“I told you, no one gets outta here alive. If it ain’t him that gets you, who knows what else is out there?” Eighty-two said.
“This ain’t the world we know. Hell, I didn’t even get to see the world that you remember,” Sixty-eight sighed. “I don’t know how or why I’ve hung on so long. Years ago, I thought this might be Hell, my punishment for being such a loose young woman but I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Ninety-seven took a swig from the jug, then hauled it back to its designated spot in the corner on top of the organ beside the altar. The dog still hid beneath a pew, every once and a while issuing a low growl to remind them that he watched over them.
“When was the last time you saw one of those things?” Celia asked looking out the window at the bright sunlight over the desert.
Sixty-eight looked to Eighty-two who answered, “There have only been a few since my sister was killed. I’m still not sure if it was the old man or those things, but if it was them, he drove her to them.”
Celia pointed to Sixty-eight’s marking on her forehead. “He’s been at this so long.”
“I was a rambler,” Sixty-eight said. “My name is Marcia. I was raised in California, took to the highway hoping to escape my father and ended up accepting a ride from the preacher. I was alone here for a long time while others were brought here only to be slaughtered. I don’t even know why he kept me.”
“We were headed out to visit our parents in eighty-two. They lived in New Mexico. Our car left us stranded on the side of the road. We looked around for hours but couldn’t find anyone to help. The heat was so terrible we thought we’d die of heat stroke… we weren’t that lucky,” Eighty-two said. “My name is Elizabeth; my sister’s name was Annemarie.”
“Ninety-seven came here kickin’ and screamin’. She had fire in her, always fought the preacher, much like you,” Sixty-eight said. “Until he did that to her.”
Celia looked to the muted woman, her eyes filled with grief. She nodded as the oldest among them continued.
“He believes that, in this world—wherever we are—he is God. I can only pray silently to the true lord above that someday he will die and never return.”
“Did you learn to play the organ here or in the real world?” Celia asked as her eyes roved over the dusty instrument. The music from it had drawn her towards the old church initially, leading her to hope it was a flop house or drug den.
“I learned on the other side. It used to entertain me while I was alone here but the payment for such a thing was nearly too much to bear.” She answered. “I rarely touch it anymore.”
Celia shuttered, unwilling to fathom the currency in which Sixty-eight had to exchange for such an item, the old woman’s scars were deeper than her flesh, that was for certain. She felt remorseful for the hate she felt towards the women chained beside of her in her first few weeks of being held prisoner, now she knew they did what they had too just to survive.
“He’s gettin’ old.” Eighty-two spoke. “At least he no longer wants us for reasons other than preaching.” She cast her eyes to the floor. Beside her filthy shoeless feet were claw marks left deep in the wooden floor.
Celia felt her sadness once more replaced by rage, knowing these women had also suffered his perverted sexual abuse for most of their lives with no one to set them free.
“We can end this if we stand together.” Celia said. “We’ll kill him and I will go out to find the highway. I found my way in, so I can find my way out. I will go when the sun is out, maybe those things won’t come for me.”
“How did you find your way in?” Eighty-two asked.
“I followed the music through a thicket of mesquite trees.” She answered pointing to the dilapidated church organ beside the bloody altar.
Eighty-two gripped Celia by the shoulder, “My sister said the same thing… that she found her way in. I was offered a ride after we got separated, but I never believed there was a doorway normal folks could use.”
“I didn’t see any doorway, I just stumbled upon this place.” Celia said.
“Maybe they aren’t normal,” Sixty-eight said. “That’s how they slipped through.”
“And that’s how she can slip back out…” Eighty-two whispered.
****
The grandmother presented her with a thick mug. The smell coming from it turned Casey’s stomach. It was reminiscent of vomit, but it had a sickly sweet scent comingled in it.
“Don’t smell it. Drink it,” Javier instructed. “It will help you unite with the other half of your spirit.”
Casey understood why the old woman was making her drink it outside. It was thick and putrid, taking every ounce of her strength to keep it from coming back up. It coated her throat and tongue. Its sickly essence filled her nostrils.
“Do not fight it,” he spoke as she handed the emptied cup to him.
Her face went white. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead stinging the number fourteen. Her stomach cramped, bringing tears to her eyes.
“I’m going to be sick,” she said, swallowing the ayahuasca-tainted saliva invading her mouth.
“I will hold your hair. After it takes hold, just remember that we are here. You are not alone.”
Casey didn’t have time to respond over the heaving that took over her body. Her stomach emptied and, shakily, she was taken to the softest grass to kneel in. She closed her eyes as all the world seemed to slip away.
“Listen to our voices,” he whispered.
****
Byron sat behind his desk at Jeskey’s Antiques while his brother, Bill, worked the sales floor. He could feel the traveler drawing near. Allan was foolish enough to accept his invitation. He grabbed his car keys and waited for Bill to finish pricing an antique set of china to a customer before pulling him aside.
“I got to make a run,” Byron said.
“At this hour? It’s almost dark…” Bill began to say but fell silent at the intent look in his brother’s eyes.
“Is it something worthwhile?” He asked his twin brother.
“Definitely.” Byron answered.
