 
THE COMING

BY

JASON JOHN TYLER

### Table of Contents

THE COMING

By JASON JOHN TYLER

Copyright

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Last Words

Author's Note on The Coming

The Author's Words on Writing

Other Works by This Author

Things That Go Boo and the more terrifying Things That Go Boo in Broad Daylight...

THE COMING

BY

JASON JOHN TYLER
Copyright

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal. The final approval for this literary material is to be granted only by the author.

Copyright © 2017 Jason John Tyler

Edition: Original Uncensored Author's Cut (A horror novel by Jason John Tyler titled, The Coming)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Library of Congress Copyright / United States Government Copyright / Publish-Main: Independent / Jason John Tyler Copyright © 2017 / Word Count 110,000 / Printed in the United States of America / Suggested Retail price: eBook $3.99 / Mass Market Paperback $8.99 / Trade Paperback $13.99 / Hardcover $19.99 / Audio Book 13.99 / The Coming / Author: Jason John Tyler / Kindle ASIN: B071P3X19L / BooksInPrint Createspace ISBN-13: 978-1546692904 / ISBN-10: 1546692908 Smashwords, Inc. ISBN: 9781370055289 /

Publisher:

Smashwords, Inc. & Createspace

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Dedication

To my beautiful wife, Carolyn Tyler, whom I love dearly, and to my sister-in-law, Nancy Tyler Delk. Thank you for your love, support, and encouragement.

### Acknowledgments

The love and assistance provided by my wife, Carolyn, could never, in a million years, be matched. I also offer my thanks to my father-in-law, Bobby. Some special thanks go out to my friends and family abroad. Here, I express my great appreciation to my family, the Tyler family, for their support. You have all helped to keep me on track, and this has assisted in bringing this tale to life.

### Prologue

"In the beginning, when you are happy, there is a hint of a smile. When you are sad, sadness sits by your side. With anger, hatred comes knocking. In love, there is love. In the end, those eyes, they lock themselves on you. Walk out, and they continue peering from the other side, through brittle walls, through time's raging worlds of the ever-changing. And when all is gone, those eyes; that determination, it lives forever."

Tan, tan.

You're the man,

Take a chance

Tan, tan.

Tell me if you can,

Tell me at a glance.

-The Little Book of Forgotten Sorrows

In all hope and sadly-lost-but-never-forgotten dreams, it was a hot day; and the screams of the child—her child—made the heat seem that much more unbearable. Billy was finally out of her womb and on the bloody floor where Mother Hatherby lay breathing heavily, her dress stained and wet, and her legs red from the birth of her first child.

"Shibley, damn you!" she shouted. "Shibley, get in here and pick my child up. Shibley."

From behind the curtain, a tall man stood peeping at her. Shibley's face was blood drained.

"Mother Hatherby?" Flushed, he reached his large hands over and pulled the curtain. "Mother Hatherby, are you all right?"

"For God's sake, Shibley, come in here and pick my child up and show him who his father is."

Shibley shouted, "A son!" He rushed forward, almost stepping on Billy. He bent over and lifted Billy from the ground. At that moment, he noticed something strange.

"What is it, Shibley? Your face."

"Mother Hatherby. Push!" Father Shibley shouted, and Mother Hatherby pushed out Slade. "Oh, my fuck," Mother Hatherby said, "not another one."

"My sons," Father Shibley said. "My boys." He stood tall over Mother Hatherby. Billy and Slade were in his arms with their blood-drenched umbilical cords dangling from within their mother's vagina, out to their tiny tummies. "My sons," he said.

"Fuck. God be damned," said Mother Hatherby.
THE COMING

### Chapter 1

Mary Delphine was on her haunches in front of Michael. His face was expressionless. He knew what she was about to say. He could feel it in her body language, in her lack of expression. He could sense something was not right. She looked cold and distant—scared—and he did not like it one bit.

"Michael"—Mary pulled him closer— "I'm not sure if you can fully understand what I want to tell you, but please try to understand."

Michael's six-year-old hands began to tremble in hers. He could feel a lump in his throat. Something was crying deep within himself, with a burning in his chest, a warm endless burning hurting his soul.

"Michael, I have to give you away. I can't keep you anymore."

Michael looked at her with watery eyes. He tilted his head like a sad dog, and his feet started to stamp the floor in protest, short little thumps but nothing too extravagant.

It was as though he knew what his mother had to do. The stomping was more to hold down his pain as he tried to keep his tears, but they came. "I'm sorry, Mommy," he said.

To him, a memory came of Mary rolling him up in a rug and placing him on top of the closet. He remembered her showing him her finger on her lips, one that said do not make a noise. One that said please do not or daddy will kill us all. Michael recalled not crying as he heard his mother getting knocked from one side of the house to the other. He remembered the time he held his breath in between his mother's screams, believing somehow Mommy would still be there to feed him. Michael remembered her returning with bad marks over her body and blood; there was lots of blood.

Michael closed his eyes and said again, "Mommy, I'm sorry."

"Oh, my baby," she said and threw her arms around him, "please don't say sorry. It's me who's sorry, baby. You never need to apologize for anything." She held him closer. Together tears rolled down pale cheeks where at some point they intermingled becoming one, dripping onto the blue velvet carpet above the hardwood floors on which they stood. In the warmth of the room, before seeping through the gaps in the wood beneath, their tears evaporated, dissolving into a nothingness of empty.

"Michael, I promise. I will return." She hugged him tighter.

"Mommy, I can't breathe."

Mary loosened her hold on him. Not wanting ever to let him go, she stood up and backed off slightly. Michael stood in front of her and raised his right hand, showing her his palm. She extended her right hand, and their hands touched. He could feel the warmth of her palm and the racing of her heartbeat sending waves of love through her hand to his.

"Michael," Mary considered his eyes and said, "my sweet baby, you may not understand what I have to say here, but I believe something in you will always remember this, and one day it will be brought back to you, and you will understand it all. Michael, my darling, stay focused. Keep your eyes on your dreams. Keep your chin held high and never let anyone step on your toes. Do this with love and heart, sweat, and tears. Hurt no one. As they did you, do them with love. Swap, there is no way for, a way can be made. Throw away can't and keep can. Throw away won't and keep will. Drown impossible and water possible. Lose never in the woods and find always hiding in the shadows of what will be. Then whether you want it or not, your dream will become not only possible but also inevitable, and whether you like it or not, you will get there. But you must want to get there, and if you do, you will." Mary held her tears, barely able to get her last words out.

"Mommy, I love you," he said. "I will always love you. And I understand."

How could he possibly understand? she thought. How could this boy, this sweet boy of mine, know so much at such a young age? It is wrong. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Her mouth was dry, and now her throat throbbed in sorrow's palpitations of pain.

Gertrude, Mother Hatherby's close friend from child services of Virginia, was standing to the side, watching it all and taking it in. "It's time, Mary," Gertrude said in a stern voice. "You need to leave. We will take it from here."

"I know but one more hug." Mary bent over, going on her haunches again. She took Michael around his waist, placing her head on his chest. "Michael, if you remember nothing else, remember these words. Always remember these words; darling, I love you more than anything in this world, with all my heart and with all my soul. I always have, and I always will."

"I love you too, Mommy. Always."

On his left cheek, Mary kissed Michael. She stood up, turned around, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind herself. She was gone.

Michael looked over at Gertrude. He was taking in spurts of short breaths filled with heartache, pain. Gertrude took Michael by the hand and secretively led him into another room where a strange lady sat waiting. "Here he is," she said to Lola Thorndike. "You better tell your sister. She owes me one. And you better get him out of here before Mary changes her mind. They sometimes do, you know, change their minds."

Lola Thorndike straightened her back and considered Michael's eyes. Stretching her hand over, she said, "Come on now, you have to stop this crying nonsense and dry your eyes. It's time to meet your new mommy and daddy."

Michael closed his eyes. He did not want a new mommy, and he did not care about having a daddy. He wanted Mary, whom he believed to be his real mother. Daddies did not matter. Daddies only beat mommies up, thought Michael; but Mary, Mommy, he thought, she was gone, and he felt alone. Although she said she would return, something in his heart felt this was the last time he would ever see her in his life again.

Michael extended his hand for Lola to take, and she took it.

"From now onward, you will be called Billy," Lola muttered. "Did you hear me, young man?" she asked firmly.

As he walked off with her, Michael said yes softly but loud enough for Lola to hear. She glanced at him, proud, and she smiled an awful ungodly smile. His whimpering stopped but not from within. His throat hurt with tears trapped deep in his soul where he cried not for himself anymore but for his mother.

Lola could not see this because from here on in Billy showed no emotion as his heart wept harder and harder. The beat of the throbbing rhythm in this new emotionless sorrow of his—all his—hurt Billy's throat more. Here he stood in the kind of sorrow that often swallows the hearts of the world, disguised as beautiful through a smile in the silence of true pain and true love—not sexual. This was a different kind of love.

That special kind that cannot be given freely or taken away. Truer than true could, in all eternity, ever be. If there was such a thing as truer, in the warmth of a heart of hearts where love's feelings stir, this was it; his love for Mary, whom he believed to be his real mother, would never die. And even if Mary did not ever return, this he knew and this he would always know. Though she deserted him, he would always hold this last memory of her soft face, warm hands, and trembling words close all the days of his life.

The Laguna Palms Spa Hotel was filling fast, and Mary Jane Delacroix was running around like a crazy person. She was hired by Jupiter Manning to run two of his hotels. One was in Santa Monica, and the other was in Laguna Beach. They were both small hotels, around 160 rooms each, and they were quite different from each other. The hotel in Laguna was an island-style hotel with royal palms. It was set off Ocean Drive with a view of the Laguna Hills on the one side and Laguna Beach on the other.

The hotel in Santa Monica was a European-style hotel, which attracted guests from England, Germany, Italy, and France. Its Old-World charm lured in many artsy types: screenwriters, journalists, and novelists. Here was where Billy first met his friend, Tiger.

Billy was staying at a Santa Monica youth hostel, an international boarding house with a two-week maximum stay. After overstaying his two weeks, due to leave, he asked the reception how he could stay longer. The girl at the reception desk told him should he wish to stay any longer; he would have to take a job at the youth hostel; something he was considering. Doing this entailed cleaning showers and toilets and vacuuming and tidying for three hours daily to cover the cost of his bed. The girl said the hostel reception would arrange a bunk bed for him if he agreed to do this. Billy decided to take up the challenge.

Before getting to Los Angeles and before settling in at a youth hostel in Santa Monica, Billy traveled much. After he escaped from the clutches of his foster parents, Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley, in lovely Virginia, he decided to travel to New York. He always dreamt of going to New York. When he got there, stepping out of the airport for him was like stepping into a whole new country.

The city of New York was a concrete jungle, striking and scary. Exciting, but for Billy, it was too big, too soon. Instead, he detoured to Pennsylvania, where he stopped over in a town called Eastern. He planned to stay with his dad's friends. Friends Father Shibley never met in person.

Father Shibley spoke over CB radio to people across the entire world. He would send postcards to these people, and sometimes they would become friends. Father Shibley, Billy's foster dad, was up one night, calling out on the CB radio from Newport News, Virginia when he came across Tom and Madeline doing the same thing. They hooked up over the airways and became the greatest of friends.

They stayed friends for many years after that. Later, Billy's grandma got into the CB radio communication network, and she too became great friends with Tom and Madeline. She would exchange teaspoons as mementos instead of postcards. It would later be through his grandma that Billy would get to meet Tom and Madeline. Years after they started the radio communication thing, Billy was born along with his brother, Slade. They were born a few minutes apart. Two handsome un-identical twins his mother, Mother Hatherby gave up for adoption.

A woman by the name of Mary got Billy for a bit, and she called him Michael, but because of her abusive husband Frank, Mary was forced to give Michael up. Someone else got Slade, and Mother Hatherby, the bitch she was, did not care who got who. At the time, she wanted to rid herself of them both. Then one fine morning, Mother Hatherby got it in herself to do everything in her power to get Billy back, to get both her boys, and she did.

Long after regretting her decision to give them away, Mother Hatherby wangled her way into getting her boys to keep, to use to her advantage. And upon getting them back, since she gave them away at birth, she made up her mind never to tell them she was their real mom. She was the mom that did not want them from the very beginning. She did not think, when she gave them away, how useful these boys would be to her in the long run, but when she realized their worth, when she realized these boys could keep house for her, she got them back—and she kept them.

This was an intense situation that allowed Billy to grow up in complete insanity, along with his brother, Slade. Once Billy was old enough and able to fend for himself, he ran away, escaping the madness, in search of happiness. Although he wished to leave all along, he did not know he would eventually find himself leaving forever. He was not aware when his grandma cried to see him go, when he cried himself, this would be the last time he would ever get to hug her. The last time he would get to be with her and enjoy her like his grandma ever again.

Although he did call often, it was never the same as being around her and loving her, in person. Billy's relationship with his grandma was special. She was the sanity within the insanity; she taught him how to love and what love was. He would climb into her bed every morning, and he would cuddle with her. He loved her like no one he ever loved in his life, and she loved him the same.

Billy landed in New York at JFK International Airport from Norfolk, Virginia, on a one-way ticket. Once he was out of the airport building, standing on the road running past the arrivals gate, he got on his knees and kissed the ground. Billy loved every part of America. It was his home and the place that, he believed, loved him.

America was the place that was good to him—that never saw him wrong. Yes, America was where his heart was. He did not care whether he lived in the town of Eastern or the sprawling metropolis of Los Angeles or the ever-so-charming Hilton Village or Chicago or Miami. To him, all of it was home. America, the land of love and the land he loved with all his heart.

From New York, he traveled to Eastern, Pennsylvania, to meet with Tom and Madeline. Billy's grandma informed Madeline he was on his way. Madeline was so excited to be seeing someone from the family. A family she befriended and loved for so many years over the radio.

Billy took the Grandhopper bus from New York to Eastern Pennsylvania. He felt safe because there was someone who would be picking him up in Eastern, someone who knew his family for years. The Grandhopper dropped Billy right in the center of Eastern, a magical town full of old red brick buildings and steep-roofed houses. Billy got off the bus and started looking around. The town looked like it went through a great storm. Although magical in a way, it was also critically weathered, dark, and cold.

Billy knew what to look out for; Tom and Madeline described their car to Billy. Less than a few minutes after finding a pay phone and after calling Madeline, Billy saw them arriving as they pulled up on the other side of the main part of the intersection. They parked and waited for him. Billy waved at them. Meanwhile, from one of the old buildings above the intersection came the cries of some crazed woman.

At first, Billy thought someone was in trouble; but upon looking, above the traffic lights, he saw a black woman standing behind a dirty, broken window. She appeared to be wearing white, off white, and she appeared to be waving at him. Maybe when he signaled Tom and Madeline, she developed this strange notion that he was waving to her up there.

What Billy could not see lying on the dirty floor next to her stomping bare feet was a little black book with a single drop of blood on each of its pages. The light turned green, and Billy started to cross the road. The lady on the foul floor in the old building above, behind the dirty, broken window, started to dance and holler with excitement.

As Billy crossed the road, he took one last look. He saw the woman ripped her top right off.

She was dangling her large breasts through the dirty, broken window, shouting at the top of her voice, "Yes, you know what you want, don't you? Come and get it, baby. Come and get it!"

Billy crossed the road quickly, and upon reaching Tom's car, he knocked on their front window. Billy was smiling with a song running through his mind. The words "Tease me. Tease me, baby. Until I lose control. Tease me with your body and your soul..." danced in his head. From above, the woman swung her well-worn banana breasts harder, catching her left nipple on the broken pane of glass.

Billy heard the voice of an old woman talking.

"Tom, it's Father Shibley's son. Pat's grandson, Billy. Tom, there is some crazy nut out there. Do you hear that? Best to be on our way." Madeline held on to the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles went white. "Tom. Billy. Hold on. Tight," said Madeline. "We'll be out of town in a moment." Wide-eyed, Billy held on. Madeline floored the accelerator, and they sped away.

"Oh, pleased to meet you." Tom reached, and Billy leaned over and shook his hand.

"Sorry, Billy. Couldn't get out and give you a hug. Our town is not what it used to be. We are not as young as we used to be either. I will give you a hug when we get home."

"That's okay, Madeline. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Madeline said as they rode off to Tom and Madeline's trailer deep in the woods.

On Christmas Eve, dark magic crept into Hilton Village, a small town near the coastal city of Virginia Beach and it did not leave until it claimed the life of an innocent young boy. After dusk, darkness swallowed what light existed as it closed in on the land. When Billy's brother, Slade, and Slade's friend, Willie arrived at Kyle's house, Kyle, Slade's snoozing cousin, pretended to be snoozing once again. Kyle was the eager beaver of the three teenagers who always landed up being the party pooper. He spoke a lot of what he could do in dangerous situations and of how brave he could be, but when it came to doing something dangerous or scary, Kyle almost always backed away.

On the other hand, Billy's brother, Slade, proclaimed to be the most courageous of the three. Slade, with his gumboots on, and Willie—with his good luck charms, a blue Saint Christopher pendant, and a yin yang around his neck— stood outside Kyle's house, throwing stones up at Kyle's bedroom window.

"Come on, fuckhead," Slade whispered, "we don't have all night."

"Give him a chance, Slade," said Willie. "I see his bedside lamp shining. Look, there's a shadow moving."

Willie and Slade braced themselves, hoping they did not wake Mr. Cohan, Kyle's father. The shadow at the window stood still for a second, and then it waved at them. It was Kyle. Slade took a deep breath and sighed. Fearing his father would be aroused, Kyle, in reluctance, opened the window and whispered. He said he would be with them shortly.

"Don't forget the shovels!" Slade shouted up at him. No time to catch lightning bugs tonight, thought Slade.

Slade always knew what to do next, how to stay out of trouble, and, at the same time, how to have a rave of the century. Once Kyle was down, they headed for the shed, grabbed a shovel each, and began to make their way through, to the other side of the river lands, toward the Lake Maury area. It took them about an hour to trek through the extravagant foliage. Mapping their course, they kept close to the river's boundary but far enough away to avoid its slippery banks.

Upon reaching its far west end, they climbed the hill that followed, moving toward a forest-filled spot commonly known as Nolan's Trail. Slade took a moment to wonder if his brother, Billy, would ever return from Pennsylvania. He felt safe with Billy around. No matter how bad things got at times, Billy always made him feel good. Billy gave him hope. Slade clenched his fists and breathed in as an icy wind crept toward the trail, slicing through the damp grass lying in an open field below. When the three boys reached the forest-filled spot, the wind howled and entered, rubbing hard against the trees, causing the trees to ruffle under the moonlight as they whispered and screeched in their attempts to resist its force.

The wind subsided as though frightened by the strength of these lofty trees. Their old trunks whipped, whispering in triumph. Tall and strong against the wind, they stood. Now the wind adhered to the majestic majesty through which it traveled. Subsiding, the wind became a chilly breeze. In protest, the breeze dashed around and about amid the towering trunks.

Upon reaching the trail's end, the breeze burst free; and in defiance, the wind howled its way down the hill, away from the trail, and through to the other side of the river lands of Newport News. On the crest of the hill, in front of them, the gang of three could see the forest's end. They stood in awe, staring ahead. Each held a shovel in hand. The trees, which added life to the surrounding area, peered down at the gang below.

"It's as if the trees own this land," said Slade.

"Yes," said Kyle. Breaking the tension, he took his shovel, set it between his legs, and raised his hands.

He frowned and opened his eyelids wide. Facing Slade and Willie, he made his voice deep and shaky and said, "Yes, the trees gazed down at their land as fear—" He paused and swallowed. "As fear, a creature of the night, a noble predator in search of the destruction of happiness—"

Willie and Slade laughed. "Come on, Kyle," said Slade, imitating Kyle's expressions.

"Let me finish," Kyle protested.

"Allow the man to finish and let's be done with it," said Willie.

Kyle's face contorted. He raised his hands again. "As fear, a noble predator in the destruction of happiness," he repeated, "readied itself to begin in its quest to devour its prey."

For a few seconds, they were silent, and then Slade interrupted the silence. Trying to ignore Kyle's words, Slade said, "It's almost twelve. Midnight is near."

"And a full moon is above us. We must begin," Willie added while raising his left hand and placing it on his chest above the yin yang, which hung around his neck together with the Saint Christopher, all on the same silver chain-link necklace. These lucky charms, one given to him by Billy and the other from his grandma, followed Willie everywhere he went. Even in the shower and to the beach. On those skinny-dipping moonlit nights at Riverside Beach with Kyle, Joshua, Billy, and Slade (nights of great memories past), even then, Willie's lucky charms were never removed.

Kyle agreed. Pressing business lay ahead, and there was no time to waste. The townsfolk marked Slade's foster mother, Mother Hatherby, with a top-side-up cross, which they placed over her grave. Her grave was easy to find. The three boys walked down the hill toward the marked spot where Mother Hatherby lay and began digging. Fresh in her grave, thought Slade. Three weeks ago, death struck Mother Hatherby with all its might, leaving her six feet below the ground.

They said although buried, she was not dead. Slade did not believe this. No. Not Mother Hatherby. She was a healthy old hen but not that healthy, not healthy enough to resurrect herself, thought Slade.

She may have dressed in black, and she may have looked like a witch, but she was neither a witch nor Jesus Christ. Couldn't be if she tried, thought Slade, but she was Mother Hatherby, his foster mom whom he hated for all she did to him and his brother, Billy, and that was a whole lot. As they soon would discover, this was enough for him, for them all.

Driving through Pennsylvania was a dream come true for Billy. He loved the sharp rooftops. It reminded him of something out of some magical fantasy novel he read a while ago. He loved the hills, the mountains, and the factories with their stacks and steelworks. It was industrial and residential too. For him, it was cozy and green and homely in a big way. He loved it all.

Upon reaching Tom and Madeline's trailer, Madeline waited as Tom got out. In her car's driver seat, she turned to face Billy.

"Billy, there is something I must tell you."

From outside, Tom banged on the window. "Are you coming, precious?" he said.

Madeline sighed and got out.

Billy got out and made his way to the trunk. Tom was there already, looking at Billy strangely. Madeline saw what was happening and rushed up to Tom.

"Tom, this is Billy, Mother Hatherby's son."

Tom's expression changed from angry to pleasant. He extended his hand to Billy.

Billy took Tom's hand and said, "It's good to meet you, Tom. I've heard much about you from my grandma." Billy was talking loudly.

"Well, I hope it was all good," said Tom. "Your grandma is a beautiful woman." Tom let out a kind, generous laugh.

"She sure is, Tom. She sure is." Billy began to feel as if he entered the twilight zone. Something did not seem right.

Madeline walked up to Billy. "Step back, young man," she said. "Let me have a look at you."

Billy took a step backward.

"My, you have grown into such a handsome young man. Good for you." Madeline stepped toward Billy, threw her arms around him, and gave him a big old hug.

Once they settled, Tom gave Billy a grand tour of their trailer home. He showed Billy where he was to sleep and where he was to keep his bag. Then they sat at the kitchen table and spoke of their longtime radio friendship with Mother Hatherby, Father Shibley, and Billy's grandma. They spoke of how they, during the times of her hardship, via CB radio, arranged a place for Mother Hatherby to be safe.

Tom and Madeline also spoke of how Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley hid their affair from everyone in the church. They spoke on and on, conversation starved, saying this, that, and the other, talking about this, that, and the other. Unusual, unconventional things said would pop out here and there too. Things Billy brushed off quickly, thinking these people were just old people who talked too much.

He thought they didn't know what they were saying. How could they? Thought Billy. A radio friendship and what's a fucking radio friendship? How could they know all they professed to know?

Billy wondered, but when it came down to it, he did not care much about it. He was too grateful to be away from Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley. He was glad to be free and safe.

Billy got more and more tired as they spoke. Finally, he decided to hit the sack. He went to his room and lay a blanket on the floor. He thought of Mary and Christine and closed his eyes for a few seconds, reveling in the emotions within.

He opened his eyes again. There was no bed in the room Tom gave him for the night. Billy did not mind the floor. He was happy to have a roof over his head. Billy was pleased to be in a safe place with people who made him feel comfortable.

Around about three, in the early hours of the morning, Billy needed to go to the restroom. He got up, half asleep, and started to find his way. He heard a strange shuffling in the dark. Billy did not know where the light switches were.

He spent enough time with his dad out hunting to know the cocking sound of a rifle. He froze. In the darkness, something was moving slowly toward him. Barely breathing, afraid to move, he stood there for what felt like hours.

The moonlight and the light from the dim street lamps entering the passageway of the trailer home from its tiny windows revealed a silhouette of a dark figure standing in front of Billy. It stood tall and moved slowly. Billy noticed something in its hand. It was holding a curved blade. No, it was a rifle, thought Billy. He heard something cocking in the dark, and he knew that sound well.

Billy's heart started to race. He would have to run, but where to? he thought. He was in a house of strangers— strangers that were friends of the family, strangers he thought would never bring any harm to him. He would have to find the front door fast to escape this madness.

Straining his eyes in the darkness, he could see what could have been the exit door to the trailer home. He was afraid to run for it; afraid whoever was standing there in the dark would kill him. Billy and the shadow stood there for hours. He did not move, and the shadow in the darkness stayed still too.

As the early morning sun began to light the hallway, the shadow, as quickly as it appeared, disappeared. Livid, Billy rushed to his room, feeling as though he had gone insane. I must leave, thought Billy, immediately. Billy found the light switch in his room and turned it on.

The light flickered as it warmed, and then it shone brightly. Quickly, he pulled his clothes out and began sorting them. Billy realized last night the goodness he felt about this place disappeared before his eyes, together with the shadow of what appeared to be a tall hooded man holding a large curved blade— or was it a gun? Billy packed fast, thinking, get the hell out.

"What are you doing?" the voice of the old man came from behind Billy. "What do you think you are doing?" the voice said, and Billy heard it call loudly, "Madeline, Madeline, get the gun. Come quickly, Madeline."

Once again, Billy's heart skipped a beat, but he did not look to see to whom the voice belonged. He did not stop packing until done.

Then came the voice of an old woman. "Tom!" it yelled. "oh, my goodness me. Tom, what are you doing?" Billy recognized Madeline's voice.

"Madeline, get the gun. Someone is robbing us."

"Tom!" Madeline screamed. "it's Father Shibley's son. It's Billy."

All became quiet.

Billy threw his bag over his shoulder and walked out of the room to the front door where he met Tom standing midway. Tom extended his hand. "Please to meet you, Billy. I have heard a lot about you."

Billy did not shake Tom's hand. He did not say another word. Madeline was standing behind Tom, looking at Billy. She knew what Billy was doing. "Billy, I'm sorry. Please let me drop you off where we found you."

Billy kept silent.

"As you know, there is a Grandhopper station across the road from where we picked you up. You can catch a bus to someone you know over there."

There was no one else. Billy did not want to stay with anyone ever again. He wished to be free by himself and away from the crazies.

"Billy," Madeline said, "here's $400. It belongs to your dad. He gave it to us to help us many years ago. You may need this. Please take it and use it. Your dad never asked for it back, and maybe he never will, but if he does, you give it to him from us and tell him, thank you."

Billy was unable to talk.

Tom was an old man, but he was also over six feet and heavy boned, and he stood in Billy's way. Billy was waiting for an opening, to run as fast as he could and never look back.

Hurriedly, Madeline grabbed Billy's hand and shoved the money in it. Billy looked up at her and tried to smile but could not.

"Okay," Billy said, "that would be fine. Take me to where you picked me up. Please."

It was a way out. Madeline grabbed her keys. Tom started advancing toward the front door.

Infuriated, Madeline shouted, "Tom, you have caused enough trouble already. I will take him. You stay here!" She opened the front door, and Billy followed.

"Nice to meet you, Billy! When will I see you again?" Tom shouted out to Billy as Billy got in the car with Madeline. Billy did not answer him.

Joshua and Raquel checked into the Apollyon Hotel the night before. They both loved gothic novels, and a night in a haunted hotel was going to be a blast. The next morning, upon arising, they found the rearview window of their Thunderbird smashed. Their Bose car radio was missing.

"We'll fix it. The Bose radio and the smashed window," Raquel reassured Joshua while trying to sound as confident as possible. She said, "Covered by insurance," and she added, "if correctly reported." Raquel knew she let their insurance lapse, and she believed she could not tell Joshua. She pretended all was fine. Raquel hoped he would screw up. He always did. As she always did, she could blame this on him for getting nothing done. He wouldn't be the wiser, she thought.

Raquel coughed her words out, waving her index finger. "To have the rear window repaired before reporting it is a definite no-no," she said while pretending to be fearful of dealing with the empty void of the missing window. Though Raquel urged him to report the incident immediately, she knew this was an outright impossibility.

What upset Raquel most was whoever broke into their car last night not only smashed the rearview window and stole their Bose car radio but also took her little blue boom box. She left it on the backseat last night. She loved her radio. Given to her by Billy for Christmas. The blue boom box's speakers were great. It played her favorite songs—songs Billy preloaded—and the blue boom box's battery life was second to none.

Her radio was gone too, and out of everything in the past few hours, this sad happening crushed Raquel most of all. What Raquel did not notice lying on the back seat of the Thunderbird, covered in shattered glass from the broken rearview window, was a tiny book. This small tattered book lay open face up beneath the shattered glass. Next to this book, also covered in broken glass, was another book with a small portion of its third last page exposed. On this page, under the pile of shattered crystals, was a single drop of blood.

Joshua told Raquel he would wait until they reached Phoenix, Arizona. Once there, he planned to report all to Phoenix's finest, with no faith in the Amarillo police. They asked too many questions, he said to Raquel. He was not ready for questions.

I feel like being such a fucking bitch, thought Raquel. And the fucking bitch in me knows it, her thoughts continued. Why the fuck do I wish to stoke him?

Raquel toyed with the reasoning behind Joshua's words. Blowing smoke, big mouth, no balls, Raquel thought. Joshua was afraid of the police, thanks to Tina. In time, this incident would blow over. Besides, explaining blood stains in the trunk would be too much for the fucker to handle. Tearing Joshua apart, in her mind, gave Raquel a satisfaction she could not explain.

She blamed Joshua for the wrongs in her life. It made her feel better to run him into the ground within the safety of her mind. Raquel would not dare do it to his face. She would not try. He would kill her or beat her to a pulp. He would fuck me up, she thought, and she giggled to herself.

Wearing Tina's Old Navy lumber jacket, Raquel remained sure Tina would not mind at all. Cold, wet weather lay ahead. Knowing this, Joshua would have preferred Tina's jacket for himself. Before Joshua could think, Raquel yanked the Old Navy jacket off Tina and threw it around herself. With no other choice, Joshua resorted to the thought, Fuck you, bitch.

Before leaving the Apollyon Hotel, Joshua and Raquel checked the trunk of the Thunderbird. Thank God, were Joshua's words at the time. Tina began reeking, stuffed in the trunk. A good thing, snug was Raquel's last word upon slamming the trunk shut and locking Tina in.

Raquel looked at Joshua, saying, "It's your fault you're cold." She waved her hands in the air. "You have two choices: repair the rear window or freeze."

Locking Tina in, Joshua remembered her slamming the trunk shut. A second earlier and he may have lost his fingers. "Enough," said Joshua, "we have to start moving. The front desk person of the Apollyon Hotel informed me another terrible thunderstorm is on its way." Checking his shirt pockets, Joshua fumbled for his keys, saying, "Fuck, where are my motherfucking keys?"

A bulgy heaviness jingled in the left-side pocket of Joshua's trousers. He reached in and grabbed the keys. Singling out the ignition key, he inserted it. One clockwise turn set off a spark, igniting the fuel within the piston chamber of the Thunderbird. An explosion drove its eight pistons. Then the propelling crankshaft kicked the motor to a healthy start. All fired up and ready to go, thought Raquel.

The last thing to go into the Thunderbird was Joshua's kit bag. It went to the backseat. First, he reached into the bag for his .38 revolver. Recently, this firearm was promoted from a measly gun to a murder weapon. He took the .38 out of the kit bag and shoved it under his seat.

In a red suit, tramping toward the Thunderbird from the reception area of the Apollyon Hotel was a rambling scrawny old man. "You think I'm an old fool. Cracked in the head is what you think!" the old man shouted and paused before the lobby exit. "But you will see her!" he yelled while waving something high in the air.

Joshua strained his eyes to see better. The old man in the red suit held in his hand a puppet. Joshua peered at the puppet. "She will be waiting for you," said the puppet. As though unaware of what occurred, in a sickly-sweet daze, the old man turned around and wandered back to the hotel reception desk with the puppet still attached to, and dangling from, his hand.

Upside down, the puppet's Joker bells jingled as though trying to detach themselves to reach the ground. Once at the reception desk, the old man stood staring at the front desk person who sat with a racing heart. The front desk person pretended not to notice the mad and distant deadness in the blank eyes of this scrawny staring thing, dressed in red.

Ignoring the old fool and trying to remain calm, Raquel looked at Joshua. "Mr. Carmichael, with the storm ahead, you will have to drive with care." She remembered the smashed window and grimaced. "Oh, God. What about? We're gonna drown. Swamped is what we gonna be," Raquel said but hoped they would reach Phoenix before the storm. She blinked, and her mind fluttered off for a while.

I can feel it coming again, thought Raquel, like a growing rumbling racing the wind. She shook her head, trying to get the song in her head unstuck, trying to get it to play on. I can feel it. I can feel it. A sudden boom and the old-world dies. Raquel giggled. "Grunge, baby. Where the hell are you?" Reaching into her bag, she took out a CD of a popular grunge rock band. She glanced at it and started to caress its surface with her long fingers.

Watching Raquel, Joshua shrugged, grunted, walked toward the driver's side of the Thunderbird, and got in. Minutes later, they were on their way to Los Angeles. They were going to make a fresh start in a big new city with new people. They would have new lives, and other than Billy and Tiger whom they trusted, they would be around people who did not know them.

Raquel and Joshua were leaving behind Waco, Texas, and the iffy places on the outskirts of Route 66. Filled with a lingering of dark magic, these places they were leaving behind were known to be risky, and few dared to tread there after nightfall. Although they were in a sense running away from it all, they could not run away from themselves and as much of this dark magic as what they thought they were leaving behind, they took with them, in the trunk of the Thunderbird, on its backseat and in themselves.

The road was bumpy and uneven, but once on it for a while, dodging potholes and cracked surfaces became second nature. Looking ahead of the Thunderbird, Joshua found the road to be too clear, deserted. He began to wonder if he maybe took a wrong turn. He took the long way around to Route 66.

This route was a busy road. Joshua always chose this route because he felt safer around other drivers. He did not want to be alone on the road. It was too easy to be spotted by the pigs; he thought at the time and way too easy to be used as an open target for bored individuals with a sickly need for insane fun.

Filled with trucks on the route, either way. With eager sight seekers and devoted family visitors, Route 66 boomed and bustled. Not today. Today, the road was dead. Joshua looked at Raquel in the passenger seat. She slipped into dreamland. "Raquel," he called. She did not answer. Joshua began to feel lonely and tired.

They say a brain unstimulated because of a lack of variety, Joshua thought, since the brain loves variety, the mind switches, and lights go out. So as not to fall asleep, he reached to turn on the radio and laughed at himself. It was not there, but his brain thought otherwise. The motherfuckers. Bitch-ass cunts. Cocksuckers.

Joshua swallowed and tried to calm himself. Fools, there were six cars in the lot, with better radios in them, I'm sure. Why did they have to choose my car? Why did they have to pick anybody's car? The way the wheel turns, thought Joshua. Bitches. They should have looked in the trunk. It would've left them shitless.

Not long after Raquel fell asleep, Joshua began longing to see her blue eyes again. What's wrong with me? I must be going mad, he thought. He repositioned himself, making the large protruding rod in his crotch area more bearable. Being with Raquel was something else, out of this world. "Raquel." He tapped her on the shoulder, but Raquel did not budge. "Raquel." He tapped harder.

Raquel's body jerked violently. "Tina!" she screamed. "Tina. No." Her eyelids fluttered. She was awake. Raquel coughed lightly and murmured, "Joshua, I'm sorry. I forgot for a second."

He looked at her lovingly. "Perfect, my chicken. Everything is going to be okay from now on. Tina can't hurt us. Not anymore."

### Chapter 2

Where to go? thought Billy. It became a mere flip of a coin. He needed to decide fast. The crazy woman was swaying her tits to and fro, and with one bandaged, they hung low.

Billy did not know the crazy woman's left nipple caught on the dirty, broken glass. He did not know about her bandaged left breast, but he did not have to know. He could hear her shouting. Billy forced himself not to look, but he could imagine her up there swinging those things like crazy.

Billy stood in front of the cashier at the Grandhopper bus station in Eastern, Pennsylvania. The cashier waited for him to decide on his destination.

"What will it be, sweetie?" she asked patiently.

Billy wanted to go to a big city, and New York was too close. He needed time to regroup, time to program his mind, to psych himself out, and to ready himself for the adventure to follow.

It became a toss-up between Chicago and Los Angeles. He did not know anyone in Los Angeles or Chicago. Chicago got cold, and it was getting close to that time. Chicago was also windy, they said, but he did not mind the wind. Los Angeles was where the movie stars were, and Billy loved movies.

"I'll take a ticket to Los Angeles," he said. The cashier asked if he wanted to take the northern route, traveling through the center of the country, or if he would prefer the southern route. Billy did not know anything about which route was better or worse. To him, they were all the same.

Billy liked wide open spaces, and he loved the desert. He figured up north, filled with mountains, it would be green. Billy was not sure at all what he would find on the center route, but his favorite movies—The Bagdad Café, Natural Born Killers, Forrest Gump, The Shawshank Redemption, Goonies and Lost Boys—were Southern to him; so, he asked for the southern route. The cashier frowned, and moments later, she handed him a ticket to Los Angeles.

"Make sure you tag your bags." She handed him a tag indicating Los Angeles in large letters.

Billy placed the tags on his bags.

"You may take a seat. Your ride will be here shortly."

It was not but a few moments after sitting when he heard a large bus pulling up out front. Billy let out a sigh of relief. He would be safe for a while, at least five days on the bus. He afforded himself a short period of certainty, not having to worry about anything for the next few days.

All he needed to do was to mind his own business and enjoy the sights and flavors of the grand old United States of America. Billy got up and walked to the bus. On the front of the Grandhopper, up high, there was a clearly marked sign that stated Los Angeles. Yep, that's it, he thought, and he stepped on the bus, handing his ticket to its driver.

"Take a seat anywhere you like," the driver said after tearing off the piece he needed.

The lady at the cashier booth told Billy to leave his bag at the center side of the bus, on the sidewalk, where he would find the luggage compartment; but Billy took it one step further. The hatch swing door of the compartment was already open. As hard as he could, trying to get his bag as far in as possible, Billy swung it into the luggage compartment. The bag landed in the far-right corner. Now his bag was safe too, he thought at the time. The bus filled fast and was ready to depart.

Billy hoped to sit alone. He wondered who his travel companion would be on this trip. He would have preferred to buy both seats so he could sleep if he wished to, but all he was left with was $500 after paying for the ride. He knew he would have to make do with things as they were. Upon filling up, a medium-height gentleman in his mid-forties with short black hair asked if the seat beside Billy was open.

Billy moved his carry-on under his feet. He told the gentleman he could have the spare seat. They were off to Los Angeles. Well, at least, Billy was; most of everyone else was off to some other town on the way. Billy would have many travel companions on this trip. Some he would never forget all the days of his life.

The guy he landed up sitting with was a real nice guy. They spoke about America and about the great towns along the way to Los Angeles. Billy started to feel as though he made a new friend. The guy's name was Erby, and he was normal at first; but when Erby started to swing his hands in the air screaming his head off, shouting, "Bats! Bats! Bats!" that was when Billy changed seats. Billy frowned in confusion and in denial too because he took a liking to Erby. Although Erby's conversation was strange, Billy still felt Erby was normal. Erby's sudden outburst gave Billy a fright all right, not a scare. It was only a fright. To scare him was a hard thing to do.

Billy endured much. Nothing scared him anymore. If anything, this kind of insanity made Billy more aware of the crazy-ass world out there. Some things out there, Billy loved, and some things he could not stand. Most of the craziness he saw out in the world, he tolerated in the hope that one-day things would get better.

It was strange how the crazy ones always chose the back of the bus. Billy liked the back of the bus because he felt it gave him a full view of everyone. He felt safe there. That was until this scrawny old man got on. The scrawny old man wearing an old weathered red suit held something in a brown paper bag, and whatever was in there was good because he sipped from it for about two days nonstop.

The bus driver did not notice or did not seem to care. Adding to this, by the second day, there was swishing going on at the back of the bus. It sounded like something full of fluid. After the swishing started, a horrid smell began to make its way through.

Billy moved a few seats forward. Then the air-conditioning on the bus packed up. They were about four hours from the next large town. The bus driver decided the best thing to do would be to drive with the bus door open. Driving through the desert was a killer; and finally, with all its windows open, nothing helped.

It was as hot as shit on a blistering summer day, and the smell was revolting. The scrawny old man in the red suit was now on his ear, paralytic with the concealed bottle of what was surely alcohol still satisfying his thirst. He was singing at the top of his voice. At this point, everyone on the bus was awfully hot and bothered.

In the old man's top pocket, there was a little black book readying itself to fall out. Someone was yelling at the old man, telling him to shut the fuck up. The scrawny old man with the concealed bottle swallowed his tongue and started twisting and jerking all over the place.

The bus driver stopped the bus and somehow pulled the scrawny old man's tongue right out from deep within his throat. After smelling the alcohol, the bus driver banned the scrawny old man from the Grandhopper. He would be dropped off at the next stop, which was fewer than three hours away. When they reached Houston's stopover, the scrawny old man with the concealed bottle encountered his fifth fit and passed out. The tiny black book made its way out of his pocket.

Paramedics were waiting outside the bus station. Though he was seemingly dead, after his body regained consciousness, the scrawny old man's eyes still managed to search around for his fix. He was carried out into an ambulance, kicking and screaming and crying for his concealed bottle, and then he was gone.

Erby found the little black book. It was lying open on the floor of the bus, and it slid this way and that until it reached Erby's left foot. Erby smiled and picked it up, and without thinking, he placed it in his left trouser pocket. After which, he began shouting out, "Bats! Bats! Bats!" Erby got off in Phoenix, where the Grandhopper stopped for a bit.

At the Phoenix stopover, Billy got to meet some unusually dressed family. They looked like they were 1920 farmers or something. Their clothes were new but plain; they looked homemade. The men's beards were groomed into an old-fashioned look. The women were pale, but their skin was good with no makeup and long plain hair, not styled. Or maybe that's her style, thought Billy.

They appeared to be friendly enough; offering Billy a sandwich, which tasted great. They thought he needed it. He would have asked why they dressed in such a way, but he thought that was their business, and he did not want to pry.

Finally, Billy reached California. Throughout the entire trip, Billy was uncomfortable and weary. Every city they traveled through felt wrong. This had nothing to do with the strikes along the way and the picketing and the people throwing stones at the buses. It also had nothing to do with the times they stopped, every so often for a few minutes, where Billy would take it as an opportunity to grab something to eat. In small-town restaurants, he found, nine times out of ten, restrooms looking like they were straight out of third-world countries.

It also had nothing to do with the wave of strangeness coating different sections of the land. There were groups—large groups of people—acting and doing things in the same way here and in an entirely different way there. There were the bearded area and the short people, the tall crazy people, the dog men with their pickups, and the unusually dressed area. As he traveled through, he got to see how the world changed from mile to mile and how people stuck together in some parts and how they remained separated in other parts.

Driving through California was a breath of fresh air. They arrived in California after dark. Things were different here. Billy could not see much in the dark, but what he could see excited him.

Billy was not sure if this excitement was to do with the billboards or the way in which shop signs displayed themselves. If it was anything to do with the streets being wider, he did not know. Maybe it was something to do with the royal palm trees. But whatever it was, from his seat on the Grandhopper through the bus window, California looked great to Billy; and it felt great too.

It was twelve thirty in the early hours of the morning. The bus pulled into the Grandhopper station in Los Angeles. Along the way to Los Angeles, there were a few stopovers, and then the bus broke down altogether. Billy found himself stuck in Bakersfield, waiting for hours for another bus to Los Angeles. The good thing about all this was everyone who waited got a refund. Billy was happy about the extra cash because he needed it.

The new bus was great, the toilet in the back was fresh, and there was no smell. They finally arrived. The Los Angeles bus station was massive. It reminded Billy of a small international airport. Billy went to the middle of the bus and waited for his bag. The bus driver pulled all the bags out and laid them in a row next to the bus. Billy's eyes scanned over the bags. His bag was missing. He went over to the bus driver.

The bus driver shrugged and said, "Go to the information booth and tell them your bag is missing."

At the information booth, the lady was polite. "Sorry for the inconvenience, sir. We have located your bag, found in the last bus you traveled on, by the mechanic who happened to be working on the bus. He took it to the Grandhopper station over there, but it should be here in about eight hours. If you come through tomorrow, you will be able to pick it up. "

"Thank you," Billy said.

"Here is our contact information. Please give us a call to be sure it has arrived before coming through."

Billy took the contact information from her and started making his way through the hordes of people to the exit. On his way to the exit, someone wearing a little green cap followed him. This individual asked him if he needed a ride.

"No thanks," Billy said.

"But, sir, it's 1:00 a.m., and you're in the downtown center of Los Angeles."

"I understand," said Billy, "but no, thank you."

The man with the green cap shook his head and walked off. Billy exited through the doorway and found himself in the street, in the dark, in the middle of Los Angeles.

The buildings surrounding Billy were huge. As he walked along the sidewalk, he noticed the shops were closed, secured by steel shutter doors, like garage doors, and there were splatters of graffiti everywhere.

There did not seem to be a door unmarked. The sidewalks were not particularly dirty, but they were rugged and stained, and they looked rough. Ahead, a few people stood on the street corner. They were chatting away and happy. From behind, he heard the wheels of what sounded like luggage dragging along. Billy looked back. A young girl with a limp was walking toward him. She walked with a walking stick, but it seemed too long to be a walking stick. It's a Staff, thought Billy. A God-damned Staff.

"Good evening," he said.

She looked up at him. "Good evening." She laughed.

"You obviously not from here, are you?"

"No, I arrived a half an hour ago."

"Me too," she said. She rested the Staff on her shoulder and smiled. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"What's that?" Billy pointed at her long walking stick.

"It's for you," she said.

Billy laughed, "I have no idea, where I'm going," said Billy.

"Well, I'm trying to get to a youth hostel in Santa Monica," she said while pounding the bottom end of the Staff on the sidewalk.

"Better be careful with that," said Billy, "You wouldn't want to cause any earthquakes, would you."

"Very funny," she said.

"A Santa Monica youth hostel?"

"Yes, it's the place where I am going to be staying."

"That sounds interesting," said Billy. She looked like a girl who did her research, and he felt good about her. Billy was sure she was going to some cool place. With a German accent; although she was short, she came across as being strong, confident, and tall.

"Yep. That's where I am off to," Billy said. "A Santa Monica youth hostel." Billy looked at her looking at him strangely.

"Really," she said, "it's cheaper than any of the hotels around town, and you get to meet people. It's filled with young people from all over the world, although it's bunk beds—"

"That'll work," said Billy. He finally found some direction. Billy noticed she grew hair under her arms. Must be a European thing, he thought. He found this to be somewhat sexy. He knew most of the people in his life would probably find this revolting. For Billy, it was funny and, in a way, hot. Well, you wanted organic eggs and organic chickens. Now we got an organic woman too. Billy laughed in his head as he and the German girl made their way down the street.

As they got closer to the group of people on the corner, Billy began to realize these people were not the friendly type. The closer they got, the more he saw. They looked like gangsters in the movies. There was a lot of bling-bling. Billy wondered if the chains, bracelets, and necklaces that they wore were real.

Also, these guys held an issue with their jeans. They did not seem to fit them very well. They sagged; and the one guy's jeans sagged so much that as he walked around, talking to his friends, he almost fell over several times. He to held them up constantly. Billy wondered how someone like that would do in a fight. He guessed like some guys must pull their shirts off, possibly this guy would have to pull his pants off to have his hands free or, at the very least, to run if he needed to.

The German girl stopped. "We need to find a cab."

"Well, there was one earlier," said Billy.

"Yes, and?"

"I told him off. Thought he was too forceful. Wasn't sure if he was about to rip me off, you know, take me for a ride."

The German girl sighed. "We need one now. Look for a pay phone." In the distance, past the group, was a pay phone shining like a lone graffiti covered dinosaur in the lively downtown lights of the huge city of Los Angeles.

Billy sighed. "I see it too. Looks like we're going to have to make our way through them."

"I don't think they live here," she said. "There doesn't seem to be anywhere to live around here."

"I know what you are saying," said Billy. "Look, we could turn around and return to the station."

"No," said the German girl, "don't leave me. Don't leave me. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Billy, with her last statement freaking him out some.

A huge man observed them. He was part of the group, but immediately after he saw Billy and the German girl, he wandered off from the group and started walking to them.

"Hey," he said, "what do we have here?"

Billy did not say a word. The German girl was biting her upper lip. It looked as though she was trying not to say anything.

"Hey, girl. Do you have a spare dollar?" the huge man asked.

Billy started to reach into his pocket when the German girl said, "No, we don't."

"A dollar. I need a dollar. I want to get something to eat."

"We don't have any money," she said. "Now go away and leave us alone."

"WHAT!" the huge man said looking at her strange walking stick with his chest pushed out. "Do you know where you are?" "Yes, I do," she said holding onto her Staff to keep her balance.

"No, you don't. You don't have any idea." The huge man started to smile and whisked his head from side to side. His eyes looked mad, and his smile was too much of a smile to be kind. It was a dark smile, darker than the rottenest frown. The huge man laughed and looked over to Billy.

"She's trying to be brave, this woman. Where is she from?"

"Deutschland," she said.

"Ah, you don't like us none. You're just a little bitch with Moses's stick to stick you right where you need it." He stared into the German girl's eyes. She stared right back into his eyes with white knuckles; her fingers wrapped tightly around the Staff. Not looking away, the huge man positioned his right arm in the air and started to shout, ushering his friends to come over and see what he found. At that moment, Billy chipped in.

"Listen up, man. You asked for a dollar. It's all I have. Mugged at the station, man. We're both broke. All I have is cab fare to get where I am going. I'm sorry for my friend, but she is a little nervous. She doesn't mean to be rude."

The huge man brought his hand down. "Where you from?"

"My father is dying in the hospital. I traveled from New York to see him here. I'm on my way to see him right now," Billy lied.

The huge man flinched. Billy took this moment to say, "Here, $20. Please take it for your kindness. We need a cab. We need to make a call to get a cab."

The huge man took the $20 and said, "Hey, I only asked for a dollar, and you give me $20. You give me no lip, and you treat me with respect. Listen, you are in danger here. Those people"—the huge man pointed to his friends on the corner— "those people will kill you. Find another corner. Walk up this street until you get to the next traffic light and wait there. I'll call you a cab. If you want to live to see tomorrow, once you get there, stay there. Don't move. Your cab will come."

The German girl and Billy turned around and walked in the direction the huge man told them to go. They waited for at least thirty minutes, but there was no cab. It was not coming. The truth was; the huge man wanted them to himself. He believed they had more money. And he did not want to share.

"Do you think he is going to call us a cab?" she asked Billy.

"He was pretty genuine."

"Genuine my ass," she said.

"Seems like you don't trust anyone."

"Oh, my fuck. We're in downtown Los Angeles in the middle of the night, and by the looks of it, the bus dropped us in the hood. Trust anyone? Fuck you," she said and started to limp off when she noticed the huge man turning the corner and coming in their direction.

"Fuck. Looks like we're going to die tonight," she said.

At that moment, the taxi driver who originally wanted to give Billy a ride rocked up, wearing his undersized green baseball cap.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Jump in."

Billy got a fright. He was not expecting anyone other than the madman coming up the hill. The German girl saw the cab and immediately opened the back door, shoved her large stick on the back seat and jumped in.

"What's that? The cab driver asked.

"It's something for him," she said pointing to Billy.

Billy grabbed the front door handle and opened it.

"Where did you come from?" Billy asked. "Get the fuck in."

Billy looked at him. Knowing this was no time to argue, he jumped in. Billy slammed the door shut, and the cab sped off into the night.

Filled with much anticipation, the huge crazed man continued stumbling up the hill. His eyes followed the cracks in the sidewalk ahead. He made the decision to kill Billy and the German girl, to get the rest of their money. Now he was trying to figure out how he would go about it.

He killed before—many times—and at the end of the day, this was not hard for him to do. When it came to that final moment, he would simply snap; and instinct would take over, finishing the job off for him. When the huge man looked up again, Billy and the German girl were gone. Disappeared into thin air, he thought. A horrid look of confusion washed over his angry face.

The cab was cruising on the highway to Santa Monica. "Sorry to scare you two, but Los Angeles—at least that part of the city—is not safe. You two look like nice people. I don't come across nice people every day, and I did not want anything bad to happen to you guys."

"Why would anyone build a bus station in such a bad part of the city?" the German girl asked.

"It wasn't always that way, ma'am. Things change. And in Los Angeles, they can change fast."

"Well, thank you for looking out for us."

The cab driver was waiting for them. He knew something bad was going to happen. It must have happened before, thought Billy.

Finally, they reached the Santa Monica Youth Hostel, a cool-ass international boarding house for traveling teens. Billy paid the man, and they got out. They entered the lobby of the youth hostel, and the cab driver drove away. Billy wondered if he would ever see this cab driver again.

When registering, Billy allowed the German girl to go before him and then it was his turn. She went up to the girls' section of the hostel. Billy never saw her again. He always wondered what became of her and why he met her.

He wondered if it was something to do with them getting to some place safe—if maybe at that moment, she needed him and he needed her. Together, because of this, they managed to stay alive. Billy always wondered if he did not bump into her, or she him, if one of them would have landed up dead.

Looking down at the Staff on his lap Billy wondered most of all why she left it at the check-in counter. This was Los Angeles; it would not sit there long before someone walked off with it. He remembered reaching for the Staff and running to catch her before she disappeared. He remembered shouting, "Hey, your stick." And most of all, he remembered her looking back at him saying, "I told you, that is for you." She limped off behind the glass, up the stairs and then she was gone.

For me, he thought, and he closed his eyes for a moment. He was grateful to be alive and ready for whatever journey lay ahead.

### Chapter 3

When Billy's two-week limit was up, he began working at the hostel for his bed until, one day, he met someone who needed help. It was a gentleman running a broken-down hostel around the corner, about a mile away. It sat between two royal palms across from an old Catholic Church just off Seventh Street. He needed help fixing up the place. Billy helped, and in no time whatsoever, the broken-down hostel was booming. Being grateful, the manager of the hostel informed Billy of a job at the Reign Hotel.

They were looking for a night auditor, something Billy knew how to do well. Billy took the job and met many soon-to-be-famous writers and other artists at this quaint hotel. One day, Tiger came in looking for a job. Billy took one look at Tiger and liked him from the get-go.

Filled with energy, Tiger would get frustrated fast. Although it was tough training Tiger, Billy wanted to be his friend. He felt he needed to be Tiger's friend. Billy went all out, and as difficult as it was at times, Billy managed to train Tiger everything he knew.

Tiger was wicked intelligent—too intelligent to grasp small things. Billy was patient, and it was not long before Tiger was wrapping rings around Billy. Together, they made a great team. Then the owner's son decided to transfer Tiger to the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel in Laguna Beach. Tiger was thrilled, and Billy disappointed.

That was until Tiger convinced Billy to come on down, blowing his new workplace into something far bigger than what it was. Upon arriving in Laguna, at first, seeing the new hotel disenchanted Billy. This new workplace, although it was not nearly as grand as Tiger made it out to be, Billy was touched to know Tiger went to such means to have him move there too.

Reassured, Billy believed Tiger genuinely wanted him there; and most of all, it was a perfect indication that Tiger wanted to be his friend. From that moment onward, there was no looking back, no questioning their friendship. It was what it was, and it was good. There obviously was bad too, but the bad was relative, and it came along with the good. Strangely and as expected, often, that of which was deemed bad by others, to Billy and Tiger felt amazing at times.

Like something out of a mind-bending horror movie, Billy's brain raced to find answers for the strange occurrences festering in the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. His subconscious thoughts went over and over what happened that night when something seeped through the wall that separates the living from the dead. It's coming closer, thought Billy, with chills running down his spine. He remembered going up to Tiger's room; but each time Billy remembered, he remembered something different—something more and sometimes something less.

Billy could feel his mind was desperately in search of answers, and he also knew how determined his mind could be. He kept telling himself just to let it happen. Don't stop your thoughts and don't shun anything away. He told himself if it meant his mind raced over it a hundred times, this was tolerable. Let it do what it needed to do. Let it search. He believed this was the only real way to find answers; to get to the root.

So, Billy freed his mind. He allowed it to race on and on. At times, this felt like déjà vu. While Billy fought to know, what was real and what was not, little did he know most of what he saw and felt was real.

Billy and Tiger moved to a room on the third floor. Room 13 was originally theirs, but now they had an extra room.

No one knew. Placing this extra room out of order took it out of the hotel computer system, this Billy did.

No one would ever know they were in this room. It was the only room behind the elevator shaft beneath the stairs leading to the fourth floor. None of the guests liked this room because of the elevator noise. It was room 313, and it remained empty most of the time.

"Christine!" A frightful scream came from within the house. Mary was frantic. She ran toward her back door and almost tripped over an old foot stool, which stood between her and her kitchen table. "Christine," she let out a second chilling shrill of terror. Her legs felt heavy, almost immovable, but she knew she needed to move fast. An instinct of ancient origin, as powerful as the gravitational pull of the moon, prompted her. Wailing deep from within her soul, it urged her to act as fast as her inner constraints would allow.

Billy just got done with Tiger's crazy friend. Tiger told Billy he should go up to room 415 after his shift, said his friend was staying there. A friend who held something for him, something he would like. Finding his shift difficult to get through, Billy began feeling hot and then cold. Twice already, he broke out in cold sweats. By the time he reached the end of his shift, his nose was full; and no matter how he blew it, it stayed full.

Sneezing, Billy wanted to get to his room and crash. First, he would go to see what Tiger's friend held for him. Although Billy felt full headed and sick, he did not want to disappoint Tiger. Billy was not sure what Tiger meant about him having some friend with something that he would like.

Billy was curious, and curiosity was what prompted him to go to the room of Tiger's friend. Getting up to room 415, Billy stood outside the door and knocked lightly. A tall man with black hair opened the door. Ozzy Osbourne was letting it rip from the bedside radio, singing Black Sabbath's "War Pigs."

"Hey, Billy, I'm Erby. Come on in," said the man with the black hair.

Billy was shocked. "Erby, I don't remember checking you into this room. How did you manage to get a room here?"

"Do I know you?" Erby asked. "I have this strange feeling I know you."

"The bus," said Billy, "the Grandhopper to Los Angeles."

"That's right," said Erby. "How the hell are you, man?"

Billy did not know how to respond and wondered if Erby would start waving bats away.

"Come in, Billy."

Set off and confused, Billy stepped into the dimly lit room of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. On the round table in front of the bed was a small oblong mirror; like the ones, women would sometimes use to keep a check on their makeup. On the mirror was a mountain of white powder. Billy never saw such a thing before, not in real life. He always saw it in the movies, he heard about it from his friend Joshua, and he read about it in books but never did he come across it in person. Erby climbed on the bed and lay there, seemingly relaxed.

"Have a hit, man," he said.

Billy assumed a hit was something to do with the powder. "You go first," said Billy.

"Ah," Erby said, "that is wise of you." Erby got up, took the curled dollar bill from the top of the round table, and asked Billy for his key card. Billy watched as Erby took the key card and began chopping the powder.

Breaking it into six rather thick lines, Erby rolled the curled dollar bill into a tight cylindrical shape. Then Erby leaned over, close to the lines, and placed the rolled bill with the one end in his left nostril and the other end at the beginning of one of the thick lines.

Erby exhaled gently. He closed his mouth; and with his nose, he sucked the line of powder through the rolled bill, up his left nostril, and into his lungs. He held it in for a second or two; and then he exhaled through his nostrils, coughing here and there, seemingly to clear his throat. Erby's eyes became large. With the back of his hand, he rubbed his nose habitually in an aggressive manner as though something strange got trapped up there; something that possibly needed fast attention. The rubbing was like a catalyst that was to initiate an insane release. "Man, that's some good shit." Erby laughed. "Okay," he said, "now it's your turn. Enjoy."

Billy excused himself and walked over to Erby's room's restroom where he blew his nose. Clearing his right nostril, he thought, this should be satisfactory. Not wanting to get Erby worked up by refusing and feeling refusing Erby may cause him to go bat crazy again, Billy continued without protest. Billy wondered if Tiger knew this was the Erby—the crazy Erby—he spoke about every so often. It's too much of a coincidence, thought Billy. Tiger must believe this guy is someone else.

Billy could not wait to tell Tiger this was Erby the nut, and he could barely wait to see Tiger's face once Tiger knew. Returning from the restroom, Billy walked over to the round table. Erby was on the bed. Billy reached for the dollar bill. Remembering what Erby did, Billy leaned over. He placed the one end of the dollar bill in his clear nostril, and the other end went on the second line.

Billy attempted to suck the second line up, but something went horribly wrong. Billy coughed, and in doing so, a whole bunch of snot landed on the mirror. Embarrassed to see what he did, Billy coughed again. All the other lines on the mirror remained intact as though waiting in complete desperation for Billy to continue.

"Fuck me, Jesus," Billy said, "I'm so sorry." Billy got up and rushed to the restroom. He grabbed some toilet paper and cleaned the snot on the mirror. Erby stayed calm. He is probably disgusted were Billy's thoughts at the time, but Erby did not get mad. Instead, Erby told Billy to finish up, saying, "Done with it." Billy could have the rest—all of it.

Leaning over, Billy hit the four remaining lines. By the time Billy reach the second last line, his nose felt a lot clearer. Once done, his nostrils dried up completely; and strangely for Billy, he felt well again— better than well. He was flying.

"Thanks, man," Billy said.

"No problem."

Billy left room 415 feeling weird for screwing up badly. By the time he reached the third floor, on his way to Tiger, Billy felt great, and the screwing-up part left his mind completely. Down the stairwell to the third floor, Billy made his way. He seldom took the elevator. After a long day's work, he believed, he did not need to be bumping into anyone, let alone any of their valued guests.

