Something Bad, page 29
The priest paused.
To Gabe, he seemed so emotional he was having trouble getting the words out. With each sentence he slumping more and more into his chair. “You needing some water or something?”
Father Costello put up his hand. “No. Let me continue. I have to explain this.” He took in several shallow breaths. “I just couldn’t let my child be raised into that situation. I had to do something for my daughter and for our society, so I had to do the unthinkable.” A tear ran down his cheek, then one on the other. “I talked the baby’s mother into giving her up for adoption one night. I told her I had it all arranged and it would be best if I took her to her new parents right away. I had all the hospital forms signed, although I forged them.” The priest wiped his cheeks with his fingers. He lowered his face inches from the table. “I took my daughter into a maintenance closet and covered her head with a pillow until she was no longer breathing. It was the only way out. I had to do it.” Father Costello sobbed. He crossed his arms on the table and his head fell forward onto his forearms.
A feeling of horror and disgust turned outward from Gabe’s gut. He was in a state of shock. There wasn’t a single reason for ever killing a child, especially one’s own. But he wasn’t a priest, and he wasn’t faced with the situation that faced the father. And, he did agree to try to see it the father’s way. He couldn’t look straight at the priest.
Father Costello raised his head from his arms, but he still looked down at the table. He cleared his throat. “I took her body to the church so I could give her a proper burial. I had already defeated Hughes, but I had to stand before God and confess. And, I had to do the best I could for my child’s poor innocent soul. That’s when Hughes caught up to me. When he saw what I’d done, he was furious.”
The priest paused and tried to regain some of his composure.
Gabe sat in silence, still in shock.
Father Costello removed a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his eyes and cheeks. It looked like the father’s body had just sprung a leak and his life force was slowly seeping from him. He seemed to be dying right there in the chair.
In a quick move, Father Costello looked up, directly into Gabe’s eyes, and Gabe recoiled. The father’s words came out as a warning.
“You’re dealing with an extremely intelligent man. And he’s as evil as he is intelligent. He proved it that night.” His eyes dropped from Gabe’s face and returned to the table. His voice faded. “He proved it that night.”
Gabe reached out to place a comforting touch on Father Costello’s arm, but he pulled away. Gabe leaned a little closer. “Father, are you all right?”
Father Costello sobbed again. In a voice so quiet Gabe could barely hear it, he uttered single sentences between sobs.
“He made me sit in a chair right there in the church … I couldn’t move … He didn’t tie me up, I just couldn’t move … He had a bag … with two lambs, a small dog, and a cat … He slaughtered the animals and spread their parts around the church … Then he took my daughter’s body…” His head jerked upward, his eyes wild. His mouth moved in silence, then his voice came, loud. “You were there. In the inhouse. Weren’t you?”
Memories swirled in Gabe’s head. The inhouse. The little man with the strange smile. Toes … he thought he saw toes. Gabe snuffled back a sob and wrung his hands. He didn’t know what to do. Was his connection with Thibideaux and Father Costello sealed back then? Twenty-five years ago? He was just a young boy.
Gabe’s mind came back to the day room. He wanted to comfort the priest. His shock and horror turned to a nearly overwhelming feeling of sorrow. Standing in the father’s shoes, he could see Thibideaux’s evil grin. A lump formed in his throat and his eyes welled with tears. He couldn’t hold them back this time. He lowered his head closer to the level of Father Costello’s. “Father, you don’t have to go on.”
Through his sobs, and without raising his head from his arms, the priest said, “Yes, I do. I have to. It’s my penance. I knew you had a reason to come here—to bring me out of my prison. But what I didn’t realize was I had a reason to come out to talk with you. I have to finish so I can return to my now-strengthened insanity.”
Gabe’s sadness was compounded by the news the priest was going back. He sat in silence until Father Costello could speak again.
After a few minutes, the father’s sobs faded into occasional whimpers. He raised his head a little and spoke in a whisper.
“After Hughes slaughtered the animals, he took my daughter’s body and did the same with it. He made me watch him. I tried to close my eyes, but I couldn’t—he wouldn’t let me. He cut her little body into such small pieces it was impossible to recognize them as human, and then he mixed them up with all the animal parts. He arranged them all as if there was some sort of ritualistic sacrifice—you saw it—and then he covered me with blood. The blood of my daughter. I tried to get up, but I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move my legs. He made me sit there until the town people came in to worship. They found me sitting among all the remains, covered with blood.” He paused without moving, then raised his head and looked at the ceiling. “Father, forgive me. I’m a sinner in repentance before you. Father, forgive me.” His head collapsed back onto his arms and he wept.
Anger pierced Gabe’s emotional armor. The shock and disgust were no longer directed at the priest. He tried to place a hand on Father Costello’s arm, but the priest pulled away again.
From the cover of his arms, his voice was firm. “Please don’t try to comfort me. I don’t deserve any comforts in this world.” He peered upward. “Gabe, I’d like to ask you two favors before you leave, and before I go back to my prison. First, please don’t ever come back here again, and don’t send anyone else. I don’t want visitors and I don’t want to be cured. I’ve given you all of my information because it has renewed my shame and regret, which I need to continue to suffer through this life I’ve made so miserable.
