“I don’t want to die,” Colin wept.
“Neither does she.” He bent over and reached into his bag, pulling out a large machete. Its black stained surface glinted in the spotlight.
Colin began to scream. He bashed his head against the wall, harder than before.
Cameron roared, “Enough!”
Hershel and the others went silent, though he couldn’t control his shaking. His bladder was swollen, and his side continued to throb where he was blindsided. Luckily his head no longer hurt. He too didn’t want to die. Not like this. Tied up by some freak in the basement of a house he was trying to sell. Sure, he’d had nightmares like this before. He imagined all realtors did at some point. Unfortunately, to the less fortunate, sometimes nightmares come true. He longed to call Monique, wanted to hear her voice and her reminder to wear his best suit this evening for the show. He could tell his phone was gone, as were his wallet and watch. He blinked the tears away, praying he would wake up from this mess.
Along with his blade, Cameron also carefully extracted an old leather tome from his bag. Its cover was worn, its pages torn and yellowed, and the way he grasped it told Hershel how delicate it was. “I’m going to read a few passages, and ya’ll are going to repeat them when I ask you to. It’s important you do this, otherwise it won’t work. We only have one shot—just one—and it has to count. It would be in your best interest to do as I say. Got it?”
He stepped over to his brother, the book in his left, machete in his right. He addressed the room. “Tonight, we call upon Ishkalben, demon of resurrection, imp of revivification, and servant of the righteous one Hades, so that we may speak to one of our own. I ask of you, Ishkalben, grant us your presence, as I have done what you have requested.” He turned to Colin. “Colin Whitecomb, you will bear witness to his power. Repeat after me: I bear witness, laude erit, Ishkalben.”
Colin silently shook his head as he continued to bounce it off the wall.
Frustrated, Cameron drove his boot into his brother’s stomach. Colin coughed and gagged, collapsing to his side. “Say it!”
“I…bear witness…”
“Laude erit.”
“Laude…erit.”
“Ishkalben.”
“Please don’t make me say it, Cam!”
Cameron held the machete out until it was inches from Colin’s sweaty nose. “Ishkalben.”
Colin closed his eyes, trembling. “Ishkalben.”
Satisfied, Cameron then stepped over to Yana and pulled down her gag. “Now you, sweetheart. “I bear witness, laude erit, Ishkalben.”
She immediately began screaming. “Ty! Svin’ya amerikanskaya! A nu otpustil menya bystro! Zhen’ya, da pomogi zhe mne!”
“Bitch, I don’t care if you don’t speak English or Latin. You’re going to learn today.” He knelt and pulled her left heel off her foot, then placed the machete blade against her toes. “You can’t very well strut down a catwalk with a limp, can you? Can’t imagine that would be a very pretty look. Repeat after me or I cut off your fucking toes.”
Tears draining, she glanced over to Hershel, who nodded back to her. Gone were those serpentine eyes that slithered up his body only a short while ago. Pure fear had replaced her raw confidence. He felt for her.
“I bear witness,” he said.
“I…bear…,” she struggled.
“Witness.”
“Vit—”
“Wit—witness.”
“Vit…Wit—ness.”
“Laude erit, Ishkalben.”
She stared at him, confused.
He shook his head, then abruptly pressed the machete against the floor. Yana screamed as her pinky and ring toe separated from her foot. Blood squirted over the dusty concrete floor. Yana writhed against her binds, but Cameron sat his knee on her legs.
“Say the fucking words! Laude! Erit! Ishkalben!”
“Laude!” she cried.
“Erit! Ishkalben!”
“Erit, Ishkalben! Tak bol’no!”
Hershel wanted to puke, and he was shaking so bad that he thought his shoes might come off, but he forced himself to remain calm. If they were ever going to get out of this alive, he had to be the most composed of the three. As far as Evgeni went, he still wasn’t sure if his client was alive or dead. Cameron carefully pulled the gag from his mouth, Yana’s blood smearing down his cheek.
“You going to give me any trouble, old man, or am I going to have to cut something off of you too?”
