Cold on the Mountain Page 24

  “What is it?” Kelli said. “It’s faint, but it’s definitely there. Is that…is that the northern lights?”

  “I don’t think so,” Miriam replied. “I think it’s just a warning—Adrienne’s way of saying ‘Keep Out.’ It was present on the night that I got stuck there, and now it’s back. So to answer your question, Sheriff Tasket—yes. Yes, I think we do have a fighting chance at this thing. That green light tells me that we’re in the right place, at the right time.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, his tone even. “Let’s get over there and see if we can’t figure this thing out.”

  ~0~

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” a tall man with a striking bald head said. He paced on a grand stage, growling into a microphone with a rich baritone, an accent flavoring his speech. Behind him stood a vast altar; an elaborate boar’s head formed a gateway of sorts, the tusked jaws spread wide and pointing toward the west. Moloch loomed, arms crossed over his chest, at the back of the stage. On a table before him sat a tattered black box—a relic that had somehow withstood the ravages of time. It was filled with tiny slips of paper. Stairs led up one side of the altar, and back down the opposite side—an exit, presumably, for those unable to pull a winning lot. “The sun passes low on the western skyline! The time for new beginnings is mere moments away! Can…you…feel it?”

  The assembled—perhaps 9,000, all told—loosed a deafening roar. They’d divided themselves into camps, but all were united in their urgency to get the hell out of Adrienne. The ratio was stunning—the dark ones outnumbering the normals at least ten to one. Phil shared an incredulous glance with Jasper and Big Wren. Fighting their way out of town, if that had ever truly been a possibility, would have been suicide.

  “We gather here today, on the verge of the great purge,” he purred. “Our mission? It’s simple, really. We’re here to restore balance to the universe. There is no shortage of goodness and light on the other side, now is there, brothers and sisters?”

  The dark ones booed, and the bald man nodded boisterously—lapping up their energy like a starved kitten at a saucer of milk.

  “Who is this guy?” Wendy said, turning to Jasper. “He looks a little bit familiar.”

  Jasper nodded. “You’ve probably seen him before on the news. His name is Terry Summers. A fairly recent addition to our fair town. There has always been a Summers officiating the lottery. Probably always will be one. Whenever one leaves, another inevitably finds a way back here. There’s a cosmic joke for you.

  “But this particular asshole is a real piece of work. He ran some skinhead gang that sold drugs and killed a lot of innocent people—first in Europe, and then over in America. He’s been pretty popular since showing up here about a decade ago. He’d been murdered by his own gang; I bet a few of those double-crossing scumbags are over there right now,” he said, nodding toward the dark ones.

  “Well, he’s got charisma,” Wendy said. “I’ll give him that.”

  Summers positioned himself in front of the normals as he continued his monologue. “We provide something that the other side desperately needs—something that the other side in fact covets, my dear deviants! We provide context, for how would history understand the nightmare if it couldn’t reconcile itself with the work of our…VIPs?”

  Summers ran across the stage, opening his palms in appreciation as he motioned toward a large segment of dark ones standing apart from the rest of the crowd.

  Phil watched in horror as a cadre of men—at least a few hundred—raised their fists in unison. A thunderous cry of approval rippled through their ranks, and Phil saw Joseph Goebbels peering at him from sixty yards away. He grinned and made a gun with his thumb and index finger. He pointed the barrel at Phil, punctuating his little display with a knowing wink.

  “Is that…?”

  “Yep. The whole damned team,” Wren said. “At least, all the ones that have died. There are still hundreds of those bastards, hiding out in nursing homes all over Florida. Sipping orange juice and waiting to die while daydreaming about ovens that never went cold.”

  Summers motioned for quiet.

  “The universe needs us, my pretty little outcasts, for the light is so much brighter when balanced by the dark. Beauty is so much more alluring when it’s juxtaposed with filth, and the sweet tastes all the better when measured against the bitter.

  “We are the force that makes the world…interesting,” Summers purred. “We are the evil that the priests warn their flocks about.

