Back in the dark, Liza’s teeth were chattering with cold and fear.
Going somewhere.
Not allowing herself to think where or to what.
She’d tried to start recording again once she’d climbed down, Reaper behind her, but her fingers were icy and she’d been shaking too badly to hold the camera still, so she’d stuffed it into her parka’s right-hand pocket, and it wasn’t so much a case of reporting now rather than of trying to alert someone to her whereabouts.
Please come find me.
Send help.
The only light was coming from behind her, from Reaper’s flashlight, tucked into his belt, the man with the shotgun slow, but keeping her moving, with no chance of retreat, and it occurred to her that if she suddenly accelerated, ran ahead of him to Shiloh Oaks, where Osborn might still be alive, maybe they could lie in wait together for the sick man lagging behind …
Though if she left Reaper too far behind, she’d be in absolute darkness, so the odds of her finding the spiral steps up to the big house were worse than poor, and if she got lost down here, fell down, hurt herself – just the thought made her want to scream.
Besides which, if she ran, Reaper would probably shoot her.
‘Where are we going?’ Her voice sounded scared, hollow.
‘To Pike,’ he answered.
Her heart seemed to flip over in her chest.
‘You took him.’
‘Obviously,’ he said. ‘Keep on walking.’
He was breathless, and she could hear a wheezing, different from Osborn’s, almost a creaking sound in this man’s throat and chest, and maybe, if she was incredibly lucky, he might collapse, might die. She wished for that suddenly, had never wished for anyone’s death before, though collapse would be enough, would be better, because then he’d have to answer for what he’d done …
‘I know these tunnels very well.’ His voice echoed spookily. ‘I’ve known them most of my life.’
‘When you were a boy?’ she asked.
‘When I was a boy who believed that the Angel of the Lord was speaking to me.’
She thought she heard a dreamier quality in his tone, and maybe she should try keeping him there, in the past …
‘You came down here then?’ she asked.
‘As often as I could.’
She waited, but he didn’t elaborate.
‘How come?’ she asked.
‘You have to realize that I wasn’t the same person then, Ms Plain. I’d say that I was probably a rather sweet, deeply religious boy who adored his mother and had good reason to dislike and fear his father. That boy loved Bible stories, but John Tilden disapproved, made the boy’s mother’s life wretched over it, so the boy needed a place of his own, where he felt safe, could be himself.’
The switch to third person was fascinating, even in these circumstances, and Liza realized abruptly that she should be recording this, and as smoothly as she could, she put her numb right hand into her pocket, felt for the camera’s red button and pressed it, could only hope that the built-in mike would pick up his voice, because for one thing, this was evidence, and for another, it was the most extraordinary interview she was ever likely to undertake.
‘How did you know about the tunnels?’ she asked.
‘Stop a moment, please.’ Reaper’s breathlessness was worse. ‘I need to rest.’
She stopped, turned. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Never better.’ He leaned heavily on his cane, went on talking. ‘The boy was in Saint Matthew’s one day when his mother was praying – she’d pray for hours sometimes, and though he was religious, he was still just a boy, so he got bored, went exploring. He knew about the undercroft – everyone did – and that day he went down there, and no one was around, and he was inquisitive as well as bored, so he wandered into the archive room, kicked at a rug, discovered a trapdoor and opened it.’
‘And went down? Just like that?’
‘Not that day, but once he knew it was there, he felt drawn by it. And one afternoon, not long after, he went into church with his pocket flashlight, hid until the vicar had gone out, opened the trapdoor, used a wedge of paper to keep the hatch open, found the ladder and climbed down.’
‘Wasn’t he scared?’
‘Only once, when he thought he was lost, but he prayed for help and found his way back, and after that he knew why he’d been sent there. It was his place to pray and read the Bible without John Tilden knowing, without his mother getting yelled at or slapped. So next time, he went back with two candles and matches, and that was when he found his actual place. It made him think of the tomb, the sepulcher that Christ had lain in before his resurrection. It was perfect.’
He took a breath, and his cough came.
‘Damn it.’ He coughed harder, then cleared his throat and straightened up. ‘Onward, Ms Plain.’
They began moving again, and Liza wondered if he could hear the faint sound of the camera working in her pocket, maybe even see its red light.
‘He had to stop coming down for a very long time, after they put him away,’ he went on. ‘But he never forgot it, and so, when he got out of the Ames, and after he attacked the vicar at that other church and went on the run, he came to the obvious place.’
‘Back here.’
‘I think he hoped it might give him peace, help to restore his faith, and briefly he even wondered if the Angel had sent him on a long detour via the Ames. But he had to be practical, had to eat, find a way to survive, so after he’d rested a while, when he knew it was the middle of the night, he went back up to the street and helped himself to food from the garbage outside his father’s restaurant. And a dog started barking, and the vicar had reported the assault, and the Ames had alerted John Tilden, so when the dog woke him, he called the cops.’
Reaper paused again.
‘And that was the very end of the boy who believed in angels.’
Above ground, in the nave, limbo was continuing to take its toll.
Eddie Leary, Mitch Roper and Stan Nowak were side by side now in the ninth row, had made their latest move after Stephen Plain had finally joined forces with Keenan, organizing makeshift ‘bathroom’ arrangements, utilizing basins and vessels stored beneath a cloth-covered table in the narthex; and neither Michael nor Joel had raised objections, and people were now waiting in line in the south-west corner, those nearing the front turning their backs to give an illusion of privacy.
Michael had noted the young men’s move, had decided that splitting them up again might lead to altercation, perhaps even to another tragedy, so he was just leaving them be, keeping an eye on them, and had advised Joel to do the same.
Limbo wearing thin now all over.