Chapter One
Amazing really . . . That on five acres of desert, littered with at least two hundred cars in various states of disrepair, dismantling, or decay, he could so easily spot one that didn’t belong. He’d been awake all night. Hell, he’d been up for three days. You’d think he’d have heard the engine, or at least a peep out of the dogs.
Damn Dogs.
But then again, his senses often deceived him. It seemed he could never be quite sure of what he saw or heard. Then, of course, there were the voices . . . Vague, and whispering of things dark and desperate. There was evil in the desert. He was sure of that.
Well, he’d better go have a look. With considerable effort, he pried his 330 pound bulk out of his chair . . . His perch people called it, from where he had observed many curious things in the dark desert night. He chambered a round in his Glock 9mm and stepped stiffly off the front porch. The dogs fell into step beside him as he approached the small white Toyota Celica.
“Where the hell have you two been?” he growled at them. They declined to answer, but instead ran off ahead of him to sniff around the tires, then sat back on their haunches and looked at him, as if to say, “Your guess is as good as ours.” It was a dark night, and he hadn’t brought a flashlight, but he could make out someone sitting in the driver’s seat. He knocked on the window and got no response. After just a few seconds hesitation, he tried the door handle. The door wasn’t locked, and he opened it. The dome light lit the interior.
Jerry wasn’t shocked or appalled by what he saw. He hadn’t been shocked or appalled by much of anything for a very long time. In fact, his mind was already working the angles. How could he deal with this without involving the cops? But, of course, that wasn’t an option. Not this time. This time they had gone too far. He took a long, hard look at the gruesome scene before him. One of the dogs made a whimpering noise and he looked down at their curious expressions. He shut the door as he tried to wrap his weary mind around the details. Within a couple of hours, his private domain would be crawling with cops, and he had to make damn sure that they only saw what he wanted them to see. Damn.
Hell, he wasn’t John Gotti. He was just some guy who sold dope and ran a chop shop from his five acre plot of desert outside Apple Valley. Shit he thought, as he turned and walked slowly back to the house, why me?
Jerry had no trouble finding both his wife, and second in command, Jeremy. They were together in Jerry’s bed . . . Still going at it, in fact. When that kid was on one, he could fuck all night. He often did double duty as Gigi’s sex toy. Jerry couldn’t care less. He hadn’t felt the urge to fuck his wife, or anybody else, in years. He was quite content to sit back in his favorite chair and let one of the local bag whores suck him off. Meanwhile, Gigi could, and did, fuck whoever she pleased.
She and Jeremy didn’t miss a beat when Jerry burst into the room.
“Get dressed kid. I need you.” Jerry hardly looked in their direction. Jeremy propped himself up on his elbows, Gigi’s thighs gripping his hips. He was still hard inside her as he responded.
“What’s up Jer?”
“I told you, I need you . . . You too Gi, get dressed.” Jerry was breaking down the Glock and locking it in his dresser drawer as he spoke. Gigi pushed Jeremy off her with a disappointed groan, and rolled onto her side to face her husband.
“It’s like four in the morning Babe. What’s going on?”
Jerry looked at his wife of fifteen years, still flushed from the heat of sex, and thought to himself how pretty she still was. Forty years old, and she still looked damn sexy lying there. Jeremy was on his knees beside her now. His cock, still hard, rubbed against her thigh, leaving a wet spot on her smooth skin. He reminded himself that he didn’t care.
“I’ll be in the kitchen, hurry.” He left them to get dressed, knowing they would both do exactly as he said. On his way down the hall, he checked on the kids. They were all sleeping soundly. He could hear voices in the kitchen and headed that way. A tweeker house never really sleeps. Somebody’s always awake.
Odessa and Alex were at the kitchen table having one of those urgent conversations about nothing that seem to form the base of tweeker social life. Alex was one of Jerry’s many part time employees. More of a contract worker, really . . . Adept at convincing people to pay what they owed. Odessa was just another pretty girl with a dope habit. She hung out, helped with the kids and house work, and occasionally scratched Jerry’s itch with her pretty mouth. However, Jerry usually preferred her mouth shut. Some of the guys had dubbed her ‘Suck Your Dick for a Line’. She hadn’t been into speed for too long and was still pretty sexy, so she never paid for anything. It just goes to show how far some people will sink behind some dope. Oh well.
Jerry was a big fat slob, and he knew it. But he could have this girl and others like her, whenever he pleased, because he had what they needed. He could fill the emptiness for a little while. Then there were the others . . . The girls who came with their husbands or boyfriends. Pretty girls with haunted eyes, many of them frequent victims of abuse, often forced to perform.
