The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5)

by Michael Richan

  Alright, Deem replied, preparing to tell Marion about Dayton, Blackham Mansion, and how she wound up in the soul cage.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Winn raised the hammer, ready to bring it down on the mechanism. He stopped himself, looking at the spinning gears below him. The device was sitting on the bricks of the fireplace in Carma’s backyard, quietly humming. He remembered Daniel telling him it was priceless, or damn near…and here he was, no home, no clothes, nothing left to his name. He could sell it and have enough cash to survive, maybe even live well. He lowered the hammer a little.

  There’s a reason Deem’s telling me to destroy it, he thought. Each of her messages has saved a life. There’s no reason to think this message isn’t intended to do the same. I have to.

  He brought his arm back up, and felt it pull back. The surprise caused him to release his grip on the hammer’s handle, and for a moment he thought he’d dropped it.

  He turned and saw Carma standing behind him, the hammer in hand.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” she shrieked, her head shaking in exasperation.

  “Deem said to destroy it,” Winn replied. “I received another message.”

  “Lyman still needs that device to finish the last step of things!” she replied. “I can’t let you destroy it!” She walked to the brick shelf and lifted the mechanism, cradling it protectively in her arms. “Not to mentioned it’s Deem’s. It belongs to her family!”

  “The first message saved my life,” Winn said. “The second saved David’s. This one must be meant to save Deem’s.”

  “Lyman wouldn’t allow Deem to be hurt,” Carma replied. “You must have more faith in him.”

  “How can I? He keeps too many secrets; he doesn’t tell me what’s going on. For all I know, Deem is being sacrificed for his grand plan, and it’s something he intends to fill me in on after it’s done. He meddles with dark, evil shit, Carma. I really don’t know which side he’s on.”

  Carma juggled the hammer and the mechanism in her arms until she could free her right hand, and brought it quickly through the air, slapping Winn’s face. “I won’t allow you to speak about him that way!”

  Winn could feel the heat rising in his cheek where she’d hit him, and he might have become angry in response if Carma’s agitation wasn’t distracting him. She was recoiling in horror, looking at her hand as though it had betrayed her, trying to hold onto the hammer and the mechanism with the other arm, pressing them tightly against her body. She looked up at him, and he was sure she was about to apologize when Winn’s phone rang.

  He fished it out of his pocket and saw that it was David. “Hello?” he answered, turning away from Carma.

  “You’ve got to get here now!” David said. “The wives just hauled a little girl kicking and screaming into the inn!”

  “Don’t do anything until I get there,” Winn replied, hanging up and shoving the phone back into his pants.

  “What?” Carma asked.

  “David needs help,” he said, turning to leave. “But when I come back, that device is going to be busted up, one way or another.”

  Carma raised her head defiantly as Winn left the room.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  David was standing outside his car when Winn approached. Winn slowed and parked behind David, who ran up and jumped inside.

  “What’s going on?” Winn asked.

  “One of the wives hauled a little girl in there,” David said anxiously. “She was kicking, trying to get away, but the woman had her hand over her mouth and just man-handled her into the inn.”

  “No one saw?” Winn asked.

  “Didn’t see anyone on the street,” David replied. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen anyone go in or out of the inn in the last hour. Before that, people would come and go routinely. Now, nothing.”

  Winn reached for the glove compartment. He removed a gun and a knife.

  “You prepared to use this?” he asked, handing the knife to David.

  “You’re going to shoot someone?” David asked, watching as Winn pocketed the pistol.

  “These are bad people,” Winn replied. “Depends on what happens. You need to be ready to act if it comes to it.”

  “I’ve never killed anyone,” David said.

  “If you don’t think you can defend yourself, you might want to wait here,” Winn replied. “Although I could use the backup.”

  Winn saw David’s face steel as he came to terms with their situation. “No, I’m coming with you.”

  “Good,” Winn said, feeling a sense of appreciation as he opened the car door and stepped out. The two walked toward the inn, crossing the wide street, avoiding the deep gutters. As they got closer Winn could feel the pressure on his skin change; things felt heavier, as though the air itself was pressing down on him. For a moment he wanted to turn around and leave, but he continued on.

  “What is that?” David asked.

  “You feel it too?” Winn replied.

  “It’s giving me a headache,” David said.

  “Might explain why no one is around,” Winn replied.

  “You think it’s coming from them?”

  Winn walked up the cement sidewalk to the front of the inn, an old, nineteenth century building that had been remodeled into a bed and breakfast. “We’ll find out,” he said, reaching for the door. It opened, and they saw the entryway lined with antiques. A doorway to the right lead to a room filled with breakfast tables.

  Winn felt the pressure rise, and instead of trying to ignore it, he felt himself slipping into the River, pushing back on it. The entryway darkened considerably as he entered the flow, but he felt the pressure subside, and within seconds he felt normal. He left the River and turned to David, whispering.

  “Jump in and push back on the pressure. See if it shifts for you.”

  He waited while David paused, entering the River and following Winn’s instructions. When he returned, David smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said. “Worked. But did you see this place? Something’s wrong here.”

  “They’ve deliberately driven people away,” Winn said. “They’re up to something they don’t want others to see.”

