The Trail Page 14

  The chanting started again. Adams refocused on the altar just as Glick exposed a rusty dagger and raised it above the boy. Backup or no backup, it was time to intervene. He only hoped that the presence of a police officer would scatter the crowd, not frenzy their blood lust.

  The beam from the sheriff’s flashlight illuminated the priest’s face in bright yellow. Adams studied the jagged clefts of his cheeks, the deep sunken eye sockets, the beady black eyes.

  Father Glick glanced up and stared at the officer. The priest dropped the dagger, slid his hand under the tabernacle cloth, and pulled out a black .45 caliber Magnum. Adams unclipped his side holster and pulled out his own gun. He smashed the window and yelled, “Move away from the boy.”

  The priest did not move.

  “I said move away from the boy!”

  Adams noticed the congregation filing silently along the perimeter wall, disappearing into a cavernous room out of the sheriff’s vision. Only the priest remained, and the boy, pulling violently at the ropes.

  Adams kept a steady line on the priest with his pistol. He aimed the muzzle at Glick’s heart.

  “I’m going to ask you one last time to walk away from the boy, and them I’m going to shoot you in the chest. Now walk away from the boy!”

  The priest smiled and did not move.

  Sheriff Adams touched the trigger with his index finger. He could feel the cold metal in his palm.

  Crack! The sheriff felt himself sprawling backwards, entangled in another figure. He flailed at the face and arms of his unknown assailant. Everywhere he grabbed, the sheriff’s hands found nothing but folds of cloth, ruffled black material. The sheriff punched vigorously, but the blows merely grazed off his attacker and did little to mute the assault.

  Adams shrieked. A binding pain pierced his shoulder. He grabbed at the spot, and found his hand covered with sticky blood. A second strike caught Adams just below the ribs, and the sheriff felt his world spin and go dark.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “Help! Oh God, help!”

  Scott heard the screams and bolted up in his sleeping bag. He fumbled out of the tent and stood before the inferno. Angry flames filled the night sky. Jack’s tent was on fire, the plastic poles of the frame melted inward in odd angles, and blackened scraps of cloths, like flags from a losing battle, hung limply off the posts. Inside the tent, two figures remained, batting frantically at the flames.

  “Oh shit! Oh shit!” Jack screamed.

  “I got ya!” Scott screamed back, and without hesitation jumped into the center of the fire. He grabbed the charred exoskeleton of the tent and threw the entire structure up over his head and away from Kim and Jack. One sleeve of Jack’s shirt was ablaze; Scott smacked at Jack’s arms, smothered the flames, and then turned to Kim to make sure she was safe. The tent continued to smolder in the tree line behind them, casting off rancid fumes and toxic black smoke. Small flaps of burning nylon billowed upward into the sky.

  “What the fuck!” Kim screamed. “What the fuck!” She fell to the ground, shaking and sobbing. Jack looked around, as he silently rubbed his arm.

  “Is everyone alright?” Scott asked.

  “I think so,” Kim said. “How’s your arm?”

  Scott aimed the flashlight at Jack, and could see that the blood had drained from his old roommate’s face. Jack looked pale and cold.

  “I’m okay,” Jack said. “My arm is fine.”

  Scott came closer to Jack. “Lemme take a look.”

  “I said it’s fine,” Jack insisted, pulling back his arm. “Everything is fine.”

  “What the hell happened?” Kim demanded. “How the hell did the tent catch on fire?”

  Scott looked around, examining the others. “Who was the last one to go to bed,” he asked, although he already knew the answer. Jack was always the last one to go to bed.

  “What the fuck, Jack!” Kim yelled. “You were the last one up. Did you put out the campfire? Did you remember to put out the fire, or did you pass out drunk again?”

  “I don’t know if I put the fire out,” Jack stammered. “I don’t remember.”

  Scott examined the dead campfire. The wood was gray and spent. The campfire didn’t cause this, Scott thought. “A spark from the fire must have ignited the tent,” Scott said, turning to Jack. “Good job, buddy.”

  “I swear I put it out.” Jack muttered. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “Way to go, Jack,” Kim spat.

  Jack looked at the ground and shook his head.

  Twenty yards away, behind a large oak tree, Martin Levy smiled.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Sheriff Adams awoke to find his arms and legs bound with wire. He wriggled and the wire cut deeper into his flesh. The sheriff surveyed his surroundings. Three candles projected feeble light. Adams could make out the image of something shiny reflecting against the far wall.

  In another room he heard low chanting…the same chanting that he had heard during the ceremony a few minutes ago. Or was it hours? Adams was unsure how long he’d been unconscious.

  Suddenly the high-pitched scream of a young boy broke through the droning and made the sheriff stiffen.

  Adams heard approaching footsteps. A door opened, and Father Glick’s silhouette stood in the doorway.

  “So nice of you to join us tonight, Sheriff Adams.” Glick closed the door behind him. “It is Sheriff Adams, right?”

  The sheriff tugged at his restraints again.

  “Oh yes. The wire. Sorry, just a precaution. We don’t want you walking around and getting yourself hurt.”

