Cold moon over Babylon

by McDowell, Michael

  Nathan shook his head. “He’s probably asleep, and you’d wake him. And if he sees you, he’ll talk you into staying, and I want a little of you to myself.” Putting his arm on her shoulder, Nathan led Belinda down the long corridor, through the den, and out onto the patio. Ben sat on the far side of the pool, with his legs beating idly in the water.

  Ben,” Nathan called: “Why don’t you run inside and pour Belinda and me out a drink? Strong, okay?” He smiled.

  Ben jumped to his feet and ran past them into the house.

  Belinda and Nathan walked to the diving board, but just as Nathan was gallantly helping her to step up on it, Belinda turned and pushed him into the pool.

  ‘'Nathan,” she said sweetly when he came spluttering up: “I just couldn’t have faced myself tomorrow morning, if I hadn’t done that. I just had to get you back. But I promise that I’ll be good to you for the rest of the evening.”

  Nathan paused in the water, open-mouthed, as if trying to decide whether to be angry or not. But then he laughed, and motioned Belinda in. She dived; they met at the bottom of the pool and kissed. The sharp mercury light was dim so far down, and they turned slowly in the water with their eyes closed.

  Just when Nathan was sure that he would have to rise to the surface for breath, Belinda’s sharp nails gouged deeply in his neck. He opened his eyes to protest, and found himself staring into the filmed pupils and bloodless face of Evelyn Larkin. Her mouth was open, from having pressed against his, and black water poured out of it like a cloud of ink. Her arms reached around and dug into his shoulders. She pulled him closer, and for a brief moment he stared at the floating tom flesh about her unfocused eyes, and even began to count the tom sutures he saw there.

  He breathed in water, and gagging, broke free. He beat up to the surface at an angle, fearful that Evelyn would grab his legs and pull him down again.

  He spun out of the water, and swam frantically for the side of the pool. He scrambled out, and impulsively turned to see what had become of the dead woman.

  Belinda broke the surface of the water, wiped the wet hair from her face, and grinned: “What’s the matter, Nathan? Cain’t hold your breath? You’re smoking too much!”

  He shook his head, bewildered; he tried to see through the disturbed water whether Evelyn Larkin was still somewhere beneath the surface.

  Belinda swam toward him, and he automatically extended his arm. She smiled and gripped his forearm, and he pulled her out of the pool.

  Belinda opened her mouth to speak, but a vile mixture of black water and blood spewed out over him. He jerked out of her grasp, and stumbled backward, falling into one of the flower beds that edged the house. Evelyn Larkin advanced on him.

  He had cut his hand open on one of the large sharp white stones that formed the border of the bed. Nathan picked this up, and raised himself, staring all the while at the old woman’s corpse. Evelyn moved slowly toward him, reaching out.

  He lifted the stone high—

  It's Belinda, he thought.

  —and brought it down hard on her temple. There was a sickening soft crunch, and that whole portion of Evelyn’s head gave way, falling inside itself, and oozing an oily gray putrescence and black water where blood should have flowed.

  The corpse staggered aside and collapsed in a twisted heap at the edge of a row of azaleas. It stared with its remaining eye at Nathan. A little stream of thin gray matter bubbled out of its temple.

  Nathan stared up, for he realized that the quality of light had altered. The mercury lights were black, as if shorted; but the full moon was directly above, and shone with the harsh livid light that had prevailed in the cemetery. It began to grow larger.

  Nathan looked down. All the patio, the pool, the shrubbery was a washed-out white-gray, a colorless poisonous phosphorescence, like that produced by decaying fish. All but his own body, and whatever lay outside the patio, was now so lighted. He looked down at himself, and he appeared as if in deep shadow; and beyond the white brick walls the forest was black and unseen. The enlarged moon, bright as the sun, had wiped the stars from the sky.

  “Nathan!” cried Ben behind him, his voice full of terror.

  Nathan whirled around. Ben stood in the black shadow of the den, just inside the open doorway, the two drinks in his hands thrust outside into the harsh light of the moon.

  “Ben,” said Nathan: “I don’t—”

  The two glasses dropped out of Ben’s hands and smashed on the flagstones.

