by Bryan Smith
The strength of her attacker was phenomenal, almost inhuman.
Her head came free of her body.
Penelope Simmons jumped onto the bed and kicked the lifeless body aside. Clad entirely in black and wearing a dark wig and sunglasses, she looked like something out of a piece of spy fiction, a sexy paid assassin. She stood over Raymond, the top of her head nearly grazing the bed’s canopy; then she grinned at her lover.
“I heard you, Raymond. You big tattletale, you.” Her blue eyes burned with excitement. “You’ve been naughty. You better hope you-know-who doesn’t cut your tongue out. That would be a shame. I’m rather fond of your tongue.” She gave Patricia’s severed head a hard shake, pumping it like an especially enthusiastic cheerleader waving a pom-pom. “Aren’t you glad this stupid cow is dead? We’re free at last, Raymond, free at last. Praise Lamia.”
Raymond just blubbered, incapable now of speech or screams.
Penelope cackled. “Catch, baby.”
She tossed Patricia’s head to Raymond.
This time he did manage to scream.
And he screamed for a while, straining his vocal cords.
Until Penelope made him shut up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The beer was good. Better than good, like liquid nirvana. Kelsey and Will stood in the kitchen, calming their nerves with some of Blake Mackeson’s German beer. Save for a single flickering candle on the counter, the room was dark. All the lights were off. The intent was to convey the impression of an empty house. After what had transpired over the last several hours, they imagined themselves surrounded by enemies, lurking assassins just waiting for the right opportunity to pounce.
Kelsey polished off his third Warsteiner and set it on the counter. “That beer is the shit, man. I don’t know if I can ever drink Bud again.”
Will nodded. He didn’t bother with a verbal reply. He’d barely said anything since knocking his mother unconscious. The violence disturbed him. Though his mom had meant to kill them both, he felt guilt. She was his mother. She wasn’t much of a mother, true, but there was still an emotional attachment. He could no more excise the part of himself that still cared for her than he could cut off his own hand. Hell, cutting off his own hand might be easier.
He flashed on an image: …that gash in her forehead, the shocking flow of blood, staining the carpet red…
Will’s mom had tackled Kelsey after his shot went astray. She’d pinned him to the floor and wrapped her hands around his throat. She would have killed him had Will not intervened. Now, bound with duct tape and gagged with a sock, she was stuffed in the closet in Will’s bedroom. Blake Mackeson was bound to the leather chair in his office, where he’d been since Kelsey knocked him unconscious with a fireplace poker. According to Kelsey, Will’s dad had been in the process of loading his gun. Kelsey, who had quietly entered the house moments after Mr. Mackeson’s arrival, had eavesdropped on enough of the conversation in Will’s bedroom to know it didn’t bode well for Will.
Will recalled the sight of the ruined radio on his nightstand, which had been struck by the misdirected bullet. “Kelsey…”
Kelsey popped the top off another Warsteiner. “Yeah?”
Will swallowed a lump in his throat. This wouldn’t be easy to say. “I think we should call 911.”
Kelsey gaped at him. “Are you kidding? Why, for fuck’s sake?”
Will swallowed some Warsteiner. He didn’t like beer as much as Kelsey or Trey, but liquid courage seemed absolutely necessary right now. “Because I hit her with a fucking baseball bat, man. She could have a concussion. Hell, maybe even brain damage. She could be dying right now.”
Kelsey shook his head, made an exasperated sound. “I don’t think so. You didn’t hit her that hard. That wasn’t any Babe Ruth swing, bro. And we got the bleeding to stop, right? She’s fine. And I hate to say it, man, but her health is the least of our concerns right now.”
Will glared at his friend. “Easy for you to say. She’s not your mother.”
Kelsey held the gaze for a long, uncomfortable moment, then sighed. “All right. Fair enough. But you know something, Will? I’m the guy who was attacked by his own sister. I may have killed a man to make it out of my own house alive. You’re not the only one who’s had a rough time today.”
