Rage, page 24
Spyder. She’d been right. They were using him, too. Then she remembered the feeling she had the other night. She was convinced that somehow Spyder had found a way to break the spell Pierce had spun around them. What had he done? And why did Gaderian seem unsure of himself when he mentioned Spyder’s name?
Gaderian shrugged. “No matter. We simply had to change our plans a little. When Spyder didn’t get you here, we had to go with our backup plan—your friend Joyce.”
“What have you done to her?” Blaize screamed. She lunged for Gaderian, but Gate stopped her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back.
Gaderian never even flinched. “Nothing we haven’t done to everyone else. A little mental persuasion, shall we say?”
He stopped and lit a cigarette, flicking open a silver lighter with an engraved crescent moon on the surface. The brief flare of his lighter sent ghostly shadows dancing across his face.
And that’s when Blaize recognized him. “You!” she screamed, struggling against Gate’s restraining arms. Now she remembered where she’d seen Gaderian before. He’d been at the cemetery the day of Richard’s funeral. He was the dark figure she’d seen lurking in the shadows outside Joyce’s house the night she’d disappeared. “You’ve been following us all along, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have,” he said with a smug smile. “Simply checking our progress, that’s all.” Then his smile turned venomous. “Welcome to The Play.”
How long, she wondered. How long had she been their puppet? Had they killed Richard? Maybe it went back even before that. Were they responsible for the accident that had sent her life spinning out of control in the first place?
“You can’t get away,” Gaderian said, taking a long, hissing drag that made the end of the cigarette flare with an orange glow. “Just to be safe, though,” he informed them, “the members of the cult are being told of the danger you pose as we speak. They’re being informed that you’re here to abduct their savior. They’ve just lost their spiritual leader and will die before they allow you to take her successor too,” he sneered. “Your pictures are being passed out to each of them. In less than an hour every member of the commune will be out searching for you, fueled by religious fervor and murderous conviction.”
A commotion on the porch where they’d first met Joey caused the three of them to look up. A man was running toward them, a shock of wild white hair streaming around his shoulders and a maniacal gleam in his eyes. He was waving a gun and screaming, “YOU! Leave me alone. Get back in the book!”
Blaize recognized him, too.
“Pierce,” Gate whispered.
Blaize saw the gleam of madness in the author’s eyes, remembered the warning he’d shouted to her at the cemetery. It would be so easy to see this madman as the villain, but sadly she realized that Pierce was a victim, too. He’d been manipulated by both Gaderian and his own sister.
Then she noticed the gun in his hand and the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. Pierce had been the one to fire the shot that had killed his sister. It all made sense now that she knew Mother Moon’s twisted mind had written her own destiny. She’d ensured that her own brother would become her murderer.
And with sudden clarity, she understood why. There was really only one reason a pregnant girl would believe she was still a virgin, and that was if the truth were too horrible to face.
Blaize went back in time to that day in the bathroom stall. She remembered the moment the child had been born, how the young girl had let out a strangled scream. She’d called one name. Her brother’s name. And that cry had held a pain greater than the tearing of her body. It was the cry of a betrayed child, a bruised soul.
No wonder the girl had blocked it all out, convincing herself she was still a virgin. And it was only a small step from there to imagine that her child’s birth was the result of Immaculate Conception. It was easier than admitting the awful truth.
But the knowledge must have lurked somewhere in the shadows of her subconscious and this, her final act, had been one of retribution against her brother, her rapist. She’d made him her murderer, had him write the scene and then pull the trigger. That act had been the final nudge that had sent him over the brink of madness.
Pierce waved the gun overhead. Lines of guilt and grief carved his face. A shot went wild, hitting the upraised arms of the statue in the fountain and sending stone splinters skittering into the water.
Gate grabbed Blaize and pulled her down behind the concrete wall of the fountain’s base.
Gaderian held out his arms, as if coaxing a small child out of the road. “Algernon. Get back in your room. This isn’t your concern.”
But the madman kept coming, brandishing the gun as he screamed at them. “I wrote you and I can delete you, dammit! Do you think you can come to life and destroy me? No! I won’t allow it!”
More shots. One hit close enough to send a spray of water over them both. Blaize ducked lower, hoping the low fountain wall would be enough to protect them. Then a scream cut the night as Pierce blindly hit his mark and Oswald Gaderian fell to the ground. His still glowing cigarette rolled toward Blaize’s knee, released from curled and lifeless fingers.
“Oh my God,” she whimpered, clutching Gate’s hand. “He’s crazy. He’s crazy.”
Another shot shattered the night, drowning out the author’s ranting. He was closer. She could hear him just on the other side of the fountain now.
“I’ll show you,” he cried out. “I’ll show you who decides what you can and cannot do. You’re my creations. MINE!”
Then the night went deathly quiet. Blaize fought the urge to pop her head up and see what was happening. What was Pierce doing? And that’s when she heard another voice.
“Uncle Algernon? Stop. Please stop. I need you.”
“But Joey, you don’t understand—”
“I need you,” the boy said again, heartbreak making his voice quiver. “You’re all I have left.”
