Harry enters a passageway I haven’t noticed. Above it I see an inscription. GUARDIAN ANGEL. She becomes shadow, merges with the darkness.
I call but she won’t look back. I try to go to her, but my body is frozen, nothing moves but the tears down my cheeks.
My companion transforms. Dark feathered wings sprout from her back, and her face grows pale and deeply creviced. Her eyes congeal into chunks of stone. As I stare into them the irises go clear and color drains from the brows and lashes. A white streak appears in her hair and races backward, separating a flap of scalp and throwing it high into the air. The tissue flutters to the floor and flies swarm from the window and settle on it.
“The order must not be ignored.” The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere.
The dreamscape shifts to the low country. Long rays of sun slant through Spanish moss, and giant shadows dance between the trees. It is hot and I am digging. I sweat as I scoop mud the color of dried blood and fling it to a mound behind me.
The blade hits something and I scrape the edges, carefully revealing the form. White fur clotted with brick-red clay. I follow the arch of the back. A hand with long, red nails. I work my way up the arm. Cowboy fringe. Everything shimmers in the intense heat.
I see Harry’s face and scream.
* * *
Heart pounding and bathed in sweat, I sat upright. It took me a moment to reconnect.
Montreal. Bedroom. Ice storm.
The light still burned and the room was quiet. I checked the clock. Three forty-two.
Calm down. A dream is just a dream. It reflects fears and anxieties, not reality.
Then another thought. Ryan’s call. Had I slept through it?
I threw back the quilt and moved to the living room. The answering machine was dark.
Back in the bedroom, I took off my damp clothes. As I dropped the sweatpants to the floor I could see fingernail-shaped moons in the flesh of my palms. I dressed in jeans and a heavy sweater.
More sleep did not seem likely, so I went to the kitchen and set water to boil. I felt queasy from the dream. I didn’t want to bring it back, but the vision had knocked something loose in my mind, and I needed to make sense of it. I took my tea to the sofa.
My dreams as a rule are not particularly wondrous nor frightening or grotesque. They are of two types.
Most commonly, I cannot dial the phone, see the road, catch the plane. I must take an exam but have never attended the class. Piece of cake: anxiety.
Less frequently the message is more baffling. My subconscious sifts material that my conscious mind has amassed, and weaves it into surreal tableaux. I am left to interpret what my psyche is saying.
Tonight’s nightmare was clearly of the cryptic type. I closed my eyes to see what I could decode. Images flashed, like glimpses through a picket fence.
Amalie Provencher’s computer face.
The dead babies.
A winged Daisy Jeannotte. I remembered my words to Ryan. Was she truly an angel of death?
The church. It resembled the convent at Lac Memphrémagog. Why was my brain beaming that to me?
Élisabeth Nicolet.
Harry, beckoning for help, then disappearing into a dark tunnel. Harry, dead with Birdie. Was Harry at serious risk?
A reluctant bride. What the hell did that mean? Was Élisabeth held against her will? Was that part of her saintly truth?
I had no time to sort it further, for just then the doorbell sounded. Friend or foe, I wondered as I stumbled to the security panel and picked up the handset.
Ryan’s tall, lanky frame filled the screen. I buzzed him in and watched through the peephole as he trudged up the corridor. He looked like a survivor of the Trail of Tears.
“You look exhausted.”
“It’s been a long one and we’re still in overtime. I’m on my own, thanks to the storm.”
Ryan wiped his boots and unzipped his parka. Ice cascaded to the floor when he pulled off his tuque. He didn’t question why I was dressed at four o’clock in the morning, and I didn’t ask why he was dropping in at that hour.
“Baker’s found Kathryn. She had a last-minute change of mind and bailed on Owens.”
“The baby?” My heart raced.
“He’s there too.”
“Where?”
“Got coffee?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Ryan threw his hat on the hall table and followed me to the kitchen. He talked as I ground beans and measured water.
“She’s been in hiding with some guy named Espinoza. Remember the neighbor who called Social Services about Owens?”
“I thought the neighbor was dead.”
“She is. This is her son. He’s one of the faithful, but he holds a day job and lives down the road in Mama’s house.”
“How did Kathryn get Carlie?”
“He was already there. Ready for this? Someone drove the vans to Charleston while the group went to ground in the Espinoza house. They were all on the island the whole time. Then, when the heat cooled they left.”
“How?”
“They split up and everybody boogied to a different tune. Some were picked up by boat, others were smuggled in pickups and car trunks. Seems Owens has quite an underground. And like schmucks, we just focused on the vans.”
I handed him a steaming mug.
“Kathryn was supposed to go with Espinoza and some other guy, but she talked him into staying put.”
“Where’s the other guy?”
“Espinoza turns into igneous rock on that topic.”
“Where did everyone go?” My throat felt tight. I already knew the answer.
“I think they’re here.”
I said nothing.
“Kathryn isn’t sure where they were heading, but she knows it involved a border crossing. They’re traveling in twos and threes and they’ve got directions for roads that aren’t patrolled.”
“Where?”
