Garden of Evil (29 page)

‘OK,' said Jim, ‘we all got taken in. But what we have to do now is work out how to reverse what we've done, or at the very least how to salvage the situation.'

‘Maybe we should hold hands in a circle and say all of those prayers backward,' Al Alvarez suggested.

‘That's no good,' said Hunni Robards. ‘I can't remember them
forward
, let alone backward.'

‘Maybe we should go the Reverend Silence's church and exorcize him,' said Kyle Baxter. ‘He's technically a demon, after all.'

‘You need a priest for an exorcism, don't you?' asked Tommy Makovicka. ‘You need a priest and holy water and all the right kind of prayers, whatever they are.'

Jim said, ‘I have some books about demons with dismissal rituals in them. But I'm not confident that they would really work.'

‘It could be worth a try, though,' said Rebecca Teitelbaum. ‘My grandmother always used to put a spell over my crib when I was little – a piece of Kabbalistic paper, with garlic and rue and a little piece of mirror in it. She said that kept away demons, and it must have worked, because I never got possessed once.'

‘That mangy old bear you keep totin' around, I reckon
he's
possessed,' DaJon Johnson retorted. ‘I think he put the evil eye on me. My shoelace come undone, just after he look at me the last time, and I trip and fell down the stairs and nearly got killed.'

They all looked at each other, lost for any more ideas. Jim tried his cellphone again, but there was still no signal. His landline was dead, too, and there was nothing on his TV but snow. In the distance, sirens were still wailing, and they could hear the persistent throbbing of helicopters.

Jim said, ‘There's a spirit who sometimes gets in touch with me, Father Michael. We weren't Catholics, but he used to be a friend of the family. After my dad disappeared, he helped us more than I can tell you. And after
he
died, himself, he still used to talk to me if I was in trouble of any kind, and he still does. I could try to get into contact with him – see if he has any ideas. He's a priest. He probably knows all about Sammael and Lilith.'

‘You should talk to him, then,' Joe Chang nodded. ‘It don't seem like none of
us
can think what to do. Well – we could go round to my cousin Gao's place and pick up his niner and then go after the Reverend Silence and blow his head off. That might work.'

‘Give me a couple of minutes,' said Jim.

He went through to his bedroom and closed the door. The ceiling had been scrubbed since Ricky and all of those cats had been nailed to it, but there were still dozens of small craters in the plaster. He sat on the end of the bed so that he could see himself in the mirror on his closet door.

‘Father Michael,' he said. ‘This is Jim, Father Michael – Jim Rook. I need to talk to you, Father Michael.'

There was no response. Even if a spirit didn't want to speak to him, he could usually sense rustling and whispering in the spirit world, almost like party guests playing hide-and-go-seek behind the drapes. Now, though – nothing at all.

‘Father Michael, I'm begging you here. I really need your help. I've made a terrible mistake and I don't know how to put it right.'

For a few seconds, there was silence. Then he heard a sound like a knife being scraped on a plate, one of those screeching sounds that sets your teeth on edge, and a haggard, bearded face appeared in the mirror, superimposed on his own face. He was sure that it was Father Michael, but before he had a chance to speak to him, the face disappeared, and all he could see was himself, sitting on the end of the bed.

He sat there for a while, wondering if he ought to try calling Father Michael again. But it seemed as the resurrection of Lilith's millions had not only interfered with radio and telephone and television, it had jammed all contact with the spirit world, too. Eve's children were cut off, unable to communicate with each other, or even with their dead friends and relatives. They could no longer call for help, either from this world, or the next.

He was still sitting there when there was a timid knocking at the bedroom door.

‘Daddy? It's Bethany.'

He went over to the door and opened it. ‘Any luck?' she asked him, but she could see by the expression on his face that he hadn't been successful.

‘Ricky's here, from downstairs, with—'

‘Nadine,' said Nadine, who was standing in the hallway right behind her. Nadine had tied up her hair now, and fixed her make-up, with purple eyeshadow and purple lip gloss to match. Ricky had changed into a black cowboy shirt with red piping, and skinny-legged jeans.

