LLOYD, PAUL R. (17 page)

Pastor Fromritz shook his head. “Denise
Appleby? The so-called Naperville town hag? You don’t expect me to believe…”

Micah looked down at the table. “Believe
what you will, but you’ll wonder if there has been a spell, and you’ll want to
know who cast it. You’ll think about researching into Denise Appleby…”

A glint of recognition crossed
Pastor Fromritz’s eyes. “But you’ve already done that, haven’t you?”

Micah stabbed at a chunk of steak. “She
was born in the nineteenth century. She’s owned the house she lives in since nineteen-oh-nine.
She’s decades past one hundred years old, but looks twenty-something. She’s a hag
who has discovered some kind of formula or spell to keep young.”

Pastor Fromritz placed his palms
down on the table. “Ahlman Brown, the gentle philanthropist, is a gay, no, an
actual faerie with gossamer wings? Denise Appleby is a hag? You people have
exceptional imaginations, but I don’t work on imagination. I want proof.”

“The same proof that convinced you
to accept Jesus?” Bob placed a steaming slice of steak in front of the pastor.

“That’s different,” said Pastor
Fromritz.

“It is?” Bob asked.

“Yes. It’s Bible truth.”

“Which you accept on faith?”
Barbara asked.

“Of course.” Pastor Fromritz sliced
off a bite of his steak.

“But you have no faith when it
comes to wicked old hags and demon faeries?” Micah asked.

Pastor Fromritz chewed and
swallowed. “It’s not like one sees them everyday, you know. Besides you don’t
have it right.”

“What do you mean,” asked Bob.

“Hags never travel alone according
to the old stories. I doubt the hags of folklore ever existed, at least not the
way we think of them in the legends and stories. But if they did, they traveled
in covens where they worshiped Satan by celebrating black masses. There would
need to be at least two of them. One of them would be the high priestess who
leads the devil worship. That person could be male of course, but then the male
wouldn’t be a hag, would he? He’d be a magician, warlock, wizard or some such
thing.”

“You think Ahlman is a warlock?”
Bob asked.

“I doubt there are any real
warlocks, not in the magical sense of the legends. Your gossamer winged faerie
points more to an overdeveloped imagination.” Pastor Fromritz plopped a tiny chunk
of steak into his mouth.

“When was the last time you saw
Jesus stroll down the streets of Naperville?” Bob asked.

“Jesus isn’t a legend or myth, is
he? He was a real person who lived in time and whose life has been recorded. Not
just in the scriptures, but in the Roman histories. Today, he reveals himself
to us through his Holy Spirit.” Pastor Fromritz sliced off another fork-sized
hunk of steak.

“Ahlman uses a body that he somehow
has taken possession of or had created for his use through another one of
Denise’s spells,” Bob said.

“Wait. That’s it,” Pastor Fromritz
said.

“What’s it?” Barbara asked.

Pastor Fromritz lifted his wine
glass and gazed at the chandelier through it. “It’s rubbish from the middle
ages, isn’t it?” Pastor Fromritz took a sip of wine and swallowed. “But witches
or hags or whatever you choose to call them used to conjure up demons and then
control them by knowing their names” He stared Micah in the eye. “Knowing a
god’s name or a demon’s name gives you power over it. Or so goes the
mythology.”

“So the events we’re describing are
consistent with our hag summoning up a demon from Hell?” Micah asked.

Pastor Fromritz sipped his
chardonnay, swished it around his mouth and then swallowed. He paused, looked
at Bob, Micah and Barbara in turn. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? But the coven is
missing. And so is the high priestess or warlock unless Denise Appleby counts.
And there would need to be virgin sacrifices, and oh my God, we have those,
don’t we?”

“It’s coming together for you now,
isn’t it, Pastor Fromritz?”

Pastor Fromritz made eye contact
with Micah. He moved on to stare at Barbara and Bob in turn. “You’re all serious,
aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Micah said.

“Well, you have given me a fright.
Glory Francis was a member of my church.”

“Who?” Micah asked.

“Glory Francis. She was a sweet
seventh grader. One of the victims in that spat of murders in Naperville, you
know.” Pastor Fromritz placed his head into his hands and wept.

“Was she sweet, pretty and mighty
proud of her African heritage?” Micah asked.

Pastor Fromritz wiped his cheeks. “Excuse
me. I can’t help… yes.”

