by Regina Doman
“’Suspect list’,” Freet mocked. “Hot shot rich kids pretending to be the new Hardy Boys. You thought you were capable of anything, didn’t you? Until you landed in jail. How amusing.”
“Oh, I think you must have been something other than amused. ‘Scared,’ maybe? We must have done something to deserve two eight balls of crack in our lockers. Or was that your brother’s doing?”
“My brother is an idiot,” Mr. Freet said evenly. “He didn’t have the slightest notion of what I was up to—he still doesn’t! All he cares about is politics, bureaucracy, degrees, and academic standards. He has no idea what’s really going on.”
Freet went on, moodily. “Certainly he hated Fr. Raymond, but that was because of some idiotic Church politics. He never saw your priest’s other side—his dark, carnal passion for beauty. Fr. Raymond hoarded treasures just like I did—except he masked his greed with piety, like most priests in the Roman church. At least I never disguised my fetish for gold with hypocrisy. So, we two hoarders had an inevitable gentleman’s quarrel—a duel—over our private appetites. He lost, I’m sorry to say. And the duel would have ended if you two fresh-faced schoolboys hadn’t rushed in to pick up the gauntlet.”
“So that’s how you saw it, is it?” Fish asked with subdued mirth. “You can’t believe good of anyone, can you, Freet?”
“Paugh! Still under the old priest’s spell, are you? What, you don’t like to think of your saintly Fr. Raymond as being capable of avarice? You probably don’t recognize the sin, but I do. And you can’t pretend that his affection for your mother extended further than monetary gain. Oh, now I’ve wounded your sacred memories, but it’s true. I know how the clergy work. It’s simply astonishing how many dying ladies end up signing over whole fortunes to the Roman Church due to some lily-faced priest they met before surgery. It goes on all the time. He got what he wanted out of your mother, don’t doubt that.”
For the first time, Fish sounded piqued. “You’re wrong if you think so. My mother gave hardly a hundred dollars to the church before she died. And St. Lawrence never got the grants that she had planned to give, because of my dad. And you were responsible for that.”
“So he believed you and Arthur were the drug dealers the police claimed you were? Sensible man. He’s not so fond of religion as you are, hmm? So you two ended up jailed, broken, and defeated. But for some reason you apparently decided to keep up your little crusade of hiding the treasure and tracking down the bad guy, hmm? Trying to prove to dear old dad that you really were the good guys, eh? Or perhaps you really have been brainwashed by the Roman church after all. Either way, it hasn’t exactly worked out in your favor, has it? What a grim awakening.” Mr. Freet chuckled unkindly.
“If you’re trying to provoke me, Freet, it isn’t working. I gave up on our plans the moment you pulled the gun on me in the alley. The only thing I’m concerned about at this point is my soul.”
“Still the crusader, Benedict? Devout Catholics are so amusing.”
Rose had gotten to her feet and inched out of her hiding place. Now, she moved towards the door as quickly as she dared. Suddenly, there was a whiz and a bullet ricocheted off the cement floor just in front of her, hitting a chalice on the shelf with a clang. She ran around the corner and tore up the cellar steps.
Mr. Freet was in close pursuit behind her. Breathing hard, she ran through the kitchen to the parlor and yanked at the door. It was locked and bolted. Out-maneuvered! But there was the front door.
She dodged out the other door as Mr. Freet barreled into the parlor, sending another bullet after her from his silencer-equipped gun. Pelting down the hallway, she leapt into the dining room and was halfway across when she slipped. Stumbling on her feet, she caught sight of her pursuer in the doorway, giving the fishnet swag a yank.
Without warning, it rained heavy gold around her and she was crushed to the floor by the weight of the net. When she tried to leap to her feet, she was caught, tripped, and fell again, entangled in the mesh.
With a smirk on his face, Mr. Freet advanced towards her, still brandishing the gun.
“My, what a pretty minnow I’ve caught,” he said. “Now sit still and tell me what you’re doing here, or I’ll put a bullet through your redheaded skull.”