  “We are the menace in the house at the end of the street, watching the children pass from behind the lacey curtains.

  “We are the danger in the alley, the shadow on the streetcar, the angry knuckles on the night door.

  “We are the wolf in sheep’s coat, hiding in plain sight as we go about our…work.”

  A hush fell over the crowd, and thousands of heads turned as one toward the western horizon. The sun tilted toward the edge of the mountains, and a single shaft of bright light fell on the boar’s head. It illuminated a great prism of glass between the animal’s eyes, and a shimmering wall of green light descended on the portal.

  This drew thunderous cheers from the group; they lasted at least a few minutes, until Summers motioned for all to be silent.

  “The gates are open, my delightful degenerates.” His voice was soft and calming, and then he flipped the switch and began to shriek. Wendy bent and covered the twins’ ears as the dark ones fell into a frenzy. “And those of you who are fortunate enough to find your way home tonight,” he shouted, “must rape!”

  A terrible cry went up from the dark ones.

  “…and maim…

  “…and tear…

  “…and, yes, my malignant brothers and sisters—kill!”

  Summers’s speech hit its mark, and men and women began to push toward the altar, shouting over each other in their lust to test the portal.

  “Hold back,” Jasper said. “There’s no need to rush into this, and it could be dangerous up there.”

  Almost exclusively it was the dark ones making their way for the altar. Phil saw Gacy, fully dressed in a blood-stained clown suit and oversized spats, capering toward the front of the line. He recognized a few faces from the Dark Earth Saloon, including the mega-famous guitarist he was still shocked to have discovered in Adrienne.

  My, my—the stories he’d tell when he made it home to Oregon…

  He saw the kids in the trench coats and the insane Jennifer San Marco, her arm in a sling from where the sheriff had winged her.

  “There’s still plenty of time,” Summers said, “so no need to get physical down there. Save it for the other side, you rascals!” he called, drawing laughter from the crowd. “Before we get things started, I must defer to tradition and the drawing of the first. Our Lady of Adrienne, whose gracious hospitality we enjoy every spring on this day of celebration, will now do the honors.”

  The crowd grew silent, anticipatory, as the Dowager strode to the front of the stage. She looked old and tired, though the foundation of her contrived beauty lingered.

  “Good citizens of Adrienne,” she said, smiling down at the dark ones. “Today represents yet another opportunity at freedom. I wish all of the lucky ones leaving our town nothing but the very best on the other side. Many of you have been here for decades. Some of you, for centuries. I know waiting is hard, but all good things take time. And each of you has a destiny—a future that can’t be denied.

  “Now, as is customary at gatherings such as these, let me wish you all on your way with a few traditional words that speak to the importance of all that we do: Darkness blinds the world with fear, and girds our hold on those we hold dear.

  “Go forth, and fulfill your destinies—until we all meet again, right here in Adrienne.”

  Her speech was met with polite applause, and her smile widened as she held up a slip of paper. “I have the first!”

  They howled and cheered while she made a show of slowly opening the paper. “The first
to walk through our portal this afternoon will be…Charles Starkweather!”

  Calamitous applause and cheering filled the lottery grounds as a little man with furtive eyes, fleshy pale lips, and a blond pompadour made his way toward the stairs. Hundreds of hands slapped him on the back, and he paused on the staircase and placed a cigarette between his lips. He lit it with a theatrical flourish, swiped a hand through his hair and, cigarette dangling, sauntered across the stage to the Dowager, who shook his hand. “Any words, Charles?”

  “Just…I just can’t wait to get home. I’ll look for you, Caril! I’ll look out for you, baby, and we’ll get right back out there in the thick of it! That’s a promise! We’ll finish what we started, girl!”

  A woman shouted something unintelligible, drawing laughter, and then the little man ambled across the stage.

  “Looks like James Dean,” Phil muttered.

  “In his dreams,” Jasper said.

  Starkweather strode up to the portal. He reached out, testing it with his fingertips, and stepped through…

  …only to emerge instantly on the other side.

  The crowd groaned its frustration, but it was not an unexpected outcome. In all the years that Jasper had been watching the lottery, only twice had the first made it through.

