"Second, he recruited two other men."
Jacob counted off three fingers now. "In addition, he employed his son-in-law, who just happens to be Carl Sanderson."
"I heard about Carl Sanderson and the Church of Leviticus in Norvale, but I had no idea he was directly connected to the other one." Edgar shook his head. "You're right, Jacob. It's extremely complicated."
"It gets more so. Somewhere along the line, Martin split with his first protégé, who went off to start his own church. What's interesting for us is that he took Carl Sanderson with him as his assistant, or Deacon. The other protégé stuck it out and took over after Martin died. Later, when Sanderson's boss was accused of fraud by a group of villagers from Brinston who…"
"Wait a minute," Ed interrupted, his voice incredulous. "Brinston?"
Jacob nodded. "I forgot, you didn't know about any of this. Martin's second recruit, a man called Robert Janot, started a branch of Leviticus when he split from Martin. It was located in Brinston, which isn't too far from here. I know that Alain wanted you to hear this, so I'm not telling you anything in secret, but Pastor Janot, it turns out, was Alain's birth father."
Edgar's face flushed with shock, though he was careful to remain outwardly calm.
"Jacob, this is even more complicated than you know. I'm not sure I should be telling you this, but Frances and I just came from Brinston. She was researching her roots. Her birth father is also Robert Janot."
Jacob rubbed his face. "Edgar, believe me, this will remain between us. Alain told us that he thought his sister lived in Burchill, but he wouldn't say who she was. Frances. Wow."
At that moment, Emily came back into the room. Immediately, she noticed the pale vestiges of disbelief on both men's faces and felt the vibrations in the silence of the room.
"What's happened?" she asked.
Edgar had no hesitation in telling her.
Emily sat down when he finished, reaching out to touch her friend's hand.
"She knows about Alain, Ed."
Emily explained how Frances overheard their conversation.
"She's okay. May went with her to their place. She tried calling you before they left, but she missed you. I didn't think it was my story to tell, so when you arrived here, I left a message at the Reneaux house for Frances to ring the school."
Suddenly the three of them stared into one another's eyes as though searching for the answers to a coincidence that seemed ethereal. They were, for the most part, logical, objective people and this occurrence was unexplainable through familiar channels.
Jacob broke the silence.
"Alain knew there was a bunch of strong connections to Burchill," he said.
He told them about Doc's theory regarding the well at Bahswaway.
"For some reason, Robert Janot buried that baby in the pond. It was during this period that he withdrew from society. He took his kids out of school and the family became hermits. The reaction was probably because of the lawsuit, but maybe there were other factors. I have been reading through the information that Frances brought home with her."
"For all kinds of reasons, I believe the family unit was not only breaking up inside. I have a theory about postpartum depression, but I won't go into that now. They were also getting some kind of pressure from the outside. The manse was continually vandalized. Janot was beaten up and eventually both parents were murdered. The fire was likely to cover up the murders."
"Then the very same people who were part of the class action lawsuit ended up on the inquest jury. Now we have everybody gathered around Burchill. I keep thinking these are meaningful connections, if only I could piece it all together."
"And then one of the men who wanted to keep Frances in the dark about her past gets murdered," Edgar said, more thinking out loud than informing.
"Did this happen recently?"
Edgar told them about Cynthia and Nicolas Denis, about finding the man in the ditch, about the sculpture.
"Now this local Sergeant thinks Frances is somehow connected to Paul Marot's murder."
"Paul Marot?" Jacob was stunned. "Ed, Paul Marot was one of the people involved in the class action suit and the inquest. Not only that, but two others have met sudden deaths in the last little while—Michel Pardie and Dr. Marc André. Do you think we have some kind of conspiracy going on?"
Edgar's face was grim. "More than a conspiracy, I'd say. More like a series of revenge murders. I have a feeling that Carl Sanderson and his so-called church are behind everything. We continue to come back to the Leviticus group and Sanderson. Who, as Janot's Deacon, was probably incensed when his mentor was killed. Maybe he's at the helm, seeking vengeance for his former pastor. Paul Marot must have been on his list and maybe even Ithamar and Dorothée."
He paused. "Which means that Frances and Alain may be in danger if he has figured out who they are."
Jacob hastily told them about the pigeon on his porch after the gathering at his place.
Emily drew in a sharp breath.
"In Leviticus, it's one of the ways of atonement, one of the rituals," the lawyer explained. "Maybe someone has been watching us all along. Maybe Sanderson does know who Frances and Alain really are. This is serious, Ed."
Jacob was visibly nervous now.
Edgar stood up, as though he could not contain the desire to move, to act. He dialled the Reneaux house from Emily's telephone, but there was no answer. He phoned Marty Michano and asked him to call Frances's car radio.
Next, he tried his wife's cell. The incessant ringing was a warning bell in his ear.
Chapter 55: Alain
He saw her from the living room window as she walked up the porch steps. Her face was pinched and twisted. Fear, restraint and anguish fought for control within her.
In his memory, she turned to look at him through the smoke, wide eyed with fright and concern. He was her strength, her center, her source of love, as she was for him. He suddenly remembered the field, her little arms tight around him, her small girl voice telling him the story.
