“That’s what I’ve waited to hear.”
John’s hands twitched on the wheel. Clara?
No one answered, leaving John wondering if she’d really spoken to him again or if it was just his subconscious letting him know she wouldn’t be upset with him.
None of it will matter if I don’t get there in time.
He pressed down harder on the gas, unconcerned about getting a speeding ticket at that hour of the morning. He went over the Main Street Bridge and then turned left onto the Five Mile Road. As he approached the Five Mile Bridge, he saw a figure silhouetted on the edge, arms spread wide.
No! I’m too late! Refusing to admit defeat, John drove onto the bridge. Just as he reached her, she stepped off and disappeared.
“Danni!” Without pause, John climbed over the barrier and dove, the expanding circle of wavelets from Danni’s entry serving as his target.
He hit at a slight angle, the water slapping his face like a giant hand. The air exploded from his lungs in a mass of bubbles, and he fought his way back to the surface for a gasping breath before diving back down into the murky river. Hoping he hadn’t strayed too far from where Danni landed, he felt around blindly with his hands while forcing his way deeper. Just when he feared he might have to go up for more air, one of his flailing hands struck something soft but firm. He grabbed it before it moved away, and kicked for the surface, feeling the drag of something heavy behind him.
As soon as his face broke the surface, he gulped in air and then pulled up the object he’d been towing. In the near-dark, he saw a leg, a pink sandal on its foot, and for a moment he feared he’d been too late after all, that his nightmare had come true. Then the rest of her body rose up, all parts still attached. He lifted her head from the water and began side-stroking his way to shore. When his feet touched soft mud, he switched his grip and pushed Danni’s body forward, half-crawling and half-swimming behind her.
Just a few feet from shore, fiery pain burst to life in John’s calf. He leaped forward as something cold and slimy brushed against his legs. Images of monstrous tentacles appeared in his mind, and he dragged Danni’s body out of the water, ignoring the pain spreading up his leg until they were both well away from the river’s edge. After checking to make sure nothing had followed them out of the water, he placed two fingers on Danni’s neck and found a ragged pulse. Turning her on her side, he pounded her back until her body spasmed in a series of wracking coughs and she spit several mouthfuls of water onto the muddy soil.
Her lungs clear, Danni fell back, gulping air. Only then did John reach down and feel the circular wound in his calf. Blood and water ran down his leg and foot, and he had to grit his teeth against the pain as his fingers probed the bite. Confident the creature’s teeth hadn’t severed any vital vessels or tendons, John returned his attention to Danni, who was slowly recovering her breath.
“Are you all right?” He took her hand as he asked, and she clutched at it gratefully.
“Yeah, I think so. My shoulder hurts like hell, but other than that...What happened?” She turned and spit sand and water, wiped her mouth with her free hand, and then spit again.
“You don’t remember?”
She started to shake her head and then stopped. “I...I was dreaming. I was so sad. He told me everything would be all right. All I had to do was go to you. You would be waiting for me, at the river. And you were. You held out your arms...” She paused, her brow furrowed in concentration. “That’s all. The next thing I knew, everything was dark and cold, and I couldn’t breathe.”
“You jumped into the river.”
“Jumped into the?...That’s what he did to all those other women, isn’t it?” Her voice trailed off as a series of shivers wracked her body.
“Yes.” John put his arms around her and helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you back home.”
“You’re limping,” Danni said, as John guided her up the embankment toward the bridge.
“It’s nothing. Just a cut. I’ll clean it when we get home.” He’d do more than clean the creature’s bite. He’d sterilize the hell out of it.
Danni stopped and clutched at John’s shirt. “What about Mitch? You didn’t leave him home, did you?”
“Don’t worry, he’s fine,” John said. “He was sound asleep when I left, and all the wards are in place around the house. Nothing can get in. That’s why Christian had to draw you out when you were asleep.”
“He could do the same thing to Mitch!”
