by Mark Lukens
Danny looked at the gigantic police officer as he walked towards the car. He recognized the officer as he walked towards him—he was the same officer who had come to their house when the smiling man had been trying to break into their basement door.
Officer Booker stood right in front of Danny now, looking down at him with large dark eyes filled with compassion. He seemed to be fighting back tears.
“Danny,” Officer Booker said.
Danny stared at the large man, but he didn’t say anything.
“Who else was in the car?”
“My mom and my sister,” Danny said in a low voice.
A red sedan was parked way down at the end of the line of police cars and emergency vehicles up on the side of the road where traffic crept by as rubberneckers gawked at the accident scene even though a cop in uniform waved at them frantically to move along. The red sedan was owned by a man in his late fifties who gave a statement about what he had seen. He’d been following Danny’s mom’s car, and he said it looked like the car just kept on going straight instead of slowing down and following the sharp curve in the road when it reached the lake. He said he hadn’t even seen the brake lights—like the car never even slowed down. The car crashed through the guardrail, sped down the embankment and plowed right into the water. And then it sank. The headlights and taillights were visible for a moment underneath the water, the man said, and then they disappeared underneath the dark surface of the water.
The man said he tried to get to the passengers in the car, he tried to help them. After he called 911 on his cell phone, he ran down to the shore and saw Danny walking out of the water. He looked dazed, he seemed to be in shock, and he was shivering uncontrollably. The man said he dove into the water and tried to get to the mother and daughter, but he couldn’t do it. It was too dark and he wasn’t that great of a swimmer.
But at least he had helped Danny up to the bank and watched him until the police arrived five minutes later. He felt good about that at least. He told the cops over and over again that he had done what he could, but he wished he could’ve done more. But he was so out-of-shape, and he wasn’t an expert swimmer. He couldn’t get to the other two in the car.
Danny watched as the tow truck backed down a little more on the muddy embankment until it was as close as it could get to the water without sinking down into it.
A diver lifted his head up out of the water.
“Find ‘em yet?” a cop shouted at the diver, lifting his hands up in a universal questioning gesture.
The diver gave the thumbs down signal and shook his head—the equally universal sign for bad news.
Danny’s heart sank as he watched from the back of the police car. He knew they were gone, but he had dared to let himself hope just a little bit.
“Son, what happened here?” Officer Booker asked Danny in his deep and gentle voice.
Danny shook his head slowly as tears filled his eyes. Seeing the diver shake his head no had pounded the reality home—his mother and his sister were dead. His entire family was gone in the blink of an eye.
“Who was driving?” Officer Booker asked patiently.
“My mother,” Danny answered and his voice sounded so far away to his own ears and it felt like he wasn’t himself, like this situation wasn’t real, like it was happening to someone else.
“Did she lose control of the car?” the officer asked.
Two paramedics waited near Officer Booker, watching Danny like two mother birds. If they felt like they needed to swoop in and take Danny to the hospital, then they would. And they had already told Officer Booker that. They had checked Danny for signs of concussion and water in his lungs, but he seemed okay. He didn’t have any obvious head wounds or any other wounds except for a few minor scratches on his arms and hands. But they reminded Officer Booker that Danny could still have a brain injury and they wouldn’t be able to tell without a CAT scan.
“I don’t know,” Danny said as tears slid out of his eyes. “I guess so. I can’t remember.”
Danny tried to remember back to when they had been driving in the car. Where had they been driving to? Where had they been driving from? It was all a blank to Danny right now. Had Mom been speeding? Had she been upset about something?
“I can’t remember anything about the accident,” Danny said again.
“Officer,” one of the paramedics stepped forward. “Memory loss can be a sign of a brain injury. We need to get him to the hospital. We can’t wait much longer.”
Officer Booker nodded and moved out of the way so the paramedics could do their job. They walked Danny to the waiting ambulance and helped him up into the back.
Danny did remember something about the accident, something that had happened right before the crash. But he didn’t want to tell Officer Booker or any of the other cops about it because it didn’t make any sense.
He had seen the blond-haired man with the twisted half-smile right before the accident. He was the same man he had seen on the sidewalk while walking home from school, the same man he’d seen at his house outside the basement door, the same man he’d seen right on the other side of the glass.
Had the man been standing in the middle of the road?
Had his mother swerved to avoid hitting the man?
Had the man been standing on the side of the road and then Danny screamed at his mom?
Had Danny distracted his mother at the worst possible moment?
Had all of this been his fault?
CHAP†ER SIX†EEN
Paul got the phone call as he was working on his report to Father McFadden.
He sat at his desk in his office, the door slightly ajar. Sometimes he listened to classical music as he worked on his reports or did research, but not now. It had been difficult enough to concentrate on this report and he didn’t need any distractions. He was having some trouble putting into words the evil he had witnessed at the Whittier house, the power the demons had possessed. They had been waiting for him and the two priests. And Paul should have sensed it.
