Brooks, Terry - Word vs. Void 03 - Angel Fire East (v1.0)

by Angel Fire East (lit)

  Larry Spence had closed Bennett's bedroom door and was standing in the hallway, waiting for her. He continued to look ill at ease. Leaving her own bedroom door open just a crack, anxious that Harper not hear what might be said, she took him back down the hall to where Ross was waiting. They sat together in the living room, Ross and Nest on the couch, Spence in the easy chair. He produced a small notebook and pen, jotted a few notes, and then asked Nest to begin.

  She did so without preamble, detailing the events from the time of their departure from the house until her discovery at Robert's that Bennett was missing. She left out anything about Ross, preferring to let him tell his own story. She also left out everything about the ur'droch, saying instead that she had come back to find the house broken into and the power and phone out.

  When she finished her account, she brought out the note that Bennett had left in her coat the night before. "I forgot about this earlier, but I found it this morning before you called. Bennett must have tucked it in my pocket last night before she slipped out of the Hepplers'."

  She handed it to Spence, who read it carefully. "Almost sounds as if she thought something was going to happen to her, doesn't it?" he said, mostly to himself. He cleared his throat and shifted to a new position. "Just one or two more questions. Then I'll take Mr. Ross's statement and be on my way."

  He ended up asking rather a lot of questions, she thought, repeating himself more than once in the process and annoying her considerably. But she stuck it out, not wanting to have to go through this again later. Once or twice, she got up to peek down the hallway, and each time Larry Spence quickly called her back by saying he was almost done, that he had just a few more questions, as if he was afraid she was going to walk out on him and not come back.

  When he was finished with her, he interviewed Ross, a process that for all the noise he had made earlier about drug connections and shady characters took considerably less time than it had with her. He raised an eyebrow when Josie Jackson was mentioned, but said nothing. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he'd lost interest in Ross completely.

  "Guess that's it," he announced finally, checking his watch for what must have been the twentieth time, slapping closed the notebook, and rising to his feet. "Sorry to take so long."

  He was still nervous as Nest walked him to the front door, glancing everywhere but at her, looking as if he had something bottled up inside that he was dying to get out. At the door, he gave her a peek at what it was.

  "Look, I don't want you to get the wrong idea, girl, but I'm worried about you staying here." He seemed uncertain about where to go with this, his head lowered, his deputy sheriff's hat in his hands. "There's things about this investigation that you don't know. Things I can't tell you."

  I could say the same, she thought. She had no time for this. "Well, call me when you can, okay?"

  He nodded absently. "If you want to come by the office later—alone—I'll try to fill you in." He shook his head. "I shouldn't do this, you know, I'm not supposed to tell you anything, but I can't just leave you in the dark. You understand what I'm saying?"

  She stared at him. "Not really."

  He nodded some more. "I suppose not. It's pretty complex, even to me. But you got yourself in the middle of something, girl. I know you don't have any part in what's happening, but I—"

  "Not this again, Larry," she interrupted quickly.

  "I know how you feel, but—"

  "You don't know how I feel," she exploded, "and if you want my honest opinion, you don't know what you're talking about, either! If this has to do with that old man in the black coat with the leather book, I'm telling you for the last time— stay away from him. Don't listen to anything he says and don't do anything he tells you to. He's dangerous, Larry. Trust me. You don't want anything to do with him."

  Larry Spence screwed up his face and straightened his shoulders. "He's FBI, Nest!" he hissed softly.

  She looked at him as if he had just climbed out of a spaceship. "No, Larry, he isn't. He's not one of the good guys. He's not your friend and he's certainly not mine. He's not anything he seems to be. Have you checked up on him? Have you asked for proof of who he claims to be from someone else?"

  "Don't tell me how to do my job, please."

  "Well, maybe someone should! Look, do yourself a favor. Call Washington or whoever. Make sure. 'Cause you know what? It's entirely possible that old man is responsible for what happened to Bennett."

