by Terry Brooks
All the breath went out of her lungs, and she went cold all over. “You want to do a story on me?” she asked quietly, remembering the editor from Paul’s magazine she had hung up on a month or so earlier.
He laughed. “Sure. I’m a journalist, remember?”
“That’s what coming here to see me is all about?”
“Well, no. Of course not. I mean, I want to see you, first and foremost, but I just thought it would be nice if—”
She placed the receiver back in its cradle and severed the connection. She stood where she was, staring down at the phone, unable to believe what had just happened. A story. He wanted to see her so he could do a story. Had the magazine editor put him up to it? Had he thought he could get to her through Paul? Tears flooded her eyes. She fought to hold them in, then gave up. She walked to where Ross couldn’t see her and cried silently. The phone rang again, but she didn’t answer it. She stood alone in a corner and wished everything and everyone would just go away.
It took her a few minutes to compose herself. Outside, the day was fading quickly toward darkness, and snow was beginning to fall once more in a soft white curtain. Streetlamps and porch lights glimmered up and down Woodlawn Road, and Christmas tree lights twinkled through frosted windows and along railings and eaves. On a snow-covered lawn across the way, a painted wooden nativity scene was bathed in white light.
Ross appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Are you all right?”
Everybody’s favorite question. She nodded without looking at him. “Just disappointed.”
The phone rang again. This time, she picked it up. “Look, Paul,” she began.
“Nest, it’s Larry Spence.” She heard him breathing hard in the receiver, as if he had run a race. His voice was breaking. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry, that’s all. I’m sorry. I know you’ll probably never speak to me again, but Robinson is right—we can’t take chances with this business. You’re not thinking straight, girl. If you were, you’d see how much danger you’re in and you’d get the hell out of there. I’m just doing what I have to do, nothing more. But I’m sorry it had to be me, ’cause I know you—”
“Go away, Larry,” she said, and hung up.
She stared at the phone absently. What was he talking about? She had no idea, but his tone of voice bothered her. He sounded anxious, almost frantic. Apologizing like that, over and over, for asking a few boring questions …
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, she thought of the children. She had forgotten about them in the rush of events, of Larry Spence coming and going, of the phone calls. She glanced toward her bedroom. They were being awfully quiet in there.
She walked down the hallway quickly, snapping on lights as she went. She was being silly. She was overreacting. Pick’s security net was in place. No one could get in or out of her house without her sensing it. She fought down the impulse to run. No, she kept saying inside her head, trying to reassure herself. No!
“Harper! Little John!”
She reached her bedroom and threw open the door. An orange blur shot past her from under the bed and disappeared down the hall—Hawkeye, hair all on end, hissing in rage and fear. Her eyes swept the room hurriedly. Shadows nestled comfortably in the corners and draped the bed in broad stripes. The puzzle and toys lay scattered on the floor. Harper’s cup of apple juice sat half-empty on her nightstand.
But the children were gone.
Chapter 25
At first, she could not bring herself to move. She just stood, staring at the empty room, shocked into immobility, frozen with disbelief. A rush of confused thoughts crowded through her mind. The children had to be there. She had put them there herself. She just wasn’t seeing them. Maybe they were playing hide-and-seek, and she was supposed to come look for them. Maybe they were under the bed or in the closet. But they couldn’t have just disappeared!
She forced herself to look for them because the sound of her thinking was making her crazy. Even though she knew what she would find, she searched under the bed and in the closet and anywhere else she could think to look. As she did, her shock dissipated and her anger began to grow. They were supposed to be safe; her house was supposed to be protected! Nothing was supposed to be able to get inside without her knowing! It was the first time that Pick had let her down, and she was furious at him.
It wasn’t until she searched the adjoining rooms, desperate by now for help from any quarter, that she discovered the window in Bennett’s bedroom was wide open. Then the telephone call from Larry Spence began to make sense. She had left him alone in that bedroom while she had gone to fetch the children, and he had used the opportunity to open the window from the inside. Pick had warned that the safety net was vulnerable from within. Larry was still under the sway of Findo Gask, and he had given Gask access without her knowing. He had come to her home specifically to help the demon steal the children.
Worried by the silence, Ross came down the hallway to find her. It was he who found the damp outline of the footprint on the carpet. The footprint wasn’t human; it resembled that of a large lizard, three-toed and clawed at the tips.
The ur’droch took them, she realized at once. And now the demons had them.
She wanted to curl up and die. She wanted to attack someone. She was conflicted and ravaged by her emotions, and it was all she could do to hold herself together as she stood with Ross in the darkened hallway and discussed the possibilities.
“Gask has them,” she insisted quietly, her voice hushed and furtive, as if the walls would convey her thoughts to those who shouldn’t hear.
Ross nodded. He stood very tall and still, another shadow carved from the night that gathered outside. “He wants to trade for the morph.”
“But he already has the morph.”
“He doesn’t realize that. If he did, he wouldn’t have bothered with Harper.” Ross was staring at her, green eyes locked on hers. “He thinks we still have it hidden away somewhere. He’s taken the children to force us to give it up. Nothing else has worked—threats, attacks, breaking into the house. But he knows how you feel about the children.”