“She thinks she heard talk of Vermont. The highway patrol and INS have been alerted, but it’s probably too late. They’ve had almost three days and Canada isn’t exactly Libya when it comes to border security.”
Ryan sipped his coffee.
“Kathryn claims she didn’t pay much attention because she never thought they’d really go. But she is clear on one thing. When they find this guardian angel, everyone will die.”
I began wiping the counter, though it was already clean.
For a long time neither of us spoke. Then,
“Any word from your sister?”
My stomach constricted anew. “No.”
When he spoke again his voice had softened.
“Baker’s boys found something in the Saint Helena compound.”
“What?” Fear shot through me.
“A letter to Owens. In it someone named Daniel is discussing Inner Life Empowerment.” I felt a hand on my shoulder. “It looks like the organization was a front, or else Owens’ followers infiltrated the courses. That part’s not clear, but what is clear is that they used ILE to recruit.”
“Oh, my God.”
“The letter’s dated about two months ago, but there’s nothing to indicate where it came from. The wording’s vague, but it sounds like there was some sort of quota to be met, and this Daniel is promising he’ll deliver.”
“How?” I could hardly speak.
“He doesn’t say. There’s nothing else that makes reference to ILE. Just that one letter.”
The dream slammed back in vivid detail and I felt ice slide through my veins.
“They’ve got Harry!” I said with trembling lips. “I have to find her!”
“We will.”
I told him about Kit’s call.
“Shit.”
“How can these people remain invisible for years, then we turn over their rock and they slither away and vanish?” My voice was quavery.
Ryan set down his mug and turned me around with both hands. I was squeezing the sponge so hard it made small hissing sounds
.
“There’s no trail because these people have a tremendous source of clandestine income. They deal exclusively in cash but don’t seem to be involved in anything illegal.”
“Except murder!” I wanted to pace but Ryan held me firmly.
“What I’m saying is these assholes can’t be tied to drugs or theft or credit card scams. There’s no money trail and no evidence of crime, and that’s usually where the break comes.” His eyes were hard. “But they’ve fucked up badly by coming into my backyard and I’m going to nail the rabid little pricks.”
I ripped free of his grasp and threw the sponge across the kitchen.
“What did Jeannotte say?”
“I tried her office, then staked her pad. No-show at either place. Don’t forget I’m working this alone, Brennan. This storm has shut down the province.”
“What did you find out about Jennifer Cannon and Amalie Provencher?”
“The university is pulling the usual student-privacy crap. They won’t release a thing without a court order.”
That did it. I pushed past him and went to the bedroom. I was pulling on wool socks when he appeared in the doorway.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to get some answers from Anna Goyette, then I’m going to find my sister.”
“Whoa, scout. There’s a blanket of polar ice out there.”
“I’ll manage.”
“In a five-year-old Mazda?”
I was shaking so badly I couldn’t lace my boots. I stopped, untangled the knot, and crisscrossed the cord carefully through the prongs. Then I did the other foot, stood, and turned to Ryan.
“I am not going to sit here and allow these fanatics to murder my sister. They may be consumed with suicidal obsession, but they are not taking Harry with them. With or without you I’m going to find her, Ryan. And I’m going to do it now!”
For a full minute he simply stared. Then he breathed deeply, exhaled through his nose, and opened his mouth to speak.
It was then the lights flared, dimmed, and died.
33
THE FLOOR OF RYAN’S JEEP WAS WET WITH MELTED SLUSH. THE wipers slapped back and forth, now and then skipping on a patch of ice. In the fans of cleared windshield I could see millions of silvery slivers slicing through the beams from our headlights.
Centre-Ville was dark and deserted. No street or building lights, no neon signs, no traffic signals. The only cars I saw were police cruisers. Yellow tape cordoned off sidewalks adjacent to high-rises to prevent injuries from falling ice. I wondered how many people would really try to go to work today. Now and then I heard a crack, then a frozen sheet exploded on the pavement. The landscape brought to mind news clips of Sarajevo, and I pictured my neighbors hunkered in cold, dark rooms.
Ryan was blizzard driving, shoulders tense, fingers tightly clutching the wheel. He kept the speed low and even, accelerating gradually and easing off the gas well in advance of intersections. Even so we fishtailed often. Ryan was right to drive his Jeep. The cruisers we saw were sliding more than rolling.
We crawled up rue Guy and turned east onto Docteur-Penfield. Above us I could see Montréal General glowing under the power of its own generator. My fingers strangled the armrest on the right, and my left hand was in a fist.
“It’s colder than crap. Why isn’t this snow?” I snapped. Tension and fear were showing.
Ryan’s eyes never left the road.
“According to the radio there’s some sort of inversion working, so it’s warmer in the clouds than on the ground. The stuff is forming as rain, but freezing when it gets down here. The weight of the ice is taking out whole power stations.”
“When is it going to let up?”
“The weather guy says the system is stuck and going nowhere.”
I closed my eyes and focused on sound. Defroster. Wipers. Whistling wind. My pounding heart.
The car swerved and my lids flew open. I unclenched a hand and punched the radio.
The voice was solemn but reassuring. Much of the province was without electricity, and Hydro-Québec had three thousand employees on the job. Crews would work around the clock, but no one could say when the lines would be repaired.
