LUPE GOT behind the wheel of Bobby’s Nissan, and Carly clambered into the passenger seat while Phil and Kevin piled into the back. “Where are we going?” Carly asked as Lupe whipped the car backward out of Phil’s driveway.

Lupe threw the car into forward gear and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The fire of determination burned in her eyes. “A place Graham told me about.”

“Can you please slow down?” Kevin wailed. “You’re going to get us killed!”

Lupe eased off the gas a bit but maintained a steely grip on the steering wheel.

“It won’t help things if we get pulled over,” Phil commented from behind Carly as Lupe ran a stop sign. Carly could hear the fear in his voice, immensely grateful that her father wasn’t there to chastise him.

“We won’t get pulled over,” Lupe said in a dark tone.

And she was right. Ten minutes later, they arrived in the parking lot at Arbor Villa Nursing Home. Without providing an explanation, Lupe strode to the front door with purpose in her step.

Carly turned to an equally-clueless Phil and shrugged.

Lupe was already talking to a woman sitting behind a reception desk when they came through the entrance into a lobby with butter-yellow walls and a tile floor that made Carly’s shoes squeak. “Yes, he’s here,” the receptionist said to Lupe. “Are you a relative?”

A relative?

Just what was going on?

“No, but a—how do you say?—mutual friend is sick and we thought he would want to know. Can we see him?”

“Wait one moment, please.” The woman disappeared through a doorway on the other side of the desk.

“So what’s the big secret?” Carly asked, staring after her.

Lupe shook her head, her expression tight. “I don’t want to say until I know for certain.”

Just then the woman reappeared wearing a smile. “He says to come on back. He’s in room 39. Do you need someone to show you the way?”

“No thank you.”

Again, Lupe set off ahead of them. Dread gnawed at Carly’s insides. Something terrible was going to happen. She just knew it.

Carly eyed the numbers above the doors on the right-hand side of the hallway. Twenty-one, twenty-three, twenty-five. Some of the doors they passed sat several inches ajar, and Carly caught glimpses of frail, stooped figures huddled beneath blankets in beds. A few of the nursing home residents had visitors, but the rest Carly saw were alone. Maybe those people’s families weren’t home from work yet. Or maybe they didn’t have families at all and they were living out the remainder of their lives without loved ones to care for them.

As they passed room 35, Carly’s surroundings vanished in a swirl of color and she found herself in a bustling place crowded with people and happy voices.

It took several moments for her to get her bearings. She was standing in front of a prize case containing stuffed animals, novelty basketballs, colorful change purses, and more.

“Dang it, I still don’t have enough tickets to get anything good!” a familiar voice said beside her. “Come on, let’s go play the UFO game again.”

Carly blinked. Standing at her side was her sister Jackie, who had a huge wad of pink tickets bunched up in her hand. “You go play the UFO game,” Carly said. “I want to go try something else.”

Carly’s pulse raced with the realization that she was two Carly Jovingos at the same time: a twenty-one-year-old trapped inside a thirteen-year-old’s body.

Together she and Jackie turned to go back to the gaming area. Several yards away a man and his young children stood in front of an arcade with flashing lights.

“Daddy, show me how to play!” a little girl in pigtails said, standing on her tiptoes to better see the arcade screen. A boy who must have been her younger brother stood beside her wearing a Spiderman shirt and yellow Crocs.

Their father appeared distracted as he dug around in the pockets of his cargo pants. “Hang on a minute, baby. Daddy needs to see how many tokens he has left.”

“Aw, they’re so cute,” Jackie commented, then halted. “Hold on a sec. I want to ask Mom something.”

No. No. Don’t do it.

But there was no stopping it, because this was the past and the past could not be changed.

Jackie let out a funny little noise. Confused, the thirteen-year-old Carly made an about-face to see what the matter was, and her blood ran cold.

A thirtyish woman with dark hair was standing with a gun pointed at the man accompanying the children at the arcade, blind to everything else but them.

“Oh, no,” Jackie whispered as a glint of determination shined in her eyes, so much like their father’s. Then, at the same moment the gun fired, Jackie leapt in front of the woman and collapsed to the floor with the wad of tickets still clutched in her twitching hand.

