The Edge Of The Cemetery (16 page)

I nodded.

“I told him what I knew of her, but it was unnecessary. He's been keeping tabs on her. He's so proud of who she's become. However, he also knows what we did—more specifically, what I did—to her, and he's afraid to come forward…that she'll reject him.” She leaned toward me a bit. “What do you think he should do?”

“Well, I think first we need to deal with Edgar, then I think you should tell Billy everything you just told me and let her decide if she wants to see him.”

A look of fear crossed her face quickly, then she relaxed a little and said, “She hates me, justifiably. I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be the one to tell her.”

“Julie, you obviously want to….” I actually wasn't sure what she wanted, so I guessed. “Make amends, right?” She nodded. “Well, there's a much better chance of that if
you
tell her everything.”

She nodded again and relaxed into her chair thoughtfully. That was a good start, and I made a mental promise to bring all this up with Billy when I had time. I switched gears. “When was the last time you talked to Edgar?”

“It was the evening I went to Justine's. I believe he's watching my movements…he called the minute I left, when I was in the car.”

“And you told him we denied any involvement in the disappearance of the papers?” She nodded. “What did he say to that?”

“He said you were lying and he'd give me a little more time to convince you. I expect to hear from him today.”

“How did he sound?” I was hoping she knew him well enough to gauge his mental state at this point. His initial plan to get the documents and kill or kidnap one of us had failed. Now we had the kid—who was his weapon du jour—and the papers, and he had nothing. I was concerned that any rational thinking he might have had was out the window, and the threat level, at least from Edgar directly, had probably reached Defcon2 and was accelerating.

She angled her head, thinking back to their last conversation, I assumed. “He sounded angry, a bit anxious, and perhaps a little frustrated. It was…,” she hesitated, “very unlike him. As unstable as he is, he's always shown remarkable emotional control.”

“Could I have the number he's using?”

She nodded and left to retrieve her phone.

While I waited for Julie to return I took a walk around the room, stopping at the bookshelves. They were loaded with volumes of books ranging from classic literature to modern-day science tomes, and just about everything in-between. Sporadically placed, almost like bookends, were various pieces of sculpture in a variety of mediums. A tall metallic object caught my eye—silver, I thought. It resembled a column with an identical pedestal and capital. The shaft was etched, but the silver was badly tarnished and difficult to interpret. I was about to reach for it when Julie came back.

“Interesting, isn't it?”

“What is it?” I asked.

“I'm not sure, some sort of late 19
^th
century artifact, I believe. I think Father said it's used to read magic spells or something like that.” She shrugged. “He had a propensity for collecting odd things that pertained to the supernatural world. That box up there,” she pointed to a top shelf where an ornately carved wooden box sat, “supposedly it's full of human bone fragments that are used to ward off evil spirits or some nonsense of that sort.” She had an amused look on her face and I couldn't tell if she was serious.

Grimacing, I said, “That's just gross.”

She walked over to the wingback chairs and sat. When I joined her she handed me her phone; the screen reflected a recent incoming number. I called Carol and briefly explained the situation. She told me to hold on. I listened to muffled voices, probably Pete and Billy, and when she came back on the line she recited a series of instructions and hung up.

“We think Edgar is probably starting to lose it, which makes him all the more dangerous. I'd love to tell you to get out of town and lay low, but we need you here.” She nodded lightly. “How many security men do you have on the premises?” She held up two fingers.

“If it's all right with you, we're going to send over some more people. They'll be armed, and they'll be instructed to shoot Edgar on sight, and they'll be ghost killers. We need you to stay locked up in this house until further notice…it's the only way we can protect you.” She nodded again.

As I got up to leave, she said, “George.” I turned to her. “Thank you for not…,” she smiled, “openly passing judgment on me. I know that I've been a horrible mother
and
niece.” This time she laughed. “A horrible person all around. I can't make up for what I've done, but I hope what I've told you helps. Please keep them safe.”

I nodded and left.

Since I was so close to home I decided to stop at my building to check on Justine and Margie. When I came through the garage entrance that led to the lobby, I was intercepted by Kevin Riley, our building maintenance man and self-appointed building manager.

“Hey George, I'm glad I caught you. I was just going to call you.”

“You were? Is everything all right?”

“Oh sure, but remember that guy from a few months back—bald black guy, kind of mean looking?”

Doing my best to keep my voice steady, I said, “I do. Was he here?”

“Yeah, about ten minutes ago. I was checking my mail and saw him outside. He was just standing in the courtyard, like he was waiting for someone. Anyway, I poked my head out and asked what he wanted. He said to give you this.” Kevin handed over a slip of paper. He had a perplexed look on his face. “What's it mean?”

