The Trilogy of the Void: The Complete Boxed Set

by Peter Meredith

  "Hold on, Sistah! Ya got me all wrong. I just wanted to know if you had seen anyone lurkin' around in a suspicious mannah. Maybe takin' an interest in your grade schoolahs. Ya see anyone like that?"

  She relaxed a little at this, but that feeling of alarm hung on her as if her insides were coated lightly with it. Sister Mary Agatha had never truly considered that the pervert she'd read about would target any of her boys. So far all the other children had been normal, from normal families, living in normal homes. In her mind, her boys didn't fit that description. Saint Thomas' was a home for boys that nobody wanted, not even sex perverts as far as she knew.

  "No, I haven't seen anyone like that, Officer Dallins," the name sprang to her mind just as she was saying it and she smiled at this small personal triumph. "If I do, I'll be sure to call." She gave another little wave and the policeman shrugged as if he was satisfied that he'd done all he could do and he headed back to his cruiser, parked up the street.

  Sister Mary watched him for a few moments before she walked off into the gradually thickening night and began praying. She'd been praying after a fashion when the officer had given her the fright; that had been no lie. When she wasn't actively engaged in conversation, prayers ran on an endless loop through her mind. Some people hummed or whistled their day away, she prayed. On average, the Our Father, which was always number one on her top 40-prayer list, would slide from her lips in a low constant mumble up to a hundred times a day.

  Tonight she'd been in an Apostle's Creed mood, and she would go through at least four repetitions of it as she went about the grounds making sure the buildings were locked up.

  This was part of her nightly routine and was another reason she was not terribly concerned about the pervert. Her orphanage, as she considered it, was one of the most secure places in this section of the city. The two-story building sported only three entrances, all of which were constructed of heavy steel.

  Every night she'd walk the entire perimeter of the orphanage, the attached church, and the offices, giving each door a little shake.

  When she came to the corner of the first building, she looked back into the gloom to check whether Officer Dallins was still nosing about, but he wasn't in sight. Turning back to her task she paused, startled for the second time that night.

  Something had moved among the shadows near the front of the church. A very tall pine stood there, running nearly up the side of the building all the way to the tall steeple. It was just gorgeous in the daytime, but at night it was the perfect place for shenanigans. In her forty-two years of running the home she had cleaned up all sorts of nasty leavings under its thick foliage.

  Shadows commanded its base and the idea of the sex pervert sprang to mind. This made her turn to look for the officer a second time. As before, there was no one in sight and her feeling of alarm increased. The shadows moved again and the nun backed around the side of the building, moving as quietly as possible.

  This wasn't like her at all.

  Sister Mary didn't fear sex perverts in the least. She was a large woman, with a loud rough voice, who was used to commanding attention. In her mind, sex perverts were skinny, little greasy-haired men who lacked the self-confidence to ask a girl out on a proper date.

  Nevertheless, for some reason she hesitated and it was at least a minute before she chided herself as a coward and was able to waddle toward the dark undergrowth.

  She wished she could have marched over as she had when she was younger, but a broken hip had constrained her to that unfortunate waddling gait. It was unfortunate because due to her rectangle of a figure and her black and white attire, the waddle made her look very much like the world's largest penguin. She tried not to think about that, especially now that she was going to give a sex pervert a piece of her mind.

  Upon nearing the tree, her waddle slowed and her eyes went to each of the shadows in turn, but there was no one to be seen. This should have calmed the odd fear that had her hands shaking, but instead when she finally slipped beneath the branches of the pine, her feeling of alarm grew. There may not have been a person in those shadows but there was a nasty smell, one that awoke long forgotten memories in her.

  She had been a nurse's aide in the south Pacific during the war and this smell was the same she had encountered many times back then. It was the gangrenous odor of rotting flesh.

  Chapter 3

  Every Sunday Morning

  "Hey Willy J sleepy-head." Talitha's voice was soft and full of concern.

