“We’re not letting you leave the team,” said MacLeod. “They’re not going to sack you. We won’t have it.”
“You’re in no way responsible,” said Khoury, steering around a semi that was slow in moving aside. “We’re hours away from Washington. How can you think you’re responsible?”
“I made too many assumptions,” she said. “Thought I knew how the girls operated. Turns out I didn’t know shit, and three men paid for it.”
“I was the one who first suggested we not fly,” said MacLeod. “I should have insisted that no one related to this case take to the air. My reading of her through the telly instigated this whole thing, it did. If anyone is to blame...”
“It’s God.” She turned on the priest, letting loose an emotional firestorm of questions. “How about some of that Bible thumping, Ryan? Let’s hear it. Where is He in all this? Why isn’t He giving us an assist? Why’d He let Tom and the other agents die, huh? They were good guys. One of them has four kids! What about that cop those little shits fried? Hell, the nuns. They devoted their lives to God. Why did He let them die? Where is your Lord?”
“You’re asking the wrong question,” Khoury said calmly.
“Tell me the right one, then. Please.”
“Where is the devil?”
“What?” she sputtered.
“What are the chances? That’s what you asked after hearing of two big events taking place around the same little town.” Khoury wove around a slow-moving compact. “Again we should be asking: What are the chances?”
“I’m not getting you!” she snapped.
“What are the chances that of all the agents working on this case, your former husband would be among the first killed?”
She shook her head in confusion.
“He’s right, Sam,” said MacLeod, leaning forward. “I’m no more of a churchgoer than you are, but it’s obvious something is working against us. Trying to slow us down by knocking the wind out of you.”
She fell back against her seat and hung her head. “It worked.”
MacLeod reached around to the front and put a hand on her shoulder.
“So we know what the devil is up to.” She lifted her head and turned to the driver. “What’s your guy doing?”
“We wouldn’t have gotten this far without Him.” Khoury pulled up behind a pickup and the car swerved to the right to clear the road. “And He’s our guy.”
She took a drink off her water bottle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Wiped her eyes one more time and squared her shoulders. “Let’s get our heads back in the game.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Continuing the quiet game, Petit and the girls said nothing as they followed the abbess into the first room on the right, off the hallway. Petit dropped the luggage inside the door. The abbess pointed to a chair and he took it while the girls piled onto a couch.
With its glossy wood floor topped by an oriental carpet and upholstered furniture, it could have been anyone’s living room. The big difference was the divider, a waist-high wooden rail topped by a screen that extended up all the way to the ceiling.
She used to live her life on the other side of that grille. In the beginning, her younger siblings visited. They’d had little contact with her since she’d been sent away to convent school, and their conversations with her would have been awkward even without the screen. She was relieved when they stopped coming, leaving her parents as her only visitors. Then they’d died.
Today she was the guest, and she’d lied to Petit about being a welcomed one. Through the screen, she talked to the head of the cloistered convent. The density of the grille didn’t allow the abbess to see Mother Regina’s face, but she remembered her well. Hesitant, soft voice. Pale, blue eyes. A face scarred by acne. While the abbess was in charge of the monastery, Regina had gone from being a novitiate to taking her final vows. Today the relatively young nun was the one leading the monastery.
“We allowed you and the children on the grounds because of your history with us, but the man must leave immediately,” said Mother Regina.
The thought of cutting Petit loose, leaving him free to go to the law, terrified the abbess. “He’s got to stay with us.”
“I can’t believe you brought him here. If one of the novitiates hadn’t been watching the door...”
“He’s been our protector. The girls’ guardian.” The abbess could feel Petit watching her, and lowered her voice so he couldn’t overhear. “He’s a father to them.”
The soft voice suddenly hardened. “That’s not what the police are saying on the radio.”
“They’re telling lies. It’s all lies.”
“Explain yourself, Sister Magdalen.”
Sister. With that lower title, Mother Regina had reached through the grille and slapped the abbess across the face. For a moment, she considered getting up and leaving without another word. Instead, she did the opposite.
Leaning into the screen as if she were confessing her sins to a priest, the abbess told the younger nun about the girls’ abilities – leaving out any mention of the destruction they’d also caused and her plans for using their gift. Taking a cue from the media, the mother superior blamed the blast at the convent on demonstrators who’d heard about the healings. She fled with the girls because she feared they were in danger – not so much from anti-Catholic mobs as from the government. The FBI was in pursuit of them, and had drummed up the bogus charges to get the triplets into their hands, for their own evil purposes.
Through the screen, she could sense Mother Regina’s skepticism. “Examine Trey Petit’s hand and interview him yourselves. Ask him about the other healings.”
“We all know miracles do happen,” the younger nun said in a condescending tone. “But your story...”
“Is there a sister here who has been ill? I’ll have the girls cure her.”
“God answers our prayers, if it is His will.”
“Let me show you!”
“Sister, remember where you are.”
