by John Saul
Father Sebastian had wanted to see Melody.
On a Saturday? Why?
Ryan walked slowly away from the little alcove where the garbage barrels were kept, through the narrow alleyway to the street beyond. When he came to the sidewalk, he paused, gazing unseeingly at the row of bowfront houses across Louisburg Square, his mind filled instead with the memory of Tuesday night, when Father Sebastian had wanted to see Sofia for making out with Darren Bender.
She had to be carried to the infirmary that night, and she’d been…He searched his mind for the right word, and only one came to him.
Weird.
Sofia had been just plain weird ever since.
He crossed the street and went into the square, and sat on a bench in the deepening dark as the streetlamps cast strange shadows all around him.
Could the same thing that happened to Sofia have happened to Melody, too?
Could Melody be in the infirmary?
With a bad feeling in his gut, Ryan got up, left the square and crossed the street back to St. Isaac’s. He threaded his way through the narrow alley, then headed toward the building whose second floor was occupied by the infirmary.
He didn’t see a single person on his way; the whole campus seemed to be deserted.
Once again—just as on the night he and Melody had gone looking for Sofia—the infirmary door was locked. He cupped his hands around his eyes and tried to peer through the frosted glass in the door, but all he saw was a faint light, way in the back.
Had there been a light when he and Melody were looking for Sofia?
No, because Sofia hadn’t been taken there yet.
But now someone was inside, and something inside him was telling him it was Melody Hunt.
He jerked at the door handle, praying maybe he’d been mistaken and that it wasn’t locked at all, but it wouldn’t budge.
The back way!
But even the thought of the maze of dark tunnels beneath the school brought the taste of fear to his mouth.
But Melody was in the infirmary, he knew it in his bones, and if anybody was going to help her before the same thing happened to her that had happened to Sofia Capelli, it was going to have to be him.
He turned away from the locked door and started back the way he’d come.
Would he even be able to find the door to the underground tunnels that Melody had showed him a few nights ago?
And if he could, would he find the courage to go down into the darkness below?
He didn’t know, but at least he had to try.
CHAPTER 42
THE MOMENT TERI MCINTYRE opened the front door of her house, she knew that something was wrong. She stopped at the threshold so suddenly that Tom bumped into her from behind.
“What’s—” he began, but Teri silenced him with a gesture.
“Something’s not right,” she whispered. “Someone’s been here.”
Tom pushed past her into the living room, turning on lights, but nothing looked amiss. “I think you’re just upset about Ryan.”
Teri shook her head, not moving from the front door, certain that whatever had happened had nothing at all to do with Ryan’s going back to St. Isaac’s instead of coming home.
This was something else. Something in the house was different. It was as if there was a change in the air, or the smell, or just the feeling of the place. That was it—it just didn’t feel right. As Tom moved through the living room and dining room into the kitchen, she stepped inside but couldn’t quite bring herself to close the door behind her.
“Oh, boy,” Tom called from the kitchen. “We’d better call the police.”
Terry’s blood suddenly ran cold. “What is it? What did you find?”
“Someone’s broken in.”
Teri picked up the cordless phone on the way to the kitchen and punched in 911. “What if they’re still here?” she whispered, rolling her eyes toward the floor above.
Before she could stop him, Tom had taken the baseball bat she’d started keeping in the hall closet after Bill had died, and started up the stairs. “What if there’s more than one of them?” she called after him, then shifted her attention to the 911 operator, suddenly blanking on her own address. And not just the number—she couldn’t even remember the street.
“It’s all right,” the operator assured her. “All that information comes up on my screen even before I’ve answered. I’ll send a couple of cars over right away.”
“Well, whoever it was, they’re gone now,” Tom said as he came back down the stairs. “Looks like they took your jewelry, and maybe some other stuff.”
Teri’s hands trembled as she passed the information on to the 911 operator, then clicked the phone off. Suddenly her knees began to buckle and she leaned on the kitchen counter. “I think I need to sit down,” she said as a wave of nausea suddenly rose in her stomach.
Tom guided her into one of the kitchen chairs and she gazed mutely at the broken pane in the kitchen door. Then her eyes shifted to the shattered glass on the floor. One thought kept running through her mind: Thank God, Ryan wasn’t here alone when this happened.
“You look like you could use a drink,” Tom said.
Finally her eyes left the hole in the window and the broken glass on the floor and she shook her head. “No,” she said as the threat of nausea passed and her fear began giving way to anger. “At least not right now—certainly not until the police have been here.”
“Maybe we’d better go upstairs to see what’s missing,” Tom suggested. “We should be able to tell the police everything that’s gone. Or at least everything you can see right away.”
Missing…gone…
The words echoed in her mind. Someone had come into her house and taken her things. Just the thought of it was enough to drive away the last tendrils of the near-panic she’d just felt. “You’re right,” she said, rising to her feet. “Not that there’s anything here worth stealing. But let’s take a look.” She quickly assessed the kitchen, which looked utterly untouched except for the broken glass, then slowly toured the dining room and living room.
Nothing seemed disturbed. Nothing at all.
