Forty pages later she turned off the machine, folded the copies neatly, and placed them in a compartment of her bag, along with the little book. She left the office directly and went back to the big stone house.
The house was majestic in its size and decor, with a large stone hearth and soaring, rough-beamed ceilings. The Maidservant hurried up the thickly-carpeted staircase to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
Placing the little book on her stately antique vanity, she opened a drawer and pulled out some brown wrapping paper and twine. The paper already had a name written on it, the addressee: Alexander M. Kaseph. The return address included the name J. Langstrat. She quickly rewrapped the book as if it had never been opened, then bound the package with string.
Elsewhere in the house, in a very large office, a middle-aged, roundly built man dressed in loose trousers and tunic sat Indian fashion on a large cushion. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep. The fine furnishings of a man of great prestige and power surrounded him: souvenirs from around the world, such as swords, war clubs, African artifacts, religious relics, and several rather grotesque idols of the East; a battleship of a desk with built-in computer console, multilined telephone, and an intercom; a long, deep-cushioned couch with matching hand-carved oak chairs and coffee table; hunting trophies of bear, elk, moose, and lion.
Without hearing a knock, the man spoke loftily. “Come in, Susan.”
The big oak door opened silently and the Maidservant entered, carrying the brown paper package.
Without opening his eyes, the man said, “Put it on my desk.”
The Maidservant did so, and the man began to stir from his motionless position, opening his eyes and stretching his arms as if awakening from sleep.
“So you finally found it,” he said with a teasing smile.
“It was there all the time. With all the packing and rearranging it got shoved over in a corner.”
The man rose from his cushion, stretched his legs, and walked a few laps around the office. “I really don’t know what it is,” he said as if answering a question.
“I didn’t wonder—” said the Maidservant.
He smiled condescendingly and said, “Oh, maybe not, but it felt like you did.” He went up behind her, and placed his hands on her shoulders, speaking in her ear. “Sometimes I can read you so very well, and sometimes you drift away. You’ve been feeling so troubled lately. Why?”
“Oh, all the moving, I guess, the upheaval.”
He put his arms around her waist and held her close as he said, “Don’t let it bother you. We’re going to a far better place. I have a house all picked out. You’ll love it.”
“I grew up in that town, you know.”
“No. No, not really. It won’t be the same town at all, not as you remember it. It will be better. But you don’t believe that, do you?”
“As I said, I grew up in Ashton—”
“And all you wanted was to get out of there!”
“So you can understand why my feelings are confused.”
He twirled her around and laughed playfully as he looked into her eyes. “Yes, I know! On the one hand, you have no desire at all for the town, and on the other hand, you sneak off to attend the carnival.”
She blushed a little and looked at the floor. “I was searching for something from my past, something from which to envision my future.”
He held her hand and said, “There is no past. You should have stayed with me. I hold the answers for you now.”
“Yes, I can see that. I couldn’t before.”
He laughed and went behind his desk. “Well, good, good. We don’t need any more meetings held in hiding places behind a noisy carnival. You should have seen how embarrassed our friends were to have to meet there.”
“But why did you even have to come looking for me? Why did you have to drag them along?”
He sat at the desk and began handling a wicked-looking ceremonial knife with a golden handle and razor-sharp blade.
Looking over the edge of the blade at her, he said, “Because, dear Maidservant, I do not trust you. I love you, I am one in essence with you, but …” He held the knife up to the level of his eye and peered down the edge of the blade at her, his eyes as sharply cutting as the knife. “I do not trust you. You are a woman given to many conflicting passions.”
“I cannot harm the Plan. I am only one person among myriads.”
He rose and came around to the side of the desk where other knives were stuck into the carved head of some pagan idol.
“You, dear Susan, share my life, my secrets, my purposes. I have to protect my interests.”
With that, he dropped the knife, point first, and it thudded into the idol’s head.
She smiled in acquiescence and sidled up to him, giving him an alluring kiss. “I am, and will always be, yours,” she said.
He gave her a sly smile, and the cutting look never left his eyes as he answered, “Yes. Of course you are.”
HIGH ABOVE THE valley, amid the rocks and crevices of the mountaintops, two figures concealed themselves. One, the silver-haired man who had been here before, continually watched the activity below. He was stately and mighty, his piercing eyes full of wisdom.
The other was Tal, the Captain of the Host.
“This is what you’re looking for,” said the silver-haired man. “Rafar had business there only days ago.”
Tal peered down into the valley. The swarms of black demons were too numerous to even estimate.
“The Strongman?” he asked.
“Undoubtedly, with a cloud of guards and warriors all around him. We’ve been unable to penetrate it yet.”
“And she’s right in the middle of it!”
“The Spirit has been steadily opening her eyes and calling her. She is close to the Strongman—dangerously close. The prayers of the Remnant have placed a blindness and stupor on the demonic hosts all around her. At present it will buy you time, but little more.”
Tal grimaced. “My general, it will take more than a stupor for us to break through to her. We can barely hold the town of Ashton, much less take on the Strongman directly.”
