Moondeath Page 2

  Five minutes later, a reflective sign loomed out of the darkness: Cooper Falls—Two Miles. Billy reached out and gently shook Joyce’s shoulder. “Hey. Come on. Wake up,” he whispered. “We’re ’bout there.” He smiled softly and let his hand move down and grasp her breast. He gave it a squeeze, and Joyce groaned.

  “Come on, babe. We’re almost in town.”

  Joyce sat up a bit straighter and rubbed her eyes. Billy kept his hand on her breast. An even battle ensued between keeping his eyes on the road ahead and keeping them on Joyce.

  “Ummm, boy,” Joyce said with a sigh, “that drive went by pretty fast.”

  They came up to a stop sign, and Billy had to take his hand away from her so he could downshift. The road split off left and right, but before he pulled away from the stop sign, Billy put the car into neutral and shifted around so he faced Joyce. His hand went immediately to her breast again, and now that she was awake, Joyce moaned with pleasure. They kissed long, and ran their hands over each other’s body.

  “Good time tonight,” Joyce said, still sounding drugged. “You gonna be able to get away next weekend?”

  Billy grunted, “Dunno,” and slid his hand up under her T-shirt. Joyce’s hand started to rub his crotch with increased vigor.

  They were both lost in their embrace when something bumped against the car. They jumped up and looked around, startled.

  “What the hell was that?” Joyce asked, a trace of fear in her voice.

  Billy was scanning the area back and forth, his head bobbing like a chicken. “Maybe a branch dropped and hit the car,” he offered. His voice didn’t sound like he was convinced.

  “Let’s get back to town,” Joyce said, sitting up and pulling her shirt back down. “You gonna drive me home?”

  Billy was still looking around nervously. “Was thinking you could walk from here,” he said. “It’s goddamn late enough as it is. What the hell am I gonna tell Julie?”

  “You’ll think of something, honey pie,” Joyce said, smoothing his cheek. This seemed to make him relax, and he turned back to her. “And you wouldn’t want me to walk all the way home from here, would you?” she asked, sounding much sweeter and more innocent than she was.

  “You done it plenty of times before,” Billy said.

  “I just don’t feel like it tonight, honey pie. And besides,”—she let her hand rest on his crotch with slight pressure—“I was thinkin’ you might come up for a quick cup of coffee.” She squeezed harder. “I don’t have any cream for mine.”

  Billy laughed and then leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her. They held each other tightly for a moment. Suddenly, Joyce let out a shattering scream.

  “Jesus! Look out!” she screamed, pointing, wild-eyed, over his shoulder. Billy had an instant impression that her face looked almost skull-like, then he snapped his head around.

  What he saw outside the car window made his stomach tighten up like a clenched fist. He tried to say something, but all that came out of his mouth was a gagged, choking sound. Staring at him, not more than a foot away and with only the car window between them, was a large dog. Its teeth were bared in an angry snarl, and its eyes seemed to glow with a ferocious hatred. Billy watched in stunned horror as the animal pressed its muzzle against the glass. Foamy saliva smeared the window.

  Joyce had stopped screaming and was pressed against the passenger door, quivering with fear. Billy looked over at her and then back at the animal. Automatically, his hand went to the horn and pressed down, giving off a loud, blaring blast. The dog—it looked like an overgrown German Shepherd—started to rumble deep in its chest.

  “Christ!” Billy yelled. “Let’s get the fuck outta here!” He jammed the car into gear and took off from the stop sign with a squeal of tires. He had turned left, taking the road toward town. He would have turned right to go to his house.

  “You gonna bring me home?” Joyce asked tightly. She was still huddled in the corner of the seat.

  “Right to your door,” Billy answered. He drove grimly, constantly glancing in his rearview mirror. His heart was still pounding, and he had to urinate badly.

  “Who the hell’s dog was that?” he asked either Joyce or himself. Neither of them had an answer. “Christ, I’ve never seen a dog that big before!”

