“Eyewitnesses say that they saw two figures with burning eyes dressed in Scout attire crawl out from the rubble,” she said.
“Huh,” John said. “I wonder who they could be.” He found himself walking closer to the rubble. A police officer stepped into his path to block him.
“It’s all right,” he heard Brenna say. He imagined her flashing her identification, which allowed her to do pretty much whatever she wanted—whatever they wanted, within reason.
“Why were they here?” he asked, eyes watering from the smoke and dust that flowed through the air, despite the firefighters’ best efforts. What would have brought two angelic beings first to a nursing home, then to a maximum security prison?
He knew the answer; he just wished that he understood the full extent of what it meant.
A key.
They were looking for a key.
• • •
Nicole watched the rescue personnel, swarming across the rubble with their dogs, searching for signs of survivors.
“I should just tell them to stop,” she said to Griffin, her eyes upon the smoldering ruins.
“Ghosts?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “A lot of them.”
Nicole watched as the spectres lingered, floating across the rubble, then back, as if unsure where to go.
“Whatever happened here was fast,” she said. “Sudden.”
“What makes you think that?” Griffin asked.
“The ghosts have no idea where to go,” she said. “They’re pretty much staying put.”
“Even after they’ve died, they’re still in prison,” Griffin said.
“Yeah,” she said, feeling bad for the confused spirits.
She watched one in particular, floating awkwardly across the uneven rubble, moving toward them.
“I don’t like this,” Nicole said, as the ghost of a prisoner came closer.
“What?” Griffin asked. “All the destruction and death?”
“No,” she answered. “These ghosts . . . people ghosts. I prefer animals. I don’t know what John’s grandmother did, but I wish she’d take it away.”
The prisoner hovered before her, watching.
Griffin was looking at her and must have seen the expression on her face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“I got the ghost of a prisoner here,” she said. “He seems to want to tell me something.”
“Might be important. Pay attention.”
“You pay attention,” she snapped. “Oh yeah, that’s right, I’m the only one who can see these Casper rejects.”
The ghost lifted his prison shirt to show her a hole in his stomach.
“He’s got a hole in his stomach,” she announced. “I have no idea what that means.”
“Ask him,” Griffin urged.
She looked at him strangely.
“He’s obviously trying to share something with you,” he explained. “Ask him what it is?”
“Dude,” Nicole said to the ghost. “I have no idea what that means.” She pointed to the hole, strands of ghostly blood leaked from the opening to mix with the thick smoke and dust.
The ghost stared at her, his gaze intense. Then he moved forward in a flash, his body suddenly less then an inch from her.
“Jesus Christ,” she said, leaning back as the ghost reached out, placing the tips of his fingers inside her head.
It was like the worst ice-cream brain freeze ever—only this one came with pictures.
“Oh shit,” she said, as the images flooded into her brain. She saw the man’s entire life, how he never really had a chance, how his life had gone bad. Theft, arson, and even murder were just how it was, and how he’d ended up inside this prison.
And then she saw how he had died, how something had been taken from inside him by a skinless man.
Gross.
A skinless man who had a friend.
Her blood ran cold as she caught a glimpse of the skinless man’s accomplice. There was no mistaking who it was. She’d remember that face forever.
Fritz. The guy who murdered her cat and done so much more.
And there was some sort of a battle, the skinless guy versus the Scouts.
Them again.
That’s what brought the prison down.
The ghost removed its fingers from her skull, and she stumbled backward.
“What just happened?” Griffin asked.
“Got a glimpse of the ghost’s life and what happened in there.”
“And?”
“There’s some pretty creepy dudes drifting around, and having knock-down, drag-outs with the Scouts. They’re responsible for this.”
“The Scouts did this?”
“And some skinless guy,” she said. “And Fritz.”
“Fritz?” Griffin asked. “Isn’t that the guy you and John . . .”
“Exactly,” she said. “He’s somehow part of all this stuff.”
“We should probably tell John before . . .”
Nicole stopped listening when she noticed the familiar old woman standing there, the ghosts of all the dead prisoners drawn to her like moths to light.
“Shit,” Nicole muttered. “What the hell does she want now?”
“Who?” Griffin wanted to know.
“Nana,” she answered.
“John’s grandmother?”
“Yeah,” she said with a nod.
Nana and the crowd of dead moved toward Nicole, who had to resist the urge to run like hell.
“There’s someone you all need to speak with,” Nana said, spectral cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth.
“Got a name?” Nicole asked.
Nana held up her hand as if to show her.
“May I?” the ghostly old woman asked.
“Sure,” Nicole grumbled. She leaned forward as Nana plunged her fingers into Nicole’s skull.
“Why the hell not,” she said with a grimace. “Everybody else does.”
