Soul Eater

by Billy Baltimore

  Sweat broke out on his forehead. He struggled with what to say next, needing to gauge his response very carefully here.

  “Yeah, I mean, that’s something to consider, sure, but, ah… Well, I have some seniority built up now, vacation, benefits, you know? I would have to give all that up and start over, for less pay it sounds like,” he said, confident in the logic of his argument, looking at the clock again.

  Seven minutes to end this before she came home.

  His wife’s voiced flashed with frustration through the receiver.

  “Give all that up? None of that is more important than what you’re giving up now? Time with your family, me, your children,” she said.

  Don squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple.

  “No, honey, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just…” he said, trying to find the words that would get him off the line, watching the second hand race around the face of the large wall clock with the picture of a cardinal on it.

  “I sent them a copy of your resume. Their H.R. department called and want to know when you can come in for an interview. It would mean staying home, Don. Will you call them? At least talk to them?” she said, now pleading in a way that gave no quarter.

  A noise sounded from the front of the house, loud.

  “What was that?” she said.

  Don turned to look through the doorway of his study. Naked fear now making him feel clammy.

  “Uh, it was, ah… nothing. Okay, honey, I think I better get off the line now. I’ll call you tomorrow, same time, okay? Love you,” he said, hanging up the phone.

  “Don? Do—” she said as he ended the call.

  He stood by his desk, his phone in one hand. With the other he rubbed his face, tried to control his breathing. She was home a few minutes early. He had to regroup, gather himself, act natural.

  “Honey? Is that you? You’re home early,” he said, hoping he sounded pleased and not the way he really felt.

  Coming into the den area, he looked around. The kitchen, empty. Nothing out of place. The phone in his hand rang, her ring-tone, how he kept them separate. The suddenness of the sound making him jump. He cursed himself for his apprehension, knowing it was a sure way to ruin everything. He hit decline and went into their bedroom. Empty. She wasn’t home, but then what was that noise? He walked back into the den and there she was. Not his wife, another, beautiful and exotic and staring right at him.

  “What, um… who are you?” he said, watching her approach, reach out, place her hand on his chest.

  “Hey, listen, my wife is going to be home any minute—”

  A low, sultry laugh cut off his words.

  “Which one?” she said, her fingers closing, wrinkling his shirt.

  He felt the breath go out of him, his mouth go dry.

  “Wha—I don’t, um… I think you better go,” he said, wincing from the pain of her fingernails digging into his skin through the fabric.

  “Hey! Ow! What the hell, lady?” he said, confused as she slowly shook her head at him.

  Her grip tightened, and he tried to pull away, the pain increasing. Looking down, a crimson stain began to spread across the pristine whiteness of his dress shirt. He dropped his phone and tried to pull her hand away, but it only sank deeper into his chest. The pain intense, his knees buckled as she stared down at him, a large feather in her other hand. Unable to bear it anymore, a gurgling sound began in his throat, erupting into a scream, a wet sucking sound and his own heart in her hand. Blackness closed around him and he fell.

  Beside him the phone ringing a familiar tone, another wife entering the den and screaming.

  14

  “You catch that shit Hammel was shoveling?” Emma said, sipping from a piping hot mug of black coffee and looking around Big Ed’s diner.

  “I mean a second murder and still he denies it’s a jammer doing it? Plus, he jumps right on saying there’s a pattern. Hell, he practically couldn’t wait to say serial killer. Anything but a Nat is doing it,” she said.

  When Adelaide didn’t say anything, Emma felt a pang of regret and softened her tone.

  “I mean, no offense, Not all super-nats are bad people, but come on. There’s only one reason he would go for the serial story. Something that sends a panic through the general public, ya know? Cause he’s afraid of saying a purveyor is responsible, causing a panic over maybe another uprising. So he turns a blind eye to what’s going on, makes up a story, all just to cover his own ass,” Emma said.

  When Adelaide still didn’t say anything, Emma looked at her.