  "You're way out of line, girl!" Spence was suddenly agitated, combative. "You don't know any of this. You're just saying it to protect Ross!"

  "I'm saying it to protect you!"

  His face flushed dark red. "You think I'm stupid? You think I can't see what's going on? You and Ross are—"

  He caught himself, but it was too late. She knew exactly what he was going to say next. Her mouth tightened. "Get out, Larry," she ordered, barely able to contain her fury. "Right now. And don't come back."

  He swept past her with a grunt and went out the door, slamming it behind him. She watched him stomp back to his cruiser, climb in, and drive off. She was so angry she kept watching until he was out of sight, half-afraid he might change his mind and try to come back.

  When the phone rang, she was still seething. She stalked into the kitchen and snatched up the receiver. "Hello?"

  "Nest? Hi. You sound a little out of sorts. Did I pick a bad time to call?"

  She exhaled sharply. "Paul?"

  "Yeah. Are you okay?"

  She brushed back her curly hair. "I'm fine."

  "You don't sound fine."

  She nodded at the wall, looking out the window at the empty drive. "Sorry. I just had a visitor who rubbed me the wrong way. How are you?"

  "I'm good." He sounded relaxed, comfortable. She liked hearing him like this. "You got my earlier messages, right?"

  "I did. Sorry I didn't call back before, but I've been pretty busy. I have some guests for the holiday, and I've..."

  She ran out of anywhere to go with this, so she simply left the sentence hanging. "Well, it's been hectic."

  "That's the holidays for you. More trouble than they're worth sometimes. Especially when you have a houseful."

  "It's not so bad," she lied.

  "If you say so. Anyway, how would you feel about having another guest, maybe sometime after the first of the year?"

  She couldn't tell him how much she wanted that, how much she needed to see him. She was surprised at the depth of the feeling he invoked in her. She knew it was due in part to her present circumstances, to the loneliness and uncertainty she was feeling, to her heightened sense of mortality and loss. She knew as well that she still had strong feelings for Paul. A part of her had never really given up on him. A part of her wanted him back.

  "I'd like that." She smiled and almost laughed. "I'd like that very much."

  "Me, too. I've missed you. Seems like a million years since I've seen you. Well, since anyone's seen you, for that matter." His voice turned light, bantering. "Good old Hopewell, refuge for ex-Olympians. I can't believe you're still there. Seems like the wrong place for you after all you've done with your life. You still train regularly, Nest?"

  "Sure, a little."

  "Thinking about competing in the next Olympics?"

  She hesitated, confused. "Not really. No."

  "Well, either way, you've got a great story to tell, and my editor will pay a lot for it. We can talk about your career, memories, old times, flesh it out with what's happening now. I can use an old picture of you or have the photographer take a new one. It's your choice. But you might get the cover, so a new one makes sense."

  She shook her head in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

  "Of the magazine. The cover. I want to do a story on you while I'm visiting. Mix a little business with pleasure. It makes sense. Everybody wants to know what's happened to you since the last Olympics. Who can tell your story better than me? We can work on it in our spare time. They'll pay a pretty
good fee for this, Nest. It's easy money."

  All the breath went out of her lungs, and she went cold all over. "You want to do a story on me?" she asked quietly, remembering the editor from Paul's magazine she had hung up on a month or so earlier.

  He laughed. "Sure. I'm a journalist, remember?" "That's what coming here to see me is all about?" "Well, no. Of course not. I mean, I want to see you, first and foremost, but I just thought it would be nice if—"

  She placed the receiver back in its cradle and severed the connection. She stood where she was, staring down at the phone, unable to believe what had just happened. A story. He wanted to see her so he could do a story. Had the magazine editor put him up to it? Had he thought he could get to her through Paul? Tears flooded her eyes. She fought to hold them in, then gave up. She walked to where Ross couldn't see her and cried silently. The phone rang again, but she didn't answer it. She stood alone in a corner and wished everything and everyone would just go away.

