The Suicide Lake (Book of Shadows 2)

by Michael Penning

  After he had traversed about forty yards, Josiah decided he had gone far enough. He changed direction again and started to push his way forward once more through the brush. The footfalls of his leather moccasins were slow and soundless as he stole ever deeper into the woods. What little noise he did make was swallowed by the relentless patter of the downpour. Josiah’s veins quivered with adrenaline in anticipation of the fight. The sensation warmed him in the cold, driving rain.

  Soon Heath would lie dead at his feet. It wouldn’t be long now.

  Before long, Josiah came to a rocky brook that had become swollen with the heavy rain.

  And there—very suddenly—he saw something that sent a prickle of fear racing into his heart.

  A single footprint had been imprinted in the muddy bank. It was so deep and distinct it had begun to collect rainwater.

  And it had come from the brook.

  Josiah’s gaze fell upon it and he knew he had made a fatal mistake. There would be no fight. There would be no scalping. Heath wasn’t waiting for him back there on the other side of those pines. He had kept going until he had come to this stream. He had waded up it, using the rocks and the rushing current to hide his tracks until he had exited it here. Then he had doubled back, circled around... and gotten behind his pursuer.

  All of this, Josiah realized too late.

  From behind came a tremendous crashing of underbrush. Josiah whirled around in time to see something big and heavy hurtling at his face. Something crunched in his head and he saw his own blood spraying out before his eyes.

  And then he saw nothing at all.

  Chapter 43

  Abigail left Colvin sleeping in her bed and slipped from the cabin. As she eased the door closed behind her, Timber raised his furry head and peered at her sleepily from where he lay on the doorstep. True to his word, Colvin hadn’t left her side all night. Their lovemaking seemed to have lasted hours, repeating itself over and over until they had both lain spent and exhausted.

  And in all that time, Josiah had not returned.

  The thought haunted Abigail as she made her way through the eerie morning stillness of the deserted village. Josiah was a cunning warrior, but the longer he was gone, the more Abigail began to suspect that she hadn’t seen the last of Heath MacIntyre. Was he still out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows of the misty forest? Did he have his eyes on her even now, watching her as she moved along the silent paths?

  Having lost her own cloak while saving Hannah Gill in the lake, Abigail had pulled Colvin’s wool coat over her dress before leaving the cabin. At the same time, she had also helped herself to his leather belt and the knife and pistol he kept fastened to it. Her hands now fell to her waist and felt the reassuring grips of both weapons. The next time MacIntyre crossed her path, she wouldn’t be caught unprepared. Let him show himself. Let him come to her.

  Abigail turned left and found Main Street to be a muddy, trampled mess as she made her way toward the chapel. The previous night’s fearsome thunderstorm had come to an end shortly before dawn. Now, the sky was leaden and the cool air pregnant with moisture. Ominous gray shadows lurked like specters among the clouds. The heavy autumn rains weren’t done with the village yet and Abigail suspected the worst was yet to come. Within hours, the heavens would pour down their wrath once more.

  As Colvin had predicted, Tahawus had become a ghost town. Even in the midst of last night’s raging storm, the villagers had fled, taking with them only what they could carry. All around her, Abigail saw nothing but darkened windows and empty cabins. There were no sounds of lumberjacks readying themselves for work; no smells of breakfast being prepared in the mess hall; no woodsmoke wafting from the chimney pipes. There were no signs of life at all. There was only the strange and foreboding silence.

  Something about the quiet stillness comforted Abigail. No matter what happened to her in her clash with Samael, she knew the rest of the villagers would now be safe. Later, she would rouse Duncan and have him search the village to be sure no one else had stayed behind. But she already suspected he wouldn’t find anyone. Only six people now remained in Tahawus: herself, Duncan, Carnes, Colvin, Josiah, and Heath MacIntyre.

  In all likelihood, one of them had summoned Samael.