Hershel glared daggers at the man. “I bear witness, laude erit, Ishkalben.”
Cameron nodded. “Good. I like you. I hope Ishkalben spares you.”
“If I make it out of whatever you’re about to do,” Hershel growled, “I won’t spare you.”
Eyeing him, Cameron turned away and focused his attention on Evgeni. He still had not moved from his sitting position. His slow, shallow breaths lifting his shoulders were the only indication he was still alive. Gently, Cameron placed his machete on the floor outside of the circle of salt, and now held his free hand high. “Lord Ishkalben, your three servants have pledged their eyes to your power. I pledge their souls to you. They are yours, if you so desire. We ask that you come forth, so that I may remunerate for your services. Ishkalben! Veni ad me! Ostende mihi faciem tuam virtute!”
The clamp light above their heads flickered, then dimmed, and the few candles still lit blew out. Even with his gag removed, Hershel suddenly found it difficult to breathe. The air constricted and expanded, over and over, like the room itself was gasping. Yana continued to howl in pain, while Colin attempted to melt himself into the wall.
Over and over Cameron bellowed, “Ishkalben! Veni ad me! Ostende mihi faciem tuam virtute!”
The overhead light gradually brightened, blinding them. Inside the circle, Evgeni snapped awake and threw his arms straight up, his body going rigid. Cameron’s words bloating the air, Evgeni opened his eyes, and a sound like a runaway freight train blew through his lips. A thin gray smoke poured from his mouth like liquid.
Then it stopped. Cameron went silent, as did Evgeni. The Russian’s head and arms dropped, and the light above them returned to normal. The smoke continued to dribble down his chin but stopped as it reached the layer of salt surrounding it. Evgeni lifted his head.
“You beckoned?”
THIRTEEN
“I did,” Cameron answered.
Hershel winced at the voice that came out of Evgeni Sokolov’s mouth. Gone was the heavy Russian accent that followed he and his wife over to the States. The voice that croaked from his lips, along with the ongoing drip of gray smoke, was like nothing he had ever heard. Akin to ground-up glass in a garbage disposal. Even his eyes were different, wider and more focused, and less flippant. He looked around at the other four in the room, and seemed to admire the circle of salt enclosing him.
“I see you’ve once again taken the proper precautions, Cameron,” he rasped.
“I’ve brought you what you asked for, Ishkalben. Six eyes, three souls.”
The demon inside of Evgeni nodded. “So you did. You finally got something right for a change.”
Cameron gritted his teeth. “I’ve held up my end of the bargain, demon. Now it’s your turn.”
Still bleeding out on the floor, Yana screamed her husband’s name, but he continued to ignore her. He started to sit up, but quickly realized he had nowhere to go. “You demand nothing from me, human!” he growled. “You may have me locked away, but I still remain inside your other failures. Don’t test me, or I will show you I am willing and able to break your bonds and spill your insides to feed on them. I haven’t tasted man flesh for so long.” The anchored hand near Hershel rapped its knuckles against the floor.
Cameron stood his ground. “And yet here you remain, bound by mere uniodized table salt. You don’
t get to make the commands here, demon.” He shook the old leather book in his hand. “I’ve read this front to back. I know what I can and can’t do, and what I’m allowed. I’ve summoned you the correct and proper way this time, and you have to do everything I demand. I’ve given you your fucking sacrifices. Now grant me my wish, little genie, or else I’m going to dump the rest of this bag on your head and melt you like goddamn slug!”
Hershel remained perfectly still. He’d forgotten to breathe, and when his chest began to burn, he hissed out a long, tight breath. Yana continued to wail and scream in her native tongue, and the other Whitecomb brother watched on in horror. He shook his head, as if he knew what was about to happen.
Ishkalben appeared rather unimpressed. “I know my place, little man. I did not write the invocation, I am only bound to it. You have fifteen minutes, and not a second more. You cannot touch or bring harm to the undead, or the deal is off. Personally, I hope you fuck up. I am aching to lick your bones dry.”
