Angel Fire East

by Brooks, Terry

  What she could manage, she decided, was to leave Harper with Nest. What she could manage was to give her daughter a better chance at life than she'd been given. Maybe something good would come of it. Maybe it would persuade her to find a way at last to kick her habit. Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, Harper would be better off.

  She had been thinking about it all day. She could stand the bad things that happened to her, but not when they spilled over onto Harper. Especially if she was at fault because she was using. She could not bear it; she could not live with it. She was haunted by the possibility. To prevent it from happening, to remove any chance of it, she had to give Harper to Nest.

  She shivered inside the parka, the wind harsh and biting as it swept over her in sudden gusts, particles of frozen snow stinging her exposed skin and making her eyes water. Cars lumbered by in the haze, and she wished one would stop and offer her a ride, but none did. When she got to the house, she would be able to get warm for a few minutes before Penny came. Penny would bring drugs and a ride downtown. She would catch the ten o'clock bus out and by morning she would be in another state.

  She regretted that she'd had to steal money from Nest to make the break possible, but that was the least of the sins she had committed in her addict's life and the one most likely to be forgiven first. Nest was her big sister, and a good person, and more family to her than Big Momma and the kids, all of whom were lost to her as surely as her childhood, and good riddance. Sometimes, she missed Jared, though. She remembered how sweet Nest had been on him. Sweet. She laughed aloud. Where had she picked up that word? She hoped Jared was all right somewhere. It would be nice to know he was.

  Big Momma was a different matter. She hoped Big Momma was burning in hell.

  It took a long time to reach the house. Her face stung and her fingers and toes were numb with cold. She extracted the house key, unlocked the door, and got herself inside. She stood in the entry and breathed in the warmth, waiting for the cold that had settled in her bones to melt. She was coughing, and her chest rattled. She was sick, but she wondered how sick she really was. It had been a long time since she had been to a doctor. Or Harper. Nest would do a better job with things like that.

  Harper's stuffed teddy was sitting by the Christmas tree, and Bennett started to cry. Harper, she whispered soundlessly. Baby.

  She called the number Penny had given her. Penny answered and said she'd be right there, and Bennett hung up. Her bag was already packed, so once the call was made there was little to do but wait. She walked out into the living room from the kitchen and stood looking into space. After a moment, she plugged in the tree. The colored lights reflected in the window glass and hall mirror and made her smile. Harper would have a nice Christmas. She glanced down at the present she had made for Harper—a rag doll with her name stitched on the apron, a project Nest had found in a magazine and helped her finish. She wished she could be there to see Harper's face when she opened it. Maybe she would call from the road, just to say Merry Christmas.

  She closed her eyes and hugged herself, thinking of how much better she would feel once Penny came with the drugs. She would do just enough to get her through the night and save the rest for later. She would buy all she could. It was great stuff, whatever it was, some sort of crystal, really smooth. She didn't know how Penny had found anything so good, but it just took you up and up and up. Penny had said she would give it to her for free, but Bennett didn't believe her. You gave it for free the first time, which was last night. Today it would cost. Because it was costing Penny. It had to be.

  The phone rang once, but she left it alone. No one would be calling her. She began to worry that Nest would miss her and come after her before Penny arrived. She brought her small bag to the front door and stood looking out at the streetlit darkness. Cars came and went, a few, not many, indistinct and hazy lumps in the blowing snow. She wondered if it would snow all night. She wondered if the bus would be on time. She wished she had a fix.

  By the time a car finally pulled into the driveway her anticipation and need were so high she could feel her skin crawl. She peeked out from behind the window curtain, uncertain who it was, torn between hiding and charging out. When the driver's door opened and Penny's Little Orphan Annie head appeared, she let out an audible gasp of relief and rushed to the front door to let her in.

  "Ohhh, little girl, you are in some kind of state!" the redhead giggled as she came inside, slamming the door on the wind and the cold and throwing off her coat. "Let's get you back together again right now!"

