by T F Allen
The fence Donnie’s father had built after the coyote attack protected the whole perimeter of the vineyard. Bougainvillea and jasmine disguised it near the tasting room, probably so it wouldn’t spook the tourists. But along most of its length it stood as an imposing barrier to the bobcats and coyotes that roamed these foothills. With six feet of chain-link fencing topped by an angled section of barbed wire and a bite-proof three-inch pipe, this fence was probably more expensive than all of Donnie’s hospital bills. The barrier was strong enough to turn away even the most determined of creatures, but I knew it wouldn’t stop Hannah and the nun.
I thought about my strategy to help them. They were both so headstrong and single-minded. If things got crazy, it might be impossible to get through to them. All they needed was a shred of proof Donnie had taken Michael or Jolene, something that would bring Captain Tuttle and his men running. There were at least two ways to find it: by reaching the trapdoor entrance to Michael’s cell or by running into Jolene. A third option was another face-to-face with Donnie, but nobody wanted that.
Nothing about this would be easy. Hannah and Sister Mary Elizabeth still had no idea what Donnie was really like, and Cole was probably lurking over this vineyard just like me, waiting to warn Donnie when they arrived. They needed to be fast and quiet. And maybe a little lucky.
As night settled over Napa Valley and a three-quarter moon took its place in the sky, I tried to imagine how this view would look through Michael’s eyes. While everything I saw seemed bathed in midnight blue, I knew he’d also see reds and yellows and purples, each representing an undercurrent of the emotions he felt. Sister Mary Elizabeth might see a chorus of angels on the horizon riding chariots of fire, and Hannah the swirling winds of the Universe coming to guide her way. I didn’t know which was the true picture—if one person’s filter was clearer than another’s or if each of us was missing the same glaring detail.
I scanned the perimeter for what seemed like hours, until I finally saw movement near the northern fence line. Something long and skinny shimmered in the moonlight as it snaked its way toward the vineyard. I recognized it as the aluminum ladder from the home improvement store. Hannah and Sister Mary Elizabeth carried it through nearly a quarter mile of brush and long grass to the edge of the Harkrider property. I closed my eyes—and then I was with them.
“What if this thing is electrified?” Sister Mary Elizabeth said.
“It isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
Hannah dropped her end of the ladder. “Because I’d feel it.” She stood just inches from the fence and held her palms out in front of her. She waited a moment, then grabbed the chain links with both hands. “See? No worries. Let’s get started.”
The urgency in their voices encouraged me. Clearly Hannah would lead them in, so I joined her as she pulled the bolt cutters from her backpack. She’d never used bolt cutters before, but they looked strong enough for the job. The grips were fourteen inches long, short enough to carry but long enough to provide the force she needed.
She was testing the grips when Sister Mary Elizabeth ripped her habit on a manzanita bush. The nun tripped and fell but got up quickly and checked the rip with her flashlight. “I’m okay,” she said as she hurried to Hannah’s side. Then she pointed the flashlight at the fence so Hannah could see what she was doing.
Hannah smiled. The Universe couldn’t have chosen a better partner for her, though she never would have predicted it. And she never thought they’d try something like this together. Somehow the woman she originally latched onto just to land an exclusive with Delacroix had become her trusted ally. She still didn’t believe in God, but she’d found a new respect for Sister Mary Elizabeth. Who else would agree to trample through these foothills in her habit when most women her age were already asleep? Here she was, tired and sweating from carrying the ladder but holding her flashlight as steadily as a cameraman. She was ready to charge into this vineyard as soon as Hannah cut out a path because she believed that’s what it would take to save Michael. Only a woman of great faith could make a decision like that.
Faith was exactly what they needed to make it through this. If Hannah’s intuitions were right, they’d find the woman she saw on the stairs, and that woman would lead them to Delacroix. Or maybe they’d find Delacroix on their own. They’d call Captain Tuttle, then get the hell out of the way while the cavalry arrived and arrested Harkrider. And then she would land that exclusive.
