Coleman adjusted his senses to process the sights and sounds occurring in and around him.
“Unh. Unhhh. What’s happening? What are you doing to me?” He moaned.
Officer Smith, no longer in full uniform, wearing a white crew cut t-shirt, was hunched over, limping around excitedly, working himself into a fervor, circling the table Coleman lay on, displaying a psychotic expression, twiddling his fingers together in anticipation and muttering an unending string of gibberish. Every so often, the incoherent rambling was interrupted with an uncontrollable exclamation of rage. His gait and appearance resembled something more similar to Quasi Modo or Gollum. Sometimes he would interlace his fingers on the back of his head as if he were protecting his ears from some unperceivably high pitched bombardment, the whole time an inappropriate smile smeared across his face. His eyes set in deep, dark, sleep deprived sockets.
Bethany sat in a pew near the front also smiling garishly as she squeezed and stroked her breasts to the tips, arousing her rather large, bovine like nipples until they protruded through her polyester blouse, inexplicably without the hindrance of a brazier, moaning in climactic long tones with each drawn out, deliberate stroke.
Smith’s ravings were becoming more audible. “Yes! Yes! I have done good for the Lord. His kingdom will prevail. It is come to Earth. My master will arrive soon. (Bark) I can feel his presence. (Growl) It draws closer! (Yip)” As he bounced around, hobbling like something straight out of ‘Planet of the Apes’.
The wooden double doors at the entrance opened delicately and a hooded figure in black entered. It was Simon. He was exhilarated. Panting, out of breath as sweat raced down his cheeks, the hood from his loose fitted sweatshirt concealing his eyes, he strode toward the pulpit.
Smith collapsed into prostration, shouting. “Redemption! His Lordship’s worshipful beast lives! The miracle persists!”
Bethany matched his supplication by kneeling toward the aisle, bowing her head as she steadied herself with her forearms on the respective backrests.
Simon calmly slid past Bethany and rose the traditional three steps to the worship area. He remained behind the cotton fabric visor effect of the hood. Coleman could see now, as Simon brought his hand to his mouth to compensate for some indigestion he was experiencing, his maw was smeared with blood.
“Hail to The Great Satan!” He exclaimed, his fists thrown out at 45 degree angles as he stood over the altar.
Smith could scarcely contain his jubilation. He beamed with pride, waiting patiently for acknowledgement. His eyes darted left to right with anticipation.
“Gary. Stop it! This isn’t you. Please, let me go. You’ve been a member for so long. What happened to that Gary? Where is he? Can I talk to him?”
Gary snickered at this, lowered his hands to his hood and finally revealed himself to the church. Bethany clapped to herself enthusiastically and bounced up and down in her seat as though Simon had just unveiled a bulleted power point presentation for ending poverty worldwide.
He addressed Coleman, “My name is Freeney. Gary Simon is dead.” He spat with contempt, the blood from his mouth spraying. “He died long ago because your God killed him. And you were complicit in the act.” He leveled an accusatory finger in Barry’s direction.
“That’s not true!” Barry countered. “God would never give up on you. He wants you to be happy.”
“The musings of a fool.” Freeney rebuffed. “Either a fool or the shameless propaganda of a desperate creator. And you are no fool, are you, Pastor Coleman?”
Coleman remained silent with incredulity. His eyes burned with anger at the betrayal by one of his flock. Though he was doing well to contain his rage, he knew his only chance was to appease the maniac to some degree, with his body language at least. But he couldn’t quite justify a response to begin with. It was certainly a loaded question. No. He didn’t consider himself a fool but his own doubts led him to reflect on all possibilities at all times. There were some things he still struggled with himself. If he was correct about his convictions, then why was there any room to question his perception in the first place? On the other hand, if he were to admit to Gary that he was no a fool, he would, by process of elimination, be in effect admitting shameless concessions, giving Freeney some kind of moral high ground. If he’d been in his right mind, he might easily have been able to argue more effectively but it was difficult to think quickly in the compromising position he now found himself.
