One thing Mal prided himself on was the ability to not be seen. He had become one “stealthy ass mother fucker” as he liked to call himself. He could slip into anywhere unnoticed if he wanted. But sometimes it was just as easy to walk right into a place like you knew what the hell you were doing. So that’s what Mal figured was the best way to get into White’s building. He put on a $4000 Armani suit, slipped into some serious power shoes, put a black leather briefcase with real gold trim in his hand and walked right into the main lobby. When stopped by the guard at the front desk, Mal had simply said he had a late appointment with some stock brokerage company on the tenth floor. Which he did, he had made the appointment the day before stating he wanted to diversify his portfolio, blah, blah and was ready to funnel some serious “cashola” through the greedy hands of Hammerin, Sikes or Maskovicz. Didn’t matter which one because he wasn’t planning on keeping his meeting.
The guard verified the appointment with someone at the brokerage company and pointed Mal to the large array of elevators across the lobby. Mal said thanks and headed toward them, boarded one and got off on the tenth floor where he met a cheerful receptionist tethered to a huge half-circle desk by a headset. Mal made a show of getting a phone call. He peppered the fake conversation with “nows” and “you’re kiddings” and ended with an “oh, alright, I’ll be there in a couple” followed by a heart-felt apology to the receptionist and a promise of a call tomorrow to reschedule. And within seconds Mal was out of the door heading back toward the elevator. The receptionist had turned back to answer a call and didn’t see that Mal wasn’t heading to the lobby, but was in fact heading up, up and up to the fiftieth floor—to Jericho White’s office.
While in the elevator, Mal pulled a Mac-10 from his briefcase. It was given to him by one of his instructors and was his favorite for infiltration where there would be a number of people in his way. It held 32 rounds and was fast and efficient. He used it to kill the same instructor two years later. He found it poetic; he wondered if the instructor found it poetic as well just before a bullet exploded through his head.
Mal’s plan was simple—when the elevator door slid open he’d shoot whoever was between him and White. It was a brutish plan, it lacked subtlety, but he wanted it that way. It was his last assignment and he wanted to have some fun at least.
Mal took a deep breath as he reached the 49th floor and let it out slowly as the red digital numbers changed to 50. He braced himself, pointed the gun ahead of him and waited for the doors to slide open. Someone would be getting a big surprise once they did.
A bell sounded, Mal waited, his finger twitched on the trigger, the doors slid open and Mal stepped into the offices of Jericho White and came face-to-face with…
…nothing.
He was shocked by the lack of life. He had prepared to kill and there was nothing to kill. He felt betrayed. He felt hollow, unfulfilled inside, like a child ripping into a present at Christmas only to find socks and not the toy he desired so much.
Before him was a typical office waiting area—professionally decorated but maintaining a warm welcome feel. Mal moved to the receptionist’s area and took a look behind it. Abandoned. His eyes fell over the counter, what lay behind it looked like it hadn’t been touched in a while. A fine layer of dust had settled over the black counter and everything else. His eyes moved back and forth and settled on the phone…
riinnggg riinnggg
For the first time in a long while Mal jumped. More like a twitch to most people, but to Mal it was one step away from pissing himself.
riinnggg riinnggg
He hesitated for a second, then reached over the counter and picked up the phone.
“Mr. Branch. Welcome. Won’t you please join me? Follow the corridor to the office at the end.”
Mal nodded as if he knew he was being watched.
“Oh, and Mr. Branch. Don’t worry about anyone trying to stop you. I assure you, it’s just you and me here.”
Mal heard the line go dead. He placed the phone back in its cradle and turned. Ahead of him stretched a corridor of doors. All the same—all closed. Mal should move down the hall slowly, but something told him he was safe—for now at least. He picked up his pace and approached the door at the end of the hall. This door was different than the rest. It spanned at least ten feet across, constructed of dark, heavy, hard wood. The handles where made of gold. They fanned out, one on each door, forming the shape of wings. Mal reached for the handles but stopped and opted instead to push the door open with his gun. Both doors swung open easily and wide. Mal stepped into the office of Jericho White, his gun leading the way like it had so many times before.
