Black Blood

«What you have found out makes me just more suspicious about them. Yes, well, there is no evidence, but we grew up listening to those ancient stories. Everyone in Hazycreek is afraid of the Winterbournes. Maybe there is a pinch of truth», Tina asserted, expressing the same opinion.

Everyone talked about it, but no one made himself heard.

It was no longer clear where fantasy began and reality ended.

If everyone suspected the Winterbournes, then why not go and get them?

What was holding them back?

«It is too easy to justify with a legend what you cannot explain»,

I argued firmly, always supporting my position.

The Thirsty didn't exist, they were just bullshit.

Greg began handling his smartphone, plugged in two Bluetooth headsets, and handed one to me and one to Josh.

«I want you to listen this», he said with a serious face.

I motioned him to start the audio:

«We can't go on like this forever. Here young girls disappear and people ask themselves questions.»

«We have ties with them. We'll find a solution.»

«We have to get them away. I don't know how, but sooner or later the situation will get out of hand.»

«No way. It would be suicide. These are the agreements.»

I was amazed, it was a conversation between two well-known voices to me.

The first was that of James Tanner, the commissioner, while the second was that of Alan Ryder, Hanna's father, the mayor of Hazycreek.

«Why do you have this recording?» I asked, confused.

It could have meant anything, but those short lines confirmed the presence of something unspoken, masked.

«Tina and I wanted to look for the truth on our own, we had the feeling that there was little clarity about these recent disappearances, so I inserted a spy software into my dad's smartphone and discovered that he has secrets and he is not the only one», he paused briefly, during that time he looked at me in the eyes. «We also thought someone in this trade could help us. You, for example.»

The request caught me off guard. And I couldn't refuse their cooperation, it would have been stupid.

«Yeah, but I can't understand the meaning of recording one of your father's conversations», I insisted, I was trying to understand to what extent I could count on their help.

«I have often doubted him. It happens that he is introvert, that he says things in half, and there seems to be always something tormenting him. I just wanted to find out about the ongoing investigation, but I have found out more.»

«Do you think he is hiding something?» I asked, being even more careful.

«I think it's pretty obvious. As indecipherable as the conversation is, it is clear that something is happening.»

I was impressed.

How long have Greg had doubts about his father?

Was the appearance deceiving so much?

And if the mayor was also involved, what was there so obscure that had to be hidden?

Maybe I was traveling in my fantasy, building only paper castles. But I have had a hunch.

I was aware that curiosity was sometimes paid dearly, however, I did not expect to find out so many skeletons in Hazycreek's closet.

What was I supposed to expect?

Chapter 7

Rebecca

The next day, early in the morning, I reached Hazy Central Church. In the city there were two parishes and that of Father Dorian was the most popular.

I showed up at the house of God with two black furrows under my eyes, I hadn't been able to sleep. My mind didn't want to keep silence and had kept me awake all night.

I felt tired and my head was spinning, but I was not giving up, I wanted to continue the investigation at any cost. With Greg's recording the mystery had deepened and I wanted to figure it out as soon as possible.

Dorian Tanner, the inspector's brother, was a sweet and generous person who was always kind to the others. He knew how to listen to people and never denied a chat to anyone, which is why his community of the faithful was very large. He knew how to make himself loved and the role he held made him a person worthy of trust.

I hoped to get some more details from him about what was going on.

I walked to the threshold of the Victorian-style structure, like the whole Hazycreek. The nineteenth-century style had survived over the centuries and walking through the streets of my hometown put serenity. It was like being in an enchanted place where everything seemed perfect.

Only the Black Raven Hill screeched in context, its medieval walls looked tired and sad and, despite the trees hiding it, you could feel its presence hovering over us.

I entered the church, mimed the sign of the cross and headed to the altar. I crossed the main nave, lined with marble columns, which housed two rows of large benches arranged in a precise, almost maniacal way.

The building seemed completely deserted.

At that time, Father Dorian was reciting his prayers and only a few faithful, the particularly devoted ones, joined his litany.

I sat in a corner and waited for the priest to take a break. I didn't have to wait long; the man descended the three steps that raised the altar site and went to the lectern on the opposite side of mine.

I slowly joined him.

«Good morning, Father Dorian», I began with a bright smile and narrowed eyes.

He noticed me and returned surprised.

«Good morning to you, Reb. What brings you around here?» he asked me kindly.

I looked down.