The Massacre Mechanism (The Downwinders Book 5) (16 page)

I am too,
Kate replied.
But not by the same
thing. I don’t feel the hatred. Whatever is inside me, it’s more confusion than
hatred. It’s powerful, though. Can you control yours? Keep it down?

Just
barely,
Marion
answered.

Whatever’s
inside me,
Kate
replied,
I can’t control. There’s a good chance that half of what I say to
you might not be from me. You’ll have to sort out what’s what.

That’s
strange,
Marion
said.
I can keep mine down, but you can’t. You’re normally stronger than me.

Deem could
feel Katherine poking at the membrane, trying to reach through and understand
what was happening inside her ghost.

Her name
is Deem,
Kate said
to Marion.
And she’s gifted, like us. That’s why I can’t control her.

Deem?
Marion asked, concern in her voice.
It’s
another person inside you?

They’re
all people,
Deem
replied, taking control.
Horrible, evil souls, all of them. Except me.

Marion
stopped walking and turned to her.
You’re not Katherine, are you?

Deem was
surprised to see their father walking toward them, opposite the flow of the
others. He stopped in front of them, his eyes glaring.

I told
you two to keep moving!
he yelled, anger in his voice.
Don’t you want to avenge our family?

Then, as Deem
and Marion watched, his face changed, revealing not just anger, but a potent
malevolence that chilled them both.
We’re gonna butcher them like sheep.
I’ll hold ’em, and you’ll slit their throats, Kate, just like the farm.

Deem felt a
familiar horror pass through her; it was the person from the soul cage speaking
through Paul, delighting in the impending violence. She watched as the man’s
eyes glazed over with the vision of his desire, reveling in the blood to be
spilt. He turned to keep walking.

Pick up
your feet,
he
muttered over his shoulder.
I don’t want to have to tell you again.

Deem felt
herself taking a step, Marion at her side. As Paul slowly gained distance ahead
of them, Marion turned to Deem.

That’s
not my father,
she
said.

Apparently
you raised sheep,
Deem replied meekly, unsure what to say.

Am I talking
to Kate?
Marion
asked.
Or Deem?

Deem.

We did
raise sheep, but he never involved us in the butchering,
Marion replied.
He wouldn’t do
that. He was always very protective of us, especially you. That wasn’t him
speaking to us just now.

It was
the thing inside him, the thing you’re keeping down,
Deem replied.

Since you
seem to know what’s happening to us,
Marion said,
I’d appreciate it if you’d share what you
know. I’d like to understand it.

It’s a
long story,
Deem
replied.

Marion
chuckled.
Then you’re perfectly suited inside Kate,
she said.
My
sister is long-winded, and I’ve enjoyed dozens of her stories as we came west.

Alright,
Deem replied, preparing to tell
Marion about Dayton, Blackham Mansion, and how she wound up in the soul cage.

Winn raised
the hammer, ready to bring it down on the mechanism. He stopped himself,
looking at the spinning gears below him. The device was sitting on the bricks of
the fireplace in Carma’s backyard, quietly humming. He remembered Daniel telling
him it was priceless, or damn near…and here he was, no home, no clothes,
nothing left to his name. He could sell it and have enough cash to survive,
maybe even live well. He lowered the hammer a little.

There’s a
reason Deem’s telling me to destroy it,
he thought.
Each of her messages has saved a life.
There’s no reason to think this message isn’t intended to do the same. I have
to.

He brought
his arm back up, and felt it pull back. The surprise caused him to release his
grip on the hammer’s handle, and for a moment he thought he’d dropped it.

He turned
and saw Carma standing behind him, the hammer in hand.

“What do you
think you’re doing?!” she shrieked, her head shaking in exasperation.

“Deem said
to destroy it,” Winn replied. “I received another message.”

“Lyman still
needs that device to finish the last step of things!” she replied. “I can’t let
you destroy it!” She walked to the brick shelf and lifted the mechanism,
cradling it protectively in her arms. “Not to mentioned it’s Deem’s. It belongs
to her family!”

“The first
message saved my life,” Winn said. “The second saved David’s. This one must be
meant to save Deem’s.”

“Lyman
wouldn’t allow Deem to be hurt,” Carma replied. “You must have more faith in
him.”

“How can I?
He keeps too many secrets; he doesn’t tell me what’s going on. For all I know,
Deem is being sacrificed for his grand plan, and it’s something he intends to
fill me in on after it’s done. He meddles with dark, evil shit, Carma. I really
don’t know which side he’s on.”

Carma
juggled the hammer and the mechanism in her arms until she could free her right
hand, and brought it quickly through the air, slapping Winn’s face. “I won’t
allow you to speak about him that way!”

