Evil on the Bayou
Author: Richie Tankersley Cusick
Date: 1984-09-01 07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Young Adult; Suspense; Mystery
Description: Bayou country makes Meg Dalton unesay, not to mention the dying old woman she has been hired to care for. As strange family mysteries unfold, Meg is convinced there is Evil on the Bayou. What is the secret of the bayou holds? Eternal life…or hideous death? Meg Dalton had been uneasy since the first moment she arrived in the back bayou country. Being volunteer nurse to the shriveled husk of a dying woman she hardly knows is bad enough. But the house, where strange, inexplicable things keep happening, is worse. And the people! Though Esther seems good-hearted, Wes, her handsome, tight-lipped son
Publisher: Dell Publishing Co., Inc.

"We're here."

The deep voice startled her, and Meg
looked up to see Wes stand and lean over the side of the boat. Just in front of them a soft light filtered through a thick veil of moss, filling the boat with crazy shadows as it tilted with Wes's weight. The boat crept forward until a wooden dock came into view, its boards illuminated by a large lantern that hung from a pole near the water.

Meg wasn't sure what happened next.

She heard Wes move behind her, saw the terrifying shadow of his body suddenly looming above her, and knew only that she had to fight for her life. She lunged, clawed at the air, felt a sharp lurch as the boat rocked dangerously to the right.

There wasn't even time to scream. The last thing Meg heard as she pitched into the bayou was a voice, far away, calling her name.

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10103.

Evil on
the Bayou

Richie Tankersley Cusick

Published by

Dell Publishing
a division of

Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

666 Fifth Avenue

New York, New York 10103

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

To Rick . . .

for believing in me

Copyright © 1984 by Richie Tankersley Cusick and Cloverdale Press, Inc.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

The trademark Laurel-Leaf Library® is registered in the U.S.

Patent and Trademark Office.

The trademark Dell® is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.

ISBN: 0-440-92431-6

RL: 6.5

Printed in the United States of America One Previous Edition

October 1992

1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

RAD

Chapter One

Meg Daton gazed despondently out the car window, listening only halfheartedly to her mother's urgent voice beside her.

"It's not as though Aunt Belle is a permanent invalid," Mrs. Daton was saying. "It's just that she can't do much for a week or so. That's exactly what the doctor told me. Believe me, honey if it had been a serious stroke, they wouldn't be letting her recuperate at home. I'd stay with her myself, but it's just impossible for me to take off work right now—not with this trip I have to make."

"So I'm elected." Meg nodded glumly. "I'm the one who has to miss the first big party of the summer and miss seeing all the kids — for someone I don't even know."

"Oh, Meg, there'll be other parties, and Joan 1
understands. After all, she's your best friend."

"Yeah." Meg burrowed deeper into the front seat, glancing over at her mother's hands on the steering wheel. "I just wish Blake could have been nicer about it."

She watched her mother's lips purse and felt angry. She knew her mother didn't approve of Blake or of the fact that he and Meg had been dating steadily for the past three months. Mrs.

Daton hadn't trusted any member of the opposite sex ever since Meg's father had walked out on them ten years ago. Meg couldn't understand why her mother automatically assumed that every male would be exactly like her father, but now she couldn't blame Mrs. Daton for being put out with Blake. It was unfair of him to have gotten so mad just because Meg couldn't be his date for Joan's party.

Meg fumed inwardly. It wasn't her fault she had to miss all the fun, and right now she really didn't care if she never saw Blake again in her whole life!

"It might be good for you to get away for a little while," Mrs. Daton said carefully, her eyes intent on the winding road.

Meg couldn't help but frown. She knew that Aunt Belle's illness was giving her mother a perfect excuse for getting her away from Blake.

"And anyway," Mrs. Daton went on, "you do know Aunt Belle, you were just too young to remember. We used to stop there sometimes and see her on our way to visit Gran. They lived a 2
mile or so apart. But that's when you were little, before — "

Meg knew her mother was thinking before your father abandoned us, and so she spoke up quickly. "Well, what's Aunt Belle like?"

"Oh, she's not really your aunt, everyone just called her that. She was always a little eccentric.

She never married, and I'll bet she's lived in the same house for at least fifty years. Your dad always said she was a beautiful woman when she was young. By the time I met her, she certainly wasn't young anymore, of course, but she tried hard not to look her age. I suppose it was kind of silly, the way she tried not to act her age, either —but it did make her something of a character! Between you and me, I think she was just afraid of getting old, but that's something I can appreciate now." She winked at her daughter. "She's very, very kind, Meg. I know you'll love her."

"How old do you think she is?"

Mrs. Daton laughed. "Oh, I couldn't even begin to guess! Ancient!"

Meg smiled and leaned forward, straining her eyes against the merciless glare of the Louisiana sun. "Well, wherever she lives, I bet she doesn't get much company anymore."

"She is pretty isolated," her mother agreed.

"We never could figure out why she wanted to live so far away from town. She seemed to like having us come to visit, but I think she was just as glad when we left her alone again. She never wanted 3
to move away from the area. I know Gran tried to talk her into it a million times. Your dad used to worry about her, but people back in these bayous have their own ways, you know—they live pretty much the way they've always lived, and they don't seem to like changes. I think having people around made her more and more nervous, the older she got, and she enjoyed her solitude."

"Why haven't we seen her in so long?" Meg asked, fanning herself with the road map.

"After Gran moved to New Orleans, we never seemed to get back this way anymore," Mrs.

Daton explained. "Gran kept in touch with Aunt Belle for a while but never came back to visit.

Then after Gran died, and your father and I divorced ..." She shrugged, as if tired of the old memories. "Well, people's lives just take different directions, that's all."

"So why did the doctor call us after all these years?"

"Who knows, honey? It could be that your dad is the only kin Aunt Belle has left in the world.

She probably took a chance that he was still around and could help her."

"She's probably weird and crotchety," Meg mumbled, folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"Now, Meg, don't judge," her mother warned gently. "She was always good to your dad when he was small, and he always kind of wanted to look after her."

4

"Then why doesn't he come home and do it?"

The minute she said it, Meg wished she hadn't.

"Because he's in Europe, honeymooning with his fourth wife!" Mrs. Daton snapped. "So someone has to show some responsibility for the poor old woman!"

Meg felt the car swerve as her mother yanked the wheel angrily, and she lapsed into weary silence. She knew it hadn't been easy for Mom, trying to make a happy, secure life for the two of them, getting nothing from Meg's father but an occasional phone call and another lame excuse for not sending any money that month. Mom worked so hard, and here she was being difficult. Feeling a little guilty, Meg concentrated on the scenery that blurred and bumped past them.

They had turned off the main highway an hour ago, and now the road was growing narrower and bumpier. Obviously nobody had bothered to maintain it for a good many years, for suddenly the pitted asphalt dropped off into a gravelly stretch of crushed oyster shells, then into an even tinier dirt trail that snaked its way between weeds that brushed the car windows and trees that drooped their unkempt branches over the hood. Meg hoped they wouldn't meet anyone else — there was nowhere for a car to pull off to let another one pass.

"Are you sure they brought Aunt Belle home?"

Meg asked, gritting her teeth against the jounc-ing of the car. "This road doesn't look like it's ever been used."

5

Mrs. Daton raised an eyebrow in agreement and plunged the car forward.

The afternoon was stifling, and with no air conditioning there was no surviving the southern heat with the car windows closed. Meg squirmed uncomfortably as sweat trickled down her forehead, dampening her short chestnut hair. The air felt like a sweltering blanket stuck to her flesh, and she was itchy and wet all over.

She swatted angrily at a mosquito the size of a half-dollar and scratched the red welt where it had stung her. She was almost dizzy from breathing stale air laden with the hot fumes of grass and dust and gasoline.

The car churned to a pause, then heaved itself over a gaping hole and through a clotted fortress of thick vines.

"Well!" Mrs. Daton exclaimed. "She certainly hasn't kept up the place, has she?"

Meg didn't answer. She was too busy staring through the windshield at the monstrosity that loomed before her.

It had surely been a beautiful home at one time —a square wooden structure set high off the ground on stone blocks. It looked like a small version of some once-grand plantation house.

With a backdrop of mossy oaks and the slow-moving bayou that meandered past one side of the building, it could have been the perfect setting for a southern romance novel. But now the graceful wooden columns of the entryway were darkened by the disrespect of age, and the walls 6
were warped and mottled with peeling paint, like a water moccasin shedding its old skin.

Weeds choked the broken front steps, and what might once have been a perfumed cluster of azaleas and camellias along the whole front of the house was now a matted tangle of dead, dry foliage. At the right front corner of the house towered a magnificent tree, its boughs extended protectively over the second-floor roof, great clumps of gray moss dripping against the darkened upstairs windows like wisps of hair over dull, sightless eyes.

In spite of the heat Meg shivered and glanced at her mother, whose face told Meg plainly that she was having second thoughts.

"Well ..." Mrs. Daton's voice trailed off, her hands limp at her sides.

"Don't you think we should get out?" Meg whispered.

The sudden bark of a dog made her squeal, and she let out a nervous giggle.

"Well, at least there's some life around here,"

her mother said weakly, trying to smile. "Shall we go in?"

"You first," Meg said, and they both laughed.

As they got out of the car, a collie suddenly appeared from behind the house and, tail wag-ging, approached them with cautious friendli-ness. Meg called to him, and the dog nearly knocked her over as he sprang up to be petted.

They walked closer to the house, looking around them for some sign of movement. Mrs.

7

Daton cupped her hands around her mouth and called Aunt Belle's name, but there was no answer. After receiving an affectionate scratch behind his ears, the collie calmed down and walked alongside Meg as if he had known her forever.

"Aunt Belle?" Mrs. Daton called again. She shaded her eyes against the simmering sky and looked anxious.

A slight breeze caressed Meg like a hot breath, and she stopped and peered off into a large grove of trees that stood about twenty feet behind the house. This was what people called a dead forest. Just a thick mass of lifeless trunks and branches that loomed like twisted corpses, catching shadows and squeezing them down into their mysterious depths.

Just shadows, that's all, Meg told herself sternly, and raised her eyes to the upstairs windows — dirty, streaked panes of glass surrounded by chipped frames, lopsided window-boxes, and shredded gingerbread trim. Nothing but shadows there either.

Then why had she seen something move?

Meg blinked and widened her brown eyes, catching her breath sharply.

A figure!

Like an old-fashioned, black silhouette in a broken frame, a smooth, shadowy shape looked down on them from behind slightly parted lace curtains. Meg squinted, trying to make out some specific details. The straight, slender back 8
and softly curved front told her that it was a woman, but it was too indistinct for her to see anything more.

"Meg? Are you all right?"

"What?" Meg started and managed a grin.

"Oh, sure, Mom. Pretty spooky place, huh?"

She looked up at the window again, but it was empty.

Or was it?

Meg shook herself and caught up with her mother.

"Yes," Mrs. Daton agreed. "It is spooky, and I think we should go right back — "

"Hello! Hello! I thought I heard a car!"

They both jumped as the front screen door flew open with a bang. A short, plump woman shuffled out onto the steps.

"Here, now, you must be Meg and Mrs. Daton!

And I'm Esther! Sorry I couldn't get down sooner, but I was just giving Aunt Belle her tray, and it always takes me a while to climb down those stairs!"

Meg noted the woman's stoop and the thick-ness of her shoulders. Definitely not the person in the window.

Meg and her mother exchanged smiles as Esther hobbled to meet them. Her face was comfortable and comforting, and she wore a bright red apron over her crinkled print dress. As Meg studied Esther, she noticed that one shoe had a built-up platform, indicating that one leg was shorter than the other.

9

"Come on, it's hot as the devil out here."

Esther shooed them into the dark, cool hallway, letting the door slam behind them. The dog looked pleadingly in at them through the screen.

"Oh, Beau, go on now We'll be leaving in a while."

"Is he your dog?" Meg asked.

"My son's, really. But one of the family all the same. He's here somewhere —my son, that is.

Wes? Wes? You around?"

A muffled reply came from somewhere upstairs, and Esther smiled, showing some missing teeth. "He's fixing some things for Aunt Belle. He'll be down directly."

"How is Aunt Belle?" Mrs. Daton asked worriedly.

"Why she's a real trouper, bless her heart!"

Esther said cheerfully. "But I was glad to hear you were coming. It's good she'll have someone staying."

"Are you her neighbor?" Meg said with a smile.

"For all practical purposes, except that we live about three miles up the bayou."

"Do you walk here then?" Meg asked, not recalling another car outside.

"Lord, no, we have the boat." Esther nodded her head. "It's a lot quicker than fighting that road, if you can even call it a road. Me, I can't drive —never wanted to, never will. No good roads around here anyway, come to think of it."

"Yes, I certainly do see what you mean." Mrs.

Daton grimaced.

"That's how we brought Aunt Belle home, you 10
know, in our boat."

"No, I didn't know."

"Yes, we have a little store up the way and a nice loading dock. Lots of fishermen around here get their supplies from us. So we just brought her home from Doc's right in the boat."

"Doc's?"

"Sure. Doc was the one who called you."

Esther headed down the hallway, motioning to Mrs. Daton and Meg to come along.

Mrs. Daton looked concerned. "But I thought Aunt Belle was in the hospital."

Esther looked back at her, tolerant smile on her face. "That's just like you city folks —New Orleans, right? No hospital here. Doc takes charge of everything, from cuts to strokes. He's the best. I'd take Doc over a hospital any day."

She led them into the parlor.

Meg sat down stiffly in a wicker chair and glanced around the stuffy room. Old furniture from another time cowered in dark corners, and the threadbare rugs beneath her feet did little to camouflage the scratched and dusty hardwood floor. Lace curtains hung at the windows, which afforded a full view of the lazy bayou. Beside her chair stood a gaudy, fringe-shaded floor lamp, and there were several dead plants sitting on small tables. No tv. No stereo. Not even a radio.

This is going to be great, Meg thought glumly.

"I'm the one who found your name and number," Esther said proudly. "Surprised me, though, that Aunt Belle had any kin. Of course, 11
she's always kept herself to herself, so we don't know much about her. But she's mighty lucky that Wes came that day."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Mrs. Daton frowned.

"The truth is, Mrs. Daton, before this happened I had never actually seen Aunt Belle. She's a recluse. Has been for years, Doc says. He's the only one ever sees her, that I know of. Folks around here talk about her —some of the old-timers even remember knowing her, but that was years ago. Once a week my boy delivers groceries and always finds a note on the back door telling what she'll need the next week. Only this last time there wasn't a note, so Wes figured something was wrong. When he couldn't get in to find out, he came back, and I called Doc."

Looking pleased with herself, she tucked a stray lock of hair back under her kerchief. "Well, I guess Doc took care of everything, and the rest you know. She's been acting a little happier since we told her you were coming. She's real fond of you and the girl."

Mrs. Daton laughed politely. "I'm surprised she even remembers us, especially Meg. It's been so long."

"Oh, she remembers all right. Doc told me Aunt Belle's talked to him before about what a pretty girl Meg must be now. And she's sure right, by the look of things."

Meg mumbled thanks as Esther fluttered down onto the edge of a faded loveseat.

12

"We look in when we can," Esther went on,

"but there's the store to run. She really needs someone to be here with her, to hear her when she needs something. She can't call, you know, the stroke took most of her speech — "

"No, I didn't know!" Mrs. Daton sounded alarmed. "The doctor said it wasn't that serious — "

"There, there," Esther clucked sympathetically, leaning over to pat her hand, "and so it wasn't! Doc knows what he's talking about!

She's alert, and her spirits are good —especially when she found out Meg was coming to stay.

Why, Doc said that having Meg here would be the perfect medicine for Aunt Belle —young blood, you know! It's good to be around young folks, I always say. She'll be fine. You'll see!"

"I did see her," Meg spoke up. "As we came in.

She was watching us from the window up there."

Esther's smile was patient. "But of course you're mistaken, dear. She can't even get out of bed."

"But the doctor said — " Mrs. Daton started.

Meg interrupted her. "But I saw her!"

"Impossible, dear! Oh, it's this old sun!"

Esther fussed. "It can play strange tricks on a person, make you think you're seeing things that aren't there!" She stood up. "I'll fix you some lemonade, and then I'll take you right up to her room."

As Esther bustled out, Meg sighed. "Maybe I 13
am tired after the trip." She looked into her mother's eyes and could instantly read her mind. "No, Mom, we can't take her with us today.

There's no room in that car for a sick person."

Mrs. Daton seemed to wilt. "You're right, honey. And no room at home for a sick person either."

Meg thought of their cramped apartment and wished they were back there.

"I'd just feel better going on my trip if I knew you were at home. If only I could get her into a hospital in town!" Mrs. Daton hit her fist against the side of her chair.

"Maybe she wouldn't want to go." Meg got up and put her arms around her mother's shoulders. She knew her mother felt bad because they couldn't afford to take care of Aunt Belle. They could barely make ends meet as it was. If this business trip went well, then there was a chance of a much better salary, but now ...

Seeing the frustration in her mother's eyes, Meg was sorry that she had been so selfish about staying here and helping out.

"Hey, Mom," she said softly, "it'll be okay. Really. I don't mind staying, and it'll only be for a — "

She broke off abruptly as a shadow fell across the open doorway.

Unexpected prickles of fear swept up her arms.

And she looked up into the blackest, most piercing eyes she had ever seen.

14

Chapter Two

"You're Meg." Spoken in a deep, soft voice, the words sounded more like an accusation than a greeting, and Meg stiffened.

"And I'm her mother," Mrs. Daton challenged, leaning forward in her chair.

Meg wished her mother wouldn't treat her like a child. She could take care of herself.

"Mrs. Daton." The voice acknowledged her, but the searing eyes remained steadily on Meg's face.

Framed in the half-light of the doorway, this newcomer seemed ominous, without distinct form or features. But as he moved forward into the room, Meg saw him more clearly and felt her pulse quicken.

15

He was handsome in a dark sort of way. Tall and lean, he moved stealthily, like a surefooted animal. As the light fell across his high, tanned cheekbones, it illuminated the rugged angles of his face, his straight nose, the firm set of his jaw.

He wore tight, threadbare jeans and a shirt that hung open, revealing a sun-bronzed chest. Meg guessed he was about eighteen, maybe nine-teen. As he looked calmly back at her, Meg realized she was staring. She blushed and dropped her eyes.

