The more I dwelt on it, the more I gravitated toward the three security officers. The tennis dude wore a uniform of sorts, but was it a uniform that instilled trust? Would Annabel, the MIT student, have given him the time of day? Judging from his photograph, he was a cute guy, not much older than she was. But somehow, I just didn’t believe it.
The actor who played Poe was an obvious choice-too obvious. If his Poe connection were that apparent, would he have given us the Poe-derived clues, the quotations, the literary death methods? I had seen this guy on television once or twice since the Poe connection was leaked, being interviewed as a local expert on “the Dark Bard of Baltimore.” No, he was way too high-profile. I didn’t buy it.
And then there were three. Damon William Cantrell. Jeffrey Henry DeMouy. Ernest Lee Abbott.
“What do you think, Darcy?”
Darcy stared at the pictures. His brain was in motion, I could tell that. But this wasn’t what he did best, was it? When he met them, he might notice the telltale smell of perfume or the stain of a certain kind of ash found only in Sumatra or whatever. But what could he do with a photo?
“I don’t think I like this one,” Darcy said. He pointed to the file photo of Cantrell, but I noticed he wasn’t actually looking at it. “His hair is like John Wayne Gacy’s hair.”
“Anything else?”
“Did you know that John Wayne Gacy is considered the most successful American serial killer? He made even more deaths than Ted Bundy.”
“Anything else?”
He tapped another picture, the one of Abbott. “I think that maybe I have seen him before.”
“Really? Where? In the hotel?”
His face twisted up. “I don’t remember,” he said-words I never expected to hear coming out of that mouth. But such was the irony of being autistic. He could remember chapter and verse about anything he read. But he was useless with faces. Some researchers thought autistic people didn’t really even see faces, their expressions and distinctions. Just a pink blur. Which would explain why they were so poor at picking up on visual clues, facial expressions, and body language.
Darcy was not going to pick the lucky winner.
“Where is Patrick, anyway?” I said. I wanted to get his opinion on this, before Bloomfeld arrived with the suspects. “He should be back by now.”
“I’ll go look,” Darcy said. He probably realized he wasn’t much help here. So he would be of use another way.
And I continued to stare at the pictures. Will the real Edgar please stand up?
I have to find Patrick Susan wants me to find Patrick and she’s so worried and scared about her niece Rachel who seems nice but I hope she doesn’t like Rachel more than me or she can like us both and is Rachel like her baby because I want her to have real babies and maybe she won’t maybe she won’t if something happens to Rachel like Mommy never had any more babies after me and Dad tells people that they couldn’t but they could I know they could Mommy told me they could but they weren’t going to because I was a difficult boy and they didn’t want any more difficult boys. We have to stop the Bad Man because he hurt those girls and he hurt Susan and he might try to hurt more people and it’s not right to hurt people. I would never hurt anyone. Hurting is bad.
I can’t find Patrick there are so many people in this gambling room and so much smoke I hate smoke I don’t know why people smoke it’s bad for you and it’s disgusting and it should be illegal it makes my eyes hurt so I went into the ballroom with all the weird decorations. I couldn’t see Patrick but I saw this guard guy and he was in a big hurry and I don’t know why I even looked at him except he was carrying an axe and that seemed weird and then I looked at him some more and I wasn’t sure if I knew him I never know if I know people but he smelled like someone I knew his smell was familiar and then he said something and I heard his voice and I remembered the guy on the street and all that talk about how tall he wasn’t except then he had a mustache and a different color hair and glasses and he looked different but he said something again and I knew it was him.
He must be the Bad Man.
He recognized me too and I made a joke about did he have any more good puzzles I could solve and he didn’t and I could see he was going to hit me just like the kids at school used to hit me and I should’ve done something about it. I should’ve stopped him but then I would have to hit him and it isn’t right to hit people it isn’t right and I don’t want to hurt anyone and I didn’t do anything and then he took the other end of the axe and he hit me and I fell down and then there was nothing.
