When several minutes had passed, and she had mostly calmed herself, Michael loosened his arms that were wrapped around her shaking body.
Sniffing back a runny nose and wiping her eyes again, she gently pulled away slightly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m a mess.” When he didn’t respond, she looked in his direction to find he was looking away from her, a peculiar expression on his face. Guilt? She thought strangely. “What is it?” she asked worriedly.
“Megan,” he said in a low voice, “you said you saw it happen. How exactly can that be?”
She took a few more deep breaths, willing herself the strength to talk. “It’s a vision. It’s like I’m there. Her gift to me.”
He looked at her. “Whose gi..?” then a spark of realization flashed in his eyes. “Diana,” he blurted, answering his own question.
Megan’s eyes became watery again, but this time she held back the tears and kept herself calm enough to tell Michael of the incident in the cellar: though she kept to herself the sexual molestation and utter humiliation of being almost dehumanized. She only recounted her own defiance and physical assault against the woman in her last-ditch effort to escape the earthy prison, and finally with fresh terror in her voice, the psychic curse inflicted upon her as punishment.
She felt the urge to tell the entire story. But victims of such personal invasions, she had read, tend to bury trauma of that nature, never coming to terms with it without proper counseling. Yet this man, whom she hardly knew, she somehow trusted more than anyone. She felt like she wanted to tell him, but as she spoke, a stronger desire to keep her guard up overpowered, especially since the last man she trusted so thoroughly turned out to be the worst possible man ever to come into her life.
Regardless, she told him what currently mattered, and he listened.
“Boy,” he said when she had finished, “she really did a number on you, didn’t she?”
Megan nodded, with her head hung low. “She told me that every time I close my eyes, I would see it. I just didn’t remember after everything else that’s happened since.”
“She was obviously telling the truth,” Michael said, glancing at the digital clock on the nearby nightstand, which read shortly after three a.m. “Judging by the time, you couldn’t have been asleep for more than ten, fifteen minutes.”
Yet again, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, this time with frustration on her face. Michael put a hand on her shoulder. “If it’s any consolation,” he said with a weak smile, “you must’ve really pissed her off. Why else would she go through all that trouble if their intent was to kill you only several hours later?”
“Probably to keep me from getting at least one last good rest before,” she answered with melancholy. “Not that I even thought of sleep, having a good idea as to what they would soon do to me.”
“I’m so sorry, Megan.” His smile faded. “For everything.”
She looked into his saddened eyes. Her demeanor slowly became calmer than before, but weary as well. “I guess a life of restless nights beats the alternative,” she suggested. “If not for you, I wouldn’t even be here. You should be the last one to apologize.”
Michael shook his head. “I could’ve saved them,” he said with a low voice, “had I known.”
“Ben and Ryleigh?”
He nodded. “This Sonny. I didn’t get a good look at him at Mass, and I didn’t know his part in this. In fact, I wasn’t sure whether he was involved, or just another one of their victims. He could have been either.”
“What makes you say that?” she wondered.
“When you disappeared,” he explained, “so did he. That could’ve meant one of those two things. When your friends died in that fire, I knew it wasn’t coincidence. But it was completely unexpected. They wouldn’t have any reason to target them unless they knew something about your disappearance, or Sonny’s. If I had any reason to suspect they were in danger too, I would’ve kept watch over them. As far as I knew, they were as in the dark about your abduction as everyone else.”
“They were,” she answered. “I hadn’t spoken to either of them for days. They couldn’t have known anything.”
“Then why would he go after them?” he asked himself more than he did her.
Her eyes watered again. “For the hell of it,” she answered, her bottom lip quivering. “Just for the pleasure.” She let out a few, shaky breaths as she fought to keep her composure. “When I met him, he was the most charming, sweetest man I ever talked to. And he was a perfect gentleman… everything I could ever dream of in a man. Once I saw him for who… for what he really is, it was like a dream turned into a nightmare. Only it was real. I couldn’t believe I fell in love with a monster like that.”
Michael nodded sympathetically. “That’s his profession. They trained him well for that exact purpose, Megan. There’s no way you would have been able to see the real him until he allowed you to.”
“But why?” she almost pleaded.
“Their targets… the ones they sacrifice… they have to be pure.”
“Virgins…” she remembered.
“Virgins,” he repeated. “They assigned this man to you to… well, not only to get into your life and learn everything he could about you, but also to keep you from possibly meeting and dating someone else. Someone who might have been more willing to…”
“Have sex with me?” she finished for him. Michael nodded with a shrug. “So that whole, ‘wanting to wait for marriage’ bit was bullshit.”
“Everything about him was bullshit,” Michael answered. “Just telling you what you wanted to hear so you’d think he was perfect.”
“And I fell for it,” she said despairingly, “like an idiot.”
Michael took her hand. “You weren’t the first, trust me. And you definitely wouldn’t have been the last. No doubt he’d already moved on to the next target.”
“August,” she said suddenly. “He told me, in the cellar, that I was ‘May,’ and that he was being reassigned to ‘August.’ I didn’t understand what he meant… not completely.”
