Reborn ac-4

by F. Paul Wilson

  She reached for the zipper on Bill's pants. If she could get her mouth on him, he'd be hers, she knew it. There'd be no turning back for him then.

  She smiled.

  So much for keeping the spirit unsullied by the flesh, Mr. Jesuit priest!

  Suddenly he backed away two stumbling steps. His face was flushed, tortured. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead and upper lip.

  "No."

  The word was spoken softly, in a hoarse, agonized voice, but it was like a red-hot spike driving into her pelvis. Suddenly the powerful feeling was ripped away. The world seemed to teeter, the walls of the mansion leaned toward her, as if about to crash down upon her.

  And the pain—the pain inside was like hell.

  Bill had turned away. His words were hurried, breathless, spoken to the empty rear section of the front hall.

  "Carol, please! I don't know what's gotten into you, but this is no good!"

  More pain, but she forced out the words.

  "It's love!" she said to his back. "It's sex! What's more natural than that?"

  "Yes, but I made vows, Carol! And one of them was chastity. You can argue all you want about the wisdom and utility of that kind of vow and whether it's productive or counterproductive—and believe me, I've heard all the arguments—but the fact remains that I made it freely, and I intend to hold to it."

  The pain drove Carol to the floor. It felt as if something were slowly ripping apart inside her.

  "But you of all people, Carol. I can't understand you," he said, his voice slowly returning to normal. "Even if you think my vows are stupid, you know what they mean to me. Why would you try to get me to break them? Especially now with Jim barely cold in his—"

  He turned and saw her.

  "My God! What's wrong?"

  Something felt hot and wet on her thighs. Carol looked down and saw blood gushing from her vagina. The room swam around her. And the pain was so much worse.

  "Help me, Bill! I think I'm going to die!"

  Twenty

  1

  "Do you really find comfort in all these little statues and knickknacks?"

  Grace regarded Mr. Veilleur with a mixture of fondness and wariness as he finished gluing the head of the Archangel Gabriel back onto its body. Brother Robert was at the far end of the living room, sorting the pieces of the large Madonna.

  If you had my past, she thought, you'd take comfort wherever you found it!

  "Comfort," she said. "Yes, that's a good word. They do bring me comfort. Just as the two of you do today."

  Brother Robert wasn't listening, but Mr. Veilleur looked up at her with his intense blue eyes. Grace felt an immense attraction for the man. Nothing sordid. Nothing like that. He was perhaps ten years older than she, and talked freely of his wife, to whom he seemed very devoted. There was nothing sexual in the warmth he inspired in her. It was just that his presence gave her such a safe, secure feeling, and heaven knew, after last night's terror, security had become a precious commodity.

  "It must have been a terrible experience for you," he said. "I thought you wouldn't want to be alone."

  "I didn't! But how did you know?"

  "I called—or tried to—to see how you were faring after Sunday. The phone was out of order. I came by and learned about the break-in from the super."

  She hadn't been able to stay here last night. The young patrolman had been kind enough to drive her over to Martin's home. He and Brother Robert had been shocked by her story. They gave her the use of one of the spare bedrooms. But even with the coming of this bright, sunny day she had been unable to bring herself to return to the apartment.

  Then Mr. Veilleur had shown up at the brownstone this afternoon. He had offered to escort her back. Brother Robert had come along. The super had replaced the lock on the door and went looking for a spare phone to lend her until the phone company could replace the one that had been smashed.

  "Why are you helping me fix my things when you no doubt think they're just a silly woman's toys?"

  "I doubt that you know very much at all what I think," he said. There was no hostility in the remark. The tone was casual, as if stating a simple fact.

  "I'm quite sure that you do not believe as we believe," Grace said, gently challenging him. She wanted to draw him out. He intrigued her so.

  "I thought I had made that quite clear."

  "Then why do you keep coming back to us—I mean, the Chosen? And why are you here today? I'm enormously grateful for your presence, but surely you have something better to do with a Friday afternoon than help me repair my apartment."

