The Devil's Due

by TJ Vargo

  One of their pursuer's horse whinnied then snorted. Jackson reached back blindly in the darkness, finding Felicia's hand. He gripped it solidly, caressing his thumb over the top of her palm. Keep steady. No noise. No movement. Got to keep quiet.

  "I thought you said you saw them!"

  The sound of Nathaniel's voice tightened Felicia's grip on Jackson's hand. He kept moving his thumb over her hand, letting her know he was there. Kirtland's voice rasped back at Nathaniel.

  "I thought I saw something, but it could've been anything. We should check the pasture. There's no way to tell if they're even together."

  "They're together. They're together and they think they're going to leave together. I know all about their kind." A long silence intervened before Nathaniel said. "He thinks he's saving her."

  Silence reigned for another long moment. Jackson felt his body tighten. Any noise, a snort from a horse, a leaf crunching under a hoof - anything would betray their location. But the horses held still along with Felicia and himself. It was the crunch of gravel under a bootheel from the road that broke the silence.

  "Let's search the pasture and surrounding woods," said Nathaniel.

  The creaking sound of a saddle being settled into followed Nathaniel’s voice, then the sound of hooves pounding back up the mountain toward the castle. Jackson waited until the sound of the hooves and the glow of torchlight had left them entirely. He waited another five minutes, not moving, just waiting and listening.

  "Do you think it's safe to take the road?" Felicia finally asked.

  Jackson whispered. "We're going to have to. It's too damn dark to pick our way through these woods."

  Back on the road, Jackson eased his horse into a canter. He turned often, expecting to see riders or people on foot suddenly appearing behind him. There was no one, no matter how many times he looked. The ride down the mountain was uneventful and eerily quiet, which made it all the more unbearable.

  As he reached the bottom of the mountain road and turned toward town his skin felt tight, muscles flexing with anticipation. He raked his fingernails into his hair, scratching at phantom itches that crawled on his sweaty scalp. Again, as had happened this morning, frogs plunked into the ditches as the horses clopped down the road. He saw Felicia jerk in her saddle at the first splash. She settled down when he looked at her and whispered, "Frogs."

  The forest that hemmed the road was made for nightmares. Black. An overhead curtain of gnarled branches blocked out the light of the moon. Out of the darkness the ghostly outlines of the town's buildings began to materialize, dim sights at the end of the dark tunnel of forest road he traveled. The buildings were fluttering hallucinations, rising through the dark pools of night air. He stopped his horse, waiting for Felicia to pull abreast of him. A stifling feeling was in the air, like it had been earlier that day when he'd rode into town. The air was alive in this town, writhing with an energy that pressed against his flesh. It searched for a way to enter him. Jackson crossed his arms and brushed at his biceps, as if wiping the air away. He stopped, seeing Felicia's horse next to his.

  "It's quiet," he remarked, not looking at Felicia, but scanning the empty main street and its dark empty storefronts.

  "Uh huh," she whispered back.

  "Frida said for us to go in the church and wait. Why don't we walk our horses through the back alleys? You never know who's watching," he said, looking over at her. She didn't return his look. Her body jumped as she spurred her bare heels into her horse.

  Jackson gave a half-hearted "Hey," before he had to spur his own horse into a gallop to keep from being left behind. The heavy staccato thud of the horses' hooves on the hard-packed dirt road echoed on the faces of the buildings up and down the main street. Jackson pushed his horse to catch Felicia's, but soon settled on his position behind her. The horses were fair equals in size. Felicia's animal had the advantage in a dead run no matter how hard he pressed.

  Jackson wondered how many townspeople heard the drumming hooves that signaled their passing. The thought boiled in his head as he stopped his horse next to Felicia in front of the church. He looked in every direction, expecting lights to blink to life inside houses or someone to come running out of the dark for them. The town stayed dark and lifeless. Felicia stroked her horse's mane quietly, staring past the church into the trees that thickened into a forest behind the church. This was a dead end in the town, nothing but the church, the forest and a skinny dirt path that wound from the side of the church into the dark trees.

