Running with the Demon Part 22

She wondered again where Wraith was. Couldn't he find her here? Was it possible that he couldn't come into the caves?

Time pa.s.sed, and despair began to erode her resolve. Maybe no one could find her. It wasn't as if she had left tracks that anyone could follow. All anyone knew was that she had left the dance at the pavilion and gone west into the park. She could be anywhere. It might take them all night to find her. It might take them more than that. She could easily be here when Danny Abbott and his low-life friends returned in the morning. If they returned at all.

Why had this happened?

She heard voices then. Someone on the road outside! She tried to call out to them, tried to shout through the tape. She thrashed inside the feed sack, kicking out at anything she could reach to signal them. But the voices pa.s.sed and receded into silence. No one came. She sat trembling in the dark from her exertion, the sweat drying on her skin.

When she had calmed herself, she began rethinking the possibility of rescue. Whatever else happened, her grandparents would not leave her out here all night. When she didn't come home from the dance, they would begin searching. Lots of people would help. She would be found. Of course she would be found. Danny Abbott would be sorry then. Her glee at the prospect wavered into uncertainty. Didn't he know how this would turn out? Didn't he know what kind of trouble he would be in?

Or was there some reason he wasn't worried about it?

Time dragged on. After a while, she became aware that she wasn't alone. It didn't happen all at once; the feeling crept over her gradually as she pondered her fate. She couldn't hear or see anyone, but she could sense that someone was there with her. She went quiet, a slow sense of dread growing inside. Of course there was someone else in the caves, she reproached herself with a mix of fear and anger.

There were the feeders.

They moved almost soundlessly as they surrounded her. She could feel them looking at her, studying her, maybe wondering what she was doing there. She fought down her revulsion, willed herself to stay calm against the sea of despair that threatened to drown her. She felt their hands brush against her, small p.r.i.c.klings that raised goose b.u.mps on her skin. Touching her!

She could not identify the feeling - like old paper sacks, maybe, or clothes stiffened with sweat and oil. They had never touched her before, had never had this opportunity, and the thought that they could do so now made her crazy. She fought against the urge to thrash and scream. She forced herself to breathe normally. She tried to pray. Please, G.o.d, come for me. Please, don't let me be hurt.

"It's scary to be down here all alone, isn't it?" a voice whispered.

Nest jumped inside her burlap prison. The demon. She swallowed and exhaled quickly, noisily.

"All alone, down in the dark, in a black pit where your greatest enemies dwell. Helpless to prevent them from doing whatever they choose. You hate being helpless, don't you?"

The demon's voice was soft and silky. It rippled through the silence like bat wings. Nest closed her eyes against its insidious sound and gritted her teeth.

"Will someone come for you, you must be wondering? How long before they do? How much more of this must you endure?" The demon paused as if to consider. "Well, John Ross won't be coming. And your grandparents won't be coming. I've seen to that. So who else is there? Oh, I forgot. The sylvan. No, I don't think so. Have I missed anyone?"

Wraith!

The demon chuckled in a self-satisfied way. "The fact is, you have only yourself to blame for this. You should never have tried to follow me. Of course, I knew you would. You couldn't help yourself, could you? It was all so simple, making the suggestion to young Danny Abbott. He's so angry at you, Nest. He hates you. It was easy to persuade him that he could get even with you if he just did what I told him. He was so eager, he didn't even bother to consider the consequences of his act. None of them did. They are such foolish, malleable boys."

The demon's voice had shifted, moving to another part of the cave. But Nest could not hear the demon himself move, could not pick up a single footfall.

"So, here you are, alone with me. Why, you might have asked yourself? Why am I bothering to do this? Why don't I just... drop you into a hole and cover you up?" The demon's voice trailed off in a hiss. "I could, you know."

