Rockinghorse

by William W. Johnstone

23

  There was nothing any of them could do to block out the screaming of Karen. Whatever was taking place, was happening behind the fires that ringed the house. The lights blocked visibility from the house. But even the youngest among them knew what was being done to her.

  The men of the Brotherhood had raped her, taking turns with the woman. That had continued for more than an hour. Each time a man went to a door, the rocking horse would laugh, and they knew if they opened that door, they would die. They could just make out the darting shapes of men with guns, waiting in the darkness.

  Then the sounds of hammering came to the ears of those in the mansion.

  “They’re going to crucify her,” Nancy said. “We’ve got to do something.”

  Karen’s screams had subsided.

  “No way,” Kyle said, as much to himself as to those gathered. “There is no way I will allow that to happen.”

  “I’ll get my shotgun,” Lucas said, checking his .45. It was fully loaded, hammer down.

  “Mr. Cartier,” Harry said.

  “Just Kyle.”

  “All right. Kyle, then. I would like to help, but I don’t know how. I have never fired a gun in my life.”

  Before Kyle could speak, Jan said, “But I can.”

  Harry looked at her. “You can? Jan, we’ve married fifteen years. You’ve never said anything about guns.”

  She met his gaze. She straightened up, squaring her shoulders. “Truth time, Harry. I ran away from home when I was fourteen. Hit the road. I married . . . No! No more lies. I didn’t marry him. He was a truck driver. I stayed with him until the cops finally found me. I was sixteen. I don’t regret it, Harry. And I won’t apologize for it. He was not much more than a kid himself.” She shrugged. “Eighteen. Yeah, OK, what’s a nice Jewish girl doing hitting the road at fourteen? Especially one who, quote, unquote, had everything!” She exaggerated that. “Who knows? Anyway, Lukey was a gun freak. Must have had forty or fifty guns. I know. I fired every one of them. I can fire a rifle, shotgun, pistol, or machine gun.” She smiled at the startled look of Kyle. “Oh, yeah. Lukey had an old Thompson. Reloaded his own ammunition. So, Mr. State Trooper, sir, you just put a gun in Jan’s little hand. I’ll handle things in here.”

  It would have taken a dynamite charge to remove the grin from Harry’s face. “I am damn proud of you, Jan,” he said. “Just damn proud.”

  “Why truth time now, Jan?” Tracy asked.

  “The horse. When I touched it earlier, all the suppressed and repressed emotions came back. I tried to fight them away—like I have for years. This time it didn’t work. Then the horse tried to use the feelings against me. I fought them away, too. It all made me realize I’d been living a lie for years and I didn’t like the feeling.”

  Kyle had gone to his car earlier and returned with a very large trunk full of pistols and broken boxes of ammo. He opened the trunk and handed Jan a .22-caliber pistol.

  “Hell, man!” Jan said. “Give me something with a wallop to it. That .38 right there. No. The one with the six-inch barrel. Yeah, that one.”

  Kyle handed her a Colt Diamondback and a box of shells. He could tell by the way she handled the weapon she was rusty, but that she knew what she was doing. Expertly, she dropped the wheel and punched in the rounds.

  “I’m loading it full,” Jan said. “No point in keeping the hammer on an empty. I might need that round. Right, Kyle?”

  “Yeah, Jan. I’m sure you will before all this is over. Jan? Now the big question. Ever shot a human being?”

  “Boy,” she said, “you want the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, don’t you? Yeah. Once. We had pulled freight out to Las Cruces and were deadheading it back. Lukey pulled over to check his tires and get some rest. Some punks came out of the desert in stripped-down hot rods and dune buggies. They jumped Lukey; didn’t see me in the sleeper. I shot one right in the face with a .45 like the one Lucas has got. Just leaned out of the cab and shot him in the face from about six or seven feet. Blew half his head off. I got sick. But it passed.”

  Kyle looked at the woman. “You’ll do, Jan.”

  “Damn sure will!” Harry agreed, still grinning.

  The hammering had ceased.

  “Let’s go,” Kyle said to Lucas.

  “It’s too late for the woman,” Louisa said. “It was too late the moment they took her.”

  “Yes,” David said. “I’m receiving the same impressions.”