  "At the moment I do not," he said with a quick smile. "And as to why I keep coming back to the self-proclaimed Chosen, I'm not all that sure myself. But this group of yours—"

  "It's not mine," she was quick to say, for she did not in any way wish to be held responsible for what had happened to poor Jim. She glanced at the preoccupied monk. "It's Brother Robert's group."

  "I meant yours by association. But no matter. This tiny group of Catholics seems to comprise the sum total of everyone who is aware of the return…" His voice trailed off.

  "Of the Antichrist?" she offered. "Satan?"

  The term seemed to annoy him. "Yes, yes, if you must. But I am drawn to the group. I sense that the one who will finally stand against the threat will be drawn from these Chosen." He looked at her intently. "Perhaps it will be you."

  The idea jolted Grace. She almost dropped the broken base of the Infant of Prague she had been holding.

  "Oh, heavens! I hope not!"

  "For your sake, so do I." He paused, then said, "But I can't help but wonder if there might be a chance that the attack last night was related to this… thing you are involved in."

  "You mean," she said, chilled, "someone might have been after me—personally?"

  "Only idle speculation," he said, waving a hand in dismissal. "I don't mean to alarm you." He held up the repaired archangel. "There! The glue is set. Where does he go?"

  But the idea would not go away. What if it hadn't been a robber? What if the intruder had been lying in wait for the sole purpose of killing her? What if her time of judgment had come and she was to pay for all those lives she had taken in her past? Please, no! It can't be! Not yet! She hadn't had time to make full atonement. She didn't want to spend all of eternity in hell!

  Just then there was a heavy pounding on her door and she jumped in fear.

  Mr. Veilleur rose to his feet. "I'll get it."

  When he opened the door, Martin was there. He looked Mr. Veilleur up and down.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Just helping out," the older man replied with a slow smile. Martin's roosterish posturings seemed to amuse him.

  Martin turned to her. "I've been trying to call here for the past hour!"

  Grace pointed to the shattered remnants of her telephone.

  "He got that too. I'm still waiting for a replacement."

  Martin looked around, apparently noticing the carnage for the first time.

  "Praise God, it looks like the work of the devil himself!"

  "Is a crowbar the devil's truncheon of choice?" Mr. Veilleur said, still looking amused.

  Brother Robert stepped forward. "What is it, Martin?"

  "I've been having Grace's niece watched," he said in a low voice.

  Grace was shocked and annoyed by the news.

  Brother Robert appeared surprised as well. His fingers idly twisted a strand of his beard as he spoke.

  "Why didn't I know of this, Martin?"

  Martin did not meet his gaze.

  "Because I was pretty sure you wouldn't approve. But it was you who said that this isn't over yet. I figured she's our closest link to the soulless one—and to that house where I'm sure the heart of this mystery rests!"

  Grace said, "But what has that—"

  "She was rushed to the hospital this afternoon."

  Grace leapt to her feet. "What happened?"

  "I don't know. The me
mber of our group who was watching her today called to say that after lunch she met with her priest friend—the Jesuit who tried to send us away from the mansion on Sunday—who accompanied her to the cemetery and then back to the mansion. They both went inside, and then shortly after that an ambulance raced up and took her away on a stretcher. The priest stayed in the ambulance with her all the way to the hospital."

  Grace felt her heart pounding. Poor Carol! And so soon after Jim's death. Good Lord, what can it be?

  "There's something suspicious about that priest," Martin was saying. "He's a little too cozy to this whole situation for me to believe he is completely untainted."

  Brother Robert said, "The Jesuits have their own agendas, their own priorities, which don't always coincide with those of the Holy See, but I doubt he's in league with the devil."

  "He's an old high-school friend of Carol's!" Grace cried. "Oh, please, God, I hope she's all right!"

  "It might be just nervous collapse," Mr. Veilleur said. He had seated himself again and begun arranging the broken pieces of a plaque depicting the Annunciation. "After seeing her husband die like that, I wouldn't be surprised."

