One to Go

by Mike Pace

  “I’m sorry,” Tom responded. “I know this looks weird, but you’re just going to have to trust me. Stay close and keep your eyes open.”

  “For what? Keep my eyes open for what, Tom?”

  Before Tom could respond, Matthew and Janie were reciting the familiar children’s prayer, each with their eyes closed:

  “Now I lay me down to sleep…”

  CHAPTER 66

  Tom thought he felt a slight vibration, then it stopped. Probably his imagina—

  This time there was no doubt. The shaking increased to a low rumble.

  Eva’s frightened face looked up to him. “Tom?”

  The floor trembled below their feet.

  Janie stopped praying. “Daddy?”

  Tom heard the scraping sound of stone against stone. In moments, each of the columns in the nave shook.

  Eva screamed and turned to run from the building. Tom grabbed her and held her tight.

  “If you try to escape, you’ll die!”

  He didn’t understand how he knew that to be the case, but he was as sure as anything in his life.

  Janie ran to him and leaped into his arms. With one arm around Eva and the other holding his daughter to his breast, he encouraged her. “Let’s keep praying, sweetie.” He joined Matt. “Now I lay me down to sleep…”

  After a few moments, first Eva, then Janie joined in. “…I pray the Lord my soul to keep.”

  The rumble deepened. Heavy dust and bits of stone descended down upon them from the vaulted ceiling.

  Masterson and Zig leaped from their seats and rushed toward the baptistery.

  Tom heard a loud boom. He looked up to see the spine of the nave crack apart from one end to the other like a time-lapsed bolt of lightning.

  Now the entire cathedral shook with the sound of an onrushing freight train.

  An even louder ripping sound filled the church. Tom saw a huge boss being pulled from the ceiling spine, like a button torn from a coat by an invisible hand.

  The 2,000-pound stone dropped toward the cathedral floor.

  “Run!” Eva shouted to Zig and Masterson.

  Zig tripped, then scrambled to his feet, looked up, and froze. Tom saw the stark terror on his face, and followed his eyes.

  “Zig!”

  The massive stone crushed his head against the floor, splitting it like a ripe cantaloupe.

  Eva screamed. Tom pressed Janie’s head tight against his chest to keep her from witnessing the fate of Uncle Ziggy. He pulled them under the wide bench seat.

  Matthew stood defiantly in the center of the baptistery. His arms outstretched, he tilted his face heavenward, his eyes closed, his expression serene. He shouted the next line of the prayer. “If I should die before I wake—”

  “Jesus!” shouted Masterson. “What the hell’s—?”

  Eva pointed to the carved stone wall behind the high altar. In the center of the wall, surrounded by angels and archangels, a seated Christ held a globe. Suddenly, the Jesus figure appeared to come to life. It stood and jumped down to the floor.

  “I pray the Lord my soul to—” The priest saw the animated figure walking toward them and froze. The Christ figure shimmied, then spun twice full circle.

  And there was Britney, dressed in Christ’s limestone-colored robe, grinning from ear to ear.

  CHAPTER 67

  The shaking ceased.

  Suddenly, the cathedral was still—the rising dust from fallen stone was the only sign of movement inside the cavernous space.

  Then Tom heard a sound, and turned to see that Bat had fainted, falling to the floor.

  Britney broke the silence. “Hi, guys.” She smiled and offered a finger wave.

  The priest stepped in front of her and raised a Bible in front of her face. The book burst into flames. The flames caught on Matthew’s clothing, and he screamed as the fire enveloped him. No one could speak.

  Then the flames extinguished as suddenly as they’d appeared. Matthew seemed to be unharmed and his clothing untouched. He raised his head, faced Tom and grinned.

  Only, it wasn’t Matthew. “Hi, guys,” said Chad.

  Tom was staring at Matthew’s face, but the eyes and voice were that of Chad. “What did you do with him?”

  “Who? Matty? Let’s see, he’s around here someplace.” The thing’s eyes rolled back for a moment, then returned. Must’ve gone out for some fresh air. He was getting rather hot in here.”

  Both Chad and Britney giggled like ten-year-olds.