The memory ended, and Carly was back in the hallway at the nursing home. Beside her, Kevin was sobbing, Lupe was trembling like she’d just faced down a monster, and Phil’s face had gone deathly white.

They were still outside of room 35.

“What happened?” Carly whispered.

Phil cleared his throat, making a visible effort to regain his composure. “Something just made me relive the day Martin died.”

Lupe’s jaw quivered. “I betrayed Randy again.”

“I saw the alley,” Kevin said somewhat enigmatically, though Carly knew that whatever he saw had hurt him, too.

Lupe shook her head as if to clear it and glanced back up at the numbers over the doors. Room 39 was two doors down, and it sat open about an inch, seeming to beckon them. Together, they continued to the door and pushed it open.

I must have no fear.

Carly’s first impression was one of comfort. Faint strains of classical music issued from an iPod dock sitting on a table beside an empty bed. The walls were painted lilac, and here and there copies of famous pieces of art hung on them, including Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

The wide window at the end of the room opposite the door offered a view of a lush courtyard. A fortyish, auburn-haired man in an electric wheelchair sat in front of it facing away from them. “Come in and close the door,” he said, his tone soft.

Phil hesitated, but he clicked the door into place anyway.

Then, ever so slowly, the wheelchair turned to face them.

The man’s limbs appeared frail and immobile, his head leaned back at an odd angle, and Carly saw that he wore some kind of black earpiece like a Bluetooth.

It was Thane.

His eyes shot daggers at them.

Carly saw that his tongue was pierced when he next spoke. “You’ll regret coming here.”

“I don’t understand,” Phil said to Lupe, looking shaken. “How did you know where to find him?”

Lupe cleared her throat. “Graham told me he used to visit this nursing home to keep the residents company. He said he made a new friend here named Nate Bagdasarian. He told me Nate couldn’t stand people who can’t mind their own business.”

Hadn’t Bobby asked about a Nate while they drove to the house where he and Randy subsequently disappeared? “That’s funny,” Carly said, having trouble reconciling the man in the wheelchair with the Thane who’d been haunting her in recent days. “He can’t stay out of ours.”

Lupe continued, speaking to Thane this time. “Your full name is Nathaniel, isn’t it? Nate and Thane are your nicknames.”

Thane’s lip curled. “I can paralyze you the same as I did to him.”

Alarm bells went off in Carly’s head. At one point Phil had mentioned that Graham had been so damaged by his aneurysm that he couldn’t even speak. “We need to get out of here,” she said, wanting to put as much ground between her and Thane as possible.

A spark of amusement lit up Thane’s face. “I can hurt you from anywhere. It’s part of my gift.”

“And what exactly do you call this ‘gift’ of yours?” Phil asked, reaching for his gun.

A non-paralyzed version of Thane appeared two yards in front of the one in the wheelchair. “We call it the gift of Thought.”

Kevin swayed where he stood. “I was right. God help us, I was right.”

Phil pointed the gun at the real Thane’s head. “Tell us where Randy and Bobby have gone.”

Thane’s apparition gave a little sniff. The actual Thane’s eyes were scrunched shut in concentration. “Why should I do that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll kill you.”

“And risk going to prison for murder? You’ll probably get the chair for that, murdering a poor, innocent cripple who can’t even lift a finger to defend himself.”

Phil seemed to weigh this. Then he lowered the gun and put it back in the holster he hid under his shirt.

“That’s better,” the apparition said with a smile before vanishing.

The real Thane opened his eyes. “So there you have it. I can make you see whatever I want.”

Even though every cell in her body urged her to make a beeline back out to the car, Carly boldly stepped forward. “Why do you do this to people? You have this ability. Why not use it to help people?”

“Because that’s not what it’s for.” A glimmer of malice shined in Thane’s eyes. “You want to know where your friends are? Have the fat one heal me, and I’ll tell you.”

Kevin blanched. “Me? No. I won’t do that. Not for someone like you.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Thane said. “What a pity. That’s fine, though, because my father made me a promise. I’ll walk again when my work here is done.”

At the same moment Carly said, “Your father?” Phil said, “What work?”