He was a few pounds heavier than Bill, but otherwise they were identical. The Jeskey twins, they were always called. Only Byron had the gift given to him at birth that Bill did not. Of course, his brother knew what he could do but he had never visited the church in the middle of nowhere; he had never seen the tormented souls he kept there. Bill never asked questions. He just priced the things his brother brought back, things he never realized were pilfered from the dead.
Now, Byron meant to take Allan out to the church, take care of his nosy ass, then stop by his stash before then sun in the other world went down… before those things emerged.
“If Betty calls, cover for me.”
Byron exited the shop, sensing his way towards Allan’s energy. His skin prickled as he approached the blue car parked beside of his own.
“Looks like you want to go for a ride,” Byron said, leaning down to talk through the open passenger side window.
“Looks like it,” Allan answered.
“Hop in, then,” Byron said.
Allan knew the smile on the old man’s face was only a mask. Beneath it loomed a violent warning. It was there when their eyes connected Allan could see what Byron had planned for him. Not the exact manner in which the old man hoped it would unfold, but the sentiment was loud and clear. Allan wondered as he stepped out of his car if Benjamin had taken his suspicions about the old traveler seriously and, even if he had, would he bother lifting a finger for a man that had nearly gotten him killed.
The roads of southern Arizona looked like a rippling black river as the heat left the asphalt. The windows were left rolled down. The wind whipping into the cab of the antique car brought no comfort from the high temperatures. The sun was about to set, meaning they’d hit the other side as it rose. That thought was somewhat comforting to Allan who feared those that emerged in the darkness of the other world.
They sat in silence for a lon
g while, the old man pressing the pedal to the floor and speeding down the rolling highway that he knew by memory. Static in the air told Allan they were approaching the gateway to Byron’s territory. He looked over to the white-haired traveler who met his gaze and smiled baring his decaying teeth then spoke one sentence, “Welcome to my world.”
Byron hit the headlights, then turned the wheel. The car fishtailed, sending Allan’s stomach into his throat before the car corrected. The ferocity of the gate being called open sent a jolt through him. It was clear Byron meant business.
An orb of light, crackling with electricity, hung before the racing car, growing large enough to accommodate it only a second before they sped into it. Allan cried out as they emerged on the other side in the early morning light of dawn.
The gateway snapped shut behind them like a hungry mouth, swallowing them without even bothering to chew. They were on a dusty desert road, barely wide enough to allow the car to drive through a stand of mesquite trees. Byron kept his foot on the pedal, kicking up clouds of powdery dirt. It was only a few minutes before the dilapidated church came into view. The sight of it turned Allan’s stomach. He knew in his heart that this was no holy place.
****
The sensation of a cool wind glided over her face. The nausea was forgotten, forced aside by the feeling of being pulled.
“Let it in, don’t fight it,” Javier’s voice spoke calmly from somewhere far away.
The old woman’s voice chanted softly, instilling a sense of tranquility in Casey as she was taken over by the spirit vine.
CHAPTER NINE
VISIONS
Casey felt surrounded by warm liquid. Her body rolled like being tossed in rising tides. She found herself confined in a tight space. Every time she attempted to move, she bumped against some slippery barrier enveloping her.
She pushed with both of her hands, forcing the membrane away from her face as the fear of suffocation and drowning started to take hold of her. She couldn’t breathe, her eyes stung, and her arms were too weak to burst free, though she clawed at the sack wrapped around her.
A pair of arms wrapped around her waist. A cheek pressed against her naked back. A feeling of calm serenity swept through her. The safety of a womb cradled her and the other behind her. The vision melted away as a lonesome feeling replaced it and the incantation of Javier’s grandmother grew louder, drawing Casey back from the edge of despair.
She was now a shadow drifting amidst a storm towards a tall white building. A marquee outside read Stillwater. She felt herself gliding upward and stopped to peer into a window. In the momentary illumination of flashing lightning she could see inside. The room looked familiar, though the scene inside was unknown to her—a young red headed woman in a hospital bed that was fitted with restraints much like those that had once held Casey. A single doctor and an older nurse stood over the terrified mother-to-be, crying out for her to remain calm.
Casey felt the cold rain passing through her, as the birth unfolded in a painful, bloody ordeal. She held her breath. There was significance in that nightmare she played voyeur to. She focused on the girl in the bed, her ribcage rattling with the force of the storm. Her heart nearly ceased beating when she recognized the scar on the young woman’s forehead—a number clearly carved into her flesh: Eighty-two.
Casey felt sickening pity as the abused woman attempted to grip her bedsheets with a single hand. Her other arm was a pink stump that awkwardly flailed as she hunched her body forward. The nurse urged her on, assuring her she was not in danger, speaking her name aloud. Annemarie.
Casey could feel the tension building. Her cries became desperate. Sweat and blood stained her hospital gown and more spilled out onto the bed. The doctor stepped back from between her knees, cutting the umbilical cord and clearing the child’s airway.
It screamed.
Casey’s skull felt like it would split. Rain and tears flooded her eyes. She watched the young woman lie back as the baby was placed in a cardboard box. Her torment was not over. As a second child emerged from her tormented body, Casey felt great sorrow fill her.
