Summon the Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  Martha, a woman in her late forties with her hair pinned in a tidy bun, glanced over her shoulder. “My king, you’re just in time. Our friend’s pain medication is wearing off.”

  Byron nodded slowly as he appraised Eric’s naked, battle-torn figure. Wide gashes had been sewn shut all over his body, and the smaller cuts had been closed with liquid bandages. Each laceration was surrounded by a rusty-orange swath of iodine—an unnecessary precaution against infection, in Byron’s opinion, but he offered only praise. “Excellent work, Martha. Without your skill, Mr. Larson would have surely perished by now.”

  Martha smiled, exposing a row of straight teeth. “It’s my pleasure to serve, my lord.”

  Byron stroked her chin with his thumb for a moment, then turned to address his captive. “Are you comfortable, Eric?”

  Eric pulled against the leather restraints on his wrists and ankles, and dots of blood seeped through his stitched wounds.

  “Please, be still,” Martha said, resting a gloved hand on his chest. “I’ve already given you eight units of blood from our private stores, and I would prefer not to give you any more. Two of our Adherents have cancer, you know.”

  Eric ignored her and continued pulling until his strength gave out. When he collapsed, he took a few deep breaths, licked his lips, and said, “Good. They can go to hell with the rest of you.”

  Byron chuckled and raised his palms. “Try to relax, Mr. Larson. You’re in for a very long night, and you’ll need your strength. That is…unless you are ready to cooperate.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “What evidence did you pass along before Titus Thatcher apprehended you?”

  Eric smiled as wide as he could and said nothing.

  After several moments, Byron shook his head. “You think your silence is bravery? It is foolishness. I will not be baited into brutality and torture, because that’s exactly what you want. You see, I know all about you. I know you were an Army Ranger, and that you spent time in prison. Your entire life has been one hardship after another…pain followed by more pain. But even a man as powerful as you has his weaknesses.”

  Byron crossed the room, wheeled a chair closer to the operating table, and sat. “Your body has grown accustomed to discomfort, but not your mind. In here—” he tapped Eric’s forehead, “you are as fragile as a child. Perhaps more so. I could shake your entire world with two words, couldn’t I?”

  Eric’s eyes narrowed involuntarily, so he played it off by closing them.

  Byron sounded out the name as if helping a toddler with pronunciation. “Hudson Reilly.” His captive pinched his eyes tighter and held his breath.

  “You see?” Byron said, leaning back in his chair. “It’s as simple as that. The shame you feel for outliving your friend is a weakness you will always carry with you. But that was merely a lesson—I don’t expect to compel you to speak by bringing up hurtful memories. The dead have never forced anyone to do anything. Only the living have the power to persuade.”

  Byron took out his phone. He tapped it a few times to bring up a photo, then held it up. Eventually, Eric’s curiosity got the better of him, and he opened his eyes.

  The leather straps snapped against their anchors. Eric bared his teeth like a wild animal and clenched his fists so hard that he tore three sutures on his right bicep. “Where did you get that?” he roared.

  The cult leader was wearing an insane grin. He turned the phone around and studied the picture of Kayla slumbering peacefully. “I thought it would be obvious: from your hotel room. Of course, you weren’t there to see my Adherent snap the photos. You were on the mountain, recording videos with your silly cameras.”

  “If you ever come near her again, I’ll—”

  “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. I have three men waiting for my instructions in the room next to hers. And if you don’t cooperate, they will drag her into the desert and feed her body to the coyotes.”

  Eric chewed his lip. His body glistened with sweat, and he began to shake. His eyes bounced back and forth in his head.

  A long moment passed, and Byron stood. “You’re trying my patience, Eric. Tell me what I want to know, or I will make the call right here and right now.” He picked up a landline phone and started punching in digits.

  “Stop!” Eric shouted. His burly physique seemed to wither as he settled back. “I’ll…I’ll talk.”

