He took a deep breath and calmed himself. The last thing he wanted was to make a scene. If he was ever going to find Darlington, he'd need the help of anyone willing to give it. He swallowed hard. "Yes, please. I'm sorry. Two eggs, sunny side up, white toast, and bacon. And a large chocolate milk. Please."
Juli slipped away and headed for the kitchen. Mary Jane paused, glanced in the direction of Juli and then Wax Man, then said, "You really ought not pursue this. Nothing good happens in Darlington." Then she turned on her heels and headed to the front of the diner.
Juli was gone now, most likely in the kitchen getting the meals as they came off the hot grill. Several minutes later, she emerged carrying a plate and a mug of some steaming liquid. She crossed the diner and stopped at an old woman's table. Rob watched as the woman unfolded her napkin, placed it on her lap, then reached in her pocket and retrieved a small pillbox.
A commotion from the other side of the diner snatched his attention away from the old woman. Mary Jane was at Wax Man's table. Her voice rose and fell, and her hands moved about like a conductor's. Rob could only catch sporadic words and phrases. At one point he heard "not welcome here," at another "get out." Words like "disgrace" and "shame" were thrown at the man like knives.
Finally, Wax Man rose slowly and smoothed his shirt. He wore that placid smile again. Nodding at Mary Jane, then at the rest of the patrons, he left the diner by way of the aisle Rob was in. Passing Rob's booth he leveled those dark eyes on him and dropped a folded piece of paper on the table. Then he was gone, out the front door like a phantom.
Rob unfolded the piece of paper and read the message scrawled on it: Mt. Zion. 30 minutes.
In the kitchen of Mary Jane's Diner, Juli Adams leaned on the counter and tried unsuccessfully to steady the shaking of her hands. This was ridiculous. Who did she think she was kidding? She couldn't even face him out there. She hadn't the nerve or the courage. She wasn't ready for this. There were too many memories that were still too raw, even after so many years and so many counseling sessions. The fact that she was only two at the time and had acquired most of her memories from other sources didn't matter. They were still memories she wished she could forget.
A sick feeling settled in her stomach like curdled milk. The temperature in the kitchen seemed to spike. Anger and disgust surged through her veins. For a moment she thought she'd vomit.
"Hey, Jules, you OK?"
It was Otto, leaning back from the grill, spatula in hand.
Juli swallowed and dragged a hand across her moist forehead. "Yeah. A-OK. Just felt a little..." She let her voice die out.
"You sure? You look like you just saw a ghost or somethin'."
"I'm fine, Otts. Just need a glass of water."
She grabbed a glass from the rack, filled it with ice, and ran it under cold water. Her hands were still shaking, and the ice clinked in the glass like brittle bones in a bag.
A hand was on her back then, just below her neck. It was her. She'd followed Juli into the kitchen. "You're having second thoughts."
Juli took a swallow of the water. "And third and fourth and fifth. I can't do it. I can't go back to that place. I can't face him again."
"You can. You have to."
"Have to? That's kind of absolute, isn't it?"
"As absolute as life and death."
Juli shook her head. "I can't. Look at me." She held up a hand, and it trembled like a late October leaf still clinging to its branch.
The hand slid to her arm and squeezed. "You must. There's no one else. Find the courage within you, embrace your calling, and have faith. This is your time."
As before, after the phone call in the middle of the night (or morning, depending on how you look at it), she knew the woman was right. If she looked for it, courage was there. And with the courage came a peace that this was her time, and it was her calling.
The hand moved to her back and rubbed in slow circles. "Robert Shields needs you. He's going to Darlington, and he can't go alone."
Juli nodded. "I know. OK. But I'll need prayer and plenty of it."
"That's why I'm here. For you and Robert."
Juli drained the rest of her glass and placed it in the dishwasher.
"Food's up for table twelve," Otto said.
Juli smiled at the woman. "I can't do this alone."
A warm smile answered her. "You're never alone, child."