Usually, after a long day's work, Billy would want to go up to his room and crash for a bit. To unwind was what he would want to do until re-energized. Until he felt ready for the evening, Billy avoided everyone as much as possible. Now Billy felt re-energized already. He was ready right now. Ready, for what, he did not know; but whatever was to come next, there and then, he felt as ready as can be for it all.

Each floor of the hotel had a room 13, starting with room 13 on the first floor, all the way up to room 413. Billy and Tiger thought it funny they opted to take room 313 for themselves. The decision came after the mattress in room 13 went in the Jacuzzi.

Billy may have placed room 313 out of order to hide it, but it was Tiger who made it happen. He was the one who first chose 313 for the night. Billy passed out on the wet mattress of room 13 the night of his birthday. The next morning, Billy discovered what Tiger did, and although annoyed about it all, he was in full agreement with it. They decided to keep room 313 as a backup room. One for fun and the other to sleep in. It worked out perfectly for them for a while until...

"Ring around a rosy, a pocketful of posies." Christine was sitting under a large willow tree, playing in a sand patch. Rodger, her blue Persian cat, lay next to her, playing with a ball of wool. "Atishoo. Atishoo, and we all fall." Christine leaned over, about to destroy her sand castle. Not yet, she thought. Occasionally, she would look at the tram stop, at the foot of Golden Hill, and count the departing passengers of which there were seldom more than two.

With Christine's five-year-old hands covered in mud, she thought, I will finish this castle. It is almost complete, but Mommy is calling. I must finish it, she thought. It's the castle where I will live when I am big, like Mommy. But Mommy was in trouble. Why does Mommy's voice? Why is she screaming?

The answer came to her. Christine dropped her bucket, her watery blue eyes widened, and her heart started to race. She sprung up. Like a terrified rabbit tearing toward its haven of safety, Christine charged mindlessly, away from her castle, toward her mother's house.

Before reaching the back entrance, she was struck by a large bony mass. Christine stumbled and came crashing to the ground. A few moments passed. With her tummy to the ground, she felt unsafe. She tried to turn, but before she could, something grabbed at her back. She could feel the fear in its grip.

"Christine," Mary cried out, "Christine, it's me." Mary reached for Christine. Taking her by each arm, she picked her up, lifting her over onto her left hip. Clutching her warmly, Mary ran along the path leading to the back entrance. She passed through the doorway. Michael was crying, causing Mary to shiver. Fuck, she thought. She almost forgot about Michael.

With Christine on her hip, she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. "Great one of goodness, help me. God, don't let him come here. Don't let that bastard hurt my babies."

An old tram stopped at the foot of Golden Hill. The tram door opened, its driver, smiling, captivated by the eventual departure of a rowdy group, pleased to be intact and unharmed by the group. Once they were out of the tram, the driver closed the tram door and sighed, relieved to have rid himself of them.

Outside room 313, Billy inserted the card in the door's key slot. It flashed green; the lock clicked, and Billy pushed the door open. Tiger was lying on the king-size bed, situated in the room midway between the Jacuzzi and the restroom. To the right of Tiger was a huge wall mirror, and as Billy entered, he saw himself walking toward it.

"Wow, I forgot about this, Tiger." Looking at himself in the mirror, Billy brushed part of his fringe away from his eyebrows. He considered his own dark-green eyes and laughed out aloud. "I look like I have been slaving at the salt mines. God," Billy said. "I better jump in the shower and freshen up."

The TV was on, playing a sitcom called Married with Children. Peggy was dressed up fancy, trying to get some from Al Bundy; but Al, so engrossed in his football game, no matter how hard she tried, it went unnoticed. With all the laughter going on from the staged audience, the TV played loudly in Billy's ears. Tiger was staring at the screen. Billy reached for the TV's volume dial. The TV sat on a steel swivel wall mount. Looking at Tiger, Billy said, "Do you mind?"

Tiger did not answer. Billy changed the dial to VH1, switching to Bitches 'n' Hoes 'n' Losers. "There, that's better." The TV flickered, jumping from VH1 back to HBO. On HBO, Axl Rose was standing in front of a huge crowd; young and beautiful in his slender ruggedness, he sported a blue bandanna, and he was holding a microphone in his hands. Axl was singing a song that he indicated was dedicated to a friend of his who recently passed away. Billy looked over at Tiger. "Knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door,"

Billy said, "love it." Tiger did not move.

"Tiger." No response. "Tiger, are you okay?" asked Billy.

Tiger's eye's panned over, looking at Billy, while his head remained snug in a pillow as though it was glued to the pillow and could not move.

Paying more attention, Billy looked at Tiger. "Tiger, you look bad. Are you okay? I mean you look red and sweaty. Your face looks hard."

Tiger beamed with a smile that extended from ear to ear. The smile came and stayed as he spoke his next words out, "I'm fine, Billy. I feel great."

"You don't look great. Are you coming down with something? Need me to get you anything?"

Tiger lost all expression, and now he was staring at the TV screen again.

"Hey, man, you look scary. What's going on with you?" Billy asked. "You look bad, man." Tiger ignored Billy.

"Did you hear me, Tiger?" Billy was unsure as to why he was pushing so hard. For whatever reason, he wanted Tiger to know how bad he looked. He pushed and pushed politely.

Afterward, Billy wished he did not push at all. Later, Billy began to think he caused something to snap inside of Tiger, causing Tiger to change into something Billy never saw or heard of in his entire life. Afterward, Billy was sorry—so sorry—but right now he was having his fun, and he was enjoying every moment of it until...

Maybe it was because Tiger was so good-looking. Was he good-looking? Billy wondered at the time. Depends on from which angle you view him. Sometimes he looked dark and scary. Possibly, it was because I have never seen Tiger messed up, unshaven and sweaty, spacey, different.

Perhaps he got a kick out of seeing Tiger like this. Maybe it made Billy feel better for whatever reason, but afterward, Billy regretted treating Tiger in such a manner. He regretted it, and he did so for a long time, blaming himself for what happened.

Billy laughed. "Yep, you look terrible," Billy said as he moved to the edge of the king bed, about to sit and watch the end of Knocking on Heaven's Door. It was at this moment that Tiger began to breathe heavily. Tiger's head unstuck itself from the cushion, and Tiger looked over to Billy with the angriest bully-like eyes.

Billy thought of Father Shibley, his foster father. Father Shibley's eyes looked that way, especially during the times Father Shibley strapped him to the wooden chair in the cellar and whipped his ass raw. It was something Billy forgot—he wiped it away—but now like the raging waters from the opening gates of the Hoover Dam, it came rushing back.

"Tiger, are you all right?" At first, Billy thought Tiger was joking with him; but when he saw Tiger's mouth pulled and when Tiger began reaching for the pillow above and around his head, Billy freaked out.

When Billy saw Tiger's, breathing become heaving, and when Tiger's veins around his neck began popping out. When he saw this, Billy knew without a doubt something went terribly wrong. Billy was wearing a thick Tommy Hilfiger jacket. Billy went cold as the room temperature dropped drastically.

"Tiger, what is wrong with you?" Billy stood up and moved away from the bed. On the bed, Tiger was groping; and every muscle in his slim body was bulging, protruding as though they were about to burst out of his skin.

"Tiger!" Billy shouted. "Tiger!"

Tiger's body was going stiff. He was dying. Billy rushed to the left side of the bed between the huge wall mirror and the bed. Tiger's arms were over his head, and his hands were groping at the air violently. Billy grabbed Tiger by his wrists and attempted to pull him, but Tiger's body was not responding. Pulling someone in such a way would force them to sit straight in the bed. Instead, Tiger's entire body lifted off the bed as Billy pulled and it remained as straight as a stubborn four by four plank on an ice-cold day.

Now Billy pulled Tiger right off the bed, and Tiger's body hit the floor where his knees started to bend. Billy did not let go. He dragged Tiger to the front of the bed, and with Tiger finally on his knees; Billy pulled him harder. Tiger was staring into Billy's eyes. Within this stare of hatred, Billy could see there was someone deep in there, someone who needed help, help that would, inevitably, one day possibly save Billy's life.

Next minute, with Billy holding onto Tiger's wrists, Tiger swung his hands around and grabbed Billy's wrists. Through the thick Tommy Hilfiger jacket, Billy could feel Tiger's strong grip closing in fast. Billy's heart skipped a beat, and his mind went into overdrive. Billy pulled his arms, letting go of Tiger's wrists. He tried to get away, but Tiger was holding on.

### Chapter 4

Billy could feel the pain from Tiger's grip as it rushed up his arms. Fast, Billy flung his jacket over his head and pulled as hard as he could to free himself. Billy's hands slipped through the sleeves of the inside-out jacket, and Tiger found himself holding the ends of each empty sleeve. He was free.

Tiger looked at Billy. While holding the arms of the jacket, Tiger screamed—screaming in what sounded like pain. Billy lost color in his face, going white and expressionless. With Billy's mind blank, his instincts took over; survive or die, was all he could think. These words flashed through his mind over and over like the sickly, dying glow of an old neon at a worn-out red-light fest. This curtain was going down, and Billy had no more money to insert into the slot. Tiger was mad, and Billy needed to get out fast or die.

Billy tried one last time as he cried out to his friend, "Tiger."

Looking at Billy in a nauseating manner, Tiger came to his feet. With his knees bent, his arms outstretched, and his hands holding on to Billy's thick Jacket, Tiger sneered at Billy. For a moment, Billy thought, maybe he somehow reached Tiger in that head of his and pulled him out. That was when Tiger tightened his grip on the sleeves of the thick jacket and pulled his arms outward. Like an old loose single yellow page from an abandoned Pacific Bell telephone directory, the jacket tore right down its center. Completely in half, it dangled before Billy's eyes in front of Tiger's morbid gaze.

Billy turned. Running for the door, he opened it and slammed it on his way out. Tiger was right there behind the door in a flash of crazy and a deep freeze of madness. Billy could feel the power behind the strength of Tiger's banging on the door, pounding on it as though it was something that needed to die. While Tiger continued to beat the inner side of room 313's door to a pulp, Billy ran for the stairs, and the lights of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel flickered. Billy's heart was lost with nowhere to go; it dropped already, and his mind was raced to stay alive.

Billy made it to the second floor, not paying attention to the distant sounds of chainsaws in the background or the far-off gurgling coming from something long dead and rotten. The lights flickered again, and they went out. The giggling of girls tickled Billy's ears as he reached his hand forward in the emptiness of the dark stairwell and began to feel his way to the second floor.

Billy could still hear the brutal pounding on the door above and wondered if it would hold. He hoped it would. He also wondered why Tiger did not turn the door handle and come after him. What he saw was not Tiger. It was something else; and that something else did not know where it was, did not know there was a door handle, did not know how to use it—at least for now it did not.

Billy made it to the first floor. The stairwell door opened next to the elevator and walked into the lobby. Before pushing on it, Billy listened, wondering if Tiger maybe found his way out of the room and down the elevator already. The lobby was silent—too silent. Billy pushed the door and stepped into the lobby. Other than the island-style furnishings and the office equipment, the cash registers and two computers, the lobby was empty. The wall-to-wall windows shone down on Billy as they exposed the glow from the pretty lights on South Ocean Drive.

"What the fuck," said Billy. "Hello." There was no one in the lobby and no one at the front desk. Who was his relief? Billy walked around the front desk to check the schedule to see who his relief was supposed to be. Earlier, Billy did not wait for the next person to arrive. He was in such a rush to go up and unwind.

It was two minutes past his shift already. Something he would never do was to clock out and go to his room before the next person arrived. He believed his relief would be there on time. This reasoning caused him to believe leaving early this one time only would be passable. He lived in the hotel, and he knew he would pass on by the desk later to check on his relief, but it did not happen that way. Whoever was supposed to relieve him did not rock up for work.

"Fuck," Billy said while moving his finger over the names on the schedule.

"Who didn't turn up?" Billy stopped. The name in the block was whited out. Scribbled on top of the white out, which never failed to create rough hills on paper, was Billy's best friend's name: Tiger. Billy felt a chill in the air again, and he began to turn around, feeling watched.

There was no one there. Billy wondered about the cold thing brushing past him on his return from room 13 the other day. When he was not moving, Billy heard the footsteps he always heard behind him. Nine times out of ten, Billy found, upon turning in the hallway, there was never anything there.

Now, Billy wondered about the times when brushing his teeth in the bathroom of room 13 where he always felt there was something behind him, getting ready to grab him around the neck, to strangle him to death. Billy wondered if he should have turned then, and he wondered what he would have seen if he did.

Billy moved around the front desk and sat on the high stool between the two cash registers. The elevator started moving, and Billy's heart jolted. It was racing so fast that Billy felt as though it would burst out of his chest any minute now, but it did not. Billy raised his hand and placed his index finger on the side of his neck, on his jugular vein, and he counted the beats of his heart.

It was rapid. He looked at his wristwatch and counted again for ten seconds. He multiplied this figure by six to get the speed of his heart beats per minute. That's fast, thought Billy.

The elevator door opened, and Billy leaned forward, feeling a sense of déjà vu come over him. He told himself the elevator would be empty, and it was empty. Billy told himself he thought this before and that there was someone in the elevator, standing to the side. Billy leaned further over the desk to see more clearly. It was not empty anymore; now someone was standing in the elevator. He told himself this person would walk out of the elevator, up to him, and tell him his throat was dry.

The person in the elevator stepped out and turned toward Billy. Billy was relieved it was not Tiger. Walking up to Billy, this person said, "God, my throat is so dry."

Billy nearly fell over. He knew this person; it was a friend of his from Texas. His dealer friend Joshua. The sugar man, the blow boy, thought Billy, or was it the snowman? Either way, it was someone he had not seen in a while but was expecting. "Really," said Billy, relieved to have someone there. Billy was afraid to be alone.

"What's the banging about?" Joshua asked.

"Are you a guest?" Billy wondered how Joshua managed to get a room when Tiger did not turn up for work, and there was no one at the desk to check in Joshua. Mostly, Billy wondered why Joshua did not recognize him.

"Sorry, my name is Joshua. I'm staying in room 519."

"Please to meet you," Billy said. "Banging? I have been here all night. I didn't hear any banging." This conversation sounded familiar to Billy.

"Do you know someone by the name of Raquel?" Billy asked.

"Yes. She is my girlfriend," said Joshua. At that moment, Billy noticed a spot of what looked like blood on the collar of Joshua's shirt. "Yep. Someone was banging real loud. You may want to check it out."

Carmichael, Billy thought. How is this possible?

Billy shook his head.

"Are you all right?" Joshua asked.

Sure, Billy thought, other than meeting a few complete insane impossibilities in less than a week, I'm fine.

"I'm so sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Carmichael. I will check on that as soon as I can leave the front desk." Billy began to feel like a prostitute on the job where in his regular life everyone knew him and treated him in one way.

And once he was dressed and ready for action, those same people looked at him differently. As though he was not human anymore, he would become their fantasy. He would stand there smiling, ready to satisfy their wants, needs, and their most intimate desires. There, ready to lie down and take it all, like a man would take it all, hard as it was. All with a great big smile trapped in a shut-up soul, the stumbling heart of emotions, never expressed openly.

"It's quiet, isn't it?" said Billy while still wondering why Joshua could not recognize him.

"Yes. But someone was banging hard and loud."

"Please, sir, should you hear any more banging, please don't hesitate to call the front desk. I promise I will take care of it immediately. Once again, I do apologize for this, and I will do all I can to prevent a recurrence."

"That's great," said Joshua. "I'm so very thirsty. Do you have any idea what I could do to satisfy my thirst?" Joshua, with his long black hair swaying to the side, leaned over and looked at Billy in a strange manner. "Can you do anything for this dry throat of mine and my hiccups? Anything at all? If you know what I mean."

The funny part of this was; Billy remembered this conversation from the past, and he felt he knew where it was about to lead. Billy swallowed. "No, sir, I can't think what you could do with a dry throat, but for your hiccups, maybe this will work." Billy leaned over and stared into Joshua's eyes; they were dead. "Sir?"

"Yes?" said Joshua.

"Sir, when did you last see a black horse?"

Joshua looked at Billy, abnormal. "Why, I don't know. What is this about?"

"Please, sir, think very hard. When was the last time you saw a black horse?"

Joshua scratched his head. "I don't know." And as he did so, a few bloody tufts of hair stuck to his fingers.

Billy pretended not to notice. "Think about it for a second or two."

"Well, oh, I guess I saw one about a week ago on TV. It was a Black Beauty rerun. Yes. That's it." Joshua laughed.

"Sir, if you would like, I could get you a cup of water from our water fountain."

"That's not what I had in mind," Joshua said and started making his way to the elevator. Billy wanted to stop him, wanted to delay him from leaving, wanted someone in the lobby. He felt safer with someone there even if the person was different or unusual. Out of the ordinary was something that did not matter much to Billy. What mattered most was keeping Joshua in the lobby if he could. Joshua walked to the elevator button. He pressed it, shouting back at Billy, "If you think of something, let me know!"

Billy noticed Joshua stopped hiccupping and thought Joshua must be real and not only real but alive too. This black horse trick only worked for the living, not on the dead. Joshua's eyes, thought Billy, looked so distant, out there, lifeless.

The elevator opened, Joshua stepped in, and the door closed. That was when Billy realized the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel only had four floors. Room 519 did not exist.

The rotten raft tottered from side to side, precariously hobbling on the surface of the gigantic gulf. The old warped tree trunks, unskillfully bound together, wavered between overturning or staying afloat. In a futile attempt to latch its splintery undercarriage onto the glimmering blue surface of the ocean beneath, the raft drifted toward the palm land. Coated with a thin layer of dark blood, the raft consisted of thirteen large and ancient trunks. Over the uneven edge of the raft, drooling onto its ominous deck was Emma's lifeless uncle. His severed flesh dripped black blood into the rippling life-giving dunes of the ocean beneath, filling the surrounding air with a pungent odor of copper and slate.

Squeezed by death and drained of life like the dying will in starved eyes, Emma and Pablo glared ahead with hope in their hearts and fear too. Would they accept them? This question lurked in the back of their minds. They could not turn their backs on a child, thought Pablo. Hope was a powerful thing, and it continued to linger in their minds like the flickering of a stubborn flame in a windy doorway.

Emma looked at Pablo, her father, and read his sad eyes. They were striking and watery blue, next to his bronze complexion. His eyes spoke to her as they often did. Today, they were crying and afraid with no tears, expressionless.

Pablo stared at her. In his face, she began to read in between the lines of hardship within the crow's feet, exposing the expressions of expressionlessness hidden within the emotions of his heart. In those eyes, trapped beneath the creases of pain framing the beautiful she saw within him came a revelation to her heart as his eyes spoke. "I love you, Emma," they said. "I know I shouldn't risk your life, but I want you to have a better life. What's the point in me escaping on my own? You are my life."

Not wanting to see any more into his thoughts, Emma lowered her head; and as she did so, her eyes met death staring blankly at her. "Papa," she whispered, turning her head the other way, "Papa. Please close Uncle's eyes."

Pablo did not argue. In a robotic fashion, he moved toward Emma's uncle. Putting his hands over her uncle's brow, he pulled his cold blood-drained eyelids down, killing death's stare. "Emma, I will have to open them again once we reach Miami. I want him to—" A small wave hit the rafts underside, and Pablo grabbed the mast, securing his balance.

Once the raft stabilized, Emma attempted to satisfy her curiosity by asking, "Papa, why will you have to reopen Uncle's eyes?"

Pablo did not answer. Instead, he turned and looked at Emma, and she read his eyes once again. Uncle was a bad man. He harbored no hope, and this killed him. This is all she got, and her question went unanswered. Right now, there was no more to see in Pablo's eyes. She would wait awhile, maybe after the hundredth ripple. She would rephrase her question to receive a clear and more honest reply.

Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred. With her mental count of the ripples in the giant blue complete, she prepared to satisfy her curiosity. "Papa, do you want to reopen Uncle's eyes when we see sign of the

Palm land?"

Pablo sighed and said, "Yes, dear."

Emma's last attempt. "Why?"

"Uncle was a man without hope. Couldn't see further than the horizon. Troubles pushed him down. Not standing strong, he always collapsed like yesterday, and today he is dead. His deal is over, his soul lost, but I will reopen them. He will see, and then he will know we were right. There is hope." Pablo coughed and stared vacantly ahead. "Although he is dead," said Pablo, "he will see."

"And this is when it begins?" she asked.

Pablo's heart started to race. "Yes, Emma, the devil with darkness for a face and red coals for eyes will regain the upper hand. Billy will know we exist. We are not a figment of his imagination. Not a dream dreamed up. We here. And we are real."

"But, Papa, how will we reach him? He's many years ahead of our time."

"With magic, Emma, the magic of the faith within our hearts."

"We going to die?" asked Emma. Her hands were cold.

"If you can bring us together. If we can make a stand against Satan; if the chosen do this, we may live. If not, we doomed."

"I can feel him, Papa. Billy is here, not strong because he's still trying to help Christine."

"Christine? Who is she, Emma?" Pablo was puzzled. In Emma's hands, she held a dirty old piece of paper she found before leaving.

Stuck in the lobby, Billy kept surveying the windows for anything suspicious. He remained between the two cash registers until the sun rose, but before this, the phone rang. Billy picked it up. It was Tiger. Tiger sounded shaky.

"Are you all right, Tiger?"

For a few moments, it was silent on the other end of the line. Billy was relieved Tiger called him. "Billy, I ordered a pizza," Tiger said. "Send the pizza delivery man up to my room."

"Will do, but are you all right? I'm sorry."

"Billy." Billy could sense the trembling in Tiger's voice rising. "Billy, please don't come up here. I'm okay, but I don't know what it is. As soon as I start talking to you, I start shaking." Billy could hear the jittering and the stuttering gathering strength. "Billy, I gotta go." The line went dead.

Billy sat there with the phone at his ear and no one on the other end. He was staring out the glass windows. Sitting there for a while, he did not think; he did not move. He just sat there staring outward at nothing with his heart racing. Feels like my head's about to explode. After a bit, Billy's mind returned. Everything seems to be moving slowly, but my mind seems to be racing along at a thousand miles an hour, thought Billy.

Racing through empty thoughts, blank, free, and comfortable, Billy raised his index finger to his neck again. His heart throbbed faster. He remembered sitting there, waiting for the pizza delivery man to come along.

The pizza guy was to inform Billy he had pizza for room 313, but he found his way to room 313 already. By the time he rocked up at the front desk, his face was pale, and he was in shock. Billy looked up. The pizza delivery man was standing in front of him. Not saying a word, he just stood there, staring at Billy.

"Room 313, right?" said Billy. Billy looked at the pizza delivery man. "Hey, guy, is he okay?"

The pizza delivery man could not talk. Billy got up and walked over to the cash register. He opened it, took some money out, and handed it to the pizza delivery man.

"This should cover it," Billy said, giving the pizza delivery man enough to cover the bill plus an extra $20. The pizza guy managed a half smile and left. Billy wondered what he saw, wondered if Tiger was up to scratch, wondered if what the delivery guy saw was that bad. Billy was not about to go up to check. No sir, he would stay right where he was until the sun rose, until the moon went to bed, and until the night creatures disappeared with the coming of the day's light. Billy thought of calling an ambulance to help Tiger. He thought of calling the police, and he was thankful no one called the police or an ambulance already.

He would have to trust Tiger was going to be fine. He could not call anyone. Billy protected Tiger with his life, and this would have to stay hush-hush. Kept solely between the two of them, he believed they would get through it. The sun would rise, and a new day would bring with it new hope. At least these were Billy's wishes. The air smelled fresh. Billy found himself staring into space again.

The tastes in his mouth were enhanced, and the mention of pizza did something to his head. Strangely, he could taste Tiger's pizza in his mouth, and it tasted good. He could also smell Tiger right there with him, a perfect mixture of Aramis and Fahrenheit, male sweat in a bottle to make girls go insane, to drive them crazy. It feels great, Billy thought. Every sound was amplified.

"Have a slice, Billy," said Tiger.

Billy jerked to his left and looked up to find Tiger standing at the front desk, leaning on the counter, looking over at him. Tiger held a piece of pepperoni between his fingers, and he was playing with the cheese on it. Using his tongue, he separated the pepperoni from the cheese.

"Tiger," Billy said, alarmed.

Tiger imitated Billy's alarmed response. "Billy." Tiger burst out laughing, "Go with it, Billy. Don't fight it. Enjoy it, man. You're tripping right now." Then Tiger laughed and said, "My Billy is tripping." And Billy sat back and began to revel in the emotions—or was it none-emotions —sparking through his body?

"Feel it, man."

"Yeah. I feel something. Tiger, something. Are you okay?"

Billy looked up; Tiger was gone. Standing in front of Billy at the front desk was a woman in her sixties.

"I'm fine, thank you. I would like to check out," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," Billy said and began the checkout process with her. "Did you enjoy your stay, ma'am?" Billy recognized her. It was his aunt, Lola Thorndike, and Billy knew with full certainty his aunt was dead. It was all over the news; she died from hyperthermia. While trying to stay calm, Billy checked the list of occupied rooms in the hotel's computer system, searching for Thorndike. In doing so, he happened past the screen of daily occupancy, noticing the projected occupancy for today was 99 percent. Billy refreshed the screen. It flickered, disappeared, and popped up again as 99 percent.

"Ah, excuse me," Lola said, tapping her fingers on the front desk counter in front of Billy, "is this going to take much longer?"

"Sorry, ma'am," Billy said. His hands were trembling.

He handed her a preprinted early checkout folio.

"Thank you," she said, and she walked off.

Immersed, Billy swallowed and said, "Sorry, ma'am." She turned to look at him, and he noticed something sticking out from the side of her head as she dragged her small bag on wheels around.

"Do you need help with your bag?"

"No. Thank you." She walked off. It was more of a stumbling gambol than a walk. It looked as though wore an artificial leg or something because her left leg did not move as well as her right one; but it moved all the same, and it kept her on her feet, barely.

It's a knife, thought Billy, a great big fucking knife stuck in her head. "You have a fantastic day," Billy said as she made her way to the lobby exit.

From here on in, the phones at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel started ringing, and they did not stop ringing for weeks after.

Billy was doing a strange dance while walking down the road with Tiger. Each movement his nimble body made went with the words of his song—their song. Tiger strolled fast. Billy was shorter than Tiger, but he managed to keep up with Tiger's long strides.

As Billy sang and danced, Tiger danced too. Although not a public display of dancing, for Billy and Tiger, it was. To onlookers, it appears as though these two boys are walking along, going to do something no one questioned. If what they were about to do would save a dying world from destruction, maybe then someone would probe, question, and care.

While everyone around them went about their business, Billy and Tiger continued to make their way to the cave with crucial business of their own at hand. In their hearts and deep in their souls, these two boys danced a dance filled with energy, enthusiasm, and undying loyalty.

Avid readers, this was a rarity for boys of their age, considering the harsh circumstances that surrounded their troubled upbringing. Though something quite extraordinary, all the same, this they had in common. Although growing up on opposite sides of the land, together, they managed to escape from their rotten childhoods and from the rest of this crazy-ass world too, through books. Anything and everything they could get their hands on, they would read. By doing this, they gained much knowledge, but knowledge could only take them so far.

The time was at hand for them to gain something else entirely, which would come from their life experiences to follow and from the realities brewing within its shadiest corners. With darkness on its way, they were ready. Their adverse childhood experiences, a prerequisite; preparation for what was to come. It gave them the tools they needed to survive, and survive they most certainly tried to do. Together, they walked down the road in a show of true friends mimicking common understandings in movement and song.

In total unison with Billy, Tiger sang and began a dance, "Not for you."

"Not for me," Billy said.

"Not for all of the whole family."

Billy chipped in, "Touch your collar."

While dancing, Tiger touched his collar. "Never swallow," Tiger added swag to his stride, and Billy screwed his face up, followed by a strange questioning smile from Tiger.

"Touch your chin," said Billy.

Tiger rubbed his chin. "Touch your knees," Tiger said, and Billy laughed, reaching to his knees.

"Look for a four-legged animal," Billy said while pretending to peer around in search of the creature of which they spoke.

"Cross your fingers," said Tiger.

"Cross your toes."

"Ain't a Dogue de Bordeaux one of those?" Tiger said, and they both laughed off their silliness as they continued to make their way down the road.

"Hey, Billy," Tiger said, "tell me of the power."

Still feeling silly, Billy breathed in deeply. Laughing a bit, Billy said, "It's awesome, Tiger. Awesome." Billy lost expression as he walked faster to keep up with his friend.

"That's what my brother, Speed, tells me," said Tiger. "He claims there is an awesome power out there. Speed said he was going to a monkey dance tonight. Said it would give him the power." Tiger pulled his eyes away from Billy's for a moment and peered into the sky.

Billy wondered if Tiger's brother, Speed, knew anything about the monkey dance. Last I heard, thought Billy, no one returns from such a dance. Tiger gazed at the sky, and Billy scratched his head, wondering if Speed would go as far as crushing the skull of a little monkey to gain powers it possessed. He glanced away and said, "Tiger, the power of which I speak is different," Billy began almost in a whisper. "It's magic," he said. These words broke Tiger's sky watch and regained his attention.

"Magic, you say?" Tiger said it like Billy did, almost whispering the words out as though saying them too loud would cause the ground to open and swallow them.

While alongside Tiger, Billy thought about last night at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. Walking the corridor to room 13 freaked Billy out. It was not as much the walking as it was the laughter, more like bizarre giggling, and odd voices of girls. These voices caused him to walk faster. When he got to the door of his room, found the key card, and inserted it into the slot, the light went red.

Billy remembered feeling something brush past his legs. When he looked down, nothing was there. As the lights flickered, Billy remembered thinking, Not now. Behind, he saw something at the end of the corridor, misty in the dim dancing light of the tunnel-like passageway.

It was two girls. He was sure of it. They appeared to be full of blood. One was shorter than the other. He remembered seeing pink shoes and Mickey Mouse jeans. They were holding hands. They stood there, smiling at him.

Tiger regarded Billy. "Where's your head, Billy?"

"What do you mean?"

"I see you far off, wondering about something in your head?"

"I was thinking about the girls at the hotel," said Billy.

"Oh, sorry I asked," said Tiger.

"Tiger, I hear them all the time, and last night, I saw them, full of blood, down the hallway."

"Billy, I don't know what to say. I hear nothing at the hotel. I mean, I haven't heard or seen any strange girls running around in the dark, none with blood on them." "It freaks me out," said Billy.

"Hey, Billy, yesterday you were saying something about the power. You spoke about healing. I've never heard of such a thing, Billy. I mean, people are healed, but it's their bodies realizing they were well in the first place, isn't it?" Tiger began stoking a fire he wished to stoke for some time.

He hoped to set it ablaze, turn it into a huge bonfire, and allow it to burn until it could burn no more. "I mean, people go through life creating sickness within their brains. But for someone to experience the power, such a force"—Tiger frowned— "I heard you telling the girl at the front desk yesterday about someone thrown backward several feet, hitting the ground unharmed and healed. Quite a sight, I'm sure."

"Tiger, I have no reason to lie to you. Nothing to lose, nothing to gain." Billy shook his head and closed his eyes. "These things happen." Taking hold of the bird cage, Billy stood up from the sidewalk with Tiger's red hair glowing at him in the afternoon sun. Looking at Tiger, he said, "At this moment, someone is being healed."

Tiger stood up. Being taller than Billy, he found himself peering down into Billy's green eyes. "Billy, yesterday you spoke about a lady on the stage," he said. "What happened to her? You didn't finish. You were saying something about her legs?"

Billy took a deep breath. "Too much, too quickly, is no good. It will confuse you. It will blow your mind if you know what I mean. Let's go to the cave. It's quieter there. There, we can talk at ease."

Frustration mounted in Tiger. He wanted to know more, but Billy held out on him.

I don't believe anymore, thought Billy, but I will tell him all I know. Surely, something will come of it.

Billy placed a hand on Tiger's shoulder. Tiger responded to this gesture by nodding and frowning. With wide questioning eyes a great big smile washed over Tiger's face.

Strolling parallel to the beach on their left and the Laguna Hills on their right, they made their way down the sidewalk. Off the sidewalk, Pacific Ocean Drive rushed by them. Pacific Ocean Drive carried with it every car imaginable. California was a mecca of the world over.

Santa Monica was a playground for the rich and famous, and Laguna Beach was a haven filled with artists from every walk of life and retirees from across the United States of America. What Fort Lauderdale, Florida, wanted to be, Laguna Beach, California, was trying to become. Billy peered into the red sky; his eyes sparkled, and his mind filled with memories of the past.

He took a deep breath and thought, Sometimes the world could seem perfect; a gorgeous moment. Although in a lovely place, memories still lingered as a constant reminder of what used to be. Nothing was forever, thought Billy while closing his eyes for a moment. Change was the inevitable gavel that slammed down the sentence and crushed the sounding block of life and certified fate.

Billy held a cage in his right hand. Within it, a white dove sat, cooing. He planned to release the dove once they reached the cave. Billy was short and stocky and walked fast to keep up with Tiger. Tiger was over six feet, with broad shoulders, model smile, and sharp features. Green, blue, yellow, and red gleamed within his eyes, securing his name.

"I can see the excitement in your eyes," said Lobsang. He reached over and placed a warm hand on Tabatha's shoulder. She quivered; her throat was dry and her palms sweaty.

Seated at the small round table in front of her were her three roommates: Speed, Tiger's brother who fucked her brains out the night before, and Eartha, who was unsure whether she was male or female but always experienced the best of both worlds. To Tabatha's left sat Thane with his palms flat on the wooden surface of the table.

"It feels alive?" said Thane, frowning.

"Probably is," Lobsang, the Indian host, said and laughed as though trying to loosen the edgy vibe he bestowed upon his guests.

On the radio cabinet beside the entrance stood a candle. The candle's dancing flame was the only breather within the dimly lit room. Shadows flickered upon the circle of faces, bringing life to their expressionless demeanor.

Lobsang removed his hand from Tabatha's shoulder. "The time has come," he said. "Let the games begin."

The group of friends raised their hands and placed them upon the table. Wound up by the warmth of its surface, they tittered in unison, and all expression left them. Lobsang put his hand in the pocket of his robe, and from it, he brought out a silver bell.

Tabatha watched him. She held a question within herself. Lobsang smiled at her. The question left her lips, and she remained silent.

Tiger grew up on the streets of Chicago, escaping foster homes and foster parents who treated him poorly. At the age of sixteen, he fled to Roanoke, Virginia, a stunning hideaway nestled in the mountains surrounding the Roanoke Valley of the Appalachian Trail. Here, he disappeared, finding safety in fabulous shades of beauty, for a while.

No matter where Tiger went, in his mind, Chicago remained. Pencil stab wounds and cigarette burns marked his body. The past was a constant reminder of a dark childhood. Preferring not to think of his past, Tiger filled his mind with good images from his short-lived stay in Virginia.

Tiger believed one day he would return to what he felt was the heart of the greatest of the Southlands where pride and charm ruled. These were the lands he loved, and the lands, he found, loved him too. Now Tiger was in Southern California. He visited California before.

Then Tiger was alone and scared, and he left quickly. Now he returned. This time he was not alone but with his brother Speed and his faithful friend, Billy, in a coastal city on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Finally, Tiger was far away from those crazy-ass fosters and far away from Chicago.

Tiger met Billy at the Reign Hotel, a grand old hotel that sat on the Santa Monica Cliffs overlooking Santa Monica Bay. The Reign Hotel was where Billy trained Tiger in front desk operations. Billy understood Tiger better than anyone he ever knew. No matter what Tiger told Billy, Billy would always respond with respect toward Tiger's feelings.

### Chapter 5

The 1958 Ford Thunderbird rattled along the road.

"I feel guilty," Raquel said.

"About what? There's nothing to— Just drop it. Look." Joshua pointed to the sky. "The clouds..."

Raquel could feel her heart sinking. "Do you think we will make it?"

"Let's hope so," Joshua said and set his left hand on Raquel's leg, rubbing it gently. "Raquel, we have to leave. We can't stay any longer."

"But where?" Raquel asked, her voice filled with anxiety.

"California," Joshua said, and his eyes widened as his face beamed, "the land of opportunity." His heart beat faster. "The land of the free, the rich, and the famous." Joshua's heart began to race. He ogled. Sleepiness left him. "The land of cheap cars and less expensive appliances and lots of jobs." Joshua's eyes were spangled, and his foot was flat on the accelerator.

Raquel looked at him, aggravated. Thinking of an earlier phone conversation where she spoke to Billy's brother, Slade, she said to Joshua, "You mean the land of sex, drugs, and rock and roll? The land Tiger's brother, Speed, always seems to speak of. The land Billy has adopted as his own," she said and bit the inside of her bottom lip.

Joshua's foot left the accelerator. Expression drained out of his face. "Fuck, leave Speed out of this. We have not spoken for a while, and Billy, soon." Joshua coughed and said, "Darling, where I have to be is there. Where the hell do you suggest?" He paused for a second and said, "Oh, don't tell me. Let me think. The land of kangaroos, koalas, and slit-eyed"—Joshua went into a fit of laughter, trying to speak Japanese and failing horribly at it, he said, "Konnichiwa. Hai. Kinjiru matsu tsuma hurry us why hurry must us ugoku na, omoi dasu"; and the louder he laughed, the madder she became.

"But my mother!" Raquel yelled, "she says—" She peered at Joshua.

"My mother says, my mother says. I'm sick of what she says. I'm not going to live on no desert island with a bunch of—" Joshua stopped, feeling as though his father entered his mind.

"No, but you'll rather go and live in the land of crazies, gangsters, and grossed-out violence. Two-thirds of Australia is desert land. And I wanted to live in the rainforests, up north. To get married there," she said with soft firmness.

"Well, chicken." Joshua's temper subsided. "We won't be going anywhere if we don't get to our stopover in Phoenix."

Raquel took in a deep breath. "Tell you the truth, love; I'm sick to death of this roadwork. We need a change, don't you think?" She sat as straight as she could and said, "I'm so tired of roadkill and eccentric hitchhikers, I can't tell you." Raquel exhaled, feeling as though someone snatched a large load off her chest.

Raquel knew how important it was to Joshua for her to enjoy the roadwork. Our bread and butter, she thought, but I can't help hating it. Now, if you don't understand me, thought Raquel, too fucking bad, like three rotting eggs. She frowned. How brave I am in my mind. If only I could be as brave for real.

Joshua caressed the inside lower curve of the steering wheel with his right index finger, an indication to Raquel he calmed a bit. She relaxed while watching his hands. His index finger stopped between the upper portion of the steering curve and the turn signal indicator.

Raquel braced herself as Joshua started again, "Yes, chicken, and I'm tired of this fucked-up driving." As he continued, she relaxed. "When we get to wherever, we won't sell snow. We will throw this job and start a business, working from our new house." Joshua glanced at Raquel and winked. This time she was certain he calmed completely.

"What's that?" Raquel pointed toward the road ahead.

"Fuck me, Jesus, what's she doing out there?" Joshua said. About one hundred yards ahead of them, standing on the side of the road, was a lady in a white gown.

"She's thumbing a lift." Raquel laughed out loud, "The hitchhiking bitch. No, no." She chuckled. "It's the mysterious screaming lady," she said. "Everyone who travels this road speaks of her, even the crazy old guy in red back at the hotel. He told me she stopped to relieve herself." Raquel inhaled and said, "The lake, off the road. She was raped there, murdered." Her mood changed, and a sadness settled. "She roams these parts—revenge," Raquel whispered and then shouted "boo!" and giggled.

"Stop it!" Joshua shouted. "Looks like that, but"—he scoffed— "it's not what it is. Don't believe it," he said, wondering if she was the girl the old fool was on about.

Before leaving the Apollyon Hotel, Joshua was pulled aside by an old fellow, dressed in red. At first, he thought this man was a detective; but after a few minutes with him, Joshua decided the old fellow was a fool, cracked in the head. He went on mumbling about some lady who haunted the road running past the baobab tree. Damnable fool. He should be locked up and the key thrown away, were Joshua's thoughts at the time.

"Joshua, don't Stop." Raquel could feel snakes beginning to move deep in her belly.

Joshua's mind raced on; I drove past the baobab tree an hour ago. Perhaps this girl's real. "She must be freezing," Joshua said; and in swerving the car to the side, he shouted, "I'm pulling over!"

Before he could stop the car, they hit a cloud of what appeared to be fog. For less than a second, Joshua's vision was obscured.

"Oh, my God. What the fuck?" Raquel's voice was shaky.

"Look. She's gone," Joshua said in amazement.

"Oh no. Jesus, there's another!" Raquel screamed. Ahead of them, in the center of the road, stood a man in a hooded black raincoat. Joshua slammed his foot on the brake pedal, but before the Thunderbird could stop, it hit the man. Raquel closed her eyes, and Joshua began grinding his teeth.

There was no sound of impact above the noise of the screeching tires. The car stopped next to a milestone.

Billy always listened intently. At times, Tiger felt as though Billy's listening stare would penetrate his mind and read his most intimate thoughts. At times, he would laugh at Billy for taking everything seriously, but Tiger only did this inwardly. Tiger reveled in the love Billy held for him. Never did anyone loved him unconditionally—no strings attached.

Not ever experiencing anything of this sort in his past, Tiger, at first, strained to adjust. For him, accepting love was hard, and even harder was giving it. He did not learn how to love, and no one ever showed him what love was. In time, Tiger did adjust, not understanding Billy's devotion to him but accepting it. Always patient, never losing his cool, always calm and calculated—this was Billy, his friend.

"Before we go on, I must be sure," said Lobsang, "if any of you are having second thoughts, you must leave before it's too late." Lobsang tightened his fist and ground his teeth together.

Except for the sound of their breathing, the group remained silent. Lobsang took a moment to survey each face. After which, he said, "Very well." His eyes widened. He raised the bell and shook it violently. For a moment, its sound penetrated their ears and broke the silence.

Lobsang lowered the bell and placed it on the table. In the center of the table was a hole with a circumference about the size of an egg. Beneath it was a small cage attached to the underside of the table. The table was made up of two semicircles, appearing whole with a grooved line centered across its diameter.

Thane's muscles were tight, Tabatha's face was blood drained, Eartha's forehead was damp, and Speed's heart raced. Silence seeped in but for a moment. They sat waiting. From a distance, they could hear faint screaming. The screaming was so vague at first that it seemed to only exist in their minds, but then the screaming grew louder, and it became evident that it was real. Something rotten was coming closer and growing mindless.

Respecting Billy's insightful wisdom, Tiger left Billy unquestioned. Scaring Tiger at times; was Billy's undying faith in him, his eagerness to try anything Tiger suggested and his willingness to follow through, whatever it may be, to the bitter end. Two months ago, standing on the edge of a cliff at Palos Verdes, Tiger, in a joke, suggested they jump and put a stop to the troubles of this world.

That day, Tiger's keen eye and fast reactions saved Billy by stopping him from flinging his body over the cliff. Joking in such a way was for the birds, and they were not birds, thought Tiger. Billy would have flown to his death, and Tiger, without Billy, would have followed suit. They would have both died, with no one ever knowing why such a fate crept upon them. Now they were alive and well and on their way to the cave to discuss powers beyond the accepted norm and to prepare for what was to come.

"How does it work?" asked Tiger. "I mean, do they feel anything, or do they go under the power and not feel a thing?" Surprised by the burning curiosity within himself, Tiger frowned. "Under the power, as you say it, Billy." Taking in a burst of morning air, Tiger said, "Tell me, once under the power, what do they feel?"

"I don't know," said Billy. More cars rushed by: a Porsche, a Cadillac, a Mercedes. Company cars, thought Tiger.

Across the road, Steve, an old friend, waved at Billy and Tiger. Tiger wondered if Steve informed the authorities about his wife. A few weeks ago, Tiger bumped into him while shopping at Vons Supermarket. Steve was ranting and raving about horsemen who somehow dragged his wife in chains. He said something about these riders finding them.

Steve dropped to his knees. Grabbing Tiger's jeans, he cried out, "Why her? Why my baby? Why not me?"

Tiger could not figure out what happened to Steve's wife. A week later, Tiger saw Steve once again by the lagoon.

"She's going to be okay!" Steve shouted to Tiger. Tiger was not so sure about this.

For weeks, no one saw her. Friends asked around, but all was quiet.

"Is he still with her, Tiger?" asked Billy. "Nobody seems to know."

"Sure is. At least I think he is," said Tiger. "I believe he's taking care of her."

"Whoa," said Billy.

"Whoa." Tiger laughed.

Billy frowned, and Tiger waved his hand and said,

"Billy, when under, what do you feel?" Billy did not answer.

"Hey, Billy?" Tiger changed the subject quickly.

"What?"

"Are we going to do it?" asked Tiger while observing Billy. Tiger's eyes sparkled. "An eight-ball, blow," he said. "We need the money, Billy. We need the money badly. Don't you think so?" Tiger lowered his eyes and viewed the dove within the cage upon the sidewalk on which they sat. A white dove perched on a small branch within the cage awaited its flight to freedom. This dove would carry a message, which was attached to its left leg, meant to save the life of its future reader.

Meanwhile, Slade, Billy's half-brother, was in Virginia, about to dig up the remains of a dead witch with a secret. She was buried alive by the small townsfolk in the town of Hilton Village, near Nolan's Trail, a stretch of forest land off the Maury River. The townsfolk hated her with a passion because they believed she was a witch who brought bad luck to their town, and they tried to get rid of her. She was Billy's birth mother; but Billy did not know this, and neither did his brother, Slade.

"Sure, we do need the money," said Billy, not considering anything but Tiger's word. Far in Billy's head, someone was screaming.

With a huff and a puff, and a huff, huff, huff, who's going to suck your house down? Mr. Blow, I'd say, stuck in the ruff, and you'll find this stuff, thought Billy.

"I know it could be dangerous. Nose candy kills, but we'll be careful." Tiger steered his eyes away from Billy's innocent stare. "Billy, I have to meet the guy tonight at about ten outside the Tata-Monica." Tiger's eyes became bright and starry. "There, he will give me the stuff. He is a runner for your old friend Joshua."

From outside Mary's house came the loud voices of men. Mary stood up, ran to the back door, and slammed it. Locking it, she ran, with Christine, to her bedroom. On reaching the closet, she opened it and stared at Christine, who was open mouthed and, her face, drained.

Mary lowered her voice. Although shaken, she spoke firmly, "Christine, you must be quiet. No matter what Daddy does, you must stay here."

Christine did not answer, but Mary knew she was listening and that she understood. As she lowered Christine into the closet, behind her long well-worn dresses, she hoped to see her again.

A loud sound penetrated Mary's ears. He was pounding on the back door. Mary ran to Michael's bedroom. He was not crying anymore; he knew danger lurked nearby. "Thank you, Jesus," Mary said. She reached Michael. He looked at her. Mary bent over and picked him up.

Thunder rushed from the back door and dashed through the house like the roar of an angry bear. Would the hinges hold? With no time to ponder, Mary darted through her sparsely unadorned dining room and lay Michael on the far end of the rug, which covered the dining room's weathered floor.

The hammering on the door became louder and more threatening. "Open. You bitch," a hoarse voice filled with rage came from the entrance hall.

Stunned, Mary began to think it was too late. The thought, He somehow entered the house without breaking the door, struck her nerve endings, causing the hairs on her entire body to stand on end. "The bathroom," she whispered, "oh God." She remembered the bathroom window was open. It was the one window without security bars. She fitted the bars months ago because she could feel him coming. Tears filled Mary's eyes.

The banging on the back door started again, louder than ever. There was little time. She peeped in an attentive manner at Michael and placed her index finger on her lips in a show of silence. Regarding her, he frowned. She started to roll Michael in the rug, hoping he would remain silent. Michael giggled cooperatively.

"MARY," a chilling call came from the bathroom. The devil found the weak spot, she thought, and he was coming to devour his prey. Mary could hear him struggling through the small window. Quickly, she folded the ends of the rolled rug, securing Michael within. Then she picked it up and ran to her bedroom where she placed it on the top of her closet.

"MARY." He was in the house. She could feel him, sniffing her out like a starved feline savage searching for food. His footsteps, echoing in her ears, moved from room to room, coming closer. To hide would cause him to search, which would mean endangering the lives of her children. No, she thought, I will not hide.

Looking at Billy, Tiger said, "Because he's Joshua's runner, I know we can trust him. The stuff I need—$125." Tiger turned toward Billy. "Billy, I have my share. The one twenty-five is what I need from you."

Never doing anything of this sort before, Billy swallowed a lump down. "I know. I have it. I spoke to Joshua three days ago. He is on his way from Texas. He is bringing his girlfriend, Raquel. They oversold their welcome in Texas. I guess now he is coming to screw up California." Billy coughed and said, "Fine. I'm with you." He reached into his left pocket, took the cash out, and handed it to Tiger.

Tiger checked it. One twenty-five. He swallowed too, his lumpiness not as big as Billy's, but there, although there was more excitement within Tiger about it all. Tiger closed his eyes tightly. Looking toward Billy, he shouted, "So tell me, man. Tell me of the power." Tiger's eyes opened again. With anticipation, they sparkled.

Billy beamed, forgetting about the snowball. "I'm telling you, man. It's awesome." The screams within Billy's head haunted him. They kept trying to reach him, trying to save him and themselves too. These were the screams from the muffled mouths of sucked-in faces and outreached arms, down life's dark and lonely corridor.

These were the screams subsiding in Billy but for a moment. Retreating, they willed him to spill the beans, to crack the wall of time separating the living, most of whom were dead, from the dead who were not dead at all.

Billy's eyes widened, and his face glowed. He was looking at Tiger, smiling. In Billy's head, there was chanting, On the bench under the palms, Billy heard someone speaking in his mind, and it was as clear as crystal. Wind light, leaves whisper. Peace, for now, peace forever. But in the moment of the present. A chirp in time, a screech captured.

A woman's scream, a hound in pain, or merely rubber on tar? Billy's head started to throb as his mind raced on, A cricket, a frog, a passerby, lurking, stalking. Drunken laughter, footsteps, closer. Unseen. The nocturnal sounds have seized. The crow is near. Lizards play, Billy's mind raced on, down it sweeps.

All is gone, Billy thought. All is silent. All watch. None is seen. A life lost, a woman's scream, a hound in pain or, merely, rubber on tar? He held his head with his left hand over his face. Stumbling against Tiger, Billy almost released the birdcage from his right hand.

Coming back to his senses, Billy tightened his grip on the birdcage. Looking at Tiger, he said, "My friend, never let your right hand know what your left hand is doing." Stumbling, Billy laughed out aloud. With a concerned look on Tiger's face, Tiger gasped as Billy fell toward him.

On the milestone were two numbers. Raquel strained her eyes to read them. When they focused on the double six, the snakes in her belly started to move, constricting her intestines. She felt as though her guts were about to exit her mouth. Stop it. Raquel's thoughts tried to console her, but they could not stop the snakes.

Joshua and Raquel felt a rush of euphoria like they got from snorting cocaine the night before, followed by a tingling sensation in their hands. For a few seconds, a false sense of peace settled in their minds. "Fucking A. Did you feel that, Joshua?" "Yes. It came and went so quickly," he said.

The wind hummed through the rear window of the Thunderbird, and the dense rumbling turbulence of thunder clouds above them hid the moon. The night sky darkened. No one dead, mangled or torn apart, lay in the road.

"Invisible roadkill. Gone. Missing. Jesus, go, Joshua, get the fuck out of here. Please."

"Hush, listen." In the distance, a faint scream caressed the air, playing with their senses.

"Did you hear? Oh, my God," said Raquel.

"What the hell?" Joshua swallowed.

"Joshua, please, floor it."

"Holy shit, I'm getting out. Stay here."

"No. I'll go to California. Please, I'll do anything. Just get us out of here." Raquel's hands were shaking. The snakes moved up her intestines and around her spinal cord. They were tightening their grip. She found it difficult to breathe.

"You being silly, I think we hit something." Joshua's face was all eyes and pale.

Raquel considered Joshua's eyes. "No." She burst out crying. "The snakes—they hurting me," she said, gasping for air. "Listen to them. They've never let me down."

Annoyed, Joshua tried to ignore Raquel's last comment, sending Raquel's thoughts on a wild trip. I don't give a damn, she thought. To hell with him, to hell with them all. Raquel gasped as her body heaved. Her trembling hands found each other. Feeling lost in the dark, they intertwined in distraught, holding on to each other as tightly as her fingers would allow.

"Look." Noticing Raquel's tension and feeding into her tantrum, Joshua broke down somewhat and said, "Raquel, snakes or no snakes, we don't want another death on our hands. The trunk," Joshua's voice stepped down an octave, "the trunk is not big enough."

Raquel glared at him. He swallowed and closed his eyes, and she thought, the fucker knows this is no joking matter. I wonder how much more he can take of this Tina crap. You bastard, she thought, if you just listened to me. I'm not your doormat or dick warmer. I wonder when you will start considering me and my feelings for a change. I'm a person, not a bitch. Raquel swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to pull herself together.

Joshua was already out of the Thunderbird and standing on the incline, overlooking a large ditch below.

The howling wind blew against his face, carrying with it another distant chilling scream.

"Raquel!" he shouted. "The road is clear. It doesn't look like we hit anyone." She did not answer.

"I'm going to see what the fuck is going on. Don't worry. I'll be careful." With the screams below and Raquel's whimpering behind, Joshua started to make his way down the ditch.

Tiger grabbed Billy, stopping his fall. "Hey, man," said Tiger, "take it easy. We don't need to talk about anything."

"To tell you the truth, Tiger," Billy said, holding the birdcage tightly, "I've never been under. Although I wished it, willed it, and dreamed it would happen, it never did." Billy closed his eyes and swallowed. "Maybe I wasn't clean enough. Maybe I didn't believe as I should have, but by God, I tried to believe. Tried hard." Billy's eyes became damp and glossy. "Maybe I was not one of the chosen?"

"We turn off here," said Tiger, pointing across the busy road toward the ocean.

Before crossing it, Tiger moved to the edge of the sidewalk and taxed the road, tempting its traffic. He was testing the drivers behind the wheel. Typically, these drivers considered the crossing pedestrian, especially here in Southern California.

There are those drivers, thought Tiger, ones out to kill. Roaming the byways, harboring within themselves a sadistic eagerness to end a life. Judging the open spaces in between the traffic and keeping an eye out for those whom Tiger believed to be roadside killers, Tiger made his way with Billy across the road. They moved down to the beach and around the cliffs to the cave.

Before entering the cave, Billy rested the birdcage on a large rock. He opened it and reached inside. Catching the dove, Billy brought it out and drew it close to his chest. With an elastic band, he attached a message to a ring on its left leg. When a captive dove is born, its owner marked it by placing a ring on one of its legs. Today, this dove's ring was ready to serve.

These were leg rings used for tracking purposes, in long-distance flight competitions. Today, this bird's leg ring would serve a different purpose altogether. Billy raised the dove into the air and said, "Go well, my friend." As he did so, Billy thought, I hope you get there.

"Billy, if it's meant to be, Slade will get this message. Virginia is a far way off, but these homing doves can do it. They can circle the world twice."

"Ain't it something, Tiger, to think how strong their will to reach home must be? How their determination never falters, no matter how endless their flight, even if they are to die trying?"

Billy gasped and lowered his arms. Looking at the white dove held in his hands, Billy swung his arms up and released it. In the air, it fluttered, gaining a sense of where it was. After finding balance and direction, the dove flew away.

### Chapter 6

The wind continued to flurry, waxed icy, through the Thunderbird's rear window. Though Raquel wore a thick lumber jacket, she shivered as she watched Joshua disappear through the foliage leading down the ditch. Searching through her jacket pockets, Raquel was struck by the thought, Fuck, Tina's jacket pockets. Quickly, she pulled her hands out of the pockets, and her body froze for a second.

Wondering if Joshua liked being called Josh, Raquel thought, I hate the way he calls me chicken. Fuck it. I'll stick to calling him Josh, and if it means I will have to live with being chicken, for the rest of my life, too bad like three rotten eggs.

Raquel's cold hands found their way back into Tina's jacket pockets. She found what her mind was searching for in her right pocket. It was something she was sure was not there a moment ago. Carefully, she brought it out.

A striking opal rosary with a steel cross attached to the end of a string of opals lay in Raquel's hand. Her mother originally gave this rosary to Tina. Raquel began to roll the opals through her frozen fingers, and then she said, "Hail, Tina, Mother of Grace." Her body halted. What a grave mistake, she thought. Raquel closed her eyes and tried again. "Hail, Tina, Mother of Grace." Stunned, she threw the rosary out of the window as though it was a string of hot coals. The rosary bounced on the gravel beside the Thunderbird and came to rest.

Raquel swallowed and began to cry. Something was glowing on her right. She turned her head toward the abandoned rosary to find it pulsating with luminosity, wavering from green to amber with each throb of her terrified heart. It flickered as though in hesitation between two possibilities.

Next to it, lying on the gravel, on the side of the road, she saw a sharp blade. The blade was titanic and curved. Shiny metal was what it was, attached to a broom handle. "God." She looked around. My fuck, she thought.

Billy and Tiger rubbernecked and gawked at the cave's entrance. It was warm, moist, and inviting. They stepped inward. The smell of death was absent. Leftovers, bloody limbs and other body parts were washed away by the high tide. The screaming heard by the surrounding residence last night was gone.

A vague recall of death's aroma danced beneath Billy's and Tiger's nostrils as they entered the cave. Although it lingered, death's presence was not robust enough to grasp their senses. In the cave, stalactites and stalagmites protruded from its ceiling and floor like crystal pokers on display in an outstanding array of sparkling splendor.

As they moved into the cave, the bustling sounds of the outer world became trapped without while the tranquil trickling sounds of water dripping and streaming encompassed the world within.

"A beautiful world on its own," said Billy, sitting arm's length away from Tiger who lay beside a large rock. The comforting sounds of the ocean within the cave were distinctly familiar, reminiscent of the swishing heard in the hollow of an empty shell.

"Sure is a world away from the world we know," said Tiger. He scratched his knee through a tear in his stonewashed jeans and looked up at Billy. "Tell me, man, spill the beans and fatten a starving cat," he said, raising his hand and pointing at his temple. "Nourish this mind of mine, Billy." Tiger gaped and fisted Billy's upper arm. "Hey, man, you've held off long enough. Let me have it. Tell me of them days. Tell me of the power.

Raquel Jefferson and Tina Osborn grew up in Yosemite, a small town on the edge of the world, in Northern California. They attended the same schools and hung around within the same circle of friends. They lived on each other's doorstep. Anything Tina did, Raquel would do and vice versa.

They were the best of friends until Joshua, Billy's longtime friend came on the scene about a year ago. The answer to every young woman's dream, he was a tall, dark, and good-looking young man. And he was charming too. With a grand personality and a caring attitude, he swept Raquel and Tina off their feet, leaving them dumbfounded and at war with each other. As it turned out, initially, Tina's exotic beauty attracted Joshua, leaving Raquel in the lurch.

In Billy's head, the laughter of the two girls started. It was a strange sort of laughter. A spooky sound was what it was, there one second and gone the next and back again. From where did they come? thought Billy. Why do they torment me so? Billy scratched his eyebrow, wondering why no one else could hear them or see them at the hotel.

Sneaking around, leaving bloodstains at the pool after dark, or hiding in the linen closet, they were always playing a game. "Pocketful of Posies, Atishoo, Atishoo, We All Fall," said Billy. "What's that?" Tiger asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing," said Billy

"Hey, Billy, I don't think I can hold off any longer." Tiger reached for Billy's arm, grabbed it, and pulled him off the rock.

"What you do that for?" Laughing, Billy got Tiger around the neck, and they wrestled across the cave, crashing into the far wall. "Aw, my back!" Billy shouted, straightening his spine.

"Sorry, man." Tiger beamed. "I forgot how strong I am."

They were both standing, facing each other, weighing up each other's next move.

"You forgot how strong you are, bitch. You're not the only strong one." Billy ran for Tiger, hit him at waist level, and they both tumbled to the ground. Laughing, they regarded each other, their faces muddy, their hair messy. Billy breathed hard.

Tiger raked his fingers through Billy's hair in a ruffling sort of manner and said, "Better lighten up, man. Take it easy. Don't let them lungs get you."

"They won't get me," Billy said as though trying to convince himself rather than Tiger.

Ignoring Billy's last few words, Tiger said, "They won't get you if the power gets you first."

Billy peered at Tiger, frowned, and nodded slightly. "The power," he said, "let me tell you. Remember, I have no ties. I tried to believe but could not. What I'm saying is I do believe but not enough. Maybe I wasn't prepared to give it up, the things I love." He shook his head. "Didn't think they were bad. Tiger, I'm afraid to tell you, afraid you may be influenced by what I say, from what I've seen and by what happened."

"Man, tell me. Let me be the judge."

"Tiger, don't judge. Listen with a clear mind, an open mind. Take it for what it is. Not for what you would like it to be or for what it seems to be. The assumption is the mother of all fuckups, my friend. Don't conjure up your version. What I say is what happened, nothing more, nothing less. Don't misinterpret and don't interpret. Listen, take it in, and then leave it." Billy breathed in.

"The dos and don'ts are somewhat confusing, but I think I've got it, Billy." Tiger sighed. "Assumption is the mother of all fuckups, right? I like that," said Tiger.

"You do?" Billy said.

"I sure do."

Billy sighed. "Okay." With his face washed over by an expression of seriousness, Billy began.

Before the year was out, Raquel's personality wrapped Joshua around her finger and ended the contest with a marriage proposal. Joshua accepted, and Tina suffered a mental breakdown. In her recovery, Tina joined the Darkside Organization in Laguna Beach, Southern California, a small coastal suburb on the outskirts of Central Los Angeles. They taught her how to communicate with the dead and how to astral project herself; how to get out of her body and move around.

Billy told Tiger of the time when he could not take it any longer. He heard of a place of healing down in the woods where thousands would gather to be healed. Billy went to see for himself. Coming home, terrified and confused by what he saw, he did not know whether to accept it or reject it. What he did know was there was within him a burning desire to return. He questioned what he saw: crutches thrown to the ground, wheelchairs burning, and glasses flying.

"I can see. I can see," the woman to the left of Billy screamed, almost blowing his eardrums and knocking him clean out with her heavy arm as she released her glasses. When he came to, Billy found a violet towel over himself. They were staring at him, smiling and patting him on his shoulder. They think the power got me, Billy thought.

It was not long after this Billy found himself jumping, singing, and dancing with the rest of them. Like a ritual he would attend weekly, becoming part of their world. Billy wanted to be touched. His asthma, his deformed ear, and a deeply rooted ailment, which haunted him for years, were on his mind.

