Decatur (32 page)

“Yes it is. But Heydrich’s death was the first of the fatal blows to the Nazi leadership and it opened up the one of the most critical things that was needed in the war in Europe then: hope that evil was not impenetrable, that it could be defeated. I think we need to hold onto that hope now,” Max said.

“I knew when the gun came up in the card game as a bet, I had to get it.” Gretch growled, ruffling the fur on Rowley’s head. Rowley saw Max put a dark metal thing in his sport jacket pocket.
The humans were getting ready
, he thought, smelling new determination coming off their bodies in waves.
Their fang and blood instinct was coming up.

When they returned to the hospital conference room, Bishop Quincy along with Father Mahoney had already arrived and were completing their examination of Father Troy who, while groggy, was still conscious in the locked ward Five E.

Father Mahoney came back from St. Mary’s family conference room first, still unsettled by the sight of Father Troy raving and picking at himself. He froze in the doorway, completely taken aback by the curled-up dog, Marilyn still in her stained waitress uniform, what had to be the suspect Jewish professor along with a black FBI agent, and a masculine looking older woman sitting at the head of the conference table like they all had something to do with church business, along with Frank Weston. “It seems the parish in Decatur has a way of attracting odd elements and I don’t think that it’s lost on the Bishop that Father Troy is at risk because of this,” Father Mahoney said in a steely voice, his lip curling.

But Father Weston brushed right through his chilly blustering, “I’ll wait for the Bishop’s assessment, if you don’t mind, Steve. It’s been a long day and I don’t have much patience for holier-than-thou.”

Gretch clenched her fists underneath the table for a half second, regulating her breathing. Despite her background or perhaps because of it, she knew church authorities put her on edge and this was no time to get defensive.

The bullet-headed Bishop who looked like a general came in then and paused, taking in the group. “Your friends are excused, Father Weston. This is a matter for you and I and Father Mahoney.”

Father Weston sat very still for a half second, and then said, “They’re staying, Bishop. It’s a matter for all of us now.”

“Father Weston, do not make me remind you of your vows,” Bishop Quincy replied in a low voice his brogue thickening, “It’s been a bad day, boy, don’t make it worse.”

“Bishop, we haven’t met. I’m Dr. Gretchen Wendell, and I think I may have some insight to share with you on Father Troy.”

“Oh,no,” Father Mahoney held up his hand. He couldn’t believe that the woman was speaking to the Bishop like she was in charge.

Father Weston broke in. “Professor Rosenbaum and Marilyn Newcomb,” he inclined his head indicating them, “also have their own direct interests in this case of the man Gar who attacked Father Troy. Marilyn’s life is in danger, as I believe mine and the professor’s are as well. Dr. Wendell is an expert in this area who may be of help to us and Father Troy. Modern medicine does not hold the answer here. Nor will prayers be able to fix what is wrong with Mark Troy. It is an affliction of the soul and I believe we need expert help.”

“Who are you?” Bishop Quincy asked the short haired woman who was looking at him in an appraising way that he wasn’t used to except when with the Cardinal in St. Louis.

“Head of a new government-funded institute that deals with things that go largely unseen. Dark things usually,” Gretch replied. “Do you believe in miracles?” she asked Bishop Quincy, her green eyes narrowing.

“What do you mean, does he believe? He’s a bishop!” Father Mahoney’s blood pressure was making his roman collar pinch.

“I facilitate the people’s understanding of miracles as well as protect them from those that would make false claims, Doctor - I presume not of medicine,” Bishop Quincy was holding his anger in check but it was simmering just below the surface.

“Why do you ask?” interjected Max, like the helpful bright student in class.

“Well then, Bishop Quincy, you should not have trouble understanding that if there are such things as miracles in this world, there is the opposite. Events beyond human understanding that come together, phenomena that defy reality as we commonly know it but these events are not sacred, not merciful, not redemptive, they are ugly, punitive, and corrupt, and they are just as powerful. And if there are sacred sites in this world such as Lourdes, there are sites where evil forces gather and wait for their opportunities. If there are such things as holy men and woman then you know there must be demons.”

“Which is why the church performs exorcisms, for example,” Father Weston offered, even as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Max and Marilyn did their best to make themselves invisible then as Father Mahoney sputtered, “This is outrageous. Your total lack of respect…”

Bishop Quincy held up his hand then, stilling Father Mahoney’s protests instantly. “Thank you for your opinions, Dr. Wendell, but I do not need a lecture on theology. I’ve given Dr. Reed permission to involuntarily commit Father Troy to the locked ward for at least a week. I forbid Dr. Wendell any examination of the patient. You-” he turned to Father Weston whose cheeks were flaming.

“You’re making a mistake, Bishop, please listen to me, your actions are testing my faith in the Holy Mother Church,” Father W was desperate to get his superior to understand that Father Troy was as good as being abandoned.

