Running with the Demon - Terry Brooks [180]
“Oh, she doesn’t want to do that!” the demon sneered, and threw something dark and glittering at the ravaged oak.
Instantly the tree exploded in a shower of bark and wood splinters, and the green light trapped within burst forth.
Old Bob crossed to the fireworks from his home as the crow flies, not bothering with the service road or any of the pathways, the beam of his flashlight scanning the darkness before him as he went. The weariness he had felt earlier fell away in the face of his fear, and a rush of adrenaline surged through him, infusing him with new strength. The sounds of laughter and conversation and the momentary flare of sparklers guided him through the broad expanse of the grassy flats, and in moments he had reached the rear edge of the crowd.
He began to ask at once if anyone had seen Mel Riorden. He knew most of the people gathered, and once he got close enough to make out their faces, he simply offered a perfunctory greeting and inquired about Mel. He was a big man with a no-nonsense way about him, a man who had just suffered a terrible loss, and those he spoke with were quick to reply. He moved swiftly in response, easing forward through the crowd toward the cordoned perimeter west of the slide. He was sweating freely, his underarms and back damp, his face flushed from his efforts. He did not have a definite plan. He was not even certain that he needed one. He might be mistaken about Deny Howe. He might be overreacting. If he was, fine. He would feel foolish, but relieved. He could live with that. He would find Derry, talk to him, possibly confront him with his suspicions, and deal with his feelings later.
He wove his way through knots of people sprawled on blankets and seated in lawn chairs, through darting children and ambling teens. The viewing area was packed. Some looked at him with recognition, and a few spoke. Some he stopped to talk with took time to offer condolences on his loss, but most simply answered his questions about Mel and let him go his way. His eyes flicked left and right as he proceeded, searching the darkness. He could no longer see the riverbank clearly, and the trees had faded into a black wall. The fireworks would begin any moment.
Finally, he found Mel and Carol seated together on a blanket at the very edge of the crowd with a handful of family and friends. Mel’s sister was among them, but not her son. Old Bob said hello to everyone, then drew Mel aside where they could talk privately.
“Did Deny come to the fireworks with you?” he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice calm, to keep his fear hidden.
“Sure, you just missed him,” his friend answered. “Been here with us all evening. Something wrong?”
“No, no, I just wanted to talk with him a moment. Where is he?”
“He took some drinks down to the guys shooting off the fireworks. Guess he knows one of them.” Mel glanced over his shoulder. “I told him I didn’t know if they’d let him go down there, but he seemed to think they would.”
Old Bob nodded patiently. “He took them some drinks?”
“Yeah, beer and pop, like that. He had this cooler he brought with him. Hey, what’s this about, Robert?”
Old Bob felt the calm drain away in a sudden rush, and the fears that had been teasing and whispering at him from the shadows suddenly emerged like predators. “Nothing,” he said. He looked toward the river and the movement of flashlights. “He’s still down there?”
“Yeah, he just left.” Mel cocked his head and his eyes blinked rapidly. “What’s the matter?”
Old Bob shook his head and began to move away. “I’ll tell you when I get back.”
He moved more quickly now, following the line that cordoned off the staging area as it looped down toward the river’s edge. He passed several of the Jaycees responsible for patrolling it, younger men he did not know well or at all, and he asked each of them in turn if he had seen Deny