Grabbing the plate from the warmer, Juli said, "Thanks, Otts." Then to the woman, "You hold the rope."
"With my life."
Juli pushed through the swinging doors and headed for Rob's table. He looked so alone sitting there, so lost. She set the plate before him, shoved her hands in her pockets. "You're going to Darlington."
He looked up, a surprised look on his face. "Yes. I am."
"That wasn't a question."
Rob finished his breakfast in ten minutes, barely tasting the food before it hit his stomach. Kelly always scolded him for how fast he ate.
"You'll give yourself an ulcer the size of a dinner plate."
He never took her seriously, though, and that was a regret he'd tote with him the rest of his life, that he'd never taken her seriously, not just about stomach ulcers but about anything. But he'd been eating fast for twenty-seven years and hadn't gotten an ulcer yet.
It was early enough in the morning that the church crowd hadn't arrived at Mt. Zion yet. It was only seven thirty, and the sign outside said Sunday school didn't start until nine thirty. The doors were unlocked though, so Rob entered and sat in an unpadded pew in the back of the small sanctuary. Vaulted ceilings, high windows, and a color scheme of light grays and white gave the illusion that the room was much larger than it was.
Rob remembered attending a church very similar to this as a child. A small Pentecostal church just outside Secretary, Maryland. Lots of hand waving and shouting and fainting every Sunday morning. His parents dragged him there for seventeen years, made him read his Bible stories and learn his verses. He remembered one hot Sunday in particular. He was seven or eight and standing next to Dad in the "big church." Everyone was singing loudly and swaying back and forth. Some were crying. Some falling over. Sweat glistened on every face. Suddenly, Dad's arms shot up and his head snapped back, and he started saying something Rob couldn't understand. But it wasn't really words he was speaking, more just broken noises and guttural sounds. Rob tried not to stare, but the scene was so odd it was scary. Then his dad's hand was on the back of Rob's neck.
"C'mon, son. Let's do this," Dad said, and he pulled him out into the aisle.
Stepping over and around bodies, they picked their way to the front of the sanctuary. Rob started shaking and sweating. His palms got real clammy. The preacher, a little man with thinning hair and a suit that was way too big for him, met them up front.
"My son needs a healing," Dad said, tears now streaming down both cheeks.
Rob looked at him, feeling very afraid now. "Dad?"
The preacher leaned in close to Dad, and the two exchanged a few words Rob couldn't understand over all the singing and shouting. The preacher looked at Rob then, and the room seemed to grow smaller and the air thinner. He was smiling, but it wasn't sincere. He took a step toward Rob, placed his sweaty palm on Rob's forehead-
The church door opened, shaking Rob from his memory. He turned in the pew and saw the silhouette of Wax Man in the door frame, backlit by the light of morning. Wax Man let the door shut and approached Rob. He sat in the pew on the opposite side of the aisle. Seconds passed, and he didn't say anything. He just stared at Rob with those eyes as if he were sizing him up, and not on a physical level.
"You're looking for Darlington," he finally said.
Rob swallowed. Something about this stranger was more than unusual, and it made him nervous. "You know where it is?"
The man nodded. "What's your business there?"
"My business," Rob said. "Do you know where it is or not?"
"I know where it is. Nice little town. Real fr
iendly." He paused and held his eyes on Rob. For the first time, Rob noticed the blue veins, like rivers on a map, that crawled just under the surface of the skin on his face.
Something about those eyes and the way they dug into Rob made him look away for an instant.
"You looking for something there?" Wax Man asked.
"Are you gonna tell me how to get there, 'cause I don't have time-"
"People go to Darlington because they're looking for something."
What was that supposed to mean? "Look, what I'm looking for is none of your-"
Wax Man held up a hand. His palm was smooth and soft, and his fingers were long and slender, never marred by hard work. They were the fingers of a piano player. "Who are you looking for?"
A sliver of ice slid down Rob's spine. "What makes you think I'm looking for someone?"
