Liz fell to her knees and hugged him. He whined, trying to lick her face.
“Good boy,” she said breathing heavily and hugging his neck. She looked into his face, his dark brown eyes staring eagerly back at her, her arms around his shaggy, comfortable body. Now that she was with the dog, she seemed to be less accessible to the demon. “He can’t confuse you so easily, can he, sweetie?” she said.
A deep clicking growl pulsed from every direction around her, but Hampton looked in one direction and growled, baring his teeth.
Liz looked that way. “You know where he is, sweetie, don’t you? He can’t entirely fool you. That’s how you found me.”
An idea came to Liz. She looked at the knife she held in her hand.
“Morgan,” said Liz to the dog. “You remember Morgan, sweetie?”
Hampton’s ears perked up at the sound of the name and he barked, looking around.
“Morgan, she’s here, isn’t she? You can smell her, can’t you? Hampton, find Morgan. Take me to Morgan.”
Hampton barked again, his nose in the air. He whined and then ran forward. Liz jumped up and followed, desperately afraid he’d get ahead of her in the trees and disappear.
“Hampton, not so fast. Wait for me, sweetie. Stay, boy, stay.”
The dog turned and waited.
“Morgan,” Liz said again, catching up to him. “Let’s find Morgan.”
This time Liz kept up with the dog. He slowed, confused, but after sampling the air with his nose started off again.
There was a fierce roar nearby and Hampton stopped, snarling into the trees.
Liz lifted his head and looked into his eyes. “Never mind about him,” she said. “Find Morgan. Okay, Hampton? Find Morgan.”
Hampton barked and apparently caught the scent again. He advanced more slowly now and frequently had to stop to test the air. To Liz, it looked as though they were moving in circles and couldn’t possibly be going in the right direction. She ignored it, following the dog.
Again Agbado roared and again Liz had to steady Hampton to keep him from charging the sound. “That’s what he wants, sweetie. He wants you to go to him. Don’t fall for it.”
Since the arrival of the dog her mind had cleared, but only a little. Agbado was still focusing on her, opening doors on her deepest angers and regrets. With the greatest of effort she kept the stinging bees in her head partly in check by keeping Hampton firmly in mind and focusing on her fear of losing him in the trees. She was sure Agbado would never let her find him again if that happened, and the thought of it brought her to a near panic that pushed everything else aside.
Suddenly, they broke through the trees into a camp. Liz recognized, jubilantly, that it was not her own.
Morgan stood by the water with her back to them. She swung around, startled.
She was short, wiry and hollow-cheeked. Her thin brown hair hung from her head in stringy clumps. Her face had always appeared sharp-edged to Liz, but more so now. She looked as if so much hate filled her that the acid of it was eating her from the inside out, the skin of her face drawn tight across her high cheek bones. Her eyes met Liz’s and she grinned maliciously. Looking into her eyes, even from this distance, the whites appeared to glow yellow. And the teeth in Morgan’s smile looked to Liz to be smaller and sharper than natural. The stone was changing her, marking her.
The fever hit Liz again so hard she staggered and her vision blurred. Something seemed to step out of the trees between her and Morgan, but she wasn’t sure, she couldn’t see it clearly. The one thing she did see clearly was the rifle lying on the ground just a few feet from Morgan. Their eyes met, and Morgan lunged for the gun.
Hampton snarled and leapt forward. As if in slow motion, Liz saw Hampton rush at Morgan just as Morgan reached the rifle. She swung the barrel up and fired as Hampton crashed into her, knocking the gun from her and toppling them both over.
Liz rushed at Morgan as she staggered back to her knees. Horrified, Liz saw that Hampton was not rising, but lay writhing on the ground.
Morgan lunged for her gun, but Liz got to it first. Only inches from Morgan’s outstretched fingers, Liz kicked it out into the lake, where it disappeared into the water.
With her right hand Morgan drew a knife from her belt. In her other hand she clutched a gray stone. It was the keystone, Liz was sure.
