The Devil's Dream: A Nightmare (15 page)

“What do you think He will decide?”

A few minutes of silence passed. Art wasn’t sure if his question would be answered, so he stood up.

“Thank you, Father.”

He started to walk down the darkened aisle.

“Son, does the potter allow his pots to smash each other?”

* * *

J
ake heard
the laughter in Matthew’s voice as he mentioned Jake’s name. As he asked how Jake was handling it.

Jake had headphones over his ears and sat in front of his computer. He was listening to the recording for the third time, taking everything in, his eyes closed and leaning back in a chair. How had Brand known Jake was looking into the lumber?

The FBI could have a leak. That was doubtful though. First, few people actually knew Jake was looking into the lumber origination, and the ones that did weren’t too keen on having the world destroyed.

What else? Was Brand hacking their computers? That wasn’t impossible, he had managed to buy nearly anything he wanted off the internet over the past five years without anyone being able to stop him, but that would mean a lot of data for him to sift through. Jake saw a good bit of the data the FBI was running right now, Art less because he was thinking strategy rather than specifics. How would Matthew have known where to look, what emails to check, what ideas to follow?

Jake felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw his father’s name on the screen. He removed the headphones and put the phone to his ear. He still hadn’t called his dad; he would blame it on time if his father asked, but Jake knew that wasn’t the reason.

“Enjoying the sun?” Jake asked.

“Your mother’s passed out right now,” Pete answered.

“What time is it over there?”

“Eleven in the morning.”

Jake laughed. “Jesus, you’re kidding. Is she that drunk?”

“She’s taken to calling it her afternoon nap, never mind that it’s before noon I suppose.”

“You enjoying it at all?”

“Yeah, it’s nice. Good to get away from everything. That stuff that’s on the news. That you?”

“Yeah,” Jake said.

“Well, that makes a good bit of sense then. That man did a number on a lot of families the last time he was running loose, so probably a smart idea for us to get down here. How’d you get involved in it, or can you not tell me?”

Jake sat up straighter in his chair and pressed the pause button on the recording still running through the headphones. “Nah, I don’t see any reason why I can’t. The head guy, Art Brayden, was down in Texas when this stuff started and he asked me to come aboard. I’m in Boston now, kinda acting like his right hand man, I suppose.”

“That’s one way to get a promotion,” his father chuckled. “When do you think you’ll find him?”

His father didn’t ask if Jake would capture him. Just asked when.

“It’s, well, it’s tough. I was onto something, something pretty big, and Brand turned everything on a dime. It was like all my work was destroyed as soon as the man thought about it, and more, he somehow knew I was the one working on it. He...I mean, he couldn’t have known that. No one knew, like ten people in the whole organization maybe, and yet
he
knew. Knew and then just put it all ablaze.”

“You don’t know how? Would someone have leaked the information?”

“I can’t imagine that happening. You don’t leak information to someone who is saying he’s going to destroy all life on the planet.”

His dad laughed. “That’s probably true. I’ve seen some news reports, people are going pretty crazy in the states, huh?”

“Yeah, some places. It’s not good, that’s for sure. They’re sending out the National Guard and upping the police force in a lot of the cities. How is it down there?”

“In the resort? I’m not sure anyone here has even heard of what’s happening, to be honest. Peace, alcohol, and weed. That’s what is in this resort.”

“How much is the phone call?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know. I’m just charging it to the room. Wanted to hear how things were going before your mother wakes up. I probably won’t tell her too much about it; she’ll be sober by then and start worrying. You’ll get him, don’t worry about that. Guys like this, they don’t win. There’s been a bunch of guys like this, throughout history, and in the end, they all die and the world goes on just fine for the most part. You’ll get him.”

Jake wasn’t listening. He stopped paying attention to his father after—
wanted to hear how things were going before your mother wakes up.

Wanted. To. Hear.

“Dad, I’ve gotta go. I’ll give you a call back.”

M
atthew never thought
he could fit that many people into the back of his van. Fifteen people were bound and gagged, lying face down behind him. With the first group, he bound them, but allowed them to sit up against the sides of the van. Their wrists had been tied to their feet, so there was no chance of movement. Fifteen people couldn’t fit inside if they were all sitting up, so, Matthew tied them feet to wrists, and then lay them down on top of each other, like he was moving furniture rather than people. For the most part, they were silent, except when he hit a bump in the road or something and one of the girls might let off a noise through the tape around her head.

