A Watch of Weeping Angels (Devecheaux Antiques & Haunted Things Book 3)

by M. L. Bullock

  Not this time. This time would be different because I loved my Chloe far more than I ever loved myself. Harry too. I loved him so much. Maybe I would call him or text him. Let him know where I was staying at least.

  Maybe.

  I’d figure it out later. For now, I wanted to get as far away from that fire as possible. Distance didn’t mean safety, but my heart demanded it. I needed distance from everyone and everything.

  “You can’t have her! I hope you’re listening because you cannot have her!” I cried all the way to the Hilton. I was still crying when we went inside.

  Chapter Eleven—Henri

  “Thanks, Aggie. Thanks so much,” I said as I collapsed on the couch. “This is the worst scenario ever. I guess I should call Sierra and let her know that this has escalated in a bad way.” I rubbed my forehead against the migraine that threatened to blind me. This had to be the worst day of my life.

  I almost lost my entire family. And Detra Ann was right, this was all my fault. All of it! I didn’t care that she had said she was interested in those statues—I’m the one who talked to that man, told him we’d take them. It was me.

  “She’s on it. You know Detra Ann didn’t mean what she said. She’s just worried about Chloe, that’s all. You can’t take anything she says seriously right now. She’s in shock, Henri. And it’s not on you—it’s on me. Sierra told me to leave the thing alone, but I had to try it. I had to reach out. I thought I was strong enough, but all I did was make it worse. I’m terribly sorry, Henri. Truly I am.” The young woman placed the pillow and blanket on the couch and sat in the chair beside me.

  “We could spend all night passing blame, but the truth is I started this whole thing. The truth is I agreed to take the damn statues, I let the evil in. It’s on me!” I roared my truth and stomped to the window. I don’t know what I expected to happen. Definitely not this. I am too reckless. I know that. Lenore would agree with me. She would say, “Henri Devecheaux, you are nothing if not stupid.”

  “I don’t pretend to understand the dynamics of your relationship, but I know the both of you are good people and you’ll work this out. Your wife is afraid, and I can’t say I blame her. This statue, it’s not your ordinary haunted item, but there’s no way anyone could have known that. How were we supposed to know? Having said that, Detra Ann is right to be concerned. Phoenix only had peripheral contact with the statue, and it’s affecting him too. There’s a boy, at least I think he was a boy, he encountered this thing in the cemetery. But the boy wasn’t right before the encounter. I think maybe that’s why…”

  “Whoa, whoa! What are you saying? You’ve seen this boy?” The fine hairs on my arms were standing up, and I felt like the whole universe was listening to this conversation. “Tell me what you know. Don’t leave anything out.”

  Aggie sank deeper into the chair and rubbed her arms. Okay, I wasn’t the only one experiencing this weirdness. I could tell she had something to say, but it wasn’t going to be easy to tell it. But I had to know. If I was going to stop this disaster, I would have to know all the details.

  “This is my fault, Henri. I touched the statue. I wanted to connect, to have a vision, to help, but I made it worse. Not you, but me. You know what, before I dive in, maybe you should call Detra Ann. Please let her know you’re here. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding between the three of us. Please? How about a soda?”

  “Sounds good. Thank you.” Aggie had a point. Best to prevent any problems. I hoped and prayed that Detra Ann would go home to her mother. I’d hear about it later from Mrs. Dowd, but at least my wife and daughter would be safe. I called my wife, but she did not answer. I decided to text her. Sometimes Detra Ann would respond to a text before she would respond to a phone call. I left an awkward voicemail and then sent her a text message.

  Please let me know you two are okay. I am at the apartment. Aggie has a pull-out couch.

  By the time Aggie returned with the iced drinks, Detra Ann had texted me back.

  At the Hilton. Chloe is asleep. We’re okay.

  I didn’t text her again. Maybe by the morning she would be willing to talk. Willing to hear what I was about to hear. Aggie had done something, but what?

  “Is she alright?”

  “Yeah, but she’s pretty upset. Did she tell you anything? How was it that you got there so fast? Did she call you?”