  Byron said, “Hold, please,” then muted the phone and set it aside. “Continue, Mr. Larson.”

  Eric’s face twisted with pain. “They don’t have anything. Renner has no evidence other than the video, and the psych-eval was a dead end.”

  “Thank you for your honesty.” Byron picked up the phone and tapped the mute button. “I’m finished here. Be back at the mountain tomorrow night; I need you to take out the trash. Yes, all three of you—he’s quite heavy.” Byron locked Eric in a hateful gaze. “And be ready when the woman comes back. I want her silenced. Tonight.”

  15

  Maggie’s Tavern

  Craig, Colorado

  Leaving the field felt like betrayal, but Kayla needed to rest and refuel. She had been awake for nearly thirty-six hours, and she hadn’t eaten in at least a day. Her worry had killed her appetite, but she needed her strength, so she ordered a trio of chicken sandwiches and forced them down.

  Now, picking at a plate of fries, she replayed her last conversation with Thomas Ward in her head. The fire in his voice had gone out. He seemed…ashamed. Maybe he doubted if Eric was still alive, or maybe he had over-considered the ramifications of bringing Jarrod into the fight. Whatever the case, it was obvious that Ward was having second thoughts. He told her that he wasn’t ready for anything more than a discussion with the DARPA killing-machine. Jarrod had always been a genius with battlefield tactics—maybe he could see something they couldn’t.

  She had told him to grow a pair and hung up. So far, he had not called back.

  But she had to give him credit; he had at least found Jarrod. Ward enlisted every available employee to search police records, press releases, and missing person reports for crimes that fit Jarrod’s…style. He didn’t expect results for at least a day and was shocked when one of his investigators in D.C. called in just five hours later with a probable location: Charlotte, North Carolina. Jarrod, it seemed, had gone home.

  As Kayla paid her tab and bid the bartender goodnight, Ward was speeding toward Charlotte, intending to ask Jarrod for advice. She shook her head as she remembered talking to Jarrod in the past. The experiments he had gone through had fundamentally altered his brain; conversations with him were about as lively as talking to a wall. Ward would be better off asking Google how to break someone out of a cultist fortress. But there was a silver lining—Jarrod was literally programmed for violence and might decide to attack Holy Mountain on his own.

  She took a breath of the rapidly cooling air and started along the sidewalk. There was a chance Ward wouldn’t find Jarrod at all. And, even if he did, he might hide specific details about the case. When she had asked him if he planned to show Jarrod the video, he had said, “No.” He claimed the mission should be founded on logic, not emotion, but she secretly wondered if he was afraid of the new Jarrod and didn’t want to show him anything that would upset him.

  She chewed her lower lip. If Ward stood by and did nothing, wouldn’t that make him partially to blame? Kayla shivered. She knew how Jarrod reacted when his friends were in danger. During a terrorist attack in Kinshasa, a terrifying humanoid machine had struck her in the chest, collapsing her lungs. When Eric cried for help, Jarrod came running. He had saved their lives, destroying the machine and convincing the terrorists to surrender. But when the terrorists laid down their weapons, he attacked, tearing them to pieces and ignoring their pleas for mercy.

  The memory still haunted her, but she would relive that day a thousand times over if doing so would save Eric’s life.

  The hotel loomed at the end of the street, but she still had too much nervous energy to return to her r
oom. She left and walked north along Yampa Avenue. With her thumbs looped in her pockets, she watched the cracks in the sidewalk as they passed. When she reached the old armory building that had been converted into a museum, she turned right and strode toward the city park. A voice inside berated her for strolling around Craig while her husband was in chains, or worse. But what else could she do? Sheriff Renner and every other law enforcement officer in the country refused to make a move on Holy Mountain. Her boss wanted to help, but he was holding out for a better solution. Eric had been out of contact for seventeen hours. If he was still alive, he wouldn’t be for long.

  Do something, the voice repeated. Save him.

