by N. P. Martin
Or rather Drakkar.
And he had something in his hand.
Something which he tossed across the road, and which landed on the hood of the Spitfire with a heavy thump before rolling off onto the pavement.
When I looked I saw it was the severed head of a woman, the neck jagged as if the head had simply been torn off the body using brute force alone. The mouth was also open wide, the face frozen in terror.
"What the…"
I looked across the road to Drakkar, who was now standing there with his hands in his rain coat pockets, a slight smile on his weather-beaten face.
"I know it’s you, Drakkar," I shouted over. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?"
Drakkar merely smiled and then vanished into thin air, obviously having teleported.
"Fuck!" I said in frustration as I went around the side of the car to retrieve the severed head before anyone seen it.
But it was too late for that. A Jack Russell had come from somewhere and was sniffing and licking the bloody stump of the severed head.
"Get lost!" I said to the dog as I went and picked up the head, the dog growling as if I’d just took its evening meal away from it.
Then as I turned around, I saw a woman standing on the pavement a few feet away, her face a mask of horror as she stared first at the severed head I was holding by the hair, and then at me.
"I can explain," I said to the woman as the dog ran past me and stood by her side. "It’s just a fake, really…"
But the woman wasn’t buying it, and I didn’t blame her. She picked up her dog, turned quickly and all but ran down the street away from me.
"Wait!" I shouted.
But she was gone, disappearing around the corner a moment later.
"Fuck!" I said, looking around in case anyone else was about, though thankfully there didn’t appear to be. Quickly, I opened the trunk again and placed the severed head inside the black bag along with the hands. After cleaning blood from my hands in a puddle on the ground, I dried them on my jeans and then got inside the car. My hands shook as I started the engine and my breathing was heavy. Before I could drive off, I had to sit for a minute to try and calm myself down.
The woman had seen the head. She knew in her bones it was real. Which meant she would go to the cops and tell them what she saw.
My hands gripped the steering wheel as I realized how serious this whole mess now was. It would only be a matter of time before the cops came looking for me. Sure as shit the woman would give a good description. Hell, she probably even had the license plate number of the car.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I banged on the dash in anger and frustration. What the hell was Drakkar’s game anyway? Why was he doing this to me, especially now of all times when the woman I loved was trapped in darkness within the Shadow? I freed the motherfucker, so why was he tormenting me like this?
Because he’s a sick bastard, that’s why. You know that.
Yes, I did, but I also didn’t expect this. This was a whole other level of crazy.
I had to at least dispose of the evidence in the trunk. The cops would be onto me soon and it would be a lot worse if they found the body parts.
I also needed to call Benedict, to let him know what was going on. Maybe he could sort things out with the cops.
As I started the car and drove off, I also took my phone out and called Benedict’s number, but there was no answer. "Shit!" I said as I dialed the number again, but this time the call went straight to voicemail. Cursing once more as I rounded a corner at speed, I sent Benedict a text instead, telling him to call me ASAP.
After tossing the phone onto the front seat, I put both hands on the wheel and concentrated on driving as I came up behind a traffic jam. Slowing down, I realized I wasn’t even sure where I was going. The plan before Drakkar had appeared was to drive outside the city to an isolated field and then use my magic to incinerate the severed hands. But as the woman with the dog had no doubt phoned the cops by now—giving a description of the car as well as me—I realized I didn’t have time to drive outside the city. A dark alley somewhere would have to do instead.
As it happened, there was an alley just up the road a bit, but I was now stuck in a traffic jam, and what would normally take a few minutes to reach would now take ten instead. As I sat wedged between two cars, the rain having started again, I had to resist the temptation to just get out and get the black bag from the trunk, abandoning the car as I ran to the alley. Going by the tension in my body, you’d think I had a bomb in the trunk that I thought was going to explode any minute.
Which it did in a way, metaphorically speaking. For as I was inching the car along in the traffic jam, I looked in the rearview mirror and noticed what looked like a commotion behind me. The road appeared to be blocked both ways and there were people standing in the middle of the road in the rain.
Not just people, I realized.
Cops.
"For fucks sake…" I breathed, knowing in my bones the cops were here for me. Somehow, they had located my car. And let’s be honest, a classic like the Spitfire wouldn’t have been too hard to find. Clearly, the woman who saw me had done what I feared she would, and called the cops on me.
I sat in a panic for a moment as I stared at the dark figures coming toward the car. Four of them, and they all had their guns drawn. What the hell was I going to do? I thought. Use my magic to escape? But if I did that, then there’d be a nationwide manhunt for me, especially when they found the black bag in the trunk. They’d link me to the other murders then.
No, I thought with a sigh of resignation. There’s no point in running. The best I could do was give myself up and hope that Benedict came to my rescue. He could use his clout to get me released. And if that didn’t happen for whatever reason, I would just release myself if it came to it. I could, after all, walk through walls. No Untouched prison could hold me for long.
And none would.
"Put your hands on the steering wheel!"
