The Devil's Touch

'Sam?' she said. 'Look on the table in front of us.'

A manila envelope lay on the table. It had not been there when they arrived.

They both looked at the deserted area around them. They looked at the envelope.

Sam touched the packet. It was cold. He picked it up and carefully opened it. A picture and several sheets of paper. Sam looked at the eight-by-ten of his father for a long moment, then handed it to Nydia. 'My dad,' he said.

'I can see where you got your good looks. Your dad was a rugged, handsome man. Sam? Where did the envelope come from?'

There was a slight grimace of pain on Sam's face.

'Sam!'

'I don't know the answer, Nydia. But when that voice spoke, my chest started burning. It's better now, but man, did it hurt for a few seconds.'

Sam looked around them. No one in sight. Sam unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his T-shirt. He heard Nydia gasp.

'Look at your T-shirt, Sam. The center of your chest.'

The fabric was burned brown, in the shape of a cross. The cross that Sam wore. His father's cross.

Nydia pulled up the T-shirt. The cross had burned his skin, leaving a scar in the shape of a cross. The scar was red, but no longer painful, even though it was burned deep.

Sam opened the pages from the envelope and almost became physically ill. The handwriting was unmistakably his father's scrawl. Sam had seen it many times on old sermons.

'You're white as a ghost, Sam.'

'I—think that's what just spoke to me. My father wrote this.'

The young man wiped suddenly blurry eyes and began slowly reading, Nydia reading silently beside him.

Son—writing is difficult for me, in my condition. Want to keep this as brief as possible, but yet, there are so many things I must say to you and the girl.

'How—' Nydia said, then shook her head, not understanding or believing any of this—yet.

I have watched you, son—whenever possible— grow through the years. Tried to guide you, help you, as best I could, Nydia, too. The girl beside you, not the Nydia I—knew. Like that time you got drunk in your mother's car and passed out at the wheel. A close one, boy.

'I'm the only person in this world who knew about that,' Sam said.

'In this world, yes,' Nydia said. She was beginning to believe.

Give the cross you wear around your neck to the girl. Do it, son. Time is of the essence.

Nydia was softly crying as Sam put the cross around her neck.

No one will be able to remove that cross from her. No one. I cannot guarantee she will not be hurt, but—well, you must have faith.

Now then, a cruel blow for each of you, for I know your thoughts: Nydia is your half-sister.

'Oh, my God!' Sam said.

When I knew her mother, Roma was not her name. Her name was Nydia. She is of and for the Devil. She is a witch. After the hooved one attempted to take over the town of Whitfield— and failed, then—during which Wade, Anita, Chester, Tony, Jane Ann, Miles, Doris, and myself killed hundreds of coven members, I made a bargain with our God to save your mother and what few Christians remained. I won, in a sense. But so did the woman you know as Roma. I killed, or at least sent back to Hell, Black Wilder, the Devil's representative. Your half-brother, son, Black, is named for Wilder. And like that spawn of Hell, he is a warlock.

When you leave this terminal, the both of you must go to a Catholic church and get as much holy water as you can. You will need it.

Sam glanced at Nydia. Half-sister?

She met his eyes, read his thoughts. 'I don't care.'

They returned to the letter.

It would be wrong, son, to say the Devil is back, for that one never leaves the Earth; so I'll simply say he has returned to Whitfield. There will soon be a great tragedy in Whitfield, and I must be there to help your mother, for her ordeal involves both of us—and the girl. There will be no survivors from Whitfield. None.