One to Go (38 page)

Tom raced from the elevator and quickly circled the space. “Where are they?”

Suddenly, he was nearly knocked off his feet by the deep clang of the largest carillon bell, measuring over eight feet in diameter and weighing several tons. Unlike the peal bells, the carillon bell itself didn't move: carillon bells remain stationary while the metal clapper inside strikes the casting.

The vibration from the sound shook him to the bone. He saw Eva holding her hands to her ears. Castro appeared unfazed, his attention drawn to a small cubicle in the center of the space where the carillonneur would play the bells using a keyboard.

Tom saw the keys on the board moving, like a player piano. Immediately, the space shook with the sound of fifty bells chiming. The sound was not melodic; Tom was reminded of a two-year-old sitting at a piano, haphazardly pounding the keys.

“Where are they?” he shouted, but he knew that Eva and Castro couldn't hear him. Then he saw, more than heard Eva scream, pointing at the cubicle.

Chad sat at the keyboard, pounding the keys, harder, harder. Still using the priest's body, he was dressed as a '50s rocker—Jerry Lee Lewis bangin' the ivory with his fingers, fists, elbows, ass, and feet—a toothy grin spread across his face. The carillons clanged louder each time he'd pound the keyboard, the sound rattling even the steel structures from which the massive bells hung.

Tom and Eva squeezed their ears tighter, but to no avail. Each strike of a bell felt like a hammer crashing the inside of Tom's skull. Chad began to sing, the tune bearing no resemblance to the discordant sound of the bells.

“
Goodness gracious
—”

Tom charged him, his blistering hands covering his ears. “Where's my—?”

“
Great balls of fire!
”

“Tom!”

Somehow, this time he heard Eva's warning. He looked up to see the peal bells swinging angrily back and forth from the ceiling. With each swing, a small fireball shot out of the ten
bells, one after the other, like a Gatling gun stitching instant death across the floor.

Tom ran back toward the shelter of the elevator, dodging the fiery projectiles. One burst at his feet; he tried to dodge the waist-high flames, but his pants caught on fire. He screamed in pain, then in an instant he was on the floor. Eva had tackled him hard, rolling his body back and forth to extinguish the flames.

With her help he scrambled to his feet, and together they headed toward the elevator, but the door was closed. They pounded the call button. Tom yanked Eva back as a fireball crashed against the polished steel elevator door.
Castro! Where was Castro?

There. Strolling toward them from the other side of the floor, seemingly without a care in the world. He veered toward the cubicle. When Chad saw Castro, he pulled his hands from the keys. The fire stopped; the bells stopped. He grinned at Castro, waved, then in two giant steps leaped through the narrow window.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then Tom screamed in frustration.

“Where is she?”

Castro gestured upward.

“They have her on the tower roof.”

They followed Castro to a door in the far corner of the space behind the largest carillon. The door led to a narrow stairway.

Tom climbed the stairs three at a time, then burst through the heavy metal door to the tower roof, where the icy November wind hit him hard in the face. Heavy fog now shrouded the tower, but, best Tom could tell, the roof was flat, maybe forty-five feet square. Tall, pointed pinnacles, stone spires, rose over thirty feet from each corner. Stone carvings of angels surrounded the middle of each spire, while small gargoyles ran up to the sharp point of the spires like festering sores.

“
Daddy!
”

Tom didn't wait for Eva and Castro. He rushed through the fog to the other side of the roof.

“
Daddy! Help me!
”

Her voice came from above. He looked up. Brit stood on the tip of the northwest spire, holding Janie loosely around the shoulders with one arm. The little girl's body dangled in midair. Tom glanced down; the fog cleared enough for him to see the concrete plaza over 300 feet far below. To his right, standing tall on the corner of the apse roof some 200 feet beneath them, a slim bronze cross rose heavenward.

“Hi, Tom,” said Brit. “Lovely daughter. She'll be great to have around the house, so to speak.”

“Let her go!”

“If you wish.” Brit loosened her grip and Janie screamed as she slipped through the demon's arms.

