by TJ Vargo
"I tried to warn you" Felicia's voice was strained, the worry lines running deep in her forehead. "When she brought the knife up after cutting you, I thought she was going to stab you. And when you fell," she shivered, "I thought she had." She shook her head, murmuring and stroking his hair, "They promised they wouldn't hurt you."
Jackson tightened, a fist clenched in his stomach. A tiny wiggle of dizziness. He closed his eyes for a moment, then grabbed Felicia's wrist. "What do mean, they promised not to hurt me?"
Eyes wide, her bottom lip began to quiver as the color drained from her face.
"What the hell is going on here?" he asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered.
He pulled her in close to him. "You do. You know why he brought me here. Tell me or I swear to God..."
"I don't know," she said. Tears formed and she looked at the floor. "Jackson, we don't have time for this. We've got to move. Frida's going to come back and I don't think she's going to be alone."
Jackson raged, "I don't give a shit! You tell me what you know, God damn it!"
She began crying. She raised her eyes long enough to give Jackson a pleading look, then lowered her face into her hands. It all came out in a rush. "You don't understand. He was good to me. I was living on the streets, hooking for drugs, hooking for food. I was pitiful, worse than garbage." Letting out a long pained sigh, she shook her head and continued. "One night he just showed up in the alley I was living in. He gave me some food and took me to a nice room in a hotel. He got me new clothes, let me clean myself up... all he wanted was for me to help him play a trick on someone, that's all. One trick and he said I'd never have to live on the streets again. He said after it was over I could have anything I wanted. Money, a house, anything." She carefully wiped her eyes and nose with the torn edge of her sleeve. Her eyes were glassy when she finally felt the courage to look at Jackson. "I know you hate me, but I didn't know it was going to be like this. If I'd known..."
Jackson tightened his grip on her wrist. "Trick me how?"
"You're hurting me," she whined.
Loosening his grip, Jackson settled back. His eyes burned at Felicia. "I don't want to hurt you and I don't hate you, I just want to know what the trick is."
"We can still leave. If we run now, I don't think he'll even care," she whispered, looking quickly behind her to the entrance of the church.
"You're not my sister, are you?" he asked.
She was silent for a time. A concrete hardness settled in her face and her tears stopped. "No. I ran away from my parents when I was sixteen. My father was abusing me. When I finally told my mother about it, she believed his story that I was coming on to him." Seeing Jackson drop his gaze to the floor, her voice raised a pitch as she added, "But the rest of what I told you was close to the truth. I was in a convent for a while; I just didn't grow up there. Some nuns brought me in off the street and I stayed there until that crazy gardener started his shit." Her hand reached out to him, touching him on the arm. "I just wanted to get off the streets Jackson, that's all. I was trying to have a normal life. I can't help it if my father was abusing me."
Jackson's mind became leaden. He wanted to push her away, but didn't have the strength. "Why would he want you to act like you were my sister?" he asked.
Felicia shifted her gaze back to the floor. Her hand slipped off his arm and she shook her head. "He said to do it, he didn't say why. He told me what to say. How to act." She wiped at her nose and sniffed, then looked at Jackson. "And he told me what you would do. How you would want to protect me. Like you did. How you’d give your blood to save me, which you also did. But that's all I know. I was just a tool, like I've always been."
Her eyes became unfocused, staring into space. "You know, it's not in his face, or even in his voice. Those things will fool you. It's his eyes. I've seen eyes like his a million times before. He has eyes like every john that had a mean streak - only his are worse. Hooking taught me one thing, how to size people up quick. I knew what he was the first time he smiled at me." Her eyes came back into focus and she nodded at Jackson. "But I think you knew too, didn't you?"
Jackson watched her swallow; the tendons standing out on her long neck as she took a quick look behind her before turning back to him. She had the look of a frightened child. "He's not right Jackson. He's something out of a nightmare. It makes me sick, but..." She hesitated, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Jackson could sense she was on the verge of a breakdown.
"I think he's the devil Jackson," she said so softly he could barely hear. "And, I let him inside of me. I think I gave him part of me."
Jackson slid over in the pew and held her face, making her look at him. He waited until she could hold his gaze before saying, "If you gave him anything you can always take it back."
