Bitter Sweet Hell (Hell Night Book 2)

by Alex Grayson

  It is the sole discretion of the child’s parents on whether they give permission to other members of the community to show affection to their child. Affection my ass. Or they may choose to keep that luxury to themselves.

  Once a child reaches one year of age, the parents are required to initiate the child in The Gatherings. Final initiation will commence once the child reaches five years of age.

  That last one had a red haze forming over my eyes, and I had to work to control my temper. Final initiation means penetration. Those sick fucks would allow a baby to be touched in any other way, except penetration. That was reserved for when they reached five years old.

  Once I’m in my closet, I crouch down and pull out the black tote tucked underneath a shelf. Flipping the lid off, I rifle through the papers and pull out a tube buried at the bottom. I lay the engineering paper on the floor of my closet, using the tote and lid to hold it open. The entirety of the town is laid out before me. I know every nook and cranny of Malus, but I hope, as I gaze over the blueprint, that I’m missing something. Diego has to be somewhere, and there’s not a single person in town who would hide him. Meaning he’s holed up somewhere where I haven’t looked or in some hidden place no one visits.

  Nothing. There’s not one Goddamn place on the chart I haven’t looked, just as I suspected. So, where in the fuck is he?

  Angrily, I roll up the blueprint, stuff it in the tube, and shove it back in the tote. I come to a stand and kick the tote back underneath the shelf, then frown when something on the wall knocks loose. Bending back down, I look under the shelf, surprised to find the bottom half of the drywall pushed in, revealing a hidden alcove behind it.

  What in the fuck? How in the hell have I not known this was there? Most of the walls were torn down and replaced when I had the house gutted. Thinking back, the closets and bathroom walls were the only ones that weren’t ripped out.

  Shoving a couple of boxes aside, I yank the drywall away and spot a wooden box. I take the box out to the bar in the kitchen, grab another beer, and take a seat. Adrenaline rushes through me as I open the box. There’s a thick expandable folder filled with papers. Beneath the folder are at least twenty compact VHS tapes. I disregard the tapes for the moment—it’s not like I can view what’s on them anyway without a compact reader. I’ll give them to Emo to transfer to something that’s readable.

  Pulling out the folder, I’m shocked to see they’re birth and death certificates. They can’t be state issued, because no one who was born or had died in Sweet Haven was ever reported. The town didn’t want to run the risk of being caught with what they were doing to the children. Apparently, The Council still kept their own records of every birth and death. Some of these are dated as far back as the early nineteen hundreds.

  I look through the stack and stop when I come across my parents’. My paternal grandparents are listed on my father’s birth certificate. I remember my grandparents. They never participated in Hell Night. Not because they didn’t want to, but because they were too old. They had my dad in their early-fifties. My earliest memory of them they were already in their late seventies. Even though they couldn’t physically participate, they were still at every Hell Night. I remember seeing them sitting in comfortable leather chairs off to the side as they watched what all the kids went through.

  Flipping to the next page, I find my brother’s certificate, and mine behind his. I locate Judge’s, Trouble’s, and Emo’s as well. I pull Trouble’s out of the stack, knowing he’ll want it. He recently discovered that the people who raised him weren’t his biological parents. They were murdered in cold blood when he was a baby because they refused to allow their children to be a part of Hell Night. Come to find out, both his biological parents and Mae and Dale—who he also recently discovered were his grandparents—kept their pregnancies a secret until they couldn’t hide it anymore. His birth parents are listed on his birth certificate.

  Snapping up my phone, I shoot Emo a message.

  Me – I found some old compact VHS tapes I need you to make viewable as soon as you can.

  His reply comes immediately.

  Emo – How many?

  Looking at the stack, I take a guess.

  Me – Twenty or more.

  Emo – It’ll take time, but I’ll get it done.

  Me – I’ll drop them by your place tomorrow.

  I pull up Judge’s number.

  “What,” he growls, sounding irritated and out a breath.