‘Is Summer here?' asked Nadine.

‘No. Why? I rang her doorbell a couple of times but she wasn't in.'

‘Well, that really worries me, now that Ricky's told me what's going on. Round about one o'clock I asked Summer if she'd like to come downstairs and join me for a glass of wine – you know, so that I didn't have to drown my sorrows on my own. She said she'd love to. She had a hair appointment at Floyd's to have her highlights done, but she said that she'd be back before three thirty, easy. But look at it now, it's way past five.'

Jim said, ‘Floyd's? Where's that?'

‘Corner of Selma and North Cahuenga.'

‘I should go look for her.'

‘Hey,' said Ricky, ‘I'll come with.'

‘Daddy—' said Bethany.

‘I have to, sweetheart. She's my neighbor and my friend.'

‘Ricky,
you
don't have to,' said Nadine. ‘Please, baby. I don't want to lose you again.'

Ricky took hold of both of Nadine's wrists and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I'll be fine, Nadine. If there's one thing that being dead has taught me, it's not to be afraid of dying.'

‘Come on,' said Jim. ‘Let's go.'

T
hey drove slowly along Hollywood Boulevard, keeping their eyes open for Summer. It was only 5.35 p.m. but already it was beginning to grow dark, not because the sun was going down, but because of the dense black smoke that was drifting across the street from all of the burning buildings.

Traffic had been unusually sparse when they drove back to Hollywood from West Grove College, but now the streets were almost empty. Now and then an SUV came rolling in the opposite direction, but nobody stopped and nobody put down their tinted windows. A few people were running along the sidewalks, and Jim slowed down as they came to Hollywood and Vine, because a young African-American man with green-dyed hair and a shiny green shell-suit had hesitated at the curb.

Jim called out to him, ‘Sir!'

‘
What
, man? What you want?'

‘Are you running from something or are you just running?'

The young man looked anxiously over his shoulder and then started running again. Jim caught up with him and drove along beside him, keeping pace with him.

‘Ain't you
seen
them?' the young man panted. ‘You must of seen them! Like ghosts! Like a army of ghosts!'

‘Ghosts?'

‘Like,
thousands
of them! All dressed in sheets! But there's no way they ghosts! I seen them killing people! Pulling off their arms and their legs! Tossing them up in the air! Ghosts can't do that! And setting fire to everything!'

‘Where are they?'

‘All over, man! And they run so fast you can't get away from them!'

‘You want a ride?' Jim asked him.

‘Thanks – but no thanks! My friend – he has this music studio – just along here! Skream Records? I'm going to hide there! Shut myself up inside of the recording booth and not come out! Not until those ghosts . . . not until those ghosts is gone!'

He turned down Cosmo Street, a narrow alley lined with flat-fronted office buildings, and that was the last they saw of him.

Ricky said, ‘Shit. Let's hope that Summer's found herself someplace to hide.'

Ahead of them, Hollywood Boulevard was miraculously clear of traffic, so Jim put his foot down until they reached North Cahuenga. He swerved left, and sped down the next block, until he saw Floyd's Barbershop on the opposite corner of Selma Avenue – a single-story building with a black-and-white mock-marble frontage. Apart from parked cars, North Cahuenga and Selma were completely deserted, although smoke and whirling black ash was blowing across both of them.

Jim pulled up outside Floyd's and both he and Ricky climbed out of his car. The sharp smell of burning made their eyes water, and Ricky sneezed twice and had to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his cowboy shirt.

Jim said, ‘Listen!'

Not far away, they could hear sirens, but they could also hear people screaming.

Ricky said, ‘Shit, man.' But that was all.

Jim approached the barbershop window and peered inside. The lights were on, but there was no sign of any customers or staff.

He tried to push open the front door, but it was locked. He rattled the handle, and then he banged on the glass and shouted out, ‘Anybody there? I'm looking for a girl called Summer!'

There was no response, so he banged on the door again. ‘Summer, are you in there! It's Jim!'

Again, nothing.

Ricky said, ‘Might as well go back, Jim. If she's not here she could be anyplace at all.'

