Damoren Read Online Free PDF Page A

figured was once a cafeteria by the size of it. A glint of bright pink and white shone from a pile of refuse near the corner, its distinct lack of dust making it stand out. As he approached, he realized that it was a woman’s sneaker laying atop a torn and filthy pair of jeans. Brown smears, the color of dried blood, stained the light blue denim.
    Carefully, he pulled them aside to find a small figure of a young woman woven from bundled leaves and strips of grass. The hair, made of yellow, finer grass than the rest of her, was pulled back in a ponytail, except for short bangs in the front, which hung just above her eyes.
    Rachel Fidell. She had died here. The monster had devoured her unborn baby, killed her, then ate its fill of her before dumping the body for animals to fight over. Afterward, it had made the doll. Matt didn’t know why, it was just something they did.
    The bottled water was still unchanged. Matt scooped up the grass figure and jammed it into his jacket pocket. Later, he’d burn it along with any others he might find.
    Keeping Dämoren out front, he searched the rest of the cafeteria, but found nothing. He checked a few more rooms, sprinkling the gray powder across their doors once he was done, then moved on. Aswangs favored higher points to make their nests, but Matt wanted to be sure before turning his back to the first floor.
    Grimy metal stairs led to a catwalk above. Slowly, he followed them up, his footsteps making metallic pings on each step. Once at the top, he followed the walkway past several large bins rising from the floor below. Rusted chains hung from the ceiling like hideous vines. The walkway ended at a steel ladder leading further up. The rust-flecked bolts appeared secure. Matt holstered his pistol, pocketed the water bottle, and climbed.
    An alcove opened up to the right, near the top. Heaps of what looked like crumpled canvas covered the floor. The stink of rot came from somewhere behind the filthy folds. Matt looked up. Light peeked through the gaps in the trapdoor above. He checked the bottle again. Still pink. Holding tight to the cold bars with one hand, he stretched out until his foot found enough purchase on the landing. The concrete floor was thirty feet below. In one quick move, he swung over the gap and into the alcove.
    Bird feathers and bits of fur littered the lumpy canvas nest. Other objects lay strewn about as well. A silver watch. A few rings. A pair of green plastic-framed glasses. Anna Kurner had been wearing a pair just like them when she vanished.
    Matt spied a gray rectangle of corrugated tin, lying a little too intentionally placed among the chaos. Drawing Dämoren, he crossed the uneven floor and slowly lifted the flimsy metal. A red plastic file envelope. Blocky letters written across the front in black marker read ‘Matthew Hollis.’
    A knot of fear balled in his gut. He looked around, half-expecting to see the barrel of a gun pointed at him, maybe a red laser beam, but no one was there. Matt turned back to the package and read his name again. Of all the things that could have been under that scrap of tin, this was the one that he hadn’t prepared for. He holstered his weapon and picked up the envelope. Licking his lips, he unwound the white string from the plastic button holding the flap closed. Inside, he found a bundle of papers held together with black binder clips. A typed letter on thick paper rested on top.
     
    Dear Mr. Hollis,
     
    As you can see, we’ve been aware of you for some time. While we have always made it a point to not interfere with your activities, developments have arisen that have forced our hand into contacting you.
     
    Matt stopped reading and flipped the pages. The first page was a printout of a web article from three years ago, detailing a multiple homicide and arson outside of Atlanta. The bodies of nine young women, possibly prostitutes, living in an old farmhouse had been discovered. The remains of nearly a dozen more terribly