  Jerry Larkin lurched out into the supernatural moonlight. His ill-fitting suit was stained with earth, and as he moved forward, a few needles of pine straw dropped out of his coat. The gash circling his throat was more ragged than before, and the head had been so much knocked about that the features were scarcely identifiable. The crushed skull showed through along one side, where the ear had been ripped off. The jaw hung slack and uneven. The flesh had been scraped from one side of the face; there the eye dangled on the end of the distended optic nerve.

  The corpse reached out for Nathan.

  Nathan dodged to the side, heading for the flower bed beside the glass doors. There were other stones he could use. He knelt to pull one out of the earth, and turned to find that Jerry was closer than he anticipated. Still kneeling, he hurled the stone, but it fell short, and landed on the corpse’s foot. The sharp rock cut through the melting flesh, snapping the bones, and as Jerry continued to advance, part of the foot was left behind.

  Nathan crawled aside, toward the open door of the house. But in the bright, bleaching light he did not see the broken glass on the ground, and cut his wrist badly. He lifted his hand automatically to his eyes. Blood poured out, but it was scarcely visible in the deep shadow that prevailed over his body.

  Nathan had instinctively taken the broken glass in his hand, and now he raised himself, grasping it so tightly that it cut into his fingers.

  He made a menacing gesture toward the advancing corpse, which paused momentarily, but then continued forward.

  Nathan made another feint, lifted the shard of glass, and brought it down to sever the optic nerve. The dangling eyeball fell to the stones.

  The corpse limped toward Nathan on its mangled foot.

  Nathan bounded forward and upset Jerry onto the hard surface of the patio. Before the corpse could right itself, Nathan had jumped solidly onto its chest. He felt a sickening crush of bone beneath him, and his feet sank into the flesh. Nathan dropped to his knees, and—

  Thinking, This is Ben.

  —drew the sharp edge of the glass, again and again, across the gash in the corpse’s neck. The head was soon detached, and spun off a little to the side, an unrecognizable gray lump of liquefying bone and gore.

  Nathan stood and staggered backward toward the house. He stared up at the moon, which remained engorged. He turned at the door.

  Margaret Larkin stood just within the doorway, water pouring off her body into a pool of phosphorescence at her feet.

  Nathan moved frantically sideways, pushing hard against the wall of glass, his face turned toward the pool. Belinda’s body lay at the edge of the azalea bed. His brother’s corpse was sprawled on the flagstones. There was a wide pool of almost colorless blood between the trunk and the head, which stared up at the moon in opened-mouth astonishment.

  Nathan had been tricked, and tricked again.

  Margaret Larkin stood before him, her small gray form erect in solemn triumph.

  Chapter 48

  It was dark when Ted Hale reached Babylon. On the feverish drive from Pensacola, he had become convinced that Nathan Redfield had indeed committed all three murders, and that it was possible he would do more. Hale realized that all along, out of friendship, he had tricked himself into thinking that Nathan was guiltless. He had refused to examine Evelyn Larkin’s hysterical accusations, had not even allowed himself to make the simple connection that it was Nathan’s sword that had killed the old woman, and sliced her grandson’s head off. But once he admitted the possibility that
Nathan was guilty, certainty followed quickly on.

  He was not sure what to do now. It was not possible to arrest Nathan, for there was no evidence against him; but following the two attacks on young women, Annie-Leigh Hooker and the cash register girl at the White Horse, it was not really judicious to let him roam Babylon’s streets. But this was a question he set far behind his principal priority now: That of making sure that Belinda was safe, and well away from the Redfield house.

  Once he had passed the Babylon town limits, his temptation was to put on his blue revolving light and the siren, but he refrained. He first stopped at his own house, ran inside shouting for Belinda. He waited five miserable seconds in the darkened kitchen, but there was no reply to his summons. He ran from room to room, calling her name, ever more loudly and with ever more despair.

  He drove next to the Darrishes. From the front walk, through the thin pink curtains of the living room window, he could see James Redfield installed in the corner of the plush rose sofa, while Nina stood at attention behind him. Hale knocked loudly, and was immediately let in by Charles Darrish.

  Hale glanced round the room, and was distressed not to see Belinda.

