Bad Bones Read online

  Gabe didn’t want anything the Father was saying to be true, but the very first time he’d set eyes on the man in the red cap he had sensed there was something not right about him. And that was before anything bad had happened. Now just the thought of him sent chills down his spine and made his skin crawl. He realized that until he’d met this man he’d never really thought much about good and evil. But evil had his scent. It was after him.

  “Who was he?” Gabe asked.

  Father Simon looked up. “The man who owned this?” He held up the crucifix.

  “Yeah.” Gabe nodded.

  Father Simon put down the cross on the table and reached to pick something up from the floor next to his chair. It was an old book, the leather binding on its spine and corners was cracked and worn, the thick pages rough-edged and yellowing. Carefully opening the book to where a marker had been placed, about a third of the way in, Father Simon turned it round so Gabe could see.

  “I found this,” he said, gently lifting the thin, translucent piece of paper that covered the colour picture on the left-hand page and holding it back.

  Gabe could see the picture, which was about ten centimetres wide and eight centimetres high. It hadn’t been printed on the actual page, but was a separate piece of paper glued in place. He looked at the very old-fashioned portrait of a man with a beard and the top of his head shaved bald, wearing the flowing robes of a monk. In his left hand the man held a skull, in the other what could only be a heart, blood dripping from it. Round his neck was a cross, which was hanging upside down.

  “I did some digging around. Something I do rather well, even though I say so myself.” Father Simon smiled slightly as he tapped the open book on his lap. “Having at one time been on the Index, though, this book took some finding.”

  “The Index?” Gabe looked at Stella, who shook her head.

  “It’s a book that listed other books which had been banned by the Church for being heretical, or anticlerical. This one was deemed both,” Father Simon said. “It’s an old translation of an even older volume called Liber Absentis – the Book of Missing People, loosely put. It’s a record of people, mostly priests, who strayed off the path of Truth and Light, and what their sins were.”

  “And you think that’s the man who gave me the note?” Gabe leant forward to get a closer look at the portrait. “What’s his name?”

  “I can’t be one hundred per cent sure, because there’s something very strange about his story –” Father Simon shrugged – “but I think his name is Father Rafael Delacruz…”

  “So he was a priest?”

  Father Simon nodded. “The first time I found a mention of him is in the mid 1500s, the early days of the Spanish arrival in South America. Nothing unusual in that – if you remember, I told you about The Twelve Apostles of Mexico? He came over not long after they arrived, to help convert everyone the soldiers conquered. But in the Liber Absentis it says he died here, in what was then called Alta California, probably in 1769. Over two hundred years later.” Father Simon closed the book. “As I said, a very strange story, although I’m beginning to think that’s probably an understatement.”

  “Couldn’t someone just have got the dates wrong?” Gabe frowned. “You know, like a typo?”

  “Always possible. Just because it’s in print doesn’t mean it’s right… I thought that, when I first saw the inconsistency, but then I remembered the gold objects you’d found. Particularly the knife.”

  Gabe looked at the ceremonial blade on the table. It was the same as the one he’d seen cut out the hearts of the two boys in his dreams.

  “Look closer.” Father Simon pointed at the priest’s left hand in the picture. “Behind the skull, see anything?”

  “Oh…” Stella put her hand up to her mouth.

  “Geez … it’s the knife, right?”

  “Maybe –” Father Simon picked up the sacrificial knife – “or maybe just one very like it.”

  “This man, this Rafael … how come he lived so long?” Gabe stared out into the garden as he spoke. “I mean that’s like, I don’t know, a vampire or something. Was he a vampire? He couldn’t be, right?”

  “No… No, he couldn’t.” Father Simon closed the book. “Vampires don’t exist, never have, but Father Rafael Delacruz did. According to what I’ve read, he started a cult, a kind of evil mix of powerful beliefs, cultures and sacred ceremonies, which involved blood sacrifice and soul slavery.

