They

Chapter Twenty-three

YOU KNEW… TRACY…

Frank’s last words floated through his mind as Vince walked out to his car numbly, the scene in the hospital reverberating in his mind. With Mike Peterson dead, Frank was obviously frantic, worried about Tracy, worried about Vince, and he was confirming to Vince what he’d known all along. The Children of the Night were after him. He was important to them. What was the term Frank had used? The Red Opener? Like some kind of portal? Whatever it was, it was sick, it was dangerous, it was insane, and he had to get as far away from these people as possible. And he had to contact Tracy and get somewhere safe where they could never be found.

Vince’s cell phone rang as he approached his car. He answered it as he disarmed the vehicle and climbed in. “Yeah?”

“Vince?” Tracy’s voice. She sounded concerned. He could only guess what he sounded like to her. “Vince, you okay?”

“Frank’s dead,” Vince said. He sat in the front bucket seat of his car, staring out at the lot and its multitudes of cars shimmering in the July sun. “So is Mike. They’re both dead.”

For a moment there was silence on the other end of the line. Then, Tracy came back on the line. Her voice was calm, urging. “Vince, are you okay to drive?”

“I think so,” Vince said. He felt numb; detached, like he was in a waking nightmare. “It’s just… everything… it happened so fast.”

“You need to get out of there,” Tracy said. “Do you understand me, Vince?”

“Yeah. I understand.”

“I need you to come pick me up,” Tracy continued. “Only you’re not coming to the condo. I’m at Brian’s place. Can you pick me up there?”

“What are you doing there?” Vince asked. Brian Dennison lived in a large house in Laguna Hills. They… took me… near Laguna Hills…

“I told him what’s happening and he’s set us up. Everything is set up for our new lives, Vince. I acted on this the minute you dropped me off at the condo. I did it for us. We’re both going to be fine.”

“Everything’s… set up?”

“To escape,” Tracy said, her voice calm, soothing. “But we have to leave now. Come get me.”

“Okay.”

“You remember where Brian lives, right?”

“Yeah. I’m leaving now.”

“Drive carefully. I’ll see you soon.” And then Tracy hung up.

This played in his mind as he headed south on the 405 toward Irvine. The Lexus purred contentedly in rush hour traffic as Vince merged into the next lane, maneuvering to the left so he could get onto Interstate 5 where he would then get off on Mission Road. From there he would turn left, heading inland. Laguna Beach would lie behind him, a conclave of upper-middle class homes nestled in South Orange County. But further inland…

Laguna Hills.

Vince had been to Brian’s house a number of times. The neighborhood was made up primarily of high-level professionals: bankers, lawyers, doctors, CEOs. It was very plausible that Gladys Black and her husband lived within the general area.

As Vince drove, he thought about what Frank Black had told him in his drug-addled state. It was obvious something had happened to him; he’d looked gravely wounded. The attending ER physician did not want to discuss the specific nature of Frank’s more threatening injuries. Vince felt his stomach churn; he was nervous. It was still very difficult to believe the supernatural was at play here. He had a hard time believing what Frank had told him. Vince a half-human half-demon hybrid? It was absurd. The Children of the Night might believe it, but Vince didn’t, and that’s what made them so powerful. It was their belief that propelled them, what motivated them. Their devotion to this insane cause was as idiotic as those Christian nuts in Kansas with the god hates fags website and the Jihadists in the Middle East who blew themselves up in order to take down a few infidels.

The exit he was looking for came up and Vince took it, cruising effort-lessly onto Mission Viejo Road. He continued east, trying not to be both-ered by rush hour traffic. He drove on autopilot, his route already mapped out. He knew where he was going, and he would know the house when he saw it.

How had Frank wound up back in Fountain Valley? Did Gladys and the other Children of the Night dump him on some random street corner after doing whatever it was they did with him? For what purpose? Why not just kill him and make the body disappear? The more Vince thought about it, the more confused he got. Words and images swam in his conscious. The Red Opener. Hanbi. Father of Satan. Ancient and forbidden books of black magic written by Assyrian priests. How could such a legend continue for untold thousands of years, known only by a select few?

Something came out… ripped me open… it ate me…

Don’t believe a word she says… she did it… she orchestrated it…

The more Vince thought about it, the more the questions piled on. Mike Peterson’s wife, Carol, crying on TV. Gladys Black being furious with Frank, letting him be savaged by whatever thing they’d let loose on him before. Newport Road came up and Vince swung into the left-hand lane, making his turn at the light and continuing north.

