"What did you do when you found it? Did you faint, or what?"
"My pride overcame the phobia. People were watching me. Even before I got the trunk open, I could smell what was inside- it was summer- and I was nearly paralyzed. I couldn't stand thinking about what I was going to see. But I had to do it: I was a newly sworn-in deputy sheriff, determined to protect and serve, and all that stuff. I couldn't let anyone see my weakness. So I just did it. I turned off my thoughts and jimmied the lid."
John exhaled with a rattle, reliving the moment. ''When I opened that trunk, well ... let's just say, I managed not to throw up until I was alone.'' He smiled. "In my squad car.'' He smiled. ''That was pretty awful in itself. I spent hours cleaning the upholstery, my shoes, the rug. But after that, the phobic part- the paralysis, the dizziness- was gone because I'd stared my fear in the face. It was bad, really bad, but nowhere near as bad as I imagined."
He hesitated, watching Mark. "Imagination's always the worst," he continued. ''Do you remember when you were little and you were sure there were dismembered hands crawling around under your bed?"
Mark blushed. "Dad- "
"For me, at that age," John continued in a rush, "it was this guy who was darker than the dark in my room. Before I went to sleep, I'd imagine he was standing over my bed holding a knife, and I'd just squeeze my eyes shut and hide under the covers. It didn't go away until I was about ten."
''Wow," Mark said, his embarrassment gone. ''That's a really long time. I guess you were a pretty lame kid."
"Watch it, buster," he said lightly, happy to see a little of Mark's normal personality. "Anyway, the boogeyman didn't go away until I faced him. I took a flashlight into my room and every time I'd think he was there, instead of hiding I'd turn on the light and look. After a few weeks, he never came back again. I'd taken control of the situation."
''I did that, too. With a flashlight, you know? I'd check under the bed for crawling hands."
"I know."
"You do?"
"I 'accidentally' left the flashlight by your bed, so you'd figure it out faster than I did." He grinned crookedly.
''Really?"
"Yeah. So no more teasing your old man, okay?"
"Okay."
''Mark, you were a smart little kid- brave, too. What were you, seven?"
''Six," Mark told him, a healthy trace of pride in his voice. He went back to staring at his hands. "And that worked for you with bodies, too, huh? Making yourself look at them?"
"Basically, yes. It's never easy, though." John rubbed his chin, wondering if he was telling his son anything remotely useful. ''What happened to you today was devastating. Make yourself go to Pete's funeral. That's all you need to do just face the funeral. You're already doing the other important thing- the thing I wouldn't do. You're talking about it."
"You didn't? Never?"
"Mark, this is the very first time. My dad tried to get me to talk, but I refused. I just let it fester." He studied his son, realizing that the discussion was doing him at least as much good as it was Mark. "I still dream about my brother's death."
''Is that what your nightmares are about?"
"A lot of them. And a lot are about St. Gertrude's, too."
Mark looked defensive.
"I think I went there right before Greg died. I'm not sure."
"How could you forget something like that, Dad?"
He shrugged. "I don't know, but your friend Minerva seems to think it would be a good thing for me to try to remember. Now I think so, too. Not for her rather mysterious reasons, mind you, but because it's a fear I haven't faced."
''Corey says his dad and you and some other guys went camping that night. By the Falls."
"I think that's all we're supposed to remember."
"What do you mean?''
"I'm not sure what I mean. It's just a feeling, you know?"
Mark smiled a little. "Yeah, I know."
"So, what'd you think of St. Gruesome's?"
"It's creepy. I didn't even want to go. It was Pete's idea ... " His expression changed and he looked away.
"I figured that much."
"The woods aren't the same, either."
"What do you mean?''
Well, after we crossed the west fork of the stream and left Witch Forest, it was, I dunno- remember the forest in The Hobbit where it was really dark and even the trees were watching you?"
John nodded.
"It was kinda like that."
''Minerva told me that she thinks those birds live in that forest. If she's right, it's not a good place to be."
