The Devil's Touch (15 page)

It had been arranged that Sam would remember very little about the lovemaking; but just enough to fill him with guilt. All he could do was beg his wife's forgiveness.

And it would soon be arranged—only a matter of a few hours—for Nydia to meet Jon Le Moyne. While Sam would be conveniently away … with another woman. It would work. The Master was proud of Janet's plan.

Yes, Janet thought, today would be the day. Nydia would be harboring ill feelings toward Sam—and the Master would see they became blacker as the minutes ticked past. And it was being arranged for Sam to meet another woman. Everything looked good. The oldest rule of warfare: Divide and conquer.

Janet now looked at Nydia through different eyes. She took in the woman's lushness. For a moment, the girl allowed herself the luxury of erotic thoughts: images of her making love to Nydia. But she quickly brushed those aside, for the Master would not approve of that at this time. Perhaps when matters were all taken care of. But not now.

"You want to take me home now, Miss Nydia?" Janet asked shyly.

Nydia turned around, her eyes red from holding back tears. "Sure, Janet. Let me get my coat."

Several times Monty had put his hand on the phone in the den, and several times he had pulled his hand away. If he called for help—would anybody believe him? He was sure something very odd was going down in Logandale. But worshipping the Devil? Now that day had dawned, he had doubts. But what about the ungodly appearing creature Balon had shot in the orchard? The strange way a lot of people were behaving? Nearly his entire force quitting without notice? Bodies disappearing? People and animals tortured to death in strange and bizarre ways? Again he put his hand on the phone. Again he pulled it away.

He'd give it another day, max, before doing anything that might prompt the men in white coats to come drag him away, kicking and screaming to the funny farm.

"Honey," his wife spoke from the hall.

He looked at her and smiled. He never tired of looking at her. She was that beautiful. And had been on her way toward becoming a very successful fashion model when she elected to marry him. Monty could never understand why she made that move. But was ever so grateful that she did.

He noticed the frown on her face. "Something wrong, honey?"

She tapped her foot when she was angry. And she was tapping her foot now. "Very definitely wrong, Monty. We're being watched."

"By whom?"

"Two men in a car, parked out front. I don't know how long they've been there. Take a look."

He walked to the drapes and narrowly parted them. There they sat. Dan Evans and Phil Curtis. Two local ne'er-do-wells that were constantly in and out of all sorts of mischief and minor brushes with the law. Monty had arrested them both a dozen times over the years. But…

Then it came to him: The most successful lawyer in the county always was there to represent them, and he was the most successful lawyer in the county because he worked almost exclusively for…

Norman Giddon.

Coming together. And it was not a pretty package.

Monty turned from the window and started down the hall to the front door. His wife's voice stopped him. He looked over his shoulder at her.

"Don't go out there, Monty. Don't. For my sake. I'm getting frightened, Monty. Let's pack it up and in and get out of here. Just get the hell out!"

He could not believe what she was saying. "Honey, I'm the chief of police here. The law. The man. I've—I took an oath to uphold the law. I can't just cut and run. I
won't
cut and run."

"I felt it last night, Monty," she blurted. "1 know it's real, now."

"Felt what, Viv?"

"Evil."

"Now just hang on, baby. Just—"

"Don't go out there!"

He took his hand off the doorknob. "All right," he told her. "If it will make you feel better, I won't go outside. But we're going to have to face this—thing— whatever in the hell it is, sooner or later."

"Let it be later. Hell with it."

Something thumped on the back porch. A subhuman shriek came to the man and woman. Viv paled and backed against the wall for support. Monty found his pistol and walked down the hall, into the kitchen, and paused at the back door. He jacked back the hammer of his .357 and jerked open the door. He almost puked up his breakfast.

"No," Joe said. "I'm so keyed up I wouldn't be able to sleep none. Let's go on over to the chiefs house and hash this thing out. We got to do something. This standin' around without a plan is gettin' to me."

Sam glanced at Mille. "You must be exhausted, Mille."

