MOON FALL (26 page)

"Sometimes they visit. Not often.''

"Did one of them call in about Lenore Tynan for you?"

''No," she said, disappointment on her face.

"Who, then?"

Minerva closed her eyes and sat up straight, and John wondered
if she was having some sort of seizure. Then she spoke
in the voice of a young woman. "I don't fly my broom, young
man, but I do have a few little tricks."

She opened her eyes and smiled. John realized that his mouth
was open. He snapped it shut then, in spite of himself, smiled.
"That was amazing."

''Thank you."

"How did you do it?"

''Magic." Her smile broadened.

The grandfather clock began chiming six o'clock and John
looked up in surprise. It felt like only a half hour had passed
s
ince Mark had left with the paramedics, but he'd been talking
with Minerva Payne for nearly four times that. He rose and
walked to the door. Minerva joined him.

"
Will
you check your family tree?"

"You and Gus both think it's important." he said lightly.
"So I guess I'd better."

''Gus is a smart man. Give him my best when you see him."
She paused. "There's something ... I don't know what.
B
ut
talk to him soon."

"I will. And thanks for seeing to Mark." Uneasily, he realized
it was growing dark. "I'll be in touch."

"Just stay on the path and you'll be fine," Minerva said, as
she put her hand in the pocket of her long skirt. "There's
nothing to trip on." She brought out a thin leather cord with a
small brown cloth ball attached to it. ''Take this."

Dubiously, he held out his hand. It looked something like a
native medicine bag. ''For Mark?"

''For you," she said ''Mark already wears one."

"Wears one? What is it?" He sniffed it, smelled a heady
mixture of herbs.

"It's a protective amulet." she said lightly. "Humor an old
lady, Sheriff, and keep it with you. It will help keep the darkness
from your path."

He nodded, smiling tightly, and put the charm in his breast
pocket. "Okay. Thanks." He started down the path, dreading
backing the cruiser out of the forest in the dark almost as much
as he dreaded delivering the bad news to the Parker clan.

Sara had gone straight to the Mother Superior's office after
she'd parked her car with its nose slightly out of the stall to
remind the gardeners
-
or Basil-Bob Boullan
more likely
,
not
to block it with manure and tools again.

Mother Lucy received her cordially enough, but she was
intractable on the subject of Kelly Reed. The nun explained
that Kelly had broken into her office and been caught stealing.
She was, claimed Lucy, truculent, her only regret that she'd
been caught in the act. On top of that, the girl had attacked
Basil-Bob, when he'd attempted to escort her to the punishment
room, and run away. ''Do you expect me to congratulate her
instead of punish her, Miss Hawthorne?" Lucy had asked archly.

"No, no, of course not. But isn't a week in solitary confinement
abusive?"

"No, of course it isn't. Were you never put in solitary during
your time here as a student?"

"No."

''Well, then, you were unusually well behaved. The solitary
room is at least as comfortable as your own room. She'll be
brought three good meals a day and all her study material. She
is simply being kept away from her friends."

"I'd like to see her."

"She's allowed no visitors."

"But I'm one of her teachers. Surely I'll be allowed to speak
to her about her lessons."

"No. You'll give your lessons to Sister Regina, and she will
deliver them to the girl."

''But
-
"

"No buts, Miss Hawthorne. You're far too sympathetic
toward Kelly, and I'm afraid your visit would be pleasurable
to her. This week, she is to reflect on her misdeeds. Sister
Regina will not be sympathetic. She will be efficient and cool
with the girl, and that's what she needs right now."

''What if something happens to her?"

"
Illness
?" Lucy gave her one of those thin-lipped smiles
that threatened to crack her horsy face. "Sister Regina is a
nurse, and the punishment room is right next to the infirmary.
If she calls out, she'll be heard."

"At night?"

"Yes. Dr. Dashwood's quarters are nearby." Lucy opened
her desk drawer and pulled out a gold chain with a heart-shaped
locket and a thin dark leather thong with a small cloth bag
attached. She pushed the latter across the desk, then swept the
locket back into the drawer. ''Do you have any idea where this
came from, Miss Hawthorne?"

Sara picked up the thong. The little round bag was redolent of
the forest, a refreshing change from Lucy's mildewed cinnamon
odor. "I have no idea where it came from," she said, passing
it back. "What made you think I would?"

"It's been reported to me that Kelly has taken a liking to
you. I thought perhaps she told you where she got it."

