Enter, Night (39 page)

“Elliot, for God’s sake,
get off me
!” Jeremy gave one mighty shove
with his knees into Elliot’s abdomen. He felt Elliot’s body react with
stunned surprise, recoiling just enough for Jeremy to roll over on his
side. As he thrashed his head back and forward trying to dislodge himself
from Elliot’s grip, he felt something thin and cold slither across his throat
from where it had been tucked away behind his head, felt it lodge itself
between his chest and Elliot’s shoulder. An unengaged part of his brain
dully wondered what it could be, then realized. Jeremy never thought of
it, mostly because he hadn’t taken it off since his confirmation years ago,
however many times he thought he ought to, all things considered. The
St. Christopher’s medal his mother had given him, telling him not that it
would protect him, but rather that terrible things would happen to him
if he ever dared remove it.

There was a sudden dazzling flash of blue light in the bedroom, and
a popping sound, like a sparking electrical plug.

Elliot screamed and leaped off the bed with supernormal agility,
clutching his shoulder and crouching against the wall like an injured
animal.

Jeremy scrambled off the bed and turned on the bedside lamp. In
the nanoseconds between the act of switching on the lamp and his eyes
growing accustomed to the sudden brightness after the darkness before,
what he saw seemed to shimmer and transform as he watched. A naked
monster squatted in front of the wall, a monster with a bloodless white
face, a mouth full of sharp white teeth, and an expression of terrible,
thwarted hunger and injury as it clutched the place where it had been
burned, its eyes full of hate.

Jeremy’s vision swam, blurred, and then cleared as his eyes adjusted
to the light.
No, it’s not a monster. How did I see a monster? It’s just Elliot,
holding his shoulder. Elliot burned himself on something. A wire? Did
something happen with the lamp cord?

Elliot’s breath hissed painfully through his clenched teeth—normal
teeth, not wolf’s teeth.

“Elliot, what the hell? Are you all right? What were you doing?”

“Jem, get out of here. I mean it. Leave. Now.”

“Your shoulder. What happened to your shoulder? What the
fuck
happened just now? Did you burn yourself on something?”

Elliot tore the cover off the bed and wrapped it around himself.
“Jeremy, get out of here! I mean it! Get your fucking clothes on and go! I
don’t want to see you here; I never wanted to see you here! Why can’t you
take a fucking hint! Leave me alone!”

He lashed out, his fist catching Jeremy across the chin. Jeremy felt
the impact thrum though his face, making his eyes water and his ears
ring with it. Jeremy touched his face in pain and shock, and stepped back.
He stared at Elliot for what seemed like a very long time.

“You don’t know what you want, Elliot,” Jeremy said quietly. “That’s
always been your problem. It was your problem when we were kids, and
it’s still your problem now. I’ll leave. Believe me. I won’t ever bother you
again.”

Jeremy turned his back on Elliot and dressed quickly, pulling on his
jeans and turtleneck in a sequence of short, angry movements. Behind
him, he heard Elliot begin to sob.

“I’m sick, Jem. I’m really, really sick. Help me, Jem. Help me. I’m
changing into something terrible. I can feel it.”

“You’re not sick, Elliot,” Jeremy said tiredly. “You’re just a coward.
Maybe I was a coward, too, for running away. Maybe I was an idiot now
for coming to your house and falling into . . . well, what we did just now.
Trying to go back in time. But you know what? I really loved you. I thought
we could at least be friends. But I’m done. I wish you well—I mean that.
But I’m finished.”

“Jem, please . . . I’m sorry I hit you! I’m sorry about . . . well, what
happened. But please don’t leave me alone here. There’s something wrong
with me. I’m sick. I’m afraid that something awful is going to happen to
me if you leave. I’m not strong like you are, Jem. Don’t leave me here.”

“Elliot, I’m sorry, too. I really and truly am. But I never should have
come back.”

Jeremy walked out of the bedroom into the living room, and then
out the front door to where the Chevelle was parked. It took everything
in him not to look back.

In the time he’d spent with Elliot, the sky had darkened and now a
cold rain was falling. Martina Street looked dirtier than it had when he’d
pulled up.

