by Neil Olson
“This isn’t blowing over,” Will said harshly. Staring at her in amazement as she hit the accelerator. “Come on, Mure. We can’t run from this.”
“Just watch me.”
He knew he should argue more strenuously, but his mind was still in the maze. Returning to a certain dark passage he had reared back from several times already. He bit down on his fear and plunged in.
“Why did you stop?” Will asked. “Those years between Eliza and Doc. What made you give it up?”
“I didn’t stop or start,” she said irritably. “I just took the chances that came.”
They were sailing through Seven Corners, much too fast. Drifting over the centerline through the tight turns of wood-lined road. One car coming a little too quickly from the other direction would finish them.
“No opportunities came up in, what, fourteen years?” he pressed. That seemed unlikely. “You helped each other out, you girls. Cooking for each other, watching each other’s kids.”
“Don’t include me in that.”
“You were part of it. You were the mechanically inclined one.” His throat was dry and his nerve was failing. “You fixed cars. My mom’s, and some of the others’. Molly Jordan. I remember she used to bring you her car to fix. I just remembered that in the last few days.”
He watched Muriel’s head go back and forth in a slow shake, but no words came out. Her expression was frozen. She had not lied to him yet and would not now, nor would she speak. They had come to the worst of it.
“You never liked Molly,” he said. “What did you do?”
The car began to lose speed. They passed the Mount Gray road entrance, but he could see no sign of the burning house above.
“Muriel, what did you do?”
“You know,” she said. Then paused a long time before going on. “That was Molly’s car. No one else ever drove it. Ever.”
Was that right? Christine had not been driving that long. Only a handful of times, usually in her dad’s car. That might well have been the first day she had driven her mother’s. So there it was. A monstrous coincidence. The miscalculation had scared Muriel out of her wicked practices for years. And then what had happened? Time and bitterness caught up? A chance to get in a dig at the hated Louise? Just a few loose words. Gossip. But it had been enough to start up the cycle of death all over again. Christine was the worst of it. But none of it was forgivable, and Muriel knew that.
“So that’s it,” she said. Her voice empty. “You’re done with me now, right?”
Will was almost too sick with grief to speak, but he forced out two words.
“Pull over.”
“Look, there’s your girl.”
They had hit a straightaway. At the far edge of the headlights a small figure could be seen, walking toward them along the border of the roadway. Even at this distance, the cap of blond hair glowed. Sam must have stayed in the woods to avoid being found, and come out way down here.
“Pull over,” he said again, more urgently.
“Yeah?” she asked, her tone unreadable. “All right.”
Will felt the car shake and slip as the tires hit gravel at the edge of the road. Muriel’s hands tightened on the jerking steering wheel. She was pulling over, but too fast.
“Slow down,” he insisted.
Her expression closed, her lips flattened and drew back. If anything, the car seemed to accelerate, and a startled-looking Samantha sped toward the windshield.
“Stop,” Will shouted. “Muriel, stop.”
There was nothing else to do. He knocked her near arm away with his left hand, then grabbed at the wheel with his right. Turning it as hard as he could. He saw Sam’s stunned face pass by the side window, a few short yards away. The Subaru left the ground for a moment, banged hard off a little grass hillock, then shot into the air.
* * *
His head felt bloated, like it might explode. He smelled heat and plastic, heard a clicking sound. He was pretty sure that his eyes were open, but his vision was impaired. His arms hung uselessly above his head, yet below him. Things were turned around.
“Will?” said a voice nearby, but muffled.
A body was moving near him, forcing its way into the cramped compartment. He heard the crunch of broken glass.
“Hang on, now, I’m here.”
Be careful, he tried to say, but it came out a grunting noise through sticky lips.
Hair brushed his forehead, and her breath was on his face. Hands reached up his chest, his stomach, finally found the seat belt release, which for some reason was above him. She struggled with it for half a minute before it popped. Then he fell. No more than a foot, his head cushioned on her chest, his arms and legs collapsing in an awkward, painful heap around them. He let out an involuntary moan.
“I’m sorry,” said Sam, gently in his ear. “Don’t try to speak. Someone will be here soon. Can you hear me? Will, can you hear my voice? Squeeze my hand. Good. Now, you hang on, all right? I’m here with you. You’ll be okay. Please, just hang on.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
Though the senior member of the old generation, Evelyn Price wore no robe. Only green corduroys with a black sweater, and a silver pendant. Will thought at first it was a pentagram, then realized it had seven sides. Well, of course it would.
