Though if she left Reaper too far behind, she’d be in absolute darkness, so the odds of her finding the spiral steps up to the big house were worse than poor, and if she got lost down here, fell down, hurt herself – just the thought made her want to scream.
Besides which, if she ran, Reaper would probably shoot her.
‘Where are we going?’ Her voice sounded scared, hollow.
‘To Pike,’ he answered.
Her heart seemed to flip over in her chest.
‘You took him.’
‘Obviously,’ he said. ‘Keep on walking.’
He was breathless, and she could hear a wheezing, different from Osborn’s, almost a creaking sound in this man’s throat and chest, and maybe, if she was incredibly lucky, he might collapse, might die. She wished for that suddenly, had never wished for anyone’s death before, though collapse would be enough, would be better, because then he’d have to answer for what he’d done …
‘I know these tunnels very well.’ His voice echoed spookily. ‘I’ve known them most of my life.’
‘When you were a boy?’ she asked.
‘When I was a boy who believed that the Angel of the Lord was speaking to me.’
She thought she heard a dreamier quality in his tone, and maybe she should try keeping him there, in the past …
‘You came down here then?’ she asked.
‘As often as I could.’
She waited, but he didn’t elaborate.
‘How come?’ she asked.
‘You have to realize that I wasn’t the same person then, Ms Plain. I’d say that I was probably a rather sweet, deeply religious boy who adored his mother and had good reason to dislike and fear his father. That boy loved Bible stories, but John Tilden disapproved, made the boy’s mother’s life wretched over it, so the boy needed a place of his own, where he felt safe, could be himself.’
The switch to third person was fascinating, even in these circumstances, and Liza realized abruptly that she should be recording this, and as smoothly as she could, she put her numb right hand into her pocket, felt for the camera’s red button and pressed it, could only hope that the built-in mike would pick up his voice, because for one thing, this was evidence, and for another, it was the most extraordinary interview she was ever likely to undertake.
‘How did you know about the tunnels?’ she asked.
‘Stop a moment, please.’ Reaper’s breathlessness was worse. ‘I need to rest.’
She stopped, turned. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Never better.’ He leaned heavily on his cane, went on talking. ‘The boy was in Saint Matthew’s one day when his mother was praying – she’d pray for hours sometimes, and though he was religious, he was still just a boy, so he got bored, went exploring. He knew about the undercroft – everyone did – and that day he went down there, and no one was around, and he was inquisitive as well as bored, so he wandered into the archive room, kicked at a rug, discovered a trapdoor and opened it.’
‘And went down? Just like that?’
‘Not that day, but once he knew it was there, he felt drawn by it. And one afternoon, not long after, he went into church with his pocket flashlight, hid until the vicar had gone out, opened the trapdoor, used a wedge of paper to keep the hatch open, found the ladder and climbed down.’
‘Wasn’t he scared?’
‘Only once, when he thought he was lost, but he prayed for help and found his way back, and after that he knew why he’d been sent there. It was his place to pray and read the Bible without John Tilden knowing, without his mother getting yelled at or slapped. So next time, he went back with two candles and matches, and that was when he found his actual place. It made him think of the tomb, the sepulcher that Christ had lain in before his resurrection. It was perfect.’
He took a breath, and his cough came.
‘Damn it.’ He coughed harder, then cleared his throat and straightened up. ‘Onward, Ms Plain.’
They began moving again, and Liza wondered if he could hear the faint sound of the camera working in her pocket, maybe even see its red light.
‘He had to stop coming down for a very long time, after they put him away,’ he went on. ‘But he never forgot it, and so, when he got out of the Ames, and after he attacked the vicar at that other church and went on the run, he came to the obvious place.’
‘Back here.’
