Darkest Thoughts

by P W Hillard

  Chapter Nine

  Darren was cowering behind the table, hiding from the eyes burrowing themselves into him. Was it true? Had he done this? Darren didn't understand, and as he tried to wrap his mind about the idea, the creatures lunged and lashed. They dashed forward, claws swinging around in long curving arcs, trying to get inside the guard of their chosen prey. Mickey and Helen were both returning the favour with their summoned weapons, keeping the creatures at bay, for now.

  “No!” Darren said. His body was shaking. It felt like his bones were threatening to vibrate through his skin. “It’s not me, I swear.”

  “Then explain these?” Lucille was holding the napkin, waving the doodle in his face.

  “I don’t know! I didn’t even realise I was doing them until…”

  “Until what?”

  “Until one of these creatures attacked him in his room. Before Yanlou died.” Perrin’s focus was on the dancing voids. She had her hands raised, ready to fire the pillars of stone as she had earlier, but the melee was too fierce, figures moving too quickly to get a clear shot.

  “Yeah!” Darren said. “Yeah, it can’t be me. I got attacked. Why would I attack myself? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Lucille put the napkin down onto the table, taking care to lay it flat. She brushed her hand across it, smoothing out the wrinkles. “This,” she said as she did so, “is a Sumerian rune. It summons a manifestation of a person’s spirit. Of course, it would appear in your room first. It’s come out of you, from your soul.”

  “Oh, that bitch,” Perrin said, her words filled with venom. “Fuck, I get it now. All this goddamn time, she was planning this. For fuck’s sake mother, why?”

  “I don’t get it,” Darren said. There was a crash across the room as part of the light rigging around the stage fell away, the cut from one of the shadowy creatures leaving a gap in reality where it had been previously attached.

  “These things, it’s like…they don’t exist. That they’re spaces in the universe.” Perrin turned to face him. “When I brought you to my mother, you said you saw our hell as a void. A nothingness.”

  Lucille was nodding. Next to her, Abbie had stood up, her veil discarded. The young woman beneath was pale, her eyeshadow dark and her lipstick black. She, like Perrin, had her hands raised. There was a loud buzzing coming from her sleeves. "Right, I get it now. What can hurt a lord of hell? Hell itself. That's smart."

  Darren stood up finally, shaking his arms wide. “Someone explain it please.”

  “When I took you to our hell, my mother must have trapped a little part of you in there. A small fragment of your soul. You’re both alive and in hell. A living gateway. When she placed those runes in your head, she knew this would happen. She's manifesting your soul as embodiments of hell, a perfect weapon." Perrin sighed. "She used you, Darren. And me. I never thought…I never thought she would do something like this."

  Lucille laughed. “It’s a smart plan. She gets away free, the human gets blamed, plenty of chance to grab some more power for herself.”

  “So, that’s why she came looking for me? She knew she could use my ability against me, to plant these thoughts, this plan, in my mind?” Darren shuddered. It felt like an intrusion, like someone had barged into his house and rearranged the furniture whilst he slept. “What the fuck do we do now?”

  Mickey ducked, the arm of the creature sweeping over his head. As it did, he swung his blade upwards, slicing through its elbow. The front of the arm came free, exploding into a splatter of black. The shards of oblivion hovered for a moment, before rushing back into the body of the creature. The forearm regrew, sliding back into existence.

  “Come on,” Mickey said, groaning loudly. “Will you fucking stay dead.”

  The creature responded with another flurry of blows. One broke through Mickey’s guard, slashing as his shoulder. A thin black line was superimposed on reality for a moment, before vanishing, leaving a thin stretch of blood seeping into his white suit.

  “I expected better,” Helen said, her face wide in a smile. She spun, her blade flashing as she did. The strike cut deep, and her opponent stepped backwards, allowing its chest to regrow. “I have seen children handle a blade better than you.” She laughed heartily, enjoying the thrill of battle a little too much.