Something Frank said bugged him. They’ve been, like, onto you now, grooming you for the past ten years. Can you believe it?

Ten years?

Vince’s brow furrowed as he thought about the past ten years. In 1989 he’d still been a student, heading to the top of his graduating class in the MBA Program at UCI. He was dating a beautiful woman named Diana Roberts, whom he’d met at a party over the Christmas holidays in 1988, and next to his relationship with Laura, that liaison was the hottest affair he’d ever had. He remembered the relationship being fiery, hot with passion. There’d been something about Diana that had awoken such a lustful side of him that he couldn’t resist her. Normally, Vince had been attracted to conservative girls—preppy cheerleaders, studious types. Diana had been the exact opposite. She’d been a wild, heavy metal rocker chick with teased out hair, lithe features, legs to her neck, and a body that wouldn’t quit. Unlike most of the party girls Vince had known, Diana had actually possessed a brain. They’d have these long conversations about everything from politics to music, to literature and films, to economics and current events. She was well educated yet had a wild side that had won Vince over. He’d been a little sad to see the relationship end.

He kept his eye peeled to the cliffs to his right. It was still light enough to make out the houses perched along the edge of the canyon. The houses that lined the cliff looked to be a good quarter of a mile away, and Vince swung into his right lane so he could cruise it.

He wondered what ever happened to Diana Roberts. About a month or so into their relationship, she’d suddenly stopped calling him or taking his phone calls. When Vince dropped by her apartment in Hunting-ton Beach to see if she was okay (he’d thought she’d been sick or something), he was shocked to find that she’d cleared out. Her apartment was vacant and she’d left no forwarding address.

A year later he was working at Corporate Financial, in a job that had seemingly landed at his feet. Brian Denison, one of the middle managers that interviewed him for the position, had become a good friend and in the three years that passed Vince had risen up the ladder quickly. By 1994 he was a Regional Division Manager in charge of all accounts. He was also dating Laura Palmer, who he’d met at a business function. Two years later he and Laura were married, and Vince thought life couldn’t get any better.

Only it had. There was another promotion, this one as V.P. in charge of International Accounts. Brian was grooming him for a Presidency position; Vince knew that, and his handling of overseas stocks and bonds was becoming impeccable. One of the firm’s clients, Azif Offshore Investments, was rapidly growing into one of the most lucrative firms that the company held and it had been Brian’s baby, which he’d passed on to Vince. “I’m gonna let you do your magic on this one, pal,” Brian had told him that day just a year ago when he’d been handed the account. “These guys are gonna bust out. They’re projected at grossing three hundred billion dollars in 1999. By 2000, they’re gonna be bigger than Microsoft.”

Vince had been riding high, on top of the world, and then it had all come crashing down when Laura lost control of her vehicle and flew off the 5, crashing into a stand of trees.

Eight months after he’d buried her he still grieved. And he tried to get on with his life. Tracy Harris had proven to be a godsend. Brian Denison had been a saint. He’d given Vince all the time he’d needed, had helped him out on his accounts. Vince didn’t know how he’d managed to get through it, but somehow he did.

He saw the gleam of light reflecting off the plate glass window of a home nestled on a jutting crag just as another thought spiked his brain. Tracy Harris… something about her was suddenly becoming déjà vu. He knew he’d never met her before that social mixer at the American Banking Association Convention this past winter, but all of a sudden she popped into his head with the uncanny feeling that they had met before. It was something about her speech, the way she spoke and carried herself that was creating those familiar feelings. Vince tried to focus on it as he made a right hand turn down Park Street, which would lead him up the hill to the neighborhood where Brian lived.

Vince made another right down Fir Street. Tracy Harris wouldn’t get out of his mind, either. The taste of her lips, the comforting warmth of her body pressed against his, it was all coming back to him now, like an old friend, someone he hadn’t seen in years, someone he’d forgotten but his subconscious hadn’t.

