Wolf Moon Rising (14 page)

the fl ashlight into the mud. He stopped and waited, listening to

the sound of his own breathing, and he could hear his heart

beating in his ears.

Th

en he felt two hands press fi rmly on his back.

“Hey!” He wheeled about, fl ailing at the air and cursing,

thinking it would be Willie come to play a joke on him for

sneaking into this place after dark. But he only stared wildly into empty space.

Who was that? Did he imagine it? Th

at was when he

thought he heard gunshots again, but surely that was not pos-

sible; what he did see was a coyote that loped across the back of

the deck, ran up the side of the pool, and trotted out the door.

What the hell was an animal like that doing in here?

He walked to the opening and looked out, but the coyote

had disappeared. Th

e snow was falling in the moonlight, and

every fl ake was a tiny pinpoint of white whirling in a gyre. Once

again he heard the howling, a long agonized wail that ended in

a low rumble, the cry of an animal in great pain. And what was

that? Were those screams? Coming from where? From inside

the pool?

He turned back again, walked to the edge, and looked down.

It was empty of life.

But then he felt the hands again, this time pushing harder.

“What the—” He whirled, then teetered at the edge, his

arms pinwheeling, and his toes barely clinging to the coping.

When his head fell back he could see the moon quite clearly,

piercing the roof like a stage spotlight. He fell with a cry,

crashed into the wet leaves, and struck his head on the bottom

of the pool.

He did not know how long he lay there, half awake, half

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dreaming, listening to the mournful howls, at fi rst far away,

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then closer, fi lling his ears with melancholy moans, until he

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woke up with his head throbbing and realized the moans were

his own.

He saw a face, Jackie’s face, leaning over him with a startled

expression; her pale eyes glowed, and her dark hair fell across

his cheeks. She whispered something he could not understand,

and he struggled to hear her and to answer her before the howl-

ing began again, closer now, and sulking shapes glided along

the edge of the pool, with bared teeth and bloodshot eyes,

“David! David, are you in there?”

He lay frozen, his heart beating in his ears. His clothes

were damp, and he could not feel his feet.

“David?”

He tried to answer, but he was too weak to make a sound

until he recognized her voice. How had she found him? He had

not told her where he was going.

“Jackie—”

“David?”

Struggling to his feet, he slogged through the debris to the

shallow end, and managed to pull himself out of the pool. He

tried to clear his thoughts but he could barely see from his head

spinning.

“Here . . .”

“David? Is that you?”

Jackie’s small shape appeared at the door. As soon as she

saw him she came running, and she was panting as she reached

for his sleeve in the dark.

“David, it’s Barnabas. Something has happened. You must

come help me!”

“Why? What is it?” Something about her seemed creepy,

like she wasn’t real. But he could feel her tugging at his jacket.

What was that thing that had pushed him? Was it still in here?

Groggy, he wondered again how she had found him here at the

swimming pool.

She grabbed his arm and shook it, shouting, “Come on.

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Hurry.”

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Lara Parker

His lips were thick. “What happened?”

“He . . . it’s . . . I think it’s my fault. I think he was attacked by coyotes.” Her voice was edged with hysteria.

“Attacked? But how?” His head was clearing. She was talk-

ing about Barnabas. He wondered how she knew his cousin.

“Oh, David, just come with me. He’s hurt. Bleeding badly.”

She was crying, fl esh and blood now, and fi nally he believed she

was real. “Please help me. I have to get him back to the Old

House.”

She tugged him toward the door, and he followed limping,

again wondering when she had met Barnabas and what he was

doing at the Old House. His hands were numb and when he

reached up to check, he could feel a lump forming on the back

of his head. But he stumbled by her side, stopping to pull the

snowmobile out of the snow and set it on the path.

“Climb on,” he said, and helped her up on the back seat. He

had wrenched something in his shoulder, and he shrugged to

ease the pain. She balanced there as he adjusted his weight against her spooned behind him. Jerking the start cord, he thanked his

lucky stars that he had fi xed it earlier as the engine spun right up.

He gunned it furiously to get it moving and warm himself at the

same time.

After they took off down the road, the headlight playing in

the tracks he had left earlier, the pain subsided somewhat, and the skis cut a path through fresh snow. He asked everything of himself, ducking behind the windshield, pushing in on the throttle,

digging for speed, with the engine whining like a hungry beast.

Th

e snow had stopped falling; the moon lit the path as if it were

daylight. Th

e sky was like lace, and the trees were dancing.

Jackie’s hands gripped him from behind as they were jostled

together, her hair whipped around in his face, and he could

smell its fragrance of musky woods and pine. Although he was

chilled from his damp clothes, he was infl amed by her desperate

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need, and a great rush of excitement fl ooded through him along

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with a reckless yearning to be her hero at last.

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S e v e n

They rode along the sea road until they reached the Old

House, and then abandoned the sled in a drift. Th

ey were

like lost children, Hansel and Gretel in the forest, as they

searched the woods with only the light of the moon and the

feeble beam from David’s fl ashlight. Jackie clung to his arm, and

she held so tightly that her fi ngers dug into his fl esh, but though it became uncomfortable, he did not pry her hand loose. Th

e

longer they walked, the more anxious she became, breathing

hard and whimpering faintly.

First they found the spot where some sort of scuffl

e had

taken place, the snow disturbed and fl attened with several red

splotches. And then they saw him. Barnabas had crawled a few

yards toward the back door of Old House and collapsed, his

body a black hump frosted with white.

