TWENTY

THE COCK's CROW

At dinner, sitting with Kay and Laurie around the kitchen table, Evan realized the hand holding his fork was trembling.

Darkness was streaming down the windows, blacking over the woodland, reducing the houses of Bethany's Sin to malevolent shapes in which lights gleamed like cunning eyes. Evan could see the white sickle of the rising moon; he thought of that half-moon-shaped metal shield on the third floor of the museum, the enraged face embossed upon it, thought of those wide, staring eyes on the fragment of pottery. And he realized now that their expression of terror was similar to what he'd seen in the eyes of Harris Demargeon.

"Are your pork chops all right?" Kay asked him, seeing he hadn't eaten very much.

"What?" He looked over at her.

"You're not eating."

"Oh." He took a bite of creamed potatoes. "I'm thinking, that's all."

"About what? Something that happened today?"

He wavered, about to tell her everything, about to tell her he thought Mrs. Demargeon had lied to him purposely, about to tell her there was a clenching fear within him now that he couldn't begin to describe. But he already knew what she'd say: you're going to have to see a doctor about these irrational fears you're wrecking our lives with these premonitions or whatever the hell they are oh God my head my head aches...

"No," Evan said, averting his gaze. "I'm worried about a story I'm working on."

"I'd like to hear it."

"He smiled, a thin, transparent smile. "You know I can't talk about them until I've finished."

She watched him for a moment, thinking how he looked so...what was it? Weary? Afraid? Burdened down? She touched his hand, could almost feel the throbbing of his pulse through the flesh.

"You know," he said, putting down his fork and looking at her, then at Laurie where she sat picking at her peas and carrots, "I've been thinking about something for a few days. It's been so hot here for the past week, and so dry, I was wondering if maybe we should all get in the car and drive over to the Jersey coast next weekend.

How about that?"

Laurie's eyes brightened. "The ocean!" she said.

"Right. The ocean. Remember the summer we went to Beach Haven?"

Laurie nodded. "That was fun. But I got sunburned."

"Remember that wrecked ship that was sticking up out of the sand? We could go see that again. Remember the lighthouse that looked like a candy cane?"

Kay squeezed his hand. "That'd be nice, Evan. But I've got tests to give next week. I couldn't possibly go."

"Come on! You could go for a weekend!"

She smiled. "That's a long drive for just two days. Why don't we wait until the end of the term?"

"Awwwwwww!" Laurie said, not at all interested in her peas and carrots anymore.

"Well," Evan persisted, "maybe there's somewhere nearer we could go. Up into the mountains where it'd be cooler. Just for a weekend, then we'd be right back here on Monday morning."

"Yeah!" Laurie said.

Kay was looking at him strangely. What was all this about a vacation? she wondered. Usually it was she and Laurie who had to pull him away from his typewriter for a couple of days. Now it seemed that he was eager, even anxious, to get away from the village. "I guess I'll have to be a party-pooper," she said, watching him. "But those tests take priority right now."

"Well, when can you go?" he asked her, and now she knew that something was wrong.

"I just can't say," she told him. "When the term ends in August..."

He was silent, his eyes staring through her.

"August isn't that far away," Kay reminded him. "Just two weeks."

"I'm concerned about you," he said. "I think we should...leave this place for a while."

"Concerned about me?"

"That's right. Those dreams you've been having..."

"Please," she said, and put her fork down very carefully on her plate. "Let's don't talk about those."

"It's important!" he said, and realized he'd said it too strongly because he saw Laurie's eyes widen, as if she were expecting them to argue. He said more quietly, "Any recurring dream means something. Believe me, I know...."

"It's not a recurring dream!" she said. "I mean, I seem to be the same person in those dreams, and I seem to be familiar with the surroundings, but...what happens is never the same."

"Okay. But I'm still concerned."

"Anxiety," Kay said. "You told me yourself you thought that's what it was." She narrowed her eyes as that terrible, wretched truth hit her. "So now you think this village has something to do with my dreams?"

