Darkness

19

Clarey Lambert waited, her eyes closed, her mind turned inward to focus on the children. They were close now — she could feel Kelly and Jonas drawing near, sense that Michael was not far behind. Clarey was tired — it had been hours since she’d first sensed Kelly’s presence in the swamp, knowing instantly that the girl was alone and frightened. She’d tried to reach out to Kelly, tried to show her the way back, but Kelly’s mind, confused, had stayed just beyond her reach, and the best she’d been able to do was steer the child out of danger, keeping her away from the worst of the quicksand and sink holes that lay like traps, concealed by rings of apparently sheltering trees, inviting the unwary.

Then the cottonmouth had appeared, and she’d had to struggle against Kelly’s urge to run from the snake, finally seizing control of her mind, willing the girl not to move. But in the end she’d succeeded, at last searching for Jonas and guiding him through the swamp, sending him ever closer to Kelly.

Now they were only a few hundred yards from her house, and she finally let herself relax. She opened her eyes, blinking in the soft glow of the lantern light that filled the room, and pushed herself out of her chair.

She felt every year of her age tonight, and wondered how much longer she would be able to stay alive, how much longer she would be able to keep her vigil over the children.

Of course the Dark Man had promised that she could live forever, but she had refused the elixir he offered, disbelieving his promises.

The Dark Man had promised her the fountain of youth so many years ago.

Now she was old, and he was still young.

Young, because of what he stole from the children of the swamp.

She didn’t pretend to understand all of it, but knew well enough what the needles inserted in the chests of the babies were for.

“It’s only a little blood,” he’d told her. “It doesn’t hurt the children at all.”

Clarey knew better. What he was stealing from the children was not just their blood, but their youth.

Their youth, and their very souls, as well.

She knew — she’d watched them grow up, seen their empty eyes, watched them follow the Dark Man’s will, doing whatever he told them to do. No, it wasn’t merely blood he took from them.

It was the essence of their being, delivered to the men of Villejeune.

The men who paid the Dark Man, and did his bidding.

The men who should have died years ago, and were living on the youth of their own children.

The men she’d come to hate almost as much as she hated the Dark Man himself.

• • •

Kelly gazed up at the old woman who stood on the porch. The woman’s face was lost in shadows, yet despite the darkness, Kelly still felt a deep certainty that she knew this woman.

“Come up, child,” Clarey said, her voice rough with age. Kelly rose shakily and climbed up the ladder that led from the bayou’s surface up onto the porch six feet above. The woman turned toward her, and lamplight from the open door flooded onto her face.

Kelly gasped.

The skin of the woman’s face, dry as parchment, hung in deep wrinkles, and her thin hair was drawn back in a knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a black dress that hung loosely over her bony frame, and when she reached out toward Kelly, her hands, with their swollen knuckles and crooked fingers, had the look of a crow’s claws.

But though the hands and face of the woman were as grotesquely distorted with age as the image Kelly had seen so often in her dreams and her mirror, there was something in the crone’s eyes that instantly quelled the wave of fear that had risen inside her.

These eyes had no cruelty to them at all, gazing out of their deep sockets with a warm compassion that made Kelly want to put herself into the woman’s arms and be held by her.

“Come, my dear,” Clarey said softly, both her arms extended now. “Come and let me hold you again.”

Silently, Kelly moved to the old woman. As Clarey’s arms closed around her, she felt a sense of well-being come over her.

“So pretty,” Clarey crooned softly, her shriveled fingers gently stroking Kelly’s hair. “Always the prettiest. Always the sweetest.”

Kelly stood still, resting her head against Clarey’s withered breast, hearing the old woman’s heart beat softly within.

Again that strange sense of familiarity passed over her, as though this woman had held her before.

The low throbbing of an outboard sounded in the darkness, and then a second boat appeared. Its occupant cut the engine almost as soon as it came into view, and a moment later the craft drifted up to the house.

Jonas silently took the bow line from Michael, fastening it to one of the pilings. The two boys climbed up the ladder, and as they stepped onto the porch, Clarey released Kelly from her embrace, took her hand and led her into the house.

Michael and Jonas followed.

Clarey closed the door when they were all inside, then turned the lantern up so that its bright glow washed the shadows from the room. She turned and smiled at Kelly.

