The Julian Year Page 15

  “Under the radar, huh? You got photos?”

  She nodded. “I chose a name and all the other information.”

  Strip Lite looked around the bar without turning his head. “Leave them on the seat with the money. Come back here tomorrow, same time.”

  “I’ll leave the materials on the seat with half the money.”

  “All right, be that way.” Strip Lite grunted. “There’s no trust in this world anymore.”

  Ethan didn’t send flowers to his mother’s funeral, but Janie did. When Weizak returned to his Manhattan apartment, Rachel was gone. She left him two presents: a bottle of red wine and a fully loaded Smith & Wesson .38 revolver in a holster.

  Twenty

  February 26

  “Excuse me, Officer.”

  Calvin Ethridge turned at the sound of the female voice. A petite brunette stood before him at the entrance to the parking lot, a block away from the 19th Precinct station house. “Yes?”

  Rachel stepped closer. “I was hoping you could give me a lift.”

  Ethridge raised his eyebrows, and Rachel knew he recognized her despite her disguise. “Jesus, where have you been?”

  “Let’s just get into your car, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Ethridge unlocked his car door, then hers.

  Rachel got in and closed the door.

  Ethridge started the engine and cranked the heat. “Where the hell have you been? There’s an APB out for you.”

  “For my own good, I’m sure.”

  “You’re an important person, just like the other leapfrogs.”

  “I read that a bunch of them have been killed.”

  “That’s why we’re supposed to bring you in.”

  “I didn’t want to spend my last two weeks of freedom as a prisoner. I crashed at a friend’s pad for a week, then spent this last week moving around.”

  He looked at her with puppy dog eyes that reminded her of Morelli. “You should have called me.”

  “And what, stayed with you? I don’t need your death on my conscience.”

  “So where did you go? What did you do?”

  “I went to a movie. It sucked. I read some books, checked out a museum, and went to the zoo. Mostly I watched TV in my hotel.”

  “That sounds like a load of fun.”

  “It was my personal time. Just me, myself, and I while the three of us still exist.”

  The car grew warmer, and Ethridge pulled out of the parking lot. “So what now?” he said.

  “I want to go home. I’m supposed to turn myself in for detention tomorrow. I want to see my mother and father tonight.”

  “They’re worried sick about you.”

  “They called you?” Of course they did.

  “Yeah, and I called them. I’ve been worried too.”

  That’s sweet. “I sent them an e-mail from an Internet café. They knew I was okay.”

  “They’re still worried.”

  “What’s new in the big blue?”

  “The new recruits are trigger happy. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”

  “What’s it like working with the Guards and the army?”

  “Right now, not so bad. But they’re talking about the army merging with police forces nationwide, and I’m not looking forward to that.”

  Rachel studied his features. “How are you doing?”

  “Okay, I guess. My mother went into detention last week, and my father isn’t handling it well.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “We’re all going through the same thing. No one gets a pity party.”

  She looked through the windshield. My thoughts exactly.

  Ethridge drove onto I-495 East.

  “What do you think it’s like?” Rachel said.

  “Possession? I don’t know. Did you read Weizak’s interview with that Norman?”

  “Stop calling them Normans. They’re not crazy.”

  “Okay, let’s choose a new name.”

  Rachel considered his proposal. “Regan MacNeil. That’s the character Linda Blair played in The Exorcist. That was one of the books I read.”

  “Regan MacNeil. I’ll spread the word. But how about if we call the guys Damien Thorn?”

  “He wasn’t possessed. He was the Antichrist.”

  “So what? He was a creepy little kid, and I haven’t heard any stories about anyone peeing on carpets.”

  “No, but there’s an awful lot of puking going on. Weizak’s interview subject said that when they take over, they force the soul—spirit, whatever—of the host deep into the mind’s subconscious. That means we’re still in there somewhere. I wonder if we’re conscious of what they’re doing with our bodies or if we even care.”

  “That sounds like hell to me.”

  She looked at him for a moment. “Are you a believer?”

  “Yeah, I’m a Baptist.”

  “If our soul is trapped in our mind, then what happens when the possessed person gets killed?”

  They passed a burning semi.

  “I don’t know. Maybe we go wherever we belong, whether it’s heaven or hell. To me that sounds like a good enough reason to kill them all.” Ethridge merged onto the Cross Island Parkway.

  “According to the Talmud, there are 7,405,926 demons. That’s a far cry from seven billion people. We’ve lost way more than that already.”

  “Did you read that on your vacation too?”

  “I tried.”

  “Maybe that’s how many demons there were when the Talmud was written. There could be a lot more now, right? Besides, people are using the word demon as a catchall. According to that interview, a more accurate term would be the damned, because they’re damned souls that are getting a second chance at our expense.”

  They entered Amityville.

  “Pretty little town,” Ethridge said. “I’d hate to live in that haunted house now.”

  “Make a left up here.”

  He did. “You take your faith seriously?”

  Rachel shook her head. “It’s just something that brings my extended family together, for all I care. Now we know better. There’s truth to some of this stuff. We just don’t know which to follow. Make a right.”

