“You’ll take a SWAT team inside with you,” said Camp.
“Gladly,” said MacLeod, standing with his hand to his chest.
“Building B is a cottage where the mystery man is staying,” said Camp.
“So we still don’t know his identity?” asked Rossi.
“No hits yet. Doesn’t matter. He’s part of this fringe group and we’re taking him down.” Camp looked from one team member to the other. “Keep my men close enough to help you, but far enough away that they don’t see or hear anything...extraordinary.”
“That may be a tad difficult,” said MacLeod.
Camp continued: “All three adults have got to be taken down.”
Khoury frowned. “But if they’re unarmed...”
“They won’t be,” Camp said flatly. “I can personally guarantee it.”
Again, the team members exchanged glances.
Rossi: “Where are Xavier and Petit?”
“And the third child?” added Khoury.
“We lost them here,” said Camp, pointing to a spot north of building A. “Find and finish them. Take custody of the third kid while Mr. MacLeod rescues the other two. Save the phony priest for last. He’s alone and contained in a small building. Should be an easy target.”
The instant Camp went outside to round up the SWAT crew, Khoury and MacLeod jumped on Rossi to challenge her superior’s instructions.
“I have a problem with this, sweetheart. Was he implying he intended to plant weapons on these people?”
Khoury. “Petit might be a victim in all this, and...”
Rossi threw up her hands. “We’ve got our orders.”
“Your orders,” said Khoury.
“Aye.”
“This isn’t the time to start...”
The door flew open and Camp yelled inside, over the wind. “Get rolling!”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
In the darkness, with the wind whistling around them, MacLeod and six men in SWAT gear picked their way through the woods. The hundred-yard trek to the driveway was slow and tedious. Despite his shortness of breath, MacLeod stayed in the middle of the pack and managed to keep up.
The power outage had left the gate in a locked position, and the SWAT crew used a bolt cutter to open it. Once inside, they headed straight for the residential building in the center of the campus. Leaves and sticks chased around their legs while bushes and trees shivered in a wind that seemed to be blowing from every direction.
When they reached the dormitory, MacLeod took the lead, pushing open the front door and then the door that led from the lobby to the main part of the house. Neither had been locked. One of the agents aimed his flashlight at the stairs off the dark hallway. While the six men loaded with equipment silently ran up multiple flights of stairs, MacLeod stopped at every landing to fight for oxygen.
At the top floor, the agents waited for MacLeod to catch up. He proceeded down the hall with the SWAT crew close behind, their bodies hunched and their heads swiveling back and forth to take in each side of the corridor. The only sound in the blackness was MacLeod’s shallow panting. He stopped at a room, bracing his hand against the frame. The door was open a crack, but that’s not why he’d picked it. He knew it was the one.
“Sir?” someone whispered.
“Stay here, lads.”
Someone shoved a flashlight into his hand and he took it. As he pushed the door open, the squeak of the hinges filled the corridor.
Standing in the threshold, MacLeod ran the light around the small room and saw two beds were empty. On the wall over one of the mattresses was a child’s drawing. Training the beam on the primitive artwork, he tried to decipher its meaning. There was no violence to the thing, no jagged lines cutting across the picture. No lightening bolts shooting down from the sky. Just a simple line drawing: Two stick people with curly hair, round eyes and triangle noses.
Giving up on it, he pointed the light at the third bed. A sheet was pulled up over the pillows, but beneath the cover was a shape - the size of a little girl.
Keeping the beam on the bed, the Scot forced his feet forward. All the air had deserted his body. He could neither inhale nor exhale. It was as if someone had clamped a hand over his mouth. Yet he was calm. The instant he saw what was under the blanket, he’d be freed. The connection would be severed.
Coming up to the side of the mattress, he realized there were actually two bodies beneath the sheets.
The floor creaked behind him. One of the FBI blokes had come into the room. Despite Camp’s orders, MacLeod didn’t give a shit what the others saw. Reaching down with a steady hand, he grabbed the edge of the sheet and drew it back.