But no matter how many times Billy went there, no matter how high he stretched his hands, no matter how loud he sang or how hard he tried to believe, he was not ever touched; or if he was, he never knew it. He could by no means feel it although Billy felt something. The emptiness within him was gone, replaced by warmth, but still, his ailments remained.

At first, Tina started by imagining her astral body to be hovering a few feet above herself while her physical body lay on her bed. She would close her eyes, block out the world, and visualize. It was difficult for her, but after a long-determined struggle to get it right, she felt a strange pop.

With her eyes closed, she felt her body moving out of herself. Trying not to get too excited, she started to breathe long deep breaths. At this point, she refused to open her eyes. Tina believed if she opened her eyes, she would bounce back into her body, and all this would be over.

After feeling she moved out of her physical body and hovered high enough, Tina did open her eyes. Out of her body above her bed with her eyes open, all she saw was the ceiling about three feet from her nose. Oh, my God, Tina thought, it's real. From then onward, she learned how to master the art of astral travel, moving from room to room.

Once Tina built enough confidence, she began venturing further out to the backyard and the front street. Before she knew it, she was visiting people in other countries, people who would never know Tina passed by them. These people would hear movement in their rooms. In their homes, they would sense a strange presence, feeling as though there was something dark in there with them watching their every move.

They could not see Tina unless she wanted them to, but she seldom did. Tina was ready and out for revenge and vowed to get it one way or the other. For Joshua and Raquel, it started with obscene phone calls and moved on to death threats. When this did not work, Tina took a course funded by the DSO to improve on her astral projection skills.

### Chapter 7

Recently, Joshua's dreams began to fill with death images, worsening with time. Joshua refused to tell Raquel about the children of the devil, the droplets of blood, and his lost soul. She begged him to talk about his fears, but he denied having any fears. Unable to understand why Joshua took to violent nightmares, Raquel felt helpless, so she decided to monitor his dreams.

One evening Joshua hit the sack early. Raquel was reading Robert McCammon's Swan Song, which she discovered through a subtle yet brilliant recommendation by Stephen King in The Library Policeman. It was in Four Past Midnight, an amazing collection of stories she read before Swan Song. Here is where she found the reference. Raquel wished Joshua pleasant dreams. Neither Raquel nor Joshua noticed something fall out of his pocket as he ascended the stairs. An hour into Swan Song—before the seemingly shady bag lady, Sister Creep, discovered the dead, mutilated baby on the rubbish dump—Raquel heard a scream.

Raquel jumped, and Swan Song landed with a crash on the far side of the living room, next to a little black book that fell out of Joshua's pocket on the floor earlier when he ascended the stairs. Moments later, sleepwalking, Joshua came charging down the stairs. He reached the halfway mark, tripped, and stumbled down the remaining steps. He almost broke his neck. Joshua's tumble came to a sudden halt when his head hit the main balustrade at the foot of the staircase.

Raquel's dressing gown billowed outward as she flew across the entrance hall to Joshua. She paused.

With trepidation, she stood staring at the stairwell. Seconds passed. She rushed to where Joshua lay on the floor.

He was mumbling away. On reaching him, she could not understand what he was saying. It sounded to her as though the mumble was about someone entering his dreams.

Anger filled Billy, left him, and filled him once again; and Billy stopped.

"You must go on, Billy. You can't stop. Get it out of your system."

"Tiger, I've kept this in me for so long. When I talk to you, I feel as though my energy is seeping out of the tips of my fingers. I fear, if I continue, I may die."

On New Year's Eve, Raquel woke up to the sound of Joshua breathing heavily. He was in a deep sleep. To detect the slight change in pace arising seconds before his nightmare would begin, she sat close. Raquel heard a soft whisper. It was not Joshua, but it was coming from within him. Her hands began to tremble.

Raquel crept closer to Joshua. His mouth was moving more rapidly. The whisper was too soft for her to hear any distinct words. She positioned her ear an inch away from Joshua's mouth. A manifestation roared at her, "You bitch." Raquel flung herself off the bed and smashed into the dressing table. She knocked her ivory hairbrush to the carpet, and almost snapped her spine.

It was Tina Osborn's voice coming out of Joshua's mouth, and it continued to taunt her.

"If I can't have him in reality, I will devour him in his dreams.," the voice said, and Joshua's body lashed into a rhythmic convulsive dance, what break dancers might have called a freaky body wave. Joshua's mouth reopened, and he started to sing, "What you want, babe. I've got it. What you need, babe. I've got it."

Raquel's back throbbed, but she could move her fingers. Thank God, she thought, glad she would not have to spend the rest of her days in a wheelchair. The pain was moving up her arm in steady pulsating waves. Breathing in harsh tearing gasps, she stood up.

Joshua's body was detached from his mind, singing, "Tease me. Tease me, darling. Tease me, till I lose control. Tease me. Tease me, darling. Tease me with your body and your soul." The song filled the room, and Joshua's body bounced up and down on the bed like a new member of a headless chicken society.

Raquel stepped toward him, only to bring her tender bare sole upon the spikes of her ivory hairbrush. She released the pressure and came tumbling to the floor with the hairbrush pinned to the underside of her tender foot. On the carpet, she grabbed the hairbrush, pulling the spikes out of her foot. Blood sprayed in all directions. A scream rose in her throat. She choked it, unvoiced. Joshua's singing halted abruptly.

A few seconds passed. With the hairbrush in her hands, she hauled herself up the side of the bed and onto its surface. Joshua was battling to breathe, inhaling and exhaling in short spasms. Raquel swung the brush as hard as she could, hitting him flat in his face.

Joshua Carmichael's eyes sprung open, and his home stereo sound system switched on. The song restarted. This time it was a dark hoarse voice from some unknown sick stranger, which filled the room.

From then onward, Joshua slept in the day and worked in the evening. It drove Tina insane. She did not know why she could not enter his dreams anymore. Because she was unaware of Joshua's new sleeping schedule, this lack of knowledge caused her to use up immense amounts of energy in her futile attempts to reach him. Somehow, he found a way to keep her out of his dreams.

She would have to try something new. Tina went to the Darkside Organization and begged for assistance. Once there, she was introduced to two separate ghosts: Henry and Cara. They agreed to help her, but they would need something in return.

They spoke about a book and droplets of blood. It was to do with a drop of blood on a page a day, her blood until she reached the end of the small black book they gave her. She could not remember what was to happen after this.

Tina did not bother to try remembering. She was too excited. Told of Billy's and Tiger's fates, there was mention of Mary and Christine. Told of the fate of Emma, the escaping child, and Pablo. In the excitement, she missed half of what was said; and most tragically, she missed what her fate would be.

She did not care. She believed it without believing anything, although she felt deep within herself, at some point, she would have to believe. After everything, she should have believed, but she did not. She should have listened too, but she could not. It was not in her nature to do so. Not Tina, with her bold, confident self and her pride.

They agreed to get Raquel good, and this was all Tina cared to focus on. She would have Joshua to herself, so Tina agreed. Eager to avenge Raquel, and with the returned favor unclarified, Henry and Cara told Tina they would soon enter the bodies of Raquel Jefferson and Joshua Carmichael. Overjoyed, Tina could barely wait.

Moments later, the screaming was upon Speed, Thane, and Tabatha. They twisted their heads toward the closed door. Their hearts became cold and their minds cleared. The door handle turned, the door opened, and the scream filled the room. In the doorway stood a robed man. By the scruff of its neck, he held a squirrel monkey that kicked and screamed, yelled, and cried.

With the eyes of the group fixed on the monkey, Tabatha frowned. Would she be able to go through with it? She did not know. I must, she thought. He will kill me if I don't. She closed her eyes and swallowed.

The robed man walked toward the table, reached his free hand over, and took hold of its rim. Lobsang took a firm grip on the other end of the table, and together they pulled. The two semicircles parted, revealing the cage below. The robed man lowered the screaming monkey into it. Together, he and Lobsang closed the gap, leaving the monkey's head exposed and its body trapped below. The center hole in the table was large enough to hold the monkey's neck firmly but small enough not to allow its head to slip below.

Tina knew she was away from her body for a while, and she knew she broke the rules. She was only supposed to leave her body for short spurts of time. Feeling she got what she wanted, she shined while thinking, Yes, it's time for my astral self to return, but something did not feel right. Tina closed her eyes and wished herself to return.

There was no jolt, no waking up with a sudden fright to know she returned. "What the fuck?" she said and tried again, but this did not work. Now she felt trapped in the astral world, but Tina was a determined soul. Fuck this shit, she thought, and she pushed harder. There was a great need within Tina to see Raquel suffer. It strengthened as she grew mad. The madder she grew, the stronger she became.

Tina closed her eyes tightly and willed herself to return to her bed where she last remembered her body to be.

Searching the darkness, she discovered her body was not where she left it. When she finally found her body, it was dead. In the back of a 58 Thunderbird.

It was lying in the smelly trunk of this old car, which traveled on the road to what she thought was most certainly the road to hell. With all her mind, Tina pushed, willing as hard as she could. Then the jolt came. It felt like a bullet entering her body was what she thought. Like the time, she got shot in Savannah years ago during her stripping days. Pain rushed through her, and within seconds, she was back in herself. Tina tried to sit straight, but her head hit something hard. It was the metal inside the trunk of the old car that got her.

There was that awful smell again, trapped in the trunk. In there with Tina, it smelled like dead, rotting flesh. She fumbled around. Barely able to move, she brought her hand to her face. The smell grew stronger and more dreadful.

With her body shivering, she placed her right index finger on the side of her throat, finding no heartbeat. Tina realized she was not breathing. She opened her mouth and began an insane and lifeless ululating scream. It was a scream trapped within a world of its own, in a void far, far away from the reality of what was true and real, in a land where the living was dead and the dead still alive.

Henry, a child of the devil, was standing by the window, looking toward an old steel mill. He slipped through a dark crack in the wall of time bringing Cara along. It was Sunday at midnight, and the streets were virtually empty. Most of everyone was asleep, making his task easier. He would wait for an extra five minutes, and then he and the other dark child, Cara, would begin in a process to possess Joshua and Raquel and to rule their bodies. These were the instructions embedded in their hearts by the lingering darkness munching away on their souls.

In the dim light of this moonless night, the screaming wind carried with it sounds of pain and heartache. Leaving Raquel in the Thunderbird, Joshua disappeared through the foliage leading down the ditch. As he made his way, he noticed a cabin at the foot of what appeared to be a thick stream. That stream looks more like blood than water, he thought.

The sound of the screams in the distance changed, and as they changed, the images in his head and their corresponding sounds changed too. Joshua did not know if he was looking for a crazed dead lady in white. Not likely, he thought. Or was it a man in distress? First, in Joshua's mind, he saw a woman in trouble. She was crying. As the scream moved on, it became a man in agony.

Something was wailing. Was it a mangled dog stuck on a fence, in desperate need of help? thought Joshua. Then the screams stopped, and Joshua wondered if Raquel was safe by herself up there in the Thunderbird. He started to feel he should not have left her; he should have listened to her.

Down in the woods by this cabin, standing with its front door ajar, something was waiting for Joshua all this time. Here, right in front of him, in the misty hollow of what was a lifeless night filled with dead screams, it was inviting him to step inside. Joshua was hesitant. The something was saying there was someone inside who needed his help.

It tried again. Joshua started to back off. When he got ready to sprint up to the Thunderbird and fly away like a screaming wind on a cold night, never to look back, the something in his head told him there was a poor old wounded dog in this cabin.

Joshua loved dogs, and his heart yearned to help this dog. A dog was caught, hurt. It needed his help. It was calling him in pain. Joshua was compelled to enter the cabin, and he did.

Slowly, Mary crept through her little house into the dining room. There she saw her canary cage, empty and smashed, lying in a corner. Yellow feathers coated its metal frame, a trace of what used to be. Bloodstains speckled the evening news on the floor of the cage. Lolli died yesterday. If I came home five minutes earlier, she thought, I would have been home in time to save Lolli.

Instead, she arrived while Lolli's feathered head was being ripped from his shoulders as his wings fluttered aimlessly. Mary saw his warm body falling to the bottom of the cage, nerve endings twitching. Since he did not want to die, Lolli's legs kicked outward, clawing in protest of his mutilated body.

The Butcher Bird looked up at Mary. Lolli's blood coated its beak, its breast, broad and proud. Mary remembered thinking that, that kind of pride was a terrible thing. She became angry, and her anger brought rage to her eyes and hatred to her heart. Grabbing the nearest chair, she peered at the Butcher Bird—the imitator of smaller birds, the persuader, the deceiver.

She knew the Butcher Bird must have sat on Lolli's cage for at least an hour, listening to him singing, mastering his dialect, and searching for his weak points. Once found, the profiling bastard persuaded him, by using Lolli's song, to come closer. It could not have taken long; Mary was sure of it. He was a weary bird, but he would trust you if you were kind to him and if you did not make any sudden movements.

If you could imitate his song, in no time, he would perch on your finger. If he felt safe there, in no time at all, he would clean his beak and rub his feathery cheek on you. It surely did not take long, thought Mary, and now Lolli was dead. With the chair in her hands, hoping Christine would not ever see Lolli like this, she raised it above her head and ran for the Butcher Bird.

The Butcher Bird shrieked, and Lolli's head dropped from its mouth. It hit the bottom of the cage with an egg-cracking plonk. Two flaps and the Butcher Bird was in the air. Another two and it was gone. The chair came down hard and fast, crushing Lolli's cage.

### Chapter 8

"Fear. Billy, to fight fear, you need to face it headstrong, full force. Tell you what," Tiger said, standing, "it's getting dark. I'll get the fire going. You sit here and rest awhile." Tiger stood up and moved toward the small heap of collected branches. He positioned them in a raised circle, inserted a rock beneath, and started the fire.

Huddled around the flickering flames, Billy continued. Billy told Tiger of a town in Virginia, playing on his mind. He felt there was something he needed to do there. He also spoke of leaving Laguna and went on to the time when he left California before to Florida.

Once in Florida, Billy hooked up with a group like the one at home but more radical. Its leader would smoke marijuana. Then he would proceed to grab people by the groin while chanting for their fertility, securing their futures; placing them in a long line of already chanted-for groins. When it came to the groin part, Billy refused to participate, finding this ludicrous. It was a group involved in magic, frequented by its members.

They talked of Freemasons, said they ruled the world, said they controlled the people, and said these Freemasons were planning to rid the earth of the sick, the elderly, and what they called the useless, unproductive societies of the world. They spoke of concentration camps built, and why? They did not seem to know.

Billy's close friend's grandfather was a Mason. His close friend's grandfather used to write to General Smuts, Churchill, Mussolini, and Roosevelt. As an international advisory, his friend's grandfather helped mold the world, working toward the complete union of the globe. Billy's friend was too involved to divulge the truths lingering within his mind, but what he managed to tell Billy was the groin grabbers' perception of Freemasons was different from the reality of what he experienced firsthand.

As radicals, the groin grabbers did and believed as radicals do and believe. They were groin grabbers bewitched into meddling, and they loved to play with dark magic. Although they believed their magic was good, Billy felt differently. Not feeling the need to explain to the groin grabbers how he saw it, Billy let them be. Letting them believe what they wished made them happy.

For a groin grabber, to think what they thought completed their worlds and kept them on their tracks. In Billy's reasoning, he believed not necessarily on the right tracks but who's to say what's right in the world of wrongs pretending to be right. Who was to be their judge? Billy knew it was not going to be him. He harbored his monsters hidden within himself; to judge was not part of his makeup.

It was not who Billy was as a person, and Billy believed sometimes knowing something—truly knowing—was not necessarily coupled with the need to fight people who chose to believe otherwise. Sometimes knowing was enough; and sometimes knowing kept his heart safe, content, and euphoric while the rest of the world around him chose to go insane. Billy's protection; his firsthand experience in life, taught him what surely was. It strengthened him and saved him, up until now.

There was no dog inside; but on a large comfortable couch, Joshua found himself sitting within the cabin in the heart of the woods, staring at the phone on the round table before him. He felt it would ring sometime soon and dreaded the pending moment. He tried to wish this thought away. The phone started ringing on the other side of the world; already, he could sense it.

An old chime clock stood on a mantel above the printer's tray before Joshua. He could hear the distant ringing of the phone clearly now, its sound moving closer with each tick of the second hand on this clock which drew him in deeper. Then he noticed something on the mantel. It was a book—a little black book. Tick-tock, tick-tock. Joshua could feel himself losing his temper within this cabin in the woods.

The phone started ringing. Joshua jumped backward away from it. When he decided not to answer it, his mind started telling him he allowed Raquel to go to the movies, and she did not return. His mind told him it was Raquel calling him. What if she is in trouble? thought Joshua. He looked toward the mantel and noticed the little book lay face up with its pages exposed.

The movies were out a long time ago, he thought, and anger filled him once again. "I'm going to kill that fucking bitch!" he shouted. "Cunt. Twat. Slut. Whore. Cock-sucking pussy."

Joshua's body began a shiver walk. His eyes became as red as shimmering coals nestled under the fiery grill of a rock roast. His ears burned with fury, and his jugular throbbed in his neck as though it was a viperous python pulsating to burst free and strangle the world.

Joshua gawked up at the old chime clock. It transformed itself into a cuckoo clock. A bird was coming out of the clock. The bird was barking at him like an angry dog. As it opened and slammed its tiny door shut, this sound penetrated his mind, piercing its way into his subconscious.

Joshua's emotions ran wild. His head readied itself to explode. He drew the last line already, and there was no more chalk left to draw another. With boiling point reached, the existence of Joshua took on a whole other meaning.

Now, murder became sweetness to his heart and death music to his ears. Every forgotten sound ever to terrify him in his life recoiled and reverberated, echoing like vile strangers in the dark and lonely passageways of his mind. Joshua grabbed both sides of his head and began to scream.

He fell to the ground and started to snort and grunt like a raging bull. Pain shot up his spine and Joshua shrieked, "Devil, leave me alone, you bastard! Let loose your hold on me." His head started to grow, and his eyeballs began to swell. His neck turned red, and his feet shrank. "Somebody help me!" he wailed in agony, but nobody could hear him.

The devil stopped moving. Must be in the kitchen, thought Mary, searching for my purse or my Marlboro Reds, but her cigarettes were in her pocket, and her purse was in the closet with Christine. She could hear shuffling. The smell of burned flesh soared into the dining room.

A thought struck Mary. She brushed it out of her mind, but it was confirmed when Christine's Persian cat, Roger, started wailing. Mary ran to the kitchen, but she was too late. Twisted around, Roger's head sizzled with smoke still rising.

"I hate cats," he said, looking at Mary, calm; not surprised to see her standing in the doorway. Black and beady eyes, far apart and ogre-like, stared right through her. His coarsely hard face turned away from her, and he peered at Christine's mutilated cat. His huge hands almost covered the dead cat's entire body.

Was he smiling? Mary wondered. She was always unsure. Frank adorned a permanent smile on his face combined with an ongoing frown on his brow. He turned toward her. Frank's eyes did not fixate or focus on anything. Instead, they swallowed her in their glaring emptiness.

Mary stared at him. In her mind, she questioned his motives. Washed over by a bizarre form of Saint Vitus dance, her entire body began to tremble. She tried to ponder on his eyes. Deeper into his thoughts, she tried to read. In doing so, she noticed something dangling from the top pocket of his shirt. Frank's recent crazed doings caused this dangling thing almost to work its way out completely.

It was about to fall. Mary focused on it. It was a little black book. Frank sneered and reeled Mary into his mind. Everything around her became dark and uninviting, and she felt weak in her knees. Mary knew this was merely the beginning. For the sake of her children, she believed, she would have to endure what was sure to follow.

Trapped in the cabin in the woods, from within Joshua's mind, images of two young men conversing flashed before his eyes. The one man was growing older by the second. The other man was not a man at all but a darksider, a child of the devil with pig's feet, a forked tail and darkness for a face with burning red coals for eyes, and Billy goat horns protruding from the top of its hood. The more the child of darkness spoke, the older the other man grew.

The aging man kicked and screamed in protest, but the darksider continued in its endeavor. The skin on Joshua's hands started to loosen itself from his flesh. It beat above his knuckles to the pace of a dreadful monster stuck within. Images of a man sliced in two, by a railway track in Virginia, flashed before Joshua's eyes.

Where the fuck is Raquel? Joshua's mind yelled. At a cock-sucking hotel licking Billy's dick, he thought. Billy was his good friend, but right now he wanted to kill Billy. He wanted to slice through his throat with a sharp blade and watch his gaze go blank.

Joshua could feel dark magic. Something was lurking in this cabin with him, waiting. What it was, he did not know; but the Something caressed the nape of his neck, tickled his spine, and rubbed up against his inner thighs. With a sudden burst of confidence, Joshua felt sure of himself, stuck in a cabin in the woods, alone, but not alone at all.

Ecstasy or Agony? Joshua wondered. Whatever it was, something made him shriek like a girl. No, Joshua thought, better than a girl. Like the screams from a tight and sticky well-worked vajayjay on a hot day, thought Joshua, and then he screamed louder until he could scream no more. Joshua's eyes closed, and all became silent, except for the whisper of the wind. A breath of death, through the trees, it moved, and over this cabin in the woods, it settled.

Something thumped the back of the Thunderbird. Raquel glanced behind herself. There was nothing to see. Thump. Thump.

Holy shit. An unfriendly coldness coated Raquel's body. Jesus, fuck me. It's Tina, she said. Biting down hard, she began to grind her teeth. Dazed by the swift turnaround of events and reeled into an unbenevolent reality, Raquel started crying.

"Oh, my God, Joshua, fuck, where are you?" Raquel shouted out from the passenger seat of the Thunderbird into the dark of the night. Thump. Thump. Thump. The trunk of the Thunderbird flew open. Raquel heard this, but she refused to look; instead, she stared ahead with her heart beating out of her chest.

Raquel felt as though the snakes within her soul somehow exited her mind and wrapped their cold, scaly skin around her body. Deep from within herself, black dread emanated in waves like hot flushes on a blistering day. Fucking midlife crisis, she thought, as her skin began to pale.

In the dark, something hit the gravel behind the Thunderbird with another loud thump. Starting in a march toward her, Raquel heard more thumps. From within her, a scream churned, simmering, working its way to a boiling explosion of her emotions. Raquel's grip on her sanity loosened and slipped off. Regurgitating her heart's deepest fears, a cry of terror flooded out of her mouth, followed by a wail of fearful whimpers.

Pain filled her head, and she felt something moving at the back of her jaw. Swiftly, a bizarre transformation began. To Raquel, it felt as though something was trying to push her jawbone outward. Tension wormed its way into her veins.

To her utter horror, Raquel's jaw began to grow. The already-overstretched skin on her cheeks split. Slime oozed its way down her body. Raquel's neck swelled; and the blood below the skin on her hands boiled, bubbled, and popped.

Thump, thump. The sound of the pounding steps on the gravel surface behind Raquel became loud in her ears. She opened her mouth, but whatever she tried to say died on her lips. Afraid of being driven to lunacy, Raquel continued to refuse to look. She knew something dreadful was there, and she could feel it in its wickedness staring at her from behind.

Raquel experienced many night terrors throughout her life, horrors she could not explain. Not to her friends, not to Joshua, and not to her parents who were followers of rationality and logic. Not in her wildest dreams could she explain to anyone how, at the age of eleven, her dolls at the foot of her bed would turn into a school of flying Piranha.

Gaping at Raquel through the darkness with sharp fangs and a billion piercing eyes, these monsters of terror would hover around her in the dead of night. Though she did try once with Joshua to tell him about the snakes, he did not understand. From then onward, Raquel kept her terrors to herself, and they fed on her insides. Sitting in the passenger seat of the Thunderbird, she could not resist any longer. Raquel grabbed the rearview mirror, turned it to face herself, and upon seeing her newly formed face, she burst out crying.

Her eyes turned fiery red; a snout replaced her nose, and her teeth were now a combination of fang-like incisors and flesh shredders. Sitting in the front passenger seat of the Thunderbird, she turned to face her fear. There she saw Tina standing, inches away from her.

Tina's eyes were as white as raw sinew. Blood dripped from a bullet hole in her forehead. Sickly, through the hole in Tina's severed skull, with every beat of Tina's rotting heart, Raquel observed Tina's gray and slimy brain throbbing, pulsating, and oozing mucus. Unable to draw her eyes away from the hole, Raquel stood, disgusted by her sudden macabre compulsion to stare through it, at the pulsating blubber within.

Moments before screaming a scream that could have easily silenced the roars of mountain lions and grizzlies, Raquel noticed something in Tina's right hand. It was a little black book. From Raquel's mouth, this ululating scream came reverberating miles, either way, on Route 66. This scream sent shivers down the spines of road travelers far-off enough to escape the madness, but near enough to hear its dreaded unadulterated cry.

The darksiders, Cara and Henry, completed their entry into Joshua's and Raquel's bodies. Making good on their deal with Tina Osborn, they followed through with the possession.

"Why did you do it?" Tina's voice was as sweet as morning primrose.

"It wasn't me," Cara roared in denial. "It was Henry. He wanted you. He wanted you to become immortal as we are." Cara stopped for a few seconds to allow her thoughts to sort themselves out.

I wonder if you can tell I'm lying, thought Cara while she looked at Tina. Become one of us? You've got another thing coming, girlie, Cara thought. We agreed to help, not for our love for you but because of our love for this work. Joshua and Raquel will suffer, but your turn is coming too, Tina, thought Cara. Soon. We want you, buried alive. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust, thought Cara. It's the orders. Orders from the devil.

Cara shook her head. Looking at Tina, she said, "Henry didn't know. If only you told him beforehand. About the rosary. Things would've worked out better." Cara's thoughts began racing, Way to go, girlie, you're doing well. Throw the rosary idea in Tina's face. Confuse her. Make her think it interfered with the changing.

"The rosary. It slowed down your transformation." Cara smirked and waved her bony finger at Tina. Yep, now I'll tease you, girlie, jog your memory some. "You shouldn't be asking. Why? Remember our agreement?" Cara's eyes were blank and deep.

"What agreement?" Tina knew of some deal in the past, but she could not pinpoint it. Suddenly, she felt washed over, vulnerable and defenseless.

Ah, I've got you now, thought Cara, got you by the jock strings. Hey, what you think. Ah, sweet as a lemon, girlie. Here goes nothing. "When we agreed to help, you decided to die. To give your soul to the dark one," said Cara. Work your way out of this one, Cara thought. Bitchy today, aren't we? Want to play stuck in the mud? I'm game, girlie. Want to muff my cookie? Suck my tits, Cara wondered.

In disbelief, Tina said, "What? I agreed to punish Raquel but not to Joshua killing me. Look at me. Not what I expected." Tina closed her eyes, trying not to ponder on regrets. "Henry, where the fuck is he?" she demanded.

Sensing something odd, Tina whisked her head toward the ditch below. Blood shot out from the bullet hole in her head and splattered Cara across her malformed cheek. Cara's heart exploded with joy, taking her mind on a thrill-filled runaway train. Give me more, Cara thought. Give me more, baby. That's the way I like it. Aha. Aha.

With a sway to the left and a splatter to the right, Rocky Horror's funky revulsions wrapped up in a fun bag of come at me right now bitch; I'm ready for you. Yes, Sonora. Tasty Seymour and nuts, nuts galore, thought Cara. "Down there," she said. "Yes, darling, that's where Henry is," said Cara, thinking, splitting his flesh Henry has splattered Joshua's blood over himself. It was a grand spectacle. Red, red wine, Cara mocked in her mind.

Tina's hands clenched. "Cara, how did Henry manage to get Joshua's voice onto my answering machine?"

Cara's face went numb, and her eyebrows began twitching. "Not important, dear. Forget it," she said and wondered how the bitch knew. Could she be reading our minds? It's not possible but fuck. She is still fresh. Tina shouldn't be able to, and if she could, say, what the fuck, then Joshua and Raquel could do the same.

It's bullshit, thought Cara. Not possible. Don't worry, be happy. She's just trying to sidetrack you. That's all. She slaps something into the frying pan, getting you to dance around it for a while, and before you know it, you are thrown into a bunny roll and sold as a Kentucky Rounder, thought Cara.

As possession ravished Raquel's being, she fainted. Shutting herself out from the world allowed a shift in command to take place. Before Joshua could leave the wooden cabin at the bottom of the ditch, he also started yelling and carrying on like, as he saw it, a deranged clown.

A similar transformation took place in Joshua's body. Joshua's mind switched off, and he passed out, allowing virulent oblivion to take over him for a while.

### Chapter 9

Tina was asked by the Darkside Organization to get a photo of Raquel and Joshua. Tina gave Cara a picture of Raquel but not of Joshua. Henry needed Joshua's photo for the takeover of Joshua's body to be successful, but Tina could not find a picture of Joshua. It then became apparent that Tina was protecting Joshua. When confronted, she denied it.

Henry was instructed by the Darkside Organization to imitate Joshua's voice, leaving a message on Tina's answering machine. In the message, he asked Tina to meet him at the Apollyon Hotel. Tina went to the Apollyon Hotel, thinking Joshua really wanted to see her; but when she got there, she found Joshua with Raquel.

The darksiders wanted to get rid of Tina because she became a threat to them. She was too eager to please Joshua, too dedicated to her cause, and, mostly, too ambitious. They saw her as a person who would rule their organization and finally dominate its members. They saw this happen with the devil when thrown out of heaven, and they refused ever to allow this to happen again.

Henry was still able to reach Joshua through Tina. She was new to the Darkside Organization. Tina was unaware darksiders could channel through one another. Henry could see Joshua through Tina's eyes. A measly substitute this was, but without a photo, it was their last resort. There was no other choice at the time, and their time was running out.

What Henry did not know was, instead of going over to talk to Joshua, Tina planned to have it out with him. She planned to do this without consulting the Darkside Organization; this being something they did not tolerate, they decided to kick her out. This Tina did not know, but it would be realized soon enough. When Tina arrived at the Apollyon Hotel, things got rough, and Tina landed up with a hole in her head.

For a second, the monkey was quiet. Its head turned around as it sized up the faces surrounding it. The monkey began to scream as it tried to break free from the table. The monkey's pleading eyes widened, and its mouth exposed a pink tongue, which rattled within.

Lobsang walked toward the mantel; he reached for something on it, and he returned with a small steel object, which he placed on the table, in front of Tabatha. She stared at it in disbelief as the candlelight danced along its shiny surface, revealing its identity. It was a hammer.

With the creature's screams tormenting her mind, Tabatha closed her hand around the cold handle of the hammer. As she raised it, her eyes shut, and her heart throbbed. The monkey screamed mindlessly, desperate to escape, with its head turning around and around. Its mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, and it screeched louder and louder. From the rough splintery center of the table, its neck began to bleed as it continued trying to break free.

"What are you waiting for?" Thane asked angrily, looking toward Tabatha, the hammer within her frozen hand raised in midair.

"Do it!" shouted Speed with his red hair covering his left eye and his sharp features lambent beneath the dim flickering light.

"Don't think. Act. Thinking will stop you," Eartha said in a whisper with her beady black eyes peering through Tabatha.

"No!" Tabatha screamed. "This is not right."

The monkey stopped screeching. With its glossy eyes, it stared into Tabatha's eyes, tilting its head like a questioning dog with a happy face. Tabatha's heart cried out, and her mind raced for a solution to this insane predicament in which she found herself. She lowered the hammer and placed it upon the table. Reaching over, she caressed the monkey's furry head, tickling its ears. The monkey whimpered and rubbed its cheek against Tabatha's finger.

"Raquel gave you a hard time," Tina said to Cara. "You must be losing your touch." Tina heard by way of the Darkside Organization Cara and Henry were expert

possessors of human flesh, but after Cara's struggle, Tina nestled her doubts.

Eggs, bacon, thought Cara, what else are you going to throw into the frying pan? It's getting hot, dear. My feet are starting to sizzle. "I can handle Raquel," said Cara. "Don't worry about it. She's filled with fear, and fear is what brings me out." Cara snarled at Tina.

Minutes later, another demon rose from the ditch. It was Henry. Cara frowned at him, thinking, what big teeth you have, Grandma.

"It's brilliant," he said to Cara while observing Tina. "My, my, Tina, Joshua did a good job in splattering your brains, didn't he?" asked Henry.

"What's brilliant, Henry?" Tina asked, avoiding his question.

"To get out of Joshua. A million breaths of fresh air."

"But you just entered his body?" said Tina.

"I know, but when you become like us, you realize how frustrating it is to be inside. Someone else's control sucks. It's good to get out," said Henry.

Become like us? thought Cara. What a laugh. Far in Cara's mind, something else was laughing at Cara's thoughts, something blacker than the darkness within the darkest of nights.

"Tina, once your transformation is complete, we will rename you. You will be part and parcel of the Darkside Organization. Together, we will capture the lost. Rule the world; ours for the keeping," Cara said as a dark smile emerged within the airiness of her gaze.

Unfortunately, for Tina, she could not see that far into the future. "Enough dreaming," Tina said. "Have you got a plan? Joshua's and Raquel's deaths must look like an accident." Her eyes panned from Henry to Cara, and she said with certainty, "The Darkside Organization has informed me once you enter a human body, that body must die for you to be released. If a person decides to fight your hold, there's a good chance you will perish."

"True. It has to work," Henry confirmed Tina's statement, but he was set off by her words.

Surprised by what Tina knew, Cara thought, Maybe too much. What you got up your sleeve, dear? Tell Mommy, thought Cara. Don't be shy. Come, come now, Mommy's listening. Mommy won't hurt you. You know, Mommy's promises are the best promises. All Mommy wants to do is to chop you up into little pieces and to throw you from the frying pan into the fire. Mommy wants to eat you up. Come, come.

"Then"—Tina saw the opening— "I guess that's my insurance policy—"

"You will get what you want," Henry interrupted, raising his eyebrows, "but believe me, we will get our own too."

Tina scratched the tip of her nose. "Exactly what is it you want? You got Joshua to kill me, and I look like something out of a sick horror movie, although all I wanted was to get those bastards for what they did to me. I'm dead but alive, my consolation. I would complain, but I'm immortal now, and that's neat." Tina took a deep breath. "What else do you want from me?"

"Enough," Henry said, "we must stop them from leaving Texas. Concrete jungles have filled many people around the world with fear, and fear has destroyed their hopes and dreams. The Calvert Cliffs would restore the peace within them, and this would be detrimental to the Darkside Organization." He took a deep breath and said, "And with the dark one on his way, we can't have this." Henry lowered his head in a show of dedicated respect toward the Darkside Organization, the DSO.

"Tina." Cara took Tina's left hand. "Why didn't you tell us about Joshua's plans to leave Texas? You know leaving would destroy us."

Cara and Henry stood staring at Tina. She could not tell them of these plans because she did not know anything about them. Tina could almost hear their thoughts tickling the tips of her ears. To Tina, there was something more, something utterly sly in their glaring eyes. Tina's fears went unvoiced.

Billy began to tell Tiger what he wanted to know, starting from a time of inbred hatred. This hatred stemmed from the minds of already-programmed parents, raising children to hate and themselves, hating but not knowing why and, at times, not understanding their feelings and emotions toward this hatred. He further told Tiger of a place off the boundaries of Los Angeles, a place where people would get together.

In a building on a hilltop, thousands would gather. Together, they would sing as one and dance. They would lift their arms in the air, and they would talk in a foreign tongue, foreign to the government, to the devil, to the people around them and themselves. They called them wackos, happy clappers, and fanatics; but they did not care, for in their wave of emotion, they found something. They believed what they found was the missing thing society seeks but never seems to find.

This wave of emotion, which formed a massive belt across the entire country, reached Billy. Billy was a kid living in Virginia who, although abused as a child, grew up being extroverted, confident, and bold. With an open mind, he ventured into the world of what he believed were wackos. Billy was coaxed by a former wacko, a family member, on a quest to save the whole world, their town, and Billy's household. She was a large woman with long black hair who wore colorful saris to hide her curves.

While Billy balanced on the edge of his foster mother's king-sized bed with her bottom rooted to the mattress this large woman spoke of real magic, of the dead raised. She talked about giants who once walked the face of the earth. Billy's foster parents sat awestruck as she described how an eyeless socket filled with a perfect, sparkling healthy eye. And of how a man confronted by eight hoodlums with automatic guns escaped unscathed.

This family member went on to tell them about how a dead man, dead for at least four days, sat up in his coffin. She spoke of how the surrounding crowd ran from this in sheer terror. Before long, his parents, hooked, found themselves on their way to see.

Upon their return, they burned all remnants of their so-called dark side as well as what they described as Billy's bad books. The books he loved most, Stephen King, was the first to go in the trash. Next Robert McCammon's books, thrown out the window, followed by Bram Stoker, James Herbert, Wells, Rice, Laymon, Straub, Lovecraft, and Poe. Burned out-front along with girlie magazines, old rock records, and CDs, more horror novels, and Goosebumps. In a huge bonfire spectacle.

Billy was angry. The change he saw in his parents bothered him most of all. It was as though the day they left with the sari woman they did not return. As though replacements who appeared to be the same but were not, arrived back home instead. Upon their return, they were quite different. His mother suffered for years with two legs, one shorter than the other. Her returning barefoot was not the issue here. No, there was something else. Billy asked, "Your shoes?"

She responded joyfully, "Chucked them out."

In defense of the shoes, Billy said, "But they cost—" he stopped and noticed.

"Don't need them anymore," she said.

What he noticed was two perfect legs, two perfect feet. His mother changed. Traded her legs, he thought but did not understand. Then there was his father who, a week before, could not detect the burn of a pot roast. Upon his return, he walked around identifying the aromas and odors about, testing out his new nostrils, which were once useless.

I wondered about it much, but then I quit wondering," said Christine. Assessing Emma, she asked, "Do you know where we go when we die?" Christine's hands trembled. Her blonde hair blew wildly over her shoulders. Goosebumps coated her flesh. Her face paled. The August morning air was fresh with the smell of burned flesh, and the sky was gray and menacing.

"I think I do know where we go," said Emma, observing Christine's little pink shoes. "I believe that it's some place clean and white." At a standstill, Emma swallowed and said, "My pa went there." Her dark eyes sparkled as the thought of her father going to a nontoxic place made her heart smile.

Behind them, over the rocky outcrops, were four empty coffins. Two built of oak, one made from stinkwood and the last, a fabrication of steel. The inner side of their lids was bloody, and the scratches from their once-terror-filled occupants left insane and mindless markings within their interiors. The steel coffin remained unmarked with wild, wiry tufts of hair being the lone remnants of its once-indwelt occupant.

Next to the coffins, on the crest of a large rock, a mini blue boom box balanced. From this radio's speakers came the beautiful words of Shakespears Sister singing, "If this world is wearing thin and you're thinking of escape, I'll go anywhere with you. Just wrap me up in chains..."

"I love this song," said Christine. Her eyes closed, and she became mesmerized for a moment as she swayed from side to side.

Emma glared at the coffins. "Do you think the souls of those people are free?"

Ignoring Emma's question, Christine opened her eyes, considered Emma, and said, "Did you see?" She licked her lips; her face became red and inviting.

The song continued, "But if you try to go alone don't think I'll understand..."

"See?" said Emma. "See what?"

"Did you see your father leave?"

"Yes," Emma answered. "He went slowly. He was holding my hand, and he said, 'Daughter, you must be strong. I'm leaving you. I'm going to a better place, not like the place Uncle went to.'"

"And you believed him?" asked Christine.

In the background, Shakespears Sister sang, " Stay with me, stay with me..."

Emma pondered, "He told me as he was leaving, he could see bright lights, rivers of gold, and gates of crystal."

Coming from the speakers on the boom box, the eerie song continued. Its words filled the air with a raw, heartbreaking passion, "In the silence of your room, in the darkness of your dreams, you must only think of me..."

"Your pa loved gold?" Christine asked with her mind wandering.

"Yes, he loved gold and crystals and bright things."

"It must be good to see the things you like when you are going," said Christine, her droopy eyes not as bright as before. "Some people, the bad ones..." Christine thought of Mary, her battered mother, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were blank, and her mind was far away.

"They tell me your pa saw darkness," Emma said, and shut her mouth quickly, looking at Christine as though not wanting to say too much.

"Yes." Christine blinked. "I was there."

"It's a shame, you know," said Emma.

"What?" asked Christine.

"He was an evil man, wasn't he?" Emma glanced at Christine. "But they thought he was good, didn't they?" Emma swallowed.

"They thought he was," Christine said. "All of them thought he was good. It's like you and me," she said, smiling at Emma. "You are good, and because they think the devil is my friend, everyone sees me as bad, but no one knows who's good or bad, do they?"

Emma stared at Christine and said, "Only when you go. Then you will know."

"Yes," Christine agreed, "only when you go."

Someone was running toward them yelling, trying to stop what was to follow, but something got in the way. It was a cloud that formed out of nothing, creating a barrier that prevented anything from interfering with what was about to follow.

"It's getting dark," said Emma. She could hear raging wooden wheels of what could have been grand chariots racing toward them from behind the cloud. While imagining them to be on fire, burning with rage and fear, from within, Emma welled courage. Somehow, she felt these mind-bent monster-possessed contraptions of dark magic from the fiery pits of hell would never reach them—never in a million years. Not now, she thought. Not ever, she hoped.

Emma took her hands out of the pockets of her Mickey Mouse jeans. Looking over at Christine, Emma said, "Let's go."

The voice from the blue boom box, on the rock, continued to sing. The passion of the pleading voice was gone; replaced by a voice of dark magic that sang with a passion of a different kind, "You'd better hope and pray that you make it safe, back to your own world. You'd better hope and pray that you'll wake one day, in your own world..."

The two girls, one taller than the other, stood up and walked over to the edge of the cliff. The song continued.

In the distance ahead of herself, through the mist, Emma saw the silvery water tower mushrooming on the crest of the Calvert Cliffs of Maryland. Cliffs, extending twenty-five miles out on the Chesapeake Bay—sharp, steep, and deadly.

Emma grimaced. Looking at Christine, she said, "Now we will know." Christine took hold of Emma's hand and squeezed it tightly. Emma swallowed and closed her eyes. Together, they stepped over the cliff. A magic of a different sort inhaled their screams, filling the crisp morning air with a new world darkened to black.

As though in pain, the voice from the abandoned mini blue boom box cried out. Blood from the radio's speakers meandered downward like the red velvet tears seeping from the ducts of weeping Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. Over the rocks, it oozed to the ground's surface where the blood found a tattered book lying face up. For the world to see, this little black book showed on its last page a single drop of blood.

Next to this tattered book was another small black book, also lying face up. On its final page, it revealed the same: a single drop of blood. From afar, the world was screaming in pain, a blackening heart. Ever so sweet and bitter too, so bitter that something foul began to seep through this once-impenetrable curtain of time.

The screaming in Billy's head started again. He grabbed his ears.

"Billy, are you all right?" Tiger asked.

"She's in trouble, Tiger." Billy's head pounded like the constant pounding of a butcher knife in the hands of a starved kid trying to loosen a frozen wiener sausage from the rest of its pack.

Billy began to cry.

"Surely something can be done," said Tiger.

"No. She's too far away, before my time. In her world, I haven't been born yet."

No matter how the crazed kid pounded the butcher knife at those wiener sausages, they would not separate.

Billy's head milled hard, and he felt faint.

"Impossible, Billy," said Tiger.

"Yes, but it's true. He's coming for her. If I could warn her, Tiger." Billy fell to his side, holding his head. Bands of rival drummers raging over Billy's brain replaced the pounding from the crazed kid with the butcher knife. With every beat of Billy's heart, his head throbbed; and from within his skull, a mindless magic began in its attempt to reel him into the past.

The wooden cabin, nestled in the valley, cracked and creaked as though urging the sun over the hilltop. Morning darkness surrounded its rugged exterior. With the pending sunrise, the demons of the dark retreated to their havens of refuge where most would stay until night's return. As though to awaken a new day, brilliant sounds filled the air as the chorus of bird chatter entered the valley.

The air carried with it the ripe ambiance of a freshly picked morning rose. Without failure to arrive, yet seemingly shy, the sun peered over the hillside, allowing her first rays to swallow up as much darkness as they could. The sky above turned a rusty gold. Beams of light broke through the hazy interior of this old cabin. Steve's eyes followed a streak of brightness, grooving its way through the weathered shutters.

The surrounding air warmed, and the light from the rising sun began to devour the darkness within. Steve gazed at his wife. A strip of sunlight caressed her spine as it made its way inside the cabin. Upon reaching Steve's wife, her brown hair turned opulent, then golden. She lay in bed beside him.

As the light of the rising sun moved on, it made its way through the cabin, and it settled on a little black book on Steve's bedside. A single reflecting speck stared at Steve. This damp and shiny drop on the last open page of the small black book appeared red velvet in the light of the early morning.

Steve cuddled and snuggled. His pale fingers clenched the soft treated dear skins covering him. He breathed in deeply as his shaky hands pulled the warm skins up to his face and around it. The feminine furnace who lay beside him, the tender thigh caressing his buttocks, warmed his body. Her rhythmic breathing soothed his soul. He slid his arm around her.

Rubbing past each bosom, he hugged her, and a deep sense of security rushed down his spine. Through the darkness, Steve's eyes searched within the cabin, fixating and then staring like an owl prowling through the dead of night. He remembered seeing Billy and Tiger earlier today. They were walking along Pacific Ocean Drive. He wondered if they went to the cave. Steve liked Billy but was afraid of Tiger and Tiger's wild and crazy ways and his confident attitude. Tiger's attractive smile scared Steve most of all.

### Chapter 10

The road ahead was empty, wet and glassy, and the clouds above were dark and menacing. The 58 Thunderbird moved at sixty-nine miles per hour. Joshua Carmichael drove, and Raquel Jefferson slept snuggled up on the passenger seat beside him. If not for Tina's thick lumber jacket, Raquel would have frozen her butt off. Joshua's teeth chattered. His knuckles were white.

Joshua looked over at Raquel and wondered if the darksiders paid Billy's brother, Slade, a visit yet. He wondered if Slade's little black book was full. Once their books were full, Joshua questioned, what would happen to them? Should have wished for something better, he thought, should have placed my emotions aside and thought of myself and the good of myself, rather. He closed his eyes and tried not to think any further about it.

Raquel called Slade last night. On the phone, she was frantic, saying something about Joshua and Speed, Tiger's brother. Raquel said she dreamt she and Joshua were in California already. In her dream, she worked for some hotel in Laguna with Billy and a girl by the name of Antoinette. Raquel told Slade, Joshua was too far gone. She said she could hear his screams in the back of her mind.

In Raquel's dream, Antoinette told her, her wish was granted. Antoinette did not say what the wish was. Over the phone, Slade consoled her and warned her to stay away from Joshua. Raquel would not hear of it. Slade said it was too late to change things and told her to wait for Billy to call her, said he would know what to do. Slade told her the dove arrived, said he found a message attached to its leg, warning him about his foster mother. The message referred to his foster mother as his mother. This annoyed Slade. He read it several times. He told Raquel there was something on the dove's note for Billy. Billy did not see this because it was written in flight, after leaving his hands.

Slade could see the message to Billy clearly. He felt he needed to get to Billy as soon as possible; to warn Billy to stay away from Speed. He told Raquel the dead uncle had almost seen the shoreline; and he said he thought, once seen, the dark magic would begin. Over the telephone, Slade told her the dead uncle's eyes were forced closed, but only until Emma and Pablo reached the shoreline. Lastly, he added this would give them a little more time.

The warmth of the morning air prompted Steve to rise. He lifted the animal skin and slid out of the coziness below, assuring his wife remained asleep and covered. He moved off the bed. His naked body shivered as the souls of his feet met the cold floorboards. Steve grabbed his robe, threw it around himself, and walked over to the shutters.

Looking toward the distant stream at the foot of the hill, Steve shined. He reached over and took hold of an old wooden bucket lying on its side by the door's entrance. With his enthusiasm prompted by the rising sun, he began thinking he should make his way to the stream to get some fresh water. Steve stepped out onto the grass. Warm droplets of dew tickled his sparsely, yet shimmering, blond-haired toes.

He raised his arms, bringing the bucket above his head. He took a deep breath; the air was fresh and ripe. Making his way through the tall trees to the stream, he felt free and alive. When he reached the stream, he raised his arms once again and took in as much air as his healthy lungs would allow. After filling the wooden bucket with water, he looked around for his favorite stump of wood.

He called it his thinking stump, a place for brainstorms while mind wandering. Steve brought the stump here a while ago. He found it in a sacred part of the forest not far from the cabin. Steve was told by the locals never to go to this section of the woods. They said it was sacred, untouched ground. No one was ever to set foot on it.

Steve did not listen to them. He loved this part of the forest. Sacred, or whatever they called it, it was alive, and he felt free over here. This section of the woods gave him his thinking stump. He claimed the stump held powers. On finding the stump, he positioned it upright; and there, it sat midway between the cabin and the stream. A perfect spot it was for Steve's mind to race on and for his body to relax, but today there would be no time for relaxing.

Lobsang's face turned red. "Why didn't you leave when I gave you a chance?" he asked.

"And let you kill this creature?" Tabatha looked up at him. "You are a coward," she said, "to hurt something incapable of harming you and to do it like this." She paused, hardened her expression, and said, "Shame on you." Tabatha surveyed the surrounding group with her piercing eyes and said, "Shame on you all." They looked away from her angry scowl.

"This is something we do!" shouted Lobsang. "We have done this for centuries," he said. "It cannot and will not be stopped. It's the way we have; to get in touch with ourselves."

Lobsang shook his head at the robed man who responded similarly and left the room. "Thane, you do it," said Lobsang.

Thane was looking to the ground and shaking his head. "It is strange," he said. "I like strange things. I was on a roll, and if Tabatha did not say anything, I might have gone all the way. But now the thought of smashing this monkey's skull to eat its brains appalls me."

Eartha peered up at Lobsang. "I know if we did not come, someone else would have come here. A short while ago, someone was here, and a monkey died. Are those people any better off than we are right now?"

"Cut the bullshit, Eartha. You were as eager as the rest of them," said Lobsang.

"Let's go. Let's get out of here," said Speed. "We should be ashamed of what we are, what we've become. Billy and Tiger told me to stay away, but I was curious. I should have known better."

Thane and Speed began to pull the two semicircles apart.

"Stop!" shouted Lobsang. "It's my monkey, and he will die. I will not allow you to leave—" Before he finished speaking, the two halves were parted. The monkey broke free, running into Tabatha's arms.

Lobsang grabbed the hammer off the table and swung it at the monkey. Tabatha leaned over to protect the monkey. The hammer came down hard. It cracked and penetrated her skull. Blood streamed down the back of her neck as she fell backward. Her chair tilted. The monkey jumped out of Tabatha's arms, and she came crashing to the ground. Before reaching the ground, she died.

Steve sat on the stump and closed his eyes. A scream cracked the peace within the beauty of the morning and caused it to shatter. This scream shook the entire valley loose, along with Steve. Steve's heart skipped a beat and sank way past his knees. He was left breathless.

Another scream came. There was something familiar about it. So familiar, it reverberated, shattering the proverbial innards of Steve's soul, splattering the serenity within his happy world.

Everything within Steve turned vile, putrid, and redder than red.

"My baby!" he shouted. Steve sprung off the stump, and like a crazed wolf, he raced up the valley slope as fast as his muscle-bound legs could carry him. Many screams followed. Steve lost count in his attempt to reach the cabin, which grew larger and larger in his mind as the distance between him and it shortened.

Ahead, through sweat-filled eyes, he managed to see a few men on horseback outside the cabin. Are they leaving? Steve's thoughts raced. Did they just arrive? How did they find us? His mind screamed for answers as he continued up the remainder of the slope.

Something hit Steve from behind. Pain filled his body, and his head started to throb. He grew dizzy. His knees buckled. Through the misty, sweat-clogged haze of barely conscious sight, he saw these men dragging a thick chain attached to something. It was the tender neck of what appeared to be a battered, bleeding figure with rich, blood-drenched brown hair.

Steve's faltering body tried to balance, but his mind was out of order. With no wife, around to kick start his mind, his head refused to register. No more cans of thought popped out of him—not today. Seconds later, his legs gave in. His body came crashing to the ground. Steve's eyes closed. He passed out.

When Steve came around, he found himself lying on his back with a weird sort of mugginess between him and the grassy earth. The shimmering silence of the lush valley chilled him to the bone. Steve opened his eyes. Light streamed in, filling his eye sockets with pain. His eyelids shut again, screening the glare. He tried to stand to no avail.

The strangers disappeared. The battered figure lay nearby. He knew he must try to reach it and prayed it would not be Sarah, his wife. Steve crawled toward the body. Crawling exerted pressure on his back, intensifying the pain in his shoulder.

"Fuck me. Fuck. Fuck, fuck! God help me," Steve shouted in pain, continuing to move.

Finally, he reached the body. It looked like a woman. Her face was in the grass. Blood covered her head and hair. His quaking hand took hold of her torn sleeve and turned her over. All he feared was true. It was his baby, his love.

Her mouth was slightly open, and her eyes were staring blankly ahead. "No!" Steve screamed. "No. Not my Sarah." Forgetting his pain, he pulled Sarah's fragile body closer to his chest. His head dropped with his emotions shattered. Tears replaced the sweaty film coating his eyes, becoming salty drops of sorrow, trickling down his cheeks in slow meandering streams.

Carefully, Steve rocked his wife back and forth. His heart felt heavy, his mind tight, and his throat clogged. Shaking his head, taking in short bursts of air, he raised his hand slightly and rested his palm over Sarah's dead staring eyes. Gently, he pulled her eyelids shut. He closed his eyes and held her tighter than before. To Steve's horror, her lovely body remained motionless. He cried, this time much harder than before.

Sitting on the stump, Steve blinked. The curtains within his mind closed, and reality stepped forward. Today, there would be no time for relaxing. Not after remembering this tragic event. Even now, Steve thought, she is as beautiful as the day before she died.

While walking up the slope to the cabin, Steve thought, Today, I'll switch her oxygen off. She doesn't need it anymore. Billy plans to visit us tomorrow. I'll bathe her today and lay her out to dry in the sun but not for long. Her skin is not as fresh as it used to be, thought Steve. And tomorrow I'll have to hide her from Billy until he leaves. Then I will place her out for a bit.

No, I think, maybe I'll let her rest in bed, thought Steve. That's what I'll do. He knew the time was almost here for them to leave California for the Calvert Cliffs of Maryland. Their air tickets were tucked under their mattress, waiting. He would have to go out tomorrow and buy a steel coffin for Sarah. She always said she wanted a steel coffin. Sarah was afraid of bugs eating her, afraid of maggots in her ears and up her nostrils.

They did not speak much about death, but the day it came up, they joked about it. He remembered teasing her about maggots and earthworms. Rice and spaghetti monsters are what he called them and laughed it off as though they were going to live forever, as though they were doomed never to die. Doomed to be happy forever, he would always say to her, and she would giggle it off. Then they would make love like there was no tomorrow.

Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think he would be buying her a steel coffin. She asked for it, and it would prove to be no easy task, but she would get what she wanted. He would make sure of it. She would be going with him to Maryland. Maybe, thought Steve, maybe once there...

Steve looked at Sarah's dead body. He bent over and kissed her on the cheek. Then he kissed her lips. "I love you, babe," he said; and he smiled a most stunning smile, not feeling those tiny bits of expired flesh attaching themselves to his lips while kissing her ripe and tender blue flesh. Far-off, in the vastness of his mind, he was sure she responded as he heard her say, "I love you too," and it was as clear as crystal and so very sweet.

Thane, Eartha, and Speed gasped. Lobsang dropped the bloody hammer to the ground. "Killing Tabatha was not part of my plan," he said with a contorting mouth. His eyes were half closed, and a frown tickled his brow.

"You bastard, I'll fucking tear your brains out." Lobsang moved toward the monkey. It jumped off the table and ran for the door. Cornering the monkey, Lobsang grabbed it and threw it at the far wall. It went screaming through the air, walloped the wall, and fell to the floor, whimpering.

Running for the monkey, Lobsang shouted, "Come here, you fucker!" Thane stretched his leg forward and tripped Lobsang. He hit the floor, and he began crawling to the monkey. Thane jumped up. Eartha and Speed followed.

Lobsang held the monkey's leg in one hand and its arm in the other, and he was trying to tear its body apart. The monkey was weak; it could not scream anymore. Eartha grabbed one of the chairs and hit it over Lobsang's head. Lobsang passed out.

Billy fell into the rock wall within the cave; his face was white, and his body was shaking. He was breathing heavily. "Tiger, she may be safe for a while, but I don't know for how much longer." Feeling fragile, Billy looked at Tiger. "I must help her. If only I knew how."

"I'm glad you are back," said Tiger, "I thought you were a goner." Tiger took a deep breath. "Let's not talk any more about this today. You need to rest."

"There's no time, Tiger. The girl in San Diego, her name is Christine. Joshua and Raquel and Emma." Billy paused for a second. "They need me. Mary, Slade, Kyle, Speed, Tabatha, and the new Robed Master, the leader of the monkey party—they are in grave danger. My uncertainty has almost reached its peak."

Tiger glared at Billy. "The Robed Master?" he said, laughing the name out with his thin lips. Looking at Billy, Tiger stopped and turned his head sideways like a curious dog questioning his boss. "Why are you making a reality out of fantasy?" He studied Billy's eyes. "Billy, these people are not real. They are from some fantasy world. The devil and his dark magic together with his monsters are not real. God and His Magic—he is not real too." Tiger closed his mouth, his words trapped within. Billy appeared tired. "I wish these dreams would stop plaguing you," said Tiger. "These fucking idiot people, I wish they would leave you alone. Why did you have to be chosen to save the world? It's ridiculous; nobody can save anyone, let alone the world. You need to save yourself Billy and fuck everyone else. Fuck them all!"

Billy looked at Tiger and said, "Save the world." He laughed the words out. "Tiger, I feel barely able to save myself." Billy's eyes became dreamy. "Tiger, time is running out. I should save them before I lose my soul. The pages of my little black book have almost reached its end. I'm afraid to keep count."

Tiger sighed.

"There are a few pages left. I have dripped a drop of my blood every day. A page a day. There aren't many pages to go, Tiger, and I'm feeling blood drained."

Tiger looked at Billy. He could see Billy losing him again. Billy's eyes were becoming blank and lifeless. Sucked into his thoughts, Billy did not grab his head and start screaming. Instead, his eyes began to roll, and his body went limp. Billy's eyelids closed, and Tiger reached for Billy.

### Chapter 11

With her tiny hands trembling, sitting beside her father in her pink dress, Christine asked, "How long do you think it will take, Daddy?"

"You have been here many times before, little lady. There is no need to be afraid. They will attend to you as soon as you called. Here." Frank shoved a copy of People magazine in front of Christine. "Read and educate yourself in the ways of this sick world."

Christine knew better than to argue with her father, especially when they were here. Reluctantly, Christine took the magazine from her father's bulldozing hands. She opened it and began reading. Occasionally, she would shake her head as though the magazine was really a way of the world educator. She also did this to make Frank believe she was reading when all she was, in fact, doing was looking at the pictures, creating her stories as she paged through.

Moments passed. An electronic bell sounded. She was used to the bell and wondered why her father kept on bringing her here, and she wondered if she would see Grandma again. Out of the loudspeaker in the left corner of the cold waiting room came a voice, muffled and creaky, vaguely distinguishable, "Christine Delphine, we will see you now." The voice was short and bitter.

Christine's father coughed. The sound of the bell rung in her ears like the attentive and terrifying tinkle from an unexpected call, a long-lost loving relative in the dead of night.

"Christine, you're up." A smile expressed Frank's newfound joy, extending wide across his broad-eyed, ogre-like face. A wave of nostalgia came over Christine. She felt as though she just entered a fairy tale. A very hot fairy tale. She remembered being here before, but she did not remember the heat. Her father was sweating profusely. Frank's gleaming face reminded her of Dinah, the Cheshire cat, in the Wonderland horror story for kids.

"Daddy, I'm afraid to go there alone," she said in disguised desperation. "I want to go home. Please take me home," Christine said and started to jump up and down. She knew this would bring Grandma through, thanks to Billy. She loved seeing Grandma. She wished Grandma was not so dead. Pretending Grandma was alive, worked for a bit. Frank stood up, and Christine continued her antics, circling her father.

"You are making me dizzy. Don't be foolish. You know Daddy can't afford to keep you."

He would always say this, thought Christine as Frank continued, "I've explained it to you already."

And he would always say this too, she thought. Christine felt helpless and weak as he stood over her. With his broad towering shoulders pushed back and huge hands, reaching for her, she wondered if he would succeed this time around. Although afraid, she doubted he would be able to harm her. Not with Billy watching over me, thought Christine.

"No. Leave me alone!" she screamed, wondering if Billy was there already. Did he send someone through to help her? Christine wondered if Billy would reach Grandma in time. As though from nowhere, a frail lifeless hand crept through the film of time. Ripping its way into their dimension, it grabbed Frank by the throat. He jolted backward and lost his footing. Ignoring Christine's tantrum, he fell to the ground, gasping for air.

Oh, my God, she has returned, thought Frank. The feeling of old scaly flesh over his skin made him gag. His body began to quiver, and a habitual dance took it upon itself to begin. As the dance overtook the muscles in his face, Frank's anxiety level rose. His expressions wavered from a smile to a frown. With the total loss of control over his facial features, Frank felt powerless and foolish.

When Lobsang opened his eyes again, he found himself trapped, with his head exposed above the center of the table and his body strapped below. With Tabatha lying dead on the floor, surrounding Lobsang were the expressionless faces of Thane, Eartha, and Speed, seated at the round table. Lobsang could feel the coldness of two tiny feet on his head; it was the monkey.

"I thought I killed you," said Eartha. "Thank God you're alive. Jesus Christ." Looking at Lobsang, she opened her mouth and laughed wildly.

Lobsang's eyes were wide with shock. He shook his head, attempting to get the monkey off. The monkey held on. Lobsang looked up, trying to see it. His neck, tightly secured, was in an oval trap preventing movement. What Lobsang did see was the flickering reflected light from the hammer the monkey held in its hands.

Seconds later, the monkey lowered the hammer and swung it like a pendulum before Lobsang's eyes. On its mirrored surface, the distorted reflection of the monkey peered at him. Lobsang's heart released the demons trapped within his soul, and he began to scream. Twisting his body, he managed to shift his head around to see Tabatha, who was not on the floor anymore but seated behind him with her dead eyes staring at him and her lifeless face grimaced. For a second, he thought he saw her move, but she did not.

