Mama's Boy And Other Dark Tales Part 10

Donovan left Easy behind in the air conditioning of the SUV as he ran into the convenience store in desperate need of a Slushie in desperate need of a Slushie. He got five dollars in quarters from the clerk and headed directly to the pay phone in the rear of the store.

With a shaky hand he deposited two quarters and punched in the phone number.

"h.e.l.lo," said a tinny electronic voice. "You have reached 555-8181. We're unable to take your call, but the funeral for Ms. Ally Marie Dinan will be held on Friday. Services begin at noon. Arrive promptly at 777 Seaboard Road. It's time, and everything else will be clear once you arrive. We'll be there to a.s.sist you. Thank you. Please RSVP by leaving your name at the beep."

After the tone, Donovan spoke his name. Another beep followed, then a final "Thank you for calling." He was disappointed to hear a recording. He had thought at last he would be able to speak directly with Dreamcatcher. He had so many questions to ask. With his mind racing, he pulled his notebook from his back pocket and jotted down the time and location from the recording. The address sounded familiar, perhaps one of his previous dream locations. Then the words, it's time, it's time, rang in his mind. Did he hear that right? He put in another two quarters and dialed again. rang in his mind. Did he hear that right? He put in another two quarters and dialed again.

"I'm sorry, the number you have reached, 555-8181, is no longer in service." He slammed the receiver down against the cradle. "d.a.m.n it!"

With the rest of his change, he went back to the cashier and ordered a large cherry Slushie. He grabbed a handful of candy bars and tossed them on the counter. He figured he needed to make it look like a binge when he got back in the SUV with Easy. He paid for his purchase and rushed out into the wilting summer humidity.

"I want to go back to Virginia Beach," he said, his anger still biting from the conversation over lunch.

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"Yep. Friday. We leave at 11 a.m. Wear a suit," he added sarcastically.

Donovan had 24 hours to wait before the Friday service, and he was going mad. He knew he had to make it appear as if everything were normal, so he carefully continued his routine, uploading his dream reports from the previous night and sending the encrypted files to Sienna. But he avoided Easy, not venturing into the rest of the house. They'd become friends over the years simply by default, and although Easy's well-honed exterior was nearly opaque, they'd spent everyday together and Donovan knew him well; he was sure that Easy had information about his wife's death. Something must have been happening for months, since the letters stopped. His mind wandered to horrible scenarios of his wife being tortured and tormented by the sungla.s.s-wearing demons of the ORA, their searing touches burning her tender skin. When he started to think about Becka, he finally forced his mind to stop. That line of thinking would paralyze him, and he needed to be ready for whatever was to come on Friday. If it was truly his destiny to destroy the ORA, he doubted if he would have a second chance.

In the meantime, he needed to keep himself busy. He took a walk on the beach in the heat of the afternoon with Easy in tow, suit coat draped across his arm. Donovan enjoyed seeing Easy suffer, with wide dark circles of sweat ringing the armpits of his tailored shirt. He realized that staying angry at his jailor helped to ease his grief about Ally. Smug in his breezy shirt and shorts, Donovan strolled off the beach and out of the humid Virginia heat, deciding that in addition to finding ways to aggravate Easy, he could keep his mind busy by returning to his research. He figured if one message had slipped through to him, maybe the ORA had become complacent and there were more to find. Besides, he needed to see Ally's obituary in the Nansemond tribal newsletter again, in case there was something he missed.

Leaving his sweaty companion behind in the wide foyer of the beach house, Donovan went directly to his computer and found the bookmark for the newsletter. When he clicked it, the link was no longer valid. In his haste he hadn't saved the text. He searched for the newsletter and found a new edition dated that day.

He paged through what looked like local tribal news of births and celebrations, potluck dinners and fund raisers for the new community center, but nothing of help to him. At that point he a.s.sumed that Dreamcatcher's use of the newsletter must have been a one-time deal, but a heading on the last page caught Donovan's attention: Trials from the Bloodline of Donny Red Feather, Review by Zeke Dreamcatcher Trials from the Bloodline of Donny Red Feather, Review by Zeke Dreamcatcher Bloodline? Red Feather had to be a reference to the Order of the Red Angels. His heart pounded as he read on.

For a great summer read, you might consider Trials from the Bloodline of Donny Red Feather. This historical account plays out like a modern day thriller with a brotherhood of monks secretly preying on the powerful bloodline of native seers to provide prophesies that would allow the monks to acc.u.mulate earthly wealth and influence in the world. For centuries, the monks used the bloodline sparingly, but a new breed infiltrated their ranks, their greed for power and money insatiable.

Tragically orphaned from his family, Donny Red Feather had disappeared from the monk's registry. Many years later, they uncovered clues to his whereabouts, and in an elaborate trap, his aunt who was running from the brotherhood with her granddaughter unknowingly led them directly to Donny. This is the story of his enslavement by the brotherhood and how, with the help of a rogue monk, he was able to find the doc.u.ment that was key to ending the tyranny of the brotherhood.

