Hellfire

Carolyn frowned now. “The numbers? What numbers?”

“All the figures on the amount of money we’ve committed to the project. The loans, the contracts, the cash layouts — the whole ball of wax. And the bottom line is that we literally cannot afford to abandon it. There’s just too much money invested.” He smiled bitterly. “The best thing that could happen,” he added, “would be if the place burned to the ground.”

For the rest of the evening, Phillip’s last words echoed in Carolyn’s mind, and when she at last went to bed, she found it difficult to sleep.

The mill, for her, had become a trap, and she felt its jaws inexorably closing on all of them.

Tracy Sturgess awoke at midnight, just before the alarm on her night table went off. It wasn’t a slow wakening, the slight stirring that grows into a stretch and is then followed by reluctantly opening eyes. It was the other kind, when sleep is suddenly snatched away, and the mind is fully alert. At the first sound of the alarm, she reached out and silenced it.

Tracy lay still in the bed, listening to the faint sounds of the night. She had not intended to fall asleep at all — indeed, she had not even bothered to undress that night, and when her father had come in to say good night to her, she had merely clutched the covers tight around her neck. But when he was gone, she’d set her alarm, just in case.

She slid out of her bed and went to the window. The moon, nearly full, hung high in the night sky, bathing the village below in its silvery light. Even from here, each of the houses of Westover was clearly visible, and when Tracy looked at the mill, the moonlight seemed to shimmer on its windows, making it look as if it were lit from within.

Tracy turned away from the window, put on her sneakers, then crossed to the door. Opening it a crack, she listened for several long seconds. From below, the slow regular ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer seemed amplified by the silence of the house, and Tracy instinctively knew that everyone else was asleep.

She opened the door wider, and stepped out into the corridor, then moved silently toward Beth’s room. When she came to the closed door, she paused, listening again before she tried the knob. It turned easily, and when she pushed the door open, there was no betraying squeak from its hinges. Then she was inside, and a moment later she stood by Beth’s bed, gently shaking her stepsister.

“Wake up,” she whispered as loudly as she dared.

Beth stirred, then woke up, blinking in the dim moonlight. She looked up at Tracy. “Is it time?”

Tracy nodded, then pulled the covers away from Beth. To her disgust, Beth was wearing pajamas. “I told you not to undress,” she hissed. “Hurry up, will you?” Beth reached out to the light on her nightstand, but Tracy brushed her hand away. “Don’t turn on the lights. What if someone sees? Will you just get dressed?”

Beth scrambled out of the bed, and scurried into her closet. In less than a minute she was back, wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt. On her sockless feet she had a pair of sneakers almost identical to Tracy’s. She sat down at her desk, and quickly tied the laces, then followed Tracy out into the hall. But at the top of the stairs, Tracy suddenly stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Beth whispered.

“The bed. We forgot to fix it so it looks like you’re still in it.”

“But everyone’s asleep,” Beth protested.

“What if they wake up? Wait for me downstairs by the front door.” Then, before Beth could protest, Tracy scurried back to Beth’s room and disappeared inside.

But instead of arranging the pillows under the covers of Beth’s bed, she went to the desk, opened the top drawer, and took the old book out. Opening the book, she laid it facedown on the desk, then hurried out of the room.

She left the door standing wide open.

Downstairs, she found Beth waiting nervously by the front door. She pulled the drawer of the commode out, fished around until she found the right set of keys, then closed the drawer. A moment later they were outside.

They darted across the lawn, and between the twin stone lions that guarded the path to the mausoleum, then paused to pick up the lantern that Beth had sneaked out of the tackroom that afternoon.

“But why can’t we just turn on the lights?” Beth had protested when Tracy had told her what she wanted.

“Are you crazy?” Tracy had replied. “If we turn on the lights, everyone in town will know someone’s inside. But who’s going to see a lantern?”

Now Tracy checked it once more. Its tank was full, and the wick, which she had carefully trimmed, was still undamaged. The knife she had used to trim the wick — an old rusty jackknife that had also come from the tackroom — was safe in her pocket, along with three books of matches.

Carrying the lantern, Tracy started up the trail to the mausoleum, Beth behind her.

The great marble structure seemed even larger at night, and the moonlight shot black shadows from the pillars across the floor. One of the shadows fell across the chair in which the ashes of Samuel Pruett Sturgess were interred, giving the girls the fleeting illusion that the chair had disappeared entirely. Standing by the broken pillar, they gazed out toward the mill.

“Look,” Beth breathed. “It’s burning.”

Tracy felt a derisive laugh rise in her throat, but choked it off. “It’s Amy,” she whispered. “She knows we’re coming.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw Beth hesitate, then nod. “Shall we stop at her grave?” she asked.

This time, Beth shook her head. “She’s not there,” she whispered. “She’s still in the mill. Come on.”

Now, with Beth leading, they started down the tangled path that would eventually stop at the river.

“Are you scared?” Tracy asked. They had come to the end of the trestle over the river. On the other side, across River Road, the mill gleamed in the moonlight.

“No,” Beth replied with a bravery she didn’t quite feel. The wooden bridge stretched out before them, seeming longer and higher at night than it did in the daytime. “Are you?”

Tracy shook her head, and started out onto the narrow span, placing her feet carefully on the ties, keeping to the exact center of the space between the twin rails. Behind her, Beth followed her movements precisely, concentrating on staring at the ties, for when she let her vision shift, focusing on the river below, a wave of dizziness passed over her.

Then they were on the other side of the river, and solid ground once more spread away on either side of the tracks.

They paused at River Road, then darted across.

They came to the back of the mill, and Beth pointed to the loading dock. “That’s where she lives,” she whispered. “There’s a little room under there.”

Tracy ignored her, starting up the path along the side of the building. They were exposed now, the full light of the moon shining down on them, and they could easily be seen from any car that might pass by.

The third key Tracy tried fit the padlock on the side door, and when she twisted it the lock popped open. Then, as she pulled the door itself open, she felt Beth freeze beside her. She turned to look, and saw that Beth’s eyes were wide, staring in through the open door. Her whole body was trembling slightly, and in the pale moonlight her skin was the color of death.

“What is it?” Tracy whispered. For a second she didn’t think Beth had heard her, but then the other girl slowly turned, her fearful eyes meeting Tracy’s.

“Daddy,” she said softly. “Look. The moon’s shining right down on the place where Daddy …” Her voice trailed off, and once more her eyes shifted to the interior of the mill.

Tracy followed Beth’s gaze.

Inside the building, the moonlight was streaming through the skylight. The colors of the dome itself were faintly visible, but the moonlight had robbed them of their vitality. Instead of sparkling brightly, they cast a nightmare pall over the interior.

Across the floor lay the huge spider’s web formed by the shadows of the leaded glass above.

Near the center of the rotunda, a single beam of clear moonlight shone down, illuminating the spot where Alan Rogers had died.