“Bingo,” he said and dragged Clovis up the old boardwalk. His boots echoed with every thudding step and he felt the anticipation rise inside him with each one.
A lucid moment overcame Clovis and as his eyes focused, he spied their destination: the old Mill. In the front window, which still retained its unbroken glass, a pair of slave shackles were on display.
“No!” Clovis shrieked and tried to dig his heels into the boardwalk. His light loafers gave him little traction, even with his feet stuttering on the narrow gaps between the wood planks.
“I told you to behave,” Masaal said, his eyes glued on the shackles. “The only reason you’re not dead is I still have need of you.”
Clovis’ cries and pleading went unheeded as they approached the old Mill.
A malicious glint appeared in Masaal’s dark eyes when he stood before the leaded glass pane. The sight of the heavy, metal restraints consumed his attention so much, he didn’t notice the animalistic expression on Clovis’ face until it was too late.
With all the strength he had, Clovis bit into the hand clamped around his arm. He clenched hard enough to taste the rush of Masaal’s blood across his tongue.
This time Masaal screeched, but in pain rather than fear. He swung his free fist at the smaller rogue, to no avail.
Clovis’ head lurched right and left as Masaal tried to shake him loose, but he didn’t budge.
With an irritated, pained growl, Masaal let go of Clovis’ arm and immediately the smaller man spit out Masaal’s bloody wrist and dropped to the boardwalk. His eyes full of manic terror, he crab-walked backward to put room between them, then rolled over, jumped to his feet and ran.
His face contorted in anger, Masaal brought his wounded wrist to his lips. Without taking his eyes off the fleeing Clovis, he licked the blood from his skin, noting that being close to the powerful Dark Lady was having other benefits. The wound had already quit bleeding and would soon scab over.
Determination burning inside him, he wiped a trickle of blood off his chin, then licked it off the back of his hand. He marked in his memory where Clovis disappeared between the far buildings, then turned and with a powerful thrust of his elbow, shattered the old glass separating him from the shackles. He didn’t care who heard the noise he made as he tossed the shards aside, clearing enough of a hole that he could pull them through.
Masaal liked the sight of the rusty restraints in his meaty hands. He rolled his head to loosen his neck up from the tense anger he had felt, then slung them over his shoulder and set off to follow his prey.
The terror fueling Clovis’ flight began to die the further he ran from the Old West attraction. He found himself on an asphalt path that ran along the north side of a wide, man-made lagoon. Long overgrown with algae and all manner of life in the stagnant waters, children had fed the ducks and fish that once lived in the lagoon. Now it was nothing more than a repository for anything that the wind tossed its way.
Clovis spared no time examining the smelly water, instead running past it, his gaze swept back and forth across the area ahead, watching out for any of the added security that local law enforcement had posted since the Centennial had begun setting up across the highway. His use of Dracula’s Castle had drawn more attention than he’d anticipated. However, that area of the facility was the only one he knew well. He despaired of the possibility of running across the acres of empty parking stalls as an escape. Masaal had over a hundred more pounds of muscle than Clovis and energy to burn.
Fear creeping into his heart, he didn’t even realize he had changed direction until he found himself standing at the far corner of the park’s midway. Closed and boarded up shops and games lined each side of the mile-long entertainment hub. One of them was his old haunt and he felt his fear begin to abate when he peeked around the corner of an old eatery and saw Dracula’s Castle. He didn’t recognize the blue and black truck parked outside the entrance to his hideaway.
Clovis glanced behind him. In the distance he could make out the silhouette of Masaal stalking directly toward him.
The rogue made a snap decision. He crept out of the corner, hunched down in a manner that seemed to feel more natural than standing upright. After a quick glance around, he ran in a crouch down the side of the midway; at the last minute he cut across a small grassed area and took refuge behind the side of the truck. He could hear two distinct voices inside the building, but couldn’t make out their words. Slowly, he peeked up over the edge of the truck bed wall. It had some construction equipment lying along one side and a tarp tossed back to reveal the closest end of some metal scaffolding.
Clovis glanced back to the closed doorway to Dracula’s Castle to make sure no one was about to come through, then he climbed up into the truck bed.
“I really appreciate you taking the time to update me on this situation,” Jake Andrews said to the park security guard holding the powerful industrial flashlight. His call to Nick James assured him that Taya and Natey were fine, which had left him free to finish up a few more things before heading over to get Ron.
“Not a problem,” the guard said. He led the way down the tracks to a section of the ride that was marked off with yellow “Do Not Cross” crime scene tape.
The two men stopped at the barrier. Jake looked at the guard and asked, “May I?”
The guard shrugged. “Far as I know, they’ve done all they’re going to do. I suppose they could come back again, but as long as you don’t touch anything, I say ‘go for it’.”
