The Color of Gothic

by Joel Q. Aaron

  “Leave me,” the demon pleaded.

  “No. Leave the boy,” Worthington said.

  “He is mine.”

  “You have no right to him. The pure blood has purchased his soul. You have no authority here.” Jones stared into Duane’s eyes, the black eyes of evil.

  “That’s correct, Pastor,” Worthington said. “Keep talking.”

  “He is an heir to the throne. A child of God.”

  Duane shook. A hidden force lifted his body. Worthington pushed back harder.

  “In the name of the Christ, you must leave. Now. Leave him, now.” Jones’ voice grew stronger. “Do you know who I am, now? I have authority here, and I command you to leave.”

  Duane went into a seizure. His arms and legs flung up and down.

  “Leave him, now.” Rebecca’s voice was soft and calm. “You heard us. Leave him.”

  The other’s members of their small group chanted. “Leave him. Leave him.”

  “I command you and cast you into the abyss,” Worthington shouted.

  Duane’s chest and stomach jerked up. The lantern went out. Their voices stopped.

  The pitch black of the dirt cellar heightened all sounds. Worthington heard breathing, both slow and fast. The calm breaths came from Duane’s chest. The professor fumbled for the lantern. “I believe all is well.” He found the matches and relit the wick.

  Duane slept peacefully.

  “Is he okay?” Sarah asked.

  Worthington left the answer to her daughter. “Rebecca?”

  “Yes, sir, he is.”

  “How do you know?” her mom asked.

  “Can’t you feel it?”

  Sarah put her hands back on Duane.

  “No, Mommy. In here.” She pointed to her own heart.

  “She’s right. You have a special little girl.” Worthington lightly patted Bruce’s leg. “Foster that, and she will be a blessing to many people.”

  “Mary,” Jones said. “Duane will be fine. We need to tend to his wound when we get out of here.”

  “How long until we can leave?” Susanne wiped her hair and tears from her face.

  Worthington held his pocket watch up to the lantern. “Soon. Dawn is coming.”

  * * *

  András Kovách held back tears. His tough exterior struggled to keep his sorrowful heart in check. “Help him up.” He could not look at his nephew. András knew this pain, this loss before. He didn’t want to feel it again.

  Péter Kovách let his tears crawl down, leaving pink trails over his blood-splattered face. He knelt down on one knee and put an arm under his younger brother, János. “Come on,” he said softly. “I’ll get you inside.”

  The wound on János’ neck had sunk deep, but did not damage his artery. He whimpered. János understood what was about to happen to him. His tainted blood would circulate through his body, transforming him into what he spent the night killing—a night stalker, a vampír. András wouldn’t let that happen. He was sure János also knew that.

  Péter lifted him up and steadied him as they went into the church.

  “Find him a comfortable spot,” András said.

  “How long will it take?” János asked.

  “Depends on how strong you are.” Péter rested his brother on a pew. “If you can fight it…” He turned away from his younger brother. Péter reached down, grabbed the foot of a corpse and dragged it down the side aisle. He shoved another pew next to an east-facing window. A short search led him to two blankets abandoned by the refugees. Péter moved János over, laying his head on one blanket and covering him with the other.

  János pointed to the empty window frame. “I want to see the sunrise.”

  “I know. You always liked the sunrises here.”

  “It will be the last one. I hope it is beautiful.”

  András filled the three remaining windows with pews, which weren’t enough to stop a vampire, but it would give them time to shoot. He went to the front of the church to guard the broken doors. Daylight still hid behind mountains.

  Péter sat on the floor and put his head in his hands and a rifle in his lap.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Survivors

  Frederick Worthington checked his pocket watch. “I think it’s safe to go. The sun should be up and the demons gone.”

  “Is everyone ready?” Pastor Jones asked.

  They were all in agreement to open the hatch of the dirt cellar. When Pastor Bolton built the church, he personally dug the safe hole. No one knew about it except him. Bolton had spent two years in Pennsylvania, preaching and smuggling slaves north. He hid the runaway slaves in that church in a similar cellar he created. If something like that ever happened again, he would be prepared.

