MOON FALL

by Tamara Thorne

  She passed the back of the chapel and cemetery without looking at anything but the road. She drove on slowly to the garage, aware that she was trembling, telling herself it was nothing, just a reaction to John and Mark's story, the fog, and the dark.

  "Damn it." The big double doors to the garage were closed. She put the Sentra in park and jumped out, relieved to see there was no lock on the huge old stable. Shivering, she shot the bolt and slowly pulled one of the heavy doors open far enough to get the car inside.

  Back in the car, she turned on the headlights and angled the car into the building, parking in an empty stall near the door because the dark within was so thick that she couldn't bear the idea of walking all the way from the center of the garage. She locked the car, then raced out of the building and closed the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she pushed the bolt home. The fog had receded, leaving nothing but a thin mist. In the hazy moonlight, she could see the darkened school building in front of her and the faintly lit chapel to the right. She squinted at the steeple but couldn't make out anything through the haze at this distance. Let it go.

  She walked quickly across the vast lawn, making a beeline for the dormitory. It wasn't much past nine o'clock, but very few lights were on. She hurried inside and up the stairs to her room, relieved that she saw no one in the halls. Opening her door she stepped inside, then flopped against it, her legs like rubber, her hands trembling. Her mouth was dust dry. "Get a grip," she muttered, as she reached over and felt for the light switch. The white-walled room was almost too bright, but she didn't mind.

  She went straight to the little refrigerator and snagged a cold soda, drank half of it in one long, wonderful swallow, then shucked off her jacket and flopped into the old easy chair. For the first time the room felt like home. Not a very good home, she thought, but a home nevertheless. She looked around, thinking that with a few pictures on the walls and a throw pillow or two, it might not be so bad. Her gaze fell on the bed and she saw something glinting on the spread.

  She stood up and crossed to the bed. Her breath caught as she recognized the object: a double-edged razor blade.

  Raps like gunshots shot through the room, and Sara screamed before she realized it was someone knocking on the door. She whirled, clapping her hands to her mouth; she'd forgotten to push the wedge under after she'd returned.

  The door flew open and Richard Dashwood rushed in. "Are you all right?" he asked, grasping her shoulders.

  She looked up at him, saw the concern in his eyes. ''Yes, yes, I'm fine," she sputtered. She knew she was blushing furiously. "You startled me. Uh, would you like a Pepsi, or something?"

  He studied her an instant longer, then smiled gently and let his hands drop to his sides. "Yes, actually, I would."

  Sara took another can out of the refrigerator and brought it to the small dining table along with her own. Her heart was still beating like a jackrabbit's, but her smile was genuine. "Have a seat. I'm sorry, do you want a glass and some ice?" She was almost as horrified at her own mindless babbling as she'd been by the razor blade, but she couldn't stop. She heard herself rambling on about how she had only paper cups, not actual glasses, and would he like some tortilla chips or ginger snaps?

  Dashwood seated himself while she was talking and opened the soda. He smiled when she sputtered to a halt. "Aren't you going to sit?"

  ''Yes, of course." Humiliated, she pulled out the other chair. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what got into me."

  "You're very nervous tonight."

  She nodded. "Sorry." She glanced at. the bed, at the blade, but said nothing.

  "Did something happen while you were out?"

  "What do you mean?" she asked, instantly alert.

  ''I saw you coming in." He smiled gently. ''I daresay the sisters are aware of everyone's comings and goings as well. It's hard to keep a low profile around here."

  "I wasn't trying to sneak around, if that's what you mean. I am free to come and go as I please, aren't I?"

  "Of course you are," he said warmly. "And it's no one's business where you go. The sisters might disapprove of your leaving the grounds, but they know they can't stop you."

  Between his mesmerizing gaze and his sincere smile, Sara's reserve began to melt away. "Why would they disapprove?" she asked.

  "Because they are, what's the expression? Control freaks."

  "Kind of makes me want to go to the bar and pick up sailors," she said, "just to annoy them."

