by Ren Hamilton
“They must have lanterns or something,” Robin said.
“I don’t want to find out.”
Robin turned to face him. “If we don’t go inside and see what they’re doing then this trip was a waste of time! We insisted Litner let us go. You know his guys would have already gone in. We can’t go back to him with nothing.”
Patrick took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “They’re just a bunch of people with delusions of grandeur, right?”
“That’s right,” she said. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. They’re probably in there reading poetry and drinking wine.”
Patrick took Robin’s hand. “We’ll feel the walls for guidance until we find the lighted parts,” he said, trying to sound brave.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go.”
With hands linked, they slid through the moist darkness of the cave entrance. Patrick tried not to think of bats as he felt his way along the cold wall. The cave branched off into a series of narrow corridors that made a gradual descent into the earth. They followed the amber light in the distance. At one point the tunnel opened up where a tiny underground waterfall bubbled soothingly into a pool. The place was amazing. The water had beautifully sculpted the strange underground labyrinth. The orange glow grew brighter, and soon they could hear voices in the distance.
They slid with backs against the wall, stopping just before the corridor gave way to a large open cavern. The tunnel ended here. Patrick and Robin tucked themselves tightly against the darkest part of the wall. They could see the others in the dimly lit cavern ahead, the space aglow with candles along the surrounding walls. Another little arc of candles was set up on the ground beneath the farthest wall, where a black circle the size of a giant beach ball was painted onto the stone.
Shep stood in front of this painted circle, touching parts of it with his fingertips, pulling back his hand, then repeating the act on a different part of the circle. Allisto and Margol stood behind him looking on. The old man knelt on the ground nearby with the big case open before him, checking the contents. Other boxes were stacked in a corner, where the tiny woman with the short hair was setting up medical supplies.
Patrick spotted a rocky ledge on the right wall of the cavern. It jutted up ten feet, leaving a few feet of clearance from its ledge to the cave ceiling. It looked like it had once been part of the wall itself, perhaps fallen victim to the collapse, if indeed this was the same cave. Aside from that, it looked like a great place to hide. Patrick tugged on Robin’s shirt, and pointed to the high ledge of rock. “Look,” he whispered. “Balcony seats.”
She shook her head.
“Why?” he whispered. “It’s dark along that side wall. They won’t see us crawl up there.”
“But they’ll hear us! It’s quiet in there.”
She was right. These rocks were unpredictable, and all it would take was a pebble falling while they climbed to draw Shep’s attention. As if in answer to their prayers, the old man started up some sort of power saw. The sound whirred loudly in the echoing cave, cutting through the calm. Robin tugged at him. “Let’s go!”
With the buzzing of the saw to mask their advance, they stuck to the shadows and scuttled up the ledge, putting themselves onto their stomachs once reaching the top. Here they had a perfect view of the goings on below, but were shielded in darkness on the right side of the cave. The power saw abruptly cut to silence, and the silence was replaced by Shep’s voice, already into the latter half of a sentence. “…until I tell you to turn on the saw! What the hell are you trying to do, Dr. Lichtenstein? Ruin my concentration? I’m working here!” Shep railed at the old man, who stood shakily with the big saw in his frail, bony hands.
“I-I’m sorry, Shepherd. I just wanted to make sure it was working all right. It’s been a while since I’ve used it.”
Shep walked over to the old man. “Don’t worry. This is the last time you’ll ever have to use the saw.”
The old man looked terrified of Shep, but stuck his chin out defiantly. In a quivering voice he said, “You’re damn right this is the last time! I can’t go through this again. I’m an old man! I don’t care what you do to me anymore, or how much you threaten me. My reputation means nothing now. This is the last time. I need to give my conscience some peace before I die!”
Shep sighed impatiently. “This is the last time because Klee is the final member of my family, not because you refuse, you arrogant old bag of guts. Give me that saw.”
The doctor looked uneasy. “What do you want it for?”
