Satan's Mirror (15 page)

Where was everyone?

Hot tears welled in Emily’s eyes. She wanted to scream to the empty buildings—
you can’t be gone. I need your help. I need to see Chastity Williams.

Her daughter’s face swam from darkness. April. Little April.

She’d failed her.

No! She hadn’t failed yet. Think! Why would Chastity’s followers leave their homes?

Emily climbed to the edge of a porch and sat, arms folded against the dampness. She gazed over the black marsh, past cypress stumps and fireflies, trying to understand why the people had deserted. Something bad must have happened. But what?

As she leaned back, she placed her hand upon a crushed cigarette butt. Three of them. Someone else had sat there. Recently, she thought, rolling the butt apart in her fingers. The tobacco was fresh.

Realization struck like an electric shock. Joey.

She dropped the remains of the cigarette, looking around. Fear grasped her heart. Was Joey the reason the people were gone?

She imagined him as the Grim Reaper, wearing his insanity like a cloak, sweeping through the tiny village. Had children lived here? Had he weighted down their tiny bodies in Calcasieu Lake?

Or had he opened a mirror and dragged them all to hell?

Emily ran. She had to get to the car. Her cell phone was in her backpack. She needed to call the sheriff. Her boots splashed and thudded. A stitch knifed her side. She ducked and fought through vines and branches.

Stay on the path. You’re safe if you’re on the path.

Night fell with a suddenness she never saw in the city. The sky turned black. Stars peeked at her through the tops of trees.

Emily slowed her pace. She tapped the ground ahead with her gator club, testing for dryness. She could no longer make out the surrounding brush.

A terrible thought surfaced from her ill-contained panic—what if she was lost? A sob escaped her, and she bit her lip. She widened her eyes, but was unable to see.

Sounds amplified in the dark. For a moment, she imagined something thrashing through the bushes, paralleling her. She paused to listen, her club held ready, but the sound faded.

Chilled sweat ran along her neckline. Her jacket felt clammy and cold. She continued walking, wondering what sort of wild animals lived in the Mississippi River Delta, wondering why it was taking so long to get back to the car.

If she was lost, if she died there, no one would save April. No one but Joey would know where her little girl had gone.

Gradually, Emily became aware of a glimmer on the leaves around her. She glanced about, certain she could discern rays of light. As she ducked beneath a heavy tree limb, she saw a distant white orb.

Recognition thrilled her. It was the car. Just as she planned, the headlights were guiding her to safety.

Emily sagged in relief and exhaustion. She stumbled forward, and then broke into a trot. She was almost there. She would make it.

The headlights went out.

Emily froze. The light hadn’t faded as it would if the battery died. It snapped off. Someone had turned the switch.

“Who’s there?” she yelled.

No one answered.

With the club held before her, she crept forward, entering a clearing painted blue with starlight. Insects chirped and stopped. She heard movement in the brush—something coming toward her.

A man leapt out of the trees swinging a long object over his head. He lunged at her. His face lit with starlight.

Joey.

Wild-eyed, he swung a machete at Emily. She raised her gator club reflexively, and his blade sank deep in the wood. He pulled free and reared back for another attack. She struck him with the club, aiming for his weapon hand but missing and hitting his shoulder instead. The impact stung her palms.

Joey roared through bared teeth. He brought the blade down in an arc. Again she countered. This time the machete stuck. He wrenched the club from her grasp, looking confused.

Emily bowled into him, hoping to knock him off his feet. She ran in the direction of the car. Trees swallowed the path. She couldn’t see. Behind her, Joey’s footsteps pounded the mossy loam. She ran blindly, arms outstretched.

With a splash, she was knee deep in water. She had lost the path. Muck and vegetation dragged at her boots. Frantic, she struggled to keep running. Joey leapt at her. She ducked out of the way. He fell into the bog.

She waded through the swamp, trying to get to dry land, trying to find the path. The water deepened to mid-thigh. Joey dove at her again, but he missed in the darkness. The splash nearly knocked her down.

A scream tore from her throat. Emily sloshed forward. She swung her arms about, expecting to hit Joey. Instead, she struck grass. She ran her hands over tree roots and dirt. It was a bank about waist high. She hugged it, clambering up.

