CHAPTER SIX

The sunlight streamed through the window and onto Mark's face, his messy brown hair hanging down over his forehead and cheek. There was a creak in the hall, and he awoke with a start. For a moment, he was thoroughly confused. He rolled over and fell onto the floor with a thud. Sitting on the rough brown carpet, lost and bewildered, he suddenly remembered.

Sydney had come last night.

Mark closed his eyes, squeezing his eyelids shut and wishing intensely that he had been dreaming last night. But deep within his subconscious, he knew he hadn't. She had been there, and 'Salem's Lot was again infested with the undead. The overpowering feeling of defeat trampled his spirits with a crushing blow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, however, was a voice screaming for him to get out of there, to run away. To leave before he ended up joining Sydney up in the sky, floating around, searching for fresh blood.

He sat on the floor, hands clasped around his knees. What about all the people in the Lot, though? Could he live with himself if he left them behind? His guilt would eventually eat away at him, like some sort of cancerous disease. Mark remembered his own feelings of shock and utter disappointment as he had watched Sheriff Parkins disappear over the horizon, leaving Jerusalem's Lot to its fate. Now, he was contemplating doing the same thing. 'And what would you accomplish here? As if anyone would believe you if you stayed…' said the voice of reason. If Robyn Evanoff, the one person he thought he could convince, didn't believe him, who did he expect would?

Mark stood up, gingerly rubbing the shoulder on which he had fallen. He sat down on his bed and stared into space, lost in thought. It took him a few moments to realize what he was looking at. A phone sat on his bedside table, its large white numbers staring up at him. He picked up the receiver and dialed the directory search.

"Please state the location you are trying to reach, sir."

"Uh, Jerusalem's Lot, Maine…"

"And the name of the party, sir?"

"Evanoff…"

"Just a moment, sir."

Mark heard faint music in the background, some nameless classical piece by an unknown composer. It felt like an eternity passed by before Robyn picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Robyn?"

"Yeah…who's this?"

"It's Mark, Mark Petrie. Listen, I have something important to…"

"Wait, did that woman stop by to see you yet?"

Mark sat back on his bed, confused. "What woman?"

"She said that she was looking for you. What was her name? Ms. Lawrence, Lauren, something along those lines…"

"Ms. Lawry?" Mark ran his fingers through his hair. "Ms. Lawry came to see you?"

"Yeah, she seemed really worried about you; she mentioned something about your uncle."

"Oh, God…" Mark lay down on his bed, eyes closed, contemplating this silently to himself. "She's here?"

"Mark? What is it?" Robyn's concern showed through in her voice. "She knows where you're staying…is that bad? Is she here to hurt you? I swear I didn't know. I mean, she seemed so nice…"

"No, it's not that." He sat back up, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "I just can't believe she…" His voice trailed off, and he rubbed his temples.

"What did you have to tell me? I mean, why did you call?"

"Well…" Mark thought for a moment, seriously debating with himself. She would never believe him… "I saw Sydney last night."

There was dead silence on the other line. "Mark…" Robyn whispered. "Please don't…"

"Robyn," he said, his voice gentle yet resolute. "Why would I lie to you?" Again, no answer. "She came to my window…"

"Mark…"

"She came to my window and she wanted me to let her in…"

"Please, Mark…"

"Listen, you have to believe me."

"MARK!" she shouted through the phone. Mark fell silent. "I don't know what your agenda is here, Mark, but whatever it is, drop it. You have no idea what it's been like for me, being here all by myself in this house…the house in which Sydney…" She stopped, and Mark heard choked tears through the static.

"You have no idea what it was like for me, either, Robyn." She didn't answer. "Listen to me. I'm the only one who would know what went on here last time. And because of last night, I know that it's happening again. Don't you understand? No one believes me, and I feel responsible for everyone in the Lot because I'm the only one who can help."

"Do you have proof?"

Mark groaned. "Damn it, Robyn, if I had proof, I would be going to the authorities." He rested his head on his chin and sighed. "Wait…" It dawned on him. "I might…but it won't…"

"Just spit it out, Mark; I don't like being out of the loop! What are you talking about?"

