Bloodstone (25 page)

But there were shadows here still.

He moaned; his throat was full of sand. But he had already guessed, hadn’t he? Somewhere deep down, he had known that the secret he held inside could destroy him. The strange words Annie had spoken to him, that first day on the square;
I have seen your face
. He realized why the man in the painting above the desk had looked familiar to him. The face was his own.

Still, there was more, and this last bit threatened to push him over the edge and send him careening down that deep, dark hole in his mind. After she had given up her first child for adoption, Elizabeth Price had eventually married the child’s father, and become Elizabeth Johnson. They had two more children. One of them was a boy named Michael.

The other, a girl named Gloria.

Billy Smith stared down at the bright red circle of ink. Like blood.

Gloria Johnson. Angel.

She
is my sister
.

The flashlight clattered to the floor; he barely heard it.

He was still sitting there in the dark when the police cruiser pulled up outside.

The next morning dawned frosty and gray, the heat that had plagued the little town during the last few weeks holding off in favor of a continuing, bone-chilling cold. In the middle of the last-minute plans for the next day’s festival, the church found itself having to begin preparations for two hasty funerals, keeping old Bucky Tarr busy; but when the time finally rolled around to have them (both that same afternoon, one after another), the turnout was surprisingly small. The Friedman service drew a few close friends and several curious onlookers, wondering if the killer would be there (he wasn’t). But Ruth Taylor’s service was attended by less than ten souls, Jeb Taylor among those conspicuously absent. Perhaps had he been there, he would have been surprised that his grandmother had so few remaining friends. In fact, the majority of those who ordinarily would have come and were not otherwise occupied with the festival preparations had simply stayed home. Most people in White Falls were feeling a bit under the weather today, so to speak. They passed it off in various ways; some decided they had caught one of those nasty spring colds, and one or two decided they felt too depressed. A few claimed to be hung over.

In spite of whatever excuses they were telling themselves, the real reason was the same for all. An odd, vague sense of
unease had come over everyone. Had he been asked, old Bucky Tarr might have said a goose had walked over his grave. The people of White Falls were battening down the hatches, preparing for a storm.

At nine that morning, Angel called the clinic and asked to meet with Harry Stowe as soon as possible.

“I’m glad you called,” he said, when she had arrived. “I was going to get in touch with you.”

“He won’t see me,” Angel explained, her voice uncertain, the confusion and pain plainly visible on her face. She had had a rough night, waking up at some point to find her pillow wet with tears, and left with only the sense that she had been dreaming of something; of what, exactly, she could not recall. She had reached out for Billy in the dark and found his side of the bed cold and empty, and had been filled with a sense of dread. He hadn’t returned, and at seven-thirty the telephone rang, the voice on the other end telling her he had been arrested.

“I went to the jail but they said he wanted to be alone. Please, Dr. Stowe—”

“Call me Harry,” Stowe said gently. “I think we’ve reached a first name basis, don’t you?”

“You’ve got to help me. You’ve got to talk to him and find out what’s happened. The sheriff wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Billy won’t see me either,” Stowe said. “I’ve tried.”

“What’s wrong with him? I don’t know what the hell to do.”

Stowe guided her to the yellow couch and sat her down. “Hold on. I’ll get you some water.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure, if you’d like.”

She looked at him gratefully, aware of how exhausted she must look, how completely out of touch. She had been sleeping for almost two days straight; how could she still be
tired? But there was a fog on her brain that refused to lift no matter how long she remained in bed.

Harry had returned with the coffee. “What’s wrong with me?” she said. “I feel like I’ve been drugged.”

He handed it to her in a white Styrofoam cup. “Billy mentioned you were feeling a little sick. Maybe I ought to have a look at you.”

“When was the last time you talked with him? Yesterday at work? What did he say?”

“I was with him last night. At least, for the beginning of it.”

“
What?
”

“Later,” Harry promised. “We’ve got lots to talk about, I think. Maybe we can help each other. But first, let’s see if we can find out if there’s anything wrong with you physically.”

She protested, but he took her by the hand and led her into the other room, where he made her sit up on the table, his manner turning professional. Took her blood pressure, temperature, looked in her eyes and ears. Listened to her heartbeat. Frowned. “Dizziness?”

“Yes.”

“Nausea?”

“Some. I threw up yesterday, but today I kept down a little food.” This was exaggerating things; she hadn’t been able to eat more than a bagel and fruit juice in three days.

“So you’re feeling weak, generally out of it. Mood swings?”

“I suppose, if you call sleeping half the day away a mood swing.”

