Bryan Smith - Soultaker

The hell of it was she hadn’t even done much yet.

There’d been no genuine supernatural pyrotechnics of the sort he wrote about in his books. The kind of things he always pictured as rendered in cheesy CGI.

As if sensing his thoughts, Jordan lifted her head and her eyes snapped open.

They were red. Not just the pupil and the iris. Each eye…the whole fucking orb was red.

And they were glowing, projecting a sinister light that lit up her whole face. Sinister because there was a strange darkness swirling in the midst of that fiery, unnatural light, a shifting, half-formed presence that suggested capering shadows and phantoms. It was like a glimpse of hell. She smiled and Jake sensed the same darkness in the expression. He was starting to think maybe the boys had gotten it all wrong. This girl was the real threat, not Trey’s punk girlfriend. He glanced at them and saw awestruck expressions he figured must mirror his own.

Then Jordan lifted her hands and aimed her outstretched fingers at him.

Jake gulped.

Maybe the time had come to make a run for it.

Before he could act a field of unnatural energy enveloped him. He wanted to scream, but couldn’t open his mouth. Every inch of his flesh tingled in a way that was almost pleasant. Waves of blue-white electricity rolled over his body. Then she lifted her hands higher and he began to float.

Even as it was happening he thought, This is not possible.

The top of his head touching the ceiling seemed to suggest otherwise, though. He looked down at the others staring up at him and felt for a flashing moment like a man in the midst of a particularly weird dream. It was tempting to believe that. The problem with it was he’d never felt so alive and real than he felt in this moment.

And in the very next moment the unnatural energy suffusing the room’s atmosphere simply turned off, as if someone had thrown a switch.

Jake gasped and dropped.

Kristen screamed.

His rear end hit the floor. Hard. A jagged spike of pain shot up his spine as he rolled over. Then Kristen was at his side, her fluttering hand on his back as she alternately cursed Jordan and begged him to tell her he was all right. In a moment he realized he was okay, except for the lingering pain caused by his awkward landing. Nothing was broken. He was intact. Well, his body was. His mind felt as if it might fly into a million pieces any second now. He got up muttering assurances to Kristen.

He looked at Jordan. She looked normal again.

Then he looked at each of the boys. Both looked stunned.

Jake shook his head.

He settled into the recliner again and was silent for a long moment.

Then he said, “Well, fuck me.”

Jordan bit down on a smile. “Told you.”

“That you did. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Sorry I made fun of you.”

She looked sheepish now. Almost shy. She looked at the floor. “It’s okay.”

Jake grunted. “No. It’s a long fucking way from okay.” He slapped his knees and stood again. He put an arm around Kristen, felt the live-wire thrum of her body. “We’re taking this party to the kitchen. I need a drink like never before. And then I want to hear your story in detail. Every fucking bit of it. Including why you think I can do anything about your problem. Got it?”

He waited a beat.

Nods and half-mumbled words of assent followed.

Jake led them into the kitchen.

After wasting perhaps fifteen minutes debating how he should dispose of the bodies stinking up his garage, Raymond Slater realized the only sensible course of action was to do nothing. There was no reason to spend hours digging more big holes in his backyard. No point in carting both bodies out to some remote backwoods spot for dumping. It would only make him feel grubby, like the kind of banal serial killers he’d seen on A &E true crime shows. Besides, he would almost certainly be dead himself by the end of the day. He wouldn’t be around to sweat police inquiries.

He slammed shut the trunk of his Lexus, sealing off forever the sight of Cindy’s horribly mutilated body. He covered Penelope’s corpse with a tarp and shoved it under the Lexus.

Good enough.

Someone would discover the bodies in the coming days. And not just the bodies here in the garage. The authorities would find the mound of freshly turned earth in his backyard. They would dig up Patricia. He would be branded a psychotic murderer by the media. His daughter would spend the rest of her life hating him and cursing his name. But that would be fine. At least she would be alive. He no longer really believed hitmen would be dispatched to her university the instant he deviated from Lamia’s instructions for the day.

Two reasons.

For one thing, this was the day of the Harvest. The day when he was to call for a special assembly of all students at two P.M.

Except that he had gone against her will.

He wouldn’t be there to call that special assembly. Hours had passed. It was early afternoon now. He suspected Lamia would have a fallback plan in place. Someone else in the school’s administrative staff would summon the students to the auditorium at two.

But he hadn’t done it, by God.

That was something, at least.

The other thing was the deal clincher. The thing that mattered to him more than anything else. Josefina. She was out of it now. She would be okay regardless of what happened in Rockville this afternoon. He knew this because he’d talked to her only moments earlier. Seated behind the wheel of Patricia’s Jaguar, he stared at the cell phone in his right hand and resisted the urge to hit redial. He badly wanted to hear his only child’s voice one more time, even though it would mean again interrupting the impromptu adventure she’d set out on this morning. Turned out she wasn’t even at the school, having blown off the day’s classes to head up to Niagara Falls with her boyfriend. They wouldn’t return until the next day. And by then it would all be over. She was safe. That knowledge alone was enough to make the decision for him. He flipped the cell phone shut and dropped it in the cup holder. Josefina Slater had talked to her father for the last time.

Let her have one last good day, he thought. I owe her that much. One more carefree day of youth in the company of a cute boy. This will be my gift to you, Jo. My very last gift.

If he called her again, his voice might crack.

She would sense something was wrong.

So, no. It wasn’t an option.

As he drove to the school, Raymond gripped the Jag’s steering wheel and cried quietly for a few moments. It was over fast. He wouldn’t allow himself the fleeting comfort of an emotional surrender. Time was running out. The hour of truth was almost at hand. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stared through the windshield. Soon he was parked at the far edge of the staff parking lot at Rockville High School. The school day was still in full swing, so the lot was mostly full. The auditorium was over on the other side of the main building. The lot on that side was packed tight with student-owned vehicles. His immediate problem was figuring out how to get from here to there without having to walk all the way around the school in full view of anyone who might be looking through any of the many classroom windows. The sight of the school’s principal crossing the school grounds would not alarm the vast majority of potential witnesses. Most would not even be aware of his absence today. But there was a strong chance that at least a few of those prying eyes would belong to members of Lamia’s insidious cult. He couldn’t risk being intercepted before he had a chance to take his shot (literally) at putting an end to Lamia’s evil scheme.