  ''That would have the desired effect." He chuckled; then his expression grew serious. "Don't let them get to you, Sara. They're a pitiful group really, all set in their ways. They've been isolated out here so long that they can't imagine how other people live."

  "They're all still here, too, aren't they?" Sara sat forward, intrigued.

  "Most of them. Do you remember Sister Flora? Or Sisters Nicholas, Anna, or Marie Stanislaus? They were all quite elderly."

  "Yes, I think I remember some of them. Did they leave?"

  ''In a manner of speaking. They died. Perhaps you noticed the new gargoyle on the steeple of the chapel?"

  "Yes. I thought I was seeing things."

  He shook his head. "Not at all. Sister Elizabeth has turned her talents to sculpting. She creates a new gargoyle for every nun that passes on. That one was for Sister Flora, who was Lucy's assistant and personal favorite. She died six months ago. She was given the place of honor."

  Sara felt reassured by the laughter in his eyes. ''I did think there are more gargoyles than when I left here as a girl." She made a face. "Somehow, I'd expect her to create gargoyles instead of statues of the Virgin."

  ''Morbid memorials." Dashwood returned her smile, then reached in his pocket. ''I almost forgot. I brought you something." He brought out something wrapped in white tissue paper and set it on the table. "I hope they haven't melted."

  Opening the crackling paper, Sara saw two chocolate truffles. "Are you trying to fatten me up?"

  ''Chocolate has known therapeutic effects."

  ''Yes, it does." Sara picked one up and pushed the other toward the doctor. "But one is enough. You have the other."

  "Save it for later." He pushed it back.

  She bit into the chocolate, savored the fudge interior. ''These are delicious. Where do you buy them?"

  ''I filch them from Apple Heaven. Sister Margaret has a gift for candy making."

  ''I like your honesty." For the first time she felt truly at ease with the man. "Chocolate cures all sorts of problems, doesn't it?"

  He nodded. ''If I might be permitted to ask, why were you so anxious earlier?"

  ''Driving through the fog. Parking in that dark garage." She hesitated, then made a decision. "And someone's been in my room."

  His eyebrows raised. "Are you certain?"

  ''Whoever it was left a razor blade on the bed."

  "That's horrible," he said. "But I'm not particularly surprised."

  "You're not?" She reached for the second truffle.

  ''No. It's cruel but typical in a school like this. As you undoubtedly know, your predecessor cut her wrists."

  "Yes." She stared at Dashwood's handsome face. The man had remarkable eyes. "And?"

  "And children- girls, in particular- can be very cruel. It's a form of hazing. Or an initiation. I think your best course of action is to show absolutely no sign of weakness. Be firm and fair, and show the girls you mean business. They'll respect you for it and the pranks will stop." He paused. ''I think I can even tell you who's responsible."

  "If you blame Kelly Reed, you're out on your ear, truffles or no truffles."

  "Not at all." He shook his head. "Poor Kelly. There's one in every group."

  ''One what?"

  ''Outcast. Pariah. It's worse than usual for Kelly, because Mother Lucy has taken a dislike to her, and as Mother Lucy goes, so go the sisters." His eyes were dark and sad. ''I wish I could do more for her."

  "Why doesn't Lucy like her?" All the tension had left her now and she covered a yawn.


  Dashwood shrugged. "She says the girl is a pathological liar. Kelly does tell tales, but she's not pathological. However, there's no convincing our Mother Superior of that."

  "It seems so cruel to lock her up. Can't you talk Lucy into a milder form of punishment?"

  "I've tried. When that woman makes up her mind, there's no changing it. If it helps, though, I can assure you that Kelly wants for nothing."

  "Good. I'm glad." Sara couldn't stop looking at Dashwood's eyes. They had tiny gold flecks that made them sparkle. He's talking about Kelly's welfare, and you're thinking like a schoolgirl! She forced herself to sit up straight in her chair, tried to fight her exhaustion. ''Do you think you could sneak me in to visit her?" She heard several of her words slur.

  He turned his palms upward, a helpless motion. ''It would be extremely difficult. Sister Regina is Lucy's new lapdog, you know. And I know for a fact that the confinement room is bugged."

