Melissa pulled her arm away from him. He didn't resist. "And if I decide against you?" she asked, looking up at him. "Will he still be left unharmed?"
Reed turned and stared at me in silence a minute, as if he were really considering her question. "No," he replied, not taking his eyes from me. "You would leave me no choice but to eliminate him." He turned back to face her. "I can't have him running around alive, chasing after you. Can I?"
Melissa remained silent, glaring at him with the hatred in her face showing blatantly. Why couldn't Reed see that?
"And I certainly can't have him join us." He paused, biting his lower lip, as if for the first time seeing Melissa's new-found attitude toward him, and reflecting. "But, on the other hand," he continued, at length, "if you choose to come back and stay with me--with all the benefits that go along with me--then he goes free. If you're with me, he won't be able to love you." He paused again, briefly, letting his words soak into Melissa's thoughts. "The decision is all yours."
He wasn't being fair to her, and everyone in the room knew it. What choice did she have? I rattle my chains to get their attention. "This is madness, Reed," I said, letting my arms hang loosely. I hadn't much strength left. Even if the ordeal on the cross wasn't real, it sure left a lasting effect on me. And I wasn't yet convinced those spikes were only in my mind. "You can't force a decision on her--or anyone--like this. Feelings can't be helped. And feelings change."
"Shut up," Reed said casually, not taking his eyes from Melissa's face. "No help from the audience."
Melissa turned her head, slightly, to look at me. And I knew her decision before she even opened her mouth to speak. She wouldn't allow me to die.
But I knew without a doubt, no matter what she said, Reed would never allow me to go on living, as if nothing ever happened.
"Don't do it, Melissa," I told her, quietly and rationally.
"It's not really that much of a contest, Reed," she said, not taking her eyes from me. There was something behind them, something I couldn't quite read. "It's you I love. It was you I always loved." She turned to look up at him. "I just went for Stephen on the rebound. The pain of losing you had become too unbearable. He was convenient, that's all." A tear slid down her left cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. "I want to be with you, Reed." She put her arms around him. "Always."
Reed smiled at me from over the top of her head. "This calls for a celebration," he said. "And I have a party beyond all imagination just waiting for my signal to begin." He stroked her hair. "Tonight, Melissa, we'll join together, forever."
He eased himself out of her arm, and sauntered up to me. "No hard feelings?" he asked, politely.
I forced a smile. Somehow, I would avenge this. "Of course not," I replied.
He grabbed me gently by my chin, and his touch was warm. "I'm sorry things had to be this way between us," he said. "It would have been great to have my best friend by my right hand." He let go of me. "We had some fabulous times together, though. Didn't we?"
I nodded, too upset to say anything. And I couldn't allow my inner attitude to show. Somehow I would eventually get out of these chains. Maybe not all on my own, but somewhere inside here someone would help me. They didn't want to be part of Reed's big plans, anymore than I did. Miss O'Bannon, my fifth grade teacher, was around. Maybe she. . . .
Reed walked back to Melissa and took her by the hand. "Soon," he said to her, "we'll be as one. Together again--as it should be." They headed for the exit, and two of the guards preceded them out the door, with the other two falling in behind. Melissa never looked back at me, and the last flunkey out shut the door behind him
"Don't do it, Melissa," I whispered to the closed door in front of me--and rattled my chains one more time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE:
Final Confrontation
Five minutes after the door closed, though I couldn't be sure of the time as who knew what time meant down here, the fluorescent lights overhead flickered once and then died out. Sly and I hung on the wall in the darkness, like a couple of African trophies hanging in a big game hunter's library. For the next half hour we stayed that way, neither of us deciding to break the silence and say something to the other. My inner thighs itched annoyingly as the urine had still not completely dried from when I wet myself hanging on the alleged cross. And I still felt more than slightly weak from that ordeal, real or not.
