by David Wood
Bong.
Cash, Walter and Sally Field exited the bar along with the few other patrons, off to see what crazy soul was ringing the church bell.
“A cell? Why?”
“She’s not in trouble. Just needs some time to work things out. Why don’t you meet them outside? Over.”
“Copy that,” Frost said. “I’ll head your way now. Meet them half way.”
Before signing off, Rule added, “Keep an eye out for anyone fleeing the church in your direction. Over.”
“Will do. Over and out.”
Bong.
Rule took out her handcuffs and motioned to Avalon with her head and spoke to Griffin. “Help her up.”
“You’re going to cuff me?” Avalon protested, as Griffin pulled her to her feet.
“She a flight risk?” Rule asked Griffin.
Bong.
He glanced at the cuffs and then the fiery eyes of his daughter. “Do it.”
Before Avalon could protest again, Rule spun her around and slapped the cuffs on both wrists. “Frost will take them off when you settle down for the night.”
“You gonna sing me Twinkle Twinkle?” Avalon said with a sneer. “Would be like old times.”
Bong.
“Is it just me or is that bell speeding up?” Rule asked.
Bong.
Definitely speeding up.
“Go ahead,” Griffin said, taking hold of the chain between Avalon’s wrists.
“I’m never speaking to either of you again,” Avalon growled.
Bong.
“Honey, you probably won’t remember a lick of this.” Rule glanced around the empty bar. “And between the three of us, I am happy you’re home—current circumstances notwithstanding.”
Bong.
“Fuck you,” Avalon responded.
Rule grinned. “Like I said.” She headed for the door and held it open for Griffin and Avalon. He led his daughter north, walking quickly. Rule followed behind, angling out into the street. While the police station was just north of the church, it was on the wrong side of the road.
Bong.
Rule picked up her pace, breathing quick, deep breaths, inhaling air that smelled strongly of the lilacs growing beside the church. It was only a block away, but she was winded by the time she joined Cash and Walter on the sidewalk.
Bong.
“You okay, Sheriff?” Cash asked.
“Nothing a few months of exercise can’t cure.” Rule looked up at the church steeple. Bong! Whoever was ringing that bell was really putting their back into it.
Bong-bong!
“Where’s Dodge?” she shouted over the resounding echo of the church bell.
Bong-bong!
“Inside!” Walter shouted back.
She took a step toward the church when the front doors burst open. Three bodies spilled out, running down the front steps, hands clasped over their ears. Rule recognized all three faces: Dodge, Radar and Lisa. Rule sighed, she knew she might have to let yet another transgression slide or Radar was going to get a beating, and then she’d have to haul his father off to jail for real. Happy fourth of July, she thought. At least the excitement is over.
But then, it wasn’t.
Bong-bong!
“Who else is inside?” she shouted at Dodge, who looked ten shades paler than he had in the bar.
“No one is inside!” he shouted.
Bong-bong!
Rule caught hold of Dodge’s shoulder and spun him so they were eye-to-eye. “Pastor, who the hell is ringing that bell?”
Bong-bong!
He snapped out of whatever panic had gripped him and said, “No one! It’s ringing itself!”
Bong-bong-bong-bong-bong-bong!
Chapter 6
“Bells don’t ring by themselves, Pastor,” Rule said, matter-of-fact. Her instinct was to cross her arms or plant her hands on her wide hips to punctuate the statement with a little body language. But the constant ringing of the bell forced her hands to her ears.
“It’s demonic,” Dodge said. “Has to be.”
Rule went to church, just like most everyone else in town, but like most everyone in town, it was to maintain appearances. She knew all about the Bible and God and Jesus, and she liked the message most of the time, but she wasn’t sure she actually believed. There was a difference between knowing and appreciating and actual belief—the kind of belief that would lead her to accept an invisible malevolent force was taking time out of its busy schedule to ring a church bell. Seemed to her that such a thing would be counterproductive for the forces of evil. Most people’s response to proof of the existence of the Devil would be to run headlong into the open arms of Jesus. So without stepping foot in the church, she knew this wasn’t demonic.
