But his specific orders had been to have a man in the cabin at all times. He was not sure of Monckton, but he knew Sterne would never disobey his orders. Unless …
Unless something more important countermanded them.
The alarm.
He dialed the number again. This time he let it ring only six times before slamming down the receiver. He sat for a minute trying to think, then picked up the receiver and jabbed a button on his console.
"Yessir?" Harrison's voice, thin and reedy, responded.
"Something's wrong at The Pines," he barked. "There's no answer on the phone."
"Yessir?"
"Can you hear me?"
"Y-yes. Yes sir."
"Good God! Just shut up then! Call the police at Wilmer. Tell them to get a car up to the cabin right away. And get a Learjet ready for takeoff. I want to leave as quickly as possible."
“Yessir.''
Renault slammed down the phone. "Good God …" He threw a few things in the overnight bag he kept at the ready, cursing the luck that made him rush. It was the twenty-eighth of October, and he'd hoped to fly up on the thirtieth, spend the night in Wilmer, and drive to The Pines the following day to be there when the house opened; he'd been calling the cabin to let Sterne know of his arrival. And now this. Scenarios ran through his mind. Fire? Madness? Murder? He hadn't believed anything would happen, but now he was horribly unsure.
He closed his bag, snapped the latches. Then he grabbed the phone again. “Harrison? The plane?"
"The plane will leave in a half hour, Mr. Renault." The voice shook. "Can you be on the heliport roof in five minutes?"
"Of course I can! What about the police?"
"I was just about to call them when you—"
"Do it then!" he yelled, hanging up. He threw his topcoat over his shoulder, grabbed his bag, and rolled his prodigious bulk out of his office past a quivering Harrison, who was frenziedly searching for the correct area code.
Sterne had better either be up at the house or dead, Renault thought grimly. Otherwise he's fired.
Chapter Twenty-three
Do you want to die so soon?
McNeely shivered. It had been hours since he had heard the voice, hours of white-knuckled fear, with thoughts of escape and betrayal rising involuntarily, only to be pushed down into a morass of trivia. He could not think of it, he told himself over and over again, and cursed himself for telling himself. And the more he tried not to think of it, the more he did think of it, until he knew the message must be written in fire for the entity to see. He repeated nursery rhymes to himself, he did the multiplication tables, he tried to list the titles of series books he'd read when he was a boy, but through it all, through Mary, Mary, quite contrary, and eight times eight is sixty-four, and Tarzan and the Lion Man and While the Clock Ticked and a hundred others, came the inner scream, How can I stop them!
And now he knew the screams had been heard.
We asked if you wished to die.
No.
You will if you try to betray us. You cannot, you know.
What do you expect of me! His thought burst like a flare. You know I don't want to help you!
You took us of your own free will.
Free will, he thought bitterly.
You must obey. You will not be harmed if you obey. But your treachery makes us uneasy.
McNeely could not help himself. If they're uneasy, he thought consciously, then there's a way to defeat them.
No way, the voice replied, and McNeely's stomach twisted. You will leave the house first, or no one will leave. Condemn yourself, and you condemn her. Banish treachery from your mind.
I can't, he thought involuntarily.
It is easy to obey. Your problem is that you do not want to. The voice paused, then went on while McNeely tried to cleanse his mind of thought. We attempted to teach you, but it seems that you require us to give you a test.
A . . . test.
It will not be difficult. But you must prove to us that you will obey.
What? What do you want me to do?
Kill Kelly Wickstrom.
The knot in McNeely's abdomen tightened and expanded quickly, over and over again, an inner fist flexing. Kill Kelly Wickstrom, he thought, Kill Kelly Wickstrom, and in one moment of disorientation he could not tell the thought-tones of the alien voice from his own.
Kill Kelly Wickstrom. It was the other voice now, low and insistent.
I won't . . . No . . . I won't . . .
You must. Otherwise we will not trust you. Otherwise we will destroy you. All.