A clinking sound broke the spell, and Meg was glad when Esther appeared, carrying a tray of frosty glasses.

"Oh!" Esther said cheerily. "There you are! I take it you've all met. Wes, this is Mrs. Daton and Meg. My son, Wes."

"Pleasure," he said, as if it really wasn't. He strode to the window and peered out.

"So is everything fixed up there?" Esther asked, passing out the lemonade. "Does she need anything else before we go?"

Wes shook his head, not turning around.

"Good. Well, then." Esther glanced at the watch on her wrist, then gestured toward the hall. "Why don't you come on up? Then we'll be leaving. Have to get back to the store before three."

As they followed Esther up the steep, narrow stairway, Meg let her eyes wander over the portraits decorating the walls. The faces that gazed back at her from their oval frames were all the 16
same face —a beautiful, delicate-boned young woman with large, serene eyes and a sweet, enigmatic smile. A high lace collar encircled her pale, slender throat, and a rich cascade of thick, wavy hair tumbled softly about her shoulders.

"Oh, how lovely," Meg whispered reverently. "Is it Aunt Belle?"

Mrs. Daton didn't hear her, but from behind Meg caught a mumbled affirmative from Wes.

"Do you know how old she was?" Meg asked.

"Sixteen."

"My age." Meg nodded, entranced by the simple elegance of the innocent face. The photographs were all in black and white, but as she continued to stare at them, she was suddenly struck with a vivid flash of color and movement and sound —wind-tossed honey-gold hair and sparkling hazel eyes, full red lips, and carefree girlish laughter. As she tilted her head back to examine the portraits hanging higher up the walls, the gentle laughter seemed to fill her head, envelop her body .. . soft, flirtatious laughter ... around and around ... around and around and around . . .

Meg tripped, falling onto one knee as she grabbed for the wooden banister.

Mrs. Daton and Esther turned back in alarm, but Wes already had hold of her. "You okay?" he asked, one arm about her waist.

"Yes ... I —I don't know what happened." Meg looked up at the photographs, shaking her head to clear it. There was no laughter now, and the 17
faces stared back at her in somber, colorless shades.

"The sun," Esther said emphatically. "Didn't I tell you?"

Wes narrowed his eyes, following Meg's troubled gaze up the wall.

"I'm fine. Thanks. Dumb thing to do." Meg was uncomfortably aware of her mother's disapproving stare as Wes tightened his arm about her to help her up. A strange tingle went through her body at his strong, warm touch.

Flustered, she almost fell again, trying to pull away from him. But before he released her, she noticed a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Meg hurried up the stairs and found herself in a bare, suffocating hallway A haze of dust hung in the stifling air, and she could feel new beads of sweat forming on her upper lip.

Esther went to the closed door at the very end of the hall, knocked lightly and pushed it open, then waved them all inside.

Meg held her breath, then took a bold step across the threshold.

Time had stopped in this room.

Meg felt a fleeting moment of confusion, as if she had intruded into a private party without having been given the proper clothes or intro-ductions.

Sunlight streamed through yellowed lace curtains, throwing dappled patterns across the pink and white roses of the wallpaper. Directly in front of her rose a huge, carved four-poster bed, 18
draped with yards and yards of mosquito netting. A vanity table stood beneath one window, its ruffled cloth skirt printed with the same roses as the walls. Its surface was cluttered with porcelain jars and bottles, a gilded hairbrush and mirror, and a variety of tortoiseshell combs.

Against another wall was a tall wardrobe of or-nately carved oak, now filmy from the passing of time. A rocking chair had been placed near a small, round bedside table which held a rose-patterned china lamp and a china cup, and directly across from the table stretched a fainting couch of worn pink satin, a dainty cream-colored shawl tossed carelessly at its foot.

Meg's eyes widened in amazement, then riv-eted themselves on the bed. At first it had appeared empty, but now she sensed something was there. Watching her. Waiting.

"Aunt Belle? Here're your friends, dear."

Esther walked over and jerked back the folds of white mesh.

Meg nearly screamed.

There against a cluster of white lace pillows lay the wasted figure of Aunt Belle. Her long, pinched face gazed back at them with round, hollow eyes. Her skin, shriveled over her skull, was collapsed in a mass of deep wrinkles. But on her cheeks burned two garish spots of bright red rouge that matched the gaudy red lipstick smeared where her lips might have been. Wisps of gray hair clung to her skull-like head, and her yellowed complexion looked decayed next to the 19
whiteness of the sheets.

Meg stared in fascination and revulsion, the images of Aunt Belle's photographs swirling through her head in a mocking parade.

It was Mrs. Daton who finally broke the silence, going forward nervously to take one of the clawlike hands. "Aunt Belle." Her voice shook as she forced a smile. "I'm so glad someone called us."

"K —K —Kaaa." The creature's lips struggled to form Mrs. Daton's name, then large miserable tears began to course down the wrinkled cheeks.

Suddenly she was just a very old, very pathetic woman.

Meg felt like crying and lowered her eyes.

"Katherine. That's right. And look, I've brought Meg." Mrs. Daton eased herself cautiously onto the bed. "You remember Meg, don't you?"

"Mmmmmmmm ..." The thin sound trailed off, and Mrs. Daton patted the old woman's arm as Meg came over to the bedside.

"F —Fi —Filllll ..." Aunt Belle ran her tongue over her smeared mouth, reminding Meg of a lizard.

"I think she's asking about Dad," Meg said softly.

Mrs. Daton's face tightened. "Phil's fine, Aunt Belle," she said with forced cheerfulness. "He's married again and in Europe."

Meg wasn't sure Aunt Belle understood this, for her sunken eyes began wandering over the 20
room. They stopped on Wes and stayed there without wavering as he stared back, un-daunted.

Esther stepped in. "We have to go now, Aunt Belle. Have to get back to the store."

Mrs. Daton checked her watch in alarm. A look of anguish passed over her face, and she glanced wildly at Meg.

Poor Mom! Meg felt her mother's panic and made the decision for her.

"Did you know I'm going to stay with you, Aunt Belle?" she asked brightly. "Just till you're better."

The vacant eyes fastened themselves on her, glistening like two beads.

Meg sensed that Mrs. Daton was searching her face for her true feelings, but she managed to look confident. "We'll be fine, won't we, Aunt Belle?"

Aunt Belle began to cry quietly, and Esther wiped the tired face with a tissue she took from her apron pocket.

"'Course they'll be fine." Esther nodded. "Wes will look in on them every day when he makes delivery rounds. And Doc comes around regular."

Mrs. Daton gave Wes a worried look. Meg knew she still wasn't convinced.

"Maybe you'll meet some nice young people while you're here," her mother suggested hopefully.

"In this godforsaken place!" Esther laughed.

21

"No neighbors for miles around, and these people so clannish they'd never let you know them.

We've lived here for years now, and nothing's different. If it hadn't been for my man, bless his soul, they'd never have accepted me either. Anyway, there aren't any young girls your age around here. Five years and I've never seen a one. Not a one,"

"A —Aaaaaa —naaaa . . . " Aunt Belle fixed Esther with a ghostly smile, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.

Meg was startled by the abrupt change in Esther. As the woman's color drained, there was a small, choking sound in her throat, and she sagged against the wall, clutching at Wes. For a split second Meg thought the woman might collapse, but then Esther seemed to find her voice, and she mumbled, "No, Aunt Belle, Anna's gone."

Wes spoke sharply from his mother's side. "It's late."

"Yes." Esther glanced numbly toward Aunt Belle, looked momentarily disoriented, then turned away. "Meg, your room's at the other end of the hall. Come downstairs and I'll show you where things are."

"Sure." Meg left her mother and Aunt Belle to say their good-byes, then spent the next few minutes on a guided tour of the kitchen. It was spacious and old-fashioned, with cracked wood and dilapidated linoleum. To her relief it did have running water and a tiny refrigerator, and 22
the glass-fronted cupboards looked fairly well stocked. There were a table and two straight-backed chairs in one corner and a row of windows over the sink. Meg could look straight out onto the dead forest and also see part of the bayou which wound off to the far left of the backyard.

"It's a simple house to get around in," Esther told her. "Just five rooms—yours, Aunt Belle's, and the bathroom upstairs; the parlor and kitchen down here. Your room's right above us.

And you don't have to do anything for her except feed her and listen in case she calls, 'cause Doc will take care of everything else when he comes by. He has his own key, so don't worry if you don't hear him knock."

Meg met her mother at the front door and smiled bravely as they kissed good-bye. Esther and Wes walked out with them, waving as Mrs.

Daton got into her car and gunned the engine.

"If you need me —" her mother called.

"I'll be fine!" Meg fought a sudden urge to run after her mother, climb into the car, and lock the doors safely behind them.

"She'll be fine." Esther smiled, patting Meg's shoulder affectionately. "We're right up the way."

"Good-bye, honey!" Mrs. Daton guided the car back onto the path.

"'Bye, Mom," Meg whispered, feeling the tears press hard behind her eyes. "'Bye ..."

Esther gave her a gentle shake, and they began walking toward the left side of the house, 23
where the boat was tied.

"Now, Wes will be here every day to check, and I'll come whenever I can. If there's anything special you want to eat, just tell Wes, and I'll make sure you get it. I made a list of what to give Aunt Belle and left it on the kitchen counter by the stove. You'll do fine."

"Thanks, Esther." Meg stood on the bank, wishing they wouldn't leave her, missing Esther's smile already.

Beau appeared from beneath the house, barking joyfully as he leaped into the boat.

They shoved off, and as Wes began to paddle the small boat around the first bend, Meg suddenly waved her arms. "Wait! I need your phone number in case I have to call!"

From the shadows of an overhanging oak, Wes's steely eyes glinted at her. "Won't do you any good. Aunt Belle doesn't have a phone."

24

Chapter Three

No telephone!

Meg felt her heart sink as she turned back to the house.

What if something happened ?

"Stop being so silly," Meg chided herself, putting determination into her steps that she wasn't sure she really felt.

Esther had promised that someone would be coming every day. And besides, it was only for a while, Meg reminded herself. Just a week, maybe. Certainly not much longer than that.

Then she could go home and see Joan and the gang — even Blake, if he was over his tantrum by then. They'd have the whole rest of the summer together before school started again, and she 25
didn't want to waste a single precious minute of it.

Sighing, Meg lifted her eyes and froze.

Had the curtains moved?

She was sure they had, just the ever-so-slightest ripple, as if an unknown watcher had stepped "back to keep from being seen.

Calculating quickly in her mind, Meg knew the windows had to be in Aunt Belle's room, because that bedroom was at this end of the house. She remembered that its windows were on two walls — one set facing the bayou and boat dock, the other facing the front of the house where Meg was now. The same windows where she had seen someone watching earlier.

Meg wondered again whether it could have been Esther she had noticed before. No, Esther's shape didn't in any way resemble the one she had seen. Aunt Belle? Esther had said that was impossible, and now that Meg had seen the old woman upstairs, she totally agreed.

Then who could it have been?

"Maybe my brain," Meg said out loud. The sound of her own voice made her feel better. She hurried into the house and up to Aunt Belle's room.

"Can I get you anything?" Meg asked, peeking in at the door.

Aunt Belle shifted her head on the pillows and groped absently for her covers. Meg didn't know how anyone could stand all those blankets — the room was sweltering even with the windows 26
open.

Meg smiled. "Sure you're not hungry?"

The head moved from side to side.

"Well, maybe I'll look around outside for a while."

The head turned slowly toward her, and Meg thought the eyes grew hard for a moment. "No

. .. no ... faaa ..." The voice trembled, but the painted lips drew into a tight line. "S —s —
naaa —k —k . .."

Meg strained, trying to understand, then shuddered. "Snakes. No, I won't go far. I'll be careful."

What a dear old thing, Meg thought tenderly.

Imagine Aunt Belle trying to look out for her!

She pulled the door to and went to find her room.

This was a tiny room and obviously never used, by the musty smell of it. Wes had brought her suitcase up — it was sitting in the middle of the worn coral-colored rug. There was a plain bed, a chest of drawers topped with a crocheted scarf, and a little sewing rocker, all very dark and unattractive. In one corner a curtain served as a closet door, and Meg began to put her few T-shirts on hangers. She stuffed her extra pair of jeans into one of the drawers along with her underthings, then hung her nightgown on a hook beside the bed.

There, she thought, it looks just like a room in a history book.

She crossed to the window and scanned the 27
backyard and dead forest. To the right was an impenetrable jungle of underbrush and trees.

Thinking of Aunt Belle's warning, she shivered.

She was terrified of snakes, and here in the middle of woods and bayou country was probably the perfect breeding ground for cot-tonmouths. Standing there, she wished the windows had shades instead of these flimsy curtains. Then she laughed at herself. Who was there to look in the windows anyway. She was practically cut off from the world.

Meg checked out the bathroom, wrinkling her nose at the tall, stained sink with separate faucets for hot and cold and the toilet that flushed by a chain hanging above it. The bathtub was enormous and sat on four elabo-rately clawed feet like some grotesque beast.

Like Aunt Belle ...

"Stop it," Meg said to herself. "She can't help it if she's old."

Suddenly feeling hungry, she went to the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboards till she found some peanut butter and bread.

Esther must have guessed what junk food a teenager would like. Or maybe it had been Wes Meg sank into a kitchen chair and spread her bread thoughtfully. Wes was so good-looking she could hardly believe it. Joan would go absolutely crazy if she saw him. And yet there was something sinister about him, too —something that made Meg almost afraid to be near him. Some-28
thing about his deep eyes that seemed to look right through her, hiding secrets nobody else would ever know. ..

Meg put her sandwich together, took a big bite, and sauntered out the back door, down some rickety steps, and into the yard. An overpowering sweetness met her, washing over her in warm, humid waves.

Gardenias.

Meg recognized the smell immediately and bent over the row of bushes that fanned out along the entire rear of the house. She carefully plucked a creamy blossom, running her fingers over its soft, fragrant petals, and finally tucked it into her hair behind one ear. As she walked away, the luscious scent clung to her clothes and her damp skin. She took a deep breath and smiled. If she opened her bedroom window tonight, her whole room would probably smell like a wedding bouquet by morning.

Between her and the sluggish bayou stood a line of bent oaks, their leaves and moss trailing in the tall rushes. She walked back toward the dead forest, nervously alert for any sign of movement in the grass where a snake might lie hidden. She made a mental note never to walk out here after dark.

Stopping, she munched her sandwich and scrutinized the gray, scabby trunks that stood like rotting sentinels before her, trying to imagine what they must have looked like when they were fresh and green and alive. Not so much as a 29
birdcall sounded from their depths, as if the birds, too, shunned this grove of the dead.

Meg heard a sudden rustling and instinctively stepped back, ready to run.

As she stared intently at the trees, waiting for something to appear, she noticed something she hadn't seen before. A pathway. It was so faint she could hardly make it out even now, for it was swallowed up in dry, rusty vines almost before it began.

Slowly Meg went nearer, examining the trees before she reached out and gingerly touched one branch. She pulled it back and peered into the darkness. There was definitely a path there, and now she saw that it widened a bit and curled away into the deepening shadows.

Going where?

Meg took a cautious step, then jumped back with a scream as something touched her arm.

Flailing her arm wildly, she saw the spider drop onto the grass and scurry out of sight.

Gasping, Meg turned and ran back to the house.

30

Chapter Four

"But don't you want any soup?" Meg asked for the third time. "You've got to keep up your strength, Aunt Belie, so you can get better. I'm responsible for you now."

The old woman closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Meg shrugged resignedly and carried the tray back to the kitchen. She knew Aunt Belle didn't feel well, but she hadn't counted on her being so difficult. Meg had taken great pains to fix the special dinner according to Esther's instruc-tions in the kitchen. If Aunt Belle got worse all of a sudden, she didn't know how she would get help.

Meg poured the soup back into a saucepan, covered it with a lid, and put it in the re-31
frigerator. Maybe Aunt Belle would feel hungry later. Now Meg chose a can of tuna fish from one of the shelves and set about making some tuna salad. That would take care of sandwiches for a day or two at least.

Working at the counter by the sink, Meg peered through the thin curtains and out into the lengthening twilight. She had a feeling it could get pretty scary way out here at night, and she didn't like the idea of being so exposed in the brightness of the kitchen. Again the thought came to her that anyone who might be out there could see in through these lace curtains that were hanging at windows all over the house.

And anyone could see out...

Meg turned away from the window and
frowned.

Of course that made sense, too, when she thought about it. Aunt Belle probably got lonely and wanted to watch the world outside. Nothing weird about that.

But Meg felt uneasy just the same.

She made another sandwich and wandered into the parlor. What would she do to pass the time while she was here? She'd brought some books, but she was sure she couldn't concentrate on reading. She wished Joan were here to help her sort things out. She kept thinking of the figure at the window. It hadn't been a trick of the sun; she was positive she'd really seen it.

Where did that path into the dead forest lead?

And what was the meaning of Esther's peculiar 32
reaction to Aunt Belle's mention of "Anna"?

Maybe she'd ask Wes about Anna the next time she saw him.

Thinking of Wes made her finally decide what to do. She'd write everything down right now in her diary so she could share the details with Joan when she got home. Joan would love hearing all about Wes. Maybe two heads can figure him out, Meg thought. She'd just go upstairs and get her book and her pen ...

As she started up the stairs, Meg was uncomfortably aware of the oval portraits watching her with large, still eyes. They were so beautiful. It was hard to believe that they had all once been the grotesque woman upstairs. With her hand poised lightly on the banister, Meg tilted her head and studied the photographs one by one.

The expressions were identical secretive smiles, the dresses so similar they could almost have been printed from a single negative.

Strange, Meg thought. As if that one glorious sixteenth year had held all the richness and promise of youth, as if that one particular age had been captured —imprisoned, almost —for fear that none of the years to come would be quite so magical.

Darkness was creeping stealthily along the stairs now like silent footsteps. Absently, Meg thought of finding a light switch, but the idea passed from her mind as she continued to stare entranced at the photographs. As if from far away she sensed the slight whisper of summer 33
wind, soothing, easing its way through the windows and the delicate lace curtains, into the musty rooms, and down the long hallways, scat-tering old memories like ripples on water. And then she realized it wasn't wind at all, but laughter, the soft, girlish laughter of a young and carefree heart.. .

