Southern Belle (17 page)

Bellowing to be heard, Max said, "How do we make it stop?"

Everything ceased. The floor settled. The walls calmed. The wind silenced. Only the final few pebbles rattled as they found places to rest.

Breathing hard and shaking, Sandra attempted to sit up. Damp with sweat, she put out a hand for Max to help steady her and did nothing more than breathe. Max held her hand tight.

"She okay?" Drummond said as he took the air.

"I don't know. What happened?"

"Just because the witches can't get in here, doesn't mean they can't hurt us. The pentagram, the graffiti, whatever else's been done here wasn't big enough, evil enough, for them to gain entry, but they can certainly cause us trouble."

"That was crazy. It was like a —"

"Like a haunting," Sandra said. "That's what evil ghosts do. Haunted houses, all those dark stories — the ones that are true deal with a ghost that turned."

Max brought his flashlight closer and relaxed a hair upon seeing color return to Sandra's face. "You going to be okay?"

She nodded. "They took me by surprise. That's all."

Max doubted that was all, but he let it be. He helped Sandra to her feet. Once he knew she could stand on her own, he stomped toward the back wall, picking up a broken piece of the pew.

"What are you doing?" Drummond rushed over to Max.

"We've got to find that body. Make sure Dr. Ernest destroyed it. Then we can get out of here. Try, at least." Max lifted the heavy wood, preparing to slam it into the wall.

"You do that, you'll kill us all."

"What now?"

From the doorway, Sandra said, "He's right. If you break open those walls, you'll be desecrating holy ground. You'll be opening the entire building to them. Nothing will hold them back."

Dropping the wood, Max said to Drummond, "Then we need you to go into those walls."

Drummond glanced at the wall. "That might be just as bad."

"Because the dead crawling around in the walls would be another form of desecration? Right?"

"Something like that."

"Well we can't wait around for them to attack again."

Rubbing her temples, sounding exhausted, Sandra said, "Will you two be quiet. Please. I'm trying to think."

A hundred sarcastic comments flooded Max's brain, but he said nothing. Sandra was on edge, too. Probably worse since he, at least, didn't have to listen to the intolerable screeching of a witch coven.

Walking toward Max, her steps more assured, she tapped out her points on her fingers. "First, Dr. Ernest cursed the High Priestess, and second, he buried her here. Why here? Because this is sacred, holy ground. A source of good. The coven's ghosts wouldn't be able to get in here."

"Hold on," Max said, his analytical side overcoming his fear. "How could he possibly bury her here? I mean, she's a source of evil, right? So, if her body were put in here, either her ghost couldn't come in, or the very act of burying her in this building would defile the building making the whole point, well, pointless. Right?"

"You got that right, kiddo," Drummond chimed in.

"But the witches," Sandra continued, "They came here, too. They wouldn't bother troubling us here for nothing. Especially when you consider how painful a lot of their actions are to a ghost."

Drummond snapped his fingers and pointed at Sandra. "The lady's got you there."

Max rolled his eyes. "You're a big help."

"Well, have you two geniuses considered this: The witch coven's here because their High Priestess is here, and since you've figured out that she can't be buried on this holy ground, then she must be buried nearby."

"We already checked around the grounds."

"In the dark with a flashlight. Not the best conditions. But let's say you're right. She's not buried right outside. If it were me burying her, and it almost was me, I'd have put her somewhere that the ghosts who wanted to get to her would mistakenly think she was in the church."

"He's right," Sandra said. "She has to be nearby, so close to the building that the ghosts' own fear of this holy ground would confuse them."

Drummond pursed his lips. "The office."

"Of course," Sandra said.

"Huh?" Max played his flashlight's beam on the office door. "You just got through saying she couldn't be buried here at all."

"She can't be buried on the holy ground. The office is physically attached to this church but it's not the holy ground of the church. The official praying, the gathering of people together and all that happened here, not in the office."

"Okay, let's go."

"You can't, yet."

Max threw his arms in the air. "Why the hell not? You want to hang around for those bitches to make your ears bleed?"

"If we destroy the High Priestess now, we won't get out of here alive."

Drummond nodded. "The second we uncover that body, the coven will know what's going on. The office isn't going to hold them off like the church proper. They'll swarm in on us. We won't stand a chance."

Staring at the office door like a prisoner waiting release, Max sighed. "Then what do you suggest we do? I haven't a clue."

Sandra glanced out the doorway then back to Max. He had seen her brave face many times, but the face he looked upon now went far beyond bravery. He saw grim determination in her. It scared the hell out of him.

"Here's what we're going to do." She crouched before Max and waited for Drummond to join the huddle. "You two go into that office and find the body. I'll go outside and make sure the witches are too busy to notice you."

"Wait. What?" Max looked to Drummond for support but he had the same look as Sandra. "No, no, no. You are not going out there. They practically turned you into mush, and they can't even get in here. They were screaming — that's all. You go out there, and they'll kill you."

"I wasn't expecting their attack. But I am now."

"Wonderful. So you can see the killing blow come. I feel so much better now."

Drummond edged over to the office door. "I'll be here when you're ready."

Sandra took Max's face in her hands. "I know how to resist them. I've been doing it my whole life. If I didn't, I'd never have lived long enough to meet you. So, trust me."

"I do trust you." Her hands were cold against his skin — she wasn't as confident as she acted. "But what I saw —"

"Don't think about them. Think about me. I'm the only one you need to believe. I'm telling you, I can handle them."

