The Devil's Touch

Joe jerked it up, suddenly very much relieved for the interruption. 'Yeah?'

Mille LaMeade down at the station. 'Joe? Jim Peters didn't show for his shift. Who you want me to call in?'

Joe lifted his eyes, once more looking at his wife. Something was all out of whack here. He could feel it. Her eyes were so … strange. Is it my imagination? Am I letting my suspicions get all out of hand? Yeah … maybe. He didn't know.

'Joe? You there?' Mille asked.

'What! Oh, yeah. Ah—Mille, better let me come on down and check on that—problem. Sounds like we might have trouble. I'll be there in a second, O.K.?'

Joe turned and was startled to see Nellie standing right next to him. He had not heard her walk across the room. She licked her lips and he could see her tongue was no longer that sickly color he had grown accustomed to. And he knew—he knew—this was not the same woman he had loved and married. Knew she had somehow changed into … hell, he didn't know what she was, had become. It was … it looked like she was healthy. She was too healthy. No way, Joe thought, no way she could have been healed.

But maybe the Good Lord had healed her. Joe's thoughts went winging back more than forty years, back to that little country church in Kentucky, back to the words and actions of that visiting preacher who practiced the laying on of hands. Joe had damn sure seen a miracle that night; watched that old crippled woman throw away her crutches and walk, by God. Could that be it? Did God intervene here in some mysterious way, His wonders to perform?

Maybe. Maybe so. 'We got to talk some, Nellie,' Joe said. 'We got to sit down and really talk some things out. We'll do that when I get back, O.K.?'

'Do you really have to go, Joe? It's so late, and—well, I kind of had plans for us, you know?'

Joe could not believe his ears. Did she really want to have sex? Nellie? She had not craved sex for more than a year. Maybe longer than that. No. No, this was definitely not the work of the Almighty.

Something shifted in Nellie's eyes as she looked at her husband. There is no love there, Joe thought, meeting her eyes. That's pure hate. But why? That was the question that vexed the police officer. Vex, he thought. Rhymes with hex. He again went winging back in time, back to the mountains of his youth, to the superstitions of the older mountain people, sayings and feelings he could still recite and experience chapter and verse. Joe felt cold fear wash over him. He grew uncomfortable under her hot gaze.

'Gotta go,' Joe muttered. He felt a tingle in the small of his back as he walked out the door. He was sweating in the damp coolness of night. He was relieved as he got in his car. Glad to be out of that house. He looked back at the house. Nellie was framed in the light pouring from the picture window. He could see her face, dark with hate. Her eyes seemed to burn through the night. Joe pulled away. He did not think he ever wanted to go back there. He corrected that. He was never going back inside that house. Not if he could help it.

He pulled into the police parking area and went inside. Logandale's lone female police officer was sitting behind the desk. She looked up as he entered.

'Something funny going on in this town, Joe,' Mille said. 'And I mean I can feel it right down to my toes.'

'Tell me,' Joe muttered. He cleared his throat. 'Mille, what's wrong with Jim?'

Mille stood up and Joe appraised her. It was not the first time he had viewed her charms. Mille LaMeade had the dark complexion and snapping dark eyes that came with many of the people of French-Canadian ancestry. A small woman, almost petite, but oh Lord, was she stacked up proper.

'Well, first it was his wife on the phone,' Mille said. 'But there was a lot of music and laughing going on in the background. A party going on. I could hear Jim's voice. He was telling dirty jokes and cussing. Still his wife called him in sick.'

'Cussing? But Jim don't cuss. He don't smoke, he don't drink, he don't do nothin'. Jim Peters is about the dullest potato I've ever met.'

'You should have heard it tonight.'

'Come on. Ride with me. We'll just take us a little run out to his house. See what's goin' on.'

Joe let Mille lead the way to the patrol car. Nice ass on her, too, he thought.

He looked up in surprise as the Flaubert girl drove past the station. Late for her to be out.

'It is time for the greeting dance,' Norman Giddon announced. He walked into the center of the circle, holding out his arms. The circle of men and women fell silent. 'It is time for us to welcome our new guests, show them all the pleasures the Prince can offer. Let it begin.'

In the darkness of a shrouded corner of the mansion, a drum began beating slowly, pounding out its throbbing message. A flute joined in, the notes playing solemnly. The inner circle, made up of black-robed women, began moving counterclockwise; the outer circle, consisting of black-robed men, began moving in a clockwise direction.

'Come,' May spoke to Patsy, taking her hand. 'Let's join in. It's time for our initiation.'

Patsy did not protest, mentally or physically. The wine had been cold and sweet and very strong, and it contained a very powerful aphrodisiac. The potion was working within the young people as they formed the third circle, holding hands. Sonny Bunche, a senior at Logandale High, held onto Patsy's hand. He grinned at her, the message contained within the grin very plain. Patsy looked around for Jon but could not locate him. The aphrodisiac pounded within her body. She looked up at Sonny.

'Later,' she said to the young man.

'I heard that, baby,' Sonny replied.

The circles moved in their dance.

Movement by the altar caught Patsy's eyes. She looked up and saw Jon standing naked beside the black-draped altar, his manhood hanging heavy and limp. But Patsy knew only too well the first sight was deceiving. Jon's eyes appeared glazed. She dropped her eyes and concentrated on the dance, moving with the circles. It seemed the more physical exertion she engaged in the more sexually charged she became. Soon she was caught up in the heat