Right Hand of Evil (35 page)

Kim sat through the first hour of classes barely hearing a word that Sister Clarence said. She continually glanced out the window, hoping to see Jared coming across the square toward the school, but by the time the class was half over, she knew he wasn't coming. Even then she couldn't concentrate. From the moment she'd seen Sandy Engstrom, she knew something was wrong. Sandy arrived at school just as the bell rang, and when she rushed by her, Kim assumed Sandy was trying to get to her locker while she still had time. But when Sandy finally arrived in class-two minutes late-her friend hadn't taken her regular seat right next to her.

Instead, she slid into an empty desk at the back of the classroom.

Sister Clarence had gone silent when Sandy entered the room, and Kim expected her friend to be sent directly to Father Bernard's office. But after fixing Sandy with a stern glare, Sister Clarence's face took on a look of concern. "Sandra? Are you all right?"

Every head in the class turned to gaze at Sandy. She was wearing more makeup than Kim had ever seen on her before, but even the makeup couldn't cover the pallor of her complexion.

"I'm fine, Sister Clarence," she announced in a challenging tone that made Kim brace herself for her immediate banishment to Father Bernard's office. The whole class held its collective breath, waiting. But for the first time in anyone's memory, Sister Clarence backed down.

"Very well," she said. "But I won't tolerate your being late again."

For the rest of the hour Kim kept stealing peeks at her friend, but Sandy never looked back at her. When the bell rang, Sandy was out the door before Kim had even finished packing her books into her bag. She hurried after Sandy, threading her way through the crowded corridor toward the lockers, where the two girls had fallen into the habit of meeting between classes.

Sandy was nowhere to be seen.

Sandy hadn't been in church yesterday.

Sandy hadn't called her yesterday, either.

And now, this morning, she hadn't even spoken to her.

Kim was just starting back toward her own locker when she caught a glimpse of Sandy through the glass of the school's front door. She glanced at the big clock on the wall above the door, and saw that she still had five minutes before her next class. Working her way through her milling classmates, she pushed the front door open and went out onto the sidewalk.

Sandy was deep in conversation with Luke Roberts. As Kim approached them, both teenagers fell silent.

"Sandy?" Kim asked uncertainly. "What's going on?"

Sandy turned to gaze at her. As Kim met Sandy's eyes-which seemed to have sunk within her skull-she saw it.

The same look she'd seen in her brother's eyes this morning. And her father's.

Then Luke turned to look at her, and there it was in his eyes, too.

Kim's pulse raced as an image rose in her mind, from the nightmare she'd had, when she saw Sandy and Luke writhing in front of that strange candlelit altar with the inverted cross.

Then Sandy spoke, in an angry, hissing voice Kim had never heard from her before. "Leave us alone, you stupid bitch!"

Kim's eyes widened in shock, but even as the words battered her, another memory rose in her mind.

Sandy sounded like Jared! Just like Jared when Father MacNeill had come to the house yesterday afternoon!

She took a step toward her friend. Without warning, Sandy spat at her, sending a great wad of greenish phlegm oozing down the front of Kim's blouse. Kim stared at the mess in shock, then, as peals of ugly laughter erupted from Luke and Sandy, she turned and fled back into the school. Tears of pain and humiliation streamed down her cheeks, and the crowd, already thinning as the students drained into the classrooms, parted to make way for her as she lurched toward the girls' room. She dropped her book bag on the floor and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face looked almost as pale as Sandy's, and as more images and memories tumbled through her mind-some of them dreamed, some of them real, all of them terrifying-confusion and terror overwhelmed her.

She ran the water in the sink, splashed some on her face, then gingerly scraped the wad of phlegm from her blouse. Sandy had
spit
at her! Actually
spit
at her! How could she have-

Her thought died as her eye caught something in the mirror. She looked down, and where the phlegm had been, there was now a small hole in her blouse.

A hole with blackened edges, as if it had been burned.

A whimper escaped Kim's lips. She rubbed harder at her blouse, as if trying not only to erase the charring from the material, but the hole as well. She was still working at it when she heard her name.

"Kimmie? Kimmie!"

Jumping, she glanced in the mirror, and there he was.

Jared!

She whirled around.

The girls' room was empty; she was alone.

"Kimmie!"

She whirled around again, but this time the mirror was as empty as the room behind her.

"Kimmie, help me!"

Jared's voice had a plaintive note to it now, and she remembered the dream she'd had this morning, when Jared was drowning and she tried to reach him but couldn't.

"Jared?" she whispered, but even the barely spoken word echoed in the emptiness of the room. "Oh, God, Jared, what's happening to us?"

