Mystery Dance: Three Novels (73 page)

The Brother who smelled of wood smoke.

She recognized Walter’s boots beneath the hem of the robe.

As the Creep to the right of Julia released her arm to remove his own robe, Walter sprang toward Hartley. The High Priest’s arms were tangled in the cloth, and he grunted in pain when Walter shoved a shoulder into the man’s stomach. Hartley gave an awkward swing with the knife, his robe falling back around him, and gasped, “Help me, Judas.”

The hooded Creep jumped Walter and they both fell to the ground. Hartley struggled to his feet and held the knife over the two struggling figures. “Guide my hand, O Satan,” said the crazed man, spittle whipped from his mouth by the wind.

The knife plunged toward the hooded figures, and one of them groaned in pain. Julia stumbled forward, praying that Walter had not been hurt. Dr. Forrest grabbed Julia, her fingers like talons.

Hartley stood back and pulled his gun from the folds of his robe. One of the hooded figures rolled to his knees while the other lay still. The kneeling figure peeled back his hood.

Walter.

He slumped before Hartley, looking up at the bloody knife like a penitent before a shrine. Hartley’s gun pointed at his face. Julia glanced at the forest floor surrounding Snead’s body. The Creeps had forgotten about Snead’s gun. She saw it, a muted glint against the dark leaves.

But even if she could get to it, she couldn’t aim it with her hands tied behind her back.

She had only one weapon. Her mind. The crowded, multi-roomed house that had harbored so many doubts and shadows, that had closeted so much pain, that had scrambled its memories like so many alphabet blocks. She had allowed others to open and close her doors, but all her housekeepers had been mad. Now it was time to clean house herself.

“Don’t,” she shouted, seeing Hartley about to strike. The High Priest froze with the knife over his head. A drop of blood fell onto his bald head and trailed down his face.

“The Master doesn’t want any more worthless sacrifices,” Julia said. “It’s me that he wants.” Her words seemed amplified by the wind, rushing from the trees on all sides of them. The sky grew darker, night swallowing night.

Julia stepped toward Hartley, bowed, and knelt beside Walter. She avoided Walter’s eyes, unable to bear the betrayed look she would see there. Dr. Forrest went to Hartley’s side, grinning down at Julia, her eyes as bright as morning stars.

“She wants to join,” Dr. Forrest said, shivering. “I told you she was ready.”

Hartley frowned, confused. “But we won’t be able to get the money.”

“The Master can always get money,” Dr. Forrest said. “But how many times does he get such sweet revenge? Imagine the power, imagine his blessings upon us, if we give him the daughter of the one who betrayed him?”

Under other circumstances, Julia might have laughed at the idea of someone’s betraying the prince of betrayal. But, no, she wasn’t a skeptic, she was a true believer, willingly offering her flesh to the master of the world. She mirrored the crazed, beatific smile that Dr. Forrest wore and was horrified to find how easily it slipped onto her face.

“Give me to him,” Julia begged Hartley. “I want Satan to have me, body and soul. Of my own free will.”

“No, Julia,” Walter said.

“Shut up,” Hartley said to Walter. “If it wasn’t for your meddling, this whore would already belong. But I suppose Satan owes you a small debt of thanks. After all, your whore wife and child were worthy sacrifices.”

Walter gasped and trembled with rage. Julia knew she couldn’t wait much longer. She said to Dr. Forrest, “Untie me, so that I might come to him, pure and willing. We are all part of the Circle.”

The nude woman stooped behind Julia and began tugging on the knots. “Oh, Sister. I’m so glad you want to belong. We’ll be together forever, in him.”

Hartley held the knife menacingly above Walter. “Watch the whore,” Hartley said.

“She trusts me,” Dr. Forrest said, as if talking to the forest and rocks and river. “And Satan will smile on my work. Because I’ve helped make Julia who she is. I’ve helped her become Judas Stone. Haven’t I, Master?”

The knots loosened and the rope slipped down Julia’s wrists. Dr. Forrest began pulling Julia’s sweater over her head, preparing her for the completion of the pentagram. Julia kept the acolyte’s smile, though her eyes were fixed on Hartley. His skull ring glowed in the rising darkness, the rubies making two red specks even though there was no light to reflect.

