Behind The Horned Mask: Book 2

by Jeff Vrolyks

Behind The Horned Mask

  Book 2

  A Novel by Jeff Vrolyks

  Copyright 2013 Jeff Vrolyks

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  I stepped inside Norrah’s basement. Creed was singing My Own Prison loudly through the stereo. Everyone was drinking except myself and one other: he who owns this chapter. What Maggie had said years ago now rang true: there is an evil distortion of myself not unlike my reflection in the mirror. I thought maybe it had been Paul, but now I thought differently. Or maybe Paul was the distortion of myself and this sober demon by the fireplace a distortion of… Maggie? God?

  I meandered about, undecided as to where to go. In my dream I had watched myself seated at the table, so it seemed reasonable to take that chair. Like clockwork, Black Cat and Lion ventured to the bed and sat at the edge. They kissed. It was a peculiar sensation knowing in advance what they were going to be up to. Like I said, déjà vu, only different. More lucid, less peculiar. It was more like watching a movie I had already seen, but a hell of a lot more frightening, being that what I had seen was a horror flick, and I was among the cast.

  A sudden idea. What if I…

  I hummed meditatively. What if I stopped it from happening before it happened? Would anything change tonight if I did? No, I’m sure it wouldn’t, but something would change for Black Cat. She wouldn’t be taken advantage of, wouldn’t regret that sinful act for the rest of her life. I would be doing her an immense favor. And how to achieve this? Simple. I could tell her any number of things, such as I’m watching her so don’t do anything you’ll regret. It was just simple enough to work. But is that why I was here tonight? Was that my calling? No, so why should I interfere?

  Let her make the wrong decision for herself, I told myself. At least I thought it was me thinking it. Can’t you see that the repercussions from this act of mischief might be the defining moment of her life? The fork in the road from which she diverges from the path of sin and walks the path of righteousness? That’s a bold presumption. But it was possible. And my subconscious was right. What would she learn if I prevented her from making the mistake? The key was to open her eyes to her folly, but only after she committed it.

  Batman and Catwoman walked hand in hand to the bathroom, closed the door behind themselves. Raggedy Andy was now at my side, stooped over the ice chest, digging out some ice.

  “I created my own prisooooon…” Scott Sapp was singing on the stereo.

  Butterfly was over by the stairs. I stared at her. She had invited me to take her upstairs, in two senses of the word. At this very moment I could be doing just that. I hated myself for wondering what that might be like. I pushed it out of my mind but it returned again and again. She caught me staring at her, finger-waved. I waved back, and sighed.

  “I’m sorry for what’s about to happen to you,” I said under my breath.

  She winked at me, sipped her drink.

  I felt Paul’s gaze upon me. He was standing beside Devil, and now walking toward me. I perked up in my chair, heart beating rapidly.

  Peacock intercepted him, tried his hand at bantering with him. Paul said not now and continued on, eyes fixed on mine.

  “Well if it isn’t my old friend,” Paul said with a grin.

  “Evening,” I said kindly.

  “I’d ask what brings you here, but it would be a rhetorical question.” He sipped from his cup, never breaking eye-contact. “You think I’m going to kick you out, don’t you?”

  “You don’t know everything after all, do you?” I said and sipped my own tonic.

  “Truth is, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Thanks, friend,” I said with just a hint of sarcasm.

  “This is a good thing, you being here,” he said. “You see, something has to give. I can’t have someone knowing as much about me as you do. Somehow you know things. I suppose it doesn’t matter how you know what you do, only why. But it does intrigue me.” He mused for a moment before saying, “Is it God?” I said nothing. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. What matters is this can’t continue. That you willingly came here tells me that you have accepted your fate. I respect you for that, Aaron. Really I do. Takes guts. You do know what’s going to happen, don’t you?”

  I continued holding my tongue, hateful stare speaking for me.

  “Sure you do,” Paul said. “That’s why you came alone. That’s why I’m not checking out Tinkerbelle, admiring how well she’s put together as a young woman. How’d you do it, Aaron? Huh? How’d you get her to stay home?”

  “I’ll answer that question if you answer one of my own. She had a vision of driving down with me. Who gave her that vision? Was it you?”

