The Rising

by Temple Mathews

  In his room, Will could not get Natalie out of his mind. He hated the idea that, if something happened and he never came back, the last conversation they’d ever have had happened through a closed door. And if Loreli was right—if there was a way he could purge himself of the Dark Lord once and for all—maybe there was a chance for the two of them to be together. Maybe he had been putting up a wall between them for nothing. There was no time now to talk to her now, but he couldn’t just leave. So he dashed off a note.

  My dearest Natalie. I know these past few days have been difficult for you, for us, and I want to you know that no matter what happens, that you are forever in my heart. You have to trust me now, trust that there is a good reason I have not been sharing everything I’m doing. I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can. In the meantime, please believe that I have loved you since the first day I laid eyes on you and I will love you for eternity.

  Will folded the note four times, went out into the hallway, and slipped it into the crack of Natalie’s door just above the doorknob. She couldn’t miss it. Then he went downstairs and into the kitchen where Loreli was eating like a horse, polishing off her second bagel with cream cheese and strawberry jam, fueling up for their upcoming journey. Will opened a drawer and pulled out a handful of protein bars and stuffed them in his pockets, then filled his stainless steel travel mug with hot coffee.

  “Let’s hit it,” he said.

  “Gotta make a quick pit stop first,” she said. “Two minutes.”

  Will didn’t like having to wait any longer but he nodded. Loreli started for the downstairs bathroom, but as soon as she was out of eyeshot she changed her course, went upstairs, and found Will’s room quickly. She went in and wasted no time messing up his bed even more than it already was, yanking up the sheets and twisting them. She whipped out a small bottle of perfume and sprayed the sheets, then took off her medallion and dropped it on the bed.

  Out in the hallway she noticed the note stuck in Natalie’s door. She took it, unfolded it, and quickly read it. This was a bonus. Smiling, she put the note in her pocket.

  Will wheeled the BMW out through the big iron gates and away from the manor while from the passenger seat Loreli watched the early dawn’s first attempts at remaking the world. They headed down the hill to Mercer Street where they caught the freeway, and headed south to I-90 East, starting the roughly 260-mile drive from Seattle to Coeur d’Alene. Will was in a foul mood, ready to kick some ass. The gray skies and blowing rain didn’t help. He kept thinking about what the Dark Lord had done to him and how much it hurt, knowing his mother was in mortal danger.

  He drove fast. More than once he saw headlights in his rearview mirror, someone on his tail, but they never stuck and so he couldn’t be sure if they were being followed or not. He pushed the German machine far over the speed limits, hitting 175 and then 180. He’d never driven this fast with a passenger in the car, but if Loreli was frightened she didn’t show it. He continued to push the BMW faster and faster. Time was not his ally. If the demons found the Dark Lord’s head before he did, then they’d be able to resurrect him, and the beast would no doubt be in a nasty mood himself, having had his head blown off in a volcano. So Will needed to get to Coeur d’Alene fast. He drove harder even as the weather became more severe.

  Twice more he scrutinized trailing headlights, but he sped away from them so easily he concluded he wasn’t being followed. But that didn’t mean he let his guard down. No way. He would be one step ahead of everyone this time.

  The third time he saw headlights following them, he slammed on the brakes and went into a sideways drift, skidding to a halt. Then he got out and pulled out a couple of Flareblades and held them at the ready while Loreli stood on the other side of the car, prepared to offer backup if it was needed. The surprised carload of teens who’d been trying to keep up with him swerved, their mouths agape, and sped past, destined for some pretty nasty dreams about the lunatic in the middle of the highway wielding two burning knives. Will and Loreli got back in the car and pushed the pedal to the metal. They made it to Coeur d’Alene in two hours and seventeen minutes, only having to outrun the state police once.

  Cruising into Coeur d’Alene, they searched for 11786 Bouldin Lane, where the “Hastings Possession”—as it was being referred to in the media—had occurred. They passed a police car and Will slowed. When the cops pulled a U-turn to bird-dog him, he knew he’d have to lay low for a few minutes—a high-speed chase through the streets of Coeur d’Alene was the last thing he needed right now—so he pulled into a Tastee-Freeze. The cops pulled over across the street and watched as Will got out and went to the order window, bought a couple of cheeseburgers and cokes, and brought them back to the BMW. If they had to stop anyway, they might as well take advantage of it.

