The Haunted Air

"Yeah." Lyle cleared his throat. His saliva felt like glue. "Sure thing. Which cheek?"

Jack smiled—a quick one, the first Lyle had seen tonight—and gave him a thumbs up. Then he pulled Bellitto's arms back and used the longer strips of tape to bind his hands. He stood and held out his hand; Lyle gladly returned him the pistol.

"One down." Jack looked around. "Maybe one more to go. Maybe not."

Lyle hoped not. Barely thirty seconds had passed since the phone ring, but in that brief period he knew he'd gone from flimflam man to class-A or -B felon. He wasn't made for the rough-and-tumble scene, for guns and violence. It had him shaking from his fingernails to his spine.

Jack gestured with his pistol toward Bellitto. "Help me get him up."

They each grabbed the trussed man under an arm and lifted him into a soft, cream-colored chair. Bellitto winced in pain but Jack seemed unmoved.

Lyle grabbed his shoes from the gym bag and slipped them on. No further need for stealth that he could see, and it felt good to have something on his feet again besides socks.

"Anybody else here, Eli?"

When Bellitto didn't respond Jack leaned close, grabbed his hair, and pulled his head up so that they were nose to nose.

"Where's your buddy Minkin? Is he around? You can nod or shake, Eli. Now."

Bellitto shook his head.

"You expecting him or anyone soon?"

Another head shake.

Jack shoved him back. "Right. Like I'd believe you." He turned to Lyle. "Get out your sap and stay close to him. He tries to get up, clock him down."

Lyle didn't want to be left alone here with this man. "Where're you going?"

"To check the other rooms. Just to be sure. I've got this bad feeling Minkin's hiding someplace, maybe upstairs. I don't want to leave him behind if he's here. And while I'm at it, I'll see if I can find something to wrap up this garbage." He looked around the bare living room. "Jeez, Eli. You ever hear of a rug?"

As Jack stalked away, pistol at ready, Lyle pulled the sap from his pocket and took a position behind Bellitto where he wouldn't have to see his cold eyes. He was glad the man's mouth was taped so he couldn't talk or plead. Did he have any idea this was his last night alive?

Suddenly Lyle heard a hoarse cry—Jack's voice—echo from the other end of the house.

Oh, shit, what now?

He tightened his sweaty grip on the handle of the sap as his heartbeat lunged into triple time. Damn, he should have taken that gun when Jack offered it.

And then Jack flew into the room, face white, teeth bared, the pistol in one hand, a sheet of paper in the other.

Lyle cringed at the look in his eyes. He hadn't thought a human could look like that—like death itself.

He jumped back as Jack backhanded the pistol across Bellitto's head and held the paper before him.

"What is this? Who sent it?" He dropped the sheet into Bellitto's lap and ripped the tape from his mouth, then he lowered the pistol till the muzzle was poised over one of the man's legs. "Now, Bellitto, or I start sending your knees to hell, one piece at a time till I hear what I want!"

13

"Much as I'd like to see Jack," Charlie said, "I hope he don't pop in right now. This might be just a leetle hard to explain."

Gia laughed. "I wouldn't even bother. I'd just get on his case about what took him so long."

Gia's feet rested in a foothold about four feet off the floor of their prison and her arm ached as she dug a new hole above her head in the dirt wall. Charlie was behind and below her, holding her in place by pushing against the backs of her upper thighs. He'd dug out the first four holes in record time—the ability to do something to help them out had galvanized him into a digging machine—stretching as far as he could for the last; then it was Gia's turn. Somebody needed to use the foot- and handholds to dig the next ones. Since she was smaller and lighter, it was easier for Charlie to hold her up.

"God, this dirt is hard."

She kept her eyes closed and her face averted to avoid the loose earth that rained down as she stabbed the cross into the wall. She was covered with dirt; her short blond hair was especially full of it; she felt gritty and grimy, but she kept jabbing away. They were making progress, they were getting out.

The cross clunked against something in the hole. Another swing, another clunk, with very little dirt falling out.

"Uh-oh. I think I'm up against a rock."

"You got it deep enough for a foot yet?"

Gia gauged the opening to be three inches deep, tops. "Not yet."

"See if you can dig around it."

"What if it's too big?"

She felt Charlie shift behind her.

"Here. Stand on my shoulders and see if you can get a look. If it too big we shift the hole to one side. If it ain't, see if you can yank it out."

"You're sure?"

"Do it. Just don't go droppin' it on my dome."

Clinging to the shallow depression she'd been digging, Gia lifted one hesitant foot onto Charlie's shoulder, then the other. Straightening her knees, she raised her head to the level of the hole and looked in—

—to find the empty sockets of a child's skull staring back at her.

Gia let out a scream of shock and revulsion and lurched back. She lost her grip and started to fall. Terrified, she nailed her arms about but could find nothing to hold on to. Somehow Charlie managed to catch her and save her from injury.

"What's wrong?"

Gia sobbed. "A child's skeleton. Maybe Tara herself. I hate this!" she shouted, letting the tears flow. She thought of Vicky, how except for luck that might have been her skull. "This shouldn't happen to anyone, especially not a child!" She wiped at her tears and the back of her hand came away muddy. "What kind of monster—?"

The ground shook then. Just a little, but enough to bring her around.

Charlie was turning, looking up at the surrounding walls. "You feel that?"

Gia nodded. "I sure—"

A section of the wall near the top broke free then and tumbled onto them. Gia coughed and gagged as she inhaled a cloud of dirt. Another load of earth landed on her back, knocking her to her knees.

"It's collapsing! We'll be buried!"

The cascade continued as Charlie grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. "Keep moving your legs! Stay on top of it as it falls!"

It was like being under a dirt waterfall, but Gia saw what he meant. As long as too much didn't fall at once, they had a chance of—

She cried out as something cold wrapped around her ankle. She looked down and saw a small hand, ghostly pale, clutching her. She tried to tug away but couldn't break free. The little fingers held fast, like a steel manacle.

