Damned (Shaye Archer Series Book 7)

by DeLeon, Jana

  Shaye slipped into the passenger seat of Jackson’s surveillance car and passed him a large cup of coffee. “Anything?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Nothing on the camera in Nicolas’s room, either, but it’s only nine o’clock. They probably just finished eating. Or they’re doing cleanup.”

  They were parked on a side street on the back side of the priests’ living quarters. From that angle, they could see the windows on the side of the building that exited to the interior of the church grounds. Colby had wanted to be closer than the street allowed and had chosen to position himself in the church courtyard. He was concealed in the shrubbery, but with a clear view of the front door and the windows on the opposite side of the building. He could also make a sprint to the front door in a matter of seconds.

  Nicolas had been instructed to text Shaye at the top of every hour, or as close as he could come without drawing unnecessary attention to himself. At seven ten, she’d received a text saying they’d be sitting down to dinner in fifteen minutes or so and it would probably take a while. So when eight came and went, she didn’t worry. But now that nine o’clock was upon them, she was starting to get antsy and found herself constantly looking at her cell phone display, as if silently willing the text to come.

  As the minutes ticked by, her anxiety grew. Nine ten, then nine fifteen, then nine twenty.

  “I don’t like this,” she said. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “I agree,” Jackson said.

  She called Colby. “Do you see anything?”

  “The lights are on in the front room, but the blinds are drawn, so I can’t see any movement inside.”

  “What about Malcolm’s bedroom?”

  “Nothing. What about Bernard’s room?”

  “No light. And nothing on the camera.”

  “Then they’re still in the living room.”

  Shaye blew out a breath. “Yeah, I guess so. But why hasn’t Nicolas made contact?”

  “He might not be in a position to. Do you want me to knock?” he asked, picking up on her anxiety. “I could always say I can’t find my wallet and want to see if I left it there.”

  Shaye looked over at Jackson, who nodded. “Do it.”

  “Okay. Keep quiet. I’ll stay connected and put my phone in my pocket.”

  Shaye heard muffled shuffling as Colby secured the phone, then shortly after, the faint sound of him knocking on the door.

  “Father Nicolas? It’s Colby. I think I might have left my wallet there.”

  Shaye clutched her phone, waiting for any indication that the three priests were alive and well on the other side of the door, but as the seconds ticked by, her worry increased. Finally, Colby spoke.

  “I can hear the television, but there’s no answer,” he said. “And the blinds are so tightly fitted that I can’t see inside.”

  “Call him,” Shaye instructed Jackson. “Colby, can you hear a cell phone ringing?”

  “Yeah. That’s Nicolas’s ringtone. But no one is moving in there. There’s not a breath of noise except for the television and the phone.”

  “Break down the door,” Shaye said. “We’re on our way.”

  She and Jackson checked their weapons and jumped out of the car. It was several seconds before the street cleared enough to cross, then they jogged over, Shaye still clutching the phone to her ear. She’d heard the sound of wood splintering as they were waiting to cross, so she knew Colby had gained entry.

  “Shaye?” Colby said. “This place is empty.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Wait a minute. I found something in Father Malcolm’s room. It looks like blueprints of tunnels.”

  “There are tunnels under the church!” Shaye said, remembering Hustle’s conversation with the senior priest. “One of them must run under the living quarters. There has to be an entrance somewhere in that building.”

  “On it,” Colby said.

  Shaye sped up to a run, Jackson right beside her, scanning the area surrounding the building as they approached. When they got around to the entrance, the door was hanging off the hinges at the top. They ran inside, Shaye calling for Colby, but the building was quiet. She checked her phone.

  “The call dropped,” she said. “He must have found the tunnel. Check the bedrooms.”

  She ran into Malcolm’s room and Jackson ran into Bernard’s, but they were both clear. No secret doors in the closet, no trapdoors under the rugs. They already knew Nicolas’s room was clear because they’d been watching it on the cameras, so they both ran into the room with the exercise equipment and spotted the closet door open at the back wall. A panel on the back wall had been shifted aside and a narrow set of stone steps led down into darkness.

