Behold the Child (7 page)

"Okay," Laura said. "I'm sleepy."

"May as well take a nap, then," Kenzie said. "I'll start again as soon as this all blows over."

She curled up like a kitten and sighed. Kenzie watched her for a moment, as if seeing her for the very first time. She was a pretty woman in a homespun sort of way. Her crows-feet seemed precious to him, rather than unattractive. He decided that he was a very lucky man.

The wind wept and keened. Sand scratched at the windows like the fingernails of someone buried alive. Kenzie slipped his cell phone out of its case. He turned it on, pressed the auto-dial for 911 and waited. His stomach dropped thirteen floors to the basement. No reception, just static. He swallowed, closed it again.
Relax for Chrissakes
, he told himself.
We have enough water for a few days. The storm will blow over. The car is fine. We're not going to die out here.
He closed his eyes and slept for a few moments. When he woke up, the moaning wind had begun to fall way. The harsh, scraping noises stopped.

And just like that, it was quiet.

The windshield was coated with grime. Kenzie started the car and flipped on the water for the wipers. The rubber wands carved twin funnels of light to see by, and he drove forward, back out onto the dirty road. He traveled perhaps one hundred feet and then stopped again.

& GULP

Kenzie blinked. That sign hadn't been there all along, had it? He cocked his head and read it again. It was some kind of diner called JOE'S GAS & GULP. He shook his head in amazement and relief: An old white building, long like a train car; weather beaten yet resilient, standing defiantly in the middle of hell on earth. He glanced at Laura, and was relieved to see that she continued to slumber. She had missed the entire experience. Kenzie drove up and parked near an old pump and a black car up on cinder blocks. He got out, stretched and looked around. A second sign read BRIMSTONE TURNPIKE. Kenzie looked down at the map again. No town called Brimstone, no turnpike indicated on the highway. Strange, but then this was one Godforsaken area. Then Kenzie heard someone whistling tunelessly. He whirled around.

"Howdy, son," a man said. The voice was silky and resonant; something about it made raised bumps on the skin of his arms.

Kenzie shaded his eyes and peered back at the front porch of the diner. He saw nothing there but shadows. He walked closer, barely noticing that for a moment he felt chilly in 110 degree heat. A shape gradually emerged from the gloom, someone sitting on the porch. Kenzie forced a smile. He saw an old, smiling black man incongruously dressed in a worn gray suit and an off-white fedora. He sat rocking on the splintering porch. Kenzie walked closer.

"Good afternoon. Mind telling me where the hell I am?"

The old man smiled as if comprehending something of great import. "Oh, 'dat could be what ya call a highly subjective question. See, it all depends upon whose askin' and then who answerin'. Now, geographically speaking, this here is Brimstone Turnpike."

"You're not on the map."

"Not 'zactly a surprise," the old man said. His voice was now oddly seductive, the odd accent even more pronounced than before. "I don' particularly want most peoples to find me."

Kenzie walked a bit closer. The door to the building was missing, and the inside appeared to be empty, except for piles of litter and bleached weeds. It seemed unlikely anyone lived in there; in fact, the old man had a cane and a little red suitcase at his side; as if he, too, were just passing through. As Kenzie got closer he noted that there was something odd about the old man's eyes; they were opaque, almost silver in color. He appeared to be blind.

"Mind if I take it easy for a minute?"

"You already on my property. May as well set 'n stay a while."

Kenzie sat down on the porch. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

The old man yawned. He was missing a few teeth. "Truth is, planned it out this way," he said. "I prefers my own company to the maddenin' crowd."

Kenzie cracked his neck and stretched. "I follow you."

"Maybe yes, maybe no," the man said briskly. "Never you mind. The name is Johnny. Johnny Divine." He put his hand out in Kenzie's general direction. They shook. "Sure 'nuff pleased to meet you, Mr. Kenzie."

Kenzie flinched. "How do you know my name?"

Johnny Divine pursed his lips. "Reckon you told me a minute ago, there. You said, 'good afternoon ol' man, my name is Kenzie,' jes' like that, clear as a bell."

"No," Kenzie said. His skin rippled again. "No, I didn't."

