The Burning Time Page 7

  “I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Root.”

  He steered the cruiser around Danni’s Mustang and headed back toward the main road.

  John picked up his wallet and turned to Danni. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. But Mitch...”

  “Yeah, I know. He asked you not to. Guys stick up for each other, I get it. But I’m responsible for him, and I need to know what’s happening in his life.”

  “Danni—”

  She shook her head. “Maybe you should call it a day. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  He wanted to stay, to try and explain further, but her face had taken a hard, tight, determined expression he’d never seen her wear before.

  “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  John headed down the drive, hoping the young woman hadn’t soured on him being around. He needed the money, sure, but more than that, he needed someone in town who trusted him, who didn’t look at him as an outsider.

  Otherwise, his job would be much, much harder.

  Chapter 12

  Billy Ray held a plastic bag filled with ice cubes against his cheek, the ice bringing blessed numbness to the swollen flesh.

  “He’s got it in for me, just because I was kind of wild when I was a kid,” Billy said to Reverend Christian. Sharp pains in his mouth and chest accompanied each word.

  The reverend stepped forward and poked a steel-hard finger into Billy’s chest. “I don’t care what you did before you came to town. I don’t care what you did as a child. But as long as you work for me, you’ll stay out of trouble. Don’t give the police any reason to suspect you of anything. Understand?” He emphasized his words with another poke.

  Backing up a step, Billy nodded. “I got it. Don’t worry. I haven’t done anything wrong.” Yet. He rubbed his chest; the spot where Christian’s finger had hit felt like he’d been struck with a hammer.

  “Keep it that way. Remember, my Gods see all.”

  “Uh, yeah, right.” Billy hated it when Christian talked like that. Somehow, coming from his thin-lipped mouth, the warped Sunday-school words took on a deeper, more sinister meaning. Billy could almost see an angry God staring at him from up in heaven, his eyesight more powerful than any spy satellite as he watched over his flock, ready to weed out the sinners.

  Jesus, I’m starting to sound like him!

  Hoping to change the subject away from himself, he adjusted his cold pack and said, “Maybe your Gods should keep his eye on that new guy in town. He’s in some hot water, too.”

  “Who?”

  “That old guy you asked me to find out about. I got his name today. John Root. He—”

  The Reverend’s face grew angry and he practically shouted, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  Caught off guard by the man’s unexpected vehemence, Billy stuttered as he answered. “I...I...planned to. I mean, I am. Now.”

  “What did you find out?” Christian’s eyes, normally coal-black, seemed even darker, like black ice.

  “When the cops were using me for a punching bag, they got a call about this Root guy. They were heading to his place after they dropped me off. Something about him spending too much time with some little kid.”

  “What did the Sheriff say?”

  Billy shook his head. “Not much. Just that they were gonna check him out.”

  Christian smiled and turned back toward the window. “Thank you, Billy. That’s interesting news. Let me know if you hear anything else.”

  “Sure.” Billy edged his way over toward the door, eager to get away. “Uh, I gotta go get more ice.” Before Christian could say anything else, Billy closed the door and hurried down the hall.

  That night, Billy’s sleep was haunted by nightmares of vengeful gods pursuing him with lightning bolts. The gods all had Christian’s face and black holes for eyes.

  When he came awake for the fourth time, teeth clenched around a scream, he gave up and spent the rest of the night with the lights on and the television blaring.

  Even then, the mocking laughter of the gods echoed in his head.

  * * *

  Well after midnight, Cyrus Christian removed a leather-bound book from his bottom drawer. His memory guided him through the stiff, yellowed pages until he came to the section he needed. As he read from the text, the words rose from the page, becoming three-dimensional. The stink of sulfur and rotten flesh filled the air, and the black candles he’d placed in each corner of the room flickered as gusts of hot wind appeared from nowhere.

  An image appeared over the desk, wavering and blurred, like the picture on a dying television set. However, it remained clear enough for Christian to make out the sleeping form of John Root. He read the words again, louder, trying to get a clearer look, but the image broke into hundreds of tiny pieces that fell to the floor like ashes from a fire.

  “No matter,” Christian whispered, as the multi-colored sparkles faded away. “Now I know for sure that it’s you.” That was all he needed.

  He walked around the office, extinguishing the candles and turning off all the lights, saving the small desk lamp for last. In the resulting darkness, strange glyphs and symbols became visible on the ceiling, glowing with a faint purple luminescence, the way certain liquids will glow under an ultraviolet light.

  Christian lay on the floor and concentrated on the glyphs.

  “Find her,” he whispered. “Find the one who waits for another. Show her to me.”

  Slowly, moving in fractions of inches at first and then gradually picking up speed, the glyphs shifted position, rotating around an invisible axis until a whirlpool design took shape. Keeping his attention on the swirling design, he repeated his words over and over.

  “Find her. Show her to me. Find her. Show her to me.”

  Something took shape in the center of the ghostly maelstrom. It grew larger, taking on definition. The face of a young woman, her cheeks stained with mascara-polluted tears, her eyes red from crying.

