by Gary Tenuta
He brought the small cedar box to his lap, removed the lid and shook the contents onto the floor. There, amongst a stack of old photos and several of his forbidden keepsakes, he saw the coin. “Oh, my God,” he muttered under his breath. He stared at the coin for a long moment, trying to remember. Worth, Worthy. What was it? Duck…worth! Ronnie? No… Rodney. That’s it. Rodney Duckworth!
He picked up the coin and searched for the number. Squinting through his bifocals he found it: No. 9. The coin dropped from his trembling fingers. He swallowed hard and fell back against the wheelchair. Dear God. He’s coming for me.
CHAPTER 32
Six Days Later…
Cowl awoke to the vague, disturbing sound of a voice inside his head. He knew the source of the voice. He knew he was changing, growing weaker as the Beast within grew stronger each day. There was no turning back now. It was all far beyond his control. Cold and shivering, he drew the covers up around his chin.
The voice spoke again. ‘You are a worthy servant, my friend. Gelal, the seventh offspring of the Old Ones––’
“Yeah, I know,” Cowl said in an off-handed tone. “He that invades the beds of women like an incubus…”
‘Indeed, that very one now stands with the others at the Gate of the Abyss, waiting to come forth. Well done.’
Cowl struggled to sit up. “How long have I been asleep?” His voice was hoarse, his mouth dry.
‘Six days.’
“Six days! What the hell? What, exactly, is happening to me? I feel so––”
‘What you are feeling shall pass. The metamorphosis is nearly complete. Our energies are merging. An equilibrium of sorts shall soon enough settle your discomfort. Trust me. That which we each desire most is soon to be realized. Number eight is next. And then, your ‘Someday’. Simple as that.’
“And you? What about what you want?”
‘After the ninth sacrifice has been accomplished I will need you to acquire the one thing that will give me the power to realize my goal.’
“One thing? And that would be––?”
‘That, my friend, would be The Keys of the Gate Keeper.’
“The what?”
The Beast laughed quietly. ‘When the time is right. Now sleep.’
As if under a powerful hypnotic influence, Cowl’s eyes closed instantly, his consciousness quickly fading to black.
CHAPTER 33
Later That Day…
The afternoon sun filtered in through the half-drawn blinds in Harlan Bodine’s small, third-floor, two-bedroom apartment as he sat on the edge of the bed that once belonged to his son, Robbie. Harlan’s life changed dramatically a year ago, the day his beloved 16-year-old son committed suicide, shot himself in the head, an hour after leaving a Mega Therion concert.
Prior to that, Harlan’s wife had abandoned both of them when Robbie was just 10 and Harlan raised him on his own from that point on. But Robbie couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble in spite of Harlan’s best efforts to keep him on the straight and narrow. Still, the kid had a brightness, a spunk about him that Harlan admired, treasured really, as it reminded him of himself. He never gave up on the kid and there was always hope that things would work out. Then came the boy’s obsession with Mega Therion. It wasn’t even the band so much as it was the band’s strangely charismatic leader, Rye Cowl.
Robbie’s fixation on Cowl was just another phase, a typical teenager’s quest in search for his own identity. That’s what Harlan kept telling himself. But he soon sensed something else was going on, something considerably more worrisome than a harmless phase. He found books about witchcraft and demonology in Robbie’s room. The boy was changing. It was subtle at first but gradually the signs became dramatically more apparent. He was taking a noticeable and disturbing turn toward a dark side that Harlan had never seen before and the entire transformation, Harlan believed, was somehow connected to Robbie’s obsession with Rye Cowl.
Now, sitting on the edge of Robbie’s bed, Harlan turned a gun over and over in his hands, with a box of shells by his side. The small but powerful pistol was a rare Russian-made semi-automatic used by the KGB. It was known as a ‘silent pistol’ because it fired special cartridges that suppressed their own sound, in effect, a built-in silencer. It was the perfect weapon for what he had planned. He’d had the gun in his coat pocket when he and the other protestors gathered at the concert hall to support Pastor St. Martin’s ill-fated demonstration against Rye Cowl but he didn’t have a chance to use it. It would have been a bad idea, anyway. Too many people.
