What You Can't See (10 page)

S
KYE HAD TAGGED
Deputy Tommy Reiner to join her in the stakeout of the Davies house that night. Though it was only nine when they settled into their hiding spot in a cove of trees to the north of the house, she was beat. There was a connection and she kept circling her mind around possible answers. Everything went back to the Davies and the poisonings. But why? Was Corinne Davies a serial killer? One of those mercy killers? Women serial killers were more likely to use poison or another less “violent” method of death. Male killers usually stuck with knives and guns and hands-on strangulation.

She watched the house and sipped lukewarm black coffee from a thermos she had picked up at Starbucks earlier in the evening. The house was dark and the car registered to Corinne Davies wasn’t in the carport. More than that, the place felt as empty as it had when she’d been here this morning with Anthony. Was she wasting her time?

What was Anthony up to? Was she wrong to have put an APB on him? How else to explain his fingerprints all over her coffeepot?

He’d checked the grounds when you came back from the cliff.

Whoever poisoned the coffee would have worn gloves, wouldn’t they?

Was Anthony himself in danger? Dr. Wicker was fighting for his life. Perhaps the killer would go after Anthony if he—or she—thought Anthony had damaging information. She should have put him in protective custody instead of sending him off.

She rubbed her head. It was going to be a long night.

Anthony hid in bushes on the far side of the Davies house. Skye was in a grove of trees, but he could barely make out a glint of moonlight reflecting off the Bronco. He could, however, see the road. He needed to get into that house without Skye knowing, before the Davies women returned home. But first he had to break the spell protecting the cottage.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered with a quiet, “Yes, Father.”

“Twelve-year-old Jeremiah Hatch found his parents murdered in their bed. Stabbed to death.”

“Did they catch the killer?”

“A drug addict claimed demons made him do it. He committed suicide his first night in jail.”

“And?”

“He choked on his own tongue. He’d apparently smuggled in a razor blade, severed his tongue, and attempted to swallow it.”

“A razor blade. Are American prisons that poorly monitored?”

“I doubt it.”

“Someone brought it to him. Forced him to do it.”

“That would be my guess.”

“And Jeremiah? Where was he during his parents’ murder?”

“Asleep. In his bed down the hall.”

“That would be enough to traumatize a child. Enough to be interested in demons.”

Silence.

“Father?”

“Maybe he was interested in demons before the murders,” Father Philip said quietly.

The realization hit Anthony hard and he swallowed. He heard a car on the highway.

“Pray, Father.”

Anthony hung up and walked the long way along the cliff to the back of the house. There was a twenty-five-meter open stretch. The moonlight decreased as filmy clouds moved rapidly overhead.

Thank you, Lord.

He ran low across the ground whispering the prayer he’d memorized off the tabernacle. The cliff moaned and the house swayed in front of him.

It was working.

He took out holy water and sprinkled it in front of him as he ran toward the back of the house. Steam rose from the ground where the blessed water fell. But it cleared his path and, aided by the Hebrew incantation, he reached the back of the house without pain. A swath of light cut across the house as he flattened against the back wall.

He used his tools to quietly break the rear window—a bedroom—and eased himself in, just as the side door opened down the hall.

Skye had a great hiding place, but she couldn’t see anyone approach the Davies cottage until the car was practically in the drive.

It was a dark Ford minivan, similar to the one Corinne Davies drove. She couldn’t make out the exact model or color, but it could easily have been the black Windstar registered to the elder Davies.

A plump female exited the driver’s seat. There was no porch light and Skye only made out her shape in the moonlight. Corinne Davies’s driver’s license had her at five foot six and two hundred pounds. It could have been her.

A shorter, slimmer woman exited from the sliding rear door. Her lithe frame reminded Skye of Lisa, the daughter. The woman appeared half clothed and limped to the side door. Skye frowned. Had she been assaulted?

“Okay, we’ll go and just talk. Take my lead. Watch them. If they poisoned those priests, we need to be cautious. No food or drink, don’t touch anything they hand you. Got it?”

“Yes.”

She was about to open her door when the sliding door of the minivan opened again and a man exited the car. She stared. She recognized the build, though she couldn’t see his face or features. He walked like Juan Martinez.

Why was he with them? Why hadn’t he called in? Didn’t he know she—and his wife and the entire sheriff’s department—were frantic? Maybe he’d found the younger Davies injured and brought them home. Why hadn’t he called in the assault?

Maybe it wasn’t Juan. Just someone who had the same short, lanky build.

She glanced at Reiner. He didn’t seem to think anything of the man. “Boyfriend?” he asked her. “Looks like he had his way with her while Mommy drove.”

Sick.
Definitely not Juan Martinez.