Donovan sat staring at the screen. The woman at the accident when Ally was. .h.i.t by the old man's car-was she his aunt? It all made tragic sense-the family he'd longed for growing up had stayed away to protect him. And the child with the blue-haired doll was his cousin. Donovan shook his head. His body filled with rage at the deception used by the ORA. They had staged the whole thing: the accident, the aunt and child, even the old man. "No, no ... it should have been me," "No, no ... it should have been me," the old man had sobbed the old man had sobbed. "The dream ... they promised to take me ... " He had never understood what the man had been trying to say-in all the chaos he could only focus on Ally-but the words had stuck in his memory for all those years. No doubt the man was a dreamer, too. Perhaps his age, like the sickly child, made him less valuable to the ORA, so both were expendable in the elaborate trap. Expendable? The thought made him sick. His whole life had been expendable to the Order, costing him everyone he ever loved. He had never understood what the man had been trying to say-in all the chaos he could only focus on Ally-but the words had stuck in his memory for all those years. No doubt the man was a dreamer, too. Perhaps his age, like the sickly child, made him less valuable to the ORA, so both were expendable in the elaborate trap. Expendable? The thought made him sick. His whole life had been expendable to the Order, costing him everyone he ever loved.

He tried to continue his research, looking for more clues to the activities of the ORA, but as he sat in front of the computer, he felt the weight of what he had uncovered bearing down on him. Along with his grief for Ally, he tried to hold it all at a distance, but his heart and his body were weary. The hint of the old longing for a drink surprised him as he lay down on the bed. His eyes closed with the thought of a warming sip from a two-finger tumbler of J.D.

Donovan dreamed, but it was more a memory of one he had already reported-with that familiar Seaboard Road address. And with his skills of dream lucidity, he took note of every detail he could gather. When he woke from the dream, he was shocked to find it was morning. For the first time in ten years, he had missed his dream cycle for the ORA, but he was not due to file a report to Sienna until the afternoon, and he hoped in his heart by that time he'd never have to report to anyone ever again.

After making quick notes of his dream, he showered and dressed. As he looked in the mirror, tying his tie, the reality of where he was going hit him. He was going to attend his wife's funeral. He had failed her. And after a decade, his first sight of Ally would be in a casket. He wiped at his eyes and shrugged into his suit coat. At least there was still a chance for Becka. He would give his life without hesitation if it would free her from the ORA.

Easy was waiting in the black SUV promptly at 11a.m. Donovan joined him and they followed the same route to Virginia Beach as before.

"Hmm ... nice tie," said Easy with a curious glance at Donovan's suit. "Now are you going to tell me where we're going, Hunter?"

"I figured you knew already. You did the last time."

Easy took a deep breath and sighed.

"777 Seaboard Road," said Donovan, reading from his notebook. He turned away, staring out the pa.s.senger window. Easy punched the address into the GPS. They drove all the way to Virginia Beach without speaking a word, the silence between them weighted and weary.

When they turned from Princess Anne Road onto Seaboard, Donovan experienced an ominous deja vu, similar to the one he felt at the ship yard in Norfolk. Sitting forward in his seat, he saw something that made him grab the dashboard. He realized why the Seaboard Road address was familiar-this was the site of his dream.

"STOP!".

Easy slammed on the brakes, and Donovan jumped out of the vehicle and ran across the street, ignoring the oncoming traffic and blaring car horns. He ran to the corner and looked up at a street sign, Leroy Road. Shielding his eyes, he watched as the busy noon traffic swept by him, kicking up dust in the hot wind.

Suddenly, he turned and ran 20 yards off the road and waited. He closed his eyes, then he heard the crash. Running to the scene of the accident, without hesitation he rushed to the driver's side of the demolished red compact, a light pole nearly shearing the hood in half. The pa.s.senger compartment was compressed and the driver was struggling to free his legs.

Donovan yanked the handle and the car door squealed open, hanging broken on its hinges. The young man's face was covered in blood from a gash across his forehead and his leg was trapped under the steering column. When Donovan tried to pull him free, he screamed; his leg was broken.

"You'll never get me out." The man panted his words. "Help my girlfriend. Please. Is she okay?" He was going into shock.

Other motorists had stopped and were climbing out of their cars, calling for help on their cell phones, but Donovan kept his attention on the young man. He knew that everything hinged on getting him out of the car and stabilizing him enough for him to listen. He reached in and grabbed the young man's pant leg and twisted hard. The leg came free, but the bleeding man fainted from the pain. Donovan pulled him from the car and laid him on the gra.s.s at the side of the road.

