Running With the Demon

by Terry Brooks

  Nest took a deep breath as his green eyes shifted back to hers. “He’s come for you. Your grandmother knew. That made her a threat to him, so he got rid of her.”

  His gaze was steady. “He’s your father, Nest.”

  In his dream, the Knight of the Word stands with a ragged band of survivors atop a wooded rise south of the burning city. Men have devoted such enormous time and energy to destroying themselves that they are exhausted from their efforts, and now the demons and the once-men have picked up the slack. At first it was the tented camps and nomads who were prey, but of late the attacks have shifted to the walled cities. The weakest have begun to fall and the nature of the adversary to make itself known. The Knight has battled the demons all through the destruction of the old world, confronting them at every opportunity, trying to slow the erosion of civilization. But the tide is inexorable and undiminished, and a new dark age has descended.

  The Knight looks around to be certain that the women and children are being led to safety while he acts as sentry. Most have already disappeared into the night, and the rest are fading with the swiftness of ghosts. Only a few remain behind to stand with him, a handful of those who have discovered too late that he is not the enemy. Below, the city burns with an angry crackle. Hordes of captives are being led away, those who did not flee when there was time, who did not heed his warning. The Knight closes his eyes against the sadness and despair that wells within him. It does not change. He cannot make them listen. He cannot make them believe.

  Look! says a weathered man next to him, his voice a low hiss of fear and rage. It’s her!

  He sees the woman then, striding forward out of the darkness and into the light, surrounded by men who are careful not to come too near. She is tall and regal, and her features are cold. He has never seen her before, but there is something familiar about her nevertheless. He is immediately intrigued. She radiates power and is an immutable presence. She is clearly the leader of those about her, and they hasten to do her bidding. A captive is brought before her and forced to kneel. He will not look at her, his head lowered stubbornly between his shoulders. She reaches for his hair and jerks savagely on it. When their eyes meet, he undergoes a terrible transformation. He twists and shakes, an animal trapped within a snare, enraged and terrified. He says things, screams them actually, the words indistinct, but the sounds clear. Then she is finished with him and he arches as if skewered on the point of a spear and dies writhing in the dirt.

  The woman steps around him without a second glance and continues on, the flames of the city catching in their orange glow the empty look upon her face.

  Do you know her? the Knight asks the man who has spoken.

  Oh, yes, I know her. The man whispers, as if the night breeze might carry his words to her. His face is scarred and worn. She was a girl once. Before she became what she is. Her name was Nest Freemark. She lived in a little town called Hopewell, Illinois. Her father came for her on the Fourth of July when she was just fourteen and changed her forever. Her father, a demon himself, made her one, too. I heard him say so to a man he knew, just before he killed him. It was in a prison. Her father would have killed me as well, had he known I was listening.

  Tell me about her, the Knight says quietly.

  He turns the man in to the trees so that they can follow the others to safety, and in the course of their furtive withdrawal from the horror taking place on the plains below, the man does.

  When John Ross awoke that morning in Josie Jackson’s bed, he was in such pain that he could barely move. All of his muscles and joints had stiffened during the night, and the bruises from his beating had flowered into brilliantly colored splotches on his chest and ribs. He lay next to Josie and tried shifting various parts of himself without waking her. Everything ached, and he knew it would be days before he could function in a normal way again.

  Last night’s dream hung with veiled menace in the dark seclusion of his mind, a horror he could not dispel, and he was reminded anew of the older dream, the one that had given him his first glimpse of the monster Nest Freemark would become.

  Should I tell her? he wondered anew. Now, while there is still time? Will it help her to know?

  When they rose, Josie drew a hot bath for him and left him to soak while she made breakfast. He was dressing when she came in with the news of Evelyn Freemark’s death. The details were on the radio, and several of Josie’s friends had called as well. Ross walked in silence to the kitchen to eat, the momentary joy he had found during the night already beginning to fade. He tried not to show what he was feeling. The demon had outsmarted him. The demon had provoked last night’s attack on him not because he was a threat to its plans, but to get him out of the way so he could not help Evelyn Freemark. He had spent so much time worrying about Nest that he had forgotten to consider the people closest to her. The demon was breaking Nest down by stripping away the people and defenses she relied upon. Ross had missed it completely.

  He finished his breakfast and told Josie he was going out to see Old Bob, and she offered to come with him. He thanked her, but said he thought he should do this alone. She said that was fine, looking away quickly, the hurt showing in her dark eyes. She walked to the counter and stood there, looking out the kitchen window.

  “Is this good-bye, John?” she asked after a minute. “You can tell me.”

  He studied the soft curve of her shoulders against the robe. “I’m not sure.”

  She nodded, saying nothing. She ran a hand through her tousled hair and continued to stare out the window.

  He groped for something more to say, but it was too late for explanations. He had violated his own rules last night by letting himself get close to her. Involvement with anyone was forbidden for a Knight of the Word. It was one thing to risk his own life; it was something else again to risk the life of another.

  “I’ll be leaving Hopewell soon, maybe even sometime today. I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His eyes met hers as she turned to look at him. “I wish it could be different.”

