by Craig Taylor
He looked in to the night and knew he wasn’t far from Alex’s grave. Patrick had never seen Clara as angry as the day the second attempt to kill the boy failed. She insisted it had to look like a natural accident like the car idea, but as simple as the drowning was, it failed.
When she found Alex he was defiant. He argued that of course he would fail when he was made to come back as a child, born from the womb of a common slut who made him pray as soon as he could talk.
Clara countered that with the whole plan. He was to be born and raised and used by the darkness. In return, he would be given the best life had to offer—women, houses, fame, money and power—but he failed. She struck him down with such fury there wasn’t a lot left to bury. Patrick had to burn the house down they were in; there was no way he could clean up all that blood and tissue. He had never seen someone stabbed so many times, covering his entire face and body. The police were searching for Alex after his father put in a missing-persons report, and Clara didn’t want any further complications.
Then he failed in killing the boy in hospital. That bitch mother jumped on him and they both fell through the window. Clara pulled him back, though. She said the death of the mother was an unexpected but welcome outcome.
He didn’t remember anything after he died. Clara told him that’s because the pleasure of the black afterlife is reserved for those who deserve to stay, and he still had work to do. His death, though, he remembered vividly. He could easily recall the fight, the falling and the solid crunch as he hit the ground, breaking his neck. Thinking about it gave him a massive rush. He wished he could do it again, but he knew if he messed up again, he wouldn’t be coming back.
He knew Clara needed him for the next step. That’s why she resurrected him. He was trusted and reliable, not that she particularly liked him. She didn’t like anybody; he knew he was no exception. That was one of the things he admired about her. In over a hundred years, she had never been so weak as to love another.
All he remembered about his own resurrection was waking up in a room with Clara standing over him. She was naked and covered in blood. Her eyes were wild and she was panting like a dog. Behind her, a man sat on the floor with his back against the wall with his heart cut out, and his entrails spread over Patrick’s chest. Blood was everywhere. She had candles burning. A foul smell was in the air, so foul it made him dry retch. She told him later that was the smell of the darkness in the room, that he’d get used to it and eventually yearn for it.
For the first hour or so, he was stiff and sore and threw up constantly. Clara showed him no pity. She made him bathe her to wash all the blood off. Afterwards she made him massage oils into her skin while she stood, Patrick kneeling before her. He knew then he belonged to her.
He recalled the first time they met. He was working in a bar, because he had decided it was the best way to meet and observe women without looking suspicious. There were always one or two women who would give him their phone number or wait around while he cleaned up, desperate for company.
One night he had a redhead waiting while he closed up. She was a bit drunk and lonely. She sat at the bar, complaining all night about how her man treated her. Patrick made some lame comment about treating her like a princess and she fell for it. She said she wanted him to take her home. He drove her to a deserted lookout and raped her with the intent of killing her, but he was new to the game back then and she got away in the night, gouging at his eyes and kicking his testicles.
He started the car and was about to drive away when Clara appeared in his headlights. She was dragging the body of the redhead; Clara had slit her throat. She walked casually up to the driver’s window, dropped the corpse and told him she could teach him how to become what he yearned. From that point on, he was hers. He carried out all of her tasks, was paid handsomely in money and further opportunities to perfect his craft.
When he decided the hole was deep enough, he climbed out one end, which he’d left open at an angle. It was about 4 feet deep and just as wide so the sides wouldn’t cave in while he was digging. It took him about an hour, and he was hot and tired, ready for a beer.
He thought about all the other graves he’d dug there and the sheer genius of it. No one would find a body buried deep in the sand. As soon as he filled them in, the wind made it look undisturbed. The wind was a perfect co-conspirator.
He gripped the body by the hands and dragged it to the edge of the hole. He checked the jeans pockets and found eight one-hundred-dollar bills folded in a gold money clip.
“Sweet,” he muttered to himself before rolling the body over the edge. He picked up his lantern and held it toward the hole. The corpse landed face down with its arms underneath it, but its legs were outstretched nice and flat, just how he wanted them. He always took pride in his work.
Suddenly lights shone from behind him, illuminating the whole area. He spun around, but was blinded by the strong flashlight beam directly in his face.
A male voice boomed out, “Police! Step towards me slowly with your hands where I can see them.”
Patrick heard voices behind him as well. He spun around and saw more flashlights shining at him. He couldn’t see the people, but he could hear the unmistakable crackle of police radios all around him.
He raised his hands and lay down in the sand. An officer ran to him and jammed his knee into his spine. Patrick placed his hands on his lower back without been told and felt the handcuffs slip over his wrists and tighten.
The officer shone his torch into the hole and looked down. “You sick bastard,” he said, striking Patrick in the back of the head with his flashlight.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered in reply.
As he was being led away, Patrick couldn’t help but smile. The police showed up, just as Clara said they would, and now he had to play his part.
