by Dana Donovan
Once inside, I realized I was no safer than before. The door was wedged in the open position, yet there were no people, no phones and no means to summons help whatsoever. I looked around for something to cut the ropes from my hands, and spotted what looked like a sharp edge on the metal candle racking by the baptismal pool. I hurried to it and began sawing away, when an angry voice echoed across the church.
“Miss Adams!” I knew right away it wasn’t Jesus. He’d have called me Lilith. I turned and faced the rows of pews leading to the front door. There stood Hilton, a gun in one hand and a crooked stick, which he used as a crutch, in the other. His leg was bleeding, but he made no attempt to tie off the wound and allowed it to hemorrhage freely.
“How fitting you should come to my church in your last hour on earth,” he said. “Let me welcome you to Our Lady of Grace.” He presented the surroundings with a wave of his makeshift cane.
“Your church?” I looked around, noting how perfectly normal a church it seemed. “Funny, I would have expected to find the usual instruments of torture in your church.”
“Oh?”
“Sure, you know: rack, pillory, thumbscrew board, maybe an iron boot or the stocks.”
He laughed sickly. “Those are all downstairs.”
“Ah, a dungeon. How medieval.”
I heard him click back the hammer on the revolver as he started towards me. “You know, Miss Adams, we’ve never had a witch give us as much trouble before a hanging as you have.”
I backed away a couple of steps. “Maybe that’s because you’ve never found yourselves a real witch to hang until now.”
“Yes, that’s possible.” His advance quickened, though I could tell his leg was making things difficult for him. I took another few steps backwards and my heels brushed the riser on the stairs leading up to the baptismal pool.
“So, you’re saying you believe you’ve killed innocent mortals before?” I said.
“Of course, I….” A twinge of pain bit his leg and I thought he might accidentally shoot me there and then. But he swallowed back the burn and pressed forward. “I suspect most of them were, as was the case back in 1692. But you have to kill a lot of worker ants to get to the queen; now don’t you?”
“Apparently.”
Hilton had reached the base of the altar and was crossing in front of the candle racking, when I realized he picked up the witch’s stone I had dropped by the door. Its broken chain dangled from his pant pocket. I glanced behind me briefly and started up the five steps leading to the narrow pool decking.
“You know you’ll have to shoot me here,” I said, “because I’m not letting you drag me back up to Gallows Hill alive.”
That made him smile. “I suppose we’ll see about that.” he set his walking stick down on the candle rack and reached into the lining pocket of his suit coat, removing the medallion he had robbed from Ursula Bishop’s grave, “Tell me the secrets of the gate key and I’ll shoot you here, sparing you the gallows.”
I crossed the narrow ledge along the front of the pool and pressed my back against the far wall, exhausting all further avenues of escape. Already I could feel the witch’s stone siphoning my powers, its effects growing stronger as he inched closer.
“I told you already; it’s just a medallion. It has no secrets.”
“Oh?” He started up the stairs, his leg clearly in more pain now than before, as he displayed considerable effort negotiating the steps without the stick. “That’s a shame. I’m afraid I have no motivation to work with you then.” Upon reaching the platform, he set the pistol down on the top step and produced the stun gun that he had used on me earlier in the limo. “You will go to Gallows Hill one way or the other, Miss Adams,” and he pulled the trigger, discharging a riot of sparks, tripping in excited clicks between horned electrodes. “It’s your call.”
As scary as that seemed, in the few seconds the stun gun was ignited, I noticed something utterly remarkable happening down deep in my bones. It had something to do with the witch’s stone. For some inexplicable reason, in that subtle instant, the powers of the stone were magnified by a factor of ten; only its electric boost seemed to work in reverse. The usual negative effects of the dolomite became positive. I felt as though I could do anything in the realm of witchcraft I desired, just so long as that stun gun was engaged. Hilton may have sensed something, too, as he seemed to waver a moment, or perhaps he merely picked up intuitively the reaction on my face and assimilated through conjecture that something was amiss. I dared not hesitate longer and so I egged him on with a coaxing finger to come get me.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s have it your way. Bring it on, Lard Ass.”
