“As the cup is to the goddess,” the High Priestess spoke, after removing her farcical costume and having it taken away by the young altar boy.
“So the athame is to the god,” the High Priest contributed.
“And conjoined, they bring blessedness,” the crowd said in unison.
“Bless this bread of human flesh and this potion of bodily functions, bestowing upon us all the wicked desires of our cold hearts,” the hosting priest added. He then paused and momentarily departed from the evening’s objective, as if something had just come over him that he felt necessary to urgently address in the midst of this annual ceremony. “I am led by the darkness to tell someone here, a personalized message from beyond. You will soon find and achieve great euphoria in a young girl. She will be one of immense beauty, but who possesses a shattered heart that feels uninhibited passion, undying love, and animalistic rage. If you pursue her relentlessly and stay the course in spite her resistance, she will bring you ecstasy that can’t be defined in any language. She will look, on the surface, to be a vulnerable kitten, while concealing a dark secret that reveals something beastly and monstrous.”
Whether than appreciate his privileged position, Mathias (blessed with a coven of young women who were blindly devoted to him) secretly wished that the priest’s foretelling prophecy would be intended for (and directed at) him. Not only was he beyond greedy and ungrateful, but Mathias was the epitome of hypocrisy, as he wished horrible death on his fellow cozeners, whom he was clearly jealous of. He hated and envied those in authority and power, even though he was cut from the same cloth and had no legitimate reason to complain. Once everyone in the barn had a drink from the chalice, the floor was open for them to have more. The High Priestess rolled out a small cauldron, which contained bits and pieces of the carved-up human sacrifice.
The illegal (and primarily undisclosed) narcotics that the cannibals had swallowed in the beginning of the ritual (which they chased down with flavored liquor) had really kicked in by this point. As dark as it was in this desecrated barn, many of the congregants were seeing the colors of the rainbow. Worries were forgotten, inhibitions were dropped, and any leftover repression was replaced with rage, rebellion, and revolution. The only ones who were immune to this acid trip were those who had declined partaking in the preparation-drug-use or the unholy eucharist, which those responsible for securing and administering the event were allowed to do. The High Priest and Priestess led the congregation in reciting the Lord’s Prayer backwards, to further blaspheme the immaculate Lord Jesus.
“I bid thee rise and give the sign of the horns,” the hosting priest said, just before the witches and warlocks stood up and raised their left hands. “O mighty Isis, open wide the gates of the Abyss and make them serve you. Govern those who govern. Cast down those who fall. Reward those who increase and succeed, and destroy the poor and the pathetic. Thank you for the ancient powers of the East and the South! Thank you for your presence and the blessings of your fair realms. We are the partakers of your undefiled wisdom. We bid you hail and farewell. Forget ye not what was, and is to be. Flesh without sin. World without end. Coyolxauhqui!”
The intoxicated crowd once again repeats this dimwitted word that the Satanic religion held in such high regard. Mathias and Joy were stoned along with the rest of their peers, and had become considerably dazed and bemused. They had temporarily lost all sense of judgment and control, and just went along with what everyone else was saying and doing around them.
“Hail Demeter!” the nameless High Priestess yells, followed by the condensed congregation repeating her foolish words.
She rings a bell six times, while facing each of the four directions. The High Priest reaches into a rune bag, pulling out a healthy handful of I Ching coins, and throws them violently out into the crowd, as if trying to pelt the audience in the face with the innocuous divination devices. The Mass ends with sex magick, after a sloppy feast of cakes and wine. Every sexual perversion and abomination is performed and indulged.
“Mescalito is calling!” one witch yells, as she straddles over a guy’s mouth to relieve herself of piss and vinegar, pulling up on the top of her crotch to better aim her golden stream.
“Bendis, the Greek goddess of orgies, is here to inspire our indulgence!” another belted out.
Bestiality, pedophilia, necrophilia, and sex with demons were all experimented and engaged. As a necessary precaution for intercourse with the revolting incubi, the female members had to coat the inside of their pussies with salt, to prepare for the gelid demon-sperm. The incubi’s erection pointed down instead of up. The barn permeated with the scent of fish, from all the naked female genitalia that hadn't been washed in thirteen days. This degenerate orgy is followed by a group dance around the salt-drawn, nine-foot pentagram.