  While they ate and drank and waited out the cops, Loreli began to probe. “The girl, Natalie. Is she your girlfriend?”

  Will chewed slowly before swallowing. “Do we really have to talk about this?” he asked.

  “I guess there’s my answer.” She smiled.

  Will clenched his jaw. Sometimes girls drove him nuts. He sighed. “I rescued her and her sister from Harrisburg. Their parents were killed, so I brought them with me. I wasn’t going to just leave them there.”

  “It’s okay to love someone, you know,” she said.

  “It’s not exactly safe,” said Will. “For them or for us.”

  Loreli neatly folded up her yellow cheeseburger wrapper.

  “We’re still half human,” she said.

  “Okay. Do you have a boyfriend?” Will asked.

  “No. But . . . I could. For years I wouldn’t even think about it. Every time I’d meet a guy, even see a guy I liked, I’d play the flash-forward game. You know the one? You imagine kissing the person, falling in love with them, hooking up, moving in, getting married or whatever . . . and then the little bundle of joy arrives.”

  Neither of them needed to mention that the little bundle of joy had a 50/50 chance of having scaly skin, horns, and a barbed tail.

  “But things have been different since I figured out to get rid of him,” she said, voicing the same hope he’d allowed himself that morning.

  Will finished his cheeseburger and watched as the cops across the street started up their patrol car.

  “Now if I met the right guy, I could actually have a relationship,” said Loreli.

  “I’m happy for you,” said Will. It came out snarky, but he meant it, even though the bitter taste of his own unfulfilled love was on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t help but take a few seconds and fantasize about what his life would be like if he were able to fully love Natalie. The concept seemed inconceivably rich.

  “If you wanted to give the whole dialysis thing a try, maybe you could, too. But you’re a guy,” said Loreli. “Guys are different, they don’t sit around thinking about how cool it would be to be totally in love.”

  Will could have told her she was wrong, that he’d thought about it a thousand times. But what was the point? So he stayed silent.

  A tricked-out Nissan Altima driven by a hot Asian chick screamed by. Across the street, the patrol car came to life, headlights switching on, blue and red flashers blasting to life and siren wailing, tires squealing as it pulled out in pursuit. Will looked over at Loreli. It was time for them to get moving.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and backed the BMW out of the Tastee-Freeze lot and onto the highway. In two minutes they picked up Anders Parkway and hung a left on Tanning Street, then a right on Bouldin Lane. Will drove slowly now, approaching cautiously. The house was a four-bedroom split-level affair set into a hillside on a good acre of land with old-growth pines. The lights in the house were out. It had the look of a home that had been abandoned. A Commander RV parked outside had a FOR SALE sign on it.

  Will pulled into the driveway. The moment he saw the house, he knew it was a place of dark and ugly secrets. And the RV—something about it made Will’s skin crawl. The thing sat there
on its fat haunches like some giant beast, its grille a smug smile.

  They got out. Will slipped on his backpack, Loreli her duster, and they walked to the front door of the house. Will closed his eyes and used his seventh sense to investigate his surroundings. The house was giving off some very malicious vibes, the kind found at the sites of mass murders and slaughterhouses. Will tapped on the door perfunctorily, though they both knew no one would answer. The Hastings were long gone, and who could blame them? Will took a step back, lifted a boot, and was ready to kick the door down.

  “Wait a second, Superman, just hold on,” Loreli said. Using a tiny spray bottle with a WD-40-style tip she spritzed the lock, which hissed and smoked. Then she turned the handle and the door opened easily.

  “Maybe not as much fun, but less noisy,” she said. Then she turned and stopped him with a hand before he crossed the threshold.

  “Hey . . . if we get in a shitstorm, are you gonna stay cool this time?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said. He wished she hadn’t made the comment. He would stay cool this time. He felt rotten about how things came down last time and wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. He was in control.