“Are we done here, little demon?” Cameron asked.
“Just say the name.”
Cameron carefully sat down in front of Evgeni and folded his legs, like a child waiting for story time. He took a deep breath and said, “I wish to speak to Harris Meade Whitecomb.”
“As you wish.”
Evgeni’s eyes closed, and his body began to jitter like tires on a rumble strip. He inhaled deep, then let out a long sigh. His shoulders sagged, and his chin fell to his chest. Other than a soft jittering on the other end of the basement, the room went silent. Even Yana managed to hold her pain in to watch.
Then Evgeni leapt, jerking awake as if someone had struck him. He shifted where he sat, looking wildly around the room. “Who—where am I?”
“Hello, Father.”
Harris Whitecomb used Evgeni’s neck to twist back to his son. His pupils were gone, his eyes only a dull pastel white. “What the fuck? Cameron? Is that you?”
He glared at his father. “Damn right it is.”
“How…how am I here? Where am I?”
“You’re back home, Dad. Don’t you recognize your own home?”
Harris’s eyes flashed about the room, confusion settling in his features. “I am home. Son of a bitch…” Then he darkened. “You little bastard. You fucking killed me!”
“Where’s the money?”
The dead man’s voice rose. “You little fucking piece of shit bastard!”
“Where’s the money, Dad?”
“You-you-you chopped my fucking head clean off!”
“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you from beating me or molesting my brother! Now where’s the fucking money?”
Harris ceased his rambling and stared hard at his son. He began to snicker. “I gave you everything, you spoiled little fuck. You and that prissy little bitch brother. I won the lottery for you. I bought the best house for you. I bought the best education for you—”
“And where in that did it give you the right to lay a hand on either of us? A big fucking house to hide your sickness in!” Cameron stood and paced. “You wanted to act like a bigshot after winning all that money. Wanted to go all around town flashing your sudden wealth. Money didn’t change you, you Beverly Hillbilly. Even in Hell you’re still the same white trash piece of garbage from Henderson, Kentucky.”
Harris chuckled dryly. “I see you’ve grown some balls since I’ve been gone. Good for you. Do they cover up that hairy little pussy of yours?”
“That’s what happens when you decapitate a rapist.”
His chuckles turned into guffaws. He turned to Colin. “How’s my favorite little bitch boy son these days? Still beating your little prick to Skinemax?”
In his dark corner, Colin pulled his knees into his chest and wept.
“You look like shit, boy. Been stickin’ yourself with that goof juice, I see, just like your junkie-ass mother did. Do you miss me?”
Cameron growled, “Stop talking to him.”
“Do you think of me at night when you’re all by your lonesome, wishing dear old Daddy would slip under the covers with you and help you go to sleep? You might be all skin and bones now, but back then? So soft and squishy.”
Colin screamed and smashed his balding head into the wall.
“Yeah, I’ll bet you miss me…”
“Enough!” Cameron roared. “This is between you and me, you disgusting fuck. He’s got nothing to do with this. He’s only here because he forced my hand.”
“I never had to force my hand…”
Reaching into the brown paper bag, Cameron grabbed a handful of salt and pitched it at his father. The salt grains popped and smoked as they hit him. Harris howled in pain. He turned back around and tried to lean outside of the circle, but his hands and arms immediately sizzled and blackened.
“You little shit! I’m going to—”
Cameron yelled, “What? What are you going to do? I’m in fucking charge! Me! You do as I say, not the other way around? Got it?”
Harris held his blistered arms against his chest, panting.
As Hershel watched on, horrified, he continued to toil towards a way out of his bonds. He worked his fingers backwards toward his wrists until he found the end of the rope. He grabbed with his pinched fingers and slowly began to pull. At first it didn’t budge, and his mind worked for a better solution, but soon the rope began to slide. He sat perfectly still, making sure Cameron wasn’t watching, and carefully pulled the rope from the knot, inch by inch.
