Blood in the Marsh (6 page)

Chapter Three

Bloody Marsh - St. Simons Island

In the year 1742, General James E. Oglethorpe commanded a small English force in what was to be one of the most decisive battles fought on the small island of St. Simons. He met the Spanish in battle and emerged from the bloodshed victorious. Today a monument is all that stands testimony to that victory. As with all places that have seen blood spilled, a certain aura remains. In the still of night, mixed in with the sounds of the wind blowing across the marsh and frogs singing a serenade, one can almost hear the ghostly voices of those brave men as they fought and died, their blood becoming part of the marsh.

It is to the places of bloodshed and death that certain people are drawn. Those seeking to capture the unearthly energy. To add new blood to the earth. To the area that became known as Bloody Marsh over two hundred and fifty years ago, another group came. A group dedicated to the slaughter of the innocent, one consecrated in blood.

In silence they came, alone or in pairs, until at last they waited in the night for the moment they had long been promised. None gathered had ever looked upon the countenance of the god they worshiped. None could imagine how he would appear in human form. There were none old enough to remember the first time he had come to the island. All that remained of that time were legends.

This night there was no fire in the center of the circle. In its place was a crude altar. It was fashioned from a length of old oak. The trunk had been skinned free of bark and limbs, sawed down its length in an odd manner. The ends were lower than the middle, giving it a rounded top. The cut surface had been sanded and polished to a smooth, bright shine. It rested three feet off the ground on two pedestals; stout, round posts crossed in the shaped of an ‘X’ on each end. The rounded bottom of the altar rested neatly in the tops of the crossed posts.

As was demanded, a circle had been inscribed in the ground with the appropriate arcane symbols drawn along its inner perimeter. A pentagram with more obscure markings had been drawn around the altar. At each point of the pentagram, a torch had been planted into the earth. Made of heavy black iron, they rose seven feet into the air, their flames flickering in the slight breeze.

The assembly waited in expectant silence, having been instructed that no one was to speak until commanded to do so. They stood like evil specters in their long white robes, the drawn hoods shrouding their features.

As the moon reached its apex in the night sky, the Seneschal appeared out of the darkness. Walking to stand in front of the altar, he raised his arms up and addressed the assembly.

“Long have we awaited this night. The night when our Lord and Master would return to bless us with his presence. This night we gather to pay homage to Him whom we serve. This night we will stand witness to His power. Let all here give thanks.”

Murmurs rose from around the circle. The Seneschal broke through their ranks and disappeared into the darkness. The chants from the assembly grew in volume, carrying on the night air like a hum, spreading out in a wave to silence the night creatures.

Appearing once more at the edge of the circle, the Seneschal held a limp woman in his arms. About twenty years of age, she had long brown hair and was quite pretty. She was naked except for black ropes that encircled her wrists and ankles. On her forehead, a symbol had been carved. Dried blood crusted the cuts.

The Seneschal placed the girl facedown on the altar. Her head rolled limply but her eyes were alert and terrified. He smiled down at her. Stalking and capturing her had been a challenge and a thrill. He tied her arms together beneath the altar, making her breasts press painfully into the wood as he pulled the binding tight. Then he moved to the other end and spread her legs, tying her knees and ankles together beneath the wooden altar, so that she straddled it, the rounded top of the altar raising her hips.

Her eyes rolled wildly, silently beseeching him to release her. He smiled and stepped back to address the assembly. “It is time. Bow before your Master.”

He knelt on one knee, lowering his head as did all those present. For a few moments, there was total silence. Even the wind died down, leaving a total absence of sound. When a voice cut through the stillness, it made chills run down more than one back and hair stand on end.

Nick stopped before the altar. Dressed in a loose black robe with gold stitching, his eyes gleamed in the light of the torches.

“Arise my faithful servants.”

As one the followers stood, their eyes taking in his appearance. He allowed them to look at him for a moment then raised his hands. Blue fire shot from his fingertips, disappearing into the darkness.

Without a word, he turned and looked down at the girl tied to the altar. Her throat convulsed as she tried desperately to scream, but the drugs she had been given had rendered her muscles useless. She could not even turn her head. All she could do was stare into the eyes of the people who watched, and pray that somehow she would be saved from whatever they had planned.

Nick smiled and ran his hand down her body. She would do. The ritual was not for his benefit, but for his followers. They were as so many before them, needing the ceremony and trappings in order to sustain their zeal. All the arcane symbology and sacrificial rituals were merely window dressings for their benefit, like so many others of man’s belief systems. It meant nothing to him. He could take what he needed from his victims without such juvenile rituals. He encouraged the rites only to strengthen his control over his followers.

The singing of the young woman’s life force called to him. Her soul would sustain him nicely for a time. The hunger took hold of him. Throwing off his robe, he displayed himself to her and all of his followers. Strangled gurgles emerged from her throat, spittle dribbling from the corners of her mouth as she watched him move closer.

Mounting the altar, he stabbed inside her, feeling flesh tear and blood run. The smell of her fear was like an aphrodisiac to him, fueling his lust. He felt his followers’ excitement as they watched his rape, knowing that they were inflamed with bloodlust of their own.

His climax drew near and he stretched his body over the girls, still deep within her. Grabbing a handful of her hair, he pulled her head back and looked into her eyes. The Seneschal approached, holding a gold-handled knife. Nick took it from him without breaking eye contact with the girl. Slowly he turned the blade in front of her eyes, hearing her voice cry silently in his mind.

