An Apple for Zoë: Book One ~ The Forsaken

by Thomas Amo

"Never Fink Mia."

  Kirkland suddenly looked confused as he remembered those were the same words tattooed on Valerie Rivera. "What?"

  "What?" the demon mocked him and then spoke with a deliberate calm tone. "The problem is Michael, not all of you believe," it said as it grabbed Kirkland by the throat and began to strangle him. "Come join me in hell!" the demon laughed.

  James leapt up and dove on Grantham in an attempt to protect his friend. Kirkland screamed, "Tom, don't touch him!"

  James's head shook violently as the smell of sulfur filled his nostrils. A blinding flash came and in an instant as he fell to his knees at the sound of pounding hammers.

  His ears ached from the piercing sound and his body began to pour sweat from the heat that seemed to suddenly be filling the hallway. As he tried to get his wits about him, James could see all the doors to all of the rooms were open. The pounding noise was relentless. It was the sound of a hammer against metal, intertwined with the staccato trills of a piano and mixed with long sliding notes on a violin. It was if the sounds themselves were the very definition of musical sex. They grew louder as he felt himself moving closer to the doorways. The chandeliers in the hallway flickered and swayed. A rattling sound echoed and traveled through the floor like the sound of air trapped inside a water pipe.

  As James tried to comprehend what was happening to himself it was then he realized he was being dragged from the elevator and down the hallway. Looking up his heart stopped as he saw Grantham looking down on him. More sliding violins and piano trills filled his ears.

  Grantham pulled James down the hallway. The flames crept along the walls following them. As James was pulled past each open door a new horror was revealed. He saw an obese figure with no face holding the very same hammer that was in the photograph in Kritzler's trunk. The faceless man was source of the pounding noise. He hammered and hammered at molten metal causing a spark to flash with each hit. The olive skinned man in the white suite from room 1219 sat watching the shirtless, sweat-soaked obese man form the molten metal into large oversized nails. Then James saw the small girl, Jordan. She was barefoot and dressed in a white nightgown. She walked over and stood next to the olive skinned man. She then raised a hand to her mouth and whispered into his ear. They both looked up at James. The man nodded to her and she held her hands to her mouth in an attempt to cover a snickering laugh.

  James tried to wrench himself loose of Grantham's grip. However Grantham ignored his attempts to escape as he dragged James past the next room, where James saw a group of men dressed in doctor's coats standing around a young girl with a butcher knife in her hand. The girl was pregnant. The word "ABORT!" crackled over a loudspeaker inside the room. With each chime of the word "ABORT!" the girl jammed the butcher knife into her swollen stomach. Her screams filled the room as the doctors wandered around the room rubbing their chins, musing the actions of the girl. As Grantham dragged James away from the room, he saw something scratched into the wall. The writing was same as the note signed by Edmund Frayker.

  "Murder is a sin!"

  In a panic James looked back at the elevator where Grantham had just pulled him. There, just above the top of the elevator doors was the floor indicator, reading the words James had feared all along.

  "Eternal Damnation"

  "Oh my God, I'm in hell!" cried James as Grantham dragged him further down the hall. This time he passed an open door where a black winged angel presented a large muscled Roman soldier with a long spear that had a double-sided razor edge. Seated in a half circle there were several Nazi SS witnessing the act. The Roman bowed and knelt before the angel as he took the spear into his hard-callused hands. The SS stood to attention and gave the Nazi salute.

  Grantham tightened his grip on James's collar and pulled him past the last room in the hallway where the words scrawled into the door read, "13 Millers Court." Inside the room James saw five women. Each one was savagely mutilated. Their bodies lay flat on their backs. Their throats slashed and abdomens ripped open. A pentagram the size of the room was drawn on the floor. Each victim was placed at one of the corresponding points of the demonic symbol. In the center was a tall man dressed in a long black coat. His face was white as chalk and his eyes blindfolded as he held up a surgeon's knife in one hand and scales in the other. Three men stood surrounding him with their backs to him, forming a human triangle. They were dressed in formal clothing and wore Masonic Aprons. In each of their left hands was a walking stick that concealed a long sharp blade within it. As they pointed the blade at each point the man in the center called out a name.

