The Dark Ones (25 page)

The man’s breath hitched. “I love Jesus Christ, my savior—”

The hammer came down and Greg jumped at the blast, expecting to see brains and blood fly out the back of the man’s head. But he was still alive, weeping and wailing louder than ever. She’d shifted her aim subtly before pulling the trigger, the bullet blasting harmlessly through space inches from the side of his head. The slug shattered the transparent door of a microwave oven propped on a cart in a corner of the kitchen. Dude wouldn’t be warming up any more Big Macs in that thing.

Carrie laughed. “Listen to yourself. You fucking baby. You’re not shot, you dumb cunt. Not yet. But you are seriously trying my patience, big boy. I think you need the hammer again.”

She glanced at Greg, arched an eyebrow.

“The hammer, baby.”

Greg sighed.

He hefted the hammer and approached the bound man, who looked up at him with bleary, pleading eyes. “Please . . . I’m begging you . . .”

Greg cracked the hammer against an already pulped knee.

The man screamed.

Carried smacked the back of Greg’s head with her free hand. “Stop with the fucking love taps. Smash him. Fucking ruin him. Hit him as hard as you fucking can.”

She smacked the back of his head again.

“Now!”

Greg did it. He brought the hammer down with all his might, then again, crushing the knee, reducing it to something less than useless. The man wailed and rocked against his bonds. Carrie shoved Greg aside and silenced the man with a few more rapid pistol whips across the face.

She smiled. “I was just kidding last time. This really is your last chance.”

She pressed the barrel against his forehead, pushing his head back.

“Say it.”

The man’s shoulders sagged. “I-I . . . love . . . S-Satan.”

Carrie’s posture became less rigid. The smile on her face was softer than the mad grin Greg had seen so often since yesterday. You could almost imagine a trace of actual benevolence in that expression. “There. Was that so fucking hard?”

He sniffled. “N-no.”

Carrie gripped one of his ears and twisted it, making his face contort. “You did mean it, didn’t you? You weren’t just saying it to get on my good side, right? Tell me you really love Satan. I want to hear the truth of your love ringing in your words. Can you do that?”

The man raised his face and nodded, wincing slightly because she was still twisting his ear. “I-I do. I really, really love Satan.” He sniffled again. “So much.”

Carrie let go of his ear and stroked his sweat-slick hair. “Awesome. That’s really fucking cool. I’m glad to hear you’ve come over to our side. Did you ever read that book?”

The man frowned. “Huh?”

Carried nodded. “
Say You Love Satan
. I saw it at a garage sale a long time ago. Never read it, but that title . . . it stayed with me. I had
nightmares
about it. These bad fucking dreams where bad people would force me to say that shit. This shit today, right here and now with you, this fun little game? It’s fucking
cathartic
.”

Yep
, Greg thought.

Crazy from the start. But she hid it so well
.

Not that he cared anymore. He wasn’t as gung-ho as Carrie, but he was a willing participant in this atrocity. It was what Andras wanted. The demon existed to spread death and cause suffering. And it wanted them to do the same. So here they were, honoring their new master. It was good to please the demon because the demon could make them feel so good in turn. Even if some small part of him harbored a tiny bit of regret every time he struck this man with the hammer, it was okay because Andras would reward them so well.

He had promised them all an honored place among his thirty infernal legions in hell.

It reminded Greg of something he’d heard once.

Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven
.

Carrie aimed the gun at the center of the man’s face. “Congratulations, you’ve passed part one of the test. Now here’s part two. Say you love Andras.”

The man’s brow furrowed as he stared up at Carrie. “Who?”

Greg couldn’t help it this time—he smiled. “Uh oh.”

Carrie made a tsk-tsk sound. “Sorry. You don’t get a second chance in this part of the game.”

The man’s eyes went wide with fear.

He tried to rock the chair over. Wouldn’t have done him any good had he succeeded, but Greg couldn’t blame the guy. He was human. Sick or not, his survival instinct was intact. He fought like hell to get out of the way of the bullet.

Carrie allowed him a few more seconds of struggle.

Then she smiled. “Time’s up.”

This time her aim was true.

This time the blood and brains did fly.