  She studied him a moment. “I’d like to believe that. Can I write you?”

  He shook his head slowly. “I don’t have an address.”

  Her smile was wan and fragile. “All right. Will you write me sometimes?”

  He told her he would try. He could tell she wanted to say more, to ask him why he was being so difficult, so secretive. But she did not. She just kept looking at him, as if knowing somewhere deep inside that it was useless, that she would never see him again.

  She drove him back to the hotel so that he could change his clothes, then drove him out to the Freemarks’ and dropped him off at the entrance to the park. She barely spoke the entire time. But when he started to get out of the car, she reached over and put her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  “Don’t forget me,” she whispered, and gave him a hint of the smile that had drawn him to her that first day.

  Then she straightened herself behind the steering wheel while he closed the car door and drove away without looking back.

  He had made up his mind in that instant to tell Nest Freemark about her father.

  Now, as he stood looking at Nest’s shattered face, he wondered if he had made the right decision. The mix of shock and horror that flooded her eyes was staggering. She blinked rapidly, and he could tell that she wanted to look away from him, to hide from his terrible revelation, but she could not. She tried to speak, but no words would come. Old Bob was stunned as well, but his exposure to the truth wasn’t as complete. He didn’t know what Nest did. He didn’t know that her father was a demon.

  “My father?” she whispered finally. “Are you sure?”

  The words hung between them in the ensuing silence, a poisonous and forbidding accusation.

  “Nest,” her grandfather began, reaching for her.

  “No, don’t say anything,” she said quickly, silencing him, stepping back. She tore her gaze from Ross and looked out into the park. “I need to … I j
ust have to …”

  She broke off in despair, tears streaming down her face, and bolted from the yard through the hedgerow and into the park. She ran past the ball diamond behind the house, down the service road toward the park entrance, and off toward the cemetery. John Ross and her grandfather stood looking after her helplessly, watching her angular figure diminish and disappear into the trees.

  Old Bob looked at Ross then, a flat, expressionless gaze. “Are you certain about this?”

  Ross nodded, feeling the grayness of the day descend over him like a pall. “Yes, sir.”

  “I don’t know that you should have told her like that.”

  “I don’t know that I should have waited this long.”

  “You’ve tracked him here, her father, to Hopewell?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And he’s come for Nest?”

  Ross sighed. “Yes, sir, he has. He means to take her with him.”

  Old Bob shook his head in disbelief. “To kidnap her? Can’t you arrest him?”

  Ross shook his head. “I haven’t the authority. Besides, I can’t even find him. If I do, I can’t prove any of what I’ve told you. All I can do is try to stop him.”

  Old Bob slipped his big hands into his pockets. “How did you find all this out?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  Old Bob looked away, then back again, his face growing flushed and angry. “You come to Hopewell with a story about your college days with Caitlin that’s all a lie. You manage to get yourself invited to our home and then you keep from us the truth of what you are really doing here. You do not warn us about Nest’s father. You may think you have good reasons for everything you’ve done, John, but I have to tell you that I’ve put up with as much of this as I’m going to. You are no longer welcome here. I want you off my property and out of our lives.”

  John Ross stood firm against the old man’s withering stare. “I don’t blame you, sir. I would feel the same. I’m sorry for everything.” He paused. “But none of what you’ve said changes the fact that Nest is still in danger and I’m the best one to help her.”

  “Somehow I doubt that, John. You’ve done a damn poor job of protecting any of us, it seems to me.”

  Ross nodded. “I expect I have. But the danger to Nest is something I understand better than you.”

  Old Bob took his hands out of his pockets. “I don’t think you understand the first thing about that girl. Now you get moving, John. Go find Nest’s father, if that’s what you want to do. But don’t come back here.”

  John Ross stood where he was a moment longer, looking at the old man, trying in vain to think of something else to say. Then he turned without a word and limped away.

  CHAPTER 28

  Nest fled into the park in mindless shock, her thoughts scattered, her reason destroyed. Had she known a way to do so, she would have run out of her skin, out of her body, out of her life. The face of the demon would not leave her, the image burned so deeply into her mind that she could not dispel it, his features bland and unremarkable, his blue eyes pale and empty.

  Your father …

  Your father …

  She flew into a dark stand of pine and spruce, flinging herself into the concealing shadows, desperate to hide from everything, frantic to escape. The leathery branches whipped at her face and arms, bringing tears, but the pain was solid and definable and slowed her flight. She staggered to a halt, grounded anew, lacking a reason to run farther or a better place to go. She moved aimlessly within the tangle of the grove, tears welling in her eyes, fists clenching at her sides. This wasn’t happening, she thought. It couldn’t be happening. She walked through the conifers to a massive old oak, put her arms about the gnarled trunk, and hugged it to her. She felt the rough bark bite into her arms and legs, into her cheeks and forehead, and still she pressed harder.

  Your father …

  She could not say the words, could not complete the thought. She pressed and pressed, willing her body to melt into the tree. She would become one with it. She would disappear into it and never be seen again. She was crying hard now, tears running down her face, her body shaking. She squeezed her eyes tight. Had her father really killed Gran? Had he killed her mother as well? Would he now try to kill her?