  "Polly Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddows, Mary Kelly."

  The Masons then spoke in unison.

  "Let our brother Edmund Frayker, receive the light." The Masons then turned and removed the blindfold and spoke. "Your justice is good and well served brother.

  Edmund Frayker raised his justice scales and knife up high and called out, "The Juwes are the men who will not be blamed for nothing."

  The Masons responded, "So mote it be!"

  Grantham turned away and now dragged James toward the end of the hallway. The pounding music continued to fill the air. It was inescapable. The piano now became more of a lullaby as the violins danced into the crossing of piano keys. Together they began to reach a crescendo that pulled James deeply into another world.

  James looked and saw there where stairs that descended to another floor and a set of large double doors that were closed. The heat was unbearable. Grantham did not speak he only pointed at the doors. As he did this, they slowly began to part. Once opened, they revealed an oversized furnace. There, James saw Kritzler naked on a broken down bed and wearing a goat's head mask. He was old and lying under him was a young girl with a yellow Star of David on her sackcloth dress, which was pushed up and exposing her hips. Kritzler shamelessly raped the girl. As James looked to where Grantham was now pointing, he saw an endless line of young girls waiting for their turn with Kritzler. As Kritzler finished with her, she rose from the bed, tore her dress and climbed inside the furnace.

  James sobbed bitterly at the horrific sight. Grantham then released James and began to disrobe from his burnt clothing. His black charred flesh was cracked and smelt of brimstone. James watched him walk to where two girls stood clad in SS uniforms. They stood guard over the endless line of Jewish girls. With excitement in their eyes they watched Kritzler as he committed eternal rape. Grantham climbed up a short flight of steps that led to an oversized chair on a pedestal. The pedestal read in bold letters the word, "Heathen." He turned and sat there, taking his place as master of the domain. Grantham called out in a language that James did not understand. This caused the two female SS guards to turn and face James. They then began to seductively unbutton their jackets and remove their clothing. Their dark hair fell down their backs as they removed their Gestapo uniforms. They spoke to each other, but it wasn't in German, it was in the same language spoken by Grantham.

  James began to back away, but the two girls grabbed his wrists and began to pull him towards them. He tried to pull away, but the SS girls tore at his clothing with lustful fury in their eyes.

  "Come let us drink wine and you may lie with us so that we may preserve the seed of our father."

  "If you deny us, then we will lay with Kirkland."

  Forcing James down to the floor the two girls overpowered him. As one girl held James in place the other girl forced James inside her.

  "Take us!" demanded the girls. "Give us your seed!" cried the girl in orgasmic ecstasy. James looked up and could see a host of black winged angels standing over him as they encouraged the sisters to take him.

  The girl closed her eyes and screamed to the top of her lungs as she rode him. James felt the fire consuming him as he was forced into the savage act. The piano pounded away as the sisters had their way with him. The violins mimicked the movement of the girl's legs. He had no more will power to fight. Looking up at the evil that surrounded him a blinding flash burnt a
cross his face causing James shut his eyes tight. The flash came with the image of the number 23 branded into the left breast of the sister who held him down. James screamed aloud as he tried to push away the sister who drove her hips into him. Wildly she thrust away making James wish it was all just a nightmare, but in his heart he knew he had gone to hell and all he could think of was Kirkland.

  Again a flashing image came. This time he saw Kirkland standing over him. He was holding hands with the girl Jordan.

  "Mike, you've got to get out of here!" begged James. "Jordan, take him away. Hurry before the pig man comes back!" he said in a panicked voice.

  The girl tugged on Kirkland's hand. Kirkland looked down at James with an apologetic and helpless expression. He then looked back at Jordan who motioned for him to come with her. Kirkland looked back to James once more and said, "God has not forgotten you, Tom," he said as he let Jordan pull him away, leaving James to the sea of despicable creatures. As James looked up at the sister who was violating him with passionate lust he could see an air vent above her. There, looking down on them was The Pig Man.

