Gateways. Part 39

2.

The man who was something more than a man opened his eyes in the darkness.

His name...someone had spoken his name. Not one of the many he used in the varied ident.i.ties he a.s.sumed for various purposes. No, this had been his True Name.

He'd been reveling in the continued corporal mutilation of a teenage girl named Suzanne and the spiritual ruination of the family that tortured her.

Poor Suzanne had been chained to the other side of the wall of this Connecticut home for eleven days now. She had been raped and defiled and tortured and mutilated beyond the point of her endurance. Her mind had snapped. She had no more to give. She was dying. Her brain had shut down all but the most basic functions. She barely felt the corkscrew being wound into the flesh of her thigh.

But what was so delicious here was the nature of the one twisting the corkscrew: an eight-year-old boy. For it was not simply the pains of the tortured that nourished this man who was something more than a man; the depravity and self-degradation of the torturers were equally delicious.

He'd returned to this house to bask in the dying embers of a young life's untimely end.

But now that was ruined, the delicious glow fading, cooled by a growing anger and-he admitted it-concern.

Someone had spoken his True Name.

But who? Only two beings in this sphere knew that name: one was listening for it, and the other dared not speak it. They- There! There it was again!

Why? Was someone calling him? No. This time he sensed that the speaker was not merely saying his True Name, but trying to usurp it.

Rage bloomed in his brain like a blood-red rose. This was intolerable!

Where was it coming from? He rose to his feet and turned in a slow circle-once, twice-then stopped. The source of the outrage...it came from there...to the south. He would find the misbegotten pretender there.

All his plans were progressing smoothly now. After all these centuries, millennia, epochs, he was close, closer than he'd ever been. Less than two years from now-barring interference from those who knew he was the One-his hour, his moment, his time would be at hand.

But now this. Someone usurping his True Name...

Never!

The man who was something more than a man strode away from the house through the dissipating darkness. He had no time to waste. He must head south immediately, trace his True Name to the lips that were speaking it, and silence them.

He paused at the curb. But what if that was just what someone wanted him to do?

This could be a trap, set by the one man he feared in this sphere, the only man he must hide from until the Time of Change.

Back in the days of his first life, when he was closer to the source, he had enormous power; he could move clouds, call down lightning. Even in his second life he could control disease, make the dead walk. But here in this third life his powers were attenuated. Yet he wasn't helpless. Oh, no. Far from that. And he could not allow anyone to use his True Name.

He must proceed with caution. But he must proceed. This could not go on.

3.

Jack stepped into the front room and found his father fiddling with the French press.

"Don't bother, Dad," Jack told him. "I'll pick up some coffee and donuts in town."

He'd seen a Dunkin' Donuts the other day and had awakened with a yen for some of their glazed crullers.

"Donuts? That sounds good. But I don't mind making coffee. After all, the job has its perks."

Jack groaned. "What kind do you like?"

"A couple of chocolate glazed would be great."

Jack headed outside, trying to concentrate on donuts in the hope that would help take his mind off Carl and how he was going to bring him back. The air seemed less humid. Felt like a cool front had come through.

About time. The relentless heat day after day had been wearing him out. Maybe this was Elvis's doing. If so, thank you, Big E.

A mist lay over the saw gra.s.s sea stretching away to the distant hummock. The egret was back in the pond, black legs shin deep in the water by the edge, waiting like a snowy statue for breakfast to move and give itself away.

He headed around the side of his house toward the car. He stopped when he rounded the corner. A woman was seated on the hood of his car. She wore cutoffs and a green tank top. Her white hair had been wound into a single braid. The companion to the sh.e.l.l Jack had found hung at her throat.

Semelee.

"About time you showed up," he said, moving toward her, wary, eyes scanning the surroundings. Had she come alone? "I've been standing out here like some kind of nut announcing to the air that I've found your sh.e.l.l. I thought you said you'd know."

She smiled. "I did know. That's why I'm here."

Jack couldn't pin it down but she looked different. Her hair was just as white as ever, but her eyes held a strange look, as if she'd peeked through someone's window and seen something she wasn't supposed to know.

That was it. She looked like she'd discovered some sort of secret no one else knew. Or thought she had.

