Divine Evil (4 page)

There was a ballpoint pen and a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses in the pocket of his sports coat. He always wore sports coats and shiny black, laced shoes. Cam couldn't
recall seeing Atherton in tennis shoes, or jeans or shorts. He was fifty-two and looked like what he was, a high school science teacher and public servant. He had been mayor of Emmitsboro, hardly a full-time job, since Cam was a teenager. It was an arrangement that suited Atherton and the town perfectly.

“Coffee?” Cam asked and automatically signaled for the waitress, though she was already heading their way, pot in hand.

“Thank you, Alice,” Atherton said as she poured.

“Get you some breakfast, Mayor?”

“No, I had mine already.” But he eyed the plastic cake plate on the counter. “Those doughnuts fresh?”

“Just this morning.”

He gave a little sigh as he added cream and two whopping spoons of sugar to his coffee. “I don't suppose you've got any of those apple-filled-with the cinnamon on top?”

“Got one with your name on it.” Alice gave him a wink and walked off to fetch the doughnut.

“No willpower,” Atherton said as he took his first delicate sip of coffee. “Between you, me, and the gatepost, it frustrates the wife that I can eat like a horse and never put on weight.”

“How is Mrs. Atherton?”

“Min's just fine. Got a bake sale going this morning over at the middle school. Trying to raise money for new band uniforms.” After Alice set his doughnut in front of him, Atherton picked up a knife and fork. His napkin was spread neatly over his lap.

Cam had to smile. No slurping up sticky apple chunks for the mayor. Atherton's neatness was as dependable as a sunrise.

“Heard you had an unusual disturbance last night.” “A nasty one.” Cam could still see the dark, gaping
grave. He picked up his cooling coffee. “We took pictures last night and roped off the site. I drove by early this morning. The ground was hard and dry. No footprints. The place was neat as a pin.”

“Kids, perhaps, playing an early Halloween prank?”

“My first thought,” Cam admitted. “But it doesn't feel right. Kids aren't usually so tidy.”

“It's unfortunate and upsetting.” Atherton ate his doughnut in small bites, chewing and swallowing before speaking. “In a town like ours, we don't expect this kind of nonsense. The fact that it was an old grave and there are no relatives around to be affected helps, of course.” Atherton set down his fork, dusted his fingers on his napkin, then picked up his cup. “In a few days, the talk will die down, and people will forget. But I wouldn't like to see such an incident repeated.” He smiled then, just as he did when a slow student managed to cop an A. “I know you'll handle it all with discretion, Cameron. Just let me know if I can help in any way.”

“I'll do that.”

After taking out his wallet, Atherton drew two crisp, uncreased singles out, then tucked the corners under the empty plate. “I'll be on my way, then. I have to put in an appearance at the bake sale.”

Cam watched him stroll out, exchange waves with a few pedestrians, and walk down Main.

He spent the rest of the day with paperwork and routine patrols. But before sundown, he drove out to the cemetery again. For nearly thirty minutes, he stayed there, brooding down at the small, empty grave.

Carly Jamison was fifteen and mad at the world. Her parents were the first focus of her disgust. They didn't understand
what it was like to be young. They were so dull, living in their stupid house in stupid Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Good old Marge and Fred, she thought with a snort as she shifted her backpack and walked backward, thumb stuck out jauntily, on the verge of Route 15 South.

Why don't you wear pretty clothes like your sister? Why don't you study and get good grades like your sister? Why can't you keep your room clean like your sister?

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

She hated her sister, too, picture-perfect Jennifer with her holier-than-thou attitude and preppy clothes. Jennifer the A student who was going to freaking Harvard on a freaking scholarship to study freaking medicine.

As her red Converse high tops scrunched over gravel, she imagined a doll with pale blond hair that fell into perfect curves around a perfect heart-shaped face. The baby blue eyes stared blankly, and there was a superior smile on the full, lovely mouth.

Hi, I'm Jennifer
, the doll would say when you pulled the string.
I'm perfect. I do whatever I'm told and do it just right.

Then Carly imagined dropping the doll off a high building and watching its perfect face smash onto the concrete.