  The road seemed to unwind slowly. They were still two or three miles from the turnoff to Millstream Road. They were following the Conway Road along the east back of the Sawyer River and would have to cross the river into town down by the old woolen-mill bridge. In spite of the car’s headlights and the full moon overhead, Billy had a numbing sense of the darkness of the surrounding woods. He tried not to admit it even to himself, but he was still scared.

  “Was, was that thing, you know, like standing up on the car, or was it, was it really big enough, you know, tall enough to…?” He let the question drift away as he looked over and connected with Joyce’s wide, blank eyes.

  He knew the turn was coming up on the right, so he started downshifting and snapped on his turn signal. Once they crossed the bridge into town, Billy thought, they’d be safe for sure. He remembered something, vaguely, about how demons or evil spirits couldn’t cross running water; he also wondered why seeing that larger German Shepherd had made him think of demons.

  The turn was just around the next bend in the road. Billy smiled over at Joyce, who still hadn’t moved. “I guess I won’t come up for that cup of coffee. Not tonight.”

  Joyce nodded dumbly.

  There was a sign ahead: Old Mill Bridge—Millstream Road. Billy eased the car into second gear and started the turn. He gasped and Joyce screamed again when they saw, standing in the middle of the road, its back bunched up, its legs planted firmly, as if to spring, the same large dog.

  “What the—” Billy said. He laid his hands on the horn and snapped his headlights from high to low to high. The animal wiggled back and forth, ready to pounce. Billy slammed on the brakes and stopped the car about twenty feet away.

  “I’ll be goddamned if I’m gonna—” he started to say. He pressed in the clutch, put the car into first, and jammed the accelerator to the floor. “Get out of my fuckin’ way!” he shouted, moving his foot to the side and letting the clutch pop out. Tires screamed, tearing at the asphalt as the car darted forward. The headlights, on high beam, transfixed the animal, sending back a fiery green glow from the beast’s eyes.

  The dog had no place to go. It would either have to jump into the river or be hit by the car. Billy smiled grimly as he bore down on the animal. “You’re gonna get out of my fucking way or I’m gonna—”

  He never finished his sentence. Just as he was sure he was going to smash into the dog, the animal sprang up into the air. The move was perfectly timed, and if Billy was going to hit the damned thing, he would have to swerve to the left. The trouble was, it was already too late for such a move. The animal was already clear of the car with no more damage done it than wind-ruffled fur and dust in its face from the speeding auto. Astounded, Billy jerked the steering wheel, trying to correct for his error. He glanced in his rearview mirror and then back at the road. He knew immediately that it was too late, too late for anything.

  Billy’s foot hit the brake pedal just as the front fender of the car smashed through the wooden railing of the bridge. When the brakes grabbed, they did nothing more than start the car spinning around in a circle. One of the cross beams, the one that had the sign reading Old Mill Bridge—Built 1886, tore into the door on the passenger side and took off the right side of Joyce’s head.

  The car had enough speed to shoot out over the dark, swiftly flowing water and crash flat against the sheer rock face of the further shore. Billy Sikes’ body snapped forward from the impact, breaking his neck and spine in three places. The car exploded in a ball of orange flame and oily black smoke, then it dropped into the black water to be extinguished and submerged.

  Chapter Two

  .I.

  Monday, September 1

  The sudden, scraping
sound of the brakes behind him made Bob Wentworth jump. As he spun around, his mind flashed a quick picture of an accident, but his brain also registered that these squeaky brakes sounded familiar. He wasn’t surprised when he saw Amy smiling at him through the windshield of their battered blue VW beetle. She tapped the horn twice and then wiggled her index finger at him in greeting.

  Good, Bob thought, at least she’s in a good mood. He nodded and walked over to the passenger door. He hopped into the car and then reached for a cigarette.

  “Hi.”

  “How you doing?” he asked, as he fished in his jacket pocket for his lighter.

  “I wish you wouldn’t smoke in my car,” she said firmly. The smile was beginning to fade at the corners of her mouth.

