Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

  Horn set down the twine and reached into the bag. He removed a bone saw and placed it next to the zippered case.

  “Everett,” Jared said. “For God’s sake, I’m begging you.”

  But the holy man was gone. Only the evil remained.

  Horn removed a serrated survival knife. The light caught the blade, and Jared stiffened. The man he thought he knew was no more. Horn seemed trapped in his own world, as if unable to deviate from the path that his mind had taken. This room was a work in progress, had been for some time, and he reeled at what he had suspected about the Phantom for so long: Thirst became hunger.

  Horn set the blade on the cart. He unzipped the small case and spread it flat. It held five lancets, each secured in a leather clasp. He paused, considering. “It’s a shame you never met my father. You would have liked him.” He chuckled. “As a writer, I think you’d appreciate the irony. Despite his being a physician, I think you would have gone for regular checkups. He was gentle. Caring and kind.”

  Horn turned to the window as thunder cracked. Jared screamed for help, only to freeze in terror as Horn turned back to the table. The man’s eyes were cold and dead.

  “I’m sorry it has to end this way, Jared. For both of us.”

  A strange calm seemed to sweep across Horn’s face. “Do you really think a man can just wash away his sins? Cleanse them with blessed water? There is evil here—evil inside us both. And an evil man can never truly be saved. That I do believe.”

  “Please, Everett. Please—”

  Horn took the knife in his hands. “I tried, you know. I tried to stop. I left Torch Falls for six years. Tried to tell myself that I was a good man. A holy man. That it was only the evil doing these horrible things. Every single day, I ask God for forgiveness. For the strength to fight this darkness inside of me. He’s failed me, Jared. Just as He’s failed you.”

  Horn moved closer to the table. “Men lust, Jared. I lust. And I’m sorry for that. I truly am. And yet, I was put on this Earth to do good. If not to save myself, then to save you … and this town I love so dearly.”

  He set the blade to Jared’s throat.

  ~ 180

  Judd kept to the speed limit as he turned onto County Road 3. The last thing he wanted was to get pulled over for something as stupid as speeding, or another DUI. He was on his way out, and sure as shit he didn’t want to be rotting away in some cell for child abduction—or murder. No, where he was going was a much better place, and as he neared his destination, he seemed to draw satisfaction and comfort. It felt right. All of it did.

  He swigged from the whiskey bottle he had crammed between his legs. At the intersection, he signaled and turned left. The dirt road took him another mile, and he slowed down and rocked through the shallow ditch on the right. He parked in the middle of the clearing and killed the engine, then sat back and guzzled from the bottle.

  Thunder rumbled in the ashen sky. He turned down the radio, and his gaze fell to his hand on the wheel. His rings.

  He trembled; he could feel the anger boiling up again. It was all he could do not to end it right here. Right now.

  He finished the bottle. Rolled down his window and tossed the empty outside.

  He turned to the boy.

  “Get out.”

  ~ 181

  Judd was growing impatient. It was slow going. Not only because his back was aching, because it was. Not only because his mind was swimming from the alcohol, because it was. No, mostly it was the damn crutches.

  He’d been parked at the end of Elm when he’d watched Jared leave. He had half-expected Marisa and her son to leave with him, and if they had, well, that would have called for Plan B. And since he didn’t have a Plan B, he’d been thrilled when Jared had fucked off. Plan A had called for kicking down the goddamn door if Marisa hadn’t let him in, but when she had left shortly after Jared without her son in tow, he’d been positively giddy. The fact that she was on foot because of that flat was an unexpected bonus—what was up with her car, anyway?—he hadn’t had to hurry. Still, it had taken some coaxing to get the kid to finally open the door—wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, all that crap—but storytelling was in the Collado blood. With a winning smile he’d explained he was Jared’s brother, Uncle Judd, after all, and that his Mom had called him to come pick him up to keep an eye on him. Hell, he’d kept such a straight face, he hadn’t had to use the knife.