Will’s anger evaporated. His shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”
Kelsey shrugged. “It’s okay. Look, we need to be thinking about our next step, figure out a plan of action before this special assembly you say your mom told you about.”
“I think she was serious about that. You should have seen her when she was talking about it.” Will shuddered at the memory of his mom’s rapt, almost aroused expression. “My God, Kelsey. They’re really gonna do it. Kill hundreds of teenagers. Our friends.”
“Oh, I believe you. I’d believe damn near anything at this point. But we’re gonna stop them. Somehow.”
“Right.” Will swallowed. “Somehow.”
Somehow.
The word sounded empty to his ears. Hollow and unconvincing.
Kelsey scratched his chin and looked thoughtful. “Look. We can’t stay here all night. Whatever’s going on, your parents are involved. Myra’s people knew enough to get after us in the first place, so I kinda have to believe somebody will come here sooner or later to check shit out. It’d be a good idea to be gone by then.”
Will made a vague sound of assent. He knew Kelsey was right, but he was still having a hard time getting his head around the notion that they had unwittingly uncovered a vast occult conspiracy. It seemed too fantastic, too much like the plot of one of Jake McAllister’s lurid novels, to believe. Yet, the proof was all around him. And it was intimidating. How could two high school kids hope to combat forces so powerful?
Will looked Kelsey in the eye. “We are fucked, you know that? We are fucking fucked.”
Kelsey chuckled. “I believe that’s what Mr. Brennaman would call a ‘defeatist attitude.’ Hey, we’re the good guys. We can’t lose. It’s like we’re in a horror movie, right? And in horror movies good always triumphs over evil some kinda way or other.” His expression turned uncertain. “Right?”
“No.”
Kelsey frowned. “Anyway, that’s sort of beside the point. What we’ve—”
“The Blair Witch Project?”
“Huh? What about the fucking Blair Witch Project?”
“Evil triumphed, dude.”
“Okay, but—”
“Night of the Living Dead.”
“That’s zombies, man. This is not a living-dead situation.”
“But that black dude, the hero, that redneck fuck shot him in the head in the end.”
“Again, that’s—”
Will had turned pale by now. His hands shook slightly. “Halloween. Michael Myers gets shot six fucking times with a .357 Magnum and falls off a balcony. Motherfucker gets up and walks away. The End, fade to black.”
Kelsey put a hand to his left temple. He was starting to get a headache. “Right, but—”
“And Jason Voorhees, you can’t kill that guy at all. Not permanently. He always comes back. Evil always comes—”
“STOP!”
Will blinked. “Okay.”
Kelsey picked up his beer again. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I think I may be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”
“You and me both, man. Listen, I’ve got no idea how to solve this clusterfuck we’re in, but I may know something. I’ve detected a pattern.”
Will cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Yep. It’s the women.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it.” Kelsey swigged beer. He started to pace, moving from one end of the kitchen to the other and back again. The beer bottle moved in his hands, punctuating his thoughts. “Imagine a chain. Myra’s the lead link, she’s the focal point. She’s made our boy Trey her slave. Mrs. Cheever is another link in the chain, a conduit of information. What do they b
oth have in common? You guessed it, they’re women. Then there’s my sister, Melissa. She tried to kill me. Again, she’s a woman. To state the fucking obvious. That guy in the hood, I’m not sure what the deal with him is, but he looked like a subordinate. It’s the women. They’re the leaders of this thing, this whatever-it-is, this black magic coven, this satanic club for girls, what-the-fuck-ever. Need more evidence? Look at your mother. After Mrs. Cheever blabbed to her, she set out to kill you. And it’s real obvious your dad is just another slave. Maybe if you dig around in his office, you’ll find a black hood.”
Kelsey ceased pacing. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, facing Will. He needed a moment to catch his breath. Then he said, “So…what do you think?”
Will swallowed some beer. “I don’t know. This is all so…weird.”
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the understatement of the motherfuckin’ century.”
