Baja Blues: The Boy Who Played With Marbles (Liza McNairy Mysteries Book 2)
Page 26
"I just got a text from Reilly. He needs my assistance. I think McNairy and Forthright have got themselves into another pickle."
"Well you ain't going by your lonesome... give me a minute to get dressed, lessen you want me going like this."
"Maybe it's better you stay here, Bernie... this could be dangerous."
"I'm all sorts of sure about that, Hank. Why'd ya think I want to come with your silly ass? You might need some assisting yourself."
Christ in heaven, she was cute. In the dim light of the room she could've been the goddess Halle Berry herself. And goddamn it all anyway, he didn’t want her getting mixed up in this voodoo fuckery. But then again, the girl was raised on that shit. Hell... it might pay to have her along if nothing more than giving him some good advice on how to handle these true believers.
"What'd Reilly say, Hank?"
"Just that I need to meet him at his cabin, pronto. Something's up."
"What time is it, Hank?"
"Just past eight."
"Morning or night?"
"Nighty night night... what'd you go and do? My good loving make you lose track of things, Bernie?"
"Ain't that just like a man... going and thinking he's all that just because I don’t know if it's day or night."
"Admit it, lover... we're lucky the sheets didn’t start on fire."
"For a white boy with a little dick you ain't half bad, Lupo. I do have to admit that."
"Darling, it ain’t the size of the ship that counts... it's the motion of the ocean."
"Who told you that... your momma?"
What a night. The stars so bright he could reach out and grab them and a gentle sea-scented breeze was blowing over the palm trees swaying in the light of the half moon riding high in the sky. He could see retiring to a spot just like this. Lord, if he had a woman like Bernie by his side... stop that, Hank. You're married. No sense making this any more than it is... a good time.
The light was on in Reilly's cabin. Hank started to knock at the door but Bernie brushed past him and walked in without announcing herself.
"What's up, Reilly? Did you hear from McNairy and Forthright?"
"Oh... hey mother, there you are. I was beginning to wonder about you too. No I didn’t. Hank... I'm worried. They should've been back by now."
"Where'd they go?"
"Danners had a plan that involved that cemetery, so I assume that's where they went. That was a good two hours ago."
"Well, I guess we better shuffle on down there and see if they need some help. Maybe you ought to stay here, Bernie."
"Oh no you don’t, Hank Lupo. I'm coming with the both of ya'll. Might end up that I'm the one who saves the day."
"Mother... Hank is right. This could get ugly."
"Boy, didn’t I teach you better than to sass me like that?"
"He ain't no boy, Bernie. Right, Reilly?"
"Shut up, Hank. Come on, then, mother. Let's all go. But be careful."
"Boy... I was wiping that ass before you knew the meaning of careful. You just look after yourself. I'll be fine. Besides, I got a man that cares all about me... don't I, Hank?"
"Sure wish you'd give him a call, Bernie. Have him come on down and go with us."
"You just wait until later when I get you alone, Mr. Lupo. You're gonna pay for that smart mouth of yours."
2
Wouldn’t you know it... clouds had rolled in. Far out over the ocean lightning danced and the wind had shifted—gotten chilly—carrying with it the threat of rain. What the hell were McNairy and Forthright doing back at that goddamned cemetery? Hadn't they had enough of that creepy ass place? He didn’t believe in ghosts and goblins but boy howdy if there were any that's where they'd set up shop.
"What was that, Hank?"
"Just coyotes howling, Reilly."
"Didn’t sound like coyotes to me. They got wolves around here? Elena told me about the chupacabras... reckon that was one?"
"Ain't no such thing, Reilly. Look... there's the cemetery. Do you see anyone?"
"Way too dark, Hank. What're we gonna do if we can't find them?"
"Come on, guys... let's circle around the perimeter."
"Listen to your momma, boy."
"Hank... I swear if you call me boy one more time..."
"Shut up, Reilly... don't make me whip that ass of yours in front of Mr. Lupo here."
"Wait a minute... quiet, the both of you. I think I see something over there..."
A light flickered toward the center of the cemetery. Or did it? Now he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was only a reflection. God, what a scary fucking place to be... was the ground actually trembling? And what was that noise? It sounded like a gunshot, only muffled, like someone had wrapped a towel around the barrel of a gun before firing it, Godfather style.
"There's someone walking over there... look."
"Where, Bernie? I can't see anything."
"To the left, sunshine... under that tree line. See 'em now?"
"Yeah... now I see them."
"Why... it looks like children, Hank. What're they doing out at this hour?"
"Not entirely sure, Reilly... school field trip, maybe? Where're they all going? There must be thirty of them or more."
"And what about the parents? Where are they? Do these people just let their children run around all hours of the night?"
"It's only just past nine o'clock, Bernie. But yeah... I was wondering the same thing. Where are the parents?"
The storm was closing in, the wind picking up blowing dust in his eyes. The howls he kept hearing sounded suspiciously like singing... like a children's choir, only he couldn’t make out the words.
"Them are haints on the wind, Mr. Lupo. I swear they are."
