“Way ahead of you,” Mark answered as he whipped out his notepad. He’d had his hands too busy to follow up on the Lacey lead earlier and now he was regretting it. A minute later the phone over at Cheyenne’s parents’ house was ringing. The mom answered, clearly having been awoken.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, this is Detective Walters. I apologize for calling so late. It’s very important that I speak with your daughter Lacey, though.”
“Then I suggest you call her,” the woman said, sounding upset.
“If you would be so kind to give me her phone number and address I’d be happy to contact her directly.”
“Just a minute.”
Five minutes later she finally came back on the line and he copied down the information she gave him. He hung up and grabbed his coffee. “She lives in an apartment complex just off campus. Let’s get over there and see if we can’t stop ourselves a witch.”
They all piled in Mark’s car and he used the lights and siren to blast his way across town. He turned them both off when he got a few blocks away from the apartment building.
“No need to let her know we’re coming,” Mark said.
Minutes later he was parking in front of her building. “She’s apartment 312. Should be on the third floor,” Mark commented as he headed for the stairs. He was moving slow. He had to admit that he still wasn’t operating at full capacity. He refused to go as far as admitting that the doctor would have been right to force him to stay in the hospital another day or two. He didn’t have time for that. He had a killer to stop and a wife to get back.
As Mark passed beneath one of the street lights a blond haired girl walked by him, wearing a gray university sweatshirt. She gazed at him with abnormally large eyes that matched the color of the T-shirt. She smiled at him and kept walking.
He, Trina, and Jeremiah made it to the stairs. Trina started up, followed by Jeremiah. Something was bothering Mark, though, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He stayed at the bottom for a moment, hesitating with his foot on the stair. It was more than just the fact that he was tired and didn’t want to climb.
“What is it?” Jeremiah asked, turning around.
That’s when it hit him. “Freaky Eyes,” he blurted out.
“What?”
“That was the girl Lizzie told her roommate about.”
He turned and sprinted back toward the parking lot, eyes darting back and forth as he looked for the girl in the sweatshirt. Jeremiah passed him easily and Mark came to a halt as he watched the rabbi run partway down the street in one direction then turn and run back. He shook his head and Mark cursed. She was gone and he had no idea which direction to even look for her. Furious at himself he headed back to the apartment building, Jeremiah a couple steps ahead of him.
When Mark finally made it up the three flights of stairs he was dizzy and out of breath. He probably should have stayed in the hospital and trusted Liam to be his eyes and ears. That was part of his problem, though. He always preferred to do things himself when he could. That drive had led him back to that basement and caused Traci to leave him.
He tried to push those thoughts from his mind. They weren’t helpful at the moment and he needed to focus.
Trina and Jeremiah were already inside apartment 312, although he did not ask how. Trina was holding up a cloak and what looked like a ceremonial dagger. Jeremiah on the other hand appeared to be transfixed by something on the television.
“This is her place,” Trina said.
Mark swore. “We missed her. She was the girl in the sweatshirt who walked right past us. How are we supposed to find her now?”
“That’s not our only problem,” Jeremiah said quietly.
“What are you talking about?”
“You should come look at this.”
Mark and Trina walked over to join Jeremiah in front of the television.
“You remember how you said a while back that we need to get ahead of this?”
“Yes.”
“We’re too late,” Jeremiah said.
It was a clip from the late news and Mark recognized the dilapidated house behind the newscaster. He didn’t have to read the scroll at the bottom to realize it was bad, but he read it anyway.
Witch coven performing human sacrifices in Pine Springs, CA. Police have no leads.
“How did this get out?” Jeremiah asked.
“No clue,” Mark admitted as the horror of it all flooded through him. “None of my people would have talked.”
“Well, someone has. And now we’re all in for it.”
19
National media descended the next morning and it threw them all into chaos as predicted. Cindy was just grateful that both she and Jeremiah seemed to be miraculously escaping attention. Mark and Trina, on the other hand, were right in the middle of it.
Jeremiah expressed concern that sooner or later the synagogue could get sucked in if the reporters discovered that one of the kids from there had run away a few days earlier. More than that, though, he was starting to express concern that Meghan might not have actually run away, but that she had been snatched.
Cindy wasn’t sure which was worse, the thought that Meghan’s life might be in danger or that someone close to the girl was a dark witch who was willing to sacrifice her.
When Sunday rolled around she was grateful to find that no reporters had descended on the church. She was also more than a little surprised to find out how many of the kids had come with their work clothes, still prepared to spend the day finishing the haunted house. She and Jeremiah lent their efforts as well and as she watched the kids she quickly realized that many of them were scared about what was happening in Pine Springs but that they were focusing on the haunted house to keep their minds off of the real world horrors.
“Rabbi,” one of the kids said, coming up to them while they were sitting down taking a break and drinking sodas.
“What is it, Zac?”
“You are coming to our dress rehearsal Tuesday night, right? A lot of us are counting on you to give us some last minute pointers. We’ve got some parents coming through as guests and we want to make sure we scare them silly.”