“Hey Jer,” their husbands would say, “Could you maybe help me out with like a half a gram. The old lady’ll take care of you. She gives great head Jerry.”
Jerry didn’t give a damn about these women. He wasn’t working with feelings, except the feeling of power it gave him to look into a man’s eyes while the guy’s wife swallowed his load. He always made them swallow. If they didn’t . . . No deal . . . All because of some dope.
They came together, Jeremy fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, and Gigi sporting JBF hair. That was fine. There were few secrets in this house. Jerry had a pot of coffee brewing, and as the rich aroma filled the kitchen, he clued them in on a need to know basis. He had discovered two bodies, in a car, on his property. He was about to call the cops. No, it wasn’t anybody they knew. Nobody in the kitchen was exactly shocked. People died in this desert. Usually their bodies were never found, but they surely went missing with a regularity that would be alarming other places. Jerry knew that four of the five people in the kitchen had an idea of the source of these particular bodies, and why they were dumped here. It was a message, and not the first. Odessa, of course, was clueless . . . And scared.
He was thinking clearly now.
“Jeremy, bury the guns and the dope. Odessa and Gi, make sure the house is spotless. Alex, find anyone who’s partying or passed out among the wrecks and get them the hell off the property,” he was forgetting something, “And chain the fucking dogs!” he hollered after Alex, who was already out the back door.
Alone now with Gi, he took a deep breath and smiled weakly. He’d wait one hour before calling the police. There was a feeling in his large gut that was becoming disturbingly familiar. He was pretty sure it was fear.
Chapter Two
She was completely nude on the back seat, legs spread wide to reveal what looked like a turkey baster, protruding from her swollen and inflamed vagina. Her hands were duct taped together, at the wrists, behind her back. Her breasts were streaked with blood from her throat, which had been cleanly sliced from ear to ear. She couldn’t have been a day over twenty. The kid in the front seat, her boyfriend they inferred from the prom pictures laminated and hung from the rearview mirror by a short piece of thread, was also sliced from ear to ear. His genitals had been severed, and so far couldn’t be located. Both had also been shot in the head.
A medical examiner was studying the fluid, pooled on the back seat between the girl’s legs. He backed out of the car, pushing his wire framed glasses up his nose with a stubby, gloved finger.
“Battery acid,” he announced. “Any DNA evidence we might have found within her was surely destroyed.”
“But you’re sure she was raped?” asked the younger of the two detectives.
“Ya Think?” said his partner, dripping sarcasm.
“Hey, I don’t assume anything John. I work with facts and evidence.” The young detective was clearly defensive.
The small, bookish coroner’s investigator regarded them both through lenses so thick they made his eyes look huge.
“I think you can safely assume she was,” he said quietly. He didn’t much care for the fat man in the cheap suit. Of his young partner, he had no opinion. Anyway, he was a man who kept his opinions to himself. He leaned into the driver’s door to get a closer look at victim number two. He had worked with Detective John Sampson on many occasions and found him to be a competent investigator. He also found him rude, loud, vulgar, pushy, arrogant, and . . . well, a bit of a slob. His new partner appeared to be his polar opposite.
“Well, they couldn’t have been killed here,” Sampson postulated. “Somebody would have seen or heard something. The guy who owns this place is a piece of shit. There are always fifteen or twenty dope fiends hanging around. These fuckers never sleep. There’s no way someone did all this, and no one sees a thing.” He looked around the property disgusted. His gaze settled on Jerry watching from a distance. “Hey Tony, what’s this fucker’s name again?”
Sampson knew damn well what the guy’s name was, and Tony knew he was being tested like some clueless rookie. Before he could answer, the medical examiner interrupted.
“They were not killed here. That’s impossible. There’s hardly any blood in the car, except on the victims themselves.” He was peeling off his gloves as he spoke, not bothering to look at either of them. “I would say they were both killed elsewhere, about eight hours ago. That’s all I can tell you for now.” He turned and walked off without another word.
Jerry was on his perch. From where he sat he could clearly make out John Sampson among the crowd of cops surrounding the little Toyota. He and Sampson had a history. Back when the arrogant son of a bitch was still working narcotics, he and Jerry had bumped heads several times. Poor slob never could figure out how Jerry always knew when Sampson was planning to raid the house. Of course, you didn’t stay in business as long as Jerry had without serious connections. Jerry believed that the only thing better than his dope, were his connections.
Then there was the accident. Had it really been just one year ago? It seemed like so much had happened since that night . . . So many long and sleepless nights. There are people in the desert you just don’t fuck with. The nights belong to them.