"Come on." He patted the young man's cheek, trying to bring him around. "Come on, son. You've got to open your eyes, before it's too late." But everything was going silent around them. A grip that seared through his jacket yanked him away from the young man's side.

"You again?" said the man in the sungla.s.ses. "You're becoming a bit of a bother, Mister Hunter." And with an effortless flick of his hand, Donovan went flying into the gra.s.s clear of the crash. Like the rest of the bystanders, he was frozen in place. But unlike the others, he heard everything being said, and he would never forget what he was seeing. He'd failed to stop the inevitable exchange. He had failed to find a contract to discover the key and any chance he had of stopping the ORA. He felt betrayed that Dreamcatcher had abandoned him again to a life of imprisonment by the Order of the Red Angel, and worse, they would eventually find Becka and do the same to her.

With a touch from the Contractor, the young man startled into consciousness. His broken leg was bent behind him, but, whimpering in pain, he tried to crawl to the car, toward the lifeless woman still trapped in the car. The Contractor stopped him with a scorching touch and the young man cried out.

Looking impatient, the Contractor began spinning his lies, first pointing his pen at the woman in the car-the only thing visible was her blood-matted red hair-and then at a child standing in the gra.s.s, having wandered away from the schoolyard. A teacher nearby was frozen, her face tight with worry, a hand extended as if calling the child back.

As the young man took the pen and looked across the wreckage at the child, Donovan felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. It felt warm and comforting, and the cold stiffness melted from his body. He looked back to see who had released him from the helpless frozen state and he gasped.

The big black man stood tall in his well-tailored suit, sungla.s.ses covering his eyes. He pointed toward the young man with the pen in his hand.

"Hurry."

Donovan ran screaming toward the scene of the accident.

"No," he shouted. "Please ... please don't sign that. He's lying to you."

The Contractor turned and glared at him. Shaking his head in disgust and still looking directly at Donovan, he said, "Mister Brown, you have thirty seconds to decide."

"Please, listen to me," said Donovan. "He's lying to you. His lies will ruin your life and everyone you touch. Don't sign."

The young man was weeping, still holding the pen.

"But she's dead. I killed her," he whimpered.

"Ten seconds, Mister Brown," said the Contractor, looking at his watch.

"He killed her. Not you," said Donovan. killed her. Not you," said Donovan.

"But you were the only one who could have made sure she lived, Mister Brown, but sadly, your time is up." The Contractor s.n.a.t.c.hed back his pen and tucked it neatly inside the breast pocket of his jacket.

"Wait, please. I'll sign," begged the young man. "Please! I'm sorry."

"We have strict rules, Mister Brown. It's all in the contract. Maybe you could discuss the problem with Mister Hunter here. He's an expert ... or so he thinks. Oh, and by the way, what was your girlfriend's name?"

The young man sobbed. The Contractor ground his heal into the broken leg. "I said said, what was her name?" His voice was a dark, resonant growl.

"Rebecca ... Rebecca Dinan," he said, then vomited from the pain.

Donovan's legs buckled under him and he fell to his knees.

"That's right, Mister Hunter, you let another one of your women die. As far as I'm concerned, the loss of the Bloodline b.i.t.c.h was worth the look on your face." With a snap of his fingers, a red flame appeared on his palm. He dipped the edge of the contract into the flame and laughed as he watched the heat of the burning paper carry it into the warm afternoon breeze.

He turned to Easy, waiting a few yards away, and popped off a round from his finger gun with a wink.

"Hey, thanks, pal. That was fun. Too bad you blew your cover. You looked good in the sungla.s.ses, too. If only you'd kept your feathers on the right side of the fence. Hey," his face morphed into Marlon Brando's, "ya' coulda been a contender." He chuckled at his joke and walked across the street as the chaos of the accident scene came to life.

Easy crouched down beside Donovan.

"I'm sorry, Hunter."

Donovan didn't have enough energy left even to cry. Feeling the depth of his failure and the well-orchestrated betrayal by the ORA, he simply felt drained of all hope and life. With no one left to protect, no need to provide prey to the beasts, he knew what he would do. He looked over at Easy with the only thing he had left to say.

"So you were Dreamcatcher all along?"

Easy nodded.

"Who are you really? Just tell me that." He didn't know why he cared anymore. He just had to know.

"I'm the angel Ezekiel, Donovan," he said. "I infiltrated the Order of the Red Angels centuries ago. I was entrusted with the task of ending the enslavement of the Bloodline."

"All these years together," Donovan said, mostly to himself. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I couldn't risk it. You were our best hope, and I couldn't give them any reason to doubt my allegiance."

"Best hope." Donovan scoffed at the thought, his self-loathing etched in the lines of his face. "Is it any wonder they beat us, Easy? An angel and a dreamer?" He looked over at the big angel with a smirk. "EZ, is it? Ezekiel?"

Easy nodded, then looked down at a piece of debris that had blown against his ankle. He pulled it loose and his black eyes widened.

