CHAPTER FIVE

After Mark left, Grant sat in the café, utterly confused. The abruptness of his friend's departure had been unexplained and spur-of-the-moment. Grant had no idea what to do, so he ordered coffee from a petite blonde waitress. He sat at the table in the corner, staring out the window, when the rain subtly changed into a light snow. 'Great…' Grant thought to himself. 'Mark's gone off to God knows where, and to top it off, we're going to get a blizzard in the middle of nowhere.'

Grant sat at his booth, sipping his coffee and pausing every few moments to look out the frost-covered window, when a man stepped through the entrance to the café. He had straight dark hair and a very distinctive appearance that caught Grant's attention. It was almost as if he felt Grant's eyes on him, for at that exact moment, the man turned and smiled widely in his direction. His grin caught Grant off guard: it was almost like a snarl, houndish and somewhat frightening. The man took a few striding steps toward Grant.

"I don't believe I've seen you around here before." He held out his hand, still beaming.

Shaking his hand, Grant stood also. "Yeah, I'm kind of new around here. My name's Grant Burnett. I'm staying at…Eva's, I believe is the name, with my friend, Mark. Mark Petrie. He's…"

The man stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Mark Petrie. Yes, I've heard of him. Wasn't he the only survivor from that fire three years ago?"

"Yeah, and he got a letter from some lady who said she was his grandmother. He came here looking for her…"

"Ah, yes," the man said, his voice low and smooth. "I've been informed of the story." He straightened his posture and put his thumbs in the collar of his navy blue suit. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ulric Pierson, the city councilman. My job is to…" He paused, shrugging nonchalantly. "Well, I run the place, you might say. I am the one who made this town what it is today." He swept his hand towards the window through which Grant saw an empty street and gray, lifeless buildings. "In fact, I made the plans for every house, every street, every parking garage in Jerusalem's Lot. This was all my idea."

Grant nodded, only half-listening to Pierson's egotistical jabbering. He stared out the glass door, watching the vacant road for any sign of life. The snow had covered the sidewalk, and the snowflakes were now reaching the size of Ping-Pong balls. A few seconds of silence followed Pierson's speech, and then Grant asked, "Do snowstorms around here last long?"

Pierson's grin grew wider, and a chuckle rumbled from deep inside his throat. "The weatherman is calling this one a flurry. When we get finally do get a snowstorm, you'll know it."

"I don't think I'll be in town long enough to see one. I'm just here until Mark finds his grandma, then I'm heading back to nice, eighty-degree California," Grant said, smiling.

"If you're only going to be here for a few days, you must let me show you around. Who better to give you a tour than the man who designed the town? You can even get a bird's eye view from my house. We could have a few drinks." Pierson clapped Grant on the shoulder.

"But what about…" Grant was about to argue that he should wait for Mark when he looked up into Pierson's eyes. They were icy and gray, almost hypnotically so. "Okay. I could use a drink…"

"Excellent." Pierson turned to the blonde waitress who was cleaning up the table next to theirs. "Susannah?" She spun around and smiled kindly at him. "Could you put this young man's bill onto my tab?"

"Sure, Ulric."

"You're the best, doll face." He winked at her, then led Grant out of the café. The wind was howling ferociously now, and they ran quickly to a long black Porsche that was sitting right outside the entrance. Pierson unlocked the doors with his automatic keys and Grant threw open the door, clambering inside as fast as he could. He shook his head to get all the water droplets out of his white hair. A moment later, Pierson hopped into the driver's seat.

"Welcome to Maine, Mr. Burnett," he said, grinning. He turned the keys in the ignition and pulled out into the road. They drove through the streets, a steady snowfall covering the town.

After they reached the outskirts of the Lot, Grant asked, "Where exactly is your house, Mr. Pierson?"

Pierson gave Grant his mysterious snarling grin, and pointed up at the white hill in front of them. Grant peered up, leaning forwards, and saw the Marsten House. The windows looked almost like eyes, dark and empty, staring down at him cruelly. He hugged his arms around himself to keep out the cold that had suddenly encased him. Suddenly, Grant felt claustrophobic.