  Paul started giggling. They all looked at him, not understanding what he found so damned funny.

  Anne went to his side and put her arm around his shoulders. She glared defensively at the crowd.

  “Do we chance going out the ground-floor level?” Lucas asked. “I know it has outside doors.”

  “I agree,” Louisa said. “That level is filled with . . . well, unknown life. That’s the best way I know to describe it.”

  George put out his foot and stepped on a single maggot left on the floor. It popped under his shoe.

  Mimi’s stomach did a flip-flop as she recalled the slimy things in her hair.

  Paul Cameron started his giggling again. “Oh, God!” he said, between his silly giggling. “Now we have ha’nts in the basement.” His giggling changed to hysterical laughter.

  Harry walked to the man and slapped him across the face. Paul stiffened in his seat and his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

  “That will not be necessary,” Anne said stiffly. “I’ll take care of him. Paul is . . . well, not a very strong person.”

  David caught Louisa’s eyes and another silent signal passed between them.

  He’s weak! David projected his thoughts. We must watch him closely.

  Yes! Louisa returned the silent message.

  Jackie cut her eyes toward David, then toward Louisa. What’s happening here? she thought. I’m able to know what they are thinking.

  She listened.

  Another voice came to her. Randolph.

  “Listen to me, Jackie,” Randolph said. “The adults will be able to do much, but in the end, it will be up to the young people. You, Johnny, and the others. We—my friends—will help whenever possible; but there is really not that much we can do. Remember, it will be up to you young people.”

  The voice faded.

  She could not make him come back.

  Jackie looked up. David’s and Louisa’s eyes were on her.

  Did you both hear that? she projected.

  They nodded minutely.

  Jackie asked: How am I able to do these things? Hear and throw out thoughts, I mean?

  David thrust his reply: We are now in tune.

  Johnny jerked his head up. Now he was receiving. This is wild! he thrust.

  This time, when the men opened the side door of the darkened kitchen, the rocking horse did not laugh. The men left the veranda swiftly and silently, staying close to the porch for a moment, getting their bearings. They then used every bit of cover they could find as they made their way as close as possible to the woods’ edge.

  They made it to the shrubbery by the side of the old caretaker’s cottage and squatted there, catching their breath.

  “Jesus!” Lucas said. “That isn’t Karen nailed up there. That’s Lyda!”

  Light from the bonfires illuminated the grisly scene of torture and degradation.

  “Yeah,” Kyle whispered. “And you know what that means?”

  “They got Jim.”

  The stacked blonde from Rome, who enjoyed ghost stories and books and movies about the supernatural, was naked. Lucas and Kyle could see, even from that distance, the marks on her body. She had been horribly tortured. Her naked body was covered with blood. Her mouth was swollen badly, blood leaking out.

  Lucas fought to keep the hot bile from erupting from his belly. He willed the sickness back and said, “Now we know why she stopped screaming.”

  “Yeah,” Kyle said, swallowing hard. “They cut out her tongue.”

  There remained no more than a
spark of life in the woman. She had ceased to struggle. She had been brutally tortured, then nailed into place on a rough cross, the spikes driven into her feet, her sides, and her hands. The center pole of the cross was slick with blood, as was the ground beneath the woman. Both Kyle and Lucas knew there was nothing they could do for the woman.

  Except shoot her, putting her out of her misery.

  Just as Kyle was lifting his pistol, both men saw something, like a mist, rise out of the woman, hover over her for a moment, then disappear into the night air.

  “What the hell? . . .” Kyle whispered.

  “Her soul,” Lucas spoke gently. “She’s dead.”

  Kyle shuddered and mumbled something under his breath. Lucas could not make it out; he suspected it was a prayer.

  Kyle’s eyes probed the bonfire-lit darkness. “Look over there,” he said, pointing.

  A slender man with a beard was staked out on the ground. He was naked, his genitals cut off. The skin from his arms and legs had been peeled off. A stake had been driven through his stomach. He writhed weakly, moaned once, then lay still.

  “Jim,” Lucas said.

  Kyle spat on the ground. “Yeah. Come on. We got to find Karen.”

