Midnight's Angels - 03 (2 page)

“I saw your car. Did you just get here?” he asked, heading over to me. He was trampling through the undergrowth in his usual purposeful fashion.

Then the focus of his flashlight dropped. He took a quick look at my clothes. I glanced down myself and saw that they were crumpled up and had leaves sticking to them. So it was obvious that I’d been out here for a while. The young detective’s face creased with puzzlement. So far as I knew, Vallencourt never had met Cass Mallory, and knew little about her.

He finally came to a halt about a dozen yards away, gazing at me warily.

He’d had a pretty heavy workload since his boss was put into a coma. Even when there are no major incidents, Raine’s Landing can be -- from an enforcement point of view -- a pretty troublesome place. There’s been magic, and accompanying madness, throughout this town for a long, long time. Most folk practice it to some extent. And if your job is to uphold order, well, you’ve got your work cut out.

Ritchie was still in his late twenties, the first detective on the force to reach the rank of sergeant at that age. There was no doubt that he’d earned the honor -- he’s as tough and diligent as they come. But I also knew how much he’d respected Saul and looked to him for guidance. A mighty load had fallen on his shoulders, at too young an age.

He was wearing a very smart dark suit as usual, a white shirt and purple tie setting it off immaculately. Had to be only five foot seven, but he worked out hard whenever he had the time, and it showed in the way he moved and held himself. Ritchie was dark-haired and almond-eyed. And a big scar, cutting through his thick left eyebrow, proved that he was not afraid to fight.

He looked slightly older than the last time that we’d met. There were lines around the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there previously. A slight crêpe-like quality to the skin underneath them. Shadows on his features that had little to do with the surrounding darkness. And a faintly haunted quality to his gaze as he studied me.

We all of us hoped Saul would recover. But I guess Ritchie wanted that more fervently than most.

“What’ve you been doing out here? You expecting trouble?”

He knew that I had a good nose for the stuff, but I shook my head. “Just happened to be in the vicinity. Enjoying the quietness, basking in the solitude.”

No one came out here for those kinds of reasons. His mouth dropped open, and he looked as if he’d like to challenge me on that score. But I changed the subject.

“How’s Heidi?” I asked, inquiring about his tall, blond wife. I’d had the pleasure of meeting her a while back. She was stunning, and an absolute sweetheart.

“Heidi’s fine,” he mumbled. Then he ducked his head and pursed his lips. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re keeping something from me?”

I stared back at him blankly. And I’m glad to report he picked up on that, understanding that he’d get no further. He returned his attention to the blaze, which was starting to spread, although not too quickly.

“You think it’s something magical?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Looks like ordinary meteors to me. Bigger than the stuff we’re used to, nothing more than that.”

“How about that white glow?”

It had only lasted for a couple of seconds, but apparently he’d seen it too.

“Could’ve been magnesium or sodium inside the rock.”

He pulled one of those cautious ‘I suppose’ type of faces. In a place like the Landing, you can never be too careful.

We went side by side toward the spot where they had fallen, the uniformed cop -- Jenny Pearce -- trailing along behind us with her hand on the butt of her gun. And when we finally saw the amount of damage that the three falling rocks had caused, I thanked God they hadn’t landed anywhere with habitation.

They’d ploughed through perhaps a hundred yards of forest before finally coming to a halt. The huge old trees in their path had been knocked aside like stalks of corn, smashed to pieces in some cases. And there were three enormous, lengthy furrows in the dirt, as though some angry Titan had been raking at it with his fingertips. They started shallowly. But by the time they ended they were six or eight feet deep, the meteors half-buried in the loamy innards of the forest floor.

Plumes of steam were emerging from the elongated craters. But some of the fires out around their edge were already subsiding. We were deep into October. And it’s hard to set a lasting fire to living timber when the weather’s been keeping it damp and fresh.

Ritchie played his light into the nearest of the deep impressions, picking out a crudely rounded shape that was glowing from its passage through our atmosphere. It was dull red at the moment, although that was fading. If you stood close to the edge, you could feel the waves of heat still coming off the thing.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured. “Just a natural phenomenon.”

