The Complete Adversary Cycle: The Keep, the Tomb, the Touch, Reborn, Reprisal, Nightworld (Adversary Cycle/Repairman Jack)

by F. Paul Wilson

  "It's true!" she said. She had risen from her chair and was now moving toward the center of the room. "I told myself I was helping those girls, saving them from shame and disgrace, saving them from someone else who might butcher them or even kill them with infection. And maybe that was true to some extent. But I was also doing it for the money, and simply for the thrill of doing it!"

  The ones who had been called here backed away from her, as if mere proximity might taint them. But Brother Robert saw the pain in her face as she poured out the secret she had locked up for so long.

  "I didn't think of the consequences to those unborn children, those tiny souls. I simply thought of myself as a courageous problem solver. It never occurred to me how many lives I was destroying. But there came a time when my perspective changed. I became unable to dehumanize them any longer, to reduce them mentally to mere bits of tissue by calling them embryos and fetuses. I saw them as children—and I had murdered them! I returned to the church… and I've been atoning for my sins ever since." She sobbed. "Please forgive me!"

  "It's not up to us to forgive you," Juan Ortega said softly. "That's in God's hands."

  "But perhaps," Grace said, "I am already in God's hands. Perhaps I am to be his weapon against the Antichrist. That is why he brought me to you. Because I have the skills to prevent his enemy from being born! I can abort the Antichrist while he is small and helpless. And I can do it without harming the innocent woman who harbors him!"

  A shocked babble of voices filled the room. Cries of "No!" and "Never!" Louise Farmer turned and started down the hall toward the front door, saying, "I'm not listening to any more of this!"

  As Brother Robert raised his hands to quiet them he felt the hardwood floor ripple under his feet.

  And somewhere on the second story of the brownstone a door slammed with a sound like a shotgun blast.

  Everyone froze in place and listened in awed silence as, one by one, every door in the brownstone slammed shut.

  Brother Robert felt the floorboards ripple again. The others must have noticed it, too, for they all looked down at their feet. Suddenly the air seemed charged with electricity. He felt his face tingle, felt the hairs on his arms and legs stand up. The tension in the room was building quickly, inexorably.

  Something was going to happen! Brother Robert didn't know whether to cower or to open his arms and accept it.

  And then there was a light. It hovered in midair for a moment in the center of the room over Grace, a flickering tongue of flame, and then it began to expand. And brighten. There came a silent explosion of brightness, filling the room with an intolerable, staggering brilliance that spiked into Brother Robert's eyes, making him cry out with the pain.

  And as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.

  Brother Robert shook his head and tried to blink away the purple splotches swirling and floating before his eyes. Finally he could see again. He saw the others squinting and stumbling around the room. Some were crying, some were praying. Brother Robert too felt the urge to pray, for he had just witnessed a miracle… but what did it mean?

  As he folded his hands together he noticed that they were wet. He looked down. Blood. His hands were slick with it, both palms and backs smeared with red. Shocked, wondering where and how he could have cut himself, he turned to look at the others and felt his foot slip.

  More blood. Both his feet were bleeding.

  And then he knew. Brother Robert felt the strength go out of him like the air from a ruptured balloon. He dropped to his knees.

  He examined his hands closely. There, in the center of each palm, was an oval opening, oozing blood. He touched the right wound with the little finger of his left hand. There was no pain, not even when he probed it. He felt his fingernail slide between the edges of the skin. He pushed it farther through the warm, wet flesh within until it emerged on the other side. He stared dumbly at the red, glistening fingertip protruding from the back of his hand.

  He snatched his finger free and fought a wave of nausea. Then he pulled aside the scapular and ran his hand over the left side of his chest, not caring that he smeared the fabric of his robe with blood. Yes! His skin was wet under there! He had the chest wound as well.

  A nail hole in each hand and foot, and a spear wound in the chest! All five wounds of the crucified Christ!

  The Stigmata!

