Sandman

by William W. Johnstone

  TWO

  “Promise not to tell, Linda.”

  The sixteen-year-old smiled at the serious face of her charges for the next few days and nights. “All right. I promise. Now what’s going on that’s so big it’s got to be kept hush-hush?”

  “You’re not going to believe it,” Janis warned her. “But since you’re going to be staying with us, you’ve got a right to know.”

  Linda looked at the shattered window, still all boarded up. Janis had shown her the bloodstained carpet in the hall. She had noticed the knives Bing and Roy had attached to their belts, the tenseness the young people were exhibiting. And she had, of coures, heard the rumors going around town about strange happenings.

  But they were just rumors.

  Dismissible.

  And she had been baby-sitting since she was thirteen. Knew kids pretty well. Knew what was trivia to an adult was often of monumental importance to kids.

  Linda waited. And as she did, she noted that the usually bubbly Janis seemed tense and serious.

  Then Janis started talking, slowly at first, hesitantly. When she warmed up, her words came out in a verbal torrent.

  Linda looked at the book Melissa handed her.

  Felt numb.

  That picture was just like the mark on Paul’s arm. For sure. She’d seen it many times.

  She made Janis slow down, back up, take it from the beginning and go slow.

  While Janis talked, Linda walked around the den, taking in the shattered and boarded windows. She walked up the hall and carefully inspected Paul’s closed bedroom door. When she tried the knob, she found the door locked, and totally without damage.

  Paul always had been a strange kid, she recalled. The other kids didn’t like him, didn’t trust him, and were wary of him.

  And he was a little snoop.

  Still, that didn’t make him a demon.

  But she couldn’t deny the bloodstains on the hall carpet, or the fact that Mr. Kelly had gone bonkers, or the picture in the book.

  It was identical to the mark on Paul’s arm.

  Linda didn’t know what to believe.

  But she was going to major in parapsychology at college, and most definitely believed in the supernatural, in abnormal and unexplained phenomena.

  She decided to go with the kids’ story.

  She rejoined them in the den. “OK, gang. Let’s take it from the top once more. Then we’ll make a plan of action. If what you’ve told me is true, I’ve got my thesis already written!”

  * * *

  “We’ve got to start dealing with Janis’s followers.” Paul gave the order to those faithful to the Dark Ways.

  They crouched in the empty lot and listened, grinning with evil anticipation.

  He smiled back at them, knowing that his true father had thousands of willing and anxious and waiting servants on this miserable planet, ready to serve, regardless of the cost.

  Young and old and in-between.

  Lane smirked. “I got something I’d like to give Melissa.”

  “Then give it to her,” Paul told him. “I really don’t care what you do to them. Just as long as you get them out of circulation.”

  “Dead?” Lisa asked matter-of-factly. She was holding her very sharp knife.

  Paul shook his head. “That might not be wise at this stage of the operation.” His voice had deepened even more. “I would suggest banging them around some, perhaps breaking a bone or two. But whatever you do, I want no harm to come to Janis. Do all of you understand? No harm must come to Janis!”

  They all understood his words, though none of them understood the why of them.

  But they would obey.

  They did not have to understand. They never would. Until it was too late.

  These were the expendable troops. Throwaways. Which was exactly what Paul intended to do with them, when they had exhausted their usefulness.

  Lisa slid her knife into the clip-on sheath in her boot. “Have you lined up others, Paul?”

  “The town is filled with them. They will all come when I command.” He looked at each of them, directly in the eyes. “Through the Master.”

  They all dropped their gaze.

  They understood.

  Finally.

  This was what they’d been placed on earth to do. There were thousands like them. Usually, they fulfilled their evil purpose in mundane ways, as thieves and murderers, in acts of petty evil, which were heartbreaking to their victims.

  Few ever fully realized their true purpose.

  These would.

  Paul said, “Old Man Gillette is a caco. And he knows it. So do many of the others in the area.”

  Gillette was totally evil.

  Without a semblance of redeeming social value.

  Worthless.

