“Outside, there’s a trail that loops around the pond. Once I leave, you’ll need to gather your strength, get up and walk that trail. On the opposite side of this cabin, you’ll find another trail branching off deep into the woods. Take that trail and keep on that trail for, oh, I don’t know, maybe a mile, mile and a quarter. The trail ends at a cliff. Not very high, maybe forty feet. Just high enough that your momentum will kill you when you slam into the rocks at the bottom of that cliff.”
“What are you talking about, you sick fuck? Just, just, please, just let my family go.”
“You’ll never find a way to live with all this. Losing your three kids and your wife right before your eyes? That’s impossible for any man to live with. And I want you to kill yourself. Doing so means that I will own something of yours, something that, since you killed yourself, doesn’t mean much to you. However, if you choose not to kill yourself and instead decide that you are going to tough it out, then I still win, though not in the same way. If you don’t kill yourself, I win because every day you stay alive, you will see the faces of your three kids and your wife as they died horrible deaths. And each time you see their faces, you’ll see my face. You’ll hate me more and more every fucking day you stay alive. Your staying alive makes me immortal. Immortal, at least, as far as you are concerned.”
The father screamed.
<<<<>>>>
“And so you arrive.”
The light coming from no more than forty feet above where he stood, though filtered and muted, was more brilliant than what Phillip had had to deal with since his arrival. The water was much clearer here, the murkiness was now a distant and remorseful memory.
He was not what Phillip expected. He was too thin, much too frail and lacked any visible vitality or strength. It seemed to be a tremendous effort for him to prop himself up onto one elbow. Holding himself in that position seemed to be as much of a struggle as establishing it. His legs were twisted disasters and his arms, one much longer than the other, appeared to have been the victims of centuries of distorting torture. His eyes, however, we sharp and focused. Around those eyes was slack skin, wrinkled and pruned, grayish almost blue in pallor. His lips had been bleached to an even paler shade of death and stood out, both in their fullness and their look of ancient death.
“Not on your own bidding, I can see.”
Phillip couldn’t decide what was the root cause of his shock. Was it the completely unexpected condition that he found him in or was it his calm, knowing demeanor? Phillip strengthened his grip on the package Henry had given him to deliver.
“You’ve brought me a gift, I see. Are you waiting for something before giving it to me, or are you frozen with doubts and find yourself unable to toss it my way? I can see your grip has increased its hold so I am prone to believe you are waiting for the former and not the latter. Very well then, tell me what you are waiting for me to do and I will do my best to deliver on your expectations.”
Phillip was frozen with doubts, fears and found himself unable to either respond or to present the package.
“You were expecting something else? I suppose I can’t fault you for your ignorance. You haven’t been here long enough to understand where exactly you are.”
“I know I’m in the ocean,” Phillip blurted.
”You can speak. Excellent,” the twisted, ancient one said. “And you are correct, this is the ocean but far from the ocean you remember when you were of a different form. This ocean never kisses any land. There are no islands, no tropical paradises and this ocean is much deeper than it is wide. More like a salty well, narrowly carving its way through nothingness.”
“You are the one cast down to rule this world.”
“That is what I’ve been told,” the ancient one said. “And since I am closer to the surface than any others, present company excluded of course, it seems that I am at the top of this world which indicates a certain dominance. But ruler? That demands a liberal definition of the title.”
Henry paused a beat, then said, “How did you know someone sent me? How did you know I was coming?”
“You are very new, aren’t you? Tell me, how did your initiation go? Was it very painful? Did it take more of what the others call ‘rounds?’ ”
“It was horrible.” Phillip caught himself, then closed his mouth. He didn’t want to engage the ancient one in conversation, for he suspected the ancient one would twist his mind and send him to a place of horrible pain much worse than what he had already experienced.
“Nervous about speaking with me? I understand. My reputation has been exaggerated through all of history. Feel free to toss that gift you brought for me whenever you wish. I know what is beneath those wrappings. But, I know delivering the gift is at the core of your mission, so, it might expedite our meeting if you give it to me.”
Phillip clutched the package as tightly as he could, causing his wrinkled knuckles to protrude through his thinly stretched skin. He jerked his arm an inch or two, then stayed its motion.
“Not ready yet? Fair enough. Would you like to understand where you are and who I am?”
“Shut up!” Phillip snapped, then raised the package over his head and prepared to throw it.
“You should remove the wrappings first,” the ancient one said. “If not, you won’t be able to see what it is that your sender believes would kill me.”
“He told me not to look at it,” Phillip said as he pulled the gift lower then ripped off the wrappings with his other hand. When the wrappings were off, Phillip felt the cold smoothness of the gift. As he adjusted his grip, he knew what he was holding. He threw it at the ancient one as if it was made of acid and was burning his hand. It landed on the sandy bottom, kicking up a storm of sand that settled seconds later.
“Do you know what you just gave me? Look at it.” His voice was low and calm, measured and precise.
<<<<>>>>
Henry was more disappointed than he was angry. His agent’s information was perfect and Henry easily found where Stacy Flannigan was being held. But there were too many of her captors around her and far too many others that would certainly prevent him from settling his score with Stacy.
