The New Neighbor (34 page)

"No."
 

She sighed. "Tell you what, Will, if you stick with me, I might just break my own rule."
 

"What rule?"
 

"My rule about not fooling around with co-workers."
 

"Oh that one. That was weeks ago. I
expected
you to say that. Just thought I'd give it a shot."
 

"C'mon, Will." She took his hand. "Please."
 

He thought about it a while, then growled, "Shit," and opened the car door.
 

* * * *

Pastor Quillerman stayed on the front porch while George and Robby went inside and closed the door behind them.
 

Quillerman stared across the street at Lorelle's house, reached into his pocket and jingled his keys as he murmured, "Now we can get something done."
 

He went down the porch steps and headed for his pickup.
 

Chapter 23

In the Street

Inside, Jen followed George and Robby to the living room where they fell heavily onto the sofa. They sat there silently for a long while with Jen staring at them, frightened.
 

"What wrong?" she whispered finally. When they didn't reply, she moved toward them and, with panic in her voice, asked, "What's happened? Where's Mom? Dad?
Where is she
?"
 

George stared at her with empty, frightened eyes.
 

The pickup started outside.
 

George turned toward the window slowly, stood and looked outside.
 

The pickup's headlights cut through the neighborhood's blackness like swords. It pulled away from the curb slowly, easing all the way up the street and then turning around before Pastor Quillerman finally spoke into the loudspeaker.
 

"I know that the creature of which I spoke earlier has visited you today," he said. "I know that she has tried to warn you about me, probably instructed you to get rid of me. But I am still here. I hope you will listen to me and I hope you will think carefully about what I have to say."
 

The pickup reached the end of the street and turned around again.
 

* * * *

Alana said, "I'm gonna go stand in front of the damned thing."
 

"Didn't do any good before," Will said.
 

"I won't move. I'll jump on the hood if I have to."
 

"I suppose you want it on tape."
 

"Of course. What good is it if we don’t get it on tape?" She stepped off the sidewalk and into the street.
 

* * * *

Pastor Quillerman lifted his foot off the accelerator and the pickup slowed to a stop. He stared at the woman standing before the pickup as he continued to talk into the microphone.
 

"Come out, please. Come out and talk with me. Let's all talk together. I think if you listened to one another, if you simply
looked
at one another, you would realize what's been happening around you. You would realize what this woman – this
creature
– has done to your neighbors, and to
you
. So
please
come out here and let's talk together."
 

The reporter shouted, "
I’d
like to talk to you, Pastor.”
 

"You have my word that I am not here to proselytize or preach," he went on, ignoring her. "I am not here to recruit members for my church. I am only here to help people who I know are in trouble. You are
all
in trouble here, and I
beg
you to make it stop. Please come out here, all of you, and talk. Please."
 

The reporter waved her cameraman over and he stood before the pickup while she went to Pastor Quillerman's window. She rapped her knuckles on the glass and said. "What woman are you talking about? What has she done?"
 

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I can't talk right now."
 

Her shoulders sagged with frustration and she stared at him.
 

Pastor Quillerman lifted the microphone again, opened his mouth, but said nothing because –
 

 
– there was an odd rumbling sound coming from the darkness to the left. The woman heard it, too, and turned, as Quillerman did, in the direction of the sound.
 

Quillerman could see nothing yet, but the sound grew louder. He started to roll down the window so he could hear better, but –
 

 
– the man standing in front of the pickup shouted, “Oh, fuck!” and ran to Quillerman's right, into the darkness, hugging his camera to his chest, as –
 

 
– an enormous malamute ran into the glow of the headlights and faced the pickup, black lips pulled back over long glistening fangs, crouched low and ready to pounce. But the sound the creature made was not the sound of a mere dog. It was a much bigger, deeper sound than that of any dog Quillerman had ever encountered, and –
 

 
– its eyes glowed.
 

It snapped at the air, clacking its fangs together.
 

The reporter standing beside the pickup screamed and slammed herself against the door.
 

The dog inched closer to the pickup as its entire body shuddered. Two long black bonelike limbs suddenly shot upward from its shoulders, spread and unfolded into broad, bat-like wings. With one sudden movement of the wings, the creature was on the hood of the pickup, its face little more than an inch from the windshield. Its growl grew louder as its lips pulled back even farther ... and farther ... until they peeled away to reveal black, ripply skin beneath.
 

Pastor Quillerman lifted the microphone to his mouth and shouted, "In the
name of god
the
father
and his
son
Jesus
Christ
and all
that is holy
,
I
command
you to leave this place
!"
 

The creature rose up on its hind legs, swept its wings madly up and down and released a cry that made Quillerman's eyes tear up and his bowels tremble. When it dropped back down on all fours, any resemblance to a dog was gone. Its body trembled and a thick white foam dribbled from its stubby black snout. It snapped at the windshield and its fangs nicked the glass, then it looked Quillerman in the eyes and its glistening black lips curled into a grotesque mutation of a grin.
 

"Whatsamatter, Quillerman?" the creature asked in a gleeful, retching voice that was neither male nor female. "Don'tcha wanna join your wife and sons? Don'tcha wanna join your wife, the
dyke
, and your
cocksucking
sons?"
 

