Angel Fire East

by Terry Brooks

  Likely, she would just tell me to get on with it.

  There was no steadying influence in her life. No parents, grandparents, husband, or children. No family. There were friends, but that wasn’t the same thing. She felt the lack of an anchor, of a touchstone that would give her a sense of belonging. The house had provided that once. And the park. All the places she had grown up in, the tapestry of her journey out of childhood. But somehow they weren’t enough anymore. They served only to trigger memories that locked her in the past.

  She stood thinking on the matter for a long time, staring off into space, traveling distances too far to be seen clearly.

  Then the door opened, and John Ross stepped out onto the back steps. “Better come inside, Nest,” he said quietly. “The sheriff’s office is on the phone. They’ve found Bennett Scott.”

  Chapter 22

  As she drove to Community General Hospital, nosing the Taurus between the dirt-and-cinder-encrusted snowbanks plowed up from the streets, Nest found herself reflecting on the cyclical nature of life. Her thinking wasn’t so much about the fact of it—that was mundane and obvious—but about the ways in which it happened. Sometimes, in the course of living, you couldn’t avoid ending up where you began. You might travel far distances and experience strange events, but when all was said and done, your journey brought you right back around to where everything started.

  It was so in an unexpected way for Bennett Scott. She had almost died on the cliffs at Sinnissippi Park fifteen years ago, when she was only five. Nest had been there to save her then, but not this time. It made Nest wonder if the manner of Bennett’s death was in some way predetermined, if saving her from the cliffs the first time had only forestalled the inevitable. It was strange and troubling that Bennett should die this way, after escaping once, after it seemed that whatever else might threaten, at least she was safe from this.

  Thinking on the cyclical nature of Bennett Scott’s life and death reminded Nest of her mother. Caitlin Anne Freemark had also died at the bottom of the cliffs in Sinnissippi Park, shortly after Nest was born. For years, there had been questions about how she had died—whether she had slipped and fallen, wandered off by mistake, or committed suicide. It wasn’t until Nest had confronted her demon father that she had discovered the truth. He had instigated the events and emotional trauma that had led to her mother’s death. Call it suicide or call it a calculated orchestration, the cause and effect were the same.

  Now she wondered if demons were responsible for Bennett’s death as well. Had Findo Gask and that girl Penny and whoever else might be aiding them set in motion the events that culminated in Bennett’s death? Nest could not escape feeling that they had. As with her mother, as with the children in the park she and Pick had saved so often in that summer fifteen years ago, Bennett Scott had been prey to demon wiles. She could still see Bennett as a five-year-old, standing at the edge of the cliffs atop the bluff at the turnaround, feeders gathered all around her, cajoling her, urging her on, taking advantage of the fear, doubt, and sadness that suffused her life. It wouldn’t have been all that different this time. Bennett Scott’s life hadn’t changed all that much.

  It was Larry Spence who called with the news. A young woman had been found at the bottom of the cliffs below the turnaround in Sinnissippi Park, he advised. She fit the description of Bennett Scott, reported missing earlier this morning. Could Nest please come down and identify the body? Nest found herself wondering, irrationally, if anyone else worked at the sheriff’s office besides Larry Spence.

  She parked the car in the visitor zone of the hospital, went into the lobby, crossed to the elevators, and, following the signs, descended to the morgue.

  Larry Spence was waiting when the elevator doors opened and she stepped out. “Sorry about this, girl.”

  She wasn’t sure exactly what he was sorry about, but she nodded anyway. “Let me see her.”

  Spence walked her through a pair of heavy doors and down a short corridor with more doors on either side. They turned into the second one on the left. Bright light flooded a small chamber with a surgical table supporting a body draped with a sheet. Jack Armbruster, the coroner, stood sipping coffee and watching television. He turned at their entry and greeted Nest with a nod and a hello.