"You live there?"

Without answering, Pierson parked the car at the foot of the wide wooden stairs that led up to the front door. He pulled to keys from the ignition and dashed out into the rain and up to the porch. Grant got out, but he paused in front of the house, looking up at it. The wood appeared to be rotting, which didn't make any sense…the town was only three years old…

"You're going to catch a cold standing out there," Pierson called from inside the house. He held the door open as Grant ran in, soaked from the unusually wet rain. Once inside, Grant gazed around him, amazed by what he saw. The house was not decorated; in fact, it was almost like it had been built yesterday with one hundred-year-old wood. There were only a few chairs and tables in the rooms that Grant could see. The foyer was large and open, appearing even more spacious due to the lack of furniture. A dark red rug, the only thing of color, lay in the middle of the entrance hall, its tassels stretching out to Grant like snakes. "Home, sweet home…" he heard Pierson mutter under his breath.

"It's very…roomy," Grant said politely.

"Let's get those drinks, shall we?" Pierson said, leading Grant down the hall and into a dusty and seemingly unused kitchen. He got out two clear wineglasses, elegantly decorated with blown glass. As he took the goblet, Grant noticed that the adornments around the cup depicted a story. On the front, a man with brilliantly white eyes was standing against the moon. The next sequence illustrated the same man, this time accompanied by a woman with long raven hair. They appeared to be an embrace. The final picture showed the man lying in a casket. Another man stood over him, holding a sharp stake.

Grant put down glass gingerly. He glanced up at Pierson, who was watching him with the strangest expression on his face…it was one of an ominous amusement, as if someone had just told a dark and disturbing joke. "I keep my wine down in the basement. I have the most incredible collection in my wine cellar. You must come and see it."

He was about to say no, when suddenly it felt as if he was drawn to follow Pierson. Without answering, he stood and pushed in his chair. "I would love to see your collection," he said in a low voice. Pierson smiled and led him to a door in the hallway. He opened it, and immediately a wave of stench washed over Grant, overpowering all his other senses. Putting his hand over his mouth and nose, Grant almost choked from the odor.

"It's right down here."

A little voice in Grant's head asked him why he was following this man down to a putrid-smelling basement. But again, he pushed aside this thought and descended the stairs. There was a creak and a groan. "The stairs are rickety. Watch your step," Pierson said over his shoulder.

By the time they reached the bottom, Grant was almost suffocating from the lack of breathable air. And yet, for some reason, he kept following Pierson. It was if a magnet was pulling him along, or a leash had been tied around his neck and Pierson held the chain in his grasp. Grant followed him around a corner through a tight hallway, the pipes above them dripping every few seconds. At the end of the corridor was a tall, bolted door.

Pierson unlocked the chain slowly, with sinister anticipation hanging in the air. But just before it swung open, Grant knew with an unexplainable positivism that there was no wine behind the door.

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"Ms. Evanoff, do you think you could excuse us?" Pierson watched her, waiting to see her reaction. "Mark and I have important matters to discuss." A bored expression lined his sharp features as he gazed at her coldly. Mark glanced back at Robyn with concern mixed with a touch of fear…fear that he would be left alone with this stranger who radiated a sort of evil aberration.

"Well, I walked all the way here…"

"Williams?" Pierson interrupted her as he shouted down the hall. The sheriff stepped out of the kitchen warily, not looking directly at Pierson. "Drive Ms. Evanoff back to her abode. I need to speak to Mark." Williams nodded, then led Robyn quickly out of the boarding house.

Pierson turned his gaze back at Mark. "Well, Mr. Petrie. You've been inciting all kinds of discussions around here, haven't you?" He led Mark down the hall to the kitchen. Eva sat on a stool by the counter, nervously biting her nails. She quickly put her hand at her side and stood when she saw Pierson enter the room. "Sit back down, Eva." Slowly, she returned to her seat. He pulled out a chair for Mark, then took his own seat at the head of the table.