"Call the town coroner. If Sydney was at my window last night, her body couldn't have been in the morgue."

"What?"

"Do you have a two-way connection?"

"Yes, but what does that…?"

"Dial up the morgue and let me talk to whoever is there. You just listen."

Robyn sighed. "Wait for a minute…I have to get the number…" A few moments later, Mark heard her dialing on the other line.

"This is the morgue. How can I help you?"

"Hi, I need to know if a body is still in your morgue…thing…"

"Excuse me?"

"Is there a Sydney…uh…"

"Marcowitz," Robyn whispered.

"Is Sydney Marcowitz there?"

"Do you mean a living person, or a…"

"No, she's dead."

"Just a moment, please." There was an uncomfortable silence between the two of them as they awaited the answer. Two minutes later, a baffled coroner got on the line. "Excuse me, who is this?"

"Uh, this is her, uh, second cousin. I just got in from vacationing in, uh…Barbados, and I was wondering if this is the correct morgue in which she is…um…being kept."

"Well, sir, I regret to inform you that there appears to have been some kind of…mix-up. We can't find Sydney Marcowitz's body anywhere. She was registered in here yesterday, but…"

"Thank you for your time. Good-bye." He waited for the coroner to hang up, then said to Robyn, "Do you need any more proof?"

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The door to the kitchen shut with a bang. "What are you doing here?" Mark demanded. Ms. Lawry stood next to her seat at the table, looking at Mark with a mixture of relief and annoyance.

"Is that how you greet the person who just traveled God knows how many miles to get you? Do you know how much trouble I had to go to just to get here? I've been to hell and back for you, Mr. Petrie."

"You have to leave. Now."

Ms. Lawry stared at him, her eyes wide in puzzlement. "What are you talking about? I'm here to bring you home."

Mark looked down at the ground. "I can't go."

"Either explain to me what you're talking about, Mark, or get in my car right now."

"I can't," he repeated, keeping his eyes cast downwards.

"Mark Petrie," she said in a tone remarkably similar to that of a disciplinary mother. "I witnessed a murder, I almost got killed, I was threatened, I paid for a plane ticket, and I had to deal with an annoying car salesman and an aggravating deputy, all so that I could find you. I'm not going to automatically turn around and go back to California just because you say you can't come with me." She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"Listen, Ms. Lawry. You know I'd tell you if I could, but you wouldn't believe me, not in a million years."

"Listen, Mark Petrie." Ms. Lawry took a few steps towards him. "You know I'd believe almost anything you'd say."

"Almost." Ms. Lawry blinked. "All I can tell you is that I can't come with you. I appreciate all you've done to find me, even if I haven't the slightest clue as to why, but I have to stay here." He paused. "And you can't."

Ms. Lawry took a deep breath, studying him. "Your uncle's coming, Mark. He's on his way."

"Alan's coming here?" Ms. Lawry nodded. Mark stared at her, all the while taking steady steps backwards. "How does he…? Oh…" Mark ran his fingers through his hair. "I left the envelope." He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "Tell me what happened."

"I went to go see him, to ask where you were. We kind of got off on a bad foot, and…well, to make a long story short, I found the envelope just as your aunt got home. She was drunk, I believe. There was a…a struggle, and she…died."

"Did you do it?" Mark demanded, his eyes burning holes into her face.

"No, of course not!" She narrowed her eyes questioningly. "But why does it bother you so much that she passed away? I thought you didn't like your aunt and uncle."

"Correction: I don't like my uncle. My aunt…she just had problems. Drinking and drugs and such. She never laid a finger on me, though." He paused. "So Alan killed her?"

Ms. Lawry nodded. "I got out of there as quickly as I could. I had the envelope in my hand, but in the confusion…" She shrugged half-heartedly. "I must have dropped it. So I went back to my office to look up my notes on our talks to find the name of the town. But when I got back to my car…well, let's just say Alan made it clear that I wasn't supposed to come here." Ms. Lawry smiled in spite of herself. "So of course, I couldn't resist showing up."

