Chapter Eight

Malevolence rode the wind. Frank smelled the musty, rank scent when the cab pulled up to the front gate of Lafayette and he stepped into the night.

Sister Francoise slipped out the back door of the LX10, her bold exit bolstering his flagging courage. "I knew you could do it, Frank." She looked up at the full moon chasing the stars across the sky and then glanced at the taxi as it pulled away. "Where is Rand?"

Frank shifted his weight from one hip to the other and stammered. "He- he took a flight back to Baltimore."

She searched his face, her voice quiet. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'll pray he returns safely."

"Valmont said I have one chance." Frank extended his arm with the flashlight, an indication she should lead the way to Doucet's grave. "Tell me the words I have to recite to grant him peace."

"How good is your Latin?”

Lighting their path with the flashlight in one hand, Frank scratched his head with the other. "Latin?"

She nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Tell me the words and I'll memorize them before . . .."

The wind picked up and a stream of clouds smothered the moon. A roar louder than a freight train whipped through the cemetery. Frank looked down and realized they'd arrived at Valmont's broken tombstone.

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw Sister Francoise unclasp the cross about her neck. With outstretched arms, she held it before her. "Now hang on a minute Sister. I never agreed to send you into that black portal."

"Frank―"

"I can't hear you Sister; wind is too loud. But you can hear me, right? I took on this job. I get paid to do this. It would be unethical to say nothing of immoral to send you in."

"Valmont will listen to me. And God will be traveling with me."

Frank shook his head. "I'm going in and you'll wait here until I return with Brent and Charlie."

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "You said yourself we have only one chance."

"Yes, and I'm taking that chance, not you."

Behind the grave the portal widened and groaned. A wild swirl of matter and debris Frank assumed came from the gates of purgatory blew forth. Above them, the clouds moved on and illuminated the cross in the Sister's hand in brilliant hues of metallic gold.

Her voice stern, her stance confident, she turned her head briefly and looked at him. "Stand aside, Frank, you don't want to piss off a Sister of the Order."

He would have laughed had the situation been any less dire.

Forward she marched, the cross shining like a beacon, her face lit by the grace of God. "Damn," Frank said under his breath. "Maybe my sorry ass is redeemable."

Minutes ticked by while Frank wore out a path in the overgrown weeds and grass at his feet. How long did it take to commend one's soul he wondered? What if he never saw Sister Francoise again? The thought made his stomach roil, his heart wrench.

He hadn't spoken directly to the boys' parents today, but left a vague message he'd be tied up with a hot lead and would contact them this evening, no matter the time. He pivoted at the end of his path, checked his watch with the flashlight and patted his chest when his heart flopped like a catfish tossed on shore. Shit, the Sister had gone through the portal twenty minutes ago. What if he had to phone the parents with the horrific news that the hot lead turned out to be the worst lead of his life?

If roles were reversed and he'd gone through the gateway, the Sister wouldn't be pacing. She'd be on her knees praying to the Almighty. He couldn't bring himself to drop to the ground.

Rand's face floated before him in a rush of angry words. What the hell had he said to him? Something like if you can't live with it, don't let the door hit you in the ass . . . or similar off-the-cuff words spoken in anger. Had he lost his fucking mind? He couldn't live without Rand, not in New Orleans, not in Baltimore, not anywhere on earth.

Another ten minutes passed and Frank rethought his decision to kneel. Maybe he could ask for help for the boys' sake, for the Sister's sake. The portico had closed the moment she stepped through it. If it hadn't, he would have taken things into his own hands and plowed through, muleheaded sister or not. Rand's words tripped through his mind. 'You know what your fucking problem is? You think you're an island.'

"No, I don't, Rand. I'm not an island. I'm not even a mud pool without you."

Overhead, the trees whistled and groaned. Frank spun around and squinted through the darkness. The vague outline of an inky hole appeared and then expanded as Frank stumbled toward it. Three forms the same height appeared, but Frank couldn't make out their faces. Golden light burned his eyes.