Shep circled the doctor. Margol watched as Allisto walked over to the pile of supplies where the young woman was. She handed Allisto a quart sized plastic container. Whatever was about to happen had been pre-arranged. Allisto took the container and walked over to stand patiently by Shep.
The doctor looked at the container Allisto held. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Why is the container empty?”
“Hasn’t been filled yet, obviously,” Shep said.
“Why not? Where is the sacrifice? Who had to die today so that your foul kind can live?” The doctor glanced over at the corner. “Is it the woman?”
Shep smiled. “No, Dr. Lichtenstein. Brin-Marie is one of our people. It’s your blood we’ll be using today. You are the sacrifice. Surprise!”
The man trembled. “No!” he whispered. “You can’t kill me. You need me! I’m the only one who can do the amputation. You don’t know how to operate the saw!” He held the power saw to his chest protectively.
Shep laughed. “Come on old man. I’ve seen you do it enough times. Did you think I wasn’t paying attention? I can do the amputation myself.”
“No!” the old man cried, sounding more frustrated than frightened now. “No! I’ve lived in fear for years because of you. At least let me die in peace! I cannot die here, not by your hand. I will not be part of this abomination!”
Shep snatched the saw from the old man with one swift action. The old man took a shaky step backward and stumbled to the ground. He looked up at Shep. “Foul creature! You will burn for all you’ve done.”
“You should be thanking me. All of your sins will be forgiven. I’m giving you a gift. You haven’t exactly been a model citizen, remember? There was a time when you were a very naughty boy, Dr. Lichtenstein.”
The old man made a desperate, futile attempt at escape, but Shep caught him by the collar. “Fine, have it your way, doctor. If you won’t take your medicine like a big boy, I’ll have to force it on you.”
Patrick looked down at Shep, and it was like looking at a stranger that had taken over Shep’s body. But of course, that wasn’t the case at all. This was the real Shep. It was the other Shep, the Shep that Patrick had known for ten years that was the imposter.
Margol held the man while Shep took his hand, pulling his feeble arm out straight. He whimpered. Using the tip of the saw, Shep made a deep slice in the old man’s wrist. Blood seeped in a steady flow from the papery skin. Patrick felt Robin start to shake beside him, and he put an arm on her back. They were seeing something they were never meant to see, and it went beyond the attack on this old man. They were seeing Shep in his true form.
Robin glanced at Patrick, and he shook his head, reading the pleading intention in her eyes. They meant to kill that old man, and Patrick knew that all moral law dictated they should try to stop this from happening. But if they exposed themselves now, Shep might kill him and Robin. As horrified and sad as he was for this poor old doctor, he was not willing to risk his and Robin’s lives for the stranger. So, disgusted, he watched, as the black-haired brother caught the man’s blood in the plastic container.
When that task was complete, the doctor fell to the side. Shep looked down at his unconscious or perhaps dead body. “Now he’s in the way,” Shep said with annoyance. He picked the man’s limp form up and tossed him across the cave, where he landed on his back at the bottom of the ledge where Patrick and Robin were. Patrick looked down at the man. His eyes were slightly par
ted, and he was breathing. Alive.
The doctor’s eyes opened a bit wider. Patrick couldn’t imagine that he was seeing them. He shouldn’t even be awake after losing that much blood, and he was still bleeding. But he was definitely conscious. He clung to his wrist in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. Patrick glanced over at the rest of the company. Shep was back to touching and poking the painted circle on the wall, as though he expected it to change somehow.
Looking back down at the old man, Patrick saw a weak smile edge his pale lips. Robin was waving her fingers. Patrick grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?” he mouthed. She pointed to the old man. With a crooked finger, the doctor waved up at them. A weak smile played at the corner of his lips. He saw them. He then took that crooked finger and placed it to his mouth, a silencing gesture. The man dropped his hand, turned slowly to his side, and began to write something in the dirt. It seemed an incredible effort to perform the task. When he’d finished, he looked up at them, and pointed to the message. They couldn’t read it from where they lay. He pointed again, then his hand dropped, and he let out a long sigh as his eyes glazed over.
