The Devil's Touch (19 page)

Sam, even before the combat at Falcon House, was not a stranger to blood and killing. He had been assigned three kills during his tenure with a small force of men—and a few women—known as Dog Teams, unknown even to the most active military personnel, and had completed each mission. He was a skilled member of the martial arts community, and could kick as high as a ballet dancer—but with a much more lethal effect.

Right now, Sam was wondering how the man knew his name. And more importantly, why. "You figure that's any of your business, pus-gut?" Sam asked, some clarity returning to him, the adrenalin overriding the murkiness in his brain.

The spokesman for the trio, a man who looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, flushed at Sam's challenging and insulting question. He was a burly man, with thick arms, padded with muscles, heavy shoulders, and a barrel chest. He also had a beer belly hanging over his belt buckle. He said, "You just about a smart-ass, ain't you, punk?"

Autumn colors were beginning to paint the land. The timber behind the men shone in spots like burnished copper. Birches dotted the timber, and the needles of the tamaracks were drooping downward. Small junipers, red cedars, maple and beech were in abundance. Stalks of goldenrod stood in the open spaces. It was the beginning of a beautiful season near the park.

"I've been known to speak my mind," Sam replied. There was no backup in the young man. He had proved himself, to himself, too many times to be in the least bit timid.

The man balled his hands into fists.

"Not yet, Mack," the man to his right said. "Not yet. "It isn't time."

The burly man relaxed. He grinned at Sam. His teeth were yellow, with several missing, leaving black gaps in his mouth. "O.K., boy," he said. "You can go pat your young pussy some more. You're off the hook—for awhile."

The trio wheeled about and quickly disappeared into the timber. They moved swiftly and silently among the brush, and Sam knew they were all expert woodsmen. He tucked that thought back into his mind for storage.

Sam walked back to his truck, backed up and turned around, heading back to town.

"What in the world was that all about?" Desiree asked. "Those men frightened me."

Sam glanced at her. She did indeed appear to be frightened. Her face was pale.

"I don't know, Desiree," he replied, the clouds once more gathering in his mind, slowing reason. "Local roughnecks, I guess. Looking for a laugh at someone else's expense. You find them all over the country. Down in our Southern states, law-abiding people call them trash. I'm not so certain that isn't an apt description of them."

She slowly nodded her head in agreement. "What did they mean: 'You're off the hook—for awhile?' What's going on in this town, Sam?"

Sam fought to clear his head, and succeeded for a moment. He could not for the life of him recall how he came to be with Desiree. He remembered kissing her, holding her, but could not understand why he did those things. He could remember nothing about Janet. He shook his head.

"Are you all right, Sam?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I wish I knew."

"Turn here," the dark voice whispered in Nydia's brain. "It's all right. You are doing the correct thing, and you know it."

"Yes," she muttered.

She turned down the street where Jon Le Moyne lived. Something … odd seemed to be in possession of her mental and physical functions. Or at least that part of her she inherited from her mother. Any doubts as to the wrongfulness of what she was doing were blown away, leaving her mind under the lightless throes of the evil that clung invisibly about her.

She slowed when she saw Jon sitting on the front steps of his house. She pulled over to the curb and cut the engine. It was very quiet in this part of town. She could see no one. But they were watching her from the shaded windows of homes. She looked at Jon. He was a very handsome young man.

As if by magic—which it was, of the darker type—Nydia viewed the clear picture of Sam and Desiree leaping into her mind, and the old rage became fresh, stronger than ever before.

"Go to him," the voice whispered.

Still Nydia hesitated, the good within her battling the evil.

Jon sat on the porch, looking at the woman he had erotically shared so many nights and dreams with. Soon he would be touching her skin, gently cupping the breasts he had passionately kissed in his fevered imagination. He would be feeling her hands on him. The coven leader had told him last night Nydia would be coming to him. Jon had not thought that possible, but did not question the Leader.

Now she was here.

