"Where would you go?"
"A tropical island maybe."
"You suppose a tropical island would be as romantic as you imagine, do you?"
"Probably not. I guess I've always fancied the notion of traveling to romantic places."
"I can't say as I blame you for thinking about escape just now."
"I guess you've spotted the psychological trigger for the fantasy. I'm worried about Heaven, so I want to go far away and start over."
“Not a bad idea."
"Maybe that's what I should have done, if not after Dave at least after Martin. Then I might have been out of range when he decided to play games. Maybe Heaven could have been spared all this.”
“Don't start that, blaming yourself. It won't change anything. It'll only make you start feeling bad, and that's what he wanted. No way could you have known some man was going to come up with this kind of craziness. Hell, I still hardly believe it. I keep thinkin' we're all gonna wake up."
"I wish I could."
Simon sat calmly in Althea's passenger seat as she guided the car through traffic. He no longer had to threaten or warn. She was headed, without hesitation, toward the house where Gabrielle and Heaven were sequestered.
Entry would be easy. They would welcome Althea and her promise of guidance and healing, not knowing he was close behind.
He would offer guidance, but it would be his own form. He reached beneath the folds of his coat and extracted a small, thick crystal sliver. It was not powerful, but when he whispered a few soft words it began to glow somewhere within.
Like a burning diamond, it flared, reflecting a rainbow of light across his features as he peered into it. In the depths of the stone, bouncing around the edges he could see Gabrielle as she spoke about faraway places.
He found the confirmation he was seeking. She was unsuspecting, believing that her situation was improving. She was trusting Danube to rid her world of magic, and she was not expecting any further disturbance. Danube had banished one demon, so foolishly she believed the worst was over.
The sorcerer had to laugh. Let her believe that. It was almost ironic. She wanted to travel, and he was going to take her on a trip. She wanted exotic locales, well, there wasn't any place that could be more exotic.
The image began to melt through the gray burlap that covered Danube's pain. It was an image of …
Suffering.
Pain.
Not his own. He'd felt the suffering from the beginning, from that day on the hillside.
It was hot, dust swirling in the wind, and the smell that swept down from the tortured body tainted with the sick smell of decay and infection. He saw the agony on that face, and suddenly the eyes looked down at him.
He still remembered. He had thought it was in accusation, a gaze of blame. Instead now, through his own pain, it was different. He saw something else in the eyes. It was a look not of anger or scorn. Though blurred by pain the eyes showed understanding.
The message that had been pumped into his subconscious was not condemnatory. He had not been charged with seeking redemption, because that had always been afforded him.
His charge was a special responsibility, and that had throbbed at the back of his being, tearing him apart when he had resisted, driving him when he had finally made his journey into the mountains. As he looked up into those eyes, he saw that it was not atonement that was expected from him. Only that he fulfill his responsibility, the promise he had made to the sisters, the promise he had made to himself. He was to struggle against evils and injustice. To carry on.
Slowly, his consciousness began to re-form out of the grim haze that gripped him. He could not die here in this mockery of the other's suffering. He could not perish because he was still needed. The sorcerer could not be allowed to succeed. He was attempting to perform acts not meant to be achieved. If the mage was allowed to continue, he would unravel the fabric of existence prematurely. It was not yet time.
Danube was here because the culmination could not be allowed. He was in place to stand against the darkness. If only he could manage to fulfill that plan. He came to full consciousness, the pain in his hands making him aware of reality. The nails had bitten deeply into the wood, the force of the mechanism driving them into place.
His hands were fastened against the boards with no leverage or leeway. It was difficult to move them in the slightest and that movement caused pain so acute it brought tears to his eyes and sent charges up his arms.
A long moan escaped his lips, and bile churned up his esophagus. How had this been endured? He had not been scourged, had not hauled his instrument of torture through jeering crowds; yet this was almost unbearable.
Surrender would be so easy. Surely now death could find him. Rest at last would come. If only he could relax. If only he could shut out the pain.
That was not allowed, however. He had to get free. Heaven and Gabrielle were vulnerable, and they were dependent on him. No one could face Simon alone. His magic was too powerful, and Danube had not yet discerned all he intended. He only knew it had to be horrible.
Clenching his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly, he forced himself to move his hands. As the agony quivered through his palms, he felt the slight movement.
It was the worst pain he had ever known—fire and ice blending—but he felt the nails wiggle in the wood. He was undermining their grip.
He cursed and cried out, but he did not stop. Pain pounded into his brain, threatening to send him back into unconsciousness, but he willed his thoughts to work around it, to keep him alert.
Tears streaked out the corners of his eyes, and the pressure of the excess blood in his head made his arteries feel as if they were going to burst. He could sense that his temples were bulging.
And still he wiggled his hands. New trickles of blood escaped from his punctured palms and dripped down his thumbs, forming puddles on the concrete floor.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked into his scalp, and he could feel it congealing on his chest beneath his clothing. His new raincoat held heat in, making his body temperature its own enemy.