I cannot deal with this! McNeely thought with full knowledge that the thing heard all. No one should have to deal with this! And he wondered feverishly what he could say, what arguments he could make against them. If you destroy us all, then all your plans are dead as well. There'll be no one to take you out! You'll have … you'll have waited all these years, these centuries, for nothing.
We can wait again. And while we wait we will grow stronger. Still more will join us. We can wait.
And McNeely saw the dead souls hovering over Pine Mountain like a thick cloud of darkness, a tornado whose whirling edges expanded ever outward. How far could it go until it touched weak humanity again? Or would it be doomed to remain here no matter how great its numbers became? Could the psychic pinhead hold an infinity of devils?
You will wait with us. As will she.
No! No! And what if he did take it out, what then? Would it prove as strong as it had thought? Or would it find itself weak, shrunken, powerless as a vampire in sunlight? The psychic lodestone that was Pine Mountain kept it here, but what if it had sustained it as well? What if, on taking it out, he would destroy it? It had never been outside, never been set free before.
How do you know? his mind shrieked at it.
There was a silence. And out of it came a sigh that was edged with the slightest note of doubt. No words answered to confirm or deny.
Then very softly the voice spoke. Kill Kelly Wickstrom.
Listen! McNeely thought savagely, grasping at straws. It isn't right! It isn't logical!
How do you mean?
McNeely made his thoughts become slow and methodical, as if explaining to a small child. You are in me. You wish to be in someone else, someone I can reach only through my contact with Gabrielle. Now. My contact depends upon her marrying me. If I kill Wickstrom, that marriage is over before it begins. Don't you see? She'd never marry a murderer!
We have thought of that. You will kill Kelly Wickstrom in self-defense.
Self …
You will be a hero. You will kill a madman. And only you and we will know that it is murder.
McNeely's mind raced as he tried to sort through the possibilities, knowing that it was listening but unable to stop. Don't want to kill him, don't want to, but he'd die anyway, they'd kill us all, all three of us here forever with them, in agony forever, and Gabrielle what they'd do to Gabrielle, and they'd get out anyway, nothing could stop them, they'd get out, and then if they survived or died either way it would be a waste of our lives, of Gabrielle's I mean. Don't want to kill him, but if I do, then we can leave, Gabrielle and I, and it would get out anyway and maybe it dies if it goes out, maybe it does. It didn't know, it wasn't sure, if it does, then I'd have killed it, destroyed it by taking it out, but to take it out I have to kill Kelly, and can I kill Kelly to kill the thing? Or would it not die at all but get stronger away from here?—did it make me think it doubts to trick me oh Jesus oh Jesus a maze a fucking labyrinth and if I don't kill him they kill him anyway and Gabrielle with them forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever
You must kill him. You can see that.
McNeely nodded. Of my own free will.
Of course.
Then the voice was gone, and McNeely felt suddenly free. He looked up and saw the others. Gabrielle was sitting on one side of the small table, Wickstrom on the other. They were casually studying a chess board that lay between them, i
ts surface covered by gold and silver chess men. How long, he wondered, had they been playing? They'd just finished setting the pieces when the voice had spoken to him. And now Gabrielle lifted her hand and moved a piece. He tilted his head and saw the move.
Pawn to K4. A response to Wickstrom's first move. It had been only seconds. McNeely's carnival of thoughts, his maniacal discussion with the entity inside him, had taken only seconds, and he realized that time would not save him. Or Wickstrom.
Then Wickstrom gasped, a sharp inhalation that brought his knees up toward his stomach, striking the underside of the table and throwing the chessmen right and left.
"Kelly!" Gabrielle cried, leaping to her feet.
McNeely ran to Wickstrom's side. The younger man's eyes were rolling up so that only the whites and the bottoms of the irises showed. His lips were flecked with foam, and a slight trembling shook his entire frame.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Gabrielle desperately.