  Thud! Thud! Thud! Will's headache was immediate and nearly debilitating, but despite that, his first action was to reach down and feel his crotch. His second was to breathe a sigh of relief; everything was where it was supposed to be, and more importantly, there wasn't a gaping bloody hole.

  The nightmare creature with the horn had been followed by others, and he suddenly remembered that one, a scaly lizard like thing had chewed his left hand off, slowly grinding his bones. The sound of his small bones in its teeth was nasty and similar to a man eating peanuts. He shivered at the memory and brought his hand up; it was whole and the fingers of it wiggled stiffly, but now he saw that his hand was strangely large and hairy.

  "Oh right," Will mumbled, his confusion slipping away. In the dreams he stole from Talitha; he would become Talitha, a girl, small and vulnerable and when he screamed, it would be with her voice.

  "I have some water and aspirin for you," Talitha said, still using her softest tone.

  She smiled the sad commiserating smile that he saw every Sunday morning. He knew even without any foresight that she'd been up for a while, letting him sleep a normal human sleep. Moreover, she would have the French toast ready and waiting for him, as well as coffee. He was heartily sick of French toast, having had it every week for the last four years. But, it was what she wanted and it always made her happy, so he'd choke it down if he had to.

  "Thanks." He took the aspirin and attempted to smile back at her, but it came across as a grimace of pain.

  "Is it bad this morning? I've read that a higher quality alcohol will reduce both the duration and intensity of hangovers. It's a factor of the distillation process..." Will put his hand out to her and shook his head weakly. Her volume had been ratcheting up as it always did when she expounded scientifically. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about everything. Maybe you shouldn't come over..."

  "It's ok, Talitha. There's nothing to be sorry for." Will gave her the best smile he could manage with what felt like broken glass in his skull. He swallowed his pills and his stomach warned him against the French toast, at least for a while. "I think I need some coffee." He struggled to his feet wondering if this was what seventy-five would feel like, if he lived that long.

  "Can you maybe brush and take a shower first?" she asked shyly. He was certain he didn't smell good and with her heightened senses, his odor was probably equal to that of a dumpster.

  "Sure...just one sip and then I'll go." He could feel the pulse in his temple and it felt like it was pushing liquid steel into his brain instead of blood. After a long drink of the coffee, he headed off.

  The shower helped as it always did. Talitha bathed three or four times a day and after a night like the last one, he would probably need to do the same. He was far luckier than she was however; unlike her memories, his dreams would fade in time. After a few days...or maybe even after a few hours he likely wouldn't be able to recall the horn or its terrible owner.

  He stared dully at the shower wall, trying not to think about anything but the fastidiously clean grout between the tiles. The water was just turning tepid, when Talitha called out, "We have to leave for church in thirty minutes!"

  He was done anyway and dried himself off, careful not to touch Brian's towel. Sadly, she would come and check to see if he had. There were little shrines in memorial to Brian all around the cabin. His drawers were still full of his clothing, his coffee mug still sat on the kitchen counter, and his toothbrush lay cockeyed on the sink where he had left it four years ago. These lit
tle clues of his life always made Will melancholy.

  How he lasted a full year with Talitha was beyond Will.

  Will had driven out to visit the two of them frequently and each time Brian sported new bruises layered over the old ones. It must've been hell on him but he hadn't once complained to Will. Quite the opposite; he acted as if he were the luckiest man in the world. In a way he was. There had only been one girl on all the earth, who was perfect for him, and he not only got her to fall in love with him, but he helped save her from an endless half-life of torture and pain.

  You couldn't ask for much more than that—except perhaps for a quick death.

  And Brian's death had been relatively quick. Will unfortunately had dreamed it all in living color even as it happened. It had been like the dreams he endured when he spent the nights in her cabin; he became her.

  However, in a reversal of those dreams, Talitha had been the one inflicting pain—and enjoying it. Her victim had been Brian, the love of her life. She savored the blood, hot and coppery, fresh from his throat. It had made her giddy for a short while and then she grew angry; disappointed at how easily the man had died.

