Devil Entendre

by Lawson, John Edward

  “Are there wolves in the woods, eating babies?” He hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but there it was.

  Sister Mary Cheron’s jaw clenched and something stirred behind her eyes. Whatever it was, it was gone as soon as it had surfaced. “Get him out of here. Don’t bring these children to me unless it’s serious.”

  When Sister Elizabeth led Timothy back to class they passed Normal and Sane. The brothers did not appear to be very pleased.

  “Damn man, where the hell are we?” Toby was sweating up a storm. Although he was large and strong he wasn’t used to prolonged exercise.

  “What do you mean? Aren’t Injuns s’posed to know their way around the woods?” Nadine had insisted on coming along, or else she’d tell the nuns. She was skipping around and having a ball, getting on the older boys’ nerves to no end.

  Timothy threw his sister a nasty look. “Just another ten minutes, eh? We found the tracks, didn’t we?”

  When he had told them about his run-in with Sister Mary Cheron earlier in the day, and how those bizarre brothers had been keeping him awake, Toby and Nadine were sympathetic. However, when he laid the baby entrails thing on them they were hooked for good. The suggestion of searching the woods for clues—normally good for several smacking sessions with the Abbess—was a given after that revelation. The trio had been wandering the forest for three hours, finding all sorts of neat places to play. There were stout trees children could easily climb, a burbling brook loaded with giant mossy boulders, and even a rusted old car. As the afternoon had dragged on their interest flagged, but after finding the paw prints they were exhilarated. That, and maybe a little scared. And definitely lost.

  The children decided to rest for a bit at the nearest ridge. There the three enjoyed a view of pristine wilderness while eating stolen bread and jam. Nadine’s birdlike appetite allowed the boys to eat by themselves largely, and they wouldn’t have it any other way. As they shared the latest crude jokes between bites she explored the immediate area, hoping to find pretty rocks, like the hunk of malachite another girl had discovered behind the orphanage. Instead she found a baby’s shoe.

  “Hey!” she called. “Come see this!”

  At first the boys ignored her, caught up in trying to decide on the best path back to the orphanage. After a while, though, her calls grew far too irritating to put off. “What’s this all about then, eh?”

  She was holding three baby shoes, all different colors, all the left shoe, with no right shoes to be found. “What do you make of it?”

  “Queer ehwhatnots to be had in these woods,” Toby replied, doing his best to sound authoritative. The other two laughed. “What? I’m being for real!”

  Timothy investigated the spots where the shoes had been resting. There were fresh hoof prints beside them. “Hey, check it out. Somebody’s been riding a horse around here.”

  Curiosity piqued, the children followed the trail of the hoof prints ever deeper into the wilderness, until they happened upon a blighted area, at the center of which was situated a seemingly abandoned stone structure.

  “What is it?” Nadine whispered.

  “What do you think? Ruins!” her brother shouted.

  Both Toby and Nadine hushed him in unison, suddenly overcome by a nameless dread. They didn’t understand why but they had the urge to flee this place immediately. Despite their protests Timothy pressed on, leaving them at the edge of the deadened land. To him the gnarled tree trunks strewn about were interesting. Drawing closer to the structure he was able to discern strange grooves carved in the massive stones.

  “I think it’s some kind of old Indian temple,” Timothy called over his shoulder, enthusiasm swelling by the moment. As he continued something caught his eye. Another diminutive shoe had been cast aside and was wedged behind one of the rotting trunks. Not only that, but there was something else as well…

  A terrible rumbling sound vibrated the very ground he stood on, sending a chill jolting through his bones and seizing his gut with apprehension. His best guess was that it emanated from within the confines of the stone structure, but for all he was worth Timothy was unable to force himself to look. Instead he cast his gaze back to Toby and Nadine, both of whom were petrified by fright. Before he knew what was happening they had spun around and were running as though their lives depended on it. The sound rang out again, far more hateful this time, accompanied by a sickly warm breeze carrying nauseating stench. Timothy meekly raised his eyes to the building.

