The Last Customer (25 page)

           
“What is this? That’s pretty vague, don’t you think? I don’t understand what’s happening. Are you trying to trigger me or is this just some kind of…I don’t know…joke? You know I can’t—won’t—kill my brother.”

           
“If a fight goes down, you might believe that you’re fighting Garth, but it’s not your brother, it’s the demon Sammael. If we can defeat the demon without physically hurting your brother, then that’s what we’ll do. But it will be extremely difficult,” Gardner said, but was cut-off.

           
“So what you’re saying is that, by fighting Sammael, I’ll be destroying my brother. His body will pay the price. We’ll probably kill him? That’s assuming Sammael doesn’t rip me to shreds before I even have a shot,” Winny returned.

           
“Winny, this isn’t easy. But these are the facts. This is the ultimate test of your faith. If you choose not to fight, then you will die and both you and your brother will be destroyed. Do you understand? I’m not going to sugar coat it. I know what it is, and it is very ugly. You will be tasked with doing things that will cause harm to the ones you love. Unfortunately, it’s for the right reasons and it’s necessary.”

           
It’s just too much, Father Gardner. Isn’t there another way? There has to be another way.”

           
Leaning against the desk, Father Gardner rubbed the top of his head, scrunching the loose skin of his scalp, obviously lost in deep thought. Then, slowly, his eyes met Winny and he said, “I will fight my hardest—do everything in my power to avoid the physical nature of this fight. But I can’t promise anything. And if it is written, then it is written. I cannot do anything about what has been predetermined. That’s my best, Winny.”

           
Winny’s stomach filled with burning bile. He began to massage the muscles below his chest. The pain was quick and sharp. The stress of this night had probably given him ulcers. He respected Gardner, liked him, and looked-up to him. But right now, he was angry with him. Why couldn’t he come up with a better answer than saying that he’d do the
best that he could
? That wasn’t good enough. For their leader in this mess—in all actuality, the man who’d gotten them all into this mess—he should have a better answer than
his best.

           
“I guess we’ll see what happens then,” Winny responded.

           
Winny walked back to Cherri. She sat near the circular window, at the front of the attic. She peered out at the dark night sky with a blank look on her face. She shifted in her seat, almost jumping when Winny placed his hands on her shoulders. Suddenly, he didn’t think that touching her was appropriate. He was allowing himself too much liberty with her. Sure, they’d shared a moment downstairs, in the basement, but they had both been vulnerable. At the time, they’d both needed to be comforted. Winny didn’t know whether or not to continue expressing his feelings. Hell, he didn’t know if she had any feelings for him. And then, her slim fingers slid over the top of his. She held his hands on her shoulders. He cupped them, lightly squeezed them. He felt a smile form on his lips. He held it back when she turned to him. In that moment, the way her slender jaw-line seemed to angle in the moonlight, and the way her eyes flickered at him when they peered upward, she was the most beautiful woman in the world;
the only woman in the world
. His heart pumped heavily. Suddenly, he was at a loss of words. He knew that she’d seen this look of embarrassment because she smiled warmly, and gripped his hand, tight.

           
“I just want this night to be over with,” she said.

           
It took Winny a moment to rationalize what she’d said. But then logic set in and he answered her, “I’m scared of what’s going to come out of the darkness.” Then he nudged his chin toward the window. They looked down at the driveway.

An evil, far from fathomable, was very near.

Part 6:
 
The Battle

Chapter 23

1

Sammael basked in the night air. He walked freely down the center of the darkened highway. Bloodlust and murder swam in his sick mind.

The neon sign reading ‘Buggy’s Liquor’ glowed brightly, a few hundred yards in the distance. He wanted Gardner. He could feel how close he was.

He was a hindrance.

