The Sinner (22 page)

But I was also remembering something Darius Goodwine had told me.
Someone close to you has been assimilated into the ranks of the Congé. Someone you think you know well. Someone you think you can trust. But don't be fooled.

“I'm waiting,” Kendrick prodded. “Who do you think buried Pope's disciples in that circle?”

“A person or persons who wanted to make sure Pope's soul couldn't transmigrate.”

“Transmigrate?”

“The transference of the soul upon death into the body of another.”

“I know what it means,” he said. “I'm just having a little difficulty following your logic.”

“Then stop trying to look at it logically. Surely you of all people can't be shocked by the notion of soul transference.”

“Shocked, no. But I've never seen any evidence that such a thing can occur.”

“You don't believe in possession?”

“I don't
not
believe—I've just never witnessed it for myself. I take it you have?”

I didn't answer him. My arms were still folded and I clutched them to my body because the conversation made me feel too exposed. I had revealed nothing about myself to Kendrick and yet I had revealed everything to him. “Pope claimed he was the descendant of a powerful witch doctor, right? Maybe he wasn't a descendant at all. Maybe the witch doctor's soul migrated from body to body over the course of centuries making him virtually immortal.”

Kendrick was looking at me strangely now and I could hardly blame him. An open mind was one thing, but even a true believer had his limits. “You think Pope's soul was trapped in one of the buried disciples?”

“Actually, no. I think that was the intention, but something went wrong. Pope's soul had already migrated by the time the disciples were buried.”

“And where is his soul now?”

“That I don't know, but if he has come back, I think he's the one who buried that poor woman alive. Either she was on to him or he wanted revenge for his murdered disciples. Maybe she was somehow connected to the person or persons responsible for what happened to them twenty years ago.”

He grew pensive. “Assuming all of what you say is true, why wait until now to exact his revenge?”

I glanced up at the symbol. “I think he was constrained somehow. If his soul was transferred into the body of a child, for instance, he would have had to wait until his new vessel was old enough and strong enough to carry out his wishes.”

“You're talking about Annalee Nash.”

My heart thudded as I recalled their closeness out on the road in the wee hours. Was that anger that flashed in his eyes now? Defensiveness I heard in his voice?

I tried to keep my tone neutral. “I wasn't talking about her specifically, but it might explain the catatonic state she was found in and her current blackouts. Do you know her very well?”

“It's a small town. Everyone knows everyone to a certain extent.”

Which didn't at all answer my question.

He rubbed a hand along the scruff on his chin. “You've come up with an interesting premise, I'll give you that. But we need to be careful about throwing around too many wild accusations.”

“I don't think they're so wild and I'm not throwing them around to anyone but you. You can make of them what you will. But you just said there are certain aspects of this case that you find hard to reconcile. Haven't you already thought of some of these things yourself? Isn't that why you drove to Charleston to speak with Dr. Shaw? Because he's an expert in alternative explanations?”

A frown darted across Kendrick's features. “It may have been a mistake to tell you about my visit to the institute.”

“Why?”

“I think I've shared too much with you.”

Now it was I who gave him a puzzled look. “You can say that after everything I've just said to you?”

“That was different. You shared a theory about a murder investigation, but you've told me nothing about yourself.”

To the contrary, I'd just told him everything about myself.

He turned to face me, his eyes softly glowing in the waning sunlight. “The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable around me.”

“I'm not uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure about that?” He paused. “I've sensed wariness in you ever since I got here.”

“Maybe you're imagining things.”

“I don't think so. I felt your reluctance last night before we discovered the cylinder. I felt it that day in the alley when I told you about the presence in the woods. I don't blame you for protecting yourself. I understand the need for secrecy. I know only too well the dangers of letting the wrong people in.”

I tried to glance away but he had a way of trapping me—of enthralling me. Maybe it was the hypnotic quality of his eyes or the intensity of his stare. Or his own kind of magic. Whatever the cause, I found myself immobile as my breath grew shallow and my heart pounded an uneasy staccato inside my chest.

“You're right. I am discomfited by all this,” I admitted. “It's not a conversation one has every day.”

“If ever.”

“If ever,” I agreed.

He made no move to touch me, but I could feel his fingers in my hair, the whisper of his knuckles along my jawline. Without physical contact, the connection was somehow more powerful and I couldn't help but tremble.

“You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to,” he said. “Your personal life is your own.”

“I know that.”

“But I also meant what I said last night.” He moved infinitesimally closer but he still didn't touch me. “You don't have to hide from me.”

I could see the reflection of the setting sun in his eyes as he continued to regard me. I could see those tiny motes beneath his irises that were so much like my own and the shimmer of something in those golden depths that I thought might be desire.

