Possess (25 page)

His red-rimmed eyes grew wide. He tried to pull his way to her, his fingertips inching across the broken marble. He lost his grip, and with a terrified scream, Monsignor Renault was gone.

Thirty-Seven

B
EFORE
M
ONSIGNOR’S CRY DIED AWAY
, a blast rocked the Church of St. Michael.

The marble altar cracked right down the middle and enormous fissures formed in the floor, emanating outward from the hellhole in jagged lines. Chunks of the tile and stone nearest the hole rocked free and plummeted downward. The chasm doubled in size.

Father Santos grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the widening fissure.

“We have to get out of here,” he said.

“Right.” Bridget looked down at her body—five and a half feet of nonglowing, nonangelic high school sophomore. She was glad to be normal again, and yet she almost missed that electric power of her Watcherness.

Father Santos picked up Sammy, cradling him. Her brother looked unnaturally pale.

“Is he dead?”

Father Santos opened his mouth, but she never heard what he said. With an earsplitting crack, one of the huge ceiling beams in the middle of the church broke free and collapsed to the floor. Broken bits of plaster and splintered wood flew in every direction. Another beam, closer to the altar, followed suit.

Father Santos pointed to the back of the altar. “Matt.”

Matt! She’d totally forgotten about him. She sidestepped a fallen candelabra and found Matt’s body behind the altar. She gently rolled him onto his side and brushed his sandy blond hair from his face. There was a gash over his left eye, already crusty with dried blood, but his body was warm and he was breathing.

He was still alive.

She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand. “Matt? Matt, can you hear me?”

She felt his body shift, and his eyelids fluttered. “Bridge?” he said slowly. He squinted at her. “Bridge, are you okay?”

“Thanks to you.”

He reached a hand up to her face, then winced. “What happened?”

Father Santos crouched over them. “We’ll explain later. Can you stand? We need to get out of here. Now.”

Matt grunted as Bridget helped him to his feet. His left arm hung limp at his side, and his knee was twisted. She draped Matt’s good arm around her neck and started for the sacristy.

Another jolt rocked the church as one of the giant pillars flanking the back wall severed from its foundations and toppled forward. Bridget hauled Matt out of the way and scrambled down the altar behind Father Santos as the pillar slammed into the wall, blocking the sacristy door.

Father Santos lost no time. He heaved Sammy over his shoulder and headed right down the center aisle. Bridget and Matt limped behind as glass exploded overhead. One by one, the stained glass windows shattered into millions of colored shards that rained down on them like confetti. Broken glass crunched beneath their feet. Plaster and tiles, glass and iron, pieces of the church crashed around them as they shimmied over a fallen ceiling beam. Father Santos dripped with sweat and Bridget’s heart pounded in her chest, but they were almost there, almost to the main entrance.

As a sickening roar erupted from behind them, Bridget craned her neck and saw that the hellhole had enveloped the entire front of the church. The altar and sacristy were already gone. The back wall collapsed, and the ceiling began to crumble.

They weren’t going to make it.

“Keep moving,” Father Santos puffed. “Don’t look back.”

Ten more steps, and they made it to the door. Father Santos threw it open, and Bridget and Matt came barreling through behind him. The earth shook again as they careened down the steps and collapsed on the front lawn of St. Michael’s.

Bridget looked up in time to see the entrance of the church crumble in on itself. The last of the roof disintegrated. The walls tumbled inward. In the building’s final death throes, an enormous mushroom cloud billowed up from the ruins. It surged into the sky, making one last affront to Heaven. Then the entire cloud was sucked down into the sinkhole.

Bridget blinked as she watched wisps of smoke and dust filter up. They’d done it. Somehow she and Father Santos had defeated a demon king, defeated Monsignor Renault, defeated the evil that slept within the church itself. And saved Sammy.

“One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—”

Bridget spun around. Father Santos hunched over Sammy’s body, his arms locked straight, his hands compressing against her brother’s chest as he counted out loud.

“What’s wrong?”