Shit, she didn't want to be like Jennifer. Digging in the pocket of her girdle-tight jeans, she hooked a crumpled pack of cigarettes. One Marlboro left, she thought in disgust. Well, she had a hundred and fifty dollars, and there was bound to be a store somewhere along the route.

She lit the cigarette with a red disposable Bic-red was her signature color-stuffed the lighter back in her pocket, and carelessly tossed the empty pack aside. She cursed halfheartedly at the cars that rumbled past her. Her luck at hitching rides had been pretty good so far, and
since the day was cloudless and pleasantly cool, she didn't mind the walk.

She would hitch all the way to Florida, to Fort Lauderdale, where her asshole parents had refused to let her go to enjoy spring break. She was too young. She was always either too young or too old, depending on her parents′ mood, to do whatever the hell it was she wanted.

Christ, they don't know anything, she thought, tossing her head so her spiky cap of scarlet hair ruffled around her face. The three earrings she wore in her left ear danced in mad circles.

She wore a denim jacket nearly covered with patches and pins, and a red T-shirt with a Bon Jovi decal splashed across her chest. Her tight jeans were slashed liberally at the knees. A dozen slim bracelets jangled on one arm. Two Swatch watches adorned the other.

She was five-four and a hundred and ten pounds. Carly was proud of her body, which had only really begun to blossom the year before. She liked to show it off in tight clothes that scandalized and enraged her parents. But it gave her pleasure. Particularly since Jennifer was thin and flat-chested. Carly considered it a major triumph that she had beat her sister at something, even if it was only bust size.

They thought she was sexually active, with Justin Marks, in particular, and watched her like ghouls. Just waiting for her to pop up and say, hey, I'm pregnant. Sexually active, she thought and snorted. That was the term they liked to use to show they were up-to-date.

Well, she hadn't let Justin do it to her yet-not that he didn't want to. She just wasn't ready for the big one. Maybe once she got to Florida, she'd change her mind.

Turning to walk forward for a while, she adjusted her prescription sunglasses. She hated the fact that she was
nearsighted and lately had refused to wear corrective lenses unless they were tinted. Since she had lost two pairs of contacts, her parents had nixed the idea of buying her more.

So, she'd get her own, Carly thought. She'd get a job in Florida, and she wouldn't ever go back to pissy PA. She'd get some of those Durasoft ones that would turn her dumb hazel eyes into a perfect sky blue.

She wondered if they were looking for her yet. Probably not. What did they care anyway? They had Jennifer the Great. Her eyes watered, and she blinked back tears furiously. It didn't matter. The hell with all of them.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

They would think she was in school being bored shitless with U.S. history. Who the fuck cared what old farts signed the Declaration of Independence? Today, she was signing her own. She'd never have to sit in a classroom again or listen to lectures on cleaning her room or turning down her music or not wearing so much makeup.

What's wrong with you, Carly?
her mother would always ask.
Why do you act this way? I don't understand you.

Damn straight she didn't understand. No one did.

Carly turned around, sticking her thumb out again. But she wasn't feeling so cheerful. She'd been on the road four hours, and her defiance was rapidly turning to self-pity. As a tractor-trailer zoomed by, kicking dust in her face, she briefly considered moving across the asphalt and heading north, and home again.

The hell with that, she thought, straightening her slumping shoulders. She wasn't going back. Let them come looking for her. She wanted so badly for them to come looking for her.

With a little sigh, she moved off the gravel onto the grassy slope, toward some shade, where she sat down.
There was a rusty barbed-wire fence behind which cows lolled lazily. In her pack with her bikini, her Levi's wallet, hot pink shorts, and extra T-shirt was a duo of Hostess cupcakes. She ate both, licking the chocolate and filling from her fingers as she watched the cows graze.

She wished she'd thought to stick a couple of cans of Coke in the pack. As soon as she found some little hick town, she would buy some, and more Marlboros. Glancing at her watches, she saw that it was just past noon. The school cafeteria would be crowded and noisy now. She wondered what the other kids would think when they found out she'd hitched all the way to Florida. Man, they'd be green. It was probably the coolest thing she'd ever done. They'd really pay attention then. Everyone would pay attention.

She dozed awhile and woke cramped and groggy. After swinging on her pack, she tromped back to the edge of the road and cocked her thumb.

