Demon 4- God Squad 0

by David Dwan

  The whole arena gasped in shock as the word tore through them. Excitement replaced by total terror. Several people got to their feet, ready to flee, at the first sign of anything unholy bursting out of the house.

  Ross bit back a cry of his own. Fear twisted his guts at the word which seemed to come from a deep dark place of utter loathing. He had gambled on the German’s name putting fear and doubt into the monster and Davis alike. He didn’t know how the producer had reacted to the name. But he was now in no doubt what the creature felt. He had hoped for fear but had gotten hate instead, a dangerous miscalculation?

  Dexter was babbling something in slack jawed shock at his side, but the priest tuned him out. Tuned everything out but the task at hand. The gargantuan effort of just putting one foot in front of the other as he turned and walked stiffly off the low stage and over to the porch. He had to fight every fibre of his being which was screaming. Run!!

  But somehow he managed to urge himself on. Up onto the porch and step by laboured step over to the front door.

  He held out a shaking hand towards the handle but the door opened by itself, screaming on seemingly ancient hinges and he was met with a blast of cold rancid air.

  And so with the world watching, Father Shane Ross walked into the darkness of the house and disappeared from sight as the door shut behind him.

  THIRTY-THREE

  The contrast from the floodlit exterior to the sudden gloom of the house robbed Ross of his sight for a moment. And with the loss of his vision, panic threatened to overwhelm him. The creature could have been a hair’s breadth away from his face and he wouldn’t have known it.

  Ross screwed his useless eyes shut and then slowly opened them and was rewarded as the gloom began to give way and his eyes gradually became accustomed to the meagre light in here.

  He was in a deceptively long entrance corridor which stretched off to a half open doorway at the far end. To his right was a set of rickety off kilter stairs leading up into total darkness. Not a place he had any desire to go anytime soon.

  The walls and floor around him had the look of the aftermath of a savage fire. They were blackened and charred, but as his sight improved he could see beyond the effect, as he looked closer to the wall next to him he could make out brush marks in the dark patches and was once more reminded of the fakery of the show. This was something he would have to cling onto if he wasn’t to let the situation overwhelm his senses all together.

  This was a game show after all, yes one with an all too real antagonist, but a gameshow nevertheless. As if to remind him of that fact, a soft whirring sound drew his attention up to something metallic above the door at the far end of the corridor. A camera, no doubt positioning itself for a better shot was located in the top corner to the right of the door and the priest had to fight the urge to give it the finger.

  Now was not the time to play to the crowd. He had a very real job to do here, and if he was honest, short of physical violence it was a job he had yet to figure out how to complete.

  Ross studied the hallway in front of him and the half open door at the far end. Was Minx in there? Or perhaps upstairs, hiding in the deep shadows at the top of the steps? He cocked an ear but couldn’t hear anything save his own breath and the whirring of cameras around him. He offered up a curse as indecision rooted his feet to the spot.

  “Rossssssss...” The word was drawn out for a full five seconds sounding more like the hiss of some reptile than his name. The location of its speaker was impossible to pin point as it seemed to bounce off the walls around him.

  He let out an involuntary gasp, something as familiar as his own name had never sounded so foreign or so threatening to him.

  “Fucker’s not so cocky now, is he?” The director Miller smirked as he looked at the shot on his monitor. The priest standing stiffly by the front door, scared shitless. It was gold.

  “Just wait until Minx gets in his head,” someone else put in, which won a chorus of affirmatives from around the room.

  Davis so wanted to believe that, but all he could think about was the German and what part he might yet play in all this.

  After the priest had entered the house Davis had insisted Miller show him, off air, all the camera angles he had of the watching crowd. He scanned them intently, looking for that one familiar face amongst hundreds of strangers. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or more worried at not being able to locate Hauser amongst the masses.

  “Whoa, hang on,” Miller said and the live shot cut to a close up of Ross as a flash of fear crossed the priest’s ashen face.

