The Eternal Ones (13 page)

“Amen!” cried the women as the band started to play.

It was a familiar gospel tune, played faster and louder than Haven had ever heard. The congregation began to sway and a few members started to dance. Leah had her eyes closed, and her shoes shuffled to the rhythm of the song. One by one, people’s lips began to move in prayer. A hum of voices rose as the dancing turned passionate. Then the sound of unfamiliar languages spoken in unison broke through the music. Haven watched with growing horror and discomfort, forcing her feet to move and wishing she were anywhere but there.

“Relax.” Leah Frizzell laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t something you can think your way through, Haven. You gotta let go. You gotta try to
feel
it.”

Haven closed her eyes and ignored her own embarrassment. She let the music fill her mind and focused on a tingling in her toes as they danced. The tingle began to burn, climbing up her legs, engulfing her stomach, and then finally exploding inside her head.

 

 

THE MUSIC HADN’T stopped. She opened her eyes and saw three members of the congregation dancing around her while Earl Frizzell and his niece knelt by her side.

“What’s going on?” Haven asked, pulling herself up on her elbows.

“You were talking,” the preacher said. “Leah interpreted for you.”

“It wasn’t a demon talking. It was prophecy. The Lord’s trying to tell you you’re in danger,” Leah said, her face pale and frightened. “You have to leave town. I think there’s going to be a fire.”

“No,” Haven tried to assure her. “The fire already happened. A long time ago.”

“Someone’s going to start another one.”

“But I didn’t see a fire, Leah. I heard someone talking—a man with a wonderful voice.”

“You can’t trust him,” Leah warned. “Listen to me and get out of town while you can.”

After the church service, Haven drove for hours. Up hills and down hills. Over gravel and asphalt. She passed no more than five or six cars throughout the journey. With the windows rolled down, the hum and crackle of her wheels on the rough country roads helped calm Haven’s mind.

Haven knew Leah was right. She had to leave Snope City. It was ridiculous to think she could hide from the past. The visions would never end unless she figured out what was behind them. The only way to do that was to get to New York before anyone could stop her. Yet the prospect terrified Haven. Who was the man she’d heard whispering? Was he the one who would start the fire?

Haven wished she remembered more of Constance’s life. She had a hunch that the name of the man who couldn’t be trusted was hidden somewhere in the dark gaps of her memory. Logic told her it might be Ethan. The very person she needed to find. If so, her trip to New York might wind up a trap.

Haven’s car came to a halt at a stop sign at the intersection of two deserted roads. The crickets’ song drowned out the sound of the car’s motor, and Haven sat and listened to them as the leaves rustled overhead. Finally she stepped on the gas and took the turn toward Snope City. Her decision was made. She’d call Beau and start packing as soon as she got home. By the time her family woke in the morning, Haven would already be gone.

 

IT WAS JUST past ten o’clock when the Civic rolled to a stop in the driveway and Haven cut the engine. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find the front door open and an angry old lady standing on the threshold. But the Cadillac wasn’t there and the house looked dark and still. Even the porch lamp, which Imogene believed to be all that stood between her and the world’s criminal community, had not been switched on. Haven wondered where her mother and grandmother could be. Imogene often liked to stay at church after services to talk to Dr. Tidmore, but she was usually home by eight and in bed by nine thirty.

“Hello?” Haven called out as she entered the house. There was no answer, just a muffled creak from a loose floorboard on the second floor. Haven held her breath and set her senses on full alert. She recognized the sound. The creaky board lay just outside her room. She flipped the switch in the foyer. The light was unusually dim—barely powerful enough to illuminate the stairs. The second floor of the building remained in the shadows. Haven stayed frozen, listening for sounds of movement over the pounding of her own heart. She heard nothing.

Looking back at the car in the driveway, Haven wondered if she should leave. But there was nowhere else to go. The town was asleep—even the gas stations were closed. She thought about calling the police, but she couldn’t bear to face their scorn when they discovered they’d been summoned to investigate a loose floorboard.

