I sigh, slip my backpack over one shoulder, and grab the unopened chips and soda. Might as well get on with it.
“I’m going to go up to change clothes and then check in with Kiernan. I’ll be back soon.”
“Kate?” she says softly as I’m turning to leave.
“Yes?”
“I know you know this, but I have to remind you anyway. You can’t stop this thing in Six Bridges. I’m sure you want to. And I understand, but . . .”
I lean over and give her a hug. “It’s okay, Katherine. I know.”
∞16∞
BOGART, GEORGIA
October 7, 1905, 8:00 a.m.
Even before I jump in, I can tell that Kiernan ignored my request to wait. It’s something about the set of his jaw as he sits there at the kitchen table. He isn’t staring at the stable point, all combative like he was last time. He’s just looking down at the floor, tapping his right foot in a nervous jitter against the chair leg.
His eyes flick over to my feet when I arrive, but he doesn’t look up.
“Why didn’t you wait?” I ask.
“I was bored.”
Yeah, right.
The box that holds the newspaper clippings from God’s Hollow is on the other side of the table. One of the articles is outside the box, a few inches from his arm. It’s one with a photograph, so I avoid looking at it as I pull one of the other chairs around so that I’m facing Kiernan.
“You know this isn’t fair, don’t you?” I ask in a quiet voice. “You can’t complain about me not treating you like a partner unless you’re willing to do the same.”
Kiernan’s laugh is short and bitter. “Kate, you don’t want to see what I saw.”
“You can’t protect me from everything.”
He looks up, his eyes imploring. “Trust me, please?”
When he can tell that it’s not working, he sighs and hobbles over to the couch. He’s dragging the injured leg even more than he was yesterday.
“Saul tested whatever it was he put in their well. He also tested the antidote. Both passed with flying colors. Then he went back to whenever. Leave it at that, okay?”
“Maybe I would. But there’s something you’re not telling me.”
He leans his head back against the top of the sofa and lets out an exasperated huff, avoiding my eyes.
“I can see it in your face, Kiernan. Either give me the coordinates I need to watch or make yourself comfortable for the next day or two while I go through every single one of them. Because I will.”
“Fine, Kate. Have it your way. Bring me your damn key.”
I sit down next to him and tug the medallion out of my T-shirt. It would be easier to hand it to him, lanyard and all, but there’s nothing like Connor’s contraption to make this cabin a safe house, and I’m not inclined to put too much space between me and the medallion.
Kiernan copies one item from his key to mine and hands it back to me. “That’s the only one you need to watch. Martha’s not among the bodies in the church.”
“You’re sure?”
He nods, but his expression keeps me from even starting to hope that this means Martha escaped. “As best I can tell, Saul locked her up someplace, probably in a cellar, during the two days when people were sick and dying. I’m guessing he used her as the test case for the antidote, but there’s no way to tell for sure.”
I take a deep breath, then slide over to the center of the couch and bring up the coordinates he gave me. It’s the chapel, Friday, September 15, 1911, at 2:54 p.m. The static image I see initially is from the stable point I set at the back of the church, where the view mimics the newspaper photographs. The bodies are all in the same position, but from what I can tell, the mummified look is only apparent on some of them, and it’s partially due to some sort of rash or discoloration. Others look like they’re just taking a nap, although their eyes are sunken and the skin seems almost deflated, probably due to dehydration.
One small arm hangs over the side of the left-hand pew, two rows from the back. Unlike in the black-and-white newspaper photos, I can now see that the head resting on that arm is reddish-blond. Another flash of the exact same color is just barely visible a few feet to the left, one twin slumped against the other.
At the front of the church, Sister Elba is on the small bench, facing the congregation. Even in death, her posture is exemplary—she’s sitting upright, arms crossed in her lap, her head tilted back toward the ceiling.
I watch for about thirty seconds, but the image stays the same. I’m about to check and see if something is frozen when I remember the image isn’t changing because everyone is dead and corpses generally do not move.
A few seconds later, the door on the right side of the chapel bangs open and the afternoon sunlight floods in, framing the dark outline of a man standing in the doorway. As the man advances a few steps into the chapel, the door slowly swings shut behind him.
When my eyes adjust to the change in lighting, I realize there are actually two people. Martha is directly in front of Saul, pulled close against his chest, facing the bodies in the pews. He seems to be lifting her up so that only her toes touch the floor. I can’t tell whether it’s because he dragged her through the door or because he’s worried she’ll faint. Maybe both. She’s in the same dress as before, but it’s now caked with dirt, and her hair is mussed. Her mouth hangs open as she stares at the bodies, and then she brings her hands up to her face and begins to scream.
For once, I’m very glad CHRONOS didn’t add audio. This is horrid enough as a silent movie.
It’s the first time I’ve seen Saul without the odd facial hair from the 1800s. I now see why Katherine—and apparently others—thought he was handsome. His dark hair contrasts with his pale skin and sharp, almost chiseled features. And dressed in jeans and a plain white shirt instead of an ancient suit, his thin but muscular body is evident.
The creepiest thing is that Saul is smiling, even as Martha screams and pulls at her hair. It’s not one of those grins that you see when the villain comes on-screen, with manic eyes and an evil bwah-hah-hah laugh. His expression is one of . . . bliss, I guess. His face is tilted upward, like he’s basking in the warmth of the sun on a beautiful day in the park. One sleeve of his shirt is partially ripped away, and it flaps to the side as he drags Martha toward the pulpit. Two long stripes that look like fingernail scratches are visible on the exposed skin of his shoulder.
He drops Martha behind the pulpit, which partially obscures my view. She rolls to her side, covering her head with her arms. Saul just stands there, looking around at all of the dead bodies, smiling his horrible, peaceful smile, and a shudder runs through me. It’s not just the idea anyone could wear that expression when faced with the sight before him but also the knowledge that this inhuman creature formed one-quarter of my DNA. I want to dig inside my body and claw out every speck of me that is Saul.
Any doubts about whether I can kill him are gone. If I could reach into the display, I would kill him this very second.
Saul closes his eyes for a moment, still smiling, and pulls in several long, deep breaths. Then he crosses to where Martha is curled up. He yanks one of her arms to the side, forcing her to face him. Her mouth is open, so I think she’s still screaming. And although a moment ago I would have sworn that he couldn’t possibly disgust me more, my hatred surges when he leans down and begins to kiss the side of her face, working his way down her neck.
Then he does something I can’t see, but whatever it is, it breaks through Martha’s shock, and she begins to fight him. His hands clamp down harder on her arms to hold her still, but he persists with kissing her shoulder as she struggles to break away.
After a second, Martha relaxes and just lies there, perfectly still. Saul leans back a bit and smiles at her. Then he goes flying several feet to the right as she plants both of her feet into his stomach. His head bumps against Sister Elba’s legs, and her body slides to the left.