“It’s a Dark Year,” he clarified. “They have to sacrifice thirteen virgins in thirteen consecutive new moons in order to obtain a level of power so terrible, there would be little anyone could do to stop them.”
Megan felt a chill run down her spine. “So this ‘August,’ is in danger then! And whoever is ‘June’ and ‘July’ and all the other…”
He shook his head. “The Cycle was broken tonight. They have no need to carry out the remaining rituals. At least not until the next Dark Year.”
“Which is when?”
He shrugged. “We don’t know. No one does. Not until it arrives.”
Megan’s interest was at a peak. She suddenly felt like she had been living behind a curtain of lead her entire life that had been violently ripped open to reveal an entirely strange world that was new to her, but surrounded her all these years. Hiding in plain sight. “How often do these Dark Years occur?”
Michael squeezed her hand. “Listen, it would take hours for me to explain the entire concept. For now, we have more important matters. Like undoing the spell that woman placed on you.”
Hearing these words, she returned his squeeze with her hand, a hopeful gleam sparked in her eyes. “You can do that?”
“I can try,” he answered. “I’m not as skilled as I used to be, but in my faction, my primary skill was in the healing arts. Just been out of practice for a good while.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Faction,” she repeated. “You’ve mentioned that before, but what is it exactly?”
“Try to keep focused for me,” Michael said as he smiled and raised his hands in a gesture that meant to say, enough questions for now.
“Sorry,” she responded. “Just nervous I guess. More… magic stuff on me right?”
“It’s okay. It’s just gonna take a good deal of concentration, but I’m pretty sure it’ll work.”
“How sure?” she questioned.
Mi
chael took both of her hands in his. “Like I said, it’s been awhile. Healing your wounds earlier… that was easier. Especially since most of it required the use of the substances I mixed together.”
“What were those substances?” She asked. “Sorry… stay focused.”
He smirked, but answered her question. “Certain rare herbs, mainly. Stuff modern medical texts don’t have info on. That’s because they don’t work by themselves without a little bit of magic to… well… I guess you could say the magic jump-starts the healing elements within them.” He squeezed her hands gently as he closed his eyes. “Healing the mind however… that’s all magic. No potions or herbs to help. So it’s not as easy.”
“So I guess that means you’re not very sure this will work.”
“No,” he answered patiently, “I’m pretty sure. Did you happen to meet the homeless man they had brought to the cellar tonight?”
Megan’s eyes widened. “Oh my God!” she gasped. “I forgot about him! They were going to pin my disappearance on him because they couldn’t find you… um… Cliff.”
“Yeah,” Michael replied. “They drugged him pretty heavily to keep him sedated too. But before I broke in to interrupt their ritual, I was able to… un-drug him.”
“Really? How?”
He opened one eye with a look as if he expected her to know at this point. “Magic, darlin’.”
“Was it difficult for you? Being out of practice and all?”
Both his eyes were closed again. “I thought it might be, but it seemed to come to me pretty easily. Like riding a bike, I guess.”
“Okay,” she breathed out. “That’s encouraging.”
“Except I was removing a foreign substance from his body. Not as difficult as trying to perform a spell that removes another spell.”
“Okay. Not so encouraging.”
“Ready?” he prompted her as his breathing became deep.
“I guess so,” she said apprehensively.
“Close your eyes, and breathe like I am. You’ll probably have the vision again based on what you’ve told me. But keep your eyes closed and know that I’ll be there with you this time.”
Megan had no desire to endure the horrifying scene that she knew awaited her behind her eyelids, but she did as he instructed, understanding that if you step on a rusty nail, you’ll have to deal with some more pain if you want to pull it out. “Okay,” she agreed.
“Also,” he added, “grab my wrists as I grab yours. Don’t let go or we might sever the connection.”
Slowly and methodically, she matched her breathing with his own.
At first there was nothing but darkness, but within less than a minute her closed eyes began to witness the setting of Ryleigh’s bedroom gradually manifesting from a grey blur to a clear image in her mind. Fear engulfed her as she was forced to watch her best friend lay in agony and terror as gasoline splashed upon her writing body. Once again, through the eyes of the assailant, it appeared as if she herself were lighting the match. She could feel both the quivering excitement fill the monster of a man as he savored the moment before his victim’s grueling torment, and the convulsing panic of the woman before him who stared at the lit match like a child staring down the barrel of a gun.
In the tangible world outside of her mind, Megan began to pull at the hands that gripped her wrists, wanting to be free of this nightmare. But the hands held tightly.
Hold on, Megan, his voice in her mind spoke calmingly. Don’t let go.
Michael? she returned in her own mind.
I’m here, darlin’. I see what you see.
Make it stop!
I’m working on it.
The match was flung into the air, landing on the bed. Unbearable screams followed.
She’s dying! So much pain! So much…
Evil. I feel it too.
Ryleigh’s body twisted and pulled as the sound of her weakening screams became overpowered by Sonny’s maniacal laughter.
Lord of Light, shine Thy grace upon her. Michael’s mental voice matched the volume of the laughter. Quench the darkness within this soul.
