Devil's Nightmare (Devil's Nightmare, Book 1)

by Pruneda, Robert

  He laughed. “You’re still in denial of what you already know. I had nothing to do with their deaths. If anything, I tried to protect them. Something you obviously wouldn’t understand, since you’ve never had the luxury of raising a family of your own.”

  “Screw you, asshole!”

  “Temper, temper, Detective.” He placed the gun on the table and grabbed one of the daggers. “You see, what you fail to understand is that Cody came to me for help. He was tired of bullies pushing him around at school. And he was tired of his coward-of-a-stepfather beating him. So, I introduced him to demonology. I taught him how to summon demons for his own protection.” Smith rubbed the blade with the tips of his fingers and said, “Demons have a reputation for being evil and cruel, but the fact is that most demons are kind and giving. Think of them as the Christian guardian angels, except demons actually fulfill the needs of those who summon them. And there are rules.”

  “Rules?” I laughed and mocked, “I guess there’s a special checklist for calling up your favorite demon.”

  “Let’s just say, summoning demons isn’t quite the same as praying to a selfish and jealous God, who only fulfills those prayers if it meets his own selfish plan. When you summon a demon, you will receive what you ask for. But make no mistake; demons aren’t servants to humans. We must respect them. So, when you call on a demon, you’d better know who you’re calling, and for what purpose.”

  “Oh, of course,” I mocked. “You wouldn’t want to ask for a guardian and get a blood-thirsty demon clown instead.”

  Jackson’s father stepped up to me and held the dagger to my throat. “You jest, Detective Sanders, but you should know that Cody summoned his demon… and it did exactly what he asked for.”

  “He didn’t ask to kill his friends, you sick bastard!”

  “No, he didn’t.” Mr. Smith pulled the dagger away from my throat and sneered, “But he doesn’t have to worry about his stepfather beating him any longer, does he?”

  “You killed them.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Why is it so hard for you to understand? Cody killed them. He’s to blame for every death.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that?” The rope loosened slightly as I continued to wriggle my wrists. “He didn’t butcher those kids, and he sure as hell didn’t do that to his mom and stepdad.”

  “No, not in the physical sense, but I think you know what I’m referring to.” The man in the black tunic raised the hood over his head and rubbed the blade in his hand. “I know you’ve seen it.”

  “Seen what?”

  “The chimera.”

  “The what?” I said, forcing a laugh. The rope had loosened even more. “Please. I’ll buy your story about spiritual demons, but if you expect me to believe a monster is running around taking people’s heads off, then you’re crazier than I imagined.”

  “Cody called on something else when he was supposed to summon the demon duchess Bune and the demon prince Vassago. Instead, that little shit called on something more sinister than you can ever imagine. And it will not stop until Cody is dead.”

  “And you think that something is a mythical beast from hell?”

  “Enlil. One of the seven princes of Hell.” I recalled Cody’s warning about not speaking a demon’s name out loud as Smith continued his blather. “He’s kind to those who respect him, but he’ll also show unrelenting wrath to his enemies.”

  “So, now you think this demon is going around offing people? Because it’s pissed at Cody, due to a technicality? I think you’re full of shit. I’ll tell you what I think really happened. Your sick beliefs in your equally disturbed religion led you to sacrifice those kids. I think you’re so demented that you believe your own lies. The fact you have me tied up, ready for sacrifice to your pal Satan, proves that you’re nothing more than a sadistic murderer.”

  Smith slammed the dagger into the seat of the wooden chair between my legs. I instinctively flinched, my eyes growing wide as the blade came within an inch of castrating me.

  “I have no intention of killing you, Detective Sanders.” The Satanist breathed heavy in my face, his breath badly in need of a mint. “If I’d wanted you dead, I would have already shot you with your own gun.” He nodded towards the pistol on the table and then pulled the dagger from the chair. “But you will bleed tonight. That I can promise you. And you’ll come to believe that what I’m telling you is the truth. It’ll be up to you whether you live or die… but it won’t be by my hand.”