  ''Bugged? That's awful." She yawned.

  "Not too awful. It's as much for the safety of the student being punished as anything."

  Sara nodded. ''I see."

  "You're exhausted," he said, gazing into her eyes. "And you have a big day tomorrow."

  ''First day of school," she murmured.

  "I'll take my leave now," Dashwood said, as he stood up. "Thanks for the soda."

  Sara stood up and the room spun. She grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself, then, embarrassed, attempted a short laugh. ''Was there any liquor in those truffles?"

  ''There might be." Dashwood came around the table and put his arm around her waist. ''But not enough to affect you. You just need a good night's rest."

  Everything lurched dizzily around her as he guided her to her bed. He bent and pulled back the covers, then helped her lie down. ''I feel ridiculous," she said. as he took her shoes off and set them on the floor by the bed.

  ''Don't." He undid the belt on her pants and snaked it from the loops, then laid it on the night table. "I'm a doctor, remember?" He pulled the covers up over her, then sat on the edge of the bed. "Is there anything else you need. Sara?"

  God, those eyes. ''No." She felt herself drifting away.

  He bent over her, lightly brushed his lips against her forehead. "Sweet dreams," he whispered. "Sweet, sweet dreams."

  Forty-seven

  No matter how many times John asked him not to, Gus turned his telephone ringer off every night at nine o'clock. He said it was because he'd been at the beck and call of his parishioners for so many years that now, in retirement, he was damned if he was going to give up a single moment of his nighttime privacy.

  It was eleven P.M. John hadn't expected him to pick up, but he'd hoped that his grandfather had finally hooked up the answering machine he and Mark had given him for his birthday last June. No such luck. Stubborn old coot. Well, he thought, I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.

  He'd spent the time since Sara left with Mark. His son had spoken at length, exorcising every horrible detail, and hopefully, some of his emotional trauma. Then, trying to assuage the boy's obvious guilt over Pete Parker's death, John ended up telling him what he remembered of the night and morning surrounding Greg's death.

  Mark had benefited from their confessions; he'd finally fallen peacefully asleep. John had covered him up and returned to the living room. He hadn't benefited; recounting the story aloud after all these years, thinking about Greg's death in such detail, left him both drained and agitated. It didn't make sense, not the way he remembered it, and he could no longer deny that whatever was missing from his memory was important. Absently he pressed his fingers to his breast pocket, where Minerva Payne's good luck charm rested. Silly old woman. Or was she? He wasn't so sure anymore.

  He started to reach for the phone again. After all these years, he suddenly wanted to talk to Winky and Beano and Paul. He needed to know what they thought of the events of Halloween, 1972. The clock struck eleven-thirty and he withdrew his hand. Most people in Moonfall were early-to-bed types. On top of that, it would be best to sleep on things before talking to anyone. And before he did anything else, he decided. he'd talk with Gus and find out what all the excitement about their family tree was about.

  In the dark, far away, came one of those hellish screeches. Shivering, John rose and checked the locks on the doors and windows, then went to bed. He didn't expect to sleep, but he wanted to be within shouting distance of Mark, should the boy suffer nightmares or wake up to the sound of the thing that had killed his friend.

  Forty-eight

  Sara, Sara, wake up!

  "Jenny?" Eyes closed. Sara thought she was speaking, but wasn't sure. It might only be a dream.

  Open your eyes, Sara. I have something to show you.

  She tried to force her way up through layer upon layer of sleep. It was like swimming in maple syrup, making her feel as if she were drowning in it and couldn't come up for air. "Jenny," she gasped. "I'm coming, Jenny."

  Hurry!

  Cold fingers caressed her cheek and suddenly, she was awake- and afraid. What if it was the fraud calling to her, the specter that had pretended to be Jenny in the showers?

  The caress again. It's all right, Sara. It's me. Don't be afraid. Jenny's voice.

  Slowly, trembling hard, she opened her eyes.

  Jenny stood before her, pale, but seemingly solid. Her dark hair flowed down over her shoulders, just as Sara remembered. She wore a long white gown. She smiled. Hello, Sara.

