Soul Thief (Blue Light Series) (23 page)

Doug kneeled down beside the mortally wounded man.
“Who are you,” he asked.

“My name is Redington,” the old man rasped. “I am a
Jesuit priest, a member of an organization known as The Brotherhood of the Order. You must listen carefully to what I say. There’s not much time.”

“Why did you
shoot De Roché?”

“I had to. You do not understand who he is.”

“I think you killed him,” Doug said, and shamelessly felt no compassion.

“No . . .” the fallen man said with regret. “He is not dead. You will see. He has power. I needed to make you understand.”

Doug saw that the old man was thrusting his hand out.

“Take this,” the priest said, “and do not let anyone see it.” Doug held out his hand and without looking to see what it was, closed his fist around a
small object with a pointed tip that was sharp on two sides. And in that moment, without the benefit of explanation, Doug sensed that his life would never be the same. 

“The burden is now yours,” the old man said.

Doug frowned. “Please, you’re not making sense.”

“You are the chosen one. My time has passed.”

“I don’t understand.” Doug said, even though in some deep, hidden place he did. He opened his fist, gazing down at the object in his palm. He could see that it was
some sort of artifact—ancient in appearance and triangular in shape. It looked to be made of iron, or perhaps bronze, worn smooth from handling and covered in verdigris. It sort of resembled an arrowhead, about an inch and a half long by an inch wide at the back. But now he could see that it was irregularly formed on the back as if it was the broken-off tip of a larger object. Some sort of wire, golden in color, had been wrapped around an attached suspension loop that held the chain for wearing. Suddenly the object began to glow and heat up in his hand. Doug was so startled he almost dropped it. Then two remarkable things happened nearly simultaneously. First, the object began to glow a brilliant golden color as if some sort of magic alchemy was at work in it. And second, it began to elongate into a full blown object, about six inches long which resembled the head of a spear. Doug stared at it in awe. It was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. But even before he could comprehend what he was seeing, the object again became a fragment. The illusion was disorienting and Doug closed his fist around it, staring back at the old man. The artifact no longer felt warm, but cold and inert. 

“It has been searching for you,” the old man said. “It will help to protect you from the darkness that is about to come.”

Doug stared at the old man. “I don’t understand.”

The man coughed and spewed blood from his mouth and nose.

“You were chosen,” the old man said. “Why do you think you have the ability to see the things you see? Forces beyond your control guided you into the midst of the De Roché dynasty, and those same forces guided me here to you. It was not coincidence that you should marry his daughter.”

In that instant, a wall Doug had never known existed between him and his destiny began to crumble. He stared at the old man in astonishment.

“Your purpose has been living dormant inside you since birth,” the old man said. “Now it is coming to fruition. Time is short. You must listen. The object was meant for your child, but you must be its caretaker until the child is old enough to know what to do. If you do what I say, the artifact will help to save your life, that of your wife and your child, and in the end it might save everything. But you must be careful; De Roché has sought the artifact for years, as have others. For two thousand years it has been hunted by greedy power mongers.” The old man coughed again and spewed blood. His voice was weakening.

Doug stared in disbelief. “What is this thing?”

“A fragment from an ancient weapon. There are those who believe it is the path to God.”

“No,” Doug said, suddenly remembering his bible study classes. “This can’t be real.”

“Please, you must listen carefully. I have seen two visions of the future and one of them is a future the human race cannot endure. When you leave here you will be hunted. If you survive, you will lose your way for a time, but fear not, it is for the best. It will be a chance for the warrior inside you to emerge.”

Doug’s frustration boiled over. “But I’m not a warrior!”

“You are more than you think you are.”

“But how will I know what to do
?”

The old man grimaced in pain. “Follow your heart. It will guide you.” Again he coughed blood and his body convulsed. “Leave this place soon. Go . . . alone. Do not take Annie. She is stronger than you know. She will take care of her own. She will know what to do . . . when the time
comes. I promise you.