Will eyed the half-empty bottle of Warsteiner in his hand. He considered taking another sip, but he set it down without drinking. He was calmer now, thanks in part to the alcohol, but he wanted to keep a clear head.
He looked at Kelsey. “You should slow down on the beer. If more men in black hoods show up, or more demon women, whatever, you don’t want to be fucked up.”
Kelsey glanced at the almost empty bottled in his hand. “Good point.”
He dumped out the rest in the kitchen sink. “Wish I’d thought of that a beer or two back. I’m feeling a little light-headed. Got any soda?”
Will opened the refrigerator, took out two cans of Dr Pepper, and passed one to Kelsey. He popped the tab on his and took a swig. He chugged down half the can.
“Do you think it’s all the women in Rockville?” Will asked. “That would mean thousands of them. Shit, they can’t all be involved. Can they? Every mother? Every sister? Every adult female? Every little girl?”
Kelsey shook his head. “No. Of course not. I don’t think so. I mean, that doesn’t sound…feasible. But let’s say there’s a large number involved. The fact that both your mother and my sister just happen to be involved in this points to a large-scale operation. I don’t believe in coincidence. Still, I’m guessing Myra’s followers have to be, at most, in the hundreds, not thousands. And consider this—she’s actively disliked by a large percentage of the chicks at Rockville High.”
Will found himself nodding along as Kelsey spoke. “Cindy Wells.”
Kelsey jabbed a finger at Will. “Yes! Cindy has never been hostile to Myra. But Myra popped her in the jaw. Why? Who the fuck knows? You know what?” He snapped his fingers. “I bet Slater’s got a fucking black hood in his office! That’s why he didn’t suspend the cunt!”
Will groaned. “Great. What if Slater’s just the tip of the iceberg? I bet other people with authority are involved. Cops, businessmen. Hell, maybe even the mayor.”
Kelsey’s eyes widened. “Aw, fuck. You were right, man. We are fucking fucked. Maybe we should just phone in a bomb threat to the school tomorrow afternoon and get out of town.”
Will didn’t say anything for a while. He didn’t believe something as simple as a phoned-in bomb threat would do the trick, especially if Slater and other Rockville High administrators were in on the whole mass murder plot thing. He was trying to recall something, a word, some strange name his mother had used before Kelsey showed up. He’d been so frightened at the time it had scarcely registered. Now, for some reason, remembering it seemed vitally important.
Then it came to him: “Lamia.”
“Say what?”
“Something my mom said before you showed up: ‘Lamia richly rewards willing sacrifices.’ ” The memory of the exact phrasing made him shiver. “Jesus, that’s creepy. Who, or what, the fuck is Lamia?”
Kelsey resumed pacing, but at a more thoughtful pace this time. “My God, maybe that’s it.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
Kelsey stopped in the middle of the kitchen again. “Say the names, Will. Repeat them, run them together. Lamia, Lamia, Mia, Mia, Myra, Myra…”
Will shook his head. “No. They don’t really sound alike. That’s a big stretch.”
“Is it?” Kelsey crushed the empty Dr Pepper can in his hand and retrieved a fresh one from the refrigerator. He popped the tab and chugged. “We’re dealing with a cult, right? Every cult needs a figurehead, a leader. Evidence indicates Myra is that leader. Maybe she’s a for-real demon, maybe she’s not. Maybe the demon acts through her. The name ‘Lamia’ rings a vague bell. Let’s get on your dad’s computer and do a Google search, see what we can come up with.”
The idea galvanized Will. He finished off his soda and moved toward the archway that led to his dad’s office.
Kelsey started to follow his friend, but came to a dead stop in the center of the kitchen. Something stirred within him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He sensed a presence behind him, something trying to move without making a sound.
Kelsey saw Will step through the archway.
The presence behind him shuffled closer, not so furtive now.
