Laws of Nature -2

by Christopher Golden

  The words chilled him. "Why not? What the hell's going on?"

  "Give me twenty-four hours. Forty-eight, tops. Then I will be there. You two can lie low for a while, go sightseeing or something if you want. Go up to Lost River Gorge; that's up there somewhere. It's amazing. Trust me."

  "We should come home," Jack said quietly, all sorts of dark and ugly images forming in his mind.

  "No," Bill almost snapped. "No, don't come home, Jack. That would be bad."

  A cold fist clenched in Jack's gut. "Jesus, Bill. You've got more down there." It was not a question. "Courtney . . ."

  "You trusted me to watch over her, Jack. I'm doing that."

  "Jesus," Jack whispered again. He leaned over as though he might be sick and put a hand to his forehead.

  He felt the bed shift as Molly sat down behind him. She laid a hand, long fingers gently reassuring, on his shoulder.

  "Twenty-four hours, Jack," Bill said. "Just keep your head down. Don't do anything stupid. I'll take care of business here and then I'll be up."

  Several courses of action occurred to Jack in a heartbeat, but he dismissed them all. It was not that he did not trust Bill to protect Courtney - despite what Bill was. It was that Jack felt that it was his responsibility to keep his sister safe. That particular emotion had been with him since Courtney survived the accident that had taken their mother's life. It was not going to be easy to shake.

  Jack was about to insist, when Bill spoke again.

  "I think you'd be walking into the line of fire if you came back right now. But if I don't deal with it in the next twenty-four hours, you can come home then, all right?"

  "All right," Jack agreed, voice thick with emotion. "I don't think I could handle it if anything happened, Bill."

  "I know," Bill replied. "I know."

  They said their good-byes and hung up. Slowly, still shell-shocked, Jack turned to Molly. He opened his mouth to explain but she held up a hand to forestall him.

  "I think I've got it," she said, sympathy and warmth in her eyes. "So, Humphrey Bogart, then?"

  "Yeah," Jack agreed slowly. "First, though, I think we need to have a talk with Maria Von Trapp downstairs."

  Alan felt as though the whole world were turning upside down. It may not have been the worst day of his life, but it was certainly the strangest. He thought it was almost perverse that the weather was so damned beautiful on a day when so many dark things were taking shape in Buckton.

  Though he knew the sheriff 's expectations - and those of the townspeople - meant he ought to be out questioning people to try to find a single witness who saw something useful, Alan had stopped at the inn first to see Tina.

  He needed to see her, if only to remind himself that there were parts of his life that could not be tarnished even by the ugliest business.

  As she strummed her guitar, he sipped a lemonade he had poured himself from a pitcher, and listened to her play. It soothed him. Just watching the way her fingers moved, the expression of peace, of bliss, on her features, he felt better. Alan Vance was a law officer, but he had to remind himself sometimes that he was also just a man. He could only do what he could do.

  "Hey," he said, voice low.

  Tina looked up and stopped playing immediately. He leaned toward her and she lifted her chin so that he could kiss her. Their lips grazed sweetly, and then he kissed her again, with more passion.

  "You're a good man, Alan," Tina whispered.

  His heart felt lighter already.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Are we interrupting something?"

  With a start, Alan turned to see Jack and Molly standing just inside the bar area. Jack looked uncomfortable at having walked in on them, but Molly - who had spoken - had a mischievous smile on her face.

  Alan wasn't in the mood. "As a matter of fact - "

  "Not really," Tina interrupted. "Just commiserating. Alan's having a bad day at work."

  "They know," Alan said quickly. "They saw the mess at the diner." He stood up and hefted his gun belt on his hips, then mentally cursed himself. Tina always told him he looked like a cartoon deputy when he did that.

  "What can I do for you two?" he asked.

