The Paradise Prophecy

42

What’re you gonna do to her?” Zack asked.

Jonathan Beelzebub Beel flicked his gaze toward the annoying little insect, his voice weary with contempt. “Are you still here?”

“I’m just curious, is all.”

“I’m beginning to think Belial didn’t do a thorough enough job when she turned you. Or are all of her drudges so nettlesome?”

“What does that mean?”

“Never mind,” Beelzebub said, and waved a hand at him dismissively. “Just sit the girl on the bed, then go wait in the hall.”

Beelzebub had been living above the club for several months now. He had a house in Bel Air and a penthouse in Century City, but he preferred the atmosphere of 904. He particularly enjoyed the feel of the relentless beat that seeped up through the floor all day and night. It made him feel alive.

“I had to give her a little taste,” Zack told him. “She didn’t want to at first, but she finally-”

“Didn’t I just tell you to go?”

“Okay, okay.” The insect took the girl by the shoulders and led her to the bed. She was indeed high. A little too high. And Beelzebub wished he’d simply handled the matter himself.

But he was a busy man. He had been using his network of media outlets to help fan the flames of insurrection around the world (humans believed anything they saw on TV) and the task was often difficult and time-consuming. He had people to help him, of course, but he’d always been a hands-on kind of guy.

Now he wished he’d been a bit more hands-on with young Jenna.

Zack sat the girl down and she teetered slightly, but caught herself before she fell. Despite the drugs, she was a lovely little thing. Beelzebub had always been attracted to older women himself-like the reporter he’d met the other night-but this one was something special. She was at that point in her life where her face and body had not yet betrayed her, and the smooth tautness of her young flesh was quite captivating.

If it turned out that Belial had been wrong about her, he might consider putting her on the market.

As the insect headed for the door, Beelzebub said, “You did as I instructed, right? With the other girl?”

Zack nodded. “We left her in the bathtub.”

“And the stamp?”

“Just like you told us.”

“Excellent,” Beelzebub said, then waved him away.

Michael found the battered blue Malibu parked in the lot behind the building.

The building itself was made of crumbling red brick, an old garment factory with boarded-up windows. The rear door looked like something out of a medieval torture chamber, and he assumed this was his old friend’s decorative addition to the place. During the Middle Ages, Beelzebub had spent many years in the skin of a lieutenant at the Tower of London, the proud inventor of a racklike device that would compress a subject’s body until blood ran out of his ears and nose.

The door was unlocked and Michael stepped inside. With the windows boarded up, the only light filtered in through the cracks and seams. The place was huge and musty and mostly vacant, except for the row of old sewing machines on one side of the room, covered with cobwebs, most of them still carrying giant spools of thread. Several bolts of faded fabric were stacked in a nearby corner.

On the other side of the room was a pile of old plumbing pipes, and at the far end was another door. Michael moved to it and pushed it open, and the moment he did, he heard the steady thump thump thump of a dance beat.

A set of steps led downward into darkness, black graffiti and shallow gouge marks covering the walls on either side-signs and symbols that were very familiar to Michael, including Beelzebub’s sigil, buried beneath a string of profanity.

Somebody obviously knew him quite well.

Moving down the steps, he followed a dingy hallway to another door, where a drudge about the size of a Winnebago stood guard, staring at him as if he were an invader from Mars.

Michael tried to push past him, but the guy put a hand on his shoulder. “Who’s your sig?”

“The man himself,” Michael said.

The Winnebago gave him a snort. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

But then he stepped aside anyway, letting Michael into another hallway with graffiti-scarred walls. As Michael moved toward the far end, he listened carefully for Jenna.

Her song was still weak, but he had no doubt that she was here somewhere.

Beelzebub crouched next to the girl. “How are you feeling, my angel?”

Jenna wobbled slightly, tried to focus on him. “Kinda weird… Who’re you?”

“My name is Jonathan. I’m a friend of Zack’s. He said you weren’t feeling well and asked if he could bring you up here for a while.”

She looked around the room. Blinked. “… I don’t like it here. Where’s Zack?”

