Crowley's Window (Novella) by Gord Rollo Page B

to laugh.
    “I’m sorry, Abby,” her mother said, sobbing. “I’ve failed you, but it wasn’t my fault. He…he didn’t give me any choice. You have to believe me. You have to!”
    “Who didn’t? Dad?” Abby asked, feeling sluggish and confused, the room starting to spin around her.
    “No,” A man’s voice said from the back of the room. “She’s talking about me.”
    “Who…?” Abby said, trying to find the strength to raise her arms up to get a look at the man who’d spoken to her. She couldn’t do it, her legs giving out on her as she fell to her knees on the plush carpet. She waited as the man walked up the center aisle to join her, but there was no need for Abby to ask his name again. By the time he’d taken his third step, Abby could smell the earthy scent of lavender and honey that clung to him like fragrant cologne. When he stood beside her, she nearly gagged on the underlying stench of rotted meat assaulting her, the filthy odor oozing out of his pores as well as from his vile breath.
    “Remember me now, child?” Marcus Crowley said, laying his hand on her trembling shoulder. “I’ll bet you do.”
    Abby felt a wave of blackness wash over her, the darkest aura she’d ever encountered, drowning her in an ocean of hatred, merciless death, and unspeakable evil. In her mind, she watched as this man killed again and again and again over the years, including the night he’d come for her own eyes six long years ago in her parent’s house. Her father had been a willing participant. Her mother, not so much, but her efforts at protecting Abby had been too little too late. The series of visions stole the last of Abby’s strength, her will to fight gone, and she slumped to the carpet like a discarded rag doll.
    Crowley bent and picked Abby up easily, as if she weighed no more than an infant, hugging her for a moment then turning to lay her down nearby. Abby was in such a state of emotional overload she wasn’t fully aware where she was until she felt the smooth silky sheets and the cold lumpy body of her dead father lying beside her. She wanted to lash out, to try escape, to do anything other than lie here helplessly, but fear and panic held her tightly in their grasp and all she could manage was a groan when she felt the lid of the coffin close inches above her face. Outside the box, in a muffled voice she heard Crowley say, “Take her to the church.”
    That was when she found her voice.
    Abby screamed once, and then fainted.
    * * *
     
    Time passed, but when Abby finally woke up she had no way of knowing if it was merely a few hours later, or if perhaps she’d passed out for the entire night. She was in big trouble either way, but part of her clung to the hope she’d slept until morning and David would already be looking for her. He was a good cop and if anyone might have a chance of tracking her down, it would be him. David would try anyway, of that Abby was sure, and although the chances of being saved were slim, she forced herself to believe it would happen. The alternative was to completely break down and give up hope. She wasn’t ready to do that yet.
    An endless string of questions flooded her mind; wondering who this Crowley monster was, why all this craziness was happening, and how her parents had seemingly been involved to the point of sacrificing their only daughter, but for the time being she pushed all those thoughts aside. If she dwelled on those unanswerable questions she might go mad from the frustration and anger and right now she needed to figure out where she was and keep her wits about her if she had any hope of getting out of this nightmare alive.
    Abby reached out with her mind and was surprised at how easily the images of her surroundings raced back to her. Not only could she “see” where she was being kept, she was bombarded with colorful visual stimuli almost as dramatic as in her psychic visions. Never in realtime had Abby been able to focus her powers so clearly