CHAPTER 47

Wednesday, November 21

10:30 a.m.

Liz entered St. Catherine’s Nursing Home and headed straight to the information desk. She noticed few of the residents about today; the TV in the community area was off, the game tables empty. Even the rotund Rascal was nowhere to be seen.

“Good morning,” she greeted the receptionist. “It’s quiet around here today.”

The woman returned Liz’s smile, hers weary. “We’re in lockdown mode because of the tropical storm. With the residents safe in their rooms, we can focus our attention on getting everyone ready to move, should the storm upgrade and an evacuation be ordered. If we wait too long, we’re stuck.”

Liz glanced at the community area’s wall of windows. Maintenance workers were in the process of boarding them over. The whole thing felt slightly surreal. Although she knew a powerful storm threatened, the sky remained a perfect, cloudless blue. She recalled Father Paul’s story about the hurricane of 1846, about the devastation it had wrought. No wonder there had been so many storm naysayers. The sky looked so pretty. The air felt so sweet.

“It must be difficult to evacuate a place like this.”

“Difficult? Try a nightmare.” She leaned toward Liz. “When a hurricane comes this late, it’s most likely a whopper. And trust me, I have no plans on being a sitting duck here on Key West. And certainly not with a bunch of geriatrics.”

“What are they saying?”

“It’s moving fast, which is good news. The longer it churns through the warm waters, the stronger it becomes. The bad news is, we’ll start seeing weather pretty quickly. The outer storm bands should reach us by midafternoon.” She glanced at her watch, then smiled again, this time sheepishly. “I’m sorry, storms addle me. Are you here to see someone?”

“Father Paul. Is he up?”

“Up but agitated today. It may be the approaching storm. The change in the barometric pressure sometimes disturbs the elderly patients. You remember which room is his?”

Liz did, and after she signed in, Liz started down the C-wing hall. Most of the doors were open. She saw that the majority of the residents hovered nervously inside, some making themselves busy, others just staring into space. How frightening the threat of the storm must be to them, Liz thought. How vulnerable they must feel.

Liz reached the old priest’s room and stopped in his doorway. Same as the last time she had visited, he sat facing the window, Bible in his lap, rosary beads in his hands. She tapped on the casing. “Father Paul?”

He turned. She saw by his expression that he didn’t remember her. “It’s Liz Ames, Father. I visited you once before.” Still nothing. She took a step inside the door. “You told me the story of how the Blessed Virgin appeared to children in the garden of Paradise Christian Church.”

A flicker of recognition moved across his features and he waved her into the room. “A storm’s coming.” He worked the rosary beads in his lap, his movements jerky.

“The staff seems to have everything under control,” she murmured, crossing to the bed and sitting on the edge, facing him. “There’s no need to be frightened.”

“Indeed. It’s in the Lord’s hands. He provides for the faithful.”

“Yes, He does.” She cleared her throat. “I came here today, Father, because I need to ask you a question.”

“Are you from the church?”

“No, Father. I’m just a friend.” She opened her handbag and took out her sister’s journal page, the one with the drawings of the horned flower. “Father, have you ever seen this image before?”

He took it from her. He stared at it, horror creeping into his eyes. The paper slipped from his fingers. “The battle for paradise has begun.” He crossed himself; she saw that he trembled. “The Evil One and his warriors have come.”

“What do you mean? Who’s come?”

He met her eyes, his glassy and bright. “You know, child. The angel of light. Lucifer, the fallen one.”

Satan. His worshipers.

She had been right.

A chill washed over her. She bent and retrieved the journal page, hands shaking. “You know these people?” she asked. “This group?”

He shook his head. “I know it as one of Satan’s signs. Like the horned goat and inverted cross. A blasphemy. And where it resides, so does he.”

“What do I do, Father?”

“Run, my child, you are in great danger. He is a soul collector. A defiler of angels and God’s children alike.”

She swallowed hard. “I can’t do that, Father. They stole my sister from me and I…I have to defeat them.”

He slowly shook his head, eyes growing bright with tears. She reached out and caught his hands. “Help me, Father. I don’t know what to do.”

His cheeks grew pink, sweat beaded his upper lip. “Lucifer was God’s angel of light. He was our Lord’s most perfect creation. But Lucifer came to believe he was more beautiful, more perfect than God.”

The priest curled his fingers tightly around hers. “So God expelled him and all the angels he had coerced to his side from heaven. He sent them to the Valley of Gehenna, a place he created for them at the center of the earth.

The Valley of Gehenna. Hell. The fiery pit. The place she had feared so often during her childhood.

The devil had been real to her back then. A beast with red flesh, horns and a forked tail. Her fear of him had motivated her to behave, to pray, to believe.

When had she left that behind? When had Satan and the fires of hell become a religious myth to her? Had her faith in God disappeared at the same time? Or had one influenced the other?

She believed now. In heaven. And hell. The forces that drove them both.

“I’m frightened, Father.”

“That’s good,” he murmured, inclining his head. “Never doubt, my child, he is the snake. Slick and charming. Beautiful. Ask the Lord to protect you from his evil tricks. His voracious appetite. Do not allow him to feed upon your soul, for each soul he devours makes him stronger.”

“How do I fight them?” she begged, voice shaking. “What do I do?”

“Arm yourself with the Holy Spirit. For only a true messenger of God can fight the Dragon. Only the one who is the purest of heart, the one with absolute faith in Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior.”

CHAPTER 48

Wednesday, November 21

10:45 a.m.

After that, Father Paul slipped out of lucidity. He started to ramble-as near as she could tell, about events from his childhood. Soon, fatigued, he began to nod off.

Liz prepared to go. “It was nice talking with you today, Father Paul.” She bent and squeezed his hand. “The Lord be with you.”

He smiled and returned the pressure of her hand. “You, too, my child. May He bless and protect you.”

A lump in her throat, she left his room and started down the hall, thoughts whirling with the things he had said, struggling to put his words into perspective.

“The battle for paradise has begun. The Evil One and his warriors have come.”

She shuddered and rubbed her arms. How could one take those words any way but at face value? He had recognized the horned flower immediately. She had been right, it was a satanic image. It had frightened the old priest. She had seen the fear in his eyes-and the resignation. As if he had known this was coming, as if he had been waiting.

And as if he accepted that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Nothing but pray.

“Is everything all right?”

Liz looked up, startled. The receptionist was looking at her, her expression strange. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“You looked upset. Is Father Paul all right?”

“Yes, fine,” Liz said quickly. “He’s sleeping now.”

“His ramblings didn’t upset you, did they?”

From the corner of her eye, Liz thought she saw one of the male aides looking her way. She glanced over in time to see him pivot and walk the other way.