Freeney sneered and chuckled at Coleman’s inaction. “You’re God is a deceiver! If he wouldn’t give up on us is immaterial. Why, I contend, would he place us in a juxtaposition to begin with? If he truly cared about his children, he wouldn’t let them wander aimlessly into rush hour traffic. Indeed, you need look no further than your own miserable situation to find the answer to your absurd conjecturing. What merciful God would leave you to the wrath of The Great Freeney?” He raised his fist in victory and held it like a boxing champion at the mention of his name.
Bethany let out a feverish orgasm at Freeney’s exclamation point. One hand could be seen on the side of her face, bracing herself from the light headedness. Smith, next to the podium in a squatting position, was beating his hands against the ground wildly with approval. Freeney altered his fist to an open palm, bringing the outcry to a halt.
“No. Your God plays an insidious game with our lives as though they are worthless, leaving us in a shroud of ignorance then punishing us with full force when we err. He is a disabler. A tyrant. He demands fealty and hides behind a false promise of inclusion when anything but total submission is unacceptable. He is more a Wizard of Oz than an almighty benefactor. Yes?”
The twisted logic stung Coleman deeply with the realization of the hopelessness in changing Gary’s heart dawning on him. He’d given over to the dark side completely.
“You see, Pastor Coleman, in a way, I owe you. Your ineptitude as a leader has funneled me into a land of delights and imagination. I have fallen into the fold of my savior, Lucifer, the bringer of light. The revealer of truth. The most powerful angel and sympathizer of mankind. A freedom fighter and revolutionary in this battle for liberty and the sole voice of reason and advocacy in a sea of fury and ignorance!” His voice rose into a crescendo with every statement.
“No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.” Coleman was steadfast in his denial, though he was sickened with Gary’s rationale and saddened by the spectacle unfolding. He shook his head with each point Freeney the demon levied.
“Oh, yes, Pastor Coleman. Yee-e-esss.” Gary brought his face close to Barry’s for emphasis.
Had he been a more rebellious man, he might’ve spit in his tormentor’s face but the thought actually didn’t occur to him. Perhaps Freeney thought he would do so or the obnoxious breath and spray of blood and detritus from his maw would further goad his victim into lashing out so he could justify some perverse punishment.
“You see, Barry. Where your God casts us away from his love, Lucifer accepts us. Regardless of our iniquities, all are welcome. All are accepted. If you think about it, our family is most American in nature. Just like radiant Lady Liberty on Ellis Island in all her glory, holding her torch of truth to the heavenly infidels, incinerating them!”
With this he broke into a psychotic laugh. Smith began his ground beating routine while the tawdry Bethany, having strewn her legs over the backrests of the pews, had begun rubbing herself, her dress skirt revealing white nylon panties, letting out a series of violent orgasms as an overture to Freeney’s rebuttal. The scene displayed was a sordid, demented madhouse and it was, frankly, far more than Barry’s psyche was prepared to handle. He burst into tears as Freeney grinned with satisfaction as though he had brought in a blue ribbon winning sow at the town fair.
“Oh, what’s wrong Mr. Goodie Two Shoes? Did reality just creep up and slap you in the face?”
Coleman was too distraught to focus on the line of questioning, though. A part of him must have known what was about to take place. Gary Simon
beckoned over to Smith, who predictably obliged. He produced his police issue Taser and placed it in Freeney’s hand. He adjusted the knobs on it and pointed the infrared dot onto Barry’s chest.
“Don’t be afraid of the truth, Pastor Coleman. I know sometimes it can be…..oh, I don’t know, shocking? Aaaaha ha ha ha ha ha! Hahahahahahaha!”
Gary activated the 50,000 volt taser into Coleman’s chest. The metronomic snap of electricity coursing through the wires with their prongs dug into Barry’s flesh beneath his denim dress shirt. Barry couldn’t even scream. He was having too much trouble dealing with the jolts that just kept coming without cessation. His face turned red and all the muscles in his neck tensed until his arteries and capillaries threatened to jump out of his skin.
“Really?” Freeney gestured at the hapless Coleman. “This is the so called Guardian of the Book?”