  “Everyone go to the back wall, please. I shall lift the hatch in order to survey the church. To be safe.” Worthington waited until they huddled together, then blew out the lantern. He was sure the sun was rising, but didn’t know if shadows inside the church still provided enough cover for the evil.

  The latch creaked as he twisted it. He pushed up with his hands. It didn’t move. The professor braced his back against the hatch and forced it upward.

  A line of dim light appeared as the edge of the hatch cleared the floor. He could hear sighs of relief behind him, and the soft cry of a man somewhere in the church.

  He slowly closed the door and shut out the light, their hope.

  “What are you doing?” Bruce whispered in the dark.

  “Someone is in the church, crying.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to leave?” Jones asked.

  “I do.” He paused. “The horror lying on the floor of the sanctuary is nothing for children to witness.” He relit the lantern. “Sarah, find something to cover your children’s eyes.”

  “Duane, I don’t think you should see the carnage either. Mary, he has been a participant in these events. I leave the choice up to you. But gaining knowledge—good or evil—is not always a wise decision.”

  “What do you think?” Mary put her hand on Duane’s face.

  “I don’t want to be blindfolded, but I don’t really want to see the dead people either. I’ll try to not to look.”

  “Let’s go.” Worthington lifted the hatch.

  * * *

  András Kovách slid two shells into a shotgun. A loaded pistol lay next to his ax. The eastern sky faded from black to deep cobalt. A layer of patchy clouds emerged from the darkness. The tree-covered ridges and mountain peaks remained charcoal-gray as the sky lightened behind them.

  The hope of dawn had come. He’d survived the night, and now his body needed to rest, to sleep. But one last task lingered, one he dreaded. János was family. He was like a son.

  “It’s time.” András stood at the door.

  János Kovách watched the clouds in the eastern sky transform from bright magenta to a fiery gold, then fade to a dull bluish gray as the sun hinted behind the mountains. The Colorado heavens brightened to clear blue as the clouds shined white.

  András could feel the darkness still around them. “I’ll do it myself.” János kept his eyes on the clouds. “I don’t want either of you to have to pull the trigger.”

  “Is there any other way?” Péter asked.

  His uncle shook his head.

  Péter bent over and hugged his brother. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Neither do I,” János said.

  “Péter, wait outside while I’ll do what needs to be done.” His uncle put his hand on his shoulder.

  He went to the front porch and waited for the gunshot.

  András Kovách leaned over his nephew. “I am proud of you.” Those were the only words he could muster. He wanted more time with him, not just minutes, but years. To see him grow into full manhood. He’d let his brother down.

  János nodded and bit his lip as tears fell.

  András laid the pistol on János’ chest. “Be quick. We have little time.”

  András rushed out of the church
to the porch. Péter sat with his fingers resting next to the ax handle, but did not touch it.

  * * *

  János Kovách lifted the pistol with his right hand and sat up. He paused before putting the end of the barrel in his mouth. The demons spoke to him, tempted him. Praised and pleaded with him. Lied and manipulated him.

  “Don’t shoot.” Frederick Worthington held up his hands. “Don’t listen to them.”

  “Stay away. I’m tainted.” János pointed the gun at the professor. “Stay away.”

  Péter and András burst into the building.

  “What are you doing?” the uncle demanded.

  “Trying to stop a suicide,” the professor said. “János, the spirits are lying to you. I can hear them.” His own spirit shined on the evil, seeing, feeling their purpose.

  “Leave us alone, this is a family matter.” András pointed to the door. “You must leave.”

  “Was he bit?” Pastor Jones climbed from the hole.

  Péter nodded.

  “We can save him.” Jones stepped in front of the professor. “We can save him. Don’t do this.”

  His faith burned like a beacon. The night in the hole awakened his soul.

  András leaned over to see past the two men—more people crawled from the cellar. “You hid in the church?”