Tom moved the fireplace poker from where it always leaned against the brick wall and set it in its stand.
Teri folded the afghan and draped it over the arm of the sofa. The house looked neat.
With Tom following close behind, she slowly mounted the stairs. He had turned on every light in every room, and opened all the closet doors.
Or the intruder had.
When they came to the landing, she looked at him questioningly. “Were they in every room?”
“It doesn’t look like it,” Tom replied. “Just your room, as far as I could see.”
Teri saw three things the moment she entered the master bedroom: the broken photograph of Ryan on the floor, her underwear hanging out of a drawer, and the open lid of her jewelry box. As she reached down to pick up the picture, Tom put a gently restraining hand on her arm.
“The police need to see everything exactly as it is,” he told her, his voice thick with sympathy.
How dare they come into my home? How dare they touch my things? How dare they—
She glared at the mess with impotent fury, knowing she’d never again be able to wear any of the clothes they had touched, no matter how many times she washed them. And the jewelry box had contained nothing but junk! The only thing she owned of any value was her engagement ring, and it was now on her right hand; she still always wore it.
The rest was worthless!
And the photograph of Ryan…its glass and frame broken.
“What else is there besides what we can see?” Tom pressed, pulling her attention from the ruined photograph. “Look around.”
Reluctantly—afraid of what she might find at every step—Teri moved through the rest of the upstairs rooms: Ryan’s room, the study, the bathrooms.
Nothing else seemed amiss.
She came back into her room and stood looking down int
o her jewelry box.
“It seems like they just wanted jewelry or money,” she finally said. “But it was just junk jewelry. Costume stuff.” Unbidden, her lips twisted into a rueful smile. “And I sure don’t have enough money to keep cash hidden in my lingerie drawer.”
“You should still try to give the police a list of everything that’s gone,” Tom said, his voice tinged with indignation. “It doesn’t matter how much any of it was worth—it was yours!”
Teri chuckled bitterly. “Look at this,” she said, pointing. “They took the turquoise necklace—which was nothing but ground turquoise in resin, but left the earrings. And they’re at least real! It doesn’t make sense.”
“Probably junkies,” Tom said. “All they’d do is grab whatever looked like it might be easy to sell.”
Teri sank down on the bed and put her head in her hands. “First, Ryan is mad at me, and now this.” She sighed, then felt the bed depress as Tom sat next to her.
“Not the best of evenings,” he agreed.
Nodding tiredly, she laid her head on his shoulder, and he put a comforting arm around her. “Why me?” she asked hollowly. “What could they have been looking for?”
“Cash. And all they need to see is an empty house—doesn’t matter which one. It could have been anyone. It’s not personal. I’m just glad you weren’t home alone when it happened.”
Teri looked up at him, emotions swirling so fast she couldn’t put words to them.
Tom hugged her close. “You won’t ever need to be home alone again. Not if I’m here.”
A sob rose up to choke Teri. “Ryan—” was all she could manage to say.
“Ryan’s not here, honey. You need someone to be here with you. To protect you.” He kissed her temple. “And I need you.”
Teri took a ragged breath.
“Shh,” he soothed her. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
With all her heart, Teri wished she could believe him.
CHAPTER 43
FATHER SEBASTIAN GAZED speechlessly at Father Laughlin, who seemed to have aged at least ten years since the younger man had seen him only a few hours ago. Now the old headmaster sat shrunken and hunched on the couch in Sebastian’s small sitting room, his face ashen, his hands trembling as he tried to hold the small glass of whiskey the younger priest had offered him. Only after the old man had taken a sip did Father Sebastian finally find his voice. “You didn’t,” he breathed. “Please tell me you didn’t try to conduct the rite on your own.”
“I wish I could,” Laughlin said, draining the shot, then setting the glass down and leaning forward to hold his head in his hand. He took a deep breath, then another, and when he looked up, Sebastian saw the shame in his eyes, and the sorrow etched deeply in every wrinkle and crevice of his weathered face. But neither the shame nor the sorrow could change the reality of Laughlin’s attempt to exorcise the evil in Jeffrey Holmes.
“What were you thinking?” Sebastian whispered.
Laughlin seemed to become even smaller as he shook his head helplessly. “I’m so sorry.”
Sebastian took a deep breath, then laid a gentle hand on the old priest’s shoulder. “You understand that the damage you did may well be irreversible?”
Laughlin looked up uncertainly. “But he was already a lost soul, wasn’t he?”
“Souls are not ever completely lost,” Sebastian replied. “Not while there is life, faith, and hope.”
Laughlin sank his head back into his hands.
“We must see how bad he is,” Father Sebastian said.
Laughlin’s head snapped up again. “You don’t mean to go back in there?”
Sebastian spread his hands. “What choice do we have? We must do what we can for the boy.”
“I can’t. I tell you, it was the most horrible—”
“I know,” Sebastian said. “I have seen the demon before. But if there’s any chance of saving him, it’s going to take both of us.”
