The voice behind that hiss was ancient.

It was legion.

"Stuart?" Wesley said softly. The fear in his voice was all too real.

"Wwweeeessssssssssssleeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy!"

Lori grabbed my hand, crushing it so hard it hurt, and I think I almost leaped straight into her lap at the sound of that voice.

That voice wasn't human.

It represented everything that was evil. It had a guttural, slithering tinge to it, as if it was spoken with a forked tongue over a maw of ragged teeth from a throat as old as time. It held an inflection of wisdom, a wisdom so great it felt like whatever hissed that single word could look deep into our hearts and minds and know our fears, our desires, our sense of purpose. And with that wisdom was also a sense of mirth. As if we were mere playthings to the creature on the other end. Things to be toyed with.

"Stuart?" Wesley asked again, the shakiness in his voice very apparent.

There was another hiss from the thing on the other end. And then what sounded like a laugh. "Stuart's not here right now, Wesley," the thing said. "But I am. I'm just borrowing Stuart's body. I found him, you see. Found him and took over. Oh, he put up a fight, but I took over. I won!"

"Hang up that f.u.c.king thing right now!" Lori barked.

Wesley disconnected the signal and flicked the radio off.

To me, the damage had been done. I could still hear the sound of that thing's voice in my mind.

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" Martin asked.

"That wasn't Stuart," I said. I had my arms around Lori, who was trembling.

"No," Wesley said quietly, his voice shaking. "That wasn't Stuart." He cast a scared look at us. "Stuart's gone now."

"Oh G.o.d," Lori said. She turned her face to my chest. I could feel her body tremble as she tried to stifle her emotions.

"So what was it?" Martin asked. He had a panicked look about him. "Was it one of the primitives? Was it-"

"I don't know!" Wesley said. He looked at Martin, frustrated, scared. He shook his head.

We sat there in the growing dark of the radio room and tried to get past this latest scare. I held Lori and I think in doing so we comforted each other. Wesley sat behind the console, not saying anything, and Martin stood by the desk looking restless.

I broke the silence. "We need to find out what we're dealing with. I brought six volumes covering ancient superst.i.tions and belief systems of primitive man. I doubt I'll find anything in them, but-"

"You might find something," Martin said. He nodded at me. "Go. There's nothing else we can do tonight anyway."

I patted Lori's shoulder and stood up, extricating myself from her. "I'll be in the office," I said.

And then I left the room and went to crack open the books.

I not only didn't really learn a G.o.dd.a.m.n thing from the books I got from the library, I fell asleep in the office.

I pored through each book, doing a fast skim read. As night fell, I turned on a lamp to see by, not wanting to turn on the lights for fear of the house being a beacon in the night for every wayward primitive in the area to see us. I reacquainted myself with the study of the Neanderthal, the emergence of the Cro-Magnon, and the eventual demise of the former. I confirmed that because Neanderthals had no written language, the only evidence we had that suggested any belief in a spiritual afterlife was burial sites: the remains of a Neanderthal was found in Northern Iraq buried under a pile of rocks and resting on a bed of flowers. Surely a ritual that held some kind of spiritual significance to early man. Further archeological evidence shows a prehistoric custom of dusting corpses with red ocher (a mixture of clay and iron oxide) that was found throughout the area Neanderthal's once roamed. One of the more popular theories on this was the notion that the red pigment was a symbolic subst.i.tution for blood.

I skimmed through two more volumes, all going over the same theories, all detailing the same archeological evidence. Depictions of primitive man in hunting parties; photos of crude stone tools, jewelry made of bone. Photos of cave paintings, although these would come from the more modern h.o.m.o sapiens. I paid close attention to the relationship between h.o.m.o sapiens and Neanderthal, and eventually dragged out a tablet of paper and a pen from the desk and jotted down notes. Neanderthals died out twenty thousand years ago, well after the arrival of h.o.m.o sapiens two hundred thousand years ago. The theory of crossbreeding was a popular one, yet archeological evidence shows that the two avoided each other whenever possible. There would have been tribal conflicts. And while h.o.m.o Sapien were smarter, Neanderthals were physically stronger. In the end, h.o.m.o sapiens would prove to be the dominant species, going on to forge bigger clans which would eventually form into primitive societies until the written word came about and then...well, I already knew what went on from there, from Mesopotamia and Sumer, to Babylon, to Egypt and Ancient Greece. The question was: what if the G.o.d of the New World wasn't a Neanderthal G.o.d?

