"I heard someone just now."

"You're crazy, Joelle. That roommate of yours has finally made you as crazy as she is."

"No. Really. I heard someone-several times." Joelle swallowed. "They were screaming."

"Okay, this kind of talk has gone on too long in this dorm for me to take it seriously anymore."

Oostie tried to shut the door in Joelle's face, but Joelle put out a hand to stop her. "Please!" she cried. "I'm not making this up!"

"Do you know how often I get girls coming to me all upset about that so-called 'haunted' Room 323?"

"Please, Mrs. Oosterhouse! Please go check."

The older woman frowned at her. "If this is some kind of prank that you and Tish rigged up..."

Joelle sighed. "Tish has been in enough trouble lately. You think she'd try to pull something? I tell you, I heard someone in there! Screaming!"

Mrs. Oosterhouse gave her a dramatic sigh. She reached behind the door and Joelle could hear keys jingling. In moments, she had waddled out into the hall, a set of keys in her hand. She closed her door behind her.

"Come on," she said resentfully, and motioned Joelle to follow her.

They said nothing on the ride up in the elevator. When they stepped out onto the third floor, it was quiet. As still as the inside of a church.

"I don't hear anything," Oostie said, but Joelle thought she might actually be a little bit scared herself.

She fitted the key into the lock of Room 323 and turned. Joelle kept close behind her, peering over her shoulder.

"n.o.body," Oostie said, after taking one quick glance inside. She flung open the door and stepped inside. "You see? I told you. n.o.body."

Joelle followed her into the room and looked around. It was small, like all of their rooms, with nowhere to hide. The closet was open. No one in there. The bathroom door was open. No one was hiding in the shower. The beds were secured to the floor with wraparound wood. No place to hide under there.

Mrs. Oosterhouse let out another long dramatic sigh, but Joelle thought she was relieved. "I don't know what it is that turns seemingly rational college girls into raving hysterics."

"I heard it," Joelle said firmly. "I heard someone screaming in here."

"Maybe it was from outside."

"No." Joelle was not convinced. "It came from this room."

"You can see that's impossible! No one is here!"

Joelle looked around. The place seemed to be just as Bonnie Warner had left it. Her clothes still hung in the closet. Books were still piled on the desk. The bed was made. A stuffed teddy bear was propped against the pillows. The police had been thorough, but they had left everything as it was.

"Then someone was here earlier," Joelle said, refusing to back down. "And they left when I went down to get you."

"Come on. I shouldn't have let you in here. But I wanted to settle this thing once and for all."

Joelle reached out and took hold of Mrs. Oosterhouse's arm. "You've been here long enough. You know this isn't just one girl's delusion. You know what happened in this room twenty years ago! You know there's something bizarre going on!"

The older woman gave her a hard face. "I know no such thing."

"Bonnie Warner was killed by witches. That's the buzz around the school. There is something-unworldly-happening on this campus!"

Mrs. Oosterhouse smiled coldly. "Now I know you're crazy."

Something in the older woman's eyes terrified Joelle. She let go of Mrs. Oosterhouse's arm and stepped backward.

"You're part of it, aren't you?" she said softly. "That's your job...to guard this room."

Mrs. Oosterhouse continued to smile at her. "We have to leave now," she said calmly.

Joelle said nothing. She followed the older woman out of the room, anxious to get out of there. She said nothing more as Mrs. Oosterhouse relocked the door. She simply hurried back into her own room, and barricaded herself inside.

If what she suddenly suspected were true...

No. It's crazy. Maybe she really was hysterical. Maybe she really was hysterical.

But Oostie-her eyes-her smile- She was just laughing at me, thinking I was a lunatic...

But when Joelle had claimed Bonnie had been killed by witches, that was when Oostie's att.i.tude had changed.

Because maybe I hit on the truth.

Or close enough to it.

Joelle picked up her cell and pressed in Tish's number. "Where the f.u.c.k are you?" she asked frantically when she got Tish's voice mail. "Get back here as soon as possible. I've heard it. The screaming. Oostie took me into the room. I think she's in on it-all of them maybe-"

She heard a beep. Joelle looked down at her phone. CALL DROPPED CALL DROPPED.

She heard something else.

