The Faceless One (39 page)

* * *

Steven Slater pulled up behind the Lincoln, and he and Liz got out. One of the men was fairly tall, with long silver hair and the strong features of a Native American. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up against the heat. The other man was black and shorter by six inches. He had thick glasses and a pencil-thin mustache. He was dressed in a caramel-colored suit with a bright yellow tie, topped off by a fedora with a bright yellow feather. The black man was holding a beer, which he placed on the ground with some embarrassment.

Both men walked forward slowly, shielding their eyes against the bright July sun.

To George, the Slaters looked like a nice family. It was clear the father had gone through some sort of ordeal; though tall and lanky, he stooped a bit under an unseen weight, and a shock of brown hair kept falling across his eyes. The mother was pretty but wary, her brilliant blue eyes watchful and cautious. The boy had his mother’s blond hair and fair complexion but his father’s eyes. He was goggling at them, and George was sure they made a pretty interesting pair.

To Jimmy’s surprise, he saw an aura surrounding the Slater family. It was crimson grading into indigo around the parents but a deep cobalt blue shot through with flashes of gold and silver around the boy. His uncle had tried to teach him to see such things, but he had never developed the skill. The boy’s aura suggested great power, power only now beginning to manifest itself. If he was used by The Faceless One, his abilities would become terrible indeed.

Jimmy looked at Steven. “Mr. Slater?”

“Yes?” Steven said, still feeling that delicate sensation of warmth and well-being gently suffusing his being.

“My name is Jimmy Kalmaku. This is my friend, George Watters.” The black man gave a half wave before the tall man went on. “We have come from Seattle because of a danger to your family.”

Bobby was trying to rush toward the men, to stare at them, but Steven held him back. At the word “danger,” Liz stepped slightly ahead of Bobby, placing herself between him and the two strangers. Bobby peeked around her as she put an arm around him.

“Danger?” Steven asked. “What sort of danger?”

“Please,” Jimmy said, “may we go inside? I’m afraid this heat is messing with my concentration.”

“Is this about my brother?” Steven demanded, that warm feeling now receding ever so slightly.

Jimmy nodded, thinking of the artifact even now sitting in the old shed not five hundred yards from where they stood.

Steven looked at Liz. She seemed unsure, but he had a feeling the old men were not there to harm them. That they did indeed want to offer some sort of warning, perhaps protection. Liz seemed to understand his thoughts and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Why don’t you come in,” Steven offered, “and we’ll crank up the AC.”

Inside, the house was cool, a tribute to its pre–World War II craftsmanship. It was slightly musty from having been shut up for several days, so they cracked a couple of windows and turned on the ceiling fans. The place was cluttered and homey—several bookcases were overflowing with books, and there was a box of toys in one corner. Though the house was clean, the furniture was a bit threadbare—a couple of chairs had doilies in strategic places. For George, it was a familiar sight, a family working hard but still barely making it.
Welcome to the new
millennium
, he thought sourly. A big easy chair near the window caught George’s attention, and he eyed it wistfully. He looked at Steven, who nodded, and George sank into its padded comfort. It was such a relief after standing in that hot driveway for so long. He sighed audibly, and Steven smiled.

Steven wondered why he felt so at ease with these strangers, especially since they seemed to be bearing some dire news. He looked at Liz, and she returned his unspoken question. For a moment, it seemed everyone was unsure how to proceed.

The cats, Luthor and Midge, came in from the back bedroom and made a beeline for Jimmy Kalmaku. They rubbed sinuously around his legs, and he reached down and scratched them both behind the ears.

“You like cats, Mr.…” Bobby struggled to remember the Indian’s name.

“Kalmaku. It’s Eskimo. And yes, I like all animals.”

“So you’re Eskimo?” Liz asked.

“Tlingit, actually. My great-grandfather was Eskimo, but all my family have been Tlingit since he married my great-grandmother.”

Steven cocked his head at the mention of Jimmy’s tribe. “My brother studied the Tlingit in Alaska.”

Jimmy nodded. “That’s why we’re here.”

Bobby looked at George. “Are you an Indian too, Mr. Watters?”

“Maybe Blackfeet,” George said, and chuckled at his own joke. Bobby laughed along with him. “No, I’m from Georgia, mostly. I’m here because Jimmy’s my best friend. Do you have a best friend?”

