by Tim Waggoner
“I’d hoped it would sound less insane if I heard it from your lips,” Joanne said. “It doesn’t.”
Dale thought for a moment.
“Then who killed Ray Porter and Tyrone?”
Joanne opened her mouth to answer when she realized that out of everything they’d learned, they still didn’t know. “Lenora, I assume.” But even as she said it, it didn’t sound right, didn’t Feel right.
“Carl tried to show you two faces in your dream. Lenora is only one person — not counting her new soul-brother — and the second person can’t be Carl himself.”
“So there’s someone else,” Joanne said.
“Well, it’s not me, and I’m fairly confident it’s not you.”
“Your faith in me is overwhelming. Tell you what — let’s worry about figuring out whodunit later … assuming we survive to do anything at all.”
“Deal.”
• • •
Althea watched as the elevator door closed, cutting off her view of Joanne and Mr. Ramsey. She felt a great deal of sympathy for the girl. Not only was she about to face the greatest challenge of her young life, she was going to learn some uncomfortable truths in the process. If Joanne succeeded, she’d come out of this much stronger. But if was a small word with gargantuan implications.
Althea wished she could take a more active hand in this matter, but she’d gone over all possible strategies and outcomes in her mind a thousand times. And given her mental abilities, she could do more than merely imagine possibilities. She could see them. Because of this, she knew without doubt that she was doing the right thing by limiting her involvement. But knowing didn’t always make doing any easier.
She still had a task to attend to before her part in this drama was over, though. She walked toward the end of the hall until she reached a winding wrought-iron staircase and descended to the ground floor. She continued on to the main entrance now, and she reached the door just as the bell rang. She unlocked the door and opened it. Standing on the porch, both looking somewhat the worse for the wear, were two men she’d never met before, but whom she’d been expecting nevertheless. They were the last two players in this little drama, and it was about time they arrived.
“Can I help you?” She kept her voice neutral, as if she had no idea who they were or what they were here for.
The man in the shirt and tie smiled, and his eyes gleamed with a mad intensity that even Althea found daunting.
“You can tell us where Marshall and Lenora are.”
• • •
“I wonder if you can appreciate how strange this is for me, Father. I’ve never been here before, yet my sister has known this place almost since from birth. I have access to both our memories, and it’s like seeing through two very different pairs of eyes.”
The three of them — four, Marshall supposed, if you counted Lenora and Carl separately — stood in a large cave directly beneath Barrow Hill Mound. The chamber was illuminated by globes of soft white light erected on metal poles around the circumference of the cave. The lights had their own power source and were activated when motion detectors registered the presence of visitors. Their cart was parked near the entrance of the tunnel that led to Sanctity. Four other tunnels branched off from the cave, each leading to a different location in the county, but those tunnels were rarely used. In the middle of the cave lay the object of Carl’s fascination. The Reliquary.
It had been carved from a gray stone column and remained connected to the ceiling and floor of the cave. Altogether, the Reliquary measured twenty-five feet from top to bottom. The points where the smooth surface of the Reliquary gave way to rough stone resembled nothing so much as wrinkled brain tissue, a touch Marshall had always found appropriate. Small recessed areas had been carved into the column, dozens upon dozens of them, each precisely large enough for an icon to fit inside. Though only the icons closest to the front were visible, there were many more stored one behind the other. Marshall knew the precise number of icons, their exact locations, and whose spirits were housed within.
The air in the chamber was suffused with power on the verge of breaking free, like a dam near to bursting. Only the combined power of the icons kept the Old One’s energy contained.
Perhaps it was coincidence, but Lenora stood directly before the most recent addition to the Reliquary — the icon containing the spirit of Ray Porter. Marshall decided not to point out that bit of irony, though.
Lenora stood two feet from the Reliquary, while Marshall stood several feet farther back, next to Debbie. He could feel Carl and Lenora’s power wrapped around him like a giant hand holding him in check. It held him loosely at the moment, but not so loose that he could break free. He knew that if he so much as tried to move a step forward or back on his own, the invisible hand would squeeze tight around him, ensuring he behaved like a good little boy.
