Unholy Ground

by Christine Pope

  “And what was this project?”

  “A show we were pitching to a cable network.” While he didn’t think it was a good idea to provide too many details, he figured he might as well offer a bit of the truth. “We’d actually filmed a few episodes, but then the network decided it wanted a different direction for the project and canceled it.”

  “Would you say Mr. Turner was upset by this?”

  That’s an understatement. “It was a setback,” Michael admitted. “But these things happen. You have to grow a thick skin in this business.”

  “Would you say Mr. Turner made any enemies at the network?”

  “I think ‘enemy’ is a strong word. I got the impression they weren’t interested in any more of his work, but there are plenty of places to shop a show these days.” He paused there, trying to gauge something of what the detective might be thinking. However, the other man’s dark eyes showed no expression other than a certain businesslike desire to get all this handled as expeditiously as possible.

  What Michael wasn’t about to reveal was that a quick search of Colin’s big iMac showed none of the Project Demon Hunters files on the hard drive. True, he could have coded them so they wouldn’t be easy to find, but Michael didn’t think so. They’d been deliberately wiped. Although Audrey had been worried about Michael getting his fingerprints on Colin’s keyboard, he wasn’t too worried. He’d already told the police that the two of them worked together. It wouldn’t be that strange for him to have used the computer in the midst of a shared project.

  Even if the stony-faced exec at the cable network had somehow figured out what they were planning, Michael highly doubted he would have sent a hit man with orders to gouge out Colin’s eyes and throttle him to death. Because it seemed that was what had actually killed him — he’d been strangled by someone with hands big enough to easily span his neck.

  A demon? Probably. But Michael sure as hell wasn’t going to mention that particular theory to the detective, either.

  He was doing his best to remain cold and detached, because he knew if he allowed his anger and grief to take control, he would say things he regretted later. There was no way he could let Mendoza know anything about the kind of creature that had perpetrated this attack. Right now, he had to be calm. When he and Audrey were alone together later, then they could mourn Colin. The man might have been an ass sometimes, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve what had happened to him.

  It seemed Detective Mendoza could tell he wasn’t going to get much more out of Michael, because he said, “Thank you very much for your cooperation, Mr. Covenant. If I have any further questions, I’ll let you know.” For a second he paused, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he glanced over at Audrey, who still sat, huddled and miserable, on the front steps. “Take your girlfriend home. Like I said, if we need something, we’ll be in touch.”

  “Okay.” Now it was Michael’s turn to hesitate. “What happens next?”

  “We’ll do an autopsy, of course, and try to locate the next of kin. Possibly be in touch with the consulate, since he was a foreign national here on a visa.”

  “He wasn’t a citizen?” That piece of news was surprising. Colin had been in L.A. for almost fifteen years, so Michael had just assumed that he’d gone through the naturalization process.

  “Not according to our records. His visa was valid, though — nothing out of the ordinary there.”

  “Oh.” He realized that he knew very little about Colin’s family; Michael had always avoided discussing his own past, and Colin had been much the same way. He thought Colin might have mentioned a sister back in Manchester, but even that particular detail was hazy at best. Well, the police should be able to sort it out. “Well, then — thank you, detective. We’ll get out of your way.”

  Michael nodded at Mendoza, then went over to the steps and extended a hand to Audrey. She took it, her fingers small and cold and fragile against his.

  “We can go,” he said briefly.

  “We’re not suspects?”

  The worry in her voice made him want to hold her tight. “No. Why would we be? We were the ones who found him, that’s all. Let’s go home.”

  She stood and came to him, put her arm around his waist. They walked to the rental car like that, supporting each other, taking comfort in one another’s presence. He helped her in and closed the passenger door, then slid behind the wheel and started the engine. In silence, they drove back to Los Feliz Boulevard, and from there down to the freeway. Once they were headed northward, she finally spoke, her voice small and still.

  “It was the demons, wasn’t it?”

  “I think so.”

  Her face was partially turned away from him, so all he could see was a tumble of brown hair, the slightest graceful curve of a cheekbone. “Just because they didn’t want the tapes to get out?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure.” If that were the case, why wouldn’t the Whitcomb-demon or some of his minions have interfered long before this? Well, all right, they had — kidnapping Audrey and first trashing her house, then burning it down, were some fairly heinous examples of interference. But the demon hadn’t tried to hurt her, had told her that he thought murder was messy because it attracted too much attention.

  Colin Turner’s gruesome murder was definitely going to attract attention. Michael inwardly winced as he imagined the headlines on TMZ and some other, even more lurid show business websites. So why the change in attitude on the part of their demon adversary?

  Still staring out the window, Audrey asked, “Do you think they’re going to come after us next?”

  God, what a question. “I think we’re safe at the house,” he said carefully.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  No, it wasn’t. Michael was quiet for a moment as he merged onto the 5 Freeway heading north, then said, “I don’t think I can answer that question with any accuracy.”

  She shifted in her seat so she faced him. To his surprise, she was smiling faintly. “Thank you.”