  Davis tore his attention away from the crowd and back to the priest. Yes something was going on down there. “What’s the little shit up to?” He said.

  The chief sound engineer, whose name he didn’t know suddenly leant forwards and turned up the volume on his headphones. “What is that?”

  Ross’ breath caught in his throat as the sound of what appeared to be a dozen or so glasses ‘clinking’ together softly faded up around him. He scanned the hallway’s floor, half expecting to see it filled with rolling bottles of some kind, but there was nothing but set dressed boards.

  “Once and addict...” The words from the demon once again came out of nowhere, yet everywhere. Its voice, which was a sickening mixture of bass, baritone and falsetto all fighting for supremacy, set Ross’ teeth on edge and he felt his stomach flip in terror at the alien sound.

  ‘Once and addict?’ What did that mean? Then he remembered the fake dossier they had slipped the show. Fake, yet with a central thread of truth to it. Ross’ addiction in his teens. He shouldn’t have been surprised the creature would have been told about that dark passage in his past. After all it was perfect ammunition.

  “Stupid,” he whispered to himself, he hadn’t expected that, despite the past shows. Each priest he now remembered had been taunted by their less than laudable pasts. Moments in their lives when they had fallen short. Partially healed wounds the demon had delighted in reopening.

  “Ancient history,” Ross said out loud, and again was greeted by the clinking sound. Not bottles he now realised, but something else. And yes he had to admit, something vaguely familiar. It arose long hidden memories in him, ones he had thought lost forever, banished by his faith and sobriety. Dark horrible memories of a time in his life where he had been at his lowest ebb. At his most vulnerable.

  It wasn’t bottles clinking together. It was glass syringes.

  “Christ,” he gasped. Why hadn’t he prepared for this? Ross closed his eyes and tried to block the memories from his mind. “Christ, help me,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Was that a prayer or a curse, Father?” The creature taunted.

  God that voice!

  “Taking your Lord’s name in vain so soon?”

  “I know what you are,” Ross blurted out. “Hauser told me everything about you.”

  “I would have thought that cocksucker was long dead,” Minx said. “A slow painful death I was hoping for.”

  Ross bit back a reply and instead concentrated on keeping his composure. The last thing he needed just now was that thing’s voice rattling around his head before he could get it together enough to continue.

  “Still, he’s not here now, is he?”

  “Maybe,” Ross lied. “Maybe not.”

  The clinking syringes seemed to fade back up after it had spoken, louder than ever and close by. Ross told himself over and over to ignore them. They’re nothing but an illusion he thought desperately. All an illusion, that thing can’t hurt you, can’t physically hurt you...

  A thud as something hit the floor just in front of him. Ross opened his eyes a fraction. No it wasn’t the creature, he looked down as something glinted by his foot.

  “God,” he uttered. It was a glass syringe embedded in the floorboard by its needle. A murky brown liquid swirled around inside it.

  “Bet that looks pretty good around about now, eh Father? Go on, take a hit for old time’s sake. You look like you n
eed it.”

  Ross shook his head. But was greeted by even more clinking, this time above his head.

  Offering up a silent prayer, Ross looked up to the high ceiling. “Dear, God.”

  From directly above his head and stretching all the way down to the door at the far end. The ceiling was covered by dozens and dozens of half-filled syringes hanging precariously by their needles.

  “You got two ways you can go, Father,” the demon taunted. “Back the way you came, or straight ahead.”

  A light breeze caressed his sweat soaked back and he could hear the murmurings of the crowd outside. He didn’t need to turn around to know the front door had opened offering him a tantalizing escape route.

  “Well?” The creature asked from the shadows.

  A stronger breeze hit his back and sent a ripple through the syringes on the ceiling. One, then a second were detached by the movement sending them falling to the floor where, like the first they stuck into the wooden boards.