"Don't worry, Dad, I'm not going back there. Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
''I asked Minerva about the nightflyers, you know? And she'd hardly say anything. Why, do you think?"
"Well, those hawks, or whatever they are, have never been documented. The nuns don't allow anyone on their property, as you know," he added with a half-smile. ''And no ornithologists have ever taken the reports seriously. What happened today is, as far as I know, the first proof that they actually exist. Even Minerva admitted she'd never seen one up close, not even today, and I think that gives us a clue about how she feels about them. She's superstitious and I got the impression she's something of a pantheist."
''What the heck is that?"
"Someone who worships nature or nature gods."
Mark nodded. "She says there are spirits in every tree and rock, in the streams, and even in the earth. I don't buy all that, though."
"But she does. And these nightflyers are part of her religion because they're a part of nature that's unexplained. For her, they're not some kind of unknown bird, but the equivalent of Christian demons."
"It looked like a demon, that's for sure."
"Are you sure it was a bird, not some kind of bat?"
''It had a beak. A long one, curved. Dr. Cutter thought maybe I was just saying that to get out of rabies shots, but I wasn't. Heck, I would've asked for them if I'd thought it was a bat."
"Was the beak curved like a hawk's?"
"In a way, but bigger. I wasn't really all that close to it. All I know is that it was all black and the feathers were so shiny that they looked kinda like scales. It had big eyes like an owl's and they glowed red."
"Glowed red?" John asked. "You're sure?"
Mark nodded. ''I know it sounds goofy."
"No," John said slowly. Then he realized what Mark meant. "You mean they reflected red, like when light hits a cat's eyes just right?"
Mark brightened. "That's gotta be it, yeah." He pushed his damp hair from his forehead.
''Mark, how long were you and Corey separated from Pete?" John knew the basics, but Corey had been so hysterical that his story was completely nonsensical and Frank Cutter had given the boy a sedative and sent him home to bed. Mark, until now, had only given one-syllable answers.
"He took off only a minute or so ahead of us, but we never saw him again. I think he was running really, really fast. A little while later, we heard a couple nightflyers screeching. I think one flew right over us. Then we met up with this girl Kelly from St. Gertrude's. She's Minerva's friend. She said she was going to try to get my jacket and wallet back, and we talked to her for a couple minutes. Then we kept going. After we crossed back into Witch Forest, we didn't hurry anymore. We were kinda p.o.'d at Pete for ditching us, so we decided to make him worry a little. That's how we ended up in the park."
"At the Falls."
"Yeah, well, you know.''
"I know."
"You didn't expect Pete to be there?"
Mark shook his head. ''He had to be home before his parents got back from church. He really wanted to go there, though. Maybe he thought he had time.'' He hesitated. "Or maybe the nightflyer chased him there."
The doorbell rang and John jumped. ''That might be Gus."
"I'll get it.'' Mark got up and opened the front door.
"Hi, you must be Mark."
Hearing Sara Hawthorne's voice, J
ohn got to his feet and joined his son. "Hi, come on in."
Mark opened the door and stood back, casting a questioning look at John, who quickly made introductions. Sara sat down on the couch, John in his chair. Mark started to leave.
''Please, stay," Sara called.
A look of surprise crossed his face, but he came back and perched on the arm of the sofa.
"I'm sorry to just show up like this," Sara began. "I was going to phone, but I couldn't find one that wasn't locked away at the school. I went to your office and your dispatcher said I should see you in person.''
Obviously, John thought, Dorothy was working late. Any chance to matchmake. "What can I do for you?"
"Do you know someone named Minerva?"
''Why?" Mark blurted, before John could answer. There was a protective look on his face.
"Yes, we do," John added. "She owns the Gingerbread House, down the road from Apple Heaven."
''A student, Kelly Reed, was caught taking something from the headmistress's office," Sara explained.
"My jacket," Mark said quickly. "She got caught?"
