IV
AUGUST
TWENTY-THREE
HOME
From the blackness shadow-shapes slowly materialized. Headlights gleamed briefly off windows, awakening the squat, heavy-lidded, unnamable, malignant creatures lying indolent on their jealousy guarded square plots of lawn. As Evan swept past those houses he wasn't altogether certain the eyes of the beasts didn't shift in their wooden and brick frames to follow him; when he glanced quickly into his rearview mirror, he saw that the blackness had swelled again, midnight currents engulfing Bethany's Sin.
He switched on the radio, searched for stations. Rock music, Mick Jagger's snarl rising and then fading away into static; soft piano playing "Moon River"; a woman breathily talking about the action at Jimmy K's in Johnstown; crackles and shrill static from the real world beyond the boundaries of the village. Dear God, Evan said suddenly, afraid that something inside him was about to give way as if he stood on flooring that could hardly bear the strain of more weight. He ran a hand across his face. Dear God. Oh Christ oh God in Heaven. Fear and disbelief ran through him, almost splitting him apart. Dark Bethany's Sin streets. Dark Bethany's Sin houses.
Dark Bethany's Sin forest. Blending, merging into one greater darkness, lapping at the windows of they station wagon, trying to get in at him.
By the time he reached silent McClain Terrace, the full weight of the terror had clamped itself to his back like some huge, venom-dripping spider. That he and Kay and Laurie had stumbled into the nest of some unholy, murderous Amazon-like cult. He turned into his driveway, stopped the car, switched off the radio and the headlights, then sat still for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts together as best he could while the heat slithered in around him. Was this what his premonitions had been warning him of, he wondered, ever since the first day they'd arrived here? That the evil in Bethany's Sin was centered around the museum with its remnants of long-dead Themiscrya? Or was there something even more incredibly terrible yet to come? He shivered suddenly, felt his mind slip out of control for an instant. Am I going crazy? He asked himself. No. l'm all right.
I'm all right. But I've got to get Kay and Laurie out of here. And I've got to be very careful. He took the keys out of the ignition, left the car.
He unlocked the front door and, stepping inside, switched on the light in the entrance foyer. Shadows scuttled. Was there anything to drink in the house? Yes. Beer in the refrigerator. He turned on the living-room light on his way to the kitchen, stopped in the kitchen doorway, stepped forward, stopped, stepped forward, like a marionette pulled on by strings held by claw-nailed hands. His shoes crunched on fragments of broken glass and dishes. He reached for the light switch, then paused and dropped his hand; his heart had begun to beat faster, and the cold noose of uncertainty had dropped around his throat. Had Kay been up since he'd left, and had there been an accident here in the kitchen? He stood looking around at the breakage, his back to the pantry door.
Could these dishes have slid off the counter by themselves? he wondered. The house was so quiet; unnervingly so. It was a quiet not of peace but of events hanging in time by a slowly unraveling thread.
Evan pushed some of the glass fragments out of the center of the door with his shoe. Then, the beer forgotten, he retraced his way back through the living room, turned off the light, and climbed the stairs; one of them squealed beneath his weight.
Both bedroom doors were closed. Moving in the dark, Evan opened the door to the master bedroom and slipped in.
Table shape. Lamp shape. Bed shape. And in the bed the hills and valleys of Kay's body in the sheets; she was lying on her left side, facing away from him. He could see the darkness of her hair fanned across the pillow. Wake her, he told himself. Wake her and tell her everything you suspect and take her and Laurie out of this godforsaken place. Wake her now. Now. Now. His hand moved toward the hill of her shoulder. No. Wait. She'll think you've lost your mind; she'll think you're drunk or you're raving or that finally the threads of your fragile sanity have snapped. Goddamn it wake her now this may be your last chance! He hesitated. No. Not tonight.
In the morning. In the morning I'll tell her, and maybe, just maybe, I can make her understand we've got to get out of here.
Evan undressed in silence, put on his pajamas, slid into bed beside his wife; through her back he could feel her heartbeat, strong and steady. For a while he stared at the ceiling, seeing the eyes of Harris Demargeon hanging faceless above him, and to escape that vision he closed his own eyes and sought sleep.
The slow shifting of weight on the bed. An inch at a time.
Something leaped behind Evan's eyelids, trembling with fire.
Like the sudden reflection of light on the blade of a knife.
Evan's eyes came open.
And he could see the faint outline of his wife standing over him. He lifted his head, started to ask her what was wrong. But found no voice.
For in Kay's face tendrils of blue flame burned in a terrible, unblinking gaze. In that searing instant Evan knew that the woman-thing before him was no longer truly Kay.