A moment later she heard him calling to her again, but now his voice seemed to be coming from beyond the room. Leaving her book bag where it lay, Kim stumbled out of the bathroom.

The hallway outside was empty.

Still she heard Jared's voice, calling out to her.

She followed the voice, moving down the corridor, then turning into another.

Then up some stairs.

Down another corridor.

More memories tumbled through her mind, images of the corridors through which the unseen menace of her nightmares had pursued her, but still she kept going, following Jared's ever fainter voice.

Then, at last, she came to a closed door. She stood paralyzed with a terrible certainty that she knew what lay beyond.

The obscene cathedral, where she'd witnessed all the worst horrors of her nightmares.

Where only this morning she'd seen little Molly, suspended upside down from the cross above the altar, the candles flickering in front of her tortured face.

Then, barely audible through the confusion in her mind, she heard Jared's voice once more. "Kiiimmmm…"

Steeling herself, Kim pulled the door open.

Not the cathedral.

The biology lab, with zinc-topped worktables laid out in neat rows, each of them equipped with a sink.

And on the walls, shelf after shelf of specimens, the dissected carcasses of frogs and mice, the organs of larger creatures, all of them floating in sealed jars of formaldehyde. As she stared at the jars, she saw that they were now filled with blood-overflowing with blood. And in every one of them was some fragment of Molly's body.

A little foot in one, a leg in another. Another jar held a hand. In the largest jar was her baby sister's head.

Molly's eyes were wide open, and her mouth was stretched into a grimace of agony. She seemed to be staring through the haze of blood right at Kim, and as she looked into Molly's twisted face, Kim felt every bit of pain Molly must have felt as-

Screaming, Kim cut off the thought, unable to bear it. But no matter where she turned, there were more jars and still more jars, and from every one of them, Molly stared at her.

Kim kept screaming, and finally, her mind no longer able to cope with the images that churned through it, she collapsed to the floor, sobbing and moaning.

"No," she whimpered. "Oh, no… please, no…"

Janet woke slowly, luxuriating in the sunlight streaming through the window and in the memory of the night before, when Ted had taken her in his arms.

It was like being on their honeymoon all over again, before Ted's drinking had taken over their lives. Strange how it had crept over every part of their existence so slowly that she hadn't truly realized quite how bad the problem was. But now that it was over-now that the Ted Conway she'd first fallen in love with was back-she could see exactly how it had happened, how she'd let Ted's alcohol nibble away at her marriage. The thing of it was-as she could now see-it had never taken a big enough bite all at once to force her into facing the true reality of it. Not, anyway, until that last night, when Ted stayed up drinking long after their fight, only to come at last to the realization that she would finally leave him.

She stretched languidly, once again feeling Ted's hands on her body, his mouth on hers, his strength as he made love to her. Her reverie was interrupted by the faint sound of the clock tolling the hour in the living room below her. When it reached seven, she threw back the sheet-if she didn't hurry, she wouldn't have time to fix breakfast for Jared and Kim.

The clock struck twice more.

Nine?

But it couldn't be-she never slept past seven, and most mornings was up by six. A glance at the clock by her bedside confirmed how much she'd overslept. Why hadn't anyone wakened her? Why hadn't-

And then she knew. Ted had known how tired she was, and how worried about Jared. Even after they made love, she'd lain awake until, finally, Ted made her talk it out. It had been hard-she'd become so used to dealing with her problems by herself that she'd almost forgotten how to talk to Ted, but he'd drawn it all out of her, even agreed with her that Jared wasn't just "stretching his wings," but that something more was going on. Only after he promised to help her deal with the problem had she fallen asleep.

In his arms, feeling safe, and comforted, and loved.

And this morning he'd obviously decided to let her sleep in and take care of the kids himself. She pulled on a thin robe and went to the nursery, half expecting to find her youngest daughter awake and playing in her crib. But Molly was gone, her bedding straightened up and tucked in, exactly the way she herself always did it. Sighing contentedly, she moved out onto the landing.

And instantly knew that something was wrong.

She peered down into the yawning entry hall as she moved toward the top of the stairs. Was it something about the light?

She looked up at the skylight, but it looked the same as it had the day Ted cleaned it. Yet when she looked down once again, she realized that there was, indeed, something odd, as if a slight haziness was hanging over everything. Janet blinked a couple of times and rubbed her eyes, but the haziness remained. Then, when she started down the stairs, she felt it.

