Ritual. Part 19

Charlie took her arm. 'Let's go. As soon as they find out that we're still alive, they'll go straight to Mrs Kemp's, and then I'm going to be in really serious trouble.'

'I don't understand.'

'They killed Mrs Kemp, too. That dwarf did it - the one they call David. Before he attacked me last night, he broke into her bedroom and chopped her up.'

'Are you serious?' Robyn demanded, staring at Charlie in disbelief. 'Why didn't you tell me this morning?'

'I didn't want to scare you out of driving for me.'

'G.o.d, I wish you had . . . Did you report Mrs Kemp's murder to the sheriff?'

'Are you kidding?' Charlie retorted.

They made their way along beside the Qua.s.sapaug River for almost a mile. It was quite narrow here, splashing busily down between the rocks, sometimes disappearing under layers of russet-brown ferns. Occasionally, they heard a police siren wailing along the road from Alien's Corners; and once they saw a police helicopter heading at top speed for Bethlehem, or maybe towards Le Reposoir. Charlie had to a.s.sume that Sheriff Podmore was looking for them now; and just in case the police brought in tracker dogs he made sure that they crossed and recrossed the Qua.s.sapaug whenever it was shallow enough for them to take off their shoes and wade. The clear-rippling water was intensely cold, but after each crossing they rubbed their feet with Robyn's pale blue sweater to dry them and warm them up.

It was almost two o'clock in the afternoon by the time they reached the outskirts of Alien's Corners. The small community was almost completely deserted, but Charlie took the precaution of approaching Mrs Kemp's along the narrow alleyway which ran along behind the back yards of most of the houses 197.

on Naugatuck Street. David must have used this alleyway when he had come to visit Martin during the night; and escaped along it, too.

All the yards were empty and silent. Robyn stayed close behind Charlie, but she was growing increasingly nervous, and kept glancing over her shoulder. 'What are we doing here?' she asked.

'First of all I want to find out if they've discovered Mrs Kemp's body yet. If they have, then I'm going to be wanted for questioning - if not for actually doing it, if I've learned anything about M. Musette. Second of all, we need Mrs Kemp's car. We'll never make it anywhere on foot, not if they get dogs out. She keeps her car keys in the hutch in the kitchen.'

They reached the back of Mrs Kemp's house, and Charlie eased open the gate. There was n.o.body to be seen in any of the other yards, except for a woman hanging washing about eight houses away, and there was no sign of police - not even barriers or warning notices or seals on the door to protect the evidence inside.

'They haven't found her yet,' Charlie whispered; but Robyn said, 'LookV and pointed up to the back bedroom window.

At first, the window simply appeared to be dark. But then a faint wash of early-afternoon sunlight came out, and Charlie could see a dull blue light reflected from it, as if the gla.s.s were tinted. But it was only when the blue light began to ripple and swirl that he understood what he was looking at. Inside the bedroom, blowflies were swarming, thousands of them, and scores of them had settled on the window. The dull blue light was the shiny colour of their bodies catching the sun.

Charlie said nothing, but ushered Robyn up to the back of the house. He tried the kitchen door and it was locked; but he picked up an edging-stone from Mrs Kemp's flower- 198.

V.

bed and used it to crack open one of the panes of gla.s.s. The key was still in the door, so he reached in and turned it.

'G.o.d,' he said, as they stepped cautiously into the kitchen. 'You can smell it even down here!'

'Do I have to come in?' Robyn asked.

'No, you wait there,' said Charlie. 'But keep your eyes peeled, okay? And don't let anybody see you.'

Charlie crossed the kitchen, trying not to breathe in too much of the cloying, sweetish smell which now permeated the entire house. He opened up the hutch, and found Mrs Kemp's car keys straight away. Underneath her keys was a roadmap of Litchfield County, two bank books, a spare pair of spectacles, and a half-finished embroidery sampler with the message 'Home Is Where The Heart Is'. That's ironic, thought Charlie. Not only the heart, but the lungs, the spleen, the liver, and the stomach, not to mention twenty-eight feet of intestine. He was about to close the drawer, however, when his attention was caught by two leaflets which had been stuffed into the back of it. He coaxed them out, and unfolded them, and held them up to the light so that he could read them.

