Patrick would pass up on the fedora tonight. He loved that fedora and did not want to lose it or mess it up in a fight. He was certain there was going to be a fight of some kind tonight, based on recent intel about the Sinisters and their ‘special weapon’. He scooped up his keys from the dresser in one hand and, in the same fluid motion, he swung his black leather jacket that was placed on the only chair in the room over his shoulders. He shrugged his jacket on as he walked out of the door, down the stairs and towards his car. As he drove off into the night, Patrick was oblivious to the fact that he had just walked past a room that harbored a human-Sinister hybrid and deadly enemy by the name of Walter Peabody.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
STANDOFF!
WALTER STARED BLANKLY out his window. There was still plenty of time. He thought about commingling with the common folk of the town but decided it was best to keep the lowest profile possible, especially if things got nasty out there. He twirled the whiskey in his glass. He had made sure he brought some with him. He was not certain if this pathetic dump of a town could carry some good stuff. Ever since the queen had given him a new life and a new purpose, his world had changed. He was stronger, more confident and most importantly his bank account was fatter than he could ever have imagined. The women came more easily, the life was good, and all he had to do was be the queen’s bitch. A part of his humanity still rebelled every now and then. But that was what the liquor and the women were for. No drugs! None needed! Life was a high by itself. He took another sip and continued staring out into the night.
A figure walked past his window; an average-looking guy whose persona was anything but average. Nothing screams ‘stranger’ more than a strong, black guy in a small town dominated by white folks, spotting very expensive clothing, an even more expensive watch, and driving a rental with out-of-state license plates. This certainly was the Patrick the queen had warned him about, and either this Patrick was super careless by being flashier than a neon sign in Vegas, or he was just sending a message to Walter, letting Walter know that he was in town.
Walter decided to entertain the second possibility. It sounded more exciting than the first. Challenge accepted, Patrick! Challenge accepted! Walter said to himself. The queen had told Walter that he, Walter, was special and that’s why the organization could not detect his presence. And Patrick had just casually walked in front of him without showing even the faintest trace of a reaction. Thanks for the confirmation, Patrick! Thanks for the confirmation! This was going to be a very easy assignment, which was disappointing.
Walter sipped some more on the liquid heaven. It felt like some life-giving water as it coursed down his gullet and into his stomach. He savored every sensation. He remembered the night of his transformation; the night he experienced the ultimate pleasure and ultimate death. In his ultimate pleasure was his ultimate death and out of his ultimate death, he had been reborn. He remembered staring into the eyes of the queen as they burned with a bright orange hue. He felt his very soul scorched to submission as the flames of the Sinister life flooded his being from the queen’s mouth into his. It was truly a kiss of death and of life at the same time. He remembered his old self plunging into a dark nothingness at one moment and a new self waking up to a burst of orange brightness. He died a human and was reborn a Sinister.
Walter wanted to call Lithilia ‘mother,’ but she gave him a stern, one-time warning never to desecrate her status like that again. Only one could call her ‘mother.’ Every other Sinister was to address Lithilia as ‘queen.’ Walter had undergone a special transformation later because of his special mission. Apparently, the organization had succeeded in creating a special kind of sensor that could pick up soul signatures of Sinisters. The queen could scorch his soul, but she could not render him soulless. So instead, she bruised his soul repeatedly to the point of near-soullessness.
It was a painful and long procedure that lasted close to a year, one which Walter underwent with pride and loyalty to the Sinister cause. Finally, when his soul signature had been reduced to sub-detection levels, the queen had tasked him with a mission in the State of Oklahoma, in the United States of America; to kill the fallen angel. He had been called, and he had been chosen. This was his moment to shine, and most hopefully, rise to a very high rank amongst his peers. He emptied his chalice and poured himself some more divine nectar. Patrick or not, Walter would not fail his queen.