Joey caught her hair, pulling her back. His fingers went around her throat.

“You’ll not stop me,” he growled, bending her backward, strangling her.

Emily coughed and sputtered. She clawed his face, his neck, but he wouldn’t let go.

Pressure throbbed in her head. Her eyes were popping from their sockets. A buzzing sound grew until it overwhelmed her other senses, and she thought it was pulling her upward, thought she was floating.

Then a bright white spotlight speared them. Emily saw flashing blue lights. Joey released her, and she fell into the water. She came back up, wheezing for air.

She sensed movement—boots splashing, men yelling. Someone caught her beneath the arms and dragged her to the bank. She braved the garish light, looking up into the face of the boy who’d driven her from the airport.

“I’ve got you,” Tom said.

She clung to his words. Fighting, falling, and at last succumbing to the encroaching dark.

TWENTY

Emily awoke between scratchy, starched sheets facing a wall that showed cracks of daylight. She moaned, raising a hand to her head.

The night’s events came back in Technicolor. She remembered running through the swamp, feeling the cold, fetid water splash her thighs, and the even colder touch of Joey’s hands about her throat. She bolted upright.

“Don’t sit up,” said a familiar voice. “You’re naked. Mom has your clothes out on the line.”

Emily yanked the sheet to her chin. She looked across at Tom sitting on a wooden chair near the door. He held an algebra book on his lap.

“Where am I?” she asked hoarsely.

“Chastity Commune.” He closed his schoolbook. “My bed, more to the point.”

“Chastity—” she sputtered, choking on the tangled questions struggling up her throat. She grasped her neck. It felt swollen and sore. “You saved my life.”

“Well, I did and I didn’t. Been following you. Ever since you asked about the Commune. When I saw Joey poking around, I called for help.” Tom grinned. “The sheriff is a friend of mine. He kind of took me under his wing when my dad was arrested.”

Emily nodded numbly, remembering flashing blue lights, men’s voices. “Did they catch him?”

“Who—Joey? Nah. He got away again. Our fear is that he’s got one of those portal things somewhere in the bayou.”

“You know about those, too?” She screwed up her face. “Tom, what’s going on? You told me you never heard of Chastity Commune. What is this—some sort of secret society?”

“Not exactly secret. At least it wasn’t until Joey came on the scene. He’s looking for us. He’s gotten close, too. A couple years ago, we had to relocate the entire community.”

An apron-clad woman carrying a tray appeared at the door. “I thought I heard voices in here.”

Tom smiled. “This is my mom.”

“Hello,” Emily said.

“I brought you some broth.” Mom slid the tray onto the end of the bed. “I washed your things, but I’m afraid they aren’t dry yet. You’ll be needing something of mine.”

“That’s very kind of you.” The tray held two thick slices of crusty, dark bread and a steaming mug. Emily sipped gingerly. The bland broth soothed her throat. “I love chicken soup.”

“Well, that’s not chicken,” Mom said, “but it is bracing. You look like you’ve been put through the mill.”

“This is just the beginning.” Emily took another sip.

“What’s that?” Mom asked.

Emily set down the mug. “I need to speak to Chastity Williams.”

The woman shook her head. “Impossible.”

“It damned well better become possible,” Emily said. “I’ve come a long way to find her.”

“But why?” Tom asked. “How did you hear of us?”

His mother looked at him. “Tom, run along and tell the council that our guest is awake.”

“Yes’m.” He left the room.

Mom folded her arms and leaned against the doorjamb, staring at Emily. “I know who you are and what you do. I will not allow you to belittle our beliefs.”

Emily frowned, taken aback. She was used to having her status as a television personality open doors for her, not block her way. “I didn’t come to judge anyone.”

“Then why
are
you here?”

“It’s a personal matter. And I’m not leaving until I see Chastity.”

“In that case, you’ll be here a long time,” Mom told her. “Sister Chastity is dead.”

What? Emily covered her mouth, head whirling. The woman was dead? “I don’t believe you.”

“Suit yourself.”