  Steam billowed out of a crude doorway, and sitting casually at the roof’s edge, swinging their legs without a care in the world, were Sane and his hairy brother, Normal. And, emerging from inside the structure…

  News of the bear attack spread fast in the small community of Faust, and search parties were organized to find the missing Indian boy. The fact that the other two had been mauled left an ominous pall over proceedings, drenched with the realization that they were more than likely looking for a body, not a boy. Or, part of a body. The brother and sister had refused to speak of the incident, even after treatment and rest. The girl, poor thing, lost several fingers on her right hand. Still, better to be her than the boy, who had lost his entire right hand during the incident.

  It came as no surprise to the nuns, then, when an official visitor arrived. He was of a caste within the workings of the Church that was little spoken of, yet held great sway. His ilk were referred to as harbingers by some, as their visitations were often portents of ruined careers or worse.

  Father Julian Ignatius Picard strode into the dining room like the Great Enemy fresh off a tour of combat in fields of burning Seraphim. He was a phenomenally threatening man, even though his stature was not great and he bore no memorable physical attributes, save for the undying rage flowering in his eyes. All attention was drawn away from his two days’ stubble, from the faded scar barely concealed by his collar, to the embers glowing in his eyes. He stood with his feet spread in a stance which emanated power, hands locked behind his back as he stared into the fireplace—what burned within him outshone such flames. He had little patience for reclusive nuns and their myriad rules for social interaction, this vow and that vow hindering his work at every turn.

  Sister Madeleine Bavent entered, a woman of refined features and dignified poise, looking more suited to high society soirées than a life of isolated devotion to pursuits beyond the secular. If one were to guess, her age could be placed at fifty-ish, although time had obviously been more than kind to her. Her warm smile radiated glamour that women half her age would kill for. The elaborate habit of the Sisters of Perpetual Mercy obscured her hair and other tasty features—not that Picard was willing to let his mind wander that way on this particular occasion.

  Sister Madeleine Bavent introduced herself and welcomed her guest to the orphanage, offering to show him around. He glumly grunted something to the effect that he was disposed to getting right down to business. “Very well,” she replied. “And what business might that be? Cleaning up this affair of the missing fingers?”

  To Father Picard it seemed the nun was smiling somewhat suggestively, and he swallowed his stale saliva. “Affair?”

  “Yes, the bear incident.”

  “Bare? What has been bared? What are you implying?” Sister Madeleine Baventexplained her meaning; inwardly, Picard seethed at the indignity of being forced to expose himself. Perhaps she had not noticed. “I have no idea what incident you refer to. The rumors persisting about this place draw me here, Abbess. I’m sure you know which rumors I’m talking about, and how the Church feels about the spread of such rumors. So, let’s keep this quick and quiet, and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

  Unlike most receiving this news she remained exceedingly pleasant. “Your reputation for rooting out evil proceeds you.”

  “I’m sure.” He was one of the few “old school” agents remaining in the moder
n-day Church. News of his exploits flowed throughout the ranks of new school devotees, billowing like blood in water, and more often than not the others circled like sharks, intent on ridiculing him or attempting to remove him from power. Every so often, word of his accomplishments won over a true believer, awakening them to the dire peril of Satan’s influence permeating the world around them. He suspected, however, that Sister Madeleine Bavent was not of such stock. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

  “I am positive we can keep these proceedings amicable.”

  He turned on her sharply. “My duty is to Heaven and He that rules it, not to hold hands and play tea party with those who may conspire against Him.”

  She regarded him with a sarcastic smirk. “For some, Father, Heaven is a horror show. A singing, dancing horror show, to which you and I have front row seats.”

