The Devil's Paradise

by Aiden James

  “Excellent! It does appear we’ve made some progress with you today!” she told him, her countenance aglow. “What I want from you next is simple. Just stay away from the house. That’s it. It doesn’t matter that the police think they now own the place—they’ll find out shortly just how wrong they are, I assure you. But you and your brother, along with your pathetic Bolivian friends, need to steer clear of 1016 South Queens Court. For if you fail to make this happen, Grandpa gets the privilege of breaking in the new ‘Estrella De la Sangre’. Have you got that, Jack?”

  He agreed to do everything she asked. She stepped back onto the gondola, and as her miahluschka servants turned the vessel around, he saw her wave goodbye in the fading lantern’s glow. He worried she might leave him there, bound to the cold stone floor and wall with his grandfather’s head sitting nearby, and forever doomed to listen to Dr. Mensch’s unending agony. But once the gondola disappeared from his view, the familiar golden light surrounded him, taking him away from that cold damp place....

  ***

  He awoke with a start. Eyeball to eyeball, Jeremy screamed at him to wake up. Jack screamed in response and pushed his brother away, causing Jeremy to land hard on his back in the walkway of the cargo carrier’s cramped passenger compartment. When Jack sat up and looked around he realized the plane wasn’t moving, and that the entire Essene team crowded around his seat, staring at him.

  It had been a dream after all, but until completely sure, he slapped at the air around him and ran his hands through his hair, checking his scalp’s condition. When he finally knew he was okay, he relaxed in his seat panting heavily.

  “What’s going on, ya’ll?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question, Jackie,” said Jeremy, picking himself up off the ground. “We’ve spent the last hour listening to you moan and throw yourself around in your sleep.”

  Confused, Jack looked around him. Not only was the dream terrible, but apparently it had lasted much longer than he realized.

  “What time is it?” he asked, running his hands through his thick auburn hair again.

  “It is 5:40 p.m., according to your central standard time,” Francisco told him.

  “W-why aren’t we moving? We’re not back in the states yet…right?”

  Panic crept up fast once Jack glanced out the cabin window closest to him. Large wands from a nearby palm swayed gently in an ocean breeze. It seemed unbelievable to him that he’d been asleep for nearly four hours, and missed whatever event or circumstance that forced the plane to land in whatever location this was. He prayed they’d made it to the Gulf of Mexico, with enough time left to make it back to Tuscaloosa before all hell broke loose.

  “That is correct, Jack,” said Francisco. “We ran into turbulent problems crossing over Columbia and were forced to land temporarily in Costa Rico.”

  “Look, Francisco, let’s cut the happy horseshit and just tell him what happened!” said Jeremy, shaking his head disgustedly. “Jackie, more of those fucking batmen we saw this morning came after the plane once we were about to cross into Panama’s air space. They tore part of the tailfin off and were attempting to pull the doors off, when the pilot twirled the plane to try and free us from the motherfuckers. That’s why shit’s laying all over this place. Raoul, the pilot did a great job. The dude probably saved our lives, even though we nearly nose dived into the Caribbean. Once he got the plane straightened out, he kept us high enough to make it to San Jose.”

  “That is where our Vatican contacts are located,” added Rafael, glancing in deference toward Francisco, who glared at Jeremy for his rude upstage. The Essenes’ Superior nodded to Rafael, so he continued. “After we landed on their private runway, they agreed to lend us their jet to complete our journey to America. We are now waiting to be transferred to that aircraft.”

  “We’ve been sitting here for the past forty-five fucking minutes, man!” said Jeremy to no one in particular.

  Jack pitied the unfortunate Bolivians standing closest to his brother when he finally blew a gasket, which could be at any moment. At least Rafael had the good sense to back away from Jeremy, the steady throb beneath his eye a certain leftover from how traumatic the demon attack in mid-flight had been.

  “It will do you no good to remain this frustrated, Jeremy,” sighed Francisco, perhaps wondering why Moroni was so enamored with him.

