“Oh.” He stretched the word out, accenting it with a knowing nod.
Anna acknowledged his nod with one of her own. “I really like him.”
“I can tell. And there lies the struggle. But here’s something to think about. Maybe you’re supposed to share what you believe with Rory. Maybe it’s just what he needs to hear at this time in his life, and you’re just the person to do it.”
“Oh, great. Like I don’t have enough to think about.” She turned away in frustration, looking west down Main Street. “Hey,” she said suddenly.
“What?” Jimmy murmured, leaning around her.
“That’s one of the boys coming out of the forest.” Anna stepped down off the porch, shielding her eyes against the sun. “That’s Nicholas D’Angelo.” She ran down the road, sure she was seeing the missing boy.
As Anna neared Nicholas, she noticed his rumpled appearance. A twig and some leaves stuck to his clothes and hair, and his eyes were rimmed with red. He looked exhausted, dazed, and fearful. He shivered intermittently.
“Honey, are you all right?” Anna asked. She raised her hands to touch him. He stared back at her.
“It’s okay,” Anna cooed, moving cautiously.
“Is he okay?” Rory came racing up, out of breath. “We saw you from the dock.”
“Oh my, that’s Nicholas, isn’t it?” Myrtle hurried up, her lips pursed with concern.
“I’m okay,” the boy whispered.
He hardly moved as Anna put her hands on his shoulders. “What happened?”
“My head – it hurts.” Nicholas reached up with a hand and gingerly touched a spot of matted hair.
“Oh,” Anna murmured, looking where his hand was. “He’s got a nasty bump there, and it’s bled some.”
Myrtle stood on her tiptoes and looked at the wound. “That is quite a bump. Wonder if he’s got a concussion,” she said, her voice a grandmotherly calm. She looked Nicholas squarely in the eyes. “Can you tell us what happened?”
“Uh, we were messing around near the mines…” He stopped and looked off into space.
“Do you know where Mick is? What happened to him?” Anna asked quietly.
Nicholas’ eyes drifted to her. “I, uh, I don’t know. It was dark.”
“Maybe we should take him to a hospital,” Rory said.
Anna nodded and carefully placed her arm around Nicholas. At first he shrank back, but then he let her lead him down the road. He looked like he was about to collapse. “It’s okay,” she said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“We need to get the sheriff,” Myrtle whispered. “And tell his parents. They’ll be relieved.”
“I wonder what happened to him,” Rory said.
“They got Mick,” Nicholas mumbled, as if he’d heard Rory.
“What?” Anna couldn’t hold back her surprise.
“Who did?” Rory asked quietly.
“They did.” Nicholas spoke as if his voice was not attached to his body.
“Oh my gosh, what did he see?” Myrtle asked, her voice cracking.
“Do you know what happened to Mick?” Rory asked him.
Anna threw him a dirty look. “Not now,” she mouthed at him.
“Let him talk,” he whispered.
“They took him.”
“Who?” Rory asked again.
“That fisherman.”
“Which one?”
“The weird guy. The one with the claw.”
“Ed,” Myrtle murmured.
“Come on,” Anna moved him along. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
“The black mist. Did you see the black mist?” Nicholas asked, his voice edged with panic. “It came down.”
“It’s okay,” Anna put her arm around him.
“Man, it talked.” Nicholas heaved a sigh. “Where’s Mick?”
No one said a word.
“Where’s Mick?” he asked again, his eyes glazed over.
By now they were close to the store. Jimmy leaned against the porch railing, staring at the tiny parade coming toward him.
“Jimmy, call the sheriff’s department,” Myrtle instructed him. “Tell them we’ve found Nicholas and to get Clinton over here right away.”
Jimmy dipped his head once and shuffled into the store as fast as his old legs would allow him.
Anna had Nicholas sit on the porch steps, and she sunk down next to him. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine,” she patted his hand.
Nicholas stared at the lake, blinking slowly.
“Poor boy.” Myrtle sat down near them. “What he must’ve been through.”