  A second later, a shot rang out and they both involuntarily ducked.

  Jackson motioned for Shaye to get behind him and he slipped through the opening and started inching down the steps. Shaye stayed close, both arms clutching her firearm near her shoulder, ready to fire if Jackson went down. Going down the steps, they were open targets.

  When they finally cleared the ceiling, they could see the end of the steps but not much beyond as there was no light except what was coming down the stairs from the closet. Jackson paused at the end of the steps and they listened, but it was as silent as a tomb. Shaye peered into the darkness, the stone walls closing in around her, and she struggled to keep her breathing steady.

  She’d spent almost a third of her life in a place that looked a lot like this and it was all she could do to maintain focus. Jackson pulled out his flashlight and turned on the wide beam. They were in a hallway that was about five feet wide and stretched so far in front of them that they couldn’t see the end. About thirty feet in front of them was a large lump of something on the ground.

  “Colby,” Shaye said, and they rushed forward.

  Colby was slumped on the ground, facedown. Jackson grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over and they immediately spotted the entry wound on his stomach.

  “He’s losing blood fast,” Jackson said. “He needs a medic now.”

  “There’s no signal here,” Shaye said. “Go back up and call for help. I’ve got to get to Nicolas and Bernard before Malcolm kills them.”

  “No way! You make the call and I’ll go after the priests.”

  “You’re a cop. You’ll get a faster response than I will, and we need backup. This has gone far beyond what we planned for.”

  Before he could say anything, she grabbed his flashlight and ran down the tunnel. She’d deal with Jackson’s anger later. Ultimately, he knew she was right. One call from Jackson would send paramedics and cops to the church in a flash. She wouldn’t get the same response and Colby’s life depended on how quickly he got medical attention.

  At the end of the tunnel was a sharp right turn. She stopped before the end and listened at the edge to see if she could hear anyone moving nearby. If someone was standing on the other side, waiting for her, she’d be an easy target. The tunnel was silent, and she was just about to spin around the corner when she heard voices echoing ahead of her. She couldn’t make out what they were saying but one of the voices sounded like Nicolas.

  Relief coursed through her. Nicolas might still be alive! But with Colby lying on the ground bleeding out behind her, she was sure that wouldn’t be the case for long. Malcolm would kill Nicolas soon. Then he’d use one of these tunnels to escape and he’d disappear just like he did fifteen years ago. Become someone new. A new face for the same old serial killer.

  She slipped around the corner and hurried down the tunnel as fast as she could without making noise. She kept the light small and directed on the ground in front of her so it wouldn’t alert Malcolm that she was coming. The voices got a bit louder as she went, but not any clearer, with the sound echoing off the stone. Eventually, the tunnel turned to the left and she clicked the flashlight off as she approached the corner and stopped at the edge of the stone wall.

  Nicolas’s voice was clearer
now and when Shaye realized what he was saying, chills ran through her. The Act of Contrition. Malcolm had gotten his confession and as soon as the ceremony was complete, he would kill Nicolas.

  Her time had run out. The voices were closer but not close enough.

  31

  Nicolas had intended to keep his head down and his eyes closed while Bernard sent him to the hereafter. There was no dignity in death but he’d be damned if he gave Bernard the satisfaction of hearing him beg. But he couldn’t keep his head down like a guilty dog. No. Bernard was going to have to look him right in the eye when he pulled the trigger. Nicolas could only hope that look haunted him the rest of his miserable and, God willing, short life. He lifted his head and looked directly at Bernard, who had pulled a gun from his hoodie pocket and was now leveling it at Nicolas’s head.

  And instead of the stark fear he expected to feel, anger coursed through him.

  “I hope you burn in hell,” Nicolas said.

  Bernard blinked, then he started to flush, and Nicolas realized what he’d done. He’d sinned again before Bernard could kill him.

