Invisible Terror Collection (21 page)

He knocked again. “Becka! Scott!”

Impatiently he grabbed the handle and gave it a push. It stuck briefly, then opened. “Becka? Mrs. Williams?” Still no answer.

Except for Muttly. The little guy bounded toward him at full speed.

“Hey, fellow,” Ryan bent down for the onslaught of slurping tongue and wiggling body. “Where is everybody? Huh, fellow?

Is anybody home?”

The dog whined and continued the licking attack.

Ryan rose and moved toward the stairs. Somebody had to be there. They wouldn’t have left with lights on and the dog in the house. “Becka? Scott?” He started up the steps. “It’s me, Ryan.

Is anybody home?”

Muttly did his best to follow, but he still hadn’t mastered the fine art of stair climbing. Not that he didn’t try. But each attempt was met with slips, spills, and some very impressive backward somersaults.

“Beck …” Ryan reached the top of the steps and looked down the hall. What had happened? Had Julie’s guardian already struck? Steeling himself for the worst, he started down the hall.

He’d barely reached the first door before he heard: “BEAM

ME UP!”

Ryan leaped out of his skin.

“BEAM ME UP!
SQUAWK.
BEAM ME UP!” He turned to Scott’s room and saw Cornelius strutting back and forth on his perch. “MAKE MY DAY. MAKE MY DAY.

MAKE MY DAY.”

Ryan took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then spotted the computer screen. It was still on. “Scotty?” he called. 

Still no answer.

Cautiously, he entered the room, stepped over the mound of dirty clothes, and moved to the screen. It read: TO: Rebecca

FROM: Z

233 Ramona Street

Basement. 5:00 p.m.

And below that, a Bible verse:

“Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light.” 2 Co rin thi ans 11:14

Ryan stood there, puzzled. Not about the verse. It only con-firmed what he already knew. It was the address. It seemed familiar. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but somehow he’d heard it before. He glanced at his watch — 5:12. That must be where Rebecca was. Maybe that was why everything was left on and Muttly was still in the house — she’d dashed out to try and make the meeting in time.

If he was right, he was probably just a few minutes behind her. He turned and headed out of the room, darted down the hall, and took the steps two and three at a time.

233 Ramona Street, 233 Ramona Street …

The address kept ringing in his head. Why did it sound so familiar?

It wasn’t until he was out the door and running for his car that it clicked.

233 Ramona Street. That was a place they used to tease each other about as kids. That was the place they used to dare each other to visit at Halloween.

233 Ramona Street was the city morgue.

Chapter 9

Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

Becka looked up. She opened her mouth, but no words would come.

“I was upstairs in the men’s room.”

She still couldn’t find her voice.

“You must be Rebecca Williams.”

She finally managed a nod.

“I’m Dr. Gary Woods.” He stuck out his hand for a shake.

Becka numbly took it. He seemed a nice enough man. Bald-ing, late fifties, a little on the overfed side. Not at all what you’d expect for a serial killer. Then again, what exactly did serial killers look like?

“Are you …” She cleared her throat. “Z said I was to meet someone.”

The man chuckled. “Z? Is that what he’s calling himself now?”

“You’re not him, are you?”

The man shook his head and continued to smile.

“But you know him?”

“Oh yes, I know him.” His smile slowly faded. “I owe him a great deal. In fact, you might say I owe him my life. Please,” he motioned to a couple of stools across the room, “let’s sit down.” Becka looked nervously at the body lying, half-naked, on the table beside her.

“Oh, don’t worry about John.” Woods grinned. “He’s in no hurry.”

“John?”

“John Doe. That’s what we call the bodies we can’t identify.”

“Identify? Are you, like, a …” Becka searched for the word.

“I’m the county’s assistant coroner. I investigate deaths, perform autopsies, that sort of thing. Please.” Again he motioned to the stools across the room.

Becka turned. But as she walked past the body on the table, she couldn’t help staring. It was amazing how white and lifeless the thing appeared. The thing? She gave a shudder. This was no thing, it was a person. Well, at least it used to be a person.

