Satan's Mirror (13 page)

Leaving her backpack with the bush, Emily stole around to the front of the building. She opened the door to the
Psychic Parlor
, letting the bells announce her presence. She shook the door once more for good measure, and then rushed back to the alley. Vanessa flicked the cigarette butt over the railing and descended the stairs. Her sandals made clip-clop sounds.

Emily pulled a ballpoint pen from her pocket and crept behind her, stepping through the screened door to the darkness within. In a single movement, she slammed Vanessa face-first against the wall of a small vestibule and jammed the pen hard into her side.

“Feel that?” Emily asked. “It’s a knife.”

“What? What do you want?”

“I want to talk to your boyfriend.”

“You again,” she growled. “You won’t kill me. You haven’t got the nerve.”

Emily dug the pen deeper, edging it up beneath her ribcage. Vanessa gave a quick intake of breath.

“You’d be surprised what I could do right now,” Emily said.

“Joey isn’t here.”

“Then you’re going to help me find him.”

Vanessa laughed. “He travels in circles I can’t reach.”

The import of the words crashed over her. Crestfallen, she asked, “He went back?”

“I knew you wanted him. I saw it in your eyes. But you will never come between us. Even hell couldn’t keep us apart.”

“How do you get in?”

“Is that what you want—to follow him?” Vanessa squirmed, turning to face her. “Believe me, I would like nothing better than to see you tormented for eternity. But even if I call forth the Mirror, I cannot force my Lord to take you if you are not worthy.”

“Joey goes in, and he comes out again. Apparently at will. Does that make him more worthy than you?”

Her eyes flickered. “I know nothing of the bargain he struck.”

“He hasn’t confided in you? Perhaps you aren’t the soul mates you imagine yourselves to be. Perhaps he came back not to be with you but to do the devil’s bidding.”

“Stop it!”

“I’m sorry. Is that a touchy subject? I don’t blame you for being upset. It’s not your fault you got old.” As she said it, she realized it was true—Joey appeared to be the age he was when he disappeared twenty years ago, while Vanessa had aged normally.

The woman gave an inarticulate wail. Emily leaned toward her ear. “He’s probably in hell right now, sitting at the devil’s right hand with some little cutie—”

“Shut your mouth! You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s not the chosen one. I am.”

“Then how come he’s the one with the get-out-of-hell-free card?”

“It’s not impossible to escape, and he knew it,” Vanessa said. “He was with me when that woman came through.”

“Woman?”

“The Mirror disgorged her as if she were being born. She was bloody, and mewing, and blind. I thought she was the second coming, but she ended up being just some bitch who found her way out.”

“How?” Emily asked. “How did she escape?”

“She never said. She turned all pious and holier-than-thou on me until I couldn’t stand to be around her. Last I heard she was starting her own church in Mississippi or Louisiana.”

Emily stepped away. She made a show of retracting the ballpoint pen and putting it in her pocket. Once out of the door, she moved quickly down the alley.

Vanessa’s screeching laughter followed her. “By the way, was it my Joey who dotted your eye? Better get used to it if you hope to be his girl.”

“Let Joey know I’m looking for him.” Emily retrieved her backpack and walked toward the street.

She shook to the bone with rage and disbelief. Joey wasn’t here. Everything,
everything
depended upon her finding him and somehow forcing him to smuggle her into hell and out again.

How could she get to April now?

Vanessa was right—she couldn’t force the devil to take her. She’d seen the Mirror twice and hadn’t been taken yet.

What was she going to do?

She threaded her arms into the straps of her pack as she walked down the sidewalk. She didn’t have a car. She’d flown into Jacksonville, and then took a commuter flight to St. John’s County Airport. The rental center at the airport was closed when she got to it at eight in the morning. Luckily, the girl who sat next to her in the plane offered a ride into town.

Emily continued walking. After two blocks, sweat collected in the bandage about her head. She had to slacken her pace; the Florida morning was already hot. Emily wondered if it was even hotter in hell. What was her daughter going through?

Doubts invaded her thoughts. Ross said April must be dead. She couldn’t believe that, wouldn’t believe. Her daughter was alive.