“Please,” Rachel gasped. “I can’t stand it anymore. It hurts.”
“Only for a little while, my dear. Soon it will all be over.”
She’d been hanging upside down for far too long. Blood rushed to her head, making it throb so intensely she could barely think. “Where’s Tiffany? And the others. Where did they go?”
“They’re such dear girls, so eager to please. Nothing I ask is too much.”
“Because you’ve tortured and brainwashed them.”
“Rachel!” He tightened the ropes around her wrists and ankles, making sure she was secure. “Don’t speak like that. I’ve told you what is at stake. I’ve explained to you about the Ascension, about Dream-Land. About my sweet Virginia. The whole majestic plan.”
“I don’t want any part of your plan!”
He took her chin-upside down before him-and held it in his palm. “Would you prefer to be like the other heathens, those who remain on this plane and melt into nothingness? Or would you be translated into a Golden Age?”
“I would rather be at home in clean clothes.”
“Don’t be petty. Why can’t you see what I can see?”
“Because I’m not insane.”
He clamped the chloroform-soaked cloth over her nose and mouth, his hands shaking with rage. She was unworthy, but that spirit would soon be gone, replaced with that of his lost Virginia, and once he and she were reunited, nothing else would matter.
I was practically out of my mind when I finally heard the doorknob click. It was barely half an hour before midnight. Did they not understand? Midnight was the dreamtime, according to Poe. Later would be too late. Especially for Rachel.
Bloomfeld had two men trailing behind him whom I immediately recognized from their file photos. Two suspects. Two Edgar possibles.
But only two.
“Apologies,” Bloomfeld said. He could be quite polite, once you put the fear of death into him. “Couldn’t find the third officer.”
“We need him,” I said.
“We’ll find him in time, I’m sure. He’s supposed to be working in the ballroom, but no one could locate him. It’s already packed in there-hundreds of Halloween revelers. Ran into your partner, though, that FBI man. Sent him into the crowd to find the guy while I brought you these two.”
I stared at the photo of the missing security guard, Ernest Lee Abbott. I mentally added a mustache, changed the hair, put dark glasses on him.
“He’s normally very reliable. That’s why we asked him to help with the crowd control. Everyone is doing the work of three.”
I could imagine the man’s lips moving, his face. His eyes taking that somewhat menacing, somewhat sorrowful expression that told so much about him.
“If you want, I’ll go back to the ballroom and look some more. He’s probably behind the cathedral, helping with some last-minute crisis. Whose idea was it to do the Hunchback, anyway? I always thought it was too literary. Kids today, they don’t know anything about French literature. They probably think-”
“Hunchback?” I closed my eyes and let my mind wander again, but this time, it went straight to the source. The key clue. The one that hadn’t fallen into place before.
I haven’t been this scared since the day we rented a video just after my parents- That was what Rachel had said, during that brief phone call. Everyone thought she was terrified, babbling, me included. But we were wrong. Rachel is a tough girl, a smart one
.
She was trying to give me a clue.
What was the movie? What was the damn movie?
Of course.
We’d rented The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The Disney version. The first day I brought her home. After her parents were killed.
“Take me to this ballroom,” I said, rising out of my chair. “Now.”
Bloomfeld stuttered, “B-B-But I rounded up your suspects-don’t you want to interrogate them?”
I shook my head. “It’s the other one. Abbott. He’s Edgar.”
By the time I made it to the ballroom, I still hadn’t found Patrick, Darcy hadn’t returned, and it was barely ten minutes until midnight. Ten minutes.
Rachel! I wanted to scream out her name, but I knew that wouldn’t help, not in this earsplitting chaos. Please, God, don’t let me be too late. Don’t let me be too late.
Even though the Halloween party had not officially started, the ballroom was packed. I could see where Bloomfeld might’ve had difficulty finding one security cop in this swarm. I might have trouble finding myself in here. At least half the partygoers were in costume, many of them masked. If Edgar was one of them, how would I ever find him?
