by Su Halfwerk
Something slammed into his heart, the fool couldn’t beat right. “Us?”
“Jason tagged along. He’s my colleague at the shelter.”
The way that name rolled off her tongue and out of her smiling mouth hinted that Jason was more than just a colleague. Somehow, Pru having a boyfriend didn’t feel right. In his eyes, she was still that eleven years old tomboy digging for trouble and finding it most of the time. Okay, a very curvaceous tomboy now.
“Jason rode with them?” he asked.
“By the time I arrived at Carmen’s place, she and Sylvester were already wasted. Jason offered to drive their car since they lived in the same neighborhood while I live some distance away.” She chewed on her lip. “It made sense. An accident in their compromised state would lead to litigations and whatnot.”
Yet she was the one who winded up messed up and alone. “I’m surprised by two things. None of your belongings were with you and Carmen, your best friend, hasn’t visited you.”
She frowned and ignored him, choosing to study the intricate design of his workout bench. Every time he questioned the disappearance of her friends, she became defensive.
Luke softened his voice and changed tactics. “How did the accident happen?”
She pursed her lips and semi-settled on the workout bench. “It’s all very foggy but I remember being few cars behind Carmen’s. They slipped through a green traffic light, but the red one got me. When it changed, I drove…I remember being in the middle of the crossing when lights grew rapidly in size on my left side. There was a loud bang, I went upside down, and then nothing. I didn’t even feel pain though I found out later that my shoulder got dislocated. Next time I woke, the ER staff were reviving me.”
“What about the paramedics who came for you?”
“They were in the back of the emergency room. I clearly remember the African American one.”
He frowned. “What was so special about him?”
“He was good looking, hair smoothed back with gel, nails done nicely, but his speech ruined the whole classy image. He had this unforgettable heavy ghetto drawl. He didn’t fit my impression of how medics should be.”
Chapter Nine
It was judgment time in the Laymour.
Six High Domines stood in a semicircle surrounding a wailing spirit. While three recited the bad deeds, the other three countered with the good ones.
Celestine mused over the changes in the Laymour. The judgment involved the locking up of the High Domines, along with the spirits to be judged, in a chamber away from the Dome for a full Laymour lunation. That was the case until at one time, when the Domines were needed the most, they couldn’t be reached. Now the judgment took place within the Dome, close by the Pit. Naiten, the Pit Keeper, didn’t participate in it but observed the proceedings from the Watching Point overlooking the Pit’s turbid-liquid surface.
“Jameson O’Brian,” Keigan said, “You stole your father’s savings when he was on death bed.” An impassive statement of facts.
The spirit of Jameson O’Brian howled, its ghostly appearance shifting and twisting.
“But you gave part of your inheritance to charity to redeem yourself,” Marteenk countered.
At that, the spirit settled in feeble whimpers of anticipation, a semblance of hope.
“Your willpower was weak, you fornicated with women other than your wife. You infected her and the child within her with the disease you carried from those women,” Remei said.
A roar of anguish reverberated through the Dome, it finally dwindled to a moan of self-loathing.
“Yet you recognized her importance in your life when her health deteriorated faster than yours. You remained by her side and became loyal to her after that,” replied Litwiq.
The spirit faced each High Domine as he or she spoke. For each evil action there should be a redeeming one until the good deeds High Domines fell silent. It was a given that human nature was weak in the face of temptation. However, when the number of offending deeds increased and their proportions broadened, it was a good indication to which side the judgment would fall. Souls destined for heaven traveled peacefully to their paradisiacal destination. Laymour spirits either ended up in Hell or, if the High Domines couldn’t agree, were given a second chance on life through reincarnation. The second time around the judgment was sterner.
