J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) (21 page)

B
ub had to die.

Rabbi Shotzen pondered and prayed and pondered and prayed, and that was the conclusion he came to. That was G-d’s will. It was also a matter of survival.

Whether Bub was a demon or not didn’t matter. If he were Lucifer, as he claimed, then Shotzen would be doing the world a favor by destroying him. If he were something else, at the very least Shotzen would be saving Judaism. Father Thrist was proof.

Thrist was the most skeptical man Shotzen had ever met. If Bub had won him over that easily, he would have little difficulty convincing the rest of the world. All Bub had to do is go on television and talk about Jesus being the messiah. The Jews, the chosen people of God, would again be persecuted in the name of Christ, this time to extinction.

The Rabbi knew what would happen. There were two billion Christians in the world, three hundred million in North America alone. Muslims numbered over one billion. Jews? Fourteen million worldwide. The opposition outnumbered them two hundred to one. If Bub were to go public, spouting off about Jesus Christ, the repercussions would be enormous. The US might cease support of Israel, which could very well mean its destruction. In America, the vandalism of synagogues and the harassment of Jews would escalate and violence would no doubt erupt.

Shotzen couldn’t let that happen. Christ was not moschiac. It was impossible. The messiah was to be of Davidic lineage. If Christ were the son of G-d, how could he be descended from David? G-d was one being, not a trinity as the Catholics said. That was sacrilege.

So he only had one course of action. Bub had to be destroyed. Just as David had slain Goliath, Shotzen had to destroy a giant of his own. It was treason, he knew. The United States might very well execute him. But if he got out word to Jews worldwide, he believed the support would be total. He would truly be the savior of his people. They might even embrace him as a hero. And his memoirs, so long thought to be a pipe dream, might some day be studied at yeshivot around the globe, alongside with the work Rabbi Moses ben Maimon and Rabbi Akiba ben Joseph.

Normally, he would consult a bais din, a house of justice consisting of three Rabbis, to discuss the legal points of killing Bub. The Talmud Tractate Sanhedrin discussed setting up a court to try crimes, but this only applied to humans, of which Bub was not. Jewish law did allow for
killing the pursuer
without a bais din. In fact, if there is an obvious threat, G-d commands Jews to respond with mortal judgment.

Bub was an obvious threat to 14 million Jews, so Shotzen considered himself justified in destroying him.

Bub might kill him, of course. But he was willing to take the risk to save his people.

Shotzen outlined the plan in his memoirs; should he not survive there would at least be a record of his bravery and sacrifice. His first idea was to detonate the bombs that had been surgically implanted in Bub’s head and chest. But the trigger for them was in Yellow 4, and it had a locked door with a keypad entrance. Only Race could get in there.

Shotzen decided the next best way to destroy Bub was with fire. The flames could possibly even set off the bombs. He could sneak into the habitat while Bub slept. But what to use?

The rabbi harkened back to his youth and remembered a hate crime; a synagogue that had burned to the ground. Vandals had thrown a bottle filled with kerosene at the front door. That kind of incendiary weapon had a name, Shotzen recalled. A Molotov cocktail.

Samhain had a back-up generator that ran on gasoline. Shotzen could fill an empty schnapps bottle with gas, stuff a sock down the bottle neck as a wick, and he’d have a fire bomb. One should be enough; after all, one destroyed an entire two story synagogue. Shotzen decided to make two, just in case.

He had half a bottle of schnapps plus the empty from the night before. Shotzen indulged in a quick slug to calm his nerves, and then dumped the rest of the liquor down the sink. He placed both bottles in his pillowcase and left his room.

He walked quickly and with purpose. The Octopus was empty. Shotzen took the Yellow Arm to room 8, the generator room. He turned on the lights.

