Jesus.
Boothe stepped to the desk and put his hand on some of the tightly banded hundred-dollar bills that filled the open suitcase. He looked hard at Dan. ‘Well?’
Instead of answering him, Dan said to Uhlander, ‘When she enters this psychic state, uses these powers, is there a change in the air around her that people would notice?’
A new intensity entered Uhlander’s bird-bright eyes. ‘What sort of change?’
‘A sudden, inexplicable chill.’
‘Could be,’ Uhlander said. ‘Perhaps an indication of a rapid accumulation of occult energies. Such a phenomenon is associated with the poltergeist, for instance. You’ve been present when this has happened?’
‘Yes I think it happens each time she leaves her body — or returns to it,’ Dan said.
* * *
Suddenly the air in the theater turned cold.
Laura had just looked away from Melanie, no more than two or three seconds ago, and the girl’s eyes had been open wide. Now they were closed, and already It was coming. It must have been waiting, watching, ready to take advantage of the girl’s first moment of vulnerability.
Laura grabbed Melanie and shook her, but her eyes did not open. ‘Melanie? Melanie, wake up!’
The air grew colder.
‘Melanie!’
Colder.
In the grip of panic, Laura pinched her daughter’s face. ‘Wake up, wake up!’
Two rows back in the theater, someone said, ‘Hey … quiet over there.’
Colder.
* * *
Boothe’s hand was on the money, caressing it. ‘You know where she is. You’ve got to kill her. It’s the right thing to do.’
Dan shook his head. ‘She’s only a child.’
‘She’s killed eight men already,’ Boothe said.
‘Men?’ Dan laughed humorlessly. ‘Could men have done to her what you people did? Tortured her with electric shock? Where did you put the electrodes? On her neck? On her arms? On her little backside? On her genitals? Yes, I’ll bet you did. On the genitals. Maximum effect. That’s what torturers always go for. Maximum effect. Men? Eight men, you say? There’s a certain level of amorality, a bottom line of ruthlessness below which you can’t call yourself a man anymore.’
‘Eight men.’ Boothe refused to acknowledge what Dan had said. ‘The girl’s a monster, a psychopathic monster.’
‘She’s deeply disturbed. She can’t be held accountable for her actions.’ Dan had never imagined that he could enjoy seeing another human being squirm as much as he was enjoying the growing horror and desperation on these bastards’ faces as they realized that their last hope of survival had been a false hope.
‘You’re an officer of the law,’ Boothe said angrily. ‘You have a duty to prevent violence wherever you can.’
‘Shooting a nine-year-old girl is the commission of violence, not the prevention.’
‘But if you don’t kill her, she’ll kill us,’ Boothe said. ‘Two deaths instead of one. Kill her, and the net effect is that you save one life.’
‘A net balance of one life to my credit, huh? Gee, what an interesting way to think of it. You know, Mr. Boothe, when you get down there in Hell, I’ll bet the devil makes you an accountant of souls.’
A sudden all-consuming fury pulled the white-haired publisher’s face into a grotesque mask of hatred and impotent rage. He threw his whiskey glass at Dan’s head.
Dan ducked, and the fine crystal struck the floor far behind him, shattering on impact.
‘You stupid fucking son of a bitch,’ Boothe said.
‘My, my. Mustn’t ever let your friends at the Rotary Club hear you talking like that. Why, they’d be shocked.’
Boothe turned away from him, stood facing the darkness where the books waited silently on their shelves. He was shaking with rage, but he did not speak.
Dan had learned everything he needed to know. He was ready to leave.
* * *
Laura couldn’t wake Melanie. She was causing an ever greater disturbance in the theater, angering other patrons, but she couldn’t make the child respond with even a murmur or a flutter of her eyes.
Earl had stood up and put his hand on the gun inside his coat.
Laura looked around wildly, waiting for the first sign of the apparition, the explosion of occult force.