  Worthington nodded. “Duane, come here please.”

  The boy tiptoed between three dead men.

  “Mr. Kovách, I want you to see this.” Worthington unwrapped Duane’s bandage to reveal his bite mark. “This happened last night. We cast out the demon and the boy never turned.”

  Péter’s eyes filled with hope.

  “Nem.” András waved him off. “There is only one way.”

  “We have to try.” Péter knelt in front of Duane to see the bite. He pleaded with his uncle. “He’s my brother.”

  “Nem.” He lifted his ax.

  A high-pitched scream came from the pulpit. Rebecca had removed her blindfold. Sarah tried to replace it, but Rebecca fought back, pushing her mom’s hands away. Worthington rushed over to help. The girl wasn’t reacting to the bodies on the floor.

  “What is it?” the professor asked.

  She pointed at the ceiling above János. “They are circling. The shadows.”

  “Baby, what are you talking about?” her mom asked.

  “She too can see into the spiritual realm,” Worthington said.

  “They’re getting faster,” she said.

  “Mr. Kovách, let us help him. We can save him,” Jones pleaded.

  Worthington reached for András. “If we fail, you’ll have time to kill him.”

  András shook off the professor’s hand and defaulted to János. His nephew nodded.

  “All right, but you must hurry,” András said.

  “Do you believe we can do this?”

  András put his head down. “Nem.”

  “Then I must ask you to wait outside. Your lack of faith will hinder us.” Worthington checked with Péter.

  “I have faith.”

  “We’ll help,” Bruce said. “Wait here,” he told his family. Bruce patted Jones’ lower back to gain his assistance. They moved bodies and pews to create an open space on the floor. They placed János in the middle of the clearing. “Gather around.”

  The group settled in around János and prayed. His veins showed through his pale skin. His eyes grew dark.

  Worthington led András outside. “Please, stay here.”

  “How will I know?”

  “You’ll know.”

  * * *

  Light seeped through the doorframe to the private poker room of the Maroon Saloon. Miss Katy Lee welcomed the brightness and cracked open the door. Sun shined into the dark corners revealing the people behind her, including her two guards, five of her prostitutes, two saloon patrons who had consumed a couple bottles of whiskey and a man laid out on the ground.

  “We made it.” She opened the door all the way, never so happy to see the sun. The long night tore at her emotions, draining her of strength.

  Miss Katy Lee waited as her girls rushed by and ran out of the poker room and up the stairs. Hours of fear left them with red eyes and pale skin. They all stunk of hormonal sweat. She didn’t look in the mirror over the bar, scared she appeared just like them

  “Take Jonathan up to my room. Be careful, he’s hurt pretty bad.” The guards obliged her request and gently lifted him, bandaged and unconscious. “When you’re done, drag the dead one out to the street.”

  “Yes, ma’am,”

  Three people scampered by the front window. A weight she didn’t realize she carried left with the sight of other survivors. Her plans to leave town at first light changed. She’d make her girls head to Crested Butte. But she’d stay with Blair. Maybe she’d be able to find a wagon. If not, she couldn’t leave him. Not near death. Not to fend for himself tonight.

  * * *

  Pacing, András Kovách jumped on the porch as soon as the hinges creaked. Tears ran from his face as he embraced his nephew János. His neck was bandaged and the color had returned to his flesh. András released János from his bear hug.

  The group followed János outside and breathed in the cool morning air. Other town’s people gathered on the main street searching for answers, to which András had none.

  The buildings that were dynamited last night prevented the blaze from destroying the entire town. Buckets passed back and forth along a water line that formed to finish putting out the fires. Smoke continued to rise from the three city blocks where ten buildings had burned to the ground.

  “Mr. Worthington?” Duane tugged on his coat.

  “Yes, Duane.”

  “What happened to Mr. Blair?”

