The Servants of Twilight (40 page)
She picked up the ashtray and threw it at her reflection, smashing the mirror. Glass and cigarette butts rained over the dresser and the floor around it.
Immediately she felt better. The devil had been in the mirror. She had smashed the glass
and
the devil’s hold on her. Self-confidence flooded into her once more.
and
the devil’s hold on her. Self-confidence flooded into her once more.
She had a sacred mission.
She must not fail.
48
Charlie stopped at
a motel shortly before midnight. They got one room with two king-size beds. He and Christine took turns sleeping. Although he was positive they couldn’t have been followed, although he felt safer tonight than he had felt last night, he now believed that a watch must be kept at all times.
a motel shortly before midnight. They got one room with two king-size beds. He and Christine took turns sleeping. Although he was positive they couldn’t have been followed, although he felt safer tonight than he had felt last night, he now believed that a watch must be kept at all times.
Joey slept fitfully, repeatedly waking from nightmares, shivering in a cold sweat. In the morning he looked paler than ever, and he spoke even less than before.
The rain had subsided to a light drizzle.
The sky was low, gray, bleak, and ominous.
After breakfast, when Charlie pointed the station wagon north again, toward Sacramento, Christine rode in the backseat with the boy. She read to him from some of the storybooks and comics they had bought yesterday. He listened but asked no questions, showed little interest, never smiled. She tried to engage him in a card game, but he didn’t want to play.
Charlie was increasingly worried about Joey, increasingly frustrated and angry, too. He had promised to protect them and put a stop to Spivey’s harassment. Now all he could do for them was help them run, tails between their legs, toward an uncertain future.
Even Chewbacca seemed depressed. The dog lay in the cargo area behind the rear seat, rarely stirring, rising only a few times to look out one of the windows at the sootcolored day, then slumping back down, out of sight.
They arrived in Sacramento before ten o’clock in the morning, located a large sporting goods store, and bought a lot of things they would need for the mountains: insulated sleeping bags in case the heating system in the cabin was not strong enough to completely compensate for winter’s deep-freeze temperatures; rugged boots; ski suits—white for Joey, blue for Christine, green for Charlie; gloves; tinted goggles to guard against snow-blindness; knitted toboggan caps; snowshoes; weatherproof matches in watertight cans; an ax; and a score of other items. He also bought a Remington 30-gauge shotgun, and a Winchester Model 100 automatic rifle chambered for a .308 cartridge, which was a light but powerful weapon; he stocked up on plenty of ammunition, too.
He was sure Spivey wouldn’t find them in the mountains.
Positive.
But just in case . . .
After a quick and early lunch at McDonald’s, Charlie connected the electronic tap detector to a pay phone and called Henry Rankin. The line wasn’t bugged, and Henry didn’t have much news. The Orange County and Los Angeles papers were still filled with stuff about the Church of the Twilight. The cops were still looking for Grace Spivey. They were still looking for Charlie, too, and they were getting impatient; they were beginning to suspect he hadn’t turned himself in because he actually was guilty of the murder about which they wanted to question him. They couldn’t understand that he was avoiding them because Spivey might have followers within the police department; they refused even to consider such a possibility. Meanwhile, Henry was busy getting the company back on its feet and was, for the time being, headquartering the agency in his own house. By tomorrow they would again be working full-steam on the Spivey case.
At a service station, they used the restrooms to change into the winter clothing they had purchased. The mountains were not far away.
In the Jeep wagon once more, Charlie headed east toward the Sierras, while Christine continued to sit in back, reading to Joey, talking to him, trying hard—but without much success—to draw him out of his shell.
The rain stopped.
The wind grew stronger.
Later, there were snow flurries.
49
Mother Grace rode
in the Oldsmobile. Eight disciples followed in the two white vans. They were on Interstate 5 now, in the heart of California’s farm country, passing between immense flat fields, where crops flourished even in the middle of winter.
in the Oldsmobile. Eight disciples followed in the two white vans. They were on Interstate 5 now, in the heart of California’s farm country, passing between immense flat fields, where crops flourished even in the middle of winter.
Kyle Barlowe drove the Olds, now anxious and edgy, now bored and drowsy, sometimes oppressed by the tedium of the long drive and the rain-grayed landscape.
Although the church’s sources of information—in various police departments and elsewhere—had no news about Joey Scavello and his mother, they headed north from Soledad because Grace said the boy and his protectors had gone that way. She claimed to have received a vision in the night.
Barlowe was pretty sure she’d had no vision and that she was just guessing. He knew her too well to be fooled. He understood her moods. If she’d really had a vision, she would be . . . euphoric. Instead, she was sullen, silent, grim. He suspected she was at a loss but didn’t want to tell them that she was no longer in contact with the spirit world.