“Shit!” rasped the man at MacLeod’s back.
The Scot was vaguely aware of the agent shuffling out of the room, and of a panicked conversation between the men in the hall.
“How’d they do it?”
“Acid?”
“Sick bastards!”
“He’s gonna compromise the evidence.”
“Pull him out of there!”
MacLeod couldn’t leave yet. The other girl was on her side. Rolling her toward him, he shined the flashlight over her face and found the same horror.
Eyes wide and panicked. Nostrils flared. Beneath the tiny nose, a smooth, flat pancake of flesh.
Like the crayon art on the wall, the two girls had no mouths.
The closest child extended her arms out to him and blinked. They were alive. MacLeod scooped her out of the bed and turned toward the door. “Summon an ambulance!”
Attention fixed on the crucifix mounted on the wall behind the altar, the abbess mounted the steps and went down on her knees beside the child. After setting the gun down by her side, she took her rosary out of her pocket, made the Sign of the Cross and bowed her head. She fingered the beads, but the formal prayers wouldn’t come to her lips. Closing her eyes, she said what was in her heart.
“Heavenly Father, pardon me all my sins and failings. Forgive what I’ve done and help me with what I’m about to...”
A shriek filled the cavernous space.
The nun’s eyes snapped open, only to have them clawed at by the screaming child, sitting bolt upright and flaying her arms around. The abbess used both hands to force the girl down. “Devil!”
“Mommy!”
“What? How do you know?”
“Mommy, no!”
“Stop reading my mind! Get out of my mind!” the nun screamed.
The chapel’s doors slammed open. An icy wind shot down the aisle and rolled up the altar steps, blowing the nun’s veil into her face. The candle stands rattled and the votives atop them flickered. In the alcoves, the statues of Jesus and the Virgin Mary rocked and vibrated.
Taking her right hand off Babette, the abbess reached for the revolver. It was gone.
“Let her go!”
The nun felt the gun pressed into the middle of her back. “Trey...”
He navigated around so he stood on the altar, facing her. “She’s a kid!”
“She’s not, and you know it!”
“You did this to her, you bitch!”
The girl sat up and scratched at the woman’s face. “Mister P!”
Panting and her cheeks bleeding, the abbess wrestled the girl flat. “Sister Rose. The convent. That officer. The helicopter. Her own sisters...Remember what she did to them. Remember their faces.”
“She healed me,” said Petit, using both hands to aim the gun at the nun’s head. “They fixed a guy’s leg and that girl’s eyes. They can’t be...”
“False miracles.”
Taking it off the weapon, Petit shook out his left hand.
“See? Any good they’ve done won’t last. It isn’t real. The evil is real.”
“Shut up!”
“They’re evil, and she’s the worst.”
The crucifix rattled against the wall, sending plaster falling to the floor.
Unable to rise, the girl kicked her legs frantically. “Mister P!”
“Why is she afraid, Trey? Why can’t she stand being here?”
Petit lowered the gun. “Why?”
“Because this is the Lord’s house.”
Petit’s eyes darted around. “Everything’s shaking.”
“God doesn’t want her here.” The girl raised her shoulders off the floor and the nun pushed her down. “She’s an abomination. She shouldn’t be in church.”
Beneath the trio, the floor shook and heaved. “What if you’re the one who shouldn’t be here?” Petit shouted.
“Decide, Trey!” hollered the nun. “Her or me!”
Petit stood at the top of the child’s head and aimed the muzzle down at her forehead. “I’m sorry, Missy. I’m sorry.”
The girl rolled her head from side to side. “Mister P! Don’t! You’re scaring me!”
“Pull the trigger!” shouted the abbess, holding the girl by the shoulders.
“I can’t! She’s a kid!”
“Give me the gun!”
“No! She’s a kid!”