He waited a moment, as if antic.i.p.ating her response, then sighed anew. "But I don't want to hurt you. I want to teach you. That's why I brought you here. I want you to understand how helpless you are against me. I want you to realize that I can do whatever I like with you. You can't prevent it. Your friends and family can't prevent it. No one can. You need to accept that. I brought you here so that you could discover firsthand what I was talking about yesterday, about the importance of learning to be alone, of learning to depend only on yourself. Because you can't depend on other people, can you? I mean, who's going to save you from this? Your mother is gone, your grandparents are old, your friends are f.e.c.kless, and no one else really gives a d.a.m.n. When it comes right down to it, you have only yourself."

Nest was awash with rage and humiliation. She would have killed the demon gladly if she had been free to do so and been offered a way. She hated the demon as she had never hated anyone in her life.

"I have to be going now," he said, the location of his voice shifting again, moving away. "I have things to do while the night is still young. I have enemies to eliminate. Then I'll be back for you. Danny Abbott won't, of course. By morning, he will have forgotten you are even here. So you have to depend on me. Keep that in mind."

Then the voice dropped into a rough whisper that sc.r.a.ped at her nerve endings like sandpaper. "Maybe it would be wise if you were to use your time among the feeders to consider what's important to you. Because your life is about to change, Nest. It is going to change in a way you would never have dreamed possible. I'm going to see to it. It's what I've come here to do."

The silence returned, slow and thick within the dark. Nest waited for the demon to say something more, to reveal some further insight. But no sound came. She sat wrapped within the hot blackness of the burlap, embittered, frightened, and alone. Then the feeders returned. When the touching began anew, her resolve gave way completely and she screamed soundlessly into the tape.

Chapter Twenty-Four.

Old Bob was finishing up the Sunday edition of the Chicago Tribune when the doorbell rang. He'd begun the paper early that morning before church and spent his free time during the course of the day working his way through its various sections. It was part of his Sunday ritual, an unhurried review of the events of the world with time enough to give some measured consideration to what they meant. He was sitting in his easy chair in the den, his feet up on the settee, and he glanced immediately at the wall clock.

Ten-forty. Late, for someone to be visiting.

He climbed to his feet and walked out into the hall, the first stirrings of anxiety roiling his stomach. Evelyn was already standing in the foyer, rooted in place six feet from the front door, as if this was as close as she dared to come. She held her cigarette in one hand, its smooth, white length burning slowly to ash, a silent measure of the promptness of his response. The look his wife gave him was unreadable. They had come home together at dusk, bidding John Ross good night and leaving Nest with her friends. They had unpacked the leftover food and eating utensils from the picnic basket, unloaded the cooler, and put away the blanket. Evelyn had barely spoken as they worked, and Old Bob had not asked what she was thinking.

"Open it, Robert," she said to him now as he came down the hall, as if he might have been considering something else.

He released the latch and swung the door wide. Four youngsters were huddled together in the halo of the porch light, staring back at him through the screen. Nest's friends. He recognized their faces and one or two of their names. Enid Scott's oldest boy. Ca.s.s Minter. John and Alice Heppler's son. That pretty little girl who always looked like she was on her way to a photo shoot.

The Heppler boy was the one who spoke. "Mr. Freemafk, can you come help us find Nest, please? We've looked everywhere, and it's like she dropped into a hole or something. And we tried to find John Ross, like she asked, but he's disappeared, too. I think Danny Abbott knows what's happened to her, but he just laughs at us."

Robert Heppler, Old Bob remembered suddenly. That was the boy's name. What had he said? "What do you mean, Nest has dropped into a hole?"

"Well, she's been gone for close to two hours," Robert continued, his concern reflected in his narrow face. He pushed his gla.s.ses up on his nose and ran a hand through his unruly blond hair. "She went off after this guy, the one who's been poisoning the trees? The one you warned her about? She thought she saw him, so she..." He bit off whatever it was he was going to say and looked at the Scott boy. "Jared, you were there; you tell it."

