Ash: Return of the Beast

by Gary Tenuta

  Tocho knelt beside her. “Ro! You’re all right! Man, I was… Ro?”

  Ravenwood’s eyelids fluttered again and slowly closed.

  Tocho grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Ro?” She didn’t respond. He shook her again. Still nothing. He cast a worried look at the shaman.

  Tlacatecolotl nodded. “I have seen this happen before with those who have attempted to reach the lowest levels of the Underworld.”

  He told Tocho it was a kind of comatose state caused by the vibrational differences between this world and the other dimensions but also from the body’s reaction to the special formula that she ingested––at her own request, he was quick to add.

  “Jesus Christ. You should have warned us this could happen.”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, my friend. She will be all right, but...” He left the sentence hanging.

  “But…?”

  “But you might be here a bit longer than you planned.”

  “What do you mean a bit longer? How long?”

  “I have seen this last for several days. A week at most.”

  Tocho’s eyes grew wide. “A week? But we’ve only got two days. We’ve all only got two days!”

  ***

  Pastor Pete sat slumped in his wheelchair, a gray woolen blanket draped over his lap. Its sagging folds mimicked the drooping skin under the old pastor’s tired eyes. They were moist, empty, staring at nothing. In his wrinkled hands an unopened Bible was slowly––almost imperceptibly––slipping from his trembling grasp. There were no more prayers to be prayed. Hope ceased to exist.

  The Bible dropped to the carpet with a muffled thump. It tumbled open to the book of Revelation. It was nearly over.

  The Devil was coming.

  CHAPTER 60

  Three Days Later…

  7:32 a.m.

  Lieutenant Kane’s hand came down heavy on the alarm clock like a wrecking ball falling from forty feet. He groaned as he threw the sheet back and rolled out of bed. Goddamn it, Ravenwood. Where the hell are you? It was the last thing on his mind when he fell asleep last night and the first thing on his mind this morning. How could she just up and disappear like that? And why hadn’t she called? It didn’t make sense. Here it was, eight days after the eighth ritual murder. The doomsday clock was running down quickly. Tomorrow all Hell could break loose. She knows that. So, where the hell is she?

  ***

  A thin ray of morning sunlight filtered into the hut where Ravenwood had lain unconscious upon a woven mat for the past 72 hours. The strip of warm light moved slowly across the floor and rolled gently over the contours of her face. She moaned and raised a hand to shield her eyes. “Where––?” Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry. “Tocho––?”

  At the same moment, in Seattle, the sun was filtering in through the window blinds into the hospital room and onto the bed where Rye Cowl had lain unconscious for the past nine days. The light moved slowly across the bedding and rolled up onto his face. He moaned and raised a hand to shield his eyes. “What the––? His voice was hoarse, his throat dry. “Where am I?”

  ***

  Tocho was asleep on the mat next to Ravenwood when he was awakened by the sound of her voice. He sat straight up and leaned over her, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “Ro! I’m here. Are you okay?”

  She shook her head and tried to sit up.

  “Stay down. I’ll get you some water.”

  She sat up anyway and gave her head another shake. “What the hell happened? How long have I been out?”

  Tocho handed her some water in a small drinking gourd. “Three days.”

  It took a moment for those words to register. When they finally did, her brow scrunched into a look of complete disbelief. She must have heard wrong. “What?”

  Tocho nodded.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Three days? That means…” She struggled to her feet and looked around, her eyes darting back and forth as she tried to assess the information. “Jesus.” She fired a look at Tocho. “That means tomorrow… Shit. We gotta get back. Now!” Her rubbery legs quivered and she nearly lost her balance.

  “Ro, you’re not ready to go anywhere. Sit down. You just––”

  “Do you not grasp the situation here? There’s no time. Get our stuff together.”

  “Ro––”

  “With me or without me, Tocho.”

  “What did you see down there? They were there, weren’t they?”

  “You know the old joke about the guy on the street wearing a sign that says the end is near? Well, it’s not a joke anymore. Get our stuff and let’s get the hell out of here. Where’s that bucket? I’m gonna be sick.”