How could this be? What was she going to do? “But she must have left someone in charge. Someone else must know—”

“Finish eating,” Mom said, turning to leave. “You need your strength. I’ll find you something to wear.”

Emily balled her fists in her eyes. A day lost searching for a woman who didn’t exist. Time she couldn’t afford. How much longer could her daughter hold on? She imagined April crying for her, calling her name.

Stomach souring, Emily looked at the mug. She considered chucking the contents out the window. But Tom’s mother was right. She needed her strength.

Someone in this congregation must have the information she needed. She couldn’t give up. With her eyes closed, she gulped the hot broth. Then she bit into the bread. Her throat felt so bruised, it was difficult to swallow.

Tom’s mother brought in a packet of clothes and left without a word.

Still chewing, Emily unfolded a yellow, shirtwaist dress and a pair of off-white bloomers. Both were clean and crisp with starch. They fit well enough. She found her hiking boots in a patch of sunlight beneath the open window. They were cold and damp, and she cringed as she slipped them on her bare feet.

With the tray in hand, Emily stepped out of the bedroom into a hallway of closed doors. She followed noises to a large, sunny kitchen where Tom’s mother was washing dishes.

The woman glanced at her. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Emily set the tray on the counter. The sink didn’t have a faucet. In the corner of the kitchen sat a pyramid of plastic jugs labeled
Natural Spring Water
.

Mom took a kettle from a wood-burning stove and poured steaming water over the sudsy dishes. “Someday we hope to get propane. Won’t that be nice?”

Emily looked out the window. The room appeared to be about ten feet up. She imagined she could feel the house sway on its stilts. “Do you feel safe here?”

“Safer than from where I came.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “I expect you’ll be leaving soon as your things dry.”

“Tell me something. Why is Joey searching for Chastity Commune if she isn’t even here?”

A scuff of footsteps drew her attention. Two men stood on the porch, peering through the screen.

“A question we aim to ask you,” one said, stepping inside, “since you’re so bent on bringing trouble to our door.”

Emily bristled. “Maybe instead of running and hiding, you should set a trap for the son of a bitch.”

The second man stepped into the kitchen. He wore a brown uniform and a badge naming him sheriff. “Is your name Emily Goodman?”

“Yes, it is.”

“What is your relationship to Joey Mastrianni?”

“My what?” She spluttered. “Other than the fact that he just tried to kill me, none at all.”

“Then explain this.” He shook a paper at her.

Emily glimpsed a sketch of Joey and a picture of April—the fax sent by Officer Harris. She gasped, feeling as if the wind were knocked out of her. “My six-year-old daughter is missing.”

“It says here she was last seen in New York City,” the sheriff said. “What could her disappearance have to do with us?”

“Please.” Emily closed her eyes. “I need to speak to the council.”

“Because you think we’re in touch with Joey? You think we have something to do with this kidnapping?”

“He didn’t take her,” she blurted. “It was the devil.”

Silence filled the kitchen. The two men looked at each other and then at Tom’s mother.

From the porch, an unseen woman said, “The devil don’t take them so young.”

“They took her to hurt me.” Emily blinked back tears. “They took her because I laughed and called them a fraud. My fault. All my fault. God help me.”

“They?” asked the sheriff. “You’re saying you’ve seen more than one?”

Emily nodded, swallowing hard. “A Mirror opens and the leader speaks, and while your attention is on him, others pop out behind you and drag you away. They took my cameraman like that, and now they have my daughter. But they didn’t take me. It’s my punishment.”

“I’ll say again, what does that have to do with us?” the sheriff asked.

“I need advice,” she said, her voice rising. “I have to get into hell. I’m going to get in whether you help me nor not. I can’t let my little girl stay in that place all alone.”

“I’ve heard enough.” Stepping from where she was hiding, the woman pushed through the door. She hobbled as if her feet were bound.

Tom appeared at her arm, guiding her inside. He looked at once humble and proud.

The woman’s eyes were milky white. Ropy, pink scars mottled her face, making her look as if she’d once been on fire. She wore a bandanna of red and blue checks, and Emily suspected she had no hair. She walked forward, Tom at her arm, until she stood directly in front of Emily.

In a husky voice, the woman said, “I’m Chastity Williams.”