The 5th Witch

by Graham Masterton

  The bodyguard clicked the switches, and a huge chandelier flooded the library with light.

  “Holy Christ,” said the gingery sergeant.

  At first sight it looked as if somebody had emptied out a thousand cans of chopped tomatoes and used a shovel to spread them thickly across the carpet. But there were black flak jackets among the chopped tomatoes, and helmets and boots and bones.

  Dan said, “This is them?”

  “As I told you,” said Lida Siado. “When we are lost in Father Naimuena’s mirage, we have creatures that protect us. It was always so. Otherwise tribes in the Amazon could have waited until their enemies were celebrating the creation of the world and slaughtered them.”

  “How the hell was this done?” Dan asked. Everywhere he looked there was crushed flesh with bones sticking out of it, glistening under the myriad lights of the chandelier in every conceivable shade of red. “It’s like these people went through a goddamned blender.”

  The gingery sergeant turned away and spoke on his radio. His voice was low and expressionless. “A dozen officers down, at least. I need medical examiners, I need crime-scene specialists, I need a fire department cleanup crew. I need them now.”

  To Orestes Vasquez, he said, “You’re under arrest, all of you, on suspicion of first-degree homicide. Taylor, Bryman—go search the rest of the house. Anybody you find, bring them down here.”

  The White Ghost looked unperturbed. “I thought that this would be your reaction, Sergeant. But you can see that, logically, there is no way we could have been responsible. How did we do this and in such a short time? How come your people made no attempt to protect themselves?”

  “I’ll let the crime-scene people work that out. Meanwhile, let’s get you out of here.”

  Orestes Vasquez and Lida Siado went without any further protest. The bodyguards were quickly frisked for weapons, and then they were led away, too. Dan stood staring at the thick layer of human mush. It was horrifying beyond belief, but Orestes Vasquez was right. A hundred men with machetes in each hand couldn’t have reduced two SWAT teams to this condition, even if they had been hacking away for hours. And the police hadn’t fired a single shot in their own defense.

  Ernie came in. He had obviously been warned by another officer what he would find, and he didn’t say a word. All the same, he took out a large green handkerchief and pressed it against his nose and mouth.

  “You’re still going to tell me you don’t believe in black magic?” Dan asked.

  “This is impossible,” said Ernie in a muffled voice. “How could anybody do this?”

  “We’re not talking about who,” said Dan. “We’re talking about what. Come on, let’s get out of here. There’s nothing that we can do.”

  They were just about to leave when Ernie caught hold of Dan’s sleeve and said, “Ssh! Did you hear something?”

  Dan listened. At first he heard nothing, but then he thought he caught a faint whimpering noise, more like a stray cat than a human being.

  “It’s coming from over there…behind that desk.”

  “Sounds like somebody’s still alive.”

  They looked at each other. The only way to the other side of the library was to wade ankle deep through flesh and blood and human entrails.

  “Maybe we didn’t hear it,” said Ernie. “Like, who could have survived this?”

  But then Dan distinctly heard somebody calling, “Help me…please! Help me!”

  There was nothing else he could do. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the ankle-deep glutinous ocean of human remains. He took one step, then another, and he found that it was very difficult to keep his balance. Beneath the soles of his shoes, the lumps of flesh were impossibly slippery and strings of connective tissue caught around his ankles like seaweed. He felt bones beneath the soles of his shoes, too, and several times he almost slipped. Halfway across, he began to feel as if he would never get to the other side of the room.

  The worst part about it, though, was the noise. Each step produced a thick, succulent squelch when his shoe went in and a hollow sucking sound when it came out again.

  He thought: I can’t do this. I have to get out of here. Every breath filled his nostrils with the smell of blood and bile, and with every step the desk seemed to slide farther and farther away, like an optical illusion.

  At last, however, he reached it. It was a large kneehole desk, made of some reddish South American hardwood, like abura.

