by Ryan Hill
Bailey’s anxiety ran wild. Would he get thrown into a freakin’ volcano? It was too much. His body shook, shouldering some of the overwhelming fear for his brain.
“Dude, do you really think any of us are virgins?” Marshall said. “It’s 2016. We all got laid when we were, like, twelve, so go find some other patsy.”
Not that it helped, but it was nice to see Marshall stand up for everyone. Every now and then, he’d drop the tough guy act and prove that deep down he was a decent human being. Without those little moments, Bailey and Tim would’ve stopped hanging out with Marshall a long time ago.
“Seriously,” Tim said. “I was born in 2000, got my ninja skills in ’07, and lost my cherry in '09.”
Deckland didn’t believe a word that came out of Tim’s mouth. “So you lost your cherry when you were nine?”
Tim seemed shocked. “You didn’t?”
Julie’s upper lip curled in disgust. She shook her head, as if she were saying, “oh, boys.” Alexis mimicked her every move, like Julie was a big sister. Bailey was too afraid to shake his head or joke about sex. He focused on keeping his shoulders stiff so the rest of him wouldn’t shake.
“Please.” Percy shook his head. “You’re all so full of it. Even I didn’t get laid until I was eighteen, and you guys don’t even have half the sex appeal.”
Marshall laughed, until his eyes fell on Deckland, who snarled. That shut Marshall up pretty quickly.
“Can we compare conquests at a later date?” Portman asked. “Some of us would like to get home and watch Braves baseball while we still can.”
Jackson pulled Franklin to his feet, and everyone resumed the march toward the street. The clouds grew so dark it almost provided enough cover to escape. Bailey tried to shout instructions to make a break for it, but his throat squeezed shut. They made it to Percy’s car before Bailey could say the words out loud.
Alexis and Bailey were shepherded into the back seat. The car reeked of marijuana. Not that Bailey ever tried the stuff; it was only an educated guess. Marshall and Tim tried it once, but Bailey chickened out at the last second. Getting caught with alcohol was one thing, but weed? His parents would’ve killed him. Heck, his parents wanted to kill him period at that point. The thought made Bailey laugh, relaxing his body.
Percy slid into the front seat and started the car. Metallica’s For Whom the Bell Tolls blared on the radio. He looked in the rearview mirror, messed with his hair, and then popped a joint in his mouth. He drove with one hand and used the other to spark up.
Welp! That answers the question about the smell.
Percy sort of sang along with the music. He kept tune, but his voice sounded like a shrieking woman. “Duh nuh nuh nuhhh, duh nuh nuhhh.”
Bailey hoped Franklin, despite the situation, had everything under control. If he was as old as he claimed, then he should’ve forgotten more about escaping than Bailey knew. The only question left was how. A smoke bomb? Calling down a storm of frogs? The possibilities were endless. Franklin could have anything up his sleeve. Alexis gave Bailey a comforting smile. Perhaps she thought the same thing he did?
“For whom the bell tolls!” Percy’s voice hit a high pitch that made him cough.
Bailey tried to string together a coherent thought while Metallica shredded his brains. Why didn’t he make a move on Alexis during her dark period? Considering what she said last night, chances were better than average something would’ve happened. But no. Bailey had to be the friend. The nice guy. It really was true about them finishing last. Or, in Bailey’s case, finishing by becoming the host for some evil cult leader.
They made their way to the beach near Bailey’s neighborhood. Percy parked the car on the side of the road, the beach only two steps over the sidewalk. Bailey glanced at the shoreline. A large group of people milled about, wearing black robes. He reminded himself they were in capable hands with Franklin, but it was hard not to get worried.
Percy put some drops in his eyes to hide their redness. He’d done it so many times there was no need to even look in a mirror. Alexis and Bailey refused to get out of the car. Neither even bothered to get unbuckled. Franklin probably had a plan of escape, but that didn’t mean Bailey and Alexis would go along with those jackasses like good little robots.
Percy tugged at Alexis. “Come on. Would you rather Mr. Lovell made you get out?”
“Just let us go,” Bailey said. The door next to him was yanked open, making him jump. Portman leaned in close.
“Need some help?” Portman asked through the car, garlic breath and all.