  "Talitha? I hear the water!" Brian called out.

  "And I hear your heart beating, so, fucking what?" Talitha murmured to herself. She hated clothes sometimes, especially if she was angry. The only clothes she liked really were ones made from silk. Her panties were silk and these she pulled off and gently rubbed up and down her body.

  "What did you say, Honey?"

  Did that thing just call me, honey? Talitha was tired of the thing's insolence...she would have to beat it again.

  With that idea, her mood improved and she smiled wickedly cruel and slipped quietly to the bathroom where Brian was just finishing brushing his teeth.

  This was going to be fun, she thought and she swore this time she would make him cry. He would normally just grunt which was unsatisfying, but today he would cry even if she had to pull his testicles off. Wait! She liked his testicles. It would have to be an eye then.

  "Hey, the pot is boiling, turn it off..." Brian opened the door and froze in place. He looked down at her naked body and Talitha saw the fear in his eyes. She knew all his tricks to keep from being beaten—the cowering, the attempts at fawning, the slave-like attitude he would wear like a mask.

  However, those defense mechanisms depended on him being aware of what she was feeling and how she was coping. But this morning, he had taken too long in the shower, too long to floss and brush his teeth, and he missed it when the blackness had slipped over her, warming her. If he had just come out a few minutes earlier, things might have been different.

  But there was no use crying over spilt blood. Brian immediately lowered his gaze and started to say something, "Mi..."

  Talitha slapped him casually and Brian's head rocked back, striking the frame of the door. His knees buckled and he might have gone down right there but Talitha reached out her hand and slammed him up against the wall, holding him in place.

  "From now on, you'll get down on your knees when I enter the room, do you understand, worm?"

  Brian's eyes rolled wildly as he attempted to focus and he said nothing. Talitha felt frisky that morning and letting go of him, she spun in a blur and before his knees could buckle, she sent a spinning back-kick into his mid-section. He went down in a heap and his only sound was a small hitching as his diaphragm attempted to draw in air. He struggled for endless seconds with his face turning a deep red.

  Talitha became bored of waiting and picked him up by the hair with a sigh. Brian, who was normally a good fighter, was being so dull and instead of having a good time she was getting angry.

  "You're trying my patience. Maybe I'll have you replaced...Will is twice the man you are," Talitha said cruelly. "However you do grovel so much better than he does...I will just take an eye. Maybe you'll learn proper respect then." She felt suddenly benevolent over her decision, but his response brought her haughty anger to a boil in a second.

  "No... uhhhhghh."

  This was too much. How could he say no when she being so sweet? Talitha had a grip on his throat with her left hand and she slowly tightened it, so that the color of his face deepened to a wonderful magenta. She liked the color, but it made her just a little crazy. She wondered just how much blood was in his head at that moment. There only one way to find out.

  Thankfully, Lisa woke Will up a few moments later. He'd been laughing cruelly in his sleep and it had frightened her. In a state of shock, he had driven up to Talitha's cabin, meaning to bury the body, but she had beaten him to it. As well she had removed all signs of the murder, yet he could still see the wet stains on the walls and carpet, and the smell of bleach was strong in the air.

  That had been just over four years before. At first Will didn't think Talitha would last very long. Her dreams and the terrible struggle to stay away day after day seemed to be tearing her apart. As well her intense loneliness grew. The only thing she had to look forward to were his visits. Out of love and pity the weekly sleepovers had begun.

  They quickly fell into a regular pattern; he'd arrive sometime after noon on Saturday and they would play games or chat; they'd have dinner and sit on the back porch-swing watching the sunset. But all the while there would be a stiffness about them as if their spines had been replaced with high-tension springs.

  By Saturday, Talitha had been without sleep for a week and even though she may not have had the sensation of sleepiness, her body still needed at least a little and her mood could become quickly dark and quite terrifyingly evil.

