(why would that shock him?)
That was the moment when I should have bolted. I should have screamed for Jackson and run for the house. Phelps would still have caught me, most likely, but Jackson might have heard.
But I was too used to being a schoolteacher, where your control of the class depends on never showing weakness. I still thought that if I stayed calm and kept Phelps off-balance, I could get through it.
“You’re a cold one,” said Phelps slowly, still watching me as if I’d grown horns.
(why would he say that?)
And then, in a chilly little copperhead whisper under my heart,You know why…
“Take it up with the doctor,” I said aloud, and turned toward the house.
I got three steps before his fingers closed over my arm. “I plan to,” he said. “But you’re not going anywhere, Miss Wilson.”
I looked down at the hand, the knuckles as tough and brown as walnuts, then up at his face, and said, coldly, “Take your hand off me.”
Phelps shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re coming with me.”
He hauled me forward. I tried to dig in my heels, but only succeeded in tearing long divots through the pine needles and dead leaves.
“I cannot imagine God approves of this!”
His face might as well have been carved in stone. “I do not approve of what the doctor is doing,” he said coldly. “I never have.”
I twisted my arm back and forth, to no avail, and drew in a breath to scream.
Phelps yanked me close, into a tight embrace, face wedged against the front of his shirt. I smelled sweat and sourness, and my shout came out as a muffled yelp. “You can’t keep the Devil locked up,” he said. “Itoldhim.”
He adjusted his grip, clamping a hand over my face. I thrashed uselessly.
“If you’d just told everyone what you saw…” Phelps said, almost plaintively, as he dragged me deeper into the woods. “If you’d just told everyonethen, I would’ve beenglad. It could have beenover.”
I kicked violently at his shins. I might as well have been kicking a tree for all the good it did. Phelps didn’t even slow down.
When we came in sight of the shed, I thought I might be sick from sheer terror.
It was just bugs, just Halder’s bugs, that was all that was in there, the rest was a hallucination, it wasn’treal—
(Phelps thinks it’s real)
When he stopped in front of the door, he locked one arm around my neck to hold me in place and reached for the key. I clutched at his arm, feeling half strangled. “Phelps!” I hissed. “We can still tell everyone! We’ll go together—we’ll tell the sheriff—”
His sigh briefly pressed his rib cage against my shoulders and the back of my neck. “It’s too late now, Miss Wilson,” he said. “You should have said something before. They might have hanged me, yes. I accept that. But the Devil would have finally been burned.” He yanked the door open.
If he got me inside, I might never get out again. I planted my feet again, futilely. “Mister Phelps,” I said, as calmly as possible, as if we were having a conversation, “I believe the Lord never sends us more than we can handle.”
That was a lie, incidentally, but astonishingly, it seemed to work. He stopped, one hand on the door, one still around my neck. I could feel the side of his face against my forehead and the rake of stubble across my skin.
“We can handle this together,” I said, fighting to sound as if this were normal. “Just talk to me.”
It was so close. I couldseehim thinking about it. But he shuddered and said, “I’ll wire the doctor,” then whipped his arm off my neck and thrust me through the door. I tripped over the lip and staggered into the drape, hands out, trying to keep from falling down the stairs. The door slammed behind me.
“The doctor will know what to do,” he said, his voice muffled through the metal.
I beat my hands against the door. “Phelps! Phelps, listen to me! Whatever you’re afraid of—”
“There’s a beekeeper bonnet on the peg,” he said. “That kept them off before. I’ll bring you food later.” And then, almost too quietly to hear, “I’m sorry, Miss Wilson. Hanging’s one thing, but I won’t let the Devil take me. Not like this.”
