The Cult

by Mink, Jason

  "Annie, come on! We have to go!"

  Baxter realized she was still laughing, a sound that chilled his blood in a way the cold never could. He could barely see her, which was a blessing. Fighting his revulsion, Baxter scooped her up and threw her over one shoulder, then slowly began to walk forward. He had no idea where he was, confused by the swirling ice and snow. It was all he could do to walk away from the remains of the circle, hoping he was heading out of the heart of the storm and not into it. Baxter staggered forward unsure, the constant gale stealing warmth from him, leaving his body slow, his senses sluggish. For long moments he slogged onward, flesh burning, feet slipping on the now-icy grass. Then, when he was about to drop, a hand was there to steady him, guiding him on. It was Erica who dragged them forward, her eyes tearing, her cheeks seared by the freezing wind. She led them down the hillside, through the lower gardens and back to the manor.

  The scene within was chaos. Chloe lay unconscious on the floor, her lips and fingertips blue; Metathias was tending to her, while Ashton held her head in his lap. Adam and Zak were arguing about something, their words lost in the flurry of noise. The speakers were still blaring, a punishing barrage of chaos pouring into the room and adding to the general sense of madness. Baxter half-lowered, half-dropped Annie onto a chair and stepped back, his head spinning. At any moment he felt he might be sick, his wonderful dinner now a pound of undigested bile on the spin cycle. He absentmindedly rubbed at the wetness on his shoulder, pulling his hand away when he encountered something oily and viscous. It was part of Annie's hood, a gelatinous clot of veined jelly he rolled between two fingers. He wondered idly if any of her eyes were stuck to him, and then the puke came. He dove for the wastebasket, nearly filling it by the time he was finished.

  Looking up, Baxter found the mayhem continued. Zak had wrested one of the swords from the Ashton family crest, had somehow gotten the best of Adam in the course of their melee. He held the tip of the blade to the fallen man's throat and was shouting something about chaos. Metathias stepped behind him then, catching Zak behind the arms.

  Ashton leapt forward and plucked the sword from his hands, his anger all too clear. He bristled before Zak, his once-joyous face now twisted in a mask of rage. "Enough! I will not have this!" He hurled the sword from him and it clattered across the hardwood floor. "Can't you see your Sister is in distress? Would you fight among yourselves while she dies? This will not stand!" He struck Zak.

  It was an open-handed blow but all in the room felt it, a condemnation of their behavior in the midst of this crisis. It stopped then, the chaos abruptly ending as the speakers suddenly went silent. All was as it had been then -- everything save Annie, who still wore her hideous veil. She sat unmoving where Baxter had dropped her, a cackling, malign presence beyond anyone's ability to help. One by one the group left the room, Ashton carrying Chloe, Adam and Zak limping out side by side, Erica once again leading Baxter forward. Metathias closed the door and Annie was left alone in the study, her laughter following no matter where they might try and hide.

  ~*~

  How much later it was Baxter could not say. He sat with Erica in the darkness of his bedroom, glad for the now-seamless silence. They had not spoken for what seemed like hours but now, after the much-needed quiet, it became okay.

  "So there are a few gaps in my memory," Baxter confided. "I was hoping you might clue me in on what I missed."

  Erica was a silhouette in the darkness, just a profile against the greater shadow. She turned to him and vanished, was known only by her voice. "You passed out. I noticed later, after all of the commotion. Zak and Adam started arguing about something; it was hard to say what, with all of the noise. That damn buzzing sound: it made me sick to my stomach. I was just trying to keep it together when I noticed Annie had… changed."

  Baxter leaned forward, so as not to miss a detail.

  "I must have cried out. She turned, looked at me -- I've never felt so violated. It was as if… As if she could see inside of me. As if she could see my shame."

  Baxter did not press her, letting Erica tell the story in her own time. She had paused, was breathing deeply in an attempt to center herself. After a moment she began to speak again.

  "She told me that I was weak, that there was no place in the circle for me. She called me a whore, said I would spread my legs for anyone. That was my gift." Erica said this without emotion, as if she had already been over it a hundred times.