Mal heard the voice from the phone once again. “Mr. Branch, welcome.” The voice seemed to come from all around. He spun, trying to find its source.
“It’s okay, Mr. Branch. I’m right here.”
And a shadow came to life directly in front of Mal in the form of Jericho White. Mal leveled the gun at White’s chest.
“So, Mr. Branch. I understand you’ve come to kill me.”
Mal tried to pull himself together and gave a nonchalant shrug, the gun never moving.
White smiled and leaned back against his massive desk, unconcerned about the weapon aimed at his heart.
Who the Hell needs a desk that fucking big? Mal wondered.
“A powerful man,” White said flatly.
Mal squinted as though in pain. “Okay, you know what? Stay out of my fucking head, alright? I mean, seriously, I hate that,” Mal said through clenched teeth. “Gre…”
White’s eyebrows went up in mock surprise. “What is it, Mal? Can I call you Mal?”
Mal shrugged again. “Sure. Let’s be casual… Jerry.”
White let loose a big smile, amused at Mal’s cockiness. “Please finish. Gre…? Greg…? Gregory? I know perfectly well it was Gregory who sent you to kill me, Mal.”
Somehow, Mal wasn’t surprised White knew this. He was getting the distinct impression he was caught in the middle of some game. And this sudden revelation was starting to seriously piss him off.
“Gregory likes to get inside people’s heads. We all do really. It’s a natural ability. It can be controlled though. Although I doubt Gregory is showing much restraint these days. Never has been able to control his power. Loose cannon as they say.”
Mal went along. “Oh yeah. You and Greg ole buddies?”
White crossed his arms over his chest, nodding at the same time. “You could say that.”
“Let me guess. Old business partners? One stabbed the other in the back and now this has been years in the works. Old Greg finally getting the upper hand by sending me in to finish off the competition?”
White shook his head. “Well, if you’d like to put it in such banal terms. Fine, yes, a bad deal. But it really is so much more than that, Mal.” White stood up and moved his arms dramatically as if pointing out pictures on the wall. “It’s a timeless tale. One of deceit and treachery. Of murder and jealousy. All the good stuff of classic drama. Shakespeare couldn’t have penned a better tale.”
“Oh yeah. So who are you in this story? The treacherous villain soon to get what’s coming to him or the tragic hero?” Mal asked.
White settled down, thinking about Mal’s question. “Hmmm. A little of both I suppose. Depends on who you speak to…” White hesitated. “…you think you could put your gun away, Mal?”
“Probably not.”
“It’s kind of rude at this point.”
Mal smirked. “Not exactly Miss Manners here, Jerry.”
White shrugged. “Well, I asked nicely…”
Light exploded from around White’s body, reaching out toward Mal. Mal instinctively fired six quick rounds directly into White’s chest. And just as suddenly as the light shot forward it retreated, leaving nothing but silence and the smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.
Mal blinked his eyes back into working and six dark holes dotting White’s chest. Yet White continued to stand th
ere, taking in Mal with his now golden eyes.
“Hmm. Neat trick.”
“Need I ask again?”
“Suppose not,” Mal lamented, lowering the gun and then quickly stowing it inside his jacket. And just as quickly pulling something else out. For the first time since being in White’s presence Mal sensed a change in the man’s demeanor. White’s cool confidence had disappeared, replaced instead with a definite uneasiness. His eyes locked onto the object in Mal’s hand.
Mal was a little surprised by White’s reaction. But relieved just the same. For the first time since walking into this office, Mal finally felt slightly more in control. “What’s a’matter, Jer? Seen a ghost or something?”
White’s eyes became slits as he tried to regain some composure. “You could say that.”
“Little gift—”
“From your master, no doubt?” White said through clenched teeth.
“Yep. That Gregory… He’s a giver.”
White gave a disgusted grunt. “He’s a fool.”