  “We’re running out of time!” Jeremy hissed. “I’ve got a very bad feeling, man, that by the time we get back home, we’ll be too late to make a difference in what’s about to happen! We need to get this slow-ass, mother-fucking show on the road, now-w-w!!”

  Francisco remained patient, allowing Jeremy to vent his frustration.

  “Let me see if I can influence our friends to make haste,” he told him, once Jeremy finished. “I am just as anxious to stop this menace as you. But, I cannot emphasize enough how direly important it is for us to be precise in our efforts to do this. Very precise. There can be no more ‘fuck-ups’ as you are so fond of saying. Do you understand me?”

  Jeremy nodded he did, though the smug look on his face said he was waiting to see just how hard Francisco pushed his Vatican friends into leaving soon. After holding his gaze another moment, Francisco moved to the front of the aircraft, where he placed a call to check on the status of the jet. Jeremy turned his attention back to Jack.

  “I heard you say Deshawn and Oscar’s names, as well as Grandpa,” he said. “Hell, I still can’t get over the fact you slept through all the shit we went through back there! You sure you didn’t hear the shrieks and all? One of the bat-bastards managed to get its head stuck in a side window and screamed something awful before it freed itself and flew away.”

  “I didn’t hear any of it,” said Jack, watching a trio of Essenes straighten up the passenger compartment around them. “I was oblivious to everything.”

  “It had to be quite a nightmare from the way you were acting,” said Jeremy, craning his head down the aisle that led to the area where Francisco was still on the plane’s phone. “Was there anything in it that I should know about?”

  Jack was surprised Jeremy wanted to hear about it, as so often in the past he downplayed the importance of dreams. Perhaps his own recent dream about Dr. Mensch altered that opinion. Jack worried if he did tell him everything, it would burden his brother with the terrible fate he believed had found Deshawn and Dr. Mensch’s spirit, and what also might be in store for their grandfather.

  “Just a bad dream, man. That’s all,” said Jack, deciding not to elaborate. He considered sharing Genovene’s stern warning, but wanted to wait for Francisco.

  “Well it sure as hell sounded like more than that, Jackie,” said Jeremy as Francisco rejoined them.

  “The jet is ready!” Francisco announced. “Inspected and fueled up, we are scheduled for takeoff in twelve minutes, at 6:05 p.m.”

  He motioned for everyone to quickly grab their gear and follow him to the front of the carrier.

  “How long will it take to get back to Tuscaloosa?” asked Jack.

  “It will take us longer traveling by jet, even though the plane’s speed will be significantly faster than the cargo carrier. As opposed to the direct line we were moving in, which would have taken us over the Caribbean Sea and the Gulf of Mexico on into Alabama, we must now follow Central America up through Mexico and into Texas, before veering eastward to Birmingham,” he explained. “Our brethren from Georgia will meet us at the airport there and take us south to Tuscaloosa by helicopter. In all likelihood, it will be after midnight when we reach your hometown, unless we experience further delays caused by Bochicha’s Emissaries or from Hurricane Baca-Charlise. It began pounding the Mississippi and Alabama coastlines an hour ago.”

  The tone of his voice said he didn’t expect either nuisance to effectively hinder their return to Tuscaloosa, but worry clouded his eyes.

  The group exited the carrier, and for the moment Jeremy kept his tongue in check, perhaps waiting until they were settled inside
the custom designed Cessna sitting nearby before badgering anyone again. Once they boarded the jet, they moved past a pair of heavily armed guards standing near the cockpit. Francisco’s Vatican friends also provided the jet’s pilot, since his own men were not familiar with the Cessna’s navigational system. He, along with Rafael, Jack, and Jeremy moved into the luxury cabin of the aircraft, while the remaining twelve Essenes settled in the standard passenger seats located behind the cabin toward the plane’s rear.

  Even before they were all situated, the guards left the jet and the pilot retracted the portable stairway. A moment later, the Cessna moved down a long runway and was airborne before the brothers had their seatbelts secured, causing them both to lurch forward and then be thrown back against their seats.

  “Maybe this flight’s urgency will suit your present mood better, no?” Rafael teased Jeremy, sitting directly across from him next to one of the cabin’s windows. He seemed much more at ease again.

  “If it gets us home in time to save Deshawn and Grandpa, then I’m all for getting knocked around a bit.” Jeremy smiled as he said this, though his tension hadn’t eased.

  “As important as those concerns are, we must keep the retrieval of the Cristal Del Sol foremost in our minds,” Francisco advised. “Once we get through the turbulence, there is news I must share with you both.” A deepening sadness exuded strongly from him.

  “What kind of news are you talking about, Francisco?” asked Jeremy.

  “Wait for the turbulence to end.”

  “What turbulence?”

  Just as Jeremy said this, the jet began to bob and shake, forcing them all to hold on tight to their seats’ armrests. The turbulence was severe, and lasted nearly ten minutes. When they finally stopped, Jack leaned over his brother to steal a peek out the window. Awed by the immense spiraling cloud system below, it stretched endless in all directions. Neither he nor Jeremy had ever seen a hurricane up close before—much less a storm system as unique as Hurricane Baca-Charlise. An amazing experience from any vantage point, being above it in the plane made it more so.

  “Can you believe this shit?” marveled Jeremy, sharing the same view with Jack while Rafael and Francisco peered through the window opposite his.

  Jack whistled through his teeth after taking a second look. The first such experience for Rafael, Francisco told them that he’d flown through similar weather three times before.

  “The ancient Carib people once worshipped a god called ‘Hurican’, or ‘Hurokan’, if you pronounce it like the Mayas once did,” said Francisco, as they continued to study the massive system below. “Considered among the most diabolical deities, the Mayas believed he created dry land from the chaotic waters shrouding the earth. As you can guess, the word ‘hurricane’ is named after him. One of the Aymara legends also speaks of Hurokan, and tells us that he was a son of Bochicha, which I suppose would make him a first cousin of Genovene. In light of today’s events, I will never look at any tropical storms quite the same way.”

  “I don’t imagine I will either,” agreed Jack, smiling at Francisco, who only mustered a wan smile in return.

  “So, tell us the news you’ve got,” said Jeremy.

  Francisco moved back to his seat and motioned for Jack to do the same. After he glanced wearily at Rafael, he addressed them all.

  “Deshawn Wheatley is dead.”

  “WHAT?? What the hell do you mean he’s dead??” Jeremy demanded, while Jack moved to restrain him from rising from his seat. “How long have you known this, you son-of-a-bitch?? That’s my friend you’re talking about!!!”

  He began to weep as terrible grief swiftly overtook him.

  “We first heard this morning that Deshawn was seriously injured, but I suspected at that time the transmission we received was tainted and incomplete. This is why I asked you to wait until I found out more information,” Francisco explained, his compassion holding strong. “Roughly an hour after you entered the caverns I received an accurate report stating he was murdered yesterday afternoon, and the prime suspect is a woman named Martisha Jones.”

  “How can that be possible?” cried Jeremy. He dropped his face into his hands, sobbing inconsolably.

  Jack remained at his brother’s side trying to comfort him, though distracted by this latest news. He regretted not taking his earlier dreams of Dr. Mensch more seriously and demanding they return home yesterday. Stunned to learn the identity of Deshawn’s killer, he now knew the identity of the woman whose likeness was peeled and then discarded so horribly by Genovene in his latest dream.

  He ran his latest dream through his mind again, reviewing it more closely in light of the reality of Deshawn’s death. Rafael moved to attend to Jeremy while Francisco focused his attention on Jack, as if able to scan his myriad thoughts.

  “Share your dreams with us, Jack, beginning with the one from this evening,” he finally told him.

  Jack looked up at Francisco, while Jeremy and Rafael turned their attention to him as well.

  “You have been visited by Genovene at least twice in the last few days,” continued Francisco. “I believe we will all benefit from what you have learned from her.”

  Surprised at his keen intuition, Jack slowly shook his head. Jeremy shifted his tear-streaked gaze from his brother to Francisco and then back again.

  “So, you already knew about this, Jackie?” accused Jeremy.

  “I didn’t know for sure,” said Jack, his voice a hoarse whisper. “That witch has lied to me before, man. You know that.”

  “Yeah?? Well, you could’ve told me what she’s been telling you anyway.” He looked away from Jack for a moment, setting his gaze upon Francisco and Rafael until ready to continue with him. “Tell us about the two dreams, Jackie, unless there are more dreams. If that’s the case, then you’d better tell us everything!”

  “I’ll tell you enough so you’ll know what she wants from us,” he said, intent on not thinking too long about his last dream.

  “That is not good enough!” Francisco scolded him. “Do you remember when I said we need to be precise about everything we do? This can only happen if you tell us everything you know, Jack. It is critical to know her intentions before we plan our next move.”

  Jack considered Francisco’s words, but the imploring look from Jeremy convinced him to speak in the detail Francisco insisted upon. He then revealed everything, though finding it especially hard to talk about his latest dream involving Deshawn and his grandfather. All four sat reticent afterward, forced to consider Genovene’s threats to stop them at all costs from interfering with the Blood Star’s rebirth. The most recent encounter with Bochicha’s emissaries gave ample credibility to her warning. It wasn’t until the Cessna sped northward over the heart of Mexico that anyone spoke again.

  “Since we learned of Deshawn’s death this morning, we have kept a close eye on everything taking place in Tuscaloosa,” advised Francisco. “The details surrounding his death have steadily poured into our castle’s information center. Although we have been airborne for much of the past five hours, Juan has been monitoring the latest updates—.”

  “Before you go any further, Francisco, we need to know about our grandfather,” Jeremy interrupted him. “Please don’t withhold anything from us.... Is he okay?”

  “From the latest information we have on him, he is fine. If anything, he might be annoyed by the continual company the FBI and a few policemen have provided these past few days.”

  “You’re not fucking with us, right?” asked Jack, still thinking of his grandfather’s severed head sitting next to him in his last dream.

  “No. I am not ‘fucking’ with either of you,” said Francisco, smiling wanly again. “I will tell you everything else we know at this point, but I ask that you not take any more of your frustrations out on either Rafael or me.”

  Jack immediately looked over at Jeremy, who tersely apologized to Francisco for his earlier outbursts.

  “I accept this from you, Jeremy,” he told him. “Our p
resent circumstances have created a very stressful environment for us all. Hopefully when this is over, and the results are in our favor, we can share many more brandy-dipped cigars, either in Bolivia, America, or another place safe for us all!”

  He laughed quietly so as not to be disrespectful, and then became serious once more.

  “As you may have surmised, Deshawn’s death was brutal,” he told them, when ready to continue. “Martisha Jones harbored intense hatred for Deshawn.”

  “That’s the part that really makes no sense, ya’ll—or, at least not until Jackie told us Genovene was dressed up in her skin,” said Jeremy. “That would make sense, based on all we’ve dealt with from that witch over the years. Deshawn had a thing for Martisha, a crush from a distance. Despite his outgoing nature, he never had the courage to even strike up a conversation with her, man. For all she knew, he didn’t exist!”

  He started to weep again.

  “I hate to be the one to tell you these details,” said Francisco, hesitating a moment before going on. “But I am the only one on this plane other than Juan who knows them. Even Rafael is unaware, for we have not had the opportunity to discuss anything other than the loss of our beloved comrades earlier today.”

  “This is true,” confirmed Rafael. “I am saddened by the loss of your friend.”

  “I need to know everything about this, so tell me,” said Jeremy, obviously struggling with the fact his very best friend was no longer part of his world.

  “Certainly this is what Moroni sees in you, Jeremy. Your aggressive nature is tempered by the fact you have such a gracious heart,” observed Francisco. “As I said before, I would rather not tell you the details. But the media throughout your country has already gained wind of the hideousness of this crime, since they lend themselves to the sick sensationalism that plagues America. If I do not tell you now, you are sure to be exposed to this information soon after we touch down in Birmingham. As I said earlier, we must be careful to remain precise in our movements, and having distractions like that would surely divert our attention to where preciseness would be impossible.