The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters

“I have God on my side,” said the priest. “He is my shepherd. He guides me. He protects me. But, even so, I am afraid. I am beginning to doubt. Not God, however. He is as strong as He has ever been. No, my friends, I doubt myself. For my flesh is weak. And my heart is weak. Two weeks ago, we buried our great friend, Father Taylor, and suddenly I am standing up here alone. I find myself missing his comforting presence. I miss his words, his counsel. Most of all, though, I miss his bravery.”

The priest glanced briefly to one side, and Amber noticed for the first time a large photograph, propped up on an easel. It showed a smiling, white-haired old man.

“He knew, you see,” the priest continued. “He felt it. I denied it. And now it’s too late.”

“The man in the picture,” Amber whispered to Glen.

“What about him?”

“I saw him,” said Amber. “I saw him last night outside the hotel.”

And then someone started singing. With a low voice, a quiet voice.

“Down in the willow garden, where me and my love did meet.”

Disquiet spread softly.

“As we sat a-courtin’, my love fell off to sleep.”

Amber could see him now, the man who was singing. He sat with his head down.

“I had a bottle of Burgundy wine. My love, she did not know. So I poisoned that dear little girl, on the banks below.”

The people on either side of him started to shuffle away.

He continued to sing. And then a female voice joined him.

“I drew a sabre through her, it was a bloody knife.”

A third voice now, and more shuffling away, and the singing got a little stronger.

“I threw her in the river, which was a dreadful sign.”

Another person joined the song, singing with his head down, and a fifth, and a sixth, and now people were getting up, their pushes becoming shoves in their attempts to create distance, and the panic was rising with the singing voices, and a seventh and an eighth person joined the song and the priest backed away with a look of horror on his face and people were crying now and running for the exit.

Amber saw Althea, pushed from behind and falling to her knees. Amber sprang off the pew, barged into the surging crowd and was nearly knocked off her feet herself. But she made it, and she gripped Althea’s arm and pulled her up, and now Glen was in front, clearing the way to the door.

“My race is run, beneath the sun. The scaffold waits for me.”

Amber looked back, saw ten or twelve people now standing, but still with their heads down, and still singing.

“For I did murder that dear little girl, whose name was Rose Connelly.”

And, just as Althea fainted and her whole bodyweight collapsed into Amber’s arms, they burst out into the sun.

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BETWEEN HERSELF AND GLEN they half walked, half carried Althea up the hill and back to her house.

She was, despite her modest height, quite a heavy woman, and the journey was slow and difficult. Althea came out of her faint twice, started muttering, then succumbed to it once again, the cross around her neck dangling beneath her chin. They got to the house and Amber knocked, calling Milo’s name. A few moments later, the door opened and he let them in. On their way upstairs, they filled him in on what had happened, then laid Althea carefully on her bed. All at once the muttering stopped and Althea was sleeping deeply.

Milo and Glen shared a glance, then left the room. Amber frowned until she realised that she was expected to take care of the undressing.

Ten minutes later, she joined them both in the living room.

“Next time an old person needs to be readied for bed,” she said, “one of you is going to do it.”

The living room was modest, with a low-hanging faux-chandelier and wallpaper that hadn’t even been in style when it was made. Rugs lay atop the carpet and the curtains were heavy and old. A sofa and an armchair huddled round the cold fireplace, the armchair facing a TV so stocky it would have crushed the old lady if it had fallen on her. Beside the window there was a small, circular table covered with a tablecloth. Framed photographs stood like privates in a parade. There was a painting of Jesus over the mantelpiece.

“I’ve been to church,” said Glen, standing at the window and peeking out from behind the blinds. “That is not supposed to happen. That was creepy. It was more than creepy. It was … it was very creepy.”

Milo was flicking through an address book, but paused long enough to glance at Amber. “Think it’s got anything to do with what you saw last night?”

“Probably,” she said. “The priest was talking about how the seeds of evil have already taken root here. I’m pretty sure those were some of the seeds he was talking about. Did you find anything?”

“Not yet,” Milo replied. “But maybe Althea will be more willing to talk to us after this.”

“She’ll probably need one of us to be with her when she wakes, though,” said Glen. “Just to make sure she doesn’t freak out. I’ll take first watch.”

“Wait,” said Amber. “You think waking up to find a strange Irishman in her bedroom will reassure her?”

Glen frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

Amber didn’t bother answering. She just went back upstairs. She sat in an armchair, watching Althea sleep. After a few minutes, she closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Just to rest them.

When Amber awoke, the sunlight had a red tinge to it, like drops of blood in bathwater. She yawned, sitting up straighter in her chair. Mid-yawn, she froze. The bed was empty.

Alarmed, she hurried downstairs to find Althea sitting in the living room with Glen.

“Amber,” said Glen, smiling broadly, “you’re finally awake!”

“I didn’t have the nerve to disturb you,” Althea said. “You looked exhausted, so I thought to myself I’ll let this poor girl sleep.”

“Uh, thank you,” said Amber. “I hope I didn’t frighten you, or anything.”

Althea smiled ruefully. “Takes more than a young girl to frighten me, let me tell you.”

Milo came in, holding a saucer with a delicate cup of steaming tea. “Here you go, Althea,” he said, passing it over.

“A saint, that’s what you are,” Althea said, taking it from him and sipping.

“Not too strong this time?”

Althea chuckled. “No, dear, it’s perfect, thank you.”

Milo sat in the armchair and looked at Amber. “Althea was just telling us who those people in church were. Some of them have been ill recently.”

“That’s right,” said Althea. “I know Tom Prendergast hasn’t been in work since Monday, and Rachel Faulkner didn’t show up for her shift in the cafe yesterday or the day before. She didn’t even call in sick. And I’m not one to listen to gossip, but that Stevens boy hasn’t been well all week. They say he’s got an infection.”