The generator sat silently in the corner, a large green appliance the size of several refrigerators. Off to the right was a gasoline pump, an older version of the modern day gas station model. Shotzen set down the pillowcase and removed the bottles. The gasoline shot out of the nozzle like a garden hose, and the rabbi spilled as much as he bottled. Gas evaporated quickly, so Shotzen didn’t worry himself over it.

He capped the bottles, put them back in the pillowcase, and headed for the Red Arm. He would check on Bub. If the demon was asleep, he would proceed. If not, he’d stick around until he had the chance.

Shotzen had trouble with the gates; his hands were shaking. When he approached Red 14, he opened the door just an inch and peeked inside. Dr. Harker was standing in front of the habitat, talking with the demon.

Rabbi Shotzen closed the door silently and contemplated his next move. He went through the first gate and decided to hold fort in Red 7. It was a small storage room. There were various cleaning supplies scattered around. Shotzen set the bottles down next to a collection of mop heads, then sat down and removed his socks. He unscrewed the bottle tops and stuffed one sock into each bottle neck. Then he tilted the bottles upside down, saturating the makeshift wicks with gas.

He had a several disposable lighters in his pocket. In his room was a collection of over thirty. His wife Reba had smoked, and Shotzen’s method of discouraging her was to constantly take her lighters. She never did quit, but for some reason he’d never gotten rid of them. Strangely, they were all he had left to remind him of Reba. The get granted her possession of everything, down to the last photograph.

Shotzen said a quick blessing, wishing her the best wherever she was. He bore her no ill will. His sterility and his alcoholism were more than any woman should have had to bear.

He took out a lighter and flicked it once. Twice. No flame.

He tried a second one and it worked instantly. Shotzen adjusted the flame to its greatest height, almost two inches. Then he shook it to make sure there was plenty of fluid left.

There was.

He heard voices in the hallway. Sun and Andy. He could also make out the footfalls of sheep. They were bringing Bub his lunch. Good. Bub usually took a nap after eating. That would be the time to strike.

Shotzen checked his compass, something he’d gotten from Race and always carried around, and faced east. He took his siddur—his prayer book—from his pocket and read the afternoon service. Then, while still standing, he began to pray the Amidah. He prayed aloud and with kavanah—intent—but he kept his voice a whisper.

When the prayer ended he began to shuckle, rocking back and forth, davening to Adonai for judgement, purpose, and strength.

He was going to need it.

D
r. Julie Harker sat in the back of the room and watched impatiently as Sun led the two sheep into Bub’s habitat. Andy Dennison, the interpreter, was helping her.

She’s screwing him,
Harker decided. Didn’t waste much time either; the guy had only been here a few days. It reminded Harker of her mother. She used to sleep around too. Harker couldn’t count all the times she was taken to different men’s houses and left in front of the television while her mom hurried to the bedroom. One more horrible memory from a horrible childhood.

Harker turned on the camera and videotaped the hideous spectacle, giving further credence to her earlier lie. Bub got down to business quickly. As soon as the sheep entered his domain Bub had grabbed each by the head. With a quick twist of his giant talons he broke their necks in unison, and then began to feast.

As Bub gorged himself, Sun engaged him in some brief conversation, asking why his hunger had increased. Bub explained that a creature of his high metabolism needed a lot of calories to maintain itself. Bub had only learned English yesterday, Harker noted, and was already lying like a pro.

The demon ate quickly, stuffing the final bit of the first sheep into his gaping maw only minutes after beginning. Through the zoom of the camcorder lens Harker could see that Bub was able to unhinge his lower jaw like a snake to get the big pieces down.

He began to chow down on the second sheep, causing Harker to stop taping and shoot him a look. The extra sheep was to become Harker’s little girl. Had she been tricked?

Sun and Andy neglected to stay for the second course, and when they left Bub stopped eating.

“That’s supposed to be my child,” Harker snapped as she approached the habitat. “You’re eating my baby.”

“Don’t woooooooorry,”
Bub cooed.

“I don’t want a daughter with bite marks out of her.”

