The Influence(115)
The door to the establishment was closed, and Ross honked the horn, hoping to see McDaniels come out.
The door remained closed.
“I don’t like this,” he muttered.
Kevin said nothing. Whatever doubts his nephew might have had, Ross could tell that they had fled in the face of the overwhelming sense of dread that hung over the virtually abandoned town. Kevin, too, was keeping his eye on the little girl. The fact that he wasn’t suggesting that they help her, or go over and ask her what was wrong, was a pretty good indication that he thought she was as spooky as Ross did.
Ross honked the horn again, then unbuckled his shoulder harness. “You wait here,” he told his nephew. “I’m going in to check. If you see anything weird, honk the horn and I’ll be right out.”
“Don’t you have a gun or anything?” Kevin asked nervously.
He had no weapons at all. The truth was that the idea hadn’t even occurred to him, although whether that was a result of his own stupidity or that demon’s influence, he would probably never know. “No,” he said. “But honk the horn and I’ll come out.”
His hands were trembling as he got out of the car. His knees felt weak, too, but he walked around the front of the vehicle over to the closed door of the small building, took a deep breath, and opened it.
It was dark inside, but he walked in anyway.
The handyman was sitting alone at the bar, drinking a beer, a rifle on the countertop in front of him. “I’m assumin’ that’s you, pardner,” he said without turning around.
“It’s me,” Ross said.
McDaniels swiveled on his seat. “I thought you was Hec. Arrived a little early, did you?”
“We left early.” He sat down next to McDaniels. “So your friend’s coming?”
“Saw him last night. Said he would.” The handyman shrugged. “Hard to tell these days.” Ross couldn’t tell if he was drunk or not, but, as early as it was, he could probably use a beer, too. Or something stronger.
Outside, the horn honked once, twice, three times.
Without waiting to see if McDaniels was going to follow him, Ross rushed back outside.
The farmer’s market girl was walking down the middle of the street toward them, chanting.
“Butt fuck dick suck! Dirty pussy pie!”
Kevin had gotten out of the car and was standing next to the open driver’s side door, his arm stretched out to the steering wheel, ready to honk the horn again. He stopped when he saw his uncle. “She just started walking and saying that.”
“Butt fuck dick suck! Dirty pussy pie!” The girl met his eyes, thrusting her chin out belligerently.
“Where’s your mother?” Ross asked her.
She had nearly reached the car. He didn’t know what to do, so he moved in front of her, blocking her way. “Stop,” he said. She was only a few feet in front of him.
“Butt fuck dick suck! Dirty pussy pie!” She leaned forward, whispering. “Stick a needle in your eye. Hope you die.”
He jerked back at just the right minute as the filthy child tried to stab his eye with a needle that she was pinching between her thumb and forefinger. She missed, the needle scraping his cheek instead and drawing blood. Reflexively, he lashed out, hitting her in the face.
McDaniels had come out of the bar behind him, rifle butt snug against his shoulder as he sighted down the barrel, ready to shoot. He put the weapon down when he saw who it was.
The girl had fallen to the ground but was not crying as she stood back up. She fixed Ross with a cold stare. “Hope you fucking die.”
He grabbed her arm and pushed her back in the direction from which she’d come. “Get out of here,” he ordered.
He half-expected her to leap at him again, to fight back, but she wandered up the street toward the church, chanting. “Butt fuck dick suck! Dirty pussy pie! Butt fuck dick suck! Dirty pussy pie!”
Past her, walking forlornly back and forth at the end of the street, near the front of the church, was an equally dirty man holding a handful of strings connected to dead balloons that dragged behind him on the ground.
“Holy shit!” Kevin said. “You weren’t lying!”
“No,” Ross admitted. “But I wish I was.”
“So what do we do now?”
Ross glanced over at McDaniels. “Wait,” he said, and the handyman nodded. “Wait and see if anyone else is going to join us.”
THIRTY SIX
Today’s the day.
The words were imprinted on his mind but Cameron Holt had no idea what they meant. Was the True Angel finally going to emerge from its cocoon? He knew the time was getting close; the cocoon had grown larger than the smokehouse that had originally held it, and the black outline of the new angel was clearly visible through the transparent sheath that covered its evolving form.