The flashlight Ryan had borrowed from Clay needed fresh batteries, but it cast just enough of a weak yellowish beam to illuminate the uneven stones in the floor and enough of the damp walls to keep Ryan’s panic at bay. Steeling himself against the terror that had nearly overwhelmed him when he and Melody had come down here a few nights ago, he tried to remember the exact route they had taken to get to the back door of the infirmary.
The staircase in the dining hall had been simple enough to find, and he’d clearly remembered turning right at its foot. But after that he’d been less certain, and now, as the passages seemed to go off in every direction, and he no longer had any real idea of where he might be, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the knot of fear in his belly, and the cold chill that seemed to be coming right up from the floor, through his shoes, and into his legs.
Maybe he should just give it up and try to find his way back.
But how?
He couldn’t even remember how many turns he’d made, let alone which way any of them had gone. And if he made a mistake—
The flashlight dimmed slightly, and just the thought of being plunged into darkness elicited a groan from Ryan’s throat that echoed off the walls to taunt him over and over. Then, just as he was about to turn and run the other way, he saw it. At the farthest reach of its beam, the flashlight found the edge of a doorway.
A doorway that looked familiar.
A surge of relief ran through Ryan as he stepped through the door a moment later and mounted the stairs.
He paused at the main floor, listened for any sound at all, then went on up to the second floor landing.
There it was—the door to the infirmary, just as Melody had shown him. Carefully, silently, he gripped the cold brass knob on the door and turned it.
The knob turned, but the door didn’t open.
Locked.
He turned the weakening flashlight beam on the keyhole beneath the knob—the old-fashioned kind that took a skeleton key. Kneeling down, he flicked the flashlight off and peered into the keyhole. Barely the faintest glimmer of light.
Yet there was light coming through the wide crack beneath the door.
The key must be in the lock!
He thought quickly, then remembered something he’d seen in a movie a long time ago.
He took a pen from his shirt pocket, then unbuttoned his shirt, peeled it off and slid it carefully under the door, pushing enough of it through the crack so, even if it was bunched up, at least three inches of cloth would cover the floor on the other side.
Unscrewing the barrel of the pen, he took the ink cartridge out, and carefully pushed it into the keyhole.
Sure enough, something blocked it when it was no more than half an inch in.
He pushed harder.
Nothing.
In his mind’s eye, he tried to picture the key. If it wasn’t lined up quite right, he wouldn’t be able to push it out.
He probed gently with the point of the pen, poking and prodding until he felt it slip by the blade of the key. Then he levered the blade slightly, felt the vibration of the key moving and suddenly shifting.
He levered it again, but this time, though slightly loose, it wouldn’t move. He’d done it! It must be lined up with the slot on the other side. Pulling the pen out, he turned it around so its flat end was away from him, then reinserted it, poking gently until he found the end of the key’s shaft.
He pressed gently.
Nothing.
A little harder.
The key moved.
One last time and then he heard a faint sound as the key fell to the floor, and the pen cartridge slid all the way through the lock. When he pulled the pen back out, he could see light through the keyhole.
Carefully, he pulled the shirt back from under the crack beneath the door, and there lay the key.
Ryan put his shirt back on and buttoned it, reassembled his pen and put it in his pocket, and only then inserted the key in the lock and turned it.
The mechanism turned, its soft thunk so
unding like a sledgehammer in the silence.
Ryan waited a moment, listening.
Nothing.
He turned the knob and opened the door, finding himself in some kind of storeroom, illuminated by the light coming through its frosted pane. Ryan slipped inside and quietly closed the door to the stairwell behind him.
He heard the murmurings of a female voice in the next room, and shoes squeaking on tile.
He stood perfectly still, heart pounding, trying to breathe without making a sound.
A light went out, leaving just a small bluish night-light. Then he heard a door open and close somewhere in the distance.
When he heard nothing else for at least a full minute, Ryan left the storeroom and found Melody, wearing a hospital gown and lying on her back in one of the twelve beds the infirmary’s single ward held. Though there was no sign of the nun who tended the ward at night, Ryan was sure she would be back soon.
“Melody,” he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder. “Melody, wake up.”
Melody opened her eyes, looked at him almost as if she didn’t recognize him, frowned slightly, then once more closed her eyes, as if she’d seen him, but wasn’t interested enough even to stay awake.
Ryan shook her again, certain the nun would be back any second. “Melody, tell me what they did to you.”
Melody’s eyes fluttered open again, and this time they focused on Ryan.
Her eyes had changed. They looked darker than he remembered, and had taken on a stormy, angry look. Her pupils were dilated, the whites bloodshot. “Go away,” she whispered.
“No,” he insisted. “I want to help you.”
“Go away,” she said again, and closed her eyes. “I don’t need any help.”
Ryan heard a door open somewhere beyond the front of the ward.
The nun was back.
Touching Melody’s cheek, then leaning over to give her a quick kiss, he slipped back into the storage closet, then into the stairwell, barely remembering to replace the key in its slot before closing the door.
It wasn’t until he was back in the basement that he suddenly remembered how cold Melody’s cheek had felt when he kissed it.
As cold as the stones beneath his feet.
