Chapter Twenty-Four

Hastings Mills, NY, July 18th, one year ago

“I give you this blessing in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”

Stone coughed as Lockhart waved a stick of pungent incense. The entire group stood in a circle around Abigail, who lay on her bed, eyes closed and panting like a dog. Stone, Ken, Del, and Curt on one side, Randi at the foot, and Lockhart on the other side, with Shari and Claudia. Corday Rose had arrived an hour earlier, dressed in plain clothes and with dark bags under his eyes. When Stone asked him why he’d come, the officer shrugged.

“Curiosity. I’m not officially here.”

“Translation: your chief told you to keep an eye on us.”

Rose’s lips twitched, not quite forming a smile, and Stone knew he’d guessed right. Now the cop stood by the door, his attention shifting from Lockhart to Abby and back again. Stone could only imagine what the man must be thinking, but for once the presence of the law didn’t annoy him. So far, there’d been no word from the office in LA, but Stone hoped his dynamic duo would come through for him soon. Until then, all they could do was watch and wait, and pray that whatever rituals Lockhart carried out didn’t make things worse.

In the meantime, everything would be captured on film, which would make for great television. Especially when after, he could swoop in and banish the spirit haunting Abby, and be the hero in front of the whole world.

“Are you getting this?” Stone whispered to Ken. He wanted every second captured.

“Loud and clear,” Ken said, without looking away from his camera’s screen. Two other camcorders captured the scene from the far corners of the room.

Lockhart shot Ken and Stone an angry look.

“Please don’t interrupt. It could be dangerous for the girl.”

“You’re the damned danger,” Randi mumbled under her breath. Lockhart frowned but didn’t respond. He placed the incense in an ashtray on the nightstand and picked up a cheap crucifix and a small plastic bottle with a faded picture of Jesus on it.

“Blessed are the sweet names,” Lockhart said, and squirted holy water on the bed and Abby, who flinched and moaned. “Jesus, Mary, Joseph.”

Abby twitched as more holy water landed on her. Each drop left a tiny red spot on her skin.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from all evil. Amen.”

“Amen,” Curt said. Del and Ken echoed him.

Lockhart held the cross close to Abigail’s face. She moaned again, tears running down her cheeks.

“See how the power of the Lord makes her ill,” he said.

“Or maybe you’re just frightening the hell out of her.” Stone wanted to knock the cross from the ex-priest’s hand but he’d promised Curt he wouldn’t interfere.

“Not her, the beast within her,” Lockhart replied, using the crucifix to make the sign of the cross over her body. Head, waist, shoulders. Still holding the crucifix aloft, he exchanged the bottle of holy water for a worn Bible, which he opened and began reading from.

“By the hand of God I cast you out, demon! The kingdom of the Lord claims this child! You are not welcome here! Leave this girl. Leave her!” He punctuated each sentence with a swoop of the cross and then pressed it against Abby’s cheek.

She cried out and twisted away.

“Hold her!” Lockhart shouted. Curt leaped forward and pinned her arms to the bed.

“Stay still, sweetheart. This will be over—”

“Fuck you!”

Abby wrenched free and bolted upright, her face contorted with rage. Before Curt could grab her again, she landed a fist to her father’s nose with a sickening crunch. He cried out and stumbled back, blood running down his face. Lockhart slammed the cross against her chest and she hissed at him, spittle flying from her lips.

“Silence, demon! You’re not welcome in this house!”

“Fuck you and your Jesus!” Abby shouted. On the other side of the room, two pictures fell off the wall. Abby swatted Lockhart’s hand, knocking the cross to the floor. He grabbed the holy water and sprayed her.

“God the Father Almighty, cleanse this girl!”

The water sizzled and turned to steam where it struck Abby. A fetid odor reached Stone. A smell from his childhood, from when he and his friends would wade through stagnant ponds to catch turtles and frogs. Swamp gas and aged detritus, sulfur and rot all mixed together. Smoke rose from Abby’s chest, the acrid stink of burning cloth adding to the stomach-churning mélange.

“Ebate ti sveštenik!” she shouted.

“Begone, demon!” Lockhart pressed harder.

“I’ll see you dead, priest!”

Abby fell back on the bed, panting, a cross-shaped blackened mark on her pajama top. Red spots covered her arms and face.

Lockhart squirted more holy water, but this time Abby didn’t react. Shari tried to lead Curt out of the room but he shook her off.