  They sounded all too real to Ross, but he had to be sure. So he reached out a foot and kicked at the closest syringe, silently praying his shoe would pass right through it. But instead he felt the glass connect with his toe and shatter, spilling steaming liquid onto the leather.

  “How?” He uttered, but the creature only offered up a half-hearted chuckle in response. Again the light breeze hit his back causing the syringes over head to brush against one another again. Three fell this time with an ominous ‘thunk’ as they stuck into the floor.

  “Illusion is all a matter of perspective, priest,” Minx finally offered. “It’s as real as I want it to be in here. Out there? That’s your world with its physics and its rules. But once you crossed over that threshold. You are in my world. And my world is a lot less...” It paused. “A lot less... Unyielding to ones will and whim, if you like.”

  A step or two back and Ross would be in the comforting arms of reality. Another step forwards and he was into the realm of the unknown. He glanced down at the broken syringe at his feet and the stain on his shoe. Impossible yet seemingly real.

  “Did Hauser prepare you for that?” Minx asked.

  No was the simple reply.

  “So?” Minx asked and Ross could hear the door at his back open a little further. This was met by the distant calls from some of the crowd.

  The door at the far end of the hallway also opened a little further to reveal part of the living room inside, but still no glimpse of the creature, if indeed he was skulking around in there.

  Ross summand up all the courage he could muster. He knew he couldn’t fail so soon. He imagined Father Mendez was watching this back in the Vatican at this very moment. Perhaps even Hauser and the villagers were huddled around a lap top in Mexico. Not that the German could do much good all the way over there.

  “Your whole existence is wrong,” Ross told the open door ahead.

  “Oh, I quite agree,” the demon answered. “But the question is. What are you going to do about it?”

  What indeed? Ross thought and with that took two steps forwards. He cried out as the front door slammed loudly behind him, the motion sending a shock wave through the impossible array of syringes overhead. He winced as several fell around him. He couldn’t be sure but he thought he felt one brush against his right shoulder on its way down. Either way it spun off awkwardly just at the edge of his peripheral vision and smashed on the floor to his side.

  Two more stuck into the floor boards by his feet as he took another couple of steps forwards. He tried to push them from his mind and just concentrated on walking as steadily and as purposefully as he could towards the living room. Although each step brought with it the anticipation of a needle in the flesh.

  He continued on down the hallway only allowing himself the briefest of glimpses up the stairs as he past them. The steps disappeared into blackness before they reached the top. Was that faded bloody foot prints he could see on each step?

  He stopped suddenly as the glint of light on glass flashed a foot from his face as another syringe fell. This time it stopped mid-air as if caught by an unseen hand. Ross gasped and watching in horror as the syringe slowly rotated until its needle was pointing directly at his right eye.

  A bead of filthy looking liquid bubbled from the needle like venom from a snake’s fang. The smell of freshly cooked heroin stung his nostrils bringing with it a tidal wave of unwanted memories that threatened to knock him on his backside.

  He swallowed back a scream and did his best to stare down the syringe.

  “No,” he spat through gritted teeth. “No.”

  As if in response, the syringe lunged forwards a little until it was too close for his eye to focus on in the gloom,

  but he fought the urge to flinch. He looked passed it to the door which was now only some ten feet away.

  ‘No?’ A voice said in his head.

  “No,” he answered it firmly.

  The syringe dropped and he heard it smash.

  “Well let’s get on with it then Father. They want a show, let’s give them a show.” The demon said.

  The door to the living room opened fully now to reveal a dark twisted shape in its far corner.

  “Yes let’s,” Ross agreed and strode into the room.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “Christ,” Tiff said as the living room door closed behind the priest. “That was a little dark, even for this show!”

  “Stay on the door,” Miller said. “This is gonna be the best show ever. That priest’s a fucking rock star.”

  “Hmm,” Davis uttered. He turned to Nico Gorodetsky, who was now sitting off to one side watching proceedings with this usual detached professionalism.

  “Your guy searched him, when he picked him up. He didn’t have anything, unusual on him, right?”

  All the Russian did in way of response was look at him and raise an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, course,” Davis answered for him. Stupid question.

  The producer silently chided himself. Mention of the German’s name had him paranoid.

  As if anticipating his mood, Tiff handed him her IPad. “Chief, take a look at the numbers for tonight.”

  Davis took the IPad and looked over the figures. “Jesus, these right?”

  “Yep,” Tiff replied with no little pride. “Those are live numbers. Word of mouth is huge on this thing. We’ve gained five thousand new subscribers since the priest went inside. And that’s just from the last update of our Facebook page.”

  As usual, the Euro sign flashed cartoon like before his eyes. That never ceased to lift his mood.

  “I’m gonna stick with the priest,” Miller said softly as he guided one of the remote cameras. “Don’t want to linger too long on Minx. Besides, I’ve just eaten and the ugly fuck always makes me sick.”

  Davis handed the IPad back to Tiff and looked once more at the live feed. One of the remote cameras slowly zoomed into a close up of Ross as he glanced furtively around the room. The chill in his stomach warmed a little seeing the fear in his eyes. That was not a man with some secret weapon tucked away somewhere, he told himself. That was a man in fear for his life, and that was ratings gold. He just hoped Minx wouldn’t tire of torturing him too soon.

  Back in the dank smelling room, Ross glanced around. He could see three cameras in here, all whirring, panning and tilting for the best shot of proceedings.

  “Why don’t you smash those?” He asked still unable to look at the thing in the corner full on. It was bad enough skulking around his peripheral vision.

  “Charms,” the creature replied. “Like those on the door and windows. I did try once, but the pain was terrible.” Minx paused for a moment and Ross could feel the demons eyes on him. “You could though?” It finally said with an expectant edge to its awful voice.

  From where he was standing Minx was little more than a shadow in the large room to the priest. Off in the corner, crouched with an old arm chair between them. But still Ross couldn’t bring himself to actually look over at the demon,
not yet at least. He just made sure he had it in sight, just in case it decided to leap at him.

  “I saw a creature, one like you. It was dead though,” Ross said whilst examining a dark stain in the floor by his feet.

  “Hauser.” Minx said plainly.

  “He’s quite something,”

  “He sent you here, didn’t he? Sent you to finish me off?” Minx sounded almost excited now at the prospect of its imminent demise. Perhaps even hopeful.

  It was a surprise and a notion Ross didn’t want to discourage so soon. “He’s a man of great power, great knowledge of your kind.”

  “Yes, yes he is that, isn’t he? That and so much more?” Yes there was definitely something akin to hope in the creature’s awful voice. Strange that.

  Minx moved close to the chair now and Ross caught a glimpse of its bony fingers as they grasped the top of the cushioned head rest.

  “Come on,” the demon said. “You have been bluffing, waiting for the right moment. You can tell me, Hauser gave you means to end me. To end this whole debacle.”

  “Maybe,” Ross answered cautiously.

  “That must be why you are here. I’m sure your Vatican loathes this show. They sent you here to bring the whole sorry mess down. How you say? ‘Shut this shit down?’”

  “Is that what you want?” Ross asked guardedly.

  That was when Minx’s bald head appeared above the back of the chair. Although it was almost completely in silhouette, its bright cat-like eyes shone in the gloom.

  “More than anything,” Minx replied.

  The remark caught Ross off guard. Was this all part of its act? To play the victim in an effort to lure him into a false sense of security before it began messing with his mind again?

  He inadvertently glanced up to the room’s high ceiling but there were no dangling syringes overhead.

  “Wouldn’t that mean Davis gets away?”

  “Well,” Minx relented after a little thought. “Perhaps not more than anything.”

  Ross could tell by the demon’s eyes that it was smiling at this and he was damned glad he couldn’t see its twisted grin which was still obscured by the chair.