Julia looked at the ring on Walter’s finger.
Her
ring. No reflection came from it. Her breath caught. She’d thought this was all a game, that “Satan’s” tricks were explained by the manipulation of Creeps. The power of Dr. Forrest’s suggestions combined with false memories.

But what if she’d really been born unto Satan? What if her father had given her away, but changed his mind and rescued her? What if the long-ago ritual had been interrupted, and Satan had delighted in Julia’s long, torturous path back to the Inner Circle?

No matter. The words were out like a rote magic spell before she could reconsider. “I want Satan to have me, body and soul. Of my own free will.”

When Julia had said those words, hadn’t a sick warmth filled her chest? Hadn’t she felt giddy with strength, as if the master of the world would share the world’s sick spiritual wealth? Didn’t Satan promise absolute freedom, freedom to kill or scar or lie or lust? All sins without a price, because the ultimate price had already been paid?

She gazed at Hartley, half-expecting to see a goat’s head sprouting from the top of his robe, expecting the master to don flesh so that he might taste his world’s mortal sins. But all she saw was a depraved, aging man, his face reddened by the cold wind.

The skull ring was just a piece of metal set with ornamental stones. A symbol for the fools who lacked hope, who saw no value in the living and so had to fabricate a monstrous illusion. And daggers, robes, pentagrams, rituals were nothing but stage props for a nonexistent deity, contrived mockeries to give meaning to meaningless lives. The ultimate worship of self and ego.

She looked at Walter, and in his eyes saw life. The fires of the soul were never lit by fallen angels. They were lit by compassion. Power was created by a sacrifice that was selfless, not a sacrifice that was made to gain approval. Walter had made sacrifices for her, and he had sparked hope in her own heart. And love was the brightest of powers, the hottest of fires, the force that brought even gods to their knees.

Or maybe she was simply insane.

Either way, Julia stood, energy flowing through her limbs. She felt Dr. Forrest pulling on her blouse, trying to expose her abdomen so that Hartley could bring the knife to bear. The forest seemed like a wild beast, pulsing and throbbing beneath the skin of night. The wind rose and fell in a melody that might have been as old as the earth.

Julia shrugged away from Dr. Forrest’s clutching fingers, turned, and walked up the path toward the high rocks. “O Satan, my Master, come take me,” she shouted at the sky.

Hartley called after her, or it may have been Walter. She heard Dr. Forrest’s footsteps in the dead leaves, chasing.

“Jooolia?” Hartley yelled, his voice barely audible above the gale.

They had killed her father.
Hartley
had killed her father. And though her father may have been spiritually weak, seduced by the attraction that corrupt moral freedom offered, he had rescued Julia when the Brotherhood sought to carve her up. No one was beyond redemption.

“Satan calls me,” Julia said, continuing up the path, feeling her way between the laurels. She hoped her shambling gait was appropriately zombie-like.

She came to the spot where Snead had fallen. His gun was invisible in the darkness. She stumbled, swooned, and dropped to her knees, running her hands over the ground while pretending to regain balance.

“You need
us
in order to get to the Master,” Dr. Forrest said from a few feet behind Julia. “You can’t do it alone. Come before the High Priest. Let us help you belong.”

Julia’s fingers brushed over the gun and closed on the grip. Snead had been tackled in the act of firing, so the safety was off. She didn’t know much about guns, but she knew how to point. And, if necessary, pull the trigger.

 Dr. Forrest caught up to her and embraced her, the woman’s bare skin feverishly hot. Julia allowed herself to be led back down the trail. She could scarcely make out Walter and Hartley, who were two gray silhouettes against the shadow of the world, Walter still on his knees.

Dr. Forrest nudged Julia toward Hartley. The High Priest turned the knife so that it caught some of the scant light.

“Why use the knife?” Julia said. “Does the Master not love bullets?”

Dr. Forrest touched Julia’s shoulder. “Sister?”

“Or is a bullet too quick? Does Satan like to hear the little children scream while you cut them up? Or is it
you
who gets his jollies out of other people’s pain and suffering?”

“You
whore
,” Hartley said.

“Finish it,” Dr. Forrest said, though Julia couldn’t tell whether the woman was addressing Hartley or Satan.

Hartley swung his pistol toward Julia. “You can’t fool the Master. He’s the
original
liar. And he’s got a place for you in hell.”

