by Lincoln Cole
Could it?
The locusts disappeared all of a sudden. It took Father Paladina a second to realize that they had gone, had never existed, and he kept swatting at his limbs to get them off and gasping in terror. No cuts or scrapes marred his body; no wounds of any sort.
Even Brad’s body had gone, leaving the room empty.
They had never been there, he realized. It all happened in his head, but, it had felt so real. He had felt the locusts burrowing into his skin, and the memory of that came strong and powerful. He lay there on the carpet, shaking and trying to regain some semblance of control over his emotions.
Not everything had happened in his head, he saw, a few moments later. Someone else occupied the room with him. Tim stood in the doorway of Father Reynolds’s private office, watching him. He had a blank look on his face and a hammer in his hand as he stared lifelessly at the priest. Though still dim, more light came in through the window now as the clouds parted.
“Tim?” Niccolo asked breathlessly, grabbing onto the corner of Father Reynolds’s desk to pull himself to his feet. “What … what’s wrong?”
Tim didn’t reply, except to raise the hammer into a threatening position and take a step toward Niccolo.
“Stay back!” Father Paladina shouted, moving away from the man and circling the room, which had only two exits. The basement and the main entrance.
Tim blocked the main entrance back into the church proper. Which left the basement—somewhere Niccolo didn’t want to go.
He didn’t see any other options, however. Tim kept walking toward him, moving slowly but with a clear purpose, and he backed Niccolo toward the stairwell leading down into the darkness.
Niccolo raised his hands in the air, waving them as though trying to calm a wild animal. The problem was, Tim looked perfectly calm right now and barely seemed to notice the gesture. There seemed something vacant about the way he moved, like he didn’t fire on all cylinders.
“Tim, listen to me. You don’t want to do this.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I do,” Tim said, and again Niccolo got struck by how wrong the man’s voice sounded. It used Tim’s vocal chords, but the sound came out wrong. The inflection, the tone, everything about it seemed off. “I really, really do.”
“We can talk about this.”
Tim raised his hammer and grinned. “I have a better idea.”
Niccolo turned to the staircase and sprinted to it. He grabbed the door handle and stumbled onto the basement staircase. When he looked back, Tim hadn’t set off in pursuit. Tim just stood there, grinning and watching.
“What do you think will happen? Where will you run?”
Niccolo didn’t answer. He slammed the door shut. As soon as the door had closed, the entire world went dark. No windows or lights to let in the light down here. Niccolo couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of his face. He felt around, praying for a lock to seal the door. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find one, at least not on this side. Then he turned and rushed down the stairs as fast as possible.
“Come on, Priest. Is this necessary? You know what is about to happen.”
Niccolo used the handrail to guide himself down, which proved lucky because, about halfway, he missed a step and stumbled forward. He hit his shin hard against one of the stairs but caught himself after only a small fall. The shin ached and throbbed, but he didn’t stop. He rushed to the bottom until he felt cement underfoot instead of wood.
Should he go to the right or left into the basement? Which direction offered the most safety? Might other things in the darkness trip or harm him? The idea of running off into the basement without knowing what might lie in wait terrified him.
What had happened to Brad? Was he okay? Did he form a part of what was going on, or had he become a victim like Niccolo?
He turned back toward the staircase and felt around. A storage space nestled next to the stairs and extended underneath. Better than nothing. He worked his way into the space, maneuvering around boxes and loose decorations. The stairs were wooden and hollow, and he hoped he would find a decent spot underneath where he could hide.
Luck stayed with him, and he managed to use his hands to guide him toward the wall beneath the staircase. There, he came across more boxes and other things stuffed there, but enough room remained for him to bend down and duck out of sight. Then he crouched into position in front of some boxes. Next, he stopped moving, going completely silent.
Not a moment too soon, either. There came a thudding sound against the door of the office above, followed by raucous laughter, and then it swung open. A sliver of light flitted down the staircase in front of Niccolo, and he watched through an opening between two of the stairs when it lit up the church basement.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Father Paladina knelt in his uncomfortable position beneath the staircase, eyes closed and struggling to control his breathing. Each gasp sounded like the cracking of a tree branch, and he couldn’t fight down an occasional sob of terror. His heart beat in his ears, and his veins seemed about to burst open.
“I can smell you, Priest. I know you didn’t run far. Where are you?”
The voice came from upstairs in the local priest’s office. Niccolo couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been so on edge and afraid. It felt like a sickness in his stomach, as all of his muscles tensed simultaneously. It made his body shake, and he worried that he might throw up at any moment.
“We both know how this will end. If you come out now, I’ll do it quick. If you make me come and find you, though …”
Niccolo struggled to control his breathing as hot tears ran down his cheeks. He reached into his front-right pocket for the single item he kept there. His rosary, which he held between his fingers and pressed against his lips, praying as hard as he could for the strength to deal with whatever was happening to him.
Not to overcome it, though. Part of him—if he were honest, a large part—knew he was about to die alone in this church, and the only thing he prayed for was the strength to die well.