Feeling Jackson's quiet determination, she nodded. Jackson got to his feet.
"We can't stay here." His voice echoed in the vaulted ceilings. His throat was tight with tension as he added. "I don't know what he is, but if we hang around here too long I think we’ll find out. That’s not something I want to know."
Felicia got up and grabbed his good hand. "Let's go. Now."
He let her pull him along, wishing they had the horses outside. He was halfway down the aisle toward the front doors, thinking about which way to run to get to the closest town when Felicia’s grip tightened. He bumped into her as she stopped and looked toward the front doors of the church. A gust of wind made him squint. The doors were open. Damn, hadn't he locked those? He heard Felicia inhale suddenly at the same moment every hair on his body stood on end. A black silhouette of a man wearing a broad-brimmed hat rose up slowly into the open doors, walking up the front steps of the church.
"Go, go!" Felicia said in a quiet rush, pushing Jackson back toward the altar.
Her push backed him up a step or two, but that was all. He stood behind her watching Nathaniel step up level with the doors. With the armspan of a giant, Nathaniel grabbed the doorjambs that were nearly six and a half feet wide and leaned into the church.
"Olley olley ots in free," Nathaniel said, his voice oozing like warm honey. "I'm coming to get you."
Chapter Eighteen
The sound of Nathaniel's footsteps as he walked up the church aisle shot ice-water into Jackson's heart. He felt goose pimples run up his spine to the back of his neck, and then over his scalp. He lifted a hand over his open mouth. Not footsteps, he thought, hearing his heart pound inside his head. No, Nathaniel's walk made the distinct, heavy clopping noise of hooves. Jackson's mind twitched at the mental image he conjured, a picture of Nathaniel as a two-legged hoofed thing. A man walking on the legs of a goat. As if on cue, Nathaniel showed his long white teeth in a hungry smile and hurried his steps for a moment, coming toward Jackson in long strides that knocked on the wooden floorboards and ate up the distance between them.
Jackson scrambled back a few steps and almost fell, grabbing the side of a pew in a white-knuckled grip. A panic welled up in him. He swallowed hard. It wasn't just the sound of hooves. It was that Nathaniel was dressed as the black man of Jackson's dreams, his bearded face hanging from beneath his broad-brimmed hat, eyes glittering and intense. A scream clawed wildly in Jackson's chest, desperately trying to find its way to his throat. For the barest of moments the hat on Nathaniel's head had been something else. A pair of thick horns, sweeping around, gleaming black. He made an effort to cover his mouth. No screaming. No matter how nightmarish the sound and sight of Nathaniel was, Jackson wouldn't scream. But he wanted to. The awful sound of those hooves. He really wanted to.
"You don't know how happy you've made me," said Nathaniel, slowing to an easy walk halfway up the aisle, a low clopping noise echoing in the rafters of the church with each footstep. He made a show of it, slowly raising his feet up high and smiling at the sound they made as they hit the old wooden floor of the church. A thin, cold sweat broke over Jackson's face as Nathaniel came closer, murmuring, "Happy, happy, happ
y."
"Jackson, c'mon."
Felicia grabbed Jackson by the scruff of his neck and pulled him with her. Turning his back on Nathaniel, Jackson broke into a run, following Felicia.
Nathaniel's mocking voice followed them as they ran, "Where are you going? We've still got lots to do. Don't leave now."
"Don't look at him," Felicia wailed, pulling Jackson with her toward the altar.
"I said, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" roared Nathaniel.
Taking the lead and jumping up the low risers that led to the altar, Jackson stopped on the altar. It was almost empty, just a bare table and a simple wooden lectern. He grabbed Felicia and pulled her back as she tried to move toward the curtains that hung behind the altar. Past those curtains was the door that led to the outside. It was the way out, but he had a strange feeling. Felicia flashed a desperate look at him. He turned to her, keeping his eyes on the curtains, and whispered, "They're here."
The curtains pushed aside. Frida walked through, her husband Tom's arm around her waist, her face bunched in a smile.
