"Perkins?" Sam asked. "Did you say Perkins? Jimmy Perkins?"
"Yes. Jimmy Perkins. He's a caretaker, a grounds-keeper at the estate." She glanced at him. "Why do you ask? Do you know that—horrible man?"
"Yeah, I know him," Sam said, conscious of Noah's eyes on him. "Tall lean fellow. Walks with a shuffle."
"Yes, that's him. He's—a terrible person." Desiree shivered from fright and shock and the cold against her bare skin. "He's a terrible man."
"He isn't a man," Sam said. "He's one of the undead." Very briefly, he told them what he knew of Jimmy Perkins.
"Good Lord!" Noah said. "You first encountered this—creature up in Canada?"
"Yes. But my father fought him back in Nebraska, in 1958. That's when Perkins died, and was reborn with the Devil's help."
"It's just too much for me to believe," Desiree said, tears streaming down her face. She put her face in her hands and wept. She lifted her face and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief provided her by Noah. She murmured a prayer in French and crossed herself.
Sam glanced at her, a puzzled look in his eyes. "I thought you were an agnostic."
"So did I," she replied. "1 don't know why I did that. I wasn't conscious of even knowing any prayers. 1 don't know where the sign of the cross came from."
"I do," Noah told her gently. "You're one of us now, Desiree. So welcome aboard the Good Ship Lollipop."
Sam laughed at Noah. "The more the merrier," he said. "Desiree, tell me, what do your parents do for a living?"
"Why—they own many businesses around the world. Some of them in France. For years, my father was a vice president for the Roma Companies. Something happened to the owner about—three years ago, 1 think. That's when my father branched out on his own."
"Uh-huh," Sam said. "Now it's all beginning to come together; the pieces are fitting. Tell me, do your parents ever wear any type of medallion?"
"Why—now that you mention it, yes, they do. It's—kind of a strange-looking medallion. Very intricate in design. They tried, many times, ever since 1 was a little girl, to make me wear one like theirs. But every time I tried, I got sick. I mean, really physically ill. Or this terrible rash would cover my body. Finally, just a few weeks ago, as a matter of fact, they told me I was leaving France, and going to school in America. At Nelson College. They said that would prove their findings—one way or the other. I never did understand what they were talking about. Do you know?"
"Yes," Sam answered. "I sure do. You and Nydia will get along fine, I'm thinking. You both have a great deal in common."
"1 am so ashamed for what happened today, Sam," Desiree said. "I don't—I don't know if I can even face your wife."
"As long as you do not renounce the Lord God, my dear," Noah told her, "for our God is a forgiving God. If He can forgive us our human sins, surely the least we can do for Him is to practice forgiveness among ourselves."
The young woman looked at him and smiled. She kept her opinions—if any—about his manner of dress to herself. "Thank you, Mr.—"
"Crisp. But please call me Noah. Sam, you have puzzled me somewhat. What was that line of questioning about medallions? And you, my dear, what was all that about your getting sick? Would you be so kind as to clear that up for me?"
"Nydia's mother's name was Roma. The witch. She owned the companies where Desiree's father was VP. Roma tried to force Nydia to wear the Devil's medallion, but like Desiree, Nydia's—something in her body—or mind—refused to accept the medallion. They made her very sick. My belief is that God saw good in Nydia, and in Desiree, and intervened in His usual quiet manner. That's what that was all about."
He wondered if he should tell them about the tablet. He decided against it. He had a hunch that would be left up to him—solely.
"I see," Noah said. "I—" He bit the words off before they rolled from his tongue. He was about to ask if Sam knew anything about the tablet, then thought better of it. The young man had enough weight on his shoulders without adding any more.
"You were about to say something, Noah?" Sam asked.
"It slipped my mind, Sam," he lied. "Must not have been very important."
They pulled into the Draper's driveway. Noah said, "Sam, would you be a dear boy and run into the house; ask Viv for a robe of some sort for Desiree. That jacket is positively indecent. I'll sit with her while you do that."
While Viv was getting Desiree a robe, Sam told those in the den what had happened. "And she is wondering if you can forgive her, Nydia."