There was a chill in the air, as though it were the middle of winter and a freak cold snap had struck. But the night had been warm enough to leave the windows open, and a single thin blanket had been sufficient. At some point-probably early this morning when the sun began flooding in-she'd kicked that away, too. Yet as she descended the stairs the air grew colder, until, by the time she reached the first floor, gooseflesh was creeping over her skin.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs. The haze had thickened, and though she smelled nothing unusual, the atmosphere seemed heavy and hard to breathe.

Fumes of some kind?

That must be it-Ted must be painting, or cleaning something, or-

Molly!

Where was Molly? If she were breathing these fumes-

Janet quickened her step, moving out of the entry hall into the dining room, hurrying toward the kitchen. Then something caught her eye, and turning, she stared at the mural on the wall, the mural she'd been working on only last night.

The marble tile of the terrace she had so carefully textured, so you might expect it to be smooth and cold to the touch, looked old and stained.

The balustrade appeared chipped and battered.

And beyond the balustrade, the garden she'd created, painstakingly drawing and coloring every leaf and blossom, had died.

The leaves were gone, only bare limbs and twigs remaining. Even the silvery glow of moonlight had been mottled, and the sky was tinged with green as if a terrible storm were about to break.

It wasn't possible, she thought. No one could have repainted the whole wall during the few hours she'd been asleep!

That was it! It
had
to be.

She must still be asleep, and this was a nightmare from which she'd awaken in a minute or two. She'd be back in her bed, and it would take a few seconds before she realized that her work-the best work she'd ever done-had not really been ruined.

But she didn't awaken.

Instead, the mural itself seemed to come to life. The clouds in the sky darkened, and then the branches of the trees began to move, bending forward, reaching, their twigs stretching like skeletal fingers, straining toward her. Then talons appeared at the ends of the twigs, and as one of the branches lashed toward her, Janet reflexively turned away, stumbling toward the kitchen.

Then she heard it.

A soft cry, muffled, almost inaudible.

She stopped short, one hand on the kitchen door, listening.

It came again.

A baby?

Molly?

Pushing the door open, she strode into the kitchen, her eyes going to Molly's playpen, over in the corner, safely away from the stove.

Empty!

Her mind raced. The car was outside, so Ted hadn't gone somewhere and taken Molly with him. Where was
she?
Where was
he?

The carriage house?

No! The cry she'd heard-and now she was almost certain it had been Molly-had come from somewhere inside the house! Turning away from the back door, she went back to the dining room.

The sound she heard this time was so low it was almost inaudible. Janet held her breath, wishing there were some way to silence the pounding of her own heart.

There!

A low, throbbing sound, so low she wasn't quite certain whether she'd heard it or simply
felt
it. It could have come from the floor itself, up through her feet and body, and only then into her consciousness.

The basement.

It was coming from the basement.

As she pulled the door to the basement open, she heard the muffled cry of the baby again. But it was much clearer now. She groped for the light switch. Flipped it.

"Molly?"

No answer.

"Molly!" Then: "Ted? Are you down there?"

There was still no answer, and she started down the steep flight of stairs.

As she did, the cold deepened, its icy grip closing around her.

As a thick haze appeared out of nowhere, the glare of the naked bulb that lit the stairs was muted to a pallid silver glow that barely held the shadows at bay. The bulb itself appeared to be suspended in nothing but the gathering mist.

The throbbing sound was louder with every step she took, but so also was the sound of the crying baby.

Nor was there any longer any question that the bawling child was Molly.

Janet came at last to the bottom of the stairs, and the closed door to Jared's room. The pulsing rhythm was all around her now, drowning out even the pounding of her heart, but still she could hear Molly crying out. She put her hand on the doorknob to Jared's room and paused, a terrible feeling of foreboding passing over her. Suddenly, she wanted to turn away from the closed door, to escape the throbbing beat of the music and the terrible cold.

But she couldn't.

Not until she'd found Molly.

The doorknob was so cold it numbed her fingers, and when she tried to turn it, she thought at first that it might be locked.

Then the knob turned.

The light above her blinked out.

Janet froze in the darkness.

The bulb. It was only the bulb. No one was above her; no one had turned the light out. Yet all around her-everywhere and nowhere-hidden in the darkness, she could feel a presence.

The blackness held her to the spot where she stood like an insect pinned in a display case. She had a terrible sense of being watched, as if some unseen being were above the case, peering down at her as if at some strange species.

A feeling of utter helplessness came over her. The throbbing rhythm grew stronger still. The cold and darkness threatened to strangle her. With every fiber of her being she tried to free herself so she could flee back up the stairs and escape from the horror that held her in its thrall.

Then, once again, Molly cried out.