T
HIRTY-THREE

Things were getting a little dicey over at the McGregor house. People kept showing up unannounced. First it was that weird old English guy in the black suit. He drove up in an old Bentley shortly after Tom left to deal with his delinquent son and do that thing for Andras. He was tall and gaunt and very old, with these icky folds of loose flesh hanging beneath his chin. He looked like an elderly undertaker. Super creepy. Suzie’s first instinct had been to slam the door in his face.

Then he had to go and say, “I am Frederick. Andras has summoned me.”

Shit
.

Suzie had no choice but to let him in. “What Andras wants, Andras gets.”

Turned out Frederick wasn’t alone. There was an old woman in the trunk of the Bentley. Not quite as old as Frederick, because holy crap, who was? Her name was Betty Hoover and she was Frederick’s next-door neighbor. Frederick intended to offer her as a sacrifice to Andras. Suzie understood why after they hauled her inside and removed the gag stuffed in her mouth. She was a snooty old cunt, full of threats and demands despite the dire nature of her predicament. The gag went back in and they stashed her in a closet.

A little later a representative of Ransom High showed up to inquire after Derek. The man was very lean, the kind of skinny you saw in those vegan pussies. His khaki trousers and blue button-down shirt hung loosely on his ultraslender frame. He was young, no more than maybe midtwenties. He looked sort of nerdy with his wire-rim glasses and tousled hair. Nerdy in a sort of cute way, though. His name was Rick Armstrong. The surname made Suzie giggle. The guy looked sort of uncomfortable to begin with, but Suzie’s reaction to his name caused him to blush and tug at the tie knotted around his shirt collar. “I’m, uh, sorry to bother you, Mrs. McGregor, and I of course want to offer my condolences for your loss.”

“My what?”

“Your loss.”

“What did I lose?”

Rick tugged at his tie again. “Um . . . your husband?”

Suzie grinned broadly and she smacked her forehead. “Oh, right. Yes, my husband’s dead. I totally forgot. I’ve been sort of, uh . . . busy.”

Right about then was when Rick got that wary look in his eyes, the one she knew from long experience meant the person suspected she was perhaps a bit unstable. “Uh huh. So . . . as I said, I’m a counselor at the school and I just wanted to, well, check in on your son and see how he’s doing. I’ve left several messages on your voice mail and grew concerned when I didn’t hear back from you.”

“I don’t really check my voice mail anymore.”

“Oh. Well . . .” Rick shuffled his feet a little and crossed his arms. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He shot a quick glance at the little red Toyota parked behind Frederick’s Bentley. His car, presumably. The poor guy was obviously already regretting coming out here. “That’s, uh . . . understandable. I guess. The death of a loved one causes a lot of upheaval. Things can seem confused and often there’s a problem with coping and moving forward. Your son—”

“Would you like to fuck me, Rick?”

He blushed. “W-what?”

“It’s just that you keep staring at my tits.”

It was true. She was wearing cutoff denim shorts, very short and very tight, and a skimpy little tank top without a bra. And she had big tits. You couldn’t help but fixate on them.

He stared at her in shock for a moment, but quickly recovered. “Mrs. McGregor, I’m sorry, but this is highly inappropriate. I should—”

She stepped out of the doorway and grabbed him by the crotch. “You should let me suck this, that’s what you should do.” She gave him a hard squeeze and his cock, unsurprisingly, sprang to life. She leaned against him and stroked him through his trousers. “Imagine how good it’d feel to have my mouth wrapped around this, all hot and wet and sliding up and down, all velvety smooth and soft.”

Rick groaned.

Then he surprised her by bracing his hands against her shoulders and pushing her firmly away. “I have to leave now, Mrs. McGregor. I can’t allow myself to be seen as possibly taking advantage of a vulnerable widow. Please have your son call me or come by the school to talk.”

Suzie smiled.

Then she balled up a fist and punched him in the face. There was an audible pop as the cartilage in his nose snapped. He staggered backward and stumbled over the edge of the porch. There was another loud pop as he hit the sidewalk below. Suzie moved to the edge of the porch and looked down.

“Oh, damn.”

The young school counselor had landed at an awkward angle. His neck was broken.

