Dead Souls (36 page)

It's only after a number of endless minutes pass that I realize I am still holding my gun. I point it forward, at no one Conroy in particular, knowing suddenly through the promise of insanity that by shooting them, I wouldn't be taking them out of their miseries. No. These people have already died. And like some mockery of Christ's magnificent legend, they have risen from the dead.

Johnny nodded, gazing forlornly at the aging man who was tortured by his dark recollections. "Like Judson, and the psycho."

And I can only assume that it has something to do with the occultist painting on the ground. Jesus, they're all groaning, these condemned-to-hell monsters, bleeding…bleeding and hanging like slabs of meat in a slaughterhouse. Jesus, there is no plausible way for me to describe the scene, with the blood and the human innards amassing on the ground below each of them. It is here I begin to wonder who could have done this to them, but my guesswork lasts for only a moment, because Benjamin Conroy says something…

"What, Henry? What did he say?"

I bullet my gaze forward and see the elder Conroy staring at me with his only seeing eye, and he is grimacing, and I step over to him and see that he is different from the others. He…he has not experienced death yet. His injuries are brutal, but unlike the others his chest is heaving and I can hear a sickly wheeze escaping his lungs. Somehow he has lived through it all. With an obscene tearing sound, he manages to shred an arm free from the crucifix, the nail once planted firmly through his palm still set deeply into the wood. Blood spouts from his torn palm onto the ground. But it seems not to pain him. Dizzied, I pace to within inches of him, and ask, "What has happened here, Benjamin?" and he replies in a blood-saturated croak, "I was wrong," and then begins to sob, and it is at this moment I can only stare and begin to step back because I am wondering if this is something that may affect me somehow, not just psychologically, but communicably as well. And then Benjamin howls, "Don't let them come back! I was tricked. It was not Osiris! It was not Osiris!"

"Osiris…" Johnny, keeping his eyes on Henry, dug into his pocket and pulled out the plastic bag containing Ed's suicide note. He plucked the note from the bag, but before he had a chance to show it to Henry, the man continued on…

"
Who?" I ask through the rising moans of the others, whom are now aware of my presence. Benjamin Conroy looks over at his family: Faith, Elizabeth, and Daniel, all of them moaning like mad, and he appears stricken with unfathomable grief, his free arm reaching toward them but unable to gather their attention. "Benjamin, who is this Osiris you're referring to?" I ask again, but the man is quickly dying, his body slumped, one arm still securely nailed upon the cross, his other dangling slackly. I lean in and hear him croak: "I was wrong…evil had me…don't let them come back," but it appears there is no way to heed his command. Or…is there? Instinctually, I take aim with my gun, twelve inches from Faith Conroy's head. "Is this what you want, Conroy?" I shout, and with every last bit of strength left in his dying body, he nods. So, without hesitation or the wits to consider the gravity of my actions, I pull the trigger. The woman's head explodes. There's a screech like no sound I've ever heard before, like the howl of a jackal with its leg ensnared in a steel-jawed trap, and then a gush of foul air springs up and hits me like a tangible force and nearly knocks me over. I stagger back, bulleting my gaze over at dying Benjamin who again nods weakly, informing me to carry out the dreadful deed upon his children…his children, with their slit throats and their gutted midsections and skins of glistening blood; his children, who in their living-deaths can see and somehow understand their demises are close, and are now jerking and bucking crazily upon the crucifixes, screaming monstrously, trying to get down. In a quick, no-thought succession, I plant bullets in each of their heads, and what follows is a storm of ghostly howls and blackened winds that stink of burning sulfur and rotting vegetables. It grabs me and throws me to the ground. I crawl to my knees and wait amid the storm until it fades, leaving Benjamin and I gasping in the dreadful silence. Shivering in sudden coldness, I struggle to my feet and move to unfetter Benjamin, but he resists by saying: "The baby…in the basement."

"The baby," Johnny said, trembling. "Me."

