Together they walked into the old house and closed the door behind them. Sam followed Cassandra to the bedroom, his face expressionless.
She was thin, almost too thin, her cheeks hollow and her eyes black. The hair which hung straight and dark to her waist swung slowly from side to side as she walked. Her hands were bony and veined like those of an old woman, but she had the appearance of someone not quite forty. When she let her robe slip to the floor her skin was smooth and white - except for the thin wavering shadows which began at her ankles and crawled up her legs, spiralling about her waist. It was as though she stood in the myriad shadows of a tree whose branches cast a darkness upon her body, hiding, here and there, a bright white sun.
She held out her arms and Sam took her in his arms, pushing her gently, delicately, backward onto the bed.
"Come my lover," she whispered. "We will wait. There is time."
She moaned and let herself be taken.
***
Bryan had stopped at the hardware store and purchased a chain saw. He sat in the car and read the instructions carefully. Liz had always used a new device without reading the instructions, but he was more cautious. He read the little booklet twice. Then he went back into the store to buy chain saw lubricating oil and an oil additive for the 30:1 mixture that the booklet called for. Liz would have filled it with gas and started it right away - not knowing that it needed a gas/oil mixture. He was proud of himself.
He stood on the sidewalk and filled the chain saw with lubricating oil, careful to pour it into the correct hole. Then he opened the trunk and took out the can of gasoline and poured the entire oil additive into the can. Who knows what 30:1 required? He would use the chain saw for a few minutes only. Surely it would survive as long as was required to cut down the willow tree. He placed the can beside the shovel, in the trunk, closed the lid and slid into the car. Now he could just wait until dark.
Why was he waiting until dark? That would mean he needed a flashlight. The tree was somehow alive, evil. Did he really want to cut it down in the dark? Not likely. When, then? He looked at his watch. It was nearly 2 o'clock in the afternoon. Now ... he should go now. The thought made his heart pound. He had planned on going later and would have had an opportunity to screw up his courage. But he should swallow hard and head for Dune Road - now.
He fished for his keys, turned on the engine and waited, breathing deeply.
As he drove out of the city he went over his plan. He would wait near the house until he was sure that no one was home. He would knock on the door. Hadn't Liz done just that? If there were no answer then he would take the chain saw from the trunk and cut down the tree. First the outer branches, then under the tree to its trunk. He had seen it done on TV: a straight cut, a diagonal cut meeting the first, a cut opposite, not quite meeting the first. The tree would fall slowly and he would stand back and watch. Then dig, with the shovel, until he exposed the bones. Pour the gasoline right into the hole and light it - right there. Gasoline! Had he forgotten? No, he had some left, from the chain saw. The tree would go up in flames as well as the bones: a proper cremation for the twin of the evil Cassandra. Matches. Had he forgotten matches? No, they were in his jacket. Good. He checked the gas gauge in his car. Plenty of gas. Good. He had thought of everything.
The sun was bright and the glare from the hood was in his eyes. He slowed and pulled the visor down, peering from under it at the dirt road flanked by fields of wildflowers. He drove for some time, then, there was the house, standing alone about 100 feet back from the road. At the side was the tree - a willow tree which towered over the house, its branches still and motionless in the afternoon sun. Bryan drove past and brought the car to rest at the side of the road. He waited for a moment then turned to look at the house out the back window. There was no sign of life. Even the willow was still.
He waited for perhaps ten minutes then opened the door and slid out. His neck was sore from looking back over his shoulder. He closed the door, tossed his head from side to side to rid himself of the stiffness, then began to walk slowly back to the house to verify that it was empty.
At the driveway he stopped and stared at the tree, mentally going through the motions: cut the branches, then the trunk, watch it fall, dig the hole, pour the gasoline, light the match.
The tree began to sway in a light breeze and he shivered slightly, then walked to the porch and knocked on the door.
What if someone answered? He had only figured on knocking and waiting to make sure that no one was home - but what if some one did answer? What if someone was home?
