CHAPTER SIX
Jake woke up, not gradually like he had before, but suddenly and with full awareness of his surroundings and all his memories from Purgatory intact and clear in his mind.
The first thing he did was open his eyes and sit up. The room he was in was shadowy and he was in bed, just as he had been before. As his eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, Jake saw that although the dimensions were a little bigger, the room was very similar to the previous room he’d awaken in. There was a walk-in closet, two large light coloured wooden dressers, one with a mirror, and even a nightstand with a digital alarm clock on it that was an exact duplicate of the other. There was, however, one major difference in the room.
There was a woman lying on the bed beside him, and she was awake and staring at him. Before Jake could process that, she spoke.
“What’s wrong honey?” Her voice had a sleep induced softness to it. In the darkness, he could make out that she had short, light coloured hair and attractive facial features.
“Huh? Oh. Nothing. I just had a dream.” He moved his hand up and rubbed his head, easily pretending the feeling of upset that a bad dream gave. He’d had enough of those over the past year to know that feeling intimately. As he lowered his hand, the woman reached out and grasped it.
“Oh, Jake,” the woman said softly. “Was it about Iraq again?” She sat up, and Jake gasped involuntarily not only because she’s said his name and mentioned Iraq, but because the sheet had slid down and he saw that she was nude.
Jake stared at the woman’s body for a moment. In addition to her nudity, he saw a wedding ring on her finger. He automatically checked his ring finger and saw the flash of gold there that told him he had one too. He started to say something, but the woman once again interrupted his thoughts.
“Do you want to make love, hon? It might help like the last time.” She let go of his hand and put hers on his chest, then before Jake could stop her, leaned in to kiss him.
The kiss was warm and passionate. Her mouth was soft and her tongue moved slowly into Jake’s mouth, alternately stroking his lips, teeth and tongue.
Jake’s emotions were in turmoil. It had been over two years since he’d been in bed with a woman. He returned the kiss, tasting her tongue and lips with his own. He put his arms around her, rubbed the back of her neck for a moment then, he moved his hands slowly to her breasts and lightly began caressing the undersides. She moaned into his mouth and reached beneath the sheet to grasp his manhood. When she touched him, he felt the warmth of her fingers, then the brief coolness of the wedding ring on his skin. He broke the kiss and gently grasped her hand, stopping her from going any further.
“I-I can’t,” he said. His voice was harsh from the raw emotions he was experiencing. He was confused by her calling his name and mentioning Iraq.
The woman looked at him for a moment, panting from exertion and passion while radiating a raw sexuality. Compassion filled her eyes and she leaned in and hugged him. He hugged her back, still breathing raggedly.
I’m so sorry, babe. Is there anything I can do? Do you want to talk about it? The doctor said it might help,” she said into his ear.
He moved back a little and looked her in the eyes.
“No,” he said shakily, and shook his head. He thought fast. “I’ll be ok. I think I’ll grab something to eat and take a drive.”
The woman stared back at him, this time the concern plain on her face.
“Alright, Jake,” she replied, “but don’t take too long, ok?” She leaned in and kissed him again, this time briefly, but still sexily.
Jake returned the kiss, then rolled out of bed. He stood and walked over to the dresser to his right, hoping it was the right one. He opened a drawer in the top row and saw men’s T-shirts in a variety of colours. He picked a dark-coloured V-neck, then searched through a few other drawers until he found some underwear, jeans, socks. He put them on then looked toward the bed, hoping there were some shoes there. None. The only thing he saw was the woman watching him. He smiled, told her he would be back soon, then opened the door that was beside the dresser.
Jake stepped out into a hallway that was a little dimmer than the bedroom, but not so dim he couldn’t see. He closed the door behind him and moved off to his right, the only way he could go; the other way led to a blank wall. He made his way down the hall, stepping quietly on the carpeted floor. When he got to the end, Jake saw an open door to his right that led to a bathroom. He stepped in for a moment and relieved his bladder, then rinsed his hands and looked at his image in the small mirror over the sink. What he saw there made him feel encouraged, and explained why the woman had mentioned Iraq.