Lenora looked as if she wanted to reach out and touch the Reliquary but couldn’t bring herself to do so.
“This is where the family gathers to worship the Old One,” she said. Or rather Carl said using her voice. Marshall wondered if there was any point in trying to differentiate between the two anymore. As time went on, their personalities seemed to be fusing into one, a new individual, greater than the sum of its parts.
“We don’t think of it as worship,” Marshall said. “More like communing with the spirits of our forebears and basking in the presence of the Old One’s power.”
Lenora shrugged without taking her gaze off the Reliquary. “Sounds like worship to me.” She paused and tilted her head to the side, as if listening to something she wasn’t quite sure she really heard. “What’s that noise?”
“The spirits in the icons. They whisper to each other constantly, though it’s unclear what they’re saying. We think it’s part of how they keep the Old One pacified. I imagine it sounds louder to you because you’re dead. At least half of you is.”
“They’re not whispering,” Lenora said. “They’re singing. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
Marshall himself could only detect the merest hint of the icons’ whispering, and even then only on occasion. He strained to hear what Lenora did, but it was no use. The icons’ song was not for him, it seemed.
Lenora turned back to look at Debbie. “Do you hear them, Mother?”
“I don’t hear singing or whispering,” she said petulantly, like a child upset at missing out on something everyone else was experiencing. “But there’s something else …” She frowned in confusion. “It’s not a voice, though. It’s pictures. They’re in my head, so many of them, going by so fast. The strangest things … the most awful things …” She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut, as if by doing so she might deny the unsettling images access to her mind. Marshall knew it wouldn’t work.
Lenora rushed forward and took hold of Debbie’s hand. The woman kept her eyes closed, but now she was shaking her head back and muttering, “No, no, no, no, no …”
Lenora shot Marshall an accusing look, as if he was responsible for what was happening to Debbie.
“This close to the Reliquary, her fragile mental defenses aren’t enough to keep out the Old One’s dreams, even with the icons’ assistance,” Marshall said. “I can help her — if you’ll release me. If you do, I promise not to interfere with your plan or attempt to escape.”
Lenora reached out and touched Debbie’s cheek with gentle concern. Marshall could tell she was considering his offer. Once he was free, he would help shield Debbie from the Old One’s dreams. Then, despite his promise, he’d turn on Lenora and Carl and do everything he could against his children to protect the Reliquary. Though Marshall doubted Lenora or Carl could read his thoughts — that was a highly complex and delicate skill only a few Crosses had mastered, Althea chief among them — Lenora looked at him and smiled.
“Nice try, Father.” She turned back to Debbie and stroked her cheek. “Be strong, Mother. I promise you won’t suffer much longer.” She walked back to the R
eliquary and fear stabbed into Marshall’s gut like a blade of ice.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
He’d hoped that once Lenora and Carl were in the Reliquary’s presence, they’d reconsider their plan to destroy it. Power was a heady brew, as the Crosses had known for generations, and once one had a taste of the pure stuff straight from the source, it became addictive. But evidently not for Carl and Lenora.
“What we came for,” Lenora said. “To destroy the Reliquary.”
She plucked an icon at random from its alcove and lifted it to her face for a closer look.
“That’s Ray Porter’s spirit,” Marshall said, hoping it would stir sympathy in whatever part of his daughter’s soul that remained in her body.
Lenora gazed down upon the icon’s crude stone features. “Yes, I can tell. They all look the same, but when you touch one, you know who it is, even if you never met them in life. How interesting.”
With a sudden swift motion, she lifted the icon over her head and dashed it to the cave’s stone floor. The small statuette broke into pieces and a tiny high-pitched voice like a human scream momentarily cut through the air before dying away.
Marshall closed his eyes. Ray Porter had just died for a second time, and the Reliquary had been weakened by one soul.
