The killer spied the pretty one leaving the club. God, she was really something. Perfect in every way imaginable. Almost too perfect. The way she carried herself, with so much confidence it bordered on arrogance. There was something very special about her. And the killer felt deeply suspicious of her.
Laura began walking alone up the hill toward the center of town. The killer followed at a safe distance. Laura strode briskly in her high heels, her footsteps sharp and echoing on the concrete sidewalk, so determined, so confident.
Although the rain had stopped and the night was quiet, the killer heard things. Distant traffic roared thunderously. Lovers whispered from behind closed doors. An old man with emphysematous lungs hung on by his last breath. And then there was the mournful sighing of the clouds above, and up beyond them, the music of the spheres. Since that long ago time in a nightmare best forgotten it had been like this.
The woman stopped and turned around, a puzzled look on her face. The killer stopped as well, and gave a little push. The woman’s facial features slackened but she continued to stare. Was she actually aware? Yes, this one was different, perceptive. Did she have the ability to see beyond the shadows? It was a thrilling thought.
Chapter 48
Laura turned back around, and with a shiver of revulsion continued on her way. Ever since leaving the club she’d felt edgy, like someone was watching her, but she did not see anyone. She’d chosen to walk back to her apartment instead of driving or taking a cab for good reason. She’d discussed the possibility with Rick Jennings that perhaps someone was watching Wolf and killing his women. If that was the case, then she could think of no better way to draw him out then to walk alone in the middle of a dark night. If the killer was watching Wolf then certainly he had seen her flirting blatantly with him. And therefore he might follow her.
At least this was the hope.
When she left the club she’d turned off the listening device. She wondered now if it had been such a good idea. Feeling spooked she unsnapped her purse so that her small nine millimeter automatic was close at hand. If Rick found out she was taking such risks he would probably go ballistic. But what the hell, she’d been asked here to help solve a series of heinous crimes and that’s exactly what she intended to do. She’d always been a ‘balls to the wall’ kind of gal and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon.
She cut across the street diagonally and angled toward her apartment building still feeling as if someone was watching her. Click, click, click, her footsteps sounded on the sidewalk.
A car rolled slowly down the street, the low-end pulses of its onboard sound system nearly rattling the fillings from her teeth. Laura turned her head slightly and saw something in the flash of headlights. Then it was gone. She upped her pace.
Something wasn’t right. The feeling that she was being observed hung with her. She hazarded another quick glance over her shoulder and saw nothing. Or did she? Was there someone just beyond her line of vision? The night seemed so dark and it seemed to close around her like a shroud. She stopped, turned and blinked her eyes several times in quick succession to clear her vision. It was as if a portion of her vision was being blocked by something, and it was one of the strangest sensations she’d ever experienced. She cocked her head, shook it and again blinked her eyes. And there it was again, a stealthy and fluid movement like a black hole at the center of her vision. She turned her head and the black hole did not move with her. She blinked again and it was gone.
Her skin crawled into gooseflesh as a spurt of terror shot into her heart. She spun back around and continued on her way, her footfalls quickening. Click, click, click. Now she was almost running. Just a few more feet to her apartment door. Even so, she opened the flap of her purse and put her hand on her weapon. She stopped in front of her door and looked up and down the street. There were only a few pedestrians in sight; a young couple across the street staggered home drunkenly from one of the clubs in the Old Port. Further down toward the waterfront another group of revelers cut across Congress Street and moved into an alley, their raucous banter carrying all the way up the hill.
Shit! She felt the hairs stand up on her arms. The nape of her neck prickled. Something was definitely wrong but she did not know what. Then, beneath the streetlamp she saw a quick flash like light reflecting off a mirror. Then it was gone. She thought of what Rick had told her, that he’d seen the ghost of a woman at both recent crime scenes. Laura pulled her weapon and aimed it at the spot.
“Whoever or whatever you are, I know you’re out there,” she said. “I don’t know why I can’t see you but I’ll bet this gun could put a bullet clean through you. Come on, you fucking coward, why don’t you show yourself?”
The killer moved swiftly out of harm’s way, amazed that the woman had the instinct to know that someone had been within striking distance. Perhaps this one was a demon in disguise, definitely not your average groupie. This one was smart and brave and perceptive. She needed to be watched very carefully. And Danny needed to be protected at all costs. She could not be allowed to lead the destroyers to him. She could not be allowed to lead the destroyers to them. This was never going to happen.
The killer turned and moved down the street.
Chapter 49
Laura, still spooked by what she had seen, or more accurately, by what she had not seen, turned from the street and entered her apartment building. It was a small one-bedroom furnished efficiency on the first floor that Rick Jennings had rented for her after she’d accepted his invitation to come here and work on this increasingly weird case.
She locked the door, threw the deadbolt and attached the chain lock. Then she went to the window and looked out into the street. A sudden fluttering buffeted against the window on the outside of the glass. She screamed and fell back against the couch, her trembling hand going to her mouth. Several errant pigeons had evidently been roosting on the windowsill and were startled when she looked out.