Rory stood off to the side, watching.
“I wonder what black mist he’s talking about,” Anna whispered. “We haven’t had any sign of rain for days.” She looked up and saw a strange expression on Rory’s face, one of concern mixed with something else. He looked terrified.
CHAPTER 30
Clinton Truitt wished he could find a moment to rest. After leaving the general store, he had gone to coordinate search efforts, then headed for the Hull cabin to talk with Mick’s parents.
“We’ll keep looking today,” Clinton Truitt said to Kenneth Hull after Kenneth had invited the sheriff inside. This was the part of the job that he dreaded, updating the family on an unsuccessful search, telling them that they would do all they could, knowing that with each passing moment, it was more likely they wouldn’t find the kids unharmed. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to tell the parents that their son was dead.
Trish Hull wasn’t handling her son’s disappearance as well as her husband, and he worried for her. Dark circles under puffy bloodshot eyes spoke of a sleepless night wrought with tears. Her lackluster hair was flat, rakish strands flying about. She had aged years overnight.
“There’s no sign of them?” she whispered.
Clinton frowned. “Nothing. But we’ve still got volunteers out looking. And we’ll get together some more people as soon as we can.”
The investigation of the mines the previous night had been fruitless, only causing more heartache as the tension mounted between the Hulls and Gino D’Angelo. The kids had probably been at the Luckless Lady mine, and recently, judging by the fresh cigarette butts and beer cans. Sadly, Clinton knew that all the parents were being confronted with different images of their children, one where they were not straight-A, perfect kids. That knowledge alone had rocked their world, and then to add to it their disappearance – he left the thought unfinished.
“I want to organize another group now,” Kenneth said. He’d gone with the volunteer posse at dawn, combing the hills looking for the kids, but had nearly fallen in a mine shaft, too tired to watch where he was going, so Clinton had made him return to his cabin.
“We’ll keep searching,” Clinton reiterated.
His walkie-talkie squawked. He took a step back from the Hulls and answered. “What’s that?” he asked, his surprise showing in a voice a bit too loud. “What about the other boy?” The Hulls gaped at him. “I’m on my way.”
“What?” Trish asked breathlessly. “What is it?”
“They’ve found Nicholas.” Clinton headed for the door.
A shaking hand flew to Trish’s face. “Oh my – ” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Is he all right? What about Mick? Please God…” She slumped into Kenneth.
“Nicholas is down at the general store. They said he’s got a bump on the head, and he may be in shock, but otherwise he looks okay.”
“But there’s no sign of Mick?” Kenneth asked. By now they were out on the porch.
“No sign of him.” Clinton watched as disappointment covered their faces. “I’ll find out what I can from Nicholas and get back to you. Please, try not to worry. I’m sure Nicholas will be able to tell us where Mick is. It’s going to be okay.”
As he drove away from the Hull cabin, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d lied to them. He didn’t think everything was okay. Nicholas had come back alone. That was a bad sign.
When Clinton arrived at the general store, Anna was still on the front porch, her arm around Nicholas’ shoulders. Rory and Myrtle stood nearby. A few curious hikers and a teenager carrying fishing gear stood on the other side of Main Street, watching.
Other than the bump on his head, Nicholas didn’t appear to have any other physical injuries. But he sat dazed, a vacant expression focused somewhere on the lake.
“He’s seems okay, but…” Anna shrugged her shoulders as Clinton got out of the sheriff’s car and came up the steps. She let her arm drop from his shoulders.
Clinton nodded and let out a slow breath. He stooped down and looked Nicholas in the face. “Nicholas, can you hear me?”
Nicholas’ eyes strayed from the lake and focused on Clinton. He blinked once. “Yeah.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Nicholas shrugged. “They got him. The dude with the claw hand.” He looked away.
“Who? They got Mick?”
Nicholas nodded.
“Who got him? Is he okay?”
Nicholas shrugged again. “I don’t know what happened. I hit my head. Mick’s gone.”
