Speak the Dead (23 page)

77

T
he back of Father Black's hand struck his son's cheek with the force of a shovel striking stone.

Aedan was knocked to his knees, his shoulder colliding painfully with the kitchen doorframe. Stunned, he barely had time to raise his hands in defense before two more knuckled blows glanced off his ears and scalp.

“You led them here,” screamed Father Black, spittle flying from his lips. “How could you be so careless?”

“I didn't, I wasn't,” squealed Aedan. He cradled his head in his hands in an effort to ward off another attack. “They're guessing.”

“Guessing? Guessing?” Father Black lashed out again at his cowering son. This time he used his feet and landed a heavy blow against Aedan's exposed hip. “They said you attacked two nuns. Who were they?”

Aedan peeked out from behind the protective shelter of his arms. “I heard her on the Internet. A radio podcast.”

“Who?”

“Fleur.”

Father Black gasped and staggered back a step as though his son had struck a retaliatory blow. The rage drained from his face to be replaced with confusion. “Fleur White?”

Aedan blinked. “She was preaching at a mission in Seattle. I heard one of her messages on the Internet. I recognized her voice, she always had that distinct—”

“I remember.” Father Black shook his head in disbelief. “Fleur White is alive.”

“You always suspected an insider was involved with Salvation's disappearance, and you were right…” Aedan looked up at his father's rigid face, “but it wasn't the Greens. I tracked Fleur down and made her talk.”

“You had no right to keep this from me,” hissed Father Black.

Aedan shook off his words, leaving only the oldest, most hurtful to maintain their grip.

“Everything is a lie with you, father. You never told me the truth about what happened to the House of White, but I understand.” Aedan stared into his father's eyes, struggling to express his emotions. “I don't know what the Seer told you before she died, but I do know you had to consolidate the church. I know you had to save us, that it was ordained.”

Father Black rubbed at his eyes, but remained mute. He waited for his son to continue.

“The House of White was wiped out a whole month before the Seer was killed. Fleur didn't know why, only that you and your brothers argued, and then the death squad came for her family. She said you had a mass grave dug in the forest behind our walls. She remembered being marched into the woods, but little else. When she regained consciousness, she was actually buried under fresh dirt and had to claw her way out, climbing over the dead bodies of her husband and children. Your soldiers' bullets missed her vital organs, father. A careless mistake.”

Father Black didn't move or blink, and his breathing was so shallow, he barely looked alive.

Aedan said, “She went into hiding, but it was only a short time before Uncle Blue lost his mind and killed the Seer, then himself. Fleur suspected you had something to do with that, too.”

Father Black offered no response.

“Fleur found Salvation before we did,” Aedan said, “and she's been hiding her ever since. It took a long time, and a lot of pain, before she told me that Salvation was working at a funeral parlor in Portland. Can you believe that? Surrounded by the dead and no clue about who she really was.”

Father Black narrowed his eyes into piercing slits. “They said you left one of the nuns alive. Was it Fleur?”

Aedan looked away, hurt by his father's focus on his only mistake. “I thought they were both dead. I-I was sure…” His voice drifted.

Father Black's eyes softened and his mouth curled into the semblance of a smile. “The last of the Whites…”

He held out his hand and helped his son to his feet. “Go help your mother.”

When Aedan reluctantly started to move, Father Black seemed to reconsider and clamped a hand on his son's shoulder to stop him. He leaned in close.

“When today's ceremony is over, you will return to Seattle and make sure the White lineage is ended once and for all. No more mistakes.”

78

S
ally wanted to weep when the bedroom door opened and, instead of Jersey, Aedan stormed in. Several large blisters had burst open on the burned side of his face and a sickeningly yellow puss oozed down his rubescent cheek.

Mother released her grip as soon as reinforcements arrived, and Sally quickly scrambled onto her bed and backed into the far corner. Aedan strode forward, his eyes burning coal, nostrils flaring.

“Don't you dare touch me,” Sally warned. “I'll scream so loud, they'll hear me from two counties away.”

Aedan stopped at the foot of her bed, his hands clenching and unclenching by his side. He began chewing the inside of his cheek as he struggled to form words.

“Who was here?” Sally asked in defiance of the danger. “Was it Jersey?”

“It was the sheriff,” Aedan snapped. “
Our
sheriff. He's a member of the church and wanted to make sure you weren't going to disappoint us at the ceremony.”

