Forging the Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  “Like I said, I just manage the cash. If you want in on the dirty secrets, you’ll want to follow the kids.”

  “Kids?”

  Marty sighed, as if having to explain simple addition. “In prostitution, adults are pretty safe. If a working girl gets busted on the street, she normally takes the fall and the pimps get to walk free. When kids are involved, people start asking questions, and there’s no one to fall on the sword.”

  “So, in a large organization, the people in charge of kids should be the most trustworthy, and entitled to more private information.”

  “Not always, but yes.”

  “And how do you know this if you are just the money guy?”

  Marty laughed. “Because I’m not stupid.”

  He bent down and grabbed some papers from behind the counter. “I have detailed lists of drug dealers, pimps, and the clients for each. I have an entirely different list for clients with a taste for kiddy-porn and prostitution, but I don’t know the names of their dealers.”

  “I see. Do you mind if I see the client list?”

  “Be my guest,” he said, tossing a sheet onto the floor. “I’m no friend of those perverts.”

  Jarrod scanned the page, and a name caught his attention. “Leland Blair. I heard about him on the news.”

  “Part of the reason we keep these lists,” Marty said. “If somebody gets arrested, enforcers go have a chat with them and remind them to keep quiet.”

  “Leland was arrested under suspicion of molesting his teenage niece. What does that have to do with prostitution?”

  Marty shrugged. “A freak is a freak. Most of the clients on that list buy kid-porn, but you never know what they do in their free time.”

  Jarrod nodded slowly. “Where do they get it?”

  “Not sure. In the past, they used the internet, or the dark web, but it’s gotten too risky. Now they deal in hard drives or stand-alone computers and DVDs, and it’s not cheap.”

  “Makes sense. And you don’t know the names of any of the distributors?”

  “Not one.”

  “Well,” Jarrod said, “thank you, Marty. You have been a big help. I think I’ll have a chat with Mr. Blair.”

  “Is there anything else? As charming as our conversation has been, I’d rather not see you again.”

  “I think I have all I need,” Jarrod said, waving the list. “I won’t bother you again, and I’m sure you know to keep our little talk a secret…”

  “What little talk?”

  Jarrod chuckled. “Have a nice night, Marty.” He stepped into the alley and closed the door behind him.

  36

  The water burned Leland’s cupped hands, but felt invigorating as he splashed it into his face. He looked into his bathroom mirror, contemplating his reflection. He was thinner now; the stress of the court case had taken its toll. Though it had been nearly a year since he was acquitted, his luck had only recently turned around.

  Leland was not set free because of his innocence, but because of a technicality. His niece—Leland grit his teeth at the thought of her—had testified against him. Thankfully, Leland’s defense lawyer was able to undermine her character as a witness, make her look like a dirty slut. Because there was no physical evidence, they had to let him go. But escaping a prison sentence was not the end of his troubles. His neighbors, work associates, and even his family had turned against him. He was forced to move to a new neighborhood and find a new job. He dyed his hair, cut his beard, and introduced himself to everyone with his middle name. So far, no one had recognized him. Over time, he settled into his new life. He even made friends, including a young couple that invited him over to dinner several times a month. Over time, the naive family grew to love and trust him.

  It was this trust that led to an unexpected, if often dreamed of opportunity. It was their anniversary, and the couple wanted to celebrate with an overnight stay on a river yacht. They asked Leland if he could babysit their eight-year-old daughter. He was hesitant at first, but they begged him. They begged him!

  She was asleep on his couch, not thirty feet away. Leland was having one last internal debate before doing what he knew he was going to do. What if the couple found out? He would not escape a prison sentence a second time.

  He shook his head. They wouldn’t find out. How could they? After all, he wasn’t going to harm the girl—he wouldn’t even leave a mark. He had given her a heavy dose of cold medicine, the kind that caused severe drowsiness. She wouldn’t wake up, wouldn’t know he was undressing her and photographing her naked body.

