Months ago, when she was moving from foster home to foster home, she remembered crying in her bed at night, worrying about what the next day would bring. Every night, darkness covered her with a blanket of sorrow, but morning always brought new hope with the rising sun. Light was sort of like truth. It always showed a liar for what he really was. And when someone gave a word of encouragement, it was like the sun rising, showing her that things weren’t really as bad as they seemed.
She peeked again at the chasm and listened to the voices, soft and dreary, one or two counterpoint solos tangled in the melancholy chorus. As they droned on, she heard a familiar call, the call she had heard all the way back in West Virginia, her name floating into her mind the same way her mother used to call at the end of a summer day. She rushed to the edge of the crack and peered down. “Mama! Mama, is that you?”
There was no answer. The sad drone played on.
Bonnie floated away from the crack. Her light diminished as the blackness swallowed the edges of her body. This became her new way to cry, letting the dark oppression creep into her dimming soul and lay her energy to waste, as though allowing a black predator to consume her bit by bit.
“Mama!” she cried out. “Where are you?” With her waning soul quaking, her pulsing light failing with each beat, Bonnie wept, her words seeping out in tormented thoughts.
As the darkness gnawed away at her sanity, Bonnie shivered. If she gave in to sadness now, how could she help her mother? Putting her sorrowful thoughts away, she lifted her soul in song, streaming the words into the darkness with trembling quivers of light.
Whither shall I go from thy spirit?
Or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there:
If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morning,
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me,
and thy right hand shall hold me.
If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me;
even the night shall be light about me.
Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee;
but the night shineth as the day:
The darkness and the light are both alike to thee.
With each uttered word, with each phrase of truth, Bonnie’s light increased, clearing her mind and refreshing her soul. When she finished, the darkness crawled away like a wounded shadow, and for the first time, she could see more clearly, as though her own body illuminated the maze of dark walls that bordered the gem’s center. Then, as though whispered into her ear by a close friend, a stream of words flowed into her mind.
Everyone who is of the truth hears my voice. No lie is of the truth.
The voice was soft, pure, and whisper-quiet.
After a few seconds, the slayer’s words came back to her, his static-filled voice grinding into her mind like a power drill.
She hates dark places.
When everything fell silent again, Bonnie sat still and pondered the voices.
She hates dark places? But that can’t be true. Mama used to turn all the lights off just to tell me stories in the dark.
She looked again into the crevice and saw a whole new world. The river of light was still there, but she also saw a swirling mass of ghostly phantoms at the river’s edge, barely visible, yet she could see expressions of sadness, regret, remorse, the pain of lost opportunity, never to be found again. Were these human beings? Did each dim pulse in that forsaken chasm represent a soul trapped in a lost netherworld?
Bonnie hurried to the far side of her crystal prison. That’s what the slayer really wanted, for her to cast herself into that hell. But is that really what happened to her mother? Was she fooled by Devin? Was she one of those poor, tormented souls?
And now there seemed to be no way out. Even if Karen could dive back into the candlestone, Ashley said she would probably be out of phase. It took someone with dragon blood to search the depths of this dungeon, and there was only one person she knew who could possibly do it.
It was time to pray. The light of truth had sparked new, robust energy, and she knew that her best friend needed to find the same power. It was time to pray for Billy.
Chapter 14
Billy slammed against the side of the trunk as the car roared away, and at each careening turn his arms pinched against cold steel. He squirmed to his side and felt around with his fingers, searching for something sharp near his back, anything with a metal edge to cut the strangling tape on his wrists. But the tape contracted with every move, numbing his fingers. He knew he was in a mess, and he felt that familiar boiling rage in his belly. Billy flopped to his stomach and rested his cheek against the rough, gas-scented carpet.
Okay, get a grip and just relax. I don’t want to be spewing sparks in here! There’s got to be some good news. My throat’s been slit, but I haven’t bled to death yet. That’s good news. This gag’s about to cave my mouth in and scratch my lips off, but it feels like it might be starting to slip.
