by Terry Brooks
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean, it looks terrible.” He pushed up his glasses on his nose and brushed back his blond hair. “We walked by it on the way over, and it looks like it’s a goner. Whatever we did, it didn’t help.”
“We could go swimming,” Brianna suggested brightly, ignoring him.
Nest shook her head. “I can’t. I have to be back by two. How bad is it, Robert?”
“The bark’s all split open and oozing something green and there’s dead leaves everywhere.” He saw the look on Nest’s face and stopped. “What’s going on? What’s this sick-tree business all about?”
Nest took a deep breath and bit her lower lip. “Someone is poisoning the trees in the park,” she said, giving a slight edge of truth to what was otherwise an outright lie.
They stared at her. “Why would anyone do that?” Cass asked.
“Because …” She shrugged. “Because they’re nuts, I guess.”
Robert frowned. “How do you know this?”
“Grandpa told me. He heard it from the park people. I guess it’s happened in some other places, too.” She was rolling now, sounding very sure of herself. “It’s one guy that’s doing it. He was seen in another park, so they got a description. Everyone’s been looking for him.”
Robert frowned some more. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. My dad never said anything about anyone poisoning trees in the parks. You sure about this?”
Nest gave him a disgusted look. “Of course I’m sure. Why would I say it if I wasn’t?”
“So they know what this guy looks like?” Jared asked quietly. He looked tired, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well.
“Yep.” She glanced at them conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you something else, too. Grandpa thinks he might be in the park this weekend. See, sometimes he dresses like a park maintenance man in order not to be noticed. That’s how he gets away with poisoning the trees.”
“He might be in the park this weekend?” Brianna parroted, her porcelain features horror-struck.
“Maybe,” Nest advised. “So we have to watch for him, keep an eye out. This is what he looks like.” She provided a careful description of the demon, from his pale eyes to his bland face. “But if you see him, don’t try to go near him. And don’t let him know he’s been seen. Just come get me.”
“Come get you?” Robert repeated suspiciously.
“So I can tell Grandpa, because he knows what to do.”
Everyone nodded soberly. Nest held her breath and waited for more questions, but there weren’t any. Way to go, she thought, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at her subterfuge. You can lie with the best of them, can’t you? You can lie even to your friends.
They walked through the park for a while afterward, killing time. Nest watched her friends surreptitiously checking faces as if they might really find the tree poisoner, and she pondered if she had done the right thing. She needed any help she could get, and this would give her friends something to do besides wonder why she was acting odd, but it made her feel ashamed of herself anyway. She didn’t believe any of them would find the demon. She thought only John Ross could do that, and she wasn’t sure of him. What persuaded her that she should even try to do something was her memory of the morning’s encounter in the church kitchen, of the murder, of the pale eyes studying her, of the calm, even voice talking to her about the way the world would end. She could rationalize what had happened from now until Christmas, but she still felt desperate, almost hopeless.
The park was beginning to fill with families come to picnic and participate in the games the Jaycees were running prior to this evening’s community dance. There would be softball, badminton, horseshoes, and footraces of various sorts for adults and children both. Members of the club were already preparing for the events. Food and drink stands were being set up. The smells of hot dogs and hamburgers wafted in the thick July air, and smoke curled lazily from the brick chimneys of the cook centers in the pavilion. Bushy-tailed red squirrels scampered along the limbs of the big oaks, and a few dogs chased after balls. Laughter and shouts rose from all about.
A slight breeze wafted off the river, causing Nest to glance skyward. A thin lacework of clouds drifted across the blue. She had heard her grandfather say there was a chance of rain for the Fourth.
She left the others then, promising to meet up with them later on in the afternoon when family obligations were satisfied. Robert was having a cookout in his backyard with his parents and some cousins. Cass and Brianna were going to a church picnic. Jared had to go home to watch the younger kids while his mother and George Paulsen came over to the park so that George could compete in the horseshoe tournament.