He wasn't aware he'd been holding his breath until he saw the cross, heard her voice. "Please phone Brent and Charlie's parents and tell them their boys are safe and sound."

"You did it, Sister!" He rushed forward and lifted her off her feet with a bear hug. "You did it!"

Beside her, the boys rubbed their eyes, fell to the ground and clawed at the grass as if they couldn't believe they'd returned. "Of course, Frank. Did you doubt it?"

He set her on her feet and cupped her face in his hands. "Nah, a little bird once told me with God all things are possible."

* * *

Frank accepted the ride Sister Francoise offered from the cemetery. She rode in the passenger seat next to her driver, and Frank in the back seat with Charlie and Brent. The LX10 sped toward the Burrough household where the Chambers would be waiting.

Soon he'd close the file on this case, but the specifics would remain with him forever. In the months ahead, other children would show up missing. Frank would sit across from the as yet unknown, heartsick parents at a kitchen table in small town or mammoth metropolis America, and try to reassure them he'd do his best to bring their abducted kids home.

"Mr. McGuire?"

"Yeah, Charlie."

"I know the Sister said he's at rest now but I want to pay for fixing his grave."

"That would be nice. It would also be nice if you could come to terms with saying his name one day." Frank looked out the window, the lights of New Orleans flashing by in rapid succession. "Valmont. . . Valmont Doucet."

"I stomped on his headstone," Brent said. "Charlie tried to stop me."

"Well, it's behind us now and best for all concerned if we looked ahead to a bright future." Frank chuckled. "I mean the alternative couldn't have been much bleaker."

Charlie leaned forward. "Second house on your left, and damn, I'm happy--"

Sister Francoise turned sharply and gave him the infamous nun evil eye. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sure glad to see my house."

Through the open doorway, the smiles on their parents' faces spoke volumes and confirmed in Frank's mind that the risks taken to retrieve the boys were worth every minute.

Frank and the Sister watched from the car as her driver escorted Charlie and Brent to the doorstep. Amid a blur of hugs, the door closed, the driver returned and then drove toward Hotel Provincial.

"When does your flight leave, Frank?" the Sister asked from the front seat.

"In two days unless I call and change that."

She glanced over her shoulder. "I want to hear from you tomorrow afternoon."

"Why don't you come to the hotel around two p.m. I promised to meet with the parents in the outdoor courtyard."

The driver pulled up to the front door of the hotel. "I'll be there, two PM sharp."

Frank entered the hallway leading to his room with waves of nostalgia and loneliness crashing down on him. The last thing he wanted right now was to walk into that room where memories of Rand would crush him.

He checked his watch. God, three in the morning. He'd have to wait at least five hours before he called him. And say what? "Rand, I'm a jerk, a complete, total asshole and I fucked up. Again."

At which time Rand would say. . . he didn't know. He had absolutely no idea how the one person he loved more than life would respond. Panic- induced fear churned his stomach. What if he said, 'I've had my fill, I moved out.'

Frank closed his eyes and shut his mind off. He needed sleep, time to mend the debilitating pain clenching his heart. Perhaps while he slept, the solution to making his world sane again would come to him.

Or at least the strength he needed to beg Rand to forgive him.

* * *

The air loomed eerily still when he entered. Someone had been in the room again. His heart leapt. The bed was empty but the bathroom door was closed. "Rand," he called out rushing toward it. Rapping lightly, his pulse thrumming, he said, "I'm sorry. Open the door, please."

Silence met him. He turned the handle and pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe. Empty like his heart. "Son of a bitch," he said to the white ceiling and turned toward the bed.

He wouldn't undress, could think of nothing but laying his head on the pillow to seek the blessed land of forgetfulness. Plopping on to the bed, shoes and all, he rolled onto his side and looked toward the vacant bathroom again. Only a lame-hearted fool would believe Rand would be waiting for him after the callous words he'd spoken.

A flash of dark against the cream-colored wall next to the bathroom door caught his eye. He bolted upright and realized his gut instinct upon entering the room had been spot on. Someone had been in the room and left their sick calling card behind.