  It took her a few minutes to compose herself. Outside, the day was fading quickly toward darkness, and snow was beginning to fall once more in a soft white curtain. Street-lamps and porch lights glimmered up and down Woodlawn Road, and Christmas tree lights twinkled through frosted windows and along railings and eaves. On a snow-covered lawn across the way, a painted wooden nativity scene was bathed in white light.

  Ross appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Are you all right?" Everybody's favorite question. She nodded without looking at him. "Just disappointed."

  The phone rang again. This time, she picked it up. "Look, Paul," she began.

  "Nest, it's Larry Spence." She heard him breathing hard in the receiver, as if he had run a race. His voice was breaking. "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry, that's all. I'm sorry. I know you'll probably never speak to me again, but Robinson is right—we can't take chances with this business. You're not thinking straight, girl. If you were, you'd see how much danger you're in and you'd get the hell out of there. I'm just doing what I have to do, nothing more. But I'm sorry it had to be me, 'cause I know you—"

  "Go away, Larry," she said, and hung up.

  She stared at the phone absently. What was he talking about? She had no idea, but his tone of voice bothered her. He sounded anxious, almost frantic. Apologizing like that, over and over, for asking a few boring questions...

  Then suddenly, unexpectedly, she thought of the children. She had forgotten about them in the rush of events, of Larry Spence coming and going, of the phone calls. She glanced toward her bedroom. They were being awfully quiet in there.

  She walked down the hallway quickly, snapping on lights as she went. She was being silly. She was overreacting. Pick's security net was in place. No one could get in or out of her house without her sensing it. She fought down the impulse to run. No, she kept saying inside her head, trying to reassure herself. No!

  "Harper! Little John!"

  She reached her bedroom and threw open the door. An orange blur shot past her from under the bed and disappeared down the hall—Hawkeye, hair all on end, hissing in rage and fear. Her eyes swept the room hurriedly. Shadows nestled comfortably in the corners and draped the bed in broad stripes. The puzzle and toys lay scattered on the floor. Harper's cup of apple juice sat half-empty on her nightstand.

  But the children were gone.

  CHAPTER 2 5

  At first, she could not bring herself to move. She just stood, staring at the empty room, shocked into immobility, frozen with disbelief. A rush of confused thoughts crowded through her mind. The children had to be there. She had put them there herself. She just wasn't seeing them. Maybe they were playing hide-and-seek, and she was supposed to come look for them. Maybe they were under the bed or in the closet. But they couldn't have just disappeared!

  She forced herself to look for them because the sound of her thinking was making her crazy. Even though she knew what she would find, she searched under the bed and in the closet and anywhere else she could think to look. As she did, her shock dissipated and her anger began to grow. They were supposed to be safe; her house was supposed to be protected! Nothing was supposed to be able to get inside without her knowing! It was the first time that Pick had let her down, and she was furious at him.

  It wasn't until she searched the adjoining rooms, desperate by now for help from any quarter, that she discovered the window in Bennett's bedroom was wide open. Then the telephone call from Larry Spence began to make sense. She had left him alone in that bedroom while she had gone to fetch the children, and he had used the opportunity to open the window from the inside. Pick had warned that the safety net was vulnerable from within. Larry was still under the sway of Findo Gask, and he had given Cask access without her knowing. He had come to her home specifically to help the demon steal the children.

  Worried by the silence, Ross came down the hallway to find her. It was he who found the damp outline of the footprint on the carpet. The footprint wasn't human; it resembled that of a large lizard, three-toed and clawed at the tips.

  The ur'droch took them, she realized at once. And now the demons had them.

  She wanted to curl up and die. She wanted to attack someone. She was conflicted and ravaged by her emotions, and it was all she could do to hold herself together as she stood with Ross in the darkened hallway and discussed the possibilities.

  "Cask has them," she insisted quietly, her voice hushed and furtive, as if the walls would convey her thoughts to those who shouldn't hear.

  Ross nodded. He stood very tall and still, another shadow carved from the night that gathered outside. "He wants to trade for the morph."

  "But he already has the morph."

