Devil's Playground

by D P Lyle

  “It was all so weird,” Melissa said. “She was in a trance or something. I grabbed her and shook and yelled at her...but nothing. Like she was somewhere else. Someone else.” Tears welled in her eyes, intensifying their blueness, and slid down her cheeks, entwining with the trails of earlier tears.

  “After you got the knife, what happened?” Sam asked.

  Penelope shrugged and looked at Melissa. “I don’t know.”

  “She walked into town,” Melissa said. She wiped tears from her cheeks with the palms of her hands.

  “That’s two miles.”

  “I tried to stop her.”

  “Where were you going?” Sam asked Penelope.

  “I remember being drawn by a red light. It came from a house on Church Street. On the corner.”

  Sam looked at Nathan unable to hide her shock. Church Street. Betty McCumber’s street.

  “It was bright and pulsated,” Penelope continued. “It hurt my eyes, but I couldn’t look away.”

  “I didn’t see anything like that,” Melissa added. “All I know is that it was dark and cold.”

  “Did you reach the light?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did you go inside the house?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “She didn’t. I stopped her,” Melissa said.

  “How?” Sam asked.

  “I slapped her. In the face. Three or four times. Right in the middle of the street.”

  “And?”

  “She woke up.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow at Penelope.

  “All I know is that I was suddenly standing in the street. I was cold. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there.”

  Sam leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples. Walter Limpke had said he “suddenly woke up” and Roberto Sanchez was hanging before him, bloody, dead, eviscerated. Now, Penelope tells a similar story. And she was only steps from Betty McCumber’s house.

  “What did you do then?” Sam asked.

  “We walked back to our van. Nearly froze to death, but we made it.” Melissa said.

  “Sam?” Penelope said. “Is this the dream the others had? The ones you told me about?”

  “Maybe. Did you see anything or anyone in your sleep walk?”

  “Like what?”

  “Demons. Garrett. Anything besides the colors?”

  Penelope adopted a look somewhere between confusion and fear. “No...but...”

  “But what?”

  “I felt him. I didn’t see him but I sensed Richard was there.”

  “What do you mean?” Sam leaned forward, elbows on her desk.

  “It was like he was pushing me from behind. Forcing me to keep moving forward. Toward the red light. At times, I actually felt his hands against my back. It’s crazy isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But a lot of crazy things are going on around here.” Sam tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Let me see if I understand you. You felt like the red light was pulling you toward it. And, at the same time, Garrett was behind you, pushing you forward.”

  “Weird isn’t it?”

  “And then some.” Sam caught the girl’s gaze. “Penelope, are you absolutely certain you didn’t go in that house?”

  “No. She didn’t,” Melissa said.

  “Did either of you see anyone else there?”

  They looked at each other, then shook their heads.

  Sam sighed heavily. “You got lucky then.”

  “Why?”

  “The woman that lived in that house was murdered last night.”

  Penelope blanched. Her hands trembled and she began shaking her head from side to side as if trying to jostle Sam’s words lose. “That can’t be true. I couldn’t have...”

  “No, baby,” Melissa said, hugging her, kissing her tear streaked cheeks. “You didn’t. I was with you the entire time.”

  They held each other tightly as if the two of them could keep the world at bay and make this all go away.

  “Penelope,” Sam said. “Why do you think you were compelled to go to that particular house?”

  “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I just had to. I had no choice. I fought it. I knew something bad was going to happen, but I couldn’t stop.”

  “It’s OK, baby.” Melissa stroked Penelope’s hair.

  “You stopped me,” Penelope said, hugging Melissa. “You stopped me. I love you so much.”

  The girls held each other and released their tears. They broke their embrace and Penelope wiped tears from her cheek with the back of her hand.

  “What’s going to happen, now?” Penelope asked.

  “Let me make a couple of phone calls, then we’ll see,” Sam replied.

