That vague sense of unease now intensified within Creeley. It was not fear, not quite, but rather a perpetual sensation of being thrown off balance, like trying to walk on board a ship, only coming from inside the gut.
“Right, the father’s up here,” he told the state trooper. “We’re, uh, not sure where the mother is right now, but you can bring girl up here, okay? Right. Bye.” Creeley hung up the phone and exhaled with relief. Hayden had been right; Broarty appeared to be coming back up to the San Simeon with the girl. Fishing out Jack’s cell number, he jabbed it in. Jack Hayden answered it on the second ring. “Jack, everything’s okay,” Creeley told him. “Robynn’s fine and they got Broarty.”
“Are they bringing her to you?”
“She’ll be in here shortly.”
“How about Marc? Where are they taking him?”
“We’re the closest jail, so he’s coming here, too, at least for the time being.”
“Good. There are a few things I’d like to express to him, with a ball bat.”
“Come on, Jack, you know I’m not going to sit back and let you do something stupid. I know you probably want to murder him by this point, and part of me doesn’t blame you, but why put yourself in jail along with him? It’s not worth it. From here on out you can control things, so why not use that option?”
That made sense to Jack. No matter how much he wanted to punch Marcus Broarty’s face into pork sausage, he had to acknowledge that Creeley was right. He couldn’t help what had happened to Robynn. He couldn’t even control Elley. And god knew he couldn’t control whatever it was that was floating around making people crazy. But he could at least control his own actions. “Can I at least swear at him a little?” he asked.
Creeley laughed. “Sure.”
“Did they say how Robynn was taking all this?”
“She’s a little freaked out, but when they told her they were bringing her to you, that made her feel a lot better. But you should know the circumstances, Jack. When the staties found them, they were both beside the highway and Broarty was in a complete state of undress.”
“Oh, Christ, that miserable piece of shit! What about Robynn?”
“Robynn was okay, Jack. Patrolwoman Staley did a preliminary examination and questioned her and Robynn said that Broarty never so much as touched her. She had her panties down because she had to pee.”
“So then why did Marcus have his panties down?”
“That’s still unclear. According to the troopers, he seemed confused. I’ll have the chance to get his story when he comes in.”
“Okay, I’m coming right down,” Jack said. “Thanks, Cree.” As soon as he had hung up, Jack went over to Althea’s room and informed her of the situation. He didn’t really want Althea to come with him to the station, but he offered to take her anyway, just so she didn’t feel abandoned. But the old woman begged off, explaining that she was engrossed was in a black-and-white Joan Crawford movie on the television, and would be fine. “I haven’t seen this picture in sixty years, and I’m afraid I’ve gotten hooked,” she said with a smile. “But I’m so glad Robynn is all right. I’ll see her later, I imagine.”
Jack was tempted to speed down to Glenowen, but restrained himself. The last thing he needed now was a ticket. When he got into the station, the state troopers had not yet arrived with his daughter. Over the next twenty minutes the only conversation taking place in the police station was over the telephone or radio. When the highway patrol car finally pulled up in front of the small building, both Creeley and Jack went out to greet it. Robynn practically flew out of the passenger side door, hollering: “Dadeeeeeeeeeee!” Jack knelt down to receive her and hugged her tightly. In his ear, she whispered, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”
“How come?” Jack whispered back.
“’Cause that man took them from me.”
Jack held her in front of him. “Robynn, did he do anything else to you?”
“No. I guess he needed some underwear ’cause he lost his so he took mine. But I got to ride in the front of the p’lice car on a lady’s lap ’cause they didn’t have a car seat. They were real careful.”
By now Troopers Fitzhugh and Staley were out of the cruiser and pulling Marcus Broarty out as well. His hands were cuffed behind him and he walked toward Creeley without seeming to see him. His gaze was leveled at Jack and he was smiling. It was a smile that Jack did not like, the expression of a man who knew a big juicy secret.
“Daddy, that man scares me,” Robynn said.
“He’s starting to scare me too, punkin,” Jack answered.
Creeley came up to them and said, “Look, Jack, how about you take the girl away for a bit, while we interrogate the sonuv...I mean, Mr. Broarty. If you want to come back later you can. But take a little time, all right? We have him and that’s the important thing.”
“Fine. It sounds like we have to do a little shopping anyway. Who around here sells kids clothing?”
While Robynn and Jack were off shopping in Glenowen, Marcus Broarty was being placed in a cramped holding tank in the police station and the two state troopers filled Creeley in on what had transpired. “He hasn’t really said anything since we cuffed him,” Fitzhugh said. “He might be waiting for an attorney.”
“He’s going to need a damned good one,” Creeley said. After showing Troopers Fitzhugh and Staley out of the station and thanking them, the he returned to Marcus Broarty, who was sitting in the furthest corner of the stark holding cell like a child in a closet who’s hiding from a parent. Except that he was smirking.
“As I’m sure the state police have already told you, Mr. Broarty, you do have the right to remain silent,” Creeley said. “However, if you want to talk, I’ll listen to what you have to say.”
“Eat my shorts,” Broarty replied, grinning.
“Okay, good, that’s a good start, because you’ve just waived your right. Want to add anything else?”