It was a receipt from a grocery and liquor market. Under the address it said, Corner of 42
^nd
Avenue and Irving Street. It was only a block and a half away from the Lincoln Way house. There were two items on it, a bottle of water and a bag of chips. I flipped it over to find a crude drawing that I didn't recognize at first.

Kevin said, “It kind of looks like a top hat.”

The top hat was Phil's signature look when he did his ghost tours, and Edgar was well aware of that. Swallowing down the rising panic in my chest, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Phil. It rang several times before going to voicemail.

My voice trembled slightly when I spoke. “Kevin, take this number down.” I recited Aris's cell number and name and he put it in his phone. “If that guy shows up again, call him. He's a detective…he'll know what to do. If you can't get him, just call 911.”

Not wanting to wait for our old and painfully slow elevator, I started to sprint up the stairs when Kevin called after me. “Is everything okay?”

I yelled over my shoulder. “I think so. Just keep an eye out for him.” I was hitting the second flight when Kevin yelled something else that I didn't catch.

Six flights of stairs later, I was out of breath and panting heavily when I pounded on Justine's door. Margie answered quickly, a look of annoyance on her face. “George!” She paused, taking in my panicked look. “What's wrong?”

“Is Justine here?” I asked, pushing past her toward the living room. Justine was sitting on the couch and looked up at me, her expression turning to immediate concern.

I held my hand up. “Hold on, I'll explain in a minute.” I dialed Billy's cell phone. She picked up on the second ring.

“Billy, where's Phil?” I was still out of breath and it came out like a wheeze.

“He should be back any minute. He went to his house to grab some things. What's wrong?”

“Shit,” I hissed. “How long has he been gone?”

“He left about an hour ago…George, what's wrong?!” she asked, this time with more vigor.

“I think Edgar has him.” I explained the visit and the receipt, and she echoed my previous expletive. I asked “Where's Calvin?”

“He's upstairs.”

“Who else is there with you?” I asked.

“Eric, Carol, Pete, and Pete's men.”

“Okay, I'm on my way. Do not let Calvin out of your sight…I mean literally out of your sight. I'll call Aris.” I didn't wait for her reply, just hung up.

I turned to Justine and Margie, both of whom looked horrified. I quickly briefed them and asked, “Aris said he'd get some extra security for you. Did he get in touch?”

Margie's eyebrows rose and she arched her head toward the reading alcove that held Grandma Billy's painting and a large collection of books. The man standing in the entrance towered over my six foot frame by at least another four inches. His shoulders and chest were so broad he appeared to fill the ten by ten space. He had an open book dangling from one hand, and his other was hovering near his holstered gun.

He started to smile, seemed to realize the magnitude of the situation, and turned serious. “Hey George, what can I do to help?” I knew him. His name was John Kempt, not just a mid-level ghost killer, but a semi-retired WWF wrestler. I didn't care how strong Edgar was, John could
and
definitely would crack his head wide open.

Margie was suddenly at my side, her hand on my shoulder. “George, sit for a minute, you're going to hyperventilate.” I didn't realize how heavily I was still breathing. She was right and I sat down, put my head in my hands, and worked on controlling my breathing. There was a tray on the coffee table with a water pitcher and accompanying glassware. She poured me a glass and said, “Drink, slowly.”

After a few moments, I dialed Aris, explained the situation, and told him I'd be heading back to the house in a few minutes. I also confirmed he had extra security on my dad too. We knew Edgar was in California, but who knew what contacts he still had. I wouldn't put it past him if he'd sent someone up to Idaho to kill my dad just out of spite.

I asked Justine and Margie to come with me—I'd feel better if they were with us at the house where we could keep an eye on them. They declined. I would be glad about that later. After assurances from Margie and John that they'd be safe, I left for Lincoln Way.

I took the stairs again, slower this time, and when I arrived in the lobby, Kevin was waiting for me. I apologized to him. “I'm sorry for running out on you like that. I just needed to make some calls.”

“Sure, no problem…do I need to be worried about anything?” He took his responsibilities seriously, and the safety of the residents was high priority in his book.

“I don't think so. I doubt he'll be back, but better safe than sorry.” I remembered that he'd shouted something earlier and I asked, “You said something before, but I didn't hear it. Did it have to do with that guy?”

