Speak the Dead (19 page)

58

D
ust.

That was all the Angels left in their wake when they roared out of the yard in response to the call.

In the hospital, Sister Mary Theresa hung up the phone and returned to Sister Fleur's side. The battered nun's body was broken and bruised, but the fire in her eyes burned so brightly it could set the ceiling alight. She had told her friend and mentor everything that was missing from her email report.

“We'll find her,” assured Sister Mary Theresa. “And we'll bring her home.”

Sister Fleur blinked away tears. “She's still so angry with me.” The words were a struggle; her mouth and lips still badly swollen. “I failed as a mother, and I couldn't be a friend. I tried—” She choked and began to cough. The involuntary action made her eyes squeeze tight, and she cradled her chest as if to hold the bones in place.

Sister Mary Theresa took her hand and squeezed in an effort to share the pain. “You did what was necessary at the time,” she said. “You were her protector.”

“If only I could have explained,” Sister Fleur wheezed. “Her gift… she didn't know. I… I—”

“Shhh. It's alright. There's still time.”

“But is there?” Sister Fleur asked. “How long have I been here, unable to help? That monster—”

“Won't touch you ever again.”

Sister Fleur winced. “It's not me I'm scared for.”

Sister Mary Theresa released the patient's hand and stood. Her shapeless nun's habit had been replaced by head-to-toe black leather and her vibrant yellow hair poked out in errant tufts beneath a Stars & Stripes bandanna. She picked up a black motorcycle helmet and tucked it under her arm.

“Leave this to us.”

In the hospital
parking lot, Sister Mary Theresa straddled a powerful Harley Davidson Fat Boy and affixed her helmet. She would meet her six deadly angels on the road, and God help anyone who stood in their way.

59

“
D
o you still want to go home?”

April nodded.

Sally had brought April to sit beside her on the bed. They were alone in the room.

“Does your dad have a car?”

April nodded again.

“Can you get the keys without him noticing?”

A look of panic flooded April's face.

“It's okay,” Sally assured. “It would just be until we got home. Nothing will happen to it, I promise.”

“Daddy will be very… up… up… angry.”

Sally squeezed the girl's hand. “It'll be okay. Once we're home, he'll understand that you just wanted to see your mom. He won't be angry after that.”

“He… he's angry a… a lot.”

“But this is special, April. This time you're helping me, and I'll explain everything to him once I'm back home.”

“Maybe he will help—”

“No!” Sally's voice was too sharp and April recoiled. “I'm sorry, April. It's just… remember when I said the people here didn't want me to leave? Well, your father might be one of those people, and I don't want him telling anyone. This needs to be our secret. Can you keep a secret?”

April nodded. “Mom and I have secrets.”

“Good, good, that's good. Well, this would be the same. I need you to get your father's keys without him knowing. Do you think you could do that?”

April shrugged. “I can try.”

Sally hugged the girl tight to her bosom. “That's all I ask.”

When Helen returned,
she beckoned April with her finger. “I need you to take supper to your father.”

“Can I comebackto… to see Sally?”

Sally turned away to look out the bedroom window. She could feel Helen's eyes on her back, but she continued to feign indifference, not wanting her captors to know how attached she was becoming to the sweet teenage girl.

“After supper you can come back for a little while,” Helen said. “But then Sally will need to rest. She has a big day tomorrow.”

Sally abruptly turned around. “What do you mean?”

“Father needs to hear the message.” Helen smiled coldly and Sally could sense the predatory wolf that lurked within her grandmotherly shell. “And you'll travel the Journey until you bring it back.”

“But—”

Helen held up a hand and her eyes turned hard. “Save your excuses for Father and the others. I never believed your mother had the sight, and I don't believe you do either.” Helen's smile grew at the irony. “I guess that means I'm the only one who believes you. Pity that doesn't mean anything.”

Sally leapt from the bed. “But you have to tell them or they'll keep killing innocent people.”

Helen snorted and locked her hands on her hips in a menacing pose. The furrows around her eyes knit tighter together and the birthmark on her face seemed to deepen in color as though suddenly flushed with bile.

“I don't have to do anything,” she snapped. “You're the one who's so damn special. Do you think the men would have listened to a word your mother said if she wasn't so pretty? Men are like bulls, all cock and balls but so easily led by the ring through their nose. Is it any wonder she drove your father insane?”

Helen shook her head as though trying to knock a disturbing image out of her mind. “Unless you tell them what they want to hear, dear, all that blood will be on your hands. And yours alone.”

Sally stood in stunned silence as Helen pulled April out of the room and slammed the door.

After a few
moments, Sally shook herself out of the trance.

The only true thing she knew was the killing would never stop. The church's whole basis for being was the Journey, and they would keep killing no matter what she told them. History had taught her that sacrifice was like an addiction. The ancient Aztecs spilled blood to thank the gods when times were good. And when times were bad, they spilled more blood to appease them.

