Dark Rite

Chapter 5

It was the same dream again. Cassie lay bound on a table, candlelight flickering across her naked body. Ghostly figures circled her, chanting in low tones. She never quite knew what they were saying. The words seemed to dangle there just beyond the edge of comprehension. Somewhere a drum pounded out a slow, deep, relentless beat.

She thrashed about, trying to free herself, but the bonds held tight. Her breath came in gasps, drowning out the drone of the pale figures that drew ever closer. She wanted to pull away, but how did one do that when they were all around you?

The figures never touched her in the dreams, but the words seemed to. It was as if the sounds had substance, and as the chanting reached a crescendo, she felt cold, dry hands caress her. She pressed her knees together and tried to pull her legs up as the invisible hands traced the curves of her flesh, moving ever downward, but her bonds held fast. A stray tear trickled down her cheek as one of the figures leaned in close and, for the first time, she recognized a face.

She started awake, sweat pouring down her face and soaking her pillow. Her t-shirt clung tightly to her. She looked around her bedroom, taking in the cheap paneling, the secondhand lamp, and the dollar store kitsch, reassuring herself that, once again, it had been a dream. Out of habit, she checked her wrists for chafing, but they were fine.

The chafing had only happened once, the first time she'd had the dream. That had been the one and only time she'd let Carl talk her into smoking with him. He'd assured her it was weed, but he must have added something to it because she almost immediately lost consciousness, suffered through the first of these awful nightmares, and awoke in her bed hours later. Carl said she'd gotten sick and he'd taken her home, but she'd been so freaked out she'd driven two hours to the E.R. in Kingsville to get a rape exam. The results had been negative. That had been a relief, but it still left the chafing around her wrists and ankles. He might not have raped her, but he sure as hell had drugged her, tied her up, and done something perverted. No other explanation made sense.

After that, she'd tried to break things off with him, but he wouldn't listen. He kept coming around as if nothing had happened. Stranger still, everyone in town assured her that Carl was a good boy and just needed her to set him straight. Why the population of Wallen's Gap seemed to have a stake in their relationship was beyond her. Between Carl's persistence, or arrogance, and the not-so-gentle prodding of every adult in her life, she'd finally given in. Why couldn't she stand up for herself? That counselor lady had been no help at all. Life in Wallen's Gap was like living in a fish bowl. Everyone knew too much about her business.

That wasn't entirely true. There was the new guy, Andrew Shipman's son. What was his name? Grant? He'd been looking at that awful book…

And then her stomach lurched and she felt suddenly dizzy. Memories of the dream returned and she remembered the face she'd recognized.

“I need to talk to Grant Shipman,” she whispered to herself. She glanced at the digital alarm clock beside her bed. It was only 11:30. Late, but not too awful late if she hurried. From the next room, Daddy's drunken snores told her he wouldn't wake before morning.

She slipped into jeans, flip flops, and a hooded sweatshirt, grabbed her purse and keys, and tiptoed down the hall and out the front door. The cool night air calmed her nerves, but she felt vulnerable out in the dark. The waxing moon afforded enough light to see that Daddy had parked his truck on the street and didn’t block her in like he so often did when he tried to keep her home.

She slipped into her beat up Honda Accord, which she always parked facing downhill for occasions such as this, put it in neutral, and coasted down the road. When she was well away from home, she fired up the engine, flipped on the headlights, and headed for the Shipman cabin.

As she drove, she thought about what she would say to Grant. Hi there, I've been dreaming about your daddy stripping me naked and tying me to a table. That would go over well. It didn't matter. She'd tell him the truth and trust him to understand. Her thoughts returned to the book she'd seen him reading in the diner. She hadn't realized it then, but there was something about it that reminded her of the dreams. Maybe she would find the answer.

The Shipman place lay at the end of a narrow dirt road that wound through a hollow at the foot of Clay Mountain. Last time she'd gone up here was two years ago with a boy from school, but she’d lost her nerve when his hands wandered too far. She hadn't been back since, but the way remained familiar. Things didn't change much in Wallen's Gap.

She rounded a curve and had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting an old Ford F-250 that was blocking the road. The Honda skidded to a halt inches from the truck, sending up a cloud of dust.

“What in the holy name of Jesus?” Who would park their truck sideways across the road? There couldn't be more than two feet on a side to spare. She looked up at the empty cab. Whoever it was had abandoned the vehicle. Where had they gone? The dark thoughts in her mind manufactured all kinds of deadly scenarios. Had something happened to them.

Someone rapped on her window and she shrieked in fright.

“Sorry bout that, Cass. I didn't mean to scare you.”

She turned to see Cliff Stallard leaning down to look through her window, his bulk straining the buttons of his faded chambray shirt. His grin said he was anything but sorry.

“Why are you blocking the road?” She managed to put some heat into her words despite the fright he had given her.

“Run out of gas. Saw I was on fumes, tried to turn around, and, wouldn't you know it? Died right here in the middle of the road.” He paused. “What are you doing up here?”

“Oh. I needed to talk to Grant.”

“Grant, is it? You already know him so good that you come see him in the middle of the night?” He leered, his tobacco-stained teeth gray in the dim light. “That ain't a good idea, Cass. What if people found out?”

“No, it's not like that.” She was suddenly flustered. Even at midnight she couldn't get a modicum of privacy in this town.

“Daddy's gonna be here in a few minutes to bring me some gas. I think it would be a good idea if you was gone when he gets here, him being the pastor and all.”

Cassie looked again at the big truck blocking the way, and nodded. “I suppose you're right.” She turned the Honda around and headed back down the road, shame and impotent rage welling inside her. She wasn't going to give up. She had to find out the truth, and she believed Grant held the key.

At the end of the dirt road, Clay Mountain silhouetted like a sleeping giant behind her, she paused. Where the dirt met the tarmac there was nothing but trees to left and right. But on the opposite side of the road, about fifty yards to the left, was a turnoff. One of those places for people to pull over and rest if they were too tired to continue on their journey or something.

Cassie drove to it, pulled up close to the trees and parked in deep shadow. She killed her engine and lights and sat there, waiting. Why had Cliff been up at the Shipman cabin? And who runs out of gas like that, halfway through a three-point turn? Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and still no sign of Pastor Edwin and the gas he was supposed to be bringing. It shouldn't take this long. After thirty minutes, Cassie's nerves began to jangle like a cold hand creeping up her spine. She thought about walking through the woods to get up to the cabin, but that was a long way and she was likely to get lost.

After forty five minutes her nerves got the better of her and she was about to start up the car and go home when headlights lit the distance, coming from Wallen's Gap. The lights blinded her as they swelled up, painting the trees in bight greens, before zooming straight past the turnoff to Grant’s cabin and barrelling on down the road. Cassie let out a breath she’d been unaware she was holding and fired up the battered Honda to head back home. Something very strange was happening and it scared her to think what it might be.