The Demon Pool (37 page)

Jim pulled his jersey sleeve back over his watch.
Eleven fifty-five. In five minutes, the end would begin for the three dirtbags
inside. He slipped the night vision goggles back down over his eyes.

The wind blew stronger. Even with the storm
approaching, the weather had stayed warmer than usual, but he felt a sudden
chill and just as suddenly, his sense of optimism vanished and something dark
and sinister pressed down around him.

A bright flash erupted above him as the sky
discharged its store of highly charged particles. A thick bolt of lightning
crawled down from heaven and hit the lightning rod attached to the estate’s
roof. The intensely white light turned his night vision into night blindness. A
second electrical charge slammed into his neck, below his right ear.

He felt the strength leaving his body as his
muscles reacted to the electrical disruption of his central nervous system. As
he collapsed, his muscles contracted in uncontrollable spasms. Jim thought how
being struck by lightning was similar to being tasered. It wasn’t until he was
on the ground and the little Klingon’s face was inches from his own, that he
realized what had happened. By the time he recovered from the effects of the
Taser, someone had cuffed and gagged him. Another pair of hands helped him to
stand.

“Holy shit,” Bruce said, “we got the bastard.”

“Shut up and get him inside,” Kevin ordered.

Kevin and Bruce manhandled Jim toward the back of
the house. Jim’s mind fought the reality of what was happening. Something had
gone badly wrong. The brain fog created by the Taser’s effects slowly cleared.
His mind raced.
Oh, man. You really screwed the pooch.

Kevin held on to Jim, while Bruce opened the back
door. Jim’s muscles stiffened as he began to resist, but Kevin easily forced
him through the door. Kevin’s strength once again surprised Jim.
Unnatural
little freak.

The rear door led into the estate’s huge kitchen.
Off to the right was a set of stairs leading up to a dark void. Kevin steered
Jim through the kitchen and formal dining room. Bruce walked behind them
holding a red chemical light stick that gave off just enough illumination to
keep them from stumbling into anything. As they moved him from room to room, it
surprised Jim to see that the house was still fully furnished. The red light
stick reflected off the plastic dust covers that protected the furniture,
creating an eerie, red glow that reminded Jim of a cheap carnival funhouse
version of hell.

In the middle of the front room, Jim saw Carl,
still gagged, and still tied to the chair he had seen in the video. Carl’s eyes
opened wide when he saw Jim. He continued to stare at Jim as Kevin and Bruce
steered him into the living room. A light at the top of the stairs, leading to
the second level, drew Jim’s attention, as well as that of Kevin and Bruce.

Kat stood at the top of the landing, holding a lit
candle. Somewhere in the house, a window must have been open. A breeze caused
the candle, Kat’s hair, and her sundress to flutter. Jim stared as Kat came
down the stairs, taking her time, drawing out the moment. The light from the
candle suppressed enough of the red glow from the chemical light stick to
create a soft band of light around Kat. It was if an angel had switched sides
and was now stepping confidently out of the bowels of hell.

***

What Baalzaric saw pleased him. Although Demore had the
look of a capable warrior, he was, after all, simply another example of why
Adonai would never succeed in establishing his kingdom on earth. God’s
strongest allies were weaker than the weakest demon, and unallied humans like
Demore were the weakest of all. At least in the spiritual realm.

While God did have some powerful assistants in his
so-called holy angels, there appeared to be some nexus between prayer by the
worshippers of the Nazarene and the appearance of God’s horde of holy
sycophants. A lack of prayer apparently equaled a lack of hope, and a lack of
help.

Baalzaric did not understand the connection
between prayer in the name of Jesus and its powerful effect on the spiritual
world, but he did know that God foolishly followed his own restrictive rules.
Whenever Baalzaric or his minions were able to interfere with or disrupt the
prayer of Adonai’s people, things went much better for Lucifer’s side.

Demore stared up at Kat. Baalzaric read Demore’s
hostility. Tangible hatred. Baalzaric liked the feeling. Demore’s eyes burned
with a hot, blue flame, ignorantly unaware of the hopelessness of his
situation. The shield of prayer that had initially given him an advantage had
been broken.