  “Rafael was what we would describe today as a charismatic, a person who claims divine inspiration. These people wield immense influence on their followers, influence which grows with their ego. He was a dangerous man who, in 1574, escaped the clutches of the Church before they could deal with him. He went underground, disappeared with a small group of followers in the Sierra Madre mountains. He was never seen again.”

  “Until over two hundred years later?”

  “That’s right, Gabe, until over two hundred years later, and some nine hundred miles north.” Father Simon opened the book again, turned a few pages and then ran his finger down, stopping at a specific paragraph. “It says here that his reappearance in this area coincided with a number of killings. Children having their hearts torn out while they were still alive.

  “At first local native tribes, who didn’t like the newcomers, were blamed. Then rumours spread of a man referred to by the Spanish as Rey de los Infiernos, King of the Underworld. The belief was that this man had the power to take over souls, and the more souls he gathered, the more powerful he became.”

  Gabe felt like he was looking at some kind of horrific virtual jigsaw puzzle, where the pieces kept remorselessly dropping into place. Everything fitted, and the picture was not a pretty one. “What happened to this Rafael?”

  “No one knows, although once again it was believed he evaded capture by the Church.” Father Simon steepled his fingers and was silent for a moment. “But I’d hazard a guess that they found him, eventually, and they killed him.”

  “You mean like the Inquisition?” Gabe said.

  “Exactly like the Inquisition.”

  “And you think they buried him in that canyon?”

  “Where they thought he’d never be found.”

  “Hard to think that these beautiful things belonged to such a terrible person.” Stella picked up a ring and looked at it.

  Gabe glanced down at the table and froze. He saw the crucifix, counted three rings, their red and blue stones glowing in the light, a bracelet, the knife and … where was the little, coin-sized thing? It wasn’t there, but it couldn’t not be there! Had he dropped it somewhere…? Was it still in his locker? He grabbed his backpack, frantically pulling everything out and searching its pockets. Nothing.

  “What’s the matter, Gabe?”

  Gabe looked up at Stella. “There’s a piece of the gold missing.”

  “Are you—?”

  “I am totally sure, there was a small kind of medallion thing –” he held his thumb and forefinger apart a centimetre or so – “and now it’s gone.”

  “Think, Gabe…” Father Simon’s voice was calm, soothing. “Where did you last see it?”

  “In my bedroom…” A picture flashed into Gabe’s head: Remy walking towards him as he went back to his room after breakfast yesterday. It hadn’t clicked then that there was only one place she could have come from because he’d been in a hurry, late for school, but it had to be her… She’d gone back to take a look at the secret things, all wrapped up on his bedside table. Which he’d told her was none of her business. Red rag to a bull with his sister; Remy hated secrets.

  “Gabe?” Stella touched his arm.

  “My sister, Remy… My sister’s got it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You don’t know for sure she took it, Gabe…” Stella accelerated away the second the lights turned green and drove as fast as she dared; the last thing they needed was for a cop to pull her over for speeding.

  “No … no, I don’t. Not for sure.” Gabe
had never felt so tense and frustrated in his whole life. “But I know my sister, and she is just so goddam nosy… I should’ve known… Oh God, what’ve I done?”

  “Nothing, Gabe.” Stella slowed to a halt for a ‘Stop’ sign, then sped away. “You didn’t know, you couldn’t have known what she was going to do, or that the things you’d found were so dangerous. How could you?”

  “It’s the next left.”

  “Got it, thanks.” Stella reached over and patted his arm.

  Gabe found himself relaxing slightly at her touch.

  Up ahead he saw his house, the family SUV parked out front, under the car port, lights on in the front room, everything looking completely normal. Stella pulled up on the driveway and they both leapt out, Gabe making straight for the side passage. He slammed the gate open and tore down to the kitchen door, Stella only a few steps behind him. Skidding to a halt, Gabe hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the handle and burst into the kitchen. It was empty, the rest of the house as silent as a stopped clock. For a couple of seconds Gabe didn’t move, then Stella pointed at the sink.

  “Gabe … what’s that?”

