by Dan Glover
"What is it you're hearing, Mr. Forthright? There's no one else here but the two of us."
"Would you think me unkind if I were to ask you to go, Ms. Stamper?"
"Of course not, Mr. Forthright... but first... please take my hand. I have something to show you."
Chapter 58—Terrors
(Of the Night)
1
"Have you seen to the body, my son?"
"Ella está en reposo, padre. Del Encuentro has disposed of her. She has found her place."
"You've done well, Arturo... have you any sins to confess?"
"Si, padre... tengo muchos."
Now if only the partner would see fit to leave Santo Tomas. He thought they had him the other night in the cemetery until the policeman from Los Angeles showed up. A couple of busybody private eyes disappearing in Mexico would cause no real concern back in the States but a deputy sheriff going missing would. They'd send down the Texas Rangers and US Marshals over that, and who knew what kind of hornets' nest they'd stir up.
"Cuando el niño es llegar? When is the child to arrive, Arturo?"
"Están encurtido ella desde Durango esta mañana, padre. She will be here tomorrow."
"¿Cómo van los preparativos? Have the arrangements been made?"
"Si, padre. All is prepared."
Would this be the end? Perhaps, but unlikely. The ways of the Lord weren’t his to see... wickedness would never rest. There was a time when he honestly thought he could fight el Diablo on his own terms. Now, he knew better. The evil was too entrenched in the world... in this place, these haunted hills and groaning ground that never slept.
Did he believe in the dark tales of the old women in the village? Was this really the place where Lucifer crash landed when he was expelled from heaven? No... heaven wasn’t a place high in the sky. That was a metaphor... an allegory much like the parables Jesus was so fond of telling. Yet he could feel the power of this devastated land... he could bear witness to the many strange happenings among the people who dared to live here.
The children were gripped by evil. Of that he had no doubt. Whatever the cause, seeds of possession were leeching up from the steaming fumaroles and stinking rock of the region and impregnating the souls of the unfortunate with lies and deceit. Only he and the Gathering stood between them and eternal damnation.
Perhaps this one would be the last. But then again how many times had he prayed for just such an outcome? Hundreds. Maybe thousands. These terrors of the night... would they never cease? If such prayers were heard they went unanswered, at least as far as he could see. That meant only one thing... that his job was as yet incomplete.
"Who is this child you bring before me?"
"Ella es mi hija, padre. Su nombre es Maria."
The woman had grown old now but she still bore him that animosity born from expectations set too high in the first place. Was he sorry the girl died? No. His sorrow lay rooted in the fact that she was brought before him in the first place. Had the mother heeded his words, perhaps the girl might've never suffered such an affliction. Was it his fault her body was too frail to withstand the assault of the Lord?
He still remembered that first exorcism south of the border. He was still but a boy himself, just out of his twenties, and he had no proper training in the true and Holy ways of the Lord yet when the Spirit took hold of him the way was manifest... it opened like a broad boulevard paved with the souls of those who'd gone before him.
Father Luis Borgia, witnessing the miracles wrought by this boy, this man-child, took him under his wing, persuading him to disembark from the life of debauchery he'd heretofore led and instead take up the mantle of the Christ which was by rights his to wear.
And here he was, forty years later, a priest in a sty, preaching to those who could not hear, looking at those who would not see. These children paraded before him... were they not but one child? From the tales told to him by the old ones, even in the times of the Conquistadors, the duendes y demonios prowled this forsaken land looking for unsuspecting souls to steal, to usurp. Did it sometimes go wrong, the exorcisms? Yes. But what was the alternative? To simply give up the quest?
2
Tonight would be the quiet between trying times. He could rest, meditate, prepare this ancient body for the rigors poised in front of it. Something bothered him. Just a trifling thought nagging at the edge of consciousness, perhaps not unlike the last temptation suffered by Jesus. What did Arturo mean? She has found her place. What an odd thing to say. Did the sins of the father weigh so heavily upon Arturo that the man allowed McNairy her freedom? And if so, was an assault being planned even now... against not only him but the church? Was that at the root of this dis-ease he felt?
The echo of thunder rolling in from over the distant hills to the east was answered by a rumbling west over the ocean, as if he was caught between two storms intent upon laying waste to all his carefully laid plans and long tribulations.
"Why is the boy here?"
He expected the girl. She'd been exhibiting the symptoms for weeks... unruly behavior, inability to sit still, talking back to her parents. But the presence of the boy surprised him. Eduardo Ramirez had been to church a handful of times, mostly with the sister. They were what he termed causal Catholics... winding up Jesus whenever it seemed convenient but otherwise neglecting their commitment to the faith. But what of it.
Alexandria was her name. He remembered all their names... the little ones, the afflicted, and during his afternoon prayer he'd recite them under his breath and as he did so he'd envision them wrapped in the loving Savior's arms, His golden light falling about them and leading the poor misbegotten creatures home.
"No pude hacer nada más. I had no choice, padre. Eduardo would not leave the girl's side. I had to take them both."
