Cold moon over Babylon

Author:McDowell, Michael [McDowell, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: http://archive.org/details/coldmoonoverbaby00mich
Published: 2015-11-18T08:00:00+00:00

Part V

Waxing Moon

Chapter 26

Nathan Redfield knew it was no water balloon that had burst against the windshield of the Lincoln. Something had just tried to kill him—the same thing that had dripped on Belinda from the branch of the live oak in the forest, had hid among the leaves and the moss while he had lain with the girl, had stared down at them out of those black holes it had instead of eyes. It had whipped along the forest, tree to tree, keeping close beside them, toying and whistling wetly. It had sat in the front seat of Belinda’s Volkswagen. It had pressed its liquid fingers around the handle of the Scout, and tried to get in.

And what Nathan Redfield also knew, as he shakily poured out bourbon into a tall glass, was that whatever that monstrosity was, if had taken the form and the aspect of Margaret Larkin.

“Ben,” he said: “Close the curtains.” His voice was so low that Ben did not hear him. Nathan turned savagely: “Close the goddamn curtains, Ben!”

Ben leapt up and pulled them to. At the same time he flicked the switch that killed the lights around the patio.

“No!” cried Nathan: “Those you leave on! Leave those lights on!”

Ben shrugged fearfully, not daring to ask the cause of his brother’s anxiety.

Nathan sat, commanded that the television be turned off, and then he drank swiftly, not taking his eyes from the sheer white curtains. The mercury lights outside cast strong black shadows on the drapes, shadows of the frames of the sliding doors, of the plants in pots that stood in the corners, even of the pine straw that occasionally blew against the glass. Nathan waited, watching for Margaret Larkin to appear, outlined in black across the white material.

Nathan’s single hope was that he had destroyed her, that the ghost—was there any other word?—had sacrificed itself in the attempt to make him wreck the Lincoln. He concentrated on this comforting thought.

“Nathan...” said Ben tentatively. His brother didn’t answer.

“Nathan, what happened? Why don’t—why don’t you let me turn the TV back on?”

“No!”

Nathan glanced above the brick fireplace at the portrait of his great-grandfather, an old decrepit man with senile eyes, dressed in a Civil War uniform. He had been a lieutenant colonel in the Confederate Army, in charge of the defense of Fort Pickens, at the western tip of Santa Rosa Island. The star-shaped fortification had never been attacked, and the soldier’s sword never saw action. This fine weapon hung now beneath the portrait; at James Redfield’s direction, it was kept polished and sharp by Nina.

“Ben,” said Nathan in a low voice.

“What?”

Nathan covered his eyes with his hand, and bowed his head. ‘Turn out the lights on the patio. Lock the doors. Go check on Daddy too. Make sure his patio door is closed and locked.”

Nathan didn’t raise his head until Ben had returned.

“Daddy was already asleep but I snuck in and pulled the door to. Everything else was already locked.”

“Listen, Ben,” said Nathan quietly; “You gone help me do something?”

“What is it?” said Ben reluctantly.

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