This group would put him at a total of twenty-two people. Mr. Bolden had delivered fifteen, and said he would deliver fifteen more in two weeks. If this kept up, Matthew would be finished pretty quickly. He had enjoyed his call yesterday with Art, enjoyed it probably more than Art could imagine. Matthew didn’t have anyone anymore. Not a soul in this world besides the ghosts growing inside his head. Art, though, while not the smartest person Matthew had ever interacted with, was better than those ghosts. He acted as a sounding board, not to ideas, but to the feelings surrounding Matthew’s impending death. It was something he never had to deal with before, the thought that he was going to die. Like a teenager, always thinking that the future was long and bright, not ever coming to grips with the impermanence of life. He understood impermanence now, understood that death was near. Matthew was a dead man walking and no amount of meditation would stop it.

There was room to be happy though. He needed 33 more people, and he would have them in less than a month. Then this would all be over.

“Why you keep going on and on like that? It’s ridiculous.”

Matthew didn’t turn his head to the right; he didn’t need to. He knew who was there, knew it as soon as he heard her voice. The old woman, Sheeb. How long had it been since he’d seen her? A week? It was different than Rally’s voice or Morgant’s, both of which stayed inside his head and only gave their opinions on what was going on—Rally’s on how he should repent and Morgant on how he should rape.

This old woman though, she popped up looking as real as anyone Matthew had ever seen.

“What do you mean?” He asked aloud.

“I mean why you keep thinkin’ so negatively.
This will all be over
and things like that. Don’t you get tired of thinkin’ like that? I know I did back when I was worryin’ ‘bout raisin’ Arthur. It finally got to the point that I just had to understand the boy was gonna do what he wanted and I didn’t have much choice in that. But you, always sittin’ here thinkin’ about dyin’ and how you don’t have much time, it just gets on my last nerve.”

Matthew looked over, his eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry to not keep your thoughts in mind when I’m dealing with my own life, given that you don’t exist.”

“You’re talkin’ to me. I exist. I saw what you did back there with that old woman a few days ago. How’d that feel? Arthur liked it a lot, I’m sure.”

Matthew looked back at the road. Such a long road. Eighteen hours of drive time one way, every two weeks. If the FBI was going to find him, it would be on these trips. He would hit a roadblock, or get pulled over because one of his tail lights went out, and they would find twenty women gagged in the back of his van and that would be it.

Matthew hadn’t thought once about the old woman in the lumber store. He had thought about his brain deteriorating. He had thought about Morgant coming back, about him taking over. He considered the likelihood of Matthew not achieving his goal because of this new mental restraint. He had not thought about raping the woman at all, though. Until now.

She hadn’t woken the whole time, and he had looked down on her as he pumped in and out, Morgant not letting him close his eyes. Matthew didn’t want to look, felt his stomach turning and only finished Morgant’s business seconds before he vomited next to the woman’s head. Morgant had wanted to grab, to feel the old woman’s tits as Matthew went up and down, but somehow—and thank God—Matthew managed to keep his hands on the floor. Suicide had never been an option for Matthew, but he thought if he had been made to grab the woman’s breast while he raped her, he might have had to light himself on fire with the rest of the building.

“You ‘on’t want to talk ‘bout that, do you?” Sheeb asked.

Matthew only stared forward.

“Well, you ain’t got to, but it’s going to keep happenin’. Arthur ain’t done here. Arthur just gettin’ started. You woke him up with that little piece of ass you gave him and he wants more, believe me. Arthur always wanted more, even when I told him he had to be careful. I couldn’t control it back then, hell, can’t control it now, but he wouldn’t listen to me at all. You need to just let him come on and get it, ya know? Just let him come to the top, put yoself in the back there, and let him have his way with this world. You ain’t gone blow nothin’ up anyway, and ya know it. None of that even make any sense, just craziness you done dreamed up. I need to talk to Arthur though and the longer you keep puttin’ him off, the longer it gone take. Let go of all this stuff you got goin’ on and let my grandson have control of his body again. I can at least try to talk him outta all the awful things he wantin’ to do. You ain’t gone be able to talk him outta nuttin’.”

* * *

T
he girl sat huddled
in the corner, naked, her knees to her chest, her head buried between her knees and her arms wrapped around all of it as if trying to protect herself.

Arthur Morgant sat on the bed, naked too, looking at the girl.

That had been a lot more screaming than he planned for. That had been a lot more of everything than he planned for. It only lasted maybe forty seconds, and then the semen flowed from him, but even in that time the girl made a racket. He just hadn’t expected all that to happen. Grandma had to have heard, there wasn’t any way she didn’t, and Arthur was really regretting having tried to do this here. He wasn’t regretting what he did, not that at all, but just that he brought her back here and now his Grandma probably knew what was going on.

He heard his Grandma’s feet on the stairs, knew that she was coming to his room. The only thing keeping her from being up here right now was her age. Ten years ago, she would have climbed the stairs two at a time and been up here after the first scream. Back then though, she couldn’t have imagined what the scream was about—now, she probably had a good idea, even if this was Arthur’s first time.