She radioed in where she was and who she was interviewing, then left the Bronco.

A cold fog had crept in from the ocean. It hadn’t been there earlier in the evening, but seemed to roll in quickly as often happened on the Central Coast. Skye cut through the mist, the house fading behind the fog even as she approached.

The occupants still hadn’t turned on any lights, the porch was dark, but candles flickered behind the blinds.

The door opened before Skye raised her hand to knock. Skye couldn’t hide her surprise that Juan Martinez stood in front of her.

“Right on schedule,” he said.

Juan’s voice was flat, with a hint of humor.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

He turned to Reiner. “You can go.”

Reiner glanced at Skye, looking as confused as she felt.

Skye put her hand on her gun. Reiner attempted to follow suit, but froze.

His body shook as it rose from the ground. His head moved back and forth quickly, too quickly, and suddenly the snap of breaking bone filled the air, along with the sudden stench of sulfur.

Reiner collapsed on the porch, dead, eyes wide and full of fear.

Skye had her gun in hand, but suddenly her gun was on fire and her hand burned. She screamed in pain and surprise as the gun pulled itself from her grip and flew across the lawn, landing beyond her eyesight.

She turned to run but could not move.

“Come in, Skye. Let’s get this nasty business over with,” Juan said, arms open, palms up.

She stared at his hands. They were burned, but he didn’t seem to notice what looked like painful blisters.

What was happening? Reiner—her gun—Juan?

For the first time she believed. Everything Anthony had told her was the truth. And she’d sent him away.

“You’ve been making friends with the enemy,” Juan said, “and you’ll be the one to kill him.”

S
KYE WAS A
cop willing to stand against bad guys when necessary to save innocents, but she wasn’t stupid.

Juan had no weapons she could see, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t armed. She dove to the right, toward two metal chairs. She toppled them, hoping they would provide her with a shield so she could jump off the porch and buy time to call for help.

She leaped over the railing like a horse, twisting her ankle as she fell to lower ground. She winced, knew it was sprained but not broken, and endured the pain as she ran limping in a zigzag pattern toward her Bronco.

She thumbed her lapel mic in Morse code, sending an SOS to her department.

Her radio broke under her thumb. The mic smoked around her neck and she pulled it off, coughing at the fumes.

Her chest tightened and she had no air. Maybe she’d broken her ribs when she fell and hadn’t noticed. They didn’t feel broken. Only tight. Tighter. She couldn’t breathe.

She collapsed on the ground, gasping for air that would not fill her lungs.

“Foolish daughter of Eve,” Juan said, standing over her. “You are alone. No one is coming to help you. No human can save you.”

He picked her up as if she weighed but a feather. Her attempts to struggle left her fatigued.

“Juan, what happened to you? Why are you doing this?”

He laughed. And it was in his laugh that Skye knew this wasn’t Juan. Not the Juan Martinez she’d worked with for eleven years. Not the Juan Martinez who stood by her when she’d been elevated to sheriff, when others in the department snubbed her.

This man looked like Juan, but he was possessed.

By something…evil.

By a demon.

Anthony, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you. Forgive me.

The demon in Juan chuckled as he walked up the porch steps. “Is it ready?”

“Yes, sire.”

It was Corinne Davies who spoke, her eyes lit with excitement. Juan dumped Skye on the couch inside the door, which slammed shut behind them.

The dead bolt slid closed with a sharp metal click. Skye watched—no one touched the lock.

It. Moved. By. Itself.

She looked around the room, trying to contain her panic. She could think like a cop, but how could she reason with an entity that knew no human bounds? That not only didn’t have a conscience, but had no soul?

The blinds were drawn tight. Candles burned on every available surface. Someone had carved odd symbols in the walls. Painted shapes on the hardwood floor. The symbol she’d seen at the mission had been burned into the back of the door.

Corinne Davies, late forties, overweight, wearing her long dark graying hair down, looked like the witch out of Hansel and Gretel. She glared at Skye with hateful eyes that seemed to glow, her lips parted as if she would bite. An image of Corinne and Lisa and Juan dancing and howling naked, wearing a jackal’s head and hooves for feet, clouded her vision and Skye feared she was losing her mind.

Trapped in this room. Unable to move though no ropes bound her. These lunatics—as wild-eyed as her mother had been when she told Skye she was leaving—had controlled forces that no human should be able to control.

They’d brought evil into her town, and if she didn’t end it here, more people would die.

She didn’t want to die, but if that was the only way to stop them she would.

Lisa Davies sashayed into the room. She wore a long, see-through white gown and nothing underneath. “The bedroom window is broken.”

Juan whirled at her. “So?”

“I don’t know who might have come in.”

“Didn’t you do as I commanded? Protect the ground?”