***
Patrick sat at the bar and sipped on a beer. Sara and her staff were busy tending to the tipsy, the drunk and the horny as usual. Two other agents were at the bar, commingling with the townsfolk. If Donald showed up, they would tail him all the way home, and Patrick would provide any form of backup if needed. He sipped some more and flirted with a few of the ladies who were too broke to afford a drink and who were too drawn to his expensive-looking watch to pay attention to anything else. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sara eyeing him with intense amusement and no jealousy. She was turning out to be just the kind of girl he would have liked to have as a girlfriend, whether or not she was too old for him. She was certainly too old for anyone at this point anyway. Goddamned! Patrick realized that he had set a personal record! He just tapped a chick that was twenty-six millennia old and she was the best he ever had! Wow!
The alarm Patrick had set in his phone went off. 11:50 pm.
“‘Scuse me, ladies,” Patrick said and reached for his phone in his pocket.
The two girls, who claimed to be roommates giggled away and downed their drinks. They were starting to be loud, thanks to the alcohol.
“What’s up boss…? Nah, just having a little bit of fun with two lovely ladies over here…” he spoke on the phone.
“Hi, boss!” screamed one of the girls into the mouthpiece and Patrick pulled away from them smiling as they giggled away.
“Yeah… Okay… Maybe in two days… What was that? Okay, that sounds great… Later then, and good night,” he said.
Patrick ended the fake call and returned to his seat.
The first agent understood the message and left to use the restroom. He never re-emerged from it. The second agent finished his drink and asked his companion to walk with him to his car. She was more than willing to oblige. He said he would drop her off, stop by his motel room to get something and then return to her since she had refused to go with him back to the motel. She agreed. He dropped her off and picked up his partner a few minutes later down the road. They killed the engine about half a mile away from Mr. Weinberg’s house and kept watch with their night-vision binoculars. Patrick remained in his seat for a few more minutes before signaling to Sara. She took the $50 bill he slid across the bar, which was far more than what he owed. He did not need to tell her anything. She could also read auras. She tried her best to hide her worry.
“Donald will be fine,” Patrick spoke telepathically to her. “I’ll keep him safe, don’t worry.”
“I know,” Sara replied. “I’m afraid of what you may have to do to ensure he’s safe.”
“That’s very sweet, Sara,” Patrick said as he slid into his rental. “See you later!”
Patrick revved the engine and took the two giggling girls to his motel room. As far as the bar folks were concerned, Patrick had come to the local bar, got some drinks and scored two chicks for the night. Lucky son-of-a-gun. Easy cover for Patrick. As the three engaged in foreplay, Patrick applied sudden pressure on a specific nerve on the back of their necks. Both girls instantly passed out in his arms. He tucked them in bed, walked out of the room, got into the car and hit the road. Patrick was eight miles away from Mr. Weinberg’s house. Four miles later, he saw the figure of a pretty lady standing in the middle of the road. She wore a pair of black, tight-fitting pants, a black blouse, and a black leather jacket. She also had on a pair of black boots, and her thick black hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She was as beautiful as she was evil and even before Patrick saw the orange glow in her eyes, he could tell who she was, based on prior briefings about her.
Patrick gunned the engine, but Lithilia did not move. He drove the car right through her as if she were made of air. He hit the brakes and parked the car very quickly on the side of the road. He zipped out of the car and charged towards her. She charged at him as well. He swung at her. She ducked and threw an uppercut at his slower plexus. He angled his hips slightly to the right, just enough for her punch to brush his jacket and miss its mark. He followed his swing with a left knee towards her kidney, but she sank her hips lower and connected her elbow into his left, floating ribs.
Lithilia added a knuckle punch straight into the bridge of his nose and completed her turn with a straight sucker-punch into his left jaw. Patrick crashed into the ground a few feet away but absorbed his fall with a backward roll. He saw her zip towards him, and he shot his left foot upwards as he did a second backward roll. It connected with her chin and sent her flying a few feet into the air. She crashed into the ground and immediately crouched, waiting for another attack.
