Summon the Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  The city was organized in concentric circles with wells, wind-turbines, greenhouses, compost dumps, and septic fields near the outer wall. Cottages, gardens, and solar panels formed a second circle, and enormous homes formed a third. A towering cathedral stood at the center of the city, where the residents reportedly attended daily services. But rumors held that the structure also served as Byron Doyl’s personal mansion.

  Eric swayed his head from side to side, taking in the sights through the eye of his helmet-mounted camera. Dogs barked in the distance, and footsteps thudded through the soft sand. In an attempt to look less threatening, Eric sat down and leaned against his palms. He wiggled his fingers in the sand, surprised by how soft it was. Seconds later, a black and tan dog with a neck as big around as Eric’s thigh charged into view. It made a beeline toward him, then leapt forward with its jaw open wide.

  Surprised by the attack, Eric held his arms in front of his face. The dog’s jaws snapped shut, but its teeth didn’t pierce skin. Eric blinked and looked down; the dog held Eric’s pant leg in its mouth and sat dutifully on its haunches.

  “Thanks for being so…precise,” Eric said. He glanced over each shoulder, looking for the guards and finding another dog instead.

  The newcomer scooped up Eric’s other pant leg and sat as still as a statue.

  Finally, a guard arrived and called the dogs off. He could have passed for a SWAT officer. He was tall, muscular, and looked to be in his mid-twenties. His sun-tanned hands gripped a 12-gauge shotgun in front of his black tactical vest, and he had a sidearm strapped to his leg. But his trousers had been cut off at mid-shin, and he wasn’t wearing shoes. He ignored Eric’s questioning glance at his feet and said, “How’d you get in here?”

  “I came in through the front door,” Eric said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. “What’s with the dogs? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Are you kidding? No one’s allowed in the mountain but Adherents.” He pointed the shotgun’s barrel at Eric’s shoes. “And you’re obviously not an Adherent.”

  Eric shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was just out for a hike, and I got lost. This place was so big, I thought it was a town, so I came inside to look for food.”

  The guard rolled his eyes. “Is that so?”

  “Just out for an adventure, I swear.” He took a case out of his pocket, extracted a pair of white-rimmed glasses, then put them on. He surveyed his surroundings again and tapped the camera on his helmet. “This place is incredible. You don’t mind if I take a video, do you?”

  The man gave him a toothy grin. “Sure, knock yourself out.”

  “Thank you.” Eric swiveled his head from left to right, then up and down, taking in the buildings, then the soaring turbines. When he brought the camera back down, he rubbed his eyes beneath the glasses and squinted at another man who was heading their way. “Who’s that?”

  Without looking back, the guard said, “Someone you really don’t want to mess with. Or lie to.”

  Kayla double-tapped her mouse and brought up the visual feed from Eric’s glasses. She dialed up the volume to check the audio quality, then nodded and said, “Recording audio and visual—everything sounds and looks great. I’ll give you updates for as long as I can, but I can’t guarantee a good connection if they move you indoors.”

  The feed bobbed slightly as Eric gave his acknowledgment by rubbing his eyes beneath the glasses. The first guard had agreed to be recorded, which was necessary for legal purposes, but he naturally assumed Eric was recording with the helmet camera, and the fiber-optic lens within the glasses was virtually undetectable. The glasses recorded audio with embedded microphones and covertly relayed Kayla’s communications to Eric by vibrating the bones behind his ears. The live-streamed data was only available while Eric’s phone was connected to a cell tower, but in the event of a disruption, the phone kept a backup on its hard drive and would upload its contents automatically when the connection was established.

  Her noise-canceling headphones fed a crisp recreation of Eric’s voice in her ear as he said, “Who’s that?”

  “Someone you don’t want to mess with. Or lie to.”

