You just go back to sleep and Ill stay here until you do. Okay?
Sean seemed unconvinced, but said, Kay. He settled in and began to accept the idea he had been dreaming. With his mother nearby and the light on, the black face seemed a nightmare design, not a thing of solid existence.
Broth-er, said Patrick in disgust. He rolled over and made a display of needing no such reassurance.
Gabbies grumbling followed her back into her own room as Phil flipped off the light. Gloria remained, standing patiently next to Seans bunk until he fell asleep.
Outside the boys bedroom window, something dark and alien slithered down the drainpipe and swung onto the nearest tree branch. It leaped and spun from branch to branch as it descended, dropping the last ten feet to the ground. It moved with an unnaturally quick, rolling gait, a stooped-over apelike shape. It paused near the gazebo, looking back over its shoulder with opalescent dark eyes towards the boys window. Another movement, in the woods, caused it to duck down, as if fearing discovery. Bright twinkling lights flashed for an instant, darting between boles, and vanished from view. The dark creature hesitated, waiting until the lights were gone, then scampered off towards the woods, making odd whispering sounds.
Chapter Six
The house became a home, slowly, with resistance, but soon the odd corners had been explored and the ancient odours had become commonplace. The idiosyncrasies of the house the strange little storage area beneath the stairs next to the cellar door, the odd shed in the back, the way the pipes upstairs rattled all these things became familiar. Gloria considered her family: Gabbie wasnt happy but had ceased brooding, and the twins shared their secret world, seemingly content wherever their family was. Gloria had been most concerned over their reaction to the move, but they had shown the least difficulty in adapting. The most positive aspect of the move had been in Phils attitude. He was writing every day and seemed transported. He refused to show Gloria any of his work so far, saying he felt superstitious. She knew that was so much bullshit, for she had talked out story ideas into the night with him before. She knew he was simply afraid she wouldnt like what he was writing and the bubble would burst. All in good time, she thought, all in good time.
Seventeen days after Jack Coles visit, a note was delivered by the mailman. It was addressed to Philip Hastings and Family. Gloria opened it while Phil scanned a letter from his literary agent. look forward to presenting your newest work. Several publishers already have expressed interest Phil read aloud.
Read this, Gloria instructed as she handed him the note.
He scanned the envelope and frowned. One of his pet quirks was about Glorias opening letters addressed to him, something she loved to do. It said, and Family. Thats me, she said with mock challenge in her tone.
Phil sighed. Defeated before I begin. He read aloud, Mrs Agatha Grant invites Mr Philip Hastings and family to dinner, Sunday 24 June. Cocktails at 5 p.m. Regrets only.
What does that mean?
It means RSVP only if you cant come, you California barbarian.
Gloria playfully kicked her husband. Barbarian! Who was it who called the town La Jawl-lah the first time he propositioned me?
I did?
You most certainly did. It was at Harv Morans house, at the wrap party for Bridesdale. You came sliding up to me while my date was over getting drinks Robbie Tedesco, that was who I was with. You and I had just met at the studio the day before and you said, Ive got an invitation to spend the weekend at a friends beach house in La Jawl-lah. Do you think you could get away for a couple of days? She spoke the lines with a deep voice, mimicking his speech patterns.
Phil looked only mildly embarrassed. I remember, I still cant believe I did that. I had never asked a near stranger to spend the weekend with me before. Then he smiled. Well, you did come with me.
Gloria laughed. I did, didnt I? I guess I just figured someone was going to grab up this eastern square and it might as well be me. She playfully grabbed a handful of his greying hair and pulled his head down, kissing him quickly. And La Jolla was beautiful.
So were you as you still are, he said, kissing her deeply. He felt her respond. Playfully nipping at her neck, he whispered, We havent pulled a nooner in years, kiddo.
Then the phone rang, and Gabbie shouted from upstairs, Ill get it!
Instantly they heard the sound of the screen door slamming as the boys tromped into the kitchen. Maaa! shouted Patrick.
Whats for lunch? inquired Sean in counterpoint.
Passion fled. Leaning against her husband, Gloria shook her head. Such are the prices of parenthood. With a quick kiss, she said, Hold that last thought for tonight, lover.
