MOON FALL (28 page)

''There might be."
Dashwood
came around the table and
put his arm around her waist. ''But not eno
u
gh to affect you.
You just need a good night's rest."

Everything lurched dizzily around her as he guided her to
her bed. He bent and pulled back the covers, then helped her
lie down. ''I feel ridiculous," she said. as he took her shoes
off and set them on the floor by the bed.

''Don't." He undid the belt on her pants and snaked it from
the loops, then laid it on the night table. "I'm a doctor, remember?"
He pulled the covers up over her, then sat on the edge
of the bed. "Is there anything else you need. Sara?"

God, those eyes. ''No." She felt herself drifting away.

He bent over her, lightly brushed his lips against her forehead.
"Sweet dreams," he whispered. "Sweet, sweet dreams."

No matter how many times John asked him not to, Gus
turned his telephone ringer off every night at nine o'clock. He
said it was because he'd been at the beck and call of his
parishioners
for so many years that now, in retirement, he was
damned if he was going to give up a single moment of his
nighttime privacy.

It was eleven P.M. John hadn't expected him to pick up,
but he'd hoped that his grandfather had finally hooked up the
answering machine he and Mark had given him for his birthday
last June. No such luck.
Stubborn old coot.
Well, he thought,
I’ll
catch up with him tomorrow.

He'd spent the time since Sa
ra
left with Mark. His son
had spoken at length, exorcising every horrible detail, and
hopefully, some of his emotional trauma. Then, trying to
assuage the boy's obvious guilt over Pete Parker's death, John
ended up telling him what he remembered of the night and
morning surrounding Greg's death.

Mark had benefited from their confessions; he'd finally fallen
peacefully asleep. John had covered him up and returned to
the living room. He hadn't benefited; recounting the story aloud
after all these years, thinking about Greg's death in such detail,
left him both drained and agitated. It didn't make sense,
not the way he remembered it, and he could no longer deny
that whatever was missing from his memory was important.
Absently he pressed his fingers to his breast pocket, where
Minerva Payne's good luck charm rested.
Silly old woman.
Or
was she? He wasn't so sure anymore.

He started to reach for the phone again. After all these years,
he suddenly wanted to talk to Winky and Beano and Paul. He
needed to know what they thought of the events of Halloween,
1972. The clock struck eleven-thirty and he withdrew his hand.
Most people in Moonfall were early-to-bed types. On top of
that, it would be best to sleep on things before talking to anyone.
And before he did anything else, he decided. he'd talk with
Gus and find out what all the excitement about their family
tree was about.

In the dark, far away, came one of those hellish screeches.
Shivering, John rose and checked the locks on the doors and
windows, then went to bed. He didn't expect to sleep, but he
wanted to be within shouting distance of Mark, should the boy
suffer nightmares or wake up to the sound of the thing that
had killed his friend.

Sara, Sara, wake up!

"Jenny?" Eyes closed. Sara thought she was speaking, but
wasn't sure. It might only be a dream.

Open your eyes, Sara. I have something to show you.

She tried to force her way up through layer upon layer of
sleep. It was like swimming in maple syrup, making her feel
as if she were drowning in it and couldn't come up for air.
"Jenny," she gasped. "I'm coming, Jenny."

Hurry!

Cold fingers caressed her cheek and suddenly, she was
awake-
and afraid. What if it was the fraud calling to her, the
specter that had pretended to be Jenny in the showers?

The caress again.
It's all right, Sara. It's me. Don't be afraid.
Jenny's voice.

Slowly, trembling hard, she opened her eyes.

Jenny stood before her, pal
e, but seemingly solid. Her
dark hair flowed down over her shoulders, just as Sara remembered.
She wore a long white gown. She smiled.
Hello, Sara.

Sara sat up, rubbed her eyes. "Jenny, is it really you? I
mean ... "

It's me. And I have to show you something. Get up. Please
hurry!

Sara realized that Jenny's mouth wasn't moving, but inexplicably,
her fear had lessened. ''What?" she asked, as she stood.
"What do you have to show me?" She reached out to touch
Jenny, who looked so real, but her fingertips disappeared into
her arm. Startled, she jumped back. The fingers were icy cold.

I'm sorry. I wish I could hug you.

