Sister Mary Theresa handed over a credit card to pay for the fuel on all seven bikes. “Something like that.”
The clerk rolled up his left sleeve—the white T-shirt turned gray from dust, sweat, and poor laundry habits—to expose a stringy bicep sporting a crude, hand-drawn, blue-ink tattoo. If it hadn’t been bought in prison, he had visited the worst tattoo artist in the state.
The tattoo was of a circular Celtic cross with the motto scrawled beneath: Joy shall be in Heaven.
Sister Mary Theresa smiled and recited, “Joy shall be in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth.”
The clerk grinned, showing a set of badly fitted false teeth. “You know your stuff, sister.” He handed her back the credit card. “Careful on these roads. The devil rides at night.”
“True,” said the nun, “but he doesn’t want to mess with us.”
64
Sally returned to the window and struggled for the best method of escape. The opening was too small for her to straddle the sill, and she couldn’t go headfirst.
She started to panic.
If she had managed to open the bedroom window she would have had all night to escape, but now she might only have minutes—or less.
She turned her back to the window, laid her chest on the toilet lid and walked her bare feet up the wall. When her feet reached the opening, she eased backwards and felt herself slide out into open space. Her dress snagged against the rough wood and began to rise up her thighs, but now was not the time to worry about modesty. When her hips crossed the vertex, her legs dropped, and gravity came to her aid.
Her dress rode up past her hips and became snagged on the ledge. It threatened to smother her as she grasped hold of the windowsill and took one last look at April.
The girl waved just as a key turned in the lock behind her.
Sally cursed and started to swing her legs, aiming for the top of the wall, but the damn dress was blocking her view. She slid further out, the dress ripping, her fingertips screaming from the effort of holding her weight.
She heard April protest that Sally was in the bath, but the words must have fallen on deaf ears.
Helen burst into the room and instantly yelled for help. “Father! She’s escaping.”
Sally swung her legs faster, trying to feel the top of the stone wall with her feet, but there didn’t seem to be anything out there but air.
Hands grabbed hold of her wrists and attempted to pull her back inside, but hoisting a dead weight is entirely different from pushing someone around.
With staunch determination, Sally swung her legs as hard as she could and when they reached the apex of their arc, she released her grip on the ledge.
Her wrists popped free of Helen’s grasp, and Sally went twisting into the night air.
Sally’s FEET HIT the top of the stone wall, and for a brief moment she thought her hips and torso would follow for a perfect ten-point landing. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the necessary momentum to disobey gravity.
She fell backwards, her hands stretched out in disbelief, fingers reaching for the rock ledge that was too far away.
She landed in a patch of newly-toiled garden with soft dirt and horse manure as cushioning. Despite the fortune of her landing, Sally’s breath was forced out of her lungs by a double-barreled punch in the back.
She gasped and wheezed, the immobilizing pain greater than when Aedan had tried to drown her.
Her brain was on fire, telling her to move, move, MOVE, but her body was useless. She wheezed, desperate to fill her lungs with oxygen, but they stubbornly refused to expand.
Stars danced in her eyes until she was on the brink of darkness.
And then, with a sudden jolt, a lock was turned in her chest and her lungs inflated with a deep, agonizing breath.
Sally rolled onto her front and pushed up on her knees. Her eyesight was still blurry, her breathing was pained, but her strength was returning.
She staggered to her feet, free of the house, but still trapped behind stone walls.
65
Aedan stood and waited.
When Sally finally made it to her feet, he waited still. A garden statue made of flesh turned stone.
He watched the agonized red and blue hues retreat from her pale skin and imagined the fog dissipating from her incredible green eyes.
He waited until she raised her chin in defiance and prepared to make good her escape. Then, he moved just enough to catch her eye.
She gasped and tried to run, but he was far too quick. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close.
She struggled against him, the heat and friction of her lithe body warming his own.
He grabbed her hair and yanked backwards, exposing her full face to him. She was scared, but still resistant, and its combination excited him.
With a cruel smile, he leaned down to kiss her. He wanted to crush his mouth against hers, bruise her lips like ripe berries, and suck the last breath from her body. But as his lips neared hers, Sally lunged forward, her teeth snapping like a wolf.
Aedan yanked his head back, but too slowly. Sally’s teeth sunk into his lower lip and held on.
Aedan yelled in panic and tried to push her away, but a low growl escaped Sally’s throat and she began to shake her head, her teeth sinking deeper into his soft, plump lip.
Aedan groaned as he wrapped his hands around the mad woman’s throat and squeezed. Sally’s eyes bulged, but her teeth remained embedded in his lip. Aedan could feel his flesh starting to rip as he squeezed harder until Sally’s eyes rolled back in her head.
He could feel her losing the battle, slipping away, when—
Her right knee jerked up and slammed into his groin with such force that it made his eyes spin in their sockets.
Aedan lost his grip and staggered backwards, temporarily blinded by pain. Sally pushed him aside and turned to run.
She didn’t get far.
