Prologue
The night was dark, but streetlamps, their wicks flickering in the frosty breeze, allowed some semblance of daylight to overpower the feeling of aloneness, of fear, which would otherwise have filled the young man's heart. Quietly, he slipped through the semi-blackness, his face alternately shadowed and highlighted as he stepped between the lamps. Above him, the sky began to rage....it would not be long now before he reached the church. There - over the mound of the hill! The streetlights were behind him now; above lay only a deep, silent darkness, as the short, squat building rose ominously in front of him, silhouetted by the moon, until even that pale comfort slid, unspoken, behind the gathering black thunderheads which accumulated inevitably both within and without the man. Shivering, he quickened his pace, hurrying toward the church; now he could see its hard grey stone, and the gravestones rising from the blackness. Then it began to rain, and the rain was bloody; lightning flashed, and it was then that he saw a silhouette in one high stained glass window.
The figure of the priest.
I
"Boy! What a night!" Shaking her wet hair free from her face, Alex Moreau stepped quickly into the dark hall. The storm had put the lights out, it seemed. Only a faint gleam from a set of candles, laid neatly in a priceless hand made candelabra, allowed her to see her way dimly into the house. Removing her sodden coat and throwing it absently onto a stand beside the door, the social worker glanced briefly about her with mild puzzlement; no one seemed to be around. Sure, it was a big house, but it was strange that the butler had not answered the door; strange that nobody appeared to have noticed her entrance. After all, they had been expecting her arrival, hadn't they? Maybe something was wrong? Faintly worried now, Alex made for the stairs. She was just about to begin climbing - in fact had laid her slim hand on the beautifully finished old-style wooden banister - when the figure of a tall, dark man appeared directly above her. Startled, she leaped backwards, automatically prepared to fight or flee - and that was when he grabbed her. Screaming, she aimed a vicious punch directly at her assailant's. stomach; it connected unexpectedly well and he staggered backwards, surprised. She was about to throw herself at him and force him to the ground when the lights flickered on.
"Alex?"
"Derek!?" Relived and horrified at the same time, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry! Are you okay?"
"I've felt better. You have a powerful right hook." Wincing sympathetically, Alex helped her friend to sit on the bottomost stair. Pressing one hand to his bruised stomach, Derek Rayne grimaced dryly. "You're lucky I wasn't carrying a weapon."
"Weapon? Who were you expecting?"
"I thought you were an intruder." For the first time, he noticed her dripping clothing and weary expression.
"What happened to you?"
"I got caught in the storm....it's absolutely pouring down out there. Hey, where's everyone else? Hiding behind the wall with a rocket launcher?"
"Funny." Getting to his feet, Rayne turned and headed up the stairs. "I'll find you some dry clothes. Do you want to take a shower?"
"Not until I know exactly what's going on." She declared. "You called me out here at almost eleven in the evening, remember? It's pretty late considering I had to drive from Pine Reach! Is everyone else here?"
"In one state or another, yes." He responded dryly. "You're not the only one called at short notice. Nick was on a date." With a compassionately amused smile, Alex made for the warmth of the lounge, then remembered the lack of lighting. "Er....where are we sitting?"
"Upstairs, in the library."
Immediately she entered the room, Alex felt the warm, familiar, soothing atmosphere there begin to calm her slightly jangled nerves. Her friends, Nick and Rachel, seated comfortably on large, soft chairs, another free chair nearby, and one behind the desk, doubtless where Derek had been sitting. The candles which had been placed here and there in the wonderfully rustic room cast a soft glow over the desk and bookcases lining the walls. Occasionally flashes of lightning lit up the room, accompanied by the deep, low sound of thunder. It was like walking into a gothic novel, especially when Derek seated himself behind the desk and spoke softly in his deep, sexy, sensually accented voice.
"I think you all have some idea of why we're here tonight."
"If we knew that, we needn't have come in the first place." Nick Boyle spoke up in a scornful tone. "And I'd be having a good time with Leila rather than vegetating here while you go on with your usual uninformative razzmatazz."
"Thank you, Nick." Rayne murmured with little indication that he had paid any attention whatever to his colleague's minor rant.
"And just how much of a titbit of fact are you going to leak out to us this time, Derek?" Boyle went on, annoyed that the other man hadn't taken the bait. "Or are you just going to let us guess why you had to inconvenience everyone this evening." Derek eyed him patiently while the ex-Navy Seal glared back with a belligerent, insubordinate expression.
"The only person being inconvenienced at the moment, Mr. Boyle, is me; I'm having to wait while you have your little hissy fit." Startled, Nick sat back in his chair, scowling, and looking so like a schoolboy being ticked off by the headmaster that Alex exchanged an amused look with Rachel.
"Nick has a point, though.." The latter allowed. "We would like to know what's going on, Derek. Kat's at home and I don't like to leave her too long." Katherine Corrigan was Rachel's eight year old daughter, and all she had left of Patrick, her husband. He and their son had been killed in a car accident not long before Rachel had become involved with Derek and the others. Naturally protective over her remaining child, especially considering the nature of the society, Rachel was uncomfortable with leaving her alone with a neighbour for too long and so late at night. Understanding, Rayne folded his hands and began to explain.