“I’m going to excuse your behavior because of everything that’s happened,” Bishop Quincy stopped himself from giving Frank Weston a bracing slap in the face, which is what his bishop would have done to him as a parish priest. He managed to restrain himself by picturing himself in the Cardinal’s study discussing how young priests were leaving the orders in droves. “But you ever threaten me again or question my orders to get your own way, you better have your bags packed, because you only get one pass with me. I’ll see you in St. Patrick’s sacristy tomorrow at eleven and will hope you will have recovered your good sense by then.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Don’t Call Here Again

Gar woke up with a sore neck and feeling sick to his stomach a little after eight that same night. The doctor’s office was lonely and the reclining patient chair not as comfortable as it should have been. He flicked on the overhead and examined himself in the mirror: true, the dog bite was healing, but it was still tender and while the stitches on his lip could probably be taken out in a day or so, they made him look roughed up now. But it was the quality of his skin that bothered him most, like it was losing some of its muscular elasticity, its golden tan hue seemed a little ashen to him but it could have been the fluorescent light,
it had to be the fluorescent light.
The doctor’s office with its hanging skeleton was just giving him a bad case of the nerves and the damned office clock with the Bayer aspirin face ticked and ticked and woke him up in the first place. His big fist smashed down on it and it broke apart like a toy, thankfully not cutting him. Jesus, he was losing it. He had to get out of there.
Find the source. Just find the source, and not get picked up by the cops. That’s all that mattered now.

They were just kids, kids who were a little left of center for the largely Christian- oriented liberal arts college that dominated the west end of Decatur, Illinois. Petey as their unofficial leader had called that night’s meeting of the independent study group and had the bright idea that it should involve refreshments. So they had met after their dorm cafeteria dinner and walked to the Hi-Lo package store on Water Street next to Del’s popcorn. Proudly showing their I.D.’s they pooled their money and purchased three six packs of Hamms. The drinking age in Illinois had just been lowered to eighteen that year and everyone was having a ball with it. The five of them, from the freckled redhead Lisa, to the super egghead Carol, the plain Jane Julie, and finally the refugee from AV, John, sat drinking it under the big weeping pine tree of Charlesworth Place as the dark grew on the grounds. Petey easily lorded over the five, the motley freshman-and-sophomore independent study group of Professor Max Rosenbaum, as they talked, argued and laughed about their project.

“I can’t believe we got permission to hold a psychic fair on the grounds of Charlesworth mansion,” Carol said, wiping foam from her upper lip. She would have a headache tomorrow but she didn’t care. She had friends. She belonged.

‘Well, we did. Decatur’s first. We’re going to be the cool ones now.” Julie had a clipboard and John pointed the flashlight at it, and there it was, the pink approved student activity permit.

Petey slapped his hands on the ground, singing the Hamms beer jingle, “From the land of sky blue waters, from the land of pine something something comes the beer refreshing, Hamms, the beer refreshing.”

“I can’t quite make out who signed it, but we got it,” Julie had picked up the activity permit up from the little student union housed in the basement of the administration building a couple of days earlier.

“I bet it was old Rosenbaum who fixed it,” Petey said confidently, wondering if Lisa might sleep with him, she was the best looking of the girls in the group.

“The maintenance workers said they’d have tents up by tomorrow at noon. We got four.” John quietly knocked back his third beer noticing how the pine tree sounded like it was moaning when the breeze blew. He held the flashlight steady on their group sitting cross-legged on a carpet of pine needles, empty cans at their feet.

“That’s you, isn’t big John? You’re on the grounds crew, ain’t you?” Petey said and John nodded.

“I think it was meant to be.” John said softly as a chill ran down his spine. “I mean it was so weird how we all came up with the same idea for our group project.”

“Yeah. And with special guest Madame Josie and her telepathic associates its gonna be too cool,” Lisa said, lolling her head back and looking up through the pine branches. No moon, no stars, just dark. “This place is haunted, I know it is.”

“So we have the palm reader tent, and then tarot card tent.” Julie said, looking down at her clipboard, noticing how the pink permission slip was looking fuzzy in the glow of John’s flashlight. For an AV geek he was kinda cute.

“Let’s get some long scarves and drape them over the tents, for atmosphere,” Lisa said.

“I talked to the head shop in Champaign and they’re gonna drive their van over with massage oils, crystals, Ouija boards, decks of tarot cards, astrology charts, and maybe even bongs,” Petey said, smirking, “I figure that’s worth an A at least.”

“We better have a history of mediums in one of the tents or I don’t think we’ll get full credit,” Carol said with a quiver of anxiety, wishing suddenly that she hadn’t had the third beer.