Sara remembered Kelly's urging her to talk to someone
named Minerva. She suspected there was a tie there, but she
shook
her head. "She's told me nothing."

"Even Friday night, when she visited you in your room?"

"You know about that?" Sara blurted in surprise.

Lucy smiled condescendingly. ''We know everything, Miss
Hawthorne."

Not everything.
Sara held her hands together in her lap to
keep them from trembling. "It looks like some sort of charm.
doesn't it?" she asked, her eyes on the thong. "Kelly
did
say
she was afraid of ghosts. Perhaps she made it to protect herself
from them. Sort of like a rabbit's foot." Hopefully, that would
defuse things.

''Then it's even worse, Miss Hawthorne."

''Why?"

"She's resorting to pagan superstition
.
"

"Maybe if you gave her a set of rosary beads she'd be less
fearful."

"She hasn't earned them."

"Then let her keep her good luck charm. It's merely a type
of security blanket."
Like your beads.

"I'll tell you this once, and only once. Don't presume to tell
me how to handle my students."

"I didn't mean to
-
"

"Of course you didn't." Lucy rose and walked over to the
closet, slid it open. As she moved, Sara heard the click of the
nun's rosary, caught a brief glimpse of the beads at her waist,
the cross dangling from them. It looked odd, but before she
could figure out what was unusual about it, it slipped between
the folds of black cloth again.

Lucy took something from the closet and brought it back to
the desk. Reseating herself, she unfolded the blue material,
revealing a lightweight windbreaker. She slipped her hand in
a pocket and brought out a wallet, took a card from it and
handed it to Sara. ''Do you know this boy?"

It was a student identification card for Moonfall High School.
Even without the name
-
Mark Lawson-
under the photo, she
would have known his identity. He was obviously the sheriff's
son, from his chestnut hair to the firm set of his jaw. "I've
never seen him before," she said with complete honesty as she
handed the card back to Lucy. ''Why?"

"This is what Kelly was stealing," she said, indicating the
jacket and wallet. "Evidently she's been having trysts with the
boy."

"Kelly?" Sara couldn't suppress a chuckle. "She's a late
bloomer, and I seriously doubt she's to that stage yet. I'm sure
that if she does know him, it's an innocent relationship."

"Don't be naive, Miss Hawthorne. Fortunately, we've nipped
this in the bud. Dr. Dashwood says she's intact."

"Intact?"

"She still has her virginity."

"You mean you subjected her to an examination?"

''Of course." Mother Lucy actually appeared surprised.

''That's
standard procedure in these cases."

''Where do you think they were meeting?" Sara asked
abruptly. She couldn't bear to think about what Kelly must
have gone through at this woman's behest.

''Why, in the bu
s
hes
s
outh of the chapel. Or perhaps the
cemetery, behind th
e
monuments. Why?"

At least sh
e
doesn
'
t know Kelly's been in the woods.
"I just
couldn't think of any place around here where there'd be much
privacy."

''I see." Lucy stood again, this time coming around the
desk and walking to the door, which she opened. ''Good luck
tomorrow," she said as Sara rose. ''If you have any questions,
feel free to come to me with them."

''Thanks." Sara crossed the threshold.

"Miss Hawthorne?"

"Yes?" she asked, turning to face th
e
nun.

Another smile like cracked
c
hina.
'
'Don't worry about Kelly
Reed. She'll be fine."

Sara nodded, then turned and walked away, very worried
about the girl.

I tried to tell you about Gregory in your dreams the other
night, but you wouldn't let me in.

John sat in the easy chair in front of the dark television set
in the living room, unable to get Minerva Payne's words out
of his head. He was glad he'd been too concerned about Mark
to conf
ess
to her his dream about being trapped in the room
filling with blood while the old lady commanded him to unlock
the door. Talk about Freudian
-
that dream had been about as
obvious as it could get.

Minerva had been right about enough things that he couldn't
help but give her ramblings some credence. Yes, he'd been
virtually obsessed with thoughts of Mark before he'd known
anything had happened to him, and since his conversation with
Minerva he'd thought of half a dozen other incidents that he'd
"known" were coming over the years. Gus's car crash, when
he was a kid, for one. He'd known his mother was leaving
about a month before she died
-
but he'd assumed she was
going on a trip to visit her sister back East. And three years
ago, he'd gotten up at four in the morning and driven over to
Winesap's because he'd felt compelled to-
and consequently
stopped a burglary in progress. Maybe he'd even known about
his brother's impending death. The feelings had always been
there, so natural that he'd never even given them a second
thought. They weren't reliable, though: he hadn't foreseen his
father's death, nor Doug Buckman's, hadn't known about dozens
and dozens of traffic accidents, thefts, bar brawls, or missing
children. Or Barbara's unfaithfulness. He smiled bitterly, thinking
that even so, perhaps there was something to what Minerva
had said ...