Sally tugged at her dress sleeve and the butter knife slid into her hand.

There was only one option.

60

J
ersey and Kameelah swapped places after stopping for a bathroom break and caffeine top-up at a roadside gas station. After showing Jersey how to adjust the Jaguar's seat and mirrors, Kameelah reclined the passenger seat and produced her web-enabled cellphone.

“So what's the name of the church in Sister Fleur's letter?” she asked.

Jersey brought the Jaguar to 10 mph above the speed limit. He couldn't keep the pleased smile off his face as the car responded to his touch. This was the type of vehicle he had been destined to drive. Unfortunately, he had been born into a blue-collar family with a budget that couldn't climb past a used Dodge, and his cop's salary was no better.

“The name?” Kameelah prompted, her touch-screen phone at the ready.

“Oh, sorry.” Jersey set the speed control and relaxed into the seat's soft grain leather. “Ermmm… Sabbath Day's Journey.”

“Sounds like a rock band.”

“It's from the Bible, but definitely a strange choice. If I remember my Sunday School lessons, a Sabbath day's journey was the distance Israelites were allowed to travel on the seventh day. About one thousand yards. In other words, stick close to home, except for a short walk to attend Mass.”

Kameelah grinned. “And this was before televised Sunday afternoon football and pizza delivery?”

Jersey smiled back. “Who knew the NFL was so religious.”

Kameelah typed the name into the search engine on her phone and began to sort through the results. Most of the hits referred to the Bible quote,
“Then they returned to Jerusalem from the Mount called Olivet, which is from Jerusalem a Sabbath day's
journey.”

“The Bible doesn't actually explain it,” Kameelah mused as she read a few entries. “The rabbis interpreted it as a limit to travel, but this church could have a different idea.”

She returned to the home page and ran the same search on Blogs. A lone entry caught her eye. “Listen to this. A girl claiming to be a member of the Church of a Sabbath Day's Journey says her grandmother was murdered at the altar.”

“Murdered?”

“That's what she says, but the whole blog is written in over-dramatic teen speak. Here, I'll read this part. ‘As usual, all the kids —
yes, I said kids, sheesh, I'm fifteen
—were sent outside when Father Black got to the good part. We all know about the
Journey
, they keep telling us about the friggin'
Journey
, but they keep the ceremony so damn secret. We don't even have a
Seer
. Like, how can we trust it even works? Mom and Dad say we have to believe, but… well, anyways, that's a whole
other
story.

“ ‘We were outside, but the guardians weren't watching 'cause, like, they've deff got the hots for each other. It's soooo obvious, like, duh! Well, Lydia and I snuck around the far side and peeked through the shutters. Mom and Dad were walking down the aisle with Gramma, who hasn't been well. She's been, like, peeing the bed and stuff.
Yuck, like, Gross, I know!
But she's still my Gramma. Then, and I still can't believe it, a man wearing a black hood grabs my Gramma and, like, right there in front of everyone, cuts her throat.

“ ‘Oh, My God!! I totally freaked, it was
so
gross, I know. Lydia and I ran, but, like, there's no place to go. I tried to ask mom about it later, but, like, she just said Gramma got sick and died on the way to hospital. She must think I'm
soooo
stupid. There was no ambulance or nothing. Her funeral is this weekend, and, like, I don't know what to do.'”

“Any other entries?” Jersey asked.

“None. All the links are dead, too. This entry was caught in Google's archive. It was written nearly ten months ago and nothing since.”

“She mentioned the Seer.” Jersey scrunched his face as a disturbing thought rose to the surface. “Sally works with corpses, but she was surprised when she had her…” he still found it difficult to digest, “… vision.”

“When she touched the hit-and-run victim?”

“Yes. That woman died only moments before Sally touched her.”

“So?”

“What if Sally's trick only works on fresh kill?”

“Hold on.” Kameelah turned in her chair. “Are you thinking this church deliberately kills people so Sally can have a vision?”

“It's a possibility. Two people were killed in Portland just to get her attention.”

“But this girl's grandmother was killed months before Sally was kidnapped. Why do that if you don't—”

“Maybe they had someone before,” Jersey interrupted. “A Seer who could do the same thing as Sally, but they lost her somehow. Instead of stopping, they continued the ceremony without her. But, like the girl's blog says, without the Seer's visions, the congregation is losing its faith. They need a new one.”

“How did they know Sally had the gift?”

Jersey snapped his fingers. “Because she had a vision when she was a child. She started to tell me about it at the funeral home. It must have happened before she left the church with Sister Fleur.”

Kameelah pinched the pocket of flesh at the bridge of her nose. “If the church needs to kill people to kick-start a vision, what's the upside?”

