Vigil

by Robert Masello

  And then she should call her gynecologist, and get an appointment to investigate this bleeding. No point bothering Dr. Weston with it. It was probably just the result of an infection of some kind—it had happened once before—and some antibiotics would wind up taking care of it. But it was one more thing to worry about until then.

  She settled even lower in the tub, the water rising over her shoulders. With one foot, she was able to reach out and slow the water from the tap even more, leaving it running at a warm trickle. She closed her eyes and tried again to clear her mind, but no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t do it—no matter how hard she tried, there was no way she could turn off the stream of thoughts that led, inevitably, inexorably, to the one thing she feared the most. Arius.

  Where was he now? What did he want from her? And how could she ever be rid of him?

  Involuntarily, her face twisted into a grimace, and she felt herself, even submerged in the hot water, seized with a cold dread.

  And a sense of being watched.

  She opened her eyes and glanced fearfully around the room. No one was there.

  But the bath water was tinged pink with blood and was just beginning to lap over the sides of the tub. What a mess, she thought, as she sat up and fumbled for the tap handle. She twisted it quickly, but the wrong way, and a stronger gush of water created an even greater spill. Damn.

  She turned it again, the right way this time, but it still wouldn’t shut off entirely. Maybe it just hadn’t been used enough yet; it was still sticky. She flicked the drain open, and now that was resisting her too. The only thing to do was to get out of the tub quickly, let the water level drop, and use some towels to mop up the puddle before it spread any wider. She was just about to do it when she got that feeling again—the feeling that she wasn’t alone.

  Her eyes jumped to the big, uncovered window, and even though it was dark outside and the freshly washed panes only reflected the inside of the bathroom, she sensed that there was movement behind them. Something, impossible as it seemed, was hovering in the air at the second-story level. Could it be a bird? A bat? Was there a tree branch, something she’d forgotten, that the wind might be blowing toward the glass?

  Her hand froze on the lip of the tub and as she watched—not believing her own eyes—she saw the bottom of the window shudder, as if it were being pried up from the other side. But the window, like everything else in the house, had been freshly painted, and it screeched as it was forced to go up.

  This isn’t happening, she told herself. This isn’t happening .

  And then it was.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Carter was relying more on his memory than on any sense of direction; he’d only been up to Ben and Abbie’s country house once before, and on that trip he’d been in the backseat the whole time, and not paying much attention.

  But his field training, apparently, hadn’t let him down. Even on that one occasion he must have been making mental notes on the terrain and the local landmarks. It was only now, as he got closer to the actual house, that he had to think especially long and hard about every turn in the road, every curve, and every intersection; he could not afford to make even a single mistake.

  The car, thank God, had had plenty of gas in it and ran like a dream. Before heading upstate, he’d wrestled Ezra into the backseat, then driven straight around the corner to the hospital’s emergency entrance. An orderly hurried out with a wheelchair, and Carter escorted them in to the reception desk. As quickly as he could, he gave them Ezra’s information—his name, address, home phone number—and an account of what had happened. “He fell against a curb, hard, and landed on his head.” It was as close as he felt he needed to come to the truth.

  When they’d asked about his insurance, Carter had said, “You know who Sam Metzger is?”

  The nurse said, “The real estate guy?”

  “Yes,” Carter replied. “This is his son.”

  Then he’d run back to the car and taken off.

  Traffic at this hour, fortunately, had been light, and once he was out of the city, nearly non-existent. He remembered the foundry, and then the gas station with the old-fashioned pumps. At a railroad crossing, where the old sign was pockmarked with bullet-holes, he recalled Ben making a joke about the local sport. He knew he was getting very close.

  Which only increased his dread. The whole way up to the house, he had tried to tell himself that everything would be fine, that up here Beth would have been out of harm’s way. He’d have called, but either Ben and Abbie hadn’t had the phone connected yet, or it was unlisted. The leopard-print pajama top rested on the front seat beside him, next to Maury’s Daily Racing Forms and cigar wrappers. She’d be fine. She’d be fast asleep in that upstairs bedroom, and the worst scare she’d get would be when he knocked on the front door of the house in the middle of the night.

  Ahead he saw a sizable pothole in the right lane, and he remembered that too. Ben had had to slow down and swerve around it.

  The big old tree, the one that had hung over the driveway, ought to be coming up soon.

  But what kind of plan did he have? He had to decide, and right now. Was he going to just drive up and knock on the door? Or would it be wiser to approach quietly, and get the lay of the land first?

  There it was, the old oak, and Carter slowed down. The stealthy approach—that would be the smart move. As he turned onto the drive, he cut his headlights. Down below, in a sort of hollow, he could see the house, and Abbie’s car parked out in front. So far, so good.

  But then he felt a bump, and his tires began to slip. He flicked on the lights again, but only in time to see a dark trench running along one side of the drive. The tires slipped deeper, and suddenly the car lurched as it went over the lip of the ditch and sank several feet into the ground. Carter clutched the steering wheel and hit the brake, but it was over almost as soon as it had begun. His knee banged into something—the emergency brake?—and his seat belt dug into his chest and shoulders. The car was settled into the bottom of the trench and tilted onto its right side. The headlights glared off the surrounding black dirt. But at least no airbag had gone off.