This time Blaize couldn’t resist lifting her head above the stone shield of the fountain’s rim. Gaderian was dead, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. She saw Joey standing on the top step of the porch, holding out his mother’s bloody robes. His face was a study in tragedy and loss. The light from the open doorway surrounded him like a golden halo.
Pierce had his back to them, facing the boy. His shoulders slumped and he dropped the gun to the ground. Holding out his arms, he walked toward the porch, toward his nephew—his son—who in one short evening had seen two people he loved gunned down and murdered.
Blaize wanted to scoop him up and wipe the tears from his eyes. She wanted to take him away from all this blood and insanity. She started to rise, to go to the boy, but Gate gripped her arm and pulled her in the other direction.
“Come on,” he whispered. “We have to get out of here. They’ll be searching for us.”
Blaize let him lead her away from the fountain, running away from the compound, away from Gaderian’s body sprawled beside the fountain, his cigarette burning out only feet away from his lifeless body.
PART IV
The Coming
Chapter Twenty-Five
They made it to Gate’s car—or what was left of it. All the fight drained out of Blaize when she saw the smoking black husk standing alone at the entrance to the commune. The air was heavy with the smell of blistered metal and melted rubber.
For someone so sure of their demise, Gaderian had taken no chance that they would escape. Behind her, Blaize saw lights and commotion. By now Gaderian’s body would have been discovered. The cult members would be spreading out, combing the area for any sign of them. Without the car they couldn’t go for help, so they’d have to find a place to hide while they planned their next move.
She remembered what Gaderian had said. Pierce’s book came out today. They didn’t have much time. Right now, even as they stood there trying to decide what to do, people all over the world were sitting up in bed absorbing every word of the book and changing the fabric of reality.
If what Gaderian said was true, this combined belief not only affected the future, but the past too. He’d said Spyder had already strangled her and Gate had died when the computer exploded. Just thinking about it made her head spin. But there wasn’t time to try to figure out the paradox right now. They had to destroy the final copy of the book before it could be read.
Suddenly they were both pinned by on-coming headlights. They couldn’t move forward and they couldn’t go back to the commune. A horn blared, jerking them out of their paralysis. Spurred by the twin headlights growing bigger in the distance, they tore off to the right, into the mountains. Soon the woods closed around them, cloaking them in darkness.
Blaize followed Gate through the woods. Sharp evergreens with needled limbs slashed her skin and she stumbled more than once over rocks and exposed tree roots. The sharp intake of her own breath masked any sounds of chase, but she was afraid to look back, afraid to see pursuers at their heels.
Spyder lay on the horn, convinced that he’d seen Blaize outlined in the glare of his headlights.
The drive had been long and arduous. More than once he’d been tempted to pull off the road and rest, but he knew that if he stopped and gave in to the pain, he’d lose his momentum. He had to keep going. Although pain had been his constant companion, his one source of comfort was the realization that the dreams had stopped the moment Dr. York had amputated his hand. He no longer woke feeling like a murderer. That alone convinced him he’d saved Blaize, at least from himself, in one swift and savage act.
He’d missed the turnoff to the commune twice in the darkness and had to circle back, finally finding the dirt road leading to the Gateway community. And it looked as if he wasn’t a moment too soon. Blaize was running and there was someone with her. He realized it must be that pretty-boy reporter she’d said she was coming up here with. They stared directly into his headlights, as if pinned to the spot, then turned and ran off into the woods.
Damn, he’d have to chase her down. He hoped he didn’t hit his arm on anything in the darkness and pass out like a baby. That would totally ruin his image.
He braked, spitting up gravel and dirt, bringing the Jeep to a lazy skid as he slammed it into park. He reached around with his right hand to open the door, fumbling for a minute and wasting precious time. Already Blaize and her friend were out of sight, swallowed up by the darkness of the wooded mountainside.
He reached across the front seat for his flashlight, intent on following them into the woods and calling out to Blaize. Before he’d even closed the Jeep door behind him, he saw robed figures running in his direction. He knew they were chasing Blaize and her friend. If he yelled out to her he’d give their position away. He glanced in the direction Blaize had run, frustrated that he couldn’t follow her. He didn’t know what had happened here, but he knew the only way he could help her now was by distracting her pursuers and giving her time to escape.
He did the first thing that came to mind. He slammed his wounded wrist against the side of the jeep. Hard. The pain was immediate, raw and searing, dropping him to his knees and bringing scalding tears to his eyes. He gulped hard, swallowing the scream lodged in his throat. There was no need to fake the agony he was in.
He waved the flashlight and called out. “Help. Help me, please.”
Within moments the two robed figures were at his side, a blonde woman and dark-haired man. Spyder held up his arm. Fresh blood soaked through the bandages from the abuse he’d given it.
“My God, what happened to you?” the robed woman cried. The man with her put his hands beneath Spyder’s armpits and lifted him to his feet. Together they supported him as he held his bleeding arm out. He could feel his heartbeat pulsing fire deep into the wound.
“Help,” he stammered, fighting waves of dizziness. He could feel his companions struggle between their desire to find Blaize and the knowledge that it would take both of them to help Spyder walk to the commune.