  They shot up right there in the front entry, sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, passing the fixings back and forth, heads bent close, whispering encouragement and laughing. It didn't matter what was said, what words were used, what thoughts were exchanged. Nothing mattered but the process of injecting the drug and waiting for that first, glorious rush.

  Bennett had no idea how much of the stuff she used, but it hit her like a sledgehammer, and she gasped with shock as it began to take hold. She threw back her head and let her mouth hang open, and everything in the world but what she was feeling disappeared.

  "There you go," Penny whispered from somewhere far, far away, her voice distant and soft, barely there at all, hardly anything more than a ripple in the haze. "Bring it on, girl. Momma needs her itch scratched good!"

  Bennett laughed and soared and watched everything around her change to cotton candy. She was barely awake when Penny climbed to her feet and opened the front door. She was barely aware of the black-clad old man who walked through and stood looking down at her.

  "Hey, girlfriend," Penny hissed, and her tone of voice was suddenly sharp-edged and taunting. "How's this for an unexpected surprise? Look who's joining the party!"

  Bennett lifted her eyes dreamily as Findo Cask bent close.

  * * *

  It was after nine-thirty before Nest missed Bennett Scott. She was having a good time talking with friends, some of them people she had known since childhood, sharing stories and swapping remembrances. Robert was very much in evidence early on, trying to make up for last night's provocative comments about John Ross by being overly attentive. She tolerated his efforts for a while because she knew he meant well, but sometimes a little of Robert went a long way. Fortunately, Amy was up and about, though not feeling very much better, and when Nest made a point of beginning a discussion with her about pregnancies and babies, Robert quickly disappeared.

  Now and then, Nest would drift down to the rec room to see how the children were doing. She had played in this house as a little girl, so she knew the floor plan well. The rec room was safe and secure. A single entry opened down the stairs from the main hallway. There were no exterior doors or windows. The girls who were baby-sitting knew that only parents and friends were allowed to visit and were instructed to ask for help if there was any problem.

  Harper fit right in with the other kids, but Little John parked himself in a corner and wouldn't move. She kept checking on him, hoping something would change over the course of the evening, but it never did. Her attempts to persuade him to join in proved futile, and eventually she gave up.

  Once or twice she caught sight of Bennett, but since her concerns were primarily for the children and Bennett seemed to be doing all right, she didn't stop to worry about her.

  But finally she realized it was getting late and they had to think about making arrangements to get home, and it was then she realized she hadn't seen Bennett for a while. When she had gone through the house twice without finding her, she tracked down Robert and drew him aside.

  "I don't want to make too much of this, but I can't find Bennett Scott," she advised quietly. From her look, he knew right away this wasn't good.

  He raised and lowered one eyebrow in a familiar Robert gesture. "Maybe she went home."

  "Without Harper?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe she got sick. Are you sure she's not here somewhere? You want me to ask around?"

  She wheeled away abruptly and went back d
ownstairs to the rec room. Kneeling next to Harper as the little girl worked to make something out of Play-Doh, she asked if her Mommy was there.

  Harper barely looked up. "Mommy go bye-bye."

  Nest felt her throat tighten in panic. "Did she tell you this, Harper? Did she tell you bye-bye?"

  Harper nodded. "Yeth."

  Nest climbed back to her feet and looked around helplessly. When had Bennett left? How long had she been gone? Where would she go without taking Harper, without telling anyone, without a car? She knew the answer before she finished the question, and she experienced a rush of anger and despair.

  She bounded back up the stairs to find Robert. She would have to go looking, of course—even without knowing where to start. She would have to call John home to watch the children while she took the car and conducted a search.

  In a snowstorm where everything was shut down and cars were barely moving? On a night when the wind chill was low enough to freeze you to death?

  She felt the futility of what she was proposing threaten to overwhelm her, but she shoved aside her doubts to concentrate on the task at hand. She found Robert coming down the stairs from the second floor, shaking his head.

  "Beats me, Nest. I looked everywhere I could think—"

  Nest brushed the rest of what he was going to say aside with a wave of her hand. "She's gone. I got that much out of Harper. She left sometime back. I don't know why."