Father Black and several elders were waiting. By the time she reached them, Sally was too exhausted to fight.
66
Father Black sat in the living room and waited for his five guests to settle into their chairs. Their unexpected foray into the garden had woken everyone and splashed a spot of color onto their cheeks.
Sally’s last attempt at resistance was weak, and it had taken little effort to return her to her room behind lock and key. Quieting April down had been more problematic, but Mother had managed, with the help of Aedan, to remove her from the house.
Once Father Black was satisfied his guests’ attention was refocused, he began.
“Our church is in crisis,” he said. “I know this is not a surprise to those members who have endured the storms over the years that have seen the four founding families reduced to one.” Father Black locked his gaze on each guest. “It is not the erosion of these families that is to blame, for this church was founded by one man, one family. As it began, so shall it continue.”
A hand was raised. Peter Higgins, the youngest member of their cabal, and one not yet house trained. Father Black ignored it.
He said, “When my father built this church, he asked his three eldest sons to become corner posts in its foundation. To this end, they were each given a house and a new name. The House of Blue represented the ocean and sky; Green was for the land and new growth; White symbolized light and air. Upon my father’s death, I inherited the mantle of Black, the keeper of shadows and the mortar upon which all others are built.”
The hand was raised again, a nuisance, but Father Black continued to ignore it.
“My father was more than a man of faith, he was also a visionary. He believed that by building a church on four equal footings, it could continue beyond the collapse of any one house. He could not have foreseen the weakness and cowardice of my brothers that would leave everything upon my shoulders. I have been blessed with the duty of carrying this church for more than two decades, but with the return of the Seer, I believe it may be time to rebuild and expand.”
Four of th
e five men nodded their heads in agreement, while Peter glanced around in confusion.
“Tomorrow, the Seer will walk the path once more and bring to us the answers needed to reignite the faith of those followers who have grown weak. During that glorious ceremony, I shall announce that my son Aedan will take on the mantle and full control of the House of Blue. He will move into this house and restore its name, while Mother and I mark our return to the remodeled guardianship next door. It has been a difficult journey, and this house has offered safe sanctuary, but I finally feel ready to reclaim my father’s house, the founding House of Black.”
All five men applauded as Father Black turned his attention to Peter.
“I shall also announce that Peter will re-open the House of Green that has been handed down from my brother Nicholas. Nicholas and his wife died in a recent tragedy in Portland with no one to guide their way. Fortunately, it was not before their son had the foresight to return to his roots and his one true family, the church.”
The other four men applauded loudly at this announcement, and Peter beamed at the attention.
Father Black continued, “To cement his return and prove his faith, Peter has also chosen a traveler for tomorrow’s ceremony. It is our hope that this traveler will help guide the Seer to a wiser course of action.”
One of the older men cleared his throat. “The Seer is clearly troubled by her role. How do you plan to change that?”
A murmur erupted between the men, but Father Black silenced it by raising his hands in a calming gesture. “The Seer is troubled. Just as her mother was troubled before her. It is part of their nature, which is why they need a strong hand to guide them. My son has assured me, he will be that hand.”
“He didn’t look so strong in the garden when she was trying to escape,” said the same man who had spoken earlier.
“That was unfortunate,” said Father Black. “But—”
“It won’t happen again.” Aedan entered the room from the kitchen. His lower lip was swollen and bruised, its unhealthy color matching the burned side of his face. “She is clearly disturbed, and I have treated her too gently. The gift can be a curse to those who possess it. My uncle paid with his life to keep the Seer under control. I vow to you that I will do no less.”
“Can we be sure she’ll bring us the message tomorrow?” asked the man. “Today’s ceremony was a disaster. The look on Florence’s face. She sent her mother on the Journey, only to have that… that…” He sputtered, unable to find the right words.
“She will deliver the message,” said Aedan. “I will make sure of it.”
“Well, you better,” said the man. “I fear our congregation will not survive another calamity.”
Another man spoke up. He had ginger hair and a smartly trimmed goatee. “You speak of rebuilding, but I hear no mention of the House of White.”
Father Black’s eyes glistened darkly. “The House of White shall not be resurrected.” He absently touched a faded six-inch scar that ran across his throat. “My brother’s betrayal had deep roots that left no heirs. The House of Black shall absorb the House of White, unifying both corners into one.”
Father Black noticed there was no applause for this decree, but neither was there dissent.
67
Kameelah gunned the Jaguar along the empty interstate and Jersey thought she appeared relieved to be back in control. Giving her pride and joy over to another person, never mind to a member of the untrustworthy male species, had been, in Jersey’s mind, a huge compliment to the trust they had built in such a short period of time.
Kameelah rolled down the window to get some air blowing in her face, and Jersey worried that neither of them was as alert as they ought to be for traveling at high speeds in the middle of the night.
He was about to say something when his cellphone rang. He answered it with a yawn.
“Sorry,” said a young male voice, “did I wake you?”
“Hardly,” said Jersey. “Who’s this?”
