RATING: Adult for language and content
DISCLAIMER: The Bee has no rights or claim on any
of the characters or products named in this story and makes
no profit from them.
SUMMARY: This is the third story in the Rosebud/verse.
Tara has been abducted and the police rush to find her.
The other members of the Circle decide that they can do
a better job and begin their own investigation.
Who will find her first and will it be in time?
Praise and thanks to the wonderful Petxnd for the amazing banner
Tara had tried once to question where they were going but was told,
in no uncertain terms, that the time for friendly chit chat was over.
She now just concentrated on keeping her balance as she
was jerked and shoved, first one way then another.
Down the stairs, around a corner and through a large room,
where she cracked her shin painfully on some sort of large
piece of furniture.
Tara had tried to focus on anything she could recognize in
order to send a mental picture to her Circle, but the impressions
were few and far between.
She knew that the house was on a quiet street away from heavy
traffic and without close neighbors. She knew it was a two story
older home because of the condition of the bathroom.
The stairs were bare wood and the carpet in the living room felt thin
and worn. When the turned the last corner, she was certain they were
in a kitchen. She could smell spoiled food and the floor under her
bare feet felt like cold, chipped linoleum.
At last they stopped.
Rita's voice spoke in her ear,sounding breathless and excited.
"Well, this is it. I sure do hope you are the real thing. It always
upsets me to see you girls bleed out and die. You don't want to
see me upset do you?"
Tara frankly found it difficult to screw up any sympathy for Rita
but, more importantly, didn't want her angry again, so she just
shook her head. Her answer came out small and submissive.
"I'll do my best."
"Great!" The relief in Rita's voice was clear.
Rita reached around her prisoner and grabbed the handle of the
rough hewn door in the corner of the kitchen. She pulled it open
and with no further instruction, steered Tara carefully.
At the last second, Rita bunched up a handful of the front of Tara's
robe and stuffed it into her bound hands to prevent the medium from
tripping on the hem.
The stairway was narrow and short, causing Tara to feel around with
her foot before each cautious step down. Rita allowed it without
threat or push. She knew she would already have to answer for
the marks she had put on the sacred cow.
A broken bone from a fall would cost her.
There were 13 short steps. At the bottom, Tara felt the cold, cracked
cement and knew they were at the landing. Before proceeding, Rita
leaned in and whispered.
"When we get there, I am going to take the blindfold off. The most
important thing is to BE QUIET! Don't speak or make a sound until
you are told to. Do you understand?"
Tara whimpered. The reality finally hit her full force. There was no
rescue coming. Spike and the police would not make it. The Circle
would not find and save her. The only saving grace she had was that
she knew the password. That was what would keep her from bleeding
to death but, she wondered, would what came next be worse?
Rita knew Tara understood and waited no longer. She grabbed
Tara's upper arm and pulled her forward.
Gradually, Tara's ear picked up the distant sound of voices.
She strained to listen but couldn't make out exact words, only a
litany of sing songy chants.
Each step she took turned the volume up higher and she knew they
Soon, they stopped and Rita roughly snatched the blindfold, along with
a few strands of hair, from Tara's head.
Blinking, this time it didn't take her eyes long to adjust as the room
was dimly lit with multitudes of candles flickering everywhere.
Horror and terror shot through her making every hair on her body
stand up as the adrenalin doubled her heartbeat and her lungs strained
painfully from the influx of too much air filling and stretching them.
Her head jerked from side to side to take it all in.
The main room was large. Larger than she would have imagined.
The walls were cement block painted dark grey and there were
black out shades hung over every window.
No light would come in, no light would seep out.
In the center of the room, forming a human circle, stood several people,
all in identical red hooded robes. With their heads down and the hoods
up, Tara could not determine if they were men or women.
Quietly and with low voices, they continued to chant.
Although, so far, they had failed to acknowledge her presence, Tara
had no doubt that they all knew she was there.
Waivering on her feet, she was overwhelmed by the negative energy
and the evil, sick mental images that bombarded her.
Involuntarily, she took a step back bumping into Rita who was
poised and ready to stop her if she bolted.
They almost always did.
Tara wanted to scream but knew she wouldn't. Two things stopped her.
First was Rita's warning and second was Tara's instinct for self preservation.
Her brain was reaching into it's little grey cell pocket and feeling around
at the shape of the word. "Beelzebub." It was like a coin that she
wanted to spend and wanted to save. She was of two minds.
She wanted to toss it out. Scream it for their appeasement.
She convinced herself to hold on to it for a little longer. It's value
may increase with time.
Suddenly, the chanting stopped and the room was filled with silence.
The two hooded figures directly in front of her turned to face her.
With their faces tipped downward and the heavy folds of the fabric
of the hoods dipped low, their appearances were still concealed.
Tara could feel the gaze of each of the Satanic worshippers lock
onto her and study her with the scrutiny of a scientist ready to
dissect a lowly bug.
She refused to cry. They would not care if she begged.
Silently, she began to pray.
Most of all she prayed for the strength to remain faithful to her
souls integrity. She prayed for forgiveness of any wrong she
may have done in her life.
She prayed for the ones she would leave behind.
Of the two men now facing her, the one to the left held out
his hand, reaching for her. Inviting her to join them.
Tara felt Rita's hands on the back of her waist and she knew
this wasn't an invitation to refuse.
Taking a step towards them, Tara could now see into
the center of the group of priests. A huge pentagram had
been drawn in the middle of a ring on the floor. The robed
priests stood on the perimeter of the ring facing the center.
In the very center of the pentagram sat their leader. The very
regal, very rotting Jim Jones. Still sitting in his chair, he appeared
to be the birthday boy at a surprise party.
It was all so surreal, Tara nearly laughed.
When her cautious, small steps took her near enough, she almost
expected the kind gentle, extended hand to caress her.
She would have been wrong.
When she looked into his face, recognition filled her eyes. Before
she could say his name, Rita's warning came to mind.
Quickly, he gripped the bindings at her wrists and cruelly yanked
her forward causing the silk cords to tear at her skin.
He then grasped her by one arm as the priest on the right
grabbed her other. Together they marched her up to a spot
marked on the floor directly behind the body.
Now, wrapping a firm hand around her tiny wrist, the head
priest held her joined hands high over the head of the dead man,
the silence suddenly split as the priest's voice boomed.
"We bring you here to seek the essence of our God, our leader,
the spirit of he who now sits at the right hand of the throne of
Satan. We demand you call to him. We await his word."
Before Tara could blink, he had pulled a huge serrated, gleaming
blade out from his robe and in one fell swoop, it sliced cleanly
across the palms of her hands causing the blood to flow freely.
It had happened so quickly, there was a pause of nearly four
seconds before the shock and pain reached her brain.
By that time, and before any of the blood could spill on to the floor,
the priest slapped her hands down firmly on the top of the skull.
Despite all distractions, fears, and attempts to block, the spirit
of the dead Satanist slammed into her like a freight train and her
eyes rolled back in her head.