She thought again of Larry Spence. “I was a fool,” she said bitterly. She leaned against the wall, running her fingers through her curly hair. “I should have seen this coming. Gask tried for the children last night. I just didn’t realize what he was doing. I thought he was attacking them to scare me. He was trying to steal them.”
“He was more subtle about it this time. He used the deputy sheriff to open up the house and then distract us.”
She made a disgusted noise. “Larry doesn’t understand what’s happening. John, what are we going to do?”
“Wait.” He started back down the hall for the living room. “Gask will call.”
The demon did so, fifteen minutes later. They were sitting in the kitchen by then, sipping at hot coffee and listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock in the silence. Outside, the darkness had chased west the last of the daylight and layered the snow-shrouded landscape. Streetlamps and porch lights blazed bravely in the blackness, small beacons illuminating houses adrift in snowbanks and wreathed in icicles. Thick flakes of snow floated through their gauzy halos as the new storm slowly rolled out of the plains.
“Good evening, Miss Freemark,” Findo Gask greeted pleasantly when she picked up the phone on the second ring. “I have someone who would like to speak to you.”
There was a momentary pause. “Neth?” Harper said in a tiny, frightened voice.
Findo Gask came back on the line. “No more games, Miss Freemark. Playtime is over. You lost. Give me what I want or you won’t see these children again, I promise you. Don’t test me on this.”
“I won’t,” she said quietly.
“Good. I don’t know where you’ve hidden the morph, but I will give you until midnight to recover it. I will call you back then to arrange a time and place for the exchange. I will call only once. Any delay, any excuses, any tricks, and you and Mr. Ross will spend a very lonely Chr
istmas. Do we understand each other?”
She closed her eyes. “Yes.”
He hung up. She placed the receiver back in its cradle and looked at Ross. “You were right,” she said. “He wants a trade. The children for the morph.”
He nodded without speaking.
“Except we don’t have the morph to give him.”
“No,” he agreed softly. “We don’t.”
Findo Gask wrapped his fingers carefully about the Book of Names and stood staring off into empty space. Something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right. It wasn’t in the situation, which was progressing just as he had planned, or in Nest Freemark’s voice, which was suitably submissive and worried. No, it was something else, something he had overlooked.
“Gramps!” Penny snapped at him impatiently. “What did she say?”
It wouldn’t come to him, so he put the matter aside for later consideration. “She’ll do what we want.”
Penny giggled and twirled about in mock celebration. “Little Miss Track Shoes has run out of tricks! Too bad, too bad! No gold medal for her! Better luck next time!”
She danced around the room, frizzy red hair flying, gleefully singing tra-la-la-la. She danced at Twitch, who just looked at her dumbly, then at the ur’droch where it crouched hidden in a corner. Gask waited her out patiently.
“Make the children some dinner,” he said when she had calmed down sufficiently to pay attention. “Don’t get cute and don’t frighten them.”
“What’s the difference?” she asked, pouting. “You’ll kill them anyway. Why can’t I have some fun with them first?”
“Because I say so, Penny,” he answered, giving her a steady look. “Is that reason enough for you?”
The redhead’s mouth twisted in a hard sneer. “Sure enough, Gramps. Anything your little old heart desires.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, humming tunelessly. She was becoming increasingly unstable, less easily controlled. If she went off, as she was certain to do sooner or later, he would have to kill her. Not that he was reluctant to do so, but it was inconvenient. He still might need her help. His adversaries were resourceful, and their desperation would render them less predictable. Penny Dreadful was a valuable counter to such behavior. He might have to agree to give her the children as a reward. She would like that. If she had his promise that she could have them when this was over, she was more likely to stay in line. It was a cheap enough price.
The children were down in the basement in a big, L-shaped recreation room containing an old Lionel train setup, a juke-box and bar, a game table and dartboard, and some couches and chairs situated around a television. There was only one way in or out, down a stairway leading from the back of the house, so it was easy to keep an eye on them.
Nevertheless, he sent the ur’droch down to stand watch without their seeing it. Twitch and Penny were too scary and more likely to do something of which he didn’t approve. The ur’droch would just stay hidden.
When the phone rang, he was surprised. No one should be calling. He picked up the receiver guardedly. “Yes?”
“Mr. Robinson?”
It was that sheriff’s deputy, what’s-his-name Spence. Findo Gask suppressed a grimace. “What can I do for you?”
“We need to talk. The sooner, the better.”
“Go ahead, Deputy Sheriff. Talk.”
“No, not on the phone. In person. I just need to clarify a few things. About what’s going on with John Ross and this drug business. I’m worried about those kids. I want to make sure they’re safe. Where can we meet?”
Findo Gask shook his head. Gask could tell by the way Spence spoke. He had been checking, and he had found out that no one knew anything about an FBI assignment in Hopewell or an agent named Robinson. Spence was scared. On Robinson’s instructions, he had opened a bedroom window in the Freemark home so that the children could be removed for safekeeping while a sting operation was implemented to collar the dangerous Mr. Ross. Spence was afraid he had facilitated the kidnapping of two children, aiding and abetting the commission of a felony, and he could see his entire career slipping away.
