Chapter 9

The wind moanedits way up the hill to the cemetery, like a ghost calling through the night to find its way home. Far behind it, but approaching fast, was the growl and rumble of the storm prowling in from the sea, intensifying with every swirl of its black clouds and every flare of lightning trapped inside that seething torrent, waiting to be unleashed.

The half-opened gates of the cemetery hung on rusted hinges, tilting as though the pull of gravity was too much to bear any longer, just waiting to collapse altogether. I walked through them and up into the maze of tombstones, the silhouette of the convent and orphanage looming large beyond the cemetery. A flicker of lightning lit up a gravestone beside me with the statue of an angel on top. In that blink of light, I could have sworn the sad eyes of the angel were looking at me. As though begging me to leave. Pleading for me to turn back now.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't.

I needed to know who had written that note.

I needed to know Stu Whitmore wasn't walking into trouble.

This mystery wasn't over yet.

As I stepped warily through the darkness of the cemetery, my senses seemed heightened. I guess this place made me edgy. Over the howling wind and the gathering storm, I turned at every sound—the rustle of fallen leaves blowing along the ground, the squawk of crows looking for shelter in the trees. My eyes were wide, tricking me into believing, if only for a moment, that the shadows of the blowing branches were from someone else lurking through the gravestones. I soon found myself standing before the crypt where Harry and I had once tried to escape this place. Its heavy doors were ajar, inching open in the wind with a creaky groan, as though daring me to step once more into the blackness of that tunnel.

I wondered if the nuns still dragged young mothers through that dark, wet place before tossing them out into the world, alone and penniless and waiting for God's punishment.

I wondered if that grim passageway was even still there.

Or had time—or God himself—caved in its walls and destroyed it forever?

I was overcome by an irresistible urge to find out.

I took a deep breath, and was about to take a step up into the darkened alcove of the crypt, when suddenly—

—someone's hand grabbed me by the shoulder.

I jolted, spun about fast, and was about to defend myself with my bunched-up fist, until I saw who it was.

"Holden?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Startle me? We're in a cemetery in the dead of night! Startle me? You scared the shit outta me. What are you doing here?"

"I…"

Before Hart could give me an answer, my brain jumped to the first conclusion. "Jesus, did you write that note? What the hell for? What do you know about Stu Whitmore?"

"Nothing," he responded quickly.

"I don't believe you. You've been tailing me this whole time, haven't you? Everywhere I turn, there you are. What are you, his lover on the side?"

"No."

"Are you cutting in on Marky Marlow? Is that it?"

"No."

"Then what? Are the three of you some sorta… ménage a tri-oh? Hell, how blind could I be?"

"No, we're not having a ménage a trois. This has got nothing to do with Stu Whitmore."

"Then what the hell are you doing in the cemetery at midnight?"

"I came to see you. I came because I was worried about you."

I looked at him, confused.

"The note," he explained. "Lois slipped it out of your jacket when she found you on the street tonight. I wanted to talk to you. I needed to see you. We parted… badly… last night. It's been playing on my mind. I haven't stopped thinking about you all day. I sent Lois to find you. When she tried to talk you into coming with her, she went through your pockets. She's a pro at that, nobody ever suspects. Right or wrong, she showed me the note. I had to come straight away."

"What the hell for? I'm on a case. I'm a private detective. This is what I do. I don't need no bodyguard, and I sure as hell don't need someone watching over me, thinking they're some guardian angel of mine. I do just fine on my own, thanks just the same."

"You only do fine because you've never had anyone to look out for you." He paused, then added, "Not since we were both seven years old."

I took a step back, as though he had just slapped me. I stared at him, my head fighting against the words that had just come from his mouth. I couldn't quite fathom it, didn't believe it, didn't trust myself that I'd heard him right.

I had to go. I turned quickly and walked away, but stopped dead when he said, "Buck, don't you get it? It's me. Harry. Please don't walk away."

I turned back slowly.

A bolt of lightning lit up the night.

And in that flash, I saw it.

The face.

Those eyes.

That dimple.

I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before.

Slowly I started walking back to him.

"The Harts, my adoptive parents, they changed my name. We moved from mansion to mansion, country to country, while my father built his empire. He shaped me into the son he wanted. But every day of my life, the one person who never left my mind, was you. The only thing I ever wanted to do was come back to you. The nightclub, it's just a business venture I knew my father would back. It gave me an excuse to return to Wilde City. So that I could come back to you."

I stopped in front of him.

I stared into his eyes.

I didn't know what I wanted to do more—cry, hit him… or kiss him.

The choice wasn't conscious.

It was the only choice there was.

I kissed him.

