Without answering, Chris’ vacant face pulled back from the curtain and faded into the mist.
Matthew’s eyes searched frantically for him to return, but there was nothing.
He grabbed hold of the shower curtain and whipped it open, almost ripping the sheet right off the pole. The shower itself was empty.
He had lost Chris again.
Matthew restored the curtain to its closed position, hoping with all his might that Chris would come back. He remained there for ten full minutes, waiting.
Eventually, Matthew left the bathroom to return to the congregation, but his mind remained amongst the tiles, with a pining stare fixed on the curtain and its cloudy unknown.
CHAPTER 37
The sun had grown weak and surrendered to the creeping dark that rose in the east. Still, it held its grip on the horizon, staving off a little longer the horrors its plunge might bring.
An orange light spilled out across the field and lent the stalks a fiery glow. The warmth slid across the church itself and traced along its edge giving it a golden trim. However, the splendor was misleading. As elegant as the light was, it was actually the last taste of what the sun had to offer. Its fleeting beauty meant that all would soon be swallowed by the night – the church’s final night.
There were no more songs for the birds to sing, no more leaves for the wind to dance with, there was only a quiet waiting left in Davidson’s field. The church stood at attention like a condemned man before a firing squad. Perhaps the gun would jam, perhaps it would not; either way, the palms were sweaty, and the witnesses held their breath.
In the shelter of the sanctuary, everyone gathered in restless silence. Though nobody spoke aloud, there was an energy buzzing up and down the pews. Feet tapped and knuckles cracked while congregation members debated within themselves what was to be done once the light had gone. The nightmare of the past two days saturated their thoughts and washed away whatever ethical certainty they once had. Of course, at first they thought they could not sacrifice a member of their fellowship. Then, once they looked at their husband, wife or child and imagined the beast’s ruthless talons slashing them, they reconsidered. It was all so insufferably tragic. The thing that permitted them to delve into depravity was the very virtue they held most dear – love. Any sinister action they were considering could only flourish within them because they cared deeply for another. They were killing, not with kindness, but because of it.
Staggeringly, there were very few members who had taken to praying for guidance. Emily was the most obvious one of them. She had forced both her children to join her and so, on their knees, they recited in unison whatever prayers came to mind. Michael, however, had refused and stationed himself away from his family at the rear of the room where he stalked back and forth. Given his hefty build, his footsteps sounded like a distant war drum.
Matthew, who every few seconds glanced at Chris’ body still hanging in the window, had perched on the edge of Flora’s pew. Flora remained a prisoner of her deep sleep, and Matthew feared she might never be released. Though, considering how things could turn out, he thought, maybe that was a blessing in disguise.
Angela waited a few pews up from Matthew with Alex nuzzled under her arm. Within the next few minutes, the cowardly sun would be hidden, and whatever foul plan the Behemoth had in mind for its unbelievers, would come shrieking out of the night. Most likely, Angela imagined, there would be blood, savagery and darkness. No matter what devils came to collect them, however, Angela would fight back until her own body was just bones and grit. That much at least was owed for the death of Clara and Chris, and for the life of her son.
On a more hopeful note, Angela dreamed that in the chaos of the beast’s wrath, she and her son might have a chance to sneak away through the basement. As unlikely as that fantasy seemed, it was the best she had to hold onto.
“Mom?” Alex whispered sleepily. He had been napping against her stomach, and although he was now awake, his eyelids were slow to realize that fact.
“Yes, sweetie?” she inquired, tenderly.
“Do we have any pizza?” he asked, having been dreaming of the melted, cheesy indulgence.
The innocence of his request inspired Angela to do something she thought she would never do again – she smiled. The benefactor of this gift was beautifully unaware of its preciousness, which made it all the more valuable.
“Sorry, I can’t get you pizza right now.” She gently brushed her fingers through the confusion of his perpetually knotted hair.
“That’s okay.”
She brought her face down to his and placed a kiss where it always ought to be, just between his hairline and the single freckle on his forehead.
With her son curled around her, Angela examined the room. The light was dimmer now, and the orange rays, which moments before, had been so prominent, were struggling to pierce the windows. The ones that did were so agonized by their journey, they turned red and lost what vivaciousness they had. Soon, not even the faint crimson glow would be left.
The Behemoth was nigh.
From the congregation arose a galvanizing voice, though not one Angela was thankful for, as Dorothy took to the pulpit. She ascended the red stairs like she was the head of a funeral precession, each step careful and confined. By the time she was ready to speak, she had already captured the attention of the entire room.
“Very shortly, the sun will set. When it does, the Behemoth’s footsteps will come pounding through the dark. It will search us out. It will find us. It’s our choice to be damned or not. I choose grace, as I know in your hearts, you do, too. There’s no time left for debate.” Dorothy nodded at Michael and commanded, “Grab him now.”
Angela replayed the end of Dorothy’s speech in her head, attempting to make sense of it. Despite her efforts, she could not diminish the chill she felt from Dorothy’s final militant order. Grab him now. Grab him, she said. Suddenly, the weight from Alex’s body was gone. Angela looked down to discover he was no longer resting in her lap. He had been snatched away and was now trapped under the thickness of Michael’s python arms.
