Hells afire and Satan rules, the witches, they were real. The time has come, the rites to read, the flesh, twas born to heal. Yes, Satan is coming!
The cops, he knew, had chalked it all up to some gang or even cult, acting out. Especially since he wasnt the only one attacked; a young woman on Beacon Hill had been struck and left with the same note, as had an older manone who had barely survived!in Brookline.
Boston had never been crime-freenot even during the days of the very harsh Puritan laws that had first ruled the Massachusetts Bay Colony.
So farin this rash of knock-em-out-and-leave-em-with-a-Satanic-warning attacksno one had died. The police did what they could, but maybe they were busier with other murders than they were with the head-knockings by a would-be Crowley-esque cult.
Vickie and her agent friend would be on it, though. He was certain!
Alex had been left hurt but alive. And once hed healed a bit, hed looked up the rhyme that had been left on his chest. It wasnt even original. It had first been used in the 1600s by a man named Ezekiel Martin, the bitter leader of a shunned Puritan group, and then again in the 1800s by a gang of thugs in Fall River; it had been used there again in the 1970s. But there were no known serious Satanic cults holding forth in Massachusetts nownot the kind who drew any attention.
The cops had watched over him for a couple of weeks. In fact, hed become pretty friendly with the cop assigned to watch him most days. But nothing else had happened. Nothing had been found. Hed gone about his daily routine.
And the city budget hadnt allowed for police protection for him.
Then there were other victims of other crimes. And life went on.
Hed accepted an invitation to a special art showing; hed seen the newest superhero moviehed gone about life. He even went to see the duo playing at the coffee shop.
That was it!
The coffee shop by Faneuil Hall! Hed gone to sip a cappuccino and listen to a great musical set, a brother and sister with a pair of guitars, lead and bass. A pair of lovely out-of-time hippies, he thought, doing a delightful session of folk music.
Professor Hanson had called him about the paper he would soon be publishing on relationships between the founding fathers. Milton Hanson was a friendone who was helping him make his position at Harvard permanent. Since Alex had been attacked in the street, with centuries-old Satanic cult words written in bloodred marker on his chest, Professor Hanson had also been trying to help him with research in that direction. But that had little to do with the night...
There had been the music. He loved music!
Then there had been the girl.
The girl! The waitress, who had waited on him even when he hadnt really needed to be waited on. Shed been great.
He tried to remember what she had looked like. About five-six, a brunettea bubbly brunette. She worked for the coffee shop, or so he thought. Hed gotten a chair before his drink had been ready. He hadnt stood at the end of the counter waiting. The girl had brought him his cappuccino. Shed been so cheerful and nice.
He remembered listening until it was late, until even that beloved and heavily trafficked area of Boston had gone quiet. Hed stayed to the last song. Hed been thrilled becauseright in the middle of it allthe pretty young singer had come to him and thanked him for being such a great audience member.
Hed stood; hed gone out to the street...
And then the world had gone dark, and only images had swum before him, the people in line at the coffee shop, the musicians playing, the pretty singer, the bubbly waitress...
Dark had turned to black.
And he had woken up here, chained to the table.
Why?
Who the hell kidnapped a quiet and unassuming professor of history and brought him out here, far from Boston, to an abandoned mental institute in the wilderness? He wasnt worth anything; he had no fortune. He sure as hell held no state secrets; he knew nothing about anything important. There was absolutely no reason to kidnap him, bring him here.
Maybe someone who was mentally deranged themselves had done this. And they were just going to leave him chained hereleave him to slowly die without food or water, chained to the gurney, rotting away until something found hima bobcat, a rare mountain lion or a black bear.
Or even the rodents and insects that abounded...
Stop; stop, he told himself.
He was brilliant, or so they said. He should be able to find a way out.
Screw brilliant. He wished he was a mechanicor a superhero. Yeah, a superhero with the power to break chains.
He studied the metal around his wrist and the chains.
At least he wasnt a victim of the Undertakers. He wasnt buried alive; he had plenty of air to breathe.
