DOCTOR NIGHTMARE

By R. L. Gemmill

“Hey Matilda! Mad Dog sends his regards!”

Kelly languishes in a mental hospital enduring unspeakable nightmares. Demons attack Dr. Parrish’s house in broad daylight with modern weapons. Jon fights the Assassin to an explosive death. Travis tries to stop Mr. Deel from killing a friend.

The good news? Jon and Maria are speaking again.

The bad news? Majik Juice just made its one-billionth sale.

READ WITH CAUTION

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publishdrive
• Release date: Mar 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9780996373173

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Warning

KATIE SCARLETT

An army of footsteps. Deep in the woods. They shook the trees, getting louder and louder. Katie Scarlett woke up in her tent, alert and afraid. As far as she knew, there were no roads or houses in that direction, so where would so many people come from? Katie had pitched her tent well off the winding path out of sight from anyone who didn’t know it was there, and she had spent hours camouflaging it with dead branches and leaves. Without the campfire scars, she had trouble finding it herself. Still, was she in danger?

A group of people stomped past her site through the crisp, brown November leaves. She listened as they continued along the path, then abruptly came to a halt. She held her breath, straining to hear. Had they seen her tent? Some crows cawed in the distance, but that was all she heard. As noisy as they’d been walking, the people had become as silent as the dead. Pulling on a thick blue sweatshirt, some white jeans, and her tennis shoes, Katie crawled out of the tent to have a look.

Toward the creek and the cul-de-sac, she saw seven men and two women standing in a line as if waiting for something. Each of them had an identical rifle slung over one shoulder, and army-style belts with ammunition pouches strapped around the waist. They weren’t military, and they didn’t seem organized as they waited. One man examined the sole of his shoe as if searching for something he might have stepped in. Another vigorously scratched his back with the barrel of his rifle. A third gnawed on the trunk of a leafless tree that grew along the path. Katie made a face when he bit off a mouthful of bark, chewed it up, and swallowed.

All the men had a ragged-looking beard and unkempt black hair. They even wore the same clothes: worn blue jeans and a long-sleeved yellow polo shirt. Katie blinked. The men didn’t just resemble one another; except for their body types, they were identical.

The women were lookalikes, too, from their scraggly brown, neck-length hair to their filthy white blouses to their shredded black slacks. If their clothes hadn’t been so ratty looking, Katie thought they might have been dressed to go to work in an office. Each woman carried the same weapons and ammo belts as the men. Though the bizarre scene raised her fear level, it also hiked up her curiosity. She needed to see more.

Stepping onto the well-worn path, she heard a squeaking, crunching sound approaching from the deepest parts of the woods. She backed up again and froze, pressing her body against a nearby tree. She was still in plain view, but somehow touching the tree made her feel less conspicuous.

Another bearded man approached, but this guy pushed a wheelbarrow that carried a tall stack of sandbags. The man must have been as strong as a bull because he had no trouble moving the load, though the wheel squeaked loudly with every turn as it snapped through dead tree branches like breaking bones. Three more identical-looking men pushing similar wheelbarrows loaded with sandbags followed him. Katie watched, expecting the worst, but they ignored her as if she was invisible. Were they part of a construction crew? Was she going to have to leave the woods and find some place else to live? Why would a construction crew carry guns?

Four more armed women followed the wheelbarrows, each hauling two backpacks that looked overstuffed and cumbersome. One after the other, they glanced at her as they passed, but her presence meant nothing to them. Katie was shocked. Even close up, the women looked the same.

Something slipped out of a backpack and landed at Katie’s feet. She pretended not to notice, but it didn’t matter because the women hadn’t seen it either. When the women caught up with the others, the group continued toward the creek.

Katie scooped up the object. It was a loaded magazine for a gun. The backpacks must have held a ton of ammunition.

She stayed off the path as more men approached from the dense woods, all armed and carrying heavy backpacks. She discreetly counted them as they went by; it was one of the strangest things she’d ever seen in her life. She noted six women and thirty-seven men—forty-three armed clones.

Katie rushed into her tent and got her cell phone. She kept it charged in an outdoor receptacle that was hidden by shrubs at the McCormicks’ house. She’d gotten it earlier that morning to text some of her homeless friends to see how they were doing. Since none of them had heard a word about their former magician leader for the last seven months, they figured he had to be dead; the followers had nobody to follow. What Jon Bishop had told her after the show at R. F. K. must have been true. It seemed impossible, but apparently, a high-school kid with a fancy sword had killed the Street Wizard.

Then she realized. Were these armed men and women going to Jon’s house? Was that why the McCormicks had built a brick wall and put up razor wire? If they were after Jon, she needed to warn him. It was the least she could do for him. She found his name in her contacts and dialed. It was mid-morning already, and she had no idea what day of the week it was.

JON

Jon frowned at the email on the computer screen. It was the seventh rejection letter from a college with a film school, and the dean who wrote it said the same thing they all had: finish a year or two at a community college and apply again. He may have graduated with his original class in high school, but his general diploma and mediocre grades roadblocked his goals. That settled it. Jon would apply to the nearest community college and begin school in the spring semester. He could go to summer school and have a year under his belt about the time Brandon was ready to start college. What choice did he have?

