William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

“That’s a pity.”

“Yeah, but my sorority is counting on me to keep up the academic average, and I wondered if there wasn’t some way I could… make it up.”

“I’m afraid Professor Levy doesn’t give second chances.”

“Would he have to know?”

“I could hardly offer a makeup exam without his authorization.”

“I wasn’t really thinking about another test.” She slithered off the chair and onto her knees, just before him. “I was hoping I could make it up… some other way.”

“Miss Swanson, I’m sure I don’t know…”

“Come on,” she said, rubbing her hands up and down his pant legs. “I know you pretend to be above it all with your big words and your old-fashioned suits. But I’ll bet there’s a real man in there somewhere.”

“Miss Swanson, this-this is most inappropriate.”

“Sure?” She unzipped the fly of his pants.

“Miss Swanson!”

“Come on. I’ll do you a favor, you do me one.” Her hand reached inside his pants. “And I’ll bet-” She stopped, choked. “Oh, my God! What’s wrong with you?”

Ernie hurriedly tucked himself back inside. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing! It’s gross!”

“I had an accident. When I was a child.”

She stepped away from him, her face stricken. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be cruel. I was just-startled.” She waved her hand back and forth, as if fanning the air. “Look, let’s just forget it.”

“But-you said-”

“I can do a lot, but I can’t do that. I’ll just take the D.”

“Nevermore?” he whispered.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. But he heard the Raven speaking to him, loud, insistent, and he saw the girl, so like Poe’s own, and he felt his shame and embarrassment, and he was desperate to find the path, to know what it was he was supposed to do. And a moment later, the letter opener was jutting out from her left temple. She was dead in seconds.

“You have done well,” the Raven intoned. “You have begun your journey. But there is still much to be done. Much to be discovered.”

And so Ernie quit his position at the college and trolled up and down the coast of California, through Montana, then Nevada, refining his prowess and technique as he traveled, finally making his way to Las Vegas, where the final secrets were revealed to him, and the countdown to Ascension could begin at last.

“So what you’re basically telling us is, Edgar is Jesus Christ?” Granger wheezed.

“In his mind, yes.” I was back in the classroom again, except this time it was packed beyond capacity, not only with Granger’s increasingly sizable team, but with all the new FBI agents on the case, most of whom I hadn’t formally met. And here I was lecturing these feds, debriefing them as if I were some kind of behavioral genius. Patrick had gracefully allowed me to take the lead, thereby ensuring that I would be kept in the loop and given a decent modicum of respect. But this case was federal now. We were still allowed to play. But they owned the sandbox.

“This stuff is all fine for the college professor crowd,” Granger said, “but how is it going to help us catch the guy?”

“If you don’t understand who he is, you’ll never get him. You spent valuable man-hours last week having your men blanket all the S &M clubs and similar places Edgar would never dream of visiting.”

“One of his victims worked in an S &M club!”

“He went there because his victim of choice was there. That’s no indication that he liked it. I’ll bet he hated it and left as soon as possible.”

“Excuse me.” This came from one of the agents in the front row. “In your opinion, will he continue to abduct only girls with given names found in the works of Poe?”

“Frankly, no.” I saw their looks of disappointment-one of the few useful leads lost. But I had to give them the straight scoop. “Too restrictive, now that everyone knows. He won’t be able to find an Annabel this side of the Rocky Mountains. And let’s not forget about his last victim-there are no Faras in Poe. I think we have to assume he’s over that, or that he’s taking different instructions from whatever voice is talking to him now.”

“I read your report on the Eureka book,” he commented. “Fascinating. Do you have any idea what he might be planning to do? To bring about this Golden Age?”

“I’m afraid I don’t. Except that it will have something to do with Poe. The connection may be mostly in his mind. But there will be one.”

“And do you have any theory about when this might happen?”

“According to that last phone call, he’s already started.”

He scribbled something into his notepad. “I assume someone has reviewed the missing-persons reports?”

“Yes, but remember, this is Vegas. There were eighteen missing-persons reports filed last night. Four of them concerned teenage girls.”

“Any likely suspects?”

“A group of three. Wandered away from a cheerleader clinic. No one has seen them since.”

“Three? At one time?”

I nodded grimly. “As I said, Edgar’s actions will escalate. Until his plan is completed. During the phone call, he spoke of a day of ascension-when something big was going to happen, something that would change everything. I called some of the local Christian churches. They say Easter is generally considered the day of ascension. But since this is October, I doubt if that’s Edgar’s target date. He’s planning his own ascension, on his own timetable. Like any other self-respecting savior.”

The Feeb almost smiled. “Does this put us in the role of Judas Iscariot?”

I returned the expression. “I’ll be happy to kiss the man on the cheek. Next time I see him.”

During the drive to Carson City, Darcy read police reports to me. It was funny listening to him, and not just because of that uninflected voice. His vocabulary was incredible; we never hit a word he didn’t know. But his pronunciation was often far from the mark. I got the impression he had done a good deal more reading than he’d done talking. I suppose he wasn’t the first person to find books more comfortable than other people. But I still liked being with him, and I know he liked being with me. And that felt good.

“Did you know there are over nine hundred missing-persons reports filed in Clark County each year?” he asked as he shuffled between files.

“Your point being?”

He was staring at a group of photographs. The cheerleaders. “They seem like nice girls, don’t you think? I hope the Bad Man doesn’t do anything mean to them.”

Poor sweet Darcy. “I could be wrong. But how else do you explain their disappearance?”

“Spontaneous combustion?”

“Seems unlikely.”

“White slavery ring? Did you know that white slavery rings are still active in Kuwait and many Middle Eastern nations? But I don’t know about Las Vegas.”

“Let’s hope that isn’t it.” What kind of books did O’Bannon have in that library? “I can’t be certain, Darcy. But my instincts tell me Edgar grabbed these girls. And I’ve learned to trust my instincts.”

“Me too,” Darcy said, surprising the hell out of me. “You’re usually right.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“Ninety-three point six six percent of the time so far.”

“Thanks, Spock.” I wasn’t going to ask how he’d calculated that. Or what he considered to be my mistakes.

His head tilted to one side. “You smell good today.”

“I do? Oh-you mean no coffee breath.”

“Uh-uh. Something else.”

And I guess I knew what that was, too. I’d made it through the night again without taking a drink. And I could do it again. I knew I could. I had the strength now. And the really strange thing was that I knew I was getting that strength-at least in part-from Darcy.