The women gasped as the table halted, suspended in midair at the point of impact.
There was no sound when the table struck. Neither the glass nor the wood cracked or shattered. Although it was the table that was frozen, Celeste was the one that shivered. The officer turned to them—his eyes wild, mouth open.
“How—how is this possible?”
“It’s the house. It’s possessed. By a demon,” Nora answered, her voice monotone.
The officer’s mouth snapped shut. He lined himself up in front of another window, slid the gun easily from his holster and aimed it at the window. “Screw this house,” he mumbled and fired.
This was the first time Celeste had ever been in the vicinity of a firing pistol. She expected a loud bang—a crack that would resonate in her eardrums. Instead, the report sounded more like the whimper of a child’s firecracker. Did the house have anything to do with that? She had no such questions when it came to the results.
There were no spider web cracks surrounding a small hole anywhere on the glass because there was no hole.
The three women followed the officer to the window. Celeste’s shoulders sank when she noticed the bullet. Suspended horizontally from the window, its nose tightly against the glass.
“Oh my God,” Celeste whispered.
“God’s got nothing to do with this,” Agnes shot back.
Officer Jones reached for the bullet.
“I wouldn’t do that,” admonished Agnes.
He glared at her. “Why not?”
“What happens if you touch that glass or the bullet? You want to be stuck?”
Celeste gave the officer credit: he didn’t argue with Agnes or question her logic. He nodded, stepping back from the window.
The officer tried his radio, but it was dead. “You said you have cell phones. Call 9-1-1.”
Nora pulled her phone from her pocket. Agnes and Celeste explained once again that their phones were in their purses, which they’d left in their cars.
Flustered, Nora said, “It’s not working. I can’t get it to turn on.” She faced Agnes. “What do we do now?”
“We wait. We stay close to each other—real close, like holding hands close. We do not use our talents on the house. You two understand me on that?”
Celeste nodded, along with Nora.
“Something is playing with us. Something powerful. It has the ability to hide from us, to trick us into entering its domain, and to hold us here. To what purpose? I don’t know. It could’ve assaulted us the minute we walked in, maybe even when we were outside. If those police dossiers are any indication, it has the power to kill us, but it hasn’t done so. That’s in our favor right now.”
Officer Jones stared at Agnes, his head shaking. Once she had finished, he jumped into the conversation.
“I don’t know what Chief Dodd and Mr. Lewis have gotten me into, but it’s starting to scare the shit outa me. You talk about having talents, and something powerful having the ability to kill us. Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”
Agnes pointed to the chair. “Sit down, Officer. We’ll tell you everything we know.”
He removed the sheet covering the chair as the three women pulled the cloth from the couch. They all took seats, Agnes in the middle of the couch, her hands out to either side. Celeste took one hand, and Nora clasped the other. Agnes explained their empathic abilities, gave a condensed version of some of the cases they’d investigated, recounted the phone call she received from Father MacLeod last evening, and told him about the file they’d viewed.
“So,” Officer Jones concluded, “When you ladies stood outside and then walked around the house, you were looking for some kind of supernatural presence.”
Celeste nodded, and Agnes verbally confirmed it.
“You know,” Jones went on, shaking his head. “Normally I would say this is all bullshit, like something out of a horror movie. But doorknobs don’t take on a life of their own. Glass breaks when you strike it. Furniture and bullets don’t freeze in midair. And all three of you say you saw me wave you in.”
Nora interrupted. “We know it wasn’t you, now.”
The officer sighed. “I saw that file you said Father MacLeod sent you. I can tell you, I saw every one of those bodies first-hand. None of us could figure out who, or what in some of the cases, could do the damage that was done. I mean, what devours a man down to his hips—clothes and all—and then leaves a pair of legs on the ground? Hell, scavengers would have torn the body apart, birds would have feasted. Nothing went close to him, not even for a nibble.”
Agnes said, “It wanted them to be found.”
