The Devil's Heart (28 page)

"And maybe not," Sam said thoughtfully. "We'll just have to play it by ear while we're getting ready to run."

She came to him and put her arms around his waist. "Hold me, Sam."

She was trembling, and Sam could sense, with the recently acquired powers of perception and silent communication, that the trembling had nothing to do with fear.

"What's the matter, honey? I know something is wrong, but I can't read you."

"Don't ask me how I know, Sam; I've read and heard that some women just sense when they're pregnant. And I'm pregnant. I know it."

Sam thought, forgetting that she could read his thoughts, I wonder if the baby belongs to me, or to Falcon?

"That's the problem, Sam. I don't know!"

* * *

"You are to remain close to Sam Balon King," the burning voice scorched into the brain of the receiver. "If all fails here, and he dies, then your
only
mission in life will be to stay with Nydia and make certain of the well-being of the child growing within her womb. Accept whatever comes your way, be it feigned faith in their God, or the life of poverty or prostitution, only the child's welfare is important—do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," her voice was full of strength and awe.

"You are a good actress. Your show to date has been superb. I compliment you."

"Thank you, Master. It was all for you."

"Don't become gushy, bitch! I cannot tolerate such behavior. You are a woman, your only purpose in life is to fuck; receiving maleness in whatever hole they choose to stick it in. Don't forget what I told you."

"I shall not, Master."

"For your sake, I hope not. Now go to them."

"Sam? Nydia?" the knock on the closed door as timid as the voice.

Nydia looked at Sam. "Your sweetie, darling," she said, her voice as warming as an arctic breeze in the dead of winter.

"Retract claws, dear," Sam told her. "We don't know anything for certain."

"I know one thing for sure. No … make that two things."

"And that is … ?"

"She's got the hots for you, and if she tries to come on, I'll snatch her bald-headed."

Sam nodded his head as he moved toward the door, remembering Nydia's right cross in the den. He opened the door cautiously, tensely, expecting anything to come leaping at him. But Linda stood there, looking pale and frightened and really, Sam thought, real pretty.

"I read that!" Nydia projected.

Damn! "Come in, Linda." He closed the door behind her.

"Wow," she said. "What happened to your face?"

"Little accident," Sam said, not really lying to her. "Tell you about it later."

"I … uh … just wanted to be with you guys for a few minutes, that's all. Maybe have dinner with you all this evening, if that's okay?"

"Of course," Nydia answered for the both of them, thinking, Where would you like to start eating—on Sam?

"And I read that, honey."

"You're going to read a lot more before this evening is over."

"You guys went off somewhere this morning," Linda said. "I got a little panicky."

Nydia was hammering mental thrusts at Linda, attempting to enter her mind. She could not. Her attitude softened a bit toward the young woman, as she detected truth in her statements. Still, there was something about her . . . some little vagueness Nydia could not pinpoint.

"We went for a walk in the timber," Sam said.

And got married, Nydia thought. So hands off, babe! And, she mentally tallied up the events of the past! twenty-four hours, where were you when I was getting raped by Falcon's baseball bat.

"It's not that big," Sam projected.

"It wasn't sticking in you, dear."

"True. Thank God."

Linda said, "I don't know what's been the matter with me lately.. I sleep so soundly … even when I lie down just to nap. I've never done that before . . . sleep so much, I mean."

"It's the cold clean air," Sam suggested.

Linda solemnly shook her head. "No, Sam. It's much more than that. And I think you two know it. This place is weird! No offense, Nydia, but it's true—it is. I'd like to go back to Carrington. Would one of you take me?"

Sam sighed, cutting his eyes to Nydia. She shrugged. "Sit down, Linda," he said. "I guess we'd better talk."

Jane Ann stood at her picture window, gazing out at the quiet street. It was ominously silent in Whitfield. For a time there had been the faint sounds of hammering. Now that was gone.

Jane Ann looked down at her hands and was reminded of a TV commercial: Hands of a twenty year old, she smiled. But not for long. That hammering was meant for me. They wanted me to hear it. She again looked at her hands. It's going to hurt when they drive the nails.

