Authors: Erica Spindler
When he’d finished, he looked at her. Only then did she realize her stupidity—she could have used those few moments to run.
“It’s not your fault, Mary. It’s mine.”
She took a step backward as he took one forward. “I just wanted it to be true so badly, I rushed it. It’s not your fault,” he said again.
He eased a length of nylon rope from his jacket pocket. “The demons still have you. I have to finish expelling them.”
“He cast out Seven Demons.”
She shook her head. “No. There are no demons. You’re sick, Chris. You need help—”
“There are only two left. The ones with the strongest hold on you.”
“Chris, you have to listen to me. I’m Mira Gallier, your boss and friend. Not Mary Magdalene.” She took another step backward, then another. “You’re Chris Johns, and you need help. I’ll make sure you get it, I’ll—”
She whirled and grabbed the door handle. He lunged, smashing her into the door, knocking the air out of her.
“I didn’t want to hurt you, Mary. I hope you know that.” He flung her to the floor; her chin hit with a loud crack. Pain and stars exploded in her head, brilliant like fireworks, then dimmed to an empty black sky.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
Friday, August 19
8:40
A.M.
Mira came to with a throbbing headache. Her jaw hurt unbearably and she tasted blood in her mouth. Moaning, she tried to roll onto her back but found she couldn’t. She cracked open her eyes.
“Mira, thank God … It’s me, Deni.”
Deni?
Mira blinked, her vision clearing. Her friend kneeled beside her. She was crying.
“Where am I?”
“It’s Chris, Mira. He’s the one … not Bill—” Her voice broke on a sob. “He came to my house … he grabbed me and—” She started to cry. “He believes you’re Mary Magdalene.”
It all came crashing back. The corpse in the other room. Chris’s curiously blank gaze. His throwing her to the ground, pain exploding in her head. “And that he’s Jesus Christ.”
Returned to judge the living and the dead.
“Yes,” Deni whispered. “And he has the Magdalene window. He told me.”
Of course, Mira realized. He’d fabricated that whole story about a neighbor seeing Deni and a man taking it, to throw suspicion on Deni and Connor. And she had fallen for it, like an idiot.
Deni’s eyes filled with tears, as if reading her expression. “I thought he was a good guy. It’s my fault we’re here.”
“No. I believed it, too.” Mira assessed their situation. Her hands were bound, but not her feet. With assistance from Deni, maybe she could sit. “Help me up.”
“My hands are tied.”
“Use your legs and feet.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Look at me, could I be in more pain?”
Deni looked sheepish. “Okay, I’ll try. Tell me what to do.”
Mira directed Deni to try to wedge her feet under her hips and then, when she counted to three, try to help her over. After several tries, Mira was on her back. Using the same technique, Deni helped propel her to a sitting position.
Physically, it hurt almost more than she could bear, but emotionally she felt a hundred percent better. “I wonder what he wants with the window?”
“He’s so whacked, Mira. It could be anything.”
“We’re getting out of here.” Mira moved her gaze over the room.
Not even a boarded-up window.
“Somehow.”
“Maybe Detective Malone will come for us?”
“Maybe, but we can’t depend on it. I don’t think we have much time.”
Deni’s eyes welled with tears, her lower lip began to quiver. “Then there’s no way.”
“Don’t give up, you hear me? We’re getting out of here.” The bravado in her voice was almost laughable, considering their odds. “What has he told you?”
“He thinks I’m some sort of evil spirit. That I’m possessing you.” She pressed her lips together for a moment, then went on. “He killed all those other people.”
“Yes.”
“And he plans to kill me. And Connor. In front of you.”
Mira’s stomach lurched to her throat, but she managed to hold it together. “Is that everything? Did he tell you when he was going to do it or—”
They heard him at the door. Mira looked at Deni. Her friend had turned deathly pale.
Chris stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. He carried a toolbox and set it on the floor by the door. “Mary,” he said, “I’m so glad you’re awake.”
Her mouth went dry. She couldn’t take her eyes from the box. “No thanks to you.”
He ignored that and opened the box. He retrieved a pair of leather work gloves. He slipped them on, smiling benignly.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he drew another item from the box and crossed to stand before her.