“I do, if it’s not your normal routine.” Harry frowned again, turned and rummaged about in a drawer. He turned back to her with a needle, pricked her finger and took a little blood. Then he held up a small container. “I’ll need a urine sample.”

“Harry—”

He held up a hand. “First things first. You do this and we’ll talk. If half of what Billy told me is true, you’re going to need your strength.”

He took her samples into the cluttered, windowless lab room next door to run the tests, and when he returned to wait out the results, they talked. He told her about finding Ruth’s body and his encounter with Jeb Taylor. He told her about Julie Friedman’s murder and about their final decision to follow Jeb that night. When he learned of the arrest, Harry said, he had spent the early morning hours talking to the sheriff, trying to get Billy released (he was unable to get Sheriff Pepper to budge an inch—Billy had been caught breaking and entering, and would spend the night in jail, end of story), and then spent another two hours looking for Jeb. No dice. The big Chevy was still in the parking lot of Johnny’s, and the Taylor home was locked up and dark. The boy had disappeared.

“We’ve got to see the sheriff again,” Angel said desperately. “Maybe both of us together will do more good. I don’t care how, we’ve got to get Billy out—”

“The sheriff can’t keep him there forever,” Stowe said. “But we’ll need a lawyer.”

“There’s no time! Can’t you feel it building? Whatever is going to happen is going to happen
soon
—”

“Calm down, now,” Harry said, laying a hand on her arm. “Save your strength. You won’t do anybody any good like this, least of all yourself.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her stomach lurched, and for a moment she thought she might be sick. Another deep breath and the feeling passed.

“Why won’t he talk to us, Harry? Why is he shutting me out?”

“I don’t know.” Stowe frowned. “Something happened in that house, that seems clear enough. Something that shook him up pretty bad. Bad enough to make him change his
mind about a lot of things, I guess, or at least make him think it all through again.”

“It’s driving us apart,” she said dully. “Whatever controls this town. Dividing us, making us weaker. Together, we have a chance. One on one, we’re as good as dead.”

“Now, don’t go jumping to conclusions. We need to keep our heads here, and take things one at a time. We’ve got to get Billy out of jail, I agree with you there. And we need to find Jeb Taylor and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself or anybody else. Then we can sit down and reassess this thing—”

She cut him off, her eyes searching his face. “Wait a minute. I get it. You don’t really believe all this, do you?”

He hesitated. “It’s just…you have to admit, in the cold hard light of day, some of it seems a little…farfetched.”

“I need to know,” she said curtly. “I need to know if you’re with me. It’s all or nothing. I can’t afford to trust someone who thinks I’m a lunatic.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, and you’re right. You’ll have to give me some time to adjust, that’s all. You just don’t throw away thirty years of rationality training in a day.”

“I don’t think we have a choice. Don’t waver on me now. Please. I need you. Billy needs you.”

“Right.” He sighed. “I’ve got to check those tests. I’ll be right back.”

When the door had closed, she slapped her hand against the table in frustration.
Damn it!
She needed him to help her; she would never be able to get Billy out alone. But she didn’t know if she could afford to trust someone who had doubts, not now. Time was too short. She could feel it running out on them like sand slipping through her fingers.

And there were other reasons for her anger. She felt left out. What had she been doing these past few days? Sleeping like a baby, while Billy ran around risking his life, chasing a monster who had already killed at least one, maybe two people. All her conscious thoughts about taking control of her
life, not letting others make decisions for her, learning to fight, and then as soon as things got a little rough she took to bed like an invalid.

She could not afford to let that happen anymore.
Face the
facts, babe. You have responsibilities, to this town, to the
people in it, and most of all to yourself, because you made
some promises you have to keep, as crazy as they might
seem. If you don’t, you’ll never be able to live with yourself.
Besides, you may be the only one left that can stop this from
happening
.

Stop what? That was the question. For all their digging, she and Billy had come up with very little in the way of guidance. A couple of frightening experiences, a few teasing words from an old woman who was generally regarded as being several cans short of a six-pack. Suddenly she felt very much as if they had both been lulled to sleep, albeit in different ways, conned into playing along ever since that first day they had driven into town. Maybe she’d had the wrong idea after all. Maybe they couldn’t change the future.

What am I supposed to do? Will you tell me that, please?

No answer.

A moment later the door opened, and Stowe walked back in and dropped the bombshell she realized she had been waiting for all along.

“I’ve got the results.”

“So, what do I have?” she asked. She could not read the expression on his face. “A cold? Stomach virus?”

“I don’t know how to say this.”

“What? Am I going to die, or something?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Well?”