  As she thought about it now, a glimmer of doubt took root in Abigail’s thoughts. Could she have been mistaken? She had a hard time accepting that any of the five men could have done such a thing as summoning the demon. One man she had known since childhood. Another was a man of God. A third she trusted enough to have taken into her bed. Even Heath—who had tried to murder her just hours ago—seemed too devout to be capable of such a blasphemy.

  But what about Josiah? He alone had known of the ancient Mohawk legends that spoke of Lake Tear of the Clouds as a place of evil. He had known what fates had befallen the Legendre brothers up there in the high peaks. Could Josiah be the one who had summoned Samael? Of the five suspects, he was the only one who might have had a motive to do so. White men had destroyed his village. They had cast his people from their ancestral lands, condemned his family to live on a wretched reservation, forced him to leave his wife and son.

  Was summoning the demon Josiah’s way of exacting revenge?

  As much as the idea seemed plausible, Abigail’s gut instinct told her the loyal Native she had come to know and trust couldn’t be capable of such horrors. Once again, Abigail began to wonder at her own assumptions. Perhaps the culprit wasn’t one of the men who had stayed behind. Perhaps whoever had summoned the demon had used the cover of the evacuation to steal away undiscovered.

  And yet, something instinctive told Abigail she was right. Whoever had summoned Samael had done so for a reason. She didn’t yet know what that reason was, but she was certain the malefactor wouldn’t have fled the village with the other evacuees. He would have remained here to see his diabolical intentions through to the very end. Again and again, Abigail’s thoughts circled back to the same conclusion: Duncan, Carnes, Colvin, Josiah, or Heath.

  Which one was it?

  Abigail’s mood was gray and troubled as she reached the chapel and mounted the steps. She pushed on the door and found it unlocked. “Mr. Carnes?” she called as she slipped inside. Her voice rolled over the pews and reverberated through the hollow space of the empty sanctuary.

  Carnes appeared from the vestry. He was missing his cassock and his shirt was rolled to the elbows. “Ms. Jacobs!” he exclaimed at the sight of her. “I’ve only now learned what happened last night. I meant to come to you as soon as—”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I assure you I am quite alright. My injuries will heal. At the moment, we have more pressing issues to discuss.”

  “Of course,” Carnes said with a curious look. Abigail’s forehead and cheek were bruised and torn from the stoning and her throat still bore livid bruises from where Tibbetts had tried to choke the life from her. But the firm set of her jaw as she gazed evenly at the priest revealed that she clearly didn’t want to discuss the previous night’s events.

  Carnes turned and ushered Abigail through the sanctuary to the vestry where he offered her a chair at the desk and closed the door behind them. He had been reading from a small Bible when he heard her call and the book still lay open on the desk. He marked his place with a strip of felt and set it aside. “How can I be of help?” he offered earnestly.

  “I’ve an idea about how to banish the demon,” Abigail replied, waving off his offer of coffee. “If Lake Tear of the Clouds is the gate through which Samael entered our world, what would happen if you were to bless it in the same manner you would bless holy water?”

  Carnes’ expression became thoughtful as he drew back a chair and sat with her at the desk. “You mean, could blessing the lake somehow cleanse it of the evil within and force Samael back to hell?”

  Abigail nodded. “Is it possible?”

  Carnes pressed a finger to his lips and thought it over. “I suppose so. Whenever a new place of worship is established, it is
consecrated or solemnly blessed in order to ward it from demons and remove it from the influence of Satan. I don’t see why the same logic couldn’t be applied to Lake Tear of the Clouds. Holy water itself has long been believed to be one of the most powerful weapons we have against the afflictions of the devil. At the very least, if blessing the lake doesn’t actually banish Samael, it may seal the gate and prevent any more such beings from passing through.”

  An eager shine came to Abigail’s eyes. “Will you then accompany us to the lake and perform the ritual?”

  “If you believe it will rid the world of this evil abomination, then yes. Absolutely.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” said Abigail with visible relief. “And now, there is one more thing, Mr. Carnes.”

  “What is it?”