‘I think he hoped it might give him peace, help to restore his faith, and briefly he even wondered if the Angel had sent him on a long detour via the Ames. But he had to be practical, had to eat, find a way to survive, so after he’d rested a while, when he knew it was the middle of the night, he went back up to the street and helped himself to food from the garbage outside his father’s restaurant. And a dog started barking, and the vicar had reported the assault, and the Ames had alerted John Tilden, so when the dog woke him, he called the cops.’
Reaper paused again.
‘And that was the very end of the boy who believed in angels.’
Above ground, in the nave, limbo was continuing to take its toll.
Eddie Leary, Mitch Roper and Stan Nowak were side by side now in the ninth row, had made their latest move after Stephen Plain had finally joined forces with Keenan, organizing makeshift ‘bathroom’ arrangements, utilizing basins and vessels stored beneath a cloth-covered table in the narthex; and neither Michael nor Joel had raised objections, and people were now waiting in line in the south-west corner, those nearing the front turning their backs to give an illusion of privacy.
Michael had noted the young men’s move, had decided that splitting them up again might lead to altercation, perhaps even to another tragedy, so he was just leaving them be, keeping an eye on them, and had advised Joel to do the same.
Limbo wearing thin now all over.
SEVENTY
‘I didn’t come back down here again for years,’ Reaper told Liza.
‘Till you got out of Garthville,’ Liza said.
‘It was long before that,’ he said.
She realized then that he’d moved back to first person, had left young Joshua Tilden behind, and if she weren’t so afraid, Liza knew she would be riveted.
‘Stop, please,’ he said.
She turned, saw that he was leaning more heavily on his cane.
‘I carved myself a quite bearable existence in Garthville,’ he went on. ‘I toughened up physically, earned myself a job working for the gardener. They grew vegetables at the prison and sold them to the public. We never got to taste them.’
Liza longed to sit down, the weird light making her unsteady.
‘Film me, if you like,’ Reaper said. ‘I know you’ve been recording my voice.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Just while we’re taking this break.’
She organized the camera and he tilted his flashlight helpfully upward, lighting his face from below so that he resembled some Halloween creature.
‘The gardener was lazy and greedy, very easy to play. It started out with him letting me fetch and carry, pick up heavy stuff outside. He’d give me his wheelbarrow and the keys to his truck, even the code for the entrance gate he used. He’d have been fired or worse if he’d been found out, but he thought I was naïve and liked having a dumb, unpaid helper. He sent me for compost, plants, bricks, pizza, whatever he wanted. If I got caught or gave him up, he said he’d deny everything, say I’d stolen his keys and the truck and the code, and no one would believe me.’
‘So you got to go out,’ Liza said after a moment.
‘I started running my own little errands, got myself a thieving sideline. Money’s important in places like Garthville. I always brought him gifts: cash, a few cigars, something for his wife, left them under the spare tire in the truck. It kept him on side and left me enough to buy what I needed, even to save a little. He got nervous the first time I was gone a little longer, but we worked things out so I just had to be back for room checks. Security was lax back then, some of the guards bribable,
but I always took care to make it back on time.’
He paused for breath.
‘So did you ever come back here while you were out?’ Liza asked.
‘Oh, yes.’
She waited.
‘I earned access to the library, mapped out my missions there, calculated how long I’d need to reach a destination, then get here – to my place, which you’ll get to see for yourself soon – then get back to base before the gardener gave me up or had a stroke.’
‘What kind of destinations?’
‘Churches, mostly. Houses, sometimes.’
‘To steal from?’
‘Mostly.’
She saw his smile curve meanly, felt a terrible, creeping sensation.
‘What else?’ she asked.
‘You’ll see,’ he said. ‘Stop recording now, please.’
‘I’d like to hear more,’ she said.
‘Don’t be selfish, Ms Plain. Think of your grandfather and the others, waiting.’
She held onto that, told herself it meant they would, ultimately, be going back, and he waited and watched while she turned off the camera, and on they went.
Not very far this time.
She knew before they stopped again where he was taking her.
The tunnel Nemesis had counted as fifth from Shiloh Oaks.
