by Jan Burke
“Want to go to sleep and finish this in the morning?”
I thought about it. “I don’t want to stay here.”
He ran a finger over my eyebrows. “Okay. I’ll pack up Cody while you get your things together.”
“Thanks.”
We went to his house. Both of us were beat, but a couple of cups of coffee and our interest in the journal kept us going. We sat next to each other at the kitchen table, nearing the end of the entries.
9/25
Things are changing. I don’t like it. Two guys who joined our coven are ruining it. DM and RA are just bullies, as far as I’m concerned. They push people around a lot and keep trying to change what we are all about. Things are getting really weird.
Every now and then, they bring this guy who wears a goat’s mask. It covers his whole head and he wears a long robe, so we never see anything but his hands. That’s how I know it’s a man — they’re man’s hands. He never talks. He just gestures, and DM and RA claim to be able to tell us what he means.
I guess some people think he’s really cool. I don’t like it. It doesn’t fit in with what we’ve been doing. I think some people were getting bored. Maybe it’s because we’re all a little afraid of these guys.
I don’t think I want to stay in this coven. I’m going to ask Zoe about getting into another one. Maybe if we all quit this one at the same time it wouldn’t be so bad.
I have a new roommate, SL. She acts tough all the time. Who needs it?
“Sarah? The one who smuggled the journal to you, right?”
“Right.”
“How much do you want to bet that DM and RA are the characters who gave you a hard time?”
“You may be right. I was thinking the same thing.”
I was starting to yawn, but we kept reading.
10/16
The Goat is very strange. Everyone is playing a game with this now, instead of doing what we are supposed to be doing.
I went to Rhiannon to ask Zoe about another coven, but RM showed up and made a scene. I was so humiliated. I mean, it’s great to know he cares about me, but I don’t need him to treat me like a child, especially not in front of my friends.
10/30
Almost sure I know who the Goat is. His sleeve caught on a branch and I saw his arm. He covered it really fast. I pretended I wasn’t looking, but I definitely saw it.
People keep leaving the shelter. I guess it’s normal, but I hardly get to know someone and they leave. SL is the only one of the girls I’ve known very long now. She’s pretty easy to talk to — I’ve told her a lot of things I’ve never told anybody, and she’s told me a lot of stuff, too. But sometimes I’m not sure she really wants to be friends with me. It’s strange.
10/31
Met a friend of RM’s today. She’s a newspaper reporter. Her name is Miss Kelly. At first I thought she was a total bitch, but I think now maybe that was my fault. I’ve been really edgy lately. I wasn’t very nice to her, and she is trying to help RM. He really trusts her. I don’t know if I trust her so much yet.
Tonight is supposed to be a big deal, being Halloween and all, but I feel really down about it. There is some sort of group within our coven. They keep secrets from the rest of us.
Later —
Things are worse than I thought. DM and RA are up to no good. The Goat is the worst one of all. I’m really scared of them. I guess I’m no better than the others.
Maybe Miss Kelly was right. I think I’ll call her. Maybe she’ll know what to do. Maybe I can just hang out with SL and RM and JC. I’ve got to get out of this place. I’m going to get SL to leave, too.
It’s supposed to be safe. It isn’t.
It was the last entry.
“I failed her, Frank. She was looking for one adult she could trust, and I failed her completely.”
“Let me see, now. Not long ago, someone was telling me that no more applications were being accepted for the position of God.”
“It doesn’t stop you from feeling helpless, does it?”
“No,” he said, putting his arms around me. “You were right this afternoon. Neither of us can go back and change what happened Halloween night.”
“Want to take an ancient newspaper reporter to bed?”
“Come along, Granny.”
After I swore to him that I could get ready for the funeral the next morning in half an hour, he set the alarm for ten o’clock. We fell asleep almost as quickly as we lay down.
18
THE ALARM seemed to go off immediately. I felt like I was made of lead. Frank practically had to shove me out of bed and into the shower. He propped me up under the spray and eventually I seemed to be fully conscious, if not energetic.
We got dressed and drove to St. James Episcopal Church. I felt close to being right at home. After a night of reading about wicca rituals and chants, the rituals and chants inside St. James would be infinitely more familiar and comfortable. Not so hard for a lapsed Catholic to follow.
We had no sooner sat down near the back row than Pete Baird and Rachel Giocopazzi arrived and sat down next to us. I was surprised to see Rachel, as was Frank. She’s a homicide detective from Phoenix; she and Pete met on a case the previous summer and had been carrying on a long-distance relationship since then. They must have been racking up the frequent-flyer miles.
Pete leaned over to Frank and asked in a whisper if Episcopalians gave out holy cards at funerals. Frank shook his head “no.” As a lapsed Episcopalian, Frank would have to serve as the guide for the three of us. He was tense. He was doing his cop thing of observing everyone and everything in the room, and I noticed Pete and Rachel were doing it, too.