Letting her head fall back, Meg opened her lips as the laughter rippled over her, not caring that it probed her mind and played at her throat, sending strange and lovely sensations down her arms and across her chest. Through half-closed eyes she saw the beautiful faces watching her, those curious smiles matching her own as she began to laugh, softly at first, then more loudly, feeling light-headed and deliciously free. She began to sway, keeping time to the laughter that tinkled like music in her head, and as she reached up to touch those innocent, gentle faces, she could almost swear that they were saying her name. Over and over, like bubbling laughter...

Meg ... Meg ... Meg ...

A pounding at the door echoed through the house, and Meg squealed as one of the pictures dropped at her feet, tiny shards of glass spraying in all directions. "Oh, no!"

Fearfully keeping close to the wall, Meg inched down slowly, wondering who could be calling at such a late hour. Mom? Had she changed her mind and come back? Hoping to see her mother, Meg peered through the gloom toward the little 34
window at the top of the front door.

As she strained to see, a fist beat upon the pane, and she flattened herself against the wall in terror. What could she get to defend herself with if someone broke through that glass?

Ready to bolt upstairs, Meg suddenly recognized the voice that spoke calmly from the darkness.

"It's Wes. Open the door."

Nearly limp with relief, Meg started forward, then stopped again. What could he possibly want? She hadn't trusted him before, and she certainly didn't now.

Leaning forward slightly, she called through the door, "What do you want?"

"Esther sent some things," came the reply.

"Come on, open up."

Meg bit her lip and tried to sound forceful. "I don't think I'd better."

There was a moment of silence, then Wes's voice again. "I have a key."

Meg fumbled with the lock, and opened the door to find Wes leaning against the jamb, a box balanced on one broad shoulder.

"Do you really have a key?" she blurted, half angrily "If you have a key, then why didn't you use it?"

"I was being polite," he said gruffly, obviously not in the best of humor.

"I ... I think you'd better give me that key,"

Meg demanded.

"You think too much." Wes pushed past her and went to the kitchen, where he dropped the 35
box onto the counter. "How you getting along?"

"Okay." Meg felt nervous with him here and wished he would leave. His presence made the room suddenly seem too small, threatening.

"You didn't want to stay," he said, leaning back against the cabinets and studying her.

Meg started to deny it, then slowly shook her head. "No. Not really."

"How's Aunt Belle?" He walked over and checked the lock on the kitchen door as Meg watched his every move.

"She won't eat."

"She will when she's hungry."

"What's that?" Meg pointed to the box.

"Esther suddenly remembered she hadn't sent soda over. Or cocoa in case you couldn't sleep.

Not that you'd be able to drink it in this weather.

I think she put some magazines in, too."

"Why do you call your mother Esther?"

"She's not my real mother. I'm adopted."

"Oh."

"Do you need anything before I go?"

"No. Thanks."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

Meg was glad when he turned to leave. She followed him to the front door and watched him go. But as he started off toward the boat, she felt a split second of panic. "Wes?"

He faced her, his eyes narrowing.

"Aren't you scared out here at night?"

"Why should I be?" His expression was bland.

"Are you?"

36

"No. Of course not."

Meg waited until she heard the soft slurp of water as the boat pulled away, then she locked the door and started upstairs. The broken glass recalled the accident on the steps. As she bent to pick up the pieces, her mind was racing. Why had Wes come back tonight? Had Esther really sent those things, or had it merely been a trick to get him into the house? He certainly wouldn't have had much opposition, not with an invalid and a girl scared half out of her wits!

"Silly," Meg whispered crossly. "Aunt Belle knows him, for heaven's sake! What do you expect —that he's going to murder you both in your beds? Ouch!"

She gritted her teeth and pulled at the sliver of glass lodged in her finger, wincing as blood began to ooze from the wound. As she
straightened up, several drops of blood spattered onto the photograph of Aunt Belle that lay unprotected on the floor. Meg gasped and tried to grab the picture before it was ruined.

And then she froze in horror.

As the dark blood trickled over the face in the photograph, Meg watched the grayish lips bloom into red fullness, the pale cheeks blossom into two rosy glows.

And then the laughter...

Soft, enchanting laughter, as the lips in the picture began to move, to form the sounds ...

Sounds that were coming from Aunt Belle's bedroom.

37

Chapter Five

Meg burst into the room, her eyes stabbing every corner of the darkness, seeking— what?

There was a slight movement in the bed as Aunt Belle tried to raise her head, indistinct syllables coming from her mouth.

Catching her breath, Meg realized that she must have frightened the old woman, and she hurried over to reassure her.

"Aunt Belle, it's just me," she said softly, switching on the lamp and trying not to recoil from the painted, masklike face. Meg had offered to take that awful makeup off earlier, but Aunt Belle had shaken her head adamantly. Now in the dim light the old woman reminded Meg of a bizarre clown doll.

39

"It's just me," Meg said again, pulling the covers gently up around Aunt Belle's neck. She felt much better. It hadn't been laughter after all, it had only been Aunt Belle trying to call, making strange sounds in her throat. "I heard you call me, Aunt Belle," Meg said, smiling. "What would you like? Are you hungry now?"

The woman shook her head firmly.

"But I heard you call me. What is it?" Meg tried a second time.

Again a shake of the shriveled head. Meg felt chilled.

"You didn't call me? Are you sure?"

The glassy eyes looked back at her.

"I'm sure I heard you, Aunt Belle. Maybe you were dreaming?" Meg asked hopefully. She thought the woman's expression grew suspicious.

"Oh ..." Meg smiled weakly. "Oh, then ... it must have . . . that is ..."

Confused, she watched Aunt Belle's bony hand pluck at her sleeve, trying to pull her closer. Haltingly, Meg leaned over, then felt a wave of revulsion sweep over her as Aunt Belle's lips sucked wetly at her cheek in a feeble kiss.

Hating herself for feeling so sickened, Meg kept her eyes closed, patted Aunt Belle's hand, and quickly stood up.

"You'd better sleep now, Aunt Belle. I'm going to bed. If you need anything, don't forget to ring that bell Esther put here on the table."

In the doorway Meg paused. "Oh, I'm afraid 40
one of the pictures fell and broke in the hall. But don't worry, I'll get it cleaned up. And I'll be glad to replace the frame."

The matted gray head turned slowly from side to side.

Meg closed the door and trembled.

She was almost certain that Aunt Belle had smiled.

In the stairwell she hung back a moment, afraid to look at the picture and its strange transformation. It was impossible. Impossible!

Yet she had seen it happen with her own eyes.

Feeling along the wall till she found a light switch, Meg blinked back tears, knelt down, and reached out for the photograph. She held it up to catch the light.

It was black and white!

The girl looked serenely back at her, just like the dozens on the walls, in muted shades of light and dark.

There was no blood. The photograph was in perfect condition.

Meg raised her finger, studying it carefully.

The cut was scabbing over with clotted blood.

And it was throbbing. At least she knew this was real.

It must have been the shadows... I was upset

... tired ...

Yes. Tired.

Meg suddenly felt utterly exhausted. Numbly she made her way to her room, dropped the photograph on the table, and took her nightgown 41
down from the wall. In the bathroom she ran some warm water into the tub, found a bottle of bubble bath, and added a capful to the water.

The windows made her nervous, and she felt as if she were on display, but the thought of taking a bath in the dark was even worse. She reminded herself again that no one could possibly be outside, then she eased herself into the tub.

The water felt wonderfully soothing on her body, and she soaked awhile, feeling the tension slough off with the dust and sweat. Vaguely she wondered if Mom was asleep now or thinking about her. She wished she could go home tomorrow.

She lathered her washcloth and scrubbed quickly, then rinsed and dried and pulled her soft blue nightgown over her head. Back in her room she brushed her hair, fluffing it with her fingers. Only after she had turned out the lights did she finally open her window, letting the night seep into her room.

So tired . ..

Meg lay back on her pillow, too exhausted to move. The scent of gardenias floated around her, caressing her with exotic perfume. Frogs croaked far off in the distance, and an occasional sound whispered through the trees.

Strange, unrecognizable cries drifted back and forth, back and forth, deep in the bayou. A staccato too loud for crickets made her remember the dead shrubbery at the front of the house and the dead forest at the back, as if all their gnarled 42
branches were rubbing together desperately, seeking some spark of life, some bit of warmth Warmth? It's so hot in here!

Meg frowned and turned on her side.

The sharp staccato turned to groans.

Dead plants . . . dead forest. . .

This house is surrounded by dead things.

Sleep slowly overtook Meg's thoughts, turning her weariness and worries to misty images of faded photographs, faceless laughter, and dark eyes watching her from deep, silent shadows.

43

Chapter Six

The ringing of a bell waked her.

"I'll get it," Meg mumbled, and was already out of the bed before she realized there was no phone and she wasn't at home.

Blinking at the sunlight that poured through her window, Meg heard a knock at the front door and wiggled quickly into her clothes.

She thrust her head into the other bedroom and was surprised to see Aunt Belle propped up.

"Well, good morning!" Meg exclaimed.

Aunt Belle formed her mouth carefully.

"Doooooor," she said.

"That's good!" Meg said happily as the woman set the little bell back down onto the sheets. "I'm just going. Be right back."

45

The house wasn't nearly so foreboding in the light of a brand-new day, and Meg didn't even bother to look out before she opened the door.

She was surprised to see a tall, balding man on the steps. She realized sheepishly that she had expected it to be Wes.

"Miss Daton?" He flashed her a courteous smile, showing perfectly straight, white teeth. "I am Dr. LaVane. Uh ... Doc." At her glimmer of recognition, he laughed. "I thought I might check in on Belle. Just to see how she is doing."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Please come in."

Meg stepped aside and looked him over as he passed. Fiftyish, she guessed, with dark color-ing and an accent unmistakably French, Distinguished-looking, too, with wire-rimmed spectacles and a white linen shirt open at the throat, revealing a round, flat white stone on a short gold chain. He carried a black bag in one hand; the other hand was stuffed casually into a pocket of his khaki pants.

"So what is your expert opinion on her condition?" Doc asked, pushing his glasses farther up his nose.

"Well," Meg said tentatively, "she said 'door'

just now. Almost like normal."

"Encouraging." He nodded.

"But she doesn't eat."

"No?"

"No, I fixed her some soup last night like Esther told me, but she wouldn't touch it."

"Not so surprising when one feels so misera-46
ble, I should think." The doctor's eyes swept over her appraisingly.

"Except that she needs to keep her strength up," Meg retorted, his condescending manner beginning to annoy her.

As Dr. LaVane ran his eyes down the length of her body and then back to her face, a look of satisfaction settled slowly over his features, as if Meg had just passed some secret test. "I assure you that having you here is the best medicine she could have."

Meg felt uncomfortable beneath his cool scrutiny. She lifted her chin and said firmly, "I'm just worried about her, that's all."

"Of course you are," Doc said quickly. "But you need not be, because I am her doctor. You see,"

and he smoothly withdrew a large hypodermic from his bag, "I supplement her diet —or shall we say, lack of diet —with these injections. So you need not concern yourself in the least."

"You asked for my opinion," Meg said stubbornly.

"So I did." A mocking smile spread over his lips. "Thank you for sharing it."

As Meg automatically prepared to follow him, he turned back, his tone maddeningly polite.

"You need not accompany me, Miss Daton. If I need you, I will call."

Angrily Meg watched him disappear up the stairs and heard Aunt Belle's door shut and lock.

Lock?

Meg wondered what Doc could possibly be 47
doing up there that would require so much se-crecy. Oh, well, she reasoned, it wasn't her business. The sooner Aunt Belle recovered, the sooner she could go home.

The kitchen was ablaze with light, and Meg threw open all the curtains. Even the bayou looked friendlier today, and the trees not nearly so threatening. She flung open the back door, breathing deeply of the gardenia scent on the heavy summer air, then got herself some cereal and took it out on the steps to eat.

The sky was blindingly blue, not a cloud in sight, and the grass shimmered with lingering dew. It would be another unbearably hot day, Meg thought grimly. She never realized that air conditioning could spoil a person so much.

Hearing heavy footsteps behind her, she jumped up and saw that Doc was ready to leave.

"She is improved, as you say." He seemed very pleased, fingering the stone at his throat. "Did I not tell you that you are good for her?"

" Glad I can help." Meg nodded.

"Oh, and one other thing." He raised a tapered finger and cocked his head. "Perhaps you could just sit with her from time to time. Even if she does not feel like trying to talk, I am convinced that your presence would be constructively stimulating to her. Speak to her. This will keep her senses alert."

"I'll do what I can," Meg promised, then for some reason added, "But it's just for a few days."

Doc stared at her. Too long, Meg thought un-48
easily.

"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, we shall see."

Meg was glad when he climbed into his boat and left. There was something about his suave manner that made her feel creepy.

Meg forced her mouth into a cheerful smile and went up to check on Aunt Belle. The woman's cheeks and lips had been freshly painted, and Meg tried not to stare as she straightened the covers.

"I see Doc helped you with your makeup," she said casually. "I'd be glad to do it for you, you know."

Aunt Belle lifted a tremulous hand to her rouged cheek.

"It's a nice day," Meg said, fluffing the pillows,

"and Doc says you're better. Isn't that great?"

The head nodded, the cavernous eyes fixed upon Meg's face.

"How about if I fix you something? Do you want breakfast?" Meg busied herself at the windows, pausing to look out across the empty front yard.

"No," the voice rasped.

Meg faced Aunt Belle in concern. "But Aunt Belle, you really have to have some — "

"Nooooo." The eyes were hawklike, and Meg gave up. "Well, would you like me to stay with you awhile?"

The aged eyes softened. "Yeessss ..."

Meg smiled and sat down in the rocker. "Okay.

What would you like to talk about?"

49

The voice choked, "Y—y—ouuuuuu ..."

"Me?" Meg reached over and patted the blue-veined hand. "There's not much interesting about me, but I'll try to think of something." She began to rock slowly, her eyes fixed on a cobweb that dangled from the ceiling. Starting hesitantly, she told Aunt Belle all about her school, then about the kids in the gang, then about Joan and Blake and how all of them had planned to spend their summer. As she relaxed, it was easier to think of things to say, and talking about her friends somehow made her feel less lonely.

Meg didn't think she'd been talking for very long, but suddenly she began to feel drained.

Rubbing her eyes, she realized Aunt Belle was watching her with a peaceful smile.

"I think that's enough for now." Meg stood up, her muscles feeling strangely sore as she flexed her arms. "How about some lunch later on?

Then maybe I can sit here and we can talk some more or something." At the woman's garbled reply, Meg added, "Can I get you anything else?"

"No."

"Then I'll let you rest." Meg pulled the door closed and went to her room to get her sneakers.

The photograph was on the table where she'd left it. Meg picked it up and examined it carefully, but there wasn't even a hint of damage. She must have imagined the whole thing.

All except for my finger, Meg thought ruefully.

It still hurt a little, and there was a red gash 50
where the glass had gone in.

Not knowing what else to do with the photograph, Meg propped it up on top of the chest of drawers. It really was quite a lovely picture, and at least it made for some sort of decoration in the room.

She headed outside and wandered along the bayou, being careful not to get too near the edge.

The brown water looked lazy, as if the heat had sapped its strength. Meg shaded her eyes and peered across at the opposite bank. Nothing there but more trees and moss. Meg hoped there weren't any alligators around. She'd heard tales of alligators in the bayou, and this looked like the perfect setting.

As she ambled back toward the dead forest, she automatically sought the pathway she'd come across yesterday. There it was, overhung with lifeless vines and shifting shadows. Wanting desperately to explore but afraid to go in alone, she backed away and went around to the front of the house.

What was she going to do with herself all day?

She was bored already, and it was still early.

Maybe if Aunt Belle had a boat, Meg could go up the bayou sometime and see Esther. She would enjoy talking to her again and having some company.

Meg nodded to herself. She'd ask Aunt Belle right now if there was a boat —

Without warning, an icy rash of fear swept over her.

51

Meg raised her eyes and gasped.

The figure at the window!

The same silhouette in Aunt Belle's room, standing there, watching Meg's every move!

Paralyzed only a moment, Meg bolted for the front door, raced up the stairs, and burst into Aunt Belle's bedroom.

The old woman huddled beneath her blankets, fixing Meg with bleary, startled eyes.

"Oh!" Meg took in the room at a glance, satisfied that they were alone. "Sorry, Aunt Belle ...

it's just that I . . . " Meg realized she might frighten the old woman and tried to collect herself. "I thought I heard you call."

"No."

Meg stared at the hideous scarlet lips.

"Is there a boat around here, Aunt Belle?"

"No."

Was it Meg's imagination, or did the voice sound stronger than it had only an hour ago?

Completely baffled, Meg nodded, closed the door, and went to her room.

She wasn't crazy! Someone had been there!

"None of it makes any sense," Meg said with a sigh, sinking down onto her bed.

She felt tired again, though she'd done nothing all morning. She opened one of the books she'd brought with her and began to read.

It was so hot ... so sweet with gardenias . ..

and she was so tired . ..

52

Chapter Seven

Something waked her.

With a start she sat up in the pale dusk, her heart hammering.

What was it?

Dimly she seemed to recall a soft sound, like a rustle ... or something rippling...

A snake?

Meg pulled herself into a tight ball, sweat pouring from her shaking body. As her eyes ad-justed to the eerie light, she saw clearly that there was nothing on the floor or on the walls.

Had it gone under her bed?

Why was she being so silly? Why was she thinking of snakes? She was in the house where it was safe, and nothing could get in.

53

But the rustle —what had it been?

Meg racked her brain, recalling the sound that even now stirred in her mind. Yes, a soft, rippling whisper ... a breeze ... a leaf skimming the ground ... a skirt rustling . . .

A skirt.

Meg jumped off her bed and landed in the middle of the floor. Nothing slithered out from beneath the furniture.

Breathing a little more easily, she stumbled into the hall, the sound echoing insistently in her ears. A rustle. Like silk. Or petticoats. Or long skirts swishing along a floor .. .

She stopped, one arm in front of her, suddenly afraid to touch Aunt Belle's doorknob.

The door wasn't shut!

Meg distinctly remembered shutting it earlier, hearing it click behind her. Hadn't it caught?

Was it possible she hadn't pulled it hard enough? But deep inside she knew she had closed it and it had fastened.

So who had used it?