  “Daddy, what’s happening?” whispered Janie, the fear apparent in her voice. “Is this your surprise?”

  “Yes, honey,” said Chad, “this is Daddy’s surprise. Do you like it so far? Looks real, huh?”

  Janie curled tighter into Tom.

  Brit approached the bench. “Aren’t you guys all scrunched up under there?” she asked. “Come on out.”

  Eva tugged on Tom’s sleeve. She tried to speak but couldn’t get the words out. He kissed her, then placed Janie in her arms and crawled out from under the bench.

  “Daddy!” Eva hugged Janie close.

  Tom spotted Matthew’s ornate flask filled with holy water on the bench. He grabbed it and shook the contents at Chad and Brit, sprinkling droplets on each. He stepped back, apprehensive.

  Brit licked her lips. “Holy water? Mmmm, my favorite.”

  “Ditto,” said Chad. “Especially good to rid one’s throat of all of this dust.”

  Brit stepped over to the heavy marble baptismal font, ripped the bowl from the pedestal, then lifted the bowl and drank. When finished, she let loose a tiny burp. “Oops, sorry,” she grinned. “Not very ladylike.”

  Chad bent over so he was eye level with Janie as she cowered in Eva’s arms under the bench. “Come on out, honey. Uncle Chad wants to show you something.”

  “Daddy, help me!”

  Tom stepped in front of the bench. “Take me. Please, leave her alone.”

  Chad made a show of looking at his wrist. He blew stone dust from Matthew’s watch. “Oh, sorry. Midnight’s passed. Rules are rules. Am I right, Brit?”

  She nodded solemnly. “Rules are rules.” She took a step toward the bench.

  Tom pushed her, but his hands passed through her robe into what felt like fire. He screamed, then yanked out his hands—they were red and swollen with first-degree burns. Without thinking, he buried them into what remained of the holy water in the marble bowl. Smoke rose from the bowl as if he’d just dipped a lighted torch into the water.

  “Daddy, take me home, I want to go home!”

  “Don’t worry, Janie,” said Brit. “You’ll be going home soon. To a new home actually. Won’t need a coat.”

  Chad chuckled.

  The blood had drained from Eva’s face as she witnessed the confrontation. Her eyes widened in terror, but she nevertheless rolled out from under the bench and positioned herself in front of Janie.

  “I don’t know who you are or what you’re up to, but you’re not taking this little girl anywhere.”

  “So brave,” said the Chad-Matt thing. He spread his arms theatrically, as if reciting a Shakespearean soliloquy to a crowded theater, and lifted his face skyward. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

  Eva’s body slowly levitated from the floor. Her piercing scream echoed inside the giant cathedral vault.

  “…I shall fear no evil…”

  Tom leaped for her, wrapping his arms around her waist, the rush of adrenaline momentarily masking the pain from his burnt hands. Immediately, he felt a powerful electric shock and released his grip. “Eva!”

  “…Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me…”

  She rose upward—ten feet, twenty-five feet, fifty feet. “Tom, help me!”

  Tom pivoted, anxiously searching for something, anything, he could use as a weapon. He ran to the high altar and grabbed the cross. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs, he wielded the cross like a sword, swinging with all of his might at the Chad-Matt t
hing’s head.

  The cross sliced through its neck, severing the head. The head rolled off the thing’s shoulder, then dropped to the floor. But the face kept talking as if the head had remained attached.

  “…surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…”

  Eva had now risen to the highest point of the vaulted ceiling—nearly 150 feet. Were she to fall from that height, she would surely die.

  “…And I will dwell in the house of the lord forever.”

  “Please, don’t hurt her!” Tom pleaded.

  “Sorry, Tom, but you failed to live up to your end of the bargain,” said Brit.

  “As an attorney, you know there must be penalties for breach of contract,” Chad added.

  “If there were no consequences, everyone would feel free to break agreements, large and small,” said Brit. “Lawlessness and anarchy would prevail.”

  “A civilized society is built on a man’s word being his bond. You have to agree with that, Tom,” added Chad. The head floated up through the air and reset itself on top of Matthew’s body. He again checked his watch. “Love to stay and chat, but duty calls.”

