Sacrifice (9 page)

The tent glowed with the morning sun when Joe finally admitted defeat, and opened his eyes. He’d been lying there, unwilling to move and start the day, but unable to fall back to sleep either.

The sun was a hazy ball of light that turned the blue fabric of the tent almost colorless where it hit, just to the side of the door flap. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, then turned to see if Alex was awake yet.

Her sleeping bag was empty.

Joe sat upright. Could she have suckered him? Told him ghost stories, waited ‘til he went to sleep and then taken off in his car?

He threw off the blanket and shivered at the chill of the morning air. Grabbing his jeans from the floor, he quickly slipped in a leg, and then the next, walking hunched over to the doorway before he’d even zipped up.

The car was still there beneath the overhang of a low evergreen branch.

Alex was sitting beside a small fire, drinking from a tin cup.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said cheerfully. “I found the coffee and canteen set, so I boiled us up a pot.” She held up a glass container half full of dark black liquid.

“It’s not Starbucks, but it’s got caffeine.”

“That’s the important thing,” he agreed, and moved to sit beside her.

“We don’t really have anything for breakfast,” she said, “unless you want beans.”

He shook his head. “I’ll pass. Sorry about that though—I really didn’t pack for two. And I figured I’d stop someplace pretty quick for extra supplies once I got up here.”

“I usually just have a bowl of cereal in the morning,” she said, brushing a stray lock of raven hair away from her eyes. “But I also usually shower before I let anyone see me, so I’m breaking all the rules today.”

He laughed. “Tell you what. How about I drop you at the showers while I head into town and do some shopping? Then you can come back here and keep an eye on the tent and stuff.”

“Works for me,” she said, draining her cup. She held it and the pot out to him. “Care for some mountain brew?”

He stared at it suspiciously.

“It’s awfully thick, isn’t it?”

“Call it espresso,” she said. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Joe poured himself a small cup, and set the pot back by the fire. He put the rim to his lips and blew for a moment, and then tilted the cup up a hair, sipping carefully. A spoonful slurped into his mouth, and involuntarily, his eyes and lips wrinkled into a twisted grimace.

“That’s…”

“…awful,” Alex finished. She stood and curtsied in mock formality to him. “Wait ‘til you taste my cooking.”

He held the cup behind his back, and turned it upside down. “Have I mentioned how much I enjoy cooking?”

Joe dropped Alex and her backpack at the shower building at the front of the campsite, and then continued down the road back down the mountain into town. He had a list of items to look for, including another pillow and blanket, or cheap sleeping bag. The blankets he’d slept under last night were intended as pads for his trunk, not sleeping aids.

The mountain road wound down and around, snaking through ravines that rose around the car like a rock-hewn tunnel, and then opening out to precarious strips of asphalt overlooking valleys of rustic-looking hotels and cottages. It seemed like it was taking even longer to get down the mountain than it had to go up, when Joe saw a cutoff leading to a generically marked General Store.

He’d been worried he’d have to drive all the way back to Loveland for supplies, and while this place would probably be more expensive than a convenience or grocery store a few miles farther down the road, he pulled in and parked. They didn’t need that much stuff, and he didn’t want to be away for too long.

His feet crunched on whitened chunks of limestone gravel as he walked across the unpaved lot to the store, a dilapidated red-painted building with a front door that swung closed on a giant spring. It squeaked like a bird having its tail feathers pulled as he yanked it open and let it slam closed behind.

“Mornin’,” an old man called from behind a formica counter cluttered with trinket stands and candy bar racks. “Help you with somethin’?”

“Sure,” Joe said, pulling out his list and walking to the counter. The man’s face was as weathered as the mountain, covered in a fine brush of white beard pierced only by the red tip of his nose and two gleaming blue eyes. His blue-and-white-checked flannel shirt was stained with orange spots and his overalls looked as old as he did.

“I need a cooler, some groceries for dinner, one package of”—his face wrinkled—“Tampax maxi pads, and do you carry any cheap sleeping bags?” Joe asked.

“You going up to the national park?”

“Does anyone come in here who isn’t?”