He should've stopped the ceremony then and there. Instead, he allowed the enthusiasm of the Gathering to infuse his own sense of righteousness with an unholy streak of sadism. If not for that mistake, none of this would be happening now. That he asked for and was granted salvation by God would mean nothing to man's court of law, if things ever went that far.
"Lord forgive us for the sins we are about to commit."
Now that he knew the truth, the boy couldn’t live. Such a shame, too... the kid didn’t deserve to die. But then again, who did? Murderers, maybe, and thieves, most certainly. So it was written and thus it'd be done.
If only he could sleep. The pills no longer worked. Neither did prayer. Most nights were spent in quiet reflection but the arrival of McNairy and Forthright exasperated his mind and tried what little patience he'd managed to somehow cultivate despite dealing with el Diablo most all his life.
3
He remembered being tempted even as a child. Lucifer the great deceiver came to him nightly during his younger years, perhaps knowing as the boy grew into a man whatever influence the dark one might have over him would wane and ultimately falter. Yet now, even after all the time had passed, Fletch could still hear that cunning voice, those persuasive promises, especially late at night when the insomnia raged like caged lions and if he chanced a look out the window into the darkness crowding around him all he'd see were the faces of those lost children staring at him, beguiling him to come outside, to approach them once more.
"Deberías haber esperado… you should have waited, Arturo. Perhaps now was not the time. Estos errores que hacen… we will both of us pay for our sins in the end, my son. Use your sense, mi amigo. El Diablo is everywhere."
And thus the boy died alongside the girl. They both took their places in the cemetery—way too soon it was true—and yet didn’t they all end up there in the end anyway? What difference did a few more years mean anyhow. Most people simply squandered their time on drink and laughter never counting the cost until the reaper tapped them upon the shoulder.
Maybe it was better they were given back right off. That way, their souls could find comfort with the Lord Jesus and forego the tragedy that was called life. So far as h
e could see the world was nothing more than a cesspool of pain surrounded by cyclones of fury threatening to send all of creation into the pit of oblivion it so richly deserved.
There they were again... the children. He heard them plodding through the cemetery, could feel the icy touch of cold flesh reaching out for him to pull him under. There were times when he screamed aloud, not from fear but from the torment.
"Go back to hell, Satan's spawn... let the world be shut of you."
That they—those children—were possessed he had no doubts. No, his uncertainties lay rooted more in this mission he'd taken on rather than the reasons behind the calamities. Had he too become haunted by that thing he fought so hard against? Nights were the worst, when the loneliness of the priesthood pressed in upon him in ways a young man could never know.
What was that light flickering in the cemetery? Was he seeing things or had the diggers returned? And if so, where was Arturo? The man had promised to keep guard over their work, to make sure no further desecrations took place under his watch. This disturbing the dead was bad business for everyone.
He supposed he ought to have a look. Despite the spirits of the undead, or maybe in spite of them. The dead hold no power over the living... so sayeth the Lord.
Chapter 59—Talking
(To Ghosts)
1
Maybe all the talk of ghosts was beginning to get to her... either that, or perhaps the fact she was rapidly running out of the dust that kept her going had started up the Jones in earnest. Danners was still asleep though she could hear him muttering from the bedroom... most likely in the throes of some weird dream of dragons and hot tamales.
Did she dare go out and try to score? Thoughts of being locked inside that crypt kept leaking into the forefront of her awareness even though she did her best to vanquish them after brewing coffee and by sitting down at the table and delving into the voluminous FBI files they'd taken from Reilly Cooper. Though she'd been through the stacks of paper twice she still had a feeling there was something she was missing.
She had half a mind to simply throw her clothes into a handbag, walk to the bus depot, and catch the next ride north to Ensenada where she could transfer onto either a train to Los Angeles or hop on another bus. Damn Danners and his single-mindedness. They could've been home by now if they'd left this morning like she wanted to.
"Take me home, Danners. Please."
"Sure, Liza... I can do that."
"But you're coming back, aren't you."
"I have to, sweetie. This thing isn’t over yet."
"You’re going to get us both killed down here, DanMan. You know that... right?"
"Not if I take you home first, Liza."
She couldn’t do it... not up and leave the man she loved. Granted... theirs was an odd relationship. They weren’t technically a couple at all. Though they slept together on many occasions they'd never made that thing called whoopee.
"I can't go without you, lover. You know that."
If she just bumped a little, she'd have enough to last another day but that was it. And she'd be cranky, irritable all afternoon and evening... the way she got just before her period started and everything seemed to be closing in on her and all she wanted to do was shoot a fine load into her veins, lay back, and let the goddamned world spin around on its own axis for a time or two.
Was that really Elena they saw in the cemetery last night? It'd been dark. Too much so to see clearly. But her voice was familiar and whoever it was seemed to recognize them both... in fact, she called them by name. Had the girl really overdosed? If so, the odds were that Elena had gotten a packet marked for Liza McNairy.
Christ, she couldn’t seem to get the smell of that crypt out of her nostrils. She'd taken off the clothes she'd had on, wrapped them up in double trash bags, and discarded them in the Dumpster behind the main office. It did no good. Maybe it was the goddamned shoes she wore. No... she'd thrown them out too. Could the scent of death seep into a person's pores? Maybe. Or else Elena really was walking around dead and that was what she kept smelling.
