Charlie cut him off. “He doesn’t exist, L.J. Please. Just tell the police that Dan had been harassing Sherman and me, but we didn’t realize he was dangerous. Can you do that for us?”
For a moment, I thought they were going to argue. But Aaron just shrugged and L.J nodded. Thanks to me, they had skated around a maelstrom of horror. But with luck, they could forget about it.
Charlie and I were not so lucky.
There’s not much left to tell. I spent the next couple of days in the hospital. Dad and Charlie sat on either side of my bed as we watched a sitcom marathon. We all agreed that Mr. Furley was the funnier landlord and that the series really started to decline when Suzanne Somers left.
Mr. Schultz stopped by to visit. He seemed terribly worried about me. Or possibly that another one of his scholars had nearly died on his watch. He seemed to calm down after I apologized for leaving campus in direct violation of the rules.
I called Dr. Hopkins and promised him an exclusive interview once I was out of the hospital. He reminded me to send my scholarship applications directly to his office.
When Dad left to wash up and Charlie went home for the evening, I tried to call Denton. Whoever answered stated that he could not speak on the phone, but I was welcome to visit him tomorrow.
That evening, two detectives showed up to take my statement. They were bland, wisecracking men, who’d already decided that Dan was to blame for everything. I made sure my statement jibed with their assumptions. Dan had been harassing Charlie and me all week, but we’d taken him for a harmless crank. The other evening, upset about Steph, I wandered downtown. After talking to Denton (a passing acquaintance) at Shakespeare’s, Dan grabbed me a gunpoint. Denton happened to see the incident, and lacking a cell phone, jumped into the bed of the truck. When Dan tossed my phone in the back, he was able to call for help. True, Denton’s story wouldn’t match mine, but I doubted they’d even take a statement from him, considering his mental issues.
I was deliberately vague as to what happened underground. I’d been knocked unconscious by the explosion and couldn’t remember much. Dan had threatened us, but somehow managed to ignite some chemicals, which caused the fire that killed him. If the cops knew he died of stab wounds, they didn’t say anything to me.
Nor did they mention Saberhagen. Had his body completely burned up? Or were they simply not talking, waiting to see what I said? Only when they were about to leave, did one of them let something slip. Something about a theft at the crime site.
“Wait, what?”
He shrugged. “Someone was just curious. Took a couple of bags of ashes that the lab boys were going to poke through. It’s nothing.” They thanked me and left.
It was over. All over. Saberhagen was gone. Dan was dead. We were all safe. And we all lived happily ever after. Right?
I dropped off to sleep.
I am in the desert. Soldiers, there are soldiers. A war zone? No, somewhere in the US, California maybe.
One of them looks familiar. His hair is buzzed down to the scalp and he’s wearing sunglasses, but I’d swear that was Aaron. I try to say hi, but for some reason I can’t talk. He continues to bark out indistinguishable orders to other soldiers, who are unloading some kind of truck. I look at his uniform. Two bars, what was that, a captain?
The soldiers are being extra careful with the crates they unpack. I stand there, unnoticed, watching the dull labor.
A scream. Tires squealing. Aaron shouting something. A forklift, barreling down on the pile of cargo. Noticing for the first time the yellow-lettered warning on each crate: EXPLOSIVES…
A city street at night. It might have even been Columbia. John, now hilariously-balding, walks out of a building. He doesn’t notice the man in the alley who begins to follow him. Something shiny and sharp catches the light…
A loud, chaotic bar. L.J., who hasn’t changed at all, is on the tiny stage, playing his guitar. A waitress brings the band a tray of beers. She makes certain that L.J. takes a specific mug. There’s something weird about that drink. It’s too yellow, it doesn’t bubble. L.J. doesn’t notice. The song ends, and he leans over to take a swig…
City bus. Denton, now with a bushy hobo beard, sleeps in a seat. Behind him, a hand reaches up. A hypodermic needle approaches his neck…
A basement. There’s been some kind of flood, the overpowering stench of mildew and dampness permeates everything. A plumber sings to himself as he prepares to solder a new pipe. I’m shocked to realize that it’s Dad; he looks terrible. Well, not terrible, just really old: white-haired, stooped, and fat.
