Dark Fugitive, page 17
part #2 of Nightshade Series
“This is almost too easy,” Joy said softly to herself, as she relished in the pathetic fact that her fellow Thelemites, as well as Dawn, were all completely ignorant of the incarnate evil that surrounded them…and that would ultimately be there demise.
She relished in the distinct lack of intuition, which engulfed and infected the coven like a plague. Lucifer has cruel intentions, and Joy was certainly no different. She was as much of a fraud and as starved for malice, as the Devil herself. Dawn would learn to bow to her and succumb to her every demand, or pay the price with her eternal soul. When Mathias had earlier blighted the cherished item with his own version and personalization, he pressed it up against his venomous heart while he involuntarily rocked back and forth, as if on the razor’s edge of insanity.
“Horned god, Osiris,” Mathias recalled saying aloud to himself, but in a volume that only he could hear, “Inspiration to my mentor, Aleister Crowley, the founder of sorcery and alchemy, show me what is unseen. Grant me the knowledge of the fallen angels, and disclose to me the secrets of the Tree of Life. Enlighten me that which God denies and begrudges man. Guide me on how to win Dawn’s submission and break her in, so that I don’t have to unleash the beast within me and rip her to fucking shreds.”
This had been Mathias’s Satanic prayer, which preceded Joy’s more elaborate curse. They both craved Dawn’s succulent body, and neither would stop their tireless pursuit until Dawn dropped her guard and surrendered to their will and wile. Meanwhile, a third party continues to fight for Dawn’s attention, who seemed to be having a much easier time achieving that and beating this challenge.
“I love it how Christians condemn pornography, when sex is only celebrating God’s creation. God made our bodies desirable. God gave us our primal lusts and needs. Yet, we’re supposed to be ashamed of sex and judge others for doing what they were designed to do?” Richard preached. “That just makes me sick. The Christian hypocrisy, in this country, is appalling to me. If I’m a monster, it’s only because God made me that way. Oh, wait…that’s right, God never makes mistakes.”
Dawn talked about her sour experience with orthodox Christianity, as she bears witness to college-type hazing and sexual harassment. The girls in the coven were being treated like toys, and the compound felt more like a brothel. As she tried to listen to what Richard was saying, it disturbed her to watch these girls be so violated and humiliated. Men and women alike casually bent these girls over or pushed their heads down, demanding that they please them in whatever way they wished, without either asking for consent or permission, and with no exchange of monetary payment. There was nothing off limits. Some of The Golden Veil girls were literally living up to their coven’s name, as they swallowed the piss from different dicks and cunts, gulping it down as if it was strawberry wine.
“John Wayne Gacy was a Christian,” Richard educated. “He read the 23rd Psalm to his victims, before brutally sacrificing them.”
“Do you think someone who kills is evil?” Dawn inquired curiously, while shaking her head in disgust, rapidly and strenuously blinking her eyes, and trying to force herself to focus and concentrate on her private conversation.
“We are all evil, in one form or another. Serial killers do on a small scale what governments do on a large one. They are a product of the times, and these are bloodthirsty times. Even psychopaths have emotions if you dig deep enough, but then again…maybe they don’t. People, this day and age, are brainwashed and programmed like a computer, and being nothing more than puppets. This nation, this country, is founded in violence. Violent delights tend to have violent ends. Madness is something rare in individuals, but in groups it is something ruling and revered. Killing is killing, whether done for duty, profit, or fun. Men murder themselves into this democracy. America is the land of opportunity for those who are truly sinister, while doing its best to kill off those who try their hardest to live right. Our country rewards its murderers, as long as they are the ones in position of power or authority.”
“If I tell you something, will you give me your solemn word that it will stay between us, and only us?” Dawn asked for his pledge of confidence, as she continued taking healthy sips from her large, silver flask.
“Yes, of course,” Richard agreed, seeing the seriousness on her face. He could tell that something was eating at her and didn’t want to add to her distress.
