Before I could twist to see who was on the stairs, a hand collided between my shoulder blades, shoving me face down onto the floor.
Another hand latched itself over my mouth before I could scream.
It wasn’t a doll this time.
I shoved the heels of my palms into the carpet to get up, and every muscle seemed to give out at once. It was so sudden I decided to try to push up again when I realized I couldn’t feel the muscles in my arms.
I felt remarkably weak, like my entire body was constructed of Jell-O.
I had no control. My skin tingled just before numbing. The sensation was so quick my mind was reeling to keep up, to find a loophole to gain the upper hand again.
It was hard to feel the hand on my back or the one over my mouth. After several foreboding seconds, my fingertips began to tingle, but I couldn’t move them yet. I wanted to try and scream again, but my voice was lost with my muscles.
The hand removed itself from my mouth. I could feel the skin slip away from my face, leaving a trail of pins and needles. It felt like my entire body had lost circulation and was gradually gaining it back.
The sensation was becoming stronger to the point of painful when the intruder grabbed my shoulder. If I could wince, I would have.
I flopped onto my back, helpless and open for attack.
I found myself staring up into bottomless black eyes.
Damien wore a black t-shirt and black cargo pants this time. His hair blended in with the shadows on the ceiling.
His smile was dangerous, making me think of a dog—no maybe a wolf—before it lunged. “Stop trying to get away. You called me, remember?”
There was movement out of my peripheral vision, but I couldn’t turn my head. Feeling the hot tears blur the edges, I realized I was completely at his mercy. If he wanted to stab a knife into my belly and be over with it, he could. How stupid could I be to want to go back?
Blinking until a tear slid past my temple, pricking sensitive skin, I could see the cheerful smile on the Robin-doll as she came near.
The miniature harbinger had the rope in front of her, floating and ready to wind itself around my wrists. The flare of pain from its touch shrieked in my brain. I couldn’t jerk away or flinch. I had to feel every shredded fray as the rope ground and pulled against raw skin.
They were tying my arms in front instead of behind my back this time. I knew what it meant. I’d lost. I wasn’t a threat anymore.
Even as they moved my arms together, I felt the stabbing pain of a thousand pin-pricks in my pores. It reminded me of being sick with the flu, when even clothes made you ache when you moved.
“Life and death can sometimes be so closely linked. Most of your world is oblivious,” Damien mused, watching the little workers move about. “They’re not your friends,” he said, answering my unspoken question. “But they could be, if you’d like. A life beyond death. This one would be pleasant for them, I’d think.”
My eyes narrowed at him.
“Harder to wield it here, isn’t it?” he said, canting his head to inspect me. “You’ll find it harder still in my world for a while. Now that I know what you are.”
I blinked, though it was lethargic and slow. What was he talking about?
Damien pushed one finger into my stomach. It was gentle, but the sensation reminded me of poking a finger too deep into my belly button as a kid. “When you finally feel it,” his eyes flickered to my face, “don’t let it go.”
I wanted to flinch away but couldn’t.
Damien raised his eyebrows at me as if he expected me to answer. When I didn’t, he seemed satisfied and stood up. Watching the ropes give one last tug of the knot, he winked and walked out of my range of vision. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t move my eyes to follow him. I couldn’t blink anymore either.
A soft wind touched my face, though this didn’t spring needle-like pain. Instead, everything went dark again, except I was awake.
I’d officially entered the Demon’s Grave.
CHAPTER TWENTY
As the soft breeze died and light filtered through my closed eyelids, I dared to open them.
I wasn’t certain how much time had passed between my house and Damien’s world. It had all been disorientating. Up, down, north, east, left, or right could all be the same direction.
I found myself staring at an overhead torch secured to a cage. I wiggled my fingers; the painful tingling had vanished, and every limb felt as if it were my own again.
I looked around to see the little shabtis dolls had disappeared, but my wrists and ankles were still tied together.