  ***

  Cowl’s body began to quake in a series of spasmodic seizures. A stunned nurse quickly notified Dr. Halverson. Halverson arrived within minutes and struggled to hold Cowl down but it was no contest as Cowl seemed to have the strength of two men. Halverson had never seen this kind of reaction from a patient coming out of a coma. He ordered the nurse to prepare a sedative and he administered it immediately. The sedative took effect and Cowl’s eyes fluttered to a close and he fell into a shallow sleep.

  Halverson stepped back, his mind racing, trying to assess the situation. Then he noticed the bandage that had covered the wound on Cowl’s head had shaken loose. He attempted to adjust it but stopped when he saw something for which he was completely unprepared. In the small shaved area around the wound there were three raised marks on the scalp. He moved in for a closer examination. What the––? He traced the marks with his finger and then straightened up.

  The nurse saw the look of concern on the doctor’s face. “What is it?” she asked, approaching the patient.

  Halverson quickly lifted the bandage back into place. “Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s fine.” He tried to sound calm. “Go get nurse Tyler and bring him here. I want the two of you to stay here with the patient. I have to go to my office. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Right away, doctor.”

  “And do not touch the patient. If he shows any sign of regaining consciousness I want you to buzz me immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, doctor.” She looked puzzled. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Nothing for you to be concerned about. Just do as I said. I won’t be long.”

  CHAPTER 61

  Kane’s office…

  Day 8 of the killing pattern…

  8:22 a.m.

  The phone rang just as Kane was about to take his much-needed first sip of morning coffee. He hadn’t slept all night but he suddenly lit up with a spark of anticipation. Ravenwood. He picked up the phone.

  “Kane here. Oh… Dr. Halverson.” The spark was quickly dowsed. “I thought…never mind. What’s the latest on… What? Jesus. Yes, of course. I’ll be right there.”

  ***

  8:57 a.m.

  Halverson led Kane into Cowl’s room, ordered the two nurses to leave and he closed the door behind them. He moved over to the patient and, with a stone cold expression etched into his face, he turned to Kane and motioned for him to approach.

  “What is it?” Kane asked, moving to the side of the bed, opposite the doctor.

  Halverson carefully lowered the bandage and looked at Kane. “You tell me.”

  Kane leaned in, studying the odd markings. He glanced at the doctor and then back to the marks. There was no mistake about it. The scar from the wound had morphed into three small protrusions, each in the shape of a number with which Kane had become all too familiar. “Weird. Looks like three nines.”

  The doctor nodded. “Perhaps. But come over here and have a look from this angle.”

  Kane moved around to the other side of the bed and looked again. This time his head jerked back in recognition of what was clearly more disturbing than his first impression. “Oh, my god.” He straightened up and looked at Halverson. “Not a word about this to anyo
ne. You understand?”

  Halverson nodded. He knew if this got into the hands of the media there would be no end to the clamor. He didn’t want to deal with such a circus any more than Kane did.

  Kane paced back and forth like an animal trapped in a cage. Then he stopped. “How long before he wakes up?”

  “Another hour, perhaps.”

  “Hmm… an hour. If he comes to, can you put him out again? Keep him sedated for like…I don’t know…indefinitely?”

  “Of course, but––”

  “No time for buts, doctor. This case just ratcheted up to another level. Don’t even ask me to explain. I just need you to––”

  “No explanation required, Lieutenant.”

  Kane looked relieved. Apparently the doctor had at least some sense of what might be going on here. After all, it didn’t take a degree in theology to recognize those three numbers. Even a non-believer would have to admit it was a rather disturbing coincidence.

  “All right,” Kane said. “I have to go back to my office. No one comes into this room. Got it?” As he reached the door, he turned and looked at Cowl resting peacefully on the bed. “And for damn sure, that guy right there doesn’t leave this room under any circumstances. Got that?”

  There was an unmistakable apprehension in Halverson’s eyes but, again, he gave an assuring nod as Kane disappeared quickly out the door.

