He pressed the gun barrel more tightly into Julia’s temple. “Ain’t that right, Sister?”
If they expected Julia to be insane after years of abusive psychotherapy, she wouldn’t disappoint them. After all, Dr. Danner and Dr. Forrest had been hammering away at her, building false memories, turning her past inside out, making her believe in monsters. The first rule of victimhood was to have an obsessive desire to please others. If Snead wanted her insane, she’d be glad to deliver.
“If the Master so wishes,” she said, giving a smile that she hoped was appropriately empty.
Snead pushed her toward the rocks. She nearly lost her balance, her hands still tied behind her back. “Go on,” he said to her. “It’ll be night soon. I don’t want to be out here in the woods with all these idiots running around with guns. A guy could get hurt.”
They started up the narrow trail. Laurel thickets bordered both sides, the waxy leaves dark. The undergrowth was too dense to try for an escape. Snead pushed her forward, and she had no choice but to stumble toward the peak.
The last of autumn’s leaves flapped in the trees, and the air tasted of static. Julia looked for a chance to flee. She almost didn’t fear getting shot. At least that would be quick and merciful. But she hated to lose to these Creeps, now that she knew how pathetic and weak they were.
“Snead!” Hartley shouted, his voice nearly lost in the howling wind.
As Snead turned, two hooded figures burst from the laurel. One swung a long heavy branch, hitting Snead across the back. The other tackled Snead around the waist and grabbed at his arm. Julia was shoved to her knees in the struggle. The pistol fired twice, and one of the men groaned in pain.
Julia lurched to her feet. Hartley and Dr. Forrest hurried up the trail. The two men in robes held Snead down. Snead’s face was bright with anger, blood seeping from one of his legs.
“Damn you fools,” Snead hissed. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He wants it all for himself. He always has.”
“No, Judas Snead,” Hartley said, breathing heavily. “Our Master wants it all. Because everything is already his.” Hartley pulled a knife from his robe. “Including your sorry soul.”
Julia edged toward the laurels, momentarily forgotten by the Brotherhood. Snead kicked beneath the grip of his captors, but couldn’t free himself. Julia noticed one of the hooded figures had a hole in the back of his robe. A dark wetness surrounded the hole.
Shot through the heart. And still WALKING? What were these people made of?
Hartley lifted the knife and shouted to the sky, “Accept this sacrifice, Satan, O Master of the world, though this soul be of little worth.”
Hartley bent over Snead, who uttered a string of curses. Julia looked away as the knife descended. Snead’s scream turned to a gurgle and was stolen away by the wind. Julia looked at Dr. Forrest. The woman’s eyes were hot with a mad inner bliss.
Hartley stood and cleaned the knife on his robe. “Sorry to taint the blade with his blood,” he said, smiling at Julia. “But the Master will forgive you. Are you ready to finish the mark and join us?”
The pentagram. Hartley wanted to carve the final three lines to complete the scar. Then would come the surrounding circle in her flesh, the knife like cold fire beneath her skin. And at last she would be his, mind, body, and soul.
And trust fund.
If Satan owned the world, why did he need three million dollars? Sins were common. Evil was cheap. And spiritual emptiness was absolutely free.
But she couldn’t run, not with her hands bound and her path cut off. If she dove into the laurels, she’d become tangled in the branches. The peaks ahead were too treacherous to navigate with her hands behind her back. And the hooded Brothers had proven their cruel efficiency.
The best option was to stall for time. Walter wouldn’t give up, not while he still had a breath.
“Join us, Julia,” said Dr. Forrest. “Become the whore Judas Stone.”
Dr. Forrest held out her arms. Everything would be fine, all wounds would heal, the Master would forgive Julia’s waywardness. Satan was the most compassionate of all the deities ever devised by humans. Satan allowed his followers free will.
But free will also belonged to those who didn’t follow.
Walter wouldn’t want me to surrender. He’d want me to keep fighting. I am a mountain. They can’t break me.
Julia imitated Dr. Forrest’s rapt smile. “I don’t want to be alone anymore, Sister.”
She stepped forward, between the two Brothers, and bowed her head slightly toward Hartley. “I’m ready to submit.”