“We’re running out of time,” Cameron continued. “All I need is for you to answer my question, and then you can go back to sucking Satan’s shit-covered dick for the rest of eternity.”
Harris shook Evgeni’s head. “I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.”
Cameron sighed and then knelt down in front of his father. From his back pocket he unfolded a small photo and showed it to him. “This is your granddaughter Tara. Believe it or not, Dad, I managed to find a little bit of happiness in my life. I ran away to Tennessee for a few years, and met a sweet girl named Micha. I found love for the first time, Dad. We had a little girl, but Micha died after being hit head-on by a drunk driver when Tara was just three years old. Now…now Tara’s sick.” Tears sluggishly dropped down his cheeks. “She’s got Leukemia, Dad. Right now my little girl is dying in a hospital bed two states away, and I have no way of paying for her treatment. Since Micha died, I don’t have a dollar to my name or a pot to piss in, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my baby die when I know how much money you had. I may be a murderer, but I’m not ignorant. I know at one time you were a living, breathing human that wasn’t a complete monster. I remember back before Mom died, you seemed like a reasonable man.” He stood. “Now I’m only going to ask you one more mother fucking time, and if you don’t answer me, I’m going to make you very, very sorry. Where’s. The. Money?”
Inside Evgeni Sokolov’s body, Harris Whitecomb remained silent. He reached out and nodded for the photo. Cameron tossed it into the circle, careful not to disturb even a single grain. Harris lifted it with both hands and studied the photo of the granddaughter he had never seen. By the back wall, Hershel remained still, his fingers still working away at the knot.
“I can’t believe it. I…I’m a grandpa,” Harris said. He smiled, and something that resembled pride swept across his face.
“Dad?”
Harris’s eyes narrowed, and his grin soured like spoiled milk. “I wonder if she wouldn’t mind old grandpap sneaking off to her room at night, eh?” He cackled, then slowly ran his tongue over the glossy photo front.
Cameron roared, “You son of a bitch!”
His father continued to laugh. He bit into the top corner of the photo and tore it in half. “Once she’s dead she’ll be welcomed into Hell, and her grandpap will be there to keep he
r soft little body company.”
Cameron continued to scream, his body quaking, and his fists white and ready.
Harris continued, “She’ll stay with me for all of eternity, you little fuck. Not only will the demons cut and bleed her, over and over, but I’ll be there to help them. I’ll do things that’ll make even the devil blush. That’s what you get for taking my life. That’s what happens when you decide to play God with me, boy. And you what the best part is, Cameron?”
His son stopped growling long enough to listen.
“There is no fucking money!”
The room went silent. Though Yana continued to whimper, Colin stopped his head bashing to listen. Blood dripped down the wall.
Cameron’s shoulders sagged. “W-what?”
“You say you’re not ignorant, but you sure think like a moron. Why do you think nothing was left to leave to your dumbfuck brother over there? I didn’t win that goddamn much. I spent most of it on the house, a couple of cars, and horse gambling—hell, I was a VIP down at Ellis Park—and what little I had left was spent sending you two mistakes to a nice private school, but look what good that did. You two look like a young Felix and Oscar. You both make me sick. I didn’t have shit left by the time you decided to split my coconut. Just enough to pay for my funeral, I suppose, if I even had one. The bank was this close to taking the house from us. You were too young to even know that. That realtor boy over there could probably tell you all about it. I imagine the bank owns the house now.”
Eyes wide, Cameron fell to his knees as if he were shot. His head fell heavily to his hands, his world shattering. Much like the photo of his daughter, Hershel could see Cameron Whitecomb tear in two.
“Your time’s almost up, boy,” Harris said. “I’m done here. I’m tired of looking at your ugly faces. I’ll be sure to give little Tara your love.”
Fuming, Cameron punched the bloodstained floor. “Like hell it is.” He stood and grabbed his book, then cracked it open and read, “Ishkalben! Mortuus oculis meis! Daemon derelinquas nos!”
For the first time Harris looked fearful. “What did you just do?”
Closing Costs Page 5