  Her name appeared in Christian’s head.

  April Kohl.

  Perfect.

  “April Kohl, listen to me. It doesn’t have to be this way. You can be rid of this sadness that he’s caused you. You can be happy again. All you have to do...”

  On the other side of town, seventeen-year-old April Kohl sat up in her bed.

  “...is what I tell you. Then I will free you from this pain, and he will love you forever.”

  Love me forever. That was all she’d wanted. That was all she’d asked Jack to do, just love her forever. But he couldn’t even do that.

  “Not then, but if you do as I say, April, he will love you.”

  “Tell me.”

  The voice told her. As she listened, a smile grew on her face. How easy! And then I’ll be happy forever.

  She lay back against her pillows and drifted down into a dreamless sleep. Outside, dogs howled and thunder rumbled, but the sounds no longer seemed threatening.

  They seemed...right.

  * * *

  The smell of fresh-brewed coffee, fried eggs, and bacon greeted John like a long-lost friend as he entered Rosie’s Diner. As much as he hated to admit it, stopping for coffee and a muffin in the morning before heading to Danni’s house had become one of the most enjoyable parts of his day. The people were friendly, the muffins were baked right in the kitchen, the coffee was just the way he liked it—a hint of bitterness and chicory—and for those few minutes while he sat at the counter and ate, he felt almost like he belonged.

  So it was kind of a shock when no one said ”Good morning” as he took a seat at the counter. Anna, the usual waitress, gave him a cold stare. “Can I help you?”

  Word of Showalter’s suspicions must have already made the rounds, he realized. Now half the town will be thinking I’m a child molester, and the other half will think I’m a murderer.

  “I’ll have a black coffee and a blueberry muffin, please.” Anna nodded once, her usual smile hijacked by a tight-lipped frown. Several other people stared a
t him with similar expressions.

  “Hi, there,” a voice said from behind him.

  He swiveled around on his stool, found himself face to face with a pretty girl of about seventeen.

  “Hello. Can I help you with something?”

  “I hope so. I got a little careless parking my car. It’s, um, stuck on the curb.” She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Do you think you could help me push it off?”

  John looked around the diner again. There had to be twenty people eating breakfast, most of them hard-looking men on their way to jobs at the ConAgra plant or one of the local farms. Surely the young girl knew some of them. He was about to ask her why she’d approached him out of everyone when Anna came back with his order.

  “Here. That’ll be two-fifty,” she said in a cold voice, placing a bag in front of him.

  “Wait. I always eat here.”

  “Not anymore.” She turned and walked away.

  He placed three dollars on the counter, picked up the bag, and gave the young girl a half-hearted smile. “I guess I’m free to give you a hand.”

  “Thanks! My name is April.”

  “I’m John Root.” He held the door for her. “Where’s your car?”

  “Over there. She leaned past him and pointed to a recent model Toyota. Besides sitting several inches off the ground, the front end was wedged into a bush.

  “You get in and put it in reverse. I’ll push.” As he walked around the car, a tingling feeling between his shoulders made him turn around. Several of the diner’s patrons stood at the door and the window, watching.

  Maybe they think I’m going to rape her right here in the parking lot. Then he chided himself for the spiteful thought. It’s not their fault. The influence of the Other grows stronger. Soon their suspicions will extend to each other.

  April leaned out the driver window. “Ready!”

  “Okay.” John put both hands on the hood and pushed, ignoring the sharp pricks from the stems of the bush. At the same time, the engine roared as April stepped on the gas. The car hung for a moment on the curb’s edge, and then rolled back, the front end hitting the blacktop with a loud bang.

  “Thanks so much,” she said. “My father would have killed me if I had to call a tow truck.”

  “My pleasure. Have a nice day.” He picked up his breakfast bag and started walking toward the road.

  He’d only gone a few feet when April pulled up next to him. “Need a ride?”

  “No, thanks. I’m used to the walk.”

  “C’mon. It’s the least I can do after you helped me out.”

  It would be nice to ride for once. “All right. I’m headed to the Anderson’s place, off of Route 16.”

  “Hop in.”

  The tingling feeling on his neck returned as he sat down. He glanced back at the diner, but the sun’s glare made it impossible to see if anyone was looking at him.

  It was well past noon before the feeling of being watched finally went away.

  * * *

  The day after being banned from Rosie’s Diner, John was sitting on the Anderson’s new front steps, eating his lunch, when three squad cars roared up the drive, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

  “John Root! Put your hands in the air and step down from the porch,” Showalter’s amplified voice bellowed from the car’s speaker.

  John dropped his sandwich and raised his hands. His stomach did a flip and his legs trembled as he walked slowly down the steps. Several of the police officers had exited their vehicles and were approaching him, guns drawn.

  “John, what’s going on?” Mitch asked from the door.

  “I don’t know. Call your sister.” John’s mind whirled as he tried to think of what he’d done to bring about such a dramatic response from the police.

