Devil Girl: Box Set (The Somnopolis Saga: Parts 1,2,3,4, & 5)

by Randy Henson

  In front of the cages was a large desk and beside the desk stood another man in a suit holding a shotgun down along his right leg.

  The man with the shotgun grinned and said, “Goody. More customers.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bradley McMillan was Matthew Davenport’s right arm, his second in charge. He drove the Lexus while Matthew rode shotgun.

  “Look, Boss. They’re early,” Bradley said as he pulled into the galleria’s parking lot.

  “I see that. Pull right up to them,” Matthew ordered.

  “What’s that fool doing?” Bradley asked as he pointed out the windshield toward a man standing on the roof of a black Suburban.

  “Acting like a jackass, it looks like,” Matthew said.

  A large group of men surrounded the Suburban. They turned to look at the Lexus as it rolled toward them.

  “I swear I don’t know why you put up with his shit,” Bradley said as he slowed the Lexus to a stop.

  “I’m about to show you why,” Matthew said as he flashed Bradley a wicked grin. “His little power struggle ends right here. I’ve only been putting up with him for this long so that I can do this.”

  As Matthew opened the car door and climbed out, all the men surrounding the Suburban collapsed and went into seizures.

  The man standing on the Suburban dropped his jaw as he looked around at his fallen men. He then looked at Matthew who was slowly walking toward him.

  “What the hell, Davenport?” the man on the Suburban said.

  “What, indeed,” Matthew said as he raised his palms into the air as if he was offering manna to God.

  The man cried out as the Suburban beneath him began to levitate.

  Matthew suddenly clapped his hands and the Suburban folded in half, trapping the man and crushing all his bones from the waist down.

  As the man screamed, his arms flailing and his head jerking, Matthew pulled his hands back to his chest as if he was praying. Then he suddenly pushed them out as if he was passing a basketball.

  The Suburban and its screaming captive sailed through the air for fifty yards until they crashed into a row of parked cars.

  The screaming stopped.

  Bradley walked over to Matthew as he surveyed the group of men jerking on the asphalt, pink foam frothing from their mouths and blood pouring from their noses and ears.

  Then he looked at Matthew, grinned, and said, “Remind me to never give you any shit, Boss.”

  DEVIL GIRL: BLAZED

  (The Somnopolis Saga: Part Four)

  By Randy Henson

  Copyright Randy Henson 2014

  CHAPTER ONE

  Moira turned to Joe and said, “I told you he lacked patience.”

  “That was insane!” Joe said.

  “I told you witches were real,” Molly said.

  I looked at Moira and said, “I take it that’s your grandson.”

  “Uh, what just happened?” Jack asked.

  I turned around to see that both Jack and Orin wore masks of fear and confusion.

  Molly, however, looked like she was happy. She was all smiles.

  Creepy kid.

  Moira turned and began walking across the roof as she said, “I’m not sure what that was all about. Let’s go find out.”

  Joe took two long strides and fell into pace beside Moira.

  Jack turned toward me and asked, “What do we do?”

  “Come on,” I said as I started to follow Moira and Joe.

  We all followed Moira and Joe through the roof’s access door and back down the stairs.

  When we reached the landing to the galleria’s second floor, Moira turned to look up at Joe and said, “Joseph, take the others back to the food court.”

  Joe nodded and opened the door to the second floor.

  Moira looked over at me and said, “Bernice, come with me, dear.”

  “Whoa, wait, I’m going with Bernie,” Jack said.

  I looked over at Moira, then back at Jack and said, “It’s okay, Jack. Go with Joe. I’ll be fine.”

  “But why can’t…” Jack started.

  “Just go, Jack,” I said.

  “Come on,” Joe said as he held the door open for the others.

  Jack groaned as he followed Orin and Molly through the door.

  “We won’t be long, Joseph,” Moira said.

  Joe nodded and then followed the others, the door clicking shut behind them.

  I followed Moira down the steps to the first floor landing and opened the door for her.

  Moira shuffled through the door and I followed her across the galleria’s thoroughfare toward the main entrance.

  As we passed the galleria’s coffee shop, a group of men rounded the corner that led to the front entrance. As they walked toward us I counted seven of them. I was pretty sure the handsome one in the lead was Matthew, Moira’s grandson, the telekinetic we had all just witnessed murdering a man.

  Matthew smiled broadly and held his arms out as he approached us and said, “Grandmother!”

  “Thank God you are back,” Moira said as she stopped in her tracks.

  When Matthew reached us, he bent down and scooped up Moira and twirled her around as he planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “Let me down, Matthew. You are going to crush me. I’m not some bobbysoxer you can twirl around the dance floor. I swear you get more and more like your father every day.”

  Matthew set Moira back down and said, “Come now, Grams. We both know you’re a tough old bird.”

  “Tough old bird, indeed. And what was that little display outside? Was it absolutely necessary to murder the man?” Moira said as she slapped her hands on her hips and stared up at her grandson with her one good eye.

  Matthew turned to the man standing to his right and said, “Brad, why don’t you take the men upstairs and see that they’re fed.”

  The man called Brad didn’t respond at first. He was too busy looking me up and down with a smirk plastered on his face.

