Though the land was not sparse of hills and winding curves, this particular section of road kept a steady course, but he began to pass an unusual increase in trees that lined the sides of road, adding to the darkness that even his headlights seemed unable to pierce. The Cadillac continued on its course with no apparent sense of urgency, and Harrison began to feel like the pause button was pressed yet again. Eventually they would have to stop at their destination, turn onto another road… something… anything. The lack of change in this silent pursuit seemed to pick at his nerves like a discordant guitar out of tune.
Or a banjo maybe. “Settle down,” he mumbled to himself. “Deliverance didn’t take place in Pennsylvania.”
Just as he was about to laugh at himself for letting his imagination get the better of him, his surrounding environment became suddenly quieter and darker. He noticed instantaneously that he could no longer see the road in front of him as his headlights somehow shut off. Immediately, Harrison flicked the headlight switch on the side of his steering wheel back and forth. Nothing. All displays on his dashboard that were once lit up by the interior lighting were no longer emitting their glow. But he did not need the speedometer to determine that his speed was decreasing even though he had not eased his right foot on the gas pedal. He pressed down upon it harder, but no sound emerged from the engine.
There was no choking or sputtering of mechanical parts, no grinding of gears. Neither the headlights nor the panel lighting flickered or dimmed down to eventual darkness. Nothing to give him any warning that his vehicle was losing power. Everything just shut off in the blink of an eye.
“What the hell?” he pondered with surprise as he rapidly pressed and released the gas pedal several times. When his efforts deemed fruitless, he had no choice but to use the car’s remaining momentum and get it off the pavement. Fortunately, the vehicle’s brakes and powered steering were still intact, and he easily guided it past a couple of large trees and onto a grassy clearing where a busier highway’s shoulder would have been, which he would have preferred instead of what a simple country road had to offer. When he brought the car to a complete stop, he peered down the road at the Escalade’s tail lights, indicating that it was not affected by the same malfunction, until they had diminished into tiny red dots and eventually vanished in the darkness.
Harrison placed the Ford’s gear into park and turned the key in the ignition slot. Silence. Not even a rapid ticking. Cursing under his breath, he popped the hood and exited the vehicle, then removing his tactical flashlight from its holder attached to his belt. He pressed the rubber button on the back, and exhaled a relief of gratitude when the darkness was penetrated by the powerful beam. At least that still worked.
The detective spent a few minutes checking under the hood. He was no mechanic, but he had enough basic knowledge to replace a tire, a headlight, even spark plugs. As he scanned all parts of the engine, there was nothing that he could discern to be abnormal or damaged. Everything seemed to be in working order, which gave him hope that a simple jump would get her running again. He had cables in his trunk; he would only have to wait for another vehicle with a friendly driver to come along. Still, he found it odd that the car would give out on him so unusually. He was quite conscientious about adhering to scheduled maintenance on the Ford, and the battery had been replaced recently. Furthermore, he had never had any trouble with the car before.
Harrison hated the idea of calling his partner to come and get him as he knew he’d never hear the end of it, especially since Gibbons was in “mother” mode. A lecture was the last thing he wanted right now, but his options were limited, so he pulled out his phone praying he would have enough bars in this remote area to get through. To his surprise, the screen was dark. He had not shut the phone off, and he was certain he had more than enough battery life when he’d hung up with Gibbons fifteen minutes ago. Shaking his head, he held down the power button, expecting the phone to come back to life, yet nothing happened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he scolded the device. “Twenty-first fucking century.”
After several attempts, he finally gave up on the phone and reentered the driver’s seat of the Ford. Adding to his frustration but not his surprise (it was just that kind of night), his arsenal of swear words let loose from his lips when he discovered that the police radios, both the one installed in his dashboard and his handheld, were also dead. He could understand the potential reasoning for the Ford’s radio, but there was no logic to explain how both his handheld radio and his personal phone were also affected. Harrison was not one to believe in the supernatural, but this was beyond what he would define as odd. His imagination suddenly played with his senses, and he unconsciously entertained the idea that something was rotten in the state of Pennsylvania.
Over ten minutes had passed, and Harrison remained alone in the dark farmlands. He had hoped that by now he would have been able to flag down a passing car, even a friendly Amish fellow riding his horse and buggy, but activity on the road this night was as dead as the Ford, the phone, and the radios. He had learned, or had been forced to learn to exercise patience often, but he decided he had done enough waiting for one night. For now, he would have to abandon his mission and hike his way back to town, though it would take hours.
He exited the car and had not gotten ten strides when finally a pair of headlights approached, set to high beams, nearly blinding him as they drew towards him rapidly. “Thank God,” he said as he turned on his flashlight and waved his arms, signaling for help.
The oncoming vehicle did not slow, and Harrison began waving his arms more frantically. It kept its speed as it passed him. “Hey!” he shouted as it flew by, but he stopped waving his arms once the headlights were no longer impeding his vision and he was now staring hard at the rear of the car… no… an SUV. Another Escalade. Same color. Same tinted windows.