  He laughed. “I’m flesh and bone like you. I don’t have any powers. Shit, Aaron, this ain’t Harry Potter.”

  “Then it’s your friend.”

  “And it’s your friend who got Brooke to change her mind about coming. God?”

  “You don’t know about her, do you?” I said with Magdalena on my mind.

  “Who? Tinkerbelle?”

  “Yeah, Tinkerbelle,” I said sarcastically.

  “There’s nothing you can do to stop this,” he said, “so don’t bother trying. If you think there is, you might as well just go home now. Actually,” he said on second thought, “feel free to stay as long as you’d like. Did I tell you I have a magician here? Oh yeah,” he said excitedly, “a real honest-to-goodness magician, and he’s going to be performing magic tricks tonight. Watch in horror as he saws a girl in half!” Paul laughed. “Yes, Aaron, he has all kinds of neat tricks up his sleeves. Keep your chair, you’ll have front row seats to the show of a lifetime.”

  “Why don’t you stay down here with the rest of us and watch for yourself?”

  It caught him off-guard. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I know you won’t be down here. Is it because you’re chicken-shit? Afraid you might become one of the victims?”

  “Fuck no. I’m not afraid of anything. None of your damned business.”

  “Same old Paul,” I muttered. “Mind your damned business, mind your damned business. I’m pretty sure these kids’ lives aren’t your damned business. And by the way, how’s it feel to be the lap-dog of him?” I nodded at Devil, who was watching our intercourse acutely. “You’re nothing but a pawn to him. He’s using you.”

  He exhaled exasperatedly. “Yeah, you’re really making me wish I was going to stick around. I’d love to see what’s in store for you. Maybe I will.”

  “You’re lucky Brooke didn’t come with me tonight,” I said. “I mean that. If she were here and you tried anything with her, I’d kill you myself, and take great pleasure in it.”

  “Ah-ah-ah!” he admonished with a finger-gesture. “Thou shall not kill.”

  “I believe God would forgive me this once, wouldn’t you think?” I grinned at him.

  “Where is your God now?”

  “Everywhere. He’s in the air we breathe, the words we speak.”

  Paul coughed to make his point. “Where will your God be tonight? Watching? Popping some popcorn to enjoy the show? You know God loves a good massacre. Holy wars, crusades, all good times for your Lord and Savior the masochist.”

  “How does one exude so much confidence, possess so much arrogance that he thinks he can outwit God? God! The Maker! Do you think He can’t smite you down on a whim? All He has to do is wish it and it is done.”

  “Then do it,” Paul said with a brave air. He spread his arms to welcome the smiting. “Do it. Now. Have your loving God smite me if he can.”

  “It is not His will.”

  “Ah, it is not His will. The go-to excuse of the religious zealot. If something doe
sn’t work out the way you want, it wasn’t God’s will. You’d think it would be God’s will to prevent some tragedy from happening, though. And you’d definitely think that it would be His will to keep safe from harm his most loyal subject: you. You call me a lap-dog, but what are you?”

  “His servant. His proud servant.”

  “Remember when you asked ‘Why me?’ under the bridge all those years ago? I didn’t know it back then, but that’s probably why it was you. His servant. His proud servant. But it’s not just that. God has plenty of servants, but none quite like you. You’re special. You knew I had Brooke and where she was. You divined that knowledge. Yes, you’re His proud servant, and he has endowed you with the gift of insight. That’s why this can’t continue, why you’re here tonight.”

  I said nothing to that. As much as I hated him, he often made good sense.

  “You know what my biggest regret is, Aaron?”

  “There should be plenty, but no, what is your biggest, Paul?”

  “That I didn’t rape her back then.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You don’t believe me or you don’t want to believe me?”

  “Both.”

  “Well it’s true. Sometimes we need to do things because they need to be done, like it or not. I’m not a pervert, not a pedophile, so I didn’t ruin that girl. But I should have. Isn’t it delicious to think that another person can be forever ruined, fucked in the head for life all because of one little seemingly-insignificant action? In essence it would have killed her, because her soul would have been damaged beyond repair. I was supposed to take her that night, but I didn’t. Selfishly, I didn’t. I regret that. I wouldn’t make that mistake twice.”