The man’s body he was inhabiting was a service man, either former or current. He could tell that immediately from the haircut and the body’s fitness. Jake rolled the sleeves of the shirt up, then pulled it off while looking in the mirror. He found what he was looking for on his upper left back, near the shoulder blade: a USMC tattoo.
The man had light hair, brown eyes, and looked young, maybe in his mid-twenties.
Ok, he thought. At least, I’m in good shape. I can deal with this. He walked out of the bathroom and moved through the medium sized house until he got to the kitchen, where he went to the refrigerator and grabbed a handful of apples and a package of sliced deli turkey. He put the apples in a bag, opened the meat and started eating it while he searched the area.
After a few minutes, he found two sets of car keys on hooks by the front door and a 12-gauge Mossberg pump shotgun in the closet. He pulled a light windbreaker off the hanger, put it on, then pocketed a box of buckshot shells. He looked around for a moment, then walked into a mudroom beside the closet, put on a pair of Timberland hiking boots and walked out the front door.
As soon as Jake stepped onto the doorstep, he felt the same compulsion in his mind that had led him to the demon before. He looked around to get his bearings, then lifted the keys and pressed the alarm button. He heard the chirp-chirp from the car around the corner of the house, so he walked that way. When he turned the corner, Jake stopped and let out a low whistle.
Sitting in the driveway was not one, but two 1967 Corvette Stingrays, one silver, one black. They weren’t run of the mill ‘rays either. Both had the 427/435 big blocks, with manual transmissions, and they looked as if they’d just driven off the showroom floor. This was the car he’d dreamed of having when he was a kid, the car he’d bought when he was a broker before joining the Army. The car he’d sold after Afghanistan to rid himself of painful memories. Jake walked around them for a moment, admiring the classic American craftsmanship, then, shook his head, remembering why he was here. He hit the alarm button again and the black Corvette chirped. Jake smiled, opened the door, got in, and started the car. The deep rumble beneath the hood showed that the engine was as well tuned as the rest of the car. The interior smelled like aftershave and Armor all, bringing back memories of his own car.
Jake paused for a moment, letting the engine warm up and letting the memories of his own go. He reached up and flipped down the visor, found nothing, then unlocked the glove compartment. Ah, he thought, there’s what I’m looking for. There was a small pistol, a Glock 26 forty-five calibre there, a sheathed K-bar knife, and a wallet.
Jake put the pistol under his left leg, attached the knife to his belt, and opened the wallet. There was some cash in it, but Jake didn’t pay attention to the money. The driver’s license was the only thing he was interested in. It said his name was Jake Marshal, he was twenty-one years old, and the address was in the same city, Carson, Pennsylvania, that he’d been in before. As Jake started to close the wallet, he also saw a military I.D. He looked at it, curious to know what the man’s rank was. It said he was a Captain. Must have joined right out of college, maybe ROTC, Jake thought. He also saw that the I.D. was current. Jake sighed. Hopefully, he wouldn’t get this one killed and leave the man’s wife without a husband. Jake clenched his jaws as images of his men tried to intrude on his thoughts. He took a few calming breaths, engaged the clutch, put the car in reverse, then backed it out of the driveway. When he got to the street, he turned in the direction of the compulsion and hit the gas for a moment, getting the satisfaction of lighting up the tires for a few second, then straightening the car out and moving toward the demon.
After only five minutes of driving, Jake found himself in the neighbourhood he’d been in on his private trip. He took a few turns from memory, heading toward the duplex where he’d confronted the demon, but when he was a few blocks away, the compulsion started pulling him in a different direction. He started to ignore the pull, but his instincts told him to follow it. He swerved the car sharply to his left and drove in the direction of the pull, hoping that the priest was still alive and that he was not abandoning the man.
Jake drove on for another five minutes or so, until he felt the same strong feeling he’d had before, outside of the duplex, that had indicated that the demon was very near. He sighed when he saw where he was.