As he drew closer to the neighborhood, he felt a weight settle in his stomach. His fingers gripped the steering wheel and he dry swallowed. This was ridiculous. He would have known if he’d slept with Tracy Harris before. He’d only been with ten other women in his life, and Tracy Harris sure hadn’t been one of them. Christ, he could name all his past lovers by name. Susie, Brandy, Lori, Tonya, Susan, Vicki, Diana, Cathy—

The names and faces rushed by and none matched, but oh there was one that was familiar. This realization settled in him as he pulled up in front of Brian’s home, a very large red brick sprawling place, and turned off the ignition. The driveway was full of vehicles. The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac; other cars were parked along the curbs of the neighboring homes, as if somebody were hosting a party. A strange sense of calmness flooded over him; he no longer felt afraid or nervous. He looked at Brian’s home, still trying to place where he might have possibly met up with Tracy Harris before, knowing he would make the connection soon. Then he got out of the car, closed the driver’s side door, and began walking up the driveway toward the house.

As he walked up the driveway, Diana Roberts came to his mind. There was something uncanny about Diana, something about her eyes… those green eyes of hers that had been so alluring, so entrancing. That and the way she had walked, the way she’d kissed him, the way she’d made love to him… it was all coming back now. And the more he thought about Diana Roberts, the more he thought about Tracy Harris and how opposite they were to each other. True, both of them were built similarly, but there the resemblances ended. Tracy was cultured, refined, classy. Diana Roberts was—

He mounted the concrete steps to the porch that led up to the large double oak doors and knocked.

And when the door was opened, a tall elderly man dressed in an immaculate black suit looked out at him and nodded. “Master Vincent,” the man said, his voice crisp and commanding. “We’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.” The man stepped aside, allowing Vince full view of the entry hall.

Vince blinked. Expecting him? He didn’t even know this old fuck. When did Brian get a butler? “Who…” be began.

“We’ve been waiting a long time for you to come home,” the man said, the barest hint of a smile playing along his lips. “Please. Come in.”

The man’s voice had a commanding tone. It propelled Vince up the step and through the threshold where he stood in the foyer, staring up at the vast high ceiling.

“This way, please.” The elderly man with the black suit began walking down the entry hall toward the rear of the house. Vince followed him.

Vince took everything in quickly; the polished mahogany of the woodwork, the stained glass windows, the furnishings; it was all the trappings of wealth and prestige. He’d been to Brian’s home numerous times in the past, but for some reason had never really paused to notice the details of Brian’s home. Had Vince taken Brian’s wealth for granted? Perhaps. But still—

The elderly man stepped aside just as they crested the entrance to the lavish den. Vince stepped through the doorway into the room and his eyes flew open, a gasp escaped him.

The den was large, with a cathedral ceiling. The rear of the room, which made up the rear wing of the home, was composed of plate glass that stretched to the ceiling. He was very familiar with this section of the home. These windows looked out onto the back deck, which, in turn, held a commanding view of south Orange County. The room was furnished with plush sofas and chairs, a cherry coffee table. A large marble hearth occupied a good portion of the south wall. Two large oil paintings hung in gold frames, flanking the hearth, their subjects dark and strange. Vince frowned; he’d never seen these paintings before.

The people gathered in the den turned to greet his entry.

The room was filled with two-dozen people dressed elegantly in suits, sport coats, blazers, vests, dresses, skirts, patent leather shoes and high heels, silk shirts and blouses. Most of them appeared to be older than Vince, in their forties and fifties, but there were a few elderly people as well. They were all looking at Vince, most of them smiling, as if watching a long lost loved one step off an airplane.

There were a couple of people in the room around Vince’s age. One of them was smiling at him, his eyes warm, friendly. He was easily recognizable. “Brian?” Vince asked.

Vince Walter’s best friend Brian Dennison smiled, his face alive with pride. “Vince, my man! So good to see you come home!”

“What’s this all about?” Vince said, his heart pounding. Brian’s wife, Kimberly, was standing beside her husband and for the first time Vince noticed something different about them. He’d known Brian and Kimberly for over ten years, had been to their home, had shared laughter and good times with them. He’d become tight with them, and as familiar as they were to him the moment he walked in, there was something subtly different about his friends. It was as if he’d just discovered they’d been wearing masks the whole time he’d known them, and that this mask had slipped over their countenance, ever so slightly, revealing their true faces.

“It’s all about welcoming you home, Andrew,” Brian said.