  Robert sighed wearily. "But you can guess, can't you? She's an addict, Nest. I saw the tracks on her arms." He shook his head. "Look, I know this is none of my business, but—"

  "Don't start, Robert. Just don't!" She clenched his wrist so hard he winced. "Don't lecture me about the company I keep, about Bennett and John Ross and all the strange things happening and how you remember it was just like this fifteen years ago on the Fourth of July! Just warm up your car while I get the children into their coats and boots and then drive us home!"

  She let go of his wrist. "Do you think you can manage that?"

  He looked mortified. "Of course I can manage it! Geez!"

  She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek. "You're a good guy, Robert. But you require a lot of maintenance. Now get going."

  The demons bundled Bennett Scott into her parka and took her out of the house and into the night, letting the drugs in her system do the job of keeping her in line. Snow was flying in all directions, the wind was blowing hard, and it was so cold that nose hairs froze, but Bennett Scott was floating somewhere outside her body, barely aware of anything but the pleasant feeling of not really being connected to reality. Every so often, something around her would come sharply into focus—the bite of the wind, the white fury of the snow, the skeletal shadow of a crooked tree limb, or the faces of Findo Gask and Penny Dreadful, one on either side, propping her up and moving her along. But mostly there was only a low buzzing in her ears and a wondrous sense of peace.

  Findo Gask had left everything in the house as he found it, closing the front door behind them without locking it. He wanted Nest Freemark to return home without suspecting he had been there, so he had been careful not to do anything that would scare her off. If she grew too cautious, it would spoil the surprise he had left for her.

  With Penny laughing and talking nonstop, they climbed into the car, backed out of the driveway onto Woodlawn, drove to the park entrance, parked in front of the crossbar, and set off on foot. Sinnissippi Park was a black hole of cold and sleet, the darkness unbroken and endless across the flats and through the woods, the snow freezing to ice in the grip of the north wind howling up the river channel. The lights that normally lit the roadway had been lost earlier when a power line went down, and the curtain of blowing snow masked the pale glimmerings of the nearby residences and townhomes. Tonight, the park might as well have been on the moon.

  Bennett Scott stumbled and mushed through the deepening snowdrifts, her feet dragging, her body listless, her progress made possible by the fact that the demons who clutched either arm were dragging her. She gulped blasts of frigid air for breath and ducked her head for warmth, automatic responses from her body, but her mind told her almost nothing of what she was doing. She remembered Penny being there, the sharing of drugs that gave her such relief, and the thin, tenuous thread of hope she clung to that somehow, someday, she would find her way back to Harper. Now and again, she would hear her daughter's voice calling to her, small words, little noises, bits and pieces of memories retrieved from the haze of her thoughts.

  She saw nothing of the eyes that began to appear in the dark, bright pairs of yellow slits coming out of nowhere in twos and threes until there were dozens.

  They crossed the park to the bluffs, then continued west past the Indian mounds to the turnaround and the cliffs. The road had disappeared in the snow, and the entire area was a white carpet beneath the ragged limbs of the leafless hardwoods. Findo Gask was unconcerned about being interrupted; there was no one else in the park. Together with Penny, he nudged Bennett Scott toward the cliff edge, maneuvering her forward until she was only a few yards from the drop.

  The feeders pressed closer, eager to become involved.

  "Let her go, Penny," Gask ordered.

  They stepped back from Bennett, leaving her alone at the cliff's edge, facing out toward the river, her head lolling and her arms hanging loose. The feeders closed on her, touching her softly, cajoling her voicelessly, urging her to give them what they needed.

  Bennett stood without moving, her mind in another time zone, gliding through valleys and over peaks, the land all white-edged and golden bright, the singing of her blood in her veins sustaining and comforting. She soared unfettered for a long time, staring at nothing, and then remembered suddenly that she had not come alone.

  "Penny?" she managed.

  The wind howled at her.

  "Penny?"

  A child's voice called sharply. "Mommy!"

  Bennett lifted her head and peered into the snow and darkness. It was Harper!