  "He doesn't realize that. If he did, he wouldn't have bothered with Harper." Ross was staring at her, green eyes locked on hers. "He thinks we still have it hidden away somewhere. He's taken the children to force us to give it up. Nothing else has worked—threats, attacks, breaking into the house. But he knows how you feel about the children."

  She thought again of Larry Spence. "I was a fool," she said bitterly. She leaned against the wall, running her fingers through her curly hair. "I should have seen this coming. Gask tried for the children last night. I just didn't realize what he was doing. I thought he was attacking them to scare me. He was trying to steal them."

  "He was more subtle about it this time. He used the deputy sheriff to open up the house and then distract us."

  She made a disgusted noise. "Larry doesn't understand what's happening. John, what are we going to do?"

  "Wait." He started back down the hall for the living room. "Gask will call."

  The demon did so, fifteen minutes later. They were sitting in the kitchen by then, sipping at hot coffee and listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock in the silence. Outside, the darkness had chased west the last of the daylight and layered the snow-shrouded landscape. Streetlamps and porch lights blazed bravely in the blackness, small beacons illuminating houses adrift in snowbanks and wreathed in icicles. Thick flakes of snow floated through their gauzy halos as the new storm slowly rolled out of the plains.

  "Good evening, Miss Freemark," Findo Gask greeted pleasantly when she picked up the phone on the second ring. "I have someone who would like to speak to you."

  There was a momentary pause. "Neth?" Harper said in a tiny, frightened voice.

  Findo Gask came back on the line. "No more games, Miss Freemark. Playtime is over. You lost. Give me what I want or you won't see these children again, I promise you. Don't test me on this."

  "I won't," she said quietly.

  "Good. I don't know where you've hidden the morph, but I will give you until midnight to recover it. I will call you back then to arrange a time and place for the exchange. I will call only once. Any delay, any excuses, any tricks, and you and Mr. Ross will spend a very lonely Christmas. Do we understand each other?"

  She closed her eyes. "Yes."

  He hung up. She placed the receiver back in its cradle and looked at Ross. "You were right," she s
aid. "He wants a trade. The children for the morph."

  He nodded without speaking.

  "Except we don't have the morph to give him."

  "No," he agreed softly. "We don't."

  -=O=-***-=O=-

  Findo Gask wrapped his fingers carefully about the Book of Names and stood staring off into empty space. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right. It wasn't in the situation, which was progressing just as he had planned, or in Nest Freemark's voice, which was suitably submissive and worried. No, it was something else, something he had overlooked.

  "Gramps!" Penny snapped at him impatiently. "What did she say?"

  It wouldn't come to him, so he put the matter aside for later consideration. "She'll do what we want."

  Penny giggled and twirled about in mock celebration. "Little Miss Track Shoes has run out of tricks! Too bad, too bad! No gold medal for her! Better luck next time!"

  She danced around the room, frizzy red hair flying, gleefully singing tra-la-la-la. She danced at Twitch, who just looked at her dumbly, then at the ur'droch where it crouched hidden in a corner. Gask waited her out patiently.

  "Make the children some dinner," he said when she had calmed down sufficiently to pay attention. "Don't get cute and don't frighten them."

  "What's the difference?" she asked, pouting. "You'll kill them anyway. Why can't I have some fun with them first?"

  "Because I say so, Penny," he answered, giving her a steady look. "Is that reason enough for you?"

  The redhead's mouth twisted in a hard sneer. "Sure enough, Gramps. Anything your little old heart desires."

  She disappeared into the kitchen, humming tunelessly. She was becoming increasingly unstable, less easily controlled. If she went off, as she was certain to do sooner or later, he would have to kill her. Not that he was reluctant to do so, but it was inconvenient. He still might need her help. His adversaries were resourceful, and their desperation would render them less predictable. Penny Dreadful was a valuable counter to such behavior. He might have to agree to give her the children as a reward. She would like that. If she had his promise that she could have them when this was over, she was more likely to stay in line. It was a cheap enough price.