8
Pedro was dreaming. The wind slapped his face with a strong aroma of smoke. He looked around and saw hell. There were fires raging all around him, but it had a vaguely familiar look to it. After looking around for a moment, he realized that he did know this place. It wasn’t hell. It was Dallas.
There was so much chaos. People were running everywhere, from the demons. There were thousands of the creatures, and they were devouring everything that they touched. He saw a demon pounce on an old lady. The woman tried to scream, but a black mouth full of sharp, black teeth swallowed her head. When the demon bit down, a fountain of gore sprayed upward from the old lady’s neck, covering the beast in a red tint that caused Pedro to almost lose his lunch. He was glad there was nothing to throw up. At least that was one good thing about the dreams.
What was going on? Pedro had dreamt many times about the demons, but never had his nightmares been so violent, so graphic. The dreams had always been more like a chase scene out of a scary movie, with the serial killer chasing the victim with a chainsaw or wood axe. This dream was like watching a movie, a horrible movie, where the world and Satan’s playground had become one. He heard a loud rumbling from behind and turned to see a skyscraper lose its top floors in an explosion. Debris was falling out of the sky, and Pedro had to run. A large slab of concrete nearly landed on top of him, but he dove to the side just before it hit the ground. Shards of stone sprayed against him, tearing tiny holes through his shirt. He could feel the pain as the splinters of cement tore into his skin.
He lay on the ground for a moment, but hopped to his feet quickly as one of the black demons bounded over him. The creature was giving chase to a woman in a powder blue pants suit. Pedro watched as the monster vaulted over a parked car and tackled the lady. It began to tear at the woman’s flesh with enormous claws, and then sunk its teeth into the back of the unfortunate woman’s neck. She let out a scream, but her cry was choked off by blood. Her head was soon separated from her body. Pedro couldn’t watch any longer. He turned toward what appeared to be the only section of the city that wasn’t in flames. He wasn’t sure if anywhere was safe, but that direction seemed to be occupied by fewer demons.
Pedro ran as hard and fast as he could. He felt the blood trickling down from the wounds in his arms and chest that had been caused by the pebbles, but ignored the pain. He had to get out of here. The only problem was: How? He had always been a heavy sleeper. So, even though he knew this was a dream, how was he supposed to wake up?
One of the demons dropped to the ground ahead of him and scooped up a child, only about six or seven years old, in one of its large black talons. It raised the child, a boy, to its mouth, but the boy dropped out of the beasts’ claw when a large silver sword separated the creatures head from its body. The boy scurried underneath an SUV, trying to hide from the foul demons that had invaded Pedro’s dreams.
There was a figure standing just beyond the fallen demon, and Pedro recognized who it was immediately. The Warrior.
The Warrior turned to face another demon and obliterated the monster with his sword, then turned back toward Pedro and held up his right hand. Pedro started to wave back, but The Warrior turned and disappeared into the darkness, hunting down the black-hearted creatures.
Pedro chased after The Warrior, hoping to perhaps join the fight, but The Warrior was much too quick for Pedro. He could see The Warrior in the distance, the silver arc of His enormous blade swinging in calculating strokes. Pedro saw several obsidian bodies in the street as he pursued the extraordinary man, but never got within fifty yards.
He continued running, even though he was beginning to think it was hopeless. He ran as hard and fast as he could. Then he saw it. Actually, he didn’t see it at first. But he felt it. It was almost as if the air itself had become tainted with wickedness. Pedro stopped running and began to look around. An instinctive reaction told him to hide, but he couldn’t. Fear had frozen his legs to the pavement. He looked down the road in the direction that he had come from and saw what was causing his dread. At first it looked almost like a dark cloud moving up the street, but then he saw what it really was. It was the dark. It was coming up the street in great strides, its footsteps echoing down the streets like thunder. Pedro stared at it for what felt like an eternity, then finally had his fright broken by a sharp pain in the side of his head. He placed his hand against his right temple, and it came away covered in blood. He stared at the blood for a moment, then looked back toward the dark. It was very close now.
“Run!!!” He heard someone shout, and more pain coursed through his body as he was hit in the chest with a large rock. “Run, you damn fool!!!” He looked in the direction of the voice, but couldn’t make out who it was.