“Come on, bitch,” hissed Morgan. The long thin blade flashed in front of her. “You want me, you found me. I knew when that sorry-assed husband of yours died that sooner or later you’d come after Kevin. I knew he’d go with you. You’ve hated and envied me from the first day we met. You think I’m stupid but I’m not. I see right through you.”
“Give me the stone,” said Liz. She could see that the gray-black rock had been shaped into the crude figure of a man.
Morgan sneered at her. “Come on, Liz.” She held the stone out, but when Liz reached for it she slashed Liz’s hand with the knife. It was her burnt hand and the cut was excruciatingly painful.
Morgan lunged at her. Despite the pain, Liz deflected Morgan’s arm with her cut hand and the blade just missed her chest, slicing into her coat and catching there.
Morgan stumbled against her and they both fell. Morgan swung wildly and struck Liz’s head a glancing blow with the stone. The strength of it nearly knocked her out.
They rolled on the ground, Morgan flailing at her wildly and cursing. Morgan was strong, far stronger than seemed natural, and Liz knew she was hopelessly outmatched.
Morgan rose up on top of her, yanked the knife free from Liz’s coat and plunged it down at her chest. Liz twisted, but the blade sank into her shoulder. Liz saw it happen in a strangely detached way, surprised to find she hardly felt it.
Morgan pulled the knife free and was an instant away from plunging it down again, when she screamed in pain. Hampton, forgotten in the fight, had crawled to them and had a hold on Morgan’s ankle, savagely tearing at her flesh.
Without thinking, in that moment of distraction Liz thrust up with her own knife. With surgical precision she easily slid it into Morgan’s chest just below the ribcage, thrusting up into her heart. After years assisting at operations, Liz knew exactly where to find it.
Morgan gazed at her a moment, her face still twisted in hate and her small brown eyes glowing yellow. She hissed at Liz, attempting to raise her arm to strike again. Then she coughed, blood trickling down her chin, and lurched forward.
Liz pushed her off and struggled up on her knees. It was then that the pain of the wound in her shoulder came crashing down on her.
Morgan lay on her back, her eyes staring blankly up at the sky. Liz knew that she was dead. Her face was still fixed, however, in a contorted expression of rage and surprise.
Liz pushed away the thought that she’d killed Morgan.
Morgan’s left hand still clutched the stone. With a blind determination to finish this, Liz reached across her to take it. She found it locked between Morgan’s fingers, and with great difficulty Liz pried them off of it.
As the last finger broke free, Morgan’s body convulsed, her back arching and her eyes opening wide. She screamed as much like Agbado as her vocal cords could manage, a choking and full-throated clicking roar.
Liz fell back in horror.
The scream quickly trailed off into a strangled gasp, leaving Morgan frozen, her back arched and her mouth formed in a horrible rictus, her tongue thrust stiffly past her lips.
Liz looked to her right hand, which now held the stone. It was heavy and hot. The world seemed to stop, as though holding its breath, and the air grew perfectly silent. Nothing moved, and time felt at a standstill.
She sensed Agbado calling to her. There was so much that might be done with the stone in the hands of the right person. Morgan had always been twisted by hate and bitterness. Liz knew this and had always known it. And Kevin had been drawn to Morgan for his own unbalanced reasons. God knew he lacked the courage and vision to use the stone properly. It had saved his life in Africa, a
fter all, so it could be used for good. Someone with her stability and kindness would make the perfect stone master.
The stone would protect her. With the stone she could find the right man. She was fifty, but she could still have a child because the change had not yet come to her. But it would not be long now and time was running out. She so much wanted a child of her own. There was no time for any more mistakes, no more time for men who only used her and left. She would know that about them in advance if Agbado was with her. He could help her. He would help her. And then, when she found the right man and had a child, Agbado would watch over it. No harm would ever come, could ever come, to her child. She would be the perfect mother because she could be, had the unique power to be, the perfect guardian. The proper doors to the child’s mind could be opened with her enlightened vision and guidance.