Bobby held up Bonomo. “This is Bonomo. He’s my best friend.”

“I thought Dylan was your best friend,” Liz said.

“He will be, when he’s not at day camp. But Bonomo is my best always-friend.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” George said.

“Please, sit down,” Steven said to Jimmy, motioning to the couch. “Can we get you anything to drink?”

“Water for me,” Jimmy said.

“I’ll have a Coke if you’ve got one,” George said, “and could I impose on you to use your bathroom?”

“Of course,” Liz said, and pointed down the hall. “Second door on the left.”

George excused himself, and Jimmy sat on the couch. Luthor climbed up beside him, and Midge curled at his feet. Both cats began to purr, like small motors chugging some distance away. The cats closed their eyes and smiled their Mona Lisa smiles. Bobby climbed up on the other side of Jimmy and stared at him. Jimmy smiled easily.

“Bobby, don’t bother Mr. Kalmaku,” Liz warned.

“He’s no bother,” Jimmy said. “I have a granddaughter about his age.”

“Oh,” Liz said, warming slightly, “where’s she?”

“In Boston with my son and daughter-in-law. I don’t see them much.”

George returned and sat back down in the armchair near the window. The cats noted his passage but didn’t leave Jimmy’s side.

Steven brought in the drinks and distributed them.

Jimmy took a sip of water, then looked at Bobby.

“Bobby, I need to speak to your mother and father. Could you wait in your room,

please?”

Bobby looked at him. “Is it about Uncle Daniel?” he asked.

“Some of it,” Jimmy admitted, “but a lot of it is just boring grown-up stuff.”

“Will you come play Star Wars in my room when you’re done?”

“That would be fun.”

Bobby grabbed Bonomo and ran to his room to get his toys ready. Midge jumped up on the sofa into the spot Bobby had vacated. Jimmy was flanked by cats, like an Egyptian king. Jimmy waited until the boy was out of earshot. Steven and Liz watched him anxiously, their imaginations running wild with ominous possibilities.

“There isn’t much time,” he said to Steven and Liz.

“Why is my family in danger?” Steven asked. He thought about what Max Tully had said. “Is it because of something Daniel did?”

Jimmy hesitated. “I’m not sure, but it seems he was involved. Your brother was allegedly killed by a person known as The Taxidermist—” Jimmy saw both Steven and Liz recoil visibly at the mention of the serial killer. How would they react to the truth? He had no choice but to plunge ahead. “—but the descriptions of his murder and those of other supposed victims are clearly the work of a god from the Tlingit pantheon. One of my gods.”

Steven and Liz looked at him, incredulous.

“A god,” Steven said, unsure whether to laugh or be insulted.

Jimmy hurried on, intent on convincing them. “This god was never part of our oral tradition. Knowledge of it was kept within the lineage of shamans who came to Alaska thousands of years ago. Because my village was destroyed by this same entity, I am now the last to possess such knowledge.”

“And this … god … killed Daniel?” Liz asked. She said it as if he had told her that her son’s toy had become animate and traveled to New York to kill her brother-in-law.

Jimmy nodded.

“So who was it?” Steven asked. “The God of Lightning? The Storm-bringer or the
Trickster? Maybe Odin and Zeus teamed up?” Steven couldn’t believe they were having this conversation.

“You’re speaking of Norse and Greek gods,” Jimmy said calmly, “although we have our Trickster as well.”

“That’s Raven,” George interjected.

“Of course,” Steven said, his voice rising. “And I guess it was Walrus or Polar Bear who killed my brother in the middle of Manhattan.”

“Your sarcasm belies your fears and your belief,” Jimmy said.

“I don’t believe any of this crap,” Steven said fiercely. “My brother was killed by a psycho. Our family has been through a lot this last week, and we don’t need any wild stories to make matters worse. Now, I would appreciate it if you gentlemen would leave.”

George looked at Jimmy. The stubbornness of the young man was understandable but exasperating. Still, he didn’t want to step in when this was Jimmy’s show.

“The god is called The Faceless One in English. I cannot say his true name as it would serve to summon him.”

“All right,” Steven said, “I said that’s enough. I don’t know what you two are peddling, but I’m not …”

George couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“Why don’t you listen to the man?” he said. “Do you know what he’s been through to find you? To warn you?”