During her lifetime, Mrs. Fremont had been very generous to Las Piernas, not only with her money, but with her time as well. She had served on a number of community boards and organizations. Her work on behalf of young people had earned her many friends. The church was packed. In the front pew sat Paul Fremont and a man I didn’t recognize, but who had a rather striking appearance, even when seen from the limited view I had of him. He was about the same height as Paul, but he was wearing a black leather jacket with chains on the shoulders. His head was shaved and he wore an earring in one ear.
“Who is that next to Paul?” I whispered to Frank.
“Jack Fremont. Her son — Paul’s father.”
The service was short but moving. Unlike some others I had been to, this one was performed by a minister who actually knew the deceased. When he spoke her full name, Althea Fremont, I realized that even though I had heard her first name before, we had called her “Mrs. Fremont” for so long that it seemed like “Mrs.” was her first name. Althea. It was pretty and old-fashioned and I liked it.
The minister was able to make the congregation recall something of the spirit of Althea Fremont and why we were so fond of her. If a memorial service can be said to be upbeat, this one was.
I knew that Frank had been asked to be a pallbearer, but he had declined. I got the impression that he wanted to grieve as privately as possible, away from the eyes of the other mourners. By the end of the service, he was visibly upset, but trying to hold himself together. Pete offered to drive us over to the cemetery, and we accepted.
Outside, the sky was a dark gray, threatening rain. As we made our way in the long procession of cars, we took our minds off what we were doing by asking Rachel about Phoenix, her flight, her plans for this visit. She was taking three weeks of vacation, she said, returning near the end of the month. Pete was going to take some time off, too, but probably not until close to Thanksgiving.
Time off. It sounded great. Especially when I realized how long this day was bound to be.
Our attention was forced back to the funeral as we pulled up at the cemetery and made our way over to the graveside.
Frank, although dry-eyed and silent, held on to me and leaned against me from time to time, grieving for her in his own, quiet way. When the graveside service was over, Pete and Rachel moved off toward
the car, Pete signaling me to take our time. Soon, only Jack and Paul Fremont were standing there with us. They walked over to us. Jack had an arm around his son’s shoulders. He extended his other hand to Frank. “You meant a lot to my mother,” he choked out. “She thought the world of you, Frank.”
It was odd to see grief on this man’s hardened face. A long white scar ran from the corner of his right eye to his jawline.
“She was so happy when you came back home, Jack,” Frank answered. “I’m glad you reconciled before… this happened.”
The gray mist was becoming a light sprinkle of rain. We turned away from the graveside and walked toward the cars. It was then I noticed the black limo parked at the curb. A tinted window rolled up and the car started and drove away as we approached.
“Do you know who that was?” I asked.
“No,” said Frank, but I could see that, like me, he had taken a good look at the license plate. Once Jack and Paul had walked off, I reached into my purse and jotted the number down twice. I tore the paper in half and handed a copy to Frank.
“Thanks. I’ll have to give this to Pete.”
Just as we got into the backseat of Pete’s car, it started to really rain. I felt that numbness that I feel after funerals settle over me. We rode in silence, though Pete kept looking at Frank in the rearview mirror. Frank held my hand tightly and looked out the car window with an unseeing gaze.
As we pulled up to the curb in front of the shelter, where the mourners were gathering, Frank turned to Pete and said, “I’ll be okay, Baird.”
“I know you will, Harriman, ‘cause you’ve got so many guardian angels.”
19
“NO, OTHER THAN TELLING ME that Frank saved his hide, Pete hasn’t said a word about what happened at that warehouse.”
Rachel and I sat on a sofa at the shelter, comparing notes.
“When are you going to move out here?”
“Who said I will? It wasn’t so easy to make detective in Phoenix, and I’m not ready to come here and be a meter maid just to warm my bones next to Pete.”
“A meter maid. Sure.”
“Well, I’d be back in uniform. No doubt about it. Look what happened to Frank. Even though he had made detective in Bakersfield, he had to go back to being in uniform here. Every department is like that. Frank managed to make detective here in record time, but that’s rare — I can’t depend on the same thing happening for me.”
Frank walked up to us just then. “You’d get there just as quickly, Rachel.”
“No, Boy Wonder, I don’t think so,” she said glumly.
Frank leaned down toward my ear and whispered, “Excuse us for a moment, ancient one — police business.”
I rolled my eyes, but let him drag Rachel off toward Pete, because Sarah had just plopped down next to me. She sighed with all the weight of the world on her.
“Everybody worth a crap is gone from here now.”
“It’s stopped raining; let’s go outside and talk,” I said. “We can sit under the patio roof — in case it starts up again.”
“Okay, I could use a cigarette anyway.”
We made our way out to the backyard, and away from the crowd inside. She lit a cigarette and took three or four drags off it.
“Why are you living here, Sarah?”
“‘Cause my old man thinks that if he slaps me around hard enough, I’ll listen to him. But he hasn’t said anything worthwhile since my mom died. He fell into a bottle five years ago and hasn’t crawled out since. I just got tired of it, that’s all. What’s your sad story?”
“Someone left a heart and a lot of blood all over my front porch last night.”
Her eyes widened. “No shit?”