“No!” Tom shouted.

In the last instant, Brit grabbed Janie's wrist. The girl shrieked in pain as her body jerked to a stop.

“You bitch!” Tom shouted.

“Great catch, Brit.” Tom heard Chad's voice behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Chad balancing on the point of the northeast spire. He waved. Then Chad's attention moved away. Tom followed his gaze to see Castro standing nearby.

“Afriel, you do not belong here,” said Chad.

“You already have taken the life of one innocent child, Moloch, there will not be a second.”

“Rules are rules,” echoed Brit.

“Xelbeth, release her.”

For a long moment Castro and the demon twins froze, as if someone had pushed the pause button.

“Tom?” Eva's voice was barely audible.

Tom felt both cold and hot at the same time. A bead of sweat trickled down his spine. Unable to wrap his mind around what he was witnessing, he closed his eyes like a child who believes if he can't see bad things, they don't exist. When he opened them, nothing had changed.

Castro raised his gaze skyward.

The detective's eyes rolled back, now showing nothing but white orbs, their glow casting a light glaze over Castro's jowly face.

Suddenly, Tom heard a loud hiss. Blinding light beamed out from his eye sockets, cutting through the fog.

Tom vaguely heard Eva scream.

My God, thought Tom.
My God!

Brit shook her body, shedding her human trappings. At first Tom thought she'd disappeared, and Janie was somehow suspended in space. But with the help of Castro's illumination, he could barely make out a shimmering form. Nearly transparent, little more than a black film. Changing edges. No edges.

Janie's eyes widened and the terror stole her voice. Mercifully, she fainted.

“You heard what he said,” said Chad. Tom saw that he'd also transformed; Matthew's body had disappeared, and, like Brit, Chad's voice emanated from an oily shadow. “Release her.”

“No!” screamed Tom. He turned to Castro. “Help her!”

Suddenly, his daughter's limp body dropped from the seemingly invisible hook that had held her suspended.

Castro turned and focused his eyes on the center of the northwest spire. The light shattered the spire, sending chunks and shards of stone into the air.

“Look!” said Eva.

Tom saw that four of those stone chunks, the carved angels, weren't falling. They were flying. He looked down and watched the four tiny angels swoop under Janie, catching her, then softly setting her down on the lawn.

Castro turned to the two greasy shadows, flitting around the tower like filmy bats.

Brit's voice, coming from the closest one, was barely recognizable. “You have broken the rules, Afriel. There will be consequences.”

“Go home,” Castro whispered.

The beam of light from Castro's eyes bore through the shadow, breaking it apart into tiny pieces of soot. The soot scattered and disappeared into the darkness.

Then Castro trained his eyes on the Chad shadow, knocking it backwards out of the air like a laser anti-aircraft gun. The shadow flipped and twirled, then dropped. Tom heard a shriek—he thought he recognized traces of Chad's voice. He looked down. Hard to make out, but it appeared the shadow had impaled itself on the bronze cross, mounted on the crest of the apse roof. It squirmed and shifted like a fish on a pike, screeching, howling.

Then a flash like a struck match.

A split second later the flame dissolved into the black night.

Tom sat on the cold grass, cradling his sleeping daughter in his arms. He looked up at Castro.

“What will she remember?”

“Very little. Take her home. When she wakes in the morning, she'll remember she went to sleep in your bed.”

“And Eva?” She was inside the cathedral checking on Matthew.

“She'll remember walking into the church with you. That's it. She'll assume she was knocked unconscious by falling debris.”

“And me?”

“You will remember everything.”

Tom nodded. That was how it needed to be.

“Tom?” Tom turned to see Matthew being led from the western entrance by Eva. “Is she alright?”

“Fine, just sleeping.”

“We were waiting for you, then the earthquake hit, and I must've been struck by debris. Lucky to be alive. Guess you know your friend didn't make it.”

“Yeah.”

“There's another guy in there dressed in a suit. Still breathing, but we need to call—”

“On their way,” said Castro.

“This is Detective Castro,” said Tom. The priest nodded to the cop, then sat down on the lawn.