Jake nodded and with care he ducked under the yellow tape. His LED flashlight didn’t offer the raw illuminating power of the guard’s, but it provided plenty to see by. He panned it along the worn out plywood sheets decorated to resemble the pea-green walls of an operating room. Off to one side sat a fifty-year-old refrigerator, partly open to reveal a macabre collection of dust-covered body parts. The gurneys that had held the real corpses sat empty. They appeared to have been cleaned of any remaining fluids the bodies may have left behind.
Jake sniffed the air. He couldn’t smell any lingering odors, other than mustiness and mildew, which seemed to be the de facto aroma for the entire ride.
“Looks like the forensics guys have been all over this.”
Nodding, the guard said, “If there’d been a needle in a haystack, they’d have found it.”
“Okay, I think we’re done here.”
Jake ducked back under the tape and the two men retraced their steps out into the murky afternoon.
“If you don’t mind my askin’, what were you lookin’ for?”
Jake patted the side of his truck, glancing into the bed out of habit. It all looked good to him. “The new owner wanted me to take a look personally to make sure nothing that had happened was a deal breaker.”
“I see.”
Opening the driver’s door, Jake paused and said over his shoulder, “First Night for the county Centennial begins in a few hours. You planning on coming?”
The guard shook his head.
“Nope, gotta work. With all that’s happened, us security guards are more important than ever.”
With an appreciative smile, Jake said, “Keep up the good work.” Then he climbed into the Raptor and fired it up.
The guard waved with is flashlight as the off-road truck pulled away and crept down the midway, heading for the maintenance vehicles exit.
With undisguised disgust, Masaal watched the truck roll away. The rogue had a long list of people he’d love to kill with his own hands, and near the top of that list was Jake Andrews. Now, not only had he lost Clovis, a wiry, weak man that shouldn’t have been a problem to subdue, but it seemed that Fate may thrust him back into conflict with some of the mortals that he despised the most.
Shaking his head to clear it, Masaal turned and began the long walk back to the Old West.
From where
she stood at a top floor window, Angelique watched as Masaal stalked back to their hideaway. She could read from his down turned gaze and the way he gripped the obscene restraints, things hadn’t gone as planned. When she lost sight of him on the boardwalk, she made her way across the room and down the building’s narrow staircase. Masaal waited for her at the bottom, agitation on his face.
“He got away,” the large man said.
“Rest easy,” Angelique said. “He knows not to say anything about us or where we are. He knows that if he does, he’ll find himself in the deepest, darkest cage in the Pit and no amount of begging or penance will give relief from the endless torment.”
Masaal looked past the Dark Lady to the room at the top of the staircase. “I understand now why you needed twelve of us, rather than eleven.”
An evil smile touched Angelique’s lips.
“You had no intention of allowing Clovis to participate in the summoning ritual.”
Angelique nodded her head in agreement. “If my instincts are correct, Clovis shall remain useful to us a while longer, before he is done away with.”
“Like he was in getting the torn photo to my son’s mother and pretend father.”
“Exactly. He still has the communicator I gave him. I’ll allow him a little room to run, then I’ll contact him and bring him back to heel.”
“You’ve thought a lot about this,” Masaal said.
Her smile broadened slightly. “I’ve had a long time to do so.” She reached up and touched his face with something resembling affection. Then she shook her head and slapped him... hard! “Never fail me again.”
Masaal didn’t speak or rub his bright red cheek. Instead, he gave her a single nod, then turned and walked over to the ground floor bay window. A hefty fire axe rested against the window frame. He sat at a stool that gave him a good view of the road, picked up the axe and rested its long handle across his legs.
With an approving twitch of her mouth, Angelique turned and retreated back up the stairs.
Chapter 42
“First Night Approaches”
The Shadow Valley fairgrounds took up the northeastern corner of the edge of town. Built over fifty years back, before property values in Shadow Valley had skyrocketed, the fairgrounds were located directly across the main road from the old Landmark Resort. The logic here was that the town kept the two entertainment venues in the same area of the valley and they could share parking and expand as necessary.
The fairground’s grandstands, the only original structure still standing on the grounds, had been renovated and updated over time. Through the years, many different events had caused the venue to stretch and grow. Already on the outskirts of town, growing pains were minimal. In the beginning little more than a wide open space with some bleachers, horse racing, dog racing and eventually off-road rat-rod racing churned up the oval track. Behind the bleachers, which faced south, cinder-block walls were put into place to house concessions and restrooms, as well as giving vendors someplace reasonably secure to hock their wares. On the side opposite the bleachers was the old flour mill and wheat granary, the only non-recreation related buildings in the area. They marked the far south edge of the fairgrounds and more than once had been draped with advertisements, giving those sitting in the bleachers something to look at. The rest of the fairgrounds had grown to the north and east, gobbling up government land as necessary. This would be Shadow Valley’s first opportunity in over two decades to host the big bi-annual, county-wide event. The town had pulled out all the stops.
Jake pulled his Raptor into the gravel parking lot, which was already beginning to fill. He slowly threaded his way through the throng of early attendees, finally pulling to a stop in front of a large red gate with a sign reading: “Authorized personnel only beyond this point.”
