Good Intentions (2 page)

Alex crept up to the hall way. This is totally crazy, he thought, but he didn’t want to go calling the cops on just what he was hearing. What if this is…? He scowled fearfully. He didn’t know what it could possibly be. He had to see. The memorial service chamber was cleared of furniture. Lit candles occupied virtually every possible space along the wall s, which al together put out significant heat. Bizarre runes written in some powder decorated the floor. Circular shapes in the same powder sat here and there, al with the bloody bodies of dead dogs, cats and birds in the center. Alex could even make out a human hand in the mess. A smoldering pile of ashes occupied another large circular outline near the hall way. Two bloodied, mostly-naked women hung from the ceiling by chains attached to their wrists near the center of the room. They were spaced several feet apart, facing away from Alex. Bloody pentagrams had been drawn on the floor around the feet of each. A trio of men lurked around them, one with a whip and one with a goblet and a bloody, wavy-looking dagger. Both women bled from nearly identical wounds on their backs: two deep vertical gashes paral el to the spine, below the shoulders. The woman on the right was blonde and lithe. An odd scattering of long, white feathers lay around her bare feet. A few more of them stuck to the trails of fresh blood on her back. A white cloth of some sort hung around her waist, torn and sagging off of her hips. The one on the left had no feathers around her, but looked much worse for wear. She bore an additional deep, wide gash just above her rear, which was only barely covered by a black thong. Her dark-haired head slumped forward, steadily dripping blood. Alex couldn’t see either woman’s face. Both had shapely, young bodies, but at the moment Alex wasn’t thinking about their measurements. Watching from the shadow of the hall way, Alex got a good look at the three men. The apparent leader was dressed in a priest’s cassock and looked fairly old, but hardened. The others wore ordinary street clothes. The first goon, wielding the whip, was a scruffy forty something. He grinned as he let loose another lash, looking more than a little excited. The other, with the goblet and dagger, was probably also in his forties, noticeably bigger and marginally better groomed. Scary as the scene was, none of them looked particularly imposing. Beyond the funky

dagger and whip they weren’t really armed with anything. The whipping paused and the chanting picked up. It made the air tenser. Alex watched as the priest took the goblet and held it between the two women, chanting something new, loudly and forceful y. “No!” the blonde shrieked. “You stupid fucker, don’t do this!” The other woman yel ed nothing, but instead spit a bloody mess onto the priest’s face. His eyes flared, and he faltered in his incantation, but began again and this time finished it. He held the goblet under the dark-haired woman’s head, which he had to hold in place to prevent her from resisting. Alex saw that blood was flowing from wounds just at her hairline. The priest then turned to catch blood running from the wounds at the blonde woman’s back. “With this cup, I gather your essences,” the priest said solemnly. “The purest of your good. The foulest of your evil. You will bend to my will , and you will serve me loyally and faithfully forever.” The other two men paused and looked at each other. “And us, too,” the whip-wielder reminded. “Shut up, Harold,” the priest growled. The men glanced at one another again. “Just sayin’ is al ,” muttered Harold, mostly to his feet. He busied himself coiling up the whip again. “There’s no turning back from this! No absolution!” yel ed the blonde. “You’re damning your own souls!” “You’l burn in hell for this,” hissed the other woman. “That’s a lovely way to talk to your new master, whore daughter of Satan. You can feel it happening, can’t you? Your connection to your old master is already broken. We can fix that right now, though,” the priest said, glancing between the two women. “I think I’l start with you first. Harold. Troy. Spread her out on the altar.” He waited a moment, and then rolled his eyes as the other two men hesitated. He sighed. “You’l have her when I’m done with her, of course, but it’s necessary for