Think, Susan. Think!
He wouldn’t be out here mingling, would he? He has some tremendous master plan in the works, something wonderful, something terrible. Something involving Rachel. He couldn’t have her out here, whether she was costumed, dead or alive. Could he?
While I was trying to crawl into Edgar’s brain, I saw Chief O’Bannon enter the ballroom. I showed him the photo of Abbott.
“You’re sure it’s him?”
“Damn straight.”
He smiled a little. “Good girl. Knew you could do it.”
He took the left side of the room and I surged into the right. I saw the great façade of the cathedral of Notre Dame at the far end of the ballroom, a focal point for all the festivities. I moved toward it. I’ve never been to Paris, but it looked pretty damn real to me, except that it wasn’t quite finished. There was still some scaffolding, several raised platforms on wheels, off to the side. The ballroom was festooned with confetti and orange and black ribbons and banners. And where was the hunchback? He would emerge later, I guessed, probably from the top of the cathedral, ringing those four huge bells, two on each side of the central spire.
I moved toward the cathedral. It seemed like the place Edgar-Abbott-was most likely to be. And I knew Rachel had seen it before, right? That was the whole point of the clue.
Someone dressed in a jester costume fell into me, tumbling backward. I went for my gun. Jesus, was I on edge. I shoved him out of the way and tried to plow a trail through the dense horde. They were getting increasingly crazed, ebullient, nutty, which I suppose was to be expected as the clock approached midnight. I could smell alcohol breath every which way I turned. It made me sick.
Which was certainly a good sign.
Eventually I forced my way to the back of the room. It was a high-quality cathedral, made of some kind of molded fiberglass, stained to the proper shade of gray. Someone had spent some real money on this. After trying several false apertures, I found a door on the far side that worked.
I stepped into the cathedral, such as it was. It was dark back here, darker than I liked. The cathedral touched the ceiling and, despite the openings for the bells, little light crept through.
This was his place. I knew it, as sure as I’d ever known anything in my life. I could feel it.
I drew my weapon. I’d let IA argue later about whether I had cause or not. Right now, I wanted a gun between me and him.
I stepped into the darkness, marking a path I thought was parallel to the front of the cathedral. The entire area was small, close, silent. And dark. Did I mention that it was dark?
I took baby steps, inching forward, fighting the desire to rush ahead. I wanted to find Rachel. I had to find her before it was too late. But Edgar had proven how dangerous he could be, how smart. I had to be careful. I couldn’t save her if I were dead.
I kept moving forward, one dark step at a time.
Till I saw someone.
At first, I couldn’t make out who it was. His face was masked by shadows. He was sitting on the floor, looking up at me.
“Patrick!”
He was staring with a strange, vacant expression on his face. I holstered my gun and ran toward him. “Patrick!” I said, grabbing his arm. “Patrick! What are you-”
I gasped.
His head fell forward into my lap. Just his head.
I screamed like a siren, like a child at a horror movie, like the weakest sister who ever lived. Blood spilled all over my turtleneck, my pants. The head fell to the floor but didn’t roll. It just impacted with a sickening splat and lay there, staring up at me. It had been sliced clean-by a pendulum? I wondered-at the base of the neck.
My God, my God, Abbott killed Patrick, he killed him, and if he killed Patrick-
An even deeper horror clutched at the base of my spine.
It was so unlike him to be gone so long…
“Darcy!” I turned and ran back the way I came, feeling stupid, feeling powerless, terrified. He’d gotten to Patrick, he’d gotten to Patrick but please not Darcy please please please not Darcy…
That was when the bells began to ring. Did that mean it was midnight? Even with all the noise out front, the ringing of the huge bells was deafening. I was just beneath them, and the unrelenting clanging seemed to crush my skull. It was oppressive and mind-numbing. Why would the hotel want to-
I looked up.