Winn could
feel the heat rising in his cheek where she’d hit him, and he might have become
angry in response if Carma’s agitation wasn’t distracting him. She was
recoiling in horror, looking at her hand as though it had betrayed her, trying
to hold onto the hammer and the mechanism with the other arm, pressing them
tightly against her body. She looked up at him, and he was sure she was about
to apologize when Winn’s phone rang.

He fished it
out of his pocket and saw that it was David. “Hello?” he answered, turning away
from Carma.

“You’ve got
to get here now!” David said. “The wives just hauled a little girl kicking and
screaming into the inn!”

“Don’t do
anything until I get there,” Winn replied, hanging up and shoving the phone
back into his pants.

“What?”
Carma asked.

“David needs
help,” he said, turning to leave. “But when I come back, that device is going
to be busted up, one way or another.”

Carma raised
her head defiantly as Winn left the room.

▪ ▪ ▪

David was
standing outside his car when Winn approached. Winn slowed and parked behind
David, who ran up and jumped inside.

“What’s
going on?” Winn asked.

“One of the
wives hauled a little girl in there,” David said anxiously. “She was kicking,
trying to get away, but the woman had her hand over her mouth and just
man-handled her into the inn.”

“No one
saw?” Winn asked.

“Didn’t see
anyone on the street,” David replied. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen
anyone go in or out of the inn in the last hour. Before that, people would come
and go routinely. Now, nothing.”

Winn reached
for the glove compartment. He removed a gun and a knife.

“You
prepared to use this?” he asked, handing the knife to David.

“You’re
going to shoot someone?” David asked, watching as Winn pocketed the pistol.

“These are
bad people,” Winn replied. “Depends on what happens. You need to be ready to
act if it comes to it.”

“I’ve never
killed anyone,” David said.

“If you
don’t think you can defend yourself, you might want to wait here,” Winn
replied. “Although I could use the backup.”

Winn saw
David’s face steel as he came to terms with their situation. “No, I’m coming
with you.”

“Good,” Winn
said, feeling a sense of appreciation as he opened the car door and stepped
out. The two walked toward the inn, crossing the wide street, avoiding the deep
gutters. As they got closer Winn could feel the pressure on his skin change;
things felt heavier, as though the air itself was pressing down on him. For a
moment he wanted to turn around and leave, but he continued on.

“What is that?”
David asked.

“You feel it
too?” Winn replied.

“It’s giving
me a headache,” David said.

“Might
explain why no one is around,” Winn replied.

“You think
it’s coming from them?”

Winn walked
up the cement sidewalk to the front of the inn, an old, nineteenth century
building that had been remodeled into a bed and breakfast. “We’ll find out,” he
said, reaching for the door. It opened, and they saw the entryway lined with
antiques. A doorway to the right lead to a room filled with breakfast tables.

Winn felt
the pressure rise, and instead of trying to ignore it, he felt himself slipping
into the River, pushing back on it. The entryway darkened considerably as he
entered the flow, but he felt the pressure subside, and within seconds he felt
normal. He left the River and turned to David, whispering.

“Jump in and
push back on the pressure. See if it shifts for you.”

He waited
while David paused, entering the River and following Winn’s instructions. When
he returned, David smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said. “Worked. But did you see
this place? Something’s wrong here.”

“They’ve
deliberately driven people away,” Winn said. “They’re up to something they don’t
want others to see.”

They walked
down the hallway until a door came into view. On it was a sign, carefully
hand-lettered with the name “Matilda.”

“They named
the rooms after the wives?” David asked.

“Seven Wives
Inn,” Winn replied. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

David
reached for the handle, the knife at the ready in his left, and pushed the door
open. Inside was a large bed, but otherwise the room was empty.

They turned
to their left as the hallway continued. A common room appeared, paneled in wood
with stately sitting chairs and a large fireplace that was clean. Pictures
covered the walls, and antique touches were everywhere — lamps, sofas, end
tables.

At the end
of the hallway was an open door with the name “Joanna” on the door’s sign, and
to their right was a staircase leading up to the second floor.

Winn paused
to jump into the River. Things were even darker here, but the darkest part in
his field of vision was the staircase.

“Look at
this!” David whispered, staring into the Joanna room. Winn joined him, and through
the open door he could see a gigantic bathroom, where a full-sized Model T Ford
rested. Its interior had been transformed into a Jacuzzi tub. “Wow!” David
said, walking around it.

“I think
what we’re after is upstairs,” Winn said quietly. “It’s the darkest in the
flow. If they’re trying to conceal something, that’s where they’ll be.”