  Drops of something, something dark, spattered on the pale cream tile of the work surface. And, now he looked, on the floor too. He moved closer, needing to get a better look but not wanting to, scared at what he might find, and saw there was a knife in the sink. There was blood on its ten-centimetre-long serrated blade.

  “Mom! Dad!” Horrific slasher-vid images flickered in his head. Remy, poor little nosy Remy ripped to pieces by coyotes, gouts of blood splashed all down her T-shirt, the old man smiling, his teeth and face with blood on them, Remy’s blood.

  He ran for the door, which opened before he got there, his mom looking a mixture of puzzled and annoyed; she appeared to be fine, not a drop of blood anywhere on her. “Gabe, what on Earth’s the matter?”

  “Mom, the blood… Where’s Remy? What’s happened to her?”

  “Remy? Nothing’s happened, she’s at Janna’s, for a sleepover.” Gabe’s mom saw Stella and she smiled fleetingly in acknowledgement and looked back at her distraught son. “What’s going on, Gabe, why would you think the blood was anything to do with Remy? Your father cut his hand slicing a bagel, I was just dealing with it.”

  “What? Janna’s? She’s at Janna’s?” The look on Gabe’s face was so intense you could almost see the question marks hanging over his head. “When did she go? That’s only a couple of blocks away … Saloma Avenue. OK, OK – look, I can’t explain right now, Mom. I can’t… I have to go.” He glanced at Stella. “We have to go…”

  “What’s going on, Gabe? I’ve never seen you like this…” Gabe’s mom, fraught now, turned to Stella. “Has he taken something, did you give it to him?”

  “No, Mrs Mason! No, I didn’t … he hasn’t.” Stella shook her head. “It’s nothing like that, honest.”

  “Gotta go, Mom.” Gabe grabbed Stella’s hand and ran.

  Halfway back to the car, Stella tried to slow him down. “Wait a second – what if Remy left the medallion here, Gabe?”

  “If she’d left it here, he’d be here. That’s what he wants.”

  Stella stopped and stood her ground. “Remy might’ve left it behind, and that man mightn’t have got here yet, Gabe. You don’t know, you haven’t looked.”

  “I know my sister. Believe me, she’s got it with her. You stay and look if you want to, but I have to get to Janna’s…”

  “OK, you’re right.” Stella ran to the driver’s side of her car. “Let’s go…”

  As they drove away, Gabe’s phone picked up a call, his mom’s ringtone. He didn’t want to take it, but the look on his mom’s face as he’d left the kitchen made him realize he had to tell her something. He accepted the call.

  “Yeah, Mom, look, it’s OK… No, I’m not high or anything like that, really. OK? No, no, I didn’t do anything… You’re just gonna have to trust me… Call the cops?” He looked at Stella, making an ‘I don’t know face’. She made a similar one back. “No, Mom, don’t do that… I’ll explain later.” Gabe cut the call and slumped back in his seat. “This has to be a nightmare. Any minute now I am going to wake up. It can’t be happening.”

  “I really wish…” Stella slowed as they approached a junction.

  “Straight across, and I think it’s the next right turn.”

  And then there it was, Saloma Avenue, Remy’s best-friend-forever Janna’s house a couple of hundred metres down on the right. Gabe had walked her there any number of times. And now they were getting close he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t go storming in, like he had done at home, like he wanted to…

  “Which house?”

  Gabe focused in on the street. “There –” he pointed out of the car – “the blue plastic mailbox.”

  As Stella pulled over to the kerb, Gabe’s heart sank. It looked as if the front door was ajar, a narrow ‘V’ of light spilling out on to the front porch. That would not ordinarily have been such a bad thing. But tonight? Tonight he knew exactly what the phrase ‘blood ran cold’ meant. But Remy was in there. He had to get her out and he couldn’t do that sitting in the car.

  “OK…” Gabe’s left hand automatically reached up for the cross around his neck as he opened the car door.

