The First Church (17 page)

“What’s your suggestion then?” Brian asked.

“Well,” Dan said, “I can’t really tell you to go and watch the place.  Or to see if the place is empty.  Or to see if you can get in there.  Telling you to do those things would be wrong.  Criminal even.”

“Ah,” Luke smiled.  “Since our friends here would obviously never do such a thing, Detective, what might your plans be?”

“Mine?” Dan said. “Mine will be to find out whether the house in question was ever sold, or rented, or whatever.  I believe I have your number, Luke, and we can figure out the communication logistics after.”

“Fair enough,” Brian said.

“I have to go,” Leo said suddenly.

And then he was gone.

“Jesus Christ,” Dan muttered.

Shane lit a fresh cigarette and looked at the detective.  “Don’t
worry, you’ll get used to it.”

Dan shook his head.  “I don’t want to.”

Chapter 41: Panic Sets In

Miles Cunningham threw up in his bathroom and gripped the sides of the toilet tightly.

He wasn’t drunk anymore, and he remembered vividly what the dead had done to the old woman.

The image of the woman’s blood, caused Miles to vomit again.

He spit out a few mouthfuls of bile, sat back and wiped his mouth with some toilet paper.

Three more skulls,
he told himself. 
Just three more of them to move, and then I’ll be fine.  Everything will be fine.

A dry heave ripped through him, and he felt as though his throat would burst from the effort.

With a grimace,
Miles got to his feet, flushed the toilet and rinsed his mouth out with cold water.  A glance in the mirror showed he looked as haggard as he felt.  He splashed some water on his face, wet his hair and took a cautious sip from the tap.

When his stomach didn’t forcefully reject it, Miles drank a little more.

The morning sun filtered in through the lace of the old curtains and he glanced out at the back yard.  A squirrel ran
past, and Miles smiled.

It’s going to be okay,
he told himself.

He dried his face, folded the towel neatly and hung it back up on its bar.  He left the bathroom carefully.  He didn’t particularly want to run into any of the Japanese soldiers.  They had gotten a good drunk on, but they were volatile.  They could sleep for days.  Or they could be in the front room, ready to harass him.  Threaten him.

Miles went into the kitchen and got a few saltines out of the cupboard.  He nibbled on them as he went into the front room. 

No ghosts.

He sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall.  He looked at the television and wondered if he should put a movie on.

Finally, he shook his head and focused on the crackers.  He needed to wait for his stomach to settle before anything else.

Miles closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.

How am I going to get the skulls in there? 
He thought. 
The place is going to be crawling with cops now.  They’re going to rip through the place looking for evidence.

Miles’ head snapped up, and his eyes opened.

Evidence
, he thought. 
Oh, sweet Mary Mother of God, evidence.

He hadn’t been careful.  Not the last time.  Sato had made him upset, nervous.

Miles had been sloppy.

Oh God,
Miles thought, his heart hammering away in his chest,
what did I leave behind? Fingerprints? Hair?

It doesn’t matter,
a small voice said. 
It doesn’t matter if you did.  You can explain it.  You were there.  Even your boss can say you were.  You did the duct work.

But I did the job months ago,
Miles told himself. 

Doesn’t matter,
the voice said. 
Not at all.  Trace evidence survives.

I don’t have an alibi!  There’s blood all over everything!

Start cleaning,
the voice said in a matter of fact tone. 
Start scrubbing.  You have plenty of time, just don’t waste it.

Miles nodded.

He got to his feet, ignored the ominous rumble in his stomach, and stripped naked in the family room.

He needed to destroy everything he wore.  Scrub everything else.  He needed to be
clean
.

Chapter 42: Lou’s Luck

Lou Hanson had lived in the Half-Way
House ever since he had finished his time in State.  He had spent thirteen years at the correctional facility for an armed robbery he vaguely remembered.

Hell, Lou couldn’t remember most of the years between nineteen eighty-seven and nineteen ninety-seven.  The only reason he remembered the end of the century was because it was through forced sobriety.

Solitary confinement was a tough place to kick a heroin habit, but he had.

Lou picked the habit up again within three weeks of being out.  He still liked to get high, although not as high has he used to.

The past six years at Half-Way
House had been a little rough.  It was tough to get high with the staff always on the lookout.  They even checked for needle marks, which meant Lou couldn’t shoot up.

He snorted the heroin, but it just wasn’t the same.

Then Winnie had moved into the House.

Winfred Beauregard.  Fifty-five years old with a strong old habit.  He even shot up.

In the ear.

Winnie had shared the secret, too.

Lou patted the pocket with his needle and kit and heroin, to reassure himself everything was still there.

It was.

Now Lou just needed a place where he could shoot up.

The burial ground
, he thought, a smile appearing on his face. 
The burial ground behind the Congregationalist Church.

He had walked by the Church earlier in the day.  The place had been crawling with cops.  Word got to the House about how the
Reverend and the caretaker had been killed.

Lou felt bad
about it.  Both of the dead people had been nice to him and the other guys he lived with.  Lou had seen the
Reverend down at the soup kitchen a few times, and the caretaker always let him go into the Church and warm up when it was cold out.