He took her by the hand. “You’re pregnant,” he said.

Despite the depressed mood of most of the people in town, an admirable effort was made to get the festival off on time. The square was a bustle of activity for most of the day, with Sue Hall presiding. The lawn had been mowed, its edges carefully groomed by Bucky Tarr and his volunteer crew. Booths were constructed and set in place for the selling of pies and cookies and other baked goods supplied by the church board. Various machines for cotton candy and popcorn were delivered and waiting at the town office, and there were a few games for the kids, ring toss and darts. There were balloons and flags of all shapes and colors flying from shop windows, the porches of houses, the gazebo was draped with streamers, and a makeshift sound system was put into place. The maypole rose out of the ground nearby. Colored lights were installed in the lamps along the square and a modest fireworks display was put in place, ready to go off over the river when dusk fell on the following day.

Up at the high school the gymnasium was being prepared for the traditional evening dance, sponsored by the church singles group. The dance had been moved from the gazebo area, where it had been held in years past, to the school, due to the anticipated cold weather during the later hours.

The volunteers were subdued and went about their business
quickly, without the usual excited chatter that marked the day before the yearly event. There were fewer tourists than usual this year, but nobody really seemed to notice. They stepped across the cold, moist ground like they were stepping across hot coals, a few of them wincing in an unconscious gesture of disgust, as if something had moved unexpectedly under their feet. The air was heavy and crackling with electricity, and though the weather report had not said anything about showers, people kept glancing up at the sky. In the distance they could hear the falls, and the sound, normally cheerful, now brought a chill to their raw bodies.

By late afternoon the roar had grown to an unnaturally high pitch, and some trick of the wind occasionally made it seem as if the water was muttering to itself. People had stopped looking up at the sky by then. The patterns in the clouds made them feel uneasy.

At first she had been stunned by the news, then angry; why now, why this way? She had always wanted to have a child someday, but she wanted it to be a planned pregnancy, she wanted to be married. But the more she thought about it the better she felt. They were in love, weren’t they? That was the important thing. She felt the new life growing within her, a life dependent on her love and protection, and a new and welcome emotion overwhelmed her. She did want to have his child. It was right, after all; she felt it in her heart.

But what would Billy say? Would he be happy (she wanted him to be; oh, how she wanted it), or would he turn his back on her?

He would have to see her now.

They arrived at the police station and asked the deputy at the front desk to see the sheriff. A moment later Pepper came out from in back, adjusting his belt over his sagging stomach, wiping his hands on the shirt of his uniform and leaving dark streaks. His usually pink face was pale, and his eyes looked tired.

“Hello, Doc, Ma’am. What can I do you for?”

Stowe stepped forward. “You know damn well what I want.”

Pepper shrugged. “I told you, Harry, I won’t release him on bail until I talk to the judge, and that I won’t do until Monday morning. He’s a flight risk. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

“You can’t hold him.”

“I can, and I will. We caught him in the act, Harry, and I’ve got a witness to the whole thing. Myrtle spied him climbing the fence.”

“Jesus Christ, Claude—”

“Look, I’ve got to get down to the square, there’s a million things to look after today. My advice to you is, get him a good lawyer.”

“I’m his wife,” Angel said, cutting in and stepping forward. “I want to see him.”

Pepper shook his head. “He’s refused all visitors, like I told you before. I can’t force him to talk to anybody.”

She stepped past his large bulk, going for the door to the back, and he grabbed her arm. She wrenched free. “I’m going to see him, Sheriff. If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to arrest me.”

For a moment, she thought he might do it. Then he sighed, waved his hand, and said, “Five minutes. That’s all. And Harry stays here.”

She found him in the last of three cells, lying on his bed. He did not move when she stopped in front of his barred door. The change in him was dramatic. He looked wasted, beaten. His clothes were rumpled, his hair oily and limp, his face an eggshell white except for two dark circles under his eyes.

Had he started drinking again? Was that it? For the first time, she acknowledged her fear of what might happen if he did start again, but she did not let the fear take her over.

She called out his name. He did not move, did not even look at her. “Go away.” His voice was flat and empty.

“I won’t,” she said. “Not until you tell me what’s happened.”

“I want to be alone.”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and angrily brushed them away with her fingertips. “Damn it, I want to help you. I thought we were in this together. Why are you shutting me out?”

This time he turned his head, and the haunted look in his eyes almost broke her heart; so full of sadness and pain. “You don’t understand anything. We were wrong to come here. We were wrong about everything.”

“No,” she said. “Not all of it. We weren’t wrong about you and me. I love you. I want to be with you.”
Say it, go
ahead. I’m pregnant, Billy
.

