“I think they are with us.” Worthington shuffled his feet in the dust, with his hands clasped behind his back. For his age, he was very graceful and agile.
“They seem skeptical of your stories.”
“Their culture taught them differently. Our means may be dissimilar, but our end is the same.”
Blair hesitated his next step. “Professor, can I ask you a question?”
“By all means, Mr. Blair.” The professor tilted his head.
“Why are these demons hiding in folklore?”
“Jonathan, you of all people should know the answer to that question.”
Surprised by the response, Blair searched his memory.
“Truth. Jonathan. Satan has been deceiving us from the beginning. Hiding truth, twisting it until it is unrecognizable. You departed from a life of murder because you rediscovered the truth. If Satan can hide his existence, disguise it, then why should we believe he is real? And if he and his evil legion don’t exist, then God may not exist.”
“These false vampires cause people to ask themselves why God would create such a plague,” Blair said.
“The only answer is He would not. Which would mean to most people that He does not exist, or He does not have the ultimate power to stop it.”
“Leaving doubt to reign in the world.”
Worthington nodded. “Where there is much doubt, faith can be destroyed.”
“Then it becomes all about ourselves. We would be like narcissistic gods.”
“You would have been a good preacher.”
Blair didn’t like that reply. It hurt too much.
“There’s something else.” A question lingered in Blair’s mind since he remembered the mission in Mexico. Even as a pastor he never learned much about the demonic realm. “How do these people get possessed? In Mexico it happened so quickly. Can the people fight it off?”
“Very good questions. Most people can withstand possession by a demon. But as fear, pain, and doubt enter their weak minds, it is easy for the demon to take control. The wounded, like you saw, are vulnerable” The professor closed his eyes and slowly shook his bowed head. “Some people have asked for the indwelling of such evil.”
“Asked for it?”
Worthington nodded. “Both verbally and nonverbally. By being active participants in demonic rituals, humans have opened the door to these fallen angels. By taking pleasure in real evil, these sorry souls came under the control of demons. A few individuals have become influential politically and in business and industry.”
Blair was astonished by that remark. “Mr. Stone.”
“Yes. That is one reason he functions normally. He and the demon are in a symbiotic relationship, working together.”
“I wonder what he’s supposed to get in return.”
Worthington grinned. “Whatever it is, we at least know where he’ll end up. Stone, and others like him, have embraced possession—the evil. Their beliefs are so distorted, they truly imagine themselves ruling over others, maybe even the world. Though not as vampires.
“Then there are the followers, those who are only oppressed or those who want to partake in the evil lifestyle. The purpose of the demons is not to be vampires, but to give people false hope, a false identity, a false view of God, to disrupt God’s plan of salvation.”
“How could God let this happen?”
“For someone who speaks against God, you place a significant amount of responsibility on His shoulders.”
Blair did not respond. Worthington waited for a moment, then continued.
“Lucifer brought one-third of the heavenly angels out of the kingdom, right out from under God’s throne. In front of His face, a face so pure Moses wasn’t able to view it without perishing. Imagine the influence Lucifer had over those angels to accomplish such a task. Now imagine that influence on a human who has little to no true concept of God.”
Worthington put his left hand on Blair’s right shoulder. “There are many questions I want to ask God when my time on earth ends. And how that happened is one of them.”
Blair understood there was no real answer to that question until that time. But he would probably not get the chance to ask, because he was surely heading in the other direction. Maybe Satan would have a response for it when he arrived? Something he didn’t like to think about. A change of subject seemed appropriate.
“What about vampires—these possessed—disliking crosses?”
“The cross is a sign of Christianity that these demons, these fallen angels hate,” Worthington said. “But it is the belief behind the cross that is the real power.”
Blair placed his hands on the grips of his Remingtons. “I think I’ll stick with these.”
* * *
Mr. Tab came out of the No Name Saloon shortly after Blair and Worthington. He followed his prey ever so quietly. His boots barely disrupted the dust. He listened to their conversation as he trailed them back to the hotel.