  She walked to the table and stood quietly while he lifted the sheet from Bennett Scott’s face. She looked almost childlike. Her features were bruised and scraped and her skin was very white. The metal rings and studs from her various piercings gave her the appearance of being cobbled together in some fashion. Her eyes were closed; she might have been sleeping. Nest stared at her silently for a long time, then nodded. Armbruster lowered the sheet again, and Bennett was gone.

  “I want her taken over to Showalter’s,” Nest announced quickly, tears springing to her eyes in spite of her resolve. “I’ll call Marty. I want him to handle the burial. I’ll pay for everything.”

  She could barely see. The tears were clouding her vision, giving her the sense that everything around her was floating away. There was an uncomfortable silence when she finished, and she wiped angrily at her eyes.

  “You’ll have to wait until Jack completes his work here, Nest,” Larry Spence advised, his voice taking on an official tone. She glared at him. “There are unexplained circumstances surrounding her death. There has to be an autopsy performed.”

  She glanced at Armbruster. “To find out how she died?”

  The coroner shook his head. “I know how she died. Prolonged exposure. But there’s other concerns.”

  “What he means is that preliminary blood samples revealed the presence of narcotics in her system,” Spence interjected quickly. “A lot of narcotics. In addition, she has needle tracks all up and down her arms and legs. You know what that means.”

  “She was an addict,” Nest agreed, casting a withering look in his general direction without making eye contact. “I knew that when she came to see me. She told me she was an addict then. She came back to Hopewell with her daughter to get help.”

  “That may be so,” Spence replied, shifting his weight, hands digging in the pockets of his deputy sheriff’s coat. “The fact remains she died under suspicious circumstances, and we need to learn as much about her condition at the time of death as possible. You see that, don’t you?”

  She did, of course. Rumors of drug sales in the park, an addict living in her house, and mysterious strangers visiting. Larry Spence had already formed his opinion about what had happened, and now he was looking for proof. It was ridiculous, but there wasn’t any help for it. He would act on this as he chose, and anything she might say would do nothing to change things.

  “Who found her?” she asked suddenly.

  Larry Spence shook his head. “Anonymous phone call.”

  Oh, right, Nest thought.

  “There’s some damage to her body, but nothing that isn’t consistent with her fall,” Armbruster observed, already beginning preparations for his work, laying out steel instruments and pans, spreading cloths. “But I don’t think that’s what killed her. I think it was the cold. Course, I might find the drugs affected her heart, too. I can’t tell, until I open her up.”

  Nest started for the doors. “Just see that she goes over to Showalter’s when you’re done poking around, okay?”

  She was out the door and down the hall in a rush, so angry she could barely manage to keep from breaking down. She was aware of Larry Spence following, hurrying to catch up.

  “There’s a possibility,” he called after her, “that the young lady didn’t go over the cliffs by accident. In cases like this, we can’t ignore the obvious.”

  Don’t get too close to me, Larry, she was thinking. Don’t even think of trying to touch me.

  She walked back through the heavy doors into the little waiting area and punched the elevator button. The doors opened, and they stepped inside. It was uncomfortably close.

  “I told you about the rumors,” he persisted. His big hands knotted. “Maybe the
y weren’t just rumors; maybe they were fact. It’s possible that this young lady was mixed up in whatever was going on.”

  You are such a dolt, Larry, she wanted to say, but kept it to herself. He had no idea of what was going on. He couldn’t begin to understand what was involved. He had no clue he was being used. He saw things in ordinary terms, in familiar ways, and that sort of thinking didn’t apply here. His reality and hers were entirely different. She might try to educate him, but she didn’t think he would listen to her. Not about demons and feeders. Not about magic. Not about the war between the Word and the Void, and the way that war used up people’s lives.

  “I’ll have to come out to take a statement from you,” he continued. “And from Mr. Ross.”

  Her anger dissipated, replaced by a cold, damp sadness that filled her with pain and loss. She looked at him dully as they stepped off the elevator and into the hospital lobby.

