by Rex Baron
Marc took no interest in the coldness of her tone. He pulled a bag out of its hiding place, tucked in the front of his jacket, and carefully unloaded its contents onto a small square of white cloth he had spread on the floor. Gingerly, he placed the candles side by side on the concrete, organizing the ritual objects in order of importance and efficiency. He had the scientific touch, Elizabeth thought with irony. He would have made a good scientist, if he had been endowed with purer motives and perhaps a less perfect face. But beauty requires success, she thought. To be beautiful and fail was, by far, a greater failure than any other. High expectations were placed on the beautiful, and there could be no excuse for failing to hit the mark.
She bent down and silently began to assist Marc. She studied him as they worked, seeing him as an object that she already possessed, evaluating the tiny flaws on his surface, like hairline scratches in a fine veneer.
“You're awfully quiet,” he said.
“I'm trying to summon up some feeling of power or something, charging up for the experiment,” she lied.
She watched him as he set up the video cameras and trained them on the designated position they had mapped out on the floor.
“Why can't we just borrow the video stuff and take it out of here? We could film almost anywhere, couldn't we?” Elizabeth asked nervously.
Marc laughed. “It says in the book to do it in a deserted place, a crossroads at night, a glen or chamber ruin. I can't see us doing this on the corner of Hollywood and Vine. So I think this will have to do for our darkened chamber. Besides, if we sneak the stuff out, we'll have to sneak it back in. As it is, we might get nabbed for trespassing, but we won't get arrested for stealing.”
Elizabeth nodded at his logic. He handed her a white-handled knife.
“Draw a circle on the floor, using the blade of this knife… over there where I showed you. Concentrate, Elizabeth. Remember, you are the one who makes this thing work. Without you, there is nothing.”
Elizabeth held the sweater she wore close to her body, out of the way of the curious knife, as she traced a circle on the floor. She followed Marc's instructions as he read from his book of demons. She poured sea salt around the circle as protection against evil forces, presumably sealing those inside in safety. Systematically, she followed the steps as he read, drawing a five-pointed star inside the circle and inscribing various characters from some forgotten language around the outside.
By three minutes to twelve, all was ready. Without a word, Marc took her hand and led her into the center of the circle.
“The camera is rolling. Are you ready?” he whispered.
“Why are you whispering? There isn't anyone here to hear us,” Elizabeth replied sharply, masking her fear with mock aggressiveness.
“Concentrate,” Marc whispered again in a voice that was almost foreign to her. “Do you have the paper with the incantation written on it with you? Remember, once we begin, you mustn’t, under any circumstance, step out of the circle, regardless of what you see or what happens. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I'm well aware of how the game is played.”
Elizabeth tried to be clinical in her appraisal of the effects within her own body, as she geared up for her moment of confrontation with the powers of darkness. She took a deep breath and began monitoring her own physical sensations, the quickening heartbeat and the flattening of vision, a side effect of fear, resulting in a loss of depth perception. Her hearing suddenly seemed to magnify, and she fancied she heard the footfalls of the patrolman outside, lightly plodding their course beneath the thundering sound of Marc's pounding heart. A loss of warmth in her fingers rapidly moved up her arms and a slight tremor in her jaw caused her teeth to rattle together like loose cups in a cupboard.
She wanted to bolt from the circle and escape while there was still time, but as the flight mechanism gripped her body, sending power to her legs, her amplified hearing heard the clock tower outside chime the hour. It was too late to run.
“It's midnight,” Marc said excitedly, confirming the chimes with his watch.
She heard him swallow hard before unfolding the scrap of paper on which he had copied the writings from the ancient book. Elizabeth still could not believe that anything would happen. It was fantastic to believe that her highly developed scientific brain could, in any way, be connected to this archaic mumbo jumbo. And yet, the atmosphere of the room seemed to transform with strange rumblings and the appearance of electrical flashes as Marc began to read from the paper.