  "God damn! Everyone in town must have heard us," Jackson said, dismounting and walking his horse next to Felicia. She was silent, watching Jackson tether his horse in a small stand of trees on the side of the church.

  Jackson pushed to the edge of the small grouping of trees and put his hands on his hips. "What are you doing? Are you trying to get us caught?" When she didn't respond immediately his voice rasped, "C'mon Felicia, get off your God damn horse and tie it up. We've got to get inside. Now."

  She took a moment before responding. Her voice cracked, then came out strong. "I don't want to get off my horse. I think we should keep riding. Take that dirt path into the woods and keep moving until morning. There's got to be a town nearby."

  Her horse pawed at the dirt nervously. Jackson spat on the ground, trying to clear a gnat from his throat, and squinted up at her. How stupid was this girl? He cleared his throat and spit once more before saying, "With the way you galloped through town, making enough noise for an army, it might not be a bad idea to get out of here." He chewed on a strand of hair the wind pushed into the corner of his mouth and looked past Felicia, surveying the quiet town before adding, "But, I think we got lucky. The whole town must be up at the castle. No one was here to hear you pounding down main street." His voice lowered. "But we're waiting for Frida. We’re going to see what she says before we go bumping through the forest at night." He tilted his head, looking over her head back toward the castle which he could barely see on top of the mountain, a dark hulk with small lights twinkling. "This is probably the best place to be right now. No one would guess that we're here. Nathaniel probably thinks that I'll make a break to get out of here. He'd never..."

  She interrupted, her voice more insistent. "You can't trust Frida or anyone else from this town. Let's just leave, now."

  "Did you hear a word I said?"

  "I heard you, but I'm telling you we should leave."

  Jackson gestured at the woods. "You want to ride those woods at night, go on. Hell, you do what you want to anyhow. You might as well keep it up. But I'm waiting here. I'm waiting for Frida - at least for a little while." He looked away from Felicia. This was a gamble, acting like he didn't care if she left on her own, but he was growing tired of constantly fighting to save her. Maybe acting like he didn't care would catch her attention.

  "She's not going to help you. Listen to me Jackson."

  He shook his head and started walking. Felicia hissed a curse and jumped down from her horse. A young sapling whipped him across the thigh as he pushed his way out of the trees. Felicia walked up behind him. She grabbed him by the shoulder.

  "I rode down the street because I knew the whole town was at the castle to fuck me or watch me get fucked. I'm not stupid Jackson. I'm scared" Her lips were curled back, showing her teeth. She nearly spit on him when she said, "In fact, you the one that's fucking stupid. You don't even know what they're...." She pushed past him toward the church, murmuring, "You just don't know."

  She padded away from Jackson in her bare feet toward the front door of the church. A rip in the back of her dress flapped open when she walked, showing Jackson glimpses of her upper thighs and buttocks. He shook his head then followed her up the steps, the wooden steps creaking in protest. He stopped and flinched when she slammed the front doors of the church behind her. What the hell was her problem? Was she mad about what almost happened tonight - what he'd been able to save her from? He sighed and walked up the stairs shaking his head. She'd had a rough night. And he
was the closest target. If he wanted to be really good about this, he could think of the way she was acting as a privilege. She had enough feeling for him to take out her anger on him. Smiling at the thought he slowed his walk up the steps then stopped. But she had called him "fucking stupid," hadn't she? That wasn't something he liked - not one bit.

  He jumped up the remaining steps. Sharp moans and creaks came from the wooden steps. A loud boom rocked through the church as he pushed his way in and slammed the doors shut behind him. There she was, in front of him turned with her arms folded on her chest. Dim light fell on her face from the ceiling-to-floor picture windows set on either end of the vestibule. Behind her were tall, natural-wood double doors that lead into the main worship area. The walls, the doors, the floor, all of the vestibule shined dully with the color of lacquered natural wood. Probably oak, Jackson thought, by the slight yellow-red tint of the wood. Wooden racks jammed with dog-eared songbooks were on either side of the doors opening into the main building of the church. He looked back at Felicia. She flicked a look at him the same way a rattlesnake tested the air with its tongue. Jackson ran both hands through his long hair, taking a deep breath.