Charlie gave a shout. Gia turned to see a similar hand gripping his foot. The dirt was starting to pile up around them and his expression was frantic as he tried to yank free.

"It's Tara!"

Charlie stared at her. "Why? We never did nothin' to her."

"Tara!" Gia cried, still trying to pull free from the relentless grip on her ankle. "Tara, stop it! We're not your enemy!"

She still clutched the cross. In desperation she swung it at the little hand, striking it just above the wrist. It sliced through the ghost flesh with no more resistance than air, and then…

The hand disappeared. She was free.

"Charlie! The cross! It breaks her grip!"

Charlie's ankle was buried. Gia crouched beside him and dug through the dirt till she saw the hand. She rammed the cross against it and the hand disappeared.

"Praise Jesus!" Charlie cried as he jumped away from the spot where he'd been held. "Nothing can stand against the power of His cross!"

But just then she felt another hand grab her left ankle, and still another grab her right. She glanced at Charlie and saw that a pair of arms had snaked out of the wall to trap his lower legs.

The dirtfall doubled in volume.

Gia didn't hesitate. She slashed at one little hand and then the other. As soon as their grip was broken she lurched across the pit to help Charlie. She slipped and the weight of the falling dirt knocked her flat. For one panic-seared moment she thought she'd never get up, but she forced herself to her feet and reached Charlie's side. Choking and gasping, she slashed at the hands. But no sooner was he free than they both were gripped again—by three or four hands each this time.

"She's like a hydra!" Gia shouted as she cut at the new hands—hers and Charlie's—but new ones appeared as soon as she severed the old ones.

"Don't know 'bout no hydras," Charlie said, his voice thick. "But I don't see us gettin' outta this alive. Leastways not together."

Gia glanced at him. His expression looked stricken, as if he were about to cry.

"It's okay, Charlie. We'll make it. We've just got to keep—"

His expression hardened, as if he'd come to a decision. He stuck out his hand. "Gimme the cross."

"I'm doing okay with it."

"No, you ain't." He grabbed her arm. His eyes had a strange look. "Not nearly. Gimme."

"Charlie? What are you doing?" Gia leaned away from him but he was stronger and had a longer reach. He caught hold of the cross and ripped it from her grasp. "Charlie!"

Without a word he bent and began hacking at the hands imprisoning her left leg. As soon as that was free, he grabbed it, lifted it, and placed her foot on his back. Then he went to work on her right leg. When that was free, he lifted her and placed her on the dirt which had now piled to above his knees.

As soon as Gia hit the dirt, new arms emerged like snakes and grabbed her. Charlie immediately went to work on these.

The dirtfall redoubled. Gia could barely see him.

"What about you?" Her throat constricted as she realized what he was up to. "Charlie, you've got to get your feet free!"

"Too late," he said without looking up. He was waist deep in the dirt and kept hacking away at the new hands as soon as they sprouted, allowing Gia to stay atop the rising level of dirt. "Can't get to 'em."

"You can if you do it now! We can both make it."

He shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Then we both be in the same sinkin' boat."

"No!" Gia couldn't, wouldn't let this happen. She began clawing at the dirt around his waist. "We'll take turns! We'll—"

A ghost hand shot up from the loose earth, gripping her wrist and jerking her down. She cried out as her face hit the dirt.

Charlie slashed at the hand, freeing her, then roughly shoved her back.

"See? See?" He was looking at her now and she could see tears in his eyes. His lips trembled as he spoke. "I know what I'm doin', okay? But I don't wanna do it for nothin'! Let it mean somethin', huh?"

"But Charlie—"

At that moment the dirtfall stopped.

Gia looked up, looked around, looked at Charlie. It had ceased as suddenly and mysteriously as it had started. Why?

"Praise the Lord!" Charlie sagged forward. The dirt had piled up to the lower part of his chest. He cradled his head on his arms and spoke toward the ground. "He's delivered us from evil!"

Just then Gia felt the dirt shift under her, felt it change, become finer, grainier. It began to move, surging and flowing like thick fluid.

And rising.

"Oh, no!" Gia cried. "What's happening?"

Charlie straightened and began slashing at the soil as it rose to his armpits.

"Don't know! Please, God, stop it! Stop it!"

The dirt, though dry, was lapping at him like water, swallowing him, but Gia remained afloat, buoyed on the grainy swells. She cried out and grabbed his free hand, tugging on it, trying to pull him up to her level but he was anchored fast below.

As the soil reached his neck his wide terrified eyes found her, held her, pierced her. "Oh, please, oh, please, Lord, I don't wanna die!"

And then the dirt swirled into his open mouth and he coughed and choked and gagged and writhed, stretching his neck. Gia, crying and whimpering with terror, tugged on his arm but couldn't budge him. The dirt rose past his mouth and into his nostrils, and his eyes were wider, bulging, pleading, and then with a final surge the loose earth rose and engulfed his head, leaving only his raised arm in sight.

Gia screamed and dug at the dirt, frantically pawing at it like a dog as she tried to clear it away from his face.

"Charlie! Charlie, hang on!"

But it was like trying to dig through soup. It flowed around and through her fingers and immediately filled back in behind her hands. She could feel his face, touch his hair but couldn't clear away enough to see him. If only she had a hose or a pipe, something to feed him air until—

Suddenly Charlie's other hand broke the surface, still holding the cross. She grabbed the wrist and pulled, throwing her back into it, but nothing! Nothing!

And then as she gripped him she felt agonal tremors radiate through his arms and spread to his hands, saw the fingers straighten, stiffen, drop the cross, claw the air for an instant, then fall limp and still, twitch, then go still once more, and not move again.

"No!" Grief spilled through Gia like acid. She'd met Charlie only twice before and yet he'd given his life for her. She knelt and clutched his cooling hands and cried out in a long, drawn-out wail that trailed off into sobs. "No!"

