Visions from Beyond

Chapter 10: Monastery of Ice

"Can you get the phone?" El asked, calling out from the bathroom. "I'm still wet from the shower. It could be the hospital."

Peter glanced at his watch. Ten o'clock. Who else would be calling this late? He stopped unbuttoning his shirt and picked up the receiver of the bedside phone.

A deep, brusque voice was at the other end. "Go to St. Jude's on Prospect Hill. Leave immediately!"

"Lavinia?"

"Didn't I make myself clear? You're wasting time."

Peter exhaled. "Why should I go to St. Jude's?" She'd never called him at home before. It must be important, but if she wanted him to go out in the middle of a thunderstorm, she'd have to explain why.

"He's not ready. If you don't leave now, you'll be too late!"

"Who's not ready? Neal?" Typical Lavinia. She ignored his questions while pursuing her own indecipherable agenda. But there was no mistaking the tone of urgency in her voice.

"You were supposed to protect him," she admonished.

"You never told me to be Neal's bodyguard," Peter objected. "Why does he need to be protected?" But he wasn't destined to know. She'd already slammed the receiver down. Peter sat down on the bed. Should he go?

El came out of the bathroom, towel-drying her hair. "Who was that?"

"Lavinia Armitage, the head librarian."

"At this hour? What does she want?"

"She's worried about Neal. She told me to go to the old church on Prospect Hill."

"St. Jude's? Why would he be in a boarded-up church at this hour?"

"Hell, if I know." Peter tucked his shirt in and started downstairs. "But I intend to find out. I hope to be back soon."

The rain lashed the windscreen of his black Torino as he headed for Prospect Hill. During the drive, he pondered El's question. What possessed Neal to be at the church? Did he have another vision? And how was Lavinia involved?

The church was only a short drive away. When Peter pulled to a stop, he looked around for another car, but the parking lot was empty. Neal might not own one since he lived so near the university.

The church was dark except for a few outside security lights. Grumbling to himself, Peter pulled out a flashlight from the glove compartment, reached for his umbrella, and sprinted for the front door. The gale-force wind threatened to reverse his umbrella.

The porch roof sheltering the church entrance provided little relief from the downpour. When he tested the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He folded up his umbrella and left it next to the door. Switching on his flashlight, he stepped inside.

"Neal? You here?" Peter paused at the entrance to listen. Only silence. He called again. His words echoed in the cavernous hall, mocking him. A sweep of the church with his flashlight revealed no sign of a wayward linguistics professor. Peter trained the light on the floor. In the dust were clear imprints of running shoes. Were they Neal's? The size looked about right. They led down the nave toward the front of the church. Perhaps he was here, after all.

Peter followed the footprints to the front of the church and up the broad steps to the altar.

A Nikon camera lay on the otherwise bare altar. Even though the altar was covered with dust, there wasn't a speck on the camera. Peter picked it up. The area underneath the camera had been swiped, with traces of finger impressions left in the smudges. Neal had slim fingers that were a good match for the smudges.