“I’m scared of Mathias. I think he may be a Satanist,” Dawn trusted, as she held her head, feeling dizzy and starting to lose her balance. She chocked it up as being symptomatic of dealing with stress and anxiety, not even considering the possibility that she could have been sabotaged or cursed. Her hypocrisy was apparent even to her, as it hadn’t bothered her in the slightest that Zeena had identified herself as an admitted and prideful Devil worshipper. Mathias, on the other hand, was an entirely different story and made her feel an entirely different way.
The twisted Crowleyan leader was watching from a distance, grinning from ear to ear, dressed like a European marquis. He wore a Menat amulet, which is believed to preserve in the dead the desire and ability to engage in sexual activities. The scarab-shaped medallion has phallic characteristics, and is comprised of bronze and copper. Hanging around his neck, the talisman is suspended over his back so that it could exert its aphrodisiac qualities directly on the spinal column.
“There are different sects of Satanism,” Richard said, smiling. “I can tell you a little bit about Satanism. It is undefiled wisdom instead of hypocritical self-deceit. It is power without charity. The perfect world most people seek shall never come to pass, and it’s going to get worse. The great itbox of our lives is when we gain the courage to re-baptize our evil qualities as our best qualities. Black-robed pagans would come to congregate at Stonehenge, leaving the Judeo-Christian archetype to advocate Satanism. They did this because they got sick and tired of seeing too many Christians who weren’t Christians, and resented God for blessing and saving only discriminately, helping those under the middle finger of favoritism. Satanism is the ultimate rebellion against God’s chuckling, and the freedom from his savagery.”
“I think he wants me. I think Mathias wants me in the worst way,” Dawn expressed in a volume for his ears only, as a concise cry for help, hoping that Richard might rescue her from her stalker’s unwanted advances.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Richard responded, as the trippy Dawn dropped to the floor, collapsing and crashing in coercion. “I’ve known that Grand Poobah for years. Trust me, he’s all bark and no bite,” he said grinning, as he looked down on the irresistibly appetizing, and now helplessly vulnerable, sexpot whom he was all too eager to claim as his own…at least for the night.
Dawn has another nightmare, under her defunct duress, where she dreams of 17th century France. It’s the year of our Lord, 1630, where 30,000 people were being vindictively interrogated for allegedly being werewolves. Much like the Salem Witch Trials 62 years later, these accused were regular folks, viciously labeled with false charges that were completely unfounded. These were peasants and tailors, and common, ordinary citizens, who paid dearly for the hysteria at that time. There were countless testimonies from those who claimed to have caught the chastised in compromising situations, like being covered in blood or seen with having fur from head to toe. This caused mass paranoia, which was confused for being a threatening epidemic. While crowds of self-righteous, pious Christians gathered around to cheer and applaud the executions, the law enforcers slaughtered these alleged heretics by driving blades through their hearts that were made of mercury (also known as quicksilver). This appalling exhibit of so-called justice would be only one of innumerable examples of Christians acting out in behavior that was the antithesis of, and inconsistent with, what the Bible actually teaches.
Dawn awoke the following morning, covered in minor cuts and moderate bruises, to find Richard vainly looking at himself in the mirror. She found herself in Mathias’s gigantic master bedroom, which was predominately green. Dawn immediately regretted the previous night of casual (and evidently rough) sex with Richard. There were steel handcuffs on the nightstand and blood stains on the sheets under her ass, which was incredibly sore. She had a horrendous, pulsating migraine from the hangover she had partially earned. Richard stood there, admiring his own reflection and gloating about his looks, while she held her agonized head in her trembling hands. He had drawn an inverted pentagram on the back of his left hand and in the center of his forehead, using a tube of black Cover Girl lipstick. She looked at him, both from behind and through the mirror’s eyes. She saw blood on his penis, that she could only assume was hers. She also noticed a large hunting knife laying on the dresser in front of him, which had blood both on the handle and on the blade. She couldn’t remember any details from the night they shared, but based on the way she felt and how things appeared, she had put it together that whatever happened must have been really bad.
