I opened the door.
And that’s when he hit me in the face with his fist. Hard. Tears exploded out of my eyes and I could taste the blood in my mouth. It took me a few seconds to get over the shock, but it was a few seconds I didn’t have. In a blur he was on top of me, binding my hands with plastic ties and taping my mouth shut.
But I still had my legs. I tried to kick myself free, but it was no good. He was too close to me.
“Shhh,” he said. “Don’t fight it.”
It was too late.
CHAPTER 60
“It’s like I said, Elizabeth,” the serial killer next to me said. “We need to talk.”
He had tied a short rope around my feet and looped it up through the plastic cuffs. I was bent over, my head down at my knees. The blood was dripping from my nose down onto the floorboard, my heart beating wildly to the crazy rhythm of the wipers. Panic would only make things worse I told myself. But I couldn’t help it. I was in full-blown, white hot panic mode.
Loud voices inside my head began telling me how stupid I had been. I knew it was coming, and still I was too slow. And now I was going to die. Was it really going to end like this? Alligator food in some swamp somewhere in Louisiana? All this time on the run, reading and training and meditating and hiding, and I wasn’t even going to make it to the battle with Nathaniel Mortimer.
I screamed but that died too in a muffle against the duct tape.
“That won’t help,” he said, his voice cold and dark. “It’s not going to stop me from doing what I have to do.”
Maybe it wasn’t too late, a small voice whispered. Maybe I still had a card or two to play. The pepper spray was still in my pocket, but I couldn’t move an inch. It may as well have been on the dark side of the moon. Maybe I could launch myself into him and cause him to crash. Maybe I could survive the accident and maybe…
But that wasn’t going to happen. I wasn’t going to survive two deadly crashes in one lifetime. At least I could take him with me. I would never get a chance to stop Nathaniel, but this would have to do. Evil was evil was evil. Taking out Father Carmichael would have to be my contribution.
I hoped that Samael would understand. I hoped that Ty would, too.
I steadied my breathing and prepared to spring at him, head first. I turned my head slightly and picked out a spot just below his right ear.
CHAPTER 61
But suddenly, just as I was about to explode toward him with everything I had, I felt the truck slow down over a stretch of gravel and then stop.
“This is as good a spot as any,” he said.
He cut the engine and ran his fingers through his hair. He just sat there for a long, chilling moment. I hoped against hope that he was changing his mind, trying to fight the demons inside him.
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do. Are you listening?”
I nodded slowly.
“I’m going to loosen the rope enough so that you can sit up. And I’ll remove the tape, but if you scream, we’ll skip our chat and I’ll just get on with it. Do you understand?”
I nodded again. He reached down and undid the bindings enough so that I could raise my head. Then he ripped off the tape. The blood flow coming from my nose had slowed. Not that it mattered.
“Look, I’m sorry I had to hit you,” he said. “That’s not how I wanted this to happen. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
As I looked over at him, I saw that his eyes were softer now. Maybe there was a chance. I went for it.
“Father, you don’t have to do this. You can stop.”
“No, I can’t stop now,” he said, shaking his head. “Look I like you, Eliz…” He paused, his eyes wild with anger suddenly. “I won’t ever do that again, not ever. Do you understand me?”
I shook my head.
“I won’t shelter someone like you again,” he said. “Ever.”
“What?” I said. “What do you mean, like me?”
He sighed loudly.
“Oh, come on. Are you going to hang on to the lies even now? It’s over.”
“What lies?”
“You have to pay for your sins, one way or another. I’m through waiting for God to step in. I’m taking matters into my own hands this time.”
“What sins?” I said.
“You have to face the consequences for killing that doctor.” I could feel all the blood draining from my face. “I’m taking you in, Abby Craig.”
CHAPTER 62
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think. All I could do was hit the replay button in my brain as the words kept repeating, louder and louder.
Abby Craig.
Abby Craig.
Abby Craig!
He looked over at me, a mix of disappointment and disgust in his eyes, and began driving back toward New Orleans. He wasn’t going to kill me. He was taking me to the police. He had somehow found out who I was and was taking me to the police.
“Father Carmichael,” I said. “Stop the truck. I’m not a murderer. You have to listen to me. You’re right, my name is Abby Craig, but I’m not what they say I am. I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill Benjamin Mortimer.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Father Carmichael. Joseph. Please listen to me. You think you might know something, but you don’t. Let me go. You can’t turn me in.”
He slammed both hands down on the wheel, the truck swerving for a moment.
“Stop it!” he screamed. “I’m not covering for you. I’m through looking the other way. You’re going back to Oregon. If God won’t decide your fate, the courts will. I will listen to your confession if you’d like, but that’s all you’ll get from me.”
We drove and drove and drove in silence until he pulled in front of the police station.
CHAPTER 63
“Father Carmichael, please, I’m begging you, don’t do this. You can’t turn me in. I’m innocent. But if they arrest me, I’ll never be able to prove that.”