“I don’t think so. ‘He makes the river call the lovers.’ That’s a line from an ancient tale of the Stranger. His spell only works on hearts saddened by lost or unrequited love.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s my fault. And it doesn’t matter now. His plan failed. He’ll have to try something else.”
They drove the rest of the way in silence, both of them wondering the same thing.
What would that something else be?
And would they be as lucky next time?
Part IV
He brings a shaking to the earth
He speaks the words that stop your heart
He sets the Devil in your path
When the Stranger comes to town
- The Stranger, undated Southern folk myth
Chapter 34
Death.
Billy Ray smelled it before he even stepped outside, saw the evidence of it before the back door to Our Lady of Perpetual Hope closed behind him. Smoke rose from a dozen different points in the city, thick black clouds that stunk worse than junkyard fires.
“Can you smell it, Billy?”
He jumped at the reverend’s voice above him. For a moment, he pictured the gaunt man floating in the air, hovering over him like some kind of gargoyle waiting to swoop down on its prey. Billy Ray slowly turned his gaze upwards and felt a nervous relief when he saw Cyrus Christian leaning from his bedroom window.
“Um, yeah, you mean the smoke?”
Christian’s grin grew wide, and Billy Ray’s nervousness increased in tandem with it. “That’s not just smoke. Breathe it in. That’s the smell of cherished memories, life-long savings, homes where generations built happy memories, all burning away to ash. Flesh and blood reduced to oily, greasy vapors.” Christian took a deep breath and held it. Just when Billy Ray thought it was impossible for a man to go that long without breathing, Christian exhaled through his nose, accompanied by a mellow sighing sound. Billy Ray remembered his old man making a similar sound whenever he took his first drag on his after-dinner cigar.
Billy Ray turned his eyes away from Christian’s creepy presence and looked back at Hastings Mills. In that moment, he realized something was missing.
No fire or police sirens filled the early morning air.
There’s no help coming for those people.
Billy Ray’s stomach twisted, threatening to send his meager breakfast of coffee and a stale donut back into the light. The flavor of his toothpaste disappeared, replaced by a slimy, burnt-fat taste that took a seat on his tongue and slowly spread throughout his mouth.
That’s roasted man-meat you’re tasting, Billy.
He had no idea if words were in his head or if Christian had said them. In that moment he knew it was time to get the fuck out of Hastings Mills. Fuck waiting until after the fair.
Gotta act like nothing’s wrong. He took out his cigarettes and lighter, shook a butt out of the pack.
“What are you plans for today, Billy?”
“Shit!” Billy Ray’s hands twitched, sending cigarettes in all directions. Stay calm, you asshole. He’s not reading your mind.
Billy Ray took a deep breath before answering. When he spoke, he was pleased at how calm his voice sounded. “Things are almost done at the park. I’m gonna take care of the last few booths. Unless you have something else you need done.”
“No, that’s fine, Billy. You get going. We’ll see each other later.”
Billy Ray purposely took time to gather his cigaret
tes and light one before glancing upwards. Christian was gone from the window.
Now. Time to get your ass in gear, Billy Ray Capshaw.
He took a few more drags on the cigarette, appreciating how it washed away the crematorium taste from his tongue, and then stubbed it out against the railing. As he went back inside, already sweating from the god-awful heat, he started a mental list of things to take with him and then decided just to fuck it, just get the hell out.
He grabbed a paper bag he knew wouldn’t look suspicious; he frequently took a bag of water bottles and snacks with him if he planned on being gone all day. The money would take up just about the same amount of space. Everything else he’d just buy when he got to wherever he ended up.
A floorboard creaked overhead and Billy Ray froze, droplets of sweat tickling their way down his back. The murky basement seemed to grow darker as he stood statue-still, listening for any indication that someone—Christian!—might be heading for the basement stairs. When a full minute went by with no further sounds, Billy Ray went to the cabinet and eased the door open, glancing around him as he did so.
