Faustus Resurrectus (36 page)

Conrad Clery stared at him with the weight of a thousand won trials. “Where’s my daughter?”

“She’s being held in there.” Fullam nodded towards the park. During the time he, Donovan and Maurice had been planning, the darkness surrounding it seemed to have grown deeper and more intense.

“What’s being done to rescue her?” Conrad looked at him strangely. “And why did Donovan ask me if I know how to drive a truck?”

Braithwaite was already going for the mini-forklift near the palettes of iron spires. Fullam started walking towards the fire engine. “Can you?”

Conrad gave a little start as the forklift fired up, and Braithwaite began to wheel a load of spires towards them. “It’s been a while, but yes, I still remember.”

“Good.” Fullam stopped, one hand on the engine’s driver door. “What we’re going to do to save Joann is a little unusual, and the less you know the less you’ll question and make an issue out of.”

“Sergeant,” Conrad said, deliberately using Fullam’s rank, “this is my daughter. I don’t care if this is sanctioned or not. Can we save her?”

Fullam told him what he had to do.

***

Faustus appeared at the end of the stage. If the suffering surrounding them left any mark on him, he remained impassive. “Thy subjects are complete in their task. The blood of many innocents hath been collected for the Amaranthine Gateway. All that awaits,” he bowed slightly towards the huge Sigil of Baphomet in front of the stage, “is thine addition.”

Valdes looked at Mephistopheles.

“Innocence corrupted.” Mephistopheles’ voice held a strange note, one that sounded almost like anticipation. “All of the blood in the Amaranthine Gateway comes from the innocent. When I add mine, not only does it create the correct color, it also changes pure to impure.” He hunched in on himself, and the massive, misshapen Coeus morphed into the form Valdes had first expected: a monk, clad simply in brown cassock with a rope belt. On his now-normal feet were sandals of wood and cloth. His eyes, however, remained unchanged; vast, unending purple lakes speckled with infinite white pinpoints.

“I thought—”

“You were presumptuous in your use of Marlowe, Neil,” Mephistopheles said. “I don’t do requests. I only take this form when dealing with Lucifer because,” a slight sneer curved his lip, “it doesn’t
threaten
. Whatever Vessel Lucifer possesses needs to be the most beautiful in the room.”

“
Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris
, Valdes.” Faustus regarded him like a cattleman herding a steer into the slaughterhouse. “Art thou prepared to join Faustus in damnation?”

“I’ve made my position clear,
Herr Doktor
.”

Mephistopheles gazed down the Lawn. “I see the sacrifices coming, Neil. I trust the fight will provide enough energy to open the gateway?”

“Absolutely,” Valdes said. “I arranged for the police to find a little extra motivation.”

“Excellent.” Mephistopheles nodded. “Then I’d best get our Vessel.”

TWENTY-FIVE

…WHERE THE INEVITABLE BEGINS

T
he police line broke to bypass the blockade of Belvedere Castle and Turtle Pond; half went north on the west side, half on the east. The rank, airborne taste of disembowelment was evident even before the police came in sight of the Great Lawn. Drawing nearer they began to see bodies whose intestines and organs draped tree branches like ornaments.

“If they think they’re soldiers from Hell,” Darenelli observed, kissing the crucifix around his neck, “looks like they want home field advantage.”

Clark kept professional despite a growing suspicion he should have given Donovan Graham’s warnings more weight. “Keep in formation. Watch out for traps.”

At the southernmost tip of the Lawn the police line re-formed. All the surrounding streetlights had been vandalized, and since none of the NYPD flashlights were working, the only illumination came from bonfires and torches. Rather than form a chain of light, each individual fire lit a small space around it, shrinking visibility to two dozen tiny spaces scattered around the field. Breezes from the north carried stronger smells, of organic material so pungent it could only be newly dead. Worst was the cloying, stifling silence—the impression the men had taken away from the briefing was of bustling activity filling the park. Now there wasn’t enough noise to drown the groans of the dying.

Clark glanced at Yarborough. “How can this many people be so quiet?”

“Donovan Graham said there were a lot,” the chief said with disdain. “How many did the chopper flyover actually
show
you?”

“Enough.” The FBI man spoke softly into his radio. “Vicki? Where is everybody?”

