The Haunted Air

  It was like being under a dirt waterfall, but Gia saw what he meant. As long as too much didn't fall at once, they had a chance of—

  She cried out as something cold wrapped around her ankle. She looked down and saw a small hand, ghostly pale, clutching her. She tried to tug away but couldn't break free. The little fingers held fast, like a steel manacle.

  Charlie gave a shout. Gia turned to see a similar hand gripping his foot. The dirt was starting to pile up around them and his expression was frantic as he tried to yank free.

  "It's Tara!"

  Charlie stared at her. "Why? We never did nothin' to her."

  "Tara!" Gia cried, still trying to pull free from the relentless grip on her ankle. "Tara, stop it! We're not your enemy!"

  She still clutched the cross. In desperation she swung it at the little hand, striking it just above the wrist. It sliced through the ghost flesh with no more resistance than air, and then…

  The hand disappeared. She was free.

  "Charlie! The cross! It breaks her grip!"

  Charlie's ankle was buried. Gia crouched beside him and dug through the dirt till she saw the hand. She rammed the cross against it and the hand disappeared.

  "Praise Jesus!" Charlie cried as he jumped away from the spot where he'd been held. "Nothing can stand against the power of His cross!"

  But just then she felt another hand grab her left ankle, and still another grab her right. She glanced at Charlie and saw that a pair of arms had snaked out of the wall to trap his lower legs.

  The dirtfall doubled in volume.

  Gia didn't hesitate. She slashed at one little hand and then the other. As soon as their grip was broken she lurched across the pit to help Charlie. She slipped and the weight of the falling dirt knocked her flat. For one panic-seared moment she thought she'd never get up, but she forced herself to her feet and reached Charlie's side. Choking and gasping, she slashed at the hands. But no sooner was he free than they both were gripped again—by three or four hands each this time.

  "She's like a hydra!" Gia shouted as she cut at the new hands—hers and Charlie's—but new ones appeared as soon as she severed the old ones.

  "Don't know 'bout no hydras," Charlie said, his voice thick. "But I don't see us gettin' outta this alive. Leastways not together."

  Gia glanced at him. His expression looked stricken, as if he were about to cry.

  "It's okay, Charlie. We'll make it. We've just got to keep—"

  His expression hardened, as if he'd come to a decision. He stuck out his hand. "Gimme the cross."

  "I'm doing okay with it."

  "No, you ain't." He grabbed her arm. His eyes had a strange look. "Not nearly. Gimme."

  "Charlie? What are you doing?" Gia leaned away from him but he was stronger and had a longer reach. He caught hold of the cross and ripped it from her grasp. "Charlie!"

  Without a word he bent and began hacking at the hands imprisoning her left leg. As soon as that was free, he grabbed it, lifted it, and placed her foot on his back. Then he went to work on her right leg. When that was free, he lifted her and placed her on the dirt which had now piled to above his knees.

  As soon as Gia hit the dirt, new arms emerged like snakes and grabbed her. Charlie immediately went to work on these.

  The dirtfall redoubled. Gia could barely see him.

  "What about you?" Her throat constricted as she realized what he was up to. "Charlie, you've got to get your feet free!"

  "Too late," he said without looking up. He was waist deep in the dirt and kept hacking away at the new hands as soon as they sprouted, allowing Gia to stay atop the rising level of dirt. "Can't get to 'em."

  "You can if you do it now! We can both make it."

  He shook his head. "Nuh-uh. Then we both be in the same sinkin' boat."

  "No!" Gia couldn't, wouldn't let this happen. She began clawing at the dirt around his waist. "We'll take turns! We'll—"

  A ghost hand shot up from the loose earth, gripping her wrist and jerking her down. She cried out as her face hit the dirt.

  Charlie slashed at the hand, freeing her, then roughly shoved her back.

  "See? See?" He was looking at her now and she could see tears in his eyes. His lips trembled as he spoke. "I know what I'm doin', okay? But I don't wanna do it for nothin'! Let it mean somethin', huh?"

  "But Charlie—"

  At that moment the dirtfall stopped.

