Chapter Fifty Five
Norrah piloted the Tahoe with Deborah in the front passenger seat, giving directions. I was in back taking my nine millimeter apart. I asked Deborah to open the glove box and remove the leather case, hand it back to me. Inside was spare ammo, a brush, a piece of cloth and oil. I cleaned it with the cloth, oiled it, reassembled it. Deb said we were close. We had only just left.
“I think we should call the police,” Norrah said. “Why do we have to do this all alone?”
“Because we don’t know what’s happening yet. We can do a lot of assuming, but until we know for sure it makes no sense to call them. They won’t investigate over a picture.”
“She’s a minor!” Norrah said indignantly.
“And she’s a fully clothed minor with no bruises. I agree, it looks pretty bad what’s in the picture, but trust me, being a cop I know what constitutes an abduction, the protocol and all that. Unless she’s been reported abducted there’s nothing anyone can do just yet. Except for us, of course.”
“Her boyfriend might have some intelligence on the matter,” Deborah said. “From what Aaron said, they were spending the evening together.”
“Do you have his name or number? Probably not, huh?”
“I don’t even know his name.”
“Aaron said his name in Yosemite,” I said, “but I don’t remember it. Doesn’t matter, I guess, not without a last name. And can’t rule out the possibility that he’s been abducted as well.”
“Take a right here,” Deb said. “This road goes over the bridge, to Vintage.”
“Hun, stop well before the bridge. I’m going to approach stealthily.”
“What do you mean you are going to approach?” Norrah said crossly. “You mean we.”
“I’m the only one with a firearm. It’s not safe for you two. Keep the windows down and listen. If you hear gunshots, call nine-one-one. And do not come investigating. In fact, drive away as you’re calling for help. Got it?”
“No,” Norrah said defiantly.
“No,” Deborah said, matching Norrah’s tone. “I love Aaron. I’ll help him any way I can.”
“You getting killed won’t help him.” I sighed. “Women…”
Norrah parked the big SUV a hundred yards before the bridge, in front of a house in a low-income neighborhood. Being that it was dark out, the neighborhood kids were inside, which was a good thing. No stray bullets taking a kid in the head. I opened my door and got out, half expecting the women to do the same. But they remained. Good.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Norrah said. “I’ll stay here like you want but you have to stay on the phone with me.”
At first I thought it was a retarded idea until I remembered my hands-free earpiece in the center console. I got it, stuck it in my ear, phoned Norrah. She answered the call through the Tahoe’s Bluetooth. I took my departure, was immediately summoned back to kiss her. A kiss to remember me by should shit go south. She didn’t say that, but she didn’t have to.
My eyes were already adjusted to the night. I wore dark jeans and a black shirt, but didn’t think it mattered, not with the moon being as bright as it was. I quickly strode along the sidewalk, dogs barking at me behind rickety fences. I took the nine millimeter from my holster, slid the safety off. I passed the last house on the street before slowing down. I trod along a dirt plot that preceded the riverbed, the road at my side. I heard voices faintly. Voices coming from up ahead, under the bridge.
I slanted mid-street using the road as my cover and continued along. The voices grew louder as I went.
“They’re here,” I whispered.
“Aaron and Paul?” Norrah asked.
“Not sure yet.”
I furtively made my way nearer. I perceived them to be off to the right, below the road (bridge), so I walked on the left side of the road, keeping the structure between them and me. I heard them more clearly but couldn’t make out their dialogue. I recognized their voices: it was Aaron and Paul, all right.
“It’s them,” I whispered.
“Is Brooke with them?” Norrah asked.
“I… not sure. Hold on.”
I crept toward the metal rail at the edge of the bridge, got down on my stomach and crawled the remaining few feet. The rail was low, with a one foot gap between the asphalt and flimsy metal guard rail. I stuck my head in the gap and listened. I wouldn’t be able to see them unless I stuck my head out and risked being seen. They were almost directly below me. I listened in.
“What’s a fair trade for one life?” It was Paul’s voice. “Come on, man, think.”
“Another life.” That was Aaron, sounding resigned to something horrible. His tone said words his tongue did not. “You want to kill… you want me to…”
“Oh shit,” I whispered so softly that it was almost breathed, and backed up a little before standing up, walked to the other side of the bridge.
