by Ray Garton
—evil. It had taken Jordan years to convince himself it didn’t exist, but only seconds to convince him that it not only existed but was visible, tangible and very hard at work.
As he watched, the winged creatures dispersed and settled into nooks high in the cave wall that were deeply shadowed; they crouched and huddled on stone shelves that jutted from the wall … watching.
The chanting stopped.
Hester stepped before the robed figures, looked to her left, held her hand in that direction and said, “Bring the Chosen One.”
Jordan followed her gaze to an enormous rock. The little girl appeared from behind it, walking between two people, one of whom carried what appeared to be a blanket or mat rolled up beneath one arm. A gap opened briefly in each of the half circles so the three people could pass through. They went to Hester’s side and one of them said, “She has been bathed and cleansed,” then rolled out the mat on the rocky floor.
Hester smiled, nodded, and said, “Thank you.”
The two escorts turned and joined the half circle of adults.
Hester put a hand on each side of the little girl’s face and grinned down at her. “You understand what you are about to do, Katie Coogan?” she asked.
Katie nodded.
“You are fully willing to enter your next incarnation? You want to do this?” Another nod.
“Then—” Hester stood straight and faced her audience, “—we’re ready.” She reached behind Katie’s head, unsnapped something, and the small white robe fell away. The girl was naked underneath. Hester waved toward the mat and Katie lay down on her back with her feet just inches from the glowing crevice.
Hester turned to her right and reached out a hand. One of the adults broke away from the half circle, came to her side and handed her something, then returned. It was a crystal. A sparkling crystal, about eighteen inches long, that came to a fine, needle-like point. The crystal took in the blue light and glowed as if with a light all its own. Hester wrapped the fingers of both hands around its thick, heavy end with the sharp point aiming downward and knelt at Katie’s side.
Jordan felt sick again, but this time it wasn’t because of the light.
“No,” he breathed, “no, god, no …”
Hester began to chant a series of words that were nonsense to Jordan as she lifted the crystal high above her head.
“No, Jesus, please, no,” Jordan breathed, clutching his cane so hard that his knuckles whitened and ached as—
—Mark watched the vague, sparkling trail of energy left behind by the crystal as Hester lifted it above her head, watched the energy settle over the girl, watched it sprinkle down on her like a spring rain and cover her with a fine, not quite invisible light as she lay motionless at the opening of the Center of the Vortex. Hester swayed back and forth and more of it fell down on the girl, fluttering lightly through the air like glitter, and when the girl was in what appeared to be a faint cocoon of light—
—Hester plunged the crystal down fast and Jordan’s throat closed on his cry as the point entered the girl’s chest and the small body jerked once, twice, then—
—she was still, and Mark smiled because he knew that her spirit—like all spirits, as he’d been taught, as Orrin himself had told him—had gone, had moved on to its next vehicle, its next destiny, and the girl’s body was empty now, husk around which the sparkling light faded now, until—
—Jordan slapped a trembling hand over his mouth as he watched two of the adults step forward, flank Katie’s body, bend down, lift her up and slide her through the glowing crevice.
She was gone.
An instant later, the light brightened.
Blinding shafts of it shot from the crevice.
Hester stood and lifted her arms and those gathered around her raised their clasped hands above their heads and began to drone a low “Aaahhh” that rose in pitch, louder and louder, until—
—Mark was singing his note of praise with the others, basking in the light, absorbing the energy that came from the Center of the Vortex. Their combined voices reverberated in the cave and the light brightened until it was almost too overwhelming to look at, but Mark couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t turn away from it, he just stood there and bathed in it, let it wash over him, as—
—Jordan clambered to get back on his feet, head spinning and heart thundering, his voice rising as he murmured, “No no no, please, Jesus Christ, no,” and the more he fought to stand, the farther down he fell until he was lying face down, his cane rattling against the moist lumps of stone as his voice rose even higher—“please please god no please no god no”—and as he lifted himself up, his mind replaying Katie Coogan’s death again and again, he looked down at the people who had begun to chant again and heard their voices echoing through the cave as the intense blue glow began to diminish.
Jordan turned and, using the cane to maintain his balance, started down the rock formation. Once he was back on the path, he headed away from the ceremony—
—Sacrifice! he thought. It was a human sacrifice!—
—and away from the blue light and the slobbering winged creatures. He staggered for a while, but the farther he got from the glow, the more certain his steps became; he stopped sweating and his trembling and sickness gradually went away. He took the flashlight from his pocket as the darkness closed in to replace the blue glow. The darkness was an immense relief; he began to feel better—although having seen what he’d just seen, he couldn’t possibly feel good—and safer.
Until he caught the smell.
He slowed his pace a bit. He hadn’t smelled it on the way in and that seemed odd because it was the kind of smell that took a long time to develop. It was a bit like the stench of a dead animal in the process of decaying, but with something else to it, something like … like body odor? He continued walking, but cautiously now, flashlight off, using his cane the way a blind man would.
A sound.
Jordan froze. It had come from behind him. He heard it again. A heavy sound. A footstep. Another.
