A Nightmare Unleashed Ch. 02

The vehicle stopped and Rowan opened the sliding door of the van. Lori stepped out into the parking lot, followed by Loomis and Doc. Maggie was already gone by the time they had left the Jade Dragon, and Rowan doubted they would see her again. They were met by three of Wimmer's men, dressed in full combat fatigues and weapons cocked for anything. Loomis leaned close to her and whispered, "The man has no idea how to be tactful."

"Wimmer has a lot riding on this," Rowan said, "The more force he shows and the more public this is, the better his credentials will look."

"That's a big gamble," Loomis remarked, "He's going to cause more of a panic than we already have."

"He never thinks that far ahead," she said dryly, "Besides, his gamble paid off."

From the broken doors of the side entry to the store came a group of doctors and more uniformed soldiers. They brought with them a large gurney atop which laid the body of Jason Voorhees. No sheet covered his bulky form. This left his gory state of being revealed for every photographer and cameraman bold enough to go for the close up. His trademark hockey mask was lying atop his chest, which was strapped down with a dozen thick restraints. Rowan counted at least twenty of the sturdy straps holding Jason down to the gurney. And then she saw his right hand.

There were blades mutilated into the fingers.

She looked at the soldiers blocking their path and held up her identification card, "I'm Dr. Alexis Rowan. I have clearance."

"Sorry doctor," the lead soldier said, "You are not permitted past this point."

Rowan pointed at the growing media circus surrounding Jason as he was wheeled to a large, black unmarked delivery truck. She said, "So what are they doing?"

The soldier hesitated and then said, "Dr. Wimmer specifically ordered that you not be allowed anywhere near the site. I'm afraid you have to leave."

"Is this a joke?"

"No ma'am."

The soldier wasn't kidding.

Rowan looked past the soldier's shoulder and saw Wimmer emerge from the store as cameras flashed and a roar of questions erupted from the crowd of reports. The doctor smiled and waved them off with several "no comments at this time" and "we'll be making a statement shortly" dismissals. As Wimmer watched his men load Jason into the truck, he saw Rowan and smiled at her through the crowd. A moment later Rowan's cell phone rang.

She answered the phone, "Hello?"

"Glad you could make it," Wimmer smiled smugly at her, his phone to his ear and a sea of people between them.

"What is going on, doctor?" she asked, "On who's authority are you doing this."

"On the authority of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Dr. Rowan," he replied coldly, though a more than audible trace of haughty glee crept into his voice, "You remember them? They're the ones who requested our help in this matter. They also have final say so over every decision we make?"

"I don't understand."

"The next time you decide to share classified information with civilians," Wimmer said, "Run it by me first."

"We need them," Rowan shouted into the phone, "The wall had their names written on it."

"Which is inconsequential now that Jason has been captured," Wimmer said, "As is your association with this investigation."

"You son a bitch."

"Dr. Rowan, I'd be mindful of the imminent danger your job is in."

"Don't do this. You can't just cut me out."

"I already have."

"Wimmer..." she breathed deep.

"Have a pleasant evening."

The line went dead and she glared at Wimmer across the sea of onlookers. He slipped on his black gloves and stepped up onto the loading lift of the truck Jason had been wheeled into. He smiled and waved a small salute to her (a gesture that would end up on the front page of USA Today with a caption reading "Criminal Scientist Captures Crystal Lake Killer in Michigan"). The arrogant son of bitch had only had her come out here to see the finale of the investigation and to be publicly removed from her position. Rowan might have crushed the cell phone in her hand had Loomis not grasped her shoulder, grounding her in reality again.

"I have to ask you to leave," the soldier said again, "Please."

"It's okay Alexis," Loomis squeezed her shoulder as the others went back to the van, "Come."

Rowan pursed her lips into an angry smile and returned Wimmer's salute with a flipping of the bird.

As she turned away from the crowd, she noticed a man standing on the curb near the entrance to the store. He was surrounded by several soldiers and doctors, all of them chattering and questioning him. He looked agitated and on the verge of hitting someone. As he talked with the doctors, their eyes met and held for a moment. Although Rowan thought he was handsome, she was more taken by the look of frustration on his face. She noticed he was stained with some black fluid. In fact, he looked as though he had been thrown down a manhole and into the watery filth below.