"It's time," said Eartha. Speed and Thane nodded in agreement.

The monkey swung the hammer. It hit Lobsang's forehead hard but not hard enough to crack his skull. Lobsang screamed out in pain, and the monkey continued swinging.

"Looks as though we are going to be here awhile," said Speed.

"He has a hard head." Eartha laughed.

"Well, the monkey will have to soften it," Thane added in between Lobsang's screams.

Finally, Lobsang's skull shattered, but he did not die instantly. First, he kicked and yelled, feeling his mind trapped within his distorted head. With his skull softened, the monkey dropped the hammer and began to eat its way into Lobsang's head. When it reached his brain, it bit into his brain's gray, slushy Jell-O, and Lobsang screamed one last scream and died.

Within the cave by the lagoon, Tiger was stepping backward from Billy. Billy's eyes opened wide, and he said, "From the imp to Apollyon, from Apollyon to Baal, from Baal to Lucifer, and from Lucifer to the devil." Billy laughed madly. "From Judas Iscariot and Pontius Pilate to the judges of the crucifixion to Stalin and Hitler, they are deceivers— deceivers forever."

Billy's mouth opened, and he began to holler, "Joshua, Joshua, my friend, the one with darkness for a face is approaching. For you, the devil is coming. At your front gate, closer, at your front door. He is drawing near. Slowly, your doorknob is moving. It's turning. The devil is with you. In the hallway, footsteps tickle your ears, making your heart race while the presence of dark magic sends shivers down your spine."

Billy shook his head and shouted, "No! It's a lie. Fuck off. You motherfucking puss." Billy became silent, and his eyelids closed.

Moving to and fro like the gliding arm of an insane typewriter, beneath their lids, Billy's eyes swayed. In complete desperation, Billy's mind fought to prevent the waking magic creeping in the dark corners of a shady wooden cabin nestled in the woods. The cabin was crouched, sitting there waiting, next to a stream. In Billy's mind, this stream was a flow of blood; and running past it, by the creek, was Route 66.

Someone was screaming. Could it possibly be? thought Billy. He recognized the scream. How could he possibly? His mind raced. It was his old friend. It was Joshua.

Within the waiting room, Christine stopped jumping around. Although she saw this waiting room many times in the past, Christine was always struck by utter amazement when things reached their climax. At this point, she would stand with her mouth gaping. Christine's eyes opened wide staring at her father, her eyeballs feeling as huge as the oval eggs of a well-fed hen.

With her father on the floor and Christine above him, the wheels turned. "Daddy!" Christine screamed. Pretending to be dumbfounded, she asked, "What's going on?"

Frank groped for the hand choking him. From within the thinness of the air came his attacker, appearing before him out of nowhere. It was his mother-in-law, May.

"Grandma," Christine cried out and remembered Grandma was dead; but as always, Christine was happy to see her and, as always, still afraid. Christine took a step backward.

Christine surveyed the room with her eyes, looking to hide. The walls of the room disappeared, replaced by flames of fire. Frank pulled the hand from his throat and yelled, "Get off me, old hag!" The old lady raised her head, bringing her pale gray eyes to the level of Frank's bright green eyes. She's going to say something, he thought, and she did.

The old lady's voice was shaky, but her grip exposed a mysterious power lying wait. "Sometimes little girls sense things," she said. "You know, grown-ups should pay more attention to what their little ones have to say."

"Daddy," Christine called and ran for the door with the sign please enter on it, but something pulled her back. She stumbled and fell.

Christine looked at her father. Her grandmother was gone, but her father was still talking to someone. There was no one else in the room but Frank and Christine. "Daddy, you're scaring me," she cried and took her father by the right arm, jerking him back and forth. Frank did not seem to notice.

Maybe Christine was too young, too forgiving. Maybe she did not understand it all, but in her heart, she wanted a daddy and mommy. Every time he brought her here, she could never grasp him wanting to hurt her. Maybe she loved him too much; or maybe Mommy somehow taught her it was good to suffer, good to be beaten up, every so often.

The electronic bell sounded again. "Christine Delphine, you may enter now," said the intercom, sounding angry.

"Daddy," Christine whispered, not wanting them to hear her. She jerked her father harder. Frank blinked, looked at her, and jumped up.

Grabbing Christine by the arm, he pulled her toward the exit. He picked her up in his arms and ran for it. I will try again at a later stage, thought Frank, but first, Billy's day will come. We will stop him. He knew Billy sent Grandma to rescue Christine again, but Billy could not be in all places at once. Billy was neither God nor the Son of God, he thought, No. Frank would wait until the time was right.

Christine was too heavy to carry. Frank put her down. The souls of her two Pretty in Pink shoes knocked together, and she found her footing, ready to run. The coming was close, and things would change soon. The eyelids of the dead uncle were closed, thought Frank; but soon Pablo would pull them open, and darkness would begin to devour the world. As they ran, the door slammed behind them. They exited the building and a sign hiding behind the drapes, attached to the top of the slamming door, fell to the ground. Christine had not seen this sign before.

In his frantic rush, Frank did not notice the sign falling. As they ran, Christine managed to read it. Although later it made her cry inside, right now, she did not grasp its implications. Together, they sprinted down the steps to the parked car. Christine's tear-filled eyes tried to wash out what her mind remembered, but images of the sign that read Welcome to Hell's Gas Chamber for Unwanted Children flashed within the hidden frames of the pictures in her mind.

Frank shoved Christine in the car, walked over to the driver's side, and plopped his large body in the driver's seat, slamming the door shut. With his long black hair trailing down his back and with part of his coat caught in the car door, in a frenzy of madness, he started the engine. Driving off with his mind screaming bloody murder, his heart pounded, ready to find the next opportunity to burst itself out of his chest and splatter its insane anger over Christine and her little pink shoes.

Between that of which may or may not have been, sat the mark of what could have been. Billy breathed heavily; his face was bluish, and his body shook wildly. Taking it all, taking what may, Billy thought, in time one day he shall say it was me. Oh yes, a genuine mark of what should be. But for now, and time to come, he sits sucking his thumb. Billy was holding his head with both hands over his ears.

"Shut the fuck up!" Billy shouted at the voices in his head. In time I will know, thought Billy, but blame free, I may never learn. Step by step, I will climb. Pound for pound in my attempts to find. Weighing each move. Oh love, to be free, for this I have searched, a lifetime, if not three. "Leave me alone," Billy said, and his mind raced on and on.

Rivers run wild, Billy thought as he shook his head, and camels reach. Seas overturn as scorpions pray, but of this, he shall never preach. Who's to blame? Not me, not me, I say. But I or you or maybe him. Possibly not, probably not, I. And in time, for time is good. It was me. The utterance was heard. Oh, how sweet to his lips. How refreshing to his mind. And as I watched, he grew and learned. And before my eyes, I saw a true mark. Yes, the mark of responsibility.

"Billy!" Tiger shouted at him. "Snap out of it, man. You are dying." Tears filled Tiger's eyes, and he said, "Billy, you have to be strong. You are my only hope." Tiger grabbed Billy by the shoulders and shook him violently.

Billy looked up at Tiger. His eyes were far away. "Tiger, I think the devil with darkness for a face has Joshua already." Beads of perspiration trickled from Billy's forehead. His face was white and wet, and his hair drenched in his sweat. "Tiger," Billy said, "you don't understand. I saw Joshua at the hotel the other night with a fucking knife in his head. How is that possible. He was standing in front of me talking to me. And my aunt Lola, I saw her too, but she's dead, fucking dead. And the girls, they are real. You don't get it, Tiger!"

"Fuck the devil!" Tiger screamed. "Fuck God. Fuck everything. Fuck them all. This fucked up shit is not right." Something hit Tiger midway in the chest. He flew against the rocky cave wall and passed out.

Billy's eyes closed. "Christine, where art thou, my child?" A strange and hard but warm and magical voice came. "Christine, you are a child of God in dark magic. You must survive. You are the begotten daughter of the mother of darkness." Billy started convulsing. Foam built up within his mouth and began bubbling out over his lips.

"No!" Billy screamed. "No. She is a child of God. She cannot die." Billy opened his eyes and began to sing, "In the name of Jesus, in the name of Jesus, I have the victory." He could feel something gripping him around his throat, cold and uninviting. "In the name of Jesus, in the name of Jesus, I have been set free," he sang, but dark magic continued to tighten its grip. Moments passed by as the world disappeared before his eyes. "Christine," Billy called out and lost his voice.

Tiger blinked. "Billy," Tiger called from the far end of the cave, "Billy, I'm going to get your Bible. I'm going to burn it. To save you." Tiger stumbled to his feet.

"No..." Billy tried to say, but no words came to his mouth. Before he could say anything else, Tiger leaped out of the cave, and Billy slipped into the past. A 58 Ford Thunderbird revved within his heart. His old friend Joshua checked out of the Apollyon Hotel a while ago deep in the heart of Texas. He was on his way to ruin California with his wife, Raquel. An uncanny AC/ DC song, Thunderstruck, entered Billy's mind.

As Frank started to step toward Mary, his six-foot-four torso swayed as though in slow motion. His long arms reached for her. She promised herself she would be brave. She would somehow get the better of him; but her mind struck a blank, and there, it remained.

Frank grabbed her hair. With his hands on either side of her head, he brought her face closer to his and rammed his tongue into her mouth. Bite the bastard's tongue off, she thought, rip it out of his mouth. Bite as hard as you can and don't let go. Mary did not do this. Before he bled to death, she thought, he would kill Christine and Michael in front of me and, after that, end my life in some sick fashion.

He was thirty-seven with a wrinkled face and crow's feet at the corners of each eye and in either corner of his mouth. Deep-set vertical lines ran down both sides of his face, and high cheekbones enhanced his devil-like features. His thick dry tongue moved within her mouth.

Mary stared at him. His high forehead, the receding hair on either side of his brow, his bushy eyebrows, and the red puffiness of his skin on his face against hers turned her stomach; and she vomited in his mouth.

Frank's eyes widened in shock and disgust. He pushed her away from him and into the wall, spitting her regurgitated muck out of his mouth and onto the kitchen floor. Lying on the floor, Mary let out a scream of pain. He broke her hip bone.

Erby's life was a rose garden up until Mable died, and from that point on, Erby changed. This painful experience weakened Erby, allowing dark magic to enter his mind and reshape his happy existence. Surely, there must be more to life than this. We are born, and if we are lucky—if there is such a thing called luck—we are raised, once again if we are lucky, we are raised by a good family, Erby supposed, and maybe, one day, we will get to the part where there is more to life than this or maybe we won't.

Maybe this is it, Erby pondered. Maybe it is what it is and nothing more. Went Erby sat with nothing to do, he would sit under the old willows, jacarandas, and royal palms on the Santa Monica Cliffs and wonder about life. At times his wonders made sense. At times, they would reshape his old and stale ideas and beliefs. But not today. Today, Erby was unable to think clearly.

Last week he bumped into Tiger. Tiger told him about the dead uncle. He knew there were only a few hours left. He was aware that Emma was safe and Christine saved for now. He dreamt about them last night and feared for the lives of Joshua and Raquel because he felt the devil reached them already, felt it in his bones.

Joshua blew his top; Erby was sure of it. While brushing his teeth, Erby's eyes happened upon his black book sitting on the magazine stand next to his toilet. It lay open, and on each of its exposed pages was a single drop of his blood. Erby saw Joshua's head explode. This morning, Tiger appeared to Erby in the mirror, a raging bull of dark magic with smoke coming out of his nostrils.

Yep, thought Erby, they would have to join soon: the good, the bad, and the rotten. They would have to leave from where they were and come together, but with whom would he side? Erby wondered. Certainly, it would be God, thought Erby, and not the devil.

Erby did not want to believe in the devil, but it was too late. It was on its way, and Erby knew this. Erby believed if he were decent, it would not get him. He decided to be decent. Sadly, Erby's perception of decent was different to the general perception of what decent was. These preconceived notions led Erby down a path filled with dangerously debauched magic.

Call him what you may: the faceless one, the shape changer, the leader of hell. Erby's mind continued to seek reason. Whatever the fuck you want to call him. All in all, he's the devil with darkness for a face, thought Erby, a devil with burning red coals for eyes, who feeds on your innermost fears, making good on his deals.

With Erby's deal almost done and his soul sold, he wondered if he would live to, finally one day, tell a tale. His tale. He did not know. Hope was a good thing, thought Erby. It keeps you alive. It keeps you going.

Feeling he needed to talk to someone soon, Erby worried about his mental health. Erby hoped Tiger would call him or write soon. He was afraid of the insanity that took upon itself to strike at the soft gray jelly within his head at those most unexpected moments.

Yesterday, Priscilla came to visit. She was happy, filled with good news; but now she was dead, and Erby caused her death.

Erby was sitting there, listening to her as she chatted away when he got the urge to smash in her skull. At first, he brushed away this urge to kill her, but it returned even stronger. Ashamed of his dark thoughts, he tried to get Priscilla to leave, but she ignored his request and continued to go on about the Silver Ball up in the Calvert Cliffs of Maryland.

He could not fight this urge anymore. He picked up the vase she was admiring and smashed it over her head. She gaped at him in confusion and fell over onto her left side. Good, thought Erby, almost as good as his climax when jerking off. Better than a cold shower and far better than fear. Oh yes. Erby shrugged. He felt powerful. He was in control and filled with a reborn confidence.

Yes, he jeered at Priscilla, now, bitch, what I say, goes. The urge to bash in her face licked his mind. Erby walked over to the fireplace, drew a poker from its holder, and returned to Priscilla.

He raised the poker to about ten inches above her forehead and brought it down fast, swinging hard. It hit her skull. There was a sick cracking sound. The poker tore through the skin covering the smashed-in bones within her head. Entering her prefrontal lobe, it caused her body to twitch and dance in rebellion like an insane headless turkey would do at a crazed voodoo ritual. Whys and whatnots, thought Erby.

The softness within the lining of Erby's robe caressed his shoulders and the nape of his neck. Tomorrow Miriam would come to visit. Would her life be in danger? Erby wondered. Maybe she should not visit, thought Erby. She should stay away. They should all stay away. Then the killing would stop, but they continued to tempt him with their smiles and gestures.

The next day, there was a knock at Erby's door. He walked toward it, praying it would be the postman. Erby opened the door. It was Miriam. She was dressed up, ready for action.

"Surely you can do better?" She noticed his face drop. "Come on, Erby."

"It's been awhile, and don't call me Shirley, bitch," he said, and they both laughed.

"It sure has, and I saw that movie," she said and laughed some more. Miriam strolled in as though she owned his apartment. Erby rented this place six months ago. Signing a contract for a year, he arrived at its show with a 911 Porsche Turbo. He was test driving the Porsche. He impressed the bejesus out of his landlord, resulting in a done deal.

Now, Erby wished time would back off some and give him space to breathe. He took this place because he liked the view, overlooking a large dam surrounded by evergreen shrubbery. Upon moving in, he realized his neighbors were not friendly. After a while, they began to give him uphill, especially after he complained to them about their rowdy encaged Butcher Bird, which he vowed to free. When his neighbors went shopping, Erby did just that: he freed their Butcher Bird.

Nowadays, all Erby could think about was getting out. He felt imprisoned by the rental contract they made him sign. Being who he was, Erby would never consider breaking it. It was not his style.

Miriam walked over to Erby's bookstand and drew a book from one of its shelves. "Ah, Erby, I see you have Dolores Claiborne. A real book. The best he has written?"

"Who?"

"King. You fool."

"Martin Luther?" Erby joked.

"No, Stephen," Miriam said, and she sighed.

"Stephen who?" Erby said.

"Look, I'm not in the mood for games. I came here to die."

"Why?" Erby asked in anger. "You have so much going for you: a large home, a fast car, a booming business. God. And money in the bank."

"Money isn't everything."

"No, but it sure does make the world go around."

"Do you think so?" Miriam asked and said, "I think looks play a major part in life, and look at me— wrinkled, old, fat, and ugly, not to mention pussy faced and hooked nose. Those two, my husband threw in recently."

"Miriam, you shouldn't."

Nevertheless, Miriam continued to talk, and she moved on to Maryland for some unknown reason. Erby's urge returned. In a matter of minutes, Miriam's head was sliced from her body with a curved steel blade attached to a broom handle. Her separated body parts lay at Erby's feet.

Miriam's nerves exploded, activating a shuddering scream. The mouth of her decapitated head opened and let it all out. Blood, mucus, and guts came together and left together. Her wailing bellow melded all in a divine matrimony of everything vile.

All while her eyes watched her headless body shake, rattle, and roll like a rag doll in the hands of a demented, mischievous girl on a mission to torture her favorite toys to death. Finally, Miriam's eyes closed at Erby's feet. She died with her mouth gaping, oxygen starved, like a dying sucker on the cluster-filled forked arm of an octopus deprived of water.

### Chapter 12

Virginia left Erby with bad memories. It was supposed to be the vacation of a lifetime, but it turned out to be his rape-place. He traveled all the way there, filled with excitement and expectation, only to be confronted by a hulk of a woman, kidnapped, tortured and raped. Her name was Judy, but she should have been called Little Lotta. These were Erby's thoughts at the time. She was a huge woman. Not accepting no for an answer, she took him to her parlor, and it happened.

Judy took off his clothes and hers, and they fucked each other gently while she roped his hands in a love game. Once captive, everything changed, starting with her expressions and ending with her inserting a double-sided dick into her vagina and against him where she penetrated his anus with this foreboding contraption. He screamed in pain and cried in protest of her vulgarity. Thinking she would never stop, he fainted, worn out and raw. When he awoke, she was gone.

Everything gone, including his penis and testicles. She sewed him up. Remaining was a slightly bloated layer of skin where his penis and testicles used to be. Erby swallowed. His eyes bulged in disbelief, his body numb with pain and his face blood drained. In denial, Erby reached for his jewels, checking between his legs and around his crotch. They were gone.

Looking down, Erby beheld Miriam in contempt.

"Now, I am in control, slut. I'm in control," he repeated, dragging his words. Taking her dead body by her dangling jugular, with her decapitated head under his left arm, he dragged her to the basement door, opened it, and shoved her and her head down the stairs. After a few vehement rolls, her body toppled backward and came crashing to the ground where her head struck violently.

Erby grinned, and under his breath, he said, "That was good."

His eyes were black and beady. In the dark, they shone like the eyes of a predator. In the daytime, they peered at humanity with hatred, anger, and fear. His hands, burned many times, were mutilated, and the skin on them was abnormally wrinkled.

With warped scars, Trevor was his name. Nobody knew this. He held another name. The city dwellers called him the Sandman.

Slade, Willie, and Kyle looked up from within Mother Hatherby's dugout grave; at the heap of damp, mossy sand that uncovered her coffin. It appeared mountainous. Slade dug further out on the left side of the coffin, opposite the hinges to add room for the maneuvering of its lid. The coffin exposed itself through the dirt. With their digging finished, their task was almost complete.

Remaining was the grand opening. In the distance, the wind howled more than ever before, and the surrounding trees whispered beneath the light of the gray moon that crept out to watch them through the dark clouds of the night sky. The three boys looked at one another; and by mutual understanding, they reached over, laying their hands on the lid simultaneously. Tightening their grip, they took hold of its lip as the most frightening part of their endeavor began. As they did this, a bloodthirsty magic far darker than the darkness surrounding them began in its challenge to see these three boys torn to pieces.

"The latches. They're open," said Willie.

"I know," Kyle whispered. They didn't lock them in the first place, he thought.

"Let's do it!" Slade shouted. Billy, my brother, you are missing out on this one, thought Slade. Not seeing Billy for a good while, he always thought of him at times like this. They did not only become brothers who met through the doings of their crazy foster parents, but they were good friends too—the best of friends. There was one thing bothering Slade when it came to Billy, and it was the constant wondering by Billy if Mother Hatherby was truly their mother.

That he and Billy were adopted was what Slade chose to believe. Adopted by Father Shibley and Mother Hatherby. He could not believe anything other than this. They treated him badly, and no matter how Billy pondered on it, Slade could not and would not allow himself to believe these monsters were his birth parents. Not in a million years could he ever think this, but Billy kept picking at it; and the more Billy picked at it, the further apart Billy and Slade grew.

The hinges on the lid to the coffin they were opening, screeched. Slipping out from within the coffin, squeezing its way through the groove made by the opening lid, was a small black book. The ghostliest of horrors entered their souls. As though it suffocated, and was in desperate need of air, this tattered book fell out of the coffin and onto the ground. It lay open, where on its last page it showed a single drop of blood for them to see.

Willie's face went white, and Kyle's eyes widened, looking as though ready to pop out of their sockets to escape in mad turmoil, and to run for dear life away from this madness. With the coffin open, they found themselves unable to examine it. The pungent odor of rotting flesh lingered in the air. Slade's chest filled with constant pounding. Images of his heart tearing through his rib cage and bursting free filled his mind. They were terrified to look, afraid of what they would see. "Willie, you be the first."

Slade was deadly sure that it was Kyle that just spoke. Could the fear in Kyle cause his voice to sound like an old lady, thought Slade, perhaps like Mother Hatherby?

Billy lay on his double bed, holding his pillow over his head. In his childhood back in Virginia, years before he met Tiger, Billy could not take the shouting and the screaming anymore. On each of the ends of his pillow, he pulled harder. It became difficult for him to breathe. He released his grip, and the screaming rushed under the pillow, causing him to take a quick gasp. He shoved the pillow over himself again.

In the darkness of his bedroom, Billy thought, why do they have to scream so? Can't they talk to each other like two civilized human beings? Billy's parents, Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley van Volt, argued every evening. Disguised as an ordinary conversation, it would start; but before long, it would progress into a heated explosion of anger between the two of them.

When things reached this level, Billy missed Mary the most. Billy wished Mary did give him away. If only she could have kept him, thought Billy. He hoped Mary would somehow discover he was given to foster parents who hated him, but it would be quite some time before she did. Little did Billy know these insane people he ended up with were not his foster parents at all. They were his birth parents who begot him long before giving him away as a child.

Mary adopted a baby, Mother Hatherby's baby, and she named him Michael. She could not keep Michael any longer because of Frank and the dangers Frank forced upon them all. Mother Hatherby discovered this when she caught up with Mary, Michael, and Christine. Mother Hatherby snatched her son back.

She was in the snatch mode by the time she caught up to Mary because before this occurrence; she snatched Billy's brother, Slade already, in the same manner, she did with Michael, whom she renamed Billy. Mother Hatherby had Mary fooled into thinking there was a good family taking care of Slade, a family excited to find Slade had a twin brother, a loving family loving the idea of getting Michael to care for and love.

She had Mary fooled further into believing Slade, Michael's un-identical twin brother, needed to be with his real brother. Although Mary did have to give Michael away, she was hoodwinked by Mother Hatherby's friend from child services in Virginia into giving Michael away to the wrong family altogether. The family taking care of Slade was not any foster family; it was the real deal, and a monster deal it was.

Mother Hatherby did the same thing with Slade. She tricked the family taking care of him too. After this, she sat with both her sons—sons she gave away at birth, and she did not tell either one of them she was their real mom. Neither did she tell them Father Shibley was their real dad nor that they were brothers.

They will never know, thought Mother Hatherby at the time. No, she could not tell them ever. It would scare them into talking, and she did not need them doing any talking. She set a goal, and she achieved it, and now she felt she possessed two great workhorses to tend to her lawns and clean house. This was what she wanted. Mother Hatherby always got what she wanted.

She believed it was far better this way. This way, Mother Hatherby skipped the diapers, doctors, and screaming babies, which she knew she would have drowned, at some point. Yes, she achieved her goal. She owned her boys again, and what was better than this; they had no idea they were her boys. Because of this, she believed she could treat them in any way she wished. Since she was a nun from the deity and her life partner a Catholic priest, to her, it felt safer pretending to be their foster parents.

No, I will never tell them, thought Mother Hatherby, and neither will Father Shibley. So, Michael was given to family all right, but it was Michael's real family. Billy's real family who never wanted him from the start. Not the kind, loving foster family who was supposedly taking care of Slade. Not the wonderful folks who would take care of and love Michael too.

Mother Hatherby's best friend, the one who worked for child services in Virginia, got Michael away from Mary. Just when Mary thought she did the right thing, that was when Mother Hatherby's friend snatched up Michael. Michael's name was changed to Billy. It was then they told him Mother Hatherby would be his new foster mom and he was told to forget Mary and never speak of her again. Mother Hatherby took him away to where she lived to live with her in total discord. He would live a new life, devoid of any harmony whatsoever.

Billy was lying in his bed going crazy from the insane sounds coming from his parents bickering within their house, in the heart of Virginia near Nolan's Trail and its pretty forests. First, Father Shibley would give Mother Hatherby's mom the rundown; and soon after this, Mother Hatherby would have her father-in-law by the balls, swinging him like a pendulum. Finally, with one gigantic throw, she would splatter him all over Father Shibley. That would be the end; fists would fly, and the screaming would start.

Mother Hatherby was a strong, stocky woman, and she would not take any of Father Shibley's bullshit as she often called it. Before Father Shibley could strike her for the third time, she would have, in her hands, the heavy steel frying pan, using it skillfully. As though trained in some strange art of frying-pan fighting, she never failed to gong Father Shibley on the head. Then the shouting would elevate to insane yelling—an evening event—and Billy hated it.

Billy would lie in his bed imagining how to get rid of these two beasts who, he believed, entered the minds of his foster parents every evening. He thought of locking his mother in the bathroom and calling Priest Charles to exorcise her and his father too, but this would be a hard task to carry out. No, he would have to wait until his dad was sound asleep; to creep into his room and somehow overpower him and kill that beastly magic of darkness within.

Billy already decided he would not ask his brother, Slade, for help. Slade always screwed up somehow and then was banished to the back house. A regular punishment assigned by Father Shibley, who would return later in the evening to spank Slade's bare bottom ruby red with a broad brown genuine leather belt. Once, Mother Hatherby placed Slade in a bean bag, and she hung him from the old oak tree for the entire night. It was winter, and Slade almost died; but thank God, he made it.

Mother Hatherby was a proud believer in spanking her children, believing it taught them respect. She would spank them both as often as she thought was needed, which turned out to be several times daily. She believed this would keep them on the straight and narrow, and it did. It helped to shut them up and to keep them in line.

Father Shibley was a healthy big man who trained at Gold's Gym for over fifteen years. Billy would have to move with great speed and skill. He would need some rope and a bottle of chloroform. Chloroform would be almost impossible to get. The rope, on its own, would have to do.

He was going to place him in a bath filled with Dettol, an antiseptic liquid, and let him soak for a few hours. Billy planned to throw crushed garlic and a few crucifixes into the bath. He owned a small bottle of magical water, which he collected last Sunday after catechism. He decided he would throw this in as well.

Sometimes, when Billy could muster up enough courage, he shuffled over to his locked bedroom door. He placed his ear over the groove between the frame and the door itself. Billy listen to the voices coming through the groove. They were not the voices of his parents but the voices of children. Children of the devil, shady and filled with dark magic.

This was when Billy was at his loneliest because this was when, he believed, his foster parents left him for a while. Not to go to the shop or to go visiting. They vanished into thin air, and he was left alone with the monsters in the next room, with insane yelling angry children of the devil.

Despondent and saddened, Billy shuffled to his bed. He climbed in and covered himself, thinking these weird thoughts of his were just this—thoughts and only thoughts. Are they merely thoughts with nothing much in them, behind them? Billy wondered. What if the monsters within his parents were real? What if these monsters discovered he figured them out? What if they began to sense my presence, thought Billy, with me in my room and all—you know, smell me—and by chance, what if they were starving?

Billy closed his eyes real tight, and like Grandma always said to do, he placed his pillow over his head. In the dark, he lay there with his hands over his ears, trapped within the quiet and shadowy corners of his mind. It was comfortable there with no screaming. There were muffled sounds, but the screaming could not make its way in.

In his mind, he could turn these muffled sounds into something else—beautiful and free. There, he could feel safe, he thought, but was he safe? He wondered what would happen if he were to open his eyes just in time to see that thing—that mangled, drooling, grunting abomination from hell staring at him. Billy took a deep breath, and while holding his eyelids shut, he vowed never to open them again.

Around this time, Trevor, the Sandman, would come on by and sprinkle magic over Billy's eyelids. Before he knew it, Billy would be in a deep sleep, far off from the real world and in a wondrous land where bad was crucified and replaced by good. Upon the dawning of each morning, the wicked was forgotten, but without fail, nightly it would return.

As though all was gone, the dawning of a new day brought with it fresh hope. The fear in Billy was absent, and once again, anything and everything was possible. Billy's heart smiled in the beauty of every morning sky as the joy began, but as nightfall crept closer, like clockwork, an unknown magic roped in the goodness. With every renewed second passing, demon-like tentacles of looming violence strengthened as they picked at this crumbling curtain of safety existing between the monsters in the darkness and the magic in the light.

### Chapter 13

In the bushes off the shoreline, the piece of paper stuck itself between two rocks, next to an abandoned fire pit. To the side of it, there were used coals from the fire and burned wood. Emma quickly searched through the blackened rubble and found a small stick charred halfway through. Yes, that's it, she thought. It was going to be her pencil while on the raft.

She knew the paper she grabbed would get wet, but she also knew it would dry out. Emma stuffed the paper under the top end of her blouse, and the stick went into the pocket of her Mickey Mouse jeans. Pablo already started moving the raft over to the edge of the shoreline, and the water began to get under it. It was moving a lot easier now. The time had come for them to leave. "Emma!" Pablo shouted.

Emma looked up and started to run toward him. "Papa."

Running fast, she reached the raft in time for her father to grab her arm and pull her up and onto its surface. She was out of breath. She landed on top of the raft with her one arm over her dead uncle's left leg. Flinching, she moved away from him quickly. Sitting Indian style, as far from him as the surface of the raft would allow, Emma placed her hand on her chest which, by now, was drenched by the ocean. There, she felt the warmth of the paper under the palm of her hand.

After drifting for hours, Emma took the paper out and laid it in the middle of the raft. Pablo knew what she was doing and hoped the paper would dry before the winds picked up and the waves became angry. Once the paper was dry, she started to draw on it, using the burned end of the stick. Pablo waited anxiously. The last time she drew anything, Emma drew a raft on the ocean. It was then that Pablo knew what he must do.

He thought of leaving for many years but never acted on it. A few weeks ago, when he saw Emma's drawing of them on the raft, he felt it was a sign, and he began making plans to leave. Pablo did not tell Emma he was reading her sketches because he felt if she knew, she would stop drawing. He believed this would dramatically change the course of their fate. He kept this to himself in the hope that whatever it was that was directing them would continue to do so.

Today, Emma drew again, and this was good for Pablo because he needed to know what to do next. He watched intently. At first, he could see a mountain that grew into a ball. On the mountain, she drew boxes. Coffins, thought Pablo, but they appeared empty, and there were two people there.

Two stick figures stood on the edge of a cliff. She drew a dress on the taller figure and Mickey Mouse jeans on the other stick figure, with long hair like Emma. It was two girls, thought Pablo, and oh my, the one girl is wearing your clothes. There is something behind them. Pablo studied her drawing as she sketched further. Was it smoke or mist? No, it was a cloud, thought Pablo.

"The cloud of the Pharaohs?" Pablo asked.

Emma giggled and said, "I don't know, Papa. A cloud—that's what I see, a cloud."

"Maybe the cloud of Moses."

"Moses?"

"Yes, the man who took those people out of a bad place."

"Christine?" Pablo pointed to the taller of the two stick figures. "Who is this Christine person?"

"I don't know, Papa. I feel she is my friend. I feel she is in trouble. Her father wants to kill her because of her mother. I can hear Billy. He calls her name. She is of our time, Papa, but not of Billy's, but she needs him. We do too." Emma's hands were bleeding. "Papa," she said, staring at him.

"I know," said Pablo. "The time is near."

Sitting cramped up in the closet, Christine tried to pray, but she could not. Her mother's cries scared and confused her. She feared for Michael, knowing Michael would be on top of the closet. Her mother told her what she planned to do if Daddy ever found them again.

What if Michael suffocated? Christine thought, bothered for some time by this. She did not ever mention her fears to her mother because she did not want to question her mother's tactics. She sat upright in the closet, imagining her brother going blue in the face like Andy when he swallowed an olive.

Andy was Christine's best friend. He was good to her. Not like Daddy. Andy was dead, and Michael was alive. She could not save Andy's life, but there was time to save Michael. Christine closed her eyes and whispered, "Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, please save my mommy." She opened her eyes once again and shuffled closer to the closet door.

Earlier, something strange came over Slade in the darkness of the night, warning him there was a message on its way. When the dove arrived at Slade's house a while ago, it was tired. It breathed hard, and it was hungry and thirsty. Feeling something was on its way, Slade kept his dove trap open. He placed food and water within.

Father Shibley, his foster dad, was an avid pigeon fan who entered tumbler contests. His dad's mates would stand looking up into the sky, waiting for a trained flock of birds to start tripping. It would not take long. Once the trap door of their pigeon loft was open, the doves would shoot up into the sky. After finding themselves in complete excitement, they would stick together. Higher and higher, they would fly in the perfect formation of a happy flock in the sky.

The excitement of finding one another after being fed a special diet and after being housed in total darkness for hours brought on their epilepsy. They tripped, high in the sky, and came tumbling. Once they began tumbling, Slade's dad and his mates would begin timing the length of each of their spinning falls. Slade's dad mastered the art of winning most of these contests. With research, he discovered a perfect cocktail of black-eyed peas and annatto seeds.

Father Shibley's concoction held the greatest secrets to bringing about the most violent seizures in the brains of these doves; his proud creation of timed spinners in the sky. Tumbling downward, they would drop to what appeared to be their inevitable death, but there were rules. The doves could not hit the ground and die.

If a tumbling dove hit the ground and died, a common occurrence, clocking would halt for that team member followed by disqualification. Slade's dad engineered his mixture to allow these seizures to last from twenty to sixty seconds. Enough time for each dove to come out of it. They would find their bearings and make their way up to the flock, avoiding other tumblers spinning past them, on their way back.

Earlier Slade left the trap door open, waiting for Billy's dove to arrive. Slade tried not to think too much about this. He believed dark magic seeped through in broad daylight. Slade was glad to be doing this during the, later, twilight hours. Afraid the children of the demons of darkness would read his thoughts, Slade tried to keep a still mind. And at all costs, he and Billy avoided speaking over the phone.

Slade expected to see the writing on the dove's note, writing from Billy; but most importantly, Slade believed there would be something else written on the note, from a goodness out there. From a power, he believed, that would tell him what both he and Billy needed to know.

At first, when Slade read the note, he was surprised. In the note, Billy told him to leave Virginia for California. He did not expect this. Although Slade did expect something, it was still a shock to see the writing on this dove's note. There was also a message on the note from that thing out there, and it gave him chills, all the way down his spine. Burned into the paper, it was. Striking white etchings. Not a burn causing blackening but burned out by a magical letterer were Slade's thoughts at the time.

Upon seeing this, its appearance caused Slade to freeze for a moment, filled with awe, adrenaline, and wonder. He was not afraid. Not at all. On the note, next to the white etched-out lettering, was Billy's words, saying Slade should leave immediately without any hesitation. With things to take care of first, things Slade believed to be more important; he considered leaving, but far later than the time he should have left. These last actions drew Slade right out of his safe zone and placed him directly in harm's way.

I have my priorities, thought Slade. I must dig up my mom before I leave, or this town will never rest. Time to fuck with this nun and rock her boat.

Rushing along with Willie and Kyle through the woods and seeing the eager anticipation in their faces got Slade's heart to smile broadly. They were here, on Mother Hatherby's grave, and they were more eager now than they ever were in their lives before. They were ready, and so was she.

The voice came again. "Come on, Willie. Stop shitting yourself and have a good look at me."

Slade held his breath. Now, he knew from where the voice came. The ground beneath them began to shake. In the coffin was what resembled a woman with splitting skin like a rotten plum. Her body was bloated and ready to explode. Her eyelids were not closed but open wide, and her bloodshot eyes glared at them.

Like a streak of lightning and in a flurry of mad laughter, she sprung. Willie was closest to her. She grabbed him by his throat and bit out a chunk of flesh. Willie screamed. His bladder let loose, and as he wet himself, he tried to push her away. Blood streamed down his shoulders and poured into her coffin, his jugular vein severed. Without medical assistance, thought Slade, his life would surely be lost—forever.

Mother Hatherby began to throttle Willie. "What took you so long?" she said, and then she yelled, "You weasel! I'll show you, fuckups. Mess with the faceless demon of hooded darkness, and sooner or later, the devil's burning red coals will fuck you in the ass and split your gut," said Mother Hatherby. She stumbled to her feet and raised Willie above her head.

Willie's face turned pale maroon, and his body, damp from his blood and urine, jerked fiercely. Hitherto frozen stiff, Slade and Kyle scrambled in a futile attempt to climb out of the pit. Again, tremors came beneath the souls of their shoes, causing the ground beneath them to sink. They slipped back into the pit.

Christine closed her eyes and began to cry. Mary's screams grew louder. She was afraid to cry; afraid Daddy would hear her and come for her. Stretching her hand out in the dark, she found the end of one of her mother's hanging dresses and stuffed it into her mouth. With her crying muffled and the sound of her whimpering blocked, soon, she would have to go to Michael; she would have to help him.

"Come here, you bitch. I'll show you." Frank was dragging Mary by her hair along the living room carpet. Her knees were burned, red, and raw. Blood covered her dress, and her face was swollen.

"Leave me alone," Mary said in a sad, whispery voice. "What do you want? Why are you here? Why do you think I moved?" she said while struggling to loosen his grip on her hair. "You expect me to live like this?" she screamed at him.

Not answering Mary, Frank continued to drag her toward the bathroom. Outside, his friends were laughing, urging him on as though he was a participant in a sick brutal death game. "Where is your money?" he shouted at her. "Where have you put it?" He dragged her through the bathroom's doorway where he let her hair go. Mary wanted to get up and run away. With her hip broken, all strength drained out of her.

If Mary held her purse with her, she would have given it to Frank. Maybe this would have made him go away. Earlier, things happened fast. She did not have the time to think. The purse was in her closet with Christine. Mary tried not to think about this, afraid he would read her thoughts, afraid he would find Christine and bring harm to her.

"I'll get it out of you. One way or the other." Frank reached for the bath tap, turned on the hot water faucet, and placed the plug securely. He turned around. Mary was there, lying on the floor like a wounded dog in the fighting pits of hell. He walked to her, bent over, picked her up, and walked over to the bath with her in his grasp. Mary started to kick and scream. Her frantic behavior did not bother him.

Frank held Mary about five feet above the bath. She knew what was to come next. He pulled his arms out from beneath her, and she went crashing. On her way, her head struck the dripping faucet, and her blood started to fill the bath.

From below, Mary peered at him. Thoughts of her children danced in her mind. Her eyes closed, and her body went limp. Frank gaped at her in sudden surprise. The dark expression on his face changed to one of shock.

"Mary!" he shouted while shaking her body, "Mary?" He slapped her across her face. "Mary?" He tried again, but there was no response. Frank slapped her once again and walked out of the bathroom.

It's not fun when you do not respond, Frank thought, boring. "Where have you hidden your purse?" he said softly. He walked to the kitchen and began to search through the cupboards, throwing pots and pans in every direction.

"Aha," he said and started to make his way to Mary's bedroom. Passing through her bedroom doorway, he walked toward her closet.

"Frank," one of his friends called from outside the house. He stopped midway between the bed and the closet.

"What the fuck do you want?" he shouted. There was no reply. He reached for the closet handle, took a firm hold of it, and pulled it open.

There at the bottom of the closet lay Mary's purse. Frank bent over and grabbed it, took all her money out, and threw the empty purse on Mary's bed. He went to the bathroom. Searching Mary's pockets, he found her Marlboro Reds, covered in her blood.

The bath water was running. Frank took a cigarette out of the pack, lit it, and inhaled. Before walking out, he slapped Mary across her face one more time, and he left.

Digging Mother Hatherby up was supposed to be as exciting as bungee jumping over Christchurch in New Zealand. That's what Kyle thought, hearing about the bungee part over Father Shibley's CB Radio while visiting his friend, Slade. Being Slade's abusive foster mother and a banished nun added to his excitement of digging her up. In Kyle's mind, a wacko, a happy clapper who became—

"A witch?" said Kyle in a questioning manner. He needed to know if she was truly a witch. Impossible were Kyle's thoughts at the time. He needed to know for certain. It was supposed to be part of his ritual of uncovering the truth. Willie and Slade were eager, but their enthusiasm did not match his.

Mother Hatherby gained the title of Mother at a nunnery in Rome. She was sent to Newport News, Virginia, to teach at Poor Clare Monastery, a cloistered Franciscan nun order. After three years of teaching, she disgraced Father Shibley by falling pregnant. Father Shibley was sent to Rome immediately to repent, and Mother Hatherby went into hiding. Nine months later, she returned to Newport News, a changed woman.

She gave her babies, two fraternal twin boys, up for adoption. At first, she pretended to be happy with her new life. Finally, her guilt caught up to her, knocking her senses flying and leaving her eccentric and crazy. Later, Mother Hatherby tried to find her boys again.

Mother Hatherby discovered her two boys were adopted separately by a Virginian couple and a Texan couple, who took them out of state. She thought she would never see her boys again, but she was Mother Hatherby, and being who she was, she could not leave things be. She vowed to get her babies back. She achieved this in secret, with dirty underhandedness, through foul dealings, rotten to the core.

### Chapter 14

The townsfolk held the opinion Mother Hatherby Thorndike was a witch and not only a witch but one with magical powers, or so they said. Three weeks after Mary Lander's son died, Gretchen's cat was found pinned to her front door with a six-inch dagger.

A month following this, Mother Hatherby's sister, the town sheriff's wife, Lola Thorndike, bumped her big toe, which swelled blue, resulting in the eventual amputation of her leg.

Upon phone calling her brother, Steve, in California to inform him of the news, Lola found he had gone crazy. Billy had no idea Steve was his uncle. He had no idea Lola asked Steve to keep an eye on him. Billy thought Steve was merely some crazy guy living in Southern California.

Thinking Steve was purely someone who happened to pass him occasionally, who through a kind word here and there at Billy; Billy believed this was the only reason that prompted him to befriend Steve. Little did Billy know almost every time he bumped into Steve, Steve planned for it to happen. With each encounter; a constant attempt was made by Steve to stay close enough to check on Billy's safety, for Lola. Billy continued to remain oblivious to this.

Lola made up her mind to get to Billy one way or the other. She was a determined soul. She made herself a promise to look out for him, and she planned to keep it. First, she would have to see to Steve, and then she planned to take care of Billy. Over the phone to Lola, Steve went on talking about some Silver Ball up in the Calvert Cliffs of Maryland.

Steve told Lola about Sarah. He said something about her being dead. He told Lola he could not talk long because Sarah was hungry, saying after dinner, he would rub her feet and put more cream on her. He said her skin was—

The phone died. It was the last time Steve would ever get to speak to his sister. Not long after, on a cold and lonely night, Lola Thorndike died from a severe infection stemming from her amputated big toe. Although found with a great big butcher knife stuck in the side of her head, this was not what killed her.

Lola's bad leg coupled with the bitterly cold filled her soul with the monsters lying wait in her heart. Finally, the monsters got her, and they killed her. She left the townsfolk behind by kicking the bucket, and flying off on her way to hell but not before arranging a gathering of the townsfolk to decide Mother Hatherby's fate.

The last straw was when Basil, Lola's lover, was found sliced in two by the old dockyard with a note attached, saying, JOSHUA WAS HERE. The townsfolk knew Joshua. They knew he grew up with Billy. They knew the boys were friends. They did not think for a second that Joshua caused Basil's death, so it all got pinned on Mother Hatherby with Lola taking the lead in ensuring Mother Hatherby would not live to see another day.

The townsfolk also knew Lola seduced Joshua. They knew Joshua, unbeknown to Raquel, took it upon himself to see to it Lola had all she needed, and they never believed for one second Joshua would, or could, be capable of murder. After pinning it all on Mother Hatherby, coerced by Lola, the townsfolk decided Mother Hatherby must go.

The women of the town got together and arranged a secret meeting up at Riverside Beach near Lions Bridge. It was there where they vowed to take care of the menace they believed continued to bring tragedy into their once-peaceful lives.

Six days after the day of the vow, Mother Hatherby died mysteriously. There was no autopsy and no deeper investigation by Sheriff Doppler. Later, it was Slade who discovered, by way of the pipeline, Lola Thorndike, the sheriff's wife, headed the meeting. The townsfolk decided to bury Mother Hatherby in a secret spot by the Maury River, deep in the woods.

Rumor has it one stormy night the old bitch broke the latches to her coffin and crawled out from beneath the ground. Willie, Kyle, and Slade were uncovering this mystery and foiling the never-ending gossip concerning Mother Hatherby's deadly presence in the town.

By the time their shovels struck her coffin, Willie was dancing, holding a full bladder. Kyle was uncertain as to whether his body was shivering from the cold or shaking from sheer fright. Slade stood tall and brave with his large blue eyes open wide and his face shining. Little did they expect to be confronted by Mother Hatherby, who was now in the process of tearing their good friend Willie to pieces in the pretty blue haze coating her grave.

Cara's mind was out of control. On Route 66, Raquel was rising from her slumber, and Joshua rose already. The demons of possession, Henry and Cara, found themselves separated and trapped in the real world they originally left behind. They became the devil's prey with nowhere to hide in a world where they were human, where they could bleed and where they could feel, and this was worse than hell for them. Should have had a photo of Joshua, thought Cara. The possession would have been that much stronger with a photo. If they leave Texas we will die, she thought, and if they continue to fight the devil, we will die. We must strive to stop them once and for all before the devil finds we have failed him, she thought, and we must ensure that Tina remains dead.

Images of blood-covered babies and wounded toddlers filled her head. "No!" she shrieked. "Devil, get away from me. I have three pages left in my book, you bastard. We made a deal!" she yelled. "And you need to stick to your word." Cara frowned upon realizing that she was now living their lives, the lives of the bleeders the feelers and the lives of heartache. Suddenly, she held a little black book too, and she also made a deal with the devil. A deal she could not remember, but she remembered that her time was almost up, and she was overwhelmed with the intense feeling that she needed to run or die.

Cara's little black book was almost full. She dripped a drop of blood on each page, counting the days as she did so. A page a day. That is what she was told to do. With three days left, she was on the run trying to hide, but there was nowhere to hide.

Cara found herself running along, Crawford Road, an old dirt road, a road that claimed the lives of many throughout the years. She vowed never to come here, promised to stay away; but while driving around, she took a wrong turn that led her to an overpass at Crybaby Bridge, a small bridge on the outskirts of York Town. It was covered in graffiti. Cara stopped her car under the bridge. Something urged her to get out and look around.

She did, but upon returning to her car, she found that it would not start. It was dead. Then the feeling of filth came, and she abandoned her car and started running. Cara felt strange. "Henry, is that you," she shouted. In the darkness, there was no answer. She sensed an erroneous air of goodness filled with unspeakable evil. He's going to fuck me and leave me to the wolves. He's going to tear off my skin and use it to beautify himself. The cunt licking whore. Cara allowed her thoughts to linger within her mind, but at the same time, she tried to take no notice of them.

The foreboding chariness within Cara increased a hundredfold. She deserted her dead car a mile back under Crybaby Bridge, afraid to remain in it, afraid to stand still. Cara kept moving. Something in the darkness was after her, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it from coming. To ignore her inner voice any further, she thought, would not be wise. She braced herself and began running faster.

Ahead of Cara at the foot of the road's curve, where the green lands brushed up against the outskirts of the Maury River, she saw an exquisite Victorian mansion overlooking the bay. Within the mansion upon a bed rimmed with an antique finish laid Mary Delphine, who, in Cara's sudden apparition, came across as Billy's Dream Queen. Sprawled out on the Arabian rug in front of the bed lay Brutus, Mary's Dogue de Bordeaux French Mastiff. Michael, Mary's three-year-old kid, slept in the cot on the far end of the room.

Within the mansion, Mary's hands groped at the silky ends of the continental pillow surrounding her blonde hair. Mary's body was shivering violently. A new dream, one intending to become a nightmare, began to overpower Mary's mind. Her eyes searched through the dead darkness, trying to escape this dream.

Christine heard the back door slam. She climbed out from under the bed where she repositioned herself and checked the window. Frank and his friends were ambling down Golden Hill to the tram stop. Christine closed the curtains and went to the bathroom. The water was running. She stretched for the faucet and closed it.

Reaching her hand under her mother, she pulled the plug; and in doing so, she felt something in the bathroom with her. It was not her grandmother, not Michael, but another presence, which was warm and inviting. As she tried to pull Mary from the bathtub, the presence grew stronger, and this helped her. She wondered if she was feeling God, but this presence felt more boyish and mortal. It's coming, thought Christine, and she felt a tingling sensation in her hands.

A grimy pathway led Lola Thorndike to her final death and her entry into hell. She was sitting in the cold with her hands in pain. Lola rubbed baby oil on her hands, and she wrapped them in plastic, but this did not help. This cold weather is going to be the death of me, she thought.

The long fingers of Lola's anemic hands caressed the infected stump left behind after the amputation of her right leg. Wondering if Joshua would call her, her heart cried out for Basil, her lover whom Sheriff Doppler found dead by the train tracks. Sleepers, she thought, puzzled.

Although Lola was a Doppler by marriage, she was a Thorndike by blood. She was proud of this. Her pride drove her to ruin any Thorndike whom, in her mind, dabbled in destroying the family name. Lola's law was different from the legislation of the land. She felt she could screw up as she wished, if no one knew about it and if she did not get caught.

She got caught not only by her husband, Sheriff Doppler but by Joshua too. Lola met Joshua through Billy whom everyone believed was Mother Hatherby's foster child. Although Billy warned her Joshua was a player, she still pursued him. Then she seduced him; and inevitably, because of who she was as a person, she tried to own him. As she sat in the cold, her body shivered. Not knowing why Joshua stopped calling, she sat alone, detached and confused.

It didn't matter; she thought because she didn't think Joshua would love her anymore. Not now. Her good leg started going numb about an hour ago, and she could barely feel her hands. Not anymore, she thought, not after what they did. Mother Hatherby was probably dead by now, and Lola was behind it all. She got them fired up; and she got them to bury her sister, the bitch, alive.

That's what you were supposed to do with bitches, right? thought Lola as she shook her head. If only Joshua sent me the cash, I could have paid the electricity bill and the water. I could have some heat, she thought, or a TV to watch at least. If only the sheriff did not kick me out like I was a piece of shit.

Everybody makes mistakes, thought Lola. If only, I would be in my warm home and I may not have kicked my toe, and I may not have lost my leg. Lola looked at her black book. It was full. Is this how it is supposed to feel before your heart stops? she thought. Lola could feel something coming. Dark, filled with strange magic - on its way.

Before falling to her side and dying, Lola put her hands to her face and began to cry. Lying on the table in front of her was a large butcher knife. When Lola looked up again, the butcher knife disappeared. Lola looked around. There was no one there, but she could feel something. Something deep, dark, and ominous was with her at her side. She was in its presence. Feeling it sniffing her, Lola closed her eyes and made the sign of a cross over her chest.

Speed, Tiger's brother, became a thing stuck in the past, and Billy felt entirely responsible. Billy's eyes were red and sore; his heart raced, and his head felt as though it was about to explode. He could not save Speed. The consequences for those who dabbled in the monkey dance were high.

It was too high for Billy's liking, and Tiger was angry about this, but this was not the real problem. There was something else. In front of Billy stood the front desk of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. Its surface spotless. In the past hour, Billy wiped it over a countless number of times.

The phone had not rung in a while. The hotel was full, and no one else would be checking in tonight. All was quiet, except for the elevator. Now and then, it would move to the lobby, open, close, and move up. At this point, George, Billy's imaginary friend, would step out of the elevator and into the lobby.

Billy liked to think of George as one of the good guys. George was created for Billy, by Billy, while he was in Virginia. Done to ease his fear of the unknown. Depersonalizing the elevators actions helped. It kept his thoughts on track. If George was thought to be good, the elevator could do its own thing all night, and Billy would not be afraid of its ghostly operator.

This night was different. This night Billy listened for more than George, and as the elevator began to move, his heart skipped a few beats. His palms were sweaty, and his eyes kept watch. The lobby had two glass doors, one on Billy's far left and one on his far right. Extending from door to door was a glass wall, which surrounded the lobby. Everything outside the front of the hotel was visible from the reception. And although Billy could see all around himself he felt strange. Something was watching him, something he could not see, but it was there.

### Chapter 15

No matter how tough Mary tried to be, this dream was too strong to resist. Her spiraling thoughts funneled their way through to its blackest depths. Such dreams crazed Mary's mind upon several occasions in the past. Dreams that in turn became reality. They would start with strangers drawn into her mind. She would watch them die.

These deaths did not concern Mary, only dreams, she would say; but when the names in the obituary column of the Daily News began to match those within her dreams, she became suspicious. When her neighbor died, she realized the happenings in her dreams were real.

Mary sensed Brutus at the foot of her bed and Michael cuddling in his cot. Not wanting to draw them into her dream and afraid for their lives, she tried not to think of them. As though in a tug-of-war, death game, she grabbed her thoughts and pulled at them. These attempts to break away drew her deeper into the darkness.

With her resistance crippled, Mary was reeled into the dream kicking and screaming. Within her dream, she became the wind and moved above the trees and over the hill. Mary blew toward Nolan's Trail—passing over Mother Hatherby, Willie, Kyle, Slade—and through a sacred part of the forest. Once there, she became the trees.

Peering around, she felt powerful. Mary could feel the sap from the tall oak-hickory and pine forest trunks running through her veins. Below she could see a woman running. Seconds later, the name Cara flashed before her eyes. She focused. Cara wore a red velvet gown, or was it red? Mary wondered.

The shadows of the coming night pooled into the Thunderbird like something viscid and alive. Drizzle entered the broken rear window and pitter-pattered on the backseat, waking Raquel. Joshua was driving.

"Joshua," Raquel called.

"Yes, my chicken."

"Did we stop? What happened to the girl on the side of the road?"

"We did stop, but you fell asleep, and I decided to rest awhile, but we are back on the road."

"What are we going to do with Tina?" asked Raquel. "We will bury her about forty miles from Los Angeles, off the side of the road." A loud, angry thump came from the back of the Thunderbird.

"What was that?" Raquel choked her words out.

"We must've hit a rabbit or a snake, wrapped it around the tire or something, but I didn't see anything," said Joshua.

Raquel observed him. "Strange. I know that noise. I've heard it before." She swallowed.

"As I was saying," Joshua interrupted, "we will go to the airport and hope for the best," he said with a smile.

"I don't know what got into you, Joshua. Why? Why did you kill Tina?"

"It wasn't me," Joshua said, staring at the road. "I know I did it. It's not me. It was something inside of me." Entranced, he continued driving. In his brain, a nerve stem pinched causing a slight twitch below his left eyebrow.

Raquel became silent. She watched the road ahead, succumbing to the hypnotizing effect of the luminous green cat's eyes that rushed up to the front of the Thunderbird and disappeared under the center portion of its front end. Something inside of you, she thought, your anger. Yes, it was your temper, dear.

If you prefer to disguise it as something else, thought Raquel, fine, go ahead. Running at you with a butcher's knife like she did, I suppose, Tina had it coming. Never let you into my thoughts, dear. Couldn't allow you to think I was for violence. Butcher's knife and all, Raquel thought. She closed her eyes and slipped into a dream state.

In the last month, Raquel's honeyed dreams grew into vicious nightmares, but Raquel was a fighter. When the wicked dreams came, she would not try to escape them. Instead, she would fight her inner demons with her all - until, she believed, they dissolved. Then and only then would she force herself awake. Now with Joshua driving, while she slept keeping herself in her dreams - unbeknownst to her - within the empty corners of her imagination crept many creatures of the dark; dancing monsters hiding in the shadows of her mind, lying in wait for the perfect moment to prance upon her and devour her soul.

Billy was sitting on the side of the road, playing with his toes. Strange as it may seem, strange as it is, thought Billy. Strange to be free and yet bound by the conventions imprisoning this freedom of which we seek so freely. No. No. Not free at all. Glamorized and portrayed as such yet chained down and held captive by the laws that created it. Freedom, the poor fool.

Deep in thought, Billy's eyes were watery. He was staring vacuously ahead. Wool so tight, it pains. Blindfolded by brotherhood and constrained with blood. Ripples in the sand and dunes in the ocean. Rippled by the wind and mounded by the storm. What is this thing called life?

Billy thought, what are the wonders of strife? Tell this poor, blind soul. What is the joy of freedom? Is it not but a toy, coy, and folly to be tossed, to and fro, to and fro? "Freedom," said Billy. "Oh, I think not, or maybe so?"

Covered in mud, Billy's feet were cold. When he fell asleep an hour ago, he did so in a warm, cozy bed in room 13 at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel in Laguna Beach, California. When he awoke, he was in the park three blocks away from Kyles' childhood home in Virginia. Billy closed his eyes, and Billy's mind took him to his room in his home in his hometown.

In his room, in his childhood, in Virginia, Billy opened his eyes and glanced at the wind-up Mickey Mouse clock on the side table next to his bed. He stared at the clock for a while, wishing he could stop its hands from moving and freeze time. He could see himself sleeping snuggled up in his bed when suddenly his alarm clock sounded. Billy jumped. He opened his eyes. Awake, in his younger self, he rushed to get ready for school.

On running to the bathroom to brush his teeth, Billy did not notice his mother lying dead on her bedroom floor. Nor did he, on the way to the refrigerator, notice his father wrapped around the balustrade, mangled. What he did notice while brushing his teeth was blood on his hands. It was dry blood. The gummy kind, the kind that was there for a while, not his blood but someone else's. Surely, it was blood from someone other than me, thought Billy.

Billy's heart plunged. He could feel breathing on the nape of his neck from that thing he believed was not there. He could smell something too. An awful something.

It is the smell of death, thought Billy. Billy was surely too young to place such a scent, but he was not that young after all because he remembered the same awful smell the day his mom left dog bones to burn to a cinder, on the gas stovetop.

"Smells like death," his dad said to him at the time, remembering the burning bodies from his life experiences in the war-ridden forests of Vietnam. Billy never forgot, and today, he could smell death around himself.

The Breather, thought Billy, he smells the same. He is not real, Billy told himself. He is not here, but I can smell him, Billy thought. I can smell him behind me. I can feel him breathing on my neck. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end and gooseflesh coated his arms.

Billy closed his eyes. "God, please make it go away." But it did not go away because it was not there to start with and it was never there. What touched my shoulder, thought Billy, and from where did this smell come?

"Billy Thorndike, you son of a bitch, what the fuck are you doing?" Billy was sitting at the far end of a table dressed in white. He turned three chairs and was trying to place the fourth chair on top, in pyramid fashion. Doing this wrong side up did not work. The chairs fell.

"Sorry, man. I'm trying to think."

"If you need something to think about, think about quitting this shit," said the orderly.

The chairs came crashing once again.

"Quit it, fucker."

"Fuck you." The room temperature began to rise fast. Billy reached for another chair, but before he could do anything with it, the orderly grabbed his arm and started fisting Billy's face to the ground. Billy saw something in his mind that captured his full attention. The orderly noticed the change in the room temperature, but did not see anything other than a morbid expression coating Billy's face, an expression making the orderly's heart stop in its tracks.

"What the fuck." The orderly began to back off. The expression he saw in Billy's eyes, on Billy's face, was an expression of something that terrified him in the past; this exact horrid thing, he saw it before, a long time ago. It was a horror from his past, one that haunted the orderly all the days of his life. A horror that he tried so hard to forget. Billy's face exhibited features in such a way that they drew this past insanity into the present, leaving the orderly paralyzed by what, to anyone else, would seem meaningless but to him, these were the worst hauntings of his life, dangling menacingly before his mind's eye.

What the fuck happened to Billy's parents? Where did they go? And what was Billy in for? These were the questions on the orderly's mind before he died. His heart stopped, and he dropped to the floor. The chairs fell once again, and Billy continued in his attempt to build a pyramid with the wrong-side-up chairs.

"Baby, you gotta get up for school," said Father Shibley.

"Come on, Dad, not today. Today—"

"Billy, you need to get up."

"But, Dad—"

"Listen."

"What?"

"Can you hear it?"

"Dad?"

"It's your mother. She's coming." Billy's heart began to race.

Billy woke from a strange dream within a dream; just in time to stop himself from falling off the high stool behind the front desk at the Laguna Palm Spa Hotel on Laguna Beach in Southern California. He dosed off. Upon grabbing the edge of the desk to stop his fall, his mind began battling; running over, searching for what he did not know. He remembered Father Shibley waking him, and he remembered his heart racing upon hearing that his mom was on her way, but most of all he remembered the dream. Something about that dream made him think of, The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar. This was a short story he loved to hear his mother read. It was a story of a dream, within a dream; skillfully written by Roald Dahl. He told his dad about it, but his dad brushed it off. Told him it was just a dream. Why would he dream of a dream that terrified him as a child? Why did it suddenly come back to him, now? Billy wondered. Do dreams really try to tell you something?

"Do they try to warn you," he asked Father Shibley? "They warned Daniel," Father Shibley said, "They warned David. And they warned Judas Iscariot too, but he did not listen, and he fell head first and burst asunder in the mist, and all his bowels gushed out, and he killed himself with a rope around his neck."

"Which is it?" Billy asked Father Shibley, in confusion. "Which one is right? Did he hang or did he fall to his death?"

"Both are right," Father Shibley said, "He landed himself with a rope around his neck, hanging from a tree, and although the rope snapped, it was too late. By the time his head hit and his bowels burst, the devil had him." Either way," Father Shibley said, "Judas was long dead already."

Tiger's going to kill me tonight, thought Billy. He's going to slit my throat. Strangle me until I'm blue, lifeless and dead, he thought. About three days ago, after the cave, Tiger began acting strangely. His speech was slurred, his walk changed, and he smiled a most unusual smile more than usual.

Since then, Tiger did not come to work. Too much nose candy, thought Billy, the fucker said he would sell and only sell. Tiger could not resist. Last night, Tiger called the front desk and asked Billy to come to their room, their second room in the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. After trashing room 13, together, they chose to share room 313 as a spare room, allowing time for the mattress, wet from the Jacuzzi of room 13, to dry out.

Upon reaching their spare guest bedroom, Billy entered looking at Tiger, who was lying sprawled out on the king bed.