  He looked up at Eva and winked.

  She shrieked, and her body dropped toward the cathedral floor 150 feet below.

  CHAPTER 68

  “No!”

  Tom froze, not believing his eyes. He rushed down the aisle, his eyes glued to Eva, and tripped over Bat’s crumpled body. He yelped out in pain as his healing nose smashed hard against the cold stone floor. He scrambled to his feet, blood pouring down his face, and stumbled forward as Eva’s body tumbled down toward him.

  Then she stopped in midair. Then she was pulled upward again, yanked like a dancing marionette. She shrieked as her body performed involuntary backflips, turns, and twists over the length of the nave—a trapeze artist without a trapeze.

  Her gymnastic maneuvers sent her back toward the high altar. Tom ran toward her, but knew any rescue attempts would be fruitless.

  The circus act had concluded. She shot upward to the height of the ceiling again, her terrifying shriek piercing Tom’s brain.

  And now she was falling. In a split second she would crash to her death.

  Tom dove forward, his arms outstretched, but he couldn’t reach her in time.

  “Evaaaaah!”

  But when her flailing body reached five feet above the floor, she suddenly stopped, hovering there for a moment. Tom leaped to his feet and rushed under her.

  Eva softly floated into his arms.

  Janie ran to him, and he held both tightly to his body. Janie and Eva were shaking. Or was that him?

  He turned to Chad and Brit, anticipating their wrath, knowing he was helpless to stop it.

  But something was wrong. By their expressions, Tom could instantly see the save had not been the work of the twin demons. He followed their eyes to the western entrance.

  The door was open. A figure—at once both familiar and unfamiliar—ambled down the aisle toward them. The figure’s face was obscured by the low light and the dust still filling the air. The figure paused when he reached Zig’s body, looked down, and shook his head. He continued toward them and glanced at Masterson’s body lying unconscious on the floor.

  Oh my God, thought Tom.

  Detective Percy Castro.

  CHAPTER 69

  The moonlight coming through the stained glass reflected off the residual dust in the air, creating a blue glow around the man as he moved steadily toward them.

  Tom whispered to Eva, “You shouldn’t have called—”

  “I didn’t.”

  Castro looked left and right, up and down, taking everything in as he walked down the aisle. For the first time, Tom noticed his eyes. Or more accurately, his lack of eyes. White orbs stared out from his eye sockets, reminding Tom of a character from cheap horror movies back before CGI existed.

  Then the eyes flared for an instant, lighting up the cathedral as if 100 klieg lights flashed simultaneously. Tom squeezed his eyes shut and used his hand to cover Janie’s face.

  After another few seconds, the light had subsided.

  Tom’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Detective?”

  The cop ignored him, his focus on Chad and Brit. When he spoke, his voice sounded normal. Almost normal.

  “Enough.”

  Chad snarled, “Never enough.”

  Suddenly, Tom felt Janie ripped from his embrace.

  Her body fired through the air to Brit. The demon wrapped its arm around the girl. Janie’s panicked scream echoed throughout the cathedral.

  Don’t worry, sweetie,” said Brit, “you’ll be fine so long as you can—fly!”

  “Daddyyyyyy!”

  In an instant, Chad and Brit levitated from the floor with the girl, then crashed through the baptistery’s stained-glass window, shattering the glass, leaving one remaining panel—the depiction of Satan. The head of the satanic figure looked down on Tom and grinned.

  Tom turned to Castro, beseeching—“Do something!”

  “Come,” said Castro, his voice eerily calm.

  “Who are you? Where are we going?” asked Eva.

  “They’ve taken her to the tower.”

  Tom remembered a number of years earlier his class took the Saturday Tower Tour offered by the cathedral—300 steps up a winding staircase to the central tower, soaring over 300 feet above grade.

  Tom studied Castro’s face. Nothing unusual. Had the whole blinding light from the eyes thing been a hallucination?

  He ran toward the door that he knew led to the stairs. He wasn’t sure Castro was fit enough to handle the climb, but he couldn’t wait. “Let’s go!”