“I’m staying,” he said, wiping his arm across his nose.

Lockhart handed him a bottle of holy water.

“Use some each time you hear me say the Lord’s name,” he said, then raised his voice. “I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, take yourself and your minions and depart! In the name of God the Father, the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit, depart.”

Stone motioned for Ken to move closer with the camera. Curt shook the bottle over Abby. She groaned and writhed. A stack of books tumbled off a shelf.

“Just as Christ baptized his followers, so do we baptize this child again. You shall not defile this holy temple, demon. You are not welcome here. Depart!”

Abby’s eyes opened, bulging from their sockets. Her body went rigid and Stone tensed, prepared for another violent outburst. But instead, she relaxed and closed her eyes. Her rapid breathing slowed. Lockhart touched the cross to her forehead.

Nothing happened.

“Is that it?” Del asked. “Is it over?”

“No.” Lockhart shook his head. “This is just the beginning. The demon has retreated but the doorway remains open. The girl will sleep for a while, and we should rest as well. Then we’ll begin again.”

“How do you know when you’ve driven it out permanently?” Ken aimed the camera at Lockhart, who paused before answering.

“Trust me. You’ll know.”

Rob leaned against the back of the house, the late afternoon sun warm on his face. Unlike the harsh, burning rays of California or Mexico, the New York sunshine didn’t cause a prickly sensation on his skin. He’d forgotten how soft East Coast summers could be, even with the humidity that sometimes made you feel like you were in a sauna.

He glanced around, took his flask from his hip pocket, and downed a quick swig of vodka. The liquid courage warmed his belly but couldn’t melt the frigid knot of doubt lodged in his chest. The one that had formed there after the death of Evan Michaels and never thawed. He sipped again, wishing he didn’t need the booze, that God would instead give him the strength he needed for what was to come. Except God, much like Rob’s father, seemed to be a ‘you made this mess, now you take care of it’ kind of guy.

You’re going to kill the girl too.

“You don’t know that,” he whispered. In response, his inner self laughed.

She’s as good as dead. You’re out of your league on this one.

The word dead stabbed at Rob’s soul, reminding him of other failures, moral and physical. Just as his psyche intended.

“I’ve performed dozens of rituals without a problem.” And there’d never been another death after Evan Michaels. Although a few had come close.

Yes, but this one is powerful. Even a drunk like you can sense it.

His hand gripped the flask tighter and he drank again. As much as he hated the voice, it wasn’t lying. This time did feel different. More dangerous. Like how he imagined a lion tamer felt each time they entered the cage, knowing that if they lost focus for just one second, the beast would be on them, teeth and claws tearing at soft flesh. Maybe he should stop, wait until Father Bonaventura recovered from his surgery. That made a lot more sense than—

What are you, a sheep?

Rob frowned. The voice had changed, grown rougher and lower. Almost a growl. Filled with angry venom instead of simple mockery.

Baa, little sheep! Walk away with your tail between your legs. Let a fucking real priest solve your problem for you. All these people will witness your failure. And you’ll spend the rest of your pathetic life waiting to die. You know where your soul will go, don’t you?

Rob bit his lip as the voice exposed his greatest fear. He did know. Straight to Hell. He’d degraded himself for too many years, wallowed in the pleasures of the flesh.

Unless you redeem yourself. Be a man, not a fucking sheep.

Redemption. His last hope. For so long he’d believed the stains on his soul were permanent, that he’d doomed himself to an eternity of torture for his sins. But ever since he’d arrived in Hastings Mills, he’d felt that maybe God had granted him one final chance to enter his kingdom someday.

And that chance was the Brock sisters.

The moment he’d seen them, something had changed. He knew it when he met Abigail Rawlings for the first time. So young, so innocent, so beautiful.

Yet he had no desire to lie with her.

Instead, it was the Witches of Midway who held his attention, who filled his dreams with images, both as children and adults. He desired them in a way he’d never experienced before. More than physical, it felt….

Ordained.

Yes. For once, he and his inner voice agreed. If only he knew what he needed to do.

You have to kill them.

Rob straightened up and the flask fell from his hand.

Murder? For all his transgressions, he’d never—

Really? You carry the blood of many on your hands.

Images of faces came to him. Evan Michaels. Kylie. Caitlyn. Lori. The people who’d died because of his actions.

Wasn’t that murder?