“You are good,” the man hissed. “But there is great danger, and you must be very . . . careful. If you survive you will know everything you need to know. The Order will help to guide you.” The man closed his eyes.

“Please,” Doug said. He felt his pulse throbbing madly at his temples. His mind was suddenly populated with visions of black beating wings and a single crimson eye.

Suddenly that disembodied and pleading voice again found his ear, as if from some far away and fragmented dream, floating out of the darkness on a static-filled radio beacon:
Please help me. My name is Ariel and I’m trapped in a dark place.

Where are you,
Ariel?

In the House of Bones. It’s so dark in here and I’m so lost and lonely. Please
, won’t you help me?

“
Listen to the child,” the old man said, startling Doug back to reality.

Doug was surprised that he was still alive, that he still had the capacity to speak.
He stared at the man in awe. “But how did you know?”

“Because I too hear the voice. Go now and find the lost child. You can help save her, and in turn she will help you through the darkness and back into the light.”

“But I don’t know who she is. I don’t know where to look.”

“You
need only look inside your own heart.”

The old man’s hand sought Doug’s, and as flesh touched flesh, a shock of electric energy pulsed through him
. It was then that he saw the child’s face, clear and shining in his mind’s eye. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Ariel?” he gasped, as a startling realization struck him. “I know you. I think I’ve always known you.”

The priest’s hand lightly squeezed Doug’s. “You must follow your heart,” he said again, and died.

In the distance sirens w
ailed. Doug stood and scanned the area, wiping tears from his eyes. He opened his trembling hand and stared at the object it contained. It was glowing madly and seemed to be pulsing along with the beating of his heart. He closed his fist around it and dropped it into his jacket pocket.

Over on the mound De Roché was standing, straightening his collar and tie. The man wasn’t dead after all. Doug wasn’t really surprised. The only thing he knew for sure was, he must not reveal to De Roché, or even Annie what had really happened here.
Be careful, he has hunted it for years,
the old man had warned him.

Doug slowly backed away. De Roché was staring at him, his eyes burning with some terrible knowledge.
He knows. Holy shit, he can smell it.
He didn’t think De Roché would try anything here in front of all these people, but he wasn’t about to chance it. He turned and made his way out of the man’s influence. The press suddenly seemed to be everywhere, snapping pictures and thrusting microphones in people’s faces, distracting the arrogant paragon. Doug was grateful for the reprieve. He leaned against a tree at a safe distance and watched the proceedings.

A strange
, cold excitement suddenly filled his entire being. Somehow the old man, a Jesuit priest, had known he had the power to see certain things. But how had he known? He had known lots of things he had no right to know. And what about the child, Ariel? When he’d seen her face, his heart had gone out to her. But it was more than that. It was as if he knew her, as if he’d always known her, like the two were connected in some impossible way. He felt a strong, nearly all-consuming love for this lost child. Who was she? How would he ever find her?

There were too many unanswered questions. If the old man had meant to kill De Roché and the artifact
truly had power, why then hadn’t he succeeded? Had this been the first time he’d tried?

So many questions, so few answers.

There were a few remaining onlookers close to the action, but most had scattered, standing well out of harm’s way. Some were making a fuss over De Roché, others wandering pointlessly. Some were crying. Others were talking in heated exchanges. News people were looking into cameras and talking into microphones. A small group of citizens had finally gathered around the remains of the dead man. People were asking about his identity. Theo was back and he was going through the old man’s pockets looking for identification. When none was apparent he rose in frustration, setting his sights on Doug.

An ambulance had pulled up onto the grass and two paramedics were trundling a stretcher toward where De Roché and Annie stood. Doug could hear De Roché’s raised voice in what sounded like a protest. The police had arrived and two men in plain clothes were now talking to father and daughter. They were gesturing toward the dead man, explaining what had happened.

Several policemen were now examining the body of the gunman and one was taking a statement from Theo. John Carradine stood over the dead priest reading from an open bible.

