Darkness

by John Saul

  “Hush,” Clarey told her. “Don’t you go thinkin’ that. It ain’t you that’s crazy—it’s him! And now it’s time to stop it, if’n we can.”

  She began talking, her voice droning softly in the night. “I know who they be, all of ’em.” Her eyes came to rest on Kelly once again. “And that’s why you come back. He said you wouldn’t never come back, but he was wrong. You did come back, and now it’s time.”

  Michael’s brows knit. “Time?” he echoed. “Time for what?”

  Clarey Lambert’s voice hardened. “Time to end it. It’s time to take your souls back from thems as stole ’em.”

  There was a long silence in the room, and then Michael spoke, his voice barely audible. “Did the Dark Man bring me to you, too?”

  Clarey’s eyes turned to twin fragments of glittering stone. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “He brung you to me. But I know’d he wouldn’t keep you in the swamp.” There was a heavy silence, and Michael sensed what she was about to say even before she spoke the words. “He’s your papa,” she finally said. “You be the Dark Man’s son.”

  Outside, Amelie Coulton carefully dipped her oars into the water and silently pulled her boat away from Clarey Lambert’s house. She’d heard it all, listened to everything Clarey had said.

  And now she knew.

  Her baby hadn’t died at all.

  Hers, and who else’s?

  But who could she tell?

  Who would believe her?

  Craig Sheffield glanced at his watch. It was almost four in the morning, and not only Kelly Anderson, but now Michael, too, seemed to have been swallowed up by the swamp. Until an hour ago he’d maintained the hope that if he went just a little farther, rounded one more bend, circled one more of the endless tiny islands, he would come upon Michael’s boat and find that nothing more serious than an empty gas tank had befallen his son.

  But hope had finally begun to drain away, and though he kept on searching, he felt as if his mind had been dulled by the long night. He still stopped every few yards, cut the engine, and listened for the sound of a motor puttering in the distance.

  But there was nothing. Nothing except the endless droning of the insects, a droning he’d long since stopped hearing, except when he wanted to hear the sound of Kelly’s voice, or Michael’s boat.

  Then the night sounds seemed to rise to a deafening level, drowning out anything else that might be there.

  He rounded another curve and cut the engine yet again. A hundred feet away he could see the glowing green light of Carl Anderson’s starboard lamp, and farther away he could make out the white stern light of one of the other boats that had lingered in the swamp, its occupant refusing to give up until the sun rose and brought with it the searchers that Tim Kitteridge had promised. But all of them were as tired as Craig himself was now, and he wondered if perhaps, unknowingly, they’d passed Kelly by, her own calls drowned out by the engines of the boats and the eternal insects.

  The Bayliner drifted to a stop, and Craig sat behind the wheel, listening. The moon had risen high in the sky now, its reflection glimmering on the surface of the water. Every now and then Craig could see the glowing eyes of nocturnal animals, foraging for food, pausing in their hunt to stare at him.

  Once, half an hour ago, a screech had rent the night and the insects had gone suddenly silent. A chill had passed through Craig, but whatever had been attacked in the darkness made no more sounds, and soon the insects had resumed their endless song.

  Now, though, as he sat in the darkness, a new song came to him.

  Barely audible at first, it grew steadily louder.

  A boat, coming toward him, its engine throbbing in the night.

  He waited, unconsciously holding his breath, certain he recognized the unique rhythm of the motor. At last, from out of one of the narrow channels, a shadow appeared, a white froth of wake spreading out behind it.

  Craig stood up in the Bayliner, hope surging once more. “Michael? Michael!”

  The boat turned, and sped up, and a moment later the little skiff, with Kelly sitting on the center seat and Michael astern next to the engine, pulled alongside. “Dad? Dad, I found her!”

  Tears of relief flooded Craig’s eyes and a lump rose in his throat. “You’re okay?” he cried, his voice cracking. “Both of you?”

  “We’re fine,” Michael replied.

