The man in the hood bends over her. He has a knife. It glows in the fire, candles all around, something stinks, why are there so many bad people? They all have hoods. Which one is Daddy?
They’re singing now, a song that doesn’t sound happy at all. She looks up to the other end of the rock, trying not to see the bad man. She sees the goat’s head, the ragged threads of the neck dripping blood. She screams.
“That’s it, Julia,” said Dr. Forrest. “Let it out. Don’t let the memory keep you chained anymore.”
Something hurts inside her belly, she’s crying but none of the bad people seem to notice, they just keep saying the scary words over and over.
Just the way she remembers it.
Just the way Dr. Forrest told her it happened.
And then the rest of it. She can’t breathe, why is Daddy letting them do this to her? This isn’t just a little game. Because games are fun, and this isn’t fun.
Now the bad man has a knife, holding it over his head. The knife flashes like the skull ring.
“What does he say?” Dr. Forrest asked.
“You know,” Julia murmured.
“Yes, I know, but you need to know. Say it out loud, and you’ll kill its magic. It will have no power over you.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know you’re scared, Julia. I know this is hard for you. But the only way to get better is to stare down your fears.” Dr. Forrest sounded as if she were near tears herself, voice harsh and choked.
Julia recited the words, imitating the chant of the hooded man:
“Highness of Darkness, Satan, Master of the World, accept this offering from your loyal and humble slaves, that you may continue to make us free. So mote it be.”
“And the rest of it,” Dr. Forrest said, excited.
They said in unison, the bad people, Julia, Dr. Forrest, all combined in one chilling voice, “Lord Master Satan, we offer you this blood in your cursed name, that you may smile upon us and bless us. That you may—”
Julia stopped, caught in the doorway, not sure if she were in the past or the present. She opened her eyes, Dr. Forrest loomed over her, hands holding hers, face rapt, eyes closed.
Dr. Forrest completed the chant. “—that you may take as your bride, this whore Judas Stone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Julia shivered, more frightened than she had ever been. She was on the precipice of a great gulf, it yawned out black and endless and inviting, a total madness.
“He cut you, didn’t he, Julia?”
Dr. Forrest was her only link to reality, the therapist’s grip the only thing preventing her from slipping into the abyss.
“He took your blood, and the eyes glowed.” Dr. Forrest seemed nearly as faraway and lost as Julia. Even with the warm sunshine breaking through the office window, with the mountains spread bright and golden outside, with the reality of the chair and the floor and ceiling and walls, all the solid things of the world seemed as if they were melting away, swirling down some hidden drain into oblivion.
“The skull ring. You remember,” Dr. Forrest said.
Julia couldn’t suck any oxygen into her lungs.
“He did it.”
Words like nails.
Julia stared into the therapist’s rigid, twisted face. Suddenly Dr. Forrest’s eyes snapped open, shining like candle fire, flickering.
“Say it, Julia. Don’t let him have this last victory.”
“He . . . “
“Say what he did.”
“He let them—”
Dr. Forrest’s lips curled in triumph. “Yes, he did. He had the power. All the power that Satan could offer. How could he resist?”
Julia jerked up from her chair, pulling free from Dr. Forrest. “He gave me to that Creep.”
Julia wrapped her arms around her chest, sobbing, her shoulders quivering. She collapsed back into the chair. She turned to look outside, to escape from the office, but the world was only a larger prison. Wherever she might flee, her mind would follow.
“I told you so,” Dr. Forrest said, calmed by Julia’s acceptance. “Now you know. Now we can deal with it.”
“No,” Julia sobbed. “It didn’t happen.”
“Julia, your denial has been holding you back.”
“Not him.”
“Julia, incest is common. So many of our sisters have suffered the same cruelty. And ritual abuse. Would you be surprised if I told you half of my female patients recover memories of Satanic masses?”
Half.
“I share your pain, Julia. I bleed with you.”
“You don’t understand,” Julia said.