His legs didn’t care though. They began moving before his brain even told them to. He ran up the street, toward the voice. One of the little demons jumped out of a doorway ahead of him, but the creature began heading in the same direction that he was traveling. He saw the black monster get cut in half by a figure that was further ahead. Pedro could barely make out the figure, but he knew that it wasn’t who he had been pursuing up this street. The figure was too small to be The Warrior.
The person that had chopped the demon in two turned away from Pedro, and began to run also. Pedro was faster, though, and was gaining ground quickly. He had to reach the person that had been screaming at him. He had to find out who else was involved in this situation. If there was more than just The Warrior, who were they? Were they all as remarkable as Him?
Pedro closed in on the figure; he was only about fifty feet behind him, when another demon dropped from the sky onto the strangers’ back. The creature began clawing viciously at the outsider, knocking him to the ground. Pedro could hear the strangers’ screams, and he acted without thinking. The beast had a tail, and Pedro grabbed hold of it with both of his hands. It paid him no mind and continued to attend to the business of attacking its’ fallen prey. Summoning all of his strength, Pedro wrenched the demon off of its victim, but his efforts only accomplished pulling the beast slightly away. It didn’t seem like much, but the gap must have been enough. The monster howled in pain as the strangers’ sword pierced its’ chest. It was impaled on the blade, but it still tried to use its last bit of strength to overpower Pedro’s fallen comrade. It finally gave in though, and slumped atop the stranger, pinning him to the ground.
“Get this fucking thing off me!” The stranger shouted, and much to Pedro’s surprise, it was a woman’s voice.
Pedro grabbed one of the demons’ legs and pulled the beast off of the woman. She got to her feet slowly, bleeding badly from a deep wound in her left shoulder.
“Thanks, Pete.” She said, adding more fuel to the fire of Pedro’s surprise.
“How do you know…” He started, but was cut off as she waved her right hand in front of his face.
“Don’t matter, sweetie. I just do. Only thing that matters now is that you wake up. You gotta get to Chicago. Follow that little tuning fork in your head until you find him. I guess he’ll let us all know what’s going on when we get there.”
“Who?” Pedro asked.
“Frank,” she replied. “His name’s Frank. I’m Amber. I know you got lots o’ other questions, but this ain’t th’ time or place. Now, you must wake up.”
9
Conrad Jackson sat in his cell and stared into the face of his wife. The picture had hung on the wall for the past nine years, and it was yellowing at the corners, but Conrad would never dream of taking it down. It was a picture of Bonnie that had been taken on their wedding day. No other picture had ever really been able to do her justice, and this was the way that Conrad wanted to remember her. He really wished that he could swap the photo for a more recent one, but that just wasn’t possible.
Next to the picture of Bonnie was a newspaper clipping, with a headline of “Soldier Saves Senator”. The soldier that the article was about was Corporal William C. Jackson, Conrad’s eldest son. Connie had to fight with Warden Dickerson to be able to post the article, but had finally won out when Senator James Tyson, the guy that Billy had saved, had recommended to Congress that Billy be awarded the Medal of Honor. The Senator had also rewarded Billy’s heroism with a State of Wyoming Medal of Valor, which, while small potatoes when compared to the other medal, was an impressive honor in itself. Warden Dickerson had received a call from the Senator to take extra-special care of the father of the man that had saved his life, and the warden had done just that. The following day, Conrad had been moved into a private cell, which was unheard of in this day and age, and was allowed to post just about anything that he wanted on the walls. Conrad didn’t indulge himself to too many liberties, though. He knew that he was just like any other convict in the prison, and he didn’t want any of the other inmates thinking that he was getting special privileges from the warden. He was getting treated differently, and the other con’s noticed, but nobody had made a big deal about it, at least not yet.