He got up from his desk and went to the window. A stiffening breeze swayed the trees, dropping more and more leaves every day. Soon most of the trees would be bare, and the beautiful many-colored leaves would all be dead and brown. What would it be like to be a tree, knowing you’d have to drop all your leaves and go dormant every winter? That’s a pretty long time to sleep. Would it seem like death? If so, being dormant was almost appealing.

Leaves covered much of the windshield of his silver Mustang parked in the driveway. The windshield wipers were like leaf magnets, and whenever it rained, and he turned on the wipers, there was a leaf stuck in them, smearing the view.

Joey Petulla’s pickup truck was parked in the cul-de-sac. He’d come by early to get Lindsey to go for a ride in the mountains to see the leaves, but they hadn’t left yet. Most people did that kind of thing on weekends, but Joey played football for the University every Saturday in the fall, so they were skipping classes for the day. A familiar SUV was in the driveway next door at Dr. Parrish’s place. Anton Edwards, Jon’s former English teacher, was there. Jon thought about stopping by to say hey, but at the moment, he wanted to be alone.

A fifteen-foot metal pole stood in the front yard, between the houses. Chris and Travis were building a purple martin house to mount on the pole. Through his feet, Jon could feel their hammering and the vibrations of the power saw and knew they had to be working in the garage. He also sensed the vacuum cleaner running on the steps. Angie was doing her weekly home sterilization. That woman wanted a clean home like nobody else he knew. Jon didn’t know how he could feel vibrations in his feet while hearing nothing at all, and he didn’t understand how he knew what was making them. Was it some kind of genetic thing? Had his dad passed a similar sense down to him? Or was he just a freak of nature? It didn’t matter. Whatever caused his new sixth sense had come in handy more than once.

Dr. Parrish had paid Joey Petulla’s dad big bucks to brick up the exterior of his house. And then he’d paid Mr. Blandford a bundle to make it extra secure. The windows and doors were bulletproof, and they had attached ¾-inch sheet metal to the floor joists under the house to help keep out demons. Then they’d built up the foundation with nearly four layers of cinderblock and brick. Jon had a feeling Angie and Chris had probably helped Parrish pay for much of the work, and that was cool. But he wondered if Mr. Blandford understood the real reason so much work had been done on both houses.

His cell phone rang. He took it out of his pants pocket and looked at the caller ID. Katie Scarlett, one of the street people who had followed the Street Wizard before Jon killed him. Oh, hell. He’d given his number to her months ago and hadn’t heard a word. She hadn’t called or texted, not once. He had a bad feeling about answering, but he did anyway.

Hello?

Jon Bishop? It’s Katie Scarlett.

Katie, he said, dreading whatever she had to say next. When they’d last spoken—the only time they’d spoken—he’d gotten the feeling that she liked him a lot. Admittedly, she was a hottie, but he’d felt no chemistry with her at all. For Jon, the chemistry was important. He and Maria had had perfect chemistry when they’d been together. He frowned. Why had he thought about Maria?

Jon, forty-three armed men and women are headed your way. They should come out of the woods at any moment. They look like clones or something. I think they mean trouble. Be careful.

They’re armed? He went back to the window and glanced out. Sure enough, a line of bearded men emerged from the trees and headed in different directions. Some went out of sight behind their house, following the brick wall—several pushed wheelbarrows up the road that appeared to be carrying sandbags. Most of them approached Parrish’s house and surrounded it. He recognized the guns: AK-47s. They all carried backpacks and ammo belts, too.

Who are they? He waited a moment before he realized she’d hung up. Oh, hell! He stuffed his phone in his pocket and ran from his room, yelling at the top of his lungs.

Chris! Angie! Dante! Get your guns! We’ve got trouble!

Chapter 2

Invasion

ANTON EDWARDS

E ver since this demon stuff began, I’ve felt like an outsider. Yvette Edwards was collecting dishes to take to the kitchen.

Anton chuckled, refilling his mug with coffee from the pot. "You were an outsider." He and Yvette both wore red plaid flannel shirts and blue jeans. He felt silly wearing the matching clothes, but Yvette thought they looked cute together. Anything to please her.

Don’t listen to him, Yvette, said Parrish. He knows nothing.

Yvette stopped and nodded emphatically. You have that right! Everyone laughed.

Anton raised his coffee mug in Parrish’s direction. I appreciate you having us over this morning. We needed this. He sipped the coffee and considered what his wife had gone through while he’d been a slave in the demon mines. Every time I think about you living in the same house with that freaking demon copy of me, I shiver.

Me, too. Yvette nodded, hugging herself against the uneasy memory. This was a great breakfast, Matilda.

Yes, it was, said Anton.

Thank you both, said Matilda proudly. I feel more domesticated these days, though I’ll admit, eggs and bacon are the only breakfast meal I can cook. Leave the dishes, Yvette. Mark and I will take care of them later.

You’ve mastered eggs and bacon. Yvette set the dishes on the table and touched the older woman on the shoulder. It was delicious. Matilda grinned, which made Yvette smile.

