Darkness Rising (The East Salem Trilogy) (38 page)

34.

There were twenty-one of them gathered at St. Adrian’s, and they were aware of each other, but they’d been taken from their rooms blindfolded and told not to speak, so they did not speak. They understood that they’d been chosen. They would go on to do great things, and soon they would be told what those great things were. They waited together, forbidden to fall asleep, until they could not tell how long they’d been waiting, or if the thoughts that passed through them were waking thoughts or dreams.

Then they heard a door open and a voice say, “Rise.” They were instructed to line up, and then each boy was told to put his left hand on the shoulder of the boy in front of him and to follow. They marched, they couldn’t tell how far, but judging from the acoustics and the echoes, they went through a large room and down a hall and then down a set of stairs. The walls got closer and the air more humid and cooler; then they passed into another chamber where the air was dank and thick.

“You may take off your blindfolds,” the voice said.

This was the room they’d heard of, in whispered, dangerous rumors. The only light came from a pair of candles on the central altar, a massive piece of black marble carved in the shape of a bull. Dr. Wharton stood behind it, and Dr. Ghieri stood next to him. They were wearing academic robes, each in a black surplice with red tippets. Wharton looked
each boy in the eye, one by one, as if he were still making up his mind about them.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

“You are the select,” he said. “Others have been rejected. Do not ask why, or where they’ve gone. You have succeeded, but each of you still has a task to complete. If anyone feels that for any reason he will not be able to complete his assignment, speak now.”

No one spoke.

“Andrew.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have a pet you keep in your room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a rabbit, sir.”

“Bilal—what animal do you keep?”

“A cat, sir.”

“Carlos?”

“A dog. His name is—”

“I do not care what his name is,” Wharton said. He turned to Ghieri, who handed him a small wooden container, the size of a small shoe box. “Each of you will receive one of these,” Wharton said, lifting the box for all to see. “It will contain the ashes of your pet. Tonight you will write a letter to your parents telling them how sad you are. If you need help with this, we can help you. Each of you lives near a significant body of water. Edmond?”

“King George’s Reservoir. North of London.”

“Sidney?”

“Lake Michigan.”

“Han?”

“The Yangtze.”

“In your letter you will explain that when you come home for break, you want to spread the ashes of your pet into that body of water. You will
each receive more specific instructions as to how and when to do that. Are there any questions?”

“Will there be any problems at the airport?” a boy asked.

“No,” Wharton said. “The boxes will go into your carry-on bags, but if the security people have any questions, you will simply explain what it is you’re doing. Act upset if they say they want to examine the boxes. Cry if you think it will be persuasive. The name of your pet will be on the box.”

Andrew raised his hand. Wharton nodded to him.

“I didn’t name mine,” he said.

Ghieri found the appropriate box. “It will be more believable if you give your pets names. Andrew, you are to say your pet’s name was . . . Bugs,” he read.

The other boys laughed.

“You will not open your boxes until it’s time to dump the ashes in the water,” Wharton said. “You will not ask any questions about your assignment, and you will not fail to complete it. You understand what will happen if you fail.”

The laughter gave way to a reverberating silence.

“Put your blindfolds back on,” Wharton commanded.

When they were alone, Wharton spoke to Ghieri. “The priest,” he said. “The minister, whatever he is—do we still have use for him?”

“He’s found the book,” Ghieri said. “That is significant. It’s been a long time since we even knew where it was.”

“Yes, but can he get it?”

“He thinks he can.”

“He
thinks
he can?”

“He should be given the chance to try.”

“No,” Wharton said decisively. “The priest has had enough time. What’s the name the Indian has given him?”

“Thadodaho,” Ghieri said.

“Oh yes,” Wharton said. “Well, he’s failed. I see no reason not to send the other.”

“The Wendigo,” Ghieri said.

“Yes,” Wharton said. “Use him. Wait until after dark. We can sort through the rubbish when he’s finished.”

“I think—”

“Do
not
think,” Wharton said.

“Yes.”

“And blow out the candles.”

“Yes,” Ghieri said.

35.

“Do you know where you are?”

George Gardener looked confused. When Dani shone a small flashlight in his eyes, his pupils dilated normally, indicating, though not conclusively, that he probably wasn’t under the influence of any drugs. He sat in Tommy’s kitchen, a comforter wrapped around his shoulders. The others gathered around him, though Dani had advised them to stay back and give the frightened man time to adjust to their presence.

