What do I say to her? Casey realized the little girl had deliberately made herself an obstacle in the path to the front door. "Do you have a name? My name's Casey. What's yours? Can you tell me yours?"
An odor rose from the child. Dirt and feces and sweat.
Perhaps they were both captives in the old house? Why? For what purpose?
In time would Casey be reduced to a similar bestiality?
"Do you want to go with me? Do you want to get out of here?"
The girl sat on the floor. She made a muffled growling noise, rude, like air over flaccid skin. Now Casey could discern how grotesquely the child's mouth was deformed. Those were her thick, black lips dangling obscenely, giving the impression she was holding something small and limp and dead in her mouth. The bubbling, flapping sound might be an attempt to speak. But Casey couldn't understand. She looked away as a long glistening tentacle of drool groped from the child's mouth toward the floor.
"Could you move out of my way, please?" Casey said, trying to smile.
The child squinted up at her, its eyeballs moving from side to side. Still, it didn't move. Perhaps it didn't understand.
When she caught herself thinking of the little girl as an it, she tried again to smile a kind of apology. So what if the child was retarded or crazy, she was still human. If she were treated decently, she should respond to kindness.
Gripping one of the banister's support posts, Casey reached out with her free hand, hoping to rest it on the child's cheek. "Don't be afraid," she said. "Let's be friends, you and I. Okay?"
The child pulled her head away and made an ugly sound through her deformed lips.
Casey didn't know what to do. Her arms and hands were tired. She didn't dare move down another step. Going back upstairs would be impossible. Even attempting to backup a step or two would be dangerous. She might slide, fall . . .
At least the child wasn't moving any closer. That gave her a moment to think.
"Do you have a name?" Casey asked, trying to sound gentle and unthreatening.
The child grunted. Her lips vibrated as if she were blowing air through them.
"If you could move out of my way, please . . . ? I can't walk, you know, and I'm afraid I might fall on you." A nervous laugh escaped Casey's throat. She immediately felt stupid for having done it. It was inappropriate and involuntary.
This time the girl inched closer. She lifted her hands to the bottom step and leaned forward, sniffing. Now her face hovered less than three feet from Casey's. Her hair was matted, wild in greasy disarray. Her animal scent was stronger now.
Cringing, Casey felt herself recoiling in disgust. Every muscle tensed. She tried to speak calmly, still not knowing what to say. "Are you all right, little girl? Are you sick? Can I do something for you? All I want is to get out of here, okay?"
A hand leapt at Casey like a pouncing crab. She couldn't feel the pressure as the girl's fingers tightened around her insensate ankle. She couldn't flex her leg to pull it away.
"No!" Casey cried.
As the girl squinted up at her, something in the dark cavities of her eyes glistened.
"No!"
Casey groped for the flimsy dowels that supported the banister as the girl began to tug.
"Oh no!" Her bottom slipped forward on the stair. She bounded down another step, letting out a shrill cry of surprise. The back of her head struck a stair. The jolt made her bite her tongue.
She clenched the dowel. If she didn't hold on, she feared her head would bang again. It could knock her out.
Hand over hand, as if the banister posts were the rungs of a ladder, Casey tried to slow the girl's efforts to pull her down the stairs.
On the floor now, she still tried to hold on. She wanted to lock her fingers around the newel post, but the girl was too quick and too strong.
In a moment she was sliding on her back across the pine flooring in the hall.
The girl dragged her toward the door.
Pausing, the naked girl dropped Casey's foot. Then she stretched her filthy hand up toward the door latch, lifted it, pushed open the door to freedom.
Before Casey could understand what was happening, the girl dragged her across the threshold and into the night.
He knew exactly where Jeff was going.
McCurdy would relax a moment before getting out of the car. Then he'd take his time, amble up the walk to the rectory. He had something to do there. Something that would involve the priest, the girl, and the old man.
Without thinking, he put his hand in the slack pocket of his suit coat. The automatic was cold as ice in his fingers.
