The Right Hand of Evil

  The terrible vision dissolved as quickly as it had come as she realized that the "hooded robes" of her dream were this morning nothing more than the same bathrobes they wore practically every day.

  "Where's Mom?" she asked.

  "I told her to sleep in this morning," her father said.

  Had a look passed between her father and Jared? She wasn't sure. She cocked her head, frowning uncertainly. "Is something going on? Something I don't know about?"

  This time she was certain that Jared glanced at his father. Then he grinned at her. Not the friendly grin he used to give her, when they'd still been so close. This morning the grin had an edge to it.

  "Going paranoid on us?" he asked.

  Kim felt herself blushing. "I'm not paranoid," she said, too quickly. "I just—I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right."

  "That sure sounds like paranoia to me, doesn't it, Dad?"

  Kim's unease hardened into anger. Since when had Jared and their father gotten so buddy-buddy? Especially since Jared was supposed to have gotten a chewing out last night!

  "I better go up and get Molly," she said, suddenly wanting to get out of the kitchen.

  "She's still asleep, too," Ted said softly, in a tone of voice that stopped Kim short. She turned to look at him. Her father's eyes locked on hers. "You'd better just get ready for school, Kim," he said quietly. "If you don't hurry, you're going to be late." His eyes held hers a few seconds longer, then he smiled. "All right?"

  Kim nodded silently and left the kitchen. As she went upstairs to get dressed, she had a vague feeling that there was something else she'd intended to do before she realized how late it was and that if she didn't hurry she wouldn't make it to school by the first bell. She dressed, still trying to remember what it might have been, but as she combed her hair, then gathered up her books, she decided that whatever it was, it couldn't have been important.

  It wasn't until she was a block away from the house that she remembered Molly and the dream she'd had last night. She wondered if maybe she shouldn't go back to the house.

  Just to be sure.

  But if she did, she would surely be late to her first class.

  And besides, the dream she'd had last night was only that—just a dream.

  Wasn't it?

  The two cars pulled to a stop in front of the Conway house, and both drivers got out. But as Corinne Beckwith started to follow Ray across the lawn toward the columned porch fronting the house, her husband held up a hand as if he were controlling traffic. "This isn't exactly a committee we've got here," he reminded his wife. "I think I can deal with this one alone, okay?"

  Corinne glared at Ray. "If I hadn't gone out to Jake's to take care of that dog this morn—" she began. But her words died on her lips because something seemed off kilter. It was as if something were emanating from the house, something that left her feeling she didn't want to be here, after all. It's just the light, she told herself, peering into the shadows that darkened the porch. But it wasn't just a trick of the light; it was as if the entire house had taken on a dark cast; as if it held something unknown that even the structure's massive walls couldn't quite contain.

  Why would anyone want to live in this place? Corinne wondered as she let her husband continue—alone, and with no further argument—up to the porch. For some reason, just looking at the Conway house this morning made her shudder.

  Ray Beckwith pressed the doorbell, and heard the sound of a muffled chime drift through the thick wood of the doors. He shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other as he waited for the door to open. As the edginess that had come over him as he approached the house became more pronounced, he reminded himself that he was here on legitimate business; he had no cause to feel uneasy.

  And yet, inexplicably, he did.

  So far, he hadn't had a bad experience with Ted Conway. Sure, the man had been a little angry yesterday, but why wouldn't he be, with Father MacNeill practically accusing his son of defacing his own uncle's tomb? And when he'd gone out to Jake Cumberland's, Conway's idea had panned out, though he did still have some doubts about that. Now that Jake was dead, however, and if Corinne was right that the dog whose head they'd just found had belonged to the Conway boy—

  His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened and Ted Conway appeared. For a moment Ray had the feeling Conway hadn't recognized him, but then the man smiled.

  A smile that lit up his face, and made Ray Beckwith's nervousness evaporate.