"I received a call a few hours ago from an unknown location. The caller was hysterical and refused identify himself; however, he addressed me by name and repeatedly begged for help from the Legacy." There was a pause. No one said anything. Then, uncertainly, Nick asked, "if they know about the Legacy, why didn't they give their name? Were they afraid of something? Of someone?"
"Possibly. Or perhaps they were just too panicked and never thought about it." Rachel offered.
"Or," Alex added, "they may have expected Derek to know who they were." She paused a moment to let it sink in. "Did you recognise the voice?"
"As a matter of fact," Rayne said quietly, "I did." He looked round at the others, gauging the reaction. Nick leaned forward in his seat.
"Well, for God's sake, who was it?"
"Someone with whom you are all well acquainted. Philip Callaghan."
It took some moments for the little group to absorb this piece of startling information. Expressions ranging from surprise, concern and anger flashed across the faces of the three people sitting before the desk; the anger, of course, was Nick's.
"Why the Hell" he asked in a tightly dangerous voice, "didn't you tell us all this earlier? Right after he made the call?" Incensed, he raged on without giving Rayne the chance to reply. "He could be dead or something by now! Why haven't you done anything about it? What're you going to do, mention it casually next week at dinner? 'Oh, by the way, guys, Philip called, I think he's been murdered?' Isn't he important anymore now that he's not part of the Legacy?" Throughout the tirade, Derek remained seated, his deepset eyes fixed calmly on the furious young man, an inscrutable expression on his quiet face. As Boyle slowly simmered down, Rayne took a long, slow breath, and spoke evenly but with authority.
"Nick, I think you're overreacting. He called only a few hours earlier. I had to contact all of you and consider a course of action. Also I wanted to find out where he was calling from so that we can find him if the need arises."
"The need has arisen! For Christ's sake...."
"Please." He raised a hand. "I know Philip is a close friend of yours, and I share your anxiety...." Boyle grunted. "But we actually know very little about his situation. Perhaps you will allow me to give you al little more information before you fly off the handle in future. I was about to explain exactly what Philip told me." Without allowing Nick to speak further, or challenge Derek's reasoning, the Precept of the San Francisco Legacy House proceeded to describe the call he had received in even, steady tones and precise detail.
It was no longer possible to deny. For so long now there had been a weakening, a failing; a sorrowful lessening of the faith which had borne him up for so long. Once, there had been a warm, secure sense of completeness, of rightness, of calm and unshakeable peace; now, all that remained was chaos and deterioration of the soul. What had once been his salvation had become his Hell, and Father Philip Callaghan could stand no more. Kneeling in front of the crucifix, trembling violently, his hands clasped desperately before him as he sought vainly to find some solace in prayers he no longer believed in, Callaghan knew that the time had come. The church was icy cold; a violent wind blew cruelly, hissing tree branches against the stained glass; howling its blasphemy as it tore deep into the tendrils of the priest's fearful soul. A sudden flash of bright lightning startled him, and he leapt to his feet, running for the door, the insane screaming of the thunder finally ripping reason from his exhausted mind, and setting it free upon the wind. Outside, the storm embraced him, tugged at him, urged him to leave this place and escape the mindless twisting of his heart. With a harsh sob of bewildered release Callaghan flung open the church door and fled into the graveyard. Staggering against the wind, stumbling, shivering, he eventually managed to reach the road, and collapsed in a frightened, weary heap beside it. Cars racing through the night, people longing for home and family and warm beds, ignored the prone figure, and he was able to remain still for a while and try to collect his cascading, tumultuous thoughts. And, in time, he did. The he made the telephone call.
Derek Rayne had been sitting in the library, reading through his journal of past Legacy cases, when the call came through. Deep in thought, his dark eyes distant, Doctor Rayne looked much less like a biological anthropologist specialising in forensics than a gothic figure, a vampire hunter, perhaps; a young Van Helsing, powerful, strong, yet gentle. The latter, despite his degree, could easily have been more appropriate and factual than the former; the Luna Foundation, home of archaeology, of artefacts, of a well-established and specialised science, hid beneath it the Legacy, a secret society in existence since the beginning of time, since the good and the pure first fought its battle against the Dark Side. The San Francisco House, of which Rayne was the head, was only a single facet of a group which extended far beyond the boundaries of the island on which it physically existed. Like his father before him, Derek Rayne was fiercely and passionately dedicated to the Legacy, and to its purpose and to its cause. As were the others - Alex, Rachel, Nick, and, once, Philip Callaghan. But the priest had left them, was no longer part of the team. Not technically. But the Legacy, and Derek Rayne, would be there for him always, should he ever need it, and despite Callaghan's determination to sever the ties, Derek knew that Philip would always be a part of the Legacy.
