The Devil's Heart

MONDAY AFTERNOON

While Sam carefully inspected the two backpacks he had put together, and oiled and cleaned the .45 pistol and the old Thompson SMG, Nydia went unmolested to the kitchen, where she put together enough food to last them several days, carrying it back to their rooms. She encountered several people on the trips, but they ignored her, not looking at or speaking to her. She felt like a stranger in a strange land, unable to speak the language, and fearful of the inhabitants. She saw Jimmy Perkins, and he openly leered at her, rubbing his crotch as she passed him. She kept her eyes straight ahead.

She saw Mac in the study, speaking with Black and Falcon. The look she received from the young man was not friendly, and she suspected he had been swayed into accepting the Other Side. When she returned from the kitchen, she saw Vicky sitting on Mac's lap, the young man openly fondling her bare breasts, and she knew her suspicions were correct. She did not know how he had been so easily converted, only that he had.

Sam did not seem surprised at the news. "Mac's weak," he said. "And he hasn't made many friends at school. The others told me he was a jack-off artist; couldn't get a date with anyone. That's probably one of the reasons Black invited him up here; knew he'd be an easy convert."

"Then we're alone, except for Linda, and I don't like her," Nydia said. "Jack-off artist, Sam? That's sad."

He shrugged. "Nydia, what is it between you and Linda?"

She shook her head. "I … hope I'm wrong about her—the way I feel. But I don't know."

"Come:on, Nydia: the truth. Why don't you like her?"

She smiled, an obvious effort on her part. "You're thinking I'm jealous . . . and in part, you're right. But only a very small part is jealousy, Sam. Hear me out," she raised a hand as he started to interrupt. "It's time. You remember on the way up here, that first day, the three of us? I told you I knew more about you than you thought? Well, Linda was my source of information. For the first few weeks of school, we roomed together."

"Sure, now I remember: Black had a few dates with her."

"My brother, in his eloquent manner of speaking, told me Linda didn't put out. That's why he stopped dating her. But he told her enough about you to get her interested, and she talked about you almost nonstop; almost as if she were desperate to get with you. I had to get out,.move into a different room. But that's not the main reason, Sam. I don't trust her. I think she's one of … them," she averted her eyes to the door. "And they don't know it."

"I … don't follow you, honey."

"All right, then hear this; tell me what it means: There is a … peculiar mark on Linda's chest, just under her left breast. She saw me looking at it and told me it was a birthmark. But that's no birthmark, Sam. I've seen others like it, on people visiting here at Falcon House. One time that same mark was on all the people here. I saw it when they were swimming. I sneaked out of my room to a place just off the pool area. I was just a little girl at the time, but I've never forgotten it. They frightened me. I ran back to my room and stayed there the entire time they were here, pretending to be sick."

"What does this mark look like?"

"A five-pointed star."

"Pentagram. I know from watching horror movies that has something to do with black magic, the occult. Why didn't you tell me about this before, Nydia?"

"1 never gave it much thought, Sam. Things were happening so quickly around here it just slipped my mind. Then all of a sudden, the other day, when she was sitting with us at the table, it came to me … like a sixth sense in my head." She sighed, "Maybe I'm paranoid."

"And maybe not," Sam said thoughtfully. "We'll just have to play it by ear while we're getting ready to run."

She came to him and put her arms around his waist. "Hold me, Sam."

She was trembling, and Sam could sense, with the recently acquired powers of perception and silent communication, that the trembling had nothing to do with fear.

"What's the matter, honey? I know something is wrong, but I can't read you."

"Don't ask me how I know, Sam; I've read and heard that some women just sense when they're pregnant. And I'm pregnant. I know it."

Sam thought, forgetting that she could read his thoughts, I wonder if the baby belongs to me, or to Falcon?

"That's the problem, Sam. I don't know!"

* * *

"You are to remain close to Sam Balon King," the burning voice scorched into the brain of the receiver. "If all fails here, and he dies, then your only mission in life will be to stay with Nydia and make certain of the well-being of the child growing within her womb. Accept whatever comes your way, be it feigned faith in their God, or the life of poverty or prostitution, only the child's welfare is important—do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," her voice was full of strength and awe.

"You are a good actress. Your show to date has been superb. I compliment you."

"Thank you, Master. It was all for you."

"Don't become gushy, bitch! I cannot tolerate such behavior. You are a woman, your only purpose in life is to fuck; receiving maleness in whatever hole they choose to stick it in. Don't forget what I told you."

"I shall not, Master."

"For your sake, I hope not. Now go to them."

"Sam? Nydia?" the knock on the closed door as timid as the voice.

Nydia looked at Sam. "Your sweetie, darling," she said, her voice as warming as an arctic breeze in the dead of winter.

"Retract claws, dear," Sam told her. "We don't know anything for certain."

"I know one thing for sure. No … make that two things."

"And that is … ?"

"She's got the hots for you, and if she tries to come on, I'll snatch her bald-headed."

Sam nodded his head as he moved toward the door, remembering Nydia's right cross in the den. He opened the door cautiously, tensely, expecting anything to come leaping at him. But Linda stood there, looking pale and frightened and really, Sam thought, real pretty.