“Do you remember my little house?”

Kelly gazed curiously around the single room, which held a coal-burning stove in one corner, a sink and cupboard against the back wall, and a sagging bed in the corner opposite the stove. At the foot of the bed there was an old-fashioned iron bathtub, barely large enough for a single person to crouch in. There was a worn sofa against one of the walls, and a rocking chair sitting close to the stove. A braided rug, little more than a rag, covered the floor.

Never had she seen anything like the tiny house, and yet, like the woman herself, it seemed strangely familiar.

“I–I don’t know,” she faltered.

“Come here, child,” Clarey said, leading Kelly to the sink. She worked the handle of a pump, and water spurted into the sink. Taking a washcloth from a hook at the counter’s edge, she put it into Kelly’s hands. “You’ll be even prettier with the mud gone from your face.”

Kelly gazed into the cracked mirror above the sink. Her face was smeared with mud and slime, and her hair was caked with it as well. She bent over, putting her head beneath the pump’s spout, then began working the handle, letting the water gush over her, washing away the grime from the swamp. At last she used the washcloth to wipe away the last flecks from her face, then groped for the towel that hung from the same hook from which Clarey had taken the washcloth. Wrapping the towel around her hair, she straightened up.

In the mirror, she saw the image of the ancient being who had haunted her all her life. She gasped, but then heard the old woman’s gentle laughter.

“It’s all right,” Clarey told her. “It’s not him. It’s only me. Only Clarey.”

Kelly felt the blood drain from her face, and turned to face the old woman. “H-How do you know about him?”

Clarey smiled, revealing worn teeth. “Now, never you mind how I know. There’s lots I know.” Her eyes fixed on Kelly. “Do you want me to tell you who you be?”

Kelly said nothing, watching the old woman mutely.

“He stolt you,” Clarey told her. “The Dark Man stolt you from your mama, and brung you to me before you was even a day old. Then he took you away ag’in, and said you wouldn’t never be back, that he were lettin’ you go.” Her chin quivered and a tear ran down her cheek. “But it were too late, wam’t it?” she asked. “He’d already took your soul, an’ I couldn’t give it back to you.”

Kelly’s eyes darted toward Michael, who was listening raptly. “That’s what’s wrong with us, isn’t it?” he asked softly. “That’s why we never feel like other people.”

Clarey nodded. “It’s what he takes from you. He says it ain’t true, but I know it is. It’s how you feel, ain’t it? Like you’re dead?”

“It’s always been that way,” Kelly breathed. “Ever since I was a little girl. I–I thought I was crazy—”

“Hush,” Clarey told her. “Don’t you go thinkin’ that. It ain’t you that’s crazy — it’s him! And now it’s time to stop it, if’n we can.”

She began talking, her voice droning softly in the night. “I know who they be, all of ’em.” Her eyes came to rest on Kelly once again. “And that’s why you come back. He said you wouldn’t never come back, but he was wrong. You did come back, and now it’s time.”

Michael’s brows knit. “Time?” he echoed. “Time for what?”

Clarey Lambert’s voice hardened. “Time to end it. It’s time to take your souls back from thems as stole ’em.”

There was a long silence in the room, and then Michael spoke, his voice barely audible. “Did the Dark Man bring me to you, too?”

Clarey’s eyes turned to twin fragments of glittering stone. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “He brung you to me. But I know’d he wouldn’t keep you in the swamp.” There was a heavy silence, and Michael sensed what she was about to say even before she spoke the words. “He’s your papa,” she finally said. “You be the Dark Man’s son.”

• • •

Outside, Amelie Coulton carefully dipped her oars into the water and silently pulled her boat away from Clarey Lambert’s house. She’d heard it all, listened to everything Clarey had said.

And now she knew.

Her baby hadn’t died at all.

Hers, and who else’s?

But who could she tell?

Who would believe her?

• • •

Craig Sheffield glanced at his watch. It was almost four in the morning, and not only Kelly Anderson, but now Michael, too, seemed to have been swallowed up by the swamp. Until an hour ago he’d maintained the hope that if he went just a little farther, rounded one more bend, circled one more of the endless tiny islands, he would come upon Michael’s boat and find that nothing more serious than an empty gas tank had befallen his son.