Calm down, Laura. God, you are freaking yourself out. She quickly pulled down the window shade. She didn’t frighten easily but now she was shaking almost uncontrollably. She knew some things about evil. In years past she’d been instrumental in solving several high profile cases in the Hartford area. She’d almost lost her life on one of those cases when the serial predator she’d been dogging had discovered that she was hot on his trail. James Patrick Darby was his name and he was one sick son-of-a-bitch. He’d turned Laura’s keen investigative skills against her and nearly made her one of his victims. He’d knocked her out cold, taken her captive, and kept her locked up in his lair for six days and six nights, torturing her, sexually molesting her, taunting her, driving her to the brink of madness and back again. Or so he’d thought. His biggest mistake was not killing her sooner. He’d underestimated her and one day when he’d gone out she’d freed herself and found one of his guns.
She’d ended up shooting the son-of-a-bitch six times, four times in the heart and twice in the head before he’d given up the ghost and fallen on top of her where the bastard died with a sick fucking smile on his ugly-ass face. It was as if, even in death, he had somehow won. Thinking about that terrible time caused her trembling to turn into spasms.
Stop it! She told herself. Reliving that is not going to get you anywhere. The bastard is dead and he can never hurt you again.
She put the teakettle on the stove to heat and made herself a cup of green tea. She sipped on the tea, willing its medicinal properties to calm her.
Yes, she knew some things about evil. The evil of her father’s murder, the evil of the cases she’d worked on. But the evil she’d felt tonight while walking home from the Cavern Club was a kind of evil she’d never felt before. And it caused a dread in her heart that felt like a great weight.
Earlier when Rick Jennings mentioned what he’d seen at the city landfill she was at first skeptical. But then, once she’d had time to think about it she realized that he must have seen something. He was not capable of making up such things. And even if
he was, why would he? She’d known him a long time and knew that he didn’t lie. He was the most grounded person she’d ever known.
Yes, there was something creepy going on in Portland. She felt it. She’d just had a brush with it. It had almost touched her, she was sure of it, and her skin crawled with revulsion at the thought of it.
And something else she was sure of and very confused about. She wanted Danny Wolf. The idea of it both excited her beyond articulation and simultaneously scared her almost to death. She didn’t even know him. He had practically told her to get lost. He was the main suspect in a series of heinous crimes. But none of that mattered. From the moment she’d looked into his eyes she knew that she wanted him and it made her afraid to admit that. But her fear did not stop the yearning she felt. She could not stop thinking about him and it was freaking her out.
Although the tea had its calming effects, her adrenaline was up and she could not even think about sleeping. She sat at the kitchen table and turned on her laptop computer, went on the internet and typed in the key words, Apocalypse Island, Maine.
Chapter 50
Jennings heard the phone but it was too distant for him to make much sense of. He tried to reach it but his legs were those of a dream runner, all rubbery and weak. Now he could see that the phone was actually glowing red as it rang, swelling up and then shrinking back down like a loathsome beating heart. With a huge breath of anxiety he came awake as his hand groped for the phone. He squinted at the caller ID. ‘Blocked caller.’ “Shit!” Jennings said. He picked it up and said hello.
“Stay away from this case,” a voice he did not recognize warned.
“Who is this?” Jennings said. He was fully awake now and sitting up in bed.
“Back all the way off before you lose someone very close to you. I won’t warn you again.”
Then the caller hung up. The line was dead.
He stared at the phone in his hand, and slowly, shakily, put it back on the receiver. The voice, spoken in a soft whisper, had been totally unrecognizable. He could not even tell if it was a man or a woman.
Jennings threw his robe around him and went back into the study. He spent the next twenty minutes trying to trace the call only to discover that it was made from a throwaway cell phone that could be purchased at any drugstore or department store and was totally untraceable.
“Back all the way off before you lose someone very close to you.”
That’s a good one, Jennings thought. He had lots of acquaintances but few close friends. His true friends could be counted on one hand. Doug and Annie McArthur, Rosemary, his secretary, a few of the guys he worked with such as Lou Abrams and his wife Sandy, and of course Frank Cavanaugh and his wife Kate. But other than that there was no one. It struck him that since Molly’s death he had totally insulated himself from the world. He was so afraid of losing someone else he loved that he refused to get close to anyone.
Then it hit him. Someone must know about Laura. They’d been seen together. Perhaps they’d seen her here tonight, seen her leaving his apartment, followed her to the club and then home. Did the caller know who she was? Did he know she was a cop?
He dialed Laura’s number. To his surprise she answered. He told her what happened.
“Wow, that is weird,” Laura said. “Who doesn’t want you digging into this?”
“Don’t have a clue,” Jennings said.
“You indicated that maybe someone on the force—”
“No!” Jennings interrupted. “It’s too hard for me to swallow. Until we prove different I’m going to assume some deranged monster is killing these women, not a cop. Listen, did anything unusual happen tonight, other than your conversation with Wolf?”
