March Into Hell (6 page)

 Just when she was content, he'd planted the seeds of doubt in her mind. Just a comment here and there about how it was too bad she wasn't going to get her degree.

It all fell into place when she told him she wanted to go back to school. All he had to do was bait the other members with examples of everything they had sacrificed for the good of the group. After all they had done for her, how dare Medea think she could just walk out and take what they had so generously given?

Kern smiled at the memory. Oh, he had been in top form and the guild had devoured his speech like a pack of wolves feasting on a downed deer.

 The drums and chants had built the cult's frenzy to a fever pitch and just at the moment when justice would have been served, Taylor had spoiled it all. Kern had considered killing the man right then, but the ritual had already been ruined.

Everything had to be just right during a ceremony or the group members would lose faith in him. There was no way he'd let that happen. On the spur of the moment, he'd decided to allow Taylor and Medea to go free, confident that he would exact his revenge in the near future. He always did.

One of his followers had shown him the Tribune article first thing this morning and later a local morning show had discussed Taylor. The story seemed to have been picked up fast by other news sources as well. Kern snatched the newspaper off the table and strode to the door leading to the common room, scowling when the door emitted a loud creak as he opened it. This place was a dump. The group's former residence in Oak Park had been much nicer.

He missed the spacious old Victorian set well back from the road. It had afforded them the room and privacy they needed to operate. With five large bedrooms, it had housed twenty members. If only he hadn't been forced to abandon it and lay low for a while.

Kern knew he'd been lucky to get this one cheap because the prior owner had defaulted on the loan, but even so, he cursed the leaky plumbing, warped floors and dingy walls. The home had been listed as a two flat with three bedrooms per flat. Kern had taken over the top flat and allowed his two bishops to occupy one of the rooms, the third room became his office. Six other group members lived in the downstairs flat while the remaining five occupied a rented apartment next door. Lack of room had caused half the members to leave. He didn't have the funds to provide anything bigger just yet, but he had a plan.

The girl had been the first major step on the rung of the ladder. He intended to climb that ladder of notoriaty to the top rung--the head of Chicago crime. For too long, the gang-bangers had occupied the top, controlling all the good business areas. But soon he'd have members flocking to him, and not poor ghetto kids either. No, he'd have angry, disenfranchised and most importantly, well-monied followers who weren't looking to make a quick buck. Kids who would never consider joining a gang, but who wanted to be a part of something. He had only to persuade them to believe in something more powerful than they. Something dark and mysterious. He grinned. He could be very persuasive when he wanted to be.

Soon he'd be living in a place more suitable to a man with his power. His followers worked hard bringing in money. Donations were down but the escort business was proving lucrative. He smiled when he thought of last month's receipts. All of it untraceable to The Guild of the Rose. At least something was going right. Kern stopped in front of the television. Taylor's picture filled the screen for a moment before the newscast switched back to the anchorperson. Jesus, could Taylor look any more innocent? He practically screamed boy next door.

Kern jabbed the off button with his finger and shook his head in disgust. While he didn't outright forbid television viewing by the members, he didn't encourage it either. He preferred to distribute information in a way that meshed with his own thinking. That lessened the confusion and helped maintain the harmony of the group. Harmony was everything. The guild depended upon the members giving up their own identities to form a cohesive unit that functioned as one.

The wall clock chimed the hour and Kern was surprised at how much of the morning had already passed. There was a lot of work to do to mitigate last night's disaster.

He glanced around his office, relishing the sense of calm that washed over him. This was his refuge. The few outsiders who had been allowed inside were always surprised at the room's decor. He guessed they expected something dark and sinister, but here, he preferred light walls, wooden trim polished to shining amber and colorful abstract art adorning the walls.

 The chair creaked under his weight, the rich leather scent enveloping him as he focused on the problem at hand. It was the smell of riches and power. He basked in it.

An idea began to form. What if he used this news of Taylor to his advantage? He tapped a pencil on the desk. There was still the need to complete the ceremony anyway, as it was a major one.

