The Faceless One (41 page)

The vision he had seen reminded him of that. Within seconds after Stan saw the golden dome, the Big Boss had gone away, and the alley had heated back up. Something was going on in the house. Whatever was at work there was just as powerful on the side of Good, he was sure of that.

He decided to wait and see what happened. If the kid became exposed, he still had his three bullets.

Inside the Slater house, Bobby watched Jimmy carefully apply paint to a mask of his mother. The likeness was very stylized but it was clearly her. Jimmy had given him the job of putting strips of gluey paper on the mask of his father. He did it very carefully, pleased to have been asked. He liked the old Indian and his friend the black man. They treated him like a big boy and were polite to Bonomo. Not every grown-up would do that, and Bobby always found that the ones who did were the most fun, the most interesting.

Jimmy watched the boy and smiled. His uncle Will had often given him small tasks like this when he was under the old man’s tutelage, and he remembered how proud he had been.

Earlier, he had completed the small totem pole, finishing it in the traditional colors, crimson and cobalt, ebony and snow. It had dried quickly in the window, then he had asked Bobby to choose a place for it. The boy had chosen the flower bed near the front door, and Jimmy had watched as the child carefully placed it among a geranium with scarlet flowers and a collection of rocks Steven had brought back from the High Sierras, quartz and shale, a piece of obsidian and jasper. As Bobby stepped back, Jimmy had said a small prayer. The boy echoed his words, saying many of them correctly the first time. As if in answer to their summons, a small orange salamander scurried over the rocks, around the totem pole, and into the shelter of the geranium. It had been a good omen.

Not that they were out of danger, even with so much good magic.

Jimmy had felt The Faceless One brush by. He had felt a slight wave of nausea, and a chill had gripped him. The old god was sniffing around outside, like a feral dog looking for scraps, perhaps a small child left unattended in the yard. That analogy was a little too apt, and he had pushed the image from his mind. The talismans he had placed had done their work because The Faceless One had left. Jimmy had no illusions that he had sent the creature away for good. Jimmy knew that he would come back.

“How’s this?” Bobby asked, and he looked up.

The boy had neatly applied more strips to his father’s cheekbones as Jimmy had told him. Jimmy nodded. “That’s very good. You have a real knack for this.”

“What’s a knack?”

“A talent. It’s something that comes naturally to you.”

“My mommy says I am a good artist.”

“I would agree with that.”

Steven stuck his head in. Clearly, he was still a little unnerved having his son spend time alone with a stranger. Jimmy had explained that the boy was a source of power now, and such power could be used to help them. Steven had finally set them up at the kitchen table, where Jimmy was sure he meant to keep an eye on them.

“How’s it going?” Steven asked.

Bobby held up Steven’s mask, which was unpainted. Bobby held it up to his face.

“Look, Daddy, I’m you!” the boy said. Steven shivered and felt a sort of déjà vu pass through him. No, not déjà vu, more a prescience. Before he could figure out what it meant, Jimmy spoke.

“Bobby is a natural. He’s a very talented artist.”

Steven nodded. “Takes after his mother,” he said. “I’m still drawing stick figures.”

Jimmy nodded. He looked at Steven, his old eyes missing nothing.

“You okay?”

Steven looked at him. What kind of question was that? With all that was going on, with all he was expected to believe, he had the gall to ask him that?

“All right, I guess, all things considered.”

Jimmy nodded again. Steven stood there awkwardly as the old man regarded him, the wet brush in his hand poised like a wand. Bobby placed another strip of paper on his likeness.

“Thought I might run to the store. You want anything?”

“Ice cream!” Bobby yelled.

“After dinner, champ,” Steven said.

“I think you should stay in,” Jimmy cautioned.

Steven looked at him.

“Until this is over, the safest place for us is here.”

“And how long is that going to be?” Steven asked.

Jimmy looked at the boy, who was still concentrating on his task. “As long as it takes,” Jimmy said.

“You know,” Steven said, his voice taking on a strained quality, “people say that as if it’s very profound, but it just means they don’t have any damned idea.”

Jimmy grinned. “You’re right.” His face grew serious again. “But we need to stay on your property for the time being.”

Steven nodded. “Guess I’ll walk down to the mailbox. Any problem with that?”

