Jehovah.
The brutal beating attacks had started a month ago, Alex the first victim. He’d been in the hospital for over a week; his name had been on TV screens, in newspapers and magazines and constantly online. Everything had been known about Alex Maple. Most importantly, the fact that few people alive, even his superiors at his college, knew more about Massachusetts history, from colony days to commonwealth.
Then the other attacks had occurred: on the young woman in Beacon Hill, a man in Brookline and, finally, the other night, the woman in Hyde Park.
Apparently, the next step had been the kidnapping of Alex Maple, and the next night, the fourth brutal attack—and the suicide by Darryl Hillford when Griffin caught up with him. Then the blood had been thrown on Vickie, and they had found out that the blood had belonged to Helena Matthews, who had gone missing just about six weeks earlier.
Was Helena dead or alive?
Who was the woman Vickie kept seeing? Could it be poor Missy Prior, murdered centuries ago? Or a victim of the 1800s or the 1970s? Was she Sheena Petrie, found on the bank with the Satanist words written in the earth, or was she Helena?
And what the hell did Audrey Benson have to do with it? Or the singing duo who weren’t really from Athol?
Was Vickie right? Could an esteemed professor have gone so deeply into history that he had traded his soul and sanity for a vision of Dante Alighieri’s hell?
He had no answers.
Griffin stood in the conference room at the police station and stared at the wall that was covered with a timeline chart of the crimes associated with the attacks. Finally, he shook his head and headed back to Vickie’s apartment.
Devin and Rocky had not left Vickie alone. They were in the kitchen, chatting quietly.
Vickie was in the shower. She spent as much time bathing as possible, or so it seemed to Griffin, since the “blood” attack.
He understood.
“Anything?” he asked Rocky and Devin, helping himself to the coffee someone had brewed.
It had been years since coffee had kept him awake in any way.
“We’ve been thinking about Vickie’s dreams,” Rocky said.
“And?”
“Getting nowhere, really,” Devin said. “We’re wondering if Helena Matthews can still be alive—with the amount of blood she apparently lost.” She hesitated. “I talked to Vickie about getting a better sense of who she is seeing. It could be Missy Prior. It could be a victim from the 1800s. It could be Sheena Petrie. Or...”
“Helena,” Griffin finished.
“I know it’s hard, but I suggested that she kind of embrace her nightmare, since something seems to be trying to communicate through it,” Devin said. “Though, actually, I wasn’t sleeping when I first heard the dead.”
“Nor I,” Rocky said.
“So Vickie’s skill is a little different.”
“All right, we’re out of here,” Rocky said. “We’ll line up to drive out about eight-thirty, right?”
“We’re taking two cars?”
Devin grinned. “Your resident ghosts, Dylan and Darlene, are coming. They think we need help, and they’re right. They figured they could slip in anywhere—with or without our knowing, I guess, but it’s much more comfortable for them when the living aren’t sitting on top of them.”
“Great, see you then,” Griffin said.
He saw them out, and carefully locked up.
He headed into her room and stripped down, calling out to her to let her know he was there before he headed into the shower to join her.
She was just standing there, head bowed, eyes closed, steam rising around, water sluicing over her.
She opened her eyes and looked up and smiled as he joined her.
“Hey.”
“Didn’t want to scare you,” he said huskily.
She nodded. “Are we alone?”
“It’s just us.”
“Ah.” She curled her arms around his neck. “So, this is cool. This really hot hard-bodied guy just walking naked into my shower.”
“I haven’t a thing in the world against flattery,” he told her.
She shrugged, grinning, pressing against him, and bringing about instant arousal. Her hands slid down his back. “Nice buns, too.”
He returned the touch. She was sleek and wet and her flesh was so hot from the water.
“Your buns aren’t bad at all, either,” he said.
“Oh, stop, that will go to my head,” she teased.
Then he kissed her, and she kissed him, and they touched in the water while the heat of it and the steam seemed to grow all around them. They were laughing because she was a fairly tall woman and he was very tall and they weren’t fitting at all in the shower.
Stepping out they paused again, drying each other. And then they looked at one another and smiled, and making love began in earnest as they made their way to the bed.
Finally, spent, they lay together. For the longest time, they didn’t talk. Then Vickie rolled to him and said, “Devin suggested I try to embrace my nightmare. I’m not sure how. I mean, it’s a dream, and we don’t really have a lot of control over dreams.”
“No, we don’t.”
“So, how do I embrace it?”
“You just don’t fight it.”
She shook her head, looking determined. “I haven’t been fighting it. Really, I can be quite tough. I think I could be as tough as Devin.”
He eased back slightly, staring at her. “You mean...you’d like to apply to the academy—and the Krewe of Hunters.”
She grinned. “Or just be a consultant!” she said with a laugh. “Hold me, my love,” she said, easing down as close as she could to him. “Let me embrace all my inner demons.”
He lay awake, stroking a finger gently along her arm.
There was nothing like trying to go to sleep; it usually meant that you never would.
But in a while he felt her ease against him. And her breathing became even and relaxed.