I figured Sly wasn't talking because of his guilty feelings about betraying me. I, in turn, wasn't speaking to him as of yet as I still wasn't too sure on how I felt about it. Why had he done it? Why had he knowingly set me up to be captured? Yet, as the minutes ticked on into eternity, the realization that I had little chance out of here, and that soon I would probably be dead, began to erase all hope. And if my immediate fate was to die, then there was no point in holding any grudges against a friend. Sly, I was sure, had acted under the influence of extreme duress, and thought he was doing the proper action called for under the circumstances.
I shifted my weight off my left foot and onto the right. "Sly?" I said, in a voice barely above a whisper. "You all right?"
His chains rattled next to me in the blackness as he, too, shifted positions, but he had no reply.
After a couple of minutes of continued silence, I tried once more, this time louder. "Come on, Sly," I said. "I'd probably be in the exact same position now even if you hadn't tried to play hero on your own." I didn't mention my grievance against him about splitting up before entering Wickerman's. Hindsight, as they say, is twenty/twenty. Yet, Detective Pierce would have not stood a chance against the two of us, and we could have approached the situation in an entire different way--in unison. "We're friends," I continued, "and since we're most likely going to bite the big one this very evening, I want to go to my grave knowing that there are no ill grievances between us. What about it?"
More clinking of his chains. "This is more serious than you think, Stephen," he said coldly. "If we don't stop him, Reed and his gang will infest the land for who knows how far." He sighed. "So, I wish you'd be quiet and let me think in peace."
Silence loomed heavy again in the darkness, separated only by the occasional rattling of chains--mostly mine. The complete and utter absence of any light made me feel more than uncomfortable. Add to that the fact I was to be executed sometime soon, and one could understand how much I wanted to talk. "We're both under a lot of pressure," I said at length, not ready to give up. "We need to form an alliance if we have--"
"Shush," Sly said, interrupting me, in a whisper. "I hear someone coming."
I listened and immediately heard the noise he was talking about: the door to our room was slowly being opened. The lights must have been shut off in the hall outside as no illumination forced its way through the opening. The sound of the door clicking shut again reverberated in the silence of the room. Soft, but deliberate, footsteps approached us.
Since I could find no use in continuing this charade, I decided to speak out and tell him--or it--that we were on to him. "We hear you," I said, rather loudly. "So why don't you simply identify yourself, so we can get on with it." It was the antecedent of that ending "it" that sent shivers down my spine.
"Will you keep your voice down," Melissa's own voice hissed at me in the darkness. "Want to get the entire party in here?"
"Melissa?" I whispered back, not sure whether to believe my own ears or not.
She approached and I could feel her presence--her warmth (thank God!) next to me. Her hand touched mine, and feeling that warmth, I breathed a sigh of relief. Though, hadn't Reed also felt warm to the touch? I heard the clicking sound as she found the lock of my right-hand shackle, and, seconds later one appendage was free. She moved around me and unlocked my other hand.
"How’d you get away?" I asked, becoming more confident that it really was Melissa now at my feet, freeing me from the wall.
"All in good time," she replied.
When she unlocked my last shackle and stood, I grabbed her and hugged her tightl
y to my chest. Her warmth, and heartbeat, felt so good. She hugged me back, just as arduously, and almost all doubts about who she was made their rapid exit.
"You're still all right," I said, in hope that she would concur those words to eradicate my complete lack of uncertainty on whether she was still amongst the living or not.
She backed away a foot, but we still held onto each other. "I'm still OK," she replied, and I wanted to scream out with delight. "But we have to hurry." She let go of me and moved over to free Sly, who still had yet to say something since her appearance.
After unlocking his shackles, I felt her hand reach out in search of mine, and I held it--firmly--not ever wanting to let her go again. "Follow me," she whispered, and pulled me toward the exit. "He's expecting my presence by his side in a few minutes for the ceremony. And when I don't show, he's not going to waste much time in calling for an all out search. This entire hell is going to explode from his wrath."
"You coming, Sly?" I whispered to him behind me as Melissa and I headed for the exit, hand in hand.
