After that, as the baby grew, there would be less of the fluid, and he would be able to milk it only occasionally.
Eventually, as it approached adulthood, there would be only a few drops each year.
And finally nothing.
By that time, though, the child would be old enough to breed, and he would find it a mate from among the Circle, and the child would begin to procreate.
And there would be new babies to fill the cribs in the nursery, babies bred by him for a single purpose.
But for now, when only a few of the children were old enough to begin producing babies for him, the problem was becoming acute, for even as he was having trouble obtaining babies, he was finding that he needed more and more of the precious fluid with which they provided him.
Phillips disconnected the collecting bottle from the tube, replacing it with another. Nodding to Lavinia, he left the room.
In the lab, he began the refining process, filtering and concentrating the fluid he’d extracted from the babies, sealing it into the glass vials he would eventually move to the safe in his office. But there was so little of it now that he was going to have to make some decisions soon.
Decisions about who would live and who would not.
He knew the criteria upon which his decisions would be based, and to him they seemed eminently fair.
To extend old life, he needed new life. And as time moved inexorably on, he was finding he needed more and more new life to battle the ravages of age.
Therefore, those who died would be those who could not bring him children.
Babies, to fill the cribs in the nursery once again.
George Coulton had tried to renege on his promise of the child in the nursery, and the Dark Man had punished him. George’s death had served another purpose as well: it would serve as a warning to the others.
When his work was completed, Phillips left the lab. Half an hour later, at the helm of his own boat, he pulled up in front of Clarey Lambert’s shanty. There, he listened silently as Clarey told him what had happened to Jonas Cox.
Though he said nothing to Clarey, by the time he left her, he’d already made up his mind.
Judd Duval had allowed one of the children to be interviewed by an outsider.
Judd would have to be punished.
And Warren Phillips knew how to punish Judd in the worst possible way.
13
Kelly was waiting for Michael when he finished work. At first he barely recognized her, but as he approached the motorcycle—on which she was seated—he gazed at her quizzically. “What’d you do to your hair?”
She grinned uncertainly. “I dyed it. Well, actually your mom dyed it.”
Michael’s mouth dropped open. “My mom?” he repeated.
Kelly explained what had happened, and listening, Michael rolled his eyes. “Weird,” he pronounced when she had finished. “I mean, that doesn’t sound like my mom at all.”
Kelly giggled. “I like her. She’s nice, and—” Abruptly, she fell silent.
“And what?” Michael pressed.
Kelly’s eyes shifted to the ground. “She … well, she doesn’t make me feel like a freak,” she finished.
“Who said you’re a freak?” Michael asked.
Kelly looked at him impatiently. “I didn’t say anyone said I was a freak. It—It’s just the way I feel sometimes. I mean, don’t you ever feel like that? Like maybe you’re going nuts or something?”
Michael slowly nodded. In fact, it had happened just this morning, when he’d awakened with a vivid memory of a dream.
So vivid that he was afraid it hadn’t been a dream.
Then, when he’d looked at himself in the mirror this morning and seen the angry red mark on his chest, he’d become frightened.
Had everything he’d remembered really happened? Or was he going crazy?
All day, as he’d gone about his job at the swamp tour, he’d kept thinking about Kelly and wanting to talk to her. He’d put his thoughts aside, sure that she’d think he was crazy. But after what she’d just said …
Now it was he who found himself unable to meet her eyes. “I—I had a dream last night,” he said. “It was really weird. It was about what we did in the swamp last night.”
Kelly’s pulse quickened. If he remembered the same thing she did—She stopped herself, not even wanting to think about what it might mean.
Michael’s eyes met hers. Even before he spoke, she knew what he was going to say.
“There’s a spot on your chest, isn’t there?” she asked. “Like a mosquito bite, only bigger.”
Michael nodded slowly. “It’s … well, it’s like someone stuck a needle into me. And it’s sore.”
Kelly glanced nervously around. There were still a few tourists coming out the gate, and she suddenly felt self-conscious. “Can we go somewhere?” she asked. Sliding back onto the buddy seat of the bike, she made room for Michael.
“Where do you want to go?” Michael called back over his shoulder as they took off.
“I don’t know. Just someplace where we can talk, I guess.” Her arms tightened around his chest. “Michael, I’m scared.”
Michael made no reply, unwilling to admit that he, too, was frightened. If she also had a mark on her chest, then the dream hadn’t been a dream at all.
An hour later, as they sat side by side on the edge of one of the ubiquitous drainage canals, staring across at the swamp, Kelly slid her hand into Michael’s.
Today, unlike last night or the night before, the swamp had taken on an eerie look, with its moss-laden cypresses and clumps of palmetto lining the shallow bayous that seemed to lead off into nowhere. Kelly gazed into it, wondering how they could have felt so comfortable in its depths the night before, drifting through the darkness in Michael’s boat. Even now she could glimpse snakes coiled in the trees, and see alligators basking in the mud, lying still, as if waiting for something—anything—to cross their path. Right now, with the sun still high in the sky, she couldn’t imagine wanting to go into the suddenly terrifying wilderness.