“Aglon Tetragram Vaycheon Stimulamathon
Erohares Retragsammathon Clyoran Icion
Esition Existien Eryona Onera Erasyn Moyn”
Elizabeth's tongue dried up and clung to the roof of her mouth as she listened to the words, almost remembering them in some distant memory.
“Meffias Soter Emmanuel” Solemnly and slowly, Marc read from the paper, amplifying the power of his voice to carry the proper confidence, befitting one who commands the infernal powers. He came to the end of the litany of demonic names, as the overhead lights grew dim.
“Concentrate, Elizabeth,” he commanded her as well. “Concentrate harder.”
Elizabeth gripped her eyes closed and forced her Will through a space in the front of her forehead, projecting her power instinctively out into the space before them. She knew that she must be the link, the power source between the words that Marc spoke and the entity upon which they called. She felt dizzy, as if she wanted to sleep. Her body swayed and slumped against Marc for support. She held her arms around herself for warmth as the room grew colder and more stifling, and she felt, for one horrifying second, as if she had lifted from the floor. For a terrifying moment, she feared that she might be floating outside the safety of the circle, and opened her eyes to see her feet firmly planted under her.
She reached inside her sweater pocket and discovered a small square of folded paper. As Marc continued to repeat the incantation, she unfolded the paper and realized it was the note that Marc had left that first night on the windshield of her car. It had truly been the first night of her life, and she knew at once that whatever he had become in her eyes, she wanted him.
She crumpled the paper in her hand and concentrated on the spot on the floor, a few feet from where they stood.
Suddenly, she heard Marc speak in an agitated voice.
“Look... my God. There is something there.”
She opened her eyes to see a phosphorescent green light, shimmering about a foot above the cement floor, expanding in size as it slowly revolved in space. It lengthened to the proportions of a human figure, and vague glowing features appeared where the face should be.
“It's happening,” Marc gasped. “My God, Elizabeth, we've done it.”
Elizabeth could not speak. She could not take her eyes from the whirling mass of green light before her. Its black hole of a mouth wagged open and closed, terrifying her, as if it were the very gates of hell.
“It's not like a ghost,” she said. “It feels different. It is not just an astral presence, but something that has never lived as a human. It is a being of sorts, that is eternal as the angels and the Devil himself.”
A foul-smelling current of wind rushed into the room at the mention of the unholy name, and raked across the stacks of stored equipment, knocking empty cartons to the floor and toppling a pile of textbooks. It increased in intensity as the luminous figure grew brighter and encircled Marc and Elizabeth, tearing at their hair and clothing like taunting hands.
Elizabeth gripped her fists tight and repeated silently what she expected from her bargain. Her brain chanted the request again and again, while Marc, almost eloquently, presented a list of petitions in as commanding a voice as he could muster. Elizabeth felt cold with perspiration, and only wanted that the ordeal be over and the odious specter to dissolve back into its own beastly region, leaving them safe and alone.
Without warning, the demonic figure moved toward them.
Marc's eyes
widened.
“Stay inside the circle,” he said. “Whatever happens, stay inside the circle.”
Elizabeth moved to grasp his arm, but without warning, Marc suddenly incinerated and became a wall of fire before her eyes. She screamed and tore at her hair with her hands.
“Don't move Elizabeth,” she heard Marc's voice through the flames. “It's only an illusion, to try and get you out of the circle. They'll have you… if you set one foot out of the protection of the circle.”
“What'll I do?” she shouted, still half hysterical.
“Concentrate. You can hold it back if you concentrate.”
Elizabeth now realized that the wall of flames, only inches from her, radiated no heat, and neither she nor Marc were in real danger of being burned. She closed her eyes and visualized a wall of water surrounding them, insulating them from the projected illusion of the ghoulish figure before them. When she opened her eyes, the fire had vanished.