He'd certainly seen the same ability in Mark-
sometimes
the boy answered questions before he could ask them, and once,
two years ago, he
had uncharacteristically played sick on
a day his class was taking a
field trip to the Santo Verde
Museum.
He claimed a bellyache and John knew he was faking but had
a feeling he should let it go. Later that day, the bus had collided
with a semi-truck just outside Yucaipa. Five kids had died,
several had been laid up for months, and only a few had escaped
without at least a few cuts and bruises. Minerva had claimed
Gus had the ability as well, and John thought that was probably
true.

Thinking of Gus made him realize that he still hadn't heard
from his grandfather. He reached for the phone, knowing that
he should be the one to tell him about today's incident. Gus
and Caspar Parker were old cronies, and he would want to be
with the Parkers now. For Gus, being a preacher, making the
sympathy calls, providing a shoulder for crying, was second
nature. For John, it was pure hell.

"Dad?" Mark asked quietly from the doorway. "Can we
talk a minute?"

John replaced the phone receiver. "Of course we can. How's
your neck?"

"It's okay," Mark said, as he plunked himself down on the
couch opposite John. He was dressed in clean gray sweats and
hi
s
hair was still damp from the shower. He'd spent at least
an hour washing off the horrors of the day, the stain of death.
John had done it more than once himself.

Since they'd come home, Mark had kept to himself,
sullen
in his grief, and John had stayed out of his way, knowing the
boy would come to him when he was ready
.
He looked at his
son now, saw his red-rimmed eyes, knew he'd been
crying,
and made no
comment,
afraid that if he said the wrong thing,
the boy would bolt.

"I've never seen one before," Mark said after five
silent
minutes had passed. "A dead person, I mean."

"It's a hard thing to see."

"Yeah." Mark snorted, trying
to hide
a hitch in hi
s
voice.
"You can say that again." A minute passed, then two.
"You
know what?"

"What?"

"You know when they found that dead teacher in the pond?"

"Yes."

"I wanted to see it. The body. I can't believe it, but I was
jealous that you got to see her. Gross, huh?"

"No. It's natural. I felt the same way before my little brother
drowned
.
After that I never wanted to see another, probably
because I could never shake the feeling that
it
was supposed
to be me that died, not him."

"Yeah." Mark intently studied his hands.
"I
feel like that
about Pete."

"But we're both wrong."

Mark looked up, interested.

"It's called 'survivor guilt.' That's what people usually feel
when they're spared and someone they love
isn't.
It's completely
normal." He paused
.
"But
that doesn't help a whole
lot, does it?"

''Maybe
a little. Dad, how do you stand it?"

"What
do you mean?''

"Seeing
bodies."

"Honestly, son, I don't know. I was so affected by Greg's
death that it was nearly crippling." He paused. "Maybe I had
to
have a job where I encountered death sometimes. My dad
and Doug, one of my friends, died not too long after Greg, and
I couldn't handle it. I kept dreaming about bodies. My brother's
especially."

"Did you see your dad's body? Or your friend's?"

"No. And maybe that just made my phobia worse. My
father's casket was closed, but I couldn't even go to the funeral.
I knew he'd been shot in the head and I just kept imagining
h
ow
he
must look. I tried to
go
to Doug's services-
all my
classmates went
-
but I couldn't make myself step into the
church.

"I didn't see another body until I found one stuffed in a car
trunk during my first year as a deputy. That brought the phobia
back full force. That corpse was the worst." He smiled sardonically.
"In more ways than one.''

"What did you do when you found it? Did you faint, or
what?"

"My pride overcame the phobia. People were watching me.
Even before I got the trunk open, I
could
smell what was
inside
-
it was summer-
and I was nearly paralyzed. I couldn't
stand
thinking about what I was going to see. But I had to do
it: I was a newly sworn-in deputy sheriff, determined to protect
and serve, and all that
stuff.
I couldn't let anyone see my
weakness. So I just did it. I turned off my thoughts and jimmied
the lid."