The door across the hallway opening again. There was a sound the doors made when they were unlocked and opened. It was very recognizable. And with the floor being so quiet, the sound had been unmistakable.

Joelle peered through the little hole in her door. She saw someone-she couldn't make out who-going back into Room 323.

Oostie had come back. It must be her. Joelle opened her own door and stood bravely in the hallway.

"I know you think I'm crazy," she called into the room across the way, "but I want answers. I'm going to talk to Dean Gregory."

The door to Room 323 had not closed all the way. It remained ajar, and Joelle could see light from inside. It was not the electric light she had just seen when she was inside the room moments before. It was-could it be? Candlelight Candlelight.

She pulled the door open a bit more and looked inside. Indeed, someone had set a candle on the table at the far end of the room. With the overhead lights turned off and the sun having set outside, the candlelight flickered eerily, casting shadows all across the room.

"Is this what you meant, Joelle?" came a voice.

Joelle took a step into the room, trying to discern who was speaking.

"Is this what you meant by witchcraft?"

Suddenly, without warning, the door in her hands surged forward, threatening to pin her in the door frame. She leapt aside to avoid it-but that meant she was now in the room, and the door clanged shut with the familiar locking sound.

"Let me out of here!" Joelle screamed. She tried the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. She banged on the door. "Please, someone! Is someone out there?"

"No," came the voice from the darkness behind her. "Only in here."

Joelle spun around.

"Who's in here?" she asked, straining to see in the dark, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "Mrs. Oosterhouse-is it you?"

No answer now. Except for the candle, all was darkness. The darkness of nightmares.

She lunged for the window, but it was locked, too. She tried frantically to open it, to shout for help-but it was no use. She could smash the window-but with what? Her hands? But then what? She was too high to jump...

Something stirred in the darkness.

She was definitely not not alone. alone.

Joelle fumbled along the wall for a light switch, but couldn't find one. She began to cry out.

"Don't cry," came the voice again, a voice she did not recognize, a voice that seemed to be both man and woman at the same time. "You're here with us now, Joelle."

"Who are you?"

"You are here...in the most important room in the most important dorm. We didn't expect you, but we're glad you came."

Something moved toward her from out of the shadows. In the glimmer of candlelight, Joelle saw something that went far, far beyond the scope of her imagination. All the nameless terrors she'd ever felt, all the creeping anxieties she'd ever experienced, all of the doubts and fears and nightmares of her life came rushing back at her now. Joelle screamed-and even as she did so, she knew if anyone heard her, they'd simply think it was the ghosts of haunted Room 323. Now, she realized, she'd be one of them.

23.

While the Church still has not accepted the Medjugorje sightings as "official," thousands of the faithful continue to flock there. Business is thriving in the once-remote and unknown little town, renting rooms and serving food to the pilgrims, as well as selling them religious souvenirs and trinkets.

Ginny frowned at her computer screen. She'd written that paragraph over three weeks earlier, and every time she tried to think of a way to continue from there, nothing would come.

I've got to get this book done, she thought, rubbing her eyes. She swore under her breath and reached for the thick file with all of her notes on Medjugorje. She started flipping through the pages, looking for anything that would trigger an idea in her mind, some way to finish the chapter on Medjugorje. she thought, rubbing her eyes. She swore under her breath and reached for the thick file with all of her notes on Medjugorje. She started flipping through the pages, looking for anything that would trigger an idea in her mind, some way to finish the chapter on Medjugorje.

The book was now two years overdue, and while neither her publisher nor her agent was putting any pressure on her, she knew that wouldn't last forever. Every time her phone rang, she feared it was one or the other, calling to let her know that their patience had finally run out and she was going to have to pay the advance money back. Maybe I should be preemptive and give the money back before they ask, Maybe I should be preemptive and give the money back before they ask, she thought, discouraged, as she closed the file. she thought, discouraged, as she closed the file.

She'd learned early that writing wasn't something that could be forced or pushed out. It either came or it didn't. She closed the computer file and sat there for a moment, tapping her pencil on the top of her desk.

It's been a rough week, she thought to herself in justification. she thought to herself in justification. I mean, it's not every week one of your students disappears without a trace and you have to be interviewed by the cops and the FBI. Poor Bonnie. I mean, it's not every week one of your students disappears without a trace and you have to be interviewed by the cops and the FBI. Poor Bonnie.

