“Because, Lucifer is in a race of sorts. He wants to steal away the earth and all who inhabit it before the Second Coming.”
“But, but if my memory is right, then Lucifer and this Moloch’s efforts to return to human form would mark the beginning of Armageddon.”
The tiny figure bowed her tiny head for a moment, and then she raised it again. With her apron she dabbed at her left eye and then her right eye. She was crying.
“Yes, Aaron, Armageddon.”
“But why our family? I mean, shit, that’s a lot to put on us. Why can’t this happen to some other family?”
“No one knows. We believe that throughout the ages this battle has been waged ceaselessly with other families. They have won their battles and now it is our turn.”
“It’s not fair,” he protested.
“It is what it is, and we must accept our fate. We must not fail.” The tiny figure of Sarah Powell turned and headed back towards the curtain.
“Wait, wait I need to know more.”
Turning she said, “In time, Aaron, in time. Those missing hikers—they’re dead. The coven killed them. Now this coven has a new leader, and he’s the most powerful yet.”
With those final words the figure now was standing in its place on the drapes. The tiny figure that revealed herself as Sarah Powell turned her back to Aaron and became part of the tapestry as before.
“Who were you talking to?” said Korie, who was now standing in the room with one towel wrapped around her head and another barely wrapped around her torso.
“You’re not going to believe me.”
19
Reverend Mitchell hasn’t been able to sleep. He has spent the night and early morning hours pacing the floor in his office. He is bitter and angry that Moloch has deposed him for the novice, Samuel.
For the umpteenth time, he curses his fate.
“I have been loyal. I’ve sacrificed everything for him and this is the thanks I get. Son of a bitch.”
He slams his right fist hard into his left palm, with a smacking sound.
“That Samuel had better not fuck up, no sireee.”
The Reverend’s dark side partner was the devil, Zeeka. Zeeka was a devil that had made a habit of partnering with some of human histories worst and most notorious. He rode with Attila the Hun, as his trusted advisor. He traveled with Rasputin, as a dim-witted companion. He also was a whispered confidant to Goebbels, whom history knows had great influence over Hitler. Zeeka, with a whisper, could do more damage than a sword, an arrow or a gun. Zeeka was furious as well.
The Reverend and Zeeka worked each other into a fury that each had never tasted before. Both had been slighted, seemingly cast aside, in favor of one who had not earned the right to play center stage at what was promising to be one of the greatest events in human history. Together they both yearned to regain their rightful place.
“I’ll watch and wait. All I need is one fucking mistake on his part and I will claim my rightful place. Lucifer himself will give it to me. Fucking Samuel Porter, Fucking Moloch,” said Reverend Mitchell (or was it Zeeka?).
The truck driver waited until the State Police car had pulled away before he used his cell phone. He dialed a number and waited.
“Hello Ed, this is the Road Warrior. I was just following that Massachusetts tag you told me to be on the lookout for.”
“So, what’s up, Road Warrior?”
“I was tracking him as he headed up I-89 towards Burlington. The son of bitch topped out at over a hundred miles per hour. I got pulled over by a State Smokey. Picked up a ticket for speeding, anyway, he’s probably in Burlington or beyond by now. Oh, and Ed, he had a woman with him, riding shotgun.”
“Thanks for your help, Road Warrior. Got the name of the Officer who ticketed you?”
“Sure do, his name is Ed Garrett.”
“I’ll fix your ticket.”
“Thanks. Any word on my daughter?”
“Not yet, but I’ve got a friend of mine in the Atlanta Office who is working the case. I’ll give him a call after we hang up. If there is any news, I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks again, Ed.”
“Don’t mention it. Bye.”
Before Ed called his FBI buddy in the Atlanta Office, he called his friend in the Burlington Police Department. They spoke for a couple of minutes. Ed was calling in a favor. He needed some help locating a certain car bearing Massachusetts tags and its occupants, a male and female. What he needed, he explained, was some quiet help. No heavy police presence, just a helpful tip on where to find the car and its passengers.
His Burlington Police contact agreed to put some manpower on it right away. Ed got the man his job and his ongoing recommendations had helped propel the man’s career. He looked up to Ed as a mentor.
Next, Ed called his FBI Academy roommate, the current head of the Atlanta Office.
“Gary, Ed here. How’s the low life?”
“You know same old, same old. Ed, I know you’re calling about that Vermont kid who’s a run away. Well, I’ve got some good news. We located her and her ATM robbing boyfriend. I was just about to give you a call. It seems that her alleged boy friend has managed to pile up a heap of charges in a short time. Anyway, my men got a tip that he was planning to rob a drive in bank on Mohammed Ali Boulevard. We put some of our people inside and outside. We nabbed him yesterday afternoon. Unfortunately, he put up a struggle resisting arrest and managed to get both arms broken.”
“My heart bleeds.”
“Yeah, mine too. Well the girl was sitting in the getaway car, parked around the corner from the bank. She’s okay except for one thing, Ed.”
“What’s that?”
“She’s pregnant. She keeps crying. Says she wants an abortion.”