• • •
John and Brenna had just completed questioning another witness who saw a man and boy dressed like Scouts crawl from the wreckage of the prison.
That there was something wrong with their eyes.
There was no doubt that the divine beings had been there and likely had somehow been responsible.
“What now?” Brenna asked.
John really didn’t know. “Once they start removing bodies from the rubble, maybe we take a look to see if . . .”
“Hey, John!”
They looked to see Griffin and Nicole coming toward them at a quickened pace. Maybe they’d found out something useful.
“Got anything?” John asked them.
“I’ll give you the abridged version,” Nicole said. “This here mess was caused by our Boy Scout friends, a skinless man, and, get this . . . Fritz,” she told him.
“Fritz,” John said. “Figured he’d be part of the equation eventually. Go on.”
“And I just talked to your Nana, and she’s given us a lead to somebody who she thinks might be able to help us.”
“Is this lead living or dead?” John asked.
“What do you think?” Nicole asked sarcastically.
“I’m guessing dead,” John told her.
“Then you’d be right,” Nicole answered. “But she said we might want to get there fast, one never knows when a restless spirit might suddenly move on.”
“And where are we to find this informant ghost?” John asked, moving with the others to where they’d left their car.
“A funeral home not too far from here,” Nicole answered. “And Nana said to be sure to ask him about the map.”
“The map?” John asked.
“That’s what she said,” Nicole answered, climbing int
o the backseat of their ride.
A key, and now a map, John thought.
It was turning into quite the scavenger hunt.
19
Fritz sat slumped on the metal bench in front of the You Pump It rest stop, still feeling the pain of his injuries as they continued to heal, sapping away what strength remained.
He was staring toward the end of the parking lot, at the huge neon sign above the one that announced that they had gas and clean restrooms.
The neon sign said Eat.
And that’s exactly what he and the Cardinal had to do.
The place had been devoid of life, other than a single cashier when they’d first pulled in, but the dark gods must have been looking down on them because a bus trip to one of the nearby casinos had pulled in not too long after they had.
After the prison encounter, the Cardinal needed to feed, making short work of the cashier inside the convenience store before making its way to the bus.
Fritz chuckled; the poor bastards on board hadn’t even been given the chance to take a leak before the demon lord was on board, helping itself to their life forces.
He looked toward the bus again, it had been rocking, the sounds of muffled screams drifting out from inside.
But it was quiet now.
Fritz realized that he’d never been this close to death before, it was as if every cell of his being was dying, crying out in agony. His body was feeding upon itself in order to continue to live.
What the Cardinal had given him back at the prison allowed him to live, but it wasn’t enough. If he didn’t have something more to eat soon, he’d be little more than a withered husk sitting upon this bench.
The bus rocked slightly, and he watched the door for signs of movement.
The Cardinal emerged, descending the steps, dragging something that kicked and squirmed behind it.
The man was large, his body radiating life. Fritz could feel the pulse of the man’s life force from where he sat.
“This one was hiding in the bathroom,” the Cardinal said, lifting the man into the air with a show of preternatural strength. “I was almost tempted to eat him myself, but then I remembered.”
Fritz struggled to get the words out.
“Thank . . . you,” he said, no louder than a whisper.
The man was a gibbering mess, his eyes bulging, drool trickling from the corners of his mouth. Fritz wondered what the Cardinal had done to him—shown him—inside the bus before bringing him outside.
The Cardinal dropped the man on the ground, in front of Fritz.
“Go ahead,” the Cardinal commanded. “Feed.”
The man squirmed upon the ground, attempting to crawl away. With great effort, Fritz wriggled from the bench, his withered body dropping to the ground, where he reached out, grabbing hold of the fat man’s ankle.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
The man began to scream, and Fritz was reminded of the slaughterhouse he’d worked in as a young man, the screams of animals when they knew their lives were about to end.
The man stopped squirming as Fritz drained the life from his body. He did not want to take the energies too quickly. He wanted to feed slowly, to get as much from the body as he could before it expired.
“That’s it,” the Cardinal said. “Make yourself strong again. You’ll need that strength on the last leg of our journey.”
They were close, Fritz thought. Only one more piece of the key was needed before it would be complete. And then . . .
The Vessel would be opened.
He had no idea what that even meant but guessed that it was something amazing, and he hoped that he would reap the benefits of his loyalty to the Cardinal, and the mission.
The fat man had died, the very last bit of energy produced by the beginning of decay taken into Fritz’s body like an after-dinner mint.
He was no longer feeling any pain, his body satisfied with what it had consumed in order to completely heal himself. Fritz rose from the ground and stretched, his revitalized muscles engorged with life.
“That’s better,” he said, the spectre of death now driven more comfortably away than before.
