Dark Fugitive, page 9
part #2 of Nightshade Series
“Don't leave after the service,” Joy authoritatively requested. “We want a chance to chat with you.” Dawn bowed her head, not to nod in agreement, but to notice Joy’s hand boldly resting on her inner thigh. Dawn would have normally brushed the hand off in protest, but she was hypnotized and captivated by Joy’s many rings on her left hand. She had one on every finger, which each held a different gemstone.
“The seven deadly sins,” the pastor continued his unconventional yet Biblically supported sermon, “are allegedly lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. This is what we’re told. This, however, is not Scriptural. Nowhere in the Bible does it refer to seven deadly sins. In fact, the Bible clearly states that all sin is considered equal and forgiven, in God’s eyes…well, that is, unless you blaspheme his Holy Spirit. Mark 7:21-23 says that adultery, theft, murder, envy, fraud, malice, pride and stupidity are the eight deadly sins. Then, Proverbs 6:16-19 professes that there are six deadly sins, which are lust, deceit, murder, malice, embracing evil, and cruel intentions. So, the Bible, as usual, is all over the map on its claims.”
When the service had wrapped, and the congregation was dispersing and returning to their cars to go their separate ways, the three young women made their way outside to patiently wait for Dawn to follow in their shadow. Dawn had already chosen to not rush to leave the sanctuary, as she wanted to give orthodox Christianity one last chance before entirely sweeping that faith under the rug.
“Excuse me, pastor,” she called out, “can I have an audience with you for a moment?”
The pastor graciously agreed and sat down alongside Dawn, at the end of one of the first pews, closest to the pious stage. Wolf, once again sat in silence, but kept a close eye on their surroundings, as he didn’t trust anyone but Dawn. Wolf was perceptive enough to tell that there was something off with this minister, but as long as the priest wasn’t an immediate threat to her, he didn’t care enough to attack the man. Wolf picked his battles, and didn’t lunge at someone purely because they were a fraud. If he did, he wouldn’t have any time to breathe, since he’d have to go after most of mankind. Dawn kept much of the details private, but summarized her plagued life in a brusque, yet informative, disclose. She was looking for consolation from this perfidious and fickle evangelist, hoping that he might somehow find a way to reinvigorate the shred of faith that she once felt…or at least wanted to feel.
“It’s killing me, because if I stop believing in God, then I can’t likely expect to see my Reuben and our baby in Heaven…and that is a thought that is just too painful to swallow,” she said, while fighting back the flow of tears that struggled to float to the surface.
“Bless your heart,” he told the distressed Dawn. “You are so sweet, but so naive. The Bible tells us, in Matthew 18:18, that whatever we lose on earth, will still be lost in Heaven. Christians like to delude themselves in buying this fairy tale that God is benevolent enough to let us reconcile, reunite, and reconnect with our loved ones in the afterlife. But, according to the Gospel, if you really study it, God isn’t nearly that romantic or empathetic,” he told her, deliberately crushing her dreams and hopes, taking twisted delight in murdering what was left of her to snuff.
Dawn holds her ears like a severe autistic, pressing her palms against the sides of her throbbing and troubled head. She squints her eyes hard, as if trying to force her own thoughts out of her disturbed mind. She had needed comforting reassurance, but instead got religious regurgitation. She hated what the perverse preacher was saying to her, but had little to no doubt that he was telling the truth. She wanted to trust that the Bible’s words were more loving than that, but she had suffered enough rude awakenings and wake-up calls to know differently.
“My head hurts,” she told him, while really talking about her heart.
“Sometimes, the mind is a terrible thing,” he reaffirmed. “Matthew 10:16 says, behold, I send you out as sheep amongst the wolves,” the radical preacher says to Dawn. “Psalm 90:10 then goes onto say that, the best of our days are promised to bring us toil, trouble, and sorrow, and then we die. This is the loving God that is in the Bible; a God who deliberately puts us in the path of danger, sets out to fill our lives with pain, and then tops it all off with a bitter slice of death. I believe in God. I do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be a man of the cloth. But, don’t be fooled into buying this Judeo-Christian propaganda that God is kind. There are plenty examples in the Bible that point to the contrary, and all you really have to do is look at the Christian church to find ruthlessness and hatred.”
