The Forgiving

by Wesley McCraw

  “I landed on the bottle. When I fell.” He sounded like he was apologizing.

  “His shoulder needs bandaged,” Howard said.

  Isabel confirmed that the Puritan woman was still gone and opened the door. The wind rushed in and jingled the chandelier.

  It felt as warm as day outside, despite the darkness. Grip set the lamp on the veranda banister.

  “We should go to the cellar,” Howard said. Grip was looking worse by the minute, his face pale and covered in sweat.

  “Do we have time?” Grip picked at his shoulder wound.

  “What else can we do?” Howard asked, cringing from the sight. “We have no way over the wall.”

  Isabel held up the ax. “I might be able to break off the lock.”

  Lillian, feeble from her imprisonment, was wide-eyed to be out of the house; her spindly arms and hunched back made her look like an excited insect. Daniel bit off the giraffe’s head. They were a motley group.

  “Okay, taking out the glass: bad idea.” Grip staggered forward, blood running from his hand. He turned to show Isabel the wound. Blood gushed in a thick stream from a gash near his shoulder blade.

  “Oh God! Keep pressure on it!” She put her hand over the wound, but bits of glass kept her from pressing hard enough to stop the blood. It felt obscenely wet. “Grip! It's bad!”

  Daniel snatched the lamp off the banister and scampered toward the cellar.

  “Wait, kid, slow down!” Howard still couldn't walk without support.

  Grip reached across himself and replaced Isabel's hand with his own. She went back to Howard and helped him down the steps.

  The kid waited at the southeast corner of the house, the lantern casting his shadow into the front yard. He bounced on the balls of his feet, excited to lead the way.

  The group followed him along the house in front of the huge stained glass window. They turned the corner, and the kid ran ahead to the cellar.

  Isabel pointed the flashlight back to Grip. “Can you make it?”

  Grip stumbled forward but managed to remain on his feet. Together they all descended into the cellar, Daniel leading the way with the lantern.

  14

  Isabel at the Gate

  “Where's the medical kit?” Howard said before they had made it down the stairs.

  Daniel dashed to a chest near the entrance and flung open the lid, banging it into the stone wall.

  Grip sat on a cross. He peeled off his shirt. There was no need; his shirt didn't have sleeves. Dark bruises discolored the tattoos on his torso.

  Isabel set Howard beside him. Daniel brought over the medical supply box from the chest and set it on Howard's lap. Howard got out generic rubbing alcohol and a large pad of gauze. He wet the gauze and disinfected Grip's wound.

  “Shouldn't this be hurting more?” Grip said.

  Isabel put her hand to Grip's cold and clammy forehead. “You're in shock.”

  Howard got out tweezers.

  She realized the implication. He was going to remove more glass. “Howard! You’re not a doctor.”

  “I can’t stop the bleeding unless I get the glass out. I can handle this, Isabel. Hurry, before Ophelia gets back. We need that gate open. Daniel, hold up the lamp. I need more light.”

  Isabel turned away as the tweezers dug into the gore. Grip sucked in air, but besides that, didn't make a sound. She couldn't stay. With the ax, she mounted the steps, but Lillian grabbed her arm.

  “What is it?”

  Lillian's eyes grew wide. She couldn’t speak, but her feeble grip tightened.

  “Is it Ophelia? Is it because Ophelia's coming back?”

  Lillian nodded and let go. She made a scissor motion with her fingers and then mimed using a saw on her arm while Isabel tried to figure out what she meant.

  “Cutting? Sawing? A saw? I don't understand. I'm sorry; I need to go. I need to break the chain. The chain! You know where there's a hacksaw, to cut the chain!”

  Lillian nodded emphatically.

  Isabel turned back to her two men. Howard had already finished removing the glass. “I’ll be back,” she said. “Love you both.”

  “We love you too,” Grip said tightly.

  “Be careful,” Howard said. “I’ll patch Grip up so we can get out of here.”

  Isabel followed Lillian up the stairs and, with a now-dimming flashlight, ran with her toward the backyard.