I was lying now. It didn’t matter where I was, I would never be able to prove I hadn’t killed Ben.
The rain pounded on the rooftop as we sat there in silence.
“How did you find out?” I asked finally.
“It wasn’t that hard,” he said, looking over at me. “One thing led to another. When I found out you were colorblind, it reminded me of something I had read in the newspapers a while back. I had always remembered that about you. And here was this girl at the monastery, about the same age, same look. I went back online and studied the photos. Your hair was different, but it was you. Of course, I wasn’t completely certain. Not until back there when you said you didn’t do it. You didn’t say, ‘What are you talking about?’ or ‘You’re crazy.’ You said, ‘I didn’t do it.’ Just like every other criminal.”
I sighed.
“You only know part of it,” I said. “Before you take me in, let me tell you the rest.”
CHAPTER 64
“All right,” he said. “I’ll listen. But it’s not going to change anything.”
He was out of his mind if he thought I was going to confess. And I suddenly realized that he must have had an ego on him that rivaled Nathaniel’s. What made him think he had the right to turn me in? Even if I had killed Ben, he was still seven times the killer I would ever be.
“Whatever happened to ‘He that is without sin, let him cast the first stone’?” I said.
He squinted at me, looking confused.
“I know about you, too, Father. And if you walk me through those doors, I’m telling them everything. I’m telling them about Hannah Jorgensen and the others. I’m telling them about all that blood on your hands.”
I heard him gasp.
“What? How did you know about…”
“I’ll tell them how you slit their throats. Those seven women.”
After a few moments, he seemed to regain his composure, his eyes black with rage.
“So you think that I killed those women?” he hissed. “You think I did that?”
I stared at him, u
nblinking.
“Where did you come up with that ridiculous idea? Tell the police whatever it is you like, because you are dead wrong, Abby. I didn’t kill them. And as far as Hannah is concerned, I was trying to save her.”
And then he started to cry.
CHAPTER 65
I sat there for a long, long time, listening to the rain and the sound of his pain.
I thought about making a run for it, but in the end I stayed. There was just something about his sobs. I knew as the seconds turned to minutes and I was still there with him that I would at least regret it for the trip back to Oregon in shackles and probably for the rest of my life. Still, I stayed. In the end I told myself that I wouldn’t get far tied and bound anyway, hopping down the street in front of a police station. Even in New Orleans.
“I saw what happened in St. Paul, in a vision,” I finally said. “I saw Hannah kiss you and then I saw her dead at your feet.”
He lifted his head and his eyes met mine, full of horror.
“What? How?”
“If you read about me, you have to know that I’m psychic. That I have visions and I see ghosts. I’ve seen you with Hannah, and I’ve seen her ghost at the abbey. I know you were there when she died.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Up until a few minutes ago, I thought that you killed her. That you killed all of them.” His eyebrows narrowed. “That’s why I rode with you this morning. To protect Anna. I thought she was in danger.”
“You think I would hurt her? And that I killed Hannah?” He shook his head. “You’re insane.”
“Not insane. Just wrong. It’s easy to be wrong, Father Carmichael. The same way you’re wrong about me. I did what you’re doing right now. I read the stories and jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
“But you don’t think that anymore?” he said.
“No, not anymore. Tell me what happened. You can take me inside the station after.”
He leaned his head back and looked out at the rain.
“All right,” he said. “All right, I’ll tell you.”
CHAPTER 66
“That’s why I came to St. Mark’s,” he said. “And that’s why I’m leaving the Church.”
He wiped his nose on his shirt.
“They wouldn’t let me stop him. They wouldn’t let me stop that animal.”
And then he told me the whole story.
“He showed up to Mass one day. Maybe he was there before, but I first remember seeing him in November just after All Saints Day. He was tall and there was something off about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Not at first. He dressed like he was from another time and he never stood or knelt. He just sat there, staring at me. At some point, we began to talk. And then he started coming to confession.”
“He confessed to murdering those women, didn’t he?” I said, jumping ahead.
Father Carmichael nodded.
“There were four other priests working at St. Francis, but he targeted me. Just me. He started off slow, confessing to venial sins. You know, smaller things like forgetting to bless himself before meals or taking excess pride in his appearance. It was almost comical considering the things I heard. But as the days grew shorter he began to grow bolder.
“He asked about the confidentiality of the confessional booth and I could tell that he was holding back, that he was building up to something much more serious. I began to suspect that I was in the presence of evil. And then one night, he told me how he often fantasized about raping women. Certain kinds of women. The ones who ‘have it coming to them.’”
He looked down and let out a long breath.
“And then at the next session, he told me that he had already started. He said he had raped and killed six women, prostitutes, peppering his confessions with all the grisly details. How he picked a certain type and how he started by watching her. How he would lure them with hundred dollar bills. How he would torture them for hours and listen to their screams.”