  "Mommy, can you hear me?"

  "Baby, where are you? Baby?"

  "Mommy, I need you! Please, Mommy!"

  Bennett felt the cold suddenly, a taste of its bite ripping past the armor of her stupor, leaving her shaking and breathing hard. She licked at her dry lips and glanced around. She saw the eyes now, close and watchful and hungry, and she jerked away in shock and fear.

  "Harper!" she screamed.

  "Mommy, run!" she heard Harper call out.

  She saw her daughter then, a faint image just ahead of her in the darkness, lit by a pale white light that brightened and faded with the beating of her own heart, with the pulsing of her blood. She saw Harper and reached for her, but Harper was already moving away.

  "Harper!" she wailed.

  She couldn't go to her, knew she couldn't, knew there was something very wrong with trying to do so. She had a vague memory of having been in this situation once before, but she could not remember when or why.

  "Mommy!" Harper begged, stumbling as she retreated.

  Something was pulling at the little girl, dragging her away— something dark and shapeless and forbidding. It was too much for Bennett Scott. She cast off her lethargy and fear and burst through the knot of eyes that pressed against her, lunging after her daughter.

  She was close enough to touch Harper, to see the fear in her daughter's eyes, when the ground disappeared beneath her feet and she fell away into the dark.

  Chapter 20

  Robert Heppler pulled the big Navigator into the empty -LV.driveway and put it in park, leaving the engine running. Nest gave a quick sigh of relief. It was blowing snow so hard that the driveway itself and all traces of tire tracks that might have marked its location had long since disappeared, so it was a good thing he knew the way by heart or they could easily have ended up in the front yard. She stared at the lighted windows of the house, but could see no movement. There were more lights on now than when she had left for the party, so someone must have gotten there ahead of her
. She felt a surge of hope. Maybe she was wrong about Bennett. Maybe Bennett was waiting inside.

  "Do you want me to come in with you?" Robert asked. She shifted her eyes to meet his, and he gestured vaguely. "Just to make sure."

  She knew what he meant, even if he wasn't saying it straight out. "No, I can handle this. Thanks for bringing us back, Robert."

  He shrugged. "Anytime. Call if you need me."

  She opened the door into the shriek of the wind and climbed out, sinking in snow up to her knees. Criminy, as Pick would say. "Watch yourself driving home, Robert!" she shouted at him.

  She got the children out of the backseat, small bundles of padded clothing and loose scarf ends, and began herding them toward the house. The wind whipped at them, shoving them this way and that as they trundled through its deep carpet, heads bent, shoulders hunched. It was bitter cold, and Nest could feel it reach all the way down to her bones. She heard the rumble of the Navigator as it backed out of the driveway and turned up the road. In seconds, the sound of the engine had disappeared into the wind's howl.

  They clambered up the ice-rimmed wooden steps to the relative shelter of the front porch, where the children stamped their boots and brushed snow from their shoulders in mimicry of Nest. She tested the front door and found it unlocked— a sure sign someone was home—and ushered Harper and Little John inside.

  It was silent in the house when she closed the door against the weather, so silent that she knew almost at once she had assumed wrongly; no one else was there, and if they had been, they had come and gone. She could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock and the rattle of the shutters at the back of the house where the wind worked them against their fastenings, but that was all.

  She glanced down and noticed Bennett's small bag packed and sitting by the front door. Close by, she saw the damp outline of bootprints that were not their own. Then she caught sight of a glint of metal in the carpet. She bent slowly to pick it up. It was a syringe.

  She felt a moment of incredible sorrow. Placing the syringe inside a small vase on the entry table, she turned to the children and began helping them off with their coats. Harper's face was red with cold and her eyes were tired. Little John looked the way he always did—pale, distant, and haunted. But he seemed frail, too, as if the passing of time drained him of energy and life and was finally beginning to leave its mark. She stopped in the middle of removing his coat, stared at him a moment, and then pulled him against her, hugging him close, trying to infuse him with some small sense of what she was feeling, trying once again to break through to him.