Alex reached for his mother, but it was impossible for him to squirm free of the suffocating bear hug.
Once the shock had abated, Angela shot to her feet and leaped into the aisle after her cub. However, before she could take two steps, she felt hands press down upon her. Restraining her left arm was Tina, which Angela was not terribly surprised by, but on her right arm was Gary, the man who two days ago offered to fix her rusted car for free. She struggled against them, but their binds held true.
“No!” Angela screamed, as Alex was stolen further and further away from her.
“One of us or all of us,” said Dorothy from the pulpit. “We choose one.”
Angela pulled her arm forward, almost knocking Gary off his feet. He readjusted his stance to better brace himself against her thrashing.
The rest of the room looked upon her suffering with tacit apathy. They did nothing to stop it. Their silence was their consent.
“Not Alex!” Angela yelled. “Please, not my son!”
“Not your son? What about Tina and Gary’s son? What about my daughter? The Behemoth wants a child, so it’s only fitting that we give it Rick’s own flesh and blood.” Dorothy stood her ground.
“But he’s just a little boy, he’s just my little boy. Dorothy, I’m begging you, you have to stop this!” Knowing that Dorothy had turned to stone, Angela redirected her search for sympathy to Gary. She stared at his face until he made the mistake of meeting her eyes.
“Gary,” she cried. “This is wrong. You know it’s wrong. Please, don’t let them take my baby.”
“It’s done,” he replied bleakly. “I’m sorry, Angela. But it’s already done.”
Angela’s eyes frantically searched the room for someone, anyone, who might be able to help her. Her vision roamed across the shame of the congregation and found mostly bowed heads and averted faces. She peered at Susan, who had turned her back to hide herself awa
y from the kidnapping. Matthew’s eyes were still fixed on the corpse in the window.
She saw an abundance of tears running down cheeks, which did little good. Her son didn’t need premature mourners; he was not dead yet. He needed just one brave member to stand against the god-fearing congregation. Then, Angela locked eyes with Emily.
Out of the entire room, Emily was the only onlooker who engaged with what was happening. She looked uncertain. She could be reached.
“Emily! You have to do something! Please! My son needs you! Think if it was your son, if it was your Stanley. I know you hear me. For God’s sake, you have to act!”
“Dorothy,” Emily began hesitantly, “maybe it’s a mistake.”
Angela considered the half-hearted objection to be the nail in her son’s coffin. When murder is questioned so meekly, you know where people stand.
“Have no doubt,” Dorothy reassured with her typical conviction. “It’s the only way.”
“This is wrong! You’re killing my son, you fucking devils!” Angela kicked her legs up and tried to swing free of Tina and Gary, but again underestimated their grip. However, her struggling did cause Michael to stop. He stood with Alex flailing in his arms at the threshold of the sanctuary and witnessed for himself the fury stirring on Angela’s face. There was hesitation buried within him under all that toughened bulk.
Angela hoped Michael’s pause would trigger a wave of doubt in the congregation, maybe even inspire someone to come forward.
“Here!” Dorothy pulled out a crinkled piece of paper she had secreted away in her pocket. As if displaying for the jury, she raised the paper high above her head for everyone to see. It was Alex’s tree of love drawing. Dorothy’s index finger tapped on the image of the foreboding dark figure. “The child drew this. He drew the beast. Don’t be fooled. He is not like the others. There is no innocence in him. He was destined to be given to the Behemoth.”
“No! Liar!” Angela’s voice cracked.
“One of us or all of us. One of us, or all of us. Trust in the Behemoth. Trust in our god.” Dorothy lowered the paper and her head as if in prayer.
Michael was on the move again, hauling Alex toward the front door of the church.
Angela bit like a rabid dog into Gary’s knuckle. Her teeth cut easily through the skin of his hand and ground against the joint underneath. One tooth eventually squeezed between the bones and he had no choice but to give into the pain, pulling away with a shriek.
One arm free.
She released a robust punch into the centre of Tina’s face, sending her tumbling backwards against the solid wood pew.
Another arm free.
Angela charged down the aisle and jumped onto Michael’s back. With her legs wrapped around his torso, she wildly pounded at his neck until he dropped Alex. Michael guarded himself against her blows, but the ferocious attack did not stop. After a few more strikes delivered against him, he swung his weight and tossed Angela into the nearest pew. The wood edge of the seat cracked against her back and stole the air from her lungs.
Angela was on the floor gasping when she saw Alex huddled at the back of the sanctuary. Although he was free, he had not run. After what happened to Clara, he swore he would never abandon anyone again, especially his own mother. This time he would act, this time he would save her.
He got to his feet and ran up behind Michael where he unleashed a flurry of poorly placed kicks against the burly man’s leg. Michael barely noticed.
With the help of the pew, Angela pulled herself up. The taste of Gary’s blood still lingered in her mouth and fed her animalistic rage. A healthy dose of adrenalin kept her bruises at bay, but she struggled getting her dizziness under control. She had taken blows before but never delivered them. As it turned out, she was a natural at it.
