The Right Hand of Evil

CHAPTER 13

Jared?" The sound faded into the silence that surrounded him. At first Jared wasn't really sure he'd heard someone calling his name. But then it came again, faint, barely audible. "Jared!"

His father's voice.

Though he could barely hear it, Jared recognized it immediately, rasping with the anger that was always there, even when his father was sober.

Was he sober now?

Jared couldn't tell.

Then the voice came again, and this time it carried a note of command. "Jared!"

He sounded nearer now, and Jared tensed. His eyes flicked first one way then the other, trying to catch a glimpse of his father. But he saw nothing. Then, as his father called out to him yet again, Jared realized he was lost. But that was crazy-he knew exactly where he was: in the big house in St. Albans, in his room on the second floor. Except now he wasn't. He was in a room-a big room-but there was nothing in it. No furniture, no carpets, nothing hanging on the walls. One of the walls, though, was pierced by two windows. Jared moved close enough to the glass to look out.

Nothing.

It was as if a thick fog had fallen beyond the window, and when he tried to peer into it, his eyes found nothing to focus on. A weird disorientation fell over him, causing him to lose his balance. Staggering, he instinctively reached out to steady himself against the window frame.

His right hand plunged through it, disappearing into the gray morass beyond the boundaries of the room. Jared froze in shock.

He jerked his arm back, and for a single terrible instant thought his hand was gone. But no! It was there, and it didn't hurt, and-

What the hell had happened?

For several long seconds he stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the spot where his hand had disappeared. Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, his hand started moving once again toward the same spot.

"No!"

The word jabbed his consciousness like the stinger of a hornet, and Jared jerked back to life. He sprung around, certain his father was standing right behind him. The room was still empty.

He whirled around again. Now the gray fog beyond the window had vanished. Instead there was a blackness that seemed to go on for all eternity. But it was a blackness that was not empty.

As he gazed into it, his heart pounding, he felt something reaching out to him.

Something that wanted to touch his soul.

A strangled cry rising in his throat, Jared backed away from the window, then turned and fled through the room's single door.

He found himself in a corridor, a long, broad passage that seemed to stretch on forever in both directions. He looked one way, then the other. Which way should he go? Panic began to rise in him. One way looked exactly like the other.

But he had to make up his mi-

He stopped.

Something was close to him. Very close.

He held his breath, listening.

Silence.

Yet it was there. He could feel it; it was edging closer.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a shiver passed through him.

Behind him! It was behind him, and now he could almost feel its touch.

If it touched him, he would die.

Die, and disappear forever into the terrible blackness he'd glimpsed beyond the window.

Then, once more, he heard his father calling to him. This time Jared followed the voice, racing down the hall, for a moment certain he'd escaped.

Then he felt it again. Still there-the unseen thing that had emerged from the darkness beyond the window crept across the room and reached out to him.

It was behind him again.

He tried to run faster, but no matter how fast he ran, or how far, the passageway stretched endlessly away. Then it forked, and forked again, and again Jared felt a surge of hope. He turned and started down a new corridor. Abruptly, out of nowhere, his way was blocked.

Sister Clarence, pointing at him accusingly, her eyes flashing with daggers of fury.

Turning back, Jared ran in the other direction.

But this time Father MacNeill blocked his path, screaming curses at him and holding a crucifix high, as if trying to ward off the Devil himself.

He whirled again, but now a huge black man, grinning wickedly at him, reached out to grasp his throat. Once more Jared spun away and ran. He dodged in one direction or another, but everywhere he turned the nun was waiting for him, or the priest, or the black man who wanted to strangle him.

Then, once more, he heard his father's voice. "This way! Come this way." Again he dodged this way and that, always following his father's voice, his unseen pursuer drawing ever closer. Urged on by his father's voice, Jared ran until finally he could run no longer. Lungs burning, heart pounding, he collapsed to the floor, his breath coming in gasping pants. Terror and exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he began to sob.

Then, through the overpowering fear, he felt the force from the darkness encircle him, grasping and enclosing him in the dark, suffocating despair he was too tired to resist.

Couldn't run.

Couldn't hide.

Couldn't escape.

It was over.

After what might have been a second or an eternity, Jared heard his father's voice once more.

"Open your eyes, Jared."

He obeyed, but saw nothing at all. It was as if he'd been drawn into the blackness beyond the window of the room he'd fled, been sucked so deep into its vortex that no light would ever again penetrate his world. Then, deep in the blackness, twin embers began to glow. At first they were no more than pinpricks of light, but as Jared watched, they grew larger and larger, burning brighter, moving toward him. Slowly, they began to take on form.

Not lights, but eyes.

Glittering, golden eyes, their pupils not round, but slitted. They seemed to be lit from within, and as they drew closer, the light grew bright enough to show him the face from which they peered.

The face was dark, and covered with scales, and from its mouth-an angry gash between the two dripping holes that were its nostrils-a slithering tongue darted forth. As if hypnotized by the terrible visage, Jared remained where he was, immobile.

The face drew closer yet. Now Jared could feel the tongue flick against his cheek, then move across his jaw and down his body.