“Dancing. Do you like to dance?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so…”

“Well, I’ll tell you what. As soon as I get the phone call I’m waiting for, I’ll have Zack take you downstairs so you can have some fun. Okay?”

“…I still feel weird…”

“Don’t worry. That’ll wear off in a few minutes and you’ll be fine. Would you like to lay down?”

“Yeah … ,” she murmured. “I think I better.”

She carefully pulled her legs onto the bed and lay on her side, closing her eyes. Beelzebub studied her, admiring her delicate features, the pale white throat. Too bad Belial wasn’t here. She’d so enjoy this.

He reached over and smoothed her hair. “Zack tells me you’ve had some bad things happen to you, Jenna. Is that true?”

She stirred. “…What kinda things?”

“He says you ran away from home because of your stepfather.”

She hesitated. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Does it give you pain, Jenna? Thinking about what he did to you?”

“Yes … Stop.”

“What if I could make all that pain go away, my angel? Would you like me to help you take away the pain?”

She opened her eyes. There was a trace of tears in them. “…Who are you? Why are you asking me this stuff?”

“Because I want to help you, Jenna. There may come a time when you’ll have to make a choice. And I want to help you make the right one. Will you let me do that?”

The phone rang before she could answer.

He reluctantly got to his feet, went to his desk, and hit the intercom. “Yes?”

“Guy just came in. Could be him.”

“What did he look like?”

“Solid. Gray hair. Beard. Maybe sixty or so. But not somebody you’d wanna go one-on-one with.”

The same description the insect had given him. Assuming the idiot knew what he was talking about.

“All right,” Beelzebub said. “Call me back when it’s done.”

He clicked off, glanced at the girl, then went to the door to get Zack.

Michael pushed through a set of swinging doors into a room the size of a warehouse. The place was packed shoulder to shoulder with gyrating bodies, the music loud enough to break the sound barrier.

Strobe lights flashed red and yellow and white, in perfect time to the beat, and Michael didn’t think he’d ever seen so many people jammed into one place. He saw dark leather and jeans and short skirts and fishnet stockings and half-naked women throwing their heads back in laughter as men-and other women-pressed up against them, bodies grinding, hands roaming.

He started circling the crowd, peering into it as he concentrated on Jenna’s song. But it was too dark, and there were too many people out there. And if Jenna had been brought here by force, he doubted she’d be tearing up the dance floor.

So where would she be? A holding room of some kind? An office?

Michael scanned the periphery of the club, looking for stairs or an elevator. He looked back the way he came and saw a cluster of sofas and chairs, where exhausted dancers rested their feet and drank exotic beers. To the right of that were the swinging doors he’d just come in through.

And farther to the right was an elevator.

Michael moved. Headed straight for his target. A couple of dancers got in his way, but he didn’t slow down, shoving them aside. He was still several yards away when a light above it flashed and the doors slid open.

And there inside were Zack and Jenna.

Zack had her by the hand, and when he pulled her out of the elevator, she stumbled slightly. Drugged. They looked for a moment as if they were about to step onto the dance floor, then Zack made an abrupt left turn and pushed through the swinging doors, dragging Jenna behind him.

They were headed outside. Fast.

Michael ran, barreling through the doors into the hallway. No sign of them. He picked up speed, slammed through the next door, and still didn’t see them. He flew down that hallway and up the graffiti-covered stairwell, then burst through to the room with the sewing machines-

– and stopped.

Froze in his tracks.

Zack and Jenna stood in the middle of room, facing him, Zack wearing a wide, shit-eating grin on his face.

“What’s your hurry, Mikey? You don’t like to dance?”

There were four more drudges with him. Two on each flank. Three men, one woman. And one of them was the Winnebago. They spread out to block Michael’s path.

“Yeah,” the woman said. “Come dance with us.”

She was covered with tattoos and piercings and looked as if she were completely willing to rip out your throat and feed it back to you without even the slightest hint of remorse. There was a swastika on the side of her neck, and her hair was black and spiky.

The other three didn’t have as many tattoos or as much metal sticking out of their faces, but they had enough muscles between them to start a gladiator show.