That was then. This is now, he thought. He stopped fidgeting with the gun, tightened his grip on it, raised it up at arm’s length and took aim at the poster of Cowl that Robbie had left tacked to the wall. Cowl was somehow responsible for his son’s death. He couldn’t prove it but that didn’t matter. He just knew it was true. He was also certain that Cowl was somehow responsible for the deaths of all those preachers. There was one sure way to find out.
Harlan had been following Bloodhound Morran’s articles in the paper. He knew about the 9-day intervals between the mysterious deaths and there were now three days left until the next one––that is, if Cowl was still alive by then. And if he wasn’t––and if the ninth day passed without another attack on a preacher––that would be all the proof he needed.
With the life-like image of Cowl in his sight, Harlan zeroed in on a point between the musician’s eyes and pulled the trigger. -CLICK- Sayonara, you satanic son of a bitch.
But drawing a bead on a poster was one thing. Pulling it off for real was another. He considered several possible scenarios and rejected them one by one. They were all too risky and most were too complicated. Then it hit him. The idea was so simple he had to run it through his mind several times to make sure he wasn’t overlooking something. It couldn’t be that easy. Could it?
CHAPTER 34
The Next Day…
Finding out where Cowl lived had not been difficult. A simple Google search turned up hundreds of fan sites and celebrity articles about the band and it’s charismatic leader. Harlan jotted down the address and typed it into Google Earth for driving directions. It was while he was printing out the directions that he realized the one thing he’d overlooked. A delivery truck. Purchasing a mock UPS uniform, a pair of fake glasses and a mustache from the costume and display store had been easy. Looking into the mirror, he adjusted the glasses and patted the mustache. His own son wouldn’t have recognized him. He barely recognized himself. But the truck. Could he just show up at Cowl’s door without a truck parked on the street? Would anyone notice? Probably not. Besides, what choice did he have?
That afternoon, in full disguise, he drove past Cowl’s home and parked the car around the corner. He’d rehearsed the scenario in his mind a dozen times. The neighborhood was quiet, not a soul on the streets. It was perfect. The empty shoebox on the seat next to him was wrapped in brown paper. Cowl’s name and address were printed boldly on top in black Sharpie. The bottom of the box was cut out. He picked up the box and stepped out of the air-conditioned car into an oven. He couldn’t remember a summer in Seattle ever being this hot. He winced as the glare off the hood of the car momentarily blinded him. He ducked back inside the car and grabbed a pair of sunglasses from the visor. He tossed his fake glasses into the car, put on the sunglasses, then straightened his uniform and started the short walk toward the old mansion.
CHAPTER 35
Three Minutes Earlier…
Cowl looked at the caller I.D. It was Jason. He picked up the phone.
“Yeah, Jase. What is it? I’m kinda busy here. … What? Why? The concert in Frisco isn’t for another week. Why do we need a rehearsal? ... I don’t care. … Like I said, I’m busy. If you guys want to rehearse, go ahead. … What? … Oh, for Christ’s sake. Okay! Jesus. … Yeah. … No, not here. Why not your place? … Well, then Rick’s place. … Oh, all right. … Yeah, okay, we can do it here. … Tonight? Um… All right. Yeah. Nine o’clock. … Okay, yeah. See ya.�
��
Ah, good! A little music to liven up the place.
Cowl spun around and hissed. “Get the hell out of my head, will you? Just for one goddamn minute, leave me the fuck alone!”
Oh, I’m sorry, but it’s way too late for that.
“Fuck you!”
Fuck me? You’re the one who wanted all this. Remember? Your ‘Someday’? Now, why don’t you just light up a reefer and relax. We’ve got a band rehearsal tonight and, personally, I’m quite looking forward to it.
CHAPTER 36
One Minute Later…
Harlan paused before the crumbling concrete steps at the bottom of the embankment below the mansion and wiped the beads of sweat off his brow. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer. He scanned the street in both directions. Still quiet. Apparently even the rich folks were all at work somewhere making money they didn’t need.