  He followed the boy along the rocky path. When they finally reached the first slope, the boy stopped, out of breath.

  “Keep goin’, kid.”

  “I need to rest a minute,” Kit said. “And my name is Christian. My Mom calls me Kit.”

  Judd granted him a minute. The fact was, his back could use a second or two. He studied the boy as they recovered. The glasses he wore were the oddest things he’d ever seen. Little telescopes. But those eyes were just plain creepy.

  “Are you going to kill me?” Kit asked.

  Judd motioned with the knife. “Get moving.”

  Kit headed up the rise, struggling with every step. Judd followed, and they made it to the top. Kit stopped, again out of breath. Thick forest stood on the left. On the right, just a foot off the path, the slope dropped fifteen feet into a small clearing surrounded by woods.

  “Stop,” Judd groaned. He stiffened as pain seized his aching back. “Jesus.”

  Kit turned quickly. He swept a crutch at Judd, striking him in the arm. Judd shifted sideways with a small scream. Kit fell on his rear, grimacing in pain. His glasses slid from his nose and tumbled off the path.

  Judd tried to steady himself. The knife slipped from his grasp. He went for it but couldn’t snag it. The thing spun away and dropped to the clearing below. He looked up in anger and caught the foot of a crutch in his face. He rocked back, staggering, and lost his footing. And before he knew it, he was falling.

  ~ 182

  As Horn opened his Gladstone bag, Marisa sped onto Chestnut Street. She turned too fast for her three-wheeled hatchback and skidded to the side of the road. The Land Rover sat down the street near the corner, and she guided the car to a bumpy stop behind it.

  She slumped over the wheel. Her heart pounded as her mind slipped into a tailspin. Everything was coming at her from all directions, all at once. Her parents. Jared and Judd. Kit.

  Get moving!

  She looked out her side window at the front door to Horn’s home. Something didn’t feel right. She didn’t know what was going on inside—or how Father Horn must have reacted to this zany-brainy idea of Jared’s—but whatever was happening, Jared should have contacted her by now. How long could it take to say a few blessings and sprinkle some holy water?

  It had been a ridiculous idea, and she had let Jared know it. But she had to admit, it wasn’t nearly so crazy as his other idea. What he’d jokingly called “the backup plan.” Really, Jared? An exorcism?

  She didn’t know if possession was even real; she’d seen enough crappy horror films to roll her eyes right out of their sockets. And even if it was real (which it wasn’t, right?), could a simple preacher from Torch Falls perform an exorcism? Could he even sanction it? The whole thing was insane.

  But what if that’s exactly what was going on in there? And what if the shape didn’t like it? What if it burst out of Jared’s chest like that thing in Aliens? What if—

  Stop it! Get a grip, girl. Get a fucking grip.

  She glanced down at the screwdriver she had tossed onto the passenger seat. At first she thought no, then scooped it up. She got out and slipped it into her back pocket to conceal it. The last thing she needed was to have Horn answer the door, her standing there with a flat-bladed screwdriver in her hand. Oh, hi, Father, just wondering if you had a screw loose? He’d think she was crazy. At this point, she wasn’t sure he’d be wrong.

  She made her way up the driveway, passing Horn’s Malibu. As she reached for the doorbell, she started at a sharp crack of thunder.

  She hesitated. She thought she heard a scream. It was
muffled and faint, yet she was almost certain she had heard it. She put an ear to the door.

  Nothing.

  She tried the door. It was unlocked, and she cracked it open. Again she heard nothing.

  She stepped inside. Now she heard voices. A voice.

  She moved silently to the living room and saw the tea. For two.

  She turned in the corridor and faced the basement door. More thunder came. That was when Jared began to scream.

  She froze. Then she swept the door open and pounded halfway down the stairs. Despite the light spilling in from behind her, the basement was dark. The walls were unfinished, but one room—which she thought was a laundry—had drywall all around it. The door there was open, but again, the light inside was dim. All she saw was a black shape in front of a long table. But once her eyes adjusted and those screams came again, she realized the horror unfolding before her.