Somewhere in the house, someone uses a set of bolt cutters to break open a gas line. The smell is overpowering, but in the basement, the other odors cover the gas. Dad hums ‘Chantilly Lace’ as he attempts to light his welding torch…
Someone’s house. It seems really familiar, though I’d swear I’d never been there before. The living room is a mess, toys and clothes everywhere.
Charlie is there. She’s not skinny, but she is noticeably thinner. And her hair’s much shorter. And since when does she wear glasses?
Unlike at the other locations, she sees me and talks to me. I can’t hear what she’s saying. She seems annoyed, but somehow I get the impression she’s not telling me anything I haven’t heard already. Instinctively, I nod my head.
She steps in front of a large picture window, framed by a streetlight. She continues to complain. I say something—I’m not sure what—and she rolls her eyes, then smiles.
And something moves in front of the window. Something shadowy and green.
She turns. I try to stop her. I try to run, try to grab her.
I can’t move.
The window shatters. Charlie screams. And as the green uncleanness seizes her, a familiar voice echoes in my head.
“DID YOU REALLY THINK I’D FORGET, SHERMAN? DID YOU REALLY THINK IT WAS ALL OVER?”
I woke up moaning. Harsh lights shone down on me. I wasn’t in my hospital room. I tried to get up, but something restrained me.
“Don’t move, son.”
My tongue felt huge, unwieldy. “I have to make a call…” Had to warn Charlie and Dad and the others.
“Shh. Just relax.”
Outside my line of vision, people were moving.
“Where am I?”
“Surgery prep. It’ll all be over soon.”
“Surgery? No one said anything about that!” Something was very wrong.
A man moved into my line of vision, but the bright lights cast his features into shadow.
“They looked at your X rays. There’s some sort of debris in your eye socket. They have to remove it, the risk of infection is too great.”
Again, I tried to move, but I felt like I was strapped to the gurney. Or was I just drugged?
“I want to talk to my father. Does he know where I am?”
“No.” He had reached out and placed a mask over my nose. “No one knows where you are.”
Just as I blacked out, I noticed the tattoo on the man’s inner wrist. An X, and a three-pronged shape.
– Chapter Twenty-Six –
It was a desolate, formless wasteland that went on forever. Fog swirled at all sides. I could see for miles, and yet I couldn’t see two feet. It was miserably cold.
Something moved out there! Didn’t it? I turned. Nothing was there. But something…
I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to know. I would have closed my eyes, but I couldn’t stand the thought of something creeping up on me. There was something awful about this place. Something quite horrible…it was worse than the cavern…where was I?
I almost tripped over the man before I saw him.
He was cowering in the frozen dirt, naked, scrawny, and miserable. He stared up at me with deadened, tortured eyes. He looked like a dog that had been hit by a car, in agony and begging to be put out of its pain. I gasped with recognition.
“Saberhagen?”
He regarded me with mild interest. His arms wrapped around his shive
ring frame.
“They always said it was supposed to be hot here.” He tried to laugh, but it degenerated into a coughing fit.
I took a step backward. “Where are we?” The question came out louder than I intended. It echoed back to us, along with Saberhagen’s laughter. Or was something else laughing?
He sat there, twitching on the barren earth. “Every time I die, here I am. I don’t remember it…I don’t let myself remember. It’s awful, Sherman. More than you can imagine.” He suddenly looked up at me with a desperate intensity. “You made the right decision. Nothing is worth this. Not living forever. Not at this cost. I wish I could go back. I wish I could…” He coughed more.
The fog grew thicker. Or maybe things just got darker. Amorphous shapes gamboled just out of my line of sight.
“Where are we?” There was real panic in my voice.