Sara edged around the bed, then turned to go to her closet.
She could barely think; she wasn't even positive she was awake.

You're already dressed. Put on your shoes.

She looked down, startled to see it was true. Dr. Dashwood
had come to visit, she remembered, and she'd been very tired.
He must have put her to bed.

The ghost was standing by the door when she looked up
again. She slipped on her penny loafers. "Okay," she said,
shrugging on her jacket.

Open the door.

Hesitantly, she did as Jenny had asked. Without allowing
herself to consider the possible consequences, she followed the
ghost to the far end of the building and down the staircase.
The spirit didn't walk, but seemed to glide along the floor, and
Sara was glad its feet were hidden beneath the gown. If Jenny
was floating above ground, she didn't want to know about it;
her nerves couldn't take any more.

Ground fog covered the lawn and the barest hint of a pink
dawn tinted the eastern sky beyond the forest. The spirit moved
across the lawn, leaving no footprints, and Sara followed, trying
to keep pace, her feet slipping and sliding on the dew-moistened
grass.

Even in the gloom, the spirit was easy to see: it seemed to
have its own inner light as it glided between the hedges and
across the road to the forest. Sara's clothing and hair caught
in the bushes as she pushed her way through. "Jenny, slow
down."

The ghost stopped at the forest edge.
Hurry!

"Where are we going?" Sara panted.

We must hurry. Follow me!
The spirit turned and moved into
the woods.

''Wait!" Sara cried, still on the road at the edge of the woods.
Wingbeats sounded, echoing in the fog, and something passed
overhead, seeming to cast a shadow even in the dim morning
light. "Wait!" she cried again, but her voice was lost in the
screech of the huge bird. Frightened, she lunged into the forest
after Jenny.

She ran, never quite catching up with the ghost as it glided
among the trees, and sometimes right through them. It was too
dark here to see anything except looming tree trunks and the
phantom's white figure, a candle in the gloom. She tripped over
roots and her feet caught in rodent holes. Falling repeatedly,
she ripped her trousers and skinned her knees and bruised the
palms of her hands. From overhead, above the trees, came the
sound of wings, and sometimes the bird's raucous call.

Hurry!

She heard the voice in her head as loudly as if Jenny were
next to her instead of fifty feet ahead. Rushing on, she saw
pinkish light between the thinning trees, heard the rumble of
crashing water. A moment later, she came into a vast clearing,
a vaguely circular meadow. At the far end, rising above the
pasture, were waterfalls. Jenny hovered near them.

With sudden dread, she realized that this was where they
had found Lenore Tynan. Glancing skyward, she saw pinkish
-
gray
light, and no sign of the bird that had dogged her run
through the forest. Relieved, she trotted across the meadow to
the edge of the Falls. ''Why are we here?'' she asked, trying
to catch her breath.

I want to tell you how it happened.
In the dawning light,
Jenny's figure had become translucent, her skin the color of
fog.

"But you didn't die here."

Many have. Many more will.

Jenny's form seemed misty now, reminding Sara of the phantom
in the shower. Her eyes were nothing more than black
holes, the shape of her face barely recognizable.

You were supposed to die that night, not me.

''What?" Sara stepped back. ''What are you talking about?"

Look in your pocket.

Sara slipped her hand in the jacket pocket. Her finger touched
cold metal. "Ow!" She pulled her hand out, stared in
shock
at
·
the razor blade imbedded in her fingertip. She shook the
hand and the blade flew out onto the damp yellow weeds.
Droplets of blood spattered her shoes.

The phantom moved forward before Sara could react. Its
face was swirling mist, its eyes huge and fathomless.
Pick it
up.

Sara couldn't scream. All she could do was stare into those
dark pits, mesmerized, and bend down. Her hand seemed to
be guided as she picked up the blade without looking at it.
She rose, so afraid that she was beyond feeling anything but
numbness. Vaguely, she felt hot blood dripping from her finger
onto her palm. "You're not Jenny."

Phantom laughter resounded
in her ears, then the voice cam
e,
no longer Jenny's, but something deep and hollow and chill.
It was your time to go, Sara Hawthorne, not mine. You were
a coward and you let me die in your stead.