He only grunted in reply.
"What's with him?" Melissa whispered in my ear.
"Guilt," I whispered back.
The dim lights in the hallway containing the dungeons were still on, where I had passed the myriad of caged persons. Now, however, as we crept by the iron bars in silence, no prisoners were left. The cages were empty.
"Where are they?" I asked Melissa, dreading the answer.
She squeezed my hand more tightly. "At the ceremony," she replied, not turning to face me. "All of Reed's brood are going to receive a major blood transfusion tonight." She looked up at me. "Including me, right after Reed knocked out my real life."
I shook my head. "Incredible!" I said. "I still can't believe any of this is actually happening. Reed--"
"That's not Reed," she interrupted. "That person you met tonight is not the same soul whom I loved. Something abominable has taken over his body. And whatever it is, it's mad." She shook briefly. "And it won't stop. Not ever."
Upon reaching the stairs heading back up to the room where I had been crucified, I found myself leaning heavily on Melissa as I climbed the steps. Obviously, I was still weak from everything that had occurred. Melissa didn't seem to mind.
Sly still followed mutely behind us, staring only at his feet, and holding an expression that remained hopeless. I wanted him to display some emotion--to show he hadn't completely lost his sanity--yet I knew deep down that quite some time would have to pass before he forgave himself. So, I left him alone, thinking he would eventually get over whatever possessed him and allow all our lives to gain some semblance of normality.
Once clear of this hell . . .
The cross still stood in its slot on the floor on the room where I had imagined--or not--my crucifixion. It loomed above me, illuminated by a few remaining candles that still burned in the holders on the wall. The spikes (that weren't really there) protruded from the ends of the cross board, and dried blood (my blood?) covered them, appearing as real to me as possible. On the floor beneath the cross, two separate areas were littered with the dried blood that had leaked from my hands. Even the crimson smear of blood where I landed on my palms was there.
"Wait," I said as I reached the cross. I needed to have a closer look. I pulled Melissa to my side, putting my right hand around her, and reached out to touch some visible blood on the main beam. It flaked off, and fell to the floor. "It's real, isn't it," I said, flaking off more blood. "That's why I'm still so weak. My body is low on blood, isn't it?"
"No," Melissa replied matter-of-factly from my side. "It's only an illusion. Watch." She reached for the cross--and her hand went right through, disappearing for a second and reappearing out the other side. "You have to admit," she said, "it's a pretty decent trick."
"You mean, even the cross isn't real?" I asked, dumbfounded. "I thought Reed said--"
"Just to make you a believer in his powers, that's all." She let go of me and nodded toward the cross. "Go ahead, try it yourself. It's not there."
My hand stopped when it struck solid wood. I crunched my eyebrows in confusion at Melissa.
"That's because you still believe it's real," she said. "The human mind is a powerful organ, and right now yours is actually creating an imaginary cross, complete with the spikes and blood, put there by Reed's powers."
"Do you see it?" I asked.
She nodded. "But I know it doesn't exist. Just concentrate on it not being there, and try again."
I closed my eyes and formulated the thought that I was only going to see an optical illusion. "Here goes," I said, opening them. This time my hand did go right through it, though I did feel a slight resistance, as if pushing my hand through water.
"See?" Melissa said, pulling me toward the tunnel. "Now let's get out of here."
I turned and motioned for Sly, who had remained staring at his own feet, to follow. Without looking up, he obliged.
Melissa gasped a second later, before I turned back around, and pulled to sudden stop. Seeing what had upset her almost caused me to stumble backwards into Sly. Sticking out of the sides of the exit were two sticks about three feet in length, and at the end of both sticks two severed heads stared back at us. And both, I recognized. The head on the right belonged to a deceased Ann Smith, and the one on the left belonged to Randy Beliwitz. Their necks dangled underneath, and corresponding puddles of blood covered the concrete directly below. A red drop hung precariously off the end of Beliwitz's neck before splashing in the puddle on the floor. Obviously, they had been hung there recently.
