Clinton donned his hat. "I've got a posse looking for them now."

"This is just terrible," Lillian spoke up. "Just terrible."

"Has anyone checked on the families?" Myrtle asked Clinton, one hand absentmindedly petting Boo's head.

"They're pretty distraught, as you can imagine," he answered.

"I'll stop by and see if there's anything we can do." Myrtle spoke with newfound energy, obviously needing to be doing something.

"I've got to speak with them now. I'll let them know to expect you." With that, Clinton made a quick exit.

Rory waited until the door had closed behind the sheriff. He turned to the others. "Do you really think something bad has happened to those boys?"

"Anything's possible," Myrtle said.

"Well, I'd best be going," Lillian said, interrupting the tension. "My break's over."

"Can you check on Joan again?" Myrtle asked her. "And tell her I'll be over after I've seen the families."

Lillian said she would. "Come on, Travis," she jerked his arm. "Don't you need to be getting back to your store?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. He looked at Anna. "If you need anything, let me know."

"Right," she said back, sarcasm in her tone, but Travis didn't seem to notice. He and Lillian quietly left, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the room.

"I'll give the sheriff some time, maybe go visit the families around lunch time," Myrtle broke the stillness. "Anna, would you like to go with me?"

"Yes, I would."

Before Rory could say or do anything, Myrtle was walking to the door, and she pulled at his arm as she went by him. "Come on, Rory. I think we should leave."

He nodded and followed her. But before he got out the door, Jimmy stopped him.

"You're a good man." Jimmy patted his hand.

Rory walked outside, only to be confronted by Myrtle. "Why did you come here?" she asked.

He tried not to look surprised by her bluntness. "I wanted to get away for a while." He started walking toward the dock. She fell in step beside him.

"That's not true," she said. "You come here and stuff starts happening."

They strode up on the dock and he stopped and looked at her. "I didn't have anything to do with those kids disappearing." He eyed her carefully.

Not to be cowered, she met his gaze. "I know," she finally said. "I think I'm a little uneasy with everything that's happened."

"So you tell me," he said, "what do you think is really going on? You know something, or when I first met you, you wouldn't have asked me if I was going to write about the town. Tell me what you know about the Nephilim."

She pursed her lips. "You've heard the town rumors?"

"Anna told me about them, how they're a hybrid race born of the sons of G.o.d and daughters of man."

"What happened to Ed, Samuel, and those kids doesn't have anything to do with the rumors."

"Tell me anyway," he persisted.

"The 'sons of G.o.d' supposedly refer to fallen angels who roamed the earth during Noah's time. This new race was giants. Some scholars even think that Goliath, who was described as a giant himself, might have been a descendent of this hybrid race. Anyway, the Nephilim were trying to infiltrate the pure human bloodline with their evil blood. G.o.d was worried that they would taint the Messianic bloodline, so he used the Great Flood to wipe out this contaminated race."

"If they were wiped out in the Flood, why would there be any rumors of them coming to Taylor Crossing?"

"The Bible says they were around after the flood. And there's mention of them in Numbers and Job. What's more, Enoch, an apocryphal book, deals specifically with the history of the fallen angels, their interactions with humans, and their mystical, magical powers."

"But what would they want here?"

"Beats me," she said. "Maybe Old Man Brewster knows. If you can believe anything the old fool says."

"You seem to know a lot about them," he said.

"My husband was always curious about them, especially when I was so adamant about not wanting to stay at the Barton cabin. If you want to know more about the Nephilim, I think there's an old copy of the Apocrypha somewhere in the cabin. You could look up Enoch. Barton had it for some reason. Goodness knows how he had it, but I just left it there."

Apprehension washed over him. He waved a hand to the West. "What does the cabin have to do with the Nephilim?"

"I don't know. I just know I don't like it out there."

"What did Barton know about the Nephilim?"

"Now you're asking me to communicate with the dead."

"You know what I mean," he said. "Did Barton ever mention the Nephilim to anyone?"

"Not that I ever heard."

"So we could be dealing with some kind of evil race of fallen angels?"

She threw him a halfhearted smile. "See how farfetched it sounds?"

He nodded. It did sound otherworldly, but then, so did seeing and hearing a black mist.

"I don't know what's going on, but that doesn't mean it's spirits from the past." She sighed. "But whatever is going on, we'd better be careful."

CHAPTER 28.

Brewster stood up on the hillside at the edge of town and watched as Clinton Truitt stormed out of the general store and walked across the dirt road to his cruiser. The big man took off his hat and tossed it on the pa.s.senger seat, then slid into the car and drove off to the west.

"Going to see the parents," Brewster muttered to n.o.body. He leaned against a gnarled aspen tree and chewed on his lower lip until the sheriff's car disappeared, spewing a cloud of dust behind it.

A breeze stirred the leaves, and they chattered their annoyance at being disturbed. Brewster looked up at the swaying branches, sniffing the air.

He knew the smell, with its portent of doom. It seeped into his system, unwanted but eerily familiar. It was just like he'd imagined how his granddaddy would've described it. As a matter of fact, he knew it was exactly like what his granddaddy smelled, even though no one had ever told him about this particular odor. Like his granddaddy, he knew.

He rubbed his hands together, trying to get the aching to stop. It wasn't arthritis, but his bones hurt just the same. It was that feeling, going right to his core. He couldn't stop it, just like his granddaddy couldn't. No use in denying it. His daddy was right he was just like his granddaddy. He could feel it in his bones.

A patrol car drove down Main Street. To help search for the missing kids, Brewster surmised. He hadn't been able to find them, even though he'd looked as well. He figured they had been taken, and he wondered what roles those poor young things could possibly serve for the Nephilim. He shook his head in disgust.

