"So," Tyler paused, "You're saying Chase might be at a place that Ann wrote about?"

Pogue stared at Caleb, "And that we can find this place through this Book?"

Caleb looked up, holding a dusty, thick book, and grinning from ear to ear, "Chase is smart... But we are smarter."


"But Caleb, we don't know anything about Chase's bloodline." Tyler said, watching the eldest finger through the pages of the Book.

"We know enough." He responded, "We know Chase Collins isn't really a Collins. We know he was a descendent of Eamon and Goody Pope."

Caleb looked up at his brothers, smiling. He flipped the Book around, showing them a list of names; Tyler and Pogue stared at it intently.

"A list of the Family Lines. Look, before Eamon Pope married her, Goody still held the maiden name of Brown. Goody's parents were Mercy and Tarrant Brown."

Pogue's solemn face turned to him, "So you think this is it, Caleb?"

Caleb sighed, bringing the Book back into his lap, "It might be. But this is the only chance we have. And I'm taking it."


His breath was quickening, chest squeezing ever more tighter as each second passed by. Reid would have been struggling against the cool, metal table which held him firmly, but his strength was nearly depleted.

"Easy, boy." Deatine's gruff voice drifted from above him, "One more shot."

The collar around his neck shifted as the servant adjusted the needle into his neck. Cold liquid began flowing through his veins.

Breath suddenly escaped him, and his lungs felt like ice.

He knew no more.


"This text is told by Jonas Adams, a descendent of Thomas Adams, who personally knew the Browns.

Mercy Flint married Tarrant Brown in 1628, and she became known as Mercy Brown." Caleb read off the text, "After the mysterious murder of Mercy and their 3 month old daughter Sara, Tarrant and their 8 year old son Julian inherited her wealth. They moved to Lynn, Massachusetts. Ten years later, Tarrant was found dead in his bedroom; Julian had gone missing. However, it was rumored that Julian fathered 2 sons (David, the oldest, and William), the youngest of which disappeared mysteriously and was never seen again."

Tyler shook his head, "Well, does it name any other places?"

"It goes on about David, how he married, moved to Salem, and … wait."

"What?" Pogue was up in an instant, going immediately to Caleb's side.

"David was known to be violent. During his fits of rage he would occastionally make 'sacrifices' of boys, often those of which had just turned 18 years. It was later read in his journals that it gave him an overwhelming feeling of 'power'." Caleb looked up from the text, shaking his head, "He was a witch. He got boys to will him their power."

Pogue's brow creased as he pieced together the information, "Just like - "

"Chase." Tyler finished, and suddenly sucked in a breath, "...Salem. That's where Chase is."

Caleb shut the book, looking up to his brothers, "Get in my car."


Deatine's hands trembled as he placed down the last of the boy's four shots. Transfixed, he stood staring at the blonde's form which writhed unconsciously on the table in front of him. He winced slightly at the tinge of blue that the boy's lips were taking.

Before the night was over, he would be dead.


10 Years Previous

Deatine stood in front of his bedroom mirror, gazing at his own form as he straightened his pin-striped tie. He turned, satisfied with his appearance, and grabbed the suitcase on the mattress. It was time.

"Papa!" A small boy came running through the door, pausing when he saw the attire his father was wearing, "Papa, where you goin'?"

With a soft smile, Deatine picked up the child, and held him against his chest, "I'm going away for awhile."

The boy pulled back and stared at him, a small pout on his face, "A long time?"

Grimly, he nodded, "Yes. But don't worry; we will meet again." He kissed the child's forehead, watching the blue eyes close with sadness, "You will be great, my son."

-

A tall, crumbling-brick building loomed before him, and he entered without hesitation. Deatine knew this was his destination – the man he had spoke to earlier had given him all the directions needed.

He approached the front desk casually, looking at the stout man behind it, "I am here to meet someone."

The man took out a piece of paper and nodded, "And his name, please?"

"Raleigh Pope."

"And will you be staying here as well?" The man asked.

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Indefinitely."

The man pulled out another sheet of paper and handed it to him, "Just sign here, please. And, sir, would you like to pay for your room now or later?"

"Later." Deatine pushed the paper back to the man, "Now where is Mr. Pope?"

"Mr. Pope said he would be waiting for you in the café. He said his nephew Chase will also be present for you to meet him. Now, I have your key right here – your room is up the stairs and to the right. Number 302."

"Thank you." Deatine watched impatiently while the man twirled the key between his fingers, looking down at his signature.

"Joseph Deatine G. Hmm – I must know that name from somewhere. You aren't related to Ellen Galley, are you?"

"No."

"Joseph G. Oh! I know where I've met you – teacher conferences, right? Your son does go to Bates Elementary? My daughter talks about him all the time. Ger…Gar…Garwin! Yes, Reid Garwin, is it? What a splendid boy…"

Deatine took the key from the man and turned away, leaving. "Yes. He is."