"There is nothing to forgive, Sam," Nydia said. "None of us had any control over ourselves." She rose as Viv entered the den. "Here." Nydia held out her hand. "Let me take the robe to her."
Before Nydia could open the door, the sounds of Desiree's screaming and Noah's big .357 barking came to those in the house.
The house was plunged into darkness and Viv began shrieking in terror. "Get it off me!" she wailed. "Get it off me!"
EIGHT
"Yes," Mille told her sister. "Yes, you are most certainly coming with us. And if I have to drag your butt out of this house, I will. Now, get moving, girl!"
"Fuck you!" the teenager screamed. "You can't make me do a goddamn thing."
Mille slapped her, rocking the girl's head back and forth with the backhanded pops. Blood dotted the girl's mouth. Pete LaMeade stepped forward, his hands balled into fists. Joe stuck a pistol in the man's face.
"Just hold it right there, Pete," he told the man. "'Cause I'll damn sure blow your head off."
"This is kidnapping!" the father yelled. "And I ain't gonna stand still for it."
"No, it ain't kidnapping, Pete," Joe corrected the man. "And yeah, you're gonna stand still for it. What did you plan on doin'? Callin' a cop?"
Pete shot dark arrows of hate at Joe. But he made no further attempt to interfere. "We'll get you," he warned Joe. "Bet on it, Bennett."
Mille jerked the sobbing girl to her feet and shoved her toward the front door. "Before this night is over, little sister, you'll either be free of your possession—or you'll be dead. I guarantee you, Jeanne. One way or the other."
"You goddamn bitch!" the teenager cursed Mille. "You got all the pecker you wanted, then you turned righteous on us. If you had all the cocks sticking out of you that you've had stuck in you, you'd look like a fucking porcupine."
"Shut your filthy mouth," Mille warned her.
"Lousy two-bit whore!" Jeanne popped off.
Mille balled her right hand into a fist and the girl shut her mouth.
"A crowd gathering out in the front yard," Father Le Moyne told them. "And they're armed and ugly."
Joe grabbed Pete LaMeade by the arm and jerked him to the front door. He stuck his .357 in the small of the man's back and jacked back the hammer. "We're goin' through that crowd, LaMeade. Now you tell them godless bastards to clear us a path—a wide one—or I swear before God Almighty, I'll kill you, Pete."
LaMeade believed the smaller man. Sweat formed on his face. "All right, Joe. I'll do it. But we'll meet again. Bet on that."
"I can't hardly wait, partner," Joe told him. "But for right now—move it!"
The crowd of people, teenagers to middle-aged men and women, parted at Pete's orders. But they did so reluctantly, with open hate shining in their eyes, and with filth rolling from their tongues.
"Farther back!" Joe told them, shouting at them. "I mean make a wide path and do it now! Between Mille and me, I can guarantee you ten of you will die if we have to start poppin' caps."
The crowd gave them room. In the safety of the car, driving away from the scene of ugliness, they relaxed just a bit.
Jeanne LaMeade asked Mille, "What are you gonna do with me?"
"Drive the demons from you," Mille told her. "Or kill you. Those are your only options, sister. And I'd think about that if I were you."
In the front seat, beside Joe, Father Daniel Le Moyne rubbed suddenly sweaty hands together. He silently prayed for God to give him strength. "Joe," he said, "take me to
the church. 1 have to get some things."
Joe wondered if he was going to have to be a part of this spooky business of driving out demons. He sure hoped not.
"Yes, sir," Joe said.
Monty rushed to his wife's side, colliding with her in the darkness of the den. He smashed his fist into the white evil-looking face of a man who was trying to drag Viv from the house. Again and again he hit the man, smashing his nose. Blood squirted. Monty felt the man's teeth break off under his hard blows. The man finally fell to the floor, stunned, bleeding and hurt. Monty drew back his right foot and kicked the man on the side of the head.
Sam jerked his pistol from his waistband and ran out the front door in time to see Noah fighting several men, his .357 empty and useless on the sidewalk. Desiree was crouched in the cab of the pickup.
Whatever the trio of men expected from the small man, it was not the fury and skill now being shown by Noah. The man was fighting like an enraged tiger. And holding his own against the three bigger men.