Next to the newspaper clipping was another photograph. Conrad looked at the picture, which was of Billy and his other two sons, Michael and Jeffery, and reminisced about how things used to be. He remembered taking Bonnie and the boys to the zoo, to the park, down to Vegas and the Grand Canyon. They had had a wonderful life. Maybe one day, it could all go back to that, but it would have to wait another eleven years. At least. That was when Conrad was scheduled for parole. He had already spent nine long years in the pen, but still wasn’t even halfway through with his sentence. Murder. That was what the courts had called it. Conrad didn’t see it that way. He hadn’t murdered anyone. He just did what the bible said: Eye for an eye. Thomas Redfoot had taken away the most precious thing that Conrad had ever known, so why should the man be allowed to walk the streets? Why should the killer, fucking rapist-pervert, be allowed to roam free when he had taken everything that Conrad had ever loved? Bonnie was a good woman, damn near a saint, so why should Redfoot get away with it?
The police said that they didn’t have sufficient evidence. Ha! Conrad didn’t need all that. All he needed was to see that bastard’s eyes to know that the guy was guilty. And that was enough. Conrad took matters into his own hands, and what does he get for doing what is right? A twenty-year sentence in Green River Penitentiary, that’s what. But Conrad didn’t care, he had done what had to be done. He had avenged his beloved Bonnie. And even though that wouldn’t bring her back, he felt pretty fucking justified. Thomas Redfoot wouldn’t hurt another woman ever again, and Conrad liked to imagine that Bonnie was looking down, smiling, because her man had done the right thing.
“Lights out in five, Connie.” Officer Campos called into Conrad’s cell.
Conrad acknowledged the officer with a wave and a nod, and the young sheriff patrolled further along the deck. Conrad could hear Officer Campos telling other inmates the same thing, so he lay down on his bunk. He was still looking at the pictures on the wall when the lights finally did go off, to a vast array of different whistles and hoots, and began wondering about his sons. Billy had been to see him several different times over the past couple of years, the last time showing off his wonderful medal. Conrad had himself been in the military, Army Special Forces to be exact, but had never received anything like his son had. Just seeing the shiny silver star of Valor nearly made Conrad start to cry. Billy couldn’t receive the Medal of Honor, saving a senator wasn’t a military action, but Conrad was just as pleased with the award that his son had received. The Medal of Valor was a bright silver star, with the words “Valor” and “Excelsior” inscribed upon it. There was an American bald eagle adorned in the middle of the star, too. The entire medal was pinned to a blue ribbon that had thirteen stars stitched to it. It was beautiful. Billy had come to Green River and presented the medal to Conrad, and it now hung on the wall next to the right of Bonnie’s picture. Billy had said that nobody deserved the medal more than “his dad”, and that did make Conrad cry. It was the first time that Conrad had cried since arriving at Green River, and it would probably be the last. A con had to make sure that none of the other inmates thought that he was weak. But for those three minutes, Conrad had felt like he had cleansed himself of all the doubts he’d had about killing Redfoot. Billy left shortly thereafter, but the boy has since been in touch via letters and phone calls, and according to him, Mike and Jeff were doing fine, too. Michael was now sixteen and doing well in high school. In fact, Billy was checking up on him every now and then just to make sure that his brother was getting nothing but A’s and B’s. Jeffery was also doing well, but wasn’t adjusting to life as well as the guidance counselors’ would like. He was fourteen, which could be a tough time for any boy, but wasn’t coping so well since Billy had gone off to the Army. Billy said that Jeff was constantly sending letters to him, which was good, but that the letters sometimes contained a great sadness. Billy said that Jeff would probably turn out to be a good writer, if the boy pursued a career in the arts. Conrad had never dreamed to have such good kids, (Lord knew what a terror he was when he was growing up!) but knew that his boys had Bonnie to thank for most of their skills and successes. He’d never been anything but a soldier and a butcher, so if his kids were getting good grades it had to have been inherited from Bonnie.
Conrad squinted into the darkness until his eyes adjusted, then smiled as he looked into his wife’s eyes. Bonnie Longwell was a beautiful girl, far too beautiful to have ended up with a guy like Conrad. Her parents had disproved of the relationship from the start, but Bonnie was a strong, stubborn woman, and had defied her father and mother. She probably married Conrad just to spite her old man, but Connie didn’t mind. He loved her more than it was humanly possible to love someone, so if she wanted him only to piss off her father, so be it.