  Kane strode briskly down the long hall toward the elevator, his mind racing. The elevator was filled with people as he stepped inside but he was singularly alone and adrift in a swirling cloud of erratic thoughts.

  Ravenwood––for whatever reason––had left him to sort this out for himself. Damn her, anyway. What the hell is she thinking? He thought about what he’d just told Halverson… keep Cowl sedated… make sure he doesn’t leave the room.

  Under ordinary circumstances, that would make perfect sense. Keep the suspect sedated and secure, unable to carry out his agenda. But these were not ordinary circumstances and there was just one gaping hole in the plan: Even while Cowl was in a coma, laid flat out under the crisp white sheets of a hospital bed with medical staff coming and going, he had somehow managed to carry out the sacrificial ritual that took Harlan Bodine’s life. The present set of circumstances was not ordinary by any definition. The sedation solution would probably be about as effective as a condom on a dildo. He gave his head a shake. I’m definitely out of my comfort zone here.

  The elevator door slid open. Kane stepped out and hurried to the exit on his way to the parking garage. Damn it, Ravenwood. Where the hell are you?

  As he fastened his seat belt and slid the key into the ignition, he suddenly felt choked by the weight of the biggest albatross still hanging around his neck like a living corpse: Pastor Pete, the next and final victim on the list.

  He sat still, gripping the steering wheel of the patiently idling vehicle and stared blankly at the gray concrete wall two feet in front of the car. He considered his options.

  On the one hand, the decrepit old bastard deserved what was coming to him. Put him out of his fucking misery. Great idea. Except for one thing. The ritual sacrifice of the old man would signal the beginning of hell on earth for everyone.

  The other option was to try saving the old man, protect him somehow from the madness of Cowl’s magick and spare the world from a virtual holocaust of unthinkable horror.

  Even though his years on the Force had convinced him that half the world’s population probably deserved such a fate, he thought about Sarah. He drew in a long breath and let it go, resigned to what he knew was his only option.

  He threw the car into reverse and shoved the stick into Drive. The screech of the tires echoed throughout the parking garage.

  CHAPTER 62

  10:00 a.m.

  Kane’s cell phone vibrated in his front pocket as he sprinted up the main steps to the precinct entrance. He stopped just inside the large glass doors and took the call. “Ravenwood! Where the hell have you been? Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m at the Zocalo in San Cristobal.”

  Kane could tell she was winded, breathing hard. It sounded as if she was walking quickly, maybe even running as she spoke. He shook his head. “At the what, where?”

  “Southern tip of Mexico. Never mind. Just listen.”

  “No, you listen––”

  “No, you listen. I don’t have time to explain. I’m on my way to Guatemala as we speak. We’ll catch a flight from there and––”

  “We? Who’s we? Ravenwood, what the––?”

  “Never mind. With any luck we’ll be in Albuquerque by around four o’clock and I’ll catch a flight to Seattle from there. I’ll call you the minute I’m back. You won’t believe what I’ve seen. What’s happening with Cowl? Is he still in––?”

  “You won’t believe what I’ve seen, either. He’s awake. I mean he was awake. He’s sedated now, but… hello? Ravenwood? Hello––? Damn it!”

  ***

  1:00 p.m.

  Guatemala Airport

  Tocho stood by the magazine rack and waited, watching Ravenwood talking with the man behind the ticket counter. She turned, briefly, and he could see the troubled look on her face. Then she turned back to the man behind the counter. It looked like she was arguing with him. The man didn’t seem to be showing any sympathy so much as he simply looked annoyed. Tocho studied the situation and wondered if he should step in. Finally, it seemed a transaction was being made and then Ravenwood turned and walked away, clearly upset. She glanced around, apprehensively, looking for Tocho.

  “Over here,” he called out to her.

  She snapped her head in the direction of his voice and hurried over to him with two tickets in her hand. “Unbelievable,” she said, trying to restrain her emotion.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  “The next flight to Albuquerque was scheduled to leave at one-fifteen. That would be cutting it close enough but now there’s been some kind of delay and it won’t be leaving until one-forty-five. A goddamn half an hour. Shit.”

