Awakened

by C. Steven Manley

  Then, suddenly, there was a jerk against the hand that was holding back the teeth. Israel felt the pressure on his neck relax. There was a dull thump on the ground next to his face. Israel opened his eyes and saw a pair of glassy, black orbs staring back at him from a head that was rocked slightly as it settled onto the ground. Israel cursed and pulled at the thing around his neck. He felt someone pull the weight of the body from his back and he rolled away from the head in disgust.

  When he finally looked up, he expected to see Matt standing over him. Instead, he saw a very short, very muscular man dressed in the same military-style clothing as Matt. His face was cast in shadow against the night sky, but the orange glow of a lit cigar cast his features in a pale light as he inhaled. The man wore a heavy but neatly trimmed beard that was contrasted by a cleanly shaved head. In his hands he casually held a narrow-handled, wide-blade axe that glistened in the moonlight. The man gave a rough laugh and, in a voice that would rival James Earl Jones’ for its depth, said, “You’re welcome. Oh, by the way, purgatory.”

  “Stone!” a man’s voice shouted. The bald man turned and moved as quickly as his stocky legs would carry him. Israel stood up and watched him join two other men huddled around a fourth on the ground near the guard kiosk. It was Matt. The one called Stone leaned over Matt’s prostrate form. The shorter man had placed his axe on the ground next to Matt and seemed to be listening as he looked back at Israel. Erin was standing a few feet to one side, watching intently. Beyond her, Israel could see motionless forms on the ground, weapons still clutched in dead hands.

  Stone stood up along with one of the other men. Israel realized that Stone was nearly two feet shorter than the other man, but definitely seemed to be in command. After a moment’s conversation, he walked back toward Israel.

  “Is Matt okay?” Israel asked.

  “He’s in a bad way, but we’ve got medical on the way.”

  Israel nodded. Questions flooded in behind the tension that he was releasing. He was out. It was over.

  “My name’s Israel Trent,” he stammered, “I’m a reporter for the Tribune.”

  “Which one?” Stone said.

  “What? What do you mean, which one? The Tribune. The Chicago Tribune.”

  Stone laughed. “You’re not in Chicago. You’re in Oceanside, California”

  “What? How long-” The question stalled in his throat when he saw one of the other men raise a weapon and fire it at Erin. Two darts with wires trailing back to her attacker’s weapon suddenly appeared in her chest. She dropped limply to the ground.

  Before he could speak, he saw Stone’s hand come up, heard a pop, and felt his own body go rigid in pain. He didn’t so much feel himself hit the ground as realize he had done so by the sudden change in perspective. Rough, hard hands rolled him to his back and Israel saw Stone produce a small syringe from one of his pockets.

  Israel tried to move, tried to push away, but his muscles simply wouldn’t respond.

  “Sorry, mate,” Stone said as he pushed the needle into Israel’s neck, “but, you’ve been Awakened. This is just the way it has to be.”

  Seconds later, everything went black.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jordan Screed pulled the thick hotel robe around his waist and tied it closed. The spotless, white fabric was soft against his freshly toweled skin, and he took a moment to breathe in the thick steam that was the remnants of his morning shower. He loved hotels and the limitless supply of hot water that they provided. Around him, the most air beaded on clear shower doors and sparkling glass tiles. A floor of white marble was slightly cold against his feet so he slid them into a pair of slippers that matched the robe. When he opened the door to the master bedroom, a cloud of steam billowed around him as he emerged from the bathroom.

  He liked the effect and it irked him slightly that the woman- or girl since he was reasonably sure she had lied about her age- wasn’t awake to see it. What had she said her name was? Jennifer? Jenna? Something J, he was sure. Not that it mattered. However old she was, she’d performed well last night, riding him enthusiastically and capitulating to his each and every desire. He would let her go home this morning with his thanks and perhaps even a small token of his gratitude slipped quietly into her purse. In the meantime, he’d let her sleep.

