The Atheist's Daughter Read online

  She twisted his wrist and he saw a large drop of blood tremble on the tip of his finger. “I ask only for the smallest sacrifice. Do you give it?”

  “My blood? You want my blood?”

  She waited, her eyes like onyx pebbles.

  “Do it,” Archer said. “I’m here. I might as well see your voodoo.”

  The red droplet fell, spreading over the rock. The rock seemed to glow as she released him.

  “Before the future, the past,” Miss Sweet said. “I see your father was a policeman.” She waved a hand over the stone. “Your father’s father wore blue as well.”

  “Not exactly a revelation,” he told her. “Cops run in my family. As long as there’s been a Winterhaven, there’s been an Archer boy with a badge on his chest. Anybody could have told you as much.”

  Unperturbed, she remained focused on the stone. Through some trick of the candlelight, the rock changed color under her gaze. “Once you loved your work. Now, your heart is heavy.”

  “You ever hang out with a bunch of cops? Burn-out happens. Occupational hazard in my line of work.”

  “For others, yes. Never before for you.”

  He scooted away from the table. “Begging your pardon, Miss Sweet, but this is getting a little New Age-y for me. Only thing missing is the wind chimes.”

  “You shouldn’t go,” she said, “until you’ve seen the life ahead of you.”

  Despite himself, Archer leaned forward. What do you think you’ll find in there? This isn’t a high-def t.v. It’s a damned lava rock.

  But he looked down at it, regardless.

  Miss Sweet said, “I see five years before you.”

  “Five?”

  “Hard years. Bitter years. The corruption is spreading inside of you.”

  “Sweet Mother Mary, does anybody ever buy this line of happy horseshit?”

  “In your heart, you know it’s true.”

  He brought his eyes up, searching her face. It appeared as cold as the stone beneath her fingers.

  “You’ve suspected for a while but you were frightened to act,” she continued. “Too late now, much too late. You’ve always been strong but your strength is fading. Soon, you’ll suffer.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Taking his hat, Archer returned it to his head.

  “I give you the truth.”

  “Lady, as old as you are, maybe you’re still new to the bunco game. Let me tell you something. There’s no coin in an ugly story.” Candlelight swayed around him. “You want my money, you’re supposed to promise me things. Romance or money or maybe the condo in Vero Beach I’ve always wanted. You’re supposed to tell me all the pretty lies I want to hear.”

  “I said you had five years.”

  “Five bad years? Like that’s some prize?” he asked. “Or maybe you’re playing things a different way. Maybe you want to scare me. For the right price, you’ll do a little spell, and suddenly I’m healed. The corruption disappears. Is that it?”

  Miss Sweet picked up the fallen stick pin. “You know better.”

  “Bull.” Seeing the pin, he looked down at his injured finger. He blinked his eyes rapidly, as if coming out of a daze. “You stuck me. You took a pin and stuck me!”

  With a flick of her finger, Miss Sweet sent the pin flying into the corner waste basket. It made a dink! sound as it fell atop a dozen of its twins. Leaning forward, she blew out the first of the candle flames.

  “I’ve had enough.” Archer’s thumb found the puncture site and massaged it loosely. “I’ve never had much truck with people like you. I don’t like how you operate and I don’t much like this place.” He reached down to dust his pants. “When your boss arrives, tell her I’m contacting the County Attorney. Between us, I’m guessing we can find reason enough to shut you down.”

  He threw the door open. Mr. Locke was in the hallway, waiting for him.

  “Get the hell out of my face,” Archer said.

  “How many years?”

  “What?”

  “How many years did she say you had?”

  From the room behind him, Miss Sweet said, “Five years.”

  “Five years,” Mr. Locke repeated, honeyed pleasure in his voice.

  “There’s more,” Miss Sweet said.

  Mr. Locke came closer, wanting to hear her message. Archer shoved at the man’s chest. “Move.”

  Mr. Locke felt surprisingly heavy but the push pushed him aside. It gave the Sheriff enough space to escape the gypsy’s room.

