Michelangelo_s Notebook

51

She sat on the front steps of the elegant old house on St. Luke’s Place and looked out through the rustling trees to the park beyond. The children were still skipping as darkness fell. The lights of the night city were blossoming everywhere. She could hear Valentine on the reception phone, calling everyone he could think of in the press. The police were on their way, as were the FBI. He’d called Barrie Kornitzer as well, who would now get busy spreading the story across the World Wide Web. Notoriety would keep them safe enough, at least for the time being.

The next hours and days were going to be a nightmare, but at least the killing was over, and slowly, very slowly, the pent-up fear was fading. In a little while she’d figure out some way of getting in touch with her mother and begin to tell her at least some of what had happened, perhaps even a little bit about Michael Valentine and the drawing she’d discovered from Michelangelo’s notebook. But not yet. All she really wanted now was to rest. She listened to the invisible children, chanting:

“Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,

Once they were, but now they’re gone.

Judas, Andrew, they’re both dead.

Then came Paul, who lost his head.”

Finally, she dropped her head down onto her folded arms. In the distance the first sirens began to wail. It was over now, but she knew that really it had just begun. Behind her, through the open door she could hear the quiet sounds of Valentine on the telephone. In the park, beyond the trees, the children’s voices faded like a dark dream.

“Simon he was simple.

Andrew came to grief.

Thomas was a doubter.

Judas was a thief.”

Finn smiled to herself and closed her eyes, and then, for a moment at least, she slept.