Another minute passed.
McCurdy never stopped marveling at the way things worked. By forcing Jeff to remain at the rectory, Alton Barnes had sent him away. An exquisite paradox. Beautiful and pure.
Paradoxes made perfect sense to McCurdy. They were part of an infinite flawlessness that would be unfathomable to the uninspired mind. And anyone outside the Light. And anyone incapable of seeing with immaculate clarity.
Perhaps, McCurdy wondered, he was experiencing the coveted nirvana all those deluded Buddist monks fancied they could attain. Ha! What did they know?
He chuckled. Smiled. Felt an excited tingling of great satisfaction. It was, he knew, the sensation of perfect grace, the Light in his mind and soul. Since it had revealed itself to him that night in the church—it seemed so very long ago—he had become . . . something else. Something more than a man. He had evolved.
His new spirit grew stronger with each passing minute.
When he touched the car's door handle, it hit him.
It was as if a slackened wire in his mind suddenly jerked tight. A warning.
A summons.
Something was wrong!
At the house.
Something had willfully violated the plan.
McCurdy started the engine.
He didn't need to follow Jeff Chandler's car. He knew exactly where Jeff was going.
Casey lay on the flagstone walk in front of the farmhouse, resting after she had tumbled down the porch steps. She'd been banged up. Her hands were filthy, her clothing torn. She knew there were probably wounds, open and bleeding, in the skin of her unfeeling legs.
But there was no time to rest.
She tried to crawl, dragging herself along on her elbows and forearms. Air hissed through her nostrils.
Every part of her that had feeling ached.
Why bother? Why? Escape would be impossible. She was in the middle of the woods, miles from anywhere.
In the distance, parked on the side of the road, she could see a car. Even if she were able to crawl all that way, the keys were probably not in the ignition. And if they were, how could she drive a vehicle that wasn't equipped with special hand controls? There was no way she could work the gas pedal or brake. And what if there was a clutch? She had no idea how to drive a standard transmission.
As she crawled across the dark damp farmyard, she knew what she was doing was stupid. Futile.
The horrible little girl had pushed her down the front steps, then turned around and walked back into the house. Casey had been thrown outs Like a pet at bedtime. Like a bag of garbage.
At least the little monster hadn't hurt her. The child's strength had been great and there was an unbridled savagery about her. She'd made Casey feel she was in the presence of something not quite human.
Well, no matter. At least Casey was outside now. And though she was tired and scared, she seemed unharmed. That was something, at least.
Okay, so how unrealistic was it to think she could crawl all the way into town? In dangerous situations, people had done things far more difficult. At the very least, maybe she could make it to the first house with electric lights and a telephone. Perhaps someone nearby could help her, maybe phone her father.
So things were not as hopeless as they seemed.
Still, on some level she was aware of how she must look. If she were not wearing her torn and dirty clothing
, she'd look like that horrid little girl. And the little girl looked like an animal.
A clattering startled her. An awful metallic banging came from inside the house, as if the little girl were in there throwing things around.
Casey tensed, sped up a little, hoping to crawl as far away as possible. She felt the bite of tiny stones and gravel as they pushed into the exposed flesh of her arms.
Behind her, the front door of the farmhouse crashed open.
Casey looked over her shoulder to see the little girl struggling with the wheelchair. She was tugging it down the steps and into the yard. A fat raindrop hit Casey on the cheek. Another one.
Lightning flashed and thunder rolled heavily across the sky.
"We know where he's gone. Why don't we just go up there? Why don't we just—"
Karen heard her own voice, shrill, almost shrieking. Suddenly she knew exactly how Jeff must have felt when he learned Casey was missing. Just as suddenly, she realized how very much she cared about him.
It had been easy to comfort him about his daughter; it was completely consistent with her training, almost within the day-to-day routine of her job. But now things had changed. Professional became personal. This sense of desperation, this powerless panic was something she had never felt before. She was ready to do anything, smart or foolish, to insure Jeff's safety.
