“I’m coming, Baby!” she shouted, “Mommy’s coming!”
Suddenly the pinprick light was no longer in front of her. All at once, the light was to her left, then behind her, spinning wildly out of control. Lisa fell to the ground, instantly dizzy, surrounded by a thousand pinpricks of light circling her, taunting her. She tried crawling toward the light, any light, but even that proved a futile effort as Lisa suddenly and without warning found herself unable to move. Locked, not by some unseen force, but by the sudden motion picture playing inside the movie theater of her mind. It was Gilmer Passive Exercises. Outside, Danny lay slumped against a tree, awake, but broken, bruised and bleeding from a gaping wound in his head. The battle between the supernatural hurricanes continued to play out, but it was obvious Mike was losing. His complexion was horribly white. His body appeared as if he had lost untold amounts of weight. His face looked almost diseased by the gaunt aura that had overtaken it. Quicker than Lisa could blink, Mike disappeared. He didn’t vanish with any pomp and circumstance light show. There was no magician’s puff of smoke. It was as if he simply was no more. With him, the Pathfinder seemed to vanish from sight. Only a small fire burned brightly enough to mask any human remains that might still exist within it. The porthole, it appeared, had indeed closed. Perhaps, Lisa thought, all was lost after all. No help was coming for her, she thought. She could not get to Christina. As the movie faded to black, Lisa noticed the pinprick light had stopped spinning. She stood and stepped forward, cautiously expecting the spinning to resume. When it did not, she instantly broke into an all-out sprint. The longer she ran, the more her mind filled with images of horrible death and dismemberment.
Her mind conjured up images of people, she believed, had likely been dead for centuries. She saw people of different cultures, crying out in foreign tongues from indescribable places and innumerably ancient ages. People dressed in Biblical attire cried out for mercy from a soul that lacked the capacity for such human things. She saw Alex’s brother, Ted, shot down by an assailant with glowing yellow eyes. An assailant that took the time to brutally fire eight shotgun rounds into Ted’s body. Lisa’s mind flashed back to her bathroom. The mirror. The dead woman. Tina Miles! It was all clicking for Lisa. No longer was this a moving collection of images. Suddenly her memory was merely processing photographs. Still images, though images fraught with all the sound effects of a full-motion theater epic. She heard screams of bitter terror. Thousands, perhaps millions of screams weighed down upon her. But it was one single scream that bore down the most weight. That of her daughter, Christina.
Still running, Lisa suddenly fell backwards, landing flat on her back. Her eyes snapped shut for less time than it takes to blink, but it was enough time for the entire tunnel to disappear, replaced by the inside of Gilmer Passive Exercises Before her, quite worse for wear after his battles, stood a heavy-breathing Scott Bryan, grinning maniacally, though breathless, and weakened. To Lisa’s left, all of the exercise machines lay toppled in a mass of useless junk, all except one, on which lay the lifeless bleeding body of Lindsey Bryan, helplessly bound. Unable to move, unable to offer a defense of any kind, Lindsey Bryan had likely felt several stab wounds before giving up the futile struggle. The knife – a huge, ornate-looking one – still remained buried in her chest. Though she had obviously been dead several minutes, if not longer, her blood still fell, drop by cool drop, onto the carpet below. Her mouth had been gagged, her eyes had been scratched as if someone had tried, or at least threatened to remove them from their sockets. From what Lisa could tell, they remained intact. Among the sparking remnants of ripped leather and twisted steel frames, stood a makeshift wooden cross bearing the bloody, suffering shell of Christina Mendez. Huge, rusted nails found their way into innocent wrists and ankles, through bone and finally into blood-soaked wood. Looking closer, Lisa thought the nails were moving. A slight rapping noise caused Christina to occasionally jump, as if startled. Every rapping caused the wounds in her hands to spurt even more blood, as if invisible servants of Hell-bound justice were carrying out the horrific sentence being imposed upon her daughter. Though weeping, even gently whimpering, Christina did not cry out.
Though the nails were slowly working their way through Christina’s tiny wrists, her face remained covered in a veil of strength Lisa could only describe as being sourced to something far more than the word miraculous could define. Christina’s complexion was gray, her skin sickeningly dry, covered in scratches and bruises.
