“Why?”
“Your arm is injured, Bart. Do you remember how it happened?”
Bart looked at his arm. The flannel shirt was stained, looked like grease to him.
Puzzled, Bart said, “for the life of me, I don't know how I got that grease on this shirt.”
“Your arm, Bart.”
Bart rolled up the sleeve. “This does not look like a hospital issue. Don't you think you're overreacting?”
Kat followed Bart's eyes, not wanting to see what lay beneath the terrible stain she had seen growing over his arm when she walked in.
There was a red oval, darker lines within the oval, but that was all. As she watched, it seemed to be disappearing.
“What the …? That wound was much more serious. I know it was.”
“You need sleep KittyKat, or maybe glasses.” Bart smiled at her. She couldn't help but smile back.
“Can you tell us what happened?”
Bart thought, his mood darkened and a look of fear flickered across his features.
“Suffice it to say that those Tillwater twins are going to see a jail cell, and soon.” Bart had gotten up, a bit unsteady but seemed to be regaining his strength with each breath.
“Well, we need to see if you can arrest those twins or if they are beyond your help at this point.”
“They have to be around; at least one of them was here! Looking ghastly but here! After I arrest them, I need to have a word with our prime suspect. He can tell us who his accomplice is. I want this finished once and for all.”
Bart stormed out. Kat watched him disappear into the night.
“He shouldn't be by himself.” She dashed after him.
“I'm not leaving her alone, coming Lucas?”
They caught up with Kat and headed for the Tillwater place.
The twins’ house was vacant. Lights were on and the door unlocked, as was the custom of Ravens Cove.
“Not here, but I'll find them. You bet I'll find them.” Bart was on the hunt and stomped down the street in search of his quarry.
“Why don't we go to the top of the ravine, just to humor me?” Ken asked.
Bart stopped. “Fine.” He made a quick left turn, power-walking up Main Street to the path beyond that skirted the ravine, went past the river and ended at the inlet.
He turned. “Kat, I don't want you to come with us. Just in case. And, Pastor Lucas, I don't want you to come, either.”
“With all due respect, sheriff, I know you don't believe what happened to you. But I do. I need to come along. And from what I understand is happening here, you need me. Think of me as your secret weapon.” Paul's weak smile was full of worry and concern.
“He helped us a lot with you, Bart, you can't deny it.”
“I lost control of this investigation when you showed up, Melbourne. He's your problem. Let your superiors come down on you.”
“Kat, I'm walking you to Grandma's house. Now!” Kat followed, grateful but finding it hard to make much progress because two men flanked her and another took up the rear. She was thrilled when they reached the house. They all watched her walk inside and waited until they heard the door lock click before they turned and headed to the ravine.
Kat leaned against the door, both palms extended against it, as if she were ensuring they would not follow her in. She had never felt so suffocated by good intentions in her life.
When she heard their footsteps and voices fading as they walked down the street, she relaxed. She pushed herself off the door, went into the kitchen, sat at the comforting table and began to pour out the evening's events to Grandma Bricken.
Trepaner had flown through Bart's roof and back to the ravine. Not able to rebel against the command of that man of God, he delivered the message to Iconoclast. The roar could be heard from the center of the earth to the heavens. Iconoclast gathered Trepaner in his paw, rolled the black mist into a ball and threw it through the earth's crust into the spirit world of hell.
He felt no threat from this stupid messenger of the Holy One. But, in calming, he also knew he was up against more than he'd bargained for and he felt a little—and just for a moment—of the fear that he had caused so many over the centuries.
All three men, almost up the hill to the first hag tree, heard the scream, a death scream.
“Moose lost to a wolf, I'm sure,” Bart said, not instilling any confidence in himself or the others. They continued up the rise.
It was a moonless night. The cloud cover ensured that.
Bart had taken the lead. His yelled when his foot hit a large substance and tripped. Paul caught him before he went face down into the ravine.
“That was close; too close!”
Paul reached into his pocket. The jingle of keys preceded the flash of a small penlight that illuminated a foot. Everything went dark again when the key ring plopped to the ground.
A bigger light replaced it. Bart scanned the flashlight up and down the obstacle he had stumbled over.
“I guess I won't be arresting the Tillwater twins, after all.”
The two lay face-to-face, grinning into each other's purple and black eye sockets. In this light, they looked to be one body with two faces.
“That's the junk I saw on your front porch.” Paul pointed to their eyes.
Bart ignored him, went for his gun, and came up empty-handed.
Ken took the cue and pulled his gun. Bart shone the light all around the ravine, the dark swallowing anything farther than a few feet away. They listened. No footsteps. In fact, nothing was moving, not even the trees.
“The guy couldn't have gotten far.”
“Nope.”
“It's not a guy,” Paul said.
“Well, it sure wasn't no girl!” Bart said.
“I mean whatever did this wasn't human.”
“Pastor Paul, I believe you have done all you can here. Why don't you go home?”
At that moment, a low, bone-chilling growl came from within the ravine. “Yes, leave, Man of God! You can do nothing here.”
Ken and Bart felt a sudden chill.
“On second thought, maybe you'd better stay,” Bart said.
