Nephilim: Genesis Of Evil Part 19

Rory awoke from his nap with a start, wondering what had pulled him from such a deep and, for once, dreamless sleep. He was lying flat on his back on the bed. The curtains in the window swayed with a slight breeze, carrying with it the high-pitched hum of an outboard motor coming near. The sound of the engine must've awoken me, he thought as he yawned. He rolled over on his side and checked the alarm clock. Barely one o'clock.

The motor noise died, and he could hear someone walking along the pier. He rubbed his face as he went out into the living room to see who had come to visit. He opened the door and saw Myrtle hurrying up the path with Boo trotting beside her.

"Hope I'm not disturbing you." She scrutinized him as he let her into the cabin.

"Not at all." He smiled, but immediately felt like she had him under a microscope.

"You look tired." Without being invited, she took a seat at the kitchen table, tossing her sunhat down on another chair. Boo curled up near her feet, panting loudly.

Rory ignored her comment. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No, thank you." She gestured for him to join her. He sat down, wondering what had prompted this visit from his landlady.

She continued to stare at him. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Is everything okay?" he finally asked. "Did something happen at the Crossing?"

Myrtle placed her hands on the table, nervously tapping the old oak surface. "I don't know where to begin."

"Did they find that boy, or Samuel?"

"Oh no," she replied quickly. "Not really."

"Not really? What does that mean?" It wasn't like Myrtle to be at a loss for words. Rory crossed his arms and waited. Sometimes silence was the best prompt.

"I needed to tell someone," she began slowly. "And the only person it could be was you."

He leaned forward. "Tell me what? And why me?"

"Do you believe in the paranormal?"

He hesitated. "I'm a skeptic."

"But you've seen things, and you write about it. I've read your articles, but haven't you ever run into something you couldn't explain?"

He didn't like where this was going, but nodded slowly. "Sometime I thought I did..."

"I suspected that's why you came to the Crossing. To write about the Nephilim."

"That you say is nothing more than a farfetched rumor."

She stopped to clear her throat. "It's true that Brewster's grandfather left the town, telling stories about how everyone had disappeared. I've heard that a time or two from Old Man Brewster himself. And supposedly everyone that heard the story dismissed it as the ramblings of an old drunk. Lord knows he did enough drinking that they could make that a.s.sumption. But supposedly Brewster's grandfather witnessed them."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Before the elder Brewster left town, that night he came home so drunk, he swore up and down that he was chased by spirits. One even approached him and tried to hypnotize him. But before it could, he managed to escape, I don't know how. He hid in his cabin until daylight, and then he fled. When he finally got the courage to come back, all the townspeople were gone. Taylor Crossing had become a ghost town overnight."

"That's about what I heard from Anna," he said.

"She probably remembers bits and pieces of what Jimmy told her, or what she heard from Old Man Brewster. It's just like the stories about Barton and this cabin."

"You mean how he went crazy from the isolation."

"That and the voices."

Rory sucked in a breath and his vision momentarily blurred. "What voices?" he strained to remain calm.

"Voices in this cabin," she said. "Maybe that's why Barton lost his mind. Not just the isolation, but folks said that he told them about voices he kept hearing out here. Of course no one believed him." She paused and studied him carefully. "Are you all right? You look pale." She threw a hand to her face. "Oh my, you've heard the voices!" She scanned the room cautiously, then let her eyes fall back on him.

"No," he insisted. "You reminded me of something, that's all." He could tell that she didn't believe him.

Silence grew between them. A clock in the living room chimed. "So what brought you out here?" he finally asked. "It can't be just to tell me about the Nephilim again."

Myrtle placed her hands on the table and sighed heavily. "I don't think it's just a bunch of rumors."

"Why?"

"There's been all this strange stuff happening."

"Like what happened to Mick and Nicholas."

"That. And Ed and Samuel missing. And then there are two hikers reported lost, and Pamela and Douggie haven't been seen since yesterday sometime."

"No one's seen either one?"

Myrtle shook her head.

"And what hikers?"

She related what Travis Velario and Clinton Truitt had told her.

"I admit that it's a lot to happen all at once," he said when she'd finished, "but what has this got to do with the Nephilim?"

"Because of what I saw today." He waited her out. Her light brown eyes watered and she cleared her throat again. "I went to check on Joan earlier. The cafe was empty, so I went through the back and into their living quarters." She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "I saw Samuel there. He looked terrible, not even human anymore. And there was a smell coming from him, like a match being lit. He was controlling Joan somehow. He said 'I call you' to her, and then he led her away."

"Where did he take her?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." Her shaky voice signaled her fear.

"You saw this?" he asked. She nodded. "Why didn't you say anything? Or tell the sheriff?"

