Sam could never remember seeing one this large. A car came slowly down the road in front of the house. The headlights picked up dozens of eyes, gleaming in the night.

All staring in the direction of the house.

All looking ...

... straight at Sam.

"No question about it," Dr. Livaudais said. "He's been badly clawed by some type of animal. Are you allergic to anything, Mr. ... ah? ..."

"Davis. No, Doc. Nothing that I'm aware of."

Tony cleaned the deep claw wounds and applied antiseptic. That brought Walt to attention.

"Where were you heading, Mr. Davis?" Don asked.

"I was headin' for Baton Rouge, lookin' for work. Some kids tole me I could take this shortcut. Turned out they lied."

"They sure did."

"Everything I got's in that suitcase, Deputy. 'Cept for the money in my wallet. I got money. I'm not a b.u.m."

"No one said you were, Mr. Davis." Don had visually inspected the man moments before, noting that while Walt's clothing was sweaty and wrinkled, it was not filthy clothing, and it was recently purchased. No road dirt was embedded in the man's hands or under his fingernails.

"I can't get your blood pressure down to an acceptable level, Mr. Davis," Tony said. "Have you a history of high blood pressure?"

"I ... don't think so." h.e.l.l, he didn't know. Walt's BP hadn't been checked in so long he couldn't remember the last time. "I don't have any insurance, Doc."

"We'll worry about that later, Mr. Davis. No one has ever been turned away from this clinic because they lacked funds."

Walt was helped to a bed in a small clinic and was asleep a minute after his head hit the pillow.

It was still early, and Tony was keyed up. He asked Don to step into the small lounge. Over coffee, they talked.

"Now, about this monster he thinks he saw? ..." Tony said.

"I don't know, Tony," Don replied. "I'm having a hard enough time accepting his story about cats attacking him."

"I think that much is true. I've treated dozens of kids and adults for cat clawing. But this was a very vicious attack. You noticed the spot where the flesh was torn out?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"That animal tore that out with its teeth. Now cats claw and bite, yes. But this appears to be an attack for food."

Don sat his coffee mug down on the table. "You're serious?"

"Very."

Don told Tony what R. M. had said about the people panicking if the story got out.

"What were R. M. and Romy doing out that way?" Tony asked.

"I don't know. I was heading out that way because of that nut who busted out of that private bug house other side of Alex."

"What nut?"

Don shrugged. "All I got is his name, Jack Dorg. And the message that he's very dangerous. And maybe heading this way. Why would he be heading this way, Tony? I don't know of any family named Dorg in this area, do you?"

"Not ... by that name, no."

Why did the doc hesitate? Don silently questioned. Why did his face suddenly change into a con mask? Or was that just my imagination?

"Tony? If you know something I should know, please level with me."

Tony sighed. He rose from the table and pushed back his chair. "Stick around for a few minutes, Don. Let me make a call. I ... uh ... I've been going over some of my father's old papers. Throwing away a lot of case histories that I have no use for. The families have all moved away, or died . . . whatever. I'll be back in a minute."

"OK.".

What the h.e.l.l was going on? Don mulled over many things during his short wait. Dorg? He didn't know a single person in the parish named Dorg. He'd never known of anybody named Dorg.

He sipped his coffee and waited. He looked up as Tony reentered the lounge.

"All right, Don. I called Chief Pa.s.son, asked him to meet us over here. I'll wait until he gets here, then I'll tell you what I know about this man called Jack Dorg."

"It's Jack," R. M. said.

Romy reached under his seat and took out a .38 caliber pistol. As R. M. watched, his eyes horror-filled, Romy checked the loads and clicked the cylinder closed.

"My G.o.d, son!" R. M. said. "What are you going to do?"

'I'm going to do what you and the others did not do," Romy replied. He met the man's eyes. "I'm going to kill him!"

"Son, listen to me, listen for just a moment. Why do you think we had Jack confined in that inst.i.tution? Why do you think we didn't let the sheriffs department handle the deaths of your real mother and father? Have you ever thought about that?"

"Many times, Dad."

Both men sat in the car, looking at each other, while the wild, insanely evil laughter rolled in waves from the dark-timbered swamp.

"You can't kill him, Romy." R. M.'s words were softly offered. "And I don't mean can not in any moral way. I mean you cannot cannot kill him. You cannot, I cannot, the deputy cannot, the law cannot. Are you beginning to see?" kill him. You cannot, I cannot, the deputy cannot, the law cannot. Are you beginning to see?"

"I don't believe you! It's ... you're just making that up."

R. M. shook his head. "No, son, I am not making anything up. You could empty that pistol into your brother's chest; you could tear his flesh and fire directly into his heart. But you cannot cannot kill him. He will not die." kill him. He will not die."

"Talk to him, old man!" Jack's voice ripped from the hot darkness. "Your time is near. It's time, old man. It's time, baby brother. My Master is near. Very, very near." He laughed and laughed.

Somewhere very close, a wild yowling began.

"Listen to my little friends!" Jack yelled. "Would you like to see some of them?"

"I've handled him before, Dad," Romy said. "He's broken out before and always returned here. And I've taken his hand and he's followed me as docilely as a lamb."

"He wasn't following you, Romy. He was listening to his Master; not you. As he just said, now is the time. The time was not right before."

