by Mike Pace
“Daddy!”
Tom didn’t wait for Eva and Castro. He rushed through the fog to the other side of the roof.
“Daddy! Help me!”
Her voice came from above. He looked up. Brit stood on the tip of the northwest spire, holding Janie loosely around the shoulders with one arm. The little girl’s body dangled in midair. Tom glanced down; the fog cleared enough for him to see the concrete plaza over 300 feet far below. To his right, standing tall on the corner of the apse roof some 200 feet beneath them, a slim bronze cross rose heavenward.
“Hi, Tom,” said Brit. “Lovely daughter. She’ll be great to have around the house, so to speak.”
“Let her go!”
“If you wish.” Brit loosened her grip and Janie screamed as she slipped through the demon’s arms.
“No!” Tom shouted.
In the last instant, Brit grabbed Janie’s wrist. The girl shrieked in pain as her body jerked to a stop.
“You bitch!” Tom shouted.
“Great catch, Brit.” Tom heard Chad’s voice behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Chad balancing on the point of the northeast spire. He waved. Then Chad’s attention moved away. Tom followed his gaze to see Castro standing nearby.
“Afriel, you do not belong here,” said Chad.
“You already have taken the life of one innocent child, Moloch, there will not be a second.”
“Rules are rules,” echoed Brit.
“Xelbeth, release her.”
For a long moment Castro and the demon twins froze, as if someone had pushed the pause button.
“Tom?” Eva’s voice was barely audible.
Tom felt both cold and hot at the same time. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. Unable to wrap his mind around what he was witnessing, he closed his eyes like a child who believes if he can’t see bad things, they don’t exist. When he opened them, nothing had changed.
Castro raised his gaze skyward.
The detective’s eyes rolled back, now showing nothing but white orbs, their glow casting a light glaze over Castro’s jowly face.
Suddenly, Tom heard a loud hiss. Blinding light beamed out from his eye sockets, cutting through the fog.
Tom vaguely heard Eva scream.
My God, thought Tom. My God!
Brit shook her body, shedding her human trappings. At first Tom thought she’d disappeared, and Janie was somehow suspended in space. But with the help of Castro’s illumination, he could barely make out a shimmering form. Nearly transparent, little more than a black film. Changing edges. No edges.
Janie’s eyes widened and the terror stole her voice. Mercifully, she fainted.
“You heard what he said,” said Chad. Tom saw that he’d also transformed; Matthew’s body had disappeared, and, like Brit, Chad’s voice emanated from an oily shadow. “Release her.”
“No!” screamed Tom. He turned to Castro. “Help her!”
Suddenly, his daughter’s limp body dropped from the seemingly invisible hook that had held her suspended.
Castro turned and focused his eyes on the center of the northwest spire. The light shattered the spire, sending chunks and shards of stone into the air.
“Look!” said Eva.
Tom saw that four of those stone chunks, the carved angels, weren’t falling. They were flying. He looked down and watched the four tiny angels swoop under Janie, catching her, then softly setting her down on the lawn.
Castro turned to the two greasy shadows, flitting around the tower like filmy bats.
Brit’s voice, coming from the closest one, was barely recognizable. “You have broken the rules, Afriel. There will be consequences.”
“Go home,” Castro whispered.
The beam of light from Castro’s eyes bore through the shadow, breaking it apart into tiny pieces of soot. The soot scattered and disappeared into the darkness.
Then Castro trained his eyes on the Chad shadow, knocking it backwards out of the air like a laser anti-aircraft gun. The shadow flipped and twirled, then dropped. Tom heard a shriek—he thought he recognized traces of Chad’s voice. He looked down. Hard to make out, but it appeared the shadow had impaled itself on the bronze cross, mounted on the crest of the apse roof. It squirmed and shifted like a fish on a pike, screeching, howling.
Then a flash like a struck match.
A split second later the flame dissolved into the black night.
CHAPTER 71
Tom sat on the cold grass, cradling his sleeping daughter in his arms. He looked up at Castro.