  Craig gaped helplessly at his son, not sure whether to laugh or cry or vent the rage he felt at Michael for going off alone and frightening him so. Bone-tired, he’d been wandering through the swamp for hours, searching for his son, fearing the worst. But now, that didn’t matter. Michael was safe. And he’d found Kelly. Craig reached down to the dash of the Bayliner and began flashing his navigation lights. All around him the other boats turned toward him, moving quickly closer.

  “They’re back,” Craig yelled as Carl Anderson’s boat came near. “Michael found Kelly!”

  Carl pulled his boat alongside Craig’s and tossed a line to the other man. Michael pulled his boat up to Carl’s.

  “Kelly?” Ted Anderson said, his voice shaking. “Honey, are you all right?”

  Kelly looked up at her father. “Are you still mad at me?”

  Ted took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. “How can I be mad at you? I thought you—” He cut off his words, unwilling to complete the thought. “I’m just glad you’re back. Where did you go? We’ve been hunting for hours.” He held out his hand and helped Kelly move from Michael’s boat into his father’s.

  “I got lost,” Kelly told him. “I was just running at first, and then I was afraid to come out. And when I decided to come home, I didn’t know where I was. If Michael hadn’t found me …” Her voice trailed off as she remembered what her father had said about Michael only a few hours before.

  But Ted looked down at her, then his arms went around her and he pulled her close.

  “Maybe I was wrong,” he said. “Maybe he’s not such a bad kid, after all. The important thing is that you’re both back, and you’re both fine.”

  But we’re not fine, Kelly thought silently. Michael’s not fine and I’m not fine. Then she shivered in her father’s arms as Clarey Lambert’s words echoed in her mind.

  It’s time to take your souls back from thems as stole ’em.

  Only then would they be truly fine again.

  “Listen,” Barbara Sheffield said. “Do you hear something?”

  But Mary was already on her feet, moving toward the patio door. Barbara followed her, and as Mary slid the wide glass panel open, they heard the sound of a boat coming along the canal.

  “That’s the Bayliner,” Barbara said, her voice vibrant as hope washed away the fear that had been building in her as the long night had worn on. “They must have found them!”

  Mary gazed anxiously at Barbara. “Are you sure?”

  “It has to be,” Barbara replied. “Craig wouldn’t come back for any other reason.”

  They ran across the lawn, coming to the dock just as the three boats pulled up.

  “They’re safe!” Barbara cried, tears streaming down her cheeks as she ran out onto the dock. “Michael, what were you thinking of? Do you have any idea of how frightened I’ve been? You promised you’d stay within sight of your father!”

  But like Craig’s, Barbara’s brief spate of anger dissolved at the sight of Michael’s grin, and she threw her arms around him, nearly toppling both of them into the water as his skiff shot away from the dock.

  “Jeez, Mom! Let me get tied up before you drown both of us!”

  A few minutes later they were all in the house, and Mary, seeing Kelly in the bright light of the kitchen, gasped.

  Kelly’s clothes were soaked with mud, and her legs, scratched and bleeding, were covered with slime. “Darling, what happened?” she asked.

  Kelly looked ruefully down at her ruined clothes, then up at her mother. “I—I guess maybe running away in the swamp in the middle of the night isn’t the best thing I’ve ever done
, is it?”

  Mary stared at her daughter for a moment, then the tension that had been building in her all night suddenly snapped and she began laughing. “Well, I guess it isn’t,” she said when she finally regained control of herself. “Go dump those clothes in the washer and take a shower, and I’ll get you a robe.” She hurried out of the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with her own favorite bathrobe, which she took to Kelly, who was already in the small bathroom Carl had built behind the kitchen so he wouldn’t have to track mud through the house when he returned from work each afternoon. When she came back, she sank into a chair across from Michael.

  “How did you find her?” she asked.

  Michael said nothing, knowing there was no way to explain the strange things that had happened to him in the swamp. Indeed, even after listening to Clarey, he. barely understood it himself.

  “It don’t matter how it works,” the old woman had told him. “Alls I can tell you is I always know where the children is, and what they’s doin’. And I can call ’em, too, like I called Jonas tonight, and sent him out to get Kelly. And I was talkin’ to you, too, tellin’ you where to go, tellin’ you where to look.” She’d gazed deep into him then. “You think you know the swamp, but you don’t know half of what I know. So don’t you be thinkin’ you can always do anythin’ you want, you hear? I might not always be lookin’ out for you!”