Despite all the security and organization, there was an incident when spirits joined forces in an upheaval to overturn the Laymour, like what happened under the watchful eyes of the previous Pit Keeper. Periodically, the Pit Keeper must replenish the pit’s surface from his or her life force. That renewal took the appearance of a liquid that locked and contained the spirits within the Pit. That one time, the spirits had infused the Pit Keeper’s thoughts with deceitful notions of mistrust, which allowed them to trick her into thinking the liquid’s level hadn’t lessened while they escaped to Earth and took over unsuspecting hosts. Luke was still dispatching some of those spirits as well as the ones there before them.
From the corner of his eye, Celestine caught movement, and turned. Naiten was waving him over to the Watching Point. “You do not have to wait. The judicial proceedings will take long.”
Celestine’s attention shifted to the judgment process below.
“Ah, you are distraught by the judgment,” Naiten said.
Celestine settled his vapor form into a semitransparent one. “Not distraught, but fascinated. I have never witnessed one. Will we not be distracting them if we speak here?”
Naiten flashed a slow and sad smile he hadn’t been able to get rid of when he purged himself of emotions. “They are locked in another dimension where they can neither hear nor see us.” He gestured to the half circle. “I can call on their assistance if there were a need. This is a better placement.”
Celestine nodded. There was nothing worse than an emergency without the ability to reach them. Without the High Domines’ help, Celestine and his previous Spirit Hunter would have lost a very important battle with the spirits.
“If you recall, Naiten, I have mentioned a spirit without an aura that only the Spirit Hunter can see.”
Naiten nodded.
“I saw her body. She is in a coma at a hospital and her spirit wanders in search of company. Luke is working on finding out more about her.” Celestine paused, hesitant to bring up the other matter he had in mind about the girl.
“Speak up, Celestine. I can only help and advise if I am aware of the whole situation.”
“Luke knows her from his stripling days.”
That got an arched eyebrow and an “hmm” from Naiten. The Pit Keeper closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his beard, a sign he was deep in thought. Celestine turned back to the judgment, his mind drifting back to his reluctant hunter. Luke was a wild one, forced—in his own opinion—to do a job he hadn’t signed up for. Despite Luke’s responsibility to extract invading spirits, Celestine suspected he was still trading in substances that poisoned and drugged healthy bodies. Celestine shook his head with regret when he heard that dealing in drugs was one of the crimes the current spirit was being judged for. Even though his relationship with Luke was filled with potholes, he didn’t want the day to come when his ward would be judged here.
“Have you inferred the cause of the unexplained possessions?” Naiten asked, drawing him out of his morbid thoughts.
“No. Actually, there was a woman with an orange aura that neither I nor Luke could explain.”
“Yet another example of the abnormalities swarming Earth.” Naiten fell silent, then nodded. A decision was made. “Keep an eye on Luke, for even though he claims the coma female is the spirit he has been seeing, we do not know that for certain. As for the orange aura, did you witness it yourself?” Naiten asked.
Celestine nodded.
“There is an Insurgence in the Laymour every few centuries during which spirits organize ranks and try to overthrow the Laymour’s High Domines. During these periods, oddities take place, some we eventu
ally explain, others remain beyond our grasp of understanding. So far, the spirits have failed in each uprising attempt. We had hoped the confrontation with spirits during the last hunter’s tenure were it, now I am forced to consider it as a mere prologue.”
“Is it time for the Insurgence?” Celestine asked.
Naiten massaged his beard. “We cannot measure when it will take place, but can read its signs. I do think this is the time for preparation. I mention this because of the risks Luke takes with his body. If this is indeed the Insurgence, then he should save his energy and power to end the battle. Do not dismiss his claim regarding the comatose woman for even though he has been the most stubborn hunter we ever had, he is carrying out his responsibilities with total commitment. There is no need to mistrust him.”
Celestine lowered his head to hide his eyes, for his thoughts about Luke’s other dealings were mere suspicions.
Naiten went on. “If what he claims is true and she is the comatose patient, we must find out how she fits in the whole scheme of odd happenings. She is like an empty platter waiting to be filled with whatever food is dumped in it. Any fleeting spirit will be more than happy to take over her body.”