“What will she remember?”
“Very little. Take her home. When she wakes in the morning, she’ll remember she went to sleep in your bed.”
“And Eva?” She was inside the cathedral checking on Matthew.
“She’ll remember walking into the church with you. That’s it. She’ll assume she was knocked unconscious by falling debris.”
“And me?”
“You will remember everything.”
Tom nodded. That was how it needed to be.
“Tom?” Tom turned to see Matthew being led from the western entrance by Eva. “Is she alright?”
“Fine, just sleeping.”
“We were waiting for you, then the earthquake hit, and I must’ve been struck by debris. Lucky to be alive. Guess you know your friend didn’t make it.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s another guy in there dressed in a suit. Still breathing, but we need to call—”
“On their way,” said Castro.
“This is Detective Castro,” said Tom. The priest nodded to the cop, then sat down on the lawn.
“When I woke up and didn’t see Janie, I was fearful that she—” He glanced at Castro, then locked eyes with Tom. “Uh, might’ve wandered off.”
“She’s safe,” said Tom.
Matthew smiled broadly. “It worked. Thank God.”
Tom struggled to keep from looking at Castro. “Yeah, thank God.” He turned to Eva. “How are you doing?”
“Okay, I think. Things are a little fuzzy.”
They heard the sounds of approaching sirens. Tom climbed to his feet, clutching his sleeping daughter to his shoulder. “What do you say we go home?”
Eva froze, looking back toward the western entrance. Tom turned to see Masterson, covered in dust, emerging from the cathedral. When he saw Castro, he got confused.
“Bat, have you met Detective Castro?”
Momentarily startled, Masterson quickly regained his composure and his imperious demeanor. He strode over to Castro and offered his hand.
“Detective, I’m glad you’re here. My associate, Mr. Zigler, had informed me that Mr. Booker was heading to the cathedral to take his own life. Apparently, the weight of his crime against Ms. Hawkins, something I’d been previously unable to accept, became too much for him to bear.”
Tom had to hand it to the man—he was inventive. Castro remained passive as Masterson continued.
“Tragically, Mr. Zigler was killed by falling debris.” He paused, as if trying to read Castro. “As an officer of the court, I must report I heard Mr. Booker confess to the killing in a prayer, just before the earthquake. I will be pleased to provide a statement first thing in the morning. And Tom, I’m afraid I’m going to have to redeem the bond. I’m sorry.” He waved to Castro. “Heading home, Detective. The chief has my personal number.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Castro strode toward him. “You’re under arrest for conspiracy to murder Jessica Hawkins.”
“That’s preposterous,” Masterson sputtered.
Castro spun him around and handcuffed him.
“You get Chief Ranier on the phone this instant. Kate is a dear friend, so, if I were you, I’d start looking for another line of work.”
“We told Castro everything,” said Eva.
“Told him what? You have no proof of anything. My word against yours. You have nothing.”
Tom pulled a black phone from his pocket and punched the keys
. A second later, sound emanated from Masterson’s pants pocket.
“Hail to the Redskins, Hail Victory, Braves on the war path, fight for old DC!”
“I gave you my phone,” said Tom. He waved the phone in his hand. “This is Jess’ phone.” He tossed it to Castro.
Masterson knew enough to shut up as Castro read him his rights. The sirens were close now. Tom caught the detective’s eye. Castro nodded for Tom to go, which was what he was hoping for.
With one arm around his daughter, and the other around his girl, Tom walked toward the parking lot.
Somewhere, he had to find some ice cream.
EPILOGUE
From his table next to the half wall separating the bar from the dining area, Tom checked out his former reserved bar stool in the back of Napoleon’s bar. When he arrived, he’d tried sitting there, but it was just too weird without Zig at his side.
His new vantage point allowed him to watch the TV mounted behind the bar, currently tuned to a cable news station. Footage of the interior of the cathedral appeared on the screen. The bar was almost empty so he was able to make out the familiar voice-over from the blond cable babe.
