Page 46 of The Unseen
N ICOLE SAT IN THE BOTTOM OF THE PIROGUE, HER UNFINISHED canvas carefully perched in her lap. It took only minutes to cross the muddy brown water to the opposite side. Lucas poled the flat-bottomed boat up on the shore next to the ruined shack, and jumped down onto the bank.
Both of them were in sneakers, but Nicole wore lightweight khaki pants and a burgundy T-shirt, while Lucas was dressed more respectfully in the crisp dark blue jeans and white button-down shirt he’d worn to church.
His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his muscular forearms, and Nicole could see the powerful muscles under the cotton fabric bunching as he pulled the pirogue farther up out of the bayou.
He took the painting, then helped her out of the boat. Mud squished beneath her rubber soles as she jumped and landed on the bank.
Nicole had only seen the dilapidated structure from the opposite side of the water. Lucas led her up the bank, around to the back, and she saw that he had hacked a path through the weeds, foliage, and vines to the door at the rear of the building.
They climbed the rickety wooden steps and Lucas handed her the canvas. The old screen door scraped as Lucas pulled it open, and Nicole walked past him into the screened-in porch that surrounded the back of the cabin.
While Lucas returned to the pirogue for the rest of the items they’d brought, Nicole carried the painting into the moldy interior of the ruined shack, all that remained of what had once been a secret lovers’ rendezvous for Jules Villard and Simone St. Denis.
She glanced up at the ceiling, at the corrugated tin roof that had collapsed into the living area, allowing heavy vines to creep down inside.
Rain from last night’s storm formed puddles on the floor.
An old sofa lay on its side in the water, the stuffing coming out, mostly eaten by rats, and the springs exposed.
The rough wooden floor had been swept, something Lucas must have done. He had knocked down most of the spiderwebs, leaving only those high up in the corners.
She wandered into what appeared to be the only bedroom and stopped at the sight of the altar at the opposite end. Lucas had constructed it from a narrow wooden table covered by a white lace cloth. Above the table hung an ornately carved wooden crucifix, which looked very old.
Beneath the figure of Jesus on the cross, a framed painting of the Virgin Mary and one of the winged warrior, the Archangel Michael, stood on the white lace cloth.
For several long seconds, the beautiful artwork held Nicole in thrall.
The paintings were exquisite, an ancient treasure that had managed to survive through time.
Her gaze moved over the rest of the items on the table, a pair of gilt candlesticks, a silver basin filled with holy water, and a leatherbound Bible, with the word printed in gold.
It looked to be old, yet it was in perfect condition.
Next to it was a prayer book draped with mother-of-pearl rosary beads. White, the color of purity.
A portable lamp sat on the floor in front of the altar.
It would soon be dark. She turned to survey what had once been a bedroom.
The tin ceiling was still intact, so the walls and floor weren’t water damaged.
One of the bedroom windows was cracked, both were completely clouded with dirt and grime.
She was surprised to see two folding chairs Lucas must have brought, a place to sit or to set things up off the dirty floor.
There was an old iron bed, with a set of rusted metal springs, resting on what remained of a tattered carpet woven in what she barely recognized as a hunting scene. Nicole couldn’t help wondering if Jules and Simone had made love in the old iron bed.
She looked up to see Lucas walking into the room carrying her easel, which he set up in a corner near the altar. He took the unfinished canvas from her hands and carefully positioned it, then used one of the folding chairs as a place to hold her painting supplies.
Next he began the preparations he had told her about, anointing the walls with holy oil in the shape of the cross, repeating the Rosary in both Latin and English as he worked.
When he finished, he popped open the hard-sided suitcase and took out a long white cassock. As he lifted it over his head, Nicole moved to help him, straightening the robe over his broad-shouldered frame.
As it floated out around him, she saw the wide gold band that slanted in a vee from his shoulders to form a single line down the front.
A heavy gold cross on a long chain went over his head to dangle against his chest. She could see his quarter-size St. Michael’s medallion in the vee at the neck of his white shirt.