Demore was screwed. Figuratively, and possibly,
physically. Baalzaric would allow Kat to have him. That is, if Demore was smart
enough to save himself by yielding to her, and, by proxy, to Baalzaric. Of
course, if Demore was too stupid or too proud or too self-righteous to
surrender to life’s natural pleasures, then he would surrender his life. Either
way, Baalzaric and Kat would win.

Jim watched Kat come down the stairs. A field of
radiant light, an almost angelic aura, surrounded her. The situation was beyond
surreal. In spite of his tactical advantage, Williams and York somehow had
gotten to him before he could get them. It was as if someone had dropped him
into some bizarre story written by Kafka and filmed by Fellini. None of this
made any sense.

Yet, as a cop, he knew people sometimes found
themselves in bizarre, unbelievable situations. How did the victims of serial killers
feel during their assault and murder, knowing that they weren’t going to
escape? Did they fight to the end, or did they simply surrender to the
inevitable? How did it feel to die?

Jim remembered a saying from a book that he had
read while recovering from his war wounds.
They can kill you, but they can’t
eat you.

With these freaks, he wasn’t so sure the last
part of the saying would remain true. He decided that when the time was right,
he would fight. They may kill him, but he would do everything he could think of
to free Carl, and to inflict as much pain as possible before he went under.
That was his promise to Carl, to himself, and even to God.

“Bring him upstairs,” Kat commanded.

She turned and went back up the stairs herself.
Bruce put his left hand on Jim’s shoulder and his right hand between Jim’s
shoulder blades, simultaneously shoving and steering him toward the stairs.
Jim’s body stiffened in resistance and he was surprised at the strength in
Bruce’s hands and arms. He almost felt that if he stopped and refused to move,
Bruce would simply pick him up, throw him over one shoulder, and carry him the
rest of the way up the stairs.

Jim had known a few overweight guys that looked
soft, yet had a thick layer of muscle under their body fat. But, even the
little Klingon, Kevin, had seemed unnaturally strong. Saffi had warned him back
at her apartment that demon-possessed individuals could have unnatural, even
superhuman, strength.

He tried stopping half way up the stairs, but
Bruce’s right hand slipped down to Jim’s belt and Bruce lifted him onto the
next step.

“Just keep moving,” Bruce ordered. “I don’t know
why she wants you, but she does.”

Bruce’s voice sounded raspy and irritated. The
gag kept Jim from doing little more than grunting in reply.

“We can always Taser him again if the big prick
doesn’t cooperate,” Kevin hissed.

From the sound of Kevin’s voice, he was right
behind Bruce. A plan of sorts formed in Jim’s mind. He did not have time to
explore all of the potential consequences if he failed. There was a time to
think and there was a time to act. Jim acted.

***

Saffi stood at the edge of the road, buffeted by the
wind. No moon, no stars, no light, no hope. No headlights in either direction.
She decided that the safest thing would be to jog along the pavement. From what
she had seen in her car’s headlights, and felt through the car’s tires and
suspension, the road surface was in good condition. She would be able to cover
the remaining mile or so to the estate in ten to fifteen minutes. She was sure
that when her car didn’t pull up exactly at twelve midnight, Jim would realize
something was wrong. She believed he was smart enough to have a backup plan
that would keep himself and Carl alive. She took a deep breath, stretched a
little, and then began jogging along the edge of the pavement. Not willing to
leave things to hope and chance, while she ran, she prayed.

***

Jim had an idea. An imperceptible whisper of a notion
rising up from somewhere deep in his being. The lizard brain demanding survival.
It reached the surface as a single, definitive word.
Now
.

He flexed his knees. An almost indiscernible
movement. He felt Bruce’s grip respond, but it was a second too late. Jim used
every bit of his leg strength to push himself backward, crashing into Bruce.
Completely unprepared, Bruce made the mistake of trying to hold on to Jim for
balance. Both men, almost five hundred pounds of human anatomy, crashed down on
the little Klingon, following behind Bruce.