“God, I'm so sexy,” the narcissist said aloud to himself, showing his egocentric side. “I should really be on TV. I want to be on TV.” There were traces of LSD on the table in front of the sofa. Dawn had vaguely remembered her twilight of meaningless sex with him, but knew nothing else about this human parasite and had no idea what he actually was.
“I'm sorry,” she apologized softly, still reeling from her splitting headache. “What's your name?”
“Richard,” he answered with shameless pride, as he grinned from ear to ear. “Richard Ramirez.”
Dawn finds herself suddenly overcome with fear, and gets the strong sense that she had made a horrible mistake. Before she could come up with an excuse to leave the room and flee from the compound, Richard had telepathically read her mind.
“Don’t even think about it,” he told her. “You’re not going anywhere, bitch. Well…at least not where you think.”
Dawn felt her heart pound practically out of her chest, as her teeth and nails grew long and jagged. Her beautiful blue eyes turned black, and her naked flesh became durable and much hairier; but, as usual, only she could see these changes. She sprung to her hands and knees, and was about to leap off the bed and violently pounce on him, when a dark specter appeared behind Richard’s back to protect him. This shadowy wraith was black as pitch, had gaping holes for eyes, and wore vintage, tethered threads. It hovered in the air while showing Dawn its own claws, which were much more threatening and terrifying than hers. The homicidal Cherokee was frozen in petrifying fear and couldn’t move or shift. Dawn growled at the malignant specter, trying to intimidate it by showing her teeth and giving the facade of being fierce, but her commendable attempts were futile. Linda’s ghost had also failed to show up, which was a sign to Dawn that she couldn’t kill Ramirez if she wanted to. As Dawn gazed at the heinous specter, and looked into its empty eyes, it made her do some soul searching. She had fancied herself as an honorable vigilante, but as she reflected on her growing bloodlust and relentless warpath, she wondered if she was as much of a monster as this evil specter was, which internally brought her terror like she had never known.
“Legitimate Satanists view these sociopaths as being the failures of Satanism,” Nikolas said, as she heard his voice again, even though he and Zeena were miles away and nowhere to be found. “Self-styled Satanists are despised not dignified. They’re perpetual losers or what we call pseudo-Satanists. We frown upon such experimenting enthusiasts, dabblers, and spectating posers. Those who commit atrocities in Satan’s name, are either unhinged, or radical psychos who have nothing to do with legitimate Satanic philosophy.”
“God, help me,” Dawn begged out loud, as she feared not just for her life, but for her very soul.
“Oh, my dear Dawn,” Richard said, smiling in amusement, “God doesn’t care about you. Matthew 10:34 and 35 tell us that God is not a god of peace but a god of war, who longs to turn loved ones against each other. That’s why your minister father raped you. That’s why God took Reuben away, took Donnie away, and why he split you and Cheri apart. This is the real Lord thy God. He couldn’t care less about you, little girl, but in fact takes pleasure in your pain and suffering.”
The broken Cherokee deeply regretted ever running away from Cheri. Though she still was unable to forgive her for how she had initially used her, she realized that Cheri wasn’t the monster that she believed herself to be. Cheri loved her, and Dawn knew that to be true, which was precisely why she was now missing her so desperately. If Cheri had been there, she could probably help Dawn fight fire with fire, but being delivered from Richard and his demon was far less important to her than just being with Cheri. She just wanted to be back in the pink Cambion’s arms again, but it was too late. Dawn had made her bed, and now had to sleep in it. She was trapped, now paying the consequences for her actions and reaping the whirlwind of her mistakes. Dawn also hurt over abandoning Wolf, who had been the best friend she ever had. She loved him dearly and they both knew each other to be kindred spirits. By leaving him, she left a big part of herself. She worried about him now, and only hoped that Cheri was taking care of him on her behalf. Dawn was a renegade with a cause, but had her impetuous behavior been worth her own misery and now the suffering of those she loved? She hadn’t expected to ever love again, after losing her precious Reuben, but now her angry rebellion towards God had hurt two souls whom she adored and would gladly die for.