He started toward me. “All right, but I warn you; if you fall into the pool after I shock you, you’ll be too numb to do anything, and I shouldn’t think I can get you out before you drown. That’s a considerably harder way to go.”
“At least I’ll have cheated the gallows, now wouldn’t I?”
He pulled the trigger again and a surge of energy rushed through my body. I imagined a fine line delineating invincible and superable existing between the microburst of electric sensations leaping from that gun. If he managed to touch me with the sparks before I could bewitch his ass then I would surely end up knowing the curse of the hangman’s noose, or worse.
But I had a plan. I continued antagonizing Hilton until his anger at me exceeded his discomfit; that is to say he was more pissed than pained, sort of how I make Tony feel on any given day. I said stuff to him like: ‘Your father sucks a witch’s tit’, and ‘Your mother asked for an abortion and got her wish when she had you’. Again, stuff I say to Tony all the time. It’s crazy how you could just see the blood in his eyes rising. I guess it’s a guy thing.
Old Hilty really poured on the steam then. He came after me with that stun gun, zapping up a storm. I waited until he was nearly on top of me before casting the spell.
I’m sure he thought I had disappeared. My clothes simply dropped to the floor, covering me temporarily. But then he saw the lump moving beneath them and he gave it a kick. I let out a screech and darted off down the narrow ledge. Hilton, now startled beyond words, stumbled backwards, shifting intolerable weight onto his bad leg, which buckled instantly, sending him over the ledge. His fat ass plunged like a stone, straight to the bottom of the baptismal pool. At once the holy water began churning in a frantic boil, spewing caustic green smoke into the air like an acid-based geyser.
Still more scared than not, I scampered down the steps and around the wall. I expected I might have to run for cover under one of the pews when he got out of the pool, but he never did. I waited until the bubbling settled and the smoke dimmed before walking up the stairs and giving things a good sniff to check it out.
In a cat’s world, he would have been lucky; he would still have eight more lives in which to torment me. And though Emanuel J. Hilton was not of the feline persuasion, he apparently was not of human origin either; and now he was most definitely dead, dissolved to nothing, along with the witch’s stone.
I backed away from the pool, still adjusting to the cold after reversing the spell, when I heard someone at the back of the church exclaim, “Lilith!”
I turned abruptly to see Tony, Carlos and Spinelli standing in the doorway; their mouths gaping, their eyes—especially Dominic’s—wide as soupspoons and nearly as polished.
Tony hurried to me, removing his coat as he ran, and wrapped me in it tighter than a witch’s knot. By then Carlos had done the courteous thing and turned away; I suppose Spinelli would have turned also, had he not been so stupefied. You know, I’m beginning to think that kid’s got a thing for me. I really must make it a point not to encourage him.
After putting my clothes on, I joined the guys by the pool as they checked out Hilton’s only remains: his suit, coat, shoes, some gold jewelry, which lay at the bottom of the pool, and an old brown fedora that floated on top.
“Yup, he’s gone,” Carlos remarked, pointing out the
obvious. “There’s nothing left of him but his clothes.”
“Weird,” said Dominic. “He simply melted away. How do you suppose that happened?”
“I suppose he wasn’t human,” I said. “I’m not sure any of them were now that I think of it.”
“Them?” Tony asked. “There are others besides Hilton and Putnam involved in this?”
“Hell, only half the damn town.”
“What do you mean?”
I went on to tell them about Putnam and the old magistrate at the witch’s trial, and all the seventeenth century Puritan spectators clamoring to see me sent to the gallows. After hearing quite enough, it was Carlos who took my hand and squeezed it gently, saying, “You sure you’re okay, Lilith? That sounds simply awful.”