“Of course I do. I’ve been here with you. I’ve . . . been there before you.”
Been there?
“I’m a survivor, Julia. Just as you will be.”
“Survivor?”
Dr. Forrest stood, unfastened the bottom two buttons on her blouse. She showed her belly, the raised welts purple against her pale flesh. On Dr. Forrest, the work had been completed, the pentagram fully etched, the horror plainly written onto the page of her body.
“You?” Julia didn’t know what to say. What use were words?
Dr. Forrest buttoned her blouse with quick, efficient movements. She smiled, but her eyes were distant, unfocused. Perhaps she was looking through the rooms of her own house, rummaging in secret cellars.
Julia glanced at the wall clock. Two hours had passed. She had given herself away, ripped open her skull and handed her brain to Dr. Forrest. And her spirit had slipped out through the wound, merged with the shadows and was lost.
“We can defeat it, Julia. Now we move forward.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Forrest. I’m sorry it happened to you.”
“Don’t be sorry. Sorrow is for the weak, the emotionally crippled, those who don’t seize what lies before them. We should strive for balance, Julia.”
Julia stared with wonder at the wise therapist’s face. Dr. Forrest had exposed herself, had opened up her own dark rooms, and now was as calm as if she had commented on the pansies in the window planter.
If this woman, who has endured terror beyond imagining, could become strong enough to help others, it’s time I stopped feeling sorry for myself.
But the stinging memory swarmed over her again, and the force of the nightmarish admission blew in like a hurricane. She closed her eyes tight, but all she could see was the hooded man on top of her, his skin hot and sweaty on hers, the skull ring on the fist that held the knife, the twin rubies glowing as brightly as the two eyes under the hood—
“Julia, look at me.”
She opened her eyes, shivering, her tears cool on her cheeks.
“It’s natural for you to be scared,” Dr. Forrest said. “It gets easier. Accepting is the first part of healing. From here on, we go forward.”
Julia nodded. Forward.
“Now you’re ready to embrace the whole truth. But we’ll have to go slowly.”
Julia began putting away the memories, the emotional trauma of the session, as if they were notebooks filed in mental cabinets. She needed to gather herself and go meet the demands of reality. She was behind on her work, and the paper’s deadline was this evening. And the police were supposed to come by her house to dust for fingerprints.
She bent down to get her purse and stopped with her hand on the strap. “What about the drawing?”
“Let’s not worry about the drawing right now.” Dr. Forrest walked to stand beside Julia’s chair. “I think you have enough to sort out right now without thinking about that. In fact, I believe it would be best if I kept it for you. At least for a week or two, until you’re ready to face your recent problems.”
Julia clutched the purse into her lap. She wasn’t sure she should let the paper go. The police might need it to prove that the Peeping Tom had illegally entered her bedroom. It likely had his fingerprints on it.
But how would he know about the pentagram, about “Jooolia”?
Maybe Dr. Forres
t was right. The drawing had caused her nothing but worry. If she were rid of it, maybe she could get on with her healing. Out of sight, out of mind.
She opened her purse and handed the folded paper to Dr. Forrest. The therapist smiled, her gray eyes almost mirthful. “You’re going to be just fine, Julia. You’re going to be perfect.”
Julia closed the purse, the wooden box still buried under Kleenex, hairbrush, wallet, cell phone, and keys. She would keep the ring secret until the next session.
“Time heals all wounds, Julia,” said the doctor.
Time, and maybe the band-aids and salve of hope. And faith, if she could find any.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rick O’Dell came by Julia’s desk after lunch, his confident smile a counterpoint to her dark mood.
“So, how was the vacation?” Rick asked. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his tie carefully askew. He was eating a donut, nibbling it like a fastidious mouse.
“Refreshing.” Julia glanced back at her computer screen.
“You look like you hardly slept a wink. Who was the lucky guy?”
Certainly not you, Mr. Stud-In-Your-Dreams. My private life is none of your business.
