LOS ANGELES COUNTY SUPERIOR COURT
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
In chairs behind the defense counsel table, Gabriel Kennedy, John Lonetree, Damian Jackson, George Cordero, and Leonard Sickles watched the proceedings and all felt their insides relax when they saw the three women escorted in from the Sybil Brand Institute, where they had been incarcerated for the past week. Gabriel nodded at each as they were escorted to the chairs where they would sit at the end of the long line of defendants. John leaned over and smiled at Jennifer.
The judge rapped her gavel, and the court became silent.
“Well, it looks as if the gang’s finally all here.” She moved some paperwork around on the stand and then fixed her stern gaze at the counsel for the plaintiff. “I believe we have a brief statement and evidence declaration from the plaintiff’s counsel before we get into the much-anticipated deposing of witnesses. Mr. Giles, please.”
Giles stood.
“Your Honor, it seems very clear through our conversations with the defendants’ counsel that their attitude in not supplying truthful information to this court will continue, so at this time, I would like to introduce the words of one of them while giving evidentiary testimony to the FBI and the FCC immediately after the highly viewed incident at the vacation retreat known as Summer Place. This testimony was recovered just recently.”
“Objection! Defense was not afforded a chance to review said evidence. This should be inadmissible, Your Honor.”
Giles smiled.
“Since your clients refuse to make statements outside of the testimony already offered by Professor Kennedy, I have no choice but to use my discretion on what evidence to allow. You will have full cross-examination on any testimony given here today. I understand it is only a brief video clip of the questioning conducted by the FCC and the FBI.”
“Video?” the defense counsel said as he stood once more from his chair. “Your Honor, I would find it very difficult indeed to depose a video on behalf of my clients. This is just too much.”
The judge was opening her mouth to respond when her bailiff stepped to the bench and handed her a note. She read it as the courtroom went silent and the defense team was left standing after the interruption. They saw the judge look up, and Gabriel and the others saw the men standing in the back of the courtroom. Dressed in suits, they were accompanied by four sheriff’s deputies.
The judge banged her gavel. “It seems the United States government has withdrawn its testimony regarding this case. The video of Ms. Delaphoy is hereby disallowed. This court will take a fifteen-minute recess.” Bang. The gavel came down angrily as the judge quickly stood and left.
* * *
Everyone in the courtroom started talking at once. The sheriff allowed Gabriel to stand, and he briefly conferred with counsel and then turned away and faced his team as they tried in vain to console Kelly, who felt as if she had betrayed them all. Kennedy parted the ways and then took the small woman into his arms and hugged her.
“Don’t worry about what we would have seen on that tape. We don’t need to see a tape to know you told them nothing but the truth. I’m just glad those suits over there didn’t get a chance to spin it in their direction.”
The others nodded their agreement.
“All rise,” came the booming voice of the large black bailiff.
“Will both counsels approach the bench, please.”
Kennedy and the others sat down and saw the animated way the attorney for the networks waved his hands around in anger. Gabriel’s lawyer had a shocked look on his face. Gabe turned in his seat when he was nudged by John Lonetree. He nodded to the back of the court. There were five men standing there they had not noticed during the break. Gabriel shrugged, not knowing anything more than John about the newcomers. The meeting at the bench finished, and the attorneys returned to their respective tables.
“This court is hereby in adjournment. Date to resume will be specified at a later time through respective counsel. I hereby order the defendants to be released immediately. This court is adjourned.”
The judge angrily left the courtroom. The attention of the Supernaturals naturally went to the face of George Cordero. He shrugged, saying he had nothing to do with this sudden development.
“You’ll be taken back to the jail and released after you are processed,” the young attorney said. “The same for the women.”
“I think we need to know what just happened.”
The attorney turned and faced Gabriel. “For reasons beyond my understanding, I believe the networks and production companies are in the process of dropping all charges and complaints against you and your people.”
“Why?”
The attorney turned away and finished placing his paperwork into his briefcase. “It seems you have very highly placed friends out there.” He stopped and faced Kennedy. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Professor; take it and run like hell.” The attorney smiled and picked up his briefcase, and with a kind nod to the others of Gabriel’s group, he left with his legal team.
“What in the hell just happened?” John asked as the others gathered around Kennedy as the sheriff’s deputies approached to take them back to jail for their release.