  They walked down the hallway until a door came into view. On it was a sign, carefully hand-lettered with the name “Matilda.”

  “They named the rooms after the wives?” David asked.

  “Seven Wives Inn,” Winn replied. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  David reached for the handle, the knife at the ready in his left, and pushed the door open. Inside was a large bed, but otherwise the room was empty.

  They turned to their left as the hallway continued. A common room appeared, paneled in wood with stately sitting chairs and a large fireplace that was clean. Pictures covered the walls, and antique touches were everywhere — lamps, sofas, end tables.

  At the end of the hallway was an open door with the name “Joanna” on the door’s sign, and to their right was a staircase leading up to the second floor.

  Winn paused to jump into the River. Things were even darker here, but the darkest part in his field of vision was the staircase.

  “Look at this!” David whispered, staring into the Joanna room. Winn joined him, and through the open door he could see a gigantic bathroom, where a full-sized Model T Ford rested. Its interior had been transformed into a Jacuzzi tub. “Wow!” David said, walking around it.

  “I think what we’re after is upstairs,” Winn said quietly. “It’s the darkest in the flow. If they’re trying to conceal something, that’s where they’ll be.”

  They left the Joanna room and began walking up the stairs, feeling the old wood creak under them as they ascended. At the top were more rooms. Winn paused again to enter the River, and sensed David joining him. It was clear which room was the darkest.

  There, David said, pointing. Last door on the left.

  They left the flow and walked carefully, quietly, hoping not to give themselves away. As they passed each of the other doors they saw
the names: “Sarah.” “Lydia.” “Elizabeth.”

  Winn could feel the air density increase as they approach their target; whatever had driven the normal people from the inn was definitely emanating from this room, marked “Hannah.” The door was slightly ajar. They’re so confident, Winn thought, they didn’t even feel the need to close the door. Through the thin crack he could see movement. He pulled the gun from his pocket.

  “You ready?” he whispered to David.

  “Yeah,” David muttered back, but Winn could tell David was nervous and not entirely sure of himself. David was brandishing the knife, but it shook a little.

  Winn pushed the door open and was met with an image he’d spend years trying to erase from his mind.

  The girl’s legs were tied to the posts of the bed, and each of her arms were being held by one of The Fist’s wives, positioned on either side of the mattress. Standing at the base of the bed with his back to them was the man in black, The Fist of God, positioned between the girl’s legs. The Fist was pulling at the girl’s pants, trying to lower them, and the wives were watching rapturously, not even aware that people had entered the room.

  Winn took a step forward, and it was enough to cause The Fist to stop. He turned slowly to face them.

  This is not the man we saw before, Winn thought. The man they’d seen at the hardware store had a gaunt, middle-aged face, projecting strength and determination. The face he saw standing in front of him now was wrinkled and thin, with skin that looked like paper, and a frailty that seemed the exact opposite of the man they’d witnessed at the dumpster.

  Winn lowered his shoulder and rushed the man. It was like hitting a sack of pillows; there was no resistance, and the man sailed across the room, hitting the wall and sliding down, his Stetson flying. Only then did Winn notice that the man’s pants were open, his genitals exposed. They, too, looked wrinkled and frail.

  Winn saw the movement to his side, and he turned, raising the gun. The large, sturdy woman rushing him was six inches from his pistol when he pulled the trigger, sending a bullet directly into her forehead. A spray of red emerged from the back of her head, launching a fine mist through the air until it quickly hit the walls.

  Then he felt himself going down, trying to turn to see what had hit him. It was the other wife, now on top of him, reaching for his neck. Within seconds she had wrapped her cold fingers around him, and Winn found it impossible to breathe. His claustrophobia rose immediately, replaced quickly by pain in his throat as she attempted to crush his larynx. He reached up to try and dislodge her, but she had him beat by a good hundred pounds and was holding him down easily. Her face was twisted with anger.

  I’m going to die! Winn thought, sensing darkness at his peripheral vision that was creeping slowly toward the center of his sight, a motion of black and red that was taking over everything. He tried twisting his neck, but she held it firm, giving him a shake in response. Winn felt the back of his head hit the floorboards.

  Then, suddenly, the pressure gave way, and the darkness in his vision pulled back, his eyesight returning to normal. He reach up to the woman’s hands and tugged at them; this time they released, and he sucked in a huge lungful of air.

  The woman’s face was still twisted and contorted, but now Winn saw the silver tip of the blade, sticking an inch out of her mouth. He felt her weight leave him as David pushed her body to the side and reached to help him up.

  “You OK?” David asked.

  Winn got to his feet, rubbing at his neck to feel for permanent damage. He looked down at the wife. David had inserted the knife at the back of her skull, driving it all the way through her head to where it had emerged from her mouth. Blood had begun to pour from the wound, pooling under her.

  “You help the girl,” Winn said weakly, the air he forced through his throat hurting with each word. “I’ll take him.” He turned to the lump of man resting against the wall.

  The limp figure seemed completely spent, unable to muster enough energy to raise his head. Being tossed across the room appeared to be enough to completely shut down the old man.

