The Vanishing (15 page)

Taking a seat on the crate, she peered out the window and into the storm, but she couldn’t see a thing in the inky black and pouring rain. It was dark in the loft, and for a moment she wished she’d brought a candle with her, but with the loft windows uncovered, it would have been a dead giveaway of her hiding place. Better the candle was left at the back of the church, where it would illuminate whoever walked in the door.

She placed the shotgun on the boxes, where it was in easy reach, and leaned forward to look out the window again. The rain pounded down on the tin roof of the church, creating a loud echo in the otherwise silent chamber. It blew in sheets past the window, the occasional flicker of lightning illuminating the village surrounding the church.

It looked almost like a painting, the rows of shacks and their straight-lined roofs, surrounded by the swamp. Granted, it wasn’t a particularly comforting picture. More likely, one you’d find in a horror story. Certainly, Colette felt she’d landed smack in the middle of one.

She saw a speck of light past the last shack, just at the edge of the swamp, and strained trying to make out what was causing it. It was such a small glow, and it flickered like the candle in the church, completely unlike the steady, round light that a flashlight would emit.

Certainly, no one was standing at the edge of the swamp with a candle. It wouldn’t even be possible to keep a candle lit in the wind and rain. Then what was it? A lantern, maybe? But the flame was so small, that idea didn’t fit, either.

Suddenly, the light disappeared and, a second later, reappeared a good ten yards away right at the edge of the village. She sucked in a breath. No way had someone moved that distance so quickly. Were there two people out in the storm? Only one person attacked her, but could he have gone for reinforcements after Max shot him?

The light disappeared again and she scanned the village, frantically looking for the reappearance of the light. Two seconds later, it appeared again directly across the dirt path from the church.

Her heart pounded so hard that her chest ached from the strain. Slowly, she reached for the shotgun, certain that any second, the person with the light would realize she was inside the church. A huge bolt of lightning flashed across the sky and she stared at the location of the light.

It was empty!

She jumped up from the crate and pressed her face to the glass. The glow from the lightning faded away and the flicker was back, exactly where it had been before. Somewhere that no human had been standing. A cold sweat broke across her forehead and she felt a chill run up her back and into her neck.

There was something out there, watching. She could feel it. Even though nothing could possibly see her through the window, tucked away in the dark shadows of the loft, she could feel the eyes on her…studying her. For the first time in her life, she wondered if humans and animals weren’t the only things to be afraid of.

The light disappeared again.

And reappeared, hovering right outside the window.

Chapter Twelve

Alex hung up the phone and shook her head at a very worried Holt. “He hasn’t returned the boat to the rental company,” she said. “He only rented it for the day and didn’t call to extend. The owner is fluctuating between being mad his boat’s not back and worried that something happened.”

“Something did happen,” Holt said. “Max would never worry us this way. If he had a change of plans, he would have checked in.”

“No luck with his cell?”

“It goes straight to voice mail.”

“Can we send the sheriff’s department to look for Max’s Jeep in Pirate’s Cove? At least narrow down where we need to start the search?”

Holt nodded. “I’ve already called. They sent someone out about twenty minutes ago.”

His cell phone rang and he checked the display. “This is them.”

He answered the phone, and Alex could tell by his expression that the news wasn’t good. He disconnected the call and looked over at her.

“His Jeep’s still parked there in front of the gas station. The boat’s nowhere in sight. The gas station is closed for the night, but the sheriff asked around in the café across the street. No one’s seen them since they drove into town this morning.”

Alex opened the closet behind her and pulled out rain slickers and rubber boots. Holt gave her an appreciative look.

“I’ll grab the spotlight from the garage and hook up the boat. Bring the rifle as well as our pistols.”

Ten minutes later, they were speeding down the highway to Pirate’s Cove. Although Alex knew Max was a very capable tracker and knew the dangers of the swamp well, worry wracked every square inch of her body. The swamps of Mystere Parish were no place for people after dark. Truth be told, she avoided them day or night. She could only imagine how scared Colette must be.

