Running with the Demon Part 23

He followed the roadway to where it looped back on itself under the bridge and turned down. The streetlamps provided sufficient light that he was able to find his way without difficulty, keeping in the open where he could see any movement about him. He was sweating now from his exertion, the j armpits and collar of his s.h.i.+rt damp, his forehead beaded. The park was silent about him, the big trees still, their limbs and leaves hanging limp and motionless in the heavy air, then" shadows webbing the ground in strange, intricate patterns. A car's headlights flared momentarily behind him, then swung away, following the road leading out of the park. He pa.s.sed beneath the shadow of the bridge and emerged in muted starlight.

"Hang on, Nest," he whispered quietly.

He moved quickly down the road toward the black mouth of the caves. The river was a silver-tipped satin sheet on his left and the cliffs towered blackly above him on his right. His shoes crunched softly on gravel. In his mind, he saw again the look in Evelyn's eyes, and a cold feeling reached down into his stomach. What did she know that she was hiding from him? He thought suddenly of Caitlin, falling from these same * cliffs more than a dozen years earlier to land on the rocks below, broken and lifeless. The image brought a bloodred heat to his eyes and the back of his throat. He could not stand it if he were to lose Nest, too. It would be the end of him - the end of Evelyn as well. It would be the end of everything.

He reached the entrance to the caves and flicked on the flashlight. The four-cell beam cut a bright swath through the darkness, reaching deep into the confines of the rock. He worked his way carefully forward, pausing to listen, hearing something almost immediately - a m.u.f.fled sound, a movement. He scrambled ahead, plunging inside the caves now, swinging the flashlight's beam left and right with frantic movements, searching the jagged terrain.

Then abruptly the light found her. He knew at once it was Nest, even though she was trussed up inside a gunnysack with only her ankles and feet showing. He scrambled forward, calling out to her, stumbling several times on the loose rock before he reached her.

"Nest, it's me, Grandpa," he said, breathing heavily, thinking, Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d! He reached into his pants and brought out his pocketknife to cut away the tape and burlap from her ankles. When that was done and the sack was removed, he cut the tape from her hands as well. Then, as gently as he could, he pulled the last strip off her mouth.

Her arms came around him at once. "Grandpa, Grandpa," she sobbed, shaking all over, tears running down her cheeks.

"It's all right, Nest," he whispered softly, stroking her hair the way he had when she was a little girl. "It's all right, kiddo. You're all right."

Then he picked her up, cradling her in his big arms as he would a baby, and carried her back out into the night.

Jared Scott raced across the front lawn of his apartment building, dark hair flying, T-s.h.i.+rt laced with sweat. He caught a glimpse of the television screen through the curtained windows of his living room and knew his mother and George were inside. He picked up his pace, anxious to tell them what had happened, all about Nest and Danny Abbott and Mr. Freemark. He burst through the screen door already yelling.

"Mom, some guys kidnapped Nest and took her down to the caves, and we told Mr. Freemark to come help us..."

He drew up short at the living-room entrance, the words freezing in his throat. His mother lay on the couch with George Paulsen next to her. Most of their clothes were on the floor. There were beer cans everywhere.

His mother tried to cover herself with her arms, smiling weakly, ashen-faced as he stared at her.

"Jared, sweetie..."

Jared backed away, averting his eyes. "Sorry, Mom, I just..."

"What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing, you little b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" George roared, scrambling up from the couch, lurching toward him in fury.

"George, he didn't mean anything!" His mother was trying to slip back into her blouse, her movements c.u.mbersome and slow.

Jared tried to run, but he caught his foot on the carpet and slipped. George was on top of him instantly, hauling him back to his feet by his s.h.i.+rtfront, yelling at him, screaming at him. Jared tried to say he was sorry, tried to say something in his defense, but George was shaking him so hard he couldn't get the words out His mother was yelling, too, her face flushed and her eyes bright as she stumbled across the littered floor.

Then George struck him across the face with his hand, and without thinking twice, Jared struck him back. He caught George flush on the nose, and blood spurted out. George released him and stumbled back in surprise, both hands going to his face. In that instant, something raw surged through Jared Scott. He remembered the way Old Bob Freemark had walked up to Danny Abbott and his friends and confronted them. He remembered the set of the old man's shoulders and the determination in his eyes.

"You get out of here!" he shouted at George, bracing himself in a fighter's stance, raising his fists threateningly. "This isn't your home! It's mine and my brothers' and my sisters' and my mom's!"