"Took you long enough."

Her smile remained. "I had other things to do."

Jack tensed. "Like what? You better not have hurt Carl."

"Carl's fine." She held out her hand, palm up. "My sh.e.l.l, please."

Now it was Jack's turn to smile. "You're kidding, right?"

"No. You give me the sh.e.l.l and I'll send Carl back."

"Not likely."

The smile vanished. "You don't trust me?"

"Tell you what: You send Carl back, and I'll give you the sh.e.l.l."

"No way."

"What? You don't trust me?"

Semelee glared at him. "The One don't lie."

Jack stiffened. The One? She'd just mentioned the One.

"What did you say?"

"Nothin'."

"You called yourself the One. What did you mean by that?"

"Told you: nothing. Now leave it be."

Anya had talked about the One, but she'd indicated that Sal Roma was the One. Was he involved in what was going down here?

"Do you know a guy named Roma?"

She shook her head. "Ain't never heard of him."

"Is he the one who got you started on this sacrifice-to-the-swamp kick?"

Semelee's eyes widened. She slid off the hood and stepped toward him. "How do you know about that?"

"Not important. Just tell me: Was it Roma?"

"Told you: Don't know no Roma."

Jack believed her. "Then who? Who gave you such a crazy idea?"

"Wasn't no 'who.' It came from the lagoon its own self. If you listen, the lagoon'll talk to you. Leastways, it talks to me. Told me in a dream that it was p.i.s.sed off and that Gateways had to pay. Said it would exact a price of four Gateways lives a year and-"

"Wait-wait. That's what it said? 'Exact'?"

That didn't sound like it belonged in Semelee's vocabulary-at least not as a verb.

"Yeah. 'Exact.' Pretty weird kind of talk, doncha think?"

Jack wondered if it had been a dream at all. It sounded as if someone or something had been influencing her, and he doubted very much it was her lagoon. Much more likely it was an influence from that nexus point within the cenote.

He said, "You ever hear of something called the Otherness?"

"Don't reckon I have," she said, shaking her head. "Should I?"

"Never mind." Just because she hadn't heard of the Otherness didn't mean she wasn't working for it, knowingly or unknowingly. "But why Gateways people? There must be other folks living even closer to your lagoon."

"There is, but the lagoon wants Gateways folks. Don't ask me why, it just does."

Jack jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "There's one Gateways folk in there it's not going to get. We clear on that?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. The lagoon's already done what it set out to do with the sacrifices. There's still maybe a score to settle, but the sacrifice thing is over."

"What score?"

"That's between me and the lagoon, but don't you worry. Your daddy ain't a part of it."

Jack believed her this time, and found relief in the fact that his father was no longer in the clan's crosshairs. But that was tempered by the knowledge that he'd been replaced by someone else.

"He'd better not be. And I'd better see Carl pretty soon or I might just lose that sh.e.l.l. Or it might slip out of my pocket as I'm crossing a street downtown. Wouldn't take long for the traffic to reduce it to powder."

Semelee went pale beneath her tan. "Don't even joke about that."

"What's so important about that sh.e.l.l?"

Her hand went to the one around her neck. "I've had 'em since I was a kid, is all. I just want it back."

"And I want Carl back."

She sighed. "Looks like we'll have to put together a swap meet. Bring the sh.e.l.l to the lagoon and-"

Jack shook his head. "Uh-uh. Bring Carl here."

Jack watched Semelee's hands open wide, then close into tight fists.

"You're makin' this awful hard." She looked up at the hazy sky, then back to him. "Guess we'll have to meet somewheres in the middle. You got any ideas?"

Jack reviewed his trip with Carl and remembered the dry stretch where they'd had to carry their canoe. He mentioned it to Semelee and she knew where it was.

"Okay," she said. "We'll meet there in an hour."

Jack looked out at the Everglades and the clinging haze. Semelee seemed on the level but he didn't know about the rest of the clan. And because of that, he wanted maximum visibility.

"What say we make it noonish?" he said.

"Why're you makin' me wait so long?"

"I need the time."

"All right. See you then. And don't be late."

She turned and walked off. Jack watched the sway of her hips as she moved away. He missed Gia.