“Not a thing,” Laura replied, wondering why she was lying to him. But had she lied? Truth is she hadn’t actually seen anything on her walk home. Nothing substantial at least. It had just been a fleeting glimpse, but mostly a feeling. A creepy feeling, but that’s all.
“What aren’t you telling me, girl?”
“Nothing.”
“Laura!”
“I mean it. I came straight home. I’m having a cup of tea and then I’m going to bed.”
“Make sure your door’s locked. And be extra careful. Somebody may be watching you.”
Somebody may be watching me indeed, Laura thought. “Sure, Rick,” she said. “Listen, do you mind if we get together a little late tomorrow? I have something I need to take care of.”
“How late?” Jennings asked, and she heard the suspicion in his voice.
“I don’t know, early afternoon sometime. I don’t know how long this will take.”
“Can you let me in on what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing to do with the case,” she said. “There’s an old friend I’d like to see while I’m here in Portland.”
“Oh, sure,” Jennings said. But he suspected there was something she wasn’t telling him.
“Thanks, I’ll check in when I get back,” she said as she hung up.
Chapter 51
It was late and Father Patrick Byrne moved through the nave, past the silver votives holding candles that had burned down to nubs. His footsteps sounded muffled in his ears, and his heart beat hollowly, as though its chambers were empty, as vacuous as his soul. At the altar, before the huge suspended crucifix, he genuflected, crossed himself and prayed for guidance as the image of Jesus stared reprovingly down at him.
He clasped his clammy hands together, his body beneath his robe slicked with a self-loathing sweat. He had been a priest for nearly forty years and he had never stopped seeking guidance, even as his faith wavered dangerously.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he whispered, though he found no solace in prayer.
He could not stop thinking about the young man who had come into the church on that morning more than a week ago. Seeing him had rekindled memories best left untended. He remembered the young man as a child. He was so beautiful, so exotic looking, with deep dark eyes, shiny black hair and beautiful, cream colored skin. And there had been something almost magical about him, a tremendous magnetism that had drawn the other children to him and frightened the staff members. Byrne was told that the child was native to the island, a product of interracial inbreeding. After seeing some of the others the island had produced Byrne realized just how lucky this one was.
And he was about the right age. There could be no mistake. The resemblance was too striking.
His mind went back to that terrible time and place, as it did so often. As much as he’d tried he had never been able to forget about the things that had happened there. Oh God, how the children had suffered at the hands of those monsters and he had been forced to turn his head away. Just thinking of them caused a well of despair so deep within him he might drown in its depths.
Until recently he’d believed the children had all died in the fire, and he’d always wanted to believe that they had found peace in the hereafter. But five years ago he’d been shocked to discover that some of them had survived. He’d been summoned to police headquarters. When he arrived he’d been greeted by old acquaintances who had informed him that the body of a young woman had been found on a walking trail near the ocean in Falmouth and that they believed that one or more of the forsaken (as the children had come to be known) were responsible.
Byrne had asked how this was possible and was told that they were working on answers, but believed that somehow an unknown number of children had survived the fire and escaped the island. It was believed that they had been helped by an unknown person or persons. The survivors had been placed in foster care and given new names and identities. Now they were living in and around the community at large as normal citizens. But Byrne knew, probably better than anyone else alive, that those children, now adults, were far from normal. They had been influenced by something greater than themselves as children and he knew they could never be normal. At the time of the meeting Byrne was told not to worry, that they would all be found and
dealt with.
Father Byrne knew that the authorities had somehow covered up the murder of that woman. Nearly five years had passed since the meeting and he had not heard another word. He’d begun to believe that all survivors had been found as promised and that they could all breathe a sigh of relief. Now, two more young women had been murdered in exactly the same manner as that woman five years ago, and this very afternoon the news had broken of four nuns killed execution style in a small convent in western Maine. He’d known two of those nuns and he was certain that their murders were arrows aimed directly at the heart of the church. There could be no other explanation. Someone was in the process of wiping the slate clean once and for all. But what he couldn’t understand was why they were killing innocent young women? What did these innocents have to do with Apocalypse Island? It didn’t make sense.
There had been nine of them out of all the children in the orphanage. They were all special in their own individual way, a brotherhood and sisterhood, all born without names or identities, forgotten and unwanted because they were so different.
These were the ones the government wanted, so Father O’Neal, Byrne’s superior at the time, had made a deal with members of the government in exchange for further funding for the orphanage. At the time it seemed like an equitable exchange. It was either take the government’s money or close the orphanage. They promised that no harm would come to the children. The government had lied, as governments have a way of doing. Byrne had been uncomfortable with the arrangement from the beginning, but he’d had no power over the church or the government and he’d been forced to go along. Then he’d seen what those poor children had to endure. He’d tried to help. He’d tried to save some of them, but it had all been in vain.
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