Rage, p.18
Rage, page 18
He shrugged. “Any chance we can convince them to stop publication of the rest of the books?”
Her answer was a quick snort. “No, but…” She pulled out the business card from her pocket and fingered the edges. “Maybe we can stop them from getting the final book.”
She told Spyder about their run-in with the editor at Pierce’s house, including Mark Sanders’ reply when they’d asked what the four-book series was about. “It’s about the end of the world,” she repeated to Spyder, suddenly realizing that she had an obligation to stop Pierce that went far beyond her own self-involvement.
“Anyway,” she continued, “this Sanders guy was frantic because his copy of the manuscript was garbled. He was looking for either Pierce’s original draft or a file on the computer. There was nothing at the house. Maybe Pierce has something with him, but according to his editor, he’s hidden away somewhere in the Adirondacks.”
“So, if we get Pierce’s copy and keep it from the publisher…”
“Yes,” she nodded, not missing the way he’d included himself in the quest for Algernon Pierce. “I’d be on my way now, except Gate stopped me. He didn’t want us going off without a game plan.”
“Gate? That reporter, huh?”
She nodded.
“He’s going with you?”
Again she caught a tinge of jealousy in his voice. It wasn’t her imagination. “Yes, he’s going with us,” she said.
Us. She wondered how much of this feeling of “us” was Pierce’s doing. Was this immediate connection she’d felt with Spyder simply a result of Pierce pushing them together? Was it love at first sight or love at first draft?
Spyder certainly wasn’t her type. But she felt as if she’d known him all her life, as if they were two halves of the same whole. She felt as if they were destined to find each other and she knew he felt the same way.
From what she’d read so far, Pierce had intended her to be with Gate, not Spyder. Spyder was supposed to be her murderer. So already they’d defied him once, rewritten part of their destiny. Now if only they could rewrite the rest before it was too late. Like it or not, they were thrown together now, whether arranged by fate or the lunatic ravings of a best-selling author.
Spyder interrupted her thoughts. “So, you said if Gate hadn’t stopped you, you’d be halfway to the Adirondacks by now. What’s in the Adirondacks?”
As Blaize told Gate about the scene she’d read on the computer screen, followed by the unusual explosion that followed, he held her tighter. “We should have left right from Pierce’s place,” she said. “I hate doing nothing. I can’t shake the feeling that Joyce needs me, and I know we’ll find the answers we’re looking for at that commune where Pierce’s sister preaches.”
“Mother Moon,” Spyder said, seeming to chew on the name. “Mother Moon.” His brow furrowed. “Where the hell have I heard that name before?”
“Supposedly she’s a minor celebrity up there,” Blaize said.
Spyder shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I read it somewhere. Recently.” He looked around the room, as if the answer would jump out at him.
“Originally I was worried about his sister,” Blaize continued. “But if you’re right, she’s not in any danger yet. The assassination scene isn’t in the advance reading copy, so it must be in one of the later books.”
Spyder only nodded. “Damn, it’s right at the tip—” Suddenly he snapped his fingers. “Oh shit, I know!”
He lifted Blaize off his lap and set her gently back into the rocking chair, crossing the room in just a few long strides. “That scene,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s not part of the book.”
“What?”
Spyder came back with a magazine folded in his hand. “I knew it sounded familiar.”
He handed the magazine to Blaize. She tried to ignore the conspicuously naked women draped provocatively across the pages inside.
“Here,” he said, flipping toward the back. “That scene you read isn’t part of the book. It’s a short story in last month’s PlayToy Magazine. A story written by our friend Pierce.”
Blaize’s heart sank as she read the very same words she’d seen on the screen at Pierce’s house. Spyder was right. It was a scene from this short story. Mother Moon wasn’t safe after all.
Grasping at straws, she asked, “People who buy these magazines don’t really read the stories, do they?”
“Would they bother printing them if people didn’t?” he scoffed. “Besides, this is Algernon Pierce. Everyone reads his stories. Hell, even I read it and I’m not a big fan of his.”
“Then we have to get out there. That poor woman, Mother Moon, is in danger and she doesn’t even realize it.”
“Hold on,” Spyder said. “I agree with Gate. You can do more harm than good running off without a plan. You don’t even know where in the Adirondacks to find her. You’ll end up wasting more time searching than if you do some research now.”
She hated to admit that he was right. “Okay,” she said. “We took some tapes from Pierce’s house. They’re out in my car. We’ll start with those.”
Mother Moon barely made a sound as she stepped into the dimly lit room. She reached the bed and lay her hand on her brother’s forehead. “How are you feeling?”
He moaned. “Headaches. They’re worse. The light’s too bright.”
There was no light in the room, but she didn’t argue. She brushed the hair back from his forehead, her fingertips gently massaging his temples. “I’ve made you a new set of tapes,” she said. “These will help with the headaches.”
His moans were a rumbled roar deep in his chest. “I can’t listen. The voices will hurt my head.”
“I promise they won’t,” she said with a smile. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“You’re the only person I do trust,” he admitted. “No one else understands me. They’re out to get me. Even the characters in the books have turned against me.”