Sally's face fell. “Why did he shout my name?”

Aedan snorted. “He didn't, that was me. I ran into a cupboard door, and your name was the first curse that sprang to mind.”

Sally didn't believe him and told him so.

“Like I care,” Aedan snarled. “The only thing you need to believe is the amount of pain I will cause if you don't do as you're told at the ceremony.”

Sally pulled her mother's quilt around her legs. She tried to be strong, but her lips formed a trembling pout and her voice cracked. “I don't know what message you want to hear.”

“You will,” said Aedan, “even if I have to force it down your damn throat myself.”

Mother found Father
Black sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of hot coffee in his hand. He smiled and beckoned her over beside him.

Mother was so taken aback by his sudden change of mood that she almost bolted from the room in panic. His failure to notice her rumpled dress, or the terrible mess her hair was in from wrestling with Sally, was troubling, but her place was to obey. Flattening the front of her dress as best she could and ignoring her wayward hair, she crossed to him.

“Fleur White is alive,” he said, his eyes glistening with delight.

Mother gasped. “Impossible.”

“No, no, don't you see?” Father Black laughed. “This explains everything.”

“I don't understand.” Mother pulled out a chair and sat.

“The Seer's prophecy,” Father Black explained, “said the House of White would be our downfall. I believed I had taken care of that, but now to discover that Fleur survived explains all our troubles. Once she's truly dead, our church will rise from the ashes and be reborn in a glorious light.”

Father Black's face lit up like a thousand watt bulb. “Don't you see? Everything is finally coming together. The return of the Seer, reopening the Houses, and soon the final destruction of the Whites. Our church will be stronger than ever.”

Father Black leaned forward and kissed his wife full on the lips. Mother was so surprised, she almost fainted.

79

J
ersey watched a steady parade of gleaming, hand-washed and Sunday-waxed, cars glide down the gravel driveway to park in the small meadow that fronted the gated entrance to the church courtyard. None of the families who climbed from the cars paid him or Kameelah any attention, nor did they seem to find it odd that four large men in black suits had taken up position beside the open gates.

Jersey leaned his hip against the Jaguar. “You think they've been told to avoid us?”

“Either that,” said Kameelah, “or they just naturally distrust anyone who isn't a member of the congregation.”

“They look so normal,” Jersey mused.

“What were you expecting?”

“Well, if that girl's blog is to be believed, they're a bunch of granny killers. I expected something more gothic.”

“My, what big teeth you have,” teased Kameelah.

“Yeah, okay,” Jersey agreed. “But you have to admit, ritual sacrifice usually doesn't go hand-in-hand with your best Sunday suit.”

“Maybe they dress in costumes once the children are sent outside. That's when they'll bring in Sally and the real ceremony begins.”

Jersey nodded grimly. “I could see that.”

The prodigious house
on the right side of the gate was where Jersey believed Sally was being held. The house to the left of the gate was a near mirror image, except its front door was painted black instead of blue and the circular stained glass window in the attic resembled the sharp-toothed terror of a gaping maw rather than an all-seeing eye. There was no sign of life inside. No lights, no smoke, no movement.

Before the congregation started to arrive, Jersey had attempted to walk the outside perimeter of the sizeable property to get a lay of the land. The woods at the rear proved too thick to allow an easy circuit, and he had to twice double back.

In the rear corners, however, he had been able to view the upper floors of two more stately homes, both secured behind the high wall. Unlike the two homes in the front, neither house had access to the outside world except via the large gateway.

Like the house with the black door, those two homes also appeared empty. Despite the chill in the air, no smoke drifted from their chimneys and every window was sealed behind heavy wooden shutters as though the owners had been expecting an unlikely hurricane to suddenly rip through the area.

When he returned to the car, Jersey had borrowed Kameelah's touch-screen cellphone to launch Google Earth and call up a satellite map of the compound. From the overhead map, he was able to see that the original design of the compound was obviously for four families to tend the impressive gardens around a centrally located, circular church.

Unfortunately, the satellite image also confirmed his own observation that the place was a veritable fortress.

He turned to ask Kameelah a question, but she was busy working the phone, trying to get local police and county courts to give them any excuse to enter the church before somebody else's grandmother had her throat slit. So far, she wasn't having any luck.