They left
the Joanna room and began walking up the stairs, feeling the old wood creak
under them as they ascended. At the top were more rooms. Winn paused again to
enter the River, and sensed David joining him. It was clear which room was the
darkest.

There,
David said, pointing.
Last door
on the left.

They left
the flow and walked carefully, quietly, hoping not to give themselves away. As
they passed each of the other doors they saw the names: “Sarah.” “Lydia.”
“Elizabeth.”

Winn could
feel the air density increase as they approach their target; whatever had
driven the normal people from the inn was definitely emanating from this room,
marked “Hannah.” The door was slightly ajar.
They’re so confident,
Winn
thought,
they didn’t even feel the need to close the door.
Through the
thin crack he could see movement. He pulled the gun from his pocket.

“You ready?”
he whispered to David.

“Yeah,”
David muttered back, but Winn could tell David was nervous and not entirely
sure of himself. David was brandishing the knife, but it shook a little.

Winn pushed
the door open and was met with an image he’d spend years trying to erase from
his mind.

The girl’s
legs were tied to the posts of the bed, and each of her arms were being held by
one of The Fist’s wives, positioned on either side of the mattress. Standing at
the base of the bed with his back to them was the man in black, The Fist of
God, positioned between the girl’s legs. The Fist was pulling at the girl’s
pants, trying to lower them, and the wives were watching rapturously, not even
aware that people had entered the room.

Winn took a
step forward, and it was enough to cause The Fist to stop. He turned slowly to
face them.

This is
not the man we saw before,
Winn thought. The man they’d seen at the hardware store had a gaunt,
middle-aged face, projecting strength and determination. The face he saw
standing in front of him now was wrinkled and thin, with skin that looked like
paper, and a frailty that seemed the exact opposite of the man they’d witnessed
at the dumpster.

Winn lowered
his shoulder and rushed the man. It was like hitting a sack of pillows; there
was no resistance, and the man sailed across the room, hitting the wall and
sliding down, his Stetson flying. Only then did Winn notice that the man’s
pants were open, his genitals exposed. They, too, looked wrinkled and frail.

Winn saw the
movement to his side, and he turned, raising the gun. The large, sturdy woman
rushing him was six inches from his pistol when he pulled the trigger, sending
a bullet directly into her forehead. A spray of red emerged from the back of
her head, launching a fine mist through the air until it quickly hit the walls.

Then he felt
himself going down, trying to turn to see what had hit him. It was the other
wife, now on top of him, reaching for his neck. Within seconds she had wrapped
her cold fingers around him, and Winn found it impossible to breathe. His
claustrophobia rose immediately, replaced quickly by pain in his throat as she
attempted to crush his larynx. He reached up to try and dislodge her, but she
had him beat by a good hundred pounds and was holding him down easily. Her face
was twisted with anger.

I’m going
to die!
Winn
thought, sensing darkness at his peripheral vision that was creeping slowly
toward the center of his sight, a motion of black and red that was taking over
everything. He tried twisting his neck, but she held it firm, giving him a
shake in response. Winn felt the back of his head hit the floorboards.

Then,
suddenly, the pressure gave way, and the darkness in his vision pulled back,
his eyesight returning to normal. He reach up to the woman’s hands and tugged
at them; this time they released, and he sucked in a huge lungful of air.

The woman’s
face was still twisted and contorted, but now Winn saw the silver tip of the
blade, sticking an inch out of her mouth. He felt her weight leave him as David
pushed her body to the side and reached to help him up.

“You OK?”
David asked.

Winn got to
his feet, rubbing at his neck to feel for permanent damage. He looked down at
the wife. David had inserted the knife at the back of her skull, driving it all
the way through her head to where it had emerged from her mouth. Blood had
begun to pour from the wound, pooling under her.

“You help the
girl,” Winn said weakly, the air he forced through his throat hurting with each
word. “I’ll take him.” He turned to the lump of man resting against the wall.

The limp
figure seemed completely spent, unable to muster enough energy to raise his
head. Being tossed across the room appeared to be enough to completely shut
down the old man.

“You’re The
Fist of God?” Winn asked.

“Yes,” came
the soft creak from the man, barely audible.

“Your wives
are dead,” Winn replied. “Who hired you?”

The man
muttered something unintelligible.

“What?” Winn
asked. “Speak up.”

Again, the
words the man spoke weren’t understandable. He was too weak to voice them
beyond a whisper.

He saw the
man’s face slowly roll up to look at him, seeming to exert the last of his
energy to perform the move. His face was little more than a set of eyes resting
inside a skull. The man’s hand raised and moved slightly, beckoning Winn
closer.