First there was the
problem
of Medea. She had been a promising member until she had questioned Kern's authority and defied him in front of the group. She'd been openly repulsed at the two animal rituals, not believing that the chickens represented the guild. She'd balked at the idea that their sacrifice had been necessary to open the pathway to salvation and to assure the guild's place of favor with Satan. Only blood would sate their master's demands. Kern sighed. He guessed he'd have to amp up his teachings. Somehow this important piece of information had eluded
Medea.

In order for Kern to achieve his full divine power, he needed to make an offering to Lucifer. If he reached his full potential, then so would the guild. Why was that so difficult for people
to
understand?

Medea hadn't
understood
the concept that it was for the good of the group. Behavior like hers couldn't be tolerated, and so, her punishment had been planned. Adrian smiled. It had been easier than he had thought it would be to get the rest of the members to go along with the ritual. He had done a great job preparing them for the possibility of harsh punishment, and with a little encouragement on his part, the group had practically thought the ritual had been their idea and  Kern was going along only to appease them. Yes, he'd agreed with them. A human sacrifice was an even greater tribute, but were they ready for something that serious? He'd pretended to seem worried and they had assured him that they were more than ready. That Lucifer would reward Kern and the guild with
tremendous
power afterward. It had worked out perfectly. Or would have until Taylor ruined everything. Now, the boy next door would have to pay the price.

Rifling through his desk drawer, he pulled out a notebook and began outlining a new ritual. He didn't think it would be too difficult to adjust last night's plan to include Taylor. A few adaptations needed to be made. Kern set his pencil down and stared out his office window.

They could probably use that warehouse they had used a month ago for one of the animal rituals. It was surrounded by industrial buildings and at night, the area would be almost deserted. They still had their cross, and Kern made a mental note to praise Joshua for his quick thinking last night by dismantling it and stashing the two parts in the back of a neighboring warehouse. It wouldn't take much to get it up at the other warehouse. They would need something, a stand of some sort, to hold it because Kern was pretty sure that the floor was cement, not wood. Well, they had plenty of tools and a couple of the members were really handy with them. He'd let them devise a way to make it work.

Kern leaned back and kicked his feet up on the corner of the desk, crossing his arms. As the details fell into place, he began thinking of what he wanted to incorporate into the ritual itself. It needed to be even bigger, harsher than what he'd planned for the girl. Suddenly, he became aware of the tall church spire a block away. It was an appropriate visual for his thoughts. Topping the spire was a cross.

Taylor was famous now. They had to honor him with something really great; something befitting the man that the press was calling a prophet. Kern lurched forward in his chair. He had an idea. It wouldn't even take much tweaking to put it into place. Kern felt a thrill of excitement. It was a win/win situation for him. If Mark Taylor really had some kind of...power...then it was possible that power would transfer to Kern upon Taylor's death. Or maybe he'd be able to absorb it with the right kind of ritual. If Taylor was a fake, then his death would only demonstrate Kern's power to the guild. Maybe last night's ritual was meant to be interrupted. Smiling, Kern nodded, maybe instead of punishing Medea, he should reward her.

CHAPTER FIVE

The doors slid open and Mark raced out of the 'L' car, dodging commuters as he bolted down the platform steps to the street. Hardly missing a step, he got his bearings and ran north towards

Foster Avenue

. He hadn't planned on cutting the timing so close but the late start due to the visit from Jessie and Dan had
thrown
him off schedule. The condo should be right on this block, and he just hoped he reached it in time. His lungs burned and little stabs of pain shot through his head in time with the pounding of his footsteps.

The neighborhood was a mix of new condos and older
two-flats
, but the child was going to fall from the second floor balcony of one of the condos. Pushing his legs to their limit, he skidded around a corner and into a parking lot behind the address that had been listed. Mark stopped and scanned the half-dozen balconies above the U-shaped lot. Motion on the third one caught his eye, and he started in that direction. His heart jumped into his throat when he saw the toddler, his blue shirt bright against the red brick as he balanced precariously on a stack of cardboard boxes. Mark wracked his memory for the boy's name. Timmy? No, but it was something with a T, then it came to him. "Thomas!'