Vince started, blinking. Andrew? How could Brian know that the name his mother had given him when he was born was—

He was suddenly able to recognize other people in the room. A middle-aged couple, the woman demure and proper, the man resembling a line-backer; seeing him brought back memories of a California childhood when Vince used to play with his daughter, Nellie. Now he looked older, wiser, more confident. Another middle-aged couple stood near them, the man tall, powerfully built, with brown hair that was turning silver; the woman looked like she might be a power broker for a large corporation. She was dressed in a conservative business suit and her black hair was speckled with flecks of gray. He recognized those eyes as he looked into them and he saw Frank Black in her facial features. He blinked, their younger images molding perfectly with the older couple now staring back at him, faint smiles on their faces. “Gladys and Tom,” he whispered.

“Hello, Andrew.”

Vince turned toward the source of the voice. It came from an old man who was sitting in a red velvet chair with a large ornate back; more like a throne than an actual chair. The man looked to be well over eighty. He was dressed in a black suit, black slacks, a white shirt, a black tie knotted snuggly at his wrinkled neck. Two large gold rings sat on the ring fingers of both hands. His thinning white hair was combed back over his liver-spotted scalp. Despite his age, there was nothing about his demeanor or the sound of his voice to suggest he was frail. If anything he looked strong, powerful.

Vince recognized the old man immediately. “Samuel Garrison,” he said.

“Welcome home, Andrew,” the old man said. His features beamed a radiance that could only be described as pride.

Vince looked around at the sea of faces again. He recognized another face in the crowd, this one standing with the middle-aged couple. She was about his age, with blonde hair, wearing a black dress. She reminded Vince of a suburban housewife and the minute he saw her he was transported instantly back to his childhood, when he was eight years old, playing with his childhood friends as his parents visited with the parents of his friends. “Nellie,” he whispered.

Another woman stepped forward and when Vince cast his eyes on her his heart leaped in his chest. He stepped back in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing. “Tracy!”

Tracy Harris stood in front of the throng of people that had gathered in the immaculate den to greet him. She’d changed into a revealing outfit designed for evening wear; a one-piece black dress with a short skirt, plunging neckline, black stockings, high heels. Her auburn hair fell on her shoulders, and as she stepped toward Vince he saw the remarkable resemblance between Tracy and Diana Roberts, the girl he’d dated over ten years ago. “Tracy,” Vince said, taking a step back.

“It’s okay, Andrew,” Tracy said, her voice soothing, calm. “There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Vince was taking rapid steps back and he stopped when he heard the door behind him close. He glanced back quickly; the double doors to the den had been shut and now he heard the click of a lock. He whirled around to Tracy, who’d stopped her advancement. She was looking at him with a mixture of wonder, awe, and love. Vince’s hands were shaking; he was too scared to do anything except stand there, numb with fright. “What’s going on here?” he said, his voice taking on a squealing pitch.

“It’s okay, Andrew,” Tracy said, her voice soothing, musical. “These are your friends. Your family. We’ve waited so long for this.”

Vince looked around, his eyes darting around the room. Despite the fact that the room they were in was so huge, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He felt a tightness in his chest, a burning in his throat that could only be fear. As he tried to take everything in, the people that were gathered in the den rose to their feet. Vince jumped back, deathly afraid. “What’s going on?” he shouted, panicked.

The old man stepped forward, his stride steady with a sense of purpose. “There’s no reason to be fearful, Andrew. Relax. You’re home now.”

“Home?” Vince cried, feeling the tightness constrict his chest. “What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t guessed already?” The man that Vince had known as Uncle Sammy regarded him with an amused glint in his eye and Vince whirled around, searching for a way out. As his wandering gaze searched for an exit, they rested upon the paintings he’d glimpsed upon entering the den.

He stopped, transfixed by them. A sharp gasp commanded his speech, the shock rooted his feet to the floor. “I see you’ve noticed my Bosch,” Samuel Garrison said, taking a step toward Vince. “It’s an original. Dates back to 1505. I paid half a million dollars for it back in ’64. Remarkable, isn’t it?”

Remarkable wasn’t the word Vince would have used. Ghastly would have been more appropriate. The painting Vince was looking at depicted a Madonna and child, the infant suckling at her breasts. In the background, demons cavorted, performing vile rituals and tortures amid the flames of hell. The Madonna was done in a style typical of that period, but the infant… oh, the infant…

Vince couldn’t help himself. He took a step forward to inspect the painting closer.

The infant had been captured as it paused from suckling its mother’s breast. Its face was turned ever so slightly toward the painter, giving the viewer a half-view of its features. The baby was normal in every way except for the faint nubs of horns underneath the skin of its head, just waiting to sprout.

But it wasn’t the horns that made Vince Walters want to scream. It was its face.