  A noise to the right caused both of them to turn their heads and Nicolas saw Shaye round the corner, her gun lifted at Bernard. But when Bernard turned and she caught sight of his face, she froze. Nicolas could see the confusion and disbelief in her expression.

  “It’s him!” Nicolas shouted.

  Bernard whipped his head around to face Nicolas again and squeezed the trigger. Pain exploded in Nicolas’s head and his vision blurred so much he couldn’t see at all. A second shot rang out almost immediately after the first, and then another. But he felt nothing more. Just life slipping away.

  And then it was all there—playing like a video on fast-forward. Planting roses in the backyard with his mother. Fishing with his father. His acceptance into seminary. And the wreck. He was behind the wheel. Then it all started to fade into gray and he felt his body slump as the gray turned darker and darker and finally into black.

  “Nicolas!” Shaye’s voice sounded in front of him and he felt her hand press the side of his head. “Can you hear me? Open your eyes.”

  Confusion swept through him. Was this it? Had Bernard shot Shaye as well and they’d crossed together?

  Then her words registered, and he realized that darkness had come because he’d closed his eyes, not because he had died. Slowly, he opened them and stared up at Shaye’s concerned face.

  “Try not to move,” she said. “The bullet just nicked the side of your head, but it’s bleeding. One second.”

  She moved around him and he felt his arms being jostled. Seconds later, the binding that held his wrists came loose and pain shot through his right shoulder as his hand automatically lifted to the side of his head.

  “Keep your hand there if you can,” she said as she moved around to cut his feet loose. “It will help stop the bleeding.”

  He pressed the side of his head, wincing from the pain. Then he heard the sound of footsteps running down the hallway and looked over to see a man burst into the room, gun in the ready position. A bit of panic ran through him before he realized he recognized the man from the news. He was a cop.

  The cop scanned the room, his eyes widening at the sight of Bernard’s body. Then he hurried over to Shaye.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “Are you hit?”

  Despite his entire body being a mass of pain, Nicolas felt a trickle of warmth run through him. The cop’s feelings for Shaye were so apparent and as she looked at him, he could see she felt the same way.

  “I’m good. Nicolas got nicked in the head, but it’s a surface wound.”

  “Where are we?” Nicolas asked.

  “Tunnels, beneath the church,” Shaye said.

  “I didn’t even know there was such a thing,” Nicolas said.

  “I don’t think a lot of people did,” Shaye answered. “But I’m sure this is how Bernard moved about without being seen.”

  Nicolas bit his lower lip. “And Bernard?”

  “Will never terrorize anyone else,” Shaye said.

  Nicolas had intentionally kept his gaze down or on Shaye, only catching a glimpse of the figure on the floor out of the corner of his eye. But now, he looked past her and saw Bernard’s body splayed out on the stone, blood pooling around his head.

  “Probably best you don’t look too much,” the cop said. “I’m Jackson Lamotte.”

  “Detective Lamotte,” Shaye said.

  Suddenly, Nicolas remembered the figure in the corner. “Father Malcolm! I think he’s here. Over toward the back of the room. Bernard was going to frame him.”

  Shaye’s eyes widened and she spun around, shining a flashlight into the corner. Malcolm was sitting in a wheelchair, just like Nicolas, his hands and feet bound and tape over his mouth. He was struggling to move but couldn’t manage more than a twitch with all the binding. His eyes were wide with fright and Nicolas could see his chest heaving with panic.

  Shaye and Jackson rushed over and Jackson eased the tape from his mouth while Shaye cut him loose. He dragged in a huge breath and then started to cry. “Thank you! Thank you so much,” he said. “I thought we were both going to die. Father Bernard…”

  His voice trailed off, full of confusion.

  “Are you hurt?” Shaye asked as she scanned the back of his head. “You’ve got a good bump back here.”