Thane just laughed. “I didn’t realize you’d be so eager to learn from me. Very well. Sit down, and I’ll tell you a little story.”

FARLEY—THE GUARD with the gun—ordered Bobby, Randy, and Adrian to take seats in front of the television. Then he moved to the door, blocking their only means of escape.

“Troy made everyone watch a video like this when screening them for membership in this little club,” Jack explained as the DVD began to play. “It was to gauge their reactions and make sure they weren’t undercover. If they were, they would have been killed.”

Bobby’s palms grew sweaty.

Be strong, the Spirit urged.

A bird’s eye view of a bedroom like the one in which they’d found Lily appeared on the screen. A young girl—not Lily—sat on the edge of the bed, and a middle-aged woman came into view holding a knife. The woman swung the knife back and plunged it into the girl’s arm, pinning it to the bed.

Bobby scrunched his eyes shut and received a prompt slap on the back of the head. “None of that,” Jack said. “You’re going to watch this.”

Figuring it was best to obey since doing so might preserve his life, Bobby forced his eyes open and watched the woman tugging the knife out of the girl’s arm. The girl shuddered as blood pooled on the bedclothes, but she put up little resistance.

The woman proceeded to stab the girl again, and again after that. Adrian retched, and Randy’s face deepened to a shade of crimson.

Then, abruptly, the video clip ended.

“What are you trying to prove to us?” Bobby managed to say. The image of the suffering child was going to be forever branded in his mind like a burning scar.

“I’m not proving anything. I’m explaining what we do.” Jack folded his hands together in front of him. “Carol, who you just saw in the video, always struggled to contain her violent tendencies. When my dear late boss founded this club, he offered Carol a way to release that energy. Nobody even has to die.”

“Because Vincent heals them,” Bobby said.

“Obviously. You might say this club provides a valuable service. It keeps the violent contained since they can let it all out here without repercussions.”

Randy had murder in his eyes. “Has violent crime gone down since this club opened its doors?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, nor do I care. But I wasn’t finished. Some members are simply voyeurs. That’s what the shows are for. They sit in a theater and watch other members vent their energy onto our subjects.”

“Who Vincent then heals,” Randy said.

Bobby could no longer contain his growing anger. “This is torture you’re talking about! Don’t you even think about what those kids go through?” The girl in the suite acted like part of her was missing. Like she was an empty shell of a person without a life and without hope.

Jack shrugged. “Why should I care?”

Bobby wanted to hurt him. To throw something heavy at him, to put his hands around his neck and squeeze the life out of him.

To shut him in a room like Lily and have a creep come and put an end to him so he could never hurt another soul.

“So what happens now?” Bobby asked, struggling to maintain his composure. Since Jack had admitted what went on here, they would never be allowed to leave.

Jack paced casually back and forth as he spoke. “Troy and I didn’t always see eye to eye. Not everyone here is satisfied with the services offered because they just aren’t quite what some of the clients want.” He turned to the guard. “Farley? Take them to one of the confinement rooms. I have some things to work on.”

The giant guard gave a curt nod and stepped toward Bobby, who flew out of the chair before the guy could get hold of him.

As if he’d been planning it the whole time, Randy jumped up, grabbed his chair, and swung it hard at Farley, who let out a surprised “Oof!” when the chair slammed into him. Farley staggered to the side and pointed his gun at Randy, his finger moving toward the trigger.

“Don’t kill them, you idiot!” Jack screeched as he reached for his own gun. “Our clients can pay us ten grand to do it themselves!”

Not trusting Farley to obey Jack’s command, Bobby dropped to his stomach and crawled around to the other side of the desk, praying that he would find a phone, and fast.

In the front part of the room, Adrian was grunting and huffing as she joined the fray. Another gun fired, nearly making Bobby empty his bladder. Chips of plaster and dust drifted down from the ceiling, and Bobby sneezed.

Crouching behind the desk, Bobby yanked open drawers. Papers, binders, lewd magazines, handcuffs, a packet of Q-tips. Nothing useful here. He forced back the panic that threatened to overtake him, and as he did, a sense of peace trickled into its place like a soothing balm.

Thanks, he thought, feeling strangely detached from the fight occurring only yards away.

