Don't Read After Dark: Keep the lights on while reading these! (A McCray Horror Collection) (51 page)

Cecilia closed her eyes and let the nausea roll over her. She was on dry land. Well, at least dry for the next few minutes. Lightning struck over the sea as thunder boomed inland. This storm was going to be a doozy. She hoped that her mom remembered to close the storm shutters. But that would probably be asking too much.

As the first wind-whipped raindrops splashed against her face, Helen and the rest joined them. With blushed cheeks and wide smiles, the rough ride was over, and it only seemed to invigorate them.

“If the concert is anything like that ride, we are in for the night of our lives!”

Cecilia ignored Helen and watched the crowd flow by. If she could just spot Jeremy, he would feel her wrath. But she just couldn’t keep her eyes open that long. The bobbing heads churned up more nausea.

“Are you okay?” Francesca asked, as she rubbed her back.

“Why don’t you guys go on ahead?” Michael suggested. “We’ll be right behind.”

“But—” Francesca started to say, but Helen pulled her along the path up to the mansion.

“Come on. Let’s give them some ‘alone’ time.”

“You’ll look for Jeremy?” Cecilia asked.

“Yeah, sure, of course,” Helen promised. “See you soon!”

Through eyes that were nothing more than slits, Cecilia watched the rest leave, giving her more air to breathe. She was glad, as the boisterous, noisy crowd hooted and hollered its way up the hill. Catching her breath, she straightened her back. She felt ready to stand up. With support from the post, of course, but at least she was standing up. Cecilia was taking that as a win tonight.

Swallowing hard, Cecilia turned to Michael. “Go. You should join them.”

“I’m good.”

“Seriously, the worst is over. You should go.”

Michael cocked an eyebrow. “And leave you here alone in the rain?”

Actually, the raindrops felt good against her burning cheeks. The cold wind seemed to whisk away the feeling of dread and the bile at the back of her throat. Then again, anything was better than that constant tossing and rolling of the yacht ride over.

“I really appreciate everything, Michael, but you can lose the gentleman routine.”

“Excuse me?”

Cecilia took in a long breath, filling her lungs. She was starting to feel nearly human again. “You have been really sweet hanging with me like this, but I know that you manipulated me into coming along.”

What was it with guys? Jeremy lying to their mother? John harassing her? Michael withholding tickets from Francesca and Helen?

“I still have no clue about what you mean.”

As the rain came down with more vigor, Cecilia stretched her neck.

“I know that you told Helen and Francesca that they couldn’t come unless they convinced me to come along.”

Michael chuckled. “They said that, did they?”

“Look, I’m not even mad. I just need to get my stomach settled so that I can find Jeremy.
Him
, I am mad at.”

Carefully, she took a step away from the post. The world only spun a little bit. It might take her half an hour, but she would make it up to the mansion before the storm hit in force.

“Just one little problem with that theory,” Michael said, as he hovered near her.

“And that would be?”

Michael grinned. “I never said that. As a matter of fact, I told them the tickets were theirs.”

“What?” Cecilia asked, even though she had heard every word he had said.

“I even told them that they could invite another girl along, since you seemed pretty adamant that you did not want any part of this.”

“Crap,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I’m sorry. I should have realized Machiavellian Helen was behind this.”

He shrugged. “Hey, we devil-worshipping heathens are used to being typecast.” Michael shuffled his feet.

“What is it?” Cecilia asked, a little afraid to hear the answer.

Still, he looked down at the tip of his shoe, digging into the moistened ground. “I … Um … I’m not sure they really saw Jeremy.”

“What?” Cecilia apparently couldn’t stop asking that question. But seriously, what?

“I had my suspicions back at the car. But just now, when you asked them to look for Jeremy, Francesca looked pretty darn guilty, and Helen made the ‘zip it’ gesture behind your back.”

Cecilia groaned, and had to reach out for Michael to support her again. Her knees felt weak as her head spun again. So she had just gone through the worst boat ride of her life, puked her guts up in front of a somewhat-cute guy, and for what? Because Helen wanted a part in the remake of
Dangerous Liaisons
?

Oh, she was going to wring Helen’s neck. That is, once she could stand up on her own.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t want you worrying about Jeremy all night.”