“I don’t know yet, but I think those salty-looking fellas back there do.”
All heads turned and saw the five men in black suits with their sheriff’s escort. They began filing from the courtroom as the crowd did, but then one of them stopped and nodded at Kennedy. Then he and his companions abruptly left.
George and John were getting a strange sensation that affected them simultaneously.
“What are you two picking up?” Gabe asked as he saw the looks on their faces as they spied the men in black suits.
George looked up at the much larger Lonetree and then both faced Gabriel.
“Fear.”
MORENO, CALIFORNIA
The stretch limousine was accompanied by three San Bernardino County work trucks. As the grouping of four vehicles rounded the corner of Main Street across the cattle guard that stretched from one side of the road to the other, they made a sudden turn and went right before entering Moreno and climbed the hill that was once known to the locals as Drunk Monk’s Hill. In actuality, it was Pleasant Street, and the only buildings on Pleasant Street were at the top of the climb—the mission and winery ruins. The caravan of vehicles stopped just short of the chain-link fence as one of the two security guards stepped to the sliding gate and unlocked it. The limo was the first through, followed by the orange work trucks. The gravel drive made a lot of dust and crunching noises as the vehicles pulled to a stop in front of the Santa Maria Delarosa mission.
“Well, does it look like a place vampires would hide out?” a man asked as he peered through the window.
“It does that,” the slim woman next to him said as she jotted notes down on an electronic pad. Her attention went from the adobe mission ruins to turn and look down the hill to the town of Moreno. “What about the town? How much interference do we expect from the locals when and if we are allowed to shoot here?”
The chubby man in the thousand-dollar suit laughed as he lit a large cigar. He blew smoke and then faced the woman as the third man from the limo joined them. “Interference from Moreno?”
“Yes.”
“Moreno has been dying for many years, darlin.’ The damn place just isn’t smart enough to lie down and die.” The man puffed on his cigar and then shook his head. “Besides, if you have all the residents of that town coming to watch filming, you’ll have about eight people to deal with.” He faced the woman, who was feeling angry over the “darlin’” comment he made earlier. “Think the studio can handle that onrush of spectators?”
“Look, Mr. Freeman, I represent the studio’s sizable investment here. If the county allows us to shoot here on location, they will want to make sure our liability is at minimum risk. This is a state-sponsored historical site.”
“It’s still just a bunch of mud bricks, if you ask me.”
“Per my research, it was quite a bit more than that back in the day. Some historians still say if it weren’t for the earthquake in 1821, this would have been one of the more important missions in California, and if you grew up here, you would know how important that is to a lot of people. That’s why we have county engineers here to protect the site and to ensure that we do no further damage. If this inspection reveals the areas we wish to shoot in are unstable, the county will rescind their support.”
“Well, that’s why we have these fine gentlemen,” Freeman said as the film producer placed his arm around the smaller man and then brought him close. “Isn’t that right, Mr. County Engineer?”
The man said nothing but waved the group of inspectors from the county trucks to commence with the flooring inspection.
“Mr. Freeman, this arrangement was made against my specific recommendation about molesting this site. The structures are just too unsafe. Why do you think we have security here?” He gestured around the one-hundred-acre site. “Why all the fencing? Why don’t you see tourists here? Because this whole thing could collapse at any moment. And if you don’t get those points, maybe you have heard about the instability of the ground in California? Well, they’re called earthquakes, Mr. Freeman, and they tend to knock unstable structures down. Then we can go into the chemical spill in ’62. Oh, there are dangers here, and if you don’t heed warnings about how much danger, you can get people killed.”
“Come on, Mr. Garvey. Your boss seemed very unconcerned. When it was explained to him through our artist’s renderings of the shoot, he was more than satisfied we won’t be molesting your historical site. Exterior shots of the mission, a few of the winery. The rest of the interiors will be shot in Burbank.”
The county engineer exchanged wary looks with the studio executive in charge of finance and then waved his men forward. “Check out the old stone foundation and wooden flooring. Estimate its maximum weight allowance.”
* * *
The group toured the winery. It was clean and still much intact. The county had kept the ruin clean over the years and the walls shored up. They stepped out into the sunshine of the dying day. The engineer conferred with his men and then joined the two people from Los Angeles.