“Shhh,” she said. “Everything’s all right. You’re safe here. No one can find you. No one can hurt you. Sleep now.”
Under her soothing touch, he finally did fall asleep, her name like a prayer on his lips. “Celeste…my sweet angel, my babygirl…”
Joey was waiting outside the room when Celeste finally left his side. “Is Uncle Algernon all right?” he asked.
Celeste smiled and squeezed her son’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine. He’s just exhausted. But he can rest here. We’ll take good care of him, won’t we?”
“Yes,” Joey agreed. “We’ll take extra special care of Uncle Algernon.”
They walked side by side, the top of Joey’s head barely reaching her shoulder. He was growing so fast, she realized. Part of her mourned the loss of his childhood, but she realized he would need broad, strong shoulders to carry the weight of his destiny—a destiny that was waiting for him just around the corner.
“Were you looking for me?” Celeste asked her son. It was unusual for him to be wandering at this time of the afternoon. “Don’t you have classes?”
“I finished my work early and Oswald said I could come find you to ask you something.”
Celeste tipped her head, waiting.
“Mother, could I sing with the choir at prayer meeting Friday night?”
A slow smile crossed Celeste’s face. “You miss singing with the choir, don’t you?”
The boy nodded then blushed apologetically. “It’s not that I don’t like being on stage with you. But I love singing, too. It makes me feel so joyful inside.” He tapped his heart. “In here.”
“You could sing from the stage with the choir, couldn’t you?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “But it doesn’t feel the same. I can’t feel the voices lifting me up like I can when I’m with the choir.”
Celeste seemed to consider it for a few minutes. Then, squeezing her son’s hand and smiling, she agreed. “This time. But I need you with me in the future. It won’t be that much longer before you’ll be taking over for me.” She lifted her arms in a sweeping gesture. “Soon this will all be yours.”
Celeste knew she didn’t have to elaborate. Joey had been trained for his role in the world since the day of his birth. He knew where his destiny lay. Before she even laid eyes on him, before her body had shown signs of his impending birth, Celeste had been given visions in her dreams that foretold the coming of a new Messiah.
Joey had been groomed from birth. He knew he was chosen. Every day brought him closer to fulfilling his destiny.
And Algernon would help them. He just didn’t know it yet.
Chapter Nineteen
Even after they’d realized that the tapes were simply basic hypnosis-relaxation tapes, Blaize and Spyder listened to each and every one from beginning to end. Apparently Algernon Pierce was troubled with insomnia. Blaize nearly laughed at the irony. The horror writer who kept millions of readers awake at night couldn’t sleep himself. The stereo hissed with white noise as the last tape came to an end.
Spyder stabbed a finger at the “off” button and turned to Blaize. “What do you make of it?”
“Another dead end.” She stood, ran her fingers through her hair and tried to pace her frustration away. It wasn’t working. Her hands clenched into fists. “I can’t just stand here and do nothing,”
“Why do we have to wait for Gate?” Spyder asked. He’d already downloaded all the information he could find on Mother Moon and her followers, including directions to their spiritual community—The Gateway to Spiritual Enlightenment.
Blaize hadn’t missed the similarity between the names Gate Wayne and Gateway. Another clue. Her instincts told her that Gate would be an important part of the solution. But considering the way Spyder reacted to Gate, she needed more than a premonition to convince him.
“Mainly because he knows Pierce,” she said. “Not only can he recognize him, but he might have some influence on the guy.”
Spyder nodded. “Okay, there must be something else we can do in the meantime. What about Pierce’s house? You said you searched the whole place, right?”
“Well, no. Just the office. We were interrupted by Pierce’s editor, remember?”
“So…want to go back there and see if we can find something other than hypnosis tapes?”
Blaize chewed her bottom lip and frowned. “It’s getting dark out.”
“Are you scared?”
“No!” Of course she was. “It’s just…well, that place is pretty creepy.”
“Most likely the power still works. If not, I’ve got flashlights in the Jeep.”
“Jeep?” She tilted her head and gave him a deliberate stare. “You don’t look like a Jeep kinda guy.”
“And you don’t look like a scaredy-cat.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Scaredy-cat?” His daring tone was all the encouragement she needed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you the way.”
It was dark by the time they turned onto the deserted private road leading to Pierce’s estate. Not just dark. Without the competition of street lights or neon signs, the night had a depth and scope to it that made Blaize feel dwarfed by gloom. There seemed to be more stars in the sky than normal. And the hulking mass of Pierce’s estate loomed over them like a silent predator. The house watched them with blind eyes.
They made their way to the door, which was now locked. Blaize wasn’t surprised. She figured Pierce’s editor would lock up after they left. She wondered if he’d taken the time to search the house, too. He’d probably taken whatever evidence they hoped to find here.
“Spyder!” she called, stopping him from smashing his flashlight through the window.
“What?”
“What are you doing?” Her voice sounded abnormally loud in the stillness.