And then, the telephone call. Slightly startled, and roused from his thoughts, Rayne leaned over to scoop the receiver from its cradle.
"Derek Rayne."
"Derek? Derek, is that you?" Frowning, the Precept pressed the 'phone a little closer to his ear. The voice sounded so distant.
"Yes, speaking."
"Oh, thank God, thank God. Listen....something's....I need help, somebody help me! Derek, you have to do something, I can't live with this anymore! You're the only one....you and the Legacy....please...." The voice faded, to be replaced by an eerily roaring wind.
"Philip?" Rayne asked. "Philip!" No response; merely the howling of a far-off storm. Confused and somewhat concerned, Derek replaced the receiver. For a moment he remained seated, hands steepled, eyes closed, as he attempted to recollect every word the priest had said, every nuance of his tone. After a moment he rose and headed for the massive centre of technology which lay behind a holographic wall in the house. After several unsuccessful attempts to trace the call, he returned thoughtfully to the lounge, and proceeded to request the presence of his three colleagues.
"That's everything?" Nick demanded.
"That's everything." Derek confirmed. He note that the others looked as confused as he felt himself.
"Why would Philip say those things if something weren't seriously wrong?" Alex wondered aloud.
"Good question. We have to assume that he's in some serious trouble."
"And in danger." Rachel agreed.
"So we have to find him!" Nick leapt to his feet as though planning to rush out into the storm and explore the whole of America and the United Kingdom immediately. Rachel pulled him back down.
"We can't go looking yet. We need to have some idea of where he is." She paused, biting her lip, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "Perhaps he'll call again? If he does the first thing to ask is where we can reach him."
"Good idea. Although I admit that I don't think he will call again; he seemed afraid of something, so afraid that he may not risk contacting us too often."
"So that's the plan? To wait?" Nick, disgusted, rose and headed for the door. "Look, we can't just forget about this! Anything could happen...."
"Will you please calm down?" Derek requested softly.
"No! For God's sake...."
"Look." Rachel, the voice of calm and reason, stepped in before Nick could offend Derek further. "We have no idea exactly where Philip is right now. We won't do him any good by rushing around trying to find him. All we can do is wait."
"Rachel's right." Alex put in gently. She moved around the desk to lay a hand lightly on Derek's shoulder. "The next move is Philip's, if there is a next move. Okay? Are we agreed?"
"Agreed." Rachel said. Derek nodded and gave a faint smile. Nick glared for a moment, then gave in. "Okay." He muttered. "Fine." He walked out. "I'll be back tomorrow Just let me know if you hear anything, all right?"
"Of course." Derek murmured. He glanced at the others.
"Rachel, I expect you'll want to get home to Kat."
"Yeah; I've left her with a baby-sitter, but it was short notice. I couldn't bring her out this late. I'll be back in the morning to see if there's any development, okay?"
"Sure. Alex?"
"I'll stay here." She gave her usual warm, tranquil smile, but Rachel saw the worry in her dark eyes. "See you tomorrow, Rachel."
"Right." She got up, offered a strained smile to both of them, and left. After a moment Derek stood also.
"I'm going to turn in. Coming?"
"I think I will." They made for the stairs together. Outside Derek's bedroom, they paused, and he smiled at her. "Well, goodnight." Alex nodded. He stopped, one hand resting on the door handle, and glanced back at her. For a fleeting moment Alex thought that he as going to invite her inside. Then, with another faint smile, he was gone. As she continued down the corridor towards her own room, Alex Moreau's thoughts were full of concern, of weariness....and of wistful regret.
Such cold. It was colder and harsher weather than ever he had known. Staggering weakly along the quiet roads, the dark roads, the lonely roads, in search of the aid which he knew could only be found in one place; to free himself within he had to seek what lay without, but still a part of him....oh, God, why hast thou forsaken me? The words came unbidden to his mind. The storm raged still, its thunder tearing into his soul as he struggled for escape, to no avail. But he would not fall easily. Somewhere within him, a flame still burned; it burned despite the ragings of the storm, the beating of the rain, the howling of the wind, which sought to extinguish it forever. It flickered, and it faded, but it did not die. At least, not yet. In anguish, Philip Callaghan fought to fan the flame of his faith, to keep that lone candle burning amid a thrashing, bloody sea.
If it should fail, then he knew that like that flame the heart of his abandoned home would shudder and fall still.