He was out of gas, that's what he'd tell them. Could he use their phone, to phone the service station? But then the serviceman would come and find that he had plenty of gas. What then? He wouldn't wait for the serviceman to arrive; that's it. He would use the phone then just drive away. What if the lady of the house - Cassandra - took note of his licence plates? He looked at his car. It was hidden by the willow tree, and too far away to see the plates.
The door swung open and Bryan opened his mouth, but was unable to say anything.
Sam Jaffre was standing at the door.
***
"Yes?" Sam said slowly, looking over Bryan's head.
"I ... the phone ... uh, your phone ..."
Sam looked down, staring quizzically, as though noticing him for the first time. Didn't Sam recognize him? Sam just stood there, staring, right through him.
"The phone ... I've come to repair ... uh, the phone," he heard himself saying.
What a fool! Why did I say that!
Sam Jaffre stepped aside. "Come," he said. "Phone."
Those damned half-sentences again. Maybe he should talk in half-sentences. Would that make him seem like a Friend of Willow? Bryan stepped inside and headed directly to the phone. He had seen Liz use it the night they had first seen the Dune willow tree, and he knew exactly where it was. That was good. A repairman would probably know the location of every phone in the county. Sam just stared straight ahead. He didn't recognize Bryan! Sam seemed remote, hypnotized - under a spell. Yes, under a spell.
Bryan took the phone off the hook and spoke into it. "Hello? Hello?" Stupid. Is that what a repairman would do? He put the phone back on the hook and knelt by the phone jack, removing the connector, inspecting it, then replacing it again.
"Okay," he said. "Phone okay. Good. Not bad. Perfect. Works."
He was overdoing this half-sentence thing. He got up and backed toward the door, looking intently at Sam. The door was open and he turned and walked quickly through the door, directly into the living room.
"Sorry," he said, "... wrong door ... I thought ... uh, the front door, I thought ..."
No. Wrong language, wrong syntax, wrong sentence length.
"Wrong. Go. Front. Door."
Sam was still staring straight ahead, hardly noticing him.
"Well, Mr. Laker. Won't you come in and join Sam and me? We were just having a glass of red wine. Would you care to join us?"
Bryan spun around and saw the shadowy figure in the chair, a chair that rose high above her head, hovering, ornate.
Cassandra!
"Uh ... I came to repair the phone ... uh, it's okay. I mean, okay. Good. Perfect."
"Come Professor Laker, you surely haven't turned from the college and taken up with the telephone company, have you?"
Bryan stumbled forward as Sam pushed him from behind and he sat on the nearest chair. Sam took a spot, standing, behind Cassandra's chair. She waved at him, a careless wave of her hand, and Sam stepped back against the wall.
"You know me, do you not? You have been following me, have you not?"
Bryan tried to talk but only stammered. "Brubacher."
"Yes. Cassandra Brubacher. But you learned that from Arnie, did you not? Poor Arnie, he spoke too much. Years of silence, then ... well, no matter, he is gone now."
Bryan found his voice. "His daughter. You were his daughter." Then he shook his head and
corrected himself. "No. You were the daughter of Joshua Kumar."
"Very good Professor Laker. Arnie didn't tell you that, did he? He was getting old -thought I really was his daughter. But you are quite right. My father - my real father - that was Joshua Kumar." She spoke the name with venom.
Bryan began to relax. What could she do to him? Could she help him? Could she release his wife? The baby was gone - but his wife was in a coma. Could she, would she, release Liz?
"My wife, Liz. She's in a coma - General Hospital. Why do you keep your spell -"
Cassandra laughed, a hard, crackling, shrill laugh.
"My spell? Do you think I have cast a spell on your wife?"
She laughed again, then leaned forward, her voice suddenly becoming serious, harsh, stern.
"Your wife is a fool! She tried to keep her baby - keep it from the embrace of Ahriman - and almost succeeded!"
Her face flared in anger, then softened and she chuckled, leaned back and pointed over her shoulder to Sam.
"He was in love with your wife. Did you know that? He tried to save the child; tried to take your wife away, deny the Prince of Darkness. But my sister was there. Together - Willow and I - we took the baby. Now Willow has it. It is hers, to deliver unto the Prince. Do you understand, Professor Laker? Do you understand?"
