The Sacrifice: Chronicles of Sunset Valley

  Chapter 3: Demons don’t exist, do they?

  Location: Sunset Valley Residential area

  Time: 10:40

  George Bailey sat in the lounge of his house. His house was big for a lonely sheriff, a contemporary countryside house with three rooms and a bathroom on the top floor. The ground floor had the kitchen, a dining and greeting lounge. The house had a musky smell haunting its dark atmosphere. George rarely spent time at home. He preferred to do night shifts at the police station. But the demons of his past lingering at his house made him stay out of the place as much as he could anyway. The station was like his full-time home; that was where his heart was. This place was just an empty house. George was on his couch, sitting comfortably in his vest and jeans he wore at the station that day. His uniform shirt was next to him.

  In his hands was an empty glass and if front of him on a table was a half empty bottle of whiskey. He had a couple of glasses but his heart was still in pain. No amount of whiskey could take his fear and guilt away. Next to the bottle was his loaded revolver. He put the glass on the table and grabbed the bottle. He took a swig. The liquid poured down his throat igniting the flame in his heart and letting his thoughts run wild.

  ‘You said you would be with me on this’, her voice echoed in his ear.

  The louder the voice got, the faster he drank from the bottle. When the bottle stopped pouring the fuel he needed, he pushed it away and slammed it on the table in front of him.

  The liquid took some time to settle in. George shut his eyes tight. The voice in his head started to fade away. George sighed as the pain in his heart eased. His eyes opened. They were getting heavy.

  That should do the trick, he thought. Alcohol helped him sleep on his nights off. He looked at his wrist watch. It was 10:40.

  ‘So nice to know that time stops when I meet you’.

  There was someone else in the lounge with him. The voice did not surprise him. He recognised it. It had been ages since George heard it. It was not some ordinary voice in his head, nor was his conscious talking to him. The voice was sinister; its tone was dark.

  ‘I am waiting for you. We need to speak.’

  ‘Get the heck out of my life,’ George said.

  ‘As long as you have a life, I can never leave you and you know it’.

  A manic laugh echoed through the lounge area. George sat motionless, his eyes staring at a picture on the cabinet, a photo of his wife and two daughters.

  ‘Over here,’ the mysterious man spoke again.

  The voice came from George’s bedroom.

  He reached out for the heavy handgun in front without taking his eyes off the photograph. His fingers felt the cold steel, his hands gripping tightly on the weapon.

  George struggled to stand up on his feet.

  ‘You’re not all cold feet now, are you?’ the voice mocked him.

  One more push made George stand. He stumbled across the lounge and made his way up the stairs. His vision was getting blurry. On his left was his daughters’ room. On his right was his room, once shared by his wife. He walked towards the room with the weapon hanging freely in his hands. His heavy footsteps could be heard in the whole house.

  George stopped in front of the door. His hand reached for the door knob. He turned it and pushed it open. Moonlight was pouring in through the window. His bedroom was the way he left it. Everything felt untouched.

  George stepped in. His eyes looked for the mystery man.

  ‘Hey, over here!’

  His eyes moved on the dressing table mirror. He looked in the reflection and saw a man in his 40s, big build, tired brown eyes, a wet moustache, light beard and a scar on his right side of his face.

  He touched the scar, felt the roughness in his facial skin. He remembered how he got it. It was not some stranger amped up on drugs or alcohol. It was not some wild beast. It was someone close to him, someone he did not expect this from.

  ‘Boy, you took your time’, his reflection said to him. ‘Georgie playin’ hard to get again?’

  George did not move a muscle. This was not the first time his reflection talked to him. He called the ‘other’ him Mr. X.

  ‘Get lost, X’.

  ‘Make me,’ said X.

  George raised his gun and aimed it at the forehead of X standing in the mirror. X grinned like an evil villain from a horror movie.

  ‘You actually think pulling the trigger of that hand cannon will ease your pain…?’

  ‘You don’t exist; you are just a dream’.

  ‘Then you will only be firing at the mirror…’

  -X reached out of the mirror and gently moved the gun away from his face.