“He will be pleased,” Hartley said. He looked up at the strange swirling sky, the bare trees like a thousand black fingers in the wind. “We must hurry, though. Austin might have reported the whore to the state police.”
Dr. Forrest peeled her robe over her shoulders and threw it on the ground. She stood naked in the fading afternoon, trembling from either the chill or excitement. “Make her Satan’s,” she said, her voice high.
“What do we do with Snead?” said the hooded figure to Julia’s left.
Hartley stroked the edge of the knife with his thumb, his tongue poking slightly between his lips. “Remove his head and throw him over the cliff. Let the waters take him, like they did Judas Triplett.”
The Brother to Julia’s right released her arm and moved in front of her. He smelled of wood smoke. The blood on the robe’s torn fabric was thick and congealed. She recognized the ring on his left hand, though the silver was blackened with ash.
The skull ring.
From the fireplace in the cabin.
“Brother Snead can wait,” said Dr. Forrest. “But Satan is eager. He’s waited so long for this whore. He told me how badly he wants to take her, to burn her, to taste her blood.” The woman rubbed her hands over her scarred belly in a grotesque parody of allure.
“So mote it be,” said Hartley. “Remove your robes and partake of his pleasures. Come to Satan in purity, with nothing to hide.” He leered at Julia. “And you’re next, whore.”
Hartley began pulling up his own robe, revealing his thin and mottled legs. The skull ring on the man’s hand glowed, as if the twin rubies were lit by inner hellfire. Hartley must have been in the cabin, found the ring, and brought it to be blessed by the kiss of Julia’s blood.
No, her skull ring was worn by the hooded figure in front of her, the one who wasn’t removing his robe.
The Brother who smelled of wood smoke.
She recognized Walter’s boots beneath the hem of the robe.
As the Creep to the right of Julia released her arm to remove his own robe, Walter sprang toward Hartley. The High Priest’s arms were tangled in the cloth, and he grunted in pain when Walter shoved a shoulder into the man’s stomach. Hartley gave an awkward swing with the knife, his robe falling back around him, and gasped, “Help me, Judas.”
The hooded Creep jumped Walter and they both fell to the ground. Hartley struggled to his feet and held the knife over the two struggling figures. “Guide my hand, O Satan,” said the crazed man, spittle whipped from his mouth by the wind.
The knife plunged toward the hooded figures, and one of them groaned in pain. Julia stumbled forward, praying that Walter had not been hurt. Dr. Forrest grabbed Julia, her fingers like talons.
Hartley stood back and pulled his gun from the folds of his robe. One of the hooded figures rolled to his knees while the other lay still. The kneeling figure peeled back his hood.
Walter.
He slumped before Hartley, looking up at the bloody knife like a penitent before a shrine. Hartley’s gun pointed at his face. Julia glanced at the forest floor surrounding Snead’s body. The Creeps had forgotten about Snead’s gun. She saw it, a muted glint against the dark leaves.
But even if she could get to it, she couldn’t aim it with her hands tied behind her back.
She had only one weapon. Her mind. The crowded, multi-roomed house that had harbored so many doubts and shadows,
that had closeted so much pain, that had scrambled its memories like so many alphabet blocks. She had allowed others to open and close her doors, but all her housekeepers had been mad. Now it was time to clean house herself.
“Don’t,” she shouted, seeing Hartley about to strike. The High Priest froze with the knife over his head. A drop of blood fell onto his bald head and trailed down his face.
“The Master doesn’t want any more worthless sacrifices,” Julia said. “It’s me that he wants.” Her words seemed amplified by the wind, rushing from the trees on all sides of them. The sky grew darker, night swallowing night.
Julia stepped toward Hartley, bowed, and knelt beside Walter. She avoided Walter’s eyes, unable to bear the betrayed look she would see there. Dr. Forrest went to Hartley’s side, grinning down at Julia, her eyes as bright as morning stars.
“She wants to join,” Dr. Forrest said, shivering. “I told you she was ready.”
Hartley frowned, confused. “But we won’t be able to get the money.”