"What the Hell...." Derek Rayne sat up in bed, felt for the switch of the lamp, remembered the storm, and cursed softly. Blind, he groped for a torch; the single light he had placed on the table beside his bed, should it be needed. Swiftly he found it, scooped it up and pressed the button; a soft circle of light illuminated the opposite wall, glancing shadows at every place its halo skirted. Blinking, Rayne swung his feet over the side of the large, luxurious bed, threw a gown over the top of his nightwear and headed for the stairs. As he made his way, the sound which he had thought he heard confirmed its existence by repeating; someone was knocking at the door! Someone who had apparently ignored the security system entirely, someone who had travelled in the middle of the screaming thunder and lashing rain to pay a visit to a historical-cum-ancient society at three in the morning. Derek felt a stab of alarm; was it Rachel? Had something happened to Kat? Or perhaps Nick - had he gone in search of Philip after all, and found something? Grunting, he undid the locks and flung open the door, carefully stepping back a few paces....he knew all too well the dangers of unnecessary haste. The door swung inward, and in the blackness outside Derek could barely make out a tall, spare figure, dressed in black, hardly distinguishable from the night. Before the Precept could speak, the visitor stumbled forward, and fell. Derek caught him before he could hit the ground, then lowered him down, knelt, and gently lifted his head.
"Oh, dear Lord." He said quietly. "Philip."
"Mommy? Where're we going?"
"I'm sorry, honey; you can sleep in the car. It won't be long."
"But it's the morning! Why are we going now?" Helplessly confused at the pointless activities adults in general, and her mother in particular, Katherine Corrigan planted herself firmly at the head of the stairs, and glared defiantly down at Rachel.
"Couldn't Derek wait until later?"
"It's very important, pumpkin. Now come on."
"Not until you tell me what's happening! Is it something bad? Is it Nick, Mommy?" Nick was much beloved by the little girl; she felt the absence of her father very much, and the young man had never treated her any way but kindly.
"No, Nick's fine, Kat. He'll be there."
"Then what?" Rachel hovered uncertainly in the doorway. On the one hand, she didn't want to break news that might upset Katherine to her hurriedly; it would take time to explain. But Kat was stubborn, God bless her, and Rachel knew that she wouldn't move until some explanation had been given.
"It's Philip, Kat. He turned up unexpectedly about half an hour ago. Derek wants us all to go over there so that we can talk to him. Now, we really have to get going. Come on!" It was the right choice of words. Cheerful at the prospect of seeing Callaghan again, Katherine almost bounded down the stairs and allowed Rachel to firmly button up her thickest and most waterproof coat.
Once in the car, Kat became surprisingly quiet; tired, her mother supposed, carefully making a turn while keeping a sharp eye on a speedily moving driver in the next lane. The rain hadn't let up in the least, and it battered down viciously on the roof of the car. Rachel; was greatly relieved when she came within view of the Legacy House, rising in gothic grandeur amidst the endless downpour, its huge, castle-like structure making it seem unnervingly sinister in the wrath of the storm. Glancing back, Rachel smiled at her daughter.
"We're almost there, honey." But Kat didn't smile in return. Her eyes were wide with fear, her mouth open, shocked terror visible in every aspect of her countenance.
"Kat, what...." Rachel didn't need to finish the question. It loomed before her, enormous, impossibly black and somehow still glowing, bearing down on them, leering with huge, insane, luminous yellow eyes....with a scream of pure horror, Rachel swerved violently off the road, slamming on the brakes then easing off abruptly in an attempt to negate her gut reaction and avoid the inevitable skid. But it was not to be. The car hurtled sideways along the road, tyres wailing, Kat screaming, Rachel staring in disbelief at the ditch as they shuddered towards it, unable to comprehend that this was it, the end had come and it was this....
Silence. Deep, impossible silence....then the wind, howling once more, the rain pelting, the lightning flashing victorious across the sky. Rachel had never seen a more beautiful sight, purely because she was alive to see it. Then with a flash of maternal terror she thought of her daughter.
"Kat! Kat, baby, are you okay? Answer me!" Nothing for one horrible moment, and then:
"Mommy? What happened?" With a sudden sob of relief, Doctor Corrigan scrabbled at her seat belt, finally pulling it free, and stepped around to the back of the car to pull her trembling daughter out into the capering night. Katherine seemed shaken but unhurt; her eyes were wild, but there was no blood, and she seemed able to stand.
"Oh, sweetheart." Rachel whispered, cradling the child. "It's okay now." She pulled the girl back to look into her eyes.
"We went off the road. It was my fault, I wasn't paying enough attention....oh, honey, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, Mom." Sniffing but no longer afraid, Kat turned to glance at the stricken car.
"I think it's stuck, huh?" Rachel nodded.
"Looks that way. Let me go see." She went back to the driver's side, made to open the door, then recoiled suddenly as a harsh and evil image rose sickly in her mind; if she opened the door, she would see her own bloody, broken corpse lying motionless in the seat, gazing with lifeless eyes through the smashed windscreen at the crumpled body of her daughter, her brain pierced by shards of glass, her dead hand clutched to her face in agony. Sickened, Corrigan reeled away from the wreckage and staggered back to Katherine, enveloping her child in her arms, barely affording a last, frightened glance at the silent car.
"We can walk the rest, Kat. It's only a couple of minutes to the gate."
"Mom?"
"What, Hon?"
"Why did we go into the ditch? What made us go in?"
"The truck, Kat. Didn't you see it? It was a big black truck." Katherine said nothing, but her eyes were troubled....and full of fear.