  Meanwhile, over on the other side of the wall, Zelda Stonecipher climbed off her desk and out her bedroom window onto the emergency ladder. It was dark, but the full moon lit up the night.

  In the Jacobi House’s backyard, Lillian frantically pounded on the shed door.

  Isabel held up the ax with one hand while she pointed the light with the other. “Get back!”

  Lillian stepped away, and Isabel chopped the wood next to the padlock and then with the flat side of the ax, smashed the padlock off. She opened the door, and her light faded out. She propped the ax against the shed and knocked the flashlight back to life with her palm. She shined the light through the open doorway, but the light was too weak, and she had to step forward into the room to illuminate anything.

  Directly inside, there was an old General Electric stove splotched with dried blood. On it was a huge stockpot. Beside the pot, blood spray had splattered the wall where a hacksaw and shearing scissors presently hung from nails. Below the tools, there was a bench covered in clear tarp that ran along the wall. On the bench rested a child's body without a head. At the severed neck, blood had pooled and ran to the floor, too thick to dry completely.

  Isabel screamed.

  The anguished cry sent a chill down Zelda's spine as she held onto the emergency ladder on the side of Stonecipher House. She listened. The scream cut off.

  “Zelda!” It was Alex, leaning out the window. “I’ll pray for you.”

  Zelda hurried down to the yard, afraid her brother might drop the “LAMB” stone on her head. She had to get Dolly back.

  Isabel almost fell as she backed out of the dark shed into the moonlight. “Your twin sister.” It hurt her throat to speak. “She . . .”

  Lillian went into the shed and emerged holding out the bloody hacksaw.

  “She did this?”

  Lillian nodded.

  “How many? How many has she killed?”

  Lillian dropped the hacksaw and went back into the shed. She came back out with the pot from the stove, water sloshing over the rim. She looked at Isabel for a moment and then poured out the contents. Water and a boiled child’s head hit the grass. The hair had come off, and the skin had sloughed away to reveal the red flesh and the yellowish skull underneath.

  Isabel covered her mouth and clutched her face, her mind reeling. “The skulls.” The skulls in the basement were all child sacrifices. There had to be dozens, maybe hundreds down there. She couldn't get her breath. Her stomach rolled up into her throat as she leaned over and heaved.

  Lillian went back into the shed.

  “Where are you going? No more! Please!” Isabel dry heaved again.

  Lillian came back out with the large shearing scissors. She gestured to the head.

  Isabel didn't understand and then remembered the hacksaw had been on the ground. She pushed the head off the hacksaw with her foot. Water drained out the nose and empty eye sockets.

  The flashlight faded out again. She hit at it but couldn't get it to come back alive. She crouched and picked up the wet hacksaw. The moon went behind a cloud, and it became too dark to see. The cult sacrifices had been abstract, just an idea despite the piled skulls, but now the childrens’ deaths were real to her, and she saw them in the black, child after child, sacrificed to save the world from original sin.

  The dark unknown caused a shriek to rise in her throat, but she remained mute and stood rooted in place. Her eyes kept adjusting, but the corn stalks and sunflowers looked like groups of cult members waiting for satanic mass. Despite her efforts to remain calm and quiet so as not to draw attention to herself,
the terrified shriek tumbled out as an alien mumble. She spun and searched for any movement. Whatever waited in the darkness must have heard her pathetic noise. The thing would devour her, drawn to her fear like a hound to fresh meat.

  Light still shined from the cellar. Her one hope. She bolted toward the light.

  Once she reached the entrance, she fell to her knees and called down the stairs, “Are you okay?” She was violently trembling.

  “We're fine,” she heard Grip call back. “Is the gate open?”

  She could open the gate! She had a hacksaw! “Not yet.” She would be brave. She could do this!

  She knocked the flashlight against the ground, but it still wouldn't come to life, so she discarded it in the grass and got to her feet. She held the hacksaw with both hands, ready to attack anything that got near her in the dark.

  The child's eyeless head as water poured out—the image wouldn't leave her mind. Spasms wracked her insides; her body felt out of her control. She stalked toward the front yard, forcing air in and out of her lungs in a steady rhythm. Howard and Grip were depending on her.

