The Harrowing (16 page)

Cain stopped on a station and they listened to the TV announcer: “Baird College has released students early for Christmas break after the suspicious death of a coed. Two missing students are wanted for questioning….”

Robin looked up, startled, at the last. Cain reached and turned off the radio. He looked out at the stream of cars leaving the campus through the veil of rain.

“They could be miles away by now.”

Robin shook her head, sure. “Don’t you remember how we met? None of us
go
home.”

She reached into Cain’s backpack for his phone, started to text.

* * *

Robin and Cain were the only customers in the dim Main Street diner. They sat edgily in the cracked red vinyl window booth, staring out plate glass at the flooded downtown street. The drizzle of rain had turned into a gale. Wind bent the trees on the sidewalk, gusted against the glass, so that water poured down in sheets.

A bulky Toyota 4Runner pulled up to one of the diagonal parking spaces outside the diner. Two figures emerged from the car and darted across the wet sidewalk, hurried in through the front door of the diner.

The door blew shut with a jangle of bells. Patrick and Lisa shook water off their clothes. They saw Cain and Robin at the window booth and stopped still for a moment before crossing the restaurant to sit across from them.

Robin met Lisa’s eyes, but before anyone could speak, the waitress came to fill their coffee cups.

“Wet out,” she remarked stoically. She handed out menus, then departed.

The four of them looked at one another warily.

Cain spoke first. “Where’s Martin?”

Patrick matched Cain’s curt, neutral tone. “We tried his room before they closed the dorm down. No one there.”

Robin looked across at Lisa. “We called his parents’ house. The housekeeper didn’t even know school was let out. You haven’t seen him at all?”

Lisa started to speak, then her eyes widened; she stared out the window.

A sheriff’s car was cruising slowly down the muddy street outside the diner.

All four of them hunched down in their seats, not breathing, until the car cruised on, disappeared around a comer.

Patrick sat up again, his face grim. “Sheriff came by Mendenhall looking for you all.”

Cain straightened, looked across the table at Patrick. “Why did you stay?”

Lisa looked at Robin. “We had to make sure you were all right.”

Robin felt a sudden ache in her throat. She glanced out the window, in the direction the sheriff’s car had disappeared, then back to Lisa, haunted. “They think I killed Waverly.”

Lisa swallowed. “Was it…Zachary?”

The four of them looked around at one another. Lightning flashed outside, branching fire in the dark sky. They all flinched, and then Cain exhaled. “We think we know what ‘Zachary’ is.”

Outside the wide window, rain pounded into the rutted parking lot of the Mainline. Inside the dim motel room, Cain and Robin had the diagrams and texts they’d printed out in the cyber café spread out on the bed for Patrick and Lisa to see.

Robin watched their faces as Cain gestured, explaining.

“The Key of Solomon is full of truly weird shit. Spells for just about everything. Demons, exorcism, rituals of invocation and banishment. People really believed this stuff—it’s amazingly matter-of-fact.”

Robin recalled Martin’s words on the steps, that windy day: “
I’m supposed to believe in a religion based on texts from the Middle Ages that seriously acknowledge astrology and numerology and…demons?
”

She turned to Lisa, who was standing frozen, pale with disbelief. “But you’ve heard of this, haven’t you? You and Martin were talking about Kabbalah that first night.”

Lisa twisted the knotted red thread on her wrist. “The morning after—when we found the game scores in the newspaper—he asked me what I knew about Kabbalah and”—she breathed in sharply, remembering, “the Qlippoth thing. But I never heard of any of
that
.”

She looked down at the red yarn, as if just noticing it. “This was something I saw in a magazine. It was for fun.”

She suddenly, savagely pulled the yarn from her wrist, breaking it and flinging it away from her.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered, looking sick.

“None of us did,” Cain said. He indicated a diagram of a starlike arrangement, then bent and quickly sketched out a table with five figures around it in the same arrangement. Robin noticed fleetingly that Cain’s trademark cynicism was gone; he was strangely comfortable with the ancient symbols.

“Look. We’ve been creating a pentagram all along—the five of us in this shape. Five is a magic number. A pentagram is a gateway. We made an opening—”

“And this…this shell thing came through,” Patrick finished grimly.

Robin turned dark eyes on the others. “Zachary Prince and the kids who died in the fire were doing a séance in the attic—with the same Ouija board that Lisa found. They wrote the answers the board gave them.” She showed them the faded writing in the lid of the box. “They called up the Qlippah.” Her voice dropped. “And it killed them.”

Lisa blanched. “Why? What does it want?”

Cain sat on the edge of the radiator. “The Kabbalah texts say the Qlippoth want life.”

Lisa turned to Robin. “But you just said it killed those people.”

