Evil Eternal (17 page)

“You were a wonderful vintage of whore,” he said, patting his belly.

When the teacher chaperone called back less than an hour later to ask if they had seen the girl, Rose informed her that the girl had last been spotted walking with the other seniors from the group. Cain gave Rose a sardonic smile when he heard the lie.

“Also, I have the producer for
Meet the Press
on the line for you,” she added.

“I’ll take it here.” She flipped him the phone. “Hello, this is Mayor Spinelli.”

“Mr. Mayor, it’s Bob. Just calling to confirm your appearance on the show next week.”

Cain started to laugh. “Bob, I wouldn’t come on your fucking show if you promised me all the drugs and hookers money could buy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you old fart. If you call here again, I’ll come over there and make you choke on my cock. Good day.”

Cain slammed the phone on its cradle and looked at Rose. “How did I do?”

“Excellent.”

For an old broad who, before her murder, attended church every Sunday and went to confession six times a year, Rose was turning out to be one fine apostle. Transmogrifying the good ones was always his favorite part of the job. It was his way of giving the finger to his one true enemy, Father Michael aside.

“Well, Rose, it’s been swell. If you’ll excuse me, I have to further demolish Mayor Spinelli’s reputation before preparing for the big clusterfuck tomorrow. It doesn’t look like he’ll be running for any office again. I’ll summon you and the others when I need you.”

Rose nodded her compliance and answered the ringing phone in the kindliest voice New York had to offer. Cain adjusted his tie and strutted down the hall to his next meeting, anxious to tell the members of PETA that they were nothing but a bunch of bull dykes in need of a good lay, which he was more than willing to provide. It wasn’t an original thought, but he was saving his flair for the avant-garde for the mayoral convention.

Father Michael reviewed in detail how to work each weapon in his bag, twice. He also hashed out their course of action at the convention and what Shane could expect to see and do. It sounded like hell on earth, only less pleasant.

Shane’s head was throbbing from the sensory overload. He had never used a weapon of any kind on another person in his life until the incident with Cain in the alley. That didn’t go far into making him a stone cold killer. The fact that he was supposed to be using them to kill demons from the pits of hell didn’t make it any easier.

“Why don’t we just go out and buy an Uzi or something? That would be a hell of a lot easier than throwing daggers and stabbing demons with crucifixes.” The breakfast he had eaten was hitching in his guts.

“Bullets would not have the inscription of exorcism on them. It must be done this way.”

Father Michael quickly packed the tools back into his bag. It was approaching late afternoon and Shane expected Aimee to arrive soon.

“What if I kill a regular person by mistake?” Shane asked. “I mean, you said these demons of Cain’s will look the same as the people whose souls they replaced.”

Shane was young and scared and, worst of all, a nonbeliever. Father Michael had never encountered anyone like him before and was unsure whether he would ultimately end up a help or a hindrance. He tried to recall how he would have felt had he been thrust into the same situation, but he was too far removed from his mortality to fully grasp the boy’s fears. Shane had been given a gift and the choice of whether or not to use it was not
 
the young boy’s to make.

“You will know,” the priest intoned.

Shane’s shoulders slumped. “Somehow, I don’t find that very comforting. I’m still not one hundred percent sure I believe in all of this craziness, despite that little altercation in the alley last week. How much more blind faith is a guy supposed to have?”

“Just with every fiber of your soul. Meet me tomorrow at Saint Luke’s.”

Shane toed the bag full of sanctified weapons with his boot. “Quick question. If we now know exactly what Cain is up to, why don’t you rush over there and take him out?” He made a stabbing motion towards his chest. “I mean, why wait until Cain has all the chips in his pile? We know he’s in the body of the mayor, which I feel bad about, despite my previous feelings about Spinelli. I think it would make a hell of a lot more sense to ambush him before his little tea party at the Javits Center. Then it’s just you and him,
mano a mano
. Plus you have the element of surprise on your side, not to mention me safely hiding here.”

Shane said it as if it made perfect sense and
 
any rational person would agree.

“This moment was foretold almost a century ago to three small children, Jacinta, Lucia and Francisco, in Portugal. Of the three, only Lucia was to live to adulthood. She became a nun and shared the details of her vision and the message that had been left in her care. The first secret prophesied the end of the First World War and the start of World War II. The second told of the coming of an evil superpower, Russia, and its eventual downfall which would lead to a temporary world peace. Details of the third are known only to the pope and myself.”

Shane hadn’t drawn a breath, until he said, “And?”

“In several days, the third secret will become part of the fabric of known world history. There is no other way afforded to us.”

Father Michael hefted the gunnysack onto his shoulder as easily as if it contained feathers. Shane crashed onto the couch and replayed the game plan over and over in his mind, not to mention the riddle of the third secret. Was he talking about the Fatima prophecies? That had to be it. He remembered enough from documentaries on TV to put the pieces together. At the time, he’d thought it was all a load of bull. Mass hysteria that had bloomed into religious revelation. He grew hot with anger.

“Just because some kids think they saw the Virgin Mary and got a few messages doesn’t mean innocent people have to die now!”

“You could never understand,” Father Michael said sharply. Shane flinched, and the priest’s shoulders sagged slightly. He continued in a more measured tone. “If you want to think of it strategically, we must wait until Cain and his demons are all in one place.”

“I want to think of it in terms of saving lives,” Shane said, the hard edge of his anger blunted.

Father Michael inhaled deeply as if to reply, then exhaled and walked away.

If he didn’t know better, which he wasn’t sure he did, this Father Michael seemed as sinister as Cain. What he was proposing to do was pure insanity. If even half of it was true, Shane wasn’t sure his heart would be able to withstand it.