  Sam left the room and went to Charlie’s office. She told him the girls’ story, then called Ralph Klingler, who assured her that all of Betty’s wounds were made with the butcher’s knife, which came from her kitchen. She called Cat Roberts and returned to her office.

  “OK. Here’s the deal.” Sam sat behind her desk and looked at Penelope. “I don’t believe you had anything to do with last night’s murder. The coroner says this knife is not the murder weapon. I’ve got to go see someone and then I have a meeting in about forty-five minutes. I want you to see Doctor Roberts and make sure you’re OK. Then come back here.” She turned to Nathan. “Would you mind taking them over to Cat’s office?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I want you girls to stay at my place. At least for tonight. OK?”

  They didn’t protest.

  *

  Reverend Billy Thibideaux filled the doorway of the Sheriff’s Department, smiling broadly. “You must be Thelma,” he said.

  Thelma looked up from her desk. “Reverend Billy? What a surprise. I’m afraid Sheriff Walker isn’t here right now. And Sam just left.”

  “That’s OK. I came to see Mister Garrett. I’ve cleared it with his attorney.”

  She hesitated.

  “Got a note from Mister Levy right here.” His sausage-like fingers plucked a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. He handed it to Thelma.

  After reading the note, she said, “OK. I’ll let you in the jail. Do you need anything?”

  “No. But, its kind of you to ask.”

  Thelma unlocked the jail area door and Billy entered, leaving it slightly ajar behind him. He walked up to Garrett’s cell and peered through the bars at the man. Garrett sat on the side of his bunk, hands folded in his lap, his over-sized orange prison jumpsuit hanging from him. He seemed small, weak, incapable of being a worthy adversary. This was going to be easy, Billy thought.

  “Mister Garrett, I’m Rever...”

  “I know who you are.” Garrett gazed at him, impassive.

  Billy was used to gushing, praising responses whenever he introduced himself to anyone. Garrett’s lack of awe unnerved him. “I’d like to have a few words with you.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “So, Mister Levy told you I was coming?”

  “I haven’t seen him since yesterday.” The corners of his mouth elevated into a haughty smile. “But, I’ve been expecting you.”

  Billy was unable to hide his shock. And was unable to speak. If Levy didn’t tell him, how could Garrett have heard? He had told no one except Levy that he was coming. And he had told Levy only half an hour ago when he had the attorney scribble out the note he had given to Thelma.

  “Are you here to save my soul?” Garrett asked.

  “Exactly,” Billy said, recovering his voice.

  “And how do you propose to accomplish that? Assuming my soul needs saving.” Garrett’s smile dissolved into a disdainful smirk.

  “Mister Garrett...”

  “My name is Beelzebub.”

  “That’s right. Mister Levy told me you had taken that name.”

  “Not taken. Given.”

  “By whom, may I ask?”

  “Lucifer, of course.”

  “I see.”

  “Do
you?”

  Billy cleared his throat. “My followers and I can help you. Return you to the path of righteousness. Lead you to the Lord.”

  “Why would I want that?”

  Now, Billy regained his composure and became a preacher once again. A role he was comfortable in. One that gave him the leverage he needed. Garrett had initially thrown him off stride, but now he had resumed control. He knew that when people started asking questions about God and soul saving and matters of the spirit, he had negotiated the first and highest hurdle. They had expressed a curiosity, which he was well equipped to answer. His fervent rhetoric was irresistible once the mind was open to it.

  He straightened his back and gazed down at Garrett. “To save yourself. To assure your place in heaven and avoid the ravages of Hell.”

  Garrett smiled. “And you have the power to do all that?”

  “Yes. We have driven Satan from others. Saved their mortal souls for all eternity.”

  “And how do you perform this miracle?” Garrett asked.

  He’s taken the bait, Billy said to himself. Reel him in and he’s yours. “We perform a ceremony in which we bring the light of God into you and wash the evil and hatred from you.”

  “You’re full of shit,” Garrett spat.

  Billy recoiled as if slapped.

  Garrett continued. “You are imprisoned by your own sins, but are too arrogant to see it.”

