The Pale Man Rises

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX

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She felt a hand on her shoulder. Its grip seemed to strong, to intent on having her awake. And in her dream she could see the fingers there, fingers long and knobby with nails likewise long and very sharp. They reminded her of a witch's hand. It plunged from a black sleeve. Wasn't black the preferred color of the devil's horde?

She could see the warlock's face now as he hovered over her reclining form. The long white hair streamed from the creature's head. It smiled at her then. But suddenly the alien face began to dissolve and change. And then before she realized it the face became that of the congenial police chief of the town of Belfast one Orville Townsend.

"Miss Dawson–Shelby Jean wake up honey." He said soothingly to her. She rolled over beneath the blanket he had draped over her when she lay down. She rubbed her eyes trying to clear the cobwebs the sedative had created. Her hair was all askew and her swollen eyes, heavier still with the induced sleep, made her appear aged beyond her years.

Momentarily she had forgotten why she was there and just as quickly the memory of it flooded her like an avalanche of snow. She shivered with the thought of it. She could remember the terrified screams of Martin Clark as the awful creature had ripped him apart. She closed her eyes to it and the policeman could see she was still plagued by the memory of what she had seen.

"Do you feel better Shelby Jean?" He asked her. "You've slept for some time now since Doc Johnson came by and gave you the sedative." He added. He smiled at her then. He had a gentle way about him that she appreciated. She returned the smile.

"I feel a little better." She said. "Good, good....ah could....could you answer some questions now you think?" He then asked. "You've got some company–an FBI agent in fact. He'd like to ask you some questions about what happened out there, on the road tonight." He told her.

She struggled up into a sitting position. The blanket was draped over her knees now like a shawl over an elderly lady's lap. She brushed back her hair. She felt dizzy and her mouth was dry as a bone. She licked her lips. The chief noticed this. "Would you like some water?" He asked her. She nodded her head that she did.

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He turned then and went to a table across the room from them and poured a glass of water from a plastic container he had put there while the young woman had slept. He took it her. She took the glass and drank deeply from it even snaring a melting sliver of ice as she did so.

There were other men in the room also. One of them wore a thick knitted gray sweater. He was an attractive man she judged to be in his early fifties. He smiled at her when she looked his way and it was as equally gentle as the police chief's. Another man looked as if he had just stepped out of a costume drama. He wore a large cowboy hat and had a thick menacing mustache. He smiled broadly at her also softening his rough image. Now she recognized him as the Sheriff of Robbins County Beauregard Harper.

"Miss Dawson this gentleman is Special Agent David Mabry of the FBI. He's come down here to help us resolve this matter." The Sheriff now told her choosing his words carefully in order not to upset the young woman any further. She looked at the agent and the sheriff. The federal agent had a rugged, studious face. He smiled again at her. "How are you Miss Dawson?" He asked. "Better, I feel better." She assured him. "Good, that's good." He said.

After a momentary pause he spoke to her once more. "Miss Dawson I'm sure your experience out there tonight is something you'd like to drive completely from your memory, but I'm also sure you know that we have to learn all that we can so we may catch these people." He began. She then looked about the room nervously. "Do any of you have a cigarette?" She asked. One of the other men that had gathered about and whom she had paid little attention to pulled out a pack of Winstons and handed her a smoke. He now held a match to the cigarette as she lit it.

She sucked deeply on the butt and then exhaled a great puff of smoke. "Believe me Mr. Mabry...." She began. "You don't want to ever see these people....if that's what they are–hell I'm not sure now that I even saw them and I was right there!" She said exhaling once more and laughing almost hysterically.

"Listen why don't you start at the very beginning and tell it all, tell everything, even the most inane thing regardless whether or not you think it's important. When you're done I'll decide what to believe–okay?" The FBI agent said as he pulled a chair from the nearby table. 

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He placed it before her there on the couch and seated himself in it prepared to listen to her story. And so she then began to relate the story of her travails on the road that night. Momentarily Mabry interrupted her. He then turned to the chief. "Chief have you got a tape recorder?" He asked.

He did and upon the agent's request fetched it into the room. The waitress was given another drink of water before she set into the tale again. Then the microphone of the recorder was handed to her. She put it close to her mouth and once more started telling them what had happened to her.

All of the men in the room listened with rapt attention at what the young woman was telling them, everyone except the reporter William Fipps. Mabry had ordered him to remain in the chief's office with the promise that he would have exclusive rights to the story provided he did nothing to jeopardize the case.

Fipps readily agreed to this. He realized he really had no choice in the matter. So he now eagerly waited for the hunting of the culprits to begin. He like the cops figured they would still be in the area because of the terrible weather they were experiencing. Nonetheless he sat in a chair near the open door of the chief's office and strained to hear what the waitress was telling the lawmen in the room across and just down the hall.