"Not really. As Sam tried to explain, this is a game. A game that has been going on for—well, forever, I suppose. I don't think being a Christian is nearly as easily accomplished as a great many people believe. I don't believe—and neither does Sam—that a person can sin all their life, then at the moment of death, be relieved of all those sins. I think a person must work terribly hard, all their life, to be a true Christian. And I think—I know—there will be a great many people very disappointed on Judgment Day."
Viv smiled. "I'm sure that would provoke a very spirited debate between you and Father Le Moyne."
Nydia returned the smile. "I'm sure of that. I wonder how Joe is doing?"
"Sounds like quite a party going on in there, Joe," Mille said, after listening for a moment.
The music from the house was very loud, booming out into the gathering night. The rock and roll music was rattling the windows as it blasted out of the speakers, pushing to the limits and beyond the capabilities of the woofers and tweeters.
"Nellie never liked rock and roll music," Joe said. "As a matter of fact, she hated it. And I guess that tells everybody something. Make whatever you like about it."
"I heard that, Joe," Mille said. "Couple of years ago, I wouldn't have agreed with it. Now I do. And not just because of what is happening to us now. Joe? You got your pistol with you?"
"1 got my pants on, ain't I?" he responded. "You?"
"Yes, Joe," Mille said with a smile. "I have my pants on.
"Cute, Mille," Joe said, as Father Le Moyne struggled to hide his smile. "That's real cute."
"I also have my pistol, too," Mille needled him. She looked at Father Le Moyne. "You going to wait here or come with us, Father?"
"I wouldn't miss it for anything in this world," the priest replied.
"Or the next?" Mille teased him gently. Father Le Moyne was her very favorite person in the whole world. Joe, although he didn't know it—yet—was number two on her list of special people. Father Le Moyne had known Mille since the day she entered the world.
"I won't commit myself to that," Le Moyne responded with a gentle smile.
"I wish ya'll'd quit talkin' 'bout stuff like that," Joe said. "I think it's spooky enough without all that stuff."
Halfway up the sidewalk, the front door opened and Nellie stood framed in the rectangular light. She wore only a thin nightgown. The light from behind her gave glaring evidence that she wore nothing under the gown.
"Hello, Joe-baby," she said, her voice just audible over the blaring noise.
"Nellie," Joe said.
The woman took a long swig from the half pint of whiskey in her hand. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked contemptuously at the priest. "You come here to save my lost soul, Zorro?"
Father Le Moyne surprised them all with his lack-of-patience reply. "I don't know whether your soul is even worth saving, Nellie."
She laughed at the priest. "Fuck you."
"Nellie—" Joe stepped forward.
"Butt out, horse-face," his wife told him. "This is between Captain Midnight and me." She swung her eyes to the priest. She lifted her gown and exposed herself to the trio. "How about some pussy, Padre?"
"Thank you, but no," the priest muttered.
"Oh, that's right," Nellie said, dropping her gown. "You people are married to that wimp, Jesus. Ain't that the way it is?"
"Something like that," Father Le Moyne said acidly. "What did the Dark One promise you, Nellie?"
"He didn't just promise, he delivered. And that is one hell of a lot more than your God can do, Le Moyne. All you people have is vague promises and nothing material. So why don't you people just carry your asses on away from here and leave me alone?"
"He arrested your cancer," the priest pegged it accurately.
"You got that right, buddy. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, Nellie-gal is having herself a natural good time."
"It isn't too late, Nellie," Joe said. "I think Father Le Moyne can—well, fix it, if only you'd let him. Won't you please try?"
"Oh, fuck you, Joe! You have to be kidding." Her voice was filled with contempt. "Go back to all that suffering? No way, Jose." She grinned, and the trio could feel the evil touching them. "You folks wanna come in and join the party? It's about to get real good. Sylvia Sakall just bet Hoss Patrick she could deep-throat him, and Hoss has a cock on him looks like a big sausage. Ought to be interesting, don't you think? How about it?" She looked at Mille. "The talk I used to hear around town was that you liked to fuck, Mille. You spread it around pretty good, 'way the stories go. Why don't you come in and join us? Paul Reeves just made the comment he'd like to bend you over and shove it up your ass. How does that sound to you, Mille?"