“I think she’s my page,” Micah
said.

“Why can’t Denise Appleby be the
high priestess?” Bob asked.

“You’d have to prove Denise Appleby
is the original Denise Appleby from the nineteenth century and that she is in
cahoots with Ahlman Brown,” said Barbara. “It doesn’t sound likely.”

“And we’ll need to find a way to
prove Ahlman Brown is behind these murders.” Micah sipped the last of his wine.

“We’ll need to find this high
priestess or warlock or whatever Pastor Fromritz claims must be around
someplace,” said Micah. “Although I still think Ahlman fits the bill.”

“Who will exorcise Ahlman?” Bob
refilled Micah’s wine glass.

“Why didn’t you bring that up when
Pastor Fromritz was still here?” Micah cleared the plates off the table.

“He didn’t think of it.” Barbara
lifted her wine glass in a toasting motion.

Bob twirled his wine glass. “It’s
not going to be pleasant. Pastor Fromritz may not be correct about the warlock
thing, but he was right about something else.”

“What?” Micah asked.

“We’ll need to pray,” Bob said. “Let’s
ask Pastor Fromritz to help us. I wish he hadn’t left so soon. Oh, and we ought
to put on the armor of the Lord.”

Micah smiled. “That’s what I heard
in my dream.”

“You’re the one sent from God to
save us from Ahlman,” said Bob.

“Are you crazy?” Barbara placed her
wine glass on the table.

Micah placed his hands palm up in
front of his shoulders. “I’m not a believer.”

Bob gathered the flatware. “Doesn’t
matter. God chooses whom he chooses.”

“What do I do?” Micah shrugged.

“Help me stack the dishwasher.” Bob
carried the flatware to the kitchen.

“I have a cleaning person that
comes in the morning.” Micah took another sip of wine.

“Then continue to stand up to Ahlman.”
Bob returned from the kitchen and sat back down.

Micah asked, “And if he kills me?”

“He won’t,” Bob said. “He’ll have
someone else do it. His power is limited so he has to convince others to do his
dirty work for him. When they recognize that you are from God, they’ll want to
sacrifice you to Satan.”

Micah poured himself a glass of
wine. “Why me? And he can too touch me. Beat the crap out of me, remember?”

Bob placed his hand on Micah’s arm.
“I don’t think Ahlman can kill you. A demon can hurt you, yes. But not take
your life. Why did God choose you? Maybe because you are an innocent man who
was wrongly condemned, like Jesus. Or God pointed to you and said, ‘Tag, you’re
it.’”

Micah ran a hand through his hair. “What
must I do?”

“Run like hell,” Barbara said.

“Pray.” Bob folded his hands in
prayer.

“I don’t pray,” Micah glanced from
Barbara to Bob. “Who would I pray to?”

Bob lifted his eyes to the ceiling.
“God.”

“I don’t believe in God,” said
Micah.

“Then it doesn’t make much sense to
pray, now does it?” Barbara folded her arms and stood up.

Bob stared up at her. “Then we’re
not going to make it.”

“God help us
then,” said Micah.

***

Peevy stared at her friend Barbara across
the counter at Bob’s Coffee Emporium with a question mark in each eye. “You
moved in with the perv?”

“The perv invited me to be his
houseguest.” Barbara’s eyes sparkled as she poured a cup of morning brew.
“Ouch, it’s hot. We’re keeping separate bedrooms for the moment.”

Peevy emptied fresh grounds into
one of the coffeemakers. “For the moment?”

“Yeah. He’s a gentleman and I’m a
perfect lady.” Barbara blew across her coffee, sending a splash onto the
counter top.

“Sounds boring to me.” Peevy wiped
the counter.

“You think I ought to change
bedrooms?” Barbara’s eyes twinkled.

“You ought to change your place of
residence. Besides, didn’t his house burn down?”

“It did, but he’s got a house in
Oak Brook that he’s renting.”

“Oak Brook? Kinda ritzy for a
perv.”

“Told you he was loaded.” Barbara
tried another sip.

“Don’t look now, but the perv just barged
in.”

“The usual, please.” Micah placed
several dollar bills on the counter.

Peevy walked away.

Micah hugged Barbara. She went
around the counter and poured a cup of the strong stuff. When she handed it to Micah,
he covered her hands with his.