As Kameelah explained it, everyone was frightened of messing with religion after the Branch Davidian and Yearning for Zion disasters that had blown up in the faces of law-enforcement agencies in recent years. A teen's blog and a cop's suspicion, the detective was told, wasn't nearly enough to justify a warrant.

Jersey was watching another clean-cut family of four walk through the compound gates when his cellphone rang. He flipped it open and held it to his ear.

“Don't answer your phone.” It was his partner, Amarela.

“What?” The phone beeped, indicating a second call. “Hold on.” Jersey switched to the second call.

“Where the hell are you, detective?” barked Lieutenant Morrell. “I've just had a phone call from the Commander, who has received calls from both the Mayor and the Director of the fucking F.B.I. The Commander does not like receiving phone calls from the F.B.I., and I certainly don't like—”

“I'm following a case, sir. I'm sure my partner—”

“Don't bullshit me,” Morrell snapped. “I have the biggest and best bullshit detector in the entire northern hemisphere, do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, sir.” Jersey thought quickly and his earlier conversation with Amarela suddenly snapped into focus. He launched an attack. “But you should know I was informed that Peter Higgins went missing along with his daughter. You wanted us to find them. My partner said it was a priority.”

Morrell hesitated. “Uh… yes, but—”

“I believe they're here,” Jersey said quickly. “Detective Valente interviewed Higgins' wife and discovered a link to the Church of a Sabbath Day's Journey. Since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to check it out. I believe both our missing persons could be here.”

“Have you seen them?” Morrell asked cautiously.

“No, sir. The church won't allow us inside.”

“And that's why the F.B.I is calling the Mayor?”

“Must be, sir. I tried to be polite in asking to make sure that Peter and his daughter were okay, but the church won't release that information. I'm sure the mayor will understand that we want to make sure they're not in any danger or being held against their will.”

“And the missing woman from the mortuary. Is she there, too?” asked the lieutenant, showing that his bullshit detector did actually work.

“I believe she is.”

“But you haven't seen her either?”

“No, sir. The church is not being cooperative.”

Lieutenant Morrell sighed heavily into the phone. “If I was to read between the lines, detective, would I be right in assuming that you're following the assumption that Peter Higgins is not only involved in the murder of his parents, but in an effort to elude justice he has kidnapped a possible eye witness and transported her to a remote church in North Dakota?”

“Something like that,” Jersey said grudgingly

“But you have no solid evidence of either the murders or the kidnapping?”

“Apart from two dead bodies, a missing woman, and a suspect on the run, no.”

Lieutenant Morrell sighed again. “You're out of your jurisdiction, detective, and there's nothing I can do from here to help. I'll pass the information on to the F.B.I. If you're right, the kidnapper has crossed several state lines, which automatically makes this a federal case. You will have to stand aside on this one.”

Jersey gritted his teeth, and lobbed one last grenade. “Don't you think the mayor would be disappointed to find that not only did his interference help a multiple murderer escape arrest, but after tracking the suspect down, his only officer on the scene wasn't allowed to bring him into custody?”

There was a long pause before Morrell said, “You don't know that Peter Higgins murdered his parents or kidnapped your witness. You also don't know that he's where you say he is. Unless you find proof, I would say you're hanging from the end of a very thin rope. And just so we're clear, Detective Castle, I'm holding the fucking scissors.”

AFTER Morrell hung
up, the phone automatically switched back to the first caller.

“You answered the damn phone, didn't you?” said Amarela.

Jersey laughed, releasing a gust of frustration. “Yeah, I answered the damn phone.”

“I don't know why I try to help, you never listen. What did the lieutenant say?”

Jersey told her, and when he was finished, Amarela said, “The only help you're going to get is with cleaning out your desk. The boss is in full-blown, cover-his-own-ass mode.”

“That's probably just as well,” said Jersey. “I operate better when I've got nothing left to lose.”

“One piece of
information,” said Amarela. “I don't know if it helps.”

“Go on.”

“The Higgins family changed their name—twice.”

“That's unusual,” said Jersey. “What was it before?”

“Before Higgins, they went by Green. Peter was born under that name, but before Green, the late Mr. Higgins was Mr. Black. Mean anything?”

“The minister who runs the church is Father Black,” mused Jersey. “Could be a relative. Brother, maybe?”

“So Peter's gone home.”

“Yeah,” Jersey sighed, “but why?”