The Last Customer (24 page)

           
“I just bought a bottle of
Khalua
from you a few days ago.”

           
“Well, I hope you drank a bunch, ma’am, cause what I’m
gonna
do next isn’t going to feel very good, at all.”

           
The woman didn’t have a chance to look scared or to scream. Sammael grabbed her robe. He shucked her through the front door and she spun so fast that she became a pink blur. The screen door unhinged.

           
Sammael stepped through the broken door. He attempted to close it behind him, but it only swayed open again.

Once inside the house, he stood at the base of the staircase. At the bottom of the last step, the older woman lay crumpled and bleeding. Crimson fluid trickled from her bulbous nose. Sammael had thrown her so hard that she’d tripped, slammed her head on the stairs, and snapped her neck. Her head was crunched. It stretched sideways at a horrible angle, set perpendicular to her shoulders.

Laughing, Sammael knelt down beside the woman. He placed one hand on top of her head, the other under her jaw. Gritting his teeth, he cranked her neck to the right. Her skin stretched and tore. The bone in her neck cracked, snapped and broke. He pulled her head off and then held it in front of his face while blood spat in all directions. The wood floor became drenched. A lake of blood pooled at Sammael’s feet. The old woman’s dying nerves operated her mouth. Her livery lips opened and closed successively. It looked like she was saying, “yah, yah, yah, yah,” but there was no sound until her teeth began to clack.

There was a tumbling noise from above. It sounded like feet stomping down the hardwood floor of the second story. Sammael looked up.

           
“Jean! What’s all that racket going on down there?” an old man cried. The stairs creaked, loud, when the he walked down them. His legs were shaky and his eyes shot wide with terror. He met Sammael’s stare as he looked at his wife’s decapitated head, in his hand. He held it up to show him. A sly grin etched onto his face. He dropped the head onto the stairs.

The old man’s sock covered feet shuffled fast. They shot out from under his legs. He reached for the railing. Unable to catch the wooden beam, he fell onto his back and slid down the hardwood stairs, thumping and wincing as he went. He landed near his wife’s head.

He tried to lean over and inspect her—
as if he could help
.

           
“Impressive,” Sammael said as he walked toward the injured old man, whose heart was broken, at the sight of his dead wife. “Your turn.”

           
Sammael raised his leg and stomped down on the old man’s stomach. There was a cracking noise and the old man lurched forward. A woofing sound escaped his thin lips. Urine fled from his bladder and pooled with his wife’s blood. With shaky hands, he tried to grab his stomach, but couldn’t. His head fell backward onto the stairs. Sammael split the old man’s head wide open with the boots that Garth Gasper had chosen to wear that day. The slimy gray matter that erupted from the old man’s blood soaked skull—which was spilt in half beneath his aging skin—fell to the aged wood stairs and
rested
on his wife’s neck. Blood soaked into the old woman’s pink bathrobe. Sammael savored his newest image of desecration.

           
Looking to the front door of the house, Sammael stopped smiling. He had much left to do.

He saw red.

           
He saw Gardner.

Chapter 22

1

Cherri had warmed up. She’d forgotten how gross she’d felt. She could almost taste Winny’s lips, on hers. Scared, but excited, they were going to kiss. Eyes closed, they were centimeters apart. She could taste his breath. It was hot, sweet, with a hint of sweat. But there was nothing foul about it.

The sobering crash of the back screen door slammed them from their moment. They pulled back from each other as the door opened from upstairs. Cherri’s dizzy head snapped back to the moment. Reality stung. She suddenly felt silly, stupid. It was wrong, trying to connect with Winny like this—at a time like this. They stood and quickly made their way toward the bottom of the staircase.

           
“What if it’s Sammael?” Cherri asked. Her hand was shaking. Winny grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet. They stared at each other, silent, for a long second. Breaking eye contact, they pretended that nothing had happened.
Well, actually nothing did happen.
Cherri decided to leave it at that.

           
“Stay behind me, for now. If it’s him, run as fast as you can. I’ll fight him off as best I can. You got it?” he answered.

           
“What about you?”

           
He locked eyes with her. His gaze was intense. Cherri understood that he was protective of her and wanted safety for her. He was willing to fight for her survival.

Her heartbeat quickened.

           
They turned their heads toward the door—at the top of the stairs—when the lock clicked. The doorknob turned.

The door creaked open.

Cherri bit down on her bottom lip. Winny squeezed her hand. Judging by the look on Winny’s face, he was unaware that he’d squeezed so hard.

A shimmer of moonlight splashed down the stairs, making everything appear dark blue. The outline of two people emerged into Cherri’s sight, behind Winny’s shoulder. Her head began to shake—the image of Sammael, laughing at her, fluttered through her head. A gentle voice called down, “Cherri…Winny…are you all right?”

It was a familiar voice. Relief swept through Cherri. Her lungs gave way to a refreshing breath.

“We’re okay, Father Gardner!” Winny hollered.

“Come on upstairs. We have
work
to do,” Gardner returned.

Without hesitation, both Winny and Cherri hustled up the stairs. Cherri still held Winny’s hand in hers.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Cherri stopped. She nearly crashed into Donna Gardner. They didn’t know each other, but they shared a familiarity. Without words, they both knew who each other was.

They didn’t need Gardner to say,
“This is my wife, Donna.”

Cherri knew that this was no time for mindless chit-chat. The two woman shared a nod and a once over and then they looked to their leader.

2

Gardner rummaged through the house. He gathered his flashlights and tool kit from the basement, filled up three empty milk jugs with tap water from the kitchen sink and when the last jug was filled, he led Donna, Winny and Cherri through the living room, toward the staircase. They quickly ascended up the wooden stairs.

Gardner hurried them down the second floor hallway. They halted a few feet in front of the master bedroom where the door stood half-open. From there, Gardner looked up at a small rectangle break in the ceiling. It was two feet wide and four feet in length. He reached up, grabbed the latch—set in the middle—and pulled it downward. A small set of stairs extended from the attic. They stopped two feet from the floor.

           
“Winny, you go first.”

           
“Yes sir,” Winny responded. He quickly crawled up the small staircase.

           
Cherri followed Winny. Gardner helped his exhausted wife climb next. He held her shaking calves as she mounted the stairs. She was still exhausted and in need
of
rest. Her legs quivered as she climbed, causing the frail stairs to shake and creak. She was beat-up, badly. There were scrapes and tears in her skin. She was dirty and full of sweat. Gardner quickly gave thanks that she was here, alive, not too injured to carry-on. When she finally disappeared into the attic, Gardner climbed up the creaky latch. Once he reached the attic, he brought the small staircase up and closed off the entryway.

           
They stood in darkness. The air was dust ridden. Their only guide was the moonlit night as it shined through a small circular window, covered in dust, at the front side of the room.

Gardner walked to the glass square and wiped his hand across the film of grime that blocked his vision of the small world in front of his house. From this window, he could see twinkling glimmers of shattered glass at the liquor store. The glass particles were spread out into the parking lot.

Gardner’s driveway looked dark and gray as it wound up toward the house. He felt the hot breath of his wife; she stood behind him. When he turned, his eyes adjusted and he was able to see everyone. They were looking to him, silently, wanting to know what needed to happen next.

           
“We’re going to be quiet. The lights need to stay off and we have got to stay alert,” he said. He locked eyes with Winny and said, “Sammael may have your brother. That is a realization which we must face. If Garth comes walking up that driveway, you need to know that it may not be him. It might look like him, talk like him, but it might not
be
him. We need to make sure that it
is
him before we let him in. I know that’s confusing, but we need to be aware and if it’s not Garth, then it’s Sammael. He will destroy us, if we let him.”

           
Winny remained speechless and fidgety. Gardner knew that what he’d said was
too much to comprehend
. Winny wouldn’t be able to understand what was happening. He was inexperienced. He wouldn’t be able to fight what
looked
like Garth. To be told that he might need to combat his brother—or who he thought was his brother—was incredibly overwhelming.

           
“I have a twelve gauge shotgun in the gun case…over there,” Gardner said, while pointing across the room. The moon reflected
off of
the glass encasing. “A bullet won’t stop evil, but it might slow it down for a minute or two. Sammael is coming to us. He’ll be here soon. I can feel it.”

           
Gardner put his hand on his Donna’s shoulder. He guided her across the attic. They stopped in front of a stack of old boxes and she sat down and opened one of the water jugs. She took the plastic container, eagerly, breathed in deep and guzzled the clear fluid. Gardner pulled the jug away from her. She was holding her breath. He said, “Breath, honey.”

           
Nodding, she took a few more breaths and then drank a third of the water. The sound of feet shuffling across the dusty attic floor drew Gardner’s attention back to Winny and Cherri.

           
Gardner instructed, “Drink some water. You’ll need to build your strength.”

           
Winny, staring wildly as if he hadn’t listened to what had been said, suddenly turned to the water jugs. Gardner had set them near the attic opening.

Winny walked cautiously across the floor, leaned down and picked up one of the jugs. Before taking a drink, he made his way to Cherri, popping the top as he walked. He held the jug in front of her.

           
“Take a drink.”

           
“Thanks,” she said as she accepted the water jug. She fumbled with it when Winny set it in her hands. She quickly regained control and held the plastic container to her lips.

           
Gardner rubbed Donna’s shoulders while she leaned forward and caught her breath. Startled, he quickly spun around when Winny stepped behind him.

           
“You scared me. I’m quite jumpy, tonight.” Gardner explained.

           
“I think we all are.” Winny returned. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He motioned his head toward the back of the attic.

           
Gardner nodded to his wife. Donna’s eyes granted approval. His wife was the most important thing and he would check with her on everything.

           
Standing on creaky knees, Gardner walked with Winny toward the back of the attic. They stopped near an old desk. An upside down wooden chair rested on top. In the moonlight, Gardner saw a myriad of spider webs draped across the open spaces between the chair and the musty desk. The smell of old newsprint was pungent. Gardner had stored memorable old newspapers in these desk drawers. Long ago, it had been in his study, when he was still with the church. The newspapers were index markers from his life. Tales of strange occurrences that he’d been involved with—none of the stories had been able to print the truth. The façade that had been written was enough for the masses. Still, the false news served as a staple of Gardener’s journeys. He found nostalgia in these musty pages.

           
Gardner’s head rose. He found Winny’s silhouette near the wall. Even in the dark, with limited visibility, Gardner could sense that Winny’s glance was grim. His topic was grave. He needed answers and he would want them quick.

2

Winny didn’t know what to say. He was confused and angry. He needed many answers and he didn’t know if he was upset with Father Gardner or not. The things that Gardner said about Garth—that Sammael might have possessed Garth’s body—were terrifying. Winny’s guts churned. The very idea of his brother being possessed knocked hard, at his bones. A sick feeling pined within the depths of Winny’s stomach and gnawed at his soul.

           
“What you said earlier…about Garth, you’re not telling me everything. You think that we’ll have to kill him?” Winny asked. He looked at his hands. He was digging his fingernails into the fleshy parts of his palms, repeatedly. Winny stopped kneading his hands when he thought that Gardner might think he was getting ready to punch him.

           
“
We
are not going to kill Garth. We don’t even know if he’s possessed yet. I just want you to understand the worst case scenario. For the record, I had a vision of Garth, and it wasn’t good. I think he’s made contact with Sammael, and yes, I believe you will be tested tonight. I believe that you might fail,” Gardner explained. There was no emotion in his voice.