Chapter Twelve: D.Y.M.C.

Julia tried to scream but the roaring drowned out every sound. And then she felt the prick of a hypodermic needle.

"Bye, bye love," Ben whispered. The disgraced doctor let out a high-pitched giggle as the long-legged girl sank to the ground. "Bye, bye happiness. Hello loneliness. It's time for you to die."

"Whore!" When Julia collapsed at her feet the woman who had once been known as Caroline Dunwich and Mother Elsie Flanagan gave a snarl of triumph. She began kicking the girl and laughing, her frenzied hysteria almost sexual in its intensity. "All you modern girls are cheap little whores! Cheap little whores!"

Julia barely felt the blows. The roaring sound grew louder and louder, as if a pack of hungry lions were coming to devour her. Julia's head was filled with voices from the past, bright lights and distorted echoes. The drugs were taking hold. Everything seemed like a dream. It almost seemed as if . . . as if . . .

The roaring noise came from dragons, not lions. Each wingless beast shot white light from a single eye as they roared into the dark hollow. There were demons mounted on top of every dragon, demons who had no faces. They rode in circles, faster and faster, surrounding the wicked witch and her captive. Their black skulls seemed to reflect the light of the fire where the drugged and helpless captive was to be burned alive. On the back of every rider was a grinning white skull and flame-red letters, all totally meaningless to Julia. D.Y.M. C. D.Y.M.C. D.Y.M.C. D.Y.M.C.

"Where's the Horned God?" The burly, bearded leader of the demons halted before the cackling witch. His dragon roared and streams of greasy gray-blue smoke sputtered from its tail. "Show us the Horned God. We offer him tribute!"

"I speak for the Horned God!" The greedy witch stepped forward, kicking Julia a final time in the face. "I am Caroline, of the ancient line. Offer your tributes to me!"

"Elsie . . . I mean, Caroline. You're not really a Dunwich!" Ben timidly put a hand on the witch's shoulder. She slapped it away.

"Take this boy," growled the demon king. His minions dragged forward a lad of about Julia's age, who seemed strangely familiar. They threw the young man down on the ground, but he made no effort to rise. It was as though he had agreed to be a sacrifice. "We offered him a place at our table, and a chance to ride by our side. He could have been our brother. But I guess he had the hots for his lying uncle. He chose to serve his no-good Uncle Sam!"

"Semper Fi! Semper Fi!" The other riders mocked the fallen youth. They looked like warriors, their bulging, heavily muscled arms blue-black with tattoos. But they were laughing and hooting, their guttural voices full of disdain.

"Ah, a good old-fashioned baby-killing pig!" The old witch cackled as she shoved a blazing torch into the young man's face. It was Matt! His handsome face was badly bruised, but Julia recognized him even in her drugged state. The witch did not. "Tell me, boy, before we burn your body to cover up the polluted stench of this unworthy female. How many gooks did you waste over in Nam?"

"None. I was in Iraq." Matt spoke in a low, gritty voice, which was only natural since his face was in the dirt. The old witch began dancing an Irish jig, stomping on the back of his neck while she gibbered and screeched about her unholy past lives.

"Dirty young men fighting in dirty wars," she sneered. "Dirty young men coming home crippled, begging in front of college campuses. Oh, I've seen your kind before, your hands out, faces grubby, asking for our pity. I clawed out your eyes and spit in your faces when I was an urchin starving in the streets in 1863. And I did the same thing when I was a college girl marching against the war in 1969. But I was never really against the war. I was against you! Dirty young men marrying dirty girls and making dirty little babies in their dirty little beds. Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty . . ."

Matt didn't respond to any of this. He was still lying on the ground, his battered face only inches from Julia's. "Close your eyes," he whispered. And that was when the real screaming started.