Chapter 18
TRAPPED, ROSE ceased her efforts to free herself and sat still under the net, watching Mr. Freet’s face. The face was the same as it usually looked—withered, arrogant, but there was an unkindness there now, unmasked, that Rose thought she should have recognized before.
“Explain yourself,” Mr. Freet repeated, waving the gun at her.
What should she say? Could she risk telling him the truth? Or would she be playing into his hands, giving him more of an advantage over Fish and Bear than he already had?
Taking a deep breath, she said at last, “I’m not doing anything, Mr. Freet. I just followed you home from school —on an impulse.”
“Oh?” Mr. Freet squinted at her. She could tell he didn’t believe her.
“Yes,” Rose said simply. “I get these impulses from time to time, and I just know I’m supposed to follow them. I heard you and your brother talking about chalices through the heating vent, and I decided to follow you home.”
Mr. Freet thrust out his hand and seized the back of her neck, pinching it tightly. “And why,” his voice rasped in her ear, “were you interested in chalices?”
Rose struggled to maintain her composure. “It was a mad impulse,” she said truthfully. “My sister says I am far too inquisitive. I suppose she’s right.”
He continued to squeeze her neck, as if trying to force the story out of her, but she let herself remain limp in his hands, enduring the pinch. It was probably better that he thought she was crazy than to discover her connection with Bear.
With a short laugh, he released her. “So, you are bewitched, then?” he said. “I could have guessed that about you and your milk-faced sister. Just like your hero G. K. Chesterton, possessed by fantasies of wild adventures—with so very little idea of what real life can be like. ”
He began to yank a rope free from the net. “This divine madness of yours is going to cost you your life now, do you realize that? You have your Chesterton to thank for it.”
Rose gave a small sigh. “Curiosity killed the cat,” she remarked, even as she wondered how quickly you died from strangulation and if it hurt very much.
Mr. Freet gave her a harsh grimace. “Those were my very next words. But unfortunately, I’ll need you alive just a bit longer.” He slid a hand under the net and jerked her wrists towards him. “Keep still,” he warned her, tucking his gun under one arm and beginning to tie her hands with the rope. “You overheard my little conversation with Benedict. I need to interrogate him further, and you, my mad maiden, are going to help me. I’m afraid neither of you will enjoy it.”
There was a pause in the conversation. No one was holding onto Blanche now. Lisa had her arms folded and looked angry. Eileen had closed her eyes. Blanche tried to figure out which of the guys was looking at her. As they were all wearing sunglasses, this was difficult. Was this the moment? Should she chance it?
At last, Carl lay down on the other end of the platform and shut his eyes. Rob asked Tom for a cigarette, and both of them started fiddling in their pockets for a lighter. She sprang to her feet and ran.
She heard shouts as she dodged around the car and ran like mad for the gap between the two buildings. She felt footsteps pounding after her. She saw the gap, coming closer, closer—
A hand—two hands—caught her around the shoulders and yanked her backwards. She kicked, fought against the two arms desperately. It was Rob. She screamed.
“Yeah, real cool, Blanche. You’re going to get it now.” He twisted her arms behind her back. Recklessly, she dug her nails into one arm and he yelped and let go. But the next minute he had grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head backwards. She screamed again.
“Shut up!” he fumed, starting to drag
her back towards the car. She fought him, but he managed to keep moving back towards the others. “You’re going to get it now,” he repeated.
Suddenly he yelled in a different voice, “Hey, you guys! Come here!”
Realizing that the others weren’t coming to help him, she seized the time and began to kick viciously at his legs. He cursed her roundly, and then twisted back towards the car. “What’s the matter with you jerks? Come here!”
Blanche heard the sounds of car doors slamming and an engine gunning. She tried to bolt, but Rob locked an arm around her neck and squeezed.
“Where are you going?” he howled at his friends. Blanche gasped for breath, twisted around, and numbly saw someone running across the field towards them. She barely had time to recognize who it was before he was upon them.
