Nephilim: Genesis Of Evil Part 15

Clinton pondered Anna's comment as he drove out to the D'Angelo cabin. He had to admit that in all his years covering this part of the county, he'd never had two kids go missing, then one turn up not knowing where the other was and add to that the disappearance of two locals. He eyed Nicholas. The boy was staring out the front window, hands clasped in his lap. Clinton sighed. It was strange around here, he thought, looking out on the nearly empty lake, then back to the abandoned cafe. It was as if the events of the last twenty-four hours had chased everyone away.

He rolled down the car window and let the dusty breeze cool him as he drove up a side road. As he pulled up outside the D'Angelo cabin, he noticed Nicholas' demeanor change. His hands started playing with the hem of his cut-off jeans, and his breathing became shallower.

"You okay?" Clinton asked.

Nicholas didn't say a word, but slowly got out of the car.

Clinton got out and escorted Nicholas up the porch steps. He rapped on the front door. Someone peeked through the drawn blinds. Mary D'Angelo, he guessed. Clinton could hear a hushed conversation seep out through an open window, then heavy footfalls approaching the door.

"Thank goodness you're back safe," Gino D'Angelo said when he opened the door. But then the expression on his face went from relief to anger.

"Where have you been?" he snapped at Nicholas. The boy shrunk away from the door, but Gino reached out and pulled him into the cabin. "He's okay, right?"

"He's got a couple of pretty nasty b.u.mps on the head," Clinton said, trying to peer into the dark living room. An awkward pause hung between them. "Do you mind if I come in?" he smiled at Gino.

Gino hesitated, then shook his head. "My wife is indisposed at the moment, not feeling well. It's best if we talk here." Behind him, Nicholas stood staring at the floor. "Son, go to your room," Gino ordered him. Nicholas shuffled out of Clinton's sight.

"Your son should be taken to a hospital. He's had some kind of scare, and he should be checked out to make sure he's okay."

"Yes. I'll take care of him," Gino said, holding up a hand. "You don't have to worry about him anymore."

Clinton took off his hat. "There's still no sign of Mick."

He wasn't sure what he expected in the way of reaction from Gino, but what he got, or didn't get, surprised him. Gino nodded impa.s.sively. "That's too bad," he finally said.

"Nicholas wasn't able to provide any information about what happened to them, other than to say they were messing around near the mines." As Clinton talked, he puzzled over the unemotional man before him. He didn't seem to care about any of the information, let alone show concern for his own son. "I'd like him to show me where he was last night, too. Maybe he can "

"My son stays here," Gino interrupted him.

"Nicholas might be able to help us find Mick," Clinton said, his voice firmer than before. "I need to talk to him about last night."

"No." Gino stared at him. "Right now I'm going to make sure he gets some rest."

Clinton was irritated. The man had a way of doing that. "Something happened out there that we should know about."

"If he remembers anything, or talks about what happened, I'll let you know." Gino's eyebrows rose slightly, and his gaze narrowed ominously.

"Fine." Clinton knew Gino wouldn't be swayed by threats, so he let it go for now. He'd figure out a way to talk to Nicholas.

"I think you should take him to a hospital," Clinton said. "He should have those b.u.mps on his head checked out."

"I'll take care of him." Gino started to close the door.

"I'd like to speak with him later," Clinton said.

"If he's up to it," Gino said. "Thank you, Sheriff."

"I'll be back," Clinton said, "to check on him and get his statement." The door slammed on his words. Clinton turned and left, angrier than he'd been in years. He sat in his car for a while, calming himself. As he drove off, he saw the blinds in the front window separate. Someone was watching him.

Nicholas lay on the bed in his room. The curtains were drawn shut and it was hot, but he was too dazed to notice. He had barely been aware of coming into town, or talking with all those people. He couldn't bring his mind to focus, couldn't remember what had happened, just that Mick was gone and he wasn't sure why he was walking around town. His head pounded and he wanted to be sick. That was all he was able to think before the bedroom door burst open, hitting the wall with a thunderous crash.

"What the h.e.l.l?" His astonished father filled the doorway. Behind him, his mother peeked around his father. Her face was a mix of relief and fright.

"Where the h.e.l.l were you? What's going on?" Gino fired the questions at Nicholas with machine-gun force. Nicholas opened his mouth but couldn't make his lips form any words. His father was a silhouette against the glow flooding in from the hallway.

Gino could move deceptively fast for a big man. In two quick strides he was beside the bed, lifting Nicholas up by the collar of his shirt. Nicholas' legs slid from the mattress, his toes barely sc.r.a.ping the floor.

It all came crashing back to him, the terror of the day before playing in his mind. The weird stuff at the clearing, the chanting, the intangible but eerie darkness that came over the men like a cloud, seeing that stuff happen to Mick.