“The Master can always get money,” Dr. Forrest said. “But how many times does he get such sweet revenge? Imagine the power, imagine his blessings upon us, if we give him the daughter of the one who betrayed him?”
Under other circumstances, Julia might have laughed at the idea of someone’s betraying the prince of betrayal. But, no, she wasn’t a skeptic, she was a true believer, willingly offering her flesh to the master of the world. She mirrored the crazed, beatific smile that Dr. Forrest wore and was horrified to find how easily it slipped onto her face.
“Give me to him,” Julia begged Hartley. “I want Satan to have me, body and soul. Of my own free will.”
“No, Julia,” Walter said.
“Shut up,” Hartley said to Walter. “If it wasn’t for your meddling, this whore would already belong. But I suppose Satan owes you a small debt of thanks. After all, your whore wife and child were worthy sacrifices.”
Walter gasped and trembled with rage. Julia knew she couldn’t wait much longer. She said to Dr. Forrest, “Untie me, so that I might come to him, pure and willing. We are all part of the Circle.”
The nude woman stooped behind Julia and began tugging on the knots. “Oh, Sister. I’m so glad you want to belong. We’ll be together forever, in him.”
Hartley held the knife menacingly above Walter. “Watch the whore,” Hartley said.
“She trusts me,” Dr. Forrest said, as if talking to the forest and rocks and river. “And Satan will smile on my work. Because I’ve helped make Julia who she is. I’ve helped her become Judas Stone. Haven’t I, Master?”
The knots loosened and the rope slipped down Julia’s wrists. Dr. Forrest began pulling Julia’s sweater over her head, preparing her for the completion of the pentagram. Julia kept the acolyte’s smile, though her eyes were fixed on Hartley. His skull ring glowed in the rising darkness, the rubies making two red specks even though there was no light to reflect.
Julia looked at the ring on Walter’s finger. Her ring. No reflection came from it. Her breath caught. She’d thought this was all a game, that “Satan’s” tricks were explained by the manipulation of Creeps. The power of Dr. Forrest’s suggestions combined with false memories.
But what if she’d really been born unto Satan? What if her father had given her away, but changed his mind and rescued her? What if the long-ago ritual had been interrupted, and Satan had delighted in Julia’s long, torturous path back to the Inner Circle?
No matter. The words were out like a rote magic spell before she could reconsider. “I want Satan to have me, body and soul. Of my own free will.”
When Julia had said those words, hadn’t a sick warmth filled her chest? Hadn’t she felt giddy with strength, as if the master of the world would share the world’s sick spiritual wealth? Didn’t Satan promise absolute freedom, freedom to kill or scar or lie or lust? All sins without a price, because the ultimate price had already been paid?
She gazed at Hartley, half-expecting to see a goat’s head sprouting from the top of his robe, expecting the master to don flesh so that he might taste his world’s mortal sins. But all she saw was a depraved, aging man, his face reddened by the cold wind.
The skull ring was just a piece of metal set with ornamental stones. A symbol for the fools who lacked hope, who saw no value in the living and so had to fabricate a monstrous illusion. And daggers, robes, pentagrams, rituals were nothing but stage props for a nonexistent deity, contrived mockeries to give meaning to meaningless lives. The ultimate worship of self and ego.
She looked at Walter, and in his eyes saw life. The fires of the soul were never lit by fallen angels. They were lit by compassion. Power was created by a sacrifice that was selfless, not a sacrifice that was made to gain approval. Walter had made sacrifices for her, and he had sparked hope in her own heart. And love was the brightest of powers, the hottest of fires, the force that brought even gods to their knees.
Or maybe she was simply insane.
Either way, Julia stood, energy flowing through her limbs. She felt Dr. Forrest pulling on her blouse, trying to expose her abdomen so that Hartley could bring the knife to bear. The forest seemed like a wild beast, pulsing and throbbing beneath the skin of night. The wind rose and fell in a melody that might have been as old as the earth.
Julia shrugged away from Dr. Forrest’s clutching fingers, turned, and walked up the path toward the high rocks. “O Satan, my Master, come take me,” she shouted at the sky.