“You remember what happened, don't you, Sheriff?”
Bart nodded, the memories rushing back like a bad dream having to be relived. “I had a nervous break.”
“No. You were possessed.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Who came to see you tonight?”
“John Doe, the first victim.”
Kenneth snapped his head around to Bart. He opened his mouth to encourage Bart to go home and rest. He shut it again when he realized he could not explain why Bart had been a lump on the floor one minute and back to himself the next. He had no logical reason that explained a bleeding wound that didn't exist or a stinky, black mist that rose out of Bart right after they prayed over him.
“All of a sudden, I was in grade school again, bullied by Mikie Colmbs, my nemesis until his family moved when I was thirteen. I had forgotten about that. But there I was. Being beat up and ridiculed. All I could grasp, all I could say was what Colmbs had always said, ‘I'm a loser and always will be a loser,’ or something like that.” He paused.
“Then the thing bit me; felt like a spider bite, but a hundred times more painful. Then I blacked out until I saw you three looking down on me.”
Paul nodded in understanding. Ken's eyes were wide as Frisbees, not knowing how to respond to a fellow officer having a breakdown.
Paul spoke first. “We are in for a battle, gentlemen. Our town is under siege, Sheriff, but not by humans. I was wrong to doubt Josiah Williams; we need to go talk to him. He knows much about this thing. I believe God sent him here to help us.”
“He's a suspect.”
“Did he come out of his cell and murder these twins, all by his lonesome?” Ken asked. He was beginning to believe Paul's side of things. Facts weren't adding up and he had seen too much that could only make sense in the supernatural. Not to mention that weird voice that came from th
e ravine. Maybe in the light of day he'd think himself foolish; standing here in the eerie silence, he believed Pastor Paul.
Paul turned toward the town, an unobstructed view from this height. “What's that light?”Both men turned.
“Something's on fire!” Bart said, smoke drifted above the lights of the town. He sprinted toward town while punching a numbers into his cell phone to alert the volunteer fire chief.
Chapter 10
The Betrayal
Reverend Plotno stood outside his beloved domain, smiling with satisfaction as he watched the firelight that was illuminating the dark sky. The smell of smoke was perfume to him and made him smile even larger. “Goodbye to you Paul Lucas and to your insignificant church! Goodbye.”
He turned and marched back into the Congregational Alliance to light incense and praise the guardians for his victory.
Alarm grew in Paul as they came closer to the source of the smoke and light. “Please God, please. Not the church!” He began to jog.
It was his church. It was burning and worse, a mob stood in front of it cheering with each snap of a burned beam. His heart broke. His resolve almost broke with it.
“Why, God, why?” he whispered, tears running down his face. “Have I been so wrong in Your calling?”
The crowd began to push in on him. He knew these people; they were parishioners of the Congregational Alliance, each and everyone. The victorious gleam in their eyes said it all. They were succeeding in running him out of town. They knew it.
Bart knew a mob mentality. He was sure that Paul was in physical danger. He had never seen such hate in the people of Ravens Cove. He put himself between Paul and the throng.
Ken came up and stood beside him, his gun drawn. The crowd stopped.
“What is wrong with you people?” Bart yelled. “This man is a member of our town! He has been for months. What has he done to you?”
“He lies. All he preaches is guilt and fear!” someone screamed. “He's not welcome in this town!”
“That's not your call, Erwin.”
The horde pushed forward.
Bart and Ken held their ground.
A rock whistled past Ken's ear. He cocked the gun.
Bart stayed Ken's hand. “You people go home before something happens we will all regret.
No one moved.
“Get out of here, or so help me, I will arrest each and every one of you right here, right now.”
Grandma Bricken, Kat, and a few members of Paul's church had appeared out of nowhere. They stood, unified, with Ken and Bart.
Paul began to pray. The members of his church joined him, holding hands, bowing heads.
A small dirt cloud rose up in front of the group. It started to twirl. As it did, a cold wind began to blow. It increased in strength until the throng could no longer hold their ground. Erwin fell backward. A second fellow followed. It was like life-size dominoes—one by one they toppled, falling into the person behind.
The dirt cloud disappeared as fast as it had become visible and the wind stopped.
Confused and frightened, the crowd scattered.
“What was that?” Ken spoke to Bart out of the side of his mouth.
“Not a clue.”
“Sometimes, God answers prayer in a way no one can dispute. I believe it's called a miracle.” Grandma smiled at them both.
The fire department arrived and doused the fire before it spread to the adjoining houses.
“You can't do anymore here, Pastor, until they put that fire out and we can assess the damage,” Bart said.
Paul lifted his red, tear-stained eyes to Bart's clear, angry ones.
He lowered his head again, saying, “Your will, Father, not mine be done.”
He, Ken, and Bart turned from the wreckage of the beloved little church.
As they walked toward the sheriff's office, he overheard his parishioners discussing where to hold their next service and how to recover from the loss.
His spirit lifted because God promised to make bad work for the good of His beloved children. The tragic fire and frightening mob had done just that. His small congregation had come together. The horrible loss was a blessing.
Josiah was standing at the cell, waiting, it seemed, for them to arrive.