He took the gun out of his pocket, released the safety, and held the weapon concealed up inside the bottomless box. Another bead of sweat dripped from his forehead onto the left lens of his sunglasses and blurred his vision. Shit. With both hands occupied, he lowered his head to the side and made an awkward swipe of the lens on the sleeve of his uniform. The attempt only smeared the lens, making it worse than if he’d just left it alone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a police car rounding the corner. Oh, God... He held his breath, and tried to appear calm. As the car got closer, he realized it wasn’t the police. It was a civilian security car with a red and blue light bar across the top. The car slowed to a crawl as it passed where Harlan was standing. The uniformed driver of the car nodded and gave a quick, friendly wave. Harlan responded with a nod and swallowed hard as the vehicle rolled on down the street. Keep going…keep going. When the car was out of sight, Harlan closed his eyes and gasped for air as if he’d just emerged from under twenty feet of water. All right. Okay. He tried to calm his nerves. Let’s do this. He breathed deeply, gave his head a shake, and headed up the stairs.
As he approached the huge front porch he couldn’t help feeling like the old mansion was watching him, its dark window eyes scrutinizing his every step with suspicion.
Finally, standing in the shadows of the porch, he wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Maybe he’d gone too far. But the hesitation vanished as a vision of his precious son blotted out all doubt. He grabbed hold of the tarnished brass knocker, swung it hard against the door and stepped quickly to one side.
Cowl jumped at the unexpected sound and laid the half-smoked joint in an ashtray. Those assholes. I told them nine o’clock. Wait. I just talked to Jason. They couldn’t get here that fast. He went to the door and squinted through the peephole but couldn’t see anyone. “Yeah? Who is it?”
“U.P.S. Delivery for Rye Cowl.”
Delivery? What the––? “Hang on.” He opened the door and looked at the package. “That’s for me? Who’s it from?”
Harlan stepped forward, one hand holding the box, the other with a death grip on the hidden gun. “From my boy, you son of a bitch.”
The next few seconds unraveled in a blur of confusion. Cowl reached for the box, tipping it upward at the same time Harlan pulled the trigger. The bullet struck Cowl in the head and he staggered backward into the house and fell to the floor. Harlan panicked, dropped the box and turned to run but then he turned again and grabbed the door and tried several times to slam it shut but it wouldn’t close. He looked down and saw he’d been slamming it against Cowl’s foot. He tried to nudge the foot back with the toe of his polished black uniform shoe but the foot wouldn’t move. Forget it. Go! There were blood spatters on the door. He should wipe it clean. With what? Forget it. Go! Half way down the stairs he stopped. The box! He stumbled back up the stairs, grabbed the box and shot a quick glance at the door. Oh, Christ. The foot was gone. Another layer of panic set in on top of the chaos already swirling around in his head. He bounded off the porch, flew down the stairs of the embankment and hit the sidewalk running. Suddenly, he had the presence of mind to think, what if someone was watching? He looked up and down the street and then toward the porch. The only witness seemed to be the foreboding old mansion still staring down at him with its ominous black window eyes.
He continued on down the block at a brisk walking pace. The block seemed like a mile. He finally made it to the car, got in and pulled out onto the street.
When he came to the corner he hit the brake. Damn it. I should have shut the door. Gotta go back. He slipped the car into reverse and backed into the driveway of one of the neighboring homes to turn around. Then, in his peripheral vision, he thought he noticed someone looking out the window of the house at the end of the driveway. He stole a quick glance toward the window but if someone had been there, they were gone now. Had they seen him? Were they calling the police? Why would they call the police? He was just using the driveway to turn around. People do that all the time. His hands were sweating. He slammed the gear into Drive. Screw it. Get the hell out of here.
Just as he was about to hit the gas, the security car drove by. Harlan’s heart levitated to his throat but the car passed without incident. The driver didn’t seem to notice him.