Perhaps it was an ancient G.o.d from our own h.o.m.o sapiens ancestors?

That didn't make sense. If so, why was it manifesting itself now?

I flipped through a book that had a large section on ancient cave drawings. As I flipped through the photos somewhat lazily, my mind wandered. I was chasing my tail. The photos I came across showed cave paintings I'd seen before. Totem animals-deer, lions, mammoths. Caricatures of primitive man hunting down mammoth. Fascinating stuff, but I'd seen it all before. As I flipped through the photos I realized that we might be dealing with something entirely new, that the G.o.d of the New World might be simply that-a new G.o.d, for an entirely New World brought about by ways we would never understand. The idea of a Neanderthal strain in our DNA being triggered via the virus that was sprayed in the smart bombs...simple speculation. After all, the debate over the Neanderthal gene in our DNA had been hotly contested up until that fateful day when the world went mad, with the latest theory being that h.o.m.o sapiens and Neanderthal shared a common ancestor seven hundred thousand years ago, with the evolution tree undergoing a complete separation of the species three hundred thousand years ago. Could the chemical compound in question have triggered this unknown strain, tapped into this. .h.i.therto unknown missing link?

Wesley had no doubt heard this theory. I doubted he would have had first hand knowledge of any kind of government plot to disperse such a compound to render the majority of the human population into ma.s.ses of crazed animals.

With that in mind, wouldn't it be possible that the G.o.d of the New World was a creature created in a government lab?

Now my mind was running away with me. Chalk that up to my over-active imagination, which was how I made my living in the old days.

Of course back then, I could use that imagination to map my way out of a plot jam.

I couldn't do that in the real world.

I was frustrated and about to give up for the night when a photo toward the end of the volume I was flipping through-An Ill.u.s.trated History of Prehistoric Man-caught my eye.

It was a photo of a cave painting in Spain. Shot in brilliant color, it contained the usual mult.i.tudes of reds, oranges, violets and hazels, a blend of colors creating a canvas that depicted a man bearing a spear battling large mastodons and saber-toothed tigers. Yet in the upper left hand corner, very faintly, there it was- The G.o.d of the New World.

I scrutinized the photo more closely. It was very faint, and at first I thought my imagination was playing tricks on me, but it was evident. The wings, the arms, the horned head. It was in the upper left hand side of the cave painting, as if the unknown artist was depicting it flying over the hunting scene. It was so crudely drawn that I almost convinced myself my mind was playing tricks on me, that I was seeing it in that myriad of colors because I wanted to see it. It was an optical illusion, like seeing bunnies and Elvis in cloud formations.

It was subtle, yet I couldn't deny it. I was seeing it.

The footnote that accompanied the photo made no mention of the figure at all, merely indicating the painting in question was probably composed circa 35,000 BC. I flipped the page, trying to find more from that era. There were photos of cave paintings throughout Europe, and then a few pages later, the Middle East.

I found another slight depiction of the G.o.d of the New World in a cave painting found in Sumer, in what is now Iraq. Once again, the painting appeared to depict a hunting party. In addition to the scene of hunter-gatherers killing a large animal, another group of humans appeared to be engaged in some kind of ritual; they were gathered together in a circle. The sky overhead was painted in reds and oranges; to the casual observer it might have suggested the setting of the sun. My trained eye, however, saw the G.o.d of the New World quite clearly in the swatches of color, overhead in the upper right hand corner of the painting. And as I looked at it, definitely convinced now that I wasn't just seeing things, something sparked my memory.

Leaving the volume open, I fumbled for the only book I could find in the library on ancient superst.i.tions. I flipped through it, browsing through the chapter headings: Mesopotamian Spiritual Beliefs, Animist Beliefs of Primitive Europeans. The G.o.ds of Ancient Egypt. Sumerian Myths and Magic.

I flipped to that last chapter and browsed, trying to find photos, drawings, anything.

And found it.

My breath caught in my throat.

It was too close to be true. While it sported no horns, there was a ridged crown running down the middle of its head. The wings were readily apparent, as was the human-like body. The head, while said to depict a dog or a lion, was strangely human in form, yet demonic in its features with its large eyes and mouth and overall sense of evil.

Pazuzu. The a.s.syrian demon from the first millennium BC.