The night was dark, but streetlamps, their wicks flickering in the frosty breeze, allowed some semblance of daylight to overpower the feeling of aloneness, of fear, which would otherwise have filled the young man's heart. Quietly, he slipped through the semi-blackness, his face alternately shadowed and highlighted as he stepped between the lamps. Above him, the sky began to rage....it would not be long now before he reached the church. There - over the mound of the hill! The streetlights were behind him now; above lay only a deep, silent darkness, as the short, squat building rose ominously in front of him, silhouetted by the moon, until even that pale comfort slid, unspoken, behind the gathering black thunderheads which accumulated inevitably both within and without the man. Shivering, he quickened his pace, hurrying toward the church; now he could see its hard grey stone, and the gravestones rising from the blackness. Then it began to rain, and the rain was bloody; lightning flashed, and it was then that he saw a silhouette in one high stained glass window.
The figure of the priest.
I
"Boy! What a night!" Shaking her wet hair free from her face, Alex Moreau stepped quickly into the dark hall. The storm had put the lights out, it seemed. Only a faint gleam from a set of candles, laid neatly in a priceless hand made candelabra, allowed her to see her way dimly into the house. Removing her sodden coat and throwing it absently onto a stand beside the door, the social worker glanced briefly about her with mild puzzlement; no one seemed to be around. Sure, it was a big house, but it was strange that the butler had not answered the door; strange that nobody appeared to have noticed her entrance. After all, they had been expecting her arrival, hadn't they? Maybe something was wrong? Faintly worried now, Alex made for the stairs. She was just about to begin climbing - in fact had laid her slim hand on the beautifully finished old-style wooden banister - when the figure of a tall, dark man appeared directly above her. Startled, she leaped backwards, automatically prepared to fight or flee - and that was when he grabbed her. Screaming, she aimed a vicious punch directly at her assailant's. stomach; it connected unexpectedly well and he staggered backwards, surprised. She was about to throw herself at him and force him to the ground when the lights flickered on.
"Alex?"
"Derek!?" Relived and horrified at the same time, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry! Are you okay?"
"I've felt better. You have a powerful right hook." Wincing sympathetically, Alex helped her friend to sit on the bottomost stair. Pressing one hand to his bruised stomach, Derek Rayne grimaced dryly. "You're lucky I wasn't carrying a weapon."
"Weapon? Who were you expecting?"
"I thought you were an intruder." For the first time, he noticed her dripping clothing and weary expression.
"What happened to you?"
"I got caught in the storm....it's absolutely pouring down out there. Hey, where's everyone else? Hiding behind the wall with a rocket launcher?"
"Funny." Getting to his feet, Rayne turned and headed up the stairs. "I'll find you some dry clothes. Do you want to take a shower?"
"Not until I know exactly what's going on." She declared. "You called me out here at almost eleven in the evening, remember? It's pretty late considering I had to drive from Pine Reach! Is everyone else here?"
"In one state or another, yes." He responded dryly. "You're not the only one called at short notice. Nick was on a date." With a compassionately amused smile, Alex made for the warmth of the lounge, then remembered the lack of lighting. "Er....where are we sitting?"
"Upstairs, in the library."
Immediately she entered the room, Alex felt the warm, familiar, soothing atmosphere there begin to calm her slightly jangled nerves. Her friends, Nick and Rachel, seated comfortably on large, soft chairs, another free chair nearby, and one behind the desk, doubtless where Derek had been sitting. The candles which had been placed here and there in the wonderfully rustic room cast a soft glow over the desk and bookcases lining the walls. Occasionally flashes of lightning lit up the room, accompanied by the deep, low sound of thunder. It was like walking into a gothic novel, especially when Derek seated himself behind the desk and spoke softly in his deep, sexy, sensually accented voice.
"I think you all have some idea of why we're here tonight."
"If we knew that, we needn't have come in the first place." Nick Boyle spoke up in a scornful tone. "And I'd be having a good time with Leila rather than vegetating here while you go on with your usual uninformative razzmatazz."
"Thank you, Nick." Rayne murmured with little indication that he had paid any attention whatever to his colleague's minor rant.
"And just how much of a titbit of fact are you going to leak out to us this time, Derek?" Boyle went on, annoyed that the other man hadn't taken the bait. "Or are you just going to let us guess why you had to inconvenience everyone this evening." Derek eyed him patiently while the ex-Navy Seal glared back with a belligerent, insubordinate expression.
"The only person being inconvenienced at the moment, Mr. Boyle, is me; I'm having to wait while you have your little hissy fit." Startled, Nick sat back in his chair, scowling, and looking so like a schoolboy being ticked off by the headmaster that Alex exchanged an amused look with Rachel.
"Nick has a point, though.." The latter allowed. "We would like to know what's going on, Derek. Kat's at home and I don't like to leave her too long." Katherine Corrigan was Rachel's eight year old daughter, and all she had left of Patrick, her husband. He and their son had been killed in a car accident not long before Rachel had become involved with Derek and the others. Naturally protective over her remaining child, especially considering the nature of the society, Rachel was uncomfortable with leaving her alone with a neighbour for too long and so late at night. Understanding, Rayne folded his hands and began to explain.
