Nephilim: Genesis Of Evil Part 11

He was taken aback. "I don't think so," he said, glancing over his shoulder. Gino had taken a couple of steps toward them, trying to overhear the conversation, what little it was.

"What did you say your name was?" Clinton asked her, trying to make things more personable, to ease her worries some.

She hesitated. "It's Mary."

"Mary." He looked calmly at her. "They'll be fine." He reached out to touch her arm, but thought better of it. He shot Gino a warning look as he went out the door.

The last thing Clinton saw before the door closed was Gino approaching his wife. He didn't like the tautness in the man's face.

CHAPTER 24.

Myrtle looked out her kitchen window into the darkness. It was crazy, but she felt as if she could see something out there, shadows that didn't belong in the natural order of things. Crazy, she thought to herself again.

"Just like this mood I'm in," she said to Boo, who was curled up on a worn-out blanket in the corner. He opened his eyes, surveyed her, stretched and repositioned himself. Then he went right back to sleep.

"Glad you're feeling okay," she talked on. This time Boo kept his eyes closed.

She sighed. She felt b.u.mmed, as her granddaughter would say. "I just don't feel right." This time she spoke to the darkness, knowing Boo was too tuckered out to care what she was feeling.

At times she knew her depression was because she was too young to be a widow, that she should be growing old with someone, not alone. But Les had a heart attack, and here she was. His work had given them money for things like the cabins at the Crossing, but it had stolen his breath way too early. Sometimes life wasn't fair.

This led her to thinking of Joan and Samuel, how they were moving into their golden years. Sure, the cafe kept them busy, but if they wanted to close for a day or two, they did. It wasn't like they needed the money. They kept the cafe open for something to do, although Myrtle for the life of her couldn't figure out why anyone would want the ha.s.sle at their age. But they seemed to like it. And they were together.

Her mind wandered to Ed Miller and her mood turned cross. She had gone out to his cabin. No one was there, but she made the mistake of going inside. The place was filthy, with empty whiskey bottles all over the place, dirt and grime covering almost every surface in the tiny kitchen. She didn't even want to think about the bathroom. It had churned her stomach. The entire cabin smelled of something rotting. And then there was the feeling she'd gotten. Like she was being watched.

Myrtle trembled now. "It's like that feeling I get when I'm at the Barton cabin," she muttered to Boo. He slept on.

It made her think of the rumors. Those evil, ancient spirits running around the Crossing a hundred years ago when Brewster's grandfather lived here. "But there's no spirits here or at that silly cabin across the lake," she said aloud, but the sound of her voice was unconvincing.

Myrtle shook her head. Maybe Joan would help get her out of this bad mood. She picked up the phone and dialed Joan's number. She let it ring ten times, plenty long enough for Joan to get it, plenty long enough to be annoying. By the eleventh time, she hung up, wondering why the answering machine hadn't picked up. She dialed the cafe's number. It rang five times before Joan's breathless voice crackled through the line. "h.e.l.lo?"

"What're you still doing there?" Myrtle asked. She glanced at the clock on the stove: nine-thirty. Joan and Samuel should've had the supper clean-up done long ago and been back in their rooms at the bed and breakfast.

"Finishing the last of the dishes," Joan said.

"It's pretty late. Did you two let someone in for a late meal?" Myrtle knew that even though the cafe closed at eight, if they felt like it, Joan and Samuel were known to serve much later.

"No, but Manuel had to leave early and I'm on my own."

"Where's Samuel?"

"He went out fishing and hasn't come back yet." The worry in Joan's voice was unmistakable.

"Not back yet." Myrtle could hear the concern in her own voice, even though she'd tried to mask it in a light tone. Samuel had enough happy-go-lucky in him to take off for a few hours, but he usually didn't leave Joan for that long. "I'm sure it's nothing. He probably ran into Ed, and they got carried away."

"I thought about that. I went over to visit with Lillian for a while, and I know he was mad that I left him with the lunch cleanup, but I didn't think he'd take it this far. When I get my hands on him..." Indignation temporarily replaced worry.

"That Ed can sure be a bad influence," Myrtle said. She regretted it the second it came out of her mouth. No need to worry Joan further.

"You don't think they'd do something crazy?" Apprehension shot back into Joan's voice. "Should I call the hospitals or maybe the sheriff?"

"Don't be silly," Myrtle said, a bit too lightly. "If something happened to those two, don't you think we would've heard something? It's not like the Crossing is that big."

"You're probably right."