He had the foresight to bring a pad of paper and a pen with him when he left the hunting cabin. He retrieved both and began to write a short note.
Stacy Flannigan, I am sorry to tell you that your brother’s family has been killed. All of them, one at a time, their deaths were soundtracked by horrific screams. As for your brother, I can only speculate at this time whether or not he will survive, or will soon be launching himself off from a great height.
I wish I could have delivered this note to you myself but your situation prevents that. I’m sure you’ve provided an accurate description of me. If I were a paranoid person, I would certainly be in hiding and would never show my face so close to where those with whom you shared my description are. But I am so very close to you as I write this note. So very, very close.
I understand human behavior to a much greater degree than you could possibly imagine, and I know that the men and woman milling about this holding area of yours will be keeping a sharp eye out for me. But I also know that their vision will be focused in the distance. That is why you are reading this note and I am off to see what favors I can do for the senders you worked with very recently. I will simply walk into the building you are in, hand this note to one of those actively searching for me, insist on the note’s confidential nature, then return to my car and drive off.
My work is nearing its completion so this may be my final goodbye. If so, know that whatever your captors and judges may do to you, it will be far more enjoyable than what my plans included.
Henry Winchester
After returning to his car, having handed over the note to a uniformed officer standing in the lobby of the FBI office building, Henry pulled on to the street, and headed southeast.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Unlike Jen, once Mac ended his watch, he fell fast asleep. He was slee
ping so deeply and soundly that when her watch was over, Jen chose to let him continue his sleep. “I’ll keep the watch,” she said, quietly enough not wake him but loudly enough for Mac to hear if he wasn’t sleeping as deeply as Jen suspected he was.
He didn’t even stir.
As Mac slept, Jen walked around the area. The pond was still partially frozen but large fissures revealing black water were spreading across the surface. She backed away a few steps from the pond’s shore when the thought occurred to her that Henry’s attack may be launched from the pond. She scanned the surface, but with only the light of a waxing half moon to illuminate the area, she couldn’t see anything that might cause her greater concern or to diminish the concerns she already had.
She backed further away from the pond, then turned and started towards the wide expanse where the surrounding trees gave way to an old logging road. The road hadn’t been used in decades according to the information Mac shared with her while the two made the three hour drive from Binghamton. Still, despite the small shrubs that found footing in the hard, packed remnants of the road, it was easy for anyone to tell that there was a road there, well used long ago.
Jen followed the road—which ended in the same clearing where their fire was still pushing out heat and where Mac was now snoring—up a gradual hill. Once on top of the hill, she scanned the area, hoping that the tactical part of her brain would reveal to her some potential points of vulnerability. Her tactical brain failed her. “Mac said that we should take the higher ground,” she said loud enough to give her some comfort. “Yet, there he is, asleep at the bottom of this hill.”
A frigid breeze swirled around her, lifted her hair and blew it in random patterns of disarray. She spun around, expecting to see someone, anyone, approaching from behind. But there was no one there. The foul smelling breeze turned colder as it increased its spin. It concentrated entirely around her body and moved with her as she broke into a run down the hill towards Mac and the warmth of the fire. A few moments later, the wind grew colder, and she felt it as her muscles stiffened from the frigid cold. Her breaths created a flash of fog in front of her face before the breeze, which had become more of a strong wind, whisked her breath signs away and scattered them across the area.
Unable to run further because of her seized muscles, Jen drew a deep breath, preparing to scream for Mac’s help. But as she drew in the acrid air, her throat was locked, her scream torn and pulverized into shreds before she could make a single sound.
It was evil around her, she could feel the gelid wind’s hatred and hopelessness as it bathed her in its filth. Emotions swelled up in her and she finally burst into a cry so filled with sorrow it deepened her feeling of despair. She was falling into a desperate and pitiful depth of emotions, each swirl of the air pushing her down further, clawing at her mind. Tearing at her soul.
As she felt herself surrendering to the massive grief, a pair of hands grasped her arms, tightly gripping, then wrenching her back, out of the evil whirlwind. She fell back on the ground, tears and sobs pouring out of her. The cold wind was gone, so too was the smell of decay, death and immense depression. Jen realized where she was and how quickly her sorrow evaporated. Though the pangs of her brief and all-encompassing sadness left a fresh and sensitive scar on her soul, she knew it had passed. Her sorrow was quickly replaced with fear, and an uneasy feeling that permeated every cell in her body.
As she rolled to her side and tried to stand near the fire on her quivering legs, she felt the hands on her again. This time, the hands were not on her arms and were not pulling her free from the arctic and indifferent vortex, but instead, one of the hands was on her breast and the other was clamping down on her groin.
“Mac,” she said, “what are you doing? Get your hands off me.”
But the voice she heard respond to her command did not belong to Mac.
<<<<>>>>
Jen squirmed her body away from the hands, kicking at the person crouching before her and moving away. “Get away from me,” she growled.