But hope had finally begun to drain away, and though he kept on searching, he felt as if his mind had been dulled by the long night. He still stopped every few yards, cut the engine, and listened for the sound of a motor puttering in the distance.

But there was nothing. Nothing except the endless droning of the insects, a droning he’d long since stopped hearing, except when he wanted to hear the sound of Kelly’s voice, or Michael’s boat.

Then the night sounds seemed to rise to a deafening level, drowning out anything else that might be there.

He rounded another curve and cut the engine yet again. A hundred feet away he could see the glowing green light of Carl Anderson’s starboard lamp, and farther away he could make out the white stern light of one of the other boats that had lingered in the swamp, its occupant refusing to give up until the sun rose and brought with it the searchers that Tim Kitteridge had promised. But all of them were as tired as Craig himself was now, and he wondered if perhaps, unknowingly, they’d passed Kelly by, her own calls drowned out by the engines of the boats and the eternal insects.

The Bayliner drifted to a stop, and Craig sat behind the wheel, listening. The moon had risen high in the sky now, its reflection glimmering on the surface of the water. Every now and then Craig could see the glowing eyes of nocturnal animals, foraging for food, pausing in their hunt to stare at him.

Once, half an hour ago, a screech had rent the night and the insects had gone suddenly silent. A chill had passed through Craig, but whatever had been attacked in the darkness made no more sounds, and soon the insects had resumed their endless song.

Now, though, as he sat in the darkness, a new song came to him.

Barely audible at first, it grew steadily louder.

A boat, coming toward him, its engine throbbing in the night.

He waited, unconsciously holding his breath, certain he recognized the unique rhythm of the motor. At last, from out of one of the narrow channels, a shadow appeared, a white froth of wake spreading out behind it.

Craig stood up in the Bayliner, hope surging once more. “Michael? Michael!”

The boat turned, and sped up, and a moment later the little skiff, with Kelly sitting on the center seat and Michael astern next to the engine, pulled alongside. “Dad? Dad, I found her!”

Tears of relief flooded Craig’s eyes and a lump rose in his throat. “You’re okay?” he cried, his voice cracking. “Both of you?”

“We’re fine,” Michael replied.

Craig gaped helplessly at his son, not sure whether to laugh or cry or vent the rage he felt at Michael for going off alone and frightening him so. Bone-tired, he’d been wandering through the swamp for hours, searching for his son, fearing the worst. But now, that didn’t matter. Michael was safe. And he’d found Kelly. Craig reached down to the dash of the Bayliner and began flashing his navigation lights. All around him the other boats turned toward him, moving quickly closer.

“They’re back,” Craig yelled as Carl Anderson’s boat came near. “Michael found Kelly!”

Carl pulled his boat alongside Craig’s and tossed a line to the other man. Michael pulled his boat up to Carl’s.

“Kelly?” Ted Anderson said, his voice shaking. “Honey, are you all right?”

Kelly looked up at her father. “Are you still mad at me?”

Ted took a deep breath, then let it out in a long sigh. “How can I be mad at you? I thought you—” He cut off his words, unwilling to complete the thought. “I’m just glad you’re back. Where did you go? We’ve been hunting for hours.” He held out his hand and helped Kelly move from Michael’s boat into his father’s.

“I got lost,” Kelly told him. “I was just running at first, and then I was afraid to come out. And when I decided to come home, I didn’t know where I was. If Michael hadn’t found me …” Her voice trailed off as she remembered what her father had said about Michael only a few hours before.

But Ted looked down at her, then his arms went around her and he pulled her close.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he said. “Maybe he’s not such a bad kid, after all. The important thing is that you’re both back, and you’re both fine.”

But we’re not fine, Kelly thought silently. Michael’s not fine and I’m not fine. Then she shivered in her father’s arms as Clarey Lambert’s words echoed in her mind.

It’s time to take your souls back from thems as stole ’em.

Only then would they be truly fine again.

• • •

“Listen,” Barbara Sheffield said. “Do you hear something?”

But Mary was already on her feet, moving toward the patio door. Barbara followed her, and as Mary slid the wide glass panel open, they heard the sound of a boat coming along the canal.

“That’s the Bayliner,” Barbara said, her voice vibrant as hope washed away the fear that had been building in her as the long night had worn on. “They must have found them!”

