The Devil's Touch (10 page)

Outside, the door closed behind them, Joe looked toward the old orchard. "Can you imagine eating on that goddamn thing out there?" He looked at Father Le Moyne. "'Cuse me, Father."

"I couldn't have put it more aptly myself," the priest said, taking no offense. "Gentlemen, I have mass to attend to. I'll see you both around eight-thirty." He walked to his car, backed around the police car, and disappeared into the night.

"Monty?" Joe said.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared and confused."

"Join the club, Joe."

"How come you didn't level with Sheriff Jenkins this morning?"

"I—don't know, Joe." But he did know.

"You think he's one of—
them?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Yeah," Monty said, his voice containing resignation. "Yeah, I do."

"Me, too. Monty, something just came to me a few minutes ago. We're in a box. There ain't nobody on God's green earth gonna believe any of this even if we was to call for help. Hell! They'd lock us up in the loony bin."

"I know that, too."

"1 used to look forward to the night. Meant gettin' off work, goin' home to the wife and dinner. Maybe a few beers and some TV." He looked around him at the wet gathering darkness. "I ain't lookin' forward to this night, Chief."

"Not one word of this, Joe. To anybody. Not a word. We'll firm it all up at my house. Come on. I'll drop you off at your car."

Janet went to Little Sam's room and stood for a moment, watching the child play with his toys.

Are you or aren't you? She silently questioned. Are you one of us, or one of them? Are you a child of my Master, or are you a whimpering Christian? I wish I knew.

The child looked up at her and grinned.

Janet heard the sound of water running in the bathroom. That would be Sam, taking a shower. She stood for a moment, mentally conjuring pictures of him in the shower, naked. Then other pictures of high sexuality played erotically in her mind. She wanted Sam Balon. Wanted to feel him entering her. She became wet with passion. She fought the pictures away.

Janet again looked at the child. She thought: If it is determined that you are not one of us, but a spawn of them—I am going to kill you.

"Princess," the young woman was addressed. "We have word that the Christians are massing. They are few, yes, but Sam Balon's offspring is among them. As well as the turncoat, Nydia."

The young woman with the long brown hair and pale eyes looked at her servant. She was tall, with a magnificent figure. Very stately and very regal appearing. She was Satan's child. The daughter of the Devil. A demon. She served only the Black Master of evil. Her father: Satan. She had burst forth from her mother's womb in a shower of blood and torn flesh. Roma the witch had died this earthly life giving birth to her. The young woman looked to be about twenty years of age.

By earth time, she was three years old. She had been born on the sixth day of the sixth month, at precisely the sixth minute of Roma's pregnancy. At precisely the exact moment Little Sam was birthed. They were half brother and sister.

But this child was as old as evil—by the hands of the clock that served the Dark One.

"We have the time to delay," the Princess instructed the gathering at Giddon Estate. "As much time as is needed. My father has put us on no firm timetable. But this time you shall not fail him. The Christians are no matter. Masses have been held at this place for over a hundred years. And tonight shall be no different. We shall honor my father—your Master, the King of Darkness—tonight."

"Yes, Princess. As you command." Professor Frank Gilbert bowed and scurried away.

The lovely young woman smiled in the candlelit gloom of the large room. Her teeth were, for a moment, fanged. She allowed herself the heady pleasure of thinking of Sam Balon for a time. Her mother had left her own images in her demon child: the images of the woman Sam Balon, Sr. knew as Nydia; Sam Balon, Jr. knew as Roma. They were one and the same. The Balons, father and son, were lusty men, well-endowed, and the Princess planned to sample the wares of Sam Balon. And while she was sampling, she would gently introduce Sam into the dark pleasures of her Master. One little bite with her very sharp teeth, and the one obstacle toward her Master's ruling this area would be removed. Then they could move on to greater things. The entire state. The United States. The
world!

"Not too fast, my pretty," the voice came to her. The room began to stink of hell. The candles flickered as if in fear. Rain lashed the mansion.

"Father," the Princess said softly.

"It is one thing to be ambitious, dear. Quite another to be foolishly reckless."

"I did not know—was not aware you were so close."