The tunnel with the worst stench.
She thought she realized now what the stink was.
Wanted, desperately, to be wrong.
Tried, and failed, to block it up at the back of her mind.
Pike.
‘My heart!’ Patty Jackson cried out suddenly. ‘I think I’m having a heart attack!’
Her stricken voice cut through the semi-dozing mood in the nave, made people all over sit up, alarmed.
‘Mom?’ She turned to Ann Jackson, both hands clenched in the center of her chest. ‘Pain. Real bad.’
Across the aisle, one row along, Stephen Plain stood, looked around, found Michael Rider. ‘May I?’
‘Please,’ Michael said. ‘Go.’
‘Oh,’ Patty Jackson said, and collapsed against her mother.
‘Patty!’ Mark Jackson jumped up. ‘Oh, my God!’
‘All right,’ Stephen said. ‘Let’s get her lying down in the aisle.’
Jackson carried his daughter from the pew and laid her down.
Stephen knelt, put his cheek to the middle-aged woman’s mouth. ‘She’s breathing.’ He put two fingers to her neck, checked his wristwatch and concentrated.
‘Is she OK, Doc?’ Jackson asked.
‘Quiet please, I’m taking her pulse.’ Stephen paused. ‘OK, she’s back.’
Patty was white-faced, staring up at them. ‘What happened?’
‘You’re OK.’ Ann Jackson was kneeling too, stroked her hair. ‘The doctor’s going to take care of you.’
‘Patty, can you describe the pain?’ Stephen asked her gently.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, still scared. ‘Bad.’
‘Is it just in your chest or anywhere else?’
‘Not in my arm,’ she told him. ‘In my back, though.’
‘Panic attack?’ Rosie Keenan had come from the front and asked the question softly.
‘Possibly not.’ Stephen twisted around to face Michael, behind them in the aisle. ‘She needs to get out of here.’
‘Not possible,’ Michael said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Of course you are.’ Stephen turned back to the patient. ‘I’m just going to listen to your heart, Patty, OK?’ He bent low, rested his right ear against her chest. ‘I know this seems a little strange, but with no stethoscope …’
‘It’s OK,’ she whispered.
‘Just be still and quiet for a few moments.’
He listened for a while, then straightened up. ‘I think you’re going to be fine.’ He turned back to Michael. ‘But we really do need to get her out.’
‘You people wired those doors, you son of a bitch.’ Mark Jackson’s face was scarlet. ‘You must know how to defuse them.’
‘Just one door,’ his wife said. ‘Please.’
‘I don’t know any more about those wires than you do,’ Michael said.
‘Doc,’ Joel said, feet away. ‘Can I help at all?’
‘Don’t you even think about touching my daughter,’ Jackson snarled.
‘I’d like to give Patty an aspirin,’ Stephen said.
‘Does anyone have any aspirin?’ Michael’s voice was loud and clear.
‘I do.’ Rosie ran back to where she’d left her purse.
‘Is the pain any easier, Patty?’ Stephen asked.
‘A little.’
‘Here.’ Rosie came running back.
‘Good.’ Stephen took the tablet, then gave it to Patty. ‘I want you to chew this. It’s bitter, but don’t swallow it, just chew.’ He smiled at her. ‘I think this might just be some kind of reaction to all this upset, Patty, but it might possibly be angina.’
‘Not a heart attack?’ Ann Jackson asked.
‘I don’t think so.’ Stephen kept his voice low. ‘Hard to be sure. We need an ECG and other tests. But for now, Patty needs to be kept calm and quiet.’
‘Hear that?’ Mark Jackson marched up to Joel. ‘Hear that, you scum?’
‘I’m not the one yelling,’ Joel said, and walked away.
‘Don’t you turn your back on me!’
‘Mark, stop it,’ his wife pleaded. ‘You’re just making things worse.’
