The Last Customer (21 page)

That was the right thing to do.

He wondered why they hadn’t left yet, either. He would have gone nuts, just sitting up there, waiting.

I hope they’re all right.
He thought to himself.

He didn’t know which way to turn. If he went left, he’d be doing the right thing and if he went right, he’d be doing the right thing. Logic set in.

They needed the police.

Garth turned left.

Chapter 18

1

Donna’s raw, bleeding feet slapped against the sidewalk. She nearly toppled over. The pain was incredible, but she dug deep, bit down, and continued forward. After a few strides, she finally caught her breath. She ran down Main Street. The sharp sting in her feet was growing intolerable, but she continued-on, pure adrenaline. She was still two miles from the farmhouse.

Gardner told her not to come home, but she didn’t have anywhere else to go. Things had changed, and for the first time, she considered that she might not make it. Maybe not even past the edge of town. She might die out here like a wounded animal. She had to try to go home, and she would fight to get there.

           
The crash of bricks exploding rang-out behind her. She watched as the nose of the squad car—smashed and scraped—poked out from the alleyway. The grill stopped moving forward and steam rose in the form of chalky mist. Rock particles danced in front of the headlights. The squad car was stuck. The front quarter-panels were wedged-in tight at the slim mouth of the alleyway. The door panels peeled back when the car moved forward.

The brick wall imprisoned Sammael. He was stuck.

Although it was dark, Donna could see Sammael laughing. He cackled like a drunkard that had innocently fallen in the street.

           
Donna jumped back startled. The driver’s side window shattered and the glass blew outward. It allowed her to see him more clearly. His skin was pale and flaking off. His lips were dark red, like they’d been done-up with black lipstick. The torn edges of his mouth were purple. Laughing his sinister head off, he looked like a decomposing corpse. He trained his eyes on Donna.

           
“Excuse me young lady, could you help-out an officer of the law?” Sammael shouted. He was laughing and it sounded like he was gargling. His neck was bent at an awkward angle and his head dangled out the window. He tried to squeeze out of the small space. His eyes winced as the jagged glass tore his skin, above his temples.

           
Donna made it, almost, to the edge of Main Street. Her legs were fatigued and she thought that her body might simply stop working. Her vision was blurred. Her lungs felt heavy, swollen. She wanted her husband. He could help her.

           
Before she hit Amber Lane, which bisected Main Street, she looked back and saw Sammael forcing himself out of the police car. From this distance, it looked like every bone in his body was crushed and snapping. He crammed his body through the broken window and the brick wall. Every hinge and joint of Sammael’s body was contorted at obtuse angles.

The last image Donna witnessed, before turning around and focusing on her escape, was when Sammael fell to the ground. His face planted itself into the cracked sidewalk. She heard it thump. His neck cranked upward and to the left. It lolled one hundred and eighty degrees. His right eye slowly opened and adjusted on her.

           
She wiped her shaky hand across her face. A heavy layer of sweat and blood ran down her cheeks and neck. She was tired. Her lungs needed to recuperate. Her legs stiffened, hard as boards. She couldn’t bend her knees. Wanting to cry, she tripped and fell to the ground, looked behind her, she saw that Sammael was free. He’d gotten out of the car. He skittered along the street. The snake-like arms ripped through the skin of his back and wrapped around his torso, like they were holding his body together. The wavy ends folded and planted on the road. The serpents carried him across the blacktop. He looked like a giant tarantula. His head displaced another ninety degrees, the wrong way. Blood dribbled, in thick streams, from his torn mouth. There were jagged holes where the snakes ripped through his skin. His bottom lip hung by threads of shredded skin. The drooping skin looked like melted white cheddar.

           
He was moving fast, skittering across the pavement.

           
Donna took a deep breath. She tried to swallow, but she couldn’t. Her throat was too dry. The lining of her esophagus was arid, cracked, and felt like it was about to bleed. There was nothing wet to lubricate her mouth.
No saliva.
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She nearly gagged. It wouldn’t move. It was unable to retract. It frightened her when, after a few seconds, she couldn’t cluck her tongue. For a quick second, she thought this night would end with her suffocating.

           
Sammael reached her. His snakes slithered around her body. They squeezed hard—not tight—uncomfortable. She wanted to scream, but all that escaped her mouth was a dry woofing sound. Her mouth was so hot that her gums ached and her teeth throbbed. She began to cry.

2

Sammael treasured Donna’s increasing amount of pain. He wanted her to
let go
. He wanted her to die. But she had spirit. She wouldn’t let this
vile thing
beat her, and that was fine. Her
tears encouraged Sammael. He squeezed harder and howled into the warm night air. His eyes rolled over white as he prepared for the pleasure of taking her soul.

He’d taken many souls during the many centuries he’d existed, but he would savor Donna’s soul the most. The suffering he would make this woman endure excited him. Tiny claws sprung from the ends of his tentacles. They shot at the tender skin of Donna’s neck. He hoped they would cut her, peel the skin from her jaw to her collar bone. The thought of blood drenching her sweet skin was tantalizing. Sammael was a fiend for death.

           
His excitement halted. The sharp hooks stopped. So did his tentacles, less than centimeters, before they struck her skin. They’d hit an invisible wall. Donna held some kind of a protective shield. Despair struck Sammael. He looked to the yellow moon and screamed, “Give her to me!”

           
Why had the Unholy One stopped him? He’d been the most loyal of dark servants—the barer of pain, to those the Master deemed supreme torment upon. All he wanted was to take this soul. He’d, nearly, done the job years ago. To Sammael, it meant everything to destroy Donna. He wanted to eat her heart and torture her forever. He was promised these pleasures and now, he was on the brink of experiencing them. Again, he’d been stopped before he received her.