  Sara sat up, rubbed her eyes. "Jenny, is it really you? I mean ... "

  It's me. And I have to show you something. Get up. Please hurry!

  Sara realized that Jenny's mouth wasn't moving, but inexplicably, her fear had lessened. ''What?" she asked, as she stood. "What do you have to show me?" She reached out to touch Jenny, who looked so real, but her fingertips disappeared into her arm. Startled, she jumped back. The fingers were icy cold.

  I'm sorry. I wish I could hug you.

  Sara edged around the bed, then turned to go to her closet. She could barely think; she wasn't even positive she was awake.

  You're already dressed. Put on your shoes.

  She looked down, startled to see it was true. Dr. Dashwood had come to visit, she remembered, and she'd been very tired. He must have put her to bed.

  The ghost was standing by the door when she looked up again. She slipped on her penny loafers. "Okay," she said, shrugging on her jacket.

  Open the door.

  Hesitantly, she did as Jenny had asked. Without allowing herself to consider the possible consequences, she followed the ghost to the far end of the building and down the staircase. The spirit didn't walk, but seemed to glide along the floor, and Sara was glad its feet were hidden beneath the gown. If Jenny was floating above ground, she didn't want to know about it; her nerves couldn't take any more.

  Ground fog covered the lawn and the barest hint of a pink dawn tinted the eastern sky beyond the forest. The spirit moved across the lawn, leaving no footprints, and Sara followed, trying to keep pace, her feet slipping and sliding on the dew-moistened grass.

  Even in the gloom, the spirit was easy to see: it seemed to have its own inner light as it glided between the hedges and across the road to the forest. Sara's clothing and hair caught in the bushes as she pushed her way through. "Jenny, slow down."

  The ghost stopped at the forest edge. Hurry!

  "Where are we going?" Sara panted.

  We must hurry. Follow me! The spirit turned and moved into the woods.

  ''Wait!" Sara cried, still on the road at the edge of the woods. Wingbeats sounded, echoing in the fog, and something passed overhead, seeming to cast a shadow even in the dim morning light. "Wait!" she cried again, but her voice was lost in the screech of the huge bird. Frightened, she lunged into the forest after Jenny.

  She ran, never quite catching up with the ghost as it glided among the trees, and sometimes right through them. It was too dark here to see anything except looming tree trunks and the phantom's white figure,
a candle in the gloom. She tripped over roots and her feet caught in rodent holes. Falling repeatedly, she ripped her trousers and skinned her knees and bruised the palms of her hands. From overhead, above the trees, came the sound of wings, and sometimes the bird's raucous call.

  Hurry!

  She heard the voice in her head as loudly as if Jenny were next to her instead of fifty feet ahead. Rushing on, she saw pinkish light between the thinning trees, heard the rumble of crashing water. A moment later, she came into a vast clearing, a vaguely circular meadow. At the far end, rising above the pasture, were waterfalls. Jenny hovered near them.

  With sudden dread, she realized that this was where they had found Lenore Tynan. Glancing skyward, she saw pinkish-gray light, and no sign of the bird that had dogged her run through the forest. Relieved, she trotted across the meadow to the edge of the Falls. ''Why are we here?'' she asked, trying to catch her breath.

  I want to tell you how it happened. In the dawning light, Jenny's figure had become translucent, her skin the color of fog.

  "But you didn't die here."

  Many have. Many more will.

  Jenny's form seemed misty now, reminding Sara of the phantom in the shower. Her eyes were nothing more than black holes, the shape of her face barely recognizable.

  You were supposed to die that night, not me.

  ''What?" Sara stepped back. ''What are you talking about?"

  Look in your pocket.

  Sara slipped her hand in the jacket pocket. Her finger touched cold metal. "Ow!" She pulled her hand out, stared in shock at ·the razor blade imbedded in her fingertip. She shook the hand and the blade flew out onto the damp yellow weeds. Droplets of blood spattered her shoes.

  The phantom moved forward before Sara could react. Its face was swirling mist, its eyes huge and fathomless. Pick it up.