He pressed his lips against the rag as hard as he could, and it budged downward just a hair.
Okay, it moves. That’s even better news. It’ll take a while to get it off, but it does move.
While Billy worked on the gag, the car’s engine settled into a high-pitched drone, and the road straightened out.
We must be on a main highway now. I wonder how far we have to go. If the exhaust doesn’t knock me out, the gas fumes will. And it’s freezing in here. My hands are so numb I can hardly feel them. But I have to keep working. If I don’t get this rag off, I’ll be dead meat when he comes back to get me.
Once more twisting to his side, Billy pulled his knees to his chest, lowered his head, and rubbed the scratchy cloth against his jeans. Each fiber felt like sharp nails digging into his bleeding lips, but he kept working the gag downward.
As long as he could stay conscious, he had to keep working on an escape plan. Palin was a slayer in his own right, so Billy had expected to get sliced into a spiral ham. What could be the reason for tossing him in this icebox trunk instead? This was no joyride. Was the slayer hauling him to where they kept Bonnie? That was some comfort, to be by her side even if it meant torture or death. Maybe by some twist of fate he could figure out a way to save her, to have just one second with his mouth free to send the slayers to a fiery hell . . . even if he died trying.
Oh, well. Dying bravely beats just letting that maniac do whatever he wants to Bonnie.
But would he really die for her? His loyalty was strong, but that strong?
It was a no-brainer. He would definitely die if he could save her. There was no one else like her, no one else he’d lay down his life for. Well, he would for Walter, but that was different. He and Walter would fight together, battling enemies with everything they had until they either conquered their foes or fell in combat.
But Bonnie was different . . . special . . . like . . . well, she was just special.
In his mind he could see her staring up at him with her trusting eyes, could feel her gentle hand in his. On the mountain after their airplane crashed, she’d been braver than anyone he knew, stronger than he’d imagined possible, with her wings extended, more beautiful than—
Billy lay still. He didn’t want to think about it any further. If he wanted to survive, he needed to work on that gag.
“I’m cold,” little Monique complained, her tiny voice muffled by the falling snow.
Karen lowered her coat’s white hood so she could hear better, and a dusting of snowflakes quickly covered her head. She stooped and grabbed a pair of purple mittens, whispering as she put them back on Monique’s hands. “Well, it’s no wonder. Your hands are like ice.” Karen stripped off her own gloves and set them on a five-foot-high boulder she had chosen to shelter the girls from the whistling wind and to screen them from view.
Monique’s shrill voice cut through the wind. “When are we going inside, Red? This isn’t fun anymore.”
After shaking the snow out of her mop of red hair, Karen put her hood back up and tied it in place with the white drawstring. “We can’t go back, Pebbles, not yet. We have to get to that house out near the highway. Remember? The old man with the friendly horse?”
Monique nodded, but shivered.
“We’d get lost if we tried to get there in this storm though. If the snow doesn’t let up soon, we’ll go back to the stairs. I promise.” Karen knelt and tightened Monique’s hood, brushing away a little snowcap from the top. “Don’t worry; I won’t let you freeze.” Karen grabbed her own gloves and slowly put them back on, covering her stiffening fingers and sighing.
If I don’t freeze first. We have a long way to go.
A few minutes later, Karen heard a distant roar and lowered her hood again, tilting her head to keep the wind out of her ears. “It’s a car!” she whispered urgently, pushing Monique’s head lower. “Everyone duck and be quiet!”
With the three younger girls safely hidden, Karen stood on her tiptoes and peered cautiously over the boulder. A faded blue car, a late-model Grand Marquis, toiled up the snowy incline, sliding and spinning, but managing to navigate the final turn into the narrow driveway toward the stones that bordered the lab’s entrance.
Karen watched it zip past their hiding place, less than a snowball’s throw from the stairway door. It parked at least thirty feet behind Doc’s SUV, and the driver jumped out and hurried to the rear of the car, brandishing a pistol in one hand.
