Iona Portal (18 page)

EN ROUTE
FROM DALLAS TO EAST TEXAS

Piper helped Erin into the rear seat of the Mercedes and climbed in beside her.

Holmes and Piper quickly discussed where to take her.  Not knowing the situation, they didn’t want to risk going to Erin’s home.  They needed a secure location.   They glanced at each other and both knew—
the lake house.
 Holmes headed south on the Tollway to pick up Loop 635 around the northeastern corner of Dallas.

It was too early for morning traffic and the drive around the city went smoothly.  Erin was trembling from trauma and pain, barely able to talk, but she leaned back into the Mercedes’ plush leather upholstery and slowly began to pour out her story.

“Our marriage was always a joke,” she began.  “I was just a kid, 22 years old, working as a waitress to put myself through college.  I was swept away by the glamour and power.  Who wouldn’t be?  The man was a billionaire. 

“Rex was 31 at the time, and already one of the richest men in Texas.  It was a whirlwind romance… a classic Cinderella story.  But I soon discovered what he was behind the façade. 

“For our honeymoon he flew me to his beachfront house on Hawaii’s Big Island in his private jet.  But the dream quickly turned into a nightmare.  Our second night in Hawaii, he left me alone in bed while he slept with another woman.  I found out later that’s his pattern.  He doesn’t sleep with the same woman two nights in a row.  Rex even keeps his own harem in one wing of the ranch house—a private one-man bordello for his personal use, and for entertaining his clients.  He calls them ‘his girls’.”

 Erin hesitated for a moment, looking down at her lacerated hands, streaked with dirt and blood. “Rex only married me because I had the right ‘look’ for his public image.  He needed someone ‘respectable’ to accompany him to social functions, but no respectable Dallas family would let their daughter near him.

 “When I finally realized the kind of man he was, I demanded a divorce, but he exploded in rage and threatened to kill me.  He said he would ‘lose face’ if I left him.  That was the first time he hit me,” she said, her voice faltering, “… the first of many.”

Erin took a deep breath as she struggled to fight back the welling tears.  Regaining her composure, she continued, “So I chose to make the best of it.  At the same time, I did everything I could to distance myself from him.  I poured my life into worthwhile causes.  I joined the Junior League and put in volunteer hours at Ronald McDonald house.  I joined the Dallas Arts Council.  I served on committees for the Arboretum and the annual charity ball.  I was involved in many philanthropic projects and always gave big.  

“Over the last twenty years I developed my own reputation.   I gained the respect of everyone in Dallas society.

 “Of course, Rex loved it.  It made the Vanderberg name look good.  But he hated
me
because I refused to be the kind of person he was. 

 “But I never realized
how much
he hated me,” she muttered tonelessly, “not until… “

Erin’s voice faltered again as she finally broke down and wept, allowing the tears to stream down her battered face.  Her whole body was quaking.

Piper gently brushed a clot of bloody hair from Erin’s face, then held her hand until the sobbing subsided.

After a long pause, Erin clumsily wiped the tears from her eyes.  “Of course, it hasn’t been all bad,” she said, rallying strength.  “After the first few months I rarely saw Rex apart from social events.  We’ve lived separate and very different lives.  I stay in the ‘city’ house in Plano, while Rex lives at the ranch.  In exchange for making appearances with him I’ve enjoyed many benefits.

“Rex satisfied my appetite for the good life.  I had an unlimited budget, and I spent big—thousands each month for clothing and jewelry.   I could use the private jet and travel when he didn’t need me.  Of course, there was always someone watching, making sure I didn’t do anything that could make him lose face.

“He’s always been a hard, cruel man.  You could never cross him.  Ever.  I learned that quickly.  But I never realized how truly evil he is until yesterday.”

She paused a moment, as if summoning her resolve.  Finally she spoke again, “I discovered last night what Rex Vanderberg really is.  He’s linked with
them
… with the Archons.  They have their own version of a synaxis… their own portal… but it’s…”  She shook her head and looked down at the floor, not able to finish her sentence. 

Gaining a little composure, she continued, “They know all about us… about you and the Irin.  And they’re furious.  There’s nothing they won’t do to stop us.”