I took his face in my hands and planted my lips on his so hard, I didn't think it would be possible to ever pull away. In a way, I didn't want to. A rush of love and anger and joy charged through my veins. Here was the man who I had missed every day of my life since we were torn apart. Here was my family, my protection, my happiness, my best friend, my one real love. Here he was, back with me. I felt the tears streak down my cheeks. I felt the years of pain—those onion layers that had made me cry as child till I could cry no more—peel away now. Everything I had ever wanted was now here.

In my hands.

In my heart.

At last.

I could have stayed right there—in that kiss—for the rest of my life.

But the bright light of a lantern shining on us ended any chance of that.

Holden—or rather, Harry—and I broke our kiss and shielded our eyes from the light, looking to see who held the lantern.

"Stu?" I asked. "Stu Whitmore?"

"Who are you?" Stu Whitmore asked in return, confused and on guard. "Did you write that note? What do you want? Tell me who you are."

"Turn out the light," was the first thing I said.

He shook his head. "No, not till you tell me what you want."

"We didn't write the note. My name's Buck, this is Harry. I came here tonight to make sure you were safe."

"Safe from what? Or who?"

"Whoever did write that note. I'm a private detective. I was hired by your wife to follow you. To find out who you were having an affair with."

Stu's brow creased in bewilderment… and suspicion. "That's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because I don't have a wife."

"No," said a new voice from the darkness. "But you do have a sister."

A roll of thunder echoed across the sky, the storm was approaching fast now. Stu shone his lantern in the direction of the voice, and we all turned to see, standing there dressed in a nun's habit, none other than Winnipeg Whitmore.

"Peggy?" Stu asked with more than a hint of concern in his voice. "What are you doing?"

"I'm here to release you from your demons, little brother. And from what I've seen tonight, it seems Mr. Baxter and his ‘friend' need to be freed of theirs as well."

"What are you talking about?" Stu asked. "What's going on here? Jesus, you were always crazy. I thought I'd seen the last of it when you moved to the convent. I hoped you'd be happy here, and would stop interfering with my life. Did you hire this man to follow me? Why?"

A flash of lightning burst through the sky, followed quickly by a crack of thunder. Miss Whitmore's face turned to a scowl beneath her habit. "Because your ungodly ways must be stopped. I always suspected you of committing acts of an unspeakable nature. I needed to know for certain. When a man lies with another man, he must atone for his sins. He must beg the Lord for forgiveness."

"I won't," Stu said defiantly. "If you want to be with your God, then so be it. But I'm happy with who I am."

"You grew up a Catholic, and now you're a monster!"

"I'm in love!"

"Love? Your kind doesn't know what love is."

"Neither does yours," Stu snapped back. "I'm in love, and just because it's with a man doesn't mean I have to answer to anyone. Not you. Not Mom or Dad. And certainly not God."

Miss Whitmore drew in an angry breath, and her face flushed bright red with fury. "If our parents were alive, they would weep with shame for your wrongdoing. They would mourn the innocent boy you once were. Personally, I don't have time to weep. I'll just cut straight to the mourning." With that, she pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Stu.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I stepped in front of him.

"Buck, get away from there," Harry warned me.

I ignored him. I had to. "Miss Whitmore, you fire that gun, and it's murder. I can't imagine God is gonna look too kindly on that."

"What do you think confession's for?" she replied. "And it's Sister Peggy now. Bride of Christ. I'm one of God's daughters. Unlike you heathen souls."

"Was Sister Rose a heathen soul too?" My brain put two and two together as fast as the words came out of my mouth. "You killed her too, didn't you?"

"Sister Rose's death was an unfortunate accident. She happened to be the one who received the delivery of my gun from Mamma Marlow. Naturally, the nosy old bitch had to open the box and find the pistol. It was the last thing she ever saw… That, and the candlestick I used to hit her with eight times before I dumped her body in the river."

"And you call that an ‘accident'?" I asked.

The clouds rolled in so low and heavy you could almost touch them. Thunder belted through the sky as Sister Peggy shrugged innocently. "Perhaps, ‘God's plan' is a better way of putting it. Sister Rose would have been happy to die knowing her death helped put an end to the sodomy in this city. Which starts with my wicked brother." She cocked her gun. "Now stand aside Mr. Baxter. Don't worry, you'll get your turn."

"No," I said firmly, standing squarely in front of Stu Whitmore. "I won't let you shoot him. Nothing will make me stand aside."

Sister Peggy raised one eyebrow. "Oh no?"

With that, she turned the gun away from me and Stu—

—and directly onto Harry.

She squeezed the trigger.

A shot rang out.

Harry staggered backward, stumbling away from the entrance of the crypt, clutching at his left side before falling to the ground.

At that moment, the low, dark heavens opened and a deluge rained upon us. I turned, pushed Stu behind a gravestone, and sprinted for Harry. I heard Stu hit the ground behind me, and his lantern went out with a smash of glass and the hiss of a flame dying. A second bullet from Sister Peggy's gun missed me by an inch as I dived over the grass, grabbed Harry, and pulled him behind a tall tombstone of Christ on the cross.