  “Bad time?” I ask with a bit of amusement lacing my voice.

  “I’m fucking Jenny. What do you think?”

  “I think you probably shouldn’t answer the phone when you’re bangin’ your woman,” I answer bluntly.

  “With the shit that’s going on and the lateness of the hour, I figured it was something important. Now, you gonna to tell me why you interrupted me?”

  I glance at the clock on the stove and realize I’ve been looking over the birth certificates for over an hour.

  “I found a box in a hidden alcove in my closet. You’ll be interested in what I found.”

  “What,” he snaps.

  “Compact VHS tapes. Emo’s going to convert them. I also found certificates for every person born and died in Sweet Haven.”

  “That’s not possible. The town never reported births or deaths here.”

  I take a long pull from my beer before setting it back down. “These aren’t state issued. The design is similar, but I think The Council did these themselves as a way to keep a record of everyone.”

  A feminine moan comes across the line. The horny bastard can’t even stop fucking Jenny long enough to talk on the phone.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” he grunts with a strained voice. “They had to have had a filing system of some sort to keep records of the citizens. Bring them by the office in the morning. I’d like to take a look at them.”

  “Got it.” I drop the folder back in the box on top of the tapes. “Now, get off the fuckin’ phone and go satisfy your girl.”

  The line goes dead, and I chuckle. An image of Eden and me earlier by the lake filters through my mind. My phone went off four times while I was exploring her delectable body. Not once was I tempted to check it before I was done. I sure as hell wouldn’t have answered had I been in Judge’s shoes, and I was fucking Eden. There’s not a damn thing on earth that’ll pull me away from her tight heat once I have her beneath me.

  Tipping my beer to my lips, I chug the rest before dumping the bottle in the trash. I make a quick sandwich, inhale it, then go for the shower, where I’ll spend another night beneath the spray, rubbing one out to images of Eden.

  THE NEXT DAY, AFTER DROPPING the birth certificates off with Judge at his office, I pull to a stop in front of Emo’s house. He’s the only one of us four who lives on the outskirts of town versus closer to the middle. The location fits Emo. If he’s not in the company of one of my brother’s or me, he’d rather be alone. His house is set off the road with no other houses around it.

  Grabbing the box with the tapes, I get out of my truck. The door is already open when I walk up the steps. I find Emo in his office sitting behind his desk. There are three monitors in front of him with another two on a second desk beside him. I set the box down on the floor beside his chair.

  “Beer?” I ask, making my way to the kitchen.

  “Yes.”

  Grabbing Emo a beer and a water for myself, I carry both back to the office and sit in a chair in a corner.

  “How long will it take you to put them on a thumb drive?” I twist the cap off my water and take a swallow.

  Emo grabs one of the tapes and slides it inside the VHS adapter. “Depends on how much footage is on the tapes. I basically have to play every one and record it on my computer before transferring them to a thumb drive.” He walks over to a closet and pulls out an old VHS player from the top shelf. Setting it on the desk, he connects a couple of wires to the back of the player before connecting them to the back of his CPU. “If
the recorder used the SP mode then the tapes will hold thirty minutes max if they used the full tape. If they used the SLP or EP mode, they could be up to two to three hours in length. That’s not including the transfer time.”

  “Shit,” I mutter. That could take anywhere from ten to sixty hours or more.

  Emo retakes his seat and puts the adapter in the VHS player. His dark eyes move to me. “We can view one right now so you at least have an idea of what you’ve got here.”

  Nodding, I get up and move behind his chair.

  “Where did you find these?” he asks, his fingers flying over his keyboard. A window pops up on the screen.

  “Behind the drywall in my closet. They have to be my parents.”

  Saying the words has a lead ball forming in my stomach. There’s no fucking telling what’s on these tapes, but I have an idea. I just hope I’m wrong. Seeing the muscle jump in Emo’s cheek alerts me that his thoughts aren’t far off from mine.

