Devlin's Luck by Patricia Bray Read Free Book Online Page B

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    He tried to move, but he was frozen in place, knowing the horror to come. “Cerrie! Cormack! The woods!” his dream self screamed, but they could not hear him. For he was not really there, just as he had not been there on that awful day.
    At the last moment Cerrie turned and saw the approaching danger. She called out a warning, and seizing the small trowel, ran toward the basket where the infant lay. A banecat followed her. Cerrie turned and picked up a heavy gourd, hurling it toward the banecat with deadly aim. It struck the cat between the eyes, but the creature merely paused and shook his head before continuing its pursuit.
    Then the banecat sprang. As Cerrie fell, she covered the basket with her body. She struggled desperately, but a digging trowel was a poor weapon, and no match for the power of that unholy creature. Devlin could not bear to watch and yet his visions gave him no choice, compelled to stand witness as her struggles ceased and her life’s blood drained away in a crimson flood.
    Bile rose in his throat as he turned and saw that the other two creatures had already killed the man and the boy, savagely rending the bodies limb from limb. He could bear no more, and yet the greatest horror was yet to come.
    As her mother’s blood dripped into the basket, the tiny infant began to wail. The banecat nudged Cerrie’s body, then seemed to realize that the sound was coming from underneath her. Seizing Cerrie’s arm in his great jaws, he tugged at her body until the basket was uncovered.
    The baby continued to cry. Attracted by the noise, the other two banecats wandered over. The largest of them nuzzled the tiny body, then swatted the basket with his paw. Devlin’s fists clenched in helpless rage as the basket tipped and the baby tumbled out onto the dirt.
    One of the banecats began to bat the infant like a ball. The others took up the game, toying with the child as if she were a helpless mouse. The baby’s cries turned to shrieks of pain as their sharp claws pierced her skin. The banecats seemed to take a cruel delight in her torment, but eventually her cries weakened, and then ceased altogether.
    Losing interest in playing with the tiny corpse, the leader of the banecats padded away into the tiny cottage, but there was no one within. He gave a disdainful sniff at the bleating goats and squawking chickens in their pen, but unnatural beast that he was, he had no interest in such easy prey. Returning to his companions, they briefly touched muzzles, then melted back into the forest.
    Devlin found his dream self drawn to the corpse of the tiny infant. Kneeling down, he picked her up in his arms, straightening her limbs as if that would somehow make things better. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked at him with searing accusation.
    “Why?” she asked. It was the first and last word she would ever speak.
    He opened his mouth, but he had no answer. The spark of life faded from her eyes, and he was once again holding a corpse.
    As suddenly as it had began, the dream was over, and he awoke. Slowly he unclenched his hands, feeling the pain where his fingernails had bitten into his palms. He rubbed the last of sleep from his eyes, not surprised to find the tracks of tears on his cheeks. Only in his dreams could he weep for those he had lost.
    He felt an immense aching hollowness, as if all life, all feeling, had been drained from him, leaving nothing behind but a shell of a man. Against this hollowness, his grief and guilt were like two pebbles dropped into an enormous well. Nothing he did could change what had happened, or turn him back into the man that he had been before that day. He would never be free from his guilt, or from the horror of his dreams.
    He should have been there. He should have saved his family, or died with them. He did not deserve to live.
    The despair that was his constant companion rose up and threatened to overwhelm him. It would be so simple to give in to his demons and end his torment.