  What on earth . . . Carter turned off the ignition, then unfastened his seat belt and tried to push open the car door. But it was at such an odd angle that at first it wouldn’t go. He turned in the seat and pushed again, harder, and this time it swung open. He had to hold it there with one arm while he swung his legs out. He landed on something soft and round—an orange highway cone—as the door swung closed again. Had he missed the warning marker, turning into the driveway? Damn—he should never have cut the lights so soon.

  He had to scramble on all fours to get up and out of the ditch, and looking back he could see that the car was so deeply wedged, it would take a tow truck to haul it back out again.

  Turning toward the house, he could see a couple of lights still on, and out front a pile of building supplies. As he approached Abbie’s car, he noted that the new curtains and rods were still in the backseat. Somehow, he found that reassuring—as if everything, at least so far, had been going according to Beth and Abbie’s plan.

  Maybe it would all work out fine, after all. He’d arrived, it seemed, in time to avert any further disaster.

  After what had happened to Ezra, and now the car, he’d had all the catastrophes he could handle for one night.

  FORTY

  When the window banged up against the top of the frame, the panes of glass rattling, Beth shrank down, terrified, into the sheltering warmth of the bathtub. The water sloshed again over the rim of the tub.

  A cold blast of air blew into the room, stirring and thickening the lingering steam. And through it she could see, as if he had materialized from the blackness of the night itself, Arius, in his long black overcoat and his round, amber-colored glasses.

  I’ll always be able to find you, she heard, as if the words were echoing inside her very head.

  Beth was speechless, immobilized with fear.

&n
bsp; But don’t be afraid. He brushed his golden hair away from the upturned collar of his coat. I would never hurt you.

  This voice in her head was strangely soothing, intimate, confiding. But she knew, even now, not to trust it. She knew it was as sinister as it was seductive. She knew it was the voice of the devil.

  “You killed Joe Russo,” she murmured, her voice trembling.

  The angel made no reply.

  “You killed Bill Mitchell, too.”

  Again, nothing. But the steam, instead of dissipating in the cold air, seemed if anything to deepen and cling to him. The faucet continued to trickle into the tub, with an oddly merry sound.

  “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  I only want what you already have.

  Beth was dumbfounded. What could she have that he would want? What could she have that this creature couldn’t get on his own?

  As if he had intuited her question, too, Arius said, softly but aloud this time, “A soul.”

  “You want . . . my soul?”

  “Not for me,” he said, in the same silky, mellifluous tones. “For our children.”

  The very breath died in her throat, and her body, even in the hot bath water, shivered. The convulsions sent another ripple of water over the edge of the tub, spreading the puddle closer to where the angel’s feet, concealed by the mist, must be. She saw his eyes lower, and then he stepped back.

  “Are you not well?” Unless she was crazy, or this whole thing wasn’t happening at all, she could swear that she had heard genuine concern in his voice. But what would her health have to do with the water?

  She glanced into the tub. The water was still tinged, but only so very slightly, with her blood. Was that it?

  She splashed some more water up and over the rim, and waited to see if he stepped back again, and he did.

  Could he see the blood? Could he smell it? She knew that he could track her down, like a bloodhound—so maybe he could.

  But was it the water, or was it the blood? But then, she thought What does it matter? It had made him back off and that was enough for now. Maybe, she thought, her mind racing, she could throw out enough water, fast enough, to leap out of the tub and make a run for it.

  Which was when she heard Abbie’s voice from the foot of the stairs.

  “Beth? Are you okay up there?”

  Arius turned his head toward the closed door. His profile was so perfect, it was as if it were etched on a coin.

  “Get out!” Beth shouted from the tub. “Get out of the house!”

  “What?” Abbie called, and it sounded like she was mounting the spiral stairs.

  “Get out, Abbie!”

  “There’s a terrible draft down here,” she said, her voice coming closer. “Is there a window open?”

  Arius drifted toward the door and Beth shouted at him, “No! Leave her alone!”

  But he opened it and swiftly closed it again behind him, the steam billowing up against the back of the door as if it had wanted to follow him.

  Beth huddled in the water, straining to hear anything more, but the only sound now was the constant trickling of the bath water onto the cold white tiles. Her wet hair felt frozen to her forehead and the sides of her face. “Oh, Abbie,” she said to herself, as she struggled to keep her own horror in check, “run. Please, please run.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Carter walked softly onto the front porch, but before ringing the bell, he tried the door. It was soundly bolted, and that was a relief. Still, something kept him from ringing the doorbell or knocking. Call it undue caution, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to go inside, or God knows fall asleep, if he hadn’t done at least a little quick reconnaissance first.

  Making as little noise as he could—and if they hadn’t heard the sound of the car landing in the ditch, he suspected they wouldn’t hear him nosing around—he walked around to the back of the house. The master bedroom light was shining on the first floor, and upstairs, in the guest suite, the bathroom light was on; the bathroom window, he also noticed, was open awfully wide for such a cold night. Beth, he knew from experience, generally liked to turn a bathroom into a sauna, not an igloo. Crouching behind a bush, he looked back into the uncurtained window of the master suite.