Alain flung the front door open and said, "Doro," in a voice choked with joy and with grief.
They grasped each other, tears flowing, sobs erupting from the stone of hurt and loss that had weighted their souls for all the years they could remember. There on the porch of the Reneaux house, little Dorothée and her big brother Ithamar were reunited in a place of warmth and love. The home, the meadow, the stream of their life-sustaining story appeared in the here and now, real and tangible.
They were released from their nightmares. All the tragedies that they must face in the future would be conquered together. All the joys would be shared. Salvation had been sent to them by a connection so strong that they were both drawn back to the epicentre of their past, where their baby sister was buried, where love was born and then lost.
In some secret part of their subconscious, they knew that Burchill would be the place to renew, to find love again. It was also the place where they had found their soul mates.
Frances turned and encircled May with them. She wished fervently that Edgar were there to be witness to this reunion, but she was comforted knowing that her husband would be part of their future, just as the baby inside her would be.
When they were able to speak without crying, they settled in the living room and the words began. The past figured only slightly in the conversation. They focused on the present, on the discoveries, on the quirks of life that brought them unknowingly back into one another's circle.
They were compelled to question it. How could this be coincidence? Was this proof of predestination? Were they simply like any other animal drawn back to the birthplace to nest? As they explored, talked, touched, laughed and cried, they could not get enough of the sound of each other's voice.
So engrossed were they in the emotion of their reunion, they did not hear the man as he entered the front hallway.
People in Burchill did not lock their front doors, so his quiet entry into the house was not unusual.
May looked up first and let out a startled cry. Not only was the man foreign to her, but he also carried a rifle, pointed straight at them as they sat in their own living room.
Instinctively—Alain because his size had always meant he struck first and Frances because of her training—the siblings jumped to their feet to face their adversary.
The man did not move. Instead, a smile of pleasure and triumph suffused his face. He was tall and slender. His fine white hair formed stringy trails down his black-clad shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was deep and modulated, well trained. He sounded like the preacher he fancied himself to be.
"Well, well, the Lord delivers. The children of Molech."
A profound, shocked silence enveloped the small group.
May stood now, too, her hand clutching Alain's arm to steady her.
Confused and shaken, they were unable to say anything.
Finally, Frances's professional background took over and she began to mechanically negotiate.
"I don't know who you think we are, sir," she said in a deceptively calm and controlled voice. "But I am a police officer. Pointing that weapon at us is a very bad mistake. Why don't you put it down and we can talk about what you want?"
"If it's money," Alain added, "we don't have much on the premises. I can certainly walk down to the bank with you and get what you want. Just don't hurt anyone."
The Preacher laughed. "Money is of no interest to me, Ithamar. Typical that you would consider the root of all evil first."
"What did you call me?"
"I know who you are, Ithamar. You are the son of Robert Janot, but most importantly, you are spawn of Molech, the offspring of the devil. Your sister here…"
He waved the gun toward Frances. "She led me right to you. Great police work, Dorothée. I do apologize to you, Mrs. Reneaux, you seem like a decent person and it's unfortunate that you are involved. You did marry this man, but I assume you had no idea who he was. I am certain the Lord will forgive you and must be grateful for your decision not to procreate."
"Then let May go," Frances said. "Whatever it is you want with us, she is innocent. Remember, too, that we were very young when our parents were killed. Whatever they may have done to you or your family, we couldn't have been responsible. There's no point in taking revenge out on us. You will simply get yourself into…"
"Dorothée," the man interrupted, shaking his head. "You have no idea. I am not here for revenge. No, I am here to assist in saving the world."
"My name is Deacon Isaac Rondeau. It has always been my destiny to return the True Church to its roots and to eradicate evil by identifying the Anointed One. I am sorry to tell you that your legacy is one of iniquity and therefore you must be terminated. Robert Janot was the Anointed One, but he was ruined by Satan, who appeared in the form of Molech, or Meloche, as you may know it. Your mother was a whore who invited the devil in."
He reacted to their incredulity and waved the rifle once more, as though conducting them toward the door. He laughed again, an edgy, mirthless sound.
"Let's go, folks, please. After all, I'm just taking you to church."
He stepped forward and put the weapon at Frances's back. He reached for her holster and pocketed her police revolver.
"Ithamar and Mrs. Reneaux, I'm going to be right next to Dorothée. Please do not interfere with this journey to church, or you will cause her death."
Just as he finished his sentence, the telephone began to ring unremittingly. The sound seemed to irritate their captor. Impatiently he pushed Frances out the door onto the porch.
Due to the earliness of the day, school not even dismissed, villagers still at work, there was absolutely no one around as the four of them climbed into Frances's police car.
Frances, with Isaac Rondeau beside her, got into the back seat, while May sat in the front and Alain drove. As they prepared to pull away, both the radio squawked and Frances's cell phone pierced the silence.
Isaac leaned over Alain, pulled the radio from its socket and wagged his fingers at Frances.
When she turned the cell phone over to him, he tossed it out the window.
Chapter 56: Doro
Frances suddenly remembered where she had seen this man before. The Denis store. The man that Kimmy had called "Izzy." The cans tumbling to the floor. The hasty exits of the older men.