  Jack scratched the back of his head. "While we were hiking yesterday, we ran across what was left of a house. It's a cool spot, so we thought we'd try to picnic there today, but couldn't find it. That's half the reason we came home early. We were worried about getting turned around. Anyway, we thought we'd look up the property so we could be sure to find it again. We'd do that at the surveyor's office, right?"

  Alan chuckled. "In a town this small? The survey map books and all of that stuff is in a room at the library, but they close at one o'clock on Saturdays." He glanced at his watch. "You've got fifteen minutes."

  The reaction that news got out of the two city kids surprised Alan. Both of them grimaced as though the information was much more important to them than just a place to picnic. He studied them a bit closer and realized that both of them seemed edgy. Even more so, he thought, than might be expected given the events of the day.

  "I don't suppose they're open Sundays?" Molly asked.

  "Sorry," Tina said.

  "Not that big a deal, I guess," Molly said. "Oh, one other thing. Are there any good bookstores in town?"

  "There aren't any bookstores in town," Tina said. "Nearest one's in Dunning, about fifteen minutes from here. Maybe twenty."

  Molly frowned. "So, other than the diner, there's nowhere in town to get books?"

  "Just the library," Alan supplied. "But that doesn't help you this afternoon."

  Though there was still something off about Jack and Molly - and he kept Sheriff Tackett's instructions to watch them in mind - Alan knew he had better get on with investigating the break-in at the Paperback.

  "I guess that's my cue," he said, then glanced at Tina. "As long as nothing else happens, we're still going to help Trish later on?"

  "I'll be there," Tina promised.

  Once more Alan waved good-bye to her and then started for the door. Behind him, he could hear her begin to play guitar again, picking out the first notes of an old song by the Eagles, "Hotel California." On his way out, he caught Molly's eye.

  Something sparked in his mind, and he stopped.

  "By the way," he told her, "you were right. We had a third murder just last night. A local guy. Ken Oberst. He was old, but people were fond of him."

  "That's awful," Molly replied quickly. "I'm sorry to hear it."

  "Still no idea who's behind it, huh?" Jack asked.

  Tina played as if none of them were even there.

  Alan sniffed. "We're getting there," he lied. "Only a matter of time."

  A few minutes after Deputy Vance left, Molly and Jack stepped out of the inn. On the sidewalk, they hesitated.

  "I feel like we've hit a dead end," Molly confessed.

  "Today at least," Jack agreed. "We'll have to find that place just based on the map we've got. We're going to have to start our expedition early tomorrow. It may take a while."

  Molly nodded, deep in thought.

  "What?" Jack asked.

  She gazed at him. "If there's nowhere else to buy or borrow books in this town, and that diner was ransacked last night for the reasons we think, it seems to me it's only a matter of time before they hit the library."

  "Might even be tonight," Jack suggested.

  "If there's nowhere else for them to look, and they didn't find what they wanted, it stands to reason. Alan said they think the place was vandalized sometime after midnight."

  Jack let out a long breath. "I think we're going to be up late tonight."

  The Buckton Public Library wasn't much to speak of. Once upon a time it had served as the headquarters for the Town Council and the Historical Society, but sometime in the late 1950s that had changed. In truth, despite attempts to modernize as much as possible, many of the books in the library - a round building of stone and glass - were leftovers from that era.

  Still, on the night
s her father had to work late, Janelle Meredith found plenty to entertain herself. It was funny, really. She did not like school at all - tests, teachers, whole boring classes filled with stuff she had no interest in - and yet she loved to learn. The library was like a treasure trove, filled with fantasy stories as well as those that were true. Though Janelle liked novels, she liked history and geography the best, learning about the world and the past.

  Her teachers were always after her to study harder. The problem, as they saw it, was that Janelle did not apply herself to the things she was being taught. As Janelle saw it, however, the problem was simply that they were not always teaching her the things she wanted to learn. On the other hand, Mr. Giordano, who was her history teacher, grew frustrated with her because she always wanted to know more about a topic than he was willing to teach.

