GODDESS OF THE MOON (A Diana Racine Psychic Suspense) (10 page)

“Yup,” Cash said.

A few hours later,
Special Agent Ralph Stallings
popped
his head into Lucier’s office. “I was in the neighborhood, Lieutenant. Hope you don’t mind my dropping in.”

“Not at all.
Wanted to talk to you anyway.
Have a seat.”

“
I
wanted to let you know that Deems’
s
prints were all over th
e
house
, along with
eight other sets.” He sat down and took his time before unload
ing
the bombshell. “The most interesting is Silas Compton.”

The name took Lucier by surprise.
“The industrialist?”

“The same.
His prints are on file because he’s worked on government projects. My guess is that Compton owns it, but proving it
quickly
won’t be easy unless he fesses up. He’s been on our watch list for years. He’s anti-government but doesn’t have a problem taking government contracts.”

“
A
lot of people have no problem criticizing on one hand while grabbing all they can with the other.”

“Well, Compton
’
s taken his share. He complies with what he has to, but he
owns
a battery of lawyers
to
keep
his private life
private and his money hidden
.
If an
employee
breaks
his confidentiality agreement
, he’s
fired, and
Compton
pays so well that
rarely
happens. He controls his empire from a building he owns in the business district. Next to him, Howard Hughes looked like a publicity hound.”

“Any indication of religious deviation?”

“You mean the
s
atanic symbols on the walls?”

“Yeah.”

“No, but
he
sure as hell wouldn’t make
it
public if he did.”

“What about other prints?” Lucier asked.

“We’re still checking.”

“Agent Stallings, now that
y
our tech people are finished, do you have any objection if Diana Racine goes back into the house?”

Stallings shook his head.
“None.
With her track record, I’ll be interested to see what she comes up with. We couldn’t legally act on her impressions, of course, but we could…check them out.”

Lucier extended his hand. “I’ll keep you informed. Oh, and I’m glad you’re running the case.
A
bout time we put our heads together without a turf war.”

“Whatever it takes when
the
lives of children are at stake.
Just as long as we both keep each other in the loop.”

* * * * *

D
iana stood in front of the pink house, acclimating herself to its aura. “Do you mind if I go in alone, Ernie?”

“
Y
ou sure you’ll be all right
?
”

“I know what to expect. I’ll be fine.”

Lucier pointed down the street. “When Halloran checked
that house, the people who live there weren’t h
ome. There’s a car in the driveway now. Maybe I’ll have better luck.”

“Hope so.”

She waved him on and walked tentatively through the gate. When she got to the top of the stairs and put the key in the lock, she turned around. Lucier stood watching. She smiled, opened the door, and went inside.

As soon as she entered, a chill hit her like a gust of arctic air. Strange, because the air conditioner was off and the house was closed. She rubbed her arms to warm up. The
crime scene unit
left everything as they’d found it, but their presence might contaminate her perceptions in the same way carelessness contaminates a crime scene. Taking it slow, she wandered the ground floor.

In the kitchen, she checked the refrigerator and pantry. Empty, except for a few cartons of instant soup. The drawers contained towels and silverware, and an assortment of pots, pans, and dishes filled the
upper and
lower cupboards. She pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, her hands palms down on top.
She closed
her eyes
. “Talk to me
,
” she said.

A strong sensation told her that people had eaten there in recent weeks. After a few minutes, she rose and strolled through the rest of the rooms on the first floor. No impressions.
Nothing.

Climbing the stairs to the upper level, she stood for a long time outside the room with the drawings. The air was thick and heavy, and she found herself gasping to fill her lungs. Her pulse throbbed in her throat. She inhaled deep breaths before venturing inside, avoiding the wall with the diagrams. A small bed covered by a light blanket hugged the far wall.
She sat
down
and
closed her eyes. Someone had occupied it recently, maybe two people. Could they have slept in shifts?

The wall beckoned her. She cast her gaze on it, mesmerized by its satanic symbols. Diana’s interest in the
supernatural
evolved as a natural extension of her psychic gifts. As a child, she’d been labeled a witch and a collaborator of Satan because of her uncanny abilities. People found it easier to associate her powers with the black arts than to believe they were a gift bestowed by a higher
power
. Even though
she’d
led police to missing persons
―
some living, some not
―
and her finds offered closure for the respective families,
a few
still claimed she was a conduit of Satan. The accusations inspired her to delve into the occult, if for no other reason than to disprove what they said about her.

S
he studied the drawings: the Sigil of
Baphomet
, the official insignia of the Church of Satan; the upside down cross, symbolizing the mockery and rejection of Jesus; and the pentagram, used in occult rituals to conjure up evil spirits. The sensation of malice enveloped her like the devil’s cape.
Dark
impressions had been commonplace as a child, but the
atmosphere
in this room triggered an unprecedented reaction, a
s if
fire sear
ed
her skin.

Get hold of yourself, Diana. Don’t lose focus. They’re just drawings
.

With forced purpose, she viewed the other signs defacing the wall: the
seeing eye
, believed to be the eye of Lucifer
―
control it and you control the world’s financing.
The goat’s head, mocking Jesus as the “lamb” who died for our sins.
And last, the hexagram, a potent
image
of darkness and magic. There were more
symbols
, she knew
, grateful they’d been omitted.

At age seventeen, when she expressed an interest in the occult, her parents thought she’d crossed over into another realm
,
that her psychic gifts
had
become
rooted in the
netherworld.
H
er father
considered an intervention to release whatever evil spirit had entered her body
, but h
e dismissed the idea
when he thought of the publicity
it
would garner.
Diana’s
fascination passed,
but not before
she
’d
immersed herself in the history and culture of the mystical.

Ultimately
, she determined
her visions were granted for a reason
. Now, shrugging
off the visceral effects of the symbols before
her,
she
thought of the
past, thought of the present
.
Of
the
babies
.
And she
knew
why she was there
.

She
turned her back on the symbols and
walked across the hall into the blue room, then the pink, with their cribs and sunlight and colorful mobiles floating over where babies once had lain. The babies in these rooms were fed and nurtured and yes, loved.
F
or what?
An offering to Lucifer
?
A
donation to the god of darkness?

She sat in the rocking chair, and a sense of innocence overwhelmed her. Before long, she was rocking back and forth,
embracing
a weight so light it barely kissed her skin. She felt her breasts as never before, hard and full, and when she looked down, damp rings stained her blouse. Tears filled her eyes and fell down her cheeks.
In the pure room.
In the evil house.

Transformation

L
ucier rang the neighbor’s bell and waited patiently until a teenage boy answered. In the middle of his asking if the boy’s parents were home, a middle-aged woman came to the door.

He flashed his badge and asked about their neighbors in the pink house without mentioning the reasons
for
his interest
.

“I’m Marjorie Wilton,” the woman said. “Come in.” Her husband joined them and Lucier listened as the two people related what
went
on in the pink house.

“I’m not a busybody,” Mrs. Wilton said, “but ever since that house sold
―
what, Stan, a year ago?”

“
Give or take
,” Mr. Wilton said.

“Ever since, weird
things
have been
happening over there
.
Not all the time.
Maybe twice a month.”