But man, Sampson really thought he had him that night. Jerry had killed a fourteen year old boy. Surely he was loaded when it happened. They had him by the balls this time. But Jerry’s drug tests were clean. People had seen the boy ride his dirt bike, out of the desert, right in front of Jerry’s van. He never even saw the kid until it was too late. Even Sampson was forced to admit that it was all just a tragic accident and let it go.
But they never would.
Everybody knew about them. They’d all heard the rumors about things that happened in secret places . . . Straight evil and fucking scary shit. But who knew they lived among us. Their kids went to school with our kids. They were our neighbors, and lived normal lives. But they weren’t normal. They were murderers. They were evil. They were powerful, and worst of all . . . They were real.
And Jerry had killed one of them.
Black jeans over black biker boots . . . A thick black sweater under a long black duster, open in the front . . . Piercing blue eyes and handsome features under close-cropped dark hair . . . Body of an athlete . . . Heart of a demon. Had anybody bothered to look in the direction of the distant hillside where he stood, they might have seen the bright winter sunlight reflected in the lenses of his field glasses as he raised them to his eyes. He wasn’t concerned. He was untouchable.
As he surveyed the result of last night’s success, he felt power surging through every fiber of his being. The power was everything. What was he now? Certainly no mere man. Not quite a God. He was the embodiment of the darkness he commanded . . . A wolf among sheep, and in his pack, he was the Alpha. His smile was at once self-satisfied, and cruel.
He turned the powerful lenses toward the house and found Jerry, in his chair, on the porch. He sniffed the air and smelled the blood of his victims intermingled with the cold sweat of fear. A familiar rage rose up inside him. Many had died by his powerful hands. Always, he killed with methodical detachment. He killed, because sacrifice was necessary, without angst of sympathy for his victims. But with this man it was personal. This man would suffer profoundly before dying by his own hand. He would witness the ritualistic sacrifice of his children and drink from the cup of their blood. He would see the womb of their mother turned inside out as she lay screaming in her own filth. Night after night he would wait, terrified of the sleep that would inevitably claim him and force him to relive the murder of his family again and again. He would see that in the world there is no light, only darkness, and despairing, he would welcome the darkness as the warm gentle embrace of a lover. There would be no reprieve for this man. Such was his fate.
And that fate was sealed.
Chapter Three
“And now, news from the world of science . . . Astronomers at Griffith Park Observatory are reporting the discovery of what they are describing as a large dark cloud approximately six thousand light years out in space. Scientists at NASA have confirmed the presence of this mysterious cloud. While nobody is yet offering a theory as to exactly what the cloud is, spokesmen from both organizations are saying that nothing like it has been discovered to date. The cloud appears to be moving closer to Earth . . . “
Jerry changed the channel and once again saw news footage of the little white car surrounded by cops. He had refused to speak to reporters, but that hadn’t stopped them from filming him and identifying him by name.
What would they think if they knew the real story?
Jerry rubbed his tired eyes. Tonight he would sleep. The house was on lockdown, his boys locked safely in their room with Alex watching over them from a chair at their bedside. Another good man was locked in with the girls and, of course, Gi would be safe with Jeremy behind Jerry’s locked bedroom door. Outside, four armed men watched the house and yard. In the kitchen sat two solid men . . . Men sworn to kill Jerry if necessary. This was the drill every time Jerry slept.
There was a time when Jerry had sold speed strictly as a means of income, never indulging in his own product. He had seen what the drug did to others and had no desire to become one of them . . . A tweeker, staying up for days on end and taking things apart just to see how they work. It seemed a chop shop was the ideal setting for the average tweeker.
For a long time he ran his business as a business and stayed clean. But that was before the accident . . . Before he knew the truth about the evil in the world . . . Before the phone calls, and dreams, and sleepwalking . . . Before the pictures, mailed with threatening letters. There were pictures of the kids at school, and of Gigi at the grocery store, and the letters were filled with gruesome details of the violence they had planned for his family. It was also before the voices had gotten into Jerry’s head, and before the night Gi awoke to find him standing over her with a butcher knife, from the kitchen, in his hand. Her terrified scream had awakened him, and he stood there dazed, trying to figure out how he had gotten out of bed, and why she was so afraid of him.
Now Jerry was afraid to sleep. He was terrified of the dreams and what he might do. But even the drug couldn’t keep a man awake forever. Eventually, he had to sleep, and when he did, the entire house went on alert.
The voices offered an alternative
Kill yourself; it’s the only way out.