“Of course—”

Juan closed his eyes, held up his burned hands. “No one is here.” But his face twisted in pain. “He’s fighting me. Prepare the ritual.”

Juan sat cross-legged on the floor, in the middle of the painted symbol.

“What are you doing?” Skye demanded.

Corinne slapped her across the face and Skye tasted blood. Skye couldn’t control her movements and the older woman easily pulled her up and dragged her into the circle with Juan.

“You drugged those innocent men,” Skye said, spitting out the words, each one a chore as she fought to breathe. What were they planning on doing with her?

Skye focused on the older woman. “What did you hope to gain by killing those men?” she asked.

“I didn’t kill anyone. They killed each other.” Her face glowed with pleasure.

Skye said, “You poisoned them.”

Corinne laughed, put her hand on Skye’s neck and squeezed. “You have never experienced true power until you give up your soul. I have immortality. I will live forever. But you will die. The worms will eat your flesh, the earth will claim your bones. But I will dance on your grave in a hundred years!”

“Quiet!” Juan hissed.

He chanted under his breath in a language Skye had never heard, but it sounded vaguely like what Anthony had spoken earlier.

She had sent him away, ridiculed him, accused him of awful things, and yet something was going on here that only Anthony would understand. Only Anthony would be able to stop this…this evil.

Anthony, I’m sorry. I should have believed you. You were right. Forgive me.

“Juan, how could you do this to me? To Beth? Your girls are going to grow up knowing their father is a killer.”

Juan’s face wavered in front of her, as if a million bugs moved just beneath the skin. His brown eyes glowed red. Her stomach rolled and she nearly choked on her own bile.

“
Shut up, human!”

A burning filled her from the inside out and her vision faded.

“Don’t!” Lisa screamed. “We need her alive!”

Juan’s fierce anger turned on Lisa. Her body flew against the wall, her feet inches from the ground, her mouth open to scream but no sound escaped.

Then she collapsed, gasping for breath.

“Get the knife, stupid girl,” Corinne told her daughter. “Don’t make him punish you.”

“Yes, Mother,” Lisa whispered hoarsely.

“What are you doing?” Skye whispered.

“Both Lisa and I are willing to give up our bodies. Jeremiah would have been better because of his experience in these matters. He’s been a willing host before. But then Rafe Cooper somehow got out of his room before the ritual was complete. We lost Jeremiah.”

“It was your fault,” Juan said. “You didn’t cast a strong enough shield. I told you Raphael was a threat!”

“I did exactly what Jeremiah told me,” Corinne snapped.

“Then it’s a good thing he’s dead if he’s that stupid.”

Whatever internal battle waged within Juan, the other presence—the demon—appeared to have control again.

“Why didn’t you just kill him?” Skye asked, her breath coming in short gasps. The room grew hotter and she began to sweat. She felt like she was breathing in a thick, hot mist.

Corinne frowned. “We planned on it, but he didn’t eat the stew. He’s a damn vegetarian! And he was already suspicious.”

“You could have put him in the chapel,” Skye said. “It was a massacre.”

“He would have stopped the ritual.”

“What I don’t—” Skye took a deep breath, but it grew more difficult. She struggled to get free, but she’d been caged in an unbreakable, invisible bubble. “Why did you poison them for so long?”

“We had to put them in the right mind-set. Bring back their past. Show them their culpability, their guilt, their pain,” Corinne said. “They were weakening. And then, when the time was right, we would have increased the dose and the result would have been the same, except that we’d have a greater reward. But that intruder nearly ruined everything. He had me removed from the mission.” She smiled and glanced at Lisa. “I almost had him, too.”

Skye closed her eyes. She was tired. Very tired. Her limbs felt heavy, and she found herself lying down in the circle.

Juan’s chanting continued.

She had a million more questions, but couldn’t find her voice. With great effort, Skye reached into her shirt and pulled out the cross Anthony had given her. She recited the Latin phrase he had had her repeat the night before, her words a mere whisper.

Juan screamed in pain and every candle flared simultaneously.

Corinne grabbed the cross and jerked off the chain, breaking it and drawing blood across Skye’s neck. She threw the cross into the fireplace and chanted something that sounded like no language Skye had ever heard. Corinne’s hand was in flames and Lisa wrapped it with a blanket.

The fire behind her roared to life. Juan leaned over her prone body, looked down at her, his face full of broken blood vessels.

“I will not be defeated!”

His eyes glowed and his mouth opened in a deep roar that vibrated every cell in Skye’s body.

Juan began to chant again, looking into her eyes. She couldn’t draw her gaze away, as if someone held her lids open. Corinne and Lisa joined in the ritual. The heat in the room increased until sweat poured from Skye’s body. The foul stench that had permeated Skye’s own house that morning seeped in, filling her nostrils, her lungs, until she wasn’t breathing air, but thick sulfur. Her eyes drooped; she was on the verge of passing out.

