Alexandra Adornetto: Halo

“I won’t be alone,” I insisted. “I’ll be with Xavier. And besides, I’ll only be gone ten minutes.” I felt awful lying to his face, but I had no other choice.

“Don’t be such a worrywart.” Ivy patted my brother’s arm. She was always so quick to trust in me. “Some fresh air will do them good.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and folded his hands behind his back.

“All right. But come straight back.”

I took Xavier’s hand and tugged him out of the house. He started the Chevy in silence. I told him to make a left at the end of the street.

“You have a terrible sense of direction,” he joked, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes.

“We were never going to the grocery store.”

“I know,” Xavier said. “And I think you’re crazy.”

“I have to do something,” I said quietly. “Lives have already been lost because of Jake. How will we live with ourselves if Molly’s his next victim?”

Xavier was unconvinced. “Beth, do you really think I’m going to take you right into the path of a murderer? The guy’s unstable. You heard what your brother said.”

“This isn’t about me anymore,” I said. “I’m not worried.”

“Well I am! Do you realize the danger you’re putting yourself in?”

“It’s my job! Why do you think I was sent here? Not just to sell badges and work in soup kitchens — this is it, this is our challenge! I can’t turn my back on it because I’m too scared.”

“Maybe Gabriel’s right — sometimes it’s smart to be scared.”

“And sometimes you just have to bite the bullet,” I insisted.

Xavier was exasperated. “Look, I’ll go down to the graveyard and bring Molly back. You stay here.”

“Great idea,” I said sarcastically. “If there’s one person Jake hates more than me, it’s you. Look, Xav, you can either come with me or you can stay home. But either way I’m going to help Molly. I understand if you don’t want to be a part of this. ..”

Xavier made a sharp turn at the next corner and drove in silence. Ahead of us was an uninterrupted stretch of road. I noticed the houses growing sparser.

“Wherever you go, I go,” he said.

The cemetery was located at the end of a long, wide road just out of town. Alongside it ran an abandoned railroad line, with neglected train cars weathered by the elements. The only buildings nearby were a row of derelict town houses, their balconies choked with vegetation and their windows boarded up.

The cemetery dated back to the town’s first settlement but had expanded since then to reflect the waves of migration. The newest section contained shiny marble monuments and shrines, all meticulously maintained. In many of the shrines were photographs of the deceased surrounded by glowing votive lights in frosted glass. There were small altars, crucifixes, and statues of Christ and the Virgin Mary, her hands folded in prayer.

Xavier parked his car across the street, a little way from the main gates so we wouldn’t draw attention. At this time of day the gates were open so we crossed the road and walked straight in. At first glance the place seemed peaceful. We saw a lone mourner, an elderly woman in black, tending one of the newer graves. She was cleaning its glass front and replacing the flowers that had shriveled with a new bunch of chrysanthemums, cutting them to size with a pair of scissors. She was so absorbed in her task that she barely noticed us. The rest of the place seemed deserted apart from the occasional raven circling overhead and the soft droning of bees that hovered around the lilac bushes. While there was no earthly disturbance, I sensed the presence of several lost souls who haunted their place of burial. I would have liked to stop and help them on their journey, but I had more pressing matters on my mind.

“I know where we might find them,” said Xavier, and he steered me to the original section of the cemetery.

There, a very different scene greeted us. The graves were old and abandoned, their cast-iron railings rusted. Over time, a tangle of ivy had smothered all other vegetation and now ruled unchallenged, threading its tenacious tendrils through the iron railings like rope. These graves were more humble and at ground level; some had nothing more than a plaque to identify the occupant. I saw a patch of turf littered with small windmills and soft toys that had long lost their sheen and realized this was a section for infants. I stopped to read one of the tiny tablets: LUCY ROSE, 1949–1949, AGE 5 DAYS. Thinking about this little soul who had graced the earth for a mere five days filled me with an unspeakable sadness.

Xavier and I picked our way around the crumbling headstones. Very few were still intact. Most had sunk into the grass, their inscriptions faded and barely legible. Others were nothing more than a jumble of broken stone and tangled weeds. Every so often we came across a statue of an angel, some towering and some small, but all grim faced with arms outstretched as if in welcome.

As we walked, I was aware of the bodies of the dead under the blankets of cracked stone. My skin prickled. It wasn’t the sleepers beneath our feet that troubled me, but what we might discover around the next corner. I could sense Xavier’s regret over the decision to come here. But he showed no signs of fear.

We stopped suddenly when we heard the sound of voices. They seemed to be chanting some kind of dirge. We crept forward until the voices became louder, and we took refuge behind a towering birch. Peering between its boughs, we could make out a small gathering of people. I thought there must have been about two dozen or so in total. Jake stood on a mossy grave facing them, his legs apart and his back arrow straight. He wore a black leather jacket and the inverted pentagram hung from a cord around his neck. On his head was a gray fedora. I paused — I recognized that hat from somewhere. The sight of it stirred a memory in the back of my mind. And then it hit me — the strange, solitary figure at the rugby game. He’d appeared at the sidelines, his face shrouded from view, and after Xavier had been hurt, he’d vanished into thin air. So Jake had orchestrated the whole thing! The thought that he’d tried to injure Xavier sent a burning anger pulsing through me, but I tried to stifle it. I needed to keep my wits about me now more than ever.

Rearing up behind Jake was a ten-foot angel made of stone. It had to be one of the most chilling earthly things I’d ever seen. Despite looking like an angel, there was something sinister about it. It had narrow eyes, huge black wings that reared majestically behind it, and a powerful body that looked as though it could crush anyone and anything. A long stone sword was melded to its muscular waist. Jake stood under its shadow as though it was protecting him.

The group were gathered in a semicircle around him. They were dressed strangely, some in hooded garments that shrouded their entire faces and others in tattered black lace and chains, their cheeks powdered chalk white and their lips stained bloodred. They didn’t seem to be interacting with one another, but they approached Jake in turn, each bowing in deference before removing some object from a drawstring pouch and depositing the offering at his feet. They made a woeful spectacle that afternoon, standing in the watery sunlight. I wondered by what means and through what promises Jake had lured these young people from their regular pursuits to join him here and disturb the departed.

And I wondered why I didn’t see Molly.

Jake held up his hands and the group stilled. He threw off his hat, and I saw that his long, dark hair was uncombed and tangled. He looked almost wild. When he spoke his voice seemed to reverberate from the stone angel itself.

“Welcome to the dark side,” he said, and laughed coldly. “Although I prefer to think of it as the fun side. ” There were murmurs of appreciation from his followers. “I can promise you that nothing feels better than sin. Why not turn to pleasure when life treats us with such indifference? We are here, all of us, because we want to feel alive!”