She shrieked - a cry that rattled the window glass and ripped at Evan's soul-and drove down with a knife she'd raised high above her head. As Evan leaped to one side, the nerves in his shoulder and back cringed; the knife plunged into the pillow where his head had been, the tearing of cloth electric, filling the room. Evan had rolled to the floor, was now rising to a crouch, moving backward. The Kay-thing turned her head, eyes piercing him; she ripped the knife through the pillow, lifted it again, and came for him, her breathing harsh now, and rapid.
"Kay!" Evan screamed. "What in God's name are you...?"
And then she leaped forward, was almost upon him before he could even think to grasp for the doorknob. The knife glinted, swung for his face in a vicious, hissing arc. As Evan jerked his head back, he felt a hot, grazing pain just above his left eyebrow. She came forward, snarling like an animal, quickly adjusting her grip so she could stab with the blade. He realized she was backing him away from the door, and blind panic surged through him.
"Kay!" he shouted at her , but those eyes, those eyes, those terrible, unblinking, flaming eyes scorching him with utter hatred.
Not Kay, no. Something else. Not even human. Something beyond the black door of nightmares. A wetness, collecting in his eyebrow.
Streaming down. He wiped it out of his eye. When he did, she leaped forward again, her hand darting in with the speed of a cobra, the fang of the knife yearning for his blood. He twisted aside, felt the metal rake his ribs. The Kay-thing's free hand whipped out, clutched him around the throat, and began to squeeze with a power he'd never imagined could harbored within that body; he gripped her wrist, tried to struggle free. The knife rose, a cold glimmer of stainless steel in the darkness. Fingers dug into Evan's throat, and now he found breathing difficult. He balled up his fist to strike her in the face; the knife rose, rose; his knuckles whitened; knife blade gleamed. Strike her! No. Strike her! No. Strike her...!
The knife reached its zenith. Arm trembled slightly, gathering strength for a blow that would drive the blade through his heart.
Something pounding. Pounding. Pounding. "Mommy?" Laurie's voice from behind her bedroom door. "Mommy? Daddy?" The tremor of panic, of tears about to break.
The knife hesitated. Strike her this is not Kay this is something within her body but not her dear God not her dear God not her...
His fist came forward almost involuntarily. He struck her on the cheekbone and her head rocked back, but still the eyes did not blink; her fingers loosened a fraction, and then Evan struck again, hammering into the crook of her arm, fighting his way out of the grip that had almost crushed his windpipe. The knife whistled down for him, missing by inches; she shrieked again, a bloodcurdling, savage shriek, and before the next blow came, Evan had picked up a chair, holding the legs out to ward her off.
"Mommy!" Laurie screamed. "Daddy open the door!'
As the Kay-thing reared back to strike again, a guttural growl rumbling from her throat, Evan thrust forward with the chair. It caught her off-balance, staggered her; something ripped, and the knife blade tore through the cushion of the chair toward Evan's face.
He pushed against her with all his strength, shoulder muscles cracking. She slipped, the folds of her nightgown flying around her, and went down in a corner, her head slamming hard against the wall.
Evan threw the chair aside, the knife still piercing it, and spun toward the light switch.
Clicked it on. Blinding light. "Daddy!" Laurie was almost hoarse now. "Daddy please let me out let me out!"
In the corner, Kay lay with her eyes closed, her face as pale and drawn as that of a corpse. She seemed to be laboring to breathe; her chest was heaving, and beads of perspiration clung to her face. He bent over her carefully and felt for her pulse. It was racing. A drop of blood splattered down onto her chest. Followed by another. Evan put a hand to the cut above his eye to stop the bleeding; the blood trickled in a thin line between Kay's breasts. Her head lolled to one side, and Evan could see the eyes moving quickly back and forth behind the lids. He shook her for a moment, trying to wake her, but she was unresponsive. He stepped across the chair toward the telephone on the night table, paged quickly through the phone book.
What's that doctor's name? Myers? No. Mabry. Hurry. Hurry. Laurie sobbed across the hall. He found the listing: Mabry, Eleanor, physician. Two numbers: home and office. Blood drops on the page.
He chose the home number, misdialed, tried it again. Kay moaned softly from the corner.
The doctor was alert when she answered. Evan, trying to keep his voice calm, told her who he was and where he was calling from, and that his wife had had an accident. Dr. Mabry asked for no other details. She said she'd be there in fifteen minutes.
Evan mopped at his forehead with his pajama shirt tail, pulled the knife out of the chair, and laid it on the bed, out of Kay's reach; he put the chair back where it had been, and then he crossed the hall, finding Laurie's door jammed. When he wrenched that wadded-up sheet out, the child leaped into his arms. "I couldn't get out," she sobbed. "I heard something awful I heard you shouting Mommy's name and I couldn't get out cause the door was stuck!"