He’d been set up. The stamp on that dead girl’s hand had been deliberately put there to see how he’d react. And his presence here had proven to Beelzebub that Jenna was someone special. The someone they’d all been looking for.

Michael took his Roman from his waistband, kept his focus on Zack. “Step away from the girl.”

“Sorry, asshole. Can’t do it.”

“I really think you should reconsider. Ashes to ashes and all that.”

The tattooed chick edged sideways, moving to the pile of pipes to her left. “I sure hope you got a spare skin back home, ’cuz we’re gonna have some fun with this one.”

She snatched up some pipes and tossed them to the others. They hefted them in their hands and spread out, waiting for Michael to engage. Zack spun Jenna around and pushed her toward the sewing machines. “Sit down and watch, bitch.”

Jenna stumbled and grabbed hold of one of the machines.

“You really don’t want to do this,” Michael said, stepping toward them now. “Just let me take the girl and we’ll save the dustup for another day. I couldn’t care less about a worthless bunch of drudges.”

“Worthless?” Zack said. “You trying to hurt our feelings?”

“That would require you have a heart and a mind and a soul. And you’re oh-for-three at-”

The Winnebago roared and came at Michael, swinging the pipe hard, aiming for his head. Michael ducked with plenty of room, but the Winnebago swung again, going for another head shot. The pipe whooshed past Michael and he jerked back, watching it brush past his chin, a little too close for comfort. Then he sidestepped and spun and sliced the Winnebago’s gut with his Roman.

A split second later, the guy vaporized, dust scattering violently in the air, blowing directly into the faces of Zack and the others, as the pipe he’d held clattered on the floor.

But Michael didn’t slow down. Not waiting for them to attack, he spun and swung, effortlessly knocking the pipe out of the tattooed chick’s hands, then doubled back and brought up the Roman again, the edge of his blade slicing through the swastika on her neck. She burst into fine ashes, her piercings scattering across the floor like jacks on asphalt.

Deciding he didn’t have time to waste on this nonsense, Michael ripped his Glock from his waistband and opened fire, taking out the two remaining muscle men with two quick shots.

Then he turned the gun on Zack.

Zack took one look at the bead rings, the nose hoop, the star plugs, the barbells, the ear studs, the nipple piercings and God knew what else on the floor in front of him and stumbled backwards, dropping his weapon, throwing his hands up. “Okay, okay, okay, man! I give! I give!”

Michael stopped, lowered the gun. “What do you do when you see a roach on your kitchen floor, Zack?”

Zack looked confused. “What?”

“Just answer the question. What do you do when you see a roach?”

Zack kept backing away. “I don’t know, man, I don’t know-I-I step on it. What do you do?”

Michael smiled. “Show it no mercy.”

Then he brought the gun up again and fired, the bullet piercing Zack’s chest, turning him to dust.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Michael crossed to the sewing machines, where Jenna stood frozen on the spot. Despite the drugs, there was a look of stunned disbelief on her face.

Had she really just seen all that?

“W-who are you?” she stuttered. “What just happened?”

“I’ll explain later,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist. “There’s bound to be an army coming up those stairs any minute now and we need to get out of here.”

She jerked her arm, trying to pull free. “You’re a lunatic. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Michael held her firm and leaned his face toward hers. “Listen to me, Jenna. I didn’t want it to happen like this, but if you stay here you’re in danger. We have to go. Now.”

He could see that the drugs were still confusing her, that she didn’t know what to do, but she stopped resisting and he tightened his grip on her and pulled her toward the door. Without a backwards glance, they ran to his Buick, jumped in.

“Put on your seat belt,” he said, firing up the engine. Then he jerked the car into drive.

Two minutes later, they were blasting down Wilshire, weaving in and out of traffic, and the girl had come out of her stupor enough to realize how scared she was.

“What’s going on?” she cried. “Who are you?”

“That’s hard to explain.”

“How do you know my name? Did my parents send you?”

“No. They don’t know anything about this.”

“Then what’s going on? What happened to those people back there? They just … disintegrated.”