  “Quit talking in riddles, Smitty, and just tell me what the hell you want.” I tried to push my arms outward, but the tape was too tight. I began to accept the fact that whatever Jackson’s father had planned, I was going to have to follow through with it.

  Smith lowered his hood and stared at me for several seconds. He placed the dagger next to the gun on the table. He took in a deep breath and exhaled it. “Those kids did not have to die… I tried to save them.”

  “So, you’re admitting that you were there. Tell me what really happened.”

  “Yes, I was there, but I didn’t kill those boys. It was the chimera.” He paused and glared at me, apparently waiting for a response.

  When I didn’t say anything, he continued, “I didn’t approve of their idea to summon demons for their childish games, but Vassago is supposed to be a very friendly spirit, and in his presence I felt that summoning the demon Bune would result in the boys seeing spirits in the graveyard. I didn’t know that Cody had called on Enlil until after the chimera had attacked. The sudden blackening of the sky and high winds should have given me reason to believe that something was wrong, but instead I captured the event for Jackson.”

  “What’s the significance of the wind?”

  “Enlil is Lord of the Wind. He’s Lord of the Storm.” Mr. Smith’s demeanor changed to slight penance. “In a way, it is my fault. If I hadn’t allowed Jackson to bring Cody into our home, this never would’ve happened. Now my son is dead and the demon prince has released the chimera to punish us for our contemptuous behavior. That is why Cody must die.”

  “If what you’re saying is true, how would killing Cody change anything?” The rope binding my hands came loose, but I held the rope so that it wouldn’t drop to the floor.

  “He summoned the demon for foolish reasons. He’s cursed because of it, cursed with the devil’s nightmare.”

  I thought about the call I’d received in Zilker Park, the disturbing voice that mentioned the devil’s nightmare and that Cody should die. I struggled to break free, but I still couldn’t move because of the duct tape.

  “I pray that you’ll understand and realize that all of our lives are in danger. You must believe me when I tell you that as long as Cody lives, the chimera will continue to kill.”

  Thoughts of the chimera’s victims rushed through my mind. I recollected my dreams of encountering the beast just before something killed Rick Hessler. I thought about the man’s head dropping from the sky and through the rear window of my car. I couldn’t believe I was going to ask what I was about to ask.

  “Does this chimera have wings?”

  Smith eyed me curiously. “Some believe it does, but I’ve never actually seen it.” He tilted his head. “Why do you ask?”

  “I saw this thing in my dreams and then something attacked—”

  “Yes, I saw the news story.”

  A flying chimera would explain Rick Hessler’s head dropping from the sky from such a high altitude. “If this thing is flesh and blood, then it can be killed, just like any other creature.”

  “The chimera lives in the dreams of the one who is cursed,” Smith said, pointing to his temple. “You won’t find it. It finds you.”

  “That just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s a manifestation, Detective. What I’ve been trying to explain to you is that it lives through the dreams of the one who is cursed. It’s just as it sounds… a nightmare that lives in a reality gifted by Satan himself. If you’ve seen th
e chimera in your dreams, then you may also have the curse… and therefore…” He grabbed one of the daggers. “I’m afraid more blood is required of you than I originally anticipated. This chimera will continue to live through those cursed with the devil’s nightmare until its hunger for human souls is quenched… or until the curse is broken.”

  “And you believe killing me is going to solve that?” I pushed the chair back as he stepped towards me with the large dagger.

  “Everyone marked by this curse must die. That’s why my son is dead. That is why Cody must die… and that is why I must also die.”

  “So, what are you waiting for? Kill yourself. I won’t stop you.”

  He stopped just short of reaching me. “My prince requires your blood to complete the ritual.” He pointed to the pentacle on the floor and explained, “That’s what the goblet is for. I never intended to kill you. I only needed to drain some of your blood and drink it before sacrificing my own life for Satan. Now that I know that you’ve seen the chimera in your own dreams, I realize that you must die as well.”

  I pushed the chair closer to the wall. “And what about Cody?” I asked. “Your plan is skewed if he still lives, and I won’t let anything happen to him.”

