She lifted the knife high and slammed it down hard into Francis’s chest, then pushed with all her might. Francis’s body convulsed.
“Shhh,” said Lacy to him, watching the last life drain out of his eyes and death settle in. Her eyes shone as they stared into his. After a few painful breaths, he was dead.
Lacy dipped her finger into the blood pooling around the knife.
“Come bathe in the warm blood of the slaughtered lamb,” she crooned.
Megan and Sonny bent down beside her. Lacy kissed each of them on the forehead and then traced with her finger an inverted cross on each of their heads.
“I so baptize you,” she said. “In the name of the Devil, and death, and the unholy host. With blood we seal ourselves to our Dark Lord. With blood, we unleash him from his chains and summon him to this hell that is the world.”
Chapter Fifty-two
Whitey felt good about finally having his car back. He had picked it up earlier that day, and even though it had all the same old problems—ceiling fabric coming detached and hanging down, stuffing coming out of the splits in the vinyl seats, a dashboard that was spidered with deep cracks—now it ran. And ran pretty well. So all that other stuff wasn’t important. He could put up with it as long as the car worked. And besides, he kind of liked that stuff. It made the car feel unique. It made the car his car.
He’d called Herman to let him know that he didn’t need to swing by and pick him up, that he had wheels again, and Herman had said, “Good, then you can get Heidi as well.” He couldn’t tell how much anger Herman was harboring toward Heidi. Probably a little still, maybe a lot, but for once Herman was playing his cards pretty close to his chest.
And it was better for Whitey to be the one to get Heidi anyway. For one thing, if she was messed up, he could try to get her together before Herman saw her. For another, well, he just liked Heidi. That was hardly a secret.
He pulled up to the curb. She wasn’t on the porch, wasn’t visible either, and the light in her bedroom was on, so she was probably still upstairs. He watched the window for a little bit, waiting to see the curtain rustle or if he could catch a glimpse of her face peeking out, but nothing happened.
He checked his watch. Damn, time was getting tight. Herman would be pissed if they were late. Maybe he should just let her know he was here.
He doused the lights and turned off the engine and then, hands in the back pockets of his jeans, made his way up the front steps. He was looking for her buzzer, getting ready to buzz, when he realized that the front door was open. Since it was cold outside, he just let himself in.
Megan was behind the door to Lacy’s apartment, pressing her eye to the peephole. She watched for a moment, then stepped away.
“Looks like our little Heidi has another gentleman caller,” she said.
Across the room, Lacy sat in a rocking chair, calmly rocking back and forth.
“How nice,” she said.
She was resting her feet on Francis’s chest. Every time the chair rocked forward, they made a squishy sound against the blood-sodden fabric of his shirt. The skin of his lifeless face had begun to change, the bones seeming sharper now, the skin lying tighter on the bone as the remaining blood pooled lower in the body and rigor mortis began to settle in. Around him were torn and mangled pages from The End of the American Witch, which had been covered with strange symbols painted in Francis’s blood. A candle had been set at his head and at his feet, and his mouth had been stuffed full of pages from the book.
Across from her, sitting in an armchair and drinking tea, was Sonny. She took a sip, made a face.
“What kind of tea is this?” she asked.
“Lemon verbena,” said Lacy. “It reduces stress. It’s very relaxing.”
Sonny stared into her cup. “I’m not sure that I like it,” she said.
Lacy nodded. “You’re used to something a little stronger,” she said.
“What do we do about Romeo?” asked Megan from near the door.
Lacy waved her hand dismissively. “Nothing to worry about,” she said. “I’m sure that Heidi can manage him. And who are we to get in the way of young love?”
Whitey knocked on the door to Heidi’s apartment, but there was no answer. He pressed his ear to the door but couldn’t hear anything inside. Or didn’t think he could anyway—it was hard to hear anything over the sound of music coming from the end of the hallway.
He turned and looked, saw that the door at the end there was open, with Heidi standing in the doorway. She didn’t look like she was doing so well. She was as pale as a ghost, with dark circles around her eyes. He’d heard of Goth chic but this was ridiculous. And he’d never really taken Heidi for the Goth type.
“Hey, what’s up?” Whitey asked. “You okay, girl? Whose apartment even is that?”
But Heidi didn’t answer. For a moment she stared at him and then she took a step backward, was immediately lost in the darkness of the apartment.
What the fuck? he wondered.
He slowly headed down the hall toward the apartment, the music growing louder as he got closer.
He stopped in the doorway. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. When they did, he saw Heidi moving around the room in a kind of wispy, random fashion, as if she were lost in a psychedelic haze and dancing to her own drummer. Shit, she was definitely on something. Herman was going to be pissed. He had to get her out and dressed and sober, and he had to do it quick.
“Hey,” he said. “We should get going. Herman will fucking shit if we’re late.”
But Heidi didn’t answer. It was like she hadn’t heard him. She just kept dancing, eyes lidded, head loose and swaying.
“Come on, girl,” said Whitey. “Seriously, we should get going.”
She still didn’t answer. So what was he supposed to do? Physically drag her out of there and force her to get ready? Not exactly his style. Just say fuck it and leave her? Not exactly his style either. Maybe keep trying to reason with her? He stepped into the room and moved toward her. “Heidi,” he said. “I really think—”
The door behind him slammed shut with a boom loud enough to make his teeth rattle, making the room a whole lot darker. It was suddenly silent. Confused, he spun around, searching for the door. He felt along the wall, found the edge of the frame, found the doorknob. He tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t turn. The door was locked somehow. He felt for a button or a latch of some sort but couldn’t find anything. He rattled the knob again, trying to open it, but it wouldn’t move.
“Jesus, the door is stuck,” he said, turning toward where he thought Heidi must be. “I can’t get this open.”
He could see her still, though the room was dark enough now that she was more of a vague semihuman shape in the darkness—if he didn’t know already that it was Heidi he would have had a hard time identifying her. Again, she didn’t answer. She danced, turning slowly, and then suddenly stopped, fell to her knees.
“Heidi?” he said, and took a step forward.
And suddenly she collapsed in a heap on the floor. He moved forward and bent down to try to help her up, but when he grabbed her he realized it was not Heidi at all but just a tangled and twisted sheet.
Astonished, he lifted it up and looked at it. Where had she gone? He’d been sure he’d seen her—otherwise he wouldn’t have come in. Where was she?
He looked around the room now. His eyes were beginning to adjust further, the darkness not quite as total as it had been before. Here and there in the shadows, he began to see shapes. He began to think of one of them as human. He stepped forward, squinting, trying to get a better look. Yes, there was someone there, but someone hunched and deformed. He was sure it wasn’t Heidi.