"Yes. I came because I am quite sure my old adversary will stick His goody-two-shoes nose into this affair and fuck it all up. As He is prone to do."

The Princess giggled.

"It is no laughing matter, my pretty," the heavy voice returned her to sobriety rudely. "Your mother died this earthly life birthing you; a gift to me. And don't think for a moment that meddlesome old fart up in the firmament wasn't plenty pissed off about your mother seducing Sam. He claimed I broke the rules—not so. I just interpreted them differently, that's all. So we are going to slow the timetable, my precious. We are going to take it nice and easy and slow, and we are not going to rock any boats this time. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father."

"As long as you do. Now I am going to have some more fun. It's been entirely too long since I visited this planet personally. And keep your legs together, you horny bitch. You must save your virginity for Sam Balon. In that respect, you are just too goddamned much like your mother. Oh, what a coup it would be if you could birth Balon's child." The wind picked up as dark laughter howled in the huge room.

When the howling had stopped, the Princess asked, "And how is Mother?"

"Well. Bitchy, as usual. But that is to be expected of her. She is ruling an upper level on another planet."

"Black?"

"Which Black?" the voice sounded testy.

"Wilder."

"Oh. He's doing quite well. He is teaching new recruits. A fine and loyal man. But your idiot half-brother is the most useless, whining, malcontented son-of-a-bitch I have encountered since Nero. And that silly shit still fancies himself a poet and painter."

"My half-brother a poet?"

"Oh, no! Nero!"

The Princess hung her head in penance. "Forgive me, Father."

"Oh, stop groveling and get on with matters. And Princess, don't fail me."

A stinking wind blew through the great house by the river. The candles went out, plunging the room into darkness. The Beasts on the grounds below the mansion shook with fear.

And far away, in the firmament, a star twinkled a bit more brightly than usual.

"I left my wife out of this," Joe said, after he had been seated in the Draper's den. "She's not well, and I don't believe she could take anything like this. I don't know whether I'm gonna be able to take it."

"She's not recovering from her operation?" Monty asked.

"No. The doctors always say they got it all—but they didn't, and Nellie knows it. She's dying little by little. Sad thing to have to watch."

And the wind that was hovering silently over the Draper house, carrying within it a foul odor, seemed to sigh and say, "Well, now—how interesting."

The dark mass disappeared into the night.

Father Le Moyne shivered suddenly. His skin felt clammy, as if something slimy had touched bare flesh. He drew a nervous breath. "Was I the only one to hear something just then? Outside, I mean."

"I—thought I heard something," Monty said.

His wife put her hand in his. "I heard something too, honey. It sounded like words."

He looked at her pale face. Lifted his eyes to the others. "I told her all I knew. I don't think she believed me."

There was an amused look in the woman's eyes. "I have a birthday next week. My husband knows 1 like horror books and movies. You people fixed all this up, didn't you? Even got the priest in on it."

Sam looked at the woman. "Viv, we have no reason to lie. None of us. But if we don't panic, I think we can beat this."

Viv laughed. "Oh, you people! Come on. Monty fixed all this up, admit it. You people have someone outside, whispering, don't you?"

"No, Vivian," Father Le Moyne said. "I would have nothing to do with a joke this grotesque. Satan is anything but a joking matter."

Viv shifted her gaze from person to person, touching all eyes, finally settling on Nydia. She saw only seriousness in those dark gypsy eyes. Joe had seemed tense and upset. Father Le Moyne wore lines of fatigue around his eyes. Monty wore a haunted look.

"It isn't a joke," Viv whispered. "You people really believe the Devil is here in Logandale."

"Believe it, Vivian," the priest said. "It is no joke, I assure you of that."

Viv released her husband's hand. She stood up, and Sam could not help viewing her with a man's appreciative eyes. Viv was tall, almost willowy. Sam had heard she had been a fashion model in New York City. He believed it. Her hair was a golden color, her figure slightly fuller than the average model, with none of the gauntness associated with that profession. She was a woman who could turn men's heads. Sam guessed her age at thirty. She had the trimness and vitality about her of a woman ten years younger.

