"You hit me, Father," Don said. "You hit me!"
"I got your attention, didn't I?" Javotte asked.
"Damn sure did," the deputy agreed.
"Now, listen to me, all of you," Sam said. The men looked at him. "I can tell you all almost exactly what has been happening in this town. I've seen it before. Drinking is up; incidents of depression are up; family violence is up; the young people have become sullen; sexual promiscuity is up … and people are behaving strangely. Right?"
Don looked at Sam, new interest in his eyes. The side of his face was still red where Father Javotte had popped him. "All right," the deputy said. "I'll give you that much. Yeah; You're right."
"Satan is insidious," Sam said. "The Dark One moves slowly in his conquests. There is no need for him to rush matters. You see, the Prince of Darkness knows that he rules the earth."
"Let's assume that I accept all—or even a part—of what you've told me," Sonny said. "I mean … well, what's the next move?"
"Waiting," Sam said. He smiled grimly. "You see, Satan knows that Christians are virtually helpless, powerless to do anything—legally—concerning the situation. Drinking and partying and rejecting Christ and engaging in sexual activities … none of those things are against the law. And neither is forming a coven, providing no human or animal sacrifices take place."
"Animal mutilations," Don muttered, recalling the sheep and cattle he'd found in this part of the parish.
"That would be part of it," Sam said. "Was there any blood left in the animals?"
Don shook his head. "I didn't check, Sam. But there were strange carvings cut into the flesh of the animals."
"Stars, moons, stick-men?"
"Yeah. And that means … what to you?"
"That the coven is firmly established in Becancour."
"What the hell is a coven?" Sonny asked. "What do people do at these … covens?"
"All depends," Sam said, looking not at Sonny but at Father Javotte. "Call out evil spirits. Worship Satan. And call for the Undead to rise and once more walk the earth."
"The Undead?" Sonny blurted. "You mean like in the movies and books and crap like that?"
"Yes."
"Rita told me that she's had to run kids out of the graveyard several times," Don said, looking at Chief Passon.
"Yeah. There's been some vandalism in there, all right." Sonny rose, almost knocking over his chair doing so. "Look, people. I got to go for a drive. I got to clear my head. I got to think about all this … stuff ya'll been telling me." He paused. "Wait a minute. We're forgetting why we gathered here this morning. How about Jackson Dorgenois?"
"How about the Dorgenois family as a whole?" Sam asked.
"What about them?" Don asked.
"Their history. When they came here … and more importantly … why?"
Sonny shrugged. "I never was much of a student of history, Sam Balon. So I can't tell you the why of their coming here. But … there have been rumors about them over the years."
"What kind of rumors?"
"Rumors that the Dorgenoises are in league with the devil," Father Javotte said. "I don't believe it and never have. Not about R. M. and Romy. Talk was stronger about Jackson, though. But I don't know. I was not here when Jackson did … what Dr. Livaudais wrote he did."
"Who was the priest then?"
"Twenty years ago? Well … that would have beer Father Landry. But he's dead. After him … Father Ramagos. Father Landry was ill when Father Ramagos came. I'm told the two men became good friends before Father Landry died."
"What did Landry die of?" Sam asked.
The priest shrugged. "Why … I don't know. Father Ramagos didn't say and I never thought to ask."
Nobody seemed to notice when Sonny Pa9son slipped quietly out the front door and was gone into the already hot morning.
The phone rang. Don jerked it up, glad to have something else on his mind besides all that hocus-pocus Sam Balon had been spewing. "Yeah? No. No, I haven't seen him this morning." He hung up and looked at Sam and Father Javotte. "The clinic. Looking for Tony."
"You've got to get hold of yourself, Margie," Tony told the woman.
Susan had called him after listening to less than one minute of Margie's story. Susan was afraid her friend was cracking up, emotionally.
Margie took several deep breaths. When she spoke, her voice was deadly flat. "I have told you both exactly what happened last night … early this morning, excuse me. I am not crazy." She cut her eyes to Susan. "I've told you for years that at times Dave's behavior is, well, suspect, at best. But he's never raised a hand to me—and still hasn't—don't get me wrong. But Dave needs help. And I mean, he needs it … right now!"