“—nine—ten—eleven—twelve—thirteen—fourteen—
fifteen.” Father Santos bent down, grasped Sammy’s chin and pinched his nose closed, then breathed heavily into his mouth.

Bridget scampered across the grass to her brother’s side. “What’s
wrong
?”

“Not breathing,” Father Santos panted between chest compressions.

Matt grunted as he pulled himself up behind her. “Bridget, maybe you shouldn’t—”

“He’s my brother,” she said, whirling on him. “And this is my fault.”

“It’s not.”

Her voice cracked. “Of course it is.”

Matt slipped his hand over hers but said nothing.

“One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—”

The tears spilled down her cheeks as she turned back to Sammy. His limp, lifeless body jolted beneath the force of Father Santos’s compressions. As Father Santos began another round of mouth-to-mouth, Bridget reached out and took Sammy’s small hand in her own.

Come on, Sammy, she thought.
Breathe
.

Her fingertips tingled. Not the same. It was a different feeling. It wasn’t coming from inside of her.

It was coming from Sammy.

Bridget pushed herself up on her knees. “Stop.”

“—twelve—thirteen—fourteen—”

“I said
stop
!” She pushed Father Santos away from her brother. The priest rocked back, his face tomato red and caked in sweat-soaked dust and grime.

“Bridget,” he panted. “What are you doing?”

“Bridge?” Matt said.

She held up her hand. Slowly, she crouched over Sammy’s body, not quite sure what to do next. The tingling, the vibrations, they were coming from him. There was life inside her brother. She just needed to figure out how to spark it.

Bridget took both of Sammy’s hands and repeated the words that had elicited the reaction. “Breathe, Sammy,” she whispered. “Breathe.”

Her palms vibrated. There was no mistaking the sensation, no pretending that it didn’t come from her brother’s hands.

“Breathe,” she said, louder this time.

The vibrations pulsed beneath her grasp. It was as if Sammy’s Watcherness was only stimulated where she touched him.

Bridget whipped Sammy’s pajama shirt up over his head, then pulled off her own T-shirt. She barely registered that she was kneeling on the lawn in jeans and a bra in front of a priest and her almost-boyfriend. Her mind was fixed only on Sammy.

She wrapped her arms around her brother and held him tight, cradling his head with one hand. “Breathe, Sammy,” she said softly into his ear. “Breathe. I know you’re in there. I know you are.”

Her chest and abdomen, arms and hands began to vibrate. She tucked her head into the crook of Sammy’s neck and pressed her cheek against his. The sensations were widespread, but they weren’t strong enough. Not yet.

“You want to live, Sammy. You want to. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

Bridget closed her eyes and concentrated on her own body while she clutched her brother to her. She recalled the feeling that she’d allowed to overwhelm her in the church, swamp her, engulf her. There had always been a catalyst before, a demon who provoked those feelings in her. But this time she was willing the Watcher to take over. It had to. She had to save her brother.

Beneath her, Sammy gasped.

Her eyes flew open. “Sammy?
Sammy?
”

She never even heard the sirens.

“Matt!” Sergeant Quinn raced across the lawn. “Matt, are you okay? Bridget? Oh my God. Oh my God, what the hell happened?”

Sammy still looked gray and lifeless, but she’d felt him breathe. She’d felt it!

“Bridget!” Her mom slid to her knees in front of Bridget. She took Bridget’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “My baby girl. My baby. What happened?” Her mom’s eyes drifted to Sammy’s body. “Sammy?”

“Mrs. Liu,” Father Santos said. “Bridget did everything she could. I’m terribly sorry.”

Her mom lifted her son’s head into her lap. “Sammy?” Her voice was calm. Too calm.

A team of EMTs sprinted across the lawn and Matt’s hand slipped around her waist, bracing her for the inevitable.

No one expected the yawn.

As if someone had thrown his on switch, Sammy arched his back and stretched his arms up over his head. Color ebbed back into his face. He opened his mouth and let out a heavy yawn, then rubbed his eyes.