"I think a vacation would be good for everyone."

"Let's go to Beach Haven!" Laurie said. "Please, let's go!"

"No. I can't." Kay was inwardly trembling because now she knew. She'd seen that awful, too-familiar look in Evan's face: that lost and helpless and fearful look, the look of a drowning man who can find nothing to cling to. "Evan," she said calmly, "this is the nicest place we've ever lived in. We have a chance here, a real chance to make something of ourselves. Don't you understand that?"

He sat still, then pushed his plate away like a chastised child.

You've been a very bad boy, Mrs. Demargeon had said.

"This may be the last chance we have," Kay said.

He nodded, rose from the table.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," he said, his voice not angry but tense and hollow.

"Out? Out where?"

"I want to go for a drive. Where are the car keys?"

"I want to go for a drive, too!" Laurie said.

"They're...in my purse on the bed." She watched as he moved through the den. "Do you want us to go with you?"

"No," he said, and then he was climbing the stairs toward the bedroom.

"Eat your food," Kay told the little girl. "Those carrots are good for you." She listened, heard him coming back downstairs, heard the front door open and close. And after another minute she heard the station wagon start and pull out of the driveway. Heard it moving along McClain Terrace.

"What's wrong with Daddy?" Laurie asked. "He acted funny."

And only then did Kay feel the burning of tears in her eyes.

"Your daddy...isn't well, Laurie. He isn't well at all." Tears broke, dripped hotly. Laurie stared.

The Cock's Crow, Evan thought as he turned the station wagon northward, driving along darkened, silent streets. A good place to drink tonight. And maybe a good place to ask some questions. He passed the black hump of the cemetery, his headlights grazing tombstones. And then he was surrounded by blackness, driving toward the King's Bridge Road, his brain filled with uncertainties that streaked like white-hot meteors behind his eyes. They'll come for you in the night, that man had said, just like they came for me.

Take your wife and your little girl and get out. Now. And Kay's calm, controlled voice: August isn't that far away. This may be the last chance we have. This may be the last chance we have. He realized he was driving faster and faster, his foot steadily settling to the floorboard. Headlights .gleamed off a roadside sign: SPEED

LIMIT 40. His speedometer read fifty-five already. Running? he asked himself. Are you running from Bethany's Sin? The tires squealed around a curve. He passed the Westbury Mall, where comforting lights glowed, where cars were parked; it seemed part of a distant world, ages away from Bethany's Sin. In another instant, darkness took the road again.

He veered off 219 onto the King's Bridge Road, and in another few minutes he could see the glowing of a red neon sign in the sky.

It was a smaller place than he'd envisioned, just an old cinder-block joint with a red slate roof and windows stickered with Falstaff and Budweiser beer decals. Above the door the neon rooster craned its head upward in a silent cry, retreated, craned again. There were only a few cars and a pickup truck in the gravel lot; Evan turned in, parked the station wagon alongside the building, and cut the engine.

Faces glanced up quickly as he came through the door into the dimly lit room, then looked away. A few dungareed farmer sat at tables or sitting at the bar, nursing beers. Behind the bar a hefty man with a reddish beard, wiping glasses with a white cloth. A woman with platinum blond hair drawing beer from a keg, handing it across to a gaunt-looking farmer with bushy gray sideburns. She caught Evan's gaze, nodded and smiled. "Good evenin'," she said.

He sat on a bar stool and asked for a Schlitz. "Right up," the woman said, and turned away. While she drew his beer into a frosted mug, he glanced around at the place. There were more tables in the back, and shapes sitting at them. Laughter. A white-haired man in a coat and tie with a woman who could have been his daughter. She patted his hand, and he nuzzled her ear. Other men sitting together, talking quietly. Cigarette smoke drifted to the ceiling in layers. Evan caught fragments of conversation: worries about the heat, that damn politician Meyerman and his county road program, the market price of soybeans, engine in that Ford ain't worth a damn I tell you.

The woman slid his beer across. "There you go."

