Finally his whispers broke the near silence that surrounded them. “Cassie ... I think I’ve got a little problem here,” she heard him say.
“What is it?”
“I can’t find my nitro.”
“Nitro? What do you mean, nitro?”
“As in nitroglycerin. I usually carry a bottle but I can’t find it anywhere.”
Without saying another word, Cassie slipped out of her pew and joined Alan.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s my heart. I’m having some chest pains and little difficulty breathing.”
“You’re having a heart attack?” Cassie couldn’t believe her ears. She had no idea Alan had been having problems with his heart.
“It’s nothing, really. Just a little angina. I get it occasionally. I just take a couple of nitro pills and relax for a few minutes and the pain goes away. It’s nothing to worry about. But I don’t have any of the pills with me. I must have left them at home.”
Cassie’s own heart nearly stopped beating in the next instant as Alan flinched painfully, grabbing at his chest with both hands.
“Alan, what can I do? Are you going to be okay?” she whispered desperately.
“I ... I think I really need my nitro, Cassie.” Alan forced the words through clenched teeth.
“But ...” Cassie raised her head until she could survey the entire church. If only she could let Mac and Father Mike know what was going on, but she couldn’t, she realized. As desperate as Alan’s situation appeared to be, nothing could be allowed to interfere with their catching the murderer.
As if he had read Cassie’s thoughts, Alan urged Cassie not to say anything to Mac or the priest. “I’ll be fine if I can just get my bottle of tablets,” he told her.
“Look, I can still hold up my end of the plan,” he said as he painfully reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small handgun. “If you could just run out to my house and get my pills, I’ll be fine. You’ll find a bottle of them on the lower shelf of my medicine cabinet.”
Cassie glanced at the pistol resting in Alan’s palm. Though small, it looked deadly. As much as she hated all that it represented, she was relieved to see that Alan had brought it. Looking at it made her realize that she had no choice but to do as Alan requested. She had to get him the medicine he needed.
Glancing longingly at the front of the church, she realized she must go without letting Mac know she was leaving. The priest knelt before the alter intoning his prayers. Mac, still out of sight, lay in wait for their anticipated visitor. To go up there now might be all that it would take to completely destroy their chance of catching the monster who haunted Port Bellmont.
No, her responsibility was clear. Keeping low so that none of her silhouette rose above the pews, she crept to the far end of the row. She held her breath as she slipped past the benches and crossed the aisle to the side of the sanctuary. Unlocking the side door, she slipped through, being careful to turn the lock behind her, remembering how important it was that only the main door be left open.
Still hiding in the shadows as much as possible, she ran from the church, heading in the direction of Alan’s house far out on the headlands, praying that Alan would be all right until she returned.
Though she knew she was doing what she must, her anxiety at leaving her post was nearly overwhelming.
If only she had been able to let Mac know she was leaving!
Chapter 13
Cassie hurried along the path, ignoring trailing wisps of fog that edged up over the ocean’s cliff, hovering close to the grass covered earth. She had walked this trail too often to have trouble following the path, even on the foggiest of nights.
Before, when she had walked this trail, she had paused to admire the view, to savor the scent of a wild flower, to watch a gull take flight. But none of the rare beauty of the seaside setting touched her tonight as she hurried to accomplish her mission. All she could think of was that she must hurry. So much depended upon her getting Alan’s medicine to him as quickly as possible.
Duel fears ran through her: the desperate need to catch the killer and now Alan’s heart condition. How sick was he really, she wondered. Had he concealed a serious heart condition fearing that Myra wouldn’t love a man who was not perfect? Had he been keeping his illness secret for months?
Her pace increased as her worry deepened. She must hurry and get the pills back to him. What if she didn’t make it back in time?
Skirting around a large boulder, she gave a huge sigh of relief as she came upon the old, straggling fence that separated Alan’s house from the broad, otherwise empty, headlands. She was almost there.
Her hands searched blindly for the opening she knew was near. Knowing that no one could see her from this point on, she threw aside all need to hide as she sprinted across the last few yards to the front door.
Running up the steps to the screened-in porch, she reached into her pocket for the key to the front door. It wasn’t there. She frantically shoved both hands into the pockets of her jacket, her fingers wildly searching until, with a joyous pounding of her heart, she felt the cold metal deep in the corner of the first pocket she had searched. She slipped the key into the lock and stepped into the entry hall of the rambling old house.
She had taken only a few steps into the house when she was suddenly enveloped by a chill so severe she felt as if her very bones would freeze. Holding her jacket tight, she fought the shivers that gripped her. How could Alan live like this, she wondered.
And then the thought occurred to her that it was actually colder inside Alan’s house than out of doors, suggesting that instead of heating the house, he had left his air conditioner running full force.
The sudden drop in temperature had temporarily taken her mind off of her mission to find Alan’s medicine and get back to the church as quickly as possible. Putting her curiosity about the house’s temperature aside, Cassie trained her flashlight ahead of her and proceeded to the bathroom at the back of the house. Luckily she had visited Alan with her mother a number of times and was quite familiar with the layout of the house and had no problem finding her way.
