Chain of Souls (Salem VI)

by Heath, Jack

  The taxi drove out of the airport and into the confusion of Cambodian traffic. They moved slowly, the driver speeding up then slamming on the brakes, honking, and swerving around bicycles laden with supplies, overburdened trucks, animals, and other cars. John felt the humid air like another layer of clothing and breathed in the unfamiliar scents. He looked out the window but barely registered the scenery, his mind too taken up with trying to determine if they were being followed and at the same time replaying the scene in the bathroom over and over. He glanced down at his hands and felt a growing dread at what he was now certain was about to happen.

  Father Faust had called it "being invested" and had emphasized how extraordinary it was that John could be invested by more than one spirit at a time. Of course, Faust had also despised him for that same ability, wanting to use him to help destroy the Coven but then making certain John's ability died along with John in the final struggle.

  John shuddered as he thought about what was about to happen to him, and for half a second he thought he could understand Faust's point of view. Being invested wasn't natural, and it wasn't right. It was more like being invaded, having things jammed inside that had no weight or substance but which took up room nonetheless. Spirits that carried the terror and anger and pain and sorrow that still lingered from their horrible deaths and spirits that still retained some level of volition. Otherwise how could he possibly have reacted fast enough to stop a man who had already started to thrust a knife at his belly?

  The fact he had survived the attack made him grateful, yet the fact he'd had no control over his reaction terrified him. What else were these spirits liable to do? Just because they had saved him didn't mean he could trust their actions in the future, did it? After all, he was their host, and they needed to keep him alive. But then again, if these spirits that had invaded him could give him the power to get Sarah back safely, then whatever the cost it had to be bearable.

  His thoughts were interrupted when the taxi driver slowed down and pulled off the road. Master Viphop nodded. "We get out here," he said.

  They came to a stop and climbed out of the taxi in a dusty, unpaved parking area. Ahead of them in English, Cambodian, and several other languages, a sign pointed toward a building in the distance and read "Choeung Ek Village," and below it in smaller letters something about the Killing Fields. John could see several tour busses parked ahead of them and lines of tourists walking toward a tall, graceful structure in the distance. Several small clusters of Buddhist monks stood around the corners of the parking area, and guards or policemen in official-looking uniforms patrolled.

  Master Viphop paid the driver, and as the taxi drove away John could see the monk turn slowly and look around with care. As he did, he noticed that Viphop's eyes stopped several times as he appeared to make contact with several of the monks. Each time he did, the other monk gave a nod, which John hoped meant an all clear, that there was no sign of the Coven. So far, John had said nothing to either Amy or Viphop about the attack in the men's room. In Viphop's case, the monk was a stranger, and he didn't yet trust him enough to admit he had just killed two men back at the airport. Where Amy was concerned, she had kept so much from him, he didn't want to share the information even though he knew he probably should.

  Master Viphop pointed toward the tall structure in the distance, and they began walking down a path that led through a green area with numerous indentations in the earth. As soon as they walked between the first of the indentations, John heard it, the wailing and clamoring from millions of tortured throats, the fingernails-on-a-blackboard sound that made him want to turn and run away.

  Somehow he resisted the urge to flee and kept himself walking forward. Why am I doing this? he wondered, even as he put one foot in front of the other. In the next second he began to feel it, the sense of strangers inhabiting him, crawling into his head, into his psyche, first hundreds and then thousands and then hundreds of thousands, all of them sharing his identity and his being like they were bunkmates sharing a room.

  For several seconds, maybe longer, his very sanity seemed to break loose, flapping like a loose shingle during a hurricane. Still he put his leg forward. He took a step, then another. Why am I doing this? he asked, the question rolling silently through his mind as he suffered the violation of spirits beyond number invading his being.

  Even as he asked the question he knew the answer, because along with the assault he had another sense, that the spirits were like the passengers on a sinking ocean liner and he was the lifeboat. For some reason he could not explain, and in some way he could only guess, he offered them a chance for peace, and yes, for vengeance. Whatever gift or ability or curse had brought him to this place, he knew in his gut he was the only alternative to the screaming and wailing and reliving of their final terrible moments that these spirits possessed.

  He was the weapon, and now he was the lifeboat, too.

  Having passed the point of speech or conscious thought, he was barely aware of Amy holding one arm and Viphop holding the other as he put one foot in front of the other and took another step. Even so, terribly aware of his own sensations—the fear, the unutterable pain, the sense of violation and loss of control—he thought again he was losing the last fragile grasp on his sanity.

  He could not have said how long it took to reach the tall pagoda-like memorial structure, but he knew the tourists he had seen earlier had somehow cleared away and all the Buddhist monks who had been in the parking area had seemingly materialized around him. Viphop pulled open the doors of the structure, and whatever pain John had experienced earlier doubled as the wailing and the feeling of assault intensified.

  John felt his knees buckle and arms come around him to hold him up as, barely able to move now, he inched his way toward the rack of skulls. His conscious thoughts were all about self-preservation. They told him to turn and get away, but his body kept moving forward as if under the control of another person. Signs he could barely see through the tears that streamed from his eyes warned people in several languages not to touch the skulls. As deep as he was in the throes of his agony, John saw one other thing.

