Thomas Sniegoski - In the House of the Wicked

Carol fell eerily silent, staring ahead as if seeing a glimpse of something right around the corner. “Oh, my God, Remy,” she gasped, emotion dripping from every word. “Oh, my God. What if somebody has hurt her?”

Remy reached out to put his arms around her, to lend her some of his strength. “It’s going to be all right,” he tried to soothe her, as she sobbed into the collar of his button-down shirt.

“Where is she, Remy?” Carol asked between sobs. “Why isn’t she answering our calls? Why hasn’t she been to school or her apartment?”

“I don’t know,” Remy said, holding her tighter, afraid that she might disintegrate in his arms. “But I’m going to find out.”

She pulled away from him then, her wide, wet eyes staring into his.

“I’m going to find out,” he repeated with a nod of promise.

“I knew that’s what you’d say.” Carol’s lips trembled as she tried to pull herself together. “She loves you and Marlowe so much…” And then she closed her eyes, rivulets of tears running down her face. She crammed the tissues against them.

“Carol, where’s Karl?” Remy asked about her husband, Ashley’s father.

She looked at him again, appearing to think a moment before answering. “He’s at the house…just in case she…just in case somebody calls and…”

“That’s good,” Remy said, standing beside her chair. “I think you should go there, as well…be with Karl. Support each other.”

“We’re going up to Brattleboro as soon as I get home.”

Remy had no doubt that that’s where they would be heading.

“Keep me in the loop,” he said. “Give me a call if you hear anything at all, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

She got up from the chair. Remy held her by the elbow just to be sure she was steady enough on her feet.

“I will,” she said, sniffling. “I’m so sorry that I broke down like that… I…”

“No worries,” Remy said to her.

She managed a halfhearted smile and walked toward the door.

“What are you going to do?” she then asked.

The Seraphim nature was fully aware and listening, sensing that what it could do-what it existed for-would soon be called upon and put to use.

“I’m going to start my own investigation,” Remy told her.

She nodded, opening the door, and was about to step out into the hall when she stopped and turned.

“Promise me that you’ll find her,” Carol said. “That no matter what, you’ll bring my little girl back to me.”

“I promise,” Remy told her.

And he’d never meant anything more.

Beacon Hill

Summer 1996

Remy trekked up the hill from Charles Street carrying a bag of groceries, odds and ends Madeline had asked him to pick up for supper.

It was a blazingly hot day on the Hill, but Remy didn’t allow himself to feel it. He enjoyed being human and all that it entailed, but if he could tweak his body temperature during the hot-and-humid Boston summers, he could see no problem in acknowledging what he truly was from time to time.

An angel of the Heavenly host Seraphim could be comfortable at the North Pole, on the surface of the sun, or even Beacon Hill in the middle of August.

As he headed up Mount Vernon Street, he noticed a Gentle Giant movers’ truck double-parked in front of one of the brownstones. The back of the truck was wide open to reveal a jam-packed trailer filled with a combination of covered furniture and multiple boxes. The movers were just starting to unload and were already soaked with sweat.

Bet they wish they were of the Heavenly host Seraphim, Remy thought as he drew closer.

The sidewalk in front of the brownstone was crowded with items unloaded from the truck, so he stepped into the street to get around it.

And that was when he noticed the little girl.

She couldn’t have been any older than five, and was crouched down outside a black, wrought-iron fence in front of a house across the street on Louisburg Square. He could hear her little voice, talking away as he drew nearer. Where are her parents, and who the hell is she talking to? he wondered.

He could now see a frazzled-looking woman giving instructions to the movers from the steps of the brownstone, and a man on a cell phone pacing back in forth in the midst of a heated conversation with what sounded like the cable company.

Remy guessed that the little girl belonged to them.

She had stuck one of her small arms through the rungs of the wrought-iron fence and was making little smacking sounds.

Remy couldn’t help but slow down to see what she was up to.

On the other side of the fence was a small garden, a cherry blossom tree in the center surrounded by an assortment of wildflowers and some tall grass. Remy could just about make out the shape of a little black-and-white cat, hunkered down, trying desperately to hide in what grass there was.

The child must have sensed Remy’s presence behind her and turned her adorable gaze up to him.

“My kitty got out of her box and ran across the street into the grass,” she informed him. “Can you help me get her out?”

Remy stepped over to the fence, setting his bag of groceries down as he squatted beside her. “What’s your cat’s name?”

“Spooky. She’s a girl.”

“That’s a very nice name for a girl,” Remy said.

“Mine is Ashley.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Ashley. I’m Remy.”

“Remy, can you get Spooky out of there?”

“Let me see what I can do,” Remy replied.

“Don’t be a-scared, Spooky.” Ashley turned her attention back to the cat still cowering under the cover of the tall green blades of grass. “Remy is gonna get you out.”

Spooky began to growl, backing farther away as Remy made eye contact.

“Hey there, Spooky,” he said, so the cat could understand him. “Why don’t you come out of there, and we’ll get you back into your box…”

“No,” the cat hissed, followed by an even more ferocious growl. “No box…no car…no.”

“What’s she sayin’?” Ashley asked.

“I don’t think she liked being in the box or going in the car.”

“She makes weird noises in the car,” Ashley agreed with a nod.

“That’s ’cause she’s upset,” Remy explained. “The car scares her.”

“I’m a-scared of ghosts,” Ashley said matter-of-factly.

“Really?” Remy asked. “Well, it’s a good thing there aren’t any ghosts in your new house.”

“There isn’t?” the little girl asked, looking across the street. Her mother was helping the movers with some of the smaller boxes, but Dad continued his argument on the cell phone.

“Nope, I checked it out before you moved in. Perfectly ghost-free.”

“Thanks, Remy,” the little girl said, and he felt her tiny hand slip into his.

He turned his head slightly to look at the five-year-old, who was staring fixedly at her cat, still hiding in the garden grass.

“You think Spooky is ever gonna come out of there?”

“Yeah, I think she will,” Remy said. “Just let me talk to her a little more.”

“Okay.”

“Hey, Spooky.” Remy again spoke so the cat could hear him in her feline tongue. “You might want to think about coming out of there before it’s too late.”

The cat glared at him, her green eyes nearly matching the color of her grassy cover. “Why?”

“Doone lives in this house.”

“What’s Doone?”

“Doone is a very large dog.” Remy glanced at his watch. “And if I’m not mistaken, he should be leaving for his afternoon walk any minute now.”

Remy could see panic flicker in the cat’s eyes. She became even more skittish, glancing from where she hid up toward the front stairs to the building and the front door.