  “An orderly line,” Summers said, “we’re not savages, here, for heaven’s sake. Just make an orderly line.”

  And in that fashion, the lottery began.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “I’m not sure,” Bo said. He swiped the last bit of bile from his cheek. “Maybe? It hurts so goddamned bad…”

  “I know it,” Miriam said, rubbing his back. “You have an incredible connection to your brother, Bo. I think that’s why you’re feeling so poorly. But we can’t do this without you. We need you with us, and we need you to be strong.”

  He stood to his full height. “Then let’s do it…quickly. Before I get sick again.”

  “Attaboy,” Tasket said, disappearing inside the trailer.

  Perhaps thirty minutes of dusky light remained out on the horizon, but none of it reached the interior of the trailer. Miriam thumbed the switch on a battery-operated lantern and placed it in the center of the desk. They formed a circle, two men and three women, and Miriam opened the book.

  “Join hands, please,” Miriam said. “Before I begin the incantation, I need to warn you. We’re going to a place of immense, crippling darkness. Our goal on this journey is two-fold: we want to bring our loved ones home to us, and we want to close the portal so that nobody else finds themselves stuck there in Adrienne. Ever.

  “The people who run the lottery are extremely powerful. They’re not like the killers that get stuck there.”

  “How so?” Tasket said.

  “Oh, they’re much worse. They’re not from any reality we can comprehend, and they exist only to serve their worst impulses.”

  “Are we talking about demons, Miriam?” Anna asked.

  The sensitive nodded. “Something like that, anyway. Pure, distilled darkness. When we get into Adrienne, I have a plan to protect us—a shield, of sorts. But it’s only temporary against such powerful opposition. When I give the call, you all need to retreat. If any of us get stuck there,” she shook her head, “then things are going to get very difficult. We’re talking eternity, folks. Your very own alpine prison for as long as your mind can imagine it—and then a little beyond that.”

  “Got it,” Bo gulped. “We have to go, Miriam. I’m going to be sick again.”

  “Very well,” she said. “I love each of you for your sacrifice in being here tonight.”

  She closed her eyes. Bo glanced around the circle. The others—even Tasket—had followed suit. He followed them into darkness as Miriam’s voice—soft, steady, and hauntingly rhythmic—filled the room. As she spoke, the words ancient and foreign, a calm descended and the centrifuge in his gut finally ceased its incessant churning.

  ~0~

  “She’s coming,” Moloch snarled, his fingers massaging the dull throb in his belly. The connection he’d forged was strong; it pained him.

  He had taken his human form—broad, muscled shoulders and a closely cropped head of curly dark hair. Thick beard and moustache. The only ornament tying him to his true identity was the tiny golden ring dangling from his septum.

  “Very well,” the Dowager said. They had moved to her elevated crow’s nest, a luxury afforded the lady of Adrienne from which to view her beloved lottery. “Are we prepared for her arrival?”

  “Of course, my lady. You’ll have your sustenance soon enough, and I’ll be clear of this infernal pain.”

  He walked to the railing and caught the eye of one of the rovers, who offered a barely perceptible nod in return. Two others crowded nearer to the portal as the line snaked through.

  “Such a good boy, Moloch,” she said, patting his knee. “Such a good little servant you’ve proven yourself to be. I don’t know where I would be without you.”

  The words grated on the demon king, but he wore a thin, practiced smile. Such was his burden; he would bear it until the debt was paid.

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  Perhaps a third of the dark ones had passed through the portal, with only nine securing their release. With every successful passage, one of the rovers would pound a drumbeat, drawing boisterous cheers from the crowd.

  Bum-bum-BUM-BUM-BUM! Bum-bum-BUM-BUM-BUM!

  Phil winced every time, understanding that instantaneously on the other side, folks were experiencing one of life’s single greatest moments—the birth of a child. Somewhere in the world, families were feeling the euphoria of building family connections, of establishing the unbreakable bond between children and parents.

