Saltar's Point (40 page)

FIFTY

Abby wasn’t thinking clearly, the demon still had her panicked. She pulled on the elevator lever, it didn’t budge. What the hell is wrong with this thing? She tried again. No luck. She was sweating now. Had the demon broken it? Her mind was confused and her thoughts muggy. Work damn you, work.

“AAAGH! AAAGH! ABBEEEY!”

Jack’s scream brought her out of her thoughts as though she had been thunderstruck. How was that possible? She had killed him, buried a nine-inch knife in his back, watched him fall, the whole ball of wax. She heard him thumping down the stairs. She pulled the lever again. Damn you work! And then she saw him coming around the corner still limping but moving quickly apparently unaware of his injuries, like a junkie on angel dust. He commanded fear through his very appearance, covered in blood, eyes on fire with hatred, body heaving as he limped towards her.

Then it hit her. The gate, she had to manually close the gate, the elevator wouldn’t work with it wide open. Jack picked up his pace as he raced to the elevator.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch!”

He was no more than ten yards from her now and closing fast. She reached out and grabbed the gate, pulling at it with all her might but from her seated position without leverage it closed slowly and with difficulty. It locked into place just as Jack arrived, slamming into it hard enough to bend the brass inward a good foot or so. He reached through the bars, writhing fingers stopping just a few inches from her face. Abby leaned forward and bit down, severing the skin on the tip of his right index finger. She spit the pulpy flesh from her mouth to the floor. Darrow howled in pain, his face contorted with rage making him appear grotesque, non-human.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking bitch!”

She stared up at him, intent on not showing the fear welling inside her.

“Yeah I heard you the first time. Watch your arm Jack, you’re liable to loose the rest of it.”

Abby pulled the lever and the elevator started downward. Darrow retracted his arm still screaming with fury. This time Abby welcomed the darkness below drifting into it as the light from up above faded into obscurity.

She rolled herself as quickly as possible, more familiar with the twisting passages than she was before. She entered the boiler room and was relieved to see that the pickaxe rested in its usual place, propped up in the corner. She rolled over and picked it up. It was heavier than she expected and she was unsure if she would be able to swing it. Mustering her strength, she hoisted it above her head in a trial run. She could do it. She might not win any lumberjack competitions but she could do it. She laid the axe across her legs and rolled to the dreaded wall that had haunted her dreams for so long. If she was wrong she was as good as dead. She heard the elevator click to life, she expected as much, fully aware that the demon could and would send it back up. There was precious little time to waste. Jack was on his way.

The first strike vibrated her hands so badly that she thought she would drop the axe. It rebounded off the bricks with enough force that she closed her eyes, bracing for it to strike her in the head. She was more prepared for the following strikes and she wielded the axe as deftly as she could. Each chinking sound rang in her ears and bits of brick and mortar stung her skin and burned her eyes. She heard the elevator stop briefly then start up again. Glancing at the wall and evaluating her progress made her heart sink, she had barely made a dent in the bricks, and Jack was only minutes away.

Abby redoubled her efforts lashing out repeatedly with everything she had. She became faint, the exertion and strain pushing her to the brink of exhaustion, her arms burned with lactic acid and stars danced in her peripheral vision. She fought the urge to vomit. Whether she lived or died this is how she’d go out, swinging and fighting, and puking up bile if needed. Slowly the bricks began to give way. The first two toppled out onto the other side of the wall echoing sharply, too sharply. Dread began to creep into her mind; there was another wall directly behind this one. The bricks began to loosen quickly now, the structural integrity of the wall compromised by its missing pieces, they began to fall three at a time, then four, until she was staring at the wall underneath. She pushed the loose bricks in front of her out of the way with the blade of the axe and then laid it on the stone floor beside her. She gazed up in awe at the glorious wall in front of her.

