John's not there in the morning. She doesn't really expect him to be. He's been back from New Orleans several days, but hardly spent a night at the mill. Which can only mean one thing; John hardly ever brings a woman home, and that means he's sleeping over somewhere. Zed feels heat spreading through her veins and tries to ignore it, reminding herself that this possibly could have been avoided had she simply chased after him at the bar.
It's been a week since her vision. She checks the news. No beheaded girls found anywhere. Zed's starting to become more than a little concerned that they might not find the poor woman, that she will become one among thousands of young women never heard from again, and she sits at the table, staring hard at a map of the U.S. If only Manny hadn't burned the damned scry map; she's hoping that a state will jump out at her and beg for attention.
John comes in late morning, sunglasses on indoors, head down. He does not look at her and she does not look at him, although she catches a whiff of some cheap scent that smells more like rubbing alcohol than perfume.
"Any hits?" he asks half an hour later, showered and dressed, although he hasn't bothered with a close shave.
"No," she answers flatly, lying her chin on her hands and staring down at the map, and she hopes that she does not look too much as though she is pouting.
"Take a break and try again later," John suggests as he rolls his sleeves up.
"You have fun last night?" Zed asks conversationally.
From across the living room, Chas looks up from where he has been reading a book, expecting trouble.
John smirks, although it is not from humor, and it looks more like a grimace. "I don't kiss and tell." Wrapping Ariadne's thread securely around his wrist, he opens the side door and slams it shut behind him.
Zed sighs heavily. That was petty, and she knows it. Resting her chin in her hand, she looks over at Chas.
"More time," he tells her carefully. "Lots more."
John doesn't come back for a long time, and when he does, he says nothing, grabs his coat, and heads out again. He does not come home that night, either.
He's lying in bed next to an attractive woman, and the sweat is drying on his skin. The woman next to him—what was her name? Casey? Lacy? Something like that?-smiles and laughs a throaty laugh, eyes closed, catching her breath.
"God, that was good," she tells him.
John says nothing; his heart was not in it; his movements were as automatic as if he were preparing a coffee maker.
When he says nothing, Casey/Lacy turns onto her side to look at him. Her smile softens, and as the excitement passes, she is left feeling sorry for him. "What's her name?" she asks.
"Zed," he answers. His voice is dull. He turns away from her.
It's several days later when the next vision happens. At least she's sitting down for this one, sketching on the sofa in front of the fireplace. She's having a conversation with Chas about what they want for dinner—even with the Rising Darkness and all its ghoulish occurrences, food is still an important part of life—when the vision hits. Walking behind Chas' chair is the man, a woman's wrist tight in his grip, as he sings something low and slow.
Zed gasps and recoils, then hurries to get up and follow him.
"Zed?" Chas asks, alarmed.
"It's him, it's him, it's the guy!" Zed says.
Once again, the woman is following him, the same awestruck, lazy smile on her face as she wobbles along behind him, steps light. He's leading her back to the creek before slowing, and while Zed has been following them, she rushes to get in front of him, looking for a clue, anything.
"She's young, maybe twenty-two, twenty-three," Zed says. "And she's got a heavy coat."
"Tell me more," Chas says, trying to scribble the information with marker on a bit of used paper.
"But he's not wearing one," Zed says. "He's wearing just a t-shirt—it says GSD on it. It's got Colorado below it."
The man holds his palm out calmly, and with a flickering, the sword reappears in it.
"Not again, not again!" Zed cries out, but there is nothing she can do. The same thing happens; a girl is dead, her dark blood running into the rushing water below, reflecting black in the gray moonlight.
Zed sinks to her knees, staring ahead as the vision fades and is replaced by the living room. "I don't understand," she says. "He is so empty." She folds her legs underneath her, thinking. "He has to be a demon. Although I don't know what kind of demon he'd have to be to conjure a sword like that."
"John will know," Chas says, leaning down to one knee across from her.
Zed huffs. "If he ever comes back."
The door slams upstairs.
"Speak of the devil," Chas mutters, and looks up at John, who is walking down the upper tier above them. John leans against the railing. "What happened?"
"Zed had another vision, of the beheading guy," Chas calls up to him.
John looks over at her. "What did you see?"
"Same guy, same situation, different girl," she says. "He had something on his shirt. GSD, Colorado."
John nods. "Let's go look it up." He makes his way down the spiral staircase, and with a pang, Zed tries to ignore how much his hair is sticking up in the back, the untidiness of his clothing.
Chas offers her a hand and helps pull her up off of the floor.
Crossing over to the sofa, she pulls her laptop onto her lap, and types in "GSD Colorado". She exhales. "Gotta love Google. It's the Great Sand Dunes, in Alamosa, Colorado."
