by Lincoln Cole
How much or how little he told them, however, he hadn’t yet decided. The thing was: something strange was definitely happening, and the entire city made him feel uncomfortable. But none of it offered concrete evidence that he could bring up to them. It all came down to more little things that seemed to happen to him and a feeling he had.
His feelings had no importance, though. The Vatican wanted evidence of omens or possession. Aside from maybe a bit more rain than normal at this time of year, and a few people acting oddly, he’d seen nothing here that made him think demonic possession.
Besides, the odds of an actual possession taking place in this town seemed negligible, especially not on the level that Jackson had presented. That video had chilled, but he had found no evidence at the woman’s house to reflect what he had seen—
“Who was he?” Father Reynolds asked Niccolo as they drove away from Rose’s home.
Niccolo barely heard him, as he’d gotten so distracted in his thoughts. He blinked back to reality, glanced over at Jackson, and then frowned. Then he realized his mistake in bringing up anything about Arthur—everything about the man remained on a need-to-know basis, and Jackson didn’t come under that umbrella.
Niccolo had only ended up in the know because of the circumstances surrounding the assault in West Virginia. Each and every thing about that event had felt wrong to him, and it became clear, even at the time, that the Church scrambled to cover it up. They expected those events to happen, which meant that Arthur proved a liability at best.
At worst …
“Arthur?”
“Yeah. He told me he was a reporter, but he wasn’t, was he?”
“No.”
“You said you saw the bodies. You know what he did?”
Niccolo hesitated, and then said, “It’s probably best that you don’t ask any more questions.”
“For you?”
“For both of us. I don’t have the authority to talk about this, and just asking puts you in danger. He told you he was a reporter, and for your safety and sanity, you should take him at his word.”
“How do you know him?”
“I don’t. At least, not personally.”
Niccolo had met Arthur a few weeks after the incident. The meeting had awed him. After seeing the devastation wreaked on the cult in the woods, the idea that Arthur would be a normal-looking man had seemed unthinkable. He’d imagined a larger-than-life, terrifying figure; Arthur looked more like a suburban house dad.
He had still sported injuries during that meeting and needed to recover from his wounds. On that day, the Church officials had told him they wouldn’t investigate the issue any further and would let Arthur go. Barely a slap on the wrist. Niccolo had felt flabbergasted and objected strongly, but his words fell on deaf ears.
He couldn’t tell any of that to Jackson, however. Just knowing that someone like Arthur existed could prove dangerous for the young priest.
“He wouldn’t tell me why he came here,” Jackson said. It seemed he had decided not to continue pursuing the issue. “He just asked me a bunch of questions and seemed worried when he found out that you’d come here.”
“I guess he remembers me, too. What did he ask you about?”
“Mostly Bishop Glasser,” Jackson said with a shrug. “He said he was writing a story about the bishop and called him a ‘rising star.’ He wanted to know how well I knew the man and if I had interacted with him much since taking this post at Saint Joseph’s.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I knew Leopold from a few previous encounters but had rarely interacted with him on a personal basis.”
“You didn’t tell him anything about Rose?”
“Rose? No, why would I?”
“You’re sure? Nothing about your concern that she might have become possessed?”
“Definitely not. I make it a habit not to talk to reporters about Church business. Nor did I tell him about my recent disagreements with the bishop. He asked what you were doing here, but I didn’t tell him that either. I didn’t know who the man was, but he seemed to know quite a bit about me.”
“That’s good.”
Father Paladina felt relieved that Jackson hadn’t told Arthur anything that could have come back to haunt them. When he made his report later, he fully intended to alert the Vatican that Arthur had arrived here in Everett, though he doubted it would come to anything. Already, he had seen to what lengths they would go to protect the man, and his word meant nothing where Arthur was concerned.
It remained unthinkable that Arthur had gotten fully exonerated of his actions in West Virginia. The Church had berated him and the Council he served for acting rashly, but it amounted to little more than a slap on the wrist. Arthur had managed to dismantle a dangerous cult responsible for death and mayhem, and for that, they felt willing to forgive almost anything.
But, if Arthur did the same thing, did that make them any better?
They’d made the wrong call in forgiving Arthur as far as Niccolo was concerned. Arthur remained dangerous, and even though he had dealt a sizable blow to an enemy of the Church, he had gone about it in the wrong way entirely.
At the very least, he hoped his threat had worked and that Arthur wouldn’t come back to Everett anytime soon. With luck, Arthur would have gone before he even made his call to the Vatican.
As Niccolo sat in Jackson’s car, thinking, he had to admit that his annoyance about West Virginia didn’t make for the only reason that seeing Arthur had made him feel out of sorts. In truth, having someone like Arthur in Everett terrified him. He’d only met the man a handful of times in his life, but he’d heard stories about him.