Lydia joined her on the porch. The other woman was nude save for a pair of pink panties. Her brown nipples stood erect in the cool air. “He’s dead.”

“No shit.”

“What should we do?”

The door creaked behind them as Frederick came outside. He stared at the corpse for a long moment, a creepy smile twisting his thin lips. Then he looked at Suzie. “Do you happen to own a chain saw?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Why?”

Frederick told her.

“Oh. Yuck. You want to do this in my garage?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Whatever.” Suzie stared again at Rick’s unmoving form. “A shame, though. Look at that wiry little body. I could have had some fun with him.”

Frederick chuckled. “I concur.”

Suzie looked at him. “Frederick, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you are a strange fucking dude. And coming from me, that’s really saying something.”

“Madam, you don’t know the half of it.”

“And who are you to Andras? I don’t think you told me.”

“A faithful servant. It is all you need to know.”

“Whatever.”

They dragged the dead school counselor into the garage and placed the body on a tarp. The old guy revved up the chain saw and went to work while Suzie and Lydia got rid of Rick’s car. Lydia, now fully clothed, drove the Toyota out of Wheaton Hills while Suzie followed in her SUV. They ditched the Toyota in a field on the outskirts of town and drove back together in the SUV.

On the way back, Lydia started fiddling with the radio. She found a classic rock station and turned the volume up loud.

Suzie turned the radio off.

Lydia turned it back on.

Suzie turned it off again. “This is my car, bitch. The radio stays off.”

Lydia grunted. “Well, I sure don’t want to talk to you.”

“So don’t.”

“I still fucking hate you, you know. I love Andras and all, and I’ll do whatever he says, but that hasn’t changed.”

“I’m not the president of your fucking fan club either, bitch.”

They drove in silence for several moments, neither of them looking at each other as the SUV sped along the rural back road. There wasn’t much to see out here. Just trees and the occasional open stretch of scrubby field.

Suzie cleared her throat. “So . . . do you want to pull over and get it on right here or wait until we get back?”

Lydia grinned. “Right here.”

“Awesome.”

Suzie pulled over and they scrambled into the backseat and went at each other for a while.

The remainder of the drive back was less tense.

Back up front, Lydia checked her hair and makeup in the rearview mirror as Suzie drove. “It’s crazy how horny I am all the time now.”

Suzie nodded. “I know, right? I’m not sure if it’s just being around Andras, some kind of mind control, or something to do with fucking him or drinking his blood, that exchange of bodily fluids. Maybe it’s a combination.”

“I don’t really care why it is, I’m just glad. If I’d known consorting with demons was this hot, I’d have been doing it all along. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like being a kid again.” Her eyes flashed mischievously as she smiled. “A devil-worshipping kid.”

“Hail Satan.”

“Hail Andras!”

They both giggled.

Their renewed high spirits faded some as Suzie turned down the street leading to her house. A white USPS truck was parked in the street outside her house. The chubby mailman was walking toward her front porch, a package tucked under his arm, something too big to fit in the box by the driveway.

“Oh, hell.”

The mailman climbed the steps to the porch and rang the doorbell.

Ella opened the door and came at the startled mailman with a rolling pin. He staggered backward and threw up an arm to protect himself. The rolling pin smashed against his forearm. The next blow connected with the side of his head. The mailman crumpled on the porch, still clinging to the package as Ella fell atop him and commenced to bashing his skull in with the rolling pin.

Lydia shook her head as they pulled up. “That’s really uncalled for.”

Suzie sighed. “But not unexpected. The old bitch is fucking bloodthirsty.”

“I’m just pissed about having to clean up another mess. This is starting to seem like work.”

Suzie shrugged. “Let’s just get it over with.”

They got out of the car and hauled Ella off the battered mailman. The older woman’s whole body was vibrating with manic energy, her eyes wide and sparkling with delight. “I smashed his head! Smashed it like a fucking melon!”

Wild laughter ensued.

There was a spreading pool of blood beneath the mailman and the shape of his skull looked all wrong. “Yes, I guess you did,” Suzie said. “And look at the mess you made.”

Frederick joined them on the porch again. “Oh, dear. Another one.”