  For her part Talitha couldn't relax because of the great guilt she had over what had happened not only to Brian but to the others as well. There had been quite a few others. Obviously Will couldn't relax because his very life was on the line.

  He made sure to keep the conversation light and never brought up anything in the least bit stressful, but he was still exhausted by the time she was ready for bed. Then he'd begin drinking and the visions would come. At some point, he'd finally pass out. This was the only way Talitha could get any proper sleep and on most Sundays, her smiling face and sweet disposition made the pain worth it.

  This was not one of those weeks.

  The previous night's dreams kept coming back to him and he would shiver with the memories of that terrible horn and the grinding crunching sound his bones had made as they were being chewed.

  "It'll fade. It'll fade," he said to himself. His queasy stomach and the re-occurring crunching echoing in his skull made eating an impossibility; so he pushed the French toast around his plate as politely as he could.

  "Have you talked with Lisa about the baby? You know...about me, maybe babysitting sometime?" She gave him a shy smile and there was such painful hope in her eyes that it hurt to see.

  "For now...I think we may have to limit you seeing the baby. I might be able to talk Lisa into coming out here a few times, but it'll be at Mass only."

  Every Sunday morning he'd drive Talitha forty-five minutes to the nearest Catholic Church. It was the one place her cruel side had never showed itself, even for a single moment. "Speaking of church, we better get going if we're going to get a good seat," he added, hoping to change the subject.

  The drive into town was beautiful. Western Maine was a treat in October and hell in January and that day was a fine example; the trees were exploding in gorgeous orange and gold, and the pungent aroma of burning leaves was all about them.

  Talitha smiled at the sights and Will smiled at her. She was happy, almost carefree, and Will began to think that the pain of the previous night had been worth it. The images were already fading and the pain was not even a memory. It was like the time he broke his arm in the second grade, he remembered it had hurt terribly, but once it was healed, he couldn't recall at all how it felt.

  The church wasn't one those great cathedrals with wonderful stained glass windows and an organ the size of a Greyhound bus; it was a little brick affair, rectangular with a low slop
ing roof. It was in fact nothing special, but Will liked it anyway. It was intimate and cozy and it had rustic warmth that he looked forward to after his hellish Saturday nights.

  Before his living nightmare with the demon Ba'al Zubel, he went to church mostly out of curiosity but now attending Mass had become a necessity for him. Deep in his soul, he felt a need to be as near to God as he could and he not only attended this simple church with his sister, he would also frequent one close to his home at least once a week with Lisa.

  As they pulled into the parking lot, the bell began to ring in the steeple and Will watched it go back and forth, feeling an odd hint of anxiety. He glanced over at Talitha and the anxiety started to blossom and grow roots deep into his stomach.

  She'd just stepped out of the Jeep when her smile froze on her face. Sniffing the air in a gentle fashion, she peered about, her good mood slipping away. Now with curiosity running the same course as his anxiety, Will gave the air a tentative sniff: burning leaves, and under that, the wet earthy scent of the nearby forest.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  "Someone has brought a gun into the church." She pivoted, scanning each of the cars in turn, and then looked up to building. Her glance pierced every window.

  "It could be a hunter...I think it's deer season." He suddenly knew it wasn't a hunter, at least it wasn't a person who hunted deer.

  "Don't be stupid," Talitha's smile was gone and her brown eyes had narrowed. "All of the moronic hicks around here use Lucas gun oil. They must sell it by the barrel...scentless my ass." She wrinkled her nose. "This is different, sweeter." He had no idea she knew anything about guns or their oils, and the notion that she knew the name of even a single brand worried him almost as much as the look in her eyes.

  "Maybe we should skip church today...or come back later for confession. I'm sure..."

  "Shut your stupid mouth," she ordered in a low tone. She bent and picked up a rock that fit nicely into her small palm. The smile came back to her face as she hefted the rock easily, bouncing it in her hand.