Mark's face remained stony, a grim sort of dread visible in his eyes. "And now he's coming here."

"Listen, Mark, I…"

"No," he interrupted. "I'm glad that he's coming. But you…you have to leave. Now."

"Mark, I can't just leave. You expect me to pack up and head back while your…violent uncle is on his way here, right now?"

He sighed and gave up his argument for the time being. "Why'd you come, anyway?"

Ms. Lawry shrugged. "You're my patient, whether you like it or not."

"Would you have traveled across the country for just any of your patients, Ms. Lawry?"

She smiled. "No, Mark Petrie. I wouldn't. Your attitude towards life is very… different from that of any of my other patients. Heck, it's different from any other person's I've ever met. And I find that…fascinating, captivating, you might say. You remind me of…me."

Mark gave her a half of a grin. "I'm different. Yeah, I've heard that before."

Ms. Lawry sat down at the kitchen table. "Mark, I've been hearing some interesting stories around here. About a murder that took place two nights ago…"

"You talked to that bastard, Summers."

She pursed her lips in disapproval. "He told me that you were there that night. At Robyn Evanoff's house."

Mark rolled his eyes. "There was a snowstorm, Ms. Lawry. If I had been able to get back to the boarding house, I would have."

She nodded. "Well, what happened? How did she die?"

He shifted his gaze to the top of the wooden table. "The same thing as last time," he whispered.

"What?"

"I said…" He sighed. "Never mind."

"No, Mark. Tell me what you said."

"It's the same thing as last time, alright? What's going on now is the same thing that killed my mom three years ago."

Ms. Lawry stared at him. "What is it, Mark? Who killed your mother?"

"Dull, mindless, moronic evil…" He glanced back up at her. "That's what Callahan called it." Mark stood up and left the kitchen, trudging upstairs and slamming the door to his bedroom shut. Ms. Lawry sat in shocked silence.

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Mark stood along the cold, stone wall of the church, listening to Ben and Callahan. He peered around the corner and saw Callahan standing over the pool of holy water, Ben sitting in the pews not too far away. Mark knew eavesdropping was wrong, but…

"There's a presence inside that house. I don't know if you can feel it."

Callahan glanced over at Ben. "Oh, I can feel it."

"I felt it before when I was a boy and I went inside. I thought it was me, I thought it was…a manifestation of my own fear."

"It wasn't." Callahan poured the water into the marble vat. An echoing splash filled the sanctuary.

"What was it?"

"The unholy spirit. Dull, mindless, moronic evil. It's familiar in the confessional as the smell of old velvet. Hubert Marsten invited the unholy spirit into his house and home, and there it resides."

"But that house, it feels so familiar. It feels like it's coming from inside me." Ben looked up at Callahan, a childlike fear in his eyes.

"Evil comes from inside all of us…"

Mark sat on his bed, hands over his ears. He glanced over at the phone, resting on its holder. Mulling over his options for a moment, he reached out and picked it up slowly.

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The rage building inside his chest was overwhelming, a kind of rhythmic and taunting wrath that was ready to explode. Stealing the car was nothing to him, and all that was left now was his anger. He muttered to himself heatedly, screaming random insults and cuss words. Spit flew from his mouth at violent speeds. He drove aimlessly yet focused on one point: Mark.

Alan shifted the gear and gained speed steadily: fifty, sixty, seventy, seventy-five miles an hour. The man at the gas station told him that Jerusalem's Lot was just over the mountain, but Alan had passed over the ridge almost ten minutes ago. His fury was overwhelming.

Finally, in the distance, Alan saw the silhouette of a town, its buildings dark and lifeless. There was a deteriorating sign on his left: WELCOME TO JERUSALEM'S LOT. The 'Jerusalem's', however, had been vandalized, scratched out to a point of illegibility. Only the last six letters were decipherable, so now the sign read WELCOME TO SALEM'S LOT. Alan grinned, a disturbing expression in which his true sanity showed through.