  Matthew reached up and snapped his fingers a quarter of an inch from Bradley’s nose.

  “You hearing me?” Matthew asked.

  Bradley’s eyes shifted from me to Matthew and he said, “Sure, boss. Come on, guys.”

  Bradley then turned and winked at me as he brushed passed and led the other five men toward the escalators.

  “Matthew, I’d like you to meet Bernice,” Moira said as she placed a hand on my shoulder.

  Matthew’s gaze shifted from his grandmother to me and he took a half a step back as if he was noticing me for the first time, as if I had just then magically appeared.

  “She’s one of us,” Matthew said in a lowered voice as he looked into my eyes.

  It was then that I noticed how gold Matthew’s eyes were. It looked as if they were even brighter than Moira’s and mine.

  “She is,” Moira said. “But she is new. Her eyes only changed color yesterday.”

  “Yesterday,” Matthew said slowly and still in a low voice.

  It was Moira’s turn to snap her fingers.

  “Matthew, I’ll ask you again. What was that out there? Did you really need to kill him? You could have just restrained him and caged him with the others. You didn’t have to kill him.”

  Caged? What others? What was Moira talking about?

  Matthew turned from me to his grandmother and said, “As a matter of fact, I did try to capture him, up in Columbia. Only he escaped and ended up blowing up the city in the process.”

  Moira’s head jerked as she said, “Blew up the city? What do you mean he blew up the city?”

  “You know, like KABOOM and it’s no longer there.”

  “And how did he manage that?”

  “Well, it’s a long story and I’m starved. I’ll tell you all about it over some breakfast, how does that sound?”

  “We already had breakfast,” Moira said.

  “Well, then, you can sip on some of that tea you like so much while I eat. Shall we?” He said as he held his left arm o
ut toward the escalators.

  Moira grunted, shrugged, and then shuffled toward the escalators.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Colonel Lundy, Lieutenant Hale, and Dr. Nichols sat on the concrete floor inside their cage with their backs against the bars. Their hands were still cuffed behind their backs and their ankles were still in irons and linked together with heavy chains.

  Inside the cage next to them, Captain Peterson, Sergeant Rogers, and Corporal Morgan were all similarly bound and linked together and sitting on the concrete floor as well.

  Dr. Nichols turned his head toward Hale and Lundy and said, “What do you think they’re going to do to us?”

  Lieutenant Hale whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Probably shoot us if they catch us talking.”

  Dr. Nichols shook his head and said, “No, they would have shot us already if that was the case.”

  “Well, keep jacking your jaw and we’ll find out,” Lundy whispered.

  Nichols frowned and then turned and lowered his head, staring between his knees at the concrete floor, looking dejected.

  In the next cage Corporal Morgan looked over to his left and counted five more cages. The one just next to them was empty, but it looked like the last four were occupied, each one with a single occupant lying motionless on a mattress. Morgan wondered whether they were asleep, sick, or dead.

  “What are you looking at, Morgan?” Rogers whispered.

  “Mattresses. They look comfortable.”

  “Yeah, we keep sitting on this cement for much longer we’re going to get piles,” Rogers said.

  “Would you two shut up?” Peterson hissed.

  “Shut up!” yelled a booming voice.

  In front of the seven cages, behind a large wooden desk, a fat guard sat reading a paperback novel, a shotgun resting on the desk in front of him. He was the one that had just yelled at them to shut up.

  “I have to go pee,” Morgan said.

  “No one’s stopping you. Now shut the hell up,” the guard said as he leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on the desk next to the shotgun, and returned his attention to the paperback.

  “Nice to see you still know how to make friends, Morgan,” Rogers muttered.

  “Shut up,” Morgan said.

  “What did you say, Corporal? We may be locked in a cage, but I still outrank you.”

  “Then, by all means, Sergeant, court-martial my ass,” Morgan said.

  “Damn it to hell,” the fat guard said as he slammed the paperback down on the desk and brought his feet down. The guard then stood and walked around the desk to stand in front of the cage that housed Peterson, Rogers, and Morgan.

  “Sorry, we’ll be quiet,” Peterson said.

  The guard ignored Peterson and pulled a gun from the holster riding on his hip. He extended the gun through the bars and pointed it at Morgan.

  “I told you no talking,” the guard said before he pulled the trigger.

  Two metal prongs shot from the gun and buried themselves into Morgan’s chest. Trailing the two metal prongs were two wires that connected the prongs to the guard’s stun gun.

  As Morgan began to shake and spasm, Rogers and Peterson jerked as they were jolted by the electricity running from Morgan’s body and through the ankle chains that linked the three of them together.

  “Ow,” Peterson said as he jumped and bounced twice.

  “Damn it,” Rogers said as he bounced as well.

  The guard chuckled and said, “How about that, a threefer.”

  After the jolts of electricity had run their course and Morgan’s spasms calmed to mere twitches, the guard grabbed the two wires and jerked the prongs out of Morgan’s chest. He then hit a button on the side of the stun gun and the wires recoiled and pulled the prongs back into the gun’s muzzle.