Robin looked about to cry. Patrick put his hand over her mouth and shook his head. She nodded, but she was shaking again. She dropped her head and buried her face in her arm. Patrick hoped Shep’s little ceremony was almost over. Poetry and wine indeed. This was a horror show.
His eyes drifted back to the stony room below, where Shep ran his hands along the wall. He looked over his shoulder to where the Allisto squatted on the floor with the container. “Bring me the blood,” he said. Allisto stood but did not move. He looked uneasy. “Allisto! Did you hear me?”
“Are you sure it is time, Shepherd?”
Shep stormed over. “Do you doubt me, Allisto? Huh?”
The black-haired brother flinched. “I think maybe it is too soon.”
Shep glared at him. “I got you out, didn’t I, you little shit?”
Allisto’s shoulders trembled. “I know, but when Margol came through, the circle was different, it was—”
“It is never easy, Allisto, and it is never exactly the same. I got Margol through, didn’t I? I got you through, and Juris too!”
“Yes. You did. I am sorry.”
Shep looked over at Margol, who stood stoically with his hands clasped in front of him. “How about you, carrot top? Is your confidence in me as weak as your brother’s?”
“No. You know what is best. Allisto, give Shepherd the blood.”
Allisto hesitantly handed the container to Shep. Shep took it carefully. “Brin-Marie?”
The little woman with the pixie haircut looked up from her first aid supplies. “Yes?”
“Could you check on the doctor for me? Just make sure he’s dead.”
“Yes, Shepherd.” Brin-Marie walked over to where the old man’s body lay and placed a finger on his neck. She leaned in and listened to his chest. Patrick pulled his head back into the shadows as she stood. “He’s dead, Shepherd.”
“Good. The blood of the newly departed doesn’t exactly work unless the bloke is actually departed, now does it?” Shep looked around, grinning as if this was supposed to elicit a laugh. When no one laughed, he shrugged.
Walking back over to the wall, he opened the container, smearing blood along the rim of the painted circle. It dawned on Patrick then that the big circle on the wall had never been painted at all. It was merely stained with blood, presumably from other such ceremonies in the past. When the container was empty, Shep ran his hands through the blood on the wall in a circular motion. He chanted softly, the language unknown.
Allisto and Margol came up behind him and joined in whispering the strange words. The circle began to steam.
Steam? Patrick leaned farther over the ledge and squinted to see better. A steam was rising off the wall, like the blood Shep had smeared on it was cooking. A stagnant, metallic odor filled the air. Shep took a step back then placed his hands directly onto the center of the circle. He pushed against the wall until his forearms shook. This went on for nearly a minute until finally, he stepped back. “Damn it!” he screamed.
Allisto and Margol looked terrified, shifting side to side, wringing their hands. Shep turned, examining their faces. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ll just try again.” He laughed nervously. “Don’t worry! Margol, it took three tries to get you out! Remember, Allisto?”
“Maybe we need more blood,” Allisto said.
Shep’s expression darkened, and Patrick wondered why the brunette brother hadn’t yet learned to keep his mouth shut when Shep was on a tear. Even Patrick knew that from years of dealing with Shep’s mood swings, although he’d never witnessed one of Shep’s tantrums post-murder before.
“You want more blood, Allisto? Fine.” Shep stormed over to the dead doctor. Patrick shuddered at how close Shep was. He could have reached down and touched his sandy curls. Shep picked the body up, threw it over his shoulder, then trudged back to where the others stood. “Let’s give it some more blood then, shall we?” Shep reached in his pocket and pulled out a knife. Swinging the doctor’s body off of his shoulder, he made a deep cut across the dead man’s neck. Grabbing the old man’s hair, he pulled his head back until the wound gaped open, then walked the body over and panned it back and forth in front of the wall, trickling the sluggish stream of blood across the painted circle.
When the charade was over, he once again tossed the body across the cave. Patrick was thankful Shep had thrown him in the other direction this time. He didn’t think he could handle the dead man staring up at him with a gaping neck wound.
“There! Happy now, Allisto?”