Jared Scott looked pale and anxious as he spoke. His words were slow and measured. "We were dancing, me and Nest, and she saw this guy, like Robert says. She gets this funny look on her face and tells me he's the one who's been poisoning the trees, and I have to find Robert and Ca.s.s and Brianna and then we have to find John Ross and tell him to go after her. Then she runs off after this guy. So we all go looking for Mr. Ross, but we can't find him."

Old Bob frowned, thinking, Someone's poisoning trees?

"So, anyway, we can't find Mr. Ross," Robert interrupted Jared impatiently, "so we start looking around for Nest on our own. We try to find where she went, going off in the same direction, and that's when we run into Danny Abbott and his friends coming toward us. They're laughing and joking about something, and when they see us, they go quiet, then really start breaking up. I ask them if they've seen Nest, and they get all cute about it, saying, 'Oh, yeah, Nest Freemark, remember her?' and stuff like that. See, we had this run-in with them just the other day, and they're still p.i.s.sed off. 'Scuse me. Upset.

Anyway, I tell them this isn't funny, that there's a guy out there poisoning trees, and he might hurt Nest. Danny says something like 'What guy?' and I can tell he knows. Then he and his Neanderthal pals push me and Jared down and go right past us and back to the dance. That's when we decided to come get you."

Old Bob stood there, trying to sort the story through, trying to make some sense of it, still stuck on the part about someone poisoning trees in the park. It was Evelyn who spoke first. '

"Robert," she said, coming forward now to stand in front of him, her eyes bright and hard in the porch light. There was no hesitation in her voice. "You get out there right away and find that girl and bring her home."

Old Bob responded with a quick nod, saying, "I will, Evelyn," then turned to Nest's friends and said, "You wait here," and went into the kitchen to find a flashlight. He was back in seconds, carrying a four-cell Eveready his walk quick and certain. He touched his wife on the shoulder as he brushed past, said, "Don't worry, I'll find her," and went out the door and into the night.

When John Ross was able to stand again, Josie Jackson helped him walk back up the hill, bypa.s.s the crowded pavilion, and maneuver his way to her car. She wanted to drive him to the hospital, but he told her it wasn't necessary, that nothing was broken, which he believed, from experience, to be so. She wanted him to file a police report, but he declined that offer as well, pointing out that neither of them had the faintest idea who had attacked him (beyond the fact that they were probably MidCon union men) and that he was a stranger in the community, which usually didn't give you much leverage with the police in a complaint against locals.

"John, d.a.m.n it, we have to do something about this!" she exclaimed as she eased him into the pa.s.senger seat of her Chevy, dabbing at his bloodied face with a handkerchief. She had stopped crying by now and was flushed with anger. "We can't just pretend that nothing happened! Look what they did to you!"

"Well, it was all a mistake," he alibied, forcing a smile through his swollen lips, trying to ease her concern and indignation, knowing it was the demon who was responsible and there was nothing to be done about it now. "Just take me back to the hotel, Josie, and I'll be fine."

But she wouldn't hear of it. It was bad enough that he wouldn't go to the emergency room or file a complaint with the police, but to expect her to take him back to the hotel and leave him was unthinkable. He was going to her house and spending the night so that she could keep an eye on him. He protested that he was fine, that he just needed to wash up and get a good night's sleep (ignoring the pain in his ribs, a clear indication one or more were cracked, and the throbbing in his head from what was, in all likelihood, a concussion), but she was having none of it. She could see the deep gash in his forehead, the cuts and bruises on his face, and the blood seeping through his torn clothing, and she was determined that someone would be there for him if he needed help. Her own face and clothing were streaked with blood and dirt, and her tousled hair was full of twigs and leaves, but she seemed oblivious of that.

"If I ever find out who did this..." she swore softly, leaving the threat unfinished.

He put his head back on the seat and closed his eyes as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the highway. He was upset that he had been caught off guard by the attack and forced to use his magic to defend himself, but he was encouraged as well, because it implied that the demon was worried about him. Planting a suggestion in the minds of a bunch of MidCon strikers that he was a company spy was a desperate ploy by any measure. Perhaps his chances at stopping the demon were better than he believed. He wondered if he had missed something in his a.n.a.lysis of the situation, in the content of the dream that had brought him here. Josie told him to open his eyes, not to go to sleep yet, because concussions were nothing to fool with. He did as she advised, turning his head so that he could look at her face. She gave him a quick, sideways smile, warming him inside where thoughts of the demon had left a chill.

