People were going to die today. 

 

I knew it, intrinsically.  More than the ten women in my dream, more than Nona Flores, Father Preston, Will Engram, Eliza Crawford, and Amanda Degli.  Was I to become part of the body count?  What had I done that was so sinful?

 

Worse yet, what if I was responsible for the deaths about to happen?  It was one thing to witness something with my third eye, but given the chance, I could’ve bludgeoned Charlie with that paperweight.  Bye-bye, Hippocratic oath.  Was there such a thing as pre-emptive self-defense?

 

I climbed into my car and stared at the GPS.  “Destination?” came the synthesized voice.  I paused, entered “Hell.”

 

My eyes stung, my temples throbbed, my guts curdled.  My newfound ability to push provided no physical comfort, only exhaustion and hurt.

 

I surveyed a mental inventory, worrying about potential victims.

 

Franco was at the restaurant, innocent and ignorant.  Maybe, when this mess was over, we’d take a long vacation to Italy.  Gondolas and mandolins.  Franco’s efforts to authenticate his restaurant were commendable, but we were due for some downtime far away from here.

 

Methra had vanished without leaving much of a note.  Was she working for or against the voice in my head?  A sun god?  I remembered lying on the couch with Paige watching horror movies with their ridiculous cults.  Monotone chants and funny hats didn’t seem so comical now.  Inevitably, someone was sacrificed: a virgin girl.  Oh, God!  Paige!

 

Paige, my precious teenager.  Only the voice knew where she was, and it wasn’t volunteering any information.

 

- * * * * * * * * * * -

 

Off a highway embankment, Charlie Davis crawled from the wreckage of his overturned sports car, thankful for side airbags and seatbelt laws.  The pickup truck that had swerved across three lanes and clipped his rear end was split completely in half; two wheels still spun above the inverted bed.  That windshield had popped out and the driver had made his final residence in a patch of cactus. 

 

“You’re a stubborn little bugger,”  Jimmy whispered inside Charlie’s mind.  Except it wasn’t in his mind.  It was a woman’s voice, belonging to Theresa Rush, an up-until-now good Samaritan who witnessed the accident and pulled her Miata over wait for emergency services to arrive.  The truck was beyond salvation; the only thing in it that still looked like it would work was the hunting rifle in the cab.  Her compulsion to take it was inexplicable.  She’d never fired a gun in her life and yet now, her first shot made it clear Charlie would stay in Vegas.  Theresa’s lips burned on the end of the barrel, but the pain was fleeting as she didn’t last long enough to blister. 

 

And those weren’t the people Adara’s premonition warned her about.

 

- * * * * * * * * * -

 

 Jimmy acknowledged the darkness replacing the portal, opened his eyes.  Excitement beckoned from below – it sounded like somebody was mixing it up with their cellmate.  Jimmy couldn’t discern whether it was violent or sexual – probably both, if it was Roo – but so long as it didn’t effect his meditation, he didn’t care. 

He drank a cup of water, rubbed his face, and reclined for another rest.  The guards let him nap, sometimes following his lead.  Serviceable food, climate control, a roof and four walls in exchange for reasonable labor.  Most inside the structure considered it a prison; Jimmy felt it was an impenetrable fortress, a laboratory for his mental experiments, even a sanctuary of sorts.  He had years to invent a reason why they shouldn’t let him out. 

 

- * * * * * * * * -

 

Ten crosses stood empty on a hill.  Thick clouds smothered any unfortunate sunbeam that sneaked through, extinguishing all light or hope.  Yellow tape encompassed the scene, but policemen were eerily absent. 

 

Paige knelt at the foot of the highest cross and prayed for forgiveness.  She couldn’t recall the details through the haze – separating dream from reality was impossible – but she was sure a life ended by her hands.  “Why me?” she wailed, squeezing the golden crucifix on her necklace until the four extremities dug into her palm.

 

A raindrop fell on the crown of her head.  Except it wasn’t rain.  Above, a body had materialized on the cross.  Wearing a thorned crown.  Blood and water flowed from a hole in its side.  Other people appeared on the previously unmanned crucifixes until nine were occupied.  Some men, some women, but none with the physique to match her image of Christ.

 

Catholic school **** me up bad, Paige thought.