  “Hale,” said James Redfield, and the sheriff looked at the old man. He appeared at once angry, distressed, and very ill. His wheezing was so protracted he could hardly be understood: “You know what Nathan did?”

  Hale nodded dismally. “Where’s Belinda? Didn’t you bring Belinda out with you?”

  “They wouldn’t let me!” cried the old man.

  Ginny appeared out of the darkness of the hallway. “She was over there in the pool, Ted, but we couldn’t go after her, because we had to get James out of that house without them seeing, or I don’t know what would have happened. I just know she’s all right, I’d have gone back there myself for her, but I knew you were on your way. Go on over there.” There was something hesitant and defeated in her manner; her words afforded no reassurance.

  “Call first,” suggested Darrish, and picked up the receiver of the phone just beside him. “What’s the number?”

  Nina told him, and Darrish dialed. He held the receiver out to Hale. Everyone in the room could hear the ringing, and held his breath. Hale wouldn’t take the receiver: six, seven, eight rings and his eyes began to glaze.

  “Maybe they’re in the pool,” said Nina: “They cain’t hear the phone when they’re in the pool.”

  Ten rings, and Ginny said: “She’s on her way home now. Maybe she's on her way to find you, thinking that James got kidnapped. Maybe Nina’s right and they’re all just in the pool.” Hale looked at her, as if he didn’t understand what she said. “That’s it, Ted,” she said, without inflection: “She’s in the pool, or she’s out looking for James.”

  Ginny and Nina exchanged troubled glances; this Hale caught. “What is it!” he demanded: “What is it you’re not saying?!”

  “Nothing,” said Ginny: “Nothing. I know she’s all right, you go on over there. Call home. Maybe she’s at home!” Charles had hung up the telephone.

  “Mr. Hale,” said Nina slowly: “I’d go on over to the house if I were you. Belinda was there just a little while ago, and Mr. Nathan and Ben are there, but there’s somebody else there now too.”

  “Who’d you see over there? Who else would be over there?” cried Hale. “What’d you see over there?”

  ‘'Nothing,” said Ginny: “We don’t know what we saw. But we saw something. I don’t know, but I think you’d better get on over there.”

  “Go on, Ted!” cried the old man, in a quaver: “I don’t know what would become of me if anything happened to Miss Pie! We got to take care of Miss Pie!”

  “Charles,” said Hale: “You come with me. It might be better if I didn’t go over there alone, and you said that Nathan trusted you.”

  “I don’t know,” said Charles with some hesitation: “I think—”

  “Go with him,” urged Ginny: “It might take both of you to handle Nathan—”

  Though Charles Darrish still hesitated, Ted Hale pulled him out the front door, and then pushed him toward the cruiser. In little more than two minutes they were on the road that ended in the Redfield cul-de-sac.

  Hale stopped the car just at the point where the house was visible through the trees, but he parked on the left side of the road, beneath a wide overshadowing live oak.

  “Why don’t you go on to the house?” demanded Charles.

  “I want to get to the house quiet, on foot,” said Hale. “I don’t want him warned that we’re coming.”

  Charles Darrish wiped his sweating hands, nervously over his pants legs.

  “Charles,” said Hale: “I want you to go to the front door, but go slow, and I’ll run around the back way. I’ll go in through the garage. Now get the pistol out of the glove compartment and stick it in your pocket.”

  Charles made no move, so Hale took out the gun and handed it to the lawyer.

  The police radio began to crackle loudly, and harsh voices came over, but Hale paid no attention. “Let’s go,” he said loudly.

  Charles Darrish opened the cruiser door, and still staring nervously at the sheriff, stepped out into the street. When the lawyer had retreated out of the range of the police radio, the noise of an approaching car was suddenly audible. He turned toward the Redfield house, and saw the International Scout hard upon him. Its lights were not on, and Darrish saw Nathan Redfield’s moonstruck face through the windshield, wild and staring.

  Darrish jumped, but he was caught in midair. His head smashed open on one of the headlights. He was pressed against the grille for a second, while the Scout moved thirty feet forward, but then he rolled down to the pavement. The left rear wheel rolled solidly across his back, and snapped his spine.

