Fade To Black (Into The Darkness Book 2) Page 22

  From the back of the group, he heard a soft familiar voice ask, “Dylan? Is that you?”

  Dylan watched the pack divide as a woman walked forward through the widening gap. Her blond hair ended at her shoulders. She had emerald-green eyes and perfectly shaped teeth that were a brilliant white, hiding behind her full red lips. Like the other women, she wore a cloth draped across the shoulders, resembling a toga, and cinched tightly around the waist by a similar swatch of cloth.

  Dylan instantly recognized his wife. He lowered his rifle and his jaw went slack. He simultaneously felt like he had been hit in the stomach and a tremendous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  “Cindy,” he gasped.

  Silently she stared at him as though he was a window to the past, another lifetime. Her lips formed around silent syllables as she tried to speak again, but she was mute. Her eyes circled his form once more, hovered on the rifle, and then looked into his face, now hard and different to her.

  Barely above a whisper, she proclaimed, “You’re supposed to be dead.”

  Dylan pounded his chest with a tight fist. “No, I’m alive.” He extended his left arm. “Come back with me.”

  The women that had been so still while immersed in the drama now began to edge closer to Cindy.

  Dylan’s nostrils flared, and he raised the rifle. “I have a bullet for each one of you.”

  Cindy waved with each of her hands, and the other women cautiously dispersed. The group united again at the far end of the big room, and their bodies turned to silhouettes against the large windowpanes.

  “We’re leaving now,” he said.

  Cindy did not move. He took a step toward her, and she clasped her hands behind her back and looked down. Dylan marched to her side and grabbed her arm. She pulled away.

  “They can’t keep you here. They can’t stop me from taking you home.”

  She looked up at Dylan with tired, weary eyes. “No, but I can.”

  “What?’

  “Dylan,” she said desperately, as her eyes began to tear, “I made a dreadful mistake. I did a terrible thing, and I have to live with it. That’s my crown of thorns.” She swallowed hard and continued. “I panicked. I abandoned the children.” Her eyelids closed tightly, and a tear fell on the pale skin of each cheek.

  “All is forgiven, Cindy.”

  Her eyes, cast downward again, tracing the path he would walk to exit the building, and focused on the door.

  “I could take you out of here right now,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I can’t go back, I don’t deserve to.”

  “You don’t have any idea what I’ve done to get back to you, or just to stay alive.”

  She bowed her head, hands clasped together near her waist. Dylan saw a tear fall to the floor.

  “Then this is it?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, Dylan.”

  He turned violently and kicked the lectern off the shallow podium. The splintered wood slid across the floor. Dylan took his knife and pried the poster from the wall. The thick adhesive pulled off a section of the drywall with it. Into the wall, he carved with his knife, DYLAN SMITH WAS HERE. With each violent slash and gouge of his knife, a cloud of white dust drifted away from the wall like a ghost.

  Taking deep, heavy breaths, Dylan sauntered back to his wife and almost picked her up to drag her away. He stood there silently, wishing she would look up and smile, tell him that she still loved him, and then they would leave hand in hand, but it never happened. With angry fingers, he removed his wedding ring, dropped it at her feet, and walked away.

  Dylan retraced his steps back home, walking much more slowly on the way back. He replayed the events in his mind; remembering what he said and did, wondering if he could have said anything differently to convince her to leave. He walked slowly with his head hung low, stopped frequently, and tried to think of any excuse to go back for his wife. All the way home, he wondered how to explain this to his children.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Dylan saw his house in the distance. His first thought was of his children, and he tried to smile. He crossed the bridge over the stream and emerged from the field, but he still had not shrugged off his gloomy mood. The front door was closed, so he tested the doorknob and found that it was locked. Dylan pounded on the door and heard footsteps scurry toward it. Joel moved the blind that covered the sidelight window, looked out, saw Dylan, and then quickly opened the door.

  “Hi Joel, what are you—”

  Dylan froze when he saw Kevin lying on the couch. There were bruises on his face. Mary was kneeling beside her husband, sobbing.

  “Dylan, I came over after it happened,” said Joel.