Sighing, Cecilia allowed herself to relax a bit against Michael. “No,
I’m
sorry. I should have known it was the sticking-their-noses-where-they-don’t-belong twins at work.”

“It’s okay. It let us—”

Before Michael could finish his thought, a thought Cecilia wanted to hear, a mime, an
angry
mime, came running down the path at them. The black and white face makeup smeared with the rain. The red “blood” at the edges of his lips looked fake. But the anger in his eyes was not.

He made frantic movements toward the mansion.

“What does he want?” Cecilia asked.

The mime made a “wall” in front of him, then punched through it, and acted like he tossed a ball toward the mansion.

“I have no idea …” Michael answered.

“It means, get in the damned house!” the mime shouted.

“Okay, then,” Michael said, as he escorted her behind the mime, who was still mumbling to himself.

For the first time in a long while, Cecilia laughed.

* * *

“Thanks,” Paxton said, as Ruth handed him a coffee. Black.

“Having any more luck than I am?” Ruth asked.

Paxton clunked one heel up onto his desk and then the next, stretching out as best he could in his chair. It was the equivalent of going to the gym when deep in a case.

“You can only go through so many animal-sacrificing freaks before you want to sacrifice yourself. You know what I mean?”

Ruth nodded. “And who knew there were so many disturbed individuals within a hundred-mile radius?”

Paxton took a swig of the hot coffee. It nearly burned as it went down, but it was oh, so good. Now, if he just had a porterhouse to go with it…

Instead, though, he pulled his feet off the desk and tapped a stack of files on its edge. “Which is why I decided to reverse-engineer this puppy. I went back to investigate the MO, trying to establish a pattern to the killer’s choices, but I pulled up blank.”

Opening the files, he pointed down the list. “Although there is something about the names. I don’t know, like there may be a theme there, but it is just out of reach.”

Ruth leaned in, her necklace swaying over the files as she read the names aloud. “Roger Landing. María Sanchón. Father Marc Gonzales. Arnie Hoffman.” She stood up again, to Paxton’s disappointment. He was getting used to her body heat radiating toward him.

“I don’t see a—” Ruth cocked her head the way she did right before she went all smart on him. “Well, if it helps, those are all early Christian names.”

“Roger?”

Ruth nodded. “Which is a modern version of Rogellus, yes.”

“Arnie?” Paxton asked.

“Arnus, yep,” Ruth responded. “And not just Christian names, but names of martyrs.”

“Wow. You paid a lot more attention in Sunday school than I did.”

Abruptly, Ruth moved away from his desk and sat down at hers.

Paxton looked right, and then left. What just happened? “Um, did I say something wrong there?”

His partner bit her lip, seeming to go deep within herself. When Ruth finally looked up, she leaned forward, speaking only loud enough for Paxton to hear.

“No, it’s from my ex. Reading aloud from ancient Scripture was his idea of an exciting after-dinner activity with the family. You know, before he left me and Evan for a monastery.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Ruth held up her hand, though. “I know the rumors going around. I just don’t like to add fuel to the fire.” Her head cocked again.

“What is it?” Paxton asked, having a hard time keeping up with her mood.

“What were the dates on those deaths?” she asked.

Fumbling to keep up, Paxton flipped through the files. “September 16
th
, October 17
th
, and one yesterday on the 30
th
,
and the last on the 31
st
.”

“Oh, no! I don’t know why I didn’t see it before,” Ruth said, as she nearly ransacked her desk. “Do you happen to have
The Vatican’s Guide to Christianity
handy?”

“Um, gosh, no,” Paxton replied hoping the sarcasm really came through. “I must have left it at home.”

Ruth didn’t even register his sarcasm. Instead, she yelled down to a detective at the other end of the bull pen. “O’Malley. You Catholic?”

The younger detective stiffened. “Yeah. What of it?”

Ruth rose and crossed over to him. Paxton couldn’t help but follow.

“Do you have the
Pocket Guide to the Feast Days
?”

O’Malley squirmed in his seat. “Maybe.”

Paxton’s partner extended her hand. “Out with it.”

The redheaded detective dug around in his back pocket and produced the slim pamphlet. “Look, I only carry it around because my mom gave it to me for my wedding.”