“No shit. I need your help, Sarah. But first — this is important — you’ve got to find somewhere else to stay. Is there anywhere else you can go?”
“Oh, I get it. You read the journal. Listen, Sammy is paranoid. Comes from reading all that hoodoo jive she’s into.”
“Please think about it.”
She took a few more drags off the cigarette, watching me through half-closed eyes. “Man, I guess if I was you, I’d be pretty freaked out, too. I got an aunt in San Diego. My mom’s sister. Maybe I’ll give her a call. What kind of help you need?”
“For starters — the initials.”
“Wasn’t that just too dumb? I mean, like we’re not going to figure it out. Gee, ‘my roommate, SL’ — who would ever guess that stood for Sarah Landry? Big secret code. That Sammy sure can be a dumb shit.”
“I don’t know the cast of characters like you do. To me, it is a code.”
She gave me a look that said I ranked right up there with Sammy in her estimation, and ground out her cigarette. She reached in her jacket and pulled out another one. I waited while she lit up and got it going.
“Well, let’s see. RM is Jacob Henderson and JC is Julie Montgomery. God knows why she decided to give them phony initials. It’s still obvious who she’s talking about. RA is Raney Adams and DM is Devon Morris.”
“Heckle and Jeckle,” I said.
“Who the hell are Heckle and Jeckle?”
“Old cartoon characters — before your time. Couple of crows with a bad attitude.”
“Oh. Yeah, Devon and Raney do look like they’re auditioning for ‘The Raven’ — you know, the poem by Edgar Allen Poe?”
“Yes, but I never would have figured you to be a fan of his.”
“Love him.” She smiled over at me and then proceeded to flawlessly recite the first two verses.
“Bravo!” I said, applauding. “I’m impressed. I can’t make it past the ‘weak and weary’ part.”
She laughed. “My favorite is ‘The Telltale Heart.’”
I winced.
“Oh, sorry, forgot about your porch. Where were we? Oh yeah, Raney and Devon. You ask me, those two are definitely twisted. Something not right in those two boys.”
“What about KS and MB?”
“Katy Stewart and Mary Brennan. They don’t live here anymore. They took off not too long after Devon and Raney showed up. I think they’re still in town somewhere, though. Someone told me Katy is turning tricks, but they say that about every girl who leaves.”
“Sammy too?”
“Even old skinny bones herself.” She paused and took a long drag, and I could see her debating whether or not to tell me something. “I don’t believe people who say Sammy’s turning tricks. I don’t think she likes guys, except maybe Jacob. She told me her old man used to have sex with her — can you believe it? She hated it. That’s really sick if you ask me. And then he acts like some holy roller or something. Shit, I’d rather live with my dad. All he ever did was hit me.”
“I misjudged her. The more I’ve thought about what she went through — I don’t know if I would have been as brave about it as she was.”
Sarah shrugged. “You do what you have to do to survive.”
We sat there quietly for a while.
“Paul kicked Devon and Raney out yesterday,” she said.
“What?”
“They were assholes. They were really mean to everybody. Beyond mean.”
“Is that why Paul kicked them out?”
“Yeah, he said he was tired of them hassling everybody. They didn’t seem heartbroken about it or anything. Hey — why should you care? You seem kind of down about it.”
“Oh — no, I’m glad he kicked them out. It’s just that now I don’t have much to go on; four of the names in the journal were connected with the coven, and all four people are gone from the shelter.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess it’s five if you count the Goat.”
“Do you think the Goat is somehow connected to the shelter?”
She was thinking about this when a male voice made us jump out of our skins.
“What are you doing out here?”
It was Jack Fremont.
20
“YOU TWO ARE GOING to catch cold — it’s starting to rain again. Come
on back inside.” We followed him in, but not before exchanging a look that said we would try to talk again later. Once inside, Sarah took off for the dessert table, leaving me with Jack in the kitchen.
“I’m surprised Frank doesn’t keep a tighter rein on you, Irene,” he said with a grin.
“I’m not exactly broken to the bit.”
He laughed. “I’ll just bet you aren’t. Well, nothing wrong with that. Not at all. I like a woman with spirit.”
Great, I thought. But the man intrigued me. I never would have imagined Mrs. Fremont’s son to look anything like Jack. It wasn’t that he didn’t resemble her — he looked quite a bit like her. But she just didn’t seem the sort to raise a scar-faced, biker son.
He appraised me as well, and made no attempt to hide the fact. Feeling a little nervous, I started cleaning off dishes that had piled up in the kitchen. Without a word, he took off his leather jacket and started filling the sink with hot soapy water.
“I’ll wash, if you’ll dry,” he said.
“It’s a deal.”
He immersed his arms to his elbows and scoured away. As he handed me the first dish, I noticed a colorful tattoo on the inside of his left arm. It was of a horned goat’s head, with the inscription “Satan Rides Again.”
He saw me staring at it and laughed. “Merely a token of my misspent youth, Miss Kelly. And nothing to worry over now.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”
He washed a few more dishes, then turned to me and said, “I scare you, don’t I?”
“I just don’t know much about you. For example, how do you know my name?”