Somebody who ate and laughed and cried and loved, just like herself. Still, just to be safe, she gave the table a wide berth. Sensing her uneasiness, Dr. Woods pulled the sheet over the body. It helped some, but not much.

Becka glanced about the room. It wasn’t big. The three steel tables filled most of it. Over each table hung a large light. Two of the walls were lined with laboratory-type counters that had various pieces of medical equipment resting on them. The farthest wall was made of the same stainless steel as the tables. It looked like a giant freezer. But instead of one door, there were a dozen, three feet wide and two feet high. They were stacked side by side and on top of one another. Almost like a giant filing cabinet.

A giant freezer/filing cabinet with drawers just wide enough to hold a …

Becka gave another shudder.

“May I get you some tea or anything?” Dr. Woods asked.

“Uh, no, thanks.” Becka took a seat on one of the stools as Woods approached the nearby counter. He filled a coffee mug with water from a faucet and set it in a microwave.

“So you, uh …” Becka cleared her throat. She had lots of questions, but she wanted to be delicate, just in case he was a part-time serial killer. “You work here at night … all alone …

by yourself?”

The doctor laughed. “It’s actually quite peaceful when you get used to it. The folks here — ” he motioned toward the stainless steel freezer — “they don’t give me much trouble. Most cooperative patients I’ve ever had.” He punched the time on the microwave and pressed start. “Besides, they give me a much clearer perspec-tive on life: what’s important, what’s not, that kind of thing.” Becka forced a nervous smile.

“But … that’s not why Z wanted us to talk. He said you had some questions about hell?”

Rebecca looked at him and blinked. She’d completely forgotten about that question. With all that was going on, it no longer seemed important. But Z must have thought it was. Well, since she was here and since she really had no other place to go … or friends to go there with …

“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “I had a few questions.”

“Such as, does it exist?”

“For starters, yeah. And if it does, why would a loving God send people there?”

Woods leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “First of all, let me be very clear about something, Rebecca. Hell does exist. It is very real, and it is very terrifying.”

“But how can you be so sure? I know the Bible talks about it, but how can — ”

“Because I was there.”

Becka stopped cold. She could only stare. Before she could respond, she heard a muff led pounding and banging. She threw a nervous look to the freezer drawers.

“Wh-what’s that?” 

“Did you leave the front door ajar?” Woods asked.

“No, it locked before I could catch it.”

“Well,” he turned and headed for the double glass doors at the other end. “It sounds like we have another visitor. I’ll be right back.” Before Becka could protest, he threw open the doors and bounded up the stairs.

Becka fought off another shiver. No way was she thrilled about being left alone in this room. She stole a glance at the body covered with the sheet, then turned back to the giant ice-box behind her. Come to think about it, maybe she wasn’t all that alone after all. The thought gave her little comfort.

A minute later, Dr. Woods came back down the stairway.

Beside him was a very anxious and agitated Ryan.

**********

Once Becka told Ryan that Dr. Woods knew Z and that he could be trusted, Ryan quickly explained what was happening at Julie’s.

“You were right, we’re not dealing with angels,” he said.

“We’re dealing with one of the bad guys. He’s already got control of Julie. And Krissi and Philip, well, who knows what’s going to happen to them.”

Rebecca felt an unbearable heaviness in her chest. Those were her friends he was talking about. People she loved. She bit her lip and looked at the floor.

They were also people who would no longer listen.

“If we go now,” Ryan continued, “maybe we can stop them before anything else happens.”

She did not answer.

“Becka?”

Slowly, sadly, she looked up.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer.

“Beck, we’ve got to do something.” 

When she spoke, her voice was thick and husky. “I’ve been trying, Ryan. All week I’ve been trying.”

“I know that, but together, maybe — ”

She shook her head. “It won’t work.”

“So what are you saying? That we just sit here and do nothing?”

“Ryan …” She tried to swallow, but there was a large lump in her throat. “Don’t you get it? They don’t want my help. They don’t want anything to do with me.”

Ryan stared at her.

Unable to hold his gaze, she looked back to the floor. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m …” She trailed off, still shaking her head.

A long silence followed. Finally Dr. Woods coughed slightly and spoke. “I don’t mean to intrude here, but perhaps I can be of some help.”