Chapter Sixteen
Patricia lay in bed in the spare room. She was easily convinced to stay the night after the talks she just had. She knew it was far too dangerous to go home, or anywhere else at this point in time. She felt safe with David, but even more so with Albert. He had a serene manner that put her at ease. David was similar, but tended to be impatient and a little impetuous.
The sheets were new and crisp, and the room was warm. The only furniture was the bed, a bedside stand and a lamp. The walls were a warm earthy color that reminded her of her childhood. It was a distant memory that was stuck somewhere in the unreachable depths of her mind.
She tried to sleep, but there were far too many thoughts running through her head, so she stared at a picture on the wall. It was a beautiful landscape of distant mountains fronted with flat, green fields. The sun was shining and the sky was an incredible shade of blue. Printed on the bottom of the frame were the words, ‘God’s gift.’
She ran through the events of the night, everything Albert and David had said. She believed them; when she tried to come up with arguments against it, she found them all illogical. Albert had sealed it when he referred to things only she knew. Only things she held in her mind. Now, she was scared.
A crazy, immortal woman had tried to kill her for reasons unknown. It could simply be that she had spoken to Jason as his therapist. This woman’s helper, who had also died before, was back and working with her. Albert and David could trace this bitch back to the 1800’s and said she was accountable for multiple deaths. She wondered how she had gotten mixed up in it, but no conclusion came and she figured it was just fate.
Eventually, she fell into a light, restless sleep where she dreamed of the black-caped demons circling above her again. This time they were closer and reached out with long, emaciated fingers, scratching at her stomach, gripping and pulling at her. Their leathery wings flapped around her creating a stench she found unbearable.
She tried to fight them off, but there were more than usual and they surrounded her. She tried to scream
, but her jaw locked shut. They were so close she could feel their hot, dry breath on her face as she lay trapped on a bed in a room that was another memory.
One of the beasts put its face close, its nose touching hers as it hovered directly above her. It salivated at being so near to her; drool dripped from its mouth on to her face. It was thick and slimy and burned when it touched her skin. Patricia’s heart beat hard and she struggled for breath, frozen to the spot.
The beast had eyes that were small and dark-red like coagulated blood, encased in thick leathery skin. It had a long, thin nose, crusted around the nostrils with dried skin and mucus that made a trail to its small mouth. It smiled, revealing rows of crooked, rotting teeth. Its breath smelled of filth and decay.
Patricia felt something touch her chest and managed to angle her face to look. Two thin, sagging breasts hung from the beast and touched her own. It was then she realized they were all female.
A light began to shine from within Patricia, dimly at first then increasing in intensity, so bright the beasts had to shield their eyes. It burned through the black filmy wings and they screamed. Their voices were shrill and piercing so close to her ears; then they retreated in to darkness around the edges of the room. She could sense them still there, watching and waiting, scared of the light, but excited at the sight of it.
The beast that had put its face against hers was too slow to move; it fell to the floor and writhed in agony as the light surrounded it. Its skin smoked as it burned. It released a scream of mixed anger and pain.
The leathery hand of one of its companions reached out from the darkness and pulled it back toward the shadows. It stared at Patricia as it was dragged backwards, its eyes enraged and full of loathing.
Patricia woke suddenly; the sheets were soaked with sweat, twisted and in disarray. Her t-shirt was stuck to her back and her heart pounded furiously. She looked around the room and realized it was the room in her dream. The lamp was on and she could clearly see she was alone, but the terrifying images remained with her.
She climbed out of bed, slipped on her jeans and went into the living room. Albert was still up, sitting in a chair with his eyes closed and his lips slightly moving. He looked like he was praying. Patricia sat down quietly and waited, not wanting to disturb him but craving company.
“Bad dream?” he asked, without opening his eyes.
“How did you know?”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Because it wasn’t a dream, it was real in a sense.”
Her heart beat fast again. “What do you mean, ‘real in a sense’?”
Albert got up and walked over to her. “The darkness is reaching out to you. It’s testing you, reading you. You can feel it. Your mind makes sense of it by putting a face to the power it feels. So you see beasts probing you and grabbing at you.”
“How do you know what I saw?” she asked.
“Because I was there watching and I saw it all. I could sense your discomfort and I was able to see what was happening. It’s one of the things I can do”
“Were you the light that chased them away?”
Albert smiled. “No, I was a spectator. You created the light.”
Patricia looked confused. “What do you mean?”
Albert shook his head. “I don’t know what the light was. I know it wasn’t me, so it must have been you.”
Patricia still didn’t understand, but she moved on. “If the beasts weren’t real, but just my mind making sense of this darkness reaching out to me, why did I see the beast who virtually lay on top of me as female?”
Albert shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe because you’re female.”
Patricia got the sense he wasn’t being completely honest, but decided not to push the matter. “I feel filthy after sweating so much. May I use your shower?”