"Thanks." He sipped at it, enjoying the sharp, tangy cold. When his eyes were more accustomed to the dimness he turned on the stool and looked toward the rear of the roadhouse again. The shapes were now people, mostly weathered-looking men who were probably local farmers. Evan wondered what this heat was doing to their land.

Burning, cracking, drying it up so they'd have another hard year to face. His father had owned and worked land, and so he recognized these vacant, wearied faces. What the heat was doing to the earth it was also doing to these men. Cracking and withering their flesh, drawing it as tight as leather over sun-scorched bones. They drank as if trying to replace some of the fluids the sun had taken from them.

And back there Evan saw a pyramid of beer bottles stacked on a table. Light filtered goldenly through them, and he could see a form sitting behind the bottles. He thought something about the man was familiar, and he took his mug and walked back toward him. As he neared the table a voice said, "Careful. There's a loose floor board over there. Step on it and my creation goes to hell." The voice, too, was familiar, though slightly drunk.

Evan walked around the table. The man glanced up, beer bottles reflected in his eyeglasses. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

Evan asked.

The man paused, squinting. "You're...the man who lives on McClain Terrace, aren't you? Mr. Rice?"

"No. Evan Reid. And you're..."

"Neely Ames." The man held out a hand and they shook. "Good to see you again. Grab a chair and sit down. Buy you a beer?"

"I've got one, thanks." Evan pulled a chair over from another table and sat down. "Looks like you've been doing some drinking."

"Some," Neely said. "More to do yet before this place closes.

Hey, I don't smell like garbage, do I? Or smoke'?"

"Not that I can notice."

"Good," he said. "Good. I thought I had that god damned landfill in the pores of my skin. Guess I'm the only one who can still smell it." He lifted a half-full beer bottle and swigged from it. "Hell of a day," he said.

"For both of us," Evan said, and drank from his mug. "You ever find out about your friend? The one that lives across the street?"

Demargeon's strained-to-cracking face, saying they killed Paul Keating in the night. Evan said, "No. I never did."

"Too bad. I guess he moved away. Can't say as I blame him."

"Why do you say that?"

He shook his head. "Don't mind me. Sometimes this tries to do my talking for me." He motioned toward the bottles, which seemed to tremble very slightly under Evan's gaze. "Tell me," Neely said after another moment. "What is it about that village that keeps you there?"

"Circumstances," Evan said, and the other man glanced over at him. "It's a nice little place; my wife and I got a very good deal on our house..."

"Yeah, I like your house," Neely agreed. He smiled. "I haven't lived in a house for a long time .... Boarding houses, of course, but nothing I could call my own. That must be a good feeling, to have a family like that."

"It is."

"You know, it wasn't that I needed money so badly that I took the job in Bethany's Sin. I was driving through, and the village seemed so clean and quiet and beautiful. It seemed that if I'd kept on driving I'd never see another place like it again. I'm a drifter, and that's all there is to me, but I thought that if ever I was going to try to find a home, then Bethany's Sin might be the place." He lifted the bottle again. "Do you understand that?"

"Yes. I think I do."

"I thought I could fit in around here," Neely said. "At first I thought it might really work out. But the way those people look at me on the street, like I'm something they could grind under if they really wanted to. And that damned sheriff is the worst of them all.

That bastard would like to break me in two."

"I think he's just got a chip on his shoulder," Evan said.

"Maybe." He looked into Evan's face as if recognizing something there. "You must've run into him yourself."

"I did."

Neely nodded. "Then you probably know what I mean." He finished his beer and then was silent for a moment, staring into the amber depths of the bottle. "Now I've decided to get out of that place," he said very quietly.

"Why? I thought you said you liked it.'

"I do. Are you a poker player, Mr. Reid?"

"Just occasionally."

He set the bottle down before him, as if deciding whether or not to risk the crashing avalanche of the pyramid. "There's a feeling you get sometimes in a game where the stakes are high, Mr. Reid. As if something is closing in on you from behind. Maybe you've played out your streak of luck, or you're getting a bad deal, or someone's a better player than you and he's letting you think you're winning until he snaps the trap shut on your throat. That's the feeling I've got now.

