He hugged the doorway.
Again, with one hand he gripped the doorknob.
And turned.
It was locked.
He bent again, trying to see through the keyhole. He couldn’t see through it in the fading daylight.
He stood back up.
Was she inside?
Was someone else in there with her?
No time left.
Curran placed himself opposite the door across the hallway. He clasped his gun in both hands by his chest, the muzzle leaning off toward his left.
He took a deep breath in.
And aimed a front stomp kick at the area just above the doorknob.
Kicked.
Crashed.
The door flung open.
Curran moved in.
Saw the bed.
Saw the sheets.
Sniffed Lauren’s perfume.
And then,
Saw nothing else in the room.
She wasn’t there.
He exhaled.
On the table next to the bed, he saw the leather-bound journal of Graham Westerly and grabbed it. He could feel the age of the journal, enclosed by the stiffened leather.
But where was Lauren?
“Can I help you?”
Curran spun and brought the gun up — aiming.
The priest jumped back raising his hands quickly. “Good Lord!”
Curran felt everything bleed out of him and he slumped back. “Sorry.”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Curran. I’m a cop. Where’s Lauren?”
The priest lowered his hands. “You’re a friend of Lauren’s?”
Curran nodded. “You must be Father Jim.”
“That’s right.”
“Sorry about the gun.”
“This is something of a holy home, Detective. I’d hope you try not to draw your weapon too often in the house of God.”
“Never do,” said Curran. Because I’m never there. “Have you seen Lauren?”
Father Jim shook his head. “No. No I haven’t.”
“She said she’d be back by noon. She’s not here.”
“Where was she coming from?”
Curran frowned. “The divinity school, but she should have left there ages ago.”
“Well, she never returned here.”
The divinity school.
Damn.
His heart sank. Part of him knew he was already too late. He knew — somehow — that Darius already had her.
Curran ran from the house.
And behind him, he could hear Father Jim ask, “Who’s going to pay for my front door?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Darkness bled across the sky by the time Curran finally reached Darius’ house back in Chestnut Hill. He gazed at it through the bug-splattered windshield, wondering what exactly was going on inside.
He would have rushed over this afternoon straightaway, but for reading the journal he’d found in Lauren’s room that urged him to wait.
Unfortunately, the journal failed to mention what the demon’s weaknesses were. Curran sighed and glanced at the house again. Overhead, the dark sky was bloated with angry rain clouds that threatened imminent downpours.
Or hail.
And maybe much worse.
His dashboard clock read 6pm.
I can’t wait any longer, thought Curran. Besides, who knew what calendar the demon operated on? By his calculations, it might be time to start things up right now.
Curran slid his pistol of if his shoulder holster and checked the chamber. He had two magazines as back-up, as well as a small.380 pistol strapped to his ankle holster. That only held six rounds. And he secretly doubted their effectiveness if three mags of 10mm stopping power couldn’t halt Darius’ advance.
Only one way to find out, he decided.
He got out of the car.
He mumbled a quick hope — was it a prayer — that Kwon’s spirit would be with him tonight. Curran was going to need all the help he could get.
He hoped surprise would be on his side. Maybe Darius thought Curran would drag a SWAT team and a hundred officers over here to his house with a lengthy standoff ensuing.
Not a goddamned chance, thought Curran. Not with what I’ve got to see done tonight.
He crept over by the side bushes. Shadows loomed deep from the branches that hung out into the pathway. Curran brushed by them, keeping his frame held low.
The clouds above began spitting at him. Cold splatters of rain drizzled down and quickly soaked through the shoulders of his jacket. Curran ignored the cold water seeping toward his skin and kept his eyes locked on the house.
No light spilled out of the windows. Darkness filled the interior.
Curran swallowed.
Even though he’d just been here the day before, the feeling now about the home seemed completely different. Yesterday it had felt merely…sinister.
But now, with Darius ready to unleash a horde of unholy evil, the entire frame seemed to radiate pure hatred and total evil.
Curran glanced overhead, but couldn’t see the moon. The obese clouds obscured its reflected light. But he knew it was there.
And tonight was the full moon.
Curran crept closer to the house.
A dog barking in a neighboring yard made his heart jump out of his chest. He stopped, breathed again, and