"It wasn't her time or mine," Sara said. Fear threatened her
again, and she did her best to remain calm. "Who are you?
What
are you?"

You were the chosen one, the virgin, but you ran away and
left your friend to die for you. You're a coward, and now you
must pay.

Dawn approached quickly now, and Sara could see streaks
of pink and blue through the ghostly figure. What was it talking
about? ''I never ran away."

"You did." Again carne the horrible shrieking laughter and
the phantom seemed to grow taller, looming over her, its huge
black eyes locked on her own, imprisoning her in their depths.

Even now, on the day of your death, you don't remember,
do you, you little bitch?

Sara tried to think, tried to remember what happened before
she found Jenny. But how could she recall something that even
her therapist couldn't draw to the surface through hypnosis?

Remove your coat.

Feeling the blade cut into her palm, she blindly removed her
jacket, let it fall, then watched in amazement as her sweater
sleeve pushed itself up to her elbow.

Put the blade to your wrist.

The command overwhelmed her and she began to raise the
blade.
What are you doing?
"No!" she screamed, stopping the
movement with huge effort.

Do it.

''No!" But even as she cried the word, the phantom swarmed
over her and again, she felt as if she were drowning in cold,
thick soup. "No!" She watched in horror as the hand holding
the blade rose of its own accord. Her other arm was yanked
out straight by invisible hands, and she brought the blade toward
her wrist. ''No!" The word sounded muted, garbled, and blood
from the cuts on her fingers and hand dripped onto her outstretched
inner forearm, spattering her pale skin.

Her hand trembled as she fought, but the blade came inexorably
toward her arm. The tip of the metal pressed against the
flesh over the large blue vein close to the surface of her wrist.
She felt a sting and saw a single pearl of blood ooze out. ''No!
I won't do it!" she screamed, but she couldn't fight the force
of the specter.

I will squeeze the life from your body and hurl you into the
water.

The blade dug deeper; then she felt a tugging on her hand
and knew the phantom was going to make her pull the blade
up through her flesh to the elbow.

"Be gone, spirit!"

The powerful voice roared above the thunder of the Falls,
and at that same moment, a single ray of sunlight hit her, shining
through the phantom. Sara squinted against the brilliance. The
force abated slightly, the urge to pull the blade was gone, but
she couldn't remove it from her flesh.

Do it now!
The phantom's voice ripped through her ears,
shrill and awful.
Do it, bitch!

"Be gone, spirit!" cried the new voice.

Sara heard a spate of words she didn't understand, and then
the coldness slowly left her and she saw the phantom before
her, an amorphous glowing mass, thin in the sunlight. The eyes,
bottomless coal pits, held her in their grip, but now her will
returned. "No! I won't do it!" she screamed. She flung the
blade away, over the cliff.

You will die, old woman!
The specter turned toward the Falls,
and Sara turned, too, saw a tall, dark figure, its arms raised,
standing on the bridge over the top of the Falls.

"The sunlight takes you! Be gone!" cried the woman.

You will die soon, old woman.
The phantom laughter rippled
through Sara's mind, and the ghostly figure turned its gaze on
Sara.
And you will die in pain greater than you can imagine!
The laughter surrounded her, then faded until it was nothing
but an echo.

Sara picked up her coat, found a handkerchief in the breast
pocket, and wrapped it around her hand. Then she looked up
at the bridge, but the woman was gone.

"Let me see."

A hand touched her shoulder and Sara whirled, raising a fist.
The old woman caught it in her hand. ''It's all right now," she
s
aid.

Sara knew it was the voice that had stopped the phantom,
but now it was softer, kinder. The woman, clad in a dress of
s
uch a dark green that it was nearly black, smiled at her. She
was tall and thin, as old as time, and her dark blue eyes were
kind ... and familiar.

''I know you," Sara said, as the woman unwrapped the
handkerchief and examined the cuts.

"These aren't bad, Sara. You were lucky."

"I know you," she said again. Images flashed through her
mind. A cottage in the woods, warm and comfortable, with a
big stone fireplace where you could warm your hands. ''I know
you."

"And I know you, Sara. It's been a long time." The woman
took her elbow and guided her across the meadow, then up an
incline to a footpath. They crossed the bridge and turned onto
a well-worn trail into the woods.