The transformer serving Centre-Ville had blown because of overload, but was being given top priority. The filtration plant was down and residents were advised to boil their water.
Tough without power, I thought.
Shelters had been set up, and police would start going door to door at dawn to locate stranded seniors. Many roads were closed and motorists were advised to stay home.
I clicked the radio off, desperately wishing I were at home. With my sister. The thought of Harry set something pounding behind my left eye.
Ignore the headache and think, Brennan. You’ll be of no use if you become distracted.
The Goyettes lived in an area known as the Plateau, so we cut north, then east on avenue des Pins. Uphill, I could see lights at Royal Victoria Hospital. Below us McGill was a black swatch, beyond that the city and waterfront, where the only thing visible was Place Ville-Marie.
Ryan turned north on St-Denis. Normally teaming with shoppers and tourists, the street was abandoned to the ice and wind. A translucence blanketed everything, obliterating the names of boutiques and bistros.
At Mont-Royal we headed east again, turned south on Christophe Colomb, and a decade later pulled up at the address Anna had given me. The building was a typical Montreal three-flat, bayed in front, with narrow metal stairs sweeping to the second floor. Ryan nosed the Jeep toward the curb and left it in the street.
When we got out the ice stung my cheeks like tiny cinders and brought tears to my eyes. Head down, we climbed to the Goyette flat, slipping and sliding on the frozen steps. The bell was encased in solid gray, so I pounded on the door. In a moment the curtain moved and Anna’s face appeared. Through the frosted pane I could see her head wag from side to side.
“Open the door, Anna!” I shouted.
The head shaking intensified, but I was not in a mood to negotiate.
“Open the goddam door!”
She went still, and a hand flew to her ear. She stepped back and I expected her to disappear. Instead, I heard the sound of a key, then the door opened a crack.
I didn’t wait. I pushed hard and Ryan and I were inside before she could react.
Anna backed away and stood with arms crossed, hands clutching the sleeves of her jacket. An oil lamp sputtered on a small wooden table, sending shadows twitching high up the walls of the narrow hallway.
“Why can’t you all just leave me alone?” Her eyes looked huge in the flickering light.
“I need your help, Anna.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I told her the same thing. I can’t do it. They’ll find me.” Her voice trembled and I saw real fear on her face. The look sent a shaft straight to my heart. I’d seen it before. A friend, terrified by a stalker. I’d convinced her the danger wasn’t real and she died because of it.
“Told who?” I wondered where her mother was.
“Dr. Jeannotte.”
“She was here?”
A nod.
“When?”
“Several hours ago. I was sleeping.”
“What did she want?”
Her eyes flicked to Ryan, then dropped to the floor.
“She asked odd questions. She wanted to know if I’d been seeing anyone from Amalie’s group. I think she was going to the country, to the place I did the workshop. I—she hit me. I never had someone hit me like that. She was like a crazy person. I’d never seen her that way.”
I heard anguish and shame in her voice, as if the attack were somehow her fault. She looked so small standing in the dark that I went to her and wrapped my arms around her.
“Don’t blame yourself, Anna.”
Her shoulders began to heave and I stroked her hair. It shimmered in the flickering lamplight.
�
��I would have helped her, but I honestly don’t remember. I—it was one of my bad times.”
“I know, but I want you to go back to that time and think hard. Think of everything you remember about where you were.”
“I’ve tried. It just isn’t there.”
I wanted to shake her, to jar loose the information that would save my sister. I remembered a course in child psychology. No abstracts, ask specific questions. Gently, I pushed her to arm’s length and raised her chin with my hand.
“When you went to the workshop did you leave from school?”
“No. They picked me up here.”
“Which way did you turn off from your street?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you remember how you left town?”
“No.”
Abstract, Brennan.
“Did you cross a bridge?”
Her eyes narrowed, then she nodded.
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. Wait, I remember an island with lots of tall buildings.”
“Île des Sœurs,” said Ryan.
“Yes.” Her eyes opened wide. “Someone made a joke about nuns living in the condos. You know, sœurs. Sisters.”
“The Champlain Bridge,” said Ryan.
“How far was the farm?”
“I—”
“How long were you in the van?”
“About forty-five minutes. Yeah. When we got there the driver bragged that he’d made it in less then an hour.”
“What did you see when you got out of the van?”
Again I saw doubt in her eyes. Then, slowly, as if she were describing a Rorschach spatter,
“Right before we got there I remember a big tower with lots of wires and antennae and disks. And then a tiny little house. Someone probably built it for their kids to wait for the school bus. I remember thinking it was made of gingerbread and decorated with frosting.”
At that moment a face materialized behind Anna. It wore no makeup and looked shiny and pale in the flickering light.
“Who are you? Why do you come in the middle of the night?” The English was heavily accented.
Without waiting for an answer the woman grabbed Anna’s wrist and pulled the girl behind her.
“You leave my daughter alone.”
“Mrs. Goyette, I believe people are going to die. Anna may be able to help save them.”
Death Du Jour tb-2 Page 34