Fearfully she pushed it open just a crack and peered in. Everything seemed normal. Somewhere beyond the mosquito netting there was a gentle movement as Aunt Belle turned in her sleep.

This time Meg made certain the door was pulled securely shut.

Lavender light bathed the hallway now as twilight glowed through the glass in the front door. Meg went quietly down the stairs, stealing 54
a nervous glance at the photographs. Every lace collar had a lilac tinge to it, giving each face soft contours. Meg hurried into the kitchen and turned on the lights.

She clanged the teakettle down on the stove top, conscious that her hands shook, and read the time on the wall clock. Eight thirty. She couldn't believe she had slept so long, especially since she had never been one to take naps during the day. But a nap was one thing, and she had just slept nearly ten hours!

She took a tea bag from a canister and put a cup and saucer on the counter. What had waked her? A dream? Meg didn't think so. The sound had been too real. And Aunt Belle's open door still bothered her.

The kettle shrieked, splitting the silence and causing Meg to jump. It wasn't like her to be so nervous, either. She just didn't seem to be quite herself tonight.

She sat at the table and squeezed her fingers tightly about her cup, letting the heat penetrate her hands. It felt good, and she realized that in spite of the muggy night she was cold. She was hungry, too, and thought about waking Aunt Belle to offer her dinner, then decided against it.

She didn't want to go through another hassle right now.

She gulped the tea down, relaxing a little as the chill left her bones.

And then she tensed.

Had that been a noise just outside the back 55
door?

With huge eyes she watched as the doorknob turned, as the door slowly opened . . .

At the crack in the door there suddenly appeared a flash of steel —a knife —and then the hand that held it. ..

Meg screamed, knocking over her chair.

And then looked up into Wes's sinister eyes.

56

Chapter Eight

"You!" Meg was so confused that she didn't know whether to run away or laugh out loud.

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"I wasn't expecting anyone! Why didn't you knock?"

"I did, but you didn't answer." Slowly he slid the ugly blade into his belt. "I saw the lights on in here. Thought something might be wrong."

"Wrong?" Meg echoed, her voice unnaturally shrill. "What could be wrong?"

She wanted to tell him everything, but something held her back. She wasn't sure she trusted him. Especially not if he went around surprising people with knives!

"You're shaking."

57

Meg sat down quickly and held on to her teacup as if it were the last shred of her compo-sure.

"I scared you. I'm sorry." Wes's face was ex-pressionless, but his voice seemed sincere. "I left some food outside. I'll get it."

For a moment Meg felt tears fill her eyes, but she fought them down. She even managed a smile when Wes came back in. "Have you had dinner?" she asked.

"No."

"Me neither. Do you want to join me?" She wasn't quite sure why she asked him. She really didn't want his company, but the thought of being alone right now was even worse.

Wes was watching her carefully. "If it's no trouble."

"No. There're some steaks in the refrigerator.

How do you like yours cooked?"

"Very rare."

Figures, Meg thought uncomfortably. She turned on the stove and found a skillet while Wes sat down.

"Why do you . .. uh . .. carry that?" Meg tried to sound casual but was afraid she didn't fool him.

"Hunting knife. And for protection."

"From what?"

"Places like this have their own laws of surviv-al, so I have mine."

Meg shivered. "Pepsi?"

"Thanks."

58

Meg poured two glasses and handed him one.

"I met Doc today."

Wes's glance was sharp. "Oh?"

"He came to see Aunt Belle. I told him she wouldn't eat, but he didn't seem worried about it." She slid a tray of frozen french fries into the oven.

"What do you think of him?" Wes twirled his glass between long, slender fingers.

"Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"Well," Meg said politely, "he wasn't really here long enough to—"

"I mean, honestly" His tone was firm.

"Honestly? Okay ... I didn't like him much,"

Meg blurted out, hoping she hadn't offended him.

"Neither do I," Wes said.

Meg looked at him in surprise. "No kidding?

Why not?"

Wes was thoughtful. "Too slick. Too polite. Too perfect."

Meg pondered this as she unwrapped the meat. Wes had found the words for something she hadn't quite been able to put her finger on.

Doc was too perfect. "He seems ... unreal," she offered.

"Exactly."

The air was heavy with unanswered ques-tions.

Finally Meg ventured, "Is he popular with his patients?"

59

"Very. He has powers, they say. He can heal anything from snakebite to fever to heart attacks. Incredible, really. His fame is widespread around these parts." Wes's lips curled in a sneer.

"Like a miracle man? A faith healer?"

"No. More like a witch doctor. "

"What? You mean witchcraft and voodoo?"

Meg suddenly felt clammy again.

"Not so surprising around here," Wes said matter-of-factly. "These bayous are full of folklore and secret rituals."

"And do you believe he has powers?"

"I was at his place once. With Esther and Anna."

Anna! The name that had upset Esther so much!

Not wanting to pry, but deeply curious, Meg asked softly, "And what happened?"

"While he was examining Anna, I found his library—actually, I just wandered into the room next to his office. It was full of books on everything you can imagine. A regular black magic reference room."

"Well, if he helps people get well, maybe it's not all black magic. Maybe it's not as bad as you t h i n k - "

His black eyes blazed. "It didn't help Anna. I know he's healed impossible cases, but he didn't help her. He didn't even try."

"How do you know for sure?"

The voice was hard. "I know."

She watched as his hand went slowly to the 60
knife at his waist, his fingers lightly stroking the blade.

"Who's Anna?" Meg gulped, hoping to distract him.

"My sister. Was my sister," he added quietly.

Meg gave him a curious stare, nodding as she dropped two steaks into the pan. A savory aroma began to fill the room. "How old was she?"

"About your age."

"I'm sorry" She poked the meat with her fork as Wes tilted his chair back against the wall, crossing his legs out in front of him. At least he seemed to have forgotten his knife for the moment. He sat watching her in silence.

"What was wrong with her?" Meg asked carefully after a few minutes.

Wes shrugged and looked up at the ceiling.

"She just wasted away, that's all. Just wasted away. Dying every day right in front of us, and nobody could help her."

"That must have been terrible for you," Meg said sympathetically.

His eyes were defensive. "I'll never believe that Doc tried to save her." He leaned forward as Meg put a plate of food down in front of him. "Esther never quite got over it. She couldn't have kids of her own."

"So Anna was adopted, too!"

He nodded.

"She was your real sister?"

Another nod.

"Were you close?" As Meg saw the third nod, 61
she smiled. "At least you had Anna for a while. I always wanted brothers and sisters."

"You live in New Orleans." That accusing tone again.

"Yes." Meg went to get some silverware.

"Your folks divorced?"

"About ten years ago. We never see my father.

It's hard on Mom." Why was she telling him all this? Meg looked at the straight, thick hair that fell over his collar in the back. Maybe she felt sorry for him all of a sudden. Or maybe she was feeling sorry for herself and just needed someone—anyone—to talk to.

Wes cut his meat with quick, deft slashes of the table knife. Meg watched, fascinated, barely tasting her food.

"You okay?" Wes was staring at her.

Meg nodded and took a deep breath. "Sure.

Just tired, that's all." She didn't know why she should be — not after sleeping all day.

"It's the heat. It's different here from the city"

"Have you ever been to New Orleans?"

"Sure. But I don't like cities. Any cities."

"That's one of our dreams, Mom's and mine,"

Meg said, "having a place in the country someday. She works too hard."

"You have an apartment?"

"A really small one. I don't even have room to invite my friends over!"

Wes took a long sip of Pepsi. "You miss them."

Meg smiled ruefully. "They're having a party tomorrow night, and Blake — " She broke off 62
abruptly and flushed.

"Your boyfriend." It was a statement, not a question.

Meg chewed her steak, wishing he wouldn't stare at her. "Well, he's kind of mad at me right now," she mumbled.

"Because you left."

Meg gave an embarrassed laugh. "Hey, I wish you wouldn't try to read my mind all the time."

Wes lowered his eyes and said nothing.

"The fact is, we sort of had a fight," Meg con-fessed. She didn't know why she was saying these things. It was just that she had been keeping it all inside, and now it felt good to get it out.

"So are you ... permanent? You and Blake?"

Wes spoke out of the side of his mouth as he wiped his lips with a napkin.

"No, I ... don't think so." Meg's voice was so low that it was almost inaudible. "And what about you?"

"What about me?" The dark eyes seemed to challenge her, although his expression stayed the same.

"You know. Do you have a girl friend?" Meg felt her cheeks color. She hoped Wes wouldn't think she was flirting. She hated it when girls threw themselves at boys.

"No girls around here." Wes slid his chair back from the table and regarded her calmly.

"Esther said that yesterday. Why aren't there?"

Wes shook his head. "I'm sure there's some deep, dark reason for it."

63

"I'm serious," Meg chided him.

"So am I."

She pushed her food around on her plate.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Five years. Esther married her second hus-band, and he had this store up the bayou. He died not long afterward, but Esther decided to keep the business. She's perfect for it—people accept her. They like her all right."

"Is she happy here?"

"As happy as she'll ever be."

"Are you?"

"Are you?" His tone was defiant.

"Well, I guess I'm just a little homesick," Meg said evasively, not wanting to tell him about the strange things that had been happening, Wes sighed. "I almost forgot—your mom called Doc because she couldn't get hold of you here.

Guess she didn't know you don't have a phone.

Doc gave her our number, so she's going to call you at the store tomorrow night. I'll come for you around eight."

"But what about Aunt Belle?"

"Esther will watch her while you're gone."

"That'll be great. Thanks."

"Well." He stood up and stretched his lean frame. "I've got to get back. Thanks for the steak.

I enjoyed it."

"You're welcome," Meg said, really meaning it.

He fingered his knife for a moment and hesitated, as if trying to make up his mind about something, but then he gave her a curt nod and 64
went outside.

Meg waited until he boarded the boat, then she locked up. It had been a pleasant enough evening, and she realized she was glad that Wes had come. Now that she was beginning to get some information out of him, he wasn't nearly so frightening.

She decided to leave the dishes till morning and went upstairs to bed, stopping to check on Aunt Belle.

The door was shut, just as she'd left it, but as she started to turn the knob, she heard a soft call from inside.

"What is it, Aunt Belle?" Meg whispered, looking in. To her alarm the old woman was struggling to sit up, skinny arms grasping helplessly at the air, reddened lips stretched apart in a feeble attempt to speak.

"Oh, Aunt Belle, what's the matter?" Meg hurried to her side, clumsily lifting the shrunken form and settling her more comfortably in the bed. As she tucked the blankets under the sharp chin, one cold, gnarled hand suddenly clutched at Meg's arm. Meg winced in amazement—Aunt Belle was surprisingly strong.

"Whoooo?" As the woman fought frantically to communicate, Meg eased her back into the pillows.

"Who? Just Wes, Aunt Belle. That's all. He brought some more food. Did we frighten you talking down there?"

As the fingers tightened around her arm, Meg 65

70
tried to pry them away, all the time speaking soothingly to the agitated woman. "I'm sorry, Aunt Belle. I didn't know you were awake. We didn't mean to scare you."

With growing concern, Meg finally managed to wrench the iron grip from her arm, noticing as she did so that Aunt Belle's fingers had left a deep red mark on her skin. Meg was puzzled.

Aunt Belle hadn't eaten in two whole days — how could she be so strong?

"M—-mmmm ..." Aunt Belle's mouth gaped wide, her eyes shiny and wet. "S — staaaa ...

a —waaaa ...!"

Meg stood up quickly and backed toward the door. "Why? What's wrong, Aunt Belle? What are you talking about?"

And as the ghostly figure beckoned to her, the cracked voice rose in the stillness of the room.

"Staaay awaaay... Wesssss ..."

Stay away from Wes?

Meg swallowed and tried to keep her voice calm. "It's all right now, Aunt Belle. He's gone.

Now you get some rest, and I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

Aunt Belle moaned and closed her eyes. Meg watched her for a moment, then quietly let herself out the door.

What had all that been about? Wes had been here just yesterday. Everyone had been standing in Aunt Belle's room, and nothing had seemed wrong then. But wait ... Aunt Belle had been staring at Wes. Did Aunt Belle know something 68
about him that nobody else knew? Why was she warning Meg now? Had she been awake all that time, straining to hear their conversation from the kitchen, fearful for Meg's safety yet helpless to do anything?

Meg leaned her head against the wall and felt tears cloud her eyes. She was so mixed up. She was finally beginning to trust Wes, to enjoy being with him. And now this —this strange, inexpli-cable warning. What was she supposed to do now?

Sleep, she decided. That was probably the best thing. Things would look different in the morning. Sure ... for all she knew, Aunt Belle could have been having a bad dream and become disoriented. Maybe she hadn't even really been awake just now, and Meg had simply been part of her strange nightmare.

Meg climbed into bed, worried that she wouldn't be able to rest after having slept all day—but she drifted off almost at once.

She didn't know what time it was when she woke up, or how long she'd been asleep, for the room was still dark. The heady fragrance of gardenias made her eyelids stubbornly heavy, and she fought to keep them open. She was hot — so terribly hot —and she kicked the sheet off, straining to sit up.

Moonlight filtering in through the lace at the window flecked the walls with silver and fell across the portrait on the chest of drawers.

Meg stared at it, transfixed, realizing that the 67
long mane of hair was beginning to shimmer with real highlights, and that the eyes had ac-quired a certain luster they hadn't held before.

There was a strange glow in the black and white likeness, a glow that seemed to throb, then fade

. . . throb ... fade ... as if pulsating with a life of its own.

It was her pulse.

Groggily Meg could hear the sound of her own heartbeat, unnaturally loud in her ears. With every strong, sure beat, the glow throbbed, then faded, until the next beat strengthened it again.

And suddenly the glow was her heart, and Meg watched through sleepy eyes as the tiny spark of light floated onto her nightgown and hovered there, its life force in perfect harmony with her own.

And then she was falling back, floating, lost in a gentle murmur of sweet girlish laughter that wasn't hers but came from her own lips.

68

Chapter Nine

Meg had a splitting headache.

Dashing cold water on her face, she squinted at her pained expression in the bathroom mirror. She looked older, somehow Haggard.

"That's what you get for sleeping so much,"

she scolded herself.

Vague memories of the night before taunted her, dangling just out of mind's reach. She thought she recalled a glow and the steady, sure beat of — what? Nothing would focus this morning. The only thing she could remember vividly was Aunt Belle being frightened because Wes had been here. But why? Irritated, she hurled the towel onto its rack. She would find out right now...

69

But did she really want to know?

She knocked lightly at Aunt Belle's door, then started in and felt her jaw drop in surprise.

Aunt Belle was sitting straight up in bed, smiling at her through the mosquito netting.

"Meg ..." The old woman's voice was still very weak, but unusually clear.

"Why, Aunt Belle!" Meg exclaimed. "You sound so much better! How do you feel?" She studied her patient carefully, scarcely believing her own eyes. Aunt Belle's face, though still smeared with red makeup, seemed fuller, the eyes brightly alert. Even her wrinkles seemed smoother, as if years had faded during the night, leaving a haunting reminder of the younger woman she once had been.

Aunt Belle gestured feebly toward the rocker.

"Come..."

Stunned at the unexpected change, Meg sat down in silence, looking quizzically back as Aunt Belle stared at her.

"So ... lovely ..." The old voice was like dry leaves. "So very ... lovely ..." She lifted a shaky hand and brushed it lightly across Meg's cheek.

Meg shuddered inwardly at the old woman's touch but tried not to show it. It was embarrass-ing to be complimented like this, especially when she had just seen for herself in the mirror how bad she looked this morning. She supposed Aunt Belle was being kind, but there was something about those bony fingers touching her skin that disturbed her.

70

"I ... was ... young once," Aunt Belle whispered, "but now..."

The fingers trailed down Meg's neck, across her shoulders, fluttering to the blanket like dead moths. Tears filled the pale eyes, and Meg's heart ached for her.

"Oh, Aunt Belle-"

"Old," the voice murmured. "Now ... I am . ..

old."

"Don't talk like that," Meg said briskly, taking the frail hand and rubbing it between her strong ones as if trying to revive it. "Why, look at you!

You're making such progress, and we're all just so glad you're — " She flushed, stopping herself.

"Alive." The head nodded. "So glad . . . I ' m . . . "

She stared at Meg and a strange, secretive smile spread slowly across her face.

Meg caught her breath. That smile! That same smile on all the faces in the stairwell! For a split second Meg could almost see that young girl again, lying back on the pillows, framed in yards of white netting instead of oval wood and glass.

The sudden vision made her dizzy, and she sank back in her chair and shut her eyes.

"Sit . .. with ... me ..." the helpless woman whimpered like a small child.

"Yes," Meg mumbled, not opening her eyes.

"Yes, Aunt Belle, I'll stay."

Taking deep breaths, she clutched the sturdy arms of the rocker and felt the room tilting around her. It wasn't like her to feel faint, and she didn't like the light-headed sensation she 71
was having. Sweat trickled off her forehead, and she began to feel clammy in the hot room. Rocking slowly, she concentrated on the gentle creak of the chair as it moved her back and forth, back and forth, and she tried to match her breathing to its easy rhythm. Her head was heavy now, cloudy with confusion, and though she made a low sound in her throat, she didn't have strength enough to open her eyes. She felt her body relax ... droop ... her head began to nod forward. ..

How peaceful, she thought, to just let go and fall into the darkness ... and sleep ... sleep ...

"Miss Daton?"

From far away a voice like silk floated into her mind.

"Miss Daton? Please wake up now."

Meg groaned and opened her eyes, squinting into long shadows. Her back ached from pressing into the slats of the rocking chair, and she rubbed at her stiff neck. Someone was bending over her.

"Miss Daton, are you quite all right?"

"What?" Meg asked, feeling a twinge of panic as she glanced around the darkening room.

Dusk already? It couldn't be! She'd just gotten up!

Springing from her chair, she was im-
mediately restrained by powerful, well-groomed hands, and she looked up into Doctor LaVane's heavy-lidded eyes.

"Calm yourself, Miss Daton, everything is 72
under control. I am here, and you have merely been asleep, that is all."

"But—but that's impossible!" Meg sputtered, looking wildly toward the window, where the last rays of sun slanted in. "I mean ... I just woke up!"

Doc regarded her silently for a moment, then lightly touched her forehead. "You are obviously distressed. Why not go and fix yourself something to eat, eh?"