Within a short few minutes, another pair of headlights approached from the same direction. This time Harrison chanced stepping onto the road in its path. He even held his badge in his free hand as we waved, but the vehicle swerved around him, slowing only minimally to engage in the maneuver. Yet another black Escalade had neglected his needs and sped off into the night.
Harrison had ceased his short walk and remained still in the dead of the night, pondering the unusual circumstances. When a third pair of headlights approached a minute later, he didn’t bother to try to flag it down. He stepped off the road and waited for it to pass, watching, his curiosity increasing ten-fold as a third black Escalade drove by.
The detective switched off his flashlight, then switched directions. He was not one to believe in the supernatural, but he didn’t believe in coincidences either. Whatever the drivers and passengers of the SUV’s were up to, he was certain that they were all going to the same place, to take part in the same event they had planned. He never believed he would find the place, nor did he think he could make it in time on foot, but the movie was playing, and he was part of it now. Picking up his feet, he began a light jog down the road toward whatever fate awaited him in the darkness.
Chapter IX
Nothing exists in the world but the breathing. The man was sitting on the thin, carpeted floor of the motel room. Once again Indian style. Once again with the religious necklace tightly in his grasp. His eyes were closed as he breathed calmly in through his nose and out through his mouth. Focus was key. With all the skills he had mastered however, focus proved the most difficult.
He had prepared for this night for years, trying to regain all he had lost. Ten years ago, a feat like this would have been a cakewalk. But it was the mileage, not the years, which made things difficult anymore. Some engines, no matter how well maintained, just don’t have the same horsepower after so much wear and tear. And he had endured enough collisions to be regarded as scrap metal left for the junkyard.
Just breathe, he reminded himself. Feel the cool air between your fingers, circulating up your arms, surrounding your chest… one piece at a time, until it flows complet
ely around you, soothing you. He practiced the meditation just as he always had, just as he had once been taught, back when it came easy. When his engine was newly polished and undamaged… back when he could feel the juice, hear the harmony.
Now, he only got sips of it here and there. He only heard a perfect chord in a mix of noise that hampered his focus. Still, he would not let up. If his senses brought him back to full consciousness, he simply started the procedure over. No matter what, he could not allow frustration to sink in. Calm, he told himself. I am calm. I am one with my surroundings. I am free.
But how could he be free? The past was too much of a distraction, like an annoying classmate shooting spitballs at the back of his neck while he was taking a final. In order to succeed, he would have to find peace in his mind and heart. Anger, regret, fear, the ghosts that would never let him forget those traumatic collisions of the past remained as antagonists in his way. Too much noise.
Taking in a deep breath, the man opened his eyes again. “Help me,” he said aloud to no one. “How can I tap in? It’s too deep.”
He remembered when it was easy. Even now he could still bring back pieces of his former self. He still had the juice… the gift. He knew it. Throughout the last three years he had been building himself back up, little by little. He could do some things like he could before, but what he attempted now was a climb to a much higher level. He had reached it before, but since then he had regressed too far. In order to regain such heights, he needed peace. Peace of mind. Peace of heart. Peace that would not come. Had not come for years. Would never come again.
Now the unwanted frustration started to seep in. He knew it would only push him further down. “How can I tap in?” he asked no one again with desperation in his voice. Silence was his answer. Hanging his head, he felt failure mocking him. He hated to admit it, but he knew he could not find the inner peace he needed. Not with so much injustice clouding his mind. An injustice he could never accept, but could never escape.
(Use it), a voice inside him whispered.
Use it? Use what? Where did that thought come from? What did it mean? It had to come to him. He needed it to. But where did it come from before? He had tapped in once, only briefly the other day. Something had brought him there, something he had to use. It wasn’t peace, but something entirely different. Unthought-of.
Suddenly, it popped in his mind, like the answer to a question on Jeopardy in the final round, just as that stupid ditty of dongs and dings was about to end, he spoke the answer out loud: “Injustice.”
That was it. He wouldn’t succeed by focusing only on the breathing anymore. Peace was no longer his ally, but the injustice he had endured, that others now endure, was still his enemy. But he could use it. He remembered now. When he thought of it… thought of her, it helped him connect, if only for a few seconds. That was his drive. His motivation now. He could not allow the same injustice to continue, and that resolve gave him strength. If he couldn’t allow it, then the answer was simply not to.
The man closed his eyes again and continued to breath, clasping the necklace even tighter. He focused all of his thoughts and emotions on her. She was in anguish. She was in the wake of a terrible evil. He would not abandon her when he knew he could stop it. In the name of all who have been lost to the darkness, I will put an end to it. Tonight. In the path of all the horror that is to come, I will stand and face it. Now and forever.
Deeper and deeper he reached. His breathing slowed, but perspiration was forming on every pore of his body. The ghosts, the past, the damage done to him had fucked with his mojo long enough. No more. No… then he saw it.
Dark road leading to dark road. Ending at a small building, like an old-fashioned school house, deep in the woods amidst many farmlands. His mind entered it and followed past old wooden school desks no longer used. He continued out a door in the back, where there was a storm door set diagonally against the earth, leading to an earthy cellar once meant for the inhabitants to take shelter in case of severe weather, now used for dark intentions. The storm door imprinted itself on his mind’s eye, looming there ominously. His body, left in the physical world, felt an icy chill as his soul saw the door and knew that death lurked inside… waiting for him.
