MOON FALL

by Tamara Thorne

  ''Maybe so. Kelly, Minerva asked me to tell you something. She said that you shouldn't go through the woods to visit her. It's too dangerous right now."

  ''I always go that way."

  ''Remember the day you got in trouble trying to get Mark's jacket? One of the boys was killed by a nightflyer."

  "Not Mark!"

  "No. A boy named Pete Parker. Did you know him?"

  Kelly shook her head. "No. Is Mark all right?"

  "Yes. He was wounded slightly. The thing took a bite out of his neck, but he's fine."

  "Are you sure?"

  Sara smiled. "Absolutely. I just saw him."

  "Were you at the sheriff's office?"

  "No. I had dinner with Mark and his father."

  "And he's okay?"

  Young love, thought Sara. ''Fine. He asked how you were, too."

  The girl beamed.

  "Kelly, it's really important that you not travel through the forest. A nightflyer might get you."

  "But I have to see Minerva."

  "I'II take you tomorrow, if you think you can sneak away."

  "Of course I can. I'll wait for you outside the front gate. Behind the trees. What time?''

  "Noon?"

  "Okay." She got up. "I'd better get back before Marcia does."

  "Where is she, anyway?"

  ''Off with the nuns. They do stuff in the chapel."

  "What kind of stuff? I didn't see any lights when I drove in."

  "They have ceremonies or something. They use candles, so you can't see. I snuck up to the window once. Marcia and those guys are like novices or something. They all wear these black robes, like the nuns." She paused at the door and removed the wedge. "I couldn't see much."

  "Be careful," Sara told her, as Kelly slipped out the door.

  She shoved the wedge securely under the door again and went to bed.

  Sixty-four

  Sara, my darling Sara.

  Warm lips touched her cheek, rained kisses over her face, then down her neck, across the ridges of her collarbone. She moaned softly as strong but gentle hands cupped her breasts and the lips moved lower, joining the hands to explore her flesh.

  Who are you? she wondered.

  You know. A tongue hardened one nipple, then the other, lighting exquisite, torturous passion deep inside her. Dream lover, she thought. You're here.

  I am. Hands caressed her waist and hips, then moved to the inside of her thighs, gently but firmly parting them. Lips and tongue followed, trailing down her stomach, her abdomen, then lower, kissing her thighs, circling closer and closer to her core, but never touching it, driving her mad with desire. She pushed her hips toward the dream lover, strained toward his lips and teasing tongue. The fire burned unabated, and still the dream man refused her satisfaction.

  Please, she moaned. Oh, please. Who are you?

  You tell me. Kisses came closer, fingers parted her, but did not touch. She burned.

  John, you're John. She opened her eyes but could not see him in the dark, could only hear his soft laughter as he manipulated her.

  John? asked the dream lover. Or am I Richard? Or maybe someone else? This is your dream.

  He moved up over her body as he spoke, pinning her shoulders with his massive hands. She felt his hardness against her and strained toward him. Make love to me, she pleaded. Make love to me, John.

  I'm not John! The words blasted through her head as he plunged into her. His hands dug into her breasts, squeezing and kneading, and she screamed as teeth pressed into her soft flesh, biting and pulling. The hands moved everywhere, squeezing, pinching, and the weight of his body held her down as he thrust again and again, growing larger with every move. He was tearing her apart.

  You're killing me! Blindly she reached for his face, but where his head should have been there was only icy cold air, thick and slimy. Hollow laughter filled her head as the pounding continued, and suddenly she knew who it was- what it was that was raping her.

  Her own screams woke her, the laughter still resounding in her ears. She opened her eyes and saw the white, vaguely man-shaped mass glowing in the dark. Slapping on the bedside lamp, she sat up. "Get out of here! I don't want you! Get out!"

  The phantom disintegrated into small dots of light that blinked out one by one as the laughter faded.

  "Oh, God," she whispered, and jumped from the bed. Her entire body hurt. She ran to the long mirror she'd mounted on the closet door and pulled her nightgown over her head. It dropped to the floor unnoticed as she stared at her body.