After all, right now, not only his life hung in the balance: so did his everlasting soul.
“This basement has no exits. I know this church. This is my church. Not yours,” the man—if still a man—said from just upstairs. “I never thought I would actually get to kill a priest here. This is delightful!”
What is he waiting for? Niccolo wondered, in fear. Tim Spencer—or whatever controlled him—seemed to enjoy taking his time. Every muscle in Niccolo’s body ached, and he had to fight to keep from sobbing. Why is he doing this? Why is he waiting up there?
It felt like he’d been hiding under the stairs forever, but it had probably lasted for less than a minute.
“We’re having fun, aren’t we, Priest?” Tim asked.
Niccolo couldn’t contain a shudder, and the movement caused his shoulder to bump against one of the boxes behind him. The noise it made wasn’t that loud, but to Niccolo, it rumbled like an explosion in the stillness of the basement.
If his pursuer heard, though, he didn’t let on. Tim hummed to himself as he took his first step down the staircase. It creaked heavily underfoot, and Father Paladina winced when dust fell on his head.
Another step; the sound of the boot on the stairs sounded like a nail in the priest’s coffin. Tim kept on coming, humming a tuneless tone, until the father could see muddy boots in front of his face.
“Priest? You know I’ll find you. You can’t hide from me.”
Niccolo’s whole body trembled, and the man had called it true. His hiding place seemed weak and pathetic now. As soon as Tim reached the bottom of the staircase, he would spy Niccolo. The priest had backed himself into a corner and had nowhere to go.
He shouldn’t have stayed here at Saint Joseph’s Cathedral alone. Should have gone with Father Reynolds to his home; splitting up had turned into a terrible idea, one that might well cost him his life.
Father Reynolds’s life, too, Niccolo realized. Ja
ckson had gone home, but no doubt, whoever had sent this creature after Niccolo had gone after him as well. Father Paladina hadn’t warned his friend of the danger. He regretted that, now. Jackson had no way of defending himself and knew nothing of the danger. Niccolo had led him like a lamb to the slaughter.
Tim Spencer reached the bottom step, and Niccolo could see his back through the gap in the risers. He had nowhere to run and no possible way to get out of this. It was over. He was about to die.
He should at least face his death head on.
As a servant of God.
Easier said than done, however. His body struggled against him. The priest forced his wobbly legs to move and rose from his crouched position, stepping out from beneath the stairs to confront his pursuer. Tim heard him and turned.
“Well, then. There you are.” The man grinned and bared his teeth. He looked more feral than anything. “Well done, Priest. Found a little courage after all. Are you ready to meet your maker?”
Father Paladina opened his mouth to speak, to pray, but no sounds would come. His voice had abandoned him, and the words he’d studied and practiced for years caught in his throat.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” The man stepped closer to him and continued to grin that insane grin. “Let me get you started: Our Father, who art in heaven …”
“Vile abomination, you don’t belong here,” Niccolo muttered. “By the power of Christ, I compel you.” He held up his rosary, hand still shaking. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I order you to leave this place.”
The man stopped moving forward, his grin fading. “You think that will work? You, of all people, think that a prayer could compel me to just drop everything and leave?”
Father Paladina grew emboldened, feeling momentary strength while the words poured out of him. The demon was lying, and the words did have some impact. They gave Niccolo courage and knowledge that, despite everything, he did not stand alone. It had an effect, the power, the prayers, and his faith. They held the man at bay.
Maybe he could get out of his alive. If his faith held up.
“You do not belong here, creature. Return from whence you came. Through the power of Christ, I demand that you leave this holy place.”
A long moment passed, the only sound Niccolo and the man’s breathing. The priest held his rosary forth, hand unwavering and back tall. They stared at each other, locked in place, as the seconds ticked by.
“Silly priest,” the man said, finally, his grin returning. “Don’t you know you have no power here?”
The man reached up and grabbed the rosary in Father Paladina’s hand. A sizzling sound filled the basement, as though flesh burned, and the priest could feel the metal heating in his hand.
Niccolo watched in horror when Tim stepped closer to him, pressing the cross against his forehead. The metal burned Tim’s skin where it touched, and he burst into a wild and maniacal laugh.
Father Paladina released his grip on the rosary and jerked back in disgust. The man let it fall to the floor, a sizzling chunk of metal, and there it lay.
“How does it feel?” The man took another step closer to Father Paladina. Still grinning that sick and toothy grin. “How does it feel to know you are truly alone?”
He reached forward, grabbing the priest around the throat and squeezing. His grip felt like iron, crushing down on Niccolo’s windpipe.
“How does it feel to know that God has abandoned you?”
◆◆◆
Niccolo’s imminent death loomed large. The end had come. The world closed in around him, and the lack of oxygen made it impossible to think straight. He closed his eyes, praying softly to himself and trying to mumble out the words.
Tim just kept laughing and squeezing with inhuman strength. Niccolo could feel his windpipe collapsing and knew it was almost all over. He swatted at the arm, trying to break the man’s grip, but he might as well have swatted at a brick wall.