“Careful, there, Jer… Wouldn’t want to go getting me all upset by calling Gregory names. He is my—”
“Your what?” White interrupted. His eyes had changed, the whites disappearing, buried under an intense glow of gold.
This startled Mal a little. “I’d go ahead and calm down a bit, Jerry. The eye thing…makes me twitchy. Bad things could happen if I get too twitchy. So save the theatrics and tricks for someone else.”
White sighed. “Fine. Is this what you want?” White asked as his eyes returned to normal. He followed this with a shake of his head. “Ironic,” he said, amused.
“What’s funny, Jerry? I like a good joke.”
“This…” White motioned up and down his body with a wave of his hand. “…this is the trick. This is what you want to believe is real. But you know don’t you, Mal?”
“Know what?”
“That all this is a façade. You just refuse to admit it to yourself. You know what this is. You know what I am, what Gregory is.”
Mal hesitated, then shot White a quick nod. “Maybe.”
White moved to his chair behind his desk and sat, crossing his hands on the desktop and leaning in as if ready to negotiate.
“What is your reward? What has Gregory offered you for your years of service—your years of sin against humanity?”
Mal paused for a brief second, then simply said…
««—»»
“Salvation.”
Mal was confused. What the Hell was this guy talking about? Salvation? How can you offer someone salvation? Besides, Mal was pretty sure he was beyond being saved at this point—
“No one is beyond being saved, Mr. Branch,” replied Gregory, interrupting Mal’s thoughts.
Mal frowned. “Seriously, man. Knock that crap off.”
Gregory gave a short, quick apologetic nod. “Forgive me. Sometimes my manners falter.”
“Yeah, well…” Mal’s mind was already off the subject. He returned to the offer.
“Let me assure you that I can certainly deliver on my promises, Mr. Branch.”
Mal’s doubt showed on his face. He looked at the flesh mountain to his left, but got no help from Desmond whatsoever.
This was his decision—no one here to help him.
“Do you doubt my power to deliver you into the arms of salvation, Mr. Branch?”
“Well, come on, Greg. Seriously. Turn on the radio and you can hear a dozen fast-talkin’ Bible thumpers offering to save you.” Mal shrugged. “What makes you so special?”
Gregory’s intense stare bored into him. “Do you remember what it was like that last night before you awoke unto me?”
The corner of Mal’s left eye twitched ever so slightly as the memory hit him. He struggled to remain in control and managed to pull off a strained shrug. “Little warm,” he said nonchalantly.
Gregory’s stare softened. “A master of the cool understatement.”
“Yeah, well, that which does not kill us… And all that.”
“Oh, but it did kill you, Mal.”
Mal bristled.
“But it was me that pulled you away from death’s embrace and an eternity of damnation,” Gregory stated flatly.
“Praise the Lord!” Mal exclaimed.
Gregory stood quickly, and in a flash Mal was flying sideways off his chair.
“You will not speak light of the Lord.” Gregory’s anger pulsed with white hot heat like the hand mark on the side of Mal’s face.
“Fu…” Mal started to swear before thinking better of it. “Man, Greg. Not a fan of the touchy feely. Know what I mean?” He struggled to shake the stars from his vision.
“It is my belief that subtlety and gentle suggestion fail to work on you, Mal. You fancy yourself a tough man. Well, then I will show you I am tougher.”
“No need. I get it.”
“Now, just so you remember the roles here… A little reminder of what you were saved from…” Gregory gave a slight wave of his hand and Mal found himself on the floor writhing in sheer agony as he felt invisible flames engulf his body.
Gregory raised his voice over Mal’s screams of anguish. “It was I who saved you from this pain before. It was I who pulled you from an eternity of such pain and suffering. And it is I and I alone who offers you salvation.”
Another quick wave of his hand and the phantom fire disappeared. But Mal continued to scream, his body shaking violently, his eyes going wide and glassy as he rapidly approached shock. Gregory leaned down to within an inch of Mal’s face. “Salvation,” he said quietly and lightly placed his fingers upon Mal’s brow. Mal’s shaking ceased, as did his screams. He lay there looking up into Gregory’s golden eyes—deep into the eyes of…his savior.
