MOON FALL (37 page)

"Okay." She got up. "I'd better get back before Marcia
does."

"Where is she, anyway?"

''Off with the nuns. They do stuff in the chapel."

"What kind of stuff? I didn't see any lights when I drove
in."

"They have ceremonies or something. They use candles, so
you can't see. I snuck up to the window once. Marcia and those
guys are like novices or something. They all wear these black
robes, like the nuns." She paused at the door and removed the
wedge. "I couldn't see much."

"Be careful," Sara told her, as Kelly slipped out the door.

She shoved the wedge securely under the door again and went
to bed.

Sara, my darling Sara.

Warm lips touched her cheek, rained kisses over her face,
then down her neck, across the ridges of her collarbone. She
moaned softly as strong but gentle hands cupped her breasts
and the lips moved lower, joining the hands to explore her
flesh.

Who are you? she wondered.

You know. A tongue hardened one nipple, then the other,
lighting exquisite, torturous passion deep inside her. Dream
lover, she thought. You're here.

I am. Hands caressed her waist and hips, then moved to the
inside of her thighs, gently but firmly parting them. Lips and
tongue followed, trailing down her stomach, her abdomen, then
lower, kissing her thighs, circling closer and closer to her core,
but never touching it, driving her mad with desire. She pushed
her hips toward the dream lover, strained toward his lips and
teasing tongue. The fire burned unabated, and still the dream
man refused her satisfaction.

Please, she moaned. Oh, please. Who are you?

You tell me. Kisses came closer, fingers parted her, but did
not touch. She burned.

John, you're John. She opened her eyes but could not see
him in the dark, could only hear his soft laughter as he manipulated
her.

John? asked the dream lover. Or am I Richard? Or maybe
someone else? This is
your
dream.

He moved up over her body as he spoke, pinning her shoulders
with his massive hands. She felt his hardness against her
and strained toward him. Make love to me, she pleaded. Make
love to me, John.

I'm not John! The words blasted through her head as he
plunged into her. His hands dug into her breasts, squeezing
and kneading, and she screamed as teeth pressed into her
soft flesh, biting and pulling. The hands moved everywhere,
squeezing, pinching, and the weight of his body held her down
as he thrust again and again, growing larger with every move.
He was tearing her apart.

You're killing me! Blindly she reached for his face, but where
his head should have been there was only icy cold air, thick
and slimy. Hollow laughter filled her head as the pounding
continued, and suddenly she knew who it was-
what it was
that
was raping her.

Her own screams woke her, the laughter still resounding in
her ears. She opened her eyes and saw the white, vaguely man
-
shaped
mass glowing in the dark. Slapping on the bedside lamp,
she sat up. "Get out of here! I don't want you! Get out!"

The phantom disintegrated into small dots of light that
blinked out one by one as the laughter faded.

"Oh, God," she whispered, and jumped from the bed. Her
entire body hurt. She ran to the long mirror she'd mounted on
the closet door and pulled her nightgown over her head. It
dropped to the floor unnoticed as she stared at her body.

''O
h
, my God." There were vivid pink fingerprints everywhere,
quickly turning into dark bruises, and a perfect set of
tooth
prints surrounded one nipple. T
in
y drops of blood beaded
on the skin. Her abdomen bore scratches and her inner thighs
were mottled with bruises. A thin trickle of blood was drying
on one leg.

She needed a doctor, but what could she say? That a ghost
ra
ped her? She could go to Richard, but what if it was him
fueling the attack? What might he do?

Go to John. He'll know what to do.
The thought was humiliating,
and she knew beyond a doubt that he'd insist she leave
the abbey. She couldn't do that, not without Kelly.
Take her
with you and get out!

She threw on the clothes she'd worn today, grabbed her
purse, and swiftly ran down the stairs to the first floor. The
corridor light
s were out, so she trailed her h
ands along the doors,
counting them off. As her fingers found the right doorknob, she
heard a rustle of skirts behind her, but before she could tu
rn
around, a damp, foul-smelling cloth was clamped over her nose
and mouth, and darkness spiraled around her.