Blair’s lamp went out first, but he gazed out his window for several minutes at the full display of stars. Worthington sat at a small desk and wrote in his ledger like he did every night. An hour later the hotel was dark.
His quarry settled in for the night. Mr. Tab walked around to the back of the mercantile. He stepped on a windowsill, jumped to the second story window, and climbed onto the roof. He went to the front of the building where he could sit behind the false front and still have a view of Blair’s window. He laid a pistol in his lap and waited.
Chapter Nine
Death of a Killer
The thorns and branches scratch deep into my skin as I run through the overgrown forest. I look back to see what chases me, but I can only see two bright-red eyes. Vileness comes from the creature as it hunts me. Burning brimstone reeks in its breath. The stench of sulfur overpowers the natural scent of the woods. The audible pattern of footsteps and breathing are in rhythm with mine. It’s close.
I turn to fight, fists in the air. Nothing is on the dark trail. The thick foliage blocks out the light. The eyes are behind me. I swing around. Nothing.
“Preacher man lost his way.” The voice calls from over my shoulder. I can feel the moist sulfur breath on my neck as it speaks. I spin, but can’t keep up with the eyes as they move with my every twist.
“Preacher man lost his way. Now he has to pay.”
I circle again expecting to see the priest from the mission or the naked American with a bucket of blood. But no one is there. I collapse, dizzy.
The black night sky is full with stars. They move. No, the stars grow. Turn red. Bloody bullet holes fill the sky. One drips into my eyes.
“Preacher man likes to kill.” The voice is still behind me. Always behind me.
How? I’m on the ground. I roll over and see myself lying on the dirt. My double’s skin is milky and translucent. Its eyes are black, his teeth sharp, jagged fangs. It wears my old preacher’s robe.
“Preacher man likes to kill,” my double says.
I punch my vampire-like image. I send my fist from the shoulder landing a solid stroke to the creature’s face. I feel the hit in my knuckles, and own cheek. It knocks me over and back three feet. I spit out two bloody teeth. So does the creature. I pick up a downed tree branch and swings it like a baseball bat. The creature takes the limb in the ribs and shrieks. But I scream in pain. I cradle my left side and drop to my knees.
The vampire tightens up, like an old man instantly struck with arthritis. Its fingers draw closed. Its neck drops into its shoulders. Its back curves. The vampire wails like a wounded mountain lion.
The unnatural sound of ripping and tearing sends my hands to cover his ears. Two bat-like wings explode from the flesh of the vampire’s back.
My winged twin reaches over its own head and pulls at its robe and back flesh like someone taking off a bulky sweater. A reptile-like head pops out. Hundreds of sharp, twisted teeth appear behind a thin-lipped grin. Pointed ears twitch. Large, black eyes absorb all the light, though I can see my refle
ction in the orbs.
The hairless man-bat continues to scratch and rip at the outer layer until it is free of the suit of skin that resembles my body. It takes the suit by the shoulders, flapping it in the air, then lays it flat on the ground, as if it was making a bed with clean sheets.
The demon raises its arm and touches its snakelike skin over the left side of its rib cage where I went for a home run. It growls, revealing a forked tongue. “Preacher man lost his way. Now he has to pay. Preacher man likes to kill. Now he has his fill.”
It’s my voice, only deeper, wicked.
The beast takes three quick steps and stands over me. It picks me up by its left claw and holds me in the air. The demon touches the left side of my bruised ribs with its other talon, then studies its own wound. It winks at me.
The winged creature tosses me on the suit of skin. Wings flapping, the demon jumps in the air. I brace for the claw-like feet to land on my chest. But it doesn’t land on him. The demon lands in me. A black light shines from my chest as the creature enters my body.