  Billy wrapped his fat fingers around the bars and glared at Garrett. “As you can see, I’m the one on the outside. Free to come and go as I please. But, you...” He shrugged.

  “There are many forms of prison. Some people are bound by invisible chains of uncertainty and fear. These murders, for instance. Who is free from suspicion? The residents of this town? The police? You? All of you are potential suspects. I, on the other hand, am not. I have been here.” He waved a hand toward the bars to his right. “Freedom is a matter of perspective.”

  This wasn’t going as he intended. Billy usually controlled conversations, set agendas. Yet, somehow this pathetic little man continually twisted words to his own benefit. “I don’t call a ten by fifteen cell freedom.”

  “Because you don’t see the bonds that hold you. You are bound by your greed, your pride, and your carnal needs.”

  “I am a man of God. Guided and bound by his will.”

  “You can lie to them.” Garrett yanked his chin toward the cell window and the street beyond. “You can even lie to yourself. But, I know differently.”

  “You know nothing.”

  “I know you believe none of what you espouse. I know you use words and God to feed your crass desires.”

  “Strong words from a condemned man.”

  “It is not I that am condemned, but you. You do not understand what true faith and power is. You have never tasted the comfort of clear knowledge. You live a life of lies upon lies and it is this that will be your undoing.”

  “The council of this fair city feels otherwise. They believe your soul should be entrusted to me so that I may rid their city of your evil. Our ceremonies can be pleasant or unpleasant as we choose.” A smirk parted his thick lips. “As you choose.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “A warning.”

  “You are the one that should be careful. Careful not to anger me or my master.”

  “If I were you...”

  “You aren’t me. You could never be me. You are un-pure in your faith. I, however, am crystal clear about my path.”

  “You’re quiet arrogant in your beliefs. Arrogance itself is a sin.”

  “You should know.” Garrett stood and walked close to Billy, lowering his voice, words slipping between his clenched teeth. “Now, go away while you still can.”

  “You will be sorry for...” Billy’s words stuck in his throat like crushed gravel, choking him. He attempted to draw air into his lungs but some invisible ligature blocked the flow. The world exploded into a kaleidoscope of color, which swirled and tumbled. The iridescent hues stretched into long ribbons that encircled him, tensing, until they snapped and exploded into millions of multicolored shards of light.

  Before him, Garrett’s face twisted, elongated. Scales slithered across his cheeks and down his chest. He opened his mouth, revealing sharp fang-like teeth, and spoke in a voice as deep and as coarse as burlap. “Go. Now. Do not return or I will unleash the power of Lucifer on your soul.” His head rocked back and a deep guttural laugh emerged, carrying with it billows of black, putrid clouds.

  The unseen noose that encircled his neck gave way, allowing him to suck air into his chest with heavy, raspy breaths. The colors disappeared. Garrett’s face returned to normal. Billy backed away, collided with the wall, slid along it, and yanked open the door. He hurried past Thelma, into the street.

  *

  Sam entered Walter Limpke’s cubicle in the ICU at Mercer Community Hospital. He looked up and smiled weakly.

  “Walter. Feel up to a couple of questions?”

  He nodded.

  “You said you didn’t remember much about your dreams except that they were in vivid colors.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you saw a red light or a beacon of some sort.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why’d you go to the Hargroves’ house? On that particular night?”

  “I told you before. I don’t know.”

  “Besides the colors, did you feel anything or sense anything unusual?”

  He stared at her and sighed.

  “It’s OK, Walter. Tell me about it.”

  “You’ll think I’ve really flipped.” His shoulders slumped further.

  “Walter, I’ve heard some bizarre stuff in the past couple of days so I doubt whatever you say will seem over the top.”

  “I felt like the red light was drawing me to it. I tried to turn away, but I couldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “It was like a magnet. The closer I got, the stronger it pulled.”

  “Was it the same at Roberto’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was the light? Where exactly did it come from?”

