by Blake Pierce
Adele felt anything but calm.
She raced toward the third door on the left. 3G. She stared at the lettering, and gasping, reached out, knocking hard. She shouted. “DGSI! Mrs. Danis, are you all right!”
She waited, listening. Somewhere down the hall, she heard a neighbor’s door open with a click.
“Stay inside,” she shouted over her shoulder. She slammed her fist against 3G again. “DGSI!” she yelled.
No answer. She stared at the door, pondering. No way she could just kick it in. Something was wrong.
She raised her gun, pointing it at the door handle. “Stand back!” she shouted.
She fired twice, angling her body so the bullets wouldn’t ricochet. The door handle snapped, and the door clicked. She reached toward the shattered handle, and this time kicking out hard, sending the door careening inward.
She stood, framed in the doorway, and it took her vision a moment to adjust on the horrifying scene within.
An older woman, with a towel wrapped around her, was lying on the floor in the hall, struggling and gasping.
A man wearing a monk’s habit stooped over her, snarling, his features stretched in preposterous ways. His hands wrapped around her throat, and beads pressed to her neck, choking the life out of her.
The woman strangled a gasp for air, reaching a hand toward Adele, one hand trying to push back the man choking her.
“You remember me?” the man was saying, his eyes fixed on his victim. “Did you miss me?”
“Get off!” Adele screamed, finding her voice with a swallow, her gun raised.
If the killer heard her, he gave no indication. He hunched like a gargoyle over his victim, his arms strained beneath his monk’s habit, spittle flying from his lips as he muttered quiet musings.
The woman’s face was turning blue. She was no longer choking or struggling as much. Adele breathed heavily, aiming now, her finger squeezing the trigger.
But at that moment, the killer seemed to notice her and continued strangling, but ducked low, pressing his cheek against the victim’s, whispering, “Did you miss me, Mother Candela?”
Adele noticed one of his hands was missing part of its thumb where it gripped the rosary wrapped around the older woman’s neck. Adele hesitated for a brief moment, gun raised. She didn’t have a clear shot. She refused to be responsible for someone else dying.
With a snarl, Adele sprinted forward, racing along the hall and jamming her gun into her holster.
She charged the killer, leaping through the air before she’d covered half the distance. The killer, though, finally reacted. He spun over the choking woman, trying to distance himself from Adele. She hurtled past, tripping over his form where he remained hunched, throttling.
“Get away!” he screamed. “Get away! You dare interfere! Go!”
“It’s not her!” Adele screamed, reaching down and grabbing the man by the neck now, trying to yank him free. “It’s not Candela! It isn’t!”
“How do you know about her!” he screamed, and then tried to add something else but now Adele’s arm had gripped his throat tightly.
He choked and spluttered and one of his hands released the rosary, stretching back and groping toward her to try and rip her off.
Adele held on for dear life, choking the strangler, trying to keep him from moving. His other hand released now, and his would-be victim let out a sudden, moaning gasp, accompanied by a pitiful whimper.
The killer went for Adele’s fingers now, trying to crack a pinkie back. She yelled, releasing her grip and jerking her hand away. At the same time, the killer spun around, lashing out at her with untrained but wild abandon.
“Get back!” he screamed. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”
Adele didn’t hesitate. She darted forward and tackled the bastard off the victim. Shoulder hit chin. Face hit carpet. Pain. A loud thud.
Both of them crashed backward into a door, sending it jarring into the bedroom.
For a brief moment, Adele spotted blood-spattered blankets and droplets of crimson on the floor. But then, just as quickly, the man struggled, pushing at her. He shifted and kicked, his features stretched in horror and fury, his eyes wide, mouth gaping. “Get off me!” he screamed. “Get off!”
“Stay still,” she gasped, trying to hold on. But he was strong, very strong.
With a shout, then a scream, the man flung her bodily with almost unnatural strength. She slammed back into the wall, stumbling over the gasping form of Mrs. Danis.
Adele tripped and got to her feet again, circling, trying to reach for her gun. But the killer lashed out, slamming his fist into her wrist. For a brief moment, his stretched, leering features settled into a furious glare.
He had a thin mustache, and wild, bugging eyes. He was breathing heavily, with a chin that seemed equal parts masculine and rigid, as if perhaps he might have lockjaw.
He had scars all along his cheeks, down his neck, over every visible portion of his body that she could see. His hands were laced with scars and cuts, some of them still fresh.
Adele gasped silently, struggling for control of her weapon. If he grabbed it, it would all be over.
The man screamed and huffed, snarling like a wounded animal. She kicked out once, twice, trying to slam her heel into his shin. He howled in pain.
Adele stumbled back, tripping over the fallen form of Mrs. Danis.
The woman groaned—still alive. Still holding on.
Adele again fumbled for her weapon, free once more with space between them.
The killer glared at her, gasping, watching as her gun began to raise, and he cursed, shoving toward her, fast.
Adele felt his oppressive weight land on top of her, sending her reeling back. His fingers scrambled for her neck. She yelled, trying to bite at his hand, her teeth grazing flesh. Blood now poured down the man’s arms from his back, speckling her and landing on the ground around her with quiet taps.