* * *
Blair screamed. He was asleep until then. His heart raced and his lungs struggled to sustain the pace. He tore the shirt off his chest. Rubbed his hand over his sternum. There wasn’t a demon or bat or even a mosquito digging into his skin nor into his soul. He rolled over and opened his mouth to puke. He only hacked and spit. At least he wouldn’t have to smell it.
He lay there motionless, waiting for his heart and breath to slow. Sweat soaked into his pillow. The mountain air came through the open window to cool his body. He listened for any noise he could detect—from the street, from the other hotel rooms, from the wind—but the night was still and quiet. That brought him as much comfort as waiting on an unseen ambush.
The first signs of sunrise would invade the valley in about an hour. Blair was awake to see the sun creep over the mountains every morning since he rode into Gothic. Sleep did not agree with him here. He didn’t mind because his dreams gutted his soul in his slumber.
* * *
Jonathan Blair admired the town from the front porch of the hotel. He liked Gothic, despite the evil inhabiting the area. The high-mountain air was crisp in the morning and warm in the afternoon. He also liked the fact he could ride in any direction for a day and be completely alone in a beautiful, nearly untouched wilderness.
The town to him was a surrogate home. The people went about their day, not giving Blair a second thought. He was nobody, another guy who needed work. Murderer, thief, bandit, were the faces staring back at him in the mirror, not walking the streets.
That was until last night’s oratory display by Stone in the Maroon Saloon. Blair was sure half the town would know his true self by this day’s sunset. He would have to move on soon, because he didn’t like the way people stared at those sinful faces of his. His gut also told him this demonic visitation was coming to a head. If he survived and missed Pruitt, he’d run back to Mexico.
The shop owners and business men anticipated a cash overflow as the mines continued to produce the valuable coal and the rumors of gold and silver kept prospectors in the field. They had no real concept of the evil that permeated the valley. Commerce was good and that is what mattered in a boom town hoping to become a true town.
The rumors of vampires grew, but the people could not grasp the reality of monsters living among them. Rabies sounded like a strange yet logical, explanation. They opened their stores and offices on time every morning expecting shoppers to come in as usual; all while Gothic Mountain stood over the valley like a giant, gray cathedral primed for the town’s funeral.
Blair, eggs and ham on his mind, set out down the street to find breakfast.
“Good morning, Jonathan.”
Blair lifted his hat to the only two women he’d spoken to in town. “Ladies.” Both happened to be prostitutes. That told him a lot about himself.
Miss Katy Lee and Susanne Richmond, each armed with fresh baked goods, stood in front of the bakery. Another woman held a large basket filled with bread. She worked for Miss Katy Lee. She had that appearance. Her boss introduced her as Milly from Kansas City.
He stood on the top step leading up to the boardwalk.
“You seem to get around,” Susanne said. “Miss Katy Lee’s been telling stories about your manners. You said you were a gentleman.”
“I can be a little testy.”
“Yes, you can, Mr. Blair. Any luck on your search?” Miss Katy Lee asked.
Blair nodded. She was even prettier in the sun. “I found what I was looking for and really shouldn’t have gone through…your greeting party.”
“Why are you talking like that?” Milly said. “Everyone in town knows you beat up two of her best men.”
Blair didn’t like that news. So much for keeping a low profile. Between that and Stone, his welcome in town will be shorter than he even expected. But Jeremiah Pruitt already knew he was in Gothic, so it didn’t really matter. He had to avoid getting mauled by a vampire, kill Stone and capture Pruitt in a matter of days. Capture? No, it’d be a gunfight.
“Have you heard about the miners?” Miss Katy Lee asked.
Her tone revealed an uneasiness she hid behind a false smile.
“Fifteen miners from the Jollytime are missing,” she said.
“Missing?” Susanne put her hand over her heart.
“The other miners don’t think they left town because all their tools are still in the mine shaft they were working. And they didn’t take any of their belongings from the mine barracks.”
“With all the killings, I wouldn’t be surprised if they ran away,” Milly said.
