A part of Grant wished he knew his father better, but only a small part. The bastard walked out on Grant and his mother years ago and all the memories from before that were bad. Perhaps it was easy to feel guilty now the man was dead. Perhaps he needed some kind of closure, though he doubted he'd find it out here among the mountains and trees. He tried to imagine the old man as a regular member of the community. “You said he and your dad were in the lodge together? What lodge?”
The waitress giggled. “You know, the Freemasons.” She made a face like she was imparting a great secret. “Secret societies and covert men's business.”
Grant laughed and a man at the counter cleared his throat altogether too loudly. The waitress jumped and hurried away. Annoyed, Grant turned to look and the fellow stared at him with hard, dark eyes. He was a bear of a man, with a red and blue checked shirt stretched tight over bulging, muscular arms and a swollen beer gut. Grant held his eye for a few very uncomfortable seconds but the bear was obviously not planning to look away. More frustrated than ever with this backward community, Grant turned back to his food. He cursed his shaking hand as he forked up lukewarm eggs.
Keeping his attention away from the hicks, and determined not to give them the satisfaction of leaving right after his lunch, Grant ordered a coffee refill and sat back in the chair. To give himself something to do he pulled out the demonology book. Inside the front cover he found an inscription he hadn't noticed before:
Brother Andrew,
May the demons always be outside your circle.
In darkness and disorder,
Your Brothers and Sisters of Kaletherex.
Grant furrowed his brow. What the hell was Kaletherex? And if they called him Brother Andrew, was this a gift from the Freemasons the waitress had just mentioned? If so, what did “Brothers and Sisters” mean? In Grant's limited knowledge, the Freemasons were an all-boys club. A sick feeling rising in his gut, he thumbed through the pages, keeping his body between the leatherbound volume and the others in the diner. He didn't want them to see it, to know he had it. If it felt sinister to him, no telling what these hillbillies would make of it. He wondered what they would have made of his dad had they known about the old man’s interest in demonology.
The door bell jingled as a young, pretty redhead came in. Her downcast gaze didn't conceal her red eyes and puffy face. Their eyes met and he flashed her a tight smile. She seemed surprised, gave the merest nod and hurried past. He watched her faint ghost reflected in the plate glass window as she ordered a coffee and took a seat at the table behind him.
She had a creamy complexion, full lips, and body that had not yet succumbed to the local fare of chicken-fried everything. In fact, she was the first person he'd seen in this town whose immediate forbearers, he could be certain, weren't closely related. Maybe this place wasn't all bad after all. Forget Suzanne. Maybe he’d fool around with a mountain girl while he was in town. He hadn’t been with another girl since their Junior prom. Might as well get something good out of this trip.
But the thought of Suzanne dumping him so casually was still a knife in the gut. He turned his attention back to the book and continued to flip through, the pictures growing increasingly horrific. Hideous creatures did despicable things to terrified victims. He read occasional passages about true names, binding incantations, genealogy, as if these things were real. He didn't know jack about the Freemasons, but he was sure this book was not Masonic. Two pages turned at once under the weight of something between them and a yellowed photo slid out. Maybe a bookmark.
The picture showed three men in long robes, with heavy rope belts. Hoods sat piled on their shoulders as they smiled broadly at the camera, each with their hand on the hilt of a large knife, buried guard-deep in the carcass of a goat. Grant stared, horrified, at the grinning face of his father staring back. The man in the middle of the three had a large, heavy-looking medallion hanging low against his chest, the only difference between himself, Grant's father and the man on the other side.
A gasp broke Grant's reverie. He looked around to see the pretty redhead, hand before her mouth in shock, staring at the photo over his shoulder.
He laughed nervously, stuffing it back between the pages. “Just an old film still, I think,” he said, sounding fake even to himself.
The girl jumped up and ran from the diner, half-eaten sandwich and full cup of coffee forgotten. The bell on the front door clattered as she banged through.
Grant sat frozen for a moment before sweeping his things back into his backpack, tossing a ten on the table, and running after her. As he left, he noticed the big man at the counter scowling with undisguised contempt. What was his problem?
The girl hurried down the street, almost running. Sure, the picture was creepy, but why cut and run like that? She glanced back, spotted him, and picked up her pace.
“Wait a minute!” Grant called, moving up behind her. “Excuse me,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
She jerked away, whirling about to face him. “Just stay away from me!” She backed away from him like he was a rabid dog.
Grant held his hands up in front of his shoulders, palms out. “Look, I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that you seemed really shocked by that picture.”
At the mention of the photograph, she blanched. The girl said nothing, turned away and continued down the street.
“I'm really sorry,” Grant called after her.
She didn't look back.
Chapter 3
The Wallen's Gap Public Library occupied the corner of Main and Oak like a homeless man begging for change. It might have been a nice place back in its heyday, but the peeling paint and crumbling mortar made Grant a little nervous about closing the door too hard when he stepped inside. Past the threshold, the familiar smell of dusty tomes calmed his jangled nerves. A faded poster of President Bush, the first one, greeted him with a sun-bleached smile and the words, “A Thousand Points of Light.” Bush the Elder held a copy of either The Sun Also Rises or The Sound and the Fury-the poster was in such bad shape it was hard to tell.
“Can I help you?” The speaker was an elderly woman with a face like a Venetian blind and shockingly yellow hair. Her tone said she had little interest in assisting anyone. She stood behind a battered mahogany counter topped by a stack of romance novels. He wondered if she was reading or preparing to re-shelve them.
“Yes, I was wondering if you have a public computer I could use. With internet access,” he added. No telling what sides came with your entrée and what was a-la-carte around here.
One of the folds on the woman's face puckered into a disapproving frown. “You have to have a member number to log on to the system.”
“Okay, can I get a number?” He put on his most winning smile.
“You have to have a library card to get a member number.”
“Great! Can I get a library card?”
“You have to fill out a form and show identification.” Her voice was so dull and her expression so flat that he honestly couldn't tell if she was trying to give him a hard time or not.
“Okay,” he said, working hard to keep his tone friendly, “where can I get a form?”
“You can download it from the website.”
Cracks formed in his calm demeanor and the back of his neck prickled. He gritted his teeth and was formulating a suitable reply when the woman actually cracked a tiny smile. Had he uncovered actual humor in this town? Alert the media!
“Or you can get one from me.” She slid a form across the counter and even provided a pen without being asked.