They’d talked about what had happened last night, slowly and tentatively at first, but soon established that both of them remembered the same thing.
The ceremony, and the Dark Man, clad all in black, and the needles that had been inserted into their chests.
And the other kids.
The children who were nothing like either of them, who neither of them even remembered having seen before. Children with whom both Kelly and Michael somehow felt a strange kinship.
“But they’re swamp rats,” Michael had finally said. “They’re not like us at all.”
But what if they were? Kelly wondered, a thought suddenly coming to her. What if that was where she’d actually come from? She found herself cringing at the thought. In her fantasies, her natural mother was beautiful, not like the women in the swamp, with their pinched faces and stringy, lank hair.
“Did you ever think about being adopted?” she asked Michael now.
Michael frowned, looking at her in surprise. “ ’Course I did,” he said. “I am adopted.”
Kelly stared at him. “S-So am I,” she said. “And I was just thinking. D-Do you suppose that’s where we came from?”
Michael’s frown deepened as he watched Kelly staring across at the wilderness a few yards away. “The swamp?” he asked. “What do you mean?”
Kelly bit nervously at her lower lip, and when she spoke, she selected her words carefully. “I—I’m not sure. But those kids last night. I mean, what if we felt like we belonged with them because we really do? What if that’s where we came from? What if that’s where our parents got us?”
“But that’s crazy,” Michael protested. “Those people out there are all weird. Half of them don’t even know who their fathers are—”
“But maybe that’s it,” Kelly said. “Maybe our real moms live out there somewhere. Maybe they didn’t want us to grow up like those kids, so they gave us away.”
“B
ut all those people are half crazy—”
Kelly’s eyes fixed on him. She did not speak. She didn’t have to.
Michael said nothing for a few moments, Kelly’s words echoing in his mind. Was that where the strange image in the mirror had come from? Some dark place in his own mind that he knew nothing about? When he finally spoke, he couldn’t look at Kelly. “Do you ever see a face in the mirror?” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “An old man, who looks almost dead, and who’s reaching for you?”
Despite the cloying heat of the afternoon, Kelly felt a chill race through her. “He’s over your shoulder,” she breathed. “Staring at you. But when you turn around, there’s no one there.”
Michael turned to her, his face ashen. “You have seen it.”
She nodded.
“It’s what I saw yesterday,” Michael went on. “When I fell off the motorcycle. It wasn’t the car that scared me. It was that face. It was in the mirror of my bike.”
“I saw it the night I tried to kill myself,” Kelly said quietly. Slowly, haltingly, she told Michael exactly what had happened that night, about how she’d seen the man in her dreams since she was a little girl, and how terrified she was of him. “I thought he’d made me pregnant,” she finally admitted, telling Michael what she’d been too frightened even to tell the doctors. “That’s why I did it. I thought I was going to have his baby.”
Michael gazed at Kelly. “But that’s not it, is it?” he asked.
Kelly shook her head. “It’s something else. He wants something from us.”
Michael’s voice went hollow. “What if he doesn’t?” he asked. “What if he already has it? What if he already has it, and is afraid we’ll try to get it back?”
Kelly’s hand tightened in his. “But what?” she breathed. “What could he have taken?”
For that question, Michael had no answer, but his fingers unconsciously moved to the mark on his chest.
Craig Sheffield glared at his son as Michael came into the dining room and slid into his chair, then he looked pointedly at his watch. “You were supposed to be home an hour ago,” he said. “The rest of us are almost done with supper. Would you like to tell me where you’ve been?”
Michael thought quickly. After last night, when his parents had been fighting about Kelly Anderson, he certainly didn’t want to tell his father he’d been with her again.
“I was doing some overtime,” he said. “There were some things I wanted to finish up.”
Craig’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to have a talk with Phil Stubbs. Either you’re not doing your job right, or he’s overworking you.”
Michael felt a knot of fear form in his stomach. If his father called Stubbs, his boss would be certain to tell him what had happened yesterday. “I—I wasn’t really at work,” he said. Better to tell the truth and get it over with. “Kelly Anderson was waiting for me when I got off, and we were just talking. I’m sorry I’m late, but—”
Craig didn’t let his son finish. “Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you getting mixed up with that girl?” he demanded.
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing. I want you to stay away from her, do you understand?”
Michael’s temper began to rise. “Jeez, Dad! You don’t even know her!”
“No, but I know about her!” Craig shot back. “And don’t raise your voice to me, Michael. You may be sixteen, but I’m still your father.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Craig,” Barbara said. “Michael’s right! You don’t know a thing about her except what you’ve heard, and if you met her, you’d like her!”
Craig’s attention shifted from his son to his wife. “And I assume you know something about her that I don’t?” he inquired coolly.
Barbara inclined her head, winking at Jenny, who tried not to giggle, but failed miserably. Instantly her father’s eyes fixed on her.
“What’s going on?” Craig demanded.