She grimaced as she cut the first link. Now that she thought about it, landing the interview didn’t seem as important as it had when she’d hopped on that plane. Helping Sister Mary Elizabeth find the man she’d watched and worried over since he was a child, exposing Harkrider as the liar and abductor she knew he was—somehow those things seemed to matter more.
And then there was Delacroix himself. She had to admit he’d been stuck in her mind since the moment they first met in that taxi in Chicago, and not just because he was at the center of a story that could change her career. Everything she’d learned about him since that day only fed her fascination for him. He’d spent seven years in mourning over a woman he loved but barely knew. She’d be lucky to meet a man who felt that strongly about her. And the way he depicted the Universe in his paintings made her wonder if he knew more about its powers than she did. It might be too much to hope for, finding all those qualities in one person, but she was open to the possibility.
The bolt cutter ate through the fence link by link until she’d cut a four-by-three-foot outline. She tucked the cutters into her backpack and pushed against the cutout section. It fell inward and lay flat on the ground, a chain-link drawbridge to their destiny. “Let’s go get him.”
Sister Mary Elizabeth picked up her end of the ladder and stared into the vineyard. “God help us.”
“Amen.” Hannah located the glowing moon and sent it a wink.
As soon as they ducked through the hole in the fence, I sent Hannah an image of the trapdoor to Michael’s cell. She glanced at it, but it didn’t register. Again, she was focused only on the mansion.
By studying satellite images online, she’d memorized the layout of the property, including the narrow access roads that connected the mansion and the caves to the rest of the winery. She’d picked the northern fence line as their entry point because it was the closest to the mansion. They could sneak through the rows of vines all the way to the house without crossing an access road, which reduced their chances of getting caught.
The moonlit sky guided their way between the trellised rows of vines. The smell of wet dirt filled her nose, and the ground felt soft under her shoes. Tractors must have recently plowed between these rows, preparing for whatever off-season crop they used to replenish the soil. Somewhere in the distance a coyote howled, calling his pack to the hunt.
“If we find her, how will you get her to help us?” the nun said.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Then maybe I could try first?”
Hannah knew the words would come when she needed them. Words were never a problem for her, especially when she followed the signs and seized the moment. But Sister Mary Elizabeth had a unique ability to defuse tense situations. She’d been great at it both with the cops and when Harkrider caught them sneaking around inside the mansion. Who wouldn’t stop and listen to a nun? It wasn’t the craziest idea she’d considered today.
“Fine.”
They paused at the end of the row. Only a narrow stretch of lawn separated them from the northern side of the mansion. This side had no doors, just windows. Each story had seven skinny ones spaced evenly apart. Most were dark now, except for the left corner window on the third floor. It threw off the ugliest shade of yellow she’d ever seen.
One window per room. That sounded right to her. “There.” She pointed to the third window from the left, two away from the one with the yellow light. “That’s where we’ll start.”
Sister Mary Elizabeth tried to hold the ladder still while Hannah extende
d it, then they propped it against the side of the house. The top edge clanged against the siding when it hit, making Sister Mary Elizabeth jump.
“Relax. It wasn’t that loud,” Hannah said.
“I know, but look.” The sister pointed toward the top of the ladder. Even at its maximum length, the top rung rested two feet short of the third-story window.
“I can handle it.”
“But I can’t.”
“You don’t have to. Just keep the base secure.” She tightened the straps on her backpack and stepped on the first rung.
“Wait.” Sister Mary Elizabeth placed her hand on top of Hannah’s head and closed her eyes. Her other hand made the sign of the cross over her chest. “Father, protect this brave woman as she does what you asked us to do.”
Two days ago Hannah might have slapped someone for saying a prayer over her. But she saw no judgment in the nun’s kind gray eyes, only worry. She didn’t remind the nun that she didn’t need God’s protection. Mercury, Venus, the moon, and Jupiter were already watching over her. Instead she grabbed the nun’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you.”