“You believed him at the time?” I said. “You were sure he wasn’t just one of those unstable people confessing to something someone else was doing?”
“Yes, I believed him. The things he said, the way he spoke, he wasn’t just relying on imagination and newspaper accounts. He had killed these girls.”
I nodded.
“He said he would take them to deserted buildings, so no one could hear their screams. He told me how he liked that part of it the best. Not the sex, not the killing part, but the screams. At night I hear those screams, Abby, like I was there.”
He gasped for air as if he were drowning.
“I tried to get help. I knew I couldn’t reveal his confession, but I had to do something. I sought out other priests and the advice of my superiors, even going to the bishop himself. But they all agreed. I was bound by the seal of the confessional. It was my absolute duty not to disclose anything that I learned during the course of the sacrament of penance.”
“Nothing? Not even an anonymous tip?”
He shook his head.
“I could do nothing except try to convince this killer to turn himself in. Of course, he knew this all along. I realized after a time that he wasn’t there looking for forgiveness. He was there to torture me. He took pleasure in it.”
“You were his eighth victim,” I said.
CHAPTER 67
“So how did you know Hannah Jorgensen?” I asked.
He took in a long breath and let it out slowly.
“I was working out in the community during the week with different groups we tried to help. We had outreach programs for the homeless and the poor. For people who had fallen on hard times and trying to get back on their feet. Sometimes at night, I’d walk around the streets and find people and invite them inside. That’s how I met Hannah. We started talking and over the course of a year or so, I got to know her.”
He forced a little smile.
“The kiss you saw, it was just her way of thanking me. The only way she knew how. You know, most people don’t have any idea. They just drive by and see a woman dressed a certain way and they make judgments. But Hannah, Hannah was a beautiful soul. And a fighter. She was a survivor. She had been raped and abused by her stepfather for years before she had the courage to run away when she was fifteen. It’s hard out there on the streets. The vultures are there waiting for the Hannahs of this world. Waiting with their promises and their drugs.”
He grabbed his head.
“We’d talk a lot. I was trying to help her get off the streets. But he was watching me. I know that now. One night he came in and confessed that he had a bad urge to kill this girl on Third Avenue. And then he described her, down to the cowboy boots, so that I would understand exactly who he was talking about. But I wasn’t going to let him do it. I was going to go to the police. I justified it in my head that he wasn’t seeking penance but was using the Church, and therefore it did not fall under the sacrament. That he was not sincere and so I didn’t have to hold up my end of the bargain.
“I tried to talk him out of it. I told him that I would help him. But he just laughed.”
He shook his head slowly.
“He laughed. He said that his work was done, for now. That he was going into ‘hibernation.’ And he told me that he had left a gift for me in the alley behind the church. And I knew.”
I gulped.
“Hannah was there. But I was too late. Her body was still warm but her spirit had left. While I was listening to this monster, she was just outside, taking her final breaths.”
I sighed. It reminded me of Ben’s death.
“I’ve been in Hell ever since,” Father Carmichael said. “I could have saved her. I should have saved her.”
CHAPTER 68
“And that’s why you came here,” I said.
“Yes. I had decided that I was done. I could no longer stay in the Church, not as a priest. My superiors suggested that I come down here and take some time to think about it. That maybe I just needed time to rest
and to heal. But it hasn’t worked. Their screams just keep getting louder and louder.”
He paused for a long moment.
“You mentioned Anna,” he said. “Sister Ruth knows my story and thought I should approach her. She’s at risk. So I’ve been trying to reach out to her. But I’m not sure what good I’ve done.”
The rain continued to pound the roof of the truck, streaking down the windshield. He had come to the end of the story and, if I was going to make a move, it needed to be now. But I tried reasoning with him one last time.
“I know about the evil you’ve seen. I’ve seen my share of it, too. And I’m asking you to look into your heart. I didn’t kill anyone. I know you know that. Please, Father Carmichael, you have to let me go.”
He stared at me for a long while and then reached over to the glove box and pulled out a box cutter. I flinched as the blade came toward me.
“I don’t know anything anymore,” he whispered.
And then he cut the rope from my feet.
CHAPTER 69
A car screeched to a stop just in front of us. A minute later a couple of cops pulled a suspect out from the back.
“What about these?” I said, holding up my hands.
“No,” he said. “I’m going to let them take those off. Come on, Abby. It’s time to go in.”
“I didn’t kill him. I didn’t kill Ben. I was there, but I didn’t do it. That’s why I ran. I need to prove my innocence and I can’t do that if I’m behind bars. You have to believe me.”
But he shook his head.
“I can’t, Abby. I’d like to, but I just can’t. I can’t take that chance again. For whatever good it does, I will pray for you and I hope that you’re right, that you didn’t kill that doctor, but the police will have to sort it all out from here. I’m sorry.”
It was time for Plan B.
Forty-Four Book Twelve (44 series 12) Page 12