“I’m with you, Sheriff,” Cash said, leaning down close.
“You’re a dear,” Rule said, making a mental note to never doubt Cash’s integrity so quickly again. Then she turned to Walter. “You’re coming too.”
Walter was clearly displeased with this development, but nodded and fell in line when Rule headed for the front door. Rule pointed at Radar as she stomped by. “You two don’t go anywhere! No sense in running. I know where you live.”
Radar nodded so quickly he looked like a red-headed woodpecker. He was as petrified as Dodge.
The sheriff wasn’t sure how fast a church bell could ring, but the rapid fire bonging didn’t seem possible. The bell rang when a rope was pulled from the bottom of the steeple. She’d rung the bell once a few years back and it wasn’t exactly easy. Building up this kind of speed would require what? A machine, she decided. Someone must have put something against the bell. I swear to God, she thought, if Radar did this to impress Lisa, I’m going to help his father tan his hide. That could be why Radar looked so afraid. Having been caught in the act, he knew what kind of hell might come down on him.
She yanked the heavy door open and stepped inside. It felt strange being in church on a Saturday night. The smell of wooden pews, polished by years of human backsides, old candle smoke and vanilla air freshener was an experience reserved for the following morning. The clanging bell was muffled some but was still loud enough to tense every muscle in her body, mostly because she knew it was about to get louder.
A lot louder.
They took the stairs two at a time, heading toward the second floor. Jogging past the nursery, they reached the solid wood door that provided access to the steeple. The hallway walls shook, jittering a framed photo of a praying Jesus. Rule could feel a vibration moving through her body, as though some supernatural being had just taken hold of her. She fought against the chill that rose through her body, reminding herself that she didn’t believe in ghosts. The doorknob on the steeple door began to rattle, turning slowly, but was it from the noise or was something else turning it? She watched the knob twist until it stopped and began shifting back in the other direction.
It’s the vibrations, she thought, but she didn’t fully believe it. She believed something was ringing that bell, just as surely as she believed something was turning that knob. Someone, she told herself, not something.
Gathering her resolve, Rule turned to Walter and Cash. She had to shout to be heard. “If someone is in here when I open this door, feel free to tackle them without warning.” She couldn’t do it. By law she had to announce her presence first, but Cash and Walter could act however they wanted, and if they decided to throw a few punches while they were at it, she’d somehow not see it. “Ready?”
Cash crouched down, ready to spring. When Rule saw him down like that, she remembered he’d been something of a football phenomenon back in the day. Refuge’s one and only football phenomenon. But like most people in town, he had picked up the trade of his father.
“Do it,” Cash said.
She twisted the heavy, metal door handle and pulled. The door swung open, revealing the ten-foot square space. Starting on the left was the staircase, leading up. And straight ahead was the bell rope, writhing bac
k and forth like a wounded snake. The bell’s chime exploded from the doorway, sending three sets of hands to cover ears. Even if someone had been inside the steeple, she didn’t think Cash could have tackled anyone inside without permanently ruining his hearing.
But then, he did remove his hands from his ears. There wasn’t anyone to tackle, but there was a rope to hold. With grinding teeth, he leapt onto the rope, no doubt expecting his weight to hold the bell in place. But that’s not what happened. Cash was thrashed about, whipped back and forth, and within three seconds, flung free. His head struck the staircase, and he fell to his knees.
Without thinking, Rule rushed to his aid. For a moment, she was glad the bell was so loud; no one could hear her screaming. Fighting against the pain in her ears, she got her hands under Cash’s armpits and hoisted him up. He seemed to regain his senses at her touch and stood. Walter was at the door to receive him and they quickly retreated, slamming the door behind them.
“Becky,” Cash said, a trickle of blood rolling down his forehead. “What the fuck?”