“They are going to approve the weight standards at three and a half tons. That’s your equipment weight limit.”
“Should be plenty,” Freeman mumbled. As he lit another cigar, his eyes were on the old winery a hundred feet away from the mission. He turned and faced Garvey.
“Man, those doors would make for a great shot.” He smiled. “Just how unsafe is the winery?”
“Over half of the upper structure has collapsed into the basement and subbasement. No roof remains, everything inside is water damaged, and let’s see, it’s only two hundred and thirty-two years old,” Garvey said, shaking his head and chuckling.
The cigar was removed. “Give us a look-see.”
“Are you insane?” Garvey said, looking at the woman to see if Freeman was joking. She raised her brow, as confused as himself. He turned back to the film producer. “I said two-hundred-plus years old, collapsed, dangerous—you understand those words, Mr. Freeman?”
“You’re the engineer; I trust your judgment. You know what’s safe and what’s not.”
“You’re right. I am the engineer, and I say you’re insane. The only place that is even remotely safe where you get a sense of history is in the subbasement where the old wine casks used for long-term fermentation were stored. That’s only because the area of the basement it’s located in is the conjuncture of two walls. That’s the only reason it survived the initial earthquake in the day and the factory explosion in ’62.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Freeman stared at the man. “Come on. Any real danger and we’ll forget about it.”
The county crew waited nearby as the three talked. Garvey turned to his men. “We’re all done here. You guys go ahead and take off; it’s a long drive back.”
The men were more than happy to oblige their boss.
Garvey turned back to Freeman and Ms. Deerling as the trucks left. “Don’t make me regret this. As far as anyone is concerned, we never went in there.”
Freeman crossed his heart with his cigar hand. “What winery?” he joked.
“We go through the double doors, and straight to your left is the basement stairs. It’s the only egress point anywhere in the ruins.” Garvey turned and waved the second security guard over. “Can I borrow that radio?” he asked.
The security guard handed him the radio. “It’s set to the right channel. May I ask just what you are doing, sir?” the man asked with concern on his face. “No one ever goes in there.” The tall and very thin black man looked around and then straight at the three people. “We call it the bad place.” Again, the nervous look. “It’s also getting dark.”
“Well, then, we had better take this just in case,” Freeman said as he reached out and unclipped the flashlight from the man’s belt.
* * *
The doors were one foot thick and made of solid redwood. Garvey pushed open the left side and stepped in. The dying sunlight illuminated the complete and utter devastation of the ruin. The ceiling, gone for two hundred years, lay in heaps on the stone flooring. The old windows and their leaded glass had vanished right around the time of the War of 1812, and bushes and trees had started to take root and had grown as far as the absence of sunlight would allow. Grapevines coursed in and out of the old adobe walls like mythical snakes from a Greek tragedy.
“Maybe we ought to rethink this,” Ms. Deerling said as Garvey moved to the far left of the main floor. There was a dark space there that gave both Freeman and Deerling cold chills as they gazed beyond into the blackness.
The two movie people became confused. Instead of turning on the powerful mag flashlight, Garvey shoved the long device into his coat pocket and then reached out and turned on a light. He gestured that his guests should join him.
“The winery actually has power to certain spots in the building. We never knew why, as it all took place before the tragedy of ’62.”
Freeman saw that Garvey was going down the stairs at a brisk pace. He tentatively placed a foot on the first riser and then gently placed his full weight down upon it. Garvey stopped and looked back.
“It’s safe; these stairs are only about seventy years old.”
“Why would the previous owner place new stairs in a building deemed unsafe?” the woman asked as she put her notepad closely to her chest and hung on for dear life to the steel railing lining the staircase.
“Possibly checking on the groundwater. The factory, at least before it blew itself sky-high, used to make gauges, meters, and triggering devices for the U.S. government. They used a lot of mercury in their designs, and the groundwater had to be checked on a constant basis for contaminants.”
Their confidence in the reinforced stairs grew. They did notice that in the middle of each stair there was a major depression, as if a great weight had been placed upon each.
They came to a landing, but Garvey kept going down, making the woman more apprehensive about continuing the tour.
“That’s the basement. Grape crushing, things like that. The subbasement is right down here.”
As they continued, they noticed that this lighting was industrial in make and design. Each powerful bulb was encased in a steel mesh cocoon.
