Point Pleasant (53 page)

Ben shrugged and noticed that Nicholas was watching him. The sheriff seemed distant as if his thoughts were settled on some weightier matter than the present topic of conversation. Ben wondered if Marietta had said something during their private ride to the factory, but he forced the thought out of his head.

“Must have taken you a while,” Daniel said with a long whistle of appreciation.

“Hours,” Ben replied. “So what do we do now?” he asked Marietta, who had dropped her duffel bag to the floor to sift through its contents in the dim light. The sun was setting fast, and the factory’s interior grew even darker.

“Ford, Thomas, help Ms. Abernathy with whatever she needs,” Nicholas said suddenly. “Ben, come with me, please. We should get the floodlights from my car. I think we’ll need them.”

“Yeah, okay.” Ben brought Tucker’s spare Remington upright and followed Nicholas outside while Marietta sent the others off around the room with different tasks.

“We’ll find your car,” Nicholas said when they were out of earshot. His tone was soothing despite the tense set of his shoulders as they strode out to the cruisers.

“My dad gave me that car,” Ben said, voicing his thoughts from the factory, and his hands tightened around the shotgun’s stock.

“I know,” Nicholas said. “We’ll find it.”

He popped the trunk of his cruiser. There was a small arsenal of rifles and handguns in addition to an array of flashlights and portable floodlights. Ben looked over at Nicholas with raised eyebrows.

“Always be prepared,” Nicholas said, shrugging.

“Boy Scout.”

“Wiseass.”

The gentle use of the nickname calmed Ben just as effectively as it had so many years ago when they had huddled together on the front seat of Tucker’s Ford. Ben draped the strap of his shotgun over his chest and grabbed as many of the lights as he could carry.

Nicholas took the others, balanced them so that he still had his own shotgun at the ready, and closed the trunk. They returned to the factory unimpeded. When they crossed the salt line, Marietta was still crouched in the middle of the floor. She seemed to be praying.

Ben and Nicholas set the floodlights so that they were angled toward the center of the room until the entire space was illuminated. The dirt and grime of the factory showed like never before, and Ben wondered if Raziel’s promised protection ensured their safety against toxic mold poisoning.

Stewart stood near Marietta with his arms folded over his chest. He frowned at something across the room, and Ben followed his gaze. Stewart was staring at the wall that Ben had speculated served as the brake pad for something
big
when it had been thrown through the other side of the building.

“Can I just be the one to say that this is absolutely, utterly, and completely fucking
nuts
?” Stewart asked, and his voice echoed through the room. “Angels? And
fallen
angels? I mean, just take a minute. Take a long, hard minute here, people.”

“Silas, you agreed to come,” Nicholas said.

“Yeah, but that don’t mean I can’t leave.”

“No,” Nicholas said with a surprising amount of authority given that he was addressing the mayor. “We need you.”

Marietta had ceased with her meditation to observe the exchange. Her chin was held high, and her long neck was poised at an uncomfortably stiff angle as she narrowed her eyes at Stewart’s sudden display of cowardice.

“I’m a church-going man, Nolan,” Stewart said, shaking his head. “This is beyond any of us. We all need to get the hell out of here while we still can.”

“And go where?” Exasperation broke through Nicholas’ even tone. “We can’t act like this isn’t a problem anymore, Silas.”

“Who do you think you’re fooling, boy? If your daddy was here right now, he’d agree with me. This is madness! And you two over there,” Stewart said, pointing from Nicholas to Ben, “you think you can just waltz in and play ‘Cowboys and Indians’ with it!”

“Well, my father isn’t here,” Nicholas said, striding forward until only a small gap remained between him and the other man. “He’s also not the sheriff anymore.
I am
. And my advice to you, sir, is to man the fuck up and get the job done.”

Stewart eyed Nicholas for a long moment before he glanced away. Ben could not help a small smile as Nicholas continued to stand his ground.

“Now that that’s settled,” Tucker said, and he cleared his throat. “What do we do next?”

“You and Silas reinforce the salt line, William. It needs to be
thick
,” Marietta said, rising to her feet. Her knees cracked as she moved. “I’m going to put down the sigil. Everyone else can just stay out of the way for a spell.”