“What have you done, you sick—”
“I’ve won!” He screamed, sending shocks of rage rippling through Lisa’s body. His voice was filled with a sickening glee that instantly enraged Lisa. Though her mind still echoed with Mike’s words, her body refused any instruction not originating from the heart of a mother’s righteous, anger-fed love. Instinctively, she charged Scott Bryan, only to be thrown back by the simple wave of his hand. She bounced off the door to one of the tanning booths, the door itself losing strength, falling from its hinges, splintering into several large pieces. “Her blood is spilled,” echoed Scott Bryan’s evil lament. “It is too late! Vengeance is complete. You cannot save her.”
The room appeared as if it was begging to crumble to the ground. The walls of Gilmer Passive Exercises shook with fear as real as that which resided inside Lisa. She reached for her gun, wondering if it would do any good. Certain, in the same moment, it would not.
Again, Lisa heard the flapping noise. The very noise that had distracted her before. It didn’t echo as it had in the dark tunnel, but it was nonetheless unquestionably emanating from the same unseen source.
“The suffering of The Innocent has ended!”
The voice, if you could call it a voice, shook the entire Earth. The ground beneath Lisa’s feet shuddered violently. The walls of Gilmer Passive Exercises cracked, ceiling tiles crumbled. The sparking remnants of exercise equipment imploded upon themselves, vanishing into quiet bursts of flame, smoke and ash. A bright white glow filled the entire room. It radiated from everywhere, having no central location. It seemed, quite literally, to come from everywhere at once. Though its point of origin lacked any singularity, it was as if every blade of light sliced through the air to converge upon one established rendezvous point, the suffering Christina Mendez. Holes in her hands and feet suddenly glowed with the same intense ethereal white light now filling the room itself. A loud screeching noise echoed throughout the room. More of the ceiling crumbled. The walls appeared almost to wave under the intense chaos. Wind built up intensity, filling the room as if no walls or ceiling stood watch against their supernatural force. The hammering sound stopped. The blood pouring from Christina’s gaping wounds puddled into a singular small pond at the foot of the makeshift cross. Thunder clapped repeatedly, drumming out a war cry throughout the Heavens, calling on the forces of Creation to defend their champion.
Christina’s body shuddered, convulsed, and appeared to Lisa, to rip itself from the very nails that held it to the cross. First one arm, then the other, and finally the feet – crossed and twisted in unbelievable fashion – slowly freed themselves from the cruel bonds. The sound of flesh tearing against metal convulsed Lisa, nauseated her. A burning lump in her throat choked her. Focusing, trying to drown out as much of the blinding light as possible, Lisa saw what she thought were people surrounding Christina. Most appeared to be bathed in white, wearing white robes, their skin possessing an almost eerie sallow hue. Even their hair appeared, at best, slightly ashen. It looked as if one on either side had seized the child by the arms while a third seemed to be taking hold of her feet. Each apparition seemed accompanied by a helper whose hands remained cupped, catching tiny droplets of blood that were falling from Christina’s gaping wounds. A third helper, if that was indeed what they were, appeared locked in a struggle against creatures baring much darker facades wearing gray and black hooded robe-like garments. Their faces were covered, but each possessed a long craggy nose, which protruded from their hoods at least an inch, reveal
ing a greenish-gray complexion that seemed to be covered in an almost alien-like ectoplasmic residue. It was clear the forces in white were taking charge of the battle, as the forces of Darkness seemed to hope for reinforcements that were not likely to arrive. At the foot of the cross Lisa noticed a singular creature, bathed in white light, more brilliantly clothed in light than any of his companions. In each hand, he held a small cup made out of wood, or perhaps clay. It was difficult to see past the blinding light that radiated from him. One at a time, he dipped the cup into the puddle of blood, holding the cup above his head. Each time, one of the helpers took the cup and, Lisa thought, poured the contents on their ivory cloaks. Amazingly, the blood did not stain. Rather, it was as if it disappeared before Lisa’s very eyes. Without ever receiving the cups back, Lisa watched the angel – that’s what she had decided he was – at the foot of the cross send cup after cup of blood into the hands of the other angels until finally none remained.
With every cup of blood removed from the puddle, the creatures in the grayish-black robes shrieked in terror, if not in horrifying pain. Lisa could do nothing but watch, mystified. Paralyzed. Awestruck by the unreal images filling her mind. A noise that seemed out of place distracted Lisa, drawing her attention away from the cross where her daughter’s body continued to linger, though not held by nails.