  “Phoenix had a vision. He was being influenced by a being…”

  “The Soul Collector,” I answered for her. Her heavily lined eyes widened, and she nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah, that’s a good description of him. Okay, the Soul Collector. Sierra sensed him, I think. She knew and understood the danger before I did, and she was worried that by using my abilities to ‘feel’ the statue I would give it more power. I think I did that, sadly enough. This weeping angel, it is under the control of this entity.”

  “Wait, you said Phoenix had a vision?”

  “Yes, and it is trying to influence him to do bad things. Really bad things. One minute he was the kid, and the next he was the Soul Collector. Man, this thing is strong. It felt comfortable enough with Phoenix to show him a picture of her, that he wanted her. That’s how we knew it had to be Chloe. This spirit has its eye on your daughter. I believe that with all my soul. He preys on children, the weak, the young. It’s devilish. He’s devilish, for lack of a better word.”

  I heard a sudden crashing sound, a noise so loud it shook the floor beneath my feet. Aggie must have heard it too because she was on her feet, like a cat on a hot tin roof. Instinctively, I raced toward the door. I fumbled with the lock but managed to get it open. Aggie was on my heels.

  “Wait a second! What if someone is breaking in? Shouldn’t we call the cops?” I didn’t heed her warning. I’d been through too many emotions tonight. I couldn’t hold my wife and daughter, but I damn sure wasn’t going to surrender my shop without a fight.

  “Stay upstairs!” I whispered back to her, but she wasn’t listening. The two of us sounded like a herd of elephants tromping down the narrow-enclosed staircase.

  “Oh, God! I smell smoke, Henri. Can you smell it?”

  I didn’t have a chance to answer her. As I opened the door, my vision caught a piece of paper floating through the air—and it was on fire. I flicked the light switch as I entered the shop. Nothing happened. Was the power out down here? I stared at the piece of paper as it fluttered to the floor leaving nothing but cinders.

  “Where did that come from? Did you see it?”

  “Yes, I saw it. I have no idea where it came from. It smells like a serious fire. Could the outside be on fire? Should I go check?”

  Aggie didn’t wait for me to answer. I joined her on the sidewalk, but there wasn’t a thing to see. Man, what was going on? Was this entity that almost burned my house down coming after my business too?

  It’s that statue. That damn statue was the cause of all this.

  I went back inside and went to the workroom. I flipped the workroom switch, but it wasn’t working either.

  “Hold on a second! I’ve got my phone.” Aggie dug her phone out of her pocket and hit the flashlight app. I couldn’t believe it, but the sheet was off the statue. This wasn’t how I left it.

  “Did you remove the cloth?”

  “Earlier, but I put the covering back on it. And it’s at a different angle. I don’t remember it like this. It’s facing the door—it’s facing us!” Aggie waved the phone and stepped closer to the statue. It was clearly wet with tears, or something. And as if we’d triggered a switch by drawing closer, the sounds of a child crying filled the workroom. Pitiful, sorrowful, hard to hear. But also deceitful.

  Not a real child. Not a real child, my soul screamed in warning, but the sound of it broke my heart. Too many lives were on the line.

  “I need you to look, Aggie. I shouldn’t ask, but we’re being threatened. My family, my friends, my business, my home. Too many threats. Please try to make contact. I know I shouldn’t ask you to do this
, but I have no choice. I can’t wait for Sierra. This is urgent.”

  “I know it is. I’ll do it because I love you guys. I’m not great at it, but I’ll try. Please don’t hold it against me if I get it wrong. Or make it worse. I sure don’t want to bring more trouble to you guys. You know, it might be better if I wait for Patrice. She’s pretty strong, you know.”

  “We can’t wait. This Soul Collector is setting fires. It wants my daughter! Please, try. For us.”

  Aggie nodded and handed me the phone. “I’ll give it a shot, Henri. For all of us.” With a gentle smile, she placed her hands on the head of the statue. I focused the light on her. She didn’t appear troubled at all. In fact, she maintained her peaceful expression as she began to whisper. Who was she talking to? Was she praying? That wasn’t a bad idea, I supposed.

