by Graham Marks
Gabe blinked, Rafael’s interruption stopping his train of thought. Go? He looked around the chapel at the carcass of the owl he’d killed and the coyotes who wanted to kill him, at Father Simon’s mutilated body, lying in an expanding pool of blood. Yeah, he wanted to go too, but the only place he wanted to go was home.
Rafael strode over and took hold of Gabe’s arm, his fingers tight as steel bands, and dragged Gabe across the shifting carpet of blood-spattered white feathers on the floor.
He was not going home.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Where are you taking me?”
Rafael ignored the question and continued to march along the wide pathway through the graveyard. Gabe stumbled to keep up with him, the sentinel coyotes pacing either side of them, radiating hatred. Their message might have been silent, but it came loud and clear: You killed our friend, and we will not forget.
There wasn’t even a hint of chill in the air, but Gabe was shivering like it was ten below zero. He’d completely lost control of his life – of what was left of his life – and was now slave to the lunatic dragging him off to who knew where. He did not want to die – slowly, or quickly – but it didn’t look like it was going to be his choice.
Ahead were the wide, decorative iron gates of the cemetery entranceway. Cars were passing by, cars with drivers and passengers. When they got out on to the street, surely someone would see them? He could call for help, make it clear to anyone looking their way that he was being held against his will.
Out on the sidewalk it took a moment for Gabe to realize how very quiet it was, even for a Sunday morning. Up ahead he saw an SUV come round the corner, and as it got nearer Gabe could see it was full of people. He tried to scream, but nothing happened. Nothing happened because his mouth refused to open, like his lips had been super-glued together. He waved frantically, but no one gave him a first glance, let alone a second, didn’t notice a man dragging some hysterical young guy along with him. Accompanied by coyotes? How could you not see that? It was like they were invisible.
“This is not your world now,” Rafael said, seeming to read Gabe’s mind. “You will never be a part of it again, boy. You … you are mine until I have done with you.”
Rafael’s grip on Gabe’s arm tightened and he could feel the sensation of pins and needles in his fingers as the bloodstream became even more constricted.
“I have been touched by angels, I have talked with gods, walked with immortals. Nothing here can touch me, or what is mine. I will not be bound by the flimsy, pathetic rules of this time and place. I will follow other, more powerful and unchanging, dictates and decrees.”
Gabe hadn’t a clue what Rafael was rambling on about, but he could see they were making straight for the road, and it was clear Rafael was just going to walk straight into the traffic. And he had no option but to go with him.
Off the sidewalk now. Into the traffic lanes. Cars, trucks, vans, you name it, they were coming from both directions, but the drivers simply kept on driving. No honking horns, no screeching brakes, no squeal of rubber on tarmac. No dull thud as flesh and bone met a ton or more of pressed steel, plastic, toughened glass and aluminium engine block. Nothing.
And as they continued walking Gabe found the world around him fading away, dissolving like a watercolour painting in the rain.
Blurring.
Disintegrating.
Fading, light to dark.
Gabe looked down and could see though his hands, through his pale, waning body. Had he become a ghost, died without realizing it? No such luck, not if Rafael’s threats were to be taken seriously, and he kind of thought they had to be.
He didn’t know where he was going but he didn’t care, instead finding himself wondering if this was what being on drugs was like. He felt totally spaced and out of his head. Gone, and never coming back home. But strangest of all, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t hurt or feel scared, he wasn’t tired or angry. He felt calm and so completely and extraordinarily like himself. He was just Gabriel Mason, the person no one else really knew or ever would know. It was cool, so cool he never wanted it to stop.
But then the unwritten rule that life taught you, right from your very earliest days, kicked in. The one which stated: all good things, all of them, must come to an end.
Gabe felt himself shudder and wobble, like he was made out of jelly; light streamed in and reality poured over him, sucking itself back into his veins and bringing with it all the bad things it had felt so good to lose. He breathed in, gasping for air and his chest heaving, a drowning man who had just fought his way to the surface.
Standing on the sidewalk, next to Rafael, who still had him in his killer grip, Gabe saw they were outside Father Simon’s place. Which was impossible. It was miles away from the Mission San Sebastian. He had to be hallucinating, or else … he was at a complete loss as to what else might have happened.
“Inside!”
Gabe staggered forward as Rafael roughly shoved him towards the rectory’s front door. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “What?”
“Go in.” Rafael pointed. “Go in and get me what he left there, minion.”
“But—” An electric shock arced across Gabe’s brain, a blizzard of tiny bright lights flashing in front of him.
“Do as you have been told!”
“I don’t…” Gabe staggered slightly, dizzy and confused. “Who d’you mean, what do you want?”
“I want the things you stole, cretin! I want the things you gave to your feeble priest.”
“I’ve got no idea where they are.”
“Seek and ye shall find, boy.” Rafael leant forward, eyes glowing. “Seek!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Gabe stood in the middle of Father Simon’s study for a moment, wondering why Rafael hadn’t just come in and got the gold pieces for himself, instead of sending him. Maybe the Father had cast a spell, or maybe done something more priest-like to the house, if that wasn’t completely ridiculous. No, the more he thought about it, that must be it. Something was keeping Rafael from entering the rectory.