Naked, sitting cross-legged on black satin sheets, Richard
Dashwood opened his eyes and smiled at Lucy, equally naked,
sitting opposite him on his bed. "That was quite a treat," he
told her.

"Yes, wasn't it?" She took two brandy snifters from the
bedside table and handed him one. ''We outdid ourselves, didn't
we, darling?"

"To us," he said.

"To us."

"You know, Lucy, I'd been paying our little Sara dream
visits on my own, but it was nothing like this. This was ...
sublime." He drained his glass and set it aside as Lucy did the
same.

"Supremely sublime," she agreed. "We must do it more
often."

"One shouldn't let one's sex life get into a rut." He smiled
and lay back, watching her watch his bobbing penis.

''Do you think we managed to mark her?" Lucy asked,
c
rawling up between his legs.

"Yes, I believe we managed to do all sorts of things to her.
Sister Regina has been instructed to chloroform her and put
her in the infirmary. They should be arriving about now." He
smirked. "If the poor girl's been raped, she must be examined,
you know."

"I know." Lucy's nostrils flared and her pupils were dilated.
''Do you want to go there now?"

"No, I want to come now. There's only so much a man can
take, you know."

''I know," Lucy said. ''What will it be this time, dear doctor?
Handcuffs? Rubber? Leather? Feathers?"

He smiled. "Nothing so fancy, Lucy. After all, I must see
to my patient. Let's just play doctor. See my thermometer?"

She nodded, eyes bright.

''I think I'll take your temperature. Open wide."

"Yes, Doctor."

By October twenty-ninth, Moonfall was a gem of red and
gold. The days were cool, the sunlight brilliant as it slanted
between the trees, catching the colors of the falling leaves.

The nights were frigid, the sky so clear and bright that the
Milky Way was startlingly brilliant. Houses and cabins took
on a cozy look as wood smoke filled the air and pumpkins
roosted on porch railings. The apple harvest was in full swing,
and store shelves were lined with bright baskets laden with
shining fruit, red, green, and yellow. Fresh cider, hot cider,
spiced or not, apple butter, apple jelly, and apple pies were in
demand, and Apple Heaven's mince pie business was booming.

Despite the festive atmosphere, John Lawson was in a funk.
He'd made no progress in the deaths of Gus or Pete Parker
and had been plagued by increasingly terrifying nightmares,
both the usual ones about his brother and the now familiar one
about the room filling with blood while Minerva Payne ordered
him to open the door for her.

Mark was completely involved in the Halloween Haunt, giving
John little choice but to let him stay in town on Halloween.
And worst of all, Sara hadn't contacted him since their dinner
more than ten days ago.

The station had been hopping. As the festivals began, so did
bar fights, drunk driving, and thefts, and this year it was all
worse than usual. He'd been working twelve to fourteen hours
a day, and his deputies were all on overtime. In his few spare
moments, he entertained all sorts of half-baked theories about
Sara's lack of communication, his main one being that she had
chosen Dashwood over him. Sometimes it occurred to him that
she might be in danger, and that's what was on his mind at the
moment.

He'd tried to avoid such thoughts, even when they were so
powerful that he could barely tolerate them. He told himself it
was paranoia, lack of sleep, or stress, but he knew what it was:
avoidance. The dreams about Minerva and the room filling with
blood stemmed from the same source. He had been avoiding
everything that smacked of the bizarre, trying to pretend to
himself that it was just another tourist season in Moonfall. He
knew he had to stop. Now.

He turned his cruiser onto Apple Hill Road and glanced at
his watch. It was just past four; there was nearly an hour of
light left. First, he would visit Minerva, then go out to St.
Gertrude's. He'd never gone back to ask the nuns about the
nightflyers, and that would be the perfect excuse to nose around.