"Yes. Mother Lucy questioned me about you. She thinks you and Kelly are, urn, going steady."
"Heck, no!" Mark stood up, his anger obvious. "I hardly know her. I told her what happened and she offered to help out. That's all. Why do you want to know about Minerva?"
''Mark," Sara said quietly, ''I like Kelly. I want to help her. She's been put in solitary confinement and I can't talk to her for at least a week. She asked me to tell someone named Minerva what happened. I just want to find out who she is so that I can do what Kelly asked."
Mark looked dubious.
"She lives in Witch Forest, but you can find her at her shop in the daytime," John said. Mark glared daggers at him.
Sara nodded. "Kelly goes into the woods to visit her," she said, looking at Mark.
"You know about that? Are you the new teacher she talked about?"
"I must be." Sara smiled warmly. "I'm the only new one."
Mark looked at John. "She's okay, Dad. Kelly said so."
"I probably won't be able to visit Minerva until five or six tomorrow," Sara said. ''Can you give me directions to her house?"
John did. "You'll need to walk the last part- the road narrows into a footpath," he finished.
"What about the other way?" she asked. "The way Kelly goes, through the forest?"
Mark paled as John spoke. "Don't go through the woods, and tell Kelly not to, either." He briefly told her what had happened to Pete Parker.
''That's horrible."
He nodded. "Have you ever heard anything about the birds?
According to Minerva, they nest on St. Gertrude's land."
She shook her head. "I think I've heard them. They have an awful call, but I don't know what they are."
"The nuns haven't said anything about them?"
"The nuns don't say much of anything," she said wryly. "I can ask around, though. Maybe the groundskeeper can tell me something."
Her words set off unexplainable alarm bells in John's mind. ''No, let me do the questioning."
"I'm more likely to get answers than you are," she said, irritated.
"I know, but I just don't think it's a good idea."
"Those nuns are mean," Mark said
Sara half smiled. "Well, they're certainly not very friendly."
''I don't want you to say anything to them." John sat forward. "I wouldn't want anyone to think you're involved in this. It might be dangerous for you."
"That's absurd," she said, her voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.
''I know. It seems absurd to me, too, but I have to follow my instincts." He looked over at Mark, saw the boy's approving expression. "Don't you have some homework to finish?"
''A little." Mark said good night to them and headed out of the room.
"I think you're being overly cautious," Sara said.
"Maybe. But if your friend really was murdered, someone at St. Gertrude's may be involved in something, and if they think you're talking to me, things could get sticky."
''Do I detect a change in your attitude about Jenny's death?"
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't know. Maybe. The thing is, where those nuns are concerned, people always seem to have faulty memories. Myself included."
She raised her eyebrows. "You?"
"There was- or wasn't- an incident concerning the abbey. It dates back to my childhood. I don't want to say anything more until I talk to some old friends. I'm just saying you should be very careful." He didn't know for sure whether his warning was born of any real instinct or of paranoia stemming from the conversation he'd had with Minerva. "Would you like some coffee?"
She glanced at her watch. ''I would, but it's getting late. Hopefully, no one knows I'm gone."
“You had to sneak out? That place is sounding more and more like a prison."
She rose. "It's always felt like one to me. I hate it there."
She smiled as. she moved to the door. "But I didn't exactly sneak. I just didn’t tell anyone I was going out."
"Be careful," he said, stepping outside with her. The night was cold and clear. "Keep your doors locked, okay?"
''Okay." She smiled. ''Good night."
''Good night, Sara." He watched her until she was safely in her car, then went inside to see to his son.
Forty-five
Kelly had survived the intimate humiliations heaped on her by Dr. Dashwood and had kept quiet when he'd confiscated her locket and the amulet, but now, sitting on the cot in the dimly lit room, she wanted to cry.
But I won't. I won't give them the satisfaction ...