Faintly, he could hear another voice echoing his own. "Get down, Thomas!'

There was a flash of blue as the boy lost his balance and tumbled over the railing. Mark's final burst of speed put him in the right spot at the right time, and the little boy fell into his arms. The impact against his chest knocked Mark onto his back, his head thumping against the asphalt as his breath whooshed out.

He had tried to soften the fall for the child and managed to cradle the boy's head in the crook of his arm, his other arm beneath his knees. Dazed and the breath knocked out of him, Mark lay still, vaguely aware of the sound of feet running towards him. Thomas rolled out of Mark's arms and stood, and a second later, the child's wail sliced through Mark's head.

He knew he shouldn't let the boy wander off but was powerless to prevent it. His lungs still refused to work, and for what seemed like an eternity, he fought to take a breath, feeling for all the world like a fish out of water.

"Thomas! Oh, thank God!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Mark saw a man with sandy brown hair sweep the boy up and bury his face against Thomas's neck. A woman, only a step behind, rushed up, her eyes wild with terror. He wanted to reassure her that her son wasn't hurt.

"Is he okay? Is he
okay
?" Frantically, she sought to hold Thomas. "Oh, my baby." Her arms went around the boy and the man wrapped one arm around her, encompassing them all in an embrace. Her shoulders shook with sobs as she clutched her son.

"He's fine. Shhh...it's okay, hon. He's fine."

Finally, Mark was able to take a shaky breath. He reached around to rub the back of his head. Drawing another deep breath, he moved to sit up.

"Wait! Don't move! You could be hurt." The man relinquished his son to the mother and knelt at Mark's side. Putting his hand on Mark's chest, he gently held him down. "Do you have any pain anywhere?"

"I'm okay. Just had the wind knocked out of me." Mark shrugged off the restraining hand and sat up, but he had to blink hard when everything tilted crazily. He sagged back onto the ground and threw his arm across his eyes. Maybe he just needed another minute or so.

"Jen, call 911!"

Mark's eyes snapped open
. "No!"
This time, he sat up and ignored the spinning. The last thing he needed to do was go to the hospital. If the press got wind of that...well, it hurt his head to even contemplate what would happen then.

"I don't know, buddy. I saw you fall and it looked like you took a heck of a knock." The man cocked his head. "Do I know you?"

This was Mark's cue to leave. "Ah, no, I don't think so." He stood, trying his best to pretend his knees weren't wobbling. "I'm sure I'd remember if we'd met before."

He started edging towards the street. If he could have, he would have bolted, but he was afraid he'd fall flat on his face after two steps.

The man scratched behind his ear. "But I'm sure I've seen you before." He turned towards the woman. "Doesn't he look familiar, Jen?"

Jen stopped examining her son long enough to look at Mark and he knew the instant she recognized him from the way her eyes widened and her mouth rounded into an 'O'.

"You're the guy in the newspaper today! I read about you over breakfast! Scott, remember I showed you the article?" She hiked her son up on her hip and then swept a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. "You're Mark Taylor, right?"

Mark darted a look around to see if anyone had heard her and was thankful that no one else was nearby. "Yeah, but that article...it isn't true...I'm just..." He backed away, trying to come up with a graceful exit.

"Hold on, don't go yet. We didn't get a chance to thank you." Jen approached him, hugging her child close. Thomas's thumb was planted in his mouth, and he regarded Mark with large brown eyes.

"That's okay. No thanks are necessary. I'm just glad Thomas is okay." Mark smiled and began to turn away. He was almost home free.

The dad stepped close and tugged on Mark's arm. "Wait! How did you know my son's name is Thomas?"

Mark stilled then slowly turned back. "I guess I heard you calling him." His reply came out sounding more like a question.