I smiled up at him and winked. “Of course, Carlos; I had everything under control the entire time, but thanks for your concern.”
He then kissed my hand in that uniquely Cuban amorous way of his: a soft sort of brush stroke in a broader masterpiece that’s never quite finished. I often wish Tony would kiss me like that, instead of laying it on me like so many sticky notes in a tactician’s day planner. Don’t get me wrong. Tony’s a good lover and all. He’s thoughtful and considerate of my feelings. It’s just that sometimes his methodical approach to things can seem a bit mechanical in the grips of passion. You would think that after all the years he and Carlos worked together that just a trifle of one would have rubbed off on the other. Man, what a combination that would be.
After Carlos’ little display of compassion, Tony sent the guys out of the church to be alone with me for a minute. He pulled me aside and sat me down in one of the pews. I thought he wanted to scold me for getting on the train and fuckin` everything up for him and his men, in which case I would have had to seriously hurt him; but that wasn’t it. Instead he went rambling on about how sorry he was for putting me in harm’s way like he did, and how he never meant to let me down. Naturally I played it up as much as I could.
“He was going to kill me,” I said, speaking of Hilton particularly. “How could you have not done your homework on him?”
“I know, again I’m sorry. How can I ever make it up to you?”
“I don’t know if you can.”
“Try me. I’ll do anything.”
“Well I don’t know. You might…nah, forget it.”
“What?”
“No, I said forget it.”
“What?”
“Well, maybe the next time we….” I leaned over and whispered the rest in his ear. He pulled back as if zapped by electric shock.
“Really? You’d like that?”
I smiled. “Maybe.”
He seemed to toss it around in his head for all of three seconds before coming back with a shrug. “All right, sure, why not? We can try it.”
I gave him a kiss on the lips to seal the deal. Two seconds later the sound of approaching sirens brought Dominic back into the church. “Cops are coming,” he said. “Do we want to be here?”
Tony looked at me for the answer. I shook my head. “What could we possibly tell them?” I said, “that their pastor dissolved to nothing in a pool of holy water?” I pointed at the blood stains spotting the floor leading up the steps to the pool. “If they find his blood and not his body, they’ll think we killed him. I don’t know of any way to spin that tale so that they don’t drag us downtown.”
“Then we don’t stick around,” he said. “Take us to Gallows Hill where you say you left Putnam’s body. I want to see for myself that he’s dead.”
“Okay, it’s right out back. Follow me.”
“I will.” He pointed to the door. “You go on; I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
“Why, what are you going to do?”
“I just want to look around real quick.”
“The cops are almost here.”
“I know. Tell Spinelli to move the car out of sight. I’ll catch up.”
Tony Marcella:
When I first got to the church and found Lilith standing there, stripped of her clothes and looking dazed, well I don’t mind saying I thought the worst. I felt a sickening thud in the pit of my stomach, and all I could think about was taking her in my arms and holding her like I might never let her go. But as it was, Lilith handled herself well. She pointed to the baptismal pool uttering something about him being dead. Right away I thought she meant Putnam, but it turned out to be Hilton.
Later, after putting her clothes on and explaining what happened, I had her show the guys where she had stabbed Putnam and left him for dead. In the meantime I had something I wanted to check out. I caught up with them a few minutes later at the top of the hill under the tree where the hangman’s noose still swung lazily in the evening breeze.
“Hell, what happened to you?” Carlos asked upon seeing me. “You’re soaking wet.”
“I fell in a puddle,” I said, shrugging off his question. “So, where’s Putnam?”
“He’s gone," Lilith answered.
“What?"
“Yeah, he was right there. I know it. I’m sure of it.” She pointed to an old wooden pail kicked off into the brush. “That’s the bucket they had me stand on.”
Spinelli picked up the bucket and brought it back. “Look, it says Ingersoll’s Tavern on the side.”
“What’s this all mean?” Carlos asked.
“It means Putnam’s not dead,” I said.