More sweat dripped from his brow as he snatched the bills from their boxes. He stuffed them into the bag without even bothering to count them. He no longer cared how much was there, as long as it was enough to finance a fresh start someplace else.
Someplace where people don’t kill each other on the street or light their neighbor’s house on fire for kicks.
Billy Ray’s heart stomped a heavy-metal rhythm as he approached the back entrance. What if Christian was looking out his window again? Or crossing the back lawn on his way to the parking lot?
An image of the reverend, his ebony eyes alight with manic glee, appeared in Billy Ray’s head. Except that in his mental picture, Cyrus Christian’s fingers were long blades, like an evil version of Edward Scissorhands. Blades that dripped blood. When he smiled, his teeth were piranha-sharp.
Stop it! You’re freaking yourself out. He’s crazy, but he’s not the fucking Devil. Open the door, make sure the coast is clear, and get your ass moving.
Billy Ray’s palms were perspiring so badly the paper bag had brown, finger-shaped stains on it and his hand threatened to slide right off the door knob.
Get a grip, you pussy. One. Two. Thr—
The knob spun in his hand and then pulled out of his grasp as the door flew open, revealing Cyrus Christian standing there, along with Chief Showalter, the mayor, and two women he didn’t know.
“Hello, Billy. Going somewhere?”
A terrible tightness filled Billy Ray’s chest. He tried to speak but only a strangled gasp escaped.
“I’ll take that.” Showalter yanked the paper bag from Billy Ray’s numb fingers. “Well, lookie here. A big ol’ sack of money. Guess workin’ for the church pays better than I thought.”
Billy Ray’s body came to life as the chief showed the bag to Christian. He rushed forward, head and shoulders down, the words of his long-ago high school football coach—“Picture yourself knocking those assholes down like bowling pins!”—loud in his head, as if Coach Johnson was right behind him. Billy Ray rammed himself into Showalter, sending the heavy-set sheriff stumbling to one side. The two matrons’ eyes went wide as he closed the few feet between them. Visions of freedom filled his head as prepared himself for the impact with their soft, plump bodies.
Five steps and I’m home free! No way they can—
Without warning his body rose up from the ground. The matrons’ shocked expressions changed to self-righteous smiles as he continued his ascent, higher and higher, until he was looking down at them. Belatedly he felt his shirt and belt tugging at him, and realized someone had him in a two-handed grip and was —
Throwing me through the air? Impossible!
His body tumbled, an out-of-control human shot put. He sailed over the two church ladies, watched their mouths open in laughter. As his body revolved, he caught an upside-down glimpse of Cyrus Christian behind him, arms still outstretched like a statue of a Greek Olympiad.
How did he—
Then he was falling, faster than he’d risen, the ground speeding toward his face.
Jesus, God, please help—
The world exploded in pain and then went black.
Billy Ray regained consciousness with no memory of having lost it. His face felt like someone had poured acid on it, and his nose was a concentrated ball of fire.
The bitter, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and he tried to spit it out, only he couldn’t work up enough saliva. His tongue felt dry and gritty, and he could tell his lips were swollen.
“Welcome back, Billy.”
His body twitched in response to the reverend’s words from somewhere behind him. He tried to turn and belatedly realized he was tied to something, his ankles close together and his arms spread wide.
Like he was on a cross.
Oh, fuck. No. Fucking shit, NO!
He caught movement from the corner of his eye as Christian came into view, his head even with Billy Ray’s chest.
“Billy, Billy, Billy.” The reverend wore an exaggerated look of disappointment on his ageless face. “So predictable. I probably knew before you did that you’d try and steal the money this morning. In fact, I’d wager that I knew weeks before you did. That’s why I kept you around. You were the perfect choice.”
Billy Ray tried to focus through the pain. Perfect choice? For what?
“For the Binding, of course. Oh, I could have used anyone, but you practically fell into my hands when you asked me for a job.”
He heard me. Heard what I was thinking. But that’s impossible. Maybe...maybe this is all some kind of nightmare.