  A face appeared before him, and in spite of the fact that everything else was a terrible blur he could see it clearly and he felt a sudden calm. Rebecca Nurse stood looking at him and smiling. It was an enigmatic smile that held warmth and compassion and regret and need, all at the same time, and he knew without any need for words what it was she needed. Not knowing if he could stand any more, but knowing at the same time that he could not refuse, he stopped fighting the pain and the violation and the loss of self and thrust his hands toward the skulls. As he did, a feeling more jolting than electricity and hotter than lava shot through his flesh, but he did not stop.

  The moment he touched the skulls he wondered if he had finally lost consciousness because the noise ceased and along with it the sensation that his nerves were in a molten conflagration. Somewhere inside himself he had the feeling as if all the people who had ever massed in Tiananmen Square at one time had suddenly fallen absolutely silent. A feeling of peace stole over him, and he sagged against the arms that held him and heard himself whimper in the sudden silence. He felt hands wiping his face and saw a bloody towel as an orange arm dabbed the blood that poured from his nose.

  He didn't know how long it took for him to be able to stand on his own, perhaps five minutes, perhaps fifteen. For that entire time he had the sense that a large group of orange-robed monks were gathered around him, forming a protective barrier and keeping all other people away from the memorial building. When he was finally able to stand on his own and when the mucous and blood had stopped flowing from his nose and ears, he stood blinking in the sunlight that streamed through the open doors.

  The monks turned toward him, and as a group they put their joined hands to their foreheads and bowed in a long, formal acknowledgement of what he had just endured. John looked at them, unable to fully understand what had just happened, but knowing that at some level beyond his
powers to describe it, he was a changed man. He knew this and accepted it. In some ways, he felt less than he had been before because he had given up part of himself, but he was also more than he had ever imagined being.

  And now it was time to go get Sarah.

  PART III

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  TWO DAYS AFTER THE INCIDENT AT THE BREAKFAST table when Sarah had been afraid Jessica was having a heart attack, they were out together on their daily walk, meandering toward the top of one of the endless pastures on Jessica's estate. When they reached the top, Jessica stopped and pointed eastward.

  "This is the highest point on the property. You can see the English Channel," she said.

  In the distance, maybe two miles or so, Sarah thought, she could see the white-capped, slate blue waters of the North Atlantic. The sight made her think of Boston and her job and her father, and for the first time since she had been there, she actually felt a twinge of homesickness and a readiness to return to her world.

  When she turned away from the view she found Jessica studying her. "Are you thinking about home?"

  "How did you guess?"

  "Something in your expression I haven't seen before."

  Sarah nodded. "I was just wondering when it was going to be time to go back."

  "Soon, my dear. There's just one more thing we need to do together and then I think everything will be prepared."

  "What will it be?"

  Jessica took her arm and started to walk her down the other side of the pasture. Just as had happened the last time Jessica touched her like that, Sarah felt a burst of happiness and protection, as if this woman wanted only what was best for her, and along with it she felt a surge of trust.

  "All in good time," Jessica said. "I want it to be a surprise."

  They walked down the hill, past a flock of sheep that hurried away from them as they began to come close. Gulls wheeled in the air overhead and cried out. The sky was gray, an endless plain of clouds stretching as far at the eye could see.

  They had reached the halfway point in the pasture, and Sarah could see a dirt road below them with a stone wall running beside it. A huge tree stood below and to the left, and there the dirt road seemed to disappear into a dark copse of trees. Beside the huge tree a deserted-looking stone barn with broken windows and missing roof shingles helped darken the scene, throwing everything around it in deep shadow.

  Continuing down, they had almost reached the road when it hit, a wave of force that didn't seem to disturb the sheep or the gulls or even tremble a blade of grass, but which felt to Sarah like it was more powerful than the one they had felt at breakfast two days earlier. It staggered her as if she had tripped, but she managed to stay on her feet. Jessica uttered a cry, and when Sarah turned to look at her she saw the older woman grab her chest and fall to her knees.

  "Jessica!" she cried, rushing over and dropping to the ground beside her.

  Jessica's eyes were bouncing around, her gaze seeming unhinged. "Are you okay?" Sarah asked.

  "I . . . I don't know."

  "What was that?"

  "A change in one of the vortices," Jessica said, her voice a weak rasp. "That's the only thing it could be."

  "I don't understand," Sarah said, feeling a sudden tingle of fear.

  "It means we failed to stop something from happening." Jessica appeared to get her eyes back into focus and brought them to Sarah's face. "It means you will be leaving sooner than I might have wished, my dear."

  Jessica put her hands on the grass and tried to push herself up. "Help me get up," she said to Sarah, her voice strengthening. "I have things I need to do."

  Sarah stood and leaned down to help Jessica. Her heart was pounding because in the last few seconds a curtain seemed to have dropped away. She suddenly realized more than any other time since she had arrived here that things far more complex than she had previously suspected were going on all around her and that she was a pawn in someone's very complicated plan.