For a moment George Paulsen just stood there, blood running down his mouth and chin, shock registering on his face. Then a wild look came into his eyes, and he threw himself on Jared, catching him by the throat and bearing him to the floor. Jared twisted and squirmed, trying to get away, but George held him down, screaming obscenities. George rose over him and began to hit him with his fists, striking him in the face with solid, vicious blows that rocked his head and brought bright lights to his eyes. He tried to cover up, but George just knocked his hands aside and kept hitting him. Then dark shapes swarmed out of the shadows, things Jared had never seen before, eyes cat-bright and wild. They fell on George with the raw hunger of predators, their supple, invasive limbs twisting about him, ensnaring him, molding to his body. Their presence seemed to drive George to an even greater frenzy. The blows quickened, and Jared's defenses began to collapse. His mother began screaming, begging George to stop. There was the sound of bones snapping, and a warm rush of blood flooded Jared's mouth and throat.

Then the pain froze him, and all sound and movement ceased, disappearing like a movie's final scene into slow, hazy blackness.

At the beginning of the roadway leading up under the bridge to the cliffs, Nest asked her grandfather to set her on her feet again. She had stopped crying, and her legs were steady enough to support her. Once righted, she stared out across the river for long moments, collecting herself, trying to blot the memory of what had happened from her mind. Her grandfather stood next to her and waited in silence.

"I'm all right," she said finally, repeating his words back to him.

They walked up the road side by side, the old man and the girl, no longer touching, saying nothing, eyes lowered to the pavement. They pa.s.sed under the bridge and came out of the darkness onto the park's gra.s.sy flats. Nest glanced about surrept.i.tiously for the feeders, for their eyes, for some small movement that would signal their presence, but found nothing. She could still feel their hands on her, feel them worming then - way beneath her skin, into her blood and her bones, past all her defenses, deep inside where her fear and rage roiled and they might feed.

She felt violated and ashamed, as if she had been stripped naked and left soiled and debased.

"How did you find me?" she asked, keeping her eyes lowered so he could not see what was reflected there.

"Your friends," her grandfather replied, not looking at her. "They came to the house, brought me out to look for you."

She nodded, thinking now of Danny Abbott and the demon, and she was about to say something more when they heard the heavy boom of a shotgun. Her grandfather's white head lifted. Both stopped where they were, staring out into the darkness. The shotgun fired again. And again. Six times, it roared.

"Evelyn," Nest heard her grandfather whisper hoa.r.s.ely.

And then he was running through the park for the house.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Evelyn Freemark walked out onto the big veranda porch and watched Robert and the children disappear around the corner of the house, headed for the park in search of Nest. Even when they were no longer in sight, swallowed up by the night's blackness, she stared after them, standing in the yellow halo of the light cast by the porch lamp, motionless as her thoughts drifted back through the years to Nest and Caitlin and her own childhood. She had lived a long life, and she was always surprised on looking back at how quickly the time had pa.s.sed and how close together the years had grown.

The screen door started to swing shut behind her, and she reached back automatically to catch it and ease it carefully into place. In the deep night silence, she could hear the creak of its hinges and springs like ghost laughter.

After a moment, she began to look around, searching the shadows where the lawn lengthened in a darkening carpet to the s.h.a.gbark hickories fronting the walk leading in from Woodlawn Road and to the mix of blue spruce and walnut that bracketed the corners of their two-acre lot. She knew already what she would find, but the porch light was blinding her. She reached inside the doorway and shut it off, leaving her in darkness. Better, she thought. She could see them clearly now, the gleaming yellow eyes, dozens strong, too many to be coincidental, too many to persuade her she had guessed wrong about what was going to happen.

She smiled tightly. If you understood them well enough, the feeders could tell you things even without speaking.

Her eyes were fully adjusted to the darkness now, able to trace the angular shapes of the trees, the smooth spread of the lawn, the flat, broad stretch of the roadway, and the low, sprawling roofs of the houses farther down the way. She gave the landscape a moment's consideration, then turned her attention to the porch on which she stood - to its eaves and railings, its fitted ceiling boards, and its worn, tongue-and-groove wooden flooring. Finally her eyes settled on the old peg oak rocker that had been with her from the time of her marriage to Robert. She could trace the events of her life by such things. This house had borne mute witness to the whole of her married life - to the joy and wonder she had been privileged to experience, to the tragedy and loss she had been forced to suffer. These walls had given her peace when it was needed. They had lent her strength. They were part of her, rooted deep within her heart and soul. She smiled. She could do worse than end her life here.