For you were straying like sheep, but have now returned to the shepherd and overseer of your soul.

Yes! How could he have been so blind? The words of the apostle Peter made sense. The Lord was the ultimate shepherd, and all good Christians his sheep. And now the time had come to rejoin the flock.

“The Lord is my shepherd,” Rob whispered. “I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness.”

Psalm 23:1-3. God leads, God commands, and those who follow Him shall end up in Heaven.

They are evil. All of them. You, sheep, will be the sword of the Lord.

“Thus all flesh will know that I, the Lord, have drawn my sword from its sheath. It will not return to its sheath again.” Ezekiel 21:5.

The sword of the Lord.

Me.

Doing the Lord’s bidding.

“Yes, my Lord,” he said, looking up at the sky, his heart joyous. Finally, after so many years of doubt, God had spoken to him! “Thy will be done. But how?”

A picture appeared in his head. A cabinet. In the basement. Not a sword, but something even better.

The Lord provides for his sheep.

A gentle heat wrapped him, but instead of the sun, it was God’s love warming his soul.

He slid the flask into his pocket and returned to the house.

Stone peered over Ken’s shoulder as they reviewed the latest report from the team in LA. So far they hadn’t had any luck unearthing the skeletons in Lockhart’s closet. Now Stone had them digging deeper, all the way back to when Lockhart got in trouble in college. So far, Lockhart’s story checked out. The students involved had been charged with trespassing and vandalism and put on discretionary probation for the remainder of the year. Kylie Johnson’s death was listed as accidental.

“Goddammit, there has to be something!” Stone’s voice reverberated in the tiny space. He kicked a metal footlocker and Ken jumped in his seat.

“Boss, they’re trying. We all are.”

“Fucking try harder.” Stone stepped out of the van and found Shari and Claudia wearing identical frowns.

“What?” He passed them without stopping.

“Is there anything we can do?” Claudia called after him.

“Yeah. Use your superpowers and talk to the bitch haunting this house.” He headed for the road. “I’m going for a walk to clear my goddamned head.”

Claudia watched him walk away and then turned to her sister.

—It’s getting worse.— She didn’t want to admit what that might mean, but she couldn’t hide her thoughts from Shari.

—We have to find out. You have to find out. Tonight.—

With a sigh, Claudia nodded. With all the evil in the Rawlingses’ house, it was too hard to pinpoint any one source. Whatever creature—

—Demon— Shari cut in.

—had possessed Abby, it also managed to affect Curt, even if only temporarily. Which meant it could be doing the same thing to Stone. In order to find out, one of them would have to read him. Which meant Claudia. Easier said than done. It required prolonged physical contact, something that hadn’t happened since they’d arrived in Hastings Mills. Besides there being no real chance for privacy, Stone had shown zero interest in her the last few days. She wanted to believe he was just too focused on the job, but she’d seen how he looked at Randi Zimmerman. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to see his thoughts. Finding a way to get him alone for a few minutes would be difficult.

And she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She’d avoided doing it for exactly that reason when they showed him the truth about Lockhart.

—You have to. We don’t have much time.—

Shari returned to the house, leaving Claudia alone on the driveway. Her sister’s last comment worried her. It was almost like she knew something she wasn’t telling. Shari, the older by twenty minutes, had always been the stronger of the two. She also tended to be darker, more morose, more of a loner. She’d never had a real relationship with anyone, man or woman, outside of the occasional one-night stand purely for physical release. Her one and only love affair had turned into a disaster when the woman got into bed with Claudia and then claimed it had been an ‘honest mistake’. She hadn’t known the twins saw right through her charade.

Claudia’s relationships hadn’t been much better, until she met Stone. Their initial booty calls had quickly evolved into a real romance and the sisters had moved into Stone’s house. It made for some awkward moments, but being apart too long was physically and psychically painful for them, so the three of them had compromised. Despite Stone’s best efforts to win her over, though, Shari still made no secret of disliking her sister’s relationship, holding fast to her belief they’d both be better off without any emotional entanglements.

She can’t be hiding anything. There’ve never been any secrets between us. We couldn’t keep one even if we wanted to.

With no real plan in mind, Claudia sat down on the porch stairs to wait for Stone. If she was lucky, maybe when he returned she’d have the chance to read him.

Hopefully I won’t find anything inside him.

From somewhere in the house, Shari echoed her thought.