Anton beamed. Whenever his wife smiled like that, it lit up the room. He loved that woman so much it hurt. Mark, did I tell you I went to Crystal Creek Park yesterday? I spoke with the head ranger to see how he was doing.

Who’s the head ranger now? asked Parrish, blowing on his coffee.

Name’s Auslender. I don’t remember his first name.

If you wanted to find out what’s going on in the park, you should have asked our buddy, Ned.

I wanted to pay Auslender back the twenty dollars he gave us when Jon, Dante, and I first came out of the cave. We bought food with it, which might have saved our lives. Anton cleared his throat. So, Mark, what do you think I should do? I read there’s a shortage of teachers in the public schools now, but you can bet Dillon won’t consider rehiring me. I could end up teaching at another school thirty miles in the wrong direction. I’d like to do my part for the kids, but I’d rather skip the commute if I can.

Parrish laughed. I can’t say what you should do, Anton, but I find it difficult to believe you’re bored being so rich. If you hadn’t gone into teaching and you could have done anything you wanted right out of college, what would it have been?

Anton thought for a moment. I wanted to be a novelist. He nodded to himself. This might sound silly, but I’ve always wanted to write historical fiction.

You’ve got the time and money, said Matilda. Best take charge of your dreams before they get away from you.

You’re right. I don’t have to teach, though I do miss interacting with the kids. I need to start writing. I still have my old notes from college, you know. I was putting together a novel based on the first English women to arrive at Jamestown, and I’d collected all kinds of research. It’s in a notebook in the attic, I think. He sipped his coffee. You see? That’s what friends are for. Yvette was trying to help me figure out what to do, but I told her we needed to talk to you guys about it, too.

Matilda looked at Yvette. "What do you want to do?"

Yvette’s gaze became dreamy. I want us to travel. See as much of the world as we can. I want to spend months in different countries to learn the cultures and make some friends.

Anton shook his head. Months seem too long to me. My idea of traveling is a two-week trip and then coming home.

It’s called visa-hopping, explained Parrish. Dr. Garrity in the physics department took a year-long sabbatical a while ago and did just that. He picked a country, stayed till his tourist visa ran out, and moved to another country. How long do tourist visas usually last?

Ninety days, said Yvette. Most countries anyway.

Anton shook his head in wonder. What did Garrity think of traveling like that?

He loved it.

He must speak other languages, said Anton. If I were in a country that doesn’t speak English, I’d be lost. He shook his head again. Well, to change the subject, Yvette, tell them about your investigation.

Matilda raised an eyebrow. You’re an investigator now?

Yvette smiled again. Excitement blazed in her eyes. It’s about Summit Beverage Corporation. You know, the plant that makes all the Majik Juice?

What’s going on there? asked Parrish.

Matilda popped him on the arm. Haven’t you heard, Mark? They’re goin’ to give a big cash award to the one-billionth buyer of MJ the week after Thanksgiving.

A cash award? Parrish scratched his head. "That’ll make people buy the stuff even more. Sounds like a marketing gimmick to me. Did you say, one-billionth buyer?"

Yvette nodded. You know what’s funny about that? Summit has been talking with the major bottlers about sharing the wealth of MJ, but they’ve never come to an agreement. Every bottle of MJ in the world has been produced and shipped out of that one plant.

So? Parrish sipped his coffee.

Yvette stood and entered detective mode. Her expression became serious as she began pacing the room. It made me curious about what kind of machinery they had there that could produce, pack, and ship so many bottles, so I took a tour of the plant. I’ll admit the place is huge. I forget how many acres of warehouse space they have, and their bottling machinery is state-of-the art. But when I asked the guide how many bottles they could make, you know what he told me? He said they make 100,000 bottles of MJ a day.

That’s just over 36 million bottles a year, said Parrish. The big three put out more than that, by far.

Yes, agreed Yvette. "Coke sold over 1.6 billion cases last year. That’s cases, not bottles, but they’ve got 275 plants around the world. Summit has only been producing MJ for two years. What I want to know is how did they jump from selling fewer than 40 million bottles a year to a billion bottles when they don’t have the facility to produce so much?"

Matilda lean closer to Yvette. Did you ask?

Yes. The guide said the machines never stop running, and they employ over a thousand people at night to make sure every bottle is shipped where it belongs. I showed him the numbers I got on my calculator, but he only shrugged. Either they’re lying about sales or there is something else going on. I want to know what they’re up to.

Parrish laughed. I hope you never decide to investigate me. What are you going to do about Summit?

Anton stood with his coffee and stretched his legs. We’re going to spy on the plant at night. Yvette’s been on two tours now, and the second one she made secret videos of the facility in action.

Yvette became animated. I used some of our moldy architect money and bought spy equipment. I had a video camera hidden in my purse and another camera built into my glasses.

But you don’t wear glasses, noted Parrish.

They were fakes. Isn’t it exciting?

They laughed. Anton continued. Her videos prove the machines don’t make anywhere near 100,000 bottles a day, even at full production.

Holding her coffee aloft, Matilda looked at Anton. I never thought I’d give someone advice like this, but you should talk to Agent Smith about what you’re doin’. He could have some sage advice for you. He might even take an interest.

