Alone is all I’ve been the last few days. But it hasn’t been really alone. I’ve walked around the house on eggshells, fearing Aunt Kate might start in again with her endless questions.
“Fine with me.” I smile. “I promise not to fall on any axes.”
Ryan laughs without any real humor. “It’s probably best if we leave axes alone for a while.”
So, you’re in trouble with her, too?
He pushes off the door frame. “Okay, we’ll go now so you aren’t dying of hunger when we get back. Oh, I picked up this today. Our numbers are already pre-programmed. We’ll lock the doors when we leave.”
I catch a cell phone and smile the first real one since the hospital. “Awesome! Thanks!”
“Don’t call Africa,” Ryan quips with a wink as he leaves.
Keys jingle, a door shuts, and all is quiet. I peer out my window, crouching low so they don’t see me and watch them pull out of the driveway. Taking a deep breath, I drop back on the bed and smile.
I study the phone for a minute. As I scroll through the ringtones, I grin at one called Tiptoeing. I assign it to Aunt Kate’s number since that’s what I am doing around her. Ryan gets one called Hills because that’s where he works.
I sit up to open the window for some fresh air. As I do, a movement in the driveway catches my eye. Catherine steps out of the trees, glances at my window, and smiles. She motions for me to come down.
I hesitate, thinking of how Rob said she was dangerous. But could I really trust him to tell the truth?
She waits in the shade of the trees. Maybe she could give me some answers. I’m sick of not knowing what is going on.
I jump to my feet, drop the phone on the bed, and launch myself down the stairs. I only pause to smooth down my hair and straighten my shirt before throwing the door open and making my way to her. I remember too late to try to appear nonchalant, but I fail miserably.
She smiles as I pop out of the front door but stays in the trees on the other side of the gravel. She’s wearing a soft blue shirt with jeans and sandals. Her long red hair hangs over her shoulders with a braid across the top of her head.
I stop in the sunshine although I want to close the gap. I’m not quite ready for another encounter with a vampire, if that’s what she is, too. But I want answers about what she meant when she said that she could help.
“Are you okay?” Her words almost tumble over each other. “I don’t have much time, but I needed to know if you’re all right.”
“I’m better now,” I admit. It’s true. I don’t feel any twinges in my arm while I’m looking at her. “What did you mean that you know who I am and that you can help?”
She glances around and grabs a strand of hair that she circles around her finger many times. “I’m not supposed to be here or talk to you. But I don’t care. When I saw you, I just knew I had to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” I whisper and inch closer.
Every signal I know tells me she’s being truthful. But my chest tightens like it’s hard to breathe and my heart starts pounding.
She continues, “I can’t tell you here. Come with me to where it’s safe.”
I could be back before Aunt Kate and Ryan finish their dinner. She would never know.
Don’t go with her.
The thought springs up in my mind. I shake my head.
“Please?” She stretches out her hand.
I push all my hesitations aside. Liam is the one I shouldn’t trust, not Catherine. She just wants to help me.
But before I can do anything, my phone shatters the mood. The tune of Tiptoeing trickles out of my bedroom window and across the driveway.
Aunt Kate!
If I don’t answer, she’ll assume I’m in trouble again and race home. When she finds that I’m fine, I’ll be in more trouble than I am now.
“I am...I mean... I do want to come with you,” I stutter. “I got to get this, and then...”
The phone keeps ringing. I whip around to the house and shout, “I’ll be right back!”
I sprint up the porch steps, throw the front door open, and bound up the stairs. The ringing clicks off as I enter my room. I grab it to call Aunt Kate back.
But there’s no message on the phone saying anyone called. I search the recent call feature, but it’s blank. No one has ever called this phone.
I sink down in the bed to study the phone. No voicemails, no calls. Nothing.
Odd.
I jump to my feet when I remember Catherine is waiting, but when I glance out my window, she’s gone.
Crap.
I keep the phone with me and pound down the stairs, only to pause at the front door. I know I had swung it open, and I didn’t shut it in my race to get to the phone.
But now it’s shut, and the deadbolt is locked.
Who shut the door?
I unlock it and step outside. As I reach the stairs on the porch that lead to the driveway, I pause. Something is wrong. Something is stopping me from going down the driveway.
I scan the area for Catherine, but she’s gone. Torn between wanting to see her and feeling this pressure to go back inside, I stand frozen on the porch.
Do I ignore what I feel and go find Catherine?
I glance at the phone in my hands. Someone’s trying to tell me something. But who? And should I even listen?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Best and Worst
Eliezer waited until Nic was back inside the house with the door locked before the tall angel turned to Chasdiel. “Nice touch with the phone.” He grinned.
Chasdiel returned the smile. “I didn’t think your subtle warnings were getting through to him.”
“They weren’t,” Eli admitted. “Even when I stood between him and that vampire.” He couldn’t stop the laugh. “I think I got a little less subtle with the door.”
Chasdiel joined him, laughing for one of the first times since Eli met him. “Not just the door, but the lock, too! The boy probably thinks he’s going crazy right now!”