  “If you ask me, none of them are gospel. We’ll learn the answer when we reach our final destination. If we reach it.”

  Rachel looked at the familiar houses. “It’s that brick one up ahead.”

  “Nice place.” Ethridge slowed to a stop. “You want me to stick around? I could call in tomorrow and take you to detention.”

  She studied his eyes. “Thanks, no. Family time.”

  “What if the Damiens and Regans hit you while you’re inside?”

  “Let them try. I’m itching to take some more of them out.”

  “I really wish you’d called me. I’d have taken time off. We could have made the most of—”

  She kissed him to shut him up and surprised herself by liking it.

  “Keep fighting the good fight,” she said after she’d pulled back from him. She got out of the car, closed the door, and walked to the house.

  “Do you know how worried your mother and I were?” Rachel’s father said as her mother served dinner. He had come home late from his electronics store.

  Rachel offered him a patient smile. “Everyone’s worried about something these days. You’re no different; you’re just part of the flock.”

  Her father turned to her mother. “Do you see how she’s talking to me after everything she put us through?”

  Her mother sat at the table. “At least she’s home.”

  “Sure, home to say good-bye and lecture us.”

  Rachel took her father’s hand and pulled him to his chair. “Sit down, please.”

  He sat with a reluctant look on his face.

  “I love you both. You know I do. There’s no place I’d rather have spent the last two weeks than here. But the world’s gone insane, and I didn’t want to make things any more dangerous for you than they already ar
e.”

  Her father looked at her. “What are you saying, that I can’t take care of my family?”

  “Of course you can.”

  The lights went out, and a beam of light from an emergency flashlight plugged into the wall illuminated part of the ceiling.

  “Oh, my God,” her mother said.

  Rising in the darkness, Rachel drew her Glock from beneath her shirt. “Both of you get into your bedroom. Lock the door and hide under the bed.”

  Neither of her parents argued, and her father took the flashlight from the wall.

  Rachel hurried into the living room and faced the drawn curtains just as light filled the picture window on the other side. The light intensified, a roar filled the night, and the window and surrounding wall exploded in broken glass and drywall as a truck smashed into the house.

  Rachel dove out of the way, landing behind a sectional sofa, as the truck skidded to a stop halfway in the kitchen. Gas fumes filled the living room, dissipating in the cold air rushing in from outside. Only the idling vehicle’s headlights illuminated the interior, and silhouetted figures scrambled out of the truck. Rachel discerned the shapes of a hatchet, a baseball bat, and a rifle.

  Rising behind the sofa, she squeezed the trigger of her Glock twice, dropping two of the silhouettes. Other windows shattered around the house at the same time, and her mother screamed. Standing tall, Rachel noticed another silhouette. Two gunshots later, the figure melted into darkness.

  Another figure ran around the truck, briefly lit up by the headlights, the ax raised in his hands. Rachel fell onto her back to avoid the blade, which buried itself in the sofa. As its wielder attempted to wrench it free, Rachel fired two quick shots into his chest, flinging him against the truck.

  With half her ammo gone, Rachel stood and pressed her back against the wall. Two more possessed people remained in the living room, somewhere around the truck, in addition to whoever had broken the other windows. She crawled toward the truck, her hands and knees scraping against the debris on the floor. The trunk’s horn honked repeatedly. The driver was still in the truck’s cab.

  Springing upright, she jerked the door open. The dome light provided enough illumination for her to see inside the empty cab. The driver had triggered the horn with a remote control, and she had fallen for the trap. Now they could see her. Gunshots fired to her left, and she spun to see a silhouetted figure standing in the giant mouth where the picture window had been. With her back pressed against the truck’s door, she raised her gun—

  “Rachel!” She recognized the voice.

  “Ethridge?”

  “Yes!”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, thankful she hadn’t shot her former partner. Whipping around the door, she saw two crumpled and motionless figures lying side by side at the entrance to the kitchen, illuminated by the headlights. They must have revealed themselves when she had walked into their trap, and Ethridge had taken them out. That accounted for all six figures she had seen scrambling in the darkness. Now she ran around the truck and into the hall, which led to the bedrooms.

  “Rachel, wait!”

  She had waited long enough.

  Bring it, mothers.

  Dropping to one knee, she raised her Glock and fired a shot, its muzzle flash revealing three ghostly white faces in the darkened hall. With a sweeping motion, she fired four shots in rapid succession. The people cried out, and she glimpsed the three faces fade into darkness as they fell to the floor.

  A flashlight lit up the hall from behind her, and Ethridge said, “Easy. It’s just me . . .”

  Rachel leapt to her feet and strode down the hall. Three figures lay on the floor, two of them motionless. A woman staring at the ceiling breathed a gasping wet sound through the gunshot wound in her throat. Rachel aimed her Glock at the woman. “Why did you do this?”

  The woman’s lips formed a quivering, animal-like snarl. “To kill one of the chosen.” She spat blood at Rachel’s face but it fell short.