"I'm sorry." Tara's voice.

Gia looked up. What had been a pit was now a smooth, shallow depression in the earth. Tara stood half a dozen feet away, staring at her, looking as sweet and innocent as ever, but not looking sorry at all.

"Why? This was a good man! He never hurt you or anyone else! How could you kill him?"

Tara stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Gia—not on her face, but her abdomen.

"Because he'd only be in the way."

Gia's grief chilled, sliding toward unease. "In the way… of what?"

"Of what happens next."

Crystals of ice formed in Gia's veins as she rose unsteadily to her feet.

"I don't understand."

Tara smiled. "Your baby becomes my baby."

14

"No-don't-please!" Bellitto cried, squirming in the chair as Jack pressed the tip of the silencer over his left knee. He stared down at the sheet of paper in his lap. "Please! I've never seen that before in my life!"

"Lie!"

"No! I swear!"

"Read it now then. You've got ten seconds."

The darkness within Jack pounded on the bars of its cage to be set free and let it pull the trigger and blow this puke's kneecap into the floor. But he held it back. Bellitto wasn't exactly a spring chicken. Didn't want to lose him to a heart attack or stroke.

Almost had a heart attack himself a moment ago when he'd walked into the office at the other end of the apartment. A small room, no place for a guy Minkin's size to hide, but Jack had checked the storage closet anyway. Empty. On his way out of the room he happened to glance at the sheet of paper lying in the fax machine's tray. His gaze skittered off the handwritten lines as he passed, and he was stepping through the door when one of the words he'd seen snagged in his brain, caught like a sheet of newspaper in a fence.

… Westphalen…

With a cry of alarm he'd leaped back to the machine, snatched up the sheet, and read:

Success! The ladys Visa records show a hefty charge to something called Pint-Size Picassos which turns out to be a summer camp right outside Monticello. I checked and the Westphalen package is there. All it needs is to be picked up and we're in business. A. can handle the job no sweat.

BURN THIS!

Jack read it again, then a third time, still not believing… Westphalen… Pint-Size Picassos… that was Vicky. Bellitto and his gang had their sights on Vicky!

How? Why? They couldn't possibly know Vicky's connection to him—they didn't know who he was!

Or did they?

He needed some answers.

Bellitto looked up from the note. "I don't know what this is! I've never seen it before! It must be a mistake!"

"That does it." Pressed the silencer muzzle deeper into Bellitto's knee.

"Jesus, Jack!" Lyle, standing behind Bellitto, staring with wide, sick-scared eyes.

"Hey, I'm reasonable." Didn't want to get into gunplay here and now. Once it got started you never knew where it would take you. But he had to know. Had a feeling Bellitto was just a nudge away from opening up. "I'll let him choose which knee first."

Bellitto tried to squirm away. "No! Please! You must believe I've never seen it! Check the time at the top! It just came in! The fax had just rung and I was on my way to check it when you stopped me."

Grabbed the sheet and handed it to Lyle—didn't want to take his eyes off Bellitto. "True?"

Lyle squinted at the tiny print, then nodded. "Yeah. Transmission time was a couple of minutes ago." He dropped the note back onto Bellitto's lap. "Why are you all worked up about a package?"

All right. So Bellitto hadn't seen it. That didn't mean he didn't know anything about it. Jack raised the pistol and placed the muzzle over Bellitto's heart.

"Vicky Westphalen—what's she to you?"

Didn't expect Bellitto's reaction—his expression registered genuine shock. He glanced down at the sheet again.

Jack remembered then that Vicky's first name wasn't mentioned in the message. And Bellitto looked confused, as if trying to figure out how Jack knew it.

He doesn't know she's connected to me!

Then how the hell—?

Lyle leaned forward, looking at the message again over Bellitto's shoulder. "You mean this is about a kid? A kid you know?" He groaned in revulsion. "This is sick, man! This is really sick!"

Jack was thinking about how there'd be no more coincidences in his life and how this had pushed way beyond sick into vile and ugly.

And then he remembered the cop sniffing around Gia's place, asking about Vicky. Part of Eli's "circle"?

One way to find out.

He waved the fax in front of Bellitto. "This is from your cop friend, isn't it."

Bellitto stiffened and stared at Jack. His eyes answered.

"I know your whole circle, Eli."

Not quite, but the others were secondary. Especially now. He grabbed the tape and slammed it back over Bellitto's mouth.

"I've got to go."

Lyle blinked. "Go? Where?"

"The Catskills. Got to get to that camp and make sure Vicky's all right."

What if this wasn't the only machine this fax went to? Bellitto had talked about his "circle." That could mean any number in addition to Minkin. That was who the "A." probably referred to: Adrian Minkin. He could have received the same fax. Could be on his way now. Maybe picking up fellow members as he goes, like this cop, a whole crew of pervs stalking Vicky.

"You don't have to go!" Lyle said, sounding frantic. "You can call!"

"I know I can, but that's not enough."

He'd call right now, tell the camp Vicky's been threatened, to keep watch on her and not release her to anyone but her mother. Then he'd go up there and sit guard in the woods to make sure no one screwed up.

"But what about this guy? What do we do with him?"

"I'll help you load him into the car. You take him to the house and make the trade. Tell Gia to meet me at the camp and we'll bring Vicky home together." Caught Bellitto staring at him with puzzled eyes. Leaned closer to give him something to think about. "Yeah, that's right, Eli. We're trading you to Tara Portman for someone else." At least Jack hoped they were. "She's waiting at your old buddy Dmitri's house. Got something real special cooked up for you."

That ought to loosen his sphincters.

Now… find a phone. He'd seen one in that little office.

"Be right back," he told Lyle as he started away. He jabbed a finger toward Bellitto. "Don't let him budge an inch."

Lyle nodded. "All right, but hurry. We don't know how much time we've got."