  ‘But I am not a dream, George, and you know it. I am real. I don’t exist in you…’

  George felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to find X standing behind him. He looked different from the one in the reflection. This X had scars all over his face, red eyes, torn clothes, yet feature wise, he looked exactly like George.

  ‘…You exist in ME!’

  George stood still, not moving an inch from his place. He was not surprised to him standing there.

  ‘You are just my other personality. You are nothing, X. The day I die, you’ll die with me.’

  ‘You really think so, George? Let me show you what I am.’

  X grabbed George’s forehead tightly and brought it closer to his. X’s eyes locking onto George’s. The gun fell from George’s hands. In a split second, he had a glimpse of a series of events that would take place at Sunset Valley. He saw dead bodies with familiar faces, blood pouring like water, demonic creatures and the world changing into a nightmare.

  The pain was awful. George managed to break free from X’s grip and he fell to the floor. He was out of breath. In his mind, he was trying to wonder, if X is indeed a figment of his imagination then how is X is so powerful and how can he manage to do such things.

  ‘If I was you, I would be trying to wonder what that horrible vision meant.’

  X knew what George was thinking. He stretched out his hand. George declined the help and tried to stand up himself.

  ‘Pathetic’, X exclaimed. ‘You need to be strong if you are going to overcome. The matters are out of my hands now. He has claimed his first victim and he is not going to rest till blood runs like water.’

  ‘Who…?’ George was still gasping for breaths.

  ‘Someone like me but far more powerful,’ X replied. ‘Did you recognise anyone from the vision?’

  ‘I saw Samantha,’ George coughed.

  ‘Nope, keep guessing. Someone that looks a lot like her; could be her sister for all you know.’

  George managed to stand on his feet. He was still a bit shaky.

  ‘In time you will know more,’ X continued, ‘Speaking of which, our little conversation is over.’

  X raised his arm and showed his wrist watch to him. It was as same as the one George was wearing. X changed the time on his watch to 2:00 am. George stared at him without any expression. It was like X had drained all of his energy.

  X met George’s eyes again. He grabbed him by his collar and brought him close.

  ‘Now, WAKE UP AND ANSWER IT!!!’

  The sound of the phone going off woke George up. He was in the lounge where he had been drinking earlier. He rubbed his forehead. The pain was still there. He shook his head hard to get his bearings. He looked at the table in front of him. The bottle and his glass were there.

  The telephone kept ringing. Puzzled, George looked around and realised the phone was next to him.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘George, we have a seriously big problem.’

  It was Maggie and she sounded distressed.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s been a murder. Deputy Samantha…’

  ‘What happened to Sam?’

  ‘Sam’s en route to Sunset Valley Apartments Block B. She asked me to ring you.’

  ‘It’s around the corner from where I live. Get her on
CB and tell her to wait for me there.’

  George hung up. He looked at his wrist watch. It was around 2:00 am. He remembered X changing the time. His head was still hurting. He could not tell if it was the whiskey he drank earlier or the nightmare.

  George managed to get to his feet. He grabbed his uniform shirt and buttoned it quick. He went to the coat stand next to the entrance of the house. His jacket was there and his cowboy hat. He put them on. He remembered the gun. George went to the table again, where he left the gun. It was not there.

  Could be in the room…but it can’t be.

 

  George’s nightmare flashed before his eyes in an instant. He remembered dropping his gun in the room. He hesitantly went up the stairs; every step was slow and quiet. George did not fear X, but he feared that he could not tell the difference between his nightmares and real life. He might be going insane for all he knew.

  His thoughts brought him to the room where he had been earlier in his nightmare. He turned the door knob and gently pushed open the door.

  The steel shone brightly on the floor in the moonlight pouring through the windows. George went to the weapon. He bent down and lifted up the heavy gun. He pushed it into his holster on his right hand side, tucked at his waistline. He paused. The mirror was in front of him. He wanted to look at himself in the mirror but was afraid that he might find his worst nightmare standing there.

  He is just a nightmare; this is reality.

  His self-reassurance made him chuckle. He turned and started walking.

  ‘Oh, am I, now?’ a voice made him stop in his way.

  He could feel the presence of the same man he thought was just a figment of his imagination. He did not dare to turn around. He took a deep breath and walked out of room. He shut the door behind him with X grinning in the shadows of the room.