Dean Koontz: The Servants of Twilight

Luke had drunk beer, and he'd had a passion for potato chips.

He had urinated and showered and brushed his teeth like any other human being. Sometimes his conversation had been downright tedious, dumb.

Wouldn't the devil at least have been unfailingly witty?

Surely, Luke had been Luke, nothing more, nothing less.

She opened her eyes.

Joey was giggling and hugging Chewbacca, so happy. So ordinary.

Of course, she thought, the devil might take a perverse pleasure in using me, particularly me, to carry his child.

After all, she was a former nun. Her brother had been a priest-and a martyr. She had fallen away from her faith. She had been a virgin when she'd given herself to the man on the cruise ship. Wasn't she a perfect means by which the devil could make a mockery of the first virgin birth?

Madness. She hated herself for doubting her child, for giving any credence whatsoever to Spivey's babbling.

And yet. hadn't her whole life changed for the better as soon as she had become pregnant with the boy? She had been uncommonly healthy-no colds, no headaches-and happy and successful in business. As if she were. blessed.

Finally satisfied that his dog was all right, Joey disentangled himself from Chewbacca and came to Christine. Rubbing at his red eyes, sniffling, he said, "Mom, is it over? Are we going to be okay? I'm still scared."

She didn't want to look into his eyes, but to her surprise she found nothing frightening in them, nothing to make her blood run cold.

Brandy. no, Chewbacca came to her and nuzzled her hand.

"Mommy," Joey said, kneeling beside her, "I'm scared.

What'd they do to you? Whatd they do? Are you going to die?

Don't die, please, don't die, Mommy, please."

She put a hand to his face.

He was afraid, trembling. But that was better than an autistic trance.

He slid against her, and after only a moment's hesitation, she held him with her good arm. Her Joey. Her son. Her child. The feel of him, snuggling against her, was marvelous, indescribably wonderful. The contact was better than any medicine could have been, for it revitalized her, cleared her head, and dissipated the sick images and insane fears that were Grace Spivey's perverse legacy. Hugging her child, feeling him cling to her in need of love and reassurance, she was cured of Spivey's mad contagion.

This boy was the fruit of her womb, a life she had given to the world, and nothing was more precious to her than he was-and always would be.

Kyle Barlowe had slid down to the floor, his back against the wall, and had buried his face in his hands to avoid staring at Mother Grace's hideous remains. But the dog came to Kyle, nuzzled him, and Kyle looked up. The mutt licked his face; its tongue was warm, its nose cold, like the tongue and nose of any dog. It had a clownish face. How could he ever have imagined that such a dog was a hound from Hell?

"I loved her like a mother, and she changed my life, so I stayed with her even when she went wrong, went bad, even when she started. to do really crazy things," Kyle said, startled by the sound of his own voice, surprised to hear himself explaining his actions to Christine Scavello and Charlie Harrison." She had. this power. No denying that. She was. like in the movies… clairvoyant. You know? Psychic. That's how she could follow you and the boy… not because God was guiding her. and not because the boy was the son of Satan… but because she was just

… clairvoyant." This was not something he had known until he heard himself speaking it. In fact, even now, he did not seem to know what he was going to say until the words came from him." She had visions. I guess they weren't religious like I thought. Not from God. Not really.

Maybe she knew that all along. Or maybe she misunderstood.

Maybe she actually believed she was talking with God. I don't think she meant to do bad, you know. She could've misinterpreted her visions, couldn't she? But there's a big difference between being psychic and being Joan of Are, huh? A big difference."

Charlie listened to Kyle Barlowe wrestle with his conscience, and he was curiously soothed by the ugly giant's deep, remorseful voice. The soothing effect was partly due to the fact that Barlowe was helping them understand these recent events in a light less fantastic than that shed by Armageddon; he was showing them how it might be paranormal without being supernatural or cataclysmic. But Charlie was also affected and relaxed by the odd, soft, rumbling tones and cadences of the big man's voice, by a slight smokiness in the air, and by some indefinable quality of light or heat that made him receptive to this message, as a hypnotist's subject is receptive to suggestions of all kinds.

Kyle said, "Mother Grace meant well. She just got confused there toward the end. Confused. And, God help me, I went along with her even though I had my doubts. Almost went too far. Almost. God help me. almost used the knife on that little boy. See, what it is. I think maybe your Joey. maybe he has a little psychic ability of his own. You know? Have you ever noticed it? Any indications? I think he must be a little like Mother Grace herself, a little bit clairvoyant or something, even if he doesn't know it, even if the power hasn't become obvious yet. and that was what she sensed in him. but she misunderstood it. That must be it. That must explain it. Poor Grace. Poor, sweet Grace. She meant well. Can you believe that? She meant well, and so did I, and so did everyone in the church. She meant well."

Chewbacca left Kyle and came to Charlie, and he let the dog nuzzle him affectionately. He noticed blood in its ears, and blood matting the fur on its ears, which meant Barlowe had hit it very hard with the butt of the rifle, terribly hard indeed, and yet it seemed completely recovered.

Surely it had suffered a severe concussion. Yet it was not dizzy or disoriented.

The dog looked into his eyes.

Charlie frowned.

"She meant well. She meant well," Kyle said, and he put his face in his hands and began to cry.

Cuddling with his mother, Joey said, "Mommy, he scares me.

What's he talkin' about? He scares me."

"It's all right," Christine said.

"He scares me."

"It's okay, Skipper."

To Charlie's surprise, Christine found the strength to sit up and hitch backward a couple of feet, until she was leaning agenst the wall. She had seemed too exhausted to move, even to speak.

Her face looked better, too, not quite so pale.

Still sniffling, wiping at his nose with his sleeve, wiping his eyes with one small fist, Joey said, "Charlie? You okay?"

Although Spivey and her people no longer posed any threat, Charlie was still quite certain that he would die in this cave. He was in bad shape, and it would be hours yet before help could be summoned and could reach them. He would not last that long. Yet he tried to smile at Joey, and in a voice so weak it frightened him, he said, "I'm okay."

The boy left his mother and came to Charlie. He said, "Magnum couldn't've done better than you did."

Joey sat down beside Charlie and put a hand on him. Charlie flinched, but it was all right, perfectly all right, and then for a couple of minutes he lost consciousness, or perhaps he merely dropped off to sleep. When Charlie came to, Joey was with his mother again, and Kyle Barlowe seemed to be getting ready to leave." What's wrong?" Charlie asked." What's happening now?"

Christine was obviously relieved to see him conscious once more. She said, "There's no way you and I can make it out of here on our feet. We'll have to be carried in litters. Mr. Barlowe is going for help."

Barlowe smiled reassuringly. It was a ghastly expression on his cruelly formed face." The snow's stopped falling, and there's no wind. If I stay to the forest trails, I should be able to make it down to civilization in a few hours. Maybe I can get a mountain rescue team back here before nightfall. I'm sure I can."