Castle of Sorrows

by Jonathan Janz

  There has to be a passage.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Castillo said.

  “Be calm, Castillo,” Jessie said.

  “To hell with calm, I want out of this place.”

  “Agent Castillo,” Morton said.

  Ben continued to shine his light along the wall. He crouched, checked the area near the floor. Still nothing.

  “Tell you the truth,” Brooks said, “I sort of agree with Castillo on this one. This place ain’t right.”

  “It’s just a basement,” Jessie said, but there was a tightness in her voice that belied her words.

  Ben reached the next wall, the one containing the door through which they’d come. There had to be another way…

  There isn’t, a voice declared. So look somewhere else. You’ve got time.

  Bullshit! he thought, teeth grinding together. Julia’s been with the beast for a day already. No milk, no warmth—

  “Mr. Shadeland,” Morton said. “I think it’s best we return to the main level. There’s still the matter of the other party. We need to set parameters, insure everyone’s safety. We need to—”

  Ben rounded on him. “We need to get my daughter back.”

  Morton stared at him.

  “She’s on this island,” Ben growled. “The beast has her.”

  Morton’s eyes flitted toward Jessie, then came to rest on Ben again. “Mr. Shadeland, there’s no one on this island but us and the rest of Mr. Brooks’s party.”

  “Ain’t my party,” Brooks muttered.

  Ben moved closer to Morton. “Your people performed forensics on my house last night, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “Hey, Ben,” Brooks interrupted. “Why don’t we go upstairs and talk this over?”

  “Shut up,” Ben snapped. He turned to Morton. “What did the results say?”

  “We haven’t received the results,” Morton said.

  “I can tell you what they’ll say. They’ll say ‘inconclusive,’ or maybe something more bizarre.”

  “Ben,” Jessie said.

  “What did you think you’d find here?” Morton asked.

  “The thing that took Julia,” Ben almost shouted. “The creature.”

  Morton stared back at him in the ensuing silence. “Why didn’t you say anything about a creature on the mainland?”

  “Because you would’ve looked at me like you are now. Like I’m some kind of lunatic.”

  “I don’t care if he’s sane or not,” Castillo said. “Can we just go?”

  “Mr. Shadeland, we have a good idea who abducted your child,” Morton said. “Not only have Irvin’s men been threatening Christina Blackwood, they’ve been keeping you under constant surveillance. Judging from the depravity of the crimes committed last night at your residence, and bearing in mind the reputation of Mr. Irvin and the medieval methods his men employ, it’s perfectly reasonable to assume they’re the ones who perpetrated the atrocities.”

  “They didn’t.”

  “I’m goin’ up,” Castillo said. “You coming, Brooks?”

  But Teddy was watching Ben and Morton.

  Ben glanced at Brooks. “You think Irvin’s guys did that? You think they killed Nat and my mom?”

  Brooks regarded his loafers. “It’s the only theory makes sense, Ben.”

  “Bullshit,” Ben said.

  Castillo took hold of Jessie’s arm. “Let’s go, Jessie. This guy’s losin’ it.”

  Ben whirled on him. “If I’m crazy, why are you so scared?”

  Castillo shook his head and laughed.

  Ben turned back to Morton. “What produced this smell, huh? You ever been on a farm, Morton? Owned a dog?”

  “I have two dogs,” Morton said carefully.

  “They smell like this, don’t they?”

  Before Morton could respond, Castillo broke in, “Anything could make the smell, Shadeland. It could be wild dogs.”

  “Wild dogs,” Ben repeated.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “How do they get in and out of here?”

  Castillo looked away.

  Ben stepped closer. “Is there a little doggie door up there I missed? Or do they know how to manipulate doorknobs?”

  “Listen, asshole,” Castillo said, squaring up to him.

  Ben’s hands balled into fists.

  “Enough of this,” Morton said, moving past them. He reached the doorway and halted. “You’re hurting, Mr. Shadeland. I understand that. I feel very badly for you and your wife. But we did not venture here to feed your delusion.”