The ten-by-ten room had one door, which was locked, and no windows. A cot with one thin moth-eaten blanket, a table with a shadeless lamp and a twenty-five-watt bulb and a stool to sit on completed the furnishings. That was all she had, except for her schoolbooks. She should be grateful, she told herself for the light: last time, the bulb had burned out. '
Two slices of stale bread and a single cup of water had been her dinner. She'd be a skeleton by the time they let her out, she thought, her stomach rumbling.
She sat up straight, hearing footsteps clicking along the hallway beyond. They came to a stop outside her door and a key clicked into the lock. The door creaked open and Sister Regina, the snaky-looking nurse who'd held her down while Dashwood examined her, stepped inside; bright light from the corridor haloing around her.
''Turn off your lamp and unscrew the bulb " she ordered "It's time for bed."
"I can't have the light?" Kelly asked, trying to control her sudden panic.
''Of course not. For the next two weeks, no lights at night."
"Two weeks?"
''You added a week to your punishment when you attempted to run away. Now, do as you're told."
Kelly swallowed her pride. ''Please let me keep the light. It's so dark in here!"
"If you don't do as you're told immediately, I'll have to get the Mother Superior." Regina's mouth vee'd into a reptilian smile. ''Disturbing her will probably cost you a third week. Is that what you want?"
Sullenly, Kelly flipped off the light and unscrewed the bulb. It was hot in her hand and she gritted her teeth as she extended it to the nun. Regina caught up a fold of her black habit to protect her fingers and took the bulb. As the material moved, Kelly saw her rosary glint in the light from the hall.
The cross hung upside down. She couldn't stop staring at it. Regina glanced down, then back at Kelly. ''Go to bed," she ordered, as she turned and left the room, slamming the door firmly behind her. The lock clicked; then the old bitch's footsteps receded.
Kelly forced herself not to panic in the utter darkness and slowly moved back toward the bed. She raked her shin against the metal frame and tears filled her eyes. "No!" she said. "You're not going to let them make you cry." Gingerly she sat on the cot, then lay down, fully dressed. Closing her eyes against the dark, she warded off her fears with thoughts of bei
ng at Minerva's house, curled up by the fire.
Forty-six
As she drove back up the narrow road to St. Gertrude's, Sara began to regret visiting John Lawson. She was glad they had talked, but now, driving through the heavy forest all alone in the dark with God knew what flying around or lurking among the trees, she wondered why she couldn't have waited until daylight. You're too impatient for your own good.
If the woods weren't forbidding enough already, a fog had rolled in while she was in town. The heaviest of it lay low to the ground, but there were white patches floating everywhere, ghosts reflected in her headlights. Now, as she neared the abbey, it grew so thick that she couldn't see more than ten feet in front of her; even the low beams were too much.
She turned off everything but the amber parking lights and slowed to a crawl. The front gates suddenly loomed in front of her and she turned the wheel hard left, barely keeping the car on the road. "Christ," she whispered, and put her foot on the brake. The fog was slowly shifting and she decided she wasn't going anywhere until it cleared.
After five minutes spent drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she turned off the engine and lights and cracked the window, then sat back to wait it out.
Fog swirled and crept all around the car, and she heard faint singing. Evening services, she realized. The eerie tones continued, some kind of Gregorian chant going on and on and on while fog sifted and eddied. She tried not to think about the steam in the showers that had done the same thing until it formed- seemed to form- a phantom.
Twenty endless minutes passed before the fog began to thin. Up ahead, she could see muted light coming from the chapel. "It's about time," she muttered, starting the car, again using only the parking lights, this time to avoid drawing attention to herself. Once she was behind the chapel, she doubted anyone would notice her, but while taking the curve, her headlights might flash in its windows. She wasn't afraid of being seen, she reminded herself; she just didn't want to talk to anyone.
The road came within fifty feet of the building before curving behind it. As she approached the turn, she glanced at the chapel, looked up at the steeple. The gargoyle was gone. She braked, took a second look. Or was it? Mist swirled, obscuring her view, thinned, thickened. "You're imagining things," she said, as she accelerated.
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