One was cyclostyled on yellowish paper, and bore a drawing of Christ crucified. Beneath it, Charlie could make out the words L'Eglise des Pauvres, Societe des Gourmands, Acadia, LA. There was a lengthy text underneath in that curious Cajun mixture of French and English. Most of it seemed to be an exhortation to love G.o.d avec votre esprit et avec votre corps and to serve him avec all your heart, The other leaflet was almost incomprehensible, but seemed to be something to do with Le Recreation. There was a New Orleans address at the bottom of it: 1112 Elegance Street. But it was what was pencilled on the back of the leaflet that interested Charlie the most. Norman, for information. M.

Mrs Kemp must have taken both of these leaflets out of 199.

Sheriff Podmore's office when she vandalized it yesterday. She had crammed them into the drawer along with her car keys when she came home and locked herself in the kitchen. Charlie frowned at them again. They were definitely something to do with the Celestines, but right now he couldn't work out what. Maybe L'Eglise des Pauvres was another 'dining society' like Le Reposoir.

And maybe the 'M' who had signed that note to Sheriff Podmore was Edouard Musette; or even his wife.

Robyn called, 'Charlie? Did you get those keys? I'm feeling distinctly nervous out here.'

'I've got them,' said Charlie, 'and something else besides.'

He handed Robyn the leaflets. She glanced through them quickly, and then shrugged. 'I'll have to sit down with a French dictionary. I've forgotten everything I learned at school.'

Charlie tucked the leaflets into his pocket. Then he led Robyn around to the garage at the front of the house. The street was deserted. There wasn't even a dog in sight. Charlie eased open the garage doors, and together they climbed into Mrs Kemp's old Buick station wagon. 'It smells like lavender,' said Robyn.

Charlie started up the engine. It raided and coughed, and produced a thick black cloud of smoke. 'Not exactly the ideal vehicle for a discreet getaway,' Charlie remarked.

'Where are we going?' Robyn asked him. 'We're not on the run, are we?'

'You could say that. I mean - the justice around here may be corrupt, but we're fugitives from it.'

They backed out of the driveway, and then headed for the ring road which would take them around by the supermarket and out of Alien's Corners by the railroad depot and the warehouses, where they were less likely to be spotted by sheriff's deputies or over-enthusiastic disciples of Le Reposoir. Charlie said, 'Once we make it out of Connecticut, we have a fair chance of getting away clean.'

Robyn looked at him narrowly. 'You know where you're going, don't you? You're not running away from anything; you're running to something.'

Charlie said, 'I'm trying to save my boy, that's all.'

'Trying to play Rambo didn't work,' Robyn commented.

'Does it ever? You can never solve anything with a sweat-band and a gun. It was my fault, I didn't think it out properly and it was totally amateurish. I'm just grieving that Bob was killed.'

'So what are you planning on doing now?' asked Robyn. She touched his shoulder, a small affectionate gesture of communication; a signal that no matter what he wanted to do, she would help him.

'You see these leaflets? All in Cajun French. Well - that's where this cannibalism started, among an isolated sect of the Cajun French. Sheriff Podmore told me it began in New Orleans, and if that's where we have to go to find out more about the Celestines, then that's where we'll go. Leastways, that's where Fm going. You're not obliged.'

'Do you seriously think that I'll allow you to leave me behind?' Robyn told him. 'And besides, you need somebody to take turns with the driving.'

'Do you want to drop off home and pick up some clothes?' Charlie asked her. 'We should be reasonably safe until the police find Mrs Kemp. Then it's going to be like all h.e.l.l was let out for the weekend.'

Robyn shivered, partly out of cold, partly out of antic.i.p.ation. 'When you called the Litchfield Sentinel? she said, 'my life changed for ever.'

Charlie steered the Buick out towards Waterbury. 'Don't start blaming me. You could have said no. You can say no now, if you want to. You can see how dangerous these people are.'