Mary gazed anxiously at Barbara. “Are you sure?”

“It has to be,” Barbara replied. “Craig wouldn’t come back for any other reason.”

They ran across the lawn, coming to the dock just as the three boats pulled up.

“They’re safe!” Barbara cried, tears streaming down her cheeks as she ran out onto the dock. “Michael, what were you thinking of? Do you have any idea of how frightened I’ve been? You promised you’d stay within sight of your father!”

But like Craig’s, Barbara’s brief spate of anger dissolved at the sight of Michael’s grin, and she threw her arms around him, nearly toppling both of them into the water as his skiff shot away from the dock.

“Jeez, Mom! Let me get tied up before you drown both of us!”

A few minutes later they were all in the house, and Mary, seeing Kelly in the bright light of the kitchen, gasped.

Kelly’s clothes were soaked with mud, and her legs, scratched and bleeding, were covered with slime. “Darling, what happened?” she asked.

Kelly looked ruefully down at her ruined clothes, then up at her mother. “I–I guess maybe running away in the swamp in the middle of the night isn’t the best thing I’ve ever done, is it?”

Mary stared at her daughter for a moment, then the tension that had been building in her all night suddenly snapped and she began laughing. “Well, I guess it isn’t,” she said when she finally regained control of herself. “Go dump those clothes in the washer and take a shower, and I’ll get you a robe.” She hurried out of the kitchen, returning a few seconds later with her own favorite bathrobe, which she took to Kelly, who was already in the small bathroom Carl had built behind the kitchen so he wouldn’t have to track mud through the house when he returned from work each afternoon. When she came back, she sank into a chair across from Michael.

“How did you find her?” she asked.

Michael said nothing, knowing there was no way to explain the strange things that had happened to him in the swamp. Indeed, even after listening to Clarey, he. barely understood it himself.

“It don’t matter how it works,” the old woman had told him. “Alls I can tell you is I always know where the children is, and what they’s doin’. And I can call ’em, too, like I called Jonas tonight, and sent him out to get Kelly. And I was talkin’ to you, too, tellin’ you where to go, tellin’ you where to look.” She’d gazed deep into him then. “You think you know the swamp, but you don’t know half of what I know. So don’t you be thinkin’ you can always do anythin’ you want, you hear? I might not always be lookin’ out for you!”

“I–I guess I was just lucky,” he said at last, feeling the eyes of his own parents, and Kelly’s, too, on him. “I sort of pictured where she went into the swamp, and where she’d have had to go. I mean — well, there’s only so many places you can go on foot.”

Finally Kelly came out of the bathroom, her mother’s robe wrapped around her, and joined the group around the table. She tried to tell them everything that had happened, but when she came to the snake, she stopped, shuddering at the memory.

“Kelly?” Mary asked. “What is it?”

“A — A snake,” Kelly stammered. “It was a water moccasin, and it crawled right over my leg.”

Mary stifled a scream.

“What did you do?” Carl Anderson asked.

Kelly looked up at her grandfather. “I didn’t do anything,” she said softly. “I just held still. I didn’t move, and the snake went away.”

Carl’s eyes held on Kelly. She felt her flesh crawl as, just for an instant, a peculiar look came into her grandfather’s eyes. A look that somehow frightened her.

“How did you know to do that?” he asked.

Kelly hesitated for only a split second. “Michael told me,” she said. “Remember? A few days ago, when we went out into the swamp together? He told me that if I ran into a snake, I should hold still. He said it couldn’t see me if I didn’t move.”

Carl’s gaze held hers for a second longer, then he nodded. “He’s right. They can sense you, but they don’t strike at what’s not moving. If something’s not moving, they think it’s dead and they leave it alone.”

Once again Kelly felt her skin crawl, and when she glanced quickly at Michael, she was certain he was having the same feeling.

But neither of them said anything.

Finally Barbara stood up. “I have to go home,” she announced. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to sleep, but at least I can go to bed and try to get some rest. I’ll go up and get Jenny.”

The group in the kitchen moved toward the family room and were just starting out onto the terrace when Barbara, her face ashen, appeared at the top of the stairs.

“She’s not here,” she said, her voice cracking. “Craig, Jenny’s gone!”

The chatter of conversation died as everyone in the room stared at Barbara in stunned silence.