This time would be different. There were so many evils that could be set right because she understood evil better than anyone.
Liz dropped the stone. She recoiled in horror at her thoughts. Agbado was reaching out to her, telling her he had what she needed.
She held her hands over her ears and shook her head. “Get out of there,” she hissed. She again felt that her deepest longings and desires had been invaded and violated.
Still holding her head, she stared down at the stone. It beckoned to her, tugging at her like a craving. Try me and see, it seemed to call. You can have a child. You’ll see. It’s what you want. It’s what I can give.
Against her will Liz stooped down, slowly extending her shaking left hand until it hovered over the stone. She could feel its heat and she did not want to touch it. Every inch of her screamed not to, but something else told her she must. This was a last chance for her. There would not be another. She was not yet too old, her life was far from over and her dream was within reach if she only had the courage to grasp it.
Her left hand snatched it up and she stood holding it. She could feel the exhilaration of Agbado. He had a new master to serve. The window to this world would be unlocked again. He would not have to sit alone in the darkness outside looking in.
Liz flung the stone as hard as she could, but at the last instant, even trying as desperately as she could, she could not release her grip on it. Still, she swung her arm so hard the weight of the stone tore it from her grasp, made slippery by the blood and cracked blisters on the palm of her hand. The rock arced far out over the lake, and then seemed to hang in the air for one long moment, balanced and spinning in this strange suspended time, before dropping with an echoing splash into the water.
The world seemed to rush back in on her, the silence finally broken as the earth trembled and a powerful geyser of boiling water shot up from where the stone entered the lake. The clear sky cracked with a clap of thunder, a gust of wind howled through the trees, and then it was silent except for the sound of falling water and waves rushing away from the center of the lake.
She stood, numbly watching it, until she remembered Hampton. She staggered around and found him lying near her. She stooped to kneel next to him.
He lay still. His right front leg was nearly shot away. The bullet had also torn into his chest. Her heart sank as she stooped and lifted his head, feeling for a pulse. She could not find one, but then the dog opened his eyes and whined.
She sank down and pulled him onto her lap, hugging his warm body against her. He yelped when she put too much pressure on his ribs and she eased off. Sobs choked her and she wept as she had never wept before, not even for Alex, rocking slowly against a large rock behind her. She buried her face against his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeated over and over.
Hampton tried to lick her face. She carefully held his head and looked into his eyes. “You’ll be all right, sweetie. You hear, you big dumb dog?” She kissed him on the nose.
She could not let him die. Whatever it took she would see to it. But worried as she was, it was also a release from all the corrupting hate and anger that had nearly drowned her. Her love for this silly wonderful dog and the heartache of possibly losing him loosened the iron hold Agbado had placed on her mind, and she felt the slow return of the Liz Pemberton she knew.
She sat there clutching Hampton for a long time, and then she gently laid him on the ground and patted his head, telling him to stay. He tried to rise up once, realized he could not, and with a groan obeyed her.
Liz heard Beth frantically calling her name. This time the sound was clear and normal. She was not far.
The fog and the sky had cleared completely. Liz held her face up to a sun she had not seen in what felt like an eternity. She closed her eyes a moment. A loon called, its voice otherworldly and sad.
She wondered, after all that had happened, who was she? Kevin was right. She had seen things she could never un-see. She knew things that she could never un-know. The keystone had opened doors into dark, frightening places inside her that could never be closed. And she had committed murder.
But she had survived.
She would send Beth for help. She would watch over Hampton and Kevin until Beth got back. She would do everything she could for them. Not because it was right or wrong, or because she was told to or that she would be rewarded for it now or later, but because it was her nature. It was who she was.
Epilogue
Liz, Beth and Hampton strolled down the steep hill to Liz’s favorite sidewalk café. Liz was happy to see them both again. Hampton had lost his right front leg, but hopped along as carefree as ever. At the end of her leash was Gem, a moody but likable seventy-pound blond mutt Liz had picked up at her local shelter.