Jared and Nest walked back across the park, neither of them saying anything. Jared seemed preoccupied, but she liked being with him no matter what his mood. She liked the way he was always thinking things over, giving careful consideration to what he was going to say.
“You going to the dance tonight, Nest?” he asked suddenly, not looking at her.
She glanced over in surprise. “Sure. Are you?”
“Mom says I can go for a while. The kids are staying at Mrs. Pinkley’s for the night, except Bennett is going to Alice Workman’s. You know, the social worker. George and Mom are going out somewhere, then coming back to watch TV.”
They walked on, the silence awkward. “You want to go to the dance with me?” he asked after a minute.
Nest felt a warm flush run down her neck. “Sure.”
“Cool. I’ll meet you about seven.” He was so serious. He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “You don’t think this is weird or anything, do you?”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Why would I think that?”
“Because it would be you and me, and not all of us. Robert and Cass and Brianna might think it’s weird, us not including them.”
She glanced quickly at him. “I don’t care what they think.”
He thought about it a moment, then nodded solemnly. “Good. Neither do I.”
She left him on the service road and slipped through the gap in the bushes at the edge of her backyard, feeling light-headed from more than just the heat.
CHAPTER 20
John Ross rode out to Sinnissippi Park with the desk clerk from the Lincoln Hotel, who was having Sunday dinner with his brother and sister-in-law just to the north. The man dropped him at the corner of Third Street and Sixteenth Avenue, and Ross walked the rest of the way. The man would have driven him to the Freemarks’ doorstep—offered to do so, in fact—but it was not yet two o’clock and Ross was not expected until three and did not want to arrive too early. So instead he limped up Third to Riverside Cemetery, leaning heavily on his black staff, moving slowly in the heat, and found his way to Caitlin Freemark’s grave. The day was still and humid, but it was cool and shady where he walked beneath the hardwood trees. There were people in the cemetery, but no one paid any attention to him. He was wearing fresh jeans, a pale blue collared shirt, and his old walking shoes. He had washed his long hair and tied it back with a clean bandanna. He looked halfway respectable, which was as good as it got.
He stood in front of Caitlin Freemark’s grave and looked down at the marble stone, read the inscription several times, studied the rough, dark shadow of the letters and numbers against the bright glassy surface, CAITLIN ANNE FREEMARK, BELOVED DAUGHTER & MOTHER. He felt something tug at him, a sudden urge to recant his lies and abandon his subterfuge, to lay bare to the Freemarks the truth of who he was and what he was doing. He looked off toward their house, not able to see it through the trees, visualizing it instead in his mind. He pictured their faces looking back at him. He could not tell them the truth, of course. Gran knew most of it anyway, he suspected. She must. And Robert Freemark? Old Bob? Ross shook his head, not wanting to hazard a guess. In any case, Nest was the only one who really mattered, and he could not tell her. Perhaps she did not ever need to know. If he was quick enough, if he
found the demon and destroyed it, if he put an end to its plans before it revealed them fully …
He blinked into the heat, and the image of the Freemarks faded from his mind.
Forgive me.
He walked on from there into the park, skirting its edges, following the cemetery fence to Sinnissippi Road, then the road past the townhomes to the park entrance and beyond through the big shade trees to the Freemark residence. Old Bob greeted him at the door, ebullient and welcoming. They stood within the entry making small talk until Gran and Nest joined them, then gathered up the picnic supplies from the kitchen. Ross insisted on helping, on at least being allowed to carry the blanket they would sit on. Nest picked up the white wicker basket that contained the food, Old Bob took the cooler with the drinks and condiments, and with Gran leading the way they went out the back door, down the steps past a sleeping Mr. Scratch, across the backyard to the gap in the bushes, and into the park.