"Rowan," Doc called from inside the van, "Let's go."

She broke her gaze with the stranger and got inside, rolling the door shut. She got into the drivers seat and started the engine, still reeling from the blow Wimmer had dealt her. They had never seen eye to eye on this case, and she had been battling against his self-serving agenda since day one. He wasn't after Jason to save lives; he was after Jason for the public praise and money that would come with it. For the man who captured and unlocked the secrets of the killer's seemingly invincible physical form, a world of fame and fortune awaited.

"Godammit," she cursed and hit the steering wheel with both hands, "Godammit!"

"I assume Wimmer didn't know you brought us here?" Loomis asked tenderly.

"No," she admitted and closed her eyes.

Loomis nodded.

"It isn't over," Doc said after a moment, "Does he realize that he probably just stepped into a truck loaded with Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger?"

"He won't have anything to do with the theory," Rowan sighed and leaned her head back against the seat, "He doesn't believe in ghosts, let alone dead serial killers who kill kids in their sleep."

"Then we have to convince him," Doc insisted.

"We're going to need some help," Rowan mussed, her mind rolling the brief glimpse of Jason's mutilated hand over and over again, "We need to be there at the autopsy."

"How are we going to do that?" Doc asked, "They'll have a regiment of soldiers there guarding him."

"I have an idea," Rowan said, more to herself than anyone.

"Yes?"

Rowan looked at Loomis. "You up for this still?"

"Always."

She glanced back at Lori and Doc in the seat behind her, "Lori? Doc?"

Doc buckled his seat belt, "Lead the way."

Lori nodded, "Let's go."

Rowan slipped the van in gear and pulled out of the parking lot. It was going to be a long night.

***

Between this world and the one beyond it is a place that knows no name or boundaries. Some people call it purgatory, a place where souls must wait for some kind of atonement or penance to be paid before going on to something better or worse. Some think of it as a place where a soul goes when the body sleeps, the place that dreams and nightmares are made of. There are those that believe there is no such place, that it's merely a product of overzealous Bible thumping-types and a self-important system of religions and faiths.

But no matter what the human perception of it was, it still existed. Whether a man chose to believe in its tangibility or not was of no concern to those who dwelled there. More often than not, those among the living who realized its existence were those who weren't grounded by the rules of the world they lived in. Many things fueled this place, kept its connective tissues intact and the borders of the realm from fading into the great nothing beyond. It was a place where the rules no longer applied and the magic, both light and dark, flowed freely like crystalline water.

The chronology of one event to another meant little here, so the past and future mingled in a profane and unholy consortium. Fire wreathed this world and those who dwelled here might have once figured it to be Hell. After a while, they realized it was no more Hell than the Earth they had left was Heaven. This was a world of gateways and tunnels, paths to other places and realities. Only a few ever understood the concept that they could return, and even fewer had the means to do so.

Across the arid, flat expanse of the netherworld walked a figure in black. His coat flowed and billowed in the wind as razor sharp sand swirled around his dirty boots. A simple, dark fedora was pulled low over his brow, hiding his visage from the curious eyes of those around him, watching him from the hidden places. He was well known to them all, and though his failures outnumbered his victories, their fear of him remained all the same.

Hate radiated off him as heat from an inferno distorts the world around it. The lesser minions of this ungodly place scurried about and burrowed themselves into hiding. His yellow eyes scanned the horizon of the desert with all the calculation and kindness of a venomous snake. Even through the hiss of the red sandstorm and echo of the wind, his footfalls could be heard. He was a man with a purpose.

The man in black stopped in the middle of the storm and waited, looking up to the blazing sky and swirling clouds above. Flames jetted from the supernatural sky in plumes and pillars that erupted from nowhere. He could see the souls of those taken swimming above, some of them on their way to a better place and others heading for eternal damnation.

"What do you want?" a smooth voice asked.

The wind suddenly died and the airborne sand fell to the ground. It seemed that the entire world had stopped for this new figure standing next to the man in black. As much as they might have feared the creature Fred Krueger had become, they fear this being even more. The wind itself dared not cross him wrong, though pain meant little more to him than a pleasant distraction.

"A bargain," Freddy Krueger said simply from beneath the shadows of his fedora.