  “I seem to remember a lot of your warriors deciding that our side sounded quite a bit nicer and swapping over.” Mickey touched his wound, looking at the blood that seeped onto his hand. It was a new experience, he had never bled before. He shouldn’t even have blood. Something about the creature’s strikes was warping reality where it struck.

  “Funny, I seem to remember plenty of pillaged monasteries, your people putting up a pathetic fight.”

  “Those were monks!” Mickey dropped backwards off the stage with a hop, his back meeting Helens. “They weren’t warriors.”

  “My point exactly,” Helen said. She turned, her sword in her right hand, her arm swinging wide. Mickey stepped under it, bringing his blade stabbing upwards. In one single motion, they swapped opponents, landing solid blows on each. “Nicely done angel, we'll maybe make you a true warrior yet.”

  “I’ll take the compliment. I am, of course, extremely humble.”

  “You sound it.” Helen's smile had changed, become less manic and more coy. Mickey had a similar smile. They were enjoying their banter.

  ***

  As the angel and the Viking worked in tandem, Darren was focusing. It wasn’t working.

  “Come on, Darren,” Perrin said. “You can do this.”

  “I can’t, it’s not working.”

  “You summoned them here. That means you can control them. They’re a part of you, at a primal, elemental level.” Lucille placed her hand on Darren’s shoulder. It was oddly comforting.

  Darren shook his head. "There is too much noise. Too many, thoughts and emotions." It was almost unbearable. The stress of combat was causing Mickey and Helen's thoughts to radiate strongly. Flashes of battle, the thrill of combat, and something else, then the sensation of joyful flirtation. It was a confusing mix.

  “Darren,” Perrin said, placing her hands on his. “Focus on me. My thoughts. You said before they’re calming. Use that.” She pulled him forward, placing her forehead on his. Perrin didn’t know if it would help, but it was the right thing to do.

  Darren closed his eyes. He could still see the cloud of emotions, a thousand movies playing on the same screen. He waited until Perrins came to the surface. A sense of perfect, seamless calm, like the ocean on a windless day, or a forest at dusk. He reached out with his hand, grasping at that thought. It was soothing, and he allowed it to encompass him, pushing the thoughts of violence and war out of the way.

  Darren found himself in the middle of a field of perfect, untouched snow. He was high up, at the peak of a mountain, but he could feel no cold. All around him was the white of the ground and the blue of the sky, a perfectly balanced combination. In his mind's eye, he raised his hands to his mouth and called out, a mental call to himself.

  The creatures appeared before him, their feet resting on the snow, but not sinking into it. They looked at him curiously, before slowly crouching down into a kneeling position, a show of submission. Darren felt somehow, more whole, like something he didn’t know was missing had been returned to him.

  Darren opened his eyes again. The creatures were gone, their opponents left panting in the centre of the room, swords still raised. They were looking at him, as were the people around the table. Darren realised, slowly, that they weren’t looking right at him. His head shifted left and right. The creatures were flanking him, standing perfectly still, like obsidian gargoyles.

  “It worked,” Perrin said.

  “Yeah, it worked,” Darren said. He raised one arm, and each of the living hell beasts copied him, matching his motions. “They’re no threat now. It’s like, something that was stolen has been returned.”

  “You mind explaining wha
t is going on here?” Mickey said. He pointed at Darren with his flaming blade, heat radiating from it.

  ***

  Anne smiled to herself, as she walked down the street. It had been a rousing success. The human couldn’t control the creatures, so he was surely dead by now, or at least blamed for the killings. She hadn’t expected two of them to form, the death of Ammit being an unexpected bonus. It had been almost too easy, to subtly alter her thoughts, to insert something into Darren’s subconscious.

  It was dark, the streets of Glasgow empty at this time of night. Anne had walked a very specific pattern of streets, dropping small silk bags into carefully selected bins, painting a huge area of protective magic. She had been the one who had suggested the hotel to the association, its nearness to Glasgow important. This specific set of streets formed a huge rune of protection, a cosmic coincidence that meant it was one of the safest places against magic on the earth. The extra protective bags were just a bonus.