Overhead, the beams of the chapel ceiling moved and shuddered, showering the altar and those around it with dust and plaster.
Petit lowered the gun in his right hand and shook out his left. Held the fingers in front of his face. “What’s going on?”
From the folds of her habit, the mother superior withdrew the scissors and raised them over her head. Another wind swept through the quaking church. The statues of Christ and the Virgin tumbled out of their alcoves and crashed to the floor. Every candle in the chapel flickered wildly and went out.
In the darkness, a shot rang out.
The nun dropped the scissors. Babette squirmed out from under the woman, stumbled down the altar steps and fled from the church screaming. The abbess followed her out the doors,
When they heard the shot, Rossi and Khoury were in the middle of the campus. They’d parted ways with their SWAT crew, ordering them to search the southern end of the campus for the nun and the handyman.
“The chapel,” said Rossi, aiming her flashlight toward the northwest corner.
As the pair ran in the direction of the church, a massive hardwood groaned.
“Watch out!” Khoury yelled, and pushed Rossi out of the way. She fell to the ground.
The oak toppled, its roots pulled from the soil.
Rossi got up and ran her flashlight around the fallen tree. “Ryan!”
“Here!” he hollered, stepping out of the branches.
In four long strides, the abbess caught up with the girl and grabbed her by the arm. Mother Magdalen could see the grotto in the distance. Every light atop every lamppost on the campus was out – except for the solar lights. Her white habit billowing and blowing in the wind, she pulled the screaming child toward the glowing oasis.
Tripping down the lighted path, the nun threw the girl face down in front of the statue of the Virgin Mary. The abbess pulled the scissors out of her habit, locked both hands over the handle and raised her arms in the air. The girl flipped onto her back and shrieked. Put her hands out in front of her. “Mommy!”
Beyond the corner of fencing, in the woods outside the campus, the trees moved and creaked. A massive branch cracked and fell outside the grotto.
“Get on your knees!” the nun screamed.
Sobbing and hiccupping, the girl rolled onto her stomach and drew her knees under her. Bent in half, she covered the back of her head with her arms. “Nooo! Mommy!”
“Stop calling me that!”
Rossi and Khoury spotted the woman and child, two figures trapped in a circle of weak light. A swatch of white standing over a dot of pink.
When they got closer, they saw the woman had a blade raised over her head, poised to stab the kneeling child.
Running down the path, Rossi put her gun out in front of her and barked an order to the woman’s back. “FBI! Drop it!”
The nun whirled around. “You!”
Babette got on her feet and tried to run past the nun. The abbess grabbed the child by the collar and pulled her back. Held her in front of her with one hand and put the scissors to her throat with the other.
Rossi kept the gun trained on the woman. “Don’t.”
“Who are you?” Xavier growled.
“FBI. Drop the knife.”
Khoury stood next to Rossi. “Mother Magdalen! Think about what you’re...”
“Go to hell!” The nun squatted behind the child and pressed the tip of the scissors into the girl’s throat.
Blood trickled down Babette’s throat. “Owwww! Mommy!”
“Stay still, honey,” Rossi said to the child.
Khoury held both hands out in front of him. “Put the knife down, Mother.”
“Don’t come any closer! I mean it!”
A gust of wind rattled the corner of woods. With an explosive crack, a massive tree fell onto the grounds, crushing the fence alongside the grotto. The abbess started and fell away from the girl. Khoury rushed forward and picked up the child. As he turned to run with the girl, Rossi yelled. “No!”
Khoury looked over his shoulder and saw a glint of silver raised over his head. His partner shoved him and the child off the path. The priest curled his body around the girl as multiple shots peppered the air.
The mother superior stumbled backwards and collapsed into the pond.
The child tried to pull away from Khoury and he held her tight. She beat the priest’s chest. “I want to see. Where’s my Mommy?”
Two men in black came running up to the grotto and Khoury tried to pass the child over to them. “These nice men will...”
“No!” Screaming, she suddenly clung to the priest. “Don’t let them shoot me!”