Johnny giggled. "Hells bells, boy—you sure 'bout that? Well, what you know! Me, I guess I'm some kind of closet psychic! With a bit o' money, I could set up mah own 800 number and rake in cash."

Kenzie relaxed a bit.
Don't be ridiculous
, he told himself.
He's just an old man in the middle of nowhere. You're just wired from the storm and freaked about getting lost.

"Lord, it seems like y'all goin' somewhere in a hurry. Where you bound for, Kenzie?"

"A town called Twin Forks," Kenzie said, after a long moment. What could possibly be wrong with answering such a simple question? "I spent my childhood there, but I've been a long time gone."

Johnny Divine shook his head slowly. "Oh, my," he said, softly. "That would surely be a bad thing. Naw, that's jus' not a good idea. I don't think I'd go back there at all, if I was you."

Kenzie decided to indulge him. "Is that so. Why not?"

The old man looked directly at Kenzie, as if he could actually see him. "Folks tell stories 'bout that place. I hear legends. Used to be a tribe in those parts called themselves the Sand People. Now, these Sand People, they bowed down to real nasty old demon known as Sahute."

Kenzie fought down a smile. "Give me a break."

Johnny Divine shook his head. "You hear me out, boy. So Sahute, he wants him a yearly meal of blood, guts and brains. Some bad stuff and I knows you know what I mean."

"Human sacrifice." Kenzie had heard the stories too. He smiled.

"'zactly, Kenzie. But them piles of bleached-out bones didn't do the deed good enough for that ol' demon. Fact is, they were just for show. This Sahute, what he really wanted was to hear the screams of the dying and the sobbing of those got left behind."

Kenzie indulged him. "I see."

"Naw, don't 'spect you do," Johnny said mildly. "But be good and lets me finish. Sahute, he ate up all of 'dat fear and the pain he made folks feel. Thas' what kept him fat and happy. So the evil he done back then, it was
so
bad it left a stench still hangs over Twin Forks."

Kenzie nodded patiently. "I appreciate your concern."

"The townsfolk, they seems nice enough, but that town has a curse on it, sure as I'm settin' here." Johnny tapped the arm of his white pine rocking chair. For some reason, Kenzie abruptly pictured it as having been carved from bleached human bones. He shuddered at the thought and forced a laugh. "People scared me with that Sahute stuff when I was a kid, Mr. Divine. I doubt there's anything to it."

"Damn, you that sure? Lemme promise you this, evil things do happen in this world, Mr. Kenzie. 'Cause they part of the fabric of the universe."

"Yeah," Kenzie said. "That I know."

Johnny grimaced. "Yeah, I do believe you, son. You also know you'd best watchful and quick as a cat when the time come."

Kenzie was growing uncomfortable. "Yes. Sure. I suppose so."

"If you insist on goin' where you're goin', Mr. Kenzie, you be especially cautious down there in Twin Forks."

"Because of that Indian spirit."

Johnny leaned back and rocked for a moment. He shrugged. "Just because."

"Well, anyone wants to do evil there now has to answer to me," Kenzie said. "I'm the new law there, as of tomorrow."

"Ah."

Johnny Divine now seemed to stare
through
Kenzie, as if he could sense something dark looming on the far horizon. He shook his head, almost regretfully. "I 'spose that your destiny, then, isn't it." It was not a question. "Likely you'd best be on your way."

"I would, but I'm flat lost. You mind telling me how to get there from here?"

Johnny nodded, pointed as if he could see. "Go out onto that road there, the Brimstone Turnpike. You yourself away from the sun, hear? You head west maybe an hour and then north to chase the dark. You be settin' in Twin Forks by midnight." His blind eyes stayed fixed on something miles beyond Kenzie. He reached down between his legs and opened the beat up red suitcase. Kenzie watched as Johnny removed a small object wrapped in a handkerchief. "Me, I'm an old man, so maybe you indulges me. I'd like to give ya'll a little good luck charm, 'cause I reckon you gonna need one."

He held out his hand. It was steady as a black, iron bar. Kenzie's hand, however, trembled. He took the gift and opened it. Inside the cloth was some kind of an antique toy; a dried gourd that was attached to a small stick by a faded leather thong. It made a small, hissing sound when Kenzie shook it.

"A rattle?"