At that moment I realized Hannah knew I was with her. Like me, she didn’t know exactly who or what I was. So she’d molded her perception of me to fit what she already knew of the Universe. And I couldn’t prove she was wrong.
Arms and legs working with perfect synchronization, as soundless as the cool evening breeze, Hannah glided up the ladder. She was glad she’d packed her running shoes. They weren’t fashionable, but their grip helped her focus on what was above instead of the ladder below.
Everything about the light coming from that corner window was wrong. The color was a dirty yellow, not bright or golden in any way. It looked like the room was suffering from a disease. As she climbed higher, she identified the source—a long, dirty curtain she could almost see through. Harkrider was probably doing something perverted or disgusting in there. She climbed as quietly as she could.
She ran out of ladder before she reached the top window. Her feet had two rungs above them, but there was no more rail for her hands. The ladder was totally top-heavy now, more unstable than ever. She looked down. Sister Mary Elizabeth stood frozen in place, her elbows locked, her entire body stiff so the ladder wouldn’t shake. Clearly the nun was waiting for her to figure this out.
Now wasn’t the time to back down. She knew her destiny waited beyond the window she’d picked out. It led to the same room whose door she’d noticed while chasing the woman in the hallway, the one with the dead bolt. Her instincts told her she’d find Delacroix in this room. But she needed to get there, to get higher, to find a way to climb those last two rungs.
“Please help me,” she whispered.
I was more than ready to try.
By design, the mansion windows were skinny and tall. Hannah had focused so intently on the light coming through the corner window that she’d missed everything else. I sent her an image of what she needed to see. This time she studied it closely.
“Okay. I can do this.”
She stood tall and let go of the ladder rails, pressed her palms and upper torso against the siding to keep her balance. Then, blindly, she pushed herself up another rung with her legs.
The Universe promised it would be there, and it was. The bottom of the window ledge—a thick and solid piece of wood jutting out from the plank siding—bumped against her fingers. She grabbed it with both hands, anchoring herself to the mansion. The last rung was much easier to climb. She took another blind step and climbed high enough to see in the window.
What she saw disappointed her. The windowpane was filthy. It looked like some type of mold was growing on the inside. She took out her flashlight and tried to see in. Spores of green and black clouded her view. She couldn’t make out any details.
She tapped the glass with the end of the flashlight. Once. Twice. She listened for movement.
“What do you see?” Sister Mary Elizabeth said.
“Shh.” Hannah waved the nun quiet.
No sound coming from the room. No vibrations she could feel with her hand on the glass. Anyone inside either couldn’t hear her or couldn’t respond.
She pressed her ear against the pane and tried again. “Delacroix, are you in there?”
No sound. No movement. No choice but to go inside.
She tucked the flashlight into her pocket, then pulled the screwdriver out of her backpack and wedged it between the ledge and the window. With her other hand, she pushed upward and against the glass, lifting and prying at the same time, hoping it would slide open. The wood around the pane was old and soft. The screwdriver kept gouging holes and popping out of place. With each pop her frustration grew, and she started to doubt this was the window she was meant to open.
Then she saw it—a small bronze latch glimmering in the moonlight near the bottom of the window. It hid just beyond the glass on the inside, inches from where she’d been digging with the screwdriver. Even the dirty window couldn’t hide its glow. She tucked the screwdriver back into her backpack and retrieved her flashlight.
She looked down at Sister Mary Elizabeth. “Stand back.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.” She held the flashlight like a knife and stabbed at the bottom corner of the windowpane. The first blow glanced away. She threw her weight behind the second strike. The corner of the pane shattered. The crash was quieter than she’d expected. Chunks of glass fell inside. A few shards tumbled toward the ground. She reached through the opening and flipped the latch. She slid the window open as silently as she could, then climbed inside.
