House Of Blood Part 40

She had survived.

She had Chad.

And a new sense of purpose-to do good, to make the world a better place.

Those things had to count for something.

As the morning deepened and the sun rose higher in the sky, the people of Below, the former banished people, began the long trek down the mountain. An exultant Lazarus led the way, and he sang to the heavens in his rich baritone, a glorious, soulful sound, a bluesy cry to the angels.

A victory cry.

Hearing it made Chad s.h.i.+ver.

368.

It was the sound of freedom.

Of limitless possibilities.

Arm in arm with Dream, he followed the old singer down the mountain.

He caught the eye of a bandaged and groggy Jack Paradise, who was being supported by the able Wanda Lewis, aka "Wicked Wanda."

"What do you think happened to that girl, the mute?"

The ex-soldier shrugged, winced. "f.u.c.ked if I know. I would like to have gotten my hands on her, though-b.i.t.c.h did a number on me when I first came here."

A number of the formerly banished people had less-than-fond memories of the mute Mistress, who'd disappeared with the man whose appearance The Master had mimicked during the last day of his life. But a thorough search of the house and environs revealed nary a trace of her. It was as if she'd vanished into thin air.

Just like that other woman ...

Somewhere in the Midwest, a black Bentley rolled through the chilly night. A woman in dark sungla.s.ses was at the wheel. A nervous. .h.i.tchhiker, a teenage girl, sat in the front pa.s.senger seat, fidgeting, growing more concerned. The creepy old chick at the wheel had barely acknowledged her presence since picking her up, and now they'd pa.s.sed the place where she'd asked to be dropped off.

But she was afraid to say anything about it.

There was something ... not right... about the woman.

She was smartly dressed in a black business suit. A subtle string of white pearls glittered at her neck, and her dark hair was pulled back in a bun. She looked as if she should 369.

be the headmistress at an exclusive, ivy-covered prep school for girls. The hitchhiker imagined being summoned to the woman's office for, oh, talking in cla.s.s.

She could see the woman striking her hands with a ruler.

Or worse.

The hitchhiker shuddered.

And prayed the woman would let her out soon.

But the Bentley rolled on.

And the night grew colder.

370 BRYAN SMITH'S mind became warped at an early age by afternoon Creature Feature shows. Later on, the novels of Stephen King and the films of John Carpenter solidified a fledgling desire to create scary stories of his own, so blame them. Previous publications include Under the Skin and Grimm Awakening. He lives in middle Tennessee with an array of pets and his wife, Rachael. He has been known to imbibe the occasional pint or two of stout or ale. He can be reached at , or visit his home on the web at www.hous...o...b..ood.net.

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