The mist that was Balon hovered silently, watching Jane Ann, knowing every thought in her mind and unable to help, for what she was thinking was true. And if a being from the Other Side could sigh, Balon did, knowing she would have to endure almost unbearable pain for a time … before he could step in to end it. She would be humiliated, sexually assaulted, tortured … tested. Only then could he end it. And after Balon did that, He would really end it, and Whitfield would be no more.

Miles and Doris, Wade and Anita sat in the growing darkness of the living room, discussing the Bible. They knew they should turn on some lights, but they did not want to break the feeling of closeness they were sharing.

"Let's pray for Jane Ann," Wade suggested.

The Clay Man sat motionless on the porch steps, knowing his short time in a form resembling human conformation was ticking away. The golem knew degrees of the human emotion, picking them up from osmosis. He rather liked these humans he protected, but he had no desire to be like them. He did wonder what would happen to him when it was his time to return to the earth. Would he still be aware of his surroundings? He didn't know. Then, that thought was pushed from him with such swiftness the golem was not aware of ever possessing it.

You are all things, he was told. And will always be such.

And the Clay Man was at peace with himself, feeling new strength enter his form.

Just outside of town, the Beasts had gathered to feast on the bodies of those who had died in Whitfield. They snarled and growled and ripped the dead meat from the bones, stuffing their fanged mouths as the drool dripped from their jaws, leaking in slimy ribbons to foul the ground. The males found a human female among the piles of bodies, a female who had only pretended to be dead, who was suffering from only minor injuries. And as was their custom, they dragged her screaming to the oldest male among them, the leader.

Her shrieks as they tore the clothing from her changed to wails of pure terror as the big male pushed her to her bare knees and mounted her under the cool moonlight of western fall. When the oldest male had finished, the other males, according to age and rank in the pecking order of things, took their turn with the woman, each biting her on the neck as they lunged deep within her.

Within hours her body would be covered with thick, course hair, her face would change, the jaw enlarging, and she would be as them. She would be able only to mumble and snarl and growl, and the Beasts would understand her, and she them. She would not remember worshiping of the God she thought she was deceiving as she prayed and lied.

And she would be happy in her new form.

In another part of Fork County, Jake rubbed his crotch and thought of Jane Ann. Jean had told him, since he was largest of the men, in one particular department, certainly not mentally, he could have Jane Ann first—in any fashion Jake chose. Just make the prissy little bitch holler. Jake grinned. He figured he could damn sure do that, all right.

Jean came to him in the night, opening her shirt so he could fondle her breasts, pinch the nipples in play-pain.

"You want me to suck you off, Jake?"

"Yeah," he dropped his filth-encrusted jeans to the ground, around his boots. "Yeah, you do that."

And she kneeled between his naked legs.

Nothing came close to Whitfield; no cars or trucks traveled the single ribbon of highway to or from the small damned community. There were no birds, except for the scavenger and carrion type, which wheeled and circled and called. Any animal that could leave the area, had left, a precognition in their tiny brains telling them to stay would mean death.

It was as if the physical elements that made up the town of Whitfield: the brick, the stone, the mortar, the timber, had but one single thought: they were going to be destroyed.

Soon.

"Black magic? Devil worship? Roma and Mr. Falcon are witch and warlock?" Linda looked first at Sam, then Nydia. "Vampires? You're both putting me on—right?"

"No," Sam insisted. "It's all true."

"Your … real father left you a letter? You've been in communication with the … spirit world?"

"That is correct, Linda," Nydia said. "I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. Believe it."

She looked at the pair for a long moment. Finally a slow smile began pulling at her mouth. "Now I get it! Oh, boy … you two had me going for a minute. It's all a big joke, isn't it? Yeah. There's gonna be some sort of … costume party here, right? Spooks and monsters and things like that. Okay, I won't spoil it for you guys."

"Linda," Nydia leaned forward, taking the young woman's hands into her own, "it isn't a joke. It's deadly serious. I was raped last night—by Falcon. In a casket! Sam was beaten after my own mother—Roma—seduced Sam. Judy is one of them."