Just east of Dallas, Holmes pulled into a convenience store and got Erin some food, along with a bottle of Gatorade to replenish her electrolytes.  They also bought a first-aid kit so Piper could begin to dress Erin’s wounds.

As they pulled back onto the interstate, Erin’s story continued to unfold…

At 10:45 Friday morning Rex called Erin and ordered her to meet him at the ranch immediately
.

Erin had spent Friday morning getting ready for the Dallas Arts Council luncheon at the Hilton Anatole.  She’d been preparing for the event for weeks.  The dress she was wearing, purchased for the occasion, would easily have set most families back a month’s salary.  And that didn’t count the diamond earrings.

But she knew better than to refuse Rex. 
I’ll definitely be the best-dressed woman at the ranch today,
she thought to herself.  Erin flipped her phone shut and, with a sigh, picked up her purse and headed for the garage.

She took the Tollway north and made a left on Highway 380, finally turning north again into an area of sprawling estates.  Huge ranch houses sat far from the road surrounded by expansive fields bordered by neat, four-rail, white board fences.

This was horse country.  The rich, loamy soil in this part of Texas made it an ideal place for running horses, and the horses raised here are elite athletes, both Arabians and Thoroughbreds.  Though Kentucky is better known to most laymen, some of the racing world's best-known champions have originated in this small corner of Texas.

And raising them is a profitable business.  A single brood mare can sell for twenty thousand dollars, and a sire for over a million.  Those who care for these magnificent animals treat them with great respect, catering to their every need.

Horse people are usually good, hard-working people.  They believe in God, mother, and apple pie, and go to church every Sunday.  But that was not the case with Rex Vanderberg.  Erin was about to discover that beyond the long driveway, the neat white fences and the cavernous barns, something unspeakably evil lurked at Vanderberg Hills Ranch.

Arriving at the ranch, Erin turned up the long, arching driveway and pulled her vapor-grey, Jaguar XK convertible to a stop in front of the main building.  Leaving the keys in the ignition, she nodded to the security guard and walked purposefully to the door.

The structure could easily have been mistaken for a country club.   Double glass doors opened onto a spacious lobby, and then into a well-appointed living-room-like area for clients. 

Erin strode briskly through the lobby and out the double doors on the far side.  She followed a brick path through carefully tended gardens to the private quarters, a sprawling 23,000 square foot house overlooking a private lake.

But she wasn’t expecting what came next.

As she walked confidently into the main reception area, Rex was standing with his arms crossed and a look of utter contempt on his face.  Rex Vanderberg was a tall, muscular man with closely cropped black hair.  He stood just under 6’2” and weighed-in at 260 pounds.  Never one to pay attention to style, Rex was dressed in typical cowboy fashion—Levi jeans, a plaid shirt, and cowboy boots.

Three of his top hands—or perhaps it was more accurate to say,
thugs
—Reno, Bryce and Grat were with him.  All three were bad news, but the worst was Grat.  Grat Dalton was a descendent of Gratton Hanley Dalton, a train robber and murderer in the late 1800’s, one of the infamous Dalton gang.   Grat didn’t have to work hard to keep up his outlaw persona.  He had a reputation for ruthless violence throughout the region.

As she walked toward Rex, Erin noted that Reno and Bryce were circling around behind her.  Not to be intimidated she walked up to Rex and looked him in the eye. 
“What?”
she demanded.

His answer was a forceful, tooth-rattling slap across her face.  “You
BITCH!”
he roared, as Erin struggled to remain standing. “You stupid, good-for-nothing bitch.”  He struck her again, harder, then began pacing around the room. “You worthless whore… you
traitor!
  You were never good for nothin’.”  He screamed in fury, “But now you’ve joined
them!”
 

“Joined who?”  Erin demanded, trying to control the quiver of fear in her voice.  She had seen Rex enraged on many occasions, but never like this.

He whirled on her.  “You didn’t think we’d know?  We know all about you… about the
Irin
… about your little
synaxis
meeting.
  Damn,
you’re stupid!”

“You’re trying to mess up everything.”  He raged, coming closer.  “The Archons came here to save us. This country’s been run by the stupid, the weak and the lazy long enough.  No wonder it’s falling apart.