She drove him to her home, an aging, two-story wood frame house overlooking the Rock River at the bottom of a dead-end street. She parked in the driveway and came around to help him out. She walked him up the steps, her arm around his waist as he leaned on his staff to support his crippled leg, then guided him through the door and down a hall to the kitchen. She seated him at the wooden breakfast table, gathered up clean cloths, hot water, antiseptic, and bandages, and went to work on his injuries. She was quiet as she repaired his damaged face, her dark eyes intense, her hands gentle and steady. The house was silent about them. Her daughter was staying at a friend's, she explained, then quickly changed the subject.

"You really should have st.i.tches for this," she said, fitting the b.u.t.terfly bandages in place over the gash in his forehead, closing the wound as best she could. Her eyes left the injury and found his. "What happened out there? That white flash - it looked like something exploded."

He gave her his best sheepish grin. "Fireworks. I had them in my pocket. They spilled out on the ground during the fight, and I guess something caused them to ignite."

Her eyes moved away, back to his damaged face, but not before he caught a glimpse of the doubt mirrored there. "I'm sorry this happened," he said, trying to ease past the moment. "I was enjoying myself."

"Me, too. Hold still."

She finished with his face and moved down to his body. She insisted he remove his shirt, against his protests, and her brow furrowed with worry when she saw the deep bruises flowering over his ribs. "This is not good, John," she said softly.

She cleaned his sc.r.a.pes and cuts, noting the way he winced when she put pressure on his ribs, then applied a series of cold compresses to the more severely damaged areas. She made him hot tea, then excused herself to go wash up. He heard her climb the stairs, then heard a shower running. He sipped at the tea and looked around the kitchen. It was filled with little touches that marked it as Josie's - a series of painted teakettles set along the top of the cupboards; pictures of her daughter, tacked to a bulletin board; drawings taped to the refrigerator that she must have done at different ages, some beginning to fray about the edges; fresh flowers in a vase at the window above the sink; and a small dish with cat food in it sitting by the back door. He studied the bright print curtains and wallpaper, the mix of soft yellows, blues, and pinks that trimmed out the basic white of the plaster and woodwork. He liked it here, he decided. He felt at home.

He was beginning to grow sleepy, so he refilled his teacup and drank deeply, trying to wake himself up with the caffeine. If he went to sleep now, he would dream. If he dreamed, he would be back in the future - only this time, because he had used the staff's magic to save himself in the present, he would be bereft of any protection until he woke. He knew what that would feel like. It had happened before. It would happen again. It was the price he paid for serving as a Knight of the Word. It was the cost of staying alive.

Josie came back downstairs in fuzzy slippers and a white bathrobe, her long, light hair shiny with dampness. She gave him her best smile, radiant and embracing, and asked how he was feeling. He told her he was better, admiring the fresh-scrubbed glow of her skin and the high curve of her cheekbones. She asked him if he was hungry, laughed when he told her no, made him some toast anyway, put out b.u.t.ter and jam, and sat down across from him to watch him eat. She sipped at her tea, telling him about the way her grandmother always made her toast and tea late at night when neither of them could sleep. Ross listened without saying much, finding he was hungry after all. He glanced once at the clock. It was after eleven, later than he had thought.

"Are you tired, John?" she asked when he was finished eating. "You must be. I think it's safe for you to sleep now."

He smiled at the thought. "I should be going, Josie."

She shook her head vehemently. "Not a chance, buster. You're staying here tonight. I've got too much invested in you to let you wander off to that hotel room alone." She paused, realizing the implication of what she had said. She recovered with a shrug. "I thought I made it pretty clear that I would feel better if you slept here tonight. Do you mind?"