  Kayla ignored the guard’s threatening response and zoomed the feed. A box appeared around the man’s face, and the computer automatically connected to a server in South Carolina. The server ran facial recognition software, comparing the image to millions of social media photos and publicly available criminal records. The man walked with a confidence that didn’t match his age. He held his head high and his chest out, and he carried a gleaming Colt revolver in one hand and a bullwhip in the other. His wispy beard reached past his sternum, and the hard lines on his face gave him a permanently suspicious look. He stopped a few feet from Eric and said, “What business do you have in Holy Mountain?”

  “Business?” Eric shook his head. “I got lost, that’s all.”

  The man’s cold blue eyes narrowed. “I think not, Mr. Larson. We have very few visitors to this city, so when a man arrives at the gate and demands entrance, I make sure I remember his face. And, as I recall, my men forbade you from coming back. Private investigator or not, you are trespassing.”

  “Gotcha,” Kayla murmured. She leaned in as she waited for Eric’s response.

  The camera wobbled as Eric got to his feet. “Actually, I’m not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not trespassing. I’m visiting the incorporated town of Holy Mountain. I’m a U.S. citizen, so I have as much right to be here as you do.”

  The older man’s eyes bounced around in his head for a moment, as if he was searching through a stack of legal documents. “We write and enforce our own laws here, which means I have the right to—”

  “To what? Keep me from visiting public property?” He scuffed the ground with his shoe. “According to the county books, every square inch of Holy Mountain is communal, publicly owned property.”

  The man shifted the revolver in his grip. “That does not give you the right to invade our privacy. We police ourselves here, which means the jurisdiction of your investigation ends at our walls.”

  Eric shook his head. “I don’t have any jurisdiction. I’m not with the government, I’m a private citizen minding my own business.”

  Kayla shook a fist at the video feed, silently rooting for her husband. Then, the blink of the second monitor caught her attention. “I’ve got something for you,” she said, clicking through the report. “His name is Kane Corvin. He’s a registered sex offender from New Hampshire. Spent twelve years in prison for statutory rape.”

  The man set his jaw like a bulldog. “Your legal talk doesn’t scare me, Larson. I trust in a higher power.”

  “Is that so?” Eric asked. “Does your higher power know you like to have sex with children, Mr. Corvin?”

  The younger guard’s eyes blazed with anger, and he raised his shotgun.

  Eric took a step back, tapped his helmet, and said, “Don’t forget, you’re on camera.”

  Corvin held up a hand. “Calm yourself, Titus. When the time is right, our master will guide us.” His demeanor softened. He faced Eric, inhaled through his nose, and closed his eyes. “Everything I have done, I have done for Wisdom, and my conscience is clear. It is a wondrous feeling—to be free of guilt and prejudices—I can only pray you can experience it for yourself one day. Please, forgive me for my hostility. I should have welcomed you into our community as Wisdom has done for every one of our residents. And I believe our Lord and Master would like very much to meet you. Would you follow me?”

  Kayla squinted at the screen. “I don’t like this, Eric.” To her dismay, Eric nodded and moved to obey Kane.

  Corvin interlaced his fingers as if in prayer. He nodded at Eric’s feet and said, “Please, remove your shoes, for you walk on hallowed ground.”

  “Of course.” Eric untied his high-friction climbing shoes, removed them, then held them with two fingers. He padded through the sand, following Kane towa
rd the center of the city.

  “Eric, you’ll lose signal if you go into the cathedral.” Kayla paused, then spoke again, “I won’t know if you need backup if I can’t view the feed.”

  Eric acknowledged her by scratching his nose, but he made no effort to break away.

  Kane gripped an iron ring on the cathedral’s massive door and pulled. He grunted from the effort and had to lean back to get it moving.

  When Eric stepped into the doorway, his microphone picked up a dissonant chorus.

  Kayla frowned and adjusted the microphone’s sensitivity. Gradually, the static faded until the individual sounds became clear. The weeping…the cries of shame, confusion, and horror echoed in her ears. Her skin crawled, and a phantom knife stabbed her heart. As Eric walked into the stone temple, she made no further attempt to stop him. Instead, she swallowed her righteous anger and said, “Good luck, Beef.”

