Karen backed into the bathroom a step, frightened. George's sickly pale face was turning a rosy red and his cheeks seemed to swell as he kept laughing… laughing and laughing… until he leaned forward and put his face in his hands and was silent. His shoulders jerked slightly, but the loud belly laughs were gone. His fingers curled, their tips pressing into his face.
Frowning, Karen wiped her teary eyes with a knuckle and stepped toward him. She pressed a fist into her abdomen where she was feeling a heavy churning sickness – a combination of dread and guilt and pity – and reached her other hand out, slowly placing it on his shoulder.
"Don't," George mumbled into his palms, then straightened and lowered his hands. His face was deep red and puffy and the laughter was gone. "Don't… duh-don't -" His fist moved like a striking snake, slicing the air between them and hitting the wall with a thunderous whump, rattling a collage frame on the wall and sending it crashing to the floor. " – touch me!"
George moved toward her suddenly, his bottom lip curling down past his lower gum and his shoulders hunched like a melodrama villain. Karen fell backwards into the bathroom with a sharp cry and slammed the door, fumbling with the lock until it clicked.
George pounded on the door with both fists and screamed, "You open this fucking door and open it right now, you hear me? Do you hear me, you fucking dyke?"
He stopped for just a moment to listen for a response, then began to slam himself against the door as -
Robby rushed back into the house.
He'd been standing on the porch, enjoying the cold and the quiet, staring at the three angels' names. Then he'd heard his dad shouting, followed by the pounding, and he'd hurried inside.
The noise had stopped by the time Robby reached the hall, which was empty. From the other end, he heard his dad's voice:
"Kitty-kitty… heeere kitty-kitty-kitty… c'mon, puss-puss-puss, kitty-kitty."
From the bathroom: "George don't you dare hurt that cat!"
"Come out and stop me." He came out of the master bedroom and went into the guest room. "Heeere kitty-kitty-kitty… "
“Mom?" Robby said quietly outside the bathroom.
"Robby? Robby, please, do me a favor. Take your sister and… and just go out for a while, okay? Will you do that for me?"
"No, Mom."
"Puss-puss-puss? Kitty-kitty-kitty?”
"Go to a movie, okay? There's money in the ceramic elephant in the kitchen. You can take the car."
“No, mom, I'm not leaving while he's like this."
"Oh, h-he-he's just up-upset." Her voice sounded thick with tears. "He'll be fine after while."
"C'mon, Monroe… where are ya, fella… kitty-kitty-kitty… "
"He's not just upset and he won't be fine." Robby hissed. "Nobody's gonna be fine. Mom, this is happening to everyone on Deerfield, I think. I think this is probably what happened to the Garry's."
“Robby," she gasped at him for suggesting such a thing. "Your father is just a little -"
"It's her, Mother, and you know it."
"I… Robby, you're… I don't know what you're talking about."
"Come out and talk to me. Please."
"No."
"Because you're afraid of him. See? It's her, Mother, she's sucking the life out of all of us, sucking out everything that's good and -"
A piercing snarl sounded from the guest room.
"Gotcha!" George shouted with a laugh.
"Leave him alone!" Karen shouted from the bathroom.
George stepped out of the guest room carrying Monroe by the nape of the neck. The tip of his tongue poked from the corner of his broad grin.
“Dad?" Robby said.
He pushed Robby aside as he walked by briskly.
"Damn you, George!" The lock rattled, the door opened and she stepped into the hall. "Leave that cat alone!"
His laugh faded as he rounded the corner toward the kitchen.
She followed him.
Jen's door opened and she peeked out cautiously. "What's -"
"Just stay in there for a while, okay?" Robby said, then followed his parents. He was halfway to the kitchen when he heard the Cuisinart come on.
Karen screamed.
Robby stumbled to a halt in the kitchen as George backhanded Karen in the face, slamming her against the refrigerator. She slid to the floor as George removed the plastic top of the Cuisinart and held the squirming cat over the opening.
"Dad, stop it!" Robby shouted as he dove forward, wrapped his arms around George's waist and tried to pull him away from the counter.
George swung his elbow back hard and caught Robby's chin. Robby hit the floor hard and slid backward over the tile. His teeth had closed on the inside of his lip and he could already taste blood.
George pushed the cat's behind into the transparent plastic casing. Monroe was too fat, though, and stopped within an inch of the spinning blades.
Karen screamed incoherently, reaching out to George imploringly.
"You don't need it anymore!" George roared. "You've found another pussy!"
Robby got to his feet as Jen came in still wearing her crop-top and panties. She screamed shrilly, relentlessly.
Robby went for his dad's shoulders, screaming in his ear, "Dad, will you stop and look at what you're doing, think about what you're -"
George shook Robby off, turned and backhanded him with a fist. His knuckles hit Robby just below his left eye and returned him to the kitchen floor.
Turning his back on the others, George used both hands to push on the cat. The animal fought and clawed and spat and released a long, piercing yowl.
Karen and Jen continued to scream.
None of them heard the front door open, but they all heard the booming voice.
"George Pritchard!"
The screaming stopped.
All four heads turned to see Pastor Quillerman standing in the kitchen doorway.
None of them moved.
Pastor Quillerman crossed the kitchen and jerked the Cuisinart’s plug out of the wall, glaring at George.
"I think," he said, his voice a low rumble, "that we should talk."
Chapter 18
Into Temptation
For a while that morning, bars of sunlight had managed to pierce the blanket of clouds overhead. It had even looked, briefly, like the clouds were going to break up and give way to blue sky. But it wasn't long before the sunlight was swallowed up and the sky was once again a low ceiling of grimy steel.
The street was thick with reporters from all the local television stations and some from Sacramento and San Francisco, even a couple of networks – CNN and MSNBC.
Although it was the reason they had all come to the neighborhood, there was very little activity at the Garry house. A police officer had arrived earlier that morning with a man and woman – presumably relatives, because they looked grief-stricken, but they wouldn't speak to any of the reporters – and had taken them through the house. Then they'd gone, leaving the house dark and empty once again.
But the Pritchard house had captured their interest. They all knew it was the home of Robby Pritchard, who had discovered the carnage down the street, and who had been the killer's best friend. But there was more.
There was all the angry shouting that had been taking place there, and that gaping hole in the side of the Pritchard house that had seemed to be as much a mystery to Mr. Pritchard that morning as it was to all of them. And those three strange words written in the circle on the front door. What language was that? Or were they names, perhaps? And what significance did they have on the front door? Who was that man who'd limped into the house without knocking earlier? And what about all the screaming they'd heard in there just a little while ago? Was there some connection between the Garry killings and the Pritchard family? Were the killings cult-related, perhaps? Were the boys involved in devil worship?