Jack was halfway across the dining room when he heard a sound, caught a blur of motion from the stairs to his left. His guard was down but he managed to raise his hands fast enough and far enough to put the pistol between his head and the fireplace poker swung by a gorilla of a man. The gun spun away through the air. Jack stumbled back, knocking into the dining room table, scattering plates and utensils, then rolled to the side to dodge another two-handed poker swipe from Adrian Minkin.

15

Gia clutched her abdomen as the horror of what Tara wanted seeped through.

"My baby? No… you can't mean that."

Tara nodded and started floating toward her. "I do. I want that baby. I need that baby."

Gia spotted the cross that had fallen from Charlie's hand. She stooped, grabbed it, held it up. She couldn't believe she was doing this. Like playing a scene from one of those corny old vampire movies Jack liked to watch.

Tara stopped. "Put that down."

"You're afraid! Afraid of the cross!"

"I'm not afraid of anything!" she said a little too quickly. "It's just…"

"Just what?"

"It's just that the crosses that were in these stones stayed too close to the wrong thing for a little too long. Centuries too long. They absorbed some."

"What does that mean? Absorbed what?"

Tara shook her head. "I don't know. Poison."

"Poison for you, maybe, but churches aren't poison to me."

"Church?" Tara's brow furrowed. "What makes you think that was in a church? It lined the wall of what you might call a prison."

Gia didn't understand, but at least she had a weapon, or at least a defense. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm herself. She was only partly successful.

Gia took a step toward the stairs. "I'm leaving now. I'm going up those steps and out the front door."

And never coming back. Dear God, why hadn't she listened to Jack and stayed away from here?

Tara shook her head. "No, you're not."

Her calm confidence shook Gia, but she kept up a bold front.

"Watch me."

Keeping the cross straight-armed before her, she sidled to her right toward the stairs. Tara watched her calmly, making no move to halt her. When Gia reached the steps she stopped—she could go no further. As before, something like an invisible wall of cotton was blocking her. She thrust out the cross—that went through fine, but no matter how hard she pushed after it, she couldn't follow.

She turned and gasped when she saw Tara directly behind her. She held up the cross and Tara backed away.

"Let's be fair," the child said. "You can have other babies. I can't have any. Ever. Let me take yours and—"

"Don't even think about it! You're not even ten years old! What could—?"

"I'd be in my twenties now!" Anger distorted her features. "I want a child! I can't have one of my own, so I'll adopt yours!"

"How?" Gia cried. "This is insane!"

"No. Not insane. Very simple. If the baby dies here, within these walls, among these stones, she'll stay here. I can keep her."

"But she's not yours!"

Tara's voice rose to a scream that shook the earth beneath Gia's feet. "I DON'T CARE!"

Gia was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Tara… the shifting dirt… Charlie… the granite blocks… the strange cross in her hand… her baby…

"Tara, this isn't you."

The child face contorted. "What do you know about me? Nothing!"

"I talked to your father."

"He gave up on me, just like my mother."

"No! Your mother—"

"I know about my mother. She gave up first!"

Gia tried to think of a way to reach her. If not through her family, then what?

"Tara, you were loved. I saw the family pictures. You with your horse—"

A quick smile. "Rhonda."

"—and your brother."

A frown. "Little brat. What a loser he turned out to be."

"Tara, how can you be like this?" Every humane impulse and emotion seemed to have leached out of her. "Losing you destroyed their lives. That's how important you were. I can't believe you mean this."

"Believe it!" Cold rage disfigured her features. "I was ripped from my life and brought down here to this place where I was surrounded by thirteen men. One of them cut out my still-beating heart while the rest watched."

Gia's free hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, dear God!"

"Not one of them moved to stop him." Her tone was frigid, flat. "No one came to save me. After that they sliced my heart into thirteen pieces and ate them."

The horror of it pushed bile to the back of Gia's throat. "And you were awake… through it all?"

"No. I was drugged. But I know what was done. So don't tell me what's me and what's not. You may think you know me but you don't. I was a happy girl. I had my whole life ahead of me, endless opportunities. Now I have none."

"I'm sorry, Tara. But still…"

"The Tara you saw in those pictures is dead. Long dead. She died under that knife." She pulled open her blouse to reveal the empty bloody cavity of her chest. "The new Tara is heartless!"

Gia stumbled back a step. "But I never hurt you. Why do you want to hurt me?"

"I don't. I don't care about you. It wants you dead."

"It? What it?" All Gia could think of was Jack's Otherness.

"I don't know. I only know it brought me back to kill you."

Kill her… dear God, someone, something wanted her dead.

"Why?" What had she ever done?

"I don't know and I don't care. I'd be happy to leave you alive just for spite. All I want is your baby."

"But you tried to kill me, bury me like… like Charlie."

Gia bit back a sob. Oh, God, poor Charlie.

"I did. But then I realized that if you die here with your baby, you'll keep it. I'll never have it then."

"But the baby's just a clump of cells now. What would you do with—?"

"It would be mine! I would have something of my own then! I have nothing now!" Tara inched closer. Her voice edged toward a whine. "Come on, pretty lady. You can have another. Just let me reach inside you and squeeze, just once. You won't feel a thing. Then you can go."

Her hand darted forward but Gia slashed at it with the cross and Tara snatched it back.

"It's not fair!" Tara screamed. "You can have all the children you want and you won't give me one! I hate you!" She stepped back and cooled her mood like turning a switch. "All right. You won't put down that cross? Fine. I know a way to take it from you."

Tara disappeared, then popped into view a dozen feet away. Gia stood tense and ready, holding the cross before her, watching for a trick. Then she noticed movement to her left… Charlie's hands jutting up from the dirt… limp and cold and splayed when she'd left them… the fingers twitching now… stretching, clenching… rising from the earth…

16

Lyle jumped at what sounded like the cry of an enraged animal from the adjoining room. He heard the dining room table go over and then saw Jack fighting off a huge man swinging a poker. He glanced at the sap in his hand. He could help. In fact he damned well better help.

