Primal Fear (17 page)

He was on his feet now, with John’s hands wrapped firmly around his arm, pulling at him, tugging him away . . .

Harry looked down, saw that he was standing only inches away from the rim of the granite pit, the frozen dirt and fallen snow at his feet breaking loose and tumbling down, down into the blackness.  He felt an oppressive sense of vertigo, a cold certainty that he was going to fall, a feeling that he was pitching forward, into the hungry maw of the quarry. 

But John pulled at him again, dragging him away from the edge of the cliff and back to a safe distance.  They fell onto the hard ground together, Harry collapsing weakly into the fallen snow, trying to regain his bearings, to reconstruct the last couple of minutes.

“What happened?  What was I . . .”

John let go of him, pushed Harry’s gloves back into his hand.  “Here.  Put these on before you lose your fingers to the cold.”  He rose to his feet, walked back to the edge to retrieve the strange object that had started the entire series of events.

“You almost stepped over the edge before I could stop you.  Jesus, you’re lucky I got to you in time.  You were moving before I knew what the hell was happening.”

“It’s the same . . . the same as when you first left the path in the woods . . .”  Harry struggled to his feet, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the full scope of what had just happened flooded through him.  “I almost . . . I almost . . .”

“You almost killed yourself.”

“It was so strong.  And nothing else mattered.  There was nothing else, just the pull to reach the truth.  I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

John returned, pushing the arcane object—the cause of everything that had just happened within Harry’s whirling senses—back into his hip pocket.

Harry reached for it.  “I want to know what it is.  What it does.”  He could feel his senses returning now, but his hands were still shaking terribly, his heart still hammering.

John batted his hand away.  “Not now,” he said.  “Not yet.  It’s too strong.  You have to understand what you’re dealing with first.  It’s not safe here for either of us.”

Harry let his hands fall to his sides.  Deep in John’s voice, he perceived a hint of fear, as if he’d come to suspect he might be out of his league at this point, despite all his knowledge of the legends and history of his people.

He nodded, pulling on his gloves and glancing to his left.  The approaching flashlights were only ten yards away now.  He waved his light at them again, and within minutes, the small party had closed in on their position.

Ben and Tappert headed up the small group, and they struggled to catch their breath in the freezing air as Harry announced that the crisis was past.  He pulled his radio off of his belt and repeated the news to Brochu, who quickly relayed the information to the rest of the search team.

“What the hell happened?” Ben demanded, his eyes on John.

John opened his mouth to explain, but Harry cut him off.

“John thought he saw someone in the woods.”  He shot a quick glance in John’s direction, hoping the younger man would read his intentions and corroborate with him.  “I told him to wait for me to round up a few more men, but he was worried the guy might get away.”

Ben seemed unconvinced for a moment, but then he nodded.  “So?” he asked.  “Was there somebody out there?”

Harry shook his head.  “Nobody that we could find.  And the only footprints we found were our own.”  He swept his flashlight over the ground to demonstrate his point.

“Sorry,” John said.  “But at the time, with the wind blowing all the snow around . . .”

“It’s easy to make a bad call in all this shit,” Ben said.  “Believe me, I know.”

Harry clapped his hands together, trying to work some of the heat back into them.  “Let’s move out,” he said.  “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

There was no argument from the rest of the men and they began to file back to the rendezvous point.  As they moved away, Harry turned to John and held a single finger to his lips.  Harry couldn’t pinpoint his reasons for not revealing the location of the cave to the rest of the men, but something about the feeling he’d had at the lip of the pit, and his poor understanding of what was really going on around him forced him to maintain his silence.  At least for now.

Later, when he’d managed to pry the entire story out of John, maybe he would be ready to confirm the discovery of the cave.  But not yet.

Not until he had some answers.

Chapter Fifteen

“Look, I promise you, this is not going to be a problem.”  Harry turned the truck carefully into his driveway.  “I called her from the station, and she said, ‘yes, that’s fine, bring him over’.”

John shrugged, apparently unconvinced.  “I would just hate to impose more than I already have.”

“John, you saved my ass back there.  If it hadn’t been for you I would have walked straight off that cliff.  The way I figure it, a hot meal and a warm house is the least I can do.”

Harry could understand John’s reluctance to impose; he’d been raised the same way, to gratefully accept the generosity of others but not to actively recruit it.  But with the road conditions worsening by the hour and the storm giving no sign of slackening, there was only one logical choice.  The nearest motel was in Evans Mills, a forty-five minute drive on a good day.  He couldn’t expect John to chance the icy roads and drive all that way just to return at daybreak the next morning.

No, John would spend the night in Harry’s own home, a guest Laurie had already made clear would be quite welcome to sit down to supper with them.

It was an offer that Harry had kicked around silently as he and John had made the slow drive back to the station house.  It had taken well over an hour to reach the center of town, the high winds and drifting snow making many of the secondary roads impassable even to Harry’s four-wheel drive truck.  The plows were doing their best to keep the main roads clear, but could barely keep up with the rapidly falling snow.

To make matters worse, upon reaching the station, they’d discovered that John’s rental car had been completely plowed in.  It was then that Harry had extended the invitation to John to spend the night at his house.  John had reluctantly accepted, taking ten minutes to clear enough of the snow from his car to at least retrieve his duffel bag.

Now, as they climbed out of the truck and moved through the vicious wind towards the front door, Harry tried to make light of the situation. “John, look, if I thought you were a loony, I wouldn’t have offered.”

“You thought I was a loony this morning.”

Harry nodded.  “Yeah, I did.  But this morning seems like a long time ago.  A lot has happened since then.”

They moved inside, into an enclosed porch, where they could remove their boots without tracking mud into the house itself.  The entryway wasn’t heated, but it still offered relief from the biting wind.  Harry removed his coat and hung it on a brass hook beside the door, adding his hat and scarf to the sudden jumble of clothes.  John followed suit and then Harry unlocked the inner door and led the way into the house.

Laurie was on the phone when they stepped inside.  She swung her gaze toward him, relief brightening her features and a broad smile spreading across her face.

“Never mind, Dana,” she said into the phone, “he just walked in.  Sorry to bother you.”

“Dana’s still at work?” Harry called from the doorway.

Laurie nodded.  “Want to talk to her?”

“No.  Just tell her I said that Mary will be there to relieve her any time now, and she should go home and get some rest.  Jesus, she’s been there for twelve hours.”

Laurie relayed the message and said goodbye.  She crossed the long living room, her arms folded across her chest to fight the chill from the open door.

“Checking up on me?” Harry asked.

“Well, you called over an hour ago.  Are the roads really that bad?”

“They’re terrible.  If the storm doesn’t let up soon, we’re going to be digging our way out of here in the morning.”

John came in behind Harry and closed the door against the cold.

“This is John Artaqua, honey,” Harry said.  “He’s the one who helped us out at the Stratham today.”  He hadn’t told her about his strange spell at the edge of the quarry yet, and had asked John not to bring it up until he’d discussed it with her himself.

“John, this is my wife, Laurie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Laurie said, reaching out to shake his hand.  “Come on in.  Let’s get out of this draft.”

John’s eyes scanned the house as they passed through the living room and into the large kitchen that ran along the far side of the first floor.

“You have a beautiful home,” he commented. 

Harry grinned.  “That’s all Laurie’s doing.  My idea of interior decorating is a TV and a Marilyn Monroe poster.”

“Don’t laugh,” Laurie put in.  “That’s about all he had in here when we first got married.”

John laughed, settling into one of the kitchen chairs.  He seemed a little more at ease now, his fear of imposing all but gone now in the bright warmth of the kitchen.

“Supper’s just about ready,” Laurie announced.  “I hope you like beef stew.”

“One of my favorites.”

The wind howled by outside, shaking the windows in their frames.  The floor vibrated beneath them as a snowplow rumbled by out on the street, moving slowly towards town in an effort to fight the mounting snow.

During supper, Harry filled Laurie in on the details of the search, beginning with the effects the storm had had on their progress and concluding with John’s discovery of the cave in the face of the quarry itself.  He purposely avoided some of the more mysterious details of the find, such as John’s sudden knowledge of a presence beneath their feet and his own moment of vertigo at the edge of the cliff.  There would be plenty of time to discuss those matters later, but he saw no reason to ruin dinner by talking them over now. 

When they were done eating, Laurie suggested that they all move into the living room, and while Harry dropped another couple of logs into the fireplace, he realized that the time for idle chit-chat had long outstayed its welcome.  It was time to talk about what was really going on in Glen Forest.

John settled comfortably onto one of the two couches that dominated the central area of the long living room.  While Laurie excused herself to pour a glass of wine, he let his head fall back against the soft cushions and closed his eyes.

Harry let silence reign for a moment, getting his thoughts in order before he began.  He listened to the crackling of the fire, the hiss of the oxygen being devoured by the insatiable flame, and he knew he could drift off to sleep easily enough if he wasn’t careful.

When he looked up at last, he found John watching him, his eyes open and alert.  His expression was pensive, his gaze intense.  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  “You know, this morning when I first got here, when I was waiting for you at the police station, I almost talked myself into climbing back into my car and driving away.  I came really close, but finally I decided to wait, to sweat it out.”

“Why?”

“Because I had to know if it was real.  To see if I’d come all this way for nothing or if there was any truth at all to the old legends.”

“So?  Is there?”

John nodded, a glint of apprehension showing in his eyes.  “Yes.  I felt it today, out by the quarry.  Out by the mouth of that cave.  It’s real alright.  But now part of me wishes it wasn’t, that I could just walk away and shut it all out of my mind forever.”

“But you haven’t.”

“No.  It wouldn’t be right.  I’ve never been the type to turn away from my responsibilities.”

“You’re not responsible for this, John.  You said it yourself: we’re both a part of what’s going on here, whether we like it or not.  But neither of us started it.”

“You could still back out.  It’s your choice.  And I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Harry shook his head.  “No, I’m not backing out.  Not after . . .”  He broke off, hesitant.  “Not after everything I’ve seen.”

John watched him closely, but said nothing.  Instead, he only waited for Harry to go on, as if understanding that to press him now might keep him from revealing the truth.

Taking a deep breath, Harry lowered his voice.  He began slowly at first, the words coming with great difficulty.  But then, once he got going, he was able to recount feelings and details he’d been trying so hard to forget.

He told John all of it, from the grisly wounds Hughes had found in Slater’s ears during the autopsy, to the first appearance of his impossibly animated corpse later in the coroner’s office, to his own feeling of almost helpless terror as Slater’s body had suddenly attacked him.

Laurie returned as he reached the story’s climax, settling quietly onto the couch beside Harry as he described how he’d finally repelled Slater with a shard of broken glass from the picture frame.

Through it all, John listened intently, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face.  Not once did he interrupt, not once did he pose a question to clarify some detail or other.  He just took it all in, letting Harry go on at his own pace. 

Harry was grateful for that, and by the time he was finished, he felt sure he’d done the right thing in sharing the story with John.  Maybe John could make some sort of sense out of it that he couldn’t.

“What did he try to say to you?” John asked.  “It’s important that you try to remember, word for word if you can.”

“I remember it, don’t worry.  I just don’t know what the hell it means.  You filled in a part of it in my office this morning.  ‘Jhuk katta iti huttut.  It begins with death.’  He said that at least twice, maybe even three times.”

“What else?”

“He said something that sounded like a name, at least the way he was using it.”

“Who?  What was the name?”

“Atay,” Harry said.  “I’m sure of it.  He said it several times, just like that.  Atay.”

John frowned, his hand rising to rub his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Laurie asked.  “Does that mean something to you?”

“It means things are even worse than I thought.”  He took a deep breath and went on.  “The name you heard was Atae, but it’s not a man’s name.  It’s really not a name at all, when you get right down to it.  It’s more of a way of crossing over.”

“Crossing over to what?”

“Do you remember what I told you in the truck, about the shaman’s ability to commune with the other side, to speak to the spirits?”

Harry nodded, intrigued.

“I told you they used a familiar to do it, a kind of spirit guide.”

“Right.  They used the guide to make predictions or decisions.”

“That’s right.  And it is believed that these guides are actually the spirits of our departed ancestors, former friends and loved ones who have not yet . . . crossed over . . .”

“To where?” Laurie asked.  “To heaven?”

John cocked his head.  “More or less.  Close enough, to help me reach my point.  You see, our people believe that when someone passes on, his soul remains in a sort of limbo, waiting to return in the form of an infant.”

“Reincarnation?”

“Exactly.  And so when a baby is born, its parents won’t give it a name until they spot some feature or characteristic reminiscent of a loved one that has recently passed on.  For instance, if a male infant has the same shade of eyes as a beloved brother or uncle who has just died, the parents believe it to be his soul reborn, and will name the child after him.  The soul will continue to return, over and over again, through several lifetimes, until it has attained great wisdom.  And then . . .”

“And then it’ll cross over, into heaven.”

“But before it does, or before it is reborn into another life, the shaman has the ability to contact it, to use it as a familiar to cross over himself.  And that’s where the name Atae comes in.  It’s not so much a single soul as it is a collection of them, a sort of . . . sacred deity formed from the souls of many who have passed on.  Only the most powerful shaman are said to be able to contact it, and an even smaller number can actually use it as their familiar.  Apparently Mahuk is one of those who has successfully contacted Atae.”

“Just because Slater spoke its name doesn’t mean Mahuk has anything to do with it.”

“I’m afraid it does.  Because I think I know what happened to you yesterday.  To both of us, really.  And now I think I understand the link between my vision and your experience at the morgue.” 

He rose to his feet, looking nervous and agitated, and began pacing back and forth across the living room.  Harry’s eyes followed him, his attention centered completely on the young man’s story.

“When I first saw you this morning and realized that my dream on the plane had definitely been a sort of vision, I began to wonder if you’d been contacted in any way as well.  I suspected Mahuk was responsible for my own vision, though I had no idea how, and I was curious whether he had found a way to issue a warning to you, too, or at least to prepare you in some way for what’s supposed to be coming.  You didn’t seem to recognize me at all, so I automatically assumed my vision was not a shared experience.  But now, after hearing your story, I’m convinced that’s exactly what it was.”

“I’m not sure I understand.  I mean, I see the obvious: you witnessed what happened to me at the morgue, at least in your vision.  But I don’t see another connection beyond that.”

“I do.  I think Mahuk was trying to warn both of us yesterday, and he was using me as a sort of . . . conduit.  A relay for his powers.”