She gave the feeders another quick study, then slipped through the screen door and walked to the back of the house. She would have to hurry. If the demon was coming for her, as she was certain now he was, he would not waste any time. With Robert out of the way, he would hasten to put an end to matters quickly. He would be confident that he could do so. She was old and worn, and no longer a match for him. She laughed to herself. He was predictable in ways he did not begin to recognize, and in the end they would prove his undoing.

She went past her own bedroom and into Robert's. She no longer slept there, but she cleaned for him, and she knew where he kept his things. She clicked on the bedside lamp and went into his closet, the light spilling after her in a bright sliver through the cracked door. In the rear of his closet was a smaller door that opened into a storage area. She found the key on the shelf above, where she knew he kept it, fitted the key in place, and released the lock.

Inside was the twelve-gauge pump-action shotgun he had once used for hunting and now kept mostly out of habit. She removed it from its leather slipcase and brought it into the light. The polished wooden stock and smooth metal barrel gleamed softly. She knew he cleaned it regularly, that it would fire if needed. There were boxes of sh.e.l.ls in a cardboard box at the back of the storage area. She brought the box into the closet and opened it, bypa.s.sing the birdshot for the heavier double-ought sh.e.l.ls that could blow a hole through you the size of a fist if the range was close and your aim true. Her hands were steady as she slid six sh.e.l.ls through the loading slot into the magazine and dumped another six in a pocket of her housedress.

She stood motionless then, looking down at the shotgun, thinking that it had been almost ten years since she had fired it. She had been a good shot once, had hunted alongside Robert in the crisp fall days when duck season opened and the air smelled musky and the wind had a raw edge. It was a long time ago. She wondered if she could still fire this weapon. It felt familiar and comfortable in her hands, but she was old and not so steady. What if her strength failed her?

She chambered a sh.e.l.l with a quick, practiced movement of her hands, checked to make certain the safety was on, and smiled wryly. That would be the day.

Shotgun in hand, she exited the closet and moved back through the house. She stopped off in Nest's room long enough to scribble a few words on a piece of notebook paper, which she then tucked under her granddaughter's favorite down pillow. Satisfied that she had done what she could, she advanced down the hallway on mouse paws, listening to the silence, feeling the tension within her beginning to mount. It would happen quickly now. She was glad Robert was not there, that she did not have to worry about him. By the time he returned with Nest, it would be over. She wasn't really worried about the girl, despite the urgency of her admonition to Robert to find her. Nest was better protected than any of them; she had seen to that. The monster that had appeared to threaten her didn't know the half of it.

She emerged from the house with the shotgun pressed against her side where it could not be clearly seen, and she stopped just beyond the screen door to survey the darkness beyond, her senses alert. Nothing had changed. He was not there yet. Only the feeders had gathered. She moved down the porch to where her rocker was situated, leaned the gun up against the wall in the deep shadows, and settled herself comfortably in place.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil...

The demon would come for her. It would come for her because it hated her for what she had done to it all those years ago and because she was the one human it feared. Odd, that it should still feel this way, now that she was old and frail and virtually powerless. She wondered at the symmetry of life, at the ways the good and the bad of what you did came back to repay you, to reveal you. She had made so many mistakes, but she had made good choices, too. Robert, for openers. He had loved her through everything, even when Caitlin's death had shattered her and her drinking and smoking had left her dissipated and hollowed out and bereft of peace. And Nest, linked to her by blood and magic, the image of herself as a girl, but stronger and more controlled. She closed her eyes momentarily, thinking of her granddaughter. Nest, sweet child, who stood unseeing at the center of the maelstrom that was about to commence.

"Good evening, Evelyn."

Her eyes snapped open, raking the dark. She recognized his voice instantly, the smooth, insinuating lilt rising softly out of the heat. He was standing just off the walk, not quite close enough that she could see him clearly.

She tried to still the shaking inside, rocking slowly to settle her fear. "You took your time," she said.

"Well, tune has never been of much concern to me." She could feel as much as see his smile. "It's too bad you can't say the same, Evelyn. You have grown quite old."

She was briefly angry, but she kept her voice calm. "Well, I don't pretend to be something I'm not, either. I'm pretty well content with being who I am. I've learned to live with myself. I doubt that you can say the same."

The demon chuckled, crossing his arms on his chest. "Oh, that's a terrible lie, Evelyn! Shame on you! You hate yourself! You hate your life!" The laugh died away. "That's why you drink and smoke and hide out in your house, isn't it? It wasn't like that before. You should have embraced the magic in the same way I did, years ago, when you were still young and pretty and talented. You had that chance, and you gave it up. You gave me up as well. Look at what it's cost you. So, please. I think I can live with myself better than you can." He paused. "Which is what matters have to come down to, haven't they?"

