by Terry Brooks
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand and walked over to Ross, who rose to greet her. “Are you all right?” he asked.
She glanced around to make sure they were out of earshot. Little John stood next to them, but his gaze was flat and empty and directed out at the night. She put a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he didn’t respond.
“Gask opened the ice in front of us on that last run,” she said quietly. “Pick warned me in time, and I tipped the sled over and threw us into a snowbank. The sled went into the water, and the ice closed over it and crunched it into kindling. I think. It was dark, and I didn’t care to go out for a closer look. My guess is that what happened to the sled was supposed to happen to us.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know this is my fault. I’m the one who talked us into coming. I just didn’t think Gask would try anything.”
Ross nodded. “Don’t blame yourself. I didn’t think he would, either.” His gaze wandered off toward the trees. “I’m wondering who this attack was directed at.” He paused and looked back at her. “Do you see what I mean?”
She kicked at the snow with her boot, her head lowering. “I do. Was Gask after us or Little John?” She thought about it a moment. “Does he know Little John is a gypsy morph, and if he does, would he try to destroy him before finding a way to claim the magic for himself?”
Ross exhaled wearily, his breath clouding the air between them. “Demons can’t identify morphs unless a morph is using its magic, and that usually happens only when it’s changing shape. Little John hasn’t changed since we got here.” He frowned doubtfully. “Maybe Gask guessed the truth.”
Nest shook her head. “That doesn’t feel right. This attack was a kind of broadside intended to take out whoever got in the way. It was indiscriminate.” She paused. “Gask warned me what would happen if I tried to help you.”
A tired and distraught Bennett came up with Harper, saying the little girl was cold and wanted to go home. Harper stood next to her, looking down at her boots and saying nothing. Nest nodded and suggested they all head back to the house for some much needed hot chocolate.
Tightening collars and scarves against the deepening chill, they walked back across the snowy expanse of the ball diamonds toward Sinnissippi Townhomes, pointing for the lights and the thin trailers of smoke from chimneys illuminated by a mix of street and porch lights reflected off the hazy sky. The last of the car lights trailed out of the park and disappeared. From the direction of the homes bordering the service road, someone called out a name, waited a moment, then slammed a door.
Nest cast about for Pick once more, but there was still no sign of him. She worried momentarily that something had happened, then decided it was unlikely and that if it had, she would have sensed it. Pick would show up by morning.
They reached the house and went in, dumped boots, coats, gloves, and scarves by the back door, and moved into the kitchen to sit around the table while Nest heated milk and added chocolate mix and put out more of Josie’s cookies. She was still irritated with herself for being so incautious, but she was angry as well with Findo Gask and wondered what she could do to stop him from trying anything else. If he was willing to attack them out in the open, with other people all around, he might be willing to attack them anywhere.
They ate the cookies and drank the hot chocolate, and Bennett took Harper off to bed. When she came back, Nest had finished cleaning up and was sitting alone at the table.
Bennett walked to the sink and looked out the kitchen window. “I’m going out for cigarettes.”
Nest kept her expression neutral. “It’s pretty late.” She wanted to say more, to dissuade Bennett from going anywhere, but she couldn’t think of a way to do it. “Maybe you should wait until morning.”
Bennett looked down at her feet. “It won’t take long. I’ll just walk up to the gas station.”
“You want some company?” Nest started to rise.
“No, I need some time alone.” Bennett moved away from the counter quickly, heading for the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Nest stood staring after her. A moment later, the back door opened and closed again, and Bennett was gone.
Bennett Scott walked up the drive and turned onto the shoulder of Woodlawn Road, working on the zipper of her coat as the cold burned against her skin, her boots plowing deep furrows through the new-fallen snow. She breathed in the biting air and folded her arms against her slender body. She had never liked the cold. Snowplows hadn’t gotten this far out yet, and Woodlawn was still carpeted in white. A few cars eased past, locked in four-wheel drive, but mostly the road was empty and the night silent.
Bennett lowered her head against the cold and hugged her body. She knew she wasn’t being rational. She didn’t know what had brought her outside again, just knew she had to get away for a while. When she realized the sled had gone over and Harper was out there somewhere in the dark where she couldn’t see her, maybe hurt, maybe worse, she just lost it. That was why she had attacked Nest, almost without thinking about it, reacting instinctively to her own fear. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Harper. The little girl was really all she had, the only thing in her life she hadn’t managed to screw up. She would do anything to protect her, and she expected everyone else to do the same, though she didn’t really think they would, and that was what ate at her. But she’d had confidence in Nest; she’d trusted her big sister.
She trudged through the snow, head lowered, eyes fixed on a moving point in space several feet in front of her boots. It hurt her to be angry then realize her anger was misplaced and wrong. She would walk awhile, wait for things to cool down. Nest wasn’t angry with her and wouldn’t hold it against her that she had blown up. Not Nest. Never Nest.
When she reached the gas station, she went inside and bought two packs of cigarettes and a coffee. The cold burned her anew when she came back out and started across the parking area toward Woodlawn Road. She lit a cigarette, shielding it in the cup of her hands, and drew the hot, acrid smoke deep into her lungs. Her head swam momentarily with the sensation, and the misery of her life faded to a manageable level. Maybe this would work for her, coming to Nest with Harper, trying to get a new start. Maybe she would find what she needed here, back in good old Hopewell. It wouldn’t take all that much to stay straight, if she just worked at it hard enough. Get a job, a little apartment, put Harper in day care, make a few friends. She could do it.
Yeah, right. She shook her head angrily. Like there was any chance at all for someone like her. Who was she kidding? She cried a little, at how messed up her life was and how little chance she had of ever getting it straightened out again.
“It’s cold out here, girlfriend,” Penny Dreadful said, materializing next to her out of nowhere. “Hey, my car’s right over there. Come on. Let me give you a ride.”
Bennett looked at her dully, as if she were an inevitability, a constant in her life that refused to change or disappear. She suddenly felt tired and worn and alone. The cold numbed and deadened her, but that wasn’t how she wanted to feel. She wanted to feel good about something. Just for a little while. Just for a bit.
Dropping her cigarette into the snow, she allowed Penny to take her by the arm and lead her away.
Deputy Sheriff Larry Spence sat alone in his living room at one end of the big couch, staring at the television set across the way. He was watching it without paying attention to what he was seeing, his mind trying to focus on the voice speaking to him through the telephone receiver he held against his ear. His kids were in bed, asleep or pretending to be, getting ready for a final day and a half of school before the Christmas break, anticipating what Santa was going to bring them. Billy was sleeping better again, not having those nightmares about severed fingers, but he still had a haunted look in his eyes that was troublesome.
“You have to go back out there in the morning and check on him,” Special Agent Robinson was saying through the phone, the words resonating inside Spence’s confused and distr
acted mind. “You have to be sure he doesn’t hurt her.”
“Why would he do that?” Spence asked, staring at nothing. “He doesn’t have any reason to.”
Robinson paused thoughtfully. “He’s dangerous, and dangerous men will do anything. He uses her to give himself a place to hide. He is a drug dealer, and he is here to do business. If she discovers this, what do you think he will do?”
“But she doesn’t want me to come there. She practically threw me out. What am I supposed to do?”
“You visit officially, just like you did today. You have every right to conduct an investigation.”
“Into what? What am I supposed to be investigating?”
“What do you think, Deputy? What seems possible to you?”
Larry Spence blinked and shook his head. “He’s a dealer. So he’s here to make a sale. There must be something going down in the park, right?”
“Seems like a good place to start.”
“I can say someone saw something, try that out and see if I get a reaction.”
“Maybe someone did see something. Someone usually does.”
Spence shifted on the couch, his big frame leaning forward. “I can’t let that girl be hurt. She doesn’t understand how people are. She believes the best about everyone, but she doesn’t know.”
“Someone has to open her eyes to the truth,” Robinson agreed. “She would be very grateful to anyone who did, don’t you think?”
Larry Spence nodded slowly. “I could do that for her. I could help her see how things really are. All I have to do is get him to slip up, say the wrong thing. I just have to keep after him, that’s all. Yeah, just stay on it.”
He didn’t know that Findo Gask was listening to him with the same amount of interest that young children evidence when they watch ants before stepping on them. He didn’t know that he was just another wild card in a game being played by others, ready to be used when needed. If nothing else, the demon thought, the good deputy sheriff will help distract the troublesome Miss Freemark. The young lady was proving to be a much larger obstacle than he had anticipated.
But all that would change in the next twenty-four hours. Tonight’s events had dictated the need for that.
“It’s the right thing to do,” Larry Spence was mumbling to himself, nodding for emphasis.
The demon yawned. Bored, he sent a fresh nightmare into the head of the young boy sleeping in the deputy sheriff’s back bedroom, then listened idly through the phone as the boy woke, screaming, to run for his father’s reassuring arms.
Scattered snowflakes swirled on cold night winds across the mostly darkened expanse of Sinnissippi Park. Like white moths drawn by the incandescent brightness of the pole lights bracketing the roadways, they spun and twisted in small explosions of white. Elsewhere, moonlight peeked through breaking clouds to sparkle off frosted iron stanchions and crusted patches of road ice. Snowdrifts climbed tree trunks and hedges, a soft white draping against the velvet black.
Ray Childress finished locking down the toboggan slide, placing chains across steps and loading ramps, hooking warning signs in place, and closing up the storage shed with its equipment and parts. It was quiet in the park, the last of the cars dispersed, the last of the people gone home. Trail lights still burned down the length of the slide and out along the bayou’s edge where the ice had been cleared for skating, but only shadows shifted in the glare.
Ray paused in the act of padlocking the shed and stared out at the darkness below. Damned odd, he was thinking, ice breaking apart like that, all at once. He’d tested it himself earlier in the afternoon. He’d gotten four inches, solid, on several bores and no indication at all of a weakening on the run.
Damned odd.
He had been a park employee for a lot of years, and he’d run this slide during the winter months for most of them. He had seen a lot of strange things in that time, some of them of the head-scratching variety, but never anything like this.
A hole in the ice for no reason.
Standing there, thinking it over, he heard the unmistakable sound, sharp and penetrating in the stillness of the night, of ice tightening—a slow, almost leisurely crackling, like glass crunching underfoot.
He turned and looked. Twenty years, and this had never happened before.
He was a thorough, methodical man, one who followed through on what he started and made sure the job was done right. When something difficult arose in his work, he made it a point to understand the nature of the problem so that it wouldn’t happen again, or so that if it did, he would be ready.
Impulsively, almost stubbornly, he snatched up his four-cell flashlight and started down the slope. He took his time, picking his way carefully over the icy spots, finding solid footing with each step. He just couldn’t help himself—he had to have a look. He was being silly, doing it now, when it was so dark, instead of waiting for morning. But he wanted to see what had happened before someone else did so he could have a chance to think about it. It wouldn’t take long, after all, just to take a look.
Myriad pairs of lantern eyes followed his descent toward the bayou, peering out from the gloom of the surrounding trees, tracking his movements, but he didn’t see them.
His breath clouded the air before him as he eased down along the toboggan slide to the riverbank and made his way past the chute where it opened onto the ice. Carol was off with the church guild and wouldn’t be back anytime soon, so there was no hurry about getting home. He shuffled his way across the ice with slow, steady steps, keeping to the edges of the shoveled area so that his boots could find purchase. The beam of his flashlight stabbed the darkness, reflecting off the hard, black surface of the frozen river.
It’s so quiet, he was thinking. Not even the wind was—
He stopped abruptly, several hundred feet out, and stared at the tombstone shape of the Heppler toboggan where it jutted from the ice, cocked slightly to one side, its curled nose pointing skyward, its lower half trapped in the frigid waters. Parts of the sled were splintered and cracked, slats sticking out in jagged relief, bindings torn and shredded.
Ray shook his head. He had never seen anything like it. A hole opening and then closing again, crushing a toboggan into kindling. Damn, this was weird!
He started forward, intending to go only another few steps, but the ice gave way beneath him all at once, breaking and snapping apart as if formed of the thinnest crust. Ray threw himself backward toward safety, but he was already sliding down into the freezing waters, the shock of the cold taking his breath away. He went all the way under, then fought his way back to the surface, gasping for breath. His heavy boots and coat dragged at him, and he kicked his way out of them, shucking off his gloves as well, all the while groping desperately for a solid piece of ice on which to find a grip.
“Help!” he screamed, his voice thin and high-pitched. “Help! For God’s sake!”
Thrashing wildly in the freezing waters, he tried to reach the edge of the ice. But his flashlight was lost, its light gone out, and he could not find the edge of the hole.
“Help me!” he cried in a long, desperate wail.
Then he saw the eyes, yellow and bright and all around, slipping through the darkness just at the edge of his vision, watching him struggle.
Waiting.
The ice began to shift. He heard it crack and snap, then felt the water about him lift in a slow wave. The crunching that followed was deep and resonant and filled the whole of the night’s silence. He screamed anew, but something was dragging at his legs, pulling him under. He went down, then flailed back to the surface, gasping for air. No! he was screaming inside his head. Oh, please, no!
He went down again, and this time when he came back to the surface, the ice was in his face, closing over him. He groped for the edge of the hole and managed to get one arm out before the ice locked about his wrist, trapping everything but his hand beneath the surface. He kicked and lunged frantically from beneath, but the ice would not give way.
Fr
om above, just where he could see them, the strange yellow eyes peered down at him hungrily.
For a few moments longer, his bare hand groped and twitched in the night air. When it finally quit moving, frost began to form on the skin until it looked as if the hand wore a white glove.
The eyes watched a little while longer, then disappeared.
Tuesday,
December 23
Chapter 15
It was dark the next morning when Nest rose to go running. Light from streetlamps pooled on the snow outside, and the luminous crystals of her bedside clock told her it wasn’t yet five. She dressed in the dark, pulling on tights and running shoes, adding sweats, then tiptoed down the hall to the back entry where she picked out a rolled watch cap, gloves, and a scarf. A glance at the coatrack revealed no sign of Bennett’s parka. Apparently, she hadn’t come home.
The early morning air was so cold it took her breath away. She jogged up the drive, highstepping through drifts to the road, and began to run. The snowplows had been out early, and Woodlawn was already scraped down to the blacktop in a broad swath that cut like a river through the snow. Somewhere in the distance, the plows were still working, the growl of the big engines and the harsh scrape of the metal blades clearly audible in the windless silence. Nothing moved on the road ahead, and she ran alone down its center, picking her way along the cleanest sections, avoiding patches of ice and frozen snow, breathing deep and slow as she moved out toward the country.
Out where, in the solitude and silence, in the deep mid-winter calm, she could be at peace.
Streetlights illuminated her path until she was past Hopewell’s residences and into the farmland beyond. By then, the eastern sky was showing the first traces of brightness, and the black of night was lightening to deep gray. Stars glimmered in small, distant patches through breaking clouds, and the snow-covered fields reflected their silvery sheen.