Known as the G.o.d of the southwest wind for bringing drought and famine during dry seasons, and locusts during rainy seasons, Pazuzu was said to be an evil spirit who drove away other evil spirits, protecting humans against plagues and misfortune. He was the son of Hanbi, who was the lord of all evil spirits. I flipped to the index to find more on Hanbi and found only one other entry. Flipping to the appropriate page number, the reference made mention of Pazuzu's lineage again with the simple note, "Little is known of Hanbi. According to many ancient religious sects, Hanbi is another identification of Satan."

Alex's story of Naomi's increasing religious fervor prior to her turning primitive came to me. She was convinced that demons were walking the earth, that the primitives weren't people, but demons!

I knew enough about Satan from my own readings of the occult. The word itself was Hebrew in origin and meant "adversary." Abrahamic religious belief systems other than Judaism relate this term to a demon, a rebellious fallen angel, or an allegory for evil. The very word Satan and the Arabic "shaitan" meant "to be hostile" or "to accuse." In Job 1:7, when G.o.d asks him from where he has come from, Satan answers, "From wandering the earth and walking on it." The root word sut, from the term wandering, or mi sut, signifies wandering on foot or sailing. Satan would thus be The Wanderer.

Much like how the G.o.d of the New World was wandering...or sailing over the world now.

As I tried to find more research on Hanbi, more of my research on Satan came forth (much of that from a novella and a novel I'd published in what now seemed the dawn of time). In the Book of Wisdom, itself part of The Apocrypha, religious writings which are not generally accepted as scripture by many mainstream sects of Christianity and Judaism, the devil is represented as the being who brought death into the world. Of course, in Christianity, Satan originally appeared as an angel, the angel of music, who rebelled against G.o.d and was cast into his role by an angry G.o.d to rule in h.e.l.l, thus paving the way for years of religious dogma that would persist until...well, until the world fell and the G.o.d of the New World rose to hold sway.

I glanced around the office, noting the books that lined the bookshelf. Not one volume on religion, much less a Bible for further research. Which would mean another trip to the library to hopefully find a volume on the occult, or devil worship.

My discovery was making me restless. I headed out of the office and went upstairs to check on Tracy and Emily. As I entered our suite I made note of the time on the battery-operated digital clock on the nightstand. It was almost nine PM I'd been studying for almost three hours.

Emily and Tracy were already asleep in the king-sized bed. Emily lay on her left side, spooned against Tracy. I watched them for a moment, then went back downstairs again. After stopping briefly to check on Lori and Alex (who was fast asleep on the sofa) and Martin, who was pulling guard duty outside, I went back into the office.

I examined every book in the office. There was nothing to be had on the occult. Not even in the form of fiction. I was hoping for some King, some Blatty, something in the realm of popular fiction that had mined the lore of devil worship and demons where I could hopefully dig out some nuggets of truth from the make-believe, which is what fiction was. The closest I could find to anything remotely resembling that brand of fiction were a few James Patterson thrillers. I went back to the book on ancient superst.i.tion and read more, soaking up information on a.s.syrian, Mesopotamian, and Babylonian belief systems. I thought of Hanbi, Pazuzu, and the devil, and the belief of demonic possession as popularized in Christian thought and dramatized in the William Peter Blatty novel The Exorcist. The demon in both the book and movie was Pazuzu, the setting in the beginning of the novel and film Northern Iraq, the cradle of civilization and the area where ancient a.s.syrian and Sumerian belief systems sprang.

At some point, the events of the day took their toll on my body, and then my mind. I could feel myself growing tired as I went upstairs to check on my family again.

Eventually, the fatigue spread. It was becoming harder to concentrate on the written word.

I must have fallen asleep around ten-thirty, maybe eleven.

I don't remember how long I was asleep. An hour at the most. Maybe two.

What woke me up was the sound of Lori Smith screaming.

I sprang to my feet and dashed out of the room at the sound of Lori's ear-piercing scream from the living room. My heart pounded as I became immediately concerned for my family and their safety.

As I reached the living room I saw Martin come in from outside. He was cradling an M4. I heard footsteps upstairs and a moment later Tracy emerged on the landing, looking worried and rattled. I felt a momentary sense of relief at seeing her there. Lori screamed again from the living room. "Oh d.a.m.n, oh s.h.i.t, no, this isn't happening!"