  Whatever it is, I sense the hand of the Other in it. He’d been on edge all morning. For the past two nights, he’d dreamed of a giant red eye staring at him from a starless night sky. The protective wards he kept around his bed had prevented the unknown presence from coming any closer, but they’d also hidden who it was that watched him.

  And now this. He kept silent as two deputies pulled his arms down and slapped handcuffs roughly on his wrists, tightening the bands until the metal cut into his flesh.

  Showalter walked up, a wide grin on his porcine face. “Well, well, looks like we done caught ourselves a murderer, boys.”

  For a moment John couldn’t believe his ears. “What?” he asked. “I haven’t killed anyone.”

  The Sheriff held out a plastic Baggie with something small and square in it. “Then how do you explain us findin’ your license in her hand when we pulled her from the river?”

  John shook his head. “My license is in my wallet, in my back pocket.”

  Showalter nodded to one of the officers. “Check it.”

  John felt a hand dip into his pocket and remove his wallet. After a short pause that seemed like an eternity, a voice behind him said, “I’ve got some cash, a library card, some receipts, and a picture. No license.”

  “That’s impossible.” John started to turn around but the men behind him held him still.

  “’Fess up now, and maybe the courts’ll go easier on you,” Showalter said. “Unless you got yourself a real good alibi, it appears you were the last one to see her alive.”

  “I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

  Someone twisted his arms up, sending shooting pains from his elbows to his shoulders. “April Kohl, you piece of shit. She was friends with my daughter.”

  “I told you, I don’t—” John stopped as he recognized the name. “Wait. April Kohl? I helped her with her car, and she gave me a ride out here. That was it. She drove away after that.”

  “Is that right? Well, we got witnesses saw you get into her car. You got any who saw her drop you off here?”

  Something in John’s stomach sank. “No. But I told Danni about it.” Even as he said the words, he realized how useless his story sounded.

  The chief tilted his hat back, raised his eyebrows, and pursed his lips. He made a small tsk-tsk sound and then said, “Ain’t that a shame. Guess that means you’ll be spending the night in a cell.” Without warning, he drove his fist into John’s stomach. “Maybe that’ll help you sleep. Take him away, boys.”

  Gasping for breath, John struggled to keep his feet as he was dragged to a car and pushed roughly into the back seat. He ducked his head at the last moment to avoid hitting it on the door frame, which drew disappointed looks from the deputies.

  The angry stares of the officers were a reminder to John that thanks to the Other, everyone in town would be convinced of his guilt, which meant he’d have a hard time finding adequate representation. There was only circumstantial evidence against him, and not even much of that. But times weren’t normal, meaning things could very well go bad for him in court. Of course, it could be months before he even went to trials, giving the Other all the time he needed to destroy the town.

  I can’t let that happen.

  Not long after John had been booked, stripped of his belt and shoelaces, and pushed into a small cell in the basement of the Sheriff’s office, Showalter came to visit him.

  “Best make yourself comfortable. You’re gonna be here a long time, Mister Root.”

  “I believe I’m entitled to a phone call?” He’d had time to think things over, and he’d decided to call Danni and hope she knew a good lawyer.

  The sheriff reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. A tiny label affixed to the case read, ‘Property of Cattaraugus County Sheriff’s Department.’

  “Here. You got someone in mind, or do you need the list of town attorneys?”

  “I know the number I need.”

  The phone picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” Danni said.

  “Danni? It’s John Root. I’m...I’m in a bit of trouble. I’ve been arrested.”

  “John! I’ve been calling the sheriff’s but no one will tell me anything. What happe
ned?”

  “They think I’m the one who’s been killing those girls.”

  “What?” Her tone grew suspicious. “Why do they think that?”

  John sighed. He knew this would come up. “Apparently, my license was found with the last body, the same girl who drove me to your house yesterday.”

  “How did your license end up with the body?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it fell out of my pocket in her car. I didn’t even know it was missing until they arrested me.”

  For a moment, Danni didn’t speak. John heard Mitch asking over and over what was going on. Finally, she let out a long breath, and he knew he’d lost her as a friend.

  “John, I’d really like to help you, but there’s nothing I can do. I don’t have any money to pay bail or hire you a lawyer. Hell, I don’t even really know you. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand. Can you tell Mitch—” He stopped as a loud click sounded in his ear.

  He handed the phone back to Showalter, who wore a broad grin. “Guess you’ll be needing assigned counsel.”

  John nodded.

  Showalter’s grin grew wider. “Ain’t that just dandy. I’m sure he’ll do a bang-up job.” He took a step closer to the bars and his smile dropped away as if it had never been there. “I knew sooner or later I’d find the man responsible for those girls. You sickos always fuck up. The Gods say, ‘Seek and destroy that which harms you.’ And I been workin’ hard to find you. Reverend Christian told me, told all of us, to beware the stranger in our midst. I should’ve listened. Now you’re gonna fry for what you’ve done.”

  By the time he finished, the chief was practically shouting. Spittle flew from his lips. Fearing the man’s anger, John retreated to the cell’s lone cot and sat down, facing the floor. He didn’t look up until the chief’s footsteps faded away down the hall.