Bryan stuttered. "Your twin sister ... buried under the willow ... killed, murdered by your mother ..."
"No!"
Cassandra was on her feet.
"No! My mother loved us, loved us both!"
Sam stepped forward.
"No!" Cassandra screamed. "My sister was killed, murdered, torn from the womb of my mother, violently, shamelessly, taken by the most evil of men, tempest of the devil: Joshua Kumar!"
Sam stepped to Cassandra's side, staring blankly. Bryan leaned back into his chair and raised his hands as though to shield himself. Cassandra walked quickly and stood before him, shouting.
"My sister, newly born, with a soul still tainted by the sins of mankind, a soul we shared, then ... and now! Willow, my sister, taken from my arms, taken and murdered while I watched - while my mother watched! Her soul - my soul - given to the willow, still warm with a blood we shared, a soul we shared!" Cassandra lifted her face, a bright beam in her eyes. "Great God of Light, see us and weep as thy children weep! Great Prince of Darkness, listen to our plea!"
Bryan could now see her face in the dim light. It was contorted, in pain, eyes flashing blood-red, hair rising wild and tangled about her head. Her face was pale, white, chalky. Her lips were pressed to a thin red line. She wore a long black robe which hung straight from her shoulders to her ankles. Her arms were extended to her sides, her hands bent at the wrists toward the floor, bony fingers spread apart.
Bryan recalled, vaguely, the book which told of the God of Light, the Prince of Darkness. Liz had been reading it ... and this woman seemed to embrace precisely this mythology. He began to shudder, tremble.
Then Cassandra backed away, slowly, her hair falling again to her shoulders, her hands falling slowly to her side. She pointed to Bryan with a single finger and spoke softly.
"But wait. Soon my sister will be with us, born again, free again, rising from the ground beneath the willow. My sister will be with us ... soon." Yet she seemed uncertain, as though it were merely a wish, a blind hope. Bryan thought she looked beaten, somehow.
Cassandra slowly slipped back into her chair, her arms lying casually on the high arm rests, fingers hanging off the end like thin strips of ribbon - and Bryan held his breath. Sam stepped back, against the wall.
There was no sound from Bryan but his breathing, and he tried to keep that from being noticed. Cassandra sat in the darkness of the room, silent and still. They sat like that for what seemed like hours. Bryan was afraid to move, to say anything.
Then he heard the humming.
***
Cassandra stood and raised her hands above her head as the shimmering figures rose and quivered about her. Bryan stared, mouth open. They seemed to come right out of the floor and envelop her body. The humming was coming from the shapes but soon Cassandra began to hum - and Sam, who had stood motionless until now, began to hum and rock back and forth.
Cassandra dropped her robe. She was covered in black streaks which moved across her body, rising from her ankles, wrapped about her waist, coiled about her breasts, gyrating, pulsating. She began to sway and then to shout.
"Ahriman, release my sister from your evil grasp!"
Her hair began to rise, a wild tangle, black and violent.
"You have your soul! I have paid your price! Give to me the soul of Willow! Give to me the soul of my sister!"
Her eyes began to glow, first a soft pink, then a deeper red, then bright, blood-red orbs shining in the dark room.
"God of Light, take my sister into your arms - bless her with the gift of life - carry her from the depths to the light - from the root to the branch - from the evil grasp of Ahriman to the arms of Ahura-Mazda! My alliance with the Prince of Darkness has ended!"
The shapes swirled to the ceiling, filling the room with light. The humming grew louder until it was a scream, shrill and piercing. Cassandra swayed more violently, her arms rocking above her hair, fingers outstretched, the dark shadows rising and falling across her body, swirling, revolving.
Then, a sudden flash of light, luminescent figures exploding in a glowing cascade of brilliance - then all went dark.
Cassandra collapsed into the chair, moaning and running her hands over her body. Bryan could see very little, but it seemed that her body was now completely white and free of the moving shadows. He realized that he had been holding his breath and he let it out in a long, low groan. Cassandra looked up and stared at him, eyes still flashing red.