"Lana?" the question was asked in a soft voice.

"Most definitely."

"Then … everyone here is … one of those people?"

"Except for the young girls the new members brought with them. We're alone," Sam said. "In human form that is.

"And I don't trust you," Nydia said, still holding Linda's hands. The young woman tried to pull back, away, but Nydia's grip was strong.

"What … what do you mean: you don't trust me?"

"Nydia," Sam cautioned her. "I …"

"No, Sam! Let's get it in the open." She gave the entrapped young woman a dark look. "You're one of them yourself, Linda."

"No!"

"The pentagram on your chest."

"That's a birthmark, Nydia. I swear before God it is. You've got to believe me."

Somewhere in the house, a wailing began, containing a familiar note of pain and terror.

"What in God's name is that?" Linda asked.

"You've never heard it before?" Sam asked. "You don't know?"

"No, Sam—I swear it."

"That's one of the young girls brought in—kidnapped from God knows where. She's being raped … from both ends, probably; passed around among some pretty heavy-hung guys. She's not enjoying it very much, is she?"

Tears sprang into the blue of the girl's eyes. "I don't want that done to me. Ever! Oh, God, believe me, both of you, I'm a Christian. I go to church every Sunday. I worship God, not the Devil. Please, help me, believe me."

"Get the Bible, Sam," Nydia said. "Let's see."

The Bible was placed next to Linda. Nydia released her hands. Linda grabbed up the Holy Book and clutched it to her, her tears dropping onto the leather of the Book. "As is my witness," she said. "I love only Him. I swear it."

"Holy water," Nydia said, still not convinced of Linda's sincerity.

Sam put a few drops of holy water on the young woman's forehead. Nothing happened.

Nydia leaned back in her chair, nodding her acceptance.. "All right, Linda. I guess you're telling the truth."

The young woman fell to the floor and began weeping uncontrollably. Sam glanced at Nydia and shook his head, silently projecting: "I told you so."

Her reply was a shrug. She said, "Linda, move your things into my room; stay close to us. We'll make it out of this … mess."

Linda stayed on her knees, on the floor, for several moments, alternately weeping and praying. Finally, she rose to her feet, wiped her eyes, and apologized for her behavior.

"It's understandable, Nydia said, warming more and more toward her. "It's gotten next to both of us, several times. Go on," she gave her a gentle push, "get your things and come right back."

After she had left, Sam said, "But she could still be one of them. Roma told me the Holy Water only affects a witch, warlock, or the undead."

"What a performance." The burning words seared into the girl's head. "You almost had me weeping over your dilemma. But water and I don't mix very well. Such a pity it wasn't Oscar night."

"Thank vou," was her reply

"Well done." The voice cut into her brain. "Spoken without being gushy. You're learning quickly. I'll be in touch."

"Yes, Master."

And the evil force was gone from the room.

"Your mother must bear me the demon," the hot words penetrated into Black's brain. "She must be taken care of with the utmost of delicacy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master."

"You had better understand, young man. I will not tolerate any further backbiting from you. No more plotting against the female who birthed you. She soon will have served her purpose on earth and will be called home ... to me."

"I understand, Master. Falcon?"

"Oh, you are a schemer, aren't you? Not a drop of loyalty in you."

"Only to you, Prince."

"Bah! Only to me because you are afraid of me. You shit your pants each time we communicate. Do you really believe, young man, that you can best your mentor?"

"Sir, Falcon is not my mentor. Falcon is an idiot."

"Perhaps he is that, to a point. But he has loyalty, and that is something you do not possess."

"What can I do to prove my love for you?"

"Obey orders, for one thing." The voice had a tinge of dryness to it. "Have patience, young schemer, for you are but a child in the order of darkness. You have this life to live before anything of any significance is placed into your greedy hands."

Black was pouty. "I should have been born a true demon."

"Yes, but you weren't, and there is nothing even I can do about that. Have patience, those are my orders, and I expect to have them obeyed."

"I will obey you, Master. But now you hear me, …"