He entered the living room and saw a flickering light bounce off the sheer curtains that covered the window facing the road. He approached the window cautiously, not really comprehending what to expect, and looked out across the long expanse of his front yard and through the trees towards the road. He shook with fear. Again, he had to muster up enough courage to get closer to see what had happened. He opened his front door and ran towards the tall flames that were beginning to consume the large oak tree on the other side of the road. When he approached the road, he saw the twisted, gnarled metal hulk that was once a red Crossfire. He looked hard to see if any heads were inside the car now enveloped in flames. He began to feel the heat from the burning wreck and he knew that if anyone was still in the car it was too late for them. He ran back to the house and dialed 911. He was still gasping for air and he could barely get his finger to stop shaking long enough to push the right numbers on the keypad. He decided he was going to stick to the diet his doctor had prescribed to him weeks earlier. Minutes seemed like hours and then he heard the sirens and saw the red flashing lights bounce off the trees in his front yard. He went into the kitchen, opened the cabinet above the sink, and took out a bottle of brandy. He shook as he poured the dark golden liquid into a highboy glass, spilling some on the white granite counter. He filled the glass halfway and downed all its contents in a single swallow.
"Damn dinosaurs," he said and went back into the living room to watch the activity outside his house. His hands still shook.
* * *
Jerry Vandergarde pulled up to red flashing lights reflecting and bouncing around the glass in his windshield. The fire trucks had already arrived and several firefighters were spraying the burning car with expanding, yellow foam. Jerry parked a few car lengths away and walked toward a uniformed officer standing near one of the large pumper trucks.
"What happened? I got the call at home," Jerry said.
"It's your partner's car all right, but there's no sign of him," the young officer replied.
"If I know him, he probably walked away from it and is now down the road looking for a ride home. Has anyone checked the wooded areas?" Jerry said.
"No. Not that I know of."
"Okay. I'm going to call for more help. Can you spare me some men to search the area?"
"Yeah, McBride and Ross are over there. We got this under control," the officer said.
Jerry went back to his car and made a call to headquarters. Several minutes later a police car pulled up and a second car arrived several minutes after that. Jerry gathered the police officers, gave them instructions, and the men vanished into the nearby wooded area. Jerry walked closer to the burned car, which was charred and smoking now and moved his flashlight around the wreckage. He washed the light over the driver's seat, the passenger seat, and then the small rear seats. Sweat formed on his forehead from the heat of the smoldering car. He looked at the driver's side door and then he saw that the grass was crushed and some of it torn out in a long path that lead to the edge of the road. He walked along the edge of the road and saw wide tire tracks with thick treads etched into the grass.
Jerry pulled his pocket radio out of his back pocket and pressed the talk button.
"Captain Buranski?"
Jerry released the button. A bolt of static blared out of the tiny loud speaker.
"Captain Buranski?"
"This is Buranski. Is that you Jerry?"
"Yeah, I need road blocks on every road that feeds off this one going north. Have your men search all vehicles in the area. I think Nick was kidnapped."
* * *
Nick felt a cramped sensation in his left arm and slowly the pain began to intensify as he reached full consciousness. He moved the arm slightly and the pain ignited into a blaze. It was dark and it smelled musty. His face and head also ached. He moved his hand and felt that he was lying on his stomach on some kind of metal with deep grooves. The metal was cold and hard. He reached around to his left arm and found something covering him; something rough and stiff. Canvas, he thought. He gingerly felt along his arm's length, checking for a broken bone. It was ok. Suddenly he realized the loud rhythm of crickets...thousands of them. It was getting louder and louder. Fear washed over him.
Where am I? he thought. The car...the turn...am I dead? No. I can't be dead...my arm. He slowly moved his body up. Pain streaked across every limb, every muscle, and his abdomen. Damn, I feel like shit, he thought. He felt along the canvas looking for the edge. When he found it, he slowly moved it over his head and peered out. Total darkness. He moved forward and his hand touched a wall. His hand followed it up to the edge and pulled himself up. The cool, damp air streamed over his face, and made him more alert. He moved his hand down his right leg to his calf and felt the hard metal of his 22-caliber pistol. He pulled himself up. From the faint light of the moon, he saw he was in the back of a pickup truck. He was looking at the cab to see if anyone was there when it began to blur out of focus, and then it slowly faded away.
Retaliation - Chapter 39
The six men climbed the small hill. When they reached the top they could barely see the tall spire of St. John's Roman Catholic Church in the silvery light. The men wore navy blue work pants and shirts so they were not readily visible despite the dim glare of the full moon. They descended on the church like a pack of red wolves running the 200 yards to the back of the church in minutes. When they reached the white stucco building, they crouched down and opened their backpacks in unison as if they had rehearsed the scenario many times. The first man took out a long crow bar and wedged its flat end between the door and frame a few inches above the doorknob.
"Crack!" the wood gave way and the door easily splintered revealing the door's bolt. He jammed the crow bar between the doorjamb and the bolt and pried the bolt back and the door opened.
