by Joshua Brown
She spoke in hushed tones, but I could hear the fear in her voice.
“I’m on my way,” I replied, jumping out of my seat.
“That gun you keep under your pillow at night,” I turned to Aaron. “You have that on you now?”
“I do, what’s going on?” Aaron jumped to his feet, following me out. He walked over to his table in the main office, grabbing his gun, jacket, and hat.
“I think it’s about to go down,” I replied. “And we don’t have much time to stop it.”
Had it been up to me, I’d have never brought Aaron with me. But I knew that I needed backup on this thing, and I didn’t know if Gwen would be around for it. In some ways, I knew that Aaron was ready to join me in the field, and that he’d be the perfect partner stopping crime. But even this, something he’s dedicated the past few weeks to, I wasn’t sure if he was ready.
Did he have what it took to stand up against those who oppressed him? Could he pull the trigger if it was necessary? He started as a beat cop with the NYPD and rarely saw much other than a few robberies or drug dealings. There was never a life and death situation. Working as a P.I, every interaction was risking your life, never knowing if you’d come out on top.
I didn’t want to be the man that brought his career—hell, his life—to an end.
At least I knew he was ready at the drop of a hat.
We rushed through the building to my car and drove at lightning speed to Jane Dench’s home. The second we turned onto the freeway, I gave Gwen a call.
“Gwen, I need you down at the Dench home. It looks like we’re about to come face to face with the Order,” I said.
“I’ll be there,” she replied.
Now, it was a race against the clock to make sure Jane and her family stayed safe.
Chapter 22
Jack
We arrived at Jane Dench’s home, pulling into the driveway. The front door was open and I immediately expected the worst. A group of men coming to her place, hiding in the shadows, what else could I think?
I hoped I wasn’t too late, that the family was still safe, but knew how the Order of the Phoenix operated. They were out for blood, and they’d stop at nothing to get it. Their threats, their horrors, all culminated to this point—a family left in tatters.
“Are you ready for this?” I asked Aaron, getting out of the car.
“Ready as I can be,” he replied.
Gwen hadn’t arrived yet. I didn’t expect her to be there before us, not with the distance she had to travel and dropping whatever she was doing at a moment’s notice.
Drawing my pistol, I approached the house. Aaron did the same. We moved quickly through the well-maintained garden onto the patio that led inside.
The house was deathly quiet when we entered. A sign of what was to come, I thought, making my way through to the entry foyer.
“Jane?” I called out.
I cleared corners, stepping deeper into the house. Most lights in the house were turned on downstairs with none on upstairs.
“We’re in here,” Jane shouted.
Relief washed over me that she was still okay. Following her voice, Aaron and I rushed through the living room, towards the dining room.
There was a long sliding door that blocked off our entry into the dining room. It was closed, and I couldn’t help but fear whatever waited behind it. Jane Dench was alive though, and if I wanted to make sure she survived, I had to act. Pointing to the wall on the right of the sliding door, Aaron understood my instruction. He pressed his back against it, holding the gun up in the air, ready to take the corner and fire if the need arose.
I took a deep breath, clutching the small brass nob on the door, twisting it back. I half-expected to be met by a bullet just then.
Swinging the door open, I pulled myself into cover on the left side of the door. I didn’t peer into the dining room, once more expecting bullets to reign down through it, but they never came. There was only whimpering from the Dench family. Not only Jane and Lance, but the children too.
They huffed and groaned, and the children fought back tears. I swallowed hard, taking the corner gun drawn.
On the far left of the eight-seater dining room table, Lance, Jane, and the children sat. Their hands were out on top of it, palms down. None of them looked restrained or bound in any way. On the far right, at the head of the table, only a single man sat. His head was tilted, and he was dressed in a maroon robe.
A devilish smile clung to his lips.
When we made our way over from the office, I expected the worst. But what I was greeted with was well beyond me. Jane said many people were approaching her home, but to find only one sitting here dumbfounded me.
What the hell was going on? Who the hell were they, and what did they want with this family? At least we had one, and we’d get him into custody soon enough.
“Good evening, detective,” the man said.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, lifting my gun in his direction.
“I am but a humble acolyte of the Witchfinder General. A humble servant to the Lord Almighty,” he replied. I could only see his lips moving beneath the hood of his robe. His hands were tucked beneath the table.
“You are under arrest—” I started.
“There’s no reason to make these threats, detective,” the man cut me off. “I am not here to harm this family, nor am I here to hurt you either. Your time will come, and so will theirs. Patience is a virtue sorely lacked by the modern world.”
With his hands under the table, I was hesitant to approach. For all I knew, this could’ve been some attempt to throw me off guard while he had a gun pointed at one of the Dench’s, ready to fire. I wasn’t going to take that risk.
“Then what are you doing here?” I asked.
“Please, won’t you have a seat?” He rose one hand out from beneath the table and gestured it to an empty chair beside Jane’s daughter.
I obliged, still not knowing what waited beneath the table.