As soon as he entered the town, however, Alan could tell that something was wrong. There were no people walking along the streets, no cars driving in the roads. He peered out his windows, searching for life. The day was cloudy and miserable, so perhaps everyone was staying inside…

The figure of a man appeared on the corner, seemingly from nowhere. Alan pulled his car up next to him and rolled down the window. He leaned towards him, squinting up at him. The man was dark-haired and lean, with a pointy snout…no, nose. It was a nose. But the shape of his mouth, and the appearance of his entire face was so…snout-like.

"Where is Mark Petrie?" Alan demanded.

The man smiled, a wide leering grin that made Alan's hair stand on end. "Alan Thornton?"

Utterly bewildered, Alan stared blankly at the man. "How'd you know my name?"

"Mark has informed us of the situation…how he ran away from home, even though you were so good to him…"

Alan blinked in surprise. "Uh…"

"I'm the city councilman, Ulric Pierson. I know just where Mark is right now, Mr. Thornton, if you wish for me to show you."

"Yeah, I need to find him. Right now."

"Shall I accompany you, then? I could lead you right to him," Pierson said, his grin widening.

Alan shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want…" Pierson strolled around the back of the car and got in the passenger side. "So where to?"

"It's right up that hill, Mr. Thornton…" He pointed at the knoll directly in front of them. Alan shifted the gear and started towards it.

The house on top of the hill gave Alan an unexplainable feeling of terror. It was large and shadowy, and it radiated a kind of sinister evil. "Is he staying in there?" Alan asked, his voice cracking just a little. Pierson nodded. "Tell me something…did some teacher come here looking for him, too?"

"A teacher? No, I don't believe so. Why do you ask?" Pierson smiled at him, his eyes glowing eerily.

"No reason…" He pulled into the driveway, the small stones hitting the bottom of his car with tiny thuds.

"Follow me, Mr. Thornton." Pierson stepped out of the car and strode into the house. Alan watched him, hesitating for a moment. He considered turning around and leaving, but something told him to follow Pierson. Slowly, he put both his feet out of the car and slid out. The clouds seemed to grow darker with each step towards the house. He climbed the porch stairs and looked up at the house, peering into the darkened windows. For a second, he thought he saw someone (or perhaps something) in one of the top windows. But he blinked, and it was gone. He walked through the doorway and into the house.

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The dialing seemed faint and far away. "Hello?"

"Robyn. Listen, I…"

"Mark?"

"Yeah, I need you to come over here. Right away." Robyn didn't answer. "What? You do believe me now, right?"

A moment's hesitation. "I'll go with you on this one. Until another answer presents itself."

"Do you have a way over?"

"No, not really, but I…"

"I'll send Ms. Lawry over. Right now." He hung up the phone.

Mark rushed back downstairs, stomping down the steps loudly. He walked through the doorway and froze. Deputy Summers was leaning against the cabinet, smiling smugly at him. Ms. Lawry was no longer there.

"Hello, Mr. Petrie." Summers crossed his arms arrogantly. Mark didn't say anything, only giving a slight nod to address him. "Perhaps you've heard of the interesting things going down at the town morgue this morning. If you haven't, allow me to inform you." He sauntered over at took a seat directly in front of Mark. "Sydney Marcowitz's body is missing. The coroner is baffled, the police are running circles around this, and I keep telling the sheriff to talk to you." He narrowed his eyes. "Somehow, Mr. Petrie, you're involved in this. We may not be able to peg you on the murder, per say, but once I find a single trace of you in that morgue, everyone will know that I was right."

"Is that your logic talking, Summers, or your ego?" said Mark in a low voice trembling with anger.

Summers leaned forward in his chair. "Talking that way to the authorities never got anyone very far, now did it, Mr. Petrie?" Mark didn't answer. "All I need right now is a fingerprint here, a bloodstain there, and…"

"And you'll haul my ass off to prison, right?" Mark interrupted. He sighed angrily and looked him straight in the eye. "Deputy Summers, there are things happening here that are of more importance than your obsession to catch me in a crime. I don't know why you're so intent on putting me away, but it's not going to happen today. I have more important things to do."

