by T F Allen
Setting a fire was dangerous and extreme—and it was all my idea. Hannah and I were together on this. Burning down his family house served two purposes: the fire department would get here quickly, and so would the police—faster than any other options would bring them. It also punished Donnie for torturing Jolene and for taking Michael and Sister Mary Elizabeth. Frankly, the bastard deserved worse.
“You don’t want to make him angry,” Jolene said.
“I don’t give a shit about his mood, and neither should you.” Hannah poured out the last of the Macallan, then turned toward Jolene. “Why aren’t you angry at him? After what he did to your face?”
As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she regretted them. Jolene brought a hand to her cheek and turned away. It was the most expressive gesture Hannah had seen her make. No one would ever know how much this woman had gone through. Taking away someone’s humanity—she couldn’t think of a more horrible crime. Going numb was probably the only defense Jolene could manage. You couldn’t suffer like that and not be changed forever.
She placed a hand on Jolene’s shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You survived this maniac for seven years. Not many people could do that.”
Jolene acknowledged her by dropping her chin, but she wouldn’t speak or turn around.
“But you’re not alone anymore. He doesn’t hold any power over you. There’s no way he can hurt you ever again.”
When Jolene turned around, her distant facade melted away. Her chin trembled, and her eyes carried a well of tears that probably should have spilled years ago. “You don’t know what he’s capable of doing.”
“And he doesn’t know what we’ll do, either.” She took out the lighter she’d found in the kitchen and pulled the trigger until the flame struck. “Let’s give him something to think about.”
Jolene stared at the flame, and Hannah noticed her lips tighten. Harkrider had taken so much from her, more than she could ever get back. But he hadn’t taken everything. She was still a person with a memory and feelings.
“Let’s do it.”
With Jolene’s blessing, Hannah knelt down and lit one of the whiskey-soaked towels. In seconds the whole pile was in flames. The fire seemed to have a hunger all its own, and it reached for the bookshelves, searching for more fuel. When the smoke touched the ceiling and the fire alarms went off, they raced toward the front door. Jolene threw it open and charged out to the front lawn. Hannah followed close behind, leaving the door wide open.
From the edge of the vineyard, they watched the mansion pull fresh oxygen through the doorway, feeding the growing flames. In less than a minute, the fire reached the third story. Nothing could stop it from devouring every board and shingle, every imaginable thing that could burn.
She noticed Jolene staring deep into the flames. Hopefully she found some relief from watching it burn to the ground.
“So what do we do now? Wait for the fire department?”
“We’ve got work to do.” Hannah opened her backpack and pulled out her hunting knife. “I need you to show me where he’s keeping Delacroix.”
CHAPTER 30
The mansion burned exactly like Hannah hoped it would—three stories of flames, visible for miles, and sure to grab the attention of hundreds of neighbors, all with working phones. I was proud of the courage they both showed but worried about what Donnie might do once he saw the flames.
Focus. Lock. Pull.
Donnie looked over his kingdom from the southeast corner of the vineyard. The trapdoor lay to his right, marking the spot where his brother’s tree once stood. In the distance, the house he grew up in was on fire. Soon it would collapse to the ground, taking with it everything he ever loved. He thought about his paintings, his sculptures, his welding machine, his computer files, his notes, his art books, his pictures, his filing cabinets, and most importantly, the body of his best friend.
Cole was the only person he could trust, the only one who ever loved him. They shared a passion for art and expression he could never find with anyone else. Their connection was undeniable—he could hear Cole’s voice anywhere even though Cole never left his room. Cole was his mentor, his protector. The reason Donnie tried so hard to create the perfect work of art.
All of his experiments were meant to help Cole get out of that room. He’d dedicated his life to making that happen. All his work, those many years of effort. And now he could only watch as Cole’s body went up in flames. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes to midnight—Cole’s birthday. But none of that mattered anymore. Delacroix’s painting was useless now. Cole would never get out of that bed and walk out of that room. Donnie was alone again, just like the night the coyote attacked him.