“And Waverly.” Patrick spat.

Robin nodded. “That’s the thing. It wants life—it’s jealous of all human life. But it can’t
have
life. It can only destroy.”

Patrick paced in the small room. “The truly fucked-up thing is that I believe it.”

“What do we do?” Lisa’s voice was small and wan. Robin felt like crying herself.

Patrick stopped his restless prowling. “We head for the tall grass. The fuck away from here.”

“We can’t leave Martin,” Robin protested.

“Every man for himself,” Patrick retorted.

Robin whirled to Cain, her eyes appealing.

“We don’t know he’s anywhere near here,” Cain told her. His voice was gruff, but he looked away from her gaze.

Robin stared around at all of them. “Martin wouldn’t have left. You know he wouldn’t. He’s obsessed. He doesn’t think. He’s still in Mendenhall with…that thing.”

Lisa hugged herself. “What if he’s dead?”

Robin flared up. “What if he’s not?’ Her voice rose. “We
all
let this thing out. What if it can move? It killed Waverly. What’s it going to do next?”

An uneasy silence fell between them. Thunder rumbled again, then the not-so-distant crack of lightning.

Cain picked up some printed pages. “There’s one more thing. We found a banishing ritual. It’s pretty wild. But at least there’s a precedent.”

Lisa was suddenly very still. “You mean we could get rid of it? For good?” she asked cautiously.

Cain looked troubled. “I don’t know. But somebody thought so. This stuff has been passed down for ages.” He looked around at them. “We
all
have to do it, though, or the ritual won’t work.”

They looked at one another in silence. Then Patrick growled. “Shit on the mumbo jumbo. This thing kills. We go in, we get Martin, we get out. End of story.”

Four pairs of eyes locked over the strange diagrams on the bed. And slowly, they all nodded agreement.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The day passed in slow motion. Going back onto campus with all the police everywhere was out

of the question. They decided to try for ten at night, figuring the campus would have been completely cleared by then and the police would relax their vigil.

Patrick and Lisa went out for supplies, since Robin and Cain couldn’t risk being seen. Robin dozed fitfully, waking several times to find Cain poring over the ritual. She watched him, fascinated.
For all his rationalism, he’s in his element now, caught up in the mysticism. Maybe we
all
want to believe
.

They ate pizzas that Patrick and Lisa brought back. Patrick drank beer after beer and rolled joints, which he smoked, too, the look on his face precluding any protest.

Robin sat with her back against the wall, her thoughts a tumult.
Waverly’s dead. She’s dead, and we could be next.

She thought of Martin, alone in the dark halls with some unimaginable thing, and shuddered.

Suddenly, Cain was crouched in front of her, taking her hands, looking at her questioningly. She shook her head, trying to smile, and he sat beside her against the wall, warm and real.

Patrick took in the two of them, and when Robin met his gaze, he nodded. Approval, or maybe a blessing.

“The Discarded Ones,” he said aloud.

Everyone looked at him.

“That’s us, right? Damaged goods. It came straight to us—because it knew.”

Cain squeezed Robin’s hand. Lisa put her head on Patrick’s shoulder.

The four of them sat in silence, listening to the sound of the rain outside.

Waiting.

The campus seemed vast in the dark as Patrick drove his SUV without lights into the woods,

heading toward the Columns. After much heated debate between the boys, they’d decided it was best to get to the dorm through campus.

They left the 4Runner in the woods and then moved through the oak grove, nervous as cats, wearing dark clothing and each carrying a duffel. The rain had abated, but the dead leaves under their feet were damp and slick, and wind lashed through the trees, intermittently showering them with droplets.

They stopped on the path, looked through a tangle of bushes to the silhouette of Mendenhall.

The dorm was towering, a huge dark shell. Robin thought she could hear a shutter banging somewhere in the building.

Cain started forward, then Patrick hissed, “Wait.”

Lights swept the pavement of the circular drive in front. All four of them hit the ground behind the bushes, waiting, not breathing. A sheriff’s car cruised by; the lights passed over them, dappling light through the bushes.

Robin pressed her face into the damp leaves, heart pounding, breathing in the loamy rot.

Then the patrol car turned the corner of the drive, moved away down the street. Robin felt Cain’s hand on hers, closing around her fingers, pulling her up.

The four of them slipped from the wet bushes and hurried around to the side wall of the building, halting at a door hidden under the fire escape.

Cain fished out his dorm keys and tried the lock. The key turned, but as they’d all expected, the door was bolted from inside.

Patrick stepped back, looked up at the slatted metal fire escape ladder above their heads, calculating the height. He turned to Lisa, spoke in a low voice.

“Up on my shoulders.”

