by Dean Koontz
state of the babies when they came out of her, any abnormality, any strangeness.”
He saw the surprise enter her eyes as his question tripped a switch in her memory.
“In fact,” she said, “there was something unusual.”
“Let me guess,” he said. “Both of the babies were born with cauls.”
“That’s right! How did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess.”
“The hell it was.” She wagged a finger at him. “You’re smarter than you pretend to be.”
He forced himself to smile at her. He had to force it, for there was nothing about Rita Yancy that could elicit a genuine smile from him.
“Both of them were born with cauls,” she said. “Their little heads were almost entirely covered. The doctor had seen and dealt with that sort of thing before, of course. But he thought the chances of both twins having cauls was something like a million to one.”
“Was Katherine aware of this?”
“Aware of the cauls? Not at the time. She was delirious with pain. And then for three days she was completely out of her mind.”
“But later?”
“I’m sure she was told about it,” Mrs. Yancy said. “It’s not the sort of thing you forget to tell a mother. In fact . . . I remember telling her myself. Yes. Yes, I do. I recall it very clearly now. She was fascinated. You know, some people think that a child born with a caul has the gift of second sight.”
“Is that what Katherine believed?”
Rita Yancy frowned. “No. She said it was a bad sign, not a good one. Leo had been interested in the supernatural, and Katherine had read a few books in his occult collection. In one of those books, it said that when twins were born with cauls, that was . . . I can’t recall exactly what she said it meant, but it wasn’t good. An evil omen or something.”
“The mark of the demon?” Tony asked.
“Yes! That’s it!”
“So she believed that her babies were marked by a demon, their souls already damned?”
“I’d almost forgotten about that,” Mrs. Yancy said.
She stared beyond Tony, not seeing anything in the parlor, looking into the past, striving to remember. . . .
Hilary and Joshua stayed back, out of the way, silent; and Tony was relieved that they recognized his authority.
Eventually, Mrs. Yancy said, “After Katherine told me about it being the mark of a demon, she just clammed up. She didn’t want to talk any more. For a couple of days, she was as quiet as a mouse. She stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling, hardly moving at all. She looked like she was thinking real hard about something. Then suddenly, she started acting so damned weird that I had to start wondering if I still might have to send her away to the booby hatch.”
“Was she ranting and raving and violent like before?” Tony asked.
“No, no. It was all talk this time. Very wild, intense, crazy talk. She told me that the twins were the children of a demon. She said she’d been raped by a thing from hell, a green and scaly thing with huge eyes and a forked tongue and long claws. She said it had come from hell to force her to carry its children. Crazy, huh? She swore up and down that it was true. She even described this demon. A damned good description, too. Full of detail, very well done. And when she told me about how it raped her, she managed to give me the chills, even though I knew it was all a bunch of crap. The story was colorful, very imaginative. At first, I thought it was a joke, something she was doing just for laughs, except she wasn’t laughing, and I couldn’t see anything funny in it. I reminded her that she’d told me all about Leo, and she screamed at me. Did she scream! I thought the windows would break. She denied ever having said such things. She pretended to be insulted. She was so angry with me for suggesting incest, so self-righteous, a regular little prig, so determined to make me apologize—well, I couldn’t help laughing at her. And that made her even angrier. She kept saying it hadn’t been Leo, though we both knew damned well it had. She did everything she could to make me believe it was a demon that had fathered the twins. And I tell you, her act was good! I didn’t believe it for a minute, of course. All that silly stuff about a creature from hell sticking his thing in her. What a bunch of hogwash. But I started to wonder if maybe she had convinced herself. She sure looked convinced. She was so fanatical about it. She said she was afraid that she and her babies would be burned alive if any religious people found out that she’d consorted with a demon. She begged me to help her keep the secret. She didn’t want me to tell anyone about the two cauls. Then she said she knew that both twins carried the mark of the demon between their legs. She pleaded with me to keep that a secret, too.”
“Between their legs?” Tony asked.