  “You must teach me how to perform an exorcism.”

  Carnes raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

  “We still do not know how Samael is able to manipulate his victims’ thoughts. Until we do, every one of us is vulnerable—including yourself. If you should fall under the demon’s influence before you are able to perform the ritual and seal the gate, then I must bear a means by which to liberate you.”

  A long moment passed in silence as Carnes sat, staring at her as though reading something in her face. Abigail could tell by his sober eyes and the deep creases in his forehead that his mind was wrestling with its own conflicting thoughts and emotions. Part of her feared he would resist, that he would dismiss the idea of exorcism altogether. But then, with his mind seemingly made up, Carnes rose abruptly and moved to the cabinet of books standing against the wall. Abigail’s gaze went immediately to her Book of Shadows, still locked away safely with the other volumes behind the cabinet’s glass doors. Carnes released the lock and selected a slim, leather-bound volume from the top row. He handed it to Abigail.

  “The holy Roman Rite of Exorcism,” he said gravely. “I suspect you will have time enough to study it as we make our journey to Lake Tear of the Clouds. You will find the necessary holy water at the font on your way from the sanctuary.” He paused and studied her a moment longer. “But there is more to the ritual than the mere recitation of words and the sprinkling of water.”

  “What more is required?”

  “All Christians have the power to perform an exorcism as children of God. But the exorcist must have a clean and unburdened soul.” Carnes paused. “You must confess, Ms. Jacobs.”

  Abigail stared at him. “Confess? I fear that will prove quite useless, Mr. Carnes. I don’t believe in your God.”

  “Fortunately, his existence does not require your belief,” Carnes quipped, his words echoing her own on the day of their first encounter. “You say you don’t believe in God, and yet you willingly accept the existence of His adversaries. Why is that, Ms. Jacobs?”

  “Perhaps because I have seen the work of the devil with my own eyes.”

  “And what of the splendor that surrounds you every day? The beauty of nature? The love of family and friends? What are these but the work of God?”

  “My eyes do not see such things, Mr. Carnes,” Abigail replied with a note of bitterness. “Mine is a world of pain and fear and loss.”

  A look of sincere sadness crept into Carnes’ pale green eyes. “Ah, you see Ms. Jacobs... I believe you have just made your first confession,” he said softly. “I’m afraid only one who is distinguished for his piety and purity of life can drive the devil out before him. Pardon me for saying so, but I suspect yours has been a life of wickedness. If you are to successfully perform an exorcism, you’ve no choice but to show contrition for your sins and be absolved. Otherwise, you might as well be reciting your favorite sonnet while Samael tricks me into slitting my own throat.”

  At that moment, Abigail was overcome by a swift and nearly irresistible impulse to get up and storm from the room. She would have one of the other men learn how to perform the exorcism. Duncan could do it. Abigail wouldn’t submit herself to this sort of violation. The thought of revealing her darkest secrets to this man—this stranger—filled her with revulsion. Who was he to promise her forgiveness? Who was he to think he could absolve her of years and years of guilt? If it weren’t for her, both of her parents would still be alive. What words of his could make the ever-present pain of that knowledge go away?

  And there was more—much more. For all her talk of saving others from evil, there remained part of Abigail that was honest enough to admit that she was driven only by her own selfish desire for revenge. Revenge on the spirits that had taken her parents from her; revenge for the childhood she never had; revenge for the life and family she never would have. In her heart, Abigail knew her crusade to rid the world of its monsters was centered squarely on herself, on satisfying her own bloody lust for vengeance. Whatever lives she managed to save along the way were convenient excuses to justify her own self-interested acts. She would never truly grieve the loss of others. She simply used them to gratify her own cravings, to alleviate the rage that threatened to consume her always. She knew this admission should sadden her, but it didn’t. She had come to accept it, even embrace it.

  How could Carnes possibly absolve her of that?

