The Devil's Heart

NOON, FRIDAY

Jane Ann heard the clock chime its chilling message. Noon. Odd, she thought, I've always loved that old clock. Now, I hate it. Then from the outside, she heard a low chanting coming from the center of the small, doomed town, growing stronger and louder with each heartbeat. 5he listened until she could make out the words.

"Praise him that is our Master," they chanted. "Now the Christian whore dies. Praise the Hooved One."

The chant was repeated, over and over, until it became a maddened drone in Jane Ann's head. She looked for the mist that was Balon, and was not surprised to find him gone. He had warned her she would have to face some of he ordeal alone. She stood up, moving to the front door. She had taken a long hot bath, fixed her hair, and done her nails. She had put on her best dress, her best jewelry, and now stood facing the door, her Bible in her hand.

Waiting.

"Why does this have to be?" Miles asked the misty face of Balon.

The mist stirred but projected no reply. "I will, if not gladly, certainly willingly take her place," Wade said. "And I know I speak for all here, we've all talked about it."

"That cannot be."

"Why, for God's sake?" Anita asked.

"Precisely the reason."

"Sam, you're speaking in riddles," Miles accused him.

"No. You are perceiving them as puzzles, that's all."

"She's dying for us, isn't she, Sam?" Doris asked.

"Yes."

"But there is more to it than that, isn't there, Sam?" Wade asked.

"Yes."

"She's dying for you, isn't she, Sam?" Miles' words were softly spoken, and not accusatory.

When Balon thrust his reply, the one word was charged with emotion: "Yes!"

The long filthy line of Satanists stopped in front of the house. The chanting ceased. The town grew quiet.

"Hey, bitch!" a man's husky voice called. "Get your ass out of that house. It's your time."

"Yeah," another called. "And you might as well step out of them panties 'fore you do, 'cause you gonna be out of them damn quick."

Ugly laughter rang in Jane Ann's ears.

The petite lady stepped out of her house, onto the porch, facing the ugly crowd. She was jerked from the porch, seized by dirty, rough hands, manhandled profanely. As if envious of her neat appearance, a woman reached out and quickly mussed her hair. Hard male hands roamed over her body.

"Take her to the circle of stones," Jean Zagone commanded. "The Digging." She stood in front of Jane Ann, hate shining from her dark eyes. She spat in Jane Ann's face, the spittle dripping from the smaller woman's cheek. "It's going to be fun listening to you beg, Christian cunt."

Jane Ann's reply was calm. "That will never happen. I can't say I won't scream. But I can assure you, with the Love of God in my heart, I will never beg."

Jean slapped her, her hard hand rocking the woman backward. "Take her."

Laying on the ridge facing the house, something very cold touched Sam's heart. His big hands gripped the rifle until his fingers ached from the strain. "Mother," he whispered.

The scene in Whitfield was suddenly played before his eves, a five-second burst of reality. Then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Sam put his forehead on the ground and allowed himself the denied luxury of tears.

A rifle shot from the house, spitting dirt onto his face, brought him back to his own reality.

The young man cut his eyes upward. "I guess You have Your reasons."

She wondered how long she had been here. Wondered if it was hours, or days. Another man fell on her bruised nakedness, spreading her legs, forcing his way into her, grunting his dubious pleasure as he worked in and out of her. Jane Ann had learned early on that to fight them only meant more pain, with the end result being the same. Better not to resist.

She opened her eyes, watching the last of the sun's rays fade in colors beyond the western horizon. She'd stopped counting the men assaulting her when she reached twenty, and there had been many more after that.

Jake, Jean Zagone's foreman, had been the first, and he had been furious when she did not cry out as he assaulted her.

"Come on, bitch!" he had yelled, plunging his maleness into her. "I bet you ain't never had this much meat before."

And she had made a mistake by saying, "My first husband was bigger."

That had gotten her a hard fist on the jaw.

Jake had then proceeded to tell her—in great detail, with many four-letter words—what he would do to make her beg … later. This was bad enough, Jane Ann thought; she was not at all looking forward to Jake's promise.

The man lunging at her shivered as he ejaculated, and she felt the wetness of him on her thighs, and then the coolness of approaching night fanned her nakedness. Still abnormally warm for this time of year, she thought, then fought to keep a smile from her lips. How ludicrous, she thought. I am lying here on the ground, naked and sore from the assault of … only God knows how many men, wondering what is next for me, and thinking about the weather. I must be going insane.

But she knew she was not losing her mind; knew she had been, as so many prolonged rape victims, learning to detach herself from reality.

She was left alone for a time, lying on the ground next to the dark altar. Someone tossed a stinking rag of a blanket over her, and she closed her eyes.

She must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes, returning to her world of pain, it was fully dark, the circle of stones torch-lit. Someone kicked her on the buttocks with a sharp-pointed boot. She looked up into he hard, evil eyes of Jake. She let her eyes drift downward to his erect maleness. He held the throbbing organ in one hand, stroking it.

"Get up," he ordered. "And bend over that altar, whore. I'm gonna shove this meat up where I think your God lives. This'll make you beg to Him."

Painfully, stiffly, Jane Ann rose to her feet, looking around her. The crowd had swelled to several hundred men and women, with more arriving each minute. But it was a silent, sullen gathering watching her.

Jake reached out, fondling Jane Ann's breasts, brutally twisting the nipples. She flinched, but made no sound. "Real gutsy gal." He grinned nastily.

He pushed her face down on the altar, her body bent at the waist. Male hands grabbed her wrists, holding her firm. She felt the smaller hands of a woman parting the cheeks of her buttocks, then something hot and hard pushing at her anus.

A moment later, her screams were echoing over the circle of stones, mingling with the dirty laughter of the now huge crowd. She screamed out her pain and humiliation.

But she would not beg.