She controlled her annoyance. “Look, Rick, I’m way behind. I’ve got four articles to get done by deadline.”
“Touchy. Don’t you want to hear the latest on my Satanic sacrifice theory?”
Julia’s fingers froze over the keyboard. She swiveled her chair, forgetting her resolve to be indifferent to him. “Actually, I was kind of wondering about that.”
“You’ve still got it in you. Once you get a nose for the crime beat, you never lose it.”
“Rick, I’m strictly features now. Don’t worry about me trying to take your job.”
Rick laughed, the confident boy wonder with two press awards on his desk. “I just got a copy of the medical examiner’s preliminary report. Ritualistic markings, made with a blade. No fingerprint match, unfortunately. The victim is still unidentified. Autopsy showed traces in the system of morphine and—get this—belladonna.”
“Belladonna?”
“Yeah. Also known as ‘witch bane.’ Long associated with black magic and Satan worship. It’s taken as a hallucinogenic substance, even though it’s actually a poison.”
“I know what belladonna is. Hand of Glory, and all that. So what killed him, the wounds or the poison?”
“From what they can tell right now, he probably was just getting a decent buzz on when the knife fell the first time.” Rick stuffed more of the donut in his mouth, crumbs dribbling down his chin. He wiped his hand on his pants. “If he was lucky, he was dead before they chopped off his head.”
“You’re saying ‘they.’ Any evidence that this wasn’t the act of a lone psycho?”
“Who cares about evidence? This story is sweet.”
“Is the daily onto it?”
“Don’t you read the papers?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“They’re strictly soft-selling it. The cops are feeding them a line of crap, and as long as they can publish that quote-of-the-day, they’re happy.” Rick pulled a couple of wrinkled clippings from his shirt pocket and read from them.
“‘Police say they are pursuing new leads in the case of a murder victim whose headless body was recovered last week. Investigators now believe the body was dumped into the Amadahee River miles upstream and that it’s unlikely the murder occurred in this area.’“ Rick looked at Julia over his glasses. “How’s that for positive spin?”
“Not bad. The writer should work in P.R.”
“The writer was the daily’s editor. Rumor has it she’s a bedmate of the sheriff and a couple of council members, and not just politically, either.”
“Too much information, Rick. My day was hell enough without knowing that.”
“Here’s yesterday’s. ‘Chief Investigator Lieutenant T.L. Snead says—”
“Who?”
“Snead. Supposed to be some hotshot detective from the big city. Only been here a few months, though, so the good-old-boy jury is still out on him.”
“Snead.” Julia stared at her keyboard, her belly tightening.
Rick moved closer, taking advantage of the broken eye contact to loom over her. “What’s with this Snead? Do you know him?”
No. It’s all a coincidence. Cops don’t get transferred just in time for a ritual sacrifice to come bobbing up in the river. Snead didn’t follow me from Memphis as an agent of Satan. The devil isn’t stalking my immortal soul, because I’m not sure I even have one any longer.
Julia ignored the shadowy cloak of panic that hovered at the corners of her mind. “What does Snead say?”
“He believes identification will be difficult since the body was in the water so long. The skin was too far gone for fingerprints. And without the head, dental records are useless.”
“Gee, that’s convenient. It’s almost like a forensic expert committed the murder.”
“Or else a bunch of people who are insanely lucky.” Rick leaned forward and arched his eyebrows, trying to look sinister. “Or maybe Satan’s awesome power is protecting the coven from being discovered.”
For a brief instant, a second face had superimposed itself over Rick’s, a face with red eyes and a wide black nose and a goatish beard. A face distorted by evil.
Julia rolled her chair away. “Don’t do that, Rick.”
Rick grinned, but his grin was like that worn by the skull ring, sinister and sick. He tried to laugh but the wind died in his throat.
Julia stood and walked to the corner of her office.
Rick started to follow. “Hey, I didn’t know you were so jumpy.”