“Wrong again, Billy. No nightmare.” Christian pursed his lips and tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating what to say next. “Truth is, it’s going to be something much worse. For you, that is.”
Christian turned his back to Billy Ray and waved to someone. For the first time, Billy Ray noticed the rows of pews in front of him and understood he was on the altar of Our Lady of Perpetual Hope. He tried to speak, but only succeeded in making a small croaking sound. The cuts on his lips split open again, but even the fresh blood trickling into his mouth wasn’t enough to moisten his throat.
Four figures stepped out of the gloom and joined Christian at the foot of the altar. Showalter flipped his middle finger at Billy Ray and grinned. Behind him was the mayor, his face as dour and lifeless as ever. Trailing the men were the two women who’d been at the church for Billy’s failed escape attempt. Both wore expressions of pure bliss, the same looks Billy had always thought were fake when he saw them on TV in the audiences of Sunday morning bible programs.
Christian’s four acolytes formed a semi-circle in front of Billy, with Christian at the base of the cross.
Just a dream. It’s all just a dream.
“You hear that, folks? Billy still thinks he’s dreaming. Poor fellow.” Christian lifted his hands in the air, and his voice grew louder. “Lords of Chaos, Blood, and Death! Bringers of Pain and Darkness! Hear my words! Look upon us gathered here today in your unholy names, and see the sacrifice we make to you. Azathoth, Dagon, Cthulhu! Open thine eyes and feast upon the fear and pain of the anointed one! And in return, bestow upon your humble servant a taste of your darkness, so I may complete my work for you in this place.”
Christian bent down out of Billy Ray’s line of sight, and when he returned, he held a glass jar in one hand and a wicked-looking machete in the other.
This time Billy Ray managed to find the strength to shout.
“No! Let me the fuck down! Don’t let him do this!”
“Shut the fuck up, boy,” Showalter said. “I knew you was trouble the minute you walked into town. I’d say you got this coming’ to you.”
“No!” Billy Ray struggled against the ropes, but they held firm. A sudden odor of foul decay filled the air as Christian swung the jar back and forth, splashing an oily liquid across Billy Ray’s body.
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“I anoint thee, with stale piss and the melted fats of the dead! I anoint thee to open the eyes of the Elder Ones Who Will Someday Walk Again!”
“Stop! Plea—aagh!” Billy Ray’s plea changed to a choking gag as putrid fluids landed on his tongue.
Christian dropped the empty jar to the floor and stepped closer, tapped the long blade against Billy Ray’s chest. “Time to say good-bye, Billy. Your work here is done.”
The import of the statement was still registering in Billy Ray’s brain when Christian plunged the machete into the soft flesh below Billy Ray’s ribs. The pain was instant and tremendous, and only grew worse as Christian drew the blade down, from sternum to waist. Billy Ray’s back arched and his mouth opened wide in a silent scream that sounded deafening inside his head.
The smell of blood and shit pushed away the stink of the anointing fluids as Christian pulled the blade out. He held it up to Billy Ray’s face. “This is the blood of your life, which you give today so that others may die tomorrow. Look upon this sacrifice, my Lords, and see that I am worthy of your favor!”
This time Christian swung the machete sideways, creating an inverted cross on Billy Ray’s belly. Green and brown fluids poured from the gash. More blood gushed from Billy Ray’s mouth, creating a waterfall down his neck.
For an instant, the agony grew so intense it encompassed Billy Ray’s entire world. He felt nothing else, heard nothing else, not even his own thoughts. Then something broke inside, releasing a rush of icy cold that extinguished the fire and left him totally numb. His body sagged forward against the bindings, and the room dimmed until the figures below him were little more than shadows. One, a man dressed in black, stood close by, holding something by Billy Ray’s feet. He spoke, but the words meant nothing to Billy Ray.
The room grew darker, and Billy Ray wondered where the day had gone.
The Burning Time Page 24