  “I mean has anybody from downtown contacted you or anybody on the row about how to handle this thing? Anybody?” she said.

  Across from her Adelaide sat in the booth, only looking at Emma. The stare weighed on Emma and she set the mug none too gently on the table and glared at her friend.

  “What? You’re looking at me like I’m a foreign language. Have you heard a word I said?” Emma said.

  Adelaide brought her hands up and folded them on the table in front of her. Now she looked around the diner while Emma stared.

  “Are you sure you’re all right, Emma? I mean—”

  “I’m on the job and off the booze. See, hot black coffee, just like a priest,” she said, tapping the rim of the mug with her finger.

  Adelaide looked down at the mug then back up at Emma. When she didn’t say anything, Emma dropped her hands beneath the table, placing them on her hips.

  “Look, I may be drinking black coffee like a priest, but it doesn’t mean I need one. Have you got anything for me or not?” Emma said, desperate to forestall anymore concerned inquiries into her well being.

  Adelaide must have decided it was a battle for another day. She only nodded and reached down beside her. Pulling a file from her bag, she shoved it across the table at Emma. Emma looked at it and shoved it to the side.

  “Can’t you just give me the condensed version. I only need to know how to draw it out and how to kill it when I do,” she said, picking up her mug with both hands, hoping Adelaide didn’t see the slight tremor.

  Adelaide sighed.

  “Guilt draws her out. Unpunished sin. That’s the only way to conjure her, which is to say, there’s no way of telling who or what will draw her,” Adelaide said.

  Emma furrowed her brow at Adelaide.

  “Wait, so you’re saying she can’t be summoned? I thought all magical things could be summoned. Hell, the devil can be summoned, right?” Emma said.

  Adelaide shook her head, staring at the file.

  “This is no mere spirit. Not a genie, certainly not some beasty that runs through the forest. It’s not even the devil himself. This is a goddess. She comes and goes as she pleases and when she does, she rips your heart right out of your chest. I would say leave it alone, let somebody else do it, but you won’t listen to that, will ya, Emma?” she said, tears rimming her eyes.

  Emma looked at her friend and was sorry. She knew Adelaide cared for her deeply and she knew that she had not been the best of friends in return, had only made trouble for her with her own kind. Made trouble for her and yet still she came to her aid. Emma bit down hard and looked away. Full of regret but out of time.

  “There is nobody else, Addy. Only me,” she said.

  Adelaide almost lunged across the table. She took Emma’s hands in hers.

  “Why does it have to be you, Emma? Always you. Can’t you convince them? Make them understand what they’ve got by the tail, here?” she said.

  Emma took a minute, looked out at the parking lot through the window.

  “No. I failed once, once when it really mattered. I won’t try to make another do what has to be done. I will do it. Just as soon as you tell me how,” Emma said, giving Adelaide a hard look and pulling her hands out of her friend’s still firm grasp.

  Taught silence stretched out between the two women, a battle of wills Emma had every intention of winning. She felt no satisfaction, though, when she saw Adelaide’s shoulders fall.
>
  “Taweret,” Adelaide said.

  “What?” Emma said.

  “Egyptian goddess of protection. Symbolized by the hippopotamus,” she said.

  Emma felt hope rise in her chest.

  “So, what? We conjure this chick up and she offs Judge Judy?” Emma said, hardly believing it could be that simple.

  Adelaide shook her head.

  “No, Emma. I’ve already told you. A goddess cannot be summoned. For good or for ill, they come and go as they please,” Adelaide said.

  Emma sat back in the booth.

  “Okay, so what then? What are you telling me?” she said.

  She watched as Adelaide looked around the diner. Emma looked around too. Wondering what Adelaide was searching for. Adelaide reached down and withdrew an object about a foot long and wrapped in black cloth. She stared at it like it might go off at any moment as she slid it across the table towards Emma. Emma looked at it for a second, then quickly unwrapped it. In her hand was an ivory knife, all of one piece. Across from her, Adelaide jumped like she’d been pinched, reaching over and covering up the blade.