Myrtle was not the most compa.s.sionate person, but she tried her best to soothe Joan. "I really wouldn't worry too much. Samuel hooked up with Ed and they had a few too many and they're sleeping it off at Ed's. I'll bet Samuel will come stumbling in later tonight or in the morning, and you'll be able to hang this one over him for a good long time."

A long pause ensued.

"If that's the case, he'll owe me diamonds," Joan finally said.

"That's right, make him pay," Myrtle laughed. "You call me in the morning and tell me what the old goat did. Once you give him a piece of your mind," she added.

Joan agreed and hung up with a forced laugh. The emptiness of the sound stayed with Myrtle long into the night.

CHAPTER 25.

Nicholas D'Angelo awoke to severe pounding in his head, and something cool and clammy on his cheek. He thrashed a hand out, swiping at his face. Flecks of soft dirt and rotted leaves fell to the ground. The commotion of his flaying about stirred the branches and leaves in the bushes where he lay hidden, the sound loud in the hush of the forest. But suddenly what happened before he fainted came rushing back, hitting him like a bullet through his chest.

He had been with Mick. They had been watching the fisherman and the man from the cafe. The two men had been doing some kind of weird ceremony. They had seen him and Mick.

Mick.

Nicholas peeked through the shrubbery with a dreadful thought. If the men were still out there, his panicky movement had just given himself away.

Night was full and he could see nothing. He breathed shallowly, listening. Nothing. He sat for a moment, unsure of what to do. His head throbbed.

"Mick?" His whisper was husky with fright.

He waited a full five minutes, eyes darting at every imagined sound. But the woods stayed silent. His friend didn't appear. And neither did the two men.

With each pa.s.sing moment, fear tied itself into a net that wrapped even more tightly around his heart. He remembered seeing the horror of the ceremony and a dangerous force descend upon the clearing. It had been pure evil. He could not shake the look on the fisherman's face as he turned when Nicholas cried out. It was a painting of all the horrors of h.e.l.l.

Then he watched what the man did to Mick. How his friend had screamed! It cut through him, that penetrating terror. Horrified, he'd stumbled backwards and slid down a ravine and must've hit his head on a rock. Then blackness until he awoke.

Now his head pounded hideously, and when he felt the back of his head. Along with the lump from this morning, where his father hit him, there was a new lump that had bled profusely, but was now clotted into a scab. It hurt when he touched it. It felt like he had a hangover, but a hangover never felt like this. The pain reminded him of the time his father shoved him down into the bas.e.m.e.nt. He had lost his balance and tumbled down the wooden stairs, landing in a tangled mess on the concrete floor, blood spurting from his skull. This pain wasn't as bad as that. But it was close.

Time crept by. He needed to force himself from the bushes, but fear paralyzed him.

After what felt like an eternity he crawled out of his hiding place and stood up. He couldn't see a thing around him except the trees, and he heard nothing. Not even an owl. Stars began their evening appearance, and the moonlight slipped through the trees, coating everything in a milky white aura.

He inched up the slope and back toward the clearing, straining to make out any movement. He shook from head to toe. Suddenly the moon disappeared behind clouds. He found himself in almost total darkness. He reached out and touched a tree trunk. He shuffled his feet forward, stirring the leaves and dry pine needles noisily. He stopped, waiting for an attack from the fisherman, but none came.

Growing bolder, he moved ahead, not as worried now. If the men were there, they would've got him by now, he reasoned. He was safe from them.

But where was Mick? What did the fisherman do to him?

Nicholas called out again, this time a little louder.

Silence.

He made his way to the edge of the clearing. Moonlight slithered out of the darkness, bathing the forest in pallid shadows. The two men had disappeared. And so had Mick. All that remained was a dark circle in the middle of the clearing, and a sickening smell that turned Nicholas' stomach.

Then he felt terror curling itself around him. He threw a hand over his mouth, stifling a scream. He flung himself backwards, away from the clearing. His hands clawed the ground and his feet skidded for purchase until he backed himself into a tree. He leapt to his feet and hurled himself further away from the menacing presence that infiltrated the clearing.

He let out a moan.

Then he fled.

He ran, terrified of the night. Every noise was the fisherman coming to get him. The blackness held him in its grip, and he ran blindly. The trees looked foreboding, and he soon stopped, dizzy and winded. He sat down heavily, put his head in his hands, and wept. After what seemed like hours, he crawled under an outcropping of rocks. He lay there trembling in the darkness, the nightmare of what happened in the clearing playing out like a hazy movie.