Tiger was playing in the snow, toying with some blow. "You want a line?" Tiger asked.

"No thanks, Tiger. I must get back to the desk. Why did you call me all the way up here?"

"Billy, I'm scared," said Tiger. "I called you up here because I'm starting to feel funny." Tiger looked at Billy and smiled sluggishly. A smile, seeming to last forever.

"Tiger, you look bad. You don't look good at all." Billy wanted to help Tiger, to save Tiger, but he did not know how. He thought by telling Tiger how bad he looked. He thought by doing this he would make Tiger think, get him to wake up, and slow down a bit; to take it easy. As Billy spoke, Tiger began to breathe heavily. Tiger's head jolted backward, and his arms stretched above his head, groping at the pillows and sheets beneath.

"Tiger!" Billy shouted. "Tiger, what the fuck is wrong with you? Tiger." Billy's words lost themselves in the room, and Billy froze as fear and dread rushed into him. "Tiger!" Billy yelled.

Tiger's entire body became stiff as a form of rigor mortis began to set. His lungs heaved for air, and his arms flew over his head, groping at his pillows. Tiger's neck swelled, and in a root-like menagerie of wild beasts, a network of veins bulged over his entire body.

"Tiger." Billy needed to do something. His mind raced for an answer. Oh, my God, what is happening? he thought. The fuckhead is dying on me. I can't let him die.

Billy rushed and grabbed Tiger by each arm and pulled his stiff body off the bed. Tiger landed on his knees. He stared Billy in the eye with blank eyes that were far away. They appeared dead.

"Tiger!" Billy shrieked. Holding Tiger's wrists, he dragged him across the carpet, scraping Tiger's knees to the bone.

Tiger flung his hands around to loosen Billy's grip on his wrists. Grinning, he grabbed Billy's hands.

Billy shouted, "Devil, let loose!" He tried to pull free from Tiger's sweaty hands. They slipped away but not in time to stop Tiger from grabbing the sleeves of the thick Tommy Hilfiger jacket, Billy wore. Quickly, Billy flung the jacket off and over his head. With its sleeves imprisoned in Tiger's large hands, Billy was free. Billy stepped backward, and Tiger advanced. While staring at Billy, Tiger took each end of the heavy jacket, ripped it in two, and threw it to the ground.

Billy spun around and ran for the closed door. Tiger ran after him but tripped over his shorts, pulled off his firm buttocks earlier while being dragged along by Billy. Billy's trembling hands grabbed the door chain. He unchained it and tried to open the door leading out of the room to the hotel's dimly lit passageway.

Cara was at least several miles away from her car. She passed Mary's Victorian mansion and made her way around a strange-looking peak through a bunch of trees with a thorny under foliage. Cara's arms got scraped with many bleeding cuts from these thorny bushes. Covered in blood, her white evening gown was red.

Cara's heart raced rapidly. Her nerves were out of control. For a moment, she felt her heart stop. Part of her figured this to be impossible, but she was trapped in an extraordinary domicile where impossibilities became possible. In the distance, she could hear a young boy screaming, but felt there was nothing she could do about it but listen.

Many screams followed. They sounded like the cries of boys in terrible danger. Cara felt ugly, as though she did something wrong. This murky feeling encouraged her to run faster.

Growing stronger, was a feeling of filth. Cara slowed down to a light jog. "Is it me, or is something after me?" Cara closed her eyes and shook her head. "You don't need to go thinking too much," she said, "or you'll get yourself killed."

The door would not open. The deadbolt, thought Billy. He took hold of the deadbolt and twisted it. Tiger was getting up. Billy shook the door handle. The door opened, and Billy charged out.

He did not wait to see if Tiger would come after him. In running to the elevator, he heard banging and crashing from behind. Tiger was screaming like a lost hound burning in a pit of fire. On reaching the elevator, Billy thought, fuck this shit, and charged down three flights of stairs to the lobby.

The lobby was quiet, empty, and cold. Heaving, Billy looked around through the lobby's glass frontage. He could see it was raining outside. Billy walked over the old French tiles of the lobby floor to the front desk and checked the register. It was locked, no tampering. The hotel's money was there.

With his heart racing, Billy pulled out the wooden stool from beneath the desk. Sitting for a few seconds, Billy wondered if his friend, Tiger, would kill him tonight. He could not leave the front desk unattended for too long. It was getting close to checkout time. There was too much money in the register; he would not risk leaving again. He questioned if Tiger would make it through the night. Billy's mind raced on as his thoughts took over his head. Time would pass by as it always did. Dawn would come, and dusk would fall, thought Billy. The cycle would continue; and as expected, all would age, whether it be human, dead or alive. Whether it was man-made or molded out of the forces nature persistently manufactured...

Things were too quiet, and the elevator seemed to have frozen after the banging.

### Chapter 16

Sitting on the stool between the front desk computers, Billy closed his eyes, thinking, in time, all would cease to exist. Although an ancient reminiscence of what used to be, may dwindle for a while, it too would perish, leaving nothing but energy behind. Energy; the source of existence, thought Billy.

When Billy opened his eyes again, he was lying on the queen bed in room 13. Quickly, he sat up, grabbing the phone from his bedside table. He dialed the front desk to discover Tiger working. Tiger was fine.

"I'm at the front desk, Billy." Tiger laughed out his words. "I'm alive, buddy."

Billy laughed out aloud, relieved. "It was the strangest thing, Tiger. I was sure I went back up to your room and you—"

"Billy, I'm fine. You better get some sleep. You work in the morning."

"Sure thing," said Billy and hung up, wondering what just occurred. He was sure this was a premonition, a warning. Billy closed his eyes and dozed off while thinking about the monsters he began to sense around himself. "I hope they don't get me" were his words as he drifted off into a deeper sleep. Below his eyelids, his eyes panned, searching through the darkness within the slumber of his sleep.

The Thunderbird hit a pothole, and Raquel's eyes opened in time to see a road sign that read twenty miles to Los Angeles. "Joshua, what about Tina?"

"I've taken care of her, Raquel. You've been asleep for a while."

"Do you mean to say you've buried her already?" the words came with no thought.

"Yes. A strange thing happened."

"And what was it?"

"When I'd reached the spot where I planned to bury Tina, there was a grave dug out and ready."

"Are you serious?"

"Raquel, it's as though Tina had to die again. As though her death was rewritten. I dropped Tina into the dugout grave, and there the shovel was leaning up against the nearest tree. I picked the shovel up and started to cover the pit, and when I was finished—"

"Why didn't you wake me, Joshua?" Raquel asked, sitting in the passenger seat with her face grimaced. A lost fart in the desert, she thought, I'll introduce you to Dr. P. I. Read. I'm sure we can do something about it. Possibly, shock treatment. That should do the trick.

"You've been through enough," Joshua said and took a deep breath. "Once I'd covered the six-foot pit, I heard a muffled scream. Tina did not want to die." He knew what he was to say next would terrify Raquel. His face grew paler.

"Raquel, Tina wanted revenge. She turned to the dark side, but the darksiders were hungry, and they devoured her before she could see us suffer," Joshua told Raquel the whole story.

Raquel slept while Joshua carried Tina to the already-dugout pit. He dragged Tina to the edge of the pit and dropped her in. Her body thwacked the ground, and her almost-immortal spirit awoke but not entirely. Stuck in the pit of her grave, part of Tina, a small part, did awaken.

Upon realizing where she was, in the darkness far, far away, a wailing began. Tina started to squeal and shriek within a nightmare. She awoke, finding herself in the grave dug out for her. Tina tried to get out, but the sides were too high. The Something made sure of it.

With blood streaming, out of the hole in her skull, Tina begged and pleaded for Joshua to free her. Joshua acted fast. He grabbed the shovel and started to shovel the sand in, and then he stopped shoveling. As though willed to, he looked into her eyes; they were filled with blank unmitigated barbarity. He started shoveling again, far faster and harder than before. Tina gained strength from Joshua's fear. She reached for the side of the pit.

Terrified she would get the better of him, Joshua broke away from her glaring eyes, ran to the Thunderbird at the top of the ramp, and opened the back door. The .38 revolver was under the seat. He grabbed it. Deep from within the pit, Tina let out an eerie shattering scream as though she somehow saw Joshua's actions and felt his intentions. This sent shivers down his spine, causing his throbbing heart to strike at his chest. With a firm grip on the revolver, he ran to the pit. Tina was screaming. Joshua pointed the gun at her and gave her six of the best.

In her slumber, Raquel was ripped through the curtain of time. Coming out on the other end she found herself confronting Billy. She grabbed hold of his shoulder, and let go again. Then, swinging hard at Billy, she backhanded him across his face. Billy flew backward and struck the side of the cave's rocky wall. Falling to the ground, he lay unconscious in the coolness of the cave.

Beneath his eyelids, Billy's eyes rolled. Tan, Tan, tell me if you can. In a world, so cruel. Tan, tan, you're the man, in a diamond where love's a fool. Life's ditch and the aimless cry, bitter hardening, and the land of the dry.

Life's seeds, not well sewn. The ones closest pray, they care and love, found in strangers' unknown. The blinded heart and the fresh-eyed stare. And when you try to break the hold, and when you try to let life unfold, and when things seem to be right. Tell me why? When you thought you won the fight?

Tell me why? thought Billy, yonder in the sky. The blackened light, the blue moon. A heart opened and a lie released. Your wings spread wide, beginning soon. Your mind closed, and your breathing ceased. Things come together, and things forgotten remaining forever. Scrubbed and washed with care, nowhere to hide, always there. Tell me why? None to side, together they stand. Nothing to ride but death's cry. Arms open wide, no instruments in this band.

Nowhere to go, Billy's thoughts raced on, tell me the rattlesnake rattle, open the trap. In their eyes, it does show. Tell me the crow cry, close the gap. The bull grunt and a motionless dance. Rage in stillness, your soul yearning. Tan, tan. You're the man. Take a chance. The emotional battle, burning. Tan, tan. Tell me if you can, tell me at a glance.

Bloodshot, Billy's angry eyes opened wide, and he yelled, "What are you talking about, woman?"

Slade reached for his shovel and grabbed hold of it. He stood up and faced Mother Hatherby. With the shovel raised, he rammed it into her. Fast, it hid her neck, slicing through it like a butcher's blade through the tender tongue of a lamb. For a moment, her head remained as though it was still attached to her body. Blood started to ooze its way out from around her neck, and her eyes grew larger.

Like a coconut falling from its palm, Mother Hatherby's head dropped from her shoulders and collided into the stinkwood coffin below. This blow smashed its surface and sent splintery fragments cascading outward. From Mother Hatherby's neck, a combination of blood and green pus pulsed and erupted like a ripe zit under pressure. She raised Willie higher and dropped him. Blood drained, he flopped onto the ground below her. He closed his eyes, and his heart stopped, never to beat again.

Slade turned around, looking for Kyle. He was not there. Upon looking up, he found Kyle standing on level ground, out of the pit, six feet above him.

"You see," Kyle shouted at Slade, "I told you she was a darksider. You, fuckup, look what you've done. Your idea, you fucking ass wipe!"

"My idea needle dick?" With his back to Mother Hatherby, Slade stared at Kyle. "And you went along with it, didn't you?"

Kyle did not answer. Mother Hatherby's headless body was advancing toward Slade. Within the coffin, her eyes were open wide as her severed head guided her body. Ankle deep in blood from Willie and Mother Hatherby, Slade stretched his right hand upward toward Kyle.

"Do you honestly think I should help you?" asked Kyle.

Not having the time to answer, Slade closed his eyes. Mother Hatherby grabbed Slade's shoulders. As though he was weightless, she threw him across the pit into the barrier on the far side of her dugout grave. Slade tried to scream, but his fright-struck vocals strangled every sound, leaving a silent cry heard only within his own heart.

With a failed sense of direction and a disorientated mind, Slade opened his eyes. He saw Mother Hatherby's head within the coffin. Thick black blood seeped through her split lips, and a gargled mucus came out from within her mouth. Her eyes fixed on Slade, and her headless body motioned toward him.

Meanwhile, on Route 66, at the side of her own dugout grave, Tina's body jerked and jolted with the impact of each bullet. Pain filled her chest and made her stagger. She fell to the ground; silence took over from the screams. Joshua grabbed the shovel and, once again, started to cover the pit. Seconds later, laughter broke the silence, and Tina stood up in hysterics. "They're coming to get you, you bastard. Did you think you could kill the dead?"

"I killed you, bitch. And they dug your grave."

Tina's expression changed from dark to awe. "What the fuck are you talking about?" She knew what he was saying.

Joshua, exasperated, scratched the back of his head with his free hand and said, "I'm talking about the ghosts of the devil. The ghosts of darkness. The demons possessing Raquel and me and the demons you thought would allow you to become immortal." Joshua was surprised by his words, but he knew for some time. Possessed, he felt terrified to look at his reflection in the Thunderbird's rearview mirror, and he spoke to Raquel as though he hated her. He did not know himself anymore, and his thoughts, he realized, were from the pits of hell.

He knew. He saw Raquel filled with evil thoughts. He saw it in her eyes. Joshua heard it too in the few dreams she got trapped in recently. She mumbled sick, perverted things. Joshua closed his eyes and grunted, wondering why it took so long for his subconscious mind to reveal this truth. Looking at Tina, Joshua said, "They have let you down, Tina Osborn, let you down."

Tina fell to her knees. Her blood drained out of her body, giving her skin a bluish-green tinge. She raised her hands as if in supplication and said, "Joshua, oh God, Joshua, you are right. They didn't want me as Tina. They wanted me as someone else. Tina would be gone forever, and this Tina renamed would not be me, but Tina possessed. Tina would be dead. I should have seen it, but this whole immortality thing hooked me."

She laid her hands on the ground and felt the soft, damp soil. "Ashes to ashes and dust to dust," she said. A melancholy stirring took hold of the wheel and drove the madness out from within her soul. She lay her body flat on the bottom of the pit. In dejection, she tried to cry, but she was dried up.

"Josh..." Tina started to say despairingly; her face was in the sand. Her words were muffled, but Joshua listened intently. "It's a shame people like us always seem to wake up when it's too late. You must fight it, Joshua. If you fight it, you may destroy it." Tina coughed. Joshua was ashamed he let things go so far. If he tried to help Tina instead of shunning her away, things might have turned out differently.

Instinctively, Joshua continued to shovel sand on Tina. As shovel load upon shovel load of dirt came upon her, he watched her shivering body disappear. He could see her sides aspirating weakly. He heard her coughing.

The sand began to cover her body. As though in protest, the dirt ran from her sides in brown rivulets. Then it entered her mouth. Teardrops glistened and trickled down Joshua's cheeks, but this did not stop him. Apathetically, Joshua shoveled and shoveled until the pit became a small mountain. Then he shoveled some more.

Finally, when done, he fell to his knees and wept with Tina's last words dancing in his head like ballerinas in slow motion. Joshua knew Tina's lost soul would wander around these parts forever in the same way the lost soul of the woman in the white gown wandered around the road running past the baobab tree. Maybe the old fool wasn't an old fool, after all, thought Joshua; and with that thought embedded deep within his mind, a terrible toneless incantation began rumbling far, far away.

There was a knock at the door. Tiger stood up. "It's the monster man," Tiger joked. The air in their room changed, cooling fast. Tiger and Billy were in room 13 at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. The mattress was dried out, and Tiger arrived an hour ago, banging on the door. Billy battled to wake up from a deep sleep. Finally, he got up, stumbled to the door, and opened it for Tiger.

When he opened the door, never would Billy forget that face, Tiger's face; sucked in, cold, and hard. At first, Billy did not want to let Tiger in. But Tiger smiled, and the sucked-in, cold, and hard look melted. A new expression of friendliness and kindness replaced Tiger's horrid expression.

Billy felt it would be all right. He allowed him to enter. Tiger was acting strangely lately, and Billy was glad he would be leaving for work shortly. Never had he felt uncomfortable around Tiger. Something was not right. Billy began preparing in the process of rushing to leave for the front desk.

### Chapter 17

Try to keep calm, Cara thought. As she ran down the road, the road began to narrow into a footpath. The footpath, lined on either side with over towering pine trees, was warm. In front of Cara to the side of the path on which she ran, lying propped against a tree, was a small black book.

Cara noticed the book was open, and on its page, was a speck of something. Upon running past the black book, she strained to focus. As she moved, her eyes managed to see what appeared to be a speck of blood on each of its exposed pages. I must get the fuck out of here, she thought.

Cara heard a thunderous roar that caused her to lose her footing. She came tumbling to the ground. Her chest pounded, and her lungs gasped for air. Slowly, lying on the ground, she bowed her head. The hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end.

The doorbell rang once again, and Erby opened his eyes. He looked toward the door. His place was a mess. On his way to the front door of his apartment, he passed the mirror. There was no reflection. Upon reaching the front door, he opened it. In the doorway, standing before him was an old lady.

"Hi. I'm Judy. And I've come to die."

Erby swallowed. Judy interrupted his nightmare. She was huge and old, about ninety.

"You..." he started by saying but decided to remain silent. She came in. He tied her up and refused to kill her. Instead, he began a long-awaited slow method of torture.

The ninety-year-old Judy did not recognize Erby. She could not understand his motives until he undressed and revealed his scars. As the memory came to her, she gasped, and understanding washed over her face. Both fire-poked Priscilla and decapitated Miriam walked in, each holding a little black book under their arms, with a drop of blood on every page. In their hands, each of them held a chainsaw.

"Oh, thank God. Jesus Christ, girls!" Judy shrieked. "I see your little black books are full. You've run out of pages to drip a drop of your blood on." Judy laughed and said, "The devil's almost got you, hasn't he?" She stopped for a second. "Satisfactory, hey. He's almost got me too," she said. Judy pulled out her little black book from where she stuffed it behind her back, in her slacks. From where she sat tied, not very securely to a chair, she threw the book to the ground. On impact, the book opened, flipping its pages as though in protest. On each of its white pages, a single drop of her blood spotted the book from cover to cover.

"I shall have the pleasure of experiencing what both of you have experienced already. My deal's done, and my book is full. So, soon I shall die as you have, giving my soul to the devil for eternity—"

"Not quite," Priscilla interrupted while scratching her bluish yet smooth and young-looking arm.

"Not in the way in which you shall die."

Judy looked to Miriam, noticing the dinner plate under her right arm, bloody and snug. Under her left arm, Miriam held her severed head.

Miriam licked her lips, and from her severed head she spoke, "Sorry, Judy, no love lost on my part."

"Not quite. Not the way you're going to die." Priscilla ripped a cord, and her chainsaw roared. Priscilla said in a loud voice, "You see, honey, this way, every inch of you will digest in the acid within our bellies, leaving nothing to reincarnate. It's payback time, honey, and payback's a royal ass bitch!"

Judy's screams filled the air along with the sounds of the roaring machines. It was not long before Erby's apartment was quiet once again, except for a cough here and there, an occasional sneeze, and the chewing of flesh.

"Priscilla, I'm going out to prune the roses!" Erby shouted and finished by saying, "I'll speak to you about Billy and my nightmare later. I must leave. I have an outstanding dentist appointment to keep." Erby's bloodstained gardening gloves were on his hands already, and in his pocket, was a sharp knife. Neither did Priscilla answer him, nor did he wait for her reply. She was feasting on Judy. He walked toward the fly screen door, opened it, and stepped out.

The feeling of filth exploded within Cara, stronger than ever before. Her expressions changed. Cara's face became sucked in and hard, and her eyes went blank. "I must run!" she shouted, thinking she must get up. "The faster I run, the better my—"

An icy wind screamed toward Cara and brushed up against her thighs, as though urging her on. Within its humanlike touch, it held an answer; and at the same time, it possessed an odor, reminiscent of sweat intermingling with the sweet scent of a woman. Mary, whom Cara believed to be the Dream Queen, possessed the icy wind to save Cara.

Cara stood up and brushed the leaves off her gown. Her face dropped. "God!" she shouted out, pulling her hands away from her sides while looking down at herself. Blood soaked was her gown, dripping to the ground in red velvet rivulets of distress. She was aware of the blood, feeling its warmth on her skin, but there was something else there surrounding her body, slimy and sappy.

It was alive, slithering in ripples over her skin. She reached down, wanting to rip this thing off herself; but as she attempted to do so, it began to squeeze her. Cara cried out, gasping for air. Immediately, the squeezing eased off, replaced by warmth.

Once again, Cara shut her eyelids and shook her head violently. "Go away!" she screeched. "Leave me alone." With her eyelids closed, she felt as though her upper body was floating on legs other than her own, limbs of another, Cara thought, possessed by some unknown force. I'm floating, she thought, drifting at high speed. Like a malignant growth spitting poison into Cara's veins, terror moved quickly, entering her bloodstream.

With her body saturated, her entire being shuddered.

It was getting dark. Tiger waited outside the seven eleven, off Lincoln Boulevard, for some time. He called his contact, and Tiger expected him to arrive in a few moments. Tiger would have asked Billy to come with him, but to Tiger, Billy was too innocent. Tiger felt Billy would have gotten into trouble.

Walking around in the 7-Eleven, Tiger was humming Billy's song, one Billy wrote for his grandma. A song Billy drove everyone crazy with by trying to sing it over and over. Billy could not get the song to sound right. He could not sing, but Tiger's voice was amazing. Tiger played around with this song in his head while looking for something to drink.

"And she waited, waited in the sunshine, teardrops in the rain," Tiger sang on, "her place close yet for some, far away. Her palace, her house, her home. And she waited, waited in the rain."

Tiger sang softly, "Teardrops in the sunshine. Waiting for someone, someone to hold her. Waiting for someone, someone to love her. To reveal her worth. Lost and broken promises. Times of hardship, times of strife, times in hell. This is not my life."

Tiger continued singing, "She wraps her arms around her shoulders and keeps herself warm and prays someone will love her with genuine sincerity during this storm. Her heart close, yet far away, her palace, her house, her home. But still, she wraps her arms around her shoulders and keeps herself warm and prays someone will love her with genuine sincerity during this storm."

Tiger favored this part of the song and sang it louder, "And she waited, waited in the rain, teardrops in the sunshine. And she waited, waited in the rain. Teardrops, teardrops in the sunshine."

Tiger loved Billy and did not want to see him come to any harm. He decided to do this alone. Alone was always better, thought Tiger. Then you only have yourself to worry about, he thought. Not that Billy ever needed a babysitter, but Tiger preferred the alone part. It was his comfort zone where he felt most in control. There would be no one to tell him he screwed up. Only himself to say how anything should be. If he did screw up, he only had himself to blame. Tiger preferred it this way.

It was time. Tiger grabbed a Coors Light and went over to the register.

"Which way is Washington?" Tiger asked the cashier as the cashier rang up his beer.

"Will that be all, sir?" asked the cashier

"Yeah, which way is Washington, man?"

"As you exit the store, turn to your left and walk a few blocks. You will run right into it. It's one of the busiest intersections in Los Angeles. You can't miss it."

"Thanks, man."

As Tiger exited, the cashier shouted, "Where are you from?"

Tiger did not answer, but he did slam the glass door on his way out. He hated that question. What does it matter? thought Tiger.

Mary could feel herself awakening. Ironically, she felt, this would be fatal. She became the slimy sap of the oak-hickory and pine trees embracing Cara. She became the wind carrying Cara to safe ground. Mary believed, if she awoke, Cara would drop to her death, and Mary would have failed once again. Each time Mary failed in the past, she became weaker and weaker.

She believed, failing to save Cara would result in her death. Mary could feel her eyelids wanting to open. The sweet scent of her bedroom air caressed her nostrils, and the sounds of the early morning rising began to tickle her ear drums. Deeper and deeper, she thought.

"Sweet Jesus, deep darkness, silence possess my soul," she said, world of darkness, take me now. Take me forever. With that, she slipped into a deeper sleep.

Making his way down Lincoln Boulevard, he passed many homeless people on his way to Washington Boulevard. Tiger could not help but wonder if one day he would also be down and out, living on the harsh streets of the City of Angels, begging to get a bite to eat for a dollar and sleeping in old boxes to keep warm. He hoped not. In passing a smelly old man in a shabby red suit, sitting on the sidewalk, Tiger searched his pockets for some spare change. They always asked for spare change, thought Tiger. He did not mind giving them something, but he did find it humorous as they termed it spare change. For Tiger, no change was ever spare, as he needed every cent he could make.

In between his wallet and the receipt for the Coors Light, within his pocket, Tiger found two quarters and pulled them out. Upon getting close enough to the old man and upon holding his breath from the foul smell coming from the old guy, Tiger reached over, extending his hand out to the old man. Seeing this, the old man opened his palm; and while doing his best not to touch the old guy, Tiger dropped the quarters in his hand. The old man glanced at him.

He had the most striking eyes, but his face was torn up. Battled someone last night, thought Tiger. At first, the old man's eyes shone, as though smiling at Tiger; but as the coins fell into the old man's palm, his expression changed to one of disgust.

"What's this?" the old man asked.

Tiger did not answer

"What the fuck," said the old man. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

Tiger could feel rage beginning to boil within. He turned and began to walk toward Washington again. Then he noticed the old man held a puppet attached to his hand. Looking toward Washington Boulevard and beginning his steps toward it, Tiger heard the old man shuffling to his feet, and the smell worsened.

Fuck, thought Tiger. This is all I need right now.

"Hello," a high-pitched voice came from behind Tiger. It was the old man in all his ruggedness and his vulgar stench coming at Tiger.

Mary knew she needed to act fast. Cara passed out, and as the wind and sap of Mary carried the limp body of Cara through the darkness surrounding them, Mary could not help but wonder what their fate would be. What lay ahead waiting for them? Upon reaching what appeared to be a convent, Mary hovered down toward its entrance. It was a convent, Livingstone Anglican Monastery. She lay Cara outside the doorway, making sure someone would find her. At a distance, Mary kept watching.

An old nun with a white cape and a black dress exited the nunnery and almost tripped over Cara. The old nun placed her hand on her mouth, gasped, and ran inside. Seconds later, she returned with several nuns at her side. Together they carried Cara away. Alone, darkness enveloped Mary; her surroundings disappeared, and she began to fall

"I must open my eyes!" Mary shouted. She was falling at an accelerated rate. Mary's mind twisted into a wheel spin. On that spindle far beneath her skull, her mind began weaving painful thoughts of the impact below. Flashing red before her eyes, it warned her of the approaching danger beneath as she continued to fall. The ground was advancing fast. "Open your eyes. God be damned. I must stop dreaming. Open now!" Mary shouted, and she started to scream.

Soon, she thought, her screams would be muffled by an explosion as she smashed into the ground. Quickly, her thoughts and fears were becoming a reality. "God, help me!" she shouted. Deep from within Mary's psyche, another scream came, distinctly odd in contrast to hers. It was the cry of a boy that entered her mind. Like a double-barreled shotgun in exorbitant recoil, Mary's mind detached itself from the dream.

### Chapter 18

From the corner of Tiger's eye, he saw the puppet on the old man's left hand. It was a ragged but colorful classic-style joker, and it was talking to Tiger.

"What you doing?" the puppet asked.

Tiger ignored this and began to walk faster. It was dark, but the streetlights in this part of Venice Beach were bold and loud. Tiger was not afraid, but he was irritated and rushed because he would be meeting his contact in about ten minutes. Under normal circumstances, Tiger would have knocked the guy out and continued with his night, but these were not normal circumstances. Tiger did not want to attract any attention. Not an easy feat as the old man was getting into it and the puppet was talking its head off.

"Fuck off!" Tiger shouted.

The puppet jiggled this way and that, and though Tiger was a tall, slender muscular young man who could take the hugest of strides, the old man kept up. Next minute, the puppet was at Tiger's right shoulder.

"This is your good side, bitch," said the puppet. "This is your maker, talking to you." The puppet was moving its head like some crazed thing, and it went for Tiger's neck.

Mary's eyelids sprang open, exposing white eyes beneath. Her convulsing body danced about as her eyeballs rotated far enough to give her attractive blue eyes a taste of life once again. Mary was finally awake, feeling hung over. She sat up. Brutus was standing beside Michael's crib. He was wagging his tail, and Michael was screaming his head off.

They were both staring at Mary, Brutus with his tongue out, dripping saliva and Michael with his face soaked in tears. Mary was back in her house in Golden Hill, and although it was nothing in comparison to the mansion in her dream, it was home, and it was good.

"Your screams saved my life. Do you know that, Michael? God. I thought I had seen the last of the real world." On the bed, Cara's bloody dress lay beside her. Mary brought it out of her dream. She looked up at Michael and Brutus, wondering where Christine was. Brutus tilted his head to the side, and Michael cried louder.

Mary looked away, laid her hands on her face, and wept. They both looked at her with Michael responding by toning his screaming cries down to a soothing whimper coupled with an uncertain smile. Brutus's wagging tail joined his bark, which exited his throat as a yelp instead. Mary looked up and felt a laugh stirring from within herself.

Minutes later, the house filled with the jovial sounds of their laughter, only to be interrupted by a bashing clout on the front door. Michael and Brutus knew this sound well. It was the sound produced by the paper body's flying mail. Mary's heart skipped a beat. She jumped out of bed, ran to the front door, and opened it.

On the floor, in front of her lay the Daily News. She reached for the paper and began reading the front-page headlines:

Living Stone Anglican Monastery, nuns trapped, six dead. Killed by the devil himself.

Mary's face grew pale. With the front door open, she ripped off the paper holder and read further:

At three this morning, a woman was found at the entrance of Living Stone Anglican Monastery. With the permission of Mother Carol and Father Shibley, the nuns of the convent decided...

Mary skipped a few paragraphs:

Turning on the nuns, the bloody woman found on the steps, stabbed Father Shibley in the chest... Escaped from Tara Mental Asylum two hours... Before being found... Distance traveled, impossible... Will remain an unexplained mystery... Six dead... Upon dying one of the nuns muttered something about a Victorian mansion... Woman escaped... Found small black book... Drops of blood on each page... Except the last three... Appears to be a satanic sign.

Mary dropped to her knees and shouted, "Billy, where are you? Why can't I reach you?" Michael looked up at her as though he understood something else completely. About this, Mary was clueless. Looking at Michael, Mary thought, I love him so. He is only three, and he is so bright.

Drained of tears, Mary noticed a white envelope above the second step. Not knowing how it got there, she reached for it and opened it. Before opening it, Mary saw red blotches on the outside of the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper; and on it, underlined in red, were the words:

Thank you. I have three days before the devil with darkness for a face, and red coals for eyes gets me. This may not seem long to you, but it is time enough for me. Sorry, I needed to kill the nuns. It was part of my duty to the one I will serve soon. I have always wanted to meet the dream queen. It was a pleasure.

Signed,

Cara

Shocked, Mary walked to the phone to dial Billy, and she laughed at herself. There would be no answer, she thought. There would never be an answer. Standing at the phone, Mary felt Billy at the cave with Tiger. Thinking of Tiger made her nipples hard and damp. She never met him, but Billy told her about Tiger in her dreams; and for some unknown reason, when she thought of Tiger her palms would sweat, her smooth belly would tingle, and erotic thoughts would fill her mind.

Mary replaced the receiver and retrieved it again. You never know, Mary thought while looking at the little black book sitting on her phone table. She took a deep breath and tried dialing Tiger. She reached Tiger's answering service and almost dropped the phone. "That's impossible," Mary said.

Mary was too curious to throw the phone against the wall out of sheer shock, to be done with it for good. Instead, through the threads of time, she listened to the voice on the other end of the line. The message said, "Gone to the Calvert Cliffs at the Silver Ball up in Maryland."

Mary slammed the receiver down, excited. Something far in her mind was trying to ask her a question. Ignoring the voice within herself, she let her excitement take the stage. Without a doubt, she knew she needed to pack her bags and leave for Maryland, immediately.

Overjoyed, Mary rushed to her bedroom, but before reaching it, she saw the carpet in her hallway changed color. Mary paused for a second and noticed the walls in the passageway. They were dirty and gray. She was certain moments ago they were bright yellow. Her house was quiet. What happened to Michael? Walking through the house, she called his name, but there was no answer. She called Brutus; he did not come to her.

"Christine," Mary called, but there was no answer. Mary rushed from room to room, searching. All the rooms in her home were empty. The voice spoke again, and now she listened intently. It was asking her if the message was, in truth, from Tiger. Mary went over to the phone and dialed Tiger once again. There was a click on the other end as nothing played. Apart from a strange swishing noise in the background, the line was dead.

Quickly, Tiger gave a forceful brushing to his right shoulder, hitting the puppet hard and landing it out of the old man's hand and onto the sidewalk in front of him. The old man screamed like a girl and ran for his puppet, but Tiger was healthier and faster. Tiger grabbed the puppet and flung it off the sidewalk and into the middle of the busy intersection of Washington and Lincoln Boulevards. The puppets head was hard and made of porcelain or something similar. When it hit the surface of the busy road, Tiger heard an egg cracking smack followed by a sick pop.

Yep, it's dead, thought Tiger, as the old man screamed louder with his face as red as can be. His hands clenched at the emptiness within the cool evening air surrounding them.

"You killed him!" the old man shouted. "You killed him, you bastard."

The light at the intersection turned green, allowing a herd of cars to go. If the Joker did not die when he hit the road's surface, thought Tiger, he would be dead within the next few seconds. The old man could see what was about to happen and placed his hands on his face.

Tiger could not resist. Staring at the puppet, Tiger awaited its final fate. The first car to drive over it was a Hummer Three. Tiger remembered always telling Billy how he loved the Hummer Three. The second car was a red Porsche, but its driver noticed the puppet in the road and veered to the left, missing it. Then came a huge tanker filled with petroleum. This did the trick. The Joker was flattened, and the old man dropped to his knees behind Tiger who could not take his eye off the road.

Impossible, Tiger thought. It can't be. Must be a trick. He could hear the old man sobbing behind him. In the middle of the intersection was the flattened remains of the puppet; and around the puppet, there was something else, ominous and slimy. It was a liquid substance, not only velvety but dirty too, blackish in its redness and distinctly real.

It couldn't be, thought Tiger, but it was blood. It was dirty, dark, slimy blood from something that died a long time ago but refused to remain dead. Something is trying to tell me what I need to know, thought Tiger. Now it's dead—for real. Tiger turned and walked toward the old man. "What was that?" he asked the old man.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What was that thing on the road? What happened?" Tiger was shouting, and he noticed his hands trembling. His eyes widened, and his mouth felt dry. When Tiger looked up again, the old man was not there anymore.

Tiger blinked a few times and looked around. Nothing. Fuck this shit, he thought. It was time. Tiger turned and made his way across Washington Boulevard. Staring at the blood in the middle of the road, Tiger reasoned; the puppet was caught by someone's tire, and it was dragged away. Gone, the puppet vanished.

Billy had two hours to go before he could go to his room and rest; the hotel was practically empty. It was a 164-room hotel. They were at 35 percent occupancy, leaving forty-five rooms occupied, mostly by passersby, people on their way to somewhere else. People who wanted to get in and sleep, to wake up the next morning fresh enough to get them the heck out of this place. Off to San Diego or up to Hollywood or inland to the Inland Empire and its pretty suburbs.

There were those that loved the artist community of Laguna Beach, loving the quaint lagoons and the pretty coast. There were those who traveled miles to get to Laguna Beach to lie back and relax. To rest a bit for a few weeks was what they wanted, but Billy had not seen those types in a while. He wondered who was doing the marketing for this hotel, wondered why such a cute place would be so quiet.

In wondering this, Billy also wondered if his friend Tiger was okay. Tiger was gone for quite a while. He should be back already. Once or twice throughout his shift, Billy left the front desk to check on their room. He and Tiger shared a room on the first floor.

They chose the room that was accessible from the outside. It was the only room where the balcony was low. All you needed to do was climb over the railing.

If someone left the glass sliding door unlocked, all you needed to do is, pull it open and step right in.

Billy exited the back door of the front office and walked down the well-lit hallway, which led to their room. Not only was it the only room accessible from the outside, but it was also the first room when walking up to the hotel, from the bottom of the hill, which made it easier to locate from the outside. Six, nine, eleven, twelve, down the hallway—as the room numbers passed by Billy, once again he wondered who, in fact, owned this hotel because he never, in his life, came across a hotel with a room 13.

For whatever reason, most, if not all, hotels around the world never had a room 13, and most hotels did not have a thirteenth floor either. They skipped from twelve to fourteen, but this place, although it was too small to have a thirteenth floor, did have a room 13. Strangely enough, Billy and Tiger chose room 13 because of its location and accessibility from the outside. They thought nothing of the room number until their excitement wore off and reason seeped through. That was when Tiger poked Billy in the side with an excited look on his face. Billy looked at him strangely, asking Tiger what was up.

Tiger knew Billy loved horror movies and a whole lot of scary stuff too. For Tiger, it was a fun thing to help Billy out in certain situations like these. Tiger loved devouring Billy's every expression whenever the time came to make Billy realize something he did not realize earlier.

To force Billy to the realization they both somehow chose room 13 was a blast for Tiger. Tiger looked at Billy and told him in the scariest way he possibly could that they were staying in room 13. Billy expressed his joy broadly at the time, saying he did not think about it and Billy did not forget to add that this was cool. It was good for Billy—weird and strange, all the same. Tiger was thrilled to see Billy's expressions and Billy's great big smile about it.

Billy worried. He hoped Tiger was okay. As Billy got closer to their room, he listened, checking to hear if Led Zeppelin was playing on HBO; but all was quiet. Tiger had a habit of playing music loudly. Billy, at first, hated this; but after a bit, he grew to love the loudness and the music too.

Most of the time Tiger listened to rock. There was no rock music playing. Billy turned around and began walking to the front office when the lights flickered. Fuck, thought Billy, not now. He hated it when the lights went out.

Billy did not have his flashlight on him; but thankfully, he had his cigarette lighter, for which he began searching. It was in his top-right pocket, good. The cigarette lighter saved him from complete darkness a few times. Billy started to walk faster.

He felt if he could get to the front office before the lights of the hotel went out, he would be safe. Surrounded by huge glass windows, the front office ushered light in from the street lamps out on Ocean Drive. That night, the lights at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel did not go out.

The faint echo of Billy's footsteps sounding behind as he walked through the corridors of the hotel was one of Billy's exceptions to feeling great. The distant giggling of girls was another, preventing Billy from feeling top of the world. The strange far-off sound of what could have been someone chopping down a tree outside in the dark at one in the morning added to Billy's list. Except for these strange little manifestations, Billy felt just fine—or did he? Billy swallowed. His hands began to shake, and his heart started racing.

Billy hated the sound of walking through the corridors of old hotels. The Laguna Palms Spa Hotel was one of the worst when it came to this. Those resounding echoes that rushed up behind him when he least expected it. Echoes that always made him feel as though someone was there, following him. They got to him every time.

Billy's heart would drop. He would look around. Sure there was someone there; he looked back always to find the hallway empty. It was strangely quiet too, until he walked again. This is when these unnerving sounds would, suddenly, hurry toward him from behind as though playing a sick game with him.

Sometimes Billy believed someone was really following him. This thought scared him, so he tried to resist looking behind. Not knowing scared him more. He would tell himself the hallway was clear. He would tell himself this oddity he was hearing was merely echoes off the carpet, bouncing right back at him from against the walls.

No matter what Billy told himself, he could not convince himself to resist looking. He needed to know there was no one there. He had to see for himself. Sometimes he felt if he did not look behind to find nothing, The Something, which was not there, would reach out through the thinness of the air, grab him from behind, and tear him to shreds.

Billy began to run. The front office phone was ringing.

Maybe it was the owner, Jupiter Manning, calling for the nightly figures, or maybe it was Tiger. Billy reached the end of the hallway and leaned on the swinging door, which entered the lobby.

Billy felt something cold brush past him. He shivered. God help me, he thought as he pushed at the door that brought him into the lobby.

### Chapter 19

Billy ran around the front of the large oval desk. Placing the phone in such a way that he would be able to reach it without having to stay behind the desk was a good idea. Billy answered the phone.

"Hello. It's a great night at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. Thank you for calling. My name is Billy. How may I direct your call?" Billy was smiling. Mary Jane Delacroix told him if he smiled when he spoke, the smile would reflect in his voice. She said he would sound happy and positive and ready to be of assistance to the guests within the hotel or to potential guests planning to make a booking. He did as he was told to do, and it worked like a charm.

"Hello," the voice on the other end said—and dead silence.

"Hello," Billy said, but there was no response. "How can I be of service to you?"

"You can strip completely nude and come to my room immediately."

Billy swallowed. The voice on the other end was rough and stern.

"Sorry, sir," Billy said, "I didn't get that. How may I be of assistance?"

"Listen, you fuckhead. I'm not going to tell you twice. Do you want me to come down there and suck your dick for you?"

What the fuck, thought Billy while remaining silent, waiting for the heavy breathing to start. Billy hated breathers; they would call often, and Billy could not stand them. Most of the time he would hang up in the hope they would not call back, but this call was different. He hung on to the line longer.

Curiosity was a strange thing, so strange it overpowered fear and sometimes the will to know got you right between the eyes, thought Billy. He remembered seeing a short horror film years ago where there was this one word, once heard, that would make its listeners go bat crazy. Those listeners would suddenly forget themselves and start killing everyone.

This word, once heard, wiped their brains of every memory and of any good. They would go blank and become savage things, ready to tear the hearts out of whomever they saw next, leaving their prey shredded, and dead.

I wonder if that shit is possible, thought Billy. He wondered if someone would ever call him in the middle of the night and utter this strange word to him. Maybe I will have the radio on, thought Billy, and the announcer will utter this word, and I will change, I will be gone, along with the rest of whoever had their radios on at the time.

Blank to the world, thought Billy, monsters walking the streets, savages, and I would be one of them.

God, I've got to stop watching horror movies, Billy thought. It remained silent on the other end of the line, but Billy could see a person sitting there; on the switchboard's liquid mercury screen which showed no one hung up yet. It showed an unidentified caller on the other end with fifty-six seconds' past.

Billy took a deep breath and stayed on the line longer.

There was a great big burst of laughter. It was Tiger on the other end.

"Tiger where are you, man? Are you safe?"

Tiger was laughing so hard that he could barely speak. "Yes, I am fine, Billy. How are you, man? Hey, you gotta lighten up. You're going to have a heart attack." Tiger laughed some more.

Billy sighed, happy to hear Tiger sounding somewhat safe. "Where are you, Tiger?"

"Hey, Billy, I got us a car."

"You did? Wow. How did you do that?"

"You gave me your bank card last night, remember?"

Billy looked down at the coffin-shaped yellow diamond sitting securely on his left pinkie. He would have worn it on his ring finger, but it was too small a fit, and it fit on his left pinkie. When his grandma gave it to him, he first tried it on his right pinkie, but it did not work. "Try it on the other pinkie, Billy," she said at the time. "You know, your one foot is always bigger than your other. It's how we were put together, Billy. God wanted us all to be different. When he made us, he made us in two parts, but they weren't quite the same."

"Tiger, what did you do?"

"Well, while I was waiting for this guy, this other guy was sitting in this amazing car."

"What other guy?"

"I think he was homeless, Billy."

"You bought a car from a homeless person?" said Billy. "Oh, my God, do you know how sick that is? I mean, what about bedbugs and lice and whatever else it might have?"

"Billy, it's clean, and I will take it and have it cleaned up properly in the morning. I needed to return from Los Angeles."

"A car. Why didn't you take a cab?"

"I'm almost there. I paid $1,400 for it and..."

Billy could hear the motor of the canary yellow convertible Pontiac Grandville, driving up the ramp in front of the lobby windows of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. It was a huge car. A long yellow convertible, in excellent condition. It looked like a Cadillac, a smart Cadillac, and its motor sounded fine. Tiger was behind the wheel, wearing nothing but a black cowboy hat, his lean muscles protruding all over the place.

"God!" Billy shouted and hung up with a great big smile on his face. While shaking his head in surprise, Billy ran to the linen closet on the right side of the lobby elevator and grabbed a white robe for Tiger. The German girl's Staff was still there. Billy hid it in the hotel lobby's linen closet a while ago. He did this to keep a watchful eye on it. Something about the Staff made him feel good. It made him feel safe. He couldn't explain this. Baffling him, he kept it locked in the closet. Far enough away but close enough should he ever feel the need to observe it.

Billy walked to the lobby exit and handed the robe to Tiger. Then Billy noticed the girls. Not sure why he did not notice them before, he was surprised to see them.

There was a short large-breasted blonde girl in the front passenger seat next to Tiger. She was sitting up for the first time since she started her ride with Tiger. In the backseat was a slender firm-busted, pretty brunette who looked taller than the short girl in the front seat.

There was another girl with long blonde hair who was passed out in the backseat with her head behind the brunette's ass. The backseat girl had fine-looking long blonde hair. She was coughing, but her cough sounded hard and rough. She was more muscular than the other two girls.

Okay, thought Billy, the third girl with the most gorgeous blonde hair he did ever see in his life was not a girl at all. She was a boy. She must be; she coughed like a boy, and she was too muscular to be a girl. Maybe she works out, thought Billy.

"Hey, man, what do you think?" asked Tiger.

"I like it," said Billy.

"Well," said Tiger. While reaching over, he turned off the ignition and replaced the corded car phone in its holder, which sat on the center console. "It still works," Tiger said with his eyebrows slightly raised, almost imperceptibly so. As he pulled the key from the ignition, a broader smile on one side of his mouth than the other revealed a unique come-hither look. Tiger handed the key over to Billy, saying, "Great. I'm glad you like it. It's yours, Billy. I bought it for you."

"Thank you so much," Billy joked. "You're insane, Tiger, but I love it." Billy took the key. "Tiger, you are one crazy-ass motherfucker."

Tiger laughed. "I sure am. But now I have some ladies to assist. I will see you when you get off." Tiger jumped out of the Pontiac with his well-endowed privates dangling for the world, along with his slender torso showing off his six-pack of well-defined muscles.

"Oh fuck," Billy said, "put this on. You're going to get us both fired."

Tiger laughed. Grabbing the white robe from Billy, he put it on, and two of the girls giggled. The third girl, who was waking up, turned out to be a good-looking boyish young man who appeared to be in his early twenties.

"Hey, Billy, this is Thad. I asked him to join us. He's cool as fuck. Are you okay with it?"

Billy nodded in approval. The foursome disappeared through the swing door down the corridor to room 13. Billy walked through the lobby to the front desk. There was a half hour left before his fun night would begin, and he could not wait—or maybe he could. Either way, he was blown away by the recent events of this evening.

Billy wondered if Tiger got the eight-ball from Joshua already or if he got impatient and tried someone else. Joshua should have reached Los Angeles already, and Joshua was the one Billy trusted. You never can tell what shit they use for mixes these days, thought Billy. Billy knew Joshua for years and trusted Joshua would not do them in. He did not want to ask in front of the girls, but he would know soon enough.

A thing in its place and you find it, thought Billy, something Grandma said often. With five minutes to go before the end of his shift, Billy ensured the front desk was tidy. By guaranteeing all was in order before the end of his shift, the person relieving him would know he did a great job. This Billy believed and always cleaned up after himself. Billy's mom, Mother Hatherby, taught him this.

She was a clean freak, not allowing anything to sit for more than five minutes or it would be on its way to the kitchen, washed. Sometimes this could be irritating. Sometimes Billy would be halfway through a cup of coffee or his dad, Father Shibley, on his third cigarette; and it happened most of the time when they were not looking. Before they knew it, their cups would be gone. Father Shibley's ashtray would be gone too, along with anything and everything Mother Hatherby felt needed cleaning, all washed frequently.

Sometimes they would hide stuff from her. That way, they would be able to find it when they needed it most. Those days rubbed off on Billy. He could not stand things out of place.

He could not stand untidiness. Billy believed this was something to do with him leaving home so young. Doing the things his mom used to do made him feel close to home. It made him feel close to her in a way. She was crazy, and Billy knew it but loved her nevertheless. Billy always looked past the badness. He always searched for the good behind it. When he didn't find any good, he would not give up.

This did become frustrating for him, at times, especially when he saw Mother Hatherby tying Slade up and beating his ass blue. He could never understand it. He would tell himself, and Slade, to love her more in the hope that she would, one day, love them back equally. Mother Hatherby, he believed at the time, was all he, and his brother, had.

Billy believed his original birth mom decided she did not want him. She gave him to Mary. Mary, whom he believed took him away from his birth mom, couldn't afford to keep him. Not with Frank trying to beat up Mary, Christine, and himself all the time. Not with Frank always stealing everything Mary owned.

Billy knew Mary had to give him away too, to Mother Hatherby. In Billy's mind, Mother Hatherby wanted him as did Father Shibley; and because he believed they both adopted him out of love, in his reasoning, he believed Mother Hatherby truly did love him. No matter what, because of this, he forced himself to love her, to love them both. Billy thought of Mother Hatherby as his real mom.

Billy believed Mother Hatherby loved him and cared for him like a real mom would as did Father Shibley, who he believed was his adoptive dad. With no idea, how a real mom should be, he accepted how they were, and this became the norm. Billy never wanted to find his real mom. He always felt if his real mom gave him up, it was for a good reason. Billy believed what was meant to be was meant to be, and this prevented him from searching deeper.

Since these new parents of Billy's, in between their fights and arguments and in between the horrible beatings, cared for him and Slade and kept a roof over their heads, Billy remained ever grateful. Billy saw worse. There were worse things than arguments, fights, and horrible beatings.

Things like torture, sexual abuse, and death. Those were worse things, Billy thought at the time, although sometimes Mother Hatherby's disciplinary methods felt like torture. Sometimes Father Shibley's warm hand coming down hard on their naked, cold and lily-white bottoms as they turned blood red, felt like abuse.

Better the monster you know than the monster you don't know was what Billy's grandma always used to say. Billy knew how bad it could have been. He believed if he and Slade kept loving their new parents long and hard enough, these new parents would one day love them back. Wherever placed, for them, it never happened that way. Not with any of the families. It did not happen with Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley, but something did happen, something else entirely.

Billy would soon discover Mother Hatherby, his foster mother, was his real mother and, furthermore, by the hand of his brother Slade; Mother Hatherby was now headless and dead. Billy was also about to discover Slade, his somewhat foster half-brother, was his real full-blood brother.

She's going to have an easy night, thought Billy. Seven check-ins and 23 percent occupancy, leaving nothing to do. Billy looked at his watch. Four minutes to go. He hoped Antoinette would not be late. Both printers were full of paper. Billy locked up the back doors. He was ready for Antoinette.

The elevator sounded and started to move down to the lobby. Billy knew this was not Antoinette; it was too early, and Antoinette was always late. He hoped it would be her, coming early for a change. Antoinette did not have a car.

Every time she entered the lobby, it would be from the front and never from the elevator. The bell sounded again as the elevator reached the lobby level. Its doors opened. No one walked out. Billy leaned over the front desk to see who was inside the elevator. It was empty with no reflection, no shadow, nothing.

Must be George, thought Billy. The left-side door behind the front desk flung open. Billy jumped as Tiger barged into the lobby.

"Look at this!" he shouted. "How fucked up is this?"

He opened his white robe. Pointing to his crotch, he revealed blood everywhere. "Look at this, Billy. Can you believe it?"

Billy felt as though he was about to throw up. "What the fuck, Tiger? Gross."

Tiger was erratic. "Can you believe this shit?" "Are you okay?" Billy asked.

"Do I look like I'm okay? I'm full of blood, man."

Billy decided to play into Tiger's madness for a few seconds. "Tiger, did you hurt yourself or something?"

"Hurt myself?" said Tiger with a confused look on his face. "You mean you don't know what this is?"

"Looks like you cut yourself badly, man."

"No. That's not it." Tiger laughed, frustrated Billy did not get it. "No, that's not it at all."

Billy felt lightheaded. The sight of blood always made him feel faint, bringing him to the verge of passing out.

Tiger laughed loudly. "The fucking bitch was on her period."

"Oh, my God," said Billy, "and she didn't tell you? Crazy. Disgusting."

"No, Billy. It's great. Amazing."

"Really," said Billy, not surprised at all because he knew this was one of Tiger's fetishes, of which he held many.

"Yes. Amazing," Tiger said.

In the lobby by the side door leading to the entrance of the front desk, Tiger stood, well endowed. He was bloody, with his white robe open for everyone to see, but there was no one there except for Billy. Tiger had supple muscles, lean and impressive with a chiseled six-pack looking more like an eight-pack. The lower half of Tiger's torso was full of blood from one of the girls. They were from Holland. Tiger said. From the red-light district, probably, thought Billy. Anything goes there.

Those girls loved sex no matter how they got it. Nothing would stop them. Not even a bloody period. Billy kind of understood why they fell for Tiger. Billy believed Tiger was the heartbreaking type. He saw him as one of those guys' God spent more time making.

He believed every part of Tiger was perfect, from the curve of the underside of the souls of his feet to the shape of his torso to the cheekbones in his face, to the squareness of his jawbone. God did not stop there. Tiger could sing well, and he could dance too. His smile made girls melt all over the place. The worst thing of all—but for Billy, who considered it to be the best thing of all—was that Tiger was unaware of his good looks. Chiseled out of a perfect diamond from the rarest of puddingstone, of this he was unaware.

Tiger was Tiger, and all he wanted was to be happy and to have fun and, most of all, to be loved. Billy loved him, or at least, showed him more love and attention than anyone in his whole life, and for that, Tiger was hooked on Billy. He was constantly trying to impress Billy, to get him to smile, to make him happy. For Tiger, if Billy was happy, Tiger was happy too. Tiger was unaccustomed to these emotions.

They came along when Billy came along, and they stayed. Not only did these emotions make Tiger happy, but they also made Billy happy. Although they were young adults, they were kids too, who were the best of friends, who never questioned their loyalty and love for each other, who never thought of how long they would stay friends. They connected, and they stayed connected; and everything they did, they did for the fun of it, for the hell of it, and for the benefit of their friendship.

"Tiger." Billy looked at him

"Hey, man, you're full of blood," Billy said.

"No shit, Sherlock."

"Don't you think it would be best to cover up before

someone—"

"Yeah, yeah." Tiger laughed. "But look at this," said Tiger.

"I can see. I'm happy you didn't hurt yourself." Billy could feel the laughter stirring within himself, and he choked it. He wanted to direct Tiger to the lobby linen closet to grab a fresh gown, but he placed the German girl's long walking stick in the closet, and for whatever reason, he was compelled not to mention the Staff to Tiger. Billy told Tiger everything, but something within himself urged him to wait and, strangely, Billy listened.

The elevator sounded and started moving.

"Oh shit!" Tiger shouted and closed the white robe while opening the side exit door. Looking at Billy, he beamed and said, "Your turn is almost up. See you in a few." Tiger disappeared down the hallway to room 13.

### Chapter 20

Antoinette came waddling into the lobby; she was late, and she had not laid any makeup on yet. Another fifteen minutes, thought Billy. He was anxious to get with Tiger and Tiger's new friends, anxious to have a blast, anxious to unwind.

The monkey raised his head and howled in triumph. The howl was more of a wailing cry than a howl. A cry likened unto that of an escaping hound finding its way out of the darkest and most fiery pits of hell. This incantation chilled them to the bone. Thane looked at Eartha. "Let's get out of here."

She nodded in agreement, and together with Speed, they ran for the door; but before reaching it, it flung open, and there the forgotten robed man stood with a revolver in one hand and a scarlet robe in the other. He raised the gun and opened fire, killing Thane and Eartha instantly and leaving Speed with a wounded leg.

Speed lay on the floor, holding his knee, biting down hard, trying to stop the pain. He looked up at the robed man.

"You have done well, my friend," said the robed man who began to dance and laugh like a crazed monkey in the rain on a virtually cloudless and sunny day. A monkey's wedding, Speed thought and frowned in confusion while looking at the monkey on the table. It quit feasting and was dancing like the robed man.

Chanting began, and the monkey fell to the ground and started to convulse. Its body expanded as Speed stared in disbelief. Before Speed's eyes, the monkey transformed itself into something humanlike. It stood up. Naked, it glanced at Speed who rubbed his eyes and shook his head, trying to focus.

The robed man stopped chanting, looked toward the newly formed demon, and pushed his chest out proudly like a happy rooster in the satisfaction of an early morning sunrise.

What the fuck? thought Speed. He looked toward the open door, judging the distance between him and it.

The robed man walked toward the demon and set a hand on its naked shoulder. "Wolfgang," he said, "we meet again."

Wolfgang leaned over and kissed the robed man on his forehead. The robed man raised the scarlet robe and flung it around Wolfgang. "The time has come," he said. "Now the work of the devil shall begin."

Wolfgang said, "Speed is the chosen one?"

"Yes," said the robed man, "he has a weak spirit. He will succumb."

"He will take Lobsang's place," said Wolfgang. "He will die like Lobsang, and we will free another."

"And you will take my place, Wolfgang. You are the next robed master. It's the will of the devil. I must go. More will come soon. You have work to do." The robed man bowed his head; Wolfgang responded in the same manner, and the robed man left the room.

Wolfgang, now with Speed alone, walked toward him. Speed scrambled for the open doorway, but in the blink of an eye, Wolfgang was upon him. Forgetting his pain, Speed screamed and kicked at him, but Wolfgang had a firm hold around Speed's waist.

"Leave me alone, fuckhead. Billy, help me. Tiger!" Speed shouted while trying to break free. Wolfgang tightened his embrace. Speed lost his breath and passed out. Wolfgang dragged him out of the room and down the hallway.

Erby sat in the antique bathtub, feeling like a king. The water was steaming, and his skin glowed bright red in the dimly lit bathroom. He sat proud of himself, his chest full, gloating like some prancing cock ready to mount the first willing hen. Flashes—images of blood, guts, and gore—tickled his mind and warmed his soul. Finally, he accepted the notion that he was insane, dirty, downright rotten, stinky.

He was thinking about what this newfound knowledge would hold for his future. Oh yes, he thought, no more holding back, no more restraining, no more submission, only assertion to follow. A sigh of relief was uttered. He felt his future calling—bright and inviting. What would follow, thought Erby, would undoubtedly be the most fun one person could endure.

Eternally grateful to his doctor, P. I. Reed, Erby shouted at the top of his voice, "Thanks, Doc!" His smile deepened. "Doc, you've cured me. My soul is good. I got my mojo back and a little swag too." Erby reached into the bathtub and splashed water onto his face. "Ah," he said as the roughness of the tub rubbed against his bottom.

An imaginary hardening gradually developed below, followed by a throbbing. Through the murky red water and its trickery, he saw the proverbial protrusion between his thighs. It can't be, he thought, but still, he hopped on this deception for the ride. On taking hold of his large penis, in an illusion of the reality he so wished for, Erby began hollering, unashamedly, his version of Sex Pistol's "God Save the Queen."

Erby discovered before the end of the "Queen" song by the Sex Pistols, his body would begin to jerk and jive, his heart would race, and his mind would be enthralled by emotions his body would encompass. Hence, he sang this punk-rock version of "God Save the Queen" frequently, leaving the Sex Pistols something to be desired.

"Billy, what can you tell me about Erby?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Wondering, that's all."

"Erby, you say?" said Billy. "Of course. I know him." Billy found himself wondering if it was really Erby he professed to know or if his mind somehow tricked him.

"Ah, Erby," said Billy, "isn't he the large fellow who lives east of Wilshire, there, by the West End Boys Club?" Billy paused to take a breath. Billy knew Tiger was always on the ball. "Yes," said Billy, "he's the guy who sees flashes."

"Flashes?" Tiger inquired curiously, knowing it was Billy who saw flashes.

"Yes. Flashes," Billy said, happy his brain was functioning correctly today. He would thank it later. Billy read it was good to thank his brain. It would help his brain to think better. Give his brain more confidence, it would, kind of like a pat on the back, but a pat on the brain instead. Billy did this every so often, and - for him - it worked.

"What kind of flashes?" inquired Tiger, raising the left corner of his mouth and lowering his left eyebrow in a squinting slant.

"Well, each time Erby has the privilege of speaking to me," said Billy, "he goes into this detailed conversation about how, out of the blue, he sees strange things."

"Like?" Tiger pushed. Looking to his right, Tiger noticed a largely starved hound. It was a bony dog, a huge Dogue de Bordeaux French Mastiff with a studded leather collar, walking about aimlessly. Tiger's heart saddened.

"Like," Billy thought out aloud and said, "like the time he told me he was walking home with Lindsey. Lindsey was a school friend of his back in the day. They were walking past one of these homes with a large wall around it. He told me he could hear dogs barking behind the wall, and when he looked at Lindsey, she was talking her head off. Jabber, jabber, jabber, he told me. Those were his words."

"And then what?" Tiger inquired wondering if maybe Billy was using Erby as a buffer to what was Billy's from the start. "And?" Tiger said, urging Billy.

"And the dog jumped over the top of the wall and ripped Lindsey's head clean off." "YUCK." Tiger cringed.

"He went on to say how her body swayed, blood gushing and all. But when he looked again, Lindsey was fine, jabbering but fine."

"You saying it was an illusion?"

"Something like that," said Billy.

"Wow," Tiger said, "sounds as though some of those nuts and bolts up there are more than loose."

"Yeah. They seem to be falling all over the place," said Billy. "Tiger, he told me once his grandmother was going on and on about something when wham! Next minute, he saw her wrapped up and stuffed in the cabinet below the TV. With its door swaying madly, it revealed the bloody old hag, as he put it, stuffed like a large contortionist into, as he described it to me, his description changed moving more and more toward a premature bleeding baby stuffed in a tiny coffin."

"Fuck," Tiger said.

"That's nothing, Tiger. Erby said she was still going on about this—that and the other, jabber, jabber, jabber—while mangled within the cabinet." Billy took a deep breath. "But when he looked away from the cabinet and over toward her rocking chair, there she was, knitting, not a trouble in the world, gossiping about this one and that." Billy paused for a second and braced himself. While considering Tiger's eyes, Billy said, "And upon glancing over toward the cabinet, Erby found it bare."

Tiger sighed. "He needs help. Don't you think?"

"No, Tiger," said Billy, "we all experience such compulsions at some point in our lives. We don't talk about them. This way, we all appear sane. It's those who feel the need to share their innermost thoughts who land up in the nuthouse. Next time they look, they surrounded by large eyes and funny smiles. And before they can say I'm sane, half their minds are removed, and they become zombies, prisoners of government funded institutions, lab rats."

"Yes, I think I know what you mean," said Tiger. "Fuck, if I began to spill the beans when it comes to what I think or feel, at times. Fuck." Tiger swallowed.