Maybe there was a way out of it. What if he didn’t show up at Saint Luke’s to meet the priest? He could just grab Aimee and hop on Metro North and ride a train to the end of the line, spend a few days in Putnam County and hope this was nothing more than the ravings of a couple of cracked-up priests. And even if it was partially true, because he couldn’t begin to wrap his brain around the thought of it all being factual, who the hell was he to get stuck in the middle of some holy war? Until a week ago,
God
was just
dog
spelled backwards. Now he didn’t know what to think. The only thing he did know was that he did not want to be in the slaughterhouse when Father Michael went to battle.

Chapter Nineteen

Monsignor Stanton stood in the doorway, looking exhausted and worried. An arthritic hand gripped the doorframe to keep him from slumping forward. Father Michael noted a greater sagging of the skin, a glaze of deep sorrow and sadness in the man’s eyes. Death was hovering over him like an industrial cloud of smog. The old man’s health had been precarious on the best of days before his arrival. It appeared that the knot of dread over what was to become of his beloved city had metastasized, eating away at what little strength was left in Monsignor Stanton’s body.

Unlike all of the vestiges of humanity lost to Father Michael over the centuries in his service to God, envy was still as strong as ever.

And he envied the frail monsignor.

“Have you discovered the whereabouts of Cain?” Monsignor Stanton was out of breath from the walk to answer the door. Night had blanketed the city but it was still bright outside, in large part because of the moon’s pale reflection on the blanket of fresh snow that covered every square inch of the metropolis.

“Yes.”

“And his plan? If he’s here, he must have something in mind. That is, of course, if the demon can possess a mind.”

“You must rest, Monsignor. I would like to use your church tonight,” he answered, steering the subject away from the foulness of Cain.

Monsignor Stanton was tempted to press the priest for more information, but a quick look in his alabaster eyes assured him that no amount of pressure would elicit information he wasn’t prepared to share. Ignorance could be bliss, just as sure as knowing could be torment.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Let me get the keys.” He slowly hobbled into his office to retrieve a ring of over twenty keys. The keys to the kingdom of God, he’d called them over the years.

Once they were inside the church, he built up the courage to ask, “Father Michael, I’d like to know what you’re about to face. If there is any way I can help, I want to be there.”

Father Michael gently laid his bag onto a pew. The old man was trembling and looked close to collapsing.

“You have done enough,” he answered.

“I want to know,” the monsignor shot back with as much authority in his voice as he could muster.

Father Michael stepped close to him, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the empty church. He reached his hand and touched the top of the monsignor’s head. “You have done well. Sleep and bring serenity to your thoughts.”

Monsignor Stanton’s knees buckled and he was caught before his body could crash to the floor. Father Michael carried him to the rectory and laid him onto the small bed in his room.

“Good-bye, Monsignor.”

Aimee broke the news to Shane as they were getting ready for dinner. She thought for sure he’d have a million questions when she came back made up to the nines, but he’d seemed lost in his own thoughts. She even made it a point to drop the Saks Fifth Avenue bag containing her new dress next to him on the couch but he never even glanced at it. He just stared into space and twirled a lock of his hair. The TV was on, but only as a source of background noise. If this were an episode of
The Twilight Zone
, she would have sworn that he had been hypnotized by some subliminal message being broadcast within the airwaves.

After an hour of the virtual silent treatment, her blood started to boil. She would be damned if she would be ignored in her own house. If he were a drug user, she could almost understand his torpor. No, he was just tuning her out, lost in his own world. So, she did the one thing she knew would shake him from his trance. Sitting on the coffee table, face-to-face, knees touching, she blurted out the mayor’s personal invitation to the convention and her decision to go.

“He…what?” His face had turned ghostly white and he yanked the strands of hair he had wrapped around his finger right out of his scalp without any hint of pain.

Aimee’s anger was quickly replaced by uncertainty. She’d never seen Shane look so scared. But why?

“He asked me and other members of his staff to attend the mayoral convention at the Javits Center tomorrow. It’s a really big deal, Shane. This could mean a lot for my career.”

“And you’re going?” Shane asked.

“Yes. That’s why I went out with Patty today. To get ready.”

Shane slumped onto the couch and put his head in his hands. Neither of them spoke. Aimee was expecting anger, his usual flash of outrage whenever she mentioned Mayor Spinelli’s name, but this was coming from left field. She didn’t know what to do or say.

“Don’t go,” he said, barely above a whisper. His back was hunched and he never took his eyes off the floor.

“What?”

“I said don’t go,” he reiterated, only louder. “Do anything else you want tomorrow. Hell, leave me and run off to marry some guy you just met in a bar but, please, don’t go.”

Aimee started to pace. “You’re talking crazy. That doesn’t even make any sense. Do you realize how insane you sound? I know you don’t like the mayor, but don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”

Shane rose from the bed, walked over and held her arms in his hands. Their eyes locked and she was unsettled by what she saw.

“You’re going no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

The entire scene was too weird, even for Aimee. She had been very understanding of Shane. There weren’t too many professional women who would hitch their heart to a homeless artist, especially one who looked like the lost son of Sid Vicious. For all she knew, this was his latest ploy at getting back at her for working with the mayor. Shane was never one for convention and she had proven to him many times in the past that his Mayor Spinelli tantrums had no effect on her. Perhaps he’d cooked up a new way to spoil her news and this frightened-rabbit routine was nothing more than an act. For once, she was going to go with her head and not her heart, no matter how much it pained her to look at Shane. She had a career to consider. Shane would have to be a man and get over it.