Walter chose that moment to attack, lunging into Hartley’s knees. Hartley swung the pistol toward Walter’s head, the metal cracking against the hard bone of Walter’s skull. Walter slumped, moaning, while Hartley fought to regain balance.

Julia pulled Snead’s pistol from behind her back. “Tell Satan I said ‘hello.’“

Hartley’s mouth fell open in surprise. A surge of electricity flowed through Julia and she could have sworn the wind whispered, “Do it.” She pulled the trigger three times.

Dr. Forrest screamed, and for an impossible moment, Hartley still stood, gazing at the wounds in his chest. He looked at Julia, and then at the pistol in his own hand. He smiled. She was so paralyzed with fear that she couldn’t pull the trigger again, as if Hartley had stolen her energy in order to keep himself upright. As if he were drawing up the life of the trees, dirt, and rocks.

The blood of the world.

For the briefest of moments, the goat’s face appeared over Hartley’s and the capricious lips–
surely an illusion?
–parted in a smirk of victorious surrender.

The wind rose, the music of the woods screaming to a crescendo, the devil’s orchestra drawing its bows–

Stop it, Julia
.

No music, only Dr. Forrest’s wail and Hartley swaying.

Then, with a gurgle in his throat, he collapsed.

As Hartley hit the ground, the clouds tugged themselves apart and a sliver of sunset bathed the mountain. Somewhere over or beneath the mountain, thunder rumbled, as if the Master were laughing. Or perhaps God had broken his lifelong silence and finally spoke to her. Any message was lost in translation.

Julia stooped and gathered Hartley’s automatic and helped Walter to his feet.

“You okay?” she asked.

He rubbed his head, steadying himself against her as he stared down at Hartley. “Doing better than him, anyway.”

Dr. Forrest knelt by her tainted leader and wept, her arms over her flaccid breasts. “You were
one
of us,” she blubbered to Julia.

“No,” Julia said. “I was never
anybody’s
.” She put her arm around Walter, helping support him.

Dr. Forrest looked up. The wind died and the soft fading light caught the tears on the woman’s cheeks. “He owns you.”

“I choose who I belong to,” Julia said. She kicked Dr. Forrest’s robe toward the pathetic, trembling woman. “You’d better put that on before you freeze.”

Dr. Forrest snatched at the robe, jumped to her feet, and ran toward the trees. Her sad, broken laughter filled the clearing. “Satan calls me,” mocked Dr. Forrest, in a strange falsetto. “I hear him in the trees. He’s everywhere.”

Walter tried to stagger after her, but Julia stopped him. “Let her go,” she said. “She won’t freeze to death if she keeps moving. They’ll find her sooner or later and get her the help she needs.”

Walter leaned against her. “Hopefully, she won’t get a therapist as screwed-up as yours.”

“You’re making fun of a woman who’s holding a gun,” she reminded him.

“You’re not a bad Clint Eastwood yourself,” he said.

She didn’t want to explain the murdering force that had descended upon her and briefly possessed her. It would sound deranged, the kind of thing a defense lawyer would use for an insanity plea. Walter would call it the grace of God, but Julia could never be sure whether it was instead the will of a malevolent master whose most potent magic was served by disguise and doubt. The devil’s greatest trick was in getting people to believe he didn’t exist.

But maybe God’s greatest trick was in granting people the free will to doubt.

“I’m no better than they are,” she said, looking at the gun that was cooling in her hand.

Walter shook his head. A large purple knot was swelling above his temple. He touched it and winced. “I’m going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

So would Julia. Tomorrow, she’d have to deal with the fact that she had killed someone. She had played God just as certainly as Hartley had, taking human life. Sure, she could justify it, but every sin had its price, every sinner an excuse.

“Any more of the Creeps around?” she asked. “I only saw three, plus Hartley and the doctor.”

“I shot one,” he said. “That’s where I got the robe. But I lost Mitchell’s gun climbing up the rocks to get here. It got dark so fast I couldn’t look for it.”

“There might be more of the ‘Brothers’ around, but I doubt it. Not enough slices of the money pie.”

“Money?”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s get out of here.”

She helped Walter toward the trail, clutching the gun in her right hand. Maybe somewhere, God and Satan were sitting in the Happy Hour of the afterlife and bickering over the nature of good and evil and which of them had won this latest dice roll of human souls.