“Oh, we have to get a camera down here. This would be ideal for the vampire nesting place,” Freeman said as he stepped into the subbasement.
The twenty-four wooden casks were huge. At one time, they each had the capacity to hold five hundred gallons of locally produced wine. Many of them were crushed and broken, but most were still intact and at least recognizable for what they were. The subbasement was in considerably better shape than even the mission above their heads. They could see steel reinforcement beams had been installed and a new floor put in. This one was smooth and shiny and made of hardened concrete. They saw old consoles and even older-looking electronic equipment. Wires and cables were strung throughout the basement.
“Doesn’t look like the monks that made the wine here were that far behind us in technology,” Freeman joked as he ran a finger through the dust that had accumulated over the years.
“We think this equipment may have been used to monitor earth movement. After all, an earthquake may have damaging consequences for any trapped heavy metals in the ground.”
“Wow, look at this,” Ms. Deerling said as she lifted the lid on a small box. Her smile grew as she looked the item over.
“What is that?” Freeman asked.
“It’s an old battery-powered record player. And look at these.” She held up two items with a paper sleeve covering them. “Old forty-five records too. Music’s a little tame for me.” She passed them over to Freeman, who gave them a cursory glance and then tossed the items back atop the portable record player.
“Tame? You mean lame, don’t you? I think ‘Johnny Angel’ and this stuff came out twenty-five years before my mother met my father.”
“This was the biggest mystery. It still is the talk of anyone who has ever seen it.” Garvey turned on another bank of bright lighting as he vanished around the L-shaped turn in the basement. Freeman saw the large vaultlike box standing against the far wall. He saw Garvey run his hand over the still-shiny stainless steel under the bright fluorescent lighting.
“It’s not a vault like we first thought. You can see vents, gauges, and dials. None of them mean much to any of us. Some of the older dials and gauges are written in German, the others in English. There are even viewing ports and an intercom system. We know the date of manufacture—1940—and it was built in the old Yugoslavia and shipped out here after the war. For what purpose, we have never found out. After all these years, the mystery of this thing has died away some, but it’s still a curiosity thing down at the offices.”
“What do you think is in it?” Freeman asked.
“We don’t know. Do you think the county would foot the bill for a safe company to come in here and open it? If you didn’t notice, the damn door is welded shut.”
Freeman had just noted that fact. His eyes went to a large sliding door that Garvey said was a vent. “What about that? Can you at least look inside?”
Music stopped Garvey from answering. Shelley Fabares was singing “Johnny Angel” as the old forty-five record spun on the player and the studio woman smiled.
Freeman was about to tell her that was enough when the vaultlike box shook. The movement was so fast and so furious that dirt and dust filtered down from the rafters and a crack formed in the floor. The metal and rubber lines running from the strange holding tanks atop the vault moved and swayed. Even Deerling stopped toe tapping and stared at the strange stainless steel box.
“What in the hell was that?” Freeman asked over Shelley Fabares. He walked over to the large vault door and looked it over. The handle that was used to open the thick steel door had long ago been welded to its frame. Freeman began reaching for it when the door was rammed from the opposite side with a force that moved the five-ton enclosure on its base. Freeman jumped back, and Garvey yelped. The movement caused so much vibration that the needle on the record player scraped straight across the record’s surface where it came off and the music stopped.
“I thought you said this area was safe!” Freeman said.
“That isn’t the structure—something moved in there!” Garvey said as he slowly backed away from the vault.
Ms. Deerling screamed as she felt something run up the inside of her pantsuit from the bottom. She jumped back and could have sworn she heard laughing. Then she screamed again when the arm on the player engaged and then lifted itself up and then over to the start of the grooves on the vinyl. “Johnny Angel” once more sprang forth from the small speaker on the side of the player.
Freeman looked from the record player to Garvey, who was still retreating toward the stairs. “Is this a joke? If it is, it’s in bad taste, my friend. I’m sure you and your buddies will have a big laugh back at the office about how scared the movie people were.”
The vault moved again. This time, it jumped and came down with a crushing sound of concrete being turned to powder beneath it. All three people stood frozen in shock.
* * *
Deep in the darkened bowels of the Grenada Theater in town, the vault there rocked on its frame. It started as a whisper that filtered through the old basement of the theater and then grew in power as if something inside became aware of the happening two miles away at the winery.