  “Half hour. That means we won’t get to Albuquerque until––”

  “Five friggin’ o’clock this evening.” She squeezed the tickets in her fist as if she was strangling the man behind the counter.

  Tocho put a hand on her shoulder. “Okay, calm down. Let’s not––”

  She jerked her shoulder away and Tocho’s hand remained suspended in air for a moment before falling to his side. He stood there with a helpless look on his face.

  She glared at him. “Calm down? Don’t you get it? At this rate I won’t get home until… Christ, I don’t know… ten… eleven o’clock tonight? Tomorrow is the ninth day, Tocho. If you had seen what I’ve seen…” She paused a moment and took a breath. “Kane’s not going to be able to handle this on his own.”

  “Yeah, but like you said, that’s tomorrow. This is today. There’s still time to––”

  “Tomorrow starts tonight, Tocho.” She was raising her voice, almost yelling. “Midnight, tonight. Get it?”

  “Oh, yeah. I didn’t think about that.”

  Ravenwood let out an exasperated sigh. She turned and walked a few steps away, paused a moment, then came back. She touched Tocho’s arm. “I’m sorry.” She sounded tired. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you. I just can’t believe this is happening.”

  Tocho nodded. “It’s all right.”

  She snorted a little nervous laugh. “Yeah, I wish.”

  CHAPTER 63

  Albuquerque International Airport…

  5:07 p.m.

  After arriving in Albuquerque, they learned the next flight to Seattle wouldn’t be departing for another hour. Ravenwood’s nerves were on edge. She thought about calling Kane but what good would it do? She’d already told him she was on her way home and the thought of trying to tell him over the phone what she’d experienced in some shaman’s hut in the jungles of San Cristobal just seemed crazy. In fact she was sure that’s what he’d think. Explaining it to him
face-to-face, oddly enough, might be somehow easier, somehow make her sound less insane. As if that was even possible.

  As they stood there in the middle of the airport with nothing else to do, she threw an arm over Tocho’s shoulder. “I could use a stiff one,” she said. Tocho’s facial response made her roll her eyes. “Get your head out of the gutter, my friend. I meant I could use a drink.”

  They walked to the Route 66 Lounge right there in the airport and ordered a couple of drinks. Tocho ordered a double. The minutes passed with excruciating reluctance as they sipped their drinks with hardly a word spoken between them.

  It was during those vast moments of silence that the real gravity of the situation truly sank into Tocho’s head. Not that he hadn’t understood what was going on. It was all clear enough. Still, it was only now that a feeling of impending doom flowed through him like dark, icy water filling the lungs of a drowning man. He believed every word of what Ravenwood had described about her trip into the Underworld, what she’d experienced, what she’d seen and what was about to be unleashed unless, somehow, by some miracle, she was able to stop it from happening. Maybe he’d been unconsciously pushing it to the back of his mind, keeping it at bay behind a temporary wall of denial. Maybe now the alcohol was loosening the mortar that had held that wall in place. He could feel that wall crumbling and fear was seeping in through the cracks.

  Ravenwood had been staring down into her drink, stirring the ice cubes round and round with a little pink straw. Tocho ordered another double and slugged it down.

  She looked up as he set his empty glass on the table. She smiled.

  He couldn’t quite read the smile. It seemed somehow like an empty gesture, something to do when there was nothing to say. His last drink was taking effect and the table that separated them grew longer by the second until the distance between them reminded him of a cartoon of a ridiculously long dining table with a husband sitting at one end and the wife sitting at the other as they ate their meal in complete silence, together yet apart. He and Ravenwood had always been together yet apart for as long as he could remember. Not that he’d wanted it that way. Quite the opposite. But it just wasn’t in the cards. They were destined to be just friends. Not even friends with benefits. Just friends. But there was no point in thinking about any of that now. Now he only wondered if he’d ever see her again.