She nodded. "I suppose they have."

The demon studied her. "You knew I'd come back to finish things, didn't you? You didn't think you could escape me?"

"Not for a moment. But I'm surprised you thought you needed help."

He stared at her, a hint of confusion in his bland face. "I'm afraid you've lost me."

"John Ross."

The demon snorted. "Oh, Evelyn, don't be obtuse. Ross is a creature of the Word. He's been tracking me for some time. Without much success, I might add."

Well, well, it seems I was wrong about Mr. Ross, she thought in surprise. she thought in surprise.

The demon was watching her closely. "Don't get your hopes up, dear heart. John Ross is not going to change the outcome of things. I've already seen to that."

"I expect you have," she replied quietly.

He made a point of glancing around then, a slow, casual survey of the shadows. His smile was empty and cold. "Look who's come to say good-bye to you."

She had already seen them. Feeders by the dozens, slinking out of the darkness to gather at the edges of the light, crowding forward in antic.i.p.ation, eyes unblinking and expressionless, dark bodies coiled. Some had already advanced to the far ends of the porch, their heads pressed up against the railing like grotesque children in search of a treat.

She gave him a flat, hard stare. "Perhaps they've come to say good-bye to you, instead." She beckoned casually. "Step closer so I can see you better."

The demon did so, moving just out of the shadows, his arms loose, his pale, washed-out blue eyes looking almost sleepy.

"Oh, you've changed considerably," she told him. "If you think I've aged, you ought to take a close look at yourself. Is that the best you can do? Did you sell your soul for so little? How sad."

There was a long silence between them. Then the demon whispered, "This is the end of the line for you, Evelyn."

She rose to her feet and stood looking at him, feeling small and vulnerable in the presence of his strength. But she was b.u.t.tressed by her anger and by her certainty that he was not half so clever as he thought. She moved slowly around to the back of her rocker and leaned on it, giving him a broad, sardonic smile.

"Why don't you come up on the porch so we can discuss it?" she said.

He smiled in return. "What are you up to, Evelyn?" He c.o.c.ked his head to one side as if reflecting on the possibilities.

She waited patiently, saying nothing, and after a moment he started toward her, accepting her challenge. The feeders trailed after him, skittish with antic.i.p.ation. She had not seen so many in one place in years. Not since she had played with them at night in the park as a young girl. Not since the demon and she were lovers. The memories roiled within her, a bitter stirring of emotions that turned the night's heat and darkness suffocating.

When he was almost to the steps, she reached behind her for the shotgun and brought it up in a single, smooth movement so that the long barrel was leveled directly at his chest. She flipped off the safety and placed her finger over the trigger. He was less than fifteen feet away, a clear target. He stopped instantly, genuine surprise showing on his face.

"You can't hurt me with that," he said.

"I can blow that disguise you're hiding behind to smithereens," she declared calmly. "And it will take you a while to put together another, won't it? A little extra time might be all I need and more than you can afford."

He laughed softly in response, his hands clasping before him as if in childish admiration. "Evelyn, you are astonis.h.i.+ng! I missed it completely! How could I have been so stupid? You've lost your use of the magic, haven't you? That's why you have the shotgun! Your magic doesn't work anymore!" He grinned, excited by his discovery. "And to think I was worried mat you might prove troublesome. Tell me. What happened? Did you use it all up? No, you wouldn't have done that. You were saving it to use against me. Or against yourself. Remember how you threatened to do that when you found out what I was? That was a long time ago. Oh, I hated you so for that! I've waited patiently to make you pay for what you did to me. But there was always your magic to consider, wasn't there?" He paused. "Ah-ha! That's it! You lost it because you didn't use it! You worked so hard at h.o.a.rding it, you grew old and tired and lost it completely! That's why you haven't come after me. That's why you've waited for me to come to you. Oh, dear! Poor Evelyn!"

"Poor you," she replied, snapped the gun stock to her shoulder, and blew a hole right through his chest. The whole front of his s.h.i.+rt exploded in a gruesome red shower and the demon was knocked backward onto the shadow-streaked lawn.

Except that a moment later, he wasn't there at all. He simply disappeared, fading away into the ether. Then abruptly he reappeared six feet farther to the right, unharmed, standing there looking at her, laughing softly.

"Your aim was a little off." He smirked.

