“No, Vic,” Peyton said. “He’s not. Look for yourself.”
Vic removed the pistol from Justine’s neck and pointed it at Peyton. “Shut your mouth,” he screamed.
“Go ahead, shoot me. Shoot me! Do it, you fucking coward.”
Vic glanced up at the raven, and lowered the weapon.
“Maybe you should give me the gun,” Peyton said, laughing. “Then I can make it quick for you, at least.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Nothing I said about the bank happened then, huh? Is that what you’re telling me? I was there, Vic. I was the pregnant woman you killed. And I’m going to enjoy watching him tear your soul to shreds.” She pointed at the rafters. “And he’ll do it, soon. Because you’ve failed him, Vic. Look outside. Now.”
Vic had to tear his eyes away from the girl. He dragged Justine with him, and peered out of a crack. The boy was still there, but there was someone else—a man in a suit—running up behind him.
*
Zach took another step forward. “I came, just like you told me to. Please, let them—”
Taggart tackled him, knocking Zach to the ground. “Dammit, Zach,” he grunted as he grabbed the boy’s arm and dragged him back toward the cars.
Zach tried to break his grip, but couldn’t. “No! He’s going to kill her!”
Taggart tossed him behind one of the cars and held him down. “Another stunt like that and you’re going to make sure he kills both of them and probably you, too! Keep your ass down and let us do our jobs!”
“I’ve got to get in there!”
Taggart slapped him across the face. “Think, Zach. If all of what you told me is true, he wants both of you together. Why else would he have you come here?”
“But—”
“That guy in there wants to kill both of you, Zach. Together. Why else would he have kept Peyton alive, waiting for you to show up?” Strangely, none of this had dawned on Taggart until this moment. Whoever was in there wanted Zach and Peyton together—no, needed them together—and then he would kill them both. “If we keep you away, Peyton might have a chance.”
Zach stared at him, anger in his eyes.
“I swear to God I’ll handcuff you to this car if you don’t listen to me,” Taggart said.
“We can’t let him kill her.”
“I know, Zach. We won’t let that happen. Okay?”
Zach looked away.
“Trust me, Zach.”
“Tell me that you believe that I didn’t have anything to do with Rakel’s murder.”
Taggart remembered a conversation he’d had with Jack Mauger.
“Hey, Jim? Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you believe in the Devil?”
“You know, Jack, I do believe. I really do.”
“I’m not sure what killed Rakel, Zach,” Taggart said, “but I believe you were supposed to.”
Zach looked back at him. “Mitch Bannock stopped it.”
“Yeah, Zach, I think he did.”
The barn door swung open, and Vic stood in the opening, Justine in his arms and a pistol to her head.
“Bring me the boy or she dies!” Vic yelled.
Zach quickly scrambled to his feet, and Taggart grabbed his arm. “I wasn’t kidding about the cuffs, Zach. Stay here.”
Zach nodded, reluctantly. “I trust you, Detective. Please save her. Save both of them.”
Taggart released Zach’s arm and turned toward the gunman. He didn’t realize that it wasn’t Zach talking to him this time.
*
Vic stared at the array of law enforcement vehicles surrounding the barn, each officer with a weapon pointing right at him. He had to squint into the lights, but could still see most of them. As long as he had Justine in the crook of his arm, and the pistol to her head, they wouldn’t chance taking a shot.
“I said, bring me the boy. Now.”
He watched one of the officers bring a megaphone to his lips. “We need you to release the other hostage first, as a show of faith, then we can talk about—”
“No! You bring me the boy, or I will blow this woman’s brains all over the front of this barn. Do you understand me?”
“You don’t want to make this any worse than it already is,” the lieutenant said. “Please release the other hostage, and we can talk.”
“There’s no talking! Bring me the boy!” Vic knew he’d more than likely have to follow through with his threat. This woman meant nothing to him, so killing her would be easy. He didn’t realize that his hostage was awake again, and aware of what was going on.