Sister Peggy fired again and took off Christ's head.

It landed beside Harry and me with a heavy thud as the rain pummeled down.

"Let me see," I said in a panic, ripping open Harry's shirt to find a bullet hole in his side, gushing blood. In the light of another lightning strike, the color of the blood glowed bright red as it poured from the wound before the rain washed it away. "It didn't hit any organs. You'll be okay. Are you in pain?"

"Is that a stupid question?" Harry answered.

I kissed him and asked, "How about now?"

He smiled. "That's a little better."

"I'm gonna get you outta here."

But Harry was already shaking his head. "No. You have to save Stu. That's one crazy bitch. Let her think I'm dead. You gotta get Stu outta here before she kills him."

Sure enough, the next bullet fired smashed into the gravestone above Stu's head. He still had the broken lantern in his hand, the light now extinguished. In a flash of lightning, I could see Sister Peggy heading straight for his gravestone, gun pointed.

"Stu! The lantern! Swing it… now!"

Without a second's hesitation, Stu stood from behind the gravestone, the lantern already in full swing. Before Sister Peggy could fire another shot, Stu walloped his sister across the face with the lantern, knocking her to the ground with a loud grunt.

I turned to Harry and laid my lips on his once more before telling him, "Stay put. Keep still. Do not move!"

With that, I leapt to my feet, grabbed a stunned Stu by the hand, and raced as fast as I could into the quickest exit I knew—the crypt tunnel.

I pulled open the iron doors and sprinted into the darkness with Stu Whitmore in tow.

"Jesus, where are we going?"

"Into the convent. It's our best chance of raising an alarm."

A rat squealed as Stu stepped on its tail, and memories of my last failed escape attempt through this tunnel flashed through my mind. Only this time, I was heading back into St. Agatha's, the place I had so desperately tried to flee. As I had done so before, I tripped over rocks and loose bricks in the darkness, only this time I feared a cave-in somewhere along the way; an abrupt end to our escape.

Thankfully, the tunnel had held strong after all these years.

We reached the rungs hammered in the tunnel wall leading up to the confessional above.

I pushed Stu up the rungs first, hand over foot.

That's when the first bullet ricocheted down the length of the tunnel.

"Go, go, go!" I told Stu, hurrying up the rungs after him as fast as I could. I practically launched him up into the confessional, pushing his ass up through the trapdoor before a bullet clipped the heel of my shoe. In the tunnel below, I heard empty shells spill across the rocky ground. The bitch had brought spare bullets. She was reloading.

I pushed Stu out of the confessional and into the chapel.

Not much had changed, except for the fact that more of the stained-glass windows were broken and the holes in the roof were bigger. Rain was already pouring into the old chapel, and with another blast of lightning, the entire place lit up.

I spotted the staircase in the corner.

I knew it led up to the steeple tower standing high and tall over St. Agatha's.

If we could get to a window overlooking the rooftop, then climb over to the roof of the main wing of the convent, we might be able to get to safety.

"Come on," I said, dragging Stu after me once more.

We hit the spiral staircase and started climbing as fast as we could. It was steep, and the stone steps were crumbling with age. Stu stumbled more than once, but I kept pushing him upward. With every flare of lightning through the tower windows on the way upward, the stained-glass faces of saints and apostles lit up, as though they were watching us. Midway up the tower, a gunshot rang out below us. I pushed Stu against the wall of the tower as a bullet bounced its way up to the very pinnacle of the steeple.

She was coming for us.

I raced to the nearest window and unfastened the latch. It swung open, and the storm blew in. I could see we were just above the roofline. Ten or so feet below us, the peak of the roof of the orphanage ran directly to the roof of the convent. It was a steep slant on either side of the roof peak, and I could see the old mossy tiles were drenched with the deluge of the storm and slippery as all hell.

"We need to get to the other side of this rooftop," I shouted to Stu over the raging storm that blew in from the window.

Stu looked across the rooftop, then at me fearfully. "I don't know if I can do it."

Another gunshot rang through the tower staircase. "Up there ain't nothing but the steeple," I told him, pointing upward. "Down there ain't nothing but your crazy sister. You take your pick."

Without hesitation, Stu threw one leg out the window, then the other, and with a gasp, he let go of the window ledge and dropped onto the peak of the roof a few feet below him, getting down on all fours like a cat so he could crawl through the torrential rain and clear a little landing room for me to do the same.

Out on the roof, the rain lashed at us as we crawled along the peak as fast as we could, heading to the far end of the rooftop toward the convent. Thunder roared at us. Lightning split the sky above the steeple looming high over us, the shadow of its cross imprinting itself on the rooftop with every flashing bolt.

I thought another crack of thunder filled the sky.