“Bridge?” Sammy said, blinking his eyes open.

“Sammy!” Bridget’s mom choked back a sob and pulled her son to her, smothering him with kisses. “My Sammy, my Sammy. Oh, thank God.”

“Mom, stop it!” Sammy wrenched himself free and crawled over to Bridget. She tried not to notice that her mother immediately sank into Sergeant Quinn’s arms.

“Bridget, are you asleep?”

She smiled and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Nope.”

“Good.”

“Elephants again?”

Sammy shook his head. Bridget’s eyes almost popped out of her head as Sammy lightly placed his small hand on top of hers. “Angels.”

“Angels?”

His fingertips grazed the top of her hand as he pulled away. “Angels. Mr. Moppet brought them to save us.”

Mr. Moppet. “Yeah.” Bridget smiled. “Yeah, he did.”

Thirty-Eight

B
RIDGET MARCHED RIGHT UP TO
the Darlingtons’ Sea Cliff mansion and rang the doorbell. A maid answered and Bridget asked for Alexa, saying she was a friend from school. Instead of inviting her in to wait, the maid asked her to stand outside, then closed the door in Bridget’s face while she went to fetch Alexa. Yeah, that was about right.

It took a full five minutes for the door to reopen. Despite the fact that it was nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, Alexa’s hair was perfectly curled, her makeup expertly applied.

When she saw Bridget, her eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Listen up, Alexa, because I’m only going to say this once. I know what you are, you and your dad. And more importantly, I know what
I
am.”

“I don’t have to listen to this.” Alexa started to close the door, but Bridget wedged her boot inside the frame.

“The Watchers were given dominion over the Emim,” Bridget said, quoting Father Santos. “So you’d both better watch your step, get it?”

From the darkness on the other side of the door, Bridget could see Alexa’s eyes glow bright green. “Is that all?” Her voice sounded like she was barely controlling her rage.

A sly smile crept up Bridget’s cheeks. “For now.” She pulled her boot out of the door. “See you at school.”

Bridget trotted down the front steps as Alexa slammed the door behind her. The Crown Vic’s motor was still running as she opened the passenger door and got inside.

“H-how did it go?” Father Santos asked.

“Awesome.”

“And you’re positive the Darlingtons are Emim?”

“Yep,” Bridget said. “I saw them in the church the night I defeated Amaymon, and I’m pretty sure Mr. Darlington lured Sammy out of the house. Plus Alexa can hear the same voices I do.” Those glowing green eyes. Mr. Darlington’s presence in her father’s office, which seemed to send Undermeyer into a paroxysm of fear. Their reluctance to touch Bridget. It all made sense.

“Just remember, the Emim are extremely dangerous. They may not be able to harm you physically, but the Emim have spent centuries influencing men to destroy the Watchers. Now that they know you’re on to them, they’ll be even . . . even more devious next time.”

Bridget shrugged. She felt invincible, the high from defeating Amaymon still coursing through her. “Then we’ll have to be a step ahead of them. That’s what you’re for, right? You and the Order of St. Michael?”

Father Santos put the car in gear but kept his foot on the brake as he turned to look at her. “There’s much you still have to learn, about your abilities and about your enemies. Are you up for it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

She knew that would be the answer, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid anymore. This was her dad’s legacy, and she was going to see it through.

“When do we start?” Bridget asked.

Father Santos eased the car away from the curb. “This afternoon?”

“Better make it tomorrow,” Bridget said. She pulled out her cell phone and texted Matt. “There’s something I need to finish first.”

Matt parked in a visitor’s spot and cut the engine. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

Bridget shook her head. “I need to do this on my own.”

“Okay.”

The stitches above his left eye were partially covered by a butterfly bandage, and his arm hung from a sling around his neck. At least it wasn’t his pitching arm, but he’d still be out of commission for several weeks leading up to baseball season. That was the cost of trying to help her. She wasn’t going to let anything like that happen again.

“Did you tell your mom where we were going?”