Jersey thought about it. “Maybe Sally can see more than just the moment of death.”

“See more?” Kameelah was incredulous.

“Hey, I'm an old Catholic boy, I was brought up to believe in life after death. But for all that preaching, there's never been proof to back it up, that's why they call it faith. But what if Sally can cross over and glimpse what lies beyond? That would be worth worshipping, don't you think?”

“At what price? An incontinent grandmother?”

“I'm not condoning it. I'm just saying it's the one question we all want answered, isn't it?”

“I prefer ignorance,” said Kameelah. “If paradise awaits, why should I bother with the everyday shit of this world? And if it's the opposite, then remind me to cancel my DNR declaration.”

Jersey stared straight ahead, his mind whirling. “The trouble is,” he said after a moment, “what happens if the church doesn't like the vision Sally brings back? What if, as the atheists preach, there's nothing there?”

“Well that's simple,” Kameelah said offhandedly. “If you don't like the message, you—”

Jersey's cellphone rang. Before he could answer it, Kameelah snatched it out of his hand.

“You watch the road.” She flipped open the phone. “Detective Castle's phone.”

“Kameelah, is that you?” It was Amarela.

“Hey, girlfriend. Jersey's driving. Can I help?”

“I just talked to Peter Higgins' wife again.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Have you guys come across any reference to the Church of a Sabbath Day's Journey?”

Kameelah arched her eyebrows. “We were just talking about it. Why?”

“Harriet says Peter and his parents were members once, but they left and moved to Portland before Peter was in his teens. She said it was odd, but Peter had been talking about it before he disappeared, as though trying to get her interested. She said it sounded like a cult and—”

“We think that's where Sally's been taken,” Kameelah interrupted.

There was a pause. “That's our connection,” said Amarela. “Peter and his daughter must be heading there, too.”

61

S
ally dropped to her knees in front of the bedroom window and stuck the knife into the crease between window and sill. The window had been nailed shut from the outside, but that was where her captors made a mistake. If they had used screws, she wouldn't have had a prayer.

There wasn't much leverage, and she was afraid the knife could snap at any moment, but by taking her time and focusing her efforts on the three points where the nails had pierced the sill, she began to see progress. It wasn't much, barely a sliver, but she felt the anchors begin to loosen. When the right edge lifted a fraction, she turned her attention to the center, forcing the knife deep into the narrow slit. When she felt it respond, she quickly moved to the left edge and repeated the action.

She had been working for over an hour when she heard the lock being turned. She quickly moved to the bed and slid the knife under her pillow.

The door opened and April entered with two plates of food on a tray. Helen stood behind, keys jangling in her hand. She stared at Sally with suspicion.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm fine,” said Sally. “The food smells good.”

“Why are you flushed? You're perspiring.”

“I got scared when I heard the door,” Sally said quickly. “I keep expecting Aedan.”

“You have a right to be scared,” Helen said flatly. “Father doesn't want you dead, but there are far worse things a man can do to a woman.”

Sally opened her mouth but decided to remain silent. What could she say to a woman who not only allowed, but accepted, the inherent brutality of her son?

“Eat your supper and rest. I'll be back to collect April. She has work tomorrow as well.”

As soon as
they were alone, Sally turned to April. “Did you get the keys?”

April looked down at her plate. “D-daddy didn't have his coat.”

Sally bit back her disappointment. “That's okay. I'll think of something else.”

“Daddy was in the church,” April continued. “He said there is a special cer… cer… service tomorrow, and I can be in it.”

Sally was only half-listening. She had retrieved the knife from under her pillow and turned her attention to the window. She dropped to her knees and forced the knife into the narrow groove.

“Daddy says I… I get a new dress.”

“That'll be nice,” said Sally absently.

April wrinkled her nose. “I like dresses, but… but Daddy says it's red. Idon'likethat.”

Sally turned, her face pale. “Your dress is red?”

April nodded. “You like red?”

“No.” Sally's voice broke as she thought of the last two people who wore red before their throats were cut and her hands were plunged into a pool of their blood.

April's eyes filled with tears. “I w… w… won't wear it… if… if you d… d… don't want me to.”

Sally squeezed the girl's arm in reassurance, but she didn't know what to say. She tried to smile. “You eat your supper. It looks good.”

While April picked at her ham steak, mashed potatoes, boiled peas, and carrots, Sally returned to the window. She jammed the knife deep into the spot where the middle nail had been hammered, gouging the wood with renewed effort. She pulled and strained to increase her leverage, but just as she felt a tremor of movement, the knife blade snapped.

Sally's hands banged against the wood and she jumped back with a squeal. But it wasn't the pain of scraped knuckles that made her want to weep, it was the useless stub of broken steel attached to a handle too thick to fit into the crack.

The remainder of the knife was jammed in the crevice, sealing the window even tighter than before.