“No offense,” Dawn began, “but, you really don’t strike me as being God-friendly.”
“No offense taken,” he confessed, “and you’re partially right.”
“Then why are you a fundamentalist preacher at all?” she asked him. “Why the charade?”
“I believe in God, but I’m not naive or disillusioned. I don’t set out to trick my sheep, or pretend that God is something he’s not. This world is cruel, and the Messiah is no different. I do what I do, because it’s important to me to be a spokesperson of the truth…the real truth.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll burn in Hell for saying that?” she questioned.
“John 11:26 tells us that all we have to do is believe in him, and we will never perish. As I said, I believe in God. I just know he’s a prick. Most Americans think that our founding fathers were Christians, but that’s simply not the case. Ben Franklin, for example, was a member of The Hellfire Club, and considered himself a Satanist. When he first discovered electricity, and began to show the extent of its benefits and capabilities, people thought he was a witch. Ironically enough, Ben’s mother was one of the women who was initially accused of witchcraft, just before the biased Salem Witch Trials of 1692. She just happened to convince them otherwise, at the last minute, before the other twenty were unjustly murdered.”
Dawn suppressed the darker side of her personality, resisting the tempting opportunity to take out this execrable example of Modern-American Christianity.
“Hang in there,” the knockoff clergyman advised, while he cringes around Wolf, who is staring up at him with deadly silence. “Remember what Jeremiah 29:11 promises us. God has a plan to prosper you and not harm you, and to give you hope and a future. Hang in there.”
Dawn thanked the contradictory minister for his time in hearing her out, then walked down the center isle to the exit doors. As Dawn and Wolf stepped into the blinding daylight, she was quickly pulled aside. Her conversation with the eerie trinity would continue right there, on the left side of the brick-and-mortar house of the Savior.
“Merry meet,” Joy said to Dawn.
“Namaste,” Dawn said in return, confused on how to interpret these human oddities, but nonetheless making an effort to be well-mannered and respectful.
They proceeded to tell Dawn that they are members of a coven called, The Golden Veil, which worship the ancient horned god, Osiris, and the moon goddess, Isis, and is run by a glorified guru whom they call, The Beast. They spoke about this, as if their secret club was completely normal and common. There were no signs of shame or suspicion on any of the three girls’ faces. To them, this Satanic coven was a regular and acceptable affiliation.
“But you're Christians?” Dawn said, confused. “You're at a Christian church.”
“No, no,” Bonnie told her. “We only come here, on occasion, for a witch hunt.”
“Yeah,” Maria corroborated. “We're just here on a witch hunt.”
The one who seemed to be their spokesperson, perceived that they were only further confusing Dawn. “We don't mean, witch hunt, as in looking for those to burn at the stake,” Joy clarified. “We use the term to describe how we visit churches, like this one, and look for those whom we feel are doubting their faith or scoffing at what the preacher is teaching. We look for those who are lonely, bitter, damaged, or angry, and seduce them with carnal temptations like sex or drugs. That’s when we intervene and snatch the person away from Jehovah, bringing them into our sacred Circle.”
“I see,” Dawn said. “So, what do you want with me? Do I seem weak to you?” she asked their leader, as she and Wolf smiled at each other through eye contact.
“No,” Joy answered, who was a few years Dawn's elder. “Not at all. Just the opposite, in fact. Isis, our goddess, is an ancient symbol of Luna,” she began, while showing Dawn the eerie, pewter amulet hanging from the chain around her neck, which was carved in the shape of a crescent moon that cradled a small five-pointed star. “She is also a symbol of transformation.”
“I don't understand?” Dawn said, playing dumb to protect herself.