Kevin frowned, then brightened. “Oh yeah, this probably isn't anything, but since you've already had one suspicious visitor today, I thought I'd mention it. The security cameras record 24/7 as you know. I check them frequently throughout the day to see if anyone is lingering around the building entrances.” He liked to remind us as often as possible that he was doing his job above and beyond the call of duty. “You know, in case they're checking the place out to rob it or something.” He smiled proudly. “A few days ago, a teenage kid pulled up on a motorcycle and parked in front of the building. He lingered there for a while, then got off the bike and walked around the corner and checked out the garage entrance.

“That night I was walking back from the market and the same kid was sitting on the bike at the corner. He kept looking from the front of the building to the garages, like he was waiting for someone. Before I could approach him, you pulled out of the garage and drove down the street; the kid waited a second and followed in the same direction.”

I asked for a description of the kid, but it wasn't really necessary. However, it did explain how Calvin found us, and I assumed it was Edgar that gave him our address. But none of that really mattered now. Phil was what mattered now.

I was getting anxious to get back to Lincoln Way. I thanked Kevin and started toward the garage. Kevin grabbed my arm lightly and asked, “George, do we have a security problem? I mean…,” he stuttered, “I haven't seen the kid since, so I didn't think it was a concern.”

“Uh, no.” I had to think quickly…he wasn't stupid, and now I thought he was worried. “The kid won't be back, but the other guy might. Just call that detective or 911 if he does show up. If you don't run into him, but you catch him on your security cameras, call me right away.”

“Okay, but what's the story here?” he asked suspiciously.

“The bald guy was an acquaintance of mine…we had a fight. He's holding a grudge…I guess.” I thought it was a believable lie. Kevin didn't look all that convinced.

“So that note has something to do with your fight?” He looked confused, which was understandable.

I smiled. “Yeah, listen, I really need to go. Just keep your eyes open.” Thanking him again, I turned and left before he could say another word.

I broke just about every traffic law getting over to the house on Lincoln Way, making it there in record time, only to be thwarted by a full driveway and no nearby street parking. I circled around the block, finally finding a spot someone had vacated seconds before. I was feeling frantic by the time I bounded up the front steps. The door opened before I reached it and Dave waved me through.

“Thanks, Dave. Where is every—?” He pointed down the hall to the kitchen. I entered the room and focused on Pete and Aris. “Did someone go to his house?”

Pete replied, “I just came from there. His car is parked out front and the front door had been busted open. There are signs of a struggle in the house, his cell phone was crushed to bits and left on the floor, but otherwise the place was empty.”

“Did you see any…,” I hesitated, “signs that he was hurt?” Pete shook his head.

I fell into the nearest chair, which happened to be next to Billy. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. The next thing I knew a glass of whiskey was placed in front of me. Eric said, “Drink that. I can see your veins pulsing in your neck and forehead…you need to calm down.” I swallowed it in one gulp and almost threw it back up just as quickly, but a minute later the calming effect of the Bushmills was working.

I pulled out the receipt, handed it to Aris, and said, “The timestamp is from this morning. I don't think the items he purchased mean anything, it's the fact that he was just down the street and the sketch on the back.” Aris turned it over, briefly examined the crude top hat drawing, and handed it to Pete, who did the same and passed it around.

“Why Phil?” I asked no one in particular.

Pete said, “Julie told you that Edgar was agitated. I'm guessing he's growing pretty impatient too. He was most likely watching the house and saw Phil leave. He knows Phil isn't a ghost killer, meaning he isn't trained or strong like we are, and he was all by himself.” Pete shrugged. “I think he just wanted to get things moving and he saw an opportunity, so he took it.”

Carol said, “I think it's more than that.” She looked around the room. “That stuff Phil told us about this morning, one of the things he said sort of stuck with me, but I guess I was too tired earlier to realize why it was bothering me. Anyway, it hit me a little while ago…that prophecy thing he read us, it said something about the cambion being born on all souls day and something about its eighteenth anniversary.” A touch of panic lit her eyes. “I checked Calvin's license…he was born on November 2nd, 1997. He'll be eighteen tomorrow, or if you follow the prophecy, at midnight tonight….”

Billy let out a hissing sigh. “Edgar doesn't think Calvin can get the journal. He kidnapped Phil because he's running out of time and he needs leverage.”

I ran my hands down my face and groaned. It also probably meant that Edgar was even more volatile than we thought, because now he was up against an impending deadline and he didn't have Calvin or the journal. I asked, “What was Phil going home for, anyway?”

Eric answered, “He was hunkered down in the library after you left. When I went in to check my email, he was excited…mumbling something about it being a map. Then he jumped up and said he had to go get some papers he left at his house.”

I turned to Pete. “Did you see any papers at his house?”

Pete frowned. “Yeah. Like I said, it looked like there was a struggle of some sort. There were papers and books scattered all over the floor near the desk.”