"I was scared." Her lower lip quivered. "Rory, I don't know how to explain this at all, and Clinton will think I'm crazy. I think I'm crazy. But I know what I saw. And the only thing I can come up with is that the rumors are true." She wiped her eyes and firmly met his gaze.

"Do you really think something like this could be true?"

She stood up, startling Boo. The dog sat up and watched as she began pacing. "I keep telling myself it can't be true! But I saw Samuel put Joan in a trance and take her away. Just like they tried to do to Brewster's grandfather. And what about everybody disappearing?"

"I don't claim that any of this makes sense. But I know what I saw, and I can't explain it any other way." She stopped pacing and approached him. She took his hand. "You know something's going on. I can see it in your face." He didn't say anything. "Will you look for them? Maybe you can go with Sheriff Truitt. It would be safer that way. You wouldn't have to tell him what I suspect, but you could look around the mountains, and see if you can find Samuel and Joan. Maybe Samuel took her to that clearing in the woods with the burned spot that Sheriff Truitt mentioned. Maybe it's some kind of ceremonial place. Go and see what's there. Please."

He studied her, searching for anything that might tell him that she had crossed over into some form of insanity. All he saw was fear.

"Please. I'm worried about Joan. And the others."

He took a deep breath and let it out. "All right, I'll go."

"We can go to my cabin and call for the sheriff."

"No," Rory said. "We'll end up having to explain what you saw. I'll go by myself."

"Will you be okay?"

"I've been in some dicey situations before, and I survived. I'll be careful." He stood up. "But I don't know what you expect me to find."

CHAPTER 40.

Lillian puttered around the post office, humming an English folk song. She was trying to remain upbeat in spite of all that was happening in the Crossing. Yesterday she had called Joan and invited her over for lunch, hoping that a little companionship would ease Joan's concerns. Now, a day later, Lillian was worrying as well. She hadn't seen Joan all morning, and Samuel should've been back. And with all this stuff with those boys. She sighed. What is this world coming to?

She thought about Joan again. Poor thing. She'll be lost without Samuel around. Lillian had a momentary pang of regret for the companionship that she'd never had.

She took a deep breath, soaking in the office smells of aged wood, paper, and ink. The building had been constructed on the foundation of the original post office building, and a few relics from the original post office were in a gla.s.s case by the door: a saddlebag with US Mail stamped on it; some old ink bottles, and a few pens. She thought about that time, so long ago. Delivering mail was very different back then. Much more difficult than what she did now.

She went back to her desk behind a short counter and picked up her book, still humming to herself. She had a fleeting thought that she couldn't remember such chaos in the Crossing in all the summers she'd worked here, but then the romantic hero of the novel soon captured her imagination, and she was lost in another time and place.

While Lillian read away the time, Ed Miller stood in a grove of aspens watching the town. The early afternoon heat did not bother man or spirit, for they existed outside of the natural state of the mountains. His eyes roved up and down Main Street. The Crossing was quiet. It was Tuesday, the middle of the week, not as popular for tourists. A few boats drifted out on the lake. Half a dozen cars were parked along Main Street, their owners out enjoying what the mountains had to offer. Back In Time Antiques was closed because Travis Velario had gone home, dawdling over a long lunch. The Silver Dollar Cafe was empty and barren, as well as the Colorado Mountain Art Gallery. Anna and Jimmy were inside the general store, fugitives from the rising temperature. As spirit and man looked on, the silhouette of Lillian Chadwick crossed by the open back window of the post office. Had Ed Miller been capable of conscious thought, he would know her as just the mail worker, someone of little importance in his life. But the spirit within discerned more, reckoning back to a forgotten time when it came here with the others. It knew that the post office worker was more. She was the one who delivers the message.

He moved forward through the trees. No one was around to see him watching her. No one would know that he was here to claim her. No one would know that her role had been set into place long ago, when blood was spilled, and that it was her fate to fulfill that role. Soon she would know. Soon she would serve another purpose. The one who delivers the message would help prepare the way for them.

The gathering was almost complete. The one with water, the one with fire, the one of the earth, and the one who prepares the dead had a.s.sumed their places.

Ed stepped out of the aspens and approached the back of the building. He heard a voice, a lilting soprano, drifting out of the open window. Had he known on a conscious level, he would've enjoyed the carefree English song.

He went to the rear entrance of the post office and opened the door.

He stepped inside. The singing stopped and he took Lillian with the ease that he had taken the others. She followed him like a servant out of the post office, and they made their way toward the clearing, where she would a.s.sume her role.

CHAPTER 41.

When Rory, Myrtle, and Boo stepped off the dock and onto Main Street, Mick's mother Trish Hull was coming out of the general store, her shoulders stooped, a couple of bottles of water in her hands. They crossed the street to her. "How are you all doing?" Myrtle asked.

Trish smiled wanly at them, her face drawn. Dark half crescents under her eyes testified to her fatigue. "As well as can be expected." They went with her to her car and Rory opened the pa.s.senger door for her. He could see Trish's husband at the wheel, gripping it tightly, a weary look on his face. Their daughter Ellie sat in the backseat. Her head was tipped back and she stared blankly into s.p.a.ce. Trish stopped and turned back to them. "Thanks for asking. I'm sorry if I seemed rude just then. It's been a trying couple of days."

"Of course it has." Myrtle put a hand on Trish's shoulder. "You let us know if we can do anything. It may be a small town, but we know how to help those in need."

Trish got teary-eyed. "I appreciate that. We're going to stay in Boulder until..." She choked up.

"Is there any news?" Rory asked.

"No." She sniffled. "I'm sure we'll have to come back at some point, but right now I want to get Ellie away from here. This place isn't good for her."

Rory and Myrtle exchanged a look. "We're so sorry about everything," Myrtle said helplessly.

Trish nodded. She put a foot in the car, but stopped and looked intently at Rory. "Something's out there. Something real bad took Mick. Don't ask me how, I can just sense it." She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. "Something evil." Her eyes seemed to flame at him. "You know about these things. You find out what it was, and you take care of it." Her voice took on a husky intensity. "You find it, and you take care of it. For my boy. For Mick." Without another word, she got in the car. Kenneth revved the engine and sped off down the dirt road, the tires spitting pebbles and a plume of dust behind it.

Myrtle coughed and swished away the dust. "See?" she said, turning to Rory. "You know what she's talking about. I could see it in your face while she was talking to you."

He couldn't deny it. "This is crazy," he said halfheartedly as he adjusted the water pack that he had filled before leaving the cabin.

"I know," Myrtle agreed. She pushed him lightly. "Find where those boys were, and that clearing Clinton talked about. He said it was near the Matchless Mine. I know the area. If you follow the road out west, you'll come to a path. Take it for a mile or so," she continued, pointing to give him directions. "It's got to be somewhere out there."

"I'm not going to get out of this, am I?"

"If you don't find anything, you can call me an old fool."

"You'll never be that," he smiled at her as she patted him rea.s.suringly on the arm. "I'll be back." He began walking up the road.

"Good luck." He looked over his shoulder. She was standing in the middle of the road, her sunhat obscuring her face in shadow. She had one hand on Boo's head and waved at him with the other, as if she were sending him off on a leisurely hike. He waved back with more rea.s.surance than he felt, and continued on.

"How did I get myself into this?" he muttered as he rounded the bend in the road and left Taylor Crossing behind. He was sweating profusely and could see heat waves shimmering on the road in front of him. Soon he came to the path that Myrtle had described and he continued on it.

The air was still, and he stopped for a moment to survey his surroundings. It was eerily quiet. He started walking again, his footfalls grinding on the dirt beneath his hiking boots. As the path grew more arduous, his breathing became more labored and loud. He looked up into the aspens and evergreen, looking for birds, chipmunks, or squirrels, but saw nothing, just an intensely blue, cloudless sky high above the treetops. Wildflowers and sagebrush dotted either side of the path, and at another time, he could've found himself caught up in the beauty of his surroundings. But right now his thoughts burdened him, and he couldn't shake the fear that seeped into him.

The path meandered up the mountainside until it forked in two directions. Myrtle had directed him to take the path to the left. He stopped at one point to catch his breath, took a long swig from the water pack, then started on again.

He scanned the forest, trying to find the place where the boys had hung out. He spotted the hulk of an abandoned mine through the trees, gray weathered boards sagging with the call of time. Golden red dirt dotted the hillside around him. He hiked around some dense foliage and up the hillside. As he neared the mine, he noticed the trees thinning. He'd found the clearing.

Then he heard voices sifting through the trees. He stopped and listened, wondering if it was Sheriff Truitt and the searchers out looking for Mick. He didn't want to get caught if it was them. Not that he was doing anything wrong, but he'd rather not have to try and explain why he had come here. He was already under a cloud of suspicion because he was the stranger in town, and he didn't think Clinton would buy that he was just hiking in the forest and happened to stumble upon the clearing. Some things weren't coincidence.

The voices continued, a low undistinguishable murmur. Rory huffed as quietly as he could up the hill, staying in the shadows of the trees. He came upon an outcropping of boulders and he paused, bent over, and breathed heavily through his mouth. He peeked around the rocks, where he had a good view of the clearing. All his travels and investigations on the paranormal hadn't prepared him for what he saw next.