His existence caused Sammael anguish and torment. He’d saved the girl, Donna, from being destroyed decades ago when Gardner had expelled him from her. Gardner took what had rightfully belonged to Sammael. If he’d just left the woman, the junkie girl, Donna, to Sammael, this night wouldn’t be happening. It wouldn’t be necessary. And those people wouldn’t be in danger. They wouldn’t have had to feel his rage.
Not that he didn’t savor their fear
,
Sammael was very capable of dealing torment and he enjoyed it. Now, all he wanted to do was rip Gardner to pieces. He wanted to feast on his heart and he wanted his precious, junkie wife, Donna, to watch. Afterward, he would tear her to pieces. He would torture her for days. Thoughts of what he would do to her made him skip in his step. He anxiously awaited the destruction of the Gardner’s. The heat of what was to come excited him.

           
He came to a slight turn in the road. Around the bend was Gardner’s farmhouse. It rested on top of the smooth rolling hill. It wouldn’t be long before Sammael unveiled his wrath upon Gardner and his group of young naïve humans. They had no idea that they were incapable of preventing the atrocities of what would happen to them. The outcome had already been written. Ultimately, it had been decided by the Divine. But it was the culmination of two much greater powers that held the fate of these simple people. Sure, Sammael’s master was the weaker of the two, but his master was good at the art of persuasion. He would not let Sammael fall.
Not on this night.
It had been many years in the making. The
Unholy One
would give Sammael what he asked for. He’d earned it. Sammael could taste the salt of his revenge.

           
The crickets chirped. The night air felt warm, a bit stale. The humidity surrounded him, making the flesh of his borrowed skin slick. The house was near. He could smell terror radiating from those he wished to eviscerate. He felt another presence, one he was familiar with.

           
It was
Jezebeth.

           
Was it possible that she was still here? When Gardner expelled Jezebeth from the girl’s body, Sammael assumed that she’d been sent back. Sent to the place that they’d both come from—the house of sorrow and pain. But now, he thought differently. He could smell her presence, her anger. He could taste her rage and feel her vengeance. It was subtle, but flavorful.
But did she hold ill will? Would she get in the way?
She held no loyalty. Their kind was incapable of loyalty. Her only judgment was to torment, much like Sammael.

She wouldn’t be a problem.

           
Standing amidst the rows of corn, Sammael looked forward. The cornstalks parted and the flames of hell opened. Through the dancing flames, Sammael was assured that this was
his
night. He could destroy these people. Jezebeth was still of worth to him. She was at his disposal, a weapon in his arsenal.

He could feel it.

Sammael left the cornfield. He stood at the edge of the driveway, which led to the farmhouse. A burning energy swept through him. He felt his beautiful anger blossom. It swirled into rage and his rage would guide him in this battle.

Still, the power which Gardner possessed made him shutter.

           
Skirting along the driveway, Sammael braced himself for the battle.

Chapter 24

1

“I need to pee,” Cherri announced as she swayed from one side of her butt to the other. She stood from the stack of boxes she’d been sitting on. She bounced from one foot to the other, her teeth chattered. Her fingers fidgeted and she had a hop to her step.

           
Gardner, looking annoyed, turned to the small door in the floor. He spun around toward Cherri and said, “Can it wait?”

           
Shaking her head, she lifted the empty, plastic milk jug. “I drank all of it.”

Gardner raised an eyebrow. His eyes panned from the jug to Cherri’s stomach.

“I guess I could go in this.” Cherri held out the jug.

           
Hesitantly, Gardner returned, “That might be a better idea than going downstairs.”

           
Donna stood, shook her head and looked sympathetically, from her husband to Cherri and said, “I’ll take you downstairs.”

           
Gardner didn’t appear happy, but he nodded his approval. Donna walked to the back of the attic, reached down and grabbed the long wood handle and pulled the door in the floor open. A shimmer of light splashed a tint of gray into the attic when the door fully opened.

Donna and Cherri descended down the short retractable staircase. The steps creaked loudly, causing Cherri more anxiety.

           
Once in the hallway, Donna led Cherri down the hall, past a few bedrooms and then opened the last door on the left. It swung with a subtle squeak. The white tile gave off a blue tint.

