Page 2 of Chaos has a Name (An FBI Romance/Thriller #66)

The lottery had been drawn, and Thomas Adsila would be the winner.

From his sacrifice would come the bounty.

From his death would come their prosperity.

From his spirit would come another year of hunting plentitude.

It had to be done.

For it had always been done.

If The Hollow strayed from this custom, it would never be able to explain how it had dropped the ball and let the reservation suffer.

Now would it?

The answer was an unequivocal no.

This was bred into The Hollow, and passed down to the son of a son of a son, or apprentice, generations back. It was firmly rooted in their culture for certain members of that tribe.

It had always been done, and now, it would continue as soon as they caught the man.

Then, it would repeat all over again.

Forever.

More.

When the whistle was heard, hauntingly floating through the evening air and drifting upon the lands of the blessed tribe, The Hollow knew it was time.

The hunt began.

The solstice began.

It was now or never.

For Thomas, he was about to make the ultimate sacrifice, and for that, The Hollow was honored to be involved.

As the dark night surrounded them, the man walking down the road heard the whistle, calling, and he paused to look around.

It was clear he was startled.

For it sounded like nothing he’d ever heard before.

Breath over bone had a distinct sound not found in nature.

Staring into the darkness of the trees, hearing that single branch snap beneath someone’s shoes, he tensed.

It was clear he was unnerved.

He shouldn’t be.

The Hollow would make this painless—like it always did.

“Who’s there?” Thomas called.

And there was no answer.

Why?

The Hollow had no voice.

It only had a presence there on the reservation in the dark shadows of the trees.

On this one night, it wasn’t safe to be out, and it was clear that he didn’t know that.

Because not everyone knew of the ones who protected them from the Wendigo. His ancestors did a poor job of passing down the legend to their family.

That was sad.

The Hollow was magnificent.

Unfortunately for Thomas, tonight, he would know all about the secrets in these magnificent woods.

In his death, there would be nothing but HONOR for the sacrifice he was about to make.

For his offering was going to make the Wendigo happy, and those who lived there prosperous.

When the whistle blew again, the man got chills across his body, and he opted not to stand there any longer.

He.

Took.

Off.

It was clear that Thomas wasn’t a fool, even if he was drunk out of his mind. That sense of self-preservation kicked in.

Quickly, he began jogging down the road, aiming for his home where he would get inside and hide from whatever it was that was chasing him.

Because instinctively, he knew something was.

When the terrifying song was played in the dark, shadow-filled night, he picked up the pace, hauling ass even quicker.

The staccato of his footsteps were only matched by the drumming of his heart in his ears.

Something.

Was.

Coming.

It only made Thomas run faster, as if he had a chance to escape what lurked behind him.

Unfortunately for him…

He.

Did.

Not.

This was a race through the reservation to his home, and sadly, he was not going to win.

He should be terrified.

Everyone should know of the spirits that haunted the reservation land. It was clear that tales were told to only some of them as young children about how that one night was dangerous.

Clearly, no one warned him.

Or he’d be in his house already, protected.

It was sad that he had never overheard an elder tell the story, time and time again.

Most of the reservation believed it to be just another made-up boogeyman, but it wasn’t.

It was real.

And now, unfortunately for Thomas, there was only one thing to feel.

Fear.

He felt fear.

As his pace quickened, he managed to get closer to his home before the louder whistling began.

It was all around him, and Thomas couldn’t tell where it was coming from, or if it was his mind, but he heard it.

Oh, and it chilled him to the bone.

What terrified him?

It was the voice that began calling to him.

‘On this night we bring you to his space. You’re the guest of honor and our salvation. The Wendigo calls, and The Hollow answers.’

It was chanted over and over.

Louder and louder.

That was all he needed to hear. Fear filled him, and that fight or flight was in overdrive.

Thomas was no longer jogging. Now, he was running as fast as he could in an effort to escape whatever it was that was chasing him.

Thomas felt like prey.

He felt hunted.

Even through the alcohol, he could feel those tendrils of danger reaching for him, threatening his life.

He.

Ran.

Fast.

Something was behind him.

And around him.

That was the only way to explain it. His only goal now was to reach his home where he could lock the door, and be safe from whatever it was that was hunting him.

His sanctuary was not far now, and he knew if he got to the door, he would be safe.

Nothing would get him inside of his cabin.

