Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

  “I need your help, Father.”

  ~ 175

  Marisa sat on the sofa, trying to get her racing mind under control. Jared had only been gone twenty minutes, but it felt like an hour. It wasn’t the passage of time that unsettled her, although she was growing increasingly fearful that time was what they had the least of. It was the fact that Jared wasn’t there. She felt vulnerable. More afraid than she ever had. Staring at the crack in her living room window didn’t help.

  Thunder rolled in the distance. Above it, she thought she heard a car.

  Jared!

  She checked the window. No car. No Jared.

  Kit’s crutches clunked on the floor above. “Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m out of pills up here.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I should have had one like three hours ago.”

  “Hang on.” She went to the kitchen and checked the cabinet above the sink. “Damn it.”

  She went back to the living room. “I’ll have to go to the pharmacy.”

  “Are you going now?”

  Marisa checked the clock. She couldn’t know how long Jared would be. But she couldn’t have Kit without his pills. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” Kit started down the stairs.

  Marisa went to the first step. “Be careful! Do you want some help?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Please be careful.” She watched him come down, and he clunked past her on his way to the kitchen. She got her purse and her car keys. “Stay down here until I get back, okay? I don’t like you going up and down those steps on that leg when I’m not around.”

  “Okay.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  She locked the front door behind her and turned on the stoop. “Shit.”

  The rear tire was flat. Of course.

  She almost went back inside, but she knew that she couldn’t. Calling Sarah wasn’t an option; she was still in school.

  She gazed down the street, in the direction that the Land Rover had taken.

  “Come on, Jared,” she muttered. She waited another two minutes, then headed for the pharmacy on foot.

  ~ 176

  Jared followed Horn down a short hardwood corridor. The living room was bright, with a large cushy sofa and a pair of beige recliners. A cocoa oval area rug complemented the chestnut coffee table. Books and knick-knacks filled a plain bookshelf that stood beneath the rectangular side window. While it was certainly warm in its way, the room’s overtly conventional decor surprised him.

  What did you expect? An altar? Ringing sanctus bells?

  “Please,” Horn said, directing him caringly. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Jared eased onto the sofa. He felt more than a little anxious. Despite the home’s appearance, he couldn’t help but feel that he’d entered a house of worship instead. He clasped his hands together on his lap to stop himself from tapping. It didn’t help that Horn was staring.

  “Forgive me, Jared. I—”

  “I know, Father. Death warmed over.”

  “I don’t mean to be indelicate,” Horn said. “But you look much worse than when I last saw you. Have you seen a doctor? I know Dr. Vogel well. He’d see you straight away. I could call—”

  “I’m not well, no. Obviously. But you know me. No doctor. The thing is, I … well … I’m not really sure why I’m here. Maybe I should go.”

  “Nonsense,” Horn said, adjusting his glasses. “You’ve come for a reason. If only to see a friendly face.”

  Jared nodded stiffly. Still, he wanted nothing more than to leave. The more he thought about why he had come, the more he thought about that rubber room.

  “Can I get you anything?” Horn asked. “Tea, perhaps? I’ve got a pot going on the stove. I have some wonderful Earl Grey. Or herbal. That might perk you up a bit.”

  “If it’s no trouble.”

  “Not at all. Herbal?”

  “Earl Grey’s fine. Thank you, Father.”

  “Everett,” Horn said. “This isn’t confession.”

  The man offered a small smile, and for an instant, Jared recalled that same smile he’d seen when he’d first opened his eyes after falling into his coma. It had been so warm and comforting, had seemed to give him new life.

  “Please,” Horn said. “Try to relax. And Jared? It’s okay to tap if you need to.” He winked.

  Jared unclasped his hands and made a conscious effort to keep his index finger still. Horn disappeared into the kitchen, and when Jared let his gaze wander, he noticed a small stone plaque cradled in a metal holder on top of the bookshelf. He had to squint to read its chiseled inscription.

  The wicked are overthrown and are no more. But the house of the righteous shall stand.

  Horn returned a few minutes later with a tray holding a pot and two cups. He set it down and poured the tea. “Sugar?”

  “Just some milk.”

  Horn poured milk in one cup and added sugar and milk to the other. He stirred both and handed Jared his cup. Jared sipped while Horn sat in a recliner across from him.

  Horn tapped the book on the mahogany table beside him. “Thank you again for signing this. I’d meant to finish it by now—it’s so very good. But with everything that’s happened …”

  “Of course, Fath—sorry. Everett.” Jared paused. “I have to tell you, I was never really comfortable with … I mean—”

  “Father’s fine, Jared.”

  “… Thank you.”

  Horn glanced at the framed photograph mounted above the other recliner. It was a stunning black-and-white capture of the falls. There was no rope bridge.

  Horn sighed. “I love Torch Falls so very much. It breaks the heart.”

  “Did you take that?”

  “Oh no,” Horn said. “My father took that many years ago. Late fifties, if I recall. He was an exceptional amateur photographer. That’s something you and I have shared, isn’t it? Both our fathers were quite talented in their art. At least in your case, the apple certainly fell close to the tree.”

