“Oh my God.”
He followed the direction of her gaze. The pet door. His heart stopped. “Has he ever—”
“Yes. But I made him promise never to do it . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if realizing silly that sounded. “I keep it latched, just to be safe.”
But it wasn’t latched, they found a moment later. A cry slipped past her lips. “It’s pitch black out . . . and he’s just a little boy!” She was trembling, near tears. “Anything could happen.”
“Do you have a flashlight?”
“Yes.”
“Get it. I have one in my car. I’ll help you look.”
“But Angel—”
“Will have to wait,” Zach said, the passage of time settling like weight on his shoulders. “He can’t have gone far.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
Saturday, July 20
3:35 A.M.
Angel stood on the steps of the abandoned church, a monstrous hulk in the blackness. No glimmer of light from anywhere, as if all that was good had left this place long ago.
A force had led her here. Navigated for her, like an internal GPS. The padlocked gate had simply fallen open at her touch.
But the force had also led her to this moment. All her life she had felt its call. And she had searched for that something. The why to her life. Her purpose.
This was it. What she had been created for. Why she was different from other kids. Why she dreamed in symbols; why she had dreamed the image of the heart and felt compelled to permanently mark her body with it.
Her side began to ache. The tattoo started to thrum, mimicking the beat of her heart. She turned her face to the sour breeze and shuddered. Something foul lived here.
The missing two were here: Gwen Miller and Patricia Putnam. She sensed their despair. Their fear rippled along her nerve endings. Weirdly, instead of frightening her, the twin emotions seemed to bring her to life.
Her destiny, she thought. Get in, free them, and get out.
Angel moved her gaze over the path ahead to the church’s facade, then the sprawling school to the right. She closed her eyes. Focused. Like lifting, the way opened up to her.
She bypassed the church and followed what had been a breezeway to the school. The door stood open. Waiting for her.
She stepped through; it slammed shut behind her.
She jerked at the sound and glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to the hallway before her. It curved into a semicircle and had what appeared to be doorways to classrooms at various intervals. She brought a hand to her tattoo, picturing it. The church was the heart, literally the Sacred Heart. The classrooms the constellations.
She picked her way forward. Chaos frozen in time. Desks and chairs upended, books tossed. All manner of debris, covered with mold and other decay.
What once was a place of learning was now a landscape of judgment, of human trial.
“Hello,” she called out. “Is anyone here?” Nothing. “Gwen? Patricia?”
Then came a whimper. It seemed to emerge from nowhere and mingle with the roar of blood in her head. “Where are you?” she called. “I’m here to free you.”
“Here!” Another voice had joined the first. “We’re here!”
She started in the direction the voices had come, moving as quickly as she could through the destruction.
“Hello, little one.”
She stopped, heart thundering. The voice was in her head, but also resounding off the walls.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
She turned in a slow circle, searching the darkness. “Who are you?”
“You know me.”
The voice curled over and around her, somehow familiar, reassuring, and magnetic. “No,” she said defiantly. “I don’t know you.”
“Angel,” the voice chided, “you can’t deny me.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Because I created you.”
Created her? Like she was the result of a lab experiment. A sort of Frankenstein. “If I know you, show yourself.”
Angel waited. Nothing shifted in the dark; the silence grew heavy. She pressed forward. “Gwen, Patricia! Where are you?”
“Here,” they cried, sobbing. “Please help us! He’s coming!”
Angel found the classroom, the locked door. She peered through the window and saw the two. Huddled together, chained to the wall. Terrified, but alive.
She hadn’t been wrong.
This was her destiny.
The door was metal, its hinges rusty, the frame crumbling. She threw herself against it once, then again. Pain shot through her side, her shoulder—sharp, white hot. She realized she was crying. She tackled it a third time. It groaned, began to give.
Thank God, she thought. Thank—
Suddenly, she wasn’t alone. A presence. Circling, caressing her. As she imagined a lover would. Gooseflesh raced up her arms, over her torso; the hair on her head seemed to stand up. A part of her awakened.
“I’m your destiny, Angel.”
“Get out of my head.”