How quickly our focus had shifted. How easily I'd forgotten about the implication of that symbol and the lurking danger that it represented. The
Congé
and Atticus Pope seemed far, far away as I found myself fantasizing again about Kendrick's lips on mine.

“Are you okay?” He seemed bemused by something he'd glimpsed in my eyes.

I swallowed. “Yes, I'm fine. Just lost in thought.”

“About...?”

“A lot of things. That symbol. Atticus Pope.” I drew a breath. “You.”

His gaze flickered and he seemed on the verge of saying something else before he turned back to the effigy. The moment shifted and I felt oddly bereft even though I knew it was for the best. Our shared gift was a powerful bond and a part of me did want to let him in. I felt something for Kendrick. Certainly not love, but my desire for him went well beyond the physical.

For as long as I could remember, I'd wanted nothing more than to be normal, but maybe what I'd craved all along was acceptance. Kendrick offered me a sense of belonging and I couldn't deny the potency of such a promise. I'd been a loner since childhood. An outsider who had never fit in. I'd had to guard my gift and everything I saw and felt, even with Devlin. Especially with Devlin. In some ways, his refusal to acknowledge even the possibility of the supernatural repudiated my very existence and I hadn't realized until now how much of myself I'd had to withhold from him and how much I'd come to resent it.

As I stared into Kendrick's golden eyes, something dormant stirred to life. In that moment, I could almost believe the estrangement with Devlin was for the best and I really was ready to move on. But I also remembered the glance Kendrick had shared with Annalee Nash outside the shed and later, on the road, the way he'd spoken to her so softly in French.

I wanted to let him in, but not yet. Not until I knew that I could trust him.

“Would you like to take a boat ride?” he asked.

I'd been so lost in my reverie that it took me a beat to process his unexpected question. “A boat ride?”

He nodded toward the symbol. “Don't you want to see that thing from out on the water?”

I glanced up at the primitive death's-head, shivering as sunlight gilded the wings. For a moment I could have sworn I saw the tips flutter. It was an illusion, of course. A trick of light and shadow.

Or was I even now under the influence of a powerful witch doctor's magic?

Twenty-Nine

I
fed and watered Angus and then hurried to shower and dress before Kendrick arrived to pick me up. When he pulled up a little while later, I was waiting for him on the front porch. I ran down the steps, feeling anxious about the excursion and not really knowing why. He opened the passenger door from inside and I climbed in.

“Are you sure you don't want to bring Angus?” he asked. “The two of you seem inseparable.”

“He'll be fine until I get back. He's been on a ferry before, but I'm not sure how he'd react to a boat ride.”

Kendrick backed out of the drive and put the vehicle in gear. “What's the news on your latest rescue?”

“The kitten? I called the clinic a little while ago. He has a number of issues, not the least of which is malnutrition, but he doesn't have any injuries. He'll need to be quarantined for a few days while they run the usual tests.”

“Will you take him in when he's released?” Kendrick asked.

“I travel too much, but I may have another solution. My mother lost a beloved tabby a few years ago. She's had some health problems that prevented her from getting another pet, but I think she may be ready now. If not, then I'll talk to my aunt. She's fastidious about her house, but she also happens to be a cat lover.”

Kendrick shot me a glance. “You have an affinity for strays, don't you? You're willing to go to all that trouble just to find that cat a home.”

I shrugged. “It's no trouble to me and I don't like to see any animal mistreated or homeless. I can't imagine why someone would put a defenseless kitten down in that awful hole. Or
how
, for that matter, since we saw no sign of an intruder in the shed.”

“I'm still trying to figure that out myself,” he said. “I noticed a number of cracks in the wall, especially toward the bottom. None of them are very large, but it's possible the kitten managed to squeeze through somehow.”

We were passing by a cluster of homes now and I waved to a woman tending her yard before I turned back to Kendrick. “Do you think there could be other cylinders on the property?”

“It's possible.” He glanced at me again. “Is there a reason you're asking that question?”

“I've seen no evidence, if that's what you mean. But I can't help wondering about the original purpose of such a thing. If not a silo or well, then what was it built for?”

“Maybe we already know the purpose,” Kendrick said.

“To hide Mary Willoughby's body?”

“Not just her. If someone were to be taken against their will, they could be hidden in a place like that indefinitely.”

According to Darius Goodwine, Pope had kidnapped innocent children to use in his rituals. He'd also taken runaways and homeless victims that no one had looked for or missed. I imagined a whole series of those cylinders with human claw marks gouged in the walls and bones heaped on the floors.

“I've been thinking about your theory regarding Atticus Pope,” Kendrick said. “If he has come back, it would explain certain things.”

