Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

harsh and choked.
    Julia recited the words, imitating the chant of the hooded man:
    "Highness of Darkness, Satan, Master of the World, accept this offering from your loyal and humble slaves, that you may continue to make us free. So mote it be."
    "And the rest of it," Dr. Forrest said, excited.
    They said in unison, the bad people, Julia, Dr. Forrest, all combined in one chilling voice, "Lord Master Satan, we offer you this blood in your cursed name, that you may smile upon us and bless us. That you may—"
    Julia stopped, caught in the doorway, not sure if she were in the past or the present. She opened her eyes, Dr. Forrest loomed over her, hands holding hers, face rapt, eyes closed.
    Dr. Forrest completed the chant. "—that you may take as your bride, this whore Judas Stone."

 
     
    CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
     
    Julia shivered, more frightened than she had ever been. She was on the precipice of a great gulf, it yawned out black and endless and inviting, a total madness.
    "He cut you, didn't he, Julia?"
    Dr. Forrest was her only link to reality, the therapist's grip the only thing preventing her from slipping into the abyss.
    "He took your blood, and the eyes glowed." Dr. Forrest seemed nearly as faraway and lost as Julia. Even with the warm sunshine breaking through the office window, with the mountains spread bright and golden outside, with the reality of the chair and the floor and ceiling and walls, all the solid things of the world seemed as if they were melting away, swirling down some hidden drain into oblivion.
    "The skull ring. You remember," Dr. Forrest said.
    Julia couldn't suck any oxygen into her lungs.
    "He did it."
    Words like nails.
    Julia stared into the therapist's rigid, twisted face. Suddenly Dr. Forrest's eyes snapped open, shining like candle fire, flickering.
    "Say it, Julia. Don't let him have this last victory."
    "He . . . "
    "Say what he did."
    "He let them—"
    Dr. Forrest's lips curled in triumph. "Yes, he did. He had the power. All the power that Satan could offer. How could he resist?"
    Julia jerked up from her chair, pulling free from Dr. Forrest. "He gave me to that Creep ."
    Julia wrapped her arms around her chest, sobbing, her shoulders quivering. She collapsed back into the chair. She turned to look outside, to escape from the office, but the world was only a larger prison. Wherever she might flee, her mind would follow.
    "I told you so," Dr. Forrest said, calmed by Julia's acceptance. "Now you know. Now we can deal with it."
    "No," Julia sobbed. "It didn't happen."
    "Julia, your denial has been holding you back."
    "Not him."
    "Julia, incest is common. So many of our sisters have suffered the same cruelty. And ritual abuse. Would you be surprised if I told you half of my female patients recover memories of Satanic masses?"
    Half.
    "I share your pain, Julia. I bleed with you."
    "You don't understand," Julia said.
    "Of course I do. I've been here with you. I've . . . been there before you."
    Been there?
    "I'm a survivor, Julia. Just as you will be."
    "Survivor?"
    Dr. Forrest stood, unfastened the bottom two buttons on her blouse. She showed her belly, the raised welts purple against her pale flesh. On Dr. Forrest, the work had been completed, the pentagram fully etched, the horror plainly written onto the page of her body.
    "You?" Julia didn't know what to say. What use were words?
    Dr. Forrest buttoned her blouse with quick, efficient movements. She smiled, but her eyes were distant, unfocused. Perhaps she was looking through the rooms of her own house, rummaging in secret cellars.
    Julia glanced at the wall clock. Two hours had passed. She had given herself away, ripped open her skull and handed her brain to Dr. Forrest. And her spirit had slipped out through the wound, merged with the shadows and was lost.
    "We can defeat it, Julia. Now we move forward."
    "I'm sorry, Dr. Forrest. I’m sorry it happened to you."
    "Don't be sorry. Sorrow is for the weak, the emotionally crippled, those who don't seize what lies before them. We should strive for balance, Julia."
    Julia stared with wonder at the wise therapist's face. Dr. Forrest had exposed herself, had opened up her own dark rooms, and now was as calm as if she had commented on the pansies in the window planter.
    If this woman, who has endured terror beyond imagining, could become strong enough to help others, it's time I stopped feeling sorry for myself.
    But the stinging memory swarmed over her again, and the force of the