  10

  Cathedral

  Holy Mountain, Colorado

  A moment before the stone walls blocked out communications with Kayla, Eric heard a chilling song of torment. He froze momentarily as he realized she had forwarded the feed from his own microphone—the sounds were coming from inside the Cathedral.

  “Is something wrong?” Kane asked.

  The terrible sounds turned to static, then faded beyond hearing. Eric swallowed and shook his head. “No. I’m just, uh, surprised by the size of this place. It must have been difficult to build it in the middle of nowhere.”

  Kane nodded and gazed at the soaring, lamp-lit ceiling. “It cost millions, but it was worth every penny. The world needs hope in these troubling times—a beacon in the darkness to let people know that Wisdom has not left us.”

  “You keep saying ‘wisdom’ like you’re talking about a person. I assume you’re referring to—”

  “Our earthly and heavenly king, yes.” Kane strode forward and waved for Eric to follow. “Although to describe him as a person would be inadequate. He is, in fact, four persons.”

  Eric frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I thought you had one leader. Byron Doyl.”

  “It’s difficult for non-adherents to comprehend, and I’m a soldier, not a teacher, so I will leave the instruction to Wisdom himself. Right this way.” He led Eric around a corner, past rows of tightly-sealed doors, and into a grand foyer. Scripture verses had been carved in the high stone walls, and the polished quartzite floor glowed orange as it reflected the light of sunrise pouring through ornate skylights high above it.

  “Please, wait here a moment,” Kane said. He crossed the foyer and disappeared behind an oak door, leaving Eric alone with Titus.

  Eric cast a sideways glance at the tactical shotgun, studying the way the young guard held the weapon. His finger was off the trigger, wrapped around the pistol grip alongside his other digits. His opposite hand supported the gun’s barrel, which was pointed at the floor. Eric’s gaze swept downward, and he noted the guard’s stance—the feet too close together and slightly pigeon-toed. Titus had been trained in gun-safety, but he was far from being a professional shooter.

  This could work to Eric’s advantage, but it also made the guard’s actions less predictable. When the time came to escalate his plan, he would have to keep a close eye on him.

  But in the meantime, he needed to convince Titus that he wasn’t a threat. Exhaling through his mouth and nose, Eric let his shoulders sag. He surveyed the room with bored disaffection and massaged the back of his neck with both hands. Titus, a born follower, relaxed his posture as well, letting the shotgun hang from its sling and hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

  Eric suppressed a grin then fiddled with his helmet camera. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in a cathedral this nice—at least, not in the States.”

  “Temple.”

  Eric faced the young gunman. “Excuse me?”

  Titus shrugged. “It’s not a cathedral, it’s a temple. Cathedrals are just big churches, but temples are the dwelling places of God.”

  “That doesn’t sound right. It’s been a long time since I sat in Sunday school, but…isn’t God everywhere?”

  “You mean omnipresent. And yeah, He’s everywhere, but He also has a body here on earth. And that body has to live somewhere, doesn’t it?”

  “Sorry, you lost me again.”

  Titus waved off Eric’s words. “If you really want to know, you can ask Wisdom. But I doubt there’s any point. For you, anyway.”

  “Why is that?”

  The guard smiled but didn’t speak. He took a few wide paces and leaned against the wall, watching Eric like a wolf watches a wounded deer.

  A murmur bled through the oak door, and then Kane stepped through. He held the door open for a handsome middle-aged man with perfectly groomed hair and eyes that sparkled from within.

  “Thank you for your patience, Eric,” the man said, his tenor voice gentle and polished to a mirror-sheen. “I hope young Mr. Thatcher and Kane have treated you well.”

  “They’ve been nice enough, considering the circumstances.” He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Byron Doyl, right?”

  The man placed his right hand on his heart, nodded, then accepted Eric’s handshake. “I am. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  “I’ve never turned down a cup of joe in my life.”