“Second, keep the drawing of Hughes. When the situation with Cory Dean has been resolved, one way or the other, send the picture back to me with instructions for a member of the staff to hold it in front of my face, just like you did today. If Hughes wins, send it just as it is now. If you manage to defeat his plan, place a large red X through his face. That way, I’ll at least have the satisfaction of knowing he was outsmarted again, or the distaste of knowing he’s still at his craft.”
Father Costello paused. “Gabe, I want to thank you for coming all this way. I hope I’ve been of some help. You’ve given me an opportunity to further pay for my deeds, which I appreciate. Now, I have to return these lucid moments to the past and pay my debt to the future.” He turned in his chair and settled his gaze out of the window. And retreated from reality.
Gabe stared. His heart gave an extra beat, then a pause. “Thibideaux,” he said out loud. “He took your future and my past on that morning. And now he’s trying to take my future.”
It was nearly five in the afternoon when Gabe made his way to the elevator. The ride to the ground floor seemed to take forever. As he crutched past the reception desk, a high-pitched voice interrupted his depression. Gabe didn’t recognize it.
“Excuse me. Catherine wanted me to congratulate you for bringing Father Costello out of his silence. You’ve done what no doctor has been able to do for more than twenty years.”
Gabe didn’t turn his head. “Don’t thank me. He was here for only a little bit. Now, he’s back where he wants to be. I doubt he’ll talk again until he passes.” He didn’t wait for a reaction. Even if there was one, he wouldn’t have heard it. He just ambled out toward the parking lot to head home.
Just outside the front doors, he met Doctors Ewing and Freedman, who were hurrying into the building, each carrying a heavy box full of something Gabe couldn’t see. Doctor Ewing nearly bumped into him on the way past as Doctor Freedman announced his approach, the arrogance thick.
“Get out of the way. We have to get these to Father Costello right away.”
Gabe swiveled the crutches toward Wes’ truck and let out a loud belly laugh. “A wild goose chase,” he said to the row of empty cars. “Good one, Father.”
He pulled himself behind the wheel of the truck and his mind turned to the matter at hand. The drive home would allow him time to think about a way to use the father’s information. There had to be a plan in there somewhere. If nothing else, the thinking would keep him alert and pass the time.
CHAPTER
53
GABE DIRECTED WES’ truck toward the freeway and headed south. Once clear of the crowded roadways of the Chicago area, he welcomed a newfound energy, driven by a mind that was ripe for commanding a solution to the Thibideaux problem. Over and over again, he ran through everything Father Costello had told him. He knew there was a weakness somewhere in Thibideaux’s plan. He just had to find it.
With his mind working in overdrive, Gabe had to occasionally redirect his attention to keep his driving speed down. Twice he looked down to see he was gong more than eighty-five miles per hour. Ordinarily, he would have lost his mental edge to fatigue around eight or nine in the evening, but his mind churned over the Father’s information at such a rapid rate, time flew by without a single downward head bob.
A road sign with mileage to several cities caught his attention. He wondered how he had managed to drive so far without it registering in his consciousness. Was there such a thing as sleep driving? Everyone drove through a green light and then wondered if it was really green, he thought. Same thing. If there were such a thing, the Guinness Book of World Records would have an entry. Maybe he had advanced the record.
Gabe’s mind found a crack and followed it. It led to a fracture, then a chasm—a potential idea for dealing with Thibideaux. He looked at his watch. It was two in the morning. He leaned up in the seat, energized. There would be no nodding off at the wheel for now.
He spent the next two hours in frontal lobe gymnastics, running through all of the various possible outcomes for his putative solution, like a chess player considering all potential scenarios radiating from a single move before advancing a game piece. When his abstract evaluation was complete, he nodded his head and patted the steering wheel. Got an outside chance of success. But I’ll need some help.
The elation over his discovery of a possible chink in Thibideaux’s armor, together with his repetitive imaginary rehearsal of the plan, held the advancing fatigue at bay until the sky changed from the deep purple of night to a royal blue that signaled the impending breech of the horizon by the sun. It was a little before six and Gabe estimated he was about two hours from home.
The last two hours of the trip were pure agony—a mental back-and-forth tennis match between consciousness and sleep. Unfortunately, the fatigue dulled the pain in Gabe’s chest and knee so even his violent head bobs didn’t trigger a twitch of pain to help him stay alert. He drove with all of the windows open wide and sang out loud to songs on the radio, whether he knew the words or not. With these tricks and a good bit of luck, he pulled up to the farmhouse a little past eight. He was welcomed by drapes that were opened by a family that was awake for the day, and the smell of bacon, eggs and coffee wafting from an open kitchen window. His fatigue had a worthy competitor in his hunger. A good meal would be a perfect springboard to sleep. He’d return Wes’ truck later.