"But you don't understand," Meg said urgently. "I just came in here, and it was morning, a n d - "

"And now it is evening," Doc replied smoothly, stroking the white stone that hung from his neck, "so why not fix your dinner?"

"But I never fixed Aunt Belle's breakfast!"

Meg's voice rose, and Doc held his fingers to his lips, trying to quiet her.

"Look at Belle, Miss Daton. She certainly does not seem to be suffering from any neglect on your part. Why, she looks surprisingly well, do you not think so?"

Meg stared at the slumbering figure in the giant bed. Aunt Belle was smiling in her sleep, and a glow of natural color suffused her cheeks even where the garish makeup had not been applied. Meg watched the old woman, unable to take her eyes away until Doc turned her gently by the shoulders.

"Do go and take care of yourself, and leave Belle to me. You look rather pale. I will take your 73
temperature before I leave."

"No," Meg mumbled. "No, I'll be okay." She could hardly drag her feet into the hallway, she felt so sluggish.

Doc fixed her with a passionless stare. "It is the heat, you know Only the heat."

As Meg descended the stairs, she heard him shut and lock the door behind her. She stopped and listened for several minutes, recognizing the telltale swish of netting drawn back, then Doc's deep voice saying, "I am very pleased, Belle. Very pleased indeed."

Meg strained her ears, then felt a chill snake its way up her spine. Had that been laughter?

Soft, sweet, feminine laughter, which Meg had heard before?

Quickly she surveyed the photographs on the walls around her, then ran into the kitchen.

She looked in the freezer, found some TV
dinners, and chose one with sliced turkey and dressing. She pulled it out and immediately dropped it on the floor. She bent to retrieve it, but it slipped from her hands and fell again.

What was wrong with her? Her fingers felt tired, too tired to grasp anything. Her back, her head, her shoulders — everything ached. The flu?

Oh, great, Meg thought. How can I expose poor Aunt Belle to my germs? Maybe she should let Doc take her temperature after all.

She slid the aluminum tray into the oven and slumped into a chair, not moving even when Doc appeared in the doorway and pulled a thermom-74
eter from his bag.

"Well, let us have a look at you. Do you feel badly anywhere at all?"

"All over," Meg answered. "You don't think it's the flu, do you? I can't stay here with Aunt Belle if I get sick."

Doc raised an eyebrow and eased the thermometer under her tongue. "I do not think there is cause for alarm."

"But if I'm really s i c k - "

"I am the doctor here," Doc reminded her impassively. "Do not speak now. Just relax."

Meg nodded and looked down at the floor, dangerously close to tears.

"You concern yourself too much with responsibility," Doc chided her gently, examining the contents of his bag. "I have told you that you need not be concerned about Belle's nourish-ment. The injections I give her are more than enough to compensate for her lack of appetite. It is your companionship that is the most impor-tant."

Meg acknowledged his words with a halfhearted nod.

"And I am glad of this opportunity to speak with you," Doc said, walking leisurely to the counter and glancing at the TV dinner box.

"Belle has made me understand that the boy from the store has been here. Is this so?"

Meg's body tightened defensively. She had wanted to ask Aunt Belle about last night's inci-dent herself without anyone else —and espe-75
cially Doc — getting involved.

"He brings our food," Meg mumbled around the thermometer. "We have to eat, you know."

The flippancy of her tone surprised her. She wasn't usually so quick to fly off the handle, but there was something superior in Doc's manner that made her deliberately want to oppose him.

What's wrong with me?

Blinking back tears of frustration, Meg waited for him to make his point.

"Please do not speak with that in your mouth,"

Doc reprimanded her. "Belle does not like the boy, and neither do I."

Meg wondered smugly what Doc would say if he knew that Wes felt the same way about him.

"I have to eat," Meg repeated stubbornly.

"The boy is dangerous," Doc said, waiting to see Meg's reaction. When her face registered surprise, he seemed satisfied and went on. "Do you understand, Miss Daton? The boy is dangerous because he is unbalanced."

Meg felt her heart sink within her.

"This boy lost his sister two years ago." Doc shook his head. "Anna contracted a rare and painfully fatal disease. A pity, really. She was a beautiful girl. I did everything I could to save her, but to my lasting sorrow, I failed."

Everything?

Meg's mind reeled in confusion. Wes had told her that Doc hadn't even tried to save the unfortunate Anna. Had her first impression of Wes been right? Had he been lying to her?

76

Doc glanced at his watch and began pacing back and forth between Meg and the stove, his fingers rhythmically caressing the smooth surface of the stone at his throat.

"A tragic case, I am sorry to say. Naturally, the boy blamed me —but his kind must always vent their anger upon someone. When his sister died, the boy became hostile, completely altered in personality. Even now he disappears for weeks at a time and roams the bayou, leaving Esther frantic with worry. He is wild at heart — and in spirit. Many people have been mysteriously killed in these backwoods. Some vanish never to be seen again. And this boy with his large knife

. . . Well." Doc shrugged, sighing. "He is hopelessly insane."

Insane! Meg's eyes widened in disbelief, her throat tightening. "But — but that's impossible!"

she burst out.

Doc put up an authoritative hand. "I know what you are thinking, and you are correct, of course. The boy seems normal —even friendly and quite pleasant at times. But the mentally unbalanced are so very clever, and they suffer periods of intense and vivid reality. How long these remissions may last is a mystery. Anything might trigger his emotions and send him back into the hell of his own diseased mind."

As Meg listened to the emotionless droning of his voice, Doc turned his back on her and looked out through the windows into the night.

"You are aware of how she actually died, are 77
you not?" When Meg didn't answer, he lowered his voice to a near-whisper and faced her once more. "She drowned. Or so they say. She and her brother were out in their boat, and the boy returned home alone. Completely unharmed. He claimed that he had left her safely ashore at her destination, but of course he would say that.

The girl, in fact, disappeared. Never came home again. Men dragged the bayou for three days, and when they finally found her body, it was ..."

He made a futile gesture with his hands, leaving the gruesome details to Meg's imagination. "It was only an unfortunate accident." He smiled chillingly at her. "Or so they say."

A tear rolled down Meg's cheek, and she didn't bother to brush it away.

"Esther has consoled herself by choosing to believe that it was indeed only an accident," Doc went on. "That Anna drowned after her brother left her. And there are some who believe that Anna committed suicide because she could not stand the slow suffering of a lengthy death. But who is to say? The boy could not stand to witness her agony. Many times in my presence Anna would beg him to spare her the misery of a lingering, disfiguring death.

"Consider, Miss Daton, that you are the same age as his unfortunate sister at the time she died. Wes feels that Anna died unjustly, at the pitiless hands of some rare and untreatable disease, and he seeks revenge. After all, why should any young, attractive girl be allowed to live when 78

Anna could not?"

He carefully took the thermometer from Meg's mouth and gave her a wry smile. "Personally, I find it strange that there are no young girls in the area. Do you not find that strange, as I do?

So have a care, Miss Daton. Be nice to him, if he must come here, but do not let him in. Send him away. Do not endanger yourself or Belle. He is unpredictable. Protect yourself."

Meg watched with dull eyes as Doc picked up his bag.

"You are normal, Miss Daton. Perfectly healthy. Good evening to you."

For several minutes Meg remained in the same position, not caring about her painful muscles or the dizziness behind her eyes. As Doc's words echoed over and over in her brain, she felt the world draw away from her, then crash into her full force, and tears began to flow down her cheeks.

Could it be possible? Was Wes really insane?

But he seemed so nice last night, Meg reasoned.

So human and so normal about his sister's death. And Meg had actually been relieved to hear him say that he disliked Doc. But now it made perfect sense that he wouldn't like the man — because Doc knew Wes was deranged. Wes had never mentioned the boating accident to Meg. Of course he wouldn't —it might draw suspicion to himself. And his eyes —they had always made Meg nervous, and now she understood why. They were watchful, sneaky, hiding 79
something abnormal...

She wanted to go home. Maybe tonight when she talked to Mom, they could decide on a date for her to leave. After all, Doc had said himself that Aunt Belle was better, so maybe Mom could—

Meg jerked up with a start. She had almost forgotten that Wes would be by to pick her up tonight. Suddenly she felt cold all over. Could this be a trick? A way to get her to the store alone with him? Tempting her with a lie about her mother calling, and then, when no one else was around to help her ...

Meg jumped to her feet, wringing her hands.

Why hadn't she thought to ask Doc if Mom had really called him last night? Doc could have told her the truth. But what could she do now? If Wes came and she acted differently toward him, he might get upset. Doc had said that any little thing could plunge him into an unbalanced state. Then Aunt Belle would be in danger. No, Meg decided, she couldn't endanger Aunt Belle.

No matter how frightened she herself might be, she had to protect Aunt Belle's health at all costs.

Hying to think, Meg took her dinner from the oven and left it untasted on the counter. She tiptoed upstairs, and found Aunt Belle sleeping soundly, the moonlight falling in a pale shaft through the bed curtains, salting the sheets with silver. The old woman looked as if a shattered spotlight had been turned on her face, making it oddly distorted. Meg frowned and 80
turned away.

Back in the kitchen she stood at the sink, peering out into the darkness. Her stomach knotted each time she breathed, and sweat dribbled down her neck.

At last she heard the docking of the boat, then a loud knock, followed by the sound of hushed voices and the whining of a dog. Swallowing hard, she answered the door and was immediately engulfed in Esther's plump arms.

"Meg! Why, you're so pale! Did we scare you?

Didn't Wes tell you we were coming?"

Almost limp with relief, Meg tightly squeezed Esther back. This couldn't be a trick. Esther knew about it, and Esther wasn't crazy. There really would be a phone call, and then Meg could go home.

"You haven't touched your food." Esther looked at the tv dinner and shook her head. "We interrupted you — "

"No, really, I'm not hungry" Meg said. "You eat it if you'd like."

"Come to think of it, it has been a while since lunchtime," Esther said. She chuckled. "You two go on so you won't be late."

"Aunt Belle's asleep," Meg said, watching as Wes suddenly glided into the doorway like a wisp of darkness. Behind him Beau yipped and scratched at the screen.

"We'll be fine," Esther said, waving her arms at them. "Go on now. Give my best to your mother, Meg."

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Meg hesitated, wanting to run back to Esther's reassuring hug. Finally she blurted out, "Mom really said she'd call?"

Esther looked surprised. "Why, of course!

That's what Doc said! Think I'd give up my favor-ite tv show for just anyone? Go on now, before you miss her!"

Meg squeezed past Wes, and she felt his black eyes slide over her as he followed her noiselessly down the steps.

She hung back at the bottom. "Do you think there're snakes out there?"

"Probably. But they'll run from you first."

Meg bit her lip as he walked away. Realizing she wasn't behind him, Wes stopped and flicked on a flashlight she hadn't noticed him carrying.

"Come on," he said, reaching out a hand. "I'll go first."

Not knowing what else to do, Meg slowly held out her hand and felt his strong, lean fingers close around it.

They walked in silence to the bank, Beau running back and forth chasing bugs. The scent of gardenias hung thickly in the air along with the muskiness of the bayou.

Wes put one foot into the boat and pulled Meg gently forward. As she started to step down, there was a slithering sound just below her, and she screamed, losing her balance. The next thing she knew, Wes had her in his arms, her face against his chest, and she was gasping for breath.

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"It's nothing," he said, his grip tight on her shoulders. "Calm down."

"But I heard it! It moved and — " Meg looked up and was lost in his penetrating gaze. For a moment she thought she might collapse.

Feeling her tremble, Wes hurriedly helped her into the boat and sat her down, then stepped over her to take the oar. Beau jumped in beside her and nuzzled her arm protectively as she scratched his ears.

Meg had never been in such darkness, and several seconds passed before her eyes could ad-just to her surroundings. The bayou wound sluggishly before them, curling away between shapeless banks, slurping hungrily at the sides of the small wooden boat. As Wes steered toward the middle of the water, huge hulking trees overhead lunged for them, and fat, misshapen stumps suddenly rose out of the water on either side of the boat like forgotten creatures of the night. Distorted moans and haunting calls floated tauntingly from the eerie blackness where every shadow had a life of its own. Meg wrapped her arms about her body, remembering Doc's words about people who had mysteriously vanished. Were the disembodied cries she was hearing now the helpless pleas of lost souls seeking justice? Or were they warnings meant for her —warnings about the maniac who now had her trapped in his boat?

She felt his eyes on the back of her head as he guided the boat expertly along. Had Anna been 83
so innocent when the accident occurred? Had the boat merely struck something in the water, overturning both passengers into the murky depths? Had Wes come to the surface alone, searching frantically for his helpless sister?

Had Anna deliberately tried to put an end to her anguished suffering? Or had it been something else —something that Doc hadn't exactly put into words, but that had been implied nonetheless: had Wes staged an accident to murder his sister? Mercy killing, wasn't that what it was called? But it was murder, cold-blooded murder, when one person deliberately took the life of another, no matter how noble the reason. And was Meg sitting now where Anna had been sitting then, perhaps in the very same spot on the bayou where Anna and her brother had been when the accident had happened?

Had Anna suspected, as Meg was suspecting now? Had Anna felt her brother watching her and wondered when it would happen ... how he would do it ... if she could save herself, weak and ill as she was!...

As moonlight suddenly spilled into the boat, Meg glanced behind her. Wes didn't speak, but as he shifted, she could see the cold gleam of the knife at his side.

Would she vanish, too, like so many others?

Time seemed to crawl, even more slowly than the languid movement of the boat. Meg shut her eyes and slipped her arms about Beau's shaggy neck. He was so warm, so real... so safe ...

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"We're here."

The deep voice startled her, and Meg looked up to see Wes stand and lean over the side of the boat. Just in front of them a soft light filtered through a thick veil of moss, filling the boat with crazy shadows as it tilted a little with Wes's weight. The boat crept forward until a wooden dock came into view, its boards illuminated by a large lantern that hung from a pole near the water.

Meg wasn't sure what happened next.

She heard Wes move behind her, saw the terrifying shadow of his body suddenly looming above her, and knew only that she had to fight for her life. She lunged, clawed at the air, felt a sharp lurch as the boat rocked dangerously to the right.

There wasn't even time to scream. The last thing Meg heard as she pitched into the bayou was a voice, far away, calling her name.

85

Chapter Ten

I'm dead ... He's killed me, and everything is so black ...

She was floating, suspended in oblivion, and there was a comforting quiet all around her, lull-ing her further and further away ...

"Meg!"

The noise startled her, the shock wrenching her muscles, forcing her mouth open so that thick, slimy water gushed in. She struggled then, hitting out at the first movement she saw, feeling her hand smack against something solid. Pain grabbed her, crushing the back of her head until she began to choke and cough and gurgle something putrid from her lungs.

"Stop it!" the voice ordered sternly, and sud-87
denly someone had hold of her, dragging her back to reality.

"Stop fighting!" the voice snapped again. "I've got you! It's okay."

Meg flailed helplessly until she began to realize there were arms securely around her. Only then did her body go limp, completely exhausted, as she was pulled roughly over grass and twigs and then lowered carefully, facedown on the ground.

Capable hands worked quickly on her back —
pushing, releasing, pushing, releasing—until she finally heaved part of the bayou from her throat.

Wes turned her over gently, supporting her head as she took greedy gulps of air. There was something clinging to her neck. With a cry of alarm, she jerked upright, her field of vision exploding into a million shiny stars.

"Easy now." Wes cradled her against him, and then, as if she were weightless, effortlessly picked her up in his arms and carried her toward a low wooden building. Beau followed them, whining softly, but when Wes reached the porch the dog hesitated, stationing himself on the bottom step.

Wes wrestled with the doorknob and nudged the door open with one knee. Balancing her carefully, he made his way to a dimly lighted living room and laid her on a sofa. Meg squinted against the glow of a lamp. Her head ached so terribly that she couldn't make out any other features of the room, but there was a lingering 88
smell of boiled crabs in the house that made her stomach churn.

Wes crossed to an open window and turned on a small electric fan, positioning it so the breeze hit her face. It was so hot, yet she was shivering uncontrollably. She asked for a blanket, and he left the room.

Why hadn't he finished her off? It would have been so easy—just another fatality from a careless boating accident. No one would think a thing about it. He could have said that her body had been washed away, like Anna's. Even told Mrs. Daton when she called that Aunt Belle was having such a bad night that Meg couldn't come to the phone ...

So he must be playing with her. Teasing her.

Giving her a taste of death before he made his final move. Doc was right. Wes was clever —oh, yes, he was so very clever. And Meg would suffer before she died. A long, slow, painful panic before she died ... just like Anna ...

Wes came back and placed a light blanket over her. "I want to go home!" Meg's voice was unnaturally loud.

"But what about your mother?"

"What time is it? Shouldn't she be calling now?" Meg was on the verge of hysteria.

Wes was watching her warily. "Another fifteen minutes. How's your head?"

"It's fine." Meg took a deep, ragged breath. She had to get control of herself. She couldn't let him suspect that she knew about him and his plans.

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"I don't think so," Wes said. "Maybe you should see a doctor."

"Yes!" Meg answered quickly. "Call Doc and — "

"Doc?" Wes's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I thought you didn't like Doc."

"Well, I don't, but he's closest, isn't he?" Meg babbled.

"I'll take you to the next town before I let Doc lay a hand on you," Wes snapped.

Meg turned her head toward the back of the sofa and fought frightened tears. She didn't want to stay here — she couldn't stay here!

"Oh, my head," she moaned. Trying not to cry made her headache worse, but she couldn't let Wes know how frightened she was. The pain was almost unbearable. She clenched her fist and realized that Wes was sitting down beside her on the edge of the sofa.

"Here," he said. "Drink this."

"No!" Meg nearly screamed at him. "Don't you know you're not supposed to take anything when you've hit your head?"

"Trust me. It's one of Esther's home remedies, and it'll make you feel much better."

"No ... no .. ." Meg fought the cup he pressed to her lips, but she was too weak. A strangely pleasant liquid flowed down her throat, and the room was spinning, a kaleidoscope of black and white.

I've been poisoned, she sobbed inside, dimly aware that Wes had taken her hand in his. He's poisoned me ... this is the way it will end ...

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and he'll sit here and watch me until he's sure I'm dead . ..

She looked frantically into his eyes and was struck with the sadness she saw there.

He's sorry he has to do it, she thought groggily.