“
Can’t tell. From here, everything looks like it’s getting darker.
”

Clark raised his head. Matthews was right; the area inside the Lawn’s oval had become darker and more mysterious, its pockets of light compressing as though the darkness had actual weight. Ahead, he saw the vague shape of something—some
things
—stretching across the bottom of the Lawn.

“Hey!” Darenelli shouted. “There goes someone!”

Two white slashes danced across the grass expanse. They dropped a pair of torches and melted into the dark. Something in the grass caught fire. A blazing circle erupted, fully displaying what stood in the way of the police—the heads of the Central Park Precinct officers on stakes. Their limbs, still clad in their uniforms, had been torn off and formed into a giant word:

WELCOME

Throughout the dark, a message whispered: “
Two hundred sixty-four and kill the rest!
”

***

Donovan dropped the spires and dove back into the reservoir. About ten feet away the two figures bobbed to the surface, their struggles churning a froth of black water and white slashes. Father Carroll wrestled The Jogger’s head above the surface before dunking it and repeating his adjuration. “
The power of Christ commands you—depart this man!
” Hissing and biting, The Jogger tried to roll onto his back. His chalky bluish skin blistered as the priest jerked him under.

The surface of the reservoir calmed.

Donovan thrashed towards them. The spot where they’d gone below strobed once; a dark, amorphous cloud erupted and vanished north.

“Donovan!”

The priest struggled to support what was now an unconscious man in a filthy track suit. His skin had returned to a pale, human shade, and its blisters were gone. Donovan swam over, and together they dragged him to the reservoir’s edge and hoisted him out. The Jogger’s head lolled back on the dirt, tongue draped over his lower lip. Donovan checked to see if he needed mouth-to-mouth, grateful to find he didn’t. “That cloud…was that—?”

“‘The fiend in his own shape is less hideous than when he rages in the breast of man.’” Father Carroll stood next to him, looking down. “Nathaniel Hawthorne, ‘Young Goodman Brown.’” He suddenly began to tremble. Donovan thought he was cold, but as he looked into the priest’s face he saw it was not cold but an overwhelming excitement that made him seem twenty years younger. “Astounding!” He smoothed his dripping beard with a trembling hand. “I…I’ve participated in hundreds of exorcism investigations, performed nine
true
exorcisms, but this…this was
astonishing
!” He glanced around. “Where did it go?”

“North, back to the portal in the Cancer Hospital. Are you all right?”

“I feel…energized.”

In spite of the circumstances, Donovan allowed a small smile. They looked at each other, unable to articulate anything more about what had happened. “We have to go.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yeah.” The spires lay at their feet. Donovan picked them up, slid one up his right sleeve and offered the other. “Just in case.” He stopped and looked around. “Damn!”

“What is it?”

“Frank’s gun; I left it over there when I jumped in the water. It must have gotten knocked in during the fight.”

“I apologize.”

“Not your fault.” Donovan looked at The Jogger, still unconscious, and restrained an urge to throw him into the reservoir to look for it. “Have to manage without it.”

They stood in the eye of the hurricane and looked at each other.

“Are you afraid?”

“Terrified.” Donovan thought of Joann. “But afraid isn’t an option.”

“Fear ends where the inevitable begins. I believe God has a plan for you, a destiny. Accept it, and follow it with faith.”

The noise of the police assault was getting closer as the force worked its way towards the Lawn.

“There is one more thing,” the priest said, going back into his gym bag. He removed something, hurried through the hole in the fence, and stooped to the reservoir. Donovan watched, unsure, as he hurried back. “Here. Take this.”

He gave Donovan a handful of purple silk that was darkened to black by the water. Donovan unrolled it. It was about six feet long, with a thin edge of gold embroidery and a gold cross embroidered at each end. “What’s this?”

“It’s the stole I’ve worn for all nine of the exorcisms I’ve performed.” He gestured. “For extra protection.”

Donovan hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“
You
face greater peril, I think.”

“Yeah.” Donovan looked at the stole. “But I’m ready now. I’ll see you after all this is over, or,” he glanced at the foreboding shadow of the South Gate House, “I’ll see you back here. Good luck.”

