by Sam Harding
The man in black looked my way, his face completely covered by a ski mask, and I raised my pistol. I’d nearly fired off a round when my entire body went tense, paralyzed by intense jolts of pain, and, before I face-planted onto the floor, I saw the yellow plastic of a Taser in the man’s hand. He’d hit me perfectly, one probe in the lower chest and the other in my right thigh. My gun fell to the floor and I landed on my chest and face, hard. The five seconds of shock from the Taser seemed to last forever, and no matter how hard I tried to fight it in order to get to Thomas, I couldn’t move. Just as the “ride” came to an end, a black boot connected with the side of my head, knocking me out cold.
I didn’t know how long it had taken for me to wake up, but when I did, I found myself tied down to my kitchen table. I was still naked and, although I couldn’t feel the effects of the Taser anymore, I could still feel the puncture wounds from the prongs in my chest and leg. I tried to turn my head and look out the shattered sliding door to my immediate left, but I realized I couldn’t due to my head being restrained to the table. I suddenly realized what was happening as I thought back to the crime scenes of the Christmas Eve Butcher and to the residual restraint marks on the foreheads of all the children.
The psychopath I’d been hunting for the past two years, had caught me. And worst of all, he’d killed my wife and maybe my son, too.
“Hello?” I’d said, my voice raspy and the sound of my heart thumping in my ears.
“Hello,” a man replied, speaking in what I figured to be a deliberate whisper in order to mask the voice. “You’ve caused me a great deal of annoyance, Detective Donovan.”
“Who are you?”
“You know who I am.”
“Where’s my son?”
I heard a throaty growl and then, “No thanks to you, your son has gotten away, ran off into the woods. He will die of hypothermia, no doubt, but I was much more hoping for some time alone with him. I suppose you will have to do instead.” I felt something cold against my lower left leg and realized it was the steel of some kind of knife. But, even though I knew I was about to die, I was relieved to know this monster didn’t have Thomas.
The man didn’t say another word to me. Slowly, he moved up from my leg and dug the point of the blade into my chest. In one quick movement, he slashed through my skin, cutting a jagged, diagonal line from my collar bone to the bottom of my left pectoral muscle. I cried out in pain, waiting for him to sink the blade deeper into my chest, but he stopped and lifted the blade from my skin. I heard a low cackle as the man in black moved back towards my left leg, feeling from my thigh down to my ankle with the tips of his fingers as he moved. He then turned the blade on end and gently rubbed it back and forth across my leg, about half way down my shin. I felt the sharp tugs of a serrated blade, and realized he’d switched to some sort of saw. I screamed and tried to move, but the restraints were too tight. I pulled and tugged and yelled and spat, but no matter what I did, I remained strapped to the table. When he finished tormenting me, he then began to saw for real. I felt pain like I’d never felt in my entire life and, in between the sounds of my own screams, I heard the blade tearing through flesh, muscle, and the cracks and scraping of bone.
With everything going on, I never heard the sound of Jason’s vehicle pull into my driveway, but as soon as he saw my partner, the killer stopped sawing. I was in so much pain, though, that I didn’t even notice.
The killer muttered some curse that I didn’t understand and quickly put his saw into some sort of bag before bolting out the broken sliding door. In my fog, I heard Kohl yell something and then heard him talking into his radio, but it all sounded distant and far away.
All I knew was that my wife was dead, Thomas was out in the woods somewhere, and my partner had just saved my life.
*
Present Day
“What happened to Thomas?” Kate asks as I finish telling the story.
“Jason found him in the woods. Thank God the Butcher hadn’t realized Thomas only went as far as the first few trees – just enough to hide himself.”
“My God, did he – did he see what was happening to you?”
I shrug. “If he did, he’s never mentioned it, and I sure as hell won’t ask him.”
“Well – I’m glad you told me about it, Micah.”
“Why?” I ask, still not understanding the point of the exercise.
“Because now you know who you can trust.”
The answer is so obvious, I am ashamed of myself for not thinking of it sooner. I’d been so absorbed in my own terror that the thought had never occurred to me. I look at Kate, realizing that now, more than ever, I am in love with her.
“Jason. I can trust Jason.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
12:00 P.M.
THE BLIZZARD SHOWED no signs of slowing down as David pushed through the flurries, his hooded head down, his hand shoved deep into his pockets. It was hard to see very far ahead, the visibility had dropped down to only a few feet before it became fuzzy and distorted. Nevertheless, David had a job to do. Not a job set forth by The Master, this time, but a calling David felt needed to be answered. A calling from God Himself. It was the only true explanation for his urges, for his need to spill the blood of those belonging in the depths of Hell. Despite the limited visibility caused by the storm, David’s vision of what he was to do was clear, and he made a conscious effort to feel the pistol in the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. He squeezed the handle of the Karambit in his coat pocket with the determination of a true warrior.
But, even though his vision was clear, David knew he was still only human, and like a human, he felt emotions and confusion. He was angry at not understanding why it was The Master insisted he kidnap the boy and not just kill him right away. Yes, he understood The Master wanted to torment and taunt the boy’s father, but he didn’t understand why that was so important—why not just killing the boy would hurt just as much as going about this route.
