[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

She got in the car and drove away. He watched her taillights disappear around the corner.
Twilight was already falling over the city. It probably wouldn t be long now before Ghost Rider hit
the streets again.
God, he was already accepting this insanity as par for the course.
Maybe it s better this way then, he told himself. Roxanne deserved more than to waste her love on a
soul doomed to eternal damnation. He hoped she could find someone else, someone who could make
her happy.
Someone who isn t cursed.
 Johnny Blaze?
A gray-haired man stepped out of a nearby alley. He held up a badge.  Captain Dolan, he identified
himself.  Fort Worth Police.
What the hell& ?  There some kind of problem?
 Yeah, you could say that, Dolan answered.
Two black-and-white police cars zoomed up to the curb. A bunch of uniformed cops hurried out of
the cars-guns drawn and pointed at Johnny. He lifted his hands in confusion.
Metal cuffs jangled in a burly officer s grip.  Take his bike to Impound, Dolan ordered. One of the
cops headed for the elevator.
Grace? They want Grace, too? What the hell was happening? What did the police want with him?
He suddenly imagined his mug shot being splashed all over the nightly news. The tabloids would
have a field day with this, but that was the least of Johnny s concerns right now.
What happens when the sun goes down?
The cuffs clicked shut around his wrists.
13
St. Michael s Church was closed for the evening. Father Anthony Isabella locked the front doors and
took a final tour of the building before retiring for the night. He walked down the center aisle past rows
of empty pews. The dying sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows overlooking the interior
of the cathedral. Red votive candles glowed brightly upon the altar. Bouquets of fresh flowers adorned
the sanctuary. A scent of incense hung in the air. Everything seemed to be in order. He crossed himself
as he approached the altar.
 Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
A voice behind him caught the priest by surprise. Turning around, he discovered a young man in a
black suit standing only a few steps away. Wicked amusement glinted in the youth s dark eyes. He
smirked at the older man s shocked expression.
 I ve sinned a lot.
A rustling sound came from an alcove to the right. Water dripped loudly somewhere to the left.
Looking around hastily, Father Isabella saw two more figures lurking at both ends of the transept.
Greasy dreadlocks blew about the pale face of one of the intruders. Long damp hair concealed the
features of the other.
Lord preserve me, the frightened priest thought. He sensed instinctively that he was in the presence
of genuine Evil. He held up his cross and rosary. Satan, get thee behind me!
The black-garbed youth slapped the holy objects out of Father Isabella s hands. The crucifix
clattered against the marble floor. The rosary came apart, spilling beads in all directions. Aghast, the
priest stared at the fallen items that had failed to protect him from his enemies. Why had the Lord
forsaken him? Was his faith not strong enough?
The youth lunged forward and seized Father Isabella by the throat.  I am searching for a grave, he
informed his captive.  One that used to be buried where the old train station is now. Your church
relocated the graves.
 I don t know what you re talking about, the priest gulped. He felt duty-bound not to further this
foul being s purposes, whatever they might be. Perhaps if he feigned ignorance, this evil would pass
him by& .
The youth s grip tightened around his throat, so that Father Isabella could barely breathe.  Oh, I
think you do, he said.  In fact, I can feel you thinking about it right now. & 
The priest gasped for breath as the youth s black eyes seemed to bore into his very soul. The youth s
pale face took on a demonic cast. White teeth sharpened into fangs. All thought of resistance evaporated
from Father Isabella s mind, replaced by an overwhelming desire to save his own skin. Forgive me,
Lord, he prayed. Forgive my pitiable human weakness.
 There & are records, he admitted.
Trembling, Father Isabella led the youth and his two unnatural companions down to the church
basement. Dust and cobwebs suggested that no one had poked around in the old records for years. Mice
scurried away at their approach. His shaking hand extracted a leather-bound volume from a shelf. He
cracked the book open, raising a cloud of dust that left him coughing for a spell. Inside the volume,
handwritten notations filled the yellow pages. He scanned the pages, but could make no sense of the
entries.
 These are the records, he volunteered,  but & I don t read Latin.
 A dead language, the youth conceded. He plucked the volume from Father Isabella s hands and
began leafing through the pages. He seemed to have no difficulty deciphering the scrawled notations.
Lifting his eyes from the pages, he noted the priest s puzzled expression.
 Private school, he explained. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]