  “You’re in no position to prevent the inevitable,” the man laughed. “I was never going to sacrifice him myself. He’ll die by other means, but those are details you don’t need to be concerned with anymore. Anyway, I think we’ve spoken enough.” Smith stepped up to me with the dagger held above his head with both hands. “I’m sorry, Detective, but your time has expired.”

  I pushed myself upward with the chair still attached to my chest and lunged towards Robert Smith, butting him in the stomach with my head and knocking him backwards. We both fell to the floor, but I happened to land on top of him. Furious, he struck a glancing blow with his dagger, downward against my shoulders and upper back. I screamed from the sharp pain as the blade sliced across my skin. I realized immediately that it could have been much worse; he could have actually stabbed me. I was still immobilized, however, and might have been in trouble, except Smith now had another problem to deal with: he had fallen onto some candles on the floor, and one arm of his tunic had caught fire. He pushed me off him and focused his attention on the small flame rising from the tunic. He ripped the burning cloth from his garment, tossed it aside, and began stomping on it.

  I could tell by where the pain was in my back that, not only had the knife blade cut into me, but it had also sliced through some of the duct tape. I pushed outward against the tape with all the strength I had in my arms, until it finally gave. I ripped the tape away, and pulled it from my body.

  Smith scampered towards me, kicked me once in the side, and then groped for the gun on the table a couple of feet away. I was still weak from breaking the tape, but I still managed to grab his leg, and pulled, hard. Smith tumbled forward and hit his forehead on the side of the metal table, knocking it over. The four daggers and the gun clattered to the floor. By the time Smith hit the ground, he’d also dropped his dagger. It bounced a few feet away. Two others, however, lay nearby.

  I dragged myself across the floor towards one of the daggers, grabbed it, and sawed the ropes around my ankles as fast as I could. The piercing pain in my back throbbed. I kept a close eye on Smith, who still lay on his stomach nearby, while I worked to free myself.

  Smith remained motionless on the floor. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing because of his loose clothing. As I pulled the ropes away from my ankles, I thought I might have a chance to get the hell out of there—until my would-be assassin shook himself awake and slowly picked himself up from the ground.

  I searched frantically for my gun and for the stairs. Smith staggered and held his forehead, and nearly tripped on the gun there on the ground in front of him. Luckily, I saw him as he picked it up, and I lunged toward him with the dagger. The man spun around and pulled the trigger. The explosion was deafening. I felt the bullet graze my right shoulder, enough of an impact to cause me to drop my weapon. I didn’t waste time going for the dagger; I tackled him to the ground before he had a chance to fire a second shot at me. I grabbed hold of the barrel and we wrestled for the gun. Smith managed to pull the trigger two more times. The barrel was hot in my hand. The shots echoed in the room. My ears rang. But he’d missed me.

  I grabbed his arm, smashed it against the ground twice, and punched him in the face. He returned two punches of his own to the side of my head with his free hand, and struck my ear. Then, he scratched my back where the dagger had cut me, and I howled from the pain, momentarily losing my focus. He earned a moment’s advantage with this distraction, and he took it. He pushed me off him and pointed the Glock 17 at my head.

  At that moment, fear consumed me as I stared down the barrel of my own weapon. I felt a loose patch of dirt underneath my right hand. As Smith’s index finger moved towards the trigger, I closed my hand over a wad of dirt and flung it into the man’s face. He squeezed the trigger and simultaneously reached for his eyes with his other hand. It was enough, but only barely. The bullet missed my head, but hit the same grazed shoulder I’d sustained just moments earlier. Once again, I howled in pain.

  With Smith temporarily blinded, I shuffled to my right and pushed myself off the ground. Smith fired two more blind shots. While he rubbed his eyes, I swatted his trigger hand away, kicked the back of his leg with a hard sweep, and knocked him to the ground with a swift punch to his face. He dropped the gun after hitting the back of his head on the ground. I regained possession of the weapon and stepped back a few feet.

  “Get your ass up!” I ordered, pointing the pistol at Robert Smith’s head. “Now!”