  And then suddenly, Aggie began to cry...

  Chapter Twelve—Randall

  “Randall,” the man said, “you didn’t do your chores again, boy. You know what that will cost you.”

  The skinny child shrank back into the corner of the barn. “No, Father, I remembered. I did them!” The sweet smell of hay mingled with the mustiness of the barn.

  “Don’t lie to me, boy!” the man grunted, grabbing the boy by the arm, shaking him out of the corner. “Lying is a sin and will not be tolerated in this home.”

  “No, Father. I am not lying.”

  The man’s dark eyes grew even darker. “Lies! The Lord detests lying lips, and here you are dishonoring your father. Another sin. You are a sinner, aren’t you, boy? You are truly your mother’s evil spawn. She has always been a liar. Do you want to burn in hell?”

  “No,” the boy replied with a stern and solemn look. Randall tried to hide his fear, but he was terrified despite his experience with his cruel father. He knew what to expect, but he didn’t want to endure another beating. This all had to end. It had to. “I don’t want to burn in hell.”

  “You will be cast into that furnace of fire, forever, if you do not repent this moment! Confession—it’s good for your soul.” He shook the young boy again and then angrily threw him to the ground. Turning his back on the boy, he reached for the whip that hung in the horse stall. Randall winced as the crack of the whip hit him across his bare, scarred back. “Repent for your lying tongue!”

  Blood dripped down the boy’s back, hitting the hay that lay on the ground. “I repent,” the boy moaned through his tears. It wasn’t the first time that Randall had been in this position, lying on the ground in his own blood.

  After several lashes, the man dropped the whip on the ground beside the boy. He was heaving from exhaustion. The man wasn’t in the best of health, but he always found the energy to administer cruel justice. “You are forgiven; with your blood, you are forgiven. Turn yourself right, boy, before it’s too late. I fear there is no hope for you. You keep repeating offenses against God and against me. Mind your soul before it’s lost to the devil for good.”

  And then his father turned away. He had horses to feed and brush, things to do. Things that were far more important to him.

  That’s right. I’m just another animal. Another thing to beat and punish and coerce.

  As the man walked into the shadows, the boy got up from the hay. The excruciating pain crisscrossed his body, but that didn’t stop him. He knew what he had to do. Randall reached for the matches. He hadn’t really used them except here and there, but now he had the desire to burn—burn the whole place down. Burn up his father. And maybe even his mother. Randall grabbed the kerosene lamp, took the cover off and struck a match.

  It lit immediately. His father didn’t even notice him. In his father’s mind, Randall had received his punishment and that was that. But not this time. No, not this time. Randall had the last laugh. He was no longer the victim—he was the one in charge. He had control of his destiny. No longer would he hunker down in pain and fear. No longer would he worry that he would be beaten or stabbed or starved.

  Randall ran his small hand across the top of the flame. The scalding heat gave him a curious thrill. Wiping the tears from his face, he studied the flame. He watched it dance, creating shadows across the worn barn wood. He knew what he had to do.

  And he’d done it. That day. His father had never seen it coming, but Randall burned him up. Burned up the horses too. He hadn’t thought about the animals before he heard them screaming. He regretted that, but it could not be helped. He was only one person. One boy.

  He would finish the job today. His Master wanted him to, and he had the courage. He had the wherewithal to get it done. His father had been dead for quite some time; he’d killed his father months ago. Maybe longer. He couldn’t remember. In fact, he couldn’t remember much at all. Not since the day his Master led him away from the cemetery. Had he died? Had he perished?

  Randall was certain that he had died, but his Master wanted more. Suddenly he was awake and his eyes were open. The one to whom he belonged demanded another soul. He preferred children, but his mother would do.

  She is like a child, the Master whispered to him. Silly and helpless. And she did you wrong, Randall. She knew, and she did nothing. She deserves this.

  The house was quiet as he approached. Only a solitary candle was lit in the downstairs window. Randall moved through the house quietly, making sure that nobody heard him.

  Slowly creeping up the stairs, he took the kerosene lamp with him and set it beside his sleeping mother. She looked like an angel, he thought, but looks could be deceiving.

