Authors: F. Paul Wilson
The Haunted Air (53 page)
Jack sipped coffee at the bar and watched the TV while he waited for Barney to show. He'd put on a gray turtleneck to hide the bruises on his throat and wore sunglasses despite the bar's dim interior. Made it hard to see what was happening on the TV. Everyone around him, including Julio, was glued to the on-the-scene reports from what was being called “the house of horror.”
He thought about Lyle and wondered how he was dealing with his brother's death. It left him alone for the first time in his life. Jack knew alone. He'd handled it, but he probably had a better tolerance for it than others. He wondered
about Lyle's tolerance. He was tough. He'd done all right last night. Hadn't liked it, but he'd hung in there.
about Lyle's tolerance. He was tough. He'd done all right last night. Hadn't liked it, but he'd hung in there.
He'd be all right.
Bellitto. Lots more questions about him beyond where the hell he was.
Hell ⦠yeah, if it existed, he'd be a charter member.
He'd said he was hundreds of years old and didn't seem to be lying. Could that be true? Not likely. Maybe he'd just thought he was telling the truth. Told himself he was that old for so long he'd come to believe it.
Still, Jack wondered where Tara had taken him. Down through the dirt and into the fault line? Someplace where she could toy with him for the longest time without being disturbed?
That was all right with Jack. The longer the better.
And then the question of Edward, Eli's ersatz brother. Early last night Jack had wanted to wring his neck; by the end of the evening he'd wanted to thank him. If Edward hadn't put him onto Eli, Adrian might have got to Vicky â¦
His mind refused to go there.
A familiar face popped through the door then and bellied up to the bar about three stools down.
“Barney!” Jack called, waving. “Sit over here. I'll buy you one.”
Barney grinned and hurried over. “Never turn down a man who's in a buying mood, I always say.”
He'd just got off work and needed a shave. The essence of his grimy Willie Nelson T-shirt gave advance notice of his approach and he had pretty much the quantity and quality of teeth you'd expect in a Willie fan.
“What're you having?”
“A shot of Johnny Walker Red and a pint of Heinie.”
Jack nodded to Julio who laughed. “Ay, meng, what happen to your usual Ol' Smuggler an' eight-ounce Bud.”
“That's when I'm buying.” Barney turned to Jack. “To what do .I owe this generosity?”
“Julio tells me you recognized an older gent dropping off an envelope for me the other day.”
Barney took a quick sip of his Scotch. “That was no gent, that was a priest.”
Jack hadn't been expecting that one. “You mean as in Catholic priest.”
“Right. That was Father Ed from St. Joseph's. You thinking of converting, Jack?”
“Not this month.” Ed ⦠well at least he hadn't lied about his first name. “You're sure it was this priest?”
“Course I'm sure. St. Joe's was my church back when I used to live down in Alphabet City. Father Edward Halloran's the pastor. Least he used to be. You mean you don't know who he is and he's leaving an envelope for you?” Grinning he lowered his voice and leaned closer. “What was it? A message from the Vatican? The Pope got a problem he needs fixed?”
Jack gave him a hard look. “How'd you know? You been reading my mail?”
Barney stiffened. “Hey, no, Jack. I wouldn'tâ” He stopped, then broke into another spotty grin. “You rat! Almost had me there!”
Jack slipped off the stool and clapped Barney on the back. “Thanks for the tip, my man.” He waved to Julio. “Another round for Barney on my tab.”
“Hey, thanks, Jack. You oughta stick around so I can buy you one.”
“Some other time. Barn. Gotta go to church.”
Jack found St. Joseph's church on a Lower East Side street, mid block between rows of sagging tenements. He took an immediate liking to the old Gothic, granite-block building with her twin crocketed spires and large rose window. Could have done with a good power washing though. A convent sat to her left, the smaller rectory to the right.
Jack knocked on the rectory door. A thin elderly woman in a smudged apron answered. When he asked to see Father Ed she tried to tell him that he didn't have any appointments till the afternoon. Refusing to be put off he said to tell the good father that Jackâjust Jackâwas here.
That did the trick.
Father Edward Halloranâthe Edward who'd hired Jack to watch his “brother” Eliâgreeted him in his cramped little office with a mixture of warmth and wariness.
“I should have known you'd be finding me,” he said as he offered his hand.