Joe put his hand on the butt of his pistol. Mille put her hand on Joe's arm. "No, Joe," she spoke softly. Only Joe and the priest could hear her words. "Not yet.
They haven't made any hostile moves toward us."
"Listen to her, Joe," the priest urged. "It will come to that. But not yet."
"I think I'll pass, Nellie," Mille said.
"We'll get you," the older woman promised. "I want to see it when you get passed around. I want to hear you squall."
"You're all insane!" Mille hissed at the woman.
Nellie threw back her head and laughed.
"I'll see you around, Nellie," Joe promised. "Bet on it."
Nellie once more laughed. "I'm sure you will, sweetie," she told him. "But Hoss is gonna see a whole lot more of me first. What he's got ought to feel good sliding in and out. You wonna watch us, baby?"
Joe lost his temper. "You goddamned slut! You black-hearted whore. You—"
Nellie stepped back into the house and slammed the front door. Mille pulled Joe toward the car. "Come on, Joe. It's all over here. She's lost. Cursing her isn't going to help."
"It'd help me," Joe muttered, getting behind the wheel of the car. "I just can't believe the change in that woman. But she's lost. I can sense it."
Driving away, Father Le Moyne spoke from the back seat. "Joe, I have to ask you this. Are you a Christian?"
"Yes, sir. I was washed in the blood back when I was just a little shaver. I been goin' to the Methodist church near 'bouts all my life."
"Do you believe in God the Father Almighty and the Lord Jesus Christ?"
"Yes, sir. I sure do."
"I don't have to ask Mille. Mille was a—little wild when she was in high school. But she outgrew that and tecame a fine woman."
"A little wild, Father?" Mille blurted.
Father Le Moyne smiled in the darkness of the back seat. "I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, Mille."
"Father?" Mille said, her voice no more than a whisper. "I'm scared."
So, too, am I, child, the priest thought. He said instead, "Trust in the Lord, child. And He will provide protection. Keep your faith strong."
"If you don't mind, Father," Joe said. "And don't think I'm being sacrilegious, but do you think He would object if I included my .357 in on the deal as well?"
Father Le Moyne laughed. The laugh felt good to him. "No, Joe. No. I don't think He would object one little bit." The priest sobered. He wondered when his brother would visit him; and how he would handle that visit.
There is only one way to handle it, the priest thought. And he wondered if he would, or could, find the strength to make that awful move against his brother and sister-in-law.
The priest knew he had to somehow find the strength.
Or become one of the undead.
"Feel like taking a ride, Noah?" Sam asked the writer. He checked his .41 mag as he asked the question.
Monty's head jerked up. "Where are you two going? And why?"
"I want to see what's going on around town, and I want to get Desiree; bring her out here." He looked at Nydia. "If you don't have any objections, that is."
"I don't have any objections, Sam," she said. "I was thinking the same thing just then. You must have picked up on my th
oughts."
"You two can read each other's thoughts?" Viv asked.
"A lot of the time," Nydia said with a smile. "Really makes a marriage interesting."
"Spare me that," Monty muttered.
Nydia said to Sam, "If she's not one of them, Sam, then by all means, she should be provided safety with our group."
"Jon Le Moyne?" Sam asked her.
Nydia shook her head. "You can try, Sam, if you want to take the time. But I personally think it's far too late for Jon."
Noah stood up. "Let me say something at this juncture, people." The group looked at him. "I know you all must think I look and sometimes behave ridiculously. But let me tell you all: I hold belts in both karate and judo, and I am a crack shot with rifle, pistol, and shotgun. Do not think for one instant I cannot or will not stand firm."
Sam stood up, towering over the smaller man. "I don't think that at all, Noah," he said. "You can watch my back for me anytime."
Noah said, "Let's go have a look around town, Sam."
They drove first to Jon's house, parking in front of the home. A party was in progress. Loud music and wild young laughter spilled from the home. The music was almost unbearable. Noah glanced at Sam and shook his head in disgust. "He gets word that his parents are killed and the punk has a party. I think we are wasting our time by visiting young Mr. Le Moyne, Sam."