  I held my tongue.

  “You won, Aaron,” he said. “You won, on that front. She was safe then, and continues to be safe now, against my wishes. But that will be your only victory this night. Mark my words.”

  “Someday…” I said thoughtfully, “someday you’re going to be killed, that’s your fate. I pray that it’s God’s will that your death should be by my hand. I would take great satisfaction in it.”

  He smiled, looked away saying, “You got some bad intelligence there, my friend. Enjoy the remaining few minutes of your life, on me. Have a drink, on me. My date Lacie, maybe you’ve seen her…? Raccoon? I’ll have her screw your brains out if you’d like. Go out with a bang, so to speak.” He laughed. “Spend your remaining minutes on earth in good cheer. What do you say?” He raised his cup to toast. “To your death.”

  I raised my cup of tonic and said, “And to yours.”

  He walked away, stole one brief glance back at me with a taunting grin.

  I told myself I wasn’t going to die. God would see me through this. But I’d die if that was to be my destiny. I’d enter the kingdom of God, and that would suit me just fine. Being murdered expedites that process, so why should I be afraid?

  I glanced over at the bed. Lion’s hand was up Black Cat’s dress. Ah yes, this would be the opening act of tonight’s drama. From my angle I could see all there was to see. Lion was keenly focused on his treat, oblivious to the bystanders who were watching with lewd smiles and trousers tight at the crotch. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t doing this as an act of exhibitionism, not as a treat for his friends. Possibly he was only in it for himself, and caught up in the moment he was blind to the impact his actions had. I hoped so. And truthfully, I believed it to be so.

  I watched Lion’s exploits aghast. I looked over to the hearth, where Paul and his friend were viewing the same subject-matter. I was acting out my dream. Paul was talking at Devil. I couldn’t hear his words but I remembered them from my dream. He wanted Norrah to come down here so he could watch the show, by making her a part of it. That he was directed to go upstairs to Norrah, that could only mean it was a premeditated alibi. Being upstairs with Norrah when it happened would clear him of any suspicion by detectives. Smart. But there was a downside to it, for Paul. He wasn’t going to see the festivities take place.

  I returned my gaze to Black Cat, who was widening her legs and beginning to convulse. Pirate snapped a picture of her. I saw Paul working his way through the crowd, stole a glance back at Black Cat, adjusted the crotch of his pants. Up the stairs he went.

  The fine hairs of my neck and arms stood on end. This was the moment. My attention was immutable, solely on Devil now. Devil, who slowly removed his hat and tossed it aside on the footing of the stone hearth, followed by his mask. This was it.

  The music played loudly, but I heard nothing but my impossibly fast heartbeat thundering in my ears.

  He tugged off one glove, then the other, placed them in the inside pocket of his tux jacket. His hands were prunish, sinewy, and charcoal black. His nails were clawish, glossy black talons, nothing humankind had ever grown. He availed himself upon the crowd with his first step forward, toward the bed, where a small gathering of like-minded people had surrounded Black Cat and Lion.

  Elephant stepped before him, interrupting his slow but purposeful pace.

  “Dude, let me see those,” Elephant said impressively, pointing at Devil’s hands. “Did you do that all on your own?”

  Devil stopped and leered at him with a low brow and wide razor-sharp eyes. So profound was the look that it sent Elephant away at once in a back step, mumbling apologies as he removed himself from Devil’s presence. I stood bolt upright, sweating profusely, mouth dry as cotton.

  Devil stepped to the foot of the bed, glared at Lion’s hand penetrating Black Cat. Those on either side of Devil took immediate notice of the unmasked reveler, mirthful expressions blinked away, and they too began working at putting any amount of distance between them and him. There are some things that escape definition, are left wanting for a description and explanation, and Devil’s new presence was just that. He was the embodiment of terror, but not in a way that the pen can articulate. To see him would be to understand; anything else would be speculative and fall short of achieving via narrative the dread he instilled in that room. Fear so radiant and pervasive that it spread like a gaseous cloud across the room, engulfing everyone, myself included.

  “Lord have mercy,” I breathed.