  Without another word, he presses the spacebar on his computer and the video starts playing. At first, it’s just a black screen. The sound comes first. Moans, grunts, and the soft wails of children. Seconds later, it looks like someone removes a cover from the lens, and what comes across the screen has bile churning in my stomach at the same time violent anger fills my blood stream. My knuckles protest as I ball my hands into fists so tight it’s a damn near miracle I don’t crush the bones.

  Children of all ages are lying on various different surfaces as men and women surround them. Putting their dirty hands on them and creating a hell so dark there’s no hope of escaping. Some children just lie there, tears soaking their cheeks and their expressions appearing dead. Some are crying and begging to be let go. Some are putting up a fight. A fight they have no chance of winning. Even if they were to get free of their tormentor, the other adults in the room would stop them from leaving.

  A phantom feeling of my brother’s hairy chest pressed to my back as he did the same thing these evil people are doing rushes through me. The pain of being raped repeatedly while my parents sat and watched and even had their pick of children to abuse.

  My hand reaches for the back of Emo’s chair, the disturbing video making me lightheaded. I briefly realize I recognize none of the children, which means this video must have been before my brothers and I were born. However, I do know some of the adults. Especially the ones lying on a bed with a little boy between them. The picture is grainy, but they’re close enough to the camera for me to know they’re my parents.

  “Turn that fuckin’ shit off,” I snarl at Emo.

  The video screen disappears, but I still hear the cries and see the images in my head. I turn away and hit the closest thing my eyes land on. A bookshelf. The books fall to the floor at my feet and the shelf beneath them is now in two pieces. The skin on my knuckles is torn, but I ignore the bloody mess as I roughly run my hands over the back of my head, trying and failing to calm my temper. Thoughts of my past always tempts me to fly into a rage, but seeing the evidence makes me blind with it.

  It takes me a few minutes and several deep breaths before I manage to gain control. It’s no surprise when I turn and find the same intense anger reddening Emo’s face. He’s facing the computer monitor, one hand still on the mouse with the other balled into a fist beside the keyboard. Smears of blood under his palm coats the surface of the desk, the key he’s holding the weapon digging into his skin.

  I thought the adults in Sweet Haven were sick before, but to know they actually recorded Hell Night, no doubt for the purpose to watch again later, makes me wish each and every person who willingly participated in the once a month ritual stood in front of me so I could shoot them point blank between the eyes. The action isn’t nearly enough punishment for them, but it would do knowing they were headed straight to Hell to become the devil’s bitch.

  I put a hand on Emo’s stiff shoulder. He tenses at the touch, but eventually settles. I unlock my jaw and force the words out between clenched teeth and a raw throat. “You gonna be able to handle recording these?”

  No one in their right mind would enjoy what I’m asking of Emo. He’s struggling just as much as I am, probably even more. My childhood, along with Judge and Trouble’s, was horrific. Emo’s was worse because he lived his hell day to day, whereas the rest of us only lived it once a month. I hate that I’m putting him in this situation, but he’s the best man for the job and will get it done the quickest.

  He gives me a tight nod.

  “Take as much time as you need. I’m sure the other tapes are pretty much the same. And for God’s sake, walk away if it gets to be too much.”

  The only response I get is an eye twitch.

  I leave the room and go to the bathroom, where I find some alcohol, a rag, some gauze, and medical tape. Emo’s not in his office when I come back. Switching direction, I go out into the hallway where I know he’ll be. I find him standing in front of a closed door down at the end of the dark hallway. His head is bent down, black hair in his face, and his chest pumps crazily. I step in front of him, blocking his view of the door. A low growl emits from his throat. Ignoring it, I grip his chin and make him look up at me.

  “Not now, Emo. Bathroom,” I order.

  The hiss that leaves his lips is an animalistic warning. It would scare the shit out of anyone else and make them turn tail and run, but to me, the sound is normal. Emo is a loose cannon on his best days, but he won’t hurt me. We’ve been through too much shit. We’re brothers. Besides, Emo only maims people who are guilty of hurting others.

