Dark Rain (12 page)

FIFTEEN

The amulet was a small, round iron one, with a creature called a griffon engraved on its face. His father had given it to him on his fifteenth birthday.

Ike Mackenzie grasped it between his forefinger and thumb, savoring its coolness, as the memorial ceremony went on around him. An organ was playing, its doleful chords echoing through the confines of the church. And Ike hated sad occasions. Which was why, perhaps, his thoughts had retreated back into the past. He was remembering when he’d been a teenager – the day that his father had given him the gleaming piece of metal he was holding.

At first, he’d squinted at it dubiously.

“Is it for good luck, Pop?”

And his father had smiled.

“Oh, partly. But it can do much more than that.”

“Like what? Make magic? Conjure me up stuff?”

Which got a sharp cluck from Pop’s tongue.

“Objects like the one you’re holding have to be used wisely, son.”

“And how do I know what ‘wise’ is?”

“Well, that amulet? It has a voice.” His father’s smile became a little tighter. “You don’t believe me? Listen to it very carefully – you’ll learn how in good time.”

“And what … what’ll it tell me?”

“How to use it well. And that’s what wisdom is.”

Pop had been right. Down the twenty-one years that had followed, he had learned how to detect that voice. And the amulet had benefited and enriched him.

It had helped him find his wife, Ethel, now standing by his side with their three children. It had transformed their home into a dream one, without the expense and inconvenience of workmen. And it had brought good fortune into every aspect of his life.

Neither the other Father, Son, nor Holy Ghost had managed anything like that, which was why he barely ever came to church. But this was a different matter. He had
known
some of the people who had perished on Cray’s Lane last night. Two of them, in fact, had been employees of the landscaping company he owned. Mark Breville and Sarah Whiteman. Jesus Christ almighty!

“Hymn thirty-seven, from your books,” Reverend Swain was announcing, from in front of the altar. “’Nearer my Lord to Thee.’”

Ethel had a pleasant and harmonious voice when it came to this kind of singing. Surprisingly, so did all his children. None of them seemed to have inherited the dying bullfrog gene he carried around inside him. Ike had actually known people frown and try to edge away from him, when he was in full voice. So he flipped to the correct page, but only mouthed the words. It was a better deal for all concerned.

His amulet slipped tightly into the palm of his left hand.

Looking round him, he could see that plenty other of the congregants had brought gewgaws of their own. Medallions winked and crystals glittered. Ike smiled briefly and then had a thought.

He read extensively these days, non-fiction mostly. And especially about the world beyond this town, the one he’d never known. And yes, there was a parallel between the way the people of Raine’s Landing went to church, and other strange religions. The slave ones in particular, voodoo and Santeria.

They looked quite like Christianity on the outside. But there were other beliefs – older, darker – hidden deeply in them.

The hymn trailed to an end. Then the Reverend began reading out the names of last night’s victims. And Ike stiffened, recognizing some.

“Clarice Kilpatrick. Martin Howell.”

“Ike Mackenzie,” came a completely different voice.

What?

That wasn’t the Reverend. No, someone else had cut across him, his tone dry and crackly, and cold, and faintly mocking. The voice was emerging from nowhere in particular. But it reverberated just as loudly around the church as the organ music had been doing a few seconds back.

“Ethel Mackenzie,” it continued.

His wife.

“Irving Trevellian.”

Who was sitting there two rows away. Ike watched the man get to his feet with a gasp.

What on earth
was
this? People’s heads, the whole way along the rows of pews, were jerking round alarmedly.

“Margaret Krause. Samuel Hamner. Peter Fynch.”

They were
all
the names of people in this church, for heaven’s sake! And this might have been a joke, a very bad one, if it hadn’t been for what had happened on Cray’s Lane last night.

The Reverend was flapping his hands, trying to keep everybody calm, but not succeeding very much. A ripple of horror went through the whole congregation.

There was a sudden, whooshing noise in mid-air, like a vacuum sucking inward.

And that was when every lightbulb in the place exploded.

Somebody wailed, obviously cut by flying glass. There was such utter, pitch darkness that it seemed to drain the breath out of Ike’s lungs. Then something even more startling began to happen.

Up until now, there had only been the electric lighting on. There were plenty of candles scattered round the church. Till this point, they’d not been lit.

But then a tiny point of yellow brightness, dazzling to look at, appeared near the front doors of the building. Every last head swiveled round to gawp at it. Before the congregation’s gaze, it danced rapidly from wick to wick like some demented firefly.