“Nature is the gown the goddess wears, and we dance to express her majesty. Hail Melusine!” the High Priestess shouts out.
Eerie Classical music plays once again, from no visible or material source. The bats in the belfry roar and cheer like rabid beasts, using many voices from the various demons that possess each of them. Praises are loudly offered to the Egyptian fertility god, Osiris, who is also known as, the god of transformation.
The leftover human remains were incinerated and then buried in wet cement. Some of the smaller bones were salvaged for either the purpose of making jewelry or to be used as tools in future rituals. Before the remains are disposed of, the lips of the human sacrifice were sealed and hot wax was poured onto the eyes, in barbaric attempts to keep the victim from having the pleasure and honor of spending eternity in Heaven.
The climax to Dawn’s riveting story resumes three years after the unsettling, ’76 flashback you just read…
They say that all good things must come to an end, and Dawn, despite her flaws, is certainly that. It has been an honor for me to write Dawn’s story, and though this will be the final book, I know she will always be with me and continue to be a part of who I am. I hope you, my appreciated readership, feel the same way. If not, I believe you just might, once you have finished reading this third novel.
Thank you for your time and support, and for welcoming Dawn into your life and your world.
MARCH 24, 1979
Cheri threw a Moon Pie wrapper out the window, as she and Wolf continued cruising down the endless highway, with the Shen medallion bouncing and dangling off the rear-view mirror. The sun-god relic is flapping around to the semi-loud music playing on Cheri’s Dodge Van radio. Carly Simon’s, Nobody Does It Better, the theme to the James Bond film, The Spy Who Loved Me, is playing. Wolf is laying down in the back, covering his face with his arms, secretly fearful that his new guardian may have lost it. Cheri had been talking and singing to herself, as well as falling into spells where her eyes rolled back into her head and she laughed for no reason.
“What’s happening, Cheri? I don’t know, foxy? What’s happening with you, chica?” she asked and answered herself. “How’s life treating you? Has it been a bowl of cherries?” she asked herself, bursting out laughing while crying simultaneously.
Even though Cheri still had Wolf’s company and companionship, his amazing friendship wasn’t enough. To keep from going crazy, Cheri acted like the Mad Hatter (in Disney’s 1951 animated feature) by monopolizing the conversation with herself. She had said her goodbyes to reality, not knowing how to cope with how she felt about Dawn and no longer having her in her possession. Cheri was part succubus, and was neither designed or prepared to feel these bewitching emotions of love. It was unnatural and broke every rule in the Cambion handbook. Neither Cheri or Dawn should have been surprised with the turn of events, as they were both downbeat souls who suffered from Cherophobia (which is the belief that as soon as one finds happiness, something bad will occur as direct punishment).
It was Dawn’s 20th birthday today, and Cheri hated having to spend it without her puppy love. Little did she know that Dawn was hurting much more than she was, as Dawn was in a Hell of a diffe
rent sort, being held by real monsters, and because of Joy’s curse, she had no strength to save herself. She’s the One, by The Ramones, came on her Van’s stereo, only adding insult to injury. The radio stations seemed to have it out for her, as this song was followed by George Harrison’s, What is Life, followed by Donna Summer’s, Love To Love You Baby. Whatever station she turned it to made no difference, as every dial played similar tunes. It was as if her Van was trying to live up to it’s paint job, by playing only Blues. Cheri came close to ripping her radio out and tossing that out the window too, but she knew she would regret it if she did. Music was literally the only thing, at this point, that kept her from blowing her brains out. Besides, any music was better than dismal silence.