 

- * * * * * * * -

 

Sin City, I thought, dry-swallowing a collection of meds.  Millions of tourists sinking to new levels of debauchery.  Back rooms in casinos, legalized whores, too many drugs and guns.  It kept my job interesting, but I was willing to trade that for a life of serenity and normality in exchange for finding my daughter.

 

Charlie had no idea where Paige was, and Esperanza provided no leads either.  Useless. 

 

“Start your car, Dr. Davis.  I’ll show you where she is.”

 

That voice again.  My efforts to pinpoint its origin proved fruitless.  I spoke to the air, “I’m not doing a damn thing until you tell me she’s safe.”

 

Silence.

 

- * * * * * * -

 

Jimmy savored the moment.  Ignorant lady had no idea how many years he’d gone mute.  Charlie was right that she had strength, but neither of them had any clue how she could harness and maximize that power.  Maybe she was a bishop in this game, but she was no match for his king.  If only those **** pawns outside his cell would shut up!

 

He waited, watching Adara stare at her rear view mirror.  He could see himself in her rage, but he doubted she could identify anything beyond her fear.  She waited too.  After three minutes of stalemating, Jimmy released his connection and went to check on the noise. 

 

Roo and Spidey were going at it while the guards watched and joked.  A habitual rapist and an arsonist who accidentally torched a homeless shelter.  Lightweights.  **** guards were probably running side bets. 

 

When Jimmy returned to his cot and refocused, Adara hadn’t moved.  Strong willed, this one.  He teased, “It’s your daughter.  I’m not calling your bluff, but she might prefer otherwise.”

 

He watched her eyes glass over and felt her hand twist the ignition.

 

- * * * * * -

 

Methra sped past miles of nothing towards the city skyline.  Missing it’s nighttime neon glow, Vegas lost much of its magical draw.  Then again, as a local who didn’t care for gambling, Vegas was just another residence. 

 

Franco broke his trance, sipped from a bottle of Evian.  “She’s on the move.  Eastern.”

 

Methra glanced over her shoulder at Paige.  The teenager looked so delicate, so fragile, too young to have experienced what she’d gone through.

 

“Will the Order take her?” Methra asked.

 

Franco nodded.  “But only if she wants to learn.  She’s stubborn.  Got that from her mother too.”

 

“You think Adara will help her?”

 

“She may prescribe Prozac and hope the gift eventually subsides.”

 

“Wouldn’t you do something about it?

 

“It is not our job to interject.  We are observers and peacemakers.”

 

The mantra was comforting, but Methra longed for something more inspirational. 

 

- * * * * -

 

Paige found herself beneath the last unoccupied tree, climbing effortlessly, floating upward and rotating until her shoulders were square with the crossbar.  Why must she endure the punishment for the other sinners?  She opened her hand, found blood trickling along the creases in her flesh.  Without notice, a wooden stake pounded and split her lifeline.  Another blasted through her other palm, and a third shocked her ankles.  Strangely, they didn’t hurt.

 

An omnipresent voice bellowed: “Thou shalt not make any image of anything that is in heaven above.  For I am a jealous god, visiting the inequity of the mothers on the daughters and the descendants of those who hate me.”

 

Paige craned to see the blackening sky.  “Mother!  Mother!  Why have you forsaken me!”

 

- * * * -

 

The chapel was untainted by Vegas standards.  Dilapidated paint displayed the effects of too much sand erosion, and the placard out front offered “Lak   Mead   aptist.”  Inside, a dozen wooden pews on either side of the center aisle offered outdated hymnals and paper fans to parishioners who rarely showed. 

 

“Where is Paige?” I demanded.

 

Laughter.  “What’s in it for me?” came the voice.

 

I searched my mind, but found neither the answer to his question nor any intuition where my daughter was.  “What do you want?”

 

Quietness again.  The stillness I expected in a church, minus the peace.  No matter; I was willing to stay an eternity to see my Paige okay.

 

A car horn blared and brakes screeched outside, then I heard Franco call my name.  What was he doing here?

 

An invisible bowling ball crashed into my abdomen.  I collapsed and tucked into the fetal position.  “I want your undying devotion,” the voice ordered.  “But since you can’t give me that, I’ll take your dying devotion instead.”

 

Vibrations coursed through my body as if I was inside a giant concert subwoofer.  My muscles tightened and my joints seized with electricity.  Amidst the pain, I saw the face behind the voice: sweaty, greasy, grinning, toying with me. 