Both men jerked in surprised fright as a cat leaped onto the hood of the parked car. The cat stared at the men through the windshield.

"Get off!" Romy yelled.

The cat sat and stared.

R. M. sighed and shook his head. "I could talk to no one," he said, speaking as much to the hot air as to Romy. "No one would have believed me. They would have put me me in some inst.i.tution. I've lived with this ... horror all my life. Just as my father did, and his father before him, and his before him. As I am sure the others did, in France." in some inst.i.tution. I've lived with this ... horror all my life. Just as my father did, and his father before him, and his before him. As I am sure the others did, in France."

The cat on the hood of the car extended one paw, the claw out. The cat dragged its claws down the gla.s.s, producing a noise very similar to fingernails on a blackboard. The rasping noise invisibly cut the psyche of the men.

"Put up the windows, son," R. M. said. "Right now."

Romy pressed the power b.u.t.ton; the windows closed. "Now what?" Romy asked, his voice filled with a mixture of emotions: awe, disbelief, horror.

"Drive on until we find a place to turn around. Then return home and pray."

"Pray for what?" what?" Romy screamed. A half dozen more cats leaped onto the hood of the car. They sat and stared through the windshield. Romy screamed. A half dozen more cats leaped onto the hood of the car. They sat and stared through the windshield.

"Forgiveness. Compa.s.sion. Understanding."

"Are you telling me we don't go to the police with this?"

"Would they believe you? Me? I can answer that. No, they would not."

"Is there no one to turn to?"

"Oh, yes, son."

Romy waited for some explanation. When none came, he blurted, "Well, dammit, Dad ... who?" who?"

"G.o.d," R. M. said softly.

"Jack Dorg is really Jackson Dorgenois. He ..." Tony sighed, paused, then shook his head. "Men, I don't know how much of this is true. But you both knew my father. He was a very level-headed, pragmatic man. And he kept quite an extensive journal about this man now called Dorg."

"Jesus, this is macabre. Anyway," he said, clearing his throat. "Sonny, you're old enough to remember Romy's parents, right?"

"Sure. I went to school with Jackson. Romy was an accident. I think he's . . . oh, fifteen or so years younger than Jackson. I was one of the pallbearers at Jackson's funeral. What is this bulls.h.i.t about Jackson being alive?"

"It isn't bulls.h.i.t, Sonny. That casket was, is, empty. Jackson killed both his parents when he was about ... oh, twenty years old, I believe it was. The chief of police here in Becancour back then was Borley. I remember him, but very vaguely."

"Jackson's parents drowned, Tony," Sonny said, protest and disbelief in his voice. "Their bodies were never found."

"What was left of them was found. It was a cover-up. You exhume those so-called empty caskets, and you'll find bones."

"What do you mean, Tony-what was left of the bodies?"

"Jackson ate his parents." Tony spoke the hideousness softly.

Sonny spilled his coffee on the table. He sat in stunned silence as the dark liquid rolled off the table and dripped to the floor.

"Ate them?" Don blurted, breaking the silence. "You mean like a cannibal?" Don blurted, breaking the silence. "You mean like a cannibal?"

"Something like that."

"I do not ... I absolutely refuse to accept, nor do I believe any of this!" Sonny said, considerable heat in his statement. "None of this can be true."

"It's all true," Tony defended his father's writing. "The chief of police back then, Borley, and the sheriff went along with it. Both of them are dead, and if you'll both remember, they died under, well, strange conditions."

"True," Sonny said.

"R. M. Dorgenois and my father, working with both those men, put a lid on the matter and had Jackson committed to a private inst.i.tution. Jackson is supposedly suffering from what is called lycanthrophy. That is a form of insanity in which a human being imagines himself to be a wolf or other wild beast. In Jackson's case, be imagines himself a great cat. And from looking at the sudden changes in both your facial expressions, I think I know what just crossed your minds. Don't make any more of it than is there, please."

"Sure is a bunch of cats in town," Sonny said.

"Pure coincidence," the doctor said.

"And a drifter gets attacked by a pack of cats," Don added.

"A freak accident," Tony said.

Rita Dantin was one of those working the night shift that evening. She walked into the doctor's lounge. "Been looking for you, Tony," she said. "Need you in the emergency room." She cut her dark eyes to Sonny. "Frank Lovern just belted his wife. Busted her mouth. I say 'just.' Probably happened about an hour ago. Then she got up and conked him on the head with a lamp. Then they really started fighting. Tore up one room at the motel, then spilled over to the cafe. Busted tables and chairs all over the place. Both of them are bleeding all over the place."

Sonny looked down at Rita's uniform trousers. One leg was shredded near the cuff. "What happened to you?"

"Darndest thing, Chief," she said. "A cat attacked me. Just came right out of an alley, hissing and clawing. I popped it on the head with my stick and it ran off. I don't ever remember being attacked by a cat before."

Tony exchanged glances with Don and Sonny. "Coincidence," the doctor said. "Just stay calm, everybody."

"Why, Tony?" Sonny questioned. "You think things are gonna get worse?"

"Yes," the doctor said. "I do."

And because of his earlier statements about coincidence, the words popping out of his mouth surprised even Tony.

7.

Don went back to the sheriffs department's substation, arriving just a few seconds ahead of R. M. and Romy.

"We couldn't find the suitcase, Deputy," R. M. said. "How is that poor man?"