He straightened and folded his arms across his chest. “We’re breaking in. Then we’re going to tromp through the mountains to hunt down a man you say holds the fate of the world in his hands. Now…are you really going to worry about breaking a little window?”
She huffed. That was exactly what she’d been worried about, but when he put it that way, it sounded silly. “Okay,” she said. “Just be careful.”
The darkness hid his face, but a low chuckle drifted back to her on the breeze. Blaize Donovan, she thought. You’re breaking and entering a haunted house with a rock and roll legend who also happens to be the sexiest man you’ve ever met. What are you doing for an encore?
The sound of glass breaking shattered the moment. She saw Spyder climbing through the window, his body half in and half out of the dark opening, looking as if he was being swallowed alive by blackness. She stood frozen to the spot, afraid to follow him and afraid to be left behind. Suddenly she imagined shadows moving among the trees, felt eyes on her. Her skin rippled with goose bumps.
“Spyder?” It was little more than a squeak.
Nothing.
She started toward the broken window, then stopped when she heard a loud thump from inside. She stared at the door and took a step back. The Jeep seemed a thousand miles away. She’d never make it there if someone—or something—came after her.
“Spyder,” she called out. “Answer me.”
The door creaked open. She distinctly remembered that it hadn’t made a sound when she and Gate had been there earlier. The house was dying, deteriorating moment by moment. The creak was like a long, low moan as the door opened slowly to infinite midnight inside.
“Spyder?” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “Please.”
The whisper turned to a shriek as a demonic phantom head floated toward her from the darkness. She screamed, even though she realized almost immediately that it was Spyder holding a flashlight beneath his chin and grinning like a schoolboy. He laughed and apologized, but her heart still pounded in her chest, threatening to burst right through her rib cage.
She came at him, fists flailing, connecting with hard muscles. “I hate you, you big jerk.”
He lifted her up and held her trembling body against his own. His breath rippled along her cheek, warm and sensuous when he whispered, “You do not. You love me.” He gripped her bottom and tugged her tight against him, pinning her against the heat of his body. “And you want me.”
She squirmed in his arms, but there was no fight in her half-hearted struggle. He was right. She wanted him like she’d never wanted a man before. Just the sound of his voice made her weak. His breath tickling her cheek was a heady aphrodisiac.
He nudged his hips forward and held her tighter. She felt him press against her, hard and needy. “Spyder,” she moaned and this time there was only desire in her voice.
He pressed her against the door frame, pinning her there with the force of his body as he cupped her face between his hands, then brushed his thumbs along her jaw, back and forth, back and forth. His tongue parted her lips and he invaded her mouth in a hungry dive, grinding against her until she gasped.
The weight of his hands became heavy on her neck. The pressure increased for a moment, cutting off her airway. She choked and tore herself away, turning her face.
“Spyder,” and this time his name was torn from her throat as a plaintive sob.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sliding her slowly down his body but not letting go. He clutched her possessively. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
The night felt menacing, encroaching all around her. “Can we go inside?” she asked.
He nodded and took her hand, leading her into the dark interior. Then the lights came on, nearly blinding her. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the brightness. When they did, she saw Spyder, his hand still resting on the light switch.
“I told you the lights probably still worked,” he said.
She looked at him. His eyes were dark with desire—and something else, too. Shame? Guilt?
“Spyder?”
“I would never hurt you.” He said it with such force that she wondered which one of them he was trying harder to convince. A vein throbbed at his temple. “You believe me, don’t you?”
She couldn’t resist the plea. “Yes, of course.”
“I swear, Blaize. I’d cut off my own hand before I’d hurt you.”
The words hung in the air, laden with import. His eyes implored her to believe him. “I swear,” he repeated.
He looked so vulnerable. She wanted to hold him, comfort him, tell him everything would be all right. “I know,” she said, needing to believe it as much as he did. “I know.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s okay.” She didn’t want to think about the fact that she had been afraid of him for a moment. She didn’t want to think about what his temporary loss of control meant. They were running out of time.
He looked around and gave a low whistle. “Wow, you weren’t kidding about this place, were you? Creepy to the max.”
Blaize was relieved to have something else to talk about. She nodded. “If anything, it looks even worse now.” It was true. The shadows were deeper, the dust thicker. Ghostly currents of cool air wrapped around their ankles like hungry cats, and pools of darkness swallowed the light.
“Want to split up and search?” he asked.
“No,” she blurted, knowing that saying yes would damage the fragile trust between them. The truth was, she was more afraid of being alone than she was of him, despite what had just happened. Already she was blaming her fear on nerves, the darkness and her own apprehension. She’d overreacted, that’s all.
She’d simply overreacted.
A hundred and eighty-four miles to the north, a woman moved through the darkness, enjoying the solitude of the quiet summer night. From the time she’d arrived at the secluded community there’d always been someone by her side, watching her, guiding her, teaching her, telling her what to think, what to eat, what to feel. It was nice to hear her own thoughts for a change.
“Hello.”
She jumped, startled by the voice. A young boy peeked around the corner of the gazebo.
“You frightened me,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I thought I was all alone out here.”