  She stopped at the next bin on her list, carefully fishing another bag out of her pocket.

  “Cold night,” said a voice.

  Anne turned, her eyes closed in apprehension. She re-opened them, her worst fears realised. Darren was stood on the opposite side of the road. Next to him was Mickey, his hand on the human’s shoulder, blood staining his suit.

  “It’s not safe for someone your age to be out and about this time of night,” Mickey said, removing his hand.

  “Fuck you, Mickey,” Anne said. She spat onto the ground. “You think you can take me, fucking come and try it.” Anne's shadow stretched behind her. A set of wings forming, expanding outwards. Anne's physical form didn't change, staying the little old lady she normally was.

  “I think so, but thankfully, we don’t need to find out. Fairly sure these two could do the job.”

  Anne felt a hand land on each shoulder. She glanced around, the very same creatures she had facilitated the existence of gripping her tightly.

  “You’re coming with us,” Darren said. “You have to pay for your crimes.”

  “A human and a fucking angel think they can judge me? I did what I had to do to survive. What I’ve always done, for millennia. This feathery bastard is just some fucking late coming bastard, him and his fucking demon counterparts. You have no right.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” Darren said. He turned his head, nodding towards the bottom of the street, towards a pub. The door opened, and Perrin stepped through, followed by the attendants of the convention. “But they do.”

  Chapter Ten

  Darren crossed his legs, placing his notepad upon his knees. His patient was sat opposite him, a slightly confused older man who was sat in a large leather chair. Darren had tried to get his new office as close to the old one as possible, but everything he brought in always seemed somehow older, more worn. As if leaving objects within the four walls aged them.

  “I’m…I’m not really sure about this,” the man said. He shifted awkwardly in the chair, the leather squeaking as he moved. “I mean, it’s very…irregular.”

  “Yes well, that’s how I like to do things. Irregular.” Darren doodled idly on his pad. A cat forming on its pages. The runes had long since fallen from his mind. He touched his arm absentmindedly. Beneath his shirt was a tightly wrapped layer of clingfilm, covering a freshly inked tattoo. A reminder of his recent escapade, a useful and permeant one, runes of summoning cast permanently onto his flesh. “Now, tell me about yourself.”

  “What’s to tell? Just average Joe, I sold encyclopaedias door to door.” The man had a thick American accent, one Darren placed somewhere in the Midwest, the slim knowledge of American accents he had gleaned from movies.

  “Not much call for that these days. With the internet and all that.”

  The man shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Fair point,” Darren said. “Did you like it?”

  “Yeah. I got to travel, see all the sights. And I brought people knowledge, in a way. I like to think that's a noble endeavour.” The man was nodding along as he spoke, as if reaffirming his own statements. “Look, no offence, but what's this all about? You're being a lot more friendly than the last lost.”

  “Well, new management, new methods. I like to get to know my patients.” Darren flicked the page of his notebook, banishing his cat doodle to the yellow lined void.

  “Is that what I am, a patient?”

  “Maybe, that’s what I’m here to find out.” Darren put down his notepad and picked up a brown paper folder. He opened it, examining the contents. “It says here you left the door to door sales job. If you liked it so much, why did you leave?”

  “You know why I left,” the man said. His tone had changed, his nerves gone, replaced by a strange determination. “Let’s not mess around, doc. I assume it’s doc?”

  “No, not a doctor. Therapists aren’t doctors.”

  “A therapist!” The man burst out into uproarious laughter. “A therapist here! Of all places! How the hell did that happen?”

  “It’s a long, grim story. I believe in honesty, with all of my patients. I am here because I am forced to be here. Pushed into this role, partly as punishment for my part in a rather grotesque plot, partly because I have a rather unique link with this place." Darren was still looking at the file in his hands, his head not rising from the page. "Now, I've been honest with you, are you going to be honest with me? Why did you leave that job."