  "Hey, Ray, how's it going?" he asked. Then he spotted Corinne standing on the sidewalk. "May I assume by the presence of the press that this isn't purely a social call? Don't tell me you and Corinne have let Father MacNeill convince you that Jared's up to something!" The dazzling smile returned. Then he winked, as if the two of them were sharing a secret. "Or is it me again? Please don't tell me someone's cooked up some list of ordinances I've already violated. We're not even open yet! Won't be for months."

  "Actually, it's a little more serious than that. Somethin' happened out at Jake Cumberland's last night." He told Ted what had happened to Jake last night, and what he and Corinne Beckwith had found in Jake's trunk.

  "And when Corinne said you have a golden retriever, I figured I better come over here."

  Ted Conway gazed steadily at the policeman. "So you think Jared took his own dog out to Jake's place and killed it." He shook his head almost sadly. "You sure you haven't been talking to Father MacNeill? It sounds exactly like the kind of thing he'd come up with." His voice hardened. "But it doesn't really make much sense, does it?" A frown creased his brow. "Except, of course, that Scout is missing. Jared let him out right after he got home last night, and he didn't come back in." He shrugged helplessly. "We figured there must be a bitch in heat somewhere in the neighborhood, and you know how dogs are. Once they get that scent, there's no stopping them, is there?"

  Ray Beckwith shook his head. "No way," he agreed. "Sometimes they can be worse'n tomcats." He pulled a small notebook out of his jacket pocket. "You say it was Jared that let him out?"

  "That's right," Ted replied. "In fact, I was with him. We were both in the kitchen. The minute Jared opened the door, Scout was off like a rocket."

  "And what about your boy? He go out again?"

  Ted shook his head. "It was already pretty late, and it was a school night, too. Besides, he wasn't feeling well—went right to bed after we gave up trying to get the dog back. Still feeling kind of flu-ish this morning, so we're keeping him home from school. But I'll tell you what—how about if I have him give you a call once he's feeling a little better? Then you can ask him anything you want."

  Ray Beckwith closed the notebook and tucked it back into his pocket. "Don't really see that that'll be necessary," he said. "Seems like you've pretty much told me what I need to know. Sounds like someone came across the dog and took him out to Jake's. Used it for some kind of voodoo ceremony. I guess someone really had it in for Jake—"

  "Or for us," Ted Conway interjected. "Maybe whoever did it used Scout for a reason." His eyes fixed on Beckwith.

  The sheriff frowned as he turned Ted Conway's words over in his mind. Then he thought he understood what the other man meant. "You mean Father Mack?" he asked.

  Ted Conway shrugged again. "You said that, Ray," he said softly. "Not me."

  As Ted Conway's eyes remained steadily on him, Ray Beckwith wondered why he'd let Corinne talk him into coming over here. It was suddenly so obvious that the Conways didn't have anything to do with the vandalism, he felt he was just wasting time. "No sir, Mr. Conway," he said. "I'm sure not gonna let that happen." Shaking hands with Ted, he strode off the porch.

  "Well?" Corinne asked anxiously. "Was it their dog?"

  Ray nodded. "But none of them had anything to do with it, babe. The dog took off last night, and the boy was in bed, sick. Still is."

  Corinne's lips pursed suspiciously. "Did you see him?"

  "I didn't need to see him," Beckwith shot back. "You've been married to
me long enough to know I can tell when someone's lying to me. Ted Conway wasn't lying."

  Corinne's gaze shifted back to the house. Ted Conway was still standing on the porch, and as his eyes met hers, Corinne felt as if a wave of hatred had broken over her.

  Suddenly, all Corinne Beckwith wanted was to get away.

  As far away as she could.

  CHAPTER 35

  Kim sat through the first hour of classes barely hearing a word that Sister Clarence said. She continually glanced out the window, hoping to see Jared coming across the square toward the school, but by the time the class was half over, she knew he wasn't coming. Even then she couldn't concentrate. From the moment she'd seen Sandy Engstrom, she knew something was wrong. Sandy arrived at school just as the bell rang, and when she rushed by her, Kim assumed Sandy was trying to get to her locker while she still had time. But when Sandy finally arrived in class—two minutes late—her friend hadn't taken her regular seat right next to her.