  “Look, Larry, everything I know is in the missing-persons report I made earlier today. If you want me to repeat it, I will. John will give you a statement, too. You come by the house, if that’s what you need to do. But I’m telling you right now this isn’t about drugs. You can take that for what it’s worth.”

  He stared at her. “What is it about, then?”

  She sighed. “It’s about children, Larry. It’s about keeping them safe from things that want to destroy them.” She zipped up her parka. “I have to be going. I have to figure out how to tell a little girl she isn’t going to see her mother again.”

  She stalked out of the hospital, climbed in her car, and drove home through the snowy streets and the iron gray day. That Findo Gask would kill Bennett Scott didn’t surprise her. Nothing demons did surprised her anymore. But what purpose did this particular killing serve? Why even bother with Bennett? She wasn’t involved in Gask’s effort to recover the gypsy morph. She didn’t even know what a morph was, or what a demon was, or that anything of their world existed.

  Her mood darkened the more she thought about it. This whole business smacked of spitefulness and revenge. It smelled of demon rage. Gask was furious at her—first, for taking in John Ross and the morph, and second, for refusing to give them up. The attacks at the toboggan slide and her house had been designed to frighten her by threatening harm to those she cared about. She was willing to wager that killing Bennett was intended to serve the same purpose.

  She was angry and unsettled when she pulled into her driveway and climbed out of the car. The first few snowflakes were beginning to trickle out of the sky, and the light had gone darker even in the time it had taken her to drive to the hospital and back. Another storm was on the way. She hoped it would come soon. She hoped it would trap everyone inside their homes, demons included, for weeks.

  Inside, she found John Ross checking the last of the locks on the doors and windows, a job she had left him to complete in her absence after informing him of Pick’s efforts at implementing an early-warning system. When she told him about Bennett Scott, he just shook his head wordlessly. Mike the electrician had departed, his work finished, and the heat and lights were back on. She glanced into the living room where Harper and Little John were sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree, playing. Colored tree lights reflected off the Mylar ribbons and paper wrapped about the scattering of presents nestled behind them. The scene had the look of a Hallmark card.

  She walked into the kitchen and found the message light blinking on the answer phone. There were two messages. Both had come in this morning. The first was from Paul.

  “Hi, it’s me again. Just following up yesterday’s call. Looks like I missed you. But I’ll keep trying. Been thinking about you. Keep a good thought for me, and I’ll talk with you later. Happy holidays.”

  The familiar sound of his voice made her both smile and ache. She found herself wanting to talk with him, too. Just hearing those few words stirred memories and feelings that hadn’t surfaced for a long time. Maybe it was because she was so lonely. Maybe it was because she missed what they’d once had more than she was willing to admit.

  She closed her eyes a moment, picturing his face, then played the second message. It was a phone number. That was all. But she recognized the voice instantly. The good feelings went away, and she stared at the phone for a long moment before punching in the number.

  “Miss Freemark,” Findo Gask said when he picked up the receiver on the other end. No hesitation, no greeting. “Why don’t you just give me what I want and we can put an end to this business.”

  Even knowing he would be there, she felt a jolt go through her at the sound of his voice.

  “That would be the easiest thing to do, wouldn’t it?” she replied. She was surprised at how calm she sounded, given what she was feeling.

  “Maybe you could avoid any more unpleasantness,” he suggested pointedly. “Maybe no one else would walk off the edge of a cliff. Maybe you wouldn’t find any more surprises hiding in your basement. Maybe your life could go back to the way it used to be.”

  She shook her head at the receiver. “I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”

  He chuckled softly, and she hated him so much she could barely keep from screaming it out. “Well, life requires adapting to change, I guess. The trick is to adapt in the way least harmful to yourself and those around you. You haven’t done very well with that of late, Miss Freemark. Your choices have cost you the lives of Bennett Scott and Ray Childress. They have resulted in your very nasty encounter with the ur’droch. What did you think of him, Miss Freemark? Would you like him to pay you another visit? He’s very fond of children.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’ll be waiting for him next time, Mr. Gask. His visit might have a different ending.”