He was worried. If Grace had lost the ability to talk with God, if she could not journey to the other side to commune with angels and with the spirits of the dead, did that mean she was no longer God’s chosen messenger? Did it mean that her mission no longer had His blessing? Or did it mean that the devil’s power on earth had grown so dramatically that the Beast could interfere between Grace and God? If the latter were true, Twilight was very near, and the Antichrist would soon reveal himself, and a thousand-year reign of evil would begin.
He glanced at Grace. She was staring ahead, through the rain, at the arrow-straight highway, lost in thought. She looked older than she had last week. She had aged ten years in a few days. She seemed positively ancient. Her skin looked lifeless, brittle, gray.
Her face wasn’t the only thing that was gray. All her clothes were gray, too. For reasons Barlowe didn’t fully understand, she always dressed in a single color; he thought it had a religious significance, something to do with her visions, but he wasn’t sure. He was accustomed to her monochromatic costumes, but this was the first time he had ever seen her in gray. Yellow, blue, fire-red, apple-red, blood-red, green, white, purple, violet, orange, pink, rose—yes, she had worn all of those, but always bright colors, never anything as somber as this.
She hadn’t
expected
to dress in gray; this morning, after leaving the motel, they’d had to go shopping to buy her gray shoes, gray slacks, a gray blouse and sweater because she had owned no gray clothes. She had been in great distress, almost hysterical, until she’d changed into a completely gray outfit. “It’s a gray day in the spirit world,” she had said. “The energy is all gray. I’m not synchronized. I’m not in tune, not in touch. I’ve got to get in touch!” She had wanted jewelry, too, because she liked jewelry a lot, but it wasn’t easy to find gray rings and bracelets and brooches. Most jewelry was bright. She’d finally had to settle for just a string of gray beads. Now it was odd to see her without a single ring on her pale, leathery hands.
expected
to dress in gray; this morning, after leaving the motel, they’d had to go shopping to buy her gray shoes, gray slacks, a gray blouse and sweater because she had owned no gray clothes. She had been in great distress, almost hysterical, until she’d changed into a completely gray outfit. “It’s a gray day in the spirit world,” she had said. “The energy is all gray. I’m not synchronized. I’m not in tune, not in touch. I’ve got to get in touch!” She had wanted jewelry, too, because she liked jewelry a lot, but it wasn’t easy to find gray rings and bracelets and brooches. Most jewelry was bright. She’d finally had to settle for just a string of gray beads. Now it was odd to see her without a single ring on her pale, leathery hands.
A gray day in the spirit world.
What did that mean? Was that good or bad?
Judging from Grace’s demeanor, it was bad. Very bad. Time was running out. That’s what Grace had said this morning, but she hadn’t been willing to elaborate. Time was running out, and they were lost, driving north on just a hunch.
He was scared. He still worried that it would be a terrible thing for him to kill anyone, that it would be backsliding into his old ways, even if he was doing it for God. He was proud of himself for resisting the violent impulses which he had once embraced, proud of the way he had begun to fit into society, just a little bit, and he was afraid that one murder would lead to another. Was it right to kill—even for God? He knew that was wrong-thought, but he couldn’t shake it. And sometimes, when he looked at Grace, he had the unsettling notion that perhaps he had been wrong about her all along, that perhaps she wasn’t God’s agent—and that was
more
wrong-thought. The thing was . . . Grace had taught him that there were such things as moral values, and now he could not avoid applying them to everything he did.
more
wrong-thought. The thing was . . . Grace had taught him that there were such things as moral values, and now he could not avoid applying them to everything he did.
Anyway, if Grace
was
right about the boy—and surely she was—then time was running out, but there was nothing to be done but drive, wait for her to regain contact with the spirit world, and call the church in Anaheim once in a while to learn if there was any news that might help.
was
right about the boy—and surely she was—then time was running out, but there was nothing to be done but drive, wait for her to regain contact with the spirit world, and call the church in Anaheim once in a while to learn if there was any news that might help.
Barlowe put his foot down a little harder on the accelerator. They were already doing over seventy, which was maybe about as fast as they ought to push it in the rain, even on this long, straight highway. But they were Chosen, weren’t they? God
was
watching over them, wasn’t He? Barlowe accelerated until the needle reached 80 on the speedometer. The two vans accelerated behind him, staying close.
was
watching over them, wasn’t He? Barlowe accelerated until the needle reached 80 on the speedometer. The two vans accelerated behind him, staying close.
50
The Jeep wagon
was, as Madigan had promised, in fine shape. It gave them no trouble at all, and they reached Lake Tahoe on Thursday afternoon.
was, as Madigan had promised, in fine shape. It gave them no trouble at all, and they reached Lake Tahoe on Thursday afternoon.