It was an ornate structure of magnificent design, fit for a Pharaoh’s tomb. The stonework alone was breathtaking. Intricate carvings adorned every inch of the granite surface depicting scenes from the most significant bible passages and events in history. The crusades, the casting into hell of Lucifer, the black death, the holocaust, the last supper, they were all here and more. The artistry alone was superb. She wondered who the artist was and how long it had taken him to construct this masterpiece, but she didn’t have the time to admire it now, she had a theory to test, a theory that if wrong would surely prove fatal. What she was looking for was easy to spot, four bracketed fixtures jutted out from the stone, comprised of what appeared to be sterling silver. Each one held an unlit cedar torch covered at the top with dried pitch. Beneath each torch a figure was carved into the stone.

Jack’s boots were echoing down the hall, she strained her ears trying to gauge how much time she had, twenty seconds maybe thirty.

Abby studied the carvings scrupulously. The first was of a lion standing on its back legs, rearing up as if to strike. The second was of a calf lying on its side on an altar about to be sacrificed. The third was a man, kneeling and bowing his head to the ground in a humbling gesture. And the fourth was an eagle spreading its wings wide as if to take off in flight. These figures had been churning inside Abby’s head ever since she read the revelations passage corresponding to the date. April seventh.

“The first creature was like a lion, and the second creature like a calf, and the third creature had the face of a man, and the fourth was like a flying eagle.”

Porter’s journal entry gave her the final piece of the puzzle.

“On this date the demon was given new life and it is within these numbers in which he shall be laid to rest. Behind the second beast lies the passage in which all shall be revealed.”

It was an easy riddle, almost too easy. Abby clenched her teeth and reached upward, until her hand clasped tight on the torch above the second beast, the calf about to be slaughtered, how ironic she thought. With a powerful tug she yanked down on the torch. The springs beneath the carving gave way and the torch dipped about four inches, Abby released it and waited.

Nothing happened.

A wave of panic overtook her. How the hell could she be wrong? It was all so simple. And then a thought occurred to her. The bible was originally written in Hebrew, and Hebrew read from right to left. She stared at the carving of man, the humble man with his head bowed as though shamed by some great sin.

It all made sense now. Talcott was a man of great vision, misguided perhaps, but still a man of foresight. Entry would be gained through the path of man. She reached up and pulled the torch underneath the kneeling figure, closed her eyes and waited. A moment passed and Abby’s anxiety began to well up inside of her once again. Then the sound of stone grating against stone filled the room as the wall in front of her began to move inward. It slid on metal tracks carved deep into the granite a century ago and came to a gentle rest about five feet inward. Abby wasted no time and rolled her chair into the waiting chamber, making sure to take the torch with her. The wall closed by itself, sealing her within.

Inside the sight was both awe inspiring and terrifying. In the center of the room lying motionless on top of a large funeral pyre of logs and sticks, was the body of the demon. Abby would have recognized it anywhere. It appeared exactly as the spiritual demon did on the two occasions she had the displeasure of meeting it face to face, its sinewy form stretching out over seven feet in a mass of black rotten tissue. Abby glanced around the room and tried to stifle a gasp that escaped from her lips. Seated Indian style behind a wall of fire was Brenda. The flames of the fire flickered and danced like that of normal flames but they emitted a strange translucent glow, almost blue in appearance. The little girl looked up at her with matching surprise.

“Abby, I knew you’d come! I just knew it.”

Abby spoke to her friend through her thoughts, the way Brenda had taught her to do.

Brenda, are you okay?

“I’m fine Abby, but you’ve got to hurry. Jack is coming, I can see his thoughts and they’re not good.”

I know, what do I do?

“Burn him! Send him back to hell where he belongs! But please hurry Abby, I’d help you but I can’t move. The demon has some kind of a hold on me.”

Abby rolled forward until she sat in front of the ghostly flames. The torch in her lap seemed to burn into her thighs with anticipation. She gripped it and extended it forward. Instantly the dried pitch caught fire with a sizzling snap as long sealed air pockets inside the wood gave way, bursting into the consuming flame.