Marshall opened his eyes. “So that’s your grand plan? To break one icon after another until you weaken the Reliquary to the point where it can no longer hold back the Old One’s dreams.”
Lenora looked back toward Marshall and smiled. “The county will be plunged into the chaos of a mad god’s nightmares. But like a raging fire, eventually the Old One’s unchecked power will burn itself out, and it will cease to exist. The god of the Crosses will finally die, and the family will die with it.”
“What of the innocents who’ll also perish?” Marshall asked. “All the men and women in the county who have nothing to do with the family and who haven’t wronged you in any way?”
Lenora burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious, Father! They aren’t people. They’re lower life forms, little more than animals.”
“Like your mother?” Marshall countered. He was speaking to both of his children, for neither Debbie nor Charlotte had possessed any Cross blood.
Lenora scowled but didn’t reply. She took another icon from the Reliquary and held it out for a moment.
“Stuart Burgin. Though Stuart was mostly human, his grandfather was one of the family, and he asked for his grandson’s spirit to be granted a place in the Reliquary after his early death from cancer. Sorry, Stuart.” She hurled the icon to the ground where it broke just like the first. It also screamed as its spirit fled — to where, Marshall had no idea. But whatever happened to it, it could never compare to the paradise to be found within the group mind of the Reliquary.
“Please, Lenora, Carl … you can’t do this!”
“Of course we can. Watch.” She took another icon from the Reliquary and destroyed it, releasing another spirit and another scream.
“That was Anna Cross, a federal judge.”
As she reached for another, Marshall drew upon all of his inner strength and focused it on breaking free of Carl and Lenora’s psychic hold on him. He couldn’t allow his children to destroy everything his family had worked for over all the long years since they’d first discovered the Old One. But his children were too strong, and he could not break free of their mental domination.
A fourth icon crashed to the cave floor. “Nathaniel Cross. He owned several wineries in California, as well as a number of four-star restaurants.”
She reached for a fifth icon.
“The pictures are getting worse,” Debbie said in a hollow voice. “Stronger, clearer …” She shuddered. “Nastier.”
Lenora had only destroyed a quartet of icons so far, but the Reliquary was in many ways like a living organism. The destruction of the icons had created the equivalent of a wound in the combined energy field of the Reliquary. In a sense, it was bleeding power and beginning to weaken. How many more icons could the Reliquary stand to lose before the Old One’s dreams began to slip through? A half dozen? Less? Marshall honestly didn’t know, but he feared it wouldn’t take too many more.
He’d hoped that by submitting to Lenora and Carl and agreeing to accompany them he would buy himself time to come up with a way to stop them. But it was too late. He was unable to break free of their power and there was no one else who —
The whine of an approaching electric cart interrupted Marshall’s thought. He turned to see the glow of headlights shining forth from the tunnel leading to Sanctity. He smiled. It might not be the cavalry approaching, but it would do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Joanne held onto the dash with her free hand while Dale steered the cart out of the tunnel and into a large cave. She took in the scene in a flash — stone column in the middle of the cave, Lenora standing next to it holding an icon, Marshall and Debbie standing several feet farther back. A series of lights positioned around the cave’s perimeter lit the cave. The illumination they gave off wasn’t too bright, but it was enough. She’d have to remember to aim carefully if she needed to use her weapon. It would be too easy to misjudge distances in this light.
Dale slammed on the brake too hard and the cart lurched up on two wheels. For a moment Joanne thought she was going to be thrown out of the vehicle, but it came back down on all four tires with a jarring thud.
Joanne jumped out of the cart, assumed a firing stance, and aimed her 9 mm at Lenora.
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” she ordered. “Hell, for what you did to me, I should just go ahead and put a couple bullets in you anyway.”
Lenora ignored her and threw the icon to the ground. It broke into several large pieces, and Joanne heard a tiny cry that sounded almost like a scream. The pieces of the broken icon joined the fragments of others that were already lying on the ground. Lenora had been busy. Evidently Marshall remained in thrall to Lenora, for he just stood and watched his daughter destroy the icon.