A police car pulled alongside and stopped. Officer Harris opened the passenger door. “Hop in.”

She stifled a moan as she slipped into the chilled interior.

“I’m sorry to hear about your daughter,” he said.

“Ah, they contacted you already.”

He nodded. “I got a call from Detective Johnston. He wasn’t too pleased you skipped on him.”

“I couldn’t stay in that hospital doing nothing. All I could think about was finding Joey.”

“You’re certain he’s the kidnapper?”

Emily hesitated. “In the confusion, I didn’t exactly see who took April. But I’m certain he knows where she is. And before you start to argue with me—”

“I’m not arguing,” Harris said. “Where were you headed?”

“The Internet café. I would have had a car, but your backwoods rental shop wasn’t open yet.”

“They open late on weekends.”

Weekend. The word struck her heart, and she looked away, tears filling her eyes. She and April planned to be at Grandfather’s farm.

“I was hoping you’d come to the station with me and give our composite artist a description of Joey. You’re the only one who’s seen him up close.”

“Except Vanessa.”

“She hasn’t been forthcoming.”

“I’m not surprised,” Emily said. “All right. Yes, that’s a good idea.”

He pulled the car from the curb.

Emily settled back, intending to close her eyes for a moment, but less than a moment later, they were at the police station. She blinked in the strong sunlight as Harris guided her into the building.

He left her with Officer Serra, a stern-looking woman with close-cropped hair, who turned out to be a capable artist. She used both paper and computer to elicit details from Emily she thought she’d forgotten. In the end, they had a good likeness of Joey’s face as well as the tattooed symbols running up his shoulders and neck.

Harris seemed pleased with the result. “Do you have a picture of your daughter?”

“Of course.” Emily drew out her wallet. “I’m pretty sure my housekeeper already gave one to the New York police.”

He tapped the drawing. “I’m going to fax this to every station in the country, and I want her picture with it.” He rushed off.

Officer Serra gave a half-smile that looked to be cracking her face. “You can get a cup of coffee in the waiting room.”

“Thank you, but what I really need is Internet access. Are you wireless here?”

She shook her head. “We’re hardwired. It’s a hassle to keep wireless secure. But there are hookups in the press lounge. I’ll show you.”

Emily followed her into a cramped room and sat at one of the many tables. She attached her laptop to a T1 line. For several minutes, she stared at the waiting screen. Then she opened a search engine and typed
Avant-garde Religions in the South
.

Before long, tabbed websites lined the browser. She delved deeper, narrowing the search as she went. No one bothered her. At one point, Harris set a paper cup of coffee upon the table, but he left as silently as he appeared.

She searched for New Age churches that appeared more than twenty years ago, and then for churches headed by women. At last, she found a church in the swamps of Louisiana that had been in existence since 1971.

It was run by Chastity Williams, who claimed to be spit out of hell itself and knew firsthand the punishment for wickedness.

SEVENTEEN

After a relay race of increasingly rickety planes, Emily crossed into the wetlands of southern Louisiana. She gazed out a spotted window at oil fields and patches of water. Near the horizon, she recognized Lake Charles, but saw no major cities.

When the landing gear thumped and shuddered into place, she was alarmed at the surrounding isolation. How would she find Chastity Williams in all this emptiness?

As the plane lowered, she saw a lone highway traveling north and south through the blue and green landscape. Then she saw the airport, Southland Field. It had only one runway that was long enough to accommodate the twin-engine prop-job she sat in.

Emily leaned back. Her fold-down seat shook, and her head bounced against the wall. The wheels grabbed asphalt with a jerk. Rattling and listing, the plane taxied to the apron. The engines whined down. Ears ringing with sudden silence, Emily unhooked the seatbelt and retrieved her backpack.

The pilot opened the hatch and extended a ladder. “Here we are, Miss Goodman. Watch your step, now.”

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Yes, ma’am. Hope you find what you’re looking for.”

She disembarked, glancing around. The airport’s two hangars were the only structures for miles. She saw a helicopter and three other planes, but no people. Several cars sat before a building swathed in a banner proclaiming
Fly/Drive In Pancake Breakfast First Saturday of the Month 7:00 a.m.
She slung her backpack over her shoulder and went inside.