  They entered the house. Will’s skin crawled. He could sense the Dark Lord’s presence. Or was it just wishful thinking? He wanted to be close; he wanted to find him and destroy him so badly he could taste it. They explored the downstairs. It was just like millions of other middle-class homes, with its bargain furnishings and cheap, framed art prints on the walls. They went into the kitchen and Loreli opened the refrigerator. For a moment Will pictured the Dark Lord’s head sitting there on the shelf next to the milk and orange juice. It wasn’t, of course. The refrigerator was well stocked, but the produce and milk had gone bad and smelled. Loreli shut the door and ventured elsewhere. Will noticed a calendar stuck on the front with a goofy “Got Fun?” trout magnet from Hector’s Bait Shop. The trout was smiling. Will was staring at it quizzically when he heard Loreli.

  “Oh God,” she said.

  She had left the kitchen and was now standing at the bottom of the stairs. Will joined her and they stared at the dark bloodstains on the deep-pile chestnut carpet. The night Zachary had been possessed, he’d caught his father totally by surprise outside the doorway to his sister’s room, swinging hard and striking him in the kneecap, then in the face, breaking his nose. Face bleeding, head spinning with shock and confusion, Andrew Hastings had tumbled down the stairs, and hit the landing with a pronounced grunt as his head slammed into the wall and he slumped over and bled on the carpet. Twelve seconds later, the voice in Zachary’s head commanded him to attack his mother, and he did so, striking her four times, twice in the knees and twice on the head, before she, too, tumbled down the stairs, landing on top of Andrew. Then Zachary went after his siblings. Fortunately for Megan, she’d hidden in the bottom of the clothes hamper, and Zachary, in his rage, hadn’t been able to find her.

  Will imagined the scene, saw it playing in the chambers of his brain, over and over. The parents at the bottom of the stairs in a heap, then, disbelieving, rising up—the blood flowing so very crimson—then patiently climbing back up on broken twisted limbs to hug Zachary to their loving bosoms, only to be bludgeoned again, to fall again, to suffer the same agonizing pain. The ghostly scene was in a loop, the phantoms sweeping up and down the stairs. No matter how many times they reached out to their son, he cleaved them, hurt them. And yet they came back for more, these masochists. Such is the stuff of parenthood; such is the stuff of love.

  “I think he’s here. I think his head is in this place,” said Loreli.

  “I think you’re right,” said Will.

  “Can you sense where it is?” she asked.

  “No. Not yet. Let’s keep looking.”

  They looked in every room. Opened every door and cupboard. Checked under every bed and opened every drawer. They searched the entire house, floor to ceiling, but found nothing. Will was frustrated.

  “It has to be here somewhere.”

  “But where?” asked Loreli. “If they picked it up somewhere and brought it in, where would they have put it?”

  Then Will remembered something. The calendar on the refrigerator. He went to it. Martha Hastings had colored in the dates and made notes about their trip. Fishing, camping, rafting! One day, a Monday, had a frowning face. Back home again. Will remembered the reports about Zachary’s possession. It had occurred early on a Tuesday morning.

  “The kid . . . Zachary. He heard the voices the night they came home. That’s when he was possessed. Maybe . . .”

  Will moved to the front door. Loreli followed him.

  “Maybe what?”

  Will opened the door and looked out at the Commander RV parked outside.

  “Maybe they picked the head up on vacation and brought it home with them.”

  Will walked quickly toward the Commander. It was unlocked. He checked inside while Loreli stood watching, hoping he would find the head. But the RV was empty. Will stepped out looking confused and angry.

  “I can feel him. I know he’s close.”

  Will could sense that the Dark Lord was close because in fact he was. His head—his filthy, feculent skull—was on top of the RV. It had been blasted out of Mount St. Emory like a cannonball and landed miles away in the stiff branches of a towering fir tree. Weeks had passed. Finally the Hastings family RV had backed into the tree, jostling it, and the Dark Lord’s head had tumbled down and landed atop it. Then the interminable ride, the hours in the blazing sunlight. In all his thousands of years, the Dark Lord had never suffered such humiliation. Now he was finally close to being found and healed. His eyes opened. He knew he must remain silent with the boy so very close. He could hear help coming. In seconds, he would be on his way to freedom. In his mind he rose up 666 feet in the air, and he saw them coming. Two speeding vehicles carrying shedemons. His liberation was at hand! But, sensing danger, he dropped back down to earth quickly.