  “Ahhh. That’s right. It’s your car now.” He smiled back at her and then put the cigarette back into the pack. He looked out at the sunny day and the less than busy main street of Cooper Falls.

  Amy let the car idle for a moment, but had to keep stepping on the gas to keep the motor from stalling out. “I’ve been out to the cabin,” she said finally, once it was obvious that Bob wasn’t about to start a conversation. “I had to pick up a few more things.” She flicked her eyes toward the back seat, which was filled with boxes. “I was hoping I’d catch you before I left.”

  “You got me,” Bob said, wishing he had lit the cigarette anyway. He wanted to sound casual, uncaring, but was afraid that she heard his voice catch in his throat. “So, what’s on your mind?”

  Amy didn’t answer. She dropped the car into gear, raced the motor, and then started driving up Main Street. The smile was just about gone from her face now, and there was a deep frown forming on her forehead. The gears grinded noisily as she gained speed.

  Bob’s hands were beginning to feel sweaty. He looked down at them, pale knuckles and thin fingers, and wiped his palms on his blue jeans. Then he folded his hands on his lap and looked over at Amy.

  God, but she’s damn good looking, he thought, and he studied her profile. Maybe her jaw was a bit too sharp and her nose was too small for her face, but he had always been a sucker for women with black hair and blue eyes; there was something about the combination that got him. He detected the tension in her face, and he noticed that her thin hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she slowed for the turn that would take them out of town.

  “So,” Bob repeated, “What did you want to see me about?” They were heading down the road toward Route 43. “In case you don’t remember, I’m not going with you.” He was glad that his voice sounded firmer.

  Amy’s face hardened. “I know!” The muscles in her jaw clenched and unclenched. She flicked a quick glance at him. “Are you, are you sure you want it this way?” Another quick glance. “I mean, are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

  “The right thing,” he echoed, and then snorted and looked at her intently. “The right thing! Amy, do I have to remind you that you were the one who decided to leave? You’re the one who has to decide if it’s the right thing.”

  “But—”

  “You said that you wanted to leave. I’m staying. I’ve got a good job starting in a couple of days, and I’m not going to blow it, not this time.”

  Amy looked at him, and Bob was positive he heard her say, “Not going to fuck this job up, huh? We’ll see about that!” But she remained silent. Her glance said it all.

  “This is my last chance to make it, and you know it,” he said earnestly.

  Amy drove slowly down the road toward the highway. The VW couldn’t have done any better. She sat stiffly, watching the road with a fixed stare.

  “Do you think,” Amy said, after a moment, “that any of the school board members, or maybe the principal or superintendent, read the Boston papers?”

  Bob’s folded hands began to feel slippery with sweat again. “Come on, Amy. Cut the shit.”

  “Well.” She shrugged her shoulders and looked at him.

  His fingernails were biting into his hands, and his knuckles were white. When he answered, his voice caught in his throat. “You know there wasn’t anything to all that. Those chargers would have never held up in court.”

  “If they had ever made it to court,” Amy said softly, yet accusingly.

  “Goddammit!” Bob pounded his hand on the dashboard. “You know damn right well why the whole thing was dropped. There was nothing to it!”

  “Just ask Beth Landry, huh?” Amy asked. “She says it’s true.” The sarcasm in her voice stung him.

  Bob sighed deeply and tried to unwind the tension that was building up in him and ready to explode. He wanted to scream at her, shake her, make her understand, shout at her until she believed him. Instead, he said mildly, “You know, Amy, maybe that was most of our problem to begin with. Both of us know only too well just what to say, just how to hurt, exactly what button to press.”

  “It’s pitiful,” Amy whispered.

  “And now,” Bob went on, “now we’re beginning to realize that what we were doing all along was just hurting ourselves.” Bob sighed. “Amy, honestly, there was nothing. Nothing happened between me and Beth Landry.”

  Amy drove, silent and unsmiling. The car chugged across the bridge that spanned Pequaket Stream, and then the town was lost behind a screen of pine trees. Bob looked at Amy and then out at the trees that seemed to lean threateningly out over the road.