  Instead, she slid into an empty desk at the back of the classroom.

  Sister Clarence had gone silent when Sandy entered the room, and Kim expected her friend to be sent directly to Father Bernard's office. But after fixing Sandy with a stern glare, Sister Clarence's face took on a look of concern. "Sandra? Are you all right?"

  Every head in the class turned to gaze at Sandy. She was wearing more makeup than Kim had ever seen on her before, but even the makeup couldn't cover the pallor of her complexion.

  "I'm fine, Sister Clarence," she announced in a challenging tone that made Kim brace herself for her immediate banishment to Father Bernard's office. The whole class held its collective breath, waiting. But for the first time in anyone's memory, Sister Clarence backed down.

  "Very well," she said. "But I won't tolerate your being late again."

  For the rest of the hour Kim kept stealing peeks at her friend, but Sandy never looked back at her. When the bell rang, Sandy was out the door before Kim had even finished packing her books into her bag. She hurried after Sandy, threading her way through the crowded corridor toward the lockers, where the two girls had fallen into the habit of meeting between classes.

  Sandy was nowhere to be seen.

  Sandy hadn't been in church yesterday.

  Sandy hadn't called her yesterday, either.

  And now, this morning, she hadn't even spoken to her.

  Kim was just starting back toward her own locker when she caught a glimpse of Sandy through the glass of the school's front door. She glanced at the big clock on the wall above the door, and saw that she still had five minutes before her next class. Working her way through her milling classmates, she pushed the front door open and went out onto the sidewalk.

  Sandy was deep in conversation with Luke Roberts. As Kim approached them, both teenagers fell silent.

  "Sandy?" Kim asked uncertainly. "What's going on?"

  Sandy turned to gaze at her. As Kim met Sandy's eyes—which seemed to have sunk within her skull—she saw it.

  The same look she'd seen in her brother's eyes this morning. And her father's.

  Then Luke turned to look at her, and there it was in his eyes, too.

  Kim's pulse raced as an image rose in her mind, from the nightmare she'd had, when she saw Sandy and Luke writhing in front of that strange candlelit altar with the inverted cross.

  Then Sandy spoke, in an angry, hissing voice Kim had never heard from her before. "Leave us alone, you stupid bitch!"

  Kim's eyes widened in shock, but even as the words battered her, another memory rose in her mind.

  Sandy sounded like Jared! Just like Jared when Father MacNeill had come to the house yesterday afternoon!

  She took a step toward her friend. Without warning, Sandy spat at her, sending a great wad of greenish phlegm oozing down the front of Kim's blouse. Kim stared at the mess in shock, then, as peals of ugly laughter erupted from Luke and Sandy, she turned and fled back into the school. Tears of pain and humiliation streamed down her cheeks, and the crowd, already thinning as the students drained into the classrooms, parted to make way for her as she lurched toward the girls' room. She dropped her book bag on the floor and stared at herself in the mirror. Her face looked almost as pale as Sandy's, and as more images and memories tumbled through her mind—some of them dreamed, some of them real, all of them terrifying—confusion and terror overwhelmed her.

  She ran the water in the sink, splashed some on her face, then gingerly scraped the wad of phlegm from her blouse. Sandy had spit at her! Actually spit at her! How could she have—

  Her thought died as her eye caught something in the mirror. She looked down, and where the phlegm had been, there was now a small hole in her blouse.

  A hole with blackened edges, as if it had been burned.

  A whimper escaped Kim's lips. She rubbed harder at her blouse, as if trying not only to erase the charring from the material, but the hole as well. She was still working at it when she heard her name.

  "Kimmie? Kimmie!"

  Jumping, she glanced in the mirror, and there he was.

  Jared!

  She whirled around.

  The girls' room was empty; she was alone.

  "Kimmie!"

  She whirled around again, but this time the mirror was as empty as the room behind her.

  "Kimmie, help me!"