"You hear it too, Bernie?"
"Christ yes... not a fit night to be out."
"Maybe we ought to turn back, mother."
"We done come here to find your friends, Reilly. Why you wanting to go back without them?"
"I think he might need to change his drawers, Bernie."
"That's not funny, Hank. Don't listen to him, mother."
Chapter 63—Influences
(Of Satan)
1
Storms were coming. Ever since he was a kid he could feel the air pressure drop. His friend nicknamed him Barry, short for barometer. Back then he'd get lightheaded whenever there come a bad cloud. Sometimes he'd even pass out. Nowadays his bones felt it more... an ache settling in his joints. There were times when his knees would actually lock up and he'd have to walk stiff-legged they hurt so badly but as soon as the storm passed he'd be good as new.
There was a song on the wind, one that he didn’t care for at all. He couldn’t tell if it was the drunken mariachi players in the nearby cantina wailing away at one final melody before calling it a night or if instead the souls of all the possessed children were calling out—taunting him—as was their wont on nights like this. He hoped for the former but suspected the latter.
Where were Arturo and the others when he needed them? Wasn’t that just like the peasants of Santo Tomas... always asking but never ready to give in time of need. Stop it, Fabulinus... you know that isn’t true. These people have done everything you've asked of them and some things you haven’t. There's no need to talk them down. Not now.
Oh but if only the parents or whatever Gods they worshipped would come get the children, lead them home, take care of their restless spirits... Jesus the Christ... he would love them so, as would his Father. It hadn’t been his fault, what happened to them. He was merely practicing his calling, saving them from things far worse than death. Wasn’t he?
"Is someone out there?"
A sudden gust took his whisper carrying it across the cemetery like an old black crow come home to roost. Naked dead trees rattled like bones. The wrought iron fence creaked in protest as another blast of wind pushed him forward. Limbs cracked overhead. Putting up his arm to shield his head from falling debris he marched on as if being called.
He should turn back. Come out here tomorrow in the daylight. Or at least grab a flashlight. Why hadn’t he taken one when he left the church? Not thinking clearly... lack of sleep... too much worry... everything combining and making it impossible to function normally.
Suddenly a hurricane roared behind him thrusting him onward among the silent tombstones, forcing him forward contrary to any free will of his own. That music again... what was that? Children singing? Wolves wailing? He shook his head tilting it to one side and then to the other tapping behind each ear with the pad of his thumb to clear any buildup of wax that might be obstructing his hearing.
Lightning ripped the sky momentarily illuminating the entire landscape before him followed nearly instantaneously by an enormous thunderclap so powerful it vibrated the ground beneath his feet. Why was the door to the crypt standing open? Or was it simply his imagination playing tricks again, a play of shadows on shadow?
The scent of lilacs overpowered him like the time he'd been learning to ride his bicycle as a child and had inadvertently smashed headlong into one of the many bushes growing along the lane that led to the tiny dilapidated house where he spent summers with his grandparents just north of the town of Ohio way back there in Illinois.
The odor brought back images of grandmother and how she kept an enormous loom trapped in her basement and how the old woman spent hour after hour weaving intricately designed rugs all of them emblazoned with quotes from the bible and how her prayers would lull him to sleep at night in the bedroom just over hers and how the old woman despite her lifetime of exhortations and plaintive refrains to the Lord died on a night not unlike this one in exquisite pain after being eaten alive by the demon cancer growing inside her bowels.
At the old woman's funeral he beseeched the Lord God that one day he might be given the gift of helping those like grandmother, doomed to wallow in misery and privation due to the evil in the world and not because they themselves had sinned against their fellow human beings in any way. It wasn’t enough to merely recognize the evil incarnate but to root it out and destroy it before the malignant seeds spread.
2
The discordant music seemed to be coming from all around him a cacophony rising up out of the ground upon which he walked and whirling down from the roiling sky overhead like a tornado of sound bent upon making its presence known. A crooked crackle of lightning lighted up the cemetery followed shortly thereafter by a tremendous boom and a resounding darkness even greater than before.
He was right. The door to the crypt was standing open. Had Arturo forgotten to lock it? Or had McNairy's partner found her final resting place? He'd better see to things... make sure nothing inside had been disturbed and lock the door before any further misadventures occurred.
He could swear someone was watching him. Probably that Forthright character. If the man really had discovered McNairy's body inside that tomb, he might well be out for blood.
"Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil."
His knees were quaking. Yes, he'd been frightened a time or two but for some reason tonight seemed the most ominous of any he'd yet lived. Something reached up out of the ground clawing at his ankles causing a shrill shriek to arise from the pit of his stomach and sail across the grave markers. Yanking away from whatever was seeking to pull him down into hell, Fabulinus looking back realized he'd merely become entangled in an old tree root twisting up out of the soil like a snake.
The singing was coming from somewhere close by... mismatched voices each clamoring to be heard over the others. Shadows moved across the periphery of his vision which he dared not look at directly lest the presence of evil became a confirmed reality rather than simply imagined.