“How fitting,” her molester said. “Here you are, being dragged down to the depths of Hell and there he is, sleeping like he hasn’t a care in the world. He’d rather sleep than share in your determined watch.” Her molester reached out his hand towards her. Jen pushed it away. “You get away from me, you disgusting filth,” Jen snapped.
“You forget that I know your feelings now. Your wants, your deepest, darkest desires. I know you want to be touched by a man. To be taken by a man enraged with passion for you. I’m only trying to do you a favor.”
Jen scrambled further away then got to her feet. Her clothes were now wet from the snow that had melted from the heat of the nearby fire. She yelled at Mac, “Wake up. Help me,” but when she turned back to face her attacker, there was no one there.
Mac shot up, demanded his body to get to a state of battle readiness. “Jen,” he called, “where is he? What happened?”
Jen spun around, searching for her attacker. Seeing nothing, she ran to Mac’s side. “He came. He touched me.” Her tears started again.
<<<<>>>>
Mac threw several logs and branches onto the fire as Jen sat on the tree stump, covered with a heavy blanket. As she rocked slowly back and forth, Mac took the gun from her coat pocket and proceeded to survey the surrounding area. Always keeping an eye on Jen, Mac walked to the pond, looking to see if the ice still covering most of the surface had been disturbed. Seeing nothing, he jogged around the cleared out area, up the hill, back down then returned to Jen’s side. “No one’s here,” he said. “Whoever it was that attacked you, left.”
Jen lifted her head, stopped her gentle rocking motion, and said, “We both know who it was.”
“We do. Henry. And I think I know what his attack strategy is.”
“You can’t leave me alone, Mac,” Jen said. “You have to stay with me. And I have to stay with you. We can’t leave each other alone.”
Mac said, “Jen, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stay awake. I couldn’t even wake up when I first heard you talking to him.”
“You heard me and you didn’t do anything?”
“Jen, I couldn’t. It was like I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t wake myself up. It wasn’t until you screamed my name that I was able to do anything. I’m so sorry. I won’t leave your side again.”
Jen looked deeply into Mac’s eyes and saw his sorrow was real. She took a deep breath, let it out in an exaggerated sigh, and said, “Okay. I know you didn’t mean to leave me all alone with that, that thing. Promise me you won’t fall asleep again till this is over.”
“I promise you. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m on guard till Henry is sent back.”
When he felt she was calm enough, Mac asked Jen to tell him everything that happened. She told him about standing at the top of the hill and wondering why Mac had chosen to build camp well below the higher ground. She told him how it felt when the swirling wind surrounded her, how deeply her sadness grew and how she had wished for death right before Henry pulled her away from the whirlwind. She told Mac about Henry touching her but she did not tell him what he said when she told Henry to stop touching her.
“He must be separate from whatever that circling wind is. Like it is a spirit that he commands and it does his bidding.”
“It almost tore me apart. Emotionally, that is. If he hadn’t pulled me free, I know I would either be dead or would be finding a way to end my life right now.”
“Are those feelings completely gone now?” Mac asked.
“The memory isn’t.”
“Jen,” Mac said, his voice too serious for Jen’s comfort, “when you were feeling that way, while you were inside that spirit, did you wish that someone, me, would get you out?”
“You’re asking if Henry did me a favor by getting me out and if I wanted someone to do me that favor, aren’t you?”
“I just don’t want…”
“I don’t remember wishing for anything,” Jen said, s
topping Mac mid-sentence. “I only wanted to die. To be erased from the world. To have never been born. But no, I wasn’t asking for any favors.”
Mac stood quickly, held the gun in front of him and moved quickly towards the bottom of the hill. Jen jumped to her feet and raced to his side. “What? What did you see?”
“I heard something. Like a voice, calling to me. I couldn’t make out what it said, but I think it was calling my name.”
The two heard no other sounds or voices and beyond seeing a rabbit racing for its hole, they saw nothing. They moved back towards the comfort of the fire, their senses on the highest level of alertness.
The sun was beginning to rise, spreading its shadow destroying light across the earth. With it, the sun brought a sense of relief, of extending calmness to Mac and Jen. They both sat near the fire, but not so close that its offered light prevented them from seeing the entire area around them.
“Sun will be up soon. I don’t think he’ll be back till dark,” Mac said.
“You were saying something about understanding his strategy. Tell me.”
“He wants to divide us, get us to give up on each other. He wants to battle us separately. That’s why, like you already said, we can’t leave each other’s side. Not even for a minute. We have to stay awake, no matter what.”
“What about the higher ground you said was so important? Why are we down here?”
“That plan won’t work anymore,” Mac said. “I was thinking that one of us would stay out of sight up on the hill while the other sat by the fire with their back to the pond. I figured he would come from the pond and try to attack from behind.”
“You were planning on being the one on the hill and having me as the bait, weren’t you?”
“Actually, no,” Mac replied. “If I had to take on two people, I’d want to take out the stronger one first. I figured that if Henry saw me sitting alone with my back to him, he’d sneak up behind me and attack me. I didn’t see it with my own eyes, but since you killed two demons already with this gun,” he waggled the semi, “you must be a pretty good shot.”
The Demon Senders Page 23