Sam shoved his .41 mag back behind his belt and waded into the melee, fists swinging. The fight was over in seconds, the men moaning and bleeding on the sidewalk. Sam knew none of them.
"Two over there I shot," Noah panted, resettling his beret on his head. "They're either dead or dying." He pointed toward the darkness beside the Draper house.
But the men were gone.
"What—" Noah asked, looking at Sam. "But I know I hit them, and hit them accurately."
"The Beasts will feast this night," Sam said.
"I hope they get sick and die," the writer said, considerable heat in his tone. "What about this rabble?" he asked, pointing to the men on the ground.
"Leave them. Unless you want to shoot them in the head. We don't have the space nor the inclination to jack around with a bunch of prisoners."
Noah looked at the tall young man. "What would you do with them, Sam? If I weren't standing here, that is."
"I'd shoot them," Sam replied. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and helped a badly shaken Desiree from the pickup. A plan was forming in Sam's head as he walked her up to the house.
Nydia and Viv took over the job of trying to settle down a hysterical Desiree. Sam sat in the den with Monty and Noah. Monty had dragged his wife's attacker out the back door and threw him in the alley. He then found the breaker box and turned the lights back on.
The phone jangled the nerves of all present.
"I thought it was out of order." Monty said.
"Only for us," Sam told him.
Monty jerked the receiver to his ear. "Yes?"
Sheriff Jenkins. "Heard about your bad news, Monty. Thought I'd call and see how you people were getting along."
"What bad news, Pat?"
"Oh—your getting fired and all that."
"Uh-huh. I'm certain you're really torn up about it, Pat," Monty replied.
The voice from the seat of Clark County chuckled darkly. "All right, Pat. We'll play it your way. When did you put it all together?"
"Although it seems like a week ago, Pat—yesterday. How long has it been going on?'
Again, the chuckle. "I don't see any harm in leveling with you, Monty. None of you people are ever going to talk about it. Long time, Monty. More than a hundred years back. Goes all the way back to my grandfather's time. Maybe even further back than that. I never question the Master, Monty. I just obey."
"You need help, Pat."
"I need help, son? You got it all backwards, son. Boy, you don't even realize what a bind you people are in, do you? You'll know it before long, I'm thinking. I'm going to fuck your wife, Monty. And I'm going to put it to her right in front of your eyes; make you watch me hump her. Snooty bitch always did think she was too good for us small-town folks. Of course," the voice took on a softer, smoother, soothing tone, "it don't have to be that way, Monty. You could change it. Join us, Monty. Don't fight us; you can't win."
Keep him talking, Monty thought. Anything to find out the odds against us. Keep him talking. "You're that certain you're going to win this, Pat."
"In the bag, Monty. In the bag. Son, if the Master would let us, we'd overrun you people by sheer numbers. But he wants to play with you for a time. Like a big cat with a little mouse. You get it, Monty. Mouse. Like in pussy. Your wife's pussy."
Monty kept his temper in check. "I don't think God will let us down, Pat."
"God?" the sheriff said with a nasty laugh. "Don't count on that wimp, Monty. He don't have a big enough set of balls to meet the Master head on."
Monty suppressed a shudder. He could not imagine himself speaking of God in that manner. "When do you make your move against us, Pat?"
"Soon, son. Very soon. It's going to be fun listening to you beg when we nail you to a cross."
"You're insane!" Monty said.
The dark laughter rolled through the lines.
"I'll see you, Pat," Monty said grimly.
"You're going to see me all right, Monty. You're going to watch me hump your wife." The line went dead.
Monty was conscious of his wife's eyes on him. He turned and looked at her. "Trouble, Monty?" she asked. "More trouble for us?"
He had never held back the truth from her. "Yes. Sheriff Jenkins is one of them. I would imagine some of his men are in it, too. So, yeah, more trouble."
"You're not telling me all of it, Monty. Did Pat mention me?"
"Yes. And I imagine you know in what way. It was—very ugly."
"He's undressed me with his eyes every time I've been around him. Spare me the details. The things that were done to that poor girl in there—Desiree—were positively disgusting."