It was a military cemetery.
Of course, he thought. It reminded him of all the cemeteries he’d visited when he’d buried his men. He sighed and parked the car in a parking lot on the cemetery grounds, got out, put the pistol in his waistband behind his back, then hung the shotgun by the combat sling so that it was hanging in front of his chest. He held the shotgun’s pistol grip loosely with his right hand and rested his left hand on the barrel, as he’d been trained to do while on patrol. He checked to make sure the keys were in the ignition, closed the door, then scanned the area for a minute or two before moving forward.
When Jake got to the front gate, he paused for a moment to say a brief prayer for those that were buried here, for his own men, and for himself. The last thing he did before entering the grounds was to ask God to give him strength to fight the demon and to watch over Father McLanahan. He hoped to talk to the priest again; they had a lot to discuss.
The first place Jake stopped was the administration building, which was of moderate size. About five thousand square feet Jake guessed and constructed of red brick with a single roof. From what Jake could see, the building looked fairly new and was clean. The grounds were well tended, which didn’t surprise him, being that it was a military cemetery.
Jake looked around the perimeter for a few moments until he found what he was looking for, a map of the grounds.
It was on the wall near the front doors, encased in plexiglass to withstand the elements, and bolted to the wall. Jake looked at it for a minute, getting his bearings, noting that it was a pretty large cemetery covering at least a hundred acres and containing what Jake estimated to be about five or six thousand graves.
Jake saw that there were a dozen different sections covering most of the major wars from the Revolutionary war to the war on terror.
Jake memorized the map the best he could, then walked away from the building and toward the direction in which he was being pulled. When he figured out which section he was heading for, he sighed again. It was toward the newest section, where those who were fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan were interred.
It was a long walk, maybe ten minutes, over small hills and through shallow valleys. The light the full moon glowed brightly, and there was sparse cloud cover, which allowed him to easily stay on the paved path. If he did not have to face a demon, Jake thought he’d probably enjoy the walk. The temperature was brisk, but not too cold, the grass in the area had just been cut and there were wild flowers and trees growing all over the place, leaving a variety of scents that were entirely pleasing to the nose, and there was even a brook running past the path and into what looked like a small wooded area. It reminded him of the events that had led up to his death. He shuddered at the memory and the betrayal from his friend. He was very angry and he thought about revenge for a few moments, then put away those thoughts to focus on the mission.
As he came to another hill, he noticed a monument to the side. It was made from what looked like granite, was about fifteen feet high, and depicted a soldier in uniform, carrying an M4 and looking out into infinity. The plaque at the base read, “From a grateful nation to those who have given their lives in the war on terror to prevent those would destroy our way of life.” He saw the dedication was December 15th, 2001, shortly after he’d been deployed to Afghanistan.
Jake sighed and moved cautiously up the crest of the hill, then moved his head so that he could see into the valley below.
The first thing he noticed was that the valley was different than the others he’d seen tonight. Unlike the others, which were clear, there was a low-lying mist or fog near the bottom, which made it impossible to see not only the graves, but any people, or demons, that might be there. Great, thought Jake. He started to curse Moroni for getting him into this, then thought better of it.
Jake moved cautiously downhill, going at an angle and moving away from the obvious paths, all the while, staying keenly aware of where his internal sense was telling him the demon was. Right now, he sensed that it was in the centre point of the valley and was either standing still or was not moving too much.
When Jake made it to the bottom, he saw that the mist was pretty thick, but visibility was moderate—maybe fifteen or twenty feet. Good enough for him to pull the trigger if the demon tried to run at him. At least, he hoped so. The last time, the demon had moved pretty fast. Jake shrugged, then looked briefly at the shotgun to make sure the safety was off. He put his finger lightly on the trigger, then moved slowly forward. His surroundings were eerily quiet. The mist seemed to be absorbing all of the ambient noises that he’d been hearing since he’d gotten here. He continued moving.