Bridget nodded. “She understands, but she still didn’t want to come with me.”

“Do you blame her?”

“Nope.” Her mom would never be able to separate her husband’s death from Milton Undermeyer, even if he had been innocent all along. But that was okay. She didn’t need her mom witnessing what she was about to do.

“And Sammy’s okay?” Matt asked for the fourth time.

“He’s fine,” she said. “Doesn’t remember a thing.”

Matt scratched his forehead above his stitches. “I don’t remember much myself.”

“I know.” It’s better that way. Trust me.

She started to get out of the car, but Matt grabbed her hand. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said with a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s okay now.”

Bridget checked in at the main security desk of Sonoma State Hospital. Her mood was so different now than it had been the last time she came here. She smiled as she showed her ID and pinned a visitor’s badge on the front of her hoodie.

A woman in a brown tweed suit clacked down the long hallway. “You must be Miss Liu.”

Bridget took the outstretched hand and shook it, strong and confident. “I am.”

“Excellent. I’m Ms. Parker, the lead administrator for Sonoma State Hospital. We’ve been anxiously awaiting your visit.”

“Thanks.” I just bet you have.

Ms. Parker motioned for Bridget to follow, and they hurried down the familiar corridor. “A meeting like this is highly unusual.”

Bridget didn’t say a word, just waited for Ms. Parker to continue her spiel.

“A patient with Mr. Undermeyer’s history,” she paused. “If the district attorney’s office hadn’t arranged it, an unsupervised visitation would not have been permitted.”

Bridget remembered her last encounter with Milton Undermeyer and smiled grimly. “Oh.”

Ms. Parker stopped at the elevator and pushed the up button several times. “I must tell you, Miss Liu, I find this whole arrangement to be highly irregular.”

Bridget held her smile. Ms. Parker’s annoyance bled through every gesture: the tapping foot, the repeated pushes at the elevator button. Bridget guessed the real reason for her irritability was that no one had consulted her on the day’s “arrangement.” Too bad, so sad, Ms. Parker.

“It’s true?” Ms. Parker continued. “They’ve reopened your father’s murder case?”

A few weeks ago, the mention of her dad’s murder would have been a kick in the gut for Bridget, but she felt a new sense of calm about it. “Yes. Mr. Undermeyer is innocent.”

Ms. Parker stepped into the elevator. “Hmm. Perhaps he can be moved to another facility then.”

“Oh, I have a feeling you’ll be able to release him entirely.”

Ms. Parker turned to her with a look of horror on her face. “I doubt that very much. Mr. Undermeyer suffers from one of the most acute cases of paranoid schizophrenia and multiple personality disorders I’ve ever seen.”

Bridget smiled to herself. Not for long.

Milton Undermeyer sat at a table in the recreation area. He was still in his straitjacket, and he stared with unseeing eyes at a small television mounted on the wall. She wondered how many hours a day he was confined in that thing. Maybe this would be the last time.

Ms. Parker stood at Undermeyer’s shoulder and addressed him as she would a small child. “Mr. Undermeyer? There is someone here to see you.”

His eyes never left the television, and he gave no indication that he’d heard a word she said.

“Mr. Undermeyer?”

“It’s okay,” Bridget said. As soon as she spoke, she saw Undermeyer’s eyes flicker in her direction. “I’ll take it from here.”

Ms. Parker looked from Bridget to Milton Undermeyer and back, then shrugged and clacked her way back to the nurses’ station. Bridget watched her go. What was about to happen would throw that woman’s years of study and research right out the window. Oops.

Bridget pulled a chair close to him and sat down. “Mr. Undermeyer, do you know who I am?”

It took a moment for his eyes to focus on her face. He sucked in a quick breath and his eyes unclouded.

“That’s right. I’m Dr. Liu’s daughter. I’m a Watcher.”

Tears welled up in Undermeyer’s gray eyes, spilling down his ashen cheeks. “You’re—you’re here to release us?”

Bridget smiled. “A deal is a deal. You delivered your message.”

“Amaymon?”