I stood up and paced. I was too keyed-up, whiskey or not, to sit down. Something got him excited, something that made him rush home to find something else. I walked out of the room and headed to the library. I heard chairs scraping as the others got up to follow me.

The library table that Phil used as a desk was strewn with papers and journals. His laptop sat off to the side, a cartoon ghost lazily drifting across the screen every few seconds. I tapped the keyboard and the screensaver ghost was replaced with an open email. It was from his friend Boyd, the subject line said, “RE: writings”, it was dated this morning.

It read:
P, thanks for the new scans, that's a pretty interesting theory you have. Since you said this was important and you were in a hurry, I got right on it, but you owe me big time! Anyway, based on what your email said, I outlined the stuff that directly pertains. I'll send you a word for word translation later.

Since “RE:” was in the subject line, I assumed Boyd just replied to Phil's email and I scrolled to the bottom so I could figure out what Boyd meant by “interesting theory”. Phil's email to Boyd regaled him with the folklore tale he'd told us that morning. Phil went on to say that he'd been given the strange writings by a police friend who knew about Phil's interest in the supernatural, they had belonged to a man that was suspected of kidnapping people for some sort of Satanic ritual, and that the prophecy Boyd had already deciphered indicated something was to happen on November second (Phil had obviously reached the same conclusion as Carol). I scrolled back to the beginning and started to read.

The stuff in Archaic Latin appears to be diary entries of some sort. This guy was a priest and he was sent to San Francisco during the gold rush. Most of his entries are more like complaints about the people here, how bad they were, etc. He does mention ghosts and demons too. Then the entries more or less follow that story you mentioned (although there are some minor differences). Anyway, he got a call from God, built a chamber with an inner vault, and apparently lured demons and bad men to their deaths, and entrapped their eternal, and evil, souls (he did note that he was saving their souls if they took the time to repent while they were imprisoned…).

He says that God had him carve symbols into the door of the vault, but that only some of them actually open the vault door. Then “by God's hand” he created two drawings of the strangest and most undecipherable nature, which God stated were the map to the chamber and the combination to the vault door, and he carved a special key that would interpret both (he notes that he has no memory of doing this, but knows it was God who guided his hand). But in order to use the key, a special prayer had to be recited, and it could only be recited by an emissary sent by God. He then hides the key in a sacred and holy place.

The next entry states that Satan had come to him in the night and overtaken him, and used his knowledge of the chamber and the vault to rewrite God's instructions on opening the vault. He said that Satan had used the priest's own “unwilling hand” to write out a prophecy, which depicted his (as in Satan's) emissary (instead of God's) would rise one day and open the vault.

There's one last entry that might have to do with this…it's sort of manic though. “I cannot resist Satan's servant. He enters my mind often—he claws at my thoughts and memories—he has glimpsed the reflective eye. Oh I pray She can protect it….Son, Observe the Time and Fly from Evil!”

The rest of the entries don't seem to pertain to the story, but like I said, I'll send over the complete translation later.

On to the Enochian/prisca Latinitas entries. Aside from the prophecy part that I already sent over, there was another paragraph that discusses how this will all go down. It says, “My faithful servant shall guide them to the key, and with the reflective eye they shall see all. Upon the stroke of midnight of the eighteenth anniversary of the cambion's birth, he shall sacrifice himself to his father and become my most powerful servant, at which time the combination shall be read by my own prayer and the vault shall be opened.” (There's no mention of this prayer though.)

There is one last part. If you sent the pages in order, I assume this is towards the back of the journal. It's also written in Latin, but I don't think the priest wrote it. The writing looks different and it's more like a notation. It said, “Old St. Mary's?”

That got me thinking…the priest said he hid the key in a holy place, and since he lived in the city, I looked up Old St. Mary's. It's the oldest church in town, and the Bible verse, “Son, Observe the Time and Fly from Evil” is quoted under the clock face on the tower of the church, so that fits into what I translated.

I did a quick little search on the church just for fun. The interior wall of the tower is exposed brick, and several random bricks were imprinted with a variety of religious symbols. In the 1990s the church was broken into and vandalized. The vandals had chiseled out several of these imprinted bricks, all of which had small cavities behind them. The church said nothing was stolen, but the rumor mill thought perhaps something had been hidden in those cavities and that's what the thieves were after. Maybe that's where your priest hid his key thing?

I reread it out loud and turned to Aris. “Did Phil call you this morning?” He nodded. “Did he tell you about this folktale and his other theory?” Aris nodded solemnly.

Billy said, “What other theory?”