"Let me sound him out, Margie," Tony said. But he was thinking: Cats! They're popping up just too many times to be just mere coincidence.
"You wanna go wade through my backyard, Tony?" Margie asked him. "It's full of cat shit."
"I don't doubt you, Margie." And then Tony was mildly astonished to hear the words pushing out of his mouth. "I don't doubt any of your story."
Susan looked at the doctor, her boss, strangely. "I'm going to be at Margie's house when Dave comes home for lunch. I'll do some checking of my own, Dr. Livaudais."
"Fine, Susan," Tony said, almost absently. He checked his wristwatch. "I got to go. I'm due at a meeting ten minutes ago."
He walked out the front door.
"Now, what's wrong with him?" Susan questioned.
"What's wrong with a lot of people, Susan?" Margie asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I was shopping yesterday down at Antini's. Mrs. Carmon passed me in one aisle. Margie, she smelled bad. She was … grimy. And she's always been one of the most fastidious people in town. Over in the next aisle, I saw that Bob … what's-his-name? … runs the garage? …
"Gannon."
"Yes. Him. He was … well, fondling Alma Clayton. Brazenly. Henry would kill him, and maybe her, too, if he found that out. But they behaved as if they didn't care. Then … that got me to thinking about some things I've seen over the past couple of weeks. People are behaving … oddly, Susan. And I can't think of exactly how to describe it."
Susan sat down beside her friend on the couch. She was thoughtful for a moment. "You know, you're right, Margie. You're right. I just haven't paid any attention to it. But people are behaving … well, you said it, oddly."
The thing that was getting to Sonny was that Don was the one who brought up all this devil worship crap in the first place. Now he acts like he's never heard of it before.
Sonny cut the wheel to avoid hitting a kid on a motorcycle. Stopping, Sonny backed up to where the kid had pulled over. Fred Johnson.
"Fred." Sonny stuck his head out the window of his patrol car. "You better start watching where you're going, boy."
"Yeah, yeah, fine," the boy said.
Sonny looked at him. "Don't yeah-yeah-fine me, boy. I'll hang a ticket on your smart mouth before you can blink, you don't watch that lip."
Fred laughed at him. He toed his bike into gear and roared off.
Sonny sat with his head hanging out the window, a look of pure astonishment on his tanned face. "What the hell? …" he muttered.
A sharp banging noise startled Sonny. He jerked his head around to find old lady Wheeler banging a broom head on the hood of his car.
"Chief Passon!" she squalled. "I want you to stop these hoodlums from coming around my house at night, tormenting me. Me comprenez-vous?"
"Oui, en effet," Sonny replied in the language the old woman had switched to in her anger. He winced as she pounded the hood of his car with the broom. He got out of the car. "Mrs. Wheeler, will you please stop doing that?"
She ceased her hammering with the broom.
"Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler." He cut his eyes, inspecting the hood for damage. No dents. "What's wrong? What's been happening?"
"What's been happening?" she squalled at him. "As if you didn't know, Sonny Passon. I took a stick to your
behind when you were young, and I'll do it again you talk uppity to me."
"Mrs. Wheeler …" Sonny had to hide a grin. Mrs. Wheeler had been one of his teachers in high school; and for sure, she'd laid the board of education to his butt more than once. "I don't know what you're talking about. Pouvez-vous comprendre ce que je dis?"
"Haw! You trying to tell me you don't read the reports people call into your office, Sonny Passon?"
Sonny's eyes narrowed. "You've called the police to report … what's been happening, Mrs. Wheeler?"
"Three times, Sonny. Three times I spoke with that white-trash Louis Black. Last time he said awful things to me."
"What things, Mrs. Wheeler?"
She told him, bluntly, as had always been her fashion.
Sonny balled his big hands into bigger fists and gritted his teeth. "You wait on the porch for me, Mrs. Wheeler. I'll be right back."
Louis Black's butt hit the carpet in his bedroom. He had been awakened rudely … by being jerked out of bed and dumped to the floor. He looked up at Chief Sonny Passon standing over him.
"Jesus Christ, Sonny!" Louis protested.
