by Shawn Ryan
As Jason stared, large, double-nailed fingers poked through the sides of the cocoon and slowly began ripping it apart. When the gash was finished, a nightmare stepped out.
"Hello, Jason. How nice to finally meet you face to face."
Chapter 31
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"What's the matter? Aren't you glad to see me? My feelings are hurt."
An evil grin was pasted on Moloch's face. Its hands were planted on its hips like a petulant housewife's.
"I'm sure your father has told you all about me, and after our last little encounter, I know a good bit about you," Moloch said, casually fingering the M-shaped scar on its left cheek.
The beast was almost nine feet tall, muscles rippling under its dusky gold skin. From an elongated, hairless head, cold silver eyes blazed from the top of cheekbones so high they formed sunken caves beneath. It had no nose, just slits in its face that wheezed asthmatically. Glistening teeth seemed to go on forever inside its smiling mouth.
The air turned frigid. Breath came in icy clouds and Jason could feel his fingertips going numb. Moloch brought the frozen desolation of its world with it wherever it went.
Standing so close to Moloch, Jason could feel the evil reeking off it. It reached out like a living extension of Moloch's body, a thick, decaying stench that threatened to clog Jason's nose, made him want to cough, made his eyes water, like driving by a road kill in the middle of summer when the flies are buzzing heavily and hitting your windshield with meaty splats.
Jason said nothing, shock registered too deeply. The beast had played him like a piano; its plan executed flawlessly. The child murders had been little more than a ruse, a method to Moloch's madness. Benton was an expendable pawn, a cheap avenue for Moloch to use in this world, to cover its tracks until the moment when the disguise was no longer needed, to draw Jason deeper and deeper into the maelstrom until escape was impossible.
Why hadn't he seen it? Why had he refused to accept what was going on right before his eyes? He'd had suspicions, too many bizarre occurrences that couldn't be explained, but he'd searched desperately for rational ways to discount them. He wouldn't believe his intuition—hadn't allowed himself to. He always quoted Sherlock Holmes—when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth—but hadn't listened to the sleuth's advice. Five children are dead and in some ways it's my fault, he thought My fault for being afraid; my fault for not trusting myself.
And Moloch had known that he would do just that. The beast had known what his every move would be, his every reaction, a master hunter who knows its victim better than the victim knows himself. Jason felt violated. He'd been mentally raped and now Moloch intended to complete the physical end of the bargain.
"Nothing to say?" Moloch asked. "All the better. I need a few moments of silence. I have something to do."
Moloch held its arms straight out in front of it. Raising them to face level, a magnesium flash of light erupted in its palms. When it faded, a glowing green ball sat in its hands, a low hum emerging from somewhere inside. Moloch looked at Jason with a crooked smile, then flung the glowing orb straight up. As it reached the apex of its climb it stopped, hanging motionless in the air. Then it started spinning.
As the sphere picked up speed, its hum grew louder, the sound of a thousand huge, angry hornets. The decibel level became painful. Stingers of sound assaulted the eardrums. Jason pushed his hands over his ears, but his eyes remained open.
Bolts of light rocketed off the rotating ball, slicing through the air with fierce hisses. The streams revolved around the inside of the fence, quickly fusing into a spinning circle of incandescence. Within moments, a solid barrier enclosed the courts, cutting off the outside world. Breathing a self-satisfied sigh, Moloch took in its handiwork.
"I don't want to be disturbed," he said. "From the outside, it will look as though nothing is here. They won't be able to see or hear us. Very cozy."
Jason knew he must put on some sort of facade of confidence, even if he didn't feel it. Uncertainty was exactly what Moloch strove for. The beast's plan was to render him too stunned to move, too scared to protect himself. It was only Moloch's massive ego that prevented it from attacking immediately. It wanted to revel in its victim's reaction.
By God, I won't give him the pleasure, Jason vowed. He felt the tingling rise in his muscles and tiny sparks danced before his eyes. He was ready; he would give it his best shot; he'd—
"Jason?" The word was a choked cry.