Johnny Divine seemed pleased by the sound. He grinned broadly, but there was something feral in that smile. "Mebbe yes, mebbe no," he said. "This here is a genuine artifact from that lost tribe, the Sand People. Now, you listen good." His southern accent melted away, but for some reason Kenzie barely noticed. "Like all other things in this world, you must look at this toy two different ways whenever you shake it, Mr. Kenzie. You may have forgotten one simple truth. Out here, a rattle can mean a couple of very different things. It can be harmless on a toy . . . or dangerous as all get out when it's on the tail of an angry snake."

"I can't accept this," Kenzie said. "If it's real, it's probably worth a lot of money."

Johnny Divine waved him away and used the cane to struggle to his feet. Not wishing to be rude, Kenzie reluctantly put the rattle in his pants pocket. For the first time, he noticed an ornate wolf's head, carved from what appeared to be sterling silver, right at the top of the old man's cane. He also noted that Johnny wore a pair of ancient-looking moccasins on his dirty, bare feet.
What a character
.

Johnny Divine walked slowly towards the doorway to the battered diner. He paused with his back to Kenzie. "I think it was Thomas Huxley who wrote that 'If a little knowledge is dangerous, where is the man who has so much as to be out of danger?' It may behoove you to learn why you do what you do, sir."

Kenzie rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I don't understand."

"If'n you don't, you don't," Divine said. His accent flowed back, thick as honey. He spoke one final time: "Ya'll keep a careful watch on that pretty little wife you got. Your own self, too. 'Bye now."

Wife?
Kenzie tried to find words to respond, but couldn't. He just shook his head in amazement.
The old bastard isn't even blind
.
He saw Laura in the car.
The black man vanished into the shadows of the empty building.
Johnny Divine my ass
, Kenzie thought. He walked back to his car and opened the driver's door. Laura was awake and yawning.

"What the hell were you doing over there, Sam?"

"Talking to the old man." Kenzie started the car. He looked both ways from reflex, although there were no other cars in sight. He drove out onto the highway, rear wheels spraying dust.

"What old man?" Laura asked.

"The old black guy on the porch," Kenzie said. "I should write him up for Reader's Digest as a most unforgettable character. He might have been putting me on the whole time. He was a real eccentric."

Laura closed her eyes again. "I didn't see anybody. Was he inside the ruins, or something?"

"He was on the fucking porch, Laura. In the rocking chair. He gave me something kind of interesting." Kenzie groped through his pants pocket, took out the rattle and shook it. This time it sounded like miniature, cartoon castanets.

"Is this a Native American thing?"

"It's some kind of a kid's toy."

"It's nice," Laura said. 'Do we have far to go?" She didn't seem intrigued, so Kenzie put the antique rattle in the ash tray. Laura stretched and moaned in a way that stirred his loins. Kenzie patted her leg and squeezed.

"Not too far," he said. "You go back to sleep." Then, under his breath: "I guess I'm almost home."

"Sam?"

Kenzie, startled, banged his head on the upper drawer of the filing cabinet. His vision darkened and then filled with bright dots. He dropped the rag and cleaner and rubbed his skull.

"Jesus," he said.

The overweight man in the doorway nodded. He spat tobacco juice out into the street. "Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Christ. I was just looking to meet the new lawman."

Kenzie looked, shook his head. "Doc Preston? Is that you?"

"Last time I looked, it was."

Kenzie forgot his pain and laughed heartily. "It's good to see you again. Come on in and have a cup of coffee." He got to his feet, eyeballed the visitor. Doc was now past seventy years old, with silver hair and a huge paunch that sagged out over the belt of his jeans, but his eyes were as merry as ever. He wore a blue work shirt with a cowboy tie and brown, scuffed boots with two-inch heels.

"Townsfolk will be stopping by," he said, extending his hand. "I'm the first."

"Good to see you again, Doc."

"I'm surprised you remember me, kid. What's it been, thirty-odd years?"

Kenzie laughed. "At least, Doc. I'd imagine things have changed around here."

"Lot of folks died off," Doc said, sadly. "You likely won't remember anyone but me at this point."

"What about the grocer, old Calhoun?"

"Heart attack back in '94."

Kenzie sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was always good to me when I was a kid. But you stuck it out, and you're still the local medico?"