Right Hand of Evil (27 page)

The music blared.

She stepped through the door so she was standing on the landing at the top of the stairs, gazing down into the darkness.

The darkness, and the faint point of light that leaked through the keyhole of the door to Jared's room.

Just like in the dream…

Don't,
Kim told herself.
Just don't go down there.

But even as the words filled her mind, her feet began carrying her down the staircase. With each step she took, the rhythms of the music reached deeper into her, and the point of light drew her steadily onward. At the bottom of the stairs she stood before the door to Jared's room.

She paused, listening.

Now she could hear more than just the music itself.

Whispered voices, and faint, mocking laughter.

And moans.

Moans of ecstasy.

She was in Jared's room! Sandy was in Jared's room!.

Kim's hand reached for the knob, but she stopped herself as the memory of the pagan cathedral she'd seen in her dream-the cathedral that had turned into a chamber of horror-rose in her mind. What if it wasn't a dream? What if everything she'd seen were somehow real? What if Sandy really was-

Unable to finish the thought, Kim turned away from the door and hurried back up the stairs, then shut the basement door behind her and leaned against it.

What should she do?

Should she wake up her parents?

Sandy would never forgive her!

But if she was with Jared and Luke-

Kim felt as if she were caught in another nightmare, but this time she knew it wasn't a dream. This time it was real. From behind her the music reached through the door, and she could almost feel its tentacles sinking into her once again, as it had in the nightmare, trying to draw her back down into the basement.

Just as in her dream, her fingers closed on her aunt's tiny cross, and as she felt it in her hand, her resolve strengthened. She left the door to the basement and made her way back to the entry hall.

As she started up the great staircase toward the second floor, the waves of music receded, loosening their grip on her.

At her parents' door, she hesitated.

Whatever was going on in Jared's room wasn't any of her business.

No one had forced Sandy to go down there.

And if she told on her, Sandy would never speak to her again.

Silently, Kim made her way around the mezzanine to her own room, easing her door open just far enough to slip inside, praying it wouldn't creak. Just as she was closing it behind her, she realized her room wasn't empty.

Kim froze, listening.

Breathing! She could hear the sound of breathing!

Once again her heart began to race, but even as her fear built, she moved her hand slowly toward the light switch on the wall. When she finally felt it beneath her fingers, she drew in her breath and held it.

She flipped the switch, and the chandelier in the middle of the ceiling glared into brilliant light, washing the darkness from the room.

Sandy Engstrom sat bolt upright in Kim's bed, clutching the sheets around her neck. For a long second the two girls stared at each other in shock, then Sandy collapsed back against the pillows, giggling. "What are you doing?" she asked when she finally subsided. "You scared me half to death!"

"I didn't even know you were up here," Kim began. "I thought-" She was about to blurt out the truth when she caught herself. "I woke up, and you were gone, and I thought you must have gone home or something. How come you didn't wake me up?"

Sandy rolled her eyes exactly as Kim had when she herself had been frightened by watching
Scream.
"I tried," she said. "When the movie ended, I tried to wake you up, but finally I just gave up and came up and went to bed." She looked at the clock. It was just past three A.M. "Do you always sleep that hard?"

Kim shook her head. "I thought-" She hesitated, then shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what I thought," she finally finished.

She got undressed and slid into bed next to her friend.

Should she tell Sandy about the nightmare?

No. She didn't even want to remember it herself.

But long after Sandy had fallen back to sleep, Kim lay awake as the details of the dream came back to hang in the darkness in front of her.

Over and over, she witnessed the wanton scene on the bloody altar, saw over and over again the face of the demon that had reached out to her. As the night crept on, she tried to banish the visions, but failed.

It was only as the rising sun drove back the dark that the demons finally released Kim from their grip and let her sleep.

Even then she could still feel the throbbing rhythms from the basement as the tentacles of Jared's music reached out to ensnare her.

She slept, but she didn't rest.

It was a dream. It had to have been a dream. Yet even now, with the morning sun flooding through the windows, Kim could remember every detail. She lay staring up at the ceiling while the horrifying images-the impossible images-she'd seen last night recurred in her mind like some insanely repeating videotape, endlessly replaying the same sequence.

