Vince nodded, not looking at her. He was frightened, and he was scared, and while he knew the nurse picked up on that, she didn’t know that he was frightened and scared for reasons she wouldn’t even be able to understand.
“MR. BLACK?”
At first Vince didn’t look up at the sound of the man’s voice. He was thinking of Frank and the last week or so that they were together. He was thinking of Mike Peterson, and Tracy Harris and his mother, and he was too preoccupied to remember that he’d lied to the admissions people that he was Frank’s brother so he wasn’t even focusing on that when the voice called out again. “Mr. Black?”
Vince looked up and was not too surprised to see that it belonged to a doctor.
He didn’t know how long he’d been in the tiny waiting room by himself. The redheaded nurse had led him there; it was segregated away from the main waiting area, most likely reserved for loved ones of critical patients for their privacy. He’d been sitting by himself in a chair just leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor and thinking when the doctor entered. He glanced at his watch quickly—it was now almost five p.m. How long had he been here?
The doctor was tall, wearing green scrubs, his surgical mask hanging around his neck. He had a dark complexion and a mop of black hair. Vince nodded and stood up. “Frank’s my brother,” he said quickly. “How is he?”
“He’s in very serious condition,” the doctor began. “I’d like to start by saying that—”
“Can I see him?”
“It might not be a good idea for you to see him right now,” the doctor began.
“Please,” Vince said, imploring the physician. “Just for a minute.”
“We’re going to be giving him a stronger tranquilizer,” the doctor said, frowning. “He almost came to while he was in surgery. He’s lost a lot of blood. To be perfectly honest, I’d advise against seeing him now in the condition he’s in—”
“I have to see him!” He had this undying need to learn everything that Frank had gone through the last twenty-four hours.
The outburst of emotion had the right effect. “Only for a minute,” the doctor said. He put his hand on Vince’s shoulder and escorted him down the hall.
Vince tried to control the tears, but it was hard. As he walked with the doctor down the hall, all he could think of was the past week. How Frank had risked his life, as well as the life of his wife and children, to track Vince down and help him get to the bottom of this enigma regarding his mother. The fact that Frank had put so much on the line, even though Vince realized that he had his own personal motives as well, were weighing heavily on him.
“He was stabbed numerous times in the upper torso,” the physician said, relating the clinical details in a calm, yet caring manner. “Two of them were flesh wounds, but the other three were very serious. The other wounds are life-threatening and unusual.”
“Unusual? How? I don’t understand?”
The doctor glanced at Vince; he looked hesitant. He’s hiding something, Vince thought. “He’s currently on a ventilator to help him breath, and his blood pressure is low,” the doctor continued. “We’ve got him on—”
“Is he going to make it?” Vince asked.
They reached the door to the room Frank was in. The doctor looked hopeful, but grim. “We’re doing everything we can. The next forty-eight hours will be critical.”
Vince took this information well and nodded. Frank was tough. He could get through this.
“I’ll leave you with him for no more than two minutes,” the doctor said. “Then you’ll have to leave. He’s going to need his rest.”
“Yes,” Vince said, as the doctor opened the door to the room and allowed Vince entry.
Vince stepped into the room. It was a large triage area and Frank was the only patient, lying in a bed in the middle of the room. He was hooked up to a myriad of machines; ventilator, IVs, blood pressure gauge. It seemed to take forever for Vince to cross the room, but when he approached Frank’s bedside he saw that Frank’s eyes were closed. Vince winced at the sight of Frank’s bandaged, battered body. He was looking at a different man than the longhaired, menacing tattooed figure he’d met at Baxter’s in Irvine. Frank’s chest was heavily bandaged, as was his abdomen. His shirt and pants had been peeled off and a blue hospital blanket was pulled over his legs and groin. There was a bruise covering the left side of his face that extended to his temple. The only thing colorful about Frank now was his tattooed arms; his skin was deathly pale. As Vince leaned closer, he thought to himself, he’s gonna be all right. He’s gonna be all right.
Frank opened his eyes.