The will of God is not to be questioned, he told himself. He’d just have to make due with whichever demon he could find in the snowy streets – for now. He reminded himself he was less than six hours away from fulfilling his holy mission with the boy; putting him on display for the world to see, just as The Master had done for the past five years.
David took a deep breath and imagined the vapor cloud floating from his mouth was actually the expulsion of anger and frustration in the form of blasphemous smoke. That his deep breaths were cleansing him of his emotions and helping him to allow the logic of The Master to prevail.
As he walked, his mind drifted to thoughts of Mary and, as if on cue, he again felt the pinch of the clothespin inside his pants. Just like his mission now, Mary, too, had been a test from God, a test to see whether or not he was worthy enough to take up the task of fighting the forces of Satan. After all, how could he be a worthy warrior if he’d not been able to see through Mary’s deceptive lies? Had he not have fought off his temptations of lust and done what needed to be done against the demon who’d been so well-disguised as an angel? The slain demon still sat in his bedroom, tied to his bed like some sort of monument made of blood and torn flesh. And, just as he’d been worthy enough to defeat her, he now had to prove he was worthy enough to show the patience required to do what God needed him to do with the boy.
The bloodline of Satan himself.
David took a brief moment to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and take in his surroundings. He found it infuriating that nearly the rooftop of every building blinked red and green in celebration of Christmas, the holiday meant to be a representation for the birth of Jesus Christ. For the longest time, David never understood why these demons attended church and celebrated Christian holidays, but as he spent more time learning from his master, David came to realize it was done as a mockery and as a way to blend in. After all, Christmas had nothing to do with Christ, and was instead shrouded in greed and gluttony as everyone tore into their gifts and stuffed their faces
with the traditional meals.
Disgusted with the thought, he pressed forward, lowering his head into the storm again to avoid the stings of the oncoming winds. After a few moments, David raised his head briefly and let the cold air blast him in the face above his scarf, and then suddenly had to blade his body in order to avoid an old drunkard stumbling down the sidewalk. The old man wore an old, Vietnam-era olive-drab jacket atop what looked like a few layers of sweaters as he stumbled down the sidewalk, a drink still in his hand. Had David not looked up, he would have run right into him because the old man definitely had not noticed David.
The Demon Slayer licked his lips and thought about following the old man, but then stopped himself. No. Not him. With any luck, he will go die in the snowstorm. I need one more… alive. Forcing himself to ignore the bum, David turned forward and scanned the whitewashed town with his silver eyes and, in the wall of falling snow, he saw something promising.
As if David was meant to see it, a sign lit up in neon green and purple shone its way through the storm like a beacon, a little way down the sidewalk. The purple created a square bracket around a flashing neon beer bottle with the word: Jerry’s, written in cursive underneath. No doubt, that was where the bum had come from, and no doubt, that was where David was supposed to go.
David pushed the hundred or so feet down the sidewalk towards the obnoxious sign. Without reading the label posted on the door, he hurried inside to relieve himself from the blistering cold. Right away, he was overwhelmed by the loud Rock N’ Roll music as Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls” blasted on the surround-sound speakers. What David had thought was merely a bar, turned out to be something else entirely. Two young, and fairly fit, women, probably in their early twenties, were on a stage in the center of the dark room, their bodies wrapped abnormally around chrome plated poles connecting from the stage to the ceiling. Their naked bodies swung and spun to the beat of the music, their blonde and brunette hair swaying with their movements. Never in his life, not even during his time in the Marines, had David stepped foot inside a strip club, and now that he felt the pinch of the clothespin inside his pants, a natural reaction for what he now saw, David felt himself begin to fill with rage.
“How are ya doin’?”
Startled, David turned to his right to see a rough-looking man standing next to him wearing a leather blazer with a bolo tie and a long, handlebar mustache. The cowboy held out his hand and smiled broadly. “Name’s Gordon—I’m the manager here. Thanks for coming in on such a shitty Holiday afternoon.”
David looked down at Gordon’s callused hand and then ignored it. Instead, he took in the room, noting the only people he could see were Gordon, the two dancers, a young, muscular bartender behind the bar to the right and two old men sitting side-by-side at a separate bar surrounding the stage in a horseshoe-type design.
“As you can see,” Gordon continued, lowering his unshaken hand. “today’s crowd is a little small, being that it’s the Eve of Christ’s birthday and all. Just the two dancers today – but lemme tell ya, son, they’re the best we got. I’d be a liar if I’d said I hadn’t tested the tightness of that there blonde, myself.”
David turned his head back towards Gordon, not really sure what the cowboy had meant by his words, but then again, he didn’t really care. In as polite of a tone as he could muster, David said, “Excuse me,” and pushed passed Gordon, moving deeper inside the strip club.
The music was overwhelming and David could already feel a headache coming on, but he forced himself to focus and take in the scene before him. Straight ahead against the far wall he saw two doors adjacent to each other. One was trimmed with red Christmas lights and the other was trimmed in green. Against the same wall, but on the other side of the runway-like stage, was another door, only this one was bordered with a mixture of both red and green and had the words: MANAGEMENT written across the top in neon purple.