Arthur, brutal and ruthless, had the willingness to do anything to accomplish his mission. Also, he had become the best at what he did, which meant whenever he rolled into town, bad things were about to happen. If Arthur had come here, then it indicated that something dangerous had set in motion.
“You used to know him?” Jackson asked after a few minutes of silence, attempting once more to spark Father Paladina into conversation. “He seemed surprised to see you out here. You must have history.”
“We do.”
“Why did he ask me about the bishop?”
“No clue. All I know is that he’s dangerous, and you should avoid him at all costs. If he comes looking for you again, let me know, and don’t answer any of his questions.”
Jackson seemed uncomfortable by Niccolo’s answer, and he wanted more information about Arthur, but Niccolo had gone as far as he felt willing to in the conversation. Finally, Jackson nodded, conceding that the issue had closed, and they drove the rest of the way back into town in silence.
◆◆◆
Jackson dropped off Niccolo at his hotel a short while later, and then he went back to his church. Though still early in the afternoon, it looked like it would turn into a clear night. Jackson wanted to finish some paperwork and prepare for his Sunday sermon, and Niccolo needed to make his call to the Vatican to report his findings. He could have used the phone at Saint Joseph’s Cathedral, but just now, he wanted to stay alone for a while.
Niccolo passed through the lobby and upstairs to his hotel room, kicked his shoes off, and then relaxed back onto the bed. He didn’t place the call back home just then, though, wanting to spend time sorting through his thoughts and deciding what he would tell them. Perhaps he could turn on the television to distract him and so the room wouldn’t seem so quiet? Then he changed his mind.
While sitting there, alone in the quiet hotel room, he couldn’t hide his concerns about the day quite as easily as he had done out in the daylight. The town had something unsettling about it, not to mention the events that had taken place, starting with the diner and culminating in the crawlspace beneath Rose’s home. He hadn’t spent much time in Everett, but it grew clearer that something had gone awry.
Alone, he found his mind wandering continually back to what had happened to him beneath the house. The grot
esque visage of the corpse crawling out at him had seemed lifelike and horrific and unlike anything he’d ever seen or experienced. It couldn’t have had any reality, or he would have died, and yet, it had felt real.
The woman, her eyes, and the way she crawled over the dirt and gravel … the memory stuck with him, and each time he closed his eyes, she was there. It terrified him, and he wavered back and forth between believing he had imagined it and wondering if, maybe, something else had joined him down there in the crawlspace.
Yet, admitting that something might have happened meant allowing him to admit that supernatural creatures existed. He believed in evil, and he believed that people could be evil, but he did not believe that demonic creatures lived out there, trying to ruin humanity. If they did exist, then surely he would have seen them; after all, he was an exorcist.
Nevertheless, he found it difficult to focus on anything else. The longer he sat there in the dark, the more he realized how terrified he felt. This trip hadn’t turned out how he had expected, and right now, he had endless questions and few answers.
What was more, as much as he despised Arthur Vangeest, the man wouldn’t have come here if he didn’t have a good reason. He must think that the town had a problem that needed his sort of expertise.
Finally, Niccolo reached over and placed a phone call. He held the handset to his ear, at the end of the cord, and listened to it ring. After several rings, someone answered.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Bishop Glasser,” Niccolo said. “How are you?”
“Quite well. And you?”
“The same.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have met with Father Reynolds, and he would like the opportunity to speak to you in person.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“About what, might I ask?”
“That would be best coming from him. I hoped that we might arrange a meeting.”
“Of course. How about tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Maybe around seven?”
Niccolo glanced over at the clock—just after two. “Sure. That should work.”
“It isn’t anything serious, is it?” The bishop’s voice sounded playful, and the words in jest, but something about the way he spoke put Niccolo on edge.
“No, no, nothing like that,” he said.
“Excellent. Then I shall see you tonight.”
They hung up, and Niccolo sat on the edge of his bed, frowning at the phone. Bishop Glasser couldn’t possibly have involvement in events in the city—no matter what Arthur said—and yet, just speaking to the man had made him uncomfortable.
After speaking to the bishop, Niccolo phoned the Vatican. His superior, Father Desmond Affretti, answered after a few rings, “Hello?”
“Hello. It is Niccolo.”
“Ah, Niccolo, I have tried to get hold of you. I called your hotel room for hours.”
“I went out with Father Jackson,” he said. “My apologies. Why did you want to reach me?”
“We received a report earlier that could affect your mission. I need to know what you have found.”
“Father Jackson has decided to drop his request for an exorcist in Everett.”
“Good. What else?”
“I feel that something is happening in this town, which deserves the attention of one of our brethren.”
Father Affretti remained silent for a long while, to the point that Niccolo grew afraid that the call might have disconnected.
“Are you in immediate danger?”
“What? No,” he said. “I don’t believe so.”
“Why do you feel that way? What omens have you seen?”
“Nothing outright, but a few strange things have made me concerned.”
“Strange how?”