Bailey noticed the cop kept one hand on his pistol. Crap. Getting shot wouldn’t do much to help them escape. He glanced at Alexis and nodded. Both peacefully got out of the car. Marshall, Tim, and the others were already standing on the sidewalk. Bailey looked to Franklin, hoping for some kind of sign that he had a plan. Instead, the man’s eyes darted down toward the pavement, sending a fresh tremor through Bailey. He prayed Franklin was only pretending to be defeated. Otherwise, someone, most likely Bailey, was about to be offered up as a sacrifice to some stupid god that probably worshipped lampshades.
As they walked onto the beach, the crowd of Mr. Lovell’s followers stepped aside, opening a path to a normal, everyday card table set up in the sand.
Percy laughed. “Was it that hard to find something decent?”
“It’s the best we could do for a sacrificial altar,” Mayor Benchley said. “Besides, my oak table was too heavy to carry.”
Bailey’s parents stood to his right, also wearing black hoods. Both of them had a vacant look in their eyes. They must’ve still been possessed.
“Mom?” he called out, hoping she’d recognize him.
Wanda slowly turned her gaze to Bailey. “Trenton is coming. Hail the conquering king.”
Nope. She’s still bonkers.
“Hail the conquering king,” the rest of the crowd chanted in unison, including Marshall’s parents.
“Wow. You guys make me proud to be your son,” Marshall said. “Every single day.”
His father narrowed his gaze. “All hail the conquering king.”
Bailey heard a very phlegmy cough behind him. His body tensed up. It was Mr. Lovell, still in his overcoat, Conch Shell of Doom in hand. He walked past Bailey and then gave Percy the shell.
Mr. Lovell glanced around the group. “Where is the Blade of Hugues de Payens?”
Thunder clapped so hard, Bailey felt it in his chest. Portman pulled the blade out from behind his shirt. Mr. Lovell pulled off a glove. He took the weapon in his bare hand, pointing it at Franklin.
“Just think if you’d been a few inches to the left back at the Copper Canyon.”
“I could give it another go right now, if you’d like.”
Franklin tried to reach for the blade. Portman kicked Franklin behind his knee, making it buckle. He fell to the sand, groaning at the surprise hit.
“Ain’t no time to play hero.” Portman laughed.
Franklin got back to his feet, patting the sand off his clothes. “I guess it ain’t no time to play fair either.”
Mr. Lovell tsked Franklin, then turned toward the crowd, holding the weapon up in the air. “This blade is the only thing that can destroy our master.”
People booed and hissed. One woman yelled out to destroy it. Bailey wondered if these people really hated the knife, or if they were under some kind of spell, like his parents.
Mr. Lovell motioned for them to quiet down and then took off his hat. Bailey shook at the sight of the man’s scarred, bald head. Would Bailey end up like that if they sacrificed him? He wished the entire experience was an acid trip gone wrong, and he’d wake up in a few hours with one heck of a story to tell, but he knew that wouldn’t happen. The shit was real, and it stunk worse than a year-old rotted egg.
“The blade is only dangerous in the wrong hands.” Mr. Lovell focused his gaze on Franklin. “In the right hands, it can set Trenton Maroney free.”
“Wonderful,” Baile
y said under his breath, while the crowd cheered. He did not like the idea of that golden blade piercing his flesh. Needles were bad enough, but a knife? Awful. Hopefully, if he was dying today, it would be quick, but the mystical blade mess could go out with the tide for all he cared. What if they took their time with Bailey? Let the blood pour out while stomach acid ate away at his insides? Bailey took a deep breath and told his brain to cut it out. Things were stressful enough.
“Let’s begin.” Mr. Lovell glared at the kids, freaking them out with his pitch black eyes. “Where is our virgin sacrifice?”
Bailey’s heart stopped for a moment. Mr. Lovell’s venomous stare hovered over each of them. He stopped for a moment at Tim. Damn. He was a virgin after all.
“Don’t do this,” Franklin said. “There’s still time to do the right thing.”