What to do?
“I’m going to give you an address, Deputy Sheriff.” Gask looked at Twitch, slumped on the sofa in front of the television, huge and vacant-eyed. “I’ve been thinking that the children might be better off with the local authorities. If you could pick them up, I would be grateful. We can talk then.”
“Yeah, sure, that would be fine.” Spence sounded relieved.
Gask gave the deputy sheriff their address. He wasn’t worried about Spence descending on him with an army of law enforcement officers; the deputy sheriff would be looking for a way to protect himself from any fallout in this business. If he could get the children back unharmed, things would be fine. That’s the way he would look at it. He would come alone.
Findo Gask hung up the receiver. A picture of how this business would end took shape. Newspaper headlines and television trailers scrolled through his mind. A family tragedy was sparked by jealousy and misunderstanding. Two men and a woman were involved, the latter a well-known athlete. Multiple killings of adults and children ensued. Murder and suicide made an unwelcome appearance in tiny Hopewell.
It would make for good reading in other cities.
“What are we going to do, John?” Nest repeated, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice.
Ross limped to the kitchen counter with the aid of his staff and leaned his backside against the lower cabinets, crossing his arms over his chest, embracing the staff possessively. His lean face was lined with fatigue, but his eyes were fierce.
“There’s something I haven’t told you,” he said after a moment’s reflection. “Not because I was trying to keep it from you or didn’t trust you, but because it didn’t have anything to do with you. Except that now it does. I told you that a dream led me to the gypsy morph. But I didn’t tell you what the dream was about. In the dream, a Knight of the Word was hung from a cross. Demons and once-men had crucified him. He was dying. Just before I woke, I saw his face. It was my own.”
He held up one hand to cut short her startled exclamation. “I wasn’t sure at first if the Knight on the cross was me or if I was just supposed to see myself in him. I was hoping I would learn the answer from the Lady when she summoned me to Wales two months ago. I didn’t, but I learned something more important. I learned that if I was successful in protecting the gypsy morph through its final transformation, I would be released forever from my commitment to the Word.”
“John!” she breathed.
He nodded. “I know. I fought so hard for it ten years ago when it wasn’t permitted, and then it’s offered to me without my even having asked. I want it, Nest. I’ll admit that. I’ve seen too much, living in both the present and the future. I’m tired of death and chaos and destruction. I’m tired of fighting to stay alive. Hell, I’m just plain tired. I’ve been a Knight of the Word for twenty-five years. Half my life. It’s all I can remember anymore. It seems like the only existence I’ve ever known. I need to give it up. I need to rest.”
“But you can do that now!” she exclaimed quickly. “You’ve done what was asked of you. The morph hasn’t changed in days. Its time is almost up, and it’s still a little boy. It’s finished changing, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m not sure. It hasn’t bonded with you the way I expected. It seems to be looking for something. I don’t know what, but the way it responded to you last night when Wraith came out suggests it’s still waiting for something to happen. It might be another change.”
She studied him a moment. “All right. So what do we do?”
“We let Findo Gask call us back and set up the exchange. We meet with him. We find a way to separate Harper from the demons. Your job is to get her safely out of there. Mine is to do what I can to save the morph.”
She walked to the kitchen window and looked out into the night. It was snowing heavily agai
n, thick flakes drifting out of the clouded skies, a fresh blanket of white gathering over the earth. “They’ll be expecting something like that,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
“You’ll lose the morph anyway. And your life as well.”
“Maybe.”
“We’ll have accomplished nothing.”
“We’ll have saved Harper.”
She thought about it some more. Gask would pick a place for the exchange that would favor the demons. He would have his companions hidden all about them. He would make certain she and Ross were rendered helpless in the event they tried to surprise him. Her mind spun out possible scenarios, all bleak and hopeless. Nothing she envisioned had a happy ending.
Then a dark realization swept over her. She wasn’t seeing this right. There wouldn’t be any trade. There wasn’t any reason for one. Why would Findo Gask leave any of them alive when he didn’t have to? It made perfect sense, in demon terms, not to let them go, but to kill them.
Don’t underestimate him!
She had to find a way to get one step ahead of him. Where was he now? Where was he hiding Harper and Little John? If she only knew that—
She caught herself. But she did know. She had known all along, even without realizing it. She knew exactly where they were.
The phone rang, interrupting her train of thought. She walked over and snatched it up. “Hello?”
“Nest, it’s Robert. I just heard about Bennett Scott.” He sounded shaken. “I’m really sorry.”
She put her hand over her eyes wearily. “Thanks, Robert.”
“I’m sorry about her dying, and I’m sorry for all the things I’ve said about her. And about John Ross. You didn’t need to hear that kind of junk from me. I wish I’d never said any of it, but I did, and it’s too late to take it back. That’s been a problem for me all my life.”