"I read that!" Nydia projected.

Damn! "Come in, Linda." He closed the door behind her.

"Wow," she said. "What happened to your face?"

"Little accident," Sam said, not really lying to her. "Tell you about it later."

"I … uh … just wanted to be with you guys for a few minutes, that's all. Maybe have dinner with you all this evening, if that's okay?"

"Of course," Nydia answered for the both of them, thinking, Where would you like to start eating—on Sam?

"And I read that, honey."

"You're going to read a lot more before this evening is over."

"You guys went off somewhere this morning," Linda said. "I got a little panicky."

Nydia was hammering mental thrusts at Linda, attempting to enter her mind. She could not. Her attitude softened a bit toward the young woman, as she detected truth in her statements. Still, there was something about her . . . some little vagueness Nydia could not pinpoint.

"We went for a walk in the timber," Sam said.

And got married, Nydia thought. So hands off, babe! And, she mentally tallied up the events of the past! twenty-four hours, where were you when I was getting raped by Falcon's baseball bat.

"It's not that big," Sam projected.

"It wasn't sticking in you, dear."

"True. Thank God."

Linda said, "I don't know what's been the matter with me lately.. I sleep so soundly … even when I lie down just to nap. I've never done that before . . . sleep so much, I mean."

"It's the cold clean air," Sam suggested.

Linda solemnly shook her head. "No, Sam. It's much more than that. And I think you two know it. This place is weird! No offense, Nydia, but it's true—it is. I'd like to go back to Carrington. Would one of you take me?"

Sam sighed, cutting his eyes to Nydia. She shrugged. "Sit down, Linda," he said. "I guess we'd better talk."

Jane Ann stood at her picture window, gazing out at the quiet street. It was ominously silent in Whitfield. For a time there had been the faint sounds of hammering. Now that was gone.

Jane Ann looked down at her hands and was reminded of a TV commercial: Hands of a twenty year old, she smiled. But not for long. That hammering was meant for me. They wanted me to hear it. She again looked at her hands. It's going to hurt when they drive the nails.

The mist that was Balon hovered silently, watching Jane Ann, knowing every thought in her mind and unable to help, for what she was thinking was true. And if a being from the Other Side could sigh, Balon did, knowing she would have to endure almost unbearable pain for a time … before he could step in to end it. She would be humiliated, sexually assaulted, tortured … tested. Only then could he end it. And after Balon did that, He would really end it, and Whitfield would be no more.

Miles and Doris, Wade and Anita sat in the growing darkness of the living room, discussing the Bible. They knew they should turn on some lights, but they did not want to break the feeling of closeness they were sharing.

"Let's pray for Jane Ann," Wade suggested.

The Clay Man sat motionless on the porch steps, knowing his short time in a form resembling human conformation was ticking away. The golem knew degrees of the human emotion, picking them up from osmosis. He rather liked these humans he protected, but he had no desire to be like them. He did wonder what would happen to him when it was his time to return to the earth. Would he still be aware of his surroundings? He didn't know. Then, that thought was pushed from him with such swiftness the golem was not aware of ever possessing it.

You are all things, he was told. And will always be such.

And the Clay Man was at peace with himself, feeling new strength enter his form.

Just outside of town, the Beasts had gathered to feast on the bodies of those who had died in Whitfield. They snarled and growled and ripped the dead meat from the bones, stuffing their fanged mouths as the drool dripped from their jaws, leaking in slimy ribbons to foul the ground. The males found a human female among the piles of bodies, a female who had only pretended to be dead, who was suffering from only minor injuries. And as was their custom, they dragged her screaming to the oldest male among them, the leader.

Her shrieks as they tore the clothing from her changed to wails of pure terror as the big male pushed her to her bare knees and mounted her under the cool moonlight of western fall. When the oldest male had finished, the other males, according to age and rank in the pecking order of things, took their turn with the woman, each biting her on the neck as they lunged deep within her.

Within hours her body would be covered with thick, course hair, her face would change, the jaw enlarging, and she would be as them. She would be able only to mumble and snarl and growl, and the Beasts would understand her, and she them. She would not remember worshiping of the God she thought she was deceiving as she prayed and lied.

And she would be happy in her new form.

In another part of Fork County, Jake rubbed his crotch and thought of Jane Ann. Jean had told him, since he was largest of the men, in one particular department, certainly not mentally, he could have Jane Ann first—in any fashion Jake chose. Just make the prissy little bitch holler. Jake grinned. He figured he could damn sure do that, all right.

Jean came to him in the night, opening her shirt so he could fondle her breasts, pinch the nipples in play-pain.

"You want me to suck you off, Jake?"

"Yeah," he dropped his filth-encrusted jeans to the ground, around his boots. "Yeah, you do that."

And she kneeled between his naked legs.

Nothing came close to Whitfield; no cars or trucks traveled the single ribbon of highway to or from the small damned community. There were no birds, except for the scavenger and carrion type, which wheeled and circled and called. Any animal that could leave the area, had left, a precognition in their tiny brains telling them to stay would mean death.

It was as if the physical elements that made up the town of Whitfield: the brick, the stone, the mortar, the timber, had but one single thought: they were going to be destroyed.

Soon.