The Suicide Lake (Book of Shadows 2)

by Michael Penning

  Colvin’s voice broke the silence. “Was Hannah—”

  “Possessed? Most certainly,” Abigail finished for him, recovering instantly from the startling fantasy. What had come over her? Where had those sudden thoughts for him come from? Abigail banished any lingering visions of Colvin from her mind as she proceeded to describe the hideous look in Hannah’s eyes; the shocking viciousness by which the injured girl had attacked her in the water; the bolt of crimson that had suddenly shot into the air from the wound in Hannah’s head. “I have never witnessed anything like it,” she concluded. “More than ever, I am convinced ‘tis the work of Samael.”

  “Then why did this demon release his hold on the girl so suddenly?” Colvin asked.

  “I have been pondering that very same question. And I believe I may have an explanation. Are you familiar with the procedure of trepanning?”

  Colvin gave her a look that told her she should have known better than to ask.

  “’Tis an ancient practice,” Abigail explained. “A hole is drilled into the individual’s skull—often when fully conscious—thereby releasing the unclean spirit residing within. It was especially common in the Middle Ages as a popular method of liberating the possessed from demons.”

  Colvin’s brows furrowed. “And you believe this is what happened to Hannah? That the demon was released from her when her skull was fractured by the log?”

  “Think back to the story of the Jesuit brothers who were left to die on the shore of Lake Tear of the Clouds,” Abigail prompted. “Once he had slipped his own bonds, what did the younger of the Legendre brothers do instead of seizing the opportunity for escape?”

  “He murdered his elder brother.”

  “Precisely. And how exactly did he do it?”

  “He did it by—” All of a sudden, Colvin realized what he was about to say. “He did it by crushing his brother’s skull.”

  Abigail’s eyes gleamed as she gazed at him. “Merely a coincidence?”

  From somewhere outside came the first rumbling boom of thunder as the storm rolled toward them over the mountains.

  “Terrific,” Colvin sighed. “The only way to prevent Samael’s victims from killing themselves is to split their heads open.”

  “No. There is one other way,” said Abigail. “Exorcism.”

  Colvin’s eyes widened slightly. “Are you serious?”

  “Quite.” Abigail rose to her feet. “I must speak to Mr. Carnes before he leaves the village. I must retrieve my Book of Shadows and—”

  “There’s no rush for that,” Colvin interjected. “Carnes won’t be leaving with the others.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “After what happened today, he’s decided to remain here with you and Emmons. As he puts it, you may need his spiritual assistance when fighting Samael.”

  Under any other circumstances, Abigail would have flatly rejected the idea. But in the time she had spent alone with her thoughts, one idea in particular had stuck with her: whoever had summoned Samael wouldn’t just abandon the town. If the demon was at all bound to the cursed land through which it had entered—the gate at Lake Tear of the Clouds—then whoever had summoned it would want to remain here as well. Until now, the only candidates had included herself and Duncan. Abigail had a hard time imagining what could have motivated her childhood friend and former lover to undertake something so unspeakably abhorrent. And yet, she knew she must remain suspicious of everyone.

  But now, Carnes had elected to remain as well. Abigail was curious to see who else would find some excuse to stay behind by the time the sun rose.

  “It’s getting late,” Colvin said, handing her the bottle. “There’s still much to do before dawn. I’ll be among the last to leave, but I’ll be sure to say farewell before I go.”

  He stood and crossed the room to the door where he paused, his hand resting on the latch. “Why don’t you come with us, Abigail? Why stay here and fight? After tonight, there will be no one left here for Samael to harm. Why risk your life needlessly? Leave this place. Come with us.”

  Abigail gave him a wistful smile as she went to him. “And what of the unsuspecting people who come here after us? Tahawus is worth a fortune to Witherbee & Rand. Do you truly think they will accept your explanation that their most profitable logging camp was founded on a gateway to hell? That it is haunted by some demon? Do you truly believe they won’t send anyone up here after us to salvage what’s left?” Abigail shook her head gently. “No, Glenn. One does not simply lock a rabid dog in the pantry and leave the key on the kitchen table for someone else to find. One puts a bullet in the dog’s head before it can cause any harm.”