He sat on the weathered old stump of the lightning-blasted pine, crutches beside him. Evelyn placed a hand on his shoulder. She could not take his hand on that side since it was in a sling. He was just glad that she did not squeeze his forehead. Samantha held his free hand, and Abby held hers. Then Molly Jordan, Nancy Chester, Jimmy Duffy, Ruth Brown, Eugene Stafford, Margaret Price and back to Evelyn. Some sitting quietly, some standing or shuffling nervously in place. Ten bodies, all seven families. Young Eugene—now dressed in blue jeans and a Metallica T-shirt—looked none too happy to be there, but Great-Aunt Ruth had bullied him into it. Will knew that several of those present had to be cajoled into coming after the last fiasco, but here they all were.
Evelyn began the Latin chant and some of the others picked it up. Will thought she looked regal. Her eyes were closed but her lined face was alive with strength. The wind lifted her white hair and the dark pines swayed powerfully behind her. A fire spit in the iron grate at the circle’s center, and the ring of candles surrounding them fluttered but did not go out. Samantha thought they should hold the ceremony in Abby’s living room, where the old one had been. But too many of them refused to be stuck indoors after that awful night two weeks before, and Evelyn decided that dusk on All Hallows Eve, on the lawn at the edge of the woods, was a proper setting for their circle.
“Close your eyes,” Evelyn said, as Tom had that night. Will did so, and felt the strength of the group enter him. Felt peace. He also felt the worm of doubt that Tom’s terrible desire had planted there, just as the old woman had warned he would. And as she had instructed, he did not fight or ignore it, but let it remain, small and ineffectual, in one corner of his mind. He took a deep breath and squeezed Sam’s hand. She squeezed back. Ruth Brown’s voice rose clear and strong above the rest.
No one knew how Ruth and Tom escaped the burning house. They had been the last two in the chamber, and Jimmy had not been able to fight his way back through the flames to them. Yet there they were minutes later, wandering out of the woods behind the house. Ruth still wore a bandage on her hand and much of her hair had been singed off. The smoke, or some other hurt, had felled Tom, and an ambulance had brought him to the hospital only minutes ahead of the one that brought Will. Sam went back and forth between their rooms all night, but old Tom’s heart had given out before dawn. Will had been released five days later. Muriel, who made Will put on his seat belt, had not followed her own advice, and was still at that same hospital. In a coma, from which she was not expected to wake.
Evelyn was speaking in English again.
“To the unseen spirit present here among us, we say...”
While he was still in the hospital bed recovering, Will had told Sam what he thought had happened that long-ago night. They, in turn, had told Evelyn. The three of them in the study of the Hall house, with the old spell book—which Ruth had brought forth out of the flames—before them. Evelyn had given Will that long and searching look that Sam so often did. Then nodded her head and laughed her deep, wet laugh. As if the world was too perverse to be believed and you just had to enjoy it.
“Well, that’s a different story altogether, ain’t it?” she had said, turning pages in the red book. “And a different spell.”
Now, on the dark lawn behind the house, with the faraway voices of the first trick-or-treaters just reaching them, Evelyn paused. It had been decided that Sam should pick it up from here, as it had been she who gave the spirit those long-ago instructions.
“We say,” Sam echoed, “that you have faithfully fulfilled the duties assigned to you, and they are at an end. Your burden is lifted. By the single and united will of those here present, we release you by the name of...”
She looked to Will, as all of them now did.
“John Payson,” he said, loudly enough for all of them to hear. Jimmy swore quietly, and Molly let out a gasp, but the rest were silent.
“Be at peace, Johnny,” said Evelyn, “and follow those paths hidden from us but revealed to you. Teithio yn ddiogel.” She finished with another Latin chant, and then slowly released Will’s hand. The circle broke up.
Sam looked at him. Will shrugged. He felt good. Better than he had in a long time, in fact, but that could mean anything or nothing.
“I guess we’ll see,” was all he said.
Evelyn appeared pleased, so he figured the technical stuff had gone right. The others looked either confused or cautiously hopeful as they made their hurried goodbyes. Molly gave him a hug and looked like she wanted to say something, but kept it to herself. Jimmy just glared, like someone had pulled a trick on him. Sam took him aside, which had an immediately calming effect. Poor Jimmy. Even if they could get past their other differences, he and Will would never be friends. Not with Sam stuck between them.
Ruth Brown sidled up to him.
