John Saul - The Right Hand of Evil

When he opened the bedroom door, Scout raced for the stairs. The dog disappeared through the dining room, toward the kitchen, long before Jared reached the landing. He paused halfway down the stairs, listening for any sign of his father. Chances were he'd passed out hours ago, but you never knew.

Jared decided he didn't even want to think about it.

He hurried down the rest of the stairs, made his way through the dark dining room and into the kitchen, where Scout stood at the back door, scratching and whimpering to be let out. Jared peered through the window, searching for whatever Scout was upset about, but he couldn't see anything.

He was about to open the door and let the dog outside when he remembered what had happened to Muffin. According to Kim, the cat had just gone out the window and disappeared.

More likely, he thought, a raccoon got her, or a bobcat, or something.

Dumb cat.

Still, if there were something out there, and Scout went after it…

Sighing, Jared poked around in the service porch until he found an old piece of clothesline. Giving it a couple of yanks, he decided it would hold, and tied one end of it to Scout's collar. Then he let the big retriever out the back door, expecting the dog to move a few steps out into the overgrown yard and lift his leg. Instead, Scout raced off toward the carriage house, the rope burning across Jared's palm as the dog pulled it through his fingers. Throwing a couple of quick loops around his wrist, the boy reined the dog to a stop, but when Scout continued to pull, Jared started down the back steps into the yard.

Scout led him around to the back of the carriage house, then reared up, placing his forepaws on the building's siding.

And in the moonlight, Jared saw it.

Hanging with head down, its tongue lolling out of its mouth, was Muffin.

Or at least what was left of Muffin.

The cat's hide had been nailed neatly to the wall, the legs spread, even the tail tacked in a curve so it looked as if Muffin were trying to climb down the wall.

It was just out of Scout's reach, but the dog kept stretching, as if trying to touch the cat's head.

Jared stared at the hide for a long time, then reached out and tore it loose from the wall. He was about to throw it into one of the garbage cans when he changed his mind. What if Kim came out in the morning and found it? Better put it somewhere else. He cast about in his mind and remembered the packing boxes he'd stowed inside the carriage house. Leaving Scout whimpering next to the wall where the hide had been nailed, Jared disappeared into the building. A moment later he was back. "Okay, Scout," he said, his voice low but hard. "Who did it? Show me who did it, Scout. Find him!"

In response, the dog began sniffing around the area. Then, catching a scent, he headed for the scrubby woods that edged the eastern boundary of the property. Pulling in most of the clothesline, Jared followed Scout to the edge of the woods, where he stopped.

Maybe he should go back and try to find a flashlight, he thought. But who even knew which one of the cartons to look in? Besides, the moon was still high, and the night was clear.

And Scout could see anything, even in the dark.

"Okay, boy," he said softly, making up his mind. "Let's go."

Following close behind the dog, giving him no more than six feet of rope, Jared made his way along the path through the woods. The dog kept his nose to the ground, moving quickly, taking them farther and farther from the house. Then, just as Jared was about to pull Scout off the scent and start back toward him, the retriever froze, one foot off the ground, tail extended.

Jared crept forward and dropped to his knees next to the big dog. He peered through the darkness, and at first saw nothing. Then, barely visible in the gloom, he made out the silhouette of a cabin. "There?" he asked. "Is that where he came from?"

Scout trembled, whining eagerly. Then he tensed.

Feeling the dog's muscles harden, Jared, too, held perfectly still, listening.

Off to the left he heard something.

Not much. Just the softest rustling, as if something were moving in the bushes.

Something, or someone?

Jared's heart began pounding, and for a second he was certain that whatever-or whoever -was out there must surely hear it.

The rustling came again, and then something else.

The snap of a twig?

He heard it again.

Closer this time.

Much closer.

His fingers tightening on Scout's collar, he pulled the dog back. "Come on, Scout," he whispered. "We'd better-"

Before he could finish his sentence, or move away, the night was rent by a howling sound that exploded out of the cabin. A second later the howling dropped into the steady baying of hounds. The cabin door opened. An oil lamp was held high, casting a yellowish glow a few feet from the ramshackle structure. "Who's out there?" a rough voice yelled. "I'm warnin' you! You get away right now, or I'm turnin' these dogs loose!"

Under the cover of the hounds' baying, Jared scurried back down the path, pulling Scout with him.

Twenty minutes later, he crept back into the house and up to his room. Stripping off his clothes, he slipped back into bed. Though he'd been out only an hour, he felt as if he'd been up all night. But it didn't matter how he felt-he'd found out what he needed to know.

He'd found out, and he'd do something about it.

I'm leaving him. This time, I'm actually going to leave him.

It had been the last thought in Janet's mind last night, and it was still there as the alarm dragged her out of sleep that morning. She started to get out of bed, then stopped.

Something had changed.

She listened.

Nothing in the house sounded different. A mockingbird was singing in the yard outside, not quite drowning out a rooster crowing in the distance, and when she went to the window, she saw only a sunny morning, the soft blue of the sky broken by a few fluffy clouds. Her gaze dropped to the landscape around the house, and as she focused on the kudzu that had wrapped itself around every growing thing in the yard, a wave of claustrophobia broke over her. She felt as if she couldn't breathe, and her arms-no, her whole body-were wrapped in layers of cloth from which she couldn't free herself. Dear God, what was happening to her? She was suffocating; she could hardly move-

No! She wasn't suffocating. It was only the kudzu. And once the house and the yard were free of it-She cut off the thought, refusing even to finish it.

Out, she reminded herself. I'm getting out. She turned away from the window and surveyed the room. Most of her clothes were still packed in the boxes they'd brought from Shreveport. Most of the kids' things were still packed as well. Would all those cartons fit into the Toyota? And she'd have to repack some suitcases…

The Toyota! Where was it?

She whirled back to the window and gazed down at the empty space where Ted had parked the car when he'd finally come home yesterday.

Had he put it in the carriage house?

Of course not-he'd left it outside, and spent the rest of the evening drinking. By the time she'd finally told him she was leaving, he'd been barely able to stand up, let alone-

Abruptly, she understood.

If he took the car, she couldn't take it herself. Her moment of panic when she'd seen that the car was gone dissolved into anger. How drunk must he have been to think that taking the car would keep her here?

Far too drunk to drive.

A stab of fear jabbed through her anger, and she sagged back down onto the bed, her roiling emotions draining the energy out of her. Automatically, she reached for the phone by the bed. How many times had she done this? How many times had she called the police, called the hospitals, even called the morgue, looking for her husband?