And then his beam alighted on something else and stayed there. The meteor was not completely rounded. I could see a jagged edge. Then -- further along -- another one. We were looking at a hemisphere, rather than a ball of mineral.

“Looks like it’s split in two,” I remarked. Although I didn’t say it with any surprise. I remembered the almighty impact when these things had hit the ground.

The sergeant leaned in a little.

“Looks like it was hollow too,” he added, his beam tracing a concavity.

And I could see that he was right. I’d never heard of such a thing. My pulse quickened slightly. What did it mean, exactly?

We walked around and inspected the second furrow, then the third. Each one was the same. What looked like a solid chunk of rock turned out to have broken down the middle, revealing an empty interior like some great big cosmic coconut.

“Weird!” the young detective muttered underneath his breath.

“Could just be the way that they were formed.”

Except I wasn’t wholly convinced on that score. We both knew that stuff like this rarely turned out to be quite that simple.

But the only thing that we could do was wander around through the yellow-fractured dimness, trying to find some other clue as to what might be going on. There were none. None that we could make out, anyway.

The fire department showed up in another minute’s time. They couldn’t run their hoses out here, so they set to work with axes and shovels, hacking down the branches that were still ablaze and throwing dirt over the lower flames.

They looked like they were handling the situation well enough. And so we headed back toward the border with our hands shoved in our pockets.

Ritchie glanced across his shoulder, satisfying himself that Jenny Pearce was out of hearing range, and then asked me quietly, “What
were
you doing out here, Ross?”

And I was finally ready to answer him with some degree of honesty, when an instinct made me look around. I’d felt eyes on me for a fleeting moment, I was certain of it.

Sure enough, I caught a glimpse of a faint oval, deep within the trees back there. A face, a long one with a squarish jaw.

I wanted to call out.

“Cassie?”

But the face was gone within the blinking of an eye. Like it never had been there.

The house was empty, apart from herself. And there were barely any lights on. She preferred it that way, since her eyesight was so poor these days that they were not much use to her anyway.

In her prime, she’d read an awful lot. Loved going to the cinema, and watching the better TV shows. But all of that was lost to her. Lord almighty, Constance Bancroft really
hated
being so old and feeble.

She was seated in a big easy chair in the living room. A couple of pillows had been gussied up behind her to make her more comfortable. Tom, her son, and his beautiful wife Effie -- they’d had genuine doubts about leaving her on her own like this. But today was their thirtieth wedding anniversary, their pearl. And their friends had clubbed together to throw them a party at Jacklin’s Family Restaurant.

So, “Get along with both of you,” she’d told them. “Me? I’ll be okay.”

She could still move around, after a fashion. Couldn’t see well enough to risk using the stove, but she could fetch items from the big old noisy fridge, and even toast a Pop Tart if she was careful about it. Had to remind herself to let them cool before she picked them up. She’d scalded herself several times that way.

Settling back, Constance figured that she ought to count her blessings. Tom and Effie had been really good to her. Their own two kids, her grandchildren, had both moved out a few years back. And that had left them with enough room available to take her in. Effie only worked part-time, and seemed to enjoy keeping her company.

They talked a lot. Her daughter-in-law would read out loud from one of her gossip papers. Or sometimes, they’d sit down in front of a soap opera, and Effie would explain what the characters were getting up to. She seemed to have limitless patience that way.

It left Constance feeling awfully lucky, but guilty and awkward too. It made no difference how kind Effie might be to her -- she was a burden and she knew it. Took up far too much of the kids’ lives.

The ache had started in her bones again. It wasn’t constant, but it troubled her badly on occasion. It would start as a mild niggling in her joints. And then spread out, feeling like a growing pressure underneath her withered skin. She’d been taken to the doctor several times about it, and the only diagnosis was ‘old age.’ Tom had given her a talisman to fend off the worst of the pain. She had it in a pocket of the woolen cardigan that she was wearing. But there were days it simply didn’t work.

She hated to complain. Her entire life, she’d always had a positive nature, never been a moaner. But the discomfort got so bad sometimes that she could scarcely breathe.

The thought came to her, as it often did.
Death would be a kindness, wouldn’t it?
Not that she would ever consider taking her own life. She was a Christian -- or what counted for one in this town -- and suicide was a sin. But there were times these days when she honestly wished the final lights would go out from behind her eyes, the Good Lord gathering her up into his grasp.