Everywhere it touched him, it felt as if a razor had sliced his skin. But instead of blood oozing forth from his wounds, an icy chill crept inward.

The tongue kept moving, creeping over every part of him, and slowly the cold took hold, reaching into him through every pore, like the tendrils of some vile plant growing within him. As it spread he knew there was nothing he could do to throw it off. For the first time since the nightmare began, Jared opened his mouth to scream.

But it was too late.

The ice had already captured him, the darkness taken possession of his soul.

It was as if an electric charge had shot through Kim. She jerked awake, her body convulsing, throwing off sleep like a dog shaking water from its coat. "Jared?" she heard herself cry out. "Jared, what's wrong?"

Why did I do that? The question popped into her mind even as the reverberation of her words died away, and for several seconds she sat perfectly still in her dark room, listening.

Nothing.

Nothing, at least, except the sound of an owl hooting in the distance, some insects chirping, the normal creaking of the house, and the comforting ticking of the old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock she kept by her bed.

Nor could she find any remnants of dreams clinging to the corners of her consciousness. One moment she'd been sound asleep, and the next wide-awake. Wide-awake, and worried about Jared.

The Twin Thing.

But that didn't make sense. Why would it have happened now, in the middle of the night? She picked up the clock and tipped it toward the window, where a little moonlight was seeping in. A little after three-thirty in the morning. Usually, when the Twin Thing happened, she and Jared were both awake. In fact, most of the time, they were together when that sudden understanding passed between them. But she'd read about other twins who had experienced powerful connections. Like knowing when the other was in some kind of trouble. Hurt, or sick, something like that. Could it happen when you were asleep?

Getting up, Kim pulled on the old cotton bathrobe she'd appropriated from her brother when he outgrew it, and went to her door. She listened again, but this time it was for her father. What if he hadn't passed out yet and was still drinking? If he spotted her, he'd yell at her, or want her to stay up and talk to him. Except he wouldn't want her to talk at all-he'd want her to listen while he went on and on about how unfair everything was.

Like anybody ever said life was supposed to be fair. At least she and Jared had figured that one out a long time ago.

Finally, she opened her door a few inches and peered out through the crack. There was enough light coming up from one of the rooms downstairs so she could see all the way across the broad entry hall to Jared's room, opening off the opposite wing of the mezzanine.

His door was closed, and no light showed from the crack beneath it.

Kim paused to listen again. Hearing no sounds drifting up from the floor below, she quickly padded around the mezzanine to her brother's door. "Jared?" she whispered. "Jared!"

She heard a soft whining.

Scout?

But Scout always slept at the foot of Jared's bed, and it was Jared who had to wake the dog up every morning, not vice versa. She twisted the knob, felt the latch come free, eased the door open, and peered inside. Instantly, Scout jammed his muzzle in the gap, demanding to be scratched. "What is it, boy?" Kim asked. She pushed the door open wider and knelt down to rub Scout's neck, massaging his shoulders the way she knew he liked it. But a second later Scout pulled away from her and darted to the open window, where he reared up, braced himself on the sill with one paw, and scratched eagerly at the screen with the other. "Oh, no," Kim whispered. "That's how Muffin got-"

Muffin!

Maybe that was it! Maybe it wasn't Jared at all! Maybe Muffin was trying to get back in, and somehow she'd known it!

She crossed to the window and looked out into the night. "Muffin?" she called. Then, trying to keep her voice soft, so only the cat would hear it: "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Come on, Muffin!"

"Kim?"

Startled by her brother's voice, Kim whirled around to find Jared glaring at her.

"Jesus, Kim," he said, "what are you doing in my room? What time is it?"

"Three-thirty," she told him. "Something woke me up. I was worried about you-"

"Yeah, right," Jared said, his voice harsh with anger. "You were so worried about me you came in and started hollering for your damn cat."

Kim's mouth dropped open in surprise. Jared had never spoken to her like that-never! "I was worried about you," she protested. "But when Scout went to the window, I-"

"Will you just go back to bed?" Jared cut in.

"Well, sor-reee," Kim shot back. "Next time I get worried about you, I'll just go back to sleep!"

"Fine!" Jared said, flopping back down onto his pillow and turning his back on his sister. "Just leave me alone, okay?"

Well, if that's how you feel, fine! Kim said to herself as she moved toward the door. But before leaving his room, she turned back. "Jared?" she said. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Jared emitted an exaggerated sigh. "What do I have to do, take a physical? Just shut the door and leave me alone!"

Kim slammed it hard enough to make him jump.

"Jesus," he complained to Scout, now at the side of the bed, pawing at him. "Like it was my fault or something!" But as he turned over to go back to sleep, he had a vague memory of a dream he'd had-a nightmare, in which he'd been running through the halls of the house, trying to get away from Sister Clarence, and Father MacNeill, and a big, black guy who looked kind of familiar but whose name he couldn't quite remember.

But it hadn't been Kim who finally came to his rescue. It was his dad.

His dad! Yeah, like that would ever happen! If he was ever really in trouble, his dad would probably be too drunk to do anything but watch him die. Then, remembering what he'd overheard earlier, when his parents were fighting, he wondered if his mother really meant it this time about leaving. Probably not-she'd said it all before. Jared turned over in bed again, and Scout scratched at him again. "What's with you, boy? Just lie down and go to sleep, okay?"