Badger!
Without taking his eyes from Moloch, Jason spoke to his partner.
"Badge, back out of here. Get away. You're not a part of this."
"Who… what is that?" Badger asked, his voice trembling so badly he could barely speak. "What's going on?"
"An old friend of the family," Jason answered.
Moloch bowed low, its right arm flung across its chest, its left thrown back.
"Thank you for the compliment," it said with equal sarcasm. It turned to Badger.
"You are Medlocke's friend. We have met before. I believe you'll recall a tiny stuffed frog and a pair of bright blue eyes?"
Badger's face turned icy pale.
"Ah, I see you do remember," Moloch said. "A pity, though, that you are such close friends with Medlocke. You really should choose your friends more carefully. This friendship is going to prove fatal."
Moloch's right hand came up. In its palm sat a snake as thick as a man's arm, coiled like a spring. With a quick underhand toss, Moloch launched the reptile at Badger.
Badger staggered backward, hands flying in front of his face to ward off as much of the blow as possible, as if it truly mattered where the fangs struck.
Jason's arm sprang out, a scimitar blast of light leaping from the fingertips, slicing through the snake. The reptile's head tumbled to the asphalt where the jaw contracted again and again. Venom spurted in two long jets across the pavement, steam rising from the heated poison. Jason calmly walked to the snake's head and ground it under his foot. The crunching of bones combined with streams of blood and venom flowing from under the sole of his foot.
"Flashy, but hardly impressive," he said.
"You have learned quite a bit," Moloch said, nodding its head. "But I've been practicing for centuries; you for mere days."
"Call me a child prodigy," Jason said.
Jason still did not feel the bravado his voice held. He was trying to get Moloch off guard, make it do something stupid. But the beast was right, Moloch was an old hand at these trials while he was a novice relying on raw talent, luck, and nerve. He didn't know how long any of them would hold out.
"Child prodigy? We'll see," Moloch said. "Let's see how well you play this."
The beast raised its hands; lightning crackled between the palms. A frigid wind swirled across the courts, blowing Jason's and Badger's hair into dancing knots. Moloch closed its eyes and Jason saw his chance.
The beast apparently didn't notice the pistol lying a few feet away. A quick command from Jason's mind and the gun leapt off the pavement and flew into his palm, barrel aimed at Moloch's chest. In less than five seconds, Jason emptied the clip into the beast, the booming report of the pistol echoing inside the shield encircling the court. Fired in a tight pattern, the bullets left a gaping hole the size of a football in the center of Moloch's breastbone. Thick, black blood gushed from the wound as severed arteries kept pumping.
Moloch dropped to one knee, its hands reaching for the hole in its chest. It looked up at Jason, incandescent hatred blazing from its eyes. Blood dripped from the corners of its mouth.
"That's the second time you've hurt me, Medlocke," it hissed. "I shall not let it happen again. I'll make sure your death is even more painful."
Moloch rose unsteadily, blood pooling at its feet. Jason could not believe his eyes. How can any living thing take thirteen shots in the chest and still be alive?
"You thought me dead?" Moloch spit. "Fool! It will take much more than tin
y pellets of metal to kill me."
Planting its hands on either side of the hole in its chest, Moloch pulled outward. Bones splintered and more blood erupted from the wound. Liquid grunts of exertion and pain rose from deep in Moloch's throat. Each grunt spewed crimson from its mouth.
When the wound was almost a foot wide, Moloch stopped, catching its breath and staring malevolently at Jason. The beast reached into its chest and, with a hideous sucking sound, plucked out its still-beating heart. The organ was badly wounded. Covering it with its other hand, Moloch gently squeezed the damaged organ. Blood oozed between its fingers in muddy rivers. A green glow formed around its hands, a living, breathing aura that pulsed in a steady rhythm. The best grimaced slightly and seconds later unfolded its hands. A regenerated heart beat in its palms. It calmly stuck the organ back in its rib cage and placed its hands over the wound. The green glow formed around the hole as flesh began mending itself. It only took a few seconds before a glowing scar was all that remained.