Then, like once before, it started to dissolve. Everything was fading, but this time he held onto a piece in the back of his mind. Within seconds, he once again felt the thin carpet beneath his legs and smelled the moldy walls of the cheap motel room. But for the first time in many years, he heard the music playing. It was faint, barely audible. But he knew it would grow as he followed the path before him. Exhaling all the stale air in his lungs, he opened his eyes slowly and spoke two strange words:
“Third base.”
With a newfound confidence and determination, the man arose from the floor and moved to a large foot locker beside the bed. He quickly turned the combination lock left and right until it unlatched, opened the box, and removed several useful items that were dear to him. Then he left the room, sat upon the black Kawasaki bike that awaited him in the parking lot, turned on the ignition and sped off into the moonless night.
Chapter X
The fire was spreading with an unbearable heat that radiated against Megan’s face. Through the blaze and blackened air, she could still hear Ryleigh’s dying screams. The body tied to the bed that was her funeral pyre writhed and warped as skin melted and oozed. Megan tried to match the screams but found she had no voice of her own. She could only watch, desperately wanting to turn her eyes away from the horrid scene.
The screaming weakened until the only sound was the crackling of cloth and furniture being consumed by the flames, and Ryleigh was nothing but a corpse, as still as an effigy at a twisted and demonic pep rally. Through sheer force, Megan turned her head and caught sight of the vanity mirror attached to Ryleigh’s wooden dresser. The glass appeared to be of a liquid substance, perhaps affected by the scalding temperature of the emblazoned bedroom. Instead of her own reflection, Megan found herself staring at a much larger figure inside the mirror.
With a sickening grin, with terrible eyes of black, Sonny stepped… no… phased through the mirror and into the room before her. His mouth opened into a wide, exaggerated hole that no human jaw could produce, and he was inhaling deeply, as if feeding on the toxic fumes. Breathing in the death. As he did so, his naked chest bulged and expanded. Faces began to form upon his torso. Some of them had empty eye sockets and were moaning from an indescribable suffering, their skin a pale gray. Others had eyes. Terrible eyes that were affixed to Megan with such a lustful, repulsive wanting that disgusted her to no end. Those faces opened their mouths as Sonny’s arms reached toward her, beckoning for her. The mouths grew razor sharp incisors as long as daggers, and the wanting eyes became a solid, shining red. Dozens of rabid vermin faces chittering at her, needing to feed. Dozens more of poor faces of carrion.
Sonny began to laugh inhumanly. It echoed amidst the flames and seemed to poison her brain through her ear canals. Slowly the thing took one small step after another towards her, which excited the vermin faces into louder rat-like clicking sounds as they pulled to free themselves from the skin of Sonny’s chest, which was grafted and merged with them.
Megan looked down at her own naked chest and saw no faces, but saw no skin or muscle. Her upper body was just a skeleton, and a rat thing’s tooth was lodged into her heart through her bare rib cage. In an instant the tooth took on the shape of a long dagger with a silver blade and a hilt of silver skulls. Blood from her heart began to seep onto the blade as it pulsed a frantic beat.
Looking up at the approaching Sonny-thing again, her eyes grew wider with terror as its face manifested into some other creature. A monstrous, blackened face with no eyes, nose, or mouth. It almost appeared to have more of a gaseous, shadowy essence with no steady form. All she could make of it was the dark nothingness of that face. She had never seen anything more fearful in her life. And when it spoke one terrible word, “MINE,” she felt an icy feve
r surge through her being.
She tried to look away but was frozen. She tried to gasp for air but was drowning. She tried to scream again…
And scream she did as she opened her eyes and sat up straight upon her mattress of mildew in the dark, earthy room. Her arms were wrapped around her naked chest, and she quickly felt her body with her hands to make sure it was still intact. Her pinky finger was still throbbing with immense pain. Once she gathered her bearings, she began to cry.
My gift to you. The last remnants of the nightmare whispered Diana Palmer’s voice in her subconscious. She understood. That bitch poisoned her dreams. And took her shirt. When the woman had left her earlier, she scrounged around the dirt floor searching for it, but it was nowhere to be found. She had been left there, half naked, with nothing but a paper bag holding a few remaining tampons. When she finally stopped herself from weeping, she thought of changing one out, but then the footsteps came.
The door opened. Things One and Two entered, followed by the bitch. Behind her came Thing Three, dragging a body that offered slight resistance. Behind them, many more figures. Over a dozen people were suddenly in the room where she had usually been in solitude. It was unsurprising that she felt claustrophobic just then… and a foreboding fear as well.
One of the figures stepped under the dim light bulb hanging from the center of the room, and gently wrapped his hand around it. When he released it, the bulb shone brightly, illuminating the room more than adequately for the first time. Instantly, Megan was staring at the face of Father Paul under the light. Accompanying him were men and women, some of whom she recognized. “It’s time, Megan,” the priest said plainly.
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