As Lyle started toward the fight, Bellitto shot out a leg and caught his ankle. Lyle stumbled but before he could regain his balance, Bellitto kicked him in the leg. Lyle went down and felt a blaze of pain in his back. Another kick. But how—?

He looked around and saw that Bellitto was up, standing over him, his face suffused with rage. Muffled screeches pushed against the tape across his mouth, air whistled through the flared nostrils above it.

He aimed another kick, at Lyle's stomach this time, bat Lyle rolled and took it on his flank, groaning with the pain. He swore he heard a rib crack.

The next kick was aimed at Lyle's head and connected. The room went into a spin…

"You!" Minkin screeched though his bared and clenched teeth. "You don't know how I've prayed for this moment!"

Jack's back pressed hard against the floor. The edge of a broken plate cut into his shoulder blade as Minkin straddled him, his huge hands wrapped around Jack's throat, thick thumbs trying to crush his larynx.

Jerk. Allowed himself to be distracted by the fax. The surprise attack plus his lack of conditioning over the past month had left him at a disadvantage. Managed to kick the poker out of Minkin's grasp, but during the close-in fighting that followed, the big man had put his greater size to full advantage.

Hoped his neck muscles held out. So far they'd resisted the pressure from Minkin's thumbs, but weren't going to outlast him. Kicked and twisted but the bigger man had him trapped under his weight. His Glock was out of sight, couldn't get to the Spyderco in his pocket or reach the backup .38 strapped to his ankle.

Vaguely aware of thuds, shouts, scuffling from the other room. Lyle?

Head felt swollen, as if about to explode. Running out of air. Minkin wasn't. Bastard had air to spare.

"So… this is the thief who strikes in the dark from behind… who cut up Eli and robbed me of a piece of my memory… this is the tough guy who thought he'd kill Eli and take over the Circle." He grinned. "You're not so tough. In fact, you're a puny piece of shit!"

Tried to peel the fingers away but couldn't get any leverage on them. Jabbed his own thumbs toward Minkin's eyes—kept the nails extra long for just this sort of situation—but his reach fell short.

Minkin laughed. "That won't work, little man."

Needed help. Where the hell was Lyle?

Shaking off the pain and dizziness, Lyle did the only thing he could: roll away.

But Bellitto followed. Though his hands were still taped behind his back he didn't need them. His feet were more than making up for them, landing one vicious kick after another. Lyle tried to use his sap against the flying feet but couldn't put any meaningful force behind his swings.

In desperation he pivoted on his hip and lashed out with a kick of his own. It caught Bellitto on the calf and that slowed him. Buoyed by this tiny victory, Lyle kicked again, harder this time. His heel connected with Bellitto's shin.

As the man stumbled back Lyle struggled to his hands and knees—Christ, he hurt all over—and lunged. He got a grip on one of Bellitto's ankles and yanked it up.

With no hands to use for balance Bellitto went down hard. Lyle was up and over him then. He still had the sap and didn't hesitate. Bellitto raised his head, Lyle knocked it down. It stayed down.

Lyle stood over the semi-conscious man and looked at the sap in his hand. He'd wondered if he'd be able to use it on a fellow human being. No problem. Of course, Bellitto didn't necessarily qualify as a fellow human being.

Then he heard a taunting voice from the next room. It wasn't Jack's. Hefting the sap, he left Bellitto and moved toward the dining room.

"You should see your face," Minkin said. "A lovely shade of purple."

Jack had given up trying to reach Minkin's face or shake him off. Neck muscles were giving out, dark spots clustering on the periphery of his vision, multiplying…

Flailed his hands about on the surrounding floor looking for something, anything to use as a weapon.

"Oh, and by the way… here's something to take with you into the Great Beyond. I was listening… I heard you… it appears you know the DiLauro woman and her little girl… you even know the lamb's first name. What a coincidence… what a lovely coincidence. Eli never lets me play with the lambs before they're sacrificed, but I'm going to make an exception with this one. Oh, yes, I'm going to have great fun with your little friend 'Vicky' before she's sacrificed."

Strength just about shot. Groping fingers of right hand touch something. A handle. Knife? Please, a knife, even a butter knife. No. A fork. Still… grab tip of handle with fingertips.

Light fading. Raise left hand to claw weakly at Minkin's face. Not even close.

"That the best you can do?" Minkin laughed and brought his face closer so that Jack's fingertips brushed his cheek. "Here, pussy-man. I've got an itch. Scratch right there."

Right hand up and jabbing the tines into Minkin's left eye.

"Aah! Aah! Aah!"

Abruptly the pressure let up and Jack could breathe again. Vision cleared as he choked down lungfuls of air. Minkin loomed above, still straddling him, making sounds of pain and shock as his big hands fluttered like Mothra-class butterflies around the fork protruding from his eyeball, afraid to touch it, afraid to leave it there.

Jack levered up and slammed the flat of his palm against the handle and felt the tines scrape against the bone at the back of the socket.

Minkin screamed and fell backward off Jack to land on the floor on his back, writhing, retching, kicking. To the side Lyle stood with a sick look on his face, the sap slack in his hand.

"Oh man," he said. "Oh man, oh man, oh man!"

Jack forced himself to his feet and staggered toward the living room. He could still feel Minkin's thumbs on his throat. His skull throbbed between the bolts of pain lancing though it.

"Go—" His voice came out a harsh whisper, barely audible even to him. He motioned Lyle closer. "Go upstairs. Find a rug. You can't find a rug get a sheet or a blanket. Move. We've wasted too much time."

Lyle ran up the steps. Jack found his pistol and dragged himself into the living room. His flank felt damp. He looked and saw blood starting to ooze through his shirt from the knife wound. No pain though. It was all concentrated from the neck up.

Bellitto lay on his side, groaning. Jack spotted the fax, grabbed it, read it again.

Burn this! Not yet.

He shoved it into his pocket.

"A." wouldn't be picking up anyone tonight. And Bellitto?