“I think you do,” Joy told her. “We can see you for what you are,” she said, “and we approve. We think you’re divine, and want you to join our Circle.” Joy really just wanted Dawn for the power she could bring to the table, not her as a person. She slipped Dawn a folded piece of paper that had a coded message on it, which was basically regular English written backwards. It gave directions on how to get to a Moon Lodge, where they were currently retreating.
“You should come,” the three girls told Dawn, in unison, which further creeped her out.
“Seriously,” Joy reiterated, “you should come. Your wolf is welcome to,” she offered, subtly inviting both her pet and her inner demon.
“I don’t even know what a Moon Lodge is,” Dawn confessed.
“All you need to know is that it’s a place where there is no inhibition or repression, just indulgence and relaxation,” Joy explained. “The moon is a symbol of the unconscious, where the Divine dwells…and the lodge represents relief from the stress, interruption, and responsibilities of daily life.”
“The moon is a portal to our subconscious and a mirror to our instincts, intuitions, and deepest emotions,” Bonnie added.
“The sun gives you carcinoma,” Maria further educated, “while the moon offers nothing but comfort and power. Even the tides of the ocean, and of our womb, listen to its’ wisdom. Farmers plant and harvest according to the lunar phases,” Maria elaborated, speaking of the moon as if it were God himself.
Dawn looked down and noticed that all three girls had identical tattoos on the web of their left hands. Joy perceived this, and responded by raising her limp wrist to Dawn, as if believing herself to be a regal princess who expected the back of her hand to be kissed. Dawn took her hand into her own, and leaned over to get a closer look at the intricate tattoo, which possessed a rune-like design.
“It’s called the Seal of Babylon,” Joy educated her, while reading her mind. The tattoo was a seven-pointed star, known as the Septogram, originally coined by the late Satan worshipper, Aleister Crowley. “Babylon is considered to be the mother of abominations, or the great harlot,” Joy proudly added.
“You can be a whore too,” Maria told Dawn, just as boastfully, as she came up from behind and wrapped her arms around Joy’s neck.
“You should come to the Moon Lodge,” Bonnie repeated. “You could have a tattoo like this too. Come be with us, and meet Vaingory.”
“Yes,” Joy agreed, grinning at Dawn, while gently biting the tip of her forefinger and subtly twisting her hips. “Master Vaingory would go absolutely crazy for you.”
“You should come,” Maria said.
“Yes,” Joy again agreed. “You should come.”
She was torn between seeing these vixens as coyotes and giving these tricksters the benefit of the doubt. “Thank you for the kind invite,” Dawn politely appreciated. “I will consider it.”
Joy, Maria, and Bonnie all embraced Dawn with warm hugs, and even showed Wolf some love, who surprisingly let them. They said their farewells and left Dawn to consider their offer, which of course she never did. She did feel forsaken by Jehovah, and the girls had picked up on that vibe, but Dawn was no candidate for recruitment. She was vulnerable, but not impressionable. She longed to belong, but was too strong to be gullible and too sharp to be someone’s prey. Once Dawn and Wolf were out of sight, the three witches hold hands and chant.
“By the power of three, let her see, that we are the only place to be.” They repeated this prayer three times, with their eyes closed as if in deep meditation. They did this as a precaution, just in case Dawn chose not to take them up on their invite to the exclusive spa resort.
Agent Shelling has commissioned a Catholic priest to consecrate a special bullet. As he patiently waited there at the church, for the collared clergyman to fulfill his request, the FBI crusader was distracted with an emotional call. He received a distressing message on his pager, which demanded his prompt response. Stepping outside the church, he was overwrought with the immediate need to find a pay phone, which he spotted across the street, at a gas station. Moments later, he found himself on the phone with William’s mother. His sister was inconsolable, having just gotten word from her doctor that she had been diagnosed with a brain aneurism that was both positioned and shaped in a way, which made it impossible to treat or correct with surgery.
“I will track her,” he swore to his tortured sister. “I will bring the bitch to justice. William will be avenged. I will make sure she serves a life sentence, without parole, in a maximum security prison,” he carelessly pledged to the victim’s mother, lying through his teeth, while having every intention of putting Dawn in the ground himself.