The smell became worse suddenly, became so overpowering that his throat closed, making him gag, then cough, and he spun around, sensed something just inches from him in the impenetrable darkness and flicked on the flashlight and—
—Jordan screamed.
The mountainous creature lifted a thick arm and swept it through the air, striking the side of Jordan’s head and sending him sprawling over the path. He clutched the cane and flashlight tightly as he fell and rolled, the inside of his skull exploding. He slammed against a row of stalagmites that lined a section of the path like a fence and lifted his head in time to see that—
—the creature was lifting a huge booted foot over him, about to stomp on his stomach and—
—Jordan rolled to his left, got to his knees and was standing when he turned to see the creature bounding toward him. Dizzy from the blow and nauseated from the stench, Jordan swung the cane in an arc, landing it hard on the creature’s misshapen head.
The twisted mouth opened to show a few broken, yellowed teeth and the beast staggered back a step, releasing a wet, guttural sound of pain. Jordan struck the creature’s head again, then quickly a third time.
The creature twisted away, slapping both gnarled hands over its bleeding forehead and staggered back into the darkness.
Jordan ran. He didn’t bother covering the flashlight beam anymore and did his best to ignore the ringing in his ears and throbbing in his head. He just ran hard, using his terror as fuel, until he passed through the mouth of the cave and into the woods, through bushes and over rocks and logs, darting around trees, the flashlight beam bouncing wildly through the darkness until it fell on the wall and Jordan tossed his cane over, pocketed the light and climbed the tree closest to the wall faster than he’d ever climbed a tree as a boy.
Once on the other side, he found his cane and hunkered i
n the dark, panting for a long time, trying to calm down, willing his heartbeat to slow and his head to stop pounding, willing the fear to go away … but it wouldn’t.
As he hobbled back to the hotel, the trembling in his hands and legs was real and he felt decades older than he had ninety minutes ago.
5.
While Jordan was gone, Lauren lay on the bed with the television playing. She’d been lying there for what seemed like hours, paying no attention to the images that passed across the screen, although she stared at it as if she were deeply involved.
She’d been thinking about Nathan. She could think of nothing else, except when a bilious anger rose inside her and she tensed from head to foot; that was when she thought of Mark.
Adding to her anger and loss was the overwhelming sense of loneliness that came down on her at such times like a lead weight; although she knew Nathan was nearby, being in an unfamiliar place with a stranger made her feel like the last person on earth.
The news was on, and when Lauren pulled herself out of the mire of her thoughts, she heard the announcer talking about Reverend Barry Hallway.
“The reverend was accompanied by Matthew Ridgely, a personal aide, and the plane’s pilot, Simon Better,” he said as pictures of the three men appeared. The youngest was Better, the pilot, a handsome blond man in his twenties. “No official cause has been given for the crash yet, but the speculation is that a malfunction in the plane’s autopilot system was at fault. The plane was a Mitsubishi, a make which has had a series of problems with autopilot systems.” A picture of the wreckage appeared; the plane had plunged several feet into the ground and pieces were scattered over the area.
The announcer returned. “Reverend Hallway was best known for founding the American Moral Allegiance back in the eighties, but more recently he had become one of the most outspoken opponents of the Universal Enlightened Alliance, headed by Hester Thorne, a self-proclaimed channel. What makes this odd is the fact that, just a little over two weeks ago at a seminar in San Francisco, Miss Thorne warned, in non-specific terms, of Reverend Hallway’s death. Or rather, Orrin, the entity Miss Thorne claims to channel, gave the warning.” The man allowed a vague smirk to creep over his lips as he continued the story, but Lauren stopped listening and sat up on the bed, burying her face in her hands.
What did that mean? Was there any truth to Hester Thorne’s abilities, or was it just a huge coincidence? And what would happen if Hester Thorne really was what she claimed to be?
No matter what questions she asked herself, they always brought her back to her son: what would become of Nathan?
Once again, the television was forgotten and she was lost in her thoughts, crying, softly at first, then so loudly that she pressed a hand over her mouth. She cried until her chest ached from sobbing, then forced herself to stop.
If Jordan were someone she could talk to, it might not be quite so bad. But she had no one … not even Mark anymore.
Then Lauren remembered Joan Maher’s invitation to give her a call if she needed someone. It was late and Joan was probably asleep, but she had offered. She thought about it awhile, wondering how much longer Jordan would be gone, then decided to risk it and found the telephone book.
After several rings, there was an answer and Lauren could tell she’d awakened Joan by the unintelligible sounds Joan made.
“Joan? I’m really sorry, but I … I, um, needed someone to talk to, and you said to call … remember?”
“Hoozis?”
“Lauren Schroeder? We met yesterday when—”
“Oh, yeah-yeah.” There were waking-up sounds then: throat clearing and soft groaning and rustles of movement. “So, uh, wha’sup?”
Lauren said nothing for a moment. Suddenly, calling Joan seemed like a stupid thing to do; this was her problem, not Joan’s, so why was Lauren waking her up in the middle of the night.