  “Help me,” said the voice, weakly, and it sounded hopeless. “Help me, somebody, please!”

  “Where the hell are you?” asked Dan.

  “Under the desk. Please—help me to get out.”

  Dan made his way around the desk and peered underneath. There, in a fetal position, crouched Deputy Chief Days, his hair sticking up on end and his face smeared with blood.

  “Are you hurt?” Dan asked him.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  Dan reached under the desk, took hold of the deputy chief’s wrists, and dragged him forcibly out of the kneehole. Once he had emerged, the deputy chief remained on his knees for a while, panting.

  “Am I the only one left alive?”

  “Looks like it, sir. Don’t know how the hell you managed it.”

  “My God. My God, it was terrible. Those things.”

  Dan helped him onto his feet. “What things, sir?”

  Deputy Chief Days turned around and around, as if he were terrified that something was going to come running up behind him. “Those things! The SWAT team broke open the doors, and before we knew what was happening they came rushing at us, dozens of them. They started tearing those poor men to pieces. They didn’t even have time to scream.”

  “Come on, sir. Let’s get you out of here. Careful where you’re walking—it’s very slippery.”

  “Those things—I’ve never seen anything like them. I don’t know what they were.”

  Dan took hold of the deputy chief’s arm and wrapped it around his shoulders to give him some support. “Come on, sir. The sooner we get out of here the better.”

  But Deputy Chief Days stopped and stared at him. “They were huge—bigger than a man, and they were gray, and they were like insects, and they just came rushing at us, dozens of them.”

  “Sir, we need to get out of here. You’re in shock.”

  “They had eyes, Detective, and claws and hundreds of teeth. There was so much blood spraying everywhere, I couldn’t see anything.”

  Dan helped the deputy chief across the last few feet of pulpy, tangled remains. The older man’s knees were beginning to give way, and when he reached the doorway he almost collapsed. Ernie grabbed his other arm, and between them, he and Dan half carried him into the corridor and sat him on a chair.

  Three paramedics were just entering the house, and they immediately took over, wheeling in a gurney, lifting him onto it, and covering him with a crinkly thermal blanket.

  They were about to roll him away when Deputy Chief Days said, “Wait.”

  He looked up at Dan. His face was ashy and his breathing was labored, but he managed to say, “I believe I was spared on purpose. That woman spared me.”

  Dan didn’t know what to say. The paramedics started to push the gurney away again, but again Deputy Chief Days said, “Wait!”

  He reached out for Dan’s hand and grasped it tightly. “You warned me about witches, didn’t you? Before we went in there, you warned me, and I didn’t believe you. But when the SWAT teams went in and those things attacked them, she was standing there, she and Vasquez, and she was holding up this stick with a little skull on the top of it.

  “Whenever one of those things came rushing toward me, she made a pattern in the air, and the thing turned away and wouldn’t touch me. But there was so much blood. I tried to get out, but I went the wrong way, and that’s why I hid under the desk. I didn’t realize that I was the only one allowed to live.”

  “Don’t worry about it, sir,” said Dan, trying to pull
his hand free. “We’ll get them, Vasquez and that woman. They won’t get away with it.”

  “No!” gasped Deputy Chief Days. “If you’d seen those things—you can’t! There’s no way that anybody can stop them. That’s why she spared me, don’t you see? I have to give the order!”

  “Sir, we have to take you to the emergency room,” interrupted one of the paramedics.

  But still Deputy Chief Days wouldn’t let go of Dan’s hand. “I have to give the order.”

  “What order, sir?”

  “To leave them alone. To turn a blind eye. Otherwise, it’s going to be a massacre! Give them a week, and the LAPD will cease to exist.” He finally released his grip, and the paramedics wheeled him away.

  Ernie said, “He’s in shock, yes? People say pretty weird things when they’re in shock.”

  “He’s in shock, sure. But I think he’s right. I think that the White Ghost was giving him a message, and he understood it loud and clear.”