  Byron led the way down the hallway, opposite the way they had come in, and pushed through a two-way steel door into a spotless kitchen. The overhead lights turned on automatically, making the high-efficiency appliances and glossy countertops sparkle. He slid a stool away from the wall and patted the top. “You must be tired from your journey.”

  Eric nodded, then settled onto the stool. As he watched Byron bustle around the kitchen, he remarked, “You’re not what I expected.”

  Byron smiled and scooped a heaping spoonful of coffee grounds into a paper filter. “You’re not alone in your sentiment. Most people I meet say the same thing, regardless of their upbringing, social status, age, or ethnicity. I suppose the rumors give them a different picture.”

  “You’re probably right. If I didn’t know your reputation, I never would’ve pegged you as a pedophile.”

  There was a scuffling sound, which Eric assumed was Thatcher aiming his gun. But he didn’t react; he kept his gaze locked on Byron. As he expected, Doyl held up a hand to calm his trigger-happy guard.

  “Calm yourself, my son,” Byron said in a lullaby tone. “Sticks and stones, remember? This is a place of peace, and all opinions are welcome. Why don’t you wait outside?”

  Thatcher grunted, then pushed through the swinging door and disappeared around the corner.

  Byron gave Eric a million-dollar smile. “Yes, rumors like that are the foundation for many different prejudices. But such is the way of the lost.”

  “Are you saying there’s no truth to these claims?”

  Dark liquid began trickling from the coffee maker into a glass carafe. Byron watched the droplets falling for a long moment, then said, “God is the sole proprietor of truth, Eric. Seeds that germinate in the hearts of men will only bear tainted fruit. You cannot trust everything you hear.”

  Eric sat up straighter. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Byron interlaced his fingers and nodded. “I like you, Eric. You care deeply for the meek and humble, and you risk your life to protect them. But your greatest strength is also the source of your ignorance. You assume that a tale spoken in earnest by a scarred widow must be true. But the devil—the great deceiver—comes in many forms.”

  No argument there, Eric thought. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “You’re talking about my client.”

  Byron sighed. “I weep for Agatha. Her lies have led many Adherents down the twisted path of doubt. But I still love her, because her heart is in the right place. Did you know she has memorized more than half of the New Testament?”

  “She never mentioned it. I think she was more concerned about the polygamy, incest, and rape happening in this town.�
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  “That’s enough,” Kane grunted.

  Byron glared at his head of security. “Censorship is no way to win an argument. Let him speak.”

  Eric chewed on his tongue for a moment, then nodded and removed his helmet. “I don’t need this; I’m only after the truth. Here, you can take this, too, if it’ll make you more comfortable.” He held up his cell phone, then dropped it into the upturned helmet.”

  Kane called for Thatcher and had the guard place the devices in the hallway.

  “That’s better, right?” Eric said. “Nobody is who they pretend to be on camera. Now we can be ourselves.”

  “It is all I ever desire for my followers—to be themselves.” Byron took the carafe and filled three mugs. He handed one to Eric and one to Kane then held the last cup beneath his nose and inhaled. “Tell me, Eric, have you ever felt truly happy?”

  Eric thought back to the day he was reconciled with Kayla in a hotel room in Kinshasa. “Yes.”

  “Do you remember the way your heart sang in your chest, the tingling in your spine, the way the world seemed to glow?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Of course you do. Those are the universal sensations of love. It is spiritual, though it manifests through chemicals in your brain. Can you remember any other times you felt that way?”

  He shrugged. “None that come to mind.”

  Byron smiled. “Trust me, you’ve had them. When you pass a test, or experience the Holy Spirit in worship, or have intercourse for the first time—that’s love.”

  Eric chuckled. “Trust me, the first time I had sex, love was nowhere in sight.”

  Abruptly, Byron dragged a stool closer to Eric and sat down. “Oh, but it was. You felt some of the same feelings as you did during your happiest moments, didn’t you? But you don’t want to call it love, because you felt shame, inadequacy, and regret. Is that right?”