“Kelly was here today,” Jenny blurted out. “And Mommy dyed her hair.”
“You dyed Kelly Anderson’s hair?” Craig echoed blankly, turning back to Barbara.
Barbara nodded. “She showed up looking for Michael, and we got to talking. And before you know it, we’d decided to change her hair color.”
Craig pursed his lips. “Was there a reason?” he asked. “I mean, isn’t it a little unusual for a girl you’ve never met to come wandering in, introduce herself, and ask that you dye her hair?”
Jenny giggled. “It was pink, Daddy,” she said. “You should have seen it!”
Craig’s eyes remained fastened on Barbara. “You’re going to tell me she’s a very nice girl, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice indicating that he was prepared to argue the point with her. “Just a little mixed up, right?”
Barbara sighed. She hated it when Craig took on a patronizing tone, even though she knew it was one of his best assets in his practice. If Craig wanted to, he could always make anyone feel as if he had just made a fool of himself. But as she saw the anger blazing in Michael’s eyes, she knew she couldn’t let it pass. “Yes,” she said coolly, “that’s exactly what I was going to say. I was going to sound exactly like a social worker, which I’m sure is the next thing you were going to point out.”
Craig opened his mouth, but Barbara gave him no chance to speak. “And it seems to me,” she went on, “that you might want to examine the evidence before you make up your mind, counselor.”
Craig’s expression took on a defensive quality. “I didn’t mean—”
“But you did,” Barbara interrupted. “You’ve made up your mind about Kelly Anderson even though you’ve never met her. Well, you’re wrong. Michael likes her, and I like her, and Jenny likes her. And we’ve all met her.” Her eyes darted as though for reassurance toward Michael, but immediately returned to her husband. “I’m not saying she doesn’t have problems. She does. She has next to no self-confidence, and it’s a little hard to talk to her, but underneath, she seems like a very nice girl.”
Craig surveyed his family, who suddenly all seemed to have lined up against him. “All right,” he said finally. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll call Carl Anderson and set up a barbecue. We’ll have the whole family over, and I’ll meet this girl you all seem to think is so wonderful. But in the meantime,” he went on, his voice hardening and his eyes fixing once more on Michael, “I want you to start taking some responsibility for yourself. No more overtime, and no more hanging around with Kelly or anyone else without calling to let your mother know where you are and when you’ll be home. Is that understood?”
Michael nodded silently.
For a long time that night, he stared at his reflection in the mirror on his closet door, willing the hideous face to appear, certain that his knowledge that Kelly, too, had seen the strange image would make it less frightening.
Tonight, though, there was nothing.
The darkness surrounded her, but she could feel that she was no longer alone. There was a presence close by, a presence of something evil.
It was him, coming after her again.
She couldn’t see him yet, but she could sense him there, hovering in the night, reaching out toward her.
She saw him.
Just a glimpse at first, a shadowy form in the blackness.
The face began to emerge.
A skeletal face, the skin stretched tight now, drawn back so the eyes—glowing, red, hungry eyes—shone brightly.
The lips were stretched back, too, and in his mouth she could see his rotting teeth.
Now she could hear the raling of his lungs and smell his fetid breath.
At last his hands, those terrifying fingers, reaching out to her, groping for her in the darkness.
Away.
She had to get away!
She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey the commands of her mind, and her feet felt mired to the ground.
Mud.
There was mud all around her, sucking at her, pulling her down, t
rapping her so that he could get at her.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. Her voice had deserted her.
She redoubled her efforts, and felt a constriction in her throat as she tried to force a sound—any sound—from her lips.
Closer, he was closer, his fingers about to touch her.
Then they were on her—cold, reptilian skin that made her flesh crawl—and she recoiled, the scream finally coming.
“No!”
Kelly woke up, her whole body jerking spasmodically, and instantly she realized she’d had the dream again.
But that was all it had been. Just a dream. She was safe in her room over her grandfather’s garage. From the open window she could hear the frogs and insects filling the night with sound.
She was all right.
No.
There was someone in the room with her.
Panic rose inside her as the terror of the dream seized her once more.
He was here, in the room.
Except it was impossible. She was awake now, and she should have been safe.
But she wasn’t. She could still feel him, feel him standing next to the bed, looking down at her in the darkness.
She kept her eyes closed, willing him away.
She could hear the breathing again, the raling of dying lungs.
She waited, paralyzed, for his touch.
A hand grasped her.
“No!” she shouted, jerking away and sitting up, fumbling with the lamp, certain the bright light would wash away the lingering nightmare.
She blinked as the room filled with light, and another scream rose in her throat.
A figure loomed over her.
“Kelly? Kelly, are you all right?”
It was her grandfather’s voice. Kelly took a deep breath, her lungs flooding with air. She shuddered and fell back against the headboard.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you, sweetheart,” Carl Anderson said. “I just came in because I heard you screaming.”
Kelly squinted up, her eyes not yet adjusted to the light. In the bright glare she could almost imagine—