“Gary, could you fix her up with a plane ticket? If you can, please fly her to Burlington, Vermont. Her dad and I will meet her at the airport. I’ll break the news to him before she gets in. Just call me with the flight time. Now, let me give you my charge card number for her ticket, and thanks for all the assistance too.”
“Forget it Ed, this one’s on me. I’ll be back to you in a few minutes with that flight info. Take care of yourself.”
“You know that I do, so long.”
With that, he hung up his phone. He had to meet with Samuel soon and he wasn’t looking forward to the experience. He would give his Burlington source a couple of hours, after which he would set up a meeting with Samuel to brief him on his progress or lack of it, whatever the case may be.
***
“You were talking to who?” said Korie.
“I just told you, I believe I just had contact with someone from the other side. Like I said, I was talking with my great grandmother several generations back. It was Sarah Powell.”
Korie sat down on the bed, still clutching the bath towel wrapped around her torso.
“Is this the first time this has happened?” asked Korie.
“I’m not really sure. I’ve had dreams before where I thought I was having a conversation. But these dreams always seemed to occur at night. They seemed to be ordinary, that’s all. This one just happened during the daytime.”
“You’re going to have to tell me more. Start by telling me about the first dream you had that was connected to this Powell legend.”
The only dream Aaron could recall in any detail was the dream he had about the altar and the young girl, the coven members, and of course the knife, which seemed to be alive with the tiny bodies of his ancestors. He described the dream as best as he could recall. Korie had several questions, some of which he could answer, others he could not.
He next described his most recent encounter where Sarah Powell seemed to come alive and walk right off the fabric of the hotel room drape. Since this daydream had just taken place, Aaron’s account was more detailed. Korie asked no questions this time, she just listened.
“That’s some dream. I’m no expert on this sort of thing, I mean, who is, right? It sure so
unds like your ancestors are trying to help you somehow. I wonder if you can control these conversations. You know, like call them up and have a discussion.”
“I never thought about that. Maybe!”
“Why don’t you try?”
“Right now?”
“Sure, now, while I’m right here.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Aaron, for crying out loud, if they are trying to speak to you, maybe they can help somehow. It’s worth the try, isn’t it?”
“But what if it doesn’t work? Maybe my dreams are some sort of psychotic event. They lock people up for that sort of thing.”
“Aaron, they don’t lock people up for that sort of thing anymore. At least I don’t think they do.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.”
“I was just kidding. Now come over here and sit on this bed. It will take me a minute to slip on some clothes, and then we can give it a try.”
Aaron came over and sat on the bed nearest to the window.
Korie meanwhile put on some cutoff shorts and a tee shirt decorated with the slogan “Don’t Ask Me, I Just Work Here.”
“Okay, let’s start,” said Korie.
“How?”
“Well, I’d say just look again at that drapery and let your mind go.”
“All right, here goes,” said Aaron with a sigh.
Korie knelt up on the bed and began to massage his neck and shoulders. Her fingers pressed down against his muscles as she worked to try and get Aaron to fully relax.
Aaron stared at the drapery for several minutes. Nothing seemed to happen. He scanned the pattern over and over again, nothing. Aaron felt very tired and closed his eyes for what seemed was just a moment. When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer sitting on the bed, but was instead sitting in one of his aunt’s overstuffed chairs. He was back in time when he was only ten years old. His mother, who at that time he believed her to be his aunt, was massaging his neck and shoulders. She was humming a song that Aaron recognized as familiar even though he could not name the tune itself.
“Hmm, Hmm, hmm......hmm. Now doesn’t that feel better Aaron?”
“Yes, it does,” he answered.
“You took a nasty fall out of that cherry tree over at Mrs. Kopecke’s house. Now Aaron, you know better than to go and climb trees and steal cherries from our neighbor.”
“But I asked permission first.”
“Aaron, Mrs. Kopecke told me she had agreed that you could pick all the cherries that you could reach from the ground, not from up in her tree.”
“I’m sorry.”
Aaron paused and turned around and looked at his Aunt and said, “You’re really my mother, aren’t you?”
With a smile, she answered, “Yes, but you already knew that.”
“I don’t seem to understand everything that’s going on. A while ago I dreamed that I had talked to Sarah Powell. I suppose you know about that?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“Then why am I having these dreams?”
“Think, Aaron.”
Aaron paused and reflected on this turn around gambit.
“Is it because you’ve come to help me?”
“We can’t stop Moloch. Only you can do that.”
“But you can help me somehow, is that it?”
“We can only share our knowledge. Our powers are no longer of your world.”
“Powers, what powers?”
“Aaron, please!”
“I get it. I must have powers like this ability to talk to you and Sarah Powell. Am I right?” he asked eagerly.
“Aaron you have much, much more.”
“Like what?”
“You must find this out for yourself. Now I must go.”
“Wait, give me a hint.”
“I’m sorry,” she said as her image began to fade.
“Can you give me a sign so that my friend Korie will believe me?”