  Voices across the room silenced. Music was the only sound. The first of several people took their try at the back door: locked. There would be no opening it, just as the hatch would stay closed from when Paul lowered it behind himself only seconds ago. We were in a thirty-foot by twenty-foot sealed tomb.

  Until this moment, Lion and Black Cat hadn’t noticed him. Devil reached down to Lion’s busy hand, a hand that had just brought his date to a climax, and clasped his wrist, raised it nearer his eyes for scrutinization. Lion projected horror with his expression, but said nothing. I don’t believe he had the capacity for vocalizing what he felt. Devil inspected the wet hand for only a second before losing interest. And when he lost interest in the hand, the real show began.

  “Brittney!” I cried. I hadn’t known her name, but somehow I did now.

  Her piercing blue eyes fraught with fear jumped to me. There wasn’t a soul here unaware of their new destiny. It wasn’t something that me as a writer can convey, how we conceived the idea of our demise, our impending doom, how it manifested as a thought, a simple realization like a whisper in our ears.

  “Have faith!” I shouted at her. “Beg God for—” I silenced when Devil’s rapacious eyes threatened me before returning to his task.

  Devil released Lion and leaned over Black Cat’s body, her legs spread wide, and took her by the throat and squeezed, sharp talons burrowing in her flesh. Brittney’s eyes goggled. A second later Devil’s hand closed on itself having had separated head from body. Her head rolled to a stop at her right cheek, lifeless eyes behind narrow slits.

  Shrieking and screaming erupted at once.

  Devil now glared at me. My mention of God seconds ago had earned my place as second on his list. He scooped up the headless girl like a groom to a new bride and moved toward m
e as everyone else dashed pell-mell away from him and toward an exit—exits which were anything but exits; when Pirate punched the glass window it refused to break; when Peacock kicked the window, it remained whole.

  I backed away from him until I accidentally knocked the table over, and didn’t stop till my butt was against the window sill, nowhere left to go. Never had there been such a baleful, incensed expression as Devil’s as he approached me with the headless girl in his arms, a final spurt of blood shooting to the carpet from her neck. Standing before me he managed to open the girl’s legs to show me.

  This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it? Take a good look, I imagined him saying. He wasn’t a man of words, but one of actions.

  “This is the work of Satan!” I shouted. “Everyone!—you must repent!—you must—”

  Devil wouldn’t permit me to issue another word, another warning. He dropped the body to the floor. His left hand gripped my neck, squeezed. My head would be severed, just as Brittney’s had been. But it wasn’t happening. I couldn’t breathe through his iron grip. His other hand thrust into my mouth, tore out my tongue in one rapid movement. I sensed the pain of it but didn’t suffer it. Adrenaline inoculated all pain.

  He tossed aside my tongue and released hold of me. I gasped for air, blood gushing out of my mouth. Why had he let me live?

  He wants you to watch, my subconscious whispered.

  Each word punctuated, a man at the hatch said, “Why, won’t, this, fucking, thing, open!” He took another step up the stairs to use his back as leverage, pushed on the hatch that wasn’t budging.

  “Unlock the damned door already!” shouted a girl.

  “Open it!” shouted another.

  Devil thrust out a hand as Catwoman dashed by him, caught her by the face. He tore away her mask, and flesh with it. With his other hand he tore off her dress, now naked, save for her white cotton thong that I had recently admired her in. What Mouse wouldn’t give for ten minutes alone with that. Devil reached inside her chest as if she were made of tissue-paper instead of flesh, hard tendons and bone. What occurred in her chest was evident, as the life disappeared from her eyes in a split second. In my mind’s eye I saw him crush her heart.

  He let her fall to the floor, set his sight on Batman, who was staring down at his dead date, thunderstruck, immobile from shock. Devil took him by the shoulders and lifted him off the floor, stepped to the nearest window and pressed him against it, sat him on the sill, snatched the blind-cord and began wrapping it around Batman’s neck, then pulled him off the sill. Devil watched Batman gasping fruitlessly for air. To help it along, he jerked up on the cord, tightening the make-shift noose around the boy’s neck.

  The shrieks and cries were ear-splitting and would forever haunt me.