'Wild horses couldn't stop me coming with you.' Charlie reached over and switched on the station wagon's radio. 'Wild horses I'm not worried about. It's these G.o.dd.a.m.ned cannibals.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

They crossed the state line into New York shortly after four o'clock. There was no sign of any police pursuit, and Charlie crossed his fingers and hoped that they had gotten away. Now he settled himself down for nearly i ,400 miles of driving, all the way through eight states to Louisiana, and to New Orleans. He estimated that if they kept going, taking turns at the wheel, they could reach the Mississippi delta in thirty-six hours. That was if Mrs Kemp's oil-burning Buick behaved itself; and if they weren't stopped anywhere along the way by the police.

As they headed towards New York City, Robyn tried to translate the leaflets that Mrs Kemp had stolen from Sheriff Podmore's office. It was Le Recreation text which interested her the most. It was dense and obscure and smudgily printed, and neither she nor Charlie could decide why Mrs Kemp had decided to take it.

'It could be that it just happened to be lying on his desk, and she picked it up because it looked important,' Charlie suggested.

'I don't know,' said Robyn. 'It looks like it's been folded and kept in an envelope. Maybe the envelope was marked confidential or something, and Mrs Kemp thought that it might contain something which would incriminate him.'

They made a short detour off the parkway to White Plains, and stopped at Macy's on Mamaroneck Avenue to pick up a Concise French Dictionary in the book department. While Robyn paid for the dictionary, Charlie found himself glancing left and right like a criminal. Afterwards, they picked up two Big Macs and some hot black coffee, and they ate and drank as 203.

they drove south-westwards on the Hutchinson River Parkway towards New York.

Robyn said, 'I thought I'd never be able to eat anything again, after what happened this morning. Now all of a sudden I'm starving.'

'It's delayed shock,' Charlie replied. 'Just make sure you chew it properly.'

'You're the food expert. Although it beats me how you can be a food expert and still eat a Big Mac.'

Charlie swallowed, and sipped coffee. 'Let me tell you something, if you compared the hygiene in most high-cla.s.s international restaurants with the hygiene at McDonald's, you'd never want to eat anything but Big Macs for the rest of your life. After about five years as a restaurant inspector, you realize that in spite of all the c.o.c.kroach bodies and the rat droppings you might have been eating along with your veal parmesan and your chicken a la whatever, you're still alive and still comparatively healthy and you haven't had a day's sickness since you can last remember. I guess that's when you begin to understand that the human const.i.tution is pretty resilient, and that you could probably eat a codfish pie out of some Bowery b.u.m's back pants pocket without any noticeable ill effects.'

Robyn stared at him for a long time and then returned her Big Mac to its polystyrene carton. 'I'm not sure that I can eat the rest of this.'

They drove through New York and the spires of Manhattan glittered grey and silver in the last light of the day. Then they were heading south-westwards through Jersey and Pennsylvania, along Route 22 to Harrisburg. At Harrisburg, Robyn would take over the driving, but meanwhile she pored over Mrs Kemp's leaflet with her French dictionary open on one knee.

As they drove through the Musconetcong mountains, she closed the dictionary and said, 'Do you know what this is?' 'I wouldn't have asked you to translate it if I did,' Charlie 204.

replied. He glanced in his rear view mirror. So far he was pretty sure that they weren't being tailed.

'This is a kind of Celestine newsletter. It gives a list of some of their up-and-coming meetings as well as their calendar for the year.'

'When do they have their church cookout?' asked Charlie bitterly.

'They have more important dates than that. In fact - according to this - the whole year is significant. This is the year of Le Recreation.'1 'What does that mean? Sports, games, that kind of thing?'

'You've got to be joking. Le Recreation literally means The Re-Creation. This is the year they attempt actually to recreate Jesus Christ in physical form.'

Charlie looked at her. He was more tired than sceptical. 'Go on,' he said. 'Tell me what it says.'