John exhaled with a rattle, reliving the moment. ''When I
opened that trunk, well .
.
.
let's just say, I managed not to
throw up until I was alone.'' He smiled.
"In
my squad car.''
He
smiled.
''That was pretty awful in itself. I spent hours
cleaning the upholstery, my shoes, the rug. But after that, the
phobic part-
the paralysis, the dizziness-
was gone because
I'd
stared
my fear in the face. It was bad, really bad, but
nowhere near as bad as I imagined."

He hesitated, watching Mark. "Imagination's always the
worst," he continued. ''Do you remember when you were little
and you were sure there were dismembered hands crawling
around under your bed?"

Mark blushed. "Dad
-
"

"For me, at that age," John continued in a rush, "it was
this guy who was darker than the dark in my room. Before I
went to sleep, I'd imagine he was standing over my bed holding
a knife, and I'd just squeeze my eyes shut and hide under the
covers. It didn't go away until I was about ten."

''Wow," Mark said, his embarrassment gone.
''That's
a really
long time. I guess you were a pretty lame kid."

"Watch it, buster," he said lightly, happy to see a little of
Mark's normal personality. "Anyway, the boogeyman didn't
go away until I faced him. I took a flashlight into my room
and every time I'd think he was there, instead of hiding I'd
turn on the light and look. After a few weeks, he never came
back again. I'd taken control of the situation."

''I did that, too. With a flashlight, you know? I'd check under
the bed for crawling hands."

"I know."

"You do?"

"I 'accidentally' left the flashlight by your bed, so you'd
figure it out faster than I did." He grinned crookedly.

''Really?"

"Yeah. So no more teasing your old man, okay?"

"Okay."

''Mark, you were a smart little kid-
brave, too. What were
you, seven?"

''Six," Mark told him, a healthy trace of pride in his voice.
He went back to staring at his hands. "And that worked for
you with bodies, too, huh? Making yourself look at them?"

"Basically, yes. It's never easy, though." John rubbed his
chin, wondering if he was telling his son anything remotely
useful. ''What happened to you today was devastating. Make
yourself go to Pete's funeral. That's all you need to do
just
face the funeral. You're already doing the other important
thing-
the thing I wouldn't do. You're talking about it."

"You didn't? Never?"

"Mark, this is the very first time. My dad tried to get me to
talk, but I refused. I just let it fester." He studied his son,
realizing that the discussion was doing him at least as much
good as it was Mark. "I still dream about my brother's death."

''Is that what your nightmares are about?"

"A lot of them. And a lot are about St. Gertrude's, too."

Mark looked defensive.

"I think I went there right before Greg died. I'm not sure."

"How could you forget something like that, Dad?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but your friend Minerva seems
to think it would be a good thing for me to try to remember.
Now I think so, too. Not for her rather mysterious reasons,
mind you, but because it's a fear I haven't faced."

''Corey says his dad and you and some other guys went
camping that night. By the Falls."

"I think that's all we're supposed to remember."

"What
do you
mean?''

"I'm not sure what I mean. It's just a feeling, you know?"

Mark smiled a little. "Yeah, I know."

"So, what'd you think of St. Gruesome's?"

"It's creepy
.
I didn't even want to go. It was Pete's idea ... "
His expression changed and he looked away.

"I figured that much."

"The woods aren't the same, either."

"What do you mean?''

Well, after we crossed the west fork of the stream and left
Witch Forest, it was, I dunno
-
remember the forest in
The
Hobbit
where it was really dark and even the trees were watching
you?"

John nodded.

"It was kinda like that."

''Minerva told me that she thinks those birds live in that
forest. If she's right, it's not a good place to be."

"Don't worry, Dad, I'm not going back there. Can I ask you
a question?"

"Sure."

''I asked Minerva about the nightflyers, you know? And
she'd hardly say anything. Why, do you think?"

"Well, those hawks, or whatever they are, have never been
documented. The nuns don't allow anyone on their property
,
as
you know," he added with a half-smile. ''And no ornithologists
have ever taken the reports seriously. What happened
today is, as far as I know, the first proof that they actually exist.
Even Minerva admitted she'd never seen one up close, not even
today, and I think that gives us a clue about how she feels
about them. She's superstitious and I got the impression she's
something of a pantheist."

''What the heck is that?"

"Someone who worships nature or nature gods."

