Julianne.
Danto and Kristin rushed forward and stood alongside him, also staring down at her.
Her eyes were open, shuddering in slits. A steady flow of blood pooled from her mouth. She shivered uncontrollably, the words dispersing unevenly from her blue lips. “Bev…it’s over…”
He ran his hands through her matted hair, then along her cold, wet face. He grasped her flaccid hand. “Julianne…”
“You must go now,” she said. “Live the rest of your life in peace. It is over…I have redeemed myself.”
“You have,” he blurted, sobs filling his throat. “Thank you, thank you, my love.”
And then she stopped shivering, eyes staring lifelessly into the void. Bev turned and looked up at Danto. “My wife,” he said. “She was in there with me. She helped me find the boy. She too has made the ultimate sacrifice.”
The priest, eyes heedfully aimed toward the flames and billowing smoke, motioned with his head that it was time to leave.
When Bev looked back down, it was Rebecca Haviland that lay dead on the floor.
Danto added, “And so has Rebecca.”
With no time for introspection, Bev stood up on weakened legs. He gazed momentarily at Rebecca, and thanked her as well.
Then, along with Father Thomas Danto, and Kristin, he hurriedly fled the burning walls of In Domo.
FIFTY
Someone had taken the limo. No surprise.
Danto spotted a black robe at the edge of the fountain. He retrieved it and handed it to Bev, who shrouded his nakedness despite it being soaking wet. The robe looked familiar to him. There was one in the trunk in Kristin’s office.
The front gates were open, thankfully, although they still had to pass by the detective’s riddled corpse, which had been rained on and pecked at by crows for a good part of the night. I know this man, Bev thought, seeing pieces of recognition in his battered face.
They exited the gates. From the road, they could see the flames quickly spreading throughout the house, the windows filling with a glimmering orange glow.
As quickly as possible, they fled In Domo, making it only three blocks before sirens could be heard in the distance. They hunkered down behind a row of hedges as fire engines and police cruisers passed them by on their way to what would undoubtedly be coined in the papers as a “mass cult suicide,” or something along those lines.
“How are you doing?” Danto asked Bev, his voice an expended, raspy whisper.
“In pain. My joints.”
“We should get you to a hospital.”
He shook his head. “Just need some rest.”
A moment of uncertain silence passed. Then, Danto said, “About a mile from here is the Hollywood Hills Motor Inn. Can you make it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Danto shook his head. “I don’t think so. Kristin, can you make it?”
“I’m okay,” she said calmly, gazing warily at her father.
“Let’s go, then.”
~ * ~
As inconspicuously as their exhausted pace would allow, they gradually passed through the dark and quiet streets of Hollywood Hills. The journey seemed endless, their gaits slowed by pains and injuries. They kept mostly to the sidewalks, crouching down and hiding behind trees and bushes when fire trucks, ambulances, and police cruisers sped by. Danto led the way, continuing in a downhill direction, passing fenced-in homes on either sides of them whose mostly dark, silent windows were a welcome relief to the night’s overwhelming events. Danto kept glancing over at Bev, whose face sat in grim expression, the pain evident in his features. Danto delved for something intelligent or comforting to say, but elected on silence instead, unable to formulate an idea as to how Bev was actually feeling.
They reached the lower perimeter of the neighborhood. Here the roads thinned a bit, the homes and cars shrinking in size and stature. Eventually they came out onto Hunter Avenue, a main thoroughpass segregating Hollywood’s blue-collar district from the ritzier multimillion-dollar homes.
They crossed the double yellow-lined road and paced along the uneven shoulder, sidestepping stones and overgrown patches of crabgrass. A hundred yards ahead sat the rear parking lot of the Hollywood Hills Shopping Center. They could see the clock tower arching above Hux’s Food and Drug. It read four A.M. They paced across the lot, bypassing a trio of empty dumpsters. Thankfully, not a soul or car was in sight at this hour. The entire journey had taken them perhaps forty minutes; it’d felt painfully longer.