Beside her, Sandy Engstrom stirred, then sat up, rubbing her eyes. Seeing Kim was awake, she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, then eyed Kim warily. "If I tell you about a dream I had, will you promise not to tell anybody?" she asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I mean, not a soul!"

A flicker of foreboding flashed through Kim, but she nodded.

Sandy's eyes gleamed, and even in the warmth of the morning she shivered with remembered pleasure. "It was about Jared."

Kim's stomach knotted as she was consumed by a terrible feeling that she didn't want to hear what Sandy was about to tell her. But she heard herself say, "I promise. I won't tell a soul."

Sandy hugged her legs more tightly to her chest and sighed. "It was really weird," she began. "I was sound asleep, and then I started to wake up. I could feel someone touching me, but I wasn't scared at all. It felt really wonderful. And when I was wide awake, he took me somewhere. It was the most beautiful place I've ever seen. Oh, God, Kim, you should have seen it! It looked kind of like a church, but a lot more beautiful than any church I've ever been in!"

No! Kim thought.
It's not possible!

As she listened to Sandy, Kim recalled the details of her own dream, in which she'd watched Luke making love to her friend.

Could it be that she hadn't been dreaming at all? Her mind reeled as she tried to make sense of the possibility that it had all really happened. But that made no sense, either. The house was big, but none of the rooms was anywhere near as large as the one Sandy described.

The one she herself had seen in her own dream.

Could she have been sleepwalking? Had it been some strange hypnotic state? If not a dream, then what?

"Kim?" Sandy said. "Kim, what's wrong? You look white as a ghost. Are you okay?"

Jerked out of her maelstrom of thoughts, Kim nodded mutely. Should she tell Sandy they'd both had the same dream-
exactly
the same dream?

No way. Sandy would think she was crazy. Besides, they couldn't possibly have had exactly the same dream, so there must be some other explanation.

Something that made sense.

"I-I'm fine," she stammered at last. "I just didn't sleep very well, that's all."

Sandy cocked her head, and for a second Kim had the strange feeling that somehow Sandy was looking right into her. But then the color drained from Sandy's face, and she scrambled out of bed and hurried toward the door.

"Sandy? What is it?"

"S-Sick," Sandy blurted, clapping her hand over her mouth as she rushed out into the hall. Moments later Kim heard the muffled sounds of Sandy throwing up in the bathroom next door.

Getting out of bed, Kim hurried toward the bathroom, where her friend was kneeling on the floor in front of the toilet. A racking seizure hit Sandy, and she retched into the toilet, a blackish fluid spewing from her mouth.

As Kim ran cold water in the sink, soaked a hand towel and pressed it against Sandy's forehead, another spume of vomit burst from Sandy's mouth into the toilet bowl.

When the seizure passed, Sandy took the wet towel from Kim and eased away from the toilet. Not trusting herself to stand, she leaned against the wall and wiped her face with the towel.

"I'll get my mom," Kim said, then flushed the toilet and opened the bathroom window to let the rancid odor escape.

"Don't," Sandy said, pushing off from the wall and steadying herself against the sink. "I-I think I'm okay now. I don't want my mother to know."

"But if you're sick-" Kim began, but Sandy didn't let her finish.

"So I got sick! Remember what I ate last night?" She groaned just thinking about the pizza, potato chips, Fritos, cookies, ice cream, and Cokes they'd consumed. "I'm okay," she said. "Really, just let me take a shower, and I'll be fine."

But Kim wondered. She'd eaten nearly as much as Sandy. If it was the food, why wasn't she sick, too?

Kim stood at the top of the basement stairs, staring down at the closed door to Jared's room. Jared had left half an hour ago, so the room was empty.

Should she take a look at it? But how could it possibly look like what she'd seen in her dream, and what Sandy Engstrom had described?

But even as she argued with herself, Kim moved down the steep flight of stairs to Jared's door.

Don't do it,
she told herself as her hand went to the doorknob.
It's his room. Whatever he's got in there isn't any of your business.