Nicholas waited for Stewart to move away first before he rejoined Astrid and Daniel. He waved to Ben and tilted his head in an invitation for Ben to stand with them. Ben held up a finger as if to say he would be there in a moment and headed over to Marietta while Tucker and Stewart started to lay down a fresh line of salt, each going in an opposite direction so that they would meet at the other end of the room.

Marietta sprayed six marks at odd angles on the floor around the factory. She bent over and began to paint what appeared to be a large circle about thirty feet in diameter to encompass the marks. Ben watched her work and noted that the pit was at the center of the circle.

“I thought the salt kept it out,” Ben said when Marietta straightened to observe her work. “How are we supposed to trap him if he’s stuck outside the line?”

“It’s not to keep
him
out,” she said. “He’ll
have
to manifest when we summon him. It is a very particular incantation that will tether his physical form to the innermost circle by using an even more particular set of physical items that are inextricably linked to his being. The salt is for the others.”

Unease coiled in Ben’s chest like a water moccasin poised on a riverbank. He spared a glance to Nicholas, who was watching Ben from the corner while Astrid and Daniel kept watch on the forest through the shattered north wall.

“So how many should we expect?” Ben asked, turning back to Marietta, who was painting a fresh circle directly around the pit. “Of the others, I mean. Do you think it’s really going to be two hundred?”

“God knows,” Marietta said with a bluntness that Ben had come to expect from the psychic, but it still prickled.

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Benjamin,” Marietta sighed as she continued painting. “I told you I don’t know everything. And he hasn’t been in the position to either. He’s free now, but he’s still a graceless angel.”

“I thought he was going to protect us tonight?”

“Graceless doesn’t mean helpless. You discovered that last night.”

Ben thought of the ease with which the archangel had ripped the iron cell door from its hinges and conceded. “He’d definitely be my first pick for baseball. I bet he’s got a mean swing.”

“I wouldn’t want to find out,” Marietta said, her tone serious. She paused long enough to settle a grim expression on Ben. “You see him for what he has become while trapped on a mortal realm. You see the body that is not his own but rather a manifestation of what remains of his true form. He’s been here for a very long time. And time has effected him. But if tonight goes as it should, all of that will change.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” Marietta said, and she shook the can of spray paint in her hand, “that you probably won’t be so quick to choose him for your spring line up. Now, you take this.”

She tossed the can to Ben, and he caught it with ease, noting the quick-drying promise on the label.

“What do I do?”

“Come over here, Raziel says you have to do this part.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re part of the summoning,” Marietta said. “Just finish the circle so it’s united. I’ll do the rest.”

“How am
I
a part of the summoning?”

“Because you’re the one who destroyed the binding sigil. We’ll need your blood later too.”

Ben stiffened at the casual way she spoke this new piece of information. “Why?”

“I told you. There are a set of particular items we need in order to bind him,” she replied with a look of annoyance as if her response was the most obvious explanation. “The blood of a victim is one of those items.”

“But I’m not a victim,” Ben said, furrowing his brow.

“No, but your daddy was. Lineage is important. Now are you going to finish the circle or are you going to continue to question everything I say?”

Ben kept quiet and regarded the circle. He shook the can and filled in the rest of the line. The paint looked like wet blood as it dried on the floor.

“Good,” Marietta said as she resumed her task of painting odd symbols inside the circle. “Now go wait in the corner.”

Ben felt like a chastised child and joined the officers. His shoulders remained tense even as he took his place by the sheriff’s side.

“What did she say?” Nicholas asked.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Daniel cast a dubious scowl at Marietta’s back and faced Nicholas. “Are you sure about this?”

“Not at all,” Nicholas replied.

“Good to know,” Daniel said. He glanced to Ben and let out a heavy sigh. “We make it out of here tonight, you better sign my copy of
Gray Area,
Wisehart.”

“From one Romero fan to another,” Ben replied, and he tried to smile.

Tucker and Stewart finished the reinforced salt line and lingered on the far end of the factory floor. Marietta painted lines to connect the marks she had placed before she set down the first circle. The shape of a hexagon emerged, and Ben puzzled over its significance.

