The voice came in a soft whisper, inches from his ear. 'I want you to stop the winter.'
What is he talking about?
'How… how can I do that? How can I stop the winter?'
There was a long silence, just the sound of the wooden boat tapping the icy stone walls of the canal as it moved through the maze.
'I know who you are,' came the voice. 'I know what you've been doing. I've known all along.'
A black dread descended upon Roland. Moments later the boat stopped in front of a derelict display to Roland's right. The exhibit contained large snowflakes made of moldering pine, a rusted iron stove with a long neck and tarnished brass knobs. Leaning against the stove were a broom handle and oven scraper. In the middle of the display was a throne made of sticks and twigs. Roland could see the green of the recently snapped branches. The throne was new.
Roland struggled against the ropes, against the nylon belt around his neck. The Lord had abandoned him. He had sought the devil so long, only for it to end like this.
The man stepped around him, to the front of the boat. Roland looked into his eyes. He saw the reflection of Charlotte's face.
Sometimes it's the devil you know.
Beneath the quicksilver moon, the devil leaned forward, gleaming knife in hand, and cut out Roland Hannah's eyes.
89
It seemed to take forever. Jessica had fallen only once-slipping on an icy patch on what seemed like a paved path.
The lights she had observed from the stream came from a one-story house. It was still a good distance away, but Jessica saw that she was now in a complex of dilapidated buildings, built around a maze of narrow canals.
Some of the buildings looked like shops in a small Scandinavian village. Others were made to resemble seaport structures. As she wove her way along the banks of the canals, moving deeper into the complex, there were more buildings, more dioramas. All were decrepit, timeworn, broken.
Jessica knew where she was. She had entered the theme park. She had entered StoryBook River.
She found herself a hundred feet away from a building that might have been a re-creation of a Danish schoolhouse.
Inside was candlelight. Bright candlelight. Shadows flickered and danced.
She instinctively went for her weapon, but her holster was empty. She crept closer to the building. In front of her was the widest canal she had yet seen. It led to a boathouse. To her left, thirty or forty feet away, was a small footbridge spanning the canal. At one end of the bridge was a statue holding a lighted kerosene lamp. It cast an eerie copper glow on the night.
As she got closer to the bridge, she realized the figure on it was not a statue at all. It was a man. A man standing on the overpass, staring at the sky.
When Jessica stepped within a few feet of the bridge her heart skipped a beat.
The man was Joshua Bontrager.
And his hands were covered with blood.
90
Byrne and Vincent followed the winding road deep into the forest. At times it was merely one lane wide, iced over. Twice they had to cross shaky bridges. A mile or so into the woods they found a gated path leading further east. Nadine Palmer's handdrawn map didn't show a gate.
'I'm going to try her one more time.' Vincent's cell phone was on a dashboard mount. He reached out, hit a number. In a second, the speaker offered the ringing tone. Once. Twice.
And then the phone was answered. It was Jessica's voice mail, but it sounded different. A long hiss, then static. Then breathing.
'Jess,' Vincent said.
Silence. Just the low murmur of electronic noise. Byrne looked at the LCD screen. The connection was still open.
'Jess.'
Nothing. Then a rustling sound. Then, faintly, a voice. A man's voice.
'Here are maidens, young and fair.'
'What?' Vincent asked.
'Dancing in the summer air.'
'Who the fuck is this?'
'Like two spinning wheels at play.'
'Answer me!'
'Pretty maidens dance away.'
As Byrne listened, the skin on his arms began to dimple. He looked at Vincent. The man's expression was blank, impenetrable.
Then the connection broke.
Vincent hit the speed dial. The phone rang again. The same voice mail. He clicked off.
'What the fuck is happening?'
'I don't know,' Byrne said. 'But it's your move, Vince.'
Vincent buried his face in his hands for a second, then looked up. 'Let's go find her.'
Byrne got out of the car at the gate. It was chained shut with a huge coil of rusted iron chain, padlocked with an old lock. It appeared not to have been disturbed in a long time. Both sides of the road leading deeper into the forest fell off to deep, frozen culverts. They'd never be able to drive around. The vehicle's headlights cut the darkness to a distance of only fifty feet, then the light was choked by the blackness.
Vincent got out of the car, went into the trunk, and retrieved a shotgun. He racked it, shut the trunk. He reached back into the car, cut the headlights and the engine, grabbed the keys. The darkness was now complete; the night, silent.
They stood, two Philadelphia police officers, in the middle of rural Pennsylvania.
Without a word, they started up the trail.
91
'It could only have been one place,' Bontrager said. 'I read the stories, I put it together. It could have only been here. StoryBook River. I should have thought of it before. As soon as it hit me, I got on the road. I was going to call the boss, but I thought it might be a long shot, and it's New Year's Eve.'
Josh Bontrager was standing at the center of the footbridge now. Jessica tried to process it all. At that moment, she didn't know what to believe, or who to trust.
'You knew about this place?' Jessica asked.
'I grew up not too far from here. I mean, we weren't allowed to come here, but we all knew about it. My grandmother used to sell some of our preserves to the owners.'
'Josh.' Jessica gestured to his hands. 'Whose blood is that?'
'A man I found.'
'A man?'