Jack shook it, not exactly sure what he was feeling. Looking at Edward in his Roman collar and hearing that thick brogue, he felt as if he'd walked onto the set of
Going
My
Way
. Any moment now Bing Crosby would waltz through the door. Still he'd lied to Jack. Big time.
Going
My
Way
. Any moment now Bing Crosby would waltz through the door. Still he'd lied to Jack. Big time.
“I thought priests were supposed to tell the truth.”
“They are.” The little man slipped behind his desk and pointed to a chair for Jack. “And I did.”
Jack remained standing. “You told me your last name was Bellitto, Father Halloran.”
“Never. Those words never passed me lips.”
“You said Eli Bellitto was your brother. Same thing.”
Father Ed gave him a cherubic smile. “The Lord says all men are brothers, don't you know.”
“Can we cut the word games?” Jack leaned on the desk and stared at the priest. “I'm not here to cause you trouble. I just want to know what this was all about. How did you know Eli Bellitto was going to snatch a kid?”
Father Ed glanced past Jack, as if to make sure the door was closed, then sighed. He swiveled in his seat and stared off to his left.
“He told me.”
“Why? Did you know him?”
The priest's head snapped around. “âDid'?”
“Let's not get into that. Why did he tell you?”
“I don't know. Last Saturday I was hearing confessions next door when this man enters the booth and starts telling me he has killed hundreds of children and wants absolution.”
“You believed him?”
The priest shrugged. “One is after hearing many strange things in the confessional. I took him on his word and told him to receive absolution he must be turning himself in to the authorities. He laughed and said he couldn't do that. In fact, he was going to kill another child in the following week under the dark of the moon. And then he left.”
“How did you know he was Eli Bellitto?”
“I followed him,” he said, looking a little ashamed. “I didn't know if he was deluded or telling the truth. Either way he was certainly daft. I left the confessional, removed my collar, and trailed him to his store. It wasn't far. But as I stood outside his shop I thought of a third possibility: perhaps he was after having some grudge against the church and trying to see if he could make a priest compromise the holy privilege of the Sacrament of Confession. I needed a way of protecting the Church and protecting any child he might harm. I thought of you.”
“Me? How does a priest even know about me?”
“One of my parishioners once confessed to me about hiring you.”
“Confessed? You mean I'm a sin?” Jack didn't know whether to be offended or pleased. “Who was it?”
“I can't be telling you that, of course.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess not.”
He decided being a sin was kind of cool.
“Someone was after being hurt as a result of my parishioner hiring you and the lad was afraid he'd sinned. So anyway, I went and bought one of those little disposable cameras and took Mr. Bellitto's picture when he came out. I learned what I could about himânot much, I'm afraidâthen called you.” Father Ed leaned forward. “Tell me now, would it be true what he said about killing children?”
“It would be,” Jack said. “I don't know about the hundreds he told you about, but yeah, more than one. Many more.”
Father Ed gasped and crossed himself. “Saints preserve us.”
“You hear about that house in Astoria this morning? He was part of that.”
“Then I did the right thing. But why was he telling me? Why did he confess?”
“Arrogance, I guess. He kept trophies from his victims on display in his shop. I gather he thought he was some sort of superior being and liked to flaunt it.”
“Hubris.” The priest shook his head. “Sometimes we can be thankful for it, I suppose.” He glanced at Jack. “And where would Mr. Bellitto be now?”
“Gone.”
“Gone where?”
“Not sure. Just ⦠gone. And don't worry. He won't be coming back. Ever.”
Father Ed took a deep breath. “Like my parishioner, I'm feeling I might have a need to confess. Would that be true?”
Jack shrugged. “Not my call.”
“How about you? Would you be needing to confess?”
“I don't think so. I had it on the authority of a good man that I was doing God's work.”
When Jack arrived at Menelaus Manor two weeks later, Lyle was in the yard watching a landscaper replace the dead foundation plantings. He greeted Jack warmly with a two-handed handshake.
“Jack, how are you? Come on in.”
Jack followed him inside to the kitchen where Lyle popped the tops on a couple of Miller Genuine Drafts.
Jack lifted his can. “To Charlie.”
He'd died saving Gia's life. Jack would be drinking toasts to him indefinitely.
“Amen to that.” After each took a long pull, Lyle said, “How's Gia?”
“Still shaken up, but she's handling it. Having Vicky back has helped a lot.”