“What do you mean it? What the hell are we dealing with?”
“A demonic presence, Officer Jones.”
“What the hell? A demonic presence? You guys are out of your minds!”
Agnes took a deep breath. “You’ve seen things here today that don’t make sense. That body you described, how come it wasn’t touched by animals? The very reason we’re in this house is to detect a supernatural presence. You think this is all some kind of game concocted by us or Mr. Lewis simply to scare the hell out of you? Let me tell you something officer, this is no game, we’re scared just as much as you are. Demons, the Devil, they’re real. As soon as you get your mind around that, your chances of leaving this house increase.”
The man’s shoulders drooped. His head shook as he looked at the three women. “This is fucking crazy,” he mumbled. He took a step back and raised his voice. “Okay, let’s say you guys really believe this—that there is a demon holding us here—what the hell do we do?”
“Nothing,” Agnes answered, and Nora choked on a sob. “We wait—and we pray,” Agnes went on. “Wait for someone to notice we’re missing and pray to keep it from hurting or possessing us.
“We’ll fight this thing and win, won’t we?” Nora said with a sad grin.
Agnes didn’t have the chance to answer.
Officer Jones sat bolt upright and froze. His jaw dropped open, his eyes widened to their fullest, and he swung his head toward Celeste.
Unsure of what was happening, she squeezed Agnes’ hand. The officer’s head turned to one side and then the other, repeating and gaining speed.
He raised his hands to his head. “Make it stop!” he pleaded. “Make it stop!”
Crack.
The bones in his neck snapped. Celeste screamed, and Nora cowered. The rapid motion of his head increased until his features blurred.
He rose from the chair as if unseen hands had slipped under his shoulders and lifted him. His legs swayed like a hanged man’s. Officer Jones’ head continued its frenzied roil until the top of his scalp touched the ceiling. On contact, the spinning stopped. He dangled in midair, arms limp at his sides.
Celeste clung tightly to Agnes, who stiffened, but did not push her away.
Nora prayed.
“Our Father, in heaven, hallowed be your name....”
Celeste’s lips moved, silently reciting the prayer along with Nora. When she finished the line, forever and ever, she bowed her head, said “Amen,” and glanced up.
The officer glared down at her, his eyes changing—now egg-shaped and devoid of color. Their darkness was as endless as the void she disappeared into whenever she concentrated on her empathic abilities. There were no pinpricks of starlight in those black orbs. No sense of God’s wonder. Only hopelessness. He opened his mouth. The cavity’s bleakness mirrored his eyes.
Officer Jones descended from the ceiling. As he floated down, his gaze never left Celeste. His feet touched the floor and he stood, unstable, his mouth yawning wide, his head lolling. An invisible force pressed against the officer’s back, jutting his midsection forward. He ambled toward her, shuffling one foot, then the other, until he was in front of the couch.
“You.” The man’s lips never moved. Though he hadn’t spoken the word, there was no doubt it came from him.
Unbidden, Celeste picked up on the demon. It wasn’t an emot
ion or sensation she was feeling, but thoughts. Can it read mine? Are Agnes and Nora hearing this inside their heads? She observed her partners for a moment and then turned her back to the officer.
“You. Why are you not like the others?”
Celeste heard the sentence as a statement, not a question.
Agnes’ voice filled the room. “In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to leave these premises! In the”—her shaky voice belied the authority of the command.
“Shut up, bitch. I’ll deal with you and your lover soon.”
Celeste heard the otherworldly voice outside her head. There was no question that Agnes also heard it. The woman’s jaw dropped, and she pushed further back against the couch.
Celeste took no satisfaction that her assumption about her partners had been correct. Instead, anger overpowered her fear. “What do you want from us?”
The demon ignored her. It raised Officer Jones’ hand, rubbed his chin and pulled at it while gazing at Agnes and Nora. After a pause, he grinned.
