Caterpillar, a Paranormal Romance With a Touch of Horror (8 page)

“I doubt it,” he said, not paying my nastiness the least bit of attention.  “We sometimes drive cars from impound before they go to auction. I sort of adopted this one.”  He cranked the engine and it purred quickly to life. 

The trip to Bethel flew by in a flurry of questions and polite chit-chat.  I had to admit Detective Tegan was very good at his job.  I nearly forgot I was being interrogated.  Nearly.

When he pulled up in front of my house, I drew the smelly blanket off my shoulders.  “If you’d return this, I’d appreciate it.  I can’t even remember who gave it to me, but if you find out, thank them for me.”  I grabbed my attaché.  Someone had been nice enough to return it to me after it had been processed as part of the scene.  I couldn’t remember who.  It was a wonder I was still able to recall my name. 

I reached for the door handle.

“You knew Mistee Long, didn’t you?”  His tone changed, ever so slightly.  No longer casually questioning, Tegan was all business.  And very serious.

“Yes.  We went to church together.”

“Is that all?  No conflicts, altercations, disagreements?  Any history?  Stolen boyfriends?  Childish pranks?”

“No.  She was a nice girl.  We got along.  Not much more to it.”

“And your brother, was he involved with her?”  My hand froze.  I turned to look back at Detective Tegan.

“No.  He would’ve liked to have been, but they never got the chance.”  That was true.  Heck, I didn’t even know they had plans to meet until a few hours ago.  Apparently, I was the worst person in the world to ask about Carter’s life.  Clueless didn’t touch it.

Tegan looked at me in that quiet, intense way that I was beginning to associate with him.  I imagined that in the space of those few seconds, he was determining my guilt or innocence, my honesty or deceptiveness. 

Lights flashed in the rearview mirror, illuminating his face and breaking the tension of the moment.  A patrolman driving Yota and one in a marked car pulled up behind us.  The one driving my car parked and walked the keys to Tegan’s open window.  He threw them at Tegan then turned to open the door of the patrol car that had pulled alongside us. 

Tegan handed me my keys and asked, “Do you still have my card?” 

“Yes.”

“Call if you need anything.”

“Ok.”  I opened the door and scooted until my feet touched the ground.  I wasn’t exactly
short
at five feet five inches; the Navigator was just a big SUV.

“Night,” he said.

“Night,” I returned. 

I kept my eyes straight ahead as I walked up the sidewalk.  I was determined not to look back even though I could feel his eyes on my back.  I focused on not tripping as I made my way up the porch steps.   

I unlocked the door and walked inside, closing it behind me without looking back.  I was sliding one of the deadbolts into place when I heard the Navigator pull away.  I walked to the window and watched as his tail lights faded into the night.

Chapter Seven

I stood at the window, looking out into the dark velvety night, recalling the events of the previous forty-eight hours.  Of all that was happening, there was only one thing that I could
do,
one action I could take, something within my control.  I could follow Aunt Jillian’s instructions.  I was going to pay a visit to Pastor Mike, see if I could get some answers. 

I changed into a pair of jeans, a white cable knit sweater and hiking boots.  As I pulled the door shut behind me and slid my key from the last lock, I turned toward the street and took a deep breath.  I was feeling better already, more prepared, more in control.  I even felt a little tougher, ready for whatever was to come.  Action always had that affect on me, like I was taking charge of my life, my destiny.      

At the end of the walk, I reached down to loosen the gate latch and something fuzzy moved beneath my fingers.  I yelped and jerked my hand back.  I could see the moving black dot of a spider crawling quickly down one of the white pickets of my gate.  I kicked at it and missed.  When it hit the ground, I tried to stomp on it, but it was too quick and made it into the grass where it disappeared into the blades.  A shiver wiggled its way down my spine.  I’d always hated spiders.   And I really had to call the exterminator tomorrow.

The sound of an engine starting somewhere just down the street drew my attention.  It revved loudly then, with a bark of tires, roared away, obviously in some kind of hurry.  I stepped off the curb and watched two tail lights disappear around the corner.  They looked oddly familiar.  In fact, they looked a lot like Tegan’s tail lights.

Uneasiness settled over me as I turned my attention back to my car.  One by one, single file, questions started filing in.  Was that Tegan?  Was he watching me? 
Why
would he be watching me?  I pondered and stewed all the way across town. 

When I turned onto Atkins Street, Freedom Baptist Church was right there on the left, a huge, gothic structure looming on the otherwise residential street.  I parked along the curb, looking skeptically at the dark stained-glass windows.  Although the sun had already set, it wasn’t that late.  In fact, I figured the preacher would be getting ready for evening service.  If they had one, that is.  I wondered, albeit a bit late, if I should’ve called and asked Pastor Mike to meet me.  With a shake of my head, I hopped out and headed for the church.  If I had to hunt him down, so be it.

I tried the door, which was thankfully open.  Tentatively, I peeked inside.  I saw a man sitting in the first pew, his head tilted back as he stared at the huge wooden cross that hung on the wall behind the pulpit.  I stepped in and let the door shut gently behind me.  The hinges creaked in protest.