  “What happened to that boy?” Adams shouted.

  “Ahhh…the boy.” Glick’s eyes rolled back in his head as he appeared to slip into a fantasy. The priest’s attention drifted away for a few moments before returning to reality. “He was a nice boy, wasn’t he, sheriff? Very young. Very young.”

  “You’re sick. You’re fucked-up. You’re really fucked-up.”

  A look of feigned innocence and surprise came over Glick’s face.

  “Sick? Me? No sheriff, you’re mistaken. Did you see all the people here tonight celebrating the mass? I’m not sick. I’m just giving the people what they want. I’m just giving them something that you never could.”

  “Oh, and what is that?”

  “Power,” Father Glick replied coldly. “Power and protection. You think your flimsy blue uniform and tarnished badge makes them feel safe? You’re a joke. And you’ve lost this town years ago. You lost them and you didn’t even know it. You were probably too busy to look up from your bottle to realize what was happening.”

  Sheriff Adams glanced away. One of the candles went out, and a thin reed of smoke snaked upwards.

  “Officer Bryson,” the priest continued, turning his back to the sheriff. “Now there’s a police officer. Honest. Brave. Serious. You’re pathetic.” Suddenly Glick whirled and struck the sheriff’s face with a bony punch to the mouth. Blood trickled from the sheriff’s lips. “Why did you come here tonight?” Glick whispered. “Why the fuck are you here?”

  Now it was the sheriff’s turn to be silent. With only two candles blazing, the room descended into near darkness. Even so, Father Glick’s eyes burned in the black room.

  “You’re too late, sheriff. This thing, this congregation, is bigger than you. You can’t stop it now. Even if I die, the coven will continue. If I die, we will simply become stronger. Crenson was born out of sin, and now it has returned to sin.” The priest unleashed a cackle.

  “Where is the boy?” Adams asked again.

  “The boy? You want to see the boy?” Glick laughed. “Okay, sheriff. I’m just not sure he can see you.”

  Glick left the room and returned with the young boy’s lifeless form draped over his right shoulder. “Here he is, sheriff! Let me turn on the light so you two can see each other.”

  Glick flipped a switch and the room filled with light. Then he heaved the boy’s body to the floor. Adams looked down at the dea
d boy’s face. At the jagged holes where the eyes and nose should have been.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Thank God the rain has passed, Scott thought. He didn’t mind sleeping on the ground under the stars, but rain would’ve been too much. He had volunteered to sleep outside when it became obvious that the four of them didn’t fit comfortably in Scott’s tent.

  It had actually been quite funny, watching Jack stumble around in his sleeping bag, almost imploding the entire tent as he tripped over everything possible. Kim had squeezed in, too. Sweet Kim. He could smell the spice of sleep in her hair.

  The tent was too crowded for four. Too crowded for three. When he’d volunteered, Scott had expected Jack to follow his lead and offer to sleep outside as well. He didn’t. He simply muttered “cool, thanks Scott,” cinched the top of his slightly charred sleeping bag, and drifted off to sleep.

  Friggin’ Jack. No sense of manhood. No idea what it takes to be a man. Scott had noticed how Jack never really introduced Kim when they first met. He just kind of slouched around and assumed everything was understood. Well, things didn’t work that way. Are you dating Kim? Are you banging her? What’s the deal?

  Scott thought about work. Jack’s spineless behavior would never cut it at Scott’s job. At Scott’s work you had to make eye contact with people, establish yourself, declare yourself. That’s probably why Jack doesn’t have a job, or barely has a job. Scott didn’t know his old roommate’s current employment situation, but if it was anything like the past few years, Jack was hovering on the fringes of employment. When asked, Jack always had a ready reply about what he was going to do…or some interview he had last week, but Jack never had an actual job. Scott considered how he’d acquired his own job at the magazine. A little help from my friend, he thought, and smiled.

  Scott heard a rustling from the tent, and half expected to see Jack stumble out for his second piss of the night. Instead, it was Kim.

  He could see her face in the moonlight. She was smiling. Kim crept close to Scott, bent down, and put her finger over his mouth. She unzipped his sleeping bag, grabbed his hand, and led him away from the tent, deep into the woods.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Scott held Kim’s hand as they walked. Her hand was soft and warm. Scott glanced back at the tent. He saw the dome silhouetted in the moonlight and heard Jack snoring in the distance.

  He noticed Kim had a blanket slung over her right shoulder. When they arrived at the creek, Kim removed the blanket and spread it on the ground near the water. She then looked at Scott, smiled, and pulled her shirt over her head.

  Scott moved in and held her, running his hands up and down her smooth back. His fingers explored her bra strap, flicked open the hooks, and stepped back as Kim’s breasts released and swelled in the moonlight. Scott removed his shirt and pressed his body against hers. She felt warm to the touch. Hot. Scott gathered Kim’s black hair in his left hand, pulled it to one side, and started kissing her neck. He let his tongue dart up and down, from her round shoulders to the delicate cartilage of her ear. She purred in delight.