Panning the room, Lisa found Scott Bryan folded over near the rear of Gilmer Passive Exercises. He was cowering against the back wall, shielding his eyes from the power of The Light. He lay to the side, in a semi-fetal position. He was whimpering and, she thought, begging for mercy in a tongue not of this world. The angel with the cups floated over toward Scott Bryan’s cowering carcass, pointed an accusing finger. Lisa watched the angel’s lips move, but heard nothing that would resemble a voice. No sound seemed able to penetrate the light that surrounded this luminescent angel of mercy. Whatever the being had said, the demons inside Scott Bryan’s body knew a fear only they could comprehend. Slowly, gently, The Light faded from this world, back into its own. Frantically, Lisa searched the room for her daughter. The cross itself had vanished. It no longer stood where it had been. Not as much as a splinter of wood or a shaving of metal nails were visible to Lisa. All around her, the room continued to tear itself apart. Ceiling tiles fell on Christina, covering most of her tiny body. She screamed helplessly, before being hit on the head by yet another falling tile, this one knocking her unconscious. The ground again rumbled beneath Lisa’s feet and she knew without looking that Scott Bryan was once again on his feet. Turning to face him, she was nonetheless frightened by the horrific, undulating image of Scott Bryan – arms spread to the side, head tilted back, eyes spilling forth bloody tears. His hands became surrounded by a burning white glow, causing Scott to let go with a shrill cry. Though Lisa saw no scars or wounds, the oozing blood that fell from Scott’s wrists was an all-too-real testament to the supernatural tortures he was enduring. Taking the opportunity to escape the distracted demon, Lisa hurriedly uncovered her daughter’s lifeless body grabbing wrists that, to Lisa’s amazement, bore no sign of the nails that had, only moments ago, pierced her tiny hands.
“No!”
His voice was no longer his own. Nothing of Scott Bryan remained.
A name which no longer has meaning.
That was what Mike had said earlier in the evening.
Barking. Through the falling debris, the billowing clouds of ash and smoke. Over the sound of rumbling Earth and shattering souls, tortured cries, a simple barking.
Brandy.
Lisa saw her leap through the cloud of falling debris. Barking furiously, Brandy leaped on Scott Bryan, just as the faint blue spheres had begun to manifest themselves above his bleeding palms. Viciously she tore at his throat, ripping flesh apart from bone, tearing apart everything that remained Scott Bryan; his hands, still bleeding from the gaping stigmata, proved useless in battling the enraged canine. The supernatural force within the flailing of Scott’s hand hurled Lisa toward the windowless frame of Gilmer Passive Exercises. She’d held fast to Christina’s hand, but it had been an afterthought, as the child was thrown through the air with much the same force as was Lisa. Bouncing off the gravel parking lot, Lisa fought to suppress shooting pains in her legs and a sharp stabbing collection of phantom needles burying into her spine. She wanted to look back. She wanted to watch, to make sure Scott Bryan was destroyed, or be prepared, in case…
When Christina walked into Lisa’s field of view, standing between her and a clear sight of the still struggling Scott Bryan, Lisa screamed for her daughter to move out of the way. Her legs, still rocked with pain, now stung with the power of a pins and needles being driven in by a nest full of angry hornets. They would not obey her. She could not move. Inch by inch, Lisa watched her daughter slowly make her way back toward the entrance of Gilmer Passive Exercises. Blinking back tears, Lisa’s vision began to swim. A figment of her imagination perhaps, Lisa thought she saw a soft green and yellow glow build around her daughter, whose arms were raising straight up into the air. The wind grew completely calm. Silence overtook the entire scene, until only the sound of Lisa’s heartbeat intruded into the night air. She held her breath, certain it would make too much noise. Keeping her eyes locked on Christina, Lisa continued to fight back tears. Though she could see nothing past Christina, Lisa suddenly heard a yelp and she knew that it was Brandy.
The wind once again picked up, gently at first, steadily becoming fiercer. Limbs broke off trees; rocks flew carelessly about, beating against Lisa who was still lying helplessly on the ground. When she felt a hand grab hers, she jerked instinctively.
Alex!