  “He escaped,” András Kovách said. He detested the one failure for last night. If they would have rushed the church, they could have killed him, and János might not have been bit. “We had him pinned inside. He killed several of my men, including Sándor. Then the vampírs attacked. That’s when he disappeared.”

  “Pinned inside, what are you talking about?” Worthington asked. “Why were you after Blair?”

  “He’s one of the lead vampírs. You should have told us.

  “No, he most surely is not.”

  “He got gunned down, then showed up alive.”

  “You faltered when Pastor Jones told you we could save János. You can see for yourself he is well. Now, trust me when I say Blair is not a vampire or possessed.”

  András did not respond to the foolishness.

  “The supernatural can be evil as we have seen here,” the professor said. “The power can also be good.”

  János put his hands on András’ shoulders and faced him close. “Uncle, he deserves our faith. We have seen much we cannot explain.”

  “What does your heart tell you?” Rebecca asked.

  “From the mouths of babes.” Jones rustled her hair.

  András could not shun the little girl who helped save János’ life. “What about Mr. Stone?” he asked.

  Worthington gestured to a bloody ax. “He must not escape.”

  “Amit ma megtehetsz, ne halaszd holnapra,” János said.

  András nodded in agreement. “That’s right. Today, not tomorrow. We must regroup and hunt him down immediately.”

  Hundreds of people arrived at the church. But Pastor Jones would not allow anyone inside to sit in the bloody carnage.

  Mayor Orry Burdett, who had spent the night hiding in the bottom of an outhouse, suggested he go to the spacious Maroon Saloon to see if the building was clean enough for people to rest and wait.

  Pastor Jones and Péter Kovách took the advice and went to the large saloon. Burdett and Worthington discussed the possibility of everyone evacuating, walking together to Crested Butte and catching a train to Gunnison. András liked the idea of getting the women, children and wounded out of Gothic. But the men needed to stay and finish this.

  Pastor Jones came back to the church, directing
people to go to the Maroon. There was some food and a place to rest. The ladies were ready to take in those who sought shelter until the exodus. There would be no flesh for sale today.

  Jones called out to Worthington. “I found Blair.”

  András tensed. “Let us go see this miracle man.”

  * * *

  Frederick Worthington lightly tapped on the door to Miss Katy Lee’s bedroom on the second floor of the Maroon Saloon. The room farthest from the stairs, she used it for work and to live. Matching mahogany furniture—a chest of drawers, bed frame, nightstand and a wardrobe—filled the space along with a heavy travel chest, a petite chair and table with a tilting mirror. A ceramic wash basin and stand rested in the corner.

  The professor didn’t wait to be asked in. He moved to the empty chair next to the bed. Blair slept. One of his pistols rested within reach on the night stand.

  “Has Doc Parker examined him?” he asked softly.

  Miss Katy Lee leaned on the door frame. She wore a simple dress, like that of a farm wife. Her hair hung in a ponytail. “No one knows where Doc is. A lot of people are missing. Or dead.”

  “The wounds are dressed nicely.”

  “We found him shortly after we heard the shots. He and Pruitt had it out downstairs. He survived. Well, at least he’s still alive.” Miss Katy Lee moved to the foot of the bed and crossed her arms. “I tended to his gunshot wounds right away. A few hours later I checked them. I’ve never seen anyone heal so fast.”

  Worthington murmured. “Mr. Tab is still at work.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s nothing.” He smiled. “Miss Katy Lee, you have my gratitude for taking care of him.” The joy of Blair’s survival was temporary. Worthington needed him to fight if he was able.

  “You’re welcome. If you don’t mind me saying, I don’t see you two as friends. You’re refined and polite and he’s, well, he’s a scruffy bounty hunter.”

  Worthington chuckled. “We’re a pair, all right.”

  Miss Katy Lee smiled. “A pair of what, I’m not entirely sure. But I pleased that you are. Can I get you anything?”

  “No, thank you. You have done more than I could have asked for.”

  “I haven’t done enough yet. I’m going to set a guard out here. I don’t want anyone else getting shot in my place.”