John Saul - Nathaniel

Michael gazed out into the night, but the light seemed to have faded slightly, and he couldn't see exactly what was happening.

"Take me out there," Nathaniel's voice echoed in Michael's head. "Take me out there, so we can kill him."

"K-kill him? Why?"

"Because he kills. It is for us to punish him, Michael. He hates us, and he fears us, and he will kill us. If he finds us, and if we are alone."

"But-"

The oddly disembodied voice seemed not to notice Michael's interruption. "He does not know about you yet, but if he finds out about you, you will die. Unless you stay with me. Stay with me, Michael."

Michael turned and for the first time saw Nathaniel's face, lit softly by the moonlight filtering through the weathered siding of the barn.

It seemed to be his own face-the same dark blue eyes and wavy brown hair, the same angular cheeks and strong jaw. But the blue eyes were without light, and Nathaniel's skin was pale, almost translucent, like his father's had been at the funeral, and his face was as expressionless as the voice Michael had been hearing in his head. "How long have you been here?" Michael asked. "A long time," Nathaniel told him, his voice resonating softly through the large, empty barn. "As long as I can remember. Will you take me outside?"

"Why can't you go out by yourself?" Michael asked with no note of challenge in his words.

Nathaniel stared at him for a long time, his dark blue eyes cold and empty. "I cannot do that," he whispered. "I can never go out by myself. Only with you, or with the others if I find them. Not by myself. It would not be safe."

"Why not?" Though the words formed in his mind,

Michael didn't utter them. Nevertheless, Nathaniel answered.

"Only together will we be safe, Michael. Alone we have no power. Alone, they can destroy us. If they find out about me, I will die, and you will die. Unless we are together. Remember that, Michael."

Michael frowned in the darkness of the barn, trying to fathom the meaning of the words, the odd, almost chantlike cadence of the flat-toned speech. Then, as he turned away and peered once more through the crack of the siding, Nathaniel spoke again.

"Never speak of what you saw tonight. If they ask you, tell them what they want to hear. But do not speak the truth. If you tell them the truth, if you tell them of me, you will die."

The moonlight seemed to be fading faster now, and in the distance Michael could barely make out the glimmering light of the lanterns. He strained his eyes against the darkness, and became aware once more that his head was aching. "I-I can't see," he said, turning questioningly to Nathaniel.

But Nathaniel was gone.

By the time Michael left the barn, the moon had disappeared below the horizon, and the night had taken on a blackness that made the last of the lanterns gleam with an almost unnatural brilliance. Michael carefully replaced the bar on the barn door, then with Shadow beside him, moved slowly through the darkness, his hands extended, feeling for the barbed wire fence.

He found it. Holding the strands apart as far as he could, he put his left leg through the fence, then bent down to duck under the top wire.

A barb snagged the flannel of his shirt, and Michael reflexively tried to jerk free. The barb worked further into the material. He reached back with his right hand, feeling for the wire. A barb pierced his skin, sinking into the ball of his thumb. Suppressing a cry, he yanked his hand back. Shadow whined sympathetically and tried to lick the injured hand, but Michael brushed him aside and inserted the thumb in his mouth, sucking hard on the wound. As the salty taste of blood filled his mouth, his eyes instinctively went to the single lantern that still glowed in the field. As he watched, it went out. With the disappearance of the light, Shadow's whine turned into a warning growl.

A moment later, Michael heard a car door slam and an engine grind, cough once, then catch, quickly settling into a reluctant hum.

Ignoring the barbs, Michael forced his torso through the fence, pulling his right leg behind him. The sound of the car was louder now, and even though no lights were showing, he knew the car was coming toward him. He twisted frantically against the fence, but several of the barbs were now firmly embedded in the shredding flannel of his shirt, and he was held fast.

And then, as the engine's drone drew ever nearer, he gave a last lunge against the restraining fence, and his shirt tore free. He dashed across the open space between the fence and his mother's house and dove behind a patch of bushes. A second later, the car-unrecognizable in the darkness-cruised slowly by the house, then down the driveway to the road. Only when it was on the highway did its lights go on.

Michael waited until the car was well out of sight before he emerged from the bushes, breathing hard, his torn shirt damp with sweat. Shadow skittered nervously at his feet. He located his bike, but instead of mounting it, he wheeled it along the driveway, then across the road. He paused there for several more minutes, thinking hard. What was he going to tell his mother? How could he explain his torn shirt?

And then Nathaniel's words came back to him.

"Never tell them the truth."

"If you tell them the truth, you will die."

"Tell them what they want to hear."

Even as fear began to grip him, an idea began to take shape in his mind.

"Laura lost her baby?" Janet asked, the words echoing oddly in the Halls' kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

"She miscarried," Amos Hall replied. He peeled off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the back door, then poured himself a cup of coffee from the ever-present pot on the stove. When he finally sat down in his usual position at the kitchen table, Janet stared at him dazedly. Though his expression was impassive, she could see the pain in his eyes. Then, as if sensing the thought that had immediately formed in her mind, he said, "It didn't have, anything to do with her overworking this weekend. The- the fetus was malformed, and Dr. Potter said the baby would have been born dead even if Laura'd carried it to term."

Janet released the breath she'd been unconsciously holding, and sank back in her chair. "But why didn't you tell me what was happening?" she asked. "Why that story about the grange? I'd have gone with you. Anna and I both would have." Her eyes shifted to her mother-in-law for confirmation, but Anna only sat motionless in her chair, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes blank. Janet turned helplessly back to Amos.

"We thought it would be better this way," he said. "We were afraid something like this might happen, and we decided it would be better if you weren't there." His eyes moved toward Janet's torso, and Janet's fingers moved instinctively to touch her abdomen.

"I-I don't understand…"

"This isn't the first child Laura's lost," Amos told her. "She-well, she doesn't have children easily."

"But I should have been there," Janet insisted. "After all she's done for me, the least I could have done was be there."

"No," Anna said, sighing deeply. Janet turned to look at her. A sad, apologetic smile reflected the look in Anna's eyes. "Laura wouldn't have wanted you there," she said. "She wouldn't have wanted either of us there. For me-you know why it would have been painful for me. And for you… well, you and Laura are about the same age, and she wouldn't want to frighten you. She wouldn't want you to go through the next few months worrying that what happened to her might happen to you."

"Me?" Janet asked, her bewilderment increasing. "Did she tell you that?"

Anna reached out and took Janet's hand. "She didn't need to. You've been through so much already, dear. And it's not just Laura, you know. We all worry about you. Tonight, Amos decided the best thing to do was wait until it was all over, and hope we'd be able to tell you you had a new niece or nephew." The half smile left her face, and her eyes hardened as they flashed briefly toward her husband. "Things don't always work out the way we want them to," she said.