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Chapter Twenty

WHEN THEY ENTERED the house, Frank stepped in front of Mike, gripping the handgun in front of him in classic shooter’s stance. Mike hesitated a moment, the destruction of the house bringing him back to last night when he’d first encountered the sudden horror of what had happened. He took a deep breath, feeling his adrenaline rise as Frank quickly made a sweep of the living room and kitchen. He hustled back to Mike and looked up the stairs. Go!

Mike headed for the stairs and was startled when his cell phone rang.

He stopped halfway up, glancing at Frank, who ushered him to keep going. Mike held a hand up and unclipped his cell phone from his belt. He gasped. “It’s Jimmy,” he said. He answered the phone and began heading up the stairs. “Jimmy?”

“Dad!” It was Jimmy. He sounded frantic. “Thank God! I’ve been trying to call you for the past couple of hours and—”

“What’s the matter?” Mike said, his alarm rising.

“Kimberly’s missing,” Jimmy said, and then his voice broke. Mike felt his heart freeze up. Kimberly was his and Carol’s only granddaughter; she was three years old. “Cathy left the office and went by the daycare to pick her up for her doctor’s appointment and one of the aides turned white. She said that Cathy had been in an hour earlier to pick Kimberly up and now she’s gone!”

“What are you talking about!” Mike had yelled into the phone. His heart was racing.

From the foyer, Frank: “Mike, let’s get going!”

“Somebody took Kimberly!” Jimmy was yelling, his voice panicked. “They took her and we can’t find her!”

“Oh my God,” Mike said, and he felt the world spin. The air seemed to thicken, he felt his limbs grow heavy as the nightmare crashed down. He was at the top of the stairs and he leaned against the hallway, unable to continue any further.

Frank called out from downstairs. “Mike! What’s happening?”

“We’ve tried calling you, and we’ve been with the police since, oh I don’t know, since ten-thirty, eleven maybe,” Jimmy said, crying. “I even went by the house earlier and you weren’t home.”

“When were you by the house?” Mike asked, feeling his throat constrict.

“Around noon maybe,” Jimmy said. “Dad, I don’t know what to do!”

“When did this happen?” Mike wasn’t thinking clearly as he resumed his walk down the hallway to the master bedroom. From behind him, he dimly heard Frank tell him to hurry it up, to get back down here now.

“Cathy… Cathy tried to pick Kimberly up at a little after ten,” Jimmy stammered, “and… and they said that Cathy had been in at nine and gotten Kimberly. They said that Cathy had already been there! How could she have already been there? She was in a meeting at that time!”

“I don’t know, son,” Mike said, feeling his heart freeze up as he suddenly stopped just shy of the master bedroom—

—where there was a large splash of fresh blood staining the carpet.

From downstairs, Frank called up to him. “Mike! You okay? Talk to me or I’m coming up.”

“No,” Mike said as he took another step closer to the master bedroom, Jimmy forgotten, everything else forgotten now, even Frank as he stepped to the threshold of the bedroom he’d shared with Carol. From behind him and down the stairs, he dimly heard Frank say, “No, what?”

There was a light on in the master bedroom.

He heard Jimmy’s voice coming through the cell phone as he stepped into the master bedroom, his muscles tense. The blood spatters became more pronounced, more evident in its coppery scent as he entered the master bedroom and when he saw the new destruction in the bedroom his mind rebelled. It was so sudden, so ugly, so wrong, that his mind took it in as jumbled images: melted candles, still lit; the crude symbols written on the wall, painted on the carpeted floor, the bloody piece of meat in the center of the symbol that was strangely satanic in look and design but which did not resemble anything remotely satanic in any of the research he’d uncovered. Then he saw who was there and the shock was so great that Mike thought he was going to scream.

At first he didn’t recognize them. There were six of them, three standing around the strange symbol, the other three seated on the floor. They all turned around at the sound of his entering and smiled at him, as if awaiting a long lost friend. Mike stood frozen in shock, trying to force his voice to unlock from the grip of fear. Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing in my house? he wanted to say. What came out was a parched hiss.

Then one of them stood up. He was tall, with black hair that was turning gray. He was dressed in tan slacks and a white polo shirt, and looked trim, muscular, and powerful, like he might be a banker or a corporate CEO. He had that aura of power. He smiled, his green eyes a blaze of fire. “Mike! So good of you to join us.”

Recognition set in and Mike felt paralyzed. He hadn’t heard that voice or seen that face in over twenty-six years. “Tom,” he said.

From below, dimly, he heard Frank Black yell that he was coming up the stairs.

Tom Black smiled. “Yes, Mike, it’s me. Remember Gladys?”

Mike’s eyes rested on the woman seated next to him. She was middle-aged, but she wore it well. She was dressed in a tan business suit, her stylish hair settled on her shoulders in a perfect wave. She nodded at him, her make-up expertly applied. Mike noticed a gold necklace around her neck that glimmered. “Gladys.”

“Dad… dad?” Jimmy’s voice sounded tinny, far away. The connections fell into place as he cast his eyes around the room and when it was made he thought he was going to scream.

Kimberly Peterson, three years old, the perfect age, innocent, pure, just what they used, the blood was so pure, so thick, so sweet, they used the blood of children in their most important rituals, he knew that, it was in all the research he’d done on them, it was in all the interviews he’d conducted with the few witnesses that had gotten away and were locked up in mental institutions or were homeless, just another crazy living on the outskirts of society and they all said the same thing. They used the blood of children, of innocents, and the sweetest sacrifice was one in which the child came from your own blood.

His eyes locked with Carol Peterson’s from across the room. The Carol Peterson that looked across at him looked the same, but she was not the same woman he’d known and loved for almost forty years. She smiled at him. “How could you have guessed?”

Mike started, confused. “Carol?” Did she just read my mind?

“You’re right,” she said, as the others rose in unison and took a step forward. “The sweetest sacrifice, and the most powerful, is one where the child comes from your own blood.”

From behind him, he felt Frank Black approach, heard Frank’s voice. “What the fuck?” Felt the rush of air as Frank stormed into the room, gun drawn.

Mike didn’t even have time to scream before they swarmed over him and the shooting began.