Entering the bathroom, she rushed to open the medicine cabinet. Her hand was already reaching for the bottle of nitroglycerin when she realized there wasn’t one there. Darn! Where could he have possibly put it, she wondered.
Not worrying about making noise so far from town, she began a hasty search of each drawer in the old fashioned bathroom. The room had at least twenty small drawers, which was not uncommon during the era in which the house had been built.
She slammed one drawer shut and was reaching for another when she thought she heard the front door opening.
She froze in place, listening.
Silence.
Still she waited, her heart pounding a wild staccato in her chest.
Nothing.
She stood there for a few moments more, willing her pulse to slow. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she turned back to her search but froze in place once again. Was that the squeaking a floor board?
Clicking off the flashlight, she stepped into the shadowed corner. She held her breath as she strained to hear even the slightest sound.
Several moments passed in total silence, with the only sound the pounding of her own heart. Still she waited, and once again only silence filled the house.
Finally, certain it was her own imagination that had furnished the noises, she returned to the search. Only now she was far more cautious about making noise, though she was sure no one was near enough to hear the opening and shutting of drawers. She realized her nerves were stretched to the limit. So much depended on her finding the nitro and getting back to the church in time. She should have been on her way back to the church by now.
What if she couldn’t find Alan’s medicine, her fevered brain asked as her fingers swept through yet another drawer. Was his condition seriously dangerous? If the killer struck before she got back, would Alan be strong enough to do his part in pro
tecting Father Sullivan?
Just as she was on the sharp edge of panic she felt a small glass bottle at the very back of next to the last drawer. Her hopes rising, she brought the bottle into the beam of her tiny flashlight.
Yes! She had it!
But then, just as her heart soared with relief, she felt herself being grabbed from behind. Powerful arms circled her chest so tightly she had to fight for breath. She desperately sucked in enough air so that she could scream for help.
As if her captor had read her thoughts, he released one of his arms from her chest so he could cover her mouth with his hand which was large, nearly covering her nose as well as her mouth, threatening to cut off her air supply.
She twisted frantically in his arms, her desperate need for air more powerful than her fear. But the more she fought his grasp, the tighter he held her. She fought for each breath as he began to drag her from the room. None of her kicking or twisting seemed to have the slightest effect on him as he pulled her across the hallway and into Alan’s bedroom.
No! her mind screamed, as he pulled her toward the bed. He wouldn’t rape her. No matter what it took she wouldn’t let him. He’d have to kill her first, she vowed.
But rape wasn’t on his mind, she realized, as he ignored the bed and pulled her to the closet. He was going to tie her up and leave her there, she thought. Good. She could escape from there, she was sure of it. Her body relaxed for a moment as relief swept over her.
But then it tightened again as he twisted around behind her. In that moment she realized she was not to be so lucky. Pushing clothing aside, he forced the combined weight of their bodies against the back of the closet. With a creaking sound, the wall swung open and Cassie felt herself being dragged into a dark, cold chamber.
Evil! She had never experienced such a strong sense of evil.
A fresh wave of panic overwhelmed her, filling her body with almost superhuman strength. She had to get away!
She fought savagely with the arms that held her, but to no avail. The arm around her chest tightened even more, preventing oxygen from entering her lungs. The hand on her face pressed harder, holding her nose shut, cutting off every trace of air.
The last thought she had before losing consciousness was that she would die this night without ever knowing who had killed her. A deep sadness filled her at the thought that she would never again see Mac, that she would never have the opportunity to tell him how very much she loved him.
“Mac!” Cassie’s voice sounded clear in the stillness of the church.
Startled, Mac stepped out from his hiding place. He glanced at Father Sullivan and was surprised to note that the priest had apparently not heard Cassie’s voice call out. Without uttering a word, Mac stepped to the side aisle and, staying within the shadows, made his way to the back of the church.
“Mac, help me!”
“I’m coming, sweetheart, I’m coming.” His heart raced with fear as he sprinted the last few feet to the back pews where Cassie and Alan had been positioned. The back of the church was empty. He should have known.
Her first awareness as she regained consciousness was of the scent of burning candles. The ludicrous thought that she had somehow fallen asleep during a Wiccan ceremony flickered through her mind in the instant before she returned to full reality. It was the tight binding that held her firmly by her arms and legs to a hard, narrow bench that reminded her of where she was and the precarious situation she was in.
Eyes still tightly shut, she strained against the bindings, testing their strength. A fresh surge of panic swept through her as she realized that she was completely powerless against this monster who held her captive.
Forcing the panic aside, she slowly opened her eyes. The dancing light of dozens of candles flickered across the ceiling. Turning her head first to one side and then the other, she saw that she lay upon a table draped in black velvet and that she was surrounded by burning candles of all shapes and sizes.
The walls of the room had been painted a dark blood red and had been covered by the most hideous drawings she had ever seen. Huge mouths gaped open, displaying fangs dripping with blood. Enormous eyes stared at her, glowing with an evil so great as to be terrifying. Clawed hands reached out, grasping for victims.