Ruth rapidly flipped through the guide. “Damn it! Saint Rogellus’ feast day is September 16
th
. What’s the next one?”

Paxton opened the file. “María on October 17
th
.”

She frowned. “Which is exactly Saint Maria’s feast day. Marc’s is October 30
th
. And Arnus’ is October 31
st
. Here is the pattern,” she said excitedly.

“I’m sorry, I still don’t quite get it.” Paxton hated feeling behind the curve.

Ruth brought the feast day guide up next to the list of victims.

“Each victim not only bears the saint’s name, but was also killed on that saint’s feast day. That is how the killer is choosing his victims.”

“Whoa! That is obscure,” Paxton said, as the logic began to filter through. But that meant that the feast day guide was a guide to the killer’s agenda. “Anyone that we should be worried about tonight?”

“Good question,” Ruth answered as she flipped through the pages again. “Let’s see… Begu, Erc, Follian, Quentin, Wolfgang.”

“Whew,” Paxton whistled out, feigning wiping sweat off his forehead. “Luckily, there aren’t a lot of folks going by those names.”

“Wait!” Ruth jumped in. “Not necessarily. The killer has already shown that he will settle for the modern derivation of the saint’s name. Begu went through several corruptions to become Gwen. Erc is ancient Irish for Eric—”

“I get it, I get it,” Paxton said, surrendering to her logic once more. “But would he strike again this soon?”

“Oh, God,” O’Malley said, as he made the sign of the cross.

“What?” Ruth asked.

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” O’Malley asked, more spooked than Paxton had ever seen the detective.

Then Ruth’s face went several shades paler. “Oh, no …”

“What? What are you guys talking about?” Paxton asked looking at either one of them to explain what had them so freaked out.

With a tremor in her voice, Ruth stated, “Tonight is All Hallow’s Eve.”

“Yes, and…?”

“Tomorrow is All Saints Day,” she finished, sitting down hard in the chair next to O’Malley’s desk.

Finally, O’Malley found his voice again. “It is the feast day for all of ’em. It’s one of the highest days of devotion to the saints. It’s when you pay homage to them all…”

Oh crap
. That’s why they were both freaked out. “Or in this case, the killer has a field day killing off the surrogates.”

* * *

Cecilia nearly tripped on her own shoe as the mime rushed them into the towering front doors of the mansion. By now, it was pouring out there, and even she was grateful for the shelter of the house. Or she would have been, if there weren’t several hundred screaming teens in the ballroom.

And the more she looked at the surroundings, the more Cecilia didn’t mind a bit of rain. “Bodies” hung from the ceiling. Spider webs covered the walls. “Blood” was spilled in copious amounts across, well, everything. Clearly KMNY spared no expense in trying to create the ultimate eerie environment. They had succeeded a bit too well for Cecilia’s taste. But there was no going back outside, as the mime had locked the front door. His glare got her moving toward the loud and crowded ballroom.

The vaulted ceiling must have been at least two stories high above them. Cecilia found her feet stalling to enter the cavern of throbbing, hopped-up-on-fear teens. Behind her, a woman definitely not dressed for the part grumbled to the mime, “If I ever volunteer to chaperone another Diana Dahmer concert, shoot me.”

Cecilia couldn’t agree more. Especially with her stomach rolling again, it seemed it wasn’t quite as used to dry land as she had hoped.

The mime threw his hands up. “You? You get to wear regular clothes. Look at me!”

“Life’s hell when you’re an intern. Now be quiet, and go scare some kids.”

The mime cursed something under his breath and pushed past Cecilia and Michael.

“Hey!” Michael said, but the talkative mime simply hurried on. Michael looked at Cecilia and must have noticed that her cheeks flushed again. “We had better get something for your stomach.”

Cecilia managed to nod. “Crackers or bread.”

They entered the ballroom, but Michael kept them close to the wall, avoiding the crush of dancing maniacs. Their keepers weren’t much better. The ushers were dressed in vampire, werewolf, and zombie costumes. Again, the common theme was copious amounts of blood—not exactly reassuring. But that did not seem to be the point. KMNY wasn’t kidding. It really seemed like they wanted everyone to stain their shorts.

An announcer dressed as a mortician came onstage as the crowd went wild.

“Now my victims, I mean, guests…”