*
Justine knew it was now or never. The police wouldn’t shoot as long as he held the gun to her head. If she could cause enough of a distraction, maybe move her head far enough away from the pistol, then they could take a shot and kill this son of a bitch.
Or she could end up with a bullet in her skull.
Either way, the bastard holding her would die. Peyton would be safe. They could rescue her, and she could live her life.
It turned out be an amazingly simple decision for Justine.
She thought about her husband, Rick, and how pissed he was going to be when he found out what she did. Sorry, babe. I love you.
“Shoot him!” Justine screamed as she elbowed Vic in the ribs as hard as she could, and brought her leg back, kicking him in the shin.
The gun went off.
A half second later, a sniper pulled his trigger.
It was the diversion Zach—no, Mitch—had been waiting for.
54
Calls of “Target down! Target down!” and “Hold your fire! Check fire!” filled the air.
Justine lay facedown in front of the barn door. The gunman had taken a shot to the head, and fallen back inside. His feet were visible, but nothing more.
“Dammit,” Taggart swore. “God dammit.”
A line of police slowly advanced on the barn, weapons trained on the gunman’s body, just in case the shot hadn’t been fatal. An EMT crew, who had been at the rear of the perimeter, rushed forward and walked behind the officers.
The guy was dead, Taggart knew. He’d been looking at his face when the sniper’s round hit him. It was a fatal head, shot, all right. As fatal as they come. The planks to the right of the barn door were covered in gore, hunks of bloody bone and brain matter slowly sliding down and plopping to the ground.
Two officers reached the barn door, and lowered their weapons. “Clear!” they shouted. The EMTs knelt down by Justine’s body.
Taggart turned toward Zach—he was gone. He whipped his head around, but there was no sign of Zach anywhere.
And then he heard the bird.
It was a screech unlike anything he’d heard before, so loud that he jumped. He quickly turned toward the barn door and saw a large black raven perched atop the gunman’s body. Its tiny eyes darted from person to person, and its beak opened wide. When it screeched again, Taggart immediately knew it was no normal bird. He’d seen the thing before, outside his office window. He hadn’t realized what it was then, but he did now.
“Do you believe in the Devil?”
“You know, Jack, I do believe. I really do.”
And that’s when the barn door slammed shut.
The officers nearest the barn door jumped back in surprise, and the EMTs quickly placed Justine’s body on a stretcher and rushed back toward the line of police cars.
“We’ve got someone else in there, people!” the lieutenant barked. “And we still have a hostage!”
Taggart knew the lieutenant was right, there was still someone in there, but it wasn’t another human who had slammed the door shut.
Taggart felt the ground begin to shake beneath his feet. And then the barn began to shake.
“Peyton’s still in there,” he murmured to himself.
And Zach was nowhere to be seen.
*
Inside the barn, the bird lay dead by the ba
rn door, its body empty, having served its purpose. Vic Davol—or the body of Vic Davol—stood over it. The air inside was swirling madly, with dust and debris flying about.
Vic raised his arm, and equipment from the rear of the barn flew forward, smashing against the front barn door. From every darkened corner, forgotten farm machinery, large and small, flew through the air, landing at the base of the door, blocking it shut.
It would take them time to get in. More time than he needed.
There was a small hole in the right side of Vic’s head, and the left side was mostly gone. His body was covered with blood and gore, but it moved, animated from within.
Vic’s soul was gone, dispatched to a place that had been reserved especially for him. His just deserts for all that he had done, and failed to do. He would pay, for eternity.
The Traveler, the one with many names, had found a new host.
It turned toward the girl in the corner, the one who threatened his very existence. Just like the other one, whom Vic Davol had killed twenty years ago because of the seed she carried within her body.
Mitch and Jenna Bannock had been Chosen to have a special child, but he’d made sure it never came to term.