“Oh don’t be such an old maid, Carol. You know it’s just bullshit.” Petey laughed hoarsely and grabbed for the last beer. “It’s just a fun way to get a grade from old Rosenbaum, he was into all that stuff before - whatever happened before- and he wound up in our dump of a school. ’Cause I heard he was famous, and he sure ain’t now.”

“I don’t think we should talk like that. I like the professor, I think he’s seriously okay. ” Julie said quietly.

“Yeah, Pete. Let’s get going, we got a lot to do tomorrow to pull this off,” John agreed, feeling an uneasiness come over him.

“What you think the ghosts might hear?” Petey’s speech was slurred.

“Come on, Petey, let’s go,” Lisa said standing up.

“I’m not taking the cans, let the grounds crew get ‘em” Petey said, getting to his feet and jabbing at John who flinched back, dropping the flashlight. It rolled from under the awning of branches. They stumbled out of the shelter of giant weeping pine, and the silver cylinder was illuminating in a big arc the deserted Charlesworth mansion with the windows looking like empty and pitiless eyes. As John scooped up the flashlight he thought he saw a dim silhouette of a woman crossing the windows for just a half-second.

“Did you see that?” John whispered.

“What?” asked Lisa wide-eyed.

“Ghost!” squealed Julie, white as one herself.

The kids looked at each other then and started running, weaving their way back out onto Pine Street, hearts beating with excitement and fear, passing a big man who was leaping over fences in backyards and running like he too was being pursued. A person would do a lot in Decatur, Illinois to feel like they were doing more than watchin’ the corn grow, thought Carol as they sprinted back to campus.

In the back of the house the old koi pond heard the gasping stumble run of the students and felt the thrill of water filling its bottom. New cracks had opened up and now streams of water were rushing up from below and little brown leaves whirled like boats with twigs as oars across its surface, two feet deep already and more to come, eight feet, ten feet, just like the old days.
The old days
. The water charged up and kept on spreading, spreading a rippling black twenty feet wide and getting that lovely deep.
It was coming, it was coming and it was coming full,
the koi pond whispered to the night, its promise about to be fulfilled.

Gar leaned against a garage, panting and holding his side. That had been close. He had started trotting down the street away from the doc’s office wondering where Marilyn was now and who was with her. The familiar desire and hunger burned in his gut. No matter how much he should be angry with her for what she had done to him today he couldn’t help himself, he was drawn to her, all of her, and just wanted to sit someplace quiet so he could hold her close and take her soul. But now she wouldn’t come with him willingly ever again, in this life at least, and this was the only life left he had. His best last hope would be to surprise her and take her by force. Still, she’d be on her guard now and probably have more than the dog with her when she returned to her apartment. But then a police cruiser had slowed down enough to catch a glimpse of him as he was jogging purposefully in a calm deliberate way; trying to look like a night time exercise enthusiast.

One of the cops used a bullhorn out the window of the car asking him to stop but Gar just sped up like he hadn’t heard. The cruiser put on its flashing lights then, but Gar jumped a fence and started cutting through backyards, hedges, and alleyways until he was sure he’d lost them. Damn. He had to get off the street again. He could go back to Harry’s and Marilyn’s duplex but those cops were out looking for someone and that someone was him so that might not be a good idea. He needed a sweet spot and suddenly he knew just where to go.

Max spooned out mounds of fluffy scrambled eggs onto small plates as Marilyn, wearing his grey plaid flannel robe, passed them around to Father W and Gretch. They ate the creamy peppered eggs for a moment standing at Max’s kitchen counter, with Gretch sitting on the lone stool feeding some to Rowley from a spoon. Max had already thrown his razor and Dopp kit into a gym bag along with a clean shirt and underwear in preparation of spending the night at the rectory. He had shown Marilyn where his clean towels and sheets were, and had given her his robe. She had worn it down the hall to the laundry room where they fed quarters into the white enamel washing machine, dumped in the Tide, and she put the ball of her uniform and panties in on the gentle cycle. Before everyone split up for the night they decided they were hungry and Max made eggs. It was then Marilyn realized the daily grind wound on no matter what extremis they were in. Max had to teach class in the morning, Father W was due to assist the high mass with the Bishop for the Monsignor, and she had to at least make the lunch shift at the Surrey. Sure, they might be able to nudge things here or there, but they were really too low on the ladder to say like the old song did, “stop the world I want to get off,” They had to work, just like they had to eat, sleep, and shower. Everything seemed completely normal and insane at the same time.

Adele was almost pulling out of the little garage attached to the Front Porch when she saw the big man Gar’s face pressed against the driver’s side window of her red station wagon. She stifled a scream and then after a second’s pause rolled down the window halfway.

“You surprised me, what are you doing here? I’m closed.” she said, nervous and yet a little thrilled he had shown up again.