Momentarily, the scene blurred and flickered, as if a battery that powered a psychic projector was running out of juice. But within seconds, the picture returned as clearly as ever. The laughing continued as the eyes that both Megan and Michael saw through quickly glanced down at the lifeless body of Ben Weber on the floor beneath them.
Jesus! No more, please!
God of Love, have mercy on her. Let Thy comfort and peace flow into her heart.
The laughter did not subside, but grew with lustful insanity; its owner taking pride and pleasure in his work with more gluttony than any artist gazing at his finished masterpiece. His head turned toward the bedroom’s dresser, gazing at himself in the vanity mirror attached to it, admiring his perfect smile.
Lord of Light, shine Thy grace upon… upon…
The reflection in the mirror revealed the image of the man that Megan recognized immediately. The man she once couldn’t take her eyes off of. The man whose sight now sickened her.
Something was wrong. Her own fright and terror suddenly seemed to increase, as if the source came from not only within her own mind, but from outside as well… from…
Michael?
No! Suddenly, a wave of shock thrust into her mind, like a psychic bolt of electricity fueled by both anger and despair. NO!
Without warning, the hands that gripped her released. The vision disappeared instantaneously. The connection severed. Megan opened her eyes in time to see Michael jump up from her side on the bed and reel back, tripping over nothing in particular, and falling to the floor. His hands were raised in a defensive gesture, as if shielding off an invisible assailant. His face had suddenly become deathly pale, the usual glimmer in his piercingly blue eyes gone.
Chapter VI
3:30 a.m.: in a remote location near the outskirts of Gettysburg, Professor Madsen still held a haggard disposition, but he was happy to be finally off his feet, resting comfortably on top of the covers of a king-sized bed within the master bedroom of his safehouse of choice. As soon as he had arrived, he had changed into a pair of warm, gray sweat pants and a white T-shirt that displayed the logo of the Texas Longhorns, the name of the football team from his alma mater. The reading lamp on the nightstand by his side provided adequate lighting for him to look over a list of contacts that he felt he would need for the upcoming week or so.
His mind had settled by now, and with all the prior excitement now diminished, the calm after the lengthy storm had rendered him too exhausted to replay in his mind the events that took place just a few hours earlier. He had done so more than enough, and he decided it was time to move on. Leadership of the Primary Circle was most likely in his hands, and he needed to make sure he would be up for the challenges that accompanied such a privilege. At least after he took a little vacation to allow himself to recover.
Madsen had half a mind to switch the light off and give in to his overbearing desire to close his eyes, but he was certain that sleep would evade him despite his fatigue. He may have consciously forced his mind to become idle; nevertheless, it was not completely shut off. Besides, he suspected that his colleague, who occupied the room down the hallway, was most likely experiencing the same level of insomnia, and that she would therefore be visiting with him before long.
Just as the notion had entered his thoughts, the door on the far side of the wall opened softly.
“Feeling better?” Diana spoke softly as she invited herself into the room wearing a set of dark green, silk pajama pants and button-down top.
“A little, now that I’m off my feet,” Madsen answered in the same volume. “You?”
“Fine,” she dismissed, “Courtney’s finally out, but I can’t sleep.” She sat at the foot of his bed, facing away from him. “I keep going over it in my head, Stephen. How did it go wrong?”
Madsen placed the documents he had been reading onto the nightstand beside his bed and remov
ed his glasses, placing them on top of the papers. “A couple weeks ago,” he explained, “Paul and I met in his office, before the weekly Bible Study. We were going over details about the plan. Messenger showed up at the door incognito. Said his name was Cliff and that he was there for the Bible Study, but was looking for the bathroom. Put on a hell of an act. After all these years, and given his obvious skill with disguising himself, neither of us recognized him.”
“Michael Messenger,” Diana said distantly. “I remember him, though I never had the opportunity of meeting him face to face. Just one of the many names of the Keepers we had our people deal with after their meddling with our affairs…”
“During the last Dark Year,” Madsen completed her thought. “Yes. Well I did meet him, and after that night I thought I’d never forget that face.”
“Yet two weeks ago, he was in the same room as you, and you didn’t even know,” she almost scolded.
“Once again,” Madsen replied as if justifying his apparent lack of awareness that she seemed to be accusing him of, “he has shown that he’s not to be underestimated. There was a moment in the office, when he had asked about our symbolic statue resting on Paul’s shelf behind him. From what we mentioned tonight, it seems our surviving Keeper had somehow tampered with the Cursed Ashes in the brief moment we had turned to look at it ourselves.”
“The ones he applied to Panco’s forehead to keep her untraceable by any user of white magic,” Diana verified.
Madsen nodded. “At the time, Paul had used this precaution only to appease Biddle’s relentlessly worrisome nerves. It never dawned on us, after how thoroughly we had dealt with Messenger and his faction, that there would be any need for concern.”
“Turns out Bill had reason to worry,” Diana commented irritably. “And he’s no longer with us to say that he told us so.”
“Quite,” Madsen said, also irritably. “Blame me if it makes you feel better, dear. There’s no one else to blame now.” He turned his head and gazed toward the window, as if the blinds were not closed and he could see the driveway two stories below.
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