He's sorry.

She was drifting on a summer breeze, like a solitary petal or a butterfly with no particular destination. She was a cloud, light and airy, high in a pale blue sky, and there were no worries up here. Just an endless stretch of heaven and the green lush meadows below that glowed in a soft angle of sunlight. And then the evening crept by, pulling long shadows behind it, and stars caught in a silver net of moonlight, and it was so peaceful. ..

Meg's eyelids fluttered open. She lay still, enjoying the deep, sweet peace that permeated every inch of her body. She felt calm, and it was a beautiful feeling.

Then she remembered where she was.

Half-sitting, she searched the darkness and saw a shadow seated opposite her. "Wes?" she whispered timidly.

"Yes. I'm here."

The iciness began to creep over her again. So he hadn't killed her. What would he do to her now?

"What time is it?" she asked.

"After eleven."

"Eleven! You mean I missed — "

"No," Wes said quietly. "She never called."

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Meg's thoughts spun. Never called! So it had been a lie! A trick to get her here alone!

"Maybe she forgot," Wes offered.

Meg shook her head. It felt wonderfully clear now. "She wouldn't do that."

"Wasn't she on a trip?"

"Yes, but she'd call anyway if she said she would." Meg's voice trembled. "Are you sure Doc said she'd call here?"

Wes sounded strange. "I'm sure."

"He didn't say his house? Maybe you misunderstood — "

"I didn't." His tone was adamant.

"But it's not like her to — "

"Look," Wes said, annoyed, "if you're so sure I'm lying to you, do you want to ask him yourself?"

"Yes!" Meg's hopes rose. "I mean, no, I don't think you're lying—but yes, I want to ask him myself. I ... Just in case there was a mixup. I want to see him right now. I want you to call him."

She paused, out of breath, nervously facing him as he regarded her in stony silence.

Now I've done it, she thought. Now I've an-tagonized him and pushed him over the edge.

Now he'll kill me for sure ...

But he didn't.

"I won't have him in this house." Wes turned his back on her, and she couldn't have been more surprised when he walked to the door and held it open. "Can you walk?"

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"Yes, I think so." Her heart pounded against her ribs. She had to get out of there. Out of there and away from Wes. She had to get to Doc's. Doc would know what to do . . .

Meg froze as Wes started for the water. "Where are you going?"

"To the boat."

"Can't we take the car? I mean — "

"We don't have a car," Wes reminded her. "It's either this or walk. And in your condition, I don't think you'd last long on the road."

"How far is it?" Meg stalled for time, willing herself to make the journey on foot. If Doc's house were nearby .. .

"About a mile."

Meg saw her plans crumble around her. There was nothing she could do now except go in the boat. Surely Wes wouldn't be so foolish as to try to kill her again the same night. Hadn't Doc said something about deranged minds being so clever . .. ?

Silently she followed him to the boat and climbed in.

As they inched through the darkness, she clung to the narrow seat, terrified at every sound, every movement. The whole bayou was conspiring with him —waiting for her, wanting her —moving in closer and closer around her, ready to hurl her into eternity at his slightest command.

He's lying ... he's going the wrong way ...

Doc's house isn't anywhere near here ... How 93
easy to use the knife and hide a body in the hungry shadows ...

Then she saw something through the trees.

A large house set far back from the water, its darkened windows staring emptily except for one sickly yellow light gleaming from a downstairs room.

"His office," Wes said softly. "Looks like he's working his evil late tonight — "

"Stop it," Meg snapped. "That's not funny"

"It wasn't meant to be." Wes pulled in close to the bank and waved his arm. "Be my guest."

"Aren't you coming?" Meg said, hesitating.

"No. Any business you have with Doc is no concern of mine —especially since you obviously want him to protect you from me. I'll wait here.

Take your time."

Meg stood up fearfully, not knowing what to do. So Wes could tell how she felt about him, and he was humoring her. Doc would protect her, but to get to Doc she'd have to find her way through the trees, the weeds, the vines ... snakes... and God knew what else. Chewing her lip, she glanced at Wes, who had his back to her. He had planned this, too —planned it all, knowing she would never be brave enough to risk a walk through all this underbrush.

Well, she'd show him.

She'd go anyway. She'd just slip out of the boat and crash through that bayou jungle and race right up to the door and tell Doc how Wes had tried to kill her.

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"I'm going," she announced loudly, and swung one foot over the gunwale.

And then she froze.

Through the trees came the slow, steady throb of a drum ... a sure, strong beat, pounding rhythmically, insistently, keeping time, breath for breath —her breath! It was the sound of her heartbeat, but it was coming from behind the trees, behind the house, louder and louder, louder and louder, and her own heart was pump-ing louder and louder ... louder and louder ,. .

She clutched at her chest.

"Meg, what is it?" Wes was crawling toward her in the boat.

"I. .. can't. . . breathe ..."

She stared transfixed at that window, the sickly yellow light, and suddenly it was gather-ing into a glowing ball, moving —stealthily, relentlessly—through the trees, into the boat...

over her chest. . .

Meg struck at it, crying, and felt her blood turn to ice in her veins.

From that one downstairs window, now swallowed in darkness, came a soft, diabolical chuckle and a whispered warning that echoed on the sticky breeze.

"I know you are there, Wes . . . but take care.

You have no power here!"

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Chapter Eleven

"Are you okay?"

Meg was lying in the bottom of the boat, looking up dazedly into Wes's face. His expression was worried, and she realized that her hand was still pressed to her heart,

"What happened?" she mumbled.

"Don't you know? You said you couldn't breathe, and then you fell — "

Meg interrupted him wildly. "Did you hear him?"

"I heard him," Wes said angrily.

"And did you see it?"

"See what?"

"The light ... it came from the window and then it was on me ..."

"I saw the window," Wes agreed, "but there 97
wasn't anything on you."

"But there was! Right here! And the sound!"

"What sound?"

"The drum... the heartbeat! That's the sound I heard when — " Suddenly those vague, hidden impressions in her nightmares began to come back to her. The steady, pulsing throb. The danc-ing glow

"When what?"

Meg looked at his frown, his eyes clouded with doubts. "Nothing," she lied.

"Tell me."

"No. You wouldn't believe me. You don't believe me now" She felt angry, drained.

"Meg, listen to me." Wes leaned over and touched her arm, then scowled as she pulled away. "If we don't trust each other, then we can't help each other. I don't know why you're acting so weird, but I'd be willing to bet that Doc said something to you about me, and I'm just as sure that it's a pack of lies. Am I right? Did he talk to you about me?"

Meg pressed her lips together and said nothing.

Wes looked grim. "I thought so. And now, after that stupid accident we had, you're probably convinced that everything he said was true. But I'm telling you, that accident was your fault, if it was anyone's. And I'm also telling you that Doc's evil and a liar, and you'd better trust me before it's too late."

"Too late for what?" Meg challenged him. "You 98
heard what he said just now."

"Yes, and that should prove to you that he's not like other people! How do you think he knew who I was, way out here in the dark?"

Meg hesitated, confused. Then she smiled triumphantly. "He probably has binoculars or something."

"Come on, use your brain!" Wes looked disgusted. "Even a high-powered telescope can't see in the dark. Take another look. There're trees all around us. There's no way he could have seen us."

Meg felt trapped. She had been so certain that Doc was her protection, so sure that Wes was crazy. Even now his logical argument could be only one of those flashes of shrewdness that Doc had warned her about.

Then why did she suddenly feel so ashamed, reading the disgust and disappointment in Wes's eyes? If he was sincere, she knew she had hurt him with her suspicions, and she wanted to tell him how sorry she was.

Still, there had been the accident. And if Doc was already his enemy, it was only natural that Wes would lie just as fiercely about Doc and his supposed powers, to trap Meg into trusting him.

And why hadn't Wes seen the light, heard the drums? There was a third possibility, of course.

Maybe she was the one going insane ...

"I don't know what to believe." Her voice sounded hollow. "Take me home."

Wes shook his head and resumed his place in 99
the stern, "Okay. If that's the way you want it."

The rest of the trip was made in silence. When they finally reached the house, Wes led the way to the kitchen, where Esther immediately pounced on them.

"I was getting so worried!" She hugged Meg and looked in dismay at her disheveled appearance. "What happened? Has there been trouble?

Wes?" Her face blanched.

Wes jerked his chin in Meg's direction. "Meg turned the boat over. She's okay."

"I didn't turn it over!" Meg insisted, afraid to reveal her suspicions.

Esther looked concerned. "And what about your mother? is she all right?"

"She never called," Wes replied. He and his mother exchanged questioning looks.

Esther wiped her hands nervously on her apron. "She's probably busy, and it slipped her mind," she said with forced confidence. "I'll just go get my things."

Meg stared down at the floor, suddenly not caring about anything. She was startled when Wes put a hand on her elbow and turned her to face him. Was that genuine worry on his face?

"Have you ..." He seemed to be searching for the right words, then suddenly plunged ahead.

"Have you noticed anything different about yourself lately? Your face?"

Meg stared at him blankly. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean, have you seen yourself? You look . . .

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different."

"What do you mean, different?" she demanded, her nerves close to snapping.

"Terrible. You look terrible. Not like you did the first day."

"How can you say that to me? Who do you think you are?"

Wes spun her around so that she faced her reflection in the kitchen window. The strange girl looking back at her made her skin crawl.

"Look at you," Wes hissed, tightening his grip on her shoulder blades. The black under your eyes. And you're so pale. You look thinner."

"Let go of me!" Meg jerked away from him, frightened now by the words she knew were true, by the reflection that mocked her in the glass. "How do you think I should look, after you tried to drown me?"

The words were out before she could stop them, and she took a step back as a look of disbelief darkened Wes's face.

"You still don't trust me." His voice was low, menacing, "You think I turned the boat over — "

He never finished his sentence. As Esther came back into the kitchen, Wes clamped his jaw tightly, flung open the back door, and stalked out.

And then Meg saw three things swimming through her tears —Esther kissing her good-bye, the door closing her off from the world, and her tired, haggard face crying in the kitchen window.

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Chapter Twelve

Meg couldn't eat. She pushed at the scrambled eggs on her plate and fought down a wave of nausea. They looked like the watery remains of some dead thing, and she shoved her plate away.

Scrambled eggs had always been her very favor-ite breakfast. Now she couldn't stand to look at them.

She jumped as a rumble of thunder reverber-ated through the house. The sky had been cloud-ing up since noon when she'd finally waked up.

Wryly Meg checked the clock to make sure that sleep hadn't crept up on her while she'd been trying to eat. She felt so tired, so droopy, just like the moss trailing from the oaks in the yard. She didn't want to think about anything. She just 103
wanted to sleep.

She heard Doc come into the kitchen, but she didn't greet him. Instead she fixed her eyes on a fat mosquito that was hovering near the back door, trying to escape through a hole in the screen. The air was so heavy, so damp, that it was hard to breathe. An unnatural silence enveloped the bayou, the yard, the house. Not even a clammy breeze disturbed the deathlike quiet.

"You have not eaten," Doc chided mildly.

"I'm not hungry."

"Do not tell me I shall have to use my injections on you as well."

"I'm just tired, that's all."

"Did you not sleep well?"

Meg frowned, pressing her palms against her eyes. There had been something about last night ... a light . . . the sure, steady throb of—
what? Her dream again? Or the drums and the glowing light at Doc's?

It was gone. Just as she had almost remembered, it left her.

"I'm okay," she said mechanically.

Doc snapped his bag shut with forced casual-ness. "I hear you were gone from the house last night. With the boy After I warned you."

"How else was I supposed to get there?" Meg scowled. "You're the one who said my mother was going to call, and she never did."

Better not to mention that she had been with Wes when Doc had called out to him from his house last night. Better to let Doc admit every-104
thing on his own.

"I?" Doc lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow "I did nothing of the sort. I have not spoken to your mother — "

"You mean ..." Meg looked at him for several seconds, her brain too weary for a quick re-sponse. "But they said..."

"Who are they?"

"Wes and Esther."

"Another of the boy's clever tricks, obviously.

You were foolish to go. Anything might have happened."

"There was an accident." Meg's voice dropped.

She clasped her hands together on the table in front of her.

Doc's expression was almost smug. He
reached up and lightly touched the white stone.

"It is only a warning. If I cannot convince you otherwise, then may God protect you."

A crack of thunder exploded the sky, releasing a torrent of rain.

Doc paused at the door. "You might want to sit with Belle for a time. I believe she is wanting company today."

Meg nodded dully, only half-conscious of the screen door slamming and drops of rain sprin-kling the floor.

She crossed to the windows and peered out.

The wind was picking up, the trees beginning to sway, moss rippling and flowing like tattered shrouds. The sky was slate gray, though it was only afternoon, and the bayou bubbled and 105
spattered from the force of the rain like a murky, boiling cauldron of mud.

Meg sighed and climbed the stairs to Aunt Belle's room. The photographs hid in shadows, springing to sudden life with every burst of lightning beyond the glass in the front door. Meg paused and looked at each one, taking her time, studying the features on each lovely, shaded face. She wished she could look like those sweet faces, smile those soft smiles. She wished she could feel young and carefree and happy . ..

Wait, she thought, suddenly confused. I am young and carefree and happy ... at least I was a few days ago.

The faces knew beautiful secrets, she could tell. They knew all about being young and wanting to be free and alive, not cooped up in some old house with a sick, hideous, bedridden old woman. The faces knew about wanting to escape ... to be at peace .. .

Meg smiled as another flash of lightning revealed the innocent faces. She wasn't imagining it —they really did look more real to her the longer she stayed here. At first they had been mere impressions captured in tones of dark and light, but now they had dimension. Shape and depth. She could see the creamy texture of the skin, the thick luster of the hair, the healthy glow on the cheeks. And now—right now—she could smell the sweet fragrance of the perfume, like . . . like ...

Meg frowned, then sighed as she remembered.

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Of course. Gardenias. Sweet, tantalizing, intox-icating gardenias.

She tilted her head, her pulse quickening. Was she imagining it? No, there it was again. The laughter. The soft, girlish laughter that Meg wanted to laugh. The free, careless joy that she wanted to feel. The musical laughter of long ago and all the faces looking down at her, knowing secrets she wanted to know. . .

The laughter filled her head, rippled down her arms and into her toes, guiding her up . . . up . . .

to the door of Aunt Belle's room. It danced on the door and charmed it open, and then it led Meg to the bedside, where Aunt Belle was waiting for her.

The old woman had changed again. Just overnight. Her wrinkles were practically gone, her skin the pale shade of roses, her long silver hair thicker and softer about her shoulders. The black hollows beneath her eyes were gone. Her chin was rounder, her cheeks more delicately curved. The red lipstick and rouge were still there, but they didn't seem outrageous anymore.

I must be getting used to it, Meg thought, and she smiled.

"Meg," the old voice whispered. "Will you stay with me?"

Meg took the rocking chair and leaned back, closing her eyes. "I'm so tired, Aunt Belle."

"I know," the voice answered, and there was a soft echo of faraway laughter. "I know ..."

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"Did you hear it?" Meg mumbled, shifting uneasily but not opening her eyes. "I keep hearing it, Aunt Belle. Don't you?"

But she never heard Aunt Belle's answer.

She was asleep almost instantly.

She awoke to barking.

At first she thought she was dreaming, but as the real world surged slowly back into her consciousness, the barking didn't disappear. In fact, it sounded louder.

Beau?

Meg heaved herself forward. She felt as if she weighed a ton. Her head was as heavy as a block of concrete jammed onto her aching shoulders.

She didn't want to move; she just wanted to sleep.

The barking grew more insistent. It sounded as though it might be right under one of the bedroom windows. Meg staggered to her feet to check it out.

Aunt Belle dreamed peacefully, a sweet smile on her lips, like a decayed Sleeping Beauty. What memories was she conjuring up in the never-never land of slumber, Meg wondered. Boyfriends of long ago? Beauty of once upon a time?

She looked so happy that Meg almost envied her.

The rain had stopped momentarily, but Meg knew it wasn't over. As dusk settled over the bayou, the sullen sky grumbled and churned, shaking the leaves of the trees like a fierce beast worrying its battered prey. Broken branches 108
somersaulted across the yard, and an eerie glow bathed the landscape, giving it the unnatural look of. . .

A photograph, Meg thought. An old black-and-white photograph.

She scanned the yard, the underbrush, the bayou for any sign of a dog. She knew she'd heard the barking, but there wasn't a living thing in sight.

And then she heard it again.

Only this time it came from farther behind the house, and it sounded frightened.

Bracing herself against the walls, hurrying as fast as she could without falling, Meg made her way downstairs. Her coordination wasn't working; her jumbled senses were slowing her down.

I have to stop sleeping, Meg thought, tottering clumsily out onto the back steps. But she knew she couldn't. Somehow this helpless tiredness was beyond her control.

It was light enough to see the yard, although the lurching trees whipped shadows back and forth beneath her feet as she walked.

"Beau!" She cupped her hands against the wind, then whistled. "Beau, is that you? Here, boy!"

Another bark. At least she thought it was a bark. The sound was almost too weak now to distinguish.

Meg tried to walk faster, but the writhing shadows confused her, causing her to stumble.

She kept calling, straining against the wind for 109
an answering sound, any sound ...

She stopped right in front of the dead forest.

The trees bristled, hissing angrily, and there was a muffled roar of wind through their limbs like an echo in a deep cave. A cave —that's what it reminded her of, a lost cave of bark and moss and timeless decay instead of rock. A cave of the unknown.

A cave of no return.

And then she heard it again, but this time it chilled her very soul. This time it was a howl, a long, mournful howl of terror and pain.

"Beau!" Meg screamed. Without thinking she lunged through the trees and found the obscure pathway that led into the dark. She tore at scaly branches that clutched at her hair and clawed at her face, and all the time she kept calling and calling, begging the dog to answer her.

She tripped and nearly fell, panting now, willing herself to keep on as something stung her arm and wet moss twined itself about her neck.

She flung the moss to the ground and plunged ahead, praying that what little light there still was wouldn't vanish and leave her alone in terror.

With one frantic cry she ripped a shrunken vine from her waist and almost went down, catching herself by grabbing onto a wide tree trunk. Her lungs were bursting, her eyes burned from sweat and tears of frustration.

If only he would bark!

"Beau!" Meg called. "Please, Beau, where are 110
you?"