Deep in the recesses of his mind, Jason knew he was missing what might be his best chance to attack again. But he was frozen. How could he destroy a creature with the power over life and death? Even when death was tapping on its shoulder, Moloch had the ability to brush the hand away.
Moloch sensed Jason's amazement, smelled his confusion and fear.
"You see?" it said. "You have no idea what you're up against. No clue how to stop me. If you had, you would've done something while I was wounded. Now it's too late."
Sweeping its hands downward, lightning rippled again around Moloch's body. White-hot firebolts lanced from its body, tainting the air with the smell of ozone. One of the bolts slammed into the Raggedy Andy doll still leaning against the nets. It evaporated into a cloud of white dust.
A monsoon wind sprang up, blowing Jason and Badger backward. Jason tried to call upon the golden aura, but was too slow. His head slammed into the tennis courts. Stars burst into glittering diamonds before his eyes and he felt consciousness slipping away.
Fight, fight, his mind screamed. But the blackness was too strong, too all-consuming. Jason fell into it face first.
Chapter 32
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Someone had stuck an electric wire up his ass and was popping him with shots of current. At least that's how Stephen felt.
Sitting in his son's apartment, Stephen knew something was happening with Jason. Over the past several hours, a rush of emotions seared the air between him and his son. His nerves were horsehair rope, frayed at the ends and ragged. But the truth was, none of the emotions seemed terribly out of the ordinary. Nothing carried the sickening taste of terror that would mean Moloch had entered the picture.
Jason had phoned earlier that evening and said there was a break in the case, so Stephen suspected Jason probably was on the trail of the child murderer, hence the emotional roller coaster.
In the hours after the phone call, Stephen tried to remain calm. He read, watched TV, got something to eat. But now the clock read one and sleep was nowhere near. Rational thought told him things were okay, but… there was something else, something he couldn't put his finger on but didn't trust. Things were coming to a head, and while there was nothing concrete to base his fears on, he felt an icy finger jabbing his gut.
And here he was, sitting on his butt, doing nothing.
It was infuriating.
Perhaps a shower would relax him, he reasoned. Maybe he was just too keyed up. He pushed himself out of the recliner and headed for the bathroom. Nothing to get worried about. Don't blow a gasket, old man.
He was halfway down the hall when the blast of terror folded him over double. His stomach heaved and he swallowed the vomit that swam into the back of his throat.
He had no doubts about the origins of his agony. Moloch. The time had come.
Propping himself against the wall, Stephen cleared his thoughts, pushing his fear downward, downward, until it pooled at the bottom of his existence. There was no time for fear. No time for indecision. He needed to be calm. He had to help his son.
His body sitting like stone in the hallway, Stephen's blue aura rose around him, coalescing into a glowing wraith above his head. Encased in the aura, the essence of his soul lifted out of his body and through the ceiling, up beyond the roof, above the trees, melting into the formless region of the spirit, out of sight of man. Safely within the spirit world, Stephen's soul took wing, a cobalt streak racing along the spiritual pathways, an archangel of protection and love.
In the distance, a golden light glowed. Jason. Stephen could see waves of anguish and fear rolling off his son's golden aura like heat on a summer day. Yet its bunding spark was fuzzy, slipping in and out of clarity, as if someone were pulling a gossamer shroud across it. Stephen sped toward his son, drawing closer until he was only seconds away.
Then the light vanished. Snapped off. Stephen choked. Dear God, so soon? Is my son dead so soon? He felt his resolve waning, leaking out of his body like a cup tipped on its side. His son was dead, what was the use? He had failed. He slowed his pace. It was all over.
Or was it?
In the distance, a tiny flame sputtered into life. Stephen reached out. Jason, small and defenseless. He was unconscious, not dead. Stretching himself to the limit, Stephen increased his speed. In the hallway, rivers of sweat poured down his face, dripping onto his shirt. Sheets of wetness spread from under his arms.