  “What happened?” Dylan yelled, visibly upset.

  Kevin tried to sit up and moaned after touching his swollen jaw. Mary stood up, and now Dylan could see that she had a bruised eye.

  Exasperated, Dylan again yelled, “What happened?” Then he realized that he did not see Brad or Jennifer. “Where are my children?” He dashed down the hallway. All the rooms were empty. Dylan’s expression changed as he entered the living room again. He had a distant stare, his mind trying to escape his greatest fear.

  “Kevin…Mary…talk to me…I need to know what happened and who did this!”

  Kevin sat up and leaned back on the couch. Mary sidled over next to him. He clutched his skull, as if he had to hold it together, and moaned. Mary buried her face in the palms of her hands and began to cry hysterically.

  “I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry…” cried Mary. “Oh, dear God, we tried to stop them.”

  “Somebody, please tell me something, damn it!” exclaimed Dylan.

  Kevin tried to stand, lost his balance, and went back down on the couch. Joel went to his side and put his hand on Kevin’s shoulder to keep him in place, and then Joel apprehensively walked over to Dylan, touched his shoulder, and admitted, “They’re gone. I didn’t see who did it.”

  “Dylan, there were too many of them,” Kevin moaned. “I tried, but I couldn’t stop them. They took Brad and Jennifer. I’m sorry.” He pointed to the door. “I think they left in a van, a brown van.”

  When those words hit Dylan, he fell to his knees. He started to panic, and he began to feel a crushing pain in his chest. His breathing was as erratic as his hands were shaky. Slowly, the veil of confused fog lifted from his consciousness. He gradually came back to reality, and he could hear Mary crying again. Dylan regained his composure, fueled with anger. Dylan grabbed Kevin by the chin and made him look up. “Okay, Kevin, you need to pull it together for me. Who—did—this?”

  Kevin solemnly shook his head, looked at Dylan, with one eye that was nearly swollen shut, and said, “They had a key. That’s how they got in.” Kevin put his tongue on his cut lip, tasted blood, and licked it clean.

  “Oh, Jesus,” sobbed Mary, “I can still hear them screaming.”

  Kevin put a hand on her back, and then he pointed to the key on the coffee table.

  “They must have dropped it during the scuffle,” said Joel.

  Dylan nodded, really only interested in determining who the culprits were.

  “Dylan,” Kevin licked a trickle of blood from his lips again, “before they left, the tall one said, ‘Gabriel was here.’ But I don’t know who that is.”

  “I do.” Dylan dropped onto a chair. He leaned forward and rested his face on the palms of his hands. His hair, now the longest it had ever been, swept forward and covered his hands. He sighed with exasperation. “He is the leader of that cult that has been canvassing our neighborhood.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Joel.

  “I was just at their temple, and that is where my wife is.”

  The room went silent. Mary lifted her bruised face and tear-filled eyes. “You have to bring them back, Dylan. Your wife…your children…they’re in danger, you have to bring them back. You don’t have any more time to lose. Hurry!”

  “Mary,” said Dylan, before he paused, not k
nowing exactly what to say. “She’s not—she’s not coming back. She made a decision to stay there.” Dylan stood up. “But if they get between my children and me, they will desperately need God to save their souls.”

  Kevin tried to stand, too, but was slow to rise and stumbled when he did. Joel caught his shoulder.

  “I’m going with you,” said Kevin.

  “Hold on,” ordered Joel. “You’re not fit to go anywhere.”

  “I have to.”

  Joel put pressure on Kevin’s shoulder and guided him back down.

  “It’s for your own good,” said Dylan. “Stay with your wife.”

  “Come to my house,” Joel invited the married couple. “I would feel better if my wife and I could watch both of you.”

  The couple agreed. Joel helped Kevin limp to the door, and they left together.

  Mary stood there with a concerned eye turned toward Dylan. She grasped her crucifix necklace and lifted it over her head. She held it delicately with two fingers and slowly lowered it into the palm of her other hand. The thin gold chain collapsed onto itself into a small heap, and the tiny crucifix lay on top. Mary handed it to Dylan with an outstretched arm. “Take this with you.”