“The Archons are going to end all that.  When they take over, I’ll be a
king
!”

Rex lowered his voice and leaned down until his face was only inches away.  “Well, I’ve decided to let you in on what we do in the
real
world while you live in your fancy house and go to luncheons.  We have our own little
synaxis
—some of my girls, along with some carefully chosen ranch hands.  We open our own doorway to another world every month at full moon.  It only opens for a brief moment, but it gets the job done.  Every month, hundreds of Archons come through.  Every month we gain strength.  It’s quite a show.  The Archon’s methods are, shall we say, very entertaining. 

“And I’m going to show you how it’s done. 
Our
way!  In fact, I’m going to give you a front row seat tonight so you won’t miss a thing.”

Rex slapped her again.  Then, feeling that wasn’t enough, he reared back and gave her a roundhouse punch to the side of the face that sent her sprawling across the room.

He turned to Grat and barked, “Take her out.”

Grat and Reno each took an arm and literally drug her outside.  As Erin struggled to get her feet under her, they drug her down a long path to an isolated area behind the main barn.  There, concealed in a thicket of waist-high brush and mesquite trees, was an old storm cellar.   Bryce undid the padlock, lifted the heavy steel door, and swung it aside. 

Without warning, Grat grabbed Erin by both arms and roughly threw her down the stairs.   She landed in a shallow pool of fetid liquid.

The place smelled of urine and blood.  She glanced around in horror to see that the storm cellar had been re-fitted into what looked like a torture chamber.  Manacles were fitted to the reinforced concrete walls, and blood was splattered everywhere.

Fastened to one set of manacles was a pitiful derelict.  He was filthy, unshaved, and reeked of alcohol.  He hung with his head down, unconscious.

“We’re calling this one Joe,” Rex sneered, following her down the stairs.  “Grat and Reno picked him up in Dallas last night.”

Rex watched as the men slammed her body against the far wall.  Reno and Bryce held her hands in place while Grat clamped manacles around her wrists.

Rex continued, “Old Joe was going to be the main event tonight, but he just got demoted.  Now he’s just the warm-up act.  We’re going to have a double feature tonight, and we’re saving the main event for
you
,” he spat in her direction, “Honey!”

When the men left and the steel door slammed down, Erin was left in total darkness.  Her head was swirling.  She heard the click of the padlock closing and conversation fade into the distance.  She struggled with the shackles for a few minutes but knew Rex well enough to know they’d be secure.

In the brutal heat of Texas summer, the storm cellar quickly became a sweatbox.  Perspiration poured down Erin’s face and saturated her clothing.  The derelict never awoke but snored noisily from time to time.  As the long hours crept past, there was nothing to do but wait.

Just after sundown, the door opened again.  They took Joe first, unfastening his manacles and roughly dragging his still-unconscious form up the stairs.  The doors slammed shut and Erin was left in darkness again.  She longed for something to drink, but at least it was cooling off slightly.

Twenty minutes later they returned.  Without saying a word they released her hands from the manacles and threw her roughly to the floor.  Pulling her arms behind her back, they shackled her hands tightly in handcuffs.  As the cuffs clicked into place they jerked her to her feet.  Grat led the way up the stairs while Reno and Bryce forced her after him.

Holding her arms in a vice-like grip, they loaded her into the rear seat of an extended cab pickup.  Bryce climbed in beside her while Grat and Reno took the front seat.  In the gathering dusk, they lurched and bounced across the open fields toward a distant grove of scrub oaks.  Erin’s head was swimming.  She feared she was going to be sick.

Passing through the trees, they entered a large, open area lit by generator-powered quartz-halogen lamps mounted on tall poles.

Around the perimeter of the area a crude circle had been painted on the ground in white spray paint.  At the center of the circle, the still-unconscious derelict lay spread-eagled on a concrete dais with chains firmly attached to his wrists and ankles.  On either side of the dais stood a large pile of dry brushwood.

The pickup stopped just outside the circle.  Erin was rudely shoved out and dragged to the rear of the truck.  While Bryce and Reno held her arms, Grat opened one handcuff and slipped it through a hole in the pickup’s rear bumper.  They worked quickly and with precision.  There was no emotion.  She was being handled like a sack of feed or a side of beef.