"I do not bargain," the lone man said. He watched Krueger with red eyes, the corneas like rubies beset in solid obsidian. His face was marked by a complex grid that cut deep into the pale flesh, counted off by wicked metal pins inserted at each intersecting line. He regarded Krueger as a man might regard a wayward stray dog. He said, "Why have you returned?"

"I seek to leave this place," Krueger said.

"You have the power," the cenobite replied, "Use it."

"There is more."

"Your arrogance is your downfall," Pinhead replied, "Not mine. I am only here as a grace to the one I serve."

"I want vengeance," Krueger growled, his patience running thin, "All I ask is that when my work is complete, you allow me passage."

"And why," Pinhead stared at Krueger, "Would I do that?"

"I can offer you something you might enjoy," the dream killer grinned and chuckled.

Pinhead seemed unimpressed. "What would that be?"

"A woman."

"I have seen a thousand women lose their flesh and their minds," he said, "This I can find without your assistance."

"This is a special woman."

"When in pain, gender means so very little," Pinhead looked to the burning sky above, "You should know that by now."

"She is the Dream Master," Krueger said, "She's beautiful and ripe, filled with life."

"I know who she is," the Cenobite said, "As I knew who her predecessors were."

"I can get one of your toys to her," Krueger said, "Give me the puzzle box. She would prove to be a most unique subject. Her soul is strong and her heart powerful. She could last for a long, long time."

Freddy held out his bladed right hand, the palm facing up to the inferno above. From the scarred flesh of his hand came a sudden pop of flame that grew into a roiling cloud. From the rolling surface of the micro-phenomenon came the face of Lori Rollins, beautiful and pure. Pinhead looked at the display without any interest whatsoever for a few minutes. The proposition was irrelevant and hardly of any importance to him.

"What do ya say, Needles?" Krueger chuckled, "She is severely fuckable."

The leather clad form of Pinhead stood quietly a moment longer before resting his blood red gaze on Freddy Krueger. The anguish of the innocent and discovery of all things sensual in pain tempted him. Some thought of him as an angel of unlimited pleasure while others saw him as a demon from the very depths of Hell. He thought he might be both, as the rules of this place allowed for such impossibilities to occur.

He looked at the countenance of Lori again.

To ravage the Dream Master? What pleasures might that hold?

"Well?" Freddy insisted.

"Lead her to me," Pinhead stood back, "And you shall have your passage."

Freddy closed his open hand the image of Lori was gone.

"Fail," the cenobite looked right through Krueger's blackened soul, "and I will tear you apart limb from limb."

Freddy Krueger bowed gracefully, "Always a riot, you are."

"Krueger," he said calmly, "There are places that even the reach of God and Satan have no claim. Do not fail."

Krueger nodded, uneasy of the creature before him, "Always a riot."

Pinhead neither smiled nor frowned. He raised his hand, palm up to the scorched sky and revealed the puzzle of the Lament Configuration. The small cube, so unassuming, seemed to peer right into Krueger's mind. The dream killer stepped back for a moment as the cube rose into the air and floated over to him. He reached out and grabbed it, holding the hellish toy in his hand.

"Go now," Pinhead commanded him.

The wind rose suddenly and the cenobite creature was gone, leaving Freddy Krueger by himself. His laugh rode the winds from the maw of Hell to the pillars of Heaven. His time was now at hand, and finally he would do what he should have done a long time ago. He had learned much from his failures, and now more so from the last. He had been defeated by his own arrogance. He had underestimated Lori Rollins as he had underestimated Alice Johnson before.

But no more.

He would not waste time toying with the likes of Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees anymore. He would not take on Lori Rollins again because he knew better. Instead, he would sit once more at the chessboard of the eternal and position his pieces. The game was for keeps, the winner take all. Freddy knew his time was short in the reality he had once called home to his human form.

He would have to act.

Even now, the pawns were moving into place. He hadn't counted on them coming together so quickly, but nevertheless here they were. He could sense them all, especially Lori and his own wayward daughter. They were the two strongest of the many who had faced him. Alice Johnson had been equal to their power, but she had fallen on the edge of his blades. He relished that victory over and over, even as he had taken time to recover deep in the recesses of Jason Voorhees brain. He had hidden there, a perfect refuge for a spirit unwilling to die.

Freddy prepared himself to return.

There was much work to be done.

***

... to be continued...