  "I only want to get out of here." Another deep breath, then he put his hands on his hips. "I mean get you and me out of here."

  "I know."

  Her eyes melted a bit. He pushed on. "Look, I know you're angry. And you're scared because of what almost happened at the castle." He stopped and bit his lower lip, seeing her eyes soften even more. "It's okay if you take it out on me." Jackson folded his arms, looking at her with a steady, calm gaze. "Okay for now, but, I'm telling you, you've got to get over it quick. I need your help. I don't need your shit."

  Wrapping her arms around herself, Felicia nodded. "I know." She sniffed. "I know, I know... I'm just so, so... scared." She closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. "I can still see it, when Frida swung that metal candlestick holder into the back of her husband's head. It sounded terrible. All because he... he..." Her shoulders shook, then jerked up and down. She tightened her arms around herself and sobbed, her face pulling in on itself. She looked at Jackson and blurted between sobs, her voice shaking.

  "I can't believe you got me out of there. Even though you knew they'd all be after you, you still did it. You just keep on trying to help me. I don't know why you do that. Why do you do that? You make it so hard for me to... You're making it hard Jackson."

  Jackson watched her meltdown with a voyeur's eye, watching a clear line of snot run like a thread of glass over her dark lips. "I'm trying to help you, that's all," he said.

  "I don't want you to. Don't!" She let loose a loud sob, then wiped the back of her hand over her trembling lips and whispered, "If you weren't trying to help me I wouldn't care. I could do what I want and not care about anyone else. But you're making me care about you. And for that, I'm going to end up in one of those coffins, just like those girls you saw today. I know I am." She broke down again, sobbing into her hands, "God help me."

  "Felicia," said Jackson, his eyes tightening with concern, "calm down. You're going to be okay. I'll get you out of here."

  Her eyes went wide when Jackson talked and she brought her face up out of her hands. She had a crazed, far-away look that brought the hair up on Jackson's neck. Her head was cocked to the side and she squinted into the distance, trying to focus on something that wasn't there. Her voice made it much worse, hissing in the whisper of a terrified child.

  "He'll send that fucking janitor from the convent. The one that was haunted by the people he killed." She nodded her head, agreeing with herself. "That's the one he'll send after me. God help me - he'll send him just like he sent those things that came for Fletcher today."

  Hearing the name, "Fletcher," and remembering what happened at the church this afternoon, Jackson felt a hand slip into his chest and clutch at his heart. His blood went cold, ice water in his veins. Those things that came for Fletcher. They moved fast up the porch when they saw Fletcher. Made squishy sounds and moved fast. Jackson began to back away from Felicia. He thought he heard the horses whinny outside. Maybe he should run out there and check. He chewed his bottom lip. Sure. Now would be a good time to check and make sure the horses we're okay. Maybe get on his horse and see if it had any run left in it. Yeah. Now would be a good time to see.

  "Don't."

  Jackson froze. Looked at Felicia, one hand outstretched toward him. His thought of running was still there, and he slapped his hand on his thigh as if to say, "Come on boy, you can still do it - run." The hard metal circle of the belt buckle in his pocket cleared his mind. Don't leave her. She needs help. She's a good person. He clutched at the buckle. He'd be damned if he'd let her down.

  He went to her. Her hair tangled in his fingers, soft black silk wrapping in his palms while she buried her head in his chest. He stayed there for a long time, holding her, until finally she lifted her head from his chest. She whispered beneath his chin.

  "Jackson, you can't get away from him. You know that, don't you?"

  "We'll see."

  He held her hand and grabbed the handle of the door going into the main part of the church. The old brass door handle was cold and he pushed his thumb down on the latch. The door opened soundlessly into the cavernous interior of the empty church. The main aisle stretched before him. A carpet ran the length of the aisle, reaching the base of an elevated altar with a table and lecterns. "C'mon," he said, nodding his head toward the altar, "we'll wait for Frida up there."