Harlan swallowed hard and pulled out onto the street. He drove to the corner and waited, watching the security car in his rear view mirror. It cruised slowly down Millionaire’s Row toward Cowl’s place. The closer the security car got to the old mansion the tighter Harlan’s fingers dug into the wheel. He was sweating profusely. Dear God… But the security car cruised on past Cowl’s home and continued down the road until it was out of sight.
Harlan shook his head, breathed a sigh of relief. What the hell are they paying that security guy for, anyway? He eased on the gas and headed toward the Lake Union Bridge to dump the gun before going home.
CHAPTER 37
That Evening…
9:05 p.m.
The sun was long gone but it was still a muggy 70 degrees outside. A half moon was floating in and out of a partial layer of thick clouds when Jason parked his car in front of Cowl’s home. He stepped out of the car and lugged his guitar out of the back seat.
Billy pulled up behind him, waved, and popped the trunk. He got out, went around to the back of the car and grabbed his bass. He looked around. “Rick’s not here yet, I take it.”
Jason shrugged. “Yeah. Probably still loading his drums into the van.”
“Wanna wait for him? Smoke a doob?”
“No. He’ll show up sooner or later. Let’s go in and get set up.”
“Rye’s gonna be pissed if Rick doesn’t get here pretty soon. Damn, it’s hot.”
“Tell me about it.”
The black window eyes of the old mansion watched them as they sauntered up the embankment toward the porch.
“Place gives me the creeps,” Billy said. “You’d think he’d at least have a friggin’ porch light on. I mean, look at that. The whole place is dark. Is he even home?”
They climbed up the porch steps, set their instruments down and noticed the door was slightly ajar.
Jason pushed the door another inch or two, poked his head into the dark and called out. “Hey, Rye. You there? It’s me and Billy.” He looked at Billy and shrugged, then called out again.
Billy left the porch and walked around the house to see if he could see a light in any of the windows. He came back shaking his head. “Place is dark as a tomb. Think we should go in? Maybe he’s asleep. Or drugged out or something.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right.” He gave the door a push but it wouldn’t budge.
“What’s the matter?”
“Door’s stuck.”
“What do you mean?”
He tried again. “I don’t know. I think something’s blocking it.”
“Let me try.”
Jason stepped back and Billy gave the door a nudge. “The fuck?” He pushed harder and got it opened wide enough so they could squeeze in. “After you,” he said, stepping aside.
Jason moved forward and stepped i
nto the darkened room. “I can’t see a damn th––shit!” He tripped and fell, landing on what he knew was a body. His own scream got stuck in his throat as the shock sucked the wind out of him. He scrambled backward, jumped to his feet and flew back out the door, his eyes wide with panic.
Billy leaped back. “What the hell––?
Jason grabbed Billy by the arm and pulled him down the stairs.
“Jesus Christ,” Billy said, pulling his arm free. “What is it?”
Jason explained between gasping breaths. “There’s a… goddamn… body… in there… laying… on the… floor.”
“What? Is it Rye?”
“I don’t… I don’t know, man. Too dark to see.”
“Wait here.”
“Where you going?”
“Got a flashlight in the car.”
Jason grabbed Billy’s sleeve and pulled him back. “Wait a minute. What if it’s not Rye? Or what if it is him and what if there’s still someone else in the house?”
“Shit. I didn’t think of that.”
They hurried back down to the curb. Jason pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and turned to Billy. “You got your cell with you?”
“Yeah.”
“You get hold of Rick and tell him what’s going on. I’ll call nine-one-one.”
CHAPTER 38: 45 Minutes Later…
Kane arrived back at his apartment after spending two hours having dinner and a couple of drinks with Ravenwood at the Chinese place down the street from the Precinct building.
He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, plopped himself down in front of the TV and wondered how the hell that ever happened. Did he bring up the idea of having dinner? That didn’t seem likely. Maybe she did. He couldn’t remember. It had been a long day. All he knew was that sometime around 7 p.m. they had both realized they were hungry and one of them said, “Chinese?”
