Running With The Demon

CHAPTER 32

By morning, news services from as far away as Chicago were reporting the story. Variations in word usage and presentation aside, it read pretty much the same everywhere. A disgruntled union worker at MidCon Steel in Hopewell, Illinois, had attempted to sabotage a fireworks display sponsored by the company. Derry Howe, age thirty–eight, of Hope–well, was killed when the bomb he was attempting to plant within the staging area exploded prematurely. Also injured were Robert Freemark, aged sixty–five, of Hopewell, a retired member of the same union; two members of the staging crew; and several spectators. In a related incident, a second man, Junior Elway, aged thirty–seven, of Hopewell, was killed attempting to plant a bomb in the fourteen–inch mill at MidCon during a break in his work shift. It was thought that the dead men, longtime friends and union activists, were acting in concert, and that the bombs were intended to halt efforts by MidCon to reopen the company in defiance of a strike order and to initiate a new round of settlement talks. Police were continuing with their investigation.

In a second, much smaller news item, the weather service reported extensive damage to parts of Sinnissippi Park in the wake of a thunderstorm that passed through Hopewell sometime around midnight. High winds and lightning had toppled a white oak thought to be well over two hundred years old as well as several smaller trees within a heavily wooded section of the park. The storm had moved out of the area by early morning, but phone and electrical lines were still down in parts of the city.

Nest heard most of it from television reports as she wandered back and forth between the Community General Hospital lounge and the lunchroom waiting for her grandfather to wake up. It had been almost midnight when she walked home through the driving rain, the park deserted save for a cluster of patrol cars parked in front of the pavilion and toboggan slide, their red and blue lights flashing. Police officers in yellow slickers were stringing tape and examining the grounds, but she didn't attach any particular significance to the matter until she got home and found another cruiser parked in her driveway and more officers searching her home. She was told then that her grandfather had been taken to the hospital with a broken shoulder, cracked ribs, and possible internal injuries following a bombing attempt in the park, and that she had been reported missing and possibly kidnapped.

After determining that she was all right, they had driven her to the hospital to be with her grandfather. Old Bob had been treated and sedated, and she was told by the nurses on duty that he would probably sleep until morning. She had sufficient presence of mind to call Cass Minter to let her know she was all right and to tell her where she was. Even though it was almost one in the morning, Cass was still awake. Brianna was there with her, spending the night, and Robert was at home waiting to hear something as well. It was Robert who had called the police, telling them about the man poisoning trees in the park and insisting he might have gotten hold of Nest. He had even suggested, rather bizarrely, that the man might be using a stun gun.

Nest dozed on and off all night while her grandfather slept. Cass came up with her mother to check on her the following morning, and when Mrs. Minter discovered what state she was in, they took her home to shower and change, made her a hot meal, and then drove her back again.

When they left around midafternoon, she called the Lincoln Hotel and asked for John Ross, but was told he had checked out early that morning and taken a bus west to the Quad Cities. He had left no forwarding address.

Her grandfather was still sleeping, so she parked herself in a quiet corner of the lounge to wait. As she read magazines and stared into space, her thoughts constantly strayed to the events of the past few days. Faces and voices recalled themselves in random visits, like ghosts appearing from the shadows. The demon. John Ross. Wraith. Two Bears. Pick. She tried to listen to them, to understand what they were telling her, to fit together the pieces of jagged memory that lay scattered in her mind. She tried to make sense of what she had experienced. She thought often of Gran, and doing so left her sad and philosophical. It seemed, in the wake of last night's events, as if Gran had been gone a long time already. The news of her death, so fresh yesterday morning, was already stale and fading from the public consciousness. Today's news was all of Deny Howe and Junior Elway and the bombings. Tomorrow's news would be about something else. It diminished the importance of what had happened, she thought. It was the nature of things, of course. Life went on. The best you could do was to hold on to the memories that were important to you, so that even if everyone else forgot, you would remember. She could do that much for Gran.

