The New Neighbor

think about what you're -'

George shook Robby off, turned and backhanded him with a fist. His knuckles hit Robby just below his left eye and returned him to the kitchen floor.

Turning his back on the others, George used both hands to push on the cat. The animal fought and clawed and spat and released a long, piercing yowl.

Karen and Jen continued to scream.

None of them heard the front door open, but they all heard the booming voice.

'George Pritchard!'

The screaming stopped.

All four heads turned to see Pastor Quillerman standing in the kitchen doorway.

None of them moved.

Pastor Quillerman crossed the kitchen and jerked the Cuisinart’s plug out of the wall, glaring at George.

'I think,' he said, his voice a low rumble, 'that we should talk.'

Chapter 18

Into Temptation

For a while that morning, bars of sunlight had managed to pierce the blanket of clouds overhead. It had even looked, briefly, like the clouds were going to break up and give way to blue sky. But it wasn't long before the sunlight was swallowed up and the sky was once again a low ceiling of grimy steel.

The street was thick with reporters from all the local television stations and some from Sacramento and San Francisco, even a couple of networks – CNN and MSNBC.

Although it was the reason they had all come to the neighborhood, there was very little activity at the Garry house. A police officer had arrived earlier that morning with a man and woman – presumably relatives, because they looked grief-stricken, but they wouldn't speak to any of the reporters – and had taken them through the house. Then they'd gone, leaving the house dark and empty once again.

But the Pritchard house had captured their interest. They all knew it was the home of Robby Pritchard, who had discovered the carnage down the street, and who had been the killer's best friend. But there was more.

There was all the angry shouting that had been taking place there, and that gaping hole in the side of the Pritchard house that had seemed to be as much a mystery to Mr. Pritchard that morning as it was to all of them. And those three strange words written in the circle on the front door. What language was that? Or were they names, perhaps? And what significance did they have on the front door? Who was that man who'd limped into the house without knocking earlier? And what about all the screaming they'd heard in there just a little while ago? Was there some connection between the Garry killings and the Pritchard family? Were the killings cult-related, perhaps? Were the boys involved in devil worship?

The reporters had caught the scent of a story they could milk, and they weren’t going anywhere until they got some answers. They'd moved their cars and vans up the street and parked them in front of the Pritchard house, where they waited for someone to come out and talk to them, or for something to happen, anything at all.

When the front door opened, they rushed forward.

It was that limping man again. He came out onto the sidewalk and waved at them, smiling as they came forward. Before the barrage of questions could begin, he spoke.

'I'd like to have a word with all of you, if I might. It'll just take a moment.”

They moved in close and waited for him to go on.

'I am Jeremy Quillerman, the Pritchards' pastor. Needless to say, they're very upset about what has happened to their friends. In fact, the entire neighborhood is grieving today. I encourage you to keep that in mind. I know it is your business to report the news, but… there is no news here, I'm afraid. Only tragedy. The writing on the front door is simply vandalism. The nasty hole over there is best dealt with by a carpenter, not reporters. So, please folks…until something else comes up, why don't you go back to your places of employment and write your stories. The people here have suffered a great loss and a great shock. They're in no condition to answer questions now.' He smiled again, nodded with a finality and said, 'Thank you for your time.' Then he turned and headed back into the house.

The reporters fired questions like bullets, shouting to be heard. He didn't even slow his limping pace. He went inside, closed the door and locked it.

They grumbled to one another as they turned and went back to their cars and vans.

* * * *

While Pastor Quillerman was outside, no one in the house moved from where they were when he left.

George was sitting at the dining room table with his head in his hands, eyes hidden from the dull, glaring light that shined in through the sliding glass door behind him.

Karen was leaning against the lip of the kitchen counter with Monroe in her arms, stroking the agitated cat and making soft, soothing noises.

Robby and Jen stood quietly in the living room, staring out at the reporters.

A bit earlier, Pastor Quillerman had explained to the family everything Robby already knew about Lorelle Dupree and, once again, Robby had been surprised that the pastor knew everything Ronald Prosky had known. Quillerman seemed to take it all in stride, as if this sort of thing happened all the time. Of course, it didn't. It couldn't. But Robby couldn't shake the feeling that it happened more often than he wanted to imagine and that more people were aware of creatures like Lorelle Dupree than he wanted to know.

According to the material Prosky had given Robby, Lilith had given birth to as many as a hundred infants an hour… but for how many hours? How many were out there? The possibilities made Robby feel very small and vulnerable.

As Quillerman headed back up the walk, Robby whispered, 'I told him everything, you know.'

Jen's head snapped toward him. 'You mean… about us? Everything?'

'Everything.'

Quillerman came inside and beckoned Jen and Robby to follow him into the kitchen.

'I spoke to them,' he said, 'but I doubt it will do any good. Once they’ve found a story, reporters are a little like ants and roaches – impossible to get rid of, because if one goes, there's always another to replace it. So, I guess we'll just have to do this in front of them.'

Until that moment, Quillerman had gotten virtually no reaction from the family. There had been a few monosyllabic responses and odd facial expressions, but mostly they'd avoided his gaze and remained silent. But then:

'Do, uh…do what in front of them?' George asked from the table, lifting his head slowly. His face looked heavy, the skin sagged and drooped beneath his eyes and along his jawline.

'Deal with this problem we've been talking about here,' Quillerman replied.

George stood. 'Well, we haven't exactly been talking. You've been talking. And we've listened to your, um… your story. Now I think you should go.'

Quillerman's eye moved from George to Jen to Robby to Karen and back to George again. 'You know,' he said quietly, 'you've been coming to church all these years and I've never been here to your house. I've never invited you to my house. I know pastors of other churches who know each and every member of their congregations well. They see them socially. They are considered friends of the family. Unfortunately, I am not made of the same cloth. Of my many faults, I'm afraid my greatest is the distance I tend to keep between myself and the members of my congregation. If I were closer to my congregation, perhaps I would have seen this coming. I might have been able to prevent your involvement. “

“Mr. Pritchard, what’s happening here is not something you can dismiss. It will eat you alive if you let it. You've