Only this time it wasn't thunder.

It was a bullet smashing a tile beside my hand, sending the shards skidding down the steeply sloped roof and sailing off the edge into the dark of night.

Stu and I both turned back to see Sister Peggy, drenched in her nun's habit, clambering across the rooftop after us. She held her gun firmly in hand and fired yet another shot, this one catching me in the left forearm.

I cried out in pain, looking desperately between Stu and the convent rooftop, knowing we were sitting ducks now. I clutched at my forearm, feeling the blood flowing warm between my fingers… and I knew we didn't have a chance of making it.

"Keep going," I said to Stu over another growl of thunder. "Do it."

He shook his head. "She's my sister."

With that, he stood. Carefully. Slowly. Like a tightrope walker. He rose unsteadily to his feet on the peak of the wet slippery rooftop. In the pouring rain, as I nursed my bleeding arm, he stood over me. Trying to protect me as best he could by making himself the easiest target.

"Peggy, listen to me," he said. "Please. Put the gun down."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your brother!" I could hear in his voice he was crying now. Knowing that tonight… one of them was going to get hurt.

Peggy shook her head. "No, you're not my brother. You're an abomination. Ask God. He's the one who will cast the final judgment."

The moment those words left her lips, the sky filled with a blinding light.

Sister Peggy looked up, smiling. "Lord Jesus! Your will be done!"

Suddenly a bolt from the heavens struck the steeple with so much force the tower crumbled and gave way under the impact of the blow. Sister Peggy screamed. Stu dropped down beside me, and we sheltered one another as the base of the steeple exploded. The pinnacle groaned, bricks shattered into dust, and the entire steeple came crashing down—

—directly onto the rooftop where Sister Peggy stood.

She opened her mouth in shock, but there wasn't time for a single sound to come out.

One moment, Sister Peggy was there—

—the next, the entire top of the steeple crashed through the rooftop, crushing her instantly and thundering down through the layers of the building. I heard screams beneath. As tiles dropped into the chasm, I looked down and panicked about the orphans below.

Then roof tile after roof tile started slipping into that abyss.

I backed up fast along the roof peak.

But Stu had already lost his footing.

He slipped with a cry and started a slippery descent down the steep side of the rooftop in the rain.

As I watched him slide toward certain death, I had one of two choices: I could cling on tight and hope the same didn't happen to me, or I could try to save him.

I threw myself off the peak of the roof and slid down the slippery slope after him. The tiles hammered my stomach. I could see Stu in front of me, sliding faster than I could save him.

He hit the edge of the guttering, and I yelled, "Hold on!"

He did just that, somehow managing to grab the guttering and hold on for a few desperate moments.

A second later, I slammed into the same guttering.

I grabbed Stu's hand with my right arm just as his hand slipped from the guttering. He dropped, and I held on to the guttering with my left arm, still bleeding, my fingers clinging to the rim of the guttering. Stu swung beneath like a pendulum in my grip… fifty feet above the ground below.

I held his hand as tight as I could.

Above me, the guttering groaned.

Rain poured off the roof in a cascade, trying to drown me as I clung on for dear life.

I felt the blood race down my left forearm, knowing I only had seconds before that arm would let go of the guttering above.

Below Stu, I spotted a stained glass window not far from him.

"I'm gonna swing you," I called to him, spitting the deluge of water out of my mouth. "Can you see that window? I'm gonna swing you toward it. Use your feet to kick it in. It's our only chance."

Stu looked down at the window, then down at the ground far below, then up at me and nodded.

"On the count of three," I told him.

I held on to the guttering as tight as I could. I could feel the blood warming my entire arm, my shoulder.

"One."

The guttering groaned. We built momentum in the swing.

"Two."

The guttering buckled and bent under our weight.

"Three!"

I threw Stu as hard as I could into the window below. He let go of my hand and with his feet, smashed his way through the stained glass and inside the orphanage. Several nuns inside screamed as the glass shattered, but I could see them help Stu to his feet before they rushed to the window to look up at me.

"We've called the ambulance," they said. "Hold on tight."

All I could ask was, "Are the kids okay?"

The nuns nodded as one of them called, "The children are fine. We don't house them in this wing anymore. Hold on, we'll get you help."

Suddenly, the guttering buckled again.

The blood rushed down my arm now, covering me.

My fingers were letting go one by one.

I eyed the window below and knew I couldn't make the jump. But I could never survive a fall to the ground below. Although there didn't seem to be any other way.

My last finger let slip the guttering.

I felt myself fall—

—all of an inch.

That's when his hand reached down from above and grabbed mine.

That's when he held me so tightly I knew he'd never let me go again.

That's when I looked up to see Harry, in just as much pain as me, grinning down at me and saying, "I always promised I'd come back for you."

What could I do but smile back and say—

"What took you so long?"