He didn’t sleep.
He felt it when she suddenly grew tighter. Her eyes flew open.
But she didn’t see him.
“Where are you, Vickie?” he asked softly.
“The woods.”
“Do you know where?”
“No, but it’s rich and overgrown and...there’s water. And...she’s there ahead of me.”
“Who is there?” he asked.
“The blonde woman. She’s so lovely. I’m walking with her and she’s trying to warn me that the time is getting closer and closer.”
“The time for what?”
“For Satan’s time on earth. The high priest feels that they are close. They are waiting for just a few more details. But...oh, God!”
“What?”
“She’s...gone. It’s ahead of me. The inverted cross...and there’s a woman. She’s hanging upside down—and...the blood. The blood is coming from her throat. There’s so much of it. It’s running into the river and the lake and...”
Vickie sat up abruptly. She was shaking.
Griffin quickly pulled her into his arms.
“What?” he asked softly. “What was ahead? Why is it that you stop every time you come to this point? There can’t be that much blood, Vickie.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide.
“I think,” Vickie said softly, “I think that I stop because...because it’s me. I’m the woman on the inverted cross, and the blood that is flowing everywhere... Griffin! It’s my blood.”
11
The town of Barre was charming, Vickie thought. It was along the Mohawk Trail, part of a meandering journey that went through some of the most beautiful countryside to be found anywhere.
The town common was ce
rtainly one of the loveliest she’d ever seen and the picturesque bed-and-breakfast they had chosen—an early Victorian manor that bordered the common—was a stunning display of architecture, as well.
They were just sixty-one miles west of Boston, which, of course, made it a growing “bedroom” community. It was just about twenty miles from the city of Worcester, and part of Worcester County, making it even more of a bedroom community.
Once, it had been part of the northern area of Rutland, another area known for exceptional geography.
“Imagine this place when all the leaves change color!” Devin said, echoing thoughts Vickie hadn’t voiced. “I’ve never been out here in the fall—actually, I’ve barely been out here ever.”
“I’ll bet it is beautiful,” Vickie said, smiling. “I haven’t been out here in that season, either. Then again, most of New England is seriously beautiful in fall. And nice in summer, too.”
Devin laughed softly. “And hell in winter.”
But it was a beautiful summer’s day. They stood outside, just waiting for Griffin and Rocky to come out; they were bringing in the luggage and chatting with the sweet, elderly woman who was their hostess at the bed-and-breakfast, a place she had dubbed Common Court.
Dylan and Darlene had already taken off on foot, determined to understand the town and listen for whatever gossip they could come across.
Darlene had died by drowning, the first victim of the Undertaker. There was no way she wanted to visit the Quabbin, the Massachusetts man-made giant lake and reservoir.
Quite understandable.
The rest of them were ready to head out to meet up with the police divers.
For the general public, diving in the Quabbin was not permitted. In fact, doing so could get one arrested, facing serious charges.
The men appeared at the front door, still speaking with Mrs. McFall, their octogenarian hostess.
Vickie and Devin waved; she smiled and waved in return, and went into the house. Rocky and Griffin came down the stairs.
“Flirting, were you?” Devin teased Rocky.
“She’s a fascinating woman,” Griffin said. “I was flirting—at least a little. She gave us something very important.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“About a year or so ago, she had a guest, a young woman. She was just with her for a night, signed in as Nell Patton,” Rocky said.
“When she checked out,” Griffin continued, “she forgot one of her bags. It was just a little toiletries bag, but our Mrs. McFall is a good woman. She tried to reach Nell so that she could return the bag. She was never able to get in touch. Apparently, the phone number Nell gave her was written hastily—and it was missing a number. And—she has a real sign-in book, the kind with which you actually use a pen!—the address she wrote is illegible. She’s going to find the old book and show it to us.”
“But did she hear anything that might suggest something bad had happened to Nell?” Vickie asked.
“She spoke to Wendell Harper—Detective Barnes’s friend out here with the state police,” Griffin said. “He made an inquiry, but there wasn’t really much he could do. There was no sign of foul play, no one knew how to find Nell...and it all just dropped.”
“But you think that something bad happened to her?” Devin asked.
“I think that we’re possibly looking at a number of people who are a) dead, or b) part of the cult. We know that there are followers—Darryl Hillford and our girl Gloria were definitely part of the cult. So, yes, I think this woman was part of the cult or possibly came to harm at the hands of the cult. Which, I don’t know. But Wendell Harper is one of the men who is going to meet us by the Quabbin. We’ll have a chance to talk to him,” Griffin said.
“Then we should go.”
“This is actually an intriguing place when you’re talking about people coming and going,” Rocky said, once they had all slid into the car.
This time, he and Devin were in the back.
Griffin was driving; Vickie was staring ahead at the scenery.
She turned to look at Rocky. “Because tourists come through for the natural beauty, the Mohawk Trail and the Quabbin itself?”
Rocky nodded. “There’s a lot of space up here.”