With her courage slowly growing, Haven moved cautiously around the first floor, turning on lights in all of the rooms. In the kitchen she grabbed a butcher’s knife. Then she headed back to the stairs and began to climb toward the darkness on the second floor. She took one step at a time, waiting and listening before climbing another. At the top of the stairs, she fumbled for the switch to the hallway light.

Room by room, she quietly nudged the doors open, then hastily turned on the lights. The bathroom and the guest room proved empty. But when she reached her own bedroom door, it didn’t budge. After a moment’s pause, she stepped forward and twisted the handle. She took a deep breath and held it as she threw open the door. She was reaching for the light switch when she saw a figure illuminated by an orange glow that was emanating from her bed.

She knew at once that she’d seen the man somewhere before. His face was bland, his clothes unremarkable. Even his dark hair, parted on the side, seemed oddly average. He stayed frozen for only a second before he bolted past Haven, pushing her out of his path and knocking her knife to the floor as he ran for the stairs.

Haven slammed against the door frame and lost her footing. She felt her head hit the doorknob as she fell, and then she felt nothing at all.

 

SHE WAS CALLING for Ethan. She felt the heat on her face and the pain in her lungs. Suddenly Haven was awake, half her face mashed against the wooden floor. The other half was hot. Her handbag and the butcher’s knife were lodged beneath her, and when she rolled onto her back, she noticed that the room looked cloudy. She couldn’t even see the ceiling. Something bright flickered in the corner of her eye. Haven let her head flop to the side. Flames were consuming her bed and scaling the wall behind it. She watched, still woozy, as a line of fire inched across the braided rug and climbed the legs of her desk. She knew she was going to die but felt no panic.

Her eyes drooped and she drifted to sleep. She found herself back in the familiar room. Ethan’s lips were on hers, his arms encircled her, and the smell of smoke grew stronger. When he pulled back, there was something different about the look in his eye. He reached out and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“We’ll be together soon,” he promised, and she believed him.

The next time she woke, the entire room was ablaze. Haven knew that she needed to move quickly, but her limbs felt as heavy as marble pillars. She made it to the hallway on her hands and knees. As she pulled herself upright, she heard a single cough. It had come from Imogene’s bedroom.

She found her grandmother in bed, asleep. A pill bottle on the nightstand suggested she’d had some help counting sheep.

“Get up! Where’s Mama?” Haven yelled, shaking the old woman awake.

“Have you lost your mind? She’s out looking for you!” Imogene managed to croak before she succumbed to a fit of coughing. “What have you done, Haven Moore?” she demanded when she realized the room was filled with smoke.

Haven didn’t take the time to answer. She grabbed her grandmother and dragged her into the hallway and down the stairs. The old woman was surprisingly light, as if she were made of nothing but spite and bitterness.

When they were both safely out the front door, Haven dug into her pocketbook and pulled out her cell phone. She punched 911. “Fire. Snively house,” she gasped and passed out in the azalea bushes.

 

“LOOKS LIKE THE girl carried the old lady down.”

Haven felt herself being lifted and heard the sound of sirens and men shouting around her.

“Oh, thank Jesus. Are they hurt? Are they burnt?” Mae Moore was hysterical.

“Doesn’t look like they’re burnt. Probably suffering from smoke inhalation. We’ll need to get them to the hospital.”

“It was your girl, Mae,” Haven heard her grandmother wheezing. “You can’t tell me it wasn’t.”

Haven swooned as she was loaded into the back of the ambulance. Her mother climbed in beside her, crying as she held Haven’s hand. Before the doors closed, Haven caught a glimpse of a crowd that had gathered in the nighttime. Past them lay the house. The attic and half of the second floor were black and smoldering.

“Haven, honey,” Mae Moore said. “Sheriff Lambert’s stopped by, and he wants to ask you some questions about the fire.” The curtain that had shielded her bed was suddenly yanked back. There stood a short, stocky lawman with a bushy red moustache. The kids at Blue Mountain called him Yosemite Sam. He took a seat at Haven’s bedside and flipped through a small notepad until he found a clean page.