“No one is going to...”
“They’re going to shoot me!”
“Ambulance is here,” said one of the men, untangling the girl from Khoury. “We’ll send her in.”
The other agent looked toward the pond. “What else do you need?”
“Nothing,” said Rossi. “Get her out of here. Keep everyone away from here. It’s a crime scene.”
After the two SWAT guys took off with the screaming child, Khoury and Rossi ran to the pond and shined their flashlights into the water. The nun was floating face up, her eyes wide and her white habit fanned out around her. The petals of a lilypad pad. In the middle of the white flower was a circle of red. Kneeling at the water’s edge, Rossi reached for the woman’s wrist. “Let’s make sure the witch is really...”
A ghostly jack-in-the-box, the nun sprang up out of the water and wrapped her hands around Rossi’s neck. As Xavier pulled Rossi down into the pond, the agent dropped her weapon.
“Sam!” Khoury yelled to the two bodies rolling in the inky muck.
Retrieving the gun, Khoury leaned over and aimed the weapon with one hand and the flashlight with the other. The pond was a boiling caldron of black water, white fabric and red hair.
Dropping the flashlight, Khoury steadied the gun with both hands. Aiming for the largest patch of white, he pulled the trigger.
The water grew still.
“Samantha!”
Rossi’s red head bobbed to the surface. He jumped in, wrapped an arm around her waist and helped her out. She was shivering and coughing. He took off his black suit coat and draped it over her shoulders. Her first words: “Where’s my gun?”
He handed it to her. “I never want to see it again.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
“Sorry I hesitated. Didn’t want to hit you.”
Rossi looked at the habit floating in the water. The fabric was more red than white, but she kept her gun out. “You did good.”
He sat down on one of the stone pews and hung his head. “I killed.”
“The wind,” she said as much to herself as to him. It had stopped, and the lights around campus were flickering back on.
After holstering her weapon, she picked her flashlight up off the ground and shined it around. In their corner of the campus, trees were down
everywhere. A half a dozen monsters had flattened the fence. Beyond the fence, the forest was a tangle of downed trees. A tornado could have touched down and did less damage. She trained the beam on the statue. In the midst of the storm, it had remained untouched.
Or had it?
“Ryan,” she said, stepping closer.
“I see it,” he said, getting up and standing next to her.
Red tears flowed from the inner corners of the stone eyes and froze on the Virgin’s cheeks. The waterfall gurgled and changed, turned to melted red and solidified. They looked down to the pond and gasped. It was a solid sheet of red, with the nun frozen beneath it. The only visible feature was the pale face poking out above the hard surface, a still life trapped in crayon.
Trembling as much from the sight as her wetness, Rossi backed away.
Her partner fell to his knees and prayed out loud.
“Mother of God, O Gentle One, treasure of mercy and our hope. You are our refuge and in you we place our trust. Intercede for us, O Virgin Mary, and have compassion on our dead...”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A SWAT crew ran to the grotto to check out the gunfire. By then, the waters had changed back. While they watched Mother Magdalen Xavier’s body being pulled from the pond, Rossi and Khoury kept the miracle of the melted crayons to themselves.
Another SWAT team found Trey Petit dead inside the monastery chapel. He’d put a bullet in his own skull. On his left hand were two fingers and three stumps, healed over long ago. In the official report, no mention was made of the fact that for a few precious days before his death, Petit had possession of all ten fingers.
Even though a cadre of agents had kept his cottage surrounded, the imposter priest wasn’t found inside. He’d vanished from the campus.
The triplets were rushed to a Washington hospital. By the time the ambulance pulled up to the emergency entrance, Adeline and Cecelia were clawing at the gauze that medics had taped over their supposedly maimed faces. Both girls began crying – with fully restored mouths. Stunned by what they’d first witnessed when they’d retrieved the girls, medics couldn’t begin to explain what had happened during the ride to the hospital.
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