The park was filled with cars and people. Picnickers already occupied most of the tables and cooking stations. Blankets were spread under trees and along the bluff, softball games were under way on all the diamonds, and across from the pavilion the Jaycee-sponsored games were being organized. There was a ring toss and a baseball throw. The horseshoe tournament was about to start. Carts dispensing cotton candy and popcorn had been brought in, and the Jaycees were selling pop, iced tea, and lemonade from school-cafeteria folding tables. Balloons filled with helium floated at the ends of long cords. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the pavilion’s rafters and eaves. A band was playing under a striped tent, facing out onto the pavilion’s smooth concrete floor. Parents and children crowded forward, anxious to see what was going on.
“Looks like the whole town is here,” Old Bob observed with a satisfied grin.
Ross glanced around. It seemed as if all the good places had been taken, but Gran led them forward determinedly, past the diamonds, the pavilion, the games, the cotton candy and popcorn, the band, and even the toboggan slide, past all of it and down the hill toward the bayou, to a grassy knoll tucked back behind a heavy stand of brush and evergreens that was shaded by an aging oak and commanded a clear view of the river. Remarkably, no one else was there, save for a couple of teenagers snuggling on a blanket. Gran ignored them and directed Ross to place the blanket in the center of the knoll. The teens watched tentatively as the Freemarks arranged their picnic, then rose and disappeared. Gran never looked at them. Ross shook his head. Old Bob caught his eye and winked.
The heat was suffocating on the flats, but here it was eased by the cool air off the water and by the shade of the big oak. It was quieter as well, the sounds of the crowd muffled and distant. Gran emptied the contents of the picnic basket, arranged the dishes, and invited them to sit. They formed a circle about the food, eating fried chicken, potato salad, Jell-O, raw sticks of carrot and celery, deviled eggs, and chocolate cupcakes off paper plates, and washing it all down with cold lemonade poured from a thermos into paper cups. Ross found himself thinking of his childhood, of the picnics he had enjoyed with his own family. It was a long time ago. He visited the memories quietly while he ate, glancing now and again at the Freemarks.
Should I tell them? What should I tell them? How do I do what is needed to help this girl? How do I keep from failing them?
“Did you enjoy the service, John?” Old Bob asked him suddenly, chewing on a chicken leg.
Ross glanced at Nest, but she did not look at him. “Very much, sir. I appreciate being included.”
“You say you’re on your way to Seattle, but maybe you could postpone leaving and stay on with us for a few more days.” Old Bob looked at Gran. “We have plenty of extra room at the house. You would be welcome.”
Gran’s face was tight and fixed. “Robert, don’t be pushy. Mr. Ross has his own life. He doesn’t need ours.”
Ross forced a quick smile. “I can’t stay beyond tomorrow or the day after, thanks anyway, Mr. Freemark, Mrs. Freemark. You’ve done plenty for me as it is.”
“Well, hardly.” Old Bob cleared his throat, regarded the leg bone in his hand. “Darn good chicken, Evelyn. Your best yet, I think.”
They finished the meal, Old Bob talking of Caitlin as a girl now, recalling stories about how she had been, what she had done. Ross listened and nodded appreciatively. He thought it might have been a while since the old man had spoken of his daughter like this. Gran seemed distracted and distant, and Ross did not think she was paying much attention. But Nest was watching raptly, studying her grandfather’s face as he related the stories, listening carefully to his every word. Her concentration was so complete that she did not seem aware of anything else. Ross watched her, wondered what she was thinking, wished suddenly that he knew.
I should tell her. I should take the chance. She’s stronger than she looks. She is older than her fourteen years. She can accept it.
But he said nothing. Old Bob finished, sighed, glanced out across the bayou as if seeing into the past, then reached over impulsively to pat his wife’s hand. “You’re awfully quiet, Dark Eyes.”
For just an instant all the hardness went out of Evelyn Freemark’s face, all the lines and age spots vanished, and she was young again. A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes lifted to find his.
Ross stood up, leaning on his staff for support. “Nest, how about taking a walk with me. My leg stiffens up if I sit for too long. Maybe you can keep me from getting lost.”