“When I woke up and didn't see Janie, I was fearful that
she—” He glanced at Castro, then locked eyes with Tom. “Uh, might've wandered off.”

“She's safe,” said Tom.

Matthew smiled broadly. “It worked. Thank God.”

Tom struggled to keep from looking at Castro. “Yeah, thank God.” He turned to Eva. “How are you doing?”

“Okay, I think. Things are a little fuzzy.”

They heard the sounds of approaching sirens. Tom climbed to his feet, clutching his sleeping daughter to his shoulder. “What do you say we go home?”

Eva froze, looking back toward the western entrance. Tom turned to see Masterson, covered in dust, emerging from the cathedral. When he saw Castro, he got confused.

“Bat, have you met Detective Castro?”

Momentarily startled, Masterson quickly regained his composure and his imperious demeanor. He strode over to Castro and offered his hand.

“Detective, I'm glad you're here. My associate, Mr. Zigler, had informed me that Mr. Booker was heading to the cathedral to take his own life. Apparently, the weight of his crime against Ms. Hawkins, something I'd been previously unable to accept, became too much for him to bear.”

Tom had to hand it to the man—he was inventive. Castro remained passive as Masterson continued.

“Tragically, Mr. Zigler was killed by falling debris.” He paused, as if trying to read Castro. “As an officer of the court, I must report I heard Mr. Booker confess to the killing in a prayer, just before the earthquake. I will be pleased to provide a statement first thing in the morning. And Tom, I'm afraid I'm going to have to redeem the bond. I'm sorry.” He waved to Castro. “Heading home, Detective. The chief has my personal number.”

“You're not going anywhere.” Castro strode toward him. “You're under arrest for conspiracy to murder Jessica Hawkins.”

“That's preposterous,” Masterson sputtered.

Castro spun him around and handcuffed him.

“You get Chief Ranier on the phone this instant. Kate is a dear friend, so, if I were you, I'd start looking for another line of work.”

“We told Castro everything,” said Eva.

“Told him what? You have no proof of anything. My word against yours. You have nothing.”

Tom pulled a black phone from his pocket and punched the keys. A second later, sound emanated from Masterson's pants pocket.

“
Hail to the Redskins, Hail Victory, Braves on the war path, fight for old DC!
”

“I gave you my phone,” said Tom. He waved the phone in his hand. “
This
is Jess' phone.” He tossed it to Castro.

Masterson knew enough to shut up as Castro read him his rights. The sirens were close now. Tom caught the detective's eye. Castro nodded for Tom to go, which was what he was hoping for.

With one arm around his daughter, and the other around his girl, Tom walked toward the parking lot.

Somewhere, he had to find some ice cream.

From his table next to the half wall separating the bar from the dining area, Tom checked out his former reserved bar stool in the back of Napoleon's bar. When he arrived, he'd tried sitting there, but it was just too weird without Zig at his side.

His new vantage point allowed him to watch the TV mounted behind the bar, currently tuned to a cable news station. Footage of the interior of the cathedral appeared on the screen. The bar was almost empty so he was able to make out the familiar voice-over from the blond cable babe.

“…
and preliminary reports show no structural damage to the cathedral. Experts say most of the damage constituted surface cracks. Some decorative stonework will need to be replaced, along with one stained-glass window. The surprise earthquake measured only 3.2 on the Richter scale, but was enough to cause the damage. Crews on site to repair damage from the 2011 quake will undertake the new work, and it is estimated the cathedral will be open for visitors again in less than four months
.”

It had been a week since the “quake,” the shorthand name that he, Eva, and Matthew had assigned to the night at the cathedral. Of course, unlike Eva and Matt, he remembered everything.

The previous Monday, the AUSA had dismissed all charges against him. That afternoon, he'd submitted his resignation to the firm. Because of Bat's arrest, a number of the firm's largest clients were pulling out. A group of young partners and associates announced their intention to form a new firm, and there was every
indication that many of the departing SHM clients would follow them. The new group had extended an offer to Tom, and he was tempted to accept.