“You’ve been a thorn in our side, detective. Far too long now, have you run rampant and stood against the Order. We have watched and we have seen. The prophet and seer, Oscar Carlisle, is stuck behind your lock and key, but you don’t see his vision. You don’t see his potential,” the man spoke.
“Oscar Carlisle is a sick man that needs help,” I replied.
I set my weapon down, knowing that Aaron had it covered if anything happened. This was my opportunity to get more information on this case, and I wasn’t going to pass it up by being too hostile.
“And what about you, detective?” he asked, tilting his head towards me. “What makes you any different than us?”
“I-I don’t follow,” I replied, cocking a brow.
“Do you not stand to clear the evil from this world? Are you not on the side of good versus evil?”
“I stand to uphold the law, yes,” I replied.
“Then what’s different between us? The Order of the Phoenix believes in fighting for a better future by ridding the world of...” the man paused, turning back towards the Dench family. With a snarl, he finished his sentence, “By ridding the world of scum.”
“These are normal people trying to live their lives in peace, and you are standing in the way of that,” I tried to reason.
“Is it your badge that gives you the delusion that all your actions are justified?” he asked again, his tone back to the oddly sinister voice it was before directly addressing the Dench’s. “What is a badge if not just a title? And what is a title if not created by man? What gives you the right to hold dominion over ordinary people?”
He paused. I opened my mouth to speak, but he rose a single finger in the air to silence me.
“The title of Witchfinder General greatly precedes that of detective. We have stood together for centuries, fighting a holy war against the unknown, and you wish to bring that to a close so soon? Detective Mercer, do you understand how foolish this all sounds?” the man chuckled, shaking his head.
&
nbsp; “And who is the Witchfinder General?” I asked in hopes that this delusional man would let something slip without realizing he did so.
“He is our savior,” he replied. “He is the word of reason and the sword of God. He will vanquish the evil that resides within this home and return us to a world of purity.”
“Why’s he not here tonight?”
“Because sacrifices must be made,” a low sigh left his lips. “But I cannot be upset about what I must do, for it’s the most wonderful honor of all. I must cleanse this house in blood.”
“I don’t understand,” I turned to Aaron, who shrugged his shoulders, never breaking line of sight with the man.
“Soon enough, you will, detective. Soon enough.”
Suddenly, the man got up from his chair. His arms were by his side, the long robe stretching out well beyond his hands. All I wanted to know was if he had a weapon, and he never once allowed me to see.
“The unholy sin that dwells in this home will be vanquished at the hands of the almighty,” the man spoke. “I will lead you into anew, and with my blood, so too will the light of God shine upon you.”
Rolling his shoulders back, the robe dropped to the ground. Getting a good view of him, he was tall, thin, pale, and bald. There were no scars, no bruises, and no tattoos on his skin—it was almost pristine if not transparent from an almost sickly-looking man. His sharp blue eyes carried a weight of sorrow behind them. His gaunt face, a testament to the twisted life he lived.
But, as expected, in his hand, he clutched a knife with an ivory handle. The steel was intricately carved with the pattern of a Phoenix running along the back. The ivory handle was nothing special but pure white.
At the sight of him standing full, the young girl beside me burst out into a terrible screech. A shrill, ear-piercing sound leaving shivers running down my spine.
“Put down the weapon,” Aaron shouted, but the man was lost to his own words.
“Look unto me and know thy time has come,” he rose both hands into the air. “Look unto me in despair, for your time of reckoning is nigh. The Witchfinder General will bring you to your knees. He will make you cower for mercy.”
Aaron approached the lunatic cautiously, extending a hand out to him. “Drop the weapon. You are under arrest.”
“And you, Detective Jack Mercer, will fall from on high,” he pressed the edge of the knife against his throat. “With my blood, I cleanse this home of evil. And by the hand of the Witchfinder, so too will you be vanquished.”
Aaron lunged forward, intending to grab the man, but he drew the blade across his throat. Launching out of my chair, I rushed to his side. His blood spilled across the white carpet floor beneath the table as he struggled on.
At that moment, I saw his fear. How this decision played out differently in his mind to the reality of his situation. He sacrificed himself for nothing, and now, only in dying did he realize this to be true.
Jane grabbed her son, averting his eyes, while Lance did the same with their daughter. They screamed and cried, with the image of what just happened burning into their minds. I looked at them and then the body on the floor.
Without warning, I puked uncontrollably.
What the hell was going on here?
Chapter 23
Gwen
I arrived at Jane Dench’s home, a little after 20 minutes from Jack’s call, but what I walked into could only be described as a nightmare. The sound of the children screaming, Jane whimpering, and Aaron trying to console Jack shot terror through my core.
Did something happen to him? The thought ran through my mind. It was always a possibility in this line of work. But no matter how dangerous a situation got, I always saw Jack Mercer coming out on top. So, standing in the foyer beside the staircase, my mind spiraled to all the darkest depths.
“Jack?” I shouted out, into the house.