Kelsey tugged Blake Mackeson’s .38 from his waistband. He heard Will shriek, then reappear through the archway, backpedaling and stumbling as something closed in on him. Kelsey’s breath caught in his throat. He had a terrible knowledge that he would have to kill again if he wanted to live beyond the next few moments. He gripped the revolver in both hands, whirled around, and pulled the trigger. The big, concussive boom rocked him again, but this time his aim was true. A big, machete-wielding man stood prepared to cleave his head in two. The bullet slammed a hole through the middle of the black hood that obscured the man’s identity. The would-be assailant flew backward and crashed into another hooded man. This second man knocked the body of his comrade aside and charged Kelsey. Kelsey stood stock-still, adjusted his aim, and fired again, just as this new attacker tried to decapitate him with a strange double-bladed axe.
Something struck his back.
Will, stumbling into him.
Kelsey spun about, saw that this next attacker was too close, and jabbed the barrel of the gun into the man’s stomach. He yanked the trigger twice and watched the man skip backward. He’d fired the gun four times. Two bullets left. Strike that. Five times. He’d forgotten the shot in Will’s room. One goddamn bullet left. He hoped like hell there weren’t many more of these hood-wearing motherfuckers skulking about.
Will stared at him, wide-eyed and shaking. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, FUCK!”
“Calm down. We’ve got to leave.”
Will trilled nervous, high-pitched laughter. “Oh, hell yeah. Let’s get moving.”
Kelsey shook his head. “Not yet. Follow me.”
He led the way through the archway this time, leading with the pistol. They rushed down the short hallway and entered Blake Mackeson’s office. Kelsey’s stomach flipped at the sight of Will’s father, who was still duct-taped to the leather chair. His throat had been slit. The gaping wound looked like a second mouth. Kelsey wrenched his gaze away from the hideous tableau and rushed over to the still-open gun cabinet. He shoved shells into his pockets. Then he opened the .38’s cylinder, filled the chambers, and snapped it shut.
He looked at Will.
Will’s gaze was riveted to his dead father. He was sobbing.
Kelsey gripped him by the shoulder and stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the dead man. “We’re going, Will. This sucks. I know. But we’re fucking going.”
He tightened his grip on Will’s shoulder and turned him around, steering him toward the archway. Another hooded figure surged through the opening.
“Goddammit!”
Kelsey shoved Will aside, took aim, and fired.
And missed.
The bullet punched through the throat of yet another hooded man, but Kelsey didn’t see that. He was too consumed with his imminent death. The man he’d missed was fast. And strong. He seized Kelsey’s wrist with one hand, twisting the gun away as he swung his other hand arou
nd. A big hunting knife sliced through the air on a precise, direct arc toward Kelsey’s temple.
But the man’s aim faltered.
The air exploded out of him and he bent over at the waist. It took Kelsey a moment to realize that Will had propelled himself headfirst into the man’s midsection. Will was on the floor, dazed by the impact. Kelsey touched the .38’s barrel to the top of the gasping man’s head and pulled the trigger. Blood and brains blew out the back of the man’s head as he toppled backward.
Kelsey extended a hand to Will and helped him to his feet.
“Move!”
They got out of the office in a hurry and made it through the kitchen without encountering any more of the hooded assassins, then left the slaughterhouse that had been Will’s home. As Kelsey fumbled with the keys to his Oldsmobile, the sound of sirens rose in the distance.
“Shit!”
He managed to locate the right key and get the door open. Then he reached across the seat and unlocked the passenger-side door. Will slid into the passenger seat and yanked the door shut. Kelsey got the engine running just as the first flashing lights appeared at the far end of the street. Leaving his headlights off, he put the car in gear and backed out onto the street.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror put the closing cruisers at three blocks away.
He shifted gears again, stomped on the gas pedal, and slipped away under the cover of darkness.
For a while, the only sounds were the hiss of tires on asphalt and the receding sirens.
Kelsey finally exhaled. “Fuck. We got away. I don’t believe it.”
Then it came—the hitch in Will’s breath.
He cradled his face in his hands and sobbed for a long time.
Kelsey kept his mouth shut. No words of comfort could possibly be adequate. He kept his eyes on the road and allowed his friend the opportunity to vent his grief.