The old man’s beard twitched, and he nodded sagely.

“Have I got a deal for you. One instant campsite kit coming up.”

Fifteen minutes and $50 later, and Joe was loading a bag of food, a cooler of ice and a sleeping bag into the trunk. He went back inside to retrieve the 12-pack that he couldn’t carry the first trip and grabbed a copy of the
Loveland Daily Reporter-Herald
from a rack near the front door. The old man put up a hand when Joe went for his wallet to pay for the paper.

“On the house,” he said. “Enjoy your stay in the hills.”

“I will,” Joe promised.

He set the pack of Coors in the back, slid behind the wheel, and tossed the newspaper to the passenger’s seat. It landed with the lower half of the front-page fold facing up, and as he turned the key in the ignition, a headline caught his eye:

NEBRASKA COUPLE VICTIMS OF BRUTAL SLAYING; TEENAGE DAUGHTER MISSING

Beneath the headline, was a picture of an unsmiling girl with long curly carrot-colored hair.

A picture of the same girl Joe had picked up yesterday along the highway.

He swore under his breath, and pulled the paper to his lap. The article was short, eclipsed by a piece about the Denver sanitation department scandal.

Bruce and Selma Collins, both 38, were found dead in their Okawa, Nebraska home on Thursday. Police report that the couple had been beaten severely, before their bodies were chopped into pieces by an axe.

The bodies were discovered by a neighbor, who noticed that while their cars were in the driveway, their mail had not been taken in from the previous day.

Police have no suspects as of yet, however, they are looking for the couple’s 17-year-old daughter, Alexandra, who was not found in the house and has been missing from school for a week.

Arthur Hale High School Principal Anthony Linelle said that the school called the Collinses on Tuesday to find out why Alexandra had not been in class for several days.

“I spoke with Mrs. Collins on the phone on Tuesday and she seemed fine then,” Linelle said. “She told me that Alexandra had been sick, but would hopefully be back in school soon.”

Okawa Police Chief William Rees said that the investigation is still in the early stages, and they are ruling nothing out yet.

“We’ve gone over the house with a fine-tooth comb, and sent a lot of things out to a state lab for investigating. We’ll know more in 24 hours.”

Police are not yet saying if they believe that Alexandra could be behind the murders, or if she might have been kidnapped by the killer.

“She was a very good student,” Linelle said of the girl. “Her grades were always good, though she was very quiet. She didn’t socialize with the other kids very much. She preferred reading to group activities.”

Rees said he believes this is the first double murder in Okawa history.

“It’s very sad,” he said. “The Collinses were respected members of this community. Whoever did this has a sick, sadistic mind. The violence here was unimaginable.”

If anyone has any information that could help this investigation, they are urged to contact the Okawa Police Department.

Joe leaned his head back against the seat cushion and let out a long, slow breath. Malachai had set him up. He knew better. Should have known better. The demon had never tried to help him, had only sent him Trojan horses. And this one took the cake. An innocent-looking, luscious little teen, who knew her way around an axe murder.

Mentally he went over the list of what he’d left up on the mountain. Tent, pots, a suitcase of clothes…was there really any reason to head back there at all?

He started the engine and pulled out of the lot, turning in the direction of Loveland.

Cold feet, little man?
Malachai’s voice taunted in his head.
Can’t take her heat?

Joe ignored the demon, and kept driving. In minutes, the road had leveled off and he was headed back across the flatlands, retracing his miles of the day before.

You’re making a big mistake.

He pulled up to a stoplight.

“Why?” Joe said out loud. “Because I’m walking away from a murderer who will probably slit my throat and toss my arms and legs down a ravine by the weekend?”

The woman in the Honda next to him was staring at him, and Joe realized he probably looked pretty strange, sitting in his car yelling at no one. He clamped his mouth shut and mumbled quietly.

“How did you find her? And why did you send her to me?”

Ahhh,
the demon croaked.
At last he asks the right questions. Weren’t you a reporter once?

The light changed, and Joe pulled away from the staring woman and headed towards the business district of town.