Hartley called after her, or it may have been Walter. She heard Dr. Forrest’s footsteps in the dead leaves, chasing.
“Jooolia?” Hartley yelled, his voice barely audible above the gale.
They had killed her father. Hartley had killed her father. And though her father may have been spiritually weak, seduced by the attraction that corrupt moral freedom offered, he had rescued Julia when the Brotherhood sought to carve her up. No one was beyond redemption.
“Satan calls me,” Julia said, continuing up the path, feeling her way between the laurels. She hoped her shambling gait was appropriately zombie-like.
She came to the spot where Snead had fallen. His gun was invisible in the darkness. She stumbled, swooned, and dropped to her knees, running her hands over the ground while pretending to regain balance.
“You need us in order to get to the Master,” Dr. Forrest said from a few feet behind Julia. “You can’t do it alone. Come before the High Priest. Let us help you belong.”
Julia’s fingers brushed over the gun and closed on the grip. Snead had been tackled in the act of firing, so the safety was off. She didn’t know much about guns, but she knew how to point. And, if necessary, pull the trigger.
Dr. Forrest caught up to her and embraced her, the woman’s bare skin feverishly hot. Julia allowed herself to be led back down the trail. She could scarcely make out Walter and Hartley, who were two gray silhouettes against the shadow of the world, Walter still on his knees.
Dr. Forrest nudged Julia toward Hartley. The High Priest turned the knife so that it caught some of the scant light.
“Why use the knife?” Julia said. “Does the Master not love bullets?”
Dr. Forrest touched Julia’s shoulder. “Sister?”
“Or is a bullet too quick? Does Satan like to hear the little children scream while you cut them up? Or is it you who gets his jollies out of other people’s pain and suffering?”
“You whore,” Hartley said.
“Finish it,” Dr. Forrest said, though Julia couldn’t tell whether the woman was addressing Hartley or Satan.
Hartley swung his pistol toward Julia. “You can’t fool the Master. He’s the original liar. And he’s got a place for you in hell.”
Walter chose that moment to attack, lunging into Hartley’s knees. Hartley swung the pistol toward Walter’s head, the metal cracking against the hard bone of Walter’s skull. Walter slumped, moaning, while Hartley fought to regain balance.
Julia pulled Snead’s pistol from behind her back. �
�Tell Satan I said ‘hello.’“
Hartley’s mouth fell open in surprise. A surge of electricity flowed through Julia and she could have sworn the wind whispered, “Do it.” She pulled the trigger three times.
Dr. Forrest screamed, and for an impossible moment, Hartley still stood, gazing at the wounds in his chest. He looked at Julia, and then at the pistol in his own hand. He smiled. She was so paralyzed with fear that she couldn’t pull the trigger again, as if Hartley had stolen her energy in order to keep himself upright. As if he were drawing up the life of the trees, dirt, and rocks.
The blood of the world.
For the briefest of moments, the goat’s face appeared over Hartley’s and the capricious lips—surely an illusion?—parted in a smirk of victorious surrender.
The wind rose, the music of the woods screaming to a crescendo, the devil’s orchestra drawing its bows—
Stop it, Julia.
No music, only Dr. Forrest’s wail and Hartley swaying.
Then, with a gurgle in his throat, he collapsed.
As Hartley hit the ground, the clouds tugged themselves apart and a sliver of sunset bathed the mountain. Somewhere over or beneath the mountain, thunder rumbled, as if the Master were laughing. Or perhaps God had broken his lifelong silence and finally spoke to her. Any message was lost in translation.
Julia stooped and gathered Hartley’s automatic and helped Walter to his feet.
“You okay?” she asked.
He rubbed his head, steadying himself against her as he stared down at Hartley. “Doing better than him, anyway.”
Dr. Forrest knelt by her tainted leader and wept, her arms over her flaccid breasts. “You were one of us,” she blubbered to Julia.
“No,” Julia said. “I was never anybody’s.” She put her arm around Walter, helping support him.
Dr. Forrest looked up. The wind died and the soft fading light caught the tears on the woman’s cheeks. “He owns you.”
Scott Nicholson Library Vol 1 Page 55