• • •
Clarey Lambert opened her eyes, blinking in the bright sunlight. She was sitting on the porch of her house, her body erect in the rocking chair. She felt tired from the effort it had taken her to reach out first to Kelly’s mind, and then to Michael Sheffield’s, but now it was over, and she could hear the soft throbbing of the outboard engine as the boat bearing the two teenagers drew near. She turned in her chair, feeling the ache of her protesting muscles, and smiled at Jonas Cox. “They be coming. You hear?”
Jonas said nothing, his eyes searching the waterways in the direction from which the low sound drifted. Only when the boat came around the end of the next island and he recognized Michael and Kelly sitting in the stem did he finally relax. When he’d first heard the boat, he’d been certain that it was the Dark Man, coming for him.
As the boat bumped against the pilings beneath the structure, Jonas reached down, taking the line that Kelly held up to him, and tied it to the railing. Then Kelly and Michael climbed up the short ladder, coming to a sudden stop when they saw Clarey’s eyes fixed on them.
“The baby?” the old woman asked.
“He’s all right,” Michael told her. “I got him back to his mother.”
“It was my grandfather who took him,” Kelly said. “Why did he—”
Before she could finish her question, Clarey’s voice, crackling with anger, cut her off. “Not your grandpa,” the old woman declared. “Don’t you never think that man was your grandpa. And it don’t matter now — he be dead.”
Jonas Cox’s pinched face paled. “Michael killed him?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“No!” Clarey replied. “Michael didn’t kill Carl Anderson. Carl Anderson died a long time ago. Only his body stayed alive.” Her glittering eyes shifted away from Jonas, boring into Kelly. “You saw him — you saw him in your dreams, and in your mirror. Both of you did. But it warn’t just him you saw. It was all of ’em — all the old men whose souls died but whose bodies stayed alive, sucking up the lives and the souls of the young ’uns.” Clarey’s gaze shifted toward Michael, and now she noticed the difference in his eyes.
The empty gaze of the children of the Circle was gone, and Michael’s eyes smoldered with anger.
“It’s what he wanted that baby for. Gonna take that little child to the Dark Man, so he could suck the life out of it, that’s what that evil man was going to do.” She smiled again, and chuckled softly. “But you didn’t let him, did you? You took that baby away from him, and took your soul back, too, didn’t you?”
Kelly gasped, her eyes widening as she turned to Michael. “But if you didn’t kill him—”
“I didn’t have to,” Michael told her, knowing what she was thinking. He hesitated, seeing once more the scene at the foot of the pine tree, when Carl Anderson had watched him coming close and known what he was going to do.
Known, and been unable to stop him.
“I would have killed him, though,” he said at last, his voice quiet. “If he hadn’t died, I would have killed him.” His eyes, glistening with tears he made no attempt to wipe away, held steadily on Kelly as he told her what had happened.
“It was something inside him,” he concluded, after describing his attack on Carl Anderson’s corpse. “I could feel that there was something there, something I had to find.” He hesitated, then went on. “It was something that was mine, that I knew he’d taken from me. And when I found it—” His voice broke, and he couldn’t tell her what he’d done.
The memory of stuffing that bloody piece of atrophied tissue into his mouth, then forcing himself to swallow it, was still too fresh in his mind.
He smiled at Kelly, feeling once more that welcome warmth within him that until a little while ago he’d never experienced, nor even missed. “I’m free now,” he went on. “I know what’s wrong with you. And Jonas, and all the rest of us, too. I know what he took from all of us. And I know how to make us well again.”
Jonas Cox’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Ain’t no way to do nothin’ to the Dark Man,” he said. “Ain’t nobody even knows where to find him. An’ if he wants you, ain’t nowheres to hide.”
Michael shook his head. “It’s over,” he told the frightened boy. “He can’t make us do anything. Maybe he never could. All he could do was frighten us. But we’re all together, and we’re stronger than he is.”
He turned to Clarey Lambert, their eyes meeting. “Call them, Clarey. Call everyone.”
Clarey turned and went back into the house, the three children following her. “I knew the time were comin’,” she muttered softly, almost to herself. “Ain’t nothin’ bad gonna happen anymore, after tonight.”
She moved to her worn chair and let herself sink into it, closing her eyes. Silence settled over the room, and then Kelly began once more to hear the strange melody inside her head. As its intangible threads began to wind around her, she turned to Michael, her eyes questioning.
“She’s calling the Circle,” he said. “She’s calling us together for the last time.”
As Kelly gave herself to the haunting strains that seemed to come out of nowhere, she felt a pang of fear.
What if she wasn’t strong enough?
What if she couldn’t find the will within herself to do whatever it was that Michael had done?
But she put the thoughts aside.
She would do whatever was necessary, if it would free her from the awful terror of her nightmares, and from the chilling emptiness that had always yawned within her, threatening to swallow her up as if she’d never existed at all.
28
Craig and Barbara Sheffield sat in the car, staring at the peaceful facade of the small white colonial building with green shutters that housed the Villejeune mortuary, neither of them willing to go inside, neither of them ready to face what they might find there. But at last Craig sighed, opened the door, and got out. A moment later Barbara joined him on the sidewalk. Craig gave her an encouraging squeeze. “Ready?”
Saying nothing, Barbara pulled open the front door and stepped into the unnatural hush of the funeral home’s foyer. Ahead and to the left was the viewing room in which Jenny had lain only a few days ago. It was empty now, its door standing open. To the right, across from the viewing room, was a small office, and as Craig and Barbara stepped inside, Fred Childress looked up, his eyes clouding as he recognized them and saw the strained look on Barbara’s face.
“Barbara? Craig? Is something wrong?”
“Yes,” Craig replied coldly. “Something is very wrong. I want the keys to our mausoleum, Fred.”
The undertaker’s eyes widened in shock. “The maus—”
“My mausoleum. The one where my children were buried. If they were buried at all!”
Fred Childress rose to his feet, his expression indignant. “I don’t know what you’re implying, Craig—” he began, but once again Craig cut him off.
“Get me the keys, Fred,” he said. “If you don’t, I’m going to break into the crypt without them, and if I find what I think I’m going to find, you’re going to be spending a very long time in jail.”
Childress’s mind reeled. It wasn’t possible — this wasn’t supposed to happen! “Craig, you know I can’t open a crypt without a court order—” he began, stalling for time, trying to straighten out the confusion that muddled his mind.
“I don’t have time, Fred,” Craig grated. “Now make up your mind! Do you want to give me those keys, or shall I break in?”
Childress’s jaw worked for a moment, but suddenly he found an answer.
Give them the keys!
Let them open the tombs, and then deny anything they might suggest. Surely, if he cooperated with them, they couldn’t blame him for what they found!
Quickly, he disappeared from the office, returning a moment later with a heavy ring of keys in his hand. “This is most unusual, Craig,” he insisted. “According to the law—”
“I know the law,” Craig said, taking the keys from the undertaker’s hand. “Come on, Barbara.”