The noctivagant drifter and her trusty companion happened upon a hidden lake, which was a well-kept secret in old El Paso. This was a body of water which was nestled between I-10 and Loop 375. This Portland Cement Reservoir wasn’t anything compared to the Trail of the Rio Grande, but it sufficed in serving its purpose. After they paused to quench their hydration, Dawn washed her hair in the waterhole, while Wolf romped in the refreshing pool. On their way back to the road, Dawn kneeled down to suck up some drops of liquid nourishment from one of Wolf’s paw-prints. The magnificent white wolf was soaked in the earth’s tears, and had left his mark in the soil…as well as in Dawn’s heart. Dawn recalled one of the countless sermons she grew up listening to. She remembered her father preaching on Jeremiah 17:9, which states that the heart is wicked and deceitful, to the degree that we can’t know it…but this is one of those exceptional Bible verses that are entirely false and evidently contributed by man, not God. A heart is only wicked if its owner is heartless. Dawn knew her heart better than anyone, and there was nothing deceptive about it.
The scantily clad Dawn continued doing whatever was necessary to not only keep herself going, but more importantly, to make sure that Wolf was properly cared for. God may have taken Reuben’s boy away from her, but she wasn’t going to let him take her Wolf away. She had no morals or limits anymore, and was capable of just about anything, but the difference between her and women like Heather was that she didn’t enjoy it. Dawn had become a monster, but it was a monster that brought her shame and remorse. She would occasionally have nightmares, where Wolf would wake up to find her screaming or weeping in her sleep. She didn’t get off on hurting others, but only did it for survival. Dawn wasn’t heartless, but actually died a little more inside every time she took a life. She, however, couldn’t deny that she did find pleasure and satisfaction in killing those who were unquestionably and inherently wicked. In this case, each and every time she got to rid the planet of another one, it got easier and more fun.
OCTOBER 16, 1978
SOLAR ECLIPSE
HUNTER’S MOON
They eventually found themselves in the college town of Midland, where a gothic carnival was in progress. Dawn arrived at the fiesta early, before it was open to the public. She passed a few hotrods that caught her eye, like the candy apple, 1970 AMC Javelin, and the yellow and black 1970 Plymouth AAR Cuda 340. She casually walked in, without any objection, or anyone demanding that she have a ticket, mainly because of her intimidating look and fierce companion. No one looked at Wolf with disdain or distemper, since they were in an environment that welcomed the macabre and mysterious. However, though Dawn and Wolf fit well and blended in, the carnies were also wise enough not to fuck with them. As Dawn wandered and browsed through the sensational experience of the dark circus, she came upon a sideshow. As she began to step through the curtains to enter the eerie attraction, a midget approached her. The little person introduced himself as, Imp.
“I’m actually a regular dwarf,” he clarified. “It just makes me look more special, if I go by the mythological label.”
Imp took it upon himself to be Dawn’s guide through the covered spectacle of the obscene and obscure. She was repulsed as he showed her these outcasts, all locked away in captivity, while they waited to be called upon for their next demeaning performance. These weren’t monsters, but human beings who had just been dealt a shitty hand, which Dawn could certainly relate. These freaks each had a steel cage, with a metal name tag on the bottom of their bars, identifying them by their character name. Imp explained their personas and conditions, as they came up to each one.
“This is Elven,” he told her. “His ears are naturally pointed. He was born with a genetic malformation, which mutated the placement and shape of his external ears.”
Dawn saw that Elven was crouching in the corner, showing Dawn his profile of sadness. He was naked from the waist up, and she could see many linear scars on his arms. He wore green tights which were patterned and designed to look like leaves.
“Why does he look all cut up?” she asked Imp.
“They used to let him have a bow and arrow, to go with his fictional alias, but we had to omit that part of the illusion, because he was using the sharp end of the arrow to self-mutilate. He would have attacked his ears instead, to spare him the mockery and ridicule he receives…but the thought of being deaf frightens him more than being laughed at.”