“Not after Stone threatened them,” Blair said. “Fifteen people, someone had to see something.” This situation was getting worse.
“No one is saying anything if they did.” Miss Katy Lee’s eyes connected to Blair’s like she was asking for help.
Blair didn’t want to scare the women by saying what he was thinking. For that many people to disappear, the demonic realm had to have played a part, somehow. Could they have been possessed and transformed into vampires? If that happened, how many more could be lured or captured by the ruling demonic spirit?
Blair couldn’t protect them all. “Katy Lee, you be careful. Things are getting ugly here, real ugly. Any chance you can leave town for a few days?”
“No. This is home. At least for now. We’ve got to be on our way.” Miss Katy Lee gave a slight head bow releasing the emotional link. “See you around.”
“Hope so.” He couldn’t do anything else.
Milly gave Susanne a quick hug. “See you later, Susie.” With those words, she and Miss Katy Lee left in a twirl of dresses and the aroma of fresh bread.
“I have to be going too,” Susanne said. “I have a delivery to make.”
“I thought that was a lot of bread for you to eat alone.” Blair gestured toward her basket. “You going to knock on the blue door or just drop it and run?”
“Blue door?”
“Yeah, Duane’s place.”
Susanne blushed. Blair had her. It lightened the moment.
“I spoke to Duane. He said someone has been leaving money for them once or twice a week. Now you’re leaving food. That’s a lot of extra work.”
“What do you want?” Her face was stern.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you so interested in my comings and goings?”
“I find it curious that a prostitute who says she never slept with a man is taking care of his family after he died. At the same time, she is trying to save money to leave town, which you probably need to do sooner than later with all that is happening here. Just doesn’t add up.” With the toe of his boot, Blair tapped the head of a nail sticking out of the boardwalk. This kept his eyes off Susanne’s, in hopes of trying not to be too confrontational.
“Well, if you’re going to be in my affairs, you can at least be the gentleman you say you can be and carry this.” She held out the basket of bread, biscuit
s and muffins.
He held it up to his face and inhaled deeply. Blueberry muffins. Blair’s favorite. His memory instantly shifted to his wife, a wonderful baker. They would pick blueberries and she would make the best muffins and pies. The smell of her skin after a day picking berries in the sun was—
“Keep your hands out of there. You got money. Buy your own.” She smiled at him.
No, she wasn’t that attractive to him, but why did she always remind him of his wife?
“Sorry. It smelled so good. Wait a moment.” Blair slung the basket on his arm and went inside the bakery. He came out with three large blueberries muffins of his own. One was in his belly before he stepped off the boardwalk.
“Well, sir, aren’t you hungry?”
Blair kept his stuffed cheeks behind his smirk and started walking in the direction of Duane’s blue-doored cabin. He lifted his hands a little giving Susanne the aren’t-you-coming posture. She took a few quick steps to catch up to him.
“So what all did Duane say?”
“Exactly what I said earlier.” He took a bite of the second muffin, still warm from the oven, and savored the sweet and tart flavor. Blair could feel the heat from each berry as they passed over his tongue.
“Do they know it’s me and Milly?”
His mouth full, Blair shook his head.
“I suppose you want me to tell you why?”
“I am interested. I’m getting to like the kid.” He took another bite.
“I’ve been in town since last spring working at Miss Katy Lee’s. She takes good care of her girls. But I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Last fall or winter, depending what you call it here—the snow comes early in the mountains—I got pretty sick. No one wants anything to do with a sick whore when they have other options. Miss Katy Lee let me stay in my room at the Maroon, because all my money went to paying for the doctor. Milly helped me out as much as she could. She’s been a great friend.
“I was coming back from the doctor, coughing my head off, spitting up green, nasty stuff. I wasn’t watching where I was going and stumbled into some people. A drunk man knocked me down into a mud puddle and cussed me while he did it. A couple came by right after and picked me up. They bought me some food and gave me a few coins. I got a good look at them, but didn’t know who they were.”
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