Twice he had placed the Glock’s barrel between his teeth. The first time he simply couldn’t find the strength to pull the trigger. The second time Gigi had found him with the gun in his mouth, trembling as he fought to summon the will to end his life. She made him promise not to take the coward’s way out. She made him promise to fight. Deep down he still believed it was the only way to save his family.
His cell phone rang, pulling him suddenly out of his silent reflection. He stared at it, knowing it was him, and let it ring until it went to voicemail. No message of course. When it rang again, two minutes later, he answered in spite of himself. He said nothing. There was no need.
“Hello Jerry,” it was a man’s voice. There was a short pause. “Still not speaking to me? That’s very rude Jerry,” the voice was friendly, “But that’s OK. I don’t require you to speak, only listen . . . And you are listening, aren’t you Jerry?” Jerry made a conscious effort to control his breathing. “Of course you are. Did you enjoy my little surprise? That was just a preview of what I’ve got planned for the wife and kiddies.” Jerry could keep silent no longer.
“You sick fuck!” he spat.
“There you are,” the voice was playful, “Isn’t your best friend fucking your wife, in your bed, as we speak? Tell me Jerry, what are you, if not a sick fuck?”
“You’ll never get your hands on them! I’ll kill you!” he was trembling.
“Oh, come now Jerry, what use are empty threats? You can’t stop us, and you know this. You should have taken the chance I gave you.” Jerry’s tone changed abruptly to pleading.
“I’ve got the gun right here. I’ll do it now and you can hear the whole thing you son of a bitch. Just leave my family out of it!”
“That is a tempting offer Jerry, but I’m afraid it’s too late. I gave you a chance to save your family my friend. You should have taken it. You should have killed yourself when you had the chance. That’s no longer on the table. I want more.” After a short pause, the voice became sadistic, “Your wife is a pig and a whore, your children, suckling piglets. Have you seen pigs slaughtered Jerry? The die is cast. You can’t help them. Pleasant dreams Jerry.”
Beep.
He sat in silence, staring at the phone, for a long time. The caller was right. He couldn’t stop them. Jerry was terrified of these people and what they would do. He could never seek help from the police. He trusted almost no one. They were everywhere. Even if he did go to the cops, what would he say? That kid’s family had dropped off the face of the earth shortly after the accident. These people were everywhere, and nowhere. Nobody knew where they were, or how to find them. Some of them probably were cops. He rarely left the house anymore, and when he did, it was secretly, and in force . . . Even then, only to make short trips when absolutely necessary. The kids were schooled at home, and Gi was strictly forbidden to leave the property. They were prisoners in their own home, and soon, in spite of every precaution, they would all be dead.
It was this thought that carried him into sleep.
Jerry’s eyes snapped open in the darkness of his living room. In his mind, one thought rang out; like the peel of a distant bell. Like the call of a Siren, it blocked his own will and filled his head, driving him to commit the act this thought demanded. He shook his head, trying desperately to remember where he was . . . Who he was. Finally, he rose slowly from the chair he had been sleeping in, and went to the kitchen.
He found it empty, and from somewhere within him came the realization that someone should be there. Somebody should be watching him. He opened the drawer, the one nearest the sink, where he knew it would be. The thought filled him completely as he lifted the butcher knife. Gigi and the kids must die.
Under the force of his 330 pounds, the door never stood a chance. Jerry burst into the room where his boys slept, knocking the door completely off its hinges. Alex, taken by surprise, failed to react before the big man was on him. Amid the screams of his terrified children, Jerry savagely murdered his long-time friend and business associate.
Like a man suddenly awake after falling asleep at the wheel, he stopped driving the knife into Alex’s lifeless body and realized that his intended victims had escaped. He had no idea that he had stabbed Alex more than fifty times. Wiping sweat from his face, and streaking it with blood in the process, he stalked out of the room.
He found the door to the girls room open, their bed empty. The same with the bed he and his wife had shared for so many years. He strode purposefully through the house, hitting light switches as he went, but the house remained dark. The power was out. For the first time, he noticed the storm raging outside.
Once more in the kitchen, he found the back door wide open. They had fled into the night and into the storm. He was about to follow, when he heard a noise from within the house. It was a small sound . . . A cough, or perhaps a choked-back sob, but easily discerned by his predator’s ears. A maniacal smile stretched his lips as he turned and headed back to his bedroom.
He stood silently, in the middle of the room, listening. He knew where they were. They couldn’t escape him again. The knife had been discarded in favor of his Glock. His senses were so acute that he could hear them breathing in their hiding place, huddled as they were, within the large walk-in closet. He could smell their fear.
Then the lights came on.