Above him, Jeremy heard a thunderclap. He tucked his head down
and ran for the Chevelle just as great knives of icy rain began slicing from
the sky. He hoped Christina had stayed put in the library where it was
warm and dry. He’d stop by and pick her up on his way to Parr House, and
tell her that they were leaving the Landing as soon as humanly possible.

Jeremy swore to God that even if he had to steal the money from
Adeline, or even kill her for it, he was going to get himself and Christina
and Morgan out of Parr’s Landing, away from the sundry monsters that
had been waiting for them for all these years.

“The rain is here,”
Adeline Parr announced to Billy Lightning, as
though she were speaking of an outdoor servant who tended her
gardens fortnightly but who came to the back door and never crossed
the threshold. “It was inevitable. Fall is so fickle this far north.” Adeline
pressed her lips together in a delicate moue of regret. The expertly
applied dark red lipstick and her sky-blue tailored wool dress, to which
was affixed a parure of sapphires and diamonds in the form of a brooch
shaped like a maple leaf, provided the colour in the gloom of the dining
room. “We’ve been having too many good days in a row,” she added. “It’s
been
such
a lovely autumn so far.”

Adeline had greeted him at the door of Parr House herself, ushering
him into the dining room as though he were a visiting dignitary. On the
way, she’d given him a brief lecture on the history of the house. She’d
touched on this history of the mines, and pointed out the oil portraits
of the various men in her husband’s family who had brought it to
prominence, and when they’d lived and died. Over lunch, she’d expounded
on the history of the town, demonstrating a remarkable knowledge of
the history of the doomed Jesuit mission of St. Barthélemy.

Billy had eaten some of the jellied freshwater eel that the cook,
Beatrice, had placed in front of him (“So yummy!” Adeline had trilled,
rubbing her small white hands together in a way that somehow managed
to communicate mirth, but which struck him as faintly ogrish, and
which made Billy wonder if, somehow, Adeline was mocking him.) He
ate it out of politeness, but Mrs. Parr didn’t seem particularly surprised
or bothered when he helped himself to two more rolls of bread from the
basket, leaving the plate of eel—to Billy’s tastes, disgusting—more or
less untouched.

He had remained quiet when she opined that he was likely grateful
for the sacrifices of the Jesuit martyrs who had died in an attempt
to help his “people” come out of ignorance and savagery and into the
light of Jesus Christ. He didn’t remain quiet out of intimidation, as he
surmised she would think, but because he was curious about why she’d
invited him to this gothic fun house on the hill. His academic training
had been significantly involved in research, and an essential component
of research, especially when it came to oral history, was to let the subject
talk, no matter what.

And if the pretentious, arrogant white woman at the other end of
the table wanted to go on about the weather, she was welcome to, at least
for now.

He smiled politely. “I didn’t hear the rain, Mrs. Parr,” he said. “How
do you know it’s raining?”

“Young man,” she said. “I know every creak and patter in this house.
I can practically hear the seasons changing. I heard the rain on the roof
when it began—on several of the roofs, actually.” She laughed self deprecatingly as though she’d made a witticism. “It’s a rather large house,
as you can see. Some members of my family have come to stay, including
my granddaughter.” Adeline took a small bite of the jellied eel. Her lips
barely moved when she chewed. “It’s all been tremendous fun, and so
lovely that they’ve all come to see their old granny,” she added, touching
the heavy linen napkin to her lips. “Any house is so much less grim and
vast when it’s full of family, don’t you think?”

“Of course,” Billy replied. “And I met your daughter-in-law in town. I
believe you already know that. I was so sorry to hear of your son’s passing.
He sounds like he was a fine man.”

“Indeed he was,” Adeline said curtly. Her face suddenly blank
and uninviting of any further discussion on the topic. “Thank you.”
With visible effort, she softened her face and smiled. “Dr. Lightning, I
understand that you, too, have recently suffered a bereavement. Your
adoptive father?”

“My
father,
” he corrected her gently. “Yes, Mrs. Parr. He died earlier
this year.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Billy thought he detected something shift in
her face. For an instant, he could have sworn that he’d seen something
real break through Adeline Parr’s honed-to-perfection Lady of the Manor
routine. And then it was gone, if it had been there at all. “Had he been ill?”

