Marley rebuked the spirits again and shouted out assorted prayers and blessings. He had begun a liturgy when the laughter returned, low guttural chuckles that mingled.
Slowly, they began to subside. Tanner sighed as he collapsed back against the couch. Beside him, Marley continued to pray, his hands clasped together and his eyes closed tightly. He was asking God for protection for the house.
"I think they're gone." Tanner sighed with relief.
Cautiously, Marley got on his knees and peered over the couch. "I think so too," he said. "I think they left on their own. I wasn't very effective."
“You tried."
"But my faith wasn't strong enough," Marley declared.
"You can't blame yourself," Tanner said. “All hell was breaking loose."
Heaven was curled between Althea and her mother on Mommy's bed. The three were huddled like refugees from a storm, and though the child could feel the warmth of the women's bodies, she shivered. Her face was pressed against her mother's shoulder, but even the familiar smell of the fabric softener in the clothing did not soothe her.
She wanted to weep, but Mommy was already upset. She didn't want to compound the distress so she kept the tears in check.
Until the words flickered through her thoughts. She shut her eyes tightly and tried to ignore the sound, but the guttural voice of Gnelf Master, that same Gnelf Master who had been talking to her the last few days, came back to her.
We could have killed them all if we'd wanted to, Bitch.
She grunted softly into Mommy's shoulder. She didn't want anybody hurt, not Mommy or Mommy's friends. These people were all here to help her.
We could have hurt them. We still could.
She didn't speak. Mommy would hear and be scared. More scared and worried than she was now. No, she couldn't let that happen. That was what the Gnelfs wanted.
Tell your Mommy something for us. She held her breath and bit her lower lip, summoning defiance from somewhere within herself.
She'll need to know. We're going to get anybody that's in our way. We're going to fuck them good. Tell her that. Tell her her friends are fucked.
Heaven began to weep, unable to stop the tears any longer. She cried onto Mommy's shoulder even as Althea's hands touched her back in an effort to comfort her.
Why were they doing this? Why were they hurting people because of her? It didn't make sense to a four—almost five—year-old brain. They were going to "fuck" her mother's friends. She didn't know what that meant, but it had to be something horrible.
In the shadows which shrouded the night, Simon stood, his form almost invisible near the oak on the corner. Slowly he lowered the baculum and nodded in approval. He was accomplishing his task. He would find what he wanted, gain what he needed. The door was opening, and the little girl would serve him even as he fulfilled the request for which he had been hired.
He had accepted the job not for money but for opportunity. It was the moment he had worked toward from the time he had first picked up a book on sorcery. It was the moment of his destiny, the moment that would bring him the power he had always desired, the power of domination.
He had not been taken seriously, had been an outcast, the brunt of jokes, but that was past. Now he would be the one to be feared. He would rip open the world and reach into its guts and twist, and the universe would writhe in pain.
Tanner and Marley cleaned the remains of glass and timber from the living room, plucked the embedded shards and splinters from the walls and furniture, and carted the debris to the garbage can outside. They spoke little while they worked, each awed by what he had witnessed.
When they walked into the bedroom, they found Heaven dozing between Althea and Gabrielle. The psychologist held a finger to her lips to keep them silent. Easing away from the child, she slid off the edge of the bed. She winced as her buttocks cleared the mattress but had regained composure when she reached the doorway.
“What happened?"
“The coffee table tried to kill us," Marley whispered.
"What did you do?"
“We ducked," Tanner said.
“This sounds like the bad trips my patients on drugs describe," Althea said. "I'm going to stay here with her. She's sleeping, and hopefully she won't have any dreams."
"I'll stay too," Tanner volunteered. Across the room he saw Gab's eyebrows rise. She couldn't protest verbally without waking Heaven.
He mouthed the word "couch," to her, then placed his palms together and rested his cheek against them to denote sleeping.
She shrugged.
"I suppose I should stay too," Marley said.