  Jared thanked him with a nod.

  Horn sat forward, clearly concerned. “Whatever’s troubling you, Jared, know in your heart that God will see you through. Trust in that.”

  Jared drank some tea. He knew what he wanted to say, he just didn’t know how. Not without sounding like a crazy person. Even if the man believed him, he was putting himself and his family at grave risk by exposing his secret.

  “You’ve got that look,” Horn said. “The weight of the world on your back.”

  Jared regarded the photograph with a glance. “You might say that.”

  “This is all so tragic,” Horn said. “You’re not the first person to call on me for guidance these last few days. We’re all fearful. I’m not immune to it myself. These things that are happening—they’re unspeakable.”

  Jared cleared his throat. “Father … I’d like to ask you something. I just don’t know if I can.”

  “Just ask. No good can come from letting it fester.”

  Jared nodded reluctantly. “… Do you … do you believe evil exists?”

  “Do you?”

  “Me? I don’t … I mean, I’m not sure that I do.”

  “You write about evil,” Horn said. “Do you write what you believe?”

  “Those are just stories. Fiction.”

  “Granted. But some of the things you write about are certainly all too real. It’s not all vampires.”

  “No,” Jared agreed. “But I … I guess I don’t know what I believe. And now, with all this … I’m looking for answers. Hearing what you believe might be comforting.”

  “I’m a man of faith, Jared. I believe in the light.”

  “So … you don’t think it exists?”

  “And if I told you I believed that it did? Would that comfort you?”

  “Not really. No.”

  Jared stiffened at a low roll of thunder. He couldn’t tell if it was the fever or the cha
nge in pressure that was making him dizzy. His head started to ache.

  “Are you all right?” Horn said.

  “I’m okay.”

  Horn gave him a worried look. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Jared?”

  “I’m not sure. That is, I’m not sure that I can.”

  “Whatever it is, you need to unburden yourself. Is this about you and your brother? It’s been a long time, I know. But the years can wear on a soul.”

  “No. It’s not about Judd.”

  “Marisa? Are you having problems?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I just … I just feel like this is a confession. Or would be.”

  “Is it?”

  Jared said nothing.

  Horn seemed to consider. “You need to trust me, Jared. We can’t pretend that I wasn’t at the park that day. And …”

  “Yes?”

  “Well … I’m sure you heard what happened at the community center.”

  “You were there.”

  Horn nodded.

  “Father,” Jared said. He was having trouble focusing his thoughts. His mind was swimming. “I … I do have a confession of sorts. It’s going to sound a little crazy. No. A lot crazy. But you’ve always watched over me. If anyone can help me, it’s—”

  The dizziness grew. He tried to settle himself with some tea, only to set it down with a trembling hand.

  “Jared?”

  “Give me a second.” Jared closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. His head was pounding.

  “Jared—”

  Jared opened his eyes. Horn was blurry. The whole room was. “Fuh … F-Father—”

  He saw a dark shape as Horn stood. Now the room was spinning. He tried to get up, only to falter. He slipped forward and crashed into the coffee table. When he struck the floor, he groaned. He tried to raise a hand to pull himself up, but it flopped to the hardwood, limp.

  Horn knelt and placed two fingers at the side of Jared’s throat. He nodded at the stable pulse.

  The priest turned to the plaque. A cold expression swept over him, his eyes glistening as if struck by ethereal light. The words slipped from his lips in a whisper.

  “The wicked are overthrown … and are no more.”

  ~ 177

  Marisa hurried back from the pharmacy. When she reached Elm hoping to see the Land Rover parked outside her house, her worry grew. Still no sign of Jared.

  She took the front steps and went to use her house key. The door was slightly ajar.

  She was certain she had locked it. She opened it slowly and stepped into the living room. “Kit?”

  She hung her keys on the hook beside the door and set her purse and the pharmacy bag on the coffee table. At the bottom of the stairs she called again. When her son didn’t answer, she took the stairs two at a time, calling him a third time. She hurried to his bedroom. The bathroom. Her room.

  Kit was gone.

  Her heart thudded as she raced down the stairs. She called out as she searched the main floor, and when worry turned to full-blown panic, she called Jared’s smartphone. No answer. She called three more times.

  “Damn it!” she said, slamming the phone down. “Damn it!”

  She grabbed her keys and rushed out to her car. She stopped short, staring at the flat. Anger swept her, and she yanked the screwdriver from the tire.

  “Fuck this,” she said, and got in the car.

  ~ 178

  Jared stirred awake at the soft roll of thunder. He was groggy. Dim gray light filtered in from a small window, and he quickly realized he was in a basement. A piece of cardboard had been taped in front of the glass, either to block the light, or prying eyes.