  He frowned. What if the medicine didn’t wear off before the parents picked her up the following afternoon? He banished the thought. It would. Of course it would, there was plenty of time. Besides, he had already crossed that line; she was already dosed.

  Then there was the pictures, which could land him in jail if they were discovered. He laughed softly to himself. There was a hard drive in a false-bottomed drawer in his basement that was filled with illegal photos and videos. He was never caught with that, not even when he was on trial.

  And the girl on the couch…she wasn’t a stranger like the girls on his hard drive. She was always there when he went to visit her parents. He knew her laugh, her smile, where she was most ticklish. She was innocent, untainted…very much unlike the girls on his hard drive.

  A smile crossed Leland’s face. No, he would not abandon this golden opportunity. If he did, he would only regret it later. He had taken all the necessary precautions. He would not be caught. With one last look in the mirror, he turned off the bathroom light.

  The house was dark. Thick blankets covered every window, and the sun had set hours ago. The television’s faintly blue, flickering light illuminated a part of the home in a ghostly glow. Leland grabbed a work lamp and digital camera from the kitchen closet and carried them into the living room. He had bought both just hours after agreeing to babysit the young girl.

  When he had the work lamp in position, he gazed at his prize. Her head was leaning against the back of the couch, a strand of curly black hair hanging over her face. Leland’s heart raced. She looked so beautiful.

  Fingers trembling, he turned on the camera. He knelt at her side and gently pushed aside the lock of hair, then planted a kiss on her cheek.

  Leland sprang to his feet. A scratching noise was coming from the kitchen. Or was it? It had been so soft, so quiet that he wasn’t sure if he had imagined it. Not wanting to take any risks, he strode into the kitchen and turned on the light.

  The evening’s dishes were in the sink and a faint lemon scent hung in the air. There was nothing unusual; it was just as he had left it. He chuckled to himself—the anticipation was making him jumpy.

  He crossed the threshold to the living room and smiled. The girl, in her fuzzy pink pajamas, was spotlighted on the couch. The rest of the room was cast into shadow. She was his little piece of heaven in a dark, unfeeling world.

  He took a step forward, then something caught his eye and he staggered backward. A shadow on the far side of the room seemed to have shifted. A panicked whimper escaped his lips and he fumbled for the light switch.

  The overhead light flickered on and the shadows disappeared. He and the girl were alone in the room. He took a deep breath, and shuddered as he exhaled. He was being paranoid. This was his moment, he should be savoring it.

  Kneeling once again by the girl’s side, he felt a surge of excitement. His breathing was rapid and shallow as he gripped the bottom of her pants, ready to pull them off. Then he stopped and shook his head, realizing he should get pictures of her with clothes on first. Standing up, he pulled the camera out of his pocket.

  Behind his back, a shadow bulged outward. Leland snapped a photo, then looked at the camera’s display. He frowned. The television was still on, and its light had given a bluish tinge to the outer edge of the photo. He turned around, searching for his remote. What he saw made his heart skip several beats.

  A dark form, half-protruding from
the shadow, glinted blue on one side from the light of the television.

  Leland screamed and tumbled backward onto the couch. The work lamp shone in his eyes, blinding him.

  “You—you can’t be here!” he screamed. “Get out!”

  There was no reply.

  Suddenly, horribly, he was gripped by the feeling that he had not, in fact, seen a man in his house. Perhaps he had seen something much more sinister. He tried to back away, pushing himself into the couch cushions.

  “Please,” he begged, “I wasn’t…I wasn’t going to do anything! Please, just leave me alone!”

  The television blinked out, then the work lamp. The room plunged into darkness, and Leland could hear nothing but his own, sharp inhalations.

  Something grabbed his ankle, and he cried out in terror. He twisted and grabbed the armrest, but was quickly torn away from it. The girl awoke and sat upright in the darkness. Her head lolled wearily and she collapsed back into unconsciousness.

  Leland was gripping at the floor with all his strength, but the hand on his ankle gave a tug and pulled him onward. He was not aware of his fingernails tearing away, embedding in the shag carpet.