  “Where’s Jamie been staying? At your sister’s?”

  Amy nodded. “She’s been staying there while I get the apartment ready. She starts school next week, and I—”

  “Well my school starts in two days,” Bob said with a snap. “And I’ve got a lot of work to do between now and then; so I really don’t have the time to go joy-riding with you this afternoon. Will you tell me what you wanted to see me about and then drive me back into town?”

  Amy suddenly pulled the steering wheel to the right. The car rumbled onto the gravel-covered shoulder, sending up a plume of dust in its wake. She yanked the emergency brake on and twisted in her seat to nail Bob with her angry look.

  “I, I don’t know what in the hell I ever wanted to say to you,” she said. Her lower lip was trembling, and her voice cracked. “I just, I just wish things had been different, that’s all.”

  “This is just the way you wanted it, pal,” Bob said bitterly. He snapped open the door and put one foot out onto the roadside. “I’ve had it, and I’m just not going to try anymore. That’s it.”

  He stepped out of the car and wanted to slam the door shut behind him. Instead, he leaned back inside and placed his hand on Amy’s shoulder. “We’ve made our decision,” he said calmly, not at all the way he was feeling inside, “and there’s just no way we can go back on it.”

  She looked up at him and her eyes began to tear up.

  She looks so helpless, so alone, he thought, over and over. He wanted to apologize, to correct everything with once word, if he could; but he knew that everything had been said. “It’s too late,” he said simply.

  “Yeah.” Amy’s voice was raspy. “You’re right.”

  “Call me from your sister’s tonight, OK?”

  Amy nodded her head and reached for the emergency brake. She snapped it off and then put the car into gear. It shuddered, trying to stall, but she worked the gas and kept it going.

  “I’ll be home after five o’clock. Call once the rates go down.”

  Amy started to ease the car away, but Bob walked along beside it. “Give Jamie a kiss for me. Tell her I’ll talk with her soon.”

  “OK.”

  He swung the door shut firmly, and then stood there on the side of the road and watched as the car sputtered away. He waved his hands slowly, and then the car disappeared over a small rise in the road and was gone. He stood and listened to the receding sputter of the motor, and once it had faded away, he started back toward town.

  .II.

  Two miles north of Cooper Falls, the Simmons farm nestled against a barrier of woods that became the White Mounta
in National Forest about five miles due west. The farm was small, consisting of a house, a large (mostly unused) barn, and two smaller outbuildings, one of which was caving in and slanting badly to one side. A wire fence enclosed a small pasture. The wire was badly rusted and in need of repair or replacement. The general impression it gave was like that of many New Hampshire family homesteads, one of poverty and decay.

  What was most striking, or maybe peculiar, about the house itself was its location. It sat at the end of a long, rutted dirt driveway, barely visible from the Bartlett Road, in the shadow of Bear Ridge. The ridge was a steep rise that reared its boulder-strewn head over the farm. From the top of the ridge, you looked directly down onto the roof of the house. Squatting in the shadow of the ridge, the house didn’t receive any sunlight until well toward noontime, even in the summer.

  Ned Simmons had learned early in his life to hate his home and the darkness that hovered over it, especially after his father died, leaving him, his mother, and his brother Frank to keep the place going. They had not done well these past ten years, and the shadow that hung over the farm seemed to hang over Ned’s life as well.

  .III.

  The woman bent over and stared intently at the book spread open on her knees. The book was old, having been printed in the early eighteen-hundreds, and the print was small, almost too small to read with just the light of the full moon. The tiny letters seemed to float and dart about, almost as though they were trying to rearrange their order. The old paper, turning yellow with age, glowed with a pale blue iridescence.

  She puffed her cheeks with frustration and pulled the hair away from her eyes. She spread the book open, and the ancient library-binding cracked. A fine powder dusted the woman’s knees. Again, she wished she had memorized the pages, but the ceremony was complex and difficult to follow. Staring up at the night sky above her, she took three deep, even breaths, and then returned to her reading. She was almost ready to begin.