He said nothing. His warm, tired, battle-weary eyes needed no words to accompany them. They said everything Lisa needed to hear. He was bleeding from the mouth, from the head and, it appeared, from several scratches on his neck.
“We’ve got to get help!” she told him.
“Where’s Mike?” Though she couldn’t explain how she knew, she answered the only way she knew how, truthfully.
“He’s gone.”
“Danny?” Suddenly, Lisa began to worry. The images of his broken body leaning against the tree filled her mind. Had he bled to death? God only knew how long she’d been in that trap. What seemed like seconds to her could have been precious minutes, hours even. An explosion directed their attention back toward Gilmer Passive Exercises. An enormous fireball engulfed the building, destroying not only Gilmer Passive Exercises, but also much of the entire building. Flames lapped a nearby tree, illuminating Danny’s weak body, lying limp, too weak to move. Before Lisa’s conscience was able to register the fear that was building for her daughter’s safety, she watched, bewildered, as Christina emerged from the flames, Brandy to her left. Her entire body, and that of Brandy, was bathed in a sulfur yellow glow that seemed impervious to the heat given off by the flames. Her vision blurred again, pulsing between clear and watery blindness. Lisa felt her mind going numb. The pain in her legs had made its way up her back into her shoulders and arms. Everything hurt and Lisa realized, for the first time, that she was bleeding from somewhere in her back. The warm blood, unprotected in the night air, now cooled as it began to coagulate on her torn and tattered clothes.
“Alex,” she whispered weakly.
Her vision was gone. Her mind drifted in and out.
“Mommy!”
Blacking out.
Blood oozing from her.
“Stay with me, Lisa.”
She felt her body shiver. Cold. So cold.
“Lisa. Can you hear me?”
Blacking. Out.
Blacking…
Bla…
Chapter 28 ~
Christmas had always been one of Alex’s favorite times of the year. Santa Claus, Rudolph and Frosty The Snowman. The traditional viewing of It’s a Wonderful Life always reminded Alex of the many things for which he had to be thankful. This year was no exception. As he scanned the overly-decorated living room of Casa de Mendez, Alex felt mo
re at home than he had in many months. The room was littered with ripped-open boxes, and wrapping paper of varying shades, colors, with various holiday greetings. Six stockings had hung above the fireplace, this year. One for each member of the family. Now, everyone had his or her own stocking and was feverishly rifling through to see what Santa had left them. Only one stocking remained. One for the unnamed family member who had left without saying goodbye. The part of the team that gave of himself that which the others had been told they would offer. It was a new tradition. As it was the first time, Alex wasn’t sure if it could be called a “tradition” yet, but it would continue so if nothing else, it was a tradition in training.
In Danny’s stocking was a small plastic Slinky toy, neon pink of course, just the way he wouldn’t like it. There was, of course, a chocolate stash that would make the Hershey company jealous and a new DVD. Just the one he’d mentioned to Alex a week before.
Brandy’s stocking contained an array of chew bones, squeaky toys, a new collar, and a few other odds and ends only a pooch like Brandy would appreciate.
There was no going away party for Brandy, though Alex’s legs had essentially returned to him. She was not going away. She was a Mendez now and a Mendez she would stay. Released from the bonds of servitude, Brandy was free to enjoy the simple pleasures in life, like chasing a rubber ball across the living room floor unabated. Alex wasn’t sure if she’d be able to adjust to a life absent of responsibility. He wasn’t even sure if it was a good thing to take that away from Brandy, but she’d more than earned her keep so if there was any way to make her happy, Alex would see to it that Brandy Mendez was a happy camper.
Christina Mendez found Santa’s coloring books and crayons more intriguing than most of the other toys she’d gotten. Buried somewhere under tons of wrapping paper, she sat quietly, probably with her tongue hanging out sideways, trying to get the colors just right, fighting desperately to stay within the lines. Occasionally, a rustling pile of wrapping paper signaled Christina Mendez changing crayons to one more suited for whatever she happened to be coloring. Despite the horrifying things she had experienced just a few weeks before, Christina Mendez seemed unshattered, unbroken, maybe even mercifully untouched by the scars that had most assuredly formed on her soul, if not her body. Though no outward scars remained, Alex couldn’t help but wonder what emotions lay temporarily dormant, buried under whatever protective denial her subconscious mind had conjured.
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