The Servants of Twilight

She said, "I'll take the first shift. You go sleep, and I'll wake you at. say four-thirty." He sighed." No. I'm wide awake. You sleep."

"You'll wake me at four-thirty, so I can take over?"

"All right."

They took their dirty coffee cups to the sink, rinsed them then were somehow holding each other and kissing gently, softly.

His hands moved over her, lightly caressing, and he was stirred by the exquisite shape and texture of her. If Joey had not been in the same room, Charlie would have made love to her, and it would have been the best either of them had ever known. But all they could do was cling to each other in the kitchenette, until at last the frustration outweighed the pleasure. Then she kissed him three times, once deeply and twice lightly on the corners of his mouth, and she went to bed.

When all the lights were out, he sat at the table by the window and watched the parking lot.

He had no intention of waking Christine at four-thirty. Half an hour after she joined Joey in bed, when Charlie was sure she was asleep, he went silently to the other bed.

Waiting for sleep to overtake him, he thought again of what he'd told Christine about his childhood, and for the first time in more than twenty-five years, he said a prayer. As before, he prayed for the safety and deliverance of a little boy, though this time it was not the boy in Indianapolis, whom he had once been, but a boy in Santa Barbara who by chance had become the focus of a crazy old woman's hatred.

Don't let Grace Spivey do this, God. Don't let her kill an innocent child in Your name. There can be no greater blavphei?(V than that. If You really exist, if You realty care, then surely this is the time to do one of Your miracles. Send a flock, of ravens to pluck out the old woman's eyes. Send a migh(vflood to ash her away.

Something. At least a heart attack, a stroke, so" iething to stop her.

As he listened to himself pray, he realized why he had broken the silence between God and himself after all these years. It was because, for the first time in a long time, on the run from the old woman and her fanatics, he felt like a child, unable to cope, in need of help.

42

In Kyle Barlowe's dream he was being murdered, a faceless adversary was stabbing him repeatedly, and he knew he was dying.

yet it didn't hurt and he wasn't afraid. He didn't filit back, just surrendered, and in that acquiescence he discovered the most pro('ound sense of peace he had ever known. Although he was being killed, it was a pleasant dream, not a nightmare, and a p;irt of him somehow knew that not all of him was being killed.

just the bad part of him, just the old Kyle who had hated the world, and when that part of him was finally disposed of. he would be like everyone else, which is the only thing he had ever wanted in life. To be like everyone else.

The telephone woke him. He fumbled for it in the darkness.

"Hello?"

"Kyle'?" Mother Grace.

"It's me," he said, sleep instantly dispelled.

"Much has been happening," she said.

He looked at the illuminated dial of the clock. It was 4:06 in the morning.

He said, "What? What's been happening?"

"We've been burning out the infidels," she said cryptically.

"I wanted to be there if anything was going to happen."

"We've burned them out and salted the earth so they can't return," she said, her voice rising.

"You promised me. I wanted to be there."

"I haven't needed you-until now," Mother Grace said.

He threw off the covers, sat up on the edge of the bed, grinning at the darkness." What do you want me to do?"

"They've taken the boy away. They're trying to hide him from us until his powers increase, until he's untouchable."

"Where have they taken him?" Kyle asked.

"I don't know for sure. As far as Ventura. I know that much.

I'm waiting for more news or for a vision that'll clarify the situation.

Meanwhile, we're going north."

"Who?"

"You, me, Edna, six or eight of the others."

"After the boy?"

"Yes. You must pack some clothes and come to the church.

We're leaving within the hour."

"I'll be there right away," he said.

"God bless you," she said, and she hung up.

Barlowe was scared. He remembered the dream, remembered how good it had felt in that dream, and he thought he knew what it meant: He was losing his taste for violence, his thirst for blood. But that was no good because, now, for the first time in his life, he had an opportunity to use that talent for violence in a good cause. In fact his salvation depended upon it.

He must kill the boy. It was the right thing. He must not entirely lose the bitter hatred that had motivated him all his life.

The hour was late; Twilight drew near. And now Grace needed him to be the hammer of God.

43

Wednesday morning, rain was no longer falling, and the sky was only half obscured by clouds.

Charlie got up first, showered, and was making coffee by the time Christine and Joey woke.