“Defeated.”

Undermeyer closed his watery eyes and sighed. “Yes. It is now time.”

Bridget leaned forward and placed a hand on either side of his sunken face. “Your service to the Watchers is complete. Your penance is done.”

Bridget paused. She could feel the demons inside, their joy and their longing. Instead of banishing malevolent demons back to Hell, this time she was releasing something good, something repentant. It felt nice.

“I release you.”

A shudder rippled through Undermeyer’s body; he went rigid, then he crumpled. Bridget caught him as he slumped forward, pushing his shoulders back against the chair. Two orderlies came running across the room.

“It’s okay.” She could sense it in his touch. The demons had left, back to wherever they’d come from or perhaps someplace better. Bridget had no idea; she only knew that the body and mind of Milton Undermeyer were now free.

The orderlies kept their distance, confused by what was happening. As Bridget held him upright, Undermeyer’s lids flitted open. His eyes darted around the room—to the orderlies, to the television, to the straitjacket that held him, taking in his surroundings for the first time. Finally they landed on Bridget.

“You.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“They’re gone?”

“Yes.”

Undermeyer’s chest heaved. “I didn’t kill your father.”

“I know. I know it was Monsignor Renault. You’ll be getting out of here soon, I promise.”

“How can I ever thank you?” His voice sounded so old, so frail. Bridget caught the orderlies exchanging glances.

Bridget winked. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

Matt was leaning against the truck, waiting for her. He had taken his arm out of the sling and was slowly flexing and bending it in front of him. When he saw Bridget coming down the stairs, he straightened up.

“Well?” he asked.

Bridget nodded. “Done.”

He reached his good hand toward her. “What did it feel like?”

“It felt . . .” She laced her fingers through his, and a feeling of comfort and love and hominess enveloped her. “It felt right. Like this.”

“It does feel right.” Matt pulled her close. “I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore.”

“Me too.”

He gazed down at her, and the longish strands of his hair hung in front of his eyes. She reached up and brushed them off his forehead, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed him playfully on the lips. The tingling began immediately, but Bridget didn’t pull away. Instead she relished the sensation for a moment, letting her tongue graze Matt’s upper lip. Then she pushed the feeling away, relegating it to the other part of her, the Watcher part. Separate.

“I’m still going to keep an eye on you,” Matt said. “You’re trouble.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“From now on, consider me your guardian angel.”

Bridget snorted. More like the other way around.

Matt pulled his head back. “What’s so funny?”

Bridget ignored him. “So what duties go along with being a guardian angel?” she asked.

“Well, for starters,” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist, “I’m never leaving your side.”

“That’ll make gym class a little awkward.” Bridget smirked.

But Matt’s face was serious. There wasn’t even a hint of levity in his eyes as he held her body firmly against his. “Bridget, I mean it. I want to be there for you. I want to be with you.”

“You are.”

“I mean forever.” He paused and Bridget’s stomach got all fluttery. “I love you, Bridget Liu.”

He loved her. She’d known it somehow, known it since before her confrontation with Amaymon, before he helped her unravel the mystery of her dad’s death, before they shared that first kiss. But the warmth spreading throughout her body told her something even more important.

“I love you too,” she said. She didn’t care if she was going soft. She loved Matt Quinn.

He leaned down and kissed her. Bridget closed her eyes and reveled in the feeling of his soft lips against her own. It was a sensation she wanted to feel every day.

Matt was the first to break the kiss. He brought his hand to her cheek and caressed it. “Now what do you say we get the hell out of here? This place gives me the creeps.”

“Agreed.” Bridget smiled and opened the passenger door. “Besides, we’ve got to get home. Sunday night. Shepherd’s pie.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Bridget took one last look at the Sonoma State Hospital as Matt circled out of the parking lot. She had no idea what the future would bring them, and even though she felt a slight pang of guilt for bringing Matt into her world of angels and demons, of Watchers and Emim, she couldn’t for one moment picture going forward without him.

Good or evil, they’d face it. Together.