"I received a call a few hours ago from an unknown location. The caller was hysterical and refused identify himself; however, he addressed me by name and repeatedly begged for help from the Legacy." There was a pause. No one said anything. Then, uncertainly, Nick asked, "if they know about the Legacy, why didn't they give their name? Were they afraid of something? Of someone?"
"Possibly. Or perhaps they were just too panicked and never thought about it." Rachel offered.
"Or," Alex added, "they may have expected Derek to know who they were." She paused a moment to let it sink in. "Did you recognise the voice?"
"As a matter of fact," Rayne said quietly, "I did." He looked round at the others, gauging the reaction. Nick leaned forward in his seat.
"Well, for God's sake, who was it?"
"Someone with whom you are all well acquainted. Philip Callaghan."
It took some moments for the little group to absorb this piece of startling information. Expressions ranging from surprise, concern and anger flashed across the faces of the three people sitting before the desk; the anger, of course, was Nick's.
"Why the Hell" he asked in a tightly dangerous voice, "didn't you tell us all this earlier? Right after he made the call?" Incensed, he raged on without giving Rayne the chance to reply. "He could be dead or something by now! Why haven't you done anything about it? What're you going to do, mention it casually next week at dinner? 'Oh, by the way, guys, Philip called, I think he's been murdered?' Isn't he important anymore now that he's not part of the Legacy?" Throughout the tirade, Derek remained seated, his deepset eyes fixed calmly on the furious young man, an inscrutable expression on his quiet face. As Boyle slowly simmered down, Rayne took a long, slow breath, and spoke evenly but with authority.
"Nick, I think you're overreacting. He called only a few hours earlier. I had to contact all of you and consider a course of action. Also I wanted to find out where he was calling from so that we can find him if the need arises."
"The need has arisen! For Christ's sake...."
"Please." He raised a hand. "I know Philip is a close friend of yours, and I share your anxiety...." Boyle grunted. "But we actually know very little about his situation. Perhaps you will allow me to give you al little more information before you fly off the handle in future. I was about to explain exactly what Philip told me." Without allowing Nick to speak further, or challenge Derek's reasoning, the Precept of the San Francisco Legacy House proceeded to describe the call he had received in even, steady tones and precise detail.
It was no longer possible to deny. For so long now there had been a weakening, a failing; a sorrowful lessening of the faith which had borne him up for so long. Once, there had been a warm, secure sense of completeness, of rightness, of calm and unshakeable peace; now, all that remained was chaos and deterioration of the soul. What had once been his salvation had become his Hell, and Father Philip Callaghan could stand no more. Kneeling in front of the crucifix, trembling violently, his hands clasped desperately before him as he sought vainly to find some solace in prayers he no longer believed in, Callaghan knew that the time had come. The church was icy cold; a violent wind blew cruelly, hissing tree branches against the stained glass; howling its blasphemy as it tore deep into the tendrils of the priest's fearful soul. A sudden flash of bright lightning startled him, and he leapt to his feet, running for the door, the insane screaming of the thunder finally ripping reason from his exhausted mind, and setting it free upon the wind. Outside, the storm embraced him, tugged at him, urged him to leave this place and escape the mindless twisting of his heart. With a harsh sob of bewildered release Callaghan flung open the church door and fled into the graveyard. Staggering against the wind, stumbling, shivering, he eventually managed to reach the road, and collapsed in a frightened, weary heap beside it. Cars racing through the night, people longing for home and family and warm beds, ignored the prone figure, and he was able to remain still for a while and try to collect his cascading, tumultuous thoughts. And, in time, he did. The he made the telephone call.
Derek Rayne had been sitting in the library, reading through his journal of past Legacy cases, when the call came through. Deep in thought, his dark eyes distant, Doctor Rayne looked much less like a biological anthropologist specialising in forensics than a gothic figure, a vampire hunter, perhaps; a young Van Helsing, powerful, strong, yet gentle. The latter, despite his degree, could easily have been more appropriate and factual than the former; the Luna Foundation, home of archaeology, of artefacts, of a well-established and specialised science, hid beneath it the Legacy, a secret society in existence since the beginning of time, since the good and the pure first fought its battle against the Dark Side. The San Francisco House, of which Rayne was the head, was only a single facet of a group which extended far beyond the boundaries of the island on which it physically existed. Like his father before him, Derek Rayne was fiercely and passionately dedicated to the Legacy, and to its purpose and to its cause. As were the others - Alex, Rachel, Nick, and, once, Philip Callaghan. But the priest had left them, was no longer part of the team. Not technically. But the Legacy, and Derek Rayne, would be there for him always, should he ever need it, and despite Callaghan's determination to sever the ties, Derek knew that Philip would always be a part of the Legacy.