Michael and Joel crossed in the aisle, eyes searching around, both edgy and vigilant, shotguns gripped, and Joel stopped. ‘I’m not going to have another death on my conscience, Isaiah.’ His voice was low but desperate. ‘We need to get Reaper up here, get him to open a door so we can at least get her out.’
‘I’m not sure he’ll do that,’ Michael said.
‘We have to try. You have to talk to him.’
Michael knew that Joel was right, and he’d been burning to get down below, to find out what the hell was taking so long, to make sure, more than anything, that Liza was safe. Now he glanced around. ‘You’ll be on your own.’
‘I don’t care. Just tell Reaper I won’t let another innocent person die, tell him.’
‘What’s happening?’ Keenan had come up behind Michael.
‘Joel wants me to persuade Reaper to let the sick woman out.’
‘What if he won’t agree?’ the vicar asked.
‘Then I’ll get a door open myself,’ Joel said.
‘You know how to do that?’ Keenan asked.
‘He does not,’ Michael said. ‘Don’t do anything nuts, Joel.’
‘He won’t,’ Keenan said. ‘I won’t let him. You go, Michael.’
It felt crazily good to hear the vicar use his real name.
‘Just go,’ Joel echoed.
Michael turned, headed for the undercroft door.
His mind flying now, his thoughts more mixed up, more screwed up, than ever.
Only two things he was sure of.
He had to find a way to end this madness.
And find Liza.
SEVENTY-ONE
‘Turn around, Ms Plain,’ Reaper told Liza.
‘What for?’ A quiver of dread shook her voice.
‘Just do it.’
She turned.
‘I’ve decided I want you to hear my confession.’
‘Me?’ she said, shaken. ‘I’m not a priest.’
‘I wouldn’t confess to a priest,’ he said. ‘In fact, I never imagined I’d have any interest in confessing to anyone, but as tonight has moved along, I find that I do want to. And here you are.’
‘At gunpoint,’ she said.
‘True. But will you hear it?’
‘Not if I have a choice.’
‘You’re a journalist. You must want to hear it.’
‘I’m a human being. I’m your prisoner.’
‘Nevertheless, you are here, and what I’m going to tell you and show you is most definitely newsworthy.’ Reaper paus
ed. ‘And clearly you are still a journalist, because otherwise you wouldn’t have accepted this assignment.’
‘I accepted it so that I could tell the outside world what was happening,’ Liza said. ‘I didn’t bargain on this.’
‘You don’t know what this is yet.’
Fatigue hit her again, like a truck, took any vestige of courage with it.
‘That’s how I’d rather keep it,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But you don’t get to choose now.’
She stared at him, fought to gather back a little strength.
‘What is that terrible smell?’ she asked.
Though she knew.
‘I don’t smell it anymore,’ Reaper said. ‘They say you can grow accustomed to almost anything. It does seem to be true.’
Ask it.
‘Is it Pike?’ she asked.
‘Will you hear my confession, Liza Plain?’
‘You can tell me whatever you want,’ she said, ‘but it won’t give you absolution.’
‘I gave up hoping for absolution a very long time ago,’ Reaper said.
And smiled.
They were not in the office, or anywhere in the undercroft.
Neither Liza nor Reaper.
‘Christ,’ Michael muttered, and went on looking around.
The fire exit at the end of the narrow corridor was still wired, the door leading to the parish hall still locked – was usually kept locked, Michael remembered reading in the notes on the scale drawings, unless some church event was going on.
Which meant they had to have gone down. Reaper had taken Liza down there into the tunnel system through which Michael knew that the others had fled – and was it possible, it struck him now, that their leader had taken her as insurance for his own escape, a hostage in case the FBI knew about the tunnels?
No easy way of finding out exactly where they were. No cell phones, no radios, no means of contact; simplicity keeping the mission safer, Reaper had insisted. Nothing that might draw attention before ‘Revelation’, nothing to aid law enforcement after.
Whirlwind Page 24