“George—do you know where you are?” she said again.

“No.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me what month it is?”

“November.”

“Do you remember Tommy? You met him in the hardware store a few weeks ago. He had a question about how to stop raccoons from getting in the garbage.”

“No.”

“You don’t have to be scared, George,” Dani said. “You’re among friends, and we have the book. When was the last time you slept, George?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t remember?”

“Can’t sleep,” he said. “They come to take you when you’re sleeping.”

“Have you slept at all since your mother died?”

“I killed her,” he said.

“You killed your mother?”

“No.”

“Then who did you kill, George?”

“The girl. I killed the girl.”

“What girl?”

“Julie.”

“No, George. A boy named Amos Kasden killed Julie.”

“I killed her,” he said, suddenly focused and angry. “I went to her house. My mother . . . I thought it was time. I couldn’t tell. I went to her house. They must have followed me. That’s how they knew.”

“George, you couldn’t have known—”

“They burned down the house,” he said. “They burned it down! With her mother and her sister in it. Because of me. I killed them all.” He started sobbing.

Dani pulled a chair up next to him and held him, pressing his head against her shoulder and stroking his back. Ruth moved her chair to the other side of him, ready to take over when Dani got tired.

After a few minutes George stopped crying. Dani stood and crossed to where Tommy and Quinn stood.

“I don’t think he’s slept in a week,” she said. “People who go without sleep that long start dreaming while they’re wide awake. I don’t think we’re going to get much out of him until he’s had a chance to recover.”

She opened Tommy’s refrigerator, searched for a moment, and pulled out a container of vanilla yogurt, a bottle of ranch dressing, and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce. She mixed those ingredients in a cup, along with some ground ginger from Tommy’s spice cupboard. She tasted it, winced, stirred in a big spoonful of brown sugar, then took the
concoction and a tablespoon from the cutlery drawer to where George was sitting.

Ruth and Villanegre spent the day researching names. Quinn and Dani worked on the computer, testing theories about the drug. Ben taught Cassandra to play chess. Tommy tried to talk to Carl, but Carl didn’t want to talk and kept to himself.

“Tommy,” Carl said finally, “would you mind getting the book out of the safe and setting it up for me on the coffee table? I’d like to have a look at some of the earlier letters from Abbie’s predecessors. Might be able to learn something.”

“Good idea,” Tommy said. “Do you want the combination?”

“No, no, that’s okay,” he said. “If you could just set it up for me. And put the blanket down so it doesn’t get scratched.”

“All right,” Tommy said. “Just give me a second.”

Dani leaned against the kitchen counter near the sink, talking to Julian Villanegre about the painting. Looking past them out the window, Tommy
saw that the sun was already going down, leaving behind a blood-red sunset.

“Dani—I’m going to need your help in a second,” he said. “Carl wants to look at the book, but I can’t open the box without you.”

“Okay,” she said.

Once he left the room, she saw the Englishman raise an eyebrow.

“I gather there’s some sort of lovers’ quarrel going on between you two,” he said. “Can I help?”

“We’ll work it out,” Dani said. “The course of true love never did run smooth. Isn’t that what your boy Shakespeare once said?”

“Lysander, in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
, act 1, scene 1,” Villanegre said. “Poor Lysander. He loved Hermia, but Hermia’s father wanted her to marry Demetrius. Shakespeare wrote a great deal about lovers who were preordained, and all the obstacles they had to overcome.”

“Do you believe in soul mates, Dr. Villanegre?”

“I do. I lost mine years ago, but I shall see her again soon enough. If you don’t mind an old man’s interference, I think there’s another Shakespeare quote you might want to heed.”

“Please.”

“Beware the green-eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds on.”

“
Othello
,” Dani said.

“Indeed. But the irony, of course, is that Iago is the one who says it to Othello, right after Othello compliments him on being so honest. And Iago’s the one who’s been whispering in Othello’s ear to make him jealous. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘Here’s what I’m going to do to you, and you know it, and I know it, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’”

“You think that’s relevant now?”

“I think it’s odd,” the Englishman said, “that both your old flame and Tommy’s old flame are here. Don’t you?”

“
Odd
is one word for it.
Excruciating
is another.”