Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

law was "Do what thou wilt." Was there a hell hot enough to deliver the punishment someone such as that deserved?
    “ Joolia .”
    The call rode in on the whisper of breeze in the eaves or the rustle of a curtain. She looked around the empty room.
    She pushed herself away from her desk and paced rapidly, trying not to hyperventilate. The darkness outside the house pressed against the doors and windows, searching for an invasion point. Her house was weak and shook with the shadowy wind.
    She ran to the bathroom, turned on the tap at the sink, and splashed cold water on her face. When she looked into the mirror, she scarcely recognized herself. Her eyes were red-rimmed and watery, her hair stringy from sweat. Her skin was pallid, that of a walking corpse.
    It was all her fault. If she hadn't kept sticking her nose in the past, if she didn't have to explore, if she didn't have to know , she wouldn't be freaking out over skull rings and Black Masses and false prophets and ritual abuse. If she were normal , she might have a happy future waiting.
    She wouldn't be isolated in Elkwood, alone with the Creeps who were closing in with their devil masks. But she wouldn't have Dr. Forrest, either. Dr. Forrest was her light in the world of darkness, the one who led her through the tunnels of the past to the true Julia Stone that she knew she could become. The whole, healed Julia Stone, the one who would stand in light.
    If only she were that person already, instead of this limp, weak Julia who was nibbled by shadows, gnashed between the teeth of invisible monsters.
    As she leaned into the corner of the bathroom and slid down onto the cold tile, the walls of the world collapsed. The scars on her stomach throbbed, and the air smelled of mildew and rot. The temperature seemed to rise twenty degrees, and the room became as steamy as a swamp. Yet still her teeth chattered, her bones clacked against the tiles like a wind-blown skeleton on a string.
    She was sliding into that inky ocean. This time the wave had swept its mighty arm over her, crushed her spirit, drenched her with doom. All that remained was to slip beneath the surface for the final time. This was the antechamber to hell, the waiting room to the rest of her life.
    Had this been what she was born for, to end up shattered and mad, to go down without even a cry for help?
    Dr. Forrest won't like this. She won't like this at ALL.
    Because this isn't only YOUR failure, Julia. It's HERS.
    Did she really want to disappoint the one person who had faith in her? Was this the proper repayment for someone to whom she owed so much?
    She struggled for breath, her chest bound by hot bands of steel. She closed her mind off to the dark reaching fingers, the sinuous memories, the negative thoughts that were her jailkeeps. She thought of the light, of Dr. Forrest's calm voice.
    "We can make it, Julia."
    As if the therapist were right in the room with her. Julia grabbed a pained lungful of stale air.
    "We'll go through it together," came the voice of assurance. "Let me take you back, and then lead you forward."
    Yes. Dr. Forrest could save her.
    Julia exhaled, breathed again, trying to gain a rhythm. She ignored her pounding heart, afraid that its beat might be erratic. Sweat crawled over her flesh like slimy insects.
    Dr. Forrest's words came to her again, like a voice in the wilderness.
    "I'm here for you, Julia. I'll always be here. I'll save you."
    And Julia shifted her focus onto the therapist's face, built her photograph to fill her mental field of vision. And Dr. Forrest smiled.
    Julia smiled, too. Someone did love her. Someone did care enough to save her.
    She lay against the tiles, aspirating easily until her dizziness passed. The shadows slid back to their odd lairs of hibernation, the panic drifted away like mist across a morning lake, the walls of fear turned to powder and crumbled.
    Soon, seconds or minutes or hours later, she could stand. She wiped her face on the towel that hung on the back of the door, avoiding her reflection. She didn't want to see herself this way.
    This wasn't how Dr. Forrest wanted Julia to see herself.
    She went to the bedroom, holding onto the wall for support. The room still held that expectant air, fouled by The Creep's stealthy invasion. He had stood on this carpet, had breathed this air, had rummaged through her intimate things—
    No. He was just a Creep. He would pay for his crimes and maybe taint Mitchell in the process. And he was out of her life,