Calling card? Words glared back at him. Uncannily familiar.

His legs heavy with dread, he willed them over the side of the mattress and came to his feet, walking toward the writing at a snail's pace. Numbers, a name and an address—20046 Industrial Park.

Spinning around, he half-expected to see Valmont lurking in the room. There could be no doubt; the neat, exaggerated script belonged to the Civil War ghost. His body poised between the door and the writing, he glanced toward the bathroom again. A message from Doucet, but what the hell did it mean?

Sister Francoise's last words ran like a litany through his exhausted brain. "Valmont is at peace now, he's found eternal rest."

"Apparently not," Frank said to her imagined presence. He raised his arms in the air. "This better be damn important, Valmont. I'm tired, ill-tempered and damn well sick of cemeteries and fucking taxis."

He wrote the address on a scrap of paper, checked the ammo in his Glock and headed for the front door of the hotel. Flagging down a cab moments later, he fell into the back seat and rattled off the address to the driver.

"There's nothing there, Mister, especially this time of night."

"What and where is there?"

"Two blocks of empty warehouse buildings long past their prime." Frank shook his head. "Cemeteries?"

"Pardon?"

"Are there any cemeteries in the vicinity?"

The cabbie shook his head. "Like I said, abandoned buildings surrounded by overgrown fields. That's it." The seconds ticked by. "So what's the verdict?"

"Ah, shit. I won't get any sleep unless I check it out for myself." The taxi pulled from the curb. "It's your dime."

A surge of nostalgia smacked him in the face. The last time a cabbie from The Big Easy said that to him, he'd just paid the man two hundred dollars to take a long hike. And then, oh, God, he shouldn't go there. He should force the visions of Rand calling out his name from his mind.

Fifteen minutes later the taxi pulled into a desolate section of town reminiscent of an apocalyptic wasteland. What in hell was he doing here at this hour of the morning?

"You said 20046? Well, you're looking at it." The man picked up his clipboard from the seat. "I assume you want me to wait?"

Frank opened the back door, stepped into the night and said over his shoulder, "Yeah, give me five minutes, will ya?"

"Hey man, think you're gonna need this." He handed him a flashlight. "Right, good thinking."

Frank pushed the button on the flashlight and swept over the back side of the building with a flood of light. A cat screeched and dove for a nearby bush when he pushed the decrepit door open and entered.

First, he scanned the corners with the light. The hair at the back of his neck stood at attention as he advanced and checked beneath the scattered pallets and empty mattresses. Puzzled by the absence of one solid clue as to why he'd be prowling around like a fucking cat burglar in a deserted building, he shook his head.

The faint moan, no louder than his own breathing, trickled in and stopped him in his tracks. Somebody was in pain, injured or sick. Frantic to find the source, he flashed the light across the empty space in sections right to left, up and down. Clinging to an upright pillar, the man's body found his beacon seconds later.

"Oh, Christ. Hang on, Mister, I'm coming."

Frank sprinted back to the entrance and hollered. "Hey, call an ambulance. Got a half-dead body in here." When the cabbie gave him a wave, he turned and picked his way back to the center of the structure, searching for the pillar again with the flashlight. He looked toward the ceiling. "Why me? Can't you pick on someone else for a while?" Shining the light on the man's face, he added, "I'm here now, buddy. An ambulance is on the—"

His heart stopped. "Oh, God, no, please no. Rand?"

Frank's taxi followed the screaming ambulance to the hospital. Sister Francoise stood near the entrance of the emergency room, cross in hand. "What happened?" Tears filled the eyes that no longer looked clear blue and wintry, but reminded Frank of an unrepentant arctic wind.

"Beaten within an inch of his life, but alive enough to whisper a name."

She put her hand up. "Don't repeat it. The Lord will be most displeased with me if I curse it."

"Valmont led me to him."

For the first time since he'd met her, the Sister looked bewildered.

"I'll explain later."