  He was on his back, secured to a table. He tried to move his arms, only to find them duct taped in place. His chest and legs were likewise heavily taped. As his eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, he saw an unpainted door to his left. A broom stood beside it. The room itself was no more than ten by fifteen feet. Three walls were drywalled, with a few strokes of gray paint on one of them. Below the window, the wall was exposed foundation. Two steel utility shelves stood against it, most of the shelves empty. There were some paint cans, rollers, and brushes. Some carpenter’s tools and supplies. Spent rolls of duct tape.

  He knew that Horn had drugged him—the man had spiked his tea with something potent. What he was up to he couldn’t fathom, but he suspected it had just a tad more than something to do with those last words he had heard before he’d blacked out.

  The wicked are overthrown … and are no more.

  The muffled creak of a door opening drew his attention. It came from beyond the room, the main basement door, he reasoned. When he heard it shut, he trembled at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, the door he could see opened. Except for a chilling glint of his glasses, Horn was no more than a shape.

  “Cut me loose,” Jared said.

  Horn stepped inside and stood in the shadows. Jared could barely make out the fine features of his face.

  “Cut me loose right now.” All he got was silence. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “What I’ve always done, Jared. I’m watching over you.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “There’s no need for that word here.”

  Jared cried out for help.

  “Wasted effort,” Horn said. He stepped into the light, but kept his distance. “Why have you come?”

  Jared didn’t answer.

  “You said you needed my help,” Horn said. “I think you and I both know that’s not possible.”

  “Please. Cut me loose. I do need you, Father.”

  “Tell me … what has happened to you? What is happening to this town?”

  “What do you intend to do? Hold me here until things blow over?”

  “I may be incorrect in my assumption. But I don’t think that I am.”

  “And what is that?”

  “That all of these … abominations … are a result of your return to Torch Falls.”

  Jared stirred.

  “Why have you come?” Horn asked again. “For forgiveness?”

  “Forgiveness? No.”

  “Are you responsible for this? Is this blood on your hands?”

  Jared groaned. His mind was still mud, and his headache was growing. “Father … what do you want from me?”

  “Only the truth. The fact of the matter is, I’m just as frightened of you as everyone else seems to be.”

  “Will the truth set me free?”

  Horn shook his head, distraught. “You asked if I believe if evil exists. I believe I’m staring it in the face.”

  “Please. I need you to help me.”

  “Why have you come? If not for forgiveness.”

  Jared closed his eyes. Surely this was a nightmare. Surely when he came out of it, he’d be lying in his bed, curled around Marisa. Or back in New York, chatting with readers at a signing.

  He opened his eyes slowly. “It’s all over me, Father. Tom Greenwood. Artie Fisher. Sonia Wheaton. All the others. All their blood is on my hands. I’m drowning in it.”

  “Don’t try to manipulate me, Jared. We’ve known each other too long.”

  “I’m not. Look at me.”

  “And what would you have me do?”

  “I don’t know. Call an exorcist. Throw holy water on me.”

  “Do you believe you’re possessed?”

  “Do you?”

  “I might.”

  Jared swallowed. “And you’d be right.”

  ~ 179

  Everett Horn drew a small step back.

  “Something’s inside me,” Jared said. “I mean … it’s working through me. Causing all of this. It’s using me as some kind of host.”

  Horn did not respond.

  “You don’t believe me,” Jared said. “Look at me, Father. Look what’s happening to people. This is evil.”

  “Rose Tillman,” Horn said. “I spoke w
ith her on your special day. At the park.”

  “Rose? What? I … I don’t understand.”

  “She was very frail. At first I thought the heat had gotten to her. She seemed … confused. She spoke of you at great length, which surprised me. She had taken quite the shine to you. But she said something utterly disturbing. She said you were—what was the word?—ah, yes. Rotting. Looking at you now, it seems a fair estimation.”

  Horn moved closer. “She rambled on about a shape. Or a shadow, perhaps. I can’t remember. The more she spoke, the more I thought it all so much gibberish. But then she mentioned that a storm was coming—a maelstrom that would sweep through Torch Falls like the devil himself.”

  “Please cut me loose,” Jared said. More thunder rolled from afar.

  Horn leaned in. There was fear in his eyes. “I’ll never forget what she said next. ‘Poor Jared needs to place his hands with God. He’ll weather the storm.’”

  “Father, please—”

  “What did she mean, Jared?”

  “Listen to me … please. I can explain. I came for your help. But if you don’t let me go, we’re all damned.”

  Horn straightened. It was as if some switch flipped in his brain. He looked fearful and lost, like a man who has suddenly come to realize that the devil is at the door. Desperate.

  “Father, please, you’ve got to listen to me—”

  Horn turned away. Jared watched him wheel a small cart from the corner to the table. On top sat a weathered, brown leather bag. It looked like one of those old medical bags that doctors used to carry. One of his characters in Slipknot had used one. A Gladstone.

  “What are you doing?”

  Horn opened the bag. He took a zippered case from it and set it on the cart. From the bag, he removed a thick spool of hemp baling twine.

  “You,” Jared said, realizing. “Oh, God, no. No.”

  Horn glanced at him, but it was as if the man couldn’t see him; at least, not as a human. An offering.

  “Please, Father. Please don’t do this.”