Father Sullivan paced back and forth, his hand on his chin. "Wait, Karen, wait. Let me think a minute."
"But we can't wait—"
"We've got to. It's too late to stop him before he gets to the farm. If we're going to go barging in there, we'd better plan it out and do it right. We'll only get one chance at it."
He walked to the window and stood beside her. "Frankly. I think we should call the police."
"But, Father—"
"Look, I understand all the reasons not to, but this is dangerous. I don't think we can pull it off on our own. Think about it. Apparently this McCurdy character is holding Casey up there. Now he's probably got Jeff, too. And it looks to me as if he's bright enough to guess we're likely to follow. I can't see the point of jumping right into the fire."
"Call them, then. We've got to do something! We've got to hurry!"
Sullivan walked to the desk in his study where he kept his telephone. He picked up the phone book, began flipping pages. Karen glanced at her watch.
As Sullivan ran his finger down a column of names, a deafening crack, like cannon fire, shattered the silence. Bright light flashed in the room.
Karen looked through the rain-splattered window. "That's all we need, a thunderstorm."
Sullivan tossed the phone book aside and began to rummage through the scattering of papers on his desk. "I just thought of something," he said. "Turns out I've met someone from the state police. I'm going to phone her." He picked up something from the desktop. "Ah, here's her card. Sergeant Shane. At least we've met, so maybe she won't think I'm a complete nut case."
He began to punch the buttons as another thunderclap shook the rectory. A blinding flash left the room lights flickering. Then they went out.
Everything went dark.
"Damn!" said Sullivan. "The phone just went dead in my hand." He slammed it into its cradle and reached for a cigarette. The match illuminated his face.
"That's too weird," Karen said in a whisper. "It's as if . . ."
"It's as if the phone circuits went out along with the lights. Come on, Karen, that's perfectly normal in an electrical storm. Let's not let our imaginations make this situation worse than it is."
"But is the thunderstorm normal? A little while ago it was nice outside. The sky was clear and there was a moon."
Sullivan looked as if he might say something. Instead, he took an aggressive drag on his cigarette. Air hissed. Smoke billowed from his mouth. "So we get in the car and we drive to the police station," he said.
"Do you think the car will work?"
He looked as if he were about to lose patience. "You're convinced now that we're dealing with magic, aren't you?"
"I saw the videotape, Father. You didn't. It was pretty convincing. More than Father Mosely's journal."
A series of thunderclaps rocked the sky. The glass shade of a table lamp rattled. Overhead, the cast-iron chandelier shook.
Sullivan's cigarette glowed like a red eye in the darkened room. It moved as he looked up. "We could use some light in here," he said, positioning a chair beneath the chandelier. He climbed up and lit the candles.
The room trembled with the next explosion of thunder. The chandelier quivered. Plaster dust snowed down. Sullivan jumped from the unsteady chair. "Whoa! That one felt like an earthquake!"
"Father, come here. Look at this!"
He joined Karen at the window. Rain pelted the glass. Together they watched a ball of light streak across the sky. Then another and another. They were like a premature barrage of Fourth of July fireworks, dramatic, beautiful.
"Are those meteors?" Karen asked.
"Comets? Meteors? I don't know."
Soon the black forms of pajama-clad people appeared at front doors on the other side of the street. Some were holding flashlights. Everyone looked upward, watching the white globes flash across the sky.
"Something's happening," Karen whispered.
"So it would appear. I know what you're thinking, Karen. Assuming you're right about this, the only one who might know what's going on is Mr. Barnes. Do you think you can . . . I want to say 'deprogram' him. Can you remove the suggestion that's affecting his behavior?"
Karen looked at the sleeping man in the chair. Head tipped forward, his chin rested on his chest.
"I don't know," she said, her voice fiat with worry. "Let me give it a try."
Jeff stomped the brake pedal when his headlights washed over something in the driveway. Through the swishing windshield wipers, he recognized the reflective metal frame of Casey's wheelchair. Then he saw his daughter on the spattering ground.