  The glowering intensity of Picard’s appraising gaze flagged, then redoubled. “Let’s get something straight, Abbess. I don’t like children, nor does foolishness rank high on my list of all-time favorites.” To his eternal befuddlement, Sister Madeleine began to hum that infernal tune from The Sound of Music. He continued, stalwart in the face of her egregious transgressions. “Your comments have placed you on questionable footing in my book, Abbess. I can’t fathom how you attained your position here, nor do I suspect you’ll retain that position much longer. There’s no need for things to get ugly, though. Cooperate and dismissal can be relatively painless, quiet. In fact the Church can even guarantee good jobs elsewhere.”

  She offered him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, set out for the children who would be returning momentarily. “Your book must be filled with all sorts of unsavory characters.” He declined the food and assured her that she didn’t want to know what manner of characters he’d encountered. “Tell me,” she replied, “is yours a book with a centerfold?”

  His consternation was readily apparent. “I find your attempts at humor ill-timed at best.”

  Without further discussion she led him to his temporary quarters; the order had insisted on providing accommodations, maintaining that the groundskeeper’s lodging was separated from the housings of the nuns by a great distance. They were conservative in that estimation, Picard surmised, because the orphanage wasn’t even visible from the groundskeeper’s house. The two-story building was ensconced by trees and foliage, the wilderness having long run unchecked. Only a stone wall fended off the undergrowth, but even that was covered with vines. The abbess introduced Picard to Abernathy, a man of indeterminate age—even his wrinkles had wrinkles. The fact that a man was housed on the estate of nuns shocked Picard, but he kept it to himself. He was given the musty upper level to house in.

  Later, he was introduced to Sister Elizabeth, who taught the younger children. She looked to be just out of college, and he guessed she was of European descent with perhaps some Gypsy or Arabic blood thrown in. Oddly, no rules of interaction were imposed, and Elizabeth proved to be Madeleine’s opposite: reserved, mindful of her servitude to the Lord, and, above all, brimming with respect for Father Picard’s position. She provided him with insight as to the routine and disposition of the children, as well as daily activities and lessons. Out of the dull encounter he did walk away perplexed by one thing, the fact that both boys and girls were cared for here. Did Perpetual Mercy supersede the need to observe the traditions of the Church? However tedious the process, his findings would make for a detailed report indeed.

  “I say, what lies beyond the perimeter of the estate? Any other man-made features, such as hunting lodges or wells, or what have you?” Father Picard, weary from traveling and two days of talking with children, sought a diversion. He stood just within the stone wall of the groundskeeper’s cottage. It was dusk and the dying sun beautifully illuminated the surrounding forest.

  Abernathy stood nearby puffing on a pipe, the smoke of cherry-scented tobacco heavy in the air. The grizzled old man eyed Picard, then spoke, the working of his mouth not unlike maggots pulsating under the skin of road kill. “Evil’s in these here woods, Padre. Best not to venture out on yer own, much less at night.” He spit for emphasis. “No good can come of it.”

  Picard sized the old codger up. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “You’d do well to,” the old man replied. He hawked up a thick wad of mustard-yellow phlegm that quivered like pudding when it struck the ground. “No, nothing out there that I know of.”

  Picard appraised the man with a look that spoke “thanks a lot, pal” before strolling into the woods. The season was mercifully mild, and he was mindful to thank the Lord for small miracles. Cold was the bane of his existence, and he had managed to avoid the Canadian frontiers for the bulk of his career. Now, though, faced with such placid scenery and agreeable climate, he was inclined to stick around for a time. While reflecting on the reasons he had been exiled to such a place, and what might await him on his return to civilization, he became so lost in thought that he wandered without keeping track of time or direction. The piercing shrill of an infant reverberated among the trees, shocking him out of his reverie. Or was it an animal of some sort…a wild dog, perhaps?

  Picard examined his surroundings. Details were hard to make out since almost all light had faded from the sky. Probably a family was hiking nearby. “Hello?” he called out. No reply was forthcoming. After clearing a ridge he thought he could make out faint light further ahead, in what seemed to be a distant clearing. The foul stench of sulfur wafted into his nostrils, reminding him of the various sulfur springs he’d come across in his travels.