  Colvin’s face was dark and somber as he gazed at her. Abigail could see the thoughts playing out behind his penetrating eyes. For a moment, she thought he would object. Instead, a melancholy smile came to his lips. “You’re an interesting one, Abigail Jacobs,” he murmured. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you that night in the shed with poor Chester Prue.”

  His words stunned Abigail. “That was you? Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you—”

  “Reveal you to the others?” Colvin finished for her. “Because I dare say there are few things more interesting—and attractive—than a woman with a secret.”

  He remained there a moment, his roguish smile twinkling in his eyes. Abigail felt the heat of his body against hers. “You need to be with your people,” she finally whispered. “You should go now. Farewell, Glenn.”

  “Goodnight, Abigail,” said Colvin.

  And then he slipped out into the night.

  Left alone, Abigail uncorked the bottle in her hand and took another swig of the fiery whiskey. What was wrong with her? What was it about Colvin that had inspired that swift and unexpected longing she’d had for him? It wasn’t like her—at least, not during an investigation.

  And yet, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from straying back to those eyes, arms, hands. She couldn’t forget the way he had made her feel when she lay vulnerable and helpless by the lake. That strange and enchanting sensation of being cared for, of being protected...

  There was a knock at the door.

  Colvin, Abigail thought with a sudden, uncontrollable thrill. He’s forgotten to tell me something. Or maybe—just maybe—he came back to...

  Abigail forced herself to abandon the idea as she went to the door and swung it open. The bottle was in her hand, ready to be offered.

  Only it wasn’t Colvin.

  Chapter 39

  A hand clamped tight on Abigail’s mouth before she could scream. “Quiet, bitch,” Heath MacIntyre growled. “Can’t have ye’ hexin’ us with that dirty mouth of yers, can we?”

  Heath shoved her back into the cabin and barged his way through the door. Owen Delaney and the others stormed in after him. How many men? Five? Ten? Abigail couldn’t tell; it all happened too quickly. Heath’s massive hand was smothering her, cutting the air from her mouth and nose. Stars exploded in her vision. She had to get loose before she fainted. A terrifying vision of being alone and defenseless in the cabin with these men sprang into her mind. What would they do to her? How far would they go?

  She couldn’t let it happen. Somehow, she had to get away.

  The bottle! She still held the whiskey bottle in her hand!

  Twisting and struggling under Heath’s iron grip, Abigail brought it up, swung it hard at his shaggy head...

  Someone’s hand shot out and knocked it from her grasp. The bottle hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

  “Get her arms!” Heath hissed.

  Abigail fought and thrashed as her hands were yanked behind her back. She tried to sink her teeth into Heath’s palm, but it was pressed too tightly over her mouth. A rope was looped around her wrists. She felt it snap tight, digging painfully into her flesh and cutting off the circulation. Her fingertips went tingling and numb.

  “Her mouth too!”

  Heath snatched his hand away and a gag was shoved between Abigail’s
teeth. The same rope that bound her wrists was wrapped around her neck and mouth to keep the filthy rag in place.

  Abigail whirled on them, her eyes blazing furiously.

  “Oh...” Heath taunted, his gaze cold and narrow. “If only yer looks could kill as well as yer curses. Eh, bitch?” He balled his fist and gave Abigail a vicious punch in the stomach. The wind exploded from her lungs and her mind went out like a snuffed candle. She doubled over and staggered before falling to the floor among the shattered glass and spilled whiskey. Her head struck the floorboard and rebounded. Through the blurry haze clouding her mind, her only thought was that they had her now. They were free to do whatever they wanted to her...

  Abigail had the sudden sensation of being dragged—across the floorboards, across the room, out the door. She didn’t feel the impact as her body bounced down the steps from the cabin. She was too stunned, too disoriented. Trees and underbrush went by in a blur. She had a dreamlike awareness that she was in the forest. The crunch of footsteps on twigs came to her as if she were underwater, as if she was once again somewhere deep in the lake. There was darkness and torchlights and lighting and thunder. She was being dragged and dragged and dragged. Where were they taking her? How far would they go?