It had Vince Walters face.

“The piece is titled appropriately enough,” Samuel Garrison said. Vince could feel the old man take a step behind him, admiring the painting. “It’s called ‘The Coming of the Red Opener.’ ”

Vince glanced quickly at the second painting. It wasn’t the same artist—he was no art aficionado, but he could tell the styles were different—but the subject matter was similar. In this painting, something was coming out of the demon-child… something with tentacles, its suckers ringed with sharp teeth… and just beyond, deep in the center of the demon-child, something else. Something that looked like it had wings.

As he whirled around to inspect the rest of the room he noticed other subtle differences in the sculptures and woodwork that graced it, his panic rising because Brian’s house had never borne such decorations. Chandeliers laced with grinning, leering demonic creatures. Balustrades woven with Pan-like creatures cavorting lustfully. Across the room hung another painting, this one enormous, and even though he was too far away to get a good look at it, its dark colors suggested a similar ominous tone. Another wall was lined with dark cherry wood bookshelves crammed with volumes large and small. Then he noticed the floor and this time he almost jumped back.

Funny how you never noticed things like floors in houses. Especially when one’s mind was on other things, like trying to get to the bottom of two weeks of murder, torture and other dark crimes related to his upbringing. In the past, a very large throw rug had always occupied the center of the den. This time, the rug was gone, revealing pure marble. It was a creamy off-white color and had felt slick beneath his shoes. And it was festooned with two large, graphically rendered designs that took up a large portion of the den floor space. The first design was baphomet symbol; the five pointed inverted pentagram with the devil’s goat in the star. But the second… oh the second…

His mind flashed back to that day at his mother’s home when he’d seen that strange symbol scrawled on the wall. Similar to a pentagram but different, with weird circular shapes that twisted and turned within it. This one was markedly different. The words etched into the marble—M’gwli acht K’tluth K’ryon Hanbi e ’ghorallth liber daemonorum—rocked his brainpan, but the difference was the thing that had been etched into the design, seemingly a part of it. It was leering, winged, somewhat demonic in nature but also very alien looking, as if it had come from an entirely different world.

Vince looked up at the sea of faces, his panic rising beyond hysteria now. “What in the name of God is going on here?”

“What He’s planned!” This from one of the nameless men. He looked solemn, serious. “No more, no less.”

Vince’s eyes darted along the sea of faces, still not believing what was happening. How could this have gone on for so long and he not know anything? Brian and Kimberly Denison… Tracy Harris… he saw her now for who she really was; he saw that long ago lover he’d had in Diana Roberts perfectly in her. A change in hairstyle, a slight gain in weight, a change of clothing and make-up style.

“Of course, God doesn’t remember,” the old man continued. “He might as well not even exist. In fact, he hasn’t existed in many trillions of years. He was rendered old and blind and a babbling, senile idiot long before the creation of the universe set things in motion.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Vince said. “How…” He looked at Tracy, trying to comprehend what was happening.

As if reading his thoughts, Samuel Garrison said, “Diana was the test. We’d been looking for you for a long time, and when the Dark Father gave us Diana, we sent her out in the world to find you. And she did.”

Vince looked at the old man, his eyes widening in horror. “What?”

Samuel Garrison smiled, his face beaming with pride and satisfaction. “Obviously you thought she was a real woman. The Dark Father granted us a Succubus that He knew would draw you out, and it did. And once it found you we called her back… then sent her back out under a slightly different persona. You know this second version as Tracy Harris.”

Succubus? Wasn’t that a female demon? A demonic seducer of men? Vince looked at Tracy, his face contorted in dawning shock and horror as she smiled seductively at him. “The hardest part was walking away from you and having to give you up for ten years.” She laughed. While her voice still contained the timbre of a normal laugh, there was something behind it that sounded inhuman, like the throaty laugh of a creature from the depths of hell.

“You can’t be serious,” Vince said, tearing his eyes away from Tracy and turned back to Samuel Garrison. His brain commanded his feet to move! Run! But they wouldn’t budge; they were rooted to the floor.

“All the memories you have been reliving are real, Andrew,” Samuel Garrison said. “Everything that feels like it was a dream really happened. It’s your subconscious bringing them back to the surface; it’s your memory being allowed free reign again.”