“And you can only expect this buildup to worsen. Their numbers increase tenfold each day.”
“Yes, they are preparing, that’s for certain.”
“But, at the same time, her conflicts continue to grow. Soon she won’t be able to conceal her true feelings and intentions from her lord down there. Tal, she has learned of the suicide.”
Tal looked directly at the general. “I understand she and Patricia were very close.”
The general nodded. “It jolted her, which made her more receptive. But her time of safety is limited. Here’s your next step. The Universal Consciousness Society is holding a special fund-raising and promotional dinner in New York for its many cohorts and members in the United Nations. Kaseph can’t attend because of his present activities here. He will send Susan, however, to represent him. She’ll be closely escorted, but this will be the one time she’ll be out from under the Strongman’s demonic cover. The Spirit knows she plans to get away and make contact with one remaining friend on the outside, who can in turn contact your newspaperman. She’ll take that chance, Tal. You must arrange for her to succeed.”
Tal’s first response was, “Is there prayer cover in New York?”
“You will have it.”
Tal looked at the swarms below. “And they must not find out …”
“No. They must not suspect anything has happened until you can get Susan out for good. They would destroy her if they knew.”
“And who is the friend?”
“His name is Kevin Weed, a former classmate and boyfriend.”
“To work, then. I have some more prayer to gather in.”
“Godspeed, dear captain!”
Tal climbed behind some large rocks for concealment before he unfurled his wings. Then, with the silence and grace of a drifting cloud, he floated up over the mountaintop. Once he had cleared the summit and
could no longer be seen by any of the swarms in the valley, his wings snapped into a rushing pattern and he shot forward like a bullet, trailing a brilliant arc of light across the sky and over the horizon.
MARSHALL AND BERNICE drove through the forested countryside in the big brown Buick, talking about themselves, their pasts, their families, and anything else that came to mind. They were getting tired of only talking about business anyway, and finding it enjoyable to share each other’s company.
“I grew up Presbyterian,” said Marshall. “Now I don’t know what I am.”
“My folks were Episcopalian,” said Bernice. “I don’t think I was ever anything. They dragged me along to church every Sunday, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“I didn’t mind it that much. I had a good Sunday school teacher.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s where I missed out. I never went to Sunday school.”
“Aw, I think a kid needs to know something about God.”
“What if God doesn’t exist?”
“See what I mean? You never went to Sunday school!”
The Buick came to a crossroads, and a sign indicated the way back to Ashton was to the left. Marshall turned left.
Bernice answered one of Hogan’s questions. “Nope, no parents alive anymore. Dad died in ’76 and Mom died … let’s see, two years ago.”
“That’s too bad.”
“And then I lost my only sibling, Patricia.”
“Is that right! Boy, I’m sorry.”
“It’s a lonely world out there sometimes …”
“Yeah, I suppose … and I wonder who there is to meet in Ashton?”
She only looked at him and said, “I’m not hunting, Marshall.”
About a mile ahead of them was a wide spot in the road referred to as Baker, a little town indicated by the smallest possible dot on the map. It was one of those typical roadsides where truckers and fourwheeling hunters drop in for black coffee and cold eggs. Blink just once and you’d miss it.
Above the Buick, whisking just over the tops of the trees, Nathan and Armoth kept a careful eye on the vehicle, their wings rushing in an even pattern and their bodies trailing two streaks of diamond-studded light.
“So this is where it all begins,” said Nathan with a playful tone.
“And you have been chosen to strike the blow,” responded Armoth.
Nathan smiled. “Child’s play.”
Armoth teased him a little. “I’m sure Tal could pick someone else who would like the honor—”
Nathan drew his sword, and it flashed like a lightning bolt. “Oh no, dear Armoth! I’ve waited long enough. I’ll take it.”
Nathan banked away from Armoth, dropped down over the roadway as it wound through the tall trees, and began to keep pace with the car, flying lazily about thirty feet above it. He kept his eye on the little town of Baker now approaching, made a quick judgment as to the coasting distance the car could travel, and then, at the right moment, he hurled his sword like a fiery spear downward. The sword traveled a perfect trajectory and shot through the hood of the car.
The engine died.
“Nuts!” said Marshall, shifting quickly into neutral.
“What’s wrong?” Bernice asked.
“Something’s broke.”
Marshall tried to restart the engine as the car continued to coast along. No response.
“Probably electrical …” he muttered.
“Better pull over at that station.”
“Yeah, I know, I know.”
The Buick limped into the little filling station in Baker and rolled to a stop right at the front door. Marshall opened the hood.
“I’m going to excuse myself,” said Bernice.
“Go for me too, will you?” Marshall said crossly, looking here and there around the engine compartment.
Bernice went to the next little building, The Evergreen Tavern. Age and settling were slowly swallowing it from the bottom up, and one end was badly sunken, the paint on the front door was peeling. The neon beer logo in the window still worked, though, and the jukebox inside was twanging some country hit.