“Your dyke friend can’t save you either,” Richard confirmed, once again proving that he could telepathically read her thoughts, whether she wanted him to or not. “You and I, baby…we’re going on a little trip, which isn’t open for debate or discussion, so…you might as well relax and enjoy the ride, like you did last night,” he said, grinning like a wild hyena, pleased with himself and his swooning and wooing talents.
Dawn was on the middle bed, and as her eyes wandered around the enormous room, she spotted the shrine, which frightened her far more than Richard’s specter. The altar was moderate, but considerably creepy. It was basically a wooden platform, covered with a black silk tablecloth to cushion and protect what laid atop. There was a crimson idol of Baphomet in the center, surrounded by a skull mala, a stained-glass thunderbolt, a green baboon fetish, a lizard totem, a crystal ball with a deon inside, a metal thunderbolt, and a three-dimensional chaosphere in the bottom right hand corner. Then, in the middle of it all, was a framed photograph of Dawn.
She thought back when she had asked Cheri if they could have their picture taken together, and Cheri declined. As stunning a woman as Cheri was, her self-image was low and she wasn’t thrilled with, or fond of, the idea of having photographic mementos or souvenirs of what she perceived to be her ugliness. Dawn still couldn’t budge a muscle, as she posed like a gargoyle, scrutinizing the executioner in progress. Suddenly, Joy’s curse kicked in full gear, and Dawn became infected with an infirmity that took all the fight out of her. She slowly began to fade, as her eyes grew heavy, her heart slowed, and she fell reluctantly into the pitch darkness.
SEPTEMBER 7, 1968
SATURDAY
RED MOON
Before the 1968 Miss America Pageant, most Americans had never heard of the women's liberation movement. But on this day in history, a protest outside the Miss America Pageant, at the Atlantic City Convention Center, drew the nation's eye. As millions of viewers tuned in to watch the pageant, they witnessed nearly 400 women carrying signs reading, No More Beauty Standards and Welcome to the Cattle Auction, as they decried the concept of beauty contests.
At the center of this commotion was the Freedom Can, a trash receptacle into which women threw high heels, girdles, dish detergent, curlers, Playboy magazines, and bras, calling them instruments of female torture. Although these protesters had intended to burn the items, they were unsuccessful in obtaining a fire permit. In the end, no bras ever went up in flames. This, however, didn't stop the protesters from earning a nickname that would stick well into the 1970s and beyond: bra burners. This term was coined by the reporters covering the women's liberation protest, who compared their movement to anti-war protesters who publicly burned draft cards and flags. These women, as with most civil rights demonstrators, were beaten mercilessly by the police and treated even worse by the traditionally corrupt court system. Linda was among these protesters, and was an avid activist for women’s liberation, which was a bit hypocritical, considering how easy it was for her to spread her legs for any man who showed interest.
Linda relished in remembering how Dawn had been born under a full moon…a night not unlike this night. Those who had escaped the police abuse and apprehension, were celebrating now underneath the stars, drinking, getting stoned, and partying with anyone regardless of consent. The full moon is shining its silver beams upon the shadows of the open field, where the orgy is taking place. Linda is grasping a silver coin in her left hand, as if for dear life, while her seminary boyfriend…along with select family members and friends…take turns mercilessly raping her in their preferred holes. The Doors hit song, Back Door Man, is playing over the radio. Mingan Moon is wearing a lizard-skin, buttoned-down shirt that he had lifted from a luxurious retail outlet.
JANUARY 13, 1979
BIRCH MOON
As Cheri rolls on down the highway, in her blue 1975 Dodge Ram Van 150, the Little River Band song, Lady, plays over the automotive stereo. A full moon lights the night sky above, as if there to guide their path. Wolf is sitting there, behind and beside Cheri’s seat, keeping her company and making sure she stays alert. He looks sad, as if pessimistic about the outcome of their determined journey. Cheri tries to think positive, as they unknowingly drive directly into the age of iniquity. Cheri brings her finger up to her lips, that has the moonstone ring, and places the crystal in her mouth. As she sucks on it, like it was a piece of hard candy, she sees the future and it terrifies her.