  “You’re The Fist of God?” Winn asked.

  “Yes,” came the soft creak from the man, barely audible.

  “Your wives are dead,” Winn replied. “Who hired you?”

  The man muttered something unintelligible.

  “What?” Winn asked. “Speak up.”

  Again, the words the man spoke weren’t understandable. He was too weak to voice them beyond a whisper.

  He saw the man’s face slowly roll up to look at him, seeming to exert the last of his energy to perform the move. His face was little more than a set of eyes resting inside a skull. The man’s hand raised and moved slightly, beckoning Winn closer.

  Winn could hear David behind him, consoling the little girl he’d released from the bed, telling her she would be alright. The girl’s sobs were subsiding, but the room wasn’t quiet enough for Winn to hear the man’s words. He leaned down a little.

  The man repeated what he was saying. “I am The Fist of God,” he heard, the words escaping like a death rattle. “And vengeance is mine.”

  At first the thin, hot sensation didn’t make sense to Winn. He saw the handle in the man’s hand, and the skin of the man’s thin, translucent lips, stretched tightly over his bony mouth, twisted gently into a smile.

  Winn reached down to his side and felt the warmth of blood.

  Attached to the handle in the man’s hand was the thinnest blade he’d ever seen; almost like a stiffened piece of thread. He stepped back as the man raised it for a second strike, missing Winn entirely, but showing Winn exactly how he’d been attacked.

  Winn pointed his gun. “You were going to rape this little girl,” he said, aiming the pistol at The Fist’s head.

  “Rape and then kill,” he replied, his voice louder, the frailty gone.

  Winn pulled the trigger, and the man’s head disintegrated; pieces of bone scattering along the wall behind, while others fell forward into the man’s lap. His body immediately slumped to the side.

  “We need to get her out of here,” David said.

  Winn turned to him. “And I need a hospital,” he replied, showing David his bloodied hand. He saw the look of concern pass over David’s face as he realized Winn had been stabbed.

  “Can you walk?” David asked.

  “You help her,” Winn said. “Get her out of here, and call the cops.”

  Winn watched as David escorted the girl from the room. He followed, attempting a step on his own, and realized he wasn’t going to get very far. His legs buckled as he neared the door, landing on the table next to it, sending stacks of paper that had been resting on it to the floor. Then he felt himself crumbling, his body hitting the ground. Sleepiness washed over him; his body wanted to shut down. As he wondered if The Fist’s blade had been poisoned, his eyes settled on one of the papers that had been dislodged from the desk. It was filled with symbols.

  I know those marks, he thought. That’s the message telling me to get out of the trailer. It’s the message that…

  And his mind shut down.

  Chapter Fourteen

  His legs were moving, but he didn’t know how. Back and forth, back and forth…sometimes dragging a little. There was a pain in his armpit, and he realized it was a shoulder, holding him up.

  Sunlight pierced his eyelids and he tried to make sense of the images around him. A street, a sidewalk. A car. David’s car.

  He was going inside it, falling into the back seat, and hands were at his pants, reaching for something. A jangle…his keys. It was David, taking his car keys.

  He felt unconsciousness pass over him again, and he let it take him away from the blurred sights and sounds. Then, again, the pain in his armpit. Cooler now, not as hot, not as sunny. Crunching gravel. House approaching — Carma’s house. David was taking him inside.

  He could hear Carma’s fussing, questions and answers between her and David, Carma directing David to place him on the
sofa in the sitting room. Then, hot liquid at his lips, which he rejected, sending water flying back at Carma, who simply ignored his protest and pressed the lip of a mug to his mouth again, insisting that he drink.

  He allowed the tea into his system, wondering what kind of fucked up medicine Carma was pouring into him this time, knowing he had little strength to stop her. After several gulps, he could feel the liquid radiating from his throat, and once again consciousness left him.

  When he opened his eyes, he was still on the couch. He expected cobwebs and fuzziness, but all that had left. He sat up, surprised he could do it.

  “Whoa!” he heard from David, behind him. Carma was suddenly at his side.

  “You feeling better?” she asked.

  Winn tried to mentally inventory his body. He reached down to his side, searching for a bandage where he’d been stabbed. There was no bandage, and no blood.

  “He stuck me with something,” Winn said, looking down.

  “Yes,” Carma replied. “It’s healed over now.”

  “What was it?” Winn asked.

  “Impossible to know,” Carma replied. “I would have sent David back inside to grab the handle so we could figure that out, but the place is crawling with cops.”

  Winn turned his head. David was standing there, smiling at him.

  “What happened?” Winn asked.

  “You passed out,” David answered. “I carried you out of the inn and drove you here.”

  “The girl?”

  “She ran off while I was helping you. At that point I thought the best thing to do was to quickly get out of there. No one was around to see us come or go, so I took advantage of that.”

  “My Jeep?”

  “I moved it a block down the road before I drove you here.”

  Winn looked down at the spot where he’d felt blood earlier. “He shoved something long and thin into me.”

  “A needle,” Carma said. “Rarely fatal. They’re usually a delivery method.”

  “Delivery?” Winn said, standing up. He felt a little dizzy, but it soon passed.