Erby pulled the plug, and the mixture of blood and water drained from the tub. He stood up and watched the water level subside. Above the foaming surface, Lizella's scathed knee began to show, anemic and lifeless. Following this, her nipples emerged; and as the water line lowered, her voluptuous breasts and the rest of her battered body followed. "Did you enjoy that, darling?" he asked Lizella, who could not respond vocally. She did respond, though, through death's vacant stare and the eerie glimmers of her lifelessly sad and dead eyes.

Billy could hear the music down the hallway. Led Zeppelin was giving it all they had, and "Stairway to Heaven" was filling the corridor, which helped muffle the sound of Billy's steps as he made his way to room 13. There was a bunch of people making a real racket. Billy got to the door, pulled out his key card from within his top pocket, and inserted it into the door slot.

The light above the door handle, next to the keycard insertion slot, turned red. They have the deadbolt on, thought Billy. Billy knocked, but the music was loud, and the laughing and shouting muffled any sound trying to make its way through. He knocked harder. There was complete silence.

"It's Billy!" Tiger shouted from within.

Billy could hear the excitement in Tiger's voice. He took a deep breath. He could feel his heart beginning to race. His palms were sweaty. Tiger's energy was infectious. Whatever Billy's fears may have been, the sound of Tiger's voice set them to rest. The door opened enough for Tiger's face to pop out and beam at Billy.

"Billy, good to see you." Tiger opened the door. Billy stepped in the room.

It was a small room with a queen-size bed. To the right of the bed was a large built-in Jacuzzi, filled with pink bubbles and reddish to pink water. In the front of the queen bed were a loveseat and a desk. To the left was the French door, which led to the balcony. Sitting on the soft cushions of the loveseat were the short blonde and the tall and slender brunette. On the shoulder of the loveseat was the guy with the long blond hair.

Billy could see, without a doubt, this was a young man. A good-looking young man with toned muscles and electric-blue eyes. They were all completely naked. The young man on the loveseat extended his hand. "Hey, Billy, we have heard a lot about you. My name is Thad."

Billy took Thad's hand. "Nice to meet you, Thad."

The girls both laughed and then giggled, finding this entertaining.

Tiger plopped on the bed.

"Wow, you guys are having a blast."

"We sure are." Tiger sat up again, and with excitement, he said, "Do you want to fuck?"

Billy looked at Tiger and coughed to clear his throat.

"Billy, we have two gorgeous young women here. Take your pick."

The girls were as eager and as filled with excitement as Tiger.

Billy giggled boyishly. "Not right now," he said. "I need to unwind. You guys continue. I think I'm going to grab a beer and take a seat on the balcony for a few."

"Suit yourself, Billy." Tiger was smiling. Tiger had a thought, and he eased it in, "Well, Billy, you have your pick. My new friends are free and easy. So, when you're ready, any one of them will give you the time of your life. Hey, even Thad is willing if you prefer."

Thad looked over at Tiger. "Yep," Thad said, "let me know. I'm game. Whatever floats your boat, Billy." Thad's smile broadened. "And I'm sure of what Tiger has told us, whoever you decide on, you will take them all the way to the moon and back and back again. And hey"—Thad took a deep breath and pushed his chest out— "I would love to go to the moon and back with you, Billy."

Billy laughed. "Not right now, guys, but thank you. Hey, you guys rock." Billy grabbed a beer from the mini refrigerator and made his way to the balcony.

Tiger, the girls, and Thad started wrestling, laughing, and joking around with one another. Billy took out a Marlboro Red and lit it while watching the cars on Ocean Drive pass. Now and then, he looked to see Tiger and his new friends in the Jacuzzi, out of the Jacuzzi, on the bed, on the floor, and on the loveseat. Once he looked, and the mattress from the queen bed was in the Jacuzzi too.

They were pillow fighting with rock music filling the air. Billy laughed. He could not help himself but to go inside and join them in the fun which he finally did after some moments rest out on the balcony.

Antoinette did not call their room concerning noise complaints. Billy and Tiger were responsible for the running of the front desk. They were only 23 percent. Billy placed new guests on the far end of the other side of the hotel. On Tiger's shift, Tiger did the same. They knew they would be safe.

The only other person who could hear them was Antoinette at the front desk, and she was slow, not caring much about anything. Billy and Tiger both noticed from the day she began working at the hotel that Antoinette had a crush on Billy. They kept this in a bag.

By leaving it, her crush persisted in the quiet of the unmentioned, becoming strong enough for her to protect them both when they needed it. Her crush caused her to watch over Billy always, which in turn protected Tiger, and this was good. Infatuations were a strange thing, Billy thought, but they were sometimes a good thing too. At least tonight they were.

Sitting on the balcony watching the cars on ocean drive Billy thought, will they ever know? Will they care? They peer into the sky, a body unclothed ready to die. With starry eyes, they watch as she cries. With a vacant stare, their minds wander and their hearts bare. Surely in time, time will reveal that of which they do feel.

Although, Billy thought deep inside, the truth constantly trying to hide. Stimulants and substitutes their hold, steel wings coated in tar, softening the cold. The truth of which they have made. Billy's mind continued to mosey off, the thrill of a game well played. But their minds wander and she continues her cry. It is done, leaving darkness yonder. Damaged wings wanting to fly. Will they ever know? Will they even care?

Billy stood up and walked into the room, "Bombs away," Billy shouted and tackled Thad who stumbled backward into the jacuzzi. Tiger laughed, grabbing the mattress, he ran at Thad with a naked giggling girl hanging on each arm as he dragged them into the jacuzzi along with the mattress. Billy could not stop laughing, finding himself rolling on the wet carpet in stitches of joy while Pearl Jam blared from the TV singing, "I can feel it coming back again like a rolling thunder chasing the wind..."

### Chapter 21

When Billy met Antoinette, his first impression was wow. She was fine. She had the longest hair he had ever seen on a girl. It was straight and gold, not blonde or dirty blonde but gold, and she had a personality suitable for the hospitality industry. Not only was she personable and friendly, but she also had sense enough not to be overly friendly or overly inquisitive. The guests liked friendly; they liked confidence, and they liked questions, but there were certain prying questions they preferred one not to ask.

They never wanted to hear they look tired, miserable, or sad; this annoyed them. The guests always loved compliments, and they loved hearing they looked good even if they did not look good at all. Antoinette had a way of making them feel great.

At the desk, Antoinette made Billy and Tiger feel great. She made them feel wanted, which in turn made them want to come to work. She was inspiring, and this was one of the main reasons that made it hard when the time came to fire her. Billy and Tiger would have let her go sooner, but they could not.

Billy would cover for her all the time as did Tiger, fixing her errors over and over. The funny thing is Billy and Tiger did not complain about having to fix her mistakes. They did laugh much when they got together, though, and they spoke of her and of how badly she performed at the front desk when it came to office tasks.

She was great with the guests, but she was from the woods or something, performing her daily work tasks as though she fell out of some cave, fresh from the Stone Age. No matter how hard Billy tried and no matter how hard Tiger tried, they could not get her comfortable with the computers at the front desk. She was afraid of those machines—all of them.

She would press a button; and when something happened on the computer screen, she would get the fright of her life, jumping backward and making strange, fearful sounds. One time, the cash register popped open, and her whole body could not handle the suddenness of it all. She fainted right in front of a guest who rushed behind the front desk to help her. Fortunately, Billy needed a stapler at the time and passed by the front desk in time to see a guest leaning over Antoinette, slapping her in the face and asking her if she was okay.

The phones were ringing off the hook. Billy stepped in and took over. Antoinette came around slowly, surprised to find herself on the floor. Billy built up the strength to tell her.

Although she was a good fit for the hotel, in a way, unfortunately, her fear of computer systems cost her, her job. It was not an easy thing to do for Billy, but he did it. Antoinette made it a lot easier by saying she understood completely and that she was expecting it sooner. She thanked Billy for keeping her on as long as he did because she said she needed the money.

After her final departure from the hotel, Antoinette invited Billy to a birthday party, which she planned to hold for him. Billy was turning twenty-one. Antoinette said she would love to give him a twenty-first birthday party. Billy thanked her and said he would love to go to a birthday party, especially his own, as he never celebrated a real birthday party before. She invited him to his party, and he accepted.

Unfortunately, Billy never made it there.

Although he tried to go to his birthday party, he did not get to go, or maybe he did. He could not remember. What he did remember was Antoinette was fired and replaced by a girl called Priscilla. Priscilla was beautiful too. She was half Filipino and half American.

She spoke like an American but looked like a Hawaiian Island girl. Priscilla had long shiny black hair down to her buttocks and a smile to make the angriest heart happy. She was a friendly girl. When Priscilla discovered Billy's invitation to his twenty-first, she asked Billy if she could take him. Priscilla said she would love to meet the girl she replaced, and for whatever reason, Priscilla wanted to make Billy feel good too. Billy agreed, and on the night of the party, they both dressed to kill. They climbed into Priscilla's hatchback Honda and raced down Ocean Drive to Billy's birthday party.

Then it happened: Billy went blank. Not completely blank but with many blank spots and much happening in a sudden fast-forward and reverse motion. Something went amiss. Billy lost track and in the end, could not remember if he attended his birthday party or not. There were flashes in his mind of being at the party, flashes of him arriving and flashes of him on his way there. Upon asking this new girl, Priscilla, if they were there yet, she looked over at him strangely and said,

"We were there, and we are returning already."

"We were there?" said Billy, surprised.

"Yes. They sang, and you blew out a candle. It was nice. Fun."

"Really?" Billy's mind was blank.

"Hey, how long before we get to the hotel?" Billy asked.

"Billy, you okay?" Priscilla asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Billy, we are on our way to your birthday party, remember?"

Billy shook his head and blinked. It was dark outside, and aside from the cat's eyes in the center of the road, the road was dark too.

"Hey."

"What?"

Priscilla looked over at Billy. "Ever tried Hawaiian hash oil before?"

"No. What is it?"

"I dipped my joint in it."

"You did?"

"Yep."

"What is it supposed to do?" asked Billy as the bushes on either side of Ocean Drive flew on by.

She took the joint out and lit it. "You want to find out?" She leaned over and handed it to Billy. He took it from her and looked at it. It looked like the joints Tiger rolled every so often. Billy took a drag.

"Hold it in," she said.

Billy held it in for as long as he could. Then he exhaled, but no smoke came out of his lungs.

"Take another drag," she said. "This time suck harder. Hold your breath longer."

He did, and the rest was unclear.

Billy remembered putting on a black velvet dress shirt and smart black dress pants with a gray sweater, but now he was wearing jeans and a white shirt. He did not remember changing. Priscilla started off with a long blue dress, but now she wore a short black mini.

Ahead of them, Billy could see the lights of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. They returned, and he was relieved. Priscilla had to work night shift, so she would be getting to work soon. Billy would go to his room and crash until he felt better—until he could figure this out. Right now, I feel like death warmed over, thought Billy.

Lying on the queen bed in room 13, Billy felt something wet underneath and vaguely remembered Tiger and his friends throwing the mattress into the Jacuzzi. Tiger took another room for the night, thought Billy. Now Billy began to think that just maybe he overlooked some critical information, feeling he was missing something.

Maybe this new girl liked him and wanted to have sex with him, and maybe he missed this somewhere along the line. He started to think maybe he should return to the front desk and chat with her. Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, he was harder than he was ever before. He throbbed so, feeling he would have to wait for it to go down before he made his way to the front desk.

He was sure she was interested in him. The way they used to sit together when he trained her. The heat that came off her body, in waves, making both so hot. And the way she would stop in the middle of whatever she was doing, grab a Vogue magazine, and ask him to sit with her as she paged through it. Maybe this was how she picked up guys.

Maybe they would sit with her, and she would page; and at some point, she would look up into their eyes. At that point, perhaps this was the cue for them to make their move. She did this several times, and on several different occasions, she stared into his eyes; but within, there were no butterflies, and nothing rose. He felt everything else except the arousal toward her, but this evening was different.

Lying here, on his wet queen bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, he throbbed like an angry bull, ready to mount the ass ripe end of a frustrated willing cow whose ducts were about to burst in a wondrous protein-filled splatter. Lust, thought Billy, lust, all over the show.

Billy plucked up the courage to return to the front desk. Once there, he found the new girl standing behind the desk, paging through a Vogue magazine. Billy imagined stepping behind the desk, grabbing her around the waist, and taking her. He further imagined throwing her to the ground, having her. She looked over at him.

"Billy, what's up? I thought you were sleeping." Billy did not say a word, but his face said it all.

"Billy, are you okay?"

"I don't know," said Billy. "I feel strange."

She looked over at him. Her shiny black hair swayed off her left shoulder like some goddess from a far-off Greek temple. Billy shook his head.

"Billy, I think you should lie down. Have you ever smoked pot before?"

"No. Ah yes. Well, it's been awhile."

"Well, the shit I gave you is different, and if you're not used to it—"

Billy considered her eyes, thinking it's now or never, thinking he would try it Tiger's way.

"Do you want to fuck?" he asked her politely.

She looked over at him, and he noticed her confident tease abruptly disappeared. It was like a great big fat walrus, thought Billy, whose initial aim was to tear this baby walrus to pieces when the great big bad walrus finds the little one in his way. Not only is the little one in his way, but it has since rushed up to him, and it has brushed itself against him. Left with the little guy making purring sounds of kindness and what is clearly sounds of love. So, what does the great big bully do? The confident monster turns into a weasel of no confidence at all, into what is simply an embarrassed, idiotic coward.

The great big monster who started it all cowers away; tries to hide, and tries to pretend he did not want to tear the little one to shreds. So, he tried to show it was a mistake. The great big walrus made himself look like a great big fool like she looked when she pulled her face in that way. She turned her head in that way and acted confused as though she never knew, for one second, she was coming onto anyone when she knew all along. So, when confronted with it all, thought Billy, she became a total tail-between-the-legs coward.

She's a virgin, Billy reasoned, Yep, she's a fucking virgin, and not only is she a virgin, she's also a fucking tease, a God damned tease. If she knew what sex was about, if someone fucked her brains out a few times, she would think, and she wouldn't do this fucked-up shit. Fucking bitch, Billy thought. He turned around and went back to room 13.

Lying on the bed with the wetness on his back, he thought of the events of the evening. Now the wetness under him felt wetter than before. It was warming his back. The unforgivable sin, thought Billy. To blaspheme the Holy Ghost; the ghost of good magic, that's what it was. Billy was staring at the ceiling. Who in the world would want an unforgivable sin on their shoulders, and what did it mean? Fuck the Holy Ghost, thought Billy, and he put his hand to his mouth.

"I didn't say that," said Billy. His mind was someplace far away. Fuck the Ghost of Goodness. There you go, thought Billy. Goodness be damned, fuck the Holy Ghost, fuck the ghost of good magic. Billy closed his eyes tightly. I don't want to think that. I don't want to say that, he thought. Jesus Christ, Devil, Get the fuck out of my head. Billy shook his head, but it was too late. He said it and thought it over and over, and like a crazed song stuck in the head, these words got stuck; and they passed his lips again, and he said them more than a few times.

The unforgivable sin, Billy thought again, and shook his head, trying to think of something else. Is that the end of me now? Does this mean I am destined for eternal doom, to blister for eternity? There is no beating around the bush when it comes to God, thought Billy. It was what it was, and there were no maybes. You either did what was said and believed, or you didn't; and if you believed, you followed it to the T. If you didn't, religion would tell you straight: you were going to die, to burn, and there was nothing you or anyone could do to stop it.

Worst of all, you were going to hell. Yep, thought Billy, to burn for eternity. Billy did not want to die. Billy did not want to burn. He wanted to stay on earth forever. Billy wanted to find a cure for death so no one would have to die ever again.

Now, especially now, after what he did or what he believed he did, Billy wanted to live forever. Right here on earth, thought Billy, feeling the way I feel right now. Feeling the waves in my head, hearing the swishing of the ocean as it comes crashing down. The comforting sounds of the white horses rolling in, the work of the moon in a moonstruck world and the pull of the tides, and—

The next morning, in pain, Billy managed to catch a bad cold in his back. Kidney discomforts that could kill a horse, a thousand horses, he thought. His head ached with the throbbing of every beat of a broken heart trapped in a kind soul. He sat on the edge of the bed with his hands to his temples. Waves of last night's insanity began to cloud the morning rush of blood to his brain. It tried to remember what occurred the night before, but each time it went there, all went blank. Billy saw and remembered nothing. Although something was playing on his mind, he could not place it.

After spending, most of the day and part of the night in bed Billy remembered what it was that was playing on his mind. He got dressed and left the room. The night was cold, and the wind blew hard. Billy passed the Boulevard and made his way to the cave through Laguna Beach's suburbs. He hated going to the cave after dark. He would have to pass through it to get to the place where he set up a loft for the dove's return. In the distance, he could hear a faint wailing sound.

Billy's thoughts raced on. He was on a mission. Something was drawing him to the cave. In his mind, this something was calling out to him. In this world, where worlds come together, thought Billy, in this time, where time is forever. A place far and beyond. Beyond that of which we know as the norm exists a darkness: deep and destructive, shallow and unproductive.

Into it, we venture, thought Billy, satisfied curiosity our quencher. Our babies are crying. Our children are dying. Fire is burning my eyes. My mouth is dry. No one to hear my cries. No one to hold my hand while I die.

Into it, we venture, satisfied curiosity our quencher.

Billy remembered a past conversation with Tiger.

"Tiger." Billy was walking on eggs.

"Billy." Tiger looked at him. "What is it?"

"These bags, where do you get them?"

"Well," Tiger said, "I needed extra cash. Erby. I get them from Erby."

Billy's heart dropped. "Erby?"

"Yes, Erby," Tiger said. "He offered me a job. No questions asked, he said, and $500 for each bag buried."

"Fuck, Tiger. What's in these bags? How could you take on such a thing without knowing what's in them?"

"Hey, hey, you didn't complain when I split the cash with you, $250 now and $250 the week before." "No, I didn't!" Billy shouted.

"Look, Billy, I've got to go." Tiger turned and walked off, leaving Billy lost for words.

Billy's concentration shattered as the scream grew louder. It's coming from the cave, he thought. As he walked closer, the sound grew more distinct. Then he realized the sound was a desperate scream, and upon nearing the cave, the scream became frantic and life threatening.

There it was—the cave. Billy walked past it. He closed his eyes and clamped his teeth, grinding them hard. As he did so, his heart drew him to the scream. Though his mind was totally unwilling, he knew he would have to intervene.

Billy turned. Following the scream, he stepped into the cave. As he grew closer to the insanity within, his eyes happened upon a man in a red suit slashing someone. This someone, he could not see. The man in the red suit swung around and looked at Billy. The man the someone was chopping up was obviously dead already because here its limp body fell out of the killer's grasp, smashing the ground with a bloody flop. The limp body's killer swung his head toward Billy. Billy screeched, turned, and ran with images of the killer's face stuck in his mind.

"Why did you want to know if I knew Erby?" asked Billy while shoveling.

"Curious," Tiger heaved his words out while he and Billy raised the full trash can bag that was lying await. So, full and compact, it appeared ready to burst. Black and elongated enough that anyone other than Billy may have questioned its contents right there and then. At least that was what Tiger thought, but Billy was full of questions. Questions he could not ask Tiger, questions he kept bottled inside.

"Move it. The sun will be up soon," said Tiger.

A hard and abrupt "Yes, sir" came from Billy.

"Fuck you too," said Tiger, shaking his head and sighing.

They took the bag and threw it into a shallow pit. It walloped the surface with dust filling the air. In the last two weeks, this was the second bag they buried.

Billy wanted to ask, but he restrained himself. He asked once before, and Tiger's response was nasty. Once they covered the pit, Billy said his good-byes to Tiger and began to make his way home to the hotel. Tiger, on the other hand, decided to sit for a while and admire the work they did.

"Slade!" shouted Kyle.

Slade looked up in time to see Kyle swinging a shovel at him. He braced himself for the impact, thinking Kyle hated him for getting them involved in this mess. Willie is dead, and I am to follow. He closed his eyes, ready to die.

"Slade, you fuckhead!" Kyle shouted. "Grab hold of it. The fucking bitch is coming, and she don't look talkative."

Surprised, Slade opened his eyes. The sharp spade end of Kyle's shovel swayed before him. Slade wrapped his arms around the shovel. Almost upon him, Mother Hatherby lunged. Kyle hauled Slade upward. She managed to grab his left leg.

Slade screamed, and Kyle pulled harder; but she was too strong, pulling his foot to her headless-vein sprawling, jugular-swaying, blood-spurting neck. Within her throat, a horrible sucking motion began.

"Oh, my God." Kyle's eyes widened. "She's gonna suck you down."

With his free leg, Slade kicked her as hard as he could. She stumbled backward, but she did not let go. Instead, Mother Hatherby tightened her grip, took hold of his booted foot, and began to stuff it down her slimy neck. Once the sucking began, she released her hands, allowing her headless neck to do the rest. Slade tried to pull away, but his boot was stuck, and he could feel it being pulled down.

The gumboot began to melt. In a desperate attempt to break free, thinking quickly, he maneuvered his foot within the boot.

"Pull, Kyle. Jesus Christ, pull!" he shouted.

His foot broke free from the boot, and the boot disappeared down Mother Hatherby's neck and into her fiery belly.

Kyle hauled Slade to the surface above the grave, falling onto the heaped dugout sand, heaving, and coughing.

"Get up, Kyle. Let's get the hell out of here."

Minutes later, they were running for their lives with the mad screams from Mother Hatherby's severed head echoing in the distance.

On the morning after, Simon Whimper came storming down Riverboat Drive, part of the historic quarter of Newport News, Hilton Village, first yelling at the top of his voice, "The witch has dug herself out!" And then he shouted, "May God help us all!"

Word of Mother Hatherby's resurrection moved from ear to ear, faster than a hot rod down a quarter mile. The townsfolk went to investigate and upon their findings walked away with bowed heads and troubled hearts.

From that day onward, the women of Hilton Village, Newport News, went downhill like pigs sliding backward on a steep incline toward the pits of hell. Sheriff Doppler's wife, Lola, lost her mind and was admitted to the Magnolia Asylum for the Insane. Later, a little while after being released from the asylum, Lola found herself broke and kicked out. Out in the cold and the harsh streets of the Unforgiven, with a severe leg infection, she died.

Cara, Henry's wife, started drinking again, causing her to lose her home, her car, and her family. Cara took to drugs. On an icy Christmas Eve, she disappeared sucked into a world of dim strangers. Homeless, Cara was seen wandering the streets of Newport News, a sad and lonely woman. One night, around midnight, Sheriff Doppler's headquarters was inundated with calls of townsfolk reporting the screams of a woman. Screaming while her body was being ripped apart.

The rumors persisted with a slight twist to their former selves. Instead of talk of Mother Hatherby's dark magical powers, there was the talk of a woman who roamed the streets of Hilton Village at night. A headless woman who, when the clock struck twelve, and the moon was overhead, emerged to stalk the homeless people of the town. They said she laughed at their screams as she ripped their limbs and glugged them down into her fiery belly.

In time, more and more rumors of a woman carrying her head under her arm accompanied by a young boy with a yin yang hanging around his neck surfaced.

### Chapter 22

"That was a long time ago," said Slade, looking at Kyle.

"It may have been, but it seems like yesterday," said Kyle.

"It was good to be alive, in them days," Slade said, his body half rotted away.

"She will be back soon. There is a newcomer on the streets. They say he walks around with a shiny curved blade attached to a broom handle. She will need us tonight," said Kyle. He lost most of his fingers.

With the stump of his hand, he brushed away from his bloodshot eyes what little hair he had left.

"A headless bitch and her servants in the year of fuck man do," said Slade and took in a deep breath. While shaking his head, he sighed. In the light of the moon above, he gazed around at the oak-hickory trees surrounding them, and he thought, no more can a tear come to my eyes. Never again can I feel love or hate, happiness or sadness. All that exists now, Slade thought, is an entity of emptiness and my duty to the one who made me what I am.

Moments later, from the direction of the bright new moon and in the haziness of its pale blue light, a Butcher Bird came from the sky and perched on Slade's shoulder. Surprised, Slade screened his eyes from the glare the Butcher Bird brought upon its arrival. Slade looked at it, thinking it was a white dove because it imitated the cool-hearted cooing of a white dove. Noticing something tied to its leg, he reached for it. The dove stood firm. In a flash, as the Butcher Bird stotted and pronked proudly, chuffed by its imitation, the dove began the same chest-pouting and leg-jumping behavior.

Kyle did not notice. To him, it looked like a dove, so it was a dove; but it was as far from that as could be. "It's... It's a message, Slade," said Kyle.

"Sure is." Slade opened it and read it aloud. Inscribed in black, ash-like scribbles, were the words:

Silver Ball, Calvert Cliffs, Maryland. Safety deposit key, to be found under the large rock next to the weeping willow. And be sure to hand the key to Mary. She will know what to do with it. Don't delay.

Signed

666

Slade looked at Kyle and smiled. As he did so, his face cracked. "Looks like it's time to leave, Kyle. It looks like we'll be going to Maryland."

"Sure, looks like it, Slade."

They heard a distant scream. Slade looked at Kyle and swallowed. "She's on the hunt again," said Kyle.

"Yes," Slade confirmed, "we better get out of here before she comes for us."

The thunderstorm arrived. The old Thunderbird was on Route 66 bypass, five minutes from Phoenix.

"Raquel, I know about the dark ghosts of the devil because somehow part of their mind is part of ours. I can hear these demons whispering far back in my head. At this moment, they are laughing."

Raquel was unable to say a word.

"So, you see, Raquel, they're coming for us." Joshua saw her ready to protest and held up a forestalling hand. They looked at each other somberly, and Joshua, seeing Raquel's wide staring eyes, said, "Please, Raquel. Be strong." These were his last words.

To their right, about fifty yards ahead, off the side of the road, wrapped around a dead willow, stood a lush bougainvillea. Inconspicuous flowers that appeared black velvet in the light of the silvery moon. Lightning flashed as it struck the hood of the old Ford in a boom of thunder and the front tires of the Thunderbird burst. Stunned, Joshua tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

The Thunderbird swerved from side to side and started to skid, causing the rear tires to scream, burn, and stick, swinging the car sideways into a tilt. A tiny scream came and died in Raquel's throat and was reborn as a bellowing terror-filled wail that let rip. Violent rolling followed aggressive tumbling, filling the air with sounds of thunderous crashing and human cries, screams, and wails as metal smashed into the road, crushing flesh.

Joshua's head struck the steering wheel hard, and his body jolted backward. Then his head lolled against his chest and slid sideways with a slow and sickening finality. A smile, indescribable in its cracked hope, caressed his lips, and his eyes closed for what he believed was the last time. Raquel's death was not as quick and painless. She would experience the crushing of her chest by the Thunderbird's approaching dash.

High-ululating sounds filled with hate and pain screamed out of Raquel. Then she slipped behind oblivion's velvet walls where she remained silent, with the crashing sounds of death forever trapped within her lost soul. In a matter of seconds, it was over, and the Thunderbird lay on its side.

With the screams no more, the thunderous crashing dissolved, and the storm dissipated, the Thunderbird sat next to the bougainvillea's autumn leaves, which now fell in mad variegated drifts. Cradle-like, the Thunderbird, a crumpled mess, rocked slightly. Quickly, as though on cue, silence seeped into the surrounding atmosphere and possessed the deserted road.

A bystander witnessed it all. Standing on the side of the road, the bystander with pig's feet and a forked tail placed a sure hand to a horned, hooded, faceless dark void, knowing all passengers here were most certainly dead. Across the lands of time far, far away, one of two boys, a young man, asked, "Did you hear that?" not knowing from where these sickening sounds of death came. Soon the unknown would tell all.

Beneath its hood, the bystander's dark void brightened but not much. Burning in his mouth was a fire, causing enough light to reveal his eyes—its eyes— turning red. Now with the sounds of vile sucking, the two souls from within the crumpled wreck got slurped into the emptiness of this dark hooded void, trapped in what was now, to them, their eternal doom.

Moments later, the air filled with the spooky, eerie laughter of ghosts. Separated from the bodies of the dead within the wreck, they rose into the sky, their laughter growing softer as they floated away. The bystander sniggered. They have done their duty well, he thought. As the mate of a Black Widow would do, who fucks her love, to be slapped with the fate of being eaten alive by her, Henry and Cara shall meet their fate too, as did Tina; and after that, the rest of the world will follow.

The fallen leaves of the bougainvillea whirled and moved upwards swirling in a vast phantasmagoria. Surrounding the bystander, together they formed a horrid humanlike shape held by the power within the darkness. Then the force dissipated into nothing and its hold on the leaves released. The leaves loosened and sprung out victoriously. Drifting downward, they caressed the ground and settled. The bystander was gone.

What remained of the dead bodies within the crashed Thunderbird had no need to await transportation to the nearest morgue because the victims within were taken, held captive. Enslaved by the darkness, they were sopped up like dry biscuits in the tastiest of gravy, shining their plates on a cold night as the devil filled its belly of fire. When Joshua and Raquel opened their eyes again, they found themselves with bloody ripped nails and raw torn fingers, screaming frantically, trapped in stinkwood coffins, on a plane on its way to Phoenix.

For reasons unknown, their bodies were transported first to Los Angeles and from Los Angeles flown to Chicago. Then the coffins were loaded into the baggage compartment of a plane on its way to Baltimore, Maryland. Stored below in the plane's designated luggage area, under the completely oblivious souls of the passengers' happy feet above, here Joshua and Raquel were not alone. Little did they know, flying together with them in the baggage compartment of this 747 Airbus, locked within her coffin, one made of steel, was Steve's rotting wife.

"I can see the excitement in your eyes," said Speed. He placed a warm hand on Lucy's shoulder. She quivered. Seated at the round table in front of her were her four roommates.

Speed removed his hand from Lucy's shoulder. The cycle must continue, he thought, while death smiled on them with new flesh to devour and another to arise. Seated around the circular table within the dimly lit room was a new group of friends, awaiting what they expected to follow.

Breathing in deeply, Speed said, "The time has come." He paused for a second. "Let the games begin." As Speed's programmed mind, captive soul, and lost heart awaited his death, a lifeless smiled caressed his lips.

I have become what Lobsang once was, Speed thought. Once killed, with my brain exposed, this monkey will feast as others have. Something dead, filled with dark magic, will become "human" like me. Not thinking to question this process any longer or the fullness of its cycle, Speed closed his eyes, thinking of Tiger and Billy. Speed wondered where his brother was right now. Something was coming. From a distance, far and beyond, a faint scream could be heard. A door opened, letting the scream into the room; and with that, the ritual began.

Tiger found himself at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel sitting in the spare room him and Billy chose. Sitting on the floor looking at the closed door in front of him he realized he was in room 313. He got up and walked to the mirror. Looking in the mirror, he saw this strange demon looking back at him.

Tiger strained his eyes in the dim light of the room and took a closer look at himself. His face was hard and thin, sucked in. It did not look like him at all. His nostrils were flaring, and smoke was coming out of them. On his head, in his hair, something protruded out of his skull. These protrusions looked like the horns of a goat.

Later, he remembered thinking; this was one of the devil's monsters, trying to get out of him. He remembered shouting at it, telling it to go away. Then Tiger thought of a story Billy told him. It was a story about the time Billy was driving in the back of a panel van to his aunt's house to get the book he loaned her.

Tiger remembered the name of the book in Billy's story. It was Christine. He knew Stephen King wrote it. Billy loaned the book to his aunt. It was two months, and his aunt had not returned it. Billy was anal about his books, so one day, he asked his childhood friend Joshua to take him to get the book from her.

His friend agreed. Joshua and Joshua's girlfriend sat in the front of the van, and Billy sat in the back with his back to the left panel. As they were driving along, some ass, who happened to be drunk, drove over to their side of the road. Billy's friend swerved out of the way, and the other car smashed right into the side of the panel van, right into Billy's back. Tiger remembered Billy telling him at that moment everything went dark. Billy heard someone screaming in the distance. Billy later realized these screams were his screams, coming out from deep within himself.

Billy said there was a yellow light. Buttery blonde surrounded everything, and as things filtered through, Billy told Tiger he could feel his legs jumping like a chicken's legs would when it got its head chopped off. Billy told him what he heard at the time. It was someone chanting loudly, saying, "In the name of Jesus, I bind you and banish you to hell. In the name of Jesus, from the hairs on my head to the nails at the tips of my toes, I am healed." These words grew louder and louder where they finally became a mantra, wanting never to stop. "In the name of Jesus. In the name of Jesus." These words went on and on with no real beginning or end.

Billy told Tiger he then realized it was himself that was chanting. At that moment, Joshua's girlfriend looked at him. In shock and confusion, she said, "Hang in there, Billy. We're on the way to the hospital." Joshua was shouting too, "Hang in there, buddy! We almost there." His friend spun the panel van around, stuck it into first, and floored it.

The transmission of the panel van gave in, and the van clogged abruptly. Billy's friend would not have it; he pushed the gear lever hard. Sticking it into second, he floored it once again. The van jerked and shuddered down the road, all the way to the hospital. When they arrived and carried Billy inside, it was discovered Billy was in perfect condition—no broken bones, not a scratch. The doctor told Billy he was not sure how he made it. A hair more, just a hair, and it would have paralyzed him for life.

In remembering this story told by Billy to Tiger hundreds of times, Tiger looked up at the thing in the mirror and began to chant over and over, "In the name of Jesus, in the name of Jesus."

The Maryland sun almost set. Steve, Kyle, and Slade stood on the Calvert Cliffs, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The place seemingly alive, the surrounding air breathed out mist in a moon-filled glow, which lit the coastline. Reflecting bronze against the Silver Ball, the last rays of the setting sun surrendered to the primordial light of the new moon, which now peered at them in all its splendor.

"They will come," said Slade.

"I know. I can feel it in my bones," said Kyle.

"I feel something too," said Steve, considering the steel coffin where Sarah lay. Although decayed, she looked peaceful there. Soon, he knew he would have to pick her up and throw her over the cliff. No, thought Steve, I will jump with her in my arms, and we will go together.

"The slaves of the devil with darkness for a face and red coals for eyes are meeting right now with the darksiders. The children of the light must hurry, or we will all die," said Kyle.

"Will Billy know the difference, Slade? Will Billy know who's good and who's bad?"

Slade stared vacantly at the ocean. "I hope so, Kyle. I pray he will. Tiger must arrive last. He's the one who will be able to save Christine and Emma. Personally, I think Tiger is the one who can save us all. He has power, power unbeknownst to himself."

With that, an old VW Beetle pulled into the parking area next to the Silver Ball. It slowed down, stopped, and a shapely woman climbed out. "Hey, boys!" she shouted. "Anybody want to be fucked?"

Dumbstruck, they stared at her, and Kyle became hard with a song, which entered his mind, "Your cruel device, your lips like ice..." The song played in Kyle's head as he watched her. "One look could kill, my pain your thrill," the song stuck itself in Kyles mind. She had a bashed in skull, but she was beautiful. Even with blood on her face and dress, she beamed like the perky light of the sweet sun at dawn.

Seductively, she walked toward Kyle and said, "Or are we all fucked already?" And she burst out laughing.

Kyle sighed in relief. "Tabatha, thank God," he said, smiling.

Tabatha walked toward them. "Fuck," she said, "for someone who was battling to get hold of me, you got hold of me fast."

"What are you saying, Tabatha?" asked Slade. "We could not reach you no matter how hard we tried."

"Slade, I received your message on the answering machine," she said.

"What message?" Slade looked confused. "I left no message," he said.

"Well, someone did. It doesn't matter." She shook her head. "I was supposed to catch a plane here, but I fell asleep at some monkey party and dreamed of this Silver Ball. It was then someone reached into my dream and sucked me out. When I came to my senses, I found myself driving up this road with this fucking hole in my head. I saw a silvery water tower ahead of me, and somehow I knew I would find you guys here."

"Your assumptions were correct," said Kyle, stunned by what he heard. Trying not to stare at Tabatha for too long, Kyle looked up into the sky. "The time is near," he said. "We must hurry. The others will be arriving soon."

Kyle decided later that night he would talk to Tabatha about his feelings for her. Looking at the darkening sky, he reached into his trench coat pocket. In his trench coat pocket was the safety deposit key he found under the large rock next to the weeping willow. He took the key as instructed, and he would try to hand it to Mary soon, but this was not what he was looking for.

He fumbled around in his pockets, found his tiny black book, and took it out. Two pages to go, he thought, two more drops of blood and the devil's got me. Two more days, today and tomorrow, he thought, and he sighed heavily.

Christine run away from boarding school several times, and she always found her way to her mother. Mary decided to buy a house up in Maryland. She found a beautiful house going cheap—unbelievably cheap. So, she grabbed it, and she brought Christine to live with her.

They were far away from San Diego and far enough away from Frank to feel safe for a while. Mary loved her new home, and she could not believe the view it afforded her. It sat on the edge of a cliff, the Culvert Cliffs of Maryland, with a great big giant Silver Ball, a silver water tower over the cliffs, looking more beautiful especially when silhouetted against the hillside at sunset.

"What are those people doing out there?" Christine's hands were shaking. "Mommy, I'm talking to you." There was no response. Christine heard clanging in the kitchen and walked over. Mary was cooking something. She was always cooking something.

"Did you hear me, Mommy?"

"Yes, I heard." Mary's hands were in dough. She was making bread. Rolling and folding and mixing and folding some more. "Can you see what I'm doing?" Mary looked at Christine and pulled her lips tight. "You are always watching everyone and always asking me if I saw someone. Leave the people alone. Nothing is coming, darling. You must stop this, please."

"This is different, Mommy. It's not the same as always."

"It is the same." Mary tilted her head to the left and rolled her eyes.

"There are coffins, Mommy. Four coffins."

Mary's heart started to beat faster. "Four coffins," she said as she walked from the kitchen into the living room to the window. Mary pulled the curtain, leaving the lace to hide her from the view of the outsiders. Below the Silver Ball, Mary saw a VW Beetle and a few people standing. Someone was hugging someone else, and there was laughing. She saw this but heard nothing. Mary wondered what time Emma would arrive. Emma was due to visit Christine today.

The windows of the living room were double-pane glass and gas filled to protect them from harsh winters. To the right of the group of strangers, Mary saw a few boxlike caskets. They were coffins, and there was a radio balancing on a rock, a little boom box. "Christine!" Mary shouted. "I must get the shotgun." Christine was right behind Mary, almost on top of her. Christine took a deep breath, and without any protest, she turned and began to make her way to get the shotgun for her mother.

"No. Wait. I will get it. Thank you, baby," said Mary, placing a gentle hand on Christine's shoulder. As she did so, Mary's mind started to race, thinking of her son, Michael, remembering one of the most painful moments of her life.

### Chapter 23

"Magic to keep you warm at night, to complete you. This kind of magic is hard to find. It isn't your eyes you are damaging. No, it's your soul you are fixing. It's your heart you are mending. You are staring into the bright light to go blind, not because you don't want to see anymore but because you want the magic," said Christine as her old decrepit hands took hold of the armrests belonging to her Victorian rocker.

Slowly, she lifted herself out of the chair, causing arthritic pain to shoot through her body and strike her nerve endings like a stubborn hammer always missing the nail head and getting the thumb smashed instead. Once again, she readied herself to try to stand; but before she could do anything else, in a demonic cyclone of devilish games she disappeared, sucked into the void of lucifer's nothingness.

From the pits of hell, darkness summoned its children of magic. Being chosen leaders of the new world to follow, they were also losers to the Deal Maker, the one who deceived them into choosing any desire, wish, or need—anything— in exchange for their souls. Called first was Mother Hatherby. She was standing in front of a lost three-year-old boy, ready to suck him down her throat.

Mother Hatherby wondered where her slaves disappeared to and thought when she found Slade, her oldest son, and most devoted slave; she would kill him. She took her smelly head from under her left arm and positioned it on her severed neck and laughed loudly. He is dead already, she thought. Can't go killing the dead, can we? Mother Hatherby positioned her decapitated head to peer at the boy. "Come here, sweetie, Billy boy," she said. "Come to Mommy."

Michael backed away, turned around, and began to run as fast as his legs could carry him. "Now now!" she shouted in a rough monstrous voice. "That's no way to go treating your mother, is it?" Mother Hatherby leaped over and ran to the child. Before reaching him, her arms disappeared, and she screamed in horror, "What the fuck!" After that, her legs disappeared; and her buttocks hit the ground hard, creating a dust cloud and breaking her coccyx. A ululating scream from her rotten head followed. That is when the rest of her disappeared, sucked to hell.

Following this, Cara (respected for killing the priest, Father Shibley, and his nuns) was drawn out of her world and into the fiery furnace of hell. Then came the serial killer Erby, who was about to slice his dentist's throat when he fell apart and melted away, vanishing into thin air, thrown into the devil's lair.

Then came Henry, the demon possessor of human flesh. Speed, Tiger's brother, was drawn from the monkey dance into a room at the Laguna Palms Spar Hotel where he was confronted by the devil who used Tiger as a catalyst in pretense to suck Speed to hell. Speed was to be used only for the planned sacrifice soon to follow. About to crush a monkey's skull and eat its brains, he was pulled out of his world and into the devil's domain.

Then came Joshua, the howling crazed maniac. When he was sucked down, he got thrown out of the Thunderbird and back into the little wooden cabin in the woods where he, found himself trapped in a past moment; ranting and raging about Raquel, his bitch, and her slutty behavior at the movies. His skin started to bubble and pop and pain filled his entire body as the devil sucked him to hell.

Christine's father, Frank, the gas freak, was on his way back to the devil's gas chamber for unwanted children in a desperate attempt to rid himself of Christine when suddenly he was sucked to Mary's little house. A detour in the devil's game as the devil played tick-tack-toe with their lives readying himself to devour their souls.

With Frank's plans to eventually kill Mary, Mary waited anxiously with her shotgun ready to blow Frank to smithereens, but the devil had plans of his own. Before being able to kill Mary, Frank disappeared, awakening in death's comfortable lounge with his back to a fireplace, which oozed molten lava out over his inner thighs, burning its way through the forbidden ground between them. The pain was excruciating, but he smiled joyously; he was home.

"Stand for the verdict," said the officer at the end of the courtroom. Erby, Tiger, and Billy stood up. Judge Kilter peered at them. From his left came an enclosed envelope via the jury. Judge Kilter took it, opened it, and read the inscription. Tiger was the first to see him swallow.

Tiger swallowed too and prepared himself. Judge Kilter was pleased with the verdict; his eyes, which moments ago were tired, now sparkled. Judge Kilter's eyes panned over Erby, Tiger, and Billy; and he shouted, "You're guilty you bastards. Guilty!" After that, Judge Kilter jumped up on the podium before them and began to chant, "In the name of Jesus. In the name of Jesus, we have the victory. In the name of Jesus. In the name of Jesus, we have been set free."

The officer in the courtroom found himself unsure of what to do. Surely, a judge held privileges to do what he willed even if it was for God. At least that is in his courtroom, thought the officer. Judge Kilter jumped off the podium and rushed for Erby, Billy, and Tiger. The officer knew something went seriously wrong. He pulled his gun out and shot Judge Kilter dead.

Tiger woke up in room 313, yelling at the top of his voice. He sat up and looked over at the mirror. The thing in the mirror was gone, the smoke was gone too, and he could see his face again. It looked worn out, sweaty. On the edge of his bed was a torn-up Tommy Hilfiger jacket. Confused, Tiger got up and walked over to the jacket. He recognized it, ripped to shreds, torn; it belonged to Billy. Oh, my God, Billy, he thought.

Billy went to room 13 instead of room 313. He was not about to go up to Tiger's room. He hoped Tiger was all right. Something inside of him believed Tiger was fine, but he was not about to go up there and check. Part of him wanted all this to go away, and part of him loved every minute of it.

When Billy got to room 13, he inserted the key, and the light flashed green. Billy entered the room and flopped onto the bed. He felt wide awake, but at the same time, he felt exhausted. Lying there on the queen bed, on his left side, Billy stared at the Jacuzzi for a bit.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds. Those few seconds felt like hours, days, and then months. He lay there for what felt like years, decades, and then centuries. It was cozy and safe, and it was good.

He felt no pain, no misery, no heartache, nothing. Dark, empty and warm, free. In the distance, his mind could hear the many doors opening and closing at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel, and he heard the ruffling of demonic activity. What his mind could not see, what it could not pick up from the confines of his room, it would soon discover in the days to follow.

Lying on the bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling of room 13, Billy thought, In a frenzy of madness, from afar, her fiery hair glimmers: a crest of a Golden Pheasant. Her face, a radiance of grandeur and her eyes; the shimmering glow of an African violet. Loves touch, emanating, like oncoming ocean waves in an endless quest, caressing the shoreline.

A heart of love, thought Billy, the Big Broad up there, a smile of peace, and her lips a touch of velvet. In beauty, there is truth and in truth, freedom. The freedom to be or not to be. That of which she wishes. A wish wished. A dream dreamt and, still, from afar that fiery hair beams. Her lips broaden, a smile appears, and she finds, in beauty, the truth she seeks. Billy closed his eyes and drifted off.

Last night Billy parked their canary yellow 1970 Pontiac Grandville convertible, in the basement beneath; in the private underground parking lot of the Laguna Palms Spa hotel. They were trying to hide their car. Lately, everyone wanted to be their friend, and they were getting tired of this. There was a knock at the door.

Billy was in room 13 at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel with his friend Tiger. Tiger arrived earlier. Still waking up, Billy was afraid to let him in, but Tiger's infectious smile won the battle, once again, and Billy broke down and reluctantly opened the door and invited the devil into their room. There was a strange uneasiness in the air. Things were changing fast. Billy felt uneasy in the room with Tiger, and although set off by another knock on the door, Billy was relieved when it came unannounced. The knock came again. This time it was louder, packed with authority.

"You better get it, Tiger." Billy's mind searched for a way out.

Tiger walked toward the door and reached for the handle.

"Tiger."

"What?"

"Be careful," Billy whispered.

Tiger peered at Billy, simultaneously tilting his head. "Fuck, man, Billy, don't piss in your pants."

Billy showed Tiger the finger; Tiger sighed angrily. He reached for the door handle and turned it. Upon opening the door slightly, he found Speed standing on its outer threshold.

Billy was relieved to see Speed was alive, but Billy was late for his shift and needed to run. "Speed," Billy said, "good to see you. We thought—" Billy looked toward Tiger. Tiger's face was hard and cold. "I've gotta run." Billy stood up, excited to be leaving, he made eyes at Speed. He was trying to say, without saying a word, Tiger did not seem to be himself, that Speed should tread lightly.

Out of Tiger's view, Speed rolled his eyes at Billy amiably. Billy left the room, rushing off to begin his shift at the front desk of the hotel. Speed stepped into room 13. He extended his hand to shake the hand of his brother.

Tiger took Speed's hand and shook it, squeezing it too hard. Speed pretended not to notice. He let go fast. Speed's hand hurt badly. "Come on in, my brother," said Tiger with a weird grin on his face. Speed looked at Tiger strangely. Ludicrous. Billy was right, thought Speed. Tiger was not himself today.

"Christine. Oh, my God. She's coming!" Emma shouted.

"She's coming!" they shouted together. They were standing in room 13 staring into the Jacuzzi with its pink water and at the little girl climbing out of its bottom end. Christine was trying to squeeze herself through to climb out of the Jacuzzi, but she was stuck and slipping back. Christine looked at the pink water. Under it, she could see her legs were old and frail; but above the water, her arms were young again. In the mirror on the wall, she saw herself, her younger self, trying to climb out of the Jacuzzi. Something was pulling at her old lady legs, but Christine pulled harder. She wanted to be young again, wanted to be free, and, most of all, wanted to escape from hell.

Another chance is what it is, she thought. With that, she broke free and flew out of the Jacuzzi onto the queen bed like a crazed lotto machine's tiny ball that popped and landed itself in one of the winning number slots. Sitting, waiting, beaming in anticipation of the creation of a whole number that would finally decide the inevitable fate of its winners and its losers too. One by one, they came, popping out of the Jacuzzi and landing all over room 13. The chainsaw ladies came too, but that was about a week back; and the headless nun, Mother Hatherby, with her slaves, arrived a few days ago.

### Chapter 24

Speed, Tiger's brother, cried and then laughed. His brown gelled hair stayed in its place, and his athletic torso stiffened as it tried to control the rest of his body. Speed was a young and healthy man in his twenties. He was sitting on a large comfortable sofa in Tiger and Billy's room at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel, looking at his brother. Tiger seemed to find the sounds of joy exiting Speed's mouth pleasing.

"Billy called me last night," said Speed. "He said we should meet on Friday at the Silver Ball in Maryland, the Calvert Cliffs. That's five days away. He said the dead uncle's eyes were to open soon, and one of us would have to reach Mary. He called her the dreamer," said Speed. He tilted his head to the side while looking directly into Tiger's eyes. "Tiger, Billy said he could not reach her. Said her mind was too strong. Apparently, she is the key. She can bring stuff out of her dreams or people. She controls dreams. At least that's what Billy said."

Tiger stood up, angry. "Tiger, sit. You can't leave. We have much to talk about," Speed pleaded. Billy went down earlier to work his shift. Speed felt down lately, down in the dumps. He felt he needed this time with his brother. He arrived an hour ago, and since then, he laughed and then shouted with joy.

This is something I have not done for a good while ever since Tabatha died, thought Speed. Speed knew Billy reached Mary a few days ago by the cave. Billy told him this. What was happening? Something was amiss. Oh, my fuck, thought Speed, Tabatha is dead. Something did not seem altogether right. Tiger's eyes were far away. He was not listening.

Speed met Tabatha at a music festival in the springtime. She was standing at the far end of Rockman's Music Store in downtown Santa Monica. At first, he did not notice her; he was with Billy, who convinced Speed to walk with him to the store. Billy was head over heels in love with the young woman who operated the cashier till.

All Billy wanted to do was to go into Rockman's and purchase a CD—any CD. This would give him a chance to look into the owner's eyes. Miriam was her name. Billy noticed Tabatha first. Speed was trying to talk to him, but he found himself talking to a mute. Speed searched for the distraction that captured Billy, and on finding it, his jaw dropped; with an open mouth, and his hazel eyes bulged in utter shock.

Could such a creature exist, he thought, so fine and not almost perfect but plain perfect? Tabatha had lush black hair, dreamy baby-blue eyes, and a body any member of the female sex would murder for. Her sharp features gave her a confident look.

The rest of her—broad shoulders, flat belly, well-formed melons, and streamlined figure, not to mention a nose-in-the-air attitude—made her a goddess in her own right. Would a girl like that fall for a bum like me? Never. Speed concluded. Not in his wildest dreams did he ever think such a creature of this lost world, as he so often called the nook of princesses on Santa Monica Beach, would even attempt to smile at him. Speed was soon to discover he was wrong. Before long, he found himself restructuring his beliefs. Turning his back on his immediate friends and family soon followed and nothing else, but this beautiful creature, mattered.

After he met Tabatha, the young dog within Speed died a quick death. In a flash, he learned many new satisfying and exciting tricks. In a blink, another dog arose, ready to lap up Tabatha. It was quite funny to Speed how a pretty girl could change everything. How it took away his sadness. How it turned a plain old day into one that shone ever so bright. How it built up hatred in his soul toward everyone she smiled at. How it aroused the sleeping demons within his mind and how it crucified his love for those closest to him.

At the store, Tabatha looked up from the Queen CD in her hand. Her thumb caressed Freddie Mercury's chin while Freddie's picture grinned dreamily ahead. Looking to her left, she sensed their eyes invading her curves. On looking to her right, she made contact. Four googly eyes, two belonging to Billy and the other two belonging to Speed, met hers.

Speed's heart sank. He could feel his knees trembling with combined fear and lust. Billy, on the other hand, decided this was too much for his heart. Quickly, he deserted Speed and went to sniff out the owner. Speed stood frozen in awe, afraid to move, afraid of mucking up.

Do something, my butterfly. Don't just stand there. Butterflies, butterflies. Oh God, thought Speed, butterflies. More like gnawing rats. Well, baby, you're staring, and I think I'll do the same, no reason for any guilt.

Tabatha allowed a smile to emerge, and the confidence Speed mustered crumbled. Speed's knees weakened, and he fell over onto the CD stand. A pile of CDs came tumbling on top of him. He lay, hoping this beautiful creature departed.

Someone was removing CDs from above his face. "Not yet," he whispered. "Please, wait a moment." Speed imagined Tabatha leaving with a smile of triumph on her lips and pleasure in her eyes, pleasure in the power she held over men. Speed could feel the weight of the fallen CDs becoming lighter. He waited a few seconds.

She must be out by now. Speed felt better, not caring if anyone else observed the crash. He thought all that mattered departed. He took in a deep breath and sighed. In doing so, the last CD was removed from above his eyes, and in its place, Tabatha's face shone at him. Smiling warmly, she reached over and touched his lips. Speed fainted.

Three weeks after this, sitting together under the royal palms overlooking Santa Monica Bay, Tabatha told Speed she was deeply in love with Billy. She said she loved him for a long time, and it was her dream to marry him one day. Billy told her of the legend of the singing cicadas of Virginia. He said they spent most of their lives underground, seventeen years to be exact. After which, they would surface to shed and mate. And then they would die, leaving behind one night of song, filling the forests of Virginia forever with the hearts of their last cry. On that day, Tabatha fell in love with Billy. She said she saw potential in him. Adding to this, she wished to be his muse, his woman of steel, and his best friend. From this point onward, Speed developed an intense hatred for Billy, feeling a burning desire deep within himself to kill Billy.

Two years after this, Tabatha died at the hands of Lobsang, leaving Speed to fly solo with a wrecked heart. Speed could not believe she was dead. If only he listened to Billy and his brother, Tiger. After the monkey dance, Tabatha's body went missing. All they found was her bloody blouse floating around in the lagoon near the cave. She disappeared, but Speed believed he would see her again.

"Tiger, sit." Speed got up, walked to where Tiger was standing, lay his hand on Tiger's shoulder, and shoved him onto the sofa.

"Speed, you know, I have to go."

"Where? Billy is working. What could you possibly have to do that's more important than me right now?"

"I'll spare an extra two hours, and then I have to hit the road." Tiger was attempting to be earnest. Looking at Speed, he said, "Speed, I don't mean to be rude. I'll return in a week, and then we will have all the time in the world to talk."

Tiger, you may be dead before the week is over, thought Speed. "No. We will talk now," said Speed. Little did Speed know the Tiger, who sat with him, was a dead entity, a monster in disguise, a child of the devil. Billy did not know either.

Billy thought Tiger was acting strange again, so he rushed off to the front desk, leaving Speed with this thing he thought was Tiger. Speed was about to experience a twist of fate. Speed sank onto the sofa. Now he felt a weird sense of awareness. In his mind, for what was a split second, he saw Tiger's body grotesquely mangled.

Covered in blood, Tiger had a metal object protruding from within his chest. Speed blinked the image out of his mind and felt weak. Although he and Tiger were brothers, they were not of the same blood. Via a covenant between them, a blood covenant, they became blood brothers.

For a while now, death dreams disturbed Speed intensely. Speed did not convey his unsteady feelings about his dreams to Tiger. Speed did not want Tiger to think that he was a nut, but Speed believed he was, and he recently began to think of himself as being eccentric. When strange things began to occur, Speed would blame it on his mind. What Speed did not consider was that nine out of ten people who thought they were eccentric were normal and those that could not see their eccentricity were eccentric.

Today, what was about to occur was not caused by any fault of Speed's mind, and it had nothing to do with eccentricity. Speed blamed this sudden shift in time on his mind, thinking he was going crazy when he was perfectly sane.

"Well," Speed started by saying, "two extra hours should be sufficient."

All Speed wanted to do when he arrived at four thirty this afternoon was to talk. He wanted company, a friend to share old times with, and that was what they did. The two bloods laughed, conversed wisely, argued, and enjoyed the time.

Speed neither looked up at the clock on the wall nor asked the time. He spoke of Miriam, Priscilla, the Jacuzzi girls, and Erby. They talked about the days when life was worth living. He also spoke of the time of true love and courtship and peace. While speaking, unbeknownst to Speed, room 13 grew dark at the end of one day and filled with light at the dawning of another.

When Speed reached his fill, he plucked up the courage to look at the clock on the wall above the Jacuzzi. he noticed it stopped at around about the same time Billy left to begin his shift at the front desk. That's funny, Speed thought. He arrived at room 13 at two thirty this afternoon. Speed was almost certain that since then the clock passed six in the evening, but now it sat back on two thirty.

Did Tiger change the time when I was not looking? Did Tiger stand up and wind the clock back? Speed wondered. Not likely, he thought. Speed looked at Tiger, who was chatting with him. Doesn't he realize I've stopped listening? What's wrong with him?

Speed got up from the sofa, still looking at Tiger. Tiger continued talking to the emptiness on the sofa where Speed was sitting earlier. God! What is happening? Speed wondered. Then he remembered the monkey dance. He remembered standing above a screeching terrified monkey. With a fork in one hand and a hammer in the other, he remembered wondering if he would be able to eat this monkeys brain. Speed looked at his hands and shuddered, trying to jump away from them without success.

His hands were not those young mature tools anymore; they were ancient. Speed's hands were a hundred years old. In the background, Tiger continued talking. How did I get here, Speed wondered? Last, he remembered, he was at the monkey dance.

Everything after that was blank. Now he was in a room with Tiger. Tiger would never squeeze his hand like that. Tiger would never hurt him. Oh, my fuck, Speed thought. Maybe, just maybe this is not Tiger.

"Oh God." Speed said, and then he shouted, "Stop it. Tiger, shut the fuck up. You mother fucking cunt. Shut the fuck up." From where Speed stood, Tiger was blurred and far away. Other than Tiger's voice, he could hear another voice.

Speed placed his hand to his closed mouth. That other voice—it's my voice, thought Speed, but it's not me. Who in fucking hell is it? Speed closed his eyes and shook his head. Hastily, Speed stepped over to the large mirror, which hung on the wall in room 13.

He's bones began to ache like that of an old person. At the mirror, he hesitated, forcing himself to look, he raised his head, and what he saw made him shriek. The man who stood in front of him was not himself but an old wrinkled, frail man, aging by the minute.

In denial, Speed raised his arm and perched a hand on his head, nestling his fingers in his silvery-white hair. He prayed for the old man in the mirror not to do the same, but the mirrored image of a frail, aging man followed suit. Without a doubt, this in the mirror was his reflection. There was an odd taste in his mouth like something stuck for too long between rotting teeth. Speed began to cry.

Next to the emptiness, which Tiger continued talking to, Speed had since taken a seat. Possibly, Tiger saw Speed still sitting there next to him. This Speed would never know. Speed looked at Tiger and yelled, "Shut the fuck up! You're draining the life out of me, you fuckhead."

Speed fell to his knees. He felt weak and old. Standing was too painful. He began to crawl toward Tiger. As he bawled his eyes out, Speeds unrelenting scream for Tiger to shut his mouth bounced off the walls of room 13 like a Wham-O Super Ball stuck in a time warp. Speed wished him to stop, even for a second, for a breath of fresh air; but Tiger chit chatted away as though stopping become a drowned option never to think of ever again.

Speed aged faster now; well over one hundred years old by the time he reached the front leg of the sofa on which Tiger sat. On reaching Tiger's left foot, Speed aged another hundred years. He tried to crawl up the side of the sofa, but his aged heart started to pack-up. Next, his kidneys and the rest of his vital organs shut down.

Moments before Speed died, he looked up at Tiger. Tiger's face changed into something hideous with goat's horns protruding from the head of an empty hooded face. Upon seeing blood red pig's trotters in place of Tiger's feet, Speed opened his mouth in disgust and allowed a few trembling words out, "You are not my blood. Where in hell have you thrown my blood? What have you done with my friend?" At the foot of what first appeared to be Tiger but in all actuality, it was the devil; Speed closed his eyes and died.

The devil peered at Speed's frail corpse and smiled. Bending over, it reached beneath its cloak and pulled out the sharp curved blade attached to a broom handle. The blade gleamed silver. The devil straightened its back while its forked tail stabbed at the carpet vehemently lifting itself off the ground and repositioning itself at the door in a flash. The devil opened the door and shut it on its way out.

When Speed opened his eyes again, he was on a hill below a huge silver water tower. Tabatha was sitting on the side of an empty coffin. In the distance, ahead of them was the skyline of a large city. It looked like a city of gold, sitting far off, out in the misty haze of the Atlantic Ocean. Speed adjusted his position and lay at Tabatha's feet. He was young again. "Tabatha," he asked, "Where am I?"

She smiled at him and said, "Welcome to hell, baby."

He frowned, stood up, and trembling; he leaned over to kiss her. The day darkened and became night. In the distance, two headless women were running toward them. Or was it toward the cliff? Speed wondered. They were blood soaked. Each woman held the remains of their decapitated heads under each of their arms, and each commanded a roaring chainsaw.

The closer they got, the louder their hellish screams and fiercer the revs from their chainsaws grew. Right out of the deepest and the darkest of darkness's in the blackest of black, thought Speed with his heart racing.

The moon was full, and the stars were shining brightly through the haze of this night. Speed strained his eyes to see. In the mistiness, there stood another woman, a shapely woman on the cliff's edge, calling out someone's name. In each hand, she held a tiny black book, their blood speckled pages flipping in the wind.

Looking to her left and right, she called. Staring over the cliff into the darkness below, the sound of her broken and cracked voice revealed her pain and heartache to Speed and Tabatha.

"Christine, Emma, Christine," she called out and stopped calling. "I'm coming, my babies," she said and leaped over the edge of the cliff, taking the books with her. Into the emptiness below, along with her screams, she flew, and the darkness swallowed her whole.

Speed closed his eyes, and Tabatha placed her hand on her mouth. Running past Speed and Tabatha, the two headless women did not stop at the cliff's end. Like insane swine possessed by a demon of darkness, they ran over the edge. The screams from their decapitated heads and the roar of their chainsaws followed as they fell deep into the blackness of nothing.

Billy remembered reading in the news last Friday; Erby's wife went missing. His curiosity got the better of him, and he was at the sight of the buried bags. It was dark and close to midnight. With a shovel in his left hand, Billy began to dig.

Take an ant and squash it, thought Billy. Where does it go? Oh yes. Billy toyed, splattered all over, but where does it go? Take a tree and chop it and ask yourself the same question. Try what you may, Billy pondered, a man if you wish. Ah, and the answer filters. But is not an insect or a tree rightfully privileged to hold such a distinction?

Maybe not, Billy thought, it has been said one cannot destroy energy but merely transform it. And if so, who rebuilds the puzzle? And for which dimension would such a thing preserve its infinity? Questions asked. Billy blinked and scratched his eyebrow.