"Now, Mark…" Pierson began. "I'm going to need you to start at the very beginning. Why did you come back?"

Mark stared deep into Pierson's mesmerizing gray eyes, then took a deep breath and launched into his story. He began with meeting Robyn Evanoff at the gas station, and how stunned he had been that 'Salem's Lot had been reconstructed. When he got to the part about him receiving the letter from his grandmother, Pierson visibly perked up and asked exactly what the note entailed. Mark summed up the contents as best he could. Pierson kept raising the strangest questions, like, "What were your initials thoughts after you read the letter?" and "Why didn't you follow her requests to write a letter back before you traveled to Maine?". Mark answered all his inquiries and continued his account. He left out a few key details, such as Alan, Ms. Lawry, and the money he took from Ben. Consequently, there were a few major holes in his story, but neither Pierson nor Eva asked anymore questions until, almost two hours later, Mark had finished speaking.

Pierson was staring at Mark with a gleam in his eye that made a chill creep up Marks' spine; it was almost like a driving hunger. Eva, on the other hand, was glancing back and forth between the two of them, emitting a sense of anxiety and confusion. "Well, Mr. Pierson, I think Mark should be getting to bed now." She stood and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"But what about Grant?" Mark stood suddenly, his focus fixed on Pierson. "You said you saw him."

"I'll have to check into it, Mr. Petrie." Pierson rose off his chair with a serene regality. "For now, I believe a good night's rest would do you some good." He strode to the foyer and removed his long black coat from the coat stand. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Günter." Without another word, he opened the front door and stepped out into the night.

There were a few moments of unnerving stillness as Eva stood by her seat, gazing at the door through which Pierson had departed. Her wrinkled face was lined with distress and bewilderment. "Go upstairs, Mr. Petrie," she said without turning around. Mark stood motionless for a second, watching her silently, then headed swiftly for the staircase.

It seemed to take an eternity to reach the top. With each step, Mark grew more and more exhausted. Yet Pierson's conversation kept ringing in his mind: "Why didn't you follow her requests to write a letter back before you traveled to Maine?" Write an invitation…

As he reached for the doorknob to his bedroom, it hit him. Pierson was the watchdog. Straker had taken that role three years ago. He was the human who served the vampire. But then who…?

Mark sat on his bed, hands over his ears. He was searching for answers in his memory, wondering if the key was somewhere in his subconscious. Pierson had lured him to 'Salem's Lot, that much was for certain. He had claimed that Mark had a grandmother who lived here and that she wanted him to come stay with her. Suzette Marie probably didn't even exist…and now, he was stranded here in the town that he had never wanted to step foot in again. Grant was gone, most likely taken by Pierson. Mark had no method of getting home.

Home…what a curious concept. Three years ago, Mark had considered this town to be his home. And now, it was the very hell on earth from which he was trying to escape. Perhaps if he tried hiking out of town during the day…but what happened when the sun set? For now, Mark knew the vampires were everywhere. It had been no illusion that he had seen driving through the forested mountains. He wouldn't last one night out there.

He laid down onto his bed, thoroughly worn out. But the fear inside of him kept edging through his mind, reminding him that it was the time of the undead. Sleep would have to wait. But slowly, his subconscious took over, and he dreamed…

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Sheriff Williams had seemed uncharacteristically anxious. Bullets of sweat had poured down his face by the bucketfuls, and he kept glancing around the empty streets nervously.

Robyn sat in the backseat, deep in thought. Sydney's milk-white face was floating constantly through her mind, screaming things like, "Why didn't you help me?" and "I was so afraid, Robyn, so afraid…"

She shut her eyes, squeezing her eyelids together to block out the images. Mark loomed before her. "This town has vampires…"

As the sheriff turned onto her street, she watched his knuckles grow increasingly paler. He was afraid of something…but what? What did the sheriff of a town like Jerusalem's Lot have to fear? When they pulled into her driveway, Robyn saw a car sitting on the black pavement. For one hopeful moment, she thought it was her father's car. Then she saw the black woman sitting in the front seat.