"He has denied me," she said in a voice at once quivering with rage and yet whispering, low and sinister. "I have given my life to his work, yet does he deny me. Ahriman, Prince of the Night, deny me no more! Ahura-Mazda, God of Light, I have turned from Thee, from the Light to the Dark, and He rebukes me!" She rose from her chair and walked to the window and threw open the heavy drapes and the sun came blinding through the glass. "Ahura-Mazda, I seek the Light once more! Come to my aid and I shall deny the Prince of Darkness!"
Bryan stared in amazement. She had grown older! Her face was more creased, her hands more bony and wrinkled.
She turned and walked slowly from the room. Sam followed, as in a daze.
Bryan looked about. She had left him alone. Was it possible? He could leave - escape - tell the police. Would she let him leave? He rose shakily and went to the front door, looking back over his shoulder. He opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. The brightness of the afternoon sun was staggering and he lowered his head, shielded then closed his eyes, stumbled forward and down the stairs. He walked into a dark shadow and opened his eyes. The willow tree towered above him with branches waving and agitated and he fell backward onto the damp ground. The dark tree descended, coils covered in hair, descending. He pushed with his feet, back, away from the tree and yet it came, straining, waving, fingers of wood, reaching. He jumped to his feet and stumbled and fell and jumped up once more, then turned and ran as fast as he could, afraid to look back.
When he reached the car he slid inside and started the engine. He would go to the police and tell them everything.
What would he tell them? A woman who thought her sister was a tree? Who thought that she could trade souls and have the tree take human form? Was that what Cassandra expected? He looked back, out the rear window. The tree was still.
Now. He must do it now!
Oh God. Please give me the strength.
He turned off the engine, slid out of the car and opened the trunk, panting. He lifted the heavy chain saw in one hand and the shovel in the other. His hands were shaking so much that the shovel banged against the side of the car, a noisy clang. He looked around at the house expecting to see some
one, something, coming toward him, evil and dangerous. Nothing. He took a deep breath and started across the field toward the tree. He would stay on the side away from the house. He would not be seen by Cassandra - or by Sam. He would cut down the tree - quietly, then it would be too late for them to do anything. Quietly? Was a chain saw quiet? It didn't matter - he had to do it, now.
When he reached the tree he dropped the shovel and tried to remember the directions from the chain saw manual. Think. He must remember. Rotate the choke lever to Full Choke. Push the safety bar to Disengage. Place the saw on the ground, steadied with his left hand and pull the starter handle, vigorously. The chain saw roared into life and he fell back, still holding the saw. It made a terrifying noise, screaming as though in pain, but he would finish quickly.
He got to his feet and swung the saw up to the nearest branch. The branch fell away from the tree. He moved forward and swung the saw across another branch. It spun away and landed beside him. It worked! The saw cut through the branches like butter. Another branch, then another. The branches got heavier, thicker - but they didn't stay still. The next branch withdrew and rose in the air, hovering, black and hairy. He reached up and swung the saw in a wide arc across the branch. There was a scream, as though the branch itself was screaming. His saw caught and stalled. Damn! He tried to tear it away from the branch, but it was stuck. He was in trouble. Then the branch coiled about the saw and whipped it from his hand. Bryan backed away - into another branch. It spun about his waist and lifted him from the ground, higher and higher, and he was passed to a second branch, then to another, up the tree, from branch to branch, his hands bound so tightly by coils that he couldn't move them, his body held so tightly he could hardly breath, and he was passed through the inner darkness of the willow, a hollow core of blackness, then suddenly out into the light, bright, blinding, at the top of the tree.
He could see the field of wild flowers: goldenrod, Queen Anne's lace and wild strawberry, oxeye daisies and blue violet. The horizon was miles away and the clouds were clinging to the hazy purple hills, and the tree began to sway and he reached out to steady himself on a thick and twisted branch, but it spun around his wrist. Then he saw the chain saw, held by the branch, held high, swinging to and fro. The teeth were moving, slowly, and the branch swayed like a cobra, holding the saw before him, then the teeth moved more rapidly until the spinning became a blur and the sound rose to a shriek and the branch shivered with its prize.