He put out his hand to touch her arm but she jerked away.
Satan doesn’t exist. Dr. Forrest says monsters are only in the mind.
Oh, but monsters could wear flesh. Daddy. Lucius. Mitchell. The Peeping Tom. The people in the coven who had scarred her for life. And maybe, just maybe, there was a monster inside her, wrapped around her bones, owning her every movement and breath and thought.
“Hey, I’m sorry, Julia.” His hands hovered as if he wanted to touch her or pass her a tissue, anything to ward off an uncomfortable show of emotion.
“Just leave,” Julia said. “I’ve got work to do.”
Rick backed away, pausing at the door. “Gee, hope you feel better. Guess you don’t want to go out to dinner, huh?”
The worst part was she couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. She waved him away, sat at her desk and pressed her palms against her eyes until the bright colors drove away the dark image of Rick’s goat face. God, if she was going to start seeing things, she might as well check into the rubber room right now. Visions were the gift of only the blessed or the damned. Which was she?
Julia finished her articles and went home around seven o’clock. She drove fast, racing the sun because she hadn’t left the house lights on. The thought of what might be waiting in the closet filled her with a gut-clenching dread. She arrived at Buckeye Creek Road just before dark. Mrs. Covington was sitting in her front-porch rocker as Julia drove by. The old woman waved her over.
Julia eyed the apartment building carefully. The Creep could be out on bail and already back at his window, binoculars in hand. The forest was quiet, the trees readying themselves for a long winter’s sleep. The mountains were so solid and strong and peaceful that Julia almost convinced herself that everything was normal, that Elkwood was a safe place, and the past was not tiptoeing up behind her with arms outstretched.
If God existed, he surely would set up his Earthly kingdom in this granite stronghold. But would his gates be open or would he fortify himself against unwanted, unwholesome company?
Julia stopped in the yard just beyond the porch railing. Mrs. Covington sipped her tea and lit a cigarette. The red tip glowed in the dusk. “How you doing, Julia?”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Covington.”
“Call me ‘Mabel,’ honey.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, ma’am.”
“Cops made a big show of it last night, didn’t they?” The woman sucked on the cigarette, its glow throwing strange shadows on her wrinkled face.
“Yeah. They arrested that guy for breaking into my house. He stole my—”
“Didn’t I tell you to watch out for him?”
“He broke into my house and–”
“It ain’t the first time.” Mrs. Covington took a puff and let the smoke swirl around her face. The porch squeaked in rhythm with the rocker. “They done let him out. I saw him up yonder with his buddies, drinking beer like he didn’t have a care in the world.”
“The police were supposed to come today and dust for fingerprints.”
“Never you mind about the law. You’d best just take care of yourself.”
Julia patted her purse. “I’ve got a can of mace. And a baseball bat under the bed.”
The old woman cackled. “As good as a gun. Just make sure you use it on the right person.”
The tobacco smoke wreathed Julia, sweet at first, but then cloying. “I thought mountain people were supposed to be trustworthy.”
“That’s just what they show on the TV set. People is people all over, I reckon. Some good, some bad, and sometimes you can’t tell which is which.”
“Well, I’m just glad Walter was here when the Creep broke in. No telling what might have happened if not for him.”
Mrs. Covington quit rocking and leaned forward. “That’s a mighty handy coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Coincidence?” Julia preferred to think of it as good luck. She deserved a little, didn’t she?
“He’s been around right regular lately.”
“He told me he was working for you yesterday.”
Mrs. Covington stubbed out her cigarette. Her face was barely discernible in the shadows. Julia wondered why the woman didn’t have on her porch light as usual.
“Sure, he was working for me. But he could have done that any time. And he come by your place twice while you was gone. Walked around the back of the house where I couldn’t see him.”
Julia’s mind spun with this information, trying to match it up with what Walter had told her. “He seems okay to me.”
Scott Nicholson Library Vol 1 Page 46