  The drapes were open and he could see the tip of the Empire State Building rising against the sky to his left. Below him, Manhattan was spread out like a blanket of concrete and glass. Madison Avenue was directly below him and he could just make out the early risers scurrying to-and-fro on foot and in taxis. “Busy little ants,” he whispered.

  There was a soft snore from the bed. Jordan retrieved his cell phone from the bedside table and then moved silently out of the room. He descended the spiral staircase into the great room. The rectangular space was walled in glass on two sides and the New York skyline showed prominently in both, the sun just starting to gain dominance in the sky. Two ash gray couches faced each other below a modern art style chandelier composed of hundreds of leaf-shaped crystals that glowed softly through some act of interior design Jordan didn’t understand. Black marble and stone walls surrounded the rest of the space.

  On the couch farthest from him, Jordan could see his brother Carmine sleeping. He was fully nude and uncovered, showing his six-foot-six frame in all it’s leanly muscled glory. Tattoos covered the man’s nearly hairless body in sweeping lines and patterns that reached from his left foot all the way to the right side of his face and onto the top of his closely cut scalp. The patterns were archaic and Celtic in origin. Jordan had never understood his brother’s fascination with decorating his body in this way, but that was not his focus at the moment. The dead woman lying on the floor next to Carmine was.

  Jordan walked down and examined the body. She was also nude. Despite the fact that the face was gray and looking back at him from between her own shoulder blades, Jordan recognized her from the night before. They’d picked up the two girls at a rooftop bar on Fifth Avenue. The liquor had been flowing and before long they were back here with Jordan and his companion heading upstairs. Carmine and his obviously never made it past the main room.

  He slapped his brother hard on the calf and took a quick step back. Carmine came up fast, an empty fifth of Jack Daniels bouncing onto the slate-colored carpet. The big man looked around and then saw his brother. “Asshole,” he murmured, falling back to the couch. “Leave me alone.”

  “I’m an asshole?” Jordan said, gesturing at the body. “Can you explain that, please?”

  Carmine raised his head off the couch and looked at the corpse. “Oh, yeah. Shit.”

  “That’s the best you’ve got? Seriously, man, she’s the second one this month.”

  Carmine shrugged and laid his head back down. “She was fun. I got carried away.”

  “You can’t keep doing that, Carmine.”

  The big man sat up, rolling the corpse over with his foot so that he could have more leg room. “What’s the big damn deal, man? Call Ricardo. He’ll send those guys he always sends.”

  “The big damn deal, little brother, is that she wasn’t alone, remember? What am I supposed to tell my little bunny when she wakes up?”

  Carmine seemed to consider this for a moment. “Were they sisters?”

  Jordan studied his brother for a moment, pondering the question. “I don’t know how that’s relevant, but no, I don’t think so.”

  Carmine looked disappointed for the barest of seconds, then said, “I guess you’re right. I mean, even if they were just friends she’ll wonder why they aren’t leaving together. Girls always stick together. Even when they go to the bathroom.” Carmine’s eyes met Jordan’s. There was a small glimmer of anticipation in the larger man’s face.

  Jordan held the gaze for a few seconds, then sighed and said, “Fine. You might as well make it a hat trick for the month.”

  Carmine stood up quickly and headed for the stairs, but kept walking past them. “Hey,” Jordan said, “she’s in t
he upstairs bedroom.”

  “I know,” Carmine said. “I gotta pee first.”

  Jordan shook his head and went into the suite’s small kitchen. He’d just dropped a small plastic pod into the coffee maker when his phone started playing the theme from ‘Mission Impossible’. The caller ID showed Ricardo’s number.

  Jordan accepted the call and said, “I was just about to call you.”

  “Good, we need to-” The other man’s voice was thin over the connection. “Wait, why?”

  Jordan said, “Well, we went out last night and…”

  “Goddammit all, Jordan! Did your brother kill another bar slut?”

  There was a muffled scream from upstairs. “Uhm..well, two, actually.”