Abby began to roll forward towards the pyre when she heard the familiar grating sound of stone against stone.

              Jack!

But how had he known how to gain entry? It was a rhetorical question for she already knew the answer, the demon had told him. Their eyes met. Her husband stood at the entryway of the great chamber heaving with deep breaths and Abby could tell that he had been running. His clothes were soaked with sweat and blood, his complexion redder than usual, and he stared at her with burning hatred. Any shred of the man that she had once loved was gone now, replaced with a virulent hateful killer, and right now his eyes were locked only on her. The pickaxe that she had left behind was wedged between his hands. Abby cursed herself for not having taken it with her, now it might be the cause of her death.

“It’s over Jack.”

She forced her voice to remain calm. Jack began to move forward as if he didn’t hear her. He was beyond reasoning now, merely an implement of the demon devoid of thought. She gauged the distance between the pyre and her husband, trying to calculate if she could reach it. She was unsure. The moment she started to roll forward he would begin running, and he was much faster than she. Her best hope was to try and reach him on an emotional level, but she doubted if that was possible, not anymore.

“You tried to kill me. Stuck a knife in my back while I was defenseless, but you made one crucial mistake. You should have slit my throat when you had the chance.”

For the first time in as long as she could remember Abby agreed with her husband. Yes, if she had it to do over again she would have pulled the blade from his back and drawn it against his windpipe, but it was too late for that now.

“Jack, I know that’s not you talking. This demon has a hold on you, telling you to do bad things, but that’s not you. That’s not the man I married.”

Her words were garbled as usual, spraying out of her mouth as though she were severely mentally retarded, almost undistinguishable, but she knew Jack understood.

“I have to do what I have been called for.”

“Jack please, think about it. Do you really want to kill me, kill me like you did your mother?”

“YOU LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS, YOU UNDERSTAND!” Darrow shrieked.

Abby knew she had struck a nerve, she hoped that it would be enough to draw him out of his emotional shell. Instead he marched forward.

“Jack, please.”

Jack paused for a second, confusion racking his brain. His indecision brought a wave of anger from the demon, still raging within his head.

Kill her Jack, or you will know the full gamut of my wrath. Choose wisely, my patience is done.

“Sorry Abby baby. But it has to be this way.”

He started forward again. The light in his eyes that told her that any shred of humanity he may have once had was gone. She began to roll the chair towards the funeral pyre, every muscle fiber in her arms firing with adrenaline. Jack, aware of what she was about to do began to sprint, the axe gyrating back and forth across his torso as he ran. It was a test of wills, a race to the finish, but Jack was faster and he was closing the distance quickly. When he was no more than five yards from her Abby threw herself to the ground, crawling the last few feet on her elbows. She reached outward trying to bridge the last few inches between the burning torch she wielded and the mass of dried wood.

Jack kicked her in the abdomen, sending a blinding pain throughout her entire body, making her want to double over, but she continued to reach outward, the funeral pyre just a few mere inches from the flame of her torch. Jack raised the axe high, positioned over her like lumberjack about to make the final cut. The last sound Abby heard was the whoosh of the axe splitting the air before it buried itself deep inside her shoulder, splintering the bone beneath like arid kindling.

I’ve failed.
Her last thought wafted its way through her brain.
I’ve failed and he has won.

Just as all hope was about to fade, the tip of the torch caught the edge of the pyre. A tense second passed before the wood began to smoke. Abby looked up at her husband, a horrified look spreading across his face like wildfire in high wind.

And then the pyre erupted in a volcano of crackling flame sucking the oxygen from the room and raising the temperature to unbearable heights within a matter of seconds. The roar was indescribable, a culmination of snapping kindling and eviscerated oxygen drowning out Abby’s thoughts and chilling Jack to his very bones. Thick acrid black smoke began to fill the room, billowing out in a perfect circle before finding the walls and rising upwards in wispy plumes.