Jimmy shook his head, then went back to painting dark lines around the eyes on the Liz mask.

Steven walked out into the living room. Liz was in the back unpacking Bobby’s suitcase. George was watching a baseball game on television. He was nodding and smiling, and Steven guessed that his team was winning. George looked up. “Care to join me, Mr. Slater?”

Steven shook his head. “I’m not much for sports,” he said, “and please, it’s Steven.”

“Okay, Steven, but you’re missing a fine game.”

“Let me know how it turns out.”

George nodded and turned back to the television.

Steven went out the front door and down the long gravel driveway. The day was hot and dry, and the force of the heat had enveloped him as soon as he stepped out of the house. His feet made pleasant crunching sounds among the small stones, and the grass still had that fresh-mowed smell. It seemed like a lifetime since he and Bobby had emptied the last pile from the grass catcher and had collapsed laughing into the wading pool. He looked at the hedge with some trepidation, thinking he might see some other fantastic creature. He glanced over at the small hill rising to the east of the driveway and saw Luthor stretched in the sun. Feeling both fearful and self-conscious, he walked up to the cat. It regarded him with large yellow eyes, its black fur
looking more like sable in the harsh sunlight.

“Hello,” Steven whispered.

The cat yawned, its mouth opening wide and showing bright white fangs, the teeth of a carnivore. The cat rolled over onto his back and stretched, then gave Steven a questioning meow.

“Do you still talk?” he whispered to the cat. The cat peered at him, then batted at a moth that flew past its face. It got up and went to chase the insect; whatever special powers it had possessed were either gone or well hidden. It was, after all, just a cat—which some would tell you was a deceptively simple statement.

He watched the cat jumping and batting at the moth. He wondered what had become of the tiny elk. Was it dead? Had it been the aspect of a different creature? So many questions that he felt ill equipped to answer. He decided he would talk to Jimmy Kalmaku about the things he had seen, confident the old man would not make him feel like a fool. As he recounted them in his mind, it seemed that the supernatural could be seen everywhere since he received news of his brother’s death.

“What have you gotten us into, Danny?” he whispered as he reached the mailbox. The mailbox was nearly hidden in a large jade plant that he had been meaning to trim. He pulled down the lid, which felt pleasantly cool against his fingertips. Inside were a pile of letters and several supermarket flyers.

“Stevie.”

At the sound of that familiar voice, the hairs went up on the back of his neck. He wondered if perhaps he were still asleep on the plane, or perhaps in his own bed.

It was Daniel, dressed simply in jeans and a tee shirt. The tee shirt featured a Frazetta illustration of Tarzan fighting a tyrannosaurus in Pellucidar.

Steven tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and it seemed as if something large had become lodged in it, making speech impossible.

Daniel grinned and pushed the silver, wire-rim glasses up off his nose.

“No greetings for your big brother?”

Steven stared at him, and his mind was taking in all the details of the scene, the smell of the sun-bleached grass, car exhaust, and burgers from the drive-through on the corner, the heat on his skin, the glare of the summer sun. He knew with certainty that this was no dream, no vision. However impossibly so, it was real.

“They said you were dead,” he said at last, his voice the whisper of a child. “They’re … they’re supposed to cremate you.”

Daniel shrugged. “They may have cremated someone, but it wasn’t me.”

“Who was it?” Steven asked anxiously, the prospect that his brother was actually alive taking root in his mind, spreading joyful blooms into his heart.

“Friend of mine. I let him stay at my place. I guess the Taxidermist thought he was me.”

“But it was in the papers, your place was trashed. Why didn’t you come forward?”

“I was in Jordan on a dig. You know how isolated things are there. Didn’t you get my email?”

“I got one,” Steven remembered, “but it was all screwed up. I couldn’t read it.” Steven felt like crying. The events of the past few days were so traumatic, yet his son was safe, and here was Daniel, alive and well. It was a miracle, plain and simple.

“So,” Daniel said grinning, “are you going to invite me in?”

“Since when have you needed an invitation, Professor?”

Daniel smiled. He started to step forward, then hesitated. He looked down “Hmm,” Daniel said, as if he saw some obstacle before him.

“What’s the matter?” Steven asked.

