Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [127]
The room was dark; the only source of illumination was the light seeping through the smoked glass door panel. The venetian blinds on the window next to his bed were closed, blocking out even the light from the street lamps. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, Lee had a strong sense of a presence in the room with him. He peered into the far corner of the room, where a straight-backed chair sat against the wall. At first glance Lee thought maybe someone had thrown an overcoat across the chair, but then he realized the dark figure on the chair was a person. He thought could just make out a man seated in the shadows—unmoving, as still as if he were made of stone.
He knew who it was.
Lee’s hand twitched, and he almost reached for the call button to summon the nurse, but something stopped him. Curiosity, maybe—or perhaps an instinct to submit to whatever fate held in store for him. The figure in the corner sat very still. Lee reached over and pulled the string on the Venetian blinds, letting in light from the street outside. As he did so, a gleam of moonlight reflected off the high, pale forehead. The room was still too dark to get a good look at his face, but he could tell that the man was thin and pale.
Lee ran his tongue over his parched lips. “How did you get in here?” he croaked.
His visitor laughed nervously. “I’m very good at getting into places—but you should know that by now.” The voice was young, high pitched, and raspy, and there was a soft wheezing sound when he breathed, as if his lungs were worn and tattered bellows, stiff and dried with age. Lee couldn’t resist feeling a sense of triumph. So I was right about the asthma. He also had the feeling he had heard the voice before, but where? In their brief encounter in Hastings, no words had been exchanged between them.
“What do you want?”
“What does anyone want? Money, power, immortality—but I’m not interested in those things.”
“What are you interested in?”
“Love. Like the love I feel for God: unconditional love and devotion.”
“Is there a difference? Between love and devotion, I mean?”
“I guess it depends on who you are. But there’s really no such thing as unconditional love—not in this life, anyway.”
“So why are you here?”
His visitor leaned forward in his chair. “To let you know that He tells me to do what I do.”
“God, you mean?”
“Yes. It’s His work I’m doing.”
“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?”
“The righteous cannot afford to feel fear.”
“But don’t you feel it anyway? To know all those people are out there looking for you?”
The pursuer becomes the pursued.
“I have God to protect me.”
“Is that what you think? That He’ll keep you from getting caught?”
“Until His work is finished, yes.”
“What about the girls? Don’t you feel bad for them at all?”
His breath became more hoarse. Lee heard the wheezing from deep within his chest, lungs struggling to pull in enough air.
“I have to save them.”
“From what?”
“Eternal damnation. I always ask their forgiveness, but it must be done.”
There was a pause. “I don’t want to kill you too, you know. I feel close to you.”
“Why do you keep going?”
“I couldn’t stop if I wanted to now. You should know that.” The voice was half ironic, half sincere.
“Why don’t you turn yourself in? Then you could rest—you could finally be at peace.”
His visitor inhaled, making the deep, rattling sound of congested lungs.
“I don’t think so. Why is it that cops always seem to think people are going to go for that one? Has anyone in the history of law enforcement ever actually fallen for that?”
Another pause.
Then Lee said, “Why did you have to kill Eddie?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. And now I have to go—I have an appointment with death,” he said, rising from the chair. He was out the door before Lee could find the call button. As the door clicked closed behind him, Lee imagined he was already on his way to Seventh Avenue, perhaps slipping into a stairwell to avoid being seen in an elevator.
Lee shivered and stared out the window as the moon slid behind a looming cloud. He wouldn’t forget that