  "I've got to go see her," she said, starting toward the closet for her coat.

  Brother Robert said, "Why not simply call first and find out what the problem is?"

  Grace looked at him and guessed from his expression that Brother Robert was just as eager as she to learn the details of Carol's illness.

  "Maybe I should."

  Grace got the number of Monroe Community Hospital from information and dialed. When she asked to be connected to Carol Stevens's room, there was a pause, and then she was told that the patient was taking no calls.

  That upset her. No calls could mean that Carol had a serious problem or perhaps had been taken to surgery.

  "What's her room number?"

  "Two-twelve."

  "And who's her attending physician? Dr. Alberts?" She knew he had always been Carol's family doctor.

  "No, it's Dr. Gallen."

  Suddenly numb, Grace put down the phone without saying good-bye. It took her two tries to set it properly in its cradle.

  Brother Robert, Martin, and Mr. Veilleur were all staring at her.

  "What's wrong?" Brother Robert said.

  "I'm not sure. Maybe nothing."

  "Then why do you look as if you've seen a ghost?"

  "They said her attending is Dr. Gallen."

  "So?"

  "I've heard of him. He's an obstetrician."

  Mr. Veilleur dropped the Annunciation plaque.

  2

  "Did I lose the baby?" Carol said, holding on to the hospital-bed side rails like an overboard sailor clinging to floating debris.

  Dr. Gallen shook his head. He was on the young side— maybe thirty-five—plump and fair, looking sort of like the Pillsbury Dough Boy after a visit to Brooks Brothers. He had yet to develop the imperious air of many of his colleagues. Give him time, Carol thought. But right now she was glad he was down-to-earth and amiable.

  "As far as I can tell, no. You came awfully close, but I believe the fetus is still intact."

  "But my pregnancy test was negative!"

  "Who ordered it?"

  "Uh, I did, sort of."

  "When did you run it, sort of?"

  "The Sunday before last."

  "Almost two weeks ago. Too early. You were pregnant, but your urinary HCG levels weren't high enough to give you a positive. You got a false negative. Happens all the time. A few days later and it probably would have come out positive." He waggled his finger at her good-naturedly. "That's what happens when nonmedical staff members try to play doctor without going to medical school. Now, if you'd come to me in the first—"

  "How far along am I?"

  "I figure four to six weeks. Probably closer to four, If you're still pregnant."

  Carol thought her heart would stop.

  "If?"

  "Yes, if. Although I'm pretty sure you haven't lost it, there's still a possibility you might have. We'll keep you off your feet a couple of days and keep running pregnancy tests. If they remain positive, everything's go. If not, you'll have to try again."

  Reality slammed into Carol with numbing force. She fought the tears.

  Try again? How? Jim's dead.

  The pain must have shown on her face.

  Dr. Gallen said, "Is something wrong?"

  "My husband… he was killed Sunday."

  His eyes widened. "Stevens? Not that Stevens! Oh, I'm so sorry. I've been out of town. I'd heard about it but I… somehow I never made the connection. I'm really sorry."

  "It's okay," she said, but it wasn't. She wondered if anything ever would be okay again.

  "All right, then. I guess that means we'll just have to see to it that this baby makes it," he said with a determined look in his eyes. "Right?"

  She nodded, biting her lip in fear for the child.

  "I'll check in on you later," he said. "I'm staying right on top of this. All night, if necessary." He gave her a quick wave and then he was gone.

  Something about him almost made her believe that they could pull it off.

  3

  "It's all beginning to make sense to me now," Mr. Veilleur said as Grace watched him pick up the plaque shards.

  "Good for you," Martin said sourly. "It has been perfectly clear to us for many weeks now."

  "Easy, Martin," Brother Robert said. "A little more tolerance. Remember, faith is a gift."

  "Has it really been all that clear to you?" Mr. Veilleur said to Martin. There was no amused smile playing about his lips now. He looked positively grim.

