Terry Brooks - Running With The Demon

"Danny, I'm Robert Freemark, Nest's grandfather." He saw frightened recognition flood the boy's eyes. "Now, I don't want to waste any time on this, so I would appreciate a quick answer. Where is my granddaughter?"

Danny Abbott tried to back away, but Old Bob kept a tight hold on him, taking a quick measure of his friends to see if any of them meant trouble. No one looked anxious to get involved. The girls were already moving away. The boys looked eager to follow. "You gentlemen stick around a minute, please," he ordered, freezing them in their tracks.

"Mr. Freemark, I don't know what …" Danny Abbott began.

Old Bob moved his hand to the back of Danny's neck and squeezed hard enough to make the boy wince. "That's a bad beginning, son," he said quietly. "I know your father, Ed. Know your mother, too. They're good people. They wouldn't appreciate finding out that their son is a liar. Not to mention a few other things. So let's get this over with before I lose my temper. Where is Nest?"

"It was just a joke," one of the other boys mumbled, hands digging in his jeans pockets, eyes shifting away.

"Shut up, Pete!" Danny Abbott hissed furiously, the words out of his mouth before he could think better of them. Then he saw the look on Old Bob's face and went pale.

"One more chance, Danny," Old Bob told him softly. "Give me a straight answer and we'll put this behind us. No calls to your parents, nothing more between you and me. Otherwise, the next stop for both of us is the police station. And I will press charges. Are we clear on this?"

Danny Abbott nodded quickly, and his eyes dropped. "She's in the caves, taped up inside a gunnysack." His voice was sullen and afraid. "Pete's right, it was just a joke."

Old Bob studied him a moment, weighing the depth of the truth in the boy's words, then let him go. "If she's come to any harm," he said to all of them, looking deliberately from one face to the next, "you'll answer for it."

He walked back to where Nest's friends waited in a tight knot at the edge of the parking lot, their eyes bright with excitement. He surveyed the crowd, looking to see if there was anyone he could call upon to help. But none of the faces i were familiar enough that he felt comfortable involving the few he recognized. He would have to do this alone.

He came up to Nest's friends and gave them a reassuring smile. "You young people go on home now," he told them. "I believe I know what's happened, and it's nothing serious. Nest is all right. You go on. I'll have her call you when she gets home."

He moved away from them without waiting for an answer, not wanting to waste any more time. He followed the edge of the paved road toward the west end of the park and the caves. He went swiftly and deliberately, and he did not look over his shoulder until he was well away from the crowd and deep into the darkness of the trees. No one followed him. He carried the flashlight loosely in his right hand, ready to use it for any purpose it required. He didn't think he would be attacked, but he wasn't discounting the possibility. He glanced around once more, saw nothing, no one, and turned his attention to the darkness ahead.

He followed the roadway to where it looped back on itself under the bridge and turned down. The streetlamps provided sufficient light that he was able to find his way without difficulty, keeping in the open where he could see any movement about him. He was sweating now from his exertion, the j armpits and collar of his shirt damp, his forehead beaded. The park was silent about him, the big trees still, their limbs and leaves hanging limp and motionless in the heavy air, then" shadows webbing the ground in strange, intricate patterns. A car's headlights flared momentarily behind him, then swung away, following the road leading out of the park. He passed beneath the shadow of the bridge and emerged in muted starlight.

"Hang on, Nest," he whispered quietly.

He moved quickly down the road toward the black mouth of the caves. The river was a silver–tipped satin sheet on his left and the cliffs towered blackly above him on his right. His shoes crunched softly on gravel. In his mind, he saw again the

look in Evelyn's eyes, and a cold feeling reached down into his stomach. What did she know that she was hiding from him? He thought suddenly of Caitlin, falling from these same • cliffs more than a dozen years earlier to land on the rocks below, broken and lifeless. The image brought a bloodred heat to his eyes and the back of his throat. He could not stand it if he were to lose Nest, too. It would be the end of him–the end of Evelyn as well. It would be the end of everything.

He reached the entrance to the caves and flicked on the flashlight. The four–cell beam cut a bright swath through the darkness, reaching deep into the confines of the rock. He worked his way carefully forward, pausing to listen, hearing something almost immediately-a muffled sound, a movement. He scrambled ahead, plunging inside the caves now, swinging the flashlight's beam left and right with frantic movements, searching the jagged terrain.

Then abruptly the light found her. He knew at once it was Nest, even though she was trussed up inside a gunnysack with only her ankles and feet showing. He scrambled forward, calling out to her, stumbling several times on the loose rock before he reached her.

"Nest, it's me, Grandpa," he said, breathing heavily, thinking, Thank God, thank God! He reached into his pants and brought out his pocketknife to cut away the tape and burlap from her ankles. When that was done and the sack was removed, he cut the tape from her hands as well. Then, as gently as he could, he pulled the last strip off her mouth.

Her arms came around him at once. "Grandpa, Grandpa," she sobbed, shaking all over, tears running down her cheeks.

"It's all right, Nest," he whispered softly, stroking her hair the way he had when she was a little girl. "It's all right, kiddo. You're all right."

Then he picked her up, cradling her in his big arms as he would a baby, and carried her back out into the night.

Jared Scott raced across the front lawn of his apartment building, dark hair flying, T-shirt laced with sweat. He caught a glimpse of the television screen through the curtained windows of his living room and knew his mother and George were inside. He picked up his pace, anxious to tell them what had happened, all about Nest and Danny Abbott and Mr. Freemark. He burst through the screen door already yelling.

"Mom, some guys kidnapped Nest and took her down to the caves, and we told Mr. Freemark to come help us …"

He drew up short at the living–room entrance, the words freezing in his throat. His mother lay on the couch with George Paulsen next to her. Most of their clothes were on the floor. There were beer cans everywhere.

His mother tried to cover herself with her arms, smiling weakly, ashen–faced as he stared at her.

"Jared, sweetie.."

Jared backed away, averting his eyes. "Sorry, Mom, I just…"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you little bastard!" George roared, scrambling up from the couch, lurching toward him in fury.

"George, he didn't mean anything!" His mother was trying to slip back into her blouse, her movements cumbersome and slow.

Jared tried to run, but he caught his foot on the carpet and slipped. George was on top of him instantly, hauling him back to his feet by his shirtfront, yelling at him, screaming at him. Jared tried to say he was sorry, tried to say something in his defense, but George was shaking him so hard he couldn't get the words out His mother was yelling, too, her face flushed and her eyes bright as she stumbled across the littered floor.

Then George struck him across the face with his hand, and without thinking twice, Jared struck him back. He caught George flush on the nose, and blood spurted out. George released him and stumbled back in surprise, both hands going to his face. In that instant, something raw surged through Jared Scott. He remembered the way Old Bob Freemark had walked up to Danny Abbott and his friends and confronted them. He remembered the set of the old man's shoulders and the determination in his eyes.