“Such as?”

“His family used to own the Willoughby house. They moved away for a time, and when Pope returned to the area, he tried to buy the place back, but George Willoughby refused to sell. Maybe the reason he took up with Mary Willoughby was so he'd have unlimited access to the property and to that cylinder. Maybe he knew it was there because he was the one who built it. And in that case, he would still know about it.”

“But that doesn't tell us who murdered Mary Willoughby.”

“Her association with Pope gave her husband a strong motive. Why else would he commit suicide if he wasn't guilty of killing his wife?”

“Maybe it wasn't suicide.”

Kendrick lifted a hand from the steering wheel to rub the back of his neck. “You have a theory about that, too, I'm guessing.”

“Maybe whoever put Mary in that hole and shot her husband was the same person or persons who buried Pope's disciples beneath the cages. And for the same reason.”

“To trap Pope's soul?”

“That would explain George Willoughby's insistence that something had taken possession of his wife's body, wouldn't it?”

“But how does that jibe with your theory about Annalee?”

“A soul can migrate more than once.”

Kendrick turned to study my features. “What did you see down in that hole last night?”

His question caught me off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I saw your face when I pulled you up. I heard something in your voice when you called out to me.”

“You think finding those remains wasn't enough to put that look on my face?”

“Was it her ghost?” he pressed. “Mary Willoughby's spirit?”

“You're right,” I said. “I'm not comfortable talking about this.”

“I understand.” He turned back to the road. “Maybe it would help if I tell you about some of my experiences.”

“What kind of experiences?”

“I've had supernatural encounters since early adolescence, but I never actually saw a manifestation until I went to live with my grandmother. Paris is a haunted city. But even there, my sightings were rare. I would sometimes glimpse shimmers and darting shadows from the corner of my eye, but mostly I could just sense them.”

I said nothing to that, but I watched him carefully, taking in the set of his jaw and the pulse at his throat. He didn't seem at all hesitant or wary to confide in me. I wondered if he had always been that open or if he trusted me so easily because he had been inside my head. He'd trespassed in my memories and now he knew that we were the same.

“My earliest recollection of an encounter happened when I was thirteen or fourteen,” he said. “We had been living in New Orleans for a couple of years by then, but we'd come back to Beaufort County one summer so that my father could operate his cousin's shrimp boat. One night I woke up with the sensation of something hovering over me. I sensed other entities gathered around my bed, watching and whispering, but this one seemed to want something from me. I could feel icy fingers scratching at my chest as if the thing intended to claw out my heart.”

“What did you do?”

“I huddled under the covers for the rest of the night, and then the next day, I told my father. He didn't believe me, of course. Or at least he pretended not to.”

“Did it ever happen again?”

“Almost every night before we returned to New Orleans. I never knew what the entity wanted. What any of them wanted. It was almost as if they were testing me somehow.”

The base of my spine prickled. “Testing you for what?”

“I don't know. After that conversation with my father, I never mentioned the encounters again. I never told anyone about them until I went to live with my grandmother. I learned from her that the sight runs in our family and that my father was frightened of it. And then he grew frightened of me so he sent me away.”

“What about your mother? You mentioned that she still lives in this area. You don't have any contact with her?”

“She left us when I was a baby. I don't really have a desire to see her.”

“Then why did you come back to Beaufort County?”

“For a lot of reasons. I've always loved the area.” He paused and I saw his fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “Maybe there is something to be said for roots.”

I didn't think he was quite as blasé about his mother's abandonment as he tried to let on. I had a feeling his history was as dark and muddled as my own, but far from repelling me, his complicated nature drew me in deeper.

“You told me the other day that you feel a presence in the woods every time you go to the circle. Did you feel it today at the symbol?” I asked him.

A frown fleeted across his brow. “For a moment.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I don't know, but whatever it is, it came when you came.”

I turned in shock. “What?”

Something flashed in his eyes, an emotion I didn't want to name. “Don't you feel it, too?”

My suspicions bristled as my heart flailed in trepidation. I said slowly, “How do you know it came when I came? I was under the impression you'd never been to the circle before the day I found the body.”

“That's true. But I don't just feel it in the woods,” he said. “Not anymore. I sensed it briefly that day we spoke in the alley. I felt it even stronger last night in the shed. That's when I realized that I'm only aware of it when you're around.”

A chill shot through me as I moistened suddenly dry lips. “How do you know it's not here because of you?”

His gaze was dark and steady. “It's not. I can't explain how I know, but I do. Call it a hunch or a premonition. Whatever that presence is, I think it's here to protect you.”

“From what? From who?”

“That's what we need to find out.”