“Oh, she was carrying on like a full-fledged looney,” Rita Yancy said. “She insisted that both of her babies had their father’s sex organs. She said they weren’t human between the legs, and she said she knew I’d noticed that, and she begged me not to tell anyone about it. Well, that was purely ridiculous. Both those little boys had perfectly ordinary pee-pees. But Katherine jabbered on and on about demons for almost two days. Sometimes she seemed truly hysterical. She wanted to know how much money I’d take to keep the secret about the demon. I told her I wouldn’t take a penny for that, but I said I’d settle for five hundred a month to keep mum about Leo and all the rest of it, the rest of the real story. That calmed her down a little, but she still had this demon thing stuck in her head. I was just about decided that she really believed what she was saying, and I was going to call my doctor and have him examine her—and then she shut up about it. She seemed to regain her senses. Or she got tired of her joke, I guess. Anyway, she didn’t say one more word about demons. She behaved herself from then on until she took her babies and left a week or so later.”
Tony thought about what Mrs. Yancy had told him.
Like a witch cuddling a feline familiar, the old woman petted the white cat.
“What if,” Tony said. “What if, what if, what if?”
“What if what?” Hilary asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Pieces seem to be falling into place . . . but it looks . . . so wild. Maybe I’m putting the puzzle together all wrong. I’ve got to think about it. I’m just not sure yet.”
“Well, do you have any more questions for me?” Mrs. Yancy asked.
“No,” Tony said, getting up from the footstool. “I can’t think of anything else.”
“I believe we’ve gotten what we came for,” Joshua agreed.
“More than we bargained for,” Hilary said.
Mrs. Yancy lifted the cat off her lap, put it on the floor, and rose from her chair. “I’ve wasted too much time on this silly damned thing. I should be in the kitchen. I’ve got work to do. I made four pie shells this morning. Now I’ve got to mix up the fillings and get everything in the oven. I’ve got grandchildren coming for dinner, and each one of them has a different kind of favorite pie. Sometimes the little dears can be a tribulation. But on the other hand, I’d sure be lost without them.”
The cat leapt abruptly over the footstool, darted along the flowered runner, past Joshua, and under a corner table.
Precisely when the animal stopped moving, the house shook. Two miniature glass swans toppled off a shelf, bounced without breaking on the thick carpet. Two embroidered wall hangings fell down. Windows rattled.
“Quake,” Mrs. Yancy said.
The floor rolled like the deck of a ship in mild seas.
“Nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Yancy said.
The movement decreased.
The rumbling, discontented earth grew quiet.
The house was still again.
“See?” Mrs. Yancy said. “It’s over now.”
But Tony sensed other oncoming shockwaves—although none of them had anything to do with earthquakes.
Bruno finally opened the dead eyes of his other self, and at first he was upset by what he found. They weren’t the clear, electrifying, blue-gray eyes that he h
ad known and loved. These were the eyes of a monster. They appeared to be swollen, rotten-soft and protuberant. The whites were stained brown-red by half-dried, scummy blood from burst vessels. The irises were cloudy, muddy, less blue than they had been in life, now more the color of an ugly bruise, dark and wounded.
However, the longer Bruno stared into them the less hideous those damaged eyes became. They were, after all, still the eyes of his other self, still part of himself, still eyes that he knew better than any other eyes, still eyes that he loved and trusted, eyes that loved and trusted him. He tried not to look at them but into them, deep down beyond the surface ruin, way down in, where (many times in the past) he had made the blazing, thrilling connection with the other half of his soul. He felt none of the old magic now, for the other Bruno’s eyes were not looking back at him. Nevertheless, the very act of peering deeply into the other’s dead eyes somehow revitalized his memories of what total unity with his other self had been like; he remembered the pure, sweet pleasure and fulfillment of being with himself, just he and himself against the world, with no fear of being alone.
He clung to that memory, for memory was now all that he had left.
He sat on the bed for a long time, staring down into the eyes of the corpse.
Joshua Rhinehart’s Cessna Turbo Skylane RG roared north, slicing across the eastward-flowing air front, heading for Napa.