His face broke into a contemptuous sneer. “Nowhere. At least, nowhere you need to concern yourself with. You’re safe.”
I sure didn’t feel safe. “Now what?”
“You go. I stay. We meet again someday.”
I thought I felt something brush my shoulder, but when I turned, nothing was behind me.
“Again? Why? Why don’t you leave me alone?”
Again, something laughed.
“Because we’re bound to each other, Sherman. You know what I am, and what I’ve done. And much as you hate to admit it, you want this fight as much as I do. Even if I promised to let you be, you’d shake things up again. You’ll never forget what I did.
I remembered Stephanie, talking to me about demons. No, I’d never forget what he did.
“Saberhagen…”
“Go now.”
It was distinctly darker. The fog began to take on more obvious shapes.
“Go? But what about…”
“Go!”
Something touched me. Something approached us. Saberhagen moaned. Cold, cold hands gripped my neck. I turned.
I screamed.
– Chapter Twenty-Seven –
I knew I was back in the sterile world of the hospital. I could smell the bleach, hear the air conditioner. Someone laid a damp cloth on my forehead.
“Rest, Mr. Andrews,” said a male voice. “You’ve had quite a scare.”
I shuddered at the memories of that place. Mercifully, I couldn’t seem to remember a lot.
“How did my surgery go?” I mumbled.
A pause. “You haven’t had any surgery.”
Was it a dream? Everything was so confused.
“Thank you, doctor.”
“I’m no doctor.”
“Sorry, nurse.”
He chuckled. “Try again.”
There was something familiar here. I opened my eye. Denton sat beside my bed. He looked surprisingly unbruised and rested, though was wearing a shirt that was a size too big for him.
I smiled weakly. “What’re you doing out?”
He shrugged. “Let’s just say I took the initiative.”
I tried to sit up. “Sorry. I’m coming up to talk to your doctors soon.”
He gently pushed me back down on the bed. “Don’t bother. They won’t listen. One day out of the asylum and I get involved with a serial killer. They want to put me away for a long time.” He grinned. “I came to say goodbye. I’ll send you a postcard from Panama.”
I suddenly felt very lonely. Denton had been my closest ally in this mess. “Are you really headed for Central America?”
“No.”
We were quiet for a while, lost in thought.
“Denton? I saw Saberhagen just now. He says he’s going to come after me when he returns. He says it’s inevitable. I think he’s right.”
Denton, maddeningly, didn’t seem upset. “Well, you beat him once. I wouldn’t worry.”
This time I did sit up. “Wouldn’t worry? How can you say that? What about Rev. Gowen and his friends? I don’t want to end up like that!”
Denton looked straight at me. I could no longer see the burst blood vessel in his eye, and the bruises on his neck had faded. “Like what, Mr. Andrews? Okay, Prof. Roebuck vanished, but who’s to say what really happened? Sgt. Knowles died in a house fire, but is that so unusual? And poor Sammy, he was homeless. Those were violent, lawless times in his circles.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“And what about Rev. Gowen?” he continued. “He lived longer than anyone could ever hope. His last ten years were kind of rough, but for the most part he lived a dull and happy life. Saberhagen could have snuffed him out at any time, but let him be.”
I grew angry. I wanted Denton to leave. “You’re living in a fool’s paradise. I’m screwed. If Saberhagen doesn’t come for me himself, he’ll send one of his minions after me. Eventually I’ll end up dead.”
“Everyone dies in the end. They wouldn’t call it life if it didn’t end with death.”
“You know what? I think you are nuts. Good luck, and stay lost.”
“Sherman, listen to yourself!” I was shocked, bother from Denton’s uncharacteristically angry voice, and his rare use of my first name. “Do you really think Saberhagen’s the only guy with friends? Don’t you think maybe the other side has people? If you believe in the devil, then you have to believe…”
“Bullshit! Bullshit, Denton!” I was sweating under my bandages. “You know who believed in God? Steph! My friend Stephanie. She was the most faithful person I’ve ever met. And Saberhagen slashed her up like a fish. So where was her God then? Tell me, where was God?”