  “It’s not a delusion,” Ben said in a thin voice.

  Castillo brushed past him. “You’ve been watching too many movies, Shadeland. Maybe next time you and your wife should pick a nice family film to write the music for. Something about unicorns.”

  Ben resisted an urge to bounce Castillo’s head off the wall.

  “I’ll come back with you later,” Jessie said.

  Ben turned and saw her looking up at him. The sympathetic expression she wore was even harder to stomach than Castillo’s mocking one.

  “You’re here to remember, Ben,” Brooks said. “It’s time everybody got some closure.”

  “Closure.”

  “That’s right.”

  “My baby is missing, Teddy. I can’t get closure until I get her back.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong place,” Brooks said. “I’m sorry to tell you that, but it’s the truth. You want your baby, you better get back to California.”

  Jessie stepped closer. “Ben, if you could just concentrate on—”

  “You can all go to hell,” Ben said. He crossed to the wall and resumed his search.

  “We’re trying to help,” Jessie said.

  Teddy said, “Come on. Let’s give him some time.”

  When they were gone, Ben recommenced his inspection. When that revealed nothing, he began scouring the floor. He’d been on his hands and knees for a few minutes when something began to nag at his memory. It reminded him very much of the way the music came to him when he was writing, so he concentrated hard on not concentrating, on mentally looking away from the subtle tremor in his mind so it could swell into an all-out earthquake.

  Ben shined his light on the ground, screwing up his eyes to detect a rise in the dirt or an indentation. Maybe a small fissure you couldn’t see unless you got down close to it.

  The tremor in his mind grew, became a steady vibration. Something about Joshua…about the night the beast had stolen him from the sixth floor studio…

  Ben concentrated on the ground, the smoothness of it. As if it had been first compacted and then worn smooth by something enormous and heavy and banded with muscles.

  A terrible realization occurred to him.

  If Julia were nearby, he would have almost certainly heard her by now. She had powerful lungs, her screams far more strident and earsplitting than Joshua’s had been when he was a baby. That had been why…

  Why you left her with a sitter.

  No.

  Why you and Claire left your sweet, defenseless baby behind while you went out for dinner.

  No!

  Ben shook his head against the thoughts, listening hard for Julia’s cries, but there was nothing, only the deafening silence of this pit, of this tomb. Was it possible Julia was sleeping? Or could the beast have—

  Ben sat up straight, the thought tremor exploding in his mind.

  The night the beast had taken Joshua.

  Taken Joshua not to this pit, but taken him somewhere else on the island.

  Ben sucked in breath.

  The clearing. The redwood grove. The beast had taken Joshua there and had somehow sedated him. That’s where Ben and Cla
ire had faced the monster. They’d fought the beast and taken Joshua back.

  Ben stumbled to his feet, burst through the doorway and raced up the steps two at a time.

  Yes, he thought, heart juddering in his chest. He would find Julia in the clearing. He was alone this time, but he was better armed too. The Ruger likely wouldn’t kill the beast—you’d need a missile to do that—but it would sure get the beast’s attention. And while it was reeling from the bullets Ben was about to put in it, he would take his baby back. He would return to the castle.

  Then the others would have to stand with him.

  The others would see. They’d be forced to believe.

  The flashlight in one hand, the Ruger in the other, Ben sprinted up the stairs.

  Part Three

  Monsters

  Chapter One

  Griffin sat in the stern of Marvin’s boat and told himself he didn’t belong. He wasn’t a monster. He eyed Bullington, sitting stolidly on one of the benches. The moonlight bathing the huge man’s face was pale, ghostly. If Bullington felt any compunction about shooting Agent McWilliams, he didn’t give any indication.

  You’re not one of them, Griffin thought. You feel bad about what happened.

  Feeling bad’s not enough, another voice said. You didn’t do anything to stop it.