"Shhhhhh," he whispered, holding her close, feeling the tiny heart beating in her chest. "Everything's all right."
She drew back, looked at him, saw the blood. New tears welled, and her lower lip trembled.
"Daddy hit his head," Evan told her quietly. "I had another one of those old nightmares. You know, the kind I always have? And I bumped my head on the night table. It's just a little scrape"
"Where's Mommy?" She tried to look over his shoulder.
"She's in the bathroom getting a Band-Aid for my hurt. A doctor's going to be coming here in a few minutes to look at me." He peered into his daughter's eyes, tried to keep his own gaze steady.
"Now. Will you do something for me?"
"Is Mommy all right?"
"Sure she is. But you know how she gets mad at me for having those dreams. I want you to go downstairs in the den and stay there until the doctor leaves. Will you do that for me?"
She paused, wiped away tears, finally nodded.
"Good. I think there are some cookies down in the kitchen, and some Kool-Aid. I don't think your mom would mind if you had some. Go on, now." He waited until she went reluctantly down the stairs; the lights came on in the den. Evan turned away; in the master bedroom Kay was still lying where she'd been, moaning very softy.
Dr. Mabry was a slender, fiftyish woman with slightly disarrayed gray hair and a high, heavily lined forehead. As Evan led her quickly up the stairs, her hazel eyes moved behind thick-lensed eyeglasses like fish in watery bowls. "In here," Evan said, leading her into the bedroom.
She looked down at Kay and saw the knife on the bed; she put her medical bag on the night table and popped it open. "What happened here?" she asked, in a cool, evenly modulated voice.
"My wife's been having some strange dreams lately," Evan said, his hand still pressed to his wound. It had stopped bleeding, and blood was crusted in his eyebrow.
"I think I must've disturbed her during one of them, and she...attacked me. I don't think she knew what she was doing."
"Does your wife always sleep with a knife in her bed?"
Evan was silent. Dr. Mabry took a stethoscope from her bag and listened to different places on Kay's chest for a moment; she carefully moved Kay's hand to the side and felt through her hair.
"Nasty bump there," she said softly. "And what's this?" She placed a finger alongside the purpling bruise on her cheekbone.
"I had to defend myself."
"I see. How has your wife been feeling lately, generally speaking?"
"Tired. She's hardly been eating at all; I can tell she's losing weight, and she doesn't sleep very well anymore."
Kay trembled, moaned.
Dr. Mabry reached quickly into her bag, brought out an ampul and snapped it open under Kay's nose; Evan smelled the aroma of ammonia. Kay's eyelids fluttered, and she shook her head from side to side. "She'll come around now," Dr. Mabry said.
"I know this looks bad," Evan said, "but I'd prefer that you not tell Sheriff Wysinger.'
"I have no intention of telling him anything," the woman said, lifting first Kay's right eyelid, then her left. White rolling to blue.
Kay moaned again, louder now, and gradually her eyes opened, squeezing tears from the corners. She struggled up, winced, and felt at the back of her head. "Oh, God, I'm hurt," she said. "I'm going to be sick. I'm going to - "
"Mr. Reid," Dr. Mabry said, "I want you to go down stairs to your kitchen and boil some water. Pour the hot water into a cup and bring it back up for us, will you?"
He left them and did as the woman asked, telling Laurie downstairs that everything was just fine, but he saw all too clearly that she didn't believe him. When he returned to the bedroom he smelled the reek of vomit; Kay had thrown up into the toilet, and Dr.
Mabry was saying softly, like a mother to a child, "There, there.
Now 'll be fine. Are you feeling better now?'
"My head," Kay muttered, wiping her face with a wet washcloth. "My head is hurting."
"Here's your hot water," Evan said.
"Fine. Put it down out there, will you?"
Dr. Mabry led Kay, looking paler and more feeble than ever, back to the bed. Kay lay her head gingerly on the pillow. She was still trembling, and Evan wasn't certain yet that she really knew where she was or what happened. Dr. Mabry reached into the bottom of medical bag and brought out an amber-colored, unlabled bottle.
She unscrewed the cap and poured into the hot water what looked like a mixture of honey and herbs; it had a sweetish smell to it, and bits of herbs floated on the top. "I want you to drink this," Dr. Mabry said, offering the cup to Kay.
"What's in that?" Evan asked her.
"It's a home remedy," Dr. Mabry replied without looking at him.
"Something to calm her nerves. That's right, dear. Drink it all down.
finish the last of it."
Kay did. The doctor took the cup back and laid it aside. "How do you feel now?"
"Funny. Still a little sick. Where's my husband?" Kay gazed into Dr. Mabry's eyes as if she didn't Evan was in the room.
"Here, Kay. I'm right here." He sat beside her and took her hand. Cold. Pulse still fast, but gradually slowing.