"I'm tired, but like Joe, I want to find out just what is going on around here." She shook her head, then brushed back a lock of dark hair. "Too much is coming at me all at once. All this business about the Devil and cults and covens—I—I'm just confused and don't know what to think or believe. I don't know whether to be scared or think this entire thing is one great big joke. Then I think about Marie Fowler and those
horrible
things that were done to her. Judith disappears. Joe tells me he and Chief Draper lost radio contact with Will when he went down in that hole after Judith. The rope is untied—by somebody—and Joe and Monty believe Will is dead. Then he reappears and Ginny tells me he was acting strange."

"Ginny?" Sam asked. "Who is Ginny and what's this about Will acting strange?"

"Ginny Potter. She's a friend of mine; we share an apartment. Yeah. She saw Will late yesterday afternoon. He was walking kind of—well, funny. Ginny said he lurched, kind of. He was pale, and something was the matter with the way he talked. Ginny said his tongue was—all swollen and real red."

Sam knew what the problem was. The walking dead.

Joe shrugged. "I don't know what's goin' on neither. Look, let's go on over to the chiefs house. I got something to tell you all."

Will and Judy slept under a blanket in the woods where Will had attacked her. The blanket was not to protect them from the cool air but to keep the sunlight from touching them. They had found they could not tolerate the light.

Marie and Dan and Jerry slept in the loft of a barn. Like Will and Judy, they waited for the night.

Logandale lay quiet under the Sunday sun.

Waiting for night.

"Oh, my God!" Viv hissed the words as she stood in the kitchen looking over her husband's shoulder.

A dog lay on the back porch. The animal had been skinned and strange markings cut into its skin. It had been completely disemboweled, the intestines and organs scattered all over the floor of the porch.

Monty heard his wife making choking sounds. He turned in time to see her race toward the half bath just off the kitchen. The sounds of her sickness came to him. Monty fought back his own nausea and used the tablecloth from the nook to cover the animal and the intestines, after he had kicked those into a pile. He stepped back into the kitchen and closed the door.

"You going to be all right?" he called through the closed bathroom door.

"Just fucking dandy," came her acid reply.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Monty grinned. When Viv got mad, she got stubborn, and she became very profane. Monty felt that Viv wouldn't leave now if someone held a gun to her head.

He heard cars pull into the drive and he walked to the door. Looking out, he saw the two men who had been watching the house were gone. Sam Balon, Joe, and Mille were walking up the sidewalk. He waved them in and briefly told them what had just happened.

"I'll take care of the dog," Joe said. He left the den.

Monty asked Mille, "Who's minding the store?"

"No one. I locked the place up."

"Why not?" Monty said, directing the question at no one in particular.

Viv entered the den. Her face was pale but there was a new set to her chin that silently told Monty she was going to see this thing through. He smiled at her.

"I'll make some coffee," she said. "I think we could all use some." She looked at Sam. "Have you had breakfast—any of you?"

"No, ma'am."

"I'll make some breakfast, too."

Joe walked back into the den. "Son-of-a-bitch do that to a dog oughta be horsewhipped. I wrapped the poor animal in a garbage bag and stuck that in another garbage bag. Put it in the trunk of the patrol car. I'll get rid of it later. Monty—I think—whatever it is we're facing has got to my wife," he blurted.

The others stood quietly, frozen in place, looking at Joe. Viv came out of the kitchen to stand in the archway, listening, a spatula in her hand.

Joe told them about Nellie.

"You can't know for sure, Joe," Viv said. "You just can't be."

"No, ma'am," he replied. "I can't. But all I got to go on is my feelin's. And I know damn well something ain't right in that house. Don't nobody recover that quickly. And the house was stinkin' like sulphur Put it all together for me, folks. Add it all up and tell me what you think."

Sam looked at Mille. The young woman looked tired, her face drawn with fatigue. But she was tough; Sam sensed that. She would stand firm. He cut his eyes to Viv. She, too, appeared to be filled with a new resolve. Joe would stand tough; no backup in him. And Sam felt sure Monty wouldn't back up for anything or anybody.

Monty blew out a long breath. "I think we better start drawing up some battle plans."