Cain stooped, locked his hands together to boost Lisa up. She stepped into his hands and Patrick grabbed her by the waist; both of them lifted her up at once to kneel on Patrick’s shoulders. Lisa put her palms on Patrick’s head, then, balancing carefully as an acrobat, unfolded herself to a standing position.

Patrick grabbed her ankles, steadying her. She reached up for the bottom rung of the ladder, grasped it, and yanked hard. The ladder refused to budge.

“It’s stuck,” she whispered down. She gave another hard tug, then ordered Patrick to let go.

Robin watched admiringly as Lisa tucked her legs up to her chest and slung an ankle over the rung of the ladder, then hoisted herself up over the ladder and onto the platform.

Her Nikes squeaked on the wet metal as she stood and shoved down on the ladder, pushing and straining, but no amount of force would unstick it.

Cain called up softly. “Break a window and come down and let us in.”

Lisa looked down at them over the railing. Her face was hard. “No way am I going in there alone.”

Cain looked to Robin, raised his eyes to the ladder, questioning. She nodded, and he laced his hands for her.

Robin tried to copy Lisa’s moves as Cain lifted her and the two boys boosted her up. She felt Lisa’s hand grab her wrist, and Patrick’s hands gripping her ankles, pushing up.

Adrenaline flooded through her as Lisa hauled her up over the side of the platform. Robin scrambled, grabbing at the metal screen of the platform until somehow her whole body was lying flat against the metal. She was trembling all over. Lisa was crouched against the wall, panting, but she managed a ghost of a smile.

Robin got to her feet, brushing herself off. She pulled the flashlight from her pocket, wrapped her scarf around the flashlight and her hand. Lisa backed up against the railing. Robin smashed the flashlight through the window.

She used the flashlight to push the jagged glass out of the frame, then cautiously stuck her head through the opening. She turned her flashlight on and shone the beam down one side of the corridor, then the other. She stared into the darkness, her pulse racing—but there was no movement. The Hall was dark and utterly silent.

She looked back at Lisa, who was hovering behind her on the fire escape, and slung a leg over the windowsill.

Inside, the Hall was pitch-black compared to outside. Glass crunched under Robin’s feet. She turned to the window and helped Lisa through.

Lisa straightened and the girls looked at each other, faces pale in the dark.

Robin felt along the wall, found the light switch, flicked it. Nothing.

“Electricity’s off,” she said uneasily, then remembered they couldn’t turn the lights on anyway, not with police patrols out there.

Lisa shivered. “Let’s go fast.”

Robin turned her flashlight on, keeping the beam low, below the window level, as Cain had instructed earlier. Lisa took Robin’s hand and they ran together down the dark hallway.

The hallway opened onto the landing above the main staircase. Below them, the well of the staircase gaped open like an enormous black cave.

Lisa and Robin crossed the landing and hurried down the sweeping stairs, Robin’s flashlight bobbing wildly. At the bottom, they turned into the shadowy front hall.

In front of her, Lisa pulled up short, gasping in terror. Robin froze.

A hooded figure stood by the door in the hall.

Robin felt herself screaming in her mind, her sanity wobbling.

Then something clicked in her head as her eyes adjusted to the dark. She choked out, “Coat rack.” She shined her flashlight beam over the figure.

Someone had left a heavy coat draped over the human-size rack. A hat perched on the top completed the illusion of a shadowy stalker.

Lisa exhaled shakily, leaning limply against Robin.

“Back door,” Robin managed.

They turned away from the front door, moved slowly down the murky hall, gingerly passing by the open bathroom, the curtained fire door, the narrow kitchenette. Everything seemed animate, ominous. Lisa was clutching Robin’s hand so hard her bones hurt

The open archway of the lounge was next. Lisa slowed as they approached, reluctant.

A muffled thud came from inside the room.

Both girls stopped dead.

Robin swallowed, spoke quaveringly into the dark. “Martin?”

They were still, not breathing, just listening.

A tapping sound began somewhere in the building, faint, rhythmic mocking. Robin tried to focus through her terror. Where was it coming from? From the lounge? Or somewhere else in the house?

Lisa grabbed Robin’s hand and they both ran, past the lounge doorway, toward the back of the house. Robin couldn’t help glancing into the lounge as they pounded past. In that one glimpse, the big room seemed empty, dark, still.

The girls dashed through a doorway into the narrow back entry hall. They halted at the back door, panting. Robin’s blood was pounding in her ears, but the tapping had stopped.

Robin shot the inner bolts and used her house key in the dead bolt, swung the door open.

Cain and Patrick hustled inside, carrying the duffels.

Outside, wind shivered through the dark trees, whipped the branches into a frenzy. For a moment, Robin stood in the doorway, grateful for the air on her hot face. The wind pushed at her, and Robin slammed the door shut.

