Comes The Blind Fury Part 37

"She's done it," he said. "Amanda finally saw her mother, and she killed her. A hundred years later-she killed her. Now she'll be free. Now we'll all be free." He turned to Cal. "It was right that you came here," he said quietly. "You owed it to us. You killed Alan Hanley, so you owed it to us."

Cal looked wildly from Josiah to the picture, then back to Josiah. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" he shouted. "What's going on? What is it?"

"The picture," Carson said softly. "It's all in the picture. That woman is Louise Carson." That woman is Louise Carson."

"I-I don't understand-"

"I'm trying to tell you, Cal," Carson said. His voice was reasonable, but a strange glint shone in his eyes. "That woman-it's Louise Carson. She's buried out in the cemetery. My G.o.d, Cal, June went into labor on her grave-don't you remember?"

"But that's not possible," Cal said. "How would June know-" Then he remembered: I didn't paint it... I didn't paint it...

Cal moved closer to the painting, studying it carefully. The paint was fresh, barely dry. He stepped back again. Only then did he realize that the setting of the picture was the studio. It gave him an eerie feeling. His gaze left the canvas to sweep over the room. He was vaguely aware of Josiah Carson, behind him, muttering indistinctly.

"She's here," Carson whispered. "Don't you understand, Cal? It's Amanda. She's using Mich.e.l.le. She's here. Can't you feel it? She's here!"

He began laughing then, softly at first, then louder and louder until Cal could stand it no longer.

"Stop that!" he shouted. he shouted.

It was as though a spell had been broken. Carson shook himself, then glanced once more at the picture. With an odd expression of victory on his face, he started for the door. "Come on," he said. "We'd better get back to the house. I have a feeling things have just begun."

Cal was about to follow him when he saw the stain on the floor. "Jesus," he whispered.

It was as it had been the day they moved in. Reddish brown, thick, caked with dust, almost unidentifiable. But it had been cleaned up. He remembered it clearly, remembered June, on her hands and knees, chipping at it.

And now it was back.

Once more, he looked at the painting. The blood, dripping from Louise Carson's wounded breast, gushing from her open throat....

It was as if somehow the past, so clearly depicted on the canvas, was alive again in the studio.

Tim Hartwick and Corinne Hatcher arrived as Cal and Josiah Carson returned to the house. June, still pale, hadn't moved from her chair in the living room. The group gathered around her.

"Did you see it?" June asked Cal. He nodded. "I didn't paint it," June repeated.

"Where did it come from?"

"The closet," June said vacantly. "I found it in the closet a week or so ago. It-it was only a sketch then. But today, when I went out there, it was on the easel."

"What was?" Tim broke in. "What are you talking about?"

"A picture," June said softly. "It's in the studio. You might as well go look at it-it's what I wanted you to see."

Mystified, Tim and Corinne started out of the room, but paused as the telephone rang. Though June was closest to the phone, she made no move to pick it up, and it was Cal who finally answered.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Dr. Pendleton?" The voice at the other end was shaking.

"Yes."

"This is Bertha Carstairs. I-I wonder, is Joe Carson there with you?"

Cal frowned slightly. "Yes, he is." He looked questioningly at Carson, half-expecting him to refuse the call. But Carson seemed to be himself again, as if the strange scene in the studio had never happened. He took the phone.

"This is Dr. Carson."

"It's Bertha Carstairs, Joe. Something terrible has happened. Sally and Alison Adams just came in, and they told me that Annie Whitmore is in the playground. Joe-they think she's dead.

"She's under the swings. Sally said it looked as though she'd fallen off. Like it was an accident or something..."

Her voice trailed off, and Carson knew she was holding something back.

"What else, Bertha? There is is something else, isn't there?" something else, isn't there?"

Bertha Carstairs hesitated, and when she spoke again, she sounded almost apologetic.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "It might not be important-it might not mean anything at all-but, well...." She paused a second, then her words came clearly over the line. "Joe, Sally saw Mich.e.l.le Pendleton today. She was walking along the road, coming from town. And Sally said that last week Mich.e.l.le and Annie were playing together quite a bit, and what with Susan Peterson, and Billy Evans-well, I don't know. I hate to say it..." Again, Bertha's voice faded away.

"I understand," Carson said. "It's all right, Bertha."

He hung up the phone and turned to the four people who were watching him. "It's Annie Whitmore," he said. "Something's happened to her." He told them what Bertha Carstairs had said, leaving out nothing.

"Dear G.o.d," June moaned when he was done. "Help Mich.e.l.le. Please help her!" Then her eyes widened and she leaped to her feet.

"But where is she?" she cried. "If Sally saw her coming out this way, she must have been coming home." Her eyes suddenly wild, she ran toward the hall. "Mich.e.l.le? MICh.e.l.lE!"

They heard her repeat her daughter's name as she ran up the stairs. Suddenly there was a silence, then they heard her coming back down again.

"She's not here. Cal, she's not here!"

"It's all right," Cal told her. "We'll find her."

"Lisa!" Tim's voice was choked, but only Corinne knew what he meant.

"She was with Sally and Alison," she said. "Uncle Joe, did Mrs. Carstairs say anything about Lisa?"