  He struggled to his feet to show the others, and that was when he became aware of the bedlam around him. There were cries and prayers and chaos. And blood. He was shocked to see the blood on all of them. All of them!

  Amid the panicked cries and wondering murmurs, Grace Nevins stood straight and still, her rotund figure an eye of calm in the center of the storm. She held out her punctured palms to him as her voice cut through the clamor.

  "The Spirit has spoken," she said. "We know what we must do."

  Filled with wonder and unable to find another explanation, Brother Robert bowed his head in devotion and accepted the will of the Lord.

  Twenty-two

  Sunday, March 17

  1

  So it is done.

  Jonah watched Carol as she sat on the edge of the hospital bed. Morning sunlight streaked the coverlet as Emma fussed over her, adjusting the slim straps of the new sundress she had bought for her daughter-in-law.

  He knew now that the first step had been successfully completed. He had sensed it for the past month but had dared not allow himself to rejoice until he had absolute proof.

  The only blot on his mood was his failure to fulfill the vision that had led him to Grace Nevins's apartment. He had so wanted to batter her skull until it was soft as a beach ball, but had failed. So he'd unleashed some of his fury upon her belongings.

  But none of that mattered.

  The One was alive. That was what really mattered.

  The One he had awaited all these years had become flesh. The first step had been taken. The next task was to usher the One safely into the world. When that was done, he would guard the One as he grew to maturity. When the One reached the full level of his powers, no further guarding, no further assistance of any kind would be necessary.

  Then the world would sink into chaos and Jonah would receive his reward.

  He shook off dreams of the future and brought his thoughts to bear on the here and now.

  The One had been in mortal danger.

  The woman's womb had almost expelled his developing form two days ago. Jonah had been at work at the time. He had sensed the sudden weakness, the impending catastrophe, but had not understood the nature of the threat. Now he knew. The One had been near death then, clinging to physical life by the flimsiest thread.

  Now, however, all seemed well. The One's strength was growing again. Jonah could sit here in the same room with the woman and bask in the power seeping through her from the One.

  "Doesn't that sundress look wonderful on her, Jonah?" Emma said.

  It was long, a blue flowered print, exposing her shoulders. Sunlight outlined her long, slim legs through the fabric.

  "Very nice," he said.

  "She just seems to glow!"

  Jonah smiled. "Yes, she does."

  "And she's coming home to our place when she's released this afternoon, aren't you, dear?"

  Carol shook her head. "No. I'm going back to the mansion. It will be months before the house is rebuilt, so I think I'd better get used to the place."

  "But you can't! Dr. Gallen told you to rest!"

  "I'll be fine," Carol said. "I've put you out enough already. I won't impose on you anymore."

  "Don't be silly! You—"

  "Emma, I've made up my mind."

  Jonah was aware of the determination in her eyes. So, apparently, was Emma.

  "Well, then. If Muhammad can't move the mountain, I suppose I'll just have to keep stopping by that awful old house to keep an eye on you."

  Although she said nothing further, Jonah saw Carol roll her eyes toward the ceiling.

  It was good to have Emma here.
She obviously was thrilled to have a grandchild on the way. She would make an excellent midwife during the journey toward birth, a scrupulous, conscientious guardian who was completely ignorant of what she was guarding.

  Just as well.

  Besides, it would be good for her as well. Her spirits had been down so since the death of the Vessel, her Jimmy. But there had been new light in her eyes and new life in her step since she had heard the news of the pregnancy. Jonah wanted Emma to be happy and alert. She was more useful that way. He would need her vigilance.

  For the threat to the One was not past. The One was most vulnerable now. There were forces still at large that would oppose the One and try to end his reign before it could begin. Jonah had guarded the Vessel for twenty-six years. Now he must protect the woman and her precious burden.

  The priest entered then, and Jonah immediately sensed a disturbance in the glow from the One. A ripple of hate and… fear.

  The reaction was so unexpected, so uncharacteristic. It startled Jonah. And puzzled him.

