Kraven arrived at the school to a scene of absolute, baffling chaos.
Flashing lights—red, blue, white—strobed across the parking lot, making the falling, misty rain glitter. There were two cruisers, an ambulance, and a fire truck. A crowd of teachers and late-practice students was being held back by a frantic-looking patrolman.
"What the hell happened, O'Malley?" Kraven barked, pushing his way through. "Report said a... what? An explosion?"
"I... I don't know, Detective," O'Malley, a kid fresh from the academy, stammered. "The janitor called it in. Heard a... a 'crack,' like 'dry lightning.' Then a... a 'crunch.' He came out... and... and just... look."
Kraven looked. And he stopped.
His brain... just... stopped.
It was a '79 Camaro, or what was left of it. The driver's-side door was... caved in. Not... not hit. Buckled. The hood was bent. The windshield was a glittering, shattered mess.
And there were four... kids... being loaded onto gurneys. Broken bones. Concussions. One of them—Dickson, he recognized him, his old man was a drunk who Kraven had arrested a dozen times—was being put in a neck brace.
"Jesus Christ," Kraven muttered. "Drunk driver? Hit-and-run? Where's the other car?"
"That's the thing, sir," O'Malley said, his voice a squeak. "There is no other car. There's no... there's no paint. No... no skid marks. Nothing."
Kraven's blood went cold. "What?"
"They... they were just... there. The janitor... he... he says he saw two other kids... running. A boy and a girl. Ran off... toward the woods."
"So, a... a fight?" Kraven said, his mind refusing to make the math work. "A fight did... this? To a car?"
"I... I don't know, sir."
Kraven was already moving, his cop-brain finally kicking back in. "Get their names. Get the other names. The runners. Find out who they are. I'm going to the hospital."
An hour later, he was standing in the antiseptic, buzzing hell of the Oaktown Hospital ER. Three of the kids were in surgery. Broken femurs, shattered collarbones, massive concussions.
But Dickson... Dickson was awake. Sort of. He was in a neck brace, his arm in a cast, his face a swollen, purple mask. And he was terrified.
"Kid... Dickson," Kraven said, his voice intentionally soft. "I need you to tell me what happened. Who did this to you? Was it a... was it a car?"
Dickson's eyes, the one that wasn't swollen shut, darted around the room. He was breathing in short, panicked hitches.
"No... no... no car," he whispered. "It... it was... him."
"Who, son? Who's 'him'?"
"The... the freak," Dickson gasped, and a tear of pure, animal terror leaked from his good eye. "Bruce... the ghost. Anah's... kid..."
Kraven's gut clenched. Bruce. He had no idea who that was. But "Anah"... he knew that name. The old woman in the woods. The town "witch."
"Bruce... he... he pushed you?" Kraven asked, his voice still level, still soothing, though his internal alarm was screaming. "He... he hit you with a... a bat...?"
"NO!" Dickson screamed, a raw, gurgling sound that made a nurse jump. "No! Not... not pushed! Not hit! He... he... he just... looked at me! And... and... and his eyes..."
Dickson started to sob, a ragged, terrified, broken sound. "His... his... his eyes... they were black! Just... just... black! All... all black! No... no white... just... black!"
Kra-ven froze. "What are you talking about, son?"
"And... and... and the air!" Dickson panted. "The air... it... it... it went CRACK! He... he shoved me... but... but he... he didn't touch me! He just... he just... he looked at me... and he... he... he threw me with his mind!"
The kid was hysterical. He was in shock. He was babbling.
Kraven, the logical cop, the man of paper and procedure, knew he should dismiss it. Shock. Trauma. A... a... a hallucination.
But Kraven, the man with the impossible M.E.'s report in his trench coat... the man with the impossible spiral map back at his office...
The man who was hunting a thing that took hearts...
He stared at the babbling, terrified kid.
"He threw me with his mind."
"Black eyes."
"Impossible."
He now had two impossible cases. And they were both... in Oaktown.
"Who," Kraven said, his voice a low, cold, dangerous whisper, "is Bruce?"