At my back, a powdery yellow dirt that was finer than sand swirled as I moved my head. I breathed in enough to cough. The sound echoed, and I clamped a hand over my mouth. The quick movement flung more dust in the air, and I had to hold my breath until it quieted back down. Easing into a sitting position, I finished coughing behind closed lips and rubbed my nose to prevent a sneeze. My muscles felt stiff from clenching them for so long, and I concentrated on relaxing.
Moving slowly, I took in my surroundings.
On either side of me were tall metal cages rank with foreign vines and oversized leaves. They must have towered twelve feet above me. I could make out Egyptian-like hieroglyphics carved into the metal.
I tried to peer into the cages on either side of me, but the thick vegetation made it impossible.
Rolling onto my knees, I wriggled and shuffled to my feet. The ropes burned at every twitch. Before I could go exploring, I would have to cut these ropes. I glanced behind me and saw that the pathway seemed to travel on forever, fading into an ominous mist.
In front of me, I saw something glitter in a dim light, but it was something. Hobbling, I concluded that there’d be no way to shuffle without pitching forward for a mouthful of dust.
Frowning, I tried to ignore the ridiculousness of my situation and took my first experimental jump.
With a precarious balance, I hopped along the dirt path, the fine dust coating my socked feet as I drew closer to an opening. I could make out a dusty red hotdog stand and a bench in a circle surrounded by cages. The dust had different-sized footprints in it. People had been here before me.
Glancing up, I could see it wasn’t sunny and cheerful like it should have been when visiting a zoo. It was heavily clouded, almost black. Torches blazed against the cages, casting wriggling shadows everywhere. They were hung too high for me to reach.
I inspected the rope around my ankles and wrists before studying the hotdog stand ahead. Maybe there were knives in there.
I began to wish for not only more clothes but shoes as I hopped bit by bit toward the red mobile cart. Thankfully, the dirt was soft and devoid of sharp objects.
Reaching the hotdog stand, I opened the first compartment. Without thinking, I looked inside and was struck by a rancid scent. The food in this one had long since turned to mush, secreting foul liquids that tempted my gag reflex.
When I shoved the lid back on, it clattered, and I paused, listening to the quiet. After several seconds, I tried another compartment. This time, I didn’t look inside right away. The last one must have burned nose hairs because I could still smell it. Easing forward, I saw napkins, paper plates, plastic utensils. I doubted the plastic knife would work as urgently as I needed it to.
I stopped myself from slamming the lid down this time. I needed a way out of these damn ropes!
Biting my lips together, I took a deep breath and knew that if I didn’t hold my temper, my common sense would suffocate.
The first sound to hint at life in the distance nearly had me toppling, but I grabbed the edge of the stand for balance.
A monkey, who I couldn’t see from my hiding place, chattered in the distance.
Freezing, I listened until the sound stopped. Silence warped the air, leaving a hum in its wake.
Rolling my eyes up, I noticed the four separate pathways leading away from the hotdog stand.
Each had a colorful Egyptia
n archway held up by Pharaohs on either side. Beneath the arch was a wooden sign. The one I hopped through said: Snakes & Vines. The others read: Desert Dogs, Mangy Monkeys, and Raging Reptiles.
They were such playful alliterations, with bright colors and child-like writing. It made it all the more perverse. Each sign was burned with a sphinx brand at the edge.
Of course it would be Egyptian, I thought. A place of life and death.
Dropping, I sat down in the dirt behind the hotdog cart, partially hidden from view. I decided to work on the knot around my ankles first, in case I needed to run.
Picking at the rope with already dirtied nails, I took several slow, even breaths. I couldn’t afford another burst of anger. It could threaten everything.
Time to get it together, woman. Use the Force or whatever. Muttering under my breath, I did my best Yoda impression, “Do or do not. There is no try.” As if something heard me, the rope gave, just a little. It was enough to soar hope and shoot off imaginary fireworks in my head.
As I imagined all this, a scream ripped through the air. This time, it didn’t sound like a monkey. It sounded human.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I took in a deep breath and heard my lungs shudder.