He awoke instantly, and was immediately confused by his surroundings. He couldn’t understand the weight of the gun in his hand. No longer fueled by murderous rage, his legs felt weak, and he turned to look at his bloody face in the mirror above the dresser. His mind flashed to an image of Alex’s torn and bloody corpse as he realized that only the light had saved him from killing his entire family. The light had saved his wife and children. The light had saved them all.
Jerry woke, with a start, to daylight streaming through the living room windows, and to the sound of someone knocking on his front door. That was odd. People didn’t just walk up to this house and knock on the door. Where the hell was everybody? Where the hell were the dogs?
With the horrible nightmare still fresh in his mind, he made his way to the door, grumbling to himself, and rubbing sleep from his eyes. He checked the peephole and was surprised to find an old man on his porch. Dressed all in black except for the white dress shirt under his coat, and sporting a wide brimmed black hat, he appeared to be some sort of preacher. He held a small black Bible up to the peephole, as if he were showing his credentials.
“Boy are you lost pal,” Jerry mumbled as he unbolted locks and opened the door. He was in no mood for this. Before he could tell the old guy to get lost, the preacher flashed a warm smile and extended a boney hand.
“Good morning my friend, Reverend Tom Pearson at your service.” He assumed a look of great concern as he shook Jerry’s hand. “Tell me brother; have you heard the good news about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”
“Look, I really don’t have the time . . .“ Jerry began, but was immediately interrupted.
“Oh you’re right about that son. None of us have much time left. The glorious second coming of our Savior is at hand friend.” He aimed a pointed gaze directly into Jerry’s eyes and asked, “Are you ready to meet your maker?”
More than you can imagine pal.
Jerry was annoyed. Those damn dogs really weren’t earning their keep.
“Look,“ he said irritably, “I don’t believe in all this stuff.” The old guy’s expression became grave.
“You can’t afford not to believe son. We’re living in the end times. One look at your Bible will tell you that.” He opened his book and began to quote. “And Jesus answered and said unto them, ‘Take heed and let no man deceive you. For many shall come in my name saying I am Christ; and shall deceive many. And ye shall hear of wars, and rumors of wars; see that ye be not troubled; for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet. For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes in divers places. All these are the beginning of sorrows.’” Jerry held up a big hand to stop him.
“I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time. You’re wasting my time.” The old guy was undeterred.
“And then shall many be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another. And many false prophets shall arise and deceive many. And because inequity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold. But he that shall endure until the end, the same shall be saved.” Jerry was really losing his patience now. “And the gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations; and then shall the end come. When ye therefore shall see the abomination and desolation spoken of by Daniel the prophet, stand in the holy place.” Jerry could stand no more.
“Alright, that’s enough. I told you, I don’t want to hear it!” The old guy looked up at him. His eyes became wild as he appeared to make a decision. He took a small step closer to Jerry.
“Son, there’s evil in this house,” he hissed, “You must repent to save your family! A greater evil comes, and you can’t stop it! Stand in the holy place!” he exclaimed, “You have allied yourself with the evil in this world and are therefore defenseless.”
“What!”
“You wife plays Satan’s harlot and your children, though innocent, are faithless!” Jerry wanted to grab this man by his skinny neck and choke the life from him. But his words, though scathing, rang of truth.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“The testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy.”
“What are you saying?” This wing-nut thinks he’s Jesus. “Get the hell off my property!”
“Has he told you that you can’t stop him Jerry?” The man was shouting now.
How the hell can he know my name?
“He’s right you know. On your own you’re powerless, but with the Lord Jerry . . . With God all things are possible!”
“Alright, that’s enough!” Jerry was forcing him off the porch now. “I want you out of here, now!”
“He thinks he commands this evil. He imagines himself a very powerful witch, but like you Jerry, he’s deceived by the evil one.” The frail thin man tried to stand his ground and Jerry pushed him . . . Hard. He fell, but immediately came to his feet, pointing and shouting. “Repent Jerry! Save your family! It’s the only way!”
Jeremy came then, at a run, from somewhere out back, flanked by both dogs, gun in hand, to find Jerry and the old man red faced and breathing hard. They stared into each other’s eyes.
“What’s up Jer?” Jeremy eyed both men warily. The dogs stayed back growling. The old man held up his Bible in silent appeal.
“Get this nut off my property,” Jerry spat.
“I know what you are!” the old man shouted at Jeremy. But he allowed him to lead him back to the road. He didn’t go quietly. “Repent!” Jerry heard him shout as he closed the door behind him. “Repent and save your family!”
(Chapter Four Coming Soon)