They looked at him.

“Perhaps our meeting is more timely than either you or Z

imagined. Rebecca, you said there was nothing to be done, and you may be right. Your friends may not listen to you. But to stop talking to them, to stop telling them the truth, well, maybe that’s not your decision to make. Maybe they deserve as many chances as God decides to give them. As many chances as he gave me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

Woods drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Two years ago, my wife and daughters were killed in an automobile accident.”

“That’s terrible!”

He nodded. “I — I was driving.” A moment of silence hung over them. Becka could tell the memories were hard on him, but he forced himself to continue. “Lisa … she was a religious woman. You know, church, Bible studies, Sunday school, the whole nine yards. But I never had the time or, quite honestly, the inclination. I was too busy being a successful surgeon.” 

“You used to be a surgeon?” Ryan asked.

The man seemed to barely hear. “It was late and I was bone tired, but I insisted on getting home. There was some big confer-ence or something I was to speak at in the morning. I remember trying to keep my eyes open, and then … suddenly there was the horn and the bright lights of the semi. I tried to swerve out of the way, but …”

He grew silent.

Ryan and Becka exchanged looks.

Finally, he continued, “The next thing I knew, I was being sucked out of my body — as though I was fluid in a syringe. I remember looking for Lisa, for the girls, but they were nowhere to be found. I was falling. It was a deep pit, a hole that went on and on forever. I was terrified. I tried to scream, but I was too frightened. When I looked at the sides of the hole, the walls weren’t made of dirt as I’d expected. They were made of people.

Living carcasses. Human corpses. Thousands of them. They were all on fire. Their clothes, their bodies, their faces …”

“So you were in hell?” Ryan asked softly.

The man seemed too lost in memories to answer. He went on, “I remember trying to breathe, but the stench was suffocating. The smell of rotten eggs. I believe it was sulfur. Brimstone, they used to call it.

“After falling for what seemed like hours, I hit a lake, but it wasn’t a lake of water. It was made of fire. It’s hard to explain, but it wasn’t wet. Only hot.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “The heat was intense, searing. I was engulfed in it. Every inch of me was covered by flame. Every nerve of my body screamed out in agony, but there was no relief. I wanted to pass out, I wanted to die, but I couldn’t.

“And then I saw them … hideous … thousands of them. Like giant, leathery gremlins with razor-sharp fangs and knifelike claws.” 

Again Ryan and Becka looked at each other. They’d seen such creatures. During their encounter in the mansion.

“They flew back and forth through the flames, urgently, as though they were coming and going on important missions.

Most of them paid little attention to me. Though a few would claw or take bites out of my burning flesh, as if for fun.

“It was then I noticed that the flames weren’t just fire. They were also scenes. They were events from my life. Somehow, all of my past actions, even my thoughts, had been turned into flames and tongues of fire that burned and tortured me. Needless to say, they weren’t pleasant memories. They were my failures. My sins. Every bad thing I’d ever done or thought was transformed into these relentless, burning flames. Times I had lied, cheated, hated; acts of unkindness and immorality. Everything was there.

And each memory became a scorching flame that seared and charred my remaining flesh.

“I screamed for help. I begged someone, anyone, to take away the pain. And then I heard a voice. It was the kindest, most loving voice I had ever heard. And its kindness made my agony all the more unbearable. ‘I have taken your pain,’ it said. ‘I have endured all of this suffering for you, in your place.’

“ ‘Who are you?’ I cried. And the response washed over me.

‘I am the Lamb who was slain for your sins.’ ” He looked into Becka’s eyes. “I knew who that was. Immediately. The voice went on to explain how he had offered to take my punishment — and I wouldn’t let him. I cried out in pain and frustration. I asked him why he’d sent me to that place. And his answer … it was so full of love. And so sad.”

“What did he say?” Ryan asked.

“He told me, ‘No, dear friend, I have not sent you. You have made this choice yourself. This is your decision. How desperately I wanted to save you from it. My desire for you to avoid this place was so great that I came to earth and suffered in your place. But you would not accept my offer.’