He pulled into the little parking lot at the Gingerbread House,
saw the "Open" sign, and got out of the car, relieved because
he'd expected to have to go all the way out to the cottage.

The bell jingled on the door as he went in and he was
surprised to see Mark, wearing a white apron, sweeping the
floor. "Hi, Dad!"

"Hi, Mark." Guilt washed over him. He'd forgotten his son
was working for Minerva. He'd spent so much time avoiding
the whole subject of the old woman that he'd convinced himself
the boy was spending all his time working on the Haunt. "Is
Minerva here?"

"Sure. She's in the kitchen. Go on back." Mark returned
energetically to his chores.

"I was hoping you'd come see me," Minerva said, as she
turned from a huge oven, a tray of cookies in her mitted hands.
"I've been trying to contact you."

''I know. You should have used a phone."

She ignored that. "We're running out of time."

"Yeah." Everything he'd been avoiding came rushing back
at him under her gaze. "Have you seen Sara Hawthorne?" he
blurted, suddenly wondering how he could have let so much
time pass.

Minerva set the cookies down. ''No, but Kelly Reed has
come to see me. That girl's
still
running through the woods.
At least she's not traveling at night. Still, I'm afraid she's not
going to make it one of these times. The nightflyers are hungry.
Have you heard them?"

Indeed he had. Several animals
-
goats and sheep and a pig
-
had
been mutilated, and chickens and rabbits had disappeared.
People were on the lookout for mountain lions, coyotes, even
bears, but certainly not for gargoyles. The cries of the creatures
in the dead of night had awakened him from his nightmares
more than once. He nodded and told her about the attacks on
the zoo animals.

''We're lucky that's what they're going after," Minerva said.
"Come on outside with me. You can bring that garbage can
along."

He picked up a half-filled kitchen trash can and carried it
out behind her. She lifted the lid on a large can and he dumped
the trash.

"Thank you, John," she said. "I thought it best we talk out
of Mark's hearing. Come on over here."

He followed her to a low ranch-style fence at the edge of
the property and they leaned against it. "You've raised a fine
boy," she said. "A hard worker."

"Thanks." He stared out at the acres of Parker orchards. "I
haven't been paying enough attention to him lately."

She nodded. "You have a lot to deal with right now. You're
worried about Sara, aren't you?"

"Yes. And I've been avoiding it"

"Kelly says she hasn't been herself lately."

"She's ill?" He remembered the vacant, drugged look on
her face that day in Dashwood's infirmary.

"She's troubled, I think.
Torm
e
nted.
She needs you, John,
but you already know that."

"I might be the source of her torment."

"You know better than that. She loves you. You love her.
Be a little more confident. You torture yourself unnecessarily.
Just listen to your inner voice, and you'll know the truth."

''Minerva, how can you know she loves me? Did she tell
you?"

"No. I've only seen her once since she arrived, but when I
mentioned your name, I could see it in her eyes. She didn't
know it yet. But she does now. You should go see her."

"I'm going as soon as I leave here."

"Good. Watch out for that damned Dashwood. I'm certain
he's unhappy about you. He's after Sara for his own purposes."

"Did you
divine that as well?" he asked, almost
smiling.

"No. Kelly told me that Sara got her out of solitary confinement
by
promi
s
ing
to go out with him. I'd imagine he's behind
that episode at my house."

That was another thing he'd conveniently forgotten. The
attack of freezing cold seemed like a dream now.

"Are you wearing your amulet?"

"Yes," he said. lifting the leather string slightly. He was
wearing it primarily because Mark had taken to nagging him
to do so.

"I want you to go see Sara now, John, but I want you to
come back and see me at my cottage
tomorrow.
We have to
find out what happened to your brother before it happens to
your son."

His stomach turned at the words, but he knew she was right.
"I will."

''Promise on your father's and grandfather's graves."

He hesitated. "I promise."