Althea shook her head. "You'd better go home to your family, Parson. If we all sleep in our clothes—uncomfortably—we'll all be exhausted."
"Well …"
"Really. Rest. You'll be needed again I'm sure. Besides, it wouldn't look right for a married preacher to spend the night in a single girl's house, especially when there's a hot babe like me on the premises."
He grinned, blushed a bit, and finally conceded. "Call me if anything goes wrong," he said.
“We will," Althea promised. “If we're able to call." She ran a hand across her forehead. Her fingers were trembling despite her effort to appear composed.
She walked with Tanner and Marley to the front door, where Marley reiterated his request to be called if anything went wrong. She promised again she would phone and then waved goodbye.
"What the hell is happening?" she asked as she and Tanner moved onto the front steps.
"I wish I knew."
She pulled out a package of cigarettes. After offering one to Tanner she lit and tilted her head back in a classic smoker's pose. Her eyes closed as the smoke eased into her lungs.
"Guess I picked the wrong year to give up men and cigarettes?"
"The devil made you do it, I guess."
"Don't even joke about it, Tanner. Forty-eight hours ago I would have told you the devil was the product of the human imagination, devised to explain evil. Now I'm rethinking that. It's all so real suddenly. Everything I've believed is being turned around."
"I've never been particularly theological," Tanner said. "I guess I'm not as shaken up in terms of my beliefs, but I can't remember being more afraid."
"This is a weird town," Althea said through another puff of smoke. "I've always heard talk of things going on. Remember the reporter who wrote that book about the girl who talked to angels?"
"That guy Gable Tyler? I heard about that book but never read it. I thought it was just another one of those Amityville-type things."
"It was strange. Then there were the animal attacks in eighty-eight in Bristol Springs. People said a witch was behind those. And in the south part of the parish they say all the answers never came out about that police conspiracy. There was talk of monsters. The Mormo. Now I'm wondering if maybe it's true. Maybe this whole area is cursed or something."
"Maybe evil is everywhere," Tanner said.
When she had finished smoking, they went back into the bedroom and found Gabrielle talking to Heaven. "She woke up," Gab said. "I guess she wasn't sleeping very soundly."
Heaven saw Althea and Tanner in the doorway and her eyes widened. "Where's the preacher?" she asked.
"The parson went home," Althea said. "He was tired, baby, and he wanted to see his children."
"He shouldn't have left," Heaven said. Her hands tightened on Gab's arm, and she looked into her mother's eyes. "He shouldn't have left."
"He just went home," Gab said. "We'll be fine.”
“We will," Heaven said. "He may not."
Marley's home was in Penn's Ferry, a small town a few miles from Aimsley. Some called it a bedroom community. He supposed that was true. He liked living there. It was peaceful. Nothing ever happened in Penn's Ferry, and he was pleased with that. He didn't have to worry about burglars ransacking his home, and he didn't have to worry about his children playing in the front yard. You had to be careful everywhere these days, but in Penn'
s Ferry he felt assaults on family, home, and nerves were far less likely.
As he guided his car along the black strip of highway toward home he listened to a sonata by Beethoven on the public broadcasting station. The music took the edge off his fear.
Demons, no doubt about it. He would have to pray deeply and consult another pastor to find the answer to all of this. He didn't know whether he should trust the man Tanner had spoken about. If Danube was so mysterious, he might be connected with the spirits.
Tomorrow he would call Stephen Grant in Atlanta, his seminary professor. Grant would put him in touch with someone experienced in these things, someone who could tell him how to fight demons. First, he would get home and rest. It was too late to make the call now.
He passed a set of oncoming lights and heard laughter over the sound of the radio. Nervously, he turned to the passenger seat.
In the glow of the street lights he could see the outline of the figure seated there. He blinked, thinking some smudge on his glasses was creating the illusion, but he was mistaken.