  The red carpet runner muffled their footsteps as they walked toward the elevated altar area. Jackson touched his fingertips softly on the worn wooden backs of the pews. When he reached the front pew he sat down. Felicia stayed standing.

  "I'm going to find a candle," she whispered.

  The sheer black dress she wore sifted her body into the dark until only the bare glowing white of her calves, forearms and hands were visible. Then she disappeared completely, swallowed by the darkness, only to return in a puff of illumination when she lit a match.

  Her face was a study in concentration as she lit a thick candle set on the altar table and lifted it off its brass base. The flame flickered when she walked, jumping shadows over her face. She set it at Jackson's feet and sat next to Jackson, the pew creaking under her weight.

  "Don't you think someone will see the light? Jackson asked.

  "I don't think it will matter." Felicia's voice tightened as she added, "I need some light. It's too quiet and dark."

  Jackson felt her hip press against him, then the weight of her head on his shoulder. He laid an arm over her shoulder. Seconds slid into minutes, and minutes to hours. The quiet and darkness of the church was a playground for his imagination, and the memory of Fletcher's monsters played in his mind, there in the dark outside the light of the candle. He swore he could see them, speedy flashes in the blackness. He pulled Felicia tight against his side. Frida would be here soon; he only had to keep the boogeymen away for a little longer. Listening to Felicia's breathing helped. Her soft inhales and exhales followed the rise and fall of her chest touching his side.

  Felicia finally fell asleep, soft little nasal sounds punctuating the end of each exhale. Jackson couldn't sleep just yet. His drifting mind had conjured the shimmering image of a dark-haired woman, his guardian angel from when he was a child. Pulled her from the recesses of his psyche to protect him from the things that played in the dark just outside his vision. He held her image tight, it was his only focus as the weight of sleep finally pulled him down. Then he was there with her, in the misty dreamland of his mind.

  He ran toward her, slogging through his dream mists with lead feet. The distance to her never shortened, no matter how hard he fought to gain speed. He was left breathing hard, his legs exhausted and leaden, watching her image drift in and out on the edges of a mist. Close, but never close enough. He reached a hand toward her and the mists bubbled angrily, closing on it. His hand disappeared and he felt something grab it. A tight grip, co
ld hard fingers as thin as sticks. Then a figure solidified next to him. His heart leapt. It was her. Dark hair materializing out of the mist. She drew closer.

  Jackson didn't hear her speak, but her thoughts were in his head as she pulled him next to her in the blinding mist. "I'll show you the way if you hold my hand. Come Jackson."

  I'll come. Show me how to get out of here, he thought. He was next to her now, being led through the mist, only able to see her long black hair flowing down her back. He stumbled, trying to keep up with her. She was almost running now. The grip on his hand clamped tight, yanking him along.

  Why are we running? Where are you taking me? he asked, working hard to keep from falling.

  Where you can swim forever, she answered, then laughed, pulling him faster.

  Only then did Jackson notice that the hand holding his was withered and leathery. Glints of gleaming bone peeked from where the skin was gone. All his strength fell away, he gasped for breath. He tried to pull away, digging his heels in, feeling powerless. She turned. The rotted face of one of the girls he'd seen in a coffin behind the church leered at him, its jaw twisted to the side in a skeleton's grin.

  "We're waiting for you to join your father. Join all of us. We'll swim forever with you and your good old dad. Swim and burn, swim and burn."

  The sounds that fell from her withered lips - the dry rustle of dead corn stalks - his mouth opened in a silent scream. Paralysis seized his limbs. He couldn't move to run away. He managed to look away, stretching his neck to get his face as far away from her as he could. He felt her free hand stroke his neck. His skin crawled. God no. Keep away.

  She moaned just as the hard-boned tip of her finger touched at his lip. Moaned and released him, taking a step back. Jackson cringed, expecting to feel her cold touch return, but it didn't. He turned to see the corpse of the girl slink, still moaning, into the mist. And, behind him, a voice from the mist.