Regretting raising her voice, the abbess turned around and caught Petit staring at her. She leaned back into the screen. “Please,” she said gently. “Allow me to prove it. If you could see how God has blessed these girls, you couldn’t possibly turn them away. It would be a sin to do so. ”
“Letting you put this monastery at risk would be a sin,” Mother Regina said. “If the police come here...”
“They won’t. They have no idea where we are. Trust me on this.”
“Why should we?”
“We lived together.”
“You left us seven years ago, and not for another monastery.”
“I told you all: I needed time alone for contemplation.”
“That’s not my understanding. That’s not what we heard.”
“What? What did you hear?”
Her query was answered by stony silence. Did they know about Jehu? How? She dismissed the internal questions and continued defending herself. “I returned to a convent. I was put in charge and...”
“And look at the result, God rest their souls.”
“You have to believe me: I had nothing to do with that.” The abbess hated hearing the desperation in her own voice. “I wasn’t even there.”
“Precisely.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re always leaving. Always running away.” The squeak of a chair being pushed back from the screen. “I see no reason to help you do it again.”
The abbess jumped to her feet and whispered to the grille. “Don’t turn your back on us.”
“You may get something to eat.”
“We’re so tired. They’re so young. Three little girls.”
The abbess stared at the screen, sensing another emotion emanating from the other side. Pity? On any other occasion, she would have loathed it. Today she hoped for it. Prayed for it.
Mother Regina released a barely audible sigh. “Use our guest rooms to bathe and rest.”
“Let us
stay for a few days. Please. Give me time to prove my claims. These girls are truly blessed.”
“You may stay the night while I consider your request. I must seek guidance from God, and from the other sisters.”
A set of keys was passed to the abbess through a slot below the window and she snatched it. “Thank you, Mother.”
“All of you stay on the top floor, away from the rest of us. Except for prayers and meals, the man must keep to his room.”
“Understood.”
She heard a rustling of fabric, and a door close. Mother Regina had gone.
Petit and the three girls followed the abbess to the back of the building. He’d caught bits of her conversation with the person on the opposite side of the divider. He figured the other nuns didn’t want the fugitives in their house. Not a surprise.
The five of them entered a large kitchen with long tables like those at a school cafeteria. He sat at one side of a table and the females took the other. Since he’d opened his big mouth about turning themselves in, that’s how it was going to be played: Him against them.
Dressed from head to toe in white, a young nun served them chicken soup. Hot and salty and thick with wide noodles, it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. When he tried to thank her, the girl put an index finger to her lips and shook her head.
After the white nun left them alone to finish the meal, Mother Magdalen whispered to the table, “After we’re done, I’ll take you to your rooms. Clean up and change. Rest. We’ll join the rest of the house for vespers later.”
“Right,” Petit said dryly. “We can pray for those people in that chopper.”
Her eyes narrowed into dark razors. “Be quiet and eat,” she hissed across the table.
While everyone put their heads down and returned to their slurping, Mother Magdalen went over to her own suitcase, unzipped a corner of it and reached inside. The girls had their backs to her but he could watch. He spotted a small bottle in her hand, and recognized the pink color: The same potion Sister Rose had used on the girls.
He put his head down but stole glances. Digging around in the refrigerator, she produced a carton of cranberry juice. She set five glasses on the kitchen counter and, with her back turned to the entire table, filled them.
She set the glasses on the table, but he refused to touch his. Did she think she could dope him up like a little kid?
She noticed his untouched juice. “Aren’t you thirsty, Trey?”
He slid the drink across the table. “You can have it.”
“I’ll drink it,” said Babette, getting on her knees and reaching for it.
“Miss Piggy,” said Adeline, holding her glass tight to her chest.
“Shut your hole,” said Babette, who then stole Cecelia’s half-finished drink.
Mother Magdalen averted her eyes while Babette downed the doses of allergy medicine.
When they were finished, the abbess led them up multiple flights of stairs and down a dim hallway. As at the old convent, the floor was covered in dull linoleum and the walls were lined with doors. In the middle of the corridor, she unlocked one of the doors and pushed it open. Flipped on a ceiling light and motioned the girls inside. He followed with the bags.
An even smaller cell than their old room. No bunks. Three single beds, each covered in white sheets and gray blankets. Nothing on the walls, not even a crucifix, and a single window with dusty mini blinds. The abbess pointed to a door in the far corner. “Bathroom.”
Yawning in unison, Cecelia and Adeline crawled up on the same bed. After the abbess pulled off their shoes, they got under the covers. When Babette went over to the side of the bed, Cecelia waved her away. “There’s no room.”
Babette’s eyes were wide – she’d gotten too much of the stuff – and she moved like a zombie. Stiff and stumbling around. She knocked her sister’s arm down. “Let me up.”
“Go away, Fatty,” said Adeline, and she and Cecelia rolled over to face the wall.
Crawling into a bed by herself, Babette curled into the fetal position. When Petit reached to pull off her shoes, she curled into a tighter ball. “Leave them on.”