Steven stood now, trying to keep his voice level. Liz stood next to him, her arm touching his. All he had experienced from the terrible moment he had been informed of Daniel’s death—the dream, Bobby’s near death by drowning, the scuffle with Tully, even his fight with Liz—it all came bubbling up in a rage that he focused on the old man.

“I don’t care if you came here from Anchorage on a goddamned dogsled; I want you out of my house. Now.”

Jimmy shook his head and smiled. The reaction surprised Steven, and some of his rage dissipated.

“You’re stubborn,” Jimmy said. “You would be right at home in my village. Do you know that my people stood up to the U.S. government? The Tlingit of Angoon wanted compensation for a shaman killed on a commercial whaling vessel. Moreover, we wanted the boats involved to be docked for the traditional three days of mourning. The fishing company went to the government. The government made threats, but we held our ground. The Navy screamed ‘insurrection’ and shelled that village until nothing was left. They threw an entire winter’s store of food into the water, wasting it. Our people still talk of Angoon and the wrong that was done.”

“Look,” Steven said, “I know your people suffered—there isn’t a single tribe in this country that didn’t. But I can’t sit here and listen to fairy tales when it comes to the death of my brother. And I certainly can’t entertain lunatics who say my family is in danger.”

George bristled at the term “lunatics,” but Jimmy raised a hand for him to keep silent.

“I was raised to believe in certain mysteries,” Jimmy said, “in magic that permeates our world, in realms that border this one, filled with things both wonderful and monstrous.” Jimmy gestured at the books surrounding them. “I understand that is not your heritage, but how is it that a man who loves books of fantasy and science fiction can be so close-minded?”

“Because there is no proof,” Steven said firmly.

“Some things must be taken on faith,” Jimmy said.

“It’s too big a leap,” Steven said, and Liz nodded. She found herself continually glancing over at the phone and calculating how quickly she might grab it and dial 911. She was glad Bobby was back in his room.

“Can you tell me you’ve had no visions?” Jimmy asked.

Steven hesitated. “A dream,” he admitted, shrugging to trivialize it. “An intense dream.”

“Having to do with The Faceless One?” Jimmy asked gently.

“Inspired by these sick murders,” Steven persisted, “brought on by grief for my brother.” It sounded right as the words left his mouth, sounded sane and safe and logical. But a part of him, the part that had dug for Pellucidar, that had believed in the planet Krypton and hobbits and warlords of Mars, that part knew he was lying. What he had experienced was more than a dream. It was a message. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew deep down that it came from without.

Jimmy nodded, as if reading his thoughts rather than hearing his words.

Steven looked at Liz, his love, his anchor, and gripped her arm as he felt an onrush of vertigo. She knew by the expression on his face that something had shifted in his mind. For better or worse, he wanted to hear the old man out.

Jimmy looked around.

“He is coming,” he said. “I tried to make the house safe, but it was only a stopgap measure. I must do more if we are to live through this.”

Steven and Liz sat down on the love seat, their hands clasped. Steven seemed to be having trouble forming his thoughts, so she spoke first.

“Please, Mr. Kalmaku,” Liz said, “tell us what is going on.”

“My people came to this continent from Asia,” Jimmy said, “which you probably already knew. We came in search of food and freedom from some of the terrible things that inhabited our homeland. When we crossed the Bering Strait, we left the old gods behind. But new gods awaited us here, some benevolent and some even more terrible.”

Jimmy looked at them and saw that they were, if not believing, at least listening.

“My people have always believed in the power of the mask,” Jimmy continued. “To us, it is more than a representation. It is a way to adopt the power of a god, to invite it into you, feel its power, relay its message safely. Masks are both an homage and a conduit, a gateway or portal to the god’s being. A mask lets us make the unknowable knowable. It allows us to make the Infinite tangible. To see the face of Fear is to be able on some level to conquer it, for it is no longer unseen.”

He removed a small talisman of the Raven from his pocket and rubbed it, gathering strength from its smooth ivory contours.

“All of the gods of this new world had faces and allowed us to craft their visages in cloth and wood, leather and paint. Only The Faceless One stood apart. He was the most terrible, for he was Chaos itself, pure destruction, pure evil. He had no face and refused to be known.” Jimmy looked at each one of them in turn. To Steven, it seemed the light inside the house had diminished, as if night were falling. He tried to dismiss this as his overactive imagination while the old man continued.