Ann's open green eyes, which once gleamed with almost a life of their own, were now glazed over and stared out into a nothingness. Her once beautiful blonde hair hung limply down the side of her face. Randy's eyes, on the other hand, appeared focused, and staring directly at us. He blinked once and his mouth opened, as if to speak. Nothing came out but a large red bubble that burst and dribbled down his chin.
"How in the hell. . .?" I said, letting go of Melissa's hand and walking up to him. I looked up into his eyes, the pupils focused to look back at me. They held an expression of pleading, and he was most definitely still conscious. His head was above my reach, but the base of the stick holding it up wasn't.
I turned to Melissa, who only shook her own head at me in disbelief. "Illusion?" I asked, though not hopeful of a positive answer.
She shrugged.
There was only one thing for me to do. I reached up and pulled the stick out of the cement wall, setting Randy’s head, without touching it, gently on the floor.
"What are you doing?" Melissa asked from behind me.
"I can't allow him to go on like this--for who knows how long," I replied, looking down into Randy's eyes. He almost appeared relieved now.
Sly shuffled his feet, as if nervous. "Maybe you should just leave him where he was," he said, speaking for the first time since Melissa saved us. His voice cracked slightly.
"Maybe you shouldn't watch," I said, to both of them. I yanked the stick out of the base of Randy's neck, and it made a sickening squishing sound, like I was pulling it out of mud. I turned the head with my foot so the right ear was facing up, and I set the stick in the opening. "Here goes," I said, and with every ounce of strength I had left in me, I slammed the stick through the ear and into the brain beyond. First came a crunching sound from his head, followed by another squishing noise. Once the stick was as far in as I could push it in, I turned it around and back and forth. A bit of air hissed out of Randy's mouth, making a high pitched whining sound, like a slow leak in a balloon. Pulling the stick out, I turned his head to face me--the eyes were still wide open, but they no longer could see. Randy Beliwitz was finished.
Throwing the stick aside, I faced my two companions. Melissa approached me and put a reassuring arm around my waist. Sly only stared at his feet, as before, like a little boy who’s about to be yelled at for doing something wrong.
"Let's get out of here," Melissa said.
<
br /> "No," a voice came from behind us--a voice I really didn't want to hear. "I don't think so."
Reed, or what had become of Reed, leaned casually against the frame of the door at the back of the room. He smiled that warm glow of his, but only for a second. It was followed by a deep-set anger that almost lit up his eyes. He nodded to Sly, who was now alert and staring back.
"Hi, Reed," Sly said, and I could have sworn he sounded contrite.
Reed let a deep, long sigh. "Just grab him, Sly," he said. "I shouldn't have to explain these simple matters to you."
Sly turned to face me, and shrugged before walking up to me.
"What's going on, Sly?" I asked, taking a few useless steps backwards and away from him.
He didn't look me in the eyes when he grabbed me by my left arm, and I immediately understood why he had been acting so lethargic since I came upon him in his shackles. His touch was icy cold. I could feel my own mouth fall agape in disbelief. No words came to mind on what I could say.
"Drag him over here," Reed ordered from his position at the door. "Let’s settle this little issue once and for all."
Sly grabbed more tightly onto my arm, enough to cut off the blood supply below his grip, and pulled me in the direction of Reed. "Don't fight me on this, Stephen," he said in a quiet, hopeless tone.
Knowing I couldn't muster near the strength required to break away from him, I didn't give the slightest hint of a struggle. I only stared incredulously at what I had thought was my good friend. "Why in hell are you doing this to me, Sly?" I asked, as we reached the point half way to the thing that only wanted to kill me.
He didn't reply.
"When?" I asked, in reference to his freezing cold touch. He had obviously been turned into one the zombies, or whatever the hell they were. In my chest, my heart ached for him, but in my head, I hated him--more than I could ever remember hating a friend.
The Revenant: A Horror in Dodsville Page 43