The woman raised her eyes, pleading briefly with the man. He nodded and together they led Spyder toward the commune, one on each side. Relief overshadowed the agony thrumming along his entire left side. He’d bought Blaize some time.
It was worth the pain.
They’d almost missed the opening to the cave. If Blaize hadn’t stumbled across the uprooted tree whose branches nearly covered the cave’s opening, they would have run right past it.
“This area is full of caves and old Indian trails,” Gate told her as he pushed the branches aside and tried to peer into the darkness. “We used to camp in the Adirondacks when I was younger. My brother and I would wander for hours exploring caves.”
“What about wild animals?” Blaize asked, unwilling to enter the dark mouth of the cave, but knowing it was their best—and possibly only—option.
“Well, I’m no expert,” Gate replied. “But I don’t think there are a lot of wild animals around. Certainly no lions or tigers or anything.”
She pretended not to notice he’d left bears off the list.
“Maybe some deer, a moose or two. Nothing that would use a cave for a den.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Hell, I’m trying to make myself feel better.” He burrowed into his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. Bending, he lit one and held it out, looking into the cave. “All clear,” he announced. “Come on. We can hide out in here until morning.”
“Yeah, but then what?” She followed him into the cave, which was surprisingly deep. As they moved further, they were able to stand. The smell was earthy and moist, but not unpleasant. It reminded her of the scent of mud pies she’d made as a little girl and decorated with seed pods stripped from weeds.
One day she’d fed her brother a spoonful of one of her creations. Her mother had freaked out and asked, “How could you feed your baby brother dirt?” She’d only shrugged and said, “Well, he ate it,” outraged that she should be blamed for his stupidity. The memory brought a smile to her face. She wondered if she’d ever see her brother again to laugh over old memories.
Gate lit another match and cleared a spot near the cave’s wall where they could sit and talk in the darkness. “Tomorrow we’ll have the benefit of daylight. In the darkness we’re at a disadvantage. They know these woods and we don’t.”
“Not to mention there’s eight zillion of them and only two of us.”
He chuckled, the sound echoing in the cave. “Yeah, but they’ve lost two of their leaders. They’re accustomed to being told what to think and there’s no one left to lead them.”
“There’s still Pierce,” she said. Instead of being the main player, as they’d suspected, he was only the third and weakest point of this unholy triad. But he was still a threat.
“He’s deteriorating fast,” Gate admitted. “But he’s deluded, not devious. Besides, we don’t have to go head-to-head with Pierce. All we have to do is find those tapes and the copy of his book. We know there was nothing at his home and the publisher doesn’t have it. That means he has the only remaining copy here with him. All we have to do is find it and destroy it.”
“No. That’s not all we have to do,” she said. “We have to get Joey away from here. It’s not too late to save him if we get him out of the clutches of the cult. Without Pierce’s book we can deprogram him and maybe he can go on to lead a normal life, play football and make mud pies.”
“Mud pies?”
She shrugged. “You know. He’s just a child. He should be doing the things 12-year old boys do.”
“What makes you think he wants to be saved? He may be a child, but he’s convinced that his mission is to lead the world.”
Blaize set her shoulders. “He’s young. There’s still time to undo whatever damage his mother and Gaderian have done.” Her voice left no room for argument. “I’m not leaving here without him.”
Gate cleared his throat. “I hate to say this—”
“What?”
“Well, it’s just that, from what I’ve seen,” he hedged, then sighed and got to the point. “You might have to fight Joyce to get the boy out of here. She seems to be his fiercest guardian.”
“Joyce,” Blaize whispered, her voice cracking. “What have they done to her?”
“I once did research on cults for an article.” Gate leaned back and got comfortable as he explained. “They use techniques on recruits that numb the mind and suppress doubts about the group and its leaders, like long work routines, denunciation sessions, meditating and chanting.”
He counted off points on his fingers as he explained to Blaize. “They encourage members to become subservient to the group, which usually revolves around a single spiritual leader who they believe to be the Messiah.”
“Like Mother Moon.”
Gate nodded. “And now Joey. They see themselves as special in their mission to save the world.”
“But I can’t believe they could brainwash Joyce.”
“It’s not really brainwashing,” he said. “They embrace new recruits, surrounding them with love and acceptance. The commune becomes their entire existence. Members are kept busy and encouraged to live and socialize only with each other, cutting off all ties to family and friends, careers and prior activities. As a symbol of the beginning of their new life, they often take on new names within the community.”
“Yes,” Blaize said. “Joey called her ‘Season’. I didn’t understand at the time.”
Gate nodded.
Gate’s explanation made sense. But there hadn’t been enough time to use those techniques on Joyce. It would have taken much longer. Pierce had to have written her into the cult. That’s the only way she could have been converted so quickly.
Blaize still found it hard to believe Joyce could be involved in a cult, and even harder to believe she and her best friend could be on opposite sides of a life-and-death struggle. Considering they were all being guided by Pierce’s words, it made sense. He’d put them all in place, pitted them against each other. But he wouldn’t win, not while there was still fight left in her.