“Go and save Joann, my son.” Father Carroll swept him up in a bear hug. “God be with you.”

He released him, turned, and ran towards Central Park West.

***

Joann locked her eyes on the handkerchief at her feet as Valdes walked off, focusing on the bright scarlet stain.

I can’t. I can’t look. I can’t…see
him
again.

Her teeth began to chatter as she realized she no longer thought of the giant as Coeus anymore. She squeezed her eyes shut.

I’m in serious danger, but I believe Donovan will come. I believe Donovan will save me. He has to come. He
has
to.

She heard the giant’s words over and over again: “Hold onto your life preserver, Joann.”

Why
isn’t
he here yet? How long has it been since Valdes grabbed me from his apartment, two, three days? Hasn’t he figured it out yet?

She groaned softly and hung her head.

Has
he abandoned me?

***

The police charged past the gruesome display of their comrades’ bodies and into…

…nothing.

The Lawn was a vast, dark, empty void.

Cold dread seized Yarborough. “What the fuck is going on?”

He and Clark had followed their men, expecting to face what Donovan Graham had described as an all-out war with an apocalyptic cult. What they found when they crossed onto the Lawn was darkness as thick as fog but not as tangible, so dense they could barely see the man next to them.

“Link arms! Hold the line!” Clark’s voice came from somewhere next to him. “Nobody panic! Chief, have your units report in!”

“
Harley, are you with me?
”

“I’m here, Vicki. What happened? We can’t see anything.”

“
Everything just went black. We didn’t know if it was technical or not.
”

“No, it’s out here, too. Stand by.” He groped in the darkness and found Yarborough’s arm. “How are your people doing?”

“All units report!” Yarborough barked.

Immediately a hundred voices responded, offering information, asking for explanations, waiting for orders. “
What did these fuckers do?
” Darenelli’s voice was unmistakable as it cut through the commotion. “
How did they—
”

“Hold your positions,” Clark advised everyone. To his amazement, his teeth were chattering with fright. He clenched his muscles in resistance and leaned towards Yarborough. “They sucked us in with that display back there. We should pull back, see how localized this darkness is.”

“What is it?” Yarborough tried to wave it away from in front of his eyes. A quaver in his voice made him clear his throat. “Chemical smoke screen?”

“I doubt it; Valdes didn’t have the connections necessary to get his hands on that kind of stuff.” Clark kept his eyes moving, wondering if this was how cavalry felt waiting for a Lakota Sioux attack. “Our sniffers picked up nothing.”

Suddenly, the radios burst alive with frenzied panic.

“
Captain, I—aaaaaaaahhhh!
”

“
Harley, what the fuck—”

“Sit rep!” Clark demanded.

“
They’re hitting us in packs!
” came a high-pitched reply. “
We linked arms and they’re coming from everywhere, taking groups of us!
”

“Taking?” Yarborough growled. “What do you mean? Taking out? Killing?”

“
No,
taking
! They’re grabbing more hostages, I think!
”

“
261…219…188…
”

Clark strained his ears.
Are those…numbers?
“They’re counting something down. Could be a bomb.”

“Too quick. Too uneven a count.” Yarborough clutched his radio. “Pull back! Regroup at Turtle Pond!”

More shouts and screams punctuated his order. “
They’re all around us!
”

“Then use your nightsticks, goddammit! No guns!” Yarborough thrust the radio into his pocket and started to back up slowly. “What the
fuck
is going on?”

***

“You’ve begun to doubt.”

Joann’s head jerked up at the giant’s voice. “No,” she stated. “No. Donovan
will
save me.” She looked around and blinked. The giant was nowhere in sight; his voice had come from a plainly dressed monk. “Who are you?”

“I am who you think I am.” The monk grinned slyly. White swirls spiraled in his gaze. “I have many forms and faces. Surely that doesn’t surprise you?”

She gaped at him, recognizing his eyes. “N-no. I don’t—” She shook her head. “No. Donovan will be here. He’ll save me.”

“Well
that
would be a neat trick. From what I understand, he’s already dead.”

“Dead?” She started to panic. “I don’t believe you. Valdes would have made a point of telling me before now.”

The monk shrugged. “I only know what I’m told. They send dead people to the tombs, don’t they?”