  Griffin’s throat constricted, his airway thinner than a blade of grass.

  Nicky Irvin, seated across the aisle from his father, had swiveled around to stare at Griffin. There was an ugly, scornful gleam in his colorless eyes. “You don’t look so good, Toomey. Think you might have to puke again?”

  At Nicky’s words, Griffin realized that he did feel nauseated. He ordinarily didn’t mind being on the water. But of course, he normally didn’t witness the slaughter of three innocent people either.

  “You shoulda seen him, Daddy. He was barfing all over the place when I went into the woods to join Ray, and he was still barfing when I got back. Stupid son of a bitch was laying right there in the puddle. Chunks of orange and yellow all over his face. Like he was a goddamned toddler unable to keep himself clean.”

  Marvin Irvin, slouching cozily at the wheel, grinned.

  Nicky turned back to Griffin. “You probably crapped yourself too, didn’t you? Son of a bitch, I bet you did! Hey, Ray. You check Toomey’s drawers, see if he dropped a load in ’em?”

  Rubio, on what Griffin estimated was his fifth glass of bourbon, eyed him from the bow of the boat. “Check ’em? Hell, I didn’t wanna go near the incontinent son of a bitch. Bastard pukes at everything.”

  “I noticed that,” Nicky said. He leaned forward, tilted his head at Griffin. “You got some sorta disorder, Toomey? Somethin’ we don’t know about? Like puking Tourette’s or something?”

  At this Rubio let loose with a merry gust of laughter.

  Griffin had a fleeting recollection of Rubio’s gore-spattered front, the red, demented face, the slop and viscera all over his sodden sweatsuit; he found it highly ironic that Rubio found Griffin’s vomit all that disgusting, but he kept the observation to himself.

  Nicky returned to the attack. In the pellucid glow of the nearly full moon, his mean eyes glittered like polished onyx. “Puked when we were talking to that bodyguard. Puked when Ray iced that smartass agent.”

  At this, Rubio reproduced the slashing motion he had used to slit Jacob Huffer’s jugular.

  Griffin retreated from the memory, closer than ever to getting sick again. Christ, would this nightmare never end?

  You don’t deserve it to end.

  Stop, he thought weakly.

  You’re as much a part of it as they are.

  No!

  You could’ve intervened, but you didn’t.

  I didn’t have a gun.

  But the agent did. Both the agents did. When Rubio and Nicky ran off after that poor jogger, you could have picked up either one of those guns. You could’ve saved that lady. Instead you left her in the woods with those animals.

  I didn’t do anything to her.

  You didn’t do anything for her either, did you? You coward. You goddamn weakling.

  Nicky was imitating him now in a weird, lisping voice. “Please don’t hurt them, Nicky! Please don’t touch the poor federal agents!”

  Rubio threw back his head and brayed laughter.

  Griffin turned sideways, stared out blearily at the water. There were a billion tiny glimmers on the churning sea, the wind having subsided but the Pacific by no means placid. The motion was burrowing into Griffin’s guts, Nicky’s words pushing him closer and closer to tears. He wouldn’t do it, though, wouldn’t give Nicky the satisfaction of breaking him down.

  But Nicky was suddenly standing over him, bent over and hissing into his face, “Look it me, you fuckin’ pussy. Look at me!” He jerked Griffin’s chin around to face him. “You’re only around because my daddy thinks you’re smart.”

  Griffin’s lips trembled. Dear God, he was breaking down.

  “You feel bad for that bitch we killed?” A flat palm smacked Griffin across the mouth. Spittle flew from Griffin’s lips, speckled the metal railing. “You think we’re a coupla bad guys cuz we had a little fun with her?”

  Just leap over the edge of the boat, he told himself. Drowning would be better than what he’s doing to you. Anything would be better.

  “You know what she said to us, Toomey? Right before Ray opened up her belly? She says, ‘I got a daughter at home.’”

