Faerie Tale (26 page)

He blinked, grabbed the tape recorder Gary had left beside him, and spoke into it. “It was … night. We were in the woods looking for Gabbie’s assailant. I shouted your name, Gary, and someone mocked me. Then I thought I heard you call, but the voice came from all directions, as if someone imitated you. Then I turned and saw three
Weissen Frauen
, who beckoned me to join them. As I tried to break away from their spell, the sound of horses came and from the trees.…” His eyes held a haunted look. “Hundreds of tiny creatures, glowing, came past me, flying and leaping and running. They were followed by riders. It was the Wild Hunt. Then a boy, a teenager, I think the same one who tried to rape Gabbie, jumped from the tree and shielded me from the riders. After the riders had passed, he said, ‘The Fool and his coursers ride the night. To be seen by them is to be lost.’ Then he said he wasn’t … something to do with why he … tried to make Gabbie … he was serving someone, and now he wasn’t … something like that … and … then he smiled and said, ‘Now you are in my debt, lore keeper. Forget.’ He then vanished.” Mark ran a hand over his face. “That’s all I remember.”

Gary hesitated, then asked, “Did you see the horsemen?”

Mark got out of bed and put on a bathrobe, Gary pointing the mike of the recorder at him. “Yes. They
weren’t human and I’ve never seen horses like the ones they were riding.” He briefly described the alien armor and animals.

“Did the leader have a stag’s head?” Mark blinked. “The leader of the Wild Hunt has a stag’s head in some of the legends.”

Mark shook his head. “I saw one, he might have been the leader, whose helm was crested by antlers. Maybe that was it.” Mark looked drawn again. “I need to wash up. We’ll talk when I’m done showering.”

Mark walked slowly to the bathroom, while Gary ran downstairs and made a pot of fresh coffee. When the coffee was finished he took two mugs up to Mark’s room. Mark was out of the shower and half-dressed when Gary entered. He took the proffered mug and drank. After a moment he said, “What a dream. I must be reading too much of that stuff we dug up on Kessler. Maybe I need a vacation.”

Gary blinked. “What?”

“I said I must be working too hard. You wouldn’t believe the dreams I had last night.”

Gary walked over to the tape recorder, the one used by Mark in the woods, rewound the cassette, and played it back to Mark. As Mark heard his own voice, he paused in dressing, his arm put through his pullover shirt sleeve. When the tape finished, he slowly resumed dressing. As he sat down to pull on his heavy hiking shoes, he said, “They make you forget.”

Gary said, “Who?”

“The fairies. The elves, whoever—whatever—they are. That’s why Gabbie had only some of the normal reaction a rape victim would have. She forgets the incident unless someone else brings it up.” He looked down at his shoes, elbows on knees. “By the time I had gotten out of the shower, I thought that whole thing a dream. I thought I hurt my hand running after the boy in the woods, and we’d never found him.” He ran his uninjured hand over his face. “It makes sense.”

“Good,” said Gary, sitting on a chair by the dresser. “Then you can explain it to me.”

“Whoever these people are, they can make humans forget contact. Don’t you see, that’s why they’re considered myths, because no one can remember seeing them. All we’ve ever heard are partial reports, fragments, bits and pieces. And given the superstition of earlier centuries, people were likely not to ask a lot of questions anyway. Suppose for a minute you’re a peasant farmer in the Middle Ages and someone comes running into your hut, babbling about little glowing critters or something, then the next day can’t remember anything. It’s how the legends get hatched.”

Gary thumbed the tape machine and asked, “What do you remember of last night?”

Mark thought. “We went looking for Gabbie’s assailant. We … got separated.” His brow furrowed. “I thought … I thought I saw someone, maybe more than one person. I tried to follow. I … think I.… There was someone else there. He … said something. There was noise. Maybe the wind. Then I was alone and the cops and you showed up.”

Gary rewound the tape and played it again. Mark listened and again his face drained of color. “We need to make copies of that. I don’t want to risk losing the only thing that can make me recall what I saw. Then you’re going to hypnotize me and condition me not to forget. And I’m going to do the same for you. It may not do any good, but it can’t hurt.” He looked at Gary. “You and I are going to spend all our time seeing what we can find out about Kessler and the time between his getting to America and showing up at White Horse. And we’re going to do some digging on Wayland Smith. And digging around in the Hastingses’ attic and basement for … I don’t know.” He rubbed his face as if he hadn’t slept. “There’s got to be some sense to all this.”