And then, the telephone call. Slightly startled, and roused from his thoughts, Rayne leaned over to scoop the receiver from its cradle.
"Derek Rayne."
"Derek? Derek, is that you?" Frowning, the Precept pressed the 'phone a little closer to his ear. The voice sounded so distant.
"Yes, speaking."
"Oh, thank God, thank God. Listen....something's....I need help, somebody help me! Derek, you have to do something, I can't live with this anymore! You're the only one....you and the Legacy....please...." The voice faded, to be replaced by an eerily roaring wind.
"Philip?" Rayne asked. "Philip!" No response; merely the howling of a far-off storm. Confused and somewhat concerned, Derek replaced the receiver. For a moment he remained seated, hands steepled, eyes closed, as he attempted to recollect every word the priest had said, every nuance of his tone. After a moment he rose and headed for the massive centre of technology which lay behind a holographic wall in the house. After several unsuccessful attempts to trace the call, he returned thoughtfully to the lounge, and proceeded to request the presence of his three colleagues.
"That's everything?" Nick demanded.
"That's everything." Derek confirmed. He note that the others looked as confused as he felt himself.
"Why would Philip say those things if something weren't seriously wrong?" Alex wondered aloud.
"Good question. We have to assume that he's in some serious trouble."
"And in danger." Rachel agreed.
"So we have to find him!" Nick leapt to his feet as though planning to rush out into the storm and explore the whole of America and the United Kingdom immediately. Rachel pulled him back down.
"We can't go looking yet. We need to have some idea of where he is." She paused, biting her lip, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "Perhaps he'll call again? If he does the first thing to ask is where we can reach him."
"Good idea. Although I admit that I don't think he will call again; he seemed afraid of something, so afraid that he may not risk contacting us too often."
"So that's the plan? To wait?" Nick, disgusted, rose and headed for the door. "Look, we can't just forget about this! Anything could happen...."
"Will you please calm down?" Derek requested softly.
"No! For God's sake...."
"Look." Rachel, the voice of calm and reason, stepped in before Nick could offend Derek further. "We have no idea exactly where Philip is right now. We won't do him any good by rushing around trying to find him. All we can do is wait."
"Rachel's right." Alex put in gently. She moved around the desk to lay a hand lightly on Derek's shoulder. "The next move is Philip's, if there is a next move. Okay? Are we agreed?"
"Agreed." Rachel said. Derek nodded and gave a faint smile. Nick glared for a moment, then gave in. "Okay." He muttered. "Fine." He walked out. "I'll be back tomorrow Just let me know if you hear anything, all right?"
"Of course." Derek murmured. He glanced at the others.
"Rachel, I expect you'll want to get home to Kat."
"Yeah; I've left her with a baby-sitter, but it was short notice. I couldn't bring her out this late. I'll be back in the morning to see if there's any development, okay?"
"Sure. Alex?"
"I'll stay here." She gave her usual warm, tranquil smile, but Rachel saw the worry in her dark eyes. "See you tomorrow, Rachel."
"Right." She got up, offered a strained smile to both of them, and left. After a moment Derek stood also.
"I'm going to turn in. Coming?"
"I think I will." They made for the stairs together. Outside Derek's bedroom, they paused, and he smiled at her. "Well, goodnight." Alex nodded. He stopped, one hand resting on the door handle, and glanced back at her. For a fleeting moment Alex thought that he as going to invite her inside. Then, with another faint smile, he was gone. As she continued down the corridor towards her own room, Alex Moreau's thoughts were full of concern, of weariness....and of wistful regret.
Such cold. It was colder and harsher weather than ever he had known. Staggering weakly along the quiet roads, the dark roads, the lonely roads, in search of the aid which he knew could only be found in one place; to free himself within he had to seek what lay without, but still a part of him....oh, God, why hast thou forsaken me? The words came unbidden to his mind. The storm raged still, its thunder tearing into his soul as he struggled for escape, to no avail. But he would not fall easily. Somewhere within him, a flame still burned; it burned despite the ragings of the storm, the beating of the rain, the howling of the wind, which sought to extinguish it forever. It flickered, and it faded, but it did not die. At least, not yet. In anguish, Philip Callaghan fought to fan the flame of his faith, to keep that lone candle burning amid a thrashing, bloody sea.
If it should fail, then he knew that like that flame the heart of his abandoned home would shudder and fall still.