  Gia looked up, looked around, looked at Charlie. It had ceased as suddenly and mysteriously as it had started. Why?

  "Praise the Lord!" Charlie sagged forward. The dirt had piled up to the lower part of his chest. He cradled his head on his arms and spoke toward the ground. "He's delivered us from evil!"

  Just then Gia felt the dirt shift under her, felt it change, become finer, grainier. It began to move, surging and flowing like thick fluid.

  And rising.

  "Oh, no!" Gia cried. "What's happening?"

  Charlie straightened and began slashing at the soil as it rose to his armpits.

  "Don't know! Please, God, stop it! Stop it!"

  The dirt, though dry, was lapping at him like water, swallowing him, but Gia remained afloat, buoyed on the grainy swells. She cried out and grabbed his free hand, tugging on it, trying to pull him up to her level but he was anchored fast below.

  As the soil reached his neck his wide terrified eyes found her, held her, pierced her. "Oh, please, oh, please, Lord, I don't wanna die!"

  And then the dirt swirled into his open mouth and he coughed and choked and gagged and writhed, stretching his neck. Gia, crying and whimpering with terror, tugged on his arm but couldn't budge him. The dirt rose past his mouth and into his nostrils, and his eyes were wider, bulging, pleading, and then with a final surge the loose earth rose and engulfed his head, leaving only his raised arm in sight.

  Gia screamed and dug at the dirt, frantically pawing at it like a dog as she tried to clear it away from his face.

  "Charlie! Charlie, hang on!"

  But it was like trying to dig through soup. It flowed around and through her fingers and immediately filled back in behind her hands. She could feel his face, touch his hair but couldn't clear away enough to see him. If only she had a hose or a pipe, something to feed him air until—

  Suddenly Charlie's other hand broke the surface, still holding the cross. She grabbed the wrist and pulled, throwing her back into it, but nothing! Nothing!

  And then as she gripped him she felt agonal tremors radiate through his arms and spread to his hands, saw the fingers straighten, stiffen, drop the cross, claw the air for an instant, then fall limp and still, twitch, then go still once more, and not move again.

  "No!" Grief spilled through Gia like acid. She'd met Charlie only twice before and yet he'd given his life for her. She knelt and clutched his cooling hands and cried out in a long, drawn-out wail that trailed off into sobs. "No!"

  "I'm sorry." Tara's voice.

  Gia looked up. What had been a pit was now a smooth, shallow depression in the earth. Tara stood half a dozen feet away, staring at her, looking as sweet and innocent as ever, but not looking sorry at all.

  "Why? This was a good man! He never hurt you or anyone else! How could you kill him?"

  Tara stepped closer, her eyes fixed on Gia—not on her face, but her abdomen.

  "Because he'd only be in the way."

  Gia's grief chilled, sliding toward unease. "In the way… of what?"

  "Of what happens next."

  Crystals of ice formed in Gia's veins as she rose unsteadily to her feet.

  "I don't understand."

  Tara smiled. "Your baby becomes my baby."

  14

  "No-don't-please!" Bellitto cried, squirming in the chair as Jack pressed the tip of the silencer over his left knee. He stared down at the sheet of paper in his lap. "Please! I've never seen that before in my life!"

  "Lie!"

  "No! I swear!"

  "Read it now then. You've got ten seconds."
>
  The darkness within Jack pounded on the bars of its cage to be set free and let it pull the trigger and blow this puke's kneecap into the floor. But he held it back. Bellitto wasn't exactly a spring chicken. Didn't want to lose him to a heart attack or stroke.

  Almost had a heart attack himself a moment ago when he'd walked into the office at the other end of the apartment. A small room, no place for a guy Minkin's size to hide, but Jack had checked the storage closet anyway. Empty. On his way out of the room he happened to glance at the sheet of paper lying in the fax machine's tray. His gaze skittered off the handwritten lines as he passed, and he was stepping through the door when one of the words he'd seen snagged in his brain, caught like a sheet of newspaper in a fence.

  … Westphalen…

  With a cry of alarm he'd leaped back to the machine, snatched up the sheet, and read:

  Success! The ladys Visa records show a hefty charge to something called Pint-Size Picassos which turns out to be a summer camp right outside Monticello. I checked and the Westphalen package is there. All it needs is to be picked up and we're in business. A. can handle the job no sweat.