Jack found he still had a length of duct tape stuck to the front of his shirt. He used it to bind Bellitto's feet.

Glanced at his watch. Had to get moving. This trip had taken far too long.

Gia…

Hang on, babe. I'm coming.

Lyle hurried in carrying a summer blanket. They stretched it out next to Bellitto and rolled him up in it like a burrito.

The plan was to carry him downstairs; Lyle would bring the car up to the front door where they'd dump him in the trunk and steam back to Astoria.

As they carried Bellitto through the dining room, Jack saw Minkin on his hands and knees, the fork still protruding from his left eye, blood coating his cheek as he made "Unh-unh-unh!" noises like a hog in heat. His good eye found Jack and he bared his teeth.

Minkin's taunts about Vicky when he had him down flashed through Jack's brain. The darkness flowed out of its cage and suffused him, taking over. Nobody threatened his Vicky like that. Nobody.

Even with the clock riding him like a heavy-handed jockey, he was compelled to waste a few seconds here. He dropped Bellitto's legs and stalked toward Minkin.

"Gonna 'play with the lamb,' huh?" His voice still wasn't back yet. Sounded grating, ugly, like a board dragging on concrete. "Gonna have 'great fun' with my 'little friend Vicky before she's sacrificed,' right? Not a chance, pal. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever."

With that he lashed out with his foot. The heel connected with the protruding end of the fork, crunching the tines through the back of the eye socket and deep into Minkin's brain.

He heard Lyle cry out in shock behind him but Adrian Minkin, would-be player with lambs, made no sound. He looked like he was screaming as he straightened up on his knees, then shot to standing, mouth open impossibly wide, displaying his perfect teeth. His arms spasmed out from his sides and he flopped backward, landing on the back of his head. For a few heartbeats his body bent into an impossible arch with only his heels and head touching the floor.

Jack watched impassively, feeling nothing beyond satisfaction that here was one less threat in the world to Vicky and others like her.

Finally Adrian Minkin went limp and still. Completely still. No breath stirred his chest.

Jack turned to find Lyle gaping at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

"Oh, shit, Jack! Oh man! What—?"

"I know. Just when you were starting to think I was kind of a nice guy. Almost cuddly, right?"

"No, I—"

"Stop gawking." He picked up Bellitto's legs. "We've got to lug this garbage out and get rolling. And hope to hell we're not too late."

17

"Charlie?"

Gia backed against the cold granite blocks and watched with horrid fascination as Charlie began to pull himself from the loose earth that had smothered him moments before. It might have been a cause for rejoicing if Charlie were alive, but as soon as his head emerged Gia knew it wasn't Charlie, only his shell. His face was slack, expressionless; and his eyes—dirt clung to the lids, to the eyes themselves, and he never blinked.

He crawled from the earth and rose shakily to his feet. As he took an unsteady step toward Gia she pressed herself back against the stones, wishing she could seep between them.

"Charlie, no. Please!"

He stopped, his dead eyes fixed somewhere above and beyond her.

Tara, standing to the rear and to the side during his resurrection, glided forward now, silent, but her expression furious as she glared at Charlie's corpse.

Charlie shook his head.

Gia watched, holding her breath as she sensed a silent battle of wills.

Tara bared her teeth and loosed a frustrated screech.

Again Charlie shook his head. Then his corpse turned and walked unsteadily to the far side of the cellar where it lowered itself against the wall and slumped into a sitting position, immobile, staring at its lap.

"He won't do it," Gia breathed, more to herself than to Tara.

There was too much of a good man left inside to allow his body do Tara's bidding.

Tara turned to her, eyes blazing. "This is so unfair!"

"You talk about fair? What's fair about you taking my baby?"

Her face screwed up. She looked as if she were about to cry. "Because you've got everything and I've got nothing!"

Gia's felt an instant of pity. Yes, she did have everything, or pretty close to everything she wanted or needed from life, things Tara never had a chance at and never would. But that didn't mean Tara had a call on the new life within her.

"I'm sorry, Tara. I really mean that. And if I could undo what was done to you, I would. But that's not in my power."

"The baby," Tara said. "Just give me the baby and you can go."

"No." Gia pressed her back against the wall again and raised the cross, holding it between them. "Let you kill my baby? You ask the impossible. I won't. I can't. Never."

Tara stared at her a moment, then stepped back. She disappeared, then flashed into view at the center of the cellar. She said nothing, simply stared at Gia from afar.

Gia lowered the cross and glanced toward the steps. Were they still blocked by that invisible wall? Should she try—?

Then she felt something cold loop around her right forearm—the arm holding the cross. She looked and saw one of the ghost hands clutching her in its iron grip. She started to reach around with her left hand to take the cross but that arm was trapped before it moved.

And now Tara was directly before her, smirking. "I don't know why I didn't think of this before. It's so much easier."

Gia cried out and struggled to break free, trying to angle the cross up so it would touch the ghost hand trapping her right arm, but her wrist wouldn't bend far enough.

"Easy now," Tara said in a soft tone as she leaned closer.

"Hold still. This won't hurt. You won't feel a thing, I promise you."

Two more ghost arms whipped around Gia's thighs, imprisoning them.

"Tara, no! Please! Don't do this!"

Tara said nothing. Her eyes were bright, her expression rapt as she reached her right hand toward Gia's belly.

Trapped, immobilized, Gia writhed with horror and loathing as the fingertips slipped through the waistband of her jeans. She screamed with the piercing cold as they entered her skin.

"Just a little further," Tara whispered. "Just a little squeeze, a tiny pinch, and it will all be—"

She stopped and cocked her head as if listening to something. She stepped back, removing her hand from Gia's belly, still listening.

"Yes," Tara whispered, nodding as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Gia couldn't hear who Tara was listening to, but she knew it could be only one person.

Jack.

She sobbed and dropped to her knees as the ghost hands released her.

"Oh, yes!" Tara shouted.

