Don't Go Into | the Devil's Den (Book One)

Three | The Worthless

"I'm afraid that the question is: what are you hiding?" Father Elron took a seat on the first row. "Have you come to face your demons? Are you finally sick of wandering?"

"Wa-" he paused and looked down at the bench for a reminder of the dust. This priest was loony. His words and his tone seemed to make no sense. And yet something inside Grant knew exactly what the old man was referring to. Nevertheless, he needed to push forward with the mission.

"This isn't about me, it's about Laney!" He shouted, storming toward the front. "Tell me what you know! You better have a good explanation on why I shouldn't detain you!"

Father Elron chuckled. "Guilt has you dancing around his fingertips."

Detective Grant lost his temper. He grabbed Father Elron's collar with both hands and threw him against the floor. His eyes bulged wide and he felt his pulse pounding from his chest to his fingertips. It was the first time he'd ever laid hands on a civilian. "Father, you better speak or I swear-"

"Does none of this seem familiar to you?" Elron questioned him once again. "I feel like I just saw you yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. Quite frankly, Detective, this is probably your hundredth day here! Wake up!"

Detective Grant backed away, soiled in a state of bewilderment. Images of his life flashed before his eyes. He wanted to be home in San Diego. He could cancel the case right now if he wanted to. However, that was just it. He refused. Something drew him to this town. Retreating wasn't an option.

"Look around!" Father Elron exclaimed, pointing to the walls. "Does it look familiar?!"

Detective Grant's eyes shot to every mural. Yes, there were paintings of angelic beings, but on the other side of the church, tucked toward the back corner, were paintings of demons. Monsters with fangs and red eyes preying on a man. A man with dark skin and a tapered afro, just like Grant's. 

Up ahead of that painting was the image of a caged figure being tormented by fire. Detective Grant, spooked out of his mind, ran out of the church in a flash. He was so afraid that he couldn't let out a breath.

Hands shaking profusely, he struggled to unlock the car door. Once inside, he floored the accelerator and emptied onto the main dirt road. What... what is going on? Where am I?

 His nervous hands slapped and clawed over the wheel, nearly running him into a mighty oak tree. Fighting for control, he gripped down hard, hands like iron clamps, as the car hurtled down the bumpy country road. Sweat beaded off his face as his mind struggled to keep up with his body.

Amidst the chaos churning within him, one thing became apparent.

Footsteps.

Footsteps in the dirt road ahead of him. But the imprints belonged to no man. And the imprints belonged to no little girl. The imprints belonged to an animal. A very large animal that didn't belong in northern Michigan.

Wait, this...

Suddenly, Detective Grant heard birds chirping with the same melodic tune as the ones before. 

Strangely, the scenery started to look very familiar. He remembered every detail. The imperfections in the road. The exact placement of the tree line. Details about the trees themselves. Somehow, he drove along the same stretch of road that he'd driven on an hour ago.

Up ahead, a figure appeared. From afar, it looked like a man standing in the road. Nonetheless, as he approached, the figure began to look less like a man.

Laying his widened eyes upon it, his breathing sputtered as he smashed on the brakes with both feet. The SUV instantly skidded to its side and with the bumpy, uneven terrain beneath, it flipped over. Twisted metal parts flew in every direction. The front tire ripped off the axle when the SUV flipped a second time into the immovable trunk of a tree. Ricocheting off that tree, the SUV flipped vertically, into the opposite side of the road; this time taking out a tree and tumbling into the woods.

Ten yards down the road, Detective Grant groaned and rose to one knee. He had a few scrapes and bruises, mostly on the side he had landed on when he jumped out of the car.

Rising to his feet, he studied the scene. He took note of the tire tracks, skid marks, the fallen trees, the trees unharmed. It all came together, until he laid his eyes upon the beast only twenty yards away from him.

 It stood on its powerful hind legs at 10 feet tall. Embattled ram's horns sat atop its bull's head that was almost fully decomposed to the bone. Its piercing eye sockets glowed a blood red, complementing its crooked fangs. It's tattered body armor was twisted and marred over its rotting furry hide.

 This animal was something out of a horror story. An animal that lit a fire deep within Detective Grant's memory.

Oddly enough, he was unafraid. It was as if he'd known this creature for quite a while. Maybe known wasn't the right word. Befriended. Befriended was the right word. The creature called to him; not by mouth, but by its expression.

"Belial," Detective Grant announced, "the demon of worthlessness and guilt."