“Yes,” Joe said. “And a damn good one. Now tell me what’s going on?”

Is that how you coerced all of your sources? No wonder you’re out of a job.

“Malachai!”

You need her,
the demon said.
I could hear her voice through the ether. She’s strong. More than she knows. And she did what she had to do. But if you were a real reporter, you’d get the story from the prime source, not a questionable third party.

“Been taking some college journalism courses yourself lately?” Joe asked.

Just telling you what you already know.

“What do I need her for?” Joe said after a moment. “I’m out. You might have noticed I’ve set up camp in the mountains. Away from everybody. And everything.”

You can run, but you can’t hide,
Malachai whispered.
The Curburide are coming. And it’s up to you to stop them.

“You make me sound like some kind of fuckin’ superhero!” Joe laughed out loud, then looked to see if any other drivers were staring. They weren’t. “I can’t do anything to stop them. I’m not psychic or super. I’m just a washed-up, broke ex-journalist saddled with a sadistic demon who’s always looking over my shoulder.”

You are the only one who knows about them,
Malachai said.
You are the only one with the tools to stop them.

“And if I don’t?”

Your soul will be sucked dry and your body will rot on the ground unburied. If the horde comes through, all the way this time, every person you have ever known will be seduced and sucked dry of energy. They will feed. On you and Alex and Cindy and everyone. They are legion. The cracks between you and them are few. But they are growing.

“How do I know this isn’t just an elaborate story you’re telling, so that I go back to Alex, end up as her next victim and you are set free?”

You can keep watching the news. There will be more sacrifices. But by then, it may be too late to stop them.

Joe pulled into a gas station on the corner and stopped the car. He watched a woman in a black skirt and white blouse hurry down the sidewalk, clutching a purse. Late for work? he wondered, watching her cross the street and hurry into a small office building. Across the lot, a tired-looking man in blue jeans and a Harley T-shirt pumped gas into a rusting Buick. Was there really a scourge waiting to lash out and knock these people down? A force that would flatten them in their tracks, and make all their mundane problems and victories meaningless. And so what if there was…what did a little teenage axe murderer have to do with it?

A real reporter would talk to the source, not run from her.

Joe sighed. What did he really have to lose? He put the car back into gear and turned out of the parking lot.

Back the way he’d come.

As soon as Jeremy left the room, Ariana flipped over on her belly and examined the knot around her wrists. The last thing she remembered from the night before was Jeremy violently thrusting between her legs. He had thrown her on the bed and pushed himself inside her, taking all of his pain and anger out on her bleeding body as she’d writhed and kicked beneath him. His own blood had dripped on her breasts as he held her hands and then her mouth to silence her cries as he took what pleasure he could from the act. But when she’d bit him on the palm, he’d hauled off and slugged her with a fist to the jaw. There were stars of pain, and a moment of blurriness, as she tried to keep her eyes open to see the man on top of her, to at least stay aware of how badly he was violating her, and then it all went gray.

The elastic band that strangled her wrists looked to be a tie-rope that he must have gotten from his trunk after knocking her out. It was yellow with blue twinings and it was wound tightly around both of her wrists and then tied again around the mattress frame below the headboard. She wasn’t getting out of it on her own.

Ariana rolled onto her back, and cried out loud at the sudden return of sensation to her arms from her brief change of position. The blood was returning, and it hurt like hell.

She tried to focus on the ceiling, and the window, but her entire existence seemed to be pain right now. Her jaw was swollen and throbbing, her neck was a flaming brand, her stomach and ribs felt as if she’d been run down by a truck. And to top it off, there was a dull ache between her thighs, from the rough, fighting-for-dominance treatment he’d given her just a few hours before.

Ariana did not feel very well. She almost wished that he would come back with the coffee and slit her throat and be done with it. Hell, she deserved it from his point of view—that’s exactly what he’d stopped her from doing to him!

The bed bore testament to that. The crumpled white sheets had smears of dull red-brown blood all over them, and the pillow covers were ruined with streaks and splashes of blood as well. The maids were going to shit when they came to clean this place.

The door opened and shut and a moment later Jeremy stalked into view, two Styrofoam cups in hand.