Josiah Carson shook his head. Tim grabbed the phone. "What's her number?" he demanded. "Quick, what's the Carstairses' number?"

s.n.a.t.c.hing the telephone from him, Corinne dialed. The phone rang once, twice, then twice again before Bertha Carstairs's harried voice came on the line.

"Mrs. Carstairs? This is Corinne Hatcher. What about Lisa Hartwick? Was she with Sally and Alison? Did she come home with them?"

"Why, no," Bertha said. "Just a minute-" There was a silence, then Bertha came back on the line.

"She stayed out at the Bensons'. She and Jeff were going down to the cove. I wish the kids wouldn't play down there-the currents are so dangerous-"

But Corinne cut her off. "Never mind," she said. "I'm out at the Pendletons', and I'm sure we'll find her." She hung up the phone and turned to Tim.

"She's out here somewhere. She and Jeff Benson were going down to the beach."

"It's that doll," June suddenly screamed. "It's that d.a.m.ned doll!" They stared at her, but only Josiah Carson understood what she was saying. "Don't you see it?" she cried. "It all started with that d.a.m.ned doll!" Once again June rushed up the stairs and burst into Mich.e.l.le's room. She looked around frantically, searching for the doll.

Amanda!

It was all Amanda's fault.

If she could just get rid of the doll!

And then she saw it, propped up on the window seat, its gla.s.s eyes staring emptily out toward Devil's Pa.s.sage. She crossed the room and picked it up. But as she was about to turn away from the window, a flicker of movement caught her eye.

She stared out, trying to see through the rain-blurred gla.s.s.

Out by the bluff, north, close to the cemetery.

It was Mich.e.l.le.

Standing on the bluff, leaning against a boulder, staring down toward the beach.

But she wasn't leaning against the boulder.

What was she doing?

She was pushing it.

"Oh, no," June gasped. Grabbing the doll, she dashed out of the room.

"She's outside," she called. "Mich.e.l.le's outside! Cal, go get her. Please, go get her!"

The fog was gathering quickly around Mich.e.l.le, and the beach had disappeared. All she was aware of was Amanda, standing close to her, touching her, whispering to her.

"They're coming. I can see them, Mich.e.l.le. I can see them! They're coming closer...they're almost there.... Now! Help me, Mich.e.l.le. Help me!"

Mich.e.l.le reached out, touched the rock. It seemed to vibrate under her fingers, as if it were alive.

"Harder," Amanda hissed. "We have to push it harder, before it's too late!"

Again, Mich.e.l.le felt the rock move, then watched as it teetered. She wanted to pull away from it, but couldn't. She felt it slip, lurch a little, then come free....

It was a low sound, almost lost in the crashing of the surf, but Jeff heard it, and looked up.

Above him.

The sound had come from above him.

Then he saw it, plunging toward him.

He knew the rock was going to hit him, knew he had to move quickly, jump to the side-backward-anywhere. But he couldn't move. His mouth quivered, and his stomach tightened. He was going to die-he knew it.

But he was frozen. Only at the last second did his muscles suddenly obey him. Too late.

The boulder, four feet across, hit him. He buckled to the ground, feeling the crushing weight of it, and he thought he could hear it, grinding him under its ma.s.s.

And he could hear something else, too. Laughter.

It floated over him as he died, and he wondered where it was coming from. It was a little girl, and she was laughing at him. But why? What had he done?

Then Jeff Benson died.

Mich.e.l.le heard the laughter, too, and knew it was Amanda. Amanda was pleased with her, and that made her happy. But she wasn't sure why Amanda was pleased.

The fog began to clear, and Mich.e.l.le looked down. She could see the beach again.

There was a girl on the beach, standing still, staring at the fallen rock. It could have hit her, Mich.e.l.le realized. But it hadn't.

Then why was the girl screaming?

It was the boulder. Something was sticking out from under the boulder. But what was it?

The last traces of the fog drifted away, and Mich.e.l.le could see clearly.

It was a leg. Someone's leg was sticking out from under the rock.

And Amanda was laughing. Amanda was laughing, and saying something to her. She listened carefully, straining to hear Amanda's words.

"It's done," Amanda was saying. "It's done, all of it, and I can go now. Good-bye, Mich.e.l.le." She laughed once more, happily, and then the sound of her voice faded away.

There were other voices now. Mich.e.l.le could hear them. Voices calling to her, shouting at her.

She turned. There were people running toward her, calling her name.

She knew what they wanted.

They wanted to catch her, to punish her, to send her away.

But she hadn't done anything. It was Amanda who did it. All she had done was obey Amanda. How could they blame her? But they would-she knew they would.

It was like her dream.

She had to get away from them. She couldn't let them catch her.

She began running, her lame leg dragging at her, holding her back. Her hip throbbed with pain, but she tried to ignore it.

The voices were getting closer to her-they were catching up with her. She stopped, just as she had in the dream, and looked back.

She recognized her father, and Dr. Carson. And there was her teacher, Miss Hatcher. And that other man-who was he? Oh, yes, Mr. Hartwick. Why was he after her? She had thought he was her friend. But he wasn't, she knew that now. He had been trying to trick her. He hated her too.

Amanda. Only Amanda was her friend.