  The two of them ran up the porch steps, both stopping at the front door; the wood around the lock was splintered. Voices were coming from inside, then a blare of music. Gabe wanted to yell out for his sister, but fear of what he might find stuck the words in his throat, choking him. He dry swallowed as he pushed the door open further, took a hold of himself and walked into the house.

  Like the kitchen back at home, the front room at Janna’s was also empty, but with signs that people had recently been there, and left in a hurry. The TV was on, playing an ad for some gross double-size bacon-cheese-and-everything burger. On the oval coffee table, set in front of a big, open fireplace, there were soda bottles, one on its side still dribbling its dark brown contents on to the carpet; half-empty plastic glasses, candy and snack food scattered everywhere. Looked like a food fight had started, but where were the sleepover girls?

  Where the heck was Remy?

  Gabe was trying to make some kind of sense of what he was seeing when, in a sliver of silence between ads, other voices could be heard. Muffled, raised voices from somewhere else in the house. The hairs on the back of Gabe’s neck stood to attention and his scalp prickled. He shot a glance at Stella and made a dash across the room for the door that led to the rest of the single-storey house.

  “Remy!” Gabe hauled the door open.

  Down at the end of the wide hallway, his back to him, stood a figure in faded jeans, a brown leather coat and a red baseball cap. If Father Simon was right, a reborn, resurrected Rafael Delacruz. And at his side, hackles up, ears flat back, stood a slim, grey coyote. Which probably meant there was another one around somewhere. Gabe stopped, checked behind him – no coyote – and looked back down the corridor. The double doors to the large master bedroom at the rear of the house were closed and behind them Gabe could hear the girls crying and shouting.

  With just a cross hanging round his neck, Stella there beside him, the last thing Gabe felt like was the cavalry, riding in to the rescue. More like the Lone Ranger. But his sister was in real danger and here he was. What he should do next he hadn’t quite figured out, except that doing nothing was not an option.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The figure at the end of the corridor made the first move. He turned round, slowly, and even at a distance Gabe could immediately see there was a difference, something strange about the man he now understood to be this Rafael. His face looked younger, and he seemed to be standing up straighter, the shoulders of his jacket filled out better.

  Was that a trick of the light…? Was he also imagining the deep red glow in the man’s eyes? The worms of an old, old fear of the peculiar and the unknown awoke in the pit of Gabe’s stomach, squirmed into life and began eating into him.


  He could feel Stella’s breath on his neck she was standing so close. She’d tensed up as this person, he couldn’t be called ‘old’ any more, had turned round. She gasped, shocked, the moment she saw his face, gripping Gabe’s arm tight as if she’d fall over if she let go. Gabe wanted to tell her it was all going to be OK, but that would be a lie and they’d both know it.

  “You gotta go, Stella.” Jaws clenched, Gabe edged backwards. “Get out, now…”

  Rafael, the coyote at his side, was coming towards them, walking head held up now. Proud. He was flexing his fingers, and then he splayed them and held his arms out wide in front of him, just like he was coming to embrace Gabe and Stella. Except, like the coyote, he was snarling and the look on his face was anything but warm or welcoming.

  “Go, Stella…”

  “No. I know you won’t leave without Remy … and I’m not leaving without you.”

  Under any other circumstances Gabe would have been kind of flattered by that statement. Watching the man with a murderous fire in his eyes coming towards them, he just felt the weight of extra responsibility land like a vulture on his shoulder, panic slithering up from his gut, trying to take control. An emotional pincer movement.

  And the closer Rafael came, the worse it got.

  He and the coyote were now over halfway up the hallway, and Gabe could feel the air around him crackling with static electricity. Fear made real. He couldn’t stop his synapses sparking, like crazed firecrackers going off, jumping here and there, from one random, idiot idea to another. All he’d done so far was move back into the TV room, which wasn’t even a half decent Plan B.

  The knowledge gained from all the years of reading comic books and watching action movies said that what he really needed was some kind of kick-ass weapon. A rocket-propelled grenade, maybe a flamethrower, either would be great, they really would. He’d never even held a pistol, let alone anything bigger, but right now he could really do with some leverage – that was for pretty damn sure.