“I wouldn’t miss it, Zac,” Jeremiah said with a smile.
Zac nodded solemnly and turned back to the others. “Told you he’s coming!” he bellowed, before running off.
“That was subtle,” Cindy said, barely controlling a laugh.
“He was one of the ones who was with me at Green Pastures,” Jeremiah said. “Apparently I made an impression.”
“You know that’s one of the things we haven’t talked about in light of everything I now know about you,” she said thoughtfully.
“We can, if you want. These kids don’t seem like they’re going to be forgetting any time soon.”
“It’s a bit memorable when someone saves your life. At least, that’s what I’ve heard,” she said, teasing a little.
He grinned at her and one of the younger boys who was resting nearby stared at them and then made a kissy face.
“Get back to work!” Jeremiah barked at him.
The kid jumped up and ran over to help two other boys with a black curtain they were trying to hang.
“You’re coming to the dress rehearsal, right?” Jeremiah asked her.
“Oh no, count me out. Haunted houses are definitely not my thing.”
“But the kids have worked so hard on it.”
“Tell you what, I’ll take a look at some of the scenes today when they’ve got it all up and while all the lights are still on and no one is going to jump out at me.”
“Fair enough.”
“You sound pretty proud of them and what they’re doing. I thought you didn’t want to be involved,” she said.
Jeremiah sighed. “It’s...complicated.”
Wildman was in his glory, running here, there, and everywhere. One minute he was shouting directions, the next he was giving encouragement. He was quoting the scriptures from which some of their scene
s had been taken with fiendish glee the rest of the time. She hoped for his sake that everything went well. Halloween itself was on Saturday night and the kids were going to be running the attraction Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.
Thinking about Halloween made her think of her costume which led her to wondering what Jeremiah had decided to go as. She was just about to ask him when a girl walked up to him, clearly distressed.
“What’s wrong, Sarah?” he asked.
She recognized the name. This was the girl whose younger sister was missing.
“Brenda was supposed to be here today and she hasn’t shown up.”
“Brenda’s been through a lot this week, maybe she was exhausted and slept in,” Cindy said gently.
Sarah shook her head. “I talked to her this morning while she was getting ready for church. I’ve been calling her all afternoon and she’s not picking up. This haunted house has been the only thing keeping her going. Me, too,” she admitted quietly.
Cindy impulsively stood up and hugged the girl. “Tell you what? After we’re all done here Pastor Wyman and I will go check on her, okay?”
“Thank you,” Sarah said.
True to her word, Cindy did walk through the maze immediately after the last kids had been picked up. Even with the lights on and no one jumping out at her it was scary. When she emerged out the other end she gave Wildman the thumbs up.
“Now imagine it dark with fog and people,” he said enthusiastically.
“No, I’m good imagining it just as it is now,” she said.
They locked up the church campus and then headed out to the parking lot with Jeremiah. Daves’s car was out of the shop so he offered to drive and then drop Cindy back off at the church. She couldn’t be sure, but it almost looked like Jeremiah was glaring at Mark again. She decided she had to be crazy.
“Checking in on Brenda is a nice thing,” Dave said once they were on the road.
“I hope so. I know she didn’t want us dropping her off at home the other day because her family doesn’t understand her participation at church. Still, Sarah’s worried and that made me worried.”
“Given that she just lost a friend less than a week ago I think we’re doing the right thing. Hopefully her family will see that as well. Who knows, maybe they actually decided to do something nice for her today. A family outing or something.”
“Could be,” Cindy said, although she kind of doubted it.
After a few minutes they turned onto Brenda’s street. Cindy stared out the window at the rundown homes, remembering her first trip here with Brenda, two other girls, and the Thanksgiving dinner. She remembered how rundown it had been. Somehow, though, things were looking far too familiar, as if it hadn’t been nearly two years since she’d seen some of the houses she was driving by.
As Dave pulled over to the curb she looked farther down the street and suddenly it hit her. They were on the same street as the house where Cheyenne had been killed.
The hair stood up all over her body at the realization and she gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Dave asked.
She pointed up the street. “The house where Cheyenne was found dead is just a block that way.”
“Oh man, are you sure?” Dave asked, alarm filling his voice.
“Yes.”
“I hope she doesn’t know that, know how close her friend was when she died,” he said.
Cindy, on the other hand, hoped just the opposite. She hoped Brenda knew how close she was to danger.
Dave got out of the car and Cindy followed slowly, wishing she’d never promised Sarah that she would come here. She licked her dry lips and forced herself to turn and look at Brenda’s house.
It was as though she could still sense the other house, just a short distance away, darkness reaching out from it like tendrils seeking to ensnare any who got too close.
Your imagination is running away with you! she scolded herself.
