Garden of Evil by Graham Masterton

Author:Graham Masterton [Masterton, Graham]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Horror
ISBN: 9780727882493
Google: Gcl8MAEACAAJ
Amazon: 072788249X
Barnesnoble: 072788249X
Goodreads: 15823989
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2012-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

FOURTEEN

When he had last seen him, Jim had been only seven years old, so his father looked much shorter than he remembered him, and narrow-chested, but he also looked startlingly young.

Jim realized, though, that William ‘Billy’ Rook had been no more than thirty-six when he had walked into the ocean, which was nearly four years younger than Jim was now.

He was soaking wet, drenched. Seawater was pouring from his sleeves and his thinning dark brown hair was plastered down on either side of his head. All the same, he was smiling, and he was holding out his arms, like a man who has just completed a record-breaking swim – which, in a spiritual way, he had. He had been swimming continuously for thirty-three years – or drowning, rather.

He looked so much like Jim’s grandfather, with his sharp pointed nose and his heart-shaped face and his little clipped moustache. Jim’s mother had always wanted him to shave off his moustache because she said it made him look like a card sharp or a door-to-door salesman, but Jim’s father had insisted on keeping it, because Rook men had worn moustaches for generations. Jim was the first Rook who hadn’t grown a moustache since the mid-1900s, when Los Angeles was nothing more than a single main street and a cluster of wooden oil derricks.

‘Jim!’ he said, in that familiar croaky voice. ‘Jim – are you OK? It’s so good to see you!’

‘Dad, you shouldn’t have let them bring you here. You really shouldn’t.’

‘Look at you, Jim – shoot! How you’ve grown up! Here – give me a hug, will you? It’s been so long. It’s been so darn confusing.’

He came right up to Jim with both of his arms still held wide. Jim looked over his shoulder at the tall, smoky figure behind him. It was the same figure that had appeared on his balcony, and it was the same figure that had visited him in his nightmare, and it was the same figure who had appeared in Ricky’s painting of The Storyteller.

‘What’s the matter with you, Jim?’ his father asked him, and he began to look uncertain. ‘Can’t you give your old man a hug?’

Jim looked across at the Reverend Silence. ‘You don’t see him, do you?’ he challenged him. ‘You don’t hear him, either?’

The Reverend Silence nodded. ‘You’re quite right, Mr Rook, I don’t. But I’m aware that he’s here, and I can guess what he’s saying to you.’

‘You can’t see this other person, either, this one standing right behind him, whoever he is?’

‘He has a name, Mr Rook. In fact he has a multitude of names.’

‘But you don’t see him like I do?’

‘No, I regret to say that I don’t. If only I shared your wonderful gift, Mr Rook.’

‘Jim!’ begged his father. ‘What’s wrong, Jim?’

‘Nothing’s wrong, Dad, except that I can’t hug you.’

‘What? Why not? I swear to God I didn’t mean to leave you all alone on the beach like that. I thought you’d just find your way home. You had some bus fare.

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