Bernice pushed the door open—the bottom scraped a worn arc across the linoleum—and went inside, twisting her nose a little at the blue cigarette smoke that had replaced the air. Just a few men sat in the establishment, probably the first of the logging crews getting off work. They were talking loudly, swapping stories, cussing it up. Bernice looked directly toward the back of the room, trying to find the little Men and Women signs. Yes, there was Restrooms.
One of the men at a nearby table said, “Hey, baby, how’s it goin’?”
Bernice wasn’t going to even look in his direction, but did just happen to give him a glance and an appropriately dirty look. A little too much local color in this place, she thought.
She slowed her walk. Her eyes locked on him. He looked back at her with a boozy, lazy-eyed smile on his bearded face.
Another man said, “Looks like you got her attention, buddy.”
Bernice kept looking at him. She approached the table and took an even closer look. The hair was long and tangled, bound into a ponytail with a rubber band. The eyes were glassy and now heavily lined. But she knew this man.
The man’s friend said, “Good evening, ma’am. Don’t let him bother you, he’s just having a good time, right, Weed?”
“Weed?” Bernice asked. “Kevin Weed?”
Kevin Weed just looked up at her, enjoying the view and saying little. Finally he said, “Can I buy you a beer?”
Bernice came closer to him, made sure he could clearly see her face. “Do you remember me? Bernice Krueger?” Weed only looked puzzled. “Do you remember Pat Krueger?”
A light slowly began to dawn in Weed’s face. “Pat Krueger …? Who are you?”
“I’m Bernice, Pat’s sister. Do you remember me? We met a couple of times. You and Pat’s roommate were going together.”
Weed brightened and smiled, and then he cursed and excused himself. “Bernice Krueger! Pat’s sister!” He cursed again, and excused himself again. “What’re you doin’ in this place?”
“Just passing through. And I will take a small Coke, thank you.”
Weed smiled and looked at his friends. Their eyes and mouths were getting wide, and they were starting to laugh.
Weed said with a leer, “I think it’s time you boys found another table …”
They gathered up their hard hats and lunchboxes and laughed. “Yeah, you got it, Weed.”
“Dan,” Weed hollered, “a small Coke for the lady here.”
Dan had to stare for a moment at the nice girl who had come into a place like his. He got the Coke and brought it to her.
“So what have you been doing?” Weed asked her.
Bernice had her pen and notebook out. She told him a little about what she had been doing and what she was doing now. Then she said, “I haven’t seen you since before Pat’s death.”
“Hey, I’m really sorry about that.”
“Kevin, can you tell me anything about it? What do you know?”
“Nothing much … no more than what I read in the papers.”
“What about Pat’s roommate? Do you hear from her anymore?” Bernice noticed Weed’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open the moment she mentioned the girl.
“Man, this world is getting smaller all the time!” he said.
“You saw her?” Bernice couldn’t believe her good fortune.
“Well, yeah, sort of.”
“When?” Bernice insisted.
“But just for a little while.”
“Where? When?” Bernice was having a very difficult time holding herself back.
“I saw her at the carnival.”
“In Ashton?”
“Yeah, yeah, in Ashton. I just ran into her. She called my name, and I turned around and there she was.”
“What did she say? Did she say where she’s living now?”
Weed fidgeted a little. “Man, I don’t know
. I don’t really care. She dumped me, you know, ran off with that other goon. She was even with him that night.”
“What was her name again?”
“Susan. Susan Jacobson. She’s a real heartbreaker, she is.”
“Do you have any idea—did she give you any idea of where I might find her? I have to talk to her about Pat. She might know something.”
“Man, I don’t know. She didn’t talk to me for very long at all. She was in a hurry, had to meet her new boyfriend or something. She wanted my phone number, that was about it.”
Bernice couldn’t let go of her hope. Not yet. “Are you sure she didn’t give you some idea of where she’s living now, or any way to get in touch with her?” Weed shrugged drunkenly. “Kevin, I’ve been trying to find her for ages! I’ve got to talk to her!”
Weed was bitter. “Talk to her boyfriend, that fat little geezer with all the bucks!”
No, no, that wasn’t really a legitimate hunch that ran through Bernice’s mind. Or was it?
“Kevin,” she said, “what did Susan look like that night?”
He was staring off into space, like a drunken and jilted lover. “Foxy,” he said. “Long, black hair, black dress, sexy shades.”
Bernice felt her stomach tighten into a knot as she said, “And what about her boyfriend? Did you see him?”
“Yeah, later. Susan acted like she didn’t even know me when he came into the picture.”
“Well, what did he look like?”
“Like some wimp from Fat City. It had to have been his money, that’s why Susan latched on to him.”
Bernice picked up her pen in a shaking hand. “What’s your phone number?”
He gave it to her.
“Address?”
He mumbled that off too.
“Now, you say she asked you for your phone number?”
“Yeah, I don’t know why. Maybe things aren’t working out with loverboy.”
“Did you give it to her?”
“Yeah. Maybe I’m a sucker, but yeah, I did.”
“So she just might be calling you.”
He shrugged.
“Kevin …” Bernice gave him one of her cards. “Listen carefully to me. Are you listening?”
He looked at her and said yes.