  Someone was at the gate. Isabel crouched and froze. At first, she thought it was the Puritan woman in a nightgown, but whoever it was seemed too small.

  Zelda! It was the little girl. She was trying to squeeze through the bars.

  Isabel crept through the shadows by the fountain, trying not to make a sound. She hid her weapon behind her back. If she frightened the girl away, they would lose their chance at escape.

  Zelda, seeing Isabel and Lillian in the shadows, tried to pull back.

  “Little girl!” Isabel was almost too hoarse to speak.

  Zelda wriggled free just as the women reached the edge of the light.

  “Don't go.” Isabel cleared her throat. It sounded like a growl.

  “Are, are you a ghost?”

  “Ghosts are make-believe, sweetie.” Isabel pointed. “Right over there, hanging on that tree . . . There’s a key. All you have to do is get that key and you can free us.”

  Zelda shook her head. The girl looked terrified.

  “No, no, no, be a good girl.” Isabel tried to sound less desperate and started again. “Zelda. You're a good girl, aren't you?”

  “Do you have Dolly? I lost her. I lost her to the House.”

  Isabel had forgotten about the cornhusk doll in her back pocket. She reached her free hand behind her back, trying not to make any sudden movements, and pulled out the doll.

  Zelda gasped with excitement. “You have her!” She glanced around and crept up to the gate. She reached through the bars. Isabel held the doll just out of reach; if the girl got it back, she would take it and run.

  “She’s mine!”

  “First, the key.”

  Zelda nodded and rushed out of sight.

  Isabel waited. Her stomach churned, threatening to rebel again. Please, God! We're almost free!

  Zelda rushed back over with the key, but skidded to a halt just a few feet short.

  “Hurry!”

  Zelda looked down at the key. “If Mother sees me . . .”

  “Just a bit farther. Your dolly needs you.” Isabel made the doll do a little dance.

  Zelda crept forward with the key outstretched. Three feet away. Two feet away. Now just one foot closer and Isabel would have it.

  Then Isabel snatched the key. It was in her hands! They could escape! She reached through the gate and tried to unlock the padlock, but it was difficult to get the angle just right.

  “Give me Dolly!”

  “I’ll give it back, sweetie. I just need to open the gate first.” Finally, she got the key to fit.

  Zelda screamed and bit Isabel’s hand, drawing blood. Isabel pulled back, the key still sticking out of the padlock.

  A dazzling light rose up as a car approached down Ferry Street.

  Zelda shielded her eyes from the approaching headlights. The car turned into the drive and cast the shadow of the gate and the girl all the way to the house. The courtyard was empty; Isabel and Lillian had vanished.

  The Cadillac rolled to a halt beside Zelda. The little girl stepped back, tears running down her cheeks. She had been so close to saving Dolly.

  Ophelia stepped out of the car. She got down and hugged the little girl. “It's okay.” Zelda calmed a little; Ophelia was a close friend of the Stoneciphers and had always been kind to her, giving her candy and referring to her with terms of endearment.

  Ophelia stood back up and straightened her skirt. She looked around. Something wasn't right. The key was already in the lock. “Did you do this? Wait here.” She turned the key and the padlock popped open. She unwound the chain and pushed the gate wide.

  Zelda stepped back, frightened that the ghosts would be released.

  On the gravel drive rested the cornhusk doll. Ophelia picked it up. There was an odd smell, like body odor. Where was it coming from? Maybe the fountain. Sometimes the fountain belched and smelled like the sewer.

  She gave Zelda back her doll. “Now, hurry to bed and pray for salvation.”

  Zelda ran away down the sidewalk. Ophelia walked back through the gate into the courtyard. “Hello?” The headlights illuminated the yard and cast her shadow and the fountain's shadow up against the house.

  “Don’t move!” Isabel stepped out from the darkness and brambles. She had the hacksaw ready to swing.

  Ophelia put her hands up. “What is this?”

  Lillian emerged from the shadows, brandishing her sheering scissors, opening and closing them with a metallic snap.

  “Sister! What are you doing out in the cold?”