The sheriff got out of the car and walked over to her. "Can I help you, ma'am?" He glanced around the car fearfully.

The woman opened the door of her car and got out. She was unusually tall and limber, with wide lips and a deep brow. She extended her hand to the sheriff. "Hello, sheriff. My name is Latanya Lawry. I'm looking for Mark Petrie. Your deputy said that I would find him here."

Williams shook her hand hesitantly. "I'm afraid Mark isn't here anymore. He went back to Eva's boarding house of Cliff Street. He's speaking privately with Ulric Pierson right now, though."

After hearing this news, Ms. Lawry gave a loud, frustrated sigh. "Do you know where I could find…" She paused, thinking. "Robyn Evans, Evanoff, something like that…?"

Robyn glanced up, startled by hearing her name. "I'm Robyn Evanoff," she called out the window. She unhooked her seatbelt and slid out of the car. "You're looking for Mark?"

Ms. Lawry nodded, all the while looking Robyn over carefully. "How do you know him?"

"We met in California. He mentioned 'Salem's Lot, and I told him that I lived here, and…"

"Is there something wrong?" Ms. Lawry interrupted. "I mean, the deputy seemed to think Mark was some kind of criminal. He mentioned that someone died today, and Mark was suspected of being involved in the incident. I told him that that was a bunch of…"

"Do you want to come inside? There are some things that we should discuss," Robyn said.

The sheriff checked his watch. "I'm off duty in a few minutes. I need to be going." Without another word, he hopped inside his car and took off quickly. Robyn watched him go, then she turned and walked up the sidewalk to the house. Ms. Lawry followed her.

Once inside, Robyn motioned for Ms. Lawry to sit on one of the couches in the living room. "Why are you looking for Mark?" she asked, taking a seat on the rocking chair.

"I'm his school psychologist. I've been seeing him for about a week now, and we've been talking about his life here, and his uncle. He didn't mention you…" She paused for a moment, thinking back. "When he didn't show up for his appointments, I talked to his uncle. Very violent, very angry man. In short, I only found out where he went before…before I had to leave. I was worried, unbelievably so. For that reason, I took a plane and came here. I need to find him. There's something very important I have to tell him."

Robyn furrowed her eyebrows. "I didn't know about any of that. The only thing Mark told me was that the Lot looked exactly the same as it did three years earlier, before the fire."

"What about the person who died? He didn't have anything to do with that, did he?"

Robyn looked down at the hard wood tiles, resting her chin on her hand. "I couldn't say for sure, but my instincts tell me that he didn't. I don't know…I guess you would call it a feeling…"

"Why do you trust him?" Ms. Lawry asked, staring at Robyn. "You barely know him." Robyn shrugged evasively, gazing out the frosted window. "In a town where everyone who's new is considered dangerous, you are willing to believe this boy who was found at the scene of your friend's death. Now to me, that seems strange, borderline suspicious."

Robyn glanced up at Ms. Lawry. "Suspicious? Let me tell you what I told him. Right now, with things the way they are in this town, I'm willing to believe anything that makes sense." She slumped back down into her chair. "I mean, why would he kill Sydney?"

Ms. Lawry nodded. "I don't think he did it either. Obviously I wasn't there or anything, but I, unlike you, know Mark. At least, I understand his tendencies. Homicide would be one of the last things he'd do after his own mother's murder. From the discussions I've had with him, Mark almost seems to fear death in and of itself. And living with his uncle was tearing him apart…" She stopped abruptly and stood up. "I shouldn't be telling you all this. It's supposed to be confidential, and I'm not sure Mark would appreciate me relaying this information." Ms. Lawry held out her hand, and Robyn stood and shook it. "It was a pleasure talking with you, Ms. Evanoff. But now, I really must be getting to that boarding house."

"Will you both be leaving tonight?" Robyn asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

"I'm not sure. We'll stop by before we head off, though, to say thank you again." Ms. Lawry's face softened just a bit. "And to say good-bye." Robyn nodded, gratitude lining her face. "Well, it's getting late. I'll see you soon, Ms. Evanoff." And without another word, she turned and walked out the front door. Robyn watched her pull out of the driveway from the front window. The headlights of the sports car disappeared down the blackened street.

