Piercing the Darkness (66 page)

“YAHAAA!” Guilo roared, raising his sword for the other warriors to see. “Done!”

Tal unfurled his wings with the sound of a crashing ocean wave. He raised his sword high, and they all did the same so that Lakeland Park was flooded with the flickering light. “For the saints of God and for the Lamb!”

“For the saints of God and for the Lamb!”

MOTA GOT THE
word from Tal, and not too soon. He and Signa were just then hiding in the ventilation ducts at the Bergen Door Factory,
looking for an opportunity to throw a wrench into Destroyer’s clever, unseen assault on the saints of Bacon’s Corner.

Signa was pointing out supervisor Abby Grayson, moving among the router tables with her ever-present clipboard in hand, just keeping things running smoothly as she had done for the last twenty years. “They’ve never brought their intrigues and manipulations into this place, at least not so much as to be seen. Abby has no idea what’s been happening.”

Just then, a pimple-faced youth came down the main aisle through the plant, catching a few stares from some of the workers and looking very uncomfortable.

“All right,” said Mota, “here we go. Hopefully Abby’s going to have her eyes opened.”

“Come on, Abby. Pay attention.”

The kid walked up to Abby looking hesitant, embarrassed, but determined to have an audience with her. No voices could be heard above the roar of the machinery, but Abby’s lips weren’t too hard to read: “So what can I do for you, Kyle?”

Come on
, said Signa.
Tell her.

Two angels immediately stood by Kyle Krantz’s side, dressed like factory workers—the people couldn’t see them, but any demons might. Kyle—wayward, oft-busted, former pot-smoking Kyle—needed all the encouragement he could get. He was just plain scared.

Come on
. . . Mota urged.

Kyle leaned close to Abby’s ear and said what he had to say before he lost his nerve completely. Abby seemed a little puzzled, maybe even shocked at his words.

“Let’s get inside my office,” she said.

The two angels looked up toward the ventilation ducts and gave strong, affirmative nods.

“Done!” said Mota.

“Better surround that office. Those two need to talk!” Signa added.

ONLY AN HOUR
later, Abby Grayson gave Ben Cole a call from her little office cubicle. Ben could still hear the muffled noise of the factory in the background.

“Well hi, Abby! This is a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh, this crazy world’s full of surprises. I heard you were fired. Is that true?”

The question seemed rather blunt, but very much like Abby. “Well, yes, it is. It’s a long story . . .”

“I’m going to make it longer. I’ve just heard some information you ought to know.”

Ben sat down on the sofa. “Go ahead.”

“I just had a long talk with Kyle Krantz—remember him? You’ve busted him a few times for carrying pot.”

“Yeah, right.”

“He was working here and doing all right until he got fired yesterday. The word among the supervisors was that he was peddling drugs around the plant, and we have strict rules about any of that stuff, so out the door he went. But he got brave and came to see me today, and . . . Well, normally I wouldn’t believe him, but considering everything else that’s happened, maybe this time I do.” She hesitated.

Ben figured he’d better make it easier for her. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m with you so far.”

“Well, Ben . . .” She had to build up the nerve to ask it. “What would you say if I told you that we have some witches in town, and some even working here in this plant?”

Ben sat up straight, his whole body full of attention. “I would be very interested to know about that.”

“So you don’t think it’s crazy? I did say
witches.
”

Ben’s memory still carried vivid scenes of a goat dismembered and its two front legs crossed and bloody on the front steps of the church. “No, Abby. We’ve seen quite a few strange things lately. I don’t think it’s crazy at all.”

“Then maybe you’d better hear what Kyle has to say. Will you be free after four o’clock?”

Does a duck swim?
“You just name the place.”

CHAPTER 35

IT WAS ABOUT
four-thirty, and there was a cold wind blowing across the long-neglected, weed-infested fields of the old Benson farm. The white paint on the farmhouse was turning a gritty gray and beginning to peel like a sunburn; the windows were broken out, the shakes on the roof were beginning to splinter away in the wind; the apple and pear trees in the front yard were blossoming, but now reached skyward in a wild profusion of unpruned trunks and unsightly suckers. The Benson farm had been deserted too long and was simply not surviving, but fading steadily into decay and ruin with every passing season.

A heavy chain blocked the driveway, and Marshall could drive the Buick no further. A NO TRESPASSING sign hung from the chain and swung forward and backward in the wind, right above the Buick’s grille.

“Is this the place?” he asked.

Kyle Krantz, the young delinquent who couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble, sat in the seat beside him, nodding his head and looking scared. In the backseat, Abby Grayson and Ben Cole looked at the dismal scene before them, and found it easy to believe what Kyle had told them about it.

Kyle pointed. “That’s the barn right back there. That’s where it was.”

“I take it they were trespassing, just like you were?” asked Marshall.

Kyle had grown dull toward such loaded statements. “They were
here, man.”

Marshall looked at the others. “So, I guess we’ll have to trespass too.”

They got out of the car and took a moment to look the place over. As near as they could tell, they were the only living beings here. There were no sounds except for the wind and the occasional cheep of the swallows nesting under the eaves of the farmhouse.

Marshall ducked under the chain, and the others followed. The driveway wound around the farmhouse, went past a garage and toolshed, then opened into a wide, graveled area in back—a turnaround and access for farm machinery, supplies, and livestock that were no longer there. On the far side of this open area stood the old gray barn, weathered but intact, the main doors shut.