  Abandoning Miss Sweet, Mr. Locke shadowed him. Archer was at the top of the stairway when he felt a hand fell on his shoulder. “Hey, cop.”

  Turning, the Sheriff saw a flash of silver. He brought his arms up as Mr. Locke slammed a chrome-covered pipe against the side of his head.

  A thousand colors erupted within his mind’s eye. Archer fell backwards, the stairs racing up to meet him. There was another burst of color as his head hit the top stair.

  Then everything went black.

  * * *

  Mr. Locke felt such power as the meat collapsed, its skull striking the edge of the top step. The body gave a spasm when it hit the floor, bouncing and rolling down the stairway. A smear of blood marked the police officer’s progress to the bottom of the landing.

  The cascade of noise brought Alice Poe from her room. As useless as ever, she stopped when she saw what had happened, her hands fluttering in fear and indecision. He heard Miss Sweet call out but he ignored her.

  The greedy cow can fill herself later. This one belongs to me.

  He raced down the steps, his shoes streaked in blood. The meat jerked, sending the vortex inside Mr. Locke’s throat whirling in hungry anticipation. Ready and eager, he spread his arms to embrace the feeding.

  Nothing happened.

  Beneath him, the meat’s chest rose and fell. Somehow, it had survived the beating. Its head lolled sideways and its right eye blinked open.

  He’s strong. Good, good.

  Mr. Locke raised his arm. He heard the pipe whistle as he swung his fist downward. The metal bit into flesh, cracking the skull and spraying his victim’s blood into the air.

  Pinpoints of red sprinkled over him as brain and bone slapped wetly at the bottom of his trousers. He didn’t care. Outside of his control, he felt his jaw drop and his mouth extend.

  Now, it was his time. Now, he could feed.

  The life force rose to meet him. In shimmering waves, it surrounded him, falling onto him. It filled him.

  Was there ever a more glorious feeling than this?

  Sensation crowded around him. Suddenly, the smell of spilled blood filled the air, thick and cloying. It teased him and his mouth watered. He felt vibrantly alive.

  Lifting the chrome-covered pipe, he admired his reflection. Spots of blood were scattered over the beautiful brown of his face. He watched himself bring his fingertips to his full, pink lips. He watched his fingers drag streaks of blood along his strong jaw line. It felt wet and even this wetness felt wonderful.

  He had regained his color. He was strong and beautiful.

  There were so many things he wanted to do. Things he’d stopped doing as their pleasures faded. Everything was different now. He was different now.

  He wanted to taste food, to eat so much he vomited. He longed for a cigarette, wanting to feel his lungs burn. He’d drink liquor until he couldn’t stand. Most of all, he hungered for sex: Dirty, hard, raw sex.

  There were times when the others talked about the pleasures of the flesh but he never heard them speak of fornication. Well, Alice Poe did, but only in whispers and only when they were alone. Making promises for when she was filled.

  As if he’d desire her even then.

  “Oh, no.” It was her voice whimpering from the stairs above, the faint words filled with fear and regret. Alice Poe gripped the top of the half-wall. Miss Sweet waited beside her.

  “He was nothing,” he said, not liking how they looked at him. “Less than nothing.”


  Miss Sweet said, “He wasn’t meant to be taken.”

  “Because he’s the Sheriff?” he asked, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. “Was the Sheriff? He has one deputy, a woman. Who cares? The only thing more useless than meat is female meat.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  He snorted derisively. “Because it wasn’t my turn, then?” He laughed, enjoying the full, rich sound as it erupted from his mouth. “It would have been my turn soon enough.”

  “He wasn’t whole,” Miss Sweet said.

  Fear stabbed at his sense of elation. “You said he had five years.”

  “So he did. Five full years. Not good years.”

  “Why didn’t you say?” Mr. Locke demanded. “You dumb, worthless –”

  Suddenly, his left side tore at him. Gasping, he clutched for the stairway banister to keep himself from falling.

  “He carried disease,” Miss Sweet said.

  Alice Poe’s face was drawn. “It comes quickly for our kind.”

  Trying to straighten, Mr. Locke felt his feet slide out from him. His right hand splashed through fleshy matter before it found the floor.