Gabbie came running partway down the stairs, holding the phone at the limit of the cords ability to stretch. Its Jack. Hes back. Were going riding this afternoon, then getting a bite and a movie. So I wont be home for dinner. Okay?
Phil said, Sure, as the boys came marching in from the kitchen. Gabbie dashed back up the stairs.
Mom, said Patrick, whats for lunch?
Were hungry, agreed Sean.
Gloria shrugged regretfully towards her husband. Putting her hands on her sons shoulders, she turned them around and said, With me, troops. Suddenly she was gone, heading for the kitchen to feed her small brood. Phil could still smell her clean scent in the hall air and felt the deep stirrings that contact with her always brought quickly into existence. With a sigh of regret at the moments being gone, he returned to reading the mail as he walked back towards his study.
Chapter Seven
Gabbie stood in mute and pleasant surprise. At last she said, All right! slowly drawing out the exclamation.
Jack smiled as he motioned for her to come and take the reins of the bay mare he had led. It was a beautiful, well-cared-for animal. Gabby took the reins. Theyre terrific.
Mr Laudermilch raises Thoroughbreds and warm-blood crosses. Hes a friend of Aggies and Ive helped out around his farm, so he lets me borrow one every so often. He used to race Thoroughbreds, but now hes into jumpers.
Gabbie admired the animals, noting the curve of the neck and the way the tail rose up, and the slightly forward-facing ears. These have some Arabian in them, she declared, as she took the reins from Jack.
Jack nodded with a grin. And quarter horse. These dont compete. Theyre what Mr Laudermilch calls riding-around stock. Yours is called My Dandelion and this is John Adams.
She hugged the mares neck and patted it. Hi, baby, she crooned. Were going to be buddies, arent we? She quickly mounted. Settling into the unusual position of the English saddle, she said, God, this feels weird.
Jack said, Im sorry. I thought you rode English.
Jack said, Im sorry. I thought you rode English.
Gabbie shook her head as she spurred her mount forward. Nope, cowgirl. Ive ridden English before. Its just been a long time. She waved at her foot. Acme cowboy boots. Ill pick up some proper breeches and high top boots in town. My knees will be a little bruised tomorrow, is all.
They rode out towards the woods, Gabbie letting Jack take the lead. Watch out for low branches, he said over his shoulder. These paths arent cleared like riding trails.
She nodded and studied his face as he turned back towards the path. She smiled to herself at the way his back moved as he reined his horse. Definitely a fox, she thought to herself, then wondered if there was a girlfriend back at the college.
The trail widened and she moved up beside him, saying These woods are pretty. Im more used to the hills around the Valley.
Valley?
San Fernando Valley. She made a face. Ya know, fer sher, like a Valley girl, totally tubular, man. I mean, like bitchin, barf out, and all that shit. She looked irritated at the notion. I grew up in Arizona. That image grosses me out. Suddenly she laughed at the slip and was joined by Jack. LAs just reclaimed desert. Turn off the garden hose and all the green goes away. Its all chaparral scrub, you know on the hills north of the valley. Some stands of trees around streams. A lot of eucalyptus nothing like these woods. Its mostly hot and dry, and real dusty. But Im used to it.
He smiled, and she decided she liked the way his mouth turned up. Ive never been west of the Mississippi, myself. Thought Id get out to Los Angeles once a few years back, but I broke my leg sailing and that shot the whole summer.
Howd you manage that?
Fell off the boat and hit a patch of hard water.
For a moment she paused in consideration, for he had answered with a straight face, then she groaned. You bullshitter. Youre as bad as my dad.
I take that as a compliment, he answered with a grin. Actually, some fool who thought he could sail put the boat around in a gybe without warning any of us, and I caught the boom and got knocked overboard. Smashed my leg all up. I spent the next day and a half with a paddle for a splint while we headed back to Tampa. Spent nine weeks in a cast, then six more in a walking cast. The surgeon was great, but my legs not a hundred per cent. When it gets cold, I limp a little. And I cant run worth spit. So I walk a lot.
They rode in silence for a while, enjoying the warm spring day in the woods. Suddenly there was an awkward moment, as each waited for the other to speak. At last Jack said, What are you studying?
Gabbie shrugged. I havent decided. Im only a few units into my sophomore year, really. Im sort of hung up between psychology and lit.