A man wearing a bright yellow vest emblazoned with SECURITY in black joined Jake at the driver’s side of the truck.
“I’ve got to get in. I’ve got some replacement parts for one of the displays,” Jake said.
“Authorized personnel only,” the security man said, in case it needed stated aloud.
“Check your clipboard for Jake Andrews.”
The security officer paused in surprise, then quickly hurried over and pushed the gate open.
“I thought you looked familiar,” he called to Jake as the truck crept past.
“Keep up the good work,” Jake said in response.
He tapped out a rhythm to Apocolyptica, pumping through the stereo, as he drove over to the old cement oval track. With care he wove his way between vendors and fairground employees. His goal was the tall scaffolding set up behind the bleachers, facing the flour mill. He pulled the off-road pickup up beside Ron’s Tesla and shut it down.
Waving to a few passing vendors, he made his way over to the scaffold tower. A fire escape style ladder provided access to the platform at the top. By the time he had climbed the numerous switchback metal steps, he was breathing harder than he would have liked.
“Ever considered putting an elevator in?” he grumbled to the three men standing around the twenty-foot square platform. About half of the side facing the grandstand was taken up by tables of sound equipment, a couple computer systems and a sophisticated camera and projector setup.
“What’s the matter, feeling a little old?” Ron asked as Jake crossed over to them.
“Shut your mouth, heretic,” came Jake’s quick reply. He surveyed the spaghetti bowl of wires and cables strung around the far side of the tables, then took a look over the sound and light boards. “How we doing?”
“I think we’re in good shape,” said Steve, the Technical Designer and board operator for First Night.
Nodding, Jake turned to Brett. The Techie was fussing with one of the two computers, this one a Macintosh.
“Everything set on your end?”
“I think so,” said Brett. He finished adjusting the computer connections, then sat back down before the computer. “Would you like a test run?”
“Sure, but not the program for tonight. Something else, preferably with a good beat.”
“Vein Drain?” Brett asked.
“No. The last thing we want is to scare off everyone with one of Chaz Black’s ghoulish videos.”
“Whatever you say, Boss. You pay the bills.”
“I’ve got my MP3 player, if you need something,” Jake offered.
Brett smiled and shook his head. “I’ve got just the thing.” It took him a few seconds to queue everything up. “I know that the overcast sky has several people concerned about the weather holding, but for us it’s great, because since it’s darker than normal we can test the system before the show starts.” A couple software windows popped up on the Mac’s screen and he navigated through them. “Okay, you ready, Steve?”
“Anytime you are.”
“Then here we go.”
A few moments later, a driving rhythm began echoing from the speakers and Steve adjusted the sound on the board so the speakers didn’t screech from the load. Then he noted a few things on a yellow tablet beside the board.
It didn’t take long before Jake recognized Rob Zombie’s “Dragula”, about the same time that the faint image from the rock video showed up on the mill wall opposite them.
Jake watched as Brett and Steve continually made adjustments to the system as the video played. Sometimes it blurred, others it seemed to jump frames, as if it were playing from an ancient film projector.
As the song wound down, the four men were all pleased with the system’s performance, but before they could say much about it, the handheld two-way beside the sound board chirped.
Steve picked it up.
“Yeah, Steve here.”
“Do you guys mind not blasting us out down here?”
“Sounds like Sutterfield,” Jake
pointed out to Ron.
A moment later, “Is that Jake Andrews up there with you?”
“That’s a yes. The boss wanted a test run before the gate opens,” Steve said.
There was a pregnant pause on the other end of the line.
“Please tell Mr. Andrews that his grandfather is here.”
Jake could hear the edge in Sutterfield’s voice and recognized it as the tone that his grandfather inspired in others.
“Tell him I’ll be right down.” Then he turned and began to descend the tower. His biker boots clomped loudly on the metal stairs as he hurried.
The grass he stepped onto from the scaffolding felt spongy beneath his feet as he crammed his hands into his jacket pockets and headed over to where his grandfather’s stretched, Ferrari Red Cadillac slowed to a stop. He noticed that the driver didn’t make any attempt to avoid blocking any other vehicles. The limo dwarfed everything around it.
Grandad is many things... subtle is not one of them, Jason smirked to himself.
As he rounded to the passenger side of the long Caddy, the driver exited and went back to the rear driver’s side door. Three heartbeats after opening the door, Grandad Andrews climbed out and directed his stern gaze across the car to Jake.
“Hey, old man. What’s up?”
Grandad Andrews shook his head and then looked around him.
“I thought I’d get a look at what your legacy is being wasted on,” he said, without the slightest hint of humor.
Used to his grandad’s judgmental nature, Jake shrugged.
“I like to think that in this case I’m giving back to the community,” he said, the humor evident in his voice.
With the steady use of a hand-worked hickory cane, Grandad Andrews circled behind the limo to join his grandson. His driver remained a few steps behind, far enough to be out of the way to be part of the background, but close enough to offer assistance if necessary.
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