  James screamed to the top of his lungs. He screamed over and over hoping it would all go away. The only thought that filled his mind was Kirkland's final words to him that "God had not forgotten him." James then opened his eyes. There was no sound. Only the smell of smoke filled his senses. As his hearing slowly returned he began to hear the roar of fire as it consumed the walls of the twelfth floor.

  James sat up and saw the fire was closing in on him. He forced his body to stand and clutch the wall for support. He could feel the heat from the fire. Disoriented he tried to find the stairs. James looked behind him and saw smoke was billowing down the hallway towards him. It seemed to have a life of it's own. He tried to run from it but tripped and fell at the landing tumbling down the short flight of stairs. James looked up and saw the bodies of Jake, Bobby and Randy crucified into the landing wall upside down forming an unholy trinity. Their faces contorted into expressions of shock, agony and fear in their eyes wide open. Their shirts were ripped open exposing their stomachs. Carved into each man's body was a single letter. Together side-by-side the letters spelled: O T O.

  As James took in the image he began to walk backwards down the stairs, never taking his eyes off the three crucified men. Backing down, James realized Kirkland was not among them. It was then he felt the stabbing pain in the palm of his hand. James descended the stairs into the main lobby of The Aleris Hotel. He walked zombie like, his face and suit was spattered with blood and a mixture of black ashes. Laser sightings began to appear on him as somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he heard words like, "Stop! On your face now!"

  Running in slow motion in his direction and screaming his name was Jessalee. Knocking over swat members and blocking their laser sights, she ran across the lobby to James's side. Her face showed her fear as she saw the blood that covered him. Looking into her eyes he saw her speak but he did not hear her say the name Kirkland with a question. James slowly raised his blood-soaked hand answering her with Kirkland's badge. Her face shifted into emotional agony as she threw her arms around James and cried. As she pulled away, she kissed his cheek in grateful desperation that he was still alive. She turned and wrapped her arm around him as they made their way from the hotel and down to the street.

  "He saved me," spoke James numbly clutching Kirkland's badge to his chest. Then he looked up into the darkened night sky as a single tear rolled down his cheek.

  "He saved me."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ashton

  Special Agent Ashton Summers of the FBI sighed deeply as she dropped six quarters into the coffee machine that stood outside the closed hospital café. The bangs of her honey blonde hair dangled loosely across her ocean blue eyes. As she ran her fingers through her hair, which was parted to one side and touched just past the shoulders of her slim but firm five foot six inch frame, it wasn't hard to tell that she was exhausted after driving straight from Los Angeles to San Francisco without making one stop. She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 1:13 a.m. Yawning, she removed her wire-framed glasses and leaned her head against the side of the machine as it started making spitting noises and it wasn't long before the stream of golden liquid had quickly filled the styrene cup. Stepping back, Summers put her glasses back on so she could watch this marvel of automation do its job. Although somewhat in awe, she couldn't help but feel like she was purchasing a cup of electric piss.

  "Thank God I didn't press the button for hot chocolate," she mumbled to herself.

  "You're not really going to drink that crap are you?" asked a voice behind her. Summers jumped with a start, as she believed she was alone. Turning around she saw the face that belonged to the voice. Jessalee smiled and pointed off to a door that was in the direction she was walking.

  "If you want some real coffee, and not those watered down cremated turd flakes, then follow me." Summers looked back at the coffee machine and saw her recently purchased drink had leaked all over the side of the unit that housed the cup storage.

  "Don't mind if I do," said Summers, quickly following Jessalee behind a door clearly meant for staff or officials of law enforcement only.

  The room was an inviting lounge. A sea of blue carpet ran from wall to wall and two darkened rooms with beds were off to the left side for doctors who couldn't make it home after their shift. There were a dozen oversized armchairs placed sporadically throughout the space and a 60-inch plasma television was affixed to the main wall. The sound was low and the channel was set to one of the major cable news networks. Ashton was relieved it wasn't on ESPN.