“No, he was in fine health.” Billy paused. He was unsure of how much
more personal he wanted to get with this woman until he had a clear idea
of what she wanted.

Adeline’s tone managed to be both solicitous and peremptory at the
same time. “Then . . . ? How did he . . . what happened to your adoptive
father?”

“He was murdered, Mrs. Parr,” Billy said, ignoring her second
reference to his adoptive status. “He was killed by someone who broke
into his house near the university. Whoever it was killed him and stole
some personal artefacts related to his work.” Billy paused, studying
her face. “He was working on a book pertaining to the history of this
region—the mystery surrounding the destruction of the Jesuit mission
of St. Barthélemy, in particular. And the history of the unexplained
occurrences.”

Adeline blanched. “
Murdered
?”

“Mrs. Parr, are you all right?” Billy leaned forward across the table
as though to catch her. She appeared to have aged twenty-five years in
the span of seconds. Billy saw her skull beneath the flawless makeup
and carefully styled hair. Her skeleton, wearing flesh and an expensive
sky blue dress, slumped in the dining room chair. The falling silverware
clattered loudly on the polished floor of the dining room.

“Mrs. Parr? What’s wrong? Are you all right? Shall I call someone?”

Slowly the colour returned to Adeline’s face. When she spoke, her
voice was weak. “Do they know who . . . do they know who it was?”

“No, the police don’t,” Billy said. “Mrs. Parr, again—are you all right?”

“I knew your father, Dr. Lightning. We . . . he was a fine man. I
remember that awful business with that student of his, what was his
name? The one in 1952?”

Billy suddenly felt the room was oppressively warm. “Richard Weal.
His name was Richard Weal. Why do you ask?”

“Your adoptive father was . . . we stayed in touch, Dr. Lightning. Not
often, mind you. More out of
courtesy
. He was a very courteous man. He
was quite . . . he was quite disturbed by what happened that summer. He
expressed it to me several times.”

“Mrs. Parr, why are you telling me all this? Do you know something
about what happened to my father? Did my father . . . were you and he
frequently in touch?”

“No,” she said sharply. “As I
said
. . . we were very sporadically in
touch.”

“Mrs. Parr, you just said that my father expressed to you several
times that he was ‘disturbed’ by Richard Weal. The dig ended when
Richard was arrested.
When
did you and my father discuss Richard Weal?
And for how long? Recently? Please tell me!”

Adeline closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Dr. Lightning. I feel rather faint.
I’m going to go and lie down now.” She reached for the silver bell next to
her plate and rang it. From behind the swinging door that connected the
dining room to the kitchen, Beatrice approached to clear the table. “I’m
so sorry about your adoptive father,” Adeline said.

The hostess voice was back, weaker of course, but evident. Billy
pictured a curtain being drawn. In a few seconds, any chance of getting
any information out of Mrs. Parr would vanish.

“Mrs. Parr, if you know something about Richard Weal and my father,
please tell me,” Billy said urgently. “I believe Richard Weal killed my father.
The police don’t believe me—they insist he’s dead. I don’t believe he is.
I believe he’s come back here, looking for whatever he thought wanted
him in 1952. At least one person is dead in a town not far from here,
and a boy from Parr’s Landing found a bag full of bloody archaeological
hammers up on Spirit Rock yesterday. Please. I’m begging you—tell me
what you know, if you know anything.”

But the curtain had closed. Adeline’s eyes were again bright, her
expression impermeable. “Ah, Beatrice,” she said brightly. “Yes, you can
clear now. The eel was absolutely delicious. You’ve outdone yourself yet
again.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Beatrice said dutifully.

Adeline smiled at Billy, inclining her head slightly like a queen
preparing to accept a visiting ambassador’s gratitude and admiration
for her kingdom’s hospitality. “Did you enjoy your lunch, Dr. Lightning?
The eel? Oh, I do hope you did. Dr. Lightning is a famous professor from
Michigan, Beatrice,” Adeline continued, turning to the cook. “He spent
some time here in the Landing as a young man. It just didn’t seem right
to let such an illustrious guest pass through our little town without
visiting Parr House, don’t you agree?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Beatrice began to clear away the plates. She bent down
to pick up the cutlery at Adeline’s feet, placing it without a word on the
empty plate she carried.