“Just what were you doing here anyway?” Marshall asked the boy.

“Billy and I were looking for a good place to have a kegger. We always do that ’cause we find good spots no one knows about.”

“So this barn must have looked pretty inviting.”

“Yeah, back then it did. Now it doesn’t.”

“How did you manage to get this close without anyone seeing you?”

“It was dark, and we snuck in around the other side of the house. They weren’t watching for us anyway; they were too busy doing all their weird stuff.”

They reached the doors.

“Have you ever gone inside?”

“No way. Billy and I just wanted to get out of here, and that’s all.”

The big door swung open with a long, aged creak. The inside of the barn was cool, dim, and expansive. No one entered. Marshall was waiting for his eyes to grow accustomed to the low light.

Finally they could all make out the dirt floor. It seemed plain enough—just smooth dirt. They saw nothing out of the ordinary. They looked at Kyle. He was immediately uneasy and defensive.

“I saw it, man. They were here.”

“Okay,” said Marshall, “show us what you saw.”

Kyle went into the center of the floor and turned in a circle, his finger extended out and toward the floor. “They had a big circle carved in the dirt right here, and a big pentagram in the middle of it.” Then he
pointed to a spot toward the back wall. “There was a big bench there, like an altar, and there was blood on it, and there were about twenty people standing all around the circle with robes on and hoods over their heads, and they were all chanting and shouting, and there were candles around the circle. They had candles at all the points of the pentagram.”

Marshall looked around the barn. “What cracks did you and Billy look through to see all this?”

Kyle pointed to the side of the barn. “Right over there.”

The daylight was now plainly visible through two large spaces between some loose boards. Marshall went to where the cracks were, crouched down to their level, and looked back. He was satisfied—the cracks provided a wide, clear view of the area in question.

“You say they had hoods on their heads?”

“Yeah. Black robes and hoods, and they were barefoot.”

“So how do you know who they were?”

“’Cause some of them were facing this way. I could see their faces turned right at me.” Kyle was offended and edgy. “I don’t know why you don’t believe me!”

Marshall held up his hand to calm the boy. “Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t believe you. But listen: you’ve got plenty of reason to get back at Mulligan, or any cop for that matter.”

“Not to mention getting your job back,” said Abby.

“I’m not making it up, man! I saw Mulligan. He was standing right here, with a robe and a hood on, and chanting just like all the others.”

Ben was inspecting the spot where Kyle claimed an altar had stood. “Marshall.”

Marshall joined him. Ben had scratched in the dirt with his finger and uncovered some brown stains. He was able to pick up some clumps of stained dirt in his fingers. “Could be blood. I’ll take a sample.”

“See?” said Kyle.

Marshall asked, “Tell me about that blood you saw. What were they doing with it?”

“They were drinking it out of a big cup, a big silver cup. They were passing it around.”

“How do you know it was blood?”

“The lady said it was.”

“What lady?”

“Well, the leader, I guess. She was standing right there, and she said something about making some woman die and beating all the Christians. Uh . . . she said, ‘Defeat to the Christians!’ And she drank from the cup and passed it around, and they all drank from it.” Then Kyle remembered something else. “Oh yeah, man, get this: they had some animal legs right here in the middle of the circle.”

Oh-oh. Kyle could tell he’d impressed them with that. Hogan and Cole were looking at him, dead serious and ready to hear more.

“Tell me about the animal legs,” said Marshall.

“They had to be goat legs. They were crossed right here, like an X.” He saw something. “Hey!”

“Hold it!” said Marshall, touching Kyle to stop him from disturbing the dirt at his feet. “Ben.”

Ben crouched for a close look. “Yeah. More blood. And here are some hairs.”

“Goat hairs,” said Kyle. “That’s what they are.”

“So they wanted to defeat the Christians, huh?” asked Marshall.

“Yeah, they were really hollering about it.” Another memory. “Oh, and they were saying something about a courtroom, winning in a courtroom.”

“And they were after some woman too?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they say her name?”

The name meant nothing to Kyle, but he remembered hearing it. “Uh, Sally on Death Row, or something like that.”

He was batting a thousand now. He could see it all over their faces.

Marshall dug into his jacket pocket. “Did you see any of the other people’s faces?”

“Sure. The woman leader took her hood off, and I could see her.”

Marshall produced some color photographs he’d taken with much care, stealth, and a telephoto lens. He showed Kyle a picture of Claire Johanson.

“Yeah! Yeah, that was her!”

“The woman who led this whole thing?”

“Yeah.”

Marshall showed Kyle a picture of Jon Schmidt.

“Yeah! He was here too.”

Marshall slipped in a picture of his sister.

“No. I’ve never seen her before.”

A photo of Irene Bledsoe.

“Uh . . . no, I don’t think so.”

Officer Leonard Jackson.

“No.”

Bruce Woodard, the elementary school principal.

“Naw, not Mr. Woodard. Man, where’d you take all these?”

Marshall put the pictures away. “Kyle, I think you’re giving it to us straight. Now listen, I’m not a cop, and whatever you tell me I’m not going to take it to the cops. I just need the information. It’s important. I want you to tell me the real truth: did you have any marijuana on the job at the Bergen Door Company?”