On the ceiling, over Juan’s shoulder, she saw flames. Bright, hot, red. She saw eyes, everywhere eyes, glowing, howling, laughing, shrieking. She tried to scream but no sound came out.

Her father stood in front of her, consumed by fire.

You forgot me. You let me die.

No, Daddy! I loved you.

He ignited in front of her, his flesh turning black, falling off his bones, raining down on her.

She screamed.

Her mother—her beautiful, elegant mother—floated in the flames. Her face twisted, her cheeks hollow. Skye watched the fire dance in the large hole in her chest.

“Mom,” Skye muttered, her voice distant, as if she was hearing a poor recording of herself.

I left because of you. I never wanted a child. You should never have been born.

She was so alone. Dead to the world. No one to love. No one who loved her.

They were going to burn her alive. The whole cottage was on fire and she was going to die…

…then she saw the knife in Lisa’s hand.

Anthony. Help me.

Ianax had one common trait with every demon Anthony had encountered.

Arrogance.

Ianax couldn’t sense him because in his arrogance he’d believed he’d taken care of Anthony by erecting a protective circle and making Skye doubt him. Ianax also had to battle to keep Juan’s soul imprisoned, which consumed a huge amount of satanic energy.

Anthony knew exactly what the three were doing. They were destroying Skye from the inside out in preparation for the purging of Juan’s soul to the netherworld. Juan was an unwilling host and fighting the possession, so they needed to weaken Skye so she wouldn’t fight Ianax when he claimed her. If that failed, they would sacrifice her.

Skye had been worn down to raw nerves, her grief and guilt and loneliness being used to destroy her.

Anthony. Help me.

Anthony heard Skye’s plea, didn’t know if she had screamed it or thought it. He peered from his hiding place into the living room where the demonic ritual was unfolding. Skye writhed on the floor as if in pain, but nothing was touching her. Skye’s eyes were wild, unseeing—at least not seeing what was in front of her. Something was scaring her, something that made her believe. Believe in him. And that was all Anthony needed.

Juan and the Davies women stood over Skye, chanting, drawing out her soul.

Corinne’s speech to Skye made sense to Anthony. The two women and Hatch had summoned Ianax, and had he successfully possessed Hatch’s body, the demon would have been far more powerful on earth. He would have finished the ritual and dragged the other souls down to Hell. A huge victory for Satan to have God’s own men in his domain, and as a reward Ianax would walk on earth in human form but with inhuman power, the goal of every demon.

But Rafe had interrupted the process, possibly begun an exorcism, and Hatch died before the possession was complete, his soul already damned. And Rafe—

Anthony remembered the rush of heat followed by icy cold when he’d entered the chapel and saw the carnage.

Rafe was unconscious; he would have been a perfect vessel for the demon. Tortured, unable to save his men. Guilt had consumed him. Ianax could have taken him, used his anguish against him, but Anthony had interrupted.

Where had the women been?

In the sacristy.

He hadn’t searched the chapel, he’d been so intent on saving Rafe.

He could have stopped it two days ago. But he’d been blind in his own fear and failures. And now Skye was going to die because of him.

No.
He shook his head.
I will not let her die.

He brought out his dagger-cross and held it in front of him as he said in a loud, deep voice, “By the power of the heavens, of the Holy Spirt, by the order of Saint Michael and all the angels and saints, Ianax! You are dismissed!”

The demon in Juan screamed. Corinne stepped toward Skye while Lisa jumped at Anthony with her long nails outstretched.

Anthony pushed aside all notions that hitting a woman was wrong, and put all his strength into a right hook that stopped Lisa in her tracks. The girl crumpled at his feet, knocked cold.

“Bastard!” Corinne screamed, holding a knife at Skye’s neck, crouched over her like a wild animal. Skye was sweating profusely, her body jerking as if being poked and prodded.

She’s dying.

“Fight, Skye!” he shouted.

Corinne couldn’t kill Skye because Ianax needed her.

Anthony hoped he was right. He hadn’t faced such an ancient demon, nor one who was so powerful that he could survive on earth without a body, which he’d done for hours after Hatch’s death.

Anthony held his cross high, chanting ancient words of exorcism.

Juan twisted, his body rising from the ground. The demon stared at Anthony.

“YOU!” he howled, his mouth straining. “I will not go back!”

The screech hurt Anthony’s ears, but he continued. The demon held up his hand and Anthony was slammed against the wall, his body inches from the ground. Pain hit him like a million pinpricks. He couldn’t draw air into his lungs.