Sam felt a wave of nausea rise from her gut. Her heart leaped into her throat, hammering a staccato rhythm like the speed bag at the gym. She snatched several napkins from the table and mopped cold sweat from her face and neck, then took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Are you OK?” Noreen asked.
“Yeah. Coffee. This is my sixth cup today. I shouldn’t drink so much.”
After thanking Noreen and making a graceful exit, Sam sat in her Jeep, window down, and sucked in the cool air. Coincidence, she told herself. Walter Limpke’s dreams, Billy Waters’ dreams, her dream, all coincidences.
But, after visiting with the parents of Lee Ann Holbert and Rachel Culbertson, she knew differently. Both children had been anxious and depressed, which their parents ascribed to starting a new school year. Both had had dreams, eerily similar to Tommy’s--terrifying scenes of fleeing a reptilian pursuer through a brilliantly colored landscape. Both had wandered away from school on that day two months ago for reasons unknown.
More disturbing were the three pieces of paper that spread before her on the passenger seat of the Jeep. Rachel and Lee Ann had drawn pictures virtually identical to that of Tommy. Three pairs of red, reptilian eyes stared her; three fang-filled mouths smiled as if mocking her.
Sam’s head pounded. The pressure behind her eyes felt as if it might extrude them from their sockets. As weeks went, this one had started in the toilet and been flushed from there. She didn’t see any hope of it getting better either. At least, by the time she drove back into town, Reverend Billy’s buses were nowhere to be seen.
Garrett’s Groupies occupied their usual corner. She pulled to the curb next to them. Most didn’t notice, being too wrapped up in their own dazed little world, but Penelope looked up. Sam motioned her over.
“Yeah?” Penelope said as she walked toward her.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure.”
“Hop in.”
The girl circled the Jeep and climbed in the passenger seat.
“Want some coffee or anything to eat?” Sam asked.
“We can always use food. What’s the catch?”
“Does there have to be a catch?”
“Usually.”
“No catch. I’d just like to ask a few questions.”
“That’s the catch.”
“You don’t have to answer.”
“Fair enough.”
Sam picked up her cell phone and punched in a number.
“Millie. Sam. Can you whip me up two dozen burgers. I’ll pick them up in about fifteen minutes. Thanks.”
She pulled from the curb, made a U-turn, and headed out of town.
“I thought we’d drive around and chat for a few minutes while Millie is getting those burgers ready.”
“That’s cool.”
“Penelope, have you had any contact with Richard Earl Garrett?”
“I’ve tried. Remember? You wouldn’t let me talk with him.”
“What about any other type of contact?”
Penelope eyed her quizzically. “Like what? A telegram? Carrier Pigeon?”
Sam laughed. “No. Not a Carrier Pigeon.”
The more Sam saw of Penelope, the more she liked her. She was more than a mixed up young woman. She was obviously bright, articulate, well educated. Appearances can be deceiving.
“What then?” Penelope asked.
“This is going to sound strange.”
“Cool. I like strange.”
“I mean like visions or dreams or...I don’t know...anything crazy like that.”
“You don’t strike me as the metaphysical type,” Penelope said, shifting sideways in the seat to face Sam.
“I’m not. But, right now nothing makes much sense.”
“Everything makes sense. We just aren’t enlightened enough to recognize it most of the time.”
“You sound like Nathan.”
“The reporter dude?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s cute. Not my type, but cute. You and he together?”
“No.”
“Too bad.”
“So, back to the question. Any dreams or things like that?”
“I wish. I’d love it if Richard chose me to be his path, spread his word.”
“Trust me. You wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know him. He’s kind and beautiful.”
“I know him all right. Better than you. He’s a cold-blooded killer. No more, no less.”
“Have you dreamed about him?” Penelope asked.
The question startled her. The answer, of course, was yes, she had. But, that sounded so strange, so dirty, so untrue. She didn’t really dream about him. He invaded her dream. But, that sounded even more ridiculous.
“No,” Sam said.
“Then, why the question?”