Chapter Ten
The first time Pru spent the night at Luke’s loft she was busy exploring the place which was nothing more than one huge open space with a kitchenette in one corner, a king size bed in another, and a prominently positioned workout bench in the middle, with an assortment of beanbags and mismatched chairs thrown around the place. There was no computer and she hadn’t seen him use a cell phone.
In other words, he was a caveman.
Tonight, however, she found herself unable to take her eyes off his face while he slumbered, sprawled out on the bed like a welcoming star. He looked younger without tension lines surrounding his firm lips and the crimple between his eyebrows. Fine looking yet overwhelmingly deficient in refinement.
“Why all good-looking guys are either taken or have issues?” She covered her mouth, her voice too loud in the stillness of the room.
He had started wearing pants to bed, no boxers while she was around. Like now, he was clad in very low black jeans and nothing else. His lips, firm and merciless when awake, were now softer, inviting. Usually, his stubble helped him carry his smart-alecky attitude with conviction, now it looked pasted on, as though he were pretending to be older and tougher than he truly was.
He turned and drew his brows together. What was he dreaming of? Pru wondered and sat on the edge of the mattress. In the new position, his muscular abdomen was on display. Rope after rope of compact muscles greeted her. These muscles were earned the hard way, by using each and every one of them. Pru drew a breath between her teeth, staring at that expanse of strength. There were minimal scars scattered across his body, but a circular one in his stomach drew her attention. She examined it, almost touched it. A bullet wound.
Luke thrashed and kicked around, his body tense, sweat drenched his skin within seconds. Ignoring all his warnings to never touch or go through him, Pru slipped in bed by his side and held him. If going through Luke made her feel exuberant, she hoped the same was true for him.
“Shh, you’re not alone,” she whispered in his ear and closed her eyes. She gathered all her calmness along with the warmth and bliss she experienced by touching him, and returned them tenfold, willing him to accept them, to take them all in.
****
“That was…something,” Luke said and rolled off Hope’s sweaty, slippery body. She mumbled something in return and nestled close enough that the darker roots of her hair showed below the bleached strands.
He raised an eyebrow, the snuggling business was new. Usually, Hope liked everything quick, the sex, the paying, and the leaving. She had the world record for getting her Johns to leave her shady apartment fast. Luke returned because no one knew about her. Hope was a safe relief.
Awkwardly, he rested a hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t good at the emotional exchange after a roll in the hay. That was another reason why he kept coming back to her. So why did she change? He thought to himself. “I think you need to touch up on your non-blond roots.”
She swatted him on the shoulder playfully. “My roots weren’t a problem half an hour ago.”
Half an hour ago she wasn’t all touchy feely. “They’re never the problem.”
She leaned back frowning. “What’s the problem then?”
Luke avoided women’s mood swings, it was time to gather his things and beat it. He made as to rise, pushing her gently off him. She wouldn’t budge.
“No. First explain what you meant, then you can leave.” Her teasing voice carried a strained undertone he didn’t like. Her eyes flicked to the alarm clock by her bed.
“You act as though you’re expecting another John, yet you’re pushing me to stay. Why?” As Luke asked the question, he recognized the situation for what it was, a trap. He shoved Hope off him. “You bitch!”
Too late though, he could discern those weighty steps plodding up the stairs anywhere in the world. Barney was the guy sent to brutally exterminate the vermin who’d crossed Sully, Luke was one such vermin. Without wasting another moment on Hope—after all, the highest bidder always won in her world—Luke pulled up his pants.
“Wait,” she screamed after him. He guessed she didn’t care about him to be so desperate unless actual delivery was part of the deal.
He flashed his teeth. “You suck, Hope, and not in a good way.”
Heavy blows on the door shook it from its hinges. No threats, no shouting to open the door or else, just silent pounding. It was Barney alright.