All at once he knew he had to reach his arm up above the top of the desk.

Without the slightest bit of worry, he blindly patted around on the smooth surface and felt a box.

He pulled it down and set it in his lap.

It was an old King Edward cigar box. Bobby lifted the lid and blinked.

Nestled inside were his and Randy’s phones as well as the two knives they’d brought with them to the house behind St. Paul’s, all of which must have been confiscated when he and Randy arrived.

Bobby dialed 911 on both cell phones and set them on the floor in the space beneath the desk. Hopefully the cops would be able to trace the origins of the calls, because Bobby didn’t have the faintest idea where the Domus was.

Still maintaining his newfound inner peace, Bobby took a knife in each hand and stood up to assess the situation.

Randy had a struggling Jack in a headlock, and Farley had shoved Adrian up against a wall, his hands squeezing her neck.

Her hands had a death grip on the man’s wrists as she tried to force him off of her.

She might as well have been fighting off a mountain.

Bobby’s vision narrowed to a point. Feeling no fear, he passed Randy and Jack, snuck up behind Farley, and plunged both knives into his back, pulling them out again just as quickly.

The man let go of Adrian with an animal yell and flailed around as blood splattered on the floor.

Adrian rubbed at her neck, which showed signs of bruising.

Bobby ducked a blow from Farley and dashed to one side. He’d thought that stabbing Farley might put him out of action, but it only made him madder. Farley’s eyes blazed, and he lunged at Bobby again with his hands out to choke him, too.

Just as Farley was onto him, Bobby eyed the man’s abandoned gun lying on the floor—it seemed to have been left there just for him.

His stomach squirmed. He didn’t have a problem with hurting someone, but killing them?

No.

Unfortunately, he could see no alternative. Farley was a big guy, and even though he was dripping blood everywhere, he might still have the strength to kill Bobby.

Caleb had warned Bobby to preserve his life at any cost.

Had Caleb known things would come to this?

Eyes stinging, Bobby ducked away from the massive guard, snatched the gun off the floor, and turned it on him.

He pulled the trigger the second Farley’s hand touched his throat. Farley jerked backward, then sat down hard on the floor as blood oozed from the front of his muscle shirt.

Something began ringing far away inside Bobby’s head. This was a terrible mistake. He shouldn’t have done that. He could have just darted past the man and run out into the hallway to get away from him. Nobody should have had to die.

Bobby hunched over and threw up, but it had been so long since he’d eaten that the only thing that came out was acid.

Randy was still struggling with Jack, whose livid eyes bulged out of his head. “A little help here?”

Bobby felt cold inside. “I’m not going to shoot him, too.”

“Why not?”

“I—I can’t.” Bobby was shaking so badly he almost couldn’t get the words out.

“Then don’t, but for the love of God, do something.”

Jack managed to spit out a swear word that only made him appear juvenile.

“Wait a minute,” Bobby said, remembering the handcuffs he’d seen in the desk. He retrieved them, and together he and Randy shoved Jack onto his stomach and wrenched his arms behind him. Bobby forced the cuffs onto Jack’s wrists and clicked them into place.

Randy sat on his back, looking as satisfied as a cat who’d finally caught his prey.

“You realize,” Jack said, his voice muffled, “that Farley and I aren’t the only people who worked for Troy? As soon as you open that door you’ll have to face the others.”

“I’m not too concerned about them right now.” Bobby thought of the phones still hidden under the desk. His gaze traveled to Adrian, who had backed into a corner and held her head in her hands. His chest lightened a little. He may not have felt any love for his mother—how could he, when he didn’t even know her?—but he was glad to see that for the moment, she was okay.

She lifted her head, wearing a faint smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Bobby tried not to look at the body of the man he’d just killed. If he’d had any innocence left within him, it was surely gone now.

A languid whisper filled his head. You asked for this, Servant. We wanted you to leave and never come back.

On the floor, Jack snickered, and the shadowy aura in Bobby’s mind fluttered as if laughing with him.

“It was you,” Adrian said, looking at Jack. “I remember now. Someone must have drugged me and made me forget.”

“What is it you remember?” Randy asked, still sitting on Jack’s back with no apparent desire to stand up.