  “You have got to get a handle on him, Jordan. Bodies draw attention, attention threatens the Veil. We don’t need the Council as well as those pricks at the Sentry group breathing down our necks.”

  “I know, I know. He’s just excitable.”

  “I don’t give a damn. Get him under control. Where are you?”

  “Towers Suites at the New York Palace Hotel. Champagne Suite.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Okay, cleaners are on the way. Disappear once they get there; you know the drill.”

  “So you called for…” Jordan said.

  “Oh, right,” Ricardo said. “Sentry hit the Oceanside facility last night and completely fucked the ritual they were performing.”

  “What’s our exposure?”

  “Not much. It was an isolated site in a bad neighborhood, so local law enforcement never came into play. Even though most of our people were corrupted by the ritual, Sentry didn’t get out unscathed. The facility is a loss, but that’s not why we need you.”

  “Waiting for the punchline, Ricky.”

  “Don’t call me that. According to security footage, Sentry walked out with two of our sacrifices.”

  Jordan stopped stirring his coffee and let the words sink in. “That’s… unfortunate,” he said. “Do we know if they were exposed to the ritual?”

  “No. They left under their own power, but then our security feeds lost them.”

  Jordan walked out of the kitchen. He vaguely noted the muted sounds of struggle coming from upstairs. He walked onto the balcony patio and closed the door behind him. “Where was The Seer on this one?”

  “The Seer doesn’t work that way. You should know that.”

  “I suppose,” he said. He settled into a thickly cushioned lounge chair and sipped at his coffee. It was piping hot and he smiled at the pain on his tongue. “What’s the order?”

  “Track the sacrifices and retrieve when you can. Sentry will most likely interrogate them, but they shouldn’t know much if they were kept in holding. When they cut them loose, pick them up and we’ll put them back in the rotation. Just make sure Sentry doesn’t catch wise to you and use them as bait.”

  “Naturally. What if they were exposed?”

  “That’s unlikely,” Ricardo said. “If that had happened then they would have been killed at the same moment.”

  “I know the procedure,” Jordan said, “but what if?”

  There was a half-minute of silence on the other end of the line. “Best judgment. Recruit or kill, but keep it strictly behind the Veil.”

  “Always,” Jordan said.

  Ricardo barked out a short laugh. “Yeah, tell Carmine that. I’ll send you the all the info we have shortly and you can get started. Bask in shadow.”

  “Until darkness reigns,” Jordan replied. He hung up the phone and sipped again at his coffee. Street noise was starting to drift up in faint waves from the city far below. He knew that if he were to walk to the railing he would be able to see the traffic that was beginning to collect in front of St. Patrick’s Cathedral, but he kept his seat. He’d seen it all before.

  It was maybe five minutes later when he heard the door open behind him. Carmine sat down across from him. There was a satisfied glow about him. He had taken the time to put on a pair of silk boxer shorts and pour himself a glass of scotch. He held it up to Jordan and said, “Breakfast of champions.”

  “I’ll stick to coffee, thanks.”

  “Did you talk to Ricardo?”

  Jordan briefly filled him in on the phone call. Carmine said, “Huh. Surely they didn’t get Awakened. I mean, how? They keep them knocked out right up to the sacrifice.”

  “I know. I’m just trying to account for all the possibilities.”

  Carmine nodded and sipped his drink. “They’d be like us.”

  “That’s right,” Carmine said. “Run of the mill Awakened they would just educate and cut loose, but these two…” Jordan took a thoughtful pull on his coffee. The crystal cup clinked as he put it down on the glass table. “I don’t really care for the notion of more of us, little brother.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Well, Ricky said it was recruit or kill if it came to it.”

  “Are you sure you heard him right, Jord-o?”

  Jordan grinned. “Well, now that you mention it, I may have misheard that ‘recruit’ part.”