  ''Oh, my God." There were vivid pink fingerprints everywhere, quickly turning into dark bruises, and a perfect set of tooth prints surrounded one nipple. Tiny drops of blood beaded on the skin. Her abdomen bore scratches and her inner thighs were mottled with bruises. A thin trickle of blood was drying on one leg.

  She needed a doctor, but what could she say? That a ghost raped her? She could go to Richard, but what if it was him fueling the attack? What might he do?

  Go to John. He'll know what to do. The thought was humiliating, and she knew beyond a doubt that he'd insist she leave the abbey. She couldn't do that, not without Kelly. Take her with you and get out!

  She threw on the clothes she'd worn today, grabbed her purse, and swiftly ran down the stairs to the first floor. The corridor lights were out, so she trailed her hands along the doors, counting them off. As her fingers found the right doorknob, she heard a rustle of skirts behind her, but before she could turn around, a damp, foul-smelling cloth was clamped over her nose and mouth, and darkness spiraled around her.

  Sixty-five

  Naked, sitting cross-legged on black satin sheets, Richard Dashwood opened his eyes and smiled at Lucy, equally naked, sitting opposite him on his bed. "That was quite a treat," he told her.

  "Yes, wasn't it?" She took two brandy snifters from the bedside table and handed him one. ''We outdid ourselves, didn't we, darling?"

  "To us," he said.

  "To us."

  "You know, Lucy, I'd been paying our little Sara dream visits on my own, but it was nothing like this. This was ... sublime." He drained his glass and set it aside as Lucy did the same.

  "Supremely sublime," she agreed. "We must do it more often."

  "One shouldn't let one's sex life get into a rut." He smiled and lay back, watching her watch his bobbing penis.

  ''Do you think we managed to mark her?" Lucy asked, crawling up between his legs.

  "Yes, I believe we managed to do all sorts of things to her. Sister Regina has been instructed to chloroform her and put her in the infirmary. They should be arriving about now." He smirked. "If the poor girl's been raped, she must be examined, you know."

  "I know." Lucy's nostrils flared and her pupils were dilated. ''Do you want to go there now?"

  "No, I want to come now. There's only so much a man can take, you know."

  ''I know," Lucy said. ''What will it be this time, dear doctor? Handcuffs? Rubber? Leather? Feathers?"

  He smiled. "Nothing so fancy, Lucy. After all, I must see to my patient. Let's just play doctor. See my thermometer?"

  She nodded, eyes bright.

  ''I think I'll take your temperature. Open wide."

  "Yes, Doctor."

  Sixty-six

  By October twenty-ninth, Moonfall was a gem of red and gold. The days were cool, the sunlight brilliant as it slanted between the trees, catching the colors of the falling leaves.

  The nights were frigid, the sky so clear and bright that the Milky Way was startlingly brilliant. Houses and cabins took on a cozy look as wood smoke filled the air and pumpkins roosted on porch railings. The apple harvest was in full swing, and store shelves were lined with bright baskets laden with shining fruit, red, green, and yellow. Fresh cider, hot cider, spiced or not, apple butter, apple jelly, and apple pies were in demand, and Apple Heaven's mince pie business was booming.

  Despite the festive atmosphere, John Lawson was in a funk. He'd made no progress in the deaths of Gus or Pete Parker
and had been plagued by increasingly terrifying nightmares, both the usual ones about his brother and the now familiar one about the room filling with blood while Minerva Payne ordered him to open the door for her.

  Mark was completely involved in the Halloween Haunt, giving John little choice but to let him stay in town on Halloween. And worst of all, Sara hadn't contacted him since their dinner more than ten days ago.

  The station had been hopping. As the festivals began, so did bar fights, drunk driving, and thefts, and this year it was all worse than usual. He'd been working twelve to fourteen hours a day, and his deputies were all on overtime. In his few spare moments, he entertained all sorts of half-baked theories about Sara's lack of communication, his main one being that she had chosen Dashwood over him. Sometimes it occurred to him that she might be in danger, and that's what was on his mind at the moment.