Annie came to Doug. “He’s all right,” she said, hugging him for comfort. “Thank God.”

Doug could have told her that he’d seen a bullet strike her father in the center of his chest and go straight through him. But he kept silent. What would be the point? Annie would not have believed him. Besides, Doug’s life was already in danger. Why invite unwanted attention? “Was he hit?” Doug asked instead.

“One of the bullets grazed his right upper body. There’s some blood. It’s possible that one of his ribs is broken. He’s going to the hospital for treatment. Under great duress, I might add. I’m going with him. I’ll meet you back at the house later, okay? Unless . . . you want to come?” Annie raised an eyebrow.

“No thanks, I’ve had quite enough of your father for one day.”

“You can ride back with Theo in the limo.”

“I’ll take a cab,” Doug said. “I need to buy an airline ticket. Besides, I don’t like Theo.”

Annie searched Doug’s face.

“Stay away from him, Annie. I don’t trust him, and if you know what’s good for you, you shouldn’t either.”

Theo finally got away from the cops and
approached them. “I saw you kneeling beside the gunman,” he said to Doug. “What were you doing?”

“
Go to hell.”

“Afraid I can’t do that,” Theo said, his voice hard but
controlled. “Mr. De Roché pays me to protect him. I’m just doing my job.”

“
And did my father also pay you to protect my mother?” Annie asked Theo. Her voice filled with barely controlled rage.

Theo eyed Annie without emotion for a long moment before
he turned and walked away.

Doug stood at the foot of the bed watching Annie sleep, wondering how his life had come to this moment. Ten years gone. From where he stood right now it felt like another life entirely, not his and Annie’s life. They’d been happy, hadn’t they? Or was it all some sort of illusion. Now, suddenly all his hopes and dreams were in jeopardy. Annie had come under her father’s spell. For reasons unclear, he had bargained for the life of their unborn child. De Roché wanted him dead; the hammer blow could come at any moment. The man might not be mortal, perhaps he wasn’t even human. And if he wasn’t human then what was he? And what of Annie? If she’d been spawned from the seed of a monster then what was she? And what of their unborn child? Suddenly there were far too many questions without answers. Grief wanted to drive him to his knees, but he knew now, more than ever before in his life, that he had to be strong.

He drew the bedcovers up over his sleeping wife, careful lest he wake her. He’d only gotten a few hours of restless sleep. They’d made love until nearly dawn, tumbling, struggling, coupling and uncoupling in the dark until they were nearly
delirious with fatigue. They were both scared shitless, each for their own reasons; Annie, her past; Doug, their future, and they’d been attempting to scatter their demons with the power of obsession. As a result, Doug’s demons only burned brighter within him. He could only guess as to Annie’s.

He picked up his trousers from the tangle of clothing on the floor and slipped them on. He felt for the airline ticket he had bought yesterday and tucked into the breast pocket of his new jacket. For a moment he panicked. It wasn’t there, but then he discovered it in the opposite side of the jacket.

He’d been startled awake by something shortly after falling into an exhausted sleep, and he’d lain for a long time trying to puzzle it out. When he’d forced his mind to focus on identifying it, he saw black flapping images with cold red eyes. Birds, bats, fluttering demons. They were one and the same; ugly tumors at the center of Doug’s very existence.

He looked over at the door.

The burden is now yours. You are the chosen one.

He didn’t understand what those words meant now any more than he had the moment the dying old priest had uttered them.

Follow your heart.

His heart, his plan, had simply been to find and stop those who would destroy his home, his family, his future. Those who would rob him of everything he had ever dreamed of. Is that what the old man had meant by follow your heart?

One of those destroyers, he knew, lived inside the walls of this very house, and if he could find proof of his crimes he would bring it back to Annie so that she too, could see the true face of the monster hidden inside the man.