“This way to the motel. The two of you wait outside. I’ll go in and get us a room…I have my clergy card.”
They hurried as quickly as possible across the front of the small lot, toward the Motor Inn. The building had seen its prime years ago, with rusted gutters and chipped paint in colors that might be considered retro these days. Its suspect clientele was stereotypical for a one-level lodging that charged by the hour.
Kristin and Bev sat in an alcove near the front office, facing an out-of-order soda machine. Danto limped away and knocked on the screen door to the office. A tiny bell chimed as the door was opened. A young Hispanic man let him in.
Bev moaned, “I’m so thirsty. Tired. How did I make it all the way down here?”
Kristin, seeming to ignore his complaints, said, “What’s happened to you, Dad?” She eyed him guardedly, suspiciously, chewing a nail. “How did you get like you did…you were possessed by…by something.”
“Possessed…no…I don’t know.” He rubbed his hands roughly through his hair. “I…I can’t remember much, other than I…I…” A jarring thought suddenly came back to him, Satan’s voice, revealing to him: I can even erase your mind of the memories…
And soon thereafter, even that memory faded like dissolving salt from his searching mind.
Bev shook his head. His mind felt blank. Devoid of conscious thought.
“Daddy? Are you okay?”
“I’m…so…tired,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes, his hair, too tired, refusing to divulge the lingering memories of his otherworldly communication with Satan, his fleeting memories of Hell. He pulled his hands away from his eyes, looked at her, the view of her expended face shifting in and out of focus. “Kristin…what…what were you doing there?”
The door chimed again. Danto emerged with a key and three plastic bottles of water. “Number 6,” he said, pointing. “Second room on the right.”
Bev and Kristin stood, both of them wincing in pain. They followed the priest around the bend, two doors down. They entered the room. Kristin and Bev immediately collapsed on the musty bed. Danto locked the door behind them, then disappeared into the bathroom.
Danto spoke a few words from behind the closed door.
But Bev didn’t hear him.
Sleep had overcome him.
Dark, dreamless sleep.
FIFTY-ONE
Bev awoke.
He sat up. The first thing that fell into his emerging sights was a half-filled bottle of water on the nightstand. He leaned up, grabbed it, and sipped it. Warm.
He gazed around the gloomy room. Kristin, lying on the bed. Then, the priest, Father Danto, asleep in the chair, head tilted sideways, feet propped up on the edge of the bed.
A chill ran through him. He shuddered.
He gazed at the clock: 9:33 AM.
Kristin awoke suddenly. She sat up quickly, looked around the room, then took the bottle from his hand, and gulped it.
Bev looked at her, his thoughts in a jumble. He ran a blood-caked hand through her tangled hair. “I remember the house, the fire, the people. Where were we? What was I doing there?”
Danto came awake. He immediately leaned up, eyeing Bev incredulously. “You don’t remember?”
Bev looked at the priest. “I remember there was some sort of trouble…it all had to do with the cult.” He gazed tearfully at Kristin, and said, “Jesus Kristin, were you all a part of it?”
She scooted next to him on the bed. She folded her legs in front of her and stared
into his eyes. “No, I wasn’t.” She looked at Danto, then back at Bev. “I suppose I should explain everything to you.”
Bev and Danto waited.
She took a deep breath, then spoke. “A few years ago, I was going through some of Mom’s things. Looking at her pictures. Reading some of her letters to you. Things like that. While going through her jewelry box I found a small hidden compartment beneath the velvet liner. Inside was a key, plus a note discussing how she’d committed a terrible sin and that the only way to liberate herself was to ‘bury her poisoned past’, as she’d so explained. On the back of the note was a crude drawing of a map. It pinpointed a spot in Alondra Park where she’d supposedly buried something beneath a tree she’d carved her initials on. I was curious, so I went to find it.