  As Hale climbed out of the cruiser, his vision had been blocked by the low-hanging branches of the live oak, but he had heard the sickening thump. He ran out into the darkened road, and staring after the vehicle, saw Darrish’s broken body lying directly beneath a streetlamp. Hale rushed to it, and saw at once that the man was dead.

  Hale ran his hands for a moment across Darrish’s twisted back, and then stood bewildered. He glanced toward the Redfield house, and then broke into a run. He headed around the front of the house toward the garage, staring up at the harsh lights that shone above the swimming pool. But brighter than these was the moon, shrinking and whitening as it rose. There was no sound but the buzz of a faulty mercury lamp.

  He ran into the garage, slipped along between the wall and the side of the Lincoln, and rushed through the open door onto the lighted patio.

  Blood still drained out of Ben Redfield’s body, and spilled over in a little sullen stream into the swimming pool. Belinda lay motionless beneath the azaleas, her face and neck covered with blood. He leapt over Ben’s body, and crouched at his daughter’s side. She breathed faintly.

  He lifted her tenderly in his arms, resting her bloody head against his shoulder, and whimpering, retraced his steps. But, because the way was better lighted, he went to the back of the house now.

  The bedrooms of the Redfield house were dark, but the moonlight shone deep into them, spectrally illuminating the furnishings.

  To his right, in the forest, dry wood snapped. Automatically, Hale paused and listened intently. An animal dragged itself across the deep-laid pine straw; but it moved too quickly to be wounded, and only a wounded animal, Hale thought, would move in such a fashion. The sound was picked up, echoed with only slight variation, a moment later. As the two animals—whatever—moved farther on, going toward the north, he gradually lost the sound. Another twig broke faintly, as if to click off the diminishing volume.

  Hale took a cautious step forward, but no more, for he was arrested again by another sound, a wet slap against a tree trunk, that was no easier to identify. More slaps, a quick half dozen, as if a sopping towel were being slung against the pines; but the slapping moved northward and was soon lost to Hale. He tried to imagine what bizarre procession w
ould produce so strange an accompaniment, but could not. What had Ginny Darrish and Nina seen?

  He realized then how long he had been distracted by these uninterpretable movements in the forest. Belinda’s breathing had grown shallower. Hale hurried toward the cul-de-sac. In a minute more he was at his cruiser, trying to open the back door without disturbing the burden in his arms. Glancing up the street, he saw his two deputies standing over Charles Darrish’s corpse. They raised their heads slowly and stared at him.

  Chapter 49

  Nathan had fled the patio into the garage. Inexplicably, the door to the Scout was opened, and the key was in the ignition. He jumped in, slammed the door shut, started the vehicle, and backed screeching into the driveway. He headed up the darkened road toward the center of Babylon, and stared at the moon, dreading to see it expand once more. He ran over some animal, a very large dog or perhaps a doe that had wandered across the road, and the thing falling beneath the back wheel had almost caused the Scout to tip over, Only then did he realize that his lights were not on. He spun through town without meeting another car.

  Soon enough, Nathan thought grimly, Ted would find the bodies of Ben and Belinda, and soon enough, the highway patrol would be after him. Now he was headed south, toward the coast and Navarre, where he had been untroubled by the visions. Freedom from the ghosts that existed only in his mind was all that was important now to Nathan. The police would find him easily enough in Navarre, he had no doubt of that, but his only requirement now was to be as far as possible from Babylon. The moon shone above the Scout, but Nathan could not see if.

  Nathan was nearly overwhelmed with relief when he passed beyond the municipal limits of Babylon and slowed the Scout a little, almost beginning to enjoy the ride. Despite the earliness of the hour no other car was on the road, but Nathan was pleased with this unexpected solitude. When he reached that point in the four-lane highway where trees on the median masked the opposing two lanes, he thought uneasily of the night earlier in the week when he had been mistaken in the road, and found himself coming upon the Babylon cemetery. The moon shone brightly over the dense unbroken pine forest on either side, and Nathan studied the trees and roadway carefully to make sure that he was still on the highway that led south. He had just decided that he was, smiled and relaxed, when just ahead there appeared, without a warning sign, a sharp bend that ought not to have been there.