They made it to the door and Dave knocked. It opened a minute later and an older woman Cindy vaguely recognized was standing there, drying her hands on a faded apron. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, a friend of Brenda’s just wanted us to check in and make sure she was okay. We know that she’s suffered a loss this week and we wanted to see how she was doing,” Dave said, clearly trying to just come out and avoid saying that they worked at the church.
“Heck if I know. You could ask her yourself if she was here.”
“She’s not?” Cindy asked.
“Nah. She hasn’t been here since early this morning. She headed to the bus stop down on the corner. She goes to some church on Sundays. Don’t know why. Guess she got it in her head that somehow God’s real or something.”
“What time do you expect her back?” Dave asked.
The woman shrugged. “Whenever she gets here, I guess.”
There was a crash in the other room. “Excuse me, I’ve got other kids to worry about at the moment,” she said. “Boys!” she shouted as she closed the door.
“I don’t like this,” Cindy admitted as she and Dave walked back to the sidewalk.
“Me either. Let’s take a look at the bus stop.”
A feeling of dread settled in the pit of Cindy’s stomach as she realized the bus stop was even closer to the creepy house than Brenda’s home was. She could feel her heart beginning to pound as they walked toward it.
Once there they looked around, but Cindy didn’t even know what they were looking for. Her eyes began to water and a moment later she sneezed.
“Bless you,” Dave said.
“Sarah told us that Brenda hadn’t been answering her phone since this morning,” Cindy said.
“I have her number,” Dave said, pulling out his phone. He pushed a couple of buttons and a moment later there was a shrill ringing sound from just a couple of feet away. Seconds later Cindy found a phone, face down in a bit of scraggly grass and half pressed into the dirt.
She sneezed harder as she picked it up.
“Why is her phone here?” Dave asked, voice filling with alarm.
Cindy sneezed again, so hard this time that she almost dropped the phone and her eyes began to water more. “What is that smell?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
With a sudden sinking sensation she realized she did. It was the same thing she had smelled in the basement of the creepy house. Burnt acacia. She backpedaled away from the area, still holding Brenda’s phone with three fingers. She shouldn’t have even picked it up, she realized belatedly.
“Dave, call 911,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because Brenda’s been kidnapped by the same people who killed Cheyenne.”
20
Mark was living in his own personal hell. Even during the Passion Week killings, they’d somehow managed to avoid national press attention. Now he had reporters dogging his steps, questioning his every move. It was making it hard to do his job. Trina was in the same boat. When they’d gotten the call about Brenda being kidnapped, Mark knew things were just going to get worse.
It was Sunday night and they were at an all-night restaurant, each of them getting their first real meal of the day and trying to figure out what they could from the few facts they had.
“So, eight coven members and eight sacrifices, one person that’s connected to each coven member,” Mark said.
“Yes,” Trina said.
“We know Lacey’s sacrifice was Cheyenne. Lizzie’s sacrifice was Michelle.”
“You know there is still a chance that she might not be a willing participant,” Trina said.
“I hope to heaven you’re right, but, at least we can cross them off the list.”
He actually was making a list. It was like some old time logic puzzle where you had to connect up the people in the left column with the people in the right column through a series of clues.
He looked at the rest of the names in the left column, the victims or intended ones. “So, that leaves the new girl...” he drifted
off in horror realizing he was so exhausted he couldn’t even remember the name of victim number three.
“Brit.”
“That’s right, Brit. We’ve also got Brenda and potentially Meghan.”
“I’d say probably.”
“Which leaves three people who we don’t know of who are either dead or missing or about to become dead or missing.’
“Yes.”
“And we know the names of two of the coven members, and descriptions for two more: Trust Fund Brat and Creepy Tall Guy. That leaves four unknown coven members.”
“So, the question is, can we match up whoever Trust Fund Brat and Creepy Tall Guy are with Brit, Brenda, or Meghan?”
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Mark said. “Liam spent all day interviewing families while I was tied up with the press. Brit, Brenda, and Meghan all lived at home, so no roommates to worry about.”
“It could be friends from school,” Trina said. She took a deep breath. “Or even from the church or the synagogue.”
“I do not even want to go there,” Mark said, feeling sick inside at the very thought.
“Okay, let’s stick with families for the moment. Let’s break it down.”
“Brenda’s family is dirt poor, painfully so. I don’t see there being any connection to a Trust Fund Brat there, at least not anyone who would be close enough to make the sacrifice count.”
“Okay, what about Brit?” Trina asked.
“Her family was pretty poor as well.”
“Then let’s take a look at Meghan.”
Mark nodded. “Meghan’s family is well-off, not what you’d call wildly wealthy, but not hurting.”
“And extended family?”
Mark paused. “You know, I’m not sure, but I know someone who might.”
He got out his phone and called Jeremiah, way beyond caring that at one in the morning he’d probably be waking him up.
“What’s happened?” Jeremiah said as he answered the phone.
“Question. Meghan’s family, any rich cousins or anything?”
“I don’t think they have any cousins in the synagogue, so I wouldn’t know.”
“Think, please.”
I Will Fear No Evil Page 17