The girl whimpered in the corner as his Grandma opened the door.

“Oh dear God in heaven,” Sheeb said. “You done went ahead and messed everything up, hadn’t ya?”

Arthur didn’t look at his Grandma. He didn’t really care too much what she thought about it; he just didn’t want to get in trouble for it. His penis was still semi-erect and he made no attempt to cover himself. People might make a big deal outta all this, but he didn’t really see the reason why. He’d done what felt natural and he couldn’t help it if it didn’t feel natural for anyone else.

Sheeb walked across the room, ignoring Arthur.

“What’s yo name, girl?” She asked, her voice not tender, but as rough as it had ever been with her Grandson.

The girl only let out a soft cry, keeping her head buried in her knees. Sheeb walked closer, put her hands down to the girls face and lifted it up. Arthur saw then what he’d done. He hadn’t really been able to pay attention to it during the act, everything felt like a blur, and now the memories were fading quickly. He hated that. It happened when he masturbated too, and that was why he took this step. He hoped that when he had a real girl here in front of him, he would be able to remember better. But just like when he used his hand, the memories made with the girl now sitting in the corner were rapidly disappearing.

Blood dripped from her nose, her upper lip swollen, and a blue patch growing on her right cheek.

“Oh, Arthur, they gone come for you now, boy. They gone come and they gone string you up. You know dat right?” Sheeb didn’t turn around and look at Arthur, just kept her eyes directed on the girl in front of her.

How old was the girl? Arthur couldn’t remember. They were in the same class at school and he lured her over here by saying they were going to study, but he never asked her age. He’d failed twice so he was seventeen now. Maybe she was fifteen.

“What we gone do?” Sheeb asked, bent over, forcing the girl’s face to look up.

Arthur didn’t say anything. He didn’t have the slightest idea what came next, and didn’t really care too much either. While the memory was fading, a sense of peace was taking hold, a sense of not needing to do anything, to care about anything. He could. Just. Be.

His Grandmother nodded to herself as he lay back on the bed, his erection almost completely gone, his flaccid penis lying against his leg.

“Alright, lil’ girl. You gone listen to me real good. You ain’t gone go tell no one, and to make sure of it, why don’t you come downstairs with me for a bit?”

Arthur heard his Grandmother lead his classmate out of the room, the girl not struggling, not making noises, but following like a cow. That was good. That was much better than how he thought it might go. Maybe his Grandmother would raise a stink about it later, but not now, and good, because Arthur just wanted to get some sleep.

* * *

T
he door was
open and Matthew saw thirty eyes looking at him.

He couldn’t remember anything except the little girl being led from the bedroom, except a teenage Arthur Morgant lying back on the bed, his eyes closing, completely obtuse to what he’d just done. Matthew couldn’t remember getting out of the front seat and coming to the back of the van.

Matthew looked around him. The sky was dark, the road two lanes with no cars on it, and he had pulled off to the shoulder. The only light around him came from the moon above, and it twinkled off the dark eyes in the van, all of them looking at the man who spent a million and a half dollars for them.

Come on, come on. We’re so close now. Just let me have a couple. Just let
us
have a couple. You remember the last time, how fun it was
.

Morgant, in his head, looking out at the womanly bodies, bound and lying on top of each other.

No,
Matthew answered.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.
The voice wasn’t like anything Matthew ever experienced before, not the rationality of Rally or the at least somewhat clear mindedness of Sheeb. This was rage and hurt and madness—all of it rolled up into a longing for flesh. Longing for any flesh that Morgant saw. There were two boys in the van and

They’ll work, they’ll work if you don’t want to touch the girls you don’t have to just give me the boys just sink into them.

The words spun together almost like a soup, hard to siphon out the complete ingredients.

And Matthew felt himself wanting to step up, to climb inside, to take the women. One by one. To take the two boys and defile them as well. Maybe it wasn’t Matthew, maybe it was Morgant taking over, but either way, Matthew felt the urge—felt it as strong as ever, only this time the heat from murder wasn’t on him as well.

He stepped up into the back of the van and squatted down over people he’d purchased.

“Why not?” The old woman said from behind him, standing outside. “Why not go ahead and have them? You ain’t got no wife and you ain’t got no woman you pokin’ on regularly, and you gone just kill them anyway. So what sense does it make to sit out here in the middle of the road and argue with yoself ‘bout it?”

Matthew couldn’t handle both of them at once, couldn’t listen to both of them telling him to rip the clothes of the women in front of him and then plunge inside them. He closed his eyes. He could smell the stench of his captives, the smell of stale urine, of blood, of sweat, all of it mixing together to form what should have caused a wave of nausea for Matthew. Perhaps Morgant’s personality was holding that back, was not letting Matthew feel the full disgusting nature of what lay before him.