The six men quickly entered and the last man closed the door behind him. They ran through a narrow hallway, up two flights of stairs and then poured out into the altar area like a swarm of flies. Their bright Xenon flashlights created a disco-like scene as the bluish white beams danced around the narrow passageway and into the main church area. The men dug in their backpacks and pulled out small hatchets and sledgehammers. They looked around moving their beams in all directions. Then one of them slammed his hammer into the statue of the Virgin Mary beheading the five-foot structure. Large chunks of the icon broke off and crumbled into thousands of smaller pieces that ran away in all directions when they hit the oak floor. The cracking of the statue seemed to signal the start an all out frenzy. The other men quickly began smashing other statues and two men used hatchets on the altar making large gashes in the old wood. One grabbed the chalice burse, ripped it from the altar, and threw it on the floor. Another man tore the altar cover off and placed it in a pile next to the burse. Another man came over with a half gallon jug of clear liquid and carefully poured it over the pile of cloth and then placed a small cardboard box the size of a deck of cards under the pile. He slowly pulled a small string out of the box.
"Okay, let's get the hell out of here!" he shouted.
The men rushed out of the area, down the narrow stairway and through the hallway to the back door. Once outside they sprinted back into the woods like a heard of deer running from a predator. The men vanished into the blackness of the backwoods like peccant specters.
Within minutes a there was a low rumbling inside the church until the pressure was so great that the six 12-foot stained glass windows blew out almost simultaneously. White-hot flames spewed out of the gaping holes like gigantic blowtorches instantly burning away the wooden walls. Within seconds the entire structure was a large fireball with wild, violent flames racing upward.
When the first fire truck arrived nine minutes later, the 40-foot spire had collapsed taking what was left of the roof. Twenty-two minutes later the walls fell into a fiery pile of charred and deformed wood. Four firemen focused two hoses on the fire merely to contain the flames. Within minutes, there was nothing recognizable
in the pile of blackened wood and metal. One firefighter approached the chief surveying what was once a thriving, living church.
"I have never seen a fire burn so hot so fast," the firefighter noted.
"Definitely arson," the chief said. "Unlike the other four - they used a hell of an accelerant. They must have used jet fuel or something just as powerful because whoever did this wanted to make sure this church was completely destroyed."
The Accused - Chapter 40
"Welcome everyone. Welcome to the good times!" Kyle Mabus said to the coven of thirteen individuals, who had joined his cult. Other groups of thirteen stood nearby and conducted a similar ceremony.
"Satan and I would like to thank you for showing faith in him. We are sure we can all work together to finally defeat the diseased minds of the prophets of the world who seek to condemn our mighty lord Lucifer. Our master has regained his position of prominence in the world and those of us who help him will be rewarded beyond our wildest dreams. Those who work against him will have unfortunate events," he said.
"Worship here consists of three basic rituals," he went on. "Sexual - to fulfill a desire; Compassionate - to help one another and Destructive - to eliminate anger, annoyance and hate. Tonight we have prepared the path for you to make contact with Satan. Nidel is our altar tonight...you see her naked before her master. She represents carnal power and lust," Kyle said pointing to Nidel, the woman with the long red ponytail. She was lying on her back nude on a table behind him. The table was raised with two cinder blocks under each leg.
"Now everyone...gather close to the edge of the pentagram and repeat after me," he commanded.
"Emperor Lucifer, master of the rebellious spirits, I beg you to be favorable..." Kyle paused and waited for the others to repeat.
"Now that I call for your minister the great Lucifuge Rofocale."
The small crowd repeated the words.
"As I desire to sign a contract with him. In the name of Satan the ruler of the earth," Kyle said. "...The king of the world, I command the forces of darkness to bestow their infernal power upon me. Open wide the gates of Hell and come forth from the abyss to greet me as your brother and friend. Grant me the indulgences of which I speak. I have taken thy name as part of myself. I live as the beasts in the fields, rejoicing the fleshly life. By all the gods in the pit, I command that these things of which I speak shall come to pass."
Kyle picked up an athame off the table, a ceremonial dagger that tapered towards the point.
"Now each and every one of you, repeat after me, 'Hail Satan, Hail Satan, Hail Satan,'" Kyle said holding the dagger in front of his face.
The members repeated the slogan.
"I call upon the messengers of doom to slash with grim delight this victim we have chosen. Silent is that voiceless bird that feeds upon the brain pulp of him who hath tormented me and the agony of this shall sustain itself in shrieks of pain."
Kyle turned again and brought forth a golden chalice. "Drink now," he said. "The life force of this world."
He sipped the liquid in the chalice and handed it to a tall thin man standing near him. The man slowly brought the cup to his lips. "It's blood!" he said.
"Yes it is the life force. Drink," Kyle replied.
The man handed the cup to a woman standing near him. Every member of the group took a turn drinking from the chalice. Kyle placed the chalice back on the altar.