He reached up and felt the owl scratches on his face. They stung when he touched them, and he wondered for a second if he would be scarred for life. Yeah, like that was worth worrying about. He looked around the room that had become familiar to him in such a short time. He glanced at the desk the Father would never sit at again, the books he’d never consult, the bourbon he wouldn’t drink.
The bourbon.
“Purely medicinal, man,” Gabe said out loud. “Calms the nerves.”
If there was anyone who needed their nerves calming he figured it was him. And maybe a shot would help straighten his head so he could think of a way out of this major pile of crap he’d gotten himself dropped into.
Yup, that was such a well known benefit of drinking alcohol.
The last thing he needed was to mess with his already messed-up head. As he turned his back on the bottle of bourbon in the cabinet he saw one of the coyotes, standing guard in the hallway. The loathing and contempt in its eyes rattled him for a moment, then he got a grip, walked over and slammed the study door shut in the coyote’s blood-stained muzzle.
“See how good you are at turning doorknobs, mutt!”
Gabe went over to the desk and pulled open the top right-hand drawer, where he and Stella were supposed to have left the medallion. In one of the compartments he spotted a bunch of keys and picked them up, then sat down in the Father’s black leatherette office chair and leant back.
Somewhere in this room were the gold pieces, all except the medallion, which was in Stella’s camera bag. For safekeeping. Gabe sighed inwardly at the thought of what Rafael would do when he found something was missing, if the man didn’t somehow know already. But he would have to deal with that when it happened. Right now the job was to find where Father Simon had put the stuff, then hand it over to Rafael. It was the last thing Gabe wanted to do, and what the Father had died trying to stop, but what was
the alternative? Rafael would turn his brain to mush or worse if he didn’t. And then kill him if he did anyway. A real lose-lose situation.
A noise out in the garden made him look round, to find the other coyote at the French windows. If an animal could look condescending, this one had it down. It yawned and licked its chops. Gabe got up and roughly drew the curtains, then went back to the desk knowing there was no way this was going to end well.
Gabe set to work, looking for the only logical place to hide something valuable. Somewhere that was locked shut. None of the desk drawers fitted the bill, and had nothing in them of any interest. Same with the two-drawer filing cabinet, and the next three cupboards he tried. At first he thought the door to the fourth cupboard might be stuck, then realized it wasn’t and started trying to find the right key for it. He got it at the third try, the key sliding in sweetly and turning with a soft click. He pulled the door open, expecting anything but what he saw.
A safe. A black metal safe, locked up tight.
It wasn’t the old type, with dials you had to spin backwards and forward, but the more modern kind, similar to the one in a hotel he’d stayed at once, a couple of years ago when they’d last been on a family holiday. It had a keypad, and needed a four-digit access code. Which he did not know.
Gabe sat back on his heels and looked up at the ceiling for help. And saw the crucifix on the wall, the scroll above the figure of Jesus with the letters ‘INRI’ on it. Could it possibly be that easy? He’d seen an article online that said a stupidly large number of people were so dumb they chose 123456 as their online security code as it was simple to remember. He didn’t for one moment think the Father had been an idiot, but anything was worth a try…
Chapter Thirty-Six
Gabe reached for his cell phone to check which letters went with which numbers and stopped, kicking himself for not thinking about it before – he should be calling the cops! He had tapped 9-1-1 on the keypad before registering there was no signal showing. His shoulders sank. How Rafael had done it he didn’t know, but he was trapped with no exit strategy.
“Shit-shit-shit…” Gabe checked the keypad again, then went back and knelt in front of the safe. He punched in the numbers relating to each letter – four, six, seven, four – and heard the chunking sound of the electronic lock disengaging. Despite the dire circumstances he smiled at his success; sure, it was a simple code, but not completely obvious.
Pulling open the safe door he was relieved to find the gold was there, on top of some papers and still loosely wrapped in his old duster. But next to it was something that took him by surprise. A handgun, in a black leather holster. Not entirely what he expected he’d find in a priest’s safe, but then Father Simon was anything but your regular type of priest, having been some kind of a cop. Maybe the gun was a souvenir, or maybe it was down to the fact that, like the saying went, old habits died hard.
Gabe reached in and picked up the gold. The tingle that he felt run up his arm was unnerving, like a mild electric shock, and the sour, metallic taste in his mouth made him feel vaguely sick. He quickly put the gold pieces on the carpet next to him, then picked up the holster. Standing, he took the pistol out and looked at the L-shaped hunk of matte black metal sitting in the palm of his hand. The words ‘SIG SAUER’ were stamped into its short, thick barrel, the code ‘P228’ etched on the grip. At a guess it weighed about half a kilo, and it gave off the oily smell of a machine, a smell that reminded him of his dad’s workbench. The gun looked used but well cared for.
He might not know very much about firearms, but there was an empty space in the pistol’s grip where the magazine should go, and when he pulled back the top half of the barrel to cock the gun, there was nothing in the chamber. It wasn’t loaded. Gabe pulled the trigger, but it wouldn’t move. OK, OK … safety catch … the Father had left it on, even though the gun was empty.