"You followed me everywhere, Izzy," she said, keeping her voice pleasant. "When I went to see the old manse, right? Even to the store. How about when I was at the Denis's home? Did you decide to eliminate Paul Marot then too?"
Isaac Rondeau looked her directly in the eyes, his face calm and serene.
"I sometimes cannot believe how well the Lord guides us. Marot was on our list to be eliminated and then suddenly there he was, in the dark, defenceless. I think old Paul was about to confess his part in the cover-up about the fire, my dear, as well as the undoing of Robert Janot. But you and the Lord provided a very good weapon that allowed me to eliminate him immediately and make this world a little bit better."
He smiled at her, a disparaging, condescending smile.
"Now please, do not try to speak with me or cajole me or psychoanalyze me into revealing anything at this time. You will find out everything in due course. Right now, I am going to concentrate on giving Ithamar directions and ensuring that he follows all traffic rules. Wouldn't want the police to stop us."
He chuckled. "How is that for irony, Molech spawn?"
The last two words were stated icily, with hatred and venom, so loudly that May flinched from her position right in front of him.
They took Main Street East, connected onto Highway 54 and then turned right onto North Vale Line, which led directly to the tiny hamlet of Norvale. Within a few minutes they could see the village sign.
Shortly after that, Rondeau directed Alain to turn onto a dirt road heading west. The area was deserted, surrounded by fallow land and clumps of trees. Only a few kilometres ahead, they turned onto a rough, pot-hole-strewn driveway, surrounded by evergreens.
When the driveway widened, an enormous grey barn appeared, completely concealed by towering trees. Though obviously old, the barn had been refurbished. Its boards were in good shape and the entrance had been replaced with an enormous oak door.
Isaac carefully dismounted after Alain and May, right behind Frances, the rifle still nudging at her spine.
She dared not think of the baby. She must remain calm, professional. Her normal police officer façade could not fail her now, she told herself. She found it difficult to adjust from her euphoria on reconnecting with Itha to this feeling of utter fear and helplessness.
"Deacon," she said, trying to sound respectful, "if you believe in the Mercy of God, how can you disobey the Commandments? How can you kill?"
He led them up to the oak door. He smiled at her once again, with the same cold condescension as before.
"My dear, the Lord does not abide evil. When Molech's seed has been spilled, we must clean it up. Now, as I said, do not speak. You do not wish to upset the Anointed One, believe me."
The door was massive and opened slowly, creating a sucking of air as it brought the outside into the empty cavern of the barn. The interior was awash in yellow light. Candles and old-fashioned gasoline lanterns glowed from every wooden stud along the walls.
Traditional wooden pews, scraped and scratched with use, filled the enormous room, with a gigantic platform at the front where an altar stood covered in white cloth.
Crucifixes, statues, baskets, shepherd's crooks, altar cloths, coloured drapery and small tables holding votive candles were spread throughout the space, but they were unable to fill it up. The church felt hollow, empty and cold.
Frances followed May and Alain up the center aisle. Isaac Rondeau was further back now, the rifle mercifully not pressed against her. She picked up the scent of something familiar and had to swallow the
nausea. She smelled death.
As they neared the front of the church, Frances saw the blood. It snaked down the aisle and dripped very slowly from the pew in the first row. Whoever owned this blood no longer had a beating heart, she thought.
May, unused to this level of violence, stumbled as she reached the body. Alain grabbed her and turned her face against his chest.
Frances looked around carefully, searching for other exits, seeing only one. A door at the back of the makeshift church was slightly ajar.
Above them, most of the hayloft had been removed. About a quarter of it remained, empty and hay-speckled, perhaps to be transformed into a choir loft some day. The thought struck her as ridiculous. Why anyone would wish to sing in this lair of insanity was beyond Frances.
A sudden movement from the other side of the altar dais caught Frances's eye. First with one hand, then another, a man pulled himself to a sitting position, his head barely visible. He was pale and shaking, obviously in pain. He seemed unable to utter a word. He remained very still, shaking his head as though to clear his mind.
May recognized him immediately. Carl Sanderson.
Rondeau nudged his three captors forward until they stood on the platform in front of the altar. He poked Alain in the shoulder with the butt of the rifle.
"Lie face down before the altar," he ordered and they reluctantly obeyed him.
Once they were settled, he turned slightly to acknowledge Sanderson. "Reverend," Izzy said in the tone of a disillusioned father. "What have you done?"
The older man began to moan loudly, a sound reminiscent of repetitive prayer or chanting, but he was unable to hold himself up. He sank back into a prone position. They could barely see him now.
However, he continued the guttural sounds, on purpose now, to intone through the pain or pray to his God or annoy his captor. Or perhaps all three.
Rondeau spoke loudly over the incantations. "Ladies and gentleman, you are witness to what happens when you allow weakness to divert you from your purpose. When the Lord gives you a talent, you must take it and multiply it. This man was the Anointed One, but he would not carry out the difficult tasks. He would not take up the sword for the defeat of evil. Instead, he used words, tricks and traps. He became as deft at illusion and deception as you are."
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