Wolf was just as sad without and worried about Dawn, as Cheri was, but he seemed to be alone in his sanity. He was literally the only one in the troop who was keeping it together. Wolf knew that Cheri had no clue where they were going, but hoped that maybe her precarious state of mind might work for them and somehow change their luck. Cheri had finally given up on fighting the radio, and had settled on one station. Chicago’s, If You Leave Me Now, began playing. As soon as Cheri recognized what song it was, she let out a closed-mouth growl, which started soft and subtle but escalated in volume. Wolf heard her and knew she was about to blow her top, so out of anticipation, he dug his huge claws into the carpeted floor of the Van. Cheri banged her forehead against the steering wheel, as if she were attempting to give herself a concussion. Wolf was wise to grab onto the floor and secure himself the way he had, because not even a minute later, she drove over a huge pothole that had been ignored and untended in the middle of the highway. The Dodge Van managed to make it over safely, but not without repercussions. Not only did it flatten one of their tires, but Cheri paid for not being buckled up.
“Son of a bitch!” she screamed, as her butt came off the seat and the top of her head hit the roof of her Van. Wolf was okay, thankful that he had shown better intuition than she did, at least in that moment. Cheri swerved off and parked alongside the road, to gather herself and take a breather. “Wolf,” she said, with her eyes closed and her head down. “After we get our Dawn back…remind me to find out where these goddamn radio stations are. I’d like to pay them a visit, and personally thank them for their choice in music today,” she said, half-serious and half-caustic. Cheri’s cerebral cauldron was boiling over, and she felt herself coming to the brink of blowing her psychological lid, when she finally turned and looked at Wolf. Seeing the frightened expression on his face, her steamed temper quickly cooled, realizing how her outburst had affected him. “I’m so sorry,” she told him, stroking the top of his head and scratching under his lower jaw. “I’m sorry, Wolf.”
Her eyes watered, as she saw the daunted light in his yellow eyes. She had caused him to feel apprehensive around her, when she was the one who was supposed to make him feel safe. Cheri snapped out of her tantrum and apologized to Wolf a third time for her reckless temper, which in turn, endangered him unintentionally.
While Wolf waits inside, Cheri repairs the partially deflated tire by touching it with her infernal hand, instinctively discovering one of the few benefits of being fifty-percent demon. Not only is she able to magically call upon the winds to fill the tire to where it needs to be, but she is able to plug and seal the hole by raising the temperature in her hand to an inhuman degree. Her hand got so hot that it was the equivalent of a butane torch, just without the actual flame.
“Let’s see Arianrhod of Wales do that,” Cheri said, scoffing at the nonsense she had learned about witchcraft. “Dark goddess of the moon, my ass. Let’s see her silver-wheel bullshit do this. I don’t need a false deity from the Aurora Borealis to help me carry Wolf and I back to my starry counterpart. All I need is love.”
As Cheri got back into the Van, she gave Wolf a warm hug, held him tight and close for a few quality moments, and then got them back on the road. Wolf came up and sat in what used to be Dawn’s seat, while the song, Hard To Say I’m Sorry, played. Cheri actually began to sing along to this Chicago song, as it played melodically through her speakers. As they drove down the freeway, Cheri began to notice that several of the Exit signs had phrases on them instead of proper nouns. The signs were telling her to turn back, give up, and let Dawn go. The signs weren’t really saying these things, but in Cheri’s mind…they were. Whenever she saw this, she immediately shook her head and forcibly blinked her eyes, trying to push out the bad thoughts. She kept this quietly to herself, not wanting to scare Wolf any more than she regretfully already had.
Meanwhile, Dawn is fantasizing about when she was still over-the-moon happy. She opens her blue eyes, still in the dream, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Cheri is spooning her from behind, while they’re both naked on the bed. Wolf is licking Dawn’s nose, trying to wake her up.
Suddenly, Dawn is looking at herself, as she hovers over her own body. The scene changes to the venue parking lot, when Dawn pushes Cheri away and abandons Wolf. Dawn wakes up again, but this time for real. Her body is covered in perspiration, and she’s panting heavily with quick, short breaths. Her broken heart is beating a mile a minute, her head is aching and weighted, and she’s locked away in a cell that’s much worse than what she once knew at the Virginian mental ward. The main difference was that…here…she had no freedom or special privileges. She looked like she had been messed up and pounded pretty bad, along with bite marks on her neck and inner thighs. Dawn had been here for three months, and had been doped up each and every day against her will. Her traffickers sedated her with heavy drugs before they would brutalize and sodomize her.