"Against what, Chief?" Mille asked. "And with what? None of us have been physically threatened. What crimes have been committed? Is it against the law to worship Satan? Not to my knowledge. Me and Joe saw a bunch of people leaving the Giddon place last night, but that sure isn't against the law. While we were patrolling last night, we talked about this thing. I still don't quite believe everything that you all have said, but even if it's all true, what can we do until someone actually breaks a law. The answer is, obviously, nothing."

"Come on, everybody," Viv called from the kitchen. "Let's have some breakfast."

As they all trouped to the kitchen, the phone rang. Monty jerked it up. He listened for several moments. His face first grew red with anger, and then pale with shock. He said, "Very well, if that is your final word."

Monty slowly replaced the receiver. He seemed to have aged considerably.

Viv came to his side. "Monty? What is it? Why are you so pale?"

"That was Mayor Kowolski," Monty said slowly. "The board met last night. Called a special meeting. I have been relieved of duty—"

"Oh, Monty," his wife said.

"Drop the other shoe, Monty," Joe said. "I got a feelin' there's more."

"Yes," Monty said. "And it's coming together, all the pieces fitting, finally." He cleared his throat. "Well, Bert Sakall has been named interim chief until a permanent replacement is named. You've been fired, Mille. You, too, Joe. The board is giving us all a month's pay. But the clincher was this: He told me to inform both of you that the best thing we could do was get the hell out of this community and don't come back."

Mille LaMeade summed up the feelings of all present when she stuck out her chin and said, "Well—
fuck
the board!"

Father Daniel Le Moyne stood in the center aisle of his church. He experienced a dozen distinct and different emotions in the span of a few seconds. None of them pleasant. He looked at the silent, empty church. He clenched his hands into fists of rage, momentarily enjoying the emotion before mentally driving it from him and calming himself.

Not one person had come to mass. No one.

Now the priest knew what he must face. Again. And he was not looking forward to the task.

He cocked his head. Was that a car driving up, stopping? Yes. The priest listened for a moment. The front door of the church opened. Noah Crisp stood silhouetted in the brilliant sunlight that poured from the heavens.

"This time you've got to face him and beat him," Noah said, his voice slightly hoarse. "I know he's here, and so do you. We've both known for a long time. I know what people think about us, Daniel. I know people think I'm a borderline basket case. Maybe I am. But I have met him, seen him face to face, and lived to tell of it. That is something few people have ever managed to do. But so much for that. Tell me, how badly outnumbered are we?"

Father Le Moyne shook his graying head. "Probably five or six hundred to one."

"That many. Well—we will still have no choice."

"None."

"We should have done this years ago, Daniel. Even if it meant—and it would have—taking the law into our own hands."

"I didn't have the courage. I don't know if I have the courage to do it now."

Noah walked down the aisle to face the priest. "We both sinned, Daniel. But sins can be forgiven. What happened is past, and it has not and will not occur again." He looked around him at the empty church. "No one came to mass?"

"Not one person."

"So it's really, finally begun?"

"It appears that way."

"Let's drive around town. See if the same is or has occurred at other churches."

Father Le Moyne noticed, for the first time, the pistol stuck in Noah's belt. "I had heard you had forsaken your gentle beliefs for those of a more savage nature, Noah."

"I've changed a lot over the past four or five years, Daniel. And yes, it's been that long since we've talked."

"Almost five years," the priest muttered. "Where has the time gone?"

"To the Devil," the writer said flatly. "Quite literally."

Le Moyne had to smile at that.

"Get yourself armed with holy water, Daniel," Noah urged him.

But the priest shook his head. "Not yet. It isn't time for that."

The writer looked dubious … and somewhat ludicrous, dressed in cowboy boots, jeans, a painter's smock, and beret cocked jauntily on his head. But the gun in his waistband was real, and his determination was strong. "Are you certain, Daniel?"

"As certain as I can be." He put a hand on his friend's arm. "Noah, I don't know if I have the faith to go through with this thing. I don't know if I have the strength. I don't know if God has any faith in me. Not in years. I—"

Noah slapped the priest. Backhanded the man of God across the face, rocking his head.