The sun was a blistering ball high overhead, but it had been cool this morning. Fall would breeze through the valley soon, breathing its chill air and changing the leaves. Brewster felt a depression settle over him. The time had come and he would have to do something. His stomach tightened. How could he face this by himself? He was just an old man, not crazy like everyone thought, but he wasn't young anymore, either. He swallowed hard. This was going to take everything he had.

As he watched, Rory and Myrtle stepped out of the general store and headed back to the dock, talking. He could see by the journalist's stooped posture and slow gate that he was bothered, most likely by the news of the missing boys. But he saw more there, a halo that was Rory's aura.

He spied on the pair as they walked down the dock. Rory was explaining something to Myrtle, gesturing at the boats. Then he pointed out toward the west. Myrtle raised a hand, as if she could use her tiny body to hold Rory back. Brewster wondered what they were talking about. The kids, for sure, wondering what had happened to them. They have no idea, he thought, shaking his head sadly. The sun reflected off the water like a shattered mirror, shimmering around them. He squinted, keen to the man on the dock.

"Rory has it," he muttered. "By the Good Book, he does." He used a familiar phrase of his father's.

Brewster needed to talk to the journalist. That man knew something of the evil that had come to the Crossing, more than he was letting on, Brewster was sure. Rory could help if he knew what they were dealing with. But would he listen? Or would he have the same skepticism as he did in the articles he wrote? That would be a problem, Brewster thought.

He blinked once, clearing his vision. He saw something else there, in that aura. Darkness. Brewster squinted thoughtfully. "He has a role," he said to himself. "The spirits will try for him, but he can fight it." He would have to make Rory understand. He'd have to.

Brewster turned his back on Taylor Crossing, rubbing his hands and muttering to himself. Ed Miller was the first to go missing he was the gatherer. And he was working. Brewster had to figure out how to stop Ed before it was too late. If they gained their enlightenment, it would unleash evil like no one had ever seen.

He wished he wasn't like his granddaddy. Then he wouldn't have to do anything. He could be the crazy old fool they wanted him to be. That's what they thought of his granddaddy. But they were wrong. His granddaddy wasn't crazy. He knew things.

Like the role players. It was coming back, all too slowly, but he was remembering. The voice of his father seemed to echo around him.

They need one who has the words for the ceremony.

What words?

The rites, boy, like the preacher in church. He has the message about the way to do things. And then they have one who delivers the message.

He didn't know what his daddy meant by 'the rites' or 'the message', but he wasn't going to ask. His daddy didn't like it when he questioned him, so he kept silent, and listened to his daddy ramble on.

Your granddaddy saw them disappearing from around town, taking the ones they want, discarding others that they don't. They stop at nothing to gain their enlightenment.

He shook his head at the memory. All that time, listening. And now it was finally making sense. He trudged up the hillside, his journey begun. He knew he couldn't escape, as much as he wished he could. He wanted to run, to leave the Crossing and never come back.

"Can't do that," he sighed.

He sniffed the air once again and changed his direction.

"d.a.m.n them," he said. A rustling caused him to stop short. He fell to a crouch, listening. The air smelled of something rotten.

He moved forward slowly. The rustling continued. He swallowed hard. They were out there, watching him.

CHAPTER 29.

Anna peered out the front window of the store, watching Rory and Myrtle as they went across the dirt road and onto the dock. As much as she wanted to believe that Rory hadn't done anything, a sliver of doubt lodged in her mind. After all, she really didn't know him at all.

"He didn't do it, and you know it." Jimmy said, as if reading her thoughts. He heaved himself to his feet and peered hard at her. "That man is innocent, and you know it."

She gaped at her father, speechless. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

He wagged his head. "Because I know you. You want a reason not to like him. And if you want to find reasons, I won't stop you. But don't you judge him unfairly." He opened the door and shuffled outside. "You be fair to him."

A surge of anger flowed through her. She stepped around the counter and hurried after him. She slammed the door open, startling him. "Be fair to him?" she nearly yelled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jimmy lowered himself into his chair. "You were upset when you came back last night. What happened?"

"Nothing." Anna was the petulant child again.

"Is he really that bad?"

"No, of course not. It's just that..." her voice trailed off.

"What? He's not Paul. Is that what it is?"

Anna a.s.sembled her thoughts. "No, he's not Paul. And I don't expect him to be." Jimmy raised his eyebrows at her. "Okay, maybe I sometimes do," she said. She breathed in and exhaled it to calm herself. "We got into a debate on spirituality, and things got heavy really quick. I was just sharing what I felt about G.o.d."

"That's the way we raised you," he agreed.

"But Rory doesn't believe in G.o.d anymore, and I don't know if I could handle that, not mutually sharing that."

"Oh." He stretched the word out, accenting it with a knowing nod.

Anna acknowledged his nod with one of her own. "I really like him."

"I can tell. And there lies the struggle. But here's something to think about. Maybe you're supposed to share what you believe with Rory. Maybe it's just what he needs to hear at this time in his life, and you're just the person to do it."

"Oh, great. Like I don't have enough to think about." She turned away in frustration, looking west down Main Street. "Hey," she said suddenly.

"What?" Jimmy murmured, leaning around her.

"That's one of the boys coming out of the forest." Anna stepped down off the porch, shielding her eyes against the sun. "That's Nicholas D'Angelo." She ran down the road, sure she was seeing the missing boy.

As Anna neared Nicholas, she noticed his rumpled appearance. A twig and some leaves stuck to his clothes and hair, and his eyes were rimmed with red. He looked exhausted, dazed, and fearful. He shivered intermittently.