And she was to be the victim, she realized with a sudden clarity.
“Ah, you’re awake at last. That’s very good. I would have hated to be forced to proceed without your undivided attention. Your presence makes it so much more enjoyable.”
“Alan?” Though she could see him clearly enough, Cassie found it difficult to believe her own eyes. Yes, it was Alan Boatright, but a far different Alan than she had known these past five years. The Alan she had known had been so kind and caring, the very personification of the word ‘gentleman’. But this man … this thing! She could find absolutely no trace of the man she had known and respected in the eyes of the creature who stood before her.
“Welcome to my home, Cassie. I’m so happy to have you here. You can’t imagine how badly I’ve been wanting to see you just as you are.”
His voice, his eyes, everything about him reeked of evil. A wave a revulsion swept through her at the thought that he might touch her at any moment.
“Let me go, Alan. We’re friends. You know you don’t want to hurt me.”
“But I must, you know. And, you are very much mistaken - I do want to hurt you. Very much,” he continued in a velvety smooth voice. “I need your pain, Cassie. I need to feel your suffering. I need to feel your heart pulsing in my hand in that moment after I have severed it from your body and it still beats. And I need to taste your blood.”
“No!”
“Oh, yes, yes, yes. Oh, I can see you don’t understand, and I feel that it is very important that you do. You see, I want this to be perfect. For both of us. Yes, for it to truly matter, you must be a part of the sacrifice. A willing partner.”
“You’re insane, Alan. No one in their right mind would ever expect me to go to my death willingly. If that’s what you’re waiting for, you might as well let me go right now because it’s not going to happen.”
“Oh, Cassie, you’re such an innocent child,” he replied, “Of course I can’t let you go. You’re mine now, don’t you see? Where once you belonged to your mother, now you are mine. And by taking you into me, by devouring your still pulsing heart, I take a part of her into myself as well. As you and I become one, I draw her to me. She should have come to me herself and all this could have been avoided. She would have been mine and I would have been hers. Together we would have ruled. I was willing to share it with her, all of it, but she rejected me.”
“You can’t blame what you’ve done on my mother, Alan.”
“Blame? Who’s blaming? I praise her! I glorify her! Because of her I have grown, I have become powerful, more powerful than Satan himself. I rule because of her. My love was a weakness but my hatred has given me a strength beyond any mere mortal’s wildest dreams. And while my love could not hold her, my hatred will make her mine.”
“She’ll never belong to you, Alan. Though she cared for you as a friend, she’d never come to you the way you are now.”
He was going to kill her, Cassie knew that with a deadening certainty, but she’d be damned if she’d go without having her say. Nothing she could do at this point would save her life. She might as well have the satisfaction of telling him exactly what she thought of him.
“This thing you’ve turned into is hideous and you think you’ll win her like this?”
“Win her?” His laughter was hollow. “Of course I won’t ‘win’ her. I have no desire for that any longer. No, I won’t win her, but I will possess her. When I take you into my body, I take part of her. And as you become me, she will not be able to resist the urge to come to me, to offer herself up to me. And I will take her.”
Light flickered across his features, revealing his madness as he reached for a dagger. Drawing himself to a full standing position, he raised his arms high above his
head, the dagger clutched in both hands.
Cassie’s eyes were drawn hypnotically to the weapon. For an instant only the dagger existed, floating high above Alan’s head, candlelight glittering from its polished metal. And then the sickening realization hit her - it was Myra’s athame. She was to be killed with her mother’s own sacred tool.
She wanted to scream, to call to someone, anyone, but she could force no sound through her panic-tightened throat. Though she willed herself to yell loud and long, her terror kept her mute.
And then she heard it, the muffled sound of the front door being forced open and the voices of Mac and Father Michael. Just knowing they were near calmed her enough to force her voice through her constricted throat. Her first scream was weak, but the second resounded from the bare walls, filling the room with noise.
“Scream, you bitch!” Alan roared as he stretched himself to his fullest. Arching his back to gain more momentum, he lowered his arms in a rush, forcing the blade of the dagger toward Cassie’s heart.
At the moment of the dagger’s decent, there was a tremendous crashing sound behind Alan as Mac burst into the room. Instantly, with no time to take aim or even consider an alternative action, Mac raised his gun and fired, striking Alan in the middle of the back. The force of the shot threw her captor off his feet, pushing him forward so that his full body landed on top of Cassie.
For one horrifying moment Mac feared that the dagger had reached its target. But then, thank God, Cassie turned her head to look at him. Candlelight reflected from golden eyes that spoke of love, relief, gratitude, not of pain. His heart soared as he rushed to her side.
Alan’s heavy body pressed down on her, forcing the air from her lungs. Still held firmly by the bindings at her wrists and ankles, Cassie could do nothing but wait patiently while Mac and Father Mike pulled the man’s body from her and cut the leather thongs that held her tight. But she didn’t complain. They had saved her life and their faith in Myra’s innocence had helped to save them all.
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