But she could not. He turned away and smiled, but there was no humor in his expression. She recoiled from it as if she had been struck. How could she tell him about the baby now?

“Just go. Run, get as far away as you can. It used us, understand? We’re just a couple of pawns in a very old, very sick game. The only thing you can do is get out of here before it’s too late.”

“I won’t leave you,” she said. The tears were running down her face now, and she couldn’t stop them. “I don’t care what you say. I won’t.”

“Please.” He turned to her again, and she saw he was close to tears himself. “You’re making things worse.”

She stepped up to the bars, closed her eyes and before she realized what she meant to do, she was opening herself up like a flower, searching for him, feeling something flex and reach out from inside her mind. The slightest bit of resistance, as if she had placed her hand against a pool of warm water, and then…

She had not known for sure if she could do it. She had
not tried before, other than that brief moment at Annie’s the previous week. But he was there, and she knew it was him like she knew the lines of her own face. For a moment she felt his naked surprise at her entry, a wave of quick, half-formed thoughts leaping out at her, and then a glimmer of something horrible held deep down that was tearing him up inside.

It was as if a door had slammed shut, pushing her back, and she found herself inside her own mind again, bruised and aching. She winced.

“Don’t
ever
do that.” He was sitting up and staring at her, the black pouches under his eyes like bruises from a beating. “Believe me. You won’t like what you see.”

She turned from him, sobbing, her earlier determination seeping from her like blood from a wound. She could not tell him, not like this; he was not himself.

Or was this the real Billy Smith? Had she been just fooling herself, thinking she had come to know him?

High in the western hills, Jeb Taylor stood on the Rock as dusk fell over the town. From here, the lights in the houses along the square looked like a ring of fire, burning faintly against the coming of the night. A breeze sprang up, ruffling his hair and bringing color to his cheeks. The words to a familiar song came to him;
Goddamn, doctor man,’ fraid
I’m going insane
…

Insanity no longer bothered him. Now, he embraced the true meaning in it. Not a loss of control, no; a release, a freedom from the chains of the mind. Insanity was only a name given to something ordinary people could not understand. The power was like a drug, like electricity, he could feel it thrumming in his veins. He owned this town. It was his to do with as he pleased. This was his destiny. This was what he had been waiting for all those lonely years, the power to rule the world and then bring about its destruction.

Somewhere deep inside, a very small, very weak voice
tried to raise a final protest.
It’s not really you they want,
don’t you see, they’re going to throw you away when they’re
done, what do you have to offer them?

But it was much too late for that. He laughed at the voice, ridiculed it. Of course they wanted him. It had been him all along. His father told him so.

Didn’t I tell you, boy? You’ll have your revenge. Gonna
give you a little taste now, whet your appetite. Then we got
work to do before I introduce you to the boss. You ready?

Yes. The amulet pulsed softly against his skin, slowly, then faster. He raised his arms high over his head, and screamed it into the wind. He was ready, all right.

He had been waiting for a very long time.

Thunder rumbled. All through town, restless bodies tossed and turned in their beds. Sheriff Pepper dreamed of monstrous, slobbering beasts with red eyes and yellow teeth, chained to walking corpses with rotting faces. Myrtle Howard, finishing her copy of
Love Music
and turning out the light, found herself staring up at the pale white ceiling, wondering about drug addicts and demon cults and what they did to women they found alone in bed at night. Harry Stowe could not sleep either; in the faint glow of his nightlight his guilt returned, and he thought of Ruth Taylor lying at the foot of the stairs, her eyes not glazed and sightless, but clear and bright, and fixing him with an accusing stare.

At the jail, two people in separate cells rode the backs of their shame through the night, each of them hearing the soft, seductive whispers of absent lovers, their dreams filled with fire and flood and murder—until one was awakened by his lover coming home. And at the Old Mill Inn, a lonely woman in an empty bed held a pillow to her chest, and dreamed of a man with a ruined face, bending to kiss her lips.

Across the square an unnatural light flickered at the windows of the Thomas mansion. Sounds emanated from within; low, rhythmic chants, the words guttural and possessed with a
deep and heady power. The sound joined the rolls of thunder from the sky, separated, joined again.

As the thunder lulled and the voices ceased abruptly, the grandfather clock in the empty study sprang to life. Dusty gears clicked together, whirred, ending a decade of silence. The heavy pendulum began to swing behind the foggy glass. The clock chimed once, twice, three times, four. All the way through twelve.

The minute hand fell into place with a soft click. Midnight. May first.