The lobby was white with pink plastic chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the green vista beyond. Despite the cars, only two people were present.

A boy with narrow shoulders and shaggy hair leapt to his feet, approaching anxiously. He appeared to be around seventeen and had Southland Field embroidered on his pocket. “Can I drive you anywhere, ma’am?”

“Do you work here?” Emily asked, taken aback by his youth.

“Courtesy car,” said a woman behind a counter of chewing gum and aspirin. “Takes you into Sulphur.”

“I’m headed south toward Hackberry,” Emily told her.

The boy stepped nearer. “I can take you to the Rent-a-Car. There’s a nice diner there, too.”

Emily mustered a smile. “That will be fine.”

He grinned. “Can I get your bags?”

“I’m traveling light.” She walked to the glass counter, examining its contents. “Got any Band-Aids?”

The woman motioned behind her. “There’s a vending machine in the Ladies.”

Emily nodded her thanks and walked toward a hallway promising restrooms.

The Women’s Room was spotless and smelled like lemons. She leaned over the sink, examining her face. The hollow of her left eye was black, her brow swollen and tender. She unwrapped the gauze from her forehead. Mottled bruises surrounded a gash with five stitches.

On the wall, a vending machine sold trial-size versions of feminine hygiene products along with the coveted Band-Aids. She inserted fifty cents, and the machine dispensed a thin cardboard box. Inside the box, she found two bandages. She used them to cover the gash and the worst of the bruising. Then she tossed the wad of gauze into a trash bin and returned to the lobby.

“All set?” asked the boy.

“Yes,” she said, careful not to nod her aching head.

He held the door, and she stepped outside. The sun was high and bright, but the air was cool, no more than seventy degrees. A line of migrating birds flew overhead. The only sound was the rustle of a flag.

The boy led her to a white Ford Explorer. “Front seat okay? Or would you rather stretch out in back?”

“I’ll sit in front with you,” she said.

He helped her into the passenger seat, and then circled to the driver’s side. As he climbed in, he said, “My name is Tom.” He slammed the door.

Emily cringed and raised trembling fingers to her forehead. “Hello, Tom.”

“I’ll have you to town in a jiff.” He twisted in his seat to look behind as he backed out of the parking spot.

He looked too small, too young to handle such a large van. But he pulled smoothly out of the lot and onto an access road that ran parallel to the runway.

“How far is Sulphur?” she asked.

“About five miles. Go ahead and ask me anything. I’ve lived in this area all my life.”

“All right. What do you know about a little place called Chastity Commune?”

He pulled a face. “Are you sure that’s around here?”

“Supposed to be the other side of Hackberry.”

“Never heard of it.” He grinned. “Damn. You stumped me your first try.”

Emily frowned, gazing out the window at the expanse of trees. What if she couldn’t find this woman who allegedly escaped from hell?

With a spray of dirt and gravel, they pulled onto LA 108 East, and then turned north on LA 27. North—the exact opposite of where she had to be. The highway was straight and flat, and Emily assumed it was the road she saw from the air.

“Where you from?” Tom asked.

“Do you mean where was I born or where have I been lately?”

He glanced at her, smiling. “Born. Where are your roots?”

“Grand Rapids, Michigan, which can be considered either a small city or a large town depending on your mood.”

“You’ll feel right at home in Sulphur.”

“Don’t plan to be there long enough,” Emily said.

“You got family in Hackberry?”

She looked at him. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know. You got no bags, so wherever you’re going you must have clothes.” He glanced at her again. “You’re running, aren’t you? Husband? Boyfriend? My mama’s like you—a battered woman just looking for a little peace. Only she never left my pa. He’s in jail now—got caught robbing a convenience store in Carlyss. Every time the phone rings, she jumps, thinking it’s him saying he’s coming home.”

Emily turned away in silence.

After a moment, Tom said, “Well, good for you is all I’m trying to say. God bless your courage. I hope the sonovabitch gets what he deserves.”

“Me, too,” she murmured. She hadn’t thought it through that far. But what if she could? What if she could do more than rescue her daughter? What if she could exact revenge upon the devil himself?