Kitty and the Midnight Hour
Page 34

"I—I thought so. I mean, I thought I was. But not anymore."
"I'm confused."
"Yeah," she said, laughing weakly. "Me, too."
Estelle sounded exhausted. How long had she been running? The night was half over. Did she have a safe place to spend the day? And why had she called me !
Witnesses. We were live on the air. Thousands of witnesses would hear her story. Smart. Now if only I could live up to her faith in me.
"Are you safe for the moment? Are you in a safe place or do you need to get out of there right now? Where are you?"
"I lost them, for now. I'm in a gas station; it's closed for the night. I'll be all right until dawn."
"Where, Estelle? I want to send you help if I have to."
"I don't think I want to say where. They might be listening. They might follow you here."
This was going to be tough. One step at a time, though. I covered my mouthpiece with a hand and called to Matt. "Check caller ID, find out where she's calling from." Through the booth window I saw him nod. I went back to Estelle. "When you say they're after you, do you mean Smith? Do you mean his people? Do they want to hurt you?"
"Yes. Yes!"
"Huh. Some church. Why don't people leave him?"
"They—they can't, Kitty. It's complicated. We're not supposed to talk about it."
Matt pressed a piece of paper against the booth window, pay phone—unknown, it read.
"Estelle? Walk me through the cure. You saw a poster announcing a church meeting. You showed up at the tent. How long ago was this?"
She was breathing more calmly, but her voice still sounded tight, hushed, like she was afraid of being overheard. "Four months."
"What happened when you got there?"
"I arrived just after dark. There was a group of tents, some RVs, campers and things. They were circled and roped off. There were guards. About eight of us gathered at a gate. There was a screening process. They patted us down for weapons, made sure none of us were reporters. Only the truly faithful ever get to see Smith. And—I wanted to believe. I really wanted to believe. One of the people they searched, I think he was a werewolf—they found a microphone or something on him, and they threw him out."
They threw out a werewolf. That took some doing. "People who've tried to break into the Church have met up with considerable force. Who works on the security detail?"
"His followers—everyone who lives and works in that caravan is a believer."
"But they've gotta be tough. Whole werewolf packs have gone after him—"
"And they're going up against werewolves. And weretigers, and vampires—everything. It's fighting fire with fire, Kitty."
"So they're not really cured."
"Oh, but they are. I never saw them shape-shift, not even during the full moon. The vampires—they walked in daylight!"
"But they retained their strength? They were still able to deal with a werewolf on equal terms?" Lose the weaknesses without losing the strengths of those conditions? Some might call that better than a cure.
"I suppose so."
Interesting. "Go on."
"I was brought inside the main tent. It looked like a church service, an old-fashioned revival, with the congregation gathered before a stage. A man on the stage called to me."
"This was Smith? What's he like?"
"He—he looks very normal." Of course. She probably wouldn't even be able to pick him out of a lineup. I expected to be preached at, lectured with all the usual biblical quotes about witches and evildoers. I didn't care; I would have sat through anything if it meant being cured. But he didn't. He spoke about the will to change. He asked me if I wanted to change, if I had the will to help him reach into my soul and retrieve my mortality, my Me. Oh, yes, I said. His words were so powerful. Then he set his hands on my head.
"It was real, Kitty. Oh, it was real! He touched my face, and a light filled me. Every sunrise I'd missed filled me. And the hunger—it faded. I didn't want blood anymore. My whole body surged, like my own blood returned. My skin flushed. I was mortal again, alive and breathing, like Lazarus. I really was! He showed me a cross and I touched it—and nothing happened. I didn't burn. He made me believe I could walk in the sun."
When Estelle first started talking, I thought I'd gotten someone who'd been disillusioned, who'd be ready to expose Smith's secrets and tell me exactly why he was a fake. But Estelle didn't talk like a disillusioned ex-follower. She still believed. She spoke like a believer who had lost her faith, or lost her belief in her own right to salvation.
I had to ask: "Could you, Estelle? Could you walk in the sun?"
"Yes," she said, her voice a whisper.
Goddamn it. A cure. I felt a tickle in my stomach, a piece of hope that felt a little like heartburn. A choice, an escape. I could have my old life back. If I wanted it.
There had to be a catch.
I kept my voice steady, attempting journalistic impartiality. "You stayed with him for four months. What did you do?"
"I traveled with the caravan. I appeared onstage and witnessed. I watched sunrises. Smith took care of me. He takes care of all of us."
"So you're cured. That's great. Why not leave? Why don't those who are cured ever go away and start a new life for themselves?"
"He's our leader. We're devoted to him. He saves us and we would die for him."
She was so earnest, it made me wonder if I was being set up. But I was close to something. Questions, more questions. "But you want to leave him now. Why?"
"It—it's so stifling. I could see the sun. But I couldn't leave him."
"Couldn't?"
"No—I couldn't. All I was, my new self, it was because of him. It was like… he made me."
Oh, my. "It sounds a little like a vampire Family. Devoted followers serving a Master who created them." For that matter it sounded like a werewolf pack, but I didn't want to go there.
"What?"
"I have a couple of questions for you, Estelle. Were you made a vampire against your will or were you turned voluntarily?"
"It—it wasn't against my will. I wanted it. It was 1936, Kitty. I was seventeen. I contracted polio. I was dead anyway, or horribly crippled at best, do you understand? My Master offered an escape. A cure. He said I was too charming to waste."