“They look so wholesome.” Mr. Lovell ignored Franklin and ran the blade down Tim’s cheek, making him whimper. “However—”
Bailey thought his heart might explode. If he stood by and watched his friend die, what kind of person would that make him? Could he just stand by and let Tim be killed? Bailey squeezed his hands into fists to control the anxiety and stepped forward.
“Only one of you is truly wholesome.” Mr. Lovell smiled, revealing brown and black teeth as he moved in front of Bailey. “As pure as snow.”
Bailey was caught off guard. Wait. It is him? Tim isn’t a virgin? Huh?
“It’s commendable in this day and age to remain unsullied at your age, even if it has left you in this current situation.”
Bailey shot a look back at Tim. “I thought you—”
“Christmas break.” Tim ran his foot through the sand. “Penny Benjamin. She swore me to secrecy.” He slapped his forehead. “Which I just broke. Stupid.”
Bailey’s heart sank. “Don’t I feel like a loser.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” Mr. Lovell said. “Your flesh is about to become home to the most powerful being known to man.”
Alexis was on the verge of tears. Even Marshall was upset, his arms crossed tightly around his body. Bailey’s parents, however, couldn’t have been more satisfied. Bailey cursed the moment he was born, wishing the powers that be made him a rhinoceros, or anything that wasn’t a human. Or if he were to be born a person, at the very least it would be somewhere farther inland and heavily populated. Like St. Louis.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Trenton Maroney: Live in Somebody Else’s Flesh
Bailey never thought of himself as a virgin sacrifice. That title usually went to a woman—at least in movies and books—but if a guy had to be a virgin sacrifice, naturally it would be him. The embarrassment made yakking on Jenny Hunt seem like one of the better things that happened to Bailey. In the near future, when his soul would be in Heaven, or whatever plane of existence came after death, Bailey could see himself trying to chat up some lovely female spirit, and eventually she’d get around to asking how he died, and he’d reply, “Oh, I was a virgin sacrifice.” That conversation would end faster than the career of a one-hit wonder. Worse, his entire afterlife would be marred by the incident. There’d be no getting over it.
Percy took Bailey by the arms and led him to the card table, which had been outfitted with ropes at each corner. It was happening. And nobody was doing anything to stop it.
Bailey looked to his parents, pleading for help. “Mom? Dad?”
“You’re doing a great thing, Bailey.” Earl made it sound like sacrificing Bailey was the proudest moment in a father’s life. “Your end will mark the beginning of a new world.”
“If you think it’s so great, why don’t you trade places with me?” Bailey barked. What would it take to snap his parents out of it? They wouldn’t really think of Bailey dying as a good thing, would they?
He dug his feet into the sand, refusing to move one step closer to the card table. Portman and Jackson pushed Bailey, only digging his feet deeper into the beach. They quit pushing and instead picked him up, slamming him on the table. He landed elbow first, sending a sharp, throbbing pain through his arm. The move caught him by surprise. All things considered, he wondered why they didn’t treat his body a little nicer.
Wanda and Earl each held some rope. They tried to tie up Bailey, but he still refused to cooperate, flinging his arms and legs everywhere, hoping by some chance he’d connect with someone’s face. So what if it was a losing battle? He wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Look at the kid squirm,” Portman laughed, as he made sure Franklin stayed down on his knees.
“You’d think someone put a ferret in his undies,” Jackson snorted. “Hoppin’ around like a jumpin’ bean.”
Wanda gave the two cops a displeased look. “You boys want to help or stand there and crack jokes?”
“Crack jokes.” Jackson laughed. “Obviously.”
Wanda’s unhappy gaze narrowed into the pissed-off-mom look. Portman and Jackson moaned.
“Allow me.” Deckland took Portman’s place watching Franklin.
Portman and Jackson pinned Bailey down on the table, leaving his parents free to tie him up. Bailey tried again to break free, but the cops were too strong. He banged his head on the table, more than a little frustrated.
Wanda finished tying her son’s arms to the table and then kissed him on the forehead. “Isn’t this wonderful?”
“It’s ridiculous. I officially hate you two.” Bailey hoped the venom in his words would sting his parents. “You’re serving me up to these assholes like I’m a shrimp cocktail. I hope you two rot and die.”
“Such language,” Mr. Lovell said, tracing the blade’s outline with a finger. “I can’t say I blame you. If I were in your position, I wouldn’t want to honor my mother and father either.”