  The guard returned his stun gun to its holster and said, “That was fun. Feel free to talk some more.” He then spun and returned to his seat behind the desk, picking up the paperback and propping his feet back up on the desk.

  “Oh, God,” Rogers mumbled as he scooted away from Morgan and the puddle of urine that was spreading beneath his groin.

  “Shhh,” Peterson hissed.

  “Excuse me, guard?” Hale said.

  Dr. Nichols looked over at Hale and said, “Shhh. What are you doing?”

  “I don’t believe this,” the guard said as he lowered his paperback and looked at Hale.

  “Yeah, you, fat boy. That looked like fun. Think you could juice me as well?” Hale said.

  The guard took his feet off the desk as he grinned and said, “I don’t see why not.”

  Hale smiled and said, “And up the wattage while you’re at it. I want you to juice me like I was your fat momma.”

  The guard’s face turned beet red as he opened the bottom right drawer of the desk and removed another stun gun.

  “Oh, no,” Nichols said as he watched the guard come around the desk wearing a sneer.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Matthew pulled a chair out for his grandmother.

  Across the food court I saw Jack, Orin, and Molly seated at a table with Joe. Jack saw me first and began to stand, but Joe said something and Jack sat back down shaking his head.

  As Moira sat, Matthew reached over to pull a chair out for me but I beat him to it. Matthew then pulled out a chair for himself and sat.

  “Now, what were we talking about?” Matthew asked as he flashed Moira and me a wide smile.

  Moira frowned and said, “You know what we were talking about. We were talking about your little spectacle outside. You were explaining why you found it necessary to kill that man.”

  Matthew nodded and said, “Right, because he blew up downtown Columbia, killing hundreds, maybe thousands. Maybe you think I should have just given him a spanking.”

  “Don’t get fresh with me, young man. Maybe you better start at the beginning,” Moira said.

  Matthew nodded and then looked at me.

  As if she was reading his mind, which for all I knew she was, Moira said, “You can talk in front of her, Matthew. She’s one of us.”

  “One of us,” Matthew said as he continued to stare at me.

  I returned his stare and nodded.

  “Yes, one of us. So out with it, boy,” Moira said.

  Matthew slowly shifted his gaze from me to his grandmother and said, “Very well. As you know, I and the others left in hopes of finding out who had been starting all the riots that have taken place over the last few months.”

  Moira nodded.

  I sat up straighter in my chair, all ears.

  Matthew nodded and continued, “Well, our investigation eventually led us to Darden and his little band of misfits.”

  “The gentlemen outside?” Moira said.

  “Gentlemen, right. Anyway, we found out that those clowns, I mean gentlemen, had nothing to do with the riots. However, we did find out that those gentlemen were responsible for several attacks on various compounds…”

  “And how did you establish that?” Moira asked.

  “We made some aggressive inquiries.”

  “Aggressive inquiries? What does that mean? Speak plainly, Matthew,” Moira said.

  As my eyes bounced between Moira and Matthew, I noticed the group of men that Matthew had arrived with. They were seated at a table on the other side of the food court eating and talking amongst themselves. The man Matthew had called Brad was sipping from a plastic cup and staring at me.

  At the table next to them I noticed Jack and Orin staring at Brad and whispering to one another.

  “Well, a couple of the gentlemen got separated from the rest, so we captured them and asked them a few questions…”

  “Ahh, aggressive inquiries. So what you are saying, if I’m understanding you correctly, is that you kidnapped a couple of men and tortured them for information,” Moira said.

  “Well, when you say it like that, Grams, it sounds somehow wrong.”

  “That’s because it is wrong,” Moir
a said as a sour expression spread across her face. “You know this, Matthew. And torture doesn’t work, anyway.”

  Matthew shook his head and said, “You know, I’ve always heard that. However, as it turns out, torture works amazingly well.”

  At that moment a middle-aged woman approached our table and placed a tray of food in front of Matthew.

  Matthew looked up and said, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  The woman smiled down at Matthew and then left.

  As Matthew began to cut a bagel in half with a plastic knife, Moira folded her arms across her chest and said, “Don’t be ridiculous. If you inflict enough pain on someone, they’ll tell you they were onboard one of the airliners that crashed into the Sears towers when obviously they were not.”

  Matthew frowned as he piled scrambled eggs and bacon on half a bagel and said, “We’re getting off topic.”

  Moira frowned back at Matthew and said, “So you tortured these men and they told you what?”

  Matthew pressed the other half a bagel on top of the eggs and bacon, making a sandwich, and said, “That they and the rest of their group, led by Darden, had performed raids on several compounds along the west coast before deciding to take their show east. They started in Seattle and headed south, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, raping and pillaging as they went. The atrocities they admitted to were so vile and graphic that they could not have possibly been making it up.”

  “They could have been telling you about things they had seen in a movie years ago,” Moira argued.

  Matthew took a bite of his breakfast sandwich and said, “Why would they? Anyway, Hollywood was never this creative. Believe me, Grams, those bastards got what they deserved.”

  “So, essentially, you found an opportunity to act like judge, jury, and executioner, but you are no closer to finding out what caused the riots. And don’t wolf your food down like that. Chew it slowly,” Moira admonished.