What the fuck, indeed, she thought, but didn’t say anything. She understood why Dodge assumed this was supernatural. The bell was indeed ringing itself, and with enough force to man-handle all two hundred plus pounds of Cash Whittemore.
“I have some noise canceling headphones back at the house,” Walter said. “Maybe those would—”
The bell stopped ringing.
Rule pulled the door open. The rope gently swayed back and forth.
Her eyes turned toward the stairs. Could someone have been ringing the bell from higher up? Without a second thought, she hit the stairs, climbing quickly. After the excitement of the ringing bell, she found her breath hard to catch. She could feel her heartbeat pounding hard and fast. Could feel it in her neck. Her fingertips. She wondered what a heart attack felt like, and then stopped, clinging to the railing.
Feeling light-headed, she gripped the rail. She breathed deeply and slowly, willing her body to slow down, but her heartbeat—boomboomboom—raced along. Trying to distract herself, she looked up, searching for her perp. But no matter how badly she wanted to find someone, the steeple was empty.
Through the ringing in her ears, she heard a new sound.
Shouting.
Screaming.
From outside. “They’re getting away!” Cash said, and he ran for the steeple exit.
Rule wasn’t sure if Cash was right. Even if there was someone else inside the church, something was ringing that bell while Cash clung to the rope. Unless...she thought, picturing the only other way out of the steeple, which was safe only for birds and bats. Could someone have actually jumped? She followed Cash down the stairs, through the foyer and out the front door.
There was no mistaking what caused the others to shout, and it wasn’t a desperate perp who’d flung himself from the steeple. The air outside the church shimmered like heat rising from summer-time pavement. But that wasn’t all. The sky was alive with vivid red light. Refuge was pretty far north, and during peak sunspot activity, they occasionally got a glimpse of the aurora borealis. She’d seen it twice in her life—just faint waves of green sliding through the sky. Never anything like this.
She nearly toppled down the steps, but caught herself on the rail. No one noticed her near spill. She barely noticed it herself. All eyes were turned skyward, watching the waves of blood red light arch across the sky. Something about the sight was beautiful, but more than anything, it was awful. Ominous. While the night sky was still visible, stars and all, the waves of glowing red rolled across it. She stared up, wishing it would go away, hoping for a clear night sky, but the night continued to burn above her. It looked angry. Violent. The hair on her arms rose, as some primal part of her being screamed at her to run.
She looked at Cash, who met her gaze. He looked just as stunned as she felt. Before she could comment, Dodge spoke up again. “It’s not demons,” he declared. “It’s the Devil himself.”
Chapter 7
When Deputy Frost met Griffin and Avalon in front of Soucey’s Market, she quickly read and translated the serious look in Griffin’s eyes as: Do not speak. She simply said, “Follow me,” and led them to the police station, a block past Memorial Park. It was hard to not ask about Avalon’s delirious state or the now constantly ringing church bell, but she managed to stay silent for the two-minute walk. Inside the small station, she led them past the processing desk, where she would normally book people brought in for a crime, which wasn’t very often. As she understood it, Lony wasn’t in trouble, she just needed to work off a bender...or something worse, by the looks of her.
Without a word spoken, she opened one of the two cells in the station’s back room. It was a small space with a cot, not designed for more than a single night’s stay. Frost unlocked the handcuffs and closed the cell door, locking Avalon inside.
Avalon all but collapsed on the cot. She opened her eyes, looked around the small space and groaned. “No toilet?”
“If you have to go, give a shout,” Frost said.
“You just want to see me with my pants down,” Avalon said, her speech slurred for a moment. “Always thought you were a lesbian.”
Frost glanced at Griffin, who just shook his head. Don’t respond.
“I’ll get you an extra pillow and a bucket,” Frost said, which garnered a nearly inaudible ‘Thanks.’
