Suddenly the elevator came to life. There was a loud clang as the gears caught hold and the cable began moving in front of her eyes, pulling the elevator upward. Abby took a breath and waited, she knew what was coming.
His head appeared first, elongated skull, pointed chin, ebony black horns, and deep set eye sockets that glowed with crimson fire. His torso was massive, decayed black skin stretched tight over his rib cage. White glimpses of bone shone through the abscesses in his decayed flesh. His arms were long and sinewy, ending in hooked claws nine inches long that hung below his knees. Cloven hooves stood rooted to the floor adorned with tufts of matted and stinking fir. The elevator came to a stop with a loud clang that echoed throughout the house, and then the brass gate slid open as if by some imaginary force.
The two adversaries faced each other in silence, one sitting, the other towering over seven feet and looking downward. Their eyes locked in mutual hatred. The sight should have terrified her, but Abby noticed something about the demon. He had the same appearance that he did the night he tried to kill her and failed, dark but with a translucent glow. She could make out the grain of the elevator’s wood paneling behind the beast and she knew that he could not harm her.
Abby.
His words were heavy, guttural, and when he spoke blackened teeth more than four inches long moved outward like a great white shark about to strike, their tips dripping a foul smelling saliva rank with disease. She did her best not to look away, to meet the demon eye to eye, but her hands began to shake and her head dipped slightly.
I’ll see you in hell yet Abby Darrow.
His words wafted by her in a putrid stench, stinging her eyes and making her want to gag. Then he walked past her as though she didn’t exist and headed for the stairs.
“HE KILLED HER WITH THE AXE!”
Ellie woke up screaming, lurching upward to a seated position in her bed. The images in her dream were so vivid, surreal yet tangible at the same time. She had seen it as if she were there, the defenseless woman, her insane husband covered in her blood. He brought the axe down again and again striking at her with fury and resolute evil. She couldn’t shake the images from her head, his eyes, oh God his eyes, how they burned with hatred.
Randall awoke, confused for a second. He watched as Ellie flopped back down on the bed and began to shake. He tried to console his hysterical wife but she had gone into convulsions. White foam and bile poured from the edges of her mouth flinging off in all directions as she shook, coating her nightgown and the headboard behind her.
“Ellie!” He grabbed her by the shoulders as he spoke. “Ellie, wake up. It’s just a bad dream.”
Ellie’s eyes rolled back into her head until only the whites were showing which unnerved him.
“Come on honey, snap out of it.”
He continued to gently shake her, though she was doing plenty of shaking herself and in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t doing a bit of good. Aiden had entered the room. Somehow through the violent escapade and all of Ellie’s wails Randall heard the door creak. It was a sound that he had learned to perceive easily through countless hours of practice while they were making love, attuned to the fact that there was a small child in the house with his mother’s propensity to wake up at all hours of the night. Randall had thought on numerous occasions to put a lock on the bedroom door but he had never gotten around to it. Now more than ever he wished that he had, damning the procrastinating tendencies he had battled all his life.
“What’s wrong with mommy?”
Aiden was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes but his concern was escalating by the second. Randall couldn’t help but feel for him.
“Nothing champ, she’s fine, just a bad cramp. Go back to bed okay?”
Randall hoped that would cut it, that the kid would simply crawl back into his bed and fall asleep. Fat chance of that he knew, and he couldn’t blame him. Aiden bypassed his remarks and spoke to his mother.
“Mommy, mommy what’s wrong? Why won’t she talk to me?”
He began to cry, pleading at Randall for answers, answers that he didn’t have. The shaking intensified and Randall reached across his wife for the telephone on the nightstand, readying himself to keep calm as he dialed 911. And then just like that the seizure stopped. Ellie opened her eyes, dazed from the confusion of deep sleep. She looked at Randall, saw the concern in his eyes, and the sweat on his forehead. Aiden was clutching his teddy bear and sobbing uncontrollably. Oh no, it had happened again.
“Aiden come here honey, mommy’s all right. It was just a bad dream that’s all.”
Her son came over to the side of the bed, still crying and clutching his bear tight against his chest. Ellie put her arms around him and his wailing transformed into muffled sobs.
“Randall said it was cramps.”
“Oh he did, did he?”
She shot him a look. Randall shrugged; let’s see her come up with a better line under similar circumstances.
“How long was I out?”
“A couple of minutes at least.”
“Oh god, it’s getting worse.”
Randall nodded, not having anything else to add. Aiden had stopped crying altogether now, content to bury his face in his mother’s shoulder. She rose from the bed cradling Aiden to her chest and carried him back to his room. She called out over her shoulder as she walked.
“I’ll put some coffee on. I don’t think we’ll be getting any more sleep tonight.”
Randall got up and pulled a tee shirt from the top dresser door. You could say that again he thought as he pulled the shirt on over his head.
When Aided was tucked back into bed and fast asleep Ellie made her way to the kitchen. After he had calmed down he was out like a light. It would be so nice to be a kid again she thought, problems could be forgotten as quickly as they arose. Randall was seated at the kitchen table, two mugs of steaming black coffee wafting a wondrous aroma into the air.