"Stay there!" I shouted at Tracy. I went toward the living room, following Martin, and instantly regretted it; I didn't have a weapon.

I heard Alex yell something as Martin and I entered the den, and then I heard what I first thought to be a third voice. This voice was guttural, almost animal-like in its nature. Martin stopped at the threshold to the living room, and as I looked into the darkened room my vision caught what was going on.

Lori was standing away from the sofa looking terrified. Alex was sitting up, rocking back and forth again, saying "no, please, no please" over and over. Every once in awhile he would growl and that third voice would take over, that guttural animal-like tone that was reminiscent of the primitives.

"He's turning," Lori said, her eyes panicked. "He's turning and I can't get him to stop! I can't-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" Alex insisted, that growl now replaced by a tone of panic. When he looked at us I could see his terrified gaze swing from Lori to us. He was shaking his head. "Really, I'm okay, I just had a bad dream, I-"

I heard a fourth set of footsteps behind me; Wesley. "What's going on?" he barked.

"There's something wrong with Alex!" Lori said, her voice still carrying that edge of panic.

"There's nothing wrong with me!" Alex insisted. He was leaning forward on the sofa now. He didn't look like he was turning to me.

"Then why the f.u.c.k were you sounding like a G.o.dd.a.m.n wild animal a minute ago?"

"I-I w-wasn't!" Alex stammered.

"Bulls.h.i.t! I heard it, I saw you!"

Martin stepped forward, rifle cradled in his arms. "What did you see, Lori?"

"She didn't see anything!" Alex implored Martin. It was obvious that Martin scared him to death; Martin not only cut an imposing figure, he was carrying that rifle.

"Why don't you try to relax a little bit," I told Alex.

"I'm okay!" Alex kept insisting. He was still rocking back and forth on the sofa, his frightened eyes darting around the room. "I'm okay, really, I am."

"You're not okay, Alex!" Lori stated.

"Why don't you just tell us what happened," Wesley said.

"I was dozing on the floor and he just started growling." Lori had scampered to the coffee table, where she kept her distance from Alex. "I got up and he was sitting there like that, rocking back and forth. I thought he was having a bad dream, that he was thinking of Naomi because he kept saying 'no' over and over, and then-"

"That's all it was, just a bad dream," Alex reiterated.

"But you were changing!" Lori admonished. She was speaking directly to Alex now, some of her hardcore personality coming back through. "You looked at me and you made that sound again...that demon sound like you hear in horror movies and...when you looked at me...you weren't there!"

"She's lying!" Alex said, still looking panicked.

"I called your name three times and you didn't respond!"

"That's not true!" As Alex said that, his voice changed-whether involuntarily or not, it was a notable change. The word true had that guttural, raspy tone as described by Lori.

We all jumped at the sound of it. Alex began to growl again as he rocked and I saw something flit across his features.

Lori was right.

He was changing.

"Oh Jesus," Lori said. She scrambled off the coffee table, almost falling on the floor in her haste to get away. Martin gripped the M4 in his hands, unsure of what to do.

Wesley stepped forward, almost fearless in his approach. "Alex, you've got to fight it!"

Alex growled at Wesley. They locked eyes. I could see Alex's true human nature in there, swimming in his baby blues, pleading for help as something came to the surface and tried to take over.

"Fight it!" Wesley roared.

The thing trying to take over winked out and Alex was back. "What's happening?" he said, his voice breaking down.

Wesley turned to me. "Get the rope out of the kitchen. Now!"

I scrambled out of the living room and went to the kitchen, keeping my ears peeled to what was going on in the living room. I could hear Alex crying, pleading for help, and Wesley's stronger, more authorative voice telling him to fight it, just fight it G.o.ddammit! I flipped on the light, saw the adjoining mudroom and stumbled inside. A coil of rope lay on the unused washing machine. I grabbed it and headed back to the living room.

When I got back to the living room Lori was standing by Martin, who had the M4 pointed at Alex. Wesley was guardedly approaching him, talking to him. "Fight it, Alex, fight it!"

"Aaaaarrrrruuuuggghhhhh!" Alex roared. He t.i.tled his head back, eyes closed. Even with his eyes closed I could see the transformation take shape. It wasn't like a CGI special effect; it was more like a kind of essence that was struggling to take hold.

I handed the coil of rope to Wesley who immediately began wrapping it around Alex's arms and torso. "Help me tie him up," he said as I leaped forward to do just that.