Nydia's hands gripped the steering wheel as more powerful, darker forces entered her mind, the forces bringing with them the actual scenes of Sam and Desiree standing by the road, embracing, kissing, touching, grinding against each other. She watched as Sam's hand slipped down the young woman's waist to caress her buttocks.

"You
bastard!"
she hissed.

And Evil defeated Good once more.

The vision faded. Nydia got out of the car and walked up toward the boy. He stood up and opened the screen door to the porch. She hesitated for only a few seconds, then stepped inside the door. The door closed behind her.

"No!" the voice spoke like thunder. "We interfered once before. This time they
must
combat the Dark One by themselves."

The ageless warrior of warriors looked at his God.

"They are mortals fighting forces they cannot understand or reckon with."

"They understand!"
the voice roared, echoing throughout the firmament. "They have only to open the pages of their Bible and
read it!
It is all there for them to learn."

"They don't have the time."

"How much time does it take to read, 'Thou shalt have no other gods before
me!'
"

The warrior gripped his sword. He turned to leave.

"I forbid your leaving the firmament."

A smile played across the mighty warrior's lips. His beard moved as he spoke. "What would You have done with me, then? Banishment?"

"You would not be the first," the warrior was reminded. "But banishment was your choice of punishment, not mine."

"You will consider the problem?"

"Don't I always?"

"Sometimes for eons." The warrior's reply was dry as the pits of hell are hot.

"Michael, old warrior friend, not everything can be solved by the sword."

"Would You prefer the jawbone of an ass?"

The returning sigh was as thunder rolling across the heavens. "Sometimes I wonder why I continue to tolerate such impudence."

"Because absolute power corrupts!" the warrior said with a laugh that roared and rumbled like a hurricane.

He
could not suppress the chuckle. "Leave me for a time; I will consider your request.'

"I knew You would."

And the heavens were silent.

Sam cleared his head for a time—something cleared it—and drove past his house, intending to take Desiree in to meet Nydia. But his wife's car was still gone. For a reason the young man could not fathom, that irritated him, rubbed his ability to reason down to raw nerve ends. He ground his teeth together and silently swore. He was conscious of Desiree looking at him, a curious look in her eyes.

The young woman proved her astuteness when she said, "Sam, if you and your wife are having troubles of some sort, being with me is the last thing you need at this time."

Sam went on the defensive—with a little unknown help. "What I do, Desiree, is my business. Besides, there are—certain things you don't know; no way you could know about them. Perhaps this is the time to—" He went blank. He could not remember what he was about to say. He blinked, then met her gaze. "What was I just saying?"

She returned the blink and added a smile. "It was nothing, Sam. Don't worry about it."

"O.K. Let's drive a bit more."

"I am with you, Sam."

They began circling the town, the anger steadily growing in Sam. She just dumped the boy and took off, he thought. She knew where I was going; I told her that last night after going to bed. But she chooses not to tell me a goddamn thing. Hell with her.

"Perhaps she is with her lover," a voice whispered in Sam's brain.

Yeah, Sam thought. Maybe.

"Perhaps she is searching for the ultimate orgasm. Didn't she once tell you that she liked a teeny bit of pain mixed in with her pleasures?"

Did Nydia say that? Sam pondered. Yeah, I guess she did. But he couldn't remember when.

"Jon Le Moyne would certainly give her just a teeny bit of pain with the pleasure."

The voice faded.

There was that name again. It was coming up with too much frequency not to have some truth behind it.

He looked to his right at an intersection and stomped on the brakes so hard the rear tires sang against the pavement.

"Sam!" Desiree protested. "What is it? What's wrong?" She fell back against the seat.

Sam expelled a long breath. He looked at Desiree. "I guess the stories are true after all. That just about confirms it in my mind. That's my wife's car parked right over there, on the left side of the street."

"All right. So she's visiting a friend. What is so wrong about that?"