“John Underwood, Idaho Statesman.”
“Isn’t it past your bedtime, John?”
“Definitely, but your call earlier inspired me to go over some old ground.”
“Three blinded women?”
“I believe there may be more.”
Jersey stifled another yawn. “Sorry,” he apologized, “it’s been a long day. Go on, I’m listening.”
“I phoned the parents of the two women whose murders I originally looked into. Neither of them appreciated my serial killer angle at the time, but they were at least grateful that I was doing something, unlike the police. We got to talking and I discovered a link I never knew before.”
“Which was?” Jersey encouraged.
“Both women were adopted when they were young girls.”
“Coincidence,” said Jersey.
“Possibly, but I managed to track down the parents of the third victim, the one up in Canada, and it turns out she was adopted, too.”
“It’s still slim,” said Jersey, although his tone betrayed an increased interest.
“The Canadian family is expat American,” said the reporter. “When I dug further, I discovered all three girls were adopted from the same state agency in Bismarck.”
“That’s an odd connection,” Jersey agreed.
“I would have called you earlier, but I had difficulty gaining access to the agency’s computer records. There are at least two more unsolved murders of young women in this general area that match those first three. The police reports make no mention of missing eyes, but I’ve managed to link their names to the agency. Those victims were adopted as children, too.”
“So what’s your theory?” Jersey asked.
“Someone’s hunting these girls using their adoption records.”
“Why?”
“Beats the hell out of me. Maybe the killer abused them when they were kids and is now trying to cover it up before they come forward. It could be anything.”
“Or,” Jersey said, thinking aloud, “he could be searching for one specific girl. He kills the ones who turn out to be false leads just to scratch their names off his list.”
“Now that’s twisted,” said the reporter.
“You’ve done good work, John.”
“Thanks. Now, any chance of a quote so I can build a story from facts rather than theory?”
Jersey laughed. He liked the kid’s spunk. “Give me twenty-four hours. Then, I’ll give you all the quotes you need.”
68
Sally lay on the bed, her mother’s patchwork quilt clutched tightly in her hands.
Fear was gone. In its place was rage.
It wasn’t just adrenaline, it was some primal need to punish. Twenty-five years of running. Running from a nightmare, running from the blood and the fear and the agonizing pain of the night that destroyed everything.
She couldn’t, wouldn’t, run anymore. It was time to plant her feet and make a stand.
Father Black had been firm but not overly rough when he dragged her back to her room and locked her inside. He hadn’t berated or beaten her. He had simply uttered a chilling warning: “Your spirit shall be broken.”
Her biggest danger was Aedan. Twice she had bested him; both times by surprise. He wouldn’t take that lightly.
She rolled off the bed and crawled underneath, her arm stretching to its full extension until her fingers found what she was looking for: the broken knife. The handle was heavy and what was left of the blade was barely a nub, but its snapped tip had a ragged edge sharper than its blade ever did.
Sally returned to the bed and slipped the weapon under her pillow. Its presence gave her a momentary feeling of comfort.
69
Aedan, his head lowered in supplication, stood before his father. Despite his meek posture, rage coursed through his body and made the veins in his neck vibrate like high-tensile cables.
“The future of this church is in your hands,” Father Black said. “I’ve told the elders of my plans for both
you and the church, but unless the Seer can deliver, I fear it will be all for naught.”
“I will make her talk,” said Aedan.
“But how?”
Father Black walked to the fireplace where photos of his dead brothers and their families stared out at the desolate room. He picked up one photo that showed Sally as a child of no more than four. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her mother’s neck, her eyes peeking out from between the long curls of her mother’s red hair, while her father looked on. Only the mother was smiling, and in her eyes there glistened something akin to madness.
Father Black said, “Until shortly before the end, her mother was a true believer. A Seer of extraordinary talent, she guided our followers to the other side with such enthusiastic relish that… ” he chuckled, “that I often felt jealous it wasn’t my turn.” He turned to his son. “Salvation’s years away from the church have made her blind to her gift. How do you plan to make her see?”
Aedan bared his teeth. “I will plunge her neck deep in blood until she—”
“But,” Father Black interrupted, “violence isn’t working. She isn’t afraid of you.”
Aedan bristled. “I will step up—”
“She’s a Seer,” Father Black interrupted again. “She knows the path, she’s seen the Journey. How do you threaten someone who doesn’t fear death?”
Aedan stayed silent, knowing his father’s question was meant as rhetorical, something for him to think upon while he slept. But in his mind, he already knew the answer: Make her fear living.
70
When his mother and father were asleep, each in their separate bedrooms on the second floor, Aedan returned from his cabin.
He crept up the stairs to Sally’s bedroom, unlocked the door, and slid inside. A labored whine emanated from the bed as though the sleeper was wrestling with demons.
Walking softly, he crossed to stand beside her bed. She had kicked the blankets off and was lying on her stomach, bare except for a pair of white panties, her torn and mud-splattered dress tossed in a heap on the floor.
Speak the Dead Page 19