“That man.” She pointed. “He said he was going to find me a job since the money I brought with me was running out.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Randy said, “but he lies.”

Bobby decided to search the room for his shoes (if his phone had been in here, surely they’d be here, too) and came across a black wardrobe-sized cabinet behind the desk. He opened the doors and felt himself deflate.

The wardrobe contained five shelves. Each was heaped high with personal items—everything from plastic jewelry and brightly-colored hair accessories to wristwatches and shoes, most of which were quite small.

Bobby grabbed his gym shoes and Randy’s Doc Martens off the top of the stack, then saw a pair of women’s Nikes sitting with them and took them, too. “Here,” he said. “I found our stuff.”

As everyone put on their respective pairs of shoes, Jack let out a little sigh that made Bobby want to kick him in the head.

Ignoring him, Bobby went to the other side of the desk and retrieved the cell phones, then pocketed them. “Okay,” he said as he returned to the front and plucked the bloody knives off the floor. “We should head out.”

“If I stand up,” Randy said, “this little punk is going to get up and try to stop us.”

Bobby let out a huff of frustration. “Fine. Club him in the head with the gun.”

“Gladly,” Randy said, cutting off Jack’s immediate objection. Bobby handed Randy the gun, and he smashed the butt of it into Jack’s temple. Jack’s body went slack.

A cruel little voice inside Bobby’s mind hoped Jack was dead. Better Randy to kill him than Bobby, who couldn’t stomach two kills in one lifetime, much less two in one day.

Randy stood and eyed the motionless form on the floor. “You have to wonder what made him this way.”

“Who cares?” Bobby moved toward the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Before heading out, Randy passed the gun to Adrian and took a knife for himself.

Bobby grabbed hold of the knob and pulled the door open as his heart tried to beat a hole through his chest. Please warn me if someone’s coming.

He stepped out into the vacant hallway and was greeted by a writhing black aura that flooded his mind.

The face of Rory Wells started to appear in his thoughts, but with Bobby’s sheer willpower he forced it away.

At the distant bend of the hallway, a rather dazed Vincent staggered around the corner holding his hand to his head. He caught sight of them and froze.

Help him, the Spirit said.

Help him how? Bobby thought wildly. He wasn’t ready to drive out the demon that afflicted the healer. He was ready to find a way out of this awful place and book it back to Autumn Ridge. Or are we in Autumn Ridge?

Adrian lifted the gun and pointed it toward Vincent.

“No,” Bobby said. “He’s a victim, too. Just like the kids.” Someone—the late Troy, perhaps—had found Vincent and took the opportunity to use his ability to start this abhorrent enterprise.

Maybe Vincent’s gift resulted from his possession. If Vincent was freed from demon kind’s grip on his soul, he might lose the ability to heal wounds.

Bobby set off toward Vincent at a fast clip. “Hey!” he said. “Vincent?”

Vincent halted and blinked; his eyes appearing out of focus. He probably had a concussion after his altercation with the wine bottle. “Yes?”

“I want you to help us, but first I want to help you.”

A look of suspicion entered Vincent’s eyes. “What is it you need?”

“First let’s go back to Lily’s room. Okay?”

Vincent nodded, then grimaced.

They followed him back to the suite.

The body of the man named Troy still lay on the floor in the suite’s living area. Bobby skirted the still form without looking at it. No wonder Vincent acted like he didn’t want to come back here.

Vincent led Bobby and Randy into a small study close to the back of the suite. Adrian left them to sit with Lily.

“Why do they have these suites?” Randy asked.

Vincent’s eyes darted back and forth between them. “Some guests stay long term and conduct their business from here when they’re not…you know.”

“How much do they pay to be here?”

“I don’t know. Troy doesn’t—didn’t—tell me that kind of thing. I’m sure it’s a lot. Not that I ever see any of the money.”

Bobby wanted to hurry, but at the moment his priority was to learn more about Vincent’s past. “How did you end up here in the first place?”

“I—I worked with a man in Salem. He had a shop. People came to him for readings and advice. If they were sick or hurt, I’d heal them. Troy must have heard about me from someone I healed. Offered me a huge salary if I’d come with him. It’s been years now, though. I haven’t left this place since then. I couldn’t even tell you how long it’s been because I lost track of the time.”