           
The Devine stepped in.
 
The Holy One had stopped the demon. He could. He commanded
all
, including the Dark Master. There had been very few times that Sammael had been halted—stalled—from his sinful deeds. But it
had
happened, and this is what it felt like.
He
was protecting her. It was the only explanation.

           
The snakes slithered back into the body and Sammael was paralyzed. Donna was being let free. Her face was that of confusion, but also of strength. Sammael saw, in her face, that she understood what had happened. He wanted to turn from her, ashamed. The body he possessed was giving-out under the stresses of what he’d done to it. He didn’t have much more time with this body. It would be useless, soon.

           
Suddenly, he could move again. With his remaining strength, he groveled to his feet. He swayed, watching Donna walk, unharmed, toward the streets of this forsaken town.

3

Donna’s lungs opened. Her muscles relaxed and she could breathe again. Her body shook, horribly, but she kept moving. She still hurt, but she kept going. Nearly hyperventilating, she inhaled huge gulps of air. She caught her breath and she ran harder than her body’s limit permitted. She needed to regain her rhythm. The tendons in the arches of her feet stretched. They ached badly. Every pain receptor peaked. Still, she was relieved. She’d witnessed the divine at work and her life was spared. She continued into the cool night.

Jogging now, she turned her stiff neck around. Sammael stood beneath the halo of a wooden streetlight. He wobbled on weak legs. He looked like he would fall over if the night breeze kept at him.

           
A sigh of relief escaped Donna. She continued toward her house. She’d been spared. Did this mean she was immune to the dark powers that these creatures possessed?

Maybe
.

She wouldn’t stick around to find out. She wanted to be with her companion, her husband, Leslie Gardner. He had the answers, to all of this.

Chapter 19

1

Father Gardner led Winny and Cherri into the farmhouse through the back screen door. They’d left the young woman’s body lying in the grass, where the demon departed from her. The decision to leave her body hadn’t set well with Winny or Cherri, but Gardner insisted. He’d been through this before. Sure, this was the worst of his demonic experiences, but still, he had the only experience. It wouldn’t be wise to move the girl.

Reaching the backdoor, Gardner noticed the hinges were ripped away from the door frame. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were alive. With a little
elbow grease
, the door could be fixed. It was their lives that needed to be maintained.

           
Beyond the back screen door was another, smaller, door. It led into the basement. The smaller door was heavy, made of solid wood. Gardner turned the knob and descended down the stained wooden stairs. He turned back, once, making sure that Winny and Cherri were following.

They were.

           
At the bottom of the staircase, Gardner flipped the light switch and a small light bulb buzzed. It slowly came to life. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough to illuminate the basement. It was enough that they could see.

           
“What do we do now?” Winny asked.

           
Gardner found himself lost, for a moment.

Why had he brought them down here?

It was a safe place.

At least, down here, they would have a place to hide, if Sammael came back—and he would. Gardner could sense the battle. It would arrive soon. The thought of what might happen frightened him. It wasn’t that he could be harmed...someone could be killed. He’d become weak in his faith. For this battle, he needed to be strong. The ache in his heart intensified, and he couldn’t sense Donna right now. No visions came to him. It was frustrating. More than anything, he wanted to see his wife. He wanted to hold her and to know that she was all right. After that, he could deal with the fight. The
unknown
was intruding on his confidence.

           
“I want you two to stay down here until I come back. It’s a lot safer here than it is out there, in plain sight. And now that you’re here, don’t leave. I don’t want to come back and find out that you’ve left.”

           
“But what if that…
thing
comes back?” Winny asked, taking a step forward. “Won’t you need our help?”

           
Gardner was touched by Winny’s passion. He admired the fight within him.

           
“Sammael. His name is Sammael, and he will surely be back. I can feel the fight ahead. For now, I need you to be as safe as possible and this is the only place I can think of...right now. So stay down here and be quiet—rest. You’ll know when you’re needed. Hopefully, that won’t be at all.”

           
“I don’t get it, how will we know?”

           
“Because I’ll tell you,” Gardner answered. He could see the look of confusion and doubt planted within Winny’s facial expression. That was fine, as long as he did what Gardner asked.

           
As Gardner ascended the stairs, he stopped and said, “I need you to trust me.”

2

Winny’s thoughts raced, creating a tornado of doubt, denial and questions. He even questioned his sanity. After everything that had happened tonight, he didn’t know what to believe anymore. Thinking logically wouldn’t work anymore. There was nothing logical about anything that had happened tonight. The only logic was that he trusted Gardner. He would listen to him and follow his orders. Gardner had experience dealing with supernatural evil. Sure, Winny believed in God, but he’d always thought that religion was more of an organized set of guidelines, a way of life that was followed in order to be a good person. Never in Winny’s lifetime did he imagine that he’d see these awful things. The horrible creatures and acts that he’d witnessed tonight were insane. The worst was that he’d never be able to talk about it. No one would believe a word of what he’d say. He never imagined these things were possible. Demons, possessing people, coming after people—trying to kill them. It was far-fetched, ridiculous. Yet here he was, frightened for his life having witnessed this evil. The idea that he’d
lost his marbles
was resting on the table. But he was quite certain that this was
really
happening, and he was worried about Garth. Where could he be? The only comfort Winny felt was with Cherri.

Standing in the dark basement, she huddled close to him. The warmth of her body was comforting. She grabbed his arm, tight, after Gardner closed the basement door. When the deadbolt slammed home, Winny became even more skeptical. He hoped that Gardner was right about the basement being safe. But, given their predicament, he didn’t trust that anywhere was safe.
Not up there and not down here.
For the time being, he would just have to have faith in Gardner.