Niccolo frowned. The line of questioning seemed considerably more direct than he’d expected or had grown used to from the older priest. It felt more like a test than simply asking questions.
“I don’t know how to explain it. First, I spoke with a restaurateur who referenced details about my childhood—which she could not have known—and I also met with Arthur Vangeest. He said he believes the bishop—”
“Stop talking,” Father Affretti said in clipped, harsh tones. His voice held an edge of concern, which Niccolo had never heard before from the priest.
“Excuse me?”
“You have concerns and have said enough. Damn it; I had hoped the report would prove wrong. Okay, I have all I need to know.”
“Yes, but—”
“You must leave immediately,” the older priest said.
“What? So soon?”
Father Affretti ignored his question, “What about Father Jackson? Do your concerns about the city extend to him as well?”
“No,” Niccolo said.
“Good. He should come with you. I can schedule your flight in an hour for yourself and Father Jackson.”
“We can’t leave yet,” Niccolo said. “We have plans to meet with Bishop Glasser.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“He expects you?”
Niccolo hesitated before replying, “Yes. I called him before I called you. I can cancel, though.”
Another long pause came from Father Affretti. The conversation worried Niccolo, and he developed a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“No, that would make it more dangerous. It would look like you were running. You need to keep up appearances until we have assets to keep you safe.”
“Safe from what?”
Father Affretti didn’t answer that query either, “Have you noticed anyone following you?”
“No.”
“Any people acting strangely?”
“A few.”
“Did they pay you special attention?”
“Yes.”
“This is of vital importance, Niccolo. You must continue to act normally. Go to the bishop’s house tonight but say nothing of your investigation. Act naturally and as if nothing has gone amiss.”
“Is something amiss?”
“I don’t know yet. I have to await more information and don’t have any good answers. Tonight, I will call you at ten with the details of your flight. No one must know you plan to leave so soon.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Hopefully nothing,” Father Affretti said. “But I don’t feel willing to take any chances. Be careful, Niccolo. Don’t let your guard down.”
Then, Father Affretti disconnected.
Niccolo sat on the bed in stunned silence, holding the handset in his hand and listening to the dial tone. He could hardly believe the conversation he had just had, and a sickening feeling lay in the pit of his stomach.
Father Affretti never feared anything. Ever. For him to feel worried about something …
Maybe Arthur had called it correctly. Maybe something had gone wrong in this town. Worse, maybe the bishop did have an involvement. If that proved the case, then he had just set up a dinner arrangement between himself and Jackson in the middle of the hornet’s nest.
All of a sudden, the dial tone clicked off, and the line went dead. Niccolo didn’t register it until he heard the soft sound of breathing on the other end of the line. In and out, barely audible. Gradually, the sound increased, and slowly mounting laughter replaced the breathing.
Niccolo looked at the phone in horror and slammed it down on the base. What in God’s name is going on?
He needed to get to Jackson and make sure he remained okay. With grim determination, he gathered up his coat, slipped his shoes back on, and headed out of the hotel room and down toward the lobby. He wanted to tell the priest about the goings on, but a part of him warned him that such disclosure wouldn’t turn out a good idea.
Act normally, Father Affretti had said. Niccolo didn’t know how to act naturally when he felt so terrified, and the worst possible option would lay in alerting Jackson that he might face danger
, too.
Chapter 8
Father Paladina walked through the streets of Everett toward Saint Joseph’s Cathedral, hoping to gain a sudden insight into the situation and what he should do next. His conversation with Father Affretti had worried him quite a bit, and now he couldn’t help but glance around to see if anyone followed him.
But that was crazy, right? Why would anyone tail him?
Father Affretti seemed concerned at the situation, like the news he had received meant Niccolo had come into danger. He felt at a complete loss; something that didn’t happen to him often. Part of Niccolo felt like he had jumped in over his head and had gotten stuck in a situation for which he remained wholly unprepared.
Except, that didn’t run quite true. He had received training for something like this. Had prepared for this sort of situation his entire life, and to recognize omens and demonic activity and deal with it on behalf of the Catholic Church.
That would involve risk, they had told him. People would want to harm and stop him, and it could come down to reasons other than anything demonic. What he represented from the Church put him at risk. However, hearing his teachers tell him that and actually experiencing it remained vastly different things.
He had never dreamed that something like this might happen. In every case he had ever worked up to this point in his life, the situation had turned out as something entirely mundane or a hoax. The priest had investigated, found the culprit, and then returned home.
This differed, though. This would make for his sixteenth investigation. Had his luck run out at last?
Could Father Affretti possibly have assumed correctly that his life was in danger?
He didn’t know. What he did know was that he felt terrified and at a loss. His mind kicked into overdrive, and he replayed events. People acting strangely or paying him special attention? He had only spent about a day here, but he could think of circumstances that fit that description.
Everett either had to be a strange place, or something had gone badly wrong.