Gia glanced up and shuddered at the pure malevolence in the hideous grin that split Tara's child face.

18

"Do you hear me, Tara?" Lyle shouted at the closed door. "A trade! Your killer for Gia and Charlie!"

Can't be too late, Jack thought, refusing to think the unthinkable as he watched and waited for a sign that Tara had accepted the deal. Can't.

He'd have been doing the shouting if his voice had been up to it.

He and Lyle stood in the garage with Bellitto propped between them. They'd backed in the Crown Vic, closed the garage doors, and hauled him from the trunk. Jack had freed his feet but left his hands and mouth taped. The creep was fully awake now, looking scared, but not yet a hundred percent alert.

Jack felt a good long way from a hundred percent himself. Weak. Sick. Head still throbbed. Throat swollen. Stomach roiled with acid from the adrenaline come-down. On the way over from Manhattan Lyle had told him to look in the mirror. He wished he hadn't. His throat was ringed with purpling bruises, the white of his left eye was mostly bright red from a ruptured vessel, and his face was speckled with countless tiny red hemorrhages. He looked like he'd botched a try at hanging himself.

"Test the door," Jack said. His voice had cleared a little but not much. "Maybe the wall is down."

Jack kept a tight grip on Bellitto's arm as Lyle stepped to the door, reached toward the knob, but stopped well short.

He turned back to Jack. "Still there. I'll try calling her again."

Lyle had laid out the deal twice already. Jack couldn't see what good a third try would do. If Tara was around to listen, she'd have heard it the first time.

A winter chill of despair began to seep through his chest.

Gia… he couldn't lose her… but what else could he do?

The door swung open.

"Yes!" Lyle said and returned to the threshold. But when he tried to step across he stopped. He turned to Jack with a baffled expression. "It's still blocked."

"Maybe for us," Jack said, hoping he was right. "But maybe someone else will slip right through and be welcomed with open arms."

Lyle nodded. "Worth a try."

Bellitto began to struggle, kicking, twisting, making terrified pleading noises behind the tape.

"How're you feeling, Eli?" Jack rasped through his teeth as Lyle took the other arm and they started dragging him forward. "Helpless? Scared out of your mind? No one to turn to for help? All hope gone? Good. It's just a little of what those kids felt when you and your pal Minkin dragged them into your car. Like it?" Bellitto's wide, panicky eyes said it all. "Didn't think so. But whether we work this deal or not isn't going to make a hell of a lot of difference to you. No matter what happens, you don't see tomorrow."

"I've got a problem with this," Lyle said as they neared the door. "What if he does go through? We don't exactly have a deal with Tara. She could stiff us or…"

Jack knew what he was getting at: It might already be too late.

"Don't like it either," Jack said. "But we have to chance it. She holds all the cards."

What if this doesn't work? he wondered. What then? He was out of options.

He glanced around. That Indian woman, the one who seemed to know everything—where was she now when he needed her? Hadn't seen her or her dog since he and Lyle had left for Manhattan.

Bellitto's legs went limp as they reached the threshold and he sagged in their grip.

"Passive resistance won't cut it here, Eli." Jack looked at Lyle. "Grab the back of his belt."

Lyle did and together they gave Eli Bellitto an old-fashioned heave-ho toward the door.

Jack half expected him to bounce back at them but he sailed through and sprawled in the short hallway.

"You were right!" Lyle cried.

Jack tried to follow but met with the same impenetrable resistance as before. He leaned there, clawing at the thick air that wouldn't let him pass.

Please, Tara, he thought. Don't welch on us. We did our part. You've got the guy who killed you. Now you've got to do your part.

On the other side of the invisible divide, Jack watched Bellitto regain his feet. Somehow, in the course of the heave-ho, the tape on his wrists had loosened. He struggled with it, frantically working his arms behind him until his hands came free. He then pulled the tape from his face and lunged toward Jack and the door. Jack cocked a fist, ready to smash him back but he never got close. He slammed against the divide and staggered back.

At that instant a little girl appeared behind him. Jack had seen her picture only once on the Internet site but recognized her immediately.

Tara Portman.

Jack saw her mouth work but heard nothing. Bellitto whirled toward her, then spun back. Jack knew from the horrified expression on his face that Bellitto recognized her. He hurled himself at the doorway but once again was halted inches from Jack. His mouth worked, screaming no doubt, as his fingers clawed the impenetrable air between then. Jack heard nothing and felt less.

"Sometimes, Eli," he whispered, "what goes around comes around. Not nearly as often as it should on its own, but sometimes we can help it along. That's why I'm here."

Behind him Tara smiled, her face a malicious mask of incandescent glee, then winked out of sight.

The next thing Jack knew, Bellitto was falling backward, arms flailing, then landing on his back and being dragged by some force Jack couldn't see. He slid kicking and screaming down the hallway and out of sight.

Jack and Lyle leaned on the barrier, waiting.

"Come on, Tara," he whispered. "We did our part. Time to do yours. Don't let us down. We—"

Then Jack saw movement in the hallway. Someone coming their way. Bellitto? How had he got away?

No. Someone else. His pain and despair vanished as he recognized Gia—but Gia as he had never seen her. Hair, clothes, and hands coated with dirt, face muddy from the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes looked wild as she stumbled his way, picking up speed and rushing toward him with outstretched arms when she saw him.

Don't! he wanted to shout. She might run into the divide and hurt herself.

But she leaped at the threshold and flew into his arms and then he had her, he had her, he had her, arms locked around her, spinning her around, absorbing her quaking sobs, unable to speak past the fist-sized lump in his throat.

They held each other, Gia's feet not touching the floor, and would have stayed that way much longer if not for Lyle's question.

"Where's Charlie? Where's my brother?"

Aw no, Jack thought, looking around and seeing only the three of them. Don't tell me… not Charlie…

Gia slumped against Jack and reached out a hand to Lyle. Between sobs she told him about she and Charlie falling into a pit, how the sides began to collapse, and how Charlie had sacrificed himself to save her.