Joanne was about to give Lenora one last warning before firing, but before she could do so, Debbie whirled around and came running toward her, eyes wide with madness, lips pulled back from her teeth in a feral snarl.
“Don’t you hurt my baby!” she shrieked. She raised her hands as she came, as if she intended to claw Joanne’s eyes out.
Joanne didn’t want to shoot Debbie. The woman was an innocent victim caught up in the Crosses’ web of intrigue and deception. But Joanne had to stop Lenora from destroying the Reliquary, and she didn’t have the time to subdue Debbie in a nonviolent way. Maybe if she could shoot to wound Debbie —
Joanne was about to fire when Dale rushed in front of her and intercepted Debbie. He threw his arms around the woman and tackled her to the ground. Debbie screamed with fury as she thrashed in Dale’s embrace, biting, kicking, and clawing at him.
“Don’t just stand there!” Dale shouted. “Go!”
Joanne gave her protector a nod and ran toward Lenora.
Lenora flicked her gaze toward Marshall. “Stop the bitch,” she commanded.
Moving stiffly, as if he were fighting every step of the way, Marshall advanced on Joanne.
“I can’t stop myself,” he said. “You’re going to have to shoot me.” He sounded so reasonable, so normal, that for a moment Joanne hesitated, not able to believe that he was really going to attack her. But then he was close enough to make a grab for her, and she barely managed to jump aside in time to avoid getting caught. Even moving awkwardly, Marshall was damned fast, faster than an ordinary man. Probably stronger, too. She couldn’t afford to let him get hold of her.
She feinted right, and when he made another grab for her, she delivered a kick to his right knee cap. Since that was the leg currently bearing his weight, the blow knocked him off balance and he fell. As he went down, he angled his head toward the ground, and Joanne realized he was hoping to knock himself unconscious when he hit. But he landed on his shoul
der, rolled, and came back up on his feet with a feline grace he hadn’t exhibited a moment ago. It appeared Lenora had strengthened her control of Marshall’s body, which was bad news for Joanne.
Before Joanne had time to put any distance between herself and Marshall, he lashed out at her, chopping his hand into the wrist of her gun hand. Joanne was barely able to drawn back her hand in time to avoid having her wrist shattered, but Marshall still managed to strike a glancing blow. Her hand went immediately numb, her fingers sprang open, and her weapon fell to the cave floor. She lunged for the gun, but Marshall was faster. He kicked the weapon away and then slammed his first into the side of her neck. Pain shot down her spine and white fire exploded behind her eyes. She collapsed to her hands and knees, her awareness flickering like a light bulb on the verge of blacking out, and she fought to hold onto consciousness.
She heard a whining sound, accompanied by a sudden wash of light, and for an instant she feared her synapses were misfiring wildly as her brain began to shut down. But then she realized that what she was hearing was the sound of another electric cart approaching. She looked toward the oncoming light just in time to hear Ronnie scream, “Die, bastard!” followed by the thunder of his 9 mm discharging.
Marshall was knocked off his feet, and this time when he went down, he stayed down.
Groggy, Joanne straightened and turned to see Ronnie coming toward her, weapon drawn and aimed. But he wasn’t pointed his 9 mm at her, she realized, but at Marshall’s prone form. Past Ronnie she saw Dale still struggling with Debbie, his face marred by deep gashes where she’d scratched him. She also saw another man climbing off the third cart. She thought at first that she was hallucinating, for the man looked like Terry. But when he didn’t suddenly vanish, she realized it really was him, and she thought that somehow he and Ronnie had learned what was happening and had come to help. She almost called out to Terry, but then Ronnie was next to her and leveling his weapon at Marshall’s head, and she realized the deputy was about to kill Marshall execution-style. Marshall struggled to rise, but then slumped back, too weak to do anything but lie there and bleed from the bullet wound in his chest.