Dean Koontz - The Servants of Twilight

7:00 P.m.

The take-out food arrived precisely on the hour, and Christine noticed that Charlie was quietly pleased by how prompt his man was.

The five of them ate at the dining room table-beef ribs, barbecued chicken, baked potatoes, and cole slaw-while Charlie told funny stories about cases his agency had handled. Joey listened, spellbound, even though he didn't always understand or appreciate the details of the anecdotes.

Christine watched her son watching Charlie. Mote poignantly than ever, she realized what the boy had been missing by not having a father or any other male authority figure to admire and from whom he could learn.

Chewbacca, the new dog, ate from a dish in the corner of the room, then stretched out and put his head down on his paws, waiting for Joey.

Obviously, he had belonged to a family that had cared for him and had trained him well. He was going to fit in quickly and easily. Christine was still disconcerted by his resemblance to Brandy, but she was beginning to think it would work out anyway.

At 7:20, the intermittent, distant sound of thunder suddenly grew louder. A blast split the night sky, and the windows rattled.

Startled, Christine dropped her fork. For an instant she thought a bomb had gone off outside the house. When she realized it was only thunder, she felt silly, but a glance at the others told her that they, too, had been briefly startled and frightened by the noise.

A few fat raindrops struck the roof, the windows.

At 7:35, Frank Reuther finished eating and left the table to make a complete circuit of the house, re-examining all the doors and windows that Pete had checked earlier.

A light but steady rain was falling.

At 7:47, finished eating, Joey challenged Pete Lockburn to a game of Old Maid, and Pete accepted. They went off to the boy's room, the dog padding friskily and eagerly behind them.

Frank pulled a chair up to one of the living room windows and studied the rain-swept street through a narrow chink in the draperies.

Charlie helped Christine gather up the paper plates and napkins, which they carried to the kitchen, where the sound of the rain was louder, booming off the patio cover at the back of the house.

"What now?" Christine asked, stuffing the plates into the garbage can.

"We get through the night."

"Then?"

"If the old woman doesn't call tonight and give us something to use against her, then tomorrow I'll talk to Dr. Boothe, the psychologist I mentioned. He has a special interest in religious neuroses and psychoses. He's developed some successful deprogramming procedures to rehabilitate people who've been brainwashed by some of these weird cults. He knows how these cult leaders think, so maybe he can help us find Grace Spivey's weak spot. I'm also going to try to talk to the woman herself, face to face."

"How're you going to arrange that?"

"Call the Church of the Twilight and ask for an appointment with her."

"You think she'll actually see you?"

He shrugged." The boldness of it might intrigue her."

"Can't we go to the cops now?"

"With what?"

"You've got proof Joey and I are being followed."

"Following someone isn't a crime."

"That Spivey woman called your office and threatened Joey."

"We haven't any proof it was Grace Spivey. And only Joey heard the threat."

"Maybe if we explain to the cops how this madwoman thinks Joey is the Antichrist-"

" That's only a theory."

"Well… maybe we could find someone who used to belong to the cult, someone who's left it, and then they could substantiate this Antichrist nonsense."

"People don't leave the Church of the Twilight," Charlie said.

"What do you mean?"

"When we were hired to pull those two little kids out of the cult, we first figured we'd dig up someone who'd been a follower of Grace Spivey's but wasn't any more, someone who'd become disillusioned and could tell us where the kids might be and how we might best be able to snatch them. But we couldn't find anybody who'd quit the church. Once they join up, they seem committed for life."

"There're always going to be a few disgruntled, disillusioned-"

"Not with the Church of the T."

"What kind of hold does that crazy old woman have on them? "

"Hard as iron and tight as a vise," Charlie said.

Lightning pulsed so brilliantly that it was visible through the tiny spaces between the slats of the Levolor blinds.

Thunder crashed, reverberating in the windows, and the rain came down harder than ever.

At 8:15, after giving some final instructions to Lockburn and Reuther, Charlie left.

He insisted that Christine lock the door behind him before he would even walk away from the front porch.

She pulled aside the curtain on the window next to the door and watched him hurry toward the green Chevy, splashing through dark puddles, buffeted by the wet wind, hurrying in and out of dense night shadows that appeared to flap and billow like black draperies.

Frank Reuther suggested she get away from the window, and she took his advice, though reluctantly. Somehow, as long as she could still see Charlie Harrison, she felt safe. But the moment she dropped the curtain and turned away from the window, a crushing awareness of Joey's vulnerability (and her own) settled over her.

She knew Pete and Frank were well trained, competent, and trustworthy, but neither of them gave her the feeling of security that she got from Charlie.

8:20.

She went to Joey's room. He and Pete were sitting on the floor, playing Old Maid.

"Hey, Mom, I'm winning," Joey said.

"He's a real card shark," Pete said." If this ever gets back to the guys in the office, I'll never live it down."

Chewbacca lay in the corner, watching his master, tongue lolling.

Christine could almost believe that Chewbacca was actually Brandy, that there had never been a decapitation, that Pete and Frank were just a couple of family friends, that this was merely an ordinary, quiet evening at home. Almost. But not quite.

She went into her study and sat at her desk, looking at the two covered windows, listening to the rain. It sounded like thousands of people chanting so far away that you couldn't make out their words but could hear only the soft, blended roar of many ardent voices.

She tried to work but couldn't concentrate. She took a book from the shelves, a light novel, but she couldn't even keep her attention focused on that.

For a moment she considered calling her mother. She needed a shoulder to cry on. But of course Evelyn wouldn't provide the comfort and commiseration she needed.

She wished her brother were still alive. She wished she could call him and ask him to come be with her. But Tony was gone forever. Her father was gone forever, too, and although she had barely known him, she missed him now in a way she never had before.

If only Charlie were here.

In spite of Frank and Pete and the unnamed man watching the house from the camper outside, she felt terribly alone.

She stared at the tracer phone on her desk. She wished the crazy old woman would call and threaten Joey. At I&ast they would have sufficient evidence to interest the police.

But the phone didn't ring.

The only sounds were those of the storm.

At 8:40, Frank Reuther came into the study, smiled at her, and said,

"Don't mind me. Just making the rounds."

He went to the first window, held the drape aside, checked the lock, peered into the darkness for a second, then let the drape fall back into place.

Like Pete Lockburn, Frank had taken off his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves. His shoulder holster hung under his left arm. The butt of his revolver caught the light for an instant and gleamed blackly.

For a moment Christine felt as if, through some inexplicable interchange of fantasy and reality, she was trapped in a '30s gangster movie.