Lou, since he was still sober, managed to avoid the police.  They didn’t see him as he slipped into the back of the burial ground, and found a good spot behind a huge marble marked with the name ‘Grenier’.

The moon edged out from behind a bank of clouds and cast an eerie, silvery light onto the old graves.

Lou didn’t worry about any ghosts.

He didn’t believe in them.

When you were dead, you were dead as far as Lou was concerned, so there was nothing to worry about.

With a happy sigh,
Lou got comfortable against Grenier’s stone, ignored the chill in the air and pulled his kit out of his pocket.  He hunched over the spoon and went about the grotesque ritual of cooking up his heroin.  Lou made sure to hide the flame of the lighter as much as possible, and soon he had the hypodermic loaded.

His hand shook with excitement.

The idea of a mainline high brought tears of joy to his eyes, and he paused to wipe them clear.

Metal scraped against stone.

Lou froze, and his heart thundered.

Oh Jesus, not now, please not now
, he thought.  He waited a moment and when he didn’t hear anything else he found the sweet spot and gave himself a boost.  As he depressed the plunger he felt the heroin slide into his bloodstream and he let out a long, happy sigh.

He gave it a few seconds before he took the needle out.

Lou closed his eyes, put the needle on the ground beside him and waited.

Someone whispered, and Lou opened his eyes.

A man squatted in front of him.

An Asian man. 

In a uniform of some kind.

Lou’s mouth worked to form words, but his throat didn’t supply any air.

The man looked at Lou inquisitively and then after a minute he reached out, picked up the needle and examined it.

Lou couldn’t stop him.  Not only was he unable to speak,
he couldn’t even move.

Did I get a bad dose?
Lou thought. 
Am I dying?

The man leaned closer and Lou felt a painful chill brush his skin.  Lou wanted to pull away, to leave, but he couldn’t.

None of his muscles were listening.  Nothing was obeying him.

The Asian man smiled, reached out and touched the side of Lou’s face gently.

The cold was intense, as though someone had sliced open his cheek and packed the raw wound full of dry ice.  Lou tried to scream and twist away.

Yet he was frozen in place.

The man’s smile widened into a grin full of bright white teeth.  He held up the syringe in one hand, peeled back Lou’s right eyelid and slid the sharp medical steel into Lou’s exposed eye.

Lou’s throat almost burst with the shriek trapped within, and the stranger chuckled and pressed the needle deeper into Lou’s eye.

Slowly, the man withdrew the needle and held it in front of Lou’s undamaged eye.

Lou watched in horror as the man whistled cheerfully and brought the tip of the syringe ever closer.

And as the metal slowly punctured his eye, Lou found he was able to scream.

Chapter 43: Dan Goes to City Hall

Rye, New Hampshire was several decades behind the curve when it came to technology and local government.  While the taxes and other applicable bills were logged into a central system, there was no easy or digitized way to examine property sales and ownership in the town.

Dan was on his second cup of coffee, and the month of July for the year two thousand fifteen.

All of the previous months listed the house at Ten Indian Rock Road as still being in trust to the Montgomery family, although there were no more Montgomerys to own the land or the property.

Dan finished his drink.

July was a bust.

With a sigh, Dan pushed his empty cup away from him, stacked the useless file on top of a pile of the same, and pulled a manila folder labeled,
August 2015
, in front of him.  He made his way carefully through each document.  He read the pages and then he stopped on August seventh.

“Ten Indian Rock Road, care, and uptake of property taken over by Miles Cunningham, Montgomery cousin.”

Dan sat back and looked at the entry, and he read it again.

Someone is living there,
he thought, tapping on the page. 
Someone found out what was there.

And he’s dumping it on the rest of us.

Dan took his notebook out and wrote down
Miles Cunningham, 10 Indian Rock Road, Rye, NH
, into it.  He put the papers back in order, and then the files as well.  Once he was
finished, he put his notebook away, brought the paperwork back to the desk and signed out.

Dan walked out to his car, climbed in and drove over to the First Church. The place was sealed off, locked down.

He pulled into the parking lot and put the car in ‘park.’ Dan picked up the folder with Miles’ name on it and wondered how the man was connected to the Church. What had brought him there in the first place?

Dan grimaced as a headache started at the base of his skull. With a frown, he checked the glove box for aspirin, didn’t find any, and decided it was time to go to the Rye Police Station.

He needed to use the computer to see if Mr. Miles Cunningham, recently of Ten Indian Rock Road, had any sort of priors in the system.  And they’d certainly have aspirin there.  Dan needed to call Luke, so the blind man could get in touch with Brian.

Should have gotten his number
, Dan realized. 
Oh well, maybe Luke will give it to me.  Or his grandson.

With those thoughts in mind, Dan pulled into the Rye Police Station and got ready to go to work.

Chapter 44: Sato Sees and Knows

Sato stood in the sun, imaging he could feel it. Wishing he was home, standing outside of the shrine instead of this foul church.

He watched as the strange automobile pulled in.