  “Mother,” he whispered as a test. If she was awake, he wasn’t sure he could do this. The woman didn’t move. “Mother,” he called louder.

  She began to stir. “Randall, is that you? My boy? You were dead. I thought you died. How are you here?” She began to sob as she sat up in the bed.

  “Yes, Mother. It’s me.” He paused a moment. Did he want to get into a discussion with her? Did he really want to talk about any of this?

  “What are you doing here, son? Surely you are dead.”

  “I am very much dead, dead and gone, but I am not unhappy about it. Death set me free. No, don’t cry, Mother. There is no hope for me. Tears will avail you nothing, but I can’t let you get away with what you’ve done. You are full of sin and should be condemned!”

  His mother sat up stiffer and drew the sheets up around her as if they would protect her. “Randall! What are you talking about? You’re scaring me. You sound just like your father. You are dead! You shouldn’t be here, Randall!”

  “You knew what he was doing. You knew he beat me, Mother. You knew, and you did nothing. And that is your sin, Mother. You did not love me well. You did not protect me. You should know, Mother, that I killed him. I burned Father up. I sent him to hell.”

  “Randall! Why are you saying these wicked things?” she screamed at him. He smiled when she threw a pillow in his direction. It blew right through him and fell to the ground, a sad effect that only made her cry all the more.

  He would not be dissuaded. “It’s your turn. You’ll go to hell too.”

  “No, Randall. Stop it, son.” She swung the covers back and struggled to get out of the bed. She knew death was coming. She knew it, but she would not be able to get away from it.

  Randall threw the kerosene lamp on the floor, and flames engulfed the bed and spread quickly to her long nightgown. It licked her skin as she screamed, her hair melting before his eyes.

  “Now we will go to hell together! All of us together!” A primal scream erupted from his belly as he felt his body burning...burning for all eternity.

  And then he saw the man in black. He stomped toward Randall through the flames. They never touched him. His Master was stronger than the fire.

  Stronger than the flames.

  And now Randall would be strong too because he belonged to him. Once the pain was gone, it would all be better. He would never hurt again. He would never be weak or small or insignificant.

  He would be no more.

  Chapter
Thirteen—Aggie

  I pulled my hand away from the statue, all the while gasping for air. The poisonous-smelling smoke from the vision threatened to strangle me. How was that possible? Sierra was definitely right—I was in over my head.

  “What happened?” Henri asked hopefully. “Did you see anything?”

  “Yes. I did. Randall, the boy. He was influenced by the Soul Collector. He believed him! He killed his mother and father. The boy is dead, long dead. God, I need some water. Hey, the lights came on.”

  Henri retrieved a bottle of water from our mini fridge and cracked it open for me. I took a deep pull from it.

  “What else did you see?”

  Trying to catch my breath, I sat in the nearest chair. I felt weak and sick, like a newborn calf. My knees wobbled, and I thought I’d pass out. “Give me a minute.”

  I couldn’t believe what I’d seen. I didn’t trust it. Was it another twisted vision, or was this what really happened? “As I said, the boy—his name is Randall—well, his father was a real piece of work. He beat him within an inch of his life, Henri, and I think that’s what made him snap.”

  “Made him snap?”

  “Yeah, snap. He burned them up. His father and then his mother. This kid definitely had an affinity for burning things. Especially after his association with the Soul Collector. The kid was broken, and the spirit took advantage of it. This is going to sound crazy, but I think the entity, the Soul Collector, he lived in that cemetery.”

  “Oh, God!”

  I wiped tears from my eyes. I mean, despite the fact that the child was a psycho, Randall had gone through immeasurable torture. And all at the hands of his parents. “I’m guessing this happened because Randall felt like he was going to hell. I mean, the father seemed to literally beat that idea into him from what I gathered.”

  Henri paced back and forth. “You think this kid was abused? That’s how all this came about?”

  “No doubt he was, mentally and physically, but he is just one kid. The Soul Collector tricked him into murder, and maybe even suicide. I’m not sure how Randall died, but he presented himself as a ghost when he murdered his mother.”