She was dozing in the lounge, listening with half an ear to a television report that said authorities were dragging Rock River above Sinnissippi Park for a missing Hopewell man, when one of the nurses came to tell her that her grandfather was awake and asking for her. She rose and walked quickly to his room. He was sitting up in bed now, a cast on his arm and shoulder, bandages wrapped about his ribs, and tubes running out of his arm. His white hair was rumpled and spiky as he turned his head to look at her. She smiled back bravely.

"Hi, Grandpa," she said.

"Rough night, wasn't it?" he replied, seeing the concern in her eyes. "Are you all right, Nest?"

"I'm fine." She sat next to him on the bed. "How about you?"

"Stiff and sore, but I'll live. You heard what happened, I suppose?"

She nodded. "This guy was trying to blow up the fireworks and you stopped him." She took his hand in hers. "My grandpa, the hero."

"Well, I didn't stop him, matter of fact. He stopped himself. All I did, come right down to it, was to make sure people knew the truth about what he was trying to do. Maybe it will help ease tensions a little." He paused. "They tell you how long I'm going to be here?"

She shook her head. "They haven't told me anything."

"Well, there's not much to tell. I'll be fine in a day or two, but they might keep me here a week. I guess they plan to let me out for your grandmother's funeral. Doctor says so, anyway." He paused. "Will you be all right without me? Do you want me to call someone? Maybe you could go stay with the Minters."

"Grandpa, don't worry, I'm fine," she said quickly. "I can take care of myself."

He studied her a moment. "I know that." He glanced at his nightstand. "Would you hand me a cup of water, please?"

She did, and he took a long drink, lifting his head only slightly from the pillows. The room was white and still, and she could hear the murmur of voices from the hall outside. Through cracks in the window blinds, she could see blue sky and sunlight.

When her grandfather was finished with the water, he looked at her again, his eyes uneasy. "Did you run into your father out there last night?"

Her throat tightened. She nodded.

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head. "He tried to persuade me to come with him, like John Ross said he would. He threatened me. But I told him I wasn't coming and he couldn't make me." Her brow furrowed. "So he gave up and went away."

Her grandfather studied her. "Just like that? Off he went, back to poisoning trees in the park?"

"Well, no." She realized how ridiculous it sounded. She looked out the window, thinking. "He didn't just go off. It's kind of hard to explain, actually." She hesitated, not sure where to go. "I had some help."

Her grandfather kept staring at her, but she had nothing left to say. Finally, he nodded. "Maybe you'll fill me in on the details sometime. When you think I'm up to it."

She looked back at him. "I forgot something. He told me about Gran. He said he tried to come after me, and she chased him off with the shotgun." She watched her grandfather's eyes. "So she wasn't just shooting at nothing."

He nodded again, solemn, introspective. "That's good to know, Nest. I appreciate you telling me. I thought it must be something like that. I was pretty sure."

He closed his eyes momentarily, and Nest exhaled slowly. No one spoke for a moment. Then Nest said, "Grandpa, I was wondering." She waited until he opened his eyes again. "You know about Jared Scott?" Her grandfather nodded. "They took his brothers and sisters away afterward. Mrs. Walker says they're going to be put in foster care. I was wondering if, maybe after you're home again, we could see if Bennett Scott could come stay with us."

She bit her lip against the sudden dampness in her eyes. "She's pretty little to be with strangers, Grandpa."

Her grandfather nodded, and his hand tightened about hers. "I think that would be fine, Nest," he said quietly. "We'll look into it."

She went home again when her grandfather fell back asleep, walking the entire way from the hospital, needing the time alone. The sun shone brightly out of a cloudless sky, and the temperature had fallen just enough that the air was warm without being humid. She wondered if it was anything like this where John Ross had gone.