No you’re not, the voice said. I’m still here.
“Cole?” Donnie’s voice cracked with emotion. He pointed toward the mansion. “Look what they did to you.”
That’s not me. Those bones haven’t been me for a long time.
Donnie’s mind flashed to the night he discovered Cole. He’d just returned from the gardener’s shed, still mad about the limestone rock and the tree his parents had planted. He wanted to crush the limestone into powder, to dig up the tree and burn it, every part of it, even its roots. He spent the rest of the night digging into the earth, chasing each root with the shovel, deeper and deeper, until finally he hit something hollow. An hour later he’d unearthed what was left of a cherry wood casket. Inside he found the brother his parents had hidden from him, the brother he thought he could never know. The brother whose voice he suddenly heard inside his head.
Nicholas was no longer just a name carved into a stone. And he didn’t like being called Nicholas. He preferred the shorter version—Cole.
I was so shocked I nearly jumped out of his head. Not because Cole was Donnie’s brother, but because of what it meant. Cole was someone who had lived and died. Not an angel, not a ghost. Not a skeleton Donnie thought had special powers. There was no way to explain it, but it also couldn’t be denied. Nicholas Harkrider had once been a person, and now he was just like me.
Don’t look away. Stare into the flames. Watch them grow. Feel the heat rising as they devour everything we loved.
Donnie struggled to obey Cole’s command. This was the house he’d played in as a child, the home base in every fantasy adventure he created while his parents were busy ignoring him. It had hosted dozens of dinner parties and balls where his parents danced while he’d watched from behind the wrought iron spindles of the staircase. He painted his first masterpiece in his studio on the third story, along with countless others that marked his evolution as an artist. The memories kept coming as the flames poked holes through the roof. Finally he had to turn away. He couldn’t watch the destruction any longer. Too many tears clouded his vision.
This wasn’t an accident. They invaded your property and started this fire to hurt you. That reporter—the blonde who taunted you in the study—she set this fire using our father’s whiskey. Do you think that was a coincidence?
“She did that?”
Worse, she came here armed to kill you. Give her the chance and she’ll try. All she cares about is stealing Delacroix and that nun from you. What are you willing to do to stop her?
I could never feel sorry for Donnie. He was probably already as narcissistic as a serial killer long before Cole first entered his mind. But with a voice like this dominating his internal dialogue, he never had a chance to become a decent person.
“Is Jolene helping her?”
Of course she is. I told you she was no good.
He ground his fists together, reopening his wounds. Everyone was against him now. Cole had been right all along.
You have no choice. It’s them or you.
Donnie wiped away the last of his tears and threw open the trapdoor. He stomped down the steps and ran to the gate. Delacroix and the nun had huddled together in the middle of the room. She was tugging on his shock collar, inspecting it, testing it for weak points.
> “Both of you, back against the wall.”
Delacroix spoke without looking at him. “Where’s Jolene?”
Donnie reached into his pocket and pushed the remote. Delacroix jumped a foot in the air, then collapsed to the floor, his whole body shaking. The nun screamed and threw her arms around Delacroix, touching every part of him that shook, like she was trying to soak up all the electricity from his body. She reminded Donnie of how his parents had reacted the night he hobbled into the winery after the coyote attack, and he hated her for making him remember. Like the mansion, those memories belonged in the past now.
“Get him up.” Donnie unlocked the door and swung it open. “We’re going for a walk. And if he doesn’t behave, only one of you is leaving this room.”
CHAPTER 31
After Donnie made his threat, I jumped out of his head and rushed to Michael’s side. I reached under his head and cradled the nape of his neck, sending a calming sensation along his spine and into his muscles. It helped him relax and start to recover, but he was still weak.
“Keeper,” he said, like he’d been counting the minutes since I’d left.