For a moment she just struggled under his oppressive weight, kicking. As he drew nearer, she saw the lines in his skin, not just scars, but wrinkles. She felt a flash of realization. He was strong for his age, but still old.
She lashed out, trying to kick.
Her foot caught him in the fork of his legs, and he howled in pain, loosening his grip for just a moment.
She went for her gun a third time, but again with a snarl, he grabbed his rosary from where it lay discarded, draped across Mrs. Danis’s neck, and this time lashed out at her with it.
He slammed the beads against her throat, his other hand arcing in as well. With his knee, he pinned her wrist to the floor, crushing her knuckles and preventing her from reaching her firearm.
“You don’t know what you’re meddling with,” he whispered. “Do you think she missed me? Are you going to tattle? I don’t like tattletales.”
“Get off me, that’s not Candela!” Adele yelled.
But her words fell mute as the rosary pressed to her neck.
Something that gave hope for so many was now being utilized to choke the life out of her. The beads pressed to her neck, hard, shoved against her throat. She let out a strangled gasp, trying to shake her head, to jar the beads loose. She swallowed, but it felt like she was scraping sand down her throat.
She kicked again, catching him once more. He yelled in pain and scrambled back.
She took the opportunity to finally pull her gun free and aim, but he kicked, sending the gun clattering beneath a small table.
This motion, though, distracted him, and Adele reached up, ripping hard at the rosary.
Her fingers burned, the sudden cuts laced across her knuckles. But at the same time, with a yell, she ripped the rosary.
Beads suddenly scattered everywhere, just like the droplets of blood from the man’s back, where she could now see stains throughout his monk’s habit.
The killer howled in fury as the beads clattered around him
He scrambled with his fingers, trying to scoop some up. Now, his weight lifted,
and Adele shoved with her hips, throwing him off.
She lunged for her gun, but felt a hand grab her ankle.
The killer screamed, “You’re preventing the Judge’s work! Don’t you understand!”
His voice echoed with pain, sadness, grief, and rage all at once.
The sheer howl like a banshee’s call reverberated in Adele’s chest, piercing her and for a moment she felt an odd sense of pain.
But then Mrs. Danis let out another gasp, fighting to keep breathing, and Adele focused once more.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he spat.
Adele was done talking, and her gun began to rise. But just as quickly, the killer seemed to reach a decision.
“Not that way,” he spat. “Vengeance is mine. Failure must be punished.”
As the gun rose, he turned, sprinting toward the nearest window, screaming as he did.
“Don’t!” Adele shouted.
At the same time as she began to fire, the killer slammed into the window, the glass shattering amidst blood and spit and sweat as flesh swept out in one giant heave, and the killer tumbled, dipping out of sight.
Adele sat, gasping, breathing heavily. For a moment, she just stared at the smashed window, not quite believing her eyes. But then she heard soft sounds next to her and Adele turned away from the window. She reached out with trembling fingers toward Mrs. Danis.
“Are you okay?” Adele gasped, still breathing heavily. “Are you all right?”
The woman groaned more, moving, but then croaked out in a weak voice, “Help, please help.”
Adele got to her feet shakily, still breathing heavily and wincing where her shoulders had slammed into the wall.
She blinked, dazed, trying to clear her vision and murmuring, “Stay still. Help is on the way.”
She fished her phone out with trembling fingers, her gun still gripped in her other hand, the cold metal rigid against her skin.
“You’re going to be okay,” she said, breathing slowly, feeling a sudden burst of relief. For the first time, she felt like she was telling the truth. “You’re going to be all right.”
Hastily, still hyperventilating, she raised her phone to call for an ambulance.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Adele sat on the hood of the sedan, staring up at the hospital. The vehicle was still running, but making a strange screeching sound every couple of seconds. She supposed the loaner hadn’t been intended for breakneck speeding through the streets of France.
She crossed her arms, sighing softly as she stared at the hospital, waiting… waiting for the news…
She couldn’t enter. Not now.
The last time she’d visited someone in the hospital, they’d ended up dead months later.
She shivered, closing her eyes and staving off a headache accompanied by a procession of accusing images.
No… She couldn’t enter, and so she waited.
Agent Paige emerged through the sliding doors of the glass and white stone hospital. Adele perked up, staring as Paige approached, walking along the sidewalk and drawing nearer. She waited, trying to read the senior agent’s features, trying to discern her thoughts even from a distance.
Paige’s hands were folded daintily in front of her, her eyes fixed on Adele as she approached.
“Well?” Adele asked, staring. “Did they make it?”
Paige shook her head. “Not both of them. The victim did though. Mrs. Danis is going to be all right. Some scarring, no doubt, but she should be fine.”
Adele exhaled slowly, feeling like she was releasing an elephant from her shoulders. For a moment, she felt weightless, sitting on her car, staring at Agent Paige. A silly grin began to spread across her features and she shook her head side to side in disbelief.