"What the Hell...." Derek Rayne sat up in bed, felt for the switch of the lamp, remembered the storm, and cursed softly. Blind, he groped for a torch; the single light he had placed on the table beside his bed, should it be needed. Swiftly he found it, scooped it up and pressed the button; a soft circle of light illuminated the opposite wall, glancing shadows at every place its halo skirted. Blinking, Rayne swung his feet over the side of the large, luxurious bed, threw a gown over the top of his nightwear and headed for the stairs. As he made his way, the sound which he had thought he heard confirmed its existence by repeating; someone was knocking at the door! Someone who had apparently ignored the security system entirely, someone who had travelled in the middle of the screaming thunder and lashing rain to pay a visit to a historical-cum-ancient society at three in the morning. Derek felt a stab of alarm; was it Rachel? Had something happened to Kat? Or perhaps Nick - had he gone in search of Philip after all, and found something? Grunting, he undid the locks and flung open the door, carefully stepping back a few paces....he knew all too well the dangers of unnecessary haste. The door swung inward, and in the blackness outside Derek could barely make out a tall, spare figure, dressed in black, hardly distinguishable from the night. Before the Precept could speak, the visitor stumbled forward, and fell. Derek caught him before he could hit the ground, then lowered him down, knelt, and gently lifted his head.
"Oh, dear Lord." He said quietly. "Philip."
"Mommy? Where're we going?"
"I'm sorry, honey; you can sleep in the car. It won't be long."
"But it's the morning! Why are we going now?" Helplessly confused at the pointless activities adults in general, and her mother in particular, Katherine Corrigan planted herself firmly at the head of the stairs, and glared defiantly down at Rachel.
"Couldn't Derek wait until later?"
"It's very important, pumpkin. Now come on."
"Not until you tell me what's happening! Is it something bad? Is it Nick, Mommy?" Nick was much beloved by the little girl; she felt the absence of her father very much, and the young man had never treated her any way but kindly.
"No, Nick's fine, Kat. He'll be there."
"Then what?" Rachel hovered uncertainly in the doorway. On the one hand, she didn't want to break news that might upset Katherine to her hurriedly; it would take time to explain. But Kat was stubborn, God bless her, and Rachel knew that she wouldn't move until some explanation had been given.
"It's Philip, Kat. He turned up unexpectedly about half an hour ago. Derek wants us all to go over there so that we can talk to him. Now, we really have to get going. Come on!" It was the right choice of words. Cheerful at the prospect of seeing Callaghan again, Katherine almost bounded down the stairs and allowed Rachel to firmly button up her thickest and most waterproof coat.
Once in the car, Kat became surprisingly quiet; tired, her mother supposed, carefully making a turn while keeping a sharp eye on a speedily moving driver in the next lane. The rain hadn't let up in the least, and it battered down viciously on the roof of the car. Rachel; was greatly relieved when she came within view of the Legacy House, rising in gothic grandeur amidst the endless downpour, its huge, castle-like structure making it seem unnervingly sinister in the wrath of the storm. Glancing back, Rachel smiled at her daughter.
"We're almost there, honey." But Kat didn't smile in return. Her eyes were wide with fear, her mouth open, shocked terror visible in every aspect of her countenance.
"Kat, what...." Rachel didn't need to finish the question. It loomed before her, enormous, impossibly black and somehow still glowing, bearing down on them, leering with huge, insane, luminous yellow eyes....with a scream of pure horror, Rachel swerved violently off the road, slamming on the brakes then easing off abruptly in an attempt to negate her gut reaction and avoid the inevitable skid. But it was not to be. The car hurtled sideways along the road, tyres wailing, Kat screaming, Rachel staring in disbelief at the ditch as they shuddered towards it, unable to comprehend that this was it, the end had come and it was this....
Silence. Deep, impossible silence....then the wind, howling once more, the rain pelting, the lightning flashing victorious across the sky. Rachel had never seen a more beautiful sight, purely because she was alive to see it. Then with a flash of maternal terror she thought of her daughter.
"Kat! Kat, baby, are you okay? Answer me!" Nothing for one horrible moment, and then:
"Mommy? What happened?" With a sudden sob of relief, Doctor Corrigan scrabbled at her seat belt, finally pulling it free, and stepped around to the back of the car to pull her trembling daughter out into the capering night. Katherine seemed shaken but unhurt; her eyes were wild, but there was no blood, and she seemed able to stand.
"Oh, sweetheart." Rachel whispered, cradling the child. "It's okay now." She pulled the girl back to look into her eyes.
"We went off the road. It was my fault, I wasn't paying enough attention....oh, honey, I'm so sorry."
"It's okay, Mom." Sniffing but no longer afraid, Kat turned to glance at the stricken car.
"I think it's stuck, huh?" Rachel nodded.
"Looks that way. Let me go see." She went back to the driver's side, made to open the door, then recoiled suddenly as a harsh and evil image rose sickly in her mind; if she opened the door, she would see her own bloody, broken corpse lying motionless in the seat, gazing with lifeless eyes through the smashed windscreen at the crumpled body of her daughter, her brain pierced by shards of glass, her dead hand clutched to her face in agony. Sickened, Corrigan reeled away from the wreckage and staggered back to Katherine, enveloping her child in her arms, barely affording a last, frightened glance at the silent car.
"We can walk the rest, Kat. It's only a couple of minutes to the gate."
"Mom?"
"What, Hon?"
"Why did we go into the ditch? What made us go in?"
"The truck, Kat. Didn't you see it? It was a big black truck." Katherine said nothing, but her eyes were troubled....and full of fear.