  Baxter, speechless in the midst of her honesty, said nothing.

  "She started talking about Paq'q and the laying of The Way. There was a bunch of stuff about tearing down walls, of bridging the gap between His realm and ours. It sounded like she was reciting from a book."

  Baxter cleared his throat. "I'm not surprised; there's been a lot of that lately."

  Erica lapsed into silence.

  Baxter allowed her time to gather her thoughts, then pressed her again. "What happened with Chloe?"

  As the sky grew brighter, Erica fell into deeper shadow. She spoke quietly, so that Baxter had to strain to hear. "Annie said that Chloe was an empty vessel, that she was unfit to be Paq'q's bride."

  Baxter furrowed his brow. "Empty vessel? What the hell does that mean?"

  Erica sighed. "I'm not supposed to say anything… but Chloe is infertile. She told me one night after I asked her what she'd been doing about birth control. It turns out her mother took some experimental drug years ago; it completely fucked up Chloe's reproductive organs while she was in the womb. She can't have children, Baxter."

  Baxter was speechless.

  "But I'm the only one who knows. She hasn't told anyone else. After everything that's happened, she's been afraid to explain it to James. She certainly never told Annie, which means…"

  Baxter nodded grimly. "Which means she does have some sort of psychic ability. Her 'gift'. What else did she say?"

  Erica remained silent in the darkness. "C'mon, Erica. Tell me what she said."

  "She didn't say anything else."

  This was a lie and they both knew it. Baxter appreciated her trying to spare his feeling but now was not the time for such sentiment. He pressed her. "I have to know, Sister."

  She knew then she could not deny him the truth. With a sigh she placed her hand upon his and spoke. "She said you were going to die."

  Baxter blinked. "That's it?"

  She looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean 'That's it?' She said you're going to die!"

  "Well, hold on now. How exactly did she phrase it?"

  This seemed like an absurd question to Erica given the circumstances but she pressed on, doing her best. "She said something about he who was born twice, that you lived only to die… I'm sorry, Baxter. With all that damn noise I didn't catch much else."

  Baxter thought about this, then quickly explained to Erica the story of his unusual birth.

  "I'm not sure what it all means but its clearly the reason I'm here. Did she say anything about the others? Ashton? Zak?"

  Erica shook her head in the negative. "No, but if she'd been given the chance she might have. It's not like she was holding back."

  "Neither was Chloe, it seems."

  Erica stared past him, to the stars beyond. In the growing light she noted the snow was gone, no trace remaining of the sudden storm. All was as it had been, the wind blowing softly in the trees, the far-off train-song calling from the distant rail. In the growing light of day she could not help but wonder; what was her gift? Was it to be a terrible thing, some hideous transformation of body and soul like Annie? Or would it come to her as some extraordinary power, like Chloe?? Was such power worth it in the face of service to some faceless God, who demanded from her not only obedience but license to her flesh as well? Or was it as Annie said? Was she simply a whore, there to provide nothing but company for the men and Her Master's pleasure? She thought about these questions long after she left Baxter; in time she slept, without ever discovering the answer.

  NOW

  B
axter was miserable. The irritation had spread in the hours since his bath, now covering most of his groin and buttocks. The hydro-cortisone cream Metathias had brought him provided little relief. In a desperate bid to ease his pain Baxter had slathered himself with the ill-smelling substance, but it made no difference. Unable to wear pants, he was forced to lie naked on the dusty bedding. He would have felt humiliated if he'd been able to think of anything other than the itch. Even Zak's pain-pills did little but bring false hope.

  Baxter writhed on the hundred year old bed, keeping his fists balled tightly so as to prevent scratching. His bladder had had grown heavy over the past hour but he found himself unable to pass water, adding to his misery. He tried to get angry, to focus his pain and frustration on Chloe, but he simply couldn't bring himself to think about anything but his condition. He'd spent years abusing his body, treating it like a cheap motel room he could abandon at any time. Now he found himself trapped. Daylight slipped a thin finger through the drawn curtains, searching the room for him. But Baxter was too far away, too close now for it to bring him solace. Soon all of this would come to a head, an ending one way or another. He found himself looking forward to it in a strange, sad sort of way, knowing that to do so meant he'd truly given up.