"Help me Frida. I'm scared," she tittered in a falsetto, holding one hand to her breast in mock fright, then turning to her husband. He had always had the appearance of a banker; gray-haired, heavy-bodied and distinguished. He looked maniacal now, hair askew, his gaze catching and holding Felicia as he licked his lips.
A feeling of disgust came over Jackson as he watched Tom's eyes burn on Felicia. He saw the man's hand slowly move from Frida's sagging belly to one of her huge breasts. Watching him slowly massage his fat wife's breast while staring at Felicia, Jackson's pulse surged. He wanted to tear the man's eyes from their sockets. He stepped in front of Felicia, blocking Tom's view of her and getting an angry look from him in return. The curtain behind the altar opened all the way, showing the whole town standing and watching him and Felicia.
"Oooo, help me Frida, I don't want my sister to be whored out to the town," Frida said, giggling, then letting out a small moan as her bug-eyed husband pinched her breast.
"Shut up," growled Jackson. He turned his attention to her husband, saw him cock his head to get a better look at Felicia, and said, "You know, you can look all day long, but you're still going home with that fat pig."
Frida's eyes grew huge. "You don't call me that!" she shrieked, slapping Tom's hand from her breast and walking toward Jackson. "YOU DON'T CALL ME THAT EVER!" Her arms swung stiffly at her sides with her hurried steps as she rushed toward Jackson, her face pinched in anger.
Adrenaline flushed through Jackson. His muscles twitched as the huge crowd behind Frida began to murmur and move forward, following Frida's lead. He reached a blind hand behind him for Felicia. There were too many to fight. Too many to run through. Felicia grabbed his hand. Her breath was in his ear, the hair on the back of his neck pricking at the fear in her voice.
"Jackson? Jackson?"
A sharp clap made Felicia jump. Jackson whirled. Doctor Kirtland fastened his predatory gaze on Jackson from the steps leading to the altar. He stood next to Nathaniel. Dressed in the plain, black clothes of Nathaniel, Kirtland could have been easily overlooked in the shadowed interior of the church. He was a remnant of a man that had gnarled and withered. A dark husk of cruel shadow that Jackson decided was not quite human. He moved forward lizard quick, scrambling up the altar steps, his shoes scraping dryly on the wood planks.
Frida and the rest of the town had stopped at the sound of Kirtland's clap. Now they moved back a step in unison as Kirtland sprang onto the altar and placed his kindling wood fingers on Jackson's shoulder, then trained a small rheumy eye on him. "Step down," he wheezed, showing his yellow teeth, his eyes sliding over to the crowd led by Frida. "Step down or I'll let them tear you apart."
Jackson slowly backed off the altar with Felicia. He kept one eye on the crowd and Frida, but there was no danger there. They were frozen by Kirtland's vulpine gaze. Then his voice rattled.
"Move! You know why we're here! Move or I'll move you!"
The sound of the people running and shoving their way out of the church was immediate. The wooden frame and floor of the church protested, creaking under the strain of so many people. Jackson stood with Felicia in front of the altar, watching the town run at Kirtland's command. In a few moments the entire altar had emptied, except for Kirtland who stood next to the bare altar table. The old man turned and did a curtsy, smiling viciously as he said, "We'll be ready very shortly Mr. Thorne."
Jackson turned to see Nathaniel nod at Kirtland. A great staticy feeling of electricity saturated the air. Jackson rubbed a hand over his shirtsleeves, feeling the hair on his forearms standing at attention. Nathaniel strolled over and put a hand on Felicia's shoulder. "Come here child," he said, pulling her next to him. He played with her hair and cooed, "You did a wonderful job. You did this to him and still he lets you hold his heart in the palm of your hand."
Anger flared in Jackson. He couldn't stand to watch him touching her, her eyes downcast and frightened. He grabbed her by the arm. Her moan let him know he pulled too hard, but he pulled anyway. Getting her away from Nathaniel was all that mattered. She stumbled toward him, out of Nathaniel's grasp, and he held her for a moment, then pulled himself up to his full height, staring up at Nathaniel's black eyes. "Don't touch her. Just let us leave and you'll never hear from us again. I swear it."