This girl, Peyton Sayre, and the boy outside, Zach Regan, had taken their place. They were Chosen.
He stepped closer, gazing down at the unconscious girl. The other spirit inside her had retreated, and he could sense its fear, its loathing for him.
The body he’d taken was terribly damaged, and wouldn’t last long. But the Traveler didn’t need much time. He stepped closer, undid his belt.
If there was going to be a baby, then it would be his.
55
Zach slipped closer to the rear of the barn, silently, swiftly, his body driven by a force from within, by one who was skilled in the art of stealth.
There were two officers at the rear, each of them distracted—and scared—by what they were hearing, both on their radios and within the building itself.
Zach took them both down easily, knocking them unconscious.
Peyton was in there.
Jenna was in there.
Zach figured the gunman had blocked the rear door, but there was a low spot to his right, where the soil had pulled back from the barn’s planks over the years. He knelt down, and began to dig with his hands.
*
Taggart ran to the front entrance, gripped the edge of the door, and started pulling.
“Detective, get away from the door, now!” It was the lieutenant, still convinced there might be an accomplice within the barn.
“Negative! Give me some help. We have to get in there before it’s too late!”
“There’s another—”
“Dammit, Lieutenant! You saw what I saw, right? He’s dead. There’s no one else in there except for Peyton Sayre. Now help me get this door open right now!”
The lieutenant looked around, as if searching for someone to back him up, but all he saw were his officers looking at him, and back at the door. They weren’t going to stand still for long. “All right, give him a hand! But keep your weapons ready!”
A group of officers rushed to help Taggart, and together they started tugging on the door, feeling it give way a little more with each effort.
The lieutenant shoved his way in beside Taggart, and grabbed the edge of the door too. “What the hell is happening here, Detective?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
*
Zach cleared enough of a hole under the plank to squirm through, and when he did, his blood ran cold. Even in the muted spots of moonlight spilling through the holes in the barn’s roof, he could see what was happening.
Vic Davol, or what was left of him, was rolling off Peyton’s body. It was a disgusting sight, so evil and depraved that Zach could barely restrain himself.
The thing was there, right in front of him, but it was weak now, the ruined body encasing its unholy being quickly losing its usefulness. It didn’t sense his presence, as it was far too involved with its own sickening endeavor.
Zach had no weapons of his own, but he spied the knife strapped to Vic’s leg.
He lunged for it.
*
“One, two, three!” With one final pull, the old board holding the door shut from the inside cracked in two, and the door flew open. Before them was a pile of rusted machinery, blocking half of the entrance.
Taggart tore at it, grabbing pieces and tossing them away. The other officers helped, tugging and pulling at whatever they could get their hands on, clearing the obstruction away, but Taggart wasn’t willing to wait. He scrambled to the top of the pile, rusty metal tearing at his clothes and cutting his hands.
As he reached the top, he pulled his flashlight from his pocket and turned it on. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but when it dawned on him, he reached for his gun.
*
Zach yanked the knife from the sheath. It felt right in his hand, familiar. He had never used a knife like this before, but Mitch Bannock had.
Ignoring the disgusting scene before him, Zach grabbed what was left of Vic’s hair and dragged his body away from Peyton. Half of his head was gone.
Peyton wasn’t moving. Her jeans were bunched up around her ankles, and it seemed as if her entire body was covered in blood.
Zach wrenched Vic’s head back, exposing his neck.
Vic was laughing, a horrid, gurgling sound. Not remotely human.
Zach brought the blade to Vic’s throat, and in a voice not entirely his own, said, “It ends here.”
“This is only the beginning,” the thing inside Vic said.
Zach gripped the KA-BAR tightly, then drew the blade across Vic’s throat, cutting quickly, cutting deep.
*
“Drop the knife, Zach,” Taggart said. “It’s over now.”
Zach stared at him, a bloody knife in his hand. He let loose of Vic’s hair and let the body fall to the dirt.