  “I—I guess I was just lucky,” he said at last, feeling the eyes of his own parents, and Kelly’s, too, on him. “I sort of pictured where she went into the swamp, and where she’d have had to go. I mean—well, there’s only so many places you can go on foot.”

  Finally Kelly came out of the bathroom, her mother’s robe wrapped around her, and joined the group around the table. She tried to tell them everything that had happened, but when she came to the snake, she stopped, shuddering at the memory.

  “Kelly?” Mary asked. “What is it?”

  “A—A snake,” Kelly stammered. “It was a water moccasin, and it crawled right over my leg.”

  Mary stifled a scream.

  “What did you do?” Carl Anderson asked.

  Kelly looked up at her grandfather. “I didn’t do anything,” she said softly. “I just held still. I didn’t move, and the snake went away.”

  Carl’s eyes held on Kelly. She felt her flesh crawl as, just for an instant, a peculiar look came into her grandfather’s eyes. A look that somehow frightened her.

  “How did you know to do that?” he asked.

  Kelly hesitated for only a split second. “Michael told me,” she said. “Remember? A few days ago, when we went out into the swamp together? He told me that if I ran into a snake, I should hold still. He said it couldn’t see me if I didn’t move.”

  Carl’s gaze held hers for a second longer, then he nodded. “He’s right. They can sense you, but they don’t strike at what’s not moving. If something’s not moving, they think it’s dead and they leave it alone.”

  Once again Kelly felt her skin crawl, and when she glanced quickly at Michael, she was certain he was having the same feeling.

  But neither of them said anything.

  Finally Barbara stood up. “I have to go home,” she announced. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to sleep, but at least I can go to bed and try to get some rest. I’ll go up and get Jenny.”

  The group in the kitchen moved toward the family room and were just starting out onto the terrace when Barbara, her face ashen, appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “She’s not here,” she said, her voice cracking. “Craig, Jenny’s gone!”

  The chatter of conversation died as everyone in the room stared at Barbara in stunned silence.

  20

  “Wake up, Judd.” Warren Phillips spoke the words harshly, shaking the sleeping man’s shoulder. “Come on, Judd, it’s almost dawn.”

  Judd groaned, pulling away, but when Phillips prodded him once more, his eyes opened and he groggily sat up.

  The first thing he noticed was that the pain in his joints was gone. His limbs were once more as supple as they had ever been.

  He looked at his hands; the liver spots had disappeared, and his cracked nails had smoothed out again. His knuckles, grotesquely swollen last night, were their normal size, and the skin on his fingers was that of a man in his late forties.

  Rising from the sofa, he crossed to the mirror over the fireplace and stared in relief at his own reflection. His face had smoothed out; only the small crow’s-feet around the corners of his eyes remained. His eyes, dull and sunken only hours ago, looked perfectly normal, and when he spoke, there was no trace left of the crackling rasp that was all he’d been able to manage when he’d arrived at Phillips’s house a few hours earlier. He breathed deeply, feeling the rush of air into his lungs, then released his breath in a long clear sigh. He turned, grinning. “It worked. I feel great again.”

  “Of course it worked,” Phillips replied. “It’s worked for twenty years—why wouldn’t it work now?” Without waiting for a reply, he began issuing orders to the deputy. “Jenny Sheffield is in the bathroom upstairs. You’re going to use the radio in your car to call the hospital and tell them you found her in the canal and you’re bringing her in.”

  Duval shook his head. “Wouldn’t do that. I’d call for the medics. It’s procedure.”

  Phillips’s lips curled in a thin smile. “If she’s already dead?”

  The deputy stared at the doctor numbly. “You killed her?”

  The doctor tilted his head toward the stairs in the foyer. “Why don’t you go take a look, and tell me what you think.”

  Duval hesitated, but left the library, and with Phillips following behind, mounted the stairs. When he came to the landing, he glanced uncertainly around.

  “Second door on the left,” Phillips said.