''I know this place," Sara murmured, aware that shock was
muting her feelings and impressions. ''I know you."

''Of course you do. We spent many hours together years
ago."

At that moment, the cottage came into view between the
trees, and suddenly, she knew. "You're Minerva."

The old lady smiled. ''Yes, Sara. I was afraid you'd forgotten
about me." She took her elbow again and urged her toward
the cottage. "Come. We don't have much time."

Sara let the old woman guide her to the house, waited while
she opened the door. She was embarrassed because she knew
the woman's name only because of Kelly, but inside the house,
it was exactly what she expected, down to the crocheted throw
on the sofa and the needlepoint pillows. "I've been here."

''Yes, of course you have. Come to the sink."

She led her into the old-fashioned kitchen, past gleaming
copper pans and cast-iron pots. Bunches of drying herbs hung
in front of the windows, and jars and vials of mysterious potions
were interspersed with Crisco and vinegar and flour on the
shelves.

Sara watched in silence as Minerva washed her hand and
applied Band-Aids to the cuts. ''There, now. We just have time
for a cup of tea; then you must get back to St. Gertrude's."
She took cups and saucers from a cupboard and carried them
to the table, nodding at Sara to follow.

She sat down and watched as Minerva turned up the low
flame under a kettle, then took a small carton of half-and-half
from the century-old icebox and brought it to the table, set it
beside a delicate china sugar bowl. "We haven't much time,"
she said briskly as she placed tea bags in the cups. ''So these
will have to do." She brought the kettle over and poured steamy
water into t
he cups, before sitting down. “
Why have you
returned to St. Gertrude's?"

Briefly, Sara told her. The old woman nodded. "I understand."

''There are huge gaps in my memory. I know I know you.
I know I've been here." Sara paused. "You're Kelly Reed's
friend."

Minerva nodded. "That's how I knew you were back. She
spoke very highly of you."

Quickly, Sara told her about Kelly's plight.

The old woman shook her head sadly. "She's in grave danger.
Do you know if she has her amulet?"

''They took it away from her."

Minerva rose and went to a tin on the counter. She brought
out two amulets like the one Sara had seen in Lucy's office.
“
Wear one yourself, and get this to Kelly somehow."

“
What is it?"

“
Nun repellent." Minerva smiled.
“
Ghost repellent. It will
help with your willpower if you encounter the thing that had
you today."

"How?"

"I don't question, I only know it works."

Sara put the charm around her neck, placed the other one in
her pocket. "I don't know how, but I'll see that she gets it"

"I know."

''Minerva, what was that thing? I thought it was Jenny. That's
the second time it's fooled me."

"There's nothing of Jenny at the abbey. There's only evil."
She sat forward. "I don't know exactly what it is. A Christian
might call it a demon. I think it's a revenant of some sort
,
"

"A what?"

"You've forgotten many things."

Sara looked at her hands. "Yes. I've spent years trying to
remember."
.

''I know. A revenant is a ghost. A ghost is nothing but an
unintelligent ball of power. It's a shell. When someone takes
control of it and directs it, using its energy for his own purposes,
then it becomes a revenant. The revenant you encountered is
very powerful, as you know. And I must caution you, whoever
is directing it is also very powerful."

"The nuns?"

"Probably. As long as you're there, you must be very cautious.
Trust no one. They still want to kill you."

"But why?"

"You were the sacrificial lamb that got away."

''The ghost said Jenny died instead of me." She hesitated.
"I don't remember what happened before she died."

"You came here. Do you remember how many girls disappeared
from the abbey while you were there?"

Sara shook her head. ''They disappeared all the time."

"I didn't tell you this then because you were too young
and sensitive, but those nuns use virgins as sacrifices for their
orchards."

"That's nuts."

Minerva looked amused. "Not nuts, apples. Most of these
girls are undocumented; it's easy for the nuns to kill them and
claim they're runaways, or have been adopted. Trust me, Sara.
I'm telling you the truth."

"Why don't the police do anything?"

“
The nuns have certain abilities to cloak themselves, to make
sure the town doesn't think about them too much. They give
much to their dark god to keep it that way, and if someone
ever did catch on, there would be no proof. It would be a story
like the one about the gargoyles collecting babies for my stew
pot."