Anton wandered around the downstairs, admiring the work done by Parrish and Matilda in the house. He paused at one of the front windows and sipped his coffee.

Are these windows bulletproof, like at Chris’ house?

Yes, replied Parrish from the dining room. We had Blandford Construction put them in. That’s the company that did the work next door.

They did the brickwork too?

No, that was Joey Petulla’s father. He has a siding company, which includes brick. It only took them a week from start to finish to brick up everything. We had them put on a double layer, so the wall is thicker than usual.

You’ve been talking to Angie. Anton sipped and laughed. That woman is serious about home security. He looked on as several men pushed wheelbarrows past the house and up the street. He leaned to one side to see them better.

You know, you can certainly write while you travel, said Parrish. He rose from the table and joined Anton at the window. It’s an ideal job for that.

Anton lowered his voice. I was trying to avoid the subject of traveling.

Parrish laughed. Oh. Sorry. What are you looking at?

Those guys with beards and wheelbarrows, said Anton. They came from the woods. Yvette appeared beside her husband and leaned on his shoulder. Matilda joined Parrish as well.

The woods? asked Matilda, trading a worried glance with Parrish. Are they monsters?

Parrish shook his head. It’s daylight.

What about the demon-human kind of monsters?

They watched as the strange parade continued out front. Anton sipped his coffee again. What the heck?

Six bearded men formed a line across the front yard, facing the house. Each wore a backpack strapped over their shoulders and stood in an at ease position. Four more men pushed wheelbarrows up the road and stopped at the crest of the low hill. They began unloading sandbags and stacking them across the street.

All those men look alike, said Parrish. I mean, like twins.

The women look alike, too. Matilda turned to the side. Two of them just went around back. She moved to the window in the dining room on the side of the house. Holy, Dooley, they’re carrying AKs! Mark!

Got it! Parrish hustled up the stairs. Matilda followed him at a sprint.

HK-416 work for you, Anton? she called out, disappearing up the stairs.

Anton sipped the coffee again, then looked back out the window. Yes. Do you have ammo?

Plenty! came Parrish’s voice from above.

What about me? Yvette looked worried.

You’ve never shot a gun, have you? asked Anton. How about a handgun?

Anton, you’re scaring me.

Anton kept a watchful eye on the sandbaggers as they built a knee-high wall of bags that blocked the road entirely. Then they piled the wheelbarrows on top of the sandbags and went to work, taking ammunition from their backpacks and stacking it strategically. They set themselves up along the wall with their backs facing the houses as if they were expecting an invasion to come from up the road.

Two women approached the men and passed over AK-47 machine guns. As the four men dug in behind the sandbags, the women disappeared on the right side of Parrish’s house. Anton got his cell phone and dialed 911.

My name is Anton Edwards. I’m visiting my friends Mark Parrish and Matilda Price at the end of Oak Avenue. He yelled upstairs. What’s your house number, Mark?

One-seventy-two! called Parrish, hurrying down the stairs with guns and packs of ammo.

You need to get a number on your house. He spoke into the phone again. Hello? Yes, we’ve got a serious problem, and whoever you send had better bring automatic weapons. Why? Because that’s what they’re going to run into. Ma’am, I’m watching them now! I don’t know how many are out there, a couple dozen at least, but they’re armed with AK-47s. I’m not joking. No, I don’t know who they are, but it looks like they’re setting up for a war.

One woman outside moved close to the front porch and shouted at the top of her lungs. Hey, Matilda! Mad Dog sends his regards!

Automatic fire opened up from all sides. Anton pulled Yvette to the floor, face-first. They instinctively crawled away from the windows and back into the dining room, but there were windows there, too. This house had plenty of windows all the way around.

Bullets ripped into the brick, sending a reddish cloud of brick chips in every direction. More rounds struck the windows but bounced off. Anton peeked over a windowsill and saw the men out front blasting away at the house. One by one, they’d use up a magazine of bullets, ejected it, and slapped in a new magazine. They timed it so they never ran out of ammo together and could keep a steady stream of hot lead tearing at the house.

Can you hear that? cried Anton into his phone. Get help here fast! I’m hanging up! He put away his phone. Stay here! He left his frightened wife behind a sofa and crawled to the stairs, where Parrish knelt with the weapons. Parrish passed him an HK416 and a shoebox full of mags.

Parrish shouted. How about a Glock for Yvette? It’s light and easy to handle.

Anton called out. She’ll take it! Police are on their way. He looked at the windows concernedly. How tough is the glass?

Parrish loaded his HK416 and crawled to the front door. "They’ll break, eventually. We’ve got a problem, Anton. I set the house up with all this protective equipment, but I never considered being able to shoot back at anyone. We can’t shoot unless we open a door or window."

Not a good idea! cried Matilda, rushing downstairs to join them. She had a large handgun holstered on her hip and carried a riot gun along with a small backpack that looked half empty. We need to get Yvette out of here, pronto. The tunnel?

Yes, said Parrish. I’m staying a while. I want to defend my home.

They out gun and outnumber us, Mark. It’s not the time for heroics.

You’re one to talk. Parrish laughed. A woman ran onto the front porch and stood on the porch.

What’s she doing? asked Anton, getting more nervous by the moment. Who’s Mad Dog?

Matilda looked warily at the door, as the figure on the other side of the stained glass moved out of sight. She jumped off the porch and ran away.

Oh, hell! cried Matilda. Everyone to the tunnel!

They turned to run. A split second later, the door exploded inward. The shock wave from the explosives hit Anton in the back and tossed him into the kitchen. He rolled until he slammed into the far cabinets with a thud. He looked up in a daze, his ears ringing so severely he couldn’t hear.

Yvette? Where are you?

In here, Anton. Hurry!

Where’s here? He shook his head to deal with the ringing in his ears, but it was still loud. Smoke filled the first floor to where he couldn’t see anything at all. He coughed in the foul air. Where are you?

He realized that he’d lost the gun and the box of ammo. He groped around on the kitchen floor but found nothing. Footsteps burst into the house. Shots rang out. He crawled as fast as he could down the hall into the first room. He rolled inside and slammed the door. He scrambled to his feet to lock it. He was trapped. The only thing between him and the clones was a wooden door, and they’d shoot that to pieces in seconds or kick it in. He rushed to the back window, but a man outside looked up and opened fire at him. He ducked, thankful once again that the windows were bulletproof.

Something grabbed his ankle and knocked him down. It had a powerful grip as it slid him across the floor like a rag doll. A moment later, the door was ripped apart by a shower of bullets. Anton got the feeling he would never write that book.

TRAVIS

Travis heard a woman shout Matilda’s name, and an instant later, the shooting began. He was alone in the garage waiting for Chris to get back from the bathroom. He set the purple martin house on the workbench and ran into the house.

He was wide-eyed with fear and adrenalin when Angie ordered him and Dante to go to the window above the garage. He ran upstairs and got his Heckler and Koch MP5 and a bag of ammo, then met Dante in the hall. The sinewy old man carried a riot gun and wore two bandoliers of shotgun shells. He also had matching Glocks in holsters on his belt.

Angie pointed at them. Both of you stay up here. Don’t shoot unless you have to and only if it’s a safe shot.

Travis nodded, then looked out the window over the garage. Bearded demon-humans had made a sandbag mini-fort in the middle of the road just beyond Parrish’s house. Others were lined up across the big man’s front yard firing round after round at the new brick wall and windows. Still, more had surrounded the place. The shooting sounded like a Fourth of July celebration gone very wrong.

He looked back at Angie in a fright. Who’s Mad Dog? Why are they shootin’ at Dr. Parrish and Granny?

Angie shook her head. No idea, Travis. I’d like to know how this Mad Dog person convinced demons to fight for him.

Chris came out of the bedroom, holding his Thompson submachine gun and a backpack. I got the garage roof. He opened the window and climbed out onto the roof. Call Mark and tell him to use the tunnel. We’ll all stand a better chance behind our brick wall.

Angie nodded. This is insane, Chris. Demon-humans in the middle of the day? What’s that crazy Demon Boss thinking?

He likes surprises, said Chris. He lay flat on the roof and aimed over the peak. Travis, can you watch the street for me? I’m going to concentrate on the attackers on the side of the house here. Dante, go into Kelly’s room and get her gun and ammo. We may need it.

Dante nodded. God id! He went off as fast as an eighty-six-year-old man could move.

Jon burst into the hallway from his room with his handgun holstered on one hip and Devil’s Bite in hand. Travis shook his head and pointed at the Sword.

You can’t use that, he said. Those are demon-humans. You’ll explode!

Jon’s expression changed from battle rage to lost and confused. Travis was right. Dante had told them about the Demon Boss testing the weapon on demons he had turned into demon-humans. The resulting explosion had knocked the giant demon across the cave. Jon slid the Sword back into its scabbard on his back. "What do I do? Use this?" He pointed at his Glock 9mm like it was a water pistol.

Angie shrugged. It’s the only gun you have.

Dante returned with Kelly’s HK416 and gave it to Jon. Here. Kelly would wand you do use id.

Jon took the automatic weapon with trepidation. He pocketed some ammo and headed downstairs, calling back to them on the way. "They’re not attacking us, but they’re using our wall as cover. I’m going after the ones in the back." His voice faded as he went out the sliding glass door to the deck.

Travis tugged on Angie’s arm. Lindsey and Joey are here. He pointed down toward the basement.

Angie went pale. I thought they were going to the mountains today. You and Dante stay with Chris. I’ll see to Lindsey.

She had no sooner spoken when an enormous explosion from the house next door rattled the windows.

They blew out his front door! cried Chris, as he took potshots at the demon-humans running around in the yard. We’ve got to do something!

Travis saw three demon-humans lying temporarily dead on Parrish’s front lawn.

"We will do something! cried Angie, heading downstairs. We will! I just wish Kelly was here to tell us what!"

Chapter 3

Life at Sunnyside

SCARKK

Scarkk laughed out loud. And why not? Nobody would hear him tucked deep inside the mind of an unaware human. He was happier than he’d been since the Dark Ages, when the happiness of evil spirits was well known in the demon world. The only thing that gave an evil spirit true happiness was when it caused intense grief, torment, and terror within a human being. Humans were an evil spirit’s natural prey. Only a handful of people could detect spirits that were inside their own bodies, let alone the bodies of others. Sure, a few rare people could see evil spirits, and several others actually understood how to fight them, but overall humans were still easy prey.

Scarkk had taken on an important assignment that the most powerful of all evil spirits had told him would help win the great war to come. Scarkk, himself, was second in strength only to Rebek. He had long been recognized in the demon world as the least detectable of all spirits while possessing a host. Scarkk’s skill at building mazes within mazes where he could hide from a host’s mind-sight was legendary. Now he inhabited the body of the Hated One’s sister, and he loved it. Her body grew weaker every day as pure exhaustion set in from lack of sleep. She was afraid to even close her eyes. Soon, he would crush her mind into tiny pieces and drain her of everything that made her human. If she survived at all, she’d be nothing more than a vegetable.

Things were going especially well now that his host lived inside a mental institution and didn’t know what really caused her problems. Not only that, the Hated One could only visit her once a month. Scarkk suspected the young man could see evil spirits, or at least detect them, but if he could, it didn’t matter if he wasn’t here.

Like all demons, Scarkk despised the Hated One with all his being. The night he had first inhabited the girl had been too close for comfort. The Hated One had entered her room and thrown the Doomsday Shroud over her. Scarkk hadn’t known the Hated One had gotten the Shroud, but the clever spirit had been lucky enough to escape from her body an instant before the Shroud covered her. He had hidden in a heating duct until the Shroud and her brother were gone. When Kelly Bishop had fallen asleep, he’d re-entered her body and found a very cozy place deep within her brain.

He toured through her mind, seeking her fears to work his best psychological torture with impunity. All evil spirits had insatiable appetites, and fear was their meal of choice. Scarkk had eaten so much fear from this girl that he worried he might have gained weight. He imagined himself a chubby evil spirit rolling around inside some hapless human, and it made him laugh uncontrollably.

KELLY

Kelly lay in her padded room at Sunnyside, pretending to be asleep. She heard Dr. Arndt’s thoughts outside the door and knew the woman was watching her on the video monitor. She wanted to shout inside Arndt’s head to just come on in. Why did she stand out there for so long, anyway? When Kelly considered it, the reason was obvious. The good doctor wanted to see if her patient would start hovering again.

Kelly wanted to see it, too, if she could, through Dr. Arndt’s eyes. Nothing was happening now, but lately she never knew when to expect another episode, as the psychiatrist preferred to call those floating moments.

Kelly had been at Sunnyside for over six months, and her condition continued to deteriorate. The nightmares, worse than ever, now seemed to have fixated on the terrible mansion with the many rooms and their closed doors. She had only opened a few of the doors, so far, because whenever she did, someone she cared about was in the room with something terrible happening to them. Kelly wanted to stay away from the mansion, but she had no control over her dreams.

While at Sunnyside, she had met some of the other patients during the few times they had allowed her to be in the activity room. She’d even gotten to know them a little and had learned not to make fun of the mentally ill anymore, and not just because she was one of them. She no longer referred to them as crazies like she had before she’d become a resident. Mentally ill people had problems that needed special care and treatment, and it didn’t help them a bit to use demeaning labels or to treat them like jokes. People who were mentally ill needed help, and as far as Kelly could tell, Dr. Sanderlyn, Dr. Arndt, and the rest of the crew—even mean Nurse Agnes—did a pretty fair job of providing it. Though Dr. Arndt continually tried new ways to treat her, Kelly believed herself to be beyond hope.

Kelly? It’s Dr. Arndt. Her voice came over the speaker. Are you awake? May I come in?

She always asked, but even if Kelly didn’t answer, she’d eventually come in. Dr. Arndt wanted Kelly to call her Kara during their sessions, but Kelly had trouble doing that. Arndt was her doctor, not her best bud, and it made her uncomfortable. It must have been one of those respect-your-elders things. Kelly pretended to wake up and waved her in. The door opened and dragged over the gray padded floor as the doctor entered.

Dr. Arndt was about Kelly’s height, with short light-brown hair and robin’s-egg-blue eyes that somehow reminded Kelly of the warm rays of the sun she hadn’t felt in forever. Arndt was an optimist who never considered failure in treating her patients. Kelly liked her and at the same time felt sorry for her. Even as Kelly languished in her padded cell, drawing ever closer to death, Dr. Arndt never stopped seeking the cure. If any of Arndt’s patients ever died at the clinic, Kelly was certain the doctor would have a breakdown of her own. Optimists have everything to lose.

Kelly tried to remember the feeling of sunlight on her skin but came up empty. Her world seemed cold and gray now, a place where fear devoured her mental being one bite at a time. Even if they let her out of the padded room today, the sunny courtyard was off limits to her. Access to the courtyard from the activity room was blocked by a thick glass wall and a locked door. The best she could hope for was to enjoy the sun vicariously through the plants on the other side of the glass where heat from the building maintained a relatively warm temperature that allowed non-native tropical species to thrive during the fall and winter in Northern Virginia. Kelly had only been in the courtyard once during her stay, which was the only true sunlight she’d felt in a long time. Immediately after, she’d hovered, and they hadn’t let back her in since. Were they afraid she might rise through the open roof and float away?

Are you still doing your exercises? Dr. Arndt sat on the floor with a clipboard in front of the bed, like they were having a sleepover or something. She always tried to make Kelly feel at home, though her boss, Dr. Sanderlyn, had limited any contact Kelly could have with her family to only once a month. That really hurt. Once a week had been hard at first, but it gave her something to look forward to. Once a month sucked. Kelly glanced at the door and saw it was slightly ajar. A quick scan told her Mr. Patrick was waiting outside in case she had another monstrous outbreak.

Kelly nodded. One hundred pushups a day, two hundred sit-ups, two hundred mountain climbers, and five hundred jumping jacks. I take all day to get them done, especially the pushups, but I do them every day.

I’m pleased you came up with the idea to work out while you’re a patient here. The physical activity is good for you.

It makes me exhausted and I sleep. Of course, I still have the dreams.

Did you have them last night? she asked. Kelly nodded. Same ol’ same ol’?

The mansion, of course. I don’t know why I keep dreaming about it so much, but that’s the way it is. Kelly looked away and then back. How long before I see my family again?

Two weeks. But Josh will be here on Friday, I’m sure. He certainly has great connections.

Kelly smiled. Josh had great connections all right. His father was the Secretary of Defense and was the head of the department that oversaw the activities and investigations of the American Security Administration. She didn’t know what the relationship was between the ASA and Sunnyside, but whenever the ASA told Dr. Sanderlyn to jump, he basically asked, How high? Josh had wanted to see her every week, which meant every Friday, and he’d told his dad who told the ASA to make it happen, and they did. The first time he showed up Kelly had thought Nurse Agnes was going to have a conniption. That mean old nurse was still furious that a high school kid had been given permission to see one of their patients on a weekly basis, when the patient’s own family wasn’t allowed to see her more than once a month. And a boyfriend no less! Dr. Sanderlyn wasn’t happy about it either, but Kelly didn’t see him much, so she didn’t get inside his mind to find out what was going on.

I’m glad he does, said Kelly, unable to hide the smile. I’m not sure I could survive this without him.

You could, would, and will, said Dr. Arndt. So which floor were you on in the mansion this time?

First.

Still? Anything new?

No. I tried going out of order and opened the second door on the right first. Chris chopped himself in the forehead with a hatchet, like always. Then the tree grew out of his face and grabbed me, but I got away, or it let me go, I don’t know which, so I went back to the first door on the right. Going out of order didn’t help.

Angie and the meat grinder again?

Kelly nodded. She cringed.

Where next?

I just ran the rest of the night. The guy on the horse came after me inside the mansion, like always, chased me up to the third-floor balcony, and forced me to jump off. I woke up before I landed. I hate the feeling of falling in a dream.

Kara checked her notes on the clipboard. That should have been about three-thirty this morning. Same time as always. You keep a tight schedule, that’s for sure. She chuckled. Kelly offered a lame smile, but her eyes were too exhausted to smile along with the rest of her face.

When will they stop, Dr. Arndt? I’m so sick of bad dreams I could vomit.

Don’t start that again. It’s difficult to clean up on these padded floors, and the smell! To answer your question, I believe the dreams will stop when you’ve opened all the doors. You said there are hundreds of doors, but you’ve never opened more than two.

I opened the first door on the left once, remember?

The doctor checked her notes. Ah, yes. The giant tentacles grabbed you and pulled you into a room that was under water.

Drowning sucks, too, let me tell you.

Kara nodded in agreement. Mr. Crockett told me you took all your meds this morning. I’m glad you’re not fighting us anymore.

Me too. Little did she know Kelly was fighting them. If she had taken the meds, she’d be a mental blob now hardly able to communicate clearly. And she’d sleep a lot more, too, and be trapped in the nightmares. Whenever Crockett, Patrick, or Nurse Agnes came in to give her the meds, she went into their mind and convinced them she’d swallowed the pills without a hitch. She needed sleep, but not twenty-four hours a day. They gave her the pills, and after she made them think she’d swallowed them, she waited until they left to stuff the pills into a hole in the back of her mattress. She’d made the hole by tearing the material with her teeth.

I have a surprise for you, said Dr. Arndt. I want you to go to the activity room today. You’ve started a very good painting, and I’m hoping you’ll continue with that. How does that sound?

Kelly nodded. Good. She enjoyed painting. She wasn’t an artist, but somehow it soothed the pain and fear that built up inside her while she tried to sleep. Plus the focus helped keep her awake.

Before you go, however, I want you to promise me you’ll open another door the next time you dream, okay? If you are ever to beat these bad dreams, I think you’ll need to open every door in the house and face down what’s inside. The answer to your fear lies deep in the mansion some place, probably hidden in a closet, or in the attic or basement. Will you promise?

Kelly nodded again. I promise. She had opened a fourth door once, way back when she’d first gotten to Sunnyside: the door to the basement. A horrible, rotten-fish odor had risen from that dark, terrible place, and it frightened her even more than the guy on horseback trying to stab her with his sword. It was worse than falling from the balcony, which always made her wake up screaming. Dr. Arndt?