There was now a member of the Emergency Response Unit standing by the side of my car, an automatic rifle aimed through the window at me, with another guy on the other side doing the same thing. Very slowly, I raised my hands and laid them on the steering wheel as they had asked. Then the driver’s side door was pulled open and the man with the gun told me to exit the car slowly, which I did. Then, as I turned around with my hands up, two more cops pushed me against the car and pulled my hands behind my back, zip- tying my wrists in seconds. As I was held against the car, other cops opened the trunk and looked inside the black bag.
"Jesus Christ!" one of them said as he flinched in disgust.
"You’re coming with us you sick fuck," a plain clothes detective said as he and one of the E.R.U. officers led me to a waiting police car.
"I can explain," I said pointlessly.
"You’ll get your chance down the station."
As the rain pelted my face, I noticed the bystanders on the street, staring over at me like I was the country’s number one fugitive who had just now been caught.
As my head was pushed down and I was bundled into the back of the police car, I sighed and shook my head.
Fuck you, Drakkar, I thought. Fuck you.
Chapter 8
They took me to Pearse Street Garda Station, which surprised me, because I thought they would have taken me to the Garda Síochána Headquarters at Phoenix Park instead. Not that I was bothered mind, as it was all the same to me. Two detectives signed me in at the front desk and then promptly dumped me inside a holding cell after clearing my pockets. One of the detectives, an older man with a thick mustache and a look which said he’d been on the job for decades at this point, stared at me a moment after the cell door was shut and locked. "The banal face of evil," he said.
"There’s nothing banal about this face," I said, refusing to give in to despair. "And it’s certainly not evil."
"The severed head in your car begs to differ, son."
"I can explain all of that. Just call Be
nedict Bonneville. His number is on my phone. He’ll explain all of this."
"Somehow I doubt this person can explain why you have a black bag full of body parts from murder victims in your car."
"I didn’t kill those people. Someone else did."
The detective shook his head like he’d heard it all before. "That’s what they all say."
"I’m telling you—"
"Save it for your interview. You’ll get your chance then."
"Just call Benedict," I shouted after him as he walked away. "He’ll vouch for me."
The detective said nothing more as he pulled the door closed behind him at the end of the corridor. I knew by his attitude that he was convinced he had got his man. As far as the cops were concerned, I was a serial killer who had murdered and mutilated at least nine people that they knew of. And let’s be honest, the evidence against me was pretty overwhelming. They had caught me red-handed with severed hands and a severed head in the trunk of my car. There wasn’t much else to say. And they would no doubt be tearing my flat apart right now, finding more blood evidence in the process, not to mention all the magic related stuff I had lying around. Before long, I would be branded as a Satanic murderer.
"Jesus…" I stood facing the wall as I considered just turning myself to vapor and walking through the damn thing. Once I did that I could turn invisible and get away clean. It was tempting, but I decided not to. Best to get this sorted now, I thought, to save any problems down the line. But that was only if Benedict could use his clout to free me, which I had no doubt he could. I just had to wait on him doing so. In the meantime, if they interviewed me, I would just say nothing until Benedict came to my rescue, which he had better, the bastard.
A yawn surprised me when it escaped my mouth, as if this whole situation had made me tired. There was a wooden bench along the wall, so I lay down on it, intending to close my eyes just for a moment, just to get some mental calm and a second to myself.
Yes, I thought as I closed my eyes. Just for a minute…
I must’ve fallen asleep, for I felt groggy when I opened my eyes again, having no idea how long I was out for. It felt like a while as I sat up and groaned slightly, wondering why I was still inside my cell. Why hadn’t the cops come to get me for my interview yet? What were they waiting on?
In the gloom, my eyes focused on the bars next to me, and I soon frowned when I noticed the door was open slightly. What the hell? I thought as I stood up and checked the door, pulling it all the way open.
"Hello?" I shouted into the corridor, even though there was no one in the cells next to me, and no guard. No one answered me from the other side of the door at the end of the corridor either, so I shouted again, louder this time. If there was someone on the other side of the door, they would surely be able to hear me. As I stood, all I got was silence in response.
Shaking my head in confusion as the first sense that something was wrong entered my mind, I stepped out of the cell and into the corridor, making my way slowly toward the door, half expecting it to open before I was even halfway up the corridor. But the door remained shut until I opened it myself to reveal a room full of desks and computers.
And something else, I realized with horror and sheer disbelief.
Something much worse.
"Oh dear god…"
The words spilled from my mouth as my eyes widened to take in the scene before me, a scene that was so overwhelming to my senses that I struggled to take all of it in.
The room was like an abattoir, with blood splashed over every single surface; blood that came from at least a dozen bodies that had been sliced and diced every which way until each one looked a fillet of beef, and almost unrecognizable as human. The combined smell of blood and offal was too much for my stomach, and I found myself bent over as I retched onto the floor, noticing as I did that blood was pooling around my boots.
So much blood.