The deputy glared at him, and for a moment, Mark thought he saw a glint of something darker than malice in his eye. Summers picked up his hat off the table and left the kitchen in a rush, glancing back over his shoulder one last time with a look of pure abhorrence. He opened the door and almost ran into Ms. Lawry, who was standing right outside in the hall. She smiled innocently at him, and Summers darted past her and out to his car.

Ms. Lawry stepped inside, her eyes outlined in a parent-like concern. "What did he want?"

Mark rolled his eyes good naturedly and gave her a small smile. "Like you didn't hear." He took a seat at the table again, and Ms. Lawry sat across from him. "I need you to do me a favor." She raised her eyebrows. "Could you pick up Robyn and bring her back here?"

"Will you tell me what's going on when I get back?" she asked, staring at him critically. He nodded slowly. "All right, then." She backed out of the kitchen and got her coat off the tree stand. Just before heading out the door, she turned around and looked at Mark through eyes lined with sorrow.

"What?"

"It's just that…" Ms. Lawry glanced down at the hardwood floors. "I'm really sorry that you have to go through all this." Pausing, she shrugged half-heartedly. "I mean, I never had to deal with anything like this when I was sixteen." She gave him a tearful smile.

He didn't return the gesture. "You don't know the half of it."

Ms. Lawry didn't reply. She turned and walked out the door, the click, click of her high-heeled shoes echoing through the halls. Mark sat in the kitchen for a moment, deep in thought.

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Mark got up and went upstairs, locking himself in his room. His messenger bag sat on the bottom of his bed. He reached into the pocket and pulled out the notebook in which he was writing Ben's story.

The pages were filled with scribbles and crossed-out words, a few sketches, a couple of disorganized thoughts that had passed through his head as he wrote. Mark laid down on his stomach, stretched out over the comforter, and flipped to the last page. He could still read the most recent sentence, the one he had tried to scrawl out. 'Damn it, will they never stop screaming…' He opened the drawer in the table next to his bed and found a pen.

"Then again, evil never really leaves us, now does it? It follows, much like a dog or a particularly terrifying memory. It lingers in the back of your mind, popping up in your thoughts when you least expect it, like a jack-in-the-box. Domestic evil is a predominantly influencing aspect of the human psyche. An abusive relative, a horrific event that occurs at home, they're more significant than one would care to admit. Ask someone who knows…like me…"

Mark put down the pen, biting his lip, his eyes closed. Popping up in your thoughts when you least expect it, like a jack-in-the-box… Memories had been haunting his nightmares for the past three years, yet when he awoke from each one, he was drenched in sweat and completely convinced that what he had just witnessed was real. Like Danny Glick, and Barlow, and…

The front door to the boarding house closed, rattling the walls ever-so-slightly. "I'm up here!" Mark shouted loudly, not looking up. He heard two sets of feet hurrying up the stairs. There was a knock on his bedroom door, and he remembered that he had locked it. Getting up slowly, Mark fumbled with the chain for a moment then opened the door.

"Mark!" Ms. Lawry scolded. "You can't be so loud in a boarding house! There are other people here who may be sleeping…"

"There's no one else here. They're all gone."

"Gone where?"

Mark shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? Wherever vampires go during the day." Ms. Lawry snorted, thinking that Mark was making some sort of dark, twisted joke, but Robyn sat on the edge of his bed slowly, peering into his eyes.

"You think that's where…?"

"What?" Ms. Lawry jerked her head around and stared at Robyn. "What are you talking about, Ms. Evanoff? You two don't really…"

Robyn turned her gaze down to the floor, not meeting Ms. Lawry's disbelieving gape. Mark stood up suddenly. "Oh yeah. Vampires. Didn't Robyn tell you?" He looked over at Robyn, his eyes wide in mock surprise. "You didn't inform Ms. Lawry of our little situation, Robyn?" She glanced up at him, pursing her lips. "I meant that, Ms. Lawry. Jerusalem's Lot has vampires. A bunch of 'em, by the looks of it. You should have seen the bunch at my window last night."

"Mark, we have to approach this rationally…" Ms. Lawry began.