She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Inside, she saw nothing more than the four black-painted walls, the workbench, Jared's bed, and the mattresses that served as furniture.

No altar.

No stained-glass windows.

Nothing.

A dream,
Kim repeated to herself as she went back upstairs.

It was just a dream.

But she didn't believe it.

Something had happened last night.

Something terrible.

Ellie Roberts eyed her own image worriedly. The mirror on the back of her closet door was so old the silvering was flaking away, but despite the mottled look of her reflection, she knew something was wrong. Maybe she shouldn't go. Maybe she should just take off the dress-her best one, the one she only wore to mass on special holidays-and stay home. But she'd promised Father MacNeill, and a promise was a promise, especially to the man to whom she owed so much. When he'd mentioned the town meeting, it hadn't seemed so much to ask. Ellie knew practically everyone in town, especially the Catholics. She'd grown up with them-known them her whole life. But on the evening Father Mack had asked her, she'd had a bad dream about it, a horrible dream that woke her up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Ellie knew what was causing her bad dreams. Speaking at the meeting.

She had almost gone to Father MacNeill the next morning and told him she'd changed her mind, that she just couldn't do it, couldn't get up in front of the whole town to speak. But she'd put it off all day, and the next day, too, and every day since then. And every night, she woke up with her skin clammy and covered with goose bumps, and a feeling of dread.

And now the night was here and there was no turning back.

Her eyes shifted from the burning face in the mirror to the sparse contents of the closet. Just as she decided her best dress was too dressy and reached for the dark blue outfit she often wore on Sundays, the doorbell rang. Luke called out to her, "Mom! Father MacNeill's here!"

Too late to change.

Her stomach churning, Ellie turned away from the closet, patted her hair nervously as she checked herself out in the mirror one last time, then went out to greet the priest.

"Ellie, you look lovely," Father MacNeill said, reaching out to take both her hands in his own. "I swear, if I weren't a priest you could positively turn my head!"

Ellie felt a flush rise on her face, but pleasure turned to embarrassment as her son spoke.

"What's going on?" Luke demanded. "How come you're all dressed up?"

Before she could reply, Father MacNeill turned to Luke. "We're going to the meeting. Perhaps you'd like to come along."

Luke's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What meeting?"

"To protest the permit the council's considering issuing to convert the old Conway house into an inn."

Luke's expression hardened as his gaze swung accusingly back to his mother. "That's a bunch of crap!"

Ellie's shocked eyes flicked toward Father MacNeill. "Luke! Don't use that kind of language in front of-"

"I'll say whatever I want," Luke declared, his voice rising, his eyes flashing angrily. "Just because you don't like Jared is no reason to-"

"It doesn't have anything to do with Jared Conway," Father MacNeill broke in. Luke swung around to glower at him.

"Bullshit!" he said. "You got it in for Jared same way as Mom does. What the hell's going on?"

"That will be enough, Luke!" Ellie's cheeks burned with shame. "How dare you speak that way to Father MacNeill?" She turned to the priest, her hands playing nervously at the buttons of her dress. "I'm sorry, Father. Ever since he started hanging around with this Jared person-"

"He's not 'this Jared person'!" Luke broke in, his voice trembling with anger. " You don't even know him!"

"I don't have to know him," Ellie said, doing her best to keep her own voice under control. "I know he's a bad influence on you, and that ever since he came to town, you haven't been the boy I raised!"

"Maybe I don't want to be 'the boy you raised,'" Luke shot back, his voice mocking his mother's words with mimicry. "Maybe I want to be whoever I am! Did you ever think of that?"

"I just want you to be the best person you can-"

"No you don't!" Luke flared. "You want me to be whoever Father MacNeill thinks I ought to be. You think I don't see how he runs us? All I ever hear is Father Mack says this and Father Mack says that! So now you're gonna go down and make a jerk out of yourself in front of the whole town, just 'cause Father Mack says so? Jesus!"

"How dare you?" Ellie flared. Her temper snapping, she took a step toward Luke and struck him across the face.

The sound of the slap silenced the room like a shot, and for a moment not even a breath was drawn. Ellie, her hand stinging, froze, and her eyes flicked toward the priest.