  Suddenly his ankle was free. He scrambled on his hands and knees back toward the couch, then pain shot into his shoulder and his arm was snatched out from under him. He was swaying in the air like a rag doll for several seconds, then he was airborne. Stars exploded into his vision as his face hit something cold and hard. His legs and back were bent upwards, and he fought to right himself.

  A door closed and a light switched on.

  He blinked. He was in his bathtub, facing the wall. Squirming on the slick surface, he managed to flip onto his back. His eyes widened and he began to shriek. The bathroom lights shone on a black figure. The arms and legs were covered in short spikes. The face looked like a black skull with needles for teeth. Talons, not fingers, curled beneath the hands.

  The figure spoke with a rumbling, distorted voice. “I have been watching you, Leland Blair.”

  “No! No, please!” Leland pushed himself backward, fighting to stand up.

  “Where did you buy it, Leland? Who will share the burden of your pain?”

  Leland tried to make sense of the monster’s words, but his thoughts tumbled in a sea of fear.

  The dark shape took a step toward him. “No one? You want the punishment for yourself?”

  Leland slunk back down into the tub, and began to sob. “Please…d-d-don’t hurt me!”

  The bony black jaw dropped and an inhuman scream shook the room. Leland clapped his hands over his ears, wincing.

  The scream subsided. Leland was rocking back and forth, his eyes shut and his hands on his ears.

  “Who sold you the images of the children?” The words were garbled, as if issued by a beast imitating human speech. “Tell me, and I will show you mercy.”

  Leland uncovered his ears. Tears dripped onto his shirt and he whispered, “I don’t know any n-n-names. There’s a, a house. I c-can’t remember the number.”

  The spikes on the creature’s body seemed to lengthen.

  “It’s the big house on the end of—on the end of Beltway Street,” Leland sputtered. “Please, they are the bad ones. Th—they do terrible things, have women locked up. They’re the ones, it was them, not me…”

  The spikes disappeared and the creature’s face suddenly changed from a skull into a smooth, handsome visage, like an ancient king carved in ebony. In a gentle voice, it said, “You will be shown mercy.”

  The lights switched off.

  Leland tried to steady his breathing. He opened his eyes, but could see nothing in the dark room. His panicked breathing grew more regular, and he strained to hear any indication of the black monster.

  After a few minutes, he dared to move. Crouching, he swung one leg over the side of the tub.

  It was as if he stepped on a bear trap. His lower leg erupted in pain, and the world spun around him. The crushing grip held him in the air, cracking bones and crushing veins.

  “Please!” Leland cried. “You promised mercy!”

  A voice, so soft and yet so clear that Leland wasn’t sure if it came from inside his head, said, “This is mercy.”

  Something sharp dug into Leland’s back. Pain flooded his limbs and his fingers tingled. His arms fell loosely by his ear, and the pain was gone. The creature lowered him into the tub.

  It was hard for Leland to breath. He tried to push himself into a more comfortable position, but his arms didn’t respond, his legs didn’t either. He felt as if he were pinned beneath a lead blanket. Panic washed over him anew, and he tried to cry out for help. His tongue felt heavy, and all he could manage was an inarticulate moan.

  Trapped within the prison of his own body, Leland wept.

  37

  Jarrod watched the activity in front of Leland’s house from beneath an evergreen shrub. The scene was illuminated by the flashing blue and red lights of three patrol cars and an ambulance.

  A man in a dark blue uniform stepped out of the front door, grasping a tiny hand. Jarrod did not know the little girl’s name, but when she walked out of the house, he felt as if he had met an unspoken objective. His original intention for confronting Leland was to interrogate him, to find the source of the illicit pornography, but after discovering the drugged girl in the house and smelling Leland’s twisted lust, the plan changed.

  Jarrod did not wait to see Leland wheeled out to the ambulance, but he could hear the paralyzed man’s panicked, unintelligible cries. Edging out from his hiding place, Jarrod slipped away.