“What!” demanded Norrah.
“This isn’t good. I think Paul’s going to… is Deborah listening?”
I heard the Tahoe door open. Norrah told Deborah to stop.
“Make her stop,” I whispered to Norrah. “She can’t show up or everything will be ruined. Tell her to have patience.”
I heard Norrah plea with Deborah. Atta girl, she was winning her over. I surreptitiously made my way back to the guard rail.
“I don’t know,” Aaron said down below.
“Then this concludes our negotiations,” Paul said.
“I could just follow you to her.”
“No, Aaron, you couldn’t.”
“And why couldn’t I?”
“Because like the tire-iron, your legs are too heavy to do much traveling.”
“Hun, you there?” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Don’t let anything happen to him!” Deborah cried into the speaker.
“I won’t,” I breathed, and inched over the railing, looking straight down. Aaron was directly below me. I could only see Paul if I leaned well over the railing.
“You can’t tell me you aren’t the devil,” Aaron said to Paul.
“I can and I have and I’m not. If you don’t make me an offer right now, I’m heading out to have a little fun with Brooke. You’ll next see her on the news.”
“I know where she’s at,” Aaron said. “The oil lease. Vintage.” Aaron pointed in the general direction.
“I know you know. I took the pictures, didn’t I? I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
I backed away from the railing, walked up the road as fast as I could without making a sound. “Guys, Brooke’s at Vintage. Do you think you two could go find her?”
“Of course,” Deborah said.
“We’re on our way,” Norrah said.
“Go around the bridge, to the left side of it. Like a hundred feet or so. Can’t risk Paul hearing or seeing you.”
“Okay.”
“Once you find Brooke take her away from there. We’ll keep in contact.”
“I’m going to have to switch to hand-held on my phone,” Norrah said. “If I don’t respond right away that’s why.”
“Okay.” I looked into the distance and saw the interior dome light turn on in my Tahoe. The doors opened then closed. A thought occurred to me: my cellphone wasn’t on silent. Heaven forbid I get a text or email, my cover would be blown. I withdrew my phone from pocket. It showed I had been connected to Norrah Petersen for 4:12 and ticking. I toggled the phone to silent, put it back in my pocket. I returned to the rail to continue surveilling.
“You’ll soon find out, huh? You’d think I was a boy scout,” Paul said and chuckled. “Here you go, she’s all yours.”
I saw him hand Aaron a gun. This was too good to be true. Handing Aaron a gun??? I grinned eight feet above Aaron’s head. This would turn out all right after all.
“If you so much as aim it at me,” Paul warned, “the deal’s off. Brooke dies.”
Aaron nodded. There had to be something mo
re, something I couldn’t see. Paul must have had a second gun, even though I couldn’t see it. Aaron wouldn’t submit to this asshole of his own free will. There had to be something.
He slowly got down on his knees, sat on his heels with the gun resting on a thigh. He bowed his head and said, “Lord, please forgive me for what I’m about to do. Know that I’m only doing this for Tinkerbelle. If there were any other way, I’d do it. Please don’t condemn me to spend eternity in hell.”
Shit this can’t be happening, I thought. Panic set in. You can’t kill yourself, Aaron, what are you thinking?! Maybe he wasn’t going to kill himself. Maybe he was playing Paul. Maybe he’d rotate the gun away from himself at the last second and shoot the prick. Suicide isn’t an option for people of faith! Isn’t that an unforgivable sin? I’m pretty sure it was, though I didn’t know for sure—how could anyone? I was sweating like a bastard, nerves ablaze.
“If you wish for me not to kill myself,” Aaron said and looked up at the black sky, “tell me so and I won’t.” I waved at him but it was dark and he wasn’t facing me. I waved in broader strokes. I willed him to look over at me.
“Don’t kill yourself,” Paul mumbled through the side of his mouth and erupted in laughter.
Aaron wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, lifted the gun off his thigh and gazed blankly at it. “Forgive my sins, which are many,” Aaron said, and sobbed. “I’m sorry for being a weak Christian. So many things I could have and should have done, but didn’t, as I’m selfish. Forgive me for taking Marie Elbrick here all those years ago.” He sobbed. Tears dripped off his jaw. “Watch over Tinkerbelle for me. Give her the wonderful life that I’m taking from myself.”