With each step, the chanting continued, and it was getting louder and closer.

With each step, his heart raced faster, pounding steadily in his chest.

Thomas’ heart raced faster than ever before as he began praying to the Great Spirit to get him to his house and safety.

That was all he wanted.

That was all he needed.

If he could just reach the door…

He’d lock it, and he’d not have to worry about the world around his cabin. His guns and quivers were there, waiting to protect him.

Now, it was a race against time, and he had the sudden feeling like he was fighting for his life.

There was a drumbeat that came from somewhere, and he couldn’t pinpoint the location.

All around him it beat a staccato that he couldn’t outrace. Still, he ran down that desolate road, there was so much fear and panic.

He was almost there.

He was almost safe.

As he reached his driveway, he regretted not driving to the bar that evening. He began regretting so much.

Whatever chased him…it was close, and that didn’t bode well for him.

As he ran up onto the deck, he flung open the door, and then slammed it shut, locking it behind him.

QUICKLY.

That was when he sat against the door, and grabbed the hunting rifle within arm’s reach that was loaded and just waiting for him.

And suddenly, it all stopped.

The chanting ended.

The whistle was gone.

Gone was the fear.

For he was safely tucked away in his cabin where no one could get him.

Maybe he’d been imagining all of it. Maybe that was the case.

Did he get a bad batch of booze at the bar?

Could that be it?

Thomas wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but finally, he felt secure enough to get up and look around. There was only one way into his cabin, and now that he was home, he had locked it.

That was a relief.

Carrying the gun to the window, all he saw outside was the wind blowing the tree leaves.

The sky above was filled with stars, and it was just another normal night.

So.

He.

Thought.

Taking his gun into his bedroom, he made sure to lock that door, too, and he shoved his chair under the doorknob to make sure nothing could come into his room.

It was better safe than sorry.

After that, he checked the windows, and made sure they, too, were locked.

Then, and only then, was when he felt safest.

The sigh he let out told the tale, and all of that fear could finally be let go.

It had to be his imagination.

That was the only explanation.

For now, he’d get changed and climb into his comfortable bed. He’d had a little too much fun at the bar, apparently—because his mind had been playing some wicked tricks on him.

Placing his gun next to the bed, he toed off his shoes, and prepared to begin removing his clothing.

Going to his closet, he opened it, and saw the most terrifying thing he’d ever seen in his whole damn life.

There stood a man wearing a deer skull, and he was holding a sharp hunting knife in his hand.

That’s when he heard the whistle, and the sound of his own scream.

He hadn’t escaped it.

It was in his home.

And now, Thomas Adsila knew one thing.

It had found him, and he was dead.

* * * The Blackhawk Family * * *

Hours Later

The Forest

The Early Hours

His clothing was meticulously folded like it always was when the sacrifice was made.

Nearby, it was placed on the rock not far from where his remains were buried after the offering was given.

He’d been enjoyed for hours, and not only had The Hollow approved, but the Wendigo did too.

If one listened close enough, the howl of satisfaction could be heard through the woods, and deep into the location where he’d been offered up.

Another year, and another sacrifice was complete, as the job was well done.

The Hollow could relax, and enjoy the bounty of what had come their way, and expect more good tidings.

Thomas had been more than a good offering.

He’d been a fantastic one.

As all of his clothing was left behind, a memorial of sorts, the hole where his remains were placed was covered over. It was hidden in the middle of the reservation forest where seldom foot traffic went.

Unless someone knew where to look, Thomas would never be found.

His spirit had already appeased their ruler, and now, everything would be as it should be.

Peaceful.

Orderly.

Calm.

Thanks to Thomas Adsila, no one would suffer the wrath of the Wendigo for another rotation around the sun.

And for that, The Hollow was grateful.

It was time to sleep and to be at peace with the reservation.

It was blessed.

It was purified.

It was watched over.

There would be nothing to worry about, and eventually, the neatly folded clothing would disappear, an animal carrying it away, or their master taking it as a token of that Summer Solstice.

Either way, the bottom line was this.

The Hollow had satiated the Wedigo and the ancestors who hunted on the reservation for one more year.

Now, The Hollow could enjoy their slumber.

The job was done.

Again, The Hollow was grateful.

It was time to go back into hiding until they were needed again.

In a year.

When the next offering would be made.