With her fists clenched, she rushed Michael a second time, but he was ready for her. Before she could lay another hand on him, he drove his meaty fist straight into her stomach where her guts were compacted into one solid mass.
Angela’s legs gave way and she collapsed onto the floor. She attempted to breath, but it was as if she were under a million feet of water. The more she tried to surface, the more it hurt. She half expected her throat to start filling up with blood.
Michael turned his back to her and again picked Alex up. He tossed the boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and marched out of the room.
Helplessly, Angela remained curled in a ball on the floor without enough air in her even to call out. All she could do was quiver.
When the door to the sanctuary swung closed, that was it. Alex was gone.
“There. It’s done. That wasn’t so hard,” said Dorothy.
CHAPTER 38
Michael dumped Alex in the middle of the parking lot.
The chill from the cooling twilight latched onto the boy’s body and reduced him to shivers. In his rush, Michael hadn’t thought to bring Alex’s coat. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought much about anything. In order to carry through with the execution, his mind was purely focused on delivering a package. He was not leaving a boy to die; he was putting something outside, where it belonged.
“Mr. Rosenthal,” Alex sniveled through his running nose. “I want to go inside.”
“Shut up, boy,” Michael demanded, refusing to call him by his name.
Alex grabbed onto Michael’s leg, if only to borrow some of his warmth. Michael took the child by the shoulders and shoved him away. The push was not enough to hurt Alex, but enough to scare him off.
“Here! The boy is here!” hollered Michael into the fading blue of the field. His guttural voice bounced back to him, which seemed the only response he would get.
A hungry gust searched them out and devoured every bit of heat it could find. There was a darkness growing in the field, gaping and awesome.
“Where’s my mom?”
“You won’t be seeing her again.” He pushed Alex toward the open field – that bemired lake of shadows – and said impatiently, “Go on. Go. And don’t you come back. If I hear you at the door, I’ll hit you and your mother until you’re as black as night. Understand?”
Alex just looked at him. He understood what Michael was saying, but could not comprehend why.
Michael stepped away from him slowly at first to make sure Alex would heed the warning. To Michael’s relief, the boy obeyed. He watched as the large man retreated back into the church and locked the door.
Alex was alone now, set adrift into the night.
He stood still for a while with his arms tightly crossed to preserve his heat. He chose not to move out of fear of what might be lurking in the untold depths that stretched out before him. Without his nightlight, the dark still held power. At bedtime, while tucked away under the sheets, he heard the shadow in his closet plot to swallow him hole and the darkness under his bed salivate over the tender morsels of his toes. The field was no different.
A draft from out of the dark slipped through his hair, much like his mother’s touch. The calming brush from the wind evoked memories of Angela’s embrace. It was addictive, and he wanted more.
He stepped in the direction from which the wind had come. True, this first step also took him closer to the dark, but if hidden in all that pitch was the source of his comfort, then it was worth seeking out.
After two more steps, the wind returned with equal tenderness. It soothed him and begged him forward. The further he walked from the church, the greater his reward.
It was not long before he found himself lost in the night’s deceit without any idea where he should turn next. In the impossible emptiness that filled his eyes, he had lost sight of the church, the road, the forest, or any other landmark that might orient him. The only reassurance that he was still even in the field, and not in some yawning abyss, was the dirt crunching under his feet.
He lingered there, right in the heart of nothingness, and awaited the return of the motherly breeze. Now, more than ever, he yearned for that reassuring touch. Alas, the only
obliging wind that reached for him had little interest in providing comfort. Instead, it licked at his warmth as if determined to steal away his very life.
“Echo two, this is echo one. Over,” he said uneasily into his invisible receiver. “Come in echo two... Please.”
A tremendous and petrifying roar echoed from out of the night like the bellowing death cry of a hundred slaughtered goats. It reverberated unnaturally, as if originating from a crooked throat.
Whether it was meant as an answer to his broadcast was impossible for him to tell. All Alex knew was that he didn’t want to excite the hunting beast any further.
This was the first time the Behemoth had called for him with its physical voice. It was true he had heard the beast speak before, but those previous fragments had come to him like dreams, not like the growl of some wild thing. The visions started three months ago, two days after his father went missing. Sometimes he received them late at night, sometimes in the middle of Mrs. Lesy’s class, but they were always accompanied by a nasty headache. It never used words, only emotions and disjointed images, like how music speaks. It was as if the messages were not meant for him, and his eavesdropping only allowed for splinters of the truth. Little good his prophecies did him now.
He could hear the beast’s massive form stomping in the shadows around him, but due to the echo, could not pinpoint exactly where it was coming from.
As the Behemoth approached, the ground he stood on began to shake, and Alex ran. His direction was chosen in haste, but he committed to it with all his might, though he may have very well been heading straight toward the beast itself.
He charged blindly through the field, hoping with every step he might slam into the brick wall of the church, or maybe even into the ready arms of his mother.
Before he reached any destination, two powerful claws pinched the back of his shirt. The field fell away from under him as he was lifted off the ground. Without his feet against the dirt, there was nothing left to remind him of where he was, and he tumbled endlessly through that loathsome abyss.
CHAPTER 39
Gone. He was gone.
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