Devil's Nightmare (Devil's Nightmare, Book 1)
DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE
By
Robert Pruneda
Jagged Tooth Publishing
Texas, USA 2016
DEVIL’S NIGHTMARE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.
Copyright © 2016 by Jagged Tooth Publishing
Previously self-published by Robert Pruneda as Devil’s Nightmare, 2013
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: contact@SharkbaitWrites.com
Cover design by Laura Hidalgo
Edited by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
Proofread by Bill Campbell
Published by Jagged Tooth Publishing
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One – Sole Survivor
Chapter Two – Animal Instincts
Chapter Three – Westgate Middle School
Chapter Four – Missing Persons
Chapter Five – Hunting Season
Chapter Six – DNA
Chapter Seven – The Orphan
Chapter Eight – The Reunion
Chapter Nine – Alibi
Chapter Ten – Friends
Chapter Eleven – Ward of the State
Chapter Twelve – Broken Down
Chapter Thirteen – Saint Hedwig
Chapter Fourteen – The Wages of Sin
Chapter Fifteen – Skeleton Key
Chapter Sixteen – Ouija
Chapter Seventeen – Confessions
Chapter Eighteen – Redline
Chapter Nineteen – Help Me
Chapter Twenty – Pranksters
Chapter Twenty-One – Premonitions
Chapter Twenty-Two – Theories and Therapy
Chapter Twenty-Three – Cursed
Chapter Twenty-Four – Detective Nanny
Chapter Twenty-Five – Bully
Chapter Twenty-Six – Delegation
Chapter Twenty-Seven – The Mark
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Cellar
Chapter Twenty-Nine – Bloodline
Chapter Thirty – Devil’s Nightmare
Chapter Thirty-One – Sacrifice
Chapter Thirty-Two – New Beginnings
If You Enjoyed Devil’s Nightmare…
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Acknowledgements
Discover Other Fiction Written by Robert Pruneda
About the Author
Connect with Robert Pruneda
To my parents José and Linda Pruneda.
You have always been my biggest supporters.
I love you both!
PROLOGUE
Cody’s lungs burned with each frenetic breath as he made his escape toward the gated entrance of the old cemetery. He ran past rows of tombstones and lost his footing several times, whimpering in fear as he picked himself up. His blood curdled from a distant scream. A loud explosion of thunder startled him as he checked over his shoulder and slipped, collapsing onto the wet, muddy ground. He pushed himself backward, his hands frantically splashing in puddles of muddied water. The darkness of the cemetery made it impossible to see anything more than a shadow, but Cody knew what stalked him. He knew the evil coming.
He screamed and jumped back to his feet. He ran as fast as he could on the slippery ground. Another loud crash of thunder followed a bright flash of lightning. He was so close, so close to the entrance to the cemetery, but the rain, stronger than before, hammered down upon him. He splashed through puddles of water, flinching from the sheets of rain slapping his face. He struggled to increase his speed, his tears blending in with the rain. Four bicycles lay scattered on the ground near the entrance of the cemetery. Cody yanked his bicycle upright off the ground and checked behind him, but there wasn’t anything there. He hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of his friends’ bikes lying next to his.
“I’m so sorry,” he cried before mounting his own bike.
The mud, caked onto the soles of his shoes, caused his feet to slip on the wet pedals. He peered into the dark depths of the cemetery again and found the familiar shadow creeping towards him. Whimpering again, Cody reached down to scrape the mud off with his bare hands, and then pedaled a mile to his home in the heavy rain.
Rain-drenched, Cody jumped the curb in front of his house and dropped his bicycle on the lawn. He ran to his open bedroom window, stumbled through it, and fell onto the floor. His bedroom curtains flapped inward as rain splashed onto the hardwood floor. Picture frames on the walls rattled as Cody grabbed his bedroom window and pulled down on it several times until it slammed shut. He dropped to the floor and wept below the window with his head lowered and arms wrapped around his legs, tucking them close to his chest.
Cody lifted his head when the bedroom light came on. Two adults stood in the doorway. His mother rushed inside the room while his stepfather Tony placed a hand on the door frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.
“What in hell’s wrong with ya, boy?” Tony said in a deep southern drawl. His eyes dropped to Cody’s wet shoes and the muddied floor. “And why in hell ya soakin’ wet? Goddamn it, boy, ya sneaked out again, didn’t ya? And where in the hell is that—?”
“What’s wrong, honey?” Cody’s mother broke in, noticing her son trembling. “Are you—?”
“He’s in deep shit, that’s what! Told ya we couldn’t trust this little bastard.” Tony pointed a stern finger at Cody and warned, “Ya pull this shit again and I’m gonna bust yer ass! Now get yer ass up and—”
The lights flickered and went dark.
“Goddammit!” Cody’s stepfather yelled. “Piece a shit electricity always goes out when it rains.” He grabbed his wife’s arm. “Carol, get me the goddamn flashlight. And a mop so this little shit can clean up his mess.”