The faint image seemed to nod as it disappeared altogether. Aaron opened his eyes and he was lying on his back on the bed nearest to the window. Korie was sitting on the adjacent bed.
“What happened?” asked Aaron.
“Well, from my vantage point, I’d say you had a dream about your mother, because you were talking to her.”
“Did you hear her talk to me?”
“Of course not, all I heard was your side of what was obviously a two way conversation.”
“She agreed to give us a sign that my contacts are real.”
“What sign?”
“She didn’t tell me that part.”
“Okay. Well, I didn’t see anything move in here. Maybe this sign will show up later.”
“No, it’s already here, I’m certain of that.”
Aaron got up from the bed and walked around the room and the bathroom looking for an unknown sign. Korie did likewise. After several minutes, they both gave up and sat back down on the bed farthest from the window.
“It’s here, I just know it,” said a determined Aaron.
Glancing at the bed nearest to the window, he noticed there was something under the bed covers in the center of the bed.
“That’s it,” he said as he sprang up from the bed and began to pull the bed’s covers back.
There, in the center of the bed, was a small wallet of the sort that children have made for generations. It was a small child-size, hand stitched, brown leather wallet. Aaron picked up the wallet.
“It’s mine,” he murmured.
Korie watched as he opened the wallet. Inside of the wallet was a standard printed identification card with Aaron’s name and address written in a child like handwriting.
“Look, I wrote my name inside.”
Aaron lifted the identification card and peered behind it. He noticed something and began to carefully remove a small photograph.
Aaron looked at the photo and a tear welled up in his eye, and ran down his left cheek.
“It’s me and my mother.”
He showed the photo to Korie who by now was absolutely dumbfounded by the appearance of what seemed certain to be Aaron’s childhood wallet.
Korie could only respond, “She’s beautiful.”
Korie kissed his cheek on the spot that the tear had just traveled. His skin was hot, as if he had a fever.
“I have powers. My mother said I have special powers.”
“Well, what do we do now?” asked Korie.
“I have to read my family’s diary cover to cover. There has to be something, some kind of message hidden in those old stories.”
The two of them began to read the Powell Family diary out loud to one another, each taking turns when the other grew tired.
***
Samuel’s sister Kelly, nearly fifteen years old, had been living in absolute terror since that first night when her brother returned home from his initiation with the coven.
She had nightmares every night. The same evil creature threatened her in her dreams, night after night. Kelley was not getting much sleep. Her nerves were worn threadbare by the nightly terrors that were visited upon her. She avoided the bathroom at night. She showered only during the daytime. Her closet seemed to have become the home for another creature from hell. She was sure that another hellish creature had recently taken up residency under her bed. She could not, dare not, speak of these fears with her parents. They had become her brother’s cheerleaders.
Kelley was desperate. She remembered her brother’s admonition to not have any contact with her boyfriend, Paul Lacosse. She had to speak with someone before she went completely mad. She decided in her well-worn state of mind to contact Paul.
Kelley announced to her mother, “Mom I’ve run out of my shampoo. I’m going to go down to the grocery store and pick some up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Kelley was half way out of the front door when her mother called out to her.
“Kelley, you can use some of mine dear.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, Mom,” protested Kelley.
“All right then. But be back in half an hour. I’ll need some help changing the bed sheets. I want to put fresh linen on the beds today and rotate the mattresses.”
“Okay, I’ll be back in half an hour.”
With that Kelley sprang from the doorway and bounded down the front porch. She sprinted around the side of the house and headed into the garage and pulled out her bicycle. She hadn’t used it since last summer. She was at an age where she had become too old for a bicycle and yet too young to drive a car. She was in luck. The bicycle’s tires still held a respectful amount of air pressure. She quickly hopped on and pedaled for all she was worth.
In less than five minutes, she had reached the grocery store. It was an independent store set in the middle of a small plaza. On one side was a hardware store, and on the other side was a branch bank. The only other storefront in the plaza was vacant. Kelley leaned her bicycle up against the brick wall outside the grocery store next to the pay phone. Kelley fished in her pant pockets and quickly removed a handful of small change. She selected a quarter. Kelley picked up the receiver and deposited the coin. She quickly pounded out Paul’s telephone number from memory. It began to ring.
“Please be home, Please...,” she whispered to herself.
Halfway into the sixth ring there was a click on the line.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Mrs. Lacosse.”
“Yes.”
“May I speak with Paul?”
“Who’s calling?”
For a moment, Kelley thought of giving a fake name. However she was fairly sure Mrs. Lacosse recognized her voice and so giving a fake name would only arouse suspicion.
“It’s Kelley...Kelley Porter.”
“I see, well Kelley, he’s outside mowing the lawn right now. Can he call you back?”
“Uh...no, not really, I mean, I really need to talk to him. I’m not at home right now...I’m uh, baby-sitting and I don’t want the phone to ring and wake the baby.”
Kelley knew her excuse was lame, but it the best she could come up with on the spur of the moment. She crossed her fingers.
“Well, I suppose it would be all right. He could use a break. I’ll go and get him, just hold on...”
Evil Agreement Page 16