  They stopped.

  Someone hauled her to her feet and shoved her forward. She stumbled and fell sprawling in the dirt again. A voice swore and she was yanked up. A hand gripped her shoulder, kept her upright, led her forward and spun her around. The hand pushed her backward and her shoulders came up against the rough and unyielding trunk of a tree. A rope encircled her body, tightening around her chest, waist, legs. The rag was yanked from her mouth. The sudden intake of air cleared her head and she began to struggle and squirm.

  Her efforts were useless.

  She was lashed to a bare elm at the edge of a small hollow. Something about her surroundings seemed familiar. A sudden revulsion swept through her gut as she realized where she was.

  This was the place where they had found Evelyn MacIntyre’s mutilated corpse.

  Eight men surrounded her. Some of them bore torches. The bright flames danced in the gathering wind of the approaching storm. The flickering light cast heavy shadows among the trees and made the leering faces of the men ghoulish to look upon. A purple blast of lightning forked across the sky as Abigail’s eyes darted around, searching frantically for something—anything—that she could use to her advantage.

  There was nothing. It was hopeless.

  Abigail’s wild panic gave way to a terrible despair. Even if she could somehow free herself, there were too many men. She couldn’t possibly fight them off. She was helpless and at their mercy.

  And now they would do whatever they wanted to her.

  “Four things there are that make a witch,” Heath intoned from the center of the ring of men. He had a large stone in his hand that he tossed into the air and caught absently as he glowered at her.

  Abigail’s gaze fell upon the stone and a sickening dread flooded through her. She had faced many horrors over the years, abominations and monstrosities the likes of which would snap the sanity of most men. She had faced them all with steadfast courage, never wavering, never shrinking. But now, she faced a different kind of monster, one with flesh and blood the same as her own.

  And now—for the first time—she felt real terror.

  “Four unholy sacraments for which the devil grants a witch her power,” Heath continued, snatching the stone from the air. “Name them.”

  Abigail remained silent. Even as she trembled with fear under the rope that bound her, she wouldn’t submit herself to the deranged commands of these fanatics.

  “Name them!” Heath cried. “Name the sins of which you are about to be purged!”

  Again, Abigail said nothing.

  A blast of thunder exploded overhead and raindrops began to fall.

  With a vicious snarl, Heath drew back the heavy stone and hurled it at Abigail. It struck her in the collarbone with such force that she was certain she had been shot by a rifle. A white bolt of agony went off in her brain.

  “Contempt of Christ!” Heath exclaimed as the rain came down and made the torches hiss. “A witch forsakes the blessed faith at the behest of her master, the devil!”

  Another stone came streaking at Abigail and caught her in the ribs. She jerked and writhed in pain and this time she did scream, a pitiful cry that went nowhere in the wind.

  “Homage to the devil and devotion to his service!” Heath shouted again. Another man stepped forward with a stone in his hand. He was short and stout, with thick, unshaven jowls. Water dripped from strings of hair plastered to his balding pate. Tibbetts was his name.

  Abigail’s eyes widened with panic as he raised the stone and let it fly at her face. Thrown off target by the wind and rain, it glanced off her cheek and tore a gash.

  The floodgates opened.

  More and more stones came shooting through the rain as the other men unleashed their arsenal, hammering her from all directions. Abigail moaned in agony and felt the world going dim around her. They weren’t going to stop. She knew it now.

  They were going to kill her.

  “Sacrifice of babes in the name of Satan!” Heath cried. His face was twisted and frenzied in the fading torchlights and the hellish lightning exploding above. “Feasting on their flesh! Drinking of their blood!”

  Through the foggy haze of pain, Abigail had a vision of another man stepping forward. It was Owen Delaney. Lightning crashed overhead as he stood there a moment, studying the look of suffering etched on her face as if he were committing it to memory. He is the one, Abigail thought with a strange sense of certainty. His stone will be the one that will finish me...