He shook his head. "No, I just don't want to be underfoot. I feel bad enough about what's happened."

She stood up, tossing back her hair. "In more ways than one, I bet. You come with me."

She put her arm around his waist to help him to his feet, then kept it there as she guided him down the hall and up the stairs. The house was mostly dark; the light from the kitchen stretched only as far as the first half-dozen steps. After that, they were left in starlit gloom. Beneath their feet, the old wooden stairs creaked softly. Ahead, from farther down the hallway that connected the second-story rooms, lamplight glimmered softly. Ross felt his way up the stairs with his staff and Josie's surefooted guidance, taking his time, leaning on her even when it wasn't necessary, liking the feel of her body against his and the smell of her hair against his face.

"Careful, John," she cautioned as they made their way, her arm tightening about his waist, trying to stay below his injured ribs.

He winced silently. "I'm fine."

At the top of the stairs they paused for a moment, still locked together. "Okay?" she asked, and he nodded. She lifted her face and kissed him on the mouth. His lips were bruised and swollen, and her kiss was gentle. "Does that hurt?" she asked, and he shook his head wordlessly.

She eased him down the hall and into a darkened bedroom, a guest room, he decided, the large bed neatly made, the cushion of the love seat smooth and undisturbed, the dresser top bare. She left him just inside the doorway, moved to the bed, and pulled back the spread and covers. Then she came back for him and walked him over. He could hear the soft throbbing of an air conditioner in the window and feel the cool air on his bare arms and torso. The room was dark and the only light came from down the hallway and from the stars that shone faintly through the curtained window. She eased him onto the bed, bending close to kiss him on the forehead.

"Wait here," she said.

She left the room and disappeared down the hall. A moment later, the hallway light went out. She reappeared soundlessly, a shadowy figure in the gloom. She crossed to the bed and stood next to him, looking down. He could just make out the sheen of her tousled hair and the curve of her hip.

"Can you take the rest of your clothes off by yourself?" she asked.

He slipped off his walking shoes, socks, and jeans, then eased himself into the cool sheets, letting his head sink into the softness of the pillows. A profound weariness settled over him, and he knew that sleep would claim him soon. There was nothing he could do about it; he would sleep and then he would dream. But perhaps the dream would not be as bad as he feared.

"John?" Josie spoke his name softly in the dark.

He took a deep breath and let it out again slowly. "Yeah, I'm still here. I'll be all right, Josie. You go on to bed. Thanks again for..."

He felt her weight settle on the bed, and then she was lying next to him, pressing close, her cool arms enfolding him, her bathrobe gone. "I think I better stay with you," she whispered, kissing his cheek.

He closed his eyes against the smooth, soft feel of her body, against the soap scent of her skin and hair. "Josie ..."

"John, do me a big favor," she interrupted him, her lips brushing his cheek. The fingers of one hand stroked his arm like threads of silk. "Don't say anything for a little while. I made it this far on raw courage and faith in my instincts. If you say the wrong thing, I'll fall to pieces. I don't want anything from you that you don't want to give me. I just want you to hold me for a while. And to let me hold you. That's all I want. Okay?"

Her touch made the pain in his body ease and his fear of sleep's approach lessen. He knew the risk of what he was doing, but he couldn't help himself. "Okay."

"Put your arms around me, please."

He did as she asked, drawing her close, and all the s.p.a.ce between them disappeared.

Old Bob crossed the gra.s.sy expanse of Sinnissippi Park, heading straight for the pavilion and the crowd, his shoulders squared, his big face intense. Nest's friends struggled to keep up with him, whispering among themselves as they marked the determination in his long strides. Someone was gonna get it now, he heard the Heppler boy declare gleefully. He ignored the remark, his brow furrowed, his eyes troubled. Something wasn't right about all this. That Nest was missing was reason enough all by itself for concern, but this business about poisoning trees suggested a depth to the matter that he knew he didn't begin to understand. Nor did he like the fact that a bunch of older boys were involved. But mostly there was the look in Evelyn's eyes. Behind the worry and fear for the safety of their granddaughter, Old Bob had seen something else. Evelyn knew something about this, something that transcended the boundaries of his own knowledge. Another secret perhaps, or maybe just a suspicion. But the look was unmistakable.