Dawn’s out cold again, sprawled out on the colder floor. As she slept under the influence, she dreamt again, this time finding herself kneeling at a brook. She drank furiously from the small stream and noticed her reflection amidst all the ripples in the water. Her ears had grown long and pointed, looking stretched and sticking straight up through her shimmering hair. Her entire body was gleaming with an outline of bright, pink light. She glowed, as if she had just been dangerously exposed to nuclear radiation. She felt powerful and unstoppable, until she looked around her and realized that she was alone. Wolf wasn’t there, he was absent, and it was her fault. It was her fault.
“Wolf ?” she cried, distressed and disoriented.“Wolf ?! Where are you? I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” As she sobbed desperately and frantically for her dear friend, her distraught nightmare wasn’t quite done with her yet.
Dawn was visited by a devilish dwarf, who invaded her dreams against her will. He was nothing like Imp, the midget she had briefly encountered at the carnival. This dwarf was a whole other creature altogether and was there for an entirely different reason. His head was in the shape of a crescent moon, and he was colored red from head to toe.
“Venez en France,” he told her, speaking in a dialect that was foreign to her.
“I don’t understand?” she replied, spooked by his wickedly-wide grin and shark-like teeth. Even though Dawn was dreaming and he was smiling, this creature felt palpable and menacing.
When she came out of her dream state, she returned to feeling sick and weak instead of strong and superhuman. She looked at her hair, holding the ends in her hands. Before her very eyes, her hair turned colors. In one moment, her locks were solid white, while in the next, her hair retained its beautiful brown with only streaks of white. Dawn was fully awake now, but obviously still in her nightmare. She began tugging on her hair, pulling it out. This led to her smacking the sides of her head with her clenched fists, crying and screaming, as her eyes widened and rolled into the back of her head. It took her less than a minute to put together that she had acted out her dream, when she saw the frightened faces on the five other girls who were sharing her cell. Dawn spotted them huddling together in the corner, all shaking like a leaf, while they stared back at her in utter fear and unspeakable horror.
Dawn was drenched in her own perspiration, her eyes were saturated with tears, and
her heart was racing and beating like a steel drum. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins and she feverishly felt the need to kill, but her will power was much stronger than her dark intent.
“Is she going to hurt us?” Julie asked out loud, feeling endangered by Dawn’s clear signs of mental illness, not knowing if she was a fellow victim or a harmful plant.
“Absolutely,” Teri answered, who was a compulsive (and impulsive) liar.
Dawn, of course, was no threat to anyone, thanks to the trick flask that was maliciously plagued with personalized curses from Joy and Mathias. It hurt for Dawn to inhale, but she had to breathe in deep due to being out of breath. Her heart was still pounding as if there was no tomorrow, while her elbows trembled violently as she tried her best to hold herself up. Dawn missed Cheri terribly, but felt particularly alone without Wolf. They had built such a bond between them that could only be defined as one soul split into two bodies. Wolf was a part of her, and being apart from him was its own death.
There was nowhere for her to lurk, which killed her because Dawn wanted nothing more than to ambush and annihilate her perpetrators. It also bothered her that she wasn’t able to strike down Richard Ramirez, as her intuition told her that his name would become a cancer on mankind. That ship, to her regret, had sailed. Richard was gone, never to be seen again by her. He, much like Zeena, had brought her on board just to leave her stranded. Dawn was trying to dog paddle on her own, but her arms and legs were getting tired. The harder she fought to persevere, the more seasick she became. Dawn was a castaway on an island that she had built herself.
Because it had been so long since Dawn killed anyone or left any clues to her current whereabouts, Agent Shelling had pretty much hung up the towel. He didn’t have much of a choice, since his superiors had lost any interest in keeping the case open. They had given up faith on Shelling’s ability to find her and he couldn’t really blame them. Dawn’s elusive methods had wiped out his self-confidence, and his hatred for her had quite honestly exhausted his energy. She had evaded him at every turn, and none of his detective skills or government resources appeared to be making a difference. He had finally met his match, and nothing he could do would change the fact that she had beaten him.
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