I wish you’d call me Kara. I want to be your friend and your psychiatrist, Kelly.

Kelly shook her head, deciding not to call her anything, except maybe hey you! What you’re telling me to do sounds a little like what my brother told me to do with bad dreams. He said I should just get mean as heck and fight back. But when I try that, it always blows up in my face. The dreams get worse when I fight back.

You may not have to fight them, Kelly. You just need to see what they’re hiding. Once you know what’s there, then you can decide whether or not to fight them.

KELLY

Kelly worked hard painting her picture of the red flowers that grew like tiny ornaments on some plants in the courtyard. Having one entire wall of the courtyard made of unbreakable glass had been a great idea, whoever had thought of it. It gave the patients something to look at that made them feel better. Other patients seemed to like it too. Doris Williamson nearly always stood and faced the glass, staring at the greens, yellows, reds, blues, and browns that made up the plant life in there. She was a catatonic schizophrenic who never spoke anymore, as far as Kelly knew. She just stared. Kelly supposed there was something going on inside her mind, maybe some fantasy she lived in that nobody else would ever know about. Kelly would never know about it either. She couldn’t read the mind of anyone who was mentally ill.

While Doris stared and drooled a little, Kelly painted the tiny, bell-shaped red flowers that grew next to the glass right in front of her. She sat at a small table that Mr. Crockett had placed there for her and worked hard to make her painting look real. She liked realism, which Dr. Arndt had said was a sub-category inside the much broader subject of art. Kelly had the green stems looking just like real stems, but painting the flowers was tricky. Some of her flowers looked so real she could have hung them on the plant, and nobody could have seen the difference. But they took a long time to paint because there were so many of them, and she messed them up every time at least once or twice.

Another patient walked around the room like he was in search of something very important. Crazy Horse was a toothless old man that somebody had found living on the street and brought him to Sunnyside. He seemed harmless, but Kelly could never be sure because he wasn’t allowed to hold pointed objects. He always needed a shave, and the staff shaved his beard twice a week. She didn’t name him Crazy Horse and did not know what his real name was, but that’s what he liked to be called, according to Mr. Patrick. Crazy Horse came over and put his arm around Doris like he always did. She never blinked or appeared to notice as he got close enough to her ear to whisper. But he never whispered.

He leaned forward and said, Bubbly bubbly bubbly bub! Then he released her and marched with purpose to the other side of the room. The first time Kelly met him she’d stuck out her hand to shake and introduced herself. He had looked at her with distrusting, bloodshot eyes and said his bubbly bub thing. Then he’d gone over to a potted plant and said it again to the plant. Kelly had never heard him say anything else.

That looks real good, said a shy-sounding voice from behind her. She turned and saw Denny Martinez studying her painting.

Thanks, Denny. You’re out of the room, huh?

"Yeah. It gets stuffy in there. Real stuffy."

You don’t have to tell me.

Denny wasn’t like the other mentally ill people because Kelly could read his mind. When she’d first met him, she’d thought he had to be as sane as the rest of her family. Then he’d come to the activity room once and freaked out when he thought he saw a monster hiding behind one of the round columns that supported the ceiling. Nobody else saw anything, of course, and Denny had literally run back to his padded room. He told her once that the monsters couldn’t get through the padding. Kelly told him that was a good thing, but she wanted to point out that the ceilings weren’t padded, so it made little sense. She decided not to say anything about it.

Are you going to paint something? she asked. It was only the second time she’d seen him.

He shook his head. I can’t. If I get too busy out here, the monsters sneak up on me. I don’t want them to eat me.

That would suck. Kelly usually tried to humor him. Travis once told me he thought it was better to be eaten later rather than sooner. I’d prefer not to be eaten at all.

Does Travis come to visit you? I’d like to see him again.

He’s too young. The hospital has rules about that. I really miss him, though. Well, she missed seeing him. Angie and Chris always brought Jon and Travis to visit, and sometimes Dante, too, but Travis stayed in the minivan while the others took turns seeing her. Whenever she knew they had arrived, she’d go into his head, and they’d talk for a while. A hug from her little brother would have gone a long way, though.

Denny suddenly looked stricken and took off back toward his room. See ya, Kelly.

Bye, Denny. Nice talking with you.

You, too. If you see Travis, tell him I said hey. Mr. Crockett guided Denny down the hallway.

All that talk about family made her miss them more than usual. She’d see Josh again in two days, but right now she really missed her brothers, Angie, Chris, Dante, Granny, and Parrish. She wanted to talk to Lindsey, too, but Lindsey wasn’t a relative, so she wasn’t allowed to visit. This place had some rules that Kelly didn’t get along with, but she followed them anyway. She hoped everybody at home was okay and wouldn’t forget to come see her in two weeks. She tried to guess what they were up to right then but became sad and returned to her painting.

Chapter 4

Clone Wars

JON

Jon checked the magazine of his Glock 9mm, then slapped it back in place and holstered the weapon. Were the three extra mags in his back pocket enough for what they faced? He also had Kelly’s gun that used the same ammo. He wasn’t crazy about firing automatic weapons and had little interest in Kelly’s HK416. Jon practiced so much with the Sword that he rarely took time