Shaking his head, Nathaniel smiled. Kirtland's laugh from somewhere on the altar rang through the empty church. Nathaniel fingered his beard, his gaze falling to the floor. He walked slowly down the main aisle of the church. "No, no," he said, "I don't want you to leave." He stopped walking and his face snapped up to look at Jackson. "I want you here to watch. It wouldn’t have worked if I’d taken it, but now that you’ve given it to me," he reached in his coat and brought out a knife, the blade still bloody, "I’ll be able to finish what I've been put here to do. I want you to watch the wonderful dream come true."
Felicia slipped out of Jackson's grasp and ran. She made it halfway up to the altar before letting out a long wail and falling to her knees on the stairs. The townspeople were coming back, marching into the church behind the altar and walking with cupped hands toward the altar table where Kirtland stood. Jackson ran to help Felicia, bending over to help her up, but then simply forgot about her. He watched the townspeople walk as if in a trance. Each person went to the table, then pulled their hands apart and dropped something, brushing it from their hands. Hard to tell what it was, especially with such a crowd forming around the table. Whatever it was, Jackson saw that it had Kirtland working hard. The old man was pulling and pushing whatever was being dropped on the table, working up a sweat. Moving around the edges of the table, he seemed to be eyeing and sculpting whatever the townspeople were dropping on the table.
The strange activity continued, each of the townspeople dropping something onto the table while Kirtland scurried around the edges, pushing and patting. After they finished, each of the townspeople scattered through the church, lighting candles that were stuck in sconces along the walls and taking their seats in the pews. The candlelight soon had the entire church illumined in a soft, flickering light. Jackson watched all of it with great curiosity, wondering what was being done on the table, but hesitant to move and draw anyone's attention.
"I'll get what I want tonight."
Nathaniel's whisper in Jackson’s ear startled him. How had he moved next to him so quickly? He froze as Nathaniel placed his hand on his head and, leaning over, placed his other hand on Felicia's head. The effect was immediate for Jackson. The air started to buzz, like it had earlier that afternoon, but it wasn't unpleasant. Not even scary. Kind of soothing. Jackson shut his eyes for a moment. It even had a smell to it. A salty wet-sex smell that twisted its way down into his crotch. He wanted to rub his fingers over the growing tightness in his jeans, but Nathaniel's low voice in his ear held his hand steady.
"You should be proud. All the dark angels, even my father, couldn't bring her here. But she'll come now. Oh yes she will."
>
Jackson was nearly asleep on his feet, his crotch throbbing. A filmy image of Felicia entered his mind, or was it real? She was wearing the same clothes. Her eyes locked on his as she made a quick turn, her plump nakedness flashing through the torn back of her dress. The question of reality slipped away from Jackson. This was real. She came closer, a smile on her face, her hands moving to her breasts. He wanted to reach down and rub himself until stars of pleasure shot through his head. His hand went to his crotch, beginning a slow rub. He couldn't help it. He wanted her since the first time he met her. Now she teased him, coming close, but not close enough for him to touch. Her left hand dropped from her breast and went between her legs. She rubbed herself, her tongue moving over her lips as she smiled. Pressure built up in his head, a tight anxiety of desire that needed release. His desire reached a pitch he had never experienced. I want you now. Come closer, he thought.
"I want you too," she said, moving toward him, opening her dress to expose her breasts.
Her words were a slap that awakened him. How had she known what he was thinking? A warning blared red. Her eyes. They weren't hers. Black and cold. The eyes of Nathaniel.
He curled his hand into a fist and lifted it from his crotch. This wasn't real. Felicia wasn't doing a slow sex tease. Nothing but a feeling of danger here. It was in the air. In the smell. He turned his gaze from her and his desire fell away, replaced by outright fear. He felt bruised by the strength of his fear, but held it until the image of Felicia paled, then disappeared. He was back in the church now, shaking and feeling the whisper of his desire for Felicia sift away to nothingness in the back of his mind.
Barely able to breathe, he scanned the church. On the altar, Kirtland was shooing the townspeople away from the table. Jackson looked down at Felicia. She was lying on the steps beside him, groaning, eyes closed, one hand rubbing her breasts, the other working between her legs. Her breath was coming in pants. He reached down and took her face in his hands.