"Tell them Detective Coleridge. I'll get in touch with them later. I've got to go."

He didn't wait. Couldn't.

A thin stretch of light on the horizon was all that was left of the day. Night would rule soon, maybe before he even got there. Maybe he'd be too late, all because of some idiot thought he was a race car driver.

He floored the accelerator and squealed away, flicking his headlights to full as he drove.

Another couple of miles, and he'd be there.

To his left, the light. To his right, night. Somewhere in between, Beth waited.

Chapter Sixty-Two.

Beth was alone. She felt Miles leave and knew he'd gone to be with Peter. She didn't mind. It was better that he was with Peter and that she was alone. She wished Coleridge was here, but that was selfish. It was better that he didn't make it.

Dark fell, complete. Outside the circle of lights, she could feel it coming. Her breath felt tight as her heart sped, imagining him striding through the night on clicking heels, blackness following him and turning off all the lights in the world as he passed.

The beast, rising from the dark. His power, drawing from the night.

The policemen in the kitchen couldn't do anything but die.

They didn't deserve that.

She pushed herself from the couch, checking the clock about the stove.

4:35. The sun was gone. The last of the light gone.

It was just her and the dark. The way it should be.

"You've got to leave now," she said as she entered the kitchen.

"Mrs. Willis," one of the policemen said. "We can't. We've got orders."

"You don't understand. You've got to leave. Now. He's coming. You can't do anything but die."

"Mrs. Willis..."

The policeman who spoke to her had sad, tired eyes.

She closed her eyes so she didn't see him. When she opened them again, his granddad was there, at his shoulder. He spoke to her, not with words, but with pictures and feelings, into a place within her deeper than words could reach.

The room was colder now from nightfall, but from the icy presence of the dead, too.

"Your girlfriend just gave birth to your son. Your first son. His name is..." she concentrated on the picture his granddad was showing her. A man with a bow, chasing down a deer.

"Archer. No. Hunter. His name is Hunter. Your son needs you. Go to him. You've got to live for him."

His tired eyes widened. His faced paled.

She turned to his partner, his tea halfway to his lips.

"Your grandmother is here, in the room. She's telling me that you've got a son about to go to university. The first in your family to go to university. She's very proud. He'll graduate, too. But if you stay, you won't see it."

He paled, too. His hand shook suddenly, and he spilled his tea.

"John," the younger one said. "I can't...my boy."

"We've got orders."

"Don't be stupid, John," said Beth. She kept her voice calm. There was no sense in shouting, no matter that she could feel him coming, and time running out for these two men. Every second they stayed with her brought them closer to death.

"Trust me. Leave now."

They stood, but still uncertain.

Outside, an engine roared, close enough to her house for the windows in the front room to rattle.

She didn't know whether to feel relieved or sad.

She decided she could feel happy, because, selfish as it was, she wasn't brave enough to die alone.

"Coleridge is here. He'll stay. You go. Please. Save yourselves. You can't do anything here."

"Ma'am..."

"Beth," she told them automatically. "Don't feel bad. Your duty is to your children. Trust me on this. They need you more than I do. You can do them some good. All you can do for me is die."

The younger one was decided. The older, John, still unsure.

She took his arm and guided him out of the kitchen. He walked slowly, not saying anything, but she was gentle. She didn't rush. She didn't push. Coleridge was coming, and she felt all right.

The last weight on her lifted as she opened the door and was sure she was as ready as she could be, because Coleridge was there, and he was a rock she could cling too, if only until the tide pulled her out.

Chapter Sixty-Three.

The phone rang as Beth's house and the circus surrounding it came into view. Coleridge picked up.

"Not now. Call back."

"Coleridge. Freeman. It's important.

"Quick."

"I weighed him. A normal person's bones, that height..."

"Get to the point."

"He was too light. Way too light."

"So?"

Coleridge squeezed the car through a gap and flashed his badge at a cop flagging him down. He floored it again and drove right up to Beth's door. Gritty sand sprayed the front door and the windows.

Coleridge pushed himself out of the car, shifting his gut to get free of the steering wheel.

"When I opened him up, checked his bones...his bones...ah..."

"The point, Freeman."

"They were hollow, almost...not like some kind of disease...not, ah..."

"Because of the starvation?"

"No. It wouldn't do that. The structure, Coleridge. It's...shit..."

"Freeman, I'm in some shit here. Come on."

The door opened and Beth was there.

Suddenly Coleridge felt his heart lighten. The pressure on his chest eased. He breathed easier, the pounding in his head faded away.

She smiled at him, genuine and warm. He could see she was terrified, it was in every line of her face, but pleased, too.

He smiled back.

"I'm not an ornithologist, Coleridge, but the only thing with bones like his are birds. It's not a symptom of any kind of disorder. It's like it's a mutation. It's totally unnatural."

Coleridge was interested, but whatever it was, it was too late. Too late to make a difference.

Two policemen, afraid, looking around like a killer was on their heels, stepped down past him.

He hopped up to the door and took Beth's hand. He didn't get to say goodbye to Freeman, because his phone died as soon as he crossed the threshold.

The door shut behind them, and the night began.

Part Five.

The Devil.

Chapter Sixty-Four.

"Coleridge," she said, smiling sadly. "I'm glad you came. I wish you hadn't, but I'm glad you came."

"Me, too," he said. "I didn't want you to be alone. Not tonight."

"You feel it, too?"

"I know it." Beth took him by the arm and led him into the kitchen. A bottle of Speyburn sat on the table, a single malt she'd been saving. Two tumblers.

"It doesn't matter now, right? You believe me?"

"I do. He called me last night. Said he was coming. Sawyer was dead before the call. It isn't Sawyer."

"It is, Coleridge. It is."

They sat. Coleridge thought about what Beth said as she poured for them. He watched the clock and heard the tick. Front and back lights blazed. TV crews had set up on the beach. They looked confused, milling about, fussing over cameras and lights. Probably trying to get a good shot of her and Coleridge. She didn't care anymore. She wouldn't be around to see it.

"I saw him today," she said.

"What? He was here? How...?"

"Not him, but a vision of him. He was in a room surrounded by heads. The people he'd killed."

"How...Beth...?"

"All you've seen and you still doubt? You've got to believe, Coleridge. Take it on faith if you have to, but you've seen proof and you still doubt it?"

He shook his head. The whiskey seemed to calm him but his thick, strong hands still shook.

"I was there today. I wish you hadn't seen it."

"I do, too. But I saw it and I can't change it. He's coming. A spirit wants what a spirit wants. I could go to the other side of the world and he'd still be coming. It wouldn't take him any longer to get there. Sawyer was just a shell. A body he lived in. He's older than that. He's something we could never understand. There's no point in trying. You can't fight him, but it doesn't matter, because he's not here for you. He's here for me."

"I saw his body. He looked old, ancient. He was just a husk, starved, but he looked like someone in their nineties."

"Just a shell. He kept his body young and when he died his power left. He's all spirit now. He doesn't need a body anymore."

"The pathologist said his bones weren't human. Like a bird's."