'Or one hell of a cataclysm is heading our way.'
'Praise God!' Charlie said, his eyes glowing again. 'It's the Rapture! You seen the Rapture! It's like when God takes the faithful to heaven, leaving the rest behind in the darkness! Those sitters you touched, Lyle, they ain't been saved-if they were they wouldn't be foolin' 'round with no spirit medium. You touched lost souls, Lyle.'
'If that's what you want to believe-'
'The End Times! Reverend Sparks been talkin' 'bout all the signs pointin' to the end comin' soon! Praise God, he's right!' He held out his hand. 'Here. Touch me, bro.'
Lyle didn't actually move, but he seemed to shrink back. 'Hey, Charlie, I don't think so. And anyway, I thought you didn't believe in this stuff.'
'Who can figure how God works?' Charlie stepped closer. 'The Book say the dead'll rise come the End Times. Maybe this is where it starts. Come on, Lyle. Try me.'
Jack watched Lyle hesitate, then reach toward his brother's outstretched hand. A shock of alarm shot through him, urging him to warn Lyle off, tell him not to do it. But he bit it back. Lyle and Charlie were brothers. Where was the harm? What could happen?
Lyle's fingers gripped Charlie's in a firm handshake. The two stood staring into each other's eyes.
'Well?' Charlie said.
Lyle's mouth worked, then he let out an anguished cry. His eyes rolled back as he sagged to his knees and started coughing. He clutched at his throat with his free hand as if he were choking.
'Let go!' Jack shouted to Charlie.
'Can't!' Charlie's eyes were wild as he pulled at Lyle's fingers, trying to loosen them. 'He crushin' my hand!'
Lyle was kicking and writhing now, looking like a man in his death throes. This was scary as hell. Jack stepped forward, ready to help Charlie break contact, when Lyle suddenly quieted. His rasping breaths stopped for an agonizing moment, then restarted with a cough and a gasp. Finally he released Charlie's hand and slumped the rest of the way to the floor.
Jack bent over him. 'Lyle! Lyle, can you hear me?'
Lyle rolled over and opened his eyes. They looked dull, bloodshot. He looked around and blinked as if he'd just stepped out of a cave. His gaze came to rest on his brother standing over him, frozen in shock.
Charlie's voice was very small. 'Lyle? You okay?'
'Dumb question,' Lyle croaked as he propped himself up on one elbow. 'Do I look okay?'
His tongue worked in and out of his mouth as he sat up.
'What's wrong?' Jack said.
'My mouth. Tastes like dirt.'
'It bad, ain't it,' Charlie said in that same small voice.
Lyle bent his knees and rested his forehead against them. 'It started out bad, I can tell you that. It's mostly a blur, but I know for a moment there I felt as if I was suffocating, really and truly choking to death, but then the feeling passed. After that it all became pretty vague and jumbled for a while, but then I came to that same hungry darkness I saw with the others.' He looked up at his brother. 'But we come through it, the both of us. I mean, it seems like we do because we're still together when it's all over.'
'Praise God!' Charlie said, his voice stronger now. 'That can only mean you get yourself saved before the Rapture.' He lifted his arms and looked up. 'God, you are so great and good to have mercy on my brother and I.'
Lyle glanced at his brother, sighed, then held out a hand for Jack to help him up.
Jack hesitated. 'You sure you want to do that?' Jack was sure he didn't want anyone looking into his future. And they could stay out of his past and present too while they were at it.
'You've got a point there.' Lyle pushed himself to his feet. He staggered a step when he was fully upright. 'Man.' He shook his head. 'Maybe we'd better call it a day.'
'Probably a good idea,' Jack said. 'We haven't found one loose stone in the whole damn wall. That means tomorrow we start on the floor. Probably should have started there in the first place.'
Lyle nodded. 'Yeah. If Dmitri was involved with Tara Portman, and maybe more missing kids, I can think of only one reason for a dirt floor all those years.'
Jack walked over to the gap in the floor and examined the edge of the concrete.
'Shouldn't be too bad a job. Looks like it's only two inches thick. You could rent a jackhammer and make short work of it.'
Lyle shook his head. 'Rather not if I can avoid it. Too much noise. I'm not looking to attract attention.'
Jack glanced at him. 'Not yet, anyway.'
A flat smile. 'Right. Not yet. You mind if we try by hand first?'
'Sure. If you think you'll be up for it tomorrow, so will I.'
'I'll be up for it. But only till mid-afternoon. I'm speaking to a women's club in Forest Hills tomorrow.' He held up a pinky and pursed his lips. 'Pre-dinner speaker to the ladies, don't you know.'
'Hoping to expand your clientele?'
He sighed. 'Yeah. That was the case when I arranged the gig.' He glanced at his brother. 'Now, maybe I'm just wasting my time.' He perked up as he faced Jack, but it seemed to take effort. 'Anyway, I'll cancel tomorrow's sittings and we'll start off bright and early. If nothing else, it'll be a good workout.'
A good workout... right. What would also be good, but far from pleasant, would be finding Tara Portman's remains and putting her to rest. Maybe then Gia would put the little girl behind her. And maybe then Jack could find out what all this meant and why he was involved.
Maybe.
14
Jack loped down Ditmars toward the subway, passing rows of ethnic stores propping up gray-stone triple- decker apartments. Rush hour was in full swing with the sidewalks cramped and the streets stop and go. He turned onto Thirty-first Street and was headed toward the looming elevated N line when his phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and hit the send button.
'Hey, hon. What's up?'
But it wasn't Gia on the other end.
'Am I speaking to Jack?' said a faintly accented male voice that cracked his name like a whip.
Jack stopped walking. 'Who's this? Who're you calling?'
'I'm calling the one who tried to kill me Monday night. Would that be you, Jack?'
Bellitto! How had he got this number? That bothered him, but the scalding fury of realizing he was speaking to Tara Portman's killer engulfed his concern. He looked around, then backed into the doorway of a gyro-souvlaki shop.
'Eli!' Jack said. He felt his lips tightening, pulling back from his teeth. 'If I'd wanted to kill you, you'd be making this call from your grave. I didn't recognize your voice. Maybe that's because last time I heard it you were whining like a frightened child. You know what a frightened child sounds like, don't you?'
'Just as you do, I'm sure.'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'Oh, come now, Jack, or whatever your real name is. Don't take me for a fool. I know more about you than you think I do.'
Unease blunted Jack's fury. Was Bellitto bluffing? He knew Jack's name-no, wait. Jack had had Eli's clerk write Jack next to Tara's key-chain entry in the sale book. That was how he'd got the name. But somehow Eli had found Jack's Tracfone number. What else did he know?
'Such as?'
'I know you're a practitioner.'
'Really?' Where was this going? 'Of what?'
An instant's hesitation, as if Bellitto was unsure of how much he should say, then, 'The Ceremony, of course.'
The word meant nothing to Jack, but Bellitto's tone had loaded it with so much portent he knew he had to