Even tied down, Bailey shook with anxiety as Mr. Lovell loomed overhead like a bad omen, pulling on the bindings to make sure they were secure. Bailey wished he had some kind of wicked comeback to say, but his mind was too saturated with fear to think of anything besides “don’t kill me.” Mr. Lovell grinned, the scars around his mouth mashing together like a ridged potato chip. He pulled off his other glove and then unbuttoned his jacket. The wind picked up to a faint howl. Mr. Lovell let the jacket fall from his body. A powerful gust carried it away.
Mr. Lovell coughed and then began unbuttoning his shirt. He still clutched the blade, making it difficult to get the shirt’s smaller buttons using only one free hand. Each button that came loose gave Bailey a clearer picture of Mr. Lovell’s chest, which was every bit as scarred as his face. There was something else about his torso. Bailey couldn’t quite make out what he saw. It couldn’t be. That wasn’t possible. Was it? Mr. Lovell finished with the shirt, the wind flapping it around like a cape. Bailey almost wet himself. Inside Mr. Lovell’s stomach was the clear outline of a human head moving around.
“Holy shit!” Tim squealed.
“My God.” Alexis tensed, covering her mouth with her hand.
Marshall threw his hands in the air. “I’m out. Done. Crazy train has left the building.”
“Okay, somebody have sex with me right now.” Bailey couldn’t take his eyes off of the head inside Mr. Lovell’s stomach.
Franklin leaned back against his legs in the sand. “Hello, brother.”
The outline of Trenton smiling poked through the skin. Mr. Lovell raised the blade and turned to the crowd, who broke out into cheers, drowning out Bailey’s screams.
“Don’t do this,” Franklin pleaded. “You don’t know Trenton like I do. He’s not going to share this world with you. You bring him back, and all of us are dead. All of us.”
“It’s funny. The more you beg for me to stop, the more I want to go through with it.” Mr. Lovell glanced up at the sky. The wind accelerated, feeling like a gentle pat on the face. “We offer up this sacrifice to you, Trenton Maroney, so that you may rise again and take your place at the throne of humanity.”
The crowd chanted in a language Bailey didn’t recog
nize. Regardless, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know they were probably saying something similar to Mr. Lovell. The sky turned black all around them, swallowing up most of the light. A steady rain fell, adding a layer of coldness to Bailey’s shaking. Lightning jumped across the sky, making it easier to see. Thunder followed a second later.
“Hear us, my lord.” Mr. Lovell turned to face Bailey. “Live again, in the vessel of this mortal.”
The lightning increased in force and intensity, like it was the ceremony’s own personal strobe light. The bass of the thunder crashing pounded in Bailey’s chest. Everyone in the crowd closed their eyes and lowered their heads, the rain dripping off their hoods. Bailey shook so much he couldn’t even make a fist with his hand to help ease the anxiety.
Franklin tried to get up, but Deckland had little trouble keeping Franklin down. Julie, Alexis, and Marshall all struggled to fight through Trenton’s followers and free Bailey, but there were too many of them. Marshall’s dad had his son in a headlock. Strange. Tim wasn’t doing anything. He stood off to the side, an odd little smirk on his face, like he knew something nobody else did, including a very confused Bailey.
There was a short break in the lightning. Once it resumed striking, Tim had vanished. Bailey couldn’t believe it. Maybe Tim really was some sort of ninja. Bailey felt a touch of hope, and promised himself that he’d never make fun of Tim’s ninja dreams ever again, provided Bailey survived the Awakening.
That prospect wasn’t looking very good. Mr. Lovell held the blade, ready to strike. All he needed was to thrust downward to stab Bailey. The crowd’s chanting reached a fever pitch. Not even the thunder could drown it out. Bailey tightened his stomach and wiggled back and forth, hard as he could. The table turned over, leaving him facing the ocean.
“I’m here, grasshopper.” Tim appeared out of nowhere. How he snuck around to help was beyond Bailey’s imagination. Tim made easy work of the rope tied around Bailey’s feet with the hook sword.
“I love you, you damn ninja,” Bailey said, stretching his legs.