  BURN THIS!

  Jack read it again, then a third time, still not believing… Westphalen… Pint-Size Picassos… that was Vicky. Bellitto and his gang had their sights on Vicky!

  How? Why? They couldn't possibly know Vicky's connection to him—they didn't know who he was!

  Or did they?

  He needed some answers.

  Bellitto looked up from the note. "I don't know what this is! I've never seen it before! It must be a mistake!"

  "That does it." Pressed the silencer muzzle deeper into Bellitto's knee.

  "Jesus, Jack!" Lyle, standing behind Bellitto, staring with wide, sick-scared eyes.

  "Hey, I'm reasonable." Didn't want to get into gunplay here and now. Once it got started you never knew where it would take you. But he had to know. Had a feeling Bellitto was just a nudge away from opening up. "I'll let him choose which knee first."

  Bellitto tried to squirm away. "No! Please! You must believe I've never seen it! Check the time at the top! It just came in! The fax had just rung and I was on my way to check it when you stopped me."

  Grabbed the sheet and handed it to Lyle—didn't want to take his eyes off Bellitto. "True?"

  Lyle squinted at the tiny print, then nodded. "Yeah. Transmission time was a couple of minutes ago." He dropped the note back onto Bellitto's lap. "Why are you all worked up about a package?"

  All right. So Bellitto hadn't seen it. That didn't mean he didn't know anything about it. Jack raised the pistol and placed the muzzle over Bellitto's heart.

  "Vicky Westphalen—what's she to you?"

  Didn't expect Bellitto's reaction—his expression registered genuine shock. He glanced down at the sheet again.

  Jack remembered then that Vicky's first name wasn't mentioned in the message. And Bellitto looked confused, as if trying to figure out how Jack knew it.

  He doesn't know she's connected to me!

  Then how the hell—?

  Lyle leaned forward, looking at the message again over Bellitto's shoulder. "You mean this is about a kid? A kid you know?" He groaned in revulsion. "This is sick, man! This is really sick!"

  Jack was thinking about how there'd be no more coincidences in his life and how this had pushed way beyond sick into vile and ugly.

  And then he remembered the cop sniffing around Gia's place, asking about Vicky. Part of Eli's "circle"?

  One way to find out.

  He waved the fax in front of Bellitto. "This is from your cop friend, isn't it."

  Bellitto stiffened and stared at Jack. His eyes answered.

  "I know your whole circle, Eli."

  Not quite, but the others were secondary. Especially now. He grabbed the tape and slammed it back over Bellitto's mouth.

  "I've got to go."

  Lyle blinked. "Go? Where?"

  "The Catskills. Got to get to that camp and make sure Vicky's all right."

  What if this wasn't the only machine this fax went to? Bellitto had talked about his "circle." That could mean any number in addition to Minkin. That was who the "A." probably referred to: Adrian Minkin. He could have received the same fax. Could be on his way now. Maybe picking up fellow members as he goes, like this cop, a whole crew of pervs stalking Vicky.

  "You don't have to go!" Lyle said, sounding frantic. "You can call!"

  "I know I can, but that's not enough."

  He'd call right now, tell the camp Vicky's been threatened, to keep watch on her and not release her to anyone but her mother. Then he'd go up there and sit guard in the woods to make sure no one screwed up.

  "But what about this guy? What do we do with him?"

  "I'll help you load him into the car. You take him to the house and make the trade. Tell Gia to meet me at the camp and we'll bring Vicky home together." Caught Bellitto staring at him with puzzled eyes. Leaned closer to give him something to think about. "Yeah, that's right, Eli. We're trading you to Tara Portman for someone else." At least Jack hoped they were. "She's waiting at your old buddy Dmitri's house. Got something real special cooked up for you."

  That ought to loosen his sphincters.

  Now… find a phone. He'd seen one in that little office.

  "Be right back," he told Lyle as he started away. He jabbed a finger toward Bellitto. "Don't let him budge an inch."