  But now Phil new better, and this knowledge was unsettling. The debate over nature and nurture had been settled, and the answer was simple: neither. Darkness flowed back into the world. Darkness and pain. He took his daughters’ hands in his own, kissing them from time to time as they ambled ever closer to the altar.

  As some of the so-called VIPs approached the portal, Summers would stall the proceedings with his captivating patter.

  “And here he comes, folks! He’s a fairly recent addition to Adrienne who needs no introduction—a man who brought a country to its knees, and changed the way of life for the entire planet! Get on over there, big guy! Let’s see if you can get back out there in the game!”

  Phil let loose with a huge sigh of thanks when the bastard stepped through the portal and descended on the other side, the cries of disappointment accompanied by a round of consolation slaps on the back.

  Criminy, he thought, watching the asshole stroke his scraggly black beard. I could take that cocksucker completely out of the equation if we’re stuck here.

  As if reading Phil’s thoughts, Jasper put an arm on the smaller man’s shoulder. “It’s tempting, but it won’t happen, Phil. He never leaves his house. I mean never. Besides, I don’t think he’d fight fair anyway.”

  Normals were pulling lots now. They howled in delight when a middle-aged insurance salesman named Ned DeWitt made it home, the dark ones throwing catcalls and jeers their way.

  As the Bensons drew nearer, Phil felt a cauldron of anxiety in his gut. He was overcome by a sudden and pervasive fear. Fear and…and crippling nausea.

  “I think,” he said, struggling to check his gorge. “I think I’m going to be…”

  ~0~

  “…sick?”

  “What?” Bo said, although it was the strangest thing—he wasn’t really speaking at all. “What did you say, Kel?”

  “I asked if you were feeling okay. Are you still feeling sick?”

  They stared at each other, their lips unmoving. Somehow, they were in each other’s heads—communicating the way people who loved each other completely often do. Only this was no metaphor. They were literally inside each other’s heads.

  Bo glanced at the others. The cabin and the meadow and the whole of the Sierra Nevada had vanished from around
them. Instead, they stood in a gleaming white field of…of nothing—a transitory plane on their way into Adrienne.

  “Actually, I feel fine. I feel…good,” he replied. He turned his gaze to the left. Far, far in the distance, he could just make out a series of shapes. Mountains? He closed his eyes and was immediately overcome by a sudden sense of familiarity. He sniffed the air.

  Old Spice. Spearmint. Motor oil.

  “Papa?” he said, the words springing from his mouth unbidden. He felt a hand—a familiar pressure—on his shoulder. He turned to look, anxious to find his grandfather standing next to him.

  But there was nobody there.

  Where in the hell were they?

  “Can you feel it, Kelli? Close your eyes.”

  But her eyes were already shut tight—just as they were for Anna and Miriam and Tasket. The sheriff actually wore a little smile, and there were tears glistening on Anna’s cheeks. “I feel it, Bo. I do! They’re all here. My grandmother and…and Rachel Trent! What’s happening, Bo? Where is this place?”

  “We’re on our way to Adrienne,” he replied. “We must have had to travel through some…some other places to get there. Detours, maybe…”

  He closed his eyes again and was immediately overcome by the scent of fresh-cut grass. He heard the crack of a wooden bat; seconds later, he heard another…and another. Someone was taking batting practice. “Coach?” he called. “Are you there?”

  He sensed a presence and caught the pleasant aroma of freshly laundered cotton. He broke into a wide grin. “Glad to be near you again, Coach Gibbons,” he whispered to the man who had been like a second father to him throughout high school. Gibbons had succumbed to pancreatic cancer the year after Bo graduated. Bo had been filming commercials in Los Angeles when it happened, but he’d dropped everything and driven home to attend the services as soon as he received the news.

  “I don’t feel sick anymore, Kel,” he said. “This place…it’s wonderful! It’s taken all the pain away.”

  Kelli smiled. “I’m so glad, honey. Listen …I have to say something to you. I don’t know exactly how this is going to work out, so you need to hear it from me. You’re a good man, Bo. I need you to know that. You’re a good, sweet man.”