Vince jumped back, startled. Frank stared up at the ceiling and, for a moment, Vince wondered if Frank was even conscious. If perhaps the act of opening his eyes was some sort of subliminal command, the way comatose people will behave when they are in a deep sleep. He watched Frank for a moment, unable to breath, and then Frank’s eyes rolled toward him, resting on him. “V…Vince,” Frank sighed.
“Frank,” Vince said. He reached out, touched Frank’s arm gingerly.
Frank’s eyes were droopy; his pupils dilated. The drugs were taking effect. “H…Haow…”
“Easy, buddy,” Vince said, whispering, leaning closer to him. “It’s okay, just take it easy.”
“After the thing…got me,” Frank began, “they took me. My mother…she was furious with me.”
Gladys Black? The woman who had abandoned Frank as a child, had sacrificed Frank’s sister in a satanic ritual? Vince nodded, not knowing what to say.
“They took me to their home,” Frank said, his voice clear, struggling to maintain the strength of its former timbre. “Can you believe that?” His eyes went blank for a moment, his features slackened, then the muscles in his cheeks grew taut as he fought to control himself. “They took me home…”
“Take it easy,” Vince said, trying to calm Frank down. Frank was trying to tell him something, but he didn’t want the doctor or any of the nurses to interrupt him. “Easy does it.”
“…to somewhere…near Laguna…” Frank said. His eyes drew closed and he sighed. Vince waited, the hum of the machines in the room sounding very loud all of a sudden. “Laagunaaa Hills…”
“Yeah?” Vince whispered, trying to calm his own nerves down.
Frank’s eyes drifted open again, locked with Vince’s. His hand reached out, gripped Vince’s arm. “They took me…to one of their rooms…they let…they let it out again.” Frank winced, motioned to his heavily bandaged torso. “They let it…loose on me again. They…let it…eat me.”
Vince glanced back at the doorway; the coast was still clear. “Frank, listen, you need to relax. You can tell me everything when—”
“I don’t know why they let me go” Frank continued. He swallowed, then coughed. “Next thing I remember, I was outside…in…Fountain Valley? Huntington Beach maybe? I…started walking…saw how bad it was…found a phone booth…”
“—you get out, okay?” Vince was trying to calm Frank down, trying to get him to just relax and sleep, but he was still listening to what Frank was saying. Did he just tell me that they ate part of him? Is that what the doctor didn’t want to tell me?
“Tracy…where is she?” Frank said, his voice failing.
“She’s safe, Frank,” Vince said, his mind racing. “You’re going to be okay.”
“You…knew…” Frank was struggling to speak. His pupils dilated to wide discs, obscuring the whites. “…Tracy…”
Vince’s heart began to pound as Frank’s breathing became more labored, his eyes grew wider. The beeping of the heart monitor was racing as Frank’s heartbeat accelerated and Vince glanced at the monitor. Surely that couldn’t be a good sign. The green indicator on the machine was blipping like crazy. Frank had stopped talking and was lying slumped on the bed, staring sightlessly upward.
Vince turned toward the doorway. “Help! Doctor! Somebody!” He raced toward the nurse’s station just as a nurse ru
shed in, almost knocking him over. “The monitor—” he began, hovering in the doorway, watching helplessly as the doctor that had escorted him to Frank’s bedside rushed in.
Another pair of medical professionals joined them, and Vince could only watch in growing shock as a defibrillator was wheeled over. The dark-haired physician squeezed a dollop of gel on the defibrillator pads, placed them on Frank’s right pectoral muscle and on his left side. He watched the cardiac monitor as the nurse watched the dials on the defibrillator. “Clear,” she said.
Whump! Frank’s back arched as his body was jolted with electricity. There was a short pause as all eyes went to the monitor. Flatline.
“Damnit!” The doctor placed the pads back into position. “Increase the voltage, in five.”
The five seconds that passed were the longest Vince ever experienced, and when the nurse shouted “clear!” again and Frank was jolted with the defibrillator pads, Vince turned and bolted out of the room. He couldn’t bear to watch anymore, couldn’t bear to be in the same room as the doctors and nurses fought to save Frank’s life. He couldn’t bear to be in the same room because the sinking feeling that he had when he watched Frank flatline was that it was over. Frank wasn’t coming back.
