time he wasn’t running away from something, but toward the safety of his house.
Halfway across his own front yard he stopped once more.
Stopped, and gazed at the house.
And once more he recalled Father Mulroney’s words.
But now, with the sky clear and the moon bright, and nothing peering at him out of the darkness, he was able to turn away the fear those same words had brought only a few minutes ago.
“Crap,” he whispered as he continued toward the front door. “Nothin’ but a pile of crap.”
Marty wasn’t sure exactly when the voice had begun whispering to him. The house had been silent when he slipped in through the back door, and for a moment he’d had the eerie feeling that the house was empty, that somehow Myra and Angel had vanished while he was gone. But that was impossible — where would they go? He turned on the light, and headed for the refrigerator, figuring one more beer couldn’t hurt him.
But where earlier there had been most of a six-pack on the bottom shelf, there now was nothing. Frowning, Marty searched the refrigerator more carefully.
No beer.
Suspicion growing in his mind, he went to the sink, pulled open the cabinet below it, and peered into the wastebasket. Sure enough, there were five empty beer bottles, and they weren’t just tossed in as he would have done. Instead, they were laid out side by side, exactly the way Myra would have done it after pouring the contents down the drain.
His first impulse was to go back out and find another six-pack — or maybe even a whole case — then sit and drink the whole thing just to show her. In the end, though, he just dug around in the cupboards until he found her cooking sherry and finished that off instead.
Then, his stomach feeling sour, he went upstairs, peeled off his clothes, and slid into bed beside Myra.
If she was awake — and he was pretty sure she was — she didn’t say anything, and when he edged closer to her, snuggling up against her, she let out a muffled groan and turned away.
The hell with her — who needed her anyway?
He rolled over and closed his eyes, but as Myra’s breathing finally fell into the gentle rhythm of sleep, he still lay awake.
Then the voice came out of the darkness, so soft at first he barely heard it. “
“
Marty rolled over again.
“
Marty’s eyes opened.
“
He got up from the bed and left the bedroom, pulling the door shut so quietly there was barely the faintest click to disturb Myra’s sleep…
Chapter 38
NGEL LAY IN THE DARKNESS, LISTENING.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in bed, or whether she’d slept or not. But she must have slept, because the memory of the dreams she’d had was as fresh in her mind as if they’d actually happened, and happened only a few moments ago. They weren’t at all like the dreams that made no sense and faded away the moment she awoke, leaving her with nothing more than a vague memory of having dreamed, but no memory at all of what the dream was actually about. No, the dreams she’d had this night were different.
She’d been on the road, and it was night, and even though the moon was blotted out by a thick layer of clouds, she could see a figure in the darkness ahead of her. She knew it was her father, even though his shape was no more than a faint silhouette and his features were utterly lost in shadows. But tonight she felt none of the fear of him that had been growing in her every day since they’d moved into their little house. The figure drew closer, and still she felt no sense of danger. Then, as the wind began to grow, the clouds broke and the light of the moon flooded through. Her father stopped, and she instinctively moved toward him. But then, as the moon fell full on him, she hesitated.
Instead of the clothes her father had been wearing when he stumbled out of the house a few hours ago, the figure ahead of her was clad almost entirely in black, with a close-fitting coat with a broad collar, and lapels buttoned up almost to the throat.
The face wasn’t her father’s either. It was longer, and narrower, and had a sort of pinched look to it.
He was staring at her now, and she could see the fear in his eyes. But why was he frightened? It was she who had been frightened of him this afternoon, and yesterday, and the day before that. Why—
Once again the clouds scudded over the moon, and the figure vanished into the blackness.
But suddenly she could see it again, only now she was looking up at it, as if she were lying on the ground.
And even though the moonlight was gone, she could see almost as well as she could during the day. Except everything was black and white, with no color at all.
Her father was staring at her again, backing away, and then he started running. As she watched, he ran off the road, tripped, and plunged face first into the ditch between the road and the forest.
“Dad!” she started to call out.
It was the sound of her own voice that awakened her from the dream, but the odd thing was, when she awoke, her heart wasn’t pounding and she felt none of the terror that had seized her when the other dreams held her in their grip. And instead of feeling a sense of relief to find herself in her own bed in her own room, she felt vaguely surprised, as if she shouldn’t be there at all. Only a second or two ago she was certain she’d been out in the road.
She’d gotten up and gone to the window, and seen her father coming across the lawn just as if he too had stepped out of her dream and into reality. Except now he was wearing the right clothes again, and when the moonlight spilled onto his face for a moment, she recognized him clearly.
As he headed around the corner of the house to the back door, she hurried back to bed, slipped in, and silently offered up a prayer to whatever saint might be listening that tonight her father wouldn’t come into her room. She pulled the covers up close around her neck and listened.
She heard him rummage around in the kitchen.
Heard him come upstairs.
She held her breath, her heart pounding, and waited.
He went into the room where her mother was sleeping.
Angel breathed again.
But still she didn’t sleep, for every other night in which her father had crept into her room, he’d gone to bed first.
Gone to bed, and waited until her mother was asleep.
Angel waited.
Outside, the wind began to rise again, and then the moonlight faded away as the clouds once again began racing across the sky.
Angel tried to shut out the sound of the wind sighing in the trees beyond her window, tried to focus her ears only on whatever sounds might be coming from within the house.
Seconds crept by, and turned into minutes, and every minute felt like an eternity.