  Suddenly a form vaulted through the woods some ten or twenty meters ahead. He would have assumed it was a deer, save for the fact that it was upright. As noiselessly as possible he followed it, keeping a safe distance for perhaps ten minutes. He realized that the person, whoever they were, was racing back toward the orphanage with great haste. Without warning the form hunched over something, and in the first rays of starlight he was able to discern the delicate features of a beautiful young woman. She only stayed at a standstill momentarily, sprinting away at the sound of a twig snapping somewhere nearby.

  It was not Picard who trampled this fragile branch, nor did the perpetrator reveal themselves. In all likelihood, he reasoned, it was a light branch falling from a dead tree, or the result of a deer looking for a place to settle down for the night. After he was certain the woman was not coming back he ventured to the area she had crouched over. He found on the ground the bunny-printed shoe of a baby, still warm to the touch. He held it to his nose; it smelled of feminine body wash, of baby powder.

  A howl shattered the silence—definitely that of a wolf this time. Picard took this as a cue to end his evening stroll.

  The following morning he rose to discover that breakfast was not waiting for him, as had been arranged with the Sisters. Cursing Abernathy under his breath the priest stuck his head in downstairs. It was cold and silent. The groundskeeper had not been there for some time. Deciding that the old fellow must keep early working hours, Picard snatched a pear and went about his business.

  He found the library to be administered by Sister Anne, second only in rank to the Abbess herself. The woman proved far less hospitable than old man Abernathy, even though she was just in her mid-forties. Picard shuddered to think of the degree her iciness would be refined to by the time she reached Abernathy’s age. A recommendation for her expulsion might save a great many children and nuns alike the misery of her company. The dark orbs lurking under her red eyebrows almost seemed to dare him to such a course of action.

  Segregating himself on the opposite side of the library did the trick. Picard was able to take advantage of Anne’s ironclad record keeping, while also benefiting from the immaculately kept theological tomes without speaking a word to the woman. Everything was in order, although it seemed a bit too dry. All references to the estate’s former owner, Opal Lorber, were unnecessarily brie
f. This reminded him that there were still four children he needed to speak with, those involved in the bear attack. It seemed to be the only thing people wanted to converse about, frustrating him to no end. He prayed the search parties would find this bear and shoot it dead for making his job all the more complicated. He would return to his research later, after getting these last few interviews over with.

  On the way out he forced himself to stop and ask to have his research materials set aside for further study. Sister Anne did not raise her head, only her eyes, glaring at him as if he’d just spit on her dinner. Undaunted, he asked, “Would you, by any chance, know where Sister Mary is? I can’t seem to locate her.”

  She returned to her work. “You’re the investigator. You figure it out.”

  On that note, he left to track down the brother and sister who survived the bear. However, the task was not so easily accomplished. Depending on whom one asked the brother and sister were either convalescing in this wing or that, studying here or there. Often the children would give him blank stares. “How do you expect to get anywhere in life with that attitude?” he chastised them. It didn’t work. After an hour of chasing phantoms Picard gave up, not sure why he was so intent on speaking with the children anyway. Everything to be known regarding the bear incident was in the reports.

  The brothers Normal and Sane were next on the list. Surely these were typographical errors, he’d told himself at first, scouring the records. Maddening as it may be these names stood up to cross-referencing. Sister Elizabeth was in the middle of instructing her students when Father Picard located her. Leaving the children to read, she stepped out into the hall with him to answer some questions. Sister Elizabeth informed him that the boys were on duty assisting Sister Leatrice in the garden. She confided to him that the children were upset enough by the attack as it was, and didn’t need further agitation. When he asked what she meant by that, Sister Elizabeth simply replied, “Those boys are…special.” Her voice faltered on the word “special,” inclining Picard to think that he was in for another treat. May the Good Lord bless nunneries, he told himself.