  Secretly, she suspected it was because he did not know any more than he had prepared to lecture about.

  It was summer now, which was a wonderful relief. All she had to do was make it through her senior year in high school, and then she could leave Buckton behind and find a college where they had real teachers.

  That Saturday night, when most kids in town were either at a party or the movies, or at the Pizza Bubble, Janelle had opted to hang around at the library. Not only did it mean she could spend a couple of hours roving through the stacks, but she got to spend some time just hanging around with her father.

  Ned Meredith was the athletic director at Buckton Regional High. He had started out years before - Janelle wasn't sure how many, but she knew it was a lot -

  as an assistant football coach. Back then he had picked up the second job of cleaning and maintenance man for the small library. These days he probably could have gotten by without the extra money, but it was his responsibility. And he knew how much Janelle enjoyed the time they spent together with the stacks of books all to themselves.

  During the school year, he coached football games on Saturday morning, spent the afternoon with his family, and saved his duties at the library for the night, and Janelle often accompanied him. When summer came, Ned didn't have to coach, but he kept his schedule the same, regardless.

  They didn't really talk much while they were there. Ned had his work to do, and Janelle was lost in a world of discovery. From time to time she would call out to him, insist that he come have a look at some book or other that she had unearthed.

  That night, she lay sprawled on the carpeted area in the ancient history section, entranced by a book about the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae. There was something so tragic, yet so romantically heroic about that bit of history that when she was finished, she poked her finger into the book to hold the page and then rose to go find her father.

  I wonder if he knows this story, she thought.

  Almost on cue, she heard the sudden whine of the enormous machine he used to clean the tile floor out by the front desk.

  With an excited smile, Janelle walked a bit faster. She went out of the stacks toward the center of the library, where a pair of ten-year-old computers, which represented the entirety of Buckton's involvement in the cyber age, sat. There were enormous old wooden cabinets that still contained a card catalog, though the library had also finally created a catalog on computer.

  Janelle brushed past them, book in hand. The whine of the buffing machine grew louder as she approached, and it reminded her very unpleasantly of a dentist's drill. When the carpet ended and the tile began, it was cold beneath her bare feet, and she wished she had not left her shoes back in the stacks. She wore a T-shirt and cutoff denim shorts, and with the chill of the floor rising up her legs, she suddenly found that her whole body was cold.

  Over the whine of the buffer, she could hear her father whistling an old rock song she vaguely recognized. She passed the enormous checkout desk on her right, and then her father came into view. The foyer of the library was dimly lit, and the moonlight streamed in through the wide glass doors at the front, and the line of windows that went around the circular building.

  Ned Meredith wore a pair of light gray overalls and black sneakers. He was a thin guy, with round glasses - not at all the picture of the average athletic director, Janelle suspected. But her dad was in excellent shape, and he was reportedly merciless on the field. The buffer was a heavy piece of equipment, but he almost seemed to dance with it as he moved it across the tile floor.

  "Dad!" Janelle shouted.

  Over the hum of the machine, he did not hear her at first, so Janelle walked over and tugged on his arm.

  "Dad!"

  Ned gave a little jump of surprise as he glanced back to see his daughter gazing at him impatiently. He reached down to click off the buffer.

  "What's up, 'Nelle?"

  She grimaced at her childhood nickname, but had long since given up trying to break him of the habit of using it. Instead, she lifted up the book to show him the cover.

  "I was just reading the coolest story. These Spartan soldiers - "

  Thump!

  Janelle frowned, glancing around for the source of the noise.

  "Now what the heck was that?" her father asked.

  Just then Janelle's gaze fell upon the double glass doors at the front of the library, and the trio of faces beyond them. Animal faces, shaggy creatures down on all fours with long snouts and glowing eyes, each pair a different color: blue, green, orange.