There had been no news. Bonnie was still missing. And Ginny still felt some guilt about it. If only I'd insisted she ride home with me... If only I'd insisted she ride home with me...

Stop it, she scolded herself. she scolded herself. Bonnie was a big girl. She was used to making her own decisions. Bonnie was a big girl. She was used to making her own decisions.

She was just like me, Ginny thought, remembering herself as an ambitious college student, working her way through her studies, determined to make the most of them, to one day be a famous scholar-convinced that was the most important thing in the world. Ginny thought, remembering herself as an ambitious college student, working her way through her studies, determined to make the most of them, to one day be a famous scholar-convinced that was the most important thing in the world.

She'd really believed that. Until she'd given birth-and watched in agony as her beloved son died in her arms. That's when she knew what was really important in life.

She knew on some level that her anguish and guilt over Bonnie was just another manifestation of her grief over Eric-and using it to explain her procrastination was just another excuse. She'd been procrastinating on this book ever since Eric died.

I'll try to work on it tomorrow, she finally decided, reaching for the syllabus for her Women and the Bible cla.s.s. She had a lecture in a few hours, and she needed to refresh her memory. she finally decided, reaching for the syllabus for her Women and the Bible cla.s.s. She had a lecture in a few hours, and she needed to refresh her memory.

There was a light rap at her door.

It was probably Dean Gregory. He'd sent an e-mail this morning saying they still needed to discuss the night she'd seen Bonnie, and she'd replied she was available anytime and by the way, there were a few other things she wanted to discuss. Like his offensive behavior to her in front of Joyce Davenport.

"Come in," she called, steadying herself for a confrontation.

But it wasn't Gregory. Ginny glanced up and scowled as she recognized the woman entering her office. Gayle Honeycutt-that treacherous local reporter who'd made her first days in Lebanon so miserable.

"What are you you doing here?" Ginny asked. doing here?" Ginny asked.

Gayle smiled. "Obviously, I want to talk to you."

"I have nothing to say to you." Ginny waved her hand absently. "And I'm busy, so if you don't mind-"

"Look, Dr. Marshall, I don't blame you for being p.i.s.sed at me." Gayle stood over her, implacable. "But you have to understand-you're a writer after all, and so you should get it. You write for your audience. I write for mine. The people who read the Lebanon Observer Lebanon Observer don't care about your theories or what your research has found. These people go to church every Sunday. They believe every word in the Bible came from G.o.d and is literal truth." don't care about your theories or what your research has found. These people go to church every Sunday. They believe every word in the Bible came from G.o.d and is literal truth."

"So you wrote down to them," Ginny said. "That's brave of you."

Gayle sighed. "Okay, that headline was bad. It wasn't my idea, nor would I have agreed to it-but surely you know how a newspaper works, and how little control a reporter has over things like that." She took a seat beside Ginny's desk. "I'm also very sorry about what happened after the article came out." She tried a smile. "I've since read your books, and for what it's worth, I think you're right."

"Spare me your apologies and excuses." Ginny glared at her. "What did you come here for?"

"When I interviewed you, you mentioned you were working on a big book about the Virgin Mary. Is that right?"

"Yes." Ginny leaned back in her chair. "Sightings of the Virgin Mary, miracles, the cult of the Virgin. Why?"

Gayle smiled. "What would you say if I told you, right here in Lebanon, there is a thirteen-year-old girl who claims she saw the Virgin Mary?"

"I'd say most religious girls see her every night in their prayers."

Gayle's smile widened. "But what if I also told you that girl had stigmata? That she's in the hospital right now, and doctors can't explain her condition?"

"What's the girl's name?"

"Bernadette deSalis." Gayle leaned in toward her. "You're the local expert. This is a big story-but I have to be careful."

"Since when do you care about being careful in your reporting?"

"n.o.body knows about it yet, but when they find out, this community will really get riled up." Gayle shivered. "The girl is the sister of my son's best friend. Monday morning, she was taken away to St. Agatha's Hospital up in Senandaga around eight in the morning. Obviously, I've known the family for a long time, but they aren't returning my calls. But I've confirmed, through sources, that the girl is under observation at the psych ward at Senandaga."