“How you feeling, Miss Moore?” The question appeared to be more scientific than sociable.

“Fine, I guess.” Her lungs still felt as if she’d inhaled drain cleaner, but at least she’d had a good night’s sleep.

“You want to tell me where you were last night? You told your mother you were going to see a friend. Then she found out you weren’t with him when the boy called your house. Scared the tar out of her and your grandma. Your mama went out looking to see if you’d driven into a ditch somewhere.”

“And Imogene went to bed,” Haven mumbled. “Figures.”

“I’m sorry?” the sheriff asked. “What was that?”

“Nothing. I was at the church near Eden Falls.”

“You were
where
?” Mae Moore blurted.

Even the sheriff struggled not to look surprised. “What were you doing up there?”

“The preacher invited me to visit. You can check with him. His name’s Earl Frizzell.”

“I know Mr. Frizzell. Don’t think he wants me coming up to his church, though. Some of the things they do up there aren’t exactly smiled on by Tennessee law. So what time did you get home?”

“Around ten.”

“Earl Frizzell preaches till ten?”

“No, I took a long drive after the service.”

Sheriff Lambert scribbled a quick note. “And where were you when the fire started?”

“I’d just gotten home. I went up to my bedroom, and there was a man setting my bed on fire. He threw me against the door when he ran out of the house, and I hit my head on the doorknob.”

The Sheriff looked up from his notepad. “Can you describe the intruder?”

“Sure,” Haven said, but when she tried to conjure the man in her mind, he was already an anonymous blur. “He was a few inches taller than me, and he had brown hair and brown eyes. He was wearing a white shirt and black pants.”

“You just described around two billion people,” the sheriff said. “Can you tell me anything else?”

“I think I may have seen the guy at Cope’s on Tuesday afternoon,” Haven said. “He was wearing the same outfit.”

“We’ll come back to the man you saw in a moment. Do you have any idea who might want to break into your house or do you any harm?”

“Not unless you want to count the half of Snope City that thinks I’m possessed by Satan.”

“Any names you care to give me?” He’d taken the suggestion seriously.

Haven sighed. “No.” The kids at Blue Mountain might enjoy making her suffer, but even Bradley Sutton didn’t have it in him to hurt her family. “Besides, I don’t think the guy was from around here.”

The sheriff made another note. “Now, I’ve been told that you’ve had some trouble lately. Is it true you’ve been seeing things? Fainting?”

“Yes.” Haven squirmed.

“Are you taking any medication for these problems?”

Haven suddenly realized that no one had ever mentioned medicine. She hadn’t even seen a doctor. “No.”

“I see. Well, we found the cause of the fire pretty easily, Miss Moore. Looks like somebody dropped a lit candle on your bedcovers. One of those fancy types that smell like perfume. Did you have anything like that in your room?”

Haven thought of the strawberry-scented candle that had been sitting unlit on the side of her desk for more than two years. “My mom gave it to me.”

“I did,” Mae confirmed. “I won it as a prize at the library raffle.”

“Any chance you might have knocked it over while it was lit?” the sheriff asked Haven.

“No, sir,” Haven said, her frustration growing. “I already told you what happened. I got home and found someone setting fire to the room.”

Sheriff Lambert spent a long, silent minute studying Haven’s face. She suspected it was a tactic that he’d picked up from police shows. “You say there was a man in the house, but nothing seems to be missing, and you can’t think of anyone who’d want to harm you. That doesn’t leave us with too many clues.” He closed his notebook. “I gotta level with you, Miss Moore. Your grandmother spent the morning trying to convince me that you’re responsible for the fire.”

“Oh, yeah?” The machine monitoring Haven’s pulse was now beeping double time. “Why am I not surprised? Did she tell you that she thinks I have a demon?”

“She might have said something like that. Now, I don’t believe in demons, Miss Moore, but I think there must be something wrong with a girl who’d do what you did to the preacher’s office. Way I see it, you’re lucky Dr. Tidmore didn’t press charges.”