The Reality Conspiracy (54 page)

She saw Jeff's car parked near the driveway, with another vehicle beside it. Both sets of lights were on; now their beams had faded to a lifeless glow. The taillights of a third vehicle, a station wagon, reflected beyond the open door of the barn.

Candles or kerosene lamps burned upstairs and down. Karen guessed the lighted windows indicated which rooms were occupied. She suspected at least four people were inside: the owner, Jeff, Casey, and the frightening unknown in this equation—Dr. Ian "Skipp" McCurdy.

Standing there in the rain, the reality of what they were doing struck her like a sudden chill. Her body had prepared before her mind—teeth clenched, muscles tense and ready. But ready for what? She didn't know.

"My car's way over there," Alton whispered, nodding toward the dark distance. "I left it when McCurdy drove me to town. . . ."

The priest crouched beside Karen. She could see his eyes trained on the house. "I think I should try to get up close," he said, "maybe look in the windows."

"Oh, Father—"

"It's all right, Karen. One of us has to go. There's no point all of us taking a chance. I just want to make sure Casey and Jeff are in there. If they're not, we're wasting our time out here."

"Please be careful."

The priest crouched, flattening himself as best he could. He looked like a giant black toad in the tall grass. Impressions of raindrops caused a rippling effect on his clothing.

"Father?" Alton said.

Sullivan looked at him.

"Why don't you let me go? I been in there before, I know the layout."

The priest shook his head. Karen had a pretty good idea what he was thinking: If her hypnosis had failed, the suggestions governing Alton's behavior might still be in place. If so, he could be dangerous; he could betray them to McCurdy.

"The sketch you made for me is fine," Father Sullivan said. "I'd appreciate it if you stayed with Karen. Don't worry about me. I'm not planning any heroics. I'm just going to take a look and come right back."

"Father?"

"Yes, Mr. Barnes?"

"There's a pistol in my car. Want me to get it for you?"

"Is the car locked?"

"Nope. Never lock it."

"Then I'll get it on my way. If anything happens, you and Karen run for the car and get the hell out of here."

Karen wanted to say something to the priest, something comforting and encouraging, but she remained silent as he made his way through swaying wet stocks of timothy and rain-blasted buttercups. He quickly vanished from sight until a hissing fireball streaked across the sky.

"I hope they don't spot him," she whispered to no one.

"I feel it's me oughtta be goin' up there," Alton told her. "I know he don't trust me. But I'm okay now. I know I am. Besides, I been in combat; I can use a weapon. He's a priest; prob'ly can't handle himself if things get hairy."

"I'm not sure I agree with you. Mr. Barnes. Something tells me there's a lot about Father Sullivan we don't know."

"I hope you're right, miss. I sure hope you're right about that."

The pattern of lighted windows suggested someone was upstairs and someone was down. Okay, Sullivan could check the bottom floor easily enough, but he'd have to stand outside a while to see if anyone went up or down the stairs.

He moved in a wide circle around the house, keeping low to avoid being spotted in a flash of lightning. Certain rooms had no lights burning in them. Could he safely presume those rooms were empty?

Not necessarily.

The whole situation seemed to grow more complex as he thought about it. The impulse grew stronger to abandon this foolishness, to drive back and get the police.

Fine, but what, exactly, would he tell them?

Maybe Casey Chandler was abducted? Maybe her dad went looking for her. Maybe they were both inside this farmhouse, held against their will. Maybe the Academy was experimenting with magic and mind control.

Pretty lame.

Hopefully he'd have more to say once he'd established Jeff and Casey were inside.

Standing by the eastern wall of the house, he found himself beneath an icy waterfall—rain pouring off the roof. He'd have to endure it; this was the only place from which he could watch the living room.

Yes. . . . Someone was in there. Someone seated and almost invisible in the faint orange light. Someone in . . .

The wheelchair suggested the young woman was Casey Chandler. And she was not alone. Someone else was lying on the couch under a blanket. Jeff? Mrs. Dubois? Sullivan couldn't make out any facial features among the shadows.

Casey was stroking the unknown person's hair.

It must be Jeff. Who else could it be? But why was he lying down? Had he been hurt? There was no way to tell. Also—Sullivan had to admit it—there was no visible evidence that these people were being held against their will. They weren't tied; they weren't under guard . . .

Fearing he'd make some telltale noise, Sullivan avoided the porch, inching his way to a dark window at the rear of the house. According to Alton's sketch, this would be the kitchen.

The soggy weight of his saturated clothing and the freezing rivulets of water dribbling down his neck made him shiver in discomfort. Wind assailed the shrubbery around him. More than anything, he could use a drink right now, a, shot of bourbon to warm his insides and steady his nerves.

But there was no time for such thoughts. He crept through a muddy flower bed and stretched up to the windowpane. Thorny rosebushes scratched at his pants.

Carefully, ever so carefully, he peered in. Weak light spilled in from the living room and spread among the solid shapes of kitchen furniture. Sullivan groped under his jacket and removed a yellow disposable flashlight from his shirt pocket. When he was sure no one was there, he flashed the light into the room and turned it off quickly.

Dear God!

He thought—he couldn't be sure, but he thought—he saw bodies on the floor! Two of them. A wave of dread left him short winded—what if Jeff were among them? He tried the light again but couldn't discern the faces.

Rounding the corner, Sullivan crept along the back wall until he came to the next window. This should be Mrs. Dubois's bedroom.

Before he could ready his flashlight, another fireball split the sky. Emerald-leafed trees, vivid green grass, the house itself, lit up with three-dimensional brilliance. In the dazzling flash he caught a glimpse of the drawn shade beyond the windowpane. For now, the contents of this room would remain a mystery.