  He raised his head. “What now?”

  “Agony. Despair.”

  “I heard ‘five years’!” Mr. Locke shouted up at her.

  “There was more to hear than those few words.” Miss Sweet shook her head. “When someone returns from the Void, there are things they think they remember. Funny how much the pit steals from you.”

  “Make an effort, ancient beast. Try to make sense.”

  “It takes a day to remember how to eat, a week to talk, and a month to walk. You’re still learning. You can’t do as much as you think.”

  “I can do more than you know. Something you can’t. Something Mrs. Norton can’t do, either.” His discomfort easing, he managed a sneer. “I can drive a car.”

  Alice Poe covered her face with her hands. Her eyes blurred through the layers of her fingers as she tried to hide from Miss Sweet’s gaze.

  Miss Sweet said, “There are so many things you don’t understand.”

  “Like what?”

  “Mrs. Norton,” Alice Poe said from behind her hands.

  “Her? What can she do to me now?” He pushed himself upright, using the wall as support. “She returned me to this body but she can’t take me out of it. You’re all so scared of her – and for what? There are few things here that can kill us. Mrs. Norton isn’t one of them.”

  “There are worse things than dead,” Miss Sweet said.

  Mr. Locke felt a tremor run through his legs. From the pain, he thought.

  “Run,” Alice Poe told him.

  He saw pity and fear and desire etched across her face. No matter what he did, she’d follow him.

  “Come with me.” He put his hand out. “We’ll see the world. We’ll take what we want instead of letting others tell us what we can have.”

  Not answering, Alice Poe ran down the hallway.

  “That’s it?” he called after her. “I don’t even get a good-bye, you empty bitch?”

  From the upper floor, her bedroom door slammed shut. Only Miss Sweet stayed in place, looming over him.

  “Why are you still here?” he asked.

  “Would you like me to tell your fortune?”

  “Shut up.”

  She cocked her head, watching him.

  “Without your rock, you’re nothing,” he said. “Less than nothing. Certainly less –” He straightened the collar on his shirt, “– than me.”

  Kicking at the meat, Mr. Locke rolled it over. Sweat beaded across his forehead as he bent to take the Sheriff’s wallet and gun. Clutching at his stomach, he stumbled from the kitchen.

  He would run, just as Alice Poe had suggested. But there was one thing he needed to do first.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hawkins’ eyes were burning and it felt like there was grit clawing at each of his eyelids. The only thing keeping him awake was his unhappy bladder. It demanded he leave the car, find the nearest tree, and pee for the next hour or so.

  Inconvenient or not, he’d have to answer Nature’s call soon. Given a choice, he’d prefer to do it in a well-lit gas station bathroom instead of hiding behind some leafless dogwood tree.

  Of course, if things had worked out as planned, he wouldn’t have been on the road at all. Registration at the seminary would have been completed by noon if he hadn’t had to fill out every financial application in the world.

  “No money, no entry,” the front clerk told him. The clerk’s philosophy didn’t seem Christian at all.

  By the time he was ready to leave the campus, the evening street lights were coming on. Hawkins suggested they spend the night in Oklahoma City. Predictably, his father refused just as their car passed a Super 8 Motel.

  After all, the Pastor Hawkins said, if they drove all night, they could still make the Saturday Bible class in Winterhaven. A Bible class attended by a half-dozen retirees and his father’s new girlfriend. Soon-to-be girlfriend, anyway. Not that this had anything to do with it.

  “They’re counting on us,” his father told him, the Super 8’s illuminated sign disappearing from their rear view mirror. “It’s the right thing to do, Gideon. We have to do the riiiiiiiiiight thing.”

  Okay, he hadn’t said it exactly like that. But he’d said it.

  It wasn’t as if the old women waiting for them didn’t know the story of Jonah and the whale. (“The big fish,” said the Reverend, knowing full well Hawkins could quote the scriptures, too, chapter and verse. “There’s no mammal in the story. It’s Noah and the big fish.”) He was pretty sure the matriarchs of the class, Jolene and Jewell, were qualified to step up to the chalkboard if Hawkins and Son failed to make a timely appearance.