  Why should the One react so to this young priest? He represented nothing that could threaten the One. And yet… he had been with the woman when she had begun to miscarry. Had he somehow caused it?

  "What do you want?" Jonah said, standing and placing himself between Carol and the priest.

  "I'm here to visit Carol, just as you are, Mr. Stevens."

  His tone was polite but his expression said, Back off.

  "Hi, Bill," the woman said from her bed. "They're letting me go today."

  "Great." The priest brushed past Jonah and stepped to her bedside. "Need a lift?"

  "We'll drive her," Jonah said quickly.

  "That's okay, Jonah," she said. "I'd already asked Father Bill."

  Jonah doubted that was true but didn't know what he could do about it. He would have to be watchful. If this priest was a threat to the One, then he was a threat to Jonah as well.

  "Very well. Emma will go ahead of you and fix you something for dinner."

  "Good idea, Jonah!" Emma said, beaming. "I'll have a nice lunch waiting for you!"

  As Carol opened her mouth to protest the priest said, "I think that's for the best, don't you?"

  Jonah wondered at the look that passed between them at that moment.

  "Maybe so," Carol said, and looked away.

  There's a secret between those two.

  What could it be? Did he lust after Carol? Had he attempted to seduce this rich young widow, perhaps even try to rape her?

  But no. That would not have weakened the One. It would have strengthened him. He would have glowed brighter from such an encounter. Instead, the One's light had almost been extinguished.

  Did the priest know about the One?

  That didn't seem to be the case. He showed nothing but warm friendship for Carol. He acted anything but intimate with her. In fact, for such an old friend, he seemed almost afraid to get too close to her.

  Yet Jonah could not escape the conviction that this priest had somehow hurt the One. Whether by accident or by design, it marked him as a potential danger. He would have to be watched.

  There was danger all around. Now, at least, Jonah had identified one threat. He would watch for others.

  Do not worry, he told the One. I shall protect you.

  He did not intend to be very far from the woman at any time during the next eight months.

  2

  During the ride from the hospital Carol noticed how Bill kept the conversation light. As they listened to the static-charged radio in St. Francis's battered old Ford station wagon, he commented on the music, on the unseasonably warm weather, and told her how it took every bit of his automotive know-how to keep this old crate running. But his face darkened when the newsman told of Bobby Kennedy's announcement that he intended to seek the Democratic presidential nomination.

  "That gutless opportunist! What a creep! McCarthy takes all the risks, wounds the dragon, and then Kennedy steps in!"

  Carol had to smile. She could not remember seeing Bill really angry before. She knew what Jim would say. That's politics, Bill.

  "Makes me sick!"

  They were pulling into the mansion's driveway then, and Carol spotted Emma's car.

  "She's already here!"

  "I think you could use the help," Bill said as he brought the station wagon to a stop before the front doors. "Don't you?"

  Carol shrugged, not wanting to admit that he was right. She was feeling well now—so much better than she had even yesterday—but she was still weak. Dr. Gallen had said she'd lost a fair amount of blood but not enough to make a transfusion absolutely necessary. He'd said he preferred to let her bone marrow make up the deficit. So maybe she did need someone around to lean on now and again. But Emma…

  "She's sweet," she said, "and her heart's in the right place, but she never stops talking! Sometimes I think I'll go mad from her incessant chatter!"

  "Just a nervous habit, I gather. And don't forget—she's lost somebody too. Maybe she needs to feel needed."

  "I guess so," Carol said around the lump in her throat. "But that's another part of the problem. She reminds me of Jim."

  Bill sighed. "Yeah, well, she can't help that. Put up with it for a few days. 'Offer it up,' as the nuns used to tell us. It will be good for both of you. And I'll feel better knowing you're not out here alone."

  "Thanks for caring," Carol said, meaning it. "It must be hard after that stunt I pulled Friday."

  "Already forgotten," he said with a smile.