Shit, he’s really going to do it. I aimed my gun down at Paul, it swayed to Aaron; I brought it back at Paul. What the hell was I doing? Please, God, guide me.
I leaned farther over the rail: the whole of Paul was now in sight. My breath caught at what else was in sight. I blinked, rubbed my eyes, but it remained. A glowing white gown just a couple feet to Paul’s flank, a scarcely discernable personage inside it. Dark hair. It wasn’t Brooke, she was too small to be Brooke. Was it Maggie?
Looking up at the sky, Aaron said, “Please accept me into your kingdom. I love you, Lord. Amen.”
Aaron wiped his eyes, sharpened his gaze on Magdalena. Paul traced Aaron’s gaze looking bemused.
Sitting on his heels, Aaron put the gun to his right temple, fixed on the angel.
Nooo! Don’t do it! I aimed my gun at Paul. Should I shoot him? Should I shoot him?! My gun drifted toward Aaron seemingly on its own. I corrected it angrily.
“What are you looking at?” Paul asked Aaron.
“Can’t you see her?” Aaron asked quietly.
He was talking about Maggie. Paul couldn’t see her. She was invisible to Paul and probably that demonic fuck-buddy of his. But I sure could see her, just as Aaron could. She wouldn’t allow Aaron to kill himself. She’d work this out, somehow. She was an angel, an ambassador of God, for crying out loud.
“Thank God,” I breathed. “Thank you, Maggie.” My heart was beating so hard that it literally hurt.
I felt a sudden peculiar sensation, like static electricity abounding seconds before a lightning strike. The fine hairs of my nape and forearms bristled at once. My spine chilled, tingled.
Aaron and Maggie were transfixed on one another. I sensed that they were communicating by thought. What would Aaron be saying? Probably asking her if he should blow his brains out like he was gearing up to do. Or if there was another solution to this crisis. My gaze jumped between her and Aaron. Maggie nodded once at him. What the fuck was she saying yes to? That he should blow his brains out?! That there was another solution to this crisis (hopefully)? The answer presented itself when Aaron dropped his head defeatedly and pulled back the hammer of his gun.
I didn’t just throw caution into the wind, I fucking gave it the bird by moving to end my stealth and scream at Aaron Stop! Don’t do it! but nothing came out, like I was suffering the worst nightmare imaginable. My mouth was open, vocal chords straining, I could feel the cords of my neck protruding from exertion, but not a sound squeaked out of me! Damnit, Aaron, I’m up here! Look up! Put the fucking gun DOWN!
How it could be that I was suddenly mute was lost on me at that moment. It seemed irrelevant except that it prevented me from warning Aaron. But the cause of the mystery was on the brink of discovery, standing just ten short feet from me along the bridge.
It was as though my thoughts were being listened to, stolen, a complete violation of the sanctity that is my mind. The moment I made a decision as to my course of action—I was going to shoot Paul; fuck letting Aaron kill himself—there manifested on the bridge to my left an entity, a black shadow of a man whose identity I knew by intuition or divinity or some damn thing: the man behind the horned mask.
The moon seemed to respect his pursuit of darkness, as his shroud was void of color and lunar light, black as the bottom of an abyss. Whatever face he wore the night in Norrah’s basement—the face behind the mask—I was unfamiliar with, but guessed it wasn’t this one, which was a matte charcoal color, smooth and features prominent, sharp cheek bones and pointy nose, sunken eyes which were glowing with fire-light, smoldering in its sockets. This was no demon. This was the master of demons.
I took a faltering step back from him, eyes doubled, jaw unhinged, mouth as dry as Death Valley in August. The pain I had felt in my heart a short moment ago paled in comparison to this new sensation, which felt nothing short of a hand inside my chest squeezing my heart to the verge of popping it. The gun in my hand quivered as if I had palsy. I hadn’t taken a breath since he imposed his presence upon me. I couldn’t bear his sight, yet I continued to watch him.