  The real reason they were on the road? His father wanted the pleasure of seeing his son take his first steps toward becoming a preacher. It was touching, in an aggravating, sleep-deprived kind of way.

  “Dad?”

  His father’s eyelids remained shut. His breathing was deep and relaxed. Somehow, his father’s face appeared older when he was asleep. His stern jaw was softer, his piercing eyes closed.

  Meeting him now, Hawkins thought wryly, you might mistake him for a kindly middle-aged man. Watch him at the front of his church, pounding his fist on top of the pulpit, and you’d see him for who he really is.

  A warrior of God.

  It was a challenge, being the son of a warrior. Personally, Hawkins tended to see shades of gray where his father only saw black and white. He was willing to seek compromise in areas where his father demanded a fight.

  Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Would a softer viewpoint help him when he became a preacher? Would it hurt him?

  Or would it only leave him confused?

  The wagon’s headlights flashed over a roadside sign: Gas and Services 10 miles. At the bottom of the sign was the logo for Ashfork Big Burger.

  “Now we’re talking,” Hawkins said, letting his fingers dance over the curve of the steering wheel.

  24-hour a day fast food. A cheeseburger and chili fries for breakfast. What could be better than that?

  But, first, let’s hope the bathroom door isn’t locked.

  * * *

  Her hands on her hips, Mrs. Norton kept the tips of her polished shoes a safe distance from the blood encircling Sheriff Archer’s head. “Such a bother.”

  Mr. Brass squatted down to examine the victim’s destroyed skull. “I knew Mr. Locke was stupid. Didn’t think he was this stupid.”

  “He was hungry,” Alice Poe said.

  “Bring him to me,” Mrs. Norton said.

  “He’s gone. He ran off.”

  “Did he?”

  “He killed bad meat,” Miss Sweet said. “It would have happened, sooner or later. He always thought he was more than he is.”

  “And now?” Mr. Brass asked, grinning.

  “He has a better understanding of his place in the universe.
”

  “This won’t do,” Mrs. Norton said. “Diseased or not, this was the town’s most important law officer. When a policeman disappears, alarms are sounded. People come from everywhere. They scurry about, poking and prying into every corner.” She frowned disapprovingly at the corpse. “Did the Sheriff tell anyone he was coming here?”

  “I didn’t think to ask,” Miss Sweet said. “I had no reason.”

  “Did he have family? A significant other?”

  “His heart was empty.”

  Mr. Brass trailed a finger through the thickening blood. “So we have a little time.” He admired the vibrant color as it drooled down his hand in a winding streak.

  Mrs. Norton focused on Alice Poe. “You asked for Mr. Locke. When I allowed you to approach the Void with me, we heard a thousand crying voices. You wanted him.”

  “I was drawn to him.”

  “She told him to run,” Miss Sweet said.

  Alice Poe dropped her eyes, studying the floor. “I could have left. He asked me to go.”

  “You could have gone. No one keeps any of you here. Did you think of leaving?”

  Alice Poe gave a shake of her head.

  “I thought as much,” Mrs. Norton said. “Return to your room and close the drapes. Find something to put in your mouth. With the sun rising, there may be people on the sidewalk. Your screams must not be heard outside of this building.”

  “What’s to happen with Mr. Locke?” Miss Sweet asked.

  Her gaze steady, Mrs. Norton said, “When the Fates decide, we’ll meet again.”

  Mr. Brass nudged the shattered skull in front of him. “What should I do with this?”

  “Chop it up. Chop it all up.”

  * * *

  From somewhere in the darkness, she heard a voice. “Liz. Liz Wheeler. Liz, wake up!”

  Blinking her eyes, Liz saw Dr. Silva’s face in front of her. This close, the pores in his nose were huge. “What?”

  “You fell asleep in your chair,” Dr. Silva said.

  Tell me something I don’t know, Liz thought. It was amazing she’d stayed awake as long as she had.

  The teacher remained inches away from her, an obvious non-believer in the concept of ‘personal space’. Liz asked, “Did I miss something important? Are we doing test questions or something?”