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Dark Channel Page 25

by Ray Garton


  “Uh, well … uh, if that’s how you feel, I—”

  “I think you’re here to poke your nose where it don’t belong.”

  Marvin chuckled as if the man were telling a good-natured joke. He took a sideways step toward the porch steps, then another and another, until one foot was on the second step down.

  “I think you’re here to ask questions about things that’re none a your bidness.”

  Another step down.

  “Just like all them others come sniffin’ ’round here lookin’ for information ’bout her. Wantin’ things to write. To print. Wantin’ to ask ’bout things they shouldn’t know. Things nobody should know.”

  Another step.

  The pit bull never took its black glistening eyes from him.

  “That why you’re here, Mister Survey? Mister Cable News?”

  Still smiling at the man, but terrified and trembling, Marvin walked sideways down the rest of the steps and was just starting down the walk, glancing over his shoulder, when the man slapped his right hand to his thigh and made a sound like, “Hee-yup!” and the pit bull shot away from the man like a bullet, its stout legs pumping, muscles working beneath thick skin as it charged across the gravel, kicking up dust and baring its yellow fangs as a thunderous growl rose slowly from deep inside and—

  —Marvin broke into a run, dropping the clipboard as he made for the car with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears almost as loud as that of the dog behind him kicking up gravel and snarling wetly now, sounding not at all winded and—

  —he approached the passenger side of the car, dodged around the front of it and ripped the door open so hard he hurt his arm, diving in as—

  —the pit bull jumped onto the hood, rocking the car with its weight as Marvin slammed the door and started the engine with fumbling fingers, and the dog remained on the hood, clawing at the windshield and snapping its jaws at Marvin, splattering the glass with spittle and—

  —Marvin put the car in reverse and slammed his foot on the accelerator and the tires scattered gravel as the car shot backward and the pit bull slid off the hood to the ground as Marvin backed quickly away from the house.

  The dog landed on all fours.

  Then it chased him. Its jaws continued to snap and spittle continued to fly as its legs pumped and its eyes remained locked on the car. Corben Thorne had not moved; he stood by the house, watching.

  The dog grew smaller with distance, lost in the cloud of dust kicked up by the car.

  Marvin reached the paved road and the tires screeched as he shifted into drive and headed back toward town, wheezing and shaking.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to get away from Wheatland fast enough.

  4.

  Marvin was back on the freeway, still shaken but calmer, looking for a roadside stop that looked safe and clean when the car phone chirped. He knew it was Jordan and jerked the receiver to his ear shouting, “You son of a bitch!”

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m gonna rip your head off and shit down your neck!”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m gonna kick your ass in directions that’ll defy the laws of physics! I just left the Thornes’ and I nearly got myself killed! Your stupid CNN poll story wasn’t worth shit.”

  “What did they do?”

  “Did you see Cujo? Cujo is what they did, only it was a pit bull and it chased my fucking car down the driveway!”

  “They weren’t too friendly, huh?”

  “They were the Texas fucking chainsaw massacre!”

  “You didn’t find out anything?”

  Marvin nearly drove the car off the road. He said nothing for a moment, then shouted into the phone, “Are you listening to me? If that damned thing had caught me, they would’ve buried my pieces out by the toolshed and you’d never see me again!”

  Jordan was silent a few moments and Marvin knew Jordan was giving him time to calm down. Then:

  “You think they’re afraid of something, Marvin?”

  “Definitely. Reporters, for one thing. Scared to death somebody’s going to ask them about their daughter. I got it all on tape. Lumley, too. Wait’ll you hear his story.”

  “Mm. Where you headed now?”

  “Lunch. Then south to find Elizabeth Murphy. That may take awhile.”

  “Well, I have faith in you, Marvin. Sorry about the dog.”

  He was calm now and smiled. “Hey, it comes with the territory. But the poll-taking shit? From now on, that’s your job. You’re the actor. How are things there?”

  “Crowded. People have really been pouring in since we got here. The lady herself is across the street from me right now, surrounded by cameras and microphones. You might want to catch the news today, see what they say. Any idea how much longer you’ll be?”

  “Not really. All I can say is, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

  “And you’ll bring your toys?”

  “I’ll bring my toys.”

  After he hung up, Marvin turned on the radio and searched the dial for a news station as he kept an eye open for a place to have lunch.

  5.

  He’d had to look hard, had even driven by it a couple of times, but by mid-afternoon, Marvin found the Freeway Chapel and Shelter.

  It wasn’t much to look at, but it was surprisingly big. It looked like a barn that had been built on extensively. The barn-red paint was peeling in a few places, but it seemed in good enough shape. There was only one sign in front that was readable from the freeway. A Bible and cross were in the top right corner and below that:

  THE

  FREEWAY CHAPEL

  AND

  SHELTER

  A REST FOR WEARY TRAVELERS ON THE ROCKY ROAD

  There were only four cars parked in the front lot, but when Marvin went inside, there were more people than he’d expected. The entrance led into a dining room where about a dozen people were seated at long tables eating. Half of them looked like transients.