  And yet, something kept Abigail rooted where she sat. Every fiber of her being told her to get up and leave, but still she found herself unable to move. If only it were so simple! If only she could find redemption by unburdening herself to this man! And what if this was the only way to save them all from Samael? Was she willing to risk all of their lives simply because she was too fearful of confronting her own personal demons?

  Abigail’s heart quickened and a strange and nervous sensation settled in her stomach. “Very well,” she murmured very softly. She felt like a child who has just realized she has become lost and separated from safety. She hesitated a moment longer, still wrestling with her decision. Then she said, “I... I don’t know how to begin.”

  Carnes gave her a warm smile. “I will lead you. Do you open your heart to me and welcome me into your soul as your confessor that I may give you absolution?”

  “I...” Abigail faltered and struggled to overcome her unease. What secrets was she about to reveal? What words would come out once she started her confession? “I—”

  She stopped, her words hanging on the tip of her tongue.

  All at once, it came to her.

  The terrible realization exploded with the force and brilliance of a cannon blast. Every part of her seemed to go cold at once.

  She knew who had summoned the demon.

  “I—I’m sorry, Mr. Carnes,” she stammered abruptly, rising from the desk. “I can’t do this now. There are too many emotions, too many memories of sins long forgotten. I need some time to contemplate and come to terms with my guilt. There will be time enough for this during our journey to the lake. In the meantime, I will gather the others. You should be prepared to depart within the hour.”

  Abigail didn’t hear Carnes’ confused objections as she left the vestry and hurried through the sanctuary on her way to the door. Only one thought held her mind.

  She had to find Colvin as soon as possible.

  Chapter 44

  Timber leapt to all fours and let out a throaty growl as Abigail appeared unexpectedly from the path. She had come upon the dog by surprise, but once he recognized her, he settled back into his bed of pine needles and eyed her suspiciously as she hurried to her cabin door.

  “Glenn!” she called urgently.

  Colvin appeared in the doorframe. He was shirtless, dressed only in breeches that hung low around his trim waist. His hair and beard were wet. “What is it?” he asked, alarmed by the tension in Abigail’s voice. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s Carnes,” Abigail panted between heaving breaths.

  Colvin’s brows came together in confusion as he stepped from the cabin and went to her. “What? How do you know—”

  “The confessions!” said Abigail. “The confessions are what link all of the victims together! All
of the victims visited Carnes to seek absolution—even Hannah Gill. He is the connection we’ve been looking for!”

  “Connection? What connection?”

  Abigail was too excited to hear him. “There had to be something that all of the victims had in common, something that made them vulnerable to the demon’s deceptions. Don’t you see? Carnes didn’t just summon Samael; he is Samael! He has been possessed! And every time a confessor opens their heart to him to seek absolution, they are unwittingly revealing their darkest secrets to the demon within him. That is how Samael is able to poison his victims’ minds and trick them into killing themselves.”

  Colvin shook his head. It was all coming at him too quickly. “But why would Carnes have done such a thing? What would he have to gain?”

  Timber slunk to Colvin’s side and let out a low, menacing growl as he gazed into the woods. Something out there had caught his keen eye. Colvin’s hand fell absently to the dog’s head and gave him a reassuring pat.

  “I don’t know,” Abigail admitted. “But we must act quickly. If Carnes suspects that I—”

  Just then, Timber’s fur sprang up and he began to bark furiously.

  Abigail whirled.

  The roar of the gunshot came without warning.

  All at once, Colvin’s eyes flew wide and he pitched forward as Abigail felt the sharp sting of something slicing through the flesh of her bicep. A red hole had blossomed in the middle of Colvin’s bare chest. Blood welled and poured from it as he staggered and fell to his knees.

  Behind him—emerging from a cloud of gunsmoke among the trees—was Heath MacIntyre. Josiah’s rifle was in his hands.

  Abigail couldn’t tear her eyes from the blood seeping from between Colvin’s fingers. He had been shot in the back. The bullet had passed through him and exited his chest, grazing her arm. Blood was pumping steadily from his wound—too much blood.