  The men stayed just inside the fringe of darkness not lighted by the many fires. They moved slowly, darting, then stopping. They could not spot Karen during their circling, so either she had been moved back into the timber or was in one of the guest cottages scattered throughout the estate grounds.

  Kyle spotted the man standing guard by the cottage furthest from the mansion. The man had a rifle in his hands, and his back was to Lucas and Kyle. Lucas saw the glint of faint light reflect off the blade of a knife Kyle pulled from a sheath on his belt.

  “I’ll take him out,” Kyle whispered. “Soon as I do, you go into the cottage. Heads up, now. There might be more men inside. You go in low and fast.”

  Then the Georgia State Trooper was gone, slipping into the darkness, heading for the side of the cottage.

  Lucas waited, only his eyes moving, searching the darkness for the enemy. Then he heard a low grunt of pain and the splash and smell of gushing blood. Lucas jumped to his feet, running toward the cottage door. His heart was pounding as he raced toward the unknown.

  * * *

  In the mansion, David and Mark and Nancy had asked permission to read some of the old manuscripts of Grandmother Bowers. The professors sat in the study, poring over the old pages.

  So far they had found nothing to tie the old woman with the Brotherhood. Nothing about the house, or the rocking horse.

  “This might be interesting,” Nancy said, holding up a thin hardbound journal. “It’s in the old woman’s handwriting, but it’s all in Latin.”

  “Readable?” Mark asked.

  “Yes. You’d better get Louisa and Tracy. I think they should hear this.”

  Tracy and Louisa hurried to the study. “What does it say?” Louisa asked.

  Nancy began reading, “ ‘I am approaching the end of my sixth and final life on earth. And still I have not accomplished all that I set out to do. I am running out of time. My sons from this life have turned against me, rejecting my offers, the offers from the Dark Master. My grandsons have bitterly disappointed me. One is a fool. Although I love him dearly, he is still a madman. I do not believe him capable of this awesome responsibility. Lucas was born with the Mark of Cain on him, but rejected the Dark Powers at an early age, due to the meddling of his father and mother. They will both pay for that interference. I am growing weaker daily, and there is nothing I can do about it. I was promised my Six, and the Master has kept his promises. All of them. But I am sorely perplexed as to what will happen when I join my Master forever. Who will take command of all that I have built and overseen these many years? I am weary. My Six Hundred and Sixty-Six will terminate soon. I am very concerned.’ ”

  “That’s all,” Nancy said, looking up from the journal. “There are no more entries in the journal.” She carefully went through several blank pages. “Wait! I was wrong. There is more. But it’s in English and not in the old woman’s hand.’ She looked at the untidy scrawling. ‘I must overcome the demons that rage inside of me. I must study and learn and face only one personality outward. All others must be kept hidden until it is time. The Brotherhood is rightfully mine, and I will someday claim it. I have carried out the revenge so ordered on my earth parents; now I must wait until it is time for my brother to die. On the night that I kill my brother, all that my Grandmother worked for will be mine, and I shall rule for my promised Six Hundred and Sixty-Six.’ It’s signed Ira.”

  “Lucas has got to see this,” Tracy said. She looked out toward the bonfire-lit night. “Come on, boys. Come on.”

  Louisa smiled and touched her arm. “They’ll make it, Tracy. Kyle can be tough as a boot when the going gets rough.”

  “At least we haven’t heard any gunfire,” Tracy said. “I guess that’s a good sign.”

  * * *

  Lucas stepped over the body of the guard and entered the dark cottage. Behind him, Kyle stripped the dead man of his M-16 and ammunition pouches, then followed Lucas inside.

  The muffled sounds of someone trying to speak around a gag reached the two men. They waited for their eyes to adjust to the near total darkness. “Over there!” Lucas said, pointing.

  The men freed Karen. Lucas stripped off his shirt and draped it around the naked woman’s shoulders. Even in the darkness, they could see where she had been beaten, the bruises standing out on her pale flesh.

  “Can you walk?” Kyle asked her.

  “Just don’t ask me to run,” she replied, her voice pain-filled. “The bastards sodomized me. Part of the ceremony, so I was told. Between shifts,” she added drily. “Then they were to give me to the Rejects in the woods.”

  “The Rejects?” Kyle asked. “Is that what you just said?”