Marc opened his jacket and produced a sheet of paper that he held out at arm’s length, as an offering to the specter. He addressed it in a respectful tone.
“It's an agreement signed with my name,” he said. “I prepared it according to the book. You will see that as archaic as it may seem, it is signed in blood. I assume that is still a necessary requirement.”
The mouth of the specter opened and closed as if speaking, but communicated no sound. Marc released the paper and let it drop. As it drifted to the floor, it was swept up, absorbed by the phosphorescent mass, pulling it into its vortex like a straw drawn into a hurricane.
The light of the strange being expanded, illuminating the basement room in an eerie, unnatural light. Without warning, another gust of cold wind swept through the room, nearly sending them toppling to the floor. It tore at them where they stood, and they clung together for the sheer mass of their collective weight. The luminous presence seared the fetid air around them and the freakish wind moaned as if escaping down a long tunnel.
Elizabeth and Marc lowered themselves to the ground for fear of being swept out of the circle and into some ungodly union with the swirling, evil mass that encompassed the protected area.
“What have you done?” Elizabeth shouted over the roar of the wind.
“Just what I said I was going to do,” Marc shouted back, inches from her ear. “I made a pact, so that I can have whatever I want.”
“You're insane. You sold your Soul.” Elizabeth's voice was plaintive and frightened.
“I've given up nothing,” he said. “I've lived my life without the benefit of a Soul. I have no use for one now.”
Elizabeth clung to him for safety, until he freed his arms and waved them wildly over his head. She realized, after a moment, that he was making the sign of a five-pointed star in each direction, first to the east, then the south, then the west and north. When he had finished, he addressed the entity in a powerful voice.
“Go back to your unholy place and do as we have set forth in this bargain. Go forth Lucifuge Rofocale and consummate our pact, else I need torture you endlessly by the merit of the words: TELAGRAM, VAYCHEONY EZPARES RE TETRAGRAMMATON, ORYORAM ESYTION EXISTION ERYONA ONERA BRASIM MOYM MESSIAS SOTER EMMANUEL SABOTH ADONAI TE ADORO ET INVOCO.”
Marc called out the words, waving his arms and continuing to etch the sign of the five-pointed star in the air with his hand, like an unholy benediction that would seal his fate and bring their communion with the demon to a close.
Within a moment, the sound of the wind suddenly abated, and the strange light of the evil presence dissipated as if absorbed by the dank-smelling walls of the basement room.
Marc turned to Elizabeth, his eyes radiant with satisfaction. She stood trembling, staring at the space in the air where the paper with the blood pact written on it had vanished.
Everything around them was still charged with electrical energy, but the entity was gone. The mustiness of the damp walls was suffocating and the air hung with the sickening sweet smell of sulfur.
“We did it,” Marc said, taking Elizabeth by the shoulders.
She had never seen him more beautiful. His face shone with a strength and confidence that she had not seen before.
“At last I have what I want, and I have you to thank for it,” he said with an exuberant smile. He held her close and kissed her. She sighed in relief and gratitude as his lips traveled down her throat.
“It worked,” she whispered aloud, as she threw back her head and laughed with delirium. “I too have what I wanted.”
She felt his hand fumbling with the fastening on her skirt.
“No, Marc, not here.” She laughed aloud with pleasure at the intensity of his enthusiasm. “We can go back to the apartment, or even the lab. We've got to get out of here. The guard will be back on his one o'clock rounds. He might have already heard you shouting or seen the lights.”
The hand on her hip ignored her words, and his mouth covered her now bared shoulder with painful biting kisses.
“Marc, don't,” she said sharply.
Marc pressed her shoulders to the cement floor and let the weight of his body pin her beneath him. She tried to breathe, but she could not.
“God Marc, the camera is still running. You can't... this is insane.”
He held her arms tightly by the wrists and muffled her speech with his mouth on hers. She glared up at the open eye of the camera as Marc pushed his hand under her skirt and tore at her clothing.