Shouting, “Barnabas!” David ran to him, reached down, and

pulled back the cloak, and Jackie gasped when she saw the deep

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gashes, blood spilled on the snow, so much blood, as though his

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Lara Parker

whole body had emptied. His breathing was shallow, and he was

unconscious.

David leaned over. “Barnabas? Can you hear me?” Th

ere was

no response.

Jackie’s face was a white mask, and she looked like a terrifi ed

child, her eyes wide with dread. David’s heart sank in his chest.

Th

is was too much for them to handle alone. She whispered,

“How bad is he?”

“I don’t know. Did you try to move him?” She shook her

head.

David looked for a pulse, but the blood on Barnabas’s neck

made his stomach convulse as he probed around. Finally, he felt

a fl utter. “I got it,” he said. “I think a heartbeat.” He felt like a bumbling paramedic who knew nothing he was supposed to

know. He placed a hand under Barnabas’s head.

“Could we lift him?” she asked.

David spread out his jacket, and they made a clumsy attempt

to roll him onto it, but his weight was too great for them both.

Th

ey tried to drag him, and then, when they tugged on him

again, he moaned, reaching out with one arm. Th

ey stopped,

waiting. It was hard to look at him, he seemed so badly wounded,

and then he groaned again and tried to say something.

“Cousin Barnabas? Can you hear me?”

“Yes . . . David . . . help me to stand . . .”

With great eff ort, the two teenagers pulled him to his feet,

and, supporting his weight, managed to stumble toward the

Old House.

He muttered something, “. . . the basement . . .”

“Why does he want to go there?” said David.

At fi rst Jackie didn’t answer, breathing hard from the load,

but then she managed in a low voice, “I think it’s better if my

mom doesn’t see him.”

“Why?”

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“Oh . . . I tried to talk to her earlier, but she was in bed. I

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Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

told her Barnabas was hurt and she just turned her face to the

wall. She’s probably hung over.”

“Let’s get him in a warm place and then call the doctor.”

Barnabas lifted his head. “No— No doctor—”

“But, Barnabas,” David said, “you’re badly hurt. You have to

go to the hospital.”

“Please . . . no . . . take me inside . . .”

Th

e stair behind the kitchen were treacherous, but David

shouldered Barnabas’s weight, grimacing as the bloody shirt

and cloak rubbed against his body. When they reached the

basement, Jackie reached up and turned on an overhead bulb.

Barnabas revived a little and looked around. His face was a

mass of bloody wounds.

“Over there . . . ,” he muttered, and looked toward a gloomy

area beneath the stair where boxes and cleaning supplies were

stored. A casket stood against the brick wall in the back of the

cellar, covered with dust. “Th

ere . . .”

Jackie and David looked at each other, neither wanting to

admit their surprise.

“Why does he want to go there?” asked David, but Jackie

had grown silent, a stricken look in her eyes. Th

en she whis-

pered, a catch in her voice, “Perhaps he thinks he is about to die.”

“He must be in shock, incoherent. We need to call an am-

bulance.”

With a quivering hand, Barnabas reached for David’s jacket

and grabbed the collar, dragging him down, crying out, “No!

Tell no one! Do you hear me?”

David could hardly bear to look into Barnabas’s eyes, ringed

with red and pulsing with rage, but then the man released his

grip and fell back. Th

e weight being too much, David let Barn-

abas slip to the fl oor, and the wounded man closed his eyes with

a gurgling sigh. Suspicions long suppressed materialized in Da-

vid’s thoughts when he saw the pallor on Barnabas’s skin and the

extent of his injuries, a deep gash in his cheek, scratches across

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Lara Parker

his forehead, one eye swollen shut and his white cravat soaked

with blood. How could he survive such wounds? His clothes

prevented any inspection of his body but the presence of wet

blood on the jacket suggested serious cuts. Barnabas would die

if they didn’t get help, unless he was somehow . . . not human.

David felt prickles on the back of his neck.

“Barnabas, we must get you to a doctor,” he insisted. “I . . .

think, I mean I’m sure . . . I can drive the Bentley, take you to

the hospital—”

“No, no doctors— it’s not possible. Please, let me be. Re-

spect my wishes.”

“Let’s take him over there,” said Jackie. “It’s what he wants.”

David watched as Jackie, still silent and sensing something,

crossed the fl oor to the casket and, with an eff ort, lifted the lid.

Th

e interior was plush and lined with red satin. David had never

seen the casket before. He did not want to think about what it

might mean.

“You’re not thinking . . . ,” he said. “Is it his casket?”

She nodded, biting her lip, and then shivered, her dark eyes

grave.

Again, Barnabas moaned and then called out, “Julia . . . ,”

and David realized that it had been many days since he had seen

Dr. Hoff man. He had thought she was away. He could fi nd her

and tell her Barnabas needed her help.

“I’ll go back to Collinwood and look for Dr. Hoff man,” he

said, starting for the stair, but then he turned back to the girl,

afraid to leave her alone. Her anxiety was painful to him, her

sadness deeply disturbing. He wanted to hold her, to console her,

but he was afraid of her strange mood. She radiated a charge that

was forbidding and made him feel helpless. Finally, he made up

his mind to return to Collinwood and tell Willie what had hap-

pened. As Barnabas’s servant, Willie could keep watch through

the night.

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“Jackie,” he said, “I’m going for help. You should leave him