  With a tiny gasp, Janelle stumbled backward a step. Her breathing came fast and her heart raced. She pointed at the doors, even as she glanced around and saw that there were more of them at the windows on either side of the entrance.

  "What the hell . . ." her father muttered.

  "Daddy, what are they?" Janelle whispered.

  "Not a clue," Ned replied. But he puffed out his chest and took two steps toward the door. He waved his hands out in front of them as if he might whisk them away.

  "Scat!" he shouted.

  The strange beasts, which had been on all fours, stood up suddenly on two legs. Like humans.

  Janelle heard her father cursing under his breath.

  Then the glass shattered as the monsters moved in after them.

  CHAPTER 9

  Window fans hummed all through the apartment above Bridget's Irisk Rose Pub, providing little relief from the hot, damp night. A summer did not go by without Jack's asking Courtney why they had central air in the restaurant downstairs, but not in the apartment. She always told him that it was an additional and unnecessary expense, something they needed to avoid to stay afloat in the restaurant business.

  Nights like this, she regretted her frugality.

  Of course, at the moment, the heat was the last thing on her mind. Or, rather, it was merely a distraction so that she did not have to think about how quickly her control over her life was slipping from her grasp. Courtney Dwyer's life was usually nice and predictable. This had been a bad year for predictability.

  Though she could not see the clock from where she lay on her bed, tangled in the sheets, Courtney thought it was close to ten o'clock. Downstairs, the late dinner crowd was just finishing up. The hostess, Wendy Bartlett, along with reliable Tim, would have things completely under control. The bar might be a bit hectic, however, as Bill had the night off.

  Bill was next to her, stretched out on her bed, skin glistening with moisture from the humid night. Courtney was cradled in the crook of his arm, her head upon his chest, listening to his heart beat.

  Fast.

  Too fast.

  The beat of his heart seemed odd to her, abnormal . . . inhuman. And yet she could not decide if this was because he was something other than human, or if she were manufacturing this detail to remind herself of that fact.

  Eyes closed, she breathed in the smell of him, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. Time and time again, a little voice inside her tried to remind her of his true nature, as if it ought to bother her. But each time, she found that she did not care. Whatever else Bill was, he was a man of integrity and passion, loy
alty and strength.

  And yet, he was not a man.

  In her mind's eye, Courtney relived a tiny moment from an hour or so earlier. She had come up from the pub and found Bill standing by the windows in the living room that looked down on the busy street below. When he had glanced over his shoulder at her, there had been a kind of fire in his eyes that blazed brightly for a moment before subsiding. Then he had smiled warmly.

  "Hey" was all he'd said.

  Then the words spilled out of her mouth, and Courtney still was not quite sure where they had come from. She had certainly not expected them.

  "I think I'm going to turn in early tonight," she had said, voice catching in her throat. Butterflies had swarmed in her stomach as she laughed a small, nervous laugh.

  "Want to come along?"

  Now she laid her cheek on his chest, and sighed with amazement at her forwardness, at this recklessness that had arisen in her without warning. It felt good, but it was also terrifying.

  "What are we doing?" she whispered to him.

  Bill stroked her face, pushed her hair back over her ear, and bent to kiss the top of her head.

  "If you don't know, then I sure don't, either," he confessed. "But I hope, when you figure it out, you don't decide it was wrong."

  Unsure how to respond to that, Courtney gazed up at him. His eyes were wide and bright in the darkness and the heat of the bedroom. She burrowed closer to Bill, enjoying the heat of his body despite the temperature in the room. The air from the fans blew across their skin, and she shivered, though she doubted the breeze had anything to do with it.

  In the years since the accident that had crippled her and killed her mother, Courtney Dwyer had never felt safer.

  Bill tensed suddenly.

  In the same instant a loud crash came from the room she used as an office.

  With blinding speed, he was out of the bed, crouched on the floor of her bedroom, nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. Courtney's heart hammered in her chest and she sat up, sheet pulled up to cover her body.