* * *
Freeman felt his bladder grow weak and useless as pee freely coursed down his leg and soaked through the expensive material of his suit. Garvey stumbled and fell to his back, and Ms. Deerling felt her vision tunnel as she came near to fainting. All thoughts of movie budgets and reality in general were not a part of her current repertoire. Then they all heard the booming voice from beyond reality as it smashed through the flooring above and burst into their ears seemingly from every direction.
“Get them out!”
They heard laughter, not from one but many, as they seemed to have been surrounded by energy. The vault shook and rumbled. Shelley Fabares’s voice went from low volume to concert-grade decibels, causing all three to cover their ears as the pain shot through their brains.
Before anyone knew what was happening, they were all three being slapped, kicked, and had their hair pulled to the point it looked as if they were fighting off a flock of very angry invisible birds. Garvey tried to stand and was kicked so hard in the seat of his pants that he went headfirst into the concrete floor, breaking his nose. He went to his back pocket and brought out the radio. Just as he clicked the transmit switch, the radio was pulled from his hand. Then the voice became clear as it resonated with more power than the small radio could produce.
“Get them out now!”
The radio was thrown so hard against the floor that Garvey felt the plastic shrapnel cut into his ankle.
Deerling and Freeman forgot all about their great Hollywood production as they broke and ran for the L-shaped bend and then for the door.
Garvey was left standing aghast as they left him. He was slapped again and again. He remembered the heavy-duty flashlight and brought it from his coat pocket. He swung it like a small billy club at something he couldn’t see. On his fourth swing, the flashlight connected solidly with something directly in front of him. The glass lens shattered, and Garvey could have sworn he heard a growl. The Maglite was wrenched from his grasp, and while he stared wide-eyed at the amazing scene of the light floating in midair, the steel housing of the expensive light was crushed by an unseen and very powerful hand. The damaged Maglite was tossed back to him, and he caught it in shock as the laughter filled the basement.
* * *
The two security guards waited patiently with the limo driver and smoked. They turned toward the old winery when the double doors burst open and the three visitors came running out. The woman was crying and screaming something they couldn’t understand as she literally fell down the last four steps fronting the doors. As for the large man, he was vomiting as he ran. Garvey was the third out the doors, and he managed to jump from the topmost step to the ground and was soon passing both Deerling and Freeman as they cut a retreat for the limo.
The tall, thin black man tried to say something as the driver alertly got inside the stretch limo. As Garvey ran by, he tossed the crushed flashlight. It flew through the air, and the security man caught it. The three people didn’t wait for anything as they brushed past the shocked twosome and entered the car. The limo screamed out of the parking area with the confused two-man security team standing in shock.
* * *
The limousine’s harried driver fishtailed around the bend, and instead of turning left to get back to the freeway, he mistakenly turned right, heading in the opposite direction.
“You’re going the wrong way!” Garvey said from his position half on and half off Ms. Deerling, who was trying desperately to remove the small man from her lap as the driver straightened the limo out and headed down Main Street past the derelict Texaco station, toward the town of Moreno.
“What happened back there?”
“Never you mind! Just get us the hell out of here and back to Ontario! The faster I get on that plane the better!” Freeman screamed.
The limo had already shot past the Texaco station and then past the half-burned feed store and the telephone exchange opposite it. They came to the dead cable-suspended traffic light and sped into the deserted town.
* * *
Bob Culbertson had just placed the Going Out of Business sign in the front of the radio station when he heard the scream of an overtaxed engine coming down the street. He was about to turn to see what the noise was all about when the dysfunctional neon sign that had hung in the window of the old K-Rave radio station, advertising fifteen thousand watts of listening power, sprang to life. It was bright enough that Bob stepped back from the window in shock and surprise as the sign illuminated the sidewalk and dispelled the dusk of the early evening. The sign hadn’t worked for the entire ten-year commitment of their contract. As the black car neared, Linda stepped out of the record store and saw the look on Bob’s face and then the scream of the limo coming down the street.
Across Main, Harvey Leach allowed Casper Worthington, a small-time walnut farmer, to step out of Newberry’s as he said his good-byes after the chicken-fried steak dinner had been served. Harvey and Casper both heard the approaching car, and with curiosity ruling the boring evening, they stepped out toward the broken sidewalk. Harvey saw Bob and Linda across the way, and they were also staring out at the speeding car.