Kevin fell backward under the weight of Jim and
Bruce. His head slammed into the edge of one of the stairs and he dropped the
Taser he had been holding, sending it clattering down the steps. Bruce and Jim
tumbled over Kevin and crashed to the bottom of the stairs.

Jim put his body into a modified tuck and roll
and half-rolled, half-slid past Bruce. He landed in a controlled heap at the
foot of the stairs.

Bruce’s bulk caused him to bounce on his back
down the stairway. His head hit the floor at the bottom and his heavy torso
careened past his head and neck. The force left his neck twisted at an abnormal
angle.

Jim scrambled to his feet. He heard a low moaning
coming from the direction of the banister. Kevin lay across several of the
stairs, halfway between top and bottom. Not moving, not making a sound. The
moaning came from Bruce. His fat body had beached itself at the foot of the
staircase, his head and neck arched and twisted. Only his lips and his eyes
moved. Bruce followed Jim with his eyes as Jim stepped around his body.

“Kill me,” Bruce whispered. “Please.”

Jim looked down at Bruce. It would be easy. A
quick kick at the correct angle and Bruce’s spinal cord would snap in two. Jim
looked around. He had room to swing his leg with enough force to finish Bruce.

“Please,” Bruce begged again. “The voices.
They’re screaming at me. I can’t move. Make them stop.”

Jim saw desperation in Bruce’s eyes. It was so
tempting to give him what he wanted. Jim knelt down and put his lips close to
Bruce’s ear.

“Sorry, Mr. York,” Jim whispered.

He looked up the stairs. No sign of Kat yet. He
turned back to Bruce.

“My hands are tied. Literally. What I
can
do for you,” Jim said, “is promise that we will do everything we can to keep
you alive for your trial.”

Bruce’s eyes rolled back. He blinked, followed by
rapid-fire blinks and groans. He moaned like a wounded animal, or maybe like a
man with a tormented soul and no get-out-of-hell-free card to play.

Jim knew he didn’t have much time. They’d made a
huge racket on the stairs and Bruce’s moaning did not help. For the first time
in his life, Jim was thankful for an approaching hurricane. Hopefully, Kat
would attribute the noise to the wind that pounded away at the side of the
house.

He had one more bit of business with Bruce. The
Viper’s key fob. He squatted next to Bruce and managed to get his hands into
his pocket. Jim retrieved the Viper’s fob and the key to the gate. He shoved them
into his pocket.

He then went up the stairs to where Kevin lay,
sprawled across several steps. Jim shoved Kevin with his foot. No reaction.
Kevin laid there, eyes closed, most likely dead, or damn close to it. Both
pistols were still secured in Kevin’s waistband. Jim lowered himself, his back
toward Kevin, until he felt the grips of one of the pistols against his
fingers. He managed to pull the weapon loose without losing his balance and
toppling down the stairs again. By feel, he managed to release the safety.

Pausing for a second, Jim listened. Nothing but
the sound of the wind and Bruce’s pitiful moaning. Jim stood and went down the
stairs into the main room where Carl remained tied to the chair. Kat stood next
to Carl, holding the point of a medium-length, kitchen knife to his throat. Her
other hand held a small black candle.

“I instructed you to come alone, Jim,” Kat told
him.

Her voice was flat. The tone matter-of-fact.

“I thought you were upstairs waiting for me,” Jim
said.

“I came down through the kitchen. I knew those
two idiots couldn’t be trusted. Too bad about your friends. You won’t be seeing
them tonight. They should have stayed home.”

Carl looked frozen. His eyes were open, but if he
was breathing, Jim couldn’t tell. Jim saw the point of the blade push farther into
Carl’s neck. A fine line of blood trickled down from where it had pricked
Carl’s skin.

“I told you if you didn’t come alone, your friend
would die.”

Before Jim could react, Kat pushed the knife into
Carl’s neck.

Probably the only advantage to jogging during a
hurricane is that you have the wind at your back. At least until the eye passes
over and the wind changes direction.

That was Saffi’s thought as she reached the front
gate of the estate. She saw a modern security fence topped by razor wire. It
encased the pillars of the original gate and ran the length of the property’s
front. She saw candle light flickering through the front window.