“Maybe Hilton’s not dead either, then.”
Lilith shook her head. “No, he’s dead. Trust me. I think Putnam’s dead, too. Someone’s come up here and taken his body.”
“But who, and why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone from the trial: someone who wants to keep all this a secret.”
“Someone from Ingersoll’s Witness,” said Dominic. “You’ve got to know that if the cops aren’t involved, then Ingersoll’s people wouldn’t want a dead body showing up around here. A police investigation would only open up an ugly can of worms.”
“But it’s likely some cops are involved,” I said. “This organization couldn’t thrive otherwise. It tends to mirror the Ku Klux Klan. In its heyday, the Klan had members infiltrating some of the highest public offices in the land.”
“So what do we do next?”
I turned to Lilith. “Think you can get us to that barn where they held you at trial?”
She nodded in the direction of Main Street. “It’s just a couple of blocks that way.”
“You up to it?”
She laughed. “Please, I’ll race you there.”
“No. You’ll stay close to us. I don’t need you getting into any more trouble.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
As we headed back to the car, Carlos pulled me alongside and whispered, “Just how deep was that puddle, anyway?” I didn’t answer, but the smirk on Lilith’s and Dominic’s face told me they had figured it out easily enough.
We got to the barn, and as expected found it empty. Gone were the rows of spectator seats where the town’s people gasped in horror at Lilith’s stunning admission that she was a witch; the wooden planks off to the side where a jury of twelve sat in pre-judgment of her; the elevated desk that served as the magistrate’s bench and the crude pen they called the witch’s box.
The only signs that anyone had recently been there at all were the few still-burning lanterns, a woman’s poke bonnet freshly laundered and a child’s stuffed animal toy, still sticky with lollypop goo on its purple fur.
“That’s Annie’s,” said Lilith, pointing at the stuffed toy Dominic now held. “Can you believe the children were part of this, too?”
“That’s how it works,” I said. “It’s how all prejudices take hold. Kids learn it from adults at an early age before they can decide for themselves what’s right and what’s wrong. Then they grow up and follow the examples of their fathers. It’s the reason persecution still exists today, not just here in Salem, but in Africa, the Middle East, the Baltic’s; hell, anywhere you
find people. Discrimination and persecution are kissing cousins. Where one seeks to isolate, the other seeks to eliminate. It’s a learned acquisition, Lilith, so don’t hate those two young girls for it.”
She looked at me and scoffed. “Hell, I don’t hate those girls for it.”
“You don’t?”
“No. I just hate all little snot-nosed boys and girls. I think people should get puppies instead. They’re quicker to potty train and they pretty much stop whining after six months.”
I shook my head and turned away. “Let’s go home,” I said to the others. “I think that with Putnam and Hilton gone we’ve seen the end of Salem’s witch hunting days.”
“Hallelujah,” said Dominic. “Salem sure looks like a nice town to visit….”
“But there’s no place like New Castle,” Carlos finished.
I slapped them both on the back. “Amen.”
Dominic Spinelli:
There are a few really great memories that I will take to my grave, I’m sure, but none greater than that of bursting into Our Lady of Grace church in Salem and seeing Lilith Adams standing there in her most unbelievably sweet birthday suit.
Lady of Grace, man did they get that name right. I know I should have looked away like Carlos did, but so help me, God, I simply couldn’t. If I live to be a hundred, I believe I shall never behold a more glorious sight. I swear, sometimes I think Tony doesn’t appreciate what he has with Lilith, and I’m sure Carlos would agree if he weren’t so obsequious to Tony most of the time. If Lilith were my girlfriend I would…well, let’s just say that I wouldn’t take her for granted the way I think Tony does at times.
I suppose this is why I did what I did the day after we got back from Salem. It was about eight in the morning and I was on my way to pick up Tony to give him a lift to work. I had just pulled up across the street from their place when I spotted Lilith leaving the apartment, carrying a large brown box.