It was minutes before I could even move, I was so stricken with horror. When I did finally move, it was slowly as I stepped over bodies on the floor and tried not to slip in all the blood. In the background, noise from someone’s radio could be heard as a disembodied voice tried in vain to make contact with someone in the station. Above me, the fluorescent lights flickered on and off as if they were being affected by some unseen energy in the room.
After seeing the first three or four bodies and their obscene level of mutilation—it was as if Jack the Ripper had gotten seriously drunk and went on a rage-fueled killing spree—I tried not to look at the others as I stepped through the congealing blood and through a door that ed me into a hallway where the front desk was located. As I opened the door, I noticed footprints leading up the hallway and out the front door. Unsurprisingly, the desk sergeant was slumped over the front desk, his throat having been cut from ear to ear, pints of his blood now running down the wood panelling and onto the floor.
Despite the gruesome scene, I reached over the desk and located my belongings, most of which were inside a clear plastic bag, including my jacket, my phone, my wallet and whatever change I had on me. As I got my jacket and the stuff from the bag, I noticed something else behind the desk.
A bloody knife. And not just any knife, but my Druidic dagger. It must’ve been inside my jacket. Sometimes I forget I even have it on me. I stared at the glistening blade in disgust as it sat in a small pool of blood. Drakkar had obviously used it in his murder spree. For a moment, I thought about just leaving the knife were it was, but then I thought that it might not be the best idea to leave behind the murder weapon, which would just be more evidence against me, as if any further evidence was even needed. So reluctantly, I picked up the knife and let some of the blood run off it. There was a bottle of water on the desk, so I oped the bottle and used the water to rinse the blood off the knife. Then I put the knife inside my jacket.
You close your eyes for a second, and this is what happens, I thought almost absurdly.
Drakkar had done this. There was no question of that in my mind. Why the bastard would go to such extreme lengths, I still didn’t know. Was he trying to set me up? If so, he was doing a good job of it. As I made my way to the front door, I could already hear sirens in the distance as other cops raced toward the station, knowing something was wrong but not knowing what exactly. Jesus, what would they think when they walked in here and saw their colleagues cut to ribbons and bleeding out everywhere? The scene would haunt them for the rest of their lives, as it would me.
I turned myself invisible as I walked out the front door to the carpark. It was quiet outside, the air blessedly crisp in the aftermath of the heavy rain, and I filled my lungs in an effort to rid my nostrils of the smell of blood. Walking across the carpark, I could hear the sirens in the distance get closer, so I quickened up my pace, realizing after a moment that I had no idea where I was going. I certainly couldn’t go home. The only sanctuary I could think of was Davey’s place. I should be safe there, I thought just as my phone rang. When I checked the caller ID, I saw it was Benedict.
"Fucking finally," I said upon answering. "Why haven’t you been answering your damn phone?"
"What’s going on, Corvin?" he asked, his concern not for me as much as for the trouble he no doubt thought I had caused. "Why do I have missed calls from Pearse Street Garda station?"
"Because I was fucking arrested, that’s why." I stopped in the middle of the carpark, suddenly wishing I had a smoke on me.
"What for?"
"The cops think I’m a serial killer. You need to handle this, Benedict. This shit is serious."
"And why would the cop think you are a serial killer?"
His casual tone annoyed me. "Because the same person who left me those severed fingers decided to also dangle severed hands from the ceiling of my living room. Then he threw a severed head at me when he appeared in the street. Someone saw and called the cops."
Benedict sighed. "Seriously, Corvin, I’m beginning to regret offering you that job."
"Fuck your job!" I sai
d. "The real fucking killer just massacred an entire fucking police station!"
He went silent for a second. "Everyone?"
"Everyone."
"Who is this person, Corvin? And don’t lie to me because I know you know."
"His name is Drakkar. I resurrected his spirit while I was down in Cork."
"You resurrected him?"
"I didn’t have a choice at the time, and I didn’t really know what I was doing either."
"No shit."
"Screw you, Benedict. You weren’t there."
"Why is this Drakkar person stalking you now then?"
"I don’t fucking know."
"Well, you’d better find out, don’t you think?"
I shook my head. "I intend to. In the meantime, you have to get the cops off my back. They’ll be out for blood once they realize their colleagues have been murdered."
"I can’t do much at the moment," he said.
"What? Why the fuck not?"
"Because I’m in Manhattan right now, on important Council business. I’ll be tied up for at least another day."
"Another day? I don’t think you quite realize—"
"I do realize," he cut in. "I don’t think you realize how important my business here is either. It’s always about you, Corvin, you know."
"You’re a twat sometimes, Benedict, you know that?"
"This is your mess, Corvin. I’ll do my best to get the cops off your back, but it will up to you sort out this Drakkar person, and I expect that you will sort it out before he kills anyone else. There’s only so much we can cover up and spin."
The sirens in the background sounded like they were only streets away. Any moment, the carpark would be flooded with cops. I just hoped they all had strong stomachs.
"Fine, Benedict," I said. "I’ll sort the bastard out myself."
"Good, I’ll—"
"Hello? Benedict? You there?"