Simon adjusted the tazer for more strength and the rate of electrical synapses complied. As Barry suffered and struggled, naturally Smith continued with his floor beating exercise coupled by a cheerleading movement of waving his fists above his head, still in the crouching position. It was as though he were attending an Aerosmith concert in Mordor.
Bethany was so excited, she began rearing her arm back and bringing her open palm down upon her erogenous zone with full force nearly, it seemed, at the same rate of the taser snaps. Her repeated climactic outbursts echoed throughout the chamber with chilling reverberation.
It seemed as though Freeney was content to dull the battery of the compliance device in this fashion. Barry began gurgling and foaming at the mouth. His elderly frame, though well maintained, was simply unprepared for the trauma it was absorbing this evening. Just when it seemed he was about to succumb to the barrage of voltage being levied upon him, Simon finally depressed the trigger and tossed the device aside petulantly.
In the ensuing silence, Bethany could be heard bringing her hardcore masturbation session to a close. She lay in a heap, her legs and arms thrown over the pews, exhausted from the exertion of the hyperbolic performance.
Freeney took from his cloak, completely unprovoked, a porcelain commode covering. It was perhaps 6 or 7 lbs.
“Now, you pretentious child, I shall squash you like the bug that you are!” He shouted as he brought the commode covering down upon Pastor Coleman’s head with such magnitude that he was propelled into the afterlife instantly.
Chapter 15
Patrick and Madison convened on the front porch. She’d intelligently flipped the porch light off before sliding out of the front door, though it’s creaking seemed deafening to her, as Patrick made his way back out her window and climbed down the sturdy wooden patchwork fence the Henley’s had constructed to accommodate the missus’ taste for jasmine.
Maddy hadn’t the presence of mind, or wardrobe selection maybe, to wear all black. Her bright pink hoodie bounced as they strode through the desolate thoroughfares, presciently avoiding over exposure from street lights when possible. Armed, they were less afraid of the thing as before yet didn’t quite grasp the ‘acting natural’ concept to avoid profiling from any straggling neighborhood watch people or late patrol.
They moved quickly, darting from block to block, slowing their gait to accommodate the odd passing motorist. Patrick switched his phone to silent and instructed Maddy to do the same.
It was almost 1:00am. Patrick was breathing heavily, though they hadn’t had a demanding journey to this point. Maddy took note as they were adjusting their phones.
“You ok? Why are you breathing so hard? You’re shaking.”
He avoided eye contact, exhaling a gust of strife.
“It’s just, I really wanna get that thing.”
“I know.”
She placed a thoughtful hand on his arm. She squeezed his bicep flirtatiously, felt the hard object of the gun handle Patrick had cleverly stowed in his jacket sleeve. He felt her acceptance; felt her encouragement. They naively believed they posed a legitimate threat to the behemoth what had accosted them in the park. They knew the odds were against them but the degree of difficulty they would surely encounter was proving to be elusive. Life was placing an absurd mismatch before them and they were showing their youth.
He was eager to pursue the cause of his angst. He ushered his young accomplice out of the scope of the street lamp, closer to the fence line of the nearby residences and produced the .380 caliber handgun, preparing to storm the park. They had not considered the monster, most likely imbued with heightened senses, could probably see in the dark quite effortlessly. If it were anything relative to a bat as they had originally surmised, then it’s advantages would be even more considerable in the nocturnal environment. Whether it was the emotionally charged aspect of the moment, that being vengeance, or the propensity for the youngest of us to mismanage logistics, they intended to ambush the beast unawares by means of sheer quickness.
Once they were within the radius of a few properties adjacent to the park, they broke into a full on sprint as if they were charging a WW1 trench line as they negotiated the iron car barrier at the entrance. At least Patrick resisted the urge to let out a battle cry, though the temptation was present. They charged down the gravel path in a frenzy, nearing the meadow where Rory had made his last stand, scanning the night sky and murky fields for a black mass, anything that might disparately resemble the figure they hunted.
Verily, they must have come to terms with the futility of their attack plan as the granite trail cracked and hissed beneath their tennis shoes, announcing their presence to the wilderness community. With the revelation of their clumsy gaff, they brought their gallop down to a trot and toggled their position closer to the grassy, earthen terrain. Their eyes bulged, not only for the absence of light but, at least for Patrick, the sheer indignation of the self-inflicted wound, foolishness was bringing them onto the battle field.