“Somebody’s buried a talisman here,” Daniel said.

“Yeah, that’s right! There’s an old man in the house, he’s from Alaska, Tlingit tribe. He said that we were in danger and that whatever had gotten you was after us. He put up a protective spell around the place by burying talismans.”

Daniel looked at Steven, and Steven was surprised at how angry his brother looked. He had never seen such a look of hatred on Daniel’s face. It distorted his features, made him look misshapen and malevolent.

“Jimmy Kalmaku, right?” Daniel asked.

“Right. How did you know? And how did you know something was buried here?”

“Listen to me very carefully, Stevie. Jimmy Kalmaku is a very dangerous man. I have every reason to believe he’s the one who killed my friend and committed the other murders attributed to this so-called Taxidermist.”

“Kalmaku? Are you sure? He seems like such a nice old man.”

“How do you think he’s managed to evade the police for so long?”

Steven looked at his brother, then paled. “He’s inside with Bobby.”

“We have to stop him, Steven, before he kills Bobby and Liz.”

Steven started up the driveway, then realized Daniel wasn’t following him. He turned, every fiber of his being telling him to hurry, hurry. “Come on, Daniel.”

Daniel shook his head. “I can’t come in until you remove this talisman, Stevie.”

Steven looked at him, incredulous. “What are you, nuts? It’s just a chunk of ivory.”

“This isn’t your field of expertise, little brother. I can’t cross your threshold until you remove it.”

Steven stepped forward. “When did you start believing this shit?”

“When I saw for myself that it’s real. You can’t tell me some of the events of the past few
days haven’t convinced you of that, too.”

Steven looked at him. “Why should a talisman stop you?”

Daniel didn’t answer, merely glared.

“What do you know about the past few days?” Steven asked.

“Dig it up, Steven. We’ll stop Kalmaku, then we’ll talk.”

“How do you know, Daniel?”

“Dig it up, Steven. Now.”

“Why are you acting this way, Daniel? You’re treating me like I was a four-year-old or something.”

Daniel’s face was growing dark, his anger further distorting his features.

* * *

Inside the house, Jimmy was finishing the mask of Steven Slater, the last of the effigies he had created. There was a tapping at the window and he looked up.

A raven was perched in the lemon tree, its glossy black feathers in stark contrast to the bright green leaves and yellow fruit. It tapped at the glass urgently.

The Faceless One. He was outside.

Jimmy got up.

“Where are you going, Jimmy?” Bobby asked.

“Have to go talk to your dad,” Jimmy said. “You be a good boy and stay here.”

“Do you want me to paint any more?”

“Why don’t you make masks of George and me? Make them like I showed you.”

“I’ll make real good masks!” Bobby said.

Jimmy nodded and hurried out of the kitchen, exiting through the pantry and out the back door. He didn’t want to alarm George and was afraid his friend would only slow him down.

Jimmy rounded the house and looked down the long driveway, which was a good three hundred feet long. Steven Slater was talking to a man, and Jimmy could see from here the curling black tendrils of energy around the other man’s face, like tentacles of some foul creature from the Netherworld.

Jimmy began to run.

Across the street, Stan had been watching the two men. He had circled up slowly, trying to stay out of their field of vision. When he saw that the second man was Daniel Slater, he froze. He knew there was no way Slater could be alive. Both fingerprints and DNA had proven that the remains in the town house were Slater’s and no one else’s. So who was this? With all he had
seen, it seemed there could be only one explanation, which meant that Steven Slater and his family were in real danger. Before he could say anything, Steven Slater stepped onto the sidewalk next to his brother.

“See, Daniel?” Steven asked. “Just a little ivory trinket. No big deal.”

Daniel took a step toward him, and now Steven could feel a wave of cold coming off him, like standing next to a large sculpture of ice.

“Dig it up, Steven. I won’t tell you again.”

Steven heard footsteps behind him. He glanced back, and saw Jimmy Kalmaku running toward him. Kalmaku looked scared.

“Come back onto the driveway, Steven!” he called.

Before Steven could answer, Daniel grabbed his arm. It was like being grabbed by icehouse tongs. Fingernails dug into his flesh, and he felt his skin growing numb from the cold of that grip.