"I don't . . ." The body slumped in the chair, as if whatever had been animating it had fled. Wickstrom's eyes opened, and he looked up foolishly at the other two.
"What happened?" he asked.
"What happened?" Gabrielle repeated. "You . . . you went out."
"This ever happen before, Kelly?" McNeely heard himself ask. "Aside from your dreams in this house?"
"No, never." Wickstrom shook his head. "Those other times . . . here . . . I remembered. This time it was just like . . . like nothing."
"It was the house," said Gabrielle. She looked at McNeely, suppressed fury broadening her features. "You were wrong, George. It's still here."
"No," said McNeely. "It's not."
"It didn't feel like the other times," said Wickstrom. "I gotta lie down." They helped him to his bedroom. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was asleep.
"The truth, George," Gabrielle said accusingly when they were alone in the hall. "Tell me the truth."
"I couldn't with him there," McNeely replied, thinking how easy it had become to lie when so much was at stake. "I did tell you the truth about its not being the house." She frowned, but he went on. "It's Kelly. Kelly himself."
"What do you mean? Are you saying he's going crazy?"
"It's a wonder we all haven't," McNeely answered, his face lined with concern. "I've seen this before. Once in South America. We were pinned down by a group of rebels for days. No food or water at all. The one who went first was the one we'd least expected, the vet of a hundred battles." McNeely was amazed at how effortlessly the lies flowed, as though he were speaking long-memorized lines in a play. "He'd lose consciousness just like Kelly did, eyes rolling, foaming at the mouth. Then he'd come out of it okay. Until the last time."
Gabrielle looked oddly at him. He could not tell whether she believed him or not. "What happened," she asked, "the last time?"
"He went mad," McNeely answered quietly. "Took his rifle and opened fire on his own squad. Killed one man and wounded another before we finally brought him down."
Gabrielle's face was expressionless. "And you think that's what's happening to Kelly."
McNeely nodded. "Yes. I do."
"And how long did it take for this man you were with to get violent?"
"A matter of hours."
"If it happens to Kelly, how can you be sure that he'd respond violently?"
"Would you expect anything else from this place?”
“But what could he do? We have no weapons.”
“Madness brings out amazing strength. He wouldn't need any weapons."
She shook her head, and though her jaw was firm, tears were pooling in her eyes. "I can't believe it. Not Kelly."
"I know you like him. I like him too. But he could be dangerous to us."
She laughed in bitter disbelief. "So what do you want to do? Kill him?"
"If I have to, I will."
She looked at McNeely as if he were a stranger. "If he goes mad, it's because he's sick. You can't kill a man for being sick!"
"I'll do anything I have to to protect you!" The words were spoken by McNeely alone, from the heart, and Gabrielle quailed at the quiet ferocity of them. For a moment he wondered if he had gone too far, overplayed his hand, wondered if the truth had shaken her more than the lies. So he made himself relax, and let the cunningly easy manner of the thing inside him take control once more. "We'll just watch him closely," he said. "If there's anything really wrong, we'll be able to tell."
She nodded in agreement, but her eyes were frightened, and he felt as though he had to get away from her accusing stare, had to speak to the entity to find out what had happened, where they were headed, what to do next. He felt drawn in half, as though he were two different people over neither of whom he had complete control.
"I'm tired," he said. "I think I'll take a nap." He walked down the hall and into their suite, listening to her footsteps slowly following him. Turning at the bedroom door, he watched her sit on the sofa and stare at her hands on her lap. When he realized she was not going to join him, he closed the door and lay down on the bed.
What happens now? he thought.
You'll kill Kelly Wickstrom.
She didn't believe me.
We planted the seed. It will grow.
McNeely asked no more questions, and the voice within him was silent. He felt like a machine whose battery had run down and was being recharged. And when the power had been restored, what then?
Then he would kill a man.
He must have slept, for the voice seemed to pull him out of a strange dream of odd, twisted faces in a red haze.