“And the baby?”
Jack grinned. “Fine.”
Gia had had a sonogram two days ago. Too early to tell the sex, but everything was as it should be. What a relief that had been.
But he still hadn't figured out how he was going to become the baby's legal father.
“I'm really glad you could come over, Jack.”
“Glad to make it.” He meant that. “Would have been by sooner but for all the company you've had.”
In the weeks since Charlie's death, the police, using some sort of ground sonar, had recovered eight bodies from the cellar. They were sure they'd found them all. Sweeps of the surrounding grounds had yielded nothing.
Lyle smiled. “Yeah, well, the cops finished up. At last. I've finally got my house back.”
“Not that you would've been home much anyway.”
During the past week Lyle had been a ubiquitous presence on the tube. Every talk show, from
Today
and
GMA
in the morning to
Oprah
in the afternoon, to the
Rose-Leno-
Letterman-O'Brien
axis at night, had had him on.
Today
and
GMA
in the morning to
Oprah
in the afternoon, to the
Rose-Leno-
Letterman-O'Brien
axis at night, had had him on.
“Yeah, I guess I've been doing a bit of traveling, haven't I.”
“You're good on the tube.” True. Came across as a very personable, likable guy. “You ought to have your own show.”
He laughed. “Been offered two already.” His smile faded. “But I might have to broadcast from jail if they link me to Adrian Minkin.”
Minkin's body had been found the following day when clerks from Bellitto's store came looking for him.
“They won't. We left that place clean.”
Lyle shook his head. “What a night. I still can't believe I was there. Did you hear the latest? Eli Bellitto is a possible suspect.”
“Speaking of Eli,” Jack said. “Where is he?”
“I have no idea. Not a trace of him in the house.”
“So he just vanished, body and all?”
“Tara has him.”
Jack was struck by the certainty in his tone.
“Hope she's having fun with him.”
Lyle nodded. “She is. Oh, she is.”
Again that certainty. “How about visits from Tara?”
“Not a one. She's gone for good.” Lyle frowned. “But Bellitto's circle of child killers is still around. I wish there was a way to give them a share of their leader's fate.”
“I've taken care of that,” Jack said.
“How?”
“Made a call that night to a pair of brothers I know.” The Mikulski brothers. Jack saw no reason Lyle needed to know their name. “Told them Bellitto's address and that I'd left the door open. They called me the next day. Said they paid a visit, went through his files, stole his computer's hard
drive. Lots of interesting stuff there, including names and addresses of Eli's ring.”
drive. Lots of interesting stuff there, including names and addresses of Eli's ring.”
“Are they detectives?”
“No.” Jack didn't know the Mikulskis' story, and figured he could live without knowing it. “But they've got a thing for pedophiles.”
“A thing?”
“Yeah.” Jack leaned against the counter and took another sip. “They're very serious about this. They know my word's good, but even so they won't take it. They'll check out the guys on Eli's list themselvesâwatch them, break in and toss their digs. Once they're satisfied someone's the real deal, they'll make their move. People will start to disappear.”
“You mean, they'll kill them?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
“Yeah. Eventually they'll die. Long after they want to.”
Lyle rotated his shoulders, as if shaking off a chill. “What else have you been up to?”
“Still trying to figure out the whats and whys of what happened here. Especially Tara telling Gia that something wants her dead.”
“I've been chewing on that one too. It has to be the Otherness you told us about.”
“I thought you couldn't buy into that.”
Lyle looked at him. “I buy into a whole lot more than I used to. You said this Otherness feels it's got a score to settle with you. The best I can figure it is maybe it can't strike at you directly. Maybe something's guarding your back. So it tries to strike at you indirectly, through the people you love.”
Jack had wondered about that. Kate was gone, and the Otherness probably deserved the rap for that. And if things had gone differently two weeks ago, Gia, Vicky, and his unborn child would be gone too.
Lyle sipped and said, “Let's take Tara at her word: The Otherness brought her back to get Gia. She was certainly
playing to Gia all along. But somewhere along the line Tara developed her own agenda. I guess the Otherness can't always fine-tune the forces it sets into motion.”
playing to Gia all along. But somewhere along the line Tara developed her own agenda. I guess the Otherness can't always fine-tune the forces it sets into motion.”