Luke's eyes narrowed to slits as he took in his mother's glance, his fingers touching his face where the mark of her hand was already starting to show.

Father MacNeill instinctively took a step back, as if somehow to distance himself from what had just happened.

"That's right, Ma," Luke said, his voice so low it was no more than a rasping whisper. "Hit me. Hit me, then look at Father Mack to see if it's okay." His eyes fixed balefully on the priest. "What about it, Father?" he asked, his voice injecting venom into the priest's appellation. "Did she do all right? Did she do what you wanted her to?"

"I'm sure I can't countenance violence under any circum-" the priest began, but Luke didn't let him finish.

"Don't give me that! You think I don't know what's going on around here? It's Jared! You don't like him, and Ma doesn't like him, and Sister Clarence doesn't like him, and Father Bernard hates his guts. You think I don't know that? You think Jared doesn't know it? Well, guess what,
Father?
Jared's not going anywhere!"

"This has nothing to do with Jared," Father MacNeill replied. The careful neutrality he always tried to maintain when talking to any of his flock had started to crack under Luke's onslaught, and his voice took on a chilly edge. "Although it's obvious his influence on you has not been a positive one. And it isn't just your mother and I who object to the Conway house being turned into a hotel. There are many people who agree with us."

"Not 'us'!" Luke hissed. "You! And I'll bet every single person who agrees with you goes to St. Ignoramus, right?"

"Luke!" Ellie cried, again stepping toward her son, her right hand rising reflexively.

"Don't!" Luke told her. His body quivered with fury as he glowered at her. "Don't you dare hit me again. And don't you go to that meeting, either! You hear what I'm saying?"

"Your mother is free to go anywhere she wishes, young man," Father MacNeill admonished Luke. "And I will not tolerate your speaking that way to her. 'Honor thy father and thy mother that their days may be long'!"

"I don't have a father!" Luke raged. "My father's dead, remember? You're not him." He wheeled on his mother once more. "If you go to that meeting, I hope you get hit by a truck!" Turning away, he stormed toward the front door.

The silence that fell in the living room as Luke slammed the door behind him lasted longer than the one that had followed Ellie's slap.

"He didn't mean it," Ellie finally breathed. "He didn't mean it at all."

Father MacNeill, though, wasn't so sure. To him, it had sounded as if Luke Roberts meant every angry word he'd uttered.

Every single one of them.

"Mommy! Wanta see!"

Janet lifted Molly out of the stroller and held her up so she could see the people milling around in front of Town Hall. Why had she let Ted talk her into bringing Molly? What possible interest could a meeting to discuss a zoning variance have for a sixteen-month-old? Still, what choice had there been? She'd called five possible baby-sitters, but by the time she talked to the fourth one, she knew the search was futile. Two of the girls hung up when she told them who she was, and the other two had excuses that sounded so flimsy, she was sure they'd made them up on the spot. Only the last one had been honest enough to admit that there wasn't enough money in the world to get her to spend even a few hours alone with a small child in "that creepy old house."

"Jared can take care of her," Ted suggested, but Janet shook her head, surprising herself at how quickly she'd dismissed the suggestion. And she stuck to her position, despite Ted's arguments, though she could not bring herself to voice her growing mistrust of her own son.

Mistrust.

How could it be that in the few short weeks since they'd moved to St. Albans, the implicit trust she'd always had in Jared-the certainty that she could always count on him, even when Ted had been at his absolute worst-had completely eroded? And yet there it was. So many little things, slowly accumulating like the tiny trickles of water that eventually merge together to form a mighty river. None of them particularly serious taken individually, and all of them easily explainable. Certainly Ted had explained them to her over and over, reminding her that Jared was almost sixteen and starting to stretch his wings.

Of course he wouldn't spend nearly as much time with his sister as he used to. Of course he'd value the privacy of his room in the basement. All boys his age start testing the limits of authority at school. And at home. Janet had listened, unable to argue, since everything Ted said made complete sense. Yet nothing he'd said, none of the reassurances he'd given her, had counteracted the cumulative effect of all the small changes in Jared's personality.

She no longer trusted him.