“I would have made the coffee.”
“I know, but I was up anyways.”
“That’s not funny.” She put her hands on her hips.
“Are you complaining again?” His smile was bright and cheery but she knew it was put on for her amusement, that’s what she loved about him so much. He put her worries ahead of his own.
“No, it smells great.”
She took a seat beside her husband looking at him in the soft light. He looked awful. Dark circles lined the underside of his eyes, his hair was matted, skin pale, and until recently she had not noticed the dramatic weight loss. She gauged him with her eyes, fifteen pounds at least.
“I’m sorry this has been so tough on you.” She said, her voice laden with guilt.
“It’s not your fault, there’s just a lot of things going on right now with the investigation and now…”
“This.” She finished his sentence for him.
“Yeah.”
“I had the dream again.”
“I know.”
“It was worse than before.”
He nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“It might help.”
She sighed and took a sip of coffee. “I can’t get the images out of my head, that awful man.”
“Darrow.”
“Yeah, ever since I saw him in town, you know when he offered me a ride, he’s been sticking to me like a bad rash.”
“Jack Darrow has that effect on people.”
“I dreamt that he killed his wife. Chopped her up into tiny pieces. It was so vivid, so horrible, but it didn’t really seem like a dream,” she thought carefully how to phrase her next words, “ more like a premonition.”
“You know detective Connelly was out there yesterday, saw his wife first hand, she’s in bad shape but still alive and there’s no evidence that Darrow has any ill intent towards her. I can’t just go up there and arrest him on someone’s premonition, that’s not how the law works.”
“I know how the law work
s Randall. I just wish I could set my mind at ease.”
“If it makes you feel any better I could go out there tomorrow, check it out myself, but Peterson would be furious if he knew, so keep it mum okay.”
“What are you going to tell him, Darrow I mean.”
“I’ll think of something.”
She looked down at the table. “I’m scared, he’s a dangerous man, what if something goes wrong?”
“It won’t. But I’ll take Denny along just in case.”
“Promise.” She looked back up at him.
“I promise, now let’s try and get some sleep.”
Jack Darrow lay flat on his stomach, the knife sticking out of his back like a flagpole. Red blood was still pouring from his wounds, slowly draining the life force out of his body. The demon knelt down beside him wishing he could kill him himself, but he still had need for him. Instead he placed a hooked claw on Darrow’s injuries, there was a flash of red light and the blood began to coagulate, stopping the bleeding at once. Darrow’s flesh melded back together, pushing the blade out as it did so. It clattered on the floor.
Wake up Jack. You still have work to do.
FIFTY
Abby wasn’t thinking clearly, the demon still had her panicked. She pulled on the elevator lever, it didn’t budge. What the hell is wrong with this thing? She tried again. No luck. She was sweating now. Had the demon broken it? Her mind was confused and her thoughts muggy. Work damn you, work.
“AAAGH! AAAGH! ABBEEEY!”
Jack’s scream brought her out of her thoughts as though she had been thunderstruck. How was that possible? She had killed him, buried a nine-inch knife in his back, watched him fall, the whole ball of wax. She heard him thumping down the stairs. She pulled the lever again. Damn you work! And then she saw him coming around the corner still limping but moving quickly apparently unaware of his injuries, like a junkie on angel dust. He commanded fear through his very appearance, covered in blood, eyes on fire with hatred, body heaving as he limped towards her.
Then it hit her. The gate, she had to manually close the gate, the elevator wouldn’t work with it wide open. Jack picked up his pace as he raced to the elevator.
“I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch!”
He was no more than ten yards from her now and closing fast. She reached out and grabbed the gate, pulling at it with all her might but from her seated position without leverage it closed slowly and with difficulty. It locked into place just as Jack arrived, slamming into it hard enough to bend the brass inward a good foot or so. He reached through the bars, writhing fingers stopping just a few inches from her face. Abby leaned forward and bit down, severing the skin on the tip of his right index finger. She spit the pulpy flesh from her mouth to the floor. Darrow howled in pain, his face contorted with rage making him appear grotesque, non-human.
“I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch!”
She stared up at him, intent on not showing the fear welling inside her.
“Yeah I heard you the first time. Watch your arm Jack, you’re liable to loose the rest of it.”
Abby pulled the lever and the elevator started downward. Darrow retracted his arm still screaming with fury. This time Abby welcomed the darkness below drifting into it as the light from up above faded into obscurity.
She rolled herself as quickly as possible, more familiar with the twisting passages than she was before. She entered the boiler room and was relieved to see that the pickaxe rested in its usual place, propped up in the corner. She rolled over and picked it up. It was heavier than she expected and she was unsure if she would be able to swing it. Mustering her strength, she hoisted it above her head in a trial run. She could do it. She might not win any lumberjack competitions but she could do it. She laid the axe across her legs and rolled to the dreaded wall that had haunted her dreams for so long. If she was wrong she was as good as dead. She heard the elevator click to life, she expected as much, fully aware that the demon could and would send it back up. There was precious little time to waste. Jack was on his way.