Soon after they took their vows, Bonnie got pregnant. Her father acted like a prick throughout the pregnancy, but when the due date started getting closer, he began wanting to play a more vital role in the process. He bought the crib for the baby, several outfits, and enough diapers to last for the first six months of the child’s life. Of course, he also made it a point to tell everyone that would listen what he was doing for Conrad and Bonnie, and several times had made smart-ass remarks or comments toward or about Conrad. Bonnie didn’t appreciate the way that her father was acting, and when Billy was born, she showed it. The day after Bonnie’s hard delivery (18 hours of pure hell.), she kicked her dad out of the hospital room, and that was the last time that the two of them had ever had to deal with Jeffery Longwell. He had tried to persuade Bonnie to give him another chance, but Bonnie wouldn’t go for it. She kept hanging up on the old man every time he called, and if he showed up unannounced, she would act like there was nobody home. The way she acted toward her father only made Conrad fall more deeply in love with her. She was willing to dismiss her own family in an effort to keep things going smoothly in her relationship with Conrad, and it was probably the hardest thing she had ever done. But Conrad appreciated what she did.
Mr. Longwell hadn’t liked Conrad from the moment that they met, and the feeling was mutual. For eleven years, Conrad had no contact with the man, all because of Bonnie. It was kind of ironic that, Bonnie was also the reason that Conrad saw the man again. Jeffery Longwell was one of the first people that Conrad saw at his arraignment. The old man was sitting toward the back of the courtroom, and even though they hadn’t seen each other in such a long time, the instant recognition that came over both of their faces was easy to see. Throughout the entire trial, Conrad kept wondering why the old man was even there, but didn’t find out until the final day of the trial. When Conrad was found guilty of the murder of Thomas Redfoot, Mr. Longwell approached his former son-in-law. He was even more shocked when the old man extended his hand and shook Conrad’s, saying, “I don’t know what she ever saw in you, Conrad,” the old man said, fighting back tears, “but I must say, it takes a hell of a man to do what you did. That bastard deserved to die. You did right, Conrad. You did right. By me and by my daughter.”
The old man did begin to cry then, and Conrad wanted to say something, anything, to ease Mr. Longwell’s pain, but he didn’t get the chance. The bailiff had grabbed Connie by the shoulder and began escorting him away. But Mr. Longwell wasn’t done yet.
“It’s a shame!” The old man cried out. “Conrad Jackson did what any man in this room would’ve done! You call him guilty for murdering that bastard! He’s not guilty! That man is a hero! Bonnie would be proud!”
A sheriff had grabbed the old man by the shoulder, much the same way that the bailiff had grabbed Connie, and tried to pull him away. But Mr. Longwell only cried out louder. “Don’t you let them bring you down, Conrad! You’re no murderer! A hero! That’s what you are!”
Conrad was led out a back door of the courtroom. He could still hear Jeffrey Longwell’s voice as he was led to the holding room. He forced himself to not cry. The outburst by Bonnie’s father was so emotional, so strong, that it took a great deal of effort to not succumb to the emotions that he himself was feeling. He sat down on the bench in the holding room and the bailiff cuffed him to a bar that was attached to the wall. The bailiff looked at him in the eyes, and said, “The old man’s right, you know. I’d of done the same thing as you.” Connie looked up at the sheriff, and seeing the truth in the man’s eyes, began to weep. He hung his head low, letting the tears pour from his eyes. The bailiff put his hand on Connie’s shoulder once more, in a more conciliatory manner, and said. “Get it out now Mr. Jackson. Get it out now while you’re alone. ‘Cause it don’t matter what I think. You don’t want none of the other boys to see you cry. They’ll eat you for breakfast. So you get it out now.” Then the bailiff patted Connie on the shoulder and left the room.
Conrad did cry. For a long time it was all he could do. He held his head in his hands and cried great big gobs of tears. And for the first time in Conrad’s life, he felt totally alone.
But it didn’t matter. It took Conrad a while to convince himself of that, but it was true. It didn’t matter how much he cried, because no amount of tears would ever bring Bonnie back. Not then and not now. She was gone.
That was nine years ago, and the only thing that had changed since Bonnie’s death was that Conrad knew that he was no longer alone. It wasn’t like he had a lot of friends inside or anything like that. It was the dreams.