"You dumb son of a bitch!" Sonny cussed him. "I've put up with you because I thought you had the makings of a good cop. And because I felt sorry for you." He looked around him. The room, the house, was positively nasty. "Jesus God, you're living in filth! Now you tell me what's going on over at Mrs. Wheeler's house."
"Nothin'," Louis said sullenly.
"You haven't spoken with her?"
"Naw."
"Menteur!" Sonny shouted at him. "I talked to C. B. not three minutes ago. He was on duty all three times she called requesting help. He said you handled the calls. But you never showed up. Then you tell old Mrs. Wheeler to get fucked. You wanna deny that, Louis?"
'Naw. It don't make a shit no more, Passon."
"What doesn't make a shit, Louis? What?"
Louis grinned, rolled over on one side, and pulled down his dirty drawers.
"He did what?" Don asked.
Sonny had called Don at the substation and asked him, and Sam, if Sam was still there, to come over to Mrs. Wheeler's house. And bring the priest, too. The four men now stood outside the old lady's house.
"Stuck his ass in my face. I kicked him right in his big butt. After I fired him."
Don shook his head. "Incredible. I always knew Louis was dumb; I never thought he was stupid."
"And you say his house was dirty?" Sam asked.
"No, Sam—it was filthy. Nasty. And his drawers looked like he'd been wearing them for a week. It was disgusting."
Mrs. Wheeler's screaming cut the hot morning air. The men ran for the house.
11
Mrs. Wheeler pointed with the handle of her broom. The men looked in that direction. Bloody internal organs from an animal were scattered on the old woman's back porch. Above the grisly scene, spray-painted on the outside wall, were the words: THE DEAD SHALL RISE AND WALK AT NIGHT.
"I'll get a camera from my car," Sonny said, fighting back the hot bile that threatened to erupt from his throat. "Bastards!" he muttered. "Tormenting an old lady."
But why were they—whoever "they" might be—doing it?
Sonny didn't know, but one thing he knew for damn sure: He was going to find out.
"When were you last out here in the backyard, Mrs. Wheeler?" Don asked.
"Late yesterday afternoon. I heard some noises out back last night, but I didn't come out to check on them. And I didn't call the police, either." She spoke the last with more than a trace of bitterness.
"Sonny just fired Louis Black," Don informed her. "And then kicked him in his rear end."
"Put the boot to his ass, did he?" the old woman said with a smile. "Good. Sonny is a good boy. But that Louis Black is nothing but trash."
While Sonny took pictures, Don continued to question Mrs. Wheeler. "Do you know who has been tormenting you, ma'am? Have you seen any of their faces?"
"I've caught glimpses of them, Don Lenoir. But I don't know these kids anymore. They grow up so fast nowadays. I probably had their parents in school."
Mrs. Wheeler had probably had two-thirds of the population of Becancour in class. She had taught history and civics—among other subjects—for more than fifty years.
"Do you have a garbage bag, ma'am?" Sonny asked.
"Certainly. Are these … things from a human, Sonny?"
"No, ma'am. Animal, I think. I'll take them over to Dr. Livaudais."
"I beat his butt more than once, too," the old lady said with a grin. "Has he settled down any?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sonny said, returning the grin. "He married Miss Lena Breaux."
"I know that! I still read the papers, boy."
"Yes, ma'am." I'm pushing fifty years old and still act like a slew-footed kid around her, Sonny thought. Probably always will, too.
"Who are you, boy?" Mrs. Wheeler looked at Sam. "I thought I knew everyone in Becancour. But you're a new one on me."
"Sam Balon, ma'am."
"Balon? I don't know any Balons. Where'd you come from?"
"Originally from Nebraska, ma'am."
"Well, you're a big one. You look like you'd be hard to handle if somebody was stupid enough to pull your string. You visiting somebody I know?"
"No, ma'am. I'm down here with my family for the summer. We rented the Lovern place out on the creek."
"Bayou," she corrected. "You a lawman?"
"No, ma'am."