There was a little creature the size of a dwarf next to him. Shirtless, its small torso was a mass of muscles. A thick mat of curly dark hair, spread across its shoulders, and it reeked of perspiration. A broad grin wrinkled its hideous little face, and its eyes glowed, their pupils red vertical slits.
"You should have left us alone, fucker."
He looked back to the highway, making sure he was going straight. He realized his arms had tensed and his grip on the wheel was mashing the plastic into his skin.
The vision couldn't be real. He had been thinking too much about all that had happened and he was seeing what he had been thinking about.
He looked back to his side, a slight laugh building in his chest. He shouldn't be laughing, but it was ridiculous. He had an elf at his side, a rather disgusting and smelly elf but an elf indeed. It had sharp ears and a long pointed nose and chin. Beneath its lopsided cap, its greenish black hair was oily and fell down its back in a pony tail. It wore grimy white pants and little shoes that turned up in points at the toes, and it was buckled safely into place with the seat belt.
"I'm real, fuckface," the little creature said. "See me in the books? Now I'm here. I'm what you're afraid I am."
Marley looked at him, then back at the road. "Then I command you to leave."
"You could almost do that, except that you doubt yourself. Your faith is weak, and a little doubt is all I need."
Keeping his hands on the wheel, Marley edged toward the door on the driver's side, glancing at the road and then back at the creature. "I rebuke you," he said.
"Yeah, I know. But you believe in me, and you've looked at pictures of what I'm supposed to look like. It's your mind that's giving me form, shithead."
"Leave my car.”
"Wish I could, but I have business here." The dwarf reached into the sash tied around his waist and pulled out a thin silver pike. Then, leaning over in the seat, he raised it in one hand and plunged it down into Marley's right thigh.
The blade burrowed into flesh, sinking to the hilt. A cry escaped the pastor's lips, and he almost lost control of the car as he looked down at the wound.
Laughing, the Gnelf pulled the weapon free and plunged it again, driving it through muscle about an inch away from the first wound.
Warm blood began to soak into Marley's pant leg, and the pain of the cuts thundered up to his brain. He fought to keep the car on the road, swerving almost onto the shoulder before he righted his course.
"Does it hurt?" the Gnelf asked.
Tears filled Marley's eyes, and he could feel sweat breaking out on his flesh. “Yes."
Why was he talking to the little monster? He was being tormented by an evil little troll and then discussing the matter with the creature.
"Get out of my car," he demanded. "Leave me."
"Ah, ah. I'm with you now, Rev. Remember that class in seminary when they told you about all the fragments and strands that made up the Bible story? Made you wonder, didn't it? Was the J strand right? Or was it imagination, a good story. Should you take it literally or just as a piece of fiction?"
He shoved the blade into Marley's side, raking it down through his coat and shirt so the pike's point ripped open the flesh across the ribs.
In the dash light, the stain spreading across Marley's shirt appeared black. The cut produced a stinging sensation followed by white-hot pain. Marley's arms wanted to relax, but he managed to keep his grip on the wheel. The car sped on along the highway, its headlights sweeping from side to side as his grasp faltered.
"We're not alone," said the Gnelf at his side, and suddenly an arm slipped around Marley's neck from the back seat. He gasped as the small, muscular limb tightened across his larynx and the cold steel of a larger blade, a scythe, touched his flesh.
"I'll cut out your gizzard." It was a harsh, throaty voice. Marley felt hot breath against his ear, and he tried to scream.
The small bicep against his throat tightened, silencing him. He stared at the roadway through bulging eyes. The yellow line glowed in his headlight beams and seemed to be moving itself at a high speed. He tried to take his foot off the accelerator, but the creature beside him placed its foot over his, forcing the pedal to the floor.
"You don't want to slow down," said the Gnelf, gripping his throat. "You'll be late."
Marley croaked, an effort at posing a question.
As if in answer, the radio began to scan, digital numbers speeding past channels wildly, stopping on a call number Marley didn't recognize.