"Donovan!" The rumble of his voice shocked Donovan out of his stupor. Easy shoved the piece of charred paper in his hand. The contract, still largely intact.

"What good is this now?" he shrugged. "My daughter's dead."

"Look at it." Easy poked at the doc.u.ment with his finger. "It's the fine print. These are the details we've been trying to access."

Feeling the weight of his grief and hopelessness, Donovan read what remained of the contract with little interest. He remembered it vaguely from his dream in the limo years ago on the day the ORA captured him.

Terms and Conditions 1a. The life you have chosen to retain will heretofore be exchanged with a death of your choosing. If you are unable to make that choice for any reason, a death will be chosen for you.

...blah, blah, blah...

Liability 1c. The Contractor may not be held responsible for any life circ.u.mstances that may arise from your choice of life retention or death choice. Once this doc.u.ment is signed by the Customer and the Contractor, the agreement is final and no changes to this agreement will be considered. [For exceptions please refer to section 22r.]

The contract droned on in his mind as he read, but something in his clouded memory niggled at the edge of his awareness. Then Donovan gasped-section 22r.

"Oh my G.o.d, Easy." He jabbed at the paper. "Look!"

He ran his finger across the page and read aloud what he found buried in very fine print: [Exceptions]

22r. A member of the Bloodline may offer to exchange his/her own life for the life of another. In the event this exchange occurs, all past, present and future contracts for the Order will be null and void, providing: a. the member of the Bloodline is present at the death of the individual with whom the exchange will occur b. the exchange is made within twenty minutes of the exchange recipient's death c. the member of the Bloodline offering the exchange signs the contract d. a member of the Order signs the contract and is witness to the death and the Bloodline signature.

"That's it, Easy. That's it! They never thought in a million years a member of the Order would sign."

"But it's not a complete contract," said Easy.

"Who gives a f.u.c.k. We'll write in the rest. Here's where their precious rules are going to hang them." He patted his pockets. "Pen ... pen. We need a pen!"

Easy pulled one out of his breast pocket. Donovan grabbed it and started writing. In minutes the doc.u.ment was complete; his attorney's eye was still sharp. He scrawled his signature across the bottom.

"Here. Sign it. You're one of them, right?"

"Well, yes, technically." Easy paused and looked in Donovan's eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I've never been more sure in my life. I'd do anything to save Becka." He was breathless with excitement, but a shade of sadness crept into his voice when he thought of his wife. "I only wish I could have saved my Ally, too."

"She'll be waiting for you, Donovan."

He looked at Easy and realized he knew what he was talking about.

"Sign it, Easy! We've got to hurry."

There was a sudden gust of heat and a loud crack crack in the air. in the air.

"A little trouble with the paperwork, I see," said the man in the sungla.s.ses. The scene around them was once again frozen while the Contractor hovered over Donovan, ready to pluck the contract from his hands.

With a speed Donovan's eye could not follow, Easy seized the Contractor's wrist. A sizzling sound and the stench of the big angel's burning flesh rose from his grip. The Contractor writhed, his face twisting into the hideous beast beneath his cultured mask, knocking the sungla.s.ses from his blazing eyes. He screamed with rage, and Donovan staggered as he watched its clothing tear at the seams, revealing the dark angel beast beneath.

With a sound of rending flesh, ridged horns jutted though its bony skull and the body undulated with maggots and vermin beneath the translucent skin. The beast slathered a long rotting tongue over fangs capped with tarnished gold and gnashed at the great black angel's face. Its oily flesh caused Easy's grip to falter. He bellowed in a deep, cavernous voice, rattling windows and setting off car alarms, adding to the cacophony of the battle. His determination unfaltering, he tightened his grip and pulled the beast closer, clutching its throat with his free hand. He held firm for what seemed an eternity, his great wings unfurled like sails behind him. The red angel thrashed and clawed, and smoke rose from its body as it spit threats and curses in a tongue from another realm. The more the demon resisted, the more brilliant the light of the black angel became. He shined like a nova. Donovan shielded his eyes until the beast roared a final insult and collapsed to its knees before the great angel.

"I submit, Ezekiel," it said, its voice filled with a raging discord of demons, "but you know your kind cannot triumph. We are too strong."

Ezekiel c.o.c.ked his head and looked down at the beast, his eyebrow raised.

"Right."

The ground beneath them split with a deafening sound and the form of the angel beast collapsed in Ezekiel's hand, its energy escaping like a blaze of red fire sucked back to h.e.l.l. Without a moment of hesitation, Easy rushed to Donovan and grabbed the pen in his smoldering hand.

"The contract, Donovan. Hurry ... the time."

He shoved the charred doc.u.ment into the angel's hand and watched him sign. The scene around them suddenly came to life-someone shouted from the pa.s.senger side of the demolished car.