“Of course,” Albert replied. “There are towels in the bathroom and I’ll give you some fresh clothes to wear. You’re about the same size as my daughter.”
She went into the bathroom and turned the shower on. Albert came moments later with a clean pair of jeans, a blouse, and fresh dress socks.
When he left Patricia locked the door. The clothes looked perfect for her, and she was glad to have something clean to put on. There was no way she was going back to her apartment even for clean clothes until this was sorted out.
As she stood under the cascading water, she couldn’t stop thinking of the dream and Albert. He knew more than he was saying, but in the short amount of time she had known him, she had grown to trust him.
After the shower she went back to her room. Albert had changed the bedding and left another set of clean clothes. She climbed into bed and managed to fall asleep quickly; her fatigue saw to that. She didn’t dream this time, but was restless and fidgety.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning Albert, David and Patricia sat in front of the television staring in disbelief. A news report was on and David and Patricia’s pictures were splashed all over the screen. Albert had been the first one up that morning and turned on the television while he made breakfast. He woke the other two up when he saw what was being reported.
He was still unsure what to do and needed time to think. Staying there was out of the question, but until he knew the plans of the darkness, he didn’t want to think too far ahead. He knew Jason and Patricia were both in immediate danger and he needed to stop Clara for good. The darkness was gaining too much ground too quickly.
Patricia shook her head as she listened to the news anchor talking with their pictures in the background, along with the man called Patrick.
“Welcome back to News First. Last night, police arrested Patrick Maloney after a tip from an anonymous source. Maloney was caught in the act of burying the body of a male victim who had been stabbed to death. The location of the burial is being kept from the media, but we are shocked by admissions made by Maloney.”
“Police believe there are from twenty to thirty bodies buried in the location and possibly many more in other locations. It was reported to News First that Maloney knew the locations of the other graves and was cooperating with police in locating them.”
“The police commissioner made a statement earlier today. He said the suspect had been arrested for suspicion of the murder of the man he was attempting to bury. Maloney made admissions of other murders and gravesites across the country, and provided police with the names of his co-conspirators”.
“Police are asking the public for help in finding these suspects: David Ravenbrook, an unemployed professor of psychology, and Patricia Leland, a psychiatrist at Middlefield Hospital, wanted in relation to the murder of the undisclosed male and the remaining victims yet to be disclosed by Maloney”.
“Also, News First has just been informed that Ravenbrook and Leland are prime suspects in the disappearance of Jason Hansen, the young boy who went missing the day after his mother was murdered in his room at Middlefield Hospital. Leland was his psychiatrist and Ravenbrook had been observed multiple times at the hospital by several police officers and attempted on many occasions to gain information on the missing boy.”
“Middlefield Hospital sources say they were unable to contact Leland. During a search of her downtown apartment, police located the dead body of a man in the foyer, as well as blood and bullet holes throughout her apartment.”
“Police advise Ravenbrook and Leland turn themselves in. We will have updates throughout the day regarding the burial site where Maloney was arrested and other sites which we become aware of through the investigation.”
“What the hell is going on here?” Patricia asked. “Perhaps we should go to the police and tell them the truth.”
“What truth?” David asked. “That there is an immortal woman who has been killing for generations on the loose, and Maloney—who, by the way, died a few days ago—is her helper? Look ho
w much it took to get you to believe and you’re mixed up in it. Dad had to communicate with your guardian angel before you started to come around. How would the police react to that?”
“He’s right,” Albert said. “Look what happened to John Hansen. They set him up and separated him from his support network and then murdered him. Their goal here is not to have us arrested, but to try and keep us close and off-guard. Also, the police will be under pressure to make arrests. We’re talking about hundreds of murders Patrick has been involved in, going back many years. The public will be in an uproar. In this day and age, that means swift arrests and rushed trials. Believe me; the police will be investigating these murders with the evidence pointing to you two regardless of any actual facts.”
“So what, we sit back and wait?” Patricia asked.
“No,” Albert replied. “I suspect the darkness will bring the fight directly to us now.”
He looked at David. “You two need to go to the sanctuary as soon as possible. Eat breakfast and gather supplies.”
“What about you?” David asked.
Albert shook his head. “I’m too old for this, son. Besides, they’ll come here first and I can buy you time. You know what you have to do, and it’s more important than anything I have.”
“But...”
“No buts,” Albert cut in. “Think about it, you know I’m right.”
“What are you two talking about?” Patricia asked. She didn’t like the way this was going.
Albert grasped her hand. “You two have to go someplace safe. David will explain about the sanctuary and you can figure the rest out yourself.”
Patricia looked him in the eye. “It sounds like you’re not expecting to see us again.”
He smiled at her. “I probably won’t, but as I said, there are more important things than me at stake. You’ll realize that soon.”
Her eyes welled up. “This is crazy, Albert. Come with us and we’ll sort this out together. There’s safety in num...”