David bypassed the bar, ignoring the stares from the muscular bartender and made his way towards a stool along the U-shaped bar that wrapped around the stage. He sat down, only three chairs down from the two old men, just close enough to be able to overhear their conversation over the blaring electric guitars and drums.
He listened to their loud conversation about which girl would make a better lay, making sure to keep his eyes down and away from the two naked dancers, who were literally within arm’s reach of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to see his half-hidden face, it was that he was simply too uncomfortable to look at either one of them.
David was easily made uncomfortable, but right now he was pushing his physical limits. These kinds of places should not exist and, yet, here he was, right in the middle of it, an outcast amongst outcasts—only he served a purpose and everyone else in here only served themselves. It was disgusting and vile, and he was sure that if he acted against these people with violence, then he would surely be rewarded in Heaven for his actions.
As he listened to the two older men next to him, his eyes down on the wooden bar, he suddenly felt a presence over top of him and then two bare feet with red toenails stepped into view, one on each side of his folded hands. He suddenly felt his heart-rate elevate and his breathing quicken and then forced himself to look up.
At first, she was hard to see because she was perfectly silhouetted in the glare of the overhead lights, but after a quick beat, David’s silver eyes focused and he could make her out in all her glory. It was the blonde (or now, clearly the fake blonde), the one Gordon had mentioned when he said something strange about her tightness. It was one thing to see her naked on stage when she danced with the pole, but now, she was literally over top of him, giving David a straight-shot view between her legs.
The Demon Slayer swallowed hard.
“Who are you, honey?” The blonde asked, shaking her hips a little and adding a slight bend to her knees in order to give David an even better view of what she possessed. “Never seen you before.”
“I, uh –” David wanted to leave, wanted to get the hell out of there, away from the deafening music, away from the perverted old men, and most definitely away from this naked slut who, for some reason, was interested in him. He felt a painful pinch in his pants as the clothespin stopped a sudden surge of blood flow, like a dam blocking off a powerful river, and he winced hard, nearly crying out at the discomfort.
“How ‘bout, when I’m done dancing, you buy me a drink? Or two?” She squatted down now, both of her knees nearly coming along both sides of David’s head. He could smell her perfume now, could see the hardness of her nipples, the beads of sweat on her chest and neck, and even lower.
He didn’t know what to do, and he surely didn’t know what to say. His mind drifted to thoughts of Mary, and suddenly he found himself wondering if perhaps she had been savable because she was surely a far cry from what this woman was.
“You kinda look like a winter ninja,” the blonde said with a giggle, which in turn, caused one of the older men to David’s left to chuckle.
David turned his head to face the old man, and then noticed both of them were looking his way, each of them carrying a drunken smile about their faces. David knew they were enjoying the show, getting their kicks off on the awkward weirdo not knowing how to act in front of a naked woman. A naked demon.
David started to feel himself sweat underneath his winter jacket, but he didn’t dare remove it, nor did he pull the scarf down from around his face. This place was filthy, this woman was filthy, and he didn’t want to expose himself to any of it. He would sit here and sweat and be humiliated instead, taking in the scene, learning the culture, immersing himself in the squalor of lust and self-pleasure, and then, when he’d had his fill and when his plan had fully formed, he would strike.
With these thoughts in mind, David felt himself suddenly relax, all of a sudden not bothered by the woman in front of him, not even when she began to play with herself only inches from his own face.
These demons were so wrapped up in their own vices tha
t when David felt it time to strike, he knew they would never even see it coming.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
12:30 P.M.
Thomas Donovan shivered on the concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse. His teeth chattered like castanets and his fingers were so cold, he could no longer move them the way he normally could. Worst of all for little Thomas, he had no idea why he was here or who the man was that had taken him away from Uncle Henry. What he did know, though, was the man was most definitely a bad man, because he’d never seen Uncle Henry so angry and frightened about anything since he’d known him.
Little Thomas’s father had started teaching him the importance of firearms early last summer. Thomas had been shown over and over again, the basic fundamentals of marksmanship and, of course under strict supervision, had even gotten to fire a few bullets once his father decided he was ready enough to handle a loaded weapon. Thomas had been so startled by the loudness of the guns at first, that he’d been afraid to shoot one, but after his first few shots with live ammunition, he couldn’t get enough of it. That’s how he knew the loud bangs at Uncle Henry’s house had been gunshots, and could, in no way, be anything else. Uncle Henry and the bad man had gotten into a gunfight, just like the cowboys and cops always did on TV, only instead of the hero coming out on top, Thomas was certain Uncle Henry had not won the fight.
Other than dwelling on the increasing cold, Thomas’s thoughts shifted to his father and he couldn’t help but feel that maybe he had also lost a gunfight with the bad man. That maybe the man in the big coat and hidden face had killed him just as he’d killed Uncle Henry. Thomas wondered, what if he was all alone and nobody at all was coming to save him? What if the bad man was going to be his new dad, now? Thomas did not want that, not at all, but he didn’t know how to stop it without any help.