Then an unearthly voice began to pound through the car, a newscaster's voice, only slower, more like the voice of 'a dead man.
"And on a sad note, the Reverend Marley was killed last night when he apparently lost control of his car and drove into the lake."
Marley again attempted a scream, but the arm remained tight against his throat, and then the Gnelf in the passenger seat reached over and grabbed for the steering wheel.
Marley felt it slipping from his fingers against his will, and through the windshield he could see the headlights sweep across the oncoming lane. A small embankment of gravel had formed on the left-hand shoulder. When the front wheels hit that, the car's speed carried it upward. It became airborne, sailing through the darkness.
A billboard extolling the virtues of milk was on display, a pair of spotlights illuminating the smile of a pretty blond girl with white teeth. The car tore through the center of her face and continued forward, plunging down into dark waters. For a moment it seemed the car would stay afloat, but then it began to falter, and water started to pour in under the dashboard.
Ripping free of the grip round his neck, Marley pressed the window’s switch, urging it downward before electrical systems failed.
Water began to pour onto the seat, but the opening offered him a chance of escape. He knew the water pressure from outside would never allow the door to open, but if he could slither through the opening he had a chance.
Kicking at the creature in the passenger seat, he forced his head through, then his shoulders. Water rushed into his nostrils, but he continued to struggle. Though he was underwater now, he could reach the surface. He knew it.
The water stung his wounds, but he forced his brain to shut out the pain.
His clothes were like lead weights, soaking up pounds of water as he tried to paddle with his feet and stroke with his arms. Quickly, he shrugged off his coat and kicked harder with his legs.
His lungs felt as if they were about to burst, and the breath escaping his lips bubbled around his face. The chill of the water was jolting, almost paralyzing.
His wounds ached, but he ignored that, impelling himself upward with sheer will power. He thrashed his arms, kicked, pulled his body through the water with cupped hands. He had enjoyed swimming in his days in the seminary, had gone to the school's pool to relax between study sessions and research for papers. His muscles had not atrophied that much since, had not sagged.
&nb
sp; As if by a miracle, his head broke the surface of the water, bobbed out into the air, and he began to cough and gasp for breath at the same time.
He gagged, but gained control of his breathing as he treaded water. He waited to feel tiny hands close around his ankles, but the grip did not come. Perhaps the water had affected them.
He floated on his back for a few moments, resting, and then began to make his way to shore. The crawl proved too difficult, exhausted as he was, and it caused the cut over his ribs to throb, so he did an incomplete backstroke.
Cold dark waves slapped him, and he tasted muddy water, but he fought onward. He was amazed at how far the car had sailed over the lake, but the sandy bank was in sight. Water blurred his vision, however, he could see the dusk-to-dawn lights that blazed over the picnic area.
He made for them, keeping his mouth and nostrils clear of the water. Blood was flowing freely from his wounds, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.
He tried to look back over his shoulders to the area where the water's surface might still be disturbed by the automobile's descent, and saw no sign of the Gnelfs. Fine, let the water take them, let them stick in the muddy bottom forever. They'd leave the little girl alone.
He no longer questioned the reality of their existence, and he did not attempt to explain it to himself. That would come later. He would discuss it with the professor, talk it over with Althea. Tomorrow. After he had dried out, after he had rested.
He tried touching bottom, but realized that still wasn't possible, not the way the bottom sloped. He would have to make it to the water's shore. Good enough. He kicked and half-stroked, demanding that his muscles keep working.
He had children, a wife waiting to see him. He had a sermon to prepare. So many things to do. He made outlines in his head as he struggled on, using his responsibilities to drive him onward.
Water lapped at his face, and the night breeze wafted over him, more chilly than he had expected. He felt very cold, icy. For a moment, he floated, letting his arms and legs rest. He even allowed his eyes to close as he sucked in air through his mouth.
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