  “What’s a caco?” Rex asked. “I don’t think I ever heard that word before.”

  “There are many things you have never heard. You will learn. A caco, in modern language, is nothing. But in my father’s domain, a caco is an evil person, capable of doing great damage if called upon to do so.”

  Lisa grinned. “And you’re going to call.”

  “Correction. I have already called.”

  “What about this big-deal meeting at the center tonight?” Frank asked.

  “There will be no meeting. I have seen to that. Now go. Deal with my sister’s friends.”

  * * *

  The Slaters, Dick and Judy, heard the car pull into the driveway and its door clunk shut. Whoever it was could just go away. Neither Dick nor Judy were about to make any statements until the press conference that evening. Then they were going to tell everybody about the terrible things happening in the town. And about the police and the sheriff’s department and the doctors conspiring to cover them up, and ignoring the safety of the citizens.

  Dick and Judy were no longer skeptics. They had seen. They believed.

  They were prepared to be laughed at. Expected it. But if only one reporter believed them, that would get the story out.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Go away!” Dick shouted.

  The chiming continued.

  “Stop ringing the bell.”

  “It’s Ralph Cauldman, Dr. Slater. Jenny’s father. Please let me in. I have to talk to you. It’s very important.”

  Back in his office, the lawyer who was representing Ralph lay on the floor. Dead. His heart had just stopped beating.

  Dick and Judy looked at one another.

  “Please, Doctor, talk to me. I have information you can use at this evening’s conference. Please let me in.”

  “It might be something we can use,” Judy said.

  “They’ve taken my daughter away from the hospital, Dr. Slater. I don’t know where she is. They won’t tell me. I’m about to go crazy. Please, open the door and talk to me.”

  Neighbors began to gather on their front lawns. Listening.

  “Those heartless bastards!” Dick jumped to his feet, headed for the front door. “I should have guessed, should have known they’d pull something like this. Damn them all.”

  He jerked open the door.

  Ralph Cauldman stepped in, a big wide grin on his face. “Hi, sucker!” he said.

  He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pistol, jacked the hammer back.

  “No!” Dick managed to say. He held out his hands as if they alone could stop the slug about to come at him.

  They didn’t.

  Ralph fired once, at point-blank range, the slug hitting Dick in the chest and penetrating his heart. Dick fell backward and slid down the foyer wall to the floor, dead.

  Screaming, Judy jumped from the couch and ran out of the room, Ralph right behind her, waving his pistol.

  He fired once. Missed. The slug knocked a chunk of paneling from the wall.

  Screaming his rage, Ralph charged up the hall, trying to catch her.

  Judy ran into a bedroom and slammed the door. Tried to lock it. Ralph’s shoulder hit it before she could.
The door flew open, inward, the side of it hitting Judy in the face, breaking her nose and knocking her back.

  Ralph lifted the pistol and shot her, the slug striking her just above the bridge of her swelling nose, and exiting out the back of her head.

  Judy flopped once on the carpet, then lay still.

  Ralph ran out of the house and into the Slaters’ front yard.

  Neighbors, who had gathered on the street, stood staring for a few seconds. But they ran wildly in all directions when they saw the gun in Ralph’s hand.

  “Wait!” he yelled. “Wait. I won’t hurt any of you. I promise. You’ve got to listen to me. Slater did something to my little Jenny. It was all his fault. It was his fault.”

  He fired into the air to get their attention.

  He did.

  Pandemonium reigned.

  People started jumping behind parked cars, hitting the ground, hollering and screaming and squalling, and running for their lives.

  “It was all Slater’s fault!” Ralph yelled. “I had to kill him. Don’t you understand? Don’t you see? Sure, you do. I had to have revenge for what he did to my wife and daughter. Slater raped them both. Jenny and Dottie. You can understand that. You’ve got families of your own.”

  “Look at me! Look at me!” Ralph hollered.

  Then he stuck the barrel of the Make-My-Day .44 Mag into his mouth.

  And pulled the trigger.