Robyn turned and found herself facing her own empty house. Chills crept up her spine, and she hesitated before going upstairs. Her own room was in the basement, a kind of secluded area of the house. Now, alone in the darkened hallway, she found herself fearing the one place she felt at home. She crept up the stairs, edging along the wooden paneling. The sudden creak of a floorboard made Robyn's heart stop fleetingly and the hairs on her arms stand on end, but a moment later, she was sure she had imagined it.

She dashed down the hall as soon as she got to the top stairs, making a clear effort not to look into any of the rooms. Grabbing a t-shirt and an old pair of shorts from her big pile of laundry, Robyn changed quickly and got into bed. She didn't bother brushing her teeth, just this once. She expected sleep to come quickly, but a strange awareness of danger overtook her senses, and she lay underneath the covers, shivering. There was a high-pitched screech outside the window to her left, and she glanced over, terrified.

Sydney was floating next to her window.

But the apparition Robyn saw was simply that, an apparition. Sydney couldn't have been at Robyn's window, because she was at Mark's.

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It was the sound like nails on a chalkboard that awoke him first. 'It's a dream, I'm dreaming. Danny Glick is not here,' Mark told himself, squeezing his eyes shut. Of course Danny wasn't there. Mark opened his eyes slowly and turned to look out the window.

The girl on the other side of the glass was certainly no Danny Glick. She had milk-white skin, fangs that dripped with dark crimson blood, and sandy-brown hair that streamed behind her, even though there was no wind. The dark circles around her eyes accented her glowing white eyes. "Mark…"

"Oh, dear Lord…" Mark murmured to himself in horror, a kind of half-prayer, half-plead.

"What's the matter, Mark?" Sydney asked, her face a mask of mock confusion. "Why don't you want let me in? We could have fun…" A single white finger extended from her hand and made its way slowly down the glass. "Come on, Mark. Come out and play…"

Mark looked into her bright white eyes and for a moment, he felt himself being drawn towards her. He regained control. 'Don't make eye contact, you fool!' he told himself.

"There are plenty of us out here, Mark. See?" She swept away from the window, allowing Mark to look out above the Lot. Figures were floating aimlessly over the roofs of houses, gliding down to windows all over town. "I have friends, Mark. They want to meet you, too. We all want to meet you…"

"You stay away from me!" Mark whispered between clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. But he knew he was fighting a losing battle. "He thrusts his hands against the post and still insists he sees the ghosts; he thrusts his hands against the post…"

"You can't resist us, Mark. You're not strong enough."

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…"

"Just let me in, Mark. I'll give you a kiss…"

"Thy kingdom come…"

"Then you can meet my friends."

"Thy will be done…"

"But, then again, I might want you all for myself…"

"On earth as it is in Heaven…"

"Mark…"

"Deliver us from evil, deliver us from evil, deliver me from evil…" He took a deep breath. "You may not enter into this house! In God's name…"

Sydney stopped smiling. An evil look, one of pain, disgust, and utter fury crossed her face. "Fine! I'll just come in myself…"

"Like hell you will…" Mark muttered. "Let's just see you try." Sydney glared at him, fire burning in her eyes. "I didn't think so. Go back to your little rat hole, Sydney. And don't come here again."

Sydney let out a wail like a tortured animal, a sound so horrible that Mark had to cover his ears. Then she took off, but not before looking over her shoulder, her face contorted into an expression of demonic fury, and shouting, "They'll find you, Petrie! You can't hide forever! They've been waiting…!"

Mark watched her disappear until she was just another darkened shape soaring against the midnight sky. He stumbled back onto his bed, his breath so heavy that it felt like he was trying to inhale boiling water or steam. Beads of perspiration dripped slowly down his face, soaking his neck and hair. He reached down under his bed and took out his dirty and battered messenger bag, searching its pockets for his old cross. Once he found it, he paused, clutching it in his white-knuckled hand as if it were made of pure gold.