Christ, she was dying of thirst. Crumbs from the cupcakes seemed to be lodged like pebbles in her throat. And she wanted another smoke. Her spirits lifted a bit when she hiked past a sign.

Sounded like Hicksboro, but as long as they sold Coke Classic and Marlboros, it was fine by her.

She was delighted when, in less than ten minutes, a pickup slowed and pulled over. Earrings and bracelets jangling, she trotted to the passenger door. The guy inside looked like a farmer. He had big hands with thick fingers and wore a baseball-style cap with some feed-and-grain store advertised over the bill. The truck smelled pleasantly of hay and animals.

“Thanks, mister.” She hopped into the cab of the truck. “Where you heading?” “South,” she told him. “Florida.”

“Long trip.” His gaze skimmed her backpack before he pulled out on the road again. “Yeah.” She shrugged. “Well.” “Going to visit relatives?”

“No. Just going.” She shot him a defiant look, but he smiled.

“Yeah, I know how that is. I can take you as far as Seventy, but I got to make a stop first.”

“Hey, that's cool.” Pleased with herself, Carly settled back.

Deep in the woods, deep into the night, the cold, clear note of a bell sounded. As the moon rode high in a black sky, the circle of thirteen chanted. They sang a song of death.

The altar writhed and strained. Her vision was blurred because they'd taken away her glasses and given her some kind of injection when they'd tied her up. Her mind seemed to be floating up and down. But deep inside it, there was an ice-cold fear.

She knew she was naked, that her arms and legs were spread wide and tied down. But she didn't know where she was, and her groggy mind couldn't pin down how she had gotten there.

The man in the truck, she thought, straining. He'd picked her up. He'd been a farmer. Hadn't he? They'd stopped by his farm. She was almost sure of that. Then he'd turned on her. She'd fought him, but he'd been strong, awfully strong. Then he'd hit her with something.

The rest was all a blur. Being tied up in a dark place. How
long had she been there? An hour, a day? Men coming, talking in whispers. Then the prick of a needle in her arm.

She was outside again. She could see the moon and the stars. She could smell smoke. It rolled in her head, as did the silver ring of the bell. And the chanting. She couldn't make out the words, foreign maybe. They didn't make sense.

She wept a little, wanting her mother.

She turned her head and saw the black-clad figures. They had animal heads, like something out of a horror movie. Or a dream. It was a dream, she promised herself as her eyes heated with tears. She'd wake up. Her mother would come in and wake her for school any minute, and all of this would go away.

It had to be a dream. She knew there were no such things as creatures with men's bodies and animals′ heads. Monsters only existed in movies and stuff, the kind she and Sharie Murray rented for the VCR when they had a sleep-over.

The thing with the goat's head put a silver cup between her breasts. In her drugged state she wondered how it could be that she could actually feel the cold metal against her flesh. Did you feel things when you were dreaming?

He lifted his arms high, and his voice boomed inside her head. He placed a black candle between her thighs.

She began to cry hard now, afraid she wasn't dreaming. Yet everything was shifting in and out of focus, and the sounds seemed to come from very far away. There were shouts and wails and keening, much too human a sound to come from those horrible animal heads.

He tipped the cup over, pouring the liquid in it down her body. It smelled like blood. She whimpered. He was touching her, drawing signs on her body with the red liquid. She could see his eyes gleam in the goat's head as he
began to do things to her with his all too human hands, things her mother had warned her would happen if she hitched rides and teased boys.

Even through her fear, she felt shame, a hot, liquid sensation in her belly.

Then they were naked, the men beneath the cloaks and the heads of goats and wolves and lizards.

Even before the first one crouched above her, his penis hard and ready, she knew she would be raped. At the first thrust, she screamed. And the sound echoed, mocking and hollow, through the trees.

They sucked at her blood-spattered breasts, making horrible grunting sounds as they lapped and suckled. She gagged and struggled weakly as her mouth was savagely raped. Growling and keening, they pinched and nipped and pumped.

They were wild, all of them, dancing and capering and groaning as each one took his turn with her. Heartless, heedless, even as her screams turned to sobs and sobs to mindless mewling.