  She reached the park, sat at a picnic table, and covered her face with her hands. Crushed under the weight of helplessness, she began to cry.

  Charlotte, North Carolina

  Thomas Ward put on his blinker and eased into the driveway on the outskirts of Charlotte. He stared at the front door and swallowed the bile creeping into his throat. The last time he had visited this part of town, he had parked at the end of the street, trying to decide if he should tell Adam Hawkins that his long-lost son was still alive. After thirty agonizing minutes, he had put the car in gear and driven home, because he wasn’t sure if Jarrod had returned. The man that came out of the crucible of tragic loss and military experimentation was not the Jarrod he knew.

  But this time, he would not turn back. There was more than his self-pity at stake. He would stare the shell of his old friend in the eye and ask it for help. He would not pass judgment on the creature Jarrod had become, but he couldn’t enable a violent massacre, either. In the past, he had turned a blind eye to the darkness in Jarrod, knowing it was balanced with love, kindness, and compassion. But now, Ward feared the darkness was all that remained.

  Taking a deep breath, he cut the ignition and stepped outside. Because of the late hour, he had called ahead, and Adam promised to wait up for him. Strangely, Adam never asked why Ward would make a three-hour trip after dark. Instead of ringing the doorbell, Ward knocked and peered through a gap in the curtains. After several seconds, Adam appeared in the entryway and shuffled to the door. His back was bent slightly, and his skin was sallow. He seemed to have aged a decade in the six months since Ward had last seen him. But when he opened the door, he pulled his guest into a tight hug and offered to make tea.

  “Do you have coffee?” Ward said as he stepped inside. “I’ll be driving back tonight, and I’m bushed already.”

  “You could stay the night if you’d like. I put clean sheets on the spare bed.”

  Ward smiled and followed Adam into the kitchen. “I appreciate it, but no. I need to put out some fires at work in the morning.”

  “Driving at night can be dangerous, especially when you’re tired. I know your work is important, but dead men can’t steer ships.”

  “This is…different from the usual workplace drama. I’ll try to be quick, and a hot cup of coffee should hold me over. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Adam shrugged and tapped a button to start the single-serving coffee maker. “Suit yourself.” He handed Ward the mug and gestured toward the living room. “Bad news pairs nicely with soft furniture.”

  After taking a seat on a green sofa with floral patterns, Ward cocked his head and said, “How did you know it’s bad news?”

  Adam eased into a recliner and let out a sigh. “In all my life, no one has ever knocked on my door at eleven-thirty to bring me good news. Let’s have it, Thomas. I’m too old for suspense.”

  “Fair enough.” Ward set his coffee on an end table and interlaced his fingers. “It’s about your son.”

  “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “Sorry. It’s about Jarrod. I—” He stopped short and searched Adam’s face for a reaction, but found none.

  “This isn’t like you, Thomas. Stop waiting for me to fill in the blanks and spit it out.”

  Ward took a deep breath. “Do you know your son is still alive?”

  Adam leaned back and pondered for a moment. “You’re not being straight with me. You didn’t drive all the way out here to ask me a question. I can’t help you until you tell me what you need.”

  Glancing down at his own twiddling thumbs, Ward said, “The thing is…I need to speak with Jarrod, and I have reason to believe he has been here.”

  “And now you’re talking like a lawyer. Are you accusing me of something?”

  “That’s not what I’m doing, I swear. It’s about the difficulties I’m having at work. I think he can help. Do you have any way to contact him?”

  Adam shook his head. “I’ve tried to reach him several times, but I always fail. I’m sorry you drove all the way out here for a cup of coffee.” He stood, signaling an end to the conversation.

  “Hear me out—I just want to talk. He can stay here with you, and I’m fine with that. In fact, I prefer it.” He swallowed. “Please…I can’t tell you how important this is.”

  “That’s the problem. We could spend all night not telling each other things, and we wouldn’t solve a thing.” He limped down the hallway and opened the front door. “It was nice seeing you, Thomas. Hopefully, your next visit will be under more pleasant circumstances.”