And now three people were dead and who knew how badly Father James’s psyche had been damaged. Maybe Paul couldn’t have saved Richard and his daughter—maybe they were too far gone after willingly giving themselves as servants to the dark side—but he should’ve been able to help Father O’Leary and Father James; he should’ve been able to protect them.
And when the demon vacated Father James’s body so quickly after its warning, Paul couldn’t help but think that the demon had sought out his family who he was no longer able to protect.
He had called Rachael several times throughout the night and the morning. He still wasn’t getting through on her cell phone, still getting the message that her service was out of order. He had left five messages on her home phone.
No returned calls yet.
Which didn’t necessarily mean anything. Rachael usually took her time calling him back.
The report for Father McFadden was almost finished—he wanted to have it done and delivered to him before he left for Cleveland. He’d read it over and over again, changing a word here and there, but he was sure that it was ready now. All he had to do was print it out.
His flight was supposed to leave at seven thirty this evening, and he already had his two bags packed and waiting by the front door.
He sat there for a long moment, staring at the computer screen, the arrow from the mouse hovering over the print button on the screen.
And then the phone call came.
He ran downstairs to the kitchen and picked up the cordless phone on the counter. He looked at the number—he recognized the Cleveland area code, but he couldn’t place the phone number immediately.
He answered the phone.
It was Rachael’s mother.
“Paul, it’s Gail.” Her voice was steady and he recognized her deep, throaty voice. She had been a lifelong smoker until recently when she had been diagnosed with emphysema.
He and Gail had had their differences over the years, b
ut they remained at least on speaking terms. Paul had gotten along a lot better with Rachael’s father when he was still around.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” Gail said and then her voice cracked. “Some really bad news.”
Paul felt his world tilting, trying to slip away from him. He gripped the phone tighter like it was his only lifeline to this world right now.
He knew what was coming.
From a million miles away he heard a tear-jerked voice tell him that Rachael and the kids had been in a car accident. Rachael and Lisa hadn’t made it.
“Danny?” Paul managed to say.
“He’s okay,” Gail said, recovering quickly from crying. She sniffled. “He’s still in shock about the whole thing, but he’s physically okay. He stayed the night in the hospital, but he’s coming back here with me today.”
Paul tried to talk but he couldn’t find his voice for a moment. All he could hear was that growling voice coming from Father James’s mouth.
I am going to take everything away from you, Paul. Everything that you love.
Paul stumbled over to his kitchen table. He pulled a chair out, the legs scraping along the floor, and he plopped down. He felt like he couldn’t talk, like he couldn’t breathe. His whole body ached so badly, worse than he ever would’ve thought possible.
“The funeral’s this Saturday,” Gail said and left the words hanging in the air, a silent question wondering if he was going to make it.
“Okay,” Paul said and exhaled a held breath. He breathed in as tears slipped out of his eyes. He saw flashes of his daughter, so many memories of when she was a baby, a child, recent photos sent to him through e-mail.
And now she was gone.
“I’ll be there,” Paul said, fighting to control his voice. He thought of telling Gail that he already had a flight booked for this evening, but he couldn’t say the words. He had known something was going to happen, but he had been too late. Perhaps only hours too late. If he had driven … he thought for a moment. But no, he still wouldn’t have made it to them in time. He should’ve left two days ago; he should’ve left for Cleveland right when he got home from the Whittier house. Oh God, he had failed again. But this time he had failed his family.
Gail didn’t answer him. She didn’t say anything.
“How did this happen?” Paul asked.
Gail was silent for another moment; there was just a wheezy breathing on the other end of the phone. “The police are still investigating,” Gail told him. “But it looks like Rachael, like she just … just lost control of her car going around a turn by a lake. The car … it crashed through the guardrail and drove into the lake. Danny was able to get out of the car … but Rachael and Lisa … they …”
The lake.
The sudden visions of being trapped in a car underneath dark water came rushing back to Paul. He had seen a premonition of what was going to happen to them, but he hadn’t acted on it soon enough.
The knife blade of guilt ripped through him and he had to push back a sob.
“No one else was involved with the accident?” Paul finally asked. He would’ve thought they might have been run off the road by someone.
“No. There was a witness. An older man who tried to help but … but he couldn’t help. He saw the whole thing. He said Rachael seemed to just drive right down into the water.”
“Oh God,” Paul said and shuddered.
Gail sniffled and then got control of herself. “Paul, we need to talk about Danny. I can’t take care of him by myself. And my son, he’s too busy with his family in Seattle. Besides, I think it’s time Danny was around his father now.”
“Yes,” Paul croaked out. “Yes, I agree. I’ll be there tonight.”
