The Altar

movies,” she teased.

He laughed. “The kid must have a bad cold. It’s not like him to sleep during the day. We’ve got enough trouble getting him to sleep at night.”

“He hasn’t slept much since we moved in. But I’ve been giving him cold medicine. That makes you sleepy.”

“I know. Let him sleep.”

Vickie nodded. “Erik, you haven’t seen Faith around, have you? Did she follow you in?”

“Ah…no. I don’t think so. I haven’t seen her since this morning. Why?”

“Well, I let her out this afternoon right after your show and I haven’t seen her since. It’s been at least an hour.”

“She usually stays out all afternoon, Vic. I wouldn’t worry. Did you call her?”

“Yeah. That’s what bothered me. Todd wanted to sleep with her so I went outside and looked around and called her. It’s not like her not to come when she’s called. You always say she’s like a dog that way. You don’t think she’s gotten lost, do you?”

“I don’t think so. Cats are really good about finding their way home. I read an article once that a cat found its way home all the way across the country.”

“You don’t think she headed back to the old place, do you?”

“No. She’s probably out exploring. Probably stalking a blue jay or something. Or maybe she’s sleeping in the SUV. You left the windows open, you know.”

“Oh, I forgot. Did you close them for me? You never know about those late afternoon showers this time of year.”

“I did. But I didn’t check to see if the cat was inside.”

“Then she might be out there. I’ll have to check. If she is, I don’t want her taking a dump in the back seat.”

“I’ll go check,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry about her. She’ll come in when it’s time to eat. And that should be any minute now.”

Still, as much as he tried to act nonchalant, he had a bad feeling about this.

3

The man known as Seti to his followers stepped out of his trailer and breathed the fragrant air of the forest. Soon the sun would be down, he thought, stubbing his cigarette into the ground with his boot. Then his favorite part of the day would begin-the night. Perhaps this would be the night when he’d locate the voice, the presence that had spoken to him, called him from so far away.

He scratched the smooth, shaved surface of his skull and smiled as, even now, he sensed the presence once again. Yes, he was close, now. Very close. Probably only a few miles away. Probably in these very woods. For the past week he had felt its power as it grew stronger every night.

The moon would not be full for another week. By then he would have found the presence and the ritual would be complete. He licked his lips in anticipation of the blood that would be shed.

But there was so much to be done between now and then. Everything must be carefully prepared. And a child must be found. No, an infant, he realized suddenly. That would be best. Rhonda, the dark-haired one, might have her baby before then, but there was no guarantee. Her baby-it was probably his baby, too. As if he gave a shit.

But tonight he felt good, felt confident. Tonight he would find the power that had drawn him across an entire continent to this desperate forest that hadn’t changed much since the Pilgrims and the Indians.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in and out, slowly and evenly. Yes. The power was still there. He reached his mind out to it, probing for direction.

For over a year now he’d sensed its presence, ever since that first dream in June. He shuddered at the memory. So full of pain. Yet so damned intriguing.

That dream had initiated a chain of events that had resulted in a path of bloodshed that ran through some 15 states and which had made him the High Priest of his very own church. He laughed out loud at the thought of it. “Church” was probably a misnomer for the ragtag collection of followers he had assembled. But they were his followers. All his, and they would follow him wherever he led, even to the death. Even with his eyes closed he could see the half-dozen trailers surrounding him in the campground, each containing one male and one female.

Yes, they were his. He had fucked them all, both men and women, singly and in groups. Yet deep down inside, he was incomplete, unfinished, and that was what had brought him here to these woods of ancient evil.

The power touched him again, stronger this time, and more insistent. He fed it images of tortured, bleeding teenage girls, images taken from his fondest memories, from places with strange names like Paradise Valley, Winnebago, and Zoar. And, of course, a place called Wonderland California, where it had all begun.

Yet the rituals, while gratifying for the moment, had not satisfied him. During each orgy of blood-and orgy of sex that followed-he had been fulfilled. But it hadn’t lasted. The following morning, the emptiness always returned, stronger than ever, leaving him hollow, as if some vital part of him were missing.

Now, as he felt the presence deep within the forest of Chepachet, Rhode Island, he knew that he was about to discover his destiny. He sighed deeply and opened his eyes. Then, slowly, he walked out of the campground and into the forest.

— 4-

Johnny Dovecrest looked up from the page he was reading and frowned. The gray hairs on his arms tingled as he gently closed the book and walked across the room to stare out the window into the darkness. He could see nothing, of course. Yet he could see everything. And he knew that unless he acted soon-within the next few days, at most-he would be powerless to prevent it from happening all over again.

It might already be too late, he thought, and chided himself for not acting sooner. He had grown too comfortable in his soft, easy life. He had forgotten the lessons he had been taught.

Rubbing his forehead, he turned away from the window and wondered what to do next. He could feel the nebulous, indistinct forces of evil coming together. One force was powerful, so very powerful. The other was weak, a slave to be used, consumed, and then thrown away. But Dovecrest remembered and he knew just how much damage that slave could inflict before it was stopped.

Destroying the weaker one would be easy. But it would solve nothing. Now that the evil had been disturbed it wouldn’t rest until it was destroyed again-and destroyed wasn’t even the correct word. Imprisoned, sent back to hell, was probably more accurate, since the thing couldn’t be destroyed. No, destroying the slave would only delay the inevitable. It would just find a replacement. And in the modern world, such hosts were more plentiful than ever.

It had been much easier in the olden times. He’d had the support and understanding of others, of the tribe and even of the white man. They had worked together. This time he was on his own. Even his own tribesmen no longer believed. It was entirely up to him. Unless he could get help from the new people, the ones whose boy had nearly fallen victim.

The boy would understand. But what help was a ten-year-old boy? And the parents? He didn’t think so. They’d think he was crazy. Maybe he was after all these years. The boy would be the only one. And Dovecrest didn’t expect him to be much help at all. Better to just leave it alone and do it himself.

Dovecrest sat back down and looked toward the window, trying to imagine what was happening out there. He knew better than to interfere. It would do no good. And, besides, he couldn’t kill the weaker one, even if it would help. He’d just be arrested and thrown in jail, and that would be that. He would really be useless trying to work from a prison cell. The law was the law, and he’d be the one punished under this warped system of justice.

No. Better to let tonight happen. Then later, when the time was right, he would strike. He’d need a plan and a time of his own choosing. He was not ready to fight just yet.

Still, he knew he would get no sleep that night.