  Jared's voice had a plaintive note to it now, and she remembered the dream she'd had this morning, when Jared was drowning and she tried to reach him but couldn't.

  "Jared?" she whispered, but even the barely spoken word echoed in the emptiness of the room. "Oh, God, Jared, what's happening to us?"

  A moment later she heard him calling to her again, but now his voice seemed to be coming from beyond the room. Leaving her book bag where it lay, Kim stumbled out of the bathroom.

  The hallway outside was empty.

  Still she heard Jared's voice, calling out to her.

  She followed the voice, moving down the corridor, then turning into another.

  Then up some stairs.

  Down another corridor.

  More memories tumbled through her mind, images of the corridors through which the unseen menace of her nightmares had pursued her, but still she kept going, following Jared's ever fainter voice.

  Then, at last, she came to a closed door. She stood paralyzed with a terrible certainty that she knew what lay beyond.

  The obscene cathedral, where she'd witnessed all the worst horrors of her nightmares.

  Where only this morning she'd seen little Molly, suspended upside down from the cross above the altar, the candles flickering in front of her tortured face.

  Then, barely audible through the confusion in her mind, she heard Jared's voice once more. "Kiiimmmm..."

  Steeling herself, Kim pulled the door open.

  Not the cathedral.

  The biology lab, with zinc-topped worktables laid out in neat rows, each of them equipped with a sink.

  And on the walls, shelf after shelf of specimens, the dissected carcasses of frogs and mice, the organs of larger creatures, all of them floating in sealed jars of formaldehyde. As she stared at the jars, she saw that they were now filled with blood—overflowing with blood. And in every one of them was some fragment of Molly's body.

  A little foot in one, a leg in another. Another jar held a hand. In the largest jar was her baby sister's head.

  Molly's eyes were wide open, and her mouth was stretched into a grimace of agony. She seemed to be staring through the haze of blood right at Kim, and as she looked into Molly's twisted face, Kim felt every bit of pain Molly must have felt as—

  Screaming, Kim cut off the thought, unable to bear it. But no matter where she turned, there were more jars and still more jars, and from every one of them, Molly stared at her.

  Kim kept screaming, and finally, her mind no longer able to cope with the images that churned through it, she collapsed to the floor, sobbing and moaning.

  "No," she whimpered. "Oh, no ... please, no..."

/>   CHAPTER 36

  Janet woke slowly, luxuriating in the sunlight streaming through the window and in the memory of the night before, when Ted had taken her in his arms.

  It was like being on their honeymoon all over again, before Ted's drinking had taken over their lives. Strange how it had crept over every part of their existence so slowly that she hadn't truly realized quite how bad the problem was. But now that it was over—now that the Ted Conway she'd first fallen in love with was back—she could see exactly how it had happened, how she'd let Ted's alcohol nibble away at her marriage. The thing of it was—as she could now see—it had never taken a big enough bite all at once to force her into facing the true reality of it. Not, anyway, until that last night, when Ted stayed up drinking long after their fight, only to come at last to the realization that she would finally leave him.

  She stretched languidly, once again feeling Ted's hands on her body, his mouth on hers, his strength as he made love to her. Her reverie was interrupted by the faint sound of the clock tolling the hour in the living room below her. When it reached seven, she threw back the sheet—if she didn't hurry, she wouldn't have time to fix breakfast for Jared and Kim.

  The clock struck twice more.

  Nine?

  But it couldn't be—she never slept past seven, and most mornings was up by six. A glance at the clock by her bedside confirmed how much she'd overslept. Why hadn't anyone wakened her? Why hadn't—

  And then she knew. Ted had known how tired she was, and how worried about Jared. Even after they made love, she'd lain awake until, finally, Ted made her talk it out. It had been hard—she'd become so used to dealing with her problems by herself that she'd almost forgotten how to talk to Ted, but he'd drawn it all out of her, even agreed with her that Jared wasn't just "stretching his wings," but that something more was going on. Only after he promised to help her deal with the problem had she fallen asleep.