The first strike vibrated her hands so badly that she thought she would drop the axe. It rebounded off the bricks with enough force that she closed her eyes, bracing for it to strike her in the head. She was more prepared for the following strikes and she wielded the axe as deftly as she could. Each chinking sound rang in her ears and bits of brick and mortar stung her skin and burned her eyes. She heard the elevator stop briefly then start up again. Glancing at the wall and evaluating her progress made her heart sink, she had barely made a dent in the bricks, and Jack was only minutes away.
Abby redoubled her efforts lashing out repeatedly with everything she had. She became faint, the exertion and strain pushing her to the brink of exhaustion, her arms burned with lactic acid and stars danced in her peripheral vision. She fought the urge to vomit. Whether she lived or died this is how she’d go out, swinging and fighting, and puking up bile if needed. Slowly the bricks began to give way. The first two toppled out onto the other side of the wall echoing sharply, too sharply. Dread began to creep into her mind; there was another wall directly behind this one. The bricks began to loosen quickly now, the structural integrity of the wall compromised by its missing pieces, they began to fall three at a time, then four, until she was staring at the wall underneath. She pushed the loose bricks in front of her out of the way with the blade of the axe and then laid it on the stone floor beside her. She gazed up in awe at the glorious wall in front of her.
It was an ornate structure of magnificent design, fit for a Pharaoh’s tomb. The stonework alone was breathtaking. Intricate carvings adorned every inch of the granite surface depicting scenes from the most significant bible passages and events in history. The crusades, the casting into hell of Lucifer, the black death, the holocaust, the last supper, they were all here and more. The artistry alone was superb. She wondered who the artist was and how long it had taken him to construct this masterpiece, but she didn’t have the time to admire it now, she had a theory to test, a theory that if wrong would surely prove fatal. What she was looking for was easy to spot, four bracketed fixtures jutted out from the stone, comprised of what appeared to be sterling silver. Each one held an unlit cedar torch covered at the top with dried pitch. Beneath each torch a figure was carved into the stone.
Jack’s boots were echoing down the hall, she strained her ears trying to gauge how much time she had, twenty seconds maybe thirty.
Abby studied the carvings scrupulously. The first was of a lion standing on its back legs, rearing up as if to strike. The second was of a calf lying on its side on an altar about to be sacrificed. The third was a man, kneeling and bowing his head to the ground in a humbling gesture. And the fourth was an eagle spreading its wings wide as if to take off in flight. These figures had been churning inside Abby’s head ever since she read the revelations passage corresponding to the date. April seventh.
“The first creature was like a lion, and the second creature like a calf, and the third creature had the face of a man, and the fourth was like a flying eagle.”
Porter’s journal entry gave her the final piece of the puzzle.
“On this date the demon was given new life and it is within these numbers in which he shall be laid to rest. Behind the second beast lies the passage in which all shall be revealed.”
It was an easy riddle, almost too easy. Abby clenched her teeth and reached upward, until her hand clasped tight on the torch above the second beast, the calf about to be slaughtered, how ironic she thought. With a powerful tug she yanked down on the torch. The springs beneath the carving gave way and the torch dipped about four inches, Abby released it and waited.
Nothing happened.
A wave of panic overtook her. How the hell could she be wrong? It was all so simple. And then a thought occurred to her. The bible was originally written in Hebrew, and Hebrew read from right to left. She stared at the carving of man, the humble man with his head bowed as though shamed by some great sin.
&
nbsp; It all made sense now. Talcott was a man of great vision, misguided perhaps, but still a man of foresight. Entry would be gained through the path of man. She reached up and pulled the torch underneath the kneeling figure, closed her eyes and waited. A moment passed and Abby’s anxiety began to well up inside of her once again. Then the sound of stone grating against stone filled the room as the wall in front of her began to move inward. It slid on metal tracks carved deep into the granite a century ago and came to a gentle rest about five feet inward. Abby wasted no time and rolled her chair into the waiting chamber, making sure to take the torch with her. The wall closed by itself, sealing her within.
Inside the sight was both awe inspiring and terrifying. In the center of the room lying motionless on top of a large funeral pyre of logs and sticks, was the body of the demon. Abby would have recognized it anywhere. It appeared exactly as the spiritual demon did on the two occasions she had the displeasure of meeting it face to face, its sinewy form stretching out over seven feet in a mass of black rotten tissue. Abby glanced around the room and tried to stifle a gasp that escaped from her lips. Seated Indian style behind a wall of fire was Brenda. The flames of the fire flickered and danced like that of normal flames but they emitted a strange translucent glow, almost blue in appearance. The little girl looked up at her with matching surprise.
“Abby, I knew you’d come! I just knew it.”
Abby spoke to her friend through her thoughts, the way Brenda had taught her to do.
Brenda, are you okay?
“I’m fine Abby, but you’ve got to hurry. Jack is coming, I can see his thoughts and they’re not good.”
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