He thought of Vickie Preston. They had first met at the coffee shopshe had asked for his help. He knew shed been instrumental in catching the killers who had so recently terrorized Boston and the citys surroundings.
Nice person, beautiful woman...shed quickly become a true friend, visiting him at the hospital, working on the history of the noteshed even gone to a concert with him. She was supposed to have been...
Meeting him! Yes, with a friend! She would know that he wasnt in the citybecause hed be standing her up!
He could picture her now, emerald green eyes glazed with concern. Shed worry, twirling a lock of long dark hair as she wondered why he wasnt there. She might even standtall and willowyand pace.
Surely she wouldnt just think hed suddenly become rude? Would she somehow know, and start to search for him, would she have any idea...?
She had been working with the FBI. With the agent shed brought to see him, the one who had probed the note, who had promised that he wouldnt stop until his attacker or attackers had been found.
He suddenly realized that he was thinking intently.
Find me, Vickie, find me! Find me, find me, find me...
He decided that his IQ statistics were wrong, and that he was an idiotreally, what kind of genius could he be? Did he really think that the woman had ESP and would hop up and send out the troops?
But she saw the dead!
True or not.
He was a scholar. He believed in science but he also believed she spoke to the dead. He had kiddingly accused her of it one day when hed come upon her and shed appeared to be talking to herself.
Of course, everyone looked as if they were talking to themselves these daysbecause they were wired to their phones!
But it had been different with Vickie. The way shed flushed, the way hed even felt as if something was there...someone else! Hed been joking, of course, and yet...
Hed never had such a feeling. Naturally, as an academic, he was above such fantasy. And, then again, because he was an academic, he did mull over the concept of memory and self and...
There was so much about her that was extraordinary. Hed seen that when shed worked with the FBI during the recent rash of murders in the state. Hed seen her incredible mind.
Find me, Vickie!
Maybe, just maybe, she really did talk to the dead, and if that was true, maybe, just maybe, it was possible that she had ESP, too!
He frowned, realizing there was a lump of something in the corner. He twisted around enough to rise and see what it was.
Oh, God.
A body. A human body.
Maybe, just maybe, she really did talk to the dead, and if that was true, maybe, just maybe, it was possible that she had ESP, too!
He frowned, realizing there was a lump of something in the corner. He twisted around enough to rise and see what it was.
Oh, God.
A body. A human body.
And the head...
Was gone.
And there was movement upon the remains...rats running havoc!
Terror raced through him, making it feel as if his blood ran hot and cold and then hot again, as if it tore through his muscle, turned even his bones into something more wobbly than gelatin.
He fell back on the table.
Then he heard the awful creaking sound of an old door, a sound something like a squeaky scream that cried out into the night.
Someone...something...was coming in.
1
Griffin Pryce leaped over the fence that connected the houses and yards along the Hyde Park neighborhood. Hed been running hard, chasing a man in a red cape. A woman had just been attackedthe fourth victim of the thugs terrorizing the area. This time, the attacker hadnt gone unseen; a neighbor had called it in right when it had happened.
Miraculously, Griffin had been about to have dinner with friends and was being dropped off by another friendDetective Barnesat a restaurant on Hyde Park Avenue when they had both heard the call for help come over the police radio.
Hed reached the scene just as the attackerdown on his knees to leave the rhyme about Satan in red marker on his victims chesthad seen him.
And run.
Griffin had taken thirty seconds to assure himself that the woman was alive; the neighbors call to 9-1-1 meant that an ambulance and police cars were on the way. He could already hear the sirens.
And so he ran after the attacker, who was wearing a red cape.
Stupid, Griffin thought. You want to wear a cape and attack people? Makes it harder to run and leap fencesand stands out like a...a red light!
But the young man was fast and agile.
Griffin leaped fences, tore down alleys, ducked beneath drying sheets and leaped another fence.
At one point, he could nearly touch the young man. When he turned to glance at Griffin, his face was clearly visible. He couldnt be more than twenty, twenty-five tops. He was clean-shaven with green eyes and a clear complexion, long nose, good mouth.
Then he was gone. This time he ran into an alley that led to a seven-foot fenceno Dumpster to use to leap over it...nothing at all.