“Mark, just what the hell is going on?”

“If you apply that ample imagination of yours to this, you’ll have no problem in seeing the obvious. Whatever it was that happened in Germany at the turn of the century is happening again right here in William Pitt County, New York.”

Gary grinned. “If you’re right, it could be the coup of the century for you.”

“I don’t even want to think of all the possibilities right now. I just want to get a handle on what we’ve experienced so far, and I think Fredrick Kessler’s the answer. Whether we’re dealing with ghosts, aliens from Planet Ten, or fairies, Kessler’s the key—”

Gary’s eyes widened. “The key! I’d forgotten about it.”

“We’ve got to dig around some more and find the lock that matches that key.”

Gary stood up. “You know, I’m sort of excited by all this. It’s amazing stuff.”

Mark finished tying his shoelaces. “Just remember what happened in Germany.”

“You mean all the old folk rites and stuff?”

“I mean a lot of people died.”

Gary’s expression turned somber. “Yes, I see what you mean.” With no further comment, he went down the stairs.

“Mark!”

Mark pushed himself away from Phil’s desk, not even bothering to save off his program, so urgent was the note in Gabbie’s voice.

He entered the kitchen to find Gabbie helping Jack to a seat at the table. Perspiration ran in streams down Jack’s face, and his shirt clung to him, almost completely soaked through. Given the day’s heat and humidity, it was likely he’d sweat, but this was far beyond normal. Despite working alongside him on the fence, Gabbie’s face showed only a light sheen of moisture.

Mark said, “What is it?”

“Jack’s sick, but he won’t go home.” Her tone was both scolding and concerned as she looked down at the young man.

Jack tried to downplay his condition. “I’m okay. It’s just a bug. Give me a few minutes to catch my wind, and we can get back to work on that fence.”

Mark reached down, saying, “Jack, if you’re sick, take it easy—”

His words were cut off as his hand touched Jack’s shoulder. The younger man cried out in pain. Gabbie’s hands flew up to her mouth and she jumped slightly at the unexpected cry. “Jack, what is it?” she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Mark knelt. “Let me look at that shoulder.”

Jack nodded weakly, allowing Mark to unbutton his shirt. Mark fumbled awkwardly a moment, his bandaged right hand encumbering him. He got the buttons unfastened and gently pulled the shirt back.

“Oh Christ!” said Gabbie, looking down at Jack’s shoulder. It was aflame with infection, a dome of red
flesh rising up above the joint. The center of the swelling was almost purple, while the flesh at the edges of the swelling was hot red.

Mark said, “This is no bug, Jack. You’ve got a killer infection. We’ve got to get you to the hospital, now. I’ll drive. This looks like an invitation to blood poisoning if I’ve ever seen one.”

Jack looked down at his shoulder, attempting to focus his eyes. “It was all right this morning,” he said, his voice sounding weak.

“Well, it isn’t all right now,” answered Mark, digging his car keys out of his pocket. Handing them to Gabbie, he said, “Let me turn off your dad’s computer and you go get the car started. Drive it around to the back and I’ll help Jack outside.”

Gabbie hurried out toward the front door, and Mark gently replaced Jack’s shirt over the inflamed shoulder. Within a minute the computer was off, the doors locked, and Mark’s car turning down the road toward Pittsville Memorial Hospital.

The young doctor in the emergency room examined the shoulder, touching it lightly, but even that gentle touch caused Jack to wince and grunt. Gabbie stood by his side, while Mark stood a short distance off, watching through the E.R. door.

The doctor said to Gabbie, “I think you should wait over there. This isn’t going to look very pretty.” Gabbie said nothing, only shaking her head once.

The doctor ordered novocaine and injected Jack just above the swelling, in still-healthy tissue. The pain from the needle caused Jack to grip the edge of the examination table where he sat, but he said nothing. “That shoulder’s really hot. This will take the sting out in a moment.” He waited, then touched near where he’d injected.

When Jack didn’t complain, the doctor injected closer to the center of the inflammation. As he waited for the entire shoulder to go numb, he said, “You really shouldn’t have let it go this far, Mr. Cole. It may have been only a boil a week ago, but now it’s a world-class infection and you’re a hairbreadth away from septicemia.”