Quillerman's face twisted in horror and he clenched his eyes shut, trying to block the flood of memories that he had avoided for years. The last time he'd seen his family they were all dead by his oldest son's hand – his wife on the bed, his boys lying in a hideous, bloody embrace with their eyes open and their skin the color of dirty snow, and –
 

 
– Quiller man whispered to himself, "No, no, that's over, it's behind me and –" He lifted the microphone to his mouth. "
– and I command you to leave this place in the name of Jesus Christ
!"
 

Two things happened at once: the creature vomited explosively, shooting a thick black substance on the windshield, and it shot backward off the hood of the pickup, shrieking. It landed in a clumsy heap on the pavement, several feet in front of the pickup.
 

“In the name of –" Quiller man began again, but the creature flapped its wings and rose from the ground, hovering for a moment as it stared straight into Quillerman’s eyes, then released a cry so full of hatred it made Quillerman briefly nauseated.
 

It was gone in seconds.
 

Quillerman couldn't move for a while. One hand clutched the steering wheel, the other clutched the microphone and all his knuckles were white and fingers were numb. Suddenly, as if a spell had been broken, his hands and arms relaxed and he looked out the window to his left. At first, he thought the reporter had gone, but then he saw the top of her head rising slowly. She had ducked down beside the pickup. Her eyes were wide, face pale, and she stared at him as if she didn't know where she was.
 

Quillerman got out of the pickup and asked, "Are you all right, Miss?"
 

"What ... the fuck ...
was
that?" she asked, but there was more amazement in her voice than fear. Quillerman was quite amazed to see that she seemed about to burst into a grin.
 

Before Quillerman could reply, the cameraman staggered around the pickup and joined them. The woman grabbed his lapels and shook him, saying, "Did you
see
that? I mean, did you
see
that? Did you get it? Oh, please, Will, tell me you got that on tape, tell me you got it!"
 

He stared at her a moment, then said in a barely level voice that rose as he spoke, "I didn't get it on tape because I was too busy
shitting my pants
!
Now
do you believe me?
Now
can we leave?”
 

"You go right ahead if you want, Will, but if you put a hook in my tongue you couldn't drag me away from this story. Just leave your camera."
 

"I think he's right," Quillerman said. "You'd better go. It wouldn't be a good idea to stay here any –"
 

Something caught his eye and he looked up the street.
 

Flashlight beams were cutting through the darkness on both sides of the street.
 

People were coming out of their houses and walking slowly toward the pickup. First, a man and woman. Then a child. Two teenagers with a woman. And there were others. Their steps were uneven and some were limping, but they were
coming
. Quillerman whispered, "Good.
Good
." He stepped around the reporter and went to meet them.
 

* * * *

Jen gripped George's arm and said, "Daddy, what's happened to Mom? Why won't you tell me?"
 

He'd been watching out the window silently, unable to respond to Jen's questions about Karen. What could he tell her? That Mom had decided she preferred to be with the new neighbor?
 

"She's over at Lorelle's," Robby finally said.
 

Jen stared at him in silent horror, shaking her head. “No,” she whispered. "We have to get her. Did you hear me? We have to
get
her, Daddy!"
 

George put his arm around her and said, "We're going to try, honey." To Robby: "I'm going outside to talk with Pastor Quillerman."
 

"I'll come with you," Robby said.
 

Jen said "Me, too."
 

George looked from Robby to Jen and was about to protest and tell them to stay in the house. But he saw their determination and said nothing. They followed him out.
 

As they headed down the front walk, they saw the others nearing Quillerman from both directions, coming out of the darkness in small groups, some with flashlights, a couple carrying kerosene lanterns with golden light that flickered over shadowy faces.
 

"Hello, George," Pastor Quillerman said quietly as George approached.
 

"What's going on?" George asked.
 

"My prayers have been answered. They're coming to talk. I think we might make some progress now."
 

Footsteps scritched to a halt on the pavement as people gathered around the pickup. Flashlight beams crisscrossed in the darkness and the people behind them were reduced to murky, faceless shadows.
 

George squinted against the lights and searched for a familiar face or figure, but could not make out enough details in the dark to recognize anyone.
 

"My husband is gone," a woman said in a voice soggy with tears.
 

"Our daughter is missing," a man said.
 

A woman beside him added, "One minute she was in the house and the next she was gone."
 

A man stammered, "I truh-tried to ... to suh-strangle my w-wife today and ... and I –" His words dissolved into sobs.
 

"It's all right, honey," a woman whispered reassuringly, "that's over now."
 

Others spoke up and their words overlapped:
 

"I can't find my wife."
 

"What has that woman
done
to us?"
 

"We had a fight with our son today and I-I ...
hit
him ... for the first time
ever
, and now he's disappeared." "We're coming apart, our whole family is just coming apart."
 

"My husband said he'd kill me if I came out here. I had to sneak out of the house."
 

Pastor Quillerman raised his arms to quiet them down. "I know what you're going through," he said. "I understand your fear and your feelings of guilt. I realize those of you with loved ones missing are especially upset right now. But please listen to me for just a few minutes."
 

George listened as Quillerman told them the truth about Lorelle Dupree. He told them everything that Robby had told George that morning, all the things that George wouldn't listen to then. They listened silently as Quillerman spoke in his best pulpit voice. Then: