Rockinghorse (21 page)

The professors exchanged glances.

“Say it,” Louisa said. “I know, but tell the others.”

“Sheriff Pugh is part of the Brotherhood. Not the leader; we don't know who that is. But he is definitely a part of the evil.”

“So there is no point in calling the police,” Tracy said.

“None.”

“I had a hunch,” Kyle said.

“Go play in your rooms,” Tracy told the kids.

“Yes, ma'am.”

When the kids had gone, Lucas leaned forward and said, “Tell me this, if you can. We have all experienced fear, and lots of it. But it isn't and has not been a consistent fear. Why is that?”

“We believe,” Mark said, “the Brotherhood, though it was just conjecture until you told us about the rocking horse, has the power to alter minds. We now know it is the rocking horse. Through the manipulation of your minds, they can keep the fear subtle or intense. But we can feel it increasing. And it will get worse.”

The professors rose as if controlled by one mind. Nancy said, “We shall see you all in two weeks.”

They walked away without another word.

The afternoon and evening passed very quietly and uneventfully—much to everyone's very obvious relief. There was no more whinnying or strange, taunting laughter from the rocking horse. It appeared not to have moved during the afternoon or night.

But no one among them believed that.

“The horse has won the first round,” Lucas said. “It knows that. But it's so odd . . . this lack of fear I'm feeling.”

Kyle looked thoughtful as he joined them. “If Bill Pugh is part of the Brotherhood, it stands to reason some of the guys I work with are part of it, too. I think I'm about to get assigned to the old Garrett case.”

“That's the way I see it, too,” Lucas said.

“Odd,” the trooper said. “But I don't feel any fear.”

“You will,” his wife said. “We all will.”

Kyle and Louisa pulled out midmorning on Monday. Nothing happened to delay or prevent their leaving.

The Bowers family was once more alone in the huge mansion.

With the rocking horse.

The knocking on the door awakened Lucas. With a sigh, he rolled over and looked at the clock. Six o'clock. What day was it? He struggled to remember. Everything had been so calm the days had melted into each other. Incredible. Yeah—Friday. Almost two full weeks with nothing unusual to report. It was almost as though the rocking horse—which had not apparently moved from the landing in all this time—and the Brotherhood had forgotten all about them.

But, Lucas thought, still half asleep, their fears had abated, nothing had happened. So . . . maybe.

The knocking became more persistent.

It brought him further awake. Coming from the front door, he thought. He slipped from the bed and put on jeans and a shirt, his feet in house shoes. He padded down the hall and threw open the front door.

He did not know the person standing smiling on the veranda.

“Yes?” Lucas asked. He looked around and could see no car or truck in the drive. He wondered how the man had gotten there.

The man's smile did not waver. He was neatly dressed in slacks and sport coat, his shirt collar open. He looked to be about sixty years old, but in very good physical shape. “Aren't you going to invite me in, boy? Or has livin' up north done ruined all your manners?”

“I don't know you,” Lucas said. “Who are you and what do you want here?”

“What do I want? Why, I want to talk to you, that's all. Who am I? Why, I'm blood kin, boy. I'm your daddy's brother. Your Uncle Joe Bowers, that's who I am.”

Lucas was silent for a moment, fighting to conceal his shock. Taking a deep breath, he said, “As far as I can remember, Joe, I've never laid eyes on you in my life. Why come around now?”

Joe's smile wavered just a bit, then he overcorrected and beamed at Lucas, his dentures shining. “You're your daddy's boy, all right. No mistaking that. Blunt. Down here, boy, in the south, we call that ill-mannered.”

“Call it whatever you like.” Lucas decided to take a chance. “Did you come around to talk about the Brotherhood, Joe?”

Give him an A for good acting, Lucas thought. The smile did not flinch.

“What's the Brotherhood, boy? Cain't say as I've ever heard of anything like that.”

Lucas laughed in the man's face. He had taken an instant dislike to the man. He reminded Lucas of the stereotyped perfect salesman. The kind that flim-flam people. “All right, Joe. We'll play it your way, then. And, no, I won't invite you in. Let's sit out here on the porch.”

“That's fine with me, boy.”

Seated, Lucas, looked the man over. He did not in any way resemble Lucas's father.

“We were half brothers, Lucas. Same father, different mother. You wonder how I'm able to know what you're thinking, right?”

“Not really. I'm beginning to get used to the abnormal around here.”

“Abnormal!” Joe laughed. “That's good, boy.” Then he sobered. “All right, boy. You were right. Join us. It's your only chance. Believe me. I had to talk long and hard to get them to agree to my coming here. Believe that, too, boy. I ain't bullshittin' you none.”

“Then why did you do it, Joe?”

“ 'Cause I don't want to see no hurt come to you or your family. We're kin. Whether you like the idea of that or not. Can't neither one of us help the fact we was born kin.”

Lucas could not argue that. Just as he was about to speak, Joe smiled at him.

“Think' 'bout your New Yawk friends, huh? I might be so inclined to include them in this deal, if you was to pitch in with us.”

Once again, Lucas had to marvel at the man's insight. “I'm going to call them and tell them not to come down.” He tried to keep the bluff out of his mind.

Joe shook his head. “No, you ain't, boy. And there ain't nothing supernatural 'bout the way I know that. You can't, and you know it. 'Sides, even if you could, what would you tell them? That you're sick? That your kids have come down with the mumps or the collywobblies? No. And you know why? 'Cause you have this thought in the back of your mind that all that's happened so far can be explained away as some sort of joke. Well, boy, let me tell you something. The joke's on you.”

Lucas grunted, but otherwise said nothing.

“ 'Sides, boy, they're either Jews or married to a Jew. Who gives a shit what happens to a Jew? I don't.”

Joe laughed aloud at the turmoil raging in Lucas's head.

Lucas said, “You people are not only crazy, you're perverted as well. What difference does a person's religion make?”

“Not that much any more,” Joe admitted. “The south sure is changin'. And that makes me plumb sorrowful. Ain't like it used to be. Back then, we kept niggers and Jews and the like in their place. Now even the Klan is tryin' to go respectable. And, boy, that there is plumb disgustin'.”

Lucas could only stare at the man's open and proud admission of bigotry. Finally, in a shaky voice, he said, “All right, Joe. You seem to know everything without my telling you. Now what?”

Joe grinned proudly. It reminded Lucas of the smug grin of the rocking horse.

In the house, for the first time in days, the rocking horse whinnied and hooted and rocked and squeaked.

Joe said, “You gonna have that uppity Atlanta lawyer and her husband up this weekend, too, ain't you, boy?”

“What do you mean—
too
?”

“All the eggs gonna be in one basket for the gatherin'. For the very first time.” He chuckled. “Kyle Cartier is now assigned to the Garrett case—gonna reopen it, so he thinks. Him an his all-seein' wife gonna be here this afternoon, too.”

“I know that, Joe. My wife and I invited them. Again, I ask, what do you mean—
too
?”

“Well, you see, boy. Ol' Jim was sorta handed the wrong phone message.” Joe looked at Lucas, an evil gleam in his eyes. “Now you gettin' the point of all this?”

“Maybe,” Lucas spoke softly, thinking fast, trying to stay ahead. “Are you telling me our friends from New York are on the way here?”

Joe's smile widened. “You pretty sharp, boy.” He looked at his watch. “Yes, sir. Be here about four o'clock, boy.”

“I see. Everybody arrives at approximately the same time, right? All very neatly done. A lot of planning went into getting that done.”

Joe looked at his nephew. His eyes were hard and unreadable. “This is your last chance, boy. Do it our way and nobody gets hurt. All you have to do is carry the word back to the city. You and your friends.”

“Nobody gets hurt?” Lucas said, dragging his feet, mentally fighting to keep the deliberate ruse out of his thoughts.

“Well,” Joe said, with that damnable smile still in place. “Maybe I spoke too fast. Let's just say
almost
nobody.”

Lucas thought fast. “Louisa, huh?”

“She ain't nothing to you, boy. She's got to go. She's got to be a part of the ceremony. Sorry, but that's the way it is.”

“What ceremony?”

“We don't wanna go into that, boy. You wouldn't understand it no way.”

“The professors at the Gibson house? What about them?”

Joe shrugged his shoulders. “What are they to you, boy? Hell, what does it really matter to you what happens to them?”

Lucas felt it would do no good to mention the fact they were decent human beings. He realized then he was talking with a human monster. “Harold?”

“He died hard, boy. We had some fun with him 'fore we hung him.”

Lucas did not pursue Joe's idea of 'fun.' “And if I don't join your . . . group? What's the alternative?”

“Grim, boy, grim. You really want me to go into detail?”

“Oh, why not, Joe? Give me some idea what I'm up against. My family?”

“Your wife and daughter gets passed around some, boy. You get my drift?”

“Jackie is just a
child.
Man, you can't be serious.”

“She's a woman-child, boy. She's old enough. They used to marry at her age.”

“You're filth, Joe!” Lucas spat the words at the man. “Pure filth.”

Joe grinned.

“Joe,” Lucas spoke through a red haze of pure rage and hate, “I'm going to go into the house. When I return, I'll have a gun in my hands. A shotgun. If you are still on this porch, I'm going to kill you and take my chances after that. You understand me?”

“Shore do.” He stood up. “I'll be takin' my leave now. You been warned. My conscience is clear. And it was all done accordin' to the rules set forth two hundred year ago. Everything that will happen from this moment on is on your head, boy. Do
you
understand that?”

“Yes,” Lucas said, getting to his feet, that red haze still clouding his eyes. “I suppose I do—finally.” He struggled to recall what little he knew about witchcraft. “Are you saying I'm . . .
marked
in some way?”

“All your life, boy. Just like your brother, Ira.”

“I have no birthmark.”

“Oh, you got a mark on you. Some a feller can see, some a feller can't see. But you're marked, boy.”

“Get out of here!”

“We be seein' one another again, boy,” Joe said with that smile still in place. “Real soon. Bet on it.”

Joe Bowers stepped lightly off the veranda and walked down the sidewalk, toward the curving driveway. He disappeared down the gravel-and-dirt road leading toward town.

Lucas stood on the porch for a moment, then walked into the house, getting the keys to his car and the pickup truck. He felt sure he knew what he would find when he picked up the keys. When he tried to crank the station wagon, nothing happened. He got out and lifted the hood. The distributor cap was missing and all the other wires had either been yanked out or cut. It was a mess. He went to the pickup truck and lifted the hood. Same thing. Both vehicles were crippled. Useless.

He looked around him as he felt hidden eyes watching him. And he realized that if he tried to walk into town, he would never make it.

He woke Tracy and told her, almost word for word, what Joe Bowers had told him.

She took the news impassively.

Then he told her about the vehicles.

A very quiet chuckling filled the house.

Both knew where it was coming from.

Tracy sat up in bed. “Then we're really trapped? Is that it?”

The rocking horse began squeaking as it rocked back and forth on the landing above them.

Lucas spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I guess so, babe. That's the way I see it.”

“All right.” A deadly calmness filled Tracy. Now she knew for certain, with no doubts remaining, what faced them all. She could finally sink her teeth into this. And what had been said about Jackie brought the protective mother-instinct boiling to the surface.

“Coming down here was my idea,” she said. “If I hadn't insisted on coming, none of this would be happening to us. No. Don't stop me. I have to share the blame, Lucas. I . . .” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “I don't fully understand what is happening. Perhaps I—we—never fully understand it. But now they—those people,” she waved her hand, “have directly threatened to hurt my children. Our children. Kyle said his people have probably been penetrated, right?”

“Yes,” Lucas said, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thought that he knew what she was going to say next.

“Well, then, we call the FBI. This is terrorism, isn't it?”

“In a . . . manner of speaking. But we don't have a phone.”

“No. I know that. But when Kyle gets here, he'll have a radio in his car. He can report what has happened, can't he?”

“Somehow, babe, I get the impression that the radio in Kyle's car won't be working after he pulls in our driveway.”

The rocking horse squeaked and laughed.

“Lucas, the Hudsons and Westerfelts are coming in by car. When they get here, we'll tell them what's happening and take their cars, drive into town and tell. . .” She paused. “But you said we're being watched, didn't you.” She sighed. “And even if we got into town, we'd have to tell Burt Simmons, wouldn't we? Burt Simmons. Sure.”

“See what I mean?” he said. “Tracy, as impossible as it seems, that horse,” he cut his eyes upward toward the landing, “is not going to let us leave this house, or perhaps the grounds. I don't know about that. Maybe the grounds. It demonstrated its powers the other night, remember? Try to leave the house, Trace.”

She jerked off her nightgown and dressed quickly. Jeans, sneakers, blouse. She walked to the bedroom door and tried to open it.

The door would not open.

She flushed, whirled around. “Pick up that straight chair and smash out the window, Lucas.” Neither of them could move the chair. A force beyond their comprehension held the chair firm to the floor.

Tracy picked up a vase and hurled it at the window. It halted in mid-flight and hovered there, suspended in motion.

From above them, the rocking horse laughed and rocked and squeaked.

The vase fell to the carpet and shattered.

Tracy's voice was shaky as she said, “Use your gun to shoot holes in the window.”

The rocking horse laughed.

Lucas shook his head. “It won't work, Trace. I just know it won't. I think we are . . . hell, permitted to use weapons in defense of ourselves, but not to get away from the house. Lige . . . Ira said, 'the house don't want to be sold.' He said the horse is part of the house. The
house
would get me; get the family. It isn't the horse, Trace. It's the house. The horse is doing what the house commands it to do. We . . . we're in something like a . . . something like a cocoon.”