The room was as quiet and dark as she’d imagined. The air held a musty, rotten scent. Stillness blanketed her, pressed against her. Hopefully Delacroix wasn’t in here. She sensed nothing in this room had moved in a very long time.
I couldn’t see anything, either. For some reason, my abilities were still useless here.
“Hannah.”
She leaned out the window. Sister Mary Elizabeth stood next to the ladder, wringing her hands and looking up at her.
She whispered as loudly as she dared, “I’m okay.”
“What do you see?”
“Nothing yet.”
She wasn’t a cop or a burglar. This was all new to her. But she wouldn’t turn back. The Universe would protect her, but only if she kept pushing forward. She took out the hunting knife, wielded it against the darkness. Turned on her flashlight and quickly scanned the room.
The beam was narrow but powerful. It illuminated everything she didn’t want to see: a wall of animal pelts stretched out like posters, another wall with shelves packed with skulls. All of them looked like dogs or wolves, their teeth sharp and yellow. More than two dozen sat on display, each seemingly coated with a rusty brownish tint. The only furniture in the room was a queen-sized bed. The comforter was dark blue and lumpy—the kind of lumps that made her think someone might be hiding underneath.
She pointed her knife toward the bed. “Who’s there?”
No answer. No movement. She inched closer. Glass crunched under her feet. She poked the largest lump with the tip of the knife. It didn’t move.
She stuck the end of the mini-flashlight into her mouth. Aimed it at the comforter. Readied the knife in one hand and reached for the comforter with the other.
“Hannah.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin. She whirled around. Sister Mary Elizabeth stood in the window, her face flushed with exertion, eyes as wide as Jupiter. “What are you doing?”
Hannah spit out her flashlight. “Get in here.” She ran toward the window and helped the nun inside.
“What is that?”
“I’m trying to find out. Get your flashlight.” She refocused on the comforter.
Sister Mary Elizabeth’s beam wandered around the room. Hannah heard gasps each time it paused on a dead animal part. “Shine it on the bed.”
“It’s not…it’s not Michael, right?”
“No,�
�� Hannah said. But she wasn’t totally sure. Someone needed to check. Judging by the shakiness of the sister’s flashlight beam, Hannah realized that someone needed to be her.
She crept toward the edge of the bed and reached for the comforter. She pulled it back with one swift motion.
A human skeleton lay on its side. Not a complete skeleton—just the skull, spine, rib cage, and hip bones. The bones weren’t connected to each other. Someone had placed them here and tried to arrange them the best they could. It was one of the creepiest images she’d ever seen, creepy enough to make her shiver.
And enough to cause Sister Mary Elizabeth to call out for her imaginary saviors. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
“Shh,” Hannah said. “Remember where we are.”
“He killed my Michael. Oh, dear Father. He killed my boy.”
Hannah leaned closer. Something was written on the skull’s forehead. Four letters painted in crimson: COLE.
“This isn’t Michael,” she said. “Don’t worry.”
“Don’t worry?”
“It’s not him. Whoever it is has been this way a long time.”
The nun searched through the pockets in her dress. “This has to be enough to call the cops.”
Hannah stared at the eyeless skeleton. Its surface looked scrubbed and bleached. The skull rested on a fluffed pillow. The sheets were smooth and tight with no visible stains. Harkrider was taking care of this thing, treating it like a real person. He’d even named it Cole. Maybe that was this person’s name when he was still alive.
“I think we should—”
The door handle rattled and turned. They froze. Hannah pointed her flashlight at the door. The dead bolt was still engaged. But the door handle rattled again. Once. Twice.
“Cole, is that you?”
The voice came as barely more than a whisper, but Hannah knew it wasn’t Harkrider’s. A woman was outside the door—the woman she was destined to find.
She raced across the room and turned the dead bolt. Grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. It was her—the woman she’d seen earlier, wearing that same blue dress. Her image slammed Hannah like a punch. She recognized the eyes, the hair, those horrible dark pink scars. She gasped. This woman was Delacroix’s painting come to life.