And then she heard another sound.

A different sound.

A hissing sound ...

She was fighting so hard to get through the woods that she nearly stepped on it.

Her foot hit something and she looked down, and there was the familiar furry body sprawled on the ground, covered with a mass of twisting, writhing water moccasins.

She shrieked, shrieked and fell backwards, clutching the tree for support, and noticing too late the silent, stealthy movement uncoiling beside her face.

When she did see the snake hanging by her head, she also saw its mouth open wide, the white, cottony insides aimed for her throat.

And then it lunged —a heart-stopping blur —
and the snake's heavy body dropped against her as she lost consciousness.

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Chapter Thirteen

"Don't talk. Lie still."

Meg's eyes flew open in panic, and she clutched at her neck, trying to pry something loose that wasn't there.

As Wes grabbed her hands and held them tightly, she gave way to despair — all the loneli-ness, the fear, the confusion of the past few days —and she sobbed and sobbed as if she would never stop.

"You're all right, Meg. I'm here." Wes gathered her into his arms and rocked her as if she were a small child who needed to be comforted.

"Beau!" Meg gasped, her body stiffening at the awful memory.

"I know." Wes stroked her hair, soothing her, 113
and there was unbearable pain in his voice.

"And —and the snake! It bit me! Am I going to die?" Her voice was hysterical.

Wes pressed his face against the top of her head. "Ssshhh ... it didn't bite you. I killed it."

"You — " Meg's sobs quieted as she fought for breath. She raised her eyes timidly to his face.

"You killed it?"

"With that." He jerked his chin toward the table where his knife lay, the long blade stained with red. "I was looking for Beau when I heard you scream. You fainted, and I brought you here."

For the first time Meg focused on the familiar living room of Esther's house. Then she shuddered and tried to pull away from Wes. "It's a lie.

You tried to kill me." She didn't care now if he knew she was on to him. He could do what he liked. She was tired of fighting.

Wes sighed and held her at arm's length. "Is that what you really think?"

"What else could I think? Why did you bring me here? Why aren't we at Aunt Belle's?"

"Meg, listen to me." Wes shook her gently.

"Something evil is going on over there, and I think we'd better find out what it is before it destroys you."

"Destroys me? What are you talking about?"

"Here," he said reluctantly. "Take a look."

As Meg watched him warily, he took something else from the table. It was a hand mirror.

He offered it to her, and his expression was grim.

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"Go on," he repeated. "Look at yourself."

Slowly Meg accepted the mirror and held it up to her face.

What she saw reflected there made her eyes widen in horror.

"Oh, my God!" she cried. "Wes! Oh, God, Wes, what's happening to me?"

The face staring back at her was a face she'd never seen, and yet it was frighteningly familiar —a tired, worn, hopeless face with glazed eyes and gaunt cheeks traced with the faint outlines of wrinkles. It was the face of a much older Meg, of a Meg already wasting helplessly away...

"I don't believe it!" she screamed. "It's a lie!

You're playing a trick on me! Take it away!"

She threw the mirror fiercely at his head. Wes ducked, and the glass shattered against the far wall.

"Meg! Meg, listen to me!" Wes caught her hands and forced them in front of her face so she could see the thin blue veins through her strangely transparent skin, the frail bony fingers, the colorless nails. Her touch was ice-cold.

Meg screamed again, shoving him as hard as she could. "Don't look at me! You murderer!"

"Meg!" The next second Wes had her pinned to the couch. She finally surrendered to helpless, bitter tears. "Meg, you've got to believe me," Wes said softly, reaching out to caress her cheek.

Meg turned violently away from him.

"Meg, it is a sort of trick, but I'm not the one 115
who's doing it. Please. You have to believe me. If you don't we'll never get you out of this. This . ..

this thing that's happening to you, I'm sure it has something to do with Doc."

"How do you know?" Meg cried. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because." His voice lowered, and he dropped his eyes. "Because it's the same thing that happened to Anna."

As Meg heard his words in stunned surprise, his expression grew urgent.

"I need your help! Please, Meg, you've got to trust me."

As he looked beseechingly at her, Meg slowly covered her face with her hands. There was compassion in his eyes —but was it real? Could she believe him?

"Then that means I'm going to die," she said hoarsely. "How can you stand to ... to look at me?"

"What I'm seeing isn't really Meg. The real Meg is inside. And it's the real Meg I care about— not appearances."

There was silence for several minutes. Meg's body shook with unbearable grief, and as her tears flowed freely, so did the last of her strength.

"I want... I want to believe you," she gulped.

"Then do. Trust me."

"Oh, Wes, I don't want to die!"

"You won't... not if I can help it."

"But you couldn't help Anna!"

"I didn't know what was happening to Anna.

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But I can help you. Meg, please, trust me."

She felt so tired. So tired and so terribly ashamed. She had first doubted Wes because of his looks, and now he could sit with her like this when she looked so hideous. She hid her face in her hands.

"I don't understand." Meg shook her head.

"Not any of it. It's impossible. Am I . . . insane?"

"No. Look at me, Meg. I'll leave the light off, if you like."

She nodded, then slowly uncovered her face.

He stood at the table, wiping his knife on one leg of his jeans. "Where's Esther?" she asked.

"Gone for supplies. She won't be back for another hour."

"But I can't stay here. Aunt Belle —"

"Yes, Aunt Belle," Wes said angrily. "Believe me, your Aunt Belle can get along just fine."

"No, Wes, she's still weak. She needs me."

"Yes," he replied mockingly. "She needs you, all right. More than you know."

"What are you talking about?"

"I should have seen it. I should have seen it sooner —it's just the way it happened before ..."

"Wes, tell me what you're talking about!"

"Be honest with me, Meg. Has anything strange been going on at the house since you've been there?"

She hesitated, then began to cry again as all the horrid memories of the past days flashed vividly through her mind. "I couldn't tell anyone

... I thought it was me!" she babbled. "I thought 117

I was crazy, and Doc said it was the heat, and that I shouldn't trust you because you were insane . . . and nobody would believe me — I've been so scared!"

Wes sat down beside her and took her in his arms, not interrupting her until she ran out of words. She told him everything then—-the figure at the windows; the photographs; the soft laughter; how she'd cut herself on the picture and how the face had transformed before her very eyes; the eerie glowing and throbbing in the night; even all Doc's warnings about Wes.

"That's why I was afraid of you, too. Doc told me you were insane — a killer. He hinted that you murdered your sister. So when Mom didn't call that night, I thought you'd tricked me into coming with you alone . .. and then the boat..."

"No wonder," Wes sighed, rubbing her back.

"But don't you see? I bet your mom never even called Doc. He only told me she did, so I'd tell you. Then when the call didn't come, it made me look more suspicious."

"But why would he have done it?" Meg asked.

"Because he knows I'm on to him, and he wants to keep me quiet," Wes said wryly. "Or get rid of me. When did you start feeling bad?"

Meg told him all about her strange exhaustion and her loss of appetite, even admitting that she had begun to notice a drastic change in her appearance.

"But I didn't look like this when I got up today!" she insisted. "You believe me, don't you?"

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"And what about Aunt Belle?"

"It's like a miracle, the way she's improved.

Wes, she looks so much ... younger!"

"Just what Anna said. That she was rejuve-nated practically overnight. While Anna got worse."

"What?"

"Wait. I want to show you something." He went to the table again, rummaged in a small side drawer, and withdrew a snapshot, which he handed her.

Meg stared at it, her mouth open. "Oh, my God!"

"Yes," Wes said bitterly. "Just like you. Only worse. A very old woman."

Meg continued gazing at the girl who stood on the back steps of Aunt Belle's house. If she didn't know this was supposed to be Anna, she would never have dreamed the wizened old face could belong to a girl. She was wrinkled and spotted, her hands gnarled, her hair white.

"Your age," Wes said. "Sixteen."

Meg stared down at her hands. Not twisted yet. Turning to the nearby mirror, she took a lock of hair between shriveled fingers. Still brown, though she noted with amazement several fine threads of gray.

She turned back to the picture of Anna.

"When was this taken?"

"The day before she disappeared. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. And every time she woke up, she was just a little bit older, a 119
little slower . . . more hideous ..." His voice trailed away and he looked at the floor.

"Why was she at Aunt Belle's?" Meg asked softly, moved by his pitiful distress.

"She was working there." Wes looked straight into her eyes. "Aunt Belle had had a heart attack, and Anna was taking care of her."

Meg's blood ran cold. She gripped the photo so tightly that it bent.

"It was Doc's idea. He made all the arrange-ments." Wes sighed. "Aunt Belle hated people, and Doc was the only one she ever saw. But Doc couldn't be there twenty-four hours a day, so Aunt Belle agreed to let Anna stay with her. Anna needed the money—she had her dreams of running off to the city someday and going to school.

Doc said Anna would be good medicine for Aunt Belle. We'd never even seen Aunt Belle —nobody had —but Esther trusted Doc, so she let Anna A tense, sorrowful silence hung for a moment between them.

"I knew something happened then, but I couldn't prove it," Wes went on angrily. "I know Doc was in on it. He didn't try to save her. He used his powers on her, and he killed her."

Meg suddenly had a wild, irrational urge to laugh. It all seemed so unbelievable. "But it just isn't possible — "

Wes turned on her. "You saw yourself in the mirror. Is that possible? It's Doc who's done this to you, the same way he did it to Anna. We have to 120
stop him before it's too late. How many days have you been there now?"

Meg thought for a moment. It seemed like an eternity, but she knew it had only been a few days. "Four, today."

"Anna'd been working about three weeks before she disappeared. She'd come home to get some of her things, and I was taking her back that day. I let her out at Aunt Belle's dock, and she stood there waving good-bye to me. I never saw her alive again."

"Doc said they found her in the bayou."

Wes nodded. "Three days later. So he was right when he told you I came back home alone that day. But it wasn't any accident. Nobody knows what happened. Anna was a strong swimmer, and she knew these bayous. But she was so weak .. . she couldn't have swum, in her condition. ..."

"I'm sorry."

"But did Doc tell you the rest of it?" His voice was hard and resentful. "Did he tell you about the body when they finally found it and dragged it up on shore in their muddy nets? Did he tell you that she was covered with snakebites and so bloated and swollen and disfigured that we could hardly —"

"Wes, don't." This time it was Meg who reached out for him, slipping her arms comfortingly about him as he took several deep breaths and clenched his fists at his sides.

The image was so horrible that Meg shut her 121
eyes and laid her head against his back. Anna and Beau. She wished she could wake up and find that all of this was some horrible nightmare.

"Aunt Belle never even contacted us when Anna died." Wes rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Doc said Anna's death was a terrible shock to her.

But at the funeral there was a woman with Doc.

They were standing far away, and she had a heavy black veil on. It might have been Aunt Belle, but I don't know for sure."

Meg nodded mechanically, not knowing what to say.

"Did you ever hear Doc and Aunt Belle talking while you were there?" Wes spoke calmly now, straightening his shoulders.

"No. Doc always locked her door." Meg put a hand cautiously to her cheek. "Wes, do you think there's some hope? That there might be a cure? I don't want to die, and I don't want to be a freak the rest of my life. Oh, Wes, I just can't believe this is happening! It's too horrible."

"You'll believe it when I show you something,"

he said solemnly. "Do you feel strong enough to walk?"

"Yes, but — "

"Let's go back to Aunt Belle's. I promise you'll be convinced there's something evil going on."

Meg kept her head down as he led her out to the dock and helped her into the boat. Neither of them spoke for a long time. The bayou tossed restlessly around them as jagged bolts of light-122
ning split the sky, and thunder grumbled beyond the blackened horizon.

When they landed, Wes took her hand and, after glancing nervously at the house, began to head for the dead forest. Meg stopped cold, fear rising like bile in her throat.

"No, Wes! No, I can't go in there!"

"You have to. You have to see it for yourself —"

"No! I won't go!" The sickening image of Beau loomed in her mind, and she looked wildly at Wes. "Not after what happened!"

"Nothing will happen." He slipped an arm protectively about her waist. "I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

"But the snakes — "

"They won't bother you unless you threaten them. Listen to me, Meg. I know where they are now, and why they're there!"

"Why they're there?" She looked bewildered.

"Come on, I'll show you. It was Beau who made the discovery, and probably saved my life."

"I don't understand."

"There's something in these woods that someone obviously doesn't want anyone else to find.

And they've made very sure that no one will get out alive if they do find it."

"You mean — "

"The snakes were put there purposely. If you don't know these woods, there's no way you can keep from stumbling right into the middle of them. This pathway would lead you straight there. I was bringing supplies when Beau heard 123
something and jumped the boat. So I tied up and came looking for him. Just as I got to the woods, I could have sworn I saw somebody—but I wasn't sure who —go in ahead of me." A look of sorrow flitted briefly over his face. "Beau grew up in these backwoods. He knows his way around —
knew — his way around."

"And you think someone ... purposely — "

"I think someone knew exactly what they were doing. And I think that someone is Doc. Beau never had a chance. Come on, I'll show you."

"But you said this path leads straight to — "

"It does, but we're not going to stay on i t . . . at least, not at the end."

Meg was shaking so wildly she could hardly walk. With Wes leading the way, the two of them entered the dead forest. Only then did Wes switch on his flashlight, waving it back and forth in a wide arc in front of them. Scraggy limbs reached out to block their way, the clotted moss adhering to their arms like hungry leeches.

"Keep close to me," Wes ordered, and Meg pressed against his back, sure that he must be able to feel her heart exploding in her chest.

Crickets sounded like saw blades in the blackness, and high above them unknown watchers slid stealthily from branch to branch.

A growl of thunder shook the ground beneath their feet, and from the bayou wisps of smelly, stringy fog threaded their way through rotting trees.

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Meg knew she couldn't stand it another minute. Every movement, every noise, jolted her nerves like icy fire. A scream lodged in her throat, choking her, ready to burst out at any second.

And then Wes stopped.

Carefully —oh, so carefully —he stepped off the path, leading her with him to the extreme right.

And then Meg saw why.

At first glance the pathway appeared to be overgrown with tangled vines. But in the instant that the flashlight illuminated the ground, Meg realized that one of the vines was moving, and then another and another, as if suddenly stirred by an unseen breeze. And then she saw that they weren't vines at all —they were snakes. Twenty

.. . thirty . .. she couldn't tell now because the ankle-deep, wriggling mass was crawling all over itself, a sluggish web of bodies twisting its way deeper into the shadows.

She shoved her fist into her mouth to cut off the scream that fought to escape. She didn't dare make a sound. She had to trust Wes.

They were in a small clearing now, not more than twenty feet square, completely encircled by trees. The somber, scab-covered trunks crowd-ing in around them gave this area the solemn appearance of an alcove draped all around in gray curtains of moss. It was so hushed that Meg drew in her breath and held it. She had the most peculiar feeling that they had invaded some sa-125
cred place, like a long-lost chapel in a rotting church.

And then she saw another shape.

In the very center of the clearing, where the slithery path led and abruptly ended, was a tomb.

Meg gasped. She had seen New Orleans
cemeteries, where the dead were laid respect-fully away in rectangular stone structures on top of the ground. That was because this part of the country was below sea level, and digging under-ground would only release water into the intended grave. But this tomb was not like the well-tended and beflowered ones she had visited with her mother in the city. This tomb was crumbling, leaning crazily to one side, its pitted, weather-stained surface overgrown with decayed vines...

And snakes.

Some lay coiled thickly beside the stone walls, while others lifted their heads in shrewd alert-ness to the intruders. Others hung like fat ropes from the corners of the tomb, waiting...

In the thin beam of the flashlight the tomb reminded Meg of every horror movie she had ever seen, every ghost story she had ever read. Except those had all been make-believe. And this was horrifyingly real.

"Come here," Wes whispered.

Before Meg could protest, he pulled her closer, swinging the light over the tomb so that the snakes shrank back in angry uneasiness. An-126
gling downward at one end of the tomb was a black, moldering hole —death's doorway —
where a coffin would normally have entered its final resting place and been sealed away forever.

Only this opening wasn't sealed.

"No . .. please ..." Meg's eyes grew huge in her very old face. But as the light swept the yawning cavity of the grave, she saw that no human remains rested there, not even the splinter of a casket. Nothing except a seething tangle of snakes.

Meg became aware that Wes had nudged her.

When she looked up, she followed his pointing finger to a simple wooden marker, the engraving timeworn but still terrifyingly readable as a slash of lightning ripped the sky above them and sliced through the trees.

"Belle Monroe," Meg whispered, her knees giving way as she clung to Wes.

He nodded. "She died twenty years ago."

127

Chapter Fourteen

"What are we going to do?" Meg asked frantically.

"Get you away from here. Come on."

Following Wes's sure footsteps, Meg tried to quiet the screaming in her brain.

No! It's impossible!

And then they were running, running
through the foggy woods, through the worst sort of nightmare, running for the boat...

It was gone.

Wes froze in his tracks, swearing under his breath.

When the twig snapped behind them, they spun around to face their fate together.

"Leaving so soon?" Doc was smiling. "On a 129
terrible night like this? Of course I could not even think of allowing you to go now." He reached up absently and stroked the stone at his neck. "Why, if anything happened to you, I could never forgive myself, and Belle would never forgive me."

As Meg looked desperately past him, searching for an escape, she stifled a cry of alarm.

There, in the upstairs window, was the figure.

Watching them. Waiting.

Noting her expression, Doc also looked up at the house, his smile widening. "Yes, she is waiting, Miss Daton. Waiting for you. Just as she has been waiting since the very first day you came."

Wes made a slight move and Doc lifted his hand. For the first time they saw the gun he was holding.

"No magic, Doctor?" Wes challenged him.

Doc's eyes grew hard, his voice cold. "You have not even begun to witness my powers —or should I say, suffer my powers. Now you will pay dearly for your foolishness." He waved the gun at them. "Shall we go inside? I believe it looks like rain."

Silently they made their way to the house, knowing escape was impossible. As they entered the downstairs hallway, Meg clutched Wes in a spasm of fear.

The laughter!

It was coming from upstairs. And Meg knew even before they climbed the stairs, even before they passed the photographs on the walls, that 130
all those faces would look even more real than they had looked the last time she saw them —
that the smiles would be more secretive than ever before, because now she knew the faces were all laughing at her.