So I tear away from Benjamin Conroy and race out of the barn, across the backyard, and into the house where the bloody trail is at its thickest. I find the basement door and pull the tiny ball chain in the foyer leading downstairs. It ignites the tight staircase and here I behold the sprawled body of Eddie Carlson lying at the bottom of the steps in a pool of blood. I race down, but immediately see that Eddie is dead. Not once do I assume him to be the victim of any supernatural afterlife; he is not of Conroy blood, and has not been crucified. Perhaps my assumptions are fraught with denial, but my sole purpose now, as it has been since stepping foot into the barn, is to save those under any threat of danger. Here in the basement there should be a baby, but the silence mocks me, and I consider for a moment that Benjamin has tricked me into entering some damp, dark trap. I stop in my tracks amid a maze of cardboard boxes. Listen, and nearly abandon my search. But then I hear something: it is a baby whimpering! And not far away! In a mad rush, I follow its timid call toward a crawlspace in the cement wall. Inside I see a bundle of burlap and rags. I reach for it, pull it out, and find Baby Bryan Conroy…

"Me," Johnny said.

I unwrap the baby boy. His face is swollen with tears, but he appears to be unharmed. Quickly, I race back through the basement, making certain to step over poor Eddie Carlson's body, who I can only assume had entered unwittingly into this massacre in process, and had consequently become a part of it himself, perhaps even giving his own life in a courageous effort to save the baby. Holding the baby close, I stagger up the stairs and follow the bloody trail back outside, realizing only now that Benjamin Conroy, devoted father and husband, revered minister of the 'Organization Of God', is guilty of perpetrating these brutal slayings upon his family and Eddie Carlson. And it is only upon reaching the bottom step of the porch that I wonder: who crucified Benjamin?

Henry paused, and Johnny asked pryingly, "Who was it, Henry? Who crucified Benjamin?"

Henry's eyes, glistening with wetness, sprouted their first tears.

No sooner do I ask myself this question, that it is answered for me. Benjamin appears at the doorway of the barn. He is on his knees, hands and feet shredded and gored red from his extricating of them from the crucifix; I can see a nail still planted firmly in his right hand. Clutching the baby tightly, I take a few steps forward, but Benjamin Conroy yells "STOP!", and I see no option but to heed his demand. I move my mouth to speak, but my misplaced questions are immediately countered: He yells, "It was not my doing. It was the darkness—the bird who carries its soul. I was tricked. It was not Osiris. It was the darkness…" At first I do not understand him—his somewhat nonsensical words are further obstructed by his impeding pain and anguish. But then, I see it, this darkness he speaks of. It grasps him…a shadow of a thing with black morphing appendages and withered feathers floating down from its roiling bulk. It appears from within the depths of the barn and swallows Benjamin as he attempts to crawl free. It saves his face for last…his face with its one eye bulging in terror and bleeding mouth that shouts, "Don't let it have Bryan, take him away!", and I make an attempt to step back, but there is something holding me, drawing me closer to the barn, and suddenly I see a bird perched upon the roof of the barn, and it is whispering to me, saying, "Henry. Save our dying souls. Bring us our blood, bring us our blood," and I watch as Benjamin Conroy disappears into the blackness, the blackness that fills the doorway to the barn and summons me with its strange dark power…

Johnny swallowed past the dry lump forming in his throat and said, "You saved my life, Henry. It was you."

Henry, finally pulling himself away from his memories, gazed at Johnny and shook his head. "It was the boy, Eddie Carlson, who'd saved your life."

Johnny needed a moment to soak it all in. It was here that images from the dream he had just two nights ago came back to him, where he was being carried by a young man, and he could see the young man with his keen features and blond hair and intense gray eyes, how he'd looked so terribly frightened, how he was running and crying and clutching Johnny close to his chest, how they were in a house, somewhere dark and musty, how the young man in all his panic had wrapped Johnny up in a shred of burlap and slid him into a cool dark space, then turned and disappeared into the shadows, where he screamed and screamed and screamed…

"I remember him Henry. I remember Eddie Carlson. I don't understand how, but it's as clear as day to me now."

