Forty-Four Book Twelve (44 series 12) Read online

“Were you in the garden today?” he asked.

  “No. Over at the center, typing and filing.”

  “Me too. I mean, the center. I was helping Sister Ruth rearrange some of the portraits in the chapel. I think I found the key to melting that icy heart of hers. Just be willing to switch out the paintings on the walls once a week, and then agree that it looks so much better. She invited me to lunch. I guess that means that we’re pals.”

  “Aren’t you the lucky one,” I said. “Besties with Sister Ruth. It must not get any better than that.”

  He nodded

  Still no smile, but his dark energy changed for a just a moment to a lighter shade of kale.

  CHAPTER 22

  The air pressed in on me as I ran deeper and deeper into the woods. Aside from the buzzing of a sleepy mosquito here and there, there was an eerie silence all around. There was no wind, no trees groaning, no swaying branches casting moving shadows. Even the birds were quiet.

  I guessed the temperature to be somewhere in the upper seventies. But those numbers didn’t tell the story. It was the humidity. Now I knew what they meant by a dry heat. And this wasn’t it. I had baked under the New Mexico sun, but this was different. This was more like finding yourself inside a pot of boiling shrimp. I could feel my eyes bulging as steamy streams of sweat ran down my face.

  But with each step something began to pull my mind away from the atmospheric conditions. There was something else out here vying for my attention. Something, or someone, was following me.

  I could feel their eyes on my back, watching, waiting. I stopped a few times to look behind me, but there was nothing there. And yet the feeling persisted. They were back there all right.

  When I came out near the church I thought about cutting my run short, slicing through the buildings and making my way back. The monastery was beginning to come to life, priests and monks walking on the cement pathways, their black robes flowing at their feet.

  I took a long pull from my water bottle and decided to suck it up. I shot back into the woods, picking up my speed.

  The trail smelled of earth and mildew, of mud and wet leaves, of wilted funeral flowers. I ran through the swarms of mosquitos, now fully awake. I ran alongside weeds and brush and through small dark puddles fathered by the rain. I sped down gullies and up small hills, faster with each stride, ignoring the stumps and rocks at my feet.

  Suddenly, I could hear something up ahead. I was hoping it was another runner, maybe Anna or Buford. They were both faster than I was, but on this morning I felt like I could keep up.

  I kept expecting to see them, but nobody appeared. I slowed down to listen, my eyes wide as I stared at the bend in the trail about twenty feet ahead. The steps grew louder, the sound of something breaking through the brush, and I tried to quiet my breathing. But again there was nothing. The skin on my arms erupted with goose bumps.

  I walked for a moment, my senses in overdrive. Up ahead a thin shaft of dusty sunlight filtered through the branches before the path turned sharply into thick shadows.

  Something was there. I could feel it, stronger than ever. I was sure of it.

  “Hello?” I called.

  Nothing answered, nothing moved.

  I started running again, trying to put it out of my mind, but the chills scratched and clawed at my spine. I finally decided to call it a day. I needed to get out of these woods. The old graveyard was up ahead with an overgrown side trail that would take me back toward the bungalows.

  But when I reached it, I froze, the scream dying in my throat, never passing over my petrified tongue, never making it as far as my trembling lips.

  CHAPTER 23

  The ghosts were standing by some old, mossy tombstones. I counted seven women, long dark hair reaching toward the ground, short skirts above their pale legs. All of them had the same gruesome slash across their necks, thick with dried blood that had spilled out down onto their chests.

  I recognized the one with the cowboy boots. She was the one I had seen by the fountain.

  I shivered in the sun, my heart tattooing the inside of my chest. They stood there and stared at me with black, dead eyes.

  “Is there something I can help with?” I managed to get out, pushing the words through my dry mouth.

  They didn’t answer, their dark lips still. They swayed for a moment and then slowly, slowly moved toward me.

  I wanted nothing more than to run away and yet I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. It was as if their eyes had nailed me to the ground. Closer they came, now twenty feet away, then only ten, and I could see their faces clearly. Their expressions dripped with malice and rage. Terror pumped through me.

  At last a choking scream came up my throat and echoed through the woods. The shock of the noise freed my feet and I was able to move again. I jerked back, pulled away, and took off down the trail, running like the wind. My thoughts were wild in my head as a blur of cypress and swamp and brush flew by.

  I ran and ran and ran and didn’t look back until I crossed the small footbridge and made it to the grass in front of the bungalows.

  But it was too late.

  I gasped, trying to breathe, trying to pull in enough oxygen. Any oxygen. I watched the sky spin around me, watched as the sun hit the ground like a torpedo. And then I realized that it was me who was down, a sharp pain throbbing in my head until blackness swept over me, delivering me into a quiet, empty sea.

  CHAPTER 24

  “Elizabeth? Elizabeth? Can you hear me?”

  The voice was strong and calm. But there was also concern in it.

  Water splashed on my face.

  “You’re okay now. You’re okay.”