  He'd tried to avoid such thoughts, even when they were so powerful that he could barely tolerate them. He told himself it was paranoia, lack of sleep, or stress, but he knew what it was: avoidance. The dreams about Minerva and the room filling with blood stemmed from the same source. He had been avoiding everything that smacked of the bizarre, trying to pretend to himself that it was just another tourist season in Moonfall. He knew he had to stop. Now.

  He turned his cruiser onto Apple Hill Road and glanced at his watch. It was just past four; there was nearly an hour of light left. First, he would visit Minerva, then go out to St. Gertrude's. He'd never gone back to ask the nuns about the nightflyers, and that would be the perfect excuse to nose around.

  He pulled into the little parking lot at the Gingerbread House, saw the "Open" sign, and got out of the car, relieved because he'd expected to have to go all the way out to the cottage.

  The bell jingled on the door as he went in and he was surprised to see Mark, wearing a white apron, sweeping the floor. "Hi, Dad!"

  "Hi, Mark." Guilt washed over him. He'd forgotten his son was working for Minerva. He'd spent so much time avoiding the whole subject of the old woman that he'd convinced himself the boy was spending all his time working on the Haunt. "Is Minerva here?"

  "Sure. She's in the kitchen. Go on back." Mark returned energetically to his chores.

  "I was hoping you'd come see me," Minerva said, as she turned from a huge oven, a tray of cookies in her mitted hands. "I've been trying to contact you."

  ''I know. You should have used a phone."

  She ignored that. "We're running out of time."

  "Yeah." Everything he'd been avoiding came rushing back at him under her gaze. "Have you seen Sara Hawthorne?" he blurted, suddenly wondering how he could have let so much time pass.

  Minerva set the cookies down. ''No, but Kelly Reed has come to see me. That girl's still running through the woods. At least she's not traveling at night. Still, I'm afraid she's not going to make it one of these times. The nightflyers are hungry. Have you heard them?"

  Indeed he had. Several animals- goats and sheep and a pig- had been mutilated, and chickens and rabbits had disappeared. People were on the lookout for mountain lions, coyotes, even bears, but certainly not for gargoyles. The cries of the creatures in the dead of night had awakened him from his nightmares more than once. He nodded and told her about the attacks on the zoo animals.

  ''We're lucky that's what they're going after," Minerva said. "Come on outside with me. You can bring that garbage can along."

  He picked up a half-filled kitchen trash can and carried it out behind her. She lifted the lid on a large can and he dumped the trash.

  "Thank you, John," she said. "I thought it best we talk out of Mark's hearing. Come on over here."

  He followed her to a low ranch-style fence at the edge of the property and they leaned against it. "You've raised a fine boy," she said. "A hard worker."

  "Thanks." He stared out at the acres of Parker orchards. "I haven't been paying enough attention to him lately."

  She nodded. "You have a lot to deal with right now. You're worried about Sara, aren't you?"

  "Yes. And I've been avoiding it"

  "Kelly says she hasn't been herself lately."

  "She's ill?" He remembered the vacant, drugged look on her face that day in Dashwood's infirmary.

  "She's troubled, I think. Tormented. She needs you, John, but you already know that."

  "I might be the source of her torment."

  "You know better than that. She loves you. You love her. Be a little more confident. You torture yourself unnecessarily. Just listen to your inner voice, and you'll know the truth."

  ''Minerva, how can you know she loves me? Did she tell you?"

  "No. I've only seen her once since she arrived, but when I mentioned your name, I could see it in her eyes. She didn't know it yet. But she does now. You should go see her."

  "I'm going as soon as I leave here."

  "Good. Watch out for that damned Dashwood. I'm certain he's unhappy about you. He's after Sara for his own purposes."

  "Did you divine that as well?" he asked, almost smiling.

  "No. Kelly told me that Sara got her out of solitary confinement by promising to go out with him. I'd imagine he's behind that episode at my house."

  That was another thing he'd conveniently forgotten. The attack of freezing cold seemed like a dream now.

  "Are you wearing your amulet?"

  "Yes," he said. lifting the leather string slightly. He was wearing it primarily because Mark had taken to nagging him to do so.