  Lyle nodded. "All right, but hurry. We don't know how much time we've got."

  Jack was halfway across the dining room when he heard a sound, caught a blur of motion from the stairs to his left. His guard was down but he managed to raise his hands fast enough and far enough to put the pistol between his head and the fireplace poker swung by a gorilla of a man. The gun spun away through the air. Jack stumbled back, knocking into the dining room table, scattering plates and utensils, then rolled to the side to dodge another two-handed poker swipe from Adrian Minkin.

  15

  Gia clutched her abdomen as the horror of what Tara wanted seeped through.

  "My baby? No… you can't mean that."

  Tara nodded and started floating toward her. "I do. I want that baby. I need that baby."

  Gia spotted the cross that had fallen from Charlie's hand. She stooped, grabbed it, held it up. She couldn't believe she was doing this. Like playing a scene from one of those corny old vampire movies Jack liked to watch.

  Tara stopped. "Put that down."

  "You're afraid! Afraid of the cross!"

  "I'm not afraid of anything!" she said a little too quickly. "It's just…"

  "Just what?"

  "It's just that the crosses that were in these stones stayed too close to the wrong thing for a little too long. Centuries too long. They absorbed some."

  "What does that mean? Absorbed what?"

  Tara shook her head. "I don't know. Poison."

  "Poison for you, maybe, but churches aren't poison to me."

  "Church?" Tara's brow furrowed. "What makes you think that was in a church? It lined the wall of what you might call a prison."

  Gia didn't understand, but at least she had a weapon, or at least a defense. She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm herself. She was only partly successful.

  Gia took a step toward the stairs. "I'm leaving now. I'm going up those steps and out the front door."

  And never coming back. Dear God, why hadn't she listened to Jack and stayed away from here?

  Tara shook her head. "No, you're not."

  Her calm confidence shook Gia, but she kept up a bold front.

  "Watch me."

  Keeping the cross straight-armed before her, she sidled to her right toward the stairs. Tara watched her calmly, making no move to halt her. When Gia reached the steps she stopped—she could go no further. As before, something like an invisible wall of cotton was blocking her. She thrust out the cross—that went through fine, but no matter how hard she pushed after it, she couldn't follow.

  She
turned and gasped when she saw Tara directly behind her. She held up the cross and Tara backed away.

  "Let's be fair," the child said. "You can have other babies. I can't have any. Ever. Let me take yours and—"

  "Don't even think about it! You're not even ten years old! What could—?"

  "I'd be in my twenties now!" Anger distorted her features. "I want a child! I can't have one of my own, so I'll adopt yours!"

  "How?" Gia cried. "This is insane!"

  "No. Not insane. Very simple. If the baby dies here, within these walls, among these stones, she'll stay here. I can keep her."

  "But she's not yours!"

  Tara's voice rose to a scream that shook the earth beneath Gia's feet. "I DON'T CARE!"

  Gia was finding it harder and harder to breathe. Tara… the shifting dirt… Charlie… the granite blocks… the strange cross in her hand… her baby…

  "Tara, this isn't you."

  The child face contorted. "What do you know about me? Nothing!"

  "I talked to your father."

  "He gave up on me, just like my mother."

  "No! Your mother—"

  "I know about my mother. She gave up first!"

  Gia tried to think of a way to reach her. If not through her family, then what?

  "Tara, you were loved. I saw the family pictures. You with your horse—"

  A quick smile. "Rhonda."

  "—and your brother."

  A frown. "Little brat. What a loser he turned out to be."

  "Tara, how can you be like this?" Every humane impulse and emotion seemed to have leached out of her. "Losing you destroyed their lives. That's how important you were. I can't believe you mean this."

  "Believe it!" Cold rage disfigured her features. "I was ripped from my life and brought down here to this place where I was surrounded by thirteen men. One of them cut out my still-beating heart while the rest watched."

  Gia's free hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, dear God!"

  "Not one of them moved to stop him." Her tone was frigid, flat. "No one came to save me. After that they sliced my heart into thirteen pieces and ate them."

  The horror of it pushed bile to the back of Gia's throat. "And you were awake… through it all?"