  “‘Thank you’?” he repeated, not sure why she would be grateful for his evasive response.

  “Thank you for not blowing sunshine up my ass. I’d rather know the worst and figure out how to deal with it.”

  The words slipped out, so natural that for a second, Michael didn’t even realize what he was saying. “I love you.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “I love you,” he said, his tone even more emphatic this time. “You are one hell of a woman, Audrey Barrett.”

  Even in the dimly lit car interior, he could see the way her cheeks warmed with color. “Well…you know, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, too.” She reached over and laid her hand on his knee. Her fingers felt much warmer now, but that could have been simply because he’d turned on the heater. “Crazy time for us to be admitting it, though.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he replied. “High-stress situations can force us to face the truth about ourselves, can’t they?”

  “And make us say things we might have held back under other circumstances.” She pressed her lips together and drew a breath in through her nose, as if making sure she would be able to maintain her current fragile calm. “I just — what are we supposed to do next? First Susan, and now Colin. Where does it end?”

  Michael fervently hoped it would end there. Honestly, he couldn’t imagine why the demons would go after anyone else connected with the show; Daniela might have seen a few things, but she’d signed an NDA just like everyone else and probably wouldn’t want to risk her career over some careless gossip. Kathleen, their wardrobe supervisor, had only been peripherally involved, and so he wasn’t too worried about her, either.

  “It ends with us putting a stop to all this,” he said firmly. “The files are gone, and so if the demons are going to go after anyone else, it’s going to be someone at the network. Or maybe not. Maybe they know the information is locked down tight now that they have Colin’s copies of everything, since I think it’s safe to sa
y that no one at the network is going to be releasing those videos any time soon.”

  For a few seconds, Audrey was quiet, obviously pondering what Michael had just told her. “That was the Whitcomb-demon’s goal, after all,” she said, her tone musing. “He wanted the show canceled, ended, whatever. At least, that was the rationale he gave for kidnapping me. But does he really think that people are even going to believe what’s shown in that footage? I mean, we’re talking about a pretty small-budget reality show, after all.”

  He could tell she’d chosen her words carefully, not wanting to offend him or belittle the project that he and Colin had put so much work into. Michael wasn’t offended, though; he knew it had been planned as a short-run show on one of the smaller cable networks, something that would probably have had barely a million viewers, if that. Still….

  “Even a small show can work its way into the public consciousness, though,” he said. “People would have talked about it, would have questioned if what they were seeing was real. Maybe for the first time, they would have asked whether demons really could come to this world and influence ordinary people, infest houses, interfere with everyday life. The whole M.O. of a demon is to get past your defenses, prey on your weaknesses. The last thing our demon friends would have wanted was for even a few hundred thousand people to start asking those questions, to be more on their guard.”

  “Thus lowering the potential pool of victims,” Audrey remarked.

  “Exactly.” He’d known there was a risk when he and Colin joined forces to create Project Demon Hunters, but Michael honestly had never thought it would go this far. Mishaps on the set, possibly. Personal, niggling attacks designed to make the people involved question whether the whole enterprise was a good idea after all. But kidnapping, arson, murder?

  Usually, his otherworldly foes were a little more subtle than that.

  “There aren’t any other copies, are there?” she asked. “Of the digital files, I mean.”

  He shook his head. “No. I think Colin planned to make more once he was done editing, but obviously, he never got that far.”

  “So that’s it, then.”

  Another glance told him she appeared more resigned than upset. Or maybe she was just trying to hold it together because they couldn’t afford for her to come flying apart right now. Actually, they couldn’t afford for either of them to lose control. At the moment, Michael knew his brain was a jumble of contradictory thoughts — anger and sorrow over Colin’s murder, a sort of bright, shining joy at learning that Audrey loved him, just as he loved her. Surely together they could come up with a way to get themselves safely to the other side of this mess.

  A very old, very true piece of Bible verse came to his mind.

  “‘And the greatest of these is love,’” he murmured, and Audrey lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

  “That’s from the Bible, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. First Corinthians: ‘And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.’ That is something we have on our side, Audrey, and the demons don’t. They know nothing of love, of the strength and conviction it gives us.” This section of the freeway was fairly open, so Michael gauged it safe enough to look over at her, hold her gaze for a moment. “Always remember that. At its core, hatred is weakness. I’m not expecting you to share my faith in God — it was something I had to wrestle with, come to terms with, before I could follow the path that led to my ordination. But we love one another. We’ve come to that love through hardship and pain, but that makes it all the more pure. The demons can’t take that away from us, and we can use it as a shield.”

  Her fingers tightened on his knee. “I want to believe that, Michael. But I’m not sure I have your certainty. I’m — I’m scared.”

  “It’s okay to be scared,” he said quickly. “I’d be surprised if you weren’t. As long as you don’t allow your fear to overwhelm you, you’ll be fine.”

  Voice small, she said, “I’ll try.”

  Michael had to let himself be content with that. Although he’d seen for himself how strong she could be, he also knew Audrey had been through a series of very rough shocks lately. He would have been more surprised if she hadn’t been afraid of what the demons might do next.