  “He hit me,” Malcolm said, his tone one of complete disbelief. “We had just finished eating and Nicolas looked odd. A second later, he passed out right there at the table. I jumped up to attend to him and something struck me in the back of the head. I don’t remember anything until I woke up here. Father Bernard was forcing a confession out of Father Nicolas and I didn’t understand. When I realized—”

  Father Malcolm’s voice broke and he started crying again. Nicolas felt his chest clench. Neither of them would ever be the same.

  “Why would he do this?” Malcolm asked. “I don’t understand.”

  Shaye put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “And there are things we might never understand. But we can explain some of what happened to you. Just as soon as we’re certain you and Nicolas are all right.”

  “The paramedics are on the way,” Jackson said. “Backup is already here. They’re with Colby.”

  “What’s wrong with Colby?” Nicolas asked.

  “Bernard shot him,” Shaye said. “But don’t worry. Colby is tough. He’s handled worse before.”

  Nicolas felt the last bit of energy drain from his body. So much pain and heartache.

  And he still had no idea why.

  32

  Monday, May 23, 2016

  French Quarter, New Orleans

  Shaye tapped lightly on the hospital room door and Nicolas looked over and smiled. It had been three days since she’d prevented Bernard from killing him. The color had returned to his face, but he still looked exhausted. She was all too familiar with that look. He wasn’t sleeping well and he needed sleep to heal. But when you were in emotional turmoil, it was hard to still your mind long enough to be restful.

  She pulled a chair next to his bed and sat. “How are you doing? And I don’t want the standard answer you give everyone. I want the truth.”

  He nodded. “My head stopped pounding, so that’s a blessing. My legs still have random episodes of nerve pain, but the doctors said that’s good. That all of this didn’t cause more damage. My shoulder is still sore and will be for some time.”

  “That’s your body. What about the rest?”

  He looked down. “Days are all right. I’ve had a lot of visitors—all instructed not to talk about anything that happened lest they upset me, of course. And nurses pop in all day long. They’re all so pleasant and kind. The police have spent quite a bit of time going over every detail with me. Malcolm isn’t allowed out of bed yet and neither am I, so I haven’t seen him, but he calls me every day to check on me.”

  Shaye nodded but didn’t say anything.

  Nicolas sighe
d. “But nights…nights are bad. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face and I feel that terror all over again.”

  “Have they given you anything to help you sleep?”

  “They’ve tried, but I won’t take it. I can’t do it…I’m afraid.”

  Shaye nodded. “I understand.”

  Nicolas had been drugged and attacked. His fear of being unconscious far outweighed his desire for sleep. She knew that feeling all too well. And she’d made the same choice Nicolas had.

  “I think it would be better if I understood,” he said. “But then I know we probably never will.”

  “Actually, that’s what I’m here for.”

  Nicolas straightened. “You’ve learned something?”

  “Yes. And I think when I put it together with stuff you told me, it explains most of it. As well as they’re going to be explained, anyway. I’ve just talked to the coroner. Bernard had a frontal lobe injury. Do you know what that means?”

  “I think so. That part of the brain controls impulse, right?”

  “It controls a lot of things. Judgment, behavior, emotion. Some people consider it our conscience, of sorts. It can also cause auditory hallucinations.”

  Nicolas nodded, then his eyes widened. “Bernard fell a couple months ago. He hit his head and injured his knee. That’s why he limped. Although…”

  He frowned.

  “Bernard wasn’t limping when you saw him in the tunnel,” Shaye finished.

  “No. I don’t understand.”

  “I think, from watching you, Bernard figured out that a disability was a big advantage in making people comfortable around you. The limp combined with the priest collar and the silver hair made it easy for him to get close to victims.”

  He grimaced. “They trusted him. That’s so insidious. So calculated. How could he be so clever with such an injury to his brain?”

  “The injury didn’t affect his intelligence.”

  “It still doesn’t make sense to me. How does such a thing change a person’s morality so completely? And why that focus? Why sinners? Was it simply because he was a priest?”