“Where?” Clinton asked again, more urgency in his voice.
“I dunno. It was dark. They were gone.”
They? Clinton thought. “Nicholas, who else was there?” Nicholas stared at him. Clinton sighed. The boy was confused, wasn’t making sense. Clinton fought against building frustration.
“How do you feel?” Clinton dropped to one knee so he could look into Nicholas’ eyes.
The boy stared at him. “I got a headache. Can I go home now?”
“I think we should call an ambulance,” Clinton said.
Nicholas cringed back, suddenly more alert. “No, I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m fine, really.” Fear spread across his face. “Can’t you take me home? My father will want to see me first. He’ll decide if I should see a doctor.”
“I don’t know…” Clinton frowned.
“If you call an ambulance, I won’t go,” Nicholas said defiantly. “Please, I’m fine. I need to go home.”
Clinton contemplated the boy for a moment. “All right,” he finally said. “I’ll take you home.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Anna whispered.
Clinton stood up. “He will be. I’ll take him home and let his parents take him in. I think Nicholas probably wants to have his parents go with him to the hospital.” Nicholas overhead him and nodded his agreement. Clinton gestured for Nicholas to follow him.
Anna waved for Clinton to stop. “He was talking about a mist or something earlier,” Anna said. “He’s pretty out of it.” Rory then recounted what Nicholas had said earlier.
“Mists, huh?” Clinton said when Rory had finished. “Doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
Rory shook his head, but Clinton didn’t completely believe him. It seemed to Clinton that Rory was holding something back. But Clinton also noticed that Nicholas wasn’t reacting negatively to Rory’s presence. That probably wouldn’t be the case if Rory had been involved in the Mick’s disappearance.
“And you all think ‘the man with the claw’ means Ed Miller?” Clinton asked. He received vigorous nods from Rory, Myrtle, and Anna. “It couldn’t be someone else?”
“Who else fits that description?” Myrtle snapped, her tone indicating she thought the sheriff had asked a supremely stupid question.
It seemed logical, but Clinton wasn’t about to pin the disappearances on Ed purely because local opinion deemed it so. What he did want to do was find Ed and ask him a few questions.
Clinton got Nicholas settled in the passenger seat of his cruiser. The others walked with Clinton to his door. “Watch for the other boy. And let me know if anyone sees Ed or Samuel around. Or Brewster,” he added.
“This is all so bizarre,” Anna said.
“I’m sure everything’ll be okay,” he echoed his words earlier, still not believing them.
“I hope so.” Anna forced a smile. “The last couple of days have been so strange.”
Clinton got inside the cruiser. Nicholas sat silent as he drove off. On the way to the D’Angelo cabin he radioed instructions for the volunteer posse to continue looking for Mick, and for an APB to be put out on Ed Miller, Samuel Friedman, and Aloysius Brewster.
Clinton pondered Anna’s comment as he drove out to the D’Angelo cabin. He had to admit that in all his years covering this part of the county, he’d never had two kids go missing, then one turn up not knowing where the other was – and add to that the disappearance of two locals. He eyed Nicholas. The boy was staring out the front window, hands clasped in his lap. Clinton sighed. It was strange around here, he thought, looking out on the nearly empty lake, then back to the abandoned café. It was as if the events of the last twenty-four hours had chased everyone away.
He rolled down the car window and let the dusty breeze cool him as he drove up a side road. As he pulled up outside the D’Angelo cabin, he noticed Nicholas’ demeanor change. His hands started playing with the hem of his cut-off jeans, and his breathing became shallower.
“You okay?” Clinton asked.
Nicholas didn’t say a word, but slowly got out of the car.
Clinton got out and escorted Nicholas up the porch steps. He rapped on the front door. Someone peeked through the drawn blinds. Mary D’Angelo, he guessed. Clinton could hear a hushed conversation seep out through an open window, then heavy footfalls approaching the door.
“Thank goodness you’re back safe,” Gino D’Angelo said when he opened the door. But then the expression on his face went from relief to anger.