  Baxter opened his eyes. He considered the suit that Metathias had left for him. It was an antique, formal wear that had obviously once belonged to someone in Ashton's family. Black, single-breasted and still quite smart despite being decades out of style, it would have been a pleasure to wear under other circumstances. Only Ashton would think it apropos to throw a formal dinner party before ushering in the collapse of all reality; whatever else Baxter might think about him, he could not deny the man was always a consummate host.

  Looking down he realized his hands had come open, were absentmindedly digging away at the rash again. Bright like a beet, the skin was shiny, taut beneath the runny cream. Balling up his fists again, Baxter forced himself to rise, the sheet sticking to him as he did. Pathetically he picked it free, tossing the sticky thing to the bed. Naked, he made his way to the window and looked outside.

  Afternoon was getting on. Baxter felt the old house rumble slightly, as if a train were passing impossibly near. How would it all unfold, Baxter wondered? Was it possible His coming would be the glorious event Ashton claimed? Could Paq'q actually help humankind in some way none of them could possibly understand? Might He be an agent of evolution on Earth, coming periodically to these shores as part of some greater cosmic plan, to observe or perhaps even reset planetary progress?

  Baxter found himself doubtful. There was a malignity that clung to the manor and its grounds, a hunger and voracity not part of any harmonious universal scheme. What was already here had used up the manor, had moved on to the forests and, soon, Tull itself. The blight continued to spread but was as nothing compared to the vast changes sure to come. Whatever it was, Paq'q was no friend to anyone.

  Baxter wondered if he should take another bath, deciding in the end against it. His earlier soak may have encouraged the spread of his maddening condition. He had no wish to make it any worse. Baxter would have paced, had the chafing not been so great. It was all he could do to stand in one place, the itch slowly turning to an insidious burn. He hoped Chloe's privates were festering as his were, though he doubted it. Whatever she had done was by design, clearly meant to hurt him and not her. But what the point of giving him a bad rash? What the hell did that gain her? Baxter knew the answers waited for him beyond the door, and wondered if he still had the strength to discover them.

  ~*~

  Erica ran across Annie pacing in the hallway. The smaller woman looked haggard, the hollows of her eyes dark. "Hey, Annie. You all right?"

  Annie nodded, then showed Erica the cheap cell phone she held in her hand. An image of a small girl smiled back from the dirty surface. "It's my daughter, Sandy."

  Erica drew close. "Hey, wow. She's gorgeous. She looks just like you."

  Annie smiled for a moment, but looked away. "Thank you. She is. She's..."

  Annie broke off. She was weeping, heavy tears tracing the worry that lined her face. Erica wordlessly guided Annie back to her room, sitting down on the bed with her. For a long time neither spoke, the only sound, Annie's occasional sob; eventually, she spoke. "Thank you. And I'm sorry."

  "Sorry? For what?"

  "For being a bitch to you at breakfast the other day. I had no right to question your qualifications to teach. You obviously want to do something good, to make a difference. Chloe shouldn't have said…" Annie trailed off and Erica sighed.

  For a moment she only looked at Annie, then spoke in a low voice. "It's okay, Annie. It's true. I was a prostitute."

  Annie's eyes bulged in surprise, but Erica continued.

  "I did it off and on for three months. It was a bad time for me, the worst. What had happened here, at the manor… in retrospect I guess you could say it ruined us all. It was impossible for me to go back to school, to go home to my folks. There was no way I could just forget, pretend that Paq'q didn't exist just to get on with my life. I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat; it was impossible for me to hold a job. I started using heroin to dull the pain. It got... expensive. Anyway, I had a roommate. She danced at a club, found the real money was on her back and not her feet. Everything was handled by the management: all I ever had to do was show up." Erica though about this for a moment. "Well, I guess I had to do a little more than that." She smiled without a trace of self-consciousness. "I was lost and had to go pretty far out to find myself again. Once I did, I realized my soul was worth fighting for. One night I just knew. I jumped on a bus, left everything behind; I stayed with an old friend, went back to school: I moved on. But what I did -- it's nothing I'm sorry about. I had to have that experience, Annie. It helped me understand a lot about people, how you can help them without feeding into their own self-destructive needs. It helped me understand myself, if that makes any sense."

