Season of Passage, The (63 page)

Michael.

The boy was completely naked. The back of his head had been impaled several inches deep onto a meat hook. The force of the impalement had

caused the hook to bend . slightly, and that was a hook that was used to the weight of cows. His eyes were half open, the pupils rol ed upward into a

dead brain. He stared at Terry with two white marbles. Terry couldn't help but stare back. Michael's skin was ashen, even the boy's once brown hair

seemed drained of color. His throat had been completely ripped open, yet there was a little blood. A lump of dark pubic hair lay below his hanging

feet. The hair appeared wet, almost as if it had been spat out. Terry forced himself to look closer. The boy had been castrated. The wounds were

rough and jagged. The job had not been accomplished with a knife.

She had used her teeth.

Terry ran from the cold tomb. He barely reached the kitchen sink in time. He vomited again and again until he was gagging on dry heaves.

After a minute or two, as his nausea began to subside, Terry heard moans from the back of the building. At first he assumed Mr Russo had got up

and staggered around to the rear of his restaurant. Clutching the flare and shotgun, Terry stepped out the back door. The stink was stil about, but it

was a thousand times less intense than inside. He felt little relief. He saw dark trees shaking in the wind, an empty parking lot. He couldn't find the

source of the moaning sounds.

But had he real y heard them? Or had he been making them himself? He was distraught. A young boy castrated by his fiancée's molars. Damn

NASA! Why did they have to explore space? Couldn't they see it was dark out there? That bad things could come out of the dark?

The light of Terry's flare final y fel on a crumpled form

lying in the shadows of the trees, about thirty yards from the restaurant.

Terry ran to the form, and looked at the person's face. It was Daniel. The boy seemed unconscious. Nevertheless, he was writhing in pain. His shirt

was wet with fresh blood. His right arm was twisted at an awkward angle; it had obviously been broken. The right side of his face was badly

bruised; the right eye was swol en shut. Terry probed for major bleeding. He found none, but his touch made Daniel resume his moans, although he

did not awake. Terry had to assume the boy had a serious concussion.

Terry sat back and looked around. A rifle leaned against a nearby tree. It looked like the gun Daniel had been showing off the day before they had

left to drive to the Space Center. But it seemed shorter, somehow. Terry rose, walked over to it, and picked it up. He almost screamed. The barrel

had been twisted entirely around. The muzzle was now aimed directly into the shooter's eyes.

Why is Daniel here?

Terry couldn't understand how Daniel knew Lauren was a vampire. Sure, he had probably read the earlier drafts of Jennifer's story. He probably

knew more about the Asurians than anyone one else alive, but that wasn't saying a lot. The only explanation was that Jennifer had told him the whole

story before she died. Yet that didn't make sense, either. Why hadn't Daniel told him if vampires were on their way? And how did Daniel know

Lauren would come to Russo's at this precise time? Terry was dumbfounded.

He re-examined the boy. Even though Daniel was stil unconscious, his breathing appeared to be growing stronger. Terry began to feel optimistic

about his recovery. Especial y when he noticed the silver ring Daniel wore on his left index finger. Terry had been wondering al day and

night where he had left it, but now he realized that he must have simply misplaced it beside the cabin fireplace after his initial reading of Jennifer's

story. Yet, the more he thought about it, the less he believed that.

The ring had been important to Jennifer. He had not just tossed it aside. The ring had seemed to disappear on him. He had searched for it before

leaving the cabin to come back to Houston - and had not found it. Wel , in either case, it must have been there. Daniel must have taken it from the

cabin. The ring was probably the reason he wasn't on a meat hook in the freezer with Michael.

Jennifer had always liked Daniel. Terry left the ring where it was.

Terry returned to the restaurant. The phone inside was broken. But he was able to reach the paramedics on a pay phone strapped to a tree at the

far end of the parking lot. He explained Daniel's condition and location. They told him to stay with him and they would be there in fifteen minutes. He

told them to make it ten. He hung up without mentioning Michael, or giving his own name.