“You don’t want to be here, then,” Bobby said.

“I hate it here! I—” Vincent shuddered, and his voice was harder when he next spoke. “This is where he’s meant to be. He has no other life but this.”

Bobby knew that what was speaking now wasn’t Vincent at all. “He used to have another life, though. He needs to have it back.”

Randy closed his eyes and silently moved his lips in prayer.

A black tendril entered Bobby’s thoughts. You’re not going to save him or any of the others. They’re going to stay here and rot for all of eternity, forever and ever and ev—

“No!” Bobby shouted, fighting off the negative thoughts. Remembering what the former Servants had coached him to say, he said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, identify yourself.”

Technically the first step was to get the entity to reveal its presence, but this one had done that on its own.

Vincent made no response. His eyes took on a faraway look as he gazed at a painting of fruit hanging on the study wall.

“Do it again,” Randy whispered.

“Spirit!” Bobby shouted, feeling somewhat silly even though nothing about this situation should have been considered such. “In the n-name of the Father, and of the S-son, and of the Holy Spirit, I c-command you to state your name.”

Vincent sat down in a chair and gave a nervous twitch. Then his face broke into a smile. “What’s the matter with everyone?” he said with genuine surprise. “You act like there’s something wrong with me.”

Bobby’s first instinct was to reply, but the advice of Roger Stilgoe, who had helped coach him in what to say in this very situation, flitted through his mind. They will do everything in their power to distract you from your task, Roger had said in between sips of coffee as the group sat out in Phil Mason’s solarium the previous Sunday. Sometimes they try to engage in meaningless banter. Don’t give them the pleasure of responding. As the Servant, you’ll need to focus intensely on what you’re doing. And it’s never wrong to ask the Spirit for help.

Bobby could certainly use some of that help now. Tell me what to say.

The unnerving smile pasted on Vincent’s face warped into something far more malicious. “I’m fine,” he said before Bobby could continue. “So can we leave now? I need to go see if Lily’s okay.”

“You will not distract me,” Bobby said in a low voice as energy grew within him. “In the name of the Holy Spirit who gives me strength, I command you to state your name.”

All at once a memory so old he’d forgotten it existed entered his thoughts. He had been a boy of three playing in the sand pit behind his house with one of the neighbor boys while Charlotte and the other boy’s mother sat in the shade at the picnic table. Bobby could remember how the sand felt in his hands as he scooped fistfuls of it into a yellow pail. Life had been simple then. He knew no struggles. He knew no grief. He had no conscious inkling that a woman who’d carried him for nine months ran away.

With a pang of sorrow, Bobby realized that that boy and his simple world of sand castles were gone forever.

Tears dampened his cheeks. “You will identify yourself to me,” he said, fighting against the darkness in his mind. “In the name of God, state your name.”

Vincent’s jaw clenched, and his eyes rolled back into his head. “We are Sarcio.”

Relief at this apparent success made Bobby want to let out a cry of victory, but it would take days to completely drive out a demon so he couldn’t count this as a success just yet.

Bobby nodded. “Sarcio—in the name of God the Father, let Vincent speak.”

Tremors racked Vincent’s body. “No, no, no, no, no—”

“Vincent?” Bobby said, ignoring the plaintive note in the man’s voice. “Can you hear me?”

A slight nod. Vincent brought his hands to his face. “Get them out of me!”

“I will. I promise.” And he meant it.

“They’re trying to hurt me.”

Bobby hoped this was only a psychological hurt and not a physical one. “Start praying for them to leave you alone,” he said. “Because right now we need you to help us get out of this place.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“If you get us out, I’ll make sure nobody uses you for their own gain ever again.”

Vincent gazed longingly toward the door but seemed to weigh Bobby’s words. “I tried to get out but they wouldn’t let me leave the property. They want me to be trapped here forever.”

“Nobody’s going to be trapped here anymore. You just have to trust us and help us find a way out.”

“Bobby really can help you,” Randy said, his prayers evidently concluded for the time being. “So what’s it going to be?”

Vincent bit his lip. “I can get you out. But it’s going to be hard.”