  “You mean—?”

  “I mean that the mobsters and the racketeers in this town are telling us to leave them well alone, or else we’ll all end up like steak tartare.”

  “And that’s why they spared his life, so that he could give the order?”

  “For sure. The only thing is, it makes me wonder even more why that other witch spared my life.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was dawn by the time he arrived back at his apartment, and the morning was so warm and bright that Dan found it almost impossible to believe that the events of the night had actually happened. Annie’s kitten Malkin was sitting outside her door. He bent down as he passed and stroked her, and she mewed.

  He left his loafers outside his front door, because they were covered in dark brown blood and he would have to wash them. Inside, he peeled off his coat, switched on his TV, and started his coffeemaker. He was just in time to catch an NBC report that two SWAT teams had stormed Orestes Vasquez’s house. Apart from that, however, the story bore no resemblance to what had really happened.

  Dan stood in front of the TV, taking off his bloodstained pants and then his holster, and all he could do was shake his head slowly from side to side and say, “What? What? How can you—? What?”

  “The SWAT teams were called in because Mr. Vasquez and his family were being held hostage by a Colombian drug gang that was under the mistaken impression that Mr. Vasquez was running a rival narcotics racket.

  “Two SWAT helicopters were fired on by surface-to-air missiles and were forced to withdraw. But two ground teams successfully entered the house and—after a fierce fire fight with the drug gang—were able to rescue the Vasquez family and bring them out safely.

  “There were several casualties among the SWAT teams, but no further details are being released until the next of kin have been informed.

  “Mr. Vasquez—seen here arriving back at his home—said he had nothing but praise for the SWAT officers who had saved him.

  “‘I understand that, regretfully, some of them were hurt in the line of duty. But this self-sacrifice only serves to remind us of the bravery and dedication of the policemen and women who uphold the law in this great city of ours.’”

  Dan called Ernie. It took a long time for Ernie to answer, and when he did, Dan could hear a baby crying in the background. “Did you see the news?” he asked.

  “I saw some fairy story, just like you,” Ernie replied.

  “Well, what the hell—it was a total fabrication! Total lies from beginning to end. I’m going to call Sara Brennan at the Times!”

  “No, muchacho, you’re not.”

  “What? What do you mean, I’m not?”

  “You’re not because you want to keep your job, yes? In a minute, you will receive a call from Sergeant Cutler. Every officer who attended the Vasquez bust has to come in to the station for a full debriefing at fifteen hundred hours. Meanwhile we are absolutely forbidden to say one single word to the media. Anybody who does will be instantly canned and could be looking at a jail sentence.”

  “A jail sentence? You’re kidding me!”

  “Something to do with obstruction of justice. Sergeant Cutler will tell you.”

  “So, telling barefaced lies and letting mass killers walk free—that doesn’t obstruct justice in any way?”

  “Take it up with Cutler. Meanwhile, I have a very shitty diaper to change. You want my advice? Never have kids. And if you do, never start them on solids.”

  Dan made himself a mug of blindingly strong espresso and stood in the middle of the kitchen, devouring three-quarters of a pack of Oreos without even tasting them and gulping down repeated mouthfuls of scalding-hot coffee.

  He was on his way to the bathroom when the phone rang. It was Sergeant Cutler, ordering him to attend this afternoon’s debriefing. “And you won’t be making any comments to the media about last night’s operations, Detective—regardless of what you might have been seeing on TV?”

  “What I saw on TV, Sergeant, didn’t bear any resemblance to last night’s operations.”

  “There’s a reason for that, Detective. Meanwhile, you’re required to keep your lips zipped.”

  Dan took a long shower, standing with his face raised to the showerhead, and his eyes tightly shut. But he couldn’t wash the picture of Orestes Vasquez’s library out of his head. And he kept thinking of Deputy Chief Days turning around and around, terrified that something would come up behind him and catch him unawares.