  Their eyes met and both men laughed softly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The first thing Israel noticed as he started to wake was the soft scent of vanilla. He opened his eyes slowly, consciousness coming back to him in gentle waves. A soft pillow cradled his head and the bed he was in felt like it was formed perfectly to his body. The sheets were thick and luxurious and he stretched like a waking cat. Then, the final wave of his consciousness broke on his memory and he sat up fast, looking around the room in confusion.

  It was the largest bedroom he could ever remember being in. The furniture was all cream-colored and built for comfort. Dark mahogany wood contrasted with the lighter fabrics in the room and the gold and cream-colored wallpaper. Two windows were set into the wall to his left and sunlight showed steady and strong through the breaks in the heavy drapes. Opposite them he could see other patches of sunlight reflecting from the clean surfaces of the attached bathroom. At the foot of the bed, a thickly cushioned chair was placed next to a dark wood table. There was clothing folded neatly on the chair. A small note with his name on it was folded into a tent on top of the clothing.

  He spent a moment studying the room before swinging his feet off the bed. Pain hit him from a number of different directions. Most dominate was his face. He touched gently at the spot where his face had met the concrete the night before- at least he thought it was the night before- and found a thin dressing covering the wound. His head also ached, he assumed from the Glock cracking him in the skull. Lastly, the twin spots of pain low and on the left side of his torso where the short guy had tased him felt like two enormous bee stings. He ground his teeth at those and made a mental note to return the favor to that squat bastard if he ever saw him again.

  He crossed the room to the chair and snatched the note off the clothing. It was handwritten in a very precise, formal cursive and read:

  Mr. Trent,

  Please accept my apologies for the unfortunate necessity of sedating you for the trip here, as well as the overwhelming confusion that you must certainly be feeling right now. I assure you that you are in no danger and will be treated as a respected guest. If you wish to refresh yourself, please make use of any of the facilities you see around you. We have also provided clothing for you, which should be with this message. When you are ready, simply step into the hall and one of my staff will escort you to me so that we can get to the many questions that I’m sure you have. I look forward to meeting you.

  Sincerely,

  Olivia Warburton

  Israel read the note through three times and then dropped it back onto the pile of clothing. He went back to the bed and sat down, letting his mind go backwards over the events at the… he didn’t even know what to call it. His breathing quickened as he started remembering everything. Fear crept into him and he realized he was sweating slightly.

  He clenched his teeth and whispe
red, “Focus, Israel. Focus on the question.” There were too many questions, though, so he asked himself the ultimate one: What did he actually know?

  He knew he’d been abducted. He knew that the people who had abducted him were… doing something. Experimentation, maybe? Those squidhead things could have been the result of some kind of biological tampering. Maybe. That room, though, with the stone table and the bodies was no laboratory. He knew that the abductors had some sort of opposition, and that Matt and the squat bastard were part of that team. He knew he hadn’t been alone because Erin had been there. Was she in the building with him now or had they been separated? He had seen the other man tase her. He shook his head. Too many questions and not enough information did not make him happy. He glanced over at the note again and decided it was time for some answers.

  A single glance in the mirror had told him that he needed to take this Warburton person up on her offer of a shower and shave. He had done so, but decided not to replace the bandage on his face. The wound wasn’t particularly bad, just a narrow cut surrounded by a dark bruise, so he decided to show it off. These people had shot him with a Taser; he hoped his face really grossed some of them out.

  The clothes were simple, but expensive: Black slacks, a thick white dress shirt, belt, shoes, and a black sports coat. They fit perfectly and, when he was satisfied with his appearance, he stepped into the hall.

  At first glance, he thought he was in a hotel. The walls were the same white and cream color scheme as the bedroom and stretched in both directions. The ceilings were at least ten feet overhead and lined with elaborate crown molding that was well lit by silver and glass chandeliers every six feet or so. The floors were a combination of well-polished light and dark woods that formed intriguing and repeating patterns down the center of the halls and along each wall. The dozen or so doors that Israel could see spaced throughout the hall were all the same color as the darker wood in the floor patterns.