Vickie didn’t want to walk toward the cross; she knew that she had to. If she was ever going to see what she needed to see, she had to keep going.
She could feel the blood; it was all over her.
She walked closer and she saw the dirt of the clearing between her and the cross, with the water to their side. There was something etched in the dirt; it was difficult to read.
Then the blood began to fill the letters, and she could read them easily.
Hell’s 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 blood filled the letters, and then they began to burn.
Light. Brightness.
Vickie woke with a start.
She blinked hard. Yes, light. Faint light peeked through the drapes.
At her side, Griffin stirred; he was always aware when she woke, so it seemed. But then, he slept in a way that seemed to allow him to waken at the slightest noise, even the least change in the light.
The mannequin...
The mannequin was right where it had been when they had gone to sleep.
Griffin rose, looking at her, a frown instantly furrowing his brow.
“She’s in the woods, somewhere, Griffin. Helena Matthews is. Or she was killed in the woods, or she’s going to be killed in the woods. I’m not sure if Helena is dead or not. But I know that I’m seeing one of the victims. I keep hearing her, or seeing her, or...oh, God, Griffin! Is there really a possibility that Helena Matthews is still alive?”
Griffin quickly sat up and took her into his arms, smoothing back her hair.
“You had the nightmare again?” he asked her.
She nodded.
“Tell me about it.”
“The mannequins led me around the house,” she said, waiting for him to crack a smile, to laugh at her.
He didn’t.
“And then?”
She described the dream—the house, the woods, the cross and the blood.
“What else?” Griffin prompted again when she paused, still in the grip of the memory.
“This time, I saw a patch of earth. And it was dug out with letters, and I couldn’t see them until the blood filled them...”
“Let me guess. ‘Hell’s afire and Satan rules...’”
“Amazing,” Vickie said lightly. “You guessed it just right.”
He was silent for a minute.
“And then?” he pressed.
“I woke up,” she said, and added softly, “And you made me feel sane.”
He cupped her head and pulled her against him. “You are sane. The dreams are telling us something. We need to find those woods. There are an awful lot of woods in Massachusetts. I’m not sure what it means, but I think it’s all connected. And if we find the connection, we’ll be closer to the truth and Alex—and Helena Matthews, alive or dead,” he said softly. “We’ll go pick up Charlie Oakley. We’ll get him to take us to the place by the river where they found the words in the late 1970s, or actually 1980, I think it was. Maybe there’s still something out there to be found.”
He touched her cheeks gently. “We share the bath with the Lizzie and Emma rooms—I’m thinking we ought to hop in the shower before Rocky and Devin. Then we can all head down to the breakfast room for some johnnycakes. I’ll call Barnes, find out if there were any results from the images of Audrey Benson and Helena Matthews and our red-haired Jane Doe in the media.”
“It’s a plan,” Vickie said gravely. “Except...”
“Except?”
“Maybe I’ll just have coffee.”
“The breakfasts here are known to be pretty good.”
“I’m sure they are. I just dream very vividly—quite graphically, you know.”
“And?”
“Autopsy. Dining room table!” she said.
He grinned.
“Coffee, it is. And not to worry. We’ll certainly find a Dunkin’ Donuts close enough!”
Vickie smiled and hopped out of bed and dug through her little overnight bag for her clothing and toiletries.
She rose and headed into the bathroom just ahead of Griffin.
He followed. She smiled and quickly turned on the shower, stepping in ahead of him.
When she looked down, she saw that dirt was spilling down the drain.
This time, it was real.
And this time, it didn’t seem to go away.
It had come from her feet. And it was real.
8
Devin and Rocky enjoyed the breakfast at the Lizzie Borden house along with the other overnight visitors who sat together in the dining room. Vickie just had a cup of coffee; she was seated in the corner of the room.
She’d spent a good twenty minutes on the phone with her parents. They had just gotten used to the fact that Vickie intended to move to Virginia with Griffin, and they were understandably upset that Vickie was again involved in everything going on.
She’d given Griffin a thumbs-up sign, however. She’d managed to say something to keep her parents in Europe.
Now, she was listening and engaging in the conversations that raged around the friendly crowd gathered in the dining room.
“Lizzie did do it!” a girl said.
“Don’t be silly, it was a conspiracy. Her uncle was in on it,” her boyfriend noted, nodding as if he’d completely solved the mystery.
Griffin grinned at Vickie and indicated that he was stepping outside.
“The phones have been ringing crazy off the hook here,” Detective David Barnes told Griffin over the phone. “I can’t tell you how many people called in with Audrey Benson sightings. I’d say at least a hundred of the coffee shop patrons have called in. They all saw her, naturally. The problem is that not a single call has led to anything. Not one caller knows where she lives or where she is now.”
“She’s run,” Griffin said. “She’s wherever they took Helena Matthews.”
“You think she’s still in Massachusetts?”
“I do. Where in Massachusetts, I don’t know. But I do think that it goes back to the Puritan days, to Ezekiel Martin, and the words he originally wrote in the earth. I believe it’s important that whatever is supposed to happen takes place in the original colony. Whether we have a crazy person or a manipulator, I think that all the history behind the ‘Satan is coming’ mantra of Ezekiel Martin is of tremendous importance,” Griffin said. “I have a hard time accepting the fact that someone may really think that a few enchantments will bring Satan to earth, but we’ve seen a lot of strange concepts that rule men’s minds. You have your copies of all the reports we acquired from Merton, Magruder and Oakley, right?”
“Came through clearly this morning, thank you. Oh, and we’ve had tech working around the clock on Alex Maple’s cell phone. At first, they lost the trail right where he was taken. The phone had been turned off. But the cell provider was on notice and they called through this morning. Apparently, Alex had some kind of an alarm system set to remind him when he had scheduled consultations with his students. The phone was set to go on, even if he’d powered it off. It didn’t last long, but they did get a ping.”
“It wasn’t over here, in this area, was it?” Griffin asked hopefully.
“No, sorry. Somewhere in western Massachusetts. I’ll have something more for you on that soon,” Barnes said.
“Jehovah,” Griffin said.
“Jehovah doesn’t exist anymore,” Barnes said.
“Not as it once did, no. But the land is still there.”
“The cell was probably tossed,” Barnes said. “But when I have an exact location, I’ll get it to you. Naturally, my guys are still working all the angles.”
“Yeah, thanks. What about the picture of Helena? Did the calls generate anything on Helena?”
“Some, yes, of course, just not as many. None of them helpful—and not many of them real, either. Not in the opinion of our people working the lines. You know, someone saw her in this club or that club, and most of the sightings occurred after the blood was thrown at Vickie.”
“What about our Jane Doe in the hospital?”
“Nothing yet. You know that I’ll call you the minute we have a lead, or the minute she wakes up.”
“Thanks,” Griffin said.
“We’re on it. We’ll keep pressing.”
They finished their conversation, and Griffin put a call through to Jackson at headquarters; there was nothing new learned on that end.
“Pursue it until you find the truth,” Jackson told him.