She knew that Jim would have cut his way through
the fence somewhere near the rear of the property. Saffi had a choice: follow
the fence left, or follow it right to try to find the break. It was hard to
tell in the dark, but the brush seemed thinner to her left.

Saffi turned into the wind and followed the fence
around the perimeter of the estate. She also prayed.

“Dear Lord,” she prayed aloud as she made her way
along the fence, “Keep Jim safe. Give him strength and wisdom, Lord. Preserve
him from his enemies and give us victory over this evil. In the name of Jesus.
Amen.”

The fence extended one hundred feet past the
house. She followed it around the side of the property. She encountered more
trees, closer together the farther back she went. The wind beat her mercilessly
as she struggled through the trees and underbrush, fighting for every foot. The
wind used the limbs of the trees to whip her, as if they were punishing her for
presuming that God cared enough to listen to her simple prayers.

By the time she reached the break in the fence
where Jim had forced his way through, Saffi had been beaten and bruised, and
teetered on the edge of exhaustion. Yet she still prayed, remembering that the
apostle Paul had once written, “Pray without ceasing.” She had never read
better advice.

For the last hundred yards, she had hugged the
fence. Someone had constructed it a few feet away from a great wall of trees
and brush that had suddenly appeared on the estate side. At the breach she took
a deep breath, shook off her fatigue, and steeled herself for whatever she
might encounter on the other side. She pushed the fence enough to allow her to
slip through, forced her way into the waiting tree line, and found herself
stumbling into a clearing. Even in the dark, she could tell that the wall of
vegetation surrounded the glade. As hard as the wind had blown outside, inside
the clearing, she only felt a breeze. Yet the foliage wall moved and swayed,
writhing all around her.

The ground underneath her feet had changed from
twigs, sticks, and stumps to a soft carpet that almost made her want to remove
her shoes and lie down. Even the wind, roaring to hurricane force outside,
whispered with a seductive softness inside the peaceful sanctuary.

The whole experience reminded her of the scene in
The Wizard of Oz
when Dorothy and her companions entered the deadly poppy
field and went to sleep. But it would be suicide to lay down here and sleep.
Saffi had passed through her own dark forest, but unlike Dorothy, she knew that
the estate ahead was not Oz, and no friendly wizard waited to help her. Only a
truly wicked, demon-possessed, witch of a woman who, right now, might be
enchanting, seducing, and even destroying her friend, Jim.

Those were Saffi’s thoughts when, in the
darkness, she splashed into the shallow end of the pool. The cold water around
her ankles surprised her and she stopped for a moment. She heard a wet slap
somewhere across the dark water. She could not see how far the other end of the
pool was from where she stood. Maybe she had heard part of a tree fall into the
water. Or, just maybe, it was the belly flop of a big alligator. A big, hungry
alligator.
Not taking any chances with that. Outta here. Now.

She moved as quickly as she could away from the
pool. Behind her, she heard more splashing and something that sounded like a
low-pitched, staccato growl. Not waiting to identify the noise, she pushed
ahead through the brush surrounding the pool and struggled again against
resistant and unforgiving woods. She finally popped out on the other side,
behind the mansion.

The wind attacked again as she labored forward
toward the dark, looming mass of the once grand house. A soul-crushing darkness
pressed down upon her. She blinked and rubbed her eyes. She saw what looked
like blacker-than-black shadows swirling above the top of the house. The
shadows dipped down, penetrating the solid walls and roof. They flew in and out
of the structure in some wickedly ghoulish sky-dance.

While her Pentecostal friends would probably
think her unexpected ability to actually see demons was pretty cool, it was
beyond anything Saffi had ever experienced, or had ever wanted to experience,
and she was going to have to enter that house. Well, that ain’t Oz, Saffi, and
you’re sure as heck not in Kansas.

Whatever they were, the black phantoms paid no
attention to her. Saffi pushed harder against the wind, all the while reciting
the Lord’s Prayer. She reached the back of the house and climbed up the rear
steps. She tried the back door and found it unlocked. She continued her prayer
as she opened the door and stepped through.
Yea, though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me.

It was her last conscious thought.