“Suck on my skid marks.”
“Always a pleasure to talk to someone so articulate,” Creeley said, pulling up a chair directly in front of the bars. “Since you’re on a roll, why don’t you tell me why you took the girl?”
“Give me one good reason why I should tell you anything.”
“You’re going to have to tell somebody at some point, so it might as well be me.”
“You have no authority over me.”
“No? Well, I think that’s open for debate, Mr. Broarty. But putting that aside for the moment, I’ve gotten to know Jack Hayden and I’ve come to kind of like the guy.”
“He’s a drunken asshole.”
“Well, that’s your opinion. Mine’s that he’s an okay guy. But the point is, if I thought he was a drunken asshole, I’d tell him so, right out. I wouldn’t try to get to him through his defenseless daughter, unless I was a big, fat cowardly pig.”
“Better a pig than a faggot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means. ‘I’ve come to kind of like the guy,’” Broarty mimicked. “You sucking his cock or what? I always had Hayden figured for a queer. We’ve got an office filled with so much prime meat it looks like a butcher shop window, but Hayden’s never given anyone so much as a second glance, not even the new girl, the black babe.”
“The only reason I bring Hayden up—”
“I’ll just bet you bring Hayden up!” Broarty interrupted, and then started giggling like a girl.
Creeley sighed heavily. “See, here’s the thing, jackoff. The only thing stopping Hayden from coming in here with a ball bat and turning your head into a shit casserole is me. Now, if you want to know a secret, I think he’s a little bit entitled to do that, and if he were to do it, I might be encouraged to look the other way. But I talked him out of it, so he’s not here.” The policeman approached the barred door of the cell. “There’s nothing to stop me from doing it on his behalf, though.”
The smug grin dropped from Marcus Broarty’s lips. “You can’t do th
at and you know it.”
“The hell I can’t, fat boy. See, you’re confusing what I can do, and what I can do legally. That’s a mistake, Mr. Broarty, because I most certainly could open this cell door and go in there and beat the living shit out of you and leave you bleeding and broken on the floor of that cell. Maybe at some point in the future somebody would try to bring a charge against me, but in the meantime, you’d be a pile of hamburger meat.”
“You wouldn’t,” Broarty muttered.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Creeley replied. “No one in here but you and me. My word against yours. You resisted arrest, I had to subdue you. Frankly, Mr. Broarty, I could probably do it with one hand. How many fights have you been in in your life? My guess is none past junior high. Know what it feels like to take a fist in the nose? That cold numbness? Are you familiar with that crunching sound as your cheekbone collapses?” Broarty’s eyes were very wide, very frightened now. Good! Creeley thought. I hope you’re just as scared as that little girl must have been throughout her abduction. “You’re not saying anything, Mr. Broarty. Copping a silent act now? A little too late for that. Okay, maybe you need some incentive.” Creeley pulled out his keys and started to unlock the cell door.
“No!” Broarty cried. “What do you want to know?”
Creeley backed off. “Just tell me why you took the girl.”
“I was told to.”
Creeley frowned. “You were told to by who?”
“The God of Wood City told me to get her and bring her back to him.”
“The God of Wood City.”
“The true God.”
“He tell you to do anything else?”
Broarty nodded. “Get rid of Emac.”
“That’s the fellow we found in the car trunk, right?”
“Right. I had to get rid of Emac because he was in the way. The God of Wood City showed me how to do it.”
“How’d he show you?”
“In the painting.”
“The painting,” Creeley repeated. “We’re talking about that old mural painting in the city hall building out at the ruins of Wood City, right?”
The veneer of smugness had now returned to Marcus Broarty. “What a bright Boy Scout you are,” he sneered. “The God of Wood City told me to waste Emac, and good riddance. His real name is Egon, you know. You can use the same letters to spell gone. Kind of fitting, don’t you think? Egon...gone...Egon...gone....”
“Okay, so Egon’s gone,” Creeley said. “You still haven’t told me about the girl.”
“The God of Wood City also told me to fetch the little brat and use her to get to Jack Hayden, but I’m not going to tell you anything about that, because that’s the part of the plan I still have to accomplish.”
“Well, I’m afraid that your plans have been preempted. You see, Mr. Broarty, you’re here temporarily until we can transfer you to a state facility for booking and arraignment and all those dirty little details that we have to follow when dealing with people like you. So you’re not going to get the chance to do anything to anybody.”
As Creeley watched, Broarty’s face turned to the side, like he was listening to someone who wasn’t in the room. Then he smiled again; that annoying, smug smile. “Don’t be so sure, Texas Ranger,” he said, turning back.
“You seem to have regained your confidence, Mr. Broarty. Just a few moments ago you were cowering in the corner. Why the change?”
“Because I know something you don’t.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Mm-hmm. I know that I’m going to be out of here very shortly. The God of Wood City is not going to let me get transferred anywhere else. He’s going to take care of me. He sent me that woman, that gorgeous redhead that I was screwing when those highway patrol pigs arrested me.”
Creeley said nothing.
“You look troubled, officer,” Broarty said. “You should, you know.”
“Oh? Why is that, Mr. Broarty?”
