had committed suicide with a pill; exactly what it contained, forensic experts would soon inform them. Did he believe there would now be a stop to the assaults? The police would be investigating all avenues, along with agents from the FBI.
He promised that new information would be forthcoming as they had it. He reminded the citizens of Boston and environs that they were a large and important city and never immune to harm; whether they had stopped the assaults or not, residents should always be vigilant.
As the news rolled to the next story, Vickie was certain that she heard someone at the building’s front door.
She quickly switched off the television—Griffin didn’t need to hear about the night he had experienced.
She switched into what she hoped was a truly sexy pose.
She heard the key in the lock. And the door opened.
For a split second, she froze.
And then she let out a scream.
* * *
At first, Alex Maple stared in disbelief at the man—the creature?—who came toward him. His mind was not working at all well, he determined.
Why would it be working well? He’d been kidnapped; he was a prisoner in a defunct loony bin!
Get it together, Alex. Survive! he told himself.
So. Figure, yes, figure—that was safe to say. The figure coming toward him was wearing something like a KKK outfit—only it was bloodred and trimmed with strange black markings.
“Ah, Professor! You are awake—ready to join us!” the figure said.
It spoke; it moved. It appeared to be human.
Man.
Alex fought for reason and reaction—for the ability to move his mouth and form words.
“Join what? Who are you? Why am I here?” he managed to ask.
The man came closer.
“I am the high priest,” the man told him. His face was more or less covered by a mask that appeared to be loosely connected to his conical red hood. Alex could see the man’s eyes, though. They weren’t burning red or anything—they were just dark brown.
“I am the high priest, Professor, and you will join with us.”
Alex blinked. It would be laughable if it weren’t for...
For the chains that held him.
For the headless body that lay crumpled in the corner, with rats destroying it.
“I’m sorry, join with you for...what?”
“The resurrection.”
“The resurrection of what?”
“You, sir, are not just going to join us, you see. You are going to help us!” the high priest said.
“Help you...?”
“Well, we’re going to bring Satan to earth, sir! More specifically, we’re going to bring Satan to Boston. And you, Professor, are the man with the knowledge to help us do it.”
He couldn’t see the man’s mouth, but he was sure that he smiled.
Did this dude know how ridiculous his words were?
“Yes, you are the man!”
What if I refuse?
Alex wasn’t exactly an atheist. He considered himself a deist, believing in a higher power, but not in all the myth that went along with it—through any religion.
Satan wasn’t real to Alex, and, therefore, he couldn’t be summoned.
But...
He didn’t bother to ask what happened to him if he refused. He knew.
He could see the instruments of medicine, surgery—and torture.
He could see the rat-riddled body in the corner.
“How intriguing,” he said. “I assume you believe that I will somehow be able to find the proper rites and means by which to do this through historical research?”
“Oh, yes. You see, Satan has come to Massachusetts before,” the high priest said. “You will bring him again.”
“Great challenge!” Alex said, trying to put some enthusiasm into his words.
Find me, Vickie, find me, for the love of God. Yes, there is some kind of a God, I do believe that, Vickie, find me, find me...
The high priest spoke, apparently accepting Alex’s words.
“Indeed! Yes, hail Satan! He has lived among us before. Through you, he will return. All hail! Satan shall return!” The high priest stepped forward, a key in his hand. He was going to free Alex.
Free, if he was free...
He was skinny, but he was no weakling. He could try to overpower this man...
“Hail Satan! Hail Satan!”
It was a chant. Alex looked up; there were several people there now, in the doorway to the old operating room. They were all in the red capes and masked hoods.
He could not fight...
“Come, brother!” the high priest said. “We will initiate you by letting you witness our sacrifice!”
He was going to see a sacrifice. Please, let it be a chicken! he thought.
It wasn’t going to be a chicken.
He suddenly found prayer, prayers he had known as a kid.
Please God, he prayed silently, don’t let the sacrifice be me.
* * *
“Vickie!”
Griffin suddenly came bursting into the room, pushing past the unknown man who had stood in the doorway when it had opened.
“Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhhh!” Vickie cried.
She felt like an absolute idiot—no idea what to do, how to react. She was sitting on the sofa, naked and in heels, and Griffin was with Craig Rockwell, one of Griffin’s closest friends—and coworker!
A man she had met just once!
Pillow! She grabbed a pillow and pressed it before her.
Griffin was doing his best to block her, and Rocky and Devin Lyle were backing away, excusing themselves awkwardly—and laughing, certainly.
She wanted to disappear. To sink beneath the floorboards.
Vickie