Reflected in the glass, another blazing globe soared off and vanished behind Stattler Mountain.
Funny
, he thought,
so many comets. And all of them moving toward that mountain. It's as if it attracts them, as if they're trying to draw attention to . . . something
.

But that was speculation; he had other things to concentrate on, like how little he'd accomplished here. And he'd been at it so long! All he could report with certainty was that Casey Chandler, and someone, were in the house.

He hoped Karen was all right with Alton Barnes. He'd better get back and find out.

But what of Jeff? What of Ian McCurdy? What of Daisy Dubois herself?

Sullivan decided to go back to the living room window and watch awhile longer. Anyone moving around inside should eventually pass through there.

"There it is again! Oh my Christ, there it is again! Look!"

Alton Barnes pointed at the black mass of mountain that rose behind the Dubois farmhouse.

Karen looked up, following the direction of his trembling finger. There she saw a bright light among the distant trees. It looked as if one of the shooting stars had landed on the mountainside where it continued to burn like a hazy beacon.

But this was no shooting star; this was something new. It resembled a pale white sun rising from within the mountainside, a luminous mushroom sprouting from the earth.

"That's what I seen, miss. Right up there, same place. That's the thing I told you about!"

Karen squinted through the rain. The light's perimeter appeared misty and ill-defined. Nonetheless, she could see how bright it was. Spindly black silhouettes of trees obstructed her line of sight, but she could still sense its general shape—round, and its approximate size: big. Very big.

Curiosity tempted her to run up there and examine it. A stronger urge said no. More than ever, she wished Jeff were with her. He might have some idea what it was. Theories ping-ponged in her mind: a UFO, methane, some kind of searchlight or rescue flare, some variety of—

Of what?

What else could it be?

She felt Alton grasping her arm. "Don't you feel it, miss? Don't you feel that scary feeling inside you? Don't you know what we're lookin' at just ain't right?"

Karen put her hand on Alton's. "I'm sure there's an explanation, Mr. Barnes." Even to herself, the words sounded empty and deceitful. How could she be sure of anything?

Perhaps fear was the appropriate emotion just now. Perhaps the instinct to flee should be taken seriously. They could be in terrible danger.

Karen's knees felt wobbly. Waves of light-headedness weakened her, made her feel as if she were about to faint. Alton still held her hand, and his firm grip was suddenly the only real thing in the world.

The next clap of thunder was so near it shook the earth below her feet. The rock she leaned on vibrated. Her very bones seemed to rattle.

"H-how far away is it?" she asked.

"Mile. Mile an' a half, maybe. Not far."

"That's the same spot where you saw it with Stuart Dubois?"

"Yes, ma'am. Same place. You b'lieve me now, don't you?"

"I always believed you, Mr. Barnes."

"See there, it's just like I told you, ain't it?"

"Yes. I see it, too. It's just like you described."

As she stared, the light seemed to get bigger. Brighter.

Again the sky split with a fissure of lightning. The bolt touched down in the field beyond the house. Sparks erupted like a flaming geyser. Thunder cracked like a whip.

Another light attracted Karen's attention: the sweep of headlights. A lone vehicle—a pickup truck—made its way up the hill, its bright twin beams diffused, softened by the ram.

Mr. Barnes pulled her down and out of sight. Side by side they knelt in the soggy earth behind a protective outcropping of shale that buttressed a stone wall.

"Sightseers, I betcha," Alton whispered.

The headlights blinked out. Karen watched a boy and a girl jump out of the Toyota pickup. Holding hands, the teenagers stood at the roadside, looking up Stattler Mountain at the misty dome of light.

"I hope they ain't plannin' on headin' up there," Alton whispered. "I don't think I can let 'em do that."

Something alarmed Karen at his choice of words.

"Dangerous up there," Alton added, apparently noticing her reaction. "''"Member what happened to Stuart when he met up with that light."

Karen spoke with hesitation, "Do you think we should warn them?" She didn't want to reveal their hiding place, especially if McCurdy were inside the house. At the same time, she couldn't stay still and let the young couple put themselves in danger.

"I'll keep an eye on 'em, miss. You keep an eye on the house."

When Jeff saw headlights moving up the hill, he feared Father Sullivan and Karen were coming after him.

Christ, not now! He'd just gotten McCurdy calmed down and speaking somewhat rationally. But if the madman noticed those lights, who could tell what he might do?

But McCurdy did see the lights.

"Ha!" he said, dashing to the front window for a better look. "It's happening! It's begun! The first witnesses are here!"

Jeff joined him at the window to see a second vehicle making its way up the hill. It was followed by another. And another.

McCurdy slapped Jeff's shoulder. "It's in motion now, Jeffrey. It's on automatic pilot. We can just sit back and watch the whole thing take its course."

Karen watched about a dozen people gather in the field between

Daisy Dubois's farmhouse and the slope of Stattler Mountain. They stood like dark statues in the rain; all facing the glowing mist on the distant mountainside.

A fireball whooshed by. Wind whipped the dark trees bordering the property. They swayed and danced as if performing some mystic ritual.

Undetected in their hiding place, Karen studied the strange scene. Crouching beside her, Alton whispered, "Bet we could just step out and join them folks. Nobody inside's gonna notice a couple more sightseers. Can't see much sense stayin' cooped up here."

"But don't you think we should wait for Father Sullivan?"

The observers stood strangely close together, like a tightly packed congregation at a prayer meeting. Karen guessed they felt exactly as she did: curious about the thing on the mountain, but not daring to venture too far.

"I hope to Christ they stay put," Alton said. "I don't want nothin' happenin' to 'em. Why cripes, I know some of them folks. That's Gary Laymon's little girl over there with the Rellings boy. And that's Chick McNaughton and his wife. . . ."