With his t-shirt balled in one hand, Luke pried the window open and stumbled out on the fire escape. He took two steps down but a shower of bullets from the street below convinced him to change tactic and climb up to the roof instead. The bullets bounced off the metal railing, he ducked to avoid their ricochet.
The roof was a jungle of corroded satellite dishes and wooden planks that doubled as traps of rusty nails. He trotted carefully while zigzagging between the planks to the other end. There had to be another fire escape or a building close by. Some way out of this mess.
Having donned his shirt in a rush, Luke leaned over the edge. No fire escape. He sighed and pulled on his hair. “Arrrgh!” The neighboring building was the same height but too far for a wild jump.
At that instant, Barney heaved his massive bulk onto the roof. “Move and I’ll skin you alive.”
Luke froze and raised both hands, facing the burly man breathing heavily before him. Barney was a man of few words, however, whatever promises he made, he kept.
Luke shook his head slowly. “What happened to freeze or I’ll shoot?” Despite the bravado, his heart hammered faster. Sully was one Boss who should never be crossed.
Barney approached with steady, lumbering steps, his Beretta aimed at Luke’s leg. The pistol wasn’t Barney’s toy of choice, his favorites were stacked in a chest back at his special playhouse, where his playmates were dragged in and carried out—invariably not breathing anymore. Shooting the leg was a viable option for Barney. It would serve two purposes, slow Luke down and keep him alive long enough to become a plaything for a couple of hours. If he were lucky and lasted a couple of hours.
Luke glanced behind him quickly to measure the distance to the opposite building. Sweat slid from his forehead into his eyes, it stung. The weather wasn’t on his side, the air was leaden with water.
He faced forward again. Barney had slunk closer, shaking his head at him. “You won’t make it.” His words were clipped, his puffy face red with exertion, but those beady gray eyes hadn’t lost their focus.
“I won’t make what?” Luke pointed with his chin at Barney. “Say, aren’t you getting cooked in that suit?”
A clamor sounded behind Barney and he swiveled his head to see its cause. His partner’s head just cleared the edge of the roof when Luke turned around and rushed the ledge. It wasn’t a far enough run to build the necessary mom
entum, but it had to do. The alternative wasn’t sunny enough.
With a leap, Luke kicked off the ledge and launched himself at the other building, a smile spreading his lips. He would make it, it was closer than he thought. He might be forced to waste some time scrambling up the other side, but he could do it.
A popping sound reverberated, a slug whirred by his arm. A miss. Another bullet was fired, this one bit, sliced, wedging itself in his flesh. The scorching fire in his torso twisted his airborne-body and forced him to lose the little steam he had and pummel downward. That trip to the ground took ages, but his life didn’t flash before his eyes. His heartbeats went crazy, loud and resonating through his aching body.
He almost welcomed the end of the plunge, a hard smack against the pavement that jarred him to the core. And even though several bones crunched, there was no pain, just some pressure building in his neck and back.
In this awkward and pain-free position, Luke wondered how much Hope was paid for delivering him. Hope, the reason for his downfall.
****
As they reached the hospital, Pru said, “I don’t understand why we have to come here again.”
Luke glanced at her sideways. “Because I want to ask questions that can’t be asked at night. I already explained that. What’s wrong with you today?”
“Nothing.”
Earlier, when she’d thought she was helping him through his nightmare, he’d awakened with a heart-wrenching sigh of one word. Hope. Then he’d propelled himself from the bed, away from her, and to the floor.
Was “Hope” an optimistic expectation or a girl’s name?
She’d asked him if he had a nightmare, and he denied it, which should’ve been end of story. Yet, Pru couldn’t help the sadness that had swarmed her heart at the utterance of that single word. The more she thought about it now the more “Hope” felt like a name. No one screamed “wealth” or “luck” in his sleep, did they?
Now, he studied her for a while without responding, and then sighed. “You don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”