All she could do was hope something simple had happened, like boat trouble. Maybe they were rowing their way back to shore. She didn’t want to think about other possibilities.

Holt’s cell phone rang, and he glanced at the display and frowned. “It’s the New Orleans police.”

Alex stiffened as he answered and grew more worried as he barked out the words “when,” “any evidence” and “sign of forced entry.” A chill ran through her as she imaged the worst had happened with Anna, despite the police guard on her hospital room.

Holt disconnected the call and cursed. “Someone broke into Colette’s apartment.”

Alex’s entire body relaxed a bit. “Thank God. I was afraid something had happened to Anna.”

“No, she’s still safe. They checked as soon as they found out the apartment belonged to Colette.”

“What do they know?”

“Not much. The manager was trying to track down a plumbing leak and thought it might be coming from Colette’s apartment. She left Colette a message this morning, but when she hadn’t heard from her by this evening, she finally let herself in to check the plumbing. She found the place ransacked and left immediately to call the police.”

“Why go through Colette’s place? I don’t understand.”

Holt shook his head. “Maybe they thought Colette had what they were looking for—that Anna gave it to her or told her about it at the hospital. Nothing valuable was taken, so we can’t assume it was routine theft.”

“But Colette doesn’t have anything. She doesn’t even know what they’re looking for. I mean, Anna mentioned coins, but that’s the first Colette had heard of them.”

“You and I and Max know that, but that doesn’t mean the bad guy does. Colette went looking for Anna and was at the hospital when she was attacked. They’re probably assuming she’s close enough to know Anna’s personal business.”

Alex took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, processing all the ramifications of Holt’s words. “So that means Colette is in danger, as well. Assuming they think she has what they want or knows where to find it.”

Holt looked over at her and gave her a single nod.

The grim look on his face said it all.

* * *

M
AX FOUND THE BOOK
of fairy tales on the bed in the shack, exactly where Colette had described leaving it. He’d wondered at first if it would still be there or if her attacker had noticed her interest and had taken it with him. He placed the drawings back in the book to keep them from getting bent then wrapped the book in a blanket to protect it from the downpour.

It was a short run back to the church. The blanket should prevent the book from getting wet for that distance. He peered out of the shack into the darkness, scanning both directions, but couldn’t see more than a couple of feet in front of the shack in the downpour. The lightning had dwindled down to a burst only every couple of minutes, but the rain continued to come down in buckets.

He was just about to make his dash for the church when a scream ripped through the village.

Colette!

Clutching the bundled book to his side and his pistol in his other hand, he sprinted into the storm and across the village toward the church. Although it probably would have been a good idea to case the church before approaching, he didn’t even slow as he burst from between the last row of shacks and ran across the open area to the front doors of the church.

He burst through the doors and flung the book to the ground. Clutching his pistol with both hands, he frantically scanned the church, looking for the attacker.

“Max!”

Colette’s voice sounded from the loft above and relief coursed through him. The terror in her voice was unmistakable, but she was safe. He hurried up the ladder and rushed over to her.

“What happened?”

Both her body and her voice trembled as she spoke, telling him about the light that she’d watched outside the church window. He leaned over to peer outside the window she’d indicated, but all he could see was rain.

“There’s nothing out there,” he said.

She crossed her arms across her chest. “I didn’t imagine it.”

“I believe you. But whatever it was that you saw isn’t out there anymore.”

“It was a mass of light, about the size of my hand. It waved like candlelight in the wind and it pulsed smaller to bigger, brighter to less bright. It floated there, right in front of me.”

“Maybe it was a bug.”

“A bug the size of my hand with no facial features, no wings and whose body changes shape?”

“Okay, that was a dumb idea.” He looked outside once more. “I was trying to come up with something that would make you feel better.”