“I didn’t have a boil a week ago,” said Jack, his color returning a little now that the pain was dulled. “Doctor, I didn’t have a boil this morning.”

The doctor looked skeptical. “I’m not going to argue, Mr. Cole, but that couldn’t have popped up in a few hours. Didn’t you have any discomfort in this shoulder recently?”

Jack shook his head, but Gabbie said, “You were rubbing it the night before last, after running into the woods, remember? And you were sort of moving it around all day yesterday, like it was stiff. I saw you.”

Jack said, “I thought I’d just wrenched it going over the fence.” Then he thought and said, “Yeah, it was sore yesterday.”

The doctor only nodded, as if this was an admission of neglect on Jack’s part. He took a scalpel and said, “If blood makes you queasy, I suggest you look at that pretty girlfriend of yours.” He cut into the center of the swelling, and the nurse at his side began to sponge off the blood. “Whew, what a mess.” The doctor probed deeply. “If I’d known it was this deep a pussy mass, I’d have sent you into O.R. and called in a surgeon.” He ordered another tray to catch the discharge and nodded to the nurse. Another nurse came and moved Gabbie away, and without saying anything, they turned Jack and made him lie down. The doctor ordered a shot of antibiotics and continued to drain the infection from Jack’s shoulder.

He probed into Jack’s shoulder, seeking to lance the core of the infection, and said, “What’s this?” He kept the lancet in place and asked for a long retractor, pulling open the incision. Then he went after something deep inside and came away with a tiny white object. “I think we’ve found the problem.” He deposited the object on a
clean green cloth and said, “I think you had a bone chip work loose and get infected, Mr. Cole.”

Jack’s voice sounded weak. “I’ve never had any trouble with my shoulder, Doctor. I shattered my leg a few years back.” He closed his eyes a moment, then said, “If I had a bone chip there, I wouldn’t be surprised.” He described his sailing accident while the doctor cleaned up the shoulder.

When he was done, he ordered Jack to stop at the pharmacy and pick up a week’s supply of penicillin and told him to take it easy for a couple of days. He said Jack should have the shoulder looked at the next day and again in a week, and Jack said he’d check in with Dr. Latham.

Gabbie and Mark took Jack outside and the doctor looked at the cleanup in progress in the E.R. He went to the instrument tray to inspect the bone fragment and saw that the cloth it lay on was missing. Looking around, he was about to comment on its absence when a warning siren intruded. An ambulance was approaching the E.R. door, and the doctor quickly forgot Jack’s quirky bone fragment as he pulled off dirty gloves, moving toward the sink to scrub once again.

Mark sat quietly behind his own desk. Gary was out having dinner with Ellen and Mark expected he wouldn’t see his assistant until the morning; it was likely Gary would sleep over at Ellen’s tonight, as they preferred the relative privacy of her apartment. Mark had been silently staring at the hospital-green cloth he had deftly pocketed in the E.R. It was stained by a now brown spot of Jack’s blood, and upon the bloody spot a tiny white object lay.

Mark had been staring at the object for nearly an hour. He sighed and opened a desk drawer. Mark was an infrequent pipe smoker, and the ignition of tobacco in his
study was a sign of deep concern or worry. Had Gary entered, he would have known in an instant that something was wrong. The tobacco was dry and half-stale, but Mark packed the pipe anyway. It would burn hot and cook his mouth a little, but the ritual and smell of the pipe had a calming effect upon Mark, and at this moment he felt the need of a calming influence.

When the pipe was burning, Mark rose and poured himself a brandy from the nearly empty decanter on the bar. He’d have to remember to purchase some more in town, or remind Gary to, he thought. They’d had a bit more than usual, a sure sign of stress, as they both tended to drink only after a long day’s work.

Mark returned to his desk and put the drink down and the pipe in his seldom used ashtray. He picked up the small Bausch & Lomb reading glass that had come with his compact edition of the
Oxford English Dictionary
and looked closely at the white fragment on the towel.

What the doctor had taken for a bone chip was a triangular piece of white flint, little more than an eighth of an inch long. It tipped a tiny piece of wood, the presence of which had been hidden from the doctor by the mass of puss built up around the flint. Mark opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a box of X-acto tools. To the usual collection of blades and handles he had added a long pair of tweezerlike tongs, used by stamp collectors, and two pairs of small needle-nose pliers.