  Before placing an anonymous call to the police, Jarrod had moved Leland’s car five blocks down the road. Now, as Jarrod turned the key in the ignition, the vehicle roared to life. Donning one of the pedophile’s coats, he drew the black away from his head and put the car in gear.

  The house at the end of Beltway Street was immense. Its construction was modern in style, but the property already showed signs of neglect. Shingles were missing from the roof, and some of the vinyl siding was coming loose at the end. The front yard was bare, lacking the color and appeal of professional landscaping. The long, pitted driveway wrapped around the house, and several cars were parked in the back.

  Jarrod stepped out his stolen vehicle and breathed deeply. At least two dozen people were in the three-story house, but no light could be seen though any of the windows. Even to Jarrod’s sensitive ears, the voices inside sounded muffled; the owners had taken considerable effort to soundproof the walls.

  With ghostlike silence, Jarrod moved around the exterior of the house. Every window was boarded up from the inside, and the doors were similarly barricaded, except for one at the rear. Putting a hand on the thick wad of cash in his pocket, Jarrod climbed the steps. There was an intercom with a camera to the right of the doorknob. Jarrod hit the call button three times in rapid succession.

  “Stop hitting the damn button.” A voice crackled from the small speaker. “What do you want?”

  “I...I…” Jarrod stammered.

  “Spit it out or hit the bricks, we don’t do social calls.”

  “Leland Blair sent me, I’m interested in…uh…”

  “Blair sent you?” The voice thundered. There was a long pause as the man at the other end regained his composure. “We don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry. He told me he wasn’t allowed to come here anymore. He asked me to get him some, uh, fresh material. He said if I did, I could do, um…whatever I wanted, and he would pay.”

  Another long pause.

  “Stay there.”

  A moment later, a latch turned on the door and it swung open. A thin, unshaven man stepped out.

  “Arms up,” he said.

  With a worried expression on his face, Jarrod complied.

  The man started to pat him down, starting at his feet. He stopped when he felt a bulge at Jarrod’s chest.

  “Lift up your shirt.”

  Jarrod obeyed, exposing the
black metal bands.

  “The hell is that?”

  “It’s a pacemaker,” Jarrod answered, “I have a heart condition that requires me to…”

  The man waved off Jarrod’s words and continued his search. He extracted the large block of cash from Jarrod’s coat, and began flipping through it.

  “Shit…” he breathed. He put half of the cash in his back pocket and looked quizzically at Jarrod. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

  Jarrod’s grayish skin flushed red. “I have cataracts, they make my eyes—”

  “Whatever.” The man held the remainder of the cash in front of Jarrod. “This is a lot of dough. I’m guessing you have the same tastes as Blair.”

  Jarrod’s face turned a deeper shade of red. “Er—yes.”

  The man jerked his head toward the door. “Inside.”

  Jarrod stepped into the foyer. The powerful scents of bleach, alcohol, and perfume threatened to overwhelm him.

  The man closed the door. “Pick your pleasure,” he said.

  “I…uh, prefer…”

  “Hey, relax,” the man said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We get folks with all kinds of tastes in here. Do you like em thick? Thin? Black? White? Older? Young—“

  “Young,” Jarrod interjected. He blushed again.

  The man smiled. “No problem. You like boys or girls.”

  “Girls.”

  The man nodded. “I got just what you need. Follow me.” He led Jarrod through the kitchen, where a group of men were drinking and playing cards. They entered a hallway on the other side and stopped at a black door. The man unlocked it and pulled it open, revealing a dark stairway.

  “Follow me,” he said. He led Jarrod down the stairwell and through another door into a comfortably appointed basement. A girl of perhaps thirteen was asleep on a king-sized bed at the far end of the room.

  “Is she…your youngest?” Jarrod asked.

  The man chuckled. “Youngest girl, yeah. We got other girls if you don’t like her…”

  “She is perfect,” Jarrod said, rubbing his hands together.