“Pleased to finally meet your acquaintance, Lilith!” Patrick spat.
“Can’t say the same for you, Patrick,” Lithilia replied, infuriated by the fact that Patrick had called her ‘Lilith.’
Lithilia rolled forward and zipped towards him. Patrick took a side-step and drove his right knee into her temple. Her head snapped sideways, breaking her neck but she was fully healed by the time she hit the ground. As she rolled back to a fighting stance, Patrick was upon her, grabbing her by the hair and slamming her body into the ground. And then, he heard his phone vibrate, and his gut instinct told him something was very wrong. He decided to let Lilith be.
But as he was about to zip away, he saw a very bright, violet light flash past him. He turned around to see Sara standing a few feet from him as a human embodiment of bright, violet flames. Sara looked as magnificent as she was awe-inspiring. Her left hand was stretched outwards. Patrick followed the direction of Sara’s hand. He saw Lithilia was struggling in a sphere of violet light and in her hand, was a long dagger. He understood that in his moment of distraction, Lilith had sparked the ethers into a blade and was about to use it on him; but Sara had saved his life.
“I owe you, Sara,” said Patrick telepathically to Sara.
“Thank me later, my friend,” she replied in like manner. “Go check on your friends now. I’ll deal with this creature myself.”
“No, you will not!” Lilith screamed and engulfed herself in an orange ball of light, which disappeared as fast as it had appeared.
Sara and Patrick stared at each other for a brief moment.
“Hurry now!” Sara said him telepathically. “Your friends need you!”
Patrick teleported to Newman’s house.
Walter blended with the darkness. He had already eliminated two O.R. agents half a mile south of Newman’s house. He half-jogged towards the house. He scanned the area some more and noticed two other agents on the west corner of the house. Each faced a different direction. He thought it was such a poor formation, but it only made his job a lot easier as he moved in closer towards them. He was disappointed. He had expected a real fight, a real challenge! But all he had gotten so far was child’s play.
Walter Peabody shook his head in disappointment and inched closer towards his targets. One of the agents raised a walkie-talkie to his mouth and said something. The agent waited for a second and then raised the device to his mouth again. Then Walter saw the agent raise it one more time to his mouth and seemed to talk some more into the device before he returned it to his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. And Walter realized his mistake.
According to what another mole had told them, the O.R. had set up a monitoring system around Mr. Weinberg’s house to detect any ‘outer-worldly’ presence. Walter could hide behind the camouflage of his vestigial humanity. If he attempted to teleport or zip, he would shift to his more Sinister form, and that would trigger an alarm. He could not allow that to happen. He could not even activate any portals. Basically, anything that changed the energy field anywhere near any of the detectors would set off an alarm. That’s why the Sinisters could easily be picked off when they created portals and emerged from these portals.
The agents were good, but their mistake had been to rely more on the monitoring systems instead of relying on their training. Hence, Walter was having a much easier time taking out the agents one-by-one as he made his way silently towards Newman’s residence. But in taking his time, he too had become sloppy. He had taken too much time, and his stupid pride was about to cost him the element of surprise, which was his biggest advantage yet. Walter would have to speed things up. There might still be a way to salvage the situation!
The agent with the cell phone had raised an alert when two of his comrades had not responded. The agent then tried to call Patrick, but even Patrick did not respond. Walter was fast! Within half a minute, four more agents had been decapitated, and a fifth had almost lost an arm. He was extremely lucky because Walter had tripped on a rock as he aimed for the agent’s neck. But as fast as Walter hit the ground, he was back on his feet and charged at the agent and his comrade. The agents fired shots in rapid successions from their silenced handguns, but those neither stopped nor slowed Walter. The wounded agent pulled his knife and stood his ground, ignoring his friend’s demands for him to move to safety. They were agents of the organization, and they were trained never to give up, to never surrender. Walter admired their courage and even pitied them as he prepared to put them out of their misery.