Denton looked down at his knees and didn’t speak for a long time. “I don’t know, Andrews. People have been asking that for thousands of years and I don’t have an answer.”
More silence. I should have known better than to argue religion. For some people, it’s all they have.
My friend rose, stretched, and picked up a satchel from the floor. “Walk me out?”
I stood on shaky legs and followed him into the hall. The ward was silent. Only a dim light from the nurses’ station revealed that anyone was about. We walked to the exit door.
“Mr. Andrews, it’s been a pleasure. Thank you for everything. You did a good thing this summer. You’ve saved lives. You may doubt yourself, but I think you’re pretty amazing.”
I was about to answer, when we heard footsteps. Denton slapped my burned back, then barged through the exit door. An alarm immediately began to sound. When a furious nurse stomped toward me, I just smiled sheepishly as she reset the buzzer, then returned to my room.
I lay there, exhausted and unable to sleep. Denton’s departure frightened me. He was the guy with all the answers. He was the one who really knew what was going on, the guy with the secrets, the one I could talk to. He’d saved my life, he’d helped me when no one else would have believed me.
I wished I had his faith. I thought of poor Steph…
Wait a minute. What had she told me about demons?
She’d said they were humanlike. That they walked among us. They were attractive and suave.
So if the bad guys are good looking and sophisticated, how about their opposites? What are the good guys like?
Ugly? Disheveled? Weird? Crazy?
My thoughts began to fly. Denton had always been there with the answers when everything looked hopeless. He was the one who told me where to go, what to do, what was really going on. A man no one took seriously and no one noticed. A man with no family, no job, no friends. Someone who appeared in my life just when I needed him, and vanished when the worst was over.
Could it be? Could it really be? Surely not.
I dozed off with a smile on my face and didn’t dream.
The council of deacons had always reminded Rev. Gowen of a group of Salem witch hunters: suspicious, angry, and eager to cast the first stone. It should have made Gowen nervous that he was the object of their wrath. It didn’t.
The wood-paneled conference room was never well lit. Gowen could only just make out the faces of the six men and one woman, w
ith their pinched faces and disapproving glowers. The results of this meeting would decide the future of his career, if any. It was all Gowen could do not to fall asleep.
“Rev. Gowen,” said Deacon Henderschmitt, “we all are joyful that you were not injured in the fire.” To an outside observer, the deacon’s joy might have been mistaken for constipation. “However, you have not been very forthcoming about your involvement in the incident. Three people burned to death.”
Gowen shrugged. “You’ll also note that I pulled a young lady from the building.”
“Yes, Miss Hester Jones,” said Miss Farnsworth, the only female deacon. “I’m certain the young lady was grateful.” She allowed her lips to momentarily flatten, the closest thing to a smile she could manage.
Gowen had grown tired of the proceedings. “We’ve been over this before. You’ve yet to tell me what this emergency meeting is all about.” Gowen knew damn well what it was about.
Deacon Henderschmitt sighed. With a ‘this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you’ tone, he read from a prepared statement.
“Reverend Gowen, you were present at the site of a mysterious fire and have refused to explain your involvement. You have associated with men of low moral character, namely a Mr. Knowles and a Mr. Hollerback. Furthermore, while we find it laudable that you saved Miss Jones from the fire, we wonder while you feel the need to visit her so frequently.”
The last comment rankled Gowen a bit. “She’s trying to work out some problems in her life. I’m helping her.”
The deacon rapped the table. “She’s a whore, Reverend.”
“Not anymore.”
Gowen considered quoting the scripture about the woman at the well, but knew the deacons had made their decision. When they realized he had nothing more to say, Henderschmitt straightened his papers.
“Reverend Gowen, the council had decided to ask you to resign from your position. We feel it would be easier than filing a formal morals charge and removing you from the church altogether. Do you have anything to say?”
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