the spel !” “Ooohhh,” the two men nodded. They quickly set to undoing her chains. “You’re going to rape her?!” the blonde gasped. “Both of you, before I’m through,” the priest grinned. Oh, fuck that noise, Alex thought from his hiding spot. He retreated back a bit, frantically trying to figure out what to do. Cal the cops, definitely, but by the time they got here…Alex frowned. He couldn’t waste time talking to them right now anyway. He quickly found a phone in the foyer, picked it up off the receiver, dialed 911 and then left it off the hook. The cops would get there when they got there… hopefully in time to rescue my stupid ass, he frowned. Dropping the backpack, Alex fished around in his pockets and found the pepper spray he’d brought along just in case there really were freaks in the cemetery. It wasn’t enough, though. He had heard that crazy people weren’t always put down by pepper spray. What if he missed? What if the canister jammed? He looked into the side rooms. Like most funeral chapels, this one had extra small rooms for private conversations and grieving and such, but comfortable chairs and boxes of tissues weren’t going to be of much use. The first room had nothing useful, but in the second was a fireplace, complete with a set of fireplace tools. Alex rushed in and grabbed the long, heavy iron poker. It would have to do. This is fucking nuts, he thought. I’m going to get caught. I’m going to die. If I hadn’t pulled this stupid stunt I wouldn’t know this was even going on… One of the women cried out in terrible pain. I’l never forgive myself if I don’t do something. At the far end of the room was an altar, desecrated not only by candles and what Alex decided was random spooky cultist ritual junk but also by the bloodied, dark-haired woman. The chains were still on her arms, both of them

wrapped around the back legs of the altar. Her legs were spread apart by the sheets or tablecloths tied from her ankles to the altar’s front legs. The priest stood before her, removing his cassock. The others stood by while the chained blonde shouted at the priest about how wrong al of this was. “There’s no turning back from this, you batshit freak!” she cried. “You’l be damned forever!” “Troy, hold the cup for a second. Harold, shut her up,” the priest grumbled. The whip-wielder stepped behind the blonde, yanking her hair back hard while the priest cast aside his cassock and undid his belt buckle. Alex couldn’t think of a better moment to ambush three guys than when their backs were turned and one had just dropped his pants. “I’l see you burn,” the woman on the altar snarled at the priest. “Stop!!” the blonde screamed. Under this distraction, Alex quickly covered the few feet between his hiding spot and Harold with the fire-poker coiled up to strike from behind his shoulder. He brought it down across the back of Harold’s head with al the torque he could muster. The curved head of the poker struck solidly across Harold’s skul , sending him reeling to the floor. The blonde’s scream ended in sharp surprise as she looked up. Alex pul ed the spray canister from his pocket and kept going. “The blood anoints your master! It protects from your lies and your curses! You feel the master’s pleasure as your pleasure! You shall loyally and faithfully serve and protect the anointed one!” The priest reached off to the side for the cup—but Troy, looking backward at the curious sound, faltered. “Boss!” he yel ed just before getting a face full of pepper spray. Reflexively, Troy lashed out with the only thing in his hand. The cup of blood splashed across Alex’s face and chest, bonking him on the cheek without really hurting him. Troy went down on the floor screaming.

The priest turned but stumbled with his pants still around his ankles. He narrowly avoided the second blast of spray. It was close enough to make him choke, though. The priest fell backwards, bumping into the altar and then hitting the ground. Alex pressed on, kicking him hard in the groin and then stomping on his side. The pepper spray was spent. Alex dropped the canister, heaved back with the fire poker and swung it down on the priest’s head. It was an awkward strike, getting more shoulder and neck than skul . Alex wiped some of the spil ed blood from his eyes and wound up for another strike. That was when Harold came barreling into him from the side. “Kil ya, you little fuck!” he growled, pushing Alex’s head down onto the altar and groping for his neck. Alex groped too, fumbling around for a way to hurt the man. He finally found the thug’s crotch and grabbed as viciously as he could. Harold roared in pain, giving Alex the chance to shove him off. Alex hit Harold again with the fire poker, this time squarely in the base of the skul , which sent the older man staggering to the ground. “I can’t see!” Troy wailed, blindly crawling away from the action. “Free me!” both women yel ed. “No, me first!” they both yel ed again when they realized they had spoken simultaneously. “Not her, me!” “Stop!” the priest groaned, trying to get up. “Don’t know what you’re… doing…” Not stopping to say anything witty, Alex punted the priest’s head like a footbal and then turned his frantic attention to the two women. The blonde’s shackles were attached by chains to hooks in the ceiling, with too little slack for her feet to even touch the floor. The dark-haired woman on the altar was tied by cloth around her feet, while the chains around her arms were simply circled around the far legs of the altar. She struggled to keep her head up to watch, al owing Alex to see her wounds. Two round gouges marred her forehead, each slightly below the scalp not far out of line from her eyes. Her face was stained with blood and bruises. Alex’s eyes flared in shock at how badly the women were hurt. He looked at the manacles of the one on the altar. The