Feeders raced back and forth, darting toward her with lightning-quick rushes, frantic with hunger. She realized at once what had happened. It wasn't the demon she had fired at. It was an illusion he had created to fool her.

"Good-bye, Evelyn," he whispered.

His hand lifted in a casual gesture, drawing her eyes to his, and she felt a crus.h.i.+ng force close about her chest. She wrenched her eyes away, brought up the shotgun, and fired a second time. Again, the demon's chest blew apart and he was flung away. The feeders ran in all directions, clawing their way onto the porch only to leap off again, lantern eyes wild with expectation. Evelyn was already swinging the barrel of the shotgun about, searching for him, firing both left and right of where he had been, the heavy shot ripping the air, lead pellets hammering into the fence posts at the gate and into the trunks of the old s.h.a.gbarks and the graceful limbs of the spruce. Lights started to come on in the houses closest to hers.

"d.a.m.n you!" she hissed.

She racked the slide a fifth time, chambering a fresh sh.e.l.l, swung the barrel to her right, where the feeders were ma.s.sed thickest, and fired into their midst, the shotgun booming. Her arms and shoulders throbbed with weariness and pain, and her rage burned in her throat and chest like fire. One sh.e.l.l left. She saw him climbing over the railing at the other end of the porch, pumped the final sh.e.l.l into the firing chamber, swung the shotgun left, and fired down the length of the house.

Reload!

She backed against the screen door and fumbled for the sh.e.l.ls in her dress pocket, kicking at the empties underfoot. He was right in front of her then, reaching out his hand. She felt his fingers on her chest, pressing. The shotgun fell away as she sought to claw his face.

Then the feeders swarmed over her, and everything disappeared in a bright red haze.

George Paulsen ran from the Sinnissippi Townhomes and the screams of Enid Scott, his hands covering his face. He burst through the screen door of the Scott apartment with such force that he ripped it from its hinges and tore the skin from his hands. There was blood on him everywhere, and the stink of it was in his nostrils. But it was not from the screams or the blood or even the ragged, broken form he had left crumpled on the living-room floor that he fled.

It was from Evelyn Freemark.

She was right in front of him, a s.h.i.+mmering image come out of the ether, dark and spectral. No matter which way he turned, there she was. She whispered at him, repeating the words she had spoken earlier that day in the park, her dark warning of what would happen if he laid a hand on Enid Scott or her children. He screamed against the persistent sound of it, tearing at the air and at his own face. He ran mindlessly across the barren dirt yard into the roadway, desperate to escape.

The dark things bounded after him, the creatures that had appeared as he beat aside Jared Scott's futile defenses. They had encouraged him to hurt the boy; they had wanted the boy to suffer.

But now they were coming after him as well.

He could feel their hunger in the ragged sound of their breathing.

Oh, G.o.d! Oh, G.o.d! He screamed the words over and over into the silence and the dark. He screamed the words over and over into the silence and the dark.

Staggering blindly up the roadway, he crested the rise that led out to Lincoln Highway, and a car came out of the lights of the buildings ahead. George Paulsen lurched aside as the car raced past, its horn blaring angrily. The dark things caught him then, bore him back against the cemetery fence, and began to rip him apart. His insides were being shredded beneath their claws and teeth; he could hear himself shriek. With the dark things clinging to him, he turned toward the cemetery fence and scrambled up the chain links. He reached the top, lost his footing, and slid back heavily. He grabbed for something to slow his fall, hooked his fingers into the mesh, and caught his neck on the exposed edges of a gap near the fence top.

Jagged steel sliced through soft flesh and exposed arteries, and George Paulsen's blood gushed forth. He sagged weakly, pain flooding through him. The dark things slowed their attack, closing on him more deliberately, taking their time. He wouldn't escape them now, he knew. He closed his eyes against his fear and desperation. They were touching him, their fingers dipping experimentally in his blood. Oh, G.o.d! Oh, G.o.d!

A moment later, the life went out of him.

Chicago is afire. Everywhere the Knight of the Word looks the flames rise up against the darkening skyline, bleeding their red glare into the smoky twilight. It is an exceptionally hot, dry summer, and the parched gra.s.ses that fill the empty parks and push through the cracks in the concrete b.u.m readily. The homes closest to the hollowed-out steel-and-gla.s.s monoliths of the abandoned downtown wait their turn, helpless victims of the destruction that approaches. Down along the piers and s.h.i.+pyards, old storage tanks and fuel wells blaze brightly, the residue of their contents exploding like cannon shots.