Jim used, Carol used. And Carol, no doubt destined to be discarded like Jim after she'd served her purpose and delivered the Antichrist. It was all so dirty, so treacherous. Well, Grace would put an end to all of that here today.
She watched with relief as they lifted Emma from the floor and prepared to tie her into a chair like her husband. She wailed piteously.
"She killed my Jimmy! She killed my Jimmy and she's got to pay for it!"
"Emma, please!" Carol was saying. "Grace had nothing to do with that!" She turned pleading eyes on her. "Did you, Aunt Grace?"
Grace shook her head.
In a way, she told herself, her denial was true. She had been against that first trip to Monroe, hadn't wanted to come along, and had stayed in the car throughout the whole tragic confrontation.
"She lies!" Jonah cried. "She was there! I saw her in one of the cars!"
Carol stared at her. "That's not true, is it?"
Grace could not bring herself to lie to her niece. "You have to understand, Carol. I—"
"She was there to kill Jim!" Jonah cried. "And now she's here to kill Jim's baby!"
Grace would have given her life then to stop the growing horror she saw in Carol's face.
Carol's voice was a whisper. "No!"
"Carol, dear, you've got to know that the child you're carrying is not really Jim's. It's—"
Carol's hands were over her ears as her voice rose to a scream.
"No!"
11
Bill had watched the awesome fury of the storm with his parents from the family living room. Now that it had dwindled to a drizzle and a distant rumbling, he was on his way. The temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees. Winter was making a last stand against spring. He had the defroster temperature up as high as it would go to keep the windshield clear.
He had to pass Carol and Jim's old house on his way to Glen Cove Road, and he felt an ache in his chest as he drove by the charred ruins at 124 Collier.
That got him thinking about Carol and how she was managing, if she was all right.
But of course she was all right. She was out at the Hanley place with her in-laws.
Then why did he have this persistent gnawing feeling that she wasn't all right?
He was approaching Glen Cove Road and was about to turn south when he abruptly pulled the car over to the shoulder by a Citgo station and stopped. The feeling was growing stronger.
This is silly, he thought.
He didn't believe in premonitions or clairvoyance or any of that extrasensory nonsense. It not only went against the teachings of the Church, but it went against his personal experience.
Yet he could not escape the feeling that Carol needed him.
He put the car in gear, started toward Glen Cove Road again, then braked and pounded on the steering wheel with his fist.
He could see that he wasn't going to be able to rest easy until he had settled this.
He pulled into the Citgo station, dug the Hanley mansion's phone number out of his pocket, and dropped a dime. No ring. The operator came on and told him the phone was out of order. Lines were down all over northern Nassau County. The storm, you know.
Right. The storm. Maybe the mansion had been hit. Maybe it was ablaze right now.
Damn. He was going to have to take a run out there. Just drive by. He wouldn't stop in. Just make sure everything looked okay, then head for Queens.
He took the direct route through the harbor area but was slowed by the traffic being detoured away from a fire on Tremont Street. He joined the rubberneckers, straining to see what was burning up the hill. Whatever it was, it looked to be near Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. An awful thought struck him—maybe the burning building was Our Lady. He had said Mass there only this morning.
He was tempted to park and run uphill to see. If Our Lady was ablaze, maybe he could help Father Rowley. But the sight of the smoke heightened his anxiety about Carol's safety. He gunned the car toward Shore Drive.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he found the street in front of the mansion wall free of fire trucks and no pall of smoke dirtying the air over the roof.
But the driveway inside the gate was loaded with cars.
Something about that didn't sit right with Bill. He did a U-turn down the street and drove by again. Slowly.
A good half dozen cars in the drive—J. Carroll, both the Stevenses', and others he didn't recognize. Curious, he pulled in by the wall and walked around to the gate. Maybe he could knock on the front door and ask if anyone had seen his sunglasses. Nobody had to know that they were sitting on the dashboard of his car.
He was halfway up the drive when he heard Carol scream. He began to run.
12
Emma was glad to see the pain in that bitch Grace Nevins's face when Carol screamed. That would be the least of her pain if Emma got her hands on her.
She felt her back teeth grind against one another as the two men seated her in a chair next to Jonah and prepared to bind her. She had never felt rage like this before. It bordered on madness. In fact, she was sure that if she ever got free and got within reach of Grace, she would lose completely her present tenuous grip on sanity. The last vestige of civilization would slough away and she would become some sort of raving, slavering animal.
Part of her was frightened by the intensity of the murderous feelings and wanted to hide them away, and yet another part hungered to set the savage free.
She watched Grace as she fumbled with some mealy-mouthed explanations to Carol. And then there was a commotion at the front door, out of Emma's view, a man calling Carol's name. Suddenly Carol's friend, Father Ryan, burst into the parlor.
"Carol!" he said. "Are you all—" He stopped when he took in the tableau before him. And everyone, including the monk, stared back, frozen by the sight of the priest's Roman collar.
"Bill, thank God you're here!" Carol cried.
"I'm Father Ryan," he said as Emma watched his astonished eyes take in Jonah, tied up in a chair, and she about to be. "What in heaven's name is going on here?"
"How aptly put, Father Jesuit," said the one called Martin. "Because that's just what this is: in Heaven's name."
"You were here last week!" he said to Martin.
"That is true."
"You're all insane!"
"Please! Please!" said the monk, pushing back his hood as he came forward.
For some reason, the sight of the gleaming scalp of his tonsure startled Emma. She tried to identify his accent as he stepped up to Father Ryan.
"Who are you?" the Jesuit said.
"I am Brother Robert of the Monastery at Aiguebelle," the monk said. "Please, Father, you must leave. You must trust me as a fellow-ordained priest that we are here to do God's work."
"Since when does God's work involve binding people to chairs?" the young priest said scornfully. "The game's over. Time to clear out. Get out of here now before I call the police! "
"Man's laws are of no account when doing God's will," Brother Robert said. "Surely you know that, Father."
"We'll see if the police agree."
Emma saw Father Ryan turn and make to leave the parlor, but two of the Chosen blocked his way. The priest pushed them aside. He was strong and they had difficulty holding him. One of Emma's guardians left her to help with the priest, leaving only one standing over her, and he was engrossed in watching the struggle.
And Grace… that bitch Grace Nevins had stepped back from the parlor entrance, bringing her closer to Emma.
Without hesitation or even conscious thought, Emma launched herself from the chair and lunged at Grace. The pent-up rage broke free and lent her quickness and power. She felt strong, stronger than she had ever felt in her life.