see them, but saw only rows of empty pews stretching out before him, silent wooden sentinels.
He walked on. The corridor stretched out before him, and the altar seemed to recede as he approached it. The whispering was behind him now, and he strained to make out the words, but the voices blended into a hissing like the sound of raindrops on a tin roof. A single white light shone down upon the altar as he ascended the steps. The whispering got louder, thickening the air like the buzzing of cicadas.
There, on the altar, Laura was waiting for him. She lay on her back, her hands folded over her spotless white communion dress. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful in death-and there was no doubt in his mind she was as dead as the dried flowers lining the steps of the altar. Lee studied her face, waiting for the roses to bloom in her cheeks once again, to replace the gray pallor of death. Her hair surrounded her pale face like a dark halo, falling in crisp ringlets on her shoulders. Laura had always been proud of her hair-thick, black and shiny as polished river stones.
He felt sadness, but no horror. To his surprise, he also felt relief. He had always known she was dead, but now here was proof, and she was at peace. Instead of a rotting, mangled corpse cast off in a ditch somewhere, exposed to the elements, and eaten by wild creatures, she was perfectly preserved, pristine as a bride, her beauty intact forever. He was glad-glad for her and for his mother, who could now accept the reality of her death.
He bent to kiss her dead cheek, but as he did, her face morphed and changed before his eyes-into Kathy Azarian's face. A fist of fear grabbed his heart, squeezing the breath from his body. He sank to his knees, blind terror wrapping itself around his brain, pressing down on him so that all of his senses began to fade. He struggled to see, to hear, to feel, but a cloud of unknowing draped itself over him, dimming his senses. He tried to cry out, but his vocal cords had turned to dust, dry as the dead flowers surrounding the altar.
He awoke to middle-of-the-night stillness. It took him a few moments to realize where he was. The phones at the nurses' station had stopped ringing, and he heard the soft whirr of machinery from the ICU unit down the hall. He was flooded with an overwhelming sense of relief that his dream was just that: a dream.
The room was dark; the only source of illumination was the light seeping through the smoked glass door panel. The venetian blinds on the window next to his bed were closed, blocking out even the light from the street lamps. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Lee had a strong sense of a presence in the room with him. He peered into the far corner of the room, where a straight-backed chair sat against the wall. At first glance Lee thought maybe someone had thrown an overcoat across the chair, but then he realized the dark figure on the chair was a person. He thought could just make out a man seated in the shadows-unmoving, as still as if he were made of stone.
He knew who it was.
Lee's hand twitched, and he almost reached for the call button to summon the nurse, but something stopped him. Curiosity, maybe-or perhaps an instinct to submit to whatever fate held in store for him. The figure in the corner sat very still. Lee reached over and pulled the string on the Venetian blinds, letting in light from the street outside. As he did so, a gleam of moonlight reflected off the high, pale forehead. The room was still too dark to get a good look at his face, but he could tell that the man was thin and pale.
Lee ran his tongue over his parched lips. 'How did you get in here?' he croaked.
His visitor laughed nervously. 'I'm very good at getting into places-but you should know that by now.' The voice was young, high pitched, and raspy, and there was a soft wheezing sound when he breathed, as if his lungs were worn and tattered bellows, stiff and dried with age. Lee couldn't resist feeling a sense of triumph. So I was right about the asthma. He also had the feeling he had heard the voice before, but where? In their brief encounter in Hastings, no words had been exchanged between them.
'What do you want?'
'What does anyone want? Money, power, immortality-but I'm not interested in those things.'
'What are you interested in?'
'Love. Like the love I feel for God: unconditional love and devotion.'
'Is there a difference? Between love and devotion, I mean?'
'I guess it depends on who you are. But there's really no such thing as unconditional love-not in this life, anyway.'
'So why are you here?'
His visitor leaned forward in his chair. 'To let you know that He tells me to do what I do.'
'God, you mean?'
'Yes. It's His work I'm doing.'
'Aren't you afraid of getting caught?'
'The righteous cannot afford to feel fear.'
'But don't you feel it anyway? To know all those people are out there looking for you?'
The pursuer becomes the pursued.
'I have God to protect me.'
'Is that what you think? That He'll keep you from getting caught?'
'Until His work is finished, yes.'
'What about the girls? Don't you feel bad for them at all?'
His breath became more hoarse. Lee heard the wheezing from deep within his chest, lungs struggling to pull in enough air.
'I have to save them.'
'From what?'
'Eternal damnation. I always ask their forgiveness, but it must be done.'
There was a pause. 'I don't want to kill you too, you know. I feel close to you.'
'Why do you keep going?'
'I couldn't stop if I wanted to now. You should know that.' The voice was half ironic, half sincere.
'Why don't you turn yourself in? Then you could rest-you could finally be at peace.'
His visitor inhaled, making the deep, rattling sound of congested lungs.
'I don't think so. Why is it that cops always seem to think people are going to go for that one? Has anyone in the history of law enforcement ever actually fallen for that?'
Another pause.
Then Lee said, 'Why did you have to kill Eddie?'
'I'm afraid I don't know anything about that. And now I have to go-I have an appointment with death,' he said, rising from the chair. He was out the door before Lee could find the call button. As the door clicked closed behind him, Lee imagined he was already on his way to Seventh Avenue, perhaps slipping into a stairwell to avoid being seen in an elevator.
Lee shivered and stared out the window as the moon slid behind a looming cloud. He wouldn't forget that voice. It carried the buried rage of a life gone sour. He couldn't shake the feeling he had heard the voice before, but he couldn't quite place it.
To his surprise, Lee recognized some of himself in this man. Like most civilized people, Lee was forced to swallow his rage-but this man had given into it, punishing innocent young women for the sins of a careless and indifferent God.
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chuck Morton arrived the next afternoon with Detective Butts in tow. Butts was even more rumpled than usual, and he looked around the room uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. After a brief greeting, he lurked at the far side of the room, inspecting the idle hospital machinery at the end of the empty bed across from Lee's.
'We just came by to see how you were doing,' Chuck said, but Lee sensed that was not the real reason for their visit.
'I'm ready to get out of this place,' Lee replied.
'Do you really think that's a good idea?'
'They can't keep me here against my will.'
