Demon Child (17 page)

    Without thinking, without concern for propriety, Jenny dashed forward and hugged the doctor. “Be careful, please. Oh, please be as careful as you can out there!”

    “I will,” he said. He did not seem surprised at her show of affection. “And I'll be back, don't worry.”

    He pulled himself free of her arms, stepped through the door into the ram, closed the door and hurried down the drive toward the stables.

    It was only then that she realized what she had felt, pressed against her body, when she had hugged Walter. In the right pocket of his plastic raincoat. Hard and deadly. A pistol…

    

    For a long while, Jenny pondered the significance of her accidental discovery. She stood by the windows of the front room, watching the rain and the driveway which receded into darkness and mist. The others waited in the kitchen, drinking coffee and offering each other consolation. She chose to be here rather than with the others, for she needed time and quiet to think.

    When they had gone on the organized hunt for the wolf the previous Tuesday, Walter had not been carrying a gun. He said that he would not own one, that he detested violence.

    But now he had a gun.

    Where had it come from? Had he kept it here these past two weeks, in a suitcase, ready if he needed it? If so, why?

    Through the billowing layers of rain, a squirrel scampered over the lawn at the edge of the front drive, found its way up an elm tree. Its fur was wet and plastered to it.

    She could not imagine why Walter would lie about such a thing. And she doubted, very much, that he would be able to lie about anything at all. He was just not that sort of man.

    Then he must have gotten the gun this evening, when he was in town. That was it, of course. He had brought it back with him because-

    -Because he too had reason to distrust Richard!

    That had to be it! It was not her overworked imagination which ascribed unpleasant motives to her cousin. Walter had watched and listened for two weeks, and he, too, had begun to suspect something dangerous in the young Brucker heir's personality.

    But what had he seen or heard that had led him to such a drastic step as the purchase of a gun? The decision to arm himself could not have come easily, for it went against all his basic beliefs and moral attitudes. To have gone against the gentleness in his own character, he would have had to be quite frightened of Richard-and he would have to know something ugly that was all but conclusive proof against her cousin. He was not the sort to act on a whim or a hunch.

    The more she thought about the new edges put on this situation, the more frightened she became. Why on earth, if he so mistrusted Richard, had Walter gone out there, in this storm? He had asked Harold if Richard had taken a gun. He obviously was worried that Richard might have the nerve to use it against a human being.

    Did Richard realize that Walter had caught him in something, knew what his role in these strange events was? And would he really commit murder to prevent Hobarth from spreading the word?

    It seemed impossible to conceive of that. Yet there had already been one death. Though Richard had seemed to consider Lee Symington on his side, who was to say that he had not had something to do with that? And where murder had already been committed, what man would stop at adding to a crime that was as great as it could be to begin with?

    That thought decided her. She left the front room, and took the main stairs three at a time, hurried along the upstairs hallway and into her room. Two minutes later, she came down the steps again, struggling into a raincoat, knee-high black vinyl boots on her feet, a plastic rainscarf covering most of her head and tied under her chin. At the front door, she paused, thought of telling the others what she was doing and why. But she worried that they might detain her and actually forbid her to go. She opened the door and stepped onto the front stoop.

    Rain stung her face, pinged at her hands like countless thousands of shot pellets.

    The wind was warm and made her perspire under the heavy raincoat. It curled the water under her collar, dampened the neck of her blouse.

    She ran along the macadamed drive, wondering if she could get to the limestone sinkholes quickly enough-and, incidentally, wondering just what she could do when she
did
get there. She didn't have a gun, and she knew she couldn't use one even if her pockets were full of them. All she could do was hope to reach the sinkholes before Walter. With two of them there, Richard would have a much slimmer chance of pulling anything and getting away with it.

    The stables loomed ahead, to the left.

    Lightning shattered the velvet blackness.

    The rain refracted, for a split second, the unearthly brilliance.

    She shivered, but kept moving. Leona Brighton would not have condoned cowardly behavior.

    
Be careful, Jenny. Be careful…
the dead voices seemed to be telling her.

    She reached the stables a moment later and ran through the open arch into the musty, dry interior where a single electric bulb burned in the center of the narrow aisle. She was breathing very hard, and she took a moment to rest and wipe the beaded rain from her face.

    The place smelled of hay and grain, sweet and pleasant, especially on such a night as this.

    First, she went to the rifle case next to the second stall on the right, opened the plyboard door. There wasn't a gun there. There were no bullets in the drawer beneath it.

    Perhaps Walter had taken the weapon, though she doubted that. If he already had a pistol of his own, that would be sufficient. He had only asked Harold about guns in order to know whether Richard was armed. And Richard more than likely was…

    The two stallions were gone. Only Tulip was still in the barn. She swung her pretty head over the halfdoor of her stall and looked beseechingly at Jenny, as if she too wanted to go on this late-night excursion which occupied everyone else so suddenly. Or, conversely, perhaps that pleading expression meant that she did not want to be ridden in such foul weather. Whatever it meant, Jenny did not waste any more time in saddling the mare and slipping the reins and bit on her.

    Tulip snuffled.

    A deafening boom of thunder swept in from outside.

    Tulip whinnied and danced slightly onto her hind feet

    Jenny patted her shoulder and spoke softly, reassuringly. Tulip slowly calmed, and Jenny mounted her, took the reins, and urged the horse down the aisle and out the door of the stables.

    The horse started at the heavy rain which pummeled them, but came under the rein fairly easily. Jenny sat low, bent along the mare's neck, all but hugging her so that she could whisper reassurances if the thunder should again frighten the animal.

    And they were off.