"Bring the sacrifice - the center of our annoyances and hate," Kyle said.
Two men stepped forward out of the shadows of the room, and then vanished through the large wooden doors. They returned minutes later, each holding the arm of man with only a black sack tied around his head. The man had trouble standing up, and the two men had to keep lifting his arms to prevent him from falling. Some of the woman in the group gasped when they saw him. The two men laid the man down on the ground in the center of the pentagram. One went towards the south wall and released a long rope that was tied to a hook in the wooden wall. The rope swung across the room and stopped over the center of the pentagram. The rope passed through a large wooden block that was secured to cross beam in the roof. The other man grabbed the rope and tied it around the ankles of the man lying in the pentagram. After a few minutes, the man joined the other man, and both began to hoist the naked man up over the pentagram. The naked man groaned as his body was lifted into the air. The men pulling on the rope grunted and gasped for air.
"Remove the hood and let him see his accusers," Kyle said. One of the men by the wall walked over, untied the hood, and removed it. Several women in the group gasped again. One side of the man's face was covered with dried blood and his eyes were glassy and empty.
Nick woke up and saw heads floating in front of him upside down. His own head swelled with pain, and his thoughts were slow in coming. He was cold, his ankles hurt, and he felt nauseous. The floating head closest with the darkest eyes held a dagger in front of him. Nick thought he was having a nightmare. Then the floating head spoke.
"Accused! You are doomed. A pestilence to our majestic group," the voice said. "You are one of the holy who has mocked our Satan and tried to stop us from doing his bidding. Die pig! Die pig!"
Nick was convinced he was having a nightmare even until he felt the slight piercing pain of the dagger in his side. He feebly reached up and felt his own warm blood trickle through his fingers. I should wake up now, he thought. But he didn't. Instead, he saw the blade strike his other side and the pain was the same. The blood trickled down his chest, up his chin and into his mouth. He tried to scream, but it came out as a whimper. The floating heads began to vanish and Nick thought he would wake up soon.
Satan's Bride - Chapter 41
Linda snuggled into the wood post bed and turned on the China rose prism lamp on the small oval night table. The glass shade with three hand painted roses each a different shade of crimson cast a soft, romantic glow into the room. The lamp was one of her most prized possessions having purchased it from an estate sale in Charleston, South Carolina on their third wedding anniversary. The estate manager told her the lamp was made in 1864 and was typical of the Victorian lamps that populated the parlors of most Southern mansions during the Victorian period. The family had the lamp converted from oil to electricity in 1912.
She picked up Love's Fury, a Harlequin novel by J.P. Polk and removed the bookmarker on page 121. If she did not have to work, she could read one or two novels a day, she thought. There were two large boxes of novels she had read with yellowing pages still unpacked in the basement - she had not decided if she would keep them or give them away. She reached over and turned on the clock radio to an easy listening station. Then she began to read.
About an hour later, there was a rumbling sound, very faint and far off. She turned off the radio and listened. The rumbling sound came from the west, a low sonorous sound - it was thunder of an approaching storm. She thought of Carson working all night, and then returning in the morning looking like he hadn't slept in a week. She smiled to herself picturing his haggard face, dulled eyes and "I don't give a shit about anything" attitude. It was a perfect time to ask him to do something or approve a purchase he would normally not consent to without a lot of persuasion. She turned the volume up slightly on the radio and went back to her book. Several minutes later, the wind began to act like a mischievous little boy - first rattling a couple of clapboards on one side of the house, swinging around and rattling some on the other side. Linda listened as the wind whipped around the house. She began reading again, but the words turned into meaningless images on the page and her eyes felt very heavy. She turned on her side, hugged the pillow, and let the pleasure of sleep take over.
A low faint tinkling noise seeped into her consciousness as she slept on and off, awakened by an occasional peal of thunder and the white light flash of lightening that splashed into the small room. The tinkling noise was followed by a loud thump that reverberated through the walls of the house. She bolted up in her bed like a dog trained to hunt - her
eyes wide and ears tuned to the slightest sound. She knew the thump was too close to be something outside like a lawn chair blown against the house or a door slammed in the wind. She glanced over at the clock radio – 3:09 AM glowed on its face. Too early for Carson, she thought. She cautiously turned on the China rose lamp and grabbed the frumpy robe her mother-in-law had given her from her clothing closet leaving the door open. After putting on the robe, she quickly opened her door, knowing the hinges would not squeak when it was thrust open like that. The light from her Victorian lamp spilled out into the stairway. She descended only three steps and stopped. She knew the fourth step and three others squeaked like a cranky old woman who didn't want to be bothered. It was as if the steps protested each time someone stepped on them. She listened for several minutes. A zephyr wafted up the stairway carrying with it a briny, wet odor. The tinkling sound heard earlier replayed itself in her mind. Maybe a tree branch blew down and broke a window, she thought. Maybe a lawn chair was blown into the window. Maybe, someone broke in. This last thought made her shiver. She immediately discredited it, but remained leery just the same.
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