“Michael, you have to get up.” Sister Mary Elizabeth helped him to a sitting position.
Besides the stinging on his neck and the tingling in his fingers and toes, the jolt of electricity had also disoriented him. He placed a hand on the floor to steady himself and stared at it until everything finally came into focus.
He noticed Sister Mary Elizabeth from the corner of his eye. She looked so much different without her veil. Before tonight he’d never thought about how she might look in different clothes. The picture he’d drawn of her in his mind had never changed since he was a boy. Each time he saw her, she looked the same. Until tonight, when Donnie came in and threw her into this cell.
One of her cheeks was red. Her hair was dirty and gray, chopped unevenly into a bob that fell just below her jawline. She was hot and sweaty and breathing like she was having a panic attack. This woman had no business risking her life to try to find him. He wished he could transport her out of here, all the way back to Saint Bartholomew’s in Louisiana, where at least she’d be safe.
Standing in the doorway, Donnie towered over them. His hands were balled into fists, and his knuckles were bleeding. Blood was also on his cheeks. God only knew how he’d hurt himself, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. “Hurry up. Time is short.”
Sister Mary Elizabeth helped Michael to his feet, but he still didn’t feel like himself. That last shock had taken away all the energy he’d built up since he learned the reporter and Sister Mary Elizabeth were coming. According to Sister Mary Elizabeth, the reporter and Jolene were still out there somewhere, chasing each other through—what did she call it?—a vineyard. That’s where Donnie had taken him. A huge family vineyard that belonged to Donnie’s mother. He remembered making Jolene promise she’d run at the first sign of trouble. Maybe she was still running now. Maybe the blond reporter who followed him into a cab was still chasing her, both of them charging at full speed, every step taking them farther from Donnie’s reach. For Jolene’s sake, he hoped that was true.
I debated telling him he was wrong. Instead I stayed quiet. Knowing Jolene was helping Hannah find the underground cell would only give him another person to worry about. If I could convince him to focus on keeping Sister Mary Elizabeth safe, he’d be in a much better position to help Hannah and Jolene once they caught up with them.
Michael turned and looked one last time at the painting he’d just finished, the last one he might ever paint. He was proud of the large central image, his vision of a perfect human soul untouched by the sins of man. An explosion of brightness—yellow, blue, and Winsor white—soared from the center of the canvas, casting light into deep caverns where previously there was only darkness. He’d focused on Jolene when he painted it. But now, holding the hand of the woman who’d watched over and protected him since he was a child, he realized it could be Sister Mary Elizabeth’s soul, too.
Donnie waved the remote in the air as they approached. “This is how it works. I’ll show you where to go. If either of you tries anything, Delacroix gets another jolt. And this time I won’t stop until I smell his skin burning.”
Michael stepped between Donnie and Sister Mary Elizabeth as they headed down the hall. He knew he had to be strong now. He couldn’t afford to leave her alone with this man. Donnie was too dangerous, too unpredictable.
Too evil.
I followed them out of the cell, placing one hand on each of their shoulders. I knew Michael could feel it, and I hoped Sister Mary Elizabeth could, too. All we had was each other now.
They helped each other up the narrow stairs, out from the musty air that permeated his cell, and toward an opening that seemed to lead to outer space. As he climbed higher, he realized it was just the night sky. He’d been kept underground the last three days. Donnie had put him in a hole.
After the last step, he paused to take in the scene. Everything looked exactly like Sister Mary Elizabeth had described, acre after acre of vineyard lay in front of us. The grape leaves waved soundlessly as the night air swept over them. It might have been a peaceful sight, if not for the huge house in the distance alight in flames. The bonfire stretched at least forty feet high, acting like a beacon to the valley below.
“Oh dear,” Sister Mary Elizabeth said.
“Keep moving.” Donnie shoved us all forward. He pointed toward a path that took us north along the fence line. The three-quarter moon lit our way.