“I love San Francisco,” said Beth.
Liz nodded. Beth looked so much happier, and it was good to see. “It’s nice to have you for the summer. We’ll have a great time.”
“Thanks for inviting us.”
“I always keep my promises,” Liz said with a smile.
They sat at a table, the dogs quietly settling in under their chairs, as they discussed Liz’s plans for the coming weeks. They ordered food, and then talked some more, a lighthearted conversation that avoided the serious.
As evening drew in, the chat fell silent and Liz met Beth’s eyes. There were questions there. She knew there would be.
“What are you thinking, Beth?”
Beth shrugged. “I don’t want to spoil things. It’s such a perfect night.”
“Well, I’d be surprised if you didn’t have questions. Better to talk now than let them fester. We both know too much about the consequences of that.”
Beth nodded. “I’ve had a lot of conversations with Dad about… well, you know. She was my mother, Liz. I don’t know why she did all the things she did, and in a way I don’t even know exactly what it is she did, but I know somehow she did kill Grandma and Grandpa, and there was someone else, a man named Ian Powell. I think he might have raped her, or tried to, a long time ago. I found it in her dairy. Her writing at the end got strange and there were things I didn’t understand, but my grandparents and Powell are three people she especially said she ‘made pay.’ I looked up Powell’s name and found he’d died shortly after my grandparents. It was reportedly an auto accident, a head-on collision. His wife lived long enough to say a fight had caused it. She’d hit him. He’d lost control of the car.”
Beth paused. “The whole family died.” She shuddered.
“Liz, why did she do it? What was she going to do to me?”
Liz reached out and took Beth’s hand. “I don’t know. Many bad things happened to your mom. Things that shouldn’t have happened. Things that weren’t her fault. But they happened anyway. Your mom was fighting back, but the fight took her over, I think. In defending herself, I think she became the very thing she hated. Anger is a trap, and the pain takes you over until you can think of nothing else but making it stop, no matter what it takes.
“Your mom hurt. People who are hurt and angry don’t think clearly. It’s a kind of madness. Your father once told me that a passionat
e obsession is the lifeblood of our demons, and it drives us to things we wouldn’t normally consider. It is so easy to hate, to rage and tear down, and so hard to love. Jesus, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, they all preached love and they were all the victims of hate. We talk of love, but few are really capable of it. I think love got strangled in your mom, Beth, strangled by the people who should have loved her, should have taught her what love is, but instead abused her until all the world looked like a threat. I think that’s something your dad experienced in Africa with Bill, as well.
“Your mom thought Kevin and I plotted against her and betrayed her. I think she intended us harm, just as she did your grandparents. But you… I don’t know, Beth. I hope, I believe, that there was some part of her that would never have allowed her to hurt you.”
Beth nodded, but looked unconvinced. She shrugged, and then said, “After what happened, you made me take care of Dad and Hampton. What did you do with Mom?”
Liz sighed. “I buried her deep in the woods, Beth, along with most of her things. Then I loaded her canoe with rocks and sank it before flagging down the Ranger pontoon plane. She didn’t want anyone to know where she was, so no one would ever think of searching for her there.” Liz shook her head. “It’s strange to talk about. She died, and no one knows how or where except us. And I killed her. Even now, I don’t really know how I did that, it’s so alien to anything I thought I could ever do or be. Yet I did it. It haunts me.”
“You saved us, Liz.”
Liz looked into her eyes. “Yes, I suppose so. But I would just as soon not have done it. Murder is an evil, Beth. Always and everywhere, even when you have to, killing wounds the soul and cripples the heart.”
Beth appeared to struggle with something she wanted to say. She finally blurted out, “And the stone? Do you still have it?”
“Good god, no,” said Liz. “I threw it far out into the lake.” She shuddered inwardly, remembering her struggle and how she almost hadn’t let it go.
“But there’s one thing I keep wondering, I keep asking myself,” said Beth. “Was there really an Agbado? Was the demon real?”
The Demon Stone Page 22