  “Lord, Emma, keep it under wraps,” she said, again looking around the diner.

  Emma didn’t know what had gotten into her friend and couldn’t help but smile.

  “What, is it dangerous? Does it blow up or something? It looks like a knife,” she said.

  Adelaide stared down at the black cloth in Emma’s hand.

  “Aye, it’s a knife, and no it doesn’t explode. Are you daft? What it is is hippo ivory which just happens to be highly illegal to have, I’ll have you know. You were a copper once, you should know that. We get seen with hippo ivory we’re nicked for sure,” she said, folding her hands in her lap, trying to regain her composure.

  Emma looked up at Adelaide, concern pulling at the sides of her mouth.

  “Geeze, Addy, you didn’t off a hippo to get this, did you?” she said.

  Adelaide gave her a sharp look.

  “Saints, no! I’m not a murderer. I… uh… used a… summoning spell. Turns out the antique shop on sunset, Bayside Antiques, had a piece of scrimshaw just laying about…” she said.

  Emma smiled at Addy.

  “So you stole it? Oh, Addy, I’m sorry, but you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you—”

  “I didn’t steal it. I summoned it. As such, it came to me of its own free will,” Adelaide said, looking quite uncomfortable.

  It was a small pleasure Emma quite enjoyed.

  Emma wrapped the knife tighter and tucked into the inside of her jacket.

  “Okay, Addy. Not to worry. I see a game warden wandering around town, I’ll turn and go the other way,” she said, stifling a smile.

  Adelaide looked away and threw up a hand by way of dismissal.

  “So, this will kill this goddess. A knife which means I’ll have to be close. Guilt draws her out, so what, I should hang around the lock-up, wait for her to appear?” she said.

  “No. Mercy, Emma. Sometimes I think you don’t listen to a word I’m saying. Guilt draws her out, unpunished sin. Any convict that has done their time or been sentenced even would hold no interest for her. That’s what makes this so hard, see? The guilt of someone who has not yet been judged will do it. Now tell me, who might that be? We’re all guilty of something, aren’t we Emma, but who will be the one she wants to judge the most?” Adelaide said.

  Emma felt the hope run out of her.

  “Okay, well, I’ll have to worry about that later. For now, I’ve got what I need. Thanks, Addy. You never let me down,” Emma said, sliding out of the booth.

  She was about to leave when a thought occurred to her.

  “You know, it’s kind of ironic. Most of the Nats I have to put down are just out for the power grab, but this one seems different. I can almost respect what she does, you know? Punishing the guilty. It’s cleansing,” she said.

  Adelaide offered a sad and bitter look.

  “Tell me true, Emma. Is it your intention to kill this thing or be judged by it for the guilt you feel?”

  The words took Emma by surprise, stung more than she thought they would. She stared at her friend. Another contest of wills. This one Emma lost.

  “I’ve got to go, Addy. Thanks for the knife.”

  15

  Emma drove around Hemisphere looking for the guilty. Problem was, everyone WAS guilty of something, a lot of that guilt behind closed doors. It was a ridiculous notion that Emma would drive around a corner and there would be an Egyptian demon goddess ready to rip someone’s heart out. More ridiculous that she would hold still long enough for Emma to stab her with a knife.

  Thing was, Emma didn’t know what else to do. If it was true that this supernatural couldn’t be summoned, then there was only the waiting game, waiting for Ammit to strike again and hoping to be in the right place at the right time.

  She cruised for most of the day. As the sun faded, so did her patience. Even the police scanner she kept in her car had been largely silent, not so much as a petty theft or domestic disturbance, let alone somebody’s heart being ripped out. Emma thought she would pack it in and headed for her trailer. By the time she pulled into the park the last of the light was fading. Slamming against her car door three times, she was just about to get out when the police scanner came alive.