"Yeah," Monty sighed the reply. "I bet so."
Viv came to him and put a hand on his arm. "We're going to make it, Monty."
"You betcha, babe." He grinned at her. "We're going to hang in there and go for it."
Monty's walkie-talkie clicked. Monty picked it up and acknowledged the signal.
"Father Le Moyne here, Monty. Let me speak with Sam for a moment, please."
Sam picked up his handy-talkie. "Go ahead, Father."
"Can you and your wife meet me at your house, Sam?" the priest asked. "Leave the child with Monty and Viv, if you will."
"I guess so, Father," Sam signaled. "Sure we can. What's going on?"
"Saving a lost soul."
"We're on our way."
Monty had, of course, heard the entire transmission. "Jon or Jeanne," he said.
"Forget Jon," Sam said, and Nydia sent a silent message to him agreeing. "It's too late for Jon. He's lost forever."
"Sam!" Nydia called, as a force gripped her. All present watched her grab the arms of her chair and hold on, mentally fighting the erotic images that darkly clouded her mind.
The silent voice whispered hoarsely to the young woman, bringing back the events of that afternoon. The voice spewed profanely and vividly, carrying with it actual scenes of Nydia and Jon to her mind's eyes. Nydia relived the young man parting her legs and entering her. She groaned as the sensation became real. She again experienced, mentally and physically, his long thick push inward, filling her with pain and pleasure.
Nydia fumbled for Sam's hand and gripped it tightly. He pulled her head to his chest and held her as her mental images spilled over to him. Then the force gripped Sam's mind, and he relived his moments with Janet and Desiree. Their hands and lips on him.
Nydia and Sam first experienced anger at the shared scenes. Then a renewed spirit filled them both and they concentrated on their love for one another.
Love conquered the Dark One's force. The voice and the scenes began dissolving, breaking apart. The voice tapered off into an evil hissing; an angry dark snake, uncoiling and sliding away into the slime that is its home.
Nydia released her grip on Sam's hand. The young couple looked at each other. They were smiling. Nydia said, "We beat it, Sam. We proved we can beat it."
"Love," he said. "The Dark One cannot defeat love. The emotion is disgusting
to him." He helped her to her feet. "Come on. Let's go help Father Le Moyne."
"I chose your place because it's away from town and because of the faith I felt when I drew near it," Father Le Moyne explained. "And for other reasons: an exorcism can be very unnerving, and very loud."
The priest looked at Jeanne. She snarled at him. "Mother-fucker!" she hissed.
Father Le Moyne glanced at Joe and Mille. Joe's worst fears had become reality. He was about to take part in this spook stuff. He shuddered.
The priest said, "Mille, would you please bathe the child and dress her in a white gown. Then you and Joe secure her to a bed. Tightly."
Joe and Mille literally dragged the screaming, profane, protesting teenager to a bathroom.
"You're going to have to help me bathe her, Joe," Mille told the man.
"I ain't helpin' bathe no full-growed girl!"
"Get your skinny butt in here!" Mille shouted.
"Lordy, Lordy!" Joe muttered.
"Yeah, come on in, Joe," Jeanne called. "I'll let you finger-fuck me."
"That settles it!" Joe said. "I ain't about to come in there with ya'll."
"I'll help her," Nydia said. "You people put clean sheets on the bed in there," she said pointing.
Mille and Nydia ripped the dirty blouse and jeans from the teenager and bodily tossed her into the shower, along with a bar of soap.
"Scrub it clean, sister!" Mille told her. "Don't make me have to come in there and do it. 'Cause I'll find a scrub brush and peel the hide off of you."
"Goddamn slut!" Jeanne cursed. She then smiled an evil grimace as she felt help on its way. The force entered the bathroom. Jeanne showered quickly and then faced the two women. "You wash me," she said to her sister and Nydia. "Both of you."
The force was stronger than ever before. The two women could do nothing except obey.
Mille and Nydia were in the stall with the teenager. They could not recall taking off their clothes. They could not recall stepping into the large stall. Jeanne fondled Nydia's breasts. She ran her hand over Nydia's belly and dipped downward to caress her.
The Devil's Touch Page 19