  The slug jerked Ralph’s head back. There was a very strange expression on his face, but for a few seconds, he stood upright. Then he slowly tumbled backward as the bullet came out just above his ear.

  Ralph Cauldman jerked once and died.

  In the confusion, no one seemed to notice the handsome honey-colored man and his lovely wife as they drove by in a car driven by the caco, Gillette. Mantine and Nicole were sitting in the back seat.

  Mantine smiled at the chaos. “Ver’ good. De boy done handled it ver’ well. I tink we could leab him on his own any time.”

  “Dat’s good. I am ready to go bak to de islands. We go bak now?”

  Mantine thought about that for a moment. “No. I don’ tink so just yet. I won’ to see more. De boy intrigues me. I tink we mus’ see de end of dis.”

  Nicole shook her head. The wooden amulets around her neck jangled and clacked with the movement. “I don’ lak it when we visible lak dis. Too much can hoppen to us dat we don’ haves no control over.”

  Mantine patted her knee. “You worries too much, ma baby. Relax. We gonna have us a good time. Lots and lots of fun. People gonna die in all sorts of funny ways. It gonna be fun to watch. You’ll see.”

  Behind the wheel, Gillette laughed evilly.

  * * *

  The press converged on the hospital like sky-darkening locusts settling on a wheat field. The doctors agreed to meet with them in an informal press conference on the side lawn of the institution.

  The first question was tossed out. Why was the hospital admitting only emergency patients?

  Clineman fielded it smoothly. “Because we have two suspected cases of Legionnaires’ Disease, and we don’t want to endanger anyone else.”

  Everybody knew about Legionnaires’ Disease. The press could accept that. OK.

  What about the murders of Dr. and Mrs. Slater?

  “A terrible, terrible tragedy. It was just awful.”

  All the doctors agreed, with much shaking of heads and clucking of tongues.

  Why did Dr. and Mrs. Slater call this press conference?

  “I have no idea,” Clineman told them. “After speaking with colleagues, I find that none of us has the foggiest idea what Dick was going to say. He offered no explanation for turning in his resignation. It came as a great shock to us all. Dick Slater was a very fine doctor, and was well liked.”

  What about Ralph Cauldman’s daughter—Jenny?

  “Well, perhaps Dick blamed himself for that. He was her physician. Come to think of it, Dick was behaving a bit strangely of late.”

  Why? Because of the girl?

  “Possibly.”

  What happened to her?

  “She lost her mind.”

  How?

  “We don’t know.” Belline took the mike and the hot seat. “And we probably won’t know for some time. If we ever do find out.”

  Is she still here at Tepehuanes General?

  “No. She has been transferred to a private institution, where she’ll receive better attention.”

  Why better?

  “The hospital is better equipped to deal with her type of illness.”

  Where is this institution?

  Sheriff Sandry took the mike. “According to the juvenile authorities, we cannot divulge the location at this time. Come on—she’s just a little girl! For God’s sake! Hasn’t she suffered enough? Give the kid a break.”

  The reporters asked a few more questions, then packed it in.

  A deputy took Sandry to one side, motioning for Leo and Stanford to come along.

  “What do you have, Wally?” Sandry asked.

  “That creep Gillette. I saw him about an hour ago with two blacks in the back seat of his car. Handsome man and a knock-out lady. I laid back in my unmarked car and followed them. Sheriff, at no time—no time—did Gillette stop and let those people out. Yet, when he stopped at the post office, they were gone from his car. I didn’t believe it. I walked up and looked in the back seat. Empty. Except for ... well, this sounds sort of stupid....”

  Sheriff Sandry’s sigh was audible. “So what else is new, Wally? Zombies and sand creatures and hob-gobbins are normal? Go on ... except for what?”

  The deputy shuffled his feet. “Well, sir, the back seat . . . the whole car! It smelled funny. First I couldn’t place it. Then it came to me. It smelled like the sea at low tide.”

  Sandry had a pained expression on his face. “In the middle of Arizona?”