“Coffee with cream, lady witch,” he said, setting the cup down on a nightstand.

He placed his on the desk behind him, and then came to stand over the bed and her.

“I can’t drink like this,” she pointed out.

“I could pour it down your throat. Of course, the contents might be hot and you might be burned. But why would I care?”

“What are you planning to do with me?” she asked. “If you’re going to take me out, just do it and get it over with. Otherwise, let me out of these ropes. I can’t feel my arms.”

Jeremy walked to the window and looked out at the parking lot below. He said nothing. He turned to look at her, stretched out, bound and naked on the bed, and then bent down to pick something off the floor. When he stood up, a silver square glinted in his hand.

“Your weapon of choice,” he noted, staring at the edge of the blade and then pantomiming the use of it, slicing with quick, downward slices through the air.

“I wonder how long you’d feel the pain,” he said idly.

She didn’t say anything. What was there left to say?

Jeremy tossed the blade at the windowsill and walked to the head of the bed.

“I’ll release you on one condition,” he said.

She cocked an eyebrow and listened.

“You do exactly as I say, and don’t try any cute escape or attack tricks. You try to take me out, or run out the door, and I swear I will kill you if it’s the last thing I do.”

Ariana nodded, grimacing at the pain the motion brought her.

“I’ll be good,” she promised.

“Hope so,” he said under his breath, and reached behind the headboard to undo the fastenings that held her to the bed.

In a minute, she was free, and rubbing the circulation back into her wrists. It returned in a fire of pins and needles, and Ariana doubled over on the bed, laying her hands below her feet as she cried out at the discomfort. “Shit, shit, shit,” she moaned.

Jeremy did nothing, only sat down at the desk and sipped his coffee, keeping a close eye on her.

When she stopped complaining, and sat up to gingerly lift her coffee cup from the nightstand, he spoke.

“Better?”

“I’ve been,” she said.

“Yeah, well, me too,” he said, pointing at the angry red scab across his neck. “I never had a scar here before.”

“Most guys don’t have the chance to scar,” she warned.

“Most girls don’t get a second chance after they try shit like that,” he answered. “Now, do you want to spar, or are you going to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

“You want the CliffsNotes, or the whole story?” she said.

Jeremy looked at his watch. “Hmmm. Let’s see, it’s after nine a.m. I haven’t been home all night and haven’t shown up to the office today. I guess I’m in for the duration. Give me the whole story. I want to know why a girl tried to kill me, and then had a freakin’ ghost brigade show up after I fucked her. I’m guessing there’s a story there that’s worth hearing all the way through.”

Ariana brought the coffee to her lips, cringing as she lifted her arm and sloshing some of the brown liquid onto her calf and the sheets.

“Better leave the maid a big tip,” she said and took a loud, tentative slurp.

“Don’t worry about the maid,” he warned. “Just worry about convincing me that I shouldn’t be using those sheets to transport your body to my trunk.”

She looked at him over the edge of her cup, showing him the most innocent, wide brown eyes she could muster. But he didn’t bite.

“I’m waiting,” was all he said.

“Okay,” she said, nodding quickly. Ariana took another slurp of the coffee, and then pushed herself back to lean against the headboard. She shoved a pillow behind the small of her back and took a deep breath.

“It all started when I was going to divinity school at the monastery.”

“You’re a fuckin’ nun?” he asked, jaw dropping.

“Almost,” she grinned, spreading her legs for him to see the pink, noncloistered flesh between. “But not quite. Does it look like I’m a nun?”

“Not exactly,” he admitted, leering up the expanse unveiled by her legs. “So what happened?”

“You know what you saw in the room this morning?”

He nodded.

“That happened. I discovered that there really was something beyond kneeling at a dead statue and saying endless rituals of prayer that didn’t reach anyone. Something that’s kept hidden from us behind all the Ten Commandments and eight Beatitudes bullshit.”

“You became a devil worshipper.”

“No,” she said. “When I was studying to join the convent, I discovered that there was more to the other side than just God and the devil. I discovered the Curburide.”