  He pulled her hair back harder, with just enough force to surprise her. He kissed her deeply. Kim grabbed Scott’s ass and pulled him closer. She rubbed her hips against his jeans. As Kim kissed Scott, she pushed him away a few inches and started working on his belt. She felt his jeans drop halfway down and get caught around his knees. She lifted her foot and stepped on Scott’s jeans, driving them into the ground. She kneeled down and took him in her mouth.

  Scott looked up at the stars. Minutes before, when he sat outside the tent, he had identified various constellations. Now, all the stars swirled together in a mixture of light as his mind spun with pleasure.

  Kim eased herself back on the blanket and Scott tugged off her jeans. He slowly pulled her black lace panties down to hang around her right ankle. She flicked her foot and the panties flew into the bushes. Scott ran his hands up and down her thighs. He dropped to the prone position and crawled toward her. Kim’s legs covered his ears and she danced her fingers through his thick brown hair.

  Scott heard the sounds of the forest in waves, as Kim’s thighs constricted and released around his head. Scott felt her grind against him in purposeful, rhythmic circles. She suddenly pulled Scott up and he entered her. It only took a few strokes to bring her to completion. She dug her nails into his back, stiffened, and then slowly settled back onto the blanket.

  After a few seconds she was up again, this time on top of Scott, who remained ready for more. She rode him roughly, and let her long black hair cascade over his head, encircling his face in a black waterfall. She leaned forward, thrust her breasts against his chest, and whispered in his ear.

  “I knew you wanted to fuck me,” she purred. “I could tell from the first time you met me in your driveway that you wanted to fuck me.”

  Scott nodded in agreement, but didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything, his body too frenetic to form words.

  “It’s okay, I’m glad you wanted to fuck me. I’m glad you watched me in the car when Susan went down on you.”

  She continued to ride him, continued to talk. Scott lifted his arms behind his head, attempting to forestall his climax, but it was quickly becoming impossible. He moved his head from left to right, left to right, and then released a low moan. Air exploded from his lungs.

  * * * *

  Susan awoke and found Kim missing. She unzipped the tent to tell Scott, but discovered that her husband was missing as well.

  Chapter Sixty

  Sheriff Adams stared at the boy’s mutilated face. This is fucked up, he thought. This is really fucked up. He knew that the people of Crenson were weird, maybe a little demented, but he never really believed all the stories. He never imagined they’d be capable of such evil.

  Adams looked around and saw that the priest was gone. He pulled at his hand restraints and felt the wire loosen and give. He rubbed his wrists, a little surprised by the lack of resistance. Adams was filled with an uneasy feeling. Either they did a shitty job of tying me up…his mind raced…or they wanted me to escape?

  Adams found the remaining lit candle in the corner of the room, held it arm’s length in front of his face, and poked around his surroundings. He opened the door and peered down a long, dusty hallway. As a boy, when his mother told him scary bedtime stories about Crenson, she always talked about the various tunnels that allegedly wormed under the old church.

  The existence of these tunnels remained a boyhood rumor, passed around different neighborhoods with a wink…and later, over a beer or a joint. He’d always doubted the possibility of such tunnels, but as he walked down the darkened hall, his nose detected a moist, earthy scent, and he began to believe all those rumors. As the story went, the tunnels ran directly to hell.

  After Adams saw the surveillance video of the Crenson congregation, he had researched a number of cults. The Jonestown incident was the most horrifying. All those people in South America, away from their families, living as playthings in a sick fantasy of some twisted leader. Jim Jones. He thought of Father Glick. They had a lot in common, Jones and Glick. Both silver-tongued. Both had an elusive past. And both used their supposed religious callings to fulfill their sadistic sexual desires. He also read that the Jonestown colony built a number of hidden rooms within the compound, in case the authorities invaded. The cultists were always ready for war.

  Adams thought about this as he continued down another hallway, this one cruder in nature, the walls and floor spackled with mud. Glick was preparing for a war of his own. What makes Glick think he can get away with it? Sheriff Adams looked down at his wrists. Unless he wants to get caught? Adams remembered the faces of the congregation. Unless the people are already on his side?

  After a time, the tunnel Adams traversed narrowed significantly, and he was forced to twist his shoulders parallel with the wall to proceed. A low hum, like that of a generator, reverberated off the mud-caked walls. The sheriff’s candle glimmered weakly in the da
rkness. He wished he still had his flashlight, or for that matter, his gun.

  Water soaked through his shoes. He crouched low and held the candle toward the ground. A tiny spring ran fast and cold over his feet. Roots dangled from the ceiling, as though Adams walked underneath a great garden. He continued walking, but the narrowness of the hallway slowed his progress.

  The ceiling began to slope downward, forcing Adams to proceed in a half-bent, awkward gait. His lower back screamed in pain.

  The noise of the generator grew with each step, and with it a dark maroon light oozed from the end of the hallway. Adams approached the light, only to discover that the source was farther back, at the end of yet another hallway. The generator noise rattled his brain and dominated over everything.