  She took the rest of the stairs, only to trip on the last step and crash to the cold cement floor. Winded, she struggled to her knees, too late.

  “Father!” she screamed. “Father!”

  ~ 183

  As he set the blade to Jared’s throat, Horn paused. Something stirred inside of him. Something dark. Something vile.

  Yet this was not the darkness that would so easily seduce him. Not the thirst. Not the hunger.

  It was sinister, yes, a black evil that had existed before time itself. It was ancient, with a singular purpose that would not be denied. A voice of such vigor that it seemed to resonate through his heart and into his soul.

  He groaned in agony. The fire inside him burned in his eyes, as if hot spikes had been driven through the back of his brain into each of them. His skin seemed to boil. The veins around his eyes deepened in color, spreading across his face.

  He did not hear the thunder, did not hear Jared Cole calling for help. All he heard was that word. So undeniable. So base and so foul.

  He fought it. How he battled this ravenous darkness that threatened to consume him. In his heart he called for his God, called for strength, only to be cast aside. Only to be abandoned once more by His light.

  “Cruz,” he whispered, the word sliding from his lips as he trembled. He did not know the language, yet he understood its meaning.

  He set down the knife and slipped a lancet from the case. Even in the low light, its thin blade glistened. He raised the tip to his forehead and set it precisely in the middle. With no will to stop, he made the first incision, screaming as the blade sliced through his flesh. Blood slid down the soft curve of his nose and ran across his lips. The next incision crossed the first, the blade tearing the flesh above his eyes. He could barely see as blood dripped into them and ran down his cheeks.

  And yet he fought.

  “I will not serve you!” he screamed, dropping the lancet to snatch up the knife. He was certain that this man, Jared Cole, was indeed possessed, a testament to all things wicked.

  Horn raised the knife. He did not hear the basement door open; did not hear the pounding footfalls behind him. Did not hear the pleas of Marisa Judge.

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

  Horn steadied, ready to drive the blade into Jared’s heart. But some godless force stopped him, punished him. He suffered in silence, the burning inside like hellfire. He fell to his knees and turned the blade inward.

  “Horn! NO!” Jared shouted.

  But Horn did not hear; Horn did not waver. And as the blade ripped into his heart, he did not scream.

  ~ 184

  “Jared!”

  Marisa got to her feet and raced to the door. Horn was lying on his side, the knife buried deep inside his chest. Blood pooled around him. She turned from him, unable to stomach that bloodied face, that hideous crimson cross forged of slit flesh.

  “Mar,” Jared groaned. “Oh, God, Mar.”

  She went to him, disbelieving. “What the hell is going on? What the hell is this?”

  “Get me out of here!”

  She started on the duct tape near his left hand first. It was taped down so tightly that she had to claw at it.

  “A scalpel,” Jared said. He motioned to the cart with his head.

  Marisa turned to the cart. She moved a hand to the lancets, and just as she did, she screamed.

  Horn groaned as he grabbed her leg. She shook him off, but now he was grasping for the knife. He cried out as he pulled it free.

  Marisa stumbled back against the table in horror.

  “Run, Mar! Run!” Jared shouted.

  Horn got to his knees. He raised the knife, staggering to his feet.

  Marisa screamed. Horn looked possessed. She realized that such a state was indeed possible—a state of madness.

  “God forgive me,” Horn said, and he lunged for Jared.

  Marisa whipped the screwdriver from her pocket and shoved it forward in defense. Horn slipped in his blood and took the steel shaft in his throat. His eyes bulged in surprise.

  Marisa released the handle, and Horn lost his footing. He dropped the knife, and his hands went to his throat. He tried to draw the screwdriver free, but he dropped to his knees, too weak to carry on. His sorrowful eyes met Jared’s, and then he slumped to the floor.