"I don't believe in the Devil," Viv said.

"I have a feeling," Nydia said, looking at the woman, "that will change during the next few days."

Viv tossed her golden hair. "Bull!" she said.

The phone rang. Monty stilled the jangling. He listened for a few moments, acknowledged the call, and hung up. His face registered his shock and disbelief. "The paramedics who were here this morning, those men who picked up the body of Marie Fowler and who were later found dead," he spoke to Joe. "Their bodies have disappeared from Clark County General. And the assistant M.E. is missing."

"Drop the other shoe, Chief," Joe said.

"After being shown pictures of the two men, a floor nurse claims she saw the men walking out of the hospital, pushing a gurney with a man—or at least a body—on it. She swears it was the two paramedics. Said they lurched rather than walked, and their eyes were odd."

Viv gasped once and fainted. Sam got to her before her head banged against the floor.

Nellie Bennett lay on the couch in the den, her eyes looking at but not registering the scenes on the TV screen. She was thinking about Joe. Ol' hard luck Joe, she thought. Had a bad time with his wives. His first wife ran off and left him, taking the kids. Joe had no idea where she was; hadn't seen her or the kids in twenty years. His second wife drops dead of a heart attack right in front of his eyes, playing bridge, and now I'm dying.

Nellie was much younger than Joe, almost fifteen years younger. And before the ravages of cancer began eating on her, she was a very attractive woman. She knew she was and had to smile despite the pain in her stomach. Joe looked like a mournful old hound dog, but he could somehow attract good-looking women. And for a man in his fifties, Joe could still make the mattress jump when the lights went out.

She felt sorry for Joe. She just hadn't felt like sex in more than a year. She wouldn't have blamed him if he'd bedded down another woman. Not at all.

Having thought that, she could swear she heard a voice say something like, "Ummm."

She looked around her. No, it had been her imagination.

She rose painfully from the couch and took another pain pill. Lately, the pills seemed to lose their effectiveness She took another pill and returned to the couch. She was asleep in moments.

"Nellie," the voice whispered to her.

She stirred on the couch.

Her nose wrinkled at the sudden and thick smell that seemed to permeate the den. In her sleep, the smell was scented, but the scent only covered the real odor of burning sulphur.

In her drug-induced sleep, she thought she felt a hand lifting her gown. She thought it was Joe and she mumbled irritably. But the hand persisted. She felt its warmth—almost hot—on the bare flesh of her lower belly.

Then the hand withdrew and for the first time in months, she was free of pain.

She stretched until her bones popped and creaked, something she had been unable to do in months because of the pain it caused. It was a luxurious feeling.

"Isn't that nice, Nellie?" the dark-sounding voice entered her head.

"Oh, my, yes," she murmured.

"As compared to this."

Intense pain doubled her up on the couch. The pain was so hot and hard she cried out. It was more pain than she had ever experienced.

As quickly as the nightmarish anguish struck, it stopped, leaving her body. She sighed with relief. Sweat dotted her face and body.

"That's ever so much better, isn't it, darling?" the voice asked.

"Yes," she murmured. The harshness of the agony had dulled the effects of the drugs in her system. She was in a state of semiconsciousness.

"How would you like to live forever, forever free of pain?"

She giggled, enjoying her dream.

"Would you like that, Nellie?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"And you would give anything for that privilege?"

"Yes."

"Anything,
Nellie?"

"Yes."

"Well," the voice held a smugness. "I think we are going to get along just fine, Nellie. Oh, my, yes."

"I don't like this place, Jon," Patsy said, holding very tightly to his hand. "It's spooky."

The young couple stood several hundred yards from the Giddon mansion, looming dark in the wet night. Not one light shone through the thin drizzle.

"It'll be all right," Jon assured her. But he was not that sure himself.

"Do not be afraid," the mysterious voice once more spoke to him. "I can assure you that soon you will have all that you have dreamed of."

Patsy stood as if in a trance. She was hearing none of the conversation.

"And Patsy?" Jon asked. "What about her?"

"She had her dreams as well, young man. She combated them, but they were there. Soon she will have them fulfilled."