Donna said, “Don’t turn on the light. It might draw unwanted attention.”

           
Cherri nodded, entered the bathroom. The last thing Cherri wanted to do was draw attention, especially while she was peeing. Again, she was in a vulnerable state.

           
She pulled her pants down and sat on the toilet seat. It was cold, causing her to yelp. The chill from the porcelain held a bite. It took a second for her to get comfortable. She kept her lips pressed together and her eyes shut. She focused on relaxing. Finally, she was able to relieve herself. About halfway through her
business
she felt the small white hairs on the back of her neck stand tall. For no reason at all—well, with good reason—she felt scared. She felt alone, but not alone. Suddenly everything became a contradiction. She felt that someone or something was in the room with her—a presence. It was nothing that could be seen, only felt. She looked around the cold dark enclosure. Her sight was drawn toward the bathtub. It was encased in a white curtain with a blue floral print that swayed slightly. But there was no breeze.

Maybe the draft was coming from the space at the bottom of the door?

Cherri wiped, pulled her pants up and stood from the toilet. Her shoes squeaked. There was a knock at the door. She jumped. Stepping backward, she nearly tripped over the toilet. She sat back down before she fell.

           
“Hurry up.” Donna whispered.

           
Cherri turned toward the door. She opened her mouth to say that she understood. Her vocal cords ceased to work. She froze, unable to answer. Fear seized her voice. The bathtub curtain slid to the side. A bloody hand pushed the plastic divider to the edge of the tub revealing a man. He bathed in dark water. It was her dead stepfather. He was covered in blood and rotting skin. His eyes were bright white. They glowed in comparison to his blood ridden face. It couldn’t be. Her mother had shot him years ago. Blood ran from his mouth. He large smile revealing that his teeth were rotted and bloodstained. They looked wooden. His voice was loud and raspy. Cherri wondered if Donna could hear him. Maybe, given all that had happened tonight, her exhausted mind was confused. She was bringing suppressed thoughts to the surface. They had manifested into visions—the cause of all this sudden stress.

She’d heard of such things.

Closing her eyes, she began to count. She tried to block out the images
;
like she did when her stepfather used to come into her bedroom at night. Then, she smelled the foulness of his breath, like she had so many years ago. It was warm, reeking of beer and whiskey. The heaviness of the scent repulsed her. Cherri’s throat heaved. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to scream, but her mouth was frozen. She opened her eyes. Her stepfather was still in the bathtub. The tub was filled to the rim with blood. The thick red fluid swished out of the tub and onto the floor as he attempted to crawl out. The gaping hole in his chest bled profusely.
Cherri imagined her mother aiming a shotgun at him.
Her stepfather clawed at the floor while pulling himself out. Heavy torrents of blood pumped from his mouth and chest. He was exerting himself. He coughed, loud and wet, with an undertone of laughter.

           
“We won’t tell momma about the games we like to play…will we, sweet Cherri? You know that this isn’t wrong...these thing we do. I
ain’t
your real daddy, you know. So it isn’t sick.” Her stepfather explained as he exited the tub. He fell to the floor with a wet thud. He was naked. His torso was raw and torn open. His guts spilled across the tile in a tangled mess.

Cherri couldn’t move. She was paralyzed with fear.

           
A quick burst of energy struck. She turned away from the monstrous sight of her dead stepfather, crawling toward her. He left thick blood streaks along the white tile floor. The wrapping at the door grew louder. Donna pounded, hard. “Cherri, get out here now! Are you all right?”

           
Still unable to answer, Cherri had no choice but to look at the vile creature before her.

2

Jezebeth’s presence grew along with Cherri’s fear. Her strength had expanded. Soon, she would be able to possess Cherri. She just needed to feed the red-head’s worst fears. At first, she seeped in like an invisible fog. Now, she concentrated on becoming the illusion of Cherri’s stepfather.