The darkness was immediate, intimate.

With the door closed, Robin could barely see anyone—just the glistening of people’s eyes. But she could feel Cain’s wiry tension and Patrick’s warm bulk beside her, could smell the cold outdoors on them, and she was momentarily comforted.

Patrick turned on the flashlight; the sudden strong beam startled them all.

“Stay away from the windows with that,” Cain warned him.

“Dude, I lay you money I’ve broken into more houses than you have,” Patrick retorted. He took a dark sock from his pocket and pulled it over the flashlight, muting the beam.

Cain turned to the girls. “Everything okay?”

Robin nodded briefly, though of course it wasn’t okay; she had no idea if anything would ever be okay again. It didn’t feel like breaking into a building. It felt like landing on another planet. The Hall seemed completely cut off from the rest of the world, as if they’d entered another dimension or a parallel universe and were lost to anyone from the real world.

Is
it
here? In the air? In the walls? What does it look like?

Cain squeezed her hand, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “Any sign of Martin?”

Robin bit her lip, looked at Lisa. “We heard something. In the lounge.”

Patrick reached into an inside pocket of the heavy jacket he wore and pulled out a .38-caliber handgun. The others stared at him, shocked.

“Hey—” Cain started to protest.

“This shell thing killed Waverly,” Patrick said flatly. He cocked the gun, held it at his shoulder, then flashed Cain a crooked grin. “Southern gun culture.”

Cain smiled grimly back.

Patrick turned, and the three of them followed him through the narrow doorway into the main hall.

They stood in a block, looking warily down the dark corridor toward the lounge; Patrick and Cain in front, Lisa and Robin pushed in behind them, so close that they could feel one another breathe. Robin felt life and comfort in their warm bodies, and she was seized with a sudden fierce affection for the people around her. They were hers, she realized; they were like blood.

Patrick looked at Cain, then took a step forward, and they moved in a clump toward the arched entrance of the lounge.

At the doorway, they all paused, looked in warily.

A dark shape flashed on the other side of the room, opposite them.

They all jumped back, jostling into one another.

“Shit,” Patrick muttered, sounding annoyed at himself.

Robin realized they were staring into their own reflections in the mirror.

They all relaxed at the same time, sheepish. Robin looked around the dark cavern of the lounge. Rain beat against the outside of the arched windows. The dark shapes of trees swished and swirled in the wind.

They all jumped again at a sudden fast banging, like the report of a gun, pounding through the ceiling and walls. Robin felt the sound reverberate through her whole body, like someone touching her from inside. Lisa’s revolted gasp beside Robin told her Lisa was feeling the same thing.

Patrick and Cain spun almost angrily, looking up and around them at the molded ceiling.

The banging abruptly stopped. The silence seemed even more ominous.

“Upstairs,” Cain said tightly, moving toward the door.

The four stepped out of the lounge. Robin heard Cain’s intake of breath when Patrick’s flashlight skimmed the coat rack, then felt him relax as he recognized the shape.

They crossed the wood floor to the staircase and started up the stairs, dimmed flashlights bobbing in the dark, eyes darting nervously into every corner. The carpet was spongy beneath their feet, a slightly loathsome sensation. Robin flinched at a creak.

At the top of the stairs, Lisa froze, a scream choking in her throat.

To their left, the hallway door was opening and closing slowly, rhythmically, as if the door was breathing…in…and out…

The four stood mesmerized, watching.

Cain suddenly strode to the door and pulled it open. A strong breeze ruffled his hair, and Robin gasped. He shook his head.

“It’s the wind. Coming in the broken window.”

Robin pushed up behind him, looked down the long, dark hall. She could feel the draft from the window she’d broken.

She leaned against Cain, and he put a strong arm around her waist, holding her tightly against him.

Patrick shoved forward, marched past Robin and Cain. “Let’s fucking get on with it.” He slammed into the stairwell.

Cain moved Robin forward, touched Lisa’s arm, and the three of them followed Patrick through the door.

The stairwell was dark and hollow, resonant with their breathing as they climbed up after Patrick’s bobbing flashlight.

“O’Connor, hold up,” Cain whispered upward, and the light paused at the third-floor doorway.

The three of them caught up with Patrick on the small landing in front of the door. Patrick pulled the door open a crack and peered through into the third-floor hall. Robin could feel him untense slightly. He nodded behind to the others, then silently swung the door open into the hall.

They followed Patrick into the murky corridor, looking down at a string of silent doors, all closed.

Robin felt a rush of impatience. She moved suddenly ahead toward Martin’s corner room. Cain fell quickly into step with her, staying close by her side. She could feel Patrick and Lisa right behind.