  "Of course. The Antichrist is coming and—"

  "Can we dispense with the Judeo-Christian mythology for a while? It only muddies the water."

  "Mythology?" Martin said, huffing and drawing himself up. "You are talking about the Word of God!"

  "Let's just use a neutral term, shall we? I can't have a serious discussion if we're going to talk about 'the Antichrist. ' How does 'the Presence' sound to you?"

  "Absolutely not!"

  "Oh, come, Martin," Grace said. "That sounds pretty neutral to me. What can it hurt?"

  Grace sensed that Martin was as interested as she was in what Mr. Veilleur had to say but that he didn't want to admit it.

  Martin glanced at Brother Robert, who nodded.

  "It's all right, Martin," he said slowly.

  Martin turned to Mr. Veilleur. "Okay. But just remember that—"

  "Fine," Mr. Veilleur said. "Now tell me, all of you: When did you get your first inkling of the Presence?"

  "I'm not sure," Brother Robert said. "It was all so vague at first. Early February, I'd say."

  Martin agreed, nodding vigorously. "Definitely."

  "How about the speaking in tongues?"

  "Oh, that's been happening since we first began meeting last year. It's common in Pentecostal groups."

  "I mean the special tongue, the one Grace used when she spoke to me that night at the meeting."

  Grace shivered at the memory. "The one you called the Old Tongue?"

  He nodded but kept his eyes fixed on Martin. "Yes. When did you first hear that?"

  "That I can tell you. It was shortly before Brother Robert arrived. I remember it because it was so remarkable. Everyone who spoke in tongues that night spoke in the same language. It was Septuagesima Sunday—February eleventh."

  "Interesting," Mr. Veilleur said. "That was the night Dr. Hanley's plane crashed."

  "Do you think there's a connection?" Grace asked.

  "Think about it," the older man said. "That seems to be the event that set all the other events in motion. Of course, there was another event that might have preceded the crash."

  "What?" Grace said simultaneously .with Brother Robert and Martin.

  "The conception of the Stevens baby."

  Grace felt as if all of her blood had drained out in a rush. The words seemed to crystallize an idea in her mind. It was o
nly partially formed now, but it was growing.

  "Why would that—?"

  "Consider the sequence of events. Hanley's death made James Stevens a rich man. James Stevens's death makes his wife a rich woman and guarantees that their child will be raised in an atmosphere of financial power, leaving only one person between the child and control of the Hanley millions. Doesn't it all strike you as a little too convenient?"

  "The child!" Brother Robert whispered. "Of course! The child is the Antichrist!" His eyes were bright with wonder. "It's so obvious now! Satan used Stevens's soulless body as a conduit through which he could invade this sphere by entering a woman and becoming human flesh! Evil incarnate!"

  "You're partly correct," Mr. Veilleur said with a sigh. "But the Presence has been in 'this sphere,' as you put it, much longer than a month."

  "How do you know so much?" Martin said.

  Really, Grace thought, he's acting very childish.

  "You wouldn't understand. You wouldn't want to understand. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

  "Tell me, please," Brother Robert said. "When do you think the Presence entered the clone's body?"

  "In May of 1941, I believe. Shortly after James Stevens was conceived. Perhaps there is something to this business of the soul, after all. It's very possible that James Stevens, being a clone, never had one. That being the case, the Presence probably thought he had found the perfect vehicle for himself. But instead he wound up trapped. And he remained trapped inside James Stevens's body—impotent, ineffectual, raging— for over a quarter of a century. Until—"

  "Until Carol conceived Jim's child!" Grace blurted.

  "Exactly. Whatever powers the Presence possesses were blocked while it inhabited James. It remained viable but… disconnected, so to speak. A larva locked in a living chrysalis. But when James Stevens fathered a child, the Presence broke free of him and 'became flesh,' as Martin might say."

  "You mean it's taken over Carol's child?" Grace said. The thought horrified her.