    Tulip sensed her master's fear. She maintained a stiff, awkward gallop which was tainted with reluctance. Jenny might know
where
she was going, but she had no idea what she might find when she got there…

    

    Since Walter had ridden over the Brucker estate only once and had not explored it in detail on horseback as Jenny had, he would take the route to the limestone caves which he would remember having taken with the others during the previous Tuesday's wolf hunt. It was the longest way about. She felt that she had a very good chance of heading him off by as much as five minutes-even considering the several minutes he had gained on her by his earlier departure from the stables.

    She whipped the reins lightly, continually, spurring the horse on. She slapped at Tulip's sides and encouraged her mount to run faster.

    She did not worry about her nails. Not at all.

    Fortunately, the route she had in mind was not sprinkled with trees as was so much of the Brucker land. If it had been, she could not have maintained this furious pace. The clouds obscured the summer moon and placed the land under a heavy blanket of darkness that was all but impenetrable. She could see only a hundred or a hundred-and-fifty feet ahead. That gave her too little safety margin if a willow should loom up in their path.

    Tulip whuffed and snorted.

    Jenny snapped the reins again.

    She was almost two-thirds of the way to the sinkholes, certain of reaching them before Walter, when the sky split open under the prying wedge of a lightning bolt. A clap of horrendous thunder seemed to lift the earth and throw it down.

    Tulip bellowed.

    “Whoa!”

    The mare bucked, came to a full stop and leaped into the air, rising until she stood only on her hind feet; her great bulk was almost perpendicular to the earth.

    “No!” Jenny shouted.

    She hung on.

    A second explosion of thunder hammered across the open land while lightning spasmed through the clouds.

    Tulip came down-only to go up once more. This time, she was quicker and more violent than before, wrenching her broad shoulders. She snuffled and whinnied, tossed her proud head back and forth as her terror swelled beyond reasonable bounds.

    Jenny lost her grip.

    She felt one foot tear loose of the stirrup. Frantically, she wrenched her other foot free as well, lest she be trapped by it and dragged over the rugged terrain. She felt herself slipping off the saddle and could not manage to maintain a hold on the horn. She went over Tulip's flank and came down hard against the earth, the wind knocked out of her, pain flashing for a moment in her left thigh.

    Somehow, she managed to roll in order to avoid the viciously stamping hooves that tore up the sod only inches from her head. Dirt and grass sprayed over her as Tulip punished the earth for what the sky had done to her.

    Then there was no more lightning or thunder. There was only a very black sky and the hissing curtain of the rain.

    Tulip galloped ahead, still frightened and searching for shelter, though some of her temper seemed to have improved. Two hundred feet ahead, she ambled to a halt and looked around, perplexed, as if she could not remember what she had been running from. She whinnied loudly, shook her head, flopping her mane from side to side. Then she examined the earth and began chewing at the long, fresh sprouts of grass.

    Carefully, Jenny got to her feet. She gasped for breath until the pain in her stomach was gone, then straightened up. She tested the sore spot on her thigh and decided that nothing had been broken. She walked about in a circle, swinging her arms, flexing her legs until circulation had returned everywhere and until she no longer felt the pain very much.

    
Don't mount the horse again,
the voice warned her.

    But she had to.

    
It could have killed you.

    But Richard might kill Walter before she could get there. And though Tulip was an unknown factor now, and though Jenny always tried to avoid the unknown, she had to go on. Walter was the post, the haven, the fixed point against which the unknown and the unexpected had no power. Without him, she would be cast back into a world of chaos and continuous fear.

    She walked forward, speaking softly and sweetly to the mare. She smiled and felt foolish coaxing a horse as she might a child, but she did her best to make the animal feel at ease with her. She had to recover Tulip no matter what the cost.

    The mare watched her out of wide, white-rimmed eyes. The beast had a mouthful of grass and was slowly, methodically, grinding it down. Her lower jaw moved sideways against her upper in a comical sort of way.

    Jenny did not feel like laughing, however. She approached warily, praying there would be no more violent displays of nature to spook the mare. She continued to talk, meaningless phrases, all spoken in a tone of reassurance and warmth. Every minute that passed like this, Walter was closer to a confrontation with Richard Brucker.

    When Jenny was within fifteen feet of her, the mare turned and trotted a dozen yards farther along, watched the girl a moment, then bent her head to the task of pulling up more grass and grinding it with her large, square teeth.

    Jenny was angry, but kept her temper under wraps. A show of fury would only serve to scare the horse away again. She continued her approach, talking softly, quietly, softly, quietly…

    This time, Tulip remained still, watching.

    She touched the mare's neck. The horse shuddered but did not pull away. For a full minute, Jenny continued petting her and nuzzling her, digging fingers behind the animal's ears and scratching there.

    Slyly, she worked her way to the mounting side, stroked the animal's flanks, then carefully climbed into the saddle.

    Tulip made no move to throw her off.

    She gathered up the reins, pulled the horse around and set off in the direction of the sinkholes. She continued murmuring to the horse and soothing it lest another clap of thunder should undo her again.

    The last leg of the journey was through a forested area where they were forced to maintain a less strenuous pace. At least, Jenny thought, the heavy canopy of elms would cut down on the sound of thunder and would all but eliminate the bright lightning.

    As they covered this last quarter of a mile, she had time to think, and she thought-of course-about Walter Hobarth. She realized that, while he had been giving her hints, these past couple weeks, that he was more than a little interested in her, she had done nothing to show him that the affection was reciprocal. She had gone to her room each night, adding up the debits and the credits of the day, wishing against reason that he would come to feel about her as she felt about him -but she had done nothing to show him that she felt the way she did! How stupid!