Robyn angled the leaflet so that it was illuminated by the Buick's interior light. 'Brothers and sisters, Guides and Devotees ...' Something something - I don't quite understand that bit. 'This is the year when the Prophecies of Sainte De-siree come to pa.s.s; when the Lord and Master will rise again, as was promised in les temps anciens; when the Body and Blood of Christ the Lord will be formed again out of the sacrificial flesh of all who worship Him. For three centuries, Devotees have devoured themselves, and what has remained of them has been devoured in turn by other Devotees until au bout de ses vies - at the end of their lives - these Devotees are devoured by their Guides.'

Charlie overtook a westbound livestock truck, and then turned to Robyn and said, 'Go on, I want to hear it.'

'It's so bizarre? said Robyn. 'I find it hard to believe that it's true.'

'Go on, it's important. This may give us the information that we've been looking for.'

Robyn rubbed her eyes. Then she lifted up the leaflet again, 205.

and read, '"Each human soul which has been devoured has been recorded in the Ledger; and now we are approaching at last the sacred number that forms the very centre of the Prophesies of Sainte Desiree. That is, one thousand times one thousand souls."'

Charlie whistled. 'Do you know what that means? Since the Celestines got started, nearly a million people have eaten themselves. A million! It's a holocaust!'

'Wait,' said Robyn, 'there's more. It says here that on the holiest of all weeks the Celestines will gather together and observe a last sacrificial convenant. All of the remaining Devotees will devour as much of themselves as they can . .. and the remaining Guides will devour what's left. At the very end there will be n.o.body left but one Devotee, who will become the Last Supper for the Master of Guides. When he has eaten the last of the Devotees, the Master will be transformed into the Lord Jesus Christ incarnate, whose body is the all-embracing temple of human souls. That's kind of a free translation, but it's near enough.'

'And when is this last supper scheduled?' asked Charlie. 'Whenever they reach the sacred number, I guess,' said Robyn. 'The leaflet doesn't give a specific date.'

'Well - that's one of the things we're going to have to find out in New Orleans,' said Charlie.

Robyn switched off the car's interior light and watched Charlie driving through the darkness. 'I still don't really understand why we're going to New Orleans at all. I mean - aren't you wasting time?'

'If I'm supposed to interpret that as 'Martin could be chewing his own fingers and toes by now', then I get your point. But you saw how things worked out this morning. I'm not cut out for that kind of a rescue. If I tried it again, I'd almost certainly wind up killed, and that would leave Martin completely at their mercy.' He paused, and then he said, 'For most of my working life, 206.

I've been eating at other people's tables without them realizing j who I am. I guess you could say that my greatest a.s.set is my anonymity.'

'So what are you going to do?'

'I'm going to New Orleans and I'll join the Celestines, in disguise. A moustache and tinted spectacles and a haircut should do it. Then I'm going back to Le Reposoir and get Martin out from the inside.'

Robyn said, 'I suppose that's as good a way as any.'

'For me, it's the only way.'

'I don't quite see where I'm going to fit in.'

Charlie reached across the seat and held her hand. 'I'm going to need somebody on the outside to keep in touch with. At the very last moment, I'm going to have to get out of that place like Roadrunner with his a.s.s-feathers on fire, and there has to be somebody there to do the driving.'

'You still want to me to drive, after the crash?'

'The crash wasn't your fault.'

'What happens if the Celestines discover who you really are, and kill you? What am I supposed to do then?'

Charlie made a face. 'You forget you ever heard about the Celestines, or Martin, or me, and you go back to your job and your parents and maybe a new boyfriend who doesn't give you a hard time, and you live out the rest of your life in peace and happiness.'

'You're suggesting that I never mention it, ever again?'

'Not if you want a long life.'

Robyn thought about that for a moment, and then said, 'There's one thing more. If you join the Celestines, won't you have to start eating yourself?'

'I was actually hoping that I could be a Guide, rather than a Devotee. I don't know what qualifications a Guide is supposed to have, but I guess I could fake them.'

'But then you'd have to eat other people.'

Charlie gave Robyn a tight smile. 'Let me cross that bridge 207.

when I come to it, huh? I'm hoping to get away without eating any human flesh at all.'

'This scares me,' said Robyn.