  "Quickly, my dear," Jessica said, standing as Sarah helped her up and seeming to recover almost completely and with amazing speed. "Time is very short."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE MONKS FORMED A CORDON AROUND JOHN and Amy and moved them back to the parking lot where Master Viphop flagged a second taxi.

  "Where are we going?" Amy asked.

  "Airport," Master Viphop said as he climbed into the taxi without the customary bartering and ordered the man to drive them to the airport.

  "We don't have a reservation," Amy said.

  "No matter."

  "What do you mean?" Amy asked.

  Mast Viphop cast his eyes toward the driver in the front seat and shook his head. Several minutes later, after speeding up and slamming on the brakes and swerving around bikes, busses, and trucks, they pulled into the airport where the driver demanded what Master Viphop thought was an excessive sum but paid it anyway.

  They climbed out of the taxi and Master Viphop waited for the driver to pull away before he took them to a second taxi and told them to get inside. Master Viphop gave the man directions and they pulled away from the terminal, but instead of leaving the airport, they wound around several of the interior roads and ended up at a smaller building with several private jets parked on the other side.

  "You go here," the monk said, and he handed them a slip of paper with an airplane's tail number written down.

  "Where are they taking us?" Amy demanded, her voice taking on a hint of alarm.

  Again, Master Viphop glanced at the driver and shook his head. "Go," he said. "Hurry."

  "But who's paying?" Amy said, still not moving. "We don't have this kind of money!"

  "Not worry," Viphop said. "Many, many people pay, and we pray for good thing." He nodded toward John.

  John had been sitting quietly and not saying a word. He felt like a man swimming in a huge ocean on the darkest night of the year, but now he turned toward the monk and nodded. "Thank you," he said.

  John and Amy went into the small private terminal, showed piece of paper with the tail number to the woman behind the reception desk, who pointed to one of the planes, a small Lear parked at the end of the row. They went outside the rear door and onto the tarmac, where they could see two pilots doing a walk-around check of the aircraft.

  As John walked up, one of the pilots turned and gave a welcoming nod. "If you're ready to go, sir, we can be wheels up in ten minutes."

  John was surprised to see what he thought was a British Army uniform. He held out his hand. "You are?"

  "Major Howard Prentice, sir."

  John looked at him in momentary confusion. "Are you here on official business?"

  "No, sir. I happen to be a chaplain in Her Majesty's Army, but I'm also licensed to fly jets. I'm on leave. This flight has nothing to do with the British military. It's against regulations to wear the uniform when I'm on my own time, but in this case I thought it might provide a little insurance in case we needed help defusing a difficult situation."

  "Like what?"

  "I think you'd know that better than I would, sir. Best if we get you and the lady on board so we don't have that risk."

  John nodded and went up the steps on to the small jet, and Amy came after. Master Viphop came as far as the top step where he bowed again.

  "I wish you great success against all evil," he said, then disappeared out the door and back down the stairs.

  A moment or two later Major Prentice and the co-pilot were both back aboard, the doors were closed and the jet was moving toward the end of the taxiway to begin its takeoff. Almost as quickly as they turned onto the main runway, the engines cycled up to full throttle and the plane shot forward. They were off the ground just a few moments later, and John sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. He knew he ought to be feeling a huge measure of relief because there was no doubt in his mind the Coven had more people than just the two in the bathroom whose job it was to try and stop him.

  He didn't fully understand what had happe
ned to him at Auschwitz and in the Killing Fields outside of Phnom Penh, but he thought that relieving the torment of those spirits must have been a blow to the Coven all by itself. He also understood that in some way those spirits provided him with the power he needed to face Jessica Lodge. He just hoped whatever power he had was going to be enough to defeat Jessica and bring Sarah safely home.

  Amy interrupted his thoughts when she reached out and put her hand on his arm. "I know we have a lot to talk about," she said, her voice soft and tentative.

  He closed his eyes as the emotions he had been trying and mostly succeeding in keeping buried suddenly welled to the surface. "Yes," he said.

  "I know you're very disturbed that I held things back, but I hope you can understand I thought I had good reasons.

  "When were you planning on telling me the truth?" he demanded, finally turning to look at her.

  "I wanted to so many times, but I couldn't seem to pick the right moment."

  "What about after we made love? Was that about us or was it really just some Wiccan ritual?"

  Amy closed her eyes and a tear tickled out of the corner of one eye. "I would never have slept with you for any reason other than wanting to be with you. That came from my heart. Do you believe that?"

  John shook his head. "I wish I did. I don't know who anybody is anymore or why they do what they do. I don't trust anybody I see because I wonder if every one of them works for the Coven. I don't know whether you really worked for the FBI, or who Lisa Giles takes her orders from. I don't know who sent this jet to pick us up or who ordered Master Viphop or Rabbi Czarnecki to meet us and take us places.

  "Who's pulling the strings? I know somebody is. Are they good guys or bad guys? I don't even know who I am anymore because of the things that have happened to me. I just know I need to get my daughter back, and when that's done I need to sort my life out, starting with getting some honest answers."