“You can’t sleep in your...”
“Go away,” she said, and rolled over.
Petit felt sorry for her. None of this was her fault. The abbess had created a monster, and was having trouble controlling it.
Once in the hall, the abbess ran her fingers through the keys she’d been given and found the one she needed. Gently, she slipped it into the lock on the girls’ door and turned.
As he followed Mother Magdalen with his bag and hers, he asked: “The crayons?”
“In the trunk of the car. I checked all their boxes, to make sure none was missing.”
“Good.”
She unlocked a door at the end of the hall, pushed it open and turned on the light. “You’ll stay here.”
He dropped her bag in the hall and took his stuff into the room, half the size of the girls’ room and without a window. A little larger and it could be a closet. As he dropped his duffle on the bed, the door closed after him. Pivoting around, he heard a key turn in the lock. “Hey!” he yelled, and beat the door with his fist. “I don’t want to be locked in!”
“They don’t want to see you. Men shouldn’t be here.”
“Ain’t my fault. I didn’t ask to come.”
“I’ll be back for you.”
“I know what you did to those girls. I know you doped them up. Tried to dope me up.”
Silence on the other side.
“Unlock the damn door before I break it down!” He pounded it with his fist. “Help! Let me out! Somebody!”
“There’s no one else staying on this floor and this time of day...”
He pounded again.
“This time of day, the entire building is nearly empty,” she finished. “Make all the noise you want.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I can’t watch you.”
“Won’t go anywhere. Unlock it.”
He listened for a reply. Nothing. He kicked the door. “Bitch!”
The tiny bathroom had a toilet and a tub, but no shower. Because there was nothing else to do, he started filling the tub to take a hot soak. Tepid water sputtered out of the HOT tap, but he got in anyway. While he soaked and shivered, he stared at the object he’d set on the toilet lid:
The gun, his new best friend.
His left hand tingled and twitched. As if it were a living creature he was trying to drown, he held it under the water. He half expected to see bubbles of air rising from the three restored fingers. Slowly, he sunk his entire body lower and lower in the tub. Closed his eyes and submerged his head. Visualized being found naked and dead in a bathtub at a cloistered convent. Not a good way to go.
After drying himself with a sandpaper towel, he dressed in fresh clothes. He didn’t know how long he paced back and forth in his cell before the exhaustion beat out the frustration. Cursing the abbess and his situation, Petit collapsed face down on the bed and thought about the felled helicopter. Imagined someone on a stretcher falling and falling. Burning up while still strapped into it.
He pulled a pillow over the back of his head and wished he had taken the pink syrup.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Mother Magdalen went downstairs and outside without coming across another soul. She wondered how many were living at the monastery these days. As with other religious around the country, their numbers had to be declining. Didn’t matter. Whether there were a hundred or a dozen of them, wealthy Washington benefactors would make sure they could continue the work and the prayer. All the while, the sisters remained invisible to outsiders.
She stepped onto a narrow, winding stone path and followed it to what had been her favorite place at the monastery: The grotto.
Built into the side of a hill in the northeast corner of the campus, the shallow cave sheltered a snow-white statue of the Virgin Mary. Along the sides of the cave were waterfalls that ran down rocks
and emptied into a small pond at the feet of the Virgin. Resembling stone pews facing the statue, rows of benches lined both sides of the winding path leading to the grotto. Running along the hill behind the grotto and down the slope to the right was the fence. Trees on the other side of the corner of chain link provided an additional shield from the outside world.
Straight across from the grotto, in the northwest corner of the grounds, was the chapel. When the weather permitted, the abbess used to take the novices from the church to the grotto, starting the rosary inside and finishing out. Sometimes they visited the grotto at night. Their way would be lit by a string of solar path lights and a larger solar lamp planted on the hill behind the grotto.
A gentle wind rattled the leaves above her, carrying the memory of those young voices.
“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee...”
Who was with her? Today she walked and prayed in solitude. Never felt more alone. Trey Petit, never a true ally, had completely turned against her and the girls. Jehu was nowhere to be found. If what he said was true, the others had turned against her because of the mayhem at the convent.
She didn’t need any of them. After all, they weren’t true believers. They thought they were planning a faux Armageddon, putting up a false Antichrist. Since she’d taken flight with the girls, witnessed their power and gently guided how they used their gift, she’d become more convinced than ever: This was all real, and it was God’s will.
Once Jackson was installed, she’d contact him and remind him of what the girls had done for his daughter. Together, she and the country’s new agriculture secretary would do what the others had only been talking about. With the girls and their miraculous abilities, they’d put the fear of the Lord in the planet’s people while setting the End of Days in motion.
A male voice intruded on her thoughts. “I knew you’d hide here, Mother.”
The abbess stopped on the path and spun around. He’d shaved his head and was dressed like a priest - not in simple black slacks but in a long, black cassock. Unsettling how natural it looked on him. “Jehu. It’s about time.”
The Devil's Own Crayons Page 33