Nest put down her plate and looked at her grandmother. “Gran, do you want me to help clean up?”
Her grandmother shook her head, said nothing. Nest waited a moment, then rose. “Let’s go this way,” she said to Ross. She glanced at her grandparents. “We’ll be back in a little while.”
They climbed the hill at an angle that took them away from the crowds, east toward the park’s far end, where the deep woods lay. They walked in silence, Nest pacing herself so that Ross could keep up with her, limping along with the aid of his staff. They worked their way slowly through the shady oaks and hickories, passing families seated on blankets and at tables eating their picnic lunches, following the curve of the slope as it wound back around the rise and away from the river. Soon Gran and Old Bob were out of sight.
When they were safely alone, Ross said to her, “I’m sorry about what happened at church. I know it was scary.”
“I have to show you something,” she said, ignoring his apology. “I promised Pick.”
They walked on for a ways in silence, and then she asked sharply, accusingly, “Are you an angel? You know, in the Biblical sense? Is that what you are?”
He stared over at her, but she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at the ground. “No, I don’t think so. I’m just a man.”
“But if God is real, there must be angels.”
“I suppose so. I don’t know.”
Her voice was clipped, surly. “Which? Which don’t you know? If there are angels or if God is real?”
He slowed and then stopped altogether, forcing her to do the same. He waited until she was looking at him. “What I told you was the truth—about the Fairy Glen, and the Lady, and the voice, and the way I became a Knight of the Word. What are you asking me, Nest?”
Her eyes were hot. “If there really is a God, why would He allow all those feeders in His church? Why would He allow the demon in? Why would He allow Mrs. Browning to die? Why didn’t He stop it from happening?”
Ross took a long, slow breath. “Maybe that isn’t the way it works. Isn’t the church supposed to be open to everyone?”
“Not to demons and feeders! Not to things like that! What are they doing here, anyway? Why aren’t they somewhere else?” Her voice was hard-edged and shaking now, and her hands were gesturing wildly. “If you really are a Knight of the Word, why don’t you do something about them? Don’t you have some kind of power? You must! Can’t you use it on them? Why is this so hard?”
Ross looked off into the trees. Tell her. His hands tigh
tened on the staff. “If I destroy the feeders, I reveal myself.” He looked back at her. “I let people know what I am. When that happens, I am compromised. Worse, I weaken myself. I don’t have unlimited power. I have … only so much. Every time I use it, I leave myself exposed. If the demon finds me like that, he will destroy me. I have to be patient, to wait, to choose my time. Ideally, I will only have to use my power once—when I have the demon before me.”
He felt trapped by his words. “Pick must have told you about the feeders. The feeders are only here because of us. They react to us, to us as humans. They feed on our emotions, on our behavior. They grow stronger or weaker depending on how we behave. The Word made them to be a reflection of us. If we behave well, we diminish them. If we behave badly, we strengthen them. Give them too much to feed on and they devour us. But they’re not subject to the same laws as we are. They don’t have life in the same way we do; they don’t have substance. They creep around in the shadows and come out with any release of the dark that’s inside us. I can burn them all to ash, but they will just come back again, born out of new emotions, new behavior. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded dubiously. “Are they everywhere, everywhere in the world?”
“Yes.”
“But aren’t there more in places where things are worse? In places where the people are killing each other, killing their children?”
“Yes.”
“Then why aren’t you there? What are you doing here, in this little, insignificant Midwestern town? No one is dying here. Nothing is happening here!” Her voice rose. “What is so important about Hopewell?”
Ross did not look away, dared not. “I can’t answer that. I go where I’m sent. Right now, I’m tracking the demon. I’m here because of him. I know that something pivotal is going to take place, something that will affect the future, and I have to stop it. I know it seems incredible that anything occurring in a tiny place like Hopewell could have such an impact. But we know how history works. Cataclysms are set in motion by small events in out-of-the-way places. Maybe that’s what’s happening.”