“Phil thought if this chamber was real, it would be nearby because Edgar would want to release the demons, and they'd need to be close to us so they could help him with his revenge plan. The prophecy said the imprisoned souls would be given new life.” I looked around. “So maybe Edgar was kidnapping our GKs—”

Billy interrupted me before I could finish. “Uh uh. I don't care how strong he is. Even if he managed to capture one of us, even our lowest level guy is too strong, mentally, to allow a demon in—”

It was my turn to interrupt. “I know, but here's the thing…the stuff you guys found last night talked about Aaron's drug addiction. Phil was pretty sure Aaron's diminished capacity from his drug use was how Gilles was able to converge with him. Phil thinks maybe Edgar is using drugs on our guys. That's how he's going to make them pliable, able to be converged.”

Eric said, “But I thought we decided Calvin wasn't capable of doing the convergence yet?”

Carol said, “Damn, why didn't we catch this before?” She looked around. “The prophecy said that the cambion shall merge forever with his father and become one, and as one they'd be powerful enough to open the vault and converge the imprisoned demons.”

Pete said, “Okay, I'll buy that becoming one with Gilles, etc. would increase Calvin's power to that level, but who's going to converge
them
?”

“There was nothing in those writings about that, so I'm guessing Edgar is going to need one of you to do it,” Carol said as she looked from Billy to me.

Eric sighed. “No wonder Edgar's so desperate…he's up against the clock, and he's missing,” he started ticking off his fingers, “the journal with the combination, Calvin and Gilles, and one of you two.”

Pete cleared his throat and said, “All right, we've established that Edgar probably has our guys, and we know he has Phil, but where is he? Where are they?”

Billy said, “Vokkel mentioned that they found the chamber, so I'm going to assume that's where Edgar's hiding out.”

I looked at the papers strewn all over the center of the table. A yellow pad was on top of the mess, and Phil had scribbled a few things on it. A couple of words stuck out…
reflective eye=anamorphic drawing? Maps? Edge of cemetery—it means something!!!!

The journals were stacked on one end and I started flipping through them, but none of them contained strange words or drawings. “I think he went home for the other journal, the one that has all the drawings in it. It's not here.”

Carol was standing near me and read the words on the yellow pad. “Anamorphic….” She slapped her head lightly. “Of course! They're mirror anamorphic drawings. I knew they looked familiar.”

Eric frowned. “What are you talking about?”

She pointed at the yellow pad. “He wrote 'anamorphic'…it's a form of art. The artist creates a deformed image on a plane surface surrounding a cylindrical mirror. The drawing can only be viewed clearly through the mirror though, so when you remove it, all you have is a distorted image that doesn't resemble anything. But replace the cylinder and a three-dimensional picture that can be viewed from various angles comes to life.” She looked down at me, a slight smile on her face. “The translation Boyd sent said that God had him create drawings of the strangest and most undecipherable nature. He also said something about the reflective eye, which could mean the cylinder or whatever you need to interpret the drawings. I'm guessing Phil thinks the drawings in the journal are the maps and the combination.”

Eric said, “I think we need someone to go back over to Phil's house to see what they can find. Hopefully Edgar didn't see the journal and take it with him.”

“I'll go,” Carol said matter-of-factly.

Aris looked concerned. “Perhaps you should take someone with you, one of Pete's men.”

Carol smiled and said, “Don't worry. One of Pete's guys is stationed at Phil's until further notice. And if anyone wanted to follow me when I leave here,” she winked, “they'd have to catch me first.” She was right…her driving skills consisted of speed and rapid lane changes. There was no way a car could follow her, and even an experienced motorcycle driver would have a hard time keeping up with her and her Ducati.

Carol didn't wait for more argument; she left the room, and within a minute, we heard the front door open and close, and soon after the roar of her motorcycle as she took off for Phil's.

I leaned back in the chair and ran my hands down my face. “What now?”

Aris said, “I believe it is time to speak with Calvin.”

Pete growled, “I'll get him,” as he left the room.

I looked at Billy. She was staring at the papers on Phil's table, her brow wrinkled, and I asked, “What?”

She pointed to the notepad. “Edge of the cemetery.” Her brow wrinkled. “Something Calvin said the day we walked through the park. He asked where the cemetery was. I told him there wasn't one, that there weren't any cemeteries anywhere in the city except the Presidio and Mission Dolores. He started to argue, then he just dropped it.”

Pete popped his head into the room. “The kid's waiting in the den. I think he knows something's up.”

Aris nodded and turned to the rest of us. “I'd like both of you to join me, as well as Pete. Eric, I'd like you, Jonas, and Dave to stay in the hallway, but be on guard…this boy is quite unpredictable.”