“Because you can’t win against us. The God of Wood City is going to be ruling the world very, very soon, and I’m going to be helping him. And you’ll be dead.” Now he was laughing out loud gleefully, childishly.
This man is bugshit crazy, Creeley thought. “It’s a good thing you like telling stories so much, Mr. Broarty. That way you’ll be able to keep yourself occupied until the transfer officers arrive.” He smiled back at the man and that seemed to throw a bucket or two of cold water on Broarty’s manic laughter. It was because he wasn’t showing fear, Creeley decided.
“You can’t intimidate me,” Broarty said.
“What I can or can’t do isn’t really your concern any more, only what I’ve done. And what I’ve done is lock your ass up in jail, where you’ll stay until the staties come back. No intimidation about it. I have to go back out front now. I’d like to say it’s been fun, Mr. Broarty, but that would make me as big a storyteller as you.” Creeley spun around and went back to the main room of the station, leaving Broarty in the cell. After a couple of kicks on the bars and one pounding by hand, followed by a whimper of pain, it got quiet. Perhaps reality was finally sinking in, in some small way, on Marcus Broarty, Creeley thought.
He went to his desk and sat down, resting his tired head in his hands. What he wouldn’t give to know just what was happening to his previously quiet-to-the-point-of-boring little village.
He needed some coffee. He was about to get up and see if the pot was still on and had any liquid in it when he heard the station door open. Good. That would be Carl coming back. He could leave him with the lunatic in the cell and slip out into the fresh air for a few minutes. Without even bothering to look behind him, Creeley said, “Hey, Carl, could you—”
He was interrupted by a sudden sharp blow to the back of his head that clouded all his senses. Creeley slumped over the edge of the desk and fell heavily to the floor, and a second later was enveloped by swirling blackness.
* * * * * * *
After Joan Crawford had walked off to happiness with Zachary Scott, Althea Kinchloe switched off the television. But after half-an-hour the stillness of the hotel room began to enfold around her like black funeral drapes. She was actively fighting off sleep because of the dreams she had been having lately, which were hateful and disturbing.
Switching the TV back on, she saw that the channel that had shown Joan was now airing one of those old Technicolor south sea island romance epics featuring a starlet in a sarong, a muscular young sea captain who falls in love with her, and comic relief provided by a teenaged Sabu. She had not particularly liked this kind of film back when they were making them—they were too goofy and juvenile for her taste—and she saw no reason to invest any time in it now.
Althea flipped through the other channels, hoping to find something remotely interesting, finally stopping on what looked like a World War II movie. There was a battle scene going on, with things exploding on every side; maybe it would generate enough noise to prevent her from drifting off and having another horrible dream. She was unable to make out any recognizable stars in the film, but the acting was certainly good. When the characters were hit by bullets they died realistically. The scene seemed to be going on for quite a long time, with the bodies beginning to pile up. Althea was about to move on to another channel, when one soldier in particular stepped into the center of the frame. He was tall and lanky, and walked with a slight stoop that Althea recognized.
She shook her head, trying to rattle out the strange thought that had come to her, but could not, particularly after the lanky soldier stopped and stared directly into the camera.
Althea gasped. The soldier walked closer to the lens, and halfway there, an enormous smile of joy burst out on his tired, soiled face.
It was Howard!
“Hi, Pookie,” Howard Kearney said, now in full close up, ignoring the running and screaming men on every side around him and the loud explosions going on behind him.
“Howard?” Althea whispered. “It can’t be you.”
; “It’s me, Pookie. I don’t have much time,” he said. “This is what you need to do. Remember the journal I left you? You have to find it. The journal will help explain everything.”
“Howard, I don’t understand.”
“The journal will convince you. If you get the journal, you’ll know this is real, and not just a dream. You have to read it and trust me.”
“Of course I trust you! But can’t you tell me—”
At that moment, Howard Kearney was beyond telling anybody anything. A bullet tore through his head, removing part of it, and sending his helmet flying off in a way that would have been funny had it not been so horrific. The same went for his eyes, which crossed so extremely upon taking the bullet that he looked like a silent comedian. Howard fell forward out of camera range, and Althea tried to scream, but only a high pitched, childish whine emerged from her throat. There was a sickening thud as Howard’s body hit the ground. Althea covered her mouth, but kept her eyes on the television.
Another soldier was running into the frame, this one wearing a uniform unlike any she’d ever seen. He dashed in holding a sword, and thrust it down into what would have been Howard’s body, again and again and again. Spittle began forming on his lips as he did so. Then he looked up into the camera and grinned. Then he winked at her.
It was the figure who had been coming to her in her dreams, the one who was helping her count down the days until her death.
The grinning man bent down, disappearing under the television frame, and when he reappeared a second later he was holding something. When Althea fully realized what it was, she did scream, long and terribly.
The horrible dream soldier was holding up Howard’s bloody, severed, cross-eyed head for her to see, and lasciviously kissing it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Do you want some ice cream?” Jack asked Robynn, as they were leaving the small clothing store where he had purchased a new set of underwear and a Dora the Explorer sweater for her. There was an old-fashioned looking ice cream parlor right across the street.
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