Just as he could hold back no longer, he stabbed the knife into her throat, just below the left ear, severing the artery. Blood fountained out and he lowered his mouth to her neck, sucking at the warm liquid like a baby at its mother’s breast. Her blood was sweet, but it was not the blood he craved. It was not the blood that sustained him. That, too, was part of the show for his followers, to blind them with what they wanted to see and thereby hide the truth from their ignorant eyes.

He felt the weakening of her heart, savoring her terror and the essence of her life force as it poured from her into him. This was the elixir of life. All that was her spirit was becoming his.

As her heart stopped, he drove brutally inside her, shuddering in ecstasy as his climax matched in perfect timing with her death. Her life force merged with his. For a moment, he allowed the bliss to take him, floating in a sea of perfect contentment. Then he rose and stood before his followers, his body awash with the still-warm blood.

“She is yours.”

Like a pack of wolves, the assembly surged forward, tearing at the body with knives and fingernails, ripping clunks of flesh and filling their mouths with the sweet taste of her flesh. Within moments, her body was mutilated. After that, the orgy began.

Like rutting animals in heat, they pawed at one another, giving no care to what partner they chose. There was no discrimination in color or sex. Nick watched in amusement, and then saw one lone figure standing apart from the others. He raised his hand and the figure moved toward him. The robe dropped to the ground and the luscious body was displayed. She was not the woman he lusted for, but she was certainly seductive and willing.

For the moment, that would do.

The Next Morning—Sea Island

Lyra returned from her morning run feeling the happiest she could remember being in a long time. Her date with Nick had not turned out anything like she had expected. Instead of ending up a disaster like so many others, it had been fun. They had stayed at the photography studio, trying on clothes and taking one picture after another.

He let her help in the dark room, developing the negatives. Once the negatives were developed, they left them to dry and he brought her home. She could still feel the touch of his lips against hers as he gently kissed her goodnight. It was the first time she could ever remember wishing a kiss hadn’t ended.

But Nick had not pushed for anything more than a chaste kiss and a brief hug. They made plans to take her catamaran out the next afternoon. She was going to teach him to sail. He was going to go back to the studio before he picked her up and make prints of all the pictures.

There was no sign of Lexi or Leopold. Lexi’s car had been gone when Lyra got in last night and she hadn’t heard them come in. She grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and went upstairs to shower.

After drying off she wrapped a towel around her head, turban-style and walked into her room. She gasped and jerked the towel off her head, trying to cover her body as she saw Leopold sitting on the bed, sipping a Bloody Mary.

“What’re you doing in my room? Get out!”

“Please forgive me.” He averted his eyes as she adjusted the towel. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, my dear. I merely came to inquire about your date.”

“Have you ever heard of the concept of knocking?” Lyra secured her towel and crossed her arms in front of her chest, glaring at him.

“I apologize.” Leopold set his drink on the nightstand.

Lyra backed away as he took a step toward her. “I want you to get out of my room. Right now.”

Leopold regarded her seriously. “What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t like people coming into my room without being invited.”

“Yes, of course. Again, forgive me. I’ve overstepped my bounds. It will not happen again.” He left, closing the door behind him.

Lyra almost believed he really was sorry. But he was not the first of Lexi’s boyfriends to make a move on her. She had learned not to trust any of them. Her skin crawled as she thought about him touching her and she ran back to the shower.

Maybe the therapists were right and she had been more scarred by the incidents of her childhood than she wanted to believe. Dreams, notwithstanding, she certainly had not had much luck with men.

Her last so-called boyfriend had been a doctoral candidate. Smart and possessed of a quick wit, they’d gotten along wonderfully until they tried to have sex. Then she froze up. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t go through with it. He wasn’t the right one—the man of her dreams.

She realized how juvenile it seemed to use a dream man as an excuse for not being able to be intimate but the truth was, she didn’t want to settle. Better to have no sex life than one she didn’t enjoy.

And who knew? Maybe Nick would be the one who helped her break out of that cycle.

When she finally finished scrubbing herself, she dressed in a two-piece swimsuit and a pair of cut-off jeans, topped by a cut-off T-shirt. She went down the hall to Lexi’s room and knocked softly. Getting no answer, she tiptoed through the bedroom to the dressing table. Finding a tube of mascara and some smoky gray eye shadow, she went back to her room and put on a tiny bit of the makeup.

She brushed her hair out and left it loose, then walked downstairs. Nick would be there soon but she had enough time to fix some sandwiches to take to the beach. She packed everything in a basket and then loaded a cooler with beer and soft drinks.

She was just finishing when the doorbell rang. Running to the door, she flung it open. Nick had a thick package tucked under his arm. He smiled and took her hand, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.

“You look beautiful.”

She smiled and blushed lightly. “I was just getting some lunch fixed. What’s in the package?”

“Pictures. Want to see?”

“Sure. Let’s go out on the terrace.”

She got the picnic basket and cooler from the kitchen and led him to the terrace. They sat down at the table and Nick unwrapped the pictures. Lyra looked at them critically, hardly able to believe that she was the woman in the photos. Nick was just as handsome in the pictures as in person.

“You look great,” She looked up at him. “You should have been a model.”

“I don’t think so. But you could be.”

“Hardly.” She fell silent as he handed her a photo from a separate folder.

In it, he was dressed in his jeans but wore no shirt. It appeared as if she were topless as well, even though she knew she had been wearing a strapless top. It just didn’t show up in the pictures. They were facing one another. One side of her face was against the center of his chest with one hand beside her face. Nick’s face was turned to the camera and his arms encircled her. They looked like two lovers with the soft light and dark background.