“I don’t understand,” Vince said, his voice cracking as he looked at Brian Dennison, tried to see the friend he’d known and loved for eleven years. The man that Vince knew as Brian Dennison was long gone; either that, or the man he was now looking at, the man that now smiled at him with a look of malevolence, had been there the whole time, lying to him.

“Your mother took you from us years ago, Andrew,” Samuel Garrison resumed. “But we knew you would come back to reclaim what’s yours.”

“The Kingdom is yours, Andrew,” Brian said. His eyes were locked on Vince’s; his angular, handsome features were now menacing, yet triumphant. Kimberly beamed beside him. “You are the gateway. Once you’ve fulfilled your duty, you will be rewarded like no other human being on earth.”

Vince’s mind was a rustling vortex. He felt his emotions crumble. A tear slid down his cheek as he saw his memories rush by in a whirlwind; his mother, memories of his upbringing, his years in Pennsylvania, the fights with his mother over her increasingly strict Christian ways (she knew, she knew the whole time and that’s why she turned so Christian, she knew what I was and she didn’t want to kill me, she wanted to save me, she thought that by saving me it would thwart His plans), his flight to California, graduate school, his marriage to Laura, his friendship with Brian, whom he thought was his friend. More tears slid down his cheek. His voice cracked. “What’s happening? I still don’t understand.”

Tracy stepped forward and now she was holding him and he was letting her. His mind wasn’t even registering what he already knew about her, that she wasn’t even human. His senses weren’t even registering the faint scent of brimstone and rot that seemed to permeate from her pores, the heat that radiated from her body as she took him in her arms, pressing him close to her. He didn’t resist as he felt himself lust for her, felt his penis rise to the occasion. He felt another flush of heat rise through his groin as she placed her lips to the cusp of his ear and began to whisper to him, and what she whispered to him was what he’d been thinking for the past week, not seriously, but as a bad joke. It had all seemed like a bad joke back then, even when he’d brought it up to Frank Black. Now the bad joke was not only confirmed as being real, it was real.

“Your mother took you from us,” Tracy whispered, her voice deep and ancient and evil. “We didn’t foresee that; your mother’s state of mind hid that from even Sam. She’d been gone for over a week by the time her husband came home, and by then she’d erased her tracks. They went crazy looking for you—after all, you’re the Dark Prince, the Red Opener, who will allow the Dark Father into this world to reclaim it for us and defeat the lowly prince of hypocrisy. You were our only hope, we couldn’t let Maggie bring us down. Satan promised he would bring you back; as your father, He saw this as an opportunity to expose you to the world, to allow your mind to develop on its own. Sam was wary, but he allowed it. The dark seed was planted inside you, and we knew it would grow, that it would need time to grow, that there was no fertilizer better than His Kingdom, what god gave him when he cast our Father into the pits of hell.”

Samuel Garrison continued. “On your twenty-second year, we conjured a Succubus from bodily fluids that we preserved from some clothes your mother left behind when you fled. She was designed for the purpose of zeroing in on you, and it didn’t take long. She located you here, in Orange County, and we couldn’t have been more delighted.” He laughed; it sounded like hot coals being rustled by a barbecue stick. “I knew then that the Dark Lord had kept his promise; He’d protected you; His guiding hand had led you back to your birthplace.”

“We worked at bringing you back into the fold,” Brian Dennison continued the narrative. Vince felt the walls close in on him as the nightmare unfolded. “Once Diana learned your name, it was easy to find your mother. It turned out that in the end her loyalty to us won out. She could have killed you hundreds of times after she took you, but she didn’t. She let you live because deep down, she knew that this was what her blind, idiot god wanted.”

“No,” Vince said, shaking his head.

“When we found you, I came in to your life and offered you the position at Corporate Financial, which is actually a front company for our global expansion. And through it all we groomed you for your future position as the years went by. Rituals were held, sacrifices made for the Lord of Darkness to protect you and give you strength. You learned fast. Rituals were performed to awaken your memories on your thirty-third birthday, a magical year for us because it coincides with Christ’s thirty-three years on earth. You would achieve magical powers on this year in your life. All that was needed was to bring Diana back in to your life as Tracy. She worked in protecting and guiding you. We knew there might be danger, and there was. Those assassination attempts… you thought that was us?” Brian shook his head, chuckling, a slight grin on his face. “That was the work of a defector of The Children of the Night, a member who knew of His plans. A renegade Christian cult that thought they could go against their god’s plan by killing the Anti-Christ. What fools!” Brian shrugged, his eyes glimmering. “After introducing Tracy back into your life, it was a simple matter of taking your mother out once and for all and then—”

“But Tracy isn’t even… human!” Vince was confused; his mind was whirling. “How could… I mean… when I met Laura shortly after…”

Brian’s smile faded a little. “We never anticipated that,” he said. “How could we? You were doing so well. Your love for money, for mammon, had been greater than love for your fellow man for so long that when that part of you was awakened by Laura, we knew something had to be done. So,” he shrugged, “it was taken care of.”