Minds through, Billy thought, all in all, all will persist. Whether here or there, no one knows, but wonder. And some feel, and some sense, coming close to touch. Of which some may and, no doubt, others have.

Finally, Billy struck a mass of something. Images of the killer flashed in his mind, and he fell to his knees.

The man he saw in the red suit. Oh, my fuck. It's Erby, said Billy. He needed time to speak to Tiger, but since Tiger walked off rudely, Tiger would not take time out to listen to anything he said. Billy reached over, dusted off the last of the gravel, and began to tear the bag open. Two large feet showed themselves.

Too large and too strong to be women's feet, he thought. Billy breathed heavily, and his heart raced.

On the verge of bolting; running and never looking back he felt he would be saved from turning into a pillar of salt, but his curiosity bit down hard. He needed to know who Erby killed and why. He moved to the other end of the bag and tore it wildly.

The plastic ripped away, and Billy cried at the sight of what he saw: staring at him from within the trash can bag was his battered, bruised and bloody friend. Billy tore more plastic. He peered away, surveying his surroundings; and then he looked again, taking another glimpse at those feet.

God, that shapely curve, that triple ankle. Yep, these are Tiger's feet, he thought. He moved to the hands. The nails, uniquely curved. Oh, my fuck, those are Tiger's hands. A sense of sadness enveloped Billy, and anger began to boil deep within.

### Chapter 25

"Wait for me," cried Christine, but she was too slow. Before she knew it, they were out of the tree. Escaping the principal, they ran toward the hostel, leaving Christine behind. By the time, Christine reached the foot of the unusually large apple tree, climbing out from the branches, she found Mrs. Jones, waiting. "Well, well," said Mrs. Jones, looking up at her, "I guess the penny doesn't fall far from the apple tree."

Christine swung from the last branch and landed in front of Mrs. Jones. Out from within the big girl panties Christine wore, fell three apples. Christine coughed innocently while the remaining apples stayed unsteadily snuggled around her bottom and belly, held tightly beneath her two-way underwear. "Mrs. Jones, I can explain."

"Detention for six months!" Mrs. Jones yelled. "And if you don't tell me the names of your accomplices, I will ration your meals."

Christine swallowed and coughed, choking on her spit. "But, Mrs. Jones—"

Mrs. Jones waved Christine's words away. She reached over and took hold of Christine's left sideburn and pulled Christine to where the boarding school grounds began. Christine cried all the way there. Upon reaching the boarding school, she apologized to Mrs. Jones again, and she went to her room.

Emma was at the Laguna Spa Hotel in Christine's room, waiting for her. "You got caught." Emma's eyes bulged.

"No shit, Sherlock," said Christine, turning her head away from Emma's stare.

"I'm sorry, Christine, but I couldn't wait for you. I was too afraid."

"You afraid?" Christine looked at Emma. "You have suffered at the hands of the bad ones in Cuba and escaped. You have traveled through the valley of the shadow of death. You watched your Uncle die, and your dad pull his eyes open to see the shoreline of America. Sucked through time, and spat out here." Christine inhaled. "I don't believe you were afraid."

"Chris, give me a break. I'm only a girl, and don't you think going through all this would make me more scared?"

"I don't know," said Christine, "but what I do know is—" Christine bit her tongue. "She's coming," Christine whispered. Down the corridor, they could hear Mother Hatherby Thorndike, plodding toward the room.

"God," said Emma, "I must hide."

"Quickly," Christine whispered. "Under the bed. No. No," she shouted and held her breath, "in the closet!" In a flash, Emma was in the closet. Christine shut the door and remembered. She closed her eyes. Tears trickled, and Christine said, "Mommy." She lowered her head out of respect for her mother. Christine's room door opened, and Mother Hatherby barged in with her severed head stuffed under her right arm.

"Get away from the closet!" Mother Hatherby's head shouted with blood and slime dripping. "Have you seen the time? You're supposed to be sleeping," said Mother Hatherby's head from under her arm. She rushed over to Christine. Mother Hatherby raised her hand to clout Christine. Christine closed her eyes and braced herself for the impact. The closet door opened, and Emma stepped out.

"I'm sorry, Mother Hatherby. It's my fault. Please don't hurt Christine."

"You bitch," cried Mother Hatherby as she raised her hand higher and swung it at Christine. An inch from Christine's face, Mother Hatherby's hand stopped.

At the boarding school hostel in Christine's past, Mrs. Jones pulled back her hand too and tried again to no avail.

Now with Emma and Christine, Mother Hatherby stepped backward out of the room. She turned around and ran away from the two girls as though something horrified her.

Christine looked at Emma. Although Emma's body was somewhat stiff, her hands trembled. Emma's eyes were darker than usual, set in a fixed stare. "Emma," said Christine, "did you, do it?"

"Christine, I don't know how, but I think I stopped her. Oh, my God. Yes, I stopped her." Emma took a step backward. "Wow. That's awesome," said Christine, stomping her approval in her little pink shoes.

Billy was out of breath; the Laguna Spa Hotel was around the next corner. Would Tiger be dead? No, not his buddy Tiger. He reached Tiger's room and knocked violently. The door opened. Billy felt lightheaded. It was Tiger, alive and well. Billy fainted.

Brutus, the Dogue de Bordeaux, searched around in the dark with the faint smell of raw meat enticing him. He was an old dog. His sight was not the best, but his sense of smell was excellent. There it is, he thought when his nose met the damp plastic.

He licked it. Something there tasted good. Upon sniffing further around, he found it: the dead body. He knew he would have to drag it off to a quiet spot or that pain-in-his-ass, Booboo, Marsha's great Dane, would claim it. Brutus's sight was not what it used to be.

He could not see oncoming marauders, let alone Booboo, but there was a quiet spot he knew of where he would enjoy this meal. Brutus took his catch in the firm grip of his jaws and tugged. His tail began to wag, and he started panting as he began hauling his supper. Walking in a backward motion, he dragged the body away, leaving signs of a struggle behind for forensics to decipher.

Billy was lying on the floor; his eyes rolled in his head, and his body rocked with his mind fermenting high up in the clouds. From a diamond, sparkle lies in the lanes of clever disguise. The world is so cruel where life's a bitch and loves a fool. With screaming hearts and none too cool but a foreign glance, a fresh-eyed stare, and heartache's fool. Billy's mind raced on. When nothing softens the ride, life finds a heart that died. Together they stand with none to love but side.

No apparatus in their band, thought Billy, whimpering vocals, smothered fast, laughing locals and times last. Yonder in the sky, Billy pondered, the blackened light, the blue moon. A heart opened and a secret released. Wings spread wide, beginning soon. A mind closed while breathing ceased. A blinded heart and a blank-eyed stare with life's seeds casually sewn? The closest, they pray, they care with skills unknown.

Tell me the rattlesnake rattle. Open the trap, thought Billy, Tell me the bull grunt's battle. Bleed the sap. Tell me the motionless dance. Sit on my lap. Tell me the crow cry and close the gap. Slowly, things come together and things forgotten, remain forever. Taken in stride, scrubbed and washed with care. Nowhere to hide, always there.

In those eyes, it does show with arms open wide and only there to go. The pin drops to the side and your mouth's dried. Words unspoken in death's cry. A silence unbroken, Billy thought, yonder in the sky, rage in stillness. Wings open, ready to fly, feel the realness. A soul yearning, an emotional battle deeply burning.

"Billy, are you okay?" Billy opened his eyes. Tiger was slapping him in the face.

"Tiger!" Billy shrieked. "You're... you're... dead!"

"Billy, what's up with you?" Tiger asked, confused by Billy's sudden strangeness.

Billy sat up and backed away from Tiger. "No!"

Billy shouted. "You're dead. dead."

"No way, man. You've gone off your rocker?" Tiger pinched his cheek and pulled a funny face while doing an imitation of Pluto. In Disney's favorite dog's voice, Tiger asked, "Do I look dead to you?"

"But... but..."

Tiger left Billy for a moment and returned with a cup of sugar water.

"Here." Tiger offered Billy the water.

Billy pushed it away and sat staring at Tiger.

"Drink this," Tiger insisted, forcing the cup into Billy's trembling hands. Billy took the cup from Tiger and drank the sugar water, cringing from the sweetness as it cooled him.

Billy saw Tiger three times today. The first was when he was sitting at the front desk of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. Mary Jane Delacroix, the general manager, was sitting with Tiger behind the front desk. It was early morning. They were chatting about something, and Billy felt it was not going well.

Mary Jane was looking at Tiger, and Tiger was holding on to his chair with both hands gripping the underside of the chair.

Billy passed by, going to have a smoke out front. From the sidewalk on Ocean Drive, he could see them talking.

Mary Jane's eyes became huge, and her face lost complete expression. Billy feared for Tiger's job at this moment, and he wondered what they were saying to each other. What was it that caused Mary Jane to get up fast and walk away from Tiger? thought Billy. He knew he would find out soon enough.

Tiger stood up and looked over to where Billy stood. He walked to the soda machine and grabbed a can of soda and went out to Billy.

"How are you, Tiger?"

"I'm good. "

"No really. how are you, man?"

"I'm fine. What's up with you, Billy. How you doing?"

"I'm fine," Billy said and told Tiger about the six lines, the snot, and his bad cold. Tiger began to laugh. Billy became happy to see at least a smile on Tiger's face.

"Hey, Billy, stand here." Tiger ushered Billy down the sidewalk, out of the direct view of the front desk.

"Let's sit here," said Tiger, and they both sat on the curb of the sidewalk, watching the cars pass. Tiger took another sip of his soda and looked over to Billy.

"Hey, man." Tiger passed his soda over to Billy and said, "Here, have a sip."

Billy took the soda from Tiger. Tiger was smiling. Then inconspicuously, Billy looked inside of the soda-can from its top end. Tiger's face changed into something hard, dark, and expressionless.

Billy pretended not to notice. He sighed and handed the soda back to Tiger.

"What? You aren't going to have any? That's a first," said Tiger. "You always share whatever I have."

"I know, Tiger. I know, but I don't want any. Thank you." Billy handed the soda to Tiger.

"That's great," Tiger said, shocked and amazed.

Smiling, he politely took the soda out of Billy's hand.

"What happened, Tiger, to you up there?"

"I don't know, Billy."

Billy told Tiger the story of what occurred when he went up to room 313. He told Tiger about the ripping of the jacket and the pounding on the door.

"It's strange," said Tiger. "You know, Billy, after that night, every time I thought of you, I would tremble all over violently. It's like my body got mad at you. I would lose control." Tiger paused for a second, and then he said, "No, I think my body was afraid of you. Afraid of the good in you. More like jealousy, Billy. I don't know how to explain it."

"I get it," Billy said, and they spoke more about the occurrence in room 313, going over it several times as though trying to find meaning in it.

"I'm sorry about your jacket. I will buy you another one."

"I don't want another one, Tiger. I want you to be okay."

"I'm fine. You know, Billy, when this happened, I looked in the mirror, and I saw something."

"What did you see?"

"I can't explain it, but it wasn't me."

"You mean it was you, but it didn't look like you?"

"No, Billy. It wasn't me. There was something else in that room with me—in me."

Billy looked at Tiger. "Are you sure you're fine, Tiger?"

Tiger laughed. "I thought you might not believe me, but it's true." This moment of disbelief coming from Billy made Tiger think of a time a long, long time ago. The time his best foster mother walked into his room. He was sprawled out on his bed, half naked with four other guys in the bed with him. They were sprawled out too, passed out.

It was a crazy night out on the town that caused it; crazy nights were something Tiger and his friends often did in their attempts to escape home life. Upon walking into his room and seeing this for the first time, Tiger's foster mother went into a fit of rage. Talking crazy, she shouted loudly, saying things like "You're a gay bastard! Oh, my fuck, my son's a faggot!" He tried to convince her he was not gay, but she did not believe him.

She would not believe him. "How could she?" Tiger would say to Billy. "Several times after this—that many she lost count—she found me sprawled out, lying naked with a bunch of young men sprawled out, lying naked with me." He told this story to Billy often in a most frustrated yet jovial manner. Billy saw the whole thing as being funny, and he did not care about where anyone else's thoughts were on this subject.

Tiger believed he was straight, and the most frustratingly funny part of it was trying to prove he was straight to his favorite foster mom. It was a difficult task. Tiger and his friends went out every weekend. Every weekend they would come home with Tiger, and they would pass out together on his bed.

Most of the time his foster mom would barge into his room, out of total curiosity, to find them lying together. She would not ever believe he was straight. Neither could Tiger's mom get over it nor could she ever see the irony in calling him a son of a bitch, something she would frequently do. After a while, she came to him and told him she loved him, no matter what.

Tiger would laugh when he got to this part of the story. He was frustrated that she believed what she believed, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to change her mind. As time went on, he met many girls, but his mom would think they were "girlfriends." Never did she ever think of them as real dates or lovers.

Some of the girls found this funny too; others wondered about it, and at times, some girls left him high and dry because they started to believe his mom.

Tiger needed Billy to believe him but felt Billy would blame what was seen on something else. Tiger knew what he saw, and it was real, and it terrified him more than anything in his entire life.

"Billy, there was something in that room with me, but I think I got rid of it. I hope I did."

Later Billy discovered something disturbing. While sitting on the sidewalk chatting with Tiger. Something in Tiger snapped, again. The moment Tiger offered Billy a sip of his drink, Tiger imagined the soda not to be soda at all. Before Billy got ready to take a sip, Tiger imagined the soda-can to be filled with his blood.

Tiger was offering Billy a sip of his blood. When Billy took the soda-can, Tiger became exhilarated. Right there, he felt a cracked urge to pounce on Billy, to tear him to pieces. Ready to throw him into the next oncoming car, ready to smash his head on the ground of the sidewalk on which they sat and to grind his face until it was no more.

Billy did not drink from the soda can. He handed it back to Tiger, and Tiger was completely amazed, wondering how Billy knew.

Billy told Tiger in the past of a voodoo woman who raised him while Mother Hatherby and Father Shibley worked. Billy called her Grandma, and in his heart, she was his grandma. In Billy's mind, she was Grandma, and she would always be grandma to him. She had no name; and to this day, to Billy, her name remains, Grandma.

He told Tiger of the magic she conjured, of the power she possessed and of what good it did for many people. When Billy did not drink from the can of soda, Tiger was convinced it had something to do with the power. He was positive; something was protecting Billy—something ancient, magical, and good. More than he ever wanted anything in his entire life, now, Tiger wanted that something special too. He wanted the power, to feel it, to be part of it, and to own it.

A few days later, Billy was at the front desk when there was a sudden disturbance. An ambulance arrived. The paramedics asked where room 14 was. Billy said, "Room 14." He was totally lost for words because there was no one in room 14. He tried to tell the paramedics this.

Mary Jane Delacroix walked into the lobby; she was distraught. "This way," she said.

They followed her, and moments later, they carried someone out on a stretcher. This crazed person who was heaving, kicking, and screaming became motionless for a second. From the stretcher, this person—with the saddest eyes and weeping, sucked-in cheeks—looked up at Billy. It was his friend Tiger.

Billy froze. He could not think. He could not move, and Billy could not say a word.

The last words Billy heard were, "He's going into cardiac arrest." And then Tiger was in the ambulance with Mary Jane standing behind the ambulance, her hands on her face. Billy was about to cry. He wanted to leave the front desk, wanted to see if Tiger was okay, wanted to go with the ambulance. The ambulance pulled off, and Billy rushed over to Mary Jane Delacroix.

"Are you okay, Mrs. Delacroix? Is everything all right? What happened to Tiger?"

"Billy. Oh, my God, Billy. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Please, Mrs. Delacroix, tell me. Tiger is my good friend, and I'm concerned right now."

"I know. I know," said Mary Jane. "Let's return to the front desk. The phones might ring."

They walked around the front desk, and Mary Jane Delacroix asked Billy to pull up another chair, which he brought from the office. She positioned her chair in front of Billy's chair and told him to sit. Mary Jane was a five-foot-three, two-hundred-pound Filipino woman who always wore the loveliest perfumes. She always dressed ladylike, and other than being a good few pounds overweight; she was immaculate in every way.

She may have been large; but as Billy heard it being said on several occasions in the past by Erby, she was all woman, and Billy agreed. All woman, she most certainly was, were Billy's thoughts at the time. Though she was weighty, she managed to wear the daintiest high heels and gorgeous materials, making every part of her large body glow, always. Mrs. Delacroix jiggled her way onto the high stool in front of Billy and began talking to him.

"Firstly, Billy, I want to know if you have any attraction to me."

"What do you mean, Mrs. Delacroix? You are my general manager, my boss. I don't think of you in that way."

"Good," she said, appearing relieved.

"Mrs. Delacroix, what is this all about?"

"Billy."

"Mrs. Delacroix."

She looked at Billy shyly; she was having a hard time telling Billy what she wanted to tell him.

"Mrs. Delacroix, please tell me."

"Okay. I think your friend is in love with me."

"Tiger?"

"Yes."

"What makes you think that?"

"Oh, Billy, I was talking to him. I was trying to find out why we are getting so many phone calls from guests and not only guests but outside calls too, asking for both you and Tiger all the time."

"Really?" said Billy. "Why didn't I get any of these calls?"

"Billy, Tiger has a very handsome body, and I didn't think there was anything wrong with him until today. But I'm confused right now. Billy, I have a husband, and he loves me."

"I know this. What happened?"

"I was sitting talking to Tiger, asking him a bunch of questions, when he grabbed the bottom of his chair, sitting looking at me. It was like he was trying to stop himself. From shaking, shivering. He looked me in the eyes and said, 'I love you, Mrs. Delacroix.' I didn't know what to say. He started shaking badly. I'm not sure if it's because I didn't answer him, but then he stared at me strangely, like he was angry. He said, 'I want to fuck you, Mrs. Mary Jane. I want to fuck your brains out.'"

"Oh, my God. He said that?"

"Billy, I didn't know what to do. Lost for a few moments, I couldn't move. I felt stuck in a dream, trapped. He looked at me and said, 'Do you want to fuck me, Mary?' I couldn't answer him. I couldn't continue the conversation. I couldn't think, so I got up and left. I saw him come over to you, and I was afraid for you, Billy. Afraid he might do something to you. He has scared me badly, that's all."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Delacroix. I had no idea he loved you."

"Oh, my God, Billy, you think it's true?"

"Why would he say it if it wasn't? And you're a beautiful woman, Mrs. Delacroix."

"Thank you, Billy." Mrs. Delacroix smiled broadly. "Oh, my God, I feel like I'm in the twilight zone here."

"Do you know which hospital they took him to?" Billy asked.

"Yes, I have the particulars here. Billy, I'll call them shortly. I'm sure Tiger will be fine. I hope?" Billy let out a sigh of relief.

"Billy, do you think he hurt himself because I didn't answer him? Because I didn't say, I loved him too?"

"I'm not sure, Mrs. Delacroix. Everything happened so fast."

Mrs. Delacroix got up and thanked Billy for listening. After this, she walked off out of the lobby, looking miserable and muddled.

Billy sighed again. He got up and looked for the number to call to find out how Tiger was doing. That was when Thad passed by the front desk with his long blond hair swaying this way and that. A sudden notion passed through Billy, to reach over and punch Thad hard in the face, but Billy did not do this. I would never do such a thing, he thought, and why would I? For what reason? He did not know, but he felt this notion and brushed it off.

"Hey, Billy, I have something for you." He handed Billy a money bag with several zips. "I can't do this today. I have something important to do, but I will return later. Is it cool if I come up to room 313 later?"

Billy needed to go up to check the room and thought it would be far better if Erby were there too. "Yes, I'll see you later. Round about what time?"

"11:20 p.m. is good."

"11:20 p.m. it is."

Thad walked off, leaving Billy frowning over the money bag with the many zips. It was the first-time Billy saw it. He reached over and grabbed a blue trash can bag. He stuffed the money bag into the trash bag, wrapping it tightly. Billy was curious about this, but he knew better than to check the bag now. He would wait until he was safely in room 313. It was going to be a long night—an incredibly long night.

### Chapter 26

When Billy finally got to room 313, it was 11.10 p.m. already. He called the hospital earlier to find Tiger was not admitted to the hospital but was in jail. The ambulance took him to the hospital, but when they got there, they already assessed the situation. They decided he would be better off in jail for the night. There was nothing else Billy could do. At least Tiger was safe with people there to watch over him, and he would be safe until the morning.

Billy set the money bag on the bed and unzipped one of the many zips. This pocket of the bag, coated in what looked like baby powder, was filled with little blue envelopes. Billy ran his finger over the light coating of powder and stuck it in his mouth. Within seconds, parts of Billy's tongue went numb. It was nose candy. After his bad cold and after sneezing powder everywhere, Billy became an expert. In that room with Erby last week, that shit met his mouth, causing numbness. The same was happening here.

Billy emptied the envelopes out onto the bed and counted them. There were twenty-three. Billy opened the next zip, where it bulged the most. A huge wad of cash popped out, rolled up in a large rubber-banded bundle. Billy unrolled the bundle and straightened out the bills. He counted it: $4,800.

Billy's heart froze as he realized what was going down. Fuck, it started with the eight-ball. Fucking eight-ball. A snowball is what Billy called it —blow was what Tiger termed it—and it grew fast, Billy thought, 99 percent, fucking 99 percent occupancy. They were not here to enjoy Laguna Beach. No, they were here for this shit. Oh, my fuck. Billy closed his eyes tightly and said, "Tiger. Damn you. Where the fuck are you? Tiger..." Billy got up and started pacing.

Thad would be there any minute now, and Tiger was locked up. Thad gave the money bag to Billy, which surely was an indication that Billy was to follow in their footsteps. He was to keep everything going until Tiger got out. Keep the ship afloat, but this ship was sinking.

Every room at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel was full; every balcony was full. People were hanging from everywhere. Nearly every room rocked with music, all types of music playing everything under the sun. In a fever of sadness, Mary Jane Delacroix was packing her bags fast with tears rolling down her cheeks. In her mind, she was leaving Tiger. She believed more than ever that she needed to leave. Mary Jane needed to do this because she loved her husband, Tonto. She believed she would have to go away immediately or risk losing Tonto forever.

People were screaming. They were going mad at the pool. Soon the police would begin to make regular stopovers where they would find rooms full of guests tripping, full of people going completely crazy. Soon, the phone would be ringing; and if Tiger were not available, they would be looking for Billy or Thad.

There was a knock at the door. It was Thad. Billy was not there to answer. He needed a bit of fresh air. After checking the bag with the many zips, Billy dressed quickly and left.

The doorbell rang. Erby opened the door.

"Hello." Wilma, a large lady, stood before Erby.

"Yes?" Erby said.

"Where in fucking hell is, Priscilla?" she asked in a sweet voice.

"Priscilla who?" Erby inquired in a sweet imitation of the large lady's voice.

"Don't play games with me, old man. What have you done with her?"

Erby swallowed. "Nothing," he said, "she'll be home shortly. She's had a few repairs done." His eyes narrowed, and he concluded by saying, "If you know what I mean."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Listen, lady, she'll return tomorrow afternoon, and you'll be able to ask her all the questions you wish. I have work to do." Erby slammed the door in Wilma's round face.

Startled, Wilma left in a fluster, almost tripping as she navigated the few steps to the tree-lined sidewalk, moving as far away from Erby's front door as quickly as she possibly could. Feelings of dread ran deep, tearing at her insides, tantalizing the darkest parts of her soul.

Billy looked at the road. Skipping his meeting with Thad, He decided to go for a walk to the lagoon. It was beautiful there. He was in his head. The shops pass by. Vons, Walgreen's, a cafe, and a mall. What mall? He did not know. What time? Why, today, of course. Does that above or below find, the time to know? I think not. Does it matter? Billy thought. It should but does not, or possibly, it does but will not. Whatever may, only one can tell. The one with the mental bell.

Crows fly by, thought Billy, snakes slither. Sparrows fall, and fig trees wither. But does he see? His eyes gray, filmed with absent dismay. Shoulders broad and burdens heavy. Trees rush by. The heavens fall. Can he see? Beyond the twigs. Eyes closed yet open wide. Minds eager but not willing.

Efforts sweat, and beads burst. Ambitions splattered, rivers of tar. With the black bird, split in two. One of white, the other blue. And all in all, that what may. There he sits, time past. All gone, with new to arise, yet unaware. With that, Billy bumped into Thad, unexpectedly.

Upon returning to the hotel, walking with Thad, Billy was surprised to find how many people knew Thad. At first, Billy found this to be intriguing. It felt comforting to know someone who was popular. It felt funny at first because they would be walking along when someone would recognize Thad, passersby would stop and say, "Hi." or "Hey, you." Some would chat, and others would go about their business with a wave. And some would shout out, "How are you doing, Thad?" and be on their way.

Billy may have been intrigued at first, but then he became mad about it as he thought, this has something to do with that fucking bag with the many zips.

"What did you do with it?" Tiger shouted. "What if Erby comes to check if I've done my work?"

Billy stood staring at the empty trench, shaking his head. "Tiger, I'm telling you. You were in the bag."

"Stop fucking with me, Billy!" Tiger shouted.

"I'm—" Billy tried to say.

"This is money, not peanuts, and I'm not going to jeopardize my job." Tiger held his fist at Billy. "If you fuck with these bags again, that will be the end of your share of these profits. Got it? Bitch."

This time Billy did most of the shoveling. The third bag to dispose of arrived. Billy and Tiger buried the third bag in the empty grave, and Tiger stomped the ground flat to match the surrounding area. Upon walking home, Billy pretended all was well. In Tiger's presence, Billy laughed; but deep down, his heart was racing, and his mind fell into a shudder of silent screams.

Christine watched from a distance. She could see Kyle, Steve, Slade, and Tabatha. Not knowing who they were, she watched Kyle and Tabatha hug, and she wondered who were in the coffins. A man was checking on one of the coffins. Made of steel, it looks like it is, thought Christine.

Christine wanted to go over to see what was going on, but she was weary. Afraid.

Christine felt a deep compulsion within herself, calling at her insides. It felt as though something was trying to draw her out of Mary's house, across the road to the Silver Ball and closer to the cliff's edge. Emma, where are you? thought Christine. Emma should have been here already. She planned to visit Christine today.

Christine remembered the day she and Emma jumped off the cliff, but she was unable to remember what happened after that. They didn't think for one second they would drop to their death—or did they? thought Christine. She knew it was a door. I must have known, she thought. Of course, I knew. A door to another world, to a land that held the answers to all we search.

I didn't want to die, Christine thought, and I don't think Emma wanted to die either but we jumped, didn't we? She swallowed. Somehow, they knew they would have to jump. Jumping seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. It felt good to both, and that was what they did without putting much into it.

Sometimes, Christine thought, sometimes it's hard to think, and sometimes it's better not to think at all. Sometimes it's far better to go with what you feel inside. What you feel inside is what will save you, thought Christine. "The answers to what I seek, they lie within me," she said.

Christine was proud of herself and her friend. Emma's dad told Emma to be strong, not to think. To go ahead and do it. Once done, he said, they would worry no more. He also said doing this would give them the strength they needed to resist the dark one, and together they did as they were taught to do. They listened to their hearts.

Emma's uncle saw the shoreline. With his eyelids peeled, he was forced to see Emma's papa was right. They could do it. They did it. Their feet touched safe ground, and they knew they had a chance to be free.

Stuck in the devil's game of tick-tack-toe, after being congratulated for his wife-battering methods, it was decided, before attempting to drag Christine off to hell's gas chamber again, Frank would be sucked away to the burning pits of the devil's master chamber, but first he was to return to Mary Delphine's house to taunt her.

Upon his return, Frank was surprised to find Mary bruised and broken-boned, but still alive. She was waiting for him, lying on her double bed with a single barreled pump-action six-shot Mossberg in her hands.

Mary heard Frank break through the front door and rush into her hallway. Christine and Michael were gone. She found a way to hide them far away. Mary gave Michael up for adoption to a good family, she thought; and with a broken heart for both her children, she sent Christine to a remote location, enrolling her in a boarding school for girls.

She was alone and ready. As Frank walked into her room, Mary planned to raise her gun and pull the trigger, blowing him away; but it did not happen this way. The bastard disappeared into thin air, together with her gas generator. What the fuck would he want that for? thought Mary, why would he steal my gas generator?

As she saw Frank and her gas generator disappear before her eyes, Mary squeezed the trigger on the Mossberg in anger. It went off, blowing away half her hallway. Frank was gone. Vanished was what she thought.

"I think I got him," were her stunned words which dissipated into the nothingness. Mary sat staring at the huge mess she created. Her hallway, ruined.

Like Frank, they were all sucked into hell, and little did they know getting to the Silver Ball in Maryland was a prerequisite to being sucked up. Similarly, Christine and Emma, who jumped, thinking they were jumping to their death, the rest of them would jump too but not to their death. When they jumped off the Calvert Cliffs of Maryland, by the Silver Ball, they would not die immediately.

They were to be sucked into hell— alive. Should there be an ounce of good within any of them, those with good in them would be sucked to the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel to rid themselves of the good. It was the devil's way of fattening them up and readying them for hell.

There was no room in hell for any goodness. With the recent turn of events, the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel became the perfect spot for the devil. The perfect spot to rid his black book blood-drained servants of any goodness remaining within them. With their little books full, now at their journey's end, this hotel became the perfectly chosen spot for the devil to place his future army recruits.

After Christine and Emma were sucked through to the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel, the rest of the black-book blood-dripped servants of the devil began arriving at the Silver Ball; and slowly but surely, they began jumping to their fate.

Some of them went straight to hell, and others landed themselves at the hotel. Frank was sucked straight into hell. Next came the Robed Master, the New Man, and the Dark Stranger.

They too went directly to hell, but unlike Frank, there they remained. Frank was spat out through the bottom of the Jacuzzi of room 13. Once there, he got his chance, along with several handpicked spat out sucked servants of the devil, to run wild at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel and prove their worth to the dark one, the leader of the Darkside Organization.

Henry and Cara left Tina never to rest; she remained to haunt Route 66 with her lost screams forever filling the darkness within the solitude of this road, always in the dead of night and always when the moon was full. That was what Henry and Cara believed, thinking Tina was too unimportant to have her existence ever remembered. Consequently, the lurking haunts of Tina's most frightful screams would by no means ever allow her to be forgotten.

A few pawns, drones of Billy's dream queen, Mary Delphine, also disappeared. Hell drew in Cara and spat her out of the Jacuzzi in room 13 at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. The headless chainsaw ladies left a while ago along with the wife beater, Frank, who disappeared in Mary's hallway, sucked to hell, together with Mary's gas generator, and spat out through the bottom of the Jacuzzi in room 13.

Carved out of an ancient marble, the Jacuzzis of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel were as old as time itself, and these enabled perfect portals, starting with room 13 and then moving on from room to room. Initially, the sucked servants of the devil were spat out through the bottom of the Jacuzzi in room 13, but once oriented to move around, they would use the rest of the Jacuzzis in the hotel. All that was needed was water, a few drops.

The sucked servants preferred it when the guests of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel filled their Jacuzzis to the brim. They adored it when the guests added bubbles. It was more fun that way, and they loved hearing the screams of these guests when they discovered they were not alone in their bubbling Jacuzzis. The expressions of terror on the faces of these guests before pulling them under, enticed the sucked servants of the devil.

The sound of their necks snapping enthralled them. Most of all, they desired to eat them alive, kicking and screaming with blood spurting pink bubbles popping within ancient marble-cupped waters. The hotel was full. It was the perfect time to move around. As soon as guests added their bubbles and turned on their faucets, they would be surprised by the living dead.

Through the bottom of their tubs, they crawled. Through the gaps between the legs of these sweet guests, out from within the Jacuzzis of these rooms, they came. In no time whatsoever, the happy guests of these rooms suffered severed throats, broken limbs, and cracked skulls, leaving countless Jacuzzis drowning in the blood of the once living.

Speed was the last of the sucked servants to be summoned. Dead in his grave, he continued to age. His hair grew to his ankles, and his curled nails sliced the palms of his hands. Defying death, Speed awoke in his coffin, wondering if he'd reached heaven or hell. With a vague memory of the Silver Ball scratching at his thoughts, he wondered why the love of his life disappeared. Upon realizing he was in a coffin of his own, he started to scream, and the devil sucked him home.

Things started to come together. Already sucked from the Silver Ball in Maryland and spat out at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel in Southern California, Christine and Emma waited for Mother Hatherby and the great showdown. This is the beginning of the dreaded end where our darkest fears will finally come to pass. Soon the sky will open, thought Christine, and God will come down and shine on us all, good and bad alike. God will help me face the dark one, thought Christine, and together we will battle for ownership of the world.

The dead have already begun to rise again; we will have a second chance. A thousand years is to be our peace on the land. Those who live through the peace, dead in their graves, will get up and rise to the heavens above where we will live for all eternity.

Billy woke up screaming, "I'm not ready! I don't want to go there. There is no disco ball there and no sex. I'm bored already. There will be no cupcakes and... and..." He took a deep breath and began to laugh, feeling silly. "It was a dream," he told himself. "A dream. Only a mother fucking dream." That's all it was—or was it? Billy scratched his head, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

Billy started dreaming again. In his dream, Mary was standing with Christine at the pool area of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. Mary and Christine were both looking toward a Christmas tree at the far end of the rockery near the pretty fountain, which ran water into the pool. The Christmas tree was on fire, caught alight because of a faulty bulb. It sparked, setting the tree ablaze.

A most beautiful sight it was; and as they watched the burning bush, Mary spoke to Christine, "Maybe there is some truth to this, Christine," said Mary. "Maybe we will find an answer here that will allow us to get to our journey's end. An ending worthwhile in its honesty, one veering off in a direction that will inevitably make some sense of our existence."

Meanwhile, in the pits of hell, the children of darkness and the pawns arrived, assembling in the devil's fiery master chamber. Gathered together, the darksiders waited for further instruction from their grand master, the prince of darkness. Their deals done. The devil with darkness for a face and red coals for eyes made good on his promises, and time was at hand for them to return the favor by burning for all eternity.

Here, the grand master beamed as he began playing another game—a whole new game—and this new game was much more terrifying. This game was not the eerie nightly games played in the dark corners of one's room or the far-reaching recesses of one's mind. No, this new game began to play with much scarier things; and these were those vile entities going forth in the name of Things That Go Boo, now not only at night but also in broad daylight.

### Chapter 27

Once again, Brutus found something. This time it was a used-up boy. To a large degree, he felt he should not have found this. It made Brutus feel gritty and loony but not altogether loony. He did not ever see one of these before, not like this. It was something to play with and to eat, an odd toy. What he found was a body, and it was in his nature to treat it like a toy, tossing it to and fro, not only wanting to play but loving its taste too. Brutus knew no better.

For him, this was a way of having fun. His master owned one dog, and that was him. With no friends, there was no play-filled outlet, and his master was always out of town or in some dream. For Brutus, this was the preferred way of having a bit of fun. He licked the blood from his lips and took the boy, gently locking his huge jaws around the boy's delicate neck. Holding him firmly, he carried the dead boy into the woods.

A feeling of guilt washed over Brutus, but this did not stop him. At that moment, the Something began searching for him. His actions awoke that dark thing Brutus knew nothing about. It was that thing called karma, and it was coming for him.

Dread filled, Brutus could feel the something, sensing it all around. He held onto the boy's neck tighter. Growling, Brutus bit even harder as he carried the boy into the woods with his tail between his legs. With that, the boy's tender neck began to bleed, leaving a trail that would inevitably seal Brutus's final fate as karma, in all its sweet vengeful beauty, crept closer.

Billy started to dream; sank lime (lycopodium powder), exploding head fertilizers, switchblades in the pocket, spikes on the ground.

Billy woke up screaming, drenched in cold sweat. He was exhausted and out of breath. Lying there staring at the ceiling, he tried to pray; but his eyes closed, and his mind wandered off.

I usually love them rotten tomatoes, he thought, and most times I enjoy them that much more. Sometimes those rotten tomatoes are quite successful, you know, filled with character.

Houding; is what they would call it in Dutch. Plak is what it is. Born from houding (Raw, rugged, and pure roughed up attitude filled with boldness and meaning), it sticks, and it's amazingly evocative in its defiance, and it's both even and rugged, and it's even more than that. I simply love plak (Genuine, old, and original; dirt under the nails, true to life out on the streets. Streetwise is what it was, and dirty, yes dirt under the nails wise; electrifying.) Plak comes with an undying and unmatched passion, energy, and enthusiasm. A love for life, second to none, thought Billy.

The voices in Billy's head started again, and this time they would not stop for a while. Critics out there and their predictions, I believe, thought Billy, do help some people to stay on track. But at times, I find them predictions to be kind of like those of some pastors and priests and their followers, like economists and politicians, and like most weather men.

Words based on what is seen and heard and judged upon by what is seen and felt are nine times out of ten inaccurate and partly human. Even if these words stem from past experiences of others and stern beliefs, often, these words are inbred; off point, is what I'd say, Billy thought.

Sometimes they steer people right to derail, trackless, thought Billy, onto a kind of beaten path. Onto a road to hell for some, to heaven for others, and a road to nowhere for those few with no road in sight. I feel no one can ever truly predict what will happen at the end of any specific day, week, month, or year. Except for the Big Broad upstairs who I'm sure, at times, laughs ass off jiggles in the craziness of what's believed and spoken over here on the big round.

Billy's mind rambled on, my best advice to myself and to the loving man in the mirror, that one with heart and soul whom I love dearly, has always been to keep on plodding along. To stay strong and focused and to love with all one's heart and soul, even if love was loving to death where death was of your soul.

There where the soul never dies, Billy thought, there where emotions have been lost forever by pain's strangulation of love in oblivion's sweet and final kiss. There wherein all helplessness the bull grunts and complete silence festers in a land of emotionless cries.

Not of theirs, thought Billy, as the death of theirs could kill where you could handle the eternal darkness brought to you as it turns to black, but no, not theirs, never theirs in the bittersweet indifference of their pretty muted hearts. Dead for you, tainted minds, tainted by the words and doings from those of which we speak. Mostly to that always good advice to myself, keep all eyes on all dreams always, something I've maintained for a time and still do.

If there truly were rules specifically laid out up there, which I believe there are, thought Billy, laws embedded in the delicate linings of our intricate universe that allow for certain degrees of success to pop through at given moments. Depending on how stringent our efforts are to stick to their rules of living while playing that fun-filled game of fun, pleasure, and desire. Play, work, breathe, eat, sleep, create, and carry on the best way you know how. Survive, old chap. Live, lady love. And survive some more.

If there were these, and I am sure there are, thought Billy, when followed, these rules, these laws of life, these patterns cut from the cloth that maps out fate's final decision, I believe I too have and would by chance get that chance to ride a rainbow. Right on to the end, which brings me to my present engagement.

Yes, it does feel great, thought Billy. I can say that, but it's said in hope, faith, and prayer to the Big Broad up there or whomever you wish the Big Broad to be that there is a pot. One to be found at the end of that dark and dreary road filled with bright, sparkly things of light. To be touched and loved along the way to the very end where sits its treasure, aware that one man's poison is often another's fun fair and vice versa.

Strange, Billy pondered, the first mention of the Tyrannosaurus Rex came around about the time they discovered Australia? When the discoverers, fathers, and grandfathers returned to Great Britain with wild, crazy, exciting, way-overblown, bettered stories of this amazing new continent and of the strange, new, and unheard-of creatures that roamed its lands.

Yes, thought Billy, there were stories told to daughters, sons, and granddaughters and grandsons. Stories about kangaroos, where, Billy figured, at the time these creatures were nameless. They were described as creatures with jaws likened unto the Sabretooth from the stories of dads and granddads that stemmed from their discoveries in Africa.

New Australian creatures that stood on two legs like men with huge feline incisors were described as some of the most vicious and dangerous creatures ever seen. Chills of excitement ran from the ears of their little ones, thought Billy, down their young spines in utter fright and awe, as they devoured every word that came from the mouths of their heroes, from the gods of discovery, and the amazing tales they told.

Strange, thought Billy, a fossil is merely younger sand trapped in older sand. Compressed to take the form of what may or may not have been trapped within its gap. Later filled with the younger sand, long after its innards; the promises and truths of what may or may not have been had already perished. Isn't it weird what they discovered years later is, in all truths of all sciences, merely sand compressed through the course of time? Molded into the bones of sand and taken from the bones that are not bones at all but thought to be and assumed to be.

Within his mind, Billy hiked to its highest peaks as his thoughts raced on in turmoil. The word 'assumed' suddenly becomes a word that is followed by the words, 'it is,' making up the most famous and most prolific sentence of all time, thought Billy, and used by astrologers, geologists, archeologists, and investigative scientists to sentence the phrase, "It is assumed."

Subtle and slipped in everywhere, where it sure does speak loudly, leaving no certainties at all but opening the door to wondrously grand fantasies that gradually, Billy thought, through the gap of time like legends, they become realities. So, real that these original assumptions are lost in the forgotten threads of reality, human imagination, and in what is, and in what is not, and in what could, and in what could not have been or of what, maybe, was but most probably was not.

Billy fell into a light sleep while his eyes swayed beneath his eyelids and his mind raced into a dream. This place, he often called la-la land. It was an obscure place, sometimes happy and sometimes filled with many night terrors, dark ones; trepidations that eat you alive, if you do not wake in time.

In Billy's dream, a shepherd was holding a Staff on a mountaintop, talking to a pig—or was this a pig? Billy wondered. It looked like a pig, but it did not have a pig's tail. It had the tail of a lizard, and it was too red to be a pig, although it did have the feet of a pig. It had legs of a rat and wings of a bat; and on its head, it had huge scary horns—or were these merely the horns of a goat? thought Billy. It had a little Billy goat beard, and in its mouth, there was a fucking snake's tongue too. Then it was gone in all its redness and fury, replaced by a devil with darkness for a face and red coals for eyes.

"If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from this mountain, and you shall be unharmed," said the devil.

"Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God," said the shepherd.

"If you are the Son of God—"

"Get thee hence Satan."

"Serve me, and I shall supply all your needs according to my riches and glory," said the devil.

Finally, Billy fell into a deep sleep where there were no more dreams.

The sun moved behind the baobab tree, allowing what shade it could. The baobab tree stood tall as it extended its branches outward like strong arms, with twigs for hands. It stretched toward the red sky of the coming night. Brutus was sniffing around, looking for the body.

He was looking for the first body he found weeks ago. He took care of the second body and the third and others too, but he could not find the first body. He knew it was close, but he could not remember where he buried it. He found the scent on a piece of a torn-up Tommy Hilfiger jacket pinned to the ground under a thorny bush. This was the same scent as the scent of the body. It must be here—close.

As he sniffed around, in the distance, he could hear the rattle and a hymn of an old car approaching. Brutus raised his head and sniffed the air. It was sweet, fresh, and inviting. His tail started to wag, and he bolted to his right, a few feet from the surface of the huge tree. Once he reached a lumpy spot, the spot where the scent of dead human flesh was at its strongest, he started scratching at the gravel.

Brutus dug faster. His tail wagged frantically. The rest of the Tommy Hilfiger jacket showed itself. Worn by the gravel and warm, the body, ripe and ready to satisfy his belly, showed itself too. Brutus became excited. He remembered something else. Billy and Tiger were coming soon.

He made friends with them a while back when he was at his worst. He grew to love Tiger, who always spoke to him with affection. Brutus found Tiger's voice comforting, and most of all, he adored how Tiger got him at the back of his ears and how Tiger rubbed and scratched him all over. The different sounds of Tiger's voice excited him. Billy and Tiger walked this route daily, and their shifts were done about fifteen minutes ago.

### Chapter 28

Billy and Tiger already began their daily walk from the hotel to the cave. Tiger was carrying a backpack over his left shoulder with his long red hair tangled under its strap. Billy did not do backpacks. His huge fat wallet that bulged was easier to manage. Tiger's backpack was always empty on his way to the cave but filled with shells upon his return where he needed to move it from shoulder to shoulder.

Sometimes Tiger wished he chose a shoulder bag instead, but he convinced himself shoulder bags were girlie. He told himself Billy would look better with a shoulder bag, which, he thought, would justify Billy's lovable nature, somewhat. Tiger did not want to be lovable. He wanted to be a man, the man he believed he was, and he believed men were not lovable creatures—not at all.

"Do you think Brutus will meet us halfway?" Billy asked.

Tiger laughed and said, "What's up with Brutus? Looks like he's got the hots for you, Billy."

"Remember when we first saw Brutus? So thin. He's been looking good lately. And ah, no, it's you he wants. Not me." Billy chuckled. "I think it has something to do with the scratching. Tiger—he loves the attention you give him," said Billy.

Tiger laughed.

Billy was afraid of dogs. He was bitten several times in the past. The dogs he thought were good dogs; these bit him too. Billy always stayed clear of dogs. For Billy, it worked out better this way, but Brutus was different.

At first, Billy did not trust Brutus; and if it were not for Tiger, he would have avoided Brutus altogether. Tiger's confidence and his horse-whispering-like skills were an immediate attraction for Brutus. Seeing Billy was Tiger's friend Brutus befriended Billy too.

Billy kept his distance for a bit but not for long. All it took was Brutus rubbing up against Billy a few times. The wagging of his tail, the excitement in his bark, and the playful movements of his front paws worked together to draw Billy closer.

Brutus sensed fear. Usually, he would not be someone's friend if he sensed fear, but Tiger's tender touch got him so good that he overlooked all he sensed, and he smothered both Tiger and Billy in lickings and cuddlings with every chance he got. Looking up, Brutus saw them coming down the road, walking on the sidewalk opposite to where he stood. His large fluffy tail wagged, and his breathing sped up.

"There he is," said Billy with a giggle. "Looks like he has been waiting for us."

"Sure has!" Tiger shouted in raw excitement.

Looking over to Brutus, they saw him navigating the traffic on the road, readying himself to cross. Brutus was a huge powerful black dog possessing a soft nature coupled with extremely high levels of curiosity. His soft ears stood on end as best they could. He was a Dogue de Bordeaux that stood proud, living up to the blood of his breed.

Brutus paced the sidewalk, waiting for an old 1958 Thunderbird to pass. Bulldog blood showed in his large head and his sturdy footing. Judging its distance and speed, Brutus felt he could cross in time. He believed he would make it. With his bright eyes fixed on Billy and Tiger and his tongue hanging out, Brutus sprang onto the road, running as fast as he could to reach the other side. At that moment, karma inhaled.

They do whatever they please here. There are no rules over here, thought Mary. She was sucked into the void and spat out, finding herself in room 13. It was a crazy, long-ass journey, and Mary wanted to unwind. Today, she wore her dress of dreams.

It was a colorful dress of blues and greens with a tinge-filled array of other colors too. Colors that would change depending on her mood. Today, the dress was red—red as hell—arriving at the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel made this happen. Compelled to jump she did.

Mary found the four coffins, and she witnessed Christine and Emma jumping off the cliff. She could not stop them. Mary charged out of the house and ran for the cliff, but a huge cloud blocked her. It was like a wall, but she felt she could run right through it. She was terrified to do so, though, afraid of what she might find within.

Her love for Christine was too boundless to wait. Mary braced herself and ran. At that moment, from the Silver Ball, the cloud disappeared along with Christine and Emma. Mary found the four coffins and a radio playing "Stay with Me" by Shakespears Sister. It was a blue mini boom box, and it was full of blood. Mary walked to the edge of the cliff. Christine was gone. She jumped along with Emma.

For Mary, nothing else mattered anymore—nothing else. She swallowed and stepped over the cliff, and the clouds below enveloped her. From her dress of dreams, striking colors emanated. An array of shattered emotions sprung in the ultimate creation of a showstopper that sucked her to the forefront of the grandest of stages.

Tiger's hands were on his face, his eyes closed. Billy stared in shock. He could not pull his eyes away. Brutus lay on his back, yelping in pain, his body jerking, his legs obviously broken—blood, lots of blood.

"Tiger, we have to help him. We have to." Billy could see Brutus was beyond help.

"Brutus," Tiger cried, pulling his hands from his face. Lying in the middle of the road with his head turned in Tiger's direction, considering Tiger's eyes, Brutus did not seem to know what happened. He was breathing heavily. He lifted his tail one last time, and he licked his lips. His tail fell to the side, and a last lovable look in his eyes made it to Tiger's eyes before being replaced by a blank stare—dead.

At first, Tiger began to weep. Then it hit him like a wet ton of stinking shit, and he started to scream. Quickly, without thought, Billy grabbed Tiger around the waist and held him securely as Billy wept too.

"Oh, my fuck," said Billy. The car was rolling. Over and above Tiger's screaming came the screams of the victims in the car. As its tumble came to a sudden halt, all became silent except for the cradled rocking seesaw sounds of deaths final touch. Now Billy and Tiger noticed the sky darken, and there was someone, someone strange, standing on the other side of the road next to a beautiful bougainvillea with the prettiest of flowers.

He was dressed in a robe. They could not see his face, but they did see something. He was hooded, with darkness where his face should have been. They also noticed a smoky mist leaving the scene of the accident, exiting from some part of the wrecked vehicle.

"What the fuck," said Billy. "Did you see that?"

"Yeah. It looked like something left that car, those people, like ghosts or something. And who's the jerk?" In an ushering fashion, Tiger's eyes pointed toward the hooded stranger.

"Tiger, I think we need to get the fuck out of here—fast."

"But Brutus?"

"He's dead. And if we don't—" Billy's heart smacked hard against his rib cage; he could sense danger.

"How do you know he is dead, Billy?" asked Tiger.

"I'm sorry, man, but I can feel it. He's gone," Billy said sadly.

They both looked to Brutus. Strange; something was leaving his body. Like steam rising from the sewerage ducts in a dirty alley on a cold night, the something drifted upward, and away, in a ghastly fashion.

"Run," Tiger whispered

Billy did not need more than Tiger's whisper to prompt him. He turned and bolted with Tiger right behind him.

The wind started to blow hard. Erby stood up and walked inside, moving from room to room, shutting the windows, and closing the blinds. It would be dark soon, and he would not dare to forget anything open. Once done, he went into the lounge and flopped onto his old recliner.

It was not long before Erby's thoughts began to mooch once again. Before dozing off, he reached for his neck and felt around for his jugular. Upon touching it, he sighed. Without warning, it started to throb.

Erby's eyes grew red, and a bull-like grunting began to boil deep from within his soul. Now his body jerked ostensibly to the rhythm of his heart. I will avenge them, he thought. Yes, they will continue to come every one of them, enslaved to me, not knowing why or how but all with an undying thirst for death.

Erby marveled over the many women who sold their souls to the devil with darkness for a face and red coals for eyes. He shrugged. It did not matter. What mattered was that he had a job to do, and he was doing it.

The funny thing is, when Mary looked in the mirror in room 13 of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel, she did not see any color at all. Emotionless, she was dead inside, dead inside for so long she did not realize it anymore. Mary was empty, but she was so used to being empty that this became normal.

She knew there was something not right, something she could not pinpoint. Long before jumping, long before getting sucked through, this emptiness would show up when she woke, every morning. The emptiness, that empty pain of nothingness. Mary would start feeling sad, dead. Mostly before her first few smokes and before her coffee. She felt like dying sometimes, and she did not know why.

What Mary did not know was; it had to do with her dying inside long ago, and it had to do with love. Love was the culprit here. Love gave her joy, and love took it away again as love always seems to like to do.

Mary looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale.

"Are all things in God's creation beautiful?" Mary asked herself out loud, "and if yes," she said, considering her own sad eyes in the mirror on the wall, "does that mean the devil is beautiful too?" Mary closed her eyes just in time to miss the thing standing behind her. That hooded thing with darkness for a face and burning red coals in place of its eyes. When she opened her eyes again, it was gone. "If God is all-knowing and if he is the creator of all," Mary asked herself, "if this is true," she said, "why would God create the devil in the first place?" Mary closed her eyes once again, and once again, something began moving in the darkness behind her.

Billy told Erby about Steve and his dead wife. He said he was going to pay Steve a visit to see if he laid his wife to rest. He told Erby Tiger's brother would be going to a monkey party. Erby wondered with excitement if Speed went.

He needed to get rid of some more dead bodies. He wondered if Billy and Tiger would be ready for another job. Tonight, was different for Erby. Here, he could feel fate shifting positions as it aimed itself at him. He felt it in his bones.

It was dark and cold, a strange sort of loneliness crept closer now and yet even closer. Erby's little black book was full. He dripped a drop of his blood on its last page about an hour ago. Erby's eyes zoned in on the last word, on the last page of the tiny black book.

This single word at the book's end snatched his attention, and it remained stuck in his head. Erby wondered if all these little black books ended in the same way. He will come for me, probably tonight, thought Erby and he closed his eyes.

With his eyes closed, Erby thought of the last word he saw on the last page of his tiny black book. 'And So, It Shall Be. And So, It Shall Be.' That's what it means, right? Erby soliloquized, and then he laughed that last genteel word out aloud, saying, "Amen." And that's what it was. The last word on the last page of his little black book was 'amen.'

Strangely for Erby, this word was filled with hope, authority, and power. The inevitable finality within this word was honest and immediate. Dread burst its way through Erby's soul. Something was amiss. The doorbell rang. Erby jumped up with his heart beating fast. He walked to the door. Somehow, he knew this was not another woman coming to die. Erby opened the door and placed a hand on his mouth. He gagged; the stench was horrid. In a black hooded cloak, a demon with bright red pig's feet, no face and burning red coals for eyes stood before him.

"Hello, Erby," it said. Something flickered beneath the cloak.

Erby swallowed, and his hands began to tremble.

When Tiger returned, he told Billy about the jail.

"Were you afraid?" Billy asked.

"No, it was fun. There were a few big scary guys in there, but they didn't harm me. I made them laugh. I took my clothes off, hung on the bars naked, calling the guards, making eyes at them. I think I drove them crazy," said Tiger. "I think they were glad to see me go. I believe they felt sorry for me. I told them I lived on the streets, told them my dad was dead and my mom was far away. Too far to help me."

Billy laughed and said, "I tried to find out if you were better. Called the hospital. They told me you would be okay. They said they sent you to jail." Billy told Tiger about Mary Jane. Tiger did not remember saying such a thing to her. He said she was crazy.

Tiger laughed more about it. He found it to be hilarious, and the idea of doing something like that got him laughing louder. Billy told Tiger of how Tiger would develop a real hard, dark look on his face and how it would be so bad that he looked like someone else, someone filled with dark magic. Tiger laughed about that too, not understanding it and not remembering it.

Tiger and Billy decided to unwind a bit. They went out together to Topless Twin's Blue Onion Bar in downtown Laguna where they shared the biggest margarita ever in their lives, followed by several Bud drafts and two Miller's Light pitches. They got drunk, so drunk both called in sick. There was no one to cover the front desk.

Mary Jane covered both Billy's and Tiger's shifts. Billy and Tiger stumbled home arm in arm. They laughed and spoke and joked around, wishing the night would never end, trying not to think of tomorrow. When they finally returned to the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel, they snuck into the room. Over the balcony into their room, they climbed so as not to have to pass the front desk.

When they got in their room, they set HBO on and listened to music quietly. The sounds of the all-time greats were on, rock and roll. Tiger and Billy wrestled a little with each other. The mattress landed in the Jacuzzi again. It was all for shits and giggles. With the wet mattress back on its base, Billy and Tiger landed in the Jacuzzi, sitting and talking. Together, they enjoyed the rest of the early morning. Finally, they both passed out on the wet queen bed.

Tiger woke up with his foot wrapped in Billy's arms. Before falling asleep, Tiger became unusually quiet. About to drift off, looking at the ceiling, Tiger closed his eyes and said, "Billy, I love you, man." Billy was also lying on the bed next to Tiger, looking at the ceiling, also ready to drift off. Billy said, "I know you do."

Tiger laughed.

"What?" said Billy

"Do you love me, Billy?" Tiger asked.

Billy laughed. "You know I do," said Billy, and they both drifted off for a moment.

Then Billy opened his eyes about the same time as Tiger did, and he got the fright of his life because that was when he realized he was cuddling with Tiger's foot. He apologized to Tiger over and over. Tiger made several jokes about it all, and then he said, "Billy, would you fuck me if I was a woman?"

Billy became serious. Both were still drunk out of their minds, lying on the damp mattress together. Billy turned his head to face Tiger. Considering Tiger's eyes, Billy said, "Tiger, you not a woman." And that was it. This unexpected question would go unanswered forevermore. Instead, they both started laughing and slurring in their attempts to talk to each other, mostly about Mary Jane and her cute nature. It wasn't long after this they both passed out.

When they finally made it to work the next day, Tiger came up with the most outrageous story. He told Mary Jane someone placed a Mickey in his drink, and he woke up lost, on the curb of the sidewalk in downtown Laguna. He told her his butt was killing him. Billy tried to follow Tiger's story because he also did not rock up for work that night and he needed a good story.

Before Billy could open his mouth, Tiger told Mary Jane Billy was out all night looking for him. He said Billy was worried about him, and he said Billy knew some bad people kidnapped him. Mary Jane was sad for Tiger. She felt sorry for him. She said she understood completely; and Mary Jane said she was happy Tiger was safe, although she believed, after what happened, he was not altogether all right.

She wanted to help him in every which way she could. Billy could not believe she bought the story, and not only did she buy the story, but she also sealed it with bubble wrap and boxed it. Then she wrapped box tape around it until she felt it was safe, and she protected it like someone would the first edition of a novel that is going to sell millions. For who knows what reason; but it is, and for that reason, its reader feels a need to buy it, cover it, box it, keep it, and protect it. To wait so one day an astronomical return on that investment could be gained. One that would rescue its owner and free a soul or two or maybe three.

"I think she has fallen for you, Tiger."

"Story of my life," said Tiger and laughed it off.

### Chapter 29

Tiger lost his job and was driving aimlessly around Santa Monica, trying to figure out what to do next. Billy gave the Pontiac Grandville to Tiger. Last night its battery finally died in the alley of the Reign Hotel, so that's where Tiger slept. It was cold as shit, but around 1:00 a.m., he heard tapping on the window. When he looked up, Billy was standing there in the rain.

"Billy, what are you doing here?"

"Tiger, come." Billy ushered tiger with his hand, and Tiger opened the door and followed Billy. Billy walked into the lobby of the Reign Hotel.

"Come," Billy said. He walked around the front desk and clicked on the computer. Room 194 was dirty.

"Come," Billy said.

They went up to room 194 and checked the blankets.

They were unused.

"Grab what you need, Tiger."

"Thanks so much, Billy."

Billy did not say a word. Billy grabbed some pillows, and Tiger grabbed the large comforter and a blanket. They took the stairs to the lobby.

"Leave this here." Billy threw the stuff on the comforter and went to the refrigerator room with Tiger. There, they found sliced ham, fruits, and Croissants— everything any good hotel would need to make a great all-American lumberjack breakfast.

Tiger did not need to ask; he grabbed what he wanted and bagged it. He ate as much as he could. Tiger was starving; and when he was done, once full, he was happy.

"Tiger, I'm sorry I can't give you a room for the night. I don't work here anymore, but I spoke to Mango. He needed to get takeout. He knew I was on my way here to see you. I'd ask him to give you something warm for the night, but I'm glad I managed to do this for you myself. Mango is competitive. He did not want to lose his job. He was willing to help but did not want anyone to know. If I allowed you to take a room tonight, they would discover you in the room or the hotel tomorrow. I did speak to Mary Jane, who told me if I thought you were well enough, I could let you have a room tomorrow once a clean one turns up. She also said she would give you a temp job, so you could find something else in the meantime."

"Thank you, Billy."

Billy did not answer; he did not like being thanked because most of whatever he did, he did for himself. Billy cared, and because he cared, it hurt to see those he cared about in trouble. The only way to stop the hurt within himself was to help the person who needed it most, but at the end of the day, it was in truth mostly for himself.

He was compelled to remove the pain; and this only happened once he knew the person he loved was safe, well, and happy. Billy's heart shone when doing this. It was never about the other person, though. Billy knew this could be viewed as selfish, but if his selfishness helped those he loved; he preferred to be deemed selfish or whatever they wished to call it.

Tiger climbed in the car with a large comforter. His belly was full, and the last thing Billy saw was a great big smile on Tiger's face. Billy smiled too, and this confirmed that it was time for Billy to get back to Laguna Beach because he was scheduled to work in the morning. It was already 2:30 a.m. Tiger closed the door of the Grandville, and he covered everything with the comforter, including his head. In minutes, he was sleeping deeply.

Billy walked over to Mary Jane's car. She loaned it to him to check on Tiger. He opened the trunk and reached in. It was too dark to see, but feeling his way around he found what he was searching for. His fingers closed around the warm wood of the Staff, and he pulled it out of the trunk. Billy walked over to the driver's side with the Staff and reached for the door handle. Someone started screaming. Billy's eyes surveyed the spot where Tiger slept. The scream did not come from Tiger. Under the dim lights of the alley, the Pontiac Grandville looked beautiful. Its rugged, dirty white top and its weathered canary yellow body appeared special in all its sadness, and the pretty nocturnal lights of downtown Santa Monica made it feel safe.

A second scream penetrated the quiet air of the night, and Billy's knuckles turned white as he held on tightly to this large wooden walking stick. Someone died here a long time ago, thought Billy, a girl. Her voice was heard screaming for help down in the alley. The hearts of the passersby dropped at the time. Blood started pumping in fear, but no one stopped to help. No one ran to check on her. No one. She died screaming.

Years later, she still screams for help, thought Billy. Then he brought the Staff closer to his chest. Only now she is angry. Mad at the world for giving her the cold shoulder, for turning their backs on her. Her anger is reaching boiling point, readying itself to turn into rage. Rage is a dangerous thing, thought Billy. A very dangerous thing.

Not only could he hear her, but he could also feel her. Billy knew if Tiger were awake, Tiger would have felt her too. Lost to the world, worn out, and dead tired, Tiger slept deeply, cozy and snug. She would not be able to harm him if he remained covered. If he slept, he would be safe, thought Billy.

Bill raised the Staff in the air and shouted, "You make sure he is safe!" And then he pounded the stick's bottom end on the ground. "You know what it's like to scream for help, where all doors close and all backs turn. You know what it's like to die alone," said Billy. The screams stopped, and the night became quiet once again.

Throwing the Staff in through the open window, Billy jumped into Mary Jane's car and sped off up the road towards the church on Seventh street. Strangely as he neared the entrance of the church, Billy became tight-chested, and then he began to cough violently. His head started to pound. He could see the large wooden doors at the top of the steps which lead into the church. In seconds, he would be driving right past the church, and he felt if he got any closer his shoes would burst into flames and he would die, never to make it back to Laguna.