“Good,” the Cardinal said, pulling the cloak of flesh about itself tighter, strange, glowing patterns again appearing across the patchwork surface. “Hell has plans for us,” it announced, turning and walking toward their car.
“Hell has plans for us both.”
• • •
Elijah wasn’t sure how the creature of Heaven would react to the murder of one of his own.
He stood perfectly still, waiting for what he believed to be a better opportunity.
The Messenger sat, eyes firmly closed, lost somewhere deep in meditation. Elijah did not want to interrupt him.
“I sense that you have something to say,” the angel said suddenly, still appearing to be deep in thought.
“I didn’t wish to interrupt,” Elijah said.
“There’s no helping that,” the Messenger said. “I can sense your presence, as well as the presence of all who serve you as they scurry about this structure.” The Messenger paused. “The very fact that you’re living is an interruption to one such as me.”
Elijah was used to the divine being’s sometimes harsh comments and did not bother to address them. He could only imagine how inferior he appeared to one who soared above the spires of Heaven.
“There’s been a bit of a tragedy,” Elijah informed the holy being.
“Has there?” the Messenger asked. He’d been sitting in lotus position and now unfurled himself, showing off the extreme length of his arms and legs as he rose to his feet. “Tell me about said tragedy,” the angel told him.
“Three of your kind . . .”
“My—kind?”
Elijah nodded. “Three creatures of the divine have found their way to Earth,” he informed the Messenger. “There was a confrontation with some of my agents and one of these creatures was captured.”
“Do tell,” the Messenger said, dark eyes wide with interest.
“While questioning said divine being, where we learned of their pursuit of a key . . .”
“The key,” the Messenger repeated, his pale, thin body going rigid.
“After acquiring this information, the being was slain.”
The Messenger wore an expression of absolute shock.
“One of my agents,” Elijah went on. “A woman possessed by a multitude of infernal beings, temporarily lost control and attacked said being and killed him.”
The angel turned within its circle, showing off his scarred back where his wings had once grown.
“I am truly sorry for this grave error on the part of me and my organization and extend my deepest sympathies to . . .”
“They were likely the enemy,” the Messenger interrupted.
Elijah paused. “Excuse me?”
The Messenger turned to face him. “The divine creatures,” he informed. “They were likely traitors . . . those who had fallen from the grace of the Lord of Lords . . . attempting the unthinkable while aiding the disciples of the infernal here on Earth. Your agent likely did us all a favor.”
The Messenger paused.
“But you said that there were three.”
“Yes,” Elijah said. “Two escaped. I have agents currently working on locating and . . .
“Time is of the essence,” the Messenger said. “We must be the first to find the key and obtain the Vessel before these agents of the infernal can . . .”
It was the Messenger’s turn to be interrupted, the phone inside Elijah’s suit coat vibrating loudly, the hum heard through the fabric of his inside pocket.
He had told the people reporting to interrupt only in the case of an emergency.
“Excuse me,” he said, taking the phone from inside his coat.
“Of course.” The Messenger obliged with a wave of a spidery hand.
Elijah turned his back on the angel to speak.
“Yes,” he said, listening to the voice from the other end. “Thank you,” he replied. “I’ll be right up.”
Elijah ended the call, sliding the phone back into his inside coat pocket. He turned to see that the Messenger was waiting for him.
“I have to go. It’s Emma,” he said, making his way toward the exit. “I believe we might have had a breakthrough.”
The Messenger slowly nodded, a smile creeping across his pale features so very wide that it looked as though it might split his face.
“Very good,” the Messenger said. “The timing couldn’t be more fortuitous.”
• • •
Theodora was enraged, and she showed it with each new example of violence she heaped upon the demons inside of her.
They didn’t know what was hitting them.
Deep within her psyche, she remained the boss, and in her current mental state, there wasn’t any chance that they would be wresting away control.
They attempted to change the landscape, her surroundings shifting to a burning region of Hell, to a busy, New York street. No matter what they attempted to construct to hide from her wrath, she knew where to find them.
And did.
She wished that she could kill them, each and every one, but that just wasn’t how it worked.
But she could cause them pain, and she had every intention of doing so.
The light from her body was like a scythe, cutting them down with blades of light, reducing their bodies to mere pieces as they shrieked and wailed, attempting to escape her wrath.
“How dare you think you could control me,” she screamed, her voice booming within her psyche like the roar of creation. Most of the demons were gibbering idiots, forces of malicious evil happy just to bring pain and misery, but some were so much smarter than that, and Theo was certain they were responsible for what she had done.
Theo remembered the savagery of the act, the divine being of Heaven cut down by her hands manipulated into demonic claws.
A mountainous landscape shifted and changed as she cut down the latest batch of filth that tried to escape her anger. She watched with interest as the rock changed to wood, the sands beneath her feet to city streets.
Dark Exodus Page 27