The house was quiet and empty when she arrived home. The casseroles and tins were gone from the kitchen, picked up by Reverend Ernery, who had left a nice note for her on the counter saying he would stop by the hospital to visit her grandfather that night. She drank a can of root beer, sitting on the back porch steps with Mr. Scratch, who lay sprawled out at her feet, oblivious of everything. She looked off into the park frequently, but made no move to go into it. Pick would be at work

there, healing the scarred landscape of the deep woods. Maybe she would look for him tomorrow.

When it began to grow dark, she made herself a sandwich and sat eating alone at the kitchen table where she had sat so often with Gran. She was midway through her meal when she heard a kitten cry. She sat where she was a moment, then got up and went to the back door. There was Spook. Bennett Scott's kitten was ragged and scrawny, but all in one piece. Nest slipped outside and picked up the kitten, holding it against her breast. Where had he come from? There was no sign of Pick. But Spook couldn't have found his way here all alone.

She put milk in a bowl and set the bowl on the porch for Spook to drink. The kitten lapped hungrily, a loud purr building in its furry chest. Nest watched hi silence, thinking.

After a while, she picked up the phone and called Robert.

"Hey," she said.

"Nest?"

"Want to go for a bike ride and visit Jared?"

There was a long pause. "What did you do to me last night?"

"Nothing. Want to go with me or not?"

"You can't visit Jared. He's off limits. They've got him hi intensive care."

Nest looked at the shadows lengthening hi the park. "Let's go see him anyway."

She hung up and when the phone rang, she left it alone. With Robert, it was best not to argue or explain.

Twenty minutes later he wheeled into her drive, dropped his bike in the grass, and walked up to her where she was back sitting out on the porch steps. He brushed at his unruly blond hair as he strode up, bouncing defiantly on the balls of his feet.

"Why'd you hang up on me?" he demanded.

"I'm a girl," she said, shrugging. "Girls do things like that. Want a root beer?"

"Geez. Bribery, yet." He followed her into the kitchen. "How's your grandpa?"

"Good. He won't be able to come home for a while, maybe a week. But he's okay."

"Good for him. Wish I could say the same."

She cocked one eyebrow speculatively. "What's the matter? Did I hurt you last night?"

"Ah–hah! You admit it!" Robert was ecstatic. "I knew you did something! I knew it! What was it? C'mon, tell me!"

She reached into the refrigerator, brought out a can of root beer, and handed it to him. "I used a stun gun."

He stared at her, openmouthed. Then he flushed. "No, you didn't! You're just saying that because that was what I told the cops! Where would you get a stun gun, anyway? Come on! What did you do?"

She cocked her head. "You mean you lied to the police?"

He continued to stare at her, frustration mirrored in his narrow, bunched features. Then he crooked his finger. "C'mere."

He led her back outside, down the steps and into the yard. Then he shook the can of root beer as hard as he could, pointed it at her, and popped the top. Cold fizz sprayed all over her. He waited until she was glaring openly at him, then took a long drink from the can and said, "Okay, now we're even."

She went inside to wash and change her T-shirt, then came back out to find him dangling a length of string in front of Spook, who was watching with a mix of curiosity and mistrust. "Are you ready?" she asked, picking the kitten up and depositing him inside the house.

He shrugged. "Why are we doing this, anyway?" He dropped the string and walked over to retrieve his bike.

She kicked at his tire as she walked past. "Because I'm afraid Jared might not come back from wherever he's gone if one of us doesn't go get him."

They wheeled their bikes to the top of the drive, climbed onto the seats, and began to pedal into the twilight. They rode down Sinnissippi Road and across Lincoln Highway to the back streets that led to the hospital. They rode in silence, watching the city darken around them, its people settling in behind lighted windows in front of lighted screens. Children played in yards, and lawn mowers roared. Starlings sang raucously, and elderly couples walked in slow motion down the concrete sidewalks that had become the measure of their lives.

When they reached the hospital, Nest and Robert chained their bikes to the rack by the front entry and went inside. It was after nine o'clock, and the waiting room was quiet, most of the visitors gone home for the night. Side by side, they walked up to look in on Nest's grandfather, but he was sleeping again, so they didn't stay. Instead, they found a stairwell that connected the six floors of the hospital and stood just outside, glancing around surreptitiously.