Karen gasped and pushed the other girls’ heads even lower. Would he see their footprints? The snow had fallen heavily since they had come outside, but she couldn’t tell if it had covered their tracks completely. The man paced behind the car as if he didn’t quite know what to do. Finally, he yelled right at the car’s trunk.
“I’ve got a gun, kid. Do you think your breath’s quicker than my trigger finger? Maybe that gag’s still on, and maybe it’s not, but I’ll bet a bullet would discourage you real quick, either way.”
The man lifted the car’s remote locking device and pointed the gun at the trunk. His arm shook, and he shifted his weight from left to right, shivering in the bitter breeze. After what seemed like a full minute, he lowered the weapon and let out a string of obscenities, giving a hefty kick to the rear bumper.
“Don’t make a sound. If you try to escape, I’ll blow your brains out. I’m not the one who wants to keep you alive, you know.”
The man stalked toward the stairway door and jerked it open. After glaring back at the car for a brief second, he disappeared into the mountain.
Billy managed to slip the gag down enough to open his mouth. He positioned his head to blast Palin at the first sign of light, to fry that creep quicker than he could aim and fire. He pictured the dark knight burning in agony, and the satisfaction of sweet revenge swelled his heart. In his imagination, Palin cooked down to a dirty pile of soot, and Billy kicked the remains and scattered them in the dust.
A hard lump grew in Billy’s throat, but he swallowed it away.
It’s okay. Palin deserves to die. He’s a dragon slayer, and he wants to kill both Bonnie and me.
Billy had heard Palin yelling about having a gun, but now there was no sound at all. Did he leave? Was he waiting for help? Did he go to get another weapon?
With the tape still strangling his wrists, Billy could do little to improve his situation. The trunk was too dark for him to hunt for a latch, and so far he hadn’t found anything sharp. He could feel a couple of gasoline containers at his feet, and his nose told him that another one sat near his head.
He needed a plan. He couldn’t yell. Palin might be standing right there. For all Billy knew, Palin could pop open the trunk from well beyond the range of Billy’s fiery breath and shoot him just for having the gag off.
Billy didn’t stand a chance.
Merlin’s book was right. I shouldn’t have turned that page. It’s all my fault.
Although he had read the gloomy oracle only once, some of the words came back to him, defying the limits of normal memory.
Cruel yokes and whips designed for slaves
No, not for heirs nor sons by birth
They tear the backs of stiff-necked knaves
Who think their power comes from earth
Yet hope remains, dispelling fears
A faithful heart, entrapped, alone
Who prays for thee unceasing tears
And casts appeals before his throne
If hope really did remain, Billy didn’t see it, and if anyone was praying for him, no one seemed to be listening.
“Who’s in the trunk?”
A voice!
It sounded like a young woman, trembling and kind of squeaky.
Should I answer? If she doesn’t know who’s in here, she must not be with Palin.
“It’s Billy Bannister!” he yelled. “Some goon stuffed me in here! Please, help me get out!”
“Hold on!”
Billy heard the faint sound of shuffling steps and a muffled click. The voice returned, this time sounding much younger. “The door’s locked!”
Billy yelled back. “Did you try all the doors?”
“They’re all locked.”
Billy wrestled again with the tape. So close, yet so far! Some girl must have wandered by and heard him struggling. Now she was in danger too. “You’d better get out of sight. The guy who kidnapped me will probably be back soon.”
“Not a chance. I saw where he went. It’ll be a while.”
“Can you call the police?”
“No. But I do have an idea.”
Billy let out an exasperated sigh. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“This is a Grand Marquis. It oughta have a trunk release on the inside. It’s a T-shaped handle that glows in the dark, and it should be dangling from a pull wire near the lock.”
Billy glanced around the dark trunk. “No. There’s nothing glowing. I would’ve seen that by now.”
“Then he might have cut it off to hide it. If he did, the bare wire might still be sticking out near the latch. If you can get hold of it, the trunk should pop open easily.”
“Easily . . . yeah, right. My hands are tied behind my back.”