fasteners didn’t look locked, so he tried to unlatch the one on her left wrist. It was tough to budge the pin holding the shackle closed. Were he not so wired on adrenaline he might not have been able to move them at al . “Hurry,” the captive urged. “I can help you if I can just get… free…” With one wrist finally freed, Alex looked up to check on the men. Troy was almost to his feet, blindly, as was Harold. Not wanting to let them regroup, Alex shoved Troy into Harold. The two crashed to the ground through the big pile of ashes near the hall way, creating a big mess of the whole ritualistic arrangement. Circles of powder were broken. Candles and sacrificial remains were scattered. “No!” Alex heard the priest gasp. “Yesss!” the woman on the altar hissed, partially rising now that one arm was freed. She looked at the priest with an odd mix of triumph and rage. Fear washed over the priest’s face. The woman on the altar inhaled deeply and then bel owed a long stream of fire at her tormentor. The priest shrieked as he was engulfed. His burning form soon flailed about in panic. “Holy shit!” Alex blurted. The woman began to laugh viciously despite her obvious fatigue and injury. Alex looked at the blonde, who caught his gaze with pleading eyes. “Get me down,” she said. “She—we won’t hurt you, but you have to free us both, now!” Alex didn’t think twice. He wrapped one arm around the blonde’s waist, heaving her up a bit to give the chains some slack so he could unlatch the manacles around her wrists. By the time he managed it, the priest had crashed into a far wall , knocking candles and bookshelves over onto the floor with a crash. Fires began to catch here and there among the curtains and wall s. “I only need a moment,” the blonde said, gasping and slumping in Alex’s arms. “Leave me. Get her off the altar.” Alex obeyed, al owing the blonde to sink to the floor while he rushed over to the other woman to work on the knots

around her ankles. The heat and stench from the burning priest, now surely dead, were overwhelming. Alex pushed past his fear and revulsion to get the job done. “My hand, mort…mas…no,” the woman groaned. Apparently breathing fire had taken the last of her strength. She couldn’t twist enough to reach her chained wrist with her free hand. Alex reached over her naked chest and fought to unlatch the iron around her wrists. “I’l get you out, you’re gonna be okay, we’re gonna be okay” Alex said in a rush. He was trying to convince himself as much as her. With her hand freed, he pul ed her upright, holding her to him and moving away from the altar. He turned straight around to see Troy and Harold on their feet, staggered but recovered enough to fight. “Oh, shit,” Alex gulped, seeing the bloody, wavy dagger in Troy’s hand. “You have done your part already,” the blonde said, rising to step out of the pentagram beneath her with one hand raised toward the ceiling. A long stream of fire extended from her palm, and as she lowered it to her side it formed a sword of flame. Alex, Harold and Troy al had a moment to be stunned. The woman in Alex’s arms just grunted. “Showoff,” she muttered. “This desecration of the Lord’s house will not stand,” the blonde said gravely. She swung her sword wide, cutting through both Harold and Troy and igniting their bodies as if they were dressed in flash paper. “Jesus Christ!” Alex blurted. “Don’t blaspheme,” the blonde replied absently, looking around the room. “I can walk on my own. Take her and go.” “Right,” Alex said, not wanting to argue with the woman with the flaming sword. Alex hauled the dark-haired woman out to the foyer, having just enough presence of mind to grab his backpack where he’d left it before heading out into the night. Behind him, he heard the screams of burning men and the roar of an inferno coming to life.

It’s Not You, It’s Me

“Why don’t they come up here and arrest us?” Alex asked. He stood with the two women by a statue of an angel on a small rise away from the chapel. His face was still wet with the blood from the goblet. The chapel was fullly engulfed in flames, with firefighters spraying it down and police looking around for who might be in the area. The three of them stood in darkness, but plenty of flashing lights had passed over them already. Both women answered at once. “That’s me,” the blonde replied, while the dark-haired one answered with, “I am concealing us.” They stopped, looked at each other sharply, and then turned away. Given a quiet moment to get his bearings, Alex realized that underneath al the blood and bruises, both women were shockingly beautiful. Both seemed to always have either hair or shadow or a convenient stance just barely covering their breasts. The blonde had clearly recovered more quickly, standing tal er and more alert. She seemed roughly Alex’s age. The other, perhaps a decade older, mostly looked away from the other two. “So they don’t see or hear us here?” “No,” the blonde answered. “Huh. …’kay… I can’t believe you’re both standing, you were hurt so bad…” “I am recovering rapidly,” the blonde answered.