“The truth would make me feel better.”

Max shrugged, feeling helpless. “How can I tell you what I don’t know?”

Colette slumped down onto a crate. “You’ve never heard of this? I guess I thought with you growing up in Vodoun…”

Max sat on the crate next to her, his mind searching the archives of his childhood in Vodoun. “I heard a story once, but I guess I never wanted to consider if it was true.”

“What was it?”

“There was an old woman in Vodoun who claimed to be a psychic. She may still be there, for all I know, although she’d be ancient by now. Anyway, she caught me and Holt catching fireflies at the edge of the swamp late one evening.”

“Catching fireflies?”

“It was something for young boys to do in a small town that didn’t offer much by way of night entertainment. If you collected enough of them in a Mason jar, they created enough light to see by. We had a good bit in both our jars, but we’d seen brighter, bigger lights in the swamp and we were standing there debating going after them.”

“And the psychic stopped you?”

He nodded. “She told us that what we’d seen wasn’t fireflies, that it was the wandering spirits of those the swamp had claimed. They were unable to rest and roamed the swamp until they could make peace with their death and ascend.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Then she said if we were to catch one of the souls in our jar, we may extinguish its life force before it could cross over and the soul would be stranded in limbo forever.”

Colette’s eyes widened. “What an awful thought. What an awful story.”

“It definitely kept us from venturing into the swamp after those lights.”

“Did you ever see them again?”

“I don’t know. The swamp made up the back property line of our home. My bedroom faced it, and I spent a lot of time looking out that second-story window. I saw lights often, but I can’t be certain it wasn’t fireflies or flashlights or some other completely explainable thing.”

“But the lights from the swamp never entered your yard?”

“No. Fireflies were all I ever saw in the yard.”

“Maybe they can’t leave the swamp.”

“If you believe the old woman’s story, then that might be true.”

She pursed her lips and looked directly at him. “Do you believe it?”

“I don’t know if I believe they’re wandering souls, and I definitely don’t know that trapping them in a jar would condemn them to haunting the swamps of Mystere Parish forever…”

“But?”

He sighed. “But I’ve never seen anything like them except in the Mystere Parish swamps, and despite spending a good bit of time researching the subject, I haven’t been able to come up with anything more plausible than what the old woman said.”

“Lost souls.” She crossed her arms across her chest and shuddered. “Did the old woman say if they could hurt you?”

“She didn’t say, but I don’t see how they could.”

“I felt something watching me. It wasn’t just the light that caused me to panic. It was an overwhelming sense of being watched. It kept moving closer and closer, and then when it floated right outside the window, I lost it.”

He put his arm around her. “I don’t blame you. What you describe would have frightened anyone.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me.”

She looked up at him and gave him a small smile, but he could tell she was losing her grip. With everything that had happened, he could hardly blame her.

Suddenly, she stiffened and pointed at the window. “The lights,” she whispered.

He rose from the crate and edged up to the window. The rain had slowed to a drizzle but the moon was still hidden behind the clouds. Across the village and into the swamp he saw them, individual spots of light, pulsing and flickering, seeming to float.

Colette stepped beside him and clutched his arm. “There’re hundreds of them.”

He stared out at the balls of light, strewn as far as he could see, not wanting to accept what he saw as reality, but having no other explanation.

Then he said a silent prayer that he’d been right when he told Colette they couldn’t hurt them.

* * *

A
LEX SAT IN THE BOW
of the boat and directed the spotlight according to Holt’s instructions. Despite her hooded slicker, she was already soaked as the rain blew across the bayou, drenching her face and dripping down her neck.

It had been three hours since they’d launched their boat at the gas-station dock, but the storm had limited their pace to a crawl. She was relieved that Max had left a detailed description of where he intended to start his search for Cache, but even with details, navigating the swamp at night was risky business, especially in a storm. One wrong turn and they’d be just as missing as Max and Colette.