  "No donuts, hope you don't mind roughing it," stated Jessalee.

  "No just the coffee please," pleaded Summers.

  Jessalee reached over and picked up a large ceramic cup and filled it with the steaming aroma of cinnamon and hazelnut. Gently handing the mug to Summers, Jessalee gestured to the table full of creamers, sugars and stick stirrers. Summers felt a brief moment of levity as she smirked at the cartoon drawing on the side of the cup—a patient was running madly away from a nurse with a boiling pot of water. Standing in the doorway looking shocked was the doctor who was shouting to the nurse, "No I told you to prick his boil!"

  Jessalee glanced over and saw which cup she had given Summers, "Oh yeah sorry, hospital humor," she remarked as she took her own mug and offered Summers a seat. Summers forced a tired smile.

  "Thank you for the coffee."

  "You're welcome. I'm Jessalee," she said as she took a seat opposite of Summers.

  "Ashton Summers," she said taking a drink. The coffee was bold and yet had just the perfect amount of comfort in its taste. This was exactly what Summers needed in that moment. Jessalee watched Summers hold the cup as if her life depended on it.

  "So what brings the F.B.I here tonight?" asked Jessalee. Summers looked at her with surprise.

  "I saw your gun, and leather interview folder. It has the F.B.I. logo embossed into it."

  "You're either a quick study or I'm really obvious," stated Summers.

  "No you're new. When you have lived and worked in this city as long as I have, you get a memory for faces. Plus no one drinks coffee from the machine in the hall, unless they're strangers here. Those six quarters you dropped into it, are probably the only ones in that old thing."

  "Think I could get a refund?" joked Summers.

  "I doubt it, but if you want to break into it, I have no problem looking the other way," joked Jessalee in return. "Seriously though, what brings you here in the middle of the night? Is it the explosion and fire at The Aleris?"

  "Is that what the bright light in the sky was? I saw that. I thought it was a firework at first. I saw it for miles before I got into the city. No actually I'm here to talk with Inspector Thomas James."

  Jessalee shifted in her chair and wondered why the F.B.I. was here looking for Tom. Just thinking his name gave her shivers again. She still couldn't shake the image of him coming down the s
tairs into the lobby, covered in blood, looking like an axe murderer. The blank stare in his eyes and Kirkland's badge still clutched in his hand so tightly that it left a cut that required seven stitches. Raising her hand to her mouth she quickly caught herself, forcing the tears back as she tried to fight thoughts of Kirkland.

  Summers could see Jessalee's emotional reaction to the subject of Thomas James. "Oh my God, I'm sorry, did I say something upsetting or offensive to you?"

  "No, no it's just our department has had a really bad night, we lost some good people tonight in that fire," said Jessalee wiping a tear from her cheek.

  "Inspector James wasn't one of them was he?"

  "No, but he's being kept here overnight for observation."

  "Observation?" quizzed Summers. "I thought he was here at the hospital working a 187. You mean he's a patient?"

  "Yeah?" said Jessalee in a confused tone. "You thought he was here working a homicide? Which one?"

  Summers returned Jessalee's look of confusion. "I don't know. I phoned this evening around six to arrange to drive up and do an interview with him and was told he was working a homicide at the hotel. When I got into the city I called back and your dispatch said he was here, so I just assumed," she trailed off.

  "Interview?" asked Jessalee.

  "Yes, his name has come up in a case I'm working on in Hollywood," said Summers, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to ascertain the motivation behind Jessalee's insistence for information. Was there a private relationship she was trying to hide between the inspector and herself, Summers wondered? Or was she nosey?

  "Forgive me for being so blunt, but why does this seem to be so personal with you?"

  "The murder he was working on, was..." Jessalee hesitated. "The victim was my sister."

  "What is your sisters name?"

  "Valerie Rivera."

  Summers suddenly felt cold. She stood and placed her coffee cup on the table when she began to feel that feeling that came from years of experience. That overwhelming sense you get when you realize you're in danger.