Smiling like a phony fortune-teller at a carnival, Wax Man leaned forward so his elbows were resting on his knees. If he would hold still like that, he could pass for a wax figure, Rob thought. How odd. "Listen close," he said, "because I'm only going to say this once. Take Route 1 south across the Conowingo. When you get off the dam, make an immediate right. At the fork go left. That'll take you to Darlington"he stood and crossed the aisle to Rob, placed a hand on his shoulder-"and Jimmy. I'll see you there."
Before Rob could question him, Wax Man's grip tightened, and Rob felt a bolt of pain shoot up his neck.
Everything went black.
The feel of Shields's flesh under his hand stirred something in him he hadn't felt for such a long time. He allowed his hand to linger a little longer than needed, until his blood bubbled in his veins. He enjoyed enticing himself; it was a form of self-torture that aroused him, spiked all his senses.
He tightened his grip and imagined letting go of his inhibitions. He could do it too. So easily. Tear open Shields's throat and empty his sorry carcass of every last drop of blood. But where would the fun be in that? Yes, it would be satisfying. Very satisfying. But not fulfilling. There was much more fun to be had with Shields first. Much more misery to inflict. If there was one thing he'd learned over the last twenty-two years more than anything else, it was self-control.
And besides, he'd felt something in Shields. Something that caused him to pull back his hand and rub it, even smell it. A remnant of that poison from Shields's past. A pinpoint of light. He'd have to snuff out that first; then the time for blood would come.
He stood over the flaccid body of Shields and sneered. Such easy prey. Almost too easy. That's why he needed to prolong the whole thing, drag it out, make a game of it. He wondered how Shields would hold up. It would be fascinating to watch, like a scientist curiously studying the effects of radiation on a lab rat.
He squatted next to Shields, lowered his head so his nose was only inches from the exposed neck, and drew in a deep breath. The smell of blood, oil, and sweat-and underneath it all, the faint scent of fear-intoxicated him.
His tongue felt swollen with hunger.
PART TWO
The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.
-H. P. LOVECRAFT
Four
OB AWOKE ON THE SOFA IN WILDA'S HOUSE. WHEN he opened his eyes, the muted light was like knives. He shut them again, rubbed them, and opened them slowly, giving them time to adjust. The sunlight was not bright in the room, and at first Rob thought it was because it was still morning. He raised his arm to look at his watch and was scolded by pain along the left side of his neck. Clenching his jaw, he lifted his arm anyway. Seven oh five. In the evening.
Ignoring the shock of pain in his neck and shoulder and the throbbing headache he now had, Rob pushed himself to sitting and cradled his head in his hands. An image of Wax Man standing over him, that wolfish grin on his face, was stamped in his mind. Did he dream the whole thing? Had he slept the whole night and day on the sofa? Maybe he was coming down with the flu. He moved his left arm, trying to work out the pain and stiffness. No, it was real. The man was real, his wicked black eyes were real, and that Vulcan grip thing he did was real too. Then how did Rob wind up back here in Wilda's house? He had no recollection of walking or of being moved. Was that Wax Man's doing as well? Did he bring him here? The thought of that freak being in this house made Rob's skin itch.
And what about what he'd said... he knew Rob was looking for Jimmy. But how? Rob pushed his cloudy mind to remember the conversation. The man said the road would lead Rob to Darlington and Jimmy. And he said he'd meet him there. He knew where Jimmy was, which meant Rob was right; Jimmy was still alive. His boy was out there, fighting, surviving.
But what was the way to Darlington? He shut his eyes and brought the memory into focus. Route 1. Cross the dam, go right. At the fork, go left.
"Daddy's coming, buddy. Hang on."
He jumped up, grabbed the atlas, and headed for the car. There wasn't much daylight left. He'd have to hurry.
On the driveway, Rob opened the car door and was about to get in when-
"Wait" A woman's voice.
He looked over the roof of the car and saw Juli running up the driveway. She wore jeans and a plain green T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Wait."