"That
friend
is a high school student. A junior, I think." How did I know that? "A boy. But a young boy so well-equipped in the manhood department a lot of * women in this community would give anything to bed him down—so the stories go. I've heard stories, rumors, gossip, about my wife and Jon Le Moyne. Lot of stories." But he could not recall the source of a single story. That thought quickly left him. It was replaced just as quickly by hot anger and a feeling for revenge. His time with Janet was something that had been, for the time, blocked from him.

"Well," Desiree said. "I see. She must be quite brazen to park her car in front of her lover's house in broad daylight. My people are a bit more discreet than that. Perhaps she doesn't care if you find them out, oui?"

Sam opened his mouth to tell her that perhaps Nydia was under the control of the Devil, but that was wiped from his mind before it could transmit to his tongue.

Sam said, "Well if she doesn't care, then I damn sure don't. Can you blame me for that?"

"A quelque chose malheur est bon,"
Desiree said with a smile and a mischievous sparkle in her gray eyes.

"I used to speak fair French, but not anymore. What did you say?"

"That it was an ill wind that blows no good. For somebody," she added in English.

"Yes," Sam replied, returning the smile. A thought came to him. By God, he'd show Nydia. "Fox Estate must be beautiful. I've heard a lot about it. Would you show it to me?"

Enchanté, Sam."

They had gathered at Monty and Viv Draper's home. Noah Crisp, Father Le Moyne, Byron Price, Joe Bennett, Mille LaMeade, and her friend, Ginny. They were joined by the minister of the Baptist church, Richard Hasseling, and John Morton of the Episcopal church. John Morton's wife was at home, and Hasseling was a young bachelor.

Monty listened to the phone ring on the other end of the line for the tenth time. For the tenth time he hung up. "I don't know where they are," he said. "This is not like Sam." He paused. "Now, why did I say that? I scarcely know him."

Hasseling waved a hand impatiently. "No matter, Chief Draper. What does matter at this time is the frame of mind you people appear to be in. I'm worried about you all. The
Devil
is in Logandale?
Satan
is responsible for the lack of church attendance today? Really, people!" He fought unsuccessfully to hide his smile and to keep his contempt out of his tone. "Come on, all of you. This is just a very elaborate joke on your part that fell flat."

The Episcopal's opinion of what he had just heard was not much better than the Baptist's. "I'll admit, Daniel, I'm concerned about what happened today, or perhaps I should say what didn't happen on this day. But I am not yet ready to say the Devil is alive and well and living in Logandale."

"It's all nonsense and we are wasting our time here," the Methodist said. "I cannot believe I have sat here and actually listened to all this."

"You all had best take this seriously," Noah informed the ministers. "For I assure you all, this is not a joke. Please believe me."

The pastor of the Fundamentalist church, the Pentecost church, the Assembly of God church, and several others were all seen by Father Le Moyne and Noah. One had slammed the door in their faces, another had been quite rude, and the others had openly laughed at the men.

The Episcopalian vacillated for a moment. "All right, Daniel. I'll stay and hear this out," he finally said. "I have to admit my children are—have been—behaving a bit strangely."

That word again, Monty thought. It keeps popping up every hour or so.

"If you people are so certain Satan is in Logandale," Hasseling said, this time making no attempt to hide his smile, "and there is a coven active in this town, this community, why don't you call the state police and let them handle it?" The young minister leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. His smile was more than a bit on the smug side.

The self-satisfied smile was infuriating to Noah. The writer resisted an urge to get up, walk over to the preacher, and slap the piss out of him.

Here we go again, Mille thought, as she looked at Monty. She could tell he was getting angry.

"Because they wouldn't believe us," Monty said. "We have no proof."

"And you never will have any proof," Hasseling said. "Because there isn't any proof. All this is a figment of your overactive imaginations." He laughed aloud.

Noah leaned forward and shocked everybody in the room by saying, "Preacher, when those coven members out there," he said and jerked his thumb, "successfully take over this town—and they will, if we don't band together and fight them, and bend you over a table and shove a ten inch cock up your ass, maybe then you'll believe us."

"Whooo!" Mille said with a laugh. "That'd be a sight to see."

"Noah!"
Father Le Moyne said.