Barbara’s eyes lit up. “I can’t let
go of the coffee until you let go of me.”

“Coffee can wait.” Micah rubbed Barbara’s
hands.

“It’ll get cold.”

“Not like this.”

“My hands are hot.”

“Yeah, I’m hot, too.”

“Let’s say you give back my hands
so I can return to work. We can wiggle our fingers together after hours.”

“Deal.”

***

Micah stabbed a piece of steak with
his fork. “Barbara said she would join us late and we should eat without her.”

Bob stared out the steakhouse
window at shoppers strolling the outdoor mall of the Oak Brook Shopping Center.
“My fault. One of the kids didn’t show up for work and I asked her to stay
overtime.” Bob cut off a piece of steak and raised it to his mouth with blood
dripping down his chin.

“No problem. How did you make out
with the court records?” Micah jabbed at his own steak.

“Like pulling teeth. Fortunately I
know a dentist who knows a politician who sits on the county board. That led to
a buck-toothed file clerk in the office of records who couldn’t find a record
if she tried, which she didn’t. I asked her politely and persuasively to let me
mill around in the backroom with the files. She said she wouldn’t break the
rules. I became more persuasive and friendly. She soon gave permission for me
to sneak into the backroom and browse among the files and folders and dust and
mildew…”

“But did you find anything?”

“I’m coming to that part. First,
you owe me two-hundred dollars in persuasion fees.”

Micah pulled out his wallet. “Did
we get our money’s worth?”

“Turns out there have been a dozen
murders beginning in the early nineteen hundreds that involved a young girl
having her heart ripped out. The first was in nineteen-oh-six and the latest,
before the current round, was in two-thousand-six. Works out to about one a
decade in DuPage County.”

“Any convictions?” Micah handed a
stack of bills to Bob without counting them.

Bob folded the bills in half and
stuffed them into his shirt pocket. “The police never solved any of them
despite the shared manner of death and selection of the victim. They always
involve the removal of the heart. There’s never any sign of abuse other than
the chest wound and the missing heart.”

“Assuming Denise Appleby sacrificed
these virgins on the altar of beauty, why did she start so young? She was in
her twenties in nineteen-oh-six.”

“Maybe she’s older than we thought.
Could she be an actual hag from Middle Ages Europe who emigrated to the
Colonies?”

“From there she could have traveled
to Naperville with the early settlers. No one would know the difference. Any
other murders of women we should know about?”

“Nothing that smells of witchcraft.
There was an accident about a year ago in which thirteen women burned to death.
But you can’t call that murder. The joke around town was that a group of hags
danced too close to their campfire.” Bob sipped his beer.

“Why would anyone joke about a
horror like that?” Micah placed his fork on his plate.

“The names of the victims and the two
survivors. One survivor was a young lady named Liz something. Colera, I think.”

“And that makes them hags?”

“The other survivor was Denise Appleby.
And don’t bother to ask about the women who died. Rumors flew around town that
they were all hags.”

“Good thing Denise doesn’t go to
church or the congregation would be accused of witchcraft.”

“Guilt by association?”

“So where’s Barbara? Isn’t she supposed
to be here by now?”

Bob winced. “I’ll call her cell.
She should be on her way.”

“I’ll call her.” Micah clicked
through his phone directory and then pushed the call button.

After a moment, Micah said, “No
answer.”

“There’s more than two hundred here.”
Bob handed back about half the stack of bills.

“Keep it.”

“Can’t. I’m not for sale.” Bob
placed the extra money on the table. So what’s for dessert?”

“A bit of chocolate?”

“Have you begun praying yet?”

“No.”

“You’re wearing the armor of God,
Micah. Don’t you think it’s about time you learned about faith?”

“I’m wearing a sports jacket and
tee shirt.”

“And you are on a quest whether you
know it or not. Chocolate sounds great.”

“For the Holy Grail?”

Bob stabbed at his salad. “For your
purpose in life, remember?”

“Chocolate for my purpose in life?”

“Your quest. We’re talking about
your quest, remember?”

“Yeah, that I remember.”

“And your life’s purpose is…?”

Micah sliced off a chunk of steak. “I’m
beginning to think it has to do with finding a great steak and falling in love
with a wonderful girl.”

“But that’s not everything.”

“Besides chocolate, what else is
there?”