Hilary looked down at the scattered clouds below and at the sere autumn hills that lay a few thousand feet below the clouds. Overhead, there was nothing but crystal-blue sky and the distant, stratospheric vapor trail of a military jet.
Far off in the west, a dense bank of blue-gray-black clouds stretched out of sight to the north and the south. The massive thunderheads were rolling in like giant ships from the sea. By nightfall, Napa Valley—in fact, the entire northern third of the state from the Monterey Peninsula to the Oregon border—would lay under threatening skies again.
During the first ten minutes after takeoff, Hilary and Tony and Joshua were silent. Each was preoccupied with his own bleak thoughts—and fears.
Then Joshua said, “The twin has to be the dead ringer we’re looking for.”
“Obviously,” Tony said.
“So Katherine didn’t try to solve her problem by killing off the extra baby,” Joshua said.
“Evidently not,” Tony said.
“But which one did I kill?” Hilary asked. “Bruno or his brother?”
“We’ll have the body exhumed and see what we can learn from it,” Joshua said.
The plane hit an air pocket. It dropped more than two hundred feet in a roller coaster swoop, then soared up to its proper altitude.
When her stomach crawled back into its familiar niche, Hilary said, “All right, let’s talk this thing out and see if we can come up with any answers. We’re all sitting here chewing on the same question anyway. If Katherine didn’t kill Bruno’s twin brother in order to keep the Mary Gunther lie afloat, then what did she do with him? Where the devil has he been all these years?”
“Well, there’s always Mrs. Rita Yancy’s pet theory,” Joshua said, managing to pronounce her name in such a way as to make it clear that even the need to refer to her in passing distressed him and left a bad taste in his mouth. “Perhaps Katherine did leave one of the twins bundled up on the doorstep of a church or an orphanage.”
“I don’t know. . . .” Hilary said doubtfully. “I don’t like it, but I don’t exactly know why. It’s just too . . . clichéd . . . too trite . . . too romantic. Damn. None of those is the word I want. I can’t think how to say it. I just sense that Katherine would not have handled it like that. It’s too . . .”
“Too smooth,” Tony said. “Just like the story about Mary Gunther was too smooth to please me. Abandoning one of the twins like that would have been the quickest, easiest, simplest, safest—although not the most moral—way for her to solve her problem. But people almost never do anything the quickest, easiest, simplest, and safest way. Especially not when they’re under the kind of stress that Katherine was under when she left Rita Yancy’s whorehouse.”
“Still,” Joshua said, “we can’t rule it out altogether.”
“I think we can,” Tony said. “Because if you accept that the brother was abandoned and then adopted by strangers, you’ve got to explain how he and Bruno got back together again. Since the brother was an unregistered birth, there’d be no way he could trace his blood parentage. The only way he could hook up with Bruno would be by coincidence. Even if you’re willing to accept that coincidence, you’ve still got to explain how the brother could have been raised in another home, in an altogether different environment from Bruno’s, without ever knowing Katherine—and yet have such a fierce hatred for the woman, such an overwhelming fear of her.”
“That’s not easy,” Joshua admitted.
“You’ve got to explain why and how the brother developed a psychopathic personality and paranoid delusions that perfectly match Bruno’s in every detail,” Tony said.
The Cessna droned northward.
Wind buffeted the small craft.
For a minute, the three of them sat in silence, within the expensive, single-engine, overhead-wing, two-hundred-mile-per-hour, sixteen-mile-per-gallon, white and red and mustard-yellow, airborne cocoon.
Then Joshua said, “You win. I can’t explain it. I can’t see how the brother could have been raised entirely apart from Bruno yet wind up with the same psychosis. Genetics don’t explain it, that’s for sure.”
“So what are you saying?” Hilary asked Tony. “That Bruno and his brother weren’t separated after all?”
“She took them both home to St. Helena,” Tony said.
“But where was the other twin all those years?” Joshua asked. “Locked away in a closet or something?”
“No,” Tony said. “You probably met him many times.”
“What? Me? No. Never. Just Bruno.”