  Lion was next. Lion had just crossed his chest in a Catholic ritual. It was a sure-fire way to put you to the head of the line. With impossible swiftness Devil zeroed in on him, crossed Lion’s chest with a finger, opening him up like a science project.

  “Seek God!” I tried to say, but only a hoarse sound gurgled up from my tongue-less throat.

  A gathering of people were at the door, clawing at it, yanking at the knob, banging at it. Devil stepped to the back of one such masquerader (Pirate), gripped the sides of either arm and ripped them off effortlessly; blood gushed from the sockets. There was a sudden evacuation from the back door. Some fled to the stairs to give the hatch a try, while others tried the windowpanes that might have been a foot thick instead of a quarter-inch.

  Peacock mounted the only attack against Devil. He lunged on his back. Devil might have been an iron statue, as the weight on his back did nothing whatsoever. He reached behind to Peacock’s head and crushed it like a grape between his two hands.

  “Oh my God!” cried Bunny. “My God!”

  The following slayings were one after the other, seconds apart. Raccoon’s legs ripped off, Phantom’s head turned around a hundred-and-eighty degrees, Canary impaled through the stomach by Devil’s arm, Leopard’s throat tore out.

  One by one the room’s cries diminished.

  I reserved hope that I would be able to escape where others had failed. I was a believer, God would grant me escape through the back door. But the knob wouldn’t turn. In the few seconds wasted on the door, Mouse and Raggedy Andy were butchered.

  I heard the faint muffled voice of the upstairs woman shouting, “Fuck if I know! People are getting killed I think!”

  I turned with my back against the door, watched in horror as the last few masqueraders were forced into the afterlife. Three screaming people became two, became one, become none.

  There was silence. I heard only the thumping footsteps across the floorboards upstairs, running from one end to the other.

  Devil squared on me, took a single step in my direction.

  “Lord my Savior,” I muttered, though it came out sounding unintelligible from lack of tongue, “please deliver me from evil. Wrap me in your protective hands.”

  Devil shook his head at my words, moved closer yet, hands at his side dripping blood onto the carpet.

  Be brave, a voice said in my head. It was my voice. Be not afraid of him, as he cannot take you from me.

  That seemed as ludicrous a notion as I’d ever heard. Everywhere I looked was a grisly scene of carnage, blood and dismembered bodies and body parts. He took another step, and another. He reveled in my trepidation, extending the moment to savor. Another step, now just five feet from me.

  I side-stepped across the wall away from the door. He countered with a readjustment of trajectory; another step, then another. I was at the side of the bed. I gazed down at the white counterpane with an enormous red puddle of blood like the uncentered red sun of a Japanese flag, its epicenter the edge of the bed, the spot where Brittney’s head had been squeezed off and a single yet symbolic drop of blood would later be discovered. Her head remained high up on the bed.

  I briefly contemplated hurdling over it to add distance from him, but that’s what Devil wanted me to do. He wanted a game of cat and mouse. It would only serve to prolong the inevitable. I resolved to let the end arrive, put my knees on the bed, bowed my head in prayer.

  “Lord Jesus,” I said. As if my tongue had manifested from nothingness, my voice was now coherent. It emboldened me. “I don’t know what to do. Why couldn’t I save them? Why am I here if not to save them? Was there no hope for them?”

  I felt a tap on my right calf, a playful finger-tap.

  “Thank you, Lord, for keeping Brooke safe from this hell. Have Magdalena tell her I love her.”

  I felt Devil’s hand begin pushing through my back, but there was no pain, only pressure and the sound of ribs cracking.

  “Tell Brooke yourself,” I heard a girl say.

  I checked the source of the voice, in the periphery of the room: it was Magdalena, tears dripping off her cheeks. I wished to speak to her, but I was growing weaker by the second, and yearned to rest, to sleep, to wake up in Paradise.

  “What do you mean?” I asked her in my head, vision fading away.

  In seven days, tell her, she said inside my head.

  As I slipped away, I heard a sudden angry outburst from a deep omnipresent voice, directed not at me but at the other.

  Here I end my account of the missing twenty-three. The rest you already know, or has been written by others.

  Part 4: