Strange Magic (22 page)

No way! This can’t be happening. Impossible!

Wilson couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but recognized the spiral staircase instantly. It was the same stone steps as in his recent recurring nightmares, the one where the Heatseeker stopped every now and then to cut off…

“Amanda!” he screamed, shutting that thought off before it crippled him. Clutching the knife in one hand and his canvas bag in the other, fear overriding his skepticism, Wilson stepped inside the trunk and began to descend. “I’m coming, honey! Don’t be scared. Daddy’s coming. Hold on, baby.”

Below, the Heatseeker laughed again. “That’s right, Wilson. Come down to the devil’s playground. We’ll have us…pardon the pun…a hell of a time.”

When Wilson had made it down seven steps, the lid on the trunk above him suddenly slammed shut, plunging the staircase into absolute blackness. There was no light whatsoever, and Wilson felt immediately claustrophobic, trapped within these circular stone walls. He felt like he were in the throat of a mile-long snake, slowly being swallowed and pushed downward toward the serpent’s
acidy stomach, every blind step leading him closer and closer to a hideous death.

He desperately wanted to run up and let the light of the bedroom back into the shaft, but he knew there was no time to waste. For all he knew, that bedroom in the dead old woman’s house was no longer even there. This had to be just an incredibly realistic illusion the Heatseeker was performing, but there was always the chance it was all real, and Wilson was following his nemesis through a rip in the fabric between worlds, a portal between the boundaries of life and death, and down into the pit of hell.

One thing was sure, wherever he was it was certainly getting hot. Wilson peeled off his jacket and dropped it on the stairs behind him without looking back. It helped a little, but not much; sweat started to dampen his forehead and body.

Wilson picked up his pace, always shuffling down and curling to his right, moving as fast as he could by feel alone. He scratched his elbows and shoulders repeatedly but he ignored the pain, ignored the claustrophobia, and ignored the rising temperatures. Every now and then he’d hear the Heatseeker chuckling or Amanda sobbing, but no matter how fast he tried to move, Wilson could never seem to catch up with them. It was the opposite, in fact, every time he would catch a noise from below, it seemed the Heatseeker was getting farther and farther away. It wasn’t long until he heard nothing at all. Nothing in front of him, nothing behind. Just deafening silence and the ever-present black curtain of darkness. Wilson wanted to scream, just to know he still existed, to know he hadn’t gone stark raving mad.

“Amanda! I can’t find you, baby. Say something. Anything. Where the hell are you?”

“Exactly!” the Heatseeker whispered, his deep, gravelly voice so close Wilson jumped, smashing his head on the rough stone wall in his panic. “She’s in hell, coward. Same as you! Here…see for yourself.”

Ahead of Wilson, down around the next bend in the staircase, a light flared, and out of the darkness a monstrous deformed shadow was cast on the wall, nearly close enough to touch. Wilson raced down the stairs, too frightened to actually let it affect him now. He was on cruise control, reacting on instinct alone, dreading the confrontation with the Heatseeker but knowing it was inevitable.

A flaming torch appeared in front of him, set into a wall sconce high above his head in the stone. The Heatseeker was nowhere in sight. The small passageway smelled of kerosene and the heat coming off the torch was incredible for such a small flame. It was so hot down here already that any additional heat was uncalled for and definitely unwanted, but the blessed light the torch gave off more than compensated for it, and Wilson slid the torch out of the sconce and carried it with him farther down the staircase. He grasped the torch in his left hand, the same hand he carried the canvas bag with, keeping his right free in case he needed to use the knife.

Now that he could see, Wilson’s imagination was working overtime. He jumped at every shifting nuance of the light, every flickering shadow, tensing for potential attacks, but none came. He was stressed to the max and the heat and pressure were starting to take their toll on his body. Worse still, he started watching the stairs ahead of him, certain his recent nightmares were about
to come true and he’d start finding Amanda’s fingers chopped off and one placed every ten to fifteen stairs. He wasn’t prepared for something that horrible and thought his mind just might snap if he had to stop to gather up more parts of his daughter.

Thankfully, it didn’t happen, and Wilson eventually made it to the bottom of the long, winding staircase without incident. The staircase opened up into a wide dirt-floored corridor. The hallway was completely bare, straight ahead, a sturdy wooden door its only exit. He couldn’t help but notice the sign secured to the oak panel. It said: WELCOME TO HELL.

Just like my dream…

With no other options open to him, Wilson pushed his way through the heavy oak door and found himself standing in the familiar large circular chamber with a high-domed roof formed out of solid rock and its entire area—floor, walls, and roof—painted bloodred. Unlike his previous nightmares, the Heatseeker—or what must have been some monstrous dream version of him—wasn’t standing across the room ready to lop off Amanda’s head the moment Wilson ran to save her. Neither she, nor the Heatseeker were anywhere in view, but the room most certainly wasn’t empty. The skinless man was there, once again shackled to the wall with silver chains to Wilson’s left. As he’d done before, the walking wound who’d once been a man licked his exposed teeth and saluted to Wilson, silently bidding him entry into the room with a sweep of his mutilated arm. Across the massive chamber, illuminated by bright white spotlights, stood a steel and wooden apparatus that chilled Wilson to the core, despite the intense heat of the room.

It was one of his old escape tables; the machinery and
restraints set up and ready to go. Not just any escape trick either. It was the Devil’s Drill Bit.

Holy fuck! Why’s that here?

Directly behind the escape table, on the opposite side of the chamber, another wooden door led out of the room. The door was closed and Wilson could only presume the Heatseeker had taken Amanda through it, so he made his way cautiously forward, trying his best to ignore the skinless sentinel who watched his every step with rapt attention, but did nothing to stop him. To reach the door, Wilson had to go around the magic apparatus, so he was drawn near it out of necessity as much as curiosity. Up close, the Devil’s Drill Bit looked more ominous than he remembered it from his youth. It looked hard and uncomfortable, cruel and deadly, like a medieval torture device custom-made by the Spanish Inquisition, or better yet, Vlad the Impaler. Wilson shuddered and tried to walk on by.

Something grabbed his left hand.

Wilson screamed and dropped the canvas bag and the flaming torch to the floor. He was shocked to see a shiny stainless-steel handcuff firmly looped around his wrist, chaining him to the table.
Weird. How did that happen?

He was in the process of removing the cuff when the chain suddenly went taut and he was yanked hard across the table to land on his back in the center of the apparatus. Another shiny handcuff slithered across the table like a metallic snake and latched onto his right wrist, then quickly pulled back tight to stretch Wilson painfully across the mysterious table, holding him firmly in place.

What the fuck
! Wilson thought, then heard the door behind him squeak open and knew he was in big trouble.
The Heatseeker walked passed him dragging Amanda by her hair and never even acknowledged Wilson until he’d bound the girl to the wall with thick yellow ropes beside the skinless man. The Heatseeker no longer carried his nasty-looking meat cleaver, but was now wearing his white leather theatrical mask, the vivid gold, green, and red image smiling grotesquely on his misshapen head.

“There you go, kiddo,” the masked magician said. “Stay here and play with old Peeler. He’s friendlier than he looks…I think. The two of you can get ready to watch your daddy die. You never know; it might be fun. I know I’m sure gonna enjoy it.”

“Leave him alone,” Amanda said, bravely ignoring the skinless freak beside her. Tears were running down her dirty cheeks, and her eyes were wide and pleading but the Heatseeker only laughed and walked over toward Wilson. He easily removed the knife from Wilson’s trapped right hand and casually walked to the head of the table.

“Well, well, well…what do we have here? Got yourself in a heck of a bind now, don’t you, old friend?”

“Don’t you dare hurt her, you bastard. If you or that…that thing over there touches her, I’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing,” the Heatseeker interrupted, clearly enjoying this. “And don’t worry about her new pal, Peeler’s been with me for years. He was an old friend of Lucius’s actually, back in the day, a lunatic who thought he could escape his troubles by shedding all of his skin. Instead…he ended up finding me. Peeler’s not important. I just thought you might like a little audience for your big trick. You ready to put on a show?”

“Let me out of these cuffs right now!” Wilson screamed,
ignoring the question. “What’s the matter with you? And why are you wearing that damn mask?”

“Because I like it, and I don’t know…it just seemed so damn appropriate. Just like the good ol’ days, don’t you think? Oh…nearly forgot. I have one of yours too.” The Heatseeker reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out another leather mask, roughly pulling it over Wilson’s head and down over his face but didn’t bother trying to tie it in back. Wilson’s mask showed the sad version of the dual tragedy image, its smiling demented twin gazing down on him from above.

“Jesus, Doug. Stop it, man! Why are you doing this?”

The Heatseeker leaned down inches from Wilson’s face, his rancid breath nearly making Wilson gag. “I’ll tell you why,” he whispered. “Because I want to. Because I can. What other reasons do I need? You killed me on this machine…now I’m going to repay the favor. Tit for tat, ya know?”

With that, the Heatseeker moved to the end of the table near Wilson’s feet, and hit a button out of view that brought the deadly machine roaring to life. Amanda started to scream, Peeler started to clap, and the Heatseeker started to laugh as the huge drill bit began to spin faster and faster, but Wilson didn’t hear or notice any of them. He was too busy concentrating on the steel auger slowly descending toward his chest.

You can get out of this thing, Wilson. Easy. Just relax and do it.

If memory served him right, he should have about fifty seconds to get off this table—a minute tops—which was more than enough time to slip a few handcuffs. Back in the day, he’d have pretended to struggle and delay things long enough that the crowd would be screaming
and thinking he was in trouble when actually it only took seconds to get out of danger. There were no crowds to please here though, and Wilson had no desire to push his luck, so he dislocated his left thumb and slipped out of the cuff. He was about to reach across and free his right hand too, but suddenly his left wrist was trapped again. The handcuff was possessed or had a spell cast on it, seemingly having a life of its own, reattaching to his wrist as soon as he pulled free.

Oh shit
! Wilson thought, getting worried now, trying to slip the cuff a second time. He did, but just as easily, the cuff grabbed his hand again, pinning him back in place.

The drill bit spun closer.

The Heatseeker laughed louder, loving every second of his sadistic revenge plan. “Not so easy to get out, huh? Been there, done that, big guy. Better hurry, Wilson…time’s running out!”

Wilson didn’t waste time pointlessly arguing with the monstrous man who’d carefully planned his death. There had to be some way out of this.
Concentrate, man. Think!
Maybe if he was quicker. The possessed handcuff could move like a snake and it was fast, but he could be faster.
The cuff’s on a chain and will only be able to reach so far, right?

Right. Or at least Wilson hoped he was. This time he slipped the left cuff and immediately rolled hard to his right, clearing the drill and standing up beside the table, where he quickly slipped the right cuff too. On the table, both handcuffs bucked around, writhing as if angry and in disbelieve he’d broken free. They weren’t the only ones either. The Heatseeker was livid, hitting the kill switch on the drill to bring the deadly auger to a
grinding halt. Wilson thought he was going to charge him, but even in his rage and disappointment at not seeing Wilson torn to pieces, the Heatseeker was smart enough to realize he still had the advantage over his enemy.

He had Wilson’s daughter.

And he had Wilson’s knife.

The Heatseeker retreated over to where Amanda was tied to the red wall. He simply placed the tip of the shiny blade against the side of her delicate throat and waited for Wilson to make the first move. There was no fear in his eyes, and he was still smiling, almost looking forward to whatever Wilson decided to try. One way or another, he was sure he’d get his revenge in the end, even if his plans had been so rudely changed.

Peeler whimpered and moved as far away from his master as his chains would allow. The skinless man curled into a ball and cowered against the wall, wanting no part of whatever was about to happen.

Wilson ripped off his ghoulish stage mask and tossed it on the floor. He moved to the other side of the table, and being careful to avoid the reaching handcuff on that side, he bent over and picked up the canvas bag. Inside, he had no other weapons to choose from, so he pulled out the Teflon-lined glass bottle; thankful it hadn’t shattered when the bag had fallen to the hard stone floor. It was time to see if God were on his side. He uncapped the bottle and raised it reverently above his head.

“Bless me, Father,” Wilson said in prayer. “Give me the strength and courage to strike down your enemies. Let this water cleanse the evil from this place in your glory.”