Mr. Freet dragged Rose back into the treasure room by her bound wrists. She caught a glimpse of Fish’s face, and, though he gave her a crooked smile, his eyes were grim. Before Rose could even acknowledge it, Mr. Freet snarled and slapped her on the side of the head with his gun.
The unexpected blow made her stagger and fall. As she lay there, her temple smarting, she vaguely heard Fish cursing Freet.
Mr. Freet laughed. “So you’re one of those boys whose manhood is wounded by the sight of suffering females? Just as I thought. It was stupid of you to try to hide her from me. That smack I gave her was to punish you.”
“That’s how cowards operate,” Fish snapped, but Rose could see his face was white. “If you want to hit someone, hit me.”
“Oh, I can see that hitting her will be much more effective for getting an answer out of you,” Mr. Freet said, dragging Rose to her feet. Dazed, she became aware of something wet trickling down her cheek and wondered if it was blood. Mr. Freet shoved her into a chair and began to tie her down. Fish was looking at her with an odd expression, breathing hard. She realized that, despite his stoicism, he was frightened of what was going to happen to her next. For his sake, she attempted a reassuring smile, and felt her own apprehension lessen.
Rob found two huge hands clenching his shirt collar and Bear’s face a nose away from his. “Let go of her,” Bear snarled.
Rob obediently let Blanche crumple into a painful heap on the ground.
Bear’s face was red with rage. “I could thrash you within an inch of your life,” he growled into the other boy’s terrified face. “But you almost aren’t worth it.”
With that, Bear hurled him onto the ground. Rob landed with an “oof!” as his friends roared out of the parking lot in their car, not looking back.
Blanche found herself once more wrapped in a pair of arms, this time far more tenderly. She felt Bear’s hand press her head against his chest.
“How’d you find me?” she asked, still panting.
Bear was stroking his fingers across her cheek. “I saw them shove you into the car. I just couldn’t follow you fast enough on foot. But I know the meeting place these creatures use, so I made my way here as fast as I could. Not very fast, but fast enough, apparently.”
He stiffened and let go of her suddenly. “You—stop right there!”
She turned to see that Rob had started to skulk away. But under Bear’s finger, he froze, quivering, and sat on the ground.
Bear’s anger was still blazing as he loomed over the boy. “So are you going to explain this stunt to me—kidnapping and all—or will I have to throttle you a bit first?”
Rob looked as though he were going to cry. “It wasn’t my idea, honest!” He swore a bit, morosely, and was silent.
“You’d better explain.”
“He said there was a man paying for information about you,” Blanche interjected in a low voice, afraid of what Bear might do to Rob if Rob didn’t talk.
“And I suppose you thought that picking on Blanche would get you a little extra cash—is that it?” Bear asked.
Rob protested. “All the guy wanted was to get you a message—and we thought Blanche might want to go in on it. So we took her for a ride to talk about it. I offered to split the money with her. That’s all.”
“And she turned you down, didn’t she?” Bear shot a grim look at Blanche. “So what’s the message?”
Rob kicked at the ground he was sitting on. “It was just that you’re in trouble with someone who’s been talking with your brother, and he wants you to drop off package number three at St. Lawrence’s tonight.”
Blanche saw Bear’s face grow ashen. He said nothing for a long minute. Then at last he said ominously, “What else?”
“Nothing, I swear. That’s all I know. I swear.”
Bear reached down to the ground and picked up something—Rob’s sunglasses. He looked at them in disgust and threw them at Rob’s feet. “Get out of here.”
Rob got to his feet and was halfway across the field in the next minute.
Bear turned to Blanche. His face was taut, and he looked much older. His voice was brusque. “Blanche, I’ve got to go take care of this business at St. Lawrence. I need you to do something very important for me.”
“Anything, Bear,” she said softly, fearful at how he looked.