  Rachel squeezed the trigger. The blood that splattered the carpet around the dead woman’s head looked garish blue in the beam from Ethridge’s flashlight.

  “Jesus,” he said.

  Rachel opened the door to her parents’ bedroom. “Mom? Dad? You can come out now. Everything’s okay.”

  The flashlight Rachel’s father had taken lit up the space beneath the bed.

  “Thank God,” her mother said.

  The sound of sirens outside grew louder.

  Twenty-one

  February 27

  Rachel awakened in the dark room an hour ahead of her wake-up call. Rising with Ethridge asleep beside her, she got out of bed and took a shower. He had insisted on watching over her, so she had allowed him to stay with her in the hotel, which was protected by NYPD and National Guards, and had slept in his arms. Her parents stayed in the room next door. Dressing in front of the bureau mirror, she watched Ethridge fold his arms behind his head.

  “You were awesome last night,” he said.

  She brushed her hair. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “I mean back at your parents’ house. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “When we were partners, you didn’t approve of my methods.”

  He got out of bed and stood behind her in briefs and a muscle shirt. “You were hunting them then. They weren’t hunting you.” He slid his hands up her arms. “Do you want to get breakfast?”

  Studying his reflection in the mirror, she shook her head. Something about him reminded her of Morelli too much. “I can’t eat anything.”

  “It’s not too late to do something else.”

  Turning with an amused smile, she looked at his morning erection. “You’re wrong. It is too late.”

  “Come on. Release all that tension you must be feeling.”

  “I released my tension last night. You’re the one who needs assistance.”

  “So assist me.”

  She curled her fingers around the shaft of his penis. “Cheap thrills.”

  “I’ll take what I can.”

  She stroked his member and he sucked in air.

  “What happens if you’re still around come March 1?” Ethridge said.

  Rachel peered into his eyes. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll look you up. Or maybe they’ll stick me in an underground bunker for my own good and no one but leapfrogs will ever see me again.”

  “I’d miss you.”

  “Yeah?” She stroked him faster.

  Rachel sat with her parents in the backseat of a Long Island Police Department SUV, one of several vehicles in the caravan escorting her to her designated detention center. The officer sitting in the front passenger seat held a pump-action shotgun. Ethridge followed in his car.

  Rachel turned from the snowy view outside the window to her parents, who seemed tired and fragile. “I’m sorry about the house.”

  “Oh, dear, it wasn’t your fault,” her mother said.

  “I shouldn’t have come home. I stayed away because I knew it was dangerous for me to go there, but I needed to see you both.”

  Her father squeezed her hand, a rare sign of tenderness. “That house doesn’t matter. It’s all paid off. We needed to see you. Who knows? Maybe we’ll finally end up in Florida.”

  “You should go there, if that’s what you want to do. If I change, I don’t want you to stay here because of me. They won’t let you see me anyway. Do whatever you can to be happy with the time you have left.”

  Her father’s birthday was in two months and her mother’s in four. Rachel believed her parents were lucky to be going to detention sooner rather than later, because matters were going to get far worse.

  The caravan motored along a long road flanked by woods. The vehicles turned onto a side road, passed through a checkpoint guarded by soldiers armed with machine guns, and headed toward an isolated building identified by a sign that read, Shady Trees Retirement Home for Seniors. The caravan pulled alongside the entrance, where two soldiers stood at attention.
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  Her father got out first and helped her mother to the sidewalk, then circled the SUV and opened the door for Rachel and helped her out as well.

  Police officers climbed out of their vehicles.

  “They won’t let your folks inside,” the officer who had driven said. “You’ll have to say good-bye here.”

  Holding her shoulder bag, Rachel and her father joined her mother. She promised herself she would not cry.

  “I love you so much,” her mother said, tears streaking through her makeup.

  Rachel hugged and kissed her. “I love you too. Thank you for being my mother.” She turned to her father, whose lower lip quivered.

  “Princess . . . ,” he said.

  Rachel clung to him and her chest convulsed. “Oh, Daddy!” She felt her mother’s arms on her back, and she pulled her into the huddle. Great shaking sobs escaped from her, and then she forced herself to step back, wiping tears from her eyes. “I love you both.”

  Her mother collapsed and her father caught her. Looking away, Rachel saw Ethridge standing beside his car a respectful distance away. She resisted the urge to run to him. He winked at her, and she gave him a small wave. Then she turned and strode to the building.

  As the electric doors closed behind her, Rachel registered the metal detection station manned by two soldiers. She gave her name to a female soldier behind the reception counter.

  The woman examined her ID and handed it back to her. “Just go through security, and Major Powel will be out in a minute to show you to your room.”

  Meeting the gaze of one of the soldiers at the metal detection station, Rachel set her coat and shoulder bag on the conveyer belt for the X-ray machine and walked through the metal detector. An alarm filled her ears but she didn’t flinch; she only raised her hands.

  An officer emerged from a side office.

  The soldier she had made eye contact with stepped forward. “Ma’am, are you wearing any jewelry?”

  “No, but I’m carrying a gun.”

  The soldier drew a .45 and leveled it at her. “Gun!”