  Annie nodded though Erica knew the small woman was clearly still shocked. She patted her hand in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture and smiled.

  "Thank you," Annie said again.

  Erica nodded. She decided to check in on Baxter while she had the opportunity. Erica rapped gently on his door and waited. After a pause she knocked again, then went inside. The room was dark and seemingly empty; the only sound was the dripping of water from behind the partially-closed bathroom door. "Baxter?" There was no reply.

  Cautiously Erica walked towards the bathroom, mindful of the ever-lengthening shadows. She tried to call his name again but her throat was dry, her tongue unwilling. Fighting the desire to turn and run, Erica reached out and pushed on the bathroom door. It swung open with a bow-string creak, a low groaning note that echoing off the tile walls. But that was all; only that and the insistent drip-drip-drip of the faucet. Erica twisted it closed, staring down into the cloudy brownish water of the over-filled tub. For long moments nothing happened. Then, a single bubble broke the surface.

  "NO!" Erica plunged her arms into the murk and pulled the emaciated figure to the surface. Baxter coughed weakly, expelling a dark gout of water from his slack mouth. His eyes were opened wide but only the whites showed, red-rimmed in angry rictus. "Baxter!”

  Erica grabbed him by his wrists, in the process catching sight of his nails. Scraps of skin still clung there, shreds of him rent by his constant digging. The water was dark with his blood, swam in eddies about his bony knees. Without thinking, Erica thrust her hand into the foul liquid. Pulling out the plug, the water slopped noisily away, revealing far more than she'd ever wished to see. What had happened to her friend she could not say. Everything beneath his waist was ruined, abraded in some inexplicable way. It appeared as though Baxter had been sandblasted, his top layer of flesh scoured away. His pubic hair was completely gone, as was any hair growing above the knee. Deep furrows told of where he'd been digging, his epidermis damaged and seeping.

  "I tried to tell you. Chloe… she did this to me."r />
  Erica had to look away, back to the tiny window. The sky was red as his flesh was, raw and open, exposed to the onrushing night. "We have to get you out of here, to a hospital…" Erica reached forward, wrapping her arms around his now-wasted frame. Baxter cried out in agony, his legs shifting on the slick porcelain. He was unable to support his own weight, falling against her wetly. "Bax, please! We have to get you up, out of here…" But he slipped from her arms and fell back into the now-empty tub with a THWAK! She watched as Baxter writhed, nails scratching his already-shredded flesh.

  "The itch," he said, with a venom that stung her. "I can't take it anymore, Sister. I can't take it. It's like she's in me, under my skin trying to burrow her way out!" He dug more from his tortured epidermis, making the tub stream with a quick and festive crimson. Like a dog at a flea he worried, heedless of the damage he did to himself, intent on peeling the flesh from his legs so he might really get down to business.

  Erica staggered backwards. "Ashton. I'll get Ashton." She ran.

  ~*~

  "No."

  Erica furrowed her brow. "What do you mean, no? I need to see Ashton. It's important!"

  Adam glared at her, lips twisted in a bitter grimace. Erica was amazed again at his wasting away. It wasn't simply age that had changed Adam. Something had gone horribly wrong during the past seven years. The once-dreamy blue of his eyes was now troubled water, restless and clouded. They looked lost inside his pale sunken skull. His once-perfect nose was now hidden beneath a splint and white medical tape. Initially angry with herself for stooping to his level of violence, Erica was now glad she'd broken it, her anger over the incident at breakfast still fresh in her mind. She stared at him, refusing to back down. As he leaned forward the tendons in his neck bulged.