He crossed the parking lot fronting the pavilion and slowed as he approached the crowd. The band was still playing and couples still danced beneath the colored lanterns and bunting. The humid night air was filled with the bright, clear sounds of laughter and conversation. He glanced over his shoulder for Nest's friends, then waited for them to catch up.

"Which one is Danny Abbott?" he asked.

They glanced about without answering. His heart tightened in his chest. If the boy had gone home, he was in trouble.

Then Brianna Brown said, "There he is."

She was pointing at a good-looking boy with dark hair and big shoulders standing in the shadows just beyond the tables where the soft drinks and lemonade were served. Some other boys were with him, and all of them were talking and joking with a pair of young girls dressed in cutoffs and halter tops.

Old Bob took a deep breath. "Stay here," he said, and started forward.

He was right on top of Danny Abbott before the boy saw him. He smiled when Danny turned and put a friendly arm about his shoulder, drawing him close, holding him fast.

"Danny, I'm Robert Freemark, Nest's grandfather." He saw frightened recognition flood the boy's eyes. "Now, I don't want to waste any time on this, so I would appreciate a quick answer. Where is my granddaughter?"

Danny Abbott tried to back away, but Old Bob kept a tight hold on him, taking a quick measure of his friends to see if any of them meant trouble. No one looked anxious to get involved. The girls were already moving away. The boys looked eager to follow. "You gentlemen stick around a minute, please," he ordered, freezing them in their tracks.

"Mr. Freemark, I don't know what..." Danny Abbott began.

Old Bob moved his hand to the back of Danny's neck and squeezed hard enough to make the boy wince. "That's a bad beginning, son," he said quietly. "I know your father, Ed. Know your mother, too. They're good people. They wouldn't appreciate finding out that their son is a liar. Not to mention a few other things. So let's get this over with before I lose my temper. Where is Nest?"

"It was just a joke," one of the other boys mumbled, hands digging in his jeans pockets, eyes shifting away.

"Shut up, Pete!" Danny Abbott hissed furiously, the words out of his mouth before he could think better of them. Then he saw the look on Old Bob's face and went pale.

"One more chance, Danny," Old Bob told him softly. "Give me a straight answer and we'll put this behind us. No calls to your parents, nothing more between you and me. Otherwise, the next stop for both of us is the police station. And I will press charges. Are we clear on this?"

Danny Abbott nodded quickly, and his eyes dropped. "She's in the caves, taped up inside a gunnysack." His voice was sullen and afraid. "Pete's right, it was just a joke."

Old Bob studied him a moment, weighing the depth of the truth in the boy's words, then let him go. "If she's come to any harm," he said to all of them, looking deliberately from one face to the next, "you'll answer for it."

He walked back to where Nest's friends waited in a tight knot at the edge of the parking lot, their eyes bright with excitement. He surveyed the crowd, looking to see if there was anyone he could call upon to help. But none of the faces i were familiar enough that he felt comfortable involving the few he recognized. He would have to do this alone.

He came up to Nest's friends and gave them a rea.s.suring smile. "You young people go on home now," he told them. "I believe I know what's happened, and it's nothing serious. Nest is all right. You go on. I'll have her call you when she gets home."

He moved away from them without waiting for an answer, not wanting to waste any more time. He followed the edge of the paved road toward the west end of the park and the caves. He went swiftly and deliberately, and he did not look over his shoulder until he was well away from the crowd and deep into the darkness of the trees. No one followed him. He carried the flashlight loosely in his right hand, ready to use it for any purpose it required. He didn't think he would be attacked, but he wasn't discounting the possibility. He glanced around once more, saw nothing, no one, and turned his attention to the darkness ahead.