"Jesus, I come to you as my deliverer. I believe You are the Son of God. That You died for me and rose again. I confess You as Lord and renounce all influences of Satan in my life. Jesus, you know the demons that oppress me, that harass me, that entice me, that enslave me."
A pent up rain let loose like a waterfall... like a dam suddenly breeched. He was drenched to the skin in an instant... icy waters cast down from on high by the Lord and Maker of all. Hurrying now he sought shelter under the concrete awning over the entrance to the high open crypt his feet splashing through a torrent rushing around his ankles threatening to wash him away.
"I repent and turn away from all my sins. I renounce the occult and any form of idolatry—known and unknown—in my life, or that of my ancestors. I forgive anyone who has ever hurt me in any way and I let go of my bitterness and resentment."
3
Finally arriving in the sanctuary the crypt afforded he stopped just inside the entrance. Something seemed off though in the complete and utter darkness he could only feel the trepidation rather than witness any real cause for his discomfiture... his voice but a whisper, as if something inside that stone mausoleum might be listening... an evil perhaps better ignored and left anticipated than acknowledged and made real.
"Lord, Your Word says: 'But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away.'”
Over the tumult of the downpour he heard something moving across the floor in front of him... in the darkness of the tomb... like a shuffling of many feet or the combined hisses of a thousand snakes.
"Hemos estado esperando por usted, Padre."
Were the sounds he heard coming to his mind through his ears or were they simply inside his head? For a moment he wondered if perhaps he'd been sleeping all along and this journey of his nothing but a dream and if he summoned the courage he might wake himself still in his bed back at his church protected by its stone walls and the picture of the Christ that he salvaged from the dump so long ago.
"Bendíceme, Padre, porque he pecado."
I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit. For apart from Me you can do nothing. Shut up you old fool they'll hear you. Leave now or forever abide within the mystery.
A furious flash of lightning turned the darkness of the inner chamber where he stood at the entrance into a bedazzling display of radiance rivaling that of heaven. And there it was... that which he'd lost... a treasure stolen, perhaps, or simply misplaced. Now was not the time to question but to act. The knife was his for the taking. A hand on his shoulder started him mightily and for but a moment he wondered if el Diablo had come to claim him for his own.
"Padre, aquí están. I have been searching for you."
"Arturo... estoy feliz de verte, mi amigo. The door to the tomb is open... por que?"
"Permítanme ir dentro y veo, Padre. I will go inside and see. This storm is muy mal... I am afraid."
"Bless you my child. Do you see kīla? It is there by the casket. Please bring it to me."
"De inmediato, Padre. I will be right back. Wait for me here, por favor."
As Arturo moved ahead to enter the crypt, Father Fletch stepped back to allow him passage. In a flash he was soaked. But the rain was warm now, almost inviting, the kind of downpour which could wash away even the most violent of sins. Before he realized what had happened, the door to the crypt slammed shut in his face followed immediately by a scream from inside.
It was as if he was waking from a long and a deep stupor. Why was he standing in the cemetery? And this storm... and that voice shouting from inside this tomb... who could it be?
Chapter 64—Any Marble
(In the Storm)
1
"Come on, Danners... we have to hurry."
"I've got to get this right, Liza... otherwise all our efforts are for nothing."
The man was taking forever dawdling over those stupid fucking marbles. Christ. Why didn’t he simply broadcast them like a farmer might his seeds... let the goddamned
things find their own place and time.
The storm was growing closer by the second... great gasps of wind blew back her hair throwing grit and sand into her eyes so that she had to turn away from the incoming bluster. Everywhere she looked shadows moved of their own accord like something alive in the night was stalking them... probably those peasants that made games out of kidnapping children and Americans.
"It's getting dark, DanMan."
"I know, sweetie. Give me just a little more time."
Hey... wasn’t there a song that went like that? Sure there was. Give me just a little more time, and our love will surely grow. Who sang that motherfucker? Oh, who gave a good dam. It was all bullshit anyhow. Anyone over the age of fifteen knew that.
Christ, Liza... get a grip. You know how the man gets. And most of the time he's right. Well... maybe half the time if you give him credit for his fuck ups and false starts.
"There... I think I've got it, Liza... come on... let's... wait a minute. What the hell is that?"
It'd gotten so dark she could hardly see the man standing right in front of her much less what he seemed to be pointing out with one arm raised like a sentinel warning of the enemy's approach. Fog seemed to have risen up out of the ground during the past couple seconds... it sure wasn’t there a minute ago. A sea mist? Maybe. But goddamn if it didn’t turn an already creepy place into a waking nightmare.
Rain now... Jesus... what a fucking downpour. Like God Himself had turned the spigot on high. In an instant her hair was plastered to her head and her clothes drenched. The water seemed to rise with each step she took.
"There's someone over there, Liza. I think they're kids. Are they singing a song? What the hell are they doing out in this storm?"
"It's only the sea mist creeping in, DanDan... look, you can see right through it."
"Liza... that's no mist. Those are kids... dozens of them. Don't you see them?"
"Come on, lover... I think you've inhaled too many fumes from inside that tomb. Let me get you back to the cabin."