"There is much more you won't be able to understand. I've spent the last seventeen years trying to understand, Johnny. And still many facts elude me." He paused, then added, "But I believe things are about to change."

Without hesitation, Johnny said, "I'm ready…but first, please tell me, what happened after Benjamin disappeared into the darkness?"

Henry took a deep breath; his eyes seemed to cloud over with the memory. "I can remember standing there for a very long time, maybe an hour or more. Who knew? I'd been traumatized, and whatever it was that'd had Benjamin in its grasp was trying to lure me in as well. There'd been a part of me that wanted to give in too, surrender the baby and explore the hidden mysteries within the barn. But there was another part of me that fought that irrational urge and prevented me from making such a fatal move. At the time I didn't understand what it was, but realized soon thereafter that it was the baby in my arms protecting me. Protecting itself."

Johnny nodded, somehow understanding, remembering.

"A couple hours later, I was awakened by my deputy, Carl Davies, who after receiving a frantic call from Mrs. D., had followed my usual path home and found my car in the Conroy driveway. I'd come to in a panic and told him about the bodies in the barn, and Eddie Carlson, and that I'd found the baby in the house and had tried to get away. I can remember carrying the baby to my car while Carl investigated the barn. He'd come back a moment later choking and nodding in a frantic panic.

"The ensuing investigation had lasted for a couple of weeks. After an autopsy proved that I hadn't killed the Conroy's, the bodies were cremated at the request of Mary Petrie, the family's only known relative, who had immediately taken custody of you. Soon thereafter, the rear of the barn beneath the loft where the crimes took place was boarded over, mainly to discourage curiosity seekers. Of course, I couldn't truthfully explain why I'd shot all the 'dead bodies', so I remained silent in my defense. It'd been presumed that I'd suffered some form of post-traumatic-stress-syndrome, and it was recommended that I relinquish my post as sheriff, which I agreeably consented to. Carl had assumed my position, and was extremely cooperative in allowing me to investigate Benjamin Conroy's past by retaining all his papers, journals, and studies."

"And what did you find?" Johnny asked curiously.

"I found the workings of a man who was on to something incredible."

September 9
^th
, 2005

2:24 AM

M
ary Petrie drove on a Maine back road, the full moon she followed tossing its ethereal glow across the expanse of hissing wheat fields surrounding her. Her newfound consciousness had won the battle against her old powerless ways, and was once again in full control of the situation.

She peered at Ed in the rearview mirror. The pea-cap on his head had shifted down and was now covering his
sunglassed
eyes. The wheelchair, still anchored to the floor, squeaked with every turn, cautioning Mary to take the sharp bends slowly.

She made a right turn onto Flower King Road, which in a few miles would escape the sea of wheat fields and cross over onto
Farland
Avenue, the lifeblood of
Wellfield's
business district. In her right hand she still gripped the feather, its silky surface coated with sweat.
Johnny needs me
, she thought, gazing at the feather.
 
Ed needs me too. And I will do what it takes to help them, to save them
.

Save their dying souls.

She continued traveling at a reduced speed, taking in all the featureless sights that had made up her life's surroundings prior to seventeen years ago: the wheat, the cracked road, the faded-arrow street posts jutting crookedly at every back road intersection.

Again she peered in the rearview mirror.

Ed was no longer there.

With a sudden, violent bang, the wheelchair slammed back against the rear of the van. Mary screamed with immediate horror, her newfound consciousness instantly gone, not even a trace or a whisper of it left to do battle against the now uncloaked vulnerable weakness that had previously dominated her life.

And possessed no skills of how to drive.

In a panic, Mary slammed her foot down on the accelerator. The van lunged forward. She screamed again, then jerked her foot to the left and slammed down on the brake. The van's tires squealed. Clouds of dust sprung up, blocking her view. The wheelchair rolled forward and thumped into the back of her seat. She fought with the wheel but couldn't gain control. The van fishtailed, then careened off the road and crashed into the six-foot wheat stalks where it came to a rubber-burning standstill ten feet deep.