“What if. . . . What if both of them were living as Bruno? What if they . . . took turns?”
Joshua looked away from the open sky ahead, stared at Tony, blinked. “Are you trying to tell me they played some sort of childish game for forty years?” he asked skeptically.
“Not a game,” Tony said. “At least it wouldn’t have been a game to them. They would have thought of it as a desperate, dangerous necessity.”
“You’ve lost me,” Joshua said.
To Tony, Hilary said, “I knew you were working on an idea when you started asking Mrs. Yancy about the babies having cauls and about how Katherine reacted to that.”
“Yes,” Tony said. “Katherine carrying on about a demon—that bit of news gave me a big piece of the puzzle.”
“For God’s sake,” Joshua said impatiently, gruffly, “stop being so damned mysterious. Put it together for Hilary and me in a way we can understand.”
“Sorry. I was more or less still thinking aloud.” Tony shifted in his seat. “Okay, look. This will take a while. I’ll have to go back to the beginning. . . . To understand what I’m going to say about Bruno, you have to understand Katherine, or at least understand the way I see her. What I’m theorizing is . . . a family in which madness has been . . . sort of handed down like a legacy for at least three generations. The insanity steadily grows bigger and bigger, like a trust fund earning interest.” Tony shifted in his seat again. “Let’s start with Leo. An extreme authoritarian type. To be happy he needed to totally control other people. That was one of the reasons he did so well in business, but it was also the reason he didn’t have many friends. He knew how to get his way every time, and he never gave an inch. A lot of aggressive men like Leo have a different approach to sex from the one they have toward everything else; they like to be relieved of all responsibility when they’re in bed; they like to be ordered around and dominated for a change—but only in bed. Not Leo. Not even in bed. He insisted on being the dominant one even in his sex life. He enjoyed hurting and humiliating women, calling them names, forcing them to do unp
leasant things, being a little rough, a little sadistic. We know that from Mrs. Yancy.”
“It’s a hell of a big step from paying prostitutes so they’ll satisfy some perverse desire—to molesting your own child,” Joshua said.
“But we know he did molest Katherine repeatedly, over many years,” Tony said. “So it mustn’t have been a big step in Leo’s eyes. He probably would have said that his abuse of Mrs. Yancy’s girls was all right because he was paying them and therefore owned them, at least for a while. He would have been a man with a strong sense of property rights—and with an extremely liberal definition of the word ‘property.’ He’d have used that argument, that same point of view, to justify what he did to Katherine. A man like that thinks of a child as just another of his possessions—‘my child’ instead of ‘my child.’ To him, Katherine was a thing, an object, wasted if not used.”
“I’m glad I never met the son of a bitch,” Joshua said. “If I’d ever shaken hands with him, I think I’d still feel dirty.”
“My point,” Tony said, “is that Katherine, as a child, was trapped in a house, in a brutalizing relationship, with a man who was capable of anything, and there was virtually no chance that she could maintain a firm grip on her sanity under those awful conditions. Leo was a very cold fish, a loner’s loner, more than a little bit selfish, with a very strong and very twisted sex drive. It’s possible, even likely, that he wasn’t just emotionally disturbed. He might have been all the way gone, over the edge, psychotic, detached from reality but able to conceal his detachment. There’s a kind of psychopath who has iron control over his delusions, the ability to channel a lot of his lunatic energy into socially-acceptable pursuits, the ability to pass for normal. That kind of psycho vents his madness in one narrow, generally private, area. In Leo’s case, he let off a little steam with prostitutes—and a lot of it with Katherine. We’ve got to figure that he didn’t merely abuse her physically. His desire went beyond sex. He lusted after absolute control. Once he’d broken her physically, he wouldn’t have been satisfied until he’d broken her emotionally, spiritually, and then mentally. By the time Katherine arrived at Mrs. Yancy’s place to have her father’s baby, she was every bit as mad as Leo had been. But she apparently also had acquired his control, his ability to pass among normal people. She lost that control for three days when the twins arrived, but then she pulled herself together again.”