"It seems, Belle," Doc said smoothly, pushing the door open and ushering them into the bedroom, "that Miss Daton was considering a hasty departure. And this young man was going to help her."

The bed was empty. The room was full of silken shadows and one faint glow from the dim bedside lamp. Beyond the windows the summer storm gathered strength and billowed the curtains into the room, like lace-covered hands ...

groping...

Then one shadow near the window moved more quickly than the others. It turned and looked at them, and the lamplight slanted across its very human face.

"I do need you, Meg," the shadow said gently.

"Without you the cycle will not be complete."

And then, as the shadow slid into the center of the floor, Meg thought she was going to faint.

It was the figure at the window, the silhouette she had seen that very first day. But more than that, it was the photographs — all of them —the face that filled the stairwell walls and smiled and knew secrets and loved being alive and young.

For she was very young.

She was a girl of sixteen ...

All but her hair.

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The thick hair that fell to her slender shoulders was still frosted with white, contrasting grotesquely with her blushing complexion and full red lips and the dainty ruffle of lace at her pale, slim throat.

"The hair is always the last," Aunt Belle said sweetly. "The hair and the freedom of movement.

You're so much stronger than Anna was. And when your muscles finally give in, it won't happen gradually, as it did to her. You'll simply fall, lose control of your limbs, and never get back up."

"Stop it!!" Meg cried, the calm, lovely face blurring through her tears. "You can't do this to me!

I've never done anything to you!"

"But you did, Meg," Aunt Belle cooed, sashay-ing to the window in a rustle of long skirts. And all at once Meg knew what had awakened her that night, why Aunt Belle's door had been open

"You did, Meg," Aunt Belle said again. And then she spun on the girl in seething fury. "You were young!"

As Meg looked on in horrified disbelief, the woman advanced slowly, deliberately, her words as measured as her steps.

"You had it all, and you didn't know it. It's always like that! These young girls, with their beauty and their bright dreams, they don't know what I know—how it is to have it and then lose it forever. I did them all a favor, you see. It goes very quickly this way. I spared them the years of 132
agony, of watching their faces rot away day by endless day—of feeling their bodies stiffen and then crumble, their minds shrivel and forget Wes pulled Meg back against him as the beautiful, ageless figure came closer.

"You'll see, Meg. First the weariness, until you think you can't go on —until you'd rather lie there and turn to dust than put forth the effort to make the simplest movement. Your strength is the first to go, while I suck it into my veins with your sweet energy, bit by bit. Soon you long to sleep and never wake. Anna didn't fight it. She wanted to die at the end — "

"She didn't!" Wes raised his voice, his eyes flashing. "You murdered her! You and Doc!"

"But it's so painless this way," soothed Aunt Belle, caressing the soft skin of her arms. "She sat with me, as Meg sat with me. And while she slept, I absorbed her into myself—her vitality, her spirit! I was all around her. She couldn't escape me. My faces absorbed her, too, every time she went up or down the stairs. She kept a picture of me in her bedroom, just as Meg has done ... and I grow stronger and stronger, and you're spared the anguish of growing old for so many, many years "

Doc leaned back against the wall, passing his fingers over the white stone, nodding his approval.

"And then your face," Aunt Belle went on. "The eyes become blurry. You're not sure anymore 133
whether what you're seeing is real or only a fig-ment of your senile brain. Then the wrinkles take over, crawling over your flesh like moss on the trees, and your skin starts to mold and decay —"

"Stop it!" Meg cried, burying her face in her hands. "Stop it!"

"I can stop it," Doc said softly, the gun steady-in his hand. "Eternal youth, for your eternal soul — a small price to pay for happiness."

Wes nodded, the pieces falling into place at last. "And Anna refused. So you made sure she suffered for it."

"It was her choice." Doc shrugged. "She was the chosen one."

"Because there was nobody else left!" Wes shouted.

"Calm yourself." Doc looked amused. "Every two years brings the season for renewal. Now it is Meg who has been chosen. To live forever, or The room began to swirl, and Wes caught Meg as she crumpled.

"It is really such an easy matter to join us." Doc was smiling. "I wonder that you even hesitate.

Surely you realize that no one could ever love a monstrosity such as yourself..."

"I won't!" Meg sobbed. She felt Wes's arms beneath her own, holding her up. "I won't join you or live like you! You're not alive at all! I'd rather be dead!"

"Then so be it," Doc hissed. He inclined his 134
head toward the stairs. "Shall we go then? The end will not be long now, Miss Daton —simply a brief formality to attend to, and then, I assure you, death will be the sweetest of releases — "

"No!"

Even as she recoiled, she felt Wes lunging for the doctor, heard the shot, saw Wes fall to the floor, all in one split-second motion.

"Wes! Oh, my God!" Before she could reach Wes, Doc clamped a viselike grip on her arm and propelled her down the stairs. It did no good to struggle — though she fought and cried, she troubled him no more than a fly.

She felt the faint patter of raindrops as they crossed the yard, saw the sky slit open like a black, gaping wound from a stab of lightning.

Doc pushed her, dragged her through the darkness, into the forest, following the path without a light to guide him. Behind her rustled a young woman's skirts, while all around her stirred the creatures of the night, the sentinels of death. As they plunged ahead, the sickly fog stroked her face, wove into her hair, and fastened its clammy tendrils about her neck.

Meg prayed to die.

Anything was better than the horror that awaited her.

"What about the boy?" Aunt Belle asked behind them. She wasn't even out of breath.

"The bayou will take care of him later," Doc said unfeelingly.

Meg's throat constricted. She couldn't 135
breathe. It was her fault that Wes had gotten into this, her fault that he was dead . ..

And now she was going to die, too.

Then suddenly they were there. And though Meg couldn't see it, she knew the writhing, ven-omous pathway was just ahead of them.

The pathway to death .. .

My death.

"Don't worry about your mother, Meg," Aunt Belle soothed her. "We'll tell her you and the boy had an accident. They happen very frequently in these parts."

Thinking of her mother brought a fresh flood of tears flowing down Meg's cheeks.

"Please, Aunt Belle," she sobbed. "Please let me go!"

"Oh, M e g - "

To Meg's dismay the woman drew her from Doc's imprisoning grasp and pulled her close.

Astoundingly, there were tears in the soft, tran-quil eyes.

Aunt Belle laid one smooth, cool hand against Meg's sunken cheek. "We could have been such good friends, you and I. But now it has to be this way, don't you see? It has to be. I'm so sorry."

Doc jerked Meg roughly back to his side, shoving her in front of him. She screamed, sensing rather than seeing the quickening movement before her on the ground.

"I would not upset them, my dear. They are so easily unnerved." Doc chuckled softly. He slipped the gun into his pocket, then reached up 136
into the trees and snapped off a thick branch.

Holding it steady, he withdrew a small lighter from his jacket and touched the flame to the moss-encrusted wood. As the fire spurted to life, Meg could see the clearing beyond them, the crumbling tomb, the black opening ... and the living pathway at their feet.

"Aah, my beauties," Doc purred, nodding in satisfaction at the twisted tangle of reptiles. "Do not worry, Meg. Actually they cannot hurt you —without my permission," He rubbed the stone that gleamed whitely against the hollow of his neck. "They are very sleepy now, as weary as you have been, and they do not feel like making trouble for anyone. However"— and his lips curled back in a sneer—"if I should choose to awaken them, they will be very, very angry."

To Meg's utter revulsion, he walked forward right into the middle of the snakes, fixing her with a victorious smile. "You see, they know I do not wish them harm. Only good. They know what is expected of them. They know they have guarded our secret well, and now they shall be rewarded."

"It was you that Wes saw coming in here yesterday." Meg's voice shook. "You upset them so they attacked Beau — "

"Upset them? Only released them from their drowsiness," Doc corrected her gently. "I could not have that animal exposing our plan before it was complete. Surely you understand that."

"You—you've hypnotized them!" Meg stared at 137
the knotted bodies and shook her head. "And that's why Aunt Belle warned me about going too far that day —about the snakes. You were afraid I'd find this place."

Meg thought in that instant that she had never hated anything or anyone so much in her whole life.

"Your contempt shows," Doc taunted her. He stepped untouched through the writhing reptiles, opening his arms wide. "Behold, Miss Daton —the symbols of life! Of force and energy, pure and simple! Guardians of immortality!

Representatives of the great mysteries!" Doc grinned at her now as a flash of lightning threw him in and out of shadow. "Do you not feel their power? Look about you and feel honored to be sacrificed to such noble greatness!"

Meg's heart shrank in terror.

"Yes, Miss Daton," he went on lightly, gestur-ing toward the tomb with his blazing torch.

"This is the final ritual. This is the ultimate gift.

Your life for Belle's." He paused, regarding her with sardonic amusement. "Do not look so troubled, Miss Daton. It will be just like going to sleep —with a poisonous friend or two!"

His laughter echoed through the clearing, melting into a crash of thunder and the whine of wind through the trees.

"Shall I help you inside?" His eyes grew cold, his voice impassive. "Or are you going to make it difficult for me?"

"No!" Meg backed up and ran into Aunt Belle, 138
who pinned the girl's arms helplessly behind her back. Meg was shocked at the woman's strength.

She could hardly struggle in the relentless grasp. "So that's what really happened to Anna!

That's why they found her the way they did — "

"And how they will find you when it has all been done!" Suddenly Doc was looming over her, the torch high above his head, his other hand upon the stone that glimmered at his throat.

"Miss Daton, must I awaken them before you are safely tucked in?"

"It will be over so soon, Meg." Aunt Belle looked pleadingly into the girl's eyes. "You'll hardly feel more than a sting or two ..."

"Help me!" Meg screamed, breaking free, striking out at Doc in her panic. She felt the chain pull away in her fingers and saw the stone fall to the ground as Doc cursed and scrabbled frantically to catch it.

"Meg, be reasonable! Don't — " Aunt Belle cried.

She never finished her sentence.

The shout came so suddenly, so close behind them, that Doc only had time to look up in as-tonishment and drop the torch as a blur of shadow struck him and sent him sprawling backward.

Onto the path ...

The path that had come furiously to life the moment Meg ripped the stone from Doc's neck.

And as a lightning bolt shot the clearing with a blinding glow, Meg heard Doc's shrieks of terror 139
and pain as he disappeared instantly beneath a hissing, swarming sea of thick, sluggish bodies.

Meg screamed then, screamed and screamed as the man staggered to his feet, howling insanely, then crashed headlong through the trees, his arms flailing helplessly, snakes dangling from his body like rags from a windblown scarecrow.

There was a splash, a cry choked by the gurgle of water, and then ... silence.

Shaking uncontrollably, Meg met the glassy, crazed eyes of Aunt Belle as something smashed into the woman's skull from behind, the sickening thud of splintering bone echoing in the sudden quiet.

Aunt Belle crumpled to the ground.

"Wes!" Meg flung herself at the familiar shape, crying as he held her, until she felt something warm and sticky on her arm. "Wes, you're bleeding!"

It was a bad wound, she could tell. He winced and pulled away, dropping the huge stick he had been clutching in one hand. "I'm okay. Hurry, you've got to help me!"

"They were going to put me in there!" Meg sobbed, trying to stop the bleeding with her hand.

"I know. I heard it all."

"What are we going to — "

"Help me!" His voice, usually so controlled, was close to panic, and Meg nodded like a pup-pet. "Help me pick her up! We've got to move 140
fast!"

"Wes, I - "

"Dammit, Meg, she may be only half real, but she is real! The only way she can exist at all is from your strength! But she has to be with you to drain your energy —"

"That's why she and Doc always wanted me to sit with her — "

"Come on, Meg, pull!"

"Oh, Wes, I'm trying!"

Numb with fear, Meg half shoved, half carried the motionless body along behind Wes as he picked up the torch and veered far away from the path, heading toward the tomb.

"No!" Meg froze, the body slipping from her grasp.

" M e g - "

"Wes, no! The snakes! For God's sake!"

Wes shoved the torch out ahead of him. "Stay behind me. You push, and I'll pull, but stay behind me and the fire — they won't bother us if we have this flame."

"But it's going out!" Meg cried.

Please, God, she prayed silently, desperately, please let it keep burning just a little longer!

She saw what seemed like thousands of beady, hungry eyes glaring back at her as she and Wes brought the body closer ... closer . ..

"Can you lift it?" Wes's face was a mask of determination. He brandished the torch in a wide circle and glanced back at her over his shoulder.

141

"I'll try."

Meg tugged at the dead weight, her weakened muscles crying out from the strain. First the shoulders, the head lolling crazily to the side, a dark red stain oozing over one side of the beautiful face, matting the white hair ...

Groaning in frustration, Meg let the body drop.

"It's no use!" Her voice was shrill, taut. "I can't do it!"

"Then take this — "

Before Meg could protest, Wes thrust the torch into her trembling hand.

"Wave it back and forth," Wes ordered, as he bent to lift Aunt Belle. "Wider, Meg, wider!"

She could see them now—all those long dark bodies, shrinking back from the fire, waiting...

waiting for one mistake ...

"Here!" Wes gasped. "Here, Meg!"

She shoved the torch toward the tomb and saw snakes glide away from the walls like peeling skin. Two just inside the opening recoiled into the far corners, hissing angrily.

There was a dull thump as Aunt Belle's head cracked against the side of the tomb, leaving a runny smear on the plastered brick. With one final effort Wes hoisted the body to his shoulders, then jammed it desperately into the opening between him and the waiting snakes. There was a rustle of skirts, the scrape of human skin on brick, and then something worse —the soft, 142
persistent sound of fangs striking flesh.

Meg glanced back and screamed as the water moccasins struck the beautiful face again ...

again ... again ...

Wes was deathly pale, his breath ragged.

Meg watched in growing alarm as he tottered and nearly fell.

"Wes!"

Her cry brought his head upright. As she frantically swung the torch out around them, there was a quick sputter of flame, and the light nearly went out.

"Come on —quick!" He grabbed her arm and they ran for their lives, crashing through the brush, clawing away the moss and branches that tried to stop them. As they broke free of the dead forest, Wes suddenly turned and flung the torch into the trees.

For a moment time seemed to stop.

And then they saw i t . . . a thin thread of smoke curling skyward.

"We'll have to try for the road!" Wes shouted.

"Can you make it?" Meg looked into his eyes, then jumped as a crackle of flame shot up behind them.

"Sure." He grinned weakly. "Can you?"

She didn't trust her voice to speak. Catching her breath, she felt a sudden surge of strength, the familiar energy she hadn't felt in days. As tears pressed behind her eyelids, Wes took her hands in his own and lifted them before her face.

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"You're warm," he said softly.

Almost afraid to believe, she haltingly reached up to feel her face.

Wes nodded.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you home."

144

Chapter Fifteen

"I still can't believe it," Mrs. Daton said, visibly shaken.

"If it hadn't rained so hard, the whole house would have gone, too." Esther shook her head and leaned back against the side of the car.

"Poor Aunt Belle." Mrs. Daton wiped her eyes with a tissue and looked thankfully at her daughter. "Oh, Meg, honey, when I think what could have happened — " She choked, and Meg hugged her tightly.

"But it didn't, Mom."

"And that's what we have to think about, right?" Esther patted Meg's shoulder and shaded her eyes against the glare of the noonday sun. "Never thought about lightning striking 145
these woods. Never dreamed anything could hurt this old place, it's been here for so long."

Meg pressed her lips together and looked up at what was left of Aunt Belle's house. Practically half of it had burned away before the heavy rains had come. What had once been the kitchen and Meg's bedroom were now smoldering skeletons of ash and fallen timber. The gardenias were no more —now the air hung heavy with the acrid odor of smoke and sulfur and a wet gray powdery fog drifting out toward the bayou. The stairwell was a heap of cinders, the photographs lost forever in a blackened mess of debris that had once been walls and ceilings and floors.

"If Dr. LaVane hadn't insisted you leave ... "

Mrs. Daton's fears hung in the air.

"Yes, that's fate for you," Esther agreed. "Imagine him happening by to check on Aunt Belle and giving Meg the evening off. And me up the bayou not knowing a thing had happened."

"It must have been a terrible shock for you."

Mrs. Daton looked worriedly at her daughter.

"Why, you just know it was!" Esther clucked sympathetically. "She and Wes back home eating some dinner and never suspecting what had happened! Well, it's a shame about Doc — I guess he tried to help Aunt Belle and just couldn't get out in time..."

Meg turned away, a frown creasing her brow.

"Let's not talk about it anymore, okay?"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry!" Mrs. Daton forced a smile. "Of course we won't. And I don't want you 146
even to think about it. Ever."

As Meg nodded, she looked at Wes for the first time since the conversation had started. His face was tired, but his eyes held hers in a long, deep understanding.

"You take care of that arm, Wes," Mrs. Daton teased, opening her car door. "No more hunting accidents."

"Why, nobody's safe anymore with these crazy hunters!" Esther fussed. "Just walking along minding your own business and someone takes a shot at you! Makes you scared to go out!"

Wes grinned, secretly amused. "No. No more accidents."

Mrs. Daton got into the car, and Esther leaned in through her window.

"Thanks for everything, Esther." Mrs. Daton clasped the other woman's hand warmly. "And we're holding you two to that visit next month.

We live just twenty minutes from the bus station."

Wes raised an eyebrow at Meg. "I thought you didn't have any room at your place for friends."

"Oh," Meg said with a mischievous smile,

"maybe we'll have to move."

"Are you sure Blake's going to approve?"

For a moment Meg's face went blank. When was the last time she had thought about Blake?

"I don't think he'll have anything to say about it,"

she answered, and laughed. And then, as Wes touched her cheek, she softened. "Will you write?"

147

"I promise." His eyes searched hers, making her feel suddenly weak. Slowly, gently, he leaned over and kissed her. "I'll miss you, Meg."

She stared at him for a long moment, then reluctantly turned away as the car engine sputtered.

"'Bye, Esther." She waved and slid into the front seat.

"'Bye, now! We'll see you soon! A month's not very long, you know!"

As the car circled and nosed its way into the weeds, Meg took one last look at Wes, trying to hold back her tears until she was out of his sight.

She looked back at Esther, at the charred remains of the forest, the scarred oak tree that still reached out for the upper windows of the de-formed house...

And then she froze.

There was something at the window.

Just behind blackened, shredded lace curtains. Watching. Waiting . . .

And laughing—oh, so softly—like a carefree young girl.

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Document Outline

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