My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. My fingers were cold, as if all the life had been sucked out of me.
Rachel!
Because the apertures were recessed, it wouldn’t be visible from out front, but back here I had a clear view of four young girls strung up one to a bell, tied to the clappers, dangling head-down. Swinging back and forth. Their heads smashing against the sides of the bells.
“Rachel!” I shouted, even though I knew she couldn’t possibly hear me. Even if she were alive. If the sound was killing me down here, what must it be doing to them?
“Rachel!”
I forced my brain to calm, slow down-think! There must be something I could do. The bells had to be activated by some sort of mechanism. I needed to find the controls. Maybe I could ask someone. If not, I could climb up on that scaffolding out front…
I raced toward the door. And I had almost made it when a hand burst out of the darkness. It grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. Before I could react, his other hand took my gun.
“Hello, Susan,” Edgar said, smiling. “Good to see you again.”
36
“Aren’t they magnificent?” His eyes rolled up in his head, even as his hand remained tight around my throat. “ ‘The throbbing of the bells! Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells!’ ”
I tried to speak but couldn’t. His grip was too tight.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed my little tableau. Your friend Patrick tried to spoil it, you know. But I couldn’t allow that. Not when I’m so close.”
He loosened his viselike fingers just enough that I could speak. “Why did you have to kill him?”
“I’m afraid I lacked the time for a more subtle response.”
“Those bells are killing Rachel. And the other girls.”
“Not killing. Translating.”
“Have you hurt her?”
“I haven’t put a mark on her.”
“I said, have you hurt her?”
“Not as much as you have.”
I thought I was going to explode. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Nothing you don’t already know. You’ve damaged that poor girl with your drinking, your temper, your self-indulgent weltschmerz, your flights of martyrdom. She’s felt alone in the world, unwanted. Forgotten by the only family she has.”
“Let me take her down.” The anger had left my voice. I was begging. “Let me save
her before it’s too late.”
“You won’t be able to get to her.”
“And why the hell not?”
He removed a small radio transmitter from his jacket pocket and pushed the first button on the keypad. “Because the hotel is on fire.”
The building exploded. That’s what it seemed like. The sound was deafening, utterly drowning those bells, which had been unbearable only moments before. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear the crowd screaming, running, crying. I could imagine the pandemonium that must have descended. And even though I couldn’t hear it anymore, I knew Rachel was still getting her brains splintered by that damn bell.
“This is just the start,” Edgar said, almost giggly with excitement. “I’ve got ten C4 charges set all over the hotel, conveniently close to the gas mains. Disconnected the sprinkler system, too.” His eyes were wide and manic. I could barely stand to look at him. “This whole place is crumbling! Isn’t it wonderful?” He was totally consumed by his delusion, far worse than when I had seen him last. All vestiges of sanity, of humanity, were gone. “It’s ‘The Fall of the House of Usher,’ the greatest of the prophet’s stories, coupled with the greatest of his poems. ‘By the mystical magical tolling of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells!’ ”
It was getting hot back here. The fire outside was superheating the ballroom. Smoke inundated this dark, narrow passage behind the cathedral as well, making it difficult to speak or breathe.
He pushed a button and I heard another explosion. This one was farther away, but I was certain it was still inside the hotel. Maybe the casino. Maybe the spa. No telling how many people would be hurt or killed.
“It’s not too late for you,” he said breathlessly. “You could be Madeline to my Roderick. You could join us, Susan, join Rachel and Ginny and me. We’ll unite as comrades in the Golden Age.”
I thought fast. “I’d like that.”
“This can be the Day of Ascension for all of us, a passage from this virulent world to one of-” In the midst of his rapture, he loosened his grip on my neck and body. And that was all the invitation I needed. Mustering my strength, I bodychecked him against the cathedral. His head slammed back against a wooden beam. While he was momentarily stunned, I knocked the detonator out of his hand.
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