Michael guessed that must have been Donnie’s house, the one he’d mentioned earlier. He knew from Sister Mary Elizabeth’s reaction the flames hadn’t been there when Donnie brought her to his cell. That meant the reporter and Jolene must have set it on fire. What a spectacular way to call for help. They not only woke the neighbors, they’d also alerted the entire county. No wonder Donnie was so on edge.
“I know,” Donnie said, though no one had said anything since they started walking. “We can go around the other side. Get out before the trucks come.”
Michael opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about, but I silenced him with my touch. Let it go. He’s not talking to you.
They walked several minutes in silence, staying on the path between the eastern edge of the vineyard and the fence that marked the property line. Sister Mary Elizabeth struggled with each step, breathing hard and fast, tiny rivers of sweat flowing down her wrinkled forehead. Michael felt his strength return as he imagined what she must have gone through to find him. He wouldn’t let Donnie touch her again, no matter how much electricity was forced through his body. She wouldn’t end up scarred and damaged like Jolene, not if he could help it.
“Goddamn bitch,” Donnie said.
Michael wrapped his arms around Sister Mary Elizabeth, bracing for an attack. When it didn’t come, he turned. Donnie had stopped walking and was looking out past the property, deep into the valley below. Several tiny flashing red lights followed each other on a winding path, speeding along the county road toward the vineyard. The firefighters were on their way.
Jolene was still out there somewhere. He hoped she wasn’t inside the burning mansion. More than anything he wanted her to be free from Donnie. They might never share a life together, might never even kiss. But at least she’d seen his painting. That was something he could hold on to.
“Fine. I’ll take them there.”
By now Michael had figured another voice was inside Donnie’s head. He didn’t stop to think about it because he didn’t know how important that was. He didn’t know the voice belonged to Cole, a living person who had somehow become like me. I needed to know how that could have happened, because the answer might tell me how I came to be. Maybe then I could find out who I was, if I’d ever been someone other than me.
Donnie pushed him again. “Hurry up. It’s just ahead on the right.”
I’d been down this path before, a silent passenger in Donnie’s memories. We were al
l traveling in the dark, but I knew exactly where we were going.
CHAPTER 32
I left them with Donnie one last time. When I came back, I’d stay until the end, whatever that turned out to be.
I closed my eyes and pulled myself toward Hannah. I found her running through the vineyard, her right hand gripping the veil Donnie had knocked off Sister Mary Elizabeth’s head. I jumped into her mind as she chased after Jolene, her heart pounding faster than her feet upon the earth.
Her brain worked overtime assessing the situation. No doubt Harkrider had seen the flames by now. The fire would force him to decide whether to fight or run. Part of her wanted a fight. Sure, he was tall and strong and packed to the gills with crazy, but he didn’t have the unseen forces of the Universe on his side. Still, she knew she was running toward danger with nothing but a knife. She remembered the holster he had attached to his belt, the one that held a knife no artist would ever need. A big guy like Harkrider probably didn’t feel the need to use any weapons against a sixty-one-year-old nun, but he might use one to keep Delacroix under control.
She tried to think of a smart approach through the trapdoor the Universe had shown her, one that might give her a better chance. But she had to be honest. She wasn’t trained for something like this. And she doubted Jolene would be much help. That woman was so damaged and disconnected. It was a wonder she’d been able to survive seven years with Harkrider, much less still be willing to fight back . She could provide information on what might be down there, but not much more. Hannah needed to do the heavy lifting now, but she was ready for it.
Maybe a few hours ago she could’ve argued she was doing this for the story, but not now. The veil in her hand provided more than enough motivation. It might be easier to wait for the firefighters and the cops, but she’d never forgive herself if Harkrider killed Sister Mary Elizabeth before they got to her. The Universe didn’t want her to wait, either. She could feel it in every cell of her body. It would help her, guide her, show its power in an undeniable way, but only if she kept pushing forward. And pushing was something she was good at.