“Good. Do you have money for a ride home?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s get to a street where I can call you a taxi to make sure you get home safe.” He began walking very quickly towards the highway. Blanche hurried to keep up with his stride, her head whirling with relief and a new anxiety. In a few minutes they reached the highway ramps. Bear held her hand as they crossed the traffic and reached the sidewalk beyond, where a strip of stores began.
“Either a taxi or a pay phone will do for me right now,” he said.
“What’s going on, Bear?” she ventured to ask.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly. “It’ll be over soon. Everything will be fine.”
They found a pay phone at a corner store, and Bear dialed a taxi service. Then he drew her close to him, slipping a hand beneath his light jacket. As he hugged her, she felt him press a package against her hands. It was heavy. “Put it beneath your jumper right now and keep your hands over it. I don’t want anyone to see it.”
Fear shot through her. “It’s not—drugs, is it?”
He kissed her forehead gently. “No, Snow White, it’s not. It’s nothing illegal at all, just something that’s very special to me. It was special to Father Raymond, too. I heard from Steven that you know all about him now.”
Blanche slid the package through the wide armholes of her jumper and held it there with her hands. “But I don’t understand what you’re doing—”
“Good. That’s how I want it. Now, chin up. It’ll be over soon,” he smiled at her. Then unexpectedly pain flashed over his face and he hugged her fiercely. “Don’t worry about me.”
She found her lips trembling, “But I am worried!” she cried.
He laughed and rocked her gently to and fro against himself. She clutched the dead weight of the package in her arms and buried her head in his arms. He was saying something softly, “‘All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.’”
There was nothing more to say. At last he let her go, and resumed his abrupt manner. “Look, I don’t want you to hold onto this thing any longer than you have to. Put it in a safe deposit box or something. Or, better yet, mail it to someone you can trust who will keep it safe. It’s—well, it’s pretty valuable.”
“I could mail it to my mom’s sister in California,” Blanche said, trying to play a thinking part.
“Good. Better yet, don’t tell me where you’re sending it. Just get it out of your possession and into some secure place.”
“But won’t you want it back?” she couldn’t help saying.
His eyes flickered. “Ah, maybe. I’ll let you know.” He looked past her. “Here comes your taxi.”
He waved to the driver, opened the door for her, and gave the man the address. Then he leaned over to Blanche. “Pray for me,” he said, his brown eyes burnin
g with strain.
“Bear, can’t you stay with me? I’m just terribly afraid,” she whispered, holding the package tightly beneath her jumper.
Bear put his large hand on her cheek and looked into her eyes. Softly, he repeated,
“The men of the East may spell the stars,
And times and triumphs mark,
But the men signed of the cross of Christ
Go gaily in the dark.”
He straightened up and stood as tall as he had stood that one night when he had taken them to St. Lawrence church. As the cab pulled away, he was still standing there, watching her go. She turned around and followed him with her eyes out of the rear window. As he receded in the distance, she saw him turn around and start to run. He was on his way to his appointment at St. Lawrence.
“Now, Benedict.” Mr. Freet’s voice came through the gloom. He had turned off all the lights except for one. It was between Rose and Fish, so they could see each other. But Mr. Freet was hidden in the shadows. “We’ve been over this many times before, and it’s time you answered me: where is the paten?”
Fish was silent.
“You know that it’s the last piece I need to complete the set. I have the chalice and ciborium Fr. Raymond gave you. All I need is that one last piece. Where is it?”
Fish refused to speak.
Mr. Freet repeated the question, and again, Fish gave no answer. Rose saw his breath was coming in short spurts.
Suddenly, a heavy clear plastic bag was whipped over her face and twisted tightly around her neck. It was almost impossible to breathe. She saw Fish flailing in his bonds on the other side, shouting something. Then all at once, the bag was gone and air rushed into her lungs. She gasped in the air and sagged against the ropes tying her to the chair.
Dimly, she heard Fish saying, “Yes, that’s the truth. It’s around Bear’s neck in a package. That’s where he keeps it. That’s where it was last time I saw it. Damnation, that’s the bloody truth.”