Little flames started to grow and waver all around them. Shadows overlapped each other, trembling like phantoms. A few people started shouting worriedly. A little boy let out a squeal.

“This part of the service, Reverend?” someone up at the front called out, although that seemed to be a case of wishful thinking on his part.

Reverend Swain didn’t even answer. He could only watch like everybody else, his face so frozen and his eyes so glassy he looked almost hypnotized.

The whole interior was lit up gently before too much longer. And the yellow brightness which had ignited the candles winked, then disappeared. Ike tried to keep his wits about him, peering warily around.

The faces of the saints up on the stained glass windows all looked very lofty, distant. Even Jesus on his cross, behind the altar, seemed to have a vacant gaze. Most of the congregants that he could see had been reduced partway to silhouettes. The entire church looked like a mausoleum. The faces nearest him seemed colorless, and horribly drawn. Cavernous shadows yawned.

This wasn’t right. This looked like a building full of half-dead people. And they had come here this evening to
honor
the dead, not
join
them.

Ike reached out carefully for his youngest daughter’s hand. This wasn’t going
at all
to plan. So they were getting out of here.

Which was precisely when the glass above them started to bulge inward. The narrow bands of lead between the panes let out a creaking noise. It was like some force outside the church were pressing in at them.

And that couldn’t last for very long before they broke, he knew. His wife was staring at him with her features distended and her blue eyes bright with fear.

He wanted to shout out something. What though? He decided.
Run!

His mouth came open. But he heard another sucking noise. And the windows all imploded before he could get the word out.

The broken glass didn’t behave in any way that you’d call normal. It came flashing inward, breaking up the candlelight into a million dazzling fragments. But then it seemed to all get caught up in some current on the air, some silent whirlwind. And, with barely a scrap of it reaching the floor, began to spin around.

It kept on going like that until it had formed a floating cylinder of shards. And then it plowed into the pews up at the front. The people caught within it … they were torn to pieces within seconds, the way a tree branch might be when you fed it in a shredder. Thank God that they’d been slightly late, were sitting further back.

Piercing screams rang everywhere. Reverend Swain had staggered back against the altar and was clutching at his throat. And other people …

My God, he could hardly bare to look. Nausea and shock rushed through him, rendering him motionless. All the people around him were trying to scramble to the door.

But that was when practically every object in the church took to the air as well. The crosses and the statuettes. Light fittings were ripping from the walls. Ike came to his senses again. Turned around and concentrated on bundling his wife and children out of there.

It occurred to him, in the next instant. Might his amulet protect them?

But there was simply no time to find out. A low humming noise, pushing insistently through all the chaos, made him look back the way he’d come.

The big silver collection plate had risen into the air. It caught what light remained and flashed. The thing was revolving like a circular saw, as fiercely, as insistently.

It came hurtling toward him. And Ike simultaneously understood three things.

It was headed for his neck.

It was going to take his head clean off his shoulders.

And he didn’t have time to get out of the way.

SIXTEEN

Saul Hobart was still eyeing me as though I’d slightly lost it.

“Do you know how many churches there are in this town?”

I understood precisely what he meant. My patrols had taken me the entire length and breadth of the place, when I had been a cop. And there were dozens.

“And how am I supposed to get word to them, Ross? All my men are here. And people switch their phones off when they go into a church, you know.”

I stared back at him. “Well, you’d better start somehow.”

The pandemonium around us was dying down a little, although the red lights still made everything look fractured, disconnected. Some of the ambulances were moving off, taking away the worst of the injured. There were more shocked sobs, by this stage, ringing out than screams.

“Exactly what are you basing your assumptions on?”

There was plenty that I hadn’t told him yet. Plenty that I knew, he didn’t. He had sensed that and, being a detective, didn’t like it very much. His mouth was set firm. There was a stony glitter to his gaze.

“The creature who caused all this –” I started telling him.

“This ‘Dralleg’?”

“No. He’s called Saruak.”

Saul just blinked slowly, and then stuck out his lower lip.

“Last night was only the beginning. He as much as told me so.”

“You’ve
talked
with him?”

“Which is not something I’m pleased about, believe me. He wants to hurt us all until we can’t stop screaming, Saul. He wants dominion over us – that’s his ultimate goal.”

“What
is
he?”

I was just about to explain it to him, when the radio in his car began squawking urgently. He made his way across to it, picked the handset up.

And when he turned back to face me, it was stiffly. He looked pretty shocked.

“God, you were right,” he mumbled hoarsely. “It’s happening at St. Agnes’s this time.”