Leaving Annie was probably the most difficult thing he’d ever done. He had the feeling that when he walked out that door he might never see her again. But the old priest had told him that if Annie and the unborn child were to be saved it would have to be this way. Was he supposed to believe that? Was he supposed to trust the words of a dying old man?
Truth is, he did, and he couldn’t say why. Had it been the undeniable sincerity in the old man’s voice? Or was it because he had known Doug’s true heart better than Doug himself had known it?

He also told Doug
that there would be a great test, and if he survived he would have the direction he needed.
If
he survived. There were no guarantees. It all seemed so crazy.

And what of Annie? Would she be safe remaining here with a father who might be in cahoots with the Devil himself? Doug didn’t think so, but whatever persuasive powers he might have once had over Annie were now being eclipsed by a greater power. What happened yesterday at the cemetery had not been a natural occurrence. The bullet that should have killed De Roché, the bullet that passed straight through his heart, had done no damage at all, and now, less than twenty
-four hours after putting his wife in the ground, De Roché was most probably planning his future as king of the world; it was as if Rachel’s death and Annie’s coming home had been the catalysts necessary for De Roché’s continuation. But in the final analysis none of this actually mattered. The old man at the cemetery had been right when he’d said Doug must follow his heart, because his heart told him to put as much distance between De Roché and himself as was humanly possible.

So without the benefit of further thought
, Doug opened the door and slipped quietly out of the room.

He tiptoed through the upstairs hallway to the top of the stairs, stopping and listening, careful lest he encounter De Roché, the man who might not be a man at all.

Halfway down the stairway he stopped abruptly. De Roché’s voice sounded from the direction of his study, and there were both humor and vitality in it, sending a chill scurrying down Doug’s spinal column and reaffirming his suspicions about the man. Stealthily, he made his way down the stairs, through the foyer to the door, where he slipped carefully out into the new morning. He scanned the yard looking for some sign of life. There was not a living soul in sight, but that did not mean he wasn’t being watched; this place had ears and eyes.

Doug
strode purposefully down the drive toward the gate, expecting the hammer blow to come at any second. He stopped at the gate, gazing through it at the lane he hoped would lead him back into the world. There were no keepers this morning, and the gate was closed. He scanned up along the wall but saw nothing. No security guards. No dogs with glittering teeth and silent voices. He turned and looked back across the dew-covered lawn to the gray stone mansion, paying particular attention to Annie’s bedroom window. He had an unsettling vision of Annie succumbing to whatever persuasive forces lived within those walls. Had she finally come home to stay? He wiped the thought from his mind; it made him feel sick and helpless.

“I’ll be back, Annie,” he whispered. “You
bet your ass I will.”

He turned and gingerly tested the gate.
What the hell,
he thought.
Electrocution is as good a way to go as any.
But instead of frying him to a crisp, the gate began to trundle open. He turned again, scanned the guardhouse and located the cameras mounted there. He understood that his every move was being monitored. De Roché was no fool. If he’d wanted him dead, he’d be dead.

As the gate closed behind him, Doug stepped beyond the walls of De Roché Manor and back into the world.

Several hundred yards down the lane he turned left and walked into the woods, carefully marking his way through thick undergrowth. At the base of a particularly large cypress tree he stopped and looked around him. He saw no one and heard nothing except birds calling in the trees. He dropped down onto his hands and knees and began digging in the soft, sandy soil at the base of the tree. He extracted the object wrapped in a soft piece of fabric. He had hidden it there yesterday after returning from buying his airline ticket. He opened the fabric and stared at the object. It seemed to pulse mildly, but it could have been his imagination. He closed his eyes then opened them. The object did not change shape or color.

There are those who believe it is the path to God,
the old priest had said.

The path to God?
Doug thought.
That would really be something.

It is a fragment from an ancient weapon.

On a tree limb above him a blackbird with a single red eye sat perched watching him. Doug wrapped the artifact back up in the soft cloth and dropped it in his jacket pocket. As he walked from the woods the bird took wing, cawing loudly.