  The gravelly voice purred. “Such stubbornness is foolish and pointless. You can’t win, Miss Freemark. Don’t think you can. Your allies are dropping away. Even that big Indian in the park. You’ve lost him, too.”

  Her throat tightened, and she felt her breath catch in shock. Two Bears? No, they couldn’t have done anything to him. Not him. She saw him in her mind, a rock, immovable, powerful. O’olish Amaneh. No, not him. She would know.

  “I can tell you don’t believe me,” Findo Gask said quietly. “Suit yourself. What you believe or don’t believe changes nothing. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back. Is Mr. Ross to be next? How about that little sylvan who lives in the park? You’re pretty fond of him, aren’t you? What do you think about the ur’droch taking him—”

  She placed the receiver gently back on its cradle, and the hateful voice died away. She stood staring at the phone, Findo Gask’s words echoing in her mind. Her hands were shaking. She waited a long time for the phone to ring again, for Findo Gask to call back, but nothing happened.

  Finally, she turned away. She would survive only if she kept her head. Stay busy, take things one at a time, anticipate what might happen without overreaching, and she might have a chance. Findo Gask could talk about making choices and suffering consequences ail he wanted. She had made up her mind the moment she had seen Bennett Scott’s dead face that she wasn’t giving up the gypsy morph and its magic to the demons no matter what happened. A line had been crossed, and there was no going back. She didn’t know what her decision might end up costing her, but she did know the cost of capitulating now was too great to live with.

  Her resolve surprised her. It wasn’t that she was brave or that she believed in the power of right over wrong. She knew Findo Gask was correct about her; she was being unreasonably stubborn. But somewhere along the way—since last night’s events, she supposed—she had decided that whatever happened to her or even to those around her, she wouldn’t back down. Something important was happening here, and even if she didn’t understand exactly what it was, she would fight for it. She had an overpowering conviction that in this instance fighting was necessary, and that she must do so no matter what the consequences.

  John Ross would understand, she believed. Certainly he
had waged similar battles over the years, championing causes when the issues weren’t entirely clear to him, believing that instinct would guide him to make the right decisions when reason wasn’t enough.

  She glanced out the window into the park. She would have to warn Pick of Gask’s threat—although Pick was probably being pretty careful already. But if even O’olish Amaneh couldn’t stand against the demons, what chance did the sylvan have—or any of them, for that matter? She couldn’t imagine anyone being stronger than Two Bears. She couldn’t believe that he might be gone.

  She put aside her thoughts on the last of the Sinnissippi and walked into the living room. Harper and Little John were still playing. She smiled at Harper when the little girl looked up. “Come talk to me a minute, sweetie,” she said gently.

  She took Harper down the hall to her grandfather’s den and shut the door behind them. She led Harper over to the big leather recliner that Old Bob had favored for reading and cogitating and naps, sat down, and pulled the child onto her lap.

  “When I was little, my grandfather would always bring me into this room and put me on his lap in this chair when he had something important to tell me,” she began, cradling Harper in her arms. “Sometimes he wanted to talk about our family. Sometimes he wanted to talk about friends. If I did something wrong, he would bring me in here to explain why I shouldn’t do it again.”

  The little girl was staring at her. “Harper be bad?”

  “No, sweetie, you haven’t been bad. I didn’t bring you in here because you did something bad. But something bad has happened to Mommy, and I have to tell you about it. I don’t want to, because it is going to make you very sad. But sometimes things happen that make us sad, and there isn’t anything we can do about it.”

  She exhaled wearily and began to stroke Harper’s long hair. “Harper, Mommy isn’t coming home, sweetie.” Harper went still. “She got very sick, and she isn’t coming home. She didn’t want to get sick, but she couldn’t help it.”