  Dylan shook his head and walked over to his rifle leaning against the wall. He picked it up and replied, “No, I’m going to take this.” Dylan put a hand on her shoulder and guided her to the door. They stepped onto the porch. The closing door echoed into an empty house.

  Dylan began to walk briskly. “I need to hurry. It’s getting dark.”

  Mary matched his pace. “How are you going to get there?”

  He stopped in front of Harold’s house. “I’m going to tell him to give me the keys to his El Camino.” He turned to walk up the sidewalk to Harold’s front door, but when he turned, Mary grabbed the lose fabric of his sweatshirt to stop him.

  “Dylan, be careful.”

  “I’ve been through the gates of hell before.”

  Dylan stood on Harold’s front porch and watched Mary wave at him just before she went into the house next door. Dylan clenched a fist and brought his hand back to pound it like a hammer. Just before he hit the door, he noticed that it was not completely closed. He pushed it open with the tips of his fingers. He saw Harold, completely reclined in the chair, arms crossed on his chest. His head tilted to the side, eyelids partially open, and mouth agape. The birdcages were empty, and the door on each cage was open.

  “Harold?” Dylan mumbled.

  Dylan heard a cabinet door slam shut, and Jim peered around the corner from the kitchen.

  “He’s dead,” Jim said, sadly. “He knew he was going to die, and he let the birds go.”

  “Shit!”

  “I didn’t think you cared that much,” said Jim.

  “Jim, people from that cult broke into my house, attacked Kevin and Mary, and took my children.”

  “Oh, dear God.”

  “I was just at their temple. I found my wife. She’s there, too.” Dylan stretched an arm out. “I need the key to the El Camino; hurry!”

  “He hid the key. I can’t find it.”

  “That bastard knew he was going to die, and he still hid the key?” Frustrated and angry, Dylan stomped a foot on the floor and the empty birdcages rattled. “We have to find it. The sun is going down, and it’ll be dark soon.” Fueled with desperation, he began to tear the living room apart.

  “Hold on, he was too clever. You need to go now, because we might not find it today. Don’t waste your time here. Go do what you need to do.”

  As Dylan ran out the door, he heard Jim yell, “Good luck.” Outside, he held his hand up to the western skyline to estimate how much time he had before sundown by comparing the width of his palm to the distance of the sun from the horizon. He concluded that it was less than an hour before nightfall. Dylan jogged between the houses and stopped at the remains of an old fire ring that had a heap of charred wood in the center. He rubbed the black charcoal dust on his face for camouflage, hiked through the field, and then began to run when he hit the fairway.

  The evening horizon was glowing red when the cult’s temple came into view. He emerged from the weeds as silently as a shadow and went directly to the outbuilding behind the cult’s temple. He pressed his back to its rear wall and looked around. The stench was heavy in the air again. He crouched low to the ground and looked around the corner. The rear wall of the temple was solid concrete, with one door. From the back, that door was his only way in, but it was closed. His mind was racing with frantic thoughts when his eyes drifted to the roof. He saw the chimney and noticed tufts of white smoke curling upward. The smoke gave him an idea. If he could not get into the temple, he would bring them outside it. He noticed the extension ladder next to the outbuilding and estimated that it would reach the temple’s flat roof. Now all he needed was something to plug the chimney. He knew that if he could get the smoke to build up inside the temple, it would force everyone to leave, and that was when he would strike. He walked around the outbuilding, looking for something with which to plug the chimney. The cushions were missing from the old couch by the garbage bins. He sliced into the back of the couch, but the stuffing disintegrated into small pieces. He cautiously looked around once more. Seeing no one, he went to the front of the small building. The pungent odor was more powerful by the door. He looked up at the word PURGATORY, painted in red on the building, and wondered if it was a warning. He turned the doorknob, and the steel door creaked open. A pungent odor poured outward. Dylan gagged and stepped back. Inside he saw a tarp hanging over a wire, like a curtain, blocking his view inside. He held his sweatshirt over his nose and went inside. He decided to pull the tarp down and use it to cover the chimney. He pulled the door shut behind him. Swallowed into the darkness, Dylan blindly grasped the edge of the tarp and gave it a quick pull downward. It collapsed to the floor and created a gentle breeze that lifted dust and summoned the horrible smell once more, but inside, the odor was almost unbearable. The dust irritated Dylan’s eyes as much as the pungent smell irritated his nose. He closed his eyes and lifted his sweatshirt to cover his nostrils again. He edged forward in the blackness and stepped over the crumpled tarp. The odor was getting worse and was almost disorienting as it mixed in with the darkness. He removed a lighter from his pocket. Still covering his nostrils, he flicked the lighter and held his arm out. Dylan opened his eyes in the dim light. He gasped when he saw the faces. The severed heads of at least a dozen people had been piked and displayed on tables around the interior perimeter. Eyes closed and jaws slack, all facing the center of the room, and since Dylan was now in the center, they faced him. Morbid faces in varying states of decay, illuminated by the flickering yellow flame. He put the lighter back into his pocket and gagged. In the dark, he bunched the tarp together and quickly retreated outside, to the back of the outbuilding. His stomach tried to heave, but he fought the urge.