“Nice to see things done properly,” she said. Which Will took to mean “done by women.” He had no argument to make there.
“Thanks for saving the book,” he replied, but Ruth waved that off.
“She didn’t need the book. It’s all inside her. Some of us haven’t forgotten the old ways. The thing is...”
“Yes?”
“This was all well and good. Necessary, I mean. But there’s still a demon out there.”
Will only smiled at her.
“If that’s even true, it’s been true for eighty years,” he said. “Or eight hundred, maybe. It’s not for me to fix.”
The expression on her sour face was so compassionate it unsettled him. She kneaded his good shoulder with her unbandaged hand, then moved on.
* * *
A Batman, a Spider-Man—the second of the evening—a scary zombie and an older sister who might be a hobo or a very dirty witch. Sam was too generous with the candy.
“We’re going to run out,” Will said. “What then?”
“They can fight each other for it,” Sam replied.
“That’s appropriate, I guess.”
“What did your girlfriend say?”
He thought of explaining again that her name was Beth, and she was not his girlfriend, but suspected it was pointless.
“They’ll have a hearing when I’m back,” he said. Whenever that was. His injuries needed another week to heal before he could travel, but there were other complications. No one doubted that Muriel started the fire; there was plenty of evidence. What was less clear was whether Will had been victim or accomplice. What was he doing jumping in her car right after the event? Mike Conti seemed satisfied of his innocence, but they awaited the conclusion of the State’s investigation. He had told no one but Sam about Muriel’s other confessions. He didn’t know when or if he ever would. “I imagine they’ll let me go.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No,” he said immediately, surprising her. “I like teaching. I like my students. I understand this is all sort of embarrassing to the school, but I won’t fall on my sword. I also won’t fight to the bitter end. I can teach other places.”
“Down there,” she said.
“Somewhere,” he replied. “I’m not coming back here, if that’s what you’re asking.” She merely nodded. “But you could come to New York,” he went on.
“Like, for a visit?”
“To start with,” he said. She made no reply. “What is it?”
It was not as if he needed to ask. It was hard to contemplate the future right now. They had each lost someone they loved. Someone who had been a rock of stability in their chaotic lives. Yet those people had turned out to be strangers. Haunted, dangerous souls.
“Did you really think I started that fire?” she asked, hurt in her voice.
“Oh, Sam. I was a little out of my mind just then. You do remember that you threw it right back at me.” And ran from me, in fear, he did not add.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. An inexpressible sadness in that one word. “We didn’t trust each other.”
So that was it. Was she more disappointed with him or herself?
“That’s right,” he agreed. “For a few minutes we didn’t trust each other. Only a few frightened minutes. Whatever else you may be, you’re human.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re allowed your doubts, your frailties. Like anyone else. I would not have gotten through this without you. I would not have survived the last month. You know that, right?”
After a long silence she nodded her head. Stroked the back of his hand with her finger.
“New York, huh?”
“It’s an interesting place,” he said. “Full of possibilities for mischief.”
“Are you saying I’m a troublemaker?” she asked, grinning at him.
The doorbell again. Another Spider-Man. A cowgirl. A cell phone with two legs sticking out, which had to win best outfit of the night so far. Spider-Man had his mask pulled up to his sweaty forehead and eyed Will’s leg cast and sling suspiciously.
“Is that your costume?”
“Yes,” Will confirmed.
“What are you supposed to be?”
“A reckless driver. Let it be a lesson to you.” He tipped his head at Sam. “She’s a witch.”
The boy eyed her skeptically.
“She doesn’t look like a witch.”
Will did not see what Sam’s expression did just then, what her eyes conveyed. He probably would not have seen anything even if he was looking right at her. He wasn’t a child anymore. But the boy’s face registered sudden fascination. Then fear. He turned and raced down the steps howling. Cowgirl looked after him like he had lost his mind. Sam laughed and gave her extra candy.
“What did you do?” Will asked.
“Only what he wanted me to,” she replied innocently. “Boys like to be scared.”
* * *
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Will Conroy for believing early on, to my father Neil for genealogical research (though his Halls are not these Halls) and for his fun, spooky stories, to all the Olsons for love and support, to Peter Joseph, Natalie Hallak, Roxanne Jones, and everyone at Hanover Square for encouragement and distraction in a dark time, and to Caroline for everything.
ISBN-13: 9781488051159
Before the Devil Fell
Copyright © 2019 by Neil Olson
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