“Some people. Other people. People who don’t know Garrett have had weird dreams about him. I thought maybe you had, too.”
That was a lame answer and Sam knew it as soon as she uttered it. Penelope didn’t seem to think so.
“Way cool. I’d love it if I had one of his dreams. Who are the lucky ones? I’d love to talk with them.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Why?”
“Most of them are dead.”
Sam whipped the Jeep into the parking lot at Millie's.
*
After Sam dropped Penelope and the burgers at the corner, she parked in front of the Sheriff’s Department and walked inside.
“Has Mister Klimek shown up yet?” she asked Thelma.
“No. Are you expecting him?”
“We’re going out to talk with Nita Stillwater.”
“Last night. Today. That’s two dates.” Thelma’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
“They’re not dates,” Sam glared at her. “He wanted to talk with Nita, I’m showing him the way.”
“Wouldn’t dinner or a movie be more romantic?”
“You’re impossible,” Sam said, shaking her head. “I’ll be in back, talking with Garrett. Let me know when Nathan gets here.”
*
Sam spun the folding chair around, dropped it near Garrett’s cell, and straddled it. Garrett laid the book he was reading on his bunk, swung his legs over the side, and sat up.
“Samantha. So good to see you.”
“I told you...”
“Yes, I remember. But, Samantha is such a beautiful name.”
“Deputy sounds better, coming from you.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I thought you had forgotten about me.”
“Not likely.”
“You look tired. Trouble sleeping?”
His gaze stabbed her like a thousand tiny knives, causing her skin to prickle. She wanted to rip the arrogant smirk off his face. She also wanted to know how the hell he would know about her sleeping difficulties.
“Why do you ask?” she said.
“You look worn out. Maybe you should take a vacation or something.”
“After we get you tucked away at Club Med San Quentin, maybe I will.”
He laughed. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit. I can tell you didn’t come to kiss and make up.”
“The kids? Did you know them before?”
“I’ve already told you. I didn’t know them. Never met them. Before, that day.”
"How did you entice them to leave school and meet you?"
"They came of their own volition. As it had to be."
"What does that mean?"
He flashed a patronizing smile. "Lucifer demanded that they present themselves for sacrifice. As innocents, fulfilling their destiny."
"I find that hard to believe."
"It's true. Even that drunk you put on the witness stand said so. Don't you even believe your own witnesses?"
"Eye witnesses are notoriously wrong."
"But, he wasn't. And you know that to be true."
"So, you didn't do anything, anything at all, to draw them away from school?"
"Like what? Hypnotizing them? Offering them candy?" He laughed. "They came to me. They were the chosen ones."
She heard the voice in her dream again.
Come to me.
You are the one.
"Chosen?"
"With Lucifer's guidance. His approval. I told you, he controls all."
“But, you did kill them.”
“I never denied that. And I never admitted it. I don’t know.”
“Don’t know or don’t want to talk about it?”
He stood and walked to the small sink in the corner of his cell. He turned on the water, cupped his hands beneath the stream, then splashed water on his face, “We’ve been over this before," he said as he dried his face on a towel. "I remember little of that day.”
“Before, it was nothing. Now, it’s little. Which is it?”
“I only remember bits and pieces. Mostly nonsense.” He returned to his bunk and sat down.
“Such as?”
“Colors. Wild, crazy colors.”
A knot formed in her stomach. “What else?”
“That’s it.”
“And something compelled you to kill those kids?”
“Lucifer.”
“That’s right. The devil made you do it.”
Garret shrugged but did not respond.
“OK. Let’s say the devil did make you do it. How?”
“Lucifer’s power permeates all. Me. You. He could make you do things you could never imagine.”
“Really? Why hasn’t he?”
“All in good time.”
His black eyes bored into her. She felt the knot in her stomach expand. Anger? Fear? She wasn’t sure which.
“How did he get to you?” she asked.
“I welcomed him.”
“But, how? What form did he take?”
“He came in my dreams at first.”
The knot tightened and a slight chill swept through her.
“Now, he is with me always,” Garret continued. “Part of me. And I part of him.”
“What were the dreams like?”