But instead of lying down, the big dog ran to the window and scratched at the screen. Realizing the dog wouldn't leave him alone, Jared moved to the window and crouched next to Scout, looking out. "What is it, boy?" he asked. "What's out there?" Scout bounded to the bedroom door, whimpered eagerly, and scratched at it. "Okay, I get the message," Jared groused. He pulled on his jeans and a T-shirt, and shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers.

When he opened the bedroom door, Scout raced for the stairs. The dog disappeared through the dining room, toward the kitchen, long before Jared reached the landing. He paused halfway down the stairs, listening for any sign of his father. Chances were he'd passed out hours ago, but you never knew.

Jared decided he didn't even want to think about it.

He hurried down the rest of the stairs, made his way through the dark dining room and into the kitchen, where Scout stood at the back door, scratching and whimpering to be let out. Jared peered through the window, searching for whatever Scout was upset about, but he couldn't see anything.

He was about to open the door and let the dog outside when he remembered what had happened to Muffin. According to Kim, the cat had just gone out the window and disappeared.

More likely, he thought, a raccoon got her, or a bobcat, or something.

Dumb cat.

Still, if there were something out there, and Scout went after it…

Sighing, Jared poked around in the service porch until he found an old piece of clothesline. Giving it a couple of yanks, he decided it would hold, and tied one end of it to Scout's collar. Then he let the big retriever out the back door, expecting the dog to move a few steps out into the overgrown yard and lift his leg. Instead, Scout raced off toward the carriage house, the rope burning across Jared's palm as the dog pulled it through his fingers. Throwing a couple of quick loops around his wrist, the boy reined the dog to a stop, but when Scout continued to pull, Jared started down the back steps into the yard.

Scout led him around to the back of the carriage house, then reared up, placing his forepaws on the building's siding.

And in the moonlight, Jared saw it.

Hanging with head down, its tongue lolling out of its mouth, was Muffin.

Or at least what was left of Muffin.

The cat's hide had been nailed neatly to the wall, the legs spread, even the tail tacked in a curve so it looked as if Muffin were trying to climb down the wall.

It was just out of Scout's reach, but the dog kept stretching, as if trying to touch the cat's head.

Jared stared at the hide for a long time, then reached out and tore it loose from the wall. He was about to throw it into one of the garbage cans when he changed his mind. What if Kim came out in the morning and found it? Better put it somewhere else. He cast about in his mind and remembered the packing boxes he'd stowed inside the carriage house. Leaving Scout whimpering next to the wall where the hide had been nailed, Jared disappeared into the building. A moment later he was back. "Okay, Scout," he said, his voice low but hard. "Who did it? Show me who did it, Scout. Find him!"

In response, the dog began sniffing around the area. Then, catching a scent, he headed for the scrubby woods that edged the eastern boundary of the property. Pulling in most of the clothesline, Jared followed Scout to the edge of the woods, where he stopped.

Maybe he should go back and try to find a flashlight, he thought. But who even knew which one of the cartons to look in? Besides, the moon was still high, and the night was clear.

And Scout could see anything, even in the dark.

"Okay, boy," he said softly, making up his mind. "Let's go."

Following close behind the dog, giving him no more than six feet of rope, Jared made his way along the path through the woods. The dog kept his nose to the ground, moving quickly, taking them farther and farther from the house. Then, just as Jared was about to pull Scout off the scent and start back toward him, the retriever froze, one foot off the ground, tail extended.

Jared crept forward and dropped to his knees next to the big dog. He peered through the darkness, and at first saw nothing. Then, barely visible in the gloom, he made out the silhouette of a cabin. "There?" he asked. "Is that where he came from?"

Scout trembled, whining eagerly. Then he tensed.

Feeling the dog's muscles harden, Jared, too, held perfectly still, listening.

Off to the left he heard something.

Not much. Just the softest rustling, as if something were moving in the bushes.

Something, or someone?

Jared's heart began pounding, and for a second he was certain that whatever-or whoever-was out there must surely hear it.

The rustling came again, and then something else.

The snap of a twig?

He heard it again.

Closer this time.

Much closer.

His fingers tightening on Scout's collar, he pulled the dog back. "Come on, Scout," he whispered. "We'd better-"

Before he could finish his sentence, or move away, the night was rent by a howling sound that exploded out of the cabin. A second later the howling dropped into the steady baying of hounds. The cabin door opened. An oil lamp was held high, casting a yellowish glow a few feet from the ramshackle structure. "Who's out there?" a rough voice yelled. "I'm warnin' you! You get away right now, or I'm turnin' these dogs loose!"

Under the cover of the hounds' baying, Jared scurried back down the path, pulling Scout with him.

Twenty minutes later, he crept back into the house and up to his room. Stripping off his clothes, he slipped back into bed. Though he'd been out only an hour, he felt as if he'd been up all night. But it didn't matter how he felt-he'd found out what he needed to know.

He'd found out, and he'd do something about it.