He had to stop his efforts before the pain's intensity sent him into oblivion. He was breathing heavily, his lungs struggling for each difficult gasp. In his unusual position his muscles seemed confused and uncertain of how to function.
He tried to look at his torn hands, but he could not see them, not with his vision blurred by tears and his brain in confusion.
He told himself to concentrate on the wind trying to wear away a stone. Patience, he told himself. An eternity might pass, but he had to continue.
"Mommy thinks maybe it's about to be over," Gabrielle whispered.
"Our house burned up?" Heaven asked.
"It did, but we're all right. That's the main thing.”
“Was it my fault?"
"No. Somebody did it to hurt Mommy. Mr. Danube has gone out to try to talk to the man so he'll leave us alone."
"Will that work?"
"Uh-hum. Mommy just didn't think about who might be so angry at her before. Now that Mr. Danube knows who to talk to, everything will be fine. He'll make the Gnelfs go away.”
"We'll have to get all new stuff."
Heaven seemed to brighten at that prospect. To her, new stuff was good. It wasn't yet real to her that you had to come up with the money for it.
"We'll go shopping soon," Gabrielle said.
"Can we buy new toys?"
"We'll get new toys," Gabrielle said, smiling. "Lots of new toys."
At least Heaven was now worrying about the things a five-year-old was supposed to worry about. A shaky, shimmering image of stability crept into Gabrielle's thoughts. She could see Heaven entering grade school, following through to junior high, high school.
She could see her dating boys and finding true love and marrying and having children, making her mother a grandmother. That was just fine. Aging didn't bother Gabrielle. She would grow old without protest, dammit, if her child would just be allowed
to live peacefully again.
She stroked Heaven's hair and smiled softly. There was no need for words. The communion of silence was enough. Heaven knew how much she loved her. Love flowed through them both, manifesting itself in the invisible vibrations which passed between them.
Wrapping her arms around the child, she held her, pressing her cheek against Heaven's soft, golden hair and whispering gentle words that said nothing and everything.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the moment. Gab pulled back and placed her 'hands on Heaven's shoulders.
"Sounds like Althea's here."
"I'll go get her," Katrina said. "I'm sure she's ready to examine y'all's heads."
"Examine our heads?" Heaven asked, dimples forming as she smiled at the thought.
Katrina nodded, an exaggerated frown on her face, before slipping into the hallway.
The front room needs vacuuming, Katrina decided as she walked from the hallway on her way to the front door. She would undertake that while Althea was with Gabrielle and Heaven. The Kirby unit her husband, had purchased from the door-to-door salesman was quiet enough to allow that, since they would be down the hall.
When the doorbell rang, she already had her hand on the knob. Turning it, she eased the door open. When she saw Althea on the doorstep, she said, "Hi." A moment passed before she realized the woman in front of her was not reaching for the hand she'd extended.
The stark, empty look in Althea's eyes issued a warning that something was wrong, but before Kat could react, the man was through the door. He had been standing just to Althea's side, out of sight, until his hand had shot forward, pushing the door farther open, and he'd slipped past.
Katrina grabbed for his arm and missed. He was moving toward her in an instant. His face seemed harsh, full of madness. She attempted to move backward, but stumbled, and he grabbed for her. Her hands shot up, pushing his arms away. Her left hand managed to reach his face, and she dragged her fingernails down the pale flesh of his cheek, leaving red streaks in his skin.
She saw the blood before the realization that she had drawn it touched her, and then she moaned softly. The man only grinned and pressed his hand against her forehead. Needles of sharp agony throbbed into her brain, and she felt her eyes closing against her will.
She tried to protest, to struggle, but there was no time. Before she could offer any real opposition, she was headed for the floor.
The feeling that something was wrong hit Gabrielle while there was still silence in the front room. By the time she heard something heavy strike the floor, she had Heaven in her arms.
Rushing through the doorway, she headed along the hall. She would go out the back door and run until she found some place of refuge, perhaps a church or some other place where the evil might be kept at bay while they waited for Danube to find them and dispel the dark magic.
A few days ago, Mace would have been the first thing that came to Gabrielle's mind; she would have been thinking of warding off an attacker. When reality was ripped away, however, you altered your survival skills.
Heaven was already getting heavy when Gab reached the end of the hallway and raced past the den toward the playroom which opened onto the back yard. She realized her legs weren't as sturdy as they once had been. She hadn't played tennis in a while, and she was out of shape.
She had reached the door when she heard Althea's voice. She turned and found herself looking into the pale face of Simon. His arm was around Althea's neck, and he pointed a dagger toward Gabrielle.
"Don't move," he commanded.
She froze, clutching Heaven against her. "Who are you?"
He grinned, his eyebrows arching upward impishly. "Simon says be still," he warned.
"Damn you. Leave us, alone. You've hurt us enough."
"I've made promises, Mrs. Davis. I don't have any choice but to keep them." He fumbled into his coat and found a metal skull cap, which he placed on his head.
"You can tell whoever you're working for to go to hell. I've had enough."
"The ones I work for are already in hell."