Lucas caught her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
She thought of the vicious spirit Lucas would be facing, a murderer who belonged in the fires of hell. “More than ready.”
His dark gaze met hers. “The greater your faith in God, the greater your trust in me, the stronger I’ll be.”
It hit her like a blow. In that moment, Nicole realized that she had to set aside all her doubts, all her fears, and trust Lucas completely. Lucas’s life might depend on it.
Could she do it? She looked into his beloved face and all her uncertainties slid away. She struggled to find the words to tell him, but in the end, she just nodded. She looked into his eyes and a feeling of rightness settled over her, lifting off the heavy weight she had been carrying for so long.
She loved him. And she trusted him completely. She hoped Lucas could sense the huge step she had just taken.
He bent and brushed a light kiss over her cheek, then turned away and settled in to do his work. Lucas took his place in the room, his back to the altar, and made the sign of the cross.
Nicole fixed her attention on the unfinished canvas. It was time. She was finally free to complete the image of the beautiful, treacherous woman who had done murder more than once and come back to haunt Belle Reve.
Nicole picked up her brush and in minutes was immersed in her work. She needed the painting to compel Simone’s appearance, make certain the entity was captured by her own vanity. Nicole’s thoughts filled with the images in her mind that she had held back, no longer hazy, but fully formed.
The brush seemed to move of its own accord. She had a job to do, and she intended to do it.
Time passed. Nicole had no idea how long she had been working, several hours, maybe longer.
It was the sound of Lucas’s voice that drew her from her trancelike state.
Outside the grimy windows, darkness had fallen, a weighty blackness that shrouded the dilapidated cabin and heightened the tension scraping along every nerve in her body.
Lucas had turned on the portable lamp, giving her enough light to work. In his white and gold cassock, he stood in the light, the altar behind him, white candles flickering in the gilded candelabra.
A Bible lay open in his big hands; a string of glossy jet-black rosary beads, interspersed with tiny beads of gold, draped over his palm. He was speaking Latin.
“Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.”
He began again in English, and she recognized the Lord’s Prayer. Lucas had started the exorcism.
A chill went through her. Simone was there.
Nicole took a shaky breath and forced her attention back to the painting, adding even more details to Simone’s beautiful face, enhancing the color of her incredible blue eyes, deepening the ruby red of her lips.
Every brushstroke made the face looming above the cabin more compelling.
Nicole prayed the painting would hold Simone’s attention long enough for Lucas to do his work.
She could hear him speaking Latin again, his voice deep and strong.
“ Kyrie, eleison. Christe, eleison. Kyrie, eleison. Christe, audi nos. Christe, exaudi nos. Pater de caelis, Deus, miserere nobis. Fili, Remptor mundi, Deus, miserere nobis. Spiritus Sancte, Deus, miserere nobis. Sancta Trinitas, unus Deus, miserere nobis. Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis.”
He repeated the words in English. She thought it was the Litany of the Saints. He started again in Latin, prepared to take whatever time was necessary to defeat his satanic opponent.
The wind picked up, began to blow through the trees. Inside the cabin, a noise reached her, the faint hissing of a serpent’s forked tongue. Her shoulders tightened. The slithering, sliding, of the unseen serpent’s body moved toward her across the wooden floor, and fear slipped down her spine.
Nicole battled down her fright, trusting in God, trusting in Lucas. She quietly eased toward him, sat down on the folding chair he had placed behind him near the altar.
Lucas started reading from the Bible lying open in his hands.
“‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things were made through Him, and without Him nothing was made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.’”
Outside the dirty windows, lightning flashed in the distance as the storm slowly crept back in. Lucas kept speaking.
“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.”
The windows began to rattle. The air in the room turned thick and heavy. The screen door swung open, then slammed closed. Lightning cracked and thunder rumbled. Nicole’s fingers curled around the seat of the folding chair as a powerful gust shook the cabin.