The scream came again. It didn’t die the way the monkey’s had. It sounded female.
I wriggled and pinched at the knot until my hands were fumbling to wrench it free. The adrenaline made everything shake. Unwinding it from my ankles, I threw it to the side like a snake.
The screaming went husky, and I heard a voice. One I recognized. Phoebe. She sounded scared.
The pain in my finger caught my attention. I noticed for the first time the small cut and realized I’d felt it for a while.
Looking up to the hotdog stand, I saw the sharp edge where I must have sliced it when I needed to catch my balance.
Desperation had me scrambling to my knees, dust hazing the air as I focused on the chrome edge. With no time to think about it, I rubbed the ropes around my wrists against the edging.
The metal box shuddered with each thrash, coinciding with the desperate voice I’d heard. A cacophony of primate shrieks began to join my friends.
Frays sprang apart, bit by bit, at my wrists. Each moment made me feel more vulnerable, more desperate. If anything came around the corner to stop me, I’d be as good as dead and so would Phoebe.
This thought propelled me to work past the ache in my muscles.
The monkeys’ furious shrieks were rising to a zenith. In the excitement I couldn’t hear Phoebe anymore.
With a snap, the rope unwound itself around my wrists. Tearing the rope free, I rubbed my sore joints while staggering to my feet.
The pathway labeled Mangy Monkeys loomed between the two unseeing Pharaohs.
Cautiously, I kept in the middle of the path, my steps hurried as the noise increased. Certain pitches in the shrieks made my muscles cringe. The lush jungle-like plants could hide anything, making me grossly aware that I could easily be watched from inches away.
Stopping, I listened while my imagination took off. What did these monkeys look like? Did they know I was here? Were they screaming a warning amongst themselves or to me?
The continual shrieks brought me back to reality, urging me to start walking again. My foot slipped over something round, and I caught my balance before I could lose it.
In the dirt, half hidden, was a round wooden pole no thicker than my thumb and nearly five feet long.
Stepping over it, I neared a dead end. Darkening the pathway was a tall, familiar black door leading into the cages.
Dubious, I approached the brass doorknob. I gripped the cool surface and felt the piercing temptation to run. I couldn’t let it invade me just yet, but the resistance caused me to tremble as I twisted the knob.
It was locked.
I twisted it again, confused.
Peering over my shoulder, I thought maybe I had chosen the wrong path. Maybe it had all been a trick. If I had to stick my hand in that repulsive old-food compartment to look for a key, I knew I’d vomit.
I turned to jog back to the central area to search, but a shrill scream nearly knocked me off my feet.
Swallowing my fear, I shouted without thinking, “Hey!” Probably the stupidest thing I could have done, if they didn’t know I was here already.
Phoebe’s scream rang out again, louder this time. She was saying something that I couldn’t make out.
Grabbing the doorknob again, I shook it, half hoping that it would unlock itself, but of course it wouldn’t. The wood around the knob looked dark green against the black, cracked and frayed, as if it were rotting.
I glanced over my shoulder, the anxiety mangling clear thoughts. The horrific scream came again followed by, “Fuck right off!”
Jolted, I shouted, feeling my throat ache in the effort. “Phoebe!”
The eruption within the cage undoubtedly smothered my voice.
Spinning, I saw the pole still on the ground. It was far too short and thin to pole-vault over the cage, but I knew I would have to use it somehow. The bars were far too narrow for me to fit through.
Running down the path, I snatched the slender rod from the ground. That was when I saw the Mangy Monkey’s sign still hanging in the archway ahead.
The sign was approximately three feet long and an inch thick. It should be heavy enough, I decided.
It hung in the archway by what appeared to be a hook.
Racing toward the circular center of the zoo, dust flying, I braced myself and swung. Using every muscle, I prayed the stick wouldn’t break.
Hitting the sign square in the center, the impact vibrated up through my elbows, jostling every small bone in the joint and almost forcing me to let go. Good thing my mother was right. I am stubborn as an ass.