  The clattering, clanging sounds of a kitchen echoed through the large room. In the back, behind a long empty coffee counter, a rectangular window opened onto the kitchen and he saw people hurrying back and forth busily. One of them—a grey-haired little woman with thick, owlish glasses—spotted him, smiled and waved, calling, “Just a sec!”

  Marvin went to the counter, took a seat on one of the stools and waited.

  The woman came out in a couple of minutes, her movements quick and bird-like as she wiped her hands on a towel. “And how are you today?” she asked, slightly winded.

  “Just fine, ma’am, and yourself?”

  “Great. Can I get you something?”

  “Actually, I’d like to see Elizabeth Dayton, if she’s available.”

  “You wanna see Lizzie? Well, she’s around here somewheres. Can I tell her who’s askin’?”

  “My name is Marvin Ackroyd, but she won’t know me.”

  “Be right back.”

  She disappeared and never came back. Instead, a few minutes later, a tall woman came through the swinging doors behind the counter. She was large but appeared solid, not flabby. In fact, she was almost imposing except for her face, which was soft with warm, generous eyes and a profoundly sincere smile. Her hair was brown with silver streaks and pulled back into a bun. She wore a stained white smock over a simple blue dress. She went to a rack behind the counter, removed a white coffee mug, got the steaming pot and poured, then set the coffee before Marvin and grinned, leaning on the counter.

  “You’re here about Hester Thorne, aren’t you?” she asked.

  Marvin flinched with surprise. “Well, uh … yes, I am. How, uh, did you know?”

  “I’ve been expecting you.” She stood straight again, still smiling. “I can be ready in about half an hour or so. I’ve had some stuff
packed and waiting for quite a while. I even made arrangements for somebody to take over for me while I’m gone.”

  “While you’re g-guh-gone?” Marvin was confused.

  “Yes. I’m going with you.”

  “B-but I-I didn’t—I didn’t come to-to—you can’t—”

  “Look, Mr. Ackroyd, there’s a lot to be done and not much time to do it in and I have a feeling that some very bad things are going to start happening soon. And I know more about Hester Thorne than anybody you’ll find. You need me. And we all need god. So—” She slapped a hand on the counter and laughed girlishly. “—whatta you say I bring him, too? Be right back.” Then she was gone.

  Marvin sat at the counter with his mouth hanging open. He didn’t even bother to stammer.

  FOUR

  GROVER

  1.

  While Marvin was having lunch at a roadside coffee shop, Jordan and Lauren were licking ice-cream cones as they stood across from Penny Park, where Hester Thorne was holding an impromptu press conference.

  There was standing room only on the lawn and there wasn’t a single vacant parking space in all of Grover. A lot of people had been coming into town when Jordan and Lauren arrived the day before, but there seemed to be twice as many by morning. They were everywhere: single people, small groups that had gathered to travel great distances, married couples who had packed the kids into their station wagons and Broncos to attend the Alliance gathering in the mountains, and television, radio and newspaper reporters looking for a light, bizarre human-interest story to tack onto the end of a broadcast or a quirky article for the Living section of the paper.

  Jordan wondered if any of them knew how close they were to a top story. He knew … he just didn’t know what that story was yet.

  “Well,” he said with a smile, taking Lauren’s hand, “shall we go see what’s going on?”

  She shrugged and they started across the street.

  Jordan noticed that Lauren didn’t seem to stiffen when he touched her as she had the day before. Maybe after last night, she’d finally realized that he really wasn’t after her body. He’d read over the notes and articles he kept in a locked briefcase, all pertaining to Hester Thorne and the Alliance, until he’d been unable to keep his eyes open.

  “You’re serious about us sleeping together, aren’t you?” Lauren had asked as he got ready for bed.

  He came close to a sarcastic reply, but swallowed it. She was still shaken after their trip to the art gallery and he knew it wouldn’t help things to make her feel any worse. Yes, she was a pain in the ass, but she was also afraid and anxious to find her little boy; it was in Jordan’s best interest to reassure her—especially if he wanted her to cooperate in maintaining their cover—so he took a deep breath and turned to her.

  “Look,” he said softly, trying hard not to sound annoyed, “I know how it looks to you and I understand. But what if some maid walks in here in the morning to change the sheets and towels and one of us is on the floor? We’re supposed to be married, right? Well, we’re gonna have to act like it.”

  She was reluctant, but she’d gone along with it, lying stiffly at first, practically on the edge of the bed, as far from him as she could get.

  “This isn’t very comfortable for me, either,” he whispered in the dark. “I’m used to sleeping alone.”

  He dozed off in a few minutes, but was awakened each time she moved, startled by the presence of someone else in his bed. The last time he was disturbed, though, was not by her movement; Lauren was crying softly into her pillow, her stifled sobs gently shaking the bed.

  Shit, Jordan thought, sighing. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.

  After a moment, she croaked, “I’m suh-sorry.”

  “That’s okay. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  He said nothing more for a while, just listened to her sobs.