  Dylan dragged the ladder and tarp across the yard and leaned the ladder against the temple’s rear wall. He extended the ladder to the edge of the roof and climbed onto the roof, tarp in hand. On the rooftop, he pulled the ladder up and then stuffed the tarp into the chimney. He sat low by the chimney, hidden by the roof’s parapet, and waited. Nighttime had arrived, and it was very dark now. Late in the year, darkness came earlier every day. The crescent moon barely helped him see anything. On the roof, Dylan’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness the best that they could, but it was still difficult to see. He was hoping the cult members would be fire blind as they emerged from the building, disoriented from the darkness and smoke. He was going to shoot Gabriel first and then anyone else standing in his way.

  He heard the rear door creak open and a man’s voice say he was going to tie the door to the handrail to keep it in that position. More voices emerged, and he heard people coughing. Dylan raised his head above the parapet and watched people dash away from the smoke. They wore cloth draped across their shoulders like ceremonial togas. The exodus was not organized, and Dylan sensed thei
r panic. He raised the rifle, pressed it firmly into his shoulder, and aimed into the crowd while looking for his first target. Thankfully, his children were not there. He did not want to shoot wildly into the crowd and risk hitting them. He needed to act fast because the smoke was building up and they might still be inside. Dylan stood tall and began to scan the crowd quickly. He spotted a tall man waiving a pistol with his right hand and dragging a woman whose hands were bound at her wrists. He lowered the rifle and squinted hard to focus his eyes. The tall man stopped and spun around. It was Gabriel. Dylan raised the rifle and took aim. Suddenly, just as he was ready to pull the trigger, a woman screamed, “Dylan!” The bound woman Gabriel had dragged out of the building was Dylan’s wife. She recognized the dark silhouette of the man with a shouldered rifle standing on the roof. Gabriel jumped behind her, crouched low, and used her as a human shield.

  “It looks like trouble runs in your family,” Gabriel yelled tauntingly. “She let some of our newest members go free. For that apostasy, she’s going to be punished.” He pressed the pistol to Cindy’s skull. “You’re a fool, Dylan. What could you promise her that we don’t have?” Gabriel began to laugh sadistically. “I have your children, too.” He then pulled Cindy’s hair back and commanded her to tell Dylan the children were inside.

  “He has the children,” she pleaded. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen. You have to believe me.”

  “Are they safe? Did you see them?” yelled Dylan.

  “I heard their voices, but didn’t see them,” Cindy answered. “They didn’t sound hurt.”

  “You better stop what you are doing up there,” warned Gabriel, as he pressed the pistol harder against her skull. “She’ll be the first to get it.”

  Dylan raised his rifle and tried to sight Gabriel. He could not do it.

  “I have your wife and children. If you care about their souls, you will surrender now. Otherwise, I won’t save their souls, and they’ll spend eternity in Purgatory.”