Malkiel broke in, ignoring their laughter. “We’re going to lose him.”
Eli turned to study Mal. In the short time he had known Malkiel, the tall brown-haired angel didn’t expressed concern much.
Mal stared at the closed front door of the house, his brown eyes filled with apprehension.
Chasdiel sighed. “Catherine reminds me of her mother too much for my liking. I was in Florence, and Cynthia, the girl’s mother, made a mess unlike any other. In many ways, we’re still cleaning it up. Jealousy, seduction, and mistrust were a few of her tricks. Catherine didn’t know her mother for long, but it seems like she knows a lot of the same tricks.”
Chasdiel was perched on a tree branch a little above their heads. He shifted a little, making the branch sway. If anyone saw the movement, it would look like the wind, but probably no one would see it at all. Only a few, like Nic, had the ability to see the spiritual realm interacting with the natural world.
“I’ve heard stories of that time,” Eli commented and rocked back on his heels. “Florence must have been a pit of the enemy.”
Malkiel studied the house. “I thought Nic would be stronger or more aware of the battle around him. Instead, he’s blind. Not because that’s how he was created. No, he’s blind by his own choosing.”
Eli felt the urge to defend Malkiel’s assessment of Nic. Eli knew his leader wished Nic would wake up, grab a sword, and join the battle.
“He’s stronger than he knows,” Eliezer replied.
“What good is that if he chooses the wrong road?” Mal came back with the question quickly.
Eli had no answer.
“If he doesn’t choose to follow the Creator, this land will be ravaged by Goddard in his thirst to bring darkness to the region,” Malkiel continued. “The plans of the Creator are sometimes hard to understand, but I will trust the demon overlord doesn’t win.”
“Then we fight!” Eli exclaimed. “No more waiting. No more hiding. Maybe then Nic wil
l overcome his fear.”
Malkiel grinned and thumped Eli on the shoulder. “You are quick to defend the Forgiven and right the wrongs, my friend! As much as I would like to, we cannot. Michael himself gave us the order to stand firm and wait.”
Eli groaned.
Chasdiel jumped down from the limb and joined them on the ground. “Besides, we don’t have the support we need from the Forgiven.”
“How are the prayer meetings going?” Mal asked.
“Slow and poorly attended,” Chasdiel said with an air of disappointment. “The boy, Matthew, is showing some promise by gathering others his age to pray, but it’s taking a long time. Maybe some other human should lead this part of the battle.”
Eli had enough of Chasdiel’s reservations toward humans. “Why do you always question humans? Our Creator loves them so much He sent his Son to die for them. Besides, we’ve seen people half Matthew’s age bring down princes of darkness in our King’s name!”
“Why do you always believe the best of them?” Chasdiel snapped. “You’ve been in the battle long enough. You know how many times they fall, or they forget, or they turn from the King.”
“I do.” Eli hated to admit it. “But I’ve also seen how many times they get back up, repent, and grow stronger from their failures. Remember they don’t see the battle as we do!”
Chasdiel stared at the house and refused to answer.
Eli pressed again. “Why is your opinion of humans so dismal, Chasdiel?”
Silence fell. Mal leaned in as if he was also curious to hear Chasdiel’s story. Chasdiel shook his head and spoke, his words coming like a rainstorm that begins softly and ends in thunder.
“Hundreds of years ago, I was assigned to a young man, much like Nic. I let myself get attached to him as I guarded him in the streets of London. Together we won many battles. He led many to the King, and when we worshiped together, it was sweet fellowship.”
Eli nodded. He knew what Chasdiel was talking about. He had experienced it often.
“The Creator called him to be a missionary to China and served there for a long time. I saw the Creator do many miraculous things until his wife and two children died.”
Eli winced. Death was unnatural, a result of the sin that entered this world. While it was a sweet reunion for the Forgiven with the Creator, it left the ones behind with a pain so deep some never recovered.
“After some time of trying to cope, he turned his back on the Creator and returned to London. As the years passed, he grew more bitter and angry. He turned to alcohol, instead of the One who could comfort and heal him. I watched over him until he died, unable to ease his suffering, unable to help.”
Chasdiel paused and then spoke again with great feeling. “Don’t get me wrong, Eliezer. I love the humans. I will fight for them until it is no longer possible. But I find it almost unbearable to watch them live in pain and suffering when I know the King can give them so much joy.”
Mal shifted, his face grave. “We have been blessed by worshipping in the throne room of the Creator. We could exchange stories forever of people who have fallen or risen, but that doesn’t change what we have to do today. We have to get the Forgiven praying. We have to wake them!”
“And Nic?” Eli asked.
Mal shook his head. “We have to wait for Nic’s decision.”
“It had better be the right one,” Chasdiel said with a force.
“It will be,” Eli reassured them. “It will.”
But even he knew his voice lacked conviction.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Among the Dead
I can’t stop thinking about who called my phone and who locked the door. Surely it couldn’t have been demons. It couldn’t have been human.