The implications of what Brian just said hit him like a ton of bricks. His mind reeled. He blinked back more tears, feeling the fear that had gripped his chest melt into something else, something that grew hot and bubbled to the surface of his psyche as he struggled to contain his emotions. “You…” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You had her killed? But she…” he gasped, thinking back on that day when Laura had her accident. “But she… it was an accident! You mean to tell me you… cursed her somehow? Caused her car to lose control and fly off the road like that?”

“Of course,” Brian said, smiling. His eyes were black pits that reflected the depths of his soul. “What else would you expect us to do?”

The memories he had of Laura, his best friend, the woman who had awakened feelings he never thought he would have, the woman who had made him a man, bubbled to the surface. He experienced a brief epiphany of not only her memories, but what had been lurking in the shadows the entire time he’d been with her; Brian and Kimberly Dennison, their friends, wearing masks of kindness and love all the while secretly plotting Laura’s demise. And all because Vince had allowed Laura into his life, had allowed himself to feel the love of another person. If he hadn’t let Laura into his life she’d still be alive. The pain of her death that had fallen on her parents, her family, her friends, wouldn’t have happened. And as he realized this, the heat that Vince felt bubbling to the surface came pouring out of him. It came out of him like a blinding white-hot miasma, pouring out of him in waves. He let it propel his emotions forward and he screamed in anguish, at the pain he felt over her death. He tipped his head back and screamed in agony and hate, his eyes closed against the world, seeing only red.

“Yes, Andrew,” Samuel Garrison said. His wizened features were wrinkled in triumph. His dark eyes blazed. “Let the anger and the hate pour out of you. Let it be your guide. Let it compel you!”

Vince continued screaming, no longer able to control himself. All he could experience, all he could feel, was the blind hate he now felt. He’d found all of this so unbelievable, so fantastically absurd, that now that it was staring him in the face he couldn’t deal with it. Worse, they’d killed Laura! Why couldn’t they have just…

“We couldn’t have just left her alone, Andrew,” Samuel Garrison said, now joining Tracy at his side. The old man was standing next to him, his face inches from Vince’s. “She was part of it; she was nudged into your life by the Dark Father himself. She was a willing sacrifice and she didn’t even know it. Her death was to prove that what is inside you would come out and it’s coming out just fine now, so let it out. Let the hate and the anger and the rage you feel come out and take over. Let it overwhelm you. And then use it to your advantage; use it to do the bidding that you were born to do!”

His rage and hate was pouring out of him so swiftly, so fiercely, that he didn’t even know he’d so much in him. He felt it invade every pore, every blood vessel, every nook and cranny in his system and it was so overwhelming, all so pervading, that he felt something else enter him. And when he felt it, it seemed like a switch went on in his head and then he felt a sudden surge of power! And the power he felt was good. It was filling him with something he could only describe as otherworldly, spiritual. And as he screamed in rage and frustration he heard the dim voices of the people in the room as they crowded around him, encouraging him on, chanting beside him. He opened his eyes, not even aware that a spark had lit them, that they now glimmered with something else, something dark and full of rage and purpose. And when they saw it, the people in the room—Gladys and Tom Black, Paul and Opal, his old childhood friend Nellie and her father, Samuel Garrison, Brian and Kimberly Dennison, all of them began chanting.

“Hail Satan!” Brian and Kimberly Dennison chanted in unison, looking at Vince with what looked like awe.

“Hail Andrew!” The room chanted.

“Hail to the One Who Will Claim the World as Ours!” Samuel Garrison thundered.

A roaring cacophony: “Hail Satan! Ruler of the Earth, Destroyer of Christ, Savior to Us All. All Hail the Red Opener, gateway to Hanbi! Hail Satan! Hail Andrew!”

And as the voices roared in his head, as the people gathered in the room paid him the ultimate knowledge, Vincent Walters tipped his head back and let his rage and hate and anger take over, and then he really went mad.