  “All units! All units! Officer in distress! Repeat, Officer in Distress! 1634 Marbury Place! All units!”

  The dispatcher’s voice was shrill and full of panic. Emma leaned back in and listened, but there was no more information put out. One after another, patrol units called in, notifying their confirmation. The address tickled the back of Emma’s mind. Marbury place was an upper-crust planned community. Why did she know that particular address? Seconds passed as she struggled to latch onto its meaning. Then it hit her. That was Chief Hammel’s address. Whatever was going down right now, the chief of police was involved. Emma struggled to get her door closed, then drove as fast as her P.O.S would go.

  Emma had only ever been to the Chief’s house one time. Hammel had thrown a Christmas party the first year he moved in. Every cop was invited. It was a big affair that was never repeated. She figured Hammel took the upper-crust lifestyle like a pig to slop, deciding the rank and file had no place there. By the time she arrived, the place was lit up and surrounded by what truly looked to be every cop in Hemisphere. Patrol cars were parked every which way, lights still flashing, every officer out with their guns trained on the big house. With everybody’s attention on the mansion, nobody noticed her pull up and get out. Taking advantage of the situation, Emma ducked down behind a patrol car next to a youngish looking cop. Emma looked down at the name tag on the officer’s shirt.

  Creswell

  For the second time, familiarity tugged at the back of Emma’s mind. Before she had a chance to remember, the young cop noticed her.

  “Hey, what—you can’t be here,” he said, his eyes darting from her to the house.

  Emma trained her own attention on the house, it not going unnoticed by her that Creswell made no move to run her off.

  “Name’s Spaulding, used to be a detective, private now,” she said, hoping it mattered.

  She heard Creswell huff.

  “I know who you are. I never did get that cap clean,” he said, not looking at her.

  Emma felt the chagrin wash through her. Now she remembered where she had seen him before.

  “Where’s your partner?” Creswell said, his words slathered in disdain.

  “So, what’s going on here? B&E on the chief’s place?” she said.

  Creswell kept his gun leveled across the hood of his patrol car, sighting down the barrel.

  “Got an all units call. Could be our killer. Got boots inside, but nobody’s come out yet,” he said.

  As if on cue, noises from the house put everybody on alert. The sound of dishes breaking and heavy furniture being dislocated.

  “Get away from me! Don’t come
any closer!”

  “That sounds like the chief,” Emma said, straining to get a better look.

  “Yep. Every few minutes. Like he’s being chased through the house by the perp,” Creswell said.

  Through one of the windows, the silhouette of a man could be seen. In an adjacent window, another form, this one decidedly female slowly advanced. The man ducked down quickly and then a fusillade of bullets could be heard. The shadowy form of the woman still advanced. The man rose up and seemed to stare for a moment before disappearing. Over the radio, a voice called out.

  “Shots ineffective! Threat still active!”

  It began to dawn on Emma what was happening. She reached into her jacket and withdrew the knife.

  “Officer, I have to get in there. Get on the radio and tell the tactical guys I’m coming in, she said.

  Creswell looked at her like she was crazy.

  “What? No way! You need to—”

  Emma rose up, ignoring him and stepped toward the house. Behind her, she heard Creswell.

  “All units, be advised. Uh… Detective, um, Emma Spaulding is coming in.”

  Emma knew that wouldn’t mean a thing, but hopefully it would prevent anybody from shooting her. She made it half way to the house when a figure emerged from the still open front door. A female. With an eerie confidence and sense of purpose, the woman strode across the lawn and met Emma. Emma stopped, transfixed. Behind her, she could feel the tension and hoped all those cops didn’t deem her expendable and open up in a hail of gunfire. Seconds ticked by and nothing happened, nobody spoke. A crackle of a radio broke the silence.

  “Perp has left the house! Command, do you see her?”

  “Roger, tactical. We see her. She’s right here,” another officer responded.

  Emma and the demon goddess stared at each other a second more. Tightening the grip on the knife, Emma slowly raised her hand.