“Oh, jeez,” Lauren said, “I’m, look, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t’ve called you, this is really not your problem and—”
“Are you alone?” Joan asked, sounding more awake now.
“Yes.”
“Where’s your friend?”
“He’s … out.”
“Poking around the Alliance, is he?”
“Well … that’s why he’s here.” The tone of Joan’s voice made her nervous; it was stiff, cold, the same way it had sounded after Lauren had told her about Nathan and when Joan had advised her to hire someone to go in and get him.
After a pause, Joan spoke again, but now there was something new in her voice: tension. “What’s he looking for this late? I mean, is he sneaking around the grounds, or something?”
“Yes. Well, um … the grounds? I’m not sure what that is. All I know is that he’s gone into the woods behind the hotel. But that’s not what I called to—”
“My god, he went into those woods tonight? He’s there now?” Joan snapped.
Lauren’s tongue stumbled nervously until she finally blurted, “Yes, yes, tonight, right now, what’s wrong, Joan, what’s the matter?”
Joan began to breathe rapidly and swallowed a few times as if to calm herself. “Listen to me, if he comes—when he comes back, and I want you to listen to me very carefully, do you hear, and do exactly as I say—when he comes back, I want you to promise me that you will pack up and get—no, no, scratch that. Don’t wait for him. Right now, do you hear me, right now I want you to call a cab, pack your bags and come here to my place and I’ll see to it you get the hell out of this town tonight. You’ve done the same thing—don’t you see?—the same thing that I almost did, but I knew they’d kill me, so I just bucked up and went on with my life. And that’s what you’re going to have to do, Lauren, you’re going to have to walk away from it.”
Lauren sat on the edge of the bed, rigid with horror, perspiration breaking out on her brow. “Whuh-what’re you talking about? I-I duh-don’t understand, walk away from what! What’re you saying?”
“This problem, Lauren, you’re going to have to walk away from this problem.”
Lauren suddenly felt ill. “My son? You want me to walk away from my son? Why, do … do you know something? Tell me, do you know what’s happened to Nathan? Tell me!” she hissed. “Tell me what they’re doing to my son in there, tell me, tell—”
At that moment, she lifted her head to see Jordan standing just inside the door.
FIVE
THE GATHERING
1.
Night.
The road hummed beneath the car punctuated by the cracks in the pavement that made small ka-bop sounds against the tires. But Marvin didn’t hear them or the music playing at low volume on the radio because he was too involved in his conversation with Lizzie Murphy.
At first, he’d thought she was just another one of them, one of those smiling have-a-nice-day televangelist-watching fanatical fundamentalist Christians who were always cheerfully defensive under any circumstances and who pleasantly informed everyone else that they were going straight to hell. He didn’t like fanatics of any kind—and he certainly didn’t think the Christians had any corner on the market—because they were impossible to reason with and if they did not have their beliefs to cling to, they’d be under the same roof as the likes of Mike Lumley.
But in the case of Lizzie Murphy, he was terribly mistaken.
2.
After leaving him at the coffee counter for a while, Lizzie had returned with a heavy suitcase, just as she’d promised, and set them down behind him.
“Let me get my purse,” she said, turning.
“No, wait.”
She didn’t wait.
“Wait!” he barked, standing.
She stopped, turned to him.
“Mrs. Murphy, I did not—”
“Oh, please call me Lizzie.”
Marvin closed his eyes a moment, summoned patience, then smiled a
nd said, “I really didn’t come here to get you, just to talk. If you don’t mind, of course.”
She shrugged. “Sure. If you want to do that first, I don’t mind. But I think we’d save time if we started driving first.”
Marvin was thoroughly confused. He frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “What do you mean we’d save time?”
“Oh … I thought you would have figured all that out by now.”
“Figured all what out? By when?” He was sounding irritated now, unable to hide his impatience.
“I see. Well … maybe we should sit down and talk.” She went behind the counter, got a diet cola, said, “Come with me,” and led Marvin down a corridor to what appeared to be a sort of lounge. Chairs were scattered around a round table in the center. Coffee brewed on a counter beneath a window with packets of creamer, sugar and artificial sweetener gathered in little containers beside it.
They sat at the table facing one another and Lizzie popped open her cola, sipped a few times and swallowed slowly, so there was a long silence in the room.
Marvin cleared his throat. “Mrs. Mur-uh … Lizzie, no offense, but so far I haven’t understood anything you’ve said. Did someone tell you I was coming, is that how you knew?”
“Well, I didn’t exactly know you were coming, you specifically. I just knew someone would be coming to ask questions about Hester Thorne. I guess know is the wrong word; I suspected … I had a feeling.”
“How? Why?”
“I’ve known Hester for a long time, Marvin. You don’t mind if I call you Marvin, do you? Anyway, we went to school together, and ever since the fifth grade, I’ve known that, sooner or later, something would bring us back together again …” Her voice softened a bit and she frowned thoughtfully as she looked down at her drink. “… that something would … I don’t know, put us face to face … again.”
“You say ‘again.’”
She nodded.
“So you’ve had a confrontation with her before?”