“And an interesting situation,” Vickie said. She half turned in her seat to address them all. “When they determined through whatever legal machination one actually uses that they would flood the valley and create the Quabbin, they immediately set about clearing the ground, and leveling the towns that had to be destroyed to create the reservoir,” she said.
“Creepy!” Devin said.
“I thought so when I was a kid and first learned about it,” Vickie said. “It was built between 1930 and 1939 and four towns were basically destroyed for it—Dana, Prescott, Greenwich and Enfield.”
“She knows that,” Devin said, shaking her head. “She just knows that!”
Vickie laughed. “I am good with dates and all that, but I also just looked up a lot of this stuff when I first started reading about Ezekiel Martin. Anyway, when I was a kid, I thought that they just flooded whole towns with all the buildings standing—that wasn’t the case. They were torn down. You can maybe find roads and some foundations under the water, but Massachusetts did a pretty good job of tearing everything down, doing some burning...ridding it of the vestiges of dry life!” she said. “It is fascinating. There’s a bunch of videos on it—one that’s really good is called ‘Under the Quabbin’ by PBS. They can find shards of pottery, steps, bits of daily life, as in old prescription or liquor bottles or the like, but not much else.”
“What did they do with the dead people?” Devin asked.
“The dead people!” Rocky said.
“Yes! Old Massachusetts towns. There had to have been a lot of dead people!” Devin said.
“Quabbin Park Cemetery,” Vickie said. “It’s actually very cool. Okay, I don’t remember exact numbers on this, but over seventy-five hundred graves were moved from I think thirty-four cemeteries for eight towns—sometimes, you might not lose the town, but you might lose the cemetery! So, all those graves were moved. You can get to the entrance by Route 9, in Ware. Not far at all—we can go!” she said.
“And I do want to go there,” Devin said.
“Me, too,” Vickie agreed. “Of course, even if everything hadn’t been disturbed—torn down and dug up—for the Quabbin, nature takes a toll, the same way progress and populations do. There are many areas where you’ll see a cemetery and people basically respecting the cemetery when—in a city—it originally extended over the road, as well, and people are walking or driving over graves all the time. But I do believe that they tried very hard to see that when graveyards were going to be flooded, the known dead were reburied or reinterred.”
“Connecticut has Candlewood Lake,” Devin noted. “When populations need water, I suppose that we, as human beings, are incredibly lucky that engineers have long figured out how to change even the landscape around us.”
“Pretty incredible. Now, if we can only figure out how to stop earthquakes and tornadoes,” Rocky said, shaking his head.
“Maybe they will, eventually,” Vickie murmured.
“We’re coming up on the water,” Griffin commented. “The water we need here, now, in Massachusetts,” he added, glancing at them dryly.
Vickie could see a number of police vehicles and a large equipment van drawn up at the end of the road ahead of them. Two divers were seated at the tail end of the van; the doors were open and they sat—half in and half out—of their suits, sipping coffee as they waited.
Griffin pulled the car off the road and parked it. They all got out. As they did so, a man hailed them. “Agents! And Miss Preston, of course. I’m Wendell Harper. Nice to meet you. David Barnes spoke highly of you all. I’m hoping we solve whatever this is tog
ether!”
Wendell Harper was a big man—a very big man. He was about six foot four, and while not in the least fat, he was solidly built. With his shirtsleeves rolled up, it was easy to see that his arms were composed of a weight lifter’s muscle. He was probably in his early forties with buzz-cut hair and a friendly, no-nonsense manner.
Introductions went around.
“They’re going to go down in a few minutes, though I’m not expecting to find anything. We’ve been in the last few days, searching the area where the phone was found,” Harper told them.
“But you’ve been expanding, right?” Vickie asked.
“Yes, we’ve been expanding, Miss Preston,” Harper said. “Thing is, a lot of people—when they hear that towns were flooded—think that there are whole watery cities down here. Sure, things were missed here and there. We find a lot of foundations. But it’s not as if there are fully standing houses—though I do understand that there is one in Candlewood Lake, not forgotten, but dropped while moving! But trees were cleared, bushes were cleared, areas were burned...not to mention that this area was as it is now almost ninety years. Water takes a toll in that kind of time.”
“We’re looking for...for a body that might have been there a short amount of time,” Vickie said.
He nodded. “Any of you dive? I mean, you have to know what you’re doing—we’re not instructors. But if you do know what you’re doing, we can always use more sets of eyes. May be your one and only opportunity, you know, out here on a sanctioned police dive. Of course, we have gone in before—research with professors out from Worcester and Boston. But you never know when the powers that be will sanction another such situation.”
Vickie was stunned to see that Griffin, Rocky and Devin piped up immediately, all saying that they were divers.
“How?” Vickie demanded, looking at the three of them. “This is Massachusetts. You’re supposed to be skiers!”
“Well, I can’t ice skate to save my life,” Devin told her, “but I learned to dive in Salem in high school—lobstering is a big deal for us.”
“And you, too?” Vickie asked Griffin.
“Nope. I never caught a lobster,” Griffin said, glancing over at Rocky.
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