"I...I was out with Mick," he stammered. His father's left hand was under his chin, twisting the fabric of his shirt collar into a ball under his Adam's apple.

"I figured that out, hotshot," Gino said, shaking him like he was a puppet. "Do you know what happened to him?" Spittle settled on the corners of his mouth.

"I dunno."

"Where is he?" Gino yelled again. "I don't want that sheriff back here bothering us."

"I...he..." Nicholas couldn't make his mind think. He was terrified of his father, of the volcanic rage that spewed from him. Nicholas' vision blurred with tears.

"You're crying? What the h.e.l.l are you crying for? You're not missing like that other kid," Gino leered at him. "What happened?" he shouted.

Nicholas swallowed his panic. "Mick found a clearing in the woods. It had this weird burned spot right in the middle of it." His words came out in a rush. "We went back to check it out, but when we got there, that old fisherman and the guy who owns the cafe were already there, and they were doing this creepy ceremony."

"What?" Gino shoved his face into Nicholas'. A vein on Gino's forehead pulsed threateningly, and Nicholas could smell his stale, coffee breath. "What're you talking about?"

"I don't know what it was," Nicholas whined. "They were like zombies, and the one was making these freaky noises, like he was growling, and then this black cloud came down. It was awful. We tried to run, but they heard us."

He was so focused on trying to inhale through the constricting knot of fabric and his father's fist under his chin that he never saw the other hand until it struck him across his cheek. Once. Twice. The blows landed with a cracking sound. The left side of his face stung as if a thousand tiny needles p.r.i.c.ked him at the same time. Behind his father, he heard his mother whimper.

"Gino, please," she said.

"Shut up," Gino snarled over his shoulder. "You saw a ceremony, huh?"

"Yes," Nicholas said.

"And what happened when you tried to run?"

"They, uh, they came after us," Nicholas whispered.

"Oh yeah?"

Nicholas nodded.

"And then what happened?"

"I don't know." Nicholas began to cry.

"Don't cry, boy!" The hand smacked him again, even harder. He felt liquid run out of his nose and down onto his lips. "You take it like a man, you hear me?"

He nodded, his head spinning. He forced the tears back, at the same time tasting blood on his lips.

"What happened?" Gino snarled.

"I..." He watched his father's nostrils flare up, and he almost fainted. "Those men took Mick. They made him one of them. I ran away, but I fell and hit my head." He could see the disgust bathe his father's face.

"You coward." Gino clenched his teeth, defying his son to challenge him. "And then what?" he finally asked.

"I don't know what happened after that."

"You don't know?"

He saw the splayed hand coming at him in slow motion. "Please, Dad, please. I musta pa.s.sed out. I just remember what they did to Mick, and then I woke up in the bushes and it was dark, and I couldn't find Mick. I pa.s.sed out again, and then it was morning, so I walked into town, and they called the sheriff. I swear that's all. I swear." Fear of his father consumed Nicholas, and he hung limply from his father's grip, blubbering incoherently.

"Stop it," Gino commanded him. He hit Nicholas twice more and shook him fiercely. Nicholas wheezed and coughed, and finally controlled himself. "The sheriff is still out looking for Mick," Gino said, "and you want me to go to him with stories of ceremonies and dark clouds, like I'm some kind of idiot?"

Nicholas stared at his father, speechless. That's exactly what he wanted his father to do, but he knew that if he emitted a sound, the beating would go on.

"Answer me, boy." Gino hiked him up higher, until his feet lost contact with the floor.

"No sir," he grunted, gasping for air.

"I didn't think so," Gino said. He threw Nicholas back onto the bed. As the springs groaned, Nicholas waited for more blows. He desperately wanted to raise his arms in defense, but didn't.

Gino leaned over the bed, dark slits of his eyes staring at his son, his face red from the exertion. He pointed a thick finger down at him. "You stay here and think about this, and don't come out until you're ready to tell me what really happened. You got that?"

Nicholas nodded mutely.

Gino swung around quickly and almost knocked over Nicholas' mother. She started to come in the room but Gino backhanded her across the face. She gasped and threw a hand to her cheek.

"You leave him alone," Gino yelled at her.

She cowered away from her husband. Gino slammed the bedroom door closed.

Nicholas curled up and tried not to cry. He was fully aware of everything now; whatever shock had been there was gone. His head hurt like crazy but he knew better than to ask to go to the hospital to get it checked out. No way was that going to happen. He lay there, scared of what had happened the previous night, but more scared of his father. His father was in a rage and Nicholas knew better than to say anything. He would stay in his room until his father cooled down. And he wouldn't say a word about the clearing and Mick. Besides, his father was right about one thing. No one would believe him.

CHAPTER 31.

"It's even hot in the shade." Pamela Henderson sat on a fat tombstone, fanning herself with an art magazine. "Maybe we should've stayed indoors where it's cooler."

"I hate being cooped up in the store all day." Douggie spread a blanket on the ground in a corner of the cemetery where the huge old pine trees provided the most shelter from the sun. He and Pamela ate a late lunch here every day, and it was as much their routine as opening the gallery each day at ten.

"Quit grumbling." Pamela opened a basket and took out veggie sandwiches, bottled tea, and apples and bananas. She unwrapped a sandwich and handed it to Douggie. "What'd you think of the new piece?"

"He's no Rembrandt." Douggie flashed her a wide smile.

"He doesn't have to be." Pamela tugged playfully on Douggie's beard.

Douggie bit into his sandwich. "I'm worried about Jimmy," he said through a mouthful of bread, cream cheese, tomato and cuc.u.mber.

"Why?"

"He doesn't look good."

"He's old. Best thing Anna could do for him would be to put him in a home, that way she can stay down in Boulder and never have to come here again." Pamela squinted at Douggie. "You know she hates living here now. Especially with Travis fawning over her."

Douggie kept his eyes down. Sometimes Pamela's coldness shocked him, but he was too pa.s.sive to confront her.

"You know she's still p.i.s.sed off at Jimmy," she continued.

Douggie noticed the brittle tone. Pamela didn't like Anna, figured that with her prudish Christianity Anna probably thought less of Pamela because she'd never married Douggie. Douggie knew better. He knew that Anna would never say such a thing and would probably never think it. Anna was too kind, but Pamela didn't see that.

"It's got to be hard, losing your husband like that," he said.

"It's her own darn fault." Her voice grew harsh. "Why did Anna decide to stay up here that winter in the first place? It's not like you or I living up here, or even that old fool Brewster. At least we know how hard it can be. But to expect her father to last the entire winter, as old as he was?"

A claustrophobic gloominess settled over Douggie.

Pamela sighed. "Jimmy wasn't thinking right, even back then, so there's no surprise he wandered out onto the frozen lake like that. It's just too bad that Paul couldn't pull himself up once he'd gotten Jimmy back onto the ice. And as if that wasn't enough, you could've died, too."

Douggie remembered it all without her having to bring it up. It had been a bitter cold day. The news had said that it was only five degrees Fahrenheit, but the thermometer hanging outside their cabin door indicated that it was even colder than that. The wind was whipping down off the mountains, forming great snowdrifts and clearing the icy surface of Taylor Lake. He had been looking out his front window, watching snowflakes fall like miniature stars in the early December twilight. Paul had come trekking through the knee-deep snow. Douggie had gone outside and hollered at Paul, curious as to why Paul would be out in the frigid air so late in the day. But Paul hadn't heard, so Douggie had decided to go out after him. By the time Douggie had gotten himself bundled up, with a body suit, heavy gloves, hat, and boots, Paul had disappeared from view. He hurried down the path that Paul had cut through the snow, following it onto Main Street, where he gazed on a scene of horror.

Paul was running across the frozen lake. Farther ahead of him, Douggie recognized Jimmy, with his stooped gate. As Douggie watched, Jimmy slipped from view, and Douggie knew instantly that the ice had broken, and that Jimmy had plunged below the lake surface.

The next few hours were a whirlwind. Douggie had raced out onto the ice himself, heedless of the danger. Paul had jumped into the water and managed to push Jimmy back onto the icy surface, but he couldn't heave himself out. Douggie pulled Jimmy back to sh.o.r.e, but when he returned for Paul, the ice cracked more. Douggie raced to the road, found a log for Paul to grab onto, but by this time Paul was too cold and exhausted. He drowned before Douggie could drag him out of the water. Douggie barely remembered going back to the cabin for Pamela, who in turn ran to tell Anna. A shocked group drove a nearly frozen Jimmy and a lifeless Paul into the hospital in Boulder.

Douggie's thoughts returned from that bitter day. "Paul was the one who wanted to stay up here that winter, in case you've forgotten," he said quietly. "He loved it up here. Not that it matters anymore."

"This place feels haunted sometimes." Pamela stood up and stretched, taking in the scenery, the tombstones that marked time. She read some of the names. "It's like I've known some of these people, like I've lived here before. There's such," she searched for the word, "energy."

"I know what you mean."

She sat down and kicked off her Birkenstocks. "I don't like the feel right now, though. There's something wrong about it."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Those kids going missing. We haven't had any problems in the Crossing, but you get those teenagers here, with their drinking and their drugs. It's only a matter of time before the crime follows."

His mouth twitched into a wicked smile. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you've thrown your hippie ways into the wind."