“She lost control a second time,” Hilary said as the plane bobbled through a patch of turbulent air.
“Yeah,” Joshua said. “When she told Mrs. Yancy that she’d been raped by a demon.”
“If my theory’s correct,” Tony said, “Katherine was going through incredible changes after the birth of the twins. She was moving from one severe psychotic state to an even more severe psychotic state. A new set of delusions was pushing out the old set. She had been able to maintain a surface calm in spite of her father’s sexual abuse, in spite of the emotional and physical torture he put her through, in spite of becoming pregnant with his child, and even in spite of the agony of being girdled in day and night during all those months when nature was insisting that she grow. Somehow she maintained an air of normalcy through all of that. But when the twins were born, when she realized her story about Mary Gunther’s baby had come crashing down around her, that was too much to bear. She flipped out—until she conceived the notion that she’d been raped by a demon. We know from Mrs. Yancy that Leo was interested in the occult. Katherine had read some of Leo’s books. Somewhere she had picked up the fact that some people believe twins born with cauls are marked by a demon. Because her twins were born with cauls . . . well, she began to fantasize. And the idea that she had been the innocent victim of a demonic creature that had forced itself on her—well, that was very appealing. It exonerated her of the shame and guilt of bearing her own father’s babies. It was still something she had to hide from the world, but it wasn’t something she had to hide from herself. It wasn’t something shameful for which she had to make constant excuses to herself. No one could expect an ordinary woman to resist a demon that had supernatural strength. If she could make herself believe that she’d really been raped by a monster, then she could start thinking of herself as nothing worse than an unfortunate, innocent victim.”
“But that’s what she was anyway,” Hilary said. “She was her father’s victim. He forced himself on her, not the other way around.”
“True,” Tony said. “But he had probably spent a lot of time and energy brainwashing her, trying to make her think she was the one at fault, the one responsible for their twisted relationship. Transferring the guilt to the daughter—that’s a fairly common way for a sick man to escape his own sense of guilt. And that sort of behavior would fit Leo’s authoritarian personality.”
“All right,” Joshua said as they fled northward into the yielding sky. “I’ll go along with what you’ve said so far. It may not be right, but it makes sense, and that’s a welcome change in the situation. So Katherine gave birth to twins, lost herself for three days, and then got control again by resorting to a new fantasy, a new delusion. By believing that a demon had raped her, she was able to forget that her father was the one who had actually done it. She was able to forget about the incest and regain some of her self-respect. In fact, she probably hadn’t ever felt better about herself in her whole life.”
“Exactly,” Tony said.
Hilary said, “Mrs. Yancy was the only person she’d ever told about the incest, so when she settled into the new fantasy about a demon, she was eager to let Mrs. Yancy know the ‘truth.’ She was worried that Mrs. Yancy thought of her as a terrible person, a wicked sinner, and she wanted Mrs. Yancy to know that she was only the victim of some irresistible supernatural thing. That’s why she babbled on about it for so long.”
“But when Mrs. Yancy didn’t believe her,” Tony said, “she decided to keep it to herself. She figured no one else would believe her, either. But that didn’t matter to her because she was positive, in her own mind, that she knew the truth, and that truth was the demon. That was a much easier secret to keep than the other one, the one about Leo.”
“And Leo had died a few weeks earlier,” Hilary said, “so he wasn’t around to remind her of what she had forgotten.”
Joshua took his hands off the airplane controls for a moment, wiped them on his shirt. “I thought I was too damned old and too cynical to respond to a horror story any more. But this one makes my palms sweat. There’s a terrible correlation to what Hilary just said. Leo wasn’t around to remind her—but she needed to keep both of the twins around to reinforce the new delusion. They were the living proof of it, and she couldn’t put either of them up for adoption.”
“That’s right,” Tony said. “Having them with her helped her maintain the fantasy. When she looked at those two perfectly healthy, unquestionably human babies, she really did see something different about their sex organs, like she told Mrs. Yancy. She saw it in her mind, imagined it, saw something that was proof, to her, that they were the children of a demon. The twins were part of her