  Marisa trembled. She could barely stand.

  “Marisa,” Jared said. “Mar.”

  She came out of her stupor with a small shriek. She turned to Jared, ready to bolt from the room.

  “Easy,” he said. “He’s dead.”

  She turned back to Horn. She nudged him with her shoe.

  “Oh my god,” she stammered. “What have I done?”

  “You saved me,” Jared said.

  She turned to him and fell over him, hugging him. “What is this?” she said, sobbing. “I can’t take any more. I can’t.”

  “Horn … he’s the Phantom.”

  “What?” She pulled away. She stared first at Jared, then at Horn, in disbelief. “What?”

  She hugged Jared again, breaking down.

  “I love you, Mar,” he said. “Now get me the hell out of here.”

  ~ 185

  Judd struck a stiff branch as he fell. Despite the long drop, he managed to land on both feet. Pain shot through his legs and into his back. His ankle twisted, and he tumbled forward. He threw his hands out to brace for impact, and his right hand landed on the knife. His hand slid forward, and the blade sliced into his palm. He screamed, rolling to his side in agony. He swallowed the pain and finally managed to sit up.

  Blood spilled from his wound. He tore part of his shirt and wrapped the material tightly around his hand. Stinging pain crippled it as he tried to make a fist. Wincing, he picked up the knife with his left hand. He was right-handed, but it was all he could do.

  His right ankle shouted its disapproval when he tried to put pressure on it. He had sprained it, but it wasn’t enough to keep him off of it. He groaned as he got to his feet.

  “You fuck!” he shouted to the top of the slope. “You little bastard!”

  He looked about. There was no quick way to get back up. The slope was steep, but rocky enough that he could use the rocks for footing. Against crippling pain, he climbed as well as he could to the top. His wound ached. Blood slipped off his fingers.

  There was no sign of Marisa’s son.

  Thunder grumbled. Even under the thick cover of woods, the winds were picking up, and now rain began to fall. He took a few steps and stopped. The boy’s glasses lay just off the path. He didn’t know if the kid could see without them, but it was probably a safe bet that he couldn’t.

  Still, one thing was certain: He couldn’t get far on those crutches.

  ~ 186

  Jared stood in Everett Horn’s foyer. It was all he could do to keep Marisa from falling apart.

  “We’ll find Kit,” he said, when she told him what had happened.

  She was brimming with tears. “Where is he? Where could he be?”

  “I don’t know, Mar. But we’ll find him.”

  “
I’ll bet it’s that bitch, Merritt DeWitt.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  She glanced at the basement door. “And what about Horn? I … I still can’t believe it.”

  “I can’t, either. This is the police’s problem now. But I get the feeling that they’ve got a lot bigger fish to deal with. And a lot more to come.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I was down there—in Horn’s House of Horrors—he wasn’t there the whole time. It might have been ten minutes, maybe fifteen. I can’t be sure. For a good while there, I was unconscious. But something strange happened. The shape was still working through me. Even though I was out, my brain was still firing—I could sense the rage. But this was off the charts. Like it was going after the whole town at once.”

  Marisa shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about what that means.”

  “There’s something else. And I don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

  “Something tells me it’s the latter.”

  “It’s strange. I’m still feverish. Still as hungry as a horse. Just as thirsty. So it’s still feeding off of me. But the rage? I could tell it was there, but I couldn’t feel it. I can sense it right now. The thing is, I’m not having any physical effects like I was before. No nosebleeds. No two-by-four whacking me in the back of the head.”

  “So what are you saying? That the monster’s loose? That we’re screwed?”

  He glanced darkly out the window. “We’d better get going.”

  She sighed fearfully. “Where do we start?”

  “Rose Tillman’s.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  “What about Kit? We don’t have time for this!”

  He put his hand to the doorknob. “I don’t know where he is, Mar. But maybe Rose does.”

  “Did you lose your mind down there? She’s dead!”