It would be better for her. Better for her son and his wife. Face the truth, it would be better for everyone concerned.

Constance let out a dull sigh and let her head drop to one side.

A light winked suddenly outside the window. Constance opened her gaze wider and hunched forward. Had it been the headlamps of Tom’s car, returning home at last?

Everything was a seamless blur. But when the glow appeared again, it looked too bright to be just that. A pure white glare. And her next thought alarmed her. Was it … someone snooping around with a flashlight?

Her fingers bunched together, and there was a dreadful tightness in her throat. She wanted to shout out, but knew that there was nobody around to hear her. So she remained perfectly still, hoping that she’d not be noticed.

What happened next astonished her. She thought that she was going insane.

The white light moved up to the window, brightening the net curtains. Then it passed directly through the glass, and came into the living room.

Constance jolted, terrified. A thin, creaky noise was emerging from her throat. She couldn’t understand how anyone had gotten through the window without opening it first. Couldn’t see how that might happen.

Then the light coalesced, taking shape in front of her. A human shape, she thought. How could
that
possibly be?

But then she noticed two things which contradicted that first impression. The figure was floating in the air, its feet not even touching the ground. And spread out behind its shoulder blades, there was a pair of massive wings.

The thing was all one color, white. Some kind of flowing white cloak seemed to cover most of its narrow body. Its hands were slightly spread toward her. They appeared to be perfect hands, no bulging veins, no flaws.

How could she see them so well? she wondered. Then her gaze went to the apparition’s face.

Her jaw dropped open and her eyes grew even further glazed. The rigidity left her body, a sense of wonder overtaking her. Because she could see the face perfectly clearly. Knew that ought not be the case. But she could make out every detail of the features she was staring at. And she had never once, in her whole life, seen such an utterly perfect male countenance.

She’d looked at a photograph, one time, of Michelangelo’s ‘David.’ And it was something like that she was staring into now. The same unimpeachable symmetry. The dignity, nobility, without a hint of grandeur. Strong but gentle at the self-same time. A face so handsome you could gawk at it forever.

It was as white as the rest. Even the long curls of hair that dropped across its brow were of that hue. There seemed to be no pupils to the eyes, which put her in mind -- again -- of a statue. But it occurred to Constance what this was.

It was an effort when she tried to speak. Her throat had gone completely dry, and there was no dampness remaining in her mouth. But she pushed forward in her chair, then hissed out the words.

“Are you an angel?”

The creature stared back at her mutely. Maybe such beings were unable to speak.

“Come to take me to the Lord?” she tried again. And she was shivering gently by this time, anticipation gripping her. “If that’s the case, I’m ready.”

Nothing happened. There was no response. The thing continued hovering, but did not make the slightest move.

Constance’s brow furrowed up puzzledly. Angels didn’t appear for no reason. If it had come to her tonight, there had to be a purpose.

So she edged herself a couple more inches further up her chair, the aching in her bones forgotten.

“Do I have to
do
something?” she asked the being. “If so, can you show me what?”

The angel finally reacted, stretching out its arms. It started moving up to her at the same time, its glow lighting up Constance’s rumpled face.

This was it, then. Maybe she should close her eyes. But she’d waited for this moment for so long, she wanted to be fully aware when it happened.

The angel’s face drew closer to her own. Its lips parted slightly. And she finally understood what it was going to do. How wonderfully her earthly life was going to end. It was going to kiss her, like some handsome prince from a fairytale. And once the kiss had finished, why then, she would be in Heaven!

Constance let her eyelids flutter down, but still refused to close them the whole way. She felt herself smiling as the face grew larger in her vision.
What a way to go
, she thought.
Whoever could have imagined it would end like this?

Hands closed around her slumped shoulders, so incredibly gently that she couldn’t even feel them. Next moment, the angel’s lips pressed up against her own. Very lightly at first. But then with increasing pressure. And the white light from the figure seemed to fill up her whole body, dazzling her.

And then she felt a sharp jerk inside. An awful sensation like ripping and tearing.

Her lids sprang fully open again. And if it wasn’t that her mouth was being pressed against, she would have screamed.