Max wanted to argue or reason or even bully her — anything to keep her in the church, safe. Her mouth lifted in a sorrowful smile, and he felt tears leaking from his eyes. How many times had he insisted she believe in him? How many times had she been forced to watch him walk off into dangers she knew he had no way to be prepared for? At least in this case, she had some previous experience. But all his debating aside, he knew he would have to let her go ahead with this plan because they had no other.

He reached out and kissed her. Her soft lips trembled against his, and for a fleeting breath, he thought maybe she would reconsider. But an icy finger traced his heart — she trembled because she knew this might be their last kiss.

When she tried to pull away, he clenched her tighter. He pressed in close against her, as if he could pass right through her. He stroked her hair with one hand and brought her closer with the other. At length, she placed her hands on his chest, and gently, firmly pushed back.

"When you finish with the body, run for the car. I'll be right alongside you."

"Don't you die," he said.

"Don't take too long."

As Sandra headed for the doorway, her hand holding on to Max until the last possible second, her eyes closed. Max watched her body straighten, her focus narrow. She turned all her attention to the witches and her plan. Max scurried across the room to the office door. He placed his hand on the knob and waited for Sandra's signal.

Max's heart dropped with every step she took closer toward the outside. In a moment, he would be in the office and unable to protect her. And he had Drummond to worry about, too. The witch attack had hurt his ghost partner. Max would have to keep an eye on him, consider him a mining canary that would tell him if the witches had hit too hard.

Before stepping outside, Sandra's shoulders rose slowly and fell fast — one last deep breath. And then she was gone. Walked straight out until Max could no longer see her.

Drummond endured the pain it took to poke Max in the shoulder. "Time to move."

"Right," Max muttered. Right, indeed. He had to be sharp now, succeed as fast as possible, make sure Sandra spent as little time out there as he could manage.

He opened the door and started knocking on the walls. At the first dull hit, he turned to Drummond. "Why the hell am I doing it this way? Get in there. This isn't holy ground. Check to see where that witch is."

"You got it." Drummond raised his hand in a mock salute and his face locked in anguish.

From out front, Sandra yelled but Max couldn't tell if it was a yell of someone being defeated or raging against her enemy. Drummond cocked his head and held his lips tight. He looked like he fought against vomiting. Then he shook the whole thing off.

"She's okay," he said. "But let's not dawdle."

"I'm waiting for you. Get in there."

Drummond stuck his head into the wall and pulled it back out fast. "She's in there. Looks like Ernest never made it out here."

Max banged on the wall, hoping to break open a hole big enough to grab the body. Again and again he smashed his fist at the wall, but this old building had been made of wood, not drywall, and he only managed to bloody his knuckles.

"You forgetting something?" Drummond said.

"Damn it," Max said and dashed out of the office. In a flash, he returned with the shovel he had carried from the car. All his fisticuffs with the wall had loosened enough dirt and dust that he could see the seam where two boards met. Using the shovel like a crowbar, he shoved the blade in and pushed on the handle.

Sandra screamed out something, but Max deciphered only a few swears. He snatched a glimpse of Drummond. The ghost's face scrunched tight like he suffered a migraine.

Come on, Max, come on. Neither of them can take much more of this.

Max put all his weight behind the handle and pushed. The wood creaked and the rusting nails whined. He shoved the handle harder until a section of the wall leaned out. Sliding the shovel deeper, Max thought of his wife's pain, and he roared, pressing the handle with all the strength he could find.

The wall gave way, wood splintering and snapping. As the shovel lost hold of anything to grip, Max stumbled forward into the wall. The stench of ancient decay poured out of the new opening.

Max stuck his nose in the crook of his arm, yet the polluted air still managed to seep into his nostrils. With his free hand, he tore down those sections of wood still clinging to the wall. He picked up the flashlight and set it on the office desk, the beam focused on the ceiling to cast dim light everywhere — enough to see the body.

Drummond collapsed across the desk.
Crap
. The wind picked up, its howl growing louder. The floorboards rattled. Though Max couldn't hear the horrid shrieks of the witches, his heart quaked at the thought of Sandra stuck outside, suffering, open to attack.

Only way is through.
Max looked in the open wall.

The witch's body appeared like the statue of a woman caught in terrible pain. Her mouth open wide in a vicious scream, while her hands appeared to claw at the wall. A line across her neck marked where Dr. Ernest had slit her throat, and on her chest, the dark lines of symbols carved into her pale skin. Dust and grime covered the corpse, along with rat droppings. But no sign of the little animals gnawing at her.

Max raised the shovel. He widened his legs into a firm stance, in case the witch's eyes snapped open or she tried to take the shovel or she had some other magical ability he never knew. Holding the shovel like a poker, he shoved it at the witch's body. As if made of precariously balanced sand, the entire body crumbled into a pile of dirt on the floor. A long hiss of foul air released from her.

The walls, the floors, the howling wind — all ceased.

Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Max rushed out of the office, up the main aisle of the church proper, and straight out the doorway. Sandra lay on the ground, curled in a ball. He hurried to her side, listening for a breath, hoping to see the rise and fall of her chest. She groaned, and Max had never heard a sound so joyous in his life. She had survived.

Drummond weaved towards them like a drunk. "My head's killing me."

"Where are the witches?" Max asked.

Drummond barely lifted his head. "Gone. With their High Priestess destroyed, there's no point to being here."

Max wondered why they didn't retaliate, but for the moment, he turned all his worry to Sandra. "Put your arms around me, hon." He lifted her up and carried her to the car. It hadn't seemed so far away when they first arrived, but Sandra passed out and her slumbering weight had him breathing heavily by the time they reached the car.