  Smith moaned. His eyes rolled in sporadic motions, dazed from the impact to his head.

  I kicked him in the ribs and said, “I ought to put a bullet in your skull right now.”

  Smith shook his head as he regained his composure. “Do it. I won’t stop you.”

  I clenched my teeth and put my finger over the trigger, then thought better of it. “You’re not worth it,” I said, removing my finger from the trigger. I waved my gun upward. “Now get up!”

  Smith complied and glared at me. Blood trickled down his dirty forehead. “You can’t save him,” he said. He wiped his forehead and studied the blood on his hand. “He has to die. You must understand that.”

  “The only thing I understand is that you’re going to spend the rest of your miserable life as somebody’s bitch in prison.” I waved my gun towards the dimly lit stairwell. “It’s time to go.”

  “You don’t even know where we are,” Smith laughed. “The longer we stay down here, the—”

  I fired a shot through Mr. Smith’s left arm, and he screamed “Move!” I yelled.

  “You ignorant swine!” he spouted. “Nothing you do will stop the inevitable! Nothing you do will change a goddamned thing!”

  I grabbed his right wrist and shot a hole through his hand. More screams. He settled down to whimpering, finally, and raised his hand in front of him and peered through the bloody hole.

  I grabbed one of the daggers off the ground with my free hand and pointed it at him. “You may not be afraid of dying, but how much pain can you withstand?”

  Smith gazed at the blade and then at his bleeding hand.

  “Move your ass up those steps before I start taking some fingers.”

  He glared at me with disdain, and then stumbled towards the stairwell. “You’re making a grave mistake.”

  “Shut up and move.”

  I followed him up. Small candles on the stone stairs lit the stairwell that led up to a trapdoor in the ceiling, secured shut with a combination lock.

  “Unlock it.”

  “I can’t use my hand. I’ll tell you the combination.”

  “Yeah, like I’m turning my back to you.” I pointed to the lock and said, “Use your other hand, genius. That shot in the arm didn’t cripple you. Now move!”

  Smith stepped closer to the trap doo
r and grimaced in pain as he reached for the lock. I kept the gun pointed at him as he turned the dial. Thunder rumbled as my former captor worked on the combination. Rain pelted the metal double doors, suggesting the stairwell led directly outside.

  “What’s taking so long?” I kicked the man on the back of his right calf. “Quit stalling and open the damn lock!”

  Smith peered over his shoulder and lowered his brow. “You try doing this after getting shot and see how quickly you can get it open.” He pulled down on the lock and removed it from the hatch.

  “Push the doors open and walk out slowly.”

  As soon as he opened the doors, a sheet of rain entered the stairwell. Water flowed down the stone steps. Lightning flashed across the sky, followed by an intense explosion of thunder.

  I ducked out of the way just as Smith threw the heavy lock at my face. I shot one blind round at my attacker but missed. He kicked one of the doors closed, hitting me on top of my head. He then tried to close the other door. I shot three rounds through one door and pushed the other one open with my shoulder, aiming my gun in the direction I had last seen Smith.

  As I stepped out of the stairwell, a shovel struck the hand wielding the pistol. While the man may not have had much strength with an injured arm, and only one good hand to swing the shovel, he still managed to knock the gun away. He swung the shovel back around and hit me again on my already wounded shoulder, knocking me down onto the muddy ground.

  “You can’t save him! He’ll die tonight, and so will you!”

  He swung the shovel at me again, but slipped. The blade missed my head by an inch and hit the ground, splashing mud into my face. I wiped the sludge away and stared into the barrel of my gun again. Lightning lit up the sky above Robert Smith. Thunder exploded with the fury of the strengthening storm. The heavy rain fell past my executioner and into my eyes like piercing darts.

  “Stand up!” he ordered.

  I pushed myself up and studied my surroundings. All I could see were the silhouettes of trees. No buildings. No residential lights. I did see a blue Dodge Charger parked about twenty yards away. The asshole must have driven me here in it, after knocking me out. Then I noticed a large hole next to a mound of dirt and grass.