Vince stood outside the triage room for a moment, collecting his bearings. Other medical personnel breezed past, some clutching charts, some pushing gurneys with patients. They didn’t pay attention to Vince. After a moment, Vince could hear what was going on in the triage room and he closed his eyes. They zapped Frank a third time, then a fourth. Each zap was followed by a bustle of activity—the administering of oxygen and CPR and fluids, then the all-clear signal, followed by another zap. Vince waited outside the closed triage room door, unable to move, transfixed by the sound of the medical personnel fighting to save Frank’s life. It felt like he was in a holding pattern, frozen until the final verdict was pronounced.
When it finally came it was in a single sentence, from the dark-haired doctor. “Time of death five minutes after five p.m., Pacific Time.”
With no clear destination in mind, Vince moved.
He headed down the hall, away from the triage room, not really knowing where he was going, only knowing that he had to get away.
Chapter Twenty-three
YOU KNEW….TRACY….
Frank’s last words floated through his mind as Vince walked out to his car numbly, the scene in the hospital reverberating in his mind. With Mike Peterson dead, Frank was obviously frantic, worried about Tracy, worried about Vince, and he was confirming to Vince what he’d known all along. The Children of the Night were after him. He was important to them. What was the term Frank had used? The Red Opener? Like some kind of portal? Whatever it was, it was sick, it was dangerous, it was insane, and he had to get as far away from these people as possible. And he had to contact Tracy and get somewhere safe where they could never be found.
Vince’s cell phone rang as he approached his car. He answered it as he disarmed the vehicle and climbed in. “Yeah?”
“Vince?” Tracy’s voice. She sounded concerned. He could only guess what he sounded like to her. “Vince, you okay?”
“Frank’s dead,” Vince said. He sat in the front bucket seat of his car, staring out at the lot and its multitudes of cars shimmering in the July sun. “So is Mike. They’re both dead.”
For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line. Then, Tracy came back on the line. Her voice was calm, urging. “Vince, are you okay to drive?”
“I think so,” Vince said. He felt numb; detached, like he was in a waking nightmare. “It’s just…everything…it happened so fast.”
“You need to get out of there,” Tracy said. “Do you understand me, Vince?”
“Yeah. I understand.”
“I need you to come pick me up,” Tracy continued. “Only you’re not coming to the condo. I’m at Brian’s place. Can you pick me up there?”
“What are you doing there?” Vince asked. Brian Dennison lived in a large house in Laguna Hills. They…took me…near Laguna Hills…
“I told him what’s happening and he’s set us up. Everything is set up for our new lives, Vince. I acted on this the minute you dropped me off at the condo. I did it for us. We’re both going to be fine.”
“Everything’s…set up?”
“To escape,” Tracy said, her voice calm, soothing. “But we have to leave now. Come get me.”
“Okay.”
“You remember where Brian lives, right?”
“Yeah. I’m leaving now.”
“Drive carefully. I’ll see you soon.” And then Tracy hung up.
This played in his mind as he headed south on the 405 toward Irvine. The Lexus purred contentedly in rush hour traffic as Vince merged into the next lane, maneuvering to the left so he could get onto Interstate 5 where he would then get off on Mission Road. From there he would turn left, heading inland. Laguna Beach would lie behind him, a conclave of upper-middle class homes nestled in South Orange County. But further inland…
Laguna Hills.
Vince had been to Brian’s house a number of times. The neighborhood was made up primarily of high-level professionals: bankers, lawyers, doctors, CEOs. It was very plausible that Gladys Black and her husband lived within the general area.
As Vince drove, he thought about what Frank Black had told him in his drug-addled state. It was obvious something had happened to him; he’d looked gravely wounded. The attending ER physician did not want to discuss the specific nature of Frank’s more threatening injuries. Vince felt his stomach churn; he was nervous. It was still very difficult to believe the supernatural was at play here. He had a hard time believing what Frank had told him. Vince a half-human half-demon hybrid? It was absurd. The Children of the Night might believe it, but Vince didn’t, and that’s what made them so powerful. It was their belief that propelled them, what motivated them. Their devotion to this insane cause was as idiotic as those Christian nuts in Kansas with the god hates fags website and the Jihadists in the Middle East who blew themselves up in order to take down a few infidels.