She turned, fumbling for the knob, but he shouted before she could get the door open. When she looked back at him the dagger was pressed against Althea's throat.
"She won't resist me," he said. "I could open an artery right now and she wouldn't struggle.”
“Leave her alone!"
"I'd like to, but I must have your daughter." He held up his hand, showing a jagged nub where a finger should have been. "I made a down payment, but there are those expecting more."
She reached back, trying to find the knob.
Realizing what she was doing before the door opened, he pressed the blade into flesh. Blood began to drip from Althea's eyes. The crimson tears streaked her cheeks, dripped down her jaw-line, and trickled from her chin.
Gab stopped moving, and in that same instant, the nightmare continued to blossom. With a quick movement of the dagger, Simon split the flesh at Althea's throat. It parted as if it were a mouth opening to belch out a red spray of spittle.
Gab closed her eyes, placing a hand across Heaven's face to protect the child from the sight as well.
Releasing Althea's body, Simon let it slump to the floor. "Don't be upset," he said. "There had to be a sacrifice to open the doorway."
"What do you mean?"
Suddenly he was flanked by the Gnelfs, or keslim. The ugly little creatures huddled about him, wringing their green hands in anticipation. They were like mad brethren preparing for dark communion.
"It is time my debts were paid."
She clutched Heaven to her chest, fear coursing through her like electric shock.
Simon walked forward and placed his hands on Heaven, tugging her away, while the Gnelfs grabbed Gab and pulled her back before she could struggle.
"Mommy," Heaven shouted. "Don't let him take me."
She reached out to her mother, but the Gnelfs had pinned Gab against the door, their gnarled hands pressing her into place as guttural growls and hisses issued from their lips.
Standing over Althea's body, the blond man smiled. "Simon says, we're going to hell," he said. "Or at least to Hades."
Chapter 22
The nails were loosening in the boards. As pain assaulted his brain, Danube slid his hands along the shafts, clenching his teeth as he strained his forearms, pressing forward.
The wounds in his hands had grown larger with the movement, and their throbbing was constant. The pressure against the nail heads stung the tattered openings in his palms, but he curled his fingers forward to avoid ripping his hands apart. The effort brought excruciating pain.
Tears were continuing to flow from his eyes, and his beard glistened with sweat. His internal organs felt as if they were trying to force their way up through his throat. Part of him had grown numb even though his palms were alive, and it would have been easy to lose consciousness again. The thought of it was tempting.
As he tugged at the nails, he fantasized about sinking into oblivion, letting his thoughts fold in on themselves. That would be simple enough. He would hang there, upside down, strangling without suffering, suffocating without protest.
To quit suffering, that would be wonderful. Wonderful to escape the pain, the heavy feeling in his head, and the fire in his body.
He might fail in his task, but he would be able to rest. Let the other paths of the universe take their own course. He could die here.
Almost unexpectedly, the nail in his left hand pulled free from the crosspiece, jerking him back from the fading limbo of unreality. He opened his eyes wide.
His hand looked awful as he brought it in front of his face, even to his badly focused eyes. It was coated in blood, and a gleaming silver shaft shot through the jagged opening in his flesh.
With a grunt, he brought the back of his hand toward his lips. Closing his teeth around the nail head, gripping it tightly, he slid his hand off the spike. It seemed to move slowly along the cylindrical length of the shaft, the nail f
inally slipping from the wound, but when his hand came free the sensation was akin to ecstasy.
He spat the nail from his teeth, listening to it clatter to the concrete floor. It sounded like no more than a pin. How could it have caused such agony?
Without further speculation, he reached over and pulled out the nail in his right hand, tossing it to the floor as well. The delirium of relief: despite the jagged, raw pain still pounding at his nerve endings, came in a rush that brought forth as much of a sigh as his lungs could manage.
Blood pounded in his head, and his ears were roaring. As he tilted upward to see his feet tangled in the cord, a wave of dizziness swept through him. He lowered his head again after only a moment of studying the knots that encircled his ankles. They were not complex, but they were far away.
Simon did not vanish.
It was as if the air opened up, and he stepped into some invisible doorway. Gabrielle screamed as she heard Heaven's cries. They continued for a split second, and when they faded it seemed she was very far away.
Gabrielle's cry raked its way out of her throat, resounding throughout the house. It lasted a long time, continuing even after it ceased being a conscious act. She sensed the dangerous edge of hysteria starting to slice into her.
Stumbling, she moved over to a chair, bending forward to allow her face to meet her hands. She breathed deeply, forcing herself to regain control. She had to think. Where could the sorcerer have gone? If her belief in his magic had ever wavered, now it was firm and complete. He could do everything Danube had warned about. Somehow he had opened a doorway and carried Heaven away.
Or perhaps it had been a trick, a stage maneuver. They do it with mirrors. Bouncing off the seat cushion, she raced through the house, hoping that she might reach the front window and look out and see him running across the lawn.
At least then she could give chase. She might have to run until her lungs were bursting and her legs rubbery, but she would keep after him until neighbors began to pour out of their houses. When they saw he was trying to abduct a child they would help her.
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