Conrad had always had strange dreams. It used to drive Bonnie crazy. There were many nights that he would wake his wife in the middle of the night. Sometimes it got so bad that when he awoke in the morning, there was an empty space next to him. He would find Bonnie asleep on the living room sofa, like when they had gotten into the really bad arguments. Connie absolutely refused to sleep on the couch, no matter how pissed he or Bonnie was, but whether it was an argument or the nightmares, seeing her curled up on that lumpy old thing always made him feel guilty.
Connie could never remember the dreams that he would have, until recently. It used to be that he would wake up in cold sweats, wondering what it was that had scared him so terribly. Not anymore, though. Now he knew. And sometimes he thought that he would have been better off not knowing.
“The dark.” That was what the guy in the dreams had called the beast. Not Satan or the Devil or any of the more traditional names for evil. Just “the dark”. It made Connie break out in gooseflesh all over his body thinking about it.
The first time that he met the guy in the dreams was the first time that he remembered what he had dreamt about. It was awful. The guy, Frank was his name, had come into Connie’s dream and saved him from “the dark”. Frank wasn’t anything impressive to look at, but the way he handled the enormous beast changed Connie’s impression very quickly. Frank had single-handedly dispatched several of the smaller demons, then turned to Connie and told him to “wake up!” Frank said that it wasn’t time yet, whatever that meant, that he would come and find Connie later. Then it seemed like the world exploded. You could say that all hell broke loose. The ground beneath the two of them shook and cracked open like an egg. Connie had lost his balance and fell to the ground, but Frank acted like nothing had happened, held his footing, and withdrew the great shining sword once again. Connie could still remember the smell from the great chasm. It smelled like rotting corpses and sour milk.
Connie had just begun to get to his feet when he saw the demon rising from the abyss. It was huge. Connie stood in awe as he saw the creature become fully formed. It was at least twenty feet tall and made all of the drawings and pictures of statues of the devil that he had seen in the prison library seem second-rate. None of the artists had ever gotten it right. Connie knew immediately that the thing was wicked. Evil emanated from it in powerful pulses that made Connie feel like a mouse staring into the mouth of a boa constrictor. He tried to run, but his legs had become one with the ground. The beast let out a deafening roar that almost caused Connie to fall again.
But none of that mattered. Frank pounced on the creature like a tiger leaps onto a caribou. Connie saw the guy, but couldn’t believe his eyes. Frank was actually winning. Stroke after stroke of the silver blade caused the enormous monster to fall back. The demon was trying to advance on Frank, but every time it took a step forward, its foe forced it to take three back. The dark must have finally had enough, because it let out another roar, but this one was full of frustration, not triumph, and spread its wings. Frank saw that the demon was trying to escape, he tried to attack its left wing, but it was too late. The dark bounded into the night, and Connie heard and felt the powerful wings carry the beast to safety, far away from the unimpressive looking but very deadly man known as Frank.
That dream took place almost a year ago. Since then, Connie hadn’t seen “the dark” in his nightmares. He only saw what Frank had called “the darklings”. The “little ones”, which were about as big as most men, plagued Connie’s dreams on an almost nightly basis. But Connie would rather deal with a thousand “darklings” than have to ever see their master even once more.
Conrad had never been a religious man. He had often chided Bonnie for going to church or praying to a God that never seemed to listen. Not anymore. He still didn’t pray so much, maybe only once every two weeks, but he could no longer bring himself to think of God in such a lowly manner. Many times, like tonight, he would have long discussions with his dead wife about her beliefs. He would ask her about the bible and other sacred things, and even though he never received a reply, he would feel better about going to sleep. Often, he would talk himself to sleep. Bonnie was always a great listener, and Connie wished that he could have just five more minutes of real conversation with her, but he would have to settle for a picture and a memory.
“Do you think that we’ll ever see each other again, baby?” he asked the smiling photograph. “It would be kind of cool, huh? Just to be able to touch your skin would be worth dying for. You know that don’t you?”
His wife just stared at him from her place of honor on the wall. She didn’t answer any of his questions, and that made Conrad feel lonely again. Lonely, but not alone.
After all, he would always have her memory and her picture. And the dreams.
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