She is with him!
"With … who?" He spoke aloud, forgetting.
With Wickstrom! In his room!
McNeely sat up. He swayed slightly, still half-asleep, then ran into the living room. Gabrielle was not there.
Go into the hall.
He opened the door slowly and stepped through. There was no longer any question of whether or not to obey. He had come so far that he had to go on, not even wondering if he was truly possessed. It was not as though it commanded and he obeyed; instead, its mind was his. He was the thing's hands and body, moving when it chose. He knew he should be terrified by the concept, but he felt strangely emotionless, unwilling to rebel.
The door of Wickstrom's suite was slightly ajar, and he listened to the conversation within.
“ … like somebody clobbered me over the head and I stepped out for a minute. Like it wasn't really me."
"Do you think it was your mind or not?" Gabrielle's voice, pressing.
"It wasn't. I swear it wasn't. And still it wasn't like the other times."
"George thinks you're . . . you might be dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Oh, Christ."
Come away! the voice hissed.
McNeely stepped back from the door and reentered his suite. He lay down once more on the bed.
You must do it now. Before it is too late.
Too late?
You fool! She's warning him!
McNeely smiled, pleased at the irritation in its voice. I told you she didn't believe me. It was you in Wickstrom then, wasn't it?
There was no reply.
I felt something leave me just before he went out.
They’re plotting against you, the voice snarled. Not against us.
You’re changing the subject.
We’ll change your life to death in another second. Have you forgotten what happens if …
McNeely interrupted verbally. “I’ve forgotten everything.” His voice was far away as though he were forgetting even how to speak.
Do not forget her. The voice was softer now, oddly matching McNeely’s tranced, puzzled mood. His death means her life. She will believe you.
“What do I believe?” he whispered into the dim light.
You believe in her.
It’s no use, McNeely thought to himself. It doesn’t matter now. Then, aloud, he said, “I’ll need your strength.”
You shall have it.
Chapter Twenty-four
Renault, holding a small microphone, sat in the copilot's seat. The copilot sat behind him, gritting his teeth in response to the racket Renault was making.
"Of course no one was at the cabin! No one answered my calls! What about the main house? . . . What do you mean your men didn't check? For God's sake, that's what I wanted checked! What did Harrison tell you? . . . Harrison! The man from my office who called you? . . . That goddamned idiot! Now listen, sheriff . . . all right then, chief! Get some men up to The Pines right away. And an ambulance as well. I don't care, knock it down! Damn the gate! And one more thing. Can you have a car waiting at the airport? I'll want to go right up to the mountain. I'll cover any expenses and more . . . I assure you it is vitally important. . . . All right, fine. Yes, thank you." He flicked a switch and sat back in the seat. "Damn it." He turned to the pilot. "How long now?"
"Almost there, sir.
"Hmph." Renault noticed something in the dark sky ahead, and leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. "What's that below?"
“Snow, sir.”
Chapter Twenty-five
How shall I kill him?
With your hands.
He's strong.
You will be stronger.
Where?
The cellar. You will ask for his help in the cellar. And then?
He will go mad and try to kill you. You will act in self-defense.
What if Gabrielle comes with us?
She will not.
I do not want this.
Yes. You want it.
When?
When she returns. Pretend to wake as she comes in.
I don't know what to say, what to do.
Leave that to us. Save yourself for killing.
For the first time McNeely noticed that the voice shook. Not from weakness, not from any lack of power . . . but from excitement.
He tried very hard not to think about it.
Chapter Twenty-six
It was the snow that finally forced Monckton to light the second match. He had planned to every minute, but every minute fear stopped him. If the air was still, it was only because a fresh breeze was about to spring up. Besides, it was too dark now, wasn't it? Who would see the smoke in the night? And when dawn came, and both the smoke and the flame might be seen, well, no one would be up at that hour, no, and the wind was too brisk anyway. Only one match now, only one match.
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