  “Fornication with the devil!” Heath shrieked. Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes were wild and fervent.

  Delaney drew back the stone, ready to hurl it at her head.

  Abigail closed her eyes. Just end it. Just please make it end...

  And then—all at once—Delaney’s hand exploded in a spray of blood as a tomahawk sailed through the air.

  Chapter 40

  Delaney screamed and fell to his knees, clutching at the bloody pulp of his ruined hand. Josiah was on him in an instant. Charging from the darkness of the rain-drenched forest, the Native rammed the butt of his heavy rifle into the base of Delaney’s skull, knocking him senseless and sending him crashing forward into the muck.

  In a flash, Josiah swung his rifle around and aimed it at Heath. He didn’t speak or hesitate, he just pulled the trigger. The rifle erupted with a blast of smoke and a spray of sparks. Heath’s eyes went wide and stupid with surprise. He blinked and looked down, expecting to see his chest blown wide open.

  But the rifle had misfired.

  With a guttural roar, Heath lowered his head and charged at Josiah. Reacting with lightning reflexes, Josiah swung his rifle at the big man’s head like a club. Heath ducked beneath the swing and caught Josiah in the ribs, tackling him into the mud.

  Through the sheets of rain, Abigail saw them both go down in a heap. Heath’s fist came up and shot down again. The other men crowded around, shouting, piling on like a pack of wolves.

  Colvin flew from the darkness with a furious cry and hurled himself kicking and swinging onto Josiah’s attackers. Cries of pain erupted as Timber joined the fight, snapping and snarling viciously.

  All of sudden, Duncan was at Abigail’s side. There wasn’t time to speak. Cutting cleanly through the rope that bound her, he helped her to the ground and left her with a knife before turning and diving into the melee.

  Abigail cast off the remains of the severed ropes and lay there a moment, gathering her wits as the rain came down upon her. She could hear the grunts and cries of the men as they clashed just a few yards away. She was beaten and shaken and cold to the very bone. But something about the feel of the knife in her hand electrified her. The cold and hurt vanished and there was nothing but black and irresistible rage. Staggering to her feet
, Abigail turned and looked for Heath, ready to bury the blade deep into his throat.

  Something big and heavy tackled her and sent her crashing back to the ground. Abigail rolled onto her back and lashed out with the knife, slicing through Tibbetts’ fleshy cheek. A thrill of exhilaration shot through her. At last, here was something she could fight, something she could kill.

  Tibbetts let out a cry but didn’t relent. Lightning flashed on his ruddy face and his eyes were wild and rabid. He caught Abigail by the legs and heaved, hauling her backward through the mud before she could scramble away. She twisted and brought the knife swinging through the air, slashing through his other cheek. At the same time, her free hand raked at his face. She had the satisfaction of feeling something squish and pop as she gouged her thumb into his eye.

  Tibbetts howled in agony and swung blindly with his fist. The surprise blow caught Abigail in the jaw and knocked her flat. Tibbetts pounced on her.

  “You’ll kill us all!” he shrieked into her face. Blood streamed from his mangled cheeks. His ruined eye was a pulpy mess and a string of drool hung from his split lips. “You’ll kill us all, you wicked bitch!”

  Abigail struggled and thrashed beneath Tibbetts’s weight as he clamped his meaty hands around her throat and squeezed. Swinging the knife in a wide arc, she plunged the blade deep between his shoulder blades. Tibbetts screamed but the hands wrapped around her throat only seemed to clutch harder. He wasn’t just going to strangle her; he was going to crush her throat completely.

  Again and again, Abigail stabbed with the knife, even as she began to lose consciousness. She felt her blade slip between Tibbetts’s ribs and knew with certainty that she had killed him. The wound would bleed him out and there would be no sewing him back together.

  But he would still live long enough to wring the life from her.

  Abigail felt the man starting to weaken as she gasped and choked for air. In vain, she tried to struggle out from under him, but he was too heavy and she was pinned flat. Rain splashed and pattered on her face as a horrible darkness rushed into her vision. She felt herself falling into nothing, hurtling toward a black and empty void...