She wrenched her face away from his suffocating hold on her and gasped for air. “Please don't do this,” she pleaded.
“You don't understand,” his low voice drifted into her ear like discordant music. “I must. It's all part of the bargain.”
A wave of sickening horror swept over her. She tried to pull away, but he held her firm. She tore her bruised and bleeding shoulder away from his devouring teeth.
“Stop it. I hate you. Do you hear me? I don't love you.”
She pried one hand free from his grasp and struck him across the side of his face, opening a deep gash with her nails. He let out a cry and jerked away. His face was smeared with blood, yet his eyes were cold and without anger. They were eyes she had seen before. They were the eyes she had seen in the rearview mirror, the night of her accident on the mountain road: deeply set, colorless and colder than death. His mouth was set in a sly twisted smirk, knowing and cruel. It was the face of the specter. It was the Devil's face. Elizabeth tried to scream but she had no voice. She had no more strength to resist. She had made her bargain.
Chapter Fifteen
Pacific Palisades
Loretta gasped for air as she bolted upright in bed. She concentrated to remember the details of the dream from which she had awakened herself with a scream. She turned on the light and let the racing images settle in her brain. She had seen a skeleton on horseback, dressed in the armor of a knight, the image of the DEATH card in the tarot deck. But now, he was alive and menacingly real. He had chased her as she ran barefoot along a great precipice, and swiped at her with a scythe, forcing her dangerously close to the edge. As she ran, she came to a tidal pool filled with scorpions. In their midst lay a great dying fish with a snake in its mouth.
Loretta jotted down her memories of the images on a small pad that she kept near the bed. She remembered vaguely that the dream had started near a tall clock tower, over which an enormous eye hovered in the tempestuous sky, like the voyeuristic eye of a god. Nearby, she had seen seven swords stuck in the earth, which she understood from the tarot deck to represent cruelty, or the fact that any new thing is built on the destruction and ashes of what came before it.
She could not piece the fragments of images together, and decided to wait until morning, when she would lay out the cards in front of her and intuitively sense their hidden meaning. She switched out the light and lay back down. At the edge of sleep, she saw in her mind's eye the black knight up ahead blocking her path.
Once again, she tried to out flank him and ran into an open field filled with popp
ies, but he was instantly upon her, brandishing his scythe. As she looked over her shoulder to gauge how close he had come, she saw the razor edge gleaming in the moonlight for a half second before it found its mark and severed her head.
Loretta lay quietly in the dark, her chest heaving, her eyes glinting with moisture. She knew that she would sleep no more that night, and glancing at the clock beside the bed, thanked the gods that it was only two hours until the safety of dawn.
Chapter Sixteen
UCLA Campus
The following morning, Elizabeth saw no sign of Marc. They had left the Communications building before one a.m. and walked silently to their cars. Elizabeth had been so infuriated at his physical attack on her, and disgusted by the blasphemy… an insult to true lovemaking, that she was unable to utter a word. Marc was also silent as they walked away from the tomb-like storage room. But it was not the result of remorse that made him quiet, but rather a preoccupation with his own thoughts. His eyes were distant, focusing on his future.
Now, Elizabeth sat in the lab, reviewing the videotape of their groundbreaking experiment. She had run it through on fast forward to be certain that there had been no mistake. But now, as she watched again for the third time, she realized that it contained nothing at all except, near the end, ten minutes of a cruel and pitiful rape.
The screen had been blank for some inexplicable reason, and it was clear that the tape had recorded nothing of the communion with the demon. Perhaps she had projected the whole thing with her marvelous mind, she thought mockingly, as she watched the vibrating shadows of the blank tape pass by.
That was hardly a damnable thing to have done. But if it had not been merely in her mind, and they had truly made a pact with some agent of the Devil, had she not been a great fool not to have asked for more? She had asked the demon to grant that Marc would be hers alone, that he would never be with another woman.