Frost returned to the front of the station with Griffin. She could see he wanted to talk, but she wanted to get that bucket before she forgot. “One sec,” she said, entering the bathroom where the storage closet was located. She paused in front of the mirror and noticed the quick jaunt into the early July humidity had made her ponytailed, smooth black hair into something resembling an explosion of wool. She wet her hands and attempted to smooth out her hair. When it didn’t cooperate, she frowned and said, “Damnit.”
Then she squinted at herself. What was she doing? She wasn’t the type of woman to wear makeup or push-up bras or jewelry. For one thing, she ran every day, and her body was pretty much everywhere it was supposed to be for a thirty-three year old woman. And unlike the sheriff’s hip-hugging uniform, hers was loose-fitting and did nothing to accentuate her femininity. So why was she worried about a few errant hairs?
Because Griff likes smooth hair, she thought, always has. Like Julie Barnes’s. Real-estate slut. But Griffin was off limits. She’d been close friends with Jess, his wife, before she’d died. Didn’t seem right to show an interest in her husband, now that she was gone. Of course, if Frost was honest, she’d been interested in Griffin when Jess was alive, too. “Get a fucking grip,” she growled at herself and headed for the door.
She exited the bathroom to find Griffin staring at her quizzically.
“What?”
“No bucket?”
“Shit,” she whispered, reentered the bathroom, found the bucket and returned to the office without meeting his eyes. When she entered the back room, Avalon was passed out on the cot, a puddle of vomit already on the floor. “Double shit.”
With a shake of her head, she unlocked and entered the cell, propping Avalon’s head up on a second pillow, covering her with a blanket and placing the pail next to her head. The puke could wait, Frost decided, and she turned toward the door. Griffin stood there, watching.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Just doing my job,” she replied, but his grin revealed he knew she was lying. Jail cells weren’t meant to be comfortable.
Back in the front office, she could hear the church bell running non-stop now, and she really wanted to be out there. She hated office duty. But she also understood why she needed to be here. Punching a seventeen year old kid was never a good idea. Still, the little douchebag deserved it.
Despite the ringing bell being the perfect segue out of the uncomfortable silence between them, she instead went with, “Any new paintings?”
Griffin was a surrealist painter who created huge images—oil on canvas—that Pastor Dodge had once calle
d ‘monstrosities’ from the pulpit. As one of the few non-church goers in town, Griffin found himself on the receiving end of more than a few accusations of occult interests and devil worship, if not by Dodge himself, then by some of the older folks in town, a few of whom might personally remember the days when witches were burned at the stake.
“Finished one yesterday,” he replied. “Good thing, too. I don’t think I’ll be getting much done for a while.” He glanced toward the back room.
“She okay?”
Griffin leaned back, hands atop Deputy Sweeney’s desk. “Showed up last night. Asked me to help her detox. Apparently she’s...” He paused, eyes on the floor. “She’s addicted to Oxycontin. And I got a little more than I bargained for. I think she was probably still a little high when she asked for help, but once the craving set in...” He shook his head and sighed. “I’ve seen some pretty unstoppable people in my time, but she...she was feral. Lucky Becky found her when she did.”
Frost knew that Griffin was one of the few people in town who could get away with calling the sheriff by name while the woman was on duty, so she didn’t mention it. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all, which made her feel like an idiot, but she really just wanted to hug the man. It was probably the right thing for a friend to do, but her feelings got in the way.
Luckily, the ringing bell became so feverish and loud it was no longer possible to ignore.
“What the hell could ring that bell so fast?” Griffin said, standing from the desk.
They headed toward the front door together. Frost could feel the hot and humid air working hard to curl her hair again, but she managed to ignore it. Outside, the bell was so loud it hurt her ears. She turned toward the church and saw Pastor Dodge, Radar and Lisa Howard standing in front of the church, alongside a few others who had gathered to behold the spectacle. But most were backing away with their hands over their ears. The sheriff was nowhere in sight, which meant she’d probably gone inside.
Of course she’s inside, Frost thought with a pang of jealousy. Of all the nights for the town to get restless, it had to be the one she was on office duty.