The Omen by David Seltzer Page A

self-oriented, a desperation to prove he was worthy of the job. He had lost sight of the significance of what they were doing, preoccupied instead with the importance of his own role. The self-consciousness led to anxiety, and Spilletto came close to dismissing Tassone. If one of them failed, all three would be held responsible. And more important, it could not be attempted again for another thousand years.
    In the end, Tassone proved himself, performing his job with dedication and dispatch, even handling a crisis that none of them anticipated. The child was not yet dead and made a sound within his crate as it was being put onto the truck. Quickly removing the crate, Tassone returned with it to the hospital basement and himself made certain that no cry would ever come again. It had shaken him. Deeply. But he had done it, and that was all that mattered.
    Around them that night in the hospital, all things appeared to be normal; doctors and nurses carrying on their routine without the slightest knowledge of what was happening in their midst. It had been performed with discretion and exactitude, and no one, especially not Thorn, had ever had a clue.
    As he sat now on his patio, gazing out into the night, Thorn realized that the Pereford forest no longer was foreboding to him. He did not have the feeling, as before, that there was something watching him from within. It was peaceful now, the crickets and frogs creating their din. And it was relaxing, somehow reassuring, that life around him was normal. His eyes shifted toward the house, traveling upward to Damien's window. It was illuminated by a nightlight, and Thorn speculated on the child's face in the peacefulness of sleep. It would be the right vision to end this frightening day with, and he rose, switching off a lamp and moving into the darkened house.
    It was pitch black inside and the air seemed to ring with silence. Thorn felt his way toward the stairs. There, he groped for a lightswitch, and finding none, proceeded silently upward, until he had reached the landing. He had never seen the house this dark, and realized he must have been outside, lost in thought, for a considerable time. Around him, he could hear the sound of slumbered breathing, and he walked quietly, feeling his way along the wall. His hand hit a light-switch and he flicked it, but it did not work; he continued on, turning a bend in the long, angular hall. Ahead he could see Damien's room, a faint shaft of light coming from under the door. But he suddenly froze, for he thought he heard a sound. It was a kind of vibration, a low rumble, gone before he could identify it, replaced only by the silent atmosphere of the hall. He prepared to step forward, but the sound came again, louder this time, causing his heart to start pounding. Then he looked down and saw the eyes. With a sudden gasp, he flattened himself against the wall, the growl rising in intensity as a dog materialized from the darkness and stood guard before the child's door. With his breath coming shallow, Thorn stood petrified, the gutteral sound rising, the eyes glaring back.
    "Whoa .. . whoa . . ." uttered Thorn on a shaking breath, and his voice caused the animal to coil tighter, as if ready to spring.
    "Quiet down, now," said Mrs. Baylock as she appeared from her room. "This is the master of the house."
    And the dog fell silent, the drama suddenly ended. Mrs. Baylock touched a light switch and the hall was instantly illuminated, leaving Thorn breathless, staring down at the dog.
    "What... is this?" he gasped.
    "Sir?" asked Mrs. Baylock casually.
    "This dog."
    "Shepherd, I think. Isn't he beautiful? We found him in the forest."
    The dog lay at her feet now, suddenly unconcerned.
    "Who gave you permission ... ?"
    "I thought we could use a good watchdog, and the boy absolutely loves him."
    Thorn was still shaken, standing stiffly against the wall, and Mrs. Baylock could not hide her amusement.
    "Gave you a fright, did he?"
    "Yes."
    "See how good he