  Eva followed him, but Castro moved steadily in the opposite direction. “Where are you going?”

  “Elevator.”

  The ascent took less than a minute. Castro had led them through a door marked “Staff Only” to a single service elevator. The pain from Tom’s hands was nearly unbearable, and he noticed blisters had already formed on both palms. He willed the pain from his mind.

  During the ride up, both Tom and Eva stared at the detective. A cop chasing the bad guys. Doing his job, that’s all. The elevator rose to a secondary level, where they took another elevator to the top interior space of the central tower—the bell level, named for the fifty-three huge, bronze carillon bells hanging from a steel superstructure, and the ten smaller peal bells hanging above them.

  Tom raced from the elevator and quickly circled the space. “Where are they?”

  Suddenly, he was nearly knocked off his feet by the deep clang of the largest carillon bell, measuring over eight feet in diameter and weighing several tons. Unlike the peal bells, the carillon bell itself didn’t move: carillon bells remain stationary while the metal clapper inside strikes the casting.

  The vibration from the sound shook him to the bone. He saw Eva holding her hands to her ears. Castro appeared unfazed, his attention drawn to a small cubicle in the center of the space where the carillonneur would play the bells using a keyboard.

  Tom saw the keys on the board moving, like a player piano. Immediately, the space shook with the sound of fifty bells chiming. The sound was not melodic; Tom was reminded of a two-year-old sitting at a piano, haphazardly pounding the keys.

  “Where are they?” he shouted, but he knew that Eva and Castro couldn’t hear him. Then he saw, more than heard Eva scream, pointing at the cubicle.

  Chad sat at the keyboard, pounding the keys, harder, harder. Still using the priest’s body, he was dressed as a ’50s rocker—Jerry Lee Lewis bangin’ the ivory with his fingers, fists, elbows, ass, and feet—a toothy grin spread across his face. The carillons clanged louder each time he’d pound the keyboard, the sound rattling even the steel structures from which the massive bells hung.

  Tom and Eva squeezed their ears tighter, but to no avail. Each strike of a bell felt like a hammer crashing the inside of Tom’s skull. Chad began to sing, the tune bearing no resemblance to the
discordant sound of the bells.

  “Goodness gracious—”

  Tom charged him, his blistering hands covering his ears. “Where’s my—?”

  “Great balls of fire!”

  “Tom!”

  Somehow, this time he heard Eva’s warning. He looked up to see the peal bells swinging angrily back and forth from the ceiling. With each swing, a small fireball shot out of the ten bells, one after the other, like a Gatling gun stitching instant death across the floor.

  Tom ran back toward the shelter of the elevator, dodging the fiery projectiles. One burst at his feet; he tried to dodge the waist-high flames, but his pants caught on fire. He screamed in pain, then in an instant he was on the floor. Eva had tackled him hard, rolling his body back and forth to extinguish the flames.

  With her help he scrambled to his feet, and together they headed toward the elevator, but the door was closed. They pounded the call button. Tom yanked Eva back as a fireball crashed against the polished steel elevator door. Castro! Where was Castro?

  There. Strolling toward them from the other side of the floor, seemingly without a care in the world. He veered toward the cubicle. When Chad saw Castro, he pulled his hands from the keys. The fire stopped; the bells stopped. He grinned at Castro, waved, then in two giant steps leaped through the narrow window.

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Tom screamed in frustration.

  “Where is she?”

  Castro gestured upward.

  “They have her on the tower roof.”

  CHAPTER 70

  They followed Castro to a door in the far corner of the space behind the largest carillon. The door led to a narrow stairway.

  Tom climbed the stairs three at a time, then burst through the heavy metal door to the tower roof, where the icy November wind hit him hard in the face. Heavy fog now shrouded the tower, but, best Tom could tell, the roof was flat, maybe forty-five feet square. Tall, pointed pinnacles, stone spires, rose over thirty feet from each corner. Stone carvings of angels surrounded the middle of each spire, while small gargoyles ran up to the sharp point of the spires like festering sores.