"Rationally? Fine, we'll discuss this calmly, like adults," he said, his voice skipping from octave to octave. Ms. Lawry glanced at Robyn, unsure of what to do or say. "We'll just formulate a strategy to destroy all these vampires…yeah, that'll work!" Mark was looking around the room wildly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes were wide with hysteria. "Maybe if we got a big tub-full of holy water, a couple hundred crucifixes, and a whole bunch of stakes, we could manage to get maybe half of them if we're lucky. Oh, and don't forget a huge vat of gasoline to set the town on fire. We'll need that…"

Robyn stood up and strode over to him, putting her hands on his shoulders. His shirt was damp with sweat. "Mark." It was like he couldn't hear or see her; his eyes kept roaming around the room, refusing to look at Ms. Lawry or Robyn. "Mark, look at me." He finally looked down at her, his mouth trembling slightly. "Listen, you have to calm down. Going into a frenzy won't help anyone."

Mark sat on the bed, wiping his hand over his face. "I'm…sorry." He squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, eyes shut tightly. "It's just that…" he started, his voice quavering and unsteady. "It's kind of hard, everything repeating itself. Even just talking about all that…it's like reliving the worst, most emotionally damaging days of my life all over again."

Ms. Lawry pulled a chair over in front of Mark and sat down. "Mark, I think it's about time we went back to California. I think all these familiar surroundings has made you…"

"Familiar surroundings?" Mark said, raising his eyebrows. "Ms. Lawry, the town is exactly as it was when I left three years ago…just not burned to the ground and everything…"

Robyn glanced over at Ms. Lawry, who was staring at Mark with incredulity. Their eyes met, and Robyn shook her head vigorously, signaling Ms. Lawry to drop the subject.

"We could talk to the police…" Robyn said.

"Oh, yeah, that'll work," Mark responded sarcastically. "Let's go talk to the people who want to throw me in jail. Maybe sending me to the loony bin would be good enough for them." He was silent for a moment, his eyes still closed. "Pierson's serving as a mortal, that much is for sure, but I still don't know who the vampire is. Maybe if we went up to the Marsten House, during the day, of course, and found out, we could…start at the head, work our way down…it worked last time…"

"Pierson? You think Ulric Pierson is behind all this? Mark, you have no idea how crazy that sounds." Robyn got up and stood by the window, staring out at the Marsten House.

"All we have to do is go up there when he's not home. Vampires are immobile during the day, but they can get you to do things for them. With their eyes. It's like they control you…" Mark's eyes went foggy as he remembered finding Barlow in the basement of the boarding house. His stomach gave a jolt; three years ago, Barlow had been two floors below where they were standing…in this exact house. The thought hadn't occurred to him. And Barlow's voice floating through his mind…

He peered down at Barlow, who lay in a wooden coffin, his eyes closed tightly. "Like somebody's father, he could be somebody's father…but not yours, Mark Petrie, I couldn't be your father, because he's dead." A mocking laughter rang in Mark's ears. "I could change that, you know. I've defied death for hundreds of years, who's to say I can't do that for someone else?" The basement was buzzing with an unbearable silence as Ben picked up the stake, but Barlow's voice sounded so real, speaking directly into Mark's mind. "Better stop Ben, though. He's about to destroy your last chance at a family…"

"Maybe we should just go up and speak to Mr. Pierson, ask him if he knows why Mark is acting this way," Ms. Lawry whispered to Robyn. "I mean, there's actually nothing wrong with this Pierson guy, right?"

"Of course not! He's a bit reclusive, yes, but well-respected and admired by everyone here." Robyn turned and looked at Mark, who was sitting on the bed, deaf to everything besides his own thoughts. She glanced back at Ms. Lawry. "You're sure he's up to it?" Ms. Lawry nodded.

"Mark." He didn't answer. "Mark!" Robyn shouted. He looked up, his face mirroring that of a person who had just awoken from a deep sleep. "We're going to the Marsten House."

Mark blinked in surprise. "You are?" They nodded simultaneously. He swallowed, the saliva dripping down his throat as if it were made of sandpaper. "Alright, then. Let's go."