  He knew she was probably upset about her son; that was natural, wasn’t it? Maybe she was upset about her husband, too. From what she’d told Jordan and Marvin, their marriage was over as far as she was concerned. But Jordan knew it wasn’t that simple. No matter how unhealthy or painful a marriage might be, Jordan knew that ending it hurt just as much. He thought of Teri, of their plans to have children, and of how he might have felt if they’d had them and the same thing had happened to him that had happened to Lauren. He thought about that a long time, frowning up at the darkness. Finally, he slid his arm over the mattress and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He felt her muscles tense as she started to pull away but, before she could, he whispered, “I know you’re worried about your boy. But believe me, I’m sure he’s not in any danger. And … well, we’re doing our best to find him.”

  After a moment of sniffling and throat clearing, she said hoarsely, “How could he do such a thing? Take everything like that? Even Nathan. How could he do that to me?”

  Jordan realized she was speaking more to herself than to him and he said nothing.

  “I’m … I’m sorry, really, I shouldn’t… I mean, I promise I won’t let this happen again.”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, squeezing her shoulder again. “Don’t worry about it.” He pulled his hand away and prepared to go back to sleep, when he realized he could hear nothing from her, not even breathing. She was completely silent and motionless for a while, then a great sob lurched from her, shaking the entire bed, and she clutched her pillow.

  “I-I-I’m juh-just so sc-scared,” she hissed.

  Jordan had scooted over a little closer and rubbed her tense neck and shoulders, murmuring reassurances to her, until she’d finally quieted down and, slowly, her tense muscles relaxed. He’d continued massaging her until her breathing was slow and rhythmic and she lay motionless and relaxed beneath the covers, finally asleep.

  That morning, neither of them had mentioned their late-night conversation and now things were pretty much as they’d been before, with one small difference: they were more relaxed with one another.

  “A press conference,” Jordan muttered to Lauren as they stepped up on the opposite sidewalk.

  Hester Thorne was standing in the gazebo in the center of the park, holding court with a crowd of reporters and, behind them, a park full of followers and curious onlookers. Television cameras whirred, photographers snapped pictures and reporters took turns asking questions, which Hester Thorne answered politely and thoughtfully as she leaned on the gazebo’s white railing, leaning toward the tangle of microphones before her; her words became clearer as Jordan and Lauren got closer to the gazebo, shouldering their way through the crowd.

  “—as an exercise in unity. I saw this as a chance to bring together people from all over the country who are looking for new answers, new solutions to their problems. I wanted it to be in a relaxing, tranquil location so that the people who came would perhaps be more willing to open their minds to ideas they might otherwise reject wholesale. I hoped to achieve something similar in spirit to the Harmonic Convergence of 1987, which took place in several key locations around the globe, but I wanted to centralize it, bring it together in one single place.”

  When it was clear she’d finished, the reporters spoke all at once in an explosion of chattering questions, until the sharp voice of a middle aged red-headed woman with a tape recorder slung over her shoulder rose above the others.

  “Ms. Thorne, is there any significance to the fact that you’re beginning your gathering on the Fourth of July?” she asked, one hand raised.

  “Not especially. I just thought it would be appropriate to hold such a gathering on the birthday of our nation. I love America with all my heart, although at the moment it seems to be in poor health. But I truly believe that the philosophy of the Universal Enlightened Alliance can breathe new life back into the faltering lungs of this great nation of ours. I believe it’s not too late to revive this country and restore it to th
e position of respect and dignity it once held. But I believe we must act now … because it will be too late very soon.”

  “Hey, kids,” Coogan whispered as he sidled up to Jordan. “What’s doin’?”

  “Just watching the show,” Jordan smiled.

  A rotund, mustachioed reporter waved a hand and shouted, “Does that mean you’ll be involving yourself in politics, Ms. Thorne?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “I’m not a politician.”

  Another reporter started to shout a question but was interrupted by a stir that passed through the crowd in ripples until everyone was facing south and chattering with anticipation.

  Jordan got up on tiptoes to see over the heads. A sleek black limousine with tinted windows was parked at the curb on the far side of the park.

  “A limo,” Jordan said, glancing at Coogan, who looked vastly uninterested.

  “The actress,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “Sheila Bennet. She’s always making dramatic entrances like this whenever they have their little get-togethers.”

  “This get-together isn’t so little.”

  “All the more reason for her to make a dramatic entrance.”

  Reporters rushed across the grass toward the limousine as the driver got out and opened the door for Sheila Bennet, who stepped out with a flourish, wearing a flowing tan and white silk suit that fluttered in the breeze as she lifted a hand to wave at the approaching reporters. As Sheila climbed the gazebo steps, Hester Thorne said, “Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Sheila Bennet!”

  The crowd cheered.

  The actress approached the bank of microphones smiling and waving, said a few words about how happy she was to be there, how much she valued her friendship with Hester and the “awareness” that Hester had given her, and how happy she was that her night-time soap opera, Empire, had been renewed for another season. Then, gently passing on the reporters’ questions, she stepped aside and let Hester take center stage again.

  “Sheila will be here for a few days,” Hester said to the reporters in front, “so you’ll have a chance to ask her some questions—if it’s all right with her,” she added, glancing over at Sheila, who shrugged noncommittally.

 

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