"You ought to be. Big as you are. Nice to meet you, Sam Balon. You and your family come see me anytime you like. Sorry we had to meet under these hideous conditions." She cut her eyes to Sonny. "Sonny, I got me a twenty gauge pump in the house. It's loaded. I got my late husband's old .38 in there, too. And lots of ammunition for the both of them. I'm serving you warning now—my backyard is fenced. The gate is locked with a chain and padlock. Anybody else trespasses on my property, tormenting me, gets shot. And I'm a good shot, Sonny."
Everyone present knew the old lady meant every word she said.
"Yes, ma'am," Sonny said meekly.
"Animal parts," Tony said, inspecting the organs. "Sheep, I'm sure. But why Mrs. Wheeler?"
"I don't know," Sonny said. Father Javotte remained at the home of Mrs. Wheeler; he'd walk back to town. Sam was riding with Don.
"Bring me up to date, Sonny."
Slowly, Sonny began talking, telling Dr. Livaudais everything he'd heard that morning from Sam Balon and Father Javotte.
Tony received the news with a stoic expression. He was not especially a religious man, did not attend Mass very often. But there was something oddly unsettling about Chief Passon's words.
"And what do you, personally, think about it, Sonny?"
"I … think something is very wrong in this town, Doc. But I don't know what it is. I can tell you this much: there is something weird as hell about Sam Balon."
"Weird … how?"
"I can't explain it, Doc. I can't explain anything that's happening around town. And I don't know what Louis was talking about when he said 'it don't make a shit no more.' Doc, I've been in Louis's house dozens of times. It was always kind of messy. But clean. You know what I mean. Now his house is just plain nasty. And he's suddenly become nasty. Right now, we should all be out beating the bushes for Jackson Dorgenois. But he's become secondary. And you know what, Doc? I don't care. And I don't think Don cares either. That's weird, Doc. I don't want to leave this town, Doc. Me and the wife was going to drive over to Alex tonight for dinner. We always enjoyed doing that. But she told me this morning that she didn't wanna go. Jane has always enjoyed fixin' up and going out. Now she just doesn't want to go."
"Jackson Dorgenois must be found, Sonny. The man is dangerous. He could be killing right this minute."
"I know that."
Something in Sonny's eyes bothered Tony. Some little intangible … thing seemed to be drifting just under the surface. "Well, if that's the way you feel about it, Sonny. As Chief of Police, I don't kno
w of a soul who can order you to go out looking for Jackson."
"But what I'm feeling is wrong, Doc, and what's worse is … I know it. But I can't seem to shake it."
Tony did not know what to say to the man. He was experiencing none of what Sonny claimed to be feeling. "What is it you want, Sonny? You think I have some kind of pill or shot that will alleviate the sensation?"
"Do you?"
"No."
Sonny leaned back in his chair. "It's gettin' worse, Doc. And I didn't feel this way an hour ago."
Tony thought of something, then almost immediately rejected it. None of what Sonny had told him about devil worship and covens and vampires and all that crap was true. None of it. Tony didn't believe in any of that nonsense.
Or did he?
Oh, what the hell! he thought. It's worth a try. "You want the best advice I can give you, Sonny?"
"I sure do."
"Go see Father Javotte and tell him what you told me. I don't have any medicine to cure you."
Mary Claverie had slept in the car, pulled off the road about two miles from Becancour. When she awakened, stiff and sore from the cramped space, she felt worse than stiff and sore … she felt awful. She got out and stretched until her joints popped. Boy! it felt so good to be free of that nut house.
Then she looked down at her nurse's uniform. All dirty and mussed and icky. Got to do something about that. Well, she had her piece of glass and her gun. So she'd just drive a bit until she came to a house, go up and knock on the door, and take whatever it was she wanted.
Sounded pretty good to her.
Then she saw the house. It sat to the south of where she had parked all night, just a little stand of timber separating Mary from the house. Getting her gun, she left the car and walked through the timber. At timber's edge, she paused. She could see window air conditioners, but none were on, and it was already hot. She hiked up her dress and squatted down, watching the house. Then she saw the telltale signs: several rolled-up newspapers were in the front yard. No one home.
Mary looked in all directions and then scampered across the yard, angling toward the back. She jumped up on the small back porch and tried the doorknob. Locked. She felt around the top of the door frame and smiled as her fingers touched the key.
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