Time crept on, but he did not move. Even as the darkness gave way to dawn, and the hulking forms surrounding him became trees again, he did not move. Finally, when the heat of the sun soaked its way into his weary soul, Nicholas edged his way from his hiding place. Still shaking, he began walking. His head throbbed and he felt nauseous. He didn't know where he was, or where he was going. He just knew he needed to go somewhere.

CHAPTER 26.

At dawn the next morning, Ed, Samuel and Mick stood inside Ed's cabin. The two men and the boy knew nothing. Since the time of their inhabitation, what was once their essence, their vitality, their soul, had ceased to exist. But inside them, something else lived and thrived. And communicated. Evil drifted between them like gray smoke. Ed stood up and went outside, followed by Samuel and Mick.

They didn't need to speak. Their mission was clear.

The three trudged out into the woods with no clear direction, but with a goal in mind. They were hunters stalking prey. Human prey. They did not speak to one another. They did not notice their surroundings, the stillness of the woods, broken only by the sound of their feet falling methodically to the ground, rustling the dirt and leaves. They did not notice that the birds, usually greeting the light with pleasant songs, had fled.

Soon, voices floated through the clear air.

Ed stopped and c.o.c.ked his head, discerning where the sound was coming from. Samuel and Mick waited submissively behind him. Then they started marching again in the direction of the noise.

They climbed a ridge and waited. Down the hillside, two middle-aged men chatted loudly as they followed a path up the hillside. They both wore khaki shorts, st.u.r.dy climbing boots, T-shirts, and backpacks.

Ed watched them. Inside him the spirit seemed to salivate. More sacrificial lambs, ready to a.s.sume their roles.

The hikers had set a brisk pace and were making good progress, and they were focused on the increasing elevation of their journey and on their conversation. After traversing a rocky incline, they stopped and both took long swigs from water bottles. One hiker surveyed the landscape around them while the other knelt to retie his boots. The first man took off his cap and wiped his forehead while his companion finished with his boots and stood up. They started off again. Neither noticed the two men and the boy on the ridge watching them.

The hikers continued. Ed, Samuel, and Mick stalked them, gaining ground above them until they were able to enter the path in front of the two hikers.

"Man, you scared me!" the first hiker said in a deep voice. His bearded face was deeply tanned and glistened with sweat. He took his cap off again and wiped his entire face.

The second hiker, taller and thinner than his stockier friend, halted and rested his hands on his knees. Both breathed heavily from the exertion of the trail.

"What's up there, bud?" the second hiker asked, slinging his pack off and resting it against the trunk of an aspen tree. "You lost or something?"

The first hiker dropped his pack as well. He stretched for a moment, bending at the waist and touching his toes. Then he sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. "Smells like someone could use a shower," he said out of the side of his mouth.

His friend tried unsuccessfully to use his hand to hide his smile. "Shut up, Lewis," he muttered back. But Ed didn't notice the hiker's expression, or what he was saying.

Samuel joined Ed. They stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the path. Behind them, Mick stood like a soldier at attention. They said nothing, just stared at the hikers.

"You guys okay?" The man with the cap, Lewis, took a step forward, holding one hand to his nose. He scrutinized Ed's features. "I don't know about these guys, Howie," he said with a grimace.

"Cat got your tongue?" Howie asked.

Ed raised his hand to Lewis.

"Are you him?" Ed said in a lifeless voice.

Lewis scanned Ed's face closely. "Who're you looking for?"

"The one who prepares the dead." Ed lowered his arm and waited.

"What?" Lewis shuffled backward a few feet away like he'd been punched. He scratched at his beard, peering at Ed.

"What does that mean?" Howie asked. "Dude," he nodded his head at Samuel, "I think your friend needs to get some help. And what about him?" he pointed at Mick.

Samuel's gaze was focused somewhere between the two hikers. Mick remained impa.s.sive.

"Hel-lo." Howie stretched the word out, waving a hand in front of Samuel's impa.s.sive face.

"Hey, be careful," Lewis said. He reached out and tugged at Howie's arm. "Maybe we should leave these guys alone."

"No, we should call for help." Howie dug into his pocket and extracted a cell phone. "These guys seem like loonies. They probably got lost out here, and they're tired and hungry. Get them some water."

As Lewis reached for water in his backpack, he said, "You won't get a signal up here."

Howie pushed b.u.t.tons on the phone, then he stuffed it away in frustration. "You're right."

Lewis found a water bottle and held it out to Ed. "Maybe this'll help you."