Where once she'd felt nothing but a mother's normal surge of love when he came near her, now her guard went up and she felt herself tense.

The same way it used to be with Ted.

She stopped short, realizing that it was a perfect description of how she felt. It was as if all the traits she'd hated in Ted-which had vanished since they moved to St. Albans-had transferred themselves to Jared!

"Honey?" Ted said. "You okay? Want me to take Molly?"

Jerked from her reverie, Janet let Ted lift Molly out of her arms, and as the little girl clung to her father's neck, Janet tried to dismiss the strange idea that had just occurred to her. Yet as Molly snuggled contentedly against her father's chest, burying her face in his shoulder exactly as she used to do with her big brother, the idea only set its roots more deeply in Janet's mind.

"Maybe I should wait outside with Molly," Kim suggested.

With the warmth of Molly's body suddenly gone, Janet felt the fall chill. It was late October, after all. She buttoned her sweater. "I don't think so," she replied. "But if you don't want to go in-"

"I was hoping the whole family would be here," Ted said.

"Then how come you didn't make Jared come?" Kim countered.

Ted smiled sympathetically at his older daughter. "I know it doesn't seem real fair, but I'd sure appreciate it if you'd come in with us. If they see the whole family, how can they turn us down?"

"If they haven't already made up their minds," Janet fretted.

"I'm sure some of them have," Ted agreed. "But as Phil Engstrom told us, we've got a better than fifty-fifty shot. You heard what he said-if they get to know all of us, he doesn't think they'll turn us down."

Then maybe it's a good thing Jared's
not here,
Kim thought. All through supper that night, she'd tried to ignore the argument between her father and her brother, but from the moment it began, a hard knot formed in her stomach, and she'd only been able to pick at her food. What troubled Kim most, though-even scared her-was the way she hadn't been able to pick up anything from Jared. Always before, she could glean at least some hint of his feelings, some sensed understanding of what was going on with him, almost as if she could share in his emotions, at least a little bit.

But not anymore.

Tonight, though she'd heard him getting angrier, she hadn't felt anything at all. At first she wondered if he was even really angry, or just acting. But as Jared continued to argue with their father, she could hear the fury in his voice. She could see it in his face, too. But she couldn't feel it. And when he finally left, storming away from the table and out of the house just like their father used to do, all she'd felt was relief that he was gone.

Relief!

Was that how her mother had felt all those years, when it had been so bad with her father? Relief when he left the house, and anxiety when he came back?

Just the thought of it made Kim shudder.

She heard someone calling her name. Sandy Engstrom was waving to her from across the street, showing no sign of the sickness that had seized her that morning.

"Kim!" Sandy called. "Dad says you should all sit with us!"

Abandoning any thought of skipping the meeting, Kim was about to start across the street toward the small crowd in front of Town Hall when a horn blared, startling her. As her father's hand closed on her arm to pull her back onto the sidewalk, she looked up, then froze in horror at what she saw.

It happened so fast that she knew there was nothing that could have been done to stop it. Not by her-not by anyone.

The car was coming around the corner, and the woman was already in front of it by the time anyone saw her. Time seemed to stand still as Kim gazed at the terrible scene. The woman seemed frozen to the spot, her head turned toward the car that was about to strike her, her purse clutched in her right hand, her left arm outstretched as if to fend off the vehicle.

Then she turned.

Now it seemed to Kim as if she were watching through a telescope. Though the woman was half a block away, Kim could see her face as clearly as if they were only a foot apart.

The woman's eyes were wide with terror.

Her mouth was agape, though no sound was coming out of it.

And Kim recognized her.

It was the woman she'd seen in her nightmare the night she'd imagined the rats crawling up out of the toilet.

The woman who'd been suspended upside down from the cross in the strange cathedral.

But how could that be?

Yet now, as she stared in mute horror at the woman, Kim had no idea who she might be.

Then the horrifying tableau came to life.

The car's horn blasted again. The woman screamed.

The scream was cut off by a terrible thumping sound.

The woman's body was lifted into the air, and a second later it dropped back, falling onto the hood of the car, where it glanced off the windshield and was hurled to the street.