Christine was weary, but Joey had perked up a bit. He was showing some interest in the passing scenery, and that was a welcome change. He didn’t seem any happier, just more alert, and she realized that, until today, he had never seen snow before, except in magazine pictures, on TV, and in the movies. There was plenty of snow in Tahoe, all right. The trees were crusted and burdened with it; the ground was mantled with it. Fresh flurries sifted down from the steely sky, and according to the news on the radio, the flurries would build into a major storm during the night.
The lake, which straddled the state line, was partly in California and partly in Nevada. On the California side of the town of South Lake Tahoe, there were a great many motels—some of them surprisingly shabby for such a lovely and relatively expensive resort area—lots of touristy shops and liquor stores and restaurants. On the Nevada side, there were several large hotels, casinos, gambling in just about every form, but not as much glitz as in Las Vegas. Along the northern shore, there was less development, and the manmade structures were better integrated with the land than they were along the southern shore. On
both
sides of the border, and both in the north and south, there was some of the most beautiful scenery on the face of the earth, what many Europeans have called “America’s Switzerland”: snowcapped peaks that were dazzling even on a cloudy day; vast, primeval forests of pine, fir, spruce, and other evergreens; a lake that, in its ice-free summer phase, was the cleanest, clearest, and most colorful in the world, iridescent blues and glowing greens, a lake so pure you could see the bottom as far as sixty and eighty feet down.
both
sides of the border, and both in the north and south, there was some of the most beautiful scenery on the face of the earth, what many Europeans have called “America’s Switzerland”: snowcapped peaks that were dazzling even on a cloudy day; vast, primeval forests of pine, fir, spruce, and other evergreens; a lake that, in its ice-free summer phase, was the cleanest, clearest, and most colorful in the world, iridescent blues and glowing greens, a lake so pure you could see the bottom as far as sixty and eighty feet down.
They stopped at a market on the north shore, a large but rustic building shadowed by tamarack and spruce. They still had most of the groceries they’d bought in Santa Barbara yesterday, the stuff they’d never had a chance to put in the refrigerator and cupboards at the Wile-Away Lodge. They’d disposed of the perishables, of course, and that was what they stocked up on now: milk, eggs, cheese, ice cream, and frozen foods of all kinds.
At Charlie’s request, the cashier packed the frozen food in a sturdy cardboard box with a lid, separate from the goods that were not frozen. In the parking lot, Charlie carefully poked a few holes in the box. He had purchased nylon clothesline in the market, and with Christine’s assistance, he threaded the rope through the holes and looped it around the box and secured it to the luggage rack on top of the Jeep. The temperature was below freezing; nothing carried on the roof would thaw on the way to the cabin.
As they worked (with Chewbacca watching interestedly from inside the Jeep), Christine noticed that a lot of the cars in the market lot were fitted with ski racks. She had always wanted to learn to ski. She often promised herself that she would take lessons with Joey one day, the two of them beginning and learning together, just as soon as he seemed old enough. It would have been fun. Now it was probably just one more thing they would never get to do together . . .
That was a damned grim thought. Uncharacteristically grim.
She knew she had to keep her spirits up, if only for Joey’s sake. He would sense her pessimism and would crawl away even deeper into the psychological hole he seemed to be digging for himself.
But she couldn’t shake off the gloom that weighed her down. Her spirits had sunk, and there seemed to be no way to get them afloat again.
She told herself to enjoy the crisp, clean mountain air. But it just seemed painfully, bitingly cold. If a wind sprang up, the weather would be insufferable.
She told herself that the snow was beautiful and that she should enjoy it. It looked wet, cold, and forbidding.
She looked at Joey. He was standing beside her, watching as Charlie tied the final knot in the clothesline. He was more like a little old man than a child. He didn’t make a snowball. He didn’t stick out his tongue and catch snowflakes. He didn’t run and slide on the icy portions of the parking lot. He didn’t do any of the things a small boy could be expected to do when setting foot on a snowy landscape for the first time in his life.
He’s just tired, and so am I, Christine told herself. It’s been a long day. Neither of us has had a restful night since last Saturday. Once we’ve had a good supper, once we’ve each gotten eight solid hours in the sack without nightmares and without waking up a dozen times to the imagined sound of footsteps . . .
then
we’ll feel better. Sure we will. Sure.
then
we’ll feel better. Sure we will. Sure.
Other books
Fairest Of Them All by Teresa Medeiros
Wife in Public by Emma Darcy
The Alien Brainwash by H. Badger
The Wolf Inside Me (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) by Celene Lowe
Gone by Lisa McMann
Another Sun by Timothy Williams
Serengeti Heat by Vivi Andrews
The Geneva Decision by Seeley James
Toad Heaven by Morris Gleitzman