  Something larger than a man, something gray, something with claws and teeth.

  Eventually, he toweled himself dry, drew down the blinds, and collapsed heavily into bed. He lay there for nearly an hour, motionless, staring at the corner of the pillow, telling himself that he badly needed to sleep. He heard traffic outside. He heard somebody singing “It’s amore” and doors slamming. He heard Annie calling out for little Malkin. “Malky! Malky! Where are you, sweetheart?”

  But he also heard the soft, insistent scratching of a yucca branch against his window as it was stirred in the morning breeze, and it eventually took him off to sleep.

  At first, he dreamed that he was standing on the ocean. It was a fine, breezy day, and he had discovered how easy it was to walk on water. All you had to do was keep your balance and anticipate the waves as they came rippling in to shore. You bent your knees slightly as a wave came toward you and allowed it to lift you a few inches, and then you straightened your legs as you came down again.

  He was surprised how far down the coast he could see—at least as far as Redondo Beach. He could see yachts and sailboards and people swimming, and he could see girls Rollerblading along the sidewalk.

  He thought, No wonder Jesus was happy.

  After a few minutes, though, a bloodred bank of clouds began to roll in from the west. The ocean began to turn bloodred, too, and when he looked down, he saw that there were people floating in the water, just below the surface, staring up at him in desperation.

  He started to panic and run toward the shore. With each step, however, his feet sank deeper into the water, and by the time he was thirty feet away from the beach, he was splashing through the waves right up to his knees.

  He thought: I have to get out of here. I have to find Gayle. He knew that he shouldn’t drive, because Gayle would be killed if he did, but maybe this was his chance to make everything happen differently and save her. Yet the sky was almost black, and the wind was rising, and sheets of newspaper were flying through the air, flapping and screaming like seagulls. People were running for shelter and shouting out in confusion, and he knew that it would soon be so dark that he wouldn’t be able to find his way home.

  His Mustang was waiting for him, in the parking lot next to the sidewalk café. The red-and-white striped awning in front of the café was flapping wildly and threatening to tear loose. Tables were tipping over, and waiters were hurriedly trying to bring in armfuls of chairs.

  To his relief, he saw that the Mustang’s passenger seat was empty. He could drive home, eve
n though he was drunk, and this time she wouldn’t be killed.

  “Gayle?” he called, just to make sure. “Gayle, are you there?”

  A hand touched his cheek. “I’m here, Dan. Don’t worry.”

  He opened his eyes. Gayle was sitting next to him on the bed—naked, slender, small-breasted, silhouetted against the blind. He looked up at her, and she was real, her face unblemished. She was smiling at him in that secretive way she always used to smile, as if she knew something about the world and the way in which the world worked that he would never find out.

  “Why don’t you go back to sleep?” she suggested. Her fingers stirred through his hair and traced the outline of his ear.

  “You’re here,” he said, his voice thick with sleep.

  “Where else would I be?”

  He sat up, blinking at her in fascination and fear. He reached out and touched her shoulder. It was soft and warm and solid and real.

  “It is you. You’re here. How can you be here?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes, things can work out differently.”

  Dan thought: Maybe my dream really did change everything. Maybe the past didn’t happen at all, not the way it did the first time. Maybe I was driving back from Gus Webber’s wedding on my own and Gayle was never killed.

  He ran his hand all the way down her arm and took hold of her hand. She was still smiling, but in a different way now, as if she didn’t understand why he was so amazed to find her there. But she was there, perfect in every detail, down to the pattern of tiny moles on her shoulder, like the constellation of Auriga, the charioteer. She was even wearing the choker she always wore, with beads that reminded him of blueberries.

  The yucca branch scratched against the window, and her nipples crinkled in the warm draft that blew through the bedroom. She leaned forward and kissed him, first on the tip of the nose, then his eyelids, and then his lips. Her tongue slid into his mouth and explored his teeth, as if she were making sure that it was really him.