A flash of bright light shot through the curtains as Carol stepped towards the hallway. Cody’s eyes grew wide. He scooted backwards, mumbling and whimpering.
“What in hell’s yer problem?” Tony said.
Cody’s face whitened. Tears flowed from his eyes. He whimpered “No” repeatedly as he scooted further away, only to find himself trapped in a corner of the dark bedroom.
Heavy rain poured outside as a web of lightning scattered across the sky. Intense thunder muffled the screams and breaking glass. A moment later, all was quiet. The rain stopped, the lightning dissipated, and the thunder grew faint in the distance.
CHAPTER ONE
Sole Survivor
I arrived at the crime scene at seven-thirty on Monday morning and parked my black ’81 Corvette Stingray behind a police car that had the left rear door hanging open. A young boy with sandy blond hair sat in the back, staring at the seat in front of him. Emergency vehicles packed the street in front of the house. Police officers, crime scene investigators, and paramedics performed their jobs while reporters yelled out questions to anyone within earshot.
A mob of reporters barked a barrage of questions at me, but I ignored them and ducked under the police tape, making my way to the front porch. A bloodstained curtain hung out of a broken window to the right of the front entrance. The shattered bay window to left of the entrance had pieces of the frame bent towards the interior of the house.
The highest-ranking officer of the Austin Police Department, and an old friend of mine of many years, exited the home just as I stepped onto the front porch. I shook his hand.
&nbs
p; “So, what’ve we got here, Chief?”
“It’s bad, Aaron. Tenemos dos víctimas.”
Chief David Hernandez spoke perfect English, and without much of an accent, but that didn’t stop him from throwing in a little bit of Spanish for my benefit. It was the chief’s not-so-subtle way of trying to mold me into a bilingual detective, which of course is useful in Texas. I still couldn’t speak the language, but, thanks to the chief, I could at least understand it.
“So, who are our two vics?”
“Carol and Tony Scoletti. Whoever killed them must have been really pissed.”
“Yeah, that’s usually the case” I bobbed my head in agreement. Murderers do tend to have slight anger issues. “So, we have a double-homicide. Doesn’t happen here much, but what’s so unusual?”
“You haven’t seen the bodies… or what’s left of them, that is.”
“Okay.” I lowered my brow. “Now you have my attention. Just what exactly are we dealing with?”
“Follow me,” he said, and led me to the living room.
The body of a decapitated Caucasian woman lay mangled on top of a shattered glass coffee table. Her left arm hung from her shoulder, attached only by tendons. Intestines spilled onto the floor from her torn stomach. She also had three large gashes across her breasts and several more on her bare legs.
“Jesus! You weren’t kidding. What the hell did this guy come at her with, a chainsaw?”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Chief Hernandez answered, and then headed down the hallway towards the bedrooms.
I followed him inside the first bedroom. Blood and gore painted the walls and ceiling. Only the torso of what used to be a body lay in the middle of the room in a pool of blood, guts and ripped flesh. Pieces of bloody flesh hung from the ceiling fan. There was a severed arm on a blood-soaked pillow on the bed and a detached leg protruding out from underneath it. Where was the rest of the body?
“This is the kid’s bedroom,” he said.
“He’s lucky to be alive. I don’t mean to sound morbid, but why spare him?” I noticed muddy footprints mixed in blood underneath the shattered window.
“Come on, Aaron. You don’t really think anyone would do this to a kid, do you?”
No, I didn’t, but you could never know for sure. Some people have absolutely no conscience whatsoever. The kid was lucky. After examining the remains of a man’s body, I asked, “That kid in the squad car. Has he said anything?”
“Nada. Not a word since we arrived.”
“I’ll go to talk to him. See if I can get him to open up.”
I tapped the shoulder of the crime scene investigator taking photos of the body. “You have a swab kit I can borrow?”
“Yeah, sure.” The young CSI set her camera down and retrieved the items from her crime scene kit. “Need me to come with?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I got it.”
My heart sank from the boy’s blank expression. Dry blood splatter peppered his cheeks and forehead. The blood covering his clothes told me he’d had a front seat view of what had happened. A seat that would have also given him a clear view of the perpetrator.
“What’s his name?” I asked the police officer in charge of babysitting the boy, while a bunch of strangers with badges, guns, and funny-looking suits, filtered in and out of his home.
“Cody Sumner,” the officer answered. “I can’t imagine what he’s going through.” She shook her head and added, “Poor baby.”
I knelt down next to Cody and introduced myself. “Hi, Cody. My name is Detective Aaron Sanders, with the Austin Police Department. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Cody didn’t acknowledge my presence.
“Are you hurt anywhere?” Nothing. He just stared ahead.
“Can I see your hands?”
That time he gave me a subtle shrug. I put on a pair of latex gloves and tenderly turned his hands over. Dried blood covered his palms. I sighed and placed the boy’s hands back on his lap.
I pulled a buccal swab from the kit that I borrowed from the crime scene investigator. “I need to get some samples off your clothing and hands. It’s not going to hurt though. Can you give me a little nod if that’s okay?”
Cody faced me, his blue eyes watering, and said, “They’re dead.”
“I’m sorry.” I placed my hand on the back seat. “I promise we’ll find and punish the person who did this, Cody, but we need your help. Can you tell me what happened?”
Cody focused on the back seat again. His crying came in constricted whimpers and sniffling.
“That’s okay.” I squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll talk later.”
“Aaron!” Chief Hernandez yelled from the porch, gesturing me toward him.
I met him halfway on the front lawn. “What is it?”
“We have another crime scene.”
“Another one?”
“Memorial Heights Cemetery. Busy day for the APD, and it’s about to get even busier for you, amigo.”
“Can we get Anderson or—?”
“No, I want you on this. You should head over there right away.”
“Why? What’s so special about this one?”
“The grounds crew found three bodies. Two of them with their heads missing.” He rubbed his hand over his face and took a breath.
“What?” Finding dead bodies at a cemetery was normal enough, but they tend to arrive in caskets. And they typically have their heads attached. I asked again, “What?”
“They’re kids, Aaron. Niños!”
I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. “What the hell is going on here?”
“I don’t know, pero we have one sick cabrón targeting children now. I need you to head over to the cemetery. I’ll call the FBI. This is way over our heads.”
“Whoa, wait a minute.” I hated dealing with feds. “The last thing we need is a bunch of bureaucratic suits flashing badges around here and putting up a bunch of red tape. We can handle it ourselves.”
“Aaron, this isn’t a typical murder case. I think we’re dealing with a serial.”
“Yeah… maybe.”
“Maybe?” Chief Hernandez said. “Decapitations and bodies ripped apart don’t exactly fit the description of a normal homicide. And speaking of decapitations, where’re the victims’ heads?”
Good question.
“All right, I see your point. I’ll check out the cemetery. What about that kid over there?” Cody had stopped crying. A police officer handed him a bottled water. “He’s our only witness.”
“I’ll let you know where he ends up. Probably Brackenridge. Now go.”
“All right, all right. I’m going.”
CHAPTER TWO
Animal Instincts
Police blocked the entrances to southwest Austin’s Memorial Heights Cemetery, making the entire area a crime scene.
“Who was the first officer on scene?” I asked the officer manning the entrance.
“Officer Garza.” He pointed towards a tall Hispanic young man standing next to a backhoe. “There by the dozer.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Officer Garza?” I asked as I approached the officer by the yellow dozer. “Detective Sanders, Robbery-Homicide. Were you the first responder?”
“Yes, sir. The grounds crew called it in about an hour ago.” He nodded over to a group of men in coveralls. “They were about to dig a grave when they found…” The officer choked up as he gazed past the yellow police tape marking off the crime scene. “I’m sorry.
It’s just… the bodies are so… God, it’s horrible.”
The officer’s young face and inability to detach himself from the scene told me he was a rookie, probably straight out of the academy.
“I know. You’re doing a good job.”
“Thank you, sir. Let me… Let me know if you need anything.”
I nodded and made my way over to the crime scene. The sight of the three mutilated bodies lying among the headstones sho
ok me. I closed my eyes for a moment. No training or experience could prepare me for something that horrid.
Only one body still had its head attached. I exhaled and stepped closer to the victim. The youngest of the three, maybe nine or ten years old, had two large gaping wounds across his face, his right eye torn from its socket. His left hand was missing two fingers, and had a large cut in the palm, likely a defensive wound. He also had a large tear in his stomach, with his innards strewn out. I tilted my head up and took a deep breath. What sick bastard would do that to a child?
I viewed the remains of the other two victims. The mutilated torso and upper legs of one victim lay face down on top of a freshly covered grave. I swallowed back the bile in my throat and gathered my composure. Where was the head? The arms? I scanned the scene for them, my eyes stopping on the second victim. Another torso, with the upper legs still intact, rested against a tombstone. Blood covered what was left of the boy, and it took me a moment to realize the perp had left the kid with one arm attached.
“Have we located the heads?” I asked one of the officers.
“No, sir, we haven’t. We searched the perimeter, but didn’t find anything.”
“What about I.D.?”
The officer handed me a plastic bag with a vinyl wallet inside of it. I put on latex gloves and removed the wallet. Inside, I found thirteen dollars in cash, a baseball card, and a library card. The photo on the library card matched the only victim that still had his head attached.
Jason Dexter, 6th Grade, Westgate Middle School. I stared at the photo for a moment. Jason smiled at me from the palm of my hand.
“I’ll find out who did this to you,” I promised in a low voice, as I looked at Jason’s damaged face. No smiles there. “And when I catch the bastard, I’ll make sure he burns in hell for this.”
“There you are,” a familiar voice spoke behind me.
Donald Luther, the county’s chief medical examiner, approached me. I placed the wallet back inside the plastic bag, sealed it, and removed the latex gloves before shaking the man’s hand. “What kind of sick bastard butchers a bunch of kids like this, Don?”