Gabe’s welcome was a warm one, at least from the three residents of the farmhouse. In contrast, the welcome forwarded by the fog that enveloped the house carried a distinct chill. Gabe, Deena Lee and Wanna were conscious of the eavesdropping mist, so when Deena Lee inquired about the trip, there was no surprise by Gabe’s answer.
“The trip was fine, but I hate going to the Capitol. And having to deal with taxes made it downright painful. The only good thing was Wes letting me use his truck. It really helped my knee not having to work a clutch.”
The small talk was a prelude to Gabe’s full day of slumber. He didn’t know when the fog dissipated. He only knew that when he awoke, at four-thirty in the afternoon, it was gone.
During his sleep, Gabe was bothered by a nightmare that had visited his pillow before, but only in incomplete snippets. This time, however, he got the full tour.
He was surrounded by a billowing mist so vast he was dwarfed by its volume, and its density was so high only a dim light was available to gauge his surroundings, which seemed bare. But he didn’t feel fear. Instead, he had a churning sense of insignificance that made him feel smaller and smaller as the fog billowed around him. That had been the extent of the dreams until today.
In the latest edition, the mist began to clear overhead. He looked up. A vague outline of a face stared down at him. The haze continued to clear, and he saw the outline of a head, although the facial features were still indistinct, shadowy. With time, the features came more into focus, but his brain was slow to recognize them. He expected to see the uniquely distorted features of Thibideaux staring down at him, but they were different, overtly normal. Since the identity of the apparition was unexpected, it took longer than it should have for Gabe to recognize it. It was … his own face.
But something wasn’t right with it. Instead of the quiet confidence and kind countenance he usually saw in the mirror, the expression on the face above him was decidedly different. The look in its eyes was not one of truthfulness, but lies. The turns at the corners of its mouth didn’t speak of responsibility, but shouted deceit.
Gabe felt even more insignificant. The towering face of his recent self pressed his former self into a smaller and smaller corner of his universe. He realized that for the last several months, ever since Thibideaux moved into Boyston, he was seldom totally honest with anyone. He was either telling a half-truth, hiding something, or all-out lying to one or more people. Before Thibideaux’s arrival, he was always honest, sometimes brutally so, but now it seemed the lying Gabe was trying to elbow the truthful Gabe into the background.
The feeling of insignificance faded, replaced by a sense of losing control. Unfortunately, the dream was an open ended one. The face never fully cleared in his vision, and the feeling of shrinking in its presence continued unabated. There was no conclusion—no end to the shrinkage, and no way out. There was no death in the dream. It was worse. It was the curse of an eternal sensation of helplessness. Just like Father Costello.
Gabe awoke with a feeling of frustration. Not only did he remember the dream, he sensed the danger posed by the “other” Gabe and its desire to take over his personality. But he had no choice now. He had to continue the lies and deceit a little while longer. To try to defeat Thibideaux, even if the battle turned him to Thibideaux’s ways. The end would justify the means. Wouldn’t it?
Suppertime was subdued in the Petersen household. The farmhouse was once again shrouded in a thick fog, and little Cory Dean was preoccupied with the pain of colic. Because of his recent lack of sleep, both Deena Lee and Wanna were reduced to the quiet of fatigue, their normally sharp curiosity replaced by what seemed to be apprehension. Probably due to the prospect of yet another rough night.
After eating, Gabe excused himself and headed for the phone in the living room. He parted the drapes. The fog was there. He didn’t have the luxury of relaxation—the baptism was only three days away. His first call was to Wes Worthing. He’d return the truck tomorrow morning, around eleven. Wes was glad to hear his truck, and Gabe, had returned safely. Gabe then dialed the number of Reverend Sather. As the Reverend answered, Gabe moved the curtains aside to verify the fog was still surrounding the house.
“Reverend? It’s Gabe. I was wondering if I could talk with you about the baptism. I need to know if the ceremony can be changed a bit.”
The Reverend’s voice didn’t carry its usual cheery tone. “Of course. The ceremony is flexible. I can add some things or change some things around, but I can’t eliminate any of the basic components of the rite. What do you have in mind?”
Once again, Gabe glanced out the window. “It’s kind of complex. I’d like to talk about it in person. Can you meet me at the Herndon’s Edge for lunch tomorrow? Around eleven-thirty?”
The Reverend paused. “Eleven thirty will be fine. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?” He seemed to be fishing.
“No. Thank you.” Gabe hurried off the phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Gabe and family spent the early evening watching television sit-coms, but the underlying tension in the room, coming from all corners, reduced their responses to most of the jokes to muffled titters. Deena Lee was first to excuse herself—she had to put Cory Dean down and then head directly to bed. To keep their conversation quiet, Wanna came over and sat down on the couch next to Gabe.
“Gabe, you all right? You’re looking really tired. I don’t suppose you want to tell me what’s been going on?”
Gabe’s head snapped around to the window. The fog was still there.
“I’m okay. I just got a lot on my mind right now. Give me a week or so and I’ll tell you all about it. I’ll know more myself in a few days. Until then, I just need you to be understanding. Can you trust me on that?”
“Does it have anything to do with taxes? We all right with the farm?”