“I located the tree. It was in a mostly untraveled area, way back in the north woods of the park. Sure enough, as the note indicated, her initials were carved there in the bark; I’d almost missed them, as they were mostly worn away and barely visible. I’d brought a spade with me and began to dig alongside the tree, below her initials.
“About a foot down, I found a box.”
Kristin took a sip of water, then continued: “I dug the box out. It was pretty big, made of metal, about eighteen inches long and six inches deep.” She gestured with her hands to demonstrate how big it was. “Using the key I found in the jewelry box, I unlocked the clasp, and opened it.
“Inside I found a diary, as well as some drawings and other keepsakes and notes that revealed what appeared to be Mom’s participation in a demonological cult. As disturbed as I was to discover this, I was also instantly obsessed…I had to find out as much as possible about this cult, its history, its current activities.
“I spent the better part of two years researching the cult and its leader, Allieb. It was all I could do to learn about what Mom had done, how she was drawn in to the point where she felt no choice but to totally surrender herself to it. From the very start of my research into the cult, I recorded all my findings, soon realizing that all the data I was gathering would make for a career-making article.
“I’d quickly learned that there was a great deal more to Allieb and his cult that textbook demon worship. According to some of the information I gathered, I’d determined that in due time a momentous event would take place, a ceremony of grand proportions that would purportedly raise a true demon spirit. Once I’d confirmed the existence of this forthcoming event, I knew that I had to be there for it. So, I infiltrated the cult.”
“The things I saw in your office Kristin,” Bev inquired. “The papers, the drawings…”
“All research materials. Dad, I didn’t want to tell you about my research right away because I didn’t want you to worry. Of course, I never thought in my wildest imagination that the event would turn out like it did—I really thought it was going to be something like a séance.”
“You got a lot more than you bargained for,” Danto remarked.
Bev looked confused, eyes bouncing back and forth between Kristin and Danto. “Like what?” He rubbed his forehead vigorously. “Jesus, why I can’t remember anything? I mean…I was there. I can sense it. But…I can’t remember what went on.”
Danto stood up “It’s better that you don’t, Bev.” He stretched his body, then took a sip of warm water.
“What do we do now?” Bev asked, rubbing his eyes, his thoughts a gray void, allowing only flashes of memory though.
“First…we need to get something to eat.”
“And then?”
“And then we figure out how we’re going to answer the slew of questions that will be asked of us.”
Bev stood, stretched his legs. His bones popped, but didn’t hurt as much as last night. His body, although still slightly bent at the joints, had nearly rehabilitated itself into its unblemished human form.
Kristin went into the bathroom. When she came out, she said, “The news…maybe there’s something on about the cult and the fire.”
Bev went into the bathroom. He relieved himself, then washed the dried blood from his hands. Over the running water of the sink, he heard light, tinny music filtering in through the bathroom door.
“News is on Channel 12,” he heard Kristin say.
He dried his hands on a towel, then opened the door and went back into the room.
What he saw on the TV stunned him.
His face, staring right back at him.
It was a color press head shot, taken prior to the start of his US tour. Danto, Kristin, and Bev all stayed silent and motionless as the announcer droned:
~ * ~
Forty-three-year-old Bev Mathers is now considered at large, armed and dangerous. For those of you just tuning in, rock musician Bev Mathers is being sought for the murder of his manager, 44 year-old Jake Ritchie, which took place at a party being thrown by Ritchie at his Bevery Hills home on Saturday night. Mathers presumably fled after detectives questioned him about the murder on Sunday. Mathers is also suspected in the murder of a police officer at the St. Michael’s rectory. Officer Larry Rose was called in to question Mathers’ suspected accomplice, Father Thomas Danto, a priest at St. Michael’s Church. After calls to Rose went unanswered, police went to St Michael’s Rectory, which was also the site of a ritualistic animal sacrifice earlier in the week, and discovered the murdered body of the officer inside. What makes this story even stranger is that the detective who’d questioned Mathers about Ritchie’s murder, Frederick Grover, has been listed as missing in relation to this remarkable case. His family reported him with the Missing Persons Bereau last night after he failed to return home from work. Also at large is Father Thomas Danto, Mathers’ suspected accomplice, and a resident at the rectory where Officer Rose was murdered. And now, we’ve just learned that Bev Mathers’ daughter, Kristin Mathers, has also not been seen since yesterday afternoon. She too has been placed on a missing persons alert with respect to this mystifying case. Police believe that Mathers and Danto may also be responsible for the rash of cult activities that have taken place in the L.A. area over the last two weeks. If you’ve seen Bev Mathers, Kristin Mathers, or Thomas Danto, or have any information to their whereabouts, please call authorities immediately. They are considered armed and dangerous. I repeat…
~ * ~
The screen flashed an assortment of recent photos showing Danto, Kristin, and Bev. The announcer segued into a capsule of Bev’s career before leading back into the murders, and Bev’s suspected involvement.