“She made it… I don’t believe it. She survived…”
“Good job,” Paige said, simply, nodding once.
And for the first time, it felt there wasn’t anything biting or hostile about the other woman’s praise. She approached the car and turned to face the hospital as well. She paused as if considering whether she ought to sit on the hood of the vehicle. But then, wrinkling her nose in disgust, she remained standing, arms crossed.
“Excellently done. She’s alive because of you.”
Adele swallowed. She closed her eyes. Trust your instincts. That’s what Robert had told her all those times.
She nearly had missed it. She’d nearly failed…
She only just arrived barely in time to save Mrs. Danis.
She swallowed. “Him?” she asked.
“Jonah Baresi,” Paige murmured. “Dead the moment he hit the ground. They had fingerprints from a small-time robbery nearly six years ago. He was nearly in his sixties now.”
Adele shivered, folding her arms together and hugging them against her chest. “He was strong… Very strong.”
“Yes. Also schizophrenic, according to his medical records.”
Adele glanced at Paige, wincing. “So was he really at that convent? The one in Mr. Lavigne’s pictures?”
Paige shook her head. “I don’t know. Probably. Why else would he have done all this? Those nuns must have treated him something horrible.”
“It’s crazy…” Adele said, softly. “How do you fight something like that? How do you fight those who think they’re doing good?”
Paige glanced at Adele. “Define good. That might be a start,” she murmured. “Your methods may be unconventional, Adele. But you pulled it together in the end.” She bobbed her head once, flashing something close to a rare smile. “Either way, we may never know why he did what he did. Things happened in that convent. Things buried. Some secrets remain though. He’s dead. His motives too.”
Adele shivered, shaking her head in frustration. “If walls could talk…” she murmured.
“Even if they could, those old ruins were wiped away, replaced, built over. Even the convent is gone.” Paige shrugged. “I wouldn’t think about it too long. You did your job. That’s all we can ask.”
Adele shivered, staring off. “He was dressed like a monk. Kept talking about… it was so strange…”
“Honestly, I don’t think I care. He’s the bad guy. The woman you saved was the victim.” She patted Adele on the shoulder. “Which makes you the good guy.”
Adele winced at each of these words. She wasn’t sure that any of them were true. The man had been tortured… No doubt. Mentally ill but treated as something monstrous. Was it his fault he’d turned out how he had? And as for Mrs. Danis… she’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong name.
What about the nuns at the old convent? They’d been born in a harsh time, in a harsh world… Adele swallowed, shaking her head. The last thing she felt like was the good guy. She was someone with a badge and a gun slowly descending into turmoil. Something had to change… But she didn’t know what.
If Paige could sense any of the emotional toll of her words, she didn’t show it. She nodded once in approval and in a brusque tone said, “Good job, Adele. I’m heading back to the city—going to report. Foucault wants it in person.”
Adele blinked, snapped from her morbid contemplation. “I—you sure? I can come too.”
“No. That’s fine. You rest. Take it easy, won’t you? The world won’t burn if you take a vacation. Maybe even in Southern France.” Paige nodded once more, then turned and walked away, heading toward the parking lot.
Adele listened to the sound of the older woman’s footsteps click against the sidewalk. As she did, she felt another slow shiver spread across her back.
Case closed, she supposed.
Jonah Baresi dead, though. He took his own life rather than surrender. Three others also dead. Adele winced, closing her eyes at the thought. It was all so horrible. She didn’t know what to do with any of it.
Agent Paige seemed to have changed her tune… Commending Adele’s unconventional methods. Then again, Adele knew the truth. Her methods had only seemed unconventional because
she’d missed the clues. She’d bulldozed past obvious signs… She’d almost arrived too late.
She’d been slow this time around.
Very slow.
She shivered again, still leaning against the hood of her car, staring sightless now across the road and the roundabout out front the hospital.
Should she go in? Say hi to Candace? It might be nice just to see someone who’d survived all of it… To see the fruit of Robert’s training. Trusting his words as well as her instincts.
She shivered.
Maybe she was best suited to stop at the church chapel. Offer a prayer of her own on behalf of the victims… In the face of such violence, such horror, such death… was there anywhere else to turn?
She pictured the missing knuckle on the killer, the rips and tears along his flesh. The sheer fury and rage with which he’d been trying to strangle the life out of Mrs. Danis.
He’d seemed convinced she was his childhood tormentor—convinced she was this Mother Candela.
What all had those old nuns done to make him hate them so much?
Adele shivered, shaking her head and pushing off the car now, her fingers pressing to the cold glass as she rounded the vehicle and moved toward the driver’s side.
Perhaps some questions were best left unanswered.
She’d nearly missed it, this time. She’d been slow, fearful—trapped in her own thoughts. Would she ever recover? Would it ever be like it used to be?
People like Mrs. Danis needed her… But Adele wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep going. Not now… Not with her own business out there—business she knew she needed to take care of.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Adele sighed softly as she exited the taxi, waving goodbye to the driver and coming to a halt outside the main doors to the lobby of her apartment in Paris.