Castle of Sorrows

by Jonathan Janz

  “Elena,” he said.

  She stared up at him, the panic drawing her pretty features tight.

  “Take Julia,” he said.

  “He’s…he’s coming,” Elena panted.

  “Take her,” Ben growled and held out his daughter.

  “And go where?” she asked, the words hardly intelligible through her labored breathing. But she took Julia into her arms, held her against her chest.

  “When you get to the coast,” Ben said, “go west until you reach the boat.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I’ll meet you. Start the boat but don’t leave without me. If…” He paused. “If it’s just the beast that comes, drive away. Make sure Julia’s safe. Give her water at least. She’s dehydrated.”

  “Ben,” she said, shaking her head. “What—”

  “Don’t argue!” he said, throwing a glance over his shoulder. The beast was not on the trail behind them. Had it cut through the forest? Surmised their plan and headed to the boat to disable their means of escape?

  “No,” Elena said. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Get moving,” Ben demanded.

  Elena looked around with frightened eyes. “What is this place?”

  Ben glanced up and when he did, he understood her confusion. They’d taken the same path he and Teddy had followed earlier. Yet the path had now opened up into a large clearing, the same clearing for which he’d searched earlier. The clearing in which he’d battled the beast last summer.

  “Ben?” she said, her voice scarcely a whisper. “This isn’t the same. This can’t be here.”

  She was right, he knew, but he didn’t answer, only glanced around at the unfamiliar flora fringing the large glade. There were towering, ancient pine trees unlike the ones elsewhere on the island. Palm trees with deep green fronds. And what he thought might be olive trees. Yes, he’d seen them in California before, but he’d been all over this island, and what was more, he’d been in this clearing last summer. Then, there had only been redwoods reefing the shadowy glade. There were still redwoods here and there, but now everything was different…somehow foreign…

  He realized he and Elena had stopped entirely, perhaps because no trail presented itself now. He scanned the clearing for another way out, and was just about to reach for his daughter again when he spotted the figure sitting at the base of one of the olive trees. Forty feet away, the dark figure lifted its horned head and stared at them with its huge alabaster eyes. It rose.

  “Give me my daughter,” the beast rumbled.

  Ben charged at the monster. The beast would not let them leave this island until it was ready to, and Ben knew waiting for that time was folly. Last summer they hadn’t escaped the beast’s clutches until Ben had finally lifted it into the air, shoved its hooves into the blur of the propeller, and cast its hemorrhaging body into the ocean. You either matched the monster’s aggression, or it destroyed you.

  The beast thundered toward Ben, a sadistic grin on its face. Its massive hooves pounded up gouts of muddy water, its brawny arms glistening in the rain.

  Ben lowered his head, his gaze fixed on the monster.

  The monster’s grin widened.

  Without breaking stride Ben reached into his pocket, tore out the Ruger.

  The beast’s grin vanished.

  A moment before they crashed together, Ben swung the gun up and fired. The beast jerked its head aside, but the slug still tore off a large swatch of its left jaw. It tumbled into puddled soil and emitted a deep, booming shriek of pain. But with appalling quickness, it sprang to its feet and changed direction like no earthly creature could.

  It lunged at Ben.

  But Ben was ready for it. He skidded to a stop, pivoted and leveled the gun two-handed. As the creature knifed through the air toward him, its lethal talons raised, Ben pumped three more rounds into it, two of them punching it right under the sternum, the third puncturing one of its bulging black pectoral muscles. It slammed into Ben, but the impact was dramatically diminished by the gunshots. Ben staggered backward but did not go down. The beast hit the ground face first and began to rise, but its movements were sluggish.

  Ben tracked it with the Ruger. He had four more shots and couldn’t waste any. He wasn’t foolhardy enough to believe he could end its life in this waterlogged clearing—if its legs could regenerate after being reduced to bloody vapor by a whirring helicopter blade, it could almost certainly recover from something as mundane as a gunshot wound—but if he could incapacitate the beast, put the merciless creature down for a little while, he might buy them enough time to escape the island.

