Mark had gone out. No doubt, he had left her a note, probably in the kitchen. A self-conscious laugh bubbled to her lips. She had better get that grip on herself before somebody had her locked up.

Liz turned off the light on her way out of the room. Smiling at herself, she headed to the kitchen. She flipped on the overhead light, then stopped in her tracks. A lidded coffee can sat in the middle of her tiny, kitchen table in a puddle of dark liquid. The same liquid appeared to be smeared on the sides of the can and tabletop.

Liz stared at the can. She recognized the brand as the same one her mother used to buy. She hadn’t realized they still sold coffee that way, ground in five-pound cans. She and Rachel had made banks out of them as kids. They had used them for butterfly houses and bug hotels, after cutting slits in the plastic top so their captured creatures could breathe.

Liz brought a shaking hand to her mouth and inched toward the table. She saw that the smears were red. The puddle a deep ruby. Blood, she realized.

A scuffling noise came from the can. With a sense of déjà vu, she reached for the can. She snapped off the lid and peered inside.

The creature peered up at her with its beady black eyes, teeth bared.

She jumped backward. The can slipped from her fingers and landed on its side on the table then rolled off and onto the floor. Blood splashed across the linoleum, the rat spilled out.

It lay there, chest heaving, near death.

Liz began to shake. Rat in a can. Sister in a box.

Slowly dying.

Slowly dying.

The words played in her head like a deranged nursery rhyme. She backed away. The doorbell rang. Liz swung in the direction of the front room, then started forward. Her slow pace quickened until she was running, tearing through the apartment to the stairwell, thundering down the stairs. Ripping the door open.

Rick stood on the other side.

With a cry, she fell into his arms.

His went around her. “You’re trembling.”

She pressed her face against his chest and held him tighter.

Mark was gone. Rachel was dead.

She was next.

“I heard,” he said after a time, softly. “About Stephen. That he had your sister’s Bible.” He tipped her face up to his, searching her expression. “I know what that might mean, Liz. I’m sorry.”

Emotion choked her. She couldn’t speak and tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.” He cupped her face in his palms and brought his mouth to hers. He kissed her softly, sweetly, then rested his forehead against hers. “So sorry.”

A movement from beyond her open door caught her eye. Someone passing by, glancing in.

Someone watching.

Her heart stopped. Liz caught his hand and drew him the rest of the way into the foyer. Reaching around him, she closed and locked the door.

She held a finger to her lips and led him upstairs. He made a move to turn on the light but she stopped him. “Not yet. Someone could be watching.” She crossed to the front windows and closed the blinds, then to the side windows and did the same.

She switched on a lamp. A gentle glow fell across his features, softening them. Smoothing his concerned frown.

“What’s going on?”

She brought a hand to her mouth. It shook. She realized how close she was to falling apart and it frightened her. She couldn’t go there. Not now. Not again.

“I need to show you something.”

She led him to the kitchen. She saw that the rat hadn’t moved. Most probably it had died from lack of oxygen or of shock. Perhaps it had drowned in the blood it had been swimming in.

“Mother of God, Liz!” Rick crossed to the creature. He examined it without touching it. “Who did this?”

“After Lieutenant Lopez left, I was really tired…I had this headache…I lay down. When I woke up, he was…gone. I thought he might have left a note and I-” She cleared her throat. “I found the can and the…it was still alive.”

“Who, Liz? Who was gone?”

She dragged her gaze from the rat to Rick. “We have to talk.”

“Dammit, Liz. Who did this?”

“The Horned Flower.” She crossed to the sink and retrieved a pair of rubber gloves and a bottle of antibacterial cleaner from beneath it. She put the gloves on, then took a roll of paper towels from the dispenser. She returned her gaze to Rick’s. She saw by his expression that he thought she had lost her mind. “Mark was here, Rick. And now, they have him.”

CHAPTER 41

Monday, November 19

8:20 p.m.

Liz refused to say more until they had cleaned up and disposed of the rat. Rick urged her to leave it as it was and to call the police; she flatly refused. What would she tell them? she had demanded. That she had been harboring a wanted man? That cultists had crept into her apartment and abducted him while she napped, leaving this lovely package behind?

Oh sure, she had continued, Valentine Lopez would love to hear that story. He would have her locked up before she had even finished talking. The only question remaining would be whether he locked her in a cell or the loony bin.

Rick glanced at her, huddled on one edge of the couch, knees drawn to her chest. He had to choose, he acknowledged. Who did he give allegiance to? Val and the police department? Or Liz and her crazy story?

As if reading his thoughts, she looked at him. “I need you to believe me, Rick. I need you on my side.”

“Mark’s wanted by the police, Liz. For murder. They believe he may mean you harm. Considering all that, what in God’s name possessed you to harbor him here?”

“If I tell you everything, will you promise to keep an open mind?”

He hesitated a moment, then agreed. “But I can’t promise anything else. You understand that, don’t you? And you understand just how nuts this all seems to me?”

“Oh yeah, I understand. Half the time I think I’ve gone around the bend. Then someone leaves a bloody rat in my kitchen, and I snap right back to reality.”

“So talk to me.”

After taking a deep, fortifying breath, she began. She described how she had awakened to find Stephen in her apartment. He had led her to his quarters at Paradise Christian, where he had hidden Mark.

She met Rick’s eyes. “He found him in the walled garden, Rick. Unconscious.”

“The walled-”

“On the spot where Tara was found.”

“Jesus, Liz, that doesn’t look good. If the police had found him there-”

“They would have used it as further evidence against him. Which is exactly what they’d hoped would happen.”

Then her story got weird. She described Mark’s Horned Flower experience, how he had been blindfolded, drugged and driven to an unknown destination where many people waited. “He was given another drug, one he drank from a chalicelike cup. Only then did they remove his blindfold.”

Rick leaned forward. “And? Did he recognize any of the other teenagers?”

“They were masked.” She cleared her throat, then continued, relaying what Mark had shared with her, the sensation of being feasted upon, laid upon an altar and sexually devoured. Of continually orgasming.

“He was talking crazy, Rick. About good and evil. About the battle between the two. He spoke of the Beast.”

“The Beast?”

“The devil,” she murmured. “Mark’s thoughts have been consumed with the experience. He insisted they wanted to kill him. He kept saying they were inside his head. And that he couldn’t get the Beast out.”

She rested her forehead on her knees a moment, then looked at him. “I was frightened for him. Whatever drugs they gave him caused some sort of psychotic episode.”

“Did you get him medical treatment?”

“I suggested it but backed off when he became agitated. He said they would know, that they would find him.”

“What about the-”

“Police?” She shook her head. “He was afraid of going to the police. He figured they’d arrest him. Rightly so.”