  Duval moved down the hall, hesitated, then opened the door to the bathroom. For a moment he saw nothing, but then his eyes gravitated to the tub.

  It was filled, a layer of ice cubes floating on the surface. But beneath the translucent ice he could make out the form of a body.

  Jenny’s body, clad in jeans and a T-shirt, her hair floating around her head in the form of a grotesque halo.

  “Holy Jesus,” Duval whispered, gazing in shock at the face that peered up from beneath the water’s surface. He dropped down to his knees and pushed the ice cubes aside.

  She lay on her back, her empty eyes wide in a pale, bluish face. Duval blinked, and instinctively reached for the body, intending to lift it out of the tub.

  “Not yet,” Warren Phillips snapped. “Not until you know exactly what you’re going to do.”

  Duval, his eyes still fixed on the body in the tub, spoke numbly. “The canal,” he repeated, the words coming slowly as he tried to grasp what Phillips had done. It was wrong—he’d brought Jenny Sheffield as the price of his shot. She wasn’t supposed to be killed—Phillips needed her! “I was on my way to work, and I found her in the canal. I don’t need an ambulance—she’s dead already.”

  “That’s right,” Phillips told him. “And you take her to the morgue, just like you would any other body.”

  Duval nodded.

  “All right,” Phillips went on. “We’re ready.”

  Duval reached into the icy water and lifted Jenny’s limp body, cradling it in his arms as he stood up. Phillips held the door open, and Duval carried her out to the hallway, then down the stairs and through the back door. Outside, Phillips held the door open while Duval laid Jenny onto the backseat.

  “Go,” Phillips said, his voice low, but leaving no room for disobedience. “Keep your lights off, and get to the canal as fast as you can. Then make the call, turn on your lights and siren, and head for the hospital. And one more thing, Judd.”

  Judd turned in the predawn darkness to face Phillips. “Tell them to call me. Tell them who it is, and tell them to call me.”

  Duval’s brows creased into an uncertain frown. “But she’s dead,” he began. “Th
ey’d call Hatfield.”

  “They will, Judd. But I want them to call me, too. After all,” he added, a cold smile twisting his lips once more, “I’m her doctor, right?”

  Judd Duval, his mind still not fully comprehending what Phillips had done, nodded. A few seconds later, the lights of the squad car switched off, he disappeared into the darkness.

  When the phone rang in Warren Phillips’s house, he waited until the sixth ring before he picked up the extension by his bed. And when he spoke, his voice was groggy, as though he’d just been roused from a sound sleep.

  “Phillips,” he mumbled.

  “Dr. P?” Jolene Mayhew’s voice was brittle with tension. “Dr. P, it’s Jolene. We need you down here right away! At the clinic!”

  “Jolene?” Phillips repeated, as if not quite grasping who it was. “What time is it? It must be the middle of—”

  “It’s almost dawn, Dr. P. It’s Jenny Sheffield. Judd Duval just called. Dr. P, he found her in the canal. He says she’s dead.”

  “I’ll be right there!” Phillips snapped, dropping the sleepiness from his voice, knowing that Jolene’s words would have brought him wide awake instantly.

  He hung up the phone, then quickly changed his clothes, pulling on khakis and a polo shirt, stuffing his bare feet into a pair of tennis shoes. Less than two minutes after Jolene’s call, he was on his way, arriving at the hospital just as Judd Duval was helping Jolene and the night orderly load Jenny’s body onto a gumey.

  The ring of the Andersons’ phone shattered the tense silence that hung over the living room of Carl Anderson’s house. Mary Anderson and Barbara Sheffield glanced at each other. It wasn’t until Michael, forbidden by his mother to join the men as they began hunting for Jenny, moved to the phone, that Barbara spoke. “No!” she said, her voice sharp. “Let Mary get it.”

  Michael sank back onto the sofa where he’d been sitting with Kelly, and watched as Mary quickly crossed to the phone, picking up the receiver on the third ring. Her face paled as she listened, then she spoke. “I’ll bring Barbara right away. The men are still out looking … No, I’m not sure where. They were going to start by the canal … All right.” She slowly hung up the receiver, then turned to face Barbara, tears streaking her cheeks.