  He lifted his eyes as if trying to conjure a vision from the myriad tiny holes in the acoustic tile ceiling. His brow furrowed. “I can’t...” He stopped. “The light was the house. And Roberto’s trailer.”

  “You mean like a reflection?”

  “No. They were the light. The house, the trailer were the source of the light. They glowed bright red.”

  “Did you sense or see anything else?” she asked.

  “At Roberto’s, it seemed as though something was pushing me. From behind. You know how opposite poles of a magnet attract each other, but like poles push each other away?”

  “Yeah.”

  “While the light pulled me, something behind me pushed me. Both seemed to direct me toward the light. Toward Roberto’s trailer.”

  Sam walked out of the hospital and flopped behind the wheel of her Jeep, hammered into submission by the day’s revelations. A murderer and an apparent would-be murderer were compelled by some push-pull force toward a red beacon. A beacon that glowed from their victim’s homes. The homes of three members of Garrett’s jury. Nothing rational explained this. Hell, nothing irrational explained this.

  She flashed on her dreams, the children’s dreams. The dreams of Penelope and Walter. She and Penelope had sensed Garrett and the kids had seen Snakeman. Last night, a Snakeman/Garrett creature had visited her dream? Or was it Satan? Or Garrett/Beelzebub? Or some other fallen angel?

  Could Garrett be behind all this? How? Maybe he was Nita Stillwater's iron fingered beast. Maybe he was Satan or Beelzebub or some super-natural being. But if he was, why not just walk out of jail and disappear? What could he gain from these murders? His conviction was a done deal. Unless it was a revenge thing.

  But, Garrett alluded to the fact that he had had similar dreams. That he had been compelled to act. He couldn’t be the puppeteer and the puppet.

  And
what of all his talk of Satan and God at war? And of his need for her to open the gates of Hell for him? Was he crazy? Insane? Or merely amusing himself with outlandish tales? Was he one of those nuts that truly believed the end of the world was near? Why didn't he just drink some poison and ride away on a comet like those Heaven's Gate clowns? Sam knew she couldn't be that lucky.

  Her mind was trapped in a Mobius loop. Around and around but always returning to the same place. Which was nowhere. Frustrated, she cranked the Jeep to life.

  Chapter 33

  The city council held its monthly meetings in the old Elk’s Building a block down Main Street from the Sheriff’s Department. The sturdy stone and wood structure had not housed an Elk’s meeting in over fifteen years since the local chapter disbanded due to lack of attendance. A faded, weathered B.P.O.E. sign remained above the entry.

  By the time Sam and Charlie arrived, Lanny Mills and the four other members of the council were seated behind the long folding table that served as a rostrum. They faced forty folding chairs, which typically would be used by members of the community who wished to attend the regular council meetings. Today only eight of the chairs were occupied. Lisa McFarland, Mark Levy, Paul Blankenship, Lupe Rodriguez, Marjorie Bleekman, Reverend Billy, Carl Angelo, and Father Tom O’Malley looked up when they walked in.

  “What’re Billy and Father Tom doing here?” Sam asked Charlie under her breath.

  “I suspect we’ll find out,” he offered.

  Sam glanced at Father Tom and raised a quizzical eyebrow. He shrugged, communicating his own bewilderment. Sam studied the other faces. Marjorie appeared frightened, while Paul Blankenship glared at them, his jaw fixed, anger oozing from every pore. Lupe smiled sympathetically, Carl sat stone-faced, and Reverend Billy wore a mask of smug satisfaction.

  This isn’t a meeting, Sam thought. It’s an ambush.

  “Charlie. Sam. Have a seat and we can get started,” Lanny said. “Charlie, why don’t you bring us up to date on your investigation.”

  “Lanny, you know I don’t discuss ongoing cases. Never have.”

  “But, these murders are a little unusual, you must admit. There are a whole lot of very nervous people in this town who want some answers.”

  Charlie scanned the room. “You don’t look nervous. Father Tom doesn’t look nervous. So, just who are we talking about here?”