"What happened to your head?" she asked him, lifting a finger to touch his eyebrow. "Thats blood!"
"Mr. Reid." Dr. Mabry rose to her feet, snapped her medical bag closed. "I'd like to talk with you in the hall, please."
"What's wrong with my wife?" Evan asked the doctor quietly when the bedroom door was shut behind them. She doesn't seem to remember anything of what happened."
"I believe she's in a mild state of shock; there's disorientation due to that blow to her head. But to be perfectly honest with you, I'm not certain what her overall condition is. She seems to be relatively healthy, and yet you say her appetite's fallen off, she's tired and doesn't sleep well. I'd like to do some tests on your wife at my clinic.
Starting tomorrow morning."
"What kinds of tests?"
"Blood, urine, cardiogram. And electroencephalogram."
"Her brain? Do you think something's wrong with her - "
"I'd like to find out," Dr. Mabry said. "As quickly as possible.
Can you bring her to the clinic in the morning? Around nine?"
No, Evan thought. I want to take my wife and child and get out of this place in the morning.
"Her condition may be serious," Dr. Mabry said, her voice cool but emphatic. "There's a possibility she might have to stay at the clinic for several days."
"I don't know..." Evan said.
"If it's a question of payment..."
"It's not!" he said sharply. No. Hold on. Hold on. Kay's sick; she's really sick after all. He paused for a moment; Dr; Mabry watched him. A thought sizzled in his brain: They'll come for you in the night. He tore it out of himself, as if it were diseased tissue.
Nodded. "I'll bring her in the morning."
For the first time the hint of a smile flickered across her face.
"That's the wise thing to do. Your wife will be sleeping soon. I'll find my own way out. Oh" - she paused, popped open her bag again, and brought out an adhesive bandage - "this is for your forehead; I can tell just by looking that it's a graze. No stitches necessary. You might clean it with alcohol and then put this bandage on, though."
And then she'd turned from him and was making her way down the stairs. The front door opened, closed.
In the bedroom Evan sat down beside Kay; she was on the verge of slumber now, her eyelids heavy. Evan grasped her hand and held it. "Kay?" he said softly. "Can you hear me?"
She stirred; her eyes were half open. "Sleepy..." she whispered.
"When I came in, when I climbed into bed with you, I think you were dreaming again. Do you remember if you were? And what it was about?"
"Can't," she whispered.
"Try. Please. It's important."
"No." She winced, shook her head. "Terrible."
"Just relax. Think, now, and try to remember."
"My head hurts." She tried to lift her hand toward her face, but the hand fell to her side before she could. Her eyelids squeezed close very tightly, as if dark things were surfacing inside her that were tearing her to pieces. "I couldn't get out," she whispered. "She wouldn't let me out."
"Out? Who wouldn't let you out?" He leaned forward to hear.
"Her. Oliviadre. Her. Because I was her, and she was me. And she had me and wouldn't let me out."
"Oliviadre? Kay, what are you talking about?"
"My dreams. That's who I a, in my dreams." She was quiet for a long time, and Evan thought she'd fallen asleep. But then her lips moved again. "Oliviadre is me, and I am her. And this time she wouldn't let me come back." Her eyelids squeezed. Wetness at the corners. "I was alone in the dark, and I couldn't...get back to here because...she's too strong now." Wetness thickening.
"Were you dreaming again?" he asked her; out of the corner of his eye he saw Laurie standing at the door..
"Yes. Oliviadre was...dead, and those men those men dragged her body by the hair where they dragged the bodies of the others.
Sleep. I want to sleep."
Tears broke.
"What men?"
"The ones with swords. The awful ones. They dragged Oliviadre and...left her on the heap of corpses. And then they... set fire to us and we burned and I felt us all burning." The tears trickled slowly down her cheeks. "But after we were burned to bones, and after our bones were...burned, too, we lived...we lived still..."
"Kay?" Evan whispered.
"But we were in darkness." Her voice had dwindled to a sigh.
"All of us like wisps of smoke, still there, waiting. Waiting. Terrible Darkness. Cold and terrible."
"Where were you?" Evan asked her. "Can you tell me that?"
"All dead, all dead but not gone. Still waiting. A long time waiting." A tear dripped from her chin. "Until the light. And the...woman."
"What woman? Kay, what.woman?"
"Don't know. Sleepy. They were all around her, like dust, and they...went into her."
Evan's mouth was dry. "Went...into her?"
"Oliviadre wouldn't let me come back," Kay whispered; a breath escaped her like a slow, tortured gasp, and as another tear slipped down her cheek she was silent and motionless.
"Daddy?" Laurie said softly.
He stood up, his face touched by shadows. "Mommy's sleeping," he said. "Let's tuck you into bed now. Okay?"