“Where have you been?” he snapped at Nicholas. The boy shrunk away from the door, but Gino reached out and pulled him into the cabin. “He’s okay, right?”
“He’s got a couple of pretty nasty bumps on the head,” Clinton said, trying to peer into the dark living room. An awkward pause hung between them. “Do you mind if I come in?” he smiled at Gino.
Gino hesitated, then shook his head. “My wife is indisposed at the moment, not feeling well. It’s best if we talk here.” Behind him, Nicholas stood staring at the floor. “Son, go to your room,” Gino ordered him. Nicholas shuffled out of Clinton’s sight.
“Your son should be taken to a hospital. He’s had some kind of scare, and he should be checked out to make sure he’s okay.”
“Yes. I’ll take care of him,” Gino said, holding up a hand. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”
Clinton took off his hat. “There’s still no sign of Mick.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected in the way of reaction from Gino, but what he got, or didn’t get, surprised him. Gino nodded impassively. “That’s too bad,” he finally said.
“Nicholas wasn’t able to provide any information about what happened to them, other than to say they were messing around near the mines.” As Clinton talked, he puzzled over the unemotional man before him. He didn’t seem to care about any of the information, let alone show concern for his own son. “I’d like him to show me where he was last night, too. Maybe he can – ”
“My son stays here,” Gino interrupted him.
“Nicholas might be able to help us find Mick,” Clinton said, his voice firmer than before. “I need to talk to him about last night.”
“No.” Gino stared at him. “Right now I’m going to make sure he gets some rest.”
Clinton was irritated. The man had a way of doing that. “Something happened out there that we should know about.”
“If he remembers anything, or talks about what happened, I’ll let you know.” Gino’s eyebrows rose slightly, and his gaze narrowed ominously.
“Fine.” Clinton knew Gino wouldn’t be swayed by threats, so he let it go for now. He’d figure out a way to talk to Nicholas.
“I think you should take him to a hospital,” Clinton said. “He should have those bumps on his head checked out.”
“I�
��ll take care of him.” Gino started to close the door.
“I’d like to speak with him later,” Clinton said.
“If he’s up to it,” Gino said. “Thank you, Sheriff.”
“I’ll be back,” Clinton said, “to check on him and get his statement.” The door slammed on his words. Clinton turned and left, angrier than he’d been in years. He sat in his car for a while, calming himself. As he drove off, he saw the blinds in the front window separate. Someone was watching him.
• • •
Nicholas lay on the bed in his room. The curtains were drawn shut and it was hot, but he was too dazed to notice. He had barely been aware of coming into town, or talking with all those people. He couldn’t bring his mind to focus, couldn’t remember what had happened, just that Mick was gone and he wasn’t sure why he was walking around town. His head pounded and he wanted to be sick. That was all he was able to think before the bedroom door burst open, hitting the wall with a thunderous crash.
“What the hell?” His astonished father filled the doorway. Behind him, his mother peeked around his father. Her face was a mix of relief and fright.
“Where the hell were you? What’s going on?” Gino fired the questions at Nicholas with machine-gun force. Nicholas opened his mouth but couldn’t make his lips form any words. His father was a silhouette against the glow flooding in from the hallway.
Gino could move deceptively fast for a big man. In two quick strides he was beside the bed, lifting Nicholas up by the collar of his shirt. Nicholas’ legs slid from the mattress, his toes barely scraping the floor.
It all came crashing back to him, the terror of the day before playing in his mind. The weird stuff at the clearing, the chanting, the intangible but eerie darkness that came over the men like a cloud, seeing that stuff happen to Mick.
“I…I was out with Mick,” he stammered. His father’s left hand was under his chin, twisting the fabric of his shirt collar into a ball under his Adam’s apple.
“I figured that out, hotshot,” Gino said, shaking him like he was a puppet. “Do you know what happened to him?” Spittle settled on the corners of his mouth.
Nephilim Genesis of Evil Page 14