  The eyes that meet mine look wild and unhinged, like he’s on the verge of losing control. His body shakes and the veins in his neck bulge unnaturally. I hold his stare, unfazed by the dangerous vibes oozing off of him.

  “Lock it down and go to the bathroom, Emo.” I keep my voice hard, unwavering. When he gets in these moods, strength and persistence is the only thing that snaps him out of it.

  After a moment, he jerks his chin away, gives the door behind me a hated stare, and stalks off toward the bathroom at the other end of the hallway. I follow behind him and set the items I collected on the counter. Emo’s leaning against the sink, his arms lying lifeless at his side. Blood drips from one closed fist.

  “Open,” I demand, holding out my hand. With an iron set jaw, Emo opens his palm and drops the key in my hand. It’s coated in blood and has chunks of skin in the grooves.

  I stuff the key in his front pocket and turn him around so his hand is over the sink. Turning the faucet on, I rinse the fresh gash then pour alcohol over the wound. This may seem overboard, me caring for him like this, but if I don’t, then he’ll let it fester and become infected. It’s not that he can’t take care of himself, he just doesn’t care enough to want to.

  “Grace asked about you the other day,” I say quietly, wrapping his hand in gauze. Tearing off a piece of tape, I secure it in place.

  He grunts, his eyes focused on the sink where there’s pink water around the rim of the drain.

  “She wants you to call her. Might be a good idea to have her around for a while until you’re done with the tapes.”

  His uninjured hand rubs against the key in his pocket. “I’ll give her a call,” he replies gruffly.

  I put the first aid stuff back in the cabinet by the sink and turn to Emo. “You know that girl has it bad for you, right?”

  “And you know I can’t give her what she needs. The only thing I can offer is a twisted fuck.”

  “Well, it’s a twisted fuck she obviously enjoys, or she wouldn’t be coming back for more. Just let her be here for you over the next few days to help calm the darkness.” I walk to the doorway, but stop and turn around. “There’s no need for you to sit and watch the videos. Just play them and leave the room. Call one of us if you need help.”

  I don’t leave until I get his nod of acceptance. Once in the hallway, my eyes move to the end and the closed door. The next few days are going to be tough on Emo, and it fucking kills me what he’s abo
ut to go through. I advised him to not watch the videos as they recorded on his computer, but I know he won’t listen. He’ll watch every single fucking second, even if it is torture for him. He’ll use it as another form of punishment he wrongfully feels he should bear. Emo blames himself for the death of Rella. He blames himself for the pain she went through, no matter how many times we’ve told him otherwise.

  Closing the front door behind me, I find Grace’s number and hit send.

  “Emo should be calling you to come over,” I say when she answers. “Watch over him for a few days. He’s not going to be in a good place for a while.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, concern edged in her voice.

  “Nothing that can be discussed. Just be prepared, and call Judge, Trouble, or me if things get out of control.”

  There’s not a chance in hell Emo would hurt her beyond the pleasurable pain Grace likes. No, what worries me is the pain he’ll want her to inflict on him.

  “One of us will be by tomorrow to check on him while you’re at work.”

  Her breath crackles across the line when she says softly, “Okay.”

  Disconnecting the call, I climb in my truck and head to the sheriff’s office.

  EDEN

  I LOOK DOWN AT THE PRETTY shimmering midnight-blue color on my nails and wiggle my fingers. My eyes slide past them to my feet, which are encased in sandals. My toenails are painted the same color. The color looks surprisingly good against my pale skin. A pale moon against the dark starry sky.

  The thought of what JW will think of them crosses my mind, before I inwardly berate myself. It doesn’t matter what he thinks. That’s what I tell myself anyway.

  I finger one of the red curls that blows over my shoulder from the slight breeze. My hair feels softer than usual. I need to find out what shampoo the lady in the salon uses.