  Do something!

  She forced herself to go still inside and the tears to stop. Her sobs died away in small gulps as the cold realization settled over her that the crying wasn’t doing any good, wasn’t helping anything. She pushed away from the tree and stared out into the park through gaps in the conifers, rebuilding her composure from tiny, scattered fragments. She caught glimpses between the needled branches of other lives being led, all of them distant and removed. It was the Fourth of July, America’s day of independence. What freedom should she celebrate? She looked down at her arms, at how the oak’s bark had left angry red marks that made her skin look mottled and scaly.

  A shudder overtook her. Could she ever look at herself again in the same way? How much of her was human and how much something else? She remembered asking Gran only a few days earlier, weary of the years of secrecy, if her father might be a forest creature. She remembered wondering afterward what that would feel like.

  Now she could wonder about this.

  She shifted her gaze inward, staring at nothing, still unable to believe it was true. Maybe John Ross was mistaken. Why couldn’t he be? But she knew there was no mistake. That was why Gran had been so anxious to avoid any discussion of her father all those years. She felt sick inside thinking of it, of the lies and half truths, of the rampant deception. Awash with misery and fear, she felt bereft of anything and anyone she could depend upon, mired in a life history that had compromised and abandoned her.

  She moved back to the oak and sat down, leaning against the rugged trunk, suddenly worn out. She was still sitting there, staring at the trees around her, trying to decide what to do next, when Pick dropped out of the tree across the way and hurried over.

  “Criminy, I thought I’d never catch up with you!” he gasped, collapsing to his knees in front of her. “If it wasn’t for Daniel, I’d never get anywhere in this confounded park!”

  She closed her eyes wearily. “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I dong here? What do you think I’m doing here? Is this some sort of trick question?”

  “Go away.” Her voice was a flat, hollow whisper.

  Pick went silent and stayed that way until she opened her eyes to see what he was doing. He was sitting up straight, his eyes locked on hers. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said quietly, “because I know how upset you are about your father.”

  She started to say something flip, then saw the look in his eyes and caught herself just in time. She felt her throat tighten. “You heard?”

  Pick nodded.

  “Everything?”

  “Everything.” Pick folded his wooden arms defensively. “Do me a favor. Don’t tell me I should have told you about him before this. Don’t make me remind you of something you already know.”

  She compressed her lips into a tight line to keep the tears in check. “Like what?”

  “Like how it’s not my place to tell you secrets about your family.” Pick shook his head admonishingly. “I’m sorry you had to find out, but not sorry it didn’t come from me. In any case, it’s no reason for you to leap up and run off. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Not yours, anyway.”

  “Not yours, either!” The words snapped at her. “You’ve had a nasty shock, and you have a right to be upset, but you can’t afford to go to pieces over it. I don’t know how John Ross found out about it, and I don’t know why he decided to tell you. But I do know that it isn’t going to help matters if you crawl off into a hole and wait for it all to go away! You have to do something about it!”

  Nest almost laughed. “Like what, Pick? What should I do? Go back to the house and get the shotgun? A lot of good that did Gran! He’s a demon! Didn’t you hear
? A demon! My father’s a demon! Jeez! It sounds like a bad joke!” She brushed away fresh tears. “Anyway, I’m not talking about this with you until you tell me the truth about him. You know the truth, don’t you? You’ve always known. You didn’t tell me while Gran was alive because you didn’t feel you should. Okay. I understand that. But she’s dead now, and somebody better tell me the truth right now or I’m probably going to end up dead, too!”

  She was gulping against the sobs that welled up in her throat, angry and afraid and miserable.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Pick threw up his hands in disgust and began tugging on his beard. “Exactly what is it you think I should tell you, Nest? What part of the truth haven’t you figured out, bright girl that you are? Your grandmother was a wild thing, a young girl who bent a lot of rules and broke a few more. That Indian showed you most of it, with his dancing and his visions. She ran with the feeders in Sinnissippi Park, daring anything, and that led to her involvement with the demon. The demon wanted her, whether for herself or her magic, I don’t know. He was furious when she found out what he was and told him she didn’t want anything more to do with him. He threatened her, told her the choice wasn’t hers to make. But she was tough and hard and not afraid of him, and she wouldn’t back down. She told him what she would do if he didn’t leave her alone, and he knew she meant business.”

  The sylvan stamped his foot. “Are you with me so far? Good. Here’s the rest of it. He waited for his chance to get even, the way demons do. He was mostly smoke and dark magic, so aging wasn’t a problem for him. He could afford to be patient. He waited until your grandmother married and your mother came along. He waited for your mother to grow up. I think your grandmother believed she’d seen the last of him by then, but she was wrong. All that time, he was waiting to get back at her. He did it through your mother. He deceived her with his magic and his lies, and then he seduced her. Not out of love or even infatuation. Out of hate. Out of a desire to hurt your grandmother. Deliberately, maliciously, callously. You were the result. Your grandmother didn’t know he was responsible at first, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have told your mother. But the demon waited until you were a few months old and then told them both. Together.”