Suddenly, he felt compelled to reach for the Staff on the back seat. He grabbed it and yanked it over to the front and out of the window he held it in the air as he continued to race toward the church. Then quite suddenly he pulled the hand break, and Mary Jean's little car did a perfect 360-degree spin. Billy flung the Staff as hard as he could. It took flight smashing the church doors with a terribly loud thud. Bouncing off the door, it came tumbling down the steps like a boomerang back toward him.

Sweating with his heart racing, Billy floored it down 7th Street away from the church and back to Laguna Beach, which was over an hour south, along the coast through the Laguna Canyon and the Laguna Hills. Hold My Hand I Am Dying, thought Billy. He never got a chance to read the book. Its title intrigued him, spoke to him. Although he was not quite sure that this book was for him, he felt its title was and always was as it in many ways was him through and through.

Billy found it quite ironic that he had thrown the Staff away without Tiger ever getting a chance to see it. Worst of all he felt guilty for hiding it from Tiger. He did not hide anything from Tiger. They were best friends, and they shared everything but not the Staff. Billy was angry. He so wanted to save Tiger. To help him and he thought if he allowed himself to get sucked into Tiger's world long enough it would afford him the opportunity to help him, but it did not work that way. Tiger continued to get worse.

He felt as though he was losing his best friend and he felt there was nothing he could do about it. Throwing the Staff away was his way of ridding himself of the last bit of good left in himself. He was tired of trying. Tired of believing everything would be okay. Tired of loving and never being loved back. He released the Staff in anger, and when it struck the church with a loud thud, Billy felt happy.

More than happy, at that moment he felt overjoyed and wish he had thrown it harder to thwack those doors so hard that they would have disintegrated into nothing. If he made them explode that would have made him feel even better.

"I'm done," he said under his breath, "I've been strong for too long now. I'm so tired of being strong. I'm finished." Billy took a deep breath, and his eyes followed the curve of the road in silence as Mary Jane's little car took him back to Laguna Beach.

I hope I don't go to hell, he thought with watery eyes. I hope I don't. Billy closed his eyes for a second and bit down hard. His exit was coming up. The last sign that flew past said, Laguna Beach next three exits. He would take the second one, and he would crash as soon as he arrived for at least an hour before he would have to get ready for his next shift.

Something was playing on Billy's mind. It was the hotel percentage. They appeared to be filled up, but there was always a small percentage of rooms left empty that, Billy discovered, did not show in the system. Today, Billy figured it out by using the occupancy printouts from the hotel and the previous guest lists for the past two and a half months.

By dividing the rooms by the percentage, Billy summed it up. He discovered when he did this there were always thirteen rooms empty. Well, at least the figure he got showed it to be this way for the past two months. Where, no matter what happened, no matter how busy they were, every day there would be thirteen rooms left to sell.

If one room went out of order, leaving twelve rooms vacant and ready, someone would come to the front desk and check out early. That checked-out room would be cleaned and ready shortly after, bringing their vacant and clean rooms list right back up to thirteen. Why thirteen rooms? thought Billy. It was as though the rooms were being kept for something, someone, but who and why?

Who would be doing this? Billy wondered. Billy and Tiger practically ran the entire hotel themselves. Neither one of them would do such a thing nor would Mary Jane Delacroix. Billy had a great discerning memory. By looking over the past guest lists, he remembered the night Lola came over to the front desk and, especially, the night a crazy lady locked herself out of her room.

The crazy lady was on her period, drunk as shit. This crazy lady parked her Maserati on the sidewalk out front, and she went up to her room. It was not long after this when Billy heard shuffling in the lobby. It was the crazy lady standing in front of him, naked and full of blood.

Billy ran to the linen closet, grabbed a sheet, and wrapped it around her. She tried to give him something. In her hands were her car keys. Billy took the keys from her, holding them as though they were about to sting him.

He dropped her car keys on the front desk counter and reassured her he would see to it her car was parked. After seeing her to her room with an extra key, throwing a whole bunch of towels in her car on the driver's seat, and wiping the bloody steering wheel down, Billy managed to park her car. He remembered checking for an extra room for her because the room she was in was full of blood. The system showed they were full at the time; but today, upon double-checking, the printouts clearly showed there were thirteen available rooms. Strange, thought Billy.

Billy remembered Lola coming back later, looking for another room. At the time, he remembered checking to find there were no rooms available; but now while looking back at the hotel statistic reports, it clearly showed for that specific night, they had thirteen spare rooms ready to sell. Billy could have given her the room she wanted but how? Impossible. At the time, it showed there were no rooms. Billy scratched his head and analyzed the list further.

Something was changing. He noticed every single night, according to the guest lists, there were thirteen rooms available for at least the first part of the two and a half months that he was presently checking on. The hotel appeared full in the system, but it was not full at all. Not by any means, not according to the guest history, which he was staring at right now.

After a two-month period, there was a change. The room count dropped to twelve available every night. That's when I started hearing the laughter of girls, Billy thought. Then there were eleven and then ten. Then a constant four. Something outrageous is going down here, thought Billy.

Someone was banging above the front desk, or was it the something in these rooms? Billy wondered with his heart racing. He rushed to the most recent guest list. Every room had a name. On the surface, everything seemed perfect, but something was out of place. He ran his index finger down the names on the list and stopped at the name Christine. Billy's heart skipped a beat.

Billy clicked on the guest folio and the accompanying icon. A block popped up. In the block was the name, Emma. Billy started to feel as though he could not breathe, but this did not stop him. He continued to run his finger down the list, passing Erby and Priscilla. When his finger got to Mother Hatherby, he paused and swallowed. "What the fuck," he said out aloud. With shivering hands, he folded the list and left the front desk.

Billy did not care if there was no one at the front desk, no one to safeguard the tills, no one to answer the phones. It did not matter. Nothing mattered anymore. Totally freaked out, Billy started making his way to room 13. The lights flickered and went out. Billy's heart almost stopped as though never to beat again. He grabbed at his chest in pain, and his heart started again, pounding faster than ever before.

Billy was in total darkness, and in the darkness, he began to hear what sounded like the giggling of girls and the heavy breathing of someone who was hoary. There was chirping too but not of a bird. It sounded like it was coming from what could have been a monkey. He could feel something in the dark. Him and them—all of them.

In the beginning, when you are happy, thought Billy, there is a hint of a smile. When you are sad, sadness sits by your side. With anger, hatred comes knocking. In love, there is love. In the end, those eyes, they lock themselves on you. Walk out, and they continue peering from the other side, through brittle walls, through time's raging worlds of the ever-changing. And when all is gone, those eyes; that determination, it lives forever.

Tiger, he thought, where are you, my friend? Fuck, how I miss you, Billy whispered under his breath. Emotions rushed into Billy's heart, and he began to feel stronger. He had to protect Mary Jane, and whoever else was staying at this hotel other than those in the thirteen rooms. Billy managed to make it halfway down the dark corridor, black on black.

Holding his hand up in front of his face, Billy saw nothing but darkness, and it was thick and full. He thought, I know, but they are not aware of this. Then trying not to think, he said, I must stay alive. I must love myself enough to get through this, he thought. Breathe, Billy, breathe, Billy whispered.

Billy got to room 13 and inserted the key card. The door light flashed green, and the door clicked. As he opened the door, the lights in the hallway came on. Once inside his room, Billy switched his bedside lamp on and sat on the queen bed next to the Jacuzzi.

The mattress was damp. Ignoring this, Billy opened the list again. He saw Slade's name and Speed too. Billy shook his head. He wished Tiger was here. Tiger would know what to do. Tiger always knew what to do. Billy's finger started to move again: Cara, Christine, Mother Hatherby, Erby, Frank, Joshua, Mary, Priscilla, Raquel, Sarah, Slade, Steve, Tabatha, Willie.

### Chapter 30

Wide-eyed, Billy lay on his queen bed in room 13, listening to the crazy sounds going on around him in the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. Billy swallowed as he began to think of the screaming lady, out for vengeance, in the Santa Monica alley. His mind began to race on as though something inside was trying to reach him, to tell him what he needed to know—but what was it? Billy wondered.

Is not, thought Billy, karma a heart of vengeance reinvented? Was it thought God not tough enough? Does the God to whom they pray not tell them to forgive and forget and not to judge lest they would be judged? thought Billy. If one says karma will get a person and if one delights in that and if one is ecstatic when karma befalls that person, did one not judge?

Billy could hear the chainsaws in the background. Not tree cutters. They were fucking chainsaws, thought Billy, fucking chainsaws. Billy's mind continued to ponder, and then did one not decide that person needed karma. Did one not mouth off about whom they wished karma upon? Was that not secretively wishing harm and reveling in the harm that may be brought or was caused by karma from that one's lips?

There was a loud pounding coming from above, and Billy knew he would have to leave room 13 soon. Billy's mind continued searching. Then was that harm not conjured by oneself as judge, jury, and executioner, thought Billy, in every sense of the word? And if so, what does that make one, and where does it leave the one who wished upon a karma?

When the final judgment, Billy thought, of which they speak, comes around, according to belief, the true and only judge will stand. And yes, as one has learned, taught, and so preached, on that day the one who judged first will be judged too. And there within the law of their word sits the irony of karma and that Person of Goodness.

The thumping from up above grew louder as Billy's mind continued to race on, if you intentionally hurt a genuinely good person, the beliefs of a Person of Goodness teach, God leaves you to your own devices.

Someone was screaming. These were the sounds of someone being eaten alive. Billy's mind continued to race for answers. According to the teachings of a Person of Goodness, thought Billy, I don't believe God ever hurts anyone, but I do believe he leaves you, Billy thought, and once he is gone, you are left in darkness. Then the devil sends his darksiders, along with his demons and his monsters, to get you, and they do get you good.

Billy quit thinking for a second. There was a pounding on the door. Billy decided not to answer. His heart raced on along with his mind. I don't think there is such a thing as karma, thought Billy, not for a Person of Goodness, anyway. I think karma is merely a disguise for our true anger and horror-filled human nature. Karma, Billy thought, is the part of us that wants revenge. The pounding on the door stopped.

Billy sensed something in the room with him. He looked over to the Jacuzzi. The water started moving. Think, Billy, he told himself, think. Those raised with the teachings of a Person of Goodness know God teaches love and peace. So, they look for something else that will help them feel better, to know something will get that other person good, thought Billy.

The something was coming out of the Jacuzzi. It was slimy, making a horrid gurgling noise. Filled with terror, Billy jumped up from the bed and ran for the balcony doors. He opened them and jumped over the railing in time to see a horrid demon making its way over the side of the Jacuzzi and into room 13.

Cautiously, Billy perambulated up South Ocean Drive, parallel to the hotel. If they were truly genuine, thought Billy, and genuinely hurt by a cruel, vindictive person, a person whose intentions were to bring harm to them in the first place, if they were living according to People of Goodness, karma would not get anyone. In the world of a real Person of God, there is no such thing as karma, but the something will get you and the something that gets you is lucifer, God's - once - most loved Archangel; the devil as created; signed, sealed and delivered directly to hell by God himself. No passing 'begin' here, thought Billy, and no 'collecting two hundred dollars' either.

Billy thought of what he did, lying on the bed after he missed his twenty-first birthday party. He blasphemed against the Holy Ghost. Billy wondered if he was now damned to hell. Billy's thoughts raced on, what if God leaves? And God will leave, thought Billy, although these teachings do state God will never leave or forsake you. But—and there is a big but...

If you're a Person of God, thought Billy, go ahead and hurt a good person that is truly and genuinely good, and you will see. God will be gone, and you will be left alone in the dark, you and the darksiders and the monsters of the devil. Walking parallel to the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel, Billy could see every room was lit up. People were hanging from the balconies, screaming. From their balconies into their rooms, they were dragged to be gobbled up.

No, no. You wouldn't be left with the devil, thought Billy, because reading your little black book from cover to cover, you find the devil has been locked up for thousands of years. Jesus locked him up and threw away the key. Instead, you would be left with lucifer's darksiders and his monsters, and these are those that would get you. I think it's got to do with goodness, thought Billy, and the power within it as good always triumphs over darkness.

Irony, Billy pondered, as a woman flew over the balcony and landed at his feet. She was half of a woman; the rest of her was gone. Billy gasped. He could barely breathe. Mary Jane, he thought, and began to run to the lobby area as his unrelenting thoughts rummaged onward in pursuit of an answer. The ones wishing harm via karma don't realize, according to God, no badness is stronger than the next, thought Billy, and you land up on a level playing field in the same boat as the one you wished harm upon.

Call it what you will, karma, if you so desire. But at the end of the day, it is what it is, and that's it, thought Billy. Billy reached the lobby. It was empty. He dashed for the stairwell with the sound of the chainsaws in his ears and the giggling of girls in his head. Up the stairs, he darted, thinking, I have seen a lot of people swatting karma around as though it were a blue-ass fly whizzing about on an exasperatingly hot and sticky summer day. Thoughts, that's all, thought Billy. He reached Mary Jane's room and banged on the door. There was no answer.

"Mary Jane, it's me. it's Billy." There was a peculiar sound coming from Mary Jane's room, a bizarre chewing, sucking-on-bones sound. Billy's thoughts raced on. Possibly, those who've felt the power of the Big Broad upstairs will make some sense of these thoughts and probably others won't, but as I said, thought Billy, these are thoughts, he convinced himself, and that's all they are.

Billy closed his eyes outside Mary Jane's door. He did not want to knock again. Not with the sounds coming from her room. He hoped she somehow made it out of the hotel. Billy knew Mary Jane planned to leave for good, but he was not sure if she did so yet. In his heart, he hoped the sounds of chewing and sucking coming from behind Mary Jane's door were not the sounds of something eating her flesh.

Billy was on the fourth floor now. He had the key to room 313 on him. The sound of chainsaws entered the passageway. At the one end of the hallway, Billy saw two headless women who appeared to be preparing themselves to rush right at him. Billy turned around to find Mother Hatherby was standing on the other end of the hallway.

"Come to Mama, Billy boy!" Mother Hatherby screamed a ululating scream from her stinky severed head, neatly tucked under her bloated arm. She began to run for Billy. The two headless girls on the other end of the hallway took to their heels, revving their chainsaws as they too began to make their way toward Billy with their rotting heads under their arms. As they advanced, blood seeped out of their lifeless eyes, dripping on the carpet below, and saliva oozed from their contorted mouths.

"Mama," Billy said. His heart cried out for Mother Hatherby. "What has Slade done to you?" Billy was frozen to the core. The stairwell, directly in the center of the hallway between Mother Hatherby and the headless girls, would be an easy escape for Billy but not for long.

All Billy needed to do was to turn around and run, but he could not. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he watched his mother advancing toward him with her head under her arm. "Mama," Billy said, dropping to his knees, broken and confused.

Mother Hatherby moved faster now. Billy blinked, and she was almost on him. Filled with rage, the headless girls revved their chainsaws in the air. Trying to advance further but respecting Mother Hatherby enough, they stood in anger, stoking the air with their roaring machines. Keeping their distance, they awaited the perfect moment for an opening. It was the kind of respect that came from fear, and it made Mother Hatherby feel that much more powerful.

On Mother Hatherby's command, the headless girls planned to spring forth and rip Billy to shreds. With that, Mother Hatherby dropped her head and raised both arms into the air above Billy with her tongue quickly maneuvering her head around on the carpet to see and direct her body. Once her head was in place, with Billy's head bowed before her, Mother Hatherby rammed both arms down at Billy with all her might.

Billy closed his eyes and braced himself for the coming impact, which would surely kill him. It did not come. What did come was the screaming from Mother Hatherby's head as her body was flung backward, hit by some sort of projectile-type object that flew up the stairwell and got her right between her breasts, knocking her headless body to the ground. It was Brutus, the huge Dogue de Bordeaux. Mangled, he was on top of Mother Hatherby, tearing her to shreds while her detached head screamed blue murder.

"Get him!" Mother Hatherby's head yelled at the chainsaw ladies with Billy on his knee, watching Brutus feast on his mother's decapitated body. Now the headless girls began advancing in a scurry of lunacy toward Billy.

From behind Billy came an outstretched hand and the sweetest voice, "Billy, you must run, Billy."

Billy reached for the hand. He took hold of it. "Come, Billy. Follow me." Billy looked up behind himself to see to whom this warm, innocent hand belonged. "Billy, quickly." Christine held Billy's hand tightly and pulled him as hard as she could. Startled, Billy stood up and ran with Christine down the stairwell to the third floor. Christine led him to room 313.

"Quickly, Billy, get your key. There is not much time."

Billy fumbled for his key and found it. He inserted the key card in the door slot. The light flashed red.

"God. Fuck me!" Billy screamed, and when he looked up, Christine was gone. At the end of the hallway, he saw Frank coming for him with a huge motor-like contraption he was dragging along.

"Sank lime. Sank lime!" Frank was shouting at the top of his voice. "Knife's in the pocket," Frank said with madness in his eyes as he dragged along Mary's gas generator. With rubber pipes protruding from every part of his body, Frank looked like a crazed octopus on an insane mission.

Billy reinserted the key card and jiggled it. Again, it flashed red. On the other end of the hallway, something skeletal was crawling over to Billy—or was it someone? thought Billy. It looked old with its nails breaking into the carpet as it crawled, and skin tearing off its body with each heaved movement this macabre demon made in its advance toward Billy. It was too late.

Billy was halfway down the hallway outside his room, and this cadaverous crawling demon already passed the stairwell—Billy's only exit. It was coming for him with Frank on the other end of the hallway almost on top of Billy already. Billy held the key card with both his sweat-filled hands, "Please, please, please," Billy cried out in his shaky attempt to reinsert the key card. It slid into the key slot. Billy jiggled the key in complete desperation. Frank was almost on Billy, and the rotting hand of the crawling thing was reaching for Billy's left leg. The light turned green, and the door mechanism clicked open.

The next morning Tiger went into the Reign Hotel. Mango was there, expecting him. He was given a key to room 33 with its stunning sunken lounge. He was told to grab some breakfast, which he did. Once he was done with breakfast, Tiger decided to go to the Third Street Promenade to walk around a bit.

Tiger started with Pacific Palisade Park, and then he walked down Third Street. By the time he got to the end of Third Street, which was where Main Street meets Broadway, he was busting to go to the restroom. This prompted him to return to the park. While on his way to Pacific Palisade Park, he thought about Billy, feeling thankful for Billy's friendship.

When he got to Pacific Palisade Park, there was a restroom there, overlooking the ocean. He went in and used the urinal. Moving over to wash his hands, Tiger looked up into the mirror. He noticed his face, hardened, and his eyes looked dark and menacing.

The blue in the gold within his eyes changed to black. Smoke was coming out of his nose. His heart plummeted. Grabbing either side of the sink, Tiger became horrified, holding on as his body shook.

He could not understand what was happening. He ended the drugs. He had not done nose candy in weeks and had not consumed any alcohol in a while. Tiger quit smoking regular cigarettes too, something he thought he would never be able to do but he did it.

He was terrified. Petrified to the bone, Tiger remembered Billy's words. The words Tiger always brushed away.

"It's an avenue, Tiger. It's an opening, a way in," Billy said, "and once the door was open, it was hard, if not impossible, to shut again."

I opened that door, Billy, thought Tiger, not only for me but you too. Tiger closed his eyes, and as a profound and dark sadness settled upon him, he slowly lifted his head and considered the mirror. It was there, that vile monster. Part of Tiger started hating Billy again, and it started thinking of how to kill him.

Tiger shook his head and looked up at the monster there in full force. "No!" he shouted. "Go away. Leave me alone."

Tiger felt his head become tight. It was like someone was squeezing his brain. He felt as though he would pass out any minute now. He let go of the sink and stumbled out of the restroom. Around Tiger were many homeless people sleeping in and around Palisade Park. Some of them looked up at him and simply set their heads down and went back to sleep.

They were accustomed to crazy, and when they saw Tiger, they thought he was one of them: family. That was until Tiger began screaming and running up Broadway. Feeling like one of those people standing on street corners directing traffic, Tiger stumbled this way and that, stopping every so often. With his eyes fixating, Tiger began to laugh, stopping again and then stumbling further down the road.

By the time he got to Seventh Street, he felt as though he lost his mind entirely. Once there, he found a woman crossing at the traffic intersection. The little man on the pole indicated Tiger should walk as did the loudspeaker who shouted out, "Walk!" It did this several times in between cooing like a cuckoo clock. Tiger looked up in his insanity and bellowed with laughter.

The woman crossing at the intersection became afraid, utterly terrified by what she saw. She walked by him, staying as far away from him as she possibly could, treating him as though he was a horrid disease. Keeping a safe distance, walking in a flurry in between the pedestrian lines and Tiger, she began to run and then sprint as she hurried away.

Tiger lost all memory until he found himself standing in a room that felt warm and inviting. Someone was singing. No, many people were singing, and then they stopped.

Tiger opened his eyes. He was in a church. A Catholic church. He knew this because, in front of him, standing on a large concrete slab behind what was a priest wearing white attire, Tiger could see the world-famous statue of Mother Mary.

The priest was swinging something on a chain, and smoke came out of it. The singing started again, and everyone stood. Tiger stood too. Then they sat again, and Tiger sat. After a bit, they stood again. Some of them were making the sign of a cross. Tiger tried to keep up, but he was getting it all wrong; and then it was over, and they walked out, nodding and smiling affably at one another.

Neither did Tiger nor did the priest move until everyone was gone and the church was empty. Tiger looked up at the priest, and the priest looked into his eyes. Tiger shied away as though he did something terribly wrong. The priest saw this and made a show of expressions indicating he did not want Tiger to be feeling this way at all.

The priest moved over to Tiger. Standing right in front of Tiger, the priest looked into his eyes. He raised his arms and then threw them around Tiger, holding him tightly.

"I have been waiting for you," he said.

"Yeah. All your life," said Tiger.

The priest released his hug and took Tiger by the shoulders and considered his eyes.

"What is your name?"

"Tiger."

"Tiger—that is a beautiful name."

Tiger said no more.

"I need to tell you. The way for you to get through this is to believe. If you do not believe, it will not work, and you will not be safe ever." The priest took out a small bottle from inside his robe. Within it was a clear liquid. He opened the bottle and said, "May I? Tiger, this is holy water."

Tiger nodded in agreement, and the priest started sprinkling the holy water over Tiger. Tiger felt nothing.

In Laguna Beach, Mother Hatherby was on the second floor of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel, carrying her severed head down the passageway. The chainsaw girls scared off Brutus. He tore her up badly, but she could still move. Mother Hatherby sucked down three guests already. One being a rude little girl who was born with sadness and hatred in her soul.

The nasty little girl went down hard, kicking and screaming. Her bones cracked as Mother Hatherby's neck muscles crushed them to a pulp, sucking little girl screams deep down into her fiery belly. As the rude girl began to digest, Mother Hatherby's decapitated head laughed in complete madness and utter joy. Mother Hatherby was after Billy. She could not find him because Frank got to Billy. Billy slipped into room 313 in the nick of time.

Billy did not turn on the lights in his room. He slammed the door, locking Frank and the crawling thing out. With the door closed, he passed out exhausted while the fierce banging continued at his door. Then the banging ended, replaced by what sounded like knocking, then hammering. The hammering continued for a while as Billy slept.

Stirring in the darkness, Billy finally awoke. As soon as he was conscious enough to realize he was alone in room 313, his heart started to beat faster. The last time he was in this room was when he helped Tiger from going stiff, helped his heart from stopping. Tiger was having a second heart attack, pulling on the pillows above his head. His veins were bulging, or was it his third heart attack? Did it only happen once? Billy shook his head.

Afraid to look into the huge mirror on the wall, Billy got up, and while eyeing the carpet, he checked the windows. They were boarded up. Billy went to the door and tried it. Something was jamming it.

### Chapter 31

Billy started banging. Trying to get out, he fisted the inside of the door of room 313, pounding it as hard as he could; and in doing so, Frank, with his octopus-like rubber tubes hanging from his back and sides, began dragging a generator down the hallway toward the door of a room. Upon reaching the room that sat under the stairwell, Frank looked up at the door. The number on the door was 313.

Frank grabbed a tube from his side and connected one end of the tube to the exhaust outlet of the generator. He placed a fitting on the other end of the tube, which broke the initial main tube up into several smaller tubes. Then he forced one of these smaller tubes under the door of the room. After doing this, he routed the other tubes through the gaps in the air-conditioning unit, leading into the room.

Frank had already boarded Billy's room up. He did it while Billy was passed out, making sure there was room here and there for his tubes. Wherever he left an opening, he placed a tube. Now Billy was banging like crazy, and shouting to be let out. Frank found the handle he was looking for. This handle was attached to a cable, which in turn was connected to the starter motor of the generator.

Frank took hold of the handle. The generator cable stretched outward in an elastic fashion. He braced himself and pulled hard. The starter cable vibrated, and the generator fired up. It was not long after this that Billy's room began to fill with gasoline fumes.

The priest looked at Tiger intently. "Tiger, you have to believe. That's the only way." He was standing with his hands resting on Tiger's shoulders.

Tiger shrugged. The priest raised his eyebrows and removed his hands.

Looking the priest in his eyes, Tiger asked the priest, "Do you believe?"

There was no answer. The priest stepped backward and pointed at Tiger. "I will pray for you," he said. The priest's extended index finger was shaking, and it would not stop shaking.

Fucking fake, thought Tiger, fucking fake-ass bitch, motherfucking cock-sucking cunt. Tiger's expressions started to change, and his face started becoming hard again. Tiger turned around and yelled, "No! Leave me alone. Leave us alone." Tiger ran through the arches of the grand Catholic church, but he stopped before reaching the exit. Something on Tiger's left caught his eye. It was a white dove, cooing peacefully through the madness.

Billy was screaming for help, banging on the door. No one is going to come, thought Billy. He fell to his knees and started crying; and in between thoughts of Tiger and then coughing at flying images of a priest, he thought, Steer clear of those throwing false accusations, followed by using unsubstantiated smear. These are trappings and works of deceit that lead a dark and dreary road to a dead-end street.

From Billy's top pocket, a little black book fell to the ground. Face up, staring at Billy, were the words on its first page.

As the fumes in his room thickened, Billy said, why do you hate me so? Why? Why? I wanted to be good. I wanted to be like you. Why? Looking up at the ceiling, through the ceiling to the sky he could not see, through the sky and to the universe he could not see, and beyond, Billy cried his heart out.

Tiger walked toward the dove. There was something attached to the ring on its leg. It was a rolled-up piece of paper. He reached for it. The dove held a clover leaf in its mouth. It was sitting on a bowl, filled with what the priest called holy water. Tiger's heart raced, but he kept steady. With two fingers outstretched, he managed to get a firm grip on the rolled-up piece of paper, attached to the ring on its leg.

The dove cooed again and took to flight. Tiger held his fingers together tightly. As the dove lifted into the air, the small rolled-up piece of paper stayed in the firm grip of Tiger's fingers. He got it, and quickly, he unrolled it.

On the piece of paper, something appeared before his eyes. The world around him closed in, disappearing until it was only him and the message on that piece of paper. Tiger began to read the words inscribed before his eyes. They were being designed for him by something out there greater than himself, greater than the world, larger than the universe, and far greater than whatever lay beyond it all.

He began reading, "HEART. SEE YOUR HEART AS I SEE IT"; and as Tiger read the words, he began to believe. As he began to believe, he began to feel the power; and as he began to feel the power, something inside of him began to pop like a mangled spine straightening. Like an empty eye socket suddenly being replaced by a beautiful, healthy eye, his mind unraveled itself and his thoughts freed the pain and heartache trapped within.

They had it wrong, he thought. They were liars and fools. How they made him feel. How they treated him. How they hurt him and how he allowed it all, believing their words, but what they knew was not the truth. What they knew were lies—lies they created to twist the truth to suit themselves, and it was more than that, much more than that.

Tiger was reminded of a movie he saw as a kid, where a hunter shot a deer. Where this guy with a strange power wanted the hunter to see and feel what the deer was seeing and feeling. The guy in the movie grabbed the hunter's arm and touched the deer. The hunter became the hunted; he could feel the pain, the heartache, and the fear of the animal as it began to die. He became the animal he was killing, and this drove him insane.

Tiger felt what Billy tried to feel for so long. Tiger could see what Billy needed to know. Now, as though being washed by a great big fountain that purified the soul, Tiger felt strong, powerful, and all-knowing. Things finally made sense in every sense of the word.

"Billy!" Tiger shouted. "I must help Billy."

He folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. Tiger put his hands into the bowl of holy water and washed his face.

Feeling the words of power from God and the warmth of the holy water washing away Tiger's fears, the monsters in the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel started screaming in utter pain. Dropping to the ground, they began to wither away. Dying, they began to leave Billy alone with the gas entering his room.

Tiger rushed out of the church down the steps. On the seventh step, on the ground, was a Staff lying deserted. Tiger bent over, compelled to do so; he grabbed hold of the Staff. As he did so, rain began to fall from the sky.

Is this rain? thought Tiger. In Los Angeles rain was a rarity. He reached his hands outward, and with the Staff in his right hand, he closed his eyes. Tiger could feel the rain coming down in a light drizzle.

Upon opening his eyes again and upon looking at his hands, he noticed blood on them. There was blood everywhere. Another droplet fell from the sky onto his right hand, and he looked at it, stared at it. What fell from the sky was not water.

Oh God, thought Tiger. It was raining blood. Tiger rushed down the remainder of the stairs, trying to hail a cab. "How quickly can you get me to Laguna Beach?" he asked a random cab driver who happened to be wearing a green baseball cap, which looked far too small for his big head. The cab driver with the green cap was leaning on a car, looking at his hands, also full of blood.

"What is this?" the cab driver asked.

"Must be a rusty cloud," said Tiger. "How long to Laguna?"

"Damn factories. Damn acid rain," said the cab driver. "Should take about an hour and a half." The cab driver was set off by the red rain. Tiger knew this would not do. He raised the Staff in his anger and slammed its bottom end on the ground. "My friend will be dead by then. I need to get to Laguna now," he said, swinging the Staff around, feeling helpless.

Down the hallways of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel, Christine and Emma ran hand in hand. Frank was after them. Mary was dragging behind, trying to stop him. At the end of the hallway stood the dog, Brutus with his fondness for the taste of human flesh. There he waited for them. Mangled and broken boned Brutus still managed to stand, piercing the air with the snap of cracking bones beneath his bruised skin.

It started raining in Laguna Beach too, turning the surrounding evergreen foliage a velvety red. The fire alarm in the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel sounded, and its fire system went off. The ceiling sprinkler system started spraying not water but blood all over the inside of the hotel.

The rain likened unto acid on the tender buttocks of a small innocent child touched the devil's monsters and the demons of lucifer, causing some to die immediately in screams of torment while others withered slowly in wails of excruciating pain. Those that did not die instantly were drowned in rushing rivers of blood raging through the hallways of the Laguna Palms Spar Hotel.

Blood filling the hallways of the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel came in its glory, rushing down the stairways, slamming with all its might into lucifer's children of darkness. Like a massive wave of red lava, it began to burn some to a cinder and drown others as it moved toward the third floor and Billy's room.

### Chapter 32

Fearing for Billy's life, Tiger brought the Staff down hard to meet the ground once again; and he melted onto one knee, with his head bowed and his heart heavy. He closed his eyes to the world around him. Tiger could feel Billy in pain, in trouble. Heart—you will see your heart and what's in your heart, the way God sees it, thought Tiger. Again, he was struck with the power which now continued refilling him with the love that died years ago. On one knee, love and awe emanated from every part of his being.

"Sorry, sir." Someone was touching his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Tiger looked up. "No, I need to get to—" He stopped talking. Standing in front of him was the same taxi driver with his green cap, but behind this taxi driver was a different city altogether. Now they were both in Laguna Beach. They were somehow moved from Santa Monica to Laguna in less than a few seconds.

Startled, Tiger stood up; and without thinking any further, he began running up the hill to the Laguna Palms Spa Hotel. The taxi driver turned around to see what startled Tiger.

"What the fuck," he said. "Where am I? My car? It's gone. What's this?" His car was gone. Santa Monica was gone too, and somehow now they were in Laguna Beach. "Oh shit. I'm in Laguna," said the cab driver, and he looked to his left to see what looked like a chariot on fire. The flames were unbearably hot. The cab driver jumped backwards, screamed like a girl and fainted.

As the blood rain poured down, everybody in this coastal town began to scream and run for cover. Tiger did not have time to look behind. He reached the hotel with blood pouring down his face. Above, there was a huge cloud over the hotel. Tiger looked up to see this strange cylindrical cloud sitting above the rooms ending in 13.

Surrounding the cloud were balls of fire, circulating. Tiger blinked to clear his vision. No, they aren't balls at all, thought Tiger. They are chariots in the sky, chariots of fire.

"Billy!" Tiger shouted in desperation and ran through to room 313. He found the gas generator running outside Billy's door. Full of blood, swiftly, Tiger pulled away the gas tubes and banged on the door in haste. There was no answer. The door and windows were boarded up with railroad sleepers and huge nails. Tiger could smell gas coming from under the door. Hurriedly, Tiger pulled the white dove's note out of his pocket and allowed his trembling hands to slip it under Billy's door.

And this is when the dolls begin to dance, thought Billy, 'til no one said when. There was the tango, kill that bad, gotcha, and the foxtrot too, he thought, followed by the cha-cha, just for you.

In dying, Billy heard something; and before taking his last breath, he saw Tiger's fingernails as Tiger's long slender fingers skillfully shoved the piece of paper under the door. They were like his Grandma's. Billy's Grandma had the most uniquely beautiful fingernails: curved and strong, white as pearls that shone happiness on a bright and sunny day.

Under the door, Billy saw the dove's note being pushed through, close to where the little black book lay, face up, open on its first page.

In his weak state, Billy's eyes happened upon the first three words in this little book. Billy managed a fragile smile as these first three words, 'In The Beginning,' played on his mind. The dove's note was finally through. Billy could see Tiger's frantic fingers at the gap under the door as they tried desperately to move the note closer to him.

Finally, it landed itself on the face of the tiny black book. Something was forming on the dove's note. The room around Billy disappeared. Everything disappeared. As Billy's dying eyes read what was being written right before his eyes, on the dove's note, Billy felt the power. For the first time in his life, he felt the power, and it felt good.

It was warm and inviting. Suddenly, he was flying through eternity as the world glowed, its troubles melted, and the answers to life's existence filtered through. Like the ambushed pastor in Central Africa who turned, crouching with his hands over his ears, to alleviate the expected sound of a million bullets meant to kill him, but instead he heard punching, banging, and screaming. And when he turned back to see why he was not shot, he discovered his attackers were beaten up; immobilized by something. His attackers were lying on the ground, but the funny thing was the pastor heard punching and kicking and...

Other than the attackers lying on the ground in pain, there was no one else there. Like the girl who refused to die but instead was raised from the dead, where thousands in the crowd ran for their lives in fear, finding what they believed, for so long, was not only true and far more powerful than they could have ever comprehended. Like wheelchairs being thrown into fires and blind Staffs being tossed aside, Billy could finally see, he could feel again and finally he was free.

"This is how God sees me." He smiled and sighed. "They were wrong," said Billy, "so wrong." He was beaming with a complete heart and a freed mind as the meaning of his life filtered through and touched his soul.

He saw the Silver Ball and saw them jumping, saw them sucked into the hotel, saw the promises they made to the devil with blood red pigs feet, a lizard's tail, and a horned hooded void with darkness for a face and red coals for eyes. How they sold their souls, every one of them, and he heard the false promises of lucifer, promises which led them to the hotel and to their inevitable doom. He saw how their loved ones closest to them suffered because of their demonic choices, and he saw their tiny black books filled to the brim with their selfish blood until they could bleed no more.

He saw the lies of the devil and how those lies destroyed the lives of good people, and he saw the monsters within the souls of good people and the truth of what existence truly was. With a mind opened and a smiling heart, Billy was finally free; where the bull grunted like a bully whose heart turned black from the hardships, hatred threw in, its grunt being an attempt to destroy all. Emotionless in its anger but focused in its aim, the power waved its wand. Now, in a silent cry of passion, channeled through Billy's heart of love and Tiger's mind of hope, the power washed the world in its blood, muffling the grunts of the dark one for but another umpteenth millennium or so it was supposed to be.

Through Billy's mind, he told Christine and Emma that whatever they did, they should not leave their rooms, said if they stayed in their rooms, they would be safe. He told this to Michael and Raquel too. Then there were the bad ones, the ones who must die. He did not tell them anything, and as the blood came, so did the burning.

Christine could hear them screaming.

She crawled into the closet, closed its door, and said, "Mommy, I love you."

Emma did the same as Christine. Alone in her room, she called out for her papa, and she told him she loved him. Her uncle's eyes were open, wide open, running the corridors, killing guests, and looking for the mangled dog who presently watched him from behind, starved, craving his flesh.

We will have another life, another time, thought Christine, and she saw the skies opening. Jesus was coming like Mommy said, on his white horse with his beautiful blond hair and his striking blue eyes. He was coming to save her and her mommy.

Emma, on her knees too, in her room, saw God's Son coming from the skies on his brown horse with black hair and his attractive olive tan, coming to save her and her papa.

Steve, also believing the end times arrived, saw God filling the skies with soldiers, his amazing braids of dreadlocked hair swaying in the wind, wearing tons of bling-bling around his neck, riding downward on golden horses with wings of flames in a chariot of fire.

Billy could see her, the Big Broad upstairs, coming from the sky on her great big white stallion with long golden hair; she was strong, wild, magnificent.

Other than with Mother Hatherby, Father Shibley had a fling with a nun in Rome who begot a hidden daughter. This daughter moved from Italy to Germany, where she begot a daughter and two sons, which she gave up for adoption. The daughter died tragically, and her two surviving sons were adopted together. The eldest of the two surviving sons was called Tiger who would inevitably attempt to save Billy, along with the rest of the world from everlasting darkness.

Emma grew to maturity, married, and begot a son and a daughter. Her daughter grew up and begot a son who joined the deity where he moved to Virginia, becoming a priest. Later, this son disgraced the priesthood by falling in love with a nun who, in turn, begot two sons, which she gave up for adoption. The second son was adopted by Mary, who's daughter was named Christine. He was called Michael, and he was in turn given away and renamed Billy.

Mary discovered Michael had a brother named Slade, who was also given up for adoption. Without consulting the adoption agency or attempting to return Michael to them, Mary made the hard decision to give Michael to the family raising Slade, mostly because she felt the two brothers should grow up together. She also felt Michael would be far safer away from Frank, who was now dead.

This family renamed Michael Billy. In the later years of Mary's life, after the blood rain, she discovered Frank's grandfather begot two sons where the oldest of the two begot a son and a daughter. Later, the daughter was found, an abandoned baby in a dumpster rotting away, dead. The surviving son was named Frank, who grew up to adopt Michael and beget Christine with Mary and an illegitimate child, on the sly, with Mother Hatherby, who gave the illegitimate child up for adoption. The illegitimate child was named Joshua.

Years later. Billy is married to a striking woman and settled. He is sitting at his typewriter, and he is about to start typing. Billy is happy. Tiger made some girl with fake blue eyes pregnant and landed himself in Belgium with a gorgeous daughter. He is a loving single father who remains clean to this day. Tiger became a success thanks to the efforts of his best friend Billy who never gave up on him, today he sells ultraviolet-ray umbrellas for a living, his ingenious patented design that took off like cupcakes at a toddler's gathering.

Tiger's brother, Speed, who was washed by the blood, settled in Hilton Village. Billy's brother, Slade, who was also washed by the blood and cured by the magic within, bought a home close to Newport News, Virginia. Billy resides here in a fine-looking double story home on the Maury River with Tabatha, who, being washed by the blood of the Son of God, was now living her dream as Billy's muse, his love, his wife.

Billy was sitting at his typewriter. Finally, he would begin this story. He planned to call his novel, The Coming. Finally, his dream would come to pass. After many years of wishing, hoping, and trying. This striking woman he married was giving him a chance to tell this story.

"No more running, no more battling. Sit and write," she said. "Here's where you make your dreams come true."

"I will work," she said, "and I will pay the bills. All you need, I will buy," And she adhered to his every beck and call.

Her name was Tabatha. She was his muse, his love, his wife, and his life. From the first time, he saw her at that CD store, to the end when he heard she was gone, missing, he loved her. From the monkey dance and its tragic outcome, to the discovery of her bloody clothes by the cave, to the time she was given back to him after the blood rain, like a fallen lollipop from the hands of a small child, he loved her; and no matter what, he did not stop loving her.

She gave me life, allowed me to breathe, and, thought Billy, for the world to see, she is allowing me to blossom. Tabatha grabbed her coffee; she always grabbed a cup before work. She turned the gas on today. It was three degrees below freezing outside, and she wished to warm their house.

Tabatha did not know the mechanism belonging to the element that sparked the flint that lit the gas that would usually heat their lovely home was completely broken, weathered away, and there was a missing part too. As she got ready for work, like a monster oil slick filling the ocean with its substance of death, gas filled the bottom part of their house. Totally unaware of what she did, Tabatha readied herself to leave. She walked over to Billy while he sat at his new computer, excited to begin.

He was staring at the screen intently. Tabatha did not wish to disturb him. She gave him a light kiss on his cheek and told him she loved him. Billy did not answer, but Tabatha knew, with all her heart, he loved her dearly. She grabbed her coffee. Dressed and ready to go, she left. Billy sat at his computer with his heart smiling. Preparing to start, he was thinking with his mind racing, terrified but confident.

Speed would be over later to say hi. Slade left and was on his way to Virginia Beach. He started a ministry called the Magic Ministry of Blood, and he popped in earlier to ask Billy if he would like to attend. Billy refused, saying he must begin something most important.

Sitting there in front of his computer, Billy wondered about Christine and Emma. He wondered if he would ever see them again, and he wondered if they returned to their time or if the power took them somewhere else. Somehow, Billy knew they were safe. He could feel it deep within himself.

He knew Steve was safe too. Sarah, Steve's wife, who was washed by the magic within the blood of Jesus, was alive again, well and safe. Billy could feel Raquel and Joshua, with their senses prickled by the haunting screams from a lady in white standing under a huge baobab tree, back on Route 66. He could feel their bickering, and he could also feel a warmth around them, and he knew they were going to be all right.

If they stayed on track, thought Billy, no shortcuts, if they did not try to find and easy way out, they would be fine. Erby was dead, thank God, thought Billy. The robed master and Lobsang burned to a cinder in the blood rain, along with the crazy dog and mom, Mother Hatherby. The thought of Mother Hatherby caused Billy's heart to skip a beat. He thought of Mary instead. Billy harbored a special kind of love for Mary.

Later, Billy discovered the truth about Mary. He did not know Slade was his real brother, and he did not know Mother Hatherby was their real mother. Later, Mary revealed this to him in his dreams. Mary always felt a strong desire to keep both boys from Mother Hatherby.

Although Mary was from another time, from the other side, she always found a way to warn them and to protect them. She felt a strong need to do this, and the only way she could do it was through their childhood. It was an avenue that created a catalyst that then enabled their togetherness. I will see her again, thought Billy. I know I will and probably sooner than later.

Billy reached into his pocket, took his smokes out, and placed them on the desk next to him, thinking of Tiger's words, "These will be the death of you one day." This thought of his best friend, Tiger, made him smile amiably. Billy reached into his other pocket. As he found his lighter, which sat snug up against the little black book within his pocket, gas filled the underside of their home, readying itself to enter its air vents.

I think all or nothing should be everybody's motto, thought Billy. There's certainly nothing else in between. Billy leaned over and began to type:

"In the beginning, when you are happy, there is a hint of a smile. When you are sad, sadness sits by your side. With anger, hatred comes knocking. In love, there is love. In the end, those eyes, they lock themselves on you. Walk out, and they continue peering from the other side, through brittle walls, through time's raging worlds of the ever-changing. And when all is gone, those eyes; that determination, it lives forever."

Mary Delphine was on her haunches in front of Michael. His face was expressionless. He knew what she was about to say. He could feel it in her body language, in her lack of expression. He could sense something was not right. She looked cold and distant—scared—and he did not like it one bit.

"Michael"—Mary pulled him closer— "I'm not sure if you can fully understand what I want to tell you, but please try to understand."

Michael's six-year-old hands began to tremble in hers. He could feel a lump in his throat. Something was crying deep within himself, with a burning in his chest, a warm endless burning hurting his soul.

"Michael, I have to give you away. I can't keep you anymore."

Michael looked at her with watery eyes. He tilted his head like a sad dog, and his feet started to stamp the floor in protest, short little thumps but nothing too extravagant.

It was as though he knew what his mother had to do. The stomping was more to hold down his pain as he tried to keep his tears, but they came. "I'm sorry, Mommy," he said.

To him, a memory came of Mary rolling him up in a rug and placing him on top of the closet. He remembered her showing him her finger on her lips, one that said do not make a noise. One that said please do not or daddy will kill us all. Michael recalled not crying as he heard his mother getting knocked from one side of the house to the other. He remembered the time he held his breath in between his mother's screams, believing somehow Mommy would still be there to feed him. Michael remembered her returning with bad marks over her body and blood; there was lots of blood.

Michael closed his eyes and said again, "Mommy, I'm sorry."

"Oh, my baby," she said and threw her arms around him, "please don't say sorry. It's me who's sorry, baby. You never need to apologize for anything." She held him closer. Together tears rolled down pale cheeks where at some point they intermingled becoming one, dripping onto the blue velvet carpet above the hardwood floors on which they stood. In the warmth of the room, before seeping through the gaps in the wood beneath, their tears evaporated, dissolving into a nothingness of empty.

"Michael, I promise. I will return." She hugged him tighter.

"Mommy, I can't breathe."

Mary loosened her hold on him. Not wanting ever to let him go, she stood up and backed off slightly. Michael stood in front of her and raised his right hand, showing her his palm. She extended her right hand, and their hands touched. He could feel the warmth of her palm and the racing of her heartbeat sending waves of love through her hand to his.

"Michael," Mary considered his eyes and said, "my sweet baby, you may not understand what I have to say here, but I believe something in you will always remember this, and one day it will be brought back to you, and you will understand it all. Michael, my darling, stay focused. Keep your eyes on your dreams. Keep your chin held up high and never let anyone step on your toes. Do this with love and heart, sweat, and tears. Hurt no one. As they did you, do them with love. Swap, there is no way for, a way can be made. Throw away can't and keep can. Throw away won't and keep will. Drown impossible and water possible. Lose never in the woods and find always hiding in the shadows of what will be. Then whether you want it or not, your dream will become not only possible but also inevitable, and whether you like it or not, you will get there. But you must want to get there, and if you do, you will." Mary held her tears, barely able to get her last words out.

"Mommy, I love you," he said. "I will always love you. And I understand."

How could he possibly understand? she thought. How could this boy, this sweet boy of mine, know so much at such a young age? It is wrong. She closed her eyes and shook her head. Her mouth was dry, and now her throat throbbed in sorrow's palpitations of pain.

Gertrude, Mother Hatherby's close friend from child services of Virginia, was standing to the side, watching it all and taking it in. "It's time, Mary," Gertrude said in a stern voice. "You need to leave. We will take it from here."

"I know but one more hug." Mary bent over, going on her haunches again. She took Michael around his waist, placing her head on his chest. "Michael, if you remember nothing else, remember these words. Always remember these words. Darling, I love you more than anything in this world, with all my heart and with all my soul. I always have, and I always will."

"I love you too, Mommy. Always."

On his left cheek, Mary kissed Michael. She stood up, turned around, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind herself. She was gone.

Michael looked over at Gertrude. He was taking in spurts of short breaths filled with heartache, pain. Gertrude took Michael by the hand and secretively led him into another room where a strange lady sat waiting. "Here he is," she said to Lola Thorndike. "You better tell your sister. She owes me one. And you better get him out of here before Mary changes her mind. They sometimes do, you know, change their minds."

Lola Thorndike straightened her back and considered Michael's eyes. Stretching her hand over, she said, "Come on now, you have to stop this crying nonsense and dry your eyes. It's time to meet your new mommy and daddy."

Michael closed his eyes. He did not want a new mommy, and he did not care about having a daddy. He wanted Mary, whom he believed to be his real mommy. Daddies did not matter. Daddies only beat mommies up, thought Michael; but Mary, Mommy, he thought, she was gone, and he felt alone. Although she said she would return, something in his heart felt this was the last time he would ever see her in his life again.

Michael extended his hand for Lola to take, and she took it.

"From now onward, you will be called Billy," Lola muttered. "Did you hear me, young man?" she asked firmly.

As he walked off with her, Michael said yes softly but loud enough for Lola to hear. She glanced at him, proud, and she smiled an awful ungodly smile. His whimpering stopped but not from within. His throat hurt with tears trapped deep in his soul where he cried not for himself anymore but for his mother.

Lola could not see this because from here on in Billy showed no emotion as his heart wept harder and harder. The beat of the throbbing rhythm in this new emotionless sorrow of his—all his—hurt Billy's throat more. Here he stood in the kind of sorrow that often swallows the hearts of the world, disguised as beautiful through a smile in the silence of true pain and true love—not sexual. This was a different kind of love.

That special kind that cannot be given freely or taken away. Truer than true could, in all eternity, ever be. If there was such a thing as truer, in the warmth of a heart of hearts where love's feelings stir, this was it; his love for Mary, whom he believed to be his real mother, would never die. And even if Mary did not ever return, this he knew and this he would always know. Though she deserted him, he would always hold this last memory of her soft face, warm hands, and trembling words close all the days of his life.

### Chapter 33

Love drives a dark road on the winding tracks of life, thought Tabatha, with no wheels to carry the unsteady toward its doom, but for time and circumstance, they alone derail the heart where one love dies and another is born. Holding onto the steering wheel, her knuckles pale, Tabatha reasoned; Every ending is a beginning. She closed her eyes for a moment, and every error repeated gives birth to old endings and death to new beginnings.

Holding the steering wheel even tighter, Tabatha thought, love yourself enough to spread your wings and fly. She whisked them around the bend. Ahead were lush and tall pines towering the road in the moonlight, creating magical shadows to be that of which her mind chose. "I don't have ten years," she said while, in the dark, her mind processed the images ahead. "But maybe I could wait for him, perhaps," she said softly.

Speed looked at her, teary-eyed. The shadows ahead became monsters, and the trees were not trees anymore with their branches the outstretched arms of starved, sucked-in faces. She was concentrating on the road, and Speed's tears went amiss, but his first words tickled her mind. "Yes, you can wait," said Speed as he watched the ever-changing shadows turn into a tunnel where no light shone at its end.

Looking at herself in her rearview mirror, Tabatha smiled and thought, before my very eyes and beyond the clutches of futile grasps, sits that person in the mirror. It is that person, and that person alone, who holds the secrets to my heart's deepest desire.

Love, she thought, love yourself, and you will find yourself soaring against the dark of the night like a bat in a moonlit, cold, and lonely flight.

Out from the infamous shadows within to where one's heart sits await the shimmering light of that ever so-famous pretty, found in the lushly lined brilliant sheen of every silvery moon.

It's about hope, she thought. Her heart almost opened once again, but then Speed lay his hand above his left pocket. Within his pocket, resting beside a small black book, sat the tiny part of the mechanism that would have lit the flint in Tabatha's once-beautiful home, which was now gone forever, burned to a cinder.

Speed's last words closed that door forevermore as he peered straight ahead emotionless and said, "And you wake up one day, and you look at yourself in the mirror, and you don't recognize yourself. And then you wonder what the fuck happened." Speed took a deep breath and ended by saying, "Yes, you can wait, if you so choose. We all can." These words rolled off his tongue effortlessly, echoing in the dead of this silent night—silent—but for the lost screams in the shadows of the dark and the cozy amble of her car.

A road to happiness sits in your heart, like a loveseat warmed by two: the love for yourself and the love for you, where the beginnings of a different sort of dreaming shine. One that's more beautiful than most, one that's wilder. One none could ever devour. It's a different kind of lonely love that lounges you here. It's that front-row seat, that road mapped out in your heart of hearts. It's the bonfire of life that simmers in the conjuring of an unstoppable dream.

From heaven, lost words lingered in the air as they seeped through that once-impenetrable curtain of time.

"So, what did you do today?" Mary asked Billy, smiling affectionately.

Although that was Billy's most favorite question in the whole wide world, Billy did not answer. Instead, with his heart happy and his mind healed, he stared outward at the beauty before him and Mary as his thoughts wandered off into the clouds.

I don't think you wanted to be blind, thought Billy. I believe you wanted to be loved. I believe you stared at the filament in the lightbulb not to go blind but to be loved as they were loved. I guess you fell in love with the love they found, with their innocence, but mostly you fell in love with the love they were shown.

You wanted that kind of love. You knew that staring at the lightbulb would make you go blind. I don't think you realized what it meant to be blind, but you were willing to lose your sight for love, and that's something special Billy thought. It shows how much you wanted to be loved, how you yearned for it. Sadly, although everyone loved you, that was not the kind of love you were looking for.

The kind of love you were looking for was a special kind of love. Like the love that dies with a grandma passing. Like the love instilled in a mother for her child, thought Billy, like love that changes you, that makes you do things you wouldn't otherwise do, that molds you, that feeds your soul.

The kind of love that lifts you up higher than you have ever been before and the kind of love that holds you tight and never lets you go. It's that kind of magic that keeps you warm at night, that completes you right, and that's a hard kind of love to find. It was not your eyes you were trying to damage. No, it was your soul you were trying to fix.

It was your heart you were trying to mend, and you stared into that bright light to go blind. Not because you did not want to see anymore but because you wanted the magic. You wanted to be loved back. You did what you did, and it is done, Billy thought, and now you sit in the dark, unloved, waiting to be loved by love, unable to love without love, alone, but free.

Unaware of the end to Billy's racing thoughts, Mary placed her arms around Billy and hugged him tightly. "I love you, Billy," Mary said, and her words dissipated into the everlasting.

"I love you too," said Billy. "Who would've thought when I said good-bye, I was saying, when you see me again, I will be a totally different person? Who would've thought the person I am now would not be the person I was then? Who would've thought I would act, think, feel and look differently to the way I acted, thought, felt, and looked then, all those years ago? Who would've thought the person I was then, today, would be dead? Not me, not me, I tell you, not me."

"Hey Billy, let's go get your missing bag from the Grandhopper Station. I think it's time to have some fun!" said Mary. In her hand, she held the key, the safety deposit key. On it were three numbers etched in a unique minuscule arrangement, creating a pretty little pattern.

Billy smiled, and he allowed one last thought, in two parts, before they were both, gone. The words "And so it shall be" raced through Billy's mind and as he closed his eyes, his thoughts ended with one single word: amen.

### Epilogue

"What's this?" Anne said, not realizing her hair began turning; Anne's roots died the moment she touched the book and over the next few months her beautiful golden brown hair would be no more. Pulling it from the trash, in her hand, she held a hardcover; a scary looking hardcover novel. Tattered. Putrid; an awful smell came from its pages. She put her nose in the air, screwed her face something rotten, and compelled; she opened the book. "It's a Bible," she said. "A fucking Bible in the trash."

Anne and her younger brother, James, skillfully made their way to the river's edge, avoiding the dim summer trail; a shortcut which harbored a dark but direct route from their home, in Hilton Village, Virginia, to where they presently stood. Out from the nearby forest, they played in the water that caressed the pretty banks of Maury River's Lakeland, until something caught Anne's attention.

Set off by her strong words, James looked over to her. "Get back here." He said in a playful yet stern manner. When playing by the water's edge, protectively, James always tried to keep an arm's length away from Anne. She was on the soft grass now, standing over a smelly doggy doo trash can. "It's not a Bible!" he said. "Never. Who would throw a Bible away?"

"Lots of people. Aunty Marge did."

"How do you know. When'd you see one last?"

"I told you. Last month, Aunt Marge threw hers away. I took it from her junk-box," said Anne.

"You such an idiot, Anne. She wasn't throwing it away. She was taking it to Goodwill."

"Same thing!"

"So, you stole it?"

"I didn't. I don't steel. I thought she was throwing it away. I saved it. That's all. I saved it!"

"You gonna save this one too like the cat lady. She saves everything. How do you know it's a Bible? Looks like a scary book to me!"

"Look," she grabbed James by the arm and pulled him closer. "Those words," she said.

"What about them?"

"I know those words. I saw them in Aunt Marge's Bible. She was pointing to the very first words that began the story in the smelly book she held. "See," she said. "Read here." And she read the words aloud, "In the beginning."

"Wow. Maybe it is a Bible," said James. "Hey, why don't you check the last word of the story. If it's Amen, you have struck gold."

Nervously, she turned the pages to the end of the story. "AMEN!" she said triumphantly. "See, it says amen."

Ignoring her, James pulled his arm from her grasp. "It's not a Bible, I tell you. It's not. Bibles don't have scary covers like that. He pointed to the cover she did not notice until now. "Who would put that shit on the front of a Bible?" James poked his finger at the cover. "Who would put that there?" he said and began backing away, feeling afraid by what he saw on the cover of the book.

"It's just a cover," she said, "maybe, it's the devil. That's what he looks like, you know."

"Yeah, right!" James backed away some more. "Throw it away."

"I will not!" said Anne, cuddling the book in all its stink.

"Yuck, throw it away!"

"Never," she said. Anne stretched her arm out toward James with the book tightly in her grasp, its pages flapping in the wind.

"Get away from me," said James, stumbling backward. "Get that fucking thing away from me."

"You are being silly. Stop it," Anne put the book under her arm and started walking home.

"Where are you going with that thing?"

She did not answer him. James watched her make her way up the hill with the book. She disappeared over the hill, in bushes that grew around the trail. Gone home. While shaking his head, James closed his eyes and clenched his fists. Confused, and afraid for Anne, James decided to get home before her; to be the first to tell his mother about the book.

The shortcut would have to make do today. His sister would never take the short cut. It's too dark, Anne would say. She believed something lived on the trail, in those bushes, watching and waiting, and because of this she always walked around it. Although it was a longer walk, she convinced herself that if she continued to avoid the trail, at all costs, she would always get home safely. James still had time.

Today, he would use the trail; cutting through the heart of the dense forest to get home first. James took to his heels and made his way to the entrance of the trail, thinking about that last word in the book; Amen.

### Last Words

A strange evil took over a group of friends. Possessed the killing began. Good friends who knew one another, once. They filled a black book with droplets of blood to initiate a release harboring much danger. Two boys became close friends. Together, they journeyed through horrors in a battle for survival, while keeping watch.

-Nancy Tyler Delk

"You can do anything, anything you ever want to do and you will always be great at whatever you set your mind to because it's you. It's who you are,"

-Carolyn R. Tyler (My Beautiful Wife)

### Author's Note on The Coming

I, Jason John Tyler, am the author of this spooky little tale. Being a fun-loving person with a great big heart and soul, I live in Virginia with my wife, Carolyn, and our two cats. Oh yes, I love to write stories—ghost stories—you know, the ones that wake you up in the middle of the night screaming, drenched in cold sweat, shivering, iced to the bone, when, from the corner of your eye, you see something in your room, move.

You turn your head toward it, but there is nothing. You feel cold in the dark because you can sense something darker than the darkness, inhuman or greater. There is a smell you cannot place. It tickles your nostrils and attempts to enter your body. You hold your breath until your lungs feel like exploding, and you give in because you must breathe or die. So, you choose to breathe, and it takes you.

The Coming does not teach, but it will eternally brand your heart. This novel is a fast-moving tale filled with mystery. A story that aims to free your monsters and enlighten your heart while spooking you right. After you lay The Coming down, long after you are done, it will creep back into your heart, haunting your soul for the rest of time, of course, in a most delicious manner.

The Coming promises to scare you out of your wits, leaving you frozen to the core with existence as you know it— changed—and with you, quite possibly, finding yourself better off for it all... or maybe not. Either way, it is a fun horror story with the emphasis being on a story that is decent, noble, and worthy.

### The Author's Words on Writing

I'm not sure why I write. I think it could have something to do with my wife wanting to see more of my words; but really, I'm not sure why I write anything, for that matter. As with any writer, we just do it. It comes from somewhere deep within our minds, within us—probably from within the darkest depths of the brightest parts of our pretty souls.

I think it's the place where that little light of mine begins to shine. As writers, we are suddenly compelled to jot it all down, and we do. Then it's gone again, and we are left with a flower that is desperately in need of pollination so it can grow into a beautiful juicy fruit, distributed, marketed, sold, and then ravishingly devoured by all who are partial to such fruit—by those partial to such mind-bending enlightenment.

Now, when something possibly cannot be, accept what can be. Doing this with a grateful soul and a joyous mind brings forth what is truly needed when the time is ripe. Until then, make the best of all because life is a most precious thing and what is today will be missed so dearly tomorrow. Steer fear away with the courage of a great big smile and a brave heart, continue making small confident steps upward, stay focused, and stay happy and in the now. Accept and savor completely and wholeheartedly the present. Through love and faith in what will be unfolds the inevitable possibilities where can't finally finds can and sets it free.

So, we go ahead and pollinate, making it our own. We send it out into the world with tiny bits of our souls, with parts of us—the best parts—still attached. We hope that somewhere, somehow you will be touched so that we, as writers, can live forever in the hearts and souls of your beautiful minds, with our aim to bring a little light to the bits of darkness within those long nights and a little hope to the spots of dreariness in the shortness of your long days through the magic found in between the lines of our most enlightening words.

Guess it's as simple as that. At least for me, it is. Well, here's wishing you a fantastic read and a great year ahead. Coffee time—I sure do love my coffee. I'm off to do a little reading and writing. You take care now and happy reading.

-Jason John Tyler (April 2015 - May 2017)

### Other Works by This Author

_"The little Book of Forgotten Sorrows"_

(An Anthology of Dark Poems)

The Books of Sorrows, Poetry Collection:

Book One

Brought to you by the mind of

the author of the horror novel, THE COMING.

"Tell Me Way"

Nowhere to go,

In their eyes,

It does show.

Tell me the Rattle-Snake-Rattle,

Open the trap

The Bull Grunt; an Emotionless Dance.

Tell me the Crow-Cry,

Close the gap.

Rage in stillness -

Your soul yearning.

The emotional battle,

Deeply burning.

Tan, tan.

You're the man,

Take a chance

Tan, tan.

Tell me if you can,

Tell me at a glance.

-The Little Book of Forgotten Sorrows (Tell Me Why)

Jason John Tyler © Copyright 2017