“How about your feet? Can you maybe get it between your feet and yank on it?”
“I don’t think so. I’ll try to arch my back up there. My fingers are kind of numb, but maybe I can find it.”
Billy twisted his body and pushed his backside toward the trunk latch, bracing his feet against the floor. His fingers were like icicles, and he could barely feel anything he touched. As he worked, he heard the girl’s voice again.
“By the way, my name’s Karen.”
Billy grunted. “Pleased . . . to meet you.”
“If that guy comes back, I’ll tap the trunk and—”
“I think I got it!” Billy squeezed the wire between his frozen fingers and pulled. He heard a click, and the lid flew open, filling the trunk with daylight and falling snow. Billy sat up on the frame with his back to Karen. “Can you get me loose?”
Karen stripped off her gloves and started tearing away the wide strips of duct tape around Billy’s wrists, stuffing the pieces into her coat pocket. “It’s all twisted up,” she said, “but it’s coming off.” She glanced over her shoulder at the mountainside a couple of times but kept working. “He must have really worked you over. Your lips look like they lost a fight with an orbital sander.”
“Yeah. The gag just about tore them off.”
“And your neck! Did you cut yourself shaving with a buzz saw?”
“Never mind! Just get me loose before he comes back to finish me off!”
At last the final band of gray tape gave way. Billy yanked the gag down from his chin to his neck and climbed slowly out of the trunk. With his muscles cramping like knotted steel, he staggered and gripped his left calf. He glanced up at the perky redhead’s beaming face. “Can you help me walk? We have to get out of sight before Palin comes back.”
Karen closed the trunk and pushed her shoulder under his arm. “You bet.” She led the way toward a boulder next to a clearing, following a line of footprints in the tire tracks. When they reached the other side of the boulder, Billy was surprised to find three bundled girls, all younger than Karen, hiding there. He pulled off his coat and began rubbing his arms and legs.
The oldest of the three girls gave him a big smile, glancing over at Karen. “Who’s your friend?”
Karen leaned over to pick up Billy’s coat and grinned. “His name’s Billy, uh, Bannister, I think he said.”
Billy stopped rubbing his limbs and gave them all a nod of greeting, ending with Karen. “You got it right. I’m Billy Bannister. You said your name’s Karen, right?”
Karen handed him back his coat. “Right, but you can call me Red if you want to.” She pointed to the others in turn. “And that’s Stacey, Rebecca, and Monique.”
Billy lowered his head for a moment, still wincing, and tried to smile with his cracked lips. “The weather’s pretty bad for playing outside. What are you doing out here?”
“Actually, we’re just hiding right now. We’re—”
Karen jerked her head around. “He’s back!”
Billy signaled for the girls to crouch behind the boulder, and he sneaked to the edge of their refuge to watch the returning kidnapper. Palin stepped from the passageway carrying a shield in his left arm and the pistol in his right hand.
Karen leaned over Billy’s shoulder, her lips next to his ear, and whispered, “What do you think he’ll do when he finds out you’re gone?”
Billy kept his eyes focused straight ahead. He felt Karen’s warm breath and grew uneasy about her closeness. With Palin in sight, that murderous demon who had nearly killed him once before, Billy knew what he wanted to do: fry the creep. Rage boiled inside, and he felt a good fire brewing in his belly, but with Karen literally breathing down his neck, he hesitated. Was he ashamed of what he wanted to do or just nervous about the girls seeing it? He shook the turmoil away.
Palin tried to kill me, and he’d kill Bonnie, too, if he had the chance!
Like the warmth of Karen’s breath, the professor’s words blew across his mind. “A knight opposes his enemy face-to-face. A stab in the back is the way of the coward. If you must fight, attack your enemy head-on. That is the way of valor.”
But he’s a slayer! It’s okay to fry a creep like him. It’s not cowardly!
The professor’s words responded like an echoing call.
Considering the words of this prophecy, we can assume that God has ordained that we carry out no surprise attacks. Do you understand?