He wasn't going to be around in fifteen minutes. Or ten.

He went inside the restaurant once more and returned to Daniel's side with a tablecloth of white linen. Covering the injured boy, he realized what he

already knew. His holy water and rosary were a joke. Who was he trying to fool? He wasn't going to save anybody. She was dead. Now she had to

be destroyed. In the end even Chaneen had learned the same hard lesson, and had brought the fire.

I can't leave Michael for the medics to find. He might wake up in the morgue later on and bite off someone else's bal s.

Terry returned to the freezer and lifted Michael off the meat hook. Grabbing the arms, he dragged the body into the dining area. There was a

fireplace, but it was smal , and because it was summer, there were few logs on hand. No

problem. He went after the tables and chairs. He was in a hurry. He didn't bother breaking them up. He just stacked them - one on top of the other -

in the middle of the room. He threw on several tableclothes. When he was through he" hoisted Michael on top of the pile. He kept expecting the boy

to wake up and grab his crotch.

'Forgive me, Michael,' he said.

He lit the stack with his flare and took a step back.

The tableclothes caught quickly; the flames licked the wood and turned it dark, and then a bright orange. Oily black smoke fil ed the air. In minutes

the room looked and felt like a funeral pyre. Terry could hardly stand the heat and fumes. Yet he lingered. He wanted to watch Michael burn. He

wanted to see if the boy would try to get up. He wanted to hear if a shril demonic scream rent the air. He had plenty of proof. He had more than he

needed. But stil ...

Michael's flesh peeled. His hair cracked. The whites of his eyes melted. His toenails turned into ten lit matches. He shifted uneasily in the flames,

but only because the wood beneath him shifted. Nothing the books had predicted happened. Terry felt like a fool watching. It made him sick. The

author of Dracula was just a guy like him. He knew nothing. Only Chaneen knew. Terry final y fled the room, coughing so hard he felt as if he would

hack out a piece of his lungs.

Outside the front door, Terry helped Mr Russo up, and led him across the parking lot to the man's car. He propped him up in the Volvo's front seat.

Mr Russo looked over at his smoking place of business. He had stopped weeping. The lights inside his brain had gone back off. Maybe it was just

as wel , for the time being.

'Did I burn the pizza?' Mr Russo asked.

'Yes,' Terry said, kissing the man on the forehead. 'But

it's OK. It wasn't your fault. It was nobody's fault.'

Terry col ected his shotgun. He returned to his car. He drove toward his cabin.

FORTY-TWO

A mile from his destination, on the deserted road that wound through the forest to his doorstep, Terry braked quietly and turned off the engine. He

took his shotgun and picked up a single white rose. He told himself it was for good luck. He stil had the rosary around his neck. He left the car and

began to walk up the road toward the cabin.

To his own surprise Terry realized he was only mildly frightened. He had been terrified a few minutes ago. Finding Michael should have been

enough to send anybody running for reinforcements. He decided he must now be in slight shock. He did feel somewhat numb. But it was even more

than that. Now that he paused to think about it, he could hardly remember what had happened at the restaurant, and he had just come from there.

Michael had died, of course, and there had been a lot of beef hanging about, but that was al he could recal . Terry almost felt as if he hadn't been

there, as if someone else had simply told him about it.

But it was me who was there. There was no one else.

He decided not to worry about it. Lauren was al that mattered. He had to find her and blow her brains out.

He kept to the edge of the road as he walked, clinging to the shadows. The forest that surrounded him on al sides appeared unusual y serene. The

moon was bright and

clear, the pine trees fragrant and stil . The wind had vanished; and it had been so strong a few minutes ago. He couldn't smel a hint of foul odor,

only sweetness. Quite inexplicably, a feeling of peace began to sweep over him. It I made it difficult for him to keep clear in his mind the horrible

thing he had to do to his girlfriend.

The lake emerged through the trees on his right. It shone with silver light. Terry rounded a low hil , and there was his cabin. Without hesitating, he

walked toward the front porch. He realized he should probably be sneaking up from behind. It just seemed such a bother.

The door was wide open. Someone had lit a solitary white candle, and set it in a brass holder on a chair beside the entrance. The teardrop of

yel ow light burned without flickering in the calm air, casting a warm glow across the porch. He felt both reassured and confused. He liked candles.

They were very pretty. But who had put this one here? He doubted it was Lauren. She was supposed to be a vampire. He had read somewhere that

vampires didn't like fire.

Where did I read that?

He couldn't remember. He knew that was ridiculous. He knew he should remember that as easily as he could remember his own name. Then he

tried to remember his own name. He was Terry Hayes - that was right. He didn't have a middle name. He was pretty sure he didn't.

Yet his confusion did not trouble him. In a way, everything appeared just as he had expected. He went into the cabin. It was empty, but it

nevertheless had a recent lived-in feeling. He assumed Daniel had been staying here. He didn't mind. He remembered giving the Floyd family

permission to use the place.

Terry wondered where Daniel was now.

Daniel's with the paramedics. Don't be so dense.

He did feel dense. He felt as if he had forty pounds of highly compressed foam rubber crammed between his ears.

He went back outside and stood on the porch. Where was Lauren? He had to find her and cut out her heart. Yuck -he didn't like thinking about it. He

didn't like thinking at al . It made his head hurt. He stumbled down the steps and wandered around in front of his cabin. He bumped into the stump

where Jennifer had sat long ago reading Dracula. That was not a work of fiction, he reminded himself. There were vampires. He had personal y met

one and so had a couple of his friends. That was a fact. But were vampires real y as bad as he thought? Maybe he and good old Herb had

misunderstood where Lauren was coming from. Vampires were a tiny minority. No doubt they overreacted when people said something negative to

them. They probably felt persecuted.

Hold on. No one persecutes vampires. No one believes in them.

Terry sat down on the stump and held onto his head. It did not seem to be working properly. Al right, he had to back up and get his bearings. Point

one - people did not believe in vampires. Why did he believe in them? Because of Jenny's story? Yeah, the girl had written a story about hobbits,

and magic rings, and lizard monsters. He couldn't remember, though, anything about vampires in it. Had Chaneen been a vampire? No, Chaneen

was Jenny. She was Lauren's sister. Where was Lauren, anyway?

Terry got up again. He had to find Lauren. She could explain Jenny's story to him. He plucked the white rose from his pocket and set it on the stump.

If she came back while he was gone, she would know he had been there. She had been kind enough to leave him the candle. He had decided to

explore along the lake. Lauren always loved to go for walks along the lake. He took his gun with him. He

remembered the major had told him it was hunting season.

He reached the sandy shore and turned west, walking in the same steps he had taken with Lauren two years ago. He smiled to himself, feeling

nostalgic. It seemed like only, yesterday. What a great line that was - only yesterday. He should use it in one of his books.

The lake was a perfectly flat mirror for the gods above to use. The ful moon had climbed high into the sky. He hoped it didn't fal down. The trees

looked great in its supernatural light. He felt as if he was on Venus. Every step forward brought him a deepening sense of tranquility. He was

looking forward to seeing Lauren again. She had a story she wanted to read him, a story that Jenny had written.

Terry halted twenty yards from the stream. Sitting on the other side, on a smooth boulder, was a woman. She sat turned away from him, her hair

long and black down the back of her white dress. She didn't notice him at first. He crept forward cautiously. Faint fear pricked the base of his neck.

Something was wrong with him. He was not thinking clearly. He must have fal en off the wagon without realizing it. He was supposed to be in grave

danger. He raised the gun in his hand. He remembered he had brought the shotgun for protection.

What am I doing here? How did I get here?

Yet he didn't want to shoot the woman. She had her back to him. She had made no move in his direction. And her head was bent over. She