“But what about Bellitto? The day after the earthquake when we assume Tara returned, he decides to taunt a priest with his past killings and the one he's planning for the following week.”
“Not entirely out of character.”
“But he chooses a priest that just happens to have heard of me through that same confessional.”
Lyle shrugged. “Strange, isn't it. Stranger than I ever could have imagined. Maybe the Otherness isn't the only force operating here. What about that Indian lady who popped into the garage and knew all about what was going on? What side is she playing for?”
“Her own, for all I know. You seen her since?”
“Not a trace. Used to see her walking her dog past the house a lot, but not once since that night”
Jack had been wondering about the Indian lady. Something about her reminded him of another woman who'd popped up a few months ago with her own set of dire warnings, then vanished. She'd had a dog too, but she'd been older and had sounded Russian.
What's happened to my life? Jack thought. He wanted to scream the question. Bad enough that something seemed to be moving him around a cosmic chessboard, but Gia and Vicky ⦠they were noncombatants ⦠they shouldn't be involved.
But then, maybe there were no noncombatants in this conflict.
“What's the answer then?”
“Wish I knew,” Lyle said. “We seem to be at the mercy of unknown forces. All we can do is go with the flow and fight like hell to keep our heads above water.”
“âWe'?”
“Yes. All of us. Remember that coming darkness I told you I saw? Well, it's still coming.”
Jack didn't want to mention to Lyle that he'd claimed to
see himself and his brother still together after the darkness was over.
see himself and his brother still together after the darkness was over.
“Where do you plan to ride it out? Back in Michigan?”
Lyle shook his head. “No way. I'm staying right here and doing my thing.”
“Without Charlie?”
“That's what I wanted to see you about. Come back to the Channeling Room.”
Jack followed him but stopped on the threshold when he saw the coffinâa simple pine boxâin the middle of the floor.
“Is that ⦠?”
Lyle nodded. “Charlie. The autopsy confirmed that he died of smothering, so the police finally released his body. I had it delivered here. Ostensibly to have a wake and ship it back to Michigan, but I'm going to bury Charlie in the cellar. I'd like your help.”
The request jolted Jack. “What? I mean, of course I'll help butâ”
“It's what Charlie wants. He wants to stay here.”
“He does?” Had Lyle lost it? “How do you know?”
“He told me.”
“Really.”
Lyle laughed. “You should see your face, man! You think the cheese has slid off my cracker, don't you.” He looked around. “Charlie? Look who's come to see you. Say hello!”
Jack listened, expecting a trick, but heard nothing. He did notice Charlie's coffin begin to move. He watched it rise into the air, stop with its base four feet off the floor, do a 360-degree turn, then lower back to the carpet.
“Pretty good,” Jack said. “How'd you work it?”
“It's not a trick, Jack.” He walked over to the seance table and pointed to the Tarot deck sitting there. “The night after Charlie died I was sitting here, mourning him, when the tarot deck flipped itself over, fanned itself out, and the Hermit card rose in the air and hung right in front of my
face. The Hermit. That was Charlie's card. That was what he'd started calling himself.”
face. The Hermit. That was Charlie's card. That was what he'd started calling himself.”
And then the deck did just as Lyle had described, leaving the Hermit card floating not six inches from Jack's nose.
Jack snatched the card out of the air, inspecting it for invisible thread. He found none.
“Got to hand it to you, Lyle. That's excellent.”
“Not a trick. I swear, Jack.” He had tears in his eyes. “Charlie's back. I mean, he never really left. Come look.”
He took Jack's arm and led him into what had been Charlie's control room. It was nearly empty. “When the police started digging around in the basement, I figured it was only a matter of time before they moved upstairs to check things out. I remembered what had happened to Madame Pomerol after they searched her place and didn't want that happening here. So I started dismantling Charlie's equipment. Just as well, since we won't be needing it.”
Jack heard a chime and turned. The old temple bell that Charlie had carried around to collect the envelopes on Jack's first visit was floating toward him through the air.
“I have powers in this house, Jack, and I'm going to use them. I'm dropping the Ifasen role and just playing myself. Charlie will still be backing me upâbut only on the condition that we give value for value. So that's what we'll do. No tricks, no bullshit.”
A deck of tarot cards lifted off the round séance table and sprayed itself at Jack.
Lyle laughed. “The Kenton brothers are still a team, Jack. But now we're the real deal. The only real deal in town.”
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