“There are things in this world that are hard to understand, Jenna. And I can’t give you an explanation that’ll make a lot of sense to you. Not like this. So right now you’ll just have to trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t even know you. You’re just some gross old man!”

She seemed more alert now, which might have had something to do with the speed of the car and the wind rushing through her hair.

“Pull over,” she said. “Let me out of this thing.”

“I can’t do that, Jenna.”

“Pull over! Or I swear to God I’ll-”

Suddenly they heard shouts and the revving of engines as two cars pulled up on either side of them, packed with drudges from the dance club. One of the drudges scrambled out of the back passenger window and sprang onto the trunk of the Buick.

Jenna screamed, and another one leapt from the car on Michael’s side, diving into the Buick’s backseat. Pulling himself upright, he wrapped his hands around Michael’s throat.

As Michael struggled to breathe, the first one went for Jenna.

Grabbing his Roman, Michael swung out, slicing him across the face, and a shower of dust blew back and away, disappearing into the sky.

Jenna screamed again.

Then the second one tightened his grip, and Michael’s vision narrowed. It was a miracle he was even able to drive. Fumbling the Roman, he grasped for it and missed, and it tumbled into the backseat. He tried to grab hold of his Glock, but he fumbled it, too.

He grasped Jenna’s arm. “My gun,” he croaked. “Find my gun…”

Jenna’s face was pale with panic. Her eyes wild.

“Do it!” Michael croaked. He hammered a fist at the drudge’s head, but the guy didn’t let up.

His vision was almost gone, the street in front of him a dark blur. He felt Jenna moving around beside him, but had no idea what she was up to. Then, just as he was about to black out, Jenna screamed again, a shot rang out-

– and the pressure on his neck disappeared, the drudge disintegrating behind him, sending a swirl of black dust into the air.

As Michael’s eyes came back into focus, Jenna dropped the gun to the seat as if it were contaminated, and started to tremble, tears springing into her eyes.

Throwing his arm across her, he told her to hold on, then jerked the wheel, taking them into a hard right turn down a side street. The other cars faltered only slightly, then regained speed, once again pulling up alongside the Buick.

Then the driver on the left side jerked his wheel hard and slammed into the side of the Buick. The jolt hammered through Michael but he didn’t slow down.

The car slammed into the Buick a second time with brutal force, the impact knocking Michael’s hands off the wheel.

The Buick careened toward the sidewalk but was cut short by a row of parked cars. Metal screamed as they came to an abrupt, jarring stop, pitching Michael forward. His face hit the wheel, pain rocketing through him as blood burst from his nose and the world started spinning around him.

Suddenly there were drudges swarming all over the Buick, and Jenna screamed as hands grabbed at her, ripping her seat belt free and pulling her out of the front seat.

Dazed, Michael lifted his head, his vision blurred, as another car pulled up alongside them.

A black limousine.

The rear passenger window rolled down and Beelzebub signaled to the drudges. “Bring her to me.”

Jenna struggled as the drudges dragged her over to the limo. “Let go of me!”

As she got close to the window, however, Beelzebub reached out and took her hand. A gesture that calmed her a bit.

“It’s all right, my angel. I won’t let him hurt you.”

“Who are you people? What do you want from me?”

“We have time enough to talk about that. But first we need to get you somewhere safe.”

Michael tried to move, but his legs were pinned under the dash. “Leave her alone.”

Beelzebub ignored him. “What do you say, Jenna? Would you like to come back home with me? You’ll be safe there. Not a thing to fret about.”

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Michael told her. “You can’t trust him.”

Jenna looked confused. She glanced at Michael, then returned her gaze to Beelzebub. “He killed Zack. Just shot him point-blank. It was awful.”

“I know, my angel. But don’t you worry, God will punish him. Why don’t you get in and I’ll take you home?”

Jenna hesitated, then finally nodded. The door opened, the drudges released her, and she climbed inside, disappearing from view.

Then Beelzebub turned to Michael. “See how easy that was?”

“Don’t think it’s over,” Michael told him.

“Oh, I certainly hope not.”

And as Michael struggled to free himself, Beelzebub’s window rolled up and the limousine pulled away.