Puszled, Hatch looked at Father Jiminez, who was staring at the floor,
shaking his head, his state of mind not easy to read. As the sound grew
louder and closer, Father Duran stared at the half-open hall door with
astonishment, as did The Nun with No Name. Salvatore Gujilio rose from
his chair, looking alarmed. Sister Immaculata’s pleasantly ruddy cheeks
were now as white as the linen band that framed her face.
Hatch became aware of a softer scraping between each of the hard sounds.
Thud! Sccccuuuurrrr… Thud! Sccccuuuurrrr..
As the sounds grew nearer, their effect rapidly increased, until Hatch’s
mind was filled with images from a hundred old horror films: the-thing
from-out of the-lagoon hitching crablike toward its prey; the-thing-from
out-of-the-crypt shuffling along a graveyard path under a gibbous moon;
the-thing-from-another-world propelling itself on God-knows-what sort of
arachnoid-reptilian-horned feet.
THUD!
The windows seemed to rattle.
Or was that his imagination?
Sccccuuuurrrr..
A shiver went up his spine.
THUD!
He looked around at the alarmed attorney, the head-shaking priest, the
wide-eyed younger priest, the two pale nuns, then quickly back at the
half-pen door, wondering just exactly what sort of disability this child
had been born with, half expecting a startlingly tall and twisted figure
to from a laboratory where the scientists are doing some really
interesting genetic research. A shadow tilted across the threshold.
Hatch realized that Lindsey’s grip on his hand had become downright
painful. And his palm was damp with sweat.
The weird sounds stopped. A hush of expectation had fallen over the
room.
Slowly the door to the hall was pushed all the way open.
Regina took a single step inside. She dragged her right leg as if it
were a dead weight: sccccuuuurrrr. Then she slammed it down: THUD!
She stopped to look around at everyone. Challengingly.
Hatch found it difficult to believe that she had been the source of all
that ominous noise. She was small for a ten-year-old girl, a bit
shorter and more slender than the average kid her age. Her freckles,
pert nose, and beautiful deep-auburn hair thoroughly disqualified her
for the role of the-thing-from-the-lagoon or any other shudder-making
creature, although there was something in her solemn gray eyes that
Hatch did not expect to see in the eyes of a child. An adult awareness.
A heightened perceptivity. But for those eyes and an aura of iron
determination, the girl seemed fragile, almost frighteningly delicate
and vulnerable.
Hatch was reminded of an exquisite 18th-century Mandarin-pattern
Chinese-import porcelain bowl currently for sale in his Laguna Beach
shop.
It rang as sweetly as any bell when pinged with one finger, raising the
expectation that it would shatter into thousands of pieces if struck
hard or dropped. But when you studied the bowl as it stood on an
acrylic display base, the hand-painted temple and garden scenes
portrayed on its sides and the floral designs on its inner rim were of
such high quality and possessed such power that you became acutely aware
of the piece’s age, the weight of the history behind it. And you were
soon convinced, in spite of its appearance, that it would bounce when
dropped, cracking whatever surface it struck but sustaining not even a
small chip itself.
Aware that the moment was hers and hers alone, Regina hitched toward the
sofa where Hatch and Lindsey waited, making less noise as she limped off
the hardwood floor onto the antique Persian carpet. She was wearing a
white blouse, a Kelly-green skirt that fell two inches above her knees,
green kneesocks, black shoes-and on her right leg a metal brace that
extended from the ankle to above the knee and looked like a medieval
torture device. Her limp was so pronounced that she rocked from side to
side at the hips with each step, as if in danger of toppling over.
Sister Immaculata rose from her armchair, scowling at Regina in
disapproval. “Exactly what is the reason for these theatrics, young
lady?”
Ignoring the true meaning of the nun’s question, the girl said, “I’m
sorry I’m so late, Sister. But some days it’s harder for me than
others.” Before the nun could respond, the girl turned to Hatch and
Lindsey, who had stopped holding hands and had risen from the sofa.