After thinking for a moment, Mark strode over to the door and fumbled with the lock. As soon as he heard it click, he staggered back to his bed. He stretched out on the mattress, not bothering to get under the blankets that sat in a bundle next to him. He knew that he would never fall asleep, so he simply lay there, with his fist wrapped around the cross on his chest.

'I've got to get out of here…' he thought to himself. But he knew nothing was that simple.

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The boarding house on Cliff Street was a large, orange building with strangely angled sides and small, jail-like windows. With the large yellow moon outlining the house, the very ambiance of the place made Ms. Lawry shiver uncontrollably. She pulled into the small concrete parking lot and got out of her car.

The narrow cobblestone sidewalk that went up to the front porch was covered with weeds and patches of moss, making it appear as if it were twenty years older. Ms. Lawry walked up to the door, cautiously avoiding the cracks for fear of tripping in her high heels and twisting her ankle. She knocked twice on the heavy oak doors, and when no one appeared to answer, she twisted the knob and stepped inside. The halls were dark and vacant, and a dead silence wrung through the wooden panels.

The only light in the corridor was from a room to her right. A glow was being radiated out from the cracks around a door, and a muffled murmuring came from inside. Ms. Lawry stepped up in front of it and listened for a moment.

"I haven' seen Tom all day. I mean, he was s'pposed ter come an' meet me and Ernie over at the coffee house at three, but he never comed. An' he was actin' all funny yesterday, didja notice? Didn' say a word a' breakfast or nothin'…"

"Don't worry about it, Jake. I'm sure he just had a few drinks at the bar or went fishing or something." Footsteps were heard walking slowly towards the door. There was a pause. "Jake, do you remember those two boys who were here yesterday morning?"

"Yeah. The albino guy and the one who asked all them questions. 'Bout the house on the hill and some lady. Yeah, I 'member. What's about 'em, Ev?"

Another moment of uncomfortable silence. "Nothing, Jake. Never mind I mentioned it."

Ms. Lawry cleared her throat loudly, and the discussion ended abruptly. A second later, the door opened to reveal a dumpy woman with gray-streaked hair and a long red robe. An older man with a thick gray mustache sat at the table behind her. "Can I help you?" she asked in a rich German accent.

"Are you the owner?"

The woman nodded slowly. "I am Eva, Eva Günter."

"Do you know if Mark Petrie is staying here?"

Eva glanced back at the other man guardedly. "Yes, yes he is. He's sleeping right now, though, so if you could come back tomorrow…"

"I need to speak to him now, if that's possible. It's kind of important," Ms. Lawry responded.

Eva's gaze dropped to the floor, and she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Very well. I'll show you to his room." She pushed her way through the door and strode up the stairs. Ms. Lawry quickened her pace to catch up with her. Eva stood at the end of the hall, hands on her hips and staring at the door, which was closed. Eva knocked loudly. "Mr. Petrie? Mr. Petrie, there's someone here to see you…" When Mark didn't answer, she tried the doorknob. It twisted lifelessly in her hand. "It's locked. Mr. Petrie must not want to be disturbed."

Ms. Lawry was not so easily convinced. She pounded on the door, shouting, "Mark! Mark, open up!" Still, the door remained tightly shut. Ms. Lawry's hands fell to her side, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Could I get a room here? Just for the night."

Eva nodded. "Let me get a key from downstairs, and I'll need you to pay. Wait for a moment, please." She disappeared down the darkened hall.

Ms. Lawry stood motionless for a second, watching Eva's retreating back. Then she turned her gaze to the large window at the end of the hall. A small pinpoint of light was glowing in the distance, and Ms. Lawry walked a bit closer, straining her eyes to see. The glow was coming from a house on top of a hill behind the boarding house. It was the same house she had seen when she left the police station. A single light was lit in one of the windows on the upper level.

Ms. Lawry took a few steps backwards. Suddenly, she wanted to leave Jerusalem's Lot as quickly as she could. Something about the town disagreed with her. It just didn't seem right.