She arrived, breathless and flushed, and leaned one hand on the hood of the car. "I'm going with you."
"What? No. How do you even know-"
"You need me."
"Look, you were real nice at the diner, but-"
She straightened her back. "I've been there. I know the
"Been where?"
"Darlington. I know the way."
"So do I"
She shook her head. "No. He didn't tell you everything."
"How do you know what he told me?"
"How do you think you got back in the house, on the sofa?"
"You?" Rob gripped his head with both hands. His head ache was getting worse. He had some Tylenol in his duffel bag. "You brought me back here?"
"You're heavier than you look."
"Thanks."
"We don't have a lot of time. The sun, it'll be down soon." She looked back at the setting sun. "We need to move. Quick like a bunny."
Rob paused. He hated this. The last thing he needed was some girl tagging along, asking a bunch of questions, getting in his way, slowing him down. But if she'd been to Darlington before, she could be of some value. "How old are you?"
Juli looked surprised by the question. She blinked. "Twenty-four."
"Really? You look younger."
"Thanks. You want to see my license?"
"No. Fine. Get in."
With each passing minute the sun slipped a little lower in the sky and inched closer to its union with the horizon. Darkness was looming, and Rob could already feel himself growing tenser, his skin getting clammy, breathing rate increasing. After crossing the Conowingo Dam, he'd turned right onto Jacknife Road, a winding, barely two-lane road with hills so steep and curvy he'd nearly lost control of the car a few times already. Thick woods overgrown with kudzu lined either side. No houses were in sight, not even driveways leading to houses. The woods seemed wholly uncivilized and totally wild.
"You sure this is the way?" Rob said to Juli, who'd remained mostly quiet.
"The way to Darlington?"
"Yes, Darlington. Where else?"
Juli looked out the side window, then back at Rob. "I can think of a few places I'd rather be going."
"So is this a shortcut or something?"
"Or something."
"What does that mean?"
"It means this is the way to Darlington."
The road dipped sharply and banked right ninety degrees. Rob leaned on the brake and steered the car around the bend. The tires slipped on some loose gravel but quickly found purchase again. "There's no other way? One that's easier on my brakes?"
"Only one way in to Darlington," she said. "And only one way out."
The clock on the dash said it was nearing eight o'clock. With
clear skies, sunset would be around nine o'clock, but in woods this thick, darkness would fall sooner than that.
"So when were you here before?" Rob said.
Juli sighed. "To a teenager, a town like Darlington has a certain magnetic pull. I was fifteen and curious. I found my way there and was lucky to find my way out."
"That doesn't tell me much."
"It tells you as much as you need to know right now."
"And what is it I need to know?"
With her head turned toward the window and passing trees, Juli said, "Getting there is the easy part."
Rob and Juli fell into silence again. A few minutes later the road leveled and the trees thinned. They came around a gradual bend and found the fork in the road that Wax Man had mentioned. To the right, the paved road continued; to the left, a dirt lane divided by a thin grassy median curved around and reentered the heavily wooded area. Wax Man had said to go left.
Rob brought the car to a stop right before the fork. "You've got to be kidding me. We're supposed to go left?"
"Right."
"Right?"
"I mean, correct. Go left."
"But it looks like someone's driveway."
"The driveway to Darlington."
Rob sat still in the car, turning neither way and content to make no progress until he was satisfied going left was the correct way.
"Think Robert Frost," Juli said.
"Robert Frost?"
"You know, the fork-in-the-road guy."
"He took the one less traveled."
"And that made all the difference."
"The one less traveled," Rob said thoughtfully.
"All the difference."
Depressing the accelerator, Rob steered the car left. "And you've gone this way before?"
"There's only one way."
"Yeah, you said that before."
"And you keep asking."
The car bounced down the rough lane that took them back into the woods and the blankets of kudzu and growing lightlessness. "I hope you know what you're talking about."
"Me too."
Darlington Woods Page 5