Which was six blocks due northwest of here.

St. Agnes’s was on Devon Street, a placid avenue normally, lined with leafy, spreading maple trees. But we arrived to find the same kind of confusion that we’d seen on Greenwood Terrace. Except that even less people seemed to have got away from the destruction, this time. Those who had were mostly in a noticeably bad way.

Cassie was already off her Harley, carrying both her heavy weapons, one across each shoulder. I went across to Hobart as he got out of his Pontiac. He’d drawn his service issue pistol, but I quickly shook my head.

“We’d be better off with shotguns.”

He peered at me, obviously wondering how I knew all this. Then murmured, “In the trunk.”

He tossed a riot gun, a Winchester, to me, then pulled out a second for himself.

“It would help if I knew what we were up against.”

His tone was reproachful. I could understand that too. But there just wasn’t the time.

People were spilling out across the curb, many of them hobbling or clutching at their stomachs. We made our way through the retreating throng, trying to keep up with Ms. Mallory.

“Cass, slow down!” I yelled at her. But that got no result.

She had already vaulted up the front steps and was almost in the church. She’d readily go in alone, but I wasn’t sure that was a good idea. I already knew this Saruak was tricky. If he managed to split us up, what games might he play with us?

Once again, though – and thank God for that – she stopped at the doorway. You couldn’t help but wonder what precisely she was looking at.

I reached her side and peered in. Holy hell, there were
dozens
of corpses inside, layered across each other in the copper-scented dimness. Some of them looked like they had practically been torn to pieces. There was one cadaver near the entrance that was minus its whole head. This was even worse than Greenwood Terrace. Saruak was obviously fine-honing his skills.

Total silence reigned, in there. But behind us, the sounds of the injured kept on swirling around like some dismal, haunted wind. A girl was crying and wouldn’t stop. My gut felt leaden. Bile rose to my throat.

It suddenly occurred to me. All of the emergency teams were still back at the first church. There was no one to even
help
these people. Only three of us were here, and there were scores of wounded everywhere you looked.

A young woman nearby held out her arm toward me. From the way that it was bleeding, an artery had been cut. So I went over to her, and made a tourniquet out of my belt.

Once I was certain that she’d be okay, I walked off from her and threw my head back.

Yelled out, “
Saruak!
” into the dim night air.

As you might
have guessed, I don’t lose my temper an awful lot. But when I do …

My fists were bunched. There was a flaring pain inside my chest.

“Saruak, you son of a bitch! Stop hiding! Just
show
yourself!”

A hoarse, echoing laugh brought my attention back to the church door. I hurried up the steps again.

Sprawled across the altar was the body of a clergyman. And the air beside it rippled suddenly. Not slowly, like when the Dralleg had appeared. Between one heartbeat and the next, the ragged man was standing there.

His monster was with him, lurking right behind his shoulder. I could hear Saul Hobart gasp. Its green eyes glowed balefully. It hunched forward again and held its claws out, but did not advance.

Cassie aimed her shotgun at it. She had hurt it once already, and that seemed to give her confidence. She just wanted the chance – I knew – to finish off the job she’d started.

Saul Hobart was a different kettle of fish. He’d seen creatures conjured up plenty of times before. But now, his features were like putty. This wasn’t like the ones that he’d seen in the past.

I ignored them both and gazed toward the altar.

Saruak’s left pupil was glittering again, despite the fact there was no light to make that happen. And he looked entirely satisfied. The faintest, dreamiest of smiles was playing on his features, as if all this death were nectar to him, he was savoring its taste.

I think I only took on board, at that point, just how vicious and deranged he really was.

His voice came toward me like the creaking of branches in an ancient wood.

“Why, hello again, Mr. Devries. Nice to have the pleasure of your company once more.”

Then he did something that genuinely appalled me. He raised his right hand, and set his palm down in the middle of the dead clergyman’s chest. And leant against it, for all the world like some huntsman with a trophy. I remembered what the Little Girl had said. He killed for sport.

The bile got so thick in my craw it almost choked me. But the sight dampened my anger down at the same time. It made me cooler, more determined. All the heat in my thoughts bled away.

I could feel all my energy becoming steady. And my voice was calm when I replied.

“Are you having fun, Manitou?”

I could feel, rather than see, Hobart gawk at me again. But I paid that no attention.

“Yes, a little. But the problem with human beings is, their bodies are almost as soft as their minds. So, of course, they die far too easy.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the muscles tense in Cassie’s arms. She was apparently considering trying to prove him wrong, but I put out a hand to still her.

