by Ricky Fleet
“Malachi, what is going on? I’m scared,” whimpered Chloe.
Ignoring her, Malachi turned to the woman for instruction.
“First you must drink,” she intimated, pointing to a small chalice which sat on the edge of the font.
Stepping close to the basin, the meagre light revealed the blood within and Malachi felt a surge of revulsion. With each drop from above, the thick liquid gave off ripples which lapped at the lip of the bowl.
“I don’t know if I can,” Malachi protested.
“You must, it is the only way to open the correct conduit,” she insisted and scooped up a small amount, “By drinking the blood of innocents, they will be able to hear your plea.”
He had come too far to let a little sensibility ruin the plan, so with a deep breath he tipped the cup back and drank the offering. The coppery taste wasn’t unpleasant and a shiver of anticipation vibrated through his body.
“Malachi, what are you doing?” Chloe looked at her husband who was now smiling while blood dripped from his chin.
“Daddy, I don’t like this place. Please can we go home?” begged his young son.
“We are home,” Malachi replied vacantly.
The unholy blood was in his body now, being absorbed and mixed with his own. The woman smiled in the shadow of her hood and rejoined the circle of thirteen acolytes which stood in a crescent behind Malachi’s bound family. Closing her eyes, she started to utter the blasphemous words of a long forgotten language.
“Pae youlon gath ip nyk’zor sertool.”
Malachi swayed with the mesmerizing voice and looked on in wonder as the mirror started to ripple in the same way as the blood had moments ago.
“Koz’dhar mer nutro cael’quo.”
All members lowered their heads in reverence except the female who knelt before Malachi and held out a small knife made of bone. The blade itself was carefully filed into a sharp edge and the size of the weapon indicated that it could only have belonged to a small child.
“Please help us, sweetheart. We love you so much,” Chloe begged but the effects of the corrupted blood had removed all empathy from Malachi.
“Daddy, you’re scaring me,” sobbed his little boy.
He looked down upon his family as if they were no more than discarded meat. They had been bound at feet, knee, waist, and chest to stop any movement and further held in place by loops of rope tied to steel rings in the floor. Moving behind them, he cut deeply into his own wrist, severing the tendon. Blood pulsed from the wound and he held it above each of their heads, soaking them in his life essence.
“Oh, God. What are you doing?” screamed Chloe.
The wound was raw and Malachi smiled to himself. In a matter of seconds, the two edges of severed skin and vein drew themselves together and healed, staunching the flow.
As if the mirror was made of liquid mercury, a face pushed out from the surface to look at them all. The silver visage was nearly as big as the mirror itself and was surrounded by protrusions that could only be horns. It took in each servant of darkness, before finally settling on Malachi and his family with it’s huge, saucer eyes.
“Who has summoned me? Make haste or I shall devour you all!” shouted the voice of nightmare.
“It is I, Malachi, who has summoned you. I bring you an offering to seal the pact that has been agreed!” Malachi shouted back, undaunted by the monstrous countenance.
“What do you mean by offering?” screamed Chloe, terror compressing her chest. Their son had already fainted and lay prone on the cold stone floor.
“SILENCE!” screamed the voice as the face pushed even further from the mirror toward her.
“Malachi, please,” pleaded his wife, shrinking back. He looked at her with disdain and returned his attention to the mirror.
“I have heard your name, mortal,” acknowledged the face with a slow nod, “And it would seem we would both benefit from this arrangement.”
Malachi laughed, “Don’t play me for a fool. You know that I have far more to offer in this accord than you.”
The huge head mulled this for a few moments, “If the prophesies are true, then you may well be correct. Do you enter into this covenant of your own free will?”
“I do,” Malachi declared.
“And you give your oath that for all time you will serve as His champion?”
“For eternity!” Malachi proclaimed.
“Very well, your offering will suffice,” gurgled the hellish voice and pulled back into the mirror, stilling the surface for a few moments until a massive, clawed hand reached through and plucked Malachi’s son from the floor. Before Chloe could react, he was pulled through the looking glass and gone forever.
“Jack!” she screamed so loudly her vocal chords ruptured. Unable to make any words, she spat on Malachi and regarded him with a look of purest hatred.
The empty hand reached through once more and Chloe was ripped from the rope floor binding and drawn into the mirror kicking and struggling. When she disappeared through the vertical surface, the awful face reappeared.