Gabe looked the gun over and saw a lever at the top of the grip, right above where the thumb would be when it was held. It was angled upwards, so he pushed it down and pulled the trigger again. There was a solid, sharp clunk as metal struck metal and the firing pin hit an empty space. He looked back into the safe and, next to a squat cardboard box that said it contained 50 Aguila .40 S&W Full Metal Jacket cartridges, he spotted the magazine. Picking it up he could see the thing was full and slid it into the grip until it slotted fully in place. The extra weight gave the pistol even more authority.
Gabe pulled the top half of the barrel as far back as it would travel again and let it go. The hammer was now cocked, the safety off, the gun loaded and ready to fire. He could feel his heart thudding.
There were only two options open to him now. One, he could go back outside and give Rafael what he wanted, meekly handing over the gold. Or two, he could fight back and do the other thing.
This ‘other thing’ was an idea which had just occurred to him. And if he hesitated, Gabe knew it would never happen. Not in a million years. He’d just roll over and Rafael would win. It was his choice.
What was it they said? ‘Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t?’ That was him. That was where he was.
He looked at the seemingly insignificant bundle on the carpet, wishing he’d never seen what was in it, or had somehow known to leave well enough alone. Oh the joy of 20/20 hindsight.
He bent down and picked up the gold.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gabe stood in front of the study door. This was, in a way, like he vividly remembered feeling when he’d been about to dive from the top board at the pool off Huston Street for the first time in his life. Nervous hadn’t been the half of it, more like utterly petrified. Standing on the board, toes curled over the edge, he’d felt it was possibly the last thing he would do in his life, because it was so obvious nothing was going to stop him from slicing through the water like a dropped knife, after which his head would undoubtedly crack open on the bottom of the pool. DOA, right? But his friends had been watching, they’d all done it and survived, so he couldn’t back down. And he had lived to tell the tale.
There was only one way to find out if that would be true this time.
He reached out and took hold of the doorknob. His palm was so sweaty it was hard to grip and he wiped his hand on his jeans. Then one twist and the door was open.
A millisecond after Gabe pulled the trigger the SIG bucked in his hand like it was as shocked as he was at what it had just done. The explosion was deafening and the place filled with a smell kind of like Fourth of July fireworks, but way more intense. The coyote lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, its brains and bits of fur and skull were spattered all over the wall, the pink tip of its tongue poking out of its mouth. Gabe stepped over the limp carcass and walked on down the hall.
He’d never fired a gun before.
He’d never shot anything before.
He felt … nothing.
He wondered how he’d be feeling now if it had been a person not an animal that he’d shot and killed.
Up ahead the front door was half open, but that was where Rafael would be expecting him to appear. Instead, Gabe dodged to his left, into a room kitted out like a reception, which, if he remembered correctly, had a bay window.
It did, and through the side pane he saw Rafael, a perplexed expression twisting his scarred face. Gabe didn’t think, just pointed the gun and fired, the glass shattering into a hail of shards and splinters that blew outwards. He managed to squeeze off three more shots as he tried to follow Rafael’s dive for cover behind a low hedge, but had no way of knowing if any of the bullets had hit their intended target. He didn’t care. This, what he was doing now, this had to attract attention… Multiple gunshots being fired, shattering the peace and quiet at nice, kind Father Simon’s rectory? On a Sunday morning? This being LA, he figured it was unlikely anyone was going to risk actually coming out to see what the problem was, but if it didn’t spook the entire neighbourhood and start to get the Emergency Services calls made, well, he didn’t know what would.
Jagged glass teeth stuck out, waiting to bite him, but there was probably enough space to make an exit, if he was careful. Using the gun barrel to knock a couple of stiletto spikes from the bottom of the window frame, Gabe eased his way through the gap as quickly as he dared, making it unscathed. He was halfway down the path to the sidewalk when Rafael reappeared.
He came out from behind the hedge, swaying slightly. A dark red stain ran down one side of his face, then Gabe noticed he was gripping his right arm, just below the shoulder. So the man’s claim that he’d been touched by angels, which meant nothing could harm him, was a load of bull. And also, Gabe wasn’t such a bad shot.
Gabe had brought the gun up again and was taking a two-handed aim at Rafael’s face when a metallic pain scythed through his head. He dropped the gun and collapsed to the ground. Lying rigid on the path, his eyes wide open, Gabe saw Rafael coming towards him. The agony ramped up with every step the man got closer, in the end so bad that Gabe was beyond screaming.
The slow death had begun.
“Where is it, boy?” Rafael held out his right hand; it was shaking slightly and blood had dribbled on to his palm. “Where is it?”
Like a tap had been turned off, the pain disappeared and Gabe sucked in air. “Still there… Still in the house…”
“What? What?!” The pain returned and Rafael reached down with his bloody hand, grabbed the neck of Gabe’s T-shirt and hauled him up off the ground like he weighed next to nothing. Upright, feet only just touching the path, Gabe was only centimetres away from Rafael’s face and was finding it hard to breathe. “Go back and get it!” Spittle flecked Rafael’s thin lips. “Do as you have been told!”
