38

I awakened with all faculties absolutely alert. My position remained the same; the security of the box, I could tell, was unchanged. The difference was in the house. My family had come home.

The parents were watching television, my precious Diana was playing softly in her room, and my Daniel . . . I scoured the house, seeking a whisper of his scent. He was not home.

The house felt pleasant, the air relaxed.

The neighborhood had lost its fear.

I could see my lovely Diana, goddess, angel, and I sent her favorite lullaby to her—the one I had played for her night after night, the melody of which she never grew tired, the one that had given her pleasure every night for months.

She heard it, and I had her.

I followed her progress as she silently emerged from her room, walked past her parents, through the kitchen. I saw her hesitate at the door to the cellar, but I urged her, bringing the music up, and then down, threatening to pull it away; just come, little darling, just come a little closer and I shall play for you a symphony, one to enfold you in pleasure and keep you suspended . . .

She opened the door. The darkness of the cellar rose to meet her.

I called to her with the music—don’t turn on the lights. This is a symphony of the night, and it is beautiful only in the dark. Do not be afraid, there is only the music, there is nothing to be afraid of, the music is beautiful, and loving, and so are you. Come to me, come to the music, just down one step.

She came down one step.

I trilled in pleasure and she came down another to please me, and another, baby hand gliding along the handrail, then another, and soon she lowered herself onto the next as fast as she could, giggling.

She reached the bottom. The darkness surrounded her and sucked the giggle from her throat. Her bottom lip trembled, and she almost turned around to go back up. Or, worse, call out.

“Diana,” I spoke, my voice muffled, soft. She knew this pet name, and she adored it. The threatening tear receded as the music once again calmed her. She took little steps to me, tentative, yet unafraid.

“Diana,” I said. “Can you get into the big box? Can you figure out how to open it?”

And I could see my prison through her eyes and the latches were simple. Three large hasps lined the box lid, and each had a small dowel pushed through for surety.

I watched with increasing anxiety as baby fingers fumbled at the adult metal locks.

“Pull the sticks.” She understood, and tried, but frustrated easily. My agitation mounted as she wiggled one loose, then went on to the next one. The second was harder, but the last came free easily. Then she had to turn the metal ring to line up with the hasp slot. This was harder for her, her hands hurt, and she was beginning to be afraid in the dark. I was losing patience. My freedom was so close—I could foil whatever plans Boyd and the boy had for me if only this little wimp of a child could free me.

Settle down, Angelina, I had to remind myself. The child is doing her best.

I began the music again, softly stroking her golden hair with it, easing us both through this tense moment. The burred edges of the metal bit into her soft little fingers and the smell of blood was so loud that I almost screamed inside my prison. The first lock twisted and she lifted the hasp off.

Good girl, good girl. Now the next one. I could barely stay conscious, I was starving; the tension of the moment had me wanting to explode. She began to whine with the second one. The box was off square, and the hasp didn’t line up right. It was hard to turn.

I increased the music, hoping to give her extra strength. She worked hard at it, her little pink tongue poking out one side of her mouth. She grunted and groaned, began to cry a little bit and whimper as her blood flowed across the hasp, but I just increased the music; I wouldn’t, I couldn’t, let her stop. I was almost out.

It worked. The second was free.

The third was easier to do, and she turned it, then very slowly lifted the hasp off, took two steps back, and put her bleeding fingers into her mouth.

I quieted my heart for a moment, not believing my luck. Then I reached up and pushed on the lid. It swung open on silent hinges, and there she stood, like an angel.

I climbed out and knelt before her, promising her a child-­delight journey into the land of her heart’s desire later this evening. I played a light melody for her as I watched blood-tinged saliva, golden green in the darkness, appear at the corners of her mouth. Very gently, I removed her fingers and examined the cuts, then put her fingers in my mouth, tasted the delect­able fruit, the plump little knuckles weeping delicately onto my tongue, whetting my appetite.

I looked into her eyes, the eyes of my rescuer, and I wanted to sweep her up and dance her around the floor, sinking my teeth deeply into her neck and enjoying the golden flow of this most glorious child. But I dared not. Slowly, reluctantly, resisting temptation, I pulled her tender fingers from my tongue and patted her gently on the head.

“Go to bed now, my sweet, and I will be along later to tuck you in.” She turned and ran toward the stairs. I halted her with a clashing of cymbals, a storm warning only she could hear. “Tell no one of this.” She looked at me, innocent eyes questioning. “Our secret,” I said. She nodded solemnly and went quietly to the world above.

I smiled to myself, then resealed the box and sat in the corner.

Boyd and the boy would be along presently.

I would meet them on equal terms.

“Even though I believed Will’s story, I didn’t let the mayor or the police know. I had several reasons. First, because they might go and blow her to pieces, or worse, let her escape in the confusion. Second, it might not be her at all, or she might have already gotten out and left. And third, which is probably the only real reason I kept it to myself, is that I wanted her all to myself. I didn’t want to share the confrontation with anyone else—especially not with a crowd. This had been my hunt all along, and it was only fair that I bring her down myself.

“I probably should have gone with Will the moment he told me she was in his basement. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. It felt as though the appointment had been made, and I needed to sit and think, prepare for the moment. The moment I had been rushing toward in impotent frustration for years was suddenly here and I needed to consider it for a while. I needed to think of what to say to her, how to act, how to feel.

“Anyway, I was busy in meetings all day, talking to the people who were trying to control the town. Everybody had gone back home, like I said, but a handful of us knew the danger wasn’t over, so we were trying out new strategies for search as well as for keeping the townspeople from being killed and the media from turning Wilton into a carnival.

“All day long, through all the meetings, I knew where Angelina was, and I didn’t tell anyone.

“I finally met Will at the mayor’s house just before ten that night, and we walked over to his place. There was not a doubt in my mind that Angelina was in that house. I knew it when we were more than three blocks away. I could feel her.

“Will’s parents were watching the news. He introduced us and told them he was going to show me his collection of books on the occult. They were quite preoccupied and didn’t pay much attention. We went into Will’s room to wait for his folks to go to bed before we went downstairs.

“He had all kinds of books on the occult and witches and things, and he was all fired up about showing them to me. I tried to talk to him, tried to tell him that what we were dealing with here was a very sick young woman. Compulsive, obsessive, self-destructive, and homicidal, true, but sick nevertheless. There was no supernatural here. It was just Angelina. Just Angelina. A misdirected, sad, psychopathic case.

“But he would have none of it. He just looked at me with eyes that had somehow seen beyond my experience, and he patiently told me again about stakes through the heart and rituals that were ghastly to say the least.

“I heard the television go off, and his parents called a soft good night to us, then their bedroom door closed.

“Will got very quiet, and so did I, and we just sat there on the lower bunk, with only one lamp on, and we listened to the sounds of the house around us.

“The time seemed to pass without our awareness. I looked at the clock at ten-forty-five and a minute later it was eleven-thirty. Neither of us had spoken or moved for forty-five minutes. We were listening, I believe, to the evil in the walls.

“I noticed that going into the cellar was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. Fear was collecting in my bowels, and I knew if I stood up to take one step toward her, it would squeeze out, along with everything else. My hands had lost their strength; I couldn’t even make a tight fist. Fear had reduced my nerves to jelly, and with a glance at Will, I knew the same had happened to him.

“With wide eyes and sweat-slicked forehead, he whispered to me, ‘Just before dawn. We’ll release her just before dawn. It’ll be safer then.’

“That would have given us a good five hours to sit there, steeped in our acids.

“But at midnight, we heard his sister’s bedroom door open.”