Saruak seemed amused by that.

“It would seem your girlfriend disagrees. I’d be happy to demonstrate, if she likes?”

I ignored that as well. “Are you done for tonight?” I asked.

I was already deeply sickened by the way he kept on crowing. This was not a game. These people were not pawns.

But we differed on that too, it seemed.

“Not completely. Not yet. No.”

I edged a little forward. “Why can’t you just leave us be?”

“Far too much temptation, I’m afraid. I simply can’t resist it.”

Then his strange gaze swung in the lieutenant’s direction.

“’Do you know’,” he mimicked, “’how many churches there are in this town?’”

When he chuckled this time, it was a profound, rumbling noise, as though from a deep cavern. The church seemed to fill up with it. And once again, the shadows around him thickened.

The Dralleg stirred behind his shoulder, like some dog responding to its master’s tone of voice.

I wasn’t fazed at all. I was remembering what the Little Girl had told me about him.

“He’s not at full strength yet,” I whispered to Cassie, being careful not to turn my head.

And she got the general idea, and murmured, “Yeah?”

“We might be able to take him.”

I was keeping my voice as low as I was able. But …

“
Might
you?” Saruak yelled back.

He had heard us clearly, all the same. Took a few steps toward us, his arms swinging loosely at his sides.
His whole face was lit up with an ugly, twisted mirth. The Dralleg trailed along behind him, letting out a hissing sound.

There was no point being patient by this stage. And so I shouted “
Now!
” with my next breath.

Saul Hobart had caught on too. All three of our shotgun barrels swung toward the ragged figure, opening fire simultaneously.

The salvo caught him squarely in the gut. He stumbled back a couple of paces, and I thought we’d got him. His knees bowed slightly and he wobbled. I just stood there watching, patient and grim, hoping that he’d fall.

Both his palms went to his stomach. But when he pulled them back, and when he held them up for us to see …

They were clean. Not a trace of blood. He straightened up. And his delight was obvious and massive. He’d been toying with us all along. I’d read, hadn’t I, that mischief was a characteristic of his kind?

A growling issued from the Dralleg’s throat. It had no sense of humor, and was annoyed at what we’d done.

But its master just stepped forward, almost laughing.

“Nice try, Ross. And this morning, it might have worked. But I’ve already gained so
much
strength, merely from what I’ve done so far.”

Cass was taking aim again. He simply thrust his lean face at her.

“You can’t shoot me!” he crowed. “Because … I’m not really here at all!”

I was wondering what he meant by that, when both he and the Dralleg crumbled to fine dust. Two piles of it were settling where they’d been. The rank odor of leaf mold reached my nostrils. It abruptly smelled like a compost heap in there.

An illusion, that was what we had been looking at and talking to. His sort could play with minds, and with the borders of reality. So, if he wasn’t here, then where exactly
was
he?

I’d thought we’d actually had a chance at him. My teeth grated. An infuriated Cassie kicked the doorpost, for want of anything better to kick. Hobart let out a slow breath and leaned against the jamb.

“Who the hell was that?” he asked.

I didn’t even bother to answer. Saruak was going to attack again – he had already told me that, I didn’t doubt it. So I turned and headed for Saul’s Pontiac. Snatched a map out of the glove compartment, and then spread it on the roof.

“What are you doing?” Saul yelled at me. “He could turn up anywhere!”

But I was remembering that business with his name, making me try to guess it when we had first met.

“This guy likes to play games,” I said, scanning the outlines in the pale glow of a streetlamp. “He hints at what he’s up to, and then waits to see how long it takes you to catch on.”

How do you know all this?
was the question in Saul’s eyes. But he could see how urgent matters were, and held his tongue.

“If there is a next attack, then it will not be random. There has to be a pattern. And the only one that I can see?” I jammed my finger down. “Maybe he’s moving in a straight line, due northwest. And the next church in that direction is …”

I peered a little harder, feeling a sharp pang of dismay. There were two. The House of the Good Word on Savory Street. And St. Cleary’s on Van Ness Crescent. Both within a block of each other, and both in the area known as Marshall Drive.

Hobart got on his radio again and shouted at the dispatcher.

“They must have phones in their office? Raise somebody now!”

He waited practically a minute and then shook his head. “No dice.”

I imagined the massed congregations in their pews. Prayers being read out. Music playing. And two phones in separate back rooms, ringing hopelessly, ignored.

There was nothing else for it, so I glanced at Cass. I didn’t like the thought of any of us having to face Saruak alone. But I couldn’t see any other way we could cover both places.