The exit he was looking for came up and Vince took it, cruising effort-lessly onto Mission Viejo Road. He continued east, trying not to be both-ered by rush hour traffic. He drove on autopilot, his route already mapped out. He knew where he was going, and he would know the house when he saw it.
How had Frank wound up back in Fountain Valley? Did Gladys and the other Children of the Night dump him on some random street corner after doing whatever it was they did with him? For what purpose? Why not just kill him and make the body disappear? The more Vince thought about it, the more confused he got. Words and images swam in his conscious. The Red Opener. Hanbi. Father of Satan. Ancient and forbidden books of black magic written by Assyrian priests. How could such a legend continue for untold thousands of years, known only by a select few?
Something came out….ripped me open…it ate me…
Don’t believe a word she says…she did it…she orchestrated it…
The more Vince thought about it, the more the questions piled on. Mike Peterson’s wife, Carol, crying on TV. Gladys Black being furious with Frank, letting him be savaged by whatever thing they’d let loose on him before. Newport Road came up and Vince swung into the left-hand lane, making his turn at the light and continuing north.
Something Frank said bugged him. They’ve been, like, onto you now, grooming you for the past ten years. Can you believe it?
Ten years?
Vince’s brow furrowed as he thought about the past ten years. In 1989 he’d still been a student, heading to the top of his graduating class in the MBA Program at UCI. He was dating a beautiful woman named Diana Roberts, whom he’d met at a party over the Christmas holidays in 1988, and next to his relationship with Laura, that liaison was the hottest affair he’d ever had. He remembered the relationship being fiery, hot with passion. There’d been something about Diana that had awoken such a lustful side of him that he couldn’t resist
her. Normally, Vince had been attracted to conservative girls—preppy cheerleaders, studious types. Diana had been the exact opposite. She’d been a wild, heavy metal rocker chick with teased out hair, lithe features, legs to her neck, and a body that wouldn’t quit. Unlike most of the party girls Vince had known, Diana had actually possessed a brain. They’d have these long conversations about everything from politics to music, to literature and films, to economics and current events. She was well educated yet had a wild side that had won Vince over. He’d been a little sad to see the relationship end.
He kept his eye peeled to the cliffs to his right. It was still light enough to make out the houses perched along the edge of the canyon. The houses that lined the cliff looked to be a good quarter of a mile away, and Vince swung into his right lane so he could cruise it.
He wondered what ever happened to Diana Roberts. About a month or so into their relationship, she’d suddenly stopped calling him or taking his phone calls. When Vince dropped by her apartment in Hunting-ton Beach to see if she was okay (he’d thought she’d been sick or something), he was shocked to find that she’d cleared out. Her apartment was vacant and she’d left no forwarding address.
A year later he was working at Corporate Financial, in a job that had seemingly landed at his feet. Brian Denison, one of the middle managers that interviewed him for the position, had become a good friend and in the three years that passed Vince had risen up the ladder quickly. By 1994 he was a Regional Division Manager in charge of all accounts. He was also dating Laura Palmer, who he’d met at a business function. Two years later he and Laura were married, and Vince thought life couldn’t get any better.
Only it had. There was another promotion, this one as V.P. in charge of International Accounts. Brian was grooming him for a Presidency position; Vince knew that, and his handling of overseas stocks and bonds was becoming impeccable. One of the firm’s clients, Azif Offshore Investments, was rapidly growing into one of the most lucrative firms that the company held and it had been Brian’s baby, which he’d passed on to Vince. “I’m gonna let you do your magic on this one, pal,” Brian had told him that day just a year ago when he’d been handed the account. “These guys are gonna bust out. They’re projected at grossing three hundred billion dollars in 1999. By 2000, they’re gonna be bigger than Microsoft.”
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