Following the screaming children, I managed to track them through the house and into the dining room. Both parents clutched their children, turning them away from some horrific scene.
I saw the blood before I saw Jack. The white stained carpet, the body beside him, and my heartbeat at a thousand miles a second.
“Jack, are you okay? Are you hurt?” I rushed over, holstering my weapon. Aaron was hunched at the side of him, which only made things worse.
“He’s okay,” Aaron said, facing me. “It’s just been one hell of a night.”
I wrapped my arms around Jack, who was near weeping at the sight of the man before him. Though no tears ran down his face, I could see it in his eyes how desperately he was hurting from whatever happened here. As soon as Jack saw me, he got up from where he was kneeling over.
“I think I failed,” he said, looking over to the family. “I don’t think I can beat this one.”
Jack started walking off into the living room. I followed behind him.
“It’s not over yet,” I replied.
“But what more is there?” Jack stumbled, falling against a wall as he made his way to the front door. “What good of a detective am I if I can’t help these people? But how can I help them if I don’t have anything to go on?”
He continued on with a long list of questions about his failures.
“Jack,” I said, rushing up behind him and stopping him by wrapping my arms around his waist. “You haven’t failed these people. You’re fighting tooth and nail to protect them. And that’s just the way, isn’t it? The hardest fights always end in the sweetest victories.”
He turned to me but didn’t speak.
“Let me take you home,” I said, sliding my hand into his.
“Aaron needs a lift back to his place,” Jack said, a cough accompanying. His thousand-yard stare never breaking. “I think I need to be alone.”
Jack left the Dench home, getting in his car and driving off. I watched for a while as the Dodge Charger drove down the street before making the preparations to remove the body from the house.
The Dench family took their children away from the scene. It pained me to know that those children would forever bear the burden of what they saw there that night. Aaron filled me in with the details of what happened, and to some degree, I understood Jack’s suffering.
They were so close to achieving their goal, and we had no way of stopping them.
But I always saw the brighter side to things, even when they seemed the darkest. And in that vision of purity, I knew Jack Mercer would save the day. He always had a way of clicking when it got right down to it. These moments of self-pity and self-loathing came often.
It was easy to feel defeated and broken, but this wasn’t over yet. As long as Jane and Spencer still drew breath, Jack wouldn’t give up on them. Only, that night, he did. For a brief while, he’d feel like a failure, only to rise from the ashes to conquer his battles. I believed in him, even if he didn’t believe in himself—and so did the rest of his crew.
Chapter 24
Jack
I drank until my face went fuzzy and my vision went blurry. That night, there was no stopping the liquor from pouring down my throat. I’d faced troubles in the past, dark cases that seemingly had no end in sight, but never once did I believe I was bested. Maybe it was a sign of my age, or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that criminals were just getting too smart.
It was men like Aaron Hart who found a position in this life over men like me. Those who knew how computers worked, those who could solve a case from a mobile phone rather than out in the field. I never wanted that for myself. I prided myself on being an old-school detective, a man that knew how to use a gun and get a job done.
But I was an old dog, and new tricks didn’t work well with me.
And so, I tried finding an answer at the bottom of a bottle. When I eventually drank too much, I got into bed. The actual events of that night are nothing but a blur.
But what that evening led to was the most problematic solution I’ve ever achieved.
~
“Wakey-wakey, Jacky-b
aby,” a voice came, followed by a tapping on my forehead, just above the bridge of my nose.
The sensation pulled me from the gentle sleep, with only a heavy head and immense confusion surrounding me. I was greeted by three men standing in front of me, each one dressed in a similar maroon robe as the man in Jane Dench’s house.
These three, however, held weapons of various sorts. From what I could tell, no guns. One had a baseball bat, the other a sword, and the final a rebar pole.
“We’re going to introduce you to a world of pain,” one said with a gleeful giggle.
I looked at them while my mind kicked to life, and realizing the threat, a terrible, deep scream escaped my lips. I reached for the revolver I kept under my pillow, and without much hesitation, aimed and fired. The man closest to me, the one I struck, collapsed to the ground.
I continued shooting, though my aim off from the heavy-headed hangover. I heard another tumble to the ground.
“He shot me, man,” I heard him say.
“You’re on your own,” the third shouted, and not long after, I heard my door slam.
At this point, I was on my feet, replacing the six rounds of my revolver and approaching the door quietly. I managed to get the first attacker right between the eyes in my state of confusion and panic. He lay motionless at the side of my bed, with the sword still gripped between his palm.
“No, don’t do this,” the second man called. I heard him pulling himself along my fake wood floor, through the hallway towards the kitchen.
Peering out, I saw the trail of blood—the man who just managed to take the corner doing his best to escape. I trailed where he might have been with the barrel of the gun until I reached the island of my kitchen.
From there, I saw him on the ground. He managed to crawl his way towards the door, reaching for the handle with hopes of getting out. The baseball bat he held lying somewhere behind me now.
“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” I asked, the gun forever trained on his midsection.