 

Franco burst through the door, embraced me, kissed my forehead, and absorbed the current with violent spasms.  I tried to wedge a hymnal’s cover between his teeth so he wouldn’t swallow his tongue, but he was locked.  Crimson filled his eyeballs and before I could do anything more, he was gone. 

 

Knights, Jimmy thought, always **** up the game.

 

I raced toward the door to get my cell phone and call an ambulance, fully aware that a defibrillator wouldn’t be sufficient for reviving my savior.  Outside, I saw Methra half-out the backdoor of Franco’s car, shaking a girl.  No!  Not Paige!

 

- * * -

 

Jimmy sipped his water to replenish his energy.  She was formidable, this one.  She had to go. 

 

Fat Officer Pestovsky escorted Spidey to the door of Jimmy’s cell.  “Hey, Silent!  Hands on the wall!  You got a new roomie.”

 

What the **** was this?  Some **** starts **** and I have to pay? Jimmy thought.

 

The armed man unlocked Spidey’s cuffs and shoved him across the room.  “Siddown, Spidey.  He don’t say much, so you should probably skip the singalongs.”

 

Jimmy opened his mouth.  “Why?”

 

“Holy ****!  He speaks!  Roo got horny, so he’s in solitary.  You know the drill.”

 

Yes, Jimmy did.  ‘Occurrences’ merited cell inspections.  Guards took any chance they had to swipe smokes, porn, personal items.  One of the reasons Jimmy kept nothing beyond the clothes on his body.  Spidey rolled beneath the opposite cot, his **** protectively positioned against the wall.

 

Jimmy met Spidey’s defiant glare.  “You say a word, I follow Roo’s dick with my foot.”

 

Spidey flipped him off and averted his eyes.  Pestovsky laughed and left.  After a moment of scrutiny, Jimmy took another sip, reclined, and closed his eyes.  He had unfinished business to attend to.

 

- * -

 

Smelling salts hadn’t brought Paige consciousness.  I wept in agony as fury seethed inside me.  When I felt Jimmy’s touch, I was ready.  I centered my attention and burrowed inside his thoughts.  Here, I could create an advantage.

 

As a psychologist, I’d never fathomed anything like the visions before me.  I felt myself transported into an abstract incarnation of Hieronymus Bosch’s hell.  Demons cackled as they peeled living skin off each other with their razor talons and mandibles.  A human bonfire singed hair and flesh, not granting its kindling the mercy of death.  An awful mechanical construction held jaws open as imps hammered away at exposed nerves in the victims’ teeth, then sloshed their tongues with acid.  In the center of the chaos, I spotted a leader orchestrating the dance of depravity.  Without understanding why, I knew his name: Garcia.  He masked his surprise and inquired, “What the **** do you think you’re doing?”

 

Another unanswerable question.  Instead of trying, I looked for something to latch onto.  Lying under a sacrificial alter, I noticed a naked man with blood draining from his rectum.  As he faced me, I saw his hollow eyes were different than the rest – there was depth within them.  Life.  I summoned him and he was instantly by my side.

 

Garcia sprouted horns and charged me.  “Fool!  You can’t defeat me!”

 

His spikes penetrated my belly and I smelled the acrid odors of bleach and feces.  But I stood my ground.

 

“In here I am God!” he declared.  His minions punctuated his announcement with applause and sprays of blood.

 

“I have no interest in a meeting of the minds,” I uttered, pulling myself away and vanishing from the mindscape.

 

“I intend to kill your body,” my voice continued.  From Spidey’s vocal chords.  Spidey wrapped an arm around Jimmy’s defenseless head and twisted until his neck snapped.  It wasn’t silent.

 

The anguish polluting my gut ceased boiling, but I had spent too much energy1.  I touched Methra’s shoulder before fainting, confident she would know what to do.  I never underestimated the value of a good assistant.

 

--

 

Paige slept, comatose.  I sat at her bedside while Esperanza Flores prayed, accompanied by beeps and blips of hospital monitors.  I’d tried several times to extend my thoughts into her dreams, but all I saw in those moments was soft, white nothingness.  I hoped it was restful, dreamless sleep.  She deserved that, if not better.  And I would be right here when she woke up.