The man threw himself against the dead end.
Stop! Griffin demanded, pulling out his Glock and aiming at the young man. Stop. Put your hands behind your head. Get over here, and get down on your knees.
The young man stared back at him.
Throw down your weapon.
The man did; he tossed the club hed usedit resembled one of the billy clubs used by British policeand shouted, Im not armed.
He started to open his cape.
StopIll fire, Griffin warned.
Hey, just showing you... Im not armed! So shoot me. Come on, shoot me.
Im not going to shoot you. I am going to arrest you. Do as I say, get down on your knees, hands behind your head.
The man ignored Griffin. He reached for something in his cape; Griffin rushed the twenty or so feet that stood between them.
The man stuck something in his mouth. Griffin shoved him to the ground, reaching into his mouth, trying to find what hed taken.
Too late.
Even as Griffin sought whatever it was, the man began to trembleand to foam at the mouth.
Griffin swore, trying to support him as he began to thrash and foam. As he did so, Detective David Barneswho had been close behind him all the waycame running down the alley.
Ambulance, med techs! He took something, Griffin shouted.
The man stared up at Griffin with wild eyesterrified eyes.
Maybe hed never really imagined what dying might be like.
But he was defiant.
Long live Satan! he choked out.
Then he twitched again, and againand went still.
Barnes hunkered down by Griffin and the young man. Hes gone. What a fool. He must have taken a suicide capsule!
He wanted me to shoot him, Griffin said, shaking his head. What a waste of life.
Anyway, its over. People in Boston will be safer, Barnes said. You caught the guy, Griffin. Bastard killed himself. Sad as anything, but its over at least.
Ah, hell, Barnes, come on! Griffin said. He liked Barnes, didnt mind working with the detective, and they had a pretty good rapport. But Barnes was way off base with this one.
Its not over, Griffin said quietly. Why do you think he killed himself? Theyve got some kind of a pact. Theres a cult working here.
Well, yeah, obviously, this kid is some kind of Satanist. But, Griffin, you were right on top of this one. And were looking at one man. One man who smashed the skull of a young womanand ran. This has been too hard for us because the attacks have been so random. But its got to have been the act of one crazy man. All he had to do was find someone alone on a dark street, strike fast, leave his message and run. It just took one person, Griffin.
Yeah, well, we dont know if its been the same one person. Im telling you, Barnes, weve got a real problem here. The violence isnt going to stop.
Griffin, youre concerned because you thought youd be heading back to Virginia by now. You chose to stay because of the attack on Alex MapleVickies friend, Barnes told him.
It was true; after the Undertaker case, hed planned on going back to Krewe headquarters in northern Virginia.
But it wasnt just that Alex had been involved.
The writing on the victims had been disturbing. His instincts told him there was more to it.
I wish I felt like celebrating, Barnes. Im sorry. Im worried. Im afraid that we have a Charles Manson, David Koresh or Jim Jonestype active here. I believe youve got someone out there who has been preaching witchcraft or paganism orfrom what weve seenthe rise of Satan. If thats true, youve got a group of people running around assaulting random but easy targetsand this wont be the last attack.
* * *
Hes never stood me upIm worried, Vickie Preston said to her longtime friend, Roxanne Greeley, looking at her phone again as she did so.
Shed been looking forward to the evening; she had become good friends with Alex Maple. She really liked him. He was boyish and enthusiastic, smart as a whipand it was wonderful to know someone who loved history as much as she did. Alex was a professor; Vickie wrote guidebooks, and she was known for making the history within those books readable and relatable. Shed called on Alex for help in the recent Undertaker case and theyd quickly become good friends. And Alex had a great time talking to Griffin, as well. Ever since she and Griffin had come together during the horror and solving of the recent murders in the city, Vickie couldnt imagine having friends who didnt get along with Griffin. She was very much in love with him. As far as he and Alex went, they had similar taste in music and sportsAlex might be quite the intellectual, but he loved the Patriots. While others might scoff at the home teams arrogance, in Alexs mind they deserved to be a bit arrogant.