“Weird. Chaotic. Wildly colorful. Similar to that day.”
The knot pressed upward into her chest. Her lungs refused to move air. Relax, she told herself, attempting to hide her fear from his probing eyes, not wanting him to gain the advantage that would give him. Yet, there it was, like a stubborn red wine stain on a white blouse.
“You OK?” he asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or is it Satan?” He flashed a smirking smile. “You’ve seen him already, haven’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“I think you have. In your dreams perhaps?”
Her dream snapped into focus. A chill crackled along her spine. “No.”
“Samantha, don’t lie to me. Remember, I know all he knows.”
“Apparently not. You’re wrong on this one,” she lied.
“I think not.” His smile stretched further.
Shoot him. Just pull out your gun and shoot him.
“Back to the question,” she said. “What did he look like? When he came to you.”
“Nothing. Everything. He is more a presence than a physical entity. I felt him. Sensed him. Of course, he is different to each of us. And there are many of us."
"Many? I thought you were special? Hand picked by Satan?"
"I was. We all were."
"I see."
"Do you? We number in the thousands. In every corner of the world."
"Why so many?"
"The apocalypse is near. The hour of Revelation is at hand. The war for the souls of men will shake the Earth to its foundation. But, we will triumph."
"You sound like Reverend Billy. Only he says his side will win."
"He is mistaken."
She raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Do you know Reverend Billy."
"Better than he knows himself."
Sam stood. "Well, I'm glad Satan has enough troops to do battle with the Reverend. I guess that means he doesn't need me."
"But, I do. You will open the gates to Lucifer's kingdom for me. You are the one, Samantha."
You are the one, Samantha.
The chill along her spine dropped twenty degrees. "You're crazy."
"No. And when you do come to me, freely and willfully , you will know my true power.”
“Not likely.”
He stood and walked to the bars. His eyes held her. “When you look into my eyes, sense my breath on your face, feel my power seeping into your being, you will know.”
Sam pressed her foot down on the accelerator. The Jeep careened along the serpentine road west of town. Its frame creaked and groaned as the vehicle pitched and yawed and lurched, its tires screaming in protest. Gravel ratta-tatted in the wheel wells whenever the tires slipped on to the narrow shoulder before regaining the pavement and launching the Jeep forward again.
Nathan gripped the dash with one hand and the armrest with the other in a futile attempt to remain in contact with his seat.
“I take it you know this road well?” he asked.
She did know the road well. They flew past the landmarks of her childhood: Castle Rock, a craggy escarpment whose silhouette appeared as a medieval castle; Layton’s Fork, where Cherokee Creek had at one time divided; Deadman’s Wash--no one remembered where that name originated.
She glanced over at him. “The three most dangerous things in the world are a loaded gun, a pissed off woman, and a two lane black top. You’ve got all three right here, so don’t press your luck.”
“But...”
“You wanted to see Nita Stillwater.”
“I was hoping to be alive when I saw her.”
Sam wasn’t sure why she was so mad. Probably a combination of frustration, confusion, and a healthy dose of fear. And Garrett, that arrogant son-of-a-bitch. He got to her and that’s what set her off. Or was it the fact that everyone was having the same dream she had had last night. Well, not everyone. Just the ones that had killed or been killed recently.
And what the hell did Garrett mean? When she came to him. Willfully. Did he think she believed all that crap about the kids? He abducted them. They didn't...how did he put it?..."present themselves" to be murdered.
And Nathan pissed her off, too.
Earlier, when she told him about her dream, excluding her little medical problem, and Walter’s and Garrett’s and the children’s dreams, he didn’t act surprised or skeptical or anything. He merely nodded as if she were telling him a campfire story.
When she showed him the three crayon drawings of “Snakeman,” he said, “Now this is a great story.”
“You probably believe Satan did all this,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“Jesus Christ. Has everyone gone insane?”
“Open your mind. Remember, nothing is ever as it seems.”
“Yeah, maybe this place is the new Salem.”
“Possibly. But remember, there are several legitimate explanations for what happened in Salem.”