  Stanford smiled grimly and the sheriff noticed it. “What do you find amusing about all this, Inspector?”

  Stanford looked at the deputy. “This man and woman, they were both light-skinned? Call them honey-colored, perhaps?”

  “Yes, sir. They were a nice-looking couple.”

  “Mantine and his wife, Nicole. Both in their human shapes . . .”

  Sandry sighed again and rolled his eyes.

  Stanford asked the sheriff: “What does this deputy know of the situation in here?”

  “Everything that I know about this lash-up. He’s part of the Tach Team I ordered in here.”

  The inspector nodded. “Deputy, the next time you see that couple—and you pass this word on to everybody else—no matter where they might be, you walk up to them and kill them! You shoot them dead on the spot. That’s the only way—or rather, the easiest way—to get the job done.”

  “Sir!” Wally recoiled.

  Sandry stepped closer to the inspector. “Now you wait just a minute, Willingston!”

  “No, you wait!” Stanford cut him off. He waved his hand. “All right, Sheriff. All right. This Gillette person, he’s rather a despicable character, I take it?”

  “That’s not the word for Gillette,” Mike put in. “He’s a convicted child molester. A dealer in kiddy porn. But we can’t get enough on him to take him to court.”

  “He’s a caco,” said the inspector.

  “He’s a what?” Leo asked. He was always, or so it seemed, learning something new about the supernatural. “What is a caco?”

  “The simplest way to explain that is to say that a caco is a very evil person. Some of them are not even aware that they are minions of the Dark One, subject to his call at any time.”

  Sandry looked Heavenward and muttered something under his breath.

  “You mean the ... Devil is making them do what they do?” Wally asked. “Don’t let a defense attorney hear that. What a defense that would make.”

  Stanford quickly nixed that. “Absolutely not, Deputy. These people do what they do because they want to do it. Not because of some trumped-up rea
son. They are born with the bad seed in them.”

  “I think I might like you after all, Stanford,” Sandry told him. “But be that as it may, my people can’t just walk up and shoot someone. As much as we all bluster and brag about wanting to do something like that, I wouldn’t have a man on my department who could do it. I think you understand that, Inspector.”

  They still don’t understand, Stanford mused. “All right, Sheriff. I suppose you and your people are going to have to witness some horror before you’ll be able to act.”

  Sandry didn’t know quite how to take that, so he offered no response. He cut his eyes to the ex-cop from New York, and knew Leo felt the same way as the inspector. But the sheriff would not allow his people to cold-bloodedly kill.

  Not yet.

  Leo said, “If you guys had been with Father Gomez and me, in Paul’s room, you wouldn’t have any reservations about letting the hammer fall on some of these people.”

  Sheriff Sandry’s expression was unreadable. “Be that as it may, there will be no wholesale killing in this county. So with that understood by all, I hope, what’s next for us?”

  Stanford glanced at him. “If you will not order the destruction of these lost beings, we have only one other choice in the matter.”

  “And that is ... ?”

  “We wait for them to strike. To kill again. Maybe then you’ll do something.” Stanford turned his back to the group and walked away.

  Sandry quietly reassessed his previous evaluation of the inspector.

  * * *

  Janis called the rectory and got in touch with Father Gomez, asked him to bring over another cross for Linda and to talk to her. The priest said he would be over as soon as possible.

  “Hurry,” Janis urged.

  Paul still had not returned.

  And the mood was changing. Not just the mood, Janis thought. Something else. Something almost unexplainable. There seemed to be a heaviness in the air. Some invisible force that was touching them all, and silently working on them. On how they felt, behaved, thought.

  They had discussed it, had agreed to fight it and to bring it up whenever the feeling became too much for them to cope with alone.

  * * *

  Late afternoon, the sun fading, creating inky pockets of unknown depth and content throughout Tepehuanes and the area surrounding it. In a few dark splotches just outside town, odd-shaped and lumpy beings stirred and rose in the purple shadows. Soon it would be time to resume the hunt for those who had not joined with the earth, those who had grown stronger.