  But the hint of uneasiness in his smile told her that it hadn't been forgotten. How could anyone forget something like that? She had stripped herself naked in front of this old friend of hers, this priest, and had thrown herself at him. Had actually been trying to unzip his fly! She shook her head at the memory.

  "I still don't know what got into me," she said. "But I swear it will never happen again. You've got to forgive me."

  "I do," he said, and there was nothing forced about his smile this time. "I could forgive you just about anything."

  Amid the glow of relief she experienced an intense flash of resentment at his generosity of spirit. It was gone as soon as it came, but it definitely had been there. She wondered about it.

  "Listen," he said, hopping out and running around to help her to her feet on her side of the car. "I told my mother you'd be out here by yourself. She's going to check in. And if I know her, she'll be dropping off a pot of stew or a casserole too."

  "She doesn't have to."

  "She's dying to. She can't get used to an empty nest. She's hunting someone to mother."

  Carol remembered the warm, rotund Mrs. Ryan from the days when she had dated Bill in high school. She knew Bill had been staying at his folks' house since Friday and wondered how his parents were doing.

  "I'll be fine," she said. "Really I will."

  Emma was waiting inside. She ushered Carol to the big wing chair in the library, supporting her arm as if she were an elderly, infirm aunt.

  "There!" she said. "You just rest easy in that chair and I'll get you some lunch."

  "That's really okay, Emma. I can—"

  "Nonsense. I made some tuna salad, the kind with the sliced gherkins, just the way you like it."

  Carol sighed to herself and smiled. Emma was trying so hard to make her comfortable and look after her. How could she throw it back in her face?

  "Where's Jonah?"

  "He's home, calling his foreman. He's got some vacation time coming—lots of it—and he's going to take a few weeks to stay close by and help you get this place in shape."

  Just what I need, she thought. The two of them around at once.

  But again she was touched by the concern. In all the time she had known him, Jim's father—adoptive father—had been as remote as the moon. Since the funeral, however, his demeanor had changed radically. He was concerned, solicitous, even devoted.

  And in all those years she could not remember him ever taking a vacation. Not once.


  All this attention was getting to be too much for her.

  "Want to stay for lunch, Bill?"

  "No thanks. I really—"

  "You've got to eat sometime. And I could use the company."

  "All right," he said. "But just for a quick sandwich, and then I've got to be getting back to St. Francis."

  The sun was so bright and the day so warm that Carol thought it might be nice to eat outside in the gazebo overlooking the Long Island Sound. Emma declined to join them. Bill was already out in the yard dusting off the seats when the phone rang.

  "I'll get it!" Carol said, wondering who could be calling her here on a Sunday afternoon. She lifted the receiver.

  "Hello?"

  "Carol Stevens?" said a muffled voice.

  "Yes? Who's this?"

  "That is not important. What is important is that you be aware that the child you are carrying is the Antichrist himself."

  "What?" Fear gripped her insides and twisted. "Who is this?"

  "Satan has transferred himself from the soulless shell of your husband to your womb. You must put Satan out!"

  "You're crazy!"

  "Will you put Satan out? Will you rip the beast from your womb and cast him back into Hell where he belongs?"

  "No! Never! And don't ever call here again!"

  Her skin crawling, she slammed the heavy receiver down and hurried outside, away from the phone before it could ring again.

  3

  Grace unwound the handkerchief from around the mouthpiece of the receiver and stuffed it into her pocket.

  That settles that.

  She had hated speaking to Carol like that, but she had to know if the poor girl could be frightened into resolving the problem on her own. Obviously she could not. So now Grace's course was set.

  She walked back to the front of her apartment where thirteen people waited in her cramped living room. There was Brother Robert, Martin, and the ten members of the Chosen who had been miraculously marked by the Spirit in Martin's apartment last night. They were dressed in sweaters and jackets and slacks and jeans—and all had bandages on their hands. Like Grace's, their wounds had stopped bleeding within an hour of the miracle.