Come on, Lizzi... you know better than that. The dead cannot get up walk around. Have you ever seen me? In my dreams, Lissi sissy... I see you in my dreams. If not for that, I'd have gone insane a hundred years ago. Something moved behind her causing her to jump.
"Liza? Oh... there you are."
"Well if it isn't sleeping beauty. Hey DanMan... I thought I was going to have to finish this case all on my own."
"I was dreaming about Elena Stamper again."
"So what'd you two do... take a Mary Poppins around Santo Tomas together again?"
"How'd you'd know?"
"I didn’t. I was kidding. Don’t tell me... let me guess... you and Elena are in love and are planning to be married and have eighteen kids and hire me to be your nanny and housecleaner."
2
"Never. She showed me how we might be able to stop Fletch. Between her and Bernice, I think I know what to do now."
"Hey... that's even better. So I get to keep you a while. Are you going to share your newfound knowledge with me or do I have to take my clothes off again, climb on the table, and do a little jig for you?"
"I wouldn’t close my eyes if that’s what you mean. Anyway... they think her body in the crypt is you, Liza. That gives us an edge."
"I'm not sure I follow, Danners. How is that possible? We look nothing alike."
"Reilly and Hank wrapped Elena's body up in a comforter when they carried her down to the cemetery. I'm guessing your old friend the something man had some help from that Gathering of theirs. He probably assumed his buddies wrapped your body up and stuck it inside the coffin and he didn’t care anything about undoing that package so he just figured it was you."
"And just how does that give us an edge?"
"We use you as a decoy to lure them into that crypt."
"Oh, gee... that's wonderful, lover. Just what I need. Another chance to end up right back in that nasty ass place again. No fucking thanks."
"I wouldn't put you in jeopardy, Liza. You know that."
"Well pardon me for saying so, but I thought I heard you say you wanted to use me as a decoy to lure Fletch and that maniac into the same fucking crypt where they locked me up for a month and a half. Tell me I misunderstood you, Danners."
"No... that pretty much sums it up, sweetie. But I'll be right there. We'll have Hank and Reilly along too. Nothing will happen to you. I promise."
"And when is this plan of yours going to unfold?"
"Tonight. We lure the two of them into that crypt, lock the door, and that's that. Problem solved. No more exorcisms."
"Until the church sends another phony priest down here... that's what you really mean to say... right?"
"Not if we do this thing right, Liza. That's where the knife comes in. That's the key to everything. That knife was here way before Fletch showed up. It's been used in violent exorcisms for hundreds of years. By entombing the good padre and his cohort along with that knife, we'll put an end to everything."
"You're serious."
"Well... yeah."
"You weren’t locked in that fucking place. I was. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, and that includes Fletch and the something man. I can't do that, Danners. Not and live with myself. There's got to be another way. Talk to Mary Poppins again. Tell her to come up with some other plan that doesn’t involve locking people up in crypts. Better yet, let's go home. If that goddamned knife is the key, we can take it with us. We'll drop that motherfucker into a volcanic vent along the way. Let 'em find it then."
"That's not a bad idea, Liza... but even without the knife, Fletch will keep on performing exorcisms. And killing kids."
"Let the authorities deal with it, Danners."
3
"They won't. Fletch is immune to any prosecution here in Mexico. Hell, even if he was operating in the States they'd have a hard time charging the man with anything."
"So either we stay here and do this t
hing or he keeps on killing kids? Is that what you're telling me, DanMan?"
"Well, yeah. That's what I've been saying all along, Liza. Look... I'll take you home. There's no reason for you to be involved in any of this."
"You can't talk to me like that, Danners. I'm not leaving you here to fend for yourself."
"Are we having another argument?"
"No, sweetie... we're involved in a heated discussion, that's all. Look... I'll agree to act as your decoy. But we can't seal those men up alive inside that crypt. It'll take days for them to die."
"So you're saying we need to kill them first?"
"I wouldn’t put it like that, DanMan. Who knows? They could have an unfortunate accident. Maybe a stone's come loose inside that crypt. What if it was to fall on top of them? Or perhaps baby poisonous snakes have made their way into the burial vault from tiny cracks in the walls and by now they've grown up and Fletch is bitten and he dies an excruciating but quick death. Bad things happen to people all the time... right?"
"Absolutely... I can see something like that occurring."
"Okay... so that's settled. Now, tell me, DanDan, what really happened when you went to take Bernice's hand in the cantina yesterday."
"I had a vision. I'm not entirely sure what it means though."
"Maybe it'll help if you tell me about it. Where were you? Could you tell?"
"Here... we were in the same spot as that cantina, only there was nothing but jungle surrounding us. The ground was hot under my feet. Like a volcano was getting ready to let loose. We were in the middle of a group of people, our tribe. Both of us were naked."
"DanDan! Was I there too?"
"No... me and Bernice were on a rock... like an altar. She had that knife in her left hand... the same one I found in the church. I was the sacrifice. But she couldn’t kill me until we had sex. We had to produce a child. That was the whole point of the ritual."