“…and preliminary reports show no structural damage to the cathedral. Experts say most of the damage constituted surface cracks. Some decorative stonework will need to be replaced, along with one stained-glass window. The surprise earthquake measured only 3.2 on the Richter scale, but was enough to cause the damage. Crews on site to repair damage from the 2011 quake will undertake the new work, and it is estimated the cathedral will be open for visitors again in less than four months.”
It had been a week since the “quake,” the shorthand name that he, Eva, and Matthew had assigned to the night at the cathedral. Of course, unlike Eva and Matt, he remembered everything.
The previous Monday, the AUSA had dismissed all charges against him. That afternoon, he’d submitted his resignation to the firm. Because of Bat’s arrest, a number of the firm’s largest clients were pulling out. A group of young partners and associates announced their intention to form a new firm, and there was every indication that many of the departing SHM clients would follow them. The new group had extended an offer to Tom, and he was tempted to accept.
Through Eva’s intercession, he’d also been offered a full-time position at PDS. Much lower pay, much lower prestige. Now he was meeting Eva to discuss his options.
Tom waved for the waitress, then turned his attention back to the front of the restaurant, expecting Eva. Instead, Castro’s bulky form filled the doorway.
He approached Tom and sat, not waiting for an invite. Tom shivered, and instinctively leaned back.
“How’s it going?” asked Castro.
“Fine.”
“Janie?”
“Fine.”
“Eva?”
“Fine.”
Castro smiled. Then turned to the TV. Tom followed his lead. The image of the cathedral had been supplanted by footage showing Masterson, in handcuffs, being led into the second district police station by two uniformed officers. Tom noticed the red ribbon cutting across the upper left-hand corner of the screen screaming the words: DC Sex Murder Political Scandal! Sex, murder, politics, and scandal. The cable Nirvana.
Bat Masterson got his stripe.
“How’s the case going?” asked Tom.
“He’s fighting it. Admits to the affair, says Zigler was an overzealous subordinate who committed the murder in an attempt to please the boss. Says he had no knowledge of it.”
“Will it fly?”
“We linked the silencer to Masterson. Guthrie’s singing like a bird. Pillow talk. Apparently, Bat confided in her what happened after the fact. That, combined with your and Eva’s testimony, will sink him.”
Tom nodded, but couldn’t help feeling his conversation was beyond surreal. He was sitting here talking to a cop who’d made an arrest that would clear Tom of a serious crime. No problem, except for the teeny-weeny fact that the cop was some kind of frigging avenging angel.
“Uh, the name the Chad thing called you? Afriel? Googled it. Afriel’s the name of the angel of light whose mission is to safeguard young life.”
Castro didn’t respond.
Tom thought, in for a dime, in for a dollar. “So, is that you?”
No response.
“In fact, you can get a fiber-stone replica of the angel, Afriel, for your backyard pond for only $99.95. The picture doesn’t exactly look like you. Young, cherubic, and a lot thinner.”
The last comment elicited a small smile.
“I suppose the reference to a dead wife, that was all bullshit.”
Castro didn’t respond, but there was something in his eyes that suggested there might’ve been some distant truth to the story. Did angels lie?
“Do you wonder, Tom, why I erased the memories of Janie, Eva, and Matthew, but not yours?”
Tom didn’t know how to answer, so he remained silent.
“You were directly or indirectly involved in the deaths of four people. Your revelation to Rosie that you knew of her lesbian relationship led to her death and, with your active assistance, the death of her husband. You goaded Reece Mackey to poison himself with alcohol. True, you killed his brother, Willis, in self-defense, but you’d set up Creek for the fall, and that Willis was the first to walk through your cell door was merely a matter of bad timing.”
Tom couldn’t help himself. “And what was I to do? Let my daughter die? Allow her innocent soul to burn in hell for all eternity just so the Mackey boys could continue their lowlife criminal enterprises? You’re telling me that’s what your boss wanted?”
“Gino wasn’t a lowlife.”