Somebody's pushed the stakes up high, maybe higher than I can afford, and the final card's about to be turned. I don't know if I want to wait around to see what that card's going to be."

"I don't understand what you're getting at," Evan said.

"That's okay." Neely smiled slightly. "Nobody else would, either." When he looked at Evan again, his eyes were dark and distant, seeing shadowy forms on horse back chasing down his truck.

"Something happened to me," he said quietly, not wanting anyone around them to hear, "out on the road near Bethany's Sin. I've been thinking about that for a long time, and every time I remember it I feel a little more afraid; I don't know what was going on, and I don't want to know; but I'm sure now that they would've killed me."

Evan leaned slightly forward over the table. Bottles clinked. "

'They'? Who are you talking about?"

"I don't know who they were. Or what they were. But by God they didn't look human, I'll tell you that. Listen to me!" He shook his head in disgust. You must think you're sitting here with a real basket case!"

"No," Evan said. "Please, tell me the rest of it. What did they look like?"

"Women," Neely told him, "but not like any women I've ever seen except in my nightmares. There were maybe ten or twelve of them, and they were on horseback in the middle of the road, as if.

they were crossing into the forest on the other side. I left here after closing - I'd had a few beers but not enough to make me hallucinate.

Anyway, I'd driven right through them before I could stop, and when I slowed down to see who they were, they...attacked me."

Evan was silent, his heartbeat thundering in his head.

"With axes," Neely continued, his voice still low. "One of them broke the window out of my truck. Christ Almighty, I'd never seen anything like that before! I...looked into the face of one of them. I'll never forget what that thing looked like. It wanted to rip me to pieces, and if they'd forced me off the road well, I wouldn't be sitting here now." He paused for a moment, wiped a hand across his mouth. "Most of all, I remember that woman's eyes.

They burned right through me; it was as if I was looking into blue flame, and by God I'll never be able to forget that."

Evan watched him, said nothing.

"I wasn't drunk," Neely said. "Those things were real."

Evan let his breath hiss through his teeth. He sat back in his chair, thoughts whirling through his brain, so many things so close to locking together and revealing a dark, terrifying picture.

"I told Wysinger," Neely said. "He almost laughed in my face.

You're the only other person I've told."

Evan ran a hand over his forehead. He felt fevered and shaken, unable to piece any of it together. Get out, Demargeon had said. Get out now. Now. Now.

"I can see you think I'm crazy, too," Neely said. "Okay. Here's something else that's got me spooked." He reached into his back pocket and brought out a wadded handkerchief. He placed it on the table before him - the pyramid clink-clink-clinked - and began to straighten it out. There were tiny objects caught in the cloth. Neely lifted them out one by one, and Evan peered down at them. Neely held one up to the light; it glittered silverish and yellow.

"What is it?" Evan asked him.

"A tooth," Neely said, "with a filling. And these others are teeth, too, all broken to pieces.'

Evan started to touch the tooth fragment Neely held, ` then withdrew his hand. "Where did you find those?"

"That's what's so strange: the landfill." He turned his gaze toward Evan. "Now what in God's name are human teeth doing lying around in the landfill?"

"No," Evan said, his voice hollow. "You're wrong."

"About what?"

"I don't think...God has anything to do with it."

Neely's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just thinking aloud."

Neely began to wrap the tooth shards back in the handkerchief.

"I was going to show these to Wysinger. Maybe have him check out the landfill or something, because I've got a hell of a bad feeling about it. Now I'm not so sure if I should even bother." He looked hard and long at Evan. "Hey, are you all right? Wait a minute, I'll buy you a beer." And then he was up on his feet, shoving the handkerchief back into his pocket, moving toward the bar. As he moved away from the table a floorboard squealed. The pyramid swayed right, swayed left, cutting swaths of amber light. Swayed right, swayed left.

And broke apart like the falling of an ancient, dark starred city.

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