  The boy was wily and was now climbing the side of the RV. He was going to look in one final place: the vehicle’s roof. If the boy caught sight of him, it was all over. He would no doubt use one of his wicked weapons to destroy him. The Dark Lord had to think fast. The lips on the severed head smiled. He had an ace up his sleeve.

  Will was climbing the side of the Commander because he had a mad hunch. If the head of the Dark Lord wasn’t inside the RV, maybe it was on top of it. The head could have ended up on its roof, and then been transported out of the blast projection zone. That would explain why his followers had been unable to locate it. Will was about to lift himself up and peer onto the roof when he heard his mother scream.

  “Will! Help me!”

  The voice sounded like it was coming from inside the house. Will was stunned. She was in the hospital this morning; I checked! Did the Dark Lord somehow break through my defenses? Did he kidnap her to set a trap for me here? I’ve got to save her! Will leapt down and ran toward his mother’s scream, fury quickly rising up within him. Loreli was confused. She hadn’t heard the voice. It had only been in Will’s head.

  “What are you doing?” she shouted after him.

  Will didn’t answer. He reached back and tapped the retrieval patch on the back of his neck and, seconds later, the Power Rod screamed down out of the sky into his waiting hand as he ran inside.

  “Mom!”

  He heard another scream, from upstairs. He took the stairs two at a time, ready to kill now and ask questions later.

  Now he could hear the sound of April crying! Will’s pulse quickened. On the top landing, he kicked open the door to Zachary and Ben’s room, stepped over the bloodstains on the carpet, and yanked open the closet door.

  “Mom?”

  Shirts hanging, toys and shoes on the closet floor. But no April. He heard her voice again.

  “Will! Help me!”

  He raced from the room and out into the hallway. Where was it coming from? He heard laughter now, the deep-throated, gravel
ly, mocking laughter of the Dark Lord.

  “Come to save your mother, have you, son?” he bellowed. Will’s head whipped around. Where was the monster? Was his head here, upstairs, and they had missed it? The voice had come out of the darkness.

  “Show yourself!”

  More laughter. And now, at the end of the hall, there it was: the Dark Lord’s head. Floating. Translucent. Laughing that horrible, taunting laugh.

  Everything Will saw now had a malevolent scarlet tint. Propelled by a tide of crimson hate, he blasted a series of fireballs at the Dark Lord’s head. But it vanished, and the fireballs hit the wall behind it instead, setting it aflame. Now the floating head was behind him.

  “She’s going to suffer, my son. Unless you bend to my will.”

  Will whipped around and fired again. He was hitting nothing, because the vision of the Dark Lord’s head was just that: a vision. But Will was mad with rage. Dimly he registered Loreli watching from the top of the stairs, possibly even screaming, but Will couldn’t hear her because the sound of a jet engine was roaring in his ears as he continued to attack the visage of the Dark Lord’s head. Slash, slash! Nothing but air. The head moved about like a piece on a chess board. This was a game of the mind, and the Prince of Darkness was winning.

  More laughter rang in Will’s ears. And then he heard, again, the agonizing sound of his mother crying.

  Will felt the rage pulsing through his entire body. He fought to remain calm but couldn’t keep his blood from running hot. He hated the Dark Lord with such a passion that it blinded him to all else. Then, from the master bedroom, he heard a noise. He ran down the hallway and inside, where he saw his mother sitting on the floor, holding the Dark Lord’s head in her lap. His dream. It was exactly like his dream.

  “Mom . . .”

  He walked cautiously toward her. The house was burning and filling with smoke.

  “You can’t help me now, Will.”

  As he stepped closer, he realized that his mother’s lips weren’t moving. The words—even though it was his mother’s voice—were being uttered by the Black Prince.