  “They are poor pitiful creatures who live in the woods,” Karen said, buttoning the shirt over her naked breasts. “Much like the Bigfoot of the Northwest. But the Rejects refused to come to the Brotherhood’s call. They have never obeyed man-that’s according to legend. Their refusal to obey the Brotherhood seemed to infuriate the men.”

  “Good for the . . . beasts,” Kyle said. “Come on. We’ll continue this later. Right now, let’s get the hell out of here. We’ve been lucky, lucky so far.”

  Their luck ran out the next second.

  As they turned to leave, a man stepped into the doorway, a rifle in his hands. Lucas was the closest to the door and he did not hesitate. He lifted his shotgun and pulled the trigger. The sound was enormous in the small cottage, momentarily deafening the trio. The buckshot caught the man directly in the stomach. With the muzzle no more than ten to twelve feet away from the target, the shot did not have time to separate. The member of the Brotherhood caught the full load in the belly; it slammed him backward, blowing a hole in his stomach. Bits and pieces of the man were splattered all over the wall and ground behind him.

  For a moment after the shotgun blast, all was silent on the estate grounds. Then the sounds of yelling reached the trio.

  “Let’s go!” Kyle shouted. “Sorry, Karen, but you’re going to have to run. Do your best.”

  The trio made it to halfway between the mansion and the cottage before gunfire forced them to drop to the damp ground.

  “Stay down and low,” Kyle told Lucas and Karen. The M-16 was not a new model, and it still had full automatic capability. He slipped the selector switch to full auto and burned a clip at a knot of charging men, knocking several of them screaming to the ground. “Go!” he yelled to Lucas.

  Lucas grabbed Karen’s arm and jerked her to her feet. He pushed her toward the darkened veranda. Lucas banged his shin on the porch steps and almost lost his grip on the shotgun. He pushed Karen toward the door, then the door opened and Mark grabbed her, jerking the woman inside.

  Lifting his shotgun, Lucas shouted, “Now, Kyle—Go!”

  Lucas blasted
the night with the twelve-gauge, the recoiled pad pounding his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he hit anything other than night air and trees, but he sent the members of the Brotherhood yelling and running and diving for cover as the buckshot whistled over their heads. Then he heard one screaming, his voice hoarse and pain-filled.

  Kyle ran onto the porch and the men ducked into the darkened kitchen, both of them panting for breath.

  “I’m gut-shot!” the wounded man outside squalled. “Oh, God, it hurts. Oh, Momma, Momma. Somebody please help me.”

  “Die hard, you motherfucker!” Lucas heard the words come out of his mouth. He snarled them through clenched teeth.

  Lucas was startled at the hate-filled words. He looked at Kyle.

  Kyle grinned at him and clasped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club, buddy.”

  Lucas shook his head in disbelief. “Is this the initiation?”

  “Damn sure is, buddy. And you passed it with flying colors.”

  Tracy came to Lucas and put her arms around him, hugging him close. “You’re a lawyer, old man. Not a warrior.”

  “Tell me,” Lucas said drily. “But I sure am glad I spent those summers with Granddad, up in Vermont.”

  “Umm,” she said.

  “And when this is over, dear,” Lucas said.

  “Don’t tell me,” she said. “Let me guess. I’m enrolling in a gun class and learning something about firearms.”

  “Right.”

  “Some little voice tells me my formerly liberal husband has now changed into a hardline conservative,” she said, smiling against his chest.

  “You got that right,” Lucas said.

  “Republican Party, here we come,” she laughed.

  While Karen was being tended to by David, who, as it turned out, was a also a graduate M.D.—although he had never practiced—Lucas read the old journal handed him by Tracy.

  He could only shake his head as he read the hate-filled words, obviously written when his brother was no more than a boy, probably just after escaping from the mental institution. When Lucas finished the journal, he went in search of the others.

  Karen was in bed, resting with the help of a sedative given her by David Siekmann. Kyle was standing guard at the rear of the mansion; Jan in the foyer at the front. All inside doors leading to rooms not essential had been locked and barricaded from the inside. Paul had pitched in and helped, ripping out shelving from the storage rooms and pantry, nailing the 1 X 12’s over the now-locked doors.