Allisto looked about to cry. “Please Shepherd. Please. Just try again.” Allisto’s shoulders trembled.
Shep grabbed Allisto and kissed him on the mouth. “I’m sorry.” Holding Allisto’s face in his hands, he said, “Don’t be scared. I love you Allisto, my brother. Don’t worry. It’s going to work this time. You’re going to help me. Both of you.”
Shep’s own hands were shaking and tears wet his cheeks. Whatever endeavor they were attempting, it had them all in an emotional uproar. Margol came over and embraced the two of them. They all chanted and wept together. Robin lifted her head at this, and looked on with amazement at the emotional display. Abruptly, the three disengaged.
“Let’s do it,” Shep said, rubbing his palms together. He and the two brothers stood before the bloody circle. Side by side, they pressed their palms against the wall, each making a series of circular motions, as though searching for an opening. There was a tangible anticipation in the cave that Patrick felt with each shallow breath he took. Steam began to rise from the circle again, and soon the air was rank with the smell of blood. Patrick had to cover his nose to keep from gagging.
Hazy smoke began to fill the cave as the bloody circle seemed to be heating up, glowing from some unseen fire beyond the rock wall. The brothers chanted, loud and insistent. The chanting abruptly ceased as Shep called out “I’m in!”
The statement was followed by a whirl of activity. Patrick was having trouble seeing through the haze of smoke, but it looked like Shep’s hands were submerged in the wall, from his elbows down, as though the stone in the center had melted. Brin-Marie came rushing forward to watch. The brothers braced themselves on either side of Shep, each holding one of his shoulders. “Easy, easy,” Shep yelled out. “Okay! PULL!”
The brothers strained, pulling on Shep, but his arms appeared to be stuck in the wall now. This did not deter them. They pulled on him with all of their might. “I have contact!” Shep shouted. “PULL! Pull hard now!”
They pulled. The haze of smoke grew thicker before Patrick’s eyes, and he was thankful for it, because what happened next defied explanation.
Something, or someone, came through the wall and landed with a splat on the cave floor, taking Shep down with it. Patrick rubbed his eyes and stared at the smoking circle, which was once again nothing more than a solid mass of rock. But somet
hing had just shot out of that circle in the wall, like an oversized infant from a stony womb.
With the crowd of people that now scurried around the thing, Patrick could not see what it was. What he could see were another pair of hands still clasped to Shep’s. Shep released the hands and stood, shouting instructions. “Get him up! Get him up! Is he breathing? Slap his cheek!”
A loud screech echoed like a giant bird’s call through the cave. After the screech came sobbing, like an infant’s cry, only much deeper. The sound was heart breaking, full of pain and anguish. Shep, the two brothers, and Brin-Marie were now huddled around the crying thing on the ground. Patrick glanced at Robin, who at some point had buried her face in her forearm again. He wondered how much she’d missed.
“Bring me the saw. It’s best to do this right away,” Shep said, sounding eerily calm, back in control.
The power saw sprang to life, and the loud whirring was second only to the tortured screams that could be heard over it. The saw buzzed for roughly ten minutes, then fell silent. More anguished howls followed, labored breaths sucked deep, released in a wail of pain. After five or six more horrifying screams, they tapered off to quiet whimpering.
Patrick was suddenly aware of how close he was to Shep and the others. They’d dragged the thing toward the center of the cave, and now stood closer to Patrick and Robin’s hiding place. “I’ll get the gauze,” the woman said. “We need to stitch that up.”
“No!” Shep’s voice called out. “Do not stitch the wound. Put that cream I gave you on it. It will disinfect it and restrict the capillaries.”
“But we have to stop the bleeding!” Brin-Marie said, raising her voice for the first time.
“This is no ordinary balm, Brin-Marie. It will stop the bleeding. Trust me on this. Now do as I say.”
Patrick was frozen, afraid to peek over the ledge and view the scene he was hearing. They were so damned close. Robin was like a frozen statue beside him. At least she’d stopped shaking. He’d been afraid Shep would hear her bones rattling.