Кэти Райх - Death Du Jour

“So you take the weak and watch them torn to bits?”

Her eyes narrowed into something I couldn’t interpret. Bitterness? Regret? Anticipation?

“I brought them out of the famine and showed them how to survive. They chose cataclysm.”

“What was Heidi Schneider’s sin? Loving her husband and babies?”

The eyes hardened.

“I revealed the way and she brought poison into the world! Evil in duplicate!”

“The Antichrist.”

“Yes!” she hissed.

Think! What were her words in Beaufort?

“You say death is a transition in the growth process. Do you nurture by slaughtering babies and old women?”

“The corrupt cannot be permitted to pollute the new order.”

“Heidi’s babies were four months old!” Fear and anger made my voice crack.

“They were perversion!”

“They were babies!” I struggled and tried to lunge at her, but the ropes held firm.

Beyond the doorway I could hear the sound of others moving around. I thought of the children at the Saint Helena compound, and felt my chest heave.

Where was Daniel Jeannotte?

“How many children will you and your henchman kill?”

The corners of her eyes pinched almost imperceptibly.

Keep her talking.

“Are you going to ask all your followers to die?”

Still she said nothing.

“Why do you need my sister? Have you lost your ability to motivate followers?” My voice sounded tremulous and two octaves too high.

“She will take the place of another.”

“She doesn’t believe in your Armageddon.”

“Your world is ending.”

“The last I looked it was doing fine.”

“You kill redwoods to make toilet paper and pour poisons into the rivers and oceans. Is that doing fine?” She thrust her face so close to mine I could see vessels throbbing at her temples.

“Kill yourself if you must, but let the others make their own choices.”

“There must be perfect balance. The number has been revealed.”

“Really? And is everyone else here?”

She drew back her head but didn’t speak. I saw something spark in her eye, like light skipping off broken glass.

“They’re not all coming, Elle.”

The eyes never faltered.

“Kathryn’s not going to die for you. She’s miles from here, safe with her baby.”

“You lie!”

“You’re not going to hit your cosmic quota.”

“The signs have been sent. The apocalypse is now and we will rise from the ashes!”

Her eyes were black holes in the flickering light. I recognized the look for what it was. Madness.

I was about to respond when I heard the snarling and yapping of dogs. The sound was coming from deep inside the lodge.

I yanked desperately, but the ropes only tightened. My breathing turned to frenzied gasping. It was reflex, unthinking struggle.

I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t get free! And what if I did? I was there among them.

“Please,” I begged.

Elle stared, her eyes unfeeling.

A sob escaped me as the barking grew louder. I continued to thrash. I would not submit passively, however hopeless my resistance.

What had the others done? I saw the torn flesh and punctured skulls. The barking turned to growls. The dogs were very near. Fear beyond control overcame me.

I twisted to see and my eyes swept across the bay window. My heart froze. Had I seen figures moving outside?

Don’t draw attention to the window!

I dropped my gaze and rotated back to Elle, still straining, but my thoughts now on the outside. Was there still hope of rescue?

Elle watched me wordlessly. One second passed. Two. Five. I spun myself to the right and stole another peek.

Through the ice and condensation I saw a shadow slide from left to right.

Distract her!

I pivoted back and fixed my eyes on Elle. The window was to her left.

The barking grew louder. Closer.

Say anything!

“Harry doesn’t believe in–”

The door burst inward, then I heard deep voices.

“Police!”

Boots chocked on hardwood.

“Haut les mains!” Hands up!

Snarling and yelping. Shouts. A scream.

Elle’s mouth turned to an oval, then to a thin, dark line. She drew a gun from the folds of her dress and aimed it at something behind me.

The instant her eyes left me I wrapped my fingers around the ropes, threw my hips forward, kicked out with my feet, and arched toward her. Pain screamed through my shoulders and wrists as my body swung out, my arms in full extension. I flexed my hips and brought my boots up, hitting her arm with the full force of my weight. The gun flew across the room and out of my field of vision.

My feet slammed to the floor and I scrabbled backward to relieve the pressure on my upper limbs. When I looked up, Elle stood frozen, an SQ muzzle trained on her chest. One dark braid had fallen and looped her forehead like a brocade sash.

I felt hands on my back and heard voices speak to me. Then I was free and strong arms half dragged, half carried me to a couch. I smelled wintry air and wet wool. English Leather.

“Calmez-vous, madame. Tout va bien.”

My arms were lead, my knees were jelly. I wanted to sink back and sleep forever but I struggled to stand.

“Ma soeur! I have to find my sister!”

“Tout est bien, madame.” Hands pressed me back into the cushions.

More boots. Doors. Shouted commands. I saw Elle and Daniel Jeannotte handcuffed and led away.

“Where’s Ryan? Do you know Andrew Ryan?”

“Take it easy, you’re going to be fine.” English.

I tried to pry myself loose.

“Is Ryan all right?”

“Relax.”

Then Harry was beside me, eyes enormous in the dreamlike gloom.

“I’m scared,” she murmured in a thick, slurry voice.

“It’s O.K.” I wrapped my deadened arms around her. “I’m taking you home.”

Her head dropped onto my shoulder, and I rested mine against it. I held her a moment, then released her. Summoning up memories of religious education from my childhood, I closed my eyes, clasped my hands in front of my chest, and wept quietly as I prayed to God for the life of Andrew Ryan.

ONE WEEK LATER I WAS SITTING ON MY PATIO IN CHARLOTTE, thirty-six exam booklets stacked to my right, the thirty-seventh on a lap table in front of me. The sky was Carolina blue, the yard a deep, rich green. In the adjacent magnolia, a mockingbird strove for a personal best.

“Brilliantly average job,” I said, marking a C+ on the blue cover and circling it several times. Birdie looked up, stretched, and slithered from the chaise.

My knee was healing well. The small hairline fracture in my left patella had been nothing compared with the injuries to my psyche. After the terror in Ange Gardien I’d spent two days in Quebec, recoiling at every sound and every shadow, barking dogs in particular. Then I returned to Charlotte to hobble through the remainder of the semester. I filled the days with relentless activity, but the nights were difficult. In the dark my mind loosened, releasing visions the daytime had locked away. Some nights I slept with the lamp on.

The phone rang and I reached for the handset. It was the call I’d been expecting.

“Bonjour, Dr. Brennan. Comment ça va?”

“Ça va bien, Sister Julienne. More important, how is Anna?”

“I think the medication is helping.” Her voice went low. “I don’t know anything about bipolar disorder, but the doctor gave me a great deal of material and I am learning. I had never understood her depression. I thought Anna was moody because that’s what her mother said. Sometimes she’d be down, then suddenly she’d be full of energy and feeling good about herself. I didn’t know that was, what is it called . . . ?”