“Hey!” a voice called from behind him.
Walter stopped and turned to see a figure standing in the full glow of the moonlight.
“Yeah, freak show!” Patrick said. “I’m talking to you!”
“Ah, you must be the famous Patrick,” Walter mocked. “Finally, maybe I could have some real competition. A real fight…”
“Get him out of here!” Patrick ordered.
The unharmed agent obliged and took his wounded comrade away.
“The queen told me about you,” Walter sneered as he circled Patrick.
“You mean the bitch I just iced down the street?” Patrick asked. “Lilith, right? That was your queen? Oops! Sorry, but not sorry!”
“Ha! You wish you did! You won’t even last a second in her presence, let alone her might!” Walter scoffed.
“Was that how long you lasted when she was riding that tiny English dick of yours?” Patrick taunted in a perfectly mastered British accent. “After all, isn’t that all she’s good for? Sucking and riding dicks?”
“If only you knew, Patrick,” Walter replied, still circling Patrick who did not move from his position. “And to think of such blasphemy, claiming you ‘iced’ her!”
“Think what you want, but what happened, happened!” Patrick rebutted.
“I’d love to keep chatting with you,” Walter lied. “But I have a fallen angel to kill!”
Walter zipped towards Newman’s house, tossing discretion to the wind. But Patrick teleported and appeared in front of him. He delivered a downward punch with his right fist into Walter’s left jaw as he appeared. Walter crashed face-first into the ground, and Patrick added a good kick into his floating ribs for good measure. Walter slid about ten feet away from the door, crouched and zipped again. Patrick read Walter’s zip trajectory and zipped as well. When he was close enough to Walter, he teleported both Walter and himself eight miles away from the house. The activities around the house triggered multiple alarms, and even though the agents knew Patrick would take care of Walter, they zeroed in on the house regardless, in case Patrick needed backup.
Walter’s frustration was mounting. He had grossly underestimated Patrick. The many briefings he had received about Patrick did not mention that Patrick could teleport; but maybe no one actually knew that he could.
“You know, we could do this all night,” Patrick mocked. “I’ve got nothing but time! Can’t say the same for you though, can I?”
“Is your ego as big as your mouth?” Walter scoffed.
“Look who’s talking about ego!” Patrick took a step forward.
Walter held his ground.
“You know it’s rude to walk away from a conversation,” Patrick smirked. “I thought you British cats were all about politeness! Or did the bitch also ride your manners away?”
Talk about adding salt to Walter’s already bruised ego! He could see Walter’s colors start to change.
“Does orange light and a hot bitch mean anything to you?” Patrick taunted further.
When he noticed Walter wince a little, Patrick decided to taunt the human-Sinister hybrid some more.
“Yep, that’s right!” Patrick said. “That slut-bitch exploded in an orange ball of light right before I drove this-” he sparked a katana from the ethers and it manifested in his right hand- “into what passes for her heart!”
If Walter was furious before, he never showed it. But even in the darkness, Patrick could tell he had struck a very raw nerve. Walter’s aura changed from deep orange to a very dark red.
“And now, you pay!” Walter said and attacked.
Walter gave all he had and more. Patrick toyed with him for a few moments before deciding enough was enough. His next move was to cut off Walter’s sword-bearing hand and watch Walter squeal like a pig. He interrogated Walter, and whenever Walter proved to be headstrong, Walter lost a part of a limb. Walter taunted him about killing his friends and Patrick calmed his nerves in order to extract as much information as he needed before deciding to end this creature’s life. He delivered as much pain as the creature could bear. Finally, Patrick was satisfied that this creature was nothing but a useless pawn. Patrick decapitated Walter and immediately reported to his boss. He updated Shi’mon about everything that had just happened, leaving out everything that had to do with Sara.
“Father, I think this fallen angel is costing us too many of our brothers!” Patrick said.
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