  He waited until it was nearly upon him—too late, he realized at the last second—and fired directly into its face. The first bullet took out its right eye. The second cleaved a trough down the center of its pate. But it crashed into Ben on the third shot, and though the slug shattered the curving top of one of its goat horns, Ben was driven backward into the earth with the beast’s full weight on him. Its talons flashed out and clawed at Ben’s ribs, which erupted in unbelievable starbursts of pain. The beast’s hands dug and dug, stringing the meat of Ben’s sides. In desperation he forced the gun into the beast’s already disfigured jaw and unloaded his last slug.

  The beast’s head jerked with the impact, its talons immediately slumping on the ground at Ben’s sides. It wasn’t enough to kill the thing—Ben could hear it groaning its low bass growl, could feel its mangled face moving slowly from side to side as if to rouse itself back into full consciousness—but it proved enough to allow Ben to shove the beast off. His sides a screaming vortex of pain, Ben climbed slowly to his feet. For one wicked moment he was certain he would either pass out, or worse, find Elena and Julia somehow missing. But with an effort he stayed on his feet, and when his vision cleared he beheld Elena cradling his daughter at the rim of the clearing. He staggered toward them.

  Elena’s eyes were huge. “Is it dead?”

  Ben shook his head, held out his arms. “Give her to me.”

  Wordlessly, Elena handed Julia over. But the medium’s green eyes remained fixed on the fallen beast.

  Without surprise Ben realized there was a trail leading out of the clearing now. Perhaps it had been there before, perhaps not. Regardless, he knew their time was short. The beast had godlike powers of recovery. It wouldn’t be long before it would be hunting them again.

  Ben knew he was losing too much blood. How deeply the beast had injured him and just how much danger he was in of passing out or dying were matters he didn’t have time to consider. All he knew was that they had to reach the boat. Once safely away from the island, he could make sure Julia had fluids in her body; he could mash up whatever food he found aboard the boat. Then maybe he could dress his wounds, or Elena could help him.

  But getting off the island…that was the only thing that mattered now.

  Though his sides throbbed horribly with each step, Ben forced his body into a run.

  “How much farther?” Elena asked.

  “Just keep going,” he told her. “That thing won’t stay down long.”

  Against his chest, Julia’s feet moved weakly.

  “Soon, darling,” he whispered to her. “Hang on a little while longer. Daddy’s going to get you home.”

  Chapter Five

  When they reached Marvin’s boat, Ben experienced a fleeting moment of dread that they’d find it in a similar condition to the state the Blackie had been in. But he saw as he splashed into the surf and prepared to climb over the side of the boat that the beast hadn’t attacked this one, or if it had, the damage had been limited to the parts of the craft that weren’t visible above the water.

  But he didn’t think the boat was damaged at all. If it were, the thing would already be sinking. As he threw one leg over the side and hauled himself in without jostling Julia too violently, this belief grew stronge
r. It appeared there was a cuddy cabin below deck. He reached down, grasped the door handle and drew it up. The opening revealed a decent-sized room below with a mattress in its center.

  “Get the anchor,” he told Elena as she climbed aboard.

  Ben moved down the steps into the small sleeping quarters below deck, and after checking to make sure there were no nasty surprises down here waiting for them, he deposited Julia on the bare mattress. She cried weakly, her little face twisting, but he forced himself to ignore it. He glanced left and right, spotted a few scattered objects—a couple athletic bags, some lifejackets, some implements hung on the walls—but he didn’t spot any food. He was growing desperate when his eyes happened on a small cooler in the corner. He moved over to it, holding his breath. On top of it he discerned a couple candy bars, a large knife, but no water. But when he opened it, there they were—half a dozen large water bottles. Moaning, he grabbed one, hustled over to Julia. Gingerly, he propped her up, brought the bottle to her lips and helped her drink. At once she began to slurp the water down, but he withheld it a moment, not wanting her to drink too much and make herself sick. When he was sure she’d be able to keep it down, he gave her more. He cursed himself for not bringing Claire’s milk or some formula, but the water would at least rehydrate her. He held the bottle to her lips for several more seconds, then set the bottle aside. He kissed Julia on the forehead and raced up the steps. There, he saw Elena hoisting up the anchor. She seemed fully recovered from her weird trance. Ben’s wounds were aching worse than ever, and waves of dizziness kept gusting through him. The rain had died down to a sprinkle, but Ben was still glad to have Julia out of the storm. He’d get her milk soon, medical attention. He’d make sure she had the best care possible.