Bart grabbed the keys from his desk drawer, walked down the tiny hall to the cell and unlocked it. He turned and headed back to the main room of the office. Josiah followed.
“Mr. Williams, I need you to tell us what you know about the chaos that's erupting in Ravens Cove.”
“I believe you know the answer to that. Your real question is, ‘how do we stop it?’ “
“Back to that confounded legend, is it?”
“The truth is the truth.”
“In order to fight this thing, though, we must first get more information from Alese Bricken.”
“Grandma Bricken?” Bart asked, unbelief edging his words.
Silence was the answer.
“Last I saw her she was praying with Pastor here,” Bart pointed his thumb toward Paul Lucas, “and other churchgoers.”
“Then that's where we go.” Josiah Williams grabbed his hat, plopping it atop his head as he reached the threshold of the door.
Kat saw them coming before Grandma did.
“Now what?”
Grandma put her hand on Kat's upper arm. “I believe they are here for me, Katrina.” She stiffened and took in a deep breath. She had never met the man beside Pastor Paul, but she knew him. She had passed it off as an old woman's fancy and had forgotten about it—until now.
She released Kat's arm and stepped forward to greet them.
“Why don't we go to my house and I'll make some tea?”
Kat stared at her grandmother in shock and disapproval when she linked her arm through Josiah's as if she'd known him all her life. She motioned for the others and Kat to follow.
“There's a lot I need to tell you, Josiah Williams,” Grandma Bricken said, smiling into his eyes.
Josiah patted her hand. “Indeed there is, Ms. Alese; indeed there is.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” Kat said to Bart as they followed the duo up Main, left on Willow and right on Wild Rose to Grandma's immaculate cottage.
After she finished pouring tea in her best company cups, Grandma Bricken set the brightly colored teapot in the middle of her large round table.
“I believe you know the story?” She was speaking to Josiah alone.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Well, the part of the story that has been kept secret in my family for as long as this story has been passed down is the way to stop this thing and send it back to hell where it belongs.”
Kat's eyes opened in surprise. Hell was another word, no matter the context, that was not used in grandma's presence. Even when trying to discuss Dante's Inferno, grandma would not allow her granddaughter to use the word. Made for a more difficult than normal discussion.
Grandma patted Kat's hand, knowing she had just shocked her granddaughter. Time for the girl to know she wasn't always as prim and proper as she had seemed.
“This thing has a pet, for lack of a better term. It is his lure and it is dangerous. Looking into its pulsing lights is hypnotic. Once spellbound, it cuts them and takes possession of its victim. This pet must be taken from Iconoclast. If they are separated, his power diminishes. More importantly, if this thing is taken from Iconoclast, he loses his reign of all the areas he has had dominion over since the fall of man. But if he holds onto it, then he will obtain his fifth victim and he will destroy this town and anything living in or around it. That would be bad enough. But, if it succeeds here, then it will be powerful enough to do this all over the world, wherever it has dominion.”
“And how are we supposed to get this pet?”
Grandma Bricken shook her head. “The legend doesn't say. All it says is that one who is destined to be God Almighty's child, must be lured by the pet to be the fifth victim. It must be a soul snatched from the very hand of God.�
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“I don't know how this thing could ever get a fifth victim, then. God's people are never taken from God's hand.”
“I know, Pastor. This is why that thing still resides on this earth. But, this is the closest it has ever gotten, at least from all the history that has been handed down.”
This peculiar posse, brought together by the events of the last twenty-four hours, sat in silence. The weight of her words heavy on each of their hearts; even those that were having trouble believing this fairy tale, felt a trouble in their guts that could not be explained away.
His obligatory thanks given, the Right Reverend Plotno stood once again on the steps of his small kingdom, overlooking the destruction of that annoying church. The odor of burnt wood drifted to his nostrils. He smiled in satisfaction.
So close behind him that it might as well have been one with the Reverend, stood Atramentous, who had grown even darker as the destruction of that small church was completed. He, too, was smiling.
Anita came running up the steps, breathless from the run and the night's events. “Isn't it wonderful?” she whispered, while sliding her hand into Plotno's, giving it a slight squeeze.
“It is indeed.” He looked happier than she had seen him in months. He looked as cheerful as he had been before that Paul Lucas had invaded their town and brought such derision to it.
Anita put her free hand in her coat pocket feeling for the present she had prepared for Plotno. One of his many weaknesses was a good cigar. And, Anita knew the one cigar he coveted. She had bought one for him, a gift of her heart, she told herself, while in Anchorage a few months back. She hadn't known it was turn out to be a gift of his heart as soon as he smoked it. And it was even more exciting because she knew he thought her a dolt. He believed he was controlling her. For a while he had. A memory she detested.
Tonight, my love, the tables will be turned.
Anita had disobeyed his command that she go to that small, awful place and spy on that small, awful congregation. She had instead gone to her basement. Once there, she felt like the sneaky child she had always been. She lived for the thrill that came when she was ‘bad.’ Rebellion and secrecy were an intoxicating elixir. When she practiced the black arts, the intoxication became so intense that she could only equate it to having finally made love to a long-forbidden beau.
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