The Whispering Room

“It wasn’t my story. It was the truth. And, yes, when I talk about that day…when I even think about it…it does feel like it happened to someone else.”

Her eyes suddenly turned desperate. “We have to find her. You see that, don’t you? Now that you’re onto her…now that she knows who you are…”

Evangeline’s heart thudded at the look of sheer terror on Lena’s face.

“If she feels threatened by you…” Lena Saunders turned, but it was Ruth Lemay who searched Evangeline’s face. “I don’t want to think about what she might do.”

Ellis Cooper cut across the yard and climbed the porch steps. Placing the wriggling burlap bag on the floor beside him, he sat down in an old cane rocker and fanned himself with his cap. The morning was hot and sticky, but it was cool here on the porch. The house was shaded by pecan and oak trees, and he could feel a slight breeze off the water.

The South Louisiana landscape that surrounded him was a far cry from the North Georgia hills where he’d grown up, but Ellis had taken to the swamp like a duck to water. His vista from the porch was as primordial as it was darkly beautiful, and he felt one with the elements here.

He drew in a long breath and the earthy scent of the bayou filled his senses, stirring something deep inside his soul. Ancient cypress trees grew thick along the banks, their limbs heavy with curtains of Spanish moss that dragged across the lily pads, abloom now in the spangle of light that filtered down through the leaves.

Resting his head against the back of the rocker, he let his mind drift as he idly watched the last of the early morning mist swirl among the treetops. After his first stay in the mental hospital, Ellis had spent the remainder of his youth in foster care, but the moment he turned eighteen, he’d returned to his father’s house, where he lived until the old man dropped dead in the kitchen one morning.

Ellis had stayed on for a while, had even toyed with the notion of taking over his father’s congregation, but the charismatic movement was slowly dying out in Georgia. He knew of active churches in Missouri and Kansas, but Ellis saw no appeal in moving North. And by that time, he’d already determined that his particular calling had little to do with preaching. The gospel could be spread by others. God had another purpose for Ellis.

After all, it was His hand that had guided Ellis here, to the swamp where he had met a blue-eyed angel that had further shown him the way.

From the moment he’d first seen her in church, he knew she was someone special. Like him, she was on a mission, and the fire that burned in her eyes that night ignited a primal lust deep inside Ellis. When he had taken up the serpent, lifting it high over his head, he could feel her eyes on him and the passion that pumped through his veins was so powerful, the experience so profound, he’d been afflicted with the aftershock for days.

That was the night it all started. That was the night when she had first approached him. That was the night Ellis Cooper had first answered his calling.

He had learned from her that evil could take any form. It could inhabit the bodies of the elderly and the infirm, could even threaten the innocent souls of children. He couldn’t allow himself to be thwarted by the package. He couldn’t afford to be weakened by the humanly concepts of guilt or conscience or remorse while evil remained afoot in the world. She knew that and so did he.

After a while, Ellis rose from the rocking chair, picked up the burlap sack and went inside the house. He opened a door off the kitchen and a dank, putrid scent rose from the bottom of the stairs.

For obvious reasons, it was rare to see a house with a basement in the swamp, but the space underneath Ellis’s kitchen had been a pleasant surprise. He had no idea what the original purpose might have been. A storm cellar maybe. A place to ride out a hurricane.

But even in dry weather, there was always standing water. It smelled of musk, rotting fish and other creatures that had wandered in and gotten trapped.

A high window at the far side of the room allowed in just enough light so that Ellis could catch glimpses of the swimming bodies and raised heads, the occasional gleam of the vipers’ catlike eyes.

He came halfway down the stairs, toeing a moccasin off the steps as he squatted and untied the burlap bag, then upended it over the water. The black body fell with a plop into the water, and for a moment, there was a scurry of movement at the foot of the stairs.

Ellis watched, as he always did, with an almost hypnotic fascination.

Twenty-Five

The sky grew darker as Evangeline headed north later that morning, and a light rain began to fall by the time she arrived at Pinehurst Manor. She pulled into the visitors’ parking area and sat for a moment, admiring the impressive facade.