I dont know much about psych. She looked at him quizzically. I mean, what you would do when you graduated. But either means grad school if you want to use them.
She shrugged again. Like I said, Im barely a sophomore. Ive got a while. She was quiet for a long time, then blurted, What Id like to do is write.
He nodded. Considering your parents, thats not surprising.
What was surprising, thought Gabbie, was that she had said that. She had never told anyone, not even Jill Moran, her best friend. Thats the trouble, I guess. Everyone will expect it to be brilliant. What if its no good?
Jack looked at her with a serious expression on his face. Then itll be no good.
She reined in, trying to read his mood. He looked away, thoughtfully, his profile lit from behind by the sun shining through the trees. I tried to write for a long time before I gave up. A historical novel, Durham County. About my neck of the woods at the turn of the century. There were pans of it that I thought were fine. He paused. It was pretty awful. It was difficult admitting it at the end, because enough of my friends kept encouraging me that I thought it was good for a long time. I dont know. You just have to do it, I guess.
She sighed as she patted the horses neck. Her dark hair fell down, hiding her face, as she said, Still, you dont have two writers for parents. My mothers won a Pulitzer and my father was nominated for an Oscar. All Ive managed is some dumb poetry.
He nodded, then turned his mount and began riding along the trail. After a long silence he said, I still think you just have to do it.
Maybe youre right, she answered. Look, did you keep any of the stuff your friends told you was great?
With an embarrassed smile, he said, All of it. The whole damn half novel.
Ill make you a deal. You let me see yours and Ill let you see mine. Jack laughed hard at the school-yard phrase and shook his head. Whats the matter? Fraid?
No, Jack barely managed to croak as he continued to laugh uncontrollably.
Scaredy-cat, Gabbie mimicked, plunging Jack into deeper hilarity.
Jack finally said, Okay, I give up. Ill let you read my stuff maybe.
Maybe!
The argument continued as they crested a small rise and vanished behind it. From deep within the woods a pair of light blue eyes watched their passing. A figure emerged from the underbrush, a lithe, youthful figure who moved lightly on bare feet to the top of the path. From behind a bole he watched Gabbie as she moved down the trail. His eyes caressed her young back, drinking in the sight of her long dark hair, her slender waist, and the rounded buttocks as she held a good seat on the horses back. The youths laughter was high-pitched and musical. It was an alien sound, childlike and ancient, holding a hint of savage songs, primitive revelries, and music-filled hot nights. His curly red-brown hair surrounded a face conceived by Michelangelo or a Pre-Raphaelite painter. Pretty, the young man said to the tree, patting the ancient bark as if it understood. Very pretty. Then, nearby, a bird sounded a call, and the youth looked up. His voice shrilled with inhuman tones, a whistling whisper, as if a mockingbird imitated the call. The little bird darted about, seeking the intruder in its territory. The youth shrieked in glee at the harmless jest, as the bird continued to search for the trespasser. Then the youth sighed as he considered the beautiful girl who had passed.
High above, among the leaves, a thing of blackness clung tenaciously to the underside of a branch. It had watched the two riders with as much interest as the youth. But its thoughts were neither merry nor playful. An urgent need arose within, halfway between lust and hunger. Beauty affected it as much as the youth. But its desires were different, for, while lust was the youths driving motivation, to the black thing under the tree branch beauty was only a beginning, a point of departure. And only the destruction of beauty allowed one to understand it. The fullness of Gabbies beauty could be realized only by a slow journey through pain and anguish, torment and hopelessness, ending with blood and death. And if the pain was artful, as the master had taught, such torment could be made to last for ages.
As it contemplated its alien dark thoughts, musing on the simple wonder of suffering, the black thing realized a truth. Whatever pleasure the girls destruction could produce would be nothing compared to the elation that could result from the destruction of the two boys. Such wonderful children, still innocent, still pure. They were the prize. Lingering terror and pain given to such as they would The creature shuddered in dark anticipation at the image, then stilled itself, lest the one below take notice and make the black thing feel just such pain in turn. The youth stood another moment, one hand upon the tree, the other absently clutching at his groin as he held the image of the lovely human girl who had ridden past. Then, with a move like a spinning dance, the man-boy leaped back into the green vegetation, vanishing from mortal sight, leaving the small clearing empty save for the reverberations of impish laughter.