"So, what's the plan, Stan?" Robert asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"He's in five fourteen," Nest answered. "Just off the stairway. You go up the elevator and talk to whoever's working the nursing station. Ask about Jared or something. I'll go up the stairs and slip into his room while they're busy with you."

Robert smirked. "That's your whole plan?"

"Assuming you intend to help."

He stared at her. "Tell you what. I'll help if you'll tell me what you did to me last night. The truth, this time."

She stared back at him without answering, thinking it over. Then she said, "I used magic on you."

He hesitated, and she could tell that for just half a second he believed her. Then he smirked dismissively. "You're weirder than I am, Nest. You know that? Okay, let's go."

She waited until she saw him stop in front of the elevator; then she entered the stairwell and began to climb. She reached the fifth floor, inched the door open, and peered out into the hall. It was virtually deserted. She could see room 514 almost directly across from her. When Robert stepped out of the elevator a moment later and walked over to the nursing station, she slipped from her hiding place.

A moment later, she was inside Jared's room.

Jared Scott lay motionless in a hospital bed, looking small and lost amid an array of equipment, eyes staring at nothing behind half–closed lids, arms and legs laid out straight beneath the covers, face pale and drawn. The room was dark except for the lights from the monitors and a small night–light near the door. The blinds to the street were closed, and the air conditioner hummed softly. Nest glanced around the room, then back at Jared. A bandage covered the top half of his head, and

there were raw, savage marks on his face and arms from the beating he had received. She stared at him in despair, her eyes shifting from his face to the blinking green lights of the monitoring equipment and back again.

She had been thinking about coming to see him all afternoon, ever since leaving her grandfather. Spook had decided her. She would use her magic to help Jared. She didn't know for certain that she could, of course. She had never used the magic this way. But she understood its potential to affect the human body, and there was a chance she could do some good. She needed to try, perhaps as much for herself as for him. She needed to step out from her father's shadow, from the dark legacy of his life, something she would never be able to do until she embraced what he had given her and turned it to a use he would never have considered. She would start here.

She walked over to Jared's bed and lowered the railing so that she could sit next to him. "Hey, Jared," she said softly.

She touched his hand, held it in her own as she had held her grandfather's that afternoon, and reached up to stroke his face. His skin felt warm and soft. She waited to see if he would respond, but he didn't. He just lay there, staring. She fought to hold back her tears.

This would be dangerous, she knew. It would be risky. If the magic failed her, she might kill Jared. But she knew as well, somewhere deep inside, that if she failed to act, she would lose him anyway. He was not coming back alone from wherever he had gone. He was waiting there for her to come get him.

She leaned over him, still holding his hand, and stared down into his unseeing eyes. "Jared, it's me, Nest," she whispered.

She moved until she was directly in his line of sight, her face only inches from his own. The room was still except for the slight hiss and blip of the machines, cloaked in darkness and solitude.

"Look at me, Jared," she whispered.

She reached out to him with her magic, spidery tendrils of sound and movement that passed through his staring eyes and probed inward. "Where are you, Jared?" she asked softly. "We miss you. Me, Cass, Robert, Brianna. We miss you."

She nudged him gently, tried to reach deeper. She could feel something inside him resisting her, could feel it draw back, a curtain that tightened. She waited patiently for the curtain to loosen. If she pushed too hard, she could damage him. She experienced a sudden rush of uncertainty. She was taking an enormous chance, using the magic like this, experimenting. Perhaps she was making a mistake, thinking she could help, that the magic could do what she expected. Perhaps she should stop now and let nature take its intended course, unhindered by her interference.

She felt him relax then, and she probed anew, stroking him, brushing lightly against his fragile consciousness, the part he had locked deep inside where it was dark and safe.