I attempted to scream at him, and again lacked the ability to elicit a peep. Black magic from history’s greatest magician.
Being as dark as he was I couldn’t discern his hooded head shaking no at me, a reproach for the audacity of my interfering with this fatal act of destiny, but I saw his fiery eyes shift left to right once. He was to persuade me to abandon my new ambition of killing his ally. And persuasive he was, merely by proving his existence to me. An exhibition of purest evil to counter the love I had found for the antithesis of evil, the Lord Almighty.
As mortified as I was, nearly paralyzed with fear, I maintained a grasp (tenuous as it was) on my conscious mind, on my motor skills, on my purpose which hadn’t left my awareness even amidst this unparalleled trauma. Not just my purpose, which was to kill Paul, but the reason for it, which was to save my dear friend’s life and possibly soul by preventing him from committing suicide. What seemed like an easy task moments ago now felt insurmountable, but I wouldn’t give up. I wouldn’t let Paul or this Satanic pariah succeed.
I looked away from him and over the railing, where I saw Aaron sobbing with a gun to his head. Paul was obscured from sight by the railing. I sought correction of that inconvenience and to hastily put a bullet in his head, went to take a short step nearer the rail to accomplish this task when everything went wrong. My legs were leaden. I couldn’t lift my feet from the asphalt. I checked back with Devil shortly before re-strategizing. I couldn’t have been more than a couple seconds away from losing Aaron. I’d just aim blindly at Paul—I knew where he was standing. Maybe I’d miss him once or twice, but I had a full magazine of tries in store for him.
I extended my arm over the rail, gun aiming where I knew Paul to be, and just prior to pulling the trigger the black magician displayed more of his witchcraft by pushing my armed hand off target as if a gale-force wind was blowing at it. It drifted away from Paul against my greatest resistance. When the force subsided I corrected the gun’s aim only for the phenomenon to repeat itself again.
I expected to hear a gunshot down below any second.
“Take care, bud,” Paul said to Aaron. “Thanks for playing. Give my regards to Lucifer.”
Aaron opened his eyes, set his final gaze
on Maggie.
I tried shouting a warning one final time to no avail. I then tried aiming my gun at Paul one final time to no avail. Aaron was going to shoot himself and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
From either keen eye-sight or a vivid imagination, I saw Aaron tightening his grip around the trigger.
The black magician may have been able to prevent me from putting a bullet in Paul, but I don’t think he considered where else I’d be able to put a bullet, and the millisecond the idea manifested (suicide might be unforgivable—is it?? I wish I damn knew!—but murder sure isn’t) I lined up on Aaron and shot him—had aimed at his leg with my unsteady hand but struck him in his neck.
The loud report echoed for seconds after Aaron’s limp body fell forward.
“Forgive me, Lord,” I said. The wound was undoubtedly a fatal one. As horrific an idea as it was, that I just took my best friend’s life, it was lessened at least in part when Magdalena looked up at me with a hint of a smile. It was destined to happen, what I did. She slowly grew transparent before vanishing altogether.
Paul looked up at me utterly shocked. Not from what I did, but by my presence, my bold intrusion. His wide eyes then sharpened on me, expression evolving into something indescribably malicious, the embodiment of hatred. He was enraged.
I became aware of a sulfuric scent. I threw a glance to my left, at the supernatural entity who was overtly incensed at the turn of events. Once I looked at him, there was no looking away. I was mesmerized by the fire in his eyes, which was brightening forebodingly. His jaw dropped: hypnotic orange-red flames like a furnace incinerator breathed out, licked up around the corners of his mouth, making it appear as if he was grinning.
I tried turning to run but was rooted in place.
God help me!
The bright flames of his cranial orifices escalated to the point that I shielded my eyes out of necessity. Brighter and brighter they became, making broad daylight out of the night. I covered my squinted-shut eyes with a forearm. I screamed, and not silently this time. The shelter of darkness provided by my closed eyes and arm began failing; brightness seeped in through my many layers of flesh. A new color was filtering in with the orange-red, and that color was white. Holy whiteness now superseding the fire-glow, pervading me entirely, soothing and comforting me, a warmth delivering me from this adversary… it was the answer to my prayers, my salvation.