The sign flung up, twisting off of the hook, and I had to move out of the way to avoid impact.
Falling to my knees, I ducked my head even though it landed a few feet away. The microscopic dirt erupted like a mini-bomb, choking me as I struggled back to my feet to scoop up the sign.
I felt a twinge in my back when picking it up and decided it would be heavy enough for the job.
The scream came again and zapped my insides like an electrical shock.
Gracelessly, I half ran, half hobbled, gripping the sign like a baseball bat, fingers cramping in the effort. Reaching the locked entrance, I prepared my body for the shock. Lifting the sign above my head, I arced it down onto the handle. There was a loud crack as obsidian splinters scattered from around the doorknob. I squinted through my eyelashes as I brought my weapon back and swung again.
The second impact stung my palms hard enough to make me drop the Mangy Monkey sign into the dirt.
The doorknob hung from the dark splinters, no longer attached to the lock.
Within the cage, I heard, “Get away from me, you chunk of puke!”
Phoebe’s voice sang to my hope. It had to be Phoebe in there; no one else would call a monkey a puke. Peering at the heavy sign, I realized I would be running in there in my flimsy pajamas without a weapon. The sign was far too heavy to use as a weapon, but maybe the stick could work.
I scooped up the rounded stick; I could feel the dirt embed beneath my fingernails as I whirled around and hurled my body at the door. It swung inward as if oiled.
I admit, I expected more resistance, and I immediately lost my balance. Falling on my hands and knees inside the cage, I tilted my chin up, alert.
Rank leaves and vines wrapped around the strange, bulbous trees with tumor-like lumps.
The ground was hard and packed, unlike the pathway I’d left behind, though instead of a straight path within the cage there were twists, turns, and disguised hiding places.
When I regained my feet, I raised the stick to shove the leaves aside and stumbled over hidden rocks.
The chaotic voices grew louder as I lifted a final leaf to see Phoebe Williams at last.
She still wore her blue-jean shorts
and skimpy blue tube top. Any visible skin on her body wore a shallow cut. There was brown dried blood but nothing that looked fatal. She gripped a lower tree branch. Her chin rested on the rough bark as she flailed to lift her dangling long legs from the swarming clumps of fur on the ground. Her nostrils flared as she breathed heavily through gritted teeth.
The monkeys swung their elongated arms, clawing scratches into her tanned skin. Blood beaded the surface, but they didn’t seem to get deeper—thankfully.
There were three monkeys in the tree with her while the rest waited below. There had to be a dozen on the ground, at least.
The largest of the group crawled up the tree where she hung. Most of the monkeys had to be as tall as my waist, rounded with little pot bellies and curled spines. Patches of brown fur were missing to reveal reddened, irritated skin. Their intense yellow eyes were frighteningly focused and hungry.
The first one to reach Phoebe’s arms bared pointed, yellowed teeth. The second one opened its mouth, white foam bubbling forth and dripping.
Phoebe looked between the savage groupings, no doubt devising a plan. The three that surrounded her advanced with malicious ease, as if they knew she was theirs.
One spit yellow phlegm, barely missing Phoebe’s arm. She shouted a curse and growled like an animal. Raising one arm, she swatted at the nearest monkey and missed before struggling to keep her grip on the branch.
The monkeys shrieked in delight and dove in.
Seeing their foaming mouths, I shouted, no longer able to stand still and stay invisible.
Jumping forward with the stick swinging, I didn’t hesitate to hit the nearest of the furry mob.
My scream caused the monkeys in the tree to pause and back away from Phoebe, attention diverted in confusion.
Phoebe caught sight of me. “Fuller!” she cried. Her surprise had her swinging her legs for balance, and her arms skidded against the bark when she almost lost her grip.
Racing to the base of the tree, swinging at the aggressive horde, I managed to hit one or two of the braver ones. They didn’t try to attack me, yet. “Phoebe, jump!”
Midnight Ruling Page 13