And who was that crouching nearby? Some little kid? Had there been an accident here?
What the hell was going on?
"Casey!"
He fairly leapt from the car. Wind-driven water smacked him like an ocean wave as he ran toward the girl.
A fireball hissed overhead. Its stark white glare streaked across the field like a searchlight.
At first Jeff didn't know where the thick low growling was coming from. Before he could think about it, the naked child sprang at him.
She wailed like a cat, flinging her arms wildly as she flew through the air. Wet sinewy legs coiled around his waist, her arms encircled his neck. Still growling, she attacked with her head, bashing at him. He braced himself for an assault of teeth. Instead, a moist leathery suction attached itself to his cheek.
"Get off me!" he cried, trying to pull the convulsing child away. Her arms and legs tensed, coiled tighter. She pumped her bony pelvis against his abdomen. He felt his cheek swell and tear under the incredible suction of her mouth.
"Dad!" Casey screamed. "She's crazy, Dad. She's crazy."
Jeff lost his footing, tumbled to the muddy road. He felt the impossible sucking lips crawl across his face, widening their hold. He felt them touch his own lips and it disgusted him.
Jeff locked his hands between his neck and hers. Then, with all his strength, palms pressing her throat, he tried to push her away. She didn't budge, she was stuck to him like a parasite.
Adrenaline shot killing thoughts into his mind.
No! God! This is a kid, a little kid. I can't—
But she was strong, full of manic energy, and he had to do something to stop the attack.
Christ, this little kid could kill him!
In mounting panic instinct overcame conditioning—he hit her. Big fists pummeled her head, her neck, her shoulders.
She whined like a squalling feline, slamming her heels against his spine. One connected with the soft flesh covering his kidney.
Sharp pain turned to nausea.
Casey was working
her way across the damp ground toward the struggling pair. Squinting into the rain, she grabbed a handful of the girl's greasy hair and pulled. "Leave him alone! Leave my father alone!"
Something happened.
The word "father" worked like a magic word. As if suddenly understanding that this man was not an enemy, the little girl stopped struggling. Her arms, legs, and those terrible lips released their powerful hold. On all fours she scampered away into the shadows.
Panting, Jeff touched his cheek. The skin was raw. His fingers came away damp, slick with a mixture of saliva, blood, and rain. The viscous liquid glistened in the white beam of his headlights.
As he tried to catch his breath, another car pulled up and ground to a halt.
Two sets of headlamps combined to make an illuminated island in the dark farmyard.
Rain battered the ground.
A car door opened and slammed. A shadow moved behind the headlights.
In a moment, Jeff recognized a familiar sound. "Tch, tch, tch." McCurdy. "Yes, Jeffrey, we are all together. But it is nothing like you imagine."
With new strength he'd been conserving for this confrontation, Jeff sprang to his feet. Rage pumped adrenaline to his muscles and his mind. His nerves were on fire. "You sick son of a bitch, McCurdy. You've really gone too far."
McCurdy seemed calm, as if the situation were civil and entirely under control. "1 was just doing what I had to do, Jeff. Just like you do what you have to. But we're both working for the same thing. Don't you understand that?"
"I don't think we are. Not anymore. I know what you're working for and by God I'm going to put a stop to it. If anything happens to me, that videotape will go right into the hands of somebody who can do something about it."
McCurdy laughed. It was condescending, full of derision and superiority. "Tch, tch. tch. Jeffrey, you can't believe all this has anything to do with that videotape. Haven't you figured it out by now? Can't you understand anything on your own?" He clicked his tongue. "You're nowhere near as bright as I'd hoped, you and your priest and your girlfriend."
Jeff turned his back on McCurdy and went to help Casey into her chair.
"Stop!" McCurdy cried. "Leave her right where she is. You're working for me, Jeffrey, you must learn to obey."
The Reality Conspiracy Page 35