"Yeah, I agree with you. But I said I'd try. So let's give it a go. You game?"
"Lead on, D'Artagnan."
The two men walked up the sidewalk to the house. Sam was thinking: The man may be small, and he might look odd, to our way of thinking in terms of dress, but he's sure got some brass on his ass.
Before the men got halfway up the sidewalk, the front door opened and young people spilled out, forming a half circle around the two men.
"If trouble starts," Noah said, "I'll take the punks to Jon's right, you take those to the left."
"Done," Sam said, not taking his eyes off Jon Le Moyne. The young man's eyes were both defiant and sullen. "Your uncle is very worried about you, Jon."
"Fuck my uncle!" Jon spat the words. "No," he said with an ugly smile. "I'll leave that to Noah. Tell me something, Noah. With you and my good uncle, who was the fuckee and who was the fuckor?"
"You have an exceedingly filthy mouth, young man," Noah admonished the young man. "Whatever happened between Father Le Moyne and myself—and it was not what you are implying—is ancient history. And it is certainly none of your concern, you shitty little twit!"
Noah's words were greeted by hoots and shouts of dirty laughter. One young man, no more than fifteen years old, unzipped his jeans and pulled out his penis. "Here, little man," he called to Noah. "You like to suck cocks so much, come over here and suck on this."
"They have it all twisted out of shape," Noah said, his words reaching only Sam's ears. "No one ever understands, or tries to understand."
"Your friends do, Noah," Sam told him. "And that is all that matters. Screw all the others."
"Look on the porch!" Noah whispered.
Sam lifted his eyes. A dark shape flitted back and forth on the glass-enclosed porch. It was not human, but yet somehow more than animal. Even cloaked in darkness, the shape appeared hideously deformed. Evil emanated from it.
"What in the name of God is that horrible-looking thing?" Sam blurted hoarsely.
Jon wheeled around, as did most of the young people at the front of the semicircle facing the two men. Jon looked back at Sam. "What's what? I don't see anything."
"It's the Dark One," Noah's whisper was just as hoarsely uttered as Sam's question. "For our eyes only. Few can witness him in his true shape, for to do so means almost certain death. I was one of the very few who ever saw him and lived to speak of it."
"He's taunting us?"
"Yes. Do not look directly at him," Noah warned him. "If you meet his eyes you will be harmed."
"Thanks for telling me," Sam muttered. He raised his voice. "One last time, Jon. And this is your last chance. Come with us."
The young man grinned and scratched his crotch. "Your wife had real good pussy, Balon. And she said she never had a cock like mine before. She liked it so much she licked on it like it was an ice cream cone. I was going to give it to her up the ass. But that can wait for a later date. We have the time."
Sam held his temper in check. "Jon, pleasures of the flesh are not worth losing your soul over. Think about it. For if you don't come with us now, there will not be another chance for you."
"Eternal life has been promised to us all," Jon said. "And it has been promised that we shall see you grovel and beg for mercy from our Master. I look forward to that, Balon." Jon began laughing.
Sam cut the laughing short by stepping forward and slugging the young man, knocking him sprawling on his butt. Just as the young man's friends closed in, Sam jerked the .41 mag from his belt and shoved the muzzle in a young man's face. The cocking of the big pistol was loud in the sudden silence.
Noah pulled his .357 and jacked back the hammer. He looked as if he would enjoy using it.
The young man with the pistol barrel under his chin paled, but did not back up.
"I'll blow you straight to hell, boy," Sam said, in a low menacing voice.
"So there'll be another time, Balon," Jon said, as he moaned on the ground. His mouth was bloody from Sam's fist. "No rush. We have all the time we need."
"Start backing up," Sam told Noah. "Slow and easy does it."
The men backed up, slowly edging toward Sam's pickup. Noah stood guard until Sam was in the Chevy and had the motor running. The young people had followed the pair, always keeping at a safe distance.
Claude Sullivan said, "I think we'll give you to the Beasts, Noah." He laughed. "That ought to be fun, watching them have your ass."