“She’ll be fiiiiiiiiiine.”

“I want her perfect.”

“She’ll be fiiiiiiiiiine. Give me the cooooooodes”

Harker held the camcorder up to the Plexiglas. She pressed the stop button and rewound the tape.

“I recorded myself punching in the code, so you know it works. See for yourself.”

She faced the viewing screen at Bub and let the tape play. Bub kept perfectly still while he watched, like a cobra before it strikes.

“The second gaaaaaaate.”

“The same code,” Harker stated matter-of-factly. “I would have kept taping, but I was almost caught.”

Bub eyed her closely. Julie wasn’t quite sure why she lied. Perhaps it was because having a nine foot demon running around loose wasn’t the smartest thing to allow. Perhaps it was because she didn’t entirely trust Bub to make her a little girl. If all worked out, Harker might give Bub the second code later on. Maybe in another deal. Harker would enjoy having a little boy for her daughter to play with.

“We have a deal, right?” Harker narrowed her eyes. There was no way Bub could tell she was lying. Harker was too good at deception. She’d cared for one for nearly a year.

“What color eeeeeeeeeyes?”

Harker blinked. She’d never considered it.

“Blue eyes. And blonde hair. Curly blonde hair.”

Just like Shirley,
Harker thought.

“Watch the doooooooor,”
Bub instructed.

He dragged the carcass of the sheep further back into his habitat, coming to rest behind some bushes. Harker stood in the doorway to Red 14, alternating her attention between the hall and the habitat.

“How about the surveillance camera?” she called to Bub.

He didn’t answer. Minutes passed. Harker could see the legs of the sheep poking out from behind the brush. At first they twitched, then the twitching became bucking. When the blood started to spray, Harker left the door to take a closer look.

Bub rested his palm on the prone sheep’s chest. The sheep was jerking wildly under his hold, almost as if an electric current was being passed through it. Slowly, it began to expand. The wool, matted black with blood, peeled away like strips of wet carpet. Then the skin detached itself from the skeleton and puffed out until the sheep was double its original size. It began to bleat, high-pitched and frantic.

It’s screaming,
Harker realized.

There was a large wet
POP
as the skin burst. A fine mist of blood sprayed Bub, covering him with droplets. With his free claw, Bub tore away the remaining skin. The muscles underneath were dark red and stringy and…

Changing.

All four legs shortened, seeming to shrink into themselves. As if its bones were made of rubber, bending and twisting until it no longer resembled a sheep, just a squirming mass of connective tissue.

The bleating became the choke of someone drowning.

Then the head imploded and promptly expanded into a human skull shape.

“Watch the dooooooooooor,”
Bub commanded.

But Harker was rooted. The body convulsed, sending blood and stringy sinew in all directions like thrown spaghetti. It curled up into a position that was obviously fetal. Bub continued to keep his claw on its chest, in contact with the heart.

The musculature became a lighter and lighter red until it was pink. Harker realized it wasn’t changing color; skin was forming. It kicked its legs, now ending in recognizable feet rather than hooves. Harker watched as its hands, shaped like two mittens, began to divide and splay until they each had five fingers.

Bub’s concentration was intense. He appeared almost in a trance.

The bleating was high-pitched now, almost the wail of a siren. It slowly died down, becoming rhythmic, more recognizable.

The cries of a child.

Harker tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat was too big.

The changes became more gradual. Harker came up to the habitat and pressed her forehead against the Plexiglas. She could make out fine hair, springing from the scalp wet with blood. As the girl cried, Harker could catch glimpses of the gums forming and the tongue taking shape.

“Incredible,” Harker whispered.

The child blinked, revealing startling blue eyes. The details on her small body became sharper: nipples formed, fingernails grew, a belly button. Genitals, small and delicate. The many bends of the ear. Eyebrows and lashes. It was as if Harker was looking at her from far away through binoculars, slowly fine-tuning the focus.