Suddenly, the hand had gone. A sound of something heavy thudded against the ground, followed by a grunt, and then nothing. A moment passed while he regained his breath, and then, oh so slowly, Niccolo opened his eyes.
Arthur stood there, staring at him with a slight smirk on his face.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?”
◆◆◆
“What happened?” Niccolo asked. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur said, looking tense.
“Is Jackson okay? Please, don’t tell me I got him killed.”
“He’s fine. I left him sitting safe in my car with no clue.”
“He tried to kill me,” Niccolo said, clutching at his throat. It made him wince in pain, and the skin felt tender.
“I’m aware,” Arthur said. “I’m also on something of a clock, so we need to get moving.”
“What?”
Arthur didn’t respond. Instead, he walked over to the breaker box, flipped open the lid, and threw the blown fuses back into the correct position. The lights flickered to life with a humming sound, and Niccolo blinked from the brightness.
When his eyes adjusted, he saw Brad lying on the ground in the corner of the room. Arthur walked over and touched his fingers against his neck, feeling for a pulse.
“Is he …?”
“He’s alive,” Arthur said. “The other guy, too. I just knocked him out.”
“This is insane. He tried to kill me.”
“We’ve established that.”
“Why? Why would he kill me?”
Once more, Arthur didn’t respond. He stepped over Tim’s body and headed up the staircase and out of the church.
“Wait. How are you here?” Gingerly, Niccolo stepped over Tim’s unconscious form and followed Arthur. “Why did you even come here? How did you get involved in all this?”
Arthur hesitated and glanced back. “That’s a long story.”
Chapter 11
A few days earlier
Arthur stood on the lonely sidewalk a block away from the residence of Jun Lee, an enormous apartment complex in the center of Yokohama, Japan. Jun had become one of the longest-standing members of the Council of Chaldea.
Arthur served that Council as one of their Hunters, protecting the world against supernatural threats. His duty was to follow, unquestioningly, any order given to him by the Council. Anything less, they would consider as treason against the Council, which could be punishable by death.
Stood outside Jun’s house, Arthur balanced on the edge of a knife. If he went inside the apartment without the consent of the Council, he would cross a line, and he didn’t know if he would have any way of coming back.
But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without the answers he needed. Already, he had disobeyed Frieda by leaving Germany, and he needed to see this through, no matter the outcome. Arthur needed to do this for his family, if not for himself.
At just after ten o’clock in the evening, he still had jetlag from his recent flight into the country. He had only traveled to Japan once before, a few months ago, and it also became an occasion to visit Jun Lee; though, that time, on drastically different terms. Back then, his family was alive, he hadn’t been labeled a butcherer, and Jun had been one of his most trusted allies.
Jun Lee would have multiple bodyguards inside and outside the complex to keep himself safe. Some of them Hunters like Arthur, and others mercenaries from private firms hired to protect the Council’s most valuable assets. Arthur took no issue with any of them and wouldn’t hurt any if he didn’t have to.
He hated coming out here like this, because when everything got said and done, he considered Jun one of the few respectable Council members. He doubted Jun had anything to do with the deaths of his wife and daughter, and if he could find any other way to get the information he needed, he would have done that instead. Jun had always behaved in a friendly way with Arthur, and he’d even sided with him when it came to the vote about whether or not to have Abigail, the young girl Arthur had rescued from the cult,
executed.
However, Arthur didn’t have any other way of getting the information he needed. As for why it needed to happen in person, this wasn’t a conversation he could have had with Jun over the phone. He wouldn’t dare announce his intentions ahead of time. The Council would never approve of his actions, and if they knew what he had planned after this visit to Jun, they would actively work to stop him.
He couldn’t have that. Not until he had his answers. Not until he had killed the person responsible for the murder of his family.
◆◆◆
Nine months had passed since he had raided the decrepit manor in the woods and killed all the cultists. A principle cell of the Ninth Circle had used the place as a hideout for running multiple illicit operations, including kidnapping and murder. Some of their most important leaders had hidden out there, and Arthur had killed more than two dozen people.
He hadn’t expected—or intended—to survive the raid. It had happened from a rash decision in response to his family getting murdered by the cult, and his only hope had lain in taking as many of them with him as he could when he went out.
It hadn’t gone that way, however. He had rescued Abigail Dressler, a little girl that the cult had tortured and abused for months, if not years, and it had opened his eyes to just how insane his suicidal plan had been. After what she had gone through, how could he possibly just give up the way he had?
Then, as time went by, he realized he had another reason to go on. Vengeance. Yes, the cult had killed his family, but from where did they learn about his loved ones? Only a handful of people inside the Council of Chaldea had known about his family—where they lived and who they were. Those few people had the task of keeping the families of Hunters and members of the Council safe and away from their enemies, which meant they must have betrayed him.
Jun Lee knew the names of those Council members tasked with protecting their families, which meant he could give Arthur a list of who might have sentenced his wife and daughter to death. Arthur had never dreamed he might manage to track down the name of his betrayer, much less dole out punishment for her or his actions.