Then she understood why he needed the gloves.
“Do you recognize this?” He held out a long, jagged piece of stained glass.
But not just any piece, she saw. One from the Magdalene window, the upper part of the saint’s face, a strip that included the eyes.
She had worked for days restoring those eyes, trying to recapture the grief and longing emanating from them. Mira held back a cry of disbelief and despair—she wouldn’t give the son of a bitch the satisfaction.
She looked him straight in the eyes. “You know I do.”
“The window had an unnatural hold on you. I released you from its power.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “Now, I have a surprise for you.”
“Another one?” she shot back, realizing she had nothing, no ideas. Nada. Just sarcasm. And bone-deep terror. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“That’s the demons talking.”
“No, Chris. It’s me. There are no demons.”
“Yes. There are two more.” He glanced toward Deni. “Her and Connor.”
She wanted to scream and curse at him, to kick or even spit in his face in an attempt to reach a sane part of him—if he had one. But even if she did, it wouldn’t work. Anything that didn’t play into his delusions reinforced them.
Mira worked at the rope binding her wrists. “Why Sisters of Mercy? Because I restored the windows?”
He looked at her strangely. “Because they depicted the life of Christ, of course. My first life. And because that’s where it all began. My mother’s church, where I was conceived, then baptized. Father Girod was the priest who performed the ceremony.”
“And yet you killed him?”
“I’d come to realize that he, too, was a demon. If he wasn’t, he would have recognized and welcomed me.”
Deni began to weep. Mira longed to comfort her but kept her focus on Chris. “And Preacher?”
“I found him and got your cross back.” Chris shook his head. “Preacher was a false prophet. And the second demon.” He squatted down, cocking his head as he studied her. “I imagined you’d thank me.”
For killing a man? For breaking into her house?
She couldn’t bring herself to do it. “How did you get into my house?”
“Stole your key while you were in the studio working. Ran over to the hardware store and had a copy made. It took less than thirty minutes.”
Her wrists burned, rubbed raw as she tried to free them from the rope. It could be her imagination, but it felt as if the ropes were loosening. “And the alarm code?”
“Got it from Deni.”
“I’m sorry, Mira,” Deni whispered.
“Don’t call her that!” Chris said, whirling to face Deni. “Her name’s Mary.”
“Let her go,” Mira said gently. “Please, Chris.”
“I can’t do that, Mary. I’m sorry. You’ll thank me later.”
“No, I won’t. I’ll hate you forever.”
“Now for your surprise.”
He left the room, returning moments later, dragging something heavy. Not something, she saw. Someone.
“Connor!” she cried. He was unmoving, the side of his head bloodied, face bruised and swollen. Blood seeped from his side. “What have you done to him?”
Chris didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted his gaze heavenward. “You are the Father, I am the Son, everything I do is in Your name. May Your will be done in this and always.”
“That’s a lie!” she cried, scooting toward Connor. “This is
not
God’s will. If you were truly the Christ, you wouldn’t do this. His was a voice of love and peace. Not destruction. The voice in your head is a liar!”
Chris seemed to freeze. A spark of hope ignited in her. Maybe she could reach him through the very story he claimed to know so well. “
That’s
the demon, Chris. Not Deni. Not Connor.”
Chris turned to her, still holding the shard of glass. His hands shook. “You’re wrong, you’ll see. These eyes … Father promised me … I’ll save you—”
“The voice in your head is the demon!” She was close enough to touch Connor, if only she could free her hands. Mira worked at the ropes so furiously her hands became slick with blood. “Remember the serpent in the garden, how he tricked Eve? And what of the the devil’s temptation in the desert? The Evil One uses God’s good words … The voice is the devil, lying to you!”
He blinked, mumbled something and took a step backward. She saw what looked like confusion cross his features. “Are you certain, Father? But the eyes, she was meant—”
The piece of glass slipped from his fingers. He looked at Mira. “He tells me to do it quickly instead. To get the gun, the one I used to kill the third demon.”
Her father-in-law.
“No, Chris, listen to me! The voice is—”
“No.” He hurried to the toolbox, began rifling through it.
