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Although I wanted to argue that point with him, I knew he was partially right. I wasn’t a medium or an exorcist. I had communicated with Lucien Dumond’s ghost, and I had regular convos with my dead grandmother in a crystal ball, but it wasn’t as if this was the sort of thing I focused on. Even so, I still had a lot more experience than Calvin.
“It’s more mine than yours,” I said, and he let out a resigned breath.
“You’re right. And since you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions, I guess I can’t really stop you. I just want you to know that I don’t like it.”
“Duly noted,” I replied. “And we’ll be careful. No worries on that point.”
A nod, and then he got up to flip the tri-tip again. That seemed to put an end to the discussion, although I could tell he wasn’t too happy with me.
So much for a romantic evening together.
Because of the friction between us, I didn’t stay late at Calvin’s house. He kissed me goodbye and told me he’d let me know when and if his deputy dug up anything about The Lightman Group, but I could tell he was still troubled by my decision to go back to the Bigelow mansion at midnight.
Since I knew I’d be heading out again in a few hours, I didn’t bother to get ready for bed when I got home. I set an alarm on my phone for 11:30 in case I fell asleep watching TV, and then plonked myself down on the couch to wait it out. Archie seemed a little surprised that I was home by nine, but he must have sensed something of my mood, because he didn’t say much, only curled up in the armchair and dozed off.
I did pretty much the same thing from my spot on the couch, and was glad I’d set that alarm. When my phone began buzzing, I started awake and stared, bleary-eyed, at the screen for a moment before I remembered why I was supposed to be getting up.
Right then, I thought that maybe Calvin had been right in trying to dissuade me from carrying out this particular plan.
But I didn’t have much choice. I suppose I could have called Father Neil — he’d given me his cell number, just in case — and yet that seemed like a cowardly thing to do. And after all, I’d been present for several of these demon rampages, and although they could be frightening enough, nothing had actually happened to me during any of them.
So I went in the bathroom and splashed some water on my face, then put on fresh lip gloss and pulled my hair back in a scrunchie. Thus readied for demon-fighting, I picked up my purse and headed out.
At that hour, hardly anyone was out and about in Globe. A party town, it was not. I only passed one other vehicle on my way out to the Bigelow mansion, and that was just as I was leaving the downtown area. Once I started to cut through the hillside residential areas, I didn’t see a single soul.
No sign of Father Neil’s Buick as I pulled up near the garage and came to a stop. Well, the clock on my dash said it was 11:54, which meant I was a little early. I’d checked my phone before I left and didn’t have any missed texts or calls, and so I had to assume this midnight meeting was still on.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed toward the front porch, figuring I might as well wait for the priest there. If he was running late, I’d just sit down on one of the wicker chairs on the porch. Maybe waiting in my car would have been more comfortable, but at least this way, I’d be able to spot him the second he pulled on to the property.
The night breeze was pleasantly cool, faintly scented with the fragrance of the numerous rosebushes blooming in the garden only a few yards away. Sitting on the porch like that, I could almost forget why I was here…or what lurked in the house behind me.
A few minutes ticked by. I reached in my purse and looked at the screen. 12:05.
Had Father Neil decided to bail on me?
Although I’d only known the guy for a single day, he didn’t seem like the type to ghost a person, especially over something this important. I suppose it was possible he’d forgotten to set an alarm, or had car trouble or something. But if that was the case, wouldn’t he have called or texted?
The phrase “doomed venture” floated through my mind, although I told myself I was being melodramatic. Five minutes late didn’t constitute a catastrophe in anyone’s universe.
A rhythmic thumping sounded deep inside the house. It sounded as if the demons were at it again…and here I was, sitting on the porch.
Another glance at my phone.
12:10.
Well, if the good father couldn’t be bothered to call me, then I’d just have to call him.
I navigated to the contact I’d entered the day before and touched the button to connect the call. His phone rang four times, and then I heard, “Hi, you’ve reached Father Neil Halloran’s voicemail. Please leave your name and phone number and the reason why you’re calling, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
A beep followed, and I hesitated, wondering whether it was even worth my time to leave a message. After all, either he was coming to meet me, or he wasn’t.
But then I gave a mental shrug and said, “Hi, Father Neil. This is Selena. I’m at the house, but I don’t know where you are. I’ll wait a bit longer, but after that I’m just going to head home. Thanks.”
Once I was done, I replaced the phone in my purse, feeling vaguely foolish. Right then, I couldn’t quite ignore the sensation of overwhelming futility.
The pounding kept going inside the house. Didn’t the demons know they didn’t have any kind of an audience?
Or maybe they could sense I was out on the porch.