‘Yes,' said Jim, reluctantly. ‘You're right.' He backed away from the barbershop and looked up and down the street. It was then that he caught sight of Summer's powder-blue Honda Civic, parked about two hundred feet away, half-hidden by a giant Land Cruiser. ‘But her
car's
still here, look – so she couldn't have gone far. Not unless somebody gave her a ride.'

He went back up to the barbershop door and banged on it again. ‘Summer! It's Jim Rook!
Summer
!'

Suddenly, a frightened-looking young man in a tight pink T-shirt and red velvet pants appeared on the other side of the door. Summer was close behind him, with her hair still folded up in silver-paper foils. The young man unlocked the door, top and bottom, and opened it.

‘Summer!' said Jim. ‘Jesus! We were just about to go off and leave you here!'

Summer came tripping out and hugged him and kissed him, and then hugged Ricky, too. ‘We've all been hiding in the restroom! We heard you knocking on the door and we thought those terrible people had come back!'

‘I don't know how they
missed
us!' said the young man, almost in a scream. ‘There were
hundreds
of them! They came running down the street and they were tearing people to
pieces
!'

Jim took Summer's hand and squeezed it tight. ‘I'm just glad you're safe, sweetheart. Let's get out of here.'

‘They broke into Umami Burger,' the young man continued. ‘They broke into Coffee Etc right across the street, they broke into Big Wang's, they even broke into the
Hookah
Lounge. They smashed all the windows and they were tearing the customers to
pieces
!'

‘Well, try to keep safe,' Jim told him. ‘And thanks for taking care of Summer. I mean it.'

‘You're more than welcome. Summer's our favorite-favorite customer, aren't you, Summer? More than a customer, she's a dear-dear friend!'

Jim and Summer and Ricky climbed into Jim's car, while the young man closed the barbershop door and locked it and retreated into the back. Jim U-turned and then headed back up North Cahuenga. He could see now that most of the windows of the coffee shop on the opposite side of the street from Floyd's had no glass in them, and although it was too dark for him to be able to see very much inside, he could make out broken chairs and tipped-over tables and lumpy shapes that could have been dismembered bodies.

‘Oh, Jimmy, you don't know how
scared
I was,' said Summer, lifting the armrest between them so that she could tuck her feet up underneath her and snuggle up close to him. ‘When I saw those terrible people running past the window, I nearly
wet
myself. You're my knight in shining armor, you really are. Well,
both
of you are. You and Ricky. My knight in shining armors, plural.'

The black smoke that was billowing through the streets was becoming thicker and more acrid. Even though Jim's car was air-conditioned, the smell of burning made their eyes water and seared their sinuses. Ricky sneezed again, and again, and every time Summer said, ‘Bless you, Ricks!'

Jim was already taking a right, back into Hollywood Boulevard, when Ricky said, ‘Uh-oh! Shit! Looky there, Jim!'

About a half mile up ahead of them, another tidal wave of white-robed figures was heading toward them, completely filling the street from one side to the other. It was just passing Pantage's Theater, and it was surging in their direction, and
fast
– even faster than a real tidal wave.

Jim spun the wheel and steered the car back on to North Cahuenga. If they were lucky, the white-robed figures wouldn't have spotted them.

‘It's
them
!' shrilled Summer, peering short-sightedly down Hollywood Boulevard. ‘It's those terrible people! Like – who
are
they? Like – where are they, like,
from
?'

Jim didn't answer that. He was too busy speeding as fast as he could up North Cahuenga to Franklin Avenue. He could hang a right underneath the Hollywood Freeway and hopefully they wouldn't be confronted with another tidal wave of white-robed figures.

But as they sped past Yucca Street, with five hundred feet left to go before they reached Franklin, Ricky said, ‘They've turned the corner
already
, man! They're coming after us!'

Jim glanced at his rear-view mirror. He could see the white-robed figures and there was no doubt that they were gaining on them. There must have been at least a thousand of them, pouring around the corner and running after them with grim determination. Jim wondered if they knew who he was, and that was why they were after him. Maybe the Reverend Silence had sent them to find him and tear him to pieces before he found a way to send them back to the spirit world.