Tom’s voice softened. “I know. Look, if I’d thought taking my own life would’ve—”
“Your memory wasn’t erased because you need to know—not just suspect, not just think there may be a possibility, but truly know—there will be consequences for your actions, both good and bad. Probably not in this life, but thereafter.”
Tom gulped, his throat too dry to respond.
“But the good news is, you’re young and have the time, if you so choose, to atone.”
“How? What do you want me to do?”
“Do good.”
“Like what?”
He got up from the table without responding.
“One question,” Tom said. “Can I ask one question?”
“You can ask.”
“Emma Wong, Gino, Rosie. Have they been rescued from—?”
Castro smiled. Was that a slight nod? He turned toward the door just as Eva entered. He exchanged a brief greeting, then exited the restaurant.
She approached quickly, gave Tom a fast kiss, and sat down. “What did Castro want?”
“Just letting me know Bat’s going to fight the charges, and we’d probably need to be witnesses.”
“Poor Jess.”
“Yeah. Also, can’t help but feel bad for Zig. I believed him when he said he didn’t intend to shoot her. Blind ambition got him killed.”
“It’s Washington.” She picked up the menu.
The waitress appeared.
“I’ll have an iced tea,” said Eva.
Tom held Eva’s gaze. “Make that two.” Her smile of approval was empowering. “I’ve decided.”
Eva studied the menu. “Good, what are you having?”
“No, I’ve decided on the job.”
She put down the menu. “And?”
The decision had been very easy. He believed for commerce to function, lawyers were a necessary evil, and some of the finest, most ethical men and women he’d ever met had been corporate attorneys. Yet, he also knew he’d never been happier than when he’d been working with young kids. And young kids needed an advocate.
“One request. I’d like to be assigned to the juvenile division. Maybe if we can get these kids when they’re young—”
“Request granted.”
“And, uh, those contacts, you know, from your brother’s
drinking situation?”
She squeezed his hand. “Second request granted.”
Tom couldn’t stop grinning, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked beautiful—her eyes, her face—a glow seemed to radiate from the air around her. Like an angel. He smiled at the thought.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Nothing. Everything.”
The waitress came with the tea. As she walked away, he said, “Probably should ask, what’s PDS’ policy on sleeping with the boss?”
Now it was her turn to grin. “We encourage it.”
Four thousand miles east, the macchinista engineer drove the train toward the tunnel as he’d done for what seemed like a thousand times before. The run from Monterosso to Vernazza along the rugged Italian coast was just the first leg for tourists connecting to the five Cinque Terre villages that sprouted like multicolored flowers from the rocky cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. One car was filled with children, including his own son, on the morning run from the villages to school in La Spezia, a large city at the end of the line.
The engineer entered the short tunnel; when he emerged, he would only have to make one switch to the western track, and then five more minutes into Vernazza. His phone vibrated, he pulled it from his pocket, and checked the screen. He’d quarreled with his wife when he’d left for work, and he saw the message was from her. The train emerged from the tunnel. His eyes on the phone, he reached up to the control panel above his head and turned the knob as he’d done many times before.
Suddenly, he heard a horn blaring. He looked up to see the northbound train on the same track heading right for him. Dio mio! He’d flipped the wrong switch! He slammed on the brakes—too late. The sound of screams and colliding steel crescendoed in his brain—then blackness.
The engineer awoke nearly upside down. He glanced out the window to see two of the train cars, including the one carrying the school children, hanging precariously over the cliff, 300 feet above the roiling sea below. He crawled out of his seat and stumbled back to the first passenger car. It still remained upright, though off the tracks.
He moved as fast as he could past the rows of seats on his way to the children’s car. He shouted to the passengers, “Quick, you must get off the train!” He paused. Something was wrong. None of them moved. Not because they were unconscious or dead; they appeared frozen in time. He checked outside the window. The whole world had stopped. Was he dead? What about Mario? Dio mio. He had to get to him before the car tipped over the cliff—