CHAP†ER SEVEN†EEN
Cleveland, Ohio
Danny stood next to his father at the funeral. It had been almost three years since Danny had seen him in person. It had been that long since his father had come to Ohio to visit him and his sister. Danny wasn’t angry at seeing his dad now, he wasn’t bitter, or sad … he wasn’t anything, he didn’t feel anything. He felt hollow inside. Empty.
The funeral took a little while. Uncle Martin from Seattle said a few things, but then he broke down crying. Grandma Gail tried to say a few words but she cried and then she had trouble catching her breath. She had to inhale some oxygen from the tank she wheeled around with her and Uncle Martin and his new wife helped her back to her seat.
Some of Danny’s mother’s friends and co-workers said a few things. They tried to emphasize the good things, tried to remember the good times, but they all said that this was a terrible and unexpected tragedy, and that both his mother and sister were in a better place now. A brave schoolmate of Lisa’s stood up at the podium and said a few things, reading from a paper she held with shaking hands, trying not to cry.
There were tons of flowers and cards, one gigantic card from the Junior High School that Lisa attended with hundreds of signatures all over it.
After the funeral, Paul drove Danny and Gail to her house in the vehicle he had rented—a Lincoln Navigator. A few friends stopped by Gail’s house and she had some refreshments laid out. But her visitors only stayed a few hours and then they were gone.
Danny excused himself and went to lie down in the guest bedroom where he had been staying since he got out of the hospital. He had packed an overnight bag and grabbed a few books from his house after leaving the hospital, and that was the last time he had been in his own house. The overnight bag of clothes and the stack of books were in the closet with its door halfway open.
He lay in bed on top of the covers, still fully dressed from the funeral except that he had kicked off his shoes at the bottom of the bed. He felt exhausted even though he hadn’t done anything physical for the last few days.
He held a necklace in his hand. It had been his mother’s necklace and he had added a charm from the bracelet that Lisa always wore. It was his last connection to them, a keepsake he could carry around with him in his pocket and hold whenever he wanted to, a talisman that would hopefully help keep the tears and crushing grief at bay for now.
He had almost drifted off to sleep when he heard a voice whispering to him. It was coming from inside the bedroom … from inside the closet.
It was his mother’s voice.
“Danny …”
He sat up like a piston and stared at the half-open closet door with the long, skinny mirror attached to it. The door creaked open a little, inch by inch.
“Danny … I’m not dead. Come in here with me … come in here and see me …”
Suddenly, Danny was underneath the dark water again, struggling to hold his breath. He could see the dim lights underneath the water … dashboard lights from his mother’s car.
Danny sat bolt-upright in the bed, breathing hard, his blood rushing in his ears, his heart pounding against his ribcage. There was a sheen of perspiration on his face and for an irrational split second he thought the perspiration was the cold water from the lake.
He still held the necklace bunched up in one fist.
He looked at the closet door across the room. It was almost shut now, only open a crack. For a moment he expected it to creak back open.
That door had been open before, hadn’t it? Why was it closed now?
He finally got his breathing under control and his heartbeat slowed down from a sprint to a jog. The blood rushing in his ears had lessened and now he heard another sound.
Voices.
But not from the closet. These voices were coming from the living room. It was his grandmother and his father. They were talking in low tones, but not whispering. Yet he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He got up and crept to the bedroom door that was ajar. He pulled the door open a little and slipped out into the hallway. He walked down to the end of it, close enough to hear, but not close enough to be seen from the kitchen.
“The arrangements were already made a while ago,” Grandma Gail said. “If an
y event such as this were to happen, you were always going to be the one to take care of the children.”
“Thank you,” his father answered.
“There are a few more things that need to be taken care of,” Grandma said and there was a pause and a tinkling of china like they might be sipping tea. “I set up a meeting with the lawyers on Monday morning. Just some papers to go over and sign. Assets to be switched over, the house to be put up for sale or rented out. And we still need to pack her stuff up. Keep what you and Danny want and put the rest in storage or donate it. She had a will and certain pieces of furniture and heirlooms have already been promised to some family members.”
“I understand,” Paul said. “Whatever Rachael’s wishes were, I want to respect them. I don’t want anything else … just my son.”
My son?
He was going to live with his father? In Boston?
But what if he didn’t want to go? Didn’t he have a say in any of this? He was seventeen years old, still a minor, but he would be eighteen in nine months. Old enough, he thought, to have a say in his own life.
Danny felt like rushing out into the living room and disrupting their little tea party. He felt like expressing the feelings that were raging inside of him now.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he crept back to the guest bedroom and lay back down on the bed. He kept one eye on the closet door, the nightmare still fresh in his mind as he lay there.
†
Forty-five minutes later Danny heard his father leave the house. He heard his rental tank outside start up and then drive away.
Danny got up and went out to the living room. His grandmother wasn’t there, but the TV was on with the sound turned down low. He heard the clinking sound of dishes in the kitchen. He went to the kitchen and found his grandmother cleaning up even though everything was immaculate.