Mark nodded. "She says there are spirits in every tree and
rock, in the streams, and even in the earth. I don't buy all that,
though."

"But
she
does. And these nightflyers are part of her religion
because they're a part of nature that's unexplained. For her,
they're not some kind of unknown bird, but the equivalent of
Christian demons."

"It looked like a demon, that's for sure."

"Are you sure it was a bird, not some kind of bat?"

''It had a beak. A long one, curved. Dr. Cutter thought maybe
I was just saying that to get out of rabies shots, but I wasn't.
Heck, I would've asked for them if I'd thought it was a bat."

"Was the beak curved like a hawk's?"

"In a way, but bigger. I wasn't really all that close to it. All
I know is that it was all black and the feathers were so
s
hiny
that they looked kinda like scales. It had big eyes like an owl's
and they glowed red."

"Glowed red?" John asked. "You're sure?"

Mark nodded. ''I know it sounds goofy."

"No," John said slowly. Then he realized what Mark meant.
"You mean they reflect
ed red, like when light hits a c
at's eyes
just right?"

Mark brightened. "That's gotta be it, yeah." He pushed his
damp hair from his forehead.

''Mark, how long were you and Corey separated from Pete?"
John knew the basics, but Corey had been so hysterical that
his story was completely nonsensical and Frank Cutter had
given the boy a sedative and sent him home to bed. Mark, until
now, had only given one-syllable answers.

"He took off only a minute or so ahead of us, but we never
saw him again. I think he was running really, really fast. A
little while later, we heard a couple nightflyers screeching. I
think one flew right over us. Then we met up with this girl
Kelly from St. Gertrude's. She's Minerva's friend. She said she
was going to try to get my jacket and wallet back, and we
talked to her for a couple minutes. Then we kept going. After
we crossed back into Witch Forest, we didn't hurry anymore.
We were kinda p.o.'d at Pete for ditching us, so we decided to
make him worry a little. That's how we ended up in the park."

"At the Falls."

"Yeah, well, you know.''

"I know."

"You didn't expect Pete to be there?"

Mark shook his head. ''He had to be home before his parents
got back from church. He really wanted to go there, though.
Maybe he thought he had time.'' He hesitated. "Or maybe the
nightflyer chased him there."

The doorbell rang and John jumped. ''That might be Gus."

"I'll get it.'' Mark got up and opened the front door.

"Hi, you must be Mark."

Hearing Sara Hawthorne's voice, John got to his feet and
joined his son. "Hi, come on in."

Mark opened the door and stood back, casting a questioning
look at John, who quickly made introductions. Sara sat down
on the couch, John in his chair. Mark started to leave.

''Please, stay," Sara called.

A look of surprise crossed his face, but he came back and
perched on the arm of the sofa.

"I'm sorry to just show up like this," Sara began. "I was
going to phone, but I couldn't find one that wasn't locked away
at the school. I went to your office and your dispatcher said I
should see you in person.''

Obviously, John thought, Dorothy was working late.
Any
chance to matchmake.
"What can I do for you?"

"Do you know someone named Minerva?"

''Why?" Mark blurted, before John could answer. There was
a protective look on his face.

"Yes, we do," John added. "She owns the Gingerbread
House, down the road from Apple Heaven."

''A student, Kelly Reed, was caught taking something from
the headmistress's office," Sara explained.

"My jacket," Mark said quickly. "She got caught?"

"Yes. Mother Lucy questioned me about you. She thinks
you and Kelly are, urn, going steady."

"Heck, no!" Mark stood up, his anger obvious. "I hardly
know her. I told her what happened and she offered to help
out. That's all. Why do you want to know about Minerva?"

''Mark," Sara said quietly, ''I like Kelly. I want to help her.
She's been put in solitary confinement and I can't talk to her
for at least a week. She asked me to tell someone named
Minerva what happened. I just want to find out who she is so
that I can do what
Kelly asked."

Mark looked dubious.

"She lives in Witch Forest, but you can find her at her shop
in the daytime," John said. Mark glared daggers at him.

Sara nodded. "Kelly goes into the woods to visit her," she
said, looking at Mark.

"You know about that? Are you the new teacher she talked
about?"

"I must be." Sara smiled warmly. "I'm the only new one."

Mark looked at John. "She's okay, Dad. Kelly said so."

"I probably won't be able to visit Minerva until five or six
tomorrow," Sara said. ''Can you give me directions to her
house?"