  But first they had to get away from Gabriel.

  Ben plopped down in the captain’s chair and winced at the pain in his sides. Forcing himself to concentrate, he extracted the keys from his shorts and managed to fit them into the ignition. He experienced a moment’s anxiety about the boat not starting or being out of fuel, but the MerCruiser did start, the sound of its engine startlingly loud on the otherwise silent coast.

  Ben hadn’t driven a boat since he was a teenager, and then it had only been an old pontoon owned by his friend’s family. But this gearshift seemed pretty basic, and being careful not to let his nervous energy take over, he eased the boat away from the shore for about twenty yards. Then, gaining speed as they emerged from the shoals, he turned the boat east and guided them away from the Sorrows.

  Elena moved past him and descended below deck. That was good. Having someone with Julia might not help her in any practical way, but it was still reassuring. Elena had made sure Julia was safe in the clearing, and now she could watch over her again, perhaps give her a little more water.

  They picked up speed.

  Ben had a sudden fear of the beast climbing over the low wall of the craft and seizing him, but when he glanced over his shoulder, there was no sign of it. The shore was desolate, the path winding down to it barren. They were going to survive. They were going to return to Claire and Joshua, who would be just as happy as Ben was to be reunited. And Julia…thank God she’d never remember this nightmarish episode. He supposed they could tell her about it when she was older, but he doubted they ever would. Why traumatize her when the threat was over? They would move far inland, maybe even back to the Midwest. Ben had enjoyed growing up there, and they could still communicate with their movie contacts via the computer and their phones.

  He flinched at a new stab of pain in his side. Man, the beast had really gotten him deep under his bottom rib. He considered inspecting the wound to determine just how severe it was, but even the thought of touching the ribboned flesh made him nauseated.

  He leaned toward the steps that led below deck. “Hey, Elena,” he called.

  She didn’t answer. That wasn’t surprising. The motor of the MerCruiser was loud, and Ben’s voice had sounded faint even to his own ears. But he needed her to come up here to take the wheel for a while, both so he could tend to Julia and because he needed to lie down for a few minutes.

  “Elena!” he called, much louder this time.

  Still no answer.

  “Dammit,” he muttered and lowered their speed to idle. It wouldn’t matter—they were a good mile off the Sorrows now, and the beast was nowhere in sight. Ben pulled himself out of the chair, and with an effort made his way down the steps. He reached the small sleeping quarters and stopped, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

  Elena sat on her knees at the foot of the mattress, looming over Ben’s daughter.

  Something was in Elena’s hand. It glinted in the light filtering down the stairs.

  A knife.

  Ben leapt forward as the knife descended. He hit Elena in the middle of the back and bulldozed her into the wall, acutely aware that in doing so both their bodies had dragged over his infant daughter. Elena smacked the wall face first, Ben’s weight compacting them in the claustrophobic space. Elena squalled—an inhuman, bestial sound—but maintained her grip on the knife. Ben reached out to seize her wrist, but she was too fast for him. The moment Ben’s weight shifted she spun toward him, whipping the knife in a whistling arc, and slit his chest from one nipple to the other. Ben gasped, pumped a fist into her stomach. She doubled over but did not relinquish her hold on the knife. She looked up, snarling at him, and Ben glimpsed the pupilless eyes, understood that Gabriel was controlling her. And though he didn’t want to kill Elena, he had to stop her from hurting Julia.

  Without warning she stabbed down with the knife, aiming its lethal tip at his daughter’s face. Ben threw out a hand and bellowed in agony as the blade impaled his palm. Still belting out his hoarse cry, Ben pounded Elena’s face with his left fist. They tumbled off the bed, but still Elena gripped the knife. They crashed to the floor, welded together by the knife embedded in Ben’s hand. Elena endeavored to tug it free, but Ben grasped her wrist, drove with his legs until he was on top of her, his weight crushing the breath out of her.