“What in the Sam Hill are they doin’?” Casper said aloud.
“Son of a bitch must be doing eighty!” Harvey said as he saw the limo hit the dip at the corners of Main and Jefferson Streets. Sparks flew as the long limo scraped bottom and flew into the air and then back down again.
As the limo approached, all four witnesses saw the old streetlights suddenly spring to life and glow brightly as the black limo sped past, only to dim again after the lights were in the black limo’s rearview mirror.
“What the—” Harvey said but never got to finish.
* * *
After hitting the dip and slamming his passengers’ heads into the roof, the driver managed to straighten the limo out as the old and mostly boarded-up buildings flew past their darkened windows.
“Stop trying to kill us and turn this damn thing around!” Freeman yelled mercilessly at the frantic driver.
Before the driver could turn around, the radio flared to full volume for no apparent reason. The voice that came through the surround speaker system was a professional-sounding blast from the past.
“This is Freekin’ Rowdy Rhoads, and you’re listening to K-Rave 106.5, Moreno. Here’s something for the jelly bean crowd out there—the lovely Miss Shelley Fabares and ‘Johnny Angel.’” The voice died away in time for the first words of the song to be heard. As the three people in the back seat were tossed mercilessly about, the surreal adventure was themed by “Johnny Angel.”
The limo driver tried to shut off the satellite radio, but the illuminated lights refused to obey his orders. The music was deafening.
“Look out!” Garvey cried as the limousine came to the corner of Main and Park Streets directly across from the Moreno Baptist Church.
The streetlights flared brightly, and the driver looked up and saw the line of children and adults in the crosswalk, all within white lines that hadn’t existed since the paint wore away fifty years before. Young and old faces alike looked up in terror as the car sped toward them. The limo was aimed directly at the center of the crosswalk, and there was little hope that the driver could miss killing them all. Men with fedoras were trying to pull women and children dressed in their Sunday best out of the way of death that was screaming toward them at eighty miles per hour.
The driver hit the brakes and then swerved to try to limit the death that was coming quickly to so many. The long limo spun and then hit a pothole in the road that had gone unattended for decades, and then the car flipped and spun in the air twice. The Cadillac hit roof down and then sped into the right side of the street. The driver was immediately killed as the windshield hit the disabled fire hydrant on the corner and disintegrated, removing the man’s head completely. The limo careened onto the sidewalk, the hood hit the old pipe and tobacco shop, and then the gas tank ruptured.
* * *
Bob was the first one to the overturned and flaming limo. He tried to reach for the door but was pulled away by Harvey Leach and Casper Worthington.
“What are you trying to do, kill yourself?” Harvey said as the flames grew hotter and wilder. Casper helped in pulling Bob away and then started hitting him in the back of the head, and Bob recoiled.
“Your ponytail was afire there, son,” the old man said as the smell of burning hair almost overpowered the smell of burning flesh inside the car.
Linda came running up and started slapping Bob with her free hand for taking a chance like he had.
“You stupid bastard! The sheriff and highway patrol are on the way with fire and rescue.”
Bob completely smothered the smoldering hair and looked back at the overturned limo. “Tell them no hurry on the rescue part.”
As the four people moved away from the conflagration, it was Harvey who saw the overhead streetlights slowly fade to darkness. He knew those lights had not had elements in them for years. The others noticed the same thing, and then they all backed away to the sidewalk as the sounds of sirens came to their ears all the way from the hidden interstate ten miles distant.
Down the street, the K-Rave sign did as the streetlamps had. The neon slowly faded to nothing.
* * *
The multigenerational family of rats that had occupied the Grenada Theater for the past fifty-five years scrambled up the rickety wooden staircase from the basement. They scurried past the dead snack bar and out into the night, never to return to their luxurious surroundings.
Singing could be heard inside the abandoned bank vault, and that was what had sent the family of rats to seek new accommodations.
Johnny Angel, how I love him … he’s got something that I can’t resist … but he doesn’t even know that I … I … I exist.
The voice faded, and then the basement went quiet as four people burned to death only one hundred feet away. The thing inside its prison absorbed the power and then went to sleep, readying itself for the party yet to come.