"Charlie?" Lyle whispered, his face slack, stricken. "Charlie's dead?"

His features tightened as tears began to slide down his cheeks. He stumbled toward the door but still couldn't enter. He leaned against the resisting air and pounded on silent nothing, sobbing, calling his brother's name.

FRIDAY

1

Jack let Gia sleep in as he got up early, intending to run back to Astoria to see what he could do for Lyle. But a quick listen to the news changed his plans. "The Horror in Astoria" was all over the radio. He flipped on the TV and that was all any of the local newsheads could talk about.

Gia came down in a light yellow terry cloth robe, looking tired and worn but so much better after a shower and some sleep.

He kissed her and held her and said, "I was hoping you'd sleep in."

"I woke up and started thinking about last night." She shuddered against him. "How can I sleep when I remember how Charlie—?" She bit her lip and shook her head. Then she looked up at him and touched his throat. "This still looks sore. And that eye…"

"I'll be fine."

He'd told her about trading Bellitto for her and Charlie and how one of Bellitto's friends had tried to choke him, but had decided against mentioning the fax that had targeted Vicky. She'd already had enough shocks to her system.

She stiffened and pointed to the TV. "Say, isn't that—?"

"Yeah. Menelaus Manor. Looks like Lyle called the cops."

Jack surfed from channel to channel until he found a newshead with the good grace to summarize the developing story.

"For those of you just tuning in, here's what we know so far. At 1:37 A.M. this morning the police received an emergency call from Lyle Kenton, owner of the house in Astoria you see pictured here, saying that he'd returned home after a night out to find his brother Charles dead in a ditch they'd been digging in their cellar. The ditch had apparently collapsed and smothered him.

"Why were they digging a ditch in their cellar?" you ask. Good question. Here's where the story veers into the Twilight Zone. Lyle Kenton claims to be a spirit medium who 'practices' under the name Ifasen. He states he and his brother were contacted by a spirit who called herself 'Tara Portman' and claimed she had been murdered and buried in the basement by a previous owner. For the past few days, Lyle and Charles had been digging up the cellar, trying to find her remains. Last night their excavation collapsed, trapping Charles. When the police arrived, Lyle had dug his brother out but it was too late.

"If that were the whole story it would be sensational enough. But it gets stranger. The police did a little digging themselves and have so far unearthed the skeletons of two children. They are looking for more."

"The police want to make it very clear that Mr. Kenton is not a suspect. He has lived in the house less than a year and the remains found in the cellar so far appear to have been there much longer."

"Back to you, Chet…"

Jack surfed on, looking for mention of Eli Bellitto, but his name never came up. Where was he? What had Tara done with him? He hoped it hadn't ended quickly for him.

He clicked off the set. "The barrier must have come down some time after we left."

"Poor Lyle," Gia said. "I feel so bad that we left him to deal with this alone."

The three of them had waited together for the barrier to fall, but after an hour or so, Gia started to get the chills and shakes. Jack had needed to get her home and offered Lyle a bed for the night. Lyle told them go, he'd wait here. Jack promised to come back in the morning.

"Alone is the only way he can deal with it. We can't show our faces—at least I can't. And no reason you should. We can't add anything."

"We could be there for him. He and his brother seemed so close."

"They had their differences, I can tell you that, but there was a bond there, beyond blood. They'd been through a lot together."

"I'm glad he called in the police, though. They'll find the rest of the bodies. Then the families of those poor children will be able to bury what's left of them and have some closure."

Her gaze seemed to drift.

"Thinking of Tara's father?"

She nodded. "I wonder if burying Tara will change things for him and his son." She sighed. "Somehow I doubt it. I think they've been pushed too far off track to get back on."

"I've got an idea," Jack said. "Why don't we get out of town, say, drive up to Monticello and visit Vicky at camp?"

"But she's coming home tomorrow."

Jack knew that, but from the brightening of Gia's expression he could tell she loved the idea. After her ordeal with Tara, seeing her little girl would be just the tonic she needed.

"Even better. You and I can find a motel, stay over tonight, take her out for breakfast in the morning at this neat old-fashioned diner I know, then we'll drive her back ourselves. It'll be fun."

Gia smiled. "Okay. I think I'd like that. When do we leave?"

Jack repressed a sigh of relief. He'd been looking for a way to get up to Vicky's camp without alarming Gia. This was it. Last night, when Gia was in the shower, he'd made a couple of calls, one of them an anonymous tip to the camp warning them that one of the children—he didn't name the child—was in danger of being abducted in a custody dispute. He placed the same call to the Monticello police department, suggesting extra patrols around the camp.

With its leader dead, Bellitto's circle was a snake without a head. But even so, it wasn't enough for Jack. He wouldn't rest easy until he'd seen Vicky and placed her under his protection.

Gia too. She'd told Jack what Tara had said: It wants you dead. Who knew if Tara was telling the truth, but Jack had to assume she was. "It" could only mean the Otherness. What was it trying to do? Wipe out everyone he cared about?

That gut-wrenching thought had kept him awake most of the night. How do you fight something you can't see, that works so far behind the scenes you can never reach it?

The only thing he could think of was to circle the wagons and keep Gia and Vicky close by.

"You pack up some things while I run a few errands, and we'll get going soon as I get back. Make a day of it."

"What kind of errands?" she said, serious again.

"Just a stop by Julio's. Need to check out something with one of the regulars."

2

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.

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…

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 of 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't—" 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."

3

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 Jack—just Jack—was here.

That did the trick.

Father Edward Halloran—the Edward who'd hired Jack to watch his "brother" Eli—greeted 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.

"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. " 'Did'?"

"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 him—not much, I'm afraid—then 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."

EPILOGUE

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.

"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."

"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 themselves—watch 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."

"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."

"'We'?"

"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.

"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 coffin—a simple pine box—in 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 but—"

"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 séance 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."

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 up—but 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."