But what else is out there?
I prowl the house like a lion trapped in a small cage. Nothing interests me long enough to settle down, and I stalk up the hallway.
The door to Ryan’s office is open. Maybe he has a new book he hasn’t told me about yet. I make for the bookshelves and pause at his desk.
He’s never organized. It drives Aunt Kate nuts. And yet today the desk is clean except for several stacks of photos. I pick up the closest pile and flip through them.
Many of them show the wrecked camper from the crime scene with some zoomed up to torn metal. A few show what may be claw marks in the kitchen cabinets.
The final pile contains photos of the bodies. I squint as I look at them, not wanting to look and yet strangely drawn at the same time.
Can this be happening? Who did it? Liam, Rob?
I can’t begin to imagine it was Catherine.
There are a few of the wounds on their throats. On the woman’s throat, there appears to be two puncture holes, but with the smeared blood, it’s hard to tell.
I put the pictures back so Ryan won’t know I was in here. There are papers tossed down on the desk. I read one in Ryan’s handwriting out loud.
“Not much blood. What animal leaves body and takes blood? Same animal at the hot springs toward Missoula? Are the two related?”
I could tell him, but he’d never believe it, and I don’t want him or Aunt Kate to know. I scan through the other papers–mostly police reports. On one stack of papers, I find a picture of a fingerprint that’s attached to a piece of paper. I pick it up and read.
“The only different fingerprint in the camper. Found on the outside handle of the door. Someone entered camper.”
Following the note, a series of question marks fill the rest of the page.
I put the note back on the desk. Ryan must have been asked to review the case notes because of his experiences in Chicago. I’d bet anything they hadn’t had a murder here in years.
I don’t want him involved with this. Surely this is the work of police, not Forestry. What if he decides to investigate and gets killed?
I start to put everything back the way I found it when a piece of paper drops out of a stack beside the photos and falls to the ground.
I read the note while I pick it up.
“James Gray. Still in prison. Next parole date soon. Will let us know.”
My hands begin to shake.
Why is there a note about Dad’s next parole hearing?
The thought of Dad getting out of prison, free to go wherever he wants, terrifies me almost as much as the thought of the darkness taking control.
What if he wants to come here? What if he wants to follow up with the last thing he said to me?
My fingers tighten, and the paper crumples in my hand before I realize what I’m doing. I take a few deep breaths. Dad’s not getting out. Not after what he did.
I smooth out the paper and see that there’s more written on it.
“Horses. Great therapy.”
Therapy? Are they having marriage troubles?
I can’t take another second in Ryan’s study. I don’t go downstairs where I might accidently look out the windows and see Rob or Liam staring at me. I pace the upstairs, unable to read or even sit still.
There’s no one to talk to about anything.
I can’t wait for Ryan and Aunt Kate to come home and fill the house with that awkward, horrible tension. At least that would distract my thoughts about what I have seen and faced.
I flop on my bed, straining to hear the sound of the front door being unlocked by Ryan as they enter with shouts of greetings. It doesn’t happen. I roll over, and there’s a crinkle sound like I’m rolling on paper.
The paper and picture I found in the cabin that I hid in my bed when Ryan came in!
I start at the beginning again, reading out loud to decipher the old-fashioned writing.
“Can evil spirits walk around like men? For truly, I know of one such man that cannot have any human decency in him. Surely he is a demon.
“They say the Devil lives at the center of the earth. Perhaps there are pathways up to the surface where he can traverse, bringing his demons and evil spirits with him when he comes. Do they camp at the entrance of s
uch pathways, ready to flee back down into the earth when the angels of light come? But, if those angels of light never come, they wait. And haunt.
“This I believe, for this is such a place where the Devil himself rules, confident that the angels of light will never come, where his demons and evil spirits reside and destroy.
“Robert Benson, Florence, ID, August 1862.”
I examine the picture. It’s a black-and-white photo of a lady dressed in old-fashioned clothes with her hair pulled back. She’s not smiling. On the back, it says, “Mother, 1861.”
The same handwriting continues on the back under the date.
Mom, if you find this note, count me among the dead. Don’t look for me or try to find out what happened to me. I will find a way to provide for you so that you never have to work again. I am sorry for what happened, but the choice wasn’t mine to make. Please forgive me, and remember me fondly.
With much love always,
Your son, Rob.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Neutral
Sunday comes, and we head to church. I debate the merits of claiming that my arm hurts too badly to go anywhere, but I don’t want to be left alone again.
I endure what feels like a million inquiries about my arm and find myself on the receiving end of gentle ribbing about a city boy inexperienced at camping.
Please leave me alone. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about what happened.
I hate how everyone has to talk about tragedy. They replay the horror over and over in their conversation, never realizing that the wound rips wider every time it’s mentioned.
Claude, the high school music teacher, is talking to everyone with big smiles and a lot of laughter. I might be affected by what Megan said about him being weird, but something about him seems off. He engages Pastor Tom in a whispered conversation. Pastor Tom shakes his head, and Claude speaks with force.
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