“So where’s our friendly neighborhood Mothman?” Astrid asked, clearing her throat to catch Ben’s attention.

Before Ben could reply, a scream erupted from the woods.

Nicholas strode to the edge of the salt line and peered out into the forest. Astrid and Daniel banded together at his side, and Ben noticed their hands had tightened around the stocks of their shotguns. Nicholas took the flashlight off his belt and shone it out at the trees.

“Hello?” Nicholas called out.

“
Help me!
”
screamed a little girl’s voice, her tone equal parts panic and insistence.

“Don’t,” Ben said, stepping forward when Nicholas moved to cross over the salt line. “Don’t you dare.”

“Ben, it’s a
child!
”

“I doubt that,” Ben said.

“You don’t know for sure!” Nicholas insisted as he gazed out into the forest.

“Nic,
don’t
.”

Nicholas stared from Ben to the direction from which the girl’s voice screamed again.

“That sounds like Gretchen,” Astrid whispered.

“Sheriff?” Daniel asked with a nervous, expectant glint in his eyes as he awaited an order.

Nicholas gestured to Daniel and raised his gun. “Stay here, Ben.” He caught himself and added, “Please.”

Ben moved to step in front of him, but Nicholas was already over the salt line.

Astrid hooked a hand under Ben’s right arm to still him. “They’ll be okay.”

Daniel followed Nicholas outside. The sheriff and his deputy disappeared into the forest. The beams of their flashlights served as the only indication of their whereabouts.

Ben shifted from one foot to the other with nervous energy before he finally pulled his gun off his shoulder. “I’m going with them.”

“Sheriff said stay here!” Astrid said, grabbing Ben’s forearm.

“Sheriff’s walking right into a trap!”

“You don’t know that for sure,” she said, echoing the words of her commanding officer. “Gretchen could be out there.”

Ben pulled free from Astrid’s hand and crossed the salt line. She cursed behind him. He walked toward the woods and was not surprised to hear the crunch of dead leaves under her boots as Astrid trailed after him into the thicket.

They traced the light from the men’s flashlights until they came across Nicholas and Daniel, who had paused about a hundred feet into the forest. Nicholas shot Ben a glare when he approached with Astrid. Ben returned the expression.

Nicholas put his finger to his lips when Astrid opened her mouth to speak. He tapped his ear with the same finger to indicate for them to listen. The woods were silent and still, and Ben heard nothing at first. The skin on the nape of his neck tingled when a soft, muffled crying rose from the left.

The voice was faint as if it had been carried in on a breeze, but it was unmistakable; it sounded like a young girl sobbing into her hands.

Daniel tilted his head to a clearing, shone his flashlight in the same direction, and Nicholas nodded.

“Hello?” he called out, creeping forward with his shotgun raised. The deep tenor of his voice seemed to echo off the bark of the trees that surrounded them. “This is Sheriff Nolan. Where—”

“
Help me!
” the voice cried from a few feet away, and Nicholas came to a sudden halt.

A little girl in a dirty white nightgown crouched beside the trunk of an old oak. Her knees were curled into her chest, and she had wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm. A curtain of lank blonde hair concealed her features.

“Gretchen?” Astrid asked, her voice soft and steady as she edged closer. “Honey, it’s Astrid.”

“Don’t,” Ben said, and he tried to pull Astrid back.

“For God’s sake, it’s Gretchen Majors!” Astrid yelled, jerking away from Ben’s touch.

“It’s not,” Ben said and aimed his flashlight at the girl’s bare feet.

Her toes were as black as the asphalt of River Bend Road.

The darkness consumed the girl’s feet, legs, arms, and head. Astrid screamed when the little girl looked up and started to laugh. Her face was completely black like the rest of her body, but it was as blank as a prepped canvas on an artist’s abandoned easel. There was no nose, no mouth, and no eyes—just an empty expanse of obsidian skin.

Ben knew that this was Belial.

“Christ!” Nicholas exclaimed as the girl climbed to her feet. Her arms and legs twitched as they lengthened until she stood at least a foot over the sheriff’s head. Long, dark appendages emerged from behind her twisting form and writhed in tandem with her cruel, empty laughter.