  Isabel started to tremble again, though it wasn't actually cold. “I know what you’ve done!”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “The Cross of the Lamb sacrifices children!”

  “Only to save humanity. He hasn’t told you. Oh, dear. He was supposed to tell you by now. Oh, poor thing. It will make things so much harder when the time comes.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Howard. He’s my son. He’s a Jacobi. A descendant of Mary. A savior in a long line of saviors.”

  Isabel backed toward the house. “You’re crazy.”

  Ophelia held her hands out wide. “We brought you to Jacobi House to show you what's happened here, so you could help us end it. Howard has found a way. He should have told you by now. Time runs short. Look at the moon.”

  Lillian pulled on Isabel’s arm. For the first time, Isabel noticed the length of Lillian's fingernails; the wide, discolored, six-inch nails curled in like claws. The hunched woman was trying frantically to get Isabel to flee now that the gate was open.

  “It was his duty as a Jacobi to impregnate the women. We took care of the rest, but he wanted to confess his sins to you. He didn’t want to lie anymore. He’s a sweet boy.”

  “Stop.” Isabel pulled free, and Lillian fell to the gravel. The frail woman looked up at Isabel, desperation in her eyes. She scrambled to her feet, leaving her scissors behind. She dodged past her sister and ran out onto the street.

  “Lillian, stop!” Ophelia yelled but did nothing else to prevent her sister's escape.

  Lillian, in her dirty slip, ran down Ferry Street, finally free.

  Isabel nudged Ophelia with the hacksaw. “Turn around. Give me your keys. Slow.”

  Ophelia reached into her purse, dug around, and gave her car keys to Isabel.

  “The gate key too.”

  Ophelia held out the gate key.

  Isabel snatched it and backed away toward the house. “Stay away from me.” She ran toward the cellar. “The gate is open!” The darkness didn't frighten her anymore.

  She descended into the cellar, excited to tell her lovers that they could finally escape.

  Howard and Grip weren’t by the entrance where she had left them.

  The long anteroom was dark, but candles illuminated the altar room in the distance. Grip had been stripped naked and tied to the rock slab. He still had on
his necklace. Flickering candlelight lit the Garden of Eden. She didn't see Howard anywhere. She crept forward, down into the earth. It was the tableau from the book, only before the snakes were released from the man’s stomach.

  “Grip!” she called out.

  Grip tried to say something, but his mouth was filled with gauze and tied with a bandage. He tried to move, but he was tied securely to the sacrificial altar. If he was trying to warn her, it didn't matter; she had nowhere else to go. She could never abandon him.

  ◆◆◆

  The sidewalk and pavement wore Lillian’s feet raw, and her legs were exhausted. Exercise was new to her. She had been in that room for so long, stewing about her sister and her sister’s husband and then stewing about their child. Standing and pacing weren’t enough to prepare her for this.

  Freedom had quickly turned from joy into a nightmare. The city was different. She didn’t recognize Sellwood, like she thought she would. The night was unkind. People were unkind.

  The pedestrians she came across seemed to think she was some kind of monster. I’m just an old lady. I’m no one. Just an old lady. I’m harmless.

  She wanted to rest, but she couldn’t rest. There was a boy following her. Alex Stonecipher. He had a stone with “LAMB” carved into it. He had been stalking her for miles, mostly at a distance, but he was getting closer. Getting braver.

  Go away! Just leave me alone!

  A few blocks off the main street, she ran up to the porch of a house and banged on the front door. The house looked like all the other houses in the neighborhood. Her sister sold houses, some haunted, maybe houses just like this one. No one answered. I’m just an old lady. I’m no one. I’m harmless. She tried the next house. And the next.

  “Who is it?” asked a woman from inside the third house.

  I’m just an old lady. I’m just an old lady. But Lillian couldn’t speak. She tried the handle, but it was locked. She pounded on the door again.

  “Who is it? Go away. Or I’m calling the police!”

  Lillian sobbed. She had survived her sister and her sister’s husband. She had escaped the house. She had gone as far as she could. She sunk to her knees on the welcome mat and rested her forehead on the door. She couldn’t walk any farther. She was so tired. She just wanted to rest.