzy; his sense of balance was off, and his throat was on fire.

Bennet stood on the porch, appearing to watch their descent. However a slight quirk of his head made known that he was merely listening for their footsteps. He was rewarded with the sound of Moss’ gasping and the swish of brush as the two police officers made their way. When he judged them to be within earshot, he left the porch.

“Is he all right?”

“Seems to be. He could use a drink of water, though.”

Bennet nodded and turned back to his cabin. “I have something better than water,” he said over his shoulder as he disappeared into the cabin. Chief and Moss followed him inside.

Chief led Moss to one of Bennet's chairs as Bennet pulled  a bottle from one of his kitchen cupboards.

“Whiskey,” Bennet explained. “It does wonders at loosening a crushed windpipe.” 

He brought the bottle over to Moss and held it out. “Drink as much as you can the first swallow. It will relax the constricted area as well as ease the pain.”

Moss stared at the man, then looked up at Chief, wondering how much he should trust this old blind man. When Chief nodded that it was all right, Moss took the bottle, uncorked it and swallowed deeply. The liquid was like boiling oil going down, but it was smoother than most whiskeys. The fire was mostly due to the condition of his windpipe. After the initial shock of the alcohol, the esophagus relaxed and breathing became easier.

Bennet listened closely to Moss’ actions. He accurately judged how much was swallowed and picked up immediately on the success of the treatment by noting the ease in the man’s breathing. 

When he turned to Chief, his eyes remained unfocused. “He’ll be all right now, sir, the whiskey has done its bidding.”

Chief regarded him. “What about you? He’ll come back. If he suspects you’ve helped in any way you could be in danger.”

Bennet shrugged and smiled apathetically. “I am an old man, chief. I knew that one day I would die out here alone. But don’t worry, I am still of use to it. It won’t kill me until it has the power. I’m counting on you to prevent that.”

Mort shifted from Chief to Bennet. “It?”

“What my friend has become,” explained Bennet. “Chief Broden will fill you in on our discussion, Agent Moss.” Bennet turned to Chief. “I’m afraid it will no longer trust the boy’s keeping to me.”

“We’ll have to use the information gained to locate him. You wouldn’t happen to have any ideas on where he will go from here?”

“Sadly no, sir. It will hole up in the woods until it is time.”

“Until it is time? Then there is a plan in all of that?”

“There is always a plan. But then there are the plan’s upsets. He will strike on the twenty-third of this month. That is, he will kill the children, yours as well as Fred’s, the twenty-third, in ritual under the full moon. It was when this evil was formed, on that date. How fitting that it would end then as well? However, he may take the child sooner, if the opportunity arises. And if pressed consume her on the spot, for he is unraveling. Hers is the death more important to him. He can risk the boy–but not your daughter. Does that answer your question, sir?”

Chief nodded. “She’s in danger up until then. If we don’t find and stop him first.”

“That is correct.”

“Thank you, Bennet. Call me, please, if you think of anything else. My number is MF 1224. Can you remember that? I don’t think writing it down will do you any good.”

“I will remember,” Bennet answered. “Mary Francis, one dozen, and then two dozen more.”

“Thanks again,” Chief said and extended his hand. Bennet sensed it and reached for it. They shook on it. Then Chief pulled Moss to his feet and walked him to the door.

“Chief,” Bennet said when he heard the door being pulled open. “Be very careful. He is quite mad. He will stop at nothing this time. I’d hate to hear of him harming your daughter. She is special, that one.”

Chief took a deep breath. He glanced at Moss, who was still contemplating the old “blind” man. “Don’t worry, he is not going to touch one hair on her head.”

“There is one other thing.”

“What is that, Mr. Bennet?”

“Everyone on this planet has a varying degree of awareness. Your daughter’s awareness is higher than most. Bear that in mind. And listen to what she has to say, even if it risks the belief in your own reality.”

Chief and Moss looked at each other. Then Chief turned to the old man. “I’ll do that.”

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