  Elena was a livewire of mad energy. She bucked beneath him and growled like a feral dog. He squeezed her wrist, felt the tendons within compressing, the bones reaching their snapping point. She released the knife. But her other hand assaulted him, raked at the side of his neck the same way the beast had harrowed his sides. Ben bore down harder on Elena with his left shoulder. She scratched at him, her teeth snapping at his throat. Ben raised up, slammed an elbow into her teeth. He heard a couple of them shatter, but still she fought, both hands digging at his side wounds now, the sharp claws attempting to cleave through the bloody meat to get at his internal organs. Ben reached down and with a furious cry tore the knife out of his palm.

  “Elena,” he tried to say, but he couldn’t even hear himself above her doglike snarling. “Elena!” he shouted, but she only cored in harder, her claws tearing, shredding.

  “Damn you!” he yelled, and brought the knife down. It punctured her chest, causing her whole body to go rigid. Her hands moved to her chest wound, her eyes now green again, her mouth a horrified O.

  “Elena,” he muttered, letting go of the knife and placing his hand atop hers. The blood spurted through her fingers, dousing both of them. Ben glanced over at Julia, realized she was writhing with more energy now. He didn’t think she’d been injured in the fight. But Elena…he could hear the sucking wheeze issuing from her mouth, could see the panic in her enlarged eyes. She was fighting for breath, entreating him with her terrified face to help her, but Ben knew it was hopeless. The knife blade was huge, its wound gaping. He’d opened one of her lungs, and he was certain there was no immediate treatment for it. Still, he pushed to his feet, hunched over because of the low ceiling, and scanned the dim cabin for something to staunch her wound. He thought he’d seen a towel on one of the seats above, but he’d be damned if he was going to leave Julia for a second now. What if Elena turned back into the scre
eching, white-eyed horror again?

  No. He couldn’t move up the steps yet. But he had to do something. He backed up, straining his eyes to find something he could use. He stared down at his own tattered T-shirt. It wasn’t good, but it would have to do. He peeled it off, folded it. Ben was standing in the spill of light at the foot of the stairs, ready to apply the shirt to Elena’s wound, when the boat gave a sick lurch.

  Ben went cold all over. Dimly, he could hear Elena’s wheezy death throes growing weaker. But the sounds scarcely registered. Because something had hit the rear of the boat. Something had…

  Ben moved up the steps, his eyes on the stern. For a moment, he stood there, the MerCruiser rising and falling with the gentle ocean waves.

  Then a black, taloned hand slapped over the back wall of the boat.

  Ben whirled and ducked down below deck, but just before he did he glimpsed the gigantic figure wriggling over the stern wall, the beast muscling its way effortlessly into the boat. Its face, though still bloody, had partially reformed, the flesh over its jaw already having begun to knit back together.

  Ben spotted the knife and snatched it up, vaguely aware of Elena’s sleepy gaze following him. The boat tremored as the beast’s full weight landed on the deck above. The knife seemed a feeble defense against the beast. Ben placed the knife on the floor beside the athletic bag and with his good hand managed to unzip it. He found boxes of ammunition inside, which meant the weapons were either in the other bag, somewhere else on the boat, or back on the island. But it didn’t matter now because the beast was descending the steps, the gray light blotted out by its monstrous frame. Ben bared his teeth. He couldn’t allow the beast to reach Julia.

  Ben retrieved the knife and spotted the beast’s cloven hooves on the stairs. When a hoof landed on the bottom step, Ben jerked the knife sideways at the beast’s calf. The blade plunged into the firm muscle all the way to the hilt. The beast roared. It reached down to clap a hand over the knife, but Ben launched himself straight up at the beast’s face. The top of Ben’s head crashed into the beast’s nose, staggering it. It bellowed with rage. Ben grasped both sides of the narrow stairwell, leaned back and catapulted himself at the creature. Their bodies slammed together, but Ben continued driving up the steps with his legs. They crashed to the deck, the beast on its back, Ben on his stomach between the beast’s legs. Ben bunched his good fist, jabbed at the creature’s genitalia, but quicker than he would have imagined possible the creature’s hand parried the blow, its other hand whacking Ben on the side of the head. Ben went tumbling between the captain’s chair and the controls. He pawed at the little shelf beside the steering wheel for a new weapon but found only a silver lighter and a pack of chewing gum. The beast rose, groped toward him.