“You are a means to an end.” He was quiet for a few moments, then added, “In the meantime, I will enjoy all of you.”
Officer Jones’ body snapped back and away from the couch, landing upright, seated in the recliner like a king on a throne. All the while, the demon kept its dark gaze on Celeste. After a moment, the body fell limp.
CHAPTER 10
Father MacLeod parked his car in the lot behind the building housing his office. It was a former post office—circa 1940s—with stately columns, wide steps in the front, and multiple loading docks in the rear. Heavy loads of mail had taken their toll on the pavement over the years. The parking lot was roughshod from frost heaves and cracks, and black paving chalk had prevented weeds from sprouting.
Over the past few years, the maintenance staff had struggled with the decay, but the patchwork was an eyesore. For the priest, it was also shudder-inducing. Those ebony, chalky tendrils grew more numerous each passing season. They were wider than ever, their reach expanding. The repairs reeked of advancing malevolence; only the sanctity of the Church held them at bay.
He knew the notion was ridiculous. The Church was so incompetent it couldn’t make a dog sit with the promise of a treat. When it came to evil, the Church was good at one thing—mopping up, and with mixed results at that. Catherine White was a good example.
As he climbed the stone steps to the rear entrance, Catherine stayed on his mind—below him, in the bowels of the building, the exorcists sent by the Vatican were working on the young woman. He’d stopped praying for her; they didn’t do much good. And hope? Hope was a bedfellow to prayer—a lifeline for the despondent; those too weak to take matters into their own hands. How many times had he heard someone utter the phrase, I hope to God? Well, he had news for those people. God intervened only when the urge took him. No, He couldn’t be counted on for much. So far, God hadn’t given a rat’s ass about Catherine—or him, for that matter. Though the priest had to admit it would be nice if God did snap to attention and bestow a sliver of salvation to both of them.
Yet, he maintained his belief in God. Who wouldn’t, in the line of business he was in? He had first-hand knowledge, a chair at the table, a bird’s eye view—the metaphors were endless—that the soul lived on after death. The problem was, he had only seen one side of that coin—hell’s dominion. Where were the angels that floated on high to provide guidance? Where were the twentieth-century miracles taking place? Did the term second coming only apply to porn movies? Why in the hell hadn’t He cured cancer? Cleaned up the water in Flint? Aborted Hitler? Why hadn’t He prevented a young priest from negotiating with the Devil twenty years ago?
The first floor of the building was full of life for so late in the afternoon. Walking down the hall, he tipped his head, waved hello, and spoke to those who acknowledged him. His smile was as dead as his soul. Entering his office, he pushed through, closed the door, and leaned against it. After exhaling, he raised his head to see his secretary staring at him.
“Good afternoon, Linda.”
“Good afternoon, Father.”
“Any messages?”
“Umm, yeah. I kept trying to call you, got voicemail every time. You should’ve called back.”
He squinted his eyes. He hadn’t heard his phone ring. Removing it from his pocket, he saw the screen was blank. He hit the power button to no avail.
I thought I charged this last night.
“Phone’s dead. Sorry about that, Linda. What’s up?”
“Mr. Lewis called. Three times and…” The landline rang. “Hang on a minute. Father MacLeod’s office. Yes, Mr. Lewis, he just walked in. Hang on.”
Linda shrugged as she gave the priest a crooked smile. “He’s on line one.”
“I’ll take it in my office.”
He closed the door, sat, and stared at the phone. He had no idea how Mr. Lewis would take the news. Father MacLeod anticipated that the man would want specifics. He could be on the phone for a while.
“Father MacLeod. Can I help you, Mr. Lewis?”
“Yes, I hope so. What happened at the Moore house this morning?”
The priest wanted to put the appropriate spin on things, so the man would put the issue to rest. He responded in an upbeat manner.
“Well, as we discussed, I did attend the investigation with my team at the house this morning. We were there for around half an hour. I assume you know all of this, as the local police had a representative at the scene. I can report that the ladies didn’t pick up on any demonic presence from the residence.”