It smelled like old books and had to be the quietest place on earth.  It looked like most churches.  There were two rows of wooden pews, red carpeting and a raised pulpit at the front and center of the church. 

The man’s head lowered then he stood and turned toward the door.  “Cat.”  It wasn’t a question; he knew exactly who I was.

A chill rippled down my spine.  “Pastor Mike?”

“You got it,” he said amicably as he started down the aisle toward me.  We met halfway and stopped, evaluating one another. 

Pastor Mike was quite a handsome man, one I guessed to be in his forties.  He was taller than me, but only a few inches.  He had dark brown, almost black hair with gray at the temples—very distinguished markings as far as I was concerned—and pale green eyes, deep set and compelling.  He smiled.  It was a warm and genuine spread of his lips that instantly put me at ease.

“I would’ve recognized you anywhere.  You look so much like Jillian it’s uncanny.”  That was news to me.  I didn’t remember favoring her very much, but, then again, it
had
been fifteen years since I’d seen her.  Things look a lot different to a nine year old.  “And she’s told me so much about you.  I feel like I know you.”

“Oh.” 

“Mike Salwyn.  It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, stretching his hand toward me. 

I looked down at it, wondering how damaging it would be to my tender psyche if I shook his hand and discovered he had all sorts of black secrets.  “It’s ok.  I’m perfectly harmless.  Take it,” he encouraged.

Hesitantly, I wrapped my fingers around his and pressed my palm in, holding my breath in dread of a barrage of imagery.  But the barrage never came.  I released my breath on a sigh of relief as a pleasant dusting of white snow filled my mind.

“See harmless.  Snow, right?”

“H-how did you know?”

“Some of what’s going on I got from your aunt Jillian, some from personal experience.”

“Do you have this…this
gift,
too?”

“Oh, no.  I meant the demons.  I’ve had some personal experience with them.  Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Demons?”  I felt queasy all of a sudden.  “What do you mean ‘demons’?”

“Just what I said.  There’s a whole world of creatures out there, Cat, that most people refuse to acknowledge.  They watch movies about them, tell ghost stories about them, find entertainment in them, but they push aside the reality of them.  All the things you’ve heard about in fairy tales and folklore and campfire stories are real.  They’re demons.”

“Creatures?  What kind of creatures?”

“Vampires and flesh-eaters, werewolves and djinns, lamia and furies, you name it.  There’re hundreds of demonic manifestations.  I’m sure you’ll learn about that in the book.”

“Is this a joke?”  I didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or cry, but my eyes were stinging so it wasn’t hard to guess which it would likely be.  I said a silent prayer that he was joking, that it was all a belated birthday prank.  I’d never been punk’d before; maybe I was due.

His expression turned grave. “I’d never joke about demons, Cat.” 

“And what does this have to do with me?”

“The book will explain that, too.”

“What book?”

“The Book of Qaphsiel.” 

He pronounced it like calf-sea-elle, but that didn’t help any.  I still didn’t know what it was.  “What’s that?” 

“Your aunt will make sure you get it when the time is right, I’m sure.  The answers will always come—as you need them.  I don’t know many of the details about your family’s curse, only that your first power is one of vision.  That and that you need to light your nine candles and start your journey here, in a holy place.”

My head was spinning, with
what
I didn’t know—disbelief, fear, wonder, a feeling of purpose, a feeling of destiny and connectedness.  Maybe it was a little of each, like pieces of shrapnel in an intimidating cluster bomb of emotion.

“Curse?  I don’t—“

“I know, Cat.  You’ll learn, though.”  Pastor Mike took my arm and led me down the aisle, toward the front of the church.

A pool of light shone down on the pulpit.  At the base of the raised platform was a table, its surface covered with dozens of small white candles.  Some were lit, some not. Pastor Mike stopped in front of it.  

“In most cases, lighting a candle signifies an unspoken prayer request.  When the church prayer warriors come in, the candles are a physical reminder of the need each flame represents.  In your family’s case it not only signifies the prayers of your ancestors, but it marks the beginning of a new cycle, the hope of a new generation, another chance to break the curse.”

 “Can you tell me anything about the curse?  How does it affect me?  My life?”

“Unfortunately, I’m not your best source of information for that either.  It’s my understanding that you’ll live nine different lives.  In each life there’ll be people you must save.  There’ll be death and bloodshed and loss.  And you’ll be hunted, always hunted.”

“Nine lives?”  Was I having a nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from, one that seemed incredibly real?  That had to be it; my life was barely recognizable from what it had been just a week ago. 

“Yes.”

“How?  When?  What about my family?  My friends and my job?  I don’t—“

A sinking feeling overtook me, like I was drowning on dry land.  I could see my life, the one I’d hoped would soon return, disappearing as I sank lower and lower into a place I didn’t recognize.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have those answers.  Your aunt will help you to—“

“I haven’t seen her in fifteen years,” I interrupted, bitterness coursing through my veins and my voice.  “Pardon me if I don’t want to pin all my hopes on her.”  Then I happened to think, “Did Jillian- is she cursed, too?”

“No.  It runs on your mother’s side, but since she wasn’t here, the book has been entrusted to Jillian to pass on.”