Headlights(75)

“How did you know it had to do with the … I mean, is it a creature?”

“Yeah. Maybe. No. I don’t know. And as far as how we knew … we just did. We knew. It was like … you know a person when you see him, or feel him.” He frowns, shifts. “No, that’s not right. I don’t know what to say. We just knew. But this psycho motherfucker. He won’t leave me alone. It’s been years, and I can’t shake him. He’s so—”

“You mean the Witchwalker?”

“No, and please stop saying it. I’m serious, I’m gonna ask you to leave if you do it again. My cellmate. He’s like some kind of freakin’ cult priest in Yampa or something. And he’s obsessed with the case. The chat room I think is like an extension of his weird congregation, and he sends me stuff, wants me to be a part of his cult. I don’t know. I don’t want him talking about me, and I don’t want anyone here saying that … word … more than they need to. It’s serious shit, I don’t want to be a part of it. I am not a part of it.”

“Do you by any chance remember his name?”

“Yeah. It’s Theo. Theo Wharton.”

He looks to Hannah and Freebird. A breeze blows through the canyon, rattling a number of trees. Ryder Smith’s next words hit me like a drunk truck driver:

“But his congregation calls him Father Sky.”





5



Maybe we should say it’s important to keep your eyes to the SKY.

Mona Brown talking about the vase with clouds on it. “My father gave it to me.” The strange emphasis on father, the slight pause. The almost reverent, obsessive, possessive way she spoke about him. The way Tillman got her to speak about him. Father Sky.

My father gave it to me.

Where does he live?

Out in Yam … Yuma.

Did she mean Yampa? Did she stop herself from saying it?

A quick search, and there he is. Father Sky and his Sacred Life Church in Yampa. Right there in the open. Photos of white-linen-wearing worshippers sitting in the grass around a white dome, faces tilted toward the sky.

I remember suddenly. The flyer I saw in the Mama Tried bathroom on my first night back. FEELING LOST? FIND YOURSELF IN YAMPA. The same slogan running along the bottom of the webpage now for Sacred Life Church. Fuck. It was right in front of me. Could he have known that was my bar? Could he have put it there intentionally, to fuck with me?

Father Sky, Theo Wharton. Ryder Smith says he is Wizdumteller. The guy in the chat rooms who predicted the killings would start again. Could that mean he’s the same one orchestrating them? Seems not too crazy a jump. My pulse races.

I walk toward the car, Hannah following. We may have found him. This might really be it.

And I realize. I don’t have backup, I don’t have anyone.

We’re fucked, have been. Hannah and me. But maybe, maybe if I tell the others, bring them in, maybe there’s an out for us.

I get back in the car, agitated, ready. I feel so certain that we have found something huge here, that feeling pressing in on me.

This is it. I don’t have to be on the run. We don’t have to be. This could, and should, clear Hannah and me. Right? Hannah walks toward the car, Ryder Smith watching both of us leave from the barn. My heart pounds, adrenaline coursing through my body. I hesitate, try to decide.

And I do something that either is the best decision I’ll ever make or the absolute worst.

I know Jack’s number by heart.

I send him a text that might very well save, or end, my life as I know it.

I tuck the phone away just as Hannah gets in.

Theo Wharton. Goes by Father Sky out in Yampa. He’s Wizdumteller. Almost 100% sure. We’re on our way.



* * *



The Sacred Life Church is a round white-stuccoed earthen dome in the middle of a November-brown field with blue water in the lake behind it, pines covering the flattop mountains beyond. Hannah stands on the other side of the car, her eyes intense, darting around the field.

It took us almost two hours to get here, taking the route through Burns, staying off 70 and main roads as much as we could. We hoped for no cameras. The whole time my heart racing. I don’t know if I did the right thing texting Jack. I don’t know. We could leave, we could just let Jack and the team deal with Theo Wharton. But this place, this property outside the small main town, this sprawling acreage among the rolling hills and mountains. It feels so charged. Feels alive. A thrumming around all of it. I want, need, to see.

Hannah seems to respond to it too. Scans the property for the source of the strangeness. For a second, that glitch, and I think I see shadows. Everywhere. Eighty. One hundred. Maybe more. Spaced at intervals across the property.

Then I blink.

And there’s nothing.

Just quiet. Wind across the open field.

Hannah’s eyes cut to me. I look at her face, every part of me on high alert. And she narrows her gaze for a moment on me, her nostrils flare around the nose plug.

“You’re nervous,” she says.

I shake my head and lie. “No,” I say.

I start the walk across the field to meet Father Sky.

At the edge of the dome, I pause. Wait for Hannah to catch up. She’s hanging back, a little. I don’t know if it’s the strange feeling on the property, or if it’s whatever she’s seeing in me. Probably the fact that I am feeling now that I might have made an irreversible mistake in texting Jack. I just don’t know. Denver is farther than No Name though, I don’t know how long it will take for them to get here, if they come. Maybe it’ll take care of itself. I can cuff Theo Wharton and leave him for them. But I need to be sure.