««—»»
“All premeditated to manipulate you into his service,” White said with a sigh.
Mal heard White’s voice as if it were in the distance. And he snapped out of his memories and locked eyes with White. “Oh yeah? How so?”
“If you will allow me, I can show you what happened that night.”
“You want in my head don’t you?”
White shook his head. “Not at all. I invite you into my memories and the memories of those who work with me.”
“Yeah, but still, what happens to my body while we take a trip down your memory lane? Don’t really want to wake up naked on the side of the road with a twenty taped to my forehead and my asshole bleeding.”
White frowned. “You are a crude man, Mr. Branch.”
Mal shrugged. “Yeah, well, you know… No momma raising me and all that. No manners…”
“No excuses…”
Mal shrugged again. “Oh…so I’m not allowed to play the no-mommy card like every other pathetic fucker in the world? That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Would you like to see your mother, Mr. Branch?”
“Uh,” Mal was stunned by the offer. He started to say something smart-ass, but instead stumbled on his words. He eventually got something out. “You knew my mother?”
“Knew?” White shook his head. “No. But I was… aware of her. Just as Gregory keeps an eye on everything I do, I keep a keen eye trained on him at all times.”
Mal mulled it over for a few seconds. “So you promise me no hanky-panky while we do this?”
“My word that nothing will happen to you. I am simply not allowed to harm you.”
“Why is it I believe you?”
White just stared at him.
“Okay. Let’s do this then, “ Mal relented.
White’s eyes turned gold again and Mal felt a slight rustling of the air around him. A moment later he was standing in an alley in a shitty part of town. Shitty, and familiar. He looked out of the alley entrance at the scene unfolding across the street. Mal didn’t want to admit it, but he knew what he was seeing. A skinny little rat of a guy was stumbling up to a mountain of a man—a huge man with long, golden hair. And Mal knew instantly that he had been played because there was no
doubt just who the guy was…Desmond.
The scene continued to play out and it wasn’t exactly what Mal remembered. His old, drunk self was a disaster on two feet. He approached the huge man in a barely controlled lurch. Mal could hear his old crackling voice break through the silent air—the words slurred and almost incomprehensible. But Mal knew what his ghost was saying. And he cringed. Then he watched the blur that was Desmond slide behind the old Mal and hit him upside the head with the bottle. Then Mal watched as Desmond lit a match and dropped it onto the bloody, crumpled pile on the ground. And even though he couldn’t feel the flames, a long suppressed memory resurfaced and Mal felt sick.
That sick feeling grew more intense as he saw another figure suddenly appear out of the shadows and come up next to Desmond. Mal watched as Gregory looked down upon the burning body. He waved his hand and the flames disappeared. Mal saw Gregory say something to Desmond before the giant removed his coat and laid it on top of Mal’s charred body. Desmond picked up what was left of Mal, cradling it like a baby, and walked off into the shadows behind Gregory.
Another sensation of wind swirling around him and Mal quickly found himself standing in dark shadows once again. Only this time it was in an even shittier place than where he had just relived being burned to death. The smell hit him first: garbage, shit, piss, rotting flesh, disease and despair. The stench attacked his senses, sending his stomach into convulsions. He struggled to not vomit and eventually won.
Mal’s eyes began to adjust to the dim light. Sounds rose up around him. But one sound quickly drowned out all others. Like someone turning the knob up slowly on a radio, the scream built to a crescendo. Mal winced and focused on where the sound had come from. And there on the ground, naked from the waist down, lay a woman in a small puddle of filthy water. Her legs spread wide, her thighs coated with blood and the head of a baby sticking out of her tearing vagina. “Help me!” she screamed.
For a split second Mal thought she was screaming for him, then he heard an all too familiar voice. Mal peered into the deep shadows and saw him…his savior…standing away from the woman, watching with a look of complete disgust etched into his perfect face.
Tales of the Fallen Book I: Awakenings Page 3