  Because he knew he sure as hell was.

  They didn’t make love, but held each other until they fell asleep in each other’s arms. At some point in the night, however, Audrey awakened, her gaze moving toward the clock on the mantel, whose faint glowing hands told her it was three o’clock.

  The devil’s hour.

  A shiver went through her, even though she was warm enough under the covers, especially with Michael radiating welcome body heat just inches away. Maybe she should wake him up, tell him she was frightened and couldn’t sleep. But that didn’t seem fair. He’d been through so much tonight, discovering his friend’s body, having to remain calm and collected as he told the police everything he could…with the operative word being “could.” There were some things the police just didn’t need to know. Not that they would have believed a word about demons and ghosts and exorcisms, probably. Those sorts of wild tales would have only made that stony-faced detective — Mendoza — wonder if they’d been dipping into some kind of hallucinogenics.

  You’re safe here, she told herself, forcing her eyes closed. There hasn’t been a single attack in this house. Wandering ghosts, yes, but not demons.

  The problem was, just because a thing hadn’t happened yet didn’t mean it might not happen sometime in the future. Because Colin was dead, even though the Whitcomb-demon had told her that he didn’t like murder, that it was messy and attracted too much attention. Those considerations hadn’t stopped him when it came to Colin Turner.

  The shivers got stronger, and now she realized she needed to pee. It was only ten or so steps to get from the bed to the en suite bathroom, yet the distance seemed enormous right then. She didn’t know whether she had the courage to climb out from under these covers and walk that measly ten feet.

  Are you going to wake Michael up and ask him to provide an escort? she sneered at herself, and her inward-focused scorn seemed to provide the impetus for her to slip from beneath the heavy blanket and quilt, and make her way over to the bathroom door.

  At least he had a nightlight in there, as if he, too, knew better than to wander around in complete darkness. It provided enough illumination that she didn’t need to turn on the graceful bronze fixture mounted above the mirror, could take care of business and wash her hands without tripping over anything or having to blunder her way to locating the hand towel where it hung on the wall to her left.

  Although she’d studiously avoided looking in the mirror, somehow she couldn’t quite prevent herself from glancing there now. She saw her face, a pale oval blur in the dim illumination the nightlight provided, but there was something more than that, something dark and cloudy, something moving like shadows brought to life.

  She backed away, fingers scrambling for the doorknob. However, it eluded her grasp, as though it somehow wasn’t in the same place it had been just a few moments earlier. Terror surged through her, and she clawed at the door, banging on it, trying to get it to open. It stood there, impervious to her assault, as strange whisperings filled her ears, the room growing deathly cold.

  Breath plumed in front of her face, but it wasn’t enough to obscure the dark tendrils reaching for her now, somehow blacker than black, bringing with them a chill unlike anything she’d ever experienced, something that seemed to freeze her limbs, to hold her immobile so she could do nothing except stand there as those things caught hold of her, wrapping her in their dark embrace, dragging her toward the mirror. She strained to reach out, to grab hold of the sink, thinking that if she could just hang on to something, she could prevent herself from moving any further. But her fingers were just as stiff and immobile as the rest of her, and the mirror yawned black before her terrified eyes, revealing a pit of darkness so Stygian, she thought it must go all th
e way to the center of the world.

  She had to scream. Had to. Straining, forcing little grunts of terror out past her unwilling vocal chords, knowing that if she didn’t make a sound now, she would be lost forever. Please, please….

  “Help!”

  Warm hands were on her shoulders, shaking her. “Audrey. Audrey!”

  Her eyes blinked open. Michael bent over her, his fingers digging into her flesh as he forced her awake. His face was taut with worry, but he seemed to relax as he stared down at her and realized she had returned to him.

  “You were dreaming,” he said, his tone a little less urgent now that she’d returned to consciousness.

  “No….” Audrey pushed herself up to a sitting position. All right, she was here in bed next to Michael, had apparently never gotten up at all, but how was that possible? She’d been in the bathroom. The tips of her fingers were cold, as if she truly had been pressing them into the porcelain of the sink.

  Actually, she was cold all over. Sudden shivers wracked her body, and Michael immediately pulled her against him, holding her close so she could borrow some of his warmth.

  For a moment or two, he didn’t say anything, only rocked her gently as his body heat slowly transferred to her and the shivers began to subside. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked.

  Not really. But she knew in the long run it would probably be better if she shared the terrible experience with him. So she described the dream to him — the yawning darkness in the mirror, the icy chill she’d felt, the way her vocal chords had seemed somehow immobilized.

  “Night terrors,” he said, still stroking her hair. “Or sleep paralysis, if you want to be less colloquial about it. Your mind woke up before your body. That was why you felt as though you couldn’t scream.”

  “I know what night terrors are,” Audrey replied, her tone a little more waspish than she’d intended. Then she felt a wave of remorse for snapping at him. He was only trying to help. “I’ve experienced them before. This didn’t feel like that. Before when I had an episode like this, I at least knew I was lying down. I wasn’t standing up in a bathroom.”