  I opened my eyes. A dark silhouette was hovering above me, blocking out the sun. Father Carmichael slowly came into focus. He was pouring water over my head from a plastic bottle.

  “You’re okay,” he repeated.

  The world came back. Fuzzy at first, but then more and more in focus.

  “Can you sit up?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said. “What happened?”

  “You fainted. I saw it from my porch. You came out of the woods and then collapsed. I think we should have a doctor take a look at you.”

  “No,” I said, rubbing my head. “I, I ’m okay now.”

  “Do you think you can stand?” He reached his hand out and pulled me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s get you over to the chairs.”

  I hobbled slowly toward his cabin and sat on the porch. He disappeared inside for a moment and returned with more water, again pouring it over my head. It felt good after the initial shock.

  “I’m better,” I said.

  “Here, drink this.” He handed me a small glass of orange juice. “It’ll help with your blood sugar.”

  I downed it in one gulp. Then I sat there for a while, not saying anything.

  “I’m okay.”

  “The heat and humidity can creep up on you here,” he said. “It’s unforgiving.”

  “I guess so.”

  He looked out at the trees.

  “I was just on my way out when I saw you. You’re sure you’re all right?”

  I nodded and handed him the empty glass.

  “I still think it might be a good idea to see a doctor,” he said. “She’s just a couple of miles down the road. I can take you. It would be no problem.”

  “No, really. I’m okay now.”

  I stood up but was still a little dizzy.

  “Let’s walk you back home and then decide. I don’t want to leave you until I’m sure. Heat stroke is a very serious matter.”

  “Heat stroke?” I said.

  “That’s what it could have been.”

  We walked slowly together back to my cabin.

  He might have been right about the heat stroke, but my money was on the ghosts.

  CHAPTER 25

  I didn’t go to the clinic. While Father Carmichael waited outside, I took a long, cold shower and when I emerged, I felt nearly back to normal. I than
ked him and sent him on his way, promising to take it easy for the rest of the day and to go to the nuns if I started feeling nauseous or dizzy.

  After he left I stayed near the fan for the next hour or so. I didn’t have to do any chores until later that night at the coffin factory.

  Coffins. The thought took me back to the ghosts. It could have been the heat or the fact that I tried to run myself into an early grave, but it also could have been those ghosts.

  The back of my head was sore, but it wasn’t like a headache. Had I hit it when I fell down? Or did I get hit and go down because of that?

  I couldn’t be positive that they had tried to hurt me, but they were certainly angry enough. That much was true. Other than Nathaniel, it had been a long time since I had come in contact with a spirit that meant to do me harm. Still, I wasn’t sure why these particular ghosts would want to attack me.

  I hadn’t just stumbled upon those women in the graveyard. They had been waiting for me. They had been following me through the woods all morning, haunting me.

  But why?

  I tried to focus on the words on the screen.

  All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.

  Is that what Nathaniel was up to? Pretending to be far, when in fact, he was close by?

  Samael had said that I was safe here, that Nathaniel wouldn’t be able to pass through the light that surrounded the monastery. But obviously other spirits and ghosts could get through or already lived here.

  Was it possible that Nathaniel had sent those seven ghosts to hurt me?

  CHAPTER 26

  Later in the day I sat outside and whispered Samael’s name. But it didn’t work. It never did. If there was anything I had learned in these last several months traveling with this angel, it was that he appeared only on his own time table. I didn’t seem to have the ability or the power to summon him.

  I took in a deep breath and watched as a couple of monks crossed through the field. It was the hottest part of the day and I couldn’t imagine being all covered up like that. It was surprising that more people around here didn’t faint.

  I remembered about having to go into the city.

  Regardless of what Samael had said, I was almost beginning to look forward to it. It hadn’t exactly felt like I was cooped up here for these last three months, but I could use a change. After the events of this morning, I wasn’t sure I was safe here anyway.

  Maybe a daytrip into New Orleans would be just what the doctor ordered.

  CHAPTER 27

  The next day I walked over to the small store next to the center to buy some supplies. I didn’t need much, just a few snacks. I could get breakfast in the dining hall, but it was always the same thing: oatmeal. And I hated oatmeal.

  I walked in and grabbed a basket and headed down the aisle. There were a few other people inside and I heard a man ask the woman behind the counter if they sold cigarettes.

  “There’s a store about a mile down the road that stocks them,” she said.

  “Right,” he said and I heard the door open and close.

  I picked up a blueberry muffin, a box of cereal, some half and half for my coffee, two apples and a bag of almonds. A six-pack of Coke was calling to me like a snake in a tree, but I looked away and went up front. I got in line behind Rebecca and another woman.

  “It’s very frustrating,” she was saying. “I had to start all over again. Scratched the entire painting. I told Sister Ruth I’d give it to the center before I left, but now I’m not so sure I’ll be able to finish in time.”

  “You’ll work through it,” the other woman said. “And I’m sure it will be beautiful.”