This time her voice was filled with terror. In an instant all of Janet's maternal instincts rose within her. Her own fears vanished and she threw off the bonds of the cold and blackness. She pressed against the door.

It opened a crack and a flickering light crept through.

Janet pushed the door harder, and it swung open.

As she saw what lay beyond, a terror beyond anything she'd ever felt before gripped Janet.

She began to scream.

And scream. And scream…

The sound of her name was so faint that at first Kim barely heard it. But then she heard it again: "Kiiiimmm"-the single syllable drawn out as if whoever was calling out to her had almost despaired of her responding. Then, as the cry came a third time, it seemed suddenly sharper.

"Kim? Kim! Kim, can you hear me?"

Hands gently shook her. She opened her eyes and looked up. Three faces loomed above her, but their features were lost in the glare of the bright light behind them. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the light, the faces came into focus.

Sister Clarence. Father Bernard. Father MacNeill.

But where was she? She'd been in the lake, trying to save Jared, but-

She tried to sit up, but Sister Clarence's hand held her back.

"It's all right, Kim. Don't try to get up. Just try to tell us what happened."

"Jared!" Kim blurted. "He needs me! He's-" But then, before she finished the sentence, her mind began to clear. "Molly!" she cried out. She pressed her hands against her eyes and shook her head as if trying to deny even the memory of what she'd seen. "They cut her up! They cut her up, and put her in jars, and-" Now her sobbing did overtake her, and a moment later she felt Sister Clarence's arms go around her. The nun's hand gently stroked her hair.

"It's all right, Kim. We're here. Nothing's going to happen to you. Just try to tell us what you saw."

A kaleidoscope of images was tumbling through her mind, and she instinctively clutched at the tiny golden cross her aunt had given her. "What is it?" she whispered. "What's happening to Jared? He-"

"Hush, child," Sister Clarence soothed. "You're safe with us. Everything will be all right." But even as the nun spoke, Kim knew that Sister Clarence didn't believe her own words.

"Just tell us," Father MacNeill told her. "Don't worry if none of it makes sense. But you have to tell us everything."

Kim's voice choked as a sob rose in her throat. "Mommy says it's just dreams, and-" She broke off again, remembering the terrible scene of Sandy and Luke making love in front of the candlelit altar. "I can't," she whispered. "It's… it's…"

"I know," Father MacNeill said. He reached out and laid his fingers on her forehead, as if baptizing her. "But no matter how terrible it seems to you, you can tell us. You can tell us. You can trust us."

As the priest's cool fingers continued to stroke her brow, Kim felt the terror inside her begin to lose its grip. Slowly, she began relating all the nightmares she'd had since she and her family moved into the old house on the edge of the town. She told them about Muffin's disappearance, then Scout's, and about the humiliation of Sandy spitting at her. "And then later this morning," she concluded, her voice breaking as she choked back her tears, "I-I thought-oh, God, I thought Jared and my father were killing my baby sister!" Her eyes fixed on Father MacNeill. "I was in the biology lab, and I saw-"

She faltered as another sob threatened to choke her, then went on. "I saw Molly. She was all cut up, and they'd put her into jars of-of-" She gazed beseechingly at the priest. "What is it, Father? What is it?"

Instead of answering Kim's question, Father MacNeill's hand covered Kim's as she clutched the cross. "Where did this come from?" he asked.

Kim frowned. "M-My aunt," she said uncertainly. "Aunt Cora gave it to me just before she died."

The priest nodded. "And there's another one, isn't there?" he asked.

Kim started to shake her head, but then the scene in her aunt's room at the Willows came back to her, and she nodded. "It was for Molly," she breathed. "My mother took it."

Now Father MacNeill took both of Kim's hands in his own and looked into her eyes. "I want you to think carefully," he said. "Did your mother put the cross on Molly?"

Kim shook her head. "She said she'd keep it until Molly got older."

"But it's in the house?" Father MacNeill pressed.

Kim nodded. "It's probably in Mom's jewelry box."

"And just now you heard Jared calling you, is that right?"

Once again Kim nodded. "But it wasn't really him, was it?" she said. "I mean, wasn't it you who was calling my name, trying to wake me up?"

The priest's hands tightened on Kim's. He looked straight into her eyes. "I'm going to tell you something, Kim." The timbre of his voice brought all of Kim's terrors flooding back as the priest continued to squeeze her hands. "You have to be strong, Kim," he went on. "Can you do that?"

Kim hesitated, then forced herself to nod.

"They weren't dreams, Kim," Father MacNeill said. "None of it. Everything you saw-everything you thought you dreamed-really happened. All of it."