  "I want you to go see Sara now, John, but I want you to come back and see me at my cottage tomorrow. We have to find out what happened to your brother before it happens to your son."

  His stomach turned at the words, but he knew she was right. "I will."

  ''Promise on your father's and grandfather's graves."

  He hesitated. "I promise."

  Sixty-seven

  "So, Mother Lucy, you don't know anything about these birds?"

  Lucy smiled at John, as serene as the Virgin. ''No. We hear them, of course, but we never see them. They've never given us any trouble."

  "I was told that they nest in St Gertrude's forest."

  "I wouldn't know. I always thought they came from Witch Forest. Wasn't that child killed by the Falls?" she asked smoothly.

  "Yes," he replied, just as smoothly. "Just above where Lenore Tynan died."

  ''Then perhaps you should be looking around there."

  "Perhaps. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask some of your staff about them." ·

  ''Of course."

  ''Where would I find your gardeners?"

  She looked pointedly at the wall clock. "Getting ready to go home for the day, I'd imagine. Go out to the garage- the old stables across the lawn. You'll probably find some of them there. But you'd better hurry if you want to catch them."

  ''Thanks."

  John followed her directions and found the long building. Sara had mentioned that she had a friend, a groundskeeper, who'd been at the abbey when she was a child. Later, she'd dropped the name "Carlos," and that was who he wanted to talk to. First, to ask about the nightflyers, then for the real reason: to find out where to find Sara.

  The garage doors were swung wide open, and he heard men's voices speaking Spanish as he entered. He spotted them halfway down the long building and strode swiftly toward them, spotting Sara's white Sentra along the way. It gave him a little jolt to know with certainty that she was here somewhere.

  ''Excuse me," he said to the men, who had turned and now watched him suspiciously. Several backed into the shadows, and he realized that they were probably illegal immigrants. He smiled. "I'm not here to arrest anyone, don't worry." They continued to eye him dubiously, but one man, square shouldered and with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, stepped forward. ''What can we do for you, sir?"

  John stuck out his hand. ''I'm John Lawson, sheriff of Moonfall. And you are?"

  "Carlos Montoya. Chief groundskeeper." He shook John's hand with a firm dry grip.

 
Bingo. "Can you spare a few minutes, Mr. Montoya?"

  "Sure. My men are just getting ready to go home. Do you want to talk to them as well?"

  "No, no. I realize this is an inconvenient time. I'm sure you can answer my questions, Mr. Montoya. If I have any for your men, I'll come back."

  Montoya nodded, then spoke in Spanish, and watched his crew finish putting the equipment away and quickly leave. Very quickly. ''They like to be out of here before dark, Sheriff. They're superstitious," he said, as the last one left the building.

  ''Are they afraid of the nightflyers?"

  ''Nightflyers?" Carlos asked.

  "Yes. The birds. One killed a little boy recently."

  "Yes, they fear them." Carlos peered around the garage in one direction, then the other. "They fear many things."

  "Do you want to go somewhere else to talk?" Montoya's nervousness seeped into John, and he wondered if anyone was lurking in the shadows, listening.

  ''Let's go outside." Carlos led him out the far end of the building, away from the chapel. He shut the small door behind him. ''What do you want to talk about, Sheriff?"

  "Have you worked here a long time?"

  ''Twenty years."

  "Have you ever seen one of those birds?"

  "Yes. They're demons." He whispered the words, glancing around nervously.

  "Do you know what they are? One of them bit my son, and the doctor is concerned about rabies," he added, thinking that might get Montoya to speak more freely.

  "They are demons. They are servants of the devil, but that's all I know."

  "When did you see one?"

  ''One night many years ago, when I was late leaving. It flew at me as I went to my car. I swear, it sounded like it was laughing at me." He paused. ''I know how ridiculous that sounds. Recently, I saw one land among the gargoyles on the chapel. My men saw it, too, which is why they were so eager to leave. It wasn't even dark yet. No darker than it is now."

  "Mr. Montoya, I believe you. And I want to ask you a question you might find ridiculous."