The face in front of her had changed completely. Had been beautiful before. But now it was the precise opposite of that. More like a mummified skull. The hair was gone, save for a few threadbare strands. The nose was barely present.

The cheeks were sunken. The forehead was gnarled. And both eyeballs had turned jet black.

She couldn’t see the mouth, of course. But it felt more like an animal’s muzzle than it had done, and seemed to be hanging onto hers by means of suction. She tried moving her head from side to side, but couldn’t get away.

Terror coursed through her whole body. Constance stiffened up, attempting to push herself off. Tried to scream again, but it came out very muffled.

Then she felt another yank inside. It wasn’t short-lived, this time. It continued steadily, as if the creature were drawing something out of her. She kept on struggling feebly.

And finally, she understood. It wasn’t anything physical that was being pulled from her. It seemed to be … her very soul.

An emptiness began to fill her body, utter blackness rushing in. She had never known anything quite so dark.

Then her thoughts began to fade away, a much stronger and deeper voice taking them over.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, a sedan backed up onto the house’s driveway. The engine stuttered to a halt, the headlamps blinked off and the two occupants got out. Tom Bancroft emerged from the passenger side. His face was flushed, and he was reeling slightly. But tonight had been a special one, and Effie did not begrudge him that.

“Hell of an evening, sweetheart,” he was saying. “We’re lucky to have such good friends.”

“Couldn’t have better ones,” she agreed.

“We’re the luckiest people in the world.”

How many more times was he going to use the ‘L’ word? Effie smiled patiently, then got the house keys from her purse and came around to his side of the car. Tom leaned across and pecked her on the lips.

“Love ya,” he mumbled slurredly. “Seems incredible, doesn’t it? Thirty years?”

“Always knew we’d make it,” she smiled. And then she turned her attention to the house, and her manner became a little more serious. “Better see how Connie’s been managing.”

She unlocked the front door, then reached for a light switch.

“Odd,” she muttered, clicking it several times. She peered down the street, but there had been no power outage. “Looks like a bulb’s gone.”

Tom squeezed past her. He went further down the hall and tried another switch, with the same lack of result. So perhaps it was the circuit breaker.

That was when Effie noticed there were no lights on in the living room either. And for how long had her poor mother-in-law been sitting in the dark?

“Connie?” she called.

“Mom?” Tom added, seeing what the problem was.

He had sobered up a good deal by this juncture. He marched swiftly out to the sedan again, got a flashlight from the glove compartment, then came back in. Effie followed him through.

He pointed the beam at Constance’s chair, playing the small circle of light the whole way up and down it. It was empty, but there was a hollow impression where his mother had been sitting.

“Where’s she gone?”

“I’ll try the bathroom,” Effie said. She meant the downstairs one.

The door was unlocked and the small tiled room was empty. Both of them were starting to get badly worried.

“She can barely walk,” Tom pointed out. “So where the hell’s she gotten to?”

Which was when they heard a faint bump on the floor above them. And that made them stiffen. Constance couldn’t
make
those stairs. They both knew that.

Tom’s face was sweating gently and his mind was starting to get fogged, but he managed to come to a swift enough decision.

“Wait down here,” he told his wife. “If anything goes wrong, you get round to the neighbors, call the cops.”

And before Effie could protest, he was stamping quickly up into the darkness.

A few seconds later, everything went very quiet. So utterly silent she could hear her own heart beating. And this, surely, wasn’t right? She ought to be able to hear Tom moving around up there, opening doors and such. Instead of which …

Her eyeballs felt raw and dry. Her skin crawled.

There was suddenly a God almighty crash that made her almost jump out of her shoes. Her hands went to her mouth. Then she got some kind of hold on herself and moved up to the first riser, peering anxiously into the murk.

“
Honey?
”

She couldn’t see a thing up there at first. But then the spot cast by the flashlight reappeared. It was moving along the wall beside the staircase. And it wasn’t Tom who was making it do that. He seemed to have dropped it. She could hear it rolling.

It trundled into view and fell off the edge of the landing, hitting a step halfway down and bouncing a couple of times before finally coming to a halt in front of her. It was now angled upward, its glow making the whole stairway look crooked and distorted.