  He could see Abbie on the big, brass bed, her arms thrown back, wearing a white nightgown twisted up around her thighs; the blankets were kicked down and trailed onto the floor, as if she’d been tossing and turning in her sleep. Nothing, at least from this vantage point, seemed amiss; she must have fallen asleep with the lights on. Carter did it himself all the time, waking up in the morning with a book folded open on his chest, and he felt a little guilty about spying on her now.

  But then something did seem to alter. There was a change in the light inside the room, as a shadow loomed on the wall above the brass headboard. Someone was in the room with her, but standing just out of sight. Please, he prayed, let it just be Beth. Or even Ben, who’d changed his plans and come to the country with them, after all. The shadow grew larger, and now he could see that no, it wasn’t Beth. Or Ben. It was a tall figure, stiff and straight as a marble column, with gleaming golden hair. And as he watched with mounting dread, the figure moved toward the bed and Abbie. Carter could see now that she wasn’t asleep, and her arms weren’t just thrown back—they were lashed somehow to the brass bedposts.

  What could he do? Should he shout an alarm, or smash the window? He looked around. There were some loose bricks scattered in the dirt, where Ben had told him an old patio had once been. He prized one up from the nearly frozen soil, but was suddenly distracted by a skittering sound from above. Loose debris sprinkled the dirt a few yards away. He looked up and saw a leg clambering over the windowsill and a bare foot scrabbling for purchase on the steeply sloping shingle roof. Another bit of broken twig fell from the roof.

  And then Beth, wearing only a short white robe, the one that he’d given her for Valentine’s Day, crawled onto the roof and looked desperately in all directions. The land behind the house sloped away, and the drop to the ground was easily twenty feet.

  Carter dropped the brick and scrambled away from the bush, waving his arms silently to catch her attention. Beth stopped, stunned—even from here he could see that her eyes were wild with fear—as he gestured for her to hold on. Don’t jump! he mouthed, Wait! then ran around to the front of the house again.

  Among the pile of boards and cinder blocks, he knew he’d seen a ladder. It was folded up on the ground, and the metal was cold and slick when he picked it up. Holding it well off the ground to keep from making any noise, he hauled it around to the back.

  Beth was clinging to the windowsill with both hands, and Carter had to wrestle with the ladder to get it to open. She started to slip, sending a spray of dirt and dead leaves off the shingles. He shoved the center hinge down with the flat of his hand, then set the ladder just below the bathroom window.

  It wasn’t tall enough.

  “Wait,” he said, hoping she could hear him, “wait.”

  He quickly climbed to the top, then reached out his hands. “Let yourself go,” he whispered. “I’ll catch you.”

  Beth let go with one hand, stretching it out toward Carter. He still couldn’t make contact. “You have to let go with the other hand, too,” he urged, and Beth reluctantly did—she slid a few feet, an old shingle ripping loose and curling up over her foot, and just as she started to lose her balance altogether, Carter was able to grab one hand.

  “Hang on!” he said, pulling her toward him, even as he teetered on the highest rung of the ladder; for a second, he thought they were both about to topple over. Then Beth dug her toes into the loose shingles and arrested her fall. He took a couple of steps down, guiding her onto the top of the ladder, then swiftly down the rungs.

  Once on the ground, he drew her into his arms; she was trembling, and her hair, as he kissed it, was wet and cold as ice. He pulled her robe closed, knotting the belt.

  “Abbie . . .” Beth whispered, �
�she’s still inside—”

  “I know.”

  “—with him,” she finished, shuddering.

  Carter knew he had to get Beth away, away from the house, to safety somewhere. But where, and how? There wasn’t another house in sight, and the Metzgers’ car wasn’t coming out of the ditch any time soon.

  “You don’t have Abbie’s car keys, do you?” knowing the answer before he’d even asked.

  “What? No.” Beth fumbled to be free. “We’ve got to help her.”

  “Beth, there’s nothing you can do,” Carter said. “Let’s get you safe, and then, I swear, I’ll come back and help Abbie.” But Beth was already staggering, like a punch-drunk fighter, toward the lighted window of the master bedroom.

  “Beth . . . stop,” he urged, following her.

  But they were now in the thin circle of light that fell from the window, and Beth stopped, staring into the bedroom, with its big brass bed, its matching end tables, its Oriental carpet. Carter looked too, but all he saw was a room with no one in it.

  “Oh . . . God,” Beth said, stepping closer, her eyes raised, and then Carter saw what she was looking at—up at the ceiling, turning slowly, like a great glowing star. Arius’s body had enveloped Abbie’s, suspending them both in the air above the bed. Her head hung back, as if she were unconscious, and her arms, bare save for what looked like a bathrobe belt hanging down from one wrist, dangled limply at her sides.

  Arius’s body pulsed with a golden light as he rocked her in his embrace. Carter’s mind flashed on dragonflies in a nature documentary he’d once seen, mating in midair, their wings beating feverishly as they hung in place.

  Beth had found the brick Carter had thought of throwing, and she was standing up.