“Yes,” she pleaded. “If you were Christ, you would turn the other cheek. Do you remember, when the soldiers came to arrest you, and Peter used his sword against them? What did you say?”
He looked up. She saw he trembled. “‘Those who draw the sword will die by the sword.’”
“Yes. You know what that means. You know what you’re doing is not the work of God.”
His expression twisted as if with sharp pain. He doubled over, then fell to his knees and lifted his face heavenward. “The demons … they overwhelm me, Father, it hurts … Help me!”
Connor moaned, coming to. Mira gazed at him a moment, then turned back to Chris. “I’m telling the truth. You know it, Chris. You know it’s true!”
He pressed his hands to his ears. “Help me, Father! Tell me what … the gun … yes … end it quickly.”
Connor moaned again. His eyes opened and he looked at her. If she had ever doubted that he loved her, the expression in his eyes dispelled those doubts forever.
Chris got to his feet, clutching the weapon’s grip, his expression strangely blank, gaze unfocused. “Look at me, Chris!” she screamed as loudly as she could, fighting for his attention. “You’re being deceived. All these killings are wrong, they’re a sin. They’re—”
“No!” he cried. But not in response to her, she realized. To the voice in his head. “It
is
Mary! My Magdalene. You sent her to be by my side. You said it was she. What?” He shook his head. “God Almighty can’t be fooled. He’s all-knowing, all-powerful!”
Mira doubled her efforts with the rope. Blood streamed down her hands, the pain in her wrists excruciating.
“The Chosen One … I believed—” He turned toward Connor. “Liar and demon—”
“No!” she cried. “Don’t hurt him, please! I love him.”
Chris acted as if he hadn’t heard her. Instead, he was lost in the conversation only he could hear.
“Mother … was right … all a lie—” His body convulsed. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Her one hand came free, then the other. Too late, she saw.
Chris raised the gun, turned it on himself. And fired.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Friday, August 19
9:50
A.M.
Shouts filled the air. Detective Malone, Mira realized. Other officers. She crawled over to Connor. “Are you okay?”
“Are you kidding?” he managed, voice raspy. “I’m perfect.” At her confusion he smiled, though the curving of his lips was half grimace. “You said you loved me.”
“I do love you.” She started to cry. “I thought he was going to kill you.”
“You got through to him, Mira. It’s over.”
She looked at where Chris lay, blood pooling around him, then wished she hadn’t—it would be an image she carried with her forever. She turned quickly back to Connor, drinking in his battered face.
“Hey, you two.” Spencer squatted beside them. He freed Connor’s wrists, then ankles. He eyed Connor. “Looks like he got more than a few licks in.”
“Bastard surprised me. Came to my door in the middle of the night, with this bullshit story about the Magdalene window being stolen and Mira freaking out.”
He coughed; the sound was wet. “Told me she was … hysterical and wouldn’t talk to anyone but me. I believed it … wanted to be her knight in shining armor.” He laughed, then winced. “Some knight. The damsel in distress saved … us … all.”
“Your side,” Mira said, alarmed. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s no … big deal. After he clubbed me, he stuck me with a piece of glass.”
“That’s a lot of blood,” Spencer said. “Medic,” he called, “over here.”
Mira moved to make room for the paramedic and watched him examine what looked like a scary, vicious wound.
“Sorry we’re late,” Spencer said, drawing her gaze from Connor. “We learned Chris was our guy around midnight, but it took until now to locate this house. It belongs to his grandmother, who has a different last name. Located it through the Sisters of Mercy records.” He grinned. “My idea, by the way.”
“Detective Malone?” an officer called from the doorway. “You’ve got to see this. This dude was off-the-charts crazy.”
He stood. “Don’t even think about moving until the paramedic gives you a thumbs-up. And we’ll need a full statement as soon as you’re up to it.”
Knowing they must have found Grandma, Mira shuddered, then turned back to Connor.
The medic had cleaned and dressed the wound. “This will do until we get you to the hospital,” he said, then turned to her. “Let’s take a look at those wrists.”
She hadn’t even thought of them since she freed herself from the rope. She looked at them now and went light-headed at the sight.
Connor sat up and drew her back against his chest. She leaned into him and closed her eyes while the paramedic tended to her hands, then her head.