John rolls up his sleeve, thinking. "All right," he says, "It's a start. You know what the girl looks like?"
She nods. "Another pretty woman. Young, dark-haired. Still singing that song."
John looks over at her. "It's the same one?"
"Yeah."
"And he summoned a sword again?"
"Yeah."
"Mm." John stands, heads towards the bookshelf. He rummages around for a few moments while Zed looks for missing women near Alamosa. It doesn't take her long – several articles turn up in the results. Clicking one, the first girl she saw murdered is listed.
"Keisha Darrow, age twenty-two. She went missing last week," Zed scans the article, looking for basics. "She was last seen at a bar in town."
"Ten quid says that's where she was picked up," John says, turning back. He has a book in his hands that he drops unceremoniously next to Zed, then lights a cigarette. "Flip through that. See if you can find the sword our lovely executioner is using."
Zed looks down at the cover. "A History of Weapons?" Chas motions for her to hand him the laptop, and she passes it over to him, where he begins to look for airline tickets. She flips through the book.
There is plenty of room on the couch, but John sits down on the seat several feet away, crossing his legs and placing them on the coffee table. Zed turns page after page, moving from the Iron Age well into the 1300s. She stops when she gets to Scandinavian swords. Long and thin, they lack the long t-shaped cross-guard more common in swords forged in later centuries, and instead more akin to the Roman swords. A shell-shaped pommel adorns the hilt. Zed taps the picture and turns the book around.
"It's like this one," she tells him. "It's got something stamped on the bottom of the blade. It looks like runes."
John takes the book from her, holding the cigarette at the side of his mouth. "A Viking sword," he says, looking down at the picture. "What would a Viking sword be doing in Colorado?"
"Stranger things have happened," Chas says, standing to look over his shoulder at the picture. "I have our tickets. Flight leaves in about three hours."
Everyone disperses to go get packed.
They land in Colorado late in the afternoon, almost close to closing time at the car rental place just outside the minuscule airport. A quick drop in, and they're off down the highway in a RAV4, wipers slapping the sleet off of the windshield, headed towards a small campground, Anapo Lodges, just outside of town.
Zed troops after John into the office, where they are met by an older gentleman at the front desk. He smiles warmly at them. "You the ones from Atlanta?"
"That's us," John says, taking out his billfold.
"Got you a cabin, number nineteen, past the campers on the east side. Showers are here outside the main office, and there's a game room attached to that, got a pool table."
"You have two cabins?" John asks, handing him a credit card.
The manager looks at him, then at Zed. Something quizzical passes over his countenance for just a moment, tugging at his eyes, but he ignores it. "Yes, sir. Two cabins, two doubles each."
"Thanks."
The manager hands him his card back and passes them two keys with green plastic keychains, and they turn to head back outside to the car.
"Two rooms?" Zed asks. "Chas is with us, John. We could've just taken one."
"Just trying to give a lady her space," John replies, lighting a cigarette.
She stops behind him, debating on whether or not she wants to whack him over the head with her purse. "You know, I'm getting sick and tired of this shit, John."
John turns, surprised at her outburst. In the Toyota, Chas sits up, expecting trouble.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he says unfeelingly, and turns, heading towards the RAV, exhaling a plume of smoke.
She can feel hot tears welling in her eyes, and she blinks, forcing them away. John opens the car door and gets in.
"I'll walk," she says flatly, inclining her head at Chas. "I want to stretch my legs," she calls out, loud enough for him to hear through the window.
Chas looks over at John, scowling, but nods back at her and pulls away. Zed stamps through the sleet after them, trying to will her rage out with every step.
Inside the RAV, Chas looks over at John. "You need to talk to her."
"About what?" John takes a deep drag of the cigarette.
"You know what," Chas answers, looking over at him.
"There's nothing to talk about," John says.
"Dammit, John! Can you stop acting like a five-year-old and face what's going on?" Chas turns, bouncing down the dirt road towards the cabins. "If you keep pushing her away, she's going to think you don't want her, and then she's really going to be gone."
"Probably better for her," John mutters. He stubs out the cigarette.
"How in the hell is that better for her?"
John leans his head back against the headrest, staring out in front of him. "She'll live longer, for one thing."
"But she's living now, John. She wants to be a part of this. Zed's a big girl and she knows the risks—seen them firsthand."
"Corrigan's a better man for her."
"But she's here for you." Chas pulls in front of the cabins and wrenches it into park, shaking his head. He slams the door shut behind him and opens the hatchback, taking out his and Zed's suitcase.
John says nothing, but grabs his duffel, opens the cabin door, and goes in.