  When they were done I hoisted my basket up to the counter and slid it over to the cashier. She looked at the muffin.

  “Lucky you,” she said. “These just came in and they won’t be here long. A wonderful baker at a little B and B down the road brings them in, but not nearly enough of them.”

  I dropped the groceries back off at the cabin and saw that Anna was out there under that sun, doing her own version of a prison routine on the grass. I wondered what her story was, if in fact that flash of her I had seen was real. The bruises on her face had been bad. Was she here hiding from the person who had done that to her?

  Later on my way to the dining hall for dinner I walked behind some of the painters. You could always tell the artists from the other guests because they were the happy ones, gently talking and laughing. The rest of the visitors seemed more troubled. The man with the thick black-rimmed glasses who was always looking down. The middle-aged woman with the strange chopped-off hair. The young bearded man with black, scared eyes. Anna. And Father Carmichael.

  Sister Charlotte often said that they were here to find their way back to God, that they were reaching for faith and light while fighting off their demons.

  I looked around at them and decided she was right.

  And then I realized that I fit right in.

  CHAPTER 28

  Father Carmichael came over.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m doing a lot better,” I said. “I really am. I took it easy again today. But I think I’m ready to head back out there.”

  “Just be careful. And remember to hydrate.”

  “I will.”

  He stared down at his stew.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot the spices today.”

  He unwrapped the utensils from the paper napkin. He put a spoonful of the gruel half-heartedly into his mouth and slowly shook his head. I tore my sourdough slice into small pieces and let them sit on top of the stew. I remembered the man at the store who had asked for cigarettes and I found myself thinking about beer. It would have helped the meal. I hadn’t had a drink since arriving here. It was one of the rules. Most of the time I didn’t think about it, but tonight I did, maybe the way Father Carmichael was thinking about garlic, smoked paprika, and cayenne pepper.

  He finished the last of his dinner, pushed away the bowl, and reached for his gum. He played with the silver foil as he chewed.

  “How does the new girl seem to you?” he said, almost in a whisper.

  “Anna? Okay, I guess. Kind of intense.”

  “That was my impression.”

  The pot calling the kettle black, I thought.

  A few more people crowded in. Father Carmichael soon stood and I followed him to the plastic bins where we deposited our trash.

  “I had a question,” I said.

  “Let’s talk outside.”

  We stepped back out into the muggy air. A small cat darted out from behind a bush and Father Carmichael bent down and picked it up.

  “Hey, buddy,” he said, petting the top of its head. The cat meowed and then started purring. “This is Oscar. We’re old friends.”

  He took out a small chunk of bread from his shirt pocket and offered it to the cat, which started chomping at it vigorously. When he was finished with the bread, I stroked the cat’s fur and rubbed under his chin.

  “Where have you been, Oscar?” Father Carmichael said. “It looks like you’ve been out playing in the mud. This isn’t his usual color.”

  “What’s his usual color?”

  Father Carmichael dug through the fur and found a clean patch.

  “See for yourself,” he said.

  I looked at the gray hair and without thinking said, “Gray.”

  He stared at me and was quiet for a moment.

  “Have you always been colorblind?”

  I nodded, not wanting to get into the whole story of my accident.

  “So what color is Oscar?” I asked.

  “He’s orange.”

  Father Carmichael put down the cat and we started walking again.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Well, I was wondering if
you could recommend a good place to eat near the farmers market. I’ll be going soon and want to take advantage of the food.”

  “You bet. I’ll give you some choices.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and looked away.

  We walked the rest of the way in silence and then said goodbye, his lips moving slightly upward into what could have become a smile but then he pulled back, as if he remembered something.

  CHAPTER 29

  As I swept up bent nails and sawdust, I made a decision. I had to put the ghosts out of my mind.

  If they had wanted my help, it would be different. But that didn’t seem to be the case. I couldn’t afford to let my energy get sucked up with their anger. My body was back to a hundred percent and my emotions needed to catch up. The more I cleaned the coffin workroom, the less afraid I grew. I was going to get back out there on the trail in the morning, and I would make it a point to run past the cemetery.

  I glanced at the three coffins laid out on large tables. They were simple but the craftsmanship was there. These weren’t just old-school pine boxes you would expect to see in a Wyatt Earp movie. The monks did good work.

  I usually didn’t think twice when I was around them, but tonight the thought came to me that there were actually people waiting to use these coffins, that real bodies would soon be placed inside. They had been made to order and were shipping out tomorrow. I had seen the invoice on a clipboard. All three were destined for a hospice in Baton Rouge.

  My mom came to mind. Her death didn’t come as a shock. Cancer doesn’t work that way. It was the diagnosis that was unbelievable but the aftermath was foreseeable and inevitable, the way Monday follows Sunday.

  The journey had lasted sixteen months. The chemo treatments that worked and then didn’t, the different doctors and nurses and tests and procedures. The magazines and books that were stacked around the house about the stories of survivors, and the sad realization that she wasn’t going to be one of them.