Within her body, the magic hummed and vibrated, a living thing. She had never gotten this close to it for this long. She could feel its power building, working its way through her, heat and sound and motion. It was like trying to direct the movements of a cat; you felt it could spring away at any moment.

"Jared, look at me," she whispered.

Careful, careful. The magic prodded gently, insistently. Sweat beaded on Nest's forehead, and her chest and throat tightened with her efforts.

"I'm here, Jared. Can you hear me?"

Time slipped away. She lost track of how much, her concentration focused on making contact with him, on breaking through the shell into which he had retreated. Once, she heard someone approach, but the steps turned away before they reached Jared's room. Her concentration tightened. She forgot about Robert, about the nurses, about everything. She stayed where she was, not looking up, not shifting her gaze away from Jared, not even for a moment. She refused to give up. She kept talking to him, saying his name, using her magic to bump him gently, to open the door to his safehold just a crack.

"Jared," she said over and over. "It's me, Nest."

Until finally his eyes shifted to find hers, and he replied in a hoarse whisper, "Hey, Nest," and she knew he was going to be all right.

On a Greyhound traveling west between Denver and Salt Lake City, John Ross sat staring out into the night, watching the lights of ranches and towns hunkered down in the empty flats below the Rockies flash by in the darkness. He sat alone at the rear of the bus, his staff propped up against the seat beside him, the roar of the engine and the whine of the wheels drowning out the snoring of his fellow passengers. It was nearing midnight, and he was the only one awake.

He sighed wearily. Soon he would sleep, too. Because he would have to. Because the demands of his body would give him no choice.

Almost two days had passed since he had left Nest Freemark standing in the rain in Sinnissippi Park. He had gone back to the hotel, gathered up his things, and waited in the lobby for the early–morning bus. When it arrived, he had climbed aboard without a backward glance and ridden away. Already his memory of Hopewell and her people was beginning to fade, the larger picture shrinking to small, bright moments that he could tuck away and carry with him. Old Bob, greeting him that first day at Josie's, believing him Caitlin's friend. Gran, her sharp old eyes raking across him as she sought to see through the fa9ade he had created. Josie Jackson, sleepy–eyed and warm, lying next to him on their last day. Pick, the sylvan, the keeper of Sinnissippi Park. Daniel. Wraith. The demon.

But mostly there was Nest Freemark, a fourteen–year–old girl who could work magic and by doing so come to terms with the truth about her family, when anything less would have destroyed her. He could see her face clearly, her freckles and quirky smile and curly dark hair. He would remember the long, smooth strides she took when she ran and the way she stood her ground when it mattered. In a world in which so much of what he encountered only served to reinforce his fears that the future of his dreams was an inevitability, Nest gave him hope. When so many others might have succumbed to their fear and despair, Nest had not. She represented a little victory when measured against the enormity of the battle being fought by the

Word and the Void, but sometimes little victories made the difference. Little victories, like the small events that tipped the scales in the balance of life, really could change the world.

I wish I could have been your father, he had said, and he had meant it.

He wondered if he would ever see her again.

He straightened in his seat, looking down the aisle past the slouched forms of the sleepers to where the driver hunched over the steering wheel, eyes on the road. In the bright glare of the headlights, the highway was an endless concrete ribbon unrolling out of the black. Morning was still far away; it was time to sleep. He had not slept since he had left Hopewell, and he could not put it off any longer. He shivered involuntarily at the prospect. It would be bad, he knew. It would be horrendous. He would be bereft of his magic, a night's payment for his expenditure in his battle with the maentwrog. He would be forced to run and to hide while his enemies hunted him; he would be alone and defenseless against them. Maybe they would find him this night. Maybe they would kill him. In the world of his dreams, all things were possible.

Weary and resigned, he eased his bad leg onto the padded bench and propped his body between the seat back and the bus wall. He was afraid, but he would not allow his fear to master him. He was a Knight of the Word, and he would find a way to survive.

John Ross closed his eyes, a warrior traveling through time, and drifted away to dream of a future he hoped would never be.