"You will."
"Miles?" Doris called down the basement steps. "What are you doing?"
"I keep telling you and telling you: I am building a golem. So stay out of here. No telling what this thing might get in its head to do."
"How can a thing with clay for brains get something into its head?"
"I don't care to argue with you." A moment of heavy silence. Miles looked up. She was still standing in the doorway.
"I believe you, Miles," she said quietly.
"Oh?" his voice drifted up, full of disbelief. "So what changed your mind?"
"You remember me saying you were as crazy as a vontz—after you told me about speaking with Sam Balon?"
"How could I forget being called a bedbug? So?"
"He's … it's in the kitchen, now!"
"So ask him to take a seat. I'll be right up."
"Wade? I cannot believe you are seriously considering taking part in this insanity!"
"Honey, you didn't see Sam last night, either."
"Well, honey," she mimicked him, "neither did you. I warned you about that second piece of pie."
"Babe," he was very patient with her, "we've been through a lot together. I've tried to bring you along easy this time. But time is up. Look around you, honey—look at the houses we're passing, the people sitting on the porches. Any of them waving at us? Any of them calling for us to stop, have a cup of coffee, like they used to do?"
She looked straight ahead, refusing to speak.
"He's here, Anita. He's back. The Dark One. Sam says this time Whitfield is through. He …"
"If your friend, the spirit man, is so all-fired blessed, why doesn't he just wave his hand and make all this …" Tears sprang into her eyes. "… hatefulness go away?"
"Did you pack like I asked you?"
She sighed. "Yes, Wade. I'll humor you until we can get you to a mental hospital."
"Anita, old gal," he spoke softly. "My wife of so many very good years, listen to me. We're not going to make it out of this. We're going to die, and Sam says the only thing he can do is make it as easy for us as possible."
"How considerate of him."
Wade turned into the drive, parking by the corner street lamp. "We're here, honey."
"Oh, goody!" she clapped her hands. "Do I get to see the monster man and Sam Balon? A double treat? Oooh, I can hardly wait. This is better than the county fair."
Wade held her hand as they walked up the sidewalk and up the steps to the porch. Doris opened the door.
"Thank God!" Anita cried. "A face I know is normal and a mouth that is not raving about things that go bump in the night."
"I'll get the luggage out of the car," Wade said.
Anita stepped into the house and stopped dead still in the living room. A huge gray object, in the shape of a man, a giant man, stood against the wall across the room. It was at least eight and a half feet tall. It was faceless.
She turned to ask Doris what that thing was, was this some kind of a joke and what's the occasion for a party? She dropped her purse on the carpet as her eyes found the mist hovering just above the carpet by a chair.
"I believe you know Reverend Sam Balon," Doris said.
Anita fainted.
They had gone to a hardware store and bought several containers, then went to half a dozen Catholic churches seeking holy water. The priests, once they saw the young couple was sincere, asked no questions but merely gave them as much holy water as they wished.
"I just don't know … if my mind can … accept all that's been thrown at me this day," Nydia said. "But a lot of things are beginning to fall into place."
"Explain that?" Sam asked. They were halfway back to the Williams' mansion, eating a mid-afternoon lunch by the side of the road. The lunch they were supposed to have eaten while exploring the woods.
"Well … this is only a small part of it, Sam, but have you ever been in a home that didn't have some religious paraphernalia … somewhere? A painting, a cross, a Bible … something? I haven't. Our house is bare of anything religious. But … that could be explained away by the fact that Roma and Falcon don't go to church. But I know what an upside down cross means, and both Roma and Falcon have those in their rooms. Roma, Falcon, and Black always go somewhere on Friday nights—they stay all night—always returning just before dawn. And they all wear the same kind of medallion."
"I'm surprised they haven't tried to make you wear one."
"Oh, they have, dozens of times, beginning when I was just a small child. But it always irritated my neck; caused great ugly rashes; made me sick, very sick. The last time, just a couple of years ago, Roma threw the medallion away. It was gold, Sam! Worth hundreds of dollars, and she just tossed it into the garbage. She flew into a screaming rage and kept saying: 'Damn that son of a bitch! Black Wilder, you knew this was going to happen. And damn that bastard preacher.' I didn't know what she was talking about, Sam. Raving was more like it. And I didn't ask."
"Dad wrote about Black Wilder. The Devil's representative. The preacher must have been Dad."
She covered his hand with hers. "Sam? For years they've kept it from me—or tried to—but they practice evil. I can't prove it, for they're very careful. But I know they do. That house is evil. The people who work for them are evil. And Jimmy Perkins … the way he looks at me. Something about him frightens me."
"I wish I could recall where I've heard that name."
They looked up as a huge Sikorsky helicopter flapped and roared overhead. The helicopter, capable of carrying sixteen passengers, was soon out of sight.
"Heading for the house," Nydia said glumly. "Poor Lana and the others. They don't have any idea what they're getting into."
"Lana?"
"Lana McBay. Small, blond, and very pretty. Doesn't date much. Word is . . . around the school … she's a virgin." Nydia paused for a moment, a reflective look on her face. "Come to think of it, the word is that several of those girls Black mentioned are supposed to be virgins. Linda, for sure, so the talk goes. But … I don't much like her."
"Why?"
Her reply was a noncommittal shrug.
"Does Falcon like his women young?"
"Oh, yes," she quickly replied. "For a fact. I've seen him looking at me in a way that makes me very uncomfortable. Just like Jimmy."
"Have either of them ever tried anything with you?"
"Oh, no. Never."
"Tell me about Falcon. You know he isn't your real father. Has he been around long?"
"For as long as I can remember. There isn't much else to tell. I … really don't know where they get their money—either of them. I was told they both owned interests in a number of factories and businesses, and that this is where they got their money. I do know mother owns a company that makes wine and perfume, another company that makes clothing for women. I've seen those businesses."
"Tell me about the people who run them. Those you had a chance to meet."
She was again reflective for a moment. "Yes, I see what you mean. They . . . seemed to be afraid of Roma, but yet … The sentence trailed into silence. "… The medallions. The top people all wore medallions, like mother and Falcon and Black."
"And the one your mother tried to make you wear?"
"Just like it."
"And did they ever meet on a Friday. Friday seems to hold some special significance."
"Yes. Several times. And it was just like I told you before: they would all disappear about dark and not return until almost dawn. Mother said it was business, and not to worry. I always had someone staying with me, a sitter or companion. Sam? I'm frightened. I don't want to go back to that house."
"We have to go back, Nydia. I don't believe we could do anything else."
"Sam, let's try. Let's see if we can just run away—go back to New York State. Please? Let's try."
Sam hesitated, not wanting to risk angering his father—if any of this was real, and not a dream. He wavered, sensing that Nydia's fear was very close to overwhelming her.
"We'll try," he said.