The children were wheeled away and the mother was left exhausted in her blood-stained bed, her breathing no longer laborious as she slipped into the arms of death. The peace that stole over her reminded Casey of watching Catherine die. The revelation of knowing she was not the old woman’s blood daughter. It was made clear to her. Casey was given the vision of her blood mother dying giving birth to twins.
She had a sister.
Faint light illuminated the window next door. A thin voice could be heard over the rain and the screams of hungry newborns. Casey peered inside to see the nurse, singing to the twins. She had the face of someone who wore a constant scowl, the softness she displayed seemed foreign, even to herself, as she caressed their heads and prepared bottles to appease them. The stern woman glanced back over her shoulder several times, assuring no one witnessed the display of affection she showed the orphaned children.
The song was the same one that had plagued Casey for weeks, one she heard coming from the lips of a woman she now found out to be her sister… a wayfaring stranger and her true other half.
****
“Well, don’t you wanna come inside?” Byron asked.
Allan looked over at the old man, the smile on his face widening with each second. Allan reconsidered his decision.
“It would be rude to refuse,” Byron said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.
Allan stepped from the car, as his feet hit the dry soil an electrical charge ran up both of his legs.
Byron snickered, knowing the younger wanderer sensed the presence of the girl he kept inside, number fourteen.
“Come on in and stay a while,” The old man said.
Allan didn’t answer. The power within the preacher’s sanctuary was something he’d never encountered—the unbalanced energy of one of their own.
The old man shoved him forward. Any semblance of it being a place of peace was gone. They both knew it.
“Go on!”
Allan’s eyes were busy scanning the surroundings, seeking any excuse to turn back. He felt the calling of an exit gate not far from him. He fidgeted for a moment, wondering if he could make it there before the old man caught him. The harsh words of Benjamin came back to him accompanied by memories of his past cowardice. His shame was something he could no longer bear. He stepped forward, following Byron up the rickety steps of the church, curious about the young traveler he felt inside.
Byron stepped aside and Allan placed his hand on the door.
“You can feel her, can’t you?” Byron asked.
Allan nodded, turning his eyes to the old man. He knew in his heart that the girl was not there of her own free will. The place reeked of blood and death. The hot desert wind carried their scent into Allan’s nostrils and left its rancid taste on his tongue. A growl issued from the opposite side of the door. It filled his heart with helpless warning. His gaze went from steely suspicion to terror.
“Guard dog.” Byron chuckled. “He won’t bite…unless I tell him to.”
Allan took a step back, only to bump into the preacher who stepped into his path. Byron gripped Allan by the back of the neck.
“Come on. Don’t you wanna see what I’ve been up to, Mr. Detective?” Byron asked. “Don’t you wanna meet my new friend?”
Allan’s mouth went dry, his hands felt numb. Byron shoved him violently forward against the door.
“Open it. Now!”
Allan did as he was told. He didn’t even have to see the preacher’s “wives” chained to the floor, the blood-stained inverted cross where once the bodies of those Byron claimed deserved to be eaten had hung. He covered his eyes to it all before it could register in his mind, but the old man pulled his hands away and made him look, made his eyes take pictures to be stored in his memory, things he could never erase from his mind.
Allan vomited at the taste of decay, at seeing the women like walking corpses coweri
ng in the shadows. The beast of a dog leapt at him, its weight knocked him to the floor. He couldn’t catch his breath as he fought to keep its slobbering maw away from his face.
“We have a guest,” Byron announced. “Why don’t we make him feel at home?”
****
A light filled her eyes, a burning orb of pure heat. Her pale skin felt as if it would blister beneath it. Casey tried to turn her face away from the mass before it left her blind. A breeze blew through her hair; the ball of fire rose into the horizon of a churning sky. She found herself standing on the shoulder of a desert highway. Heat came off the blacktop to be chased away by the wind of an approaching storm.
Thunderheads stacked up high, consuming the pale blue in dirty grey. Lightning danced among the clouds and thunder rolled down the road to greet her. A second roar from behind her rivaled that of the storm before her.
Casey turned to see something black hurtling towards her, a beast of steel, its driver grinning a yellow-toothed grin. Her heart stuttered because she knew death rode with him. The old woman’s voice invaded the surroundings, echoing across the desert, calling Casey back home.
Javier hovered over Casey, watching her eyelids flutter. The ayahuasca had taken hold of her quickly. It was better that way. Some people were ravaged by nausea but never got to see the things their soul was hiding. He just prayed that she would be granted the sight of those things keeping her spirit divided. It was only then that her torment would end.
****
Benjamin was on his back porch. A cloud of cigar smoke hung around him as he sat in contemplation. His laptop sat in his lap. He typed in the sinister moniker that Allan had accused Byron of being—the invisible man. It took a few moments until he located a site dedicated to unsolved mysteries.
Under the state of Arizona, he found a few reference points to supernatural mysteries. It named a sasquatch creature. Benjamin wasn’t surprised to see it listed because he knew it existed. It too could travel between worlds and so kept from being hunted down by angry mobs of humans.
Those Who Follow Page 6