  “Because of…the incident.”

  “And that incident is?”

  “Hah! You’re really going to make me say it. It’s clearly there on the page. It’s because I killed that girl, right?”

  “You tell me,” Darren said.

  “That’s a bullshit answer!” The man stood up, his hands balled into fists, his face turning a dark shade of purple in anger.

  “Sit down.” Darren still didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. Behind him, looming from the shadows cast by the high back of his green leather chair, was a creature. A reflection of a part of his soul that was trapped, a creature made of hell manifest. It placed its long-clawed hand on the top of the chair, gripping at the leather.

  The man sat, recognising the implied threat. "Fine, you want to know? I quit the job because one night, after a few drinks, a few too many drinks, I went up to this young girl in the bar. I recognised her, from my day's sales. She was nice, bought a book, gave me a glass of iced tea. I wanted to return the favour."

  “And then what happened?”

  “She said no! So, I waited, until she left. I just wanted to talk to her, to see why she didn't want the drink. She had seemed so nice earlier. But when she saw me, she screamed. I think I startled her. I ran, I just wanted to apologise and…and…it all happened in a flash. We were on the ground, my hands around her neck. Squeezing. It felt so good, so right. She was ungrateful.” The man had clasped his hands together and was staring as his interlocking fingers, lost in the moment. “She deserved it. After that, I left the job. Did odd jobs here and there.”

  “You didn’t want to be found.”

  “I didn't want to stop. Not after that. No after the first. It's weird, impossible to explain. It felt so right. Like it's what I was born to do.”

  Darren found himself nodding along. “Until you got hit by a truck?”

  The man snorted. “Yeah. I had it all planned the second time. Picked someone out, waiting in the bar. Then, the moment I stepped outside, run down by a drunk driver.”

  “Would you have stopped.”

  “No. No, I don't think so.”

  “Thanks,” Darren said. “That’s all I needed to know.” Darren snapped his fingers, the shadowy creature behind him copying the motion. The man vanished. “Perrin?”

  The door creaked open. Perrin leant through, one hand on the door frame, the other on the handle. Behind her was an endless eternal black. “Yeah?”

  “Can you send in the next one?”

  “Really?” Perrin released th
e doorframe, stepping through the door into the office that had formally been her mothers. It had been redecorated by Darren, multiple times, but it always seemed to slowly revert to how it had been. “This is all a bit pointless isn’t it?”

  “Is it? If I have to do this, I at least want to vet the people we have, and the ones we let in. Make sure the right people are in here.”

  “Right people by your standards. That's a slippery slope to go down.” She walked across the room, dropping into the now vacant chair opposite Darren. “Besides, it's an almost impossible task. There are a lot of people in here. You want to go through them all?”

  “I can try at least.” Darren placed the file that was still in his hands on the small side table next to him. “You know, I became a therapist for my own sake. Peoples thoughts have a way of worming themselves into my mind. The more present it is in a person's mind, excited, worried, stressed, the louder it is to me. Therapy was my way of at least trying to make my life a little quieter. This is almost penance, in a way. That really bit me in the ass didn't it?”

  “You didn’t do anything though? It was all my mother.”

  “Yeah, and the other hells were really discerning in that. The only reason they let me live was because I caught your mum. This whole set up is only because they think it’s funny.”

  Perrin nodded. “Plus, it suits them. It’s as good as our hell being off the board. That and they’ll probably try to use you. I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t know bringing you here would bind you to this place.”

  “It makes sense. Souls aren’t supposed to leave hell? Little bits of mine getting stuck here sounds about right.” Darren chuckled beneath his breath. “Like any of this sounds right.”

  “Any further progress on those two, getting them…re-joined?”

  “Not really no. I have much better control of them now. They’re starting to feel like a part of me, again. Just two weird parts that can walk around on their own.”