  Ward stepped outside, ran a hand through his gray hair, and turned to face Adam. “I’m certain he could help. Ten minutes—that’s all I’m asking for.”

  Adam raised his chin. “You aren’t listening to me. Jarrod is not here, and he is not welcome here. If he wants to talk to you, he will.”

  “I—” Ward raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. Drive safe, Thomas.”

  The door closed, the lock clicked, and the porch light blinked out. Ward’s shoulders sagged, and he mumbled, “What am I going to tell Kayla?” He groped his pocket, searching for his phone, then frowned. Assuming he had left it in the car, he started down the driveway. He thumbed his key fob, and the doors unlocked, but the blinkers didn’t flash as they usually did. He made a mental note to check the fuses then shook his head—he had bigger things to worry about.

  Out of habit, he checked under the car and glanced into the backseat before opening his door. Nothing was out of place, so he climbed inside. His phone was resting on the center console; he touched it as if to make sure it was real and then continued his safety checks. He tested the headlights, brakes, and power steering. He tested the blinkers, even though he knew they had burnt out. They flashed on and off at the flick of the switch.

  A chill crept up both arms. He studied the shadows beyond his headlights, irrationally expecting a pair of glowing eyes to be staring back at him. But nothing crept into view; the real monsters were hundreds of miles away, hiding inside a hilltop lair. Sighing, he put the car in reverse and placed his hand on the passenger seat headrest. He looked through the rear window and began backing down the driveway, but the feeling of being watched still festered in his chest. Then he saw it: a dark shape at the edge of his vision.

  Gasping, he pinned the brake pedal to the floor and reached for the pistol he kept holstered beneath his seat. It was gone. Without a weapon, he was at a disadvantage in the driver’s seat, so he slammed the car into “park” and grasped for the handle on his door. It, also, had been removed.

  He was out of options; he’d have to subdue the intruder from inside the car. He brought his hands up to protect his head and was about to launch himself into the back seat when the man spoke.

  “There’s no need for that. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  Ward froze, and the blood drained from his face. Despite everything he knew and who he expected to see tonight, he wasn’t ready to hear Jarrod’s voice. He swallowed, trying to pull saliva into his suddenly dry mouth. “They told me you were alive. And they described what you can do. I guess I should have expected this.”

  “What happened in Colorado?”

  Ward shifted in his seat to look back. “How did you
know?”

  Jarrod pointed at the center console. “I took your phone from your pocket and read your messages. Don’t try to waste my time like you did my father’s. I don’t know the specifics, but I know it’s serious—I could smell your cortisol from a block away.”

  “You could smell my…what?”

  “Five seconds, and I’m gone.”

  Ward held up pleading hands. “Wait—you’re right, this is serious. But there are a lot of people involved, and I don’t want you doing anything reckless.”

  “Two seconds.”

  “We couldn’t pull it off!” Ward pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. “We took our best shot, and we blew it. Our client needed us to get her niece back so she could take custody, but we couldn’t get through the wall of red tape. I need your help because I can’t see a way through this that doesn’t put lives at risk.”

  “Whose lives?”

  Ward hesitated. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not here because of your client’s objectives. Tell me what’s at stake.”

  “I…I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Ward took a deep breath and held it for a moment before speaking. “Because you’ll get angry and do something stupid. I’m looking for a solution, not a bloodbath.”

  “I see.” Jarrod lowered his head. “Perhaps you and my father are more united on this issue than you realize.”

  “I understand his perspective. He wants to protect you.”

  “I don’t need protection. He knows that as well as you do. My father is trying to protect everyone else.”

  Realization spread across Ward’s face. “Oh. He found out what you, uh, do at night?”

  “Yes. And he does not approve. He has forbidden me from ever speaking with Deedee again if I do not stop. You should understand, protecting Deedee is my sole priority—my reason to exist. I would not abandon her lightly.”