He brought back the hammer on the Ruger manufactured self-defense mechanism, his finger slipping anxiously, and sighed in relief as, luckily, the hammer hadn’t gathered enough inertia to strike the round with the proper conviction needed to ignite the gun powder. He quickly composed himself. Everything’s ok. Hope she didn’t notice what just happened. This time, he used two thumbs and deliberately pulled the hammer back until it clicked into place. Now his senses were on alert and he was relishing the feeling of empowerment.
They crept closer to the clearing. Patrick probed the air in various directions, slowly scanning the horizon with the nozzle of the weapon as Maddy adjusted her position, slightly to the side and aft of her friend, making sure to stay in his zone of protection but not to cross paths with the line of fire. Though the clear night sky hadn’t given way to the clouds which had produced sprinkles earlier, the combination of the modern day city light pollution and the sheer strength of the moon’s ambience poking through the heavenly veil provided enough visibility for them to make out the landscape of the prairie. Patrick recognized the location where Rory had engaged the creature and snuck closer, like a child in his socks and pajamas tip toeing through the house in hopes of catching Saint Nick during his run.
“Maddy.” He murmured, covering his lips in an attempt to downplay the sound. “I’m going to check out the spot. Watch my back.” He could sense her nod of compliance.
Despite the lack of stars, the bright purple sky was more than sufficient to uncover the layout of the rough terrain. Patrick stumbled over the footing; pebbles, rocks, large rocks, rich earth, ant mounds, weeds, thorns and clumps of grass. He was confident no one was too close, though he couldn’t be sure of what lay hidden beyond the intermittently strewn cirrus streaks. As he traversed a small ridge of vegetation, the sight of Rory’s sacrifice came upon them quickly. Patrick and Maddy balked at the discovery of a large concentration of blood soaked soil complimented by Rory’s trademark black Chuck Taylor sneakers as well as a formerly white sock.
Patrick’s fists clenched with rage and he had to catch himself as he nearly pulled the trigger on the already cocked
weapon inadvertently. Maddy burst into tears, though she was careful to muffle her sobs with the sleeve of her hoodie.
“Oh, Patrick.” She whimpered. “How could this happen?”
Patrick searched the sky for answers. He wondered the same. God’s mercy could be undeniable, yet there seemed to be a willingness to harvest the lives of the young and innocent which always escaped explanation and created a confusion many adults perceptibly shared.
“Something’s wrong. That thing’s not supposed to be here. We’re the humans. We’re the rulers of this planet. We’re not supposed to be hunted.”
Madison sniffed, resisted the urge to wipe her nose on Patrick’s sleeve. “I know. What do we do now?”
They’d moved into a crouched huddle now, still maintaining a higher level of alertedness.
“I don’t know. That thing could be anywhere. You know what really pisses me off?”
“What?”
“It could be out there, doing that to someone else, right now!”
Madison slugged him on the arm.
“Don’t say that!” She chastised in whisper.
“No, it’s true. Don’t cover for it. Be honest.”
Patrick could feel his blood beginning to boil. He could tell the next thing Maddy was going to suggest was they pack it in. But the thought of her, his only ally throughout the trauma they’d experienced, abandoning the task at hand all but pushed him over the edge.
“Come on, you animal!” He was having a meltdown. “Show yourself, coward! It’s kid mcnuggets you want? Come and get it! I’m ready for you! You like picking on little kids? Come on!”
Maddy recoiled from his outburst. “No! Stop it! What are you doing?”
She was still speaking in hushed tones. Patrick ignored her pleas.
“I’m right here! What are you waiting for? I’m only fourteen and I’m right here!”
At the saturation of his words, the silence didn’t sit well with him. He aimed the barrel of the weapon at the clouds and blasted a round into the night. The thunderbolt echoed off of the trees at the edge of the clearing. Patrick was surprised at how well he handled the kick back from the powerful hand cannon. The rush was exhilarating for the time being but then it began to wane and an emptiness filled him.
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