As he neared the flicker of Jason, Stephen inhaled Moloch's evil. It stood over his son, a hooded blackness threatening to overwhelm, to snuff out Jason's light. Angrily, Stephen reached to shove it aside.
And failed.
He slammed into the green shield around the tennis courts with painful force. In the hallway, his body jerked with the blow and bruises sprang up on his chest, shoulders, and arms. At the courts, his spirit reached out again and again was thrown back by Moloch's screen.
Summoning all his strength, Stephen felt his life-force take on an intensified blue born, a white-hot fire of purity. When he had stoked it to its highest point, he flung himself forward, hitting the green shield with a heavyweight punch. For a split second, the shield held, giving only slightly. Then with a searing sizzle it split, reading a hole through which Stephen leapt.
Jason, Stephen said, speaking without words as he descended toward his son. Jason, it's Dad. I'm here.
A rumble shook Stephen. An ocean of cold hatred poured over him.
"Foolish old man, you should've stayed where you were," Moloch said. "Now I shall have you both."
A bottomless fury filled Stephen's soul. First his wife, then his daughter-in-law and grandchild, now his son. By God, this creature had done enough to his family. It was goddamned time for it to stop.
"Get away from my son, or I'll reach down your throat and pull your ass out your mouth," Stephen warned.
Moloch just laughed uproariously.
"Such vivid colloquialisms, Stephen," he said. "And you a man of the cloth. Is your God not shocked?"
"I don't think He'll care what I say or what I do, as long as I get rid of you," Stephen said.
As he spoke, Stephen felt his hatred for Moloch became a solid thing, a churning cauldron of blue fire. Even the strength he had attained to split the protective barrier was nothing compared to the molten anger that now burned inside him. White sparks jumped madly from it as the heat of his hate increased. Its color changed from pure blue to a crimson-tinted shade of bloodlust. It wanted to suck Stephen in, make him one with his murderous desire. He didn't care. All he could see was Moloch's ultimate destruction, the ending of the centuries-long battle. He didn't care if he died extracting his blood-warmed justice; he just wanted to taste Moloch's death first.
The power within strained against him, taking on a life of itself, a muscular beast demanding retribution and a target to feed upon. Stephen felt like a sack of grain filled until the seams began to split. Just when it seemed his body and mind would rend themselves apart with the effort of restraint, Stephen let go
.
The blood-dipped globe of energy appeared from nowhere, exploding to life only yards in front of Moloch, giving the beast no time to launch a counterattack. The green aura of protection flared around Moloch, but it was puny, an ant before a rampaging elephant.
The sphere slammed into it with locomotive force, wrenching its feet from the ground and throwing it backward, racing toward the force shield at lightning speed. Its arms cartwheeled the air, trying desperately to find a purchase, to stop the inevitable, but there was nothing to grab and it rammed into the fence with a bone-crushing crash, the metal tattooing a crosshatched pattern into its back. It crumpled to the ground, the breath knocked out of its lungs. The green aura faded as its mind lost its ability to concentrate. Trying to buy precious seconds, it hurled dozens of white-hot firebolts about the court. They ricocheted off the force shield like lethal pinballs.
But Stephen was relentless. Another inferno of anger burst to life in front of Moloch. The creature flung up its arms to protect itself, but its body slammed backward into the fence. Bones broke and blood dripped from its ears and mouth.
"You fucking bastard," Stephen said. "I'm going to take care of you once and for all."
One after another, without any breathing room, the fury of Stephen's hatred pummeled Moloch. Again and again the beast was driven into the force field with organ-smashing force. The field of protection it had created around the court prevented the metal from giving way and allowed it temporary respite. What was meant to guard it was becoming its tomb.
Stephen could feel Moloch's desperation. The creature was weakening. A few more blows and it would be over. He would be rid of the beast. His family would be safe.
Below him, he heard a stirring and felt Jason returning to consciousness. For a moment, he slowed his attacks and turned his attention to his son. He saw Badger standing over Jason, talking to him.