  Nicky’s face loomed nearer, their noses nearly touching. “And you know what Ray here says? Tell ’im, Ray.”

  Rubio called, “I said, ‘Invite her over. We’ll bang her too!’”

  Rubio brayed laughter, but Nicky scarcely moved. He acted like he was trying to hypnotize Griffin with his glassy eyes. “You think it was our fault that bitch came jogging past at that moment?” When Griffin didn’t answer, Nicky let go his chin, grasped a handful of hair and gave it a violent jerk. “Do ya?”

  “What’s your point?” Griffin managed to croak.

  Nicky’s eyebrows went up. “My point, you stupid—” Nicky cut off, let go of Griffin’s hair. He made a face, wiped his hand on his pant leg. “Mother of God, Toomey, don’t you ever fucking bathe? Your hair’s greasier than a Mexican’s ass.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Jim Bullington asked.

  Marvin pursed his lips. “I’m thinking we take the castle.”

  “Just walk in and take it?”

  Marvin nodded. “We storm it, like they used to do back in olden times.”

  Nicky was nodding, his colorless eyes glittering. “I like that. Like a buncha knights with swords.”

  “Only we’ll use the automatic.” Marvin leaned back from the wheel, crossed his arms thoughtfully. “I figure the place has more than one entrance, right?”

  “It has three,” Griffin said.

  Everyone turned to look at him. Nicky’s expression reminded him of a batter who’s just struck out and is about to beat the Gatorade cooler with his bat. Only Nicky would use his fists instead of a bat, and Griffin’s head would be the cooler.

  “Talk,” Marvin said.

  Griffin squirmed under Marvin’s scrutiny. “I studied up on it some this morning.”

  “This morning when?” Nicky asked.

  “When you and the rest were still sleeping,” he said, taking care to keep his voice neutral. It felt good though, needling Nicky. Really good.

  Just don’t overdo it.

  Griffin went on. “I typed Castle Blackwood into the computer, and though there were tons of articles about the Sorrows, there weren’t any floor plans available.”

  “Then how do you know how many doors there are?” Rubio asked. Like Nicky, he looked like he’d love to take a swing at Griffin.

  “Some of the articles mentioned how Robert Blackwood had the place
built. He actually tore down the first castle and built a new one. The only thing remaining from the old castle is a tower. It’s still there.”

  Marvin watched him. “Go on.”

  “The new castle—I mean, it’s old now, but compared to the first one it’s new. The new one was modeled after a Scottish castle from way back in the 1600s. Craigeivar Castle. It’s still there if you wanna see the pictures. Really beautiful place.”

  They watched him in silence.

  “So Castle Blackwood is a replica,” he added quickly. “There are minor differences, but the shells are basically the same. L-shaped, six stories tall. There’s a door in the front, one in the back, and one at the end of the L.”

  Marvin gave Nicky a look that amounted to You see what I mean? And though Griffin was certain he’d pay dearly for that look later, it felt good to be valued for once. Damned good.

  “Tell me more about the layout,” Marvin said.

  “The main floor is what you’d think it would be. A big room for gatherings—they call it the ‘Great Hall’ on the blueprint—a gourmet kitchen, a nice-sized dining room. The second and third floors are various sitting rooms, smaller bedrooms, studies, parlors. There’s a hell of a big library.”

  When no one seemed to care about this—shit, he should’ve known—he continued. “The fourth floor is more bedrooms, but bigger ones. The fifth story is where the family used to stay. You know, and important guests. It’s where the master suite is.”

  “That’s where we’ll stay, right, boss?” Ray Rubio said. Griffin marveled at the childlike eagerness in his voice, like a little boy asking his dad to camp out in the backyard. It was easy to forget that earlier that day Rubio had disemboweled two people and carved the eyes out of another.

  Marvin nodded. “That’s right, Raymond. We’ll live it up. After we take the castle.”

  The words sent chills up Griffin’s spine.

  “You said there were six stories,” Marvin prompted.