“I had arranged for the keys to the Moore house to be available to you. You saw me hand them over to the officer. Did you enter the house, Father MacLeod?”
After a pause, the priest replied. “No. We did a sweep on the outside.”
Mr. Lewis was silent for a moment. “How did the investigation conclude?”
Father MacLeod’s head inched back. “As I said, we found nothing. The Moore house is not haunted.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. What happened to you and your team after the investigation finished?”
Fear rippled up the priest’s spine. Does he know where I went after I left? Did he have someone follow me? He forced himself to calm down. “I left as soon as the determination was made. I gave the house a blessing and then I left to attend to some appointments I had scheduled.”
“You left before the others?”
What the hell is going on? “Yes, there was no need for me to stay. Why do you ask?”
“The officer who attended your investigation is missing.”
“What?”
“His patrol car is still parked in front of the house. As are three other vehicles, which I assume belong to your team. Have you heard from them?”
Father MacLeod went numb. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “No, I haven’t, but I just stepped in. Has anyone gone inside the house?”
“Chief Dodd became concerned when Jones didn’t check in. They tried his radio and cell phone; no answer on either. The chief drove there and saw Jones’ vehicle parked on the road. He then attempted to enter the house, but all the entrances were locked. He tried the windows to see if anyone was inside, but he didn’t see them.
“There was no sign of my team?”
“No. From what he could see, the house was empty. He was so concerned, though, he attempted to break one of the windows with the butt of his gun. When that didn’t work, he fired a shot into it. The glass remained whole.”
Father MacLeod mumbled, “Oh, shit.”
“What was that, Father?”
The priest’s free hand went to his chin. “Nothing, Mr. Lewis. What’s happening now?”
“Chief Dodd is calling for a locksmith. If that doesn’t work, he’ll break the door down. The locksmith should be there soon. If they can enter the house, he’ll call for back up. I want you there, Father MacLeod, and damn it, I want you inside of that house if they can get you in. I’m not sure what’
s going on, but I’ll be damned if I have the deaths of any more people on my conscience.”
The priest sighed. “I’ll be there. Give me an hour and a half.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
The men hung up.
Father MacLeod rushed out the door. “Linda, have Agnes, Nora or Celeste called?”
“No, Father.”
“Call them. Each of them. Whoever answers first, put them through to me right away.”
“Yes, Father.”
As the secretary punched the direct dial on her phone, the priest returned to his office. He fished out his charger from a desk drawer and plugged it in. The phone didn’t light up. What the hell is wrong with this thing? He unplugged it and pocketed the phone with the intention of charging it in his car on the way to Goffstown. He sat in his chair, pulling at his beard. After a moment, he glared at the ceiling. Why the hell can’t you leave me alone?
Linda’s voice came over the intercom. “Father MacLeod?”
“Yes.”
“No answer from either their home phones or cells. Do you want me to keep trying?”
“No.”
The secretary cut off without a reply.
The priest stood, gazed around the office for a moment, and then walked out.
“Linda, if any of the three women call, tell them to try my cell phone. If they can’t get through, they should call the Goffstown Police Department and ask for Chief Dodd and explain to him who and where they are.”
“Okay. Do they have the number?”
“Look it up and give it to them. If they can’t get me, tell them I’ll call back as soon as I can.”
He hurried down the marble steps leading to the parking lot but stopped before his foot landed on the last one.
Black veins crisscrossed the bottom step. They shimmied like worms struggling on a driveway in the afternoon sun. The inky lines rose from the step as high as half an inch before the marble appeared to suck them back down. The priest’s ears pricked. Like a bag full of cats drowning, he heard their calls to be freed from the Church’s grasp. Dark wisps materialized and floated over the veins and the scent of sulfur filled his nose. He raised his head to the parking lot. It was a sea of black writing tendrils. They were waiting. For him.
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