After only a few minutes, Jake heard a noise. He couldn’t tell what it was or where it came from. He stopped and opened his mouth while tilting his head a little, then cupped the back of his left ear with his left hand while moving his head to try to get the direction. It was a trick he’d learned from one of his men during his first deployment before 9-11. A long time ago, he thought.
After a few moments, he found the direction the noise was coming from—the same direction as the demon. He creeps forward, stepping between grave stones, avoiding fallen leaves and twigs from nearby trees.
All of Jake’s senses were alive, reminding him of the times he’d gone into combat, the feeling that at any instant he could come upon the enemy and would either live or die, according to God’s will.
As he crept forward, the noises became clearer. It sounded like rocks being pounded together combined with the deep rumbling of a voice, followed by another voice. A voice that Jake recognized as Father McLanahan’s. It sounded as though the priest might be in pain.
Jake moved forward about ten more steps, holding his pace steady and slow, not being distracted by the priest’s painful exclamations, which were more clear now that he was closer. Jake stopped as soon as he saw movement. He suddenly lowered himself behind a large grave stone, then wiped the mist and sweat from his face before peeking over the side of the marker. What he saw almost made him sick.
The demon was about twenty feet away, facing away from Jake at a slight angle and was not disguised as the human Jake had seen before. He noticed that there was a small pair of wings on its back.
He was leaning forward a little and talking to the priest, who was hanging from a large stone cross that was marking a grave. There was blood on his face and body and his clothes were shredded. Jake looked closely and saw that his hands were nailed to the cross with some type of metal spikes and it looked as if both his legs were broken. They were both bent at extreme angles with the ankles nailed to the bottom of the cross about a foot above the ground. His hair was matted with blood, sweat and dirt, but there was a defiant look in his eyes that gave Jake a boost of confidence.
The priest answered to something the demon said, and Jake heard the strain in his voice. He realized that McLanahan might not last that much longer. Jake took a few breaths to calm himself, lightly gripped the pistol grip on the shotgun, then stood up and moved slowly toward the demon, carefully watching where he stepped while keeping the demon in his sight. When he was about ten feet away, he lifted the shotgun, aimed at the demon’s centre mass and pulled the trigger.
The shell exploded in the chamber and expelled the pellets out of the barrel at a high rate of speed. Less than a half second later, they impacted in the centre of the demon’s spine, right below the wings. Since they didn’t have to travel very far, the pellets didn’t spread out very much and most of the kinetic energy was concentrated in an area about the size of a small plate. It would have devastated a human being.
It didn’t seem to hurt the demon very much.
The force of the pellets threw it forward into the priest and Jake could hear both the demon and McLanahan grunt from the impact. Jake looked at the place where the pellets had hit the demon, expecting to see blood and gore, but there was none. Instead, there were several holes in the skin, and they were rapidly closing up. This thing can’t be hurt by normal weapons, Jake thought. He had a brief idea, wondering if a large explosion would effect it, then put it aside for later, if there were a later. Jake focused on the present.
The demon turned around and faced Jake, moving with the same swiftness it had shown when Jake had confronted it before. Jake saw a large stone with gouge marks and blood on it in one of its hands. It had apparently been using it to nail the priest’s hands and feet to the cross and to break his legs.
When it saw Jake standing there with a shotgun in his hands, it smiled, showing a mouthful of sharp, bloody teeth, then throwing it’s head back, started to laugh.
Before it became too amused, Jake pumped the shell into the chamber and fired it, this time aiming for the demon’s exposed neck, hoping to decapitate it. He hit the neck, but it didn’t decapitate the monster. It did knock a significant hole in it, but the hole immediately started to heal. The demon was thrown back into the priest once again. Both of them grunted again.
Before the demon recovered, Jake fired the rest of the shells in the gun, rapidly sliding the pump back after each shot. When he ran out of shells, Jake squinted at the demon through the gun smoke and mist, hoping the combined kinetic energy of the seven shells full of the buckshot had severed its head from the body.