I said almost fearfully, “Is it here now? Can you feel it in the car with us?”

“No.” A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “There's no one here but us. Maybe that means it's decided you aren't in any danger from me.”

Wasn't I?

I sat back, gazing out the window at the passing scenery as I wondered again at the wisdom of our excursion. Being alone in the swamp with a virtual stranger wasn't a good idea. “How much farther?”

“We're almost there.”

He pulled onto a narrow road with a blue mailbox at the end.

I sat up as a clapboard cottage came into view. Built on stilts, the house was shaded by a grove of water oaks dripping with Spanish moss. “Is this where you live?”

“Yes. What do think?”

“It's a beautiful place, but very isolated.”

“I like the quiet.” Kendrick parked the vehicle and turned with an enigmatic smile. “Gives me plenty of space to think.”

* * *

We went down the sloping yard to a small dock and boathouse where a fiberglass fishing boat with an outboard motor was moored alongside a wooden rowboat. Kendrick climbed into the fishing boat first and then helped me down. The boat rocked beneath our feet and he grabbed both my arms to steady me.

He didn't immediately let me go, but instead stared down into my upturned face. His gaze darkened as his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Despite my reservations, I probably wouldn't have stopped him. I was curious to know what it would be like. But he didn't kiss me. Instead, he moved away to untie the rope and push off.

We cruised the narrow channels as the sun sank and the water lilies began to close. I sat facing forward, the breeze cool on my face. Every so often, we passed the blackened skeleton of a cypress tree that had been struck by lightning, and I couldn't help but note the juxtaposition of life and death in the swamp. Turtles huddled on fallen logs as water snakes glided among the bladderwort. A glossy ibis stepped delicately through the shallows, searching for dinner. Insects skimmed over the water and buzzed in my ears. An owl took flight from the treetops. Beneath the surface serenity of the primal landscape, life teemed.

We glided onward, deeper and deeper into the swamp. Spanish moss hung so thick in places I could hardly glimpse the bank. The scenery was eerily beautiful, but a more menacing landscape I could hardly imagine.

We rounded a bend and suddenly I caught sight of the symbol. Wings lit by the crimson glow of a fiery sunset, the death's-head loomed over the treetops—to guide or to warn? I wondered. As I stared up at the macabre creation, I had the strangest sensation that the thing was alive somehow and that it might swoop down on us at any moment.

“Do you see it?” Kendrick asked over the rumble of the outboard.

“Yes. The wings look on fire.”

He steered the boat to the center of the channel and then cut the motor. We drifted toward the bank as the light faded and the wings turned dark against the sky. It was very quiet on the water. I could hear the lap of waves against the hull and, somewhere downstream, a loon called to his mate.

Kendrick moved up behind me and spoke softly in my ear. “It's out there now,” he said. “Can you feel it?”

I shivered as his breath fanned against my neck. “Is it a ghost?”

“It's not a ghost.” He spoke so definitively I turned to observe him. He knelt behind me, eyes closed, head slightly cocked as he concentrated his senses. “It's not a flesh-and-blood presence, but it's human. The energy and intelligence is alive. It's a traveler, I think.”

Gooseflesh exploded along my bare arms. “A traveler?”

“Someone with the ability to separate the spiritual self from the corporeal self.”

“You mean an astral traveler?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “You say that with such skepticism and yet only a little while ago you spoke so convincingly about transmigration.”

I wasn't skeptical. I believed in body and spirit separation. Wasn't that how gray dust worked? I'd once experienced the effects of the mysterious botanical myself when I'd crossed over to the other side.

Kendrick searched the bank, his demeanor suddenly uneasy. “I can't say for certain what it is, but it's a powerful presence. I've never encountered anything like it.”

Nor had I. I wanted to believe he was right and the presence meant no harm, but I didn't think the watcher's intent was benign. If anything, I felt an undercurrent of malice in the breeze. The presence had manipulated me from the first, compelling me to those cages and then to the winged effigy. Whatever lurked in those woods had an agenda.

“We should head back,” Kendrick said. He seemed as spooked now as I was by the watcher. “It'll be dark soon. Not a good idea to be caught out here once we lose all the light.”

He fired up the motor and turned the boat, steering us back toward the center of the channel. I glanced over my shoulder. The wings were nearly invisible against the deepening sky, but I could see bits of light between the branches. Maybe it was the eeriness of our surroundings that fueled my already overwrought imagination, but for a moment, I could have sworn the effigy took flight. I watched in horror as it swooped down from its perch, skull face gleaming in the twilight as it dove for our boat. I actually put my hands over my head and ducked. But when I looked again the wings were still fastened to the treetop.