“Come on, Zach, drop the knife.” Still, Zach just stared at him. Taggart knew it wasn’t actually Zach looking at him, though. “Mitch, it’s all over. You’ve finished what you came for. It’s over.”
Zach looked down at Vic’s body, and backed away. In a voice Taggart had never heard before, he said, “No, Detective. It isn’t.”
Vic’s body began to jerk, twitch, a little at first, then wildly, as if it were lying on a third rail.
Taggart watched as the body swelled, skin growing taut under stretched clothes, and then there was a series of sickening popping, tearing sounds as what was inside began to emerge.
In a horrid explosion of blood and ropy entrails, the beast inside Vic Davol’s body pushed itself from its human cocoon, and rose, much too large to have been held inside the flesh and bone that had hidden it. It stretched, and roared.
Taggart’s flashlight revealed a horned beast, cloven-hoofed and winged, a serpent-like tail whipping behind it, a vision straight from Hell. For a moment, Taggart looked at the real face of evil. There was a Devil, and he—it—was just a few feet away. The stench of death, the choking stink of feces radiated from it in waves. From the darkened spaces of the barn, clouds of flies descended on its grotesque form, crawling across its glistening skin, tiny lovers caressing a putrid, fallen abomination.
The demon’s fiery eyes, piercingly evil and glowing with a tumultuous fury, gazed upon him. In those eyes Taggart saw the tortured faces of millions of souls, swimming forever in an endless sea of fire, screaming for redemption, for salvation, for a second chance at faith that would never be offered.
It turned its ugly head and looked down at the motionless body of Peyton Sayre.
Taggart emptied his entire magazine into it, each shot lighting the interior of the barn like a strobe light, the pistol’s sharp reports disappearing in the beast’s growling laughter.
It spread its wings and leapt at him, a legion of blistered voices roaring from its open maw—
Taggart covered his face and f
ell backward to the ground. And then the beast was gone.
He opened his eyes. The demon had disappeared.
All was quiet.
Zach stared at the knife in his hands, then threw it to the ground. He knelt by Peyton, cupped her face in his hands.
Taggart stepped forward, took off his suit coat and laid it across Peyton’s waist. He knew what had happened here, and was sickened by it.
Peyton’s eyes fluttered open.
Zach leaned closer, smiled at her. “Jenna,” he said, in a voice not all his own.
Peyton’s face brightened, and she smiled back. “Mitch . . .”
Both of their bodies convulsed slightly, and they each took a sudden breath.
For the first time since they were both little kids, Zach Regan and Peyton Sayre were alone, for at that moment, Mitch and Jenna Bannock departed their hosts. They’d found each other, and found their eternal peace.
“Peyton, it’s okay,” Zach said softly, stroking her face. “It’s over now. You’re going to be okay.”
“Get the EMTs in here, now!” Taggart barked.
“Zach?” Peyton said, barely opening her eyes.
“I’m here, Peyton, I’m here.” He grasped her hand.
“I’ve been looking for you,” she whispered.
“And I found you,” he replied.
At that instant, Peyton felt a strange sensation sweep through her body, filling her with light, with goodness, with grace. In her heart, she knew what had just come to pass, though in the months to follow she would have no memory of the moment.
The spirit of Timmy Bannock had predicted this event. Something wonderful had happened.
Like Jenna Bannock before her, and Mary of the tribe of Judah before Jenna, Peyton Sayre had been chosen to carry a very special baby.
But there was another seed inside her. It would grow alongside the other.
Peyton placed her hand on her belly, and began to softly scream.
*
Peyton’s two girls, Lydia, born first, and Rylee just minutes later, were fraternal twins. Lydia had Peyton’s brown hair and was a little stockier, if that was the correct word for a baby. Rylee, on the other hand, had Peyton’s blue eyes, with wispy blonde hair. She was small and frail at birth, weighing two pounds less than her twin, and the doctors weren’t sure she was going to make it.
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