Noah smiled, and for a moment, Sam thought the man was going to shoot the boy. Noah said, "Here's something to remember me by, punks." He lowered the muzzle of his pistol slightly and pulled the trigger, emptying the weapon at the feet of the young Satan worshippers. The booming of the .357 was enormous in the quiet night. The slugs sent the young people scattering in all directions, yelling and running. Noah laughed and got in the truck. Sam dropped the truck in gear and roared off.
"That was fun!" Noah said, as he reloaded the .357.
Sam smiled. Any doubts he might have had concerning Noah had disappeared. The man would stand firm. "I think you got your point across, Noah."
"I considered shooting that Sullivan punk in the belly. But I think it would be best if they initiated the first violent move."
"That will come soon enough, Noah," Sam said. "And when it does it will come suddenly."
"I believe it."
They came to the Fox Estate. Both men could feel the evil emanating from the grounds of the Giddon House. Noah commented on it.
"It's all right there," Sam said. And for a moment his mind went back to Falcon House and the siege. (The Devil's Heart)
"You think you—or one of us—will have to enter the Giddon House?" Noah asked.
"No doubt in my mind, Noah. And I am not looking forward to it."
He pulled into the curving driveway of the Fox Estate and abruptly stopped. He looked at Noah. "Noah? Something just popped into my mind. Tell me, if you can, who founded Nelson College?"
"Why—Norman Giddon's great-grandfather. He—" Noah paused, deep in thought. "Yes. That's it, isn't it? The college is a training ground for Satan's converts." He slapped the palm of his hand on his forehead. "My God! Why didn't I see that before!"
"You were probably blocked from it. No telling how many covens have been established around the nation by graduates of Nelson. Satan's turned his movement into a big business."
Before Noah could reply, hard screaming cut the night. Both men searched the surrounding gloom. "There!" Noah pointed to Sam's left.
It was Desiree. She was naked. Sam spun the pickup and kicked on his high beams. The lights flashed on the young woman's nakedness. Sh
e had been beaten, the cruel marks of the whip crisscrossed her skin. Small silver chains dangled from the nipples of her breasts.
"Oh, my Lord!" Noah cried. "What has been done to that poor girl?"
"Desiree!" Sam shouted, opening the door. "Over here. It's Sam!"
The panicked and frightened young woman turned and almost slipped on the damp grass. She raced toward the sound of a friendly voice. "Behind me!" she managed to gasp out the warning.
A dozen or more men and boys were chasing Desiree, some of them clad only in their underwear. They had been taking turns raping and beating the young woman. Some of them were armed.
Desiree fell exhausted into Sam's arms and he picked her up and literally tossed her into the cab of the truck. He spun around. Using a two-handed grip on the .41 mag, Sam lined up a near naked man and gently squeezed the trigger. The pistol roared in the night, fire lancing from the muzzle. The man stopped abruptly and was slung backward, the big hollow-point slug ripping into his belly and tearing out his back, taking a fist-sized chunk of meat as it exited.
Noah's .357 roared twice. Two men dropped to the grass, one of them gut shot, the other howling in pain, part of his hip torn away.
"In the truck!" Sam yelled. He jumped behind the wheel. He gunned the engine just as Noah slammed the door, the back tires biting into the concrete drive.
The truck fishtailed as Sam slid onto the road in front of the mansion and headed for the Draper home. Noah removed his jacket and placed it around Desiree's shoulders. He felt slightly sick to his stomach as his eyes picked up the whip marks, the silver chains dangling from her nipples, and the studded dog collar around her slender neck.
"Filthy perverted sons of bitches!" Noah said. He worked at the clasp of the collar and removed it, tossing the studded leather out the window.
Desiree almost screamed in relief as she removed the silver alligator clips from her swollen nipples. Small silver chains dangled from the clips.
"They used these to force me into submission," she sobbed. "They were going to pierce my nipples and insert permanent rings. They forced me to my knees and took me like a dog!" she wailed. "Then two of them raped me at once. Oh, God!" she cried. "What kind of place is this? Sam—those things we did this afternoon. We did do them, didn't we? It's—all kind of a blur in my mind. When I woke up, I thought it had been a dream. Then Perkins brought those men and—"
The Devil's Touch Page 18