“Turn it off,” Bev said. “I didn’t murder Jake, or the cop. What is this all about?” Jake’s dead? Dear God, what’s going on?
Danto shut the television. He faced Bev, his expression deadpan. “Bev, you need to turn yourself in.”
“For what? I didn’t do anything!” His legs felt suddenly numb. He fell back down on the bed, trembling uncontrollably. He held his face in his hands and began to cry, shoulders jerking up and down.
“Bev…listen to me…you were possessed by the soul of the Devil. This evil that was inside you…it murdered Jake. And that cop.”
“No! What are these outrageous lies you’re telling me?”
Kristin too began to cry. “Daddy…please.” She wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back, squeezed tightly, suddenly resigning himself to the fact that he may very well be going to jail for the remainder of his life—that this would be the last time he’d ever touch his daughter again.
He pulled away. “If I was possessed by something, and if it made me do these terrible things I had no control over…then how can I be the one responsible?”
Danto shook his head. “There’s no logical way you can explain it all to the police, Bev. I can back you up…but no one’s going to buy it.”
Tears filled Kristin’s eyes. “What are we gonna do?” she cried, her voice edging on panic.
Bev took a sip of water.
All of a sudden, an idea crossed his mind.
A way out of the mess. Could it work?
“Kristin…I need you to get me some clothes, and some food. I’m going to leave here, leave L.A.”
“How?” Danto asked. “How can you possibly hide from the authorities?”
“Tell the police that we were all a part of the cult. Tell them that you haven’t seen me since you fled the fire, and that you believe I committed suicide as a part of the ritual, and that my body probably burned in the house. They’ll assume me dead amongst all the bodies. There’s no way they’ll be able to identify everyone in there.”
Danto nodded. “Not a bad idea. Just might work.”
Kristin hugged Bev. “Stay right here, Daddy. I’ll be back with some clothes and food for you.”
“You have any money?” Bev asked.
She stopped.
Danto said, “I’ll go. Kristin, stay here with Bev. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
She rubbed her face nervously, then nodded and sat next to Bev on the bed, holding his hand. “Will it work, Dad?”
Bev nodded. “It has to.”
Danto gazed at them. He then turned, and opened the door.
A gun was pointed in his face.
Someone shouted: “Slowly, put your hands on top of your head.”
Bev sat in shocked silence as the police rushed the room. They pulled Kristin away from him, leapt him, twisted him around, cuffed him at gunpoint as he lay face down on the bed.
He closed his eyes, listening to the officer shouting in his ear: “Bev Mathers, you are under arrest for the murder of Jake Ritchie. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do….”
FIFTY-TWO
Bev sat in the guarded jail room, opposite his attorney.
Dave Collins wore a blue suit and red tie. Sweat coated his forehead. Bev twisted uncomfortably in the metal chair, handcuffs chafing his wrists.
“How did they know we were there? At the motel?”
“The kid working the desk recognized Thomas Danto when he checked in. The story had been all over the news for most of the night.”
Demonologist Page 28