“It is done; you are now immortal. Go forth and bring death and suffering to the masses in readiness for Him.”
“It shall be done,” Malachi said and bowed, the first sign of respect he had shown the entity.
As it retreated within the mirror, the surface rippled one more time and fell still. Malachi approached it and laid his hand on the glass, expecting it to sink into the impossible, upright liquid which had been there seconds earlier. It was solid again and his palm only created a misted outline in the cold chamber. Just as Malachi went to turn away, a pair of small hands pressed to the opposing side of the glass, creating their own impressions. Before he could react, they were snatched away and the condensation faded as if they had never existed.
“You have done well, the world is yours for the taking,” cackled the cloaked woman madly.
Coming to in a strange room, Malachi was filled with a feeling of utter barrenness. In the dream he had gladly sacrificed his own family to fulfil a contract with something evil. Was he capable of committing such an abhorrent act?
“Please, God. What is wrong with me?” Malachi beseeched. When no answer came he closed his eyes and wept.
A small inspection window opened with a squeal of age and Dr. Llyod’s face peered in.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
“Sir, you need to calm down,” ordered PC Vardy as Desmond harangued him.
“I’ll calm down when you tell me what the fuck is going on and why there are people pretending to be police officers!”
“We’ve already told you, there is a BOLO on all three vehicles,” continued Vardy.
“What’s a BOLO?” Chloe asked, her face a mask of tear streaked makeup.
Vardy looked at her in annoyance, “Be on the lookout for.”
“You can drop that fucking attitude, man. She is beside herself with worry about her boyfriend,” Desmond growled.
“I’m sorry, miss. This is just a delicate situation because we have criminals impersonating officers out there. It could be terrorist related, we just don’t know,” Vardy explained.
“Malachi isn’t mixed up with anything like that,” Desmond declared.
“I didn’t say he was,” replied Vardy, “My gut says it’s something entirely different, I just don’t know what and that bothers me.”
“What can we do to help?” Kevin asked. He had been going out of his mind ever since his friend was taken and the lacklustre police response wasn’t helping.
“At present, sir? Nothing. The city is quite a big place…”
Kevin leaped forward and Laura had to hold him back, “I know it’s a big place, you smart assed prick.”
Holding up his hands in a gesture of placation, Vardy was used to high stress situations and continued, “I was going to finish that it’s a big place, but we have all available resources out scouring as much of the surrounding area as possible. I should have chosen my words more carefully.”
Kevin let out a pent up breath, “I’m sorry, officer. I feel so useless just standing here.”
“That’s totally understandable, sir. If you should choose to go and look for him as well, all I would ask is that you don’t do anything except call us immediately if you find them. Any group that is able to steal three emergency vehicles and go to such elaborate lengths aren’t your average kidnappers. This has all the signs of a professional outfit.”
“If that’s the case, what are our chances of getting him back?” Chloe asked reluctantly.
“It depends on the motives, miss. If it’s a ransom, the chances are good. We have a solid negotiating team behind us. If it’s something else though, I can’t say. Sorry,” Vardy replied.
“Will you keep us informed?” Desmond asked as the officers made for the exit.
“Of course, sir. We have your number and will let you know of any developments the second we have them,” Vardy said, turning back towards the entrance. Like a dog seeing a threat, his disposition changed instantly as Legacy stepped through the door, followed by nearly twenty of his ‘associates’.
“Evenin’, officer,” Legacy grinned as the policeman glared and pushed by.
“Fuck, man. You couldn’t have waited two minutes for them to leave?” Desmond groaned.
Legacy smiled even more, “Nah, brudda. Me and Vardy go way back, he has a real hard on to put me away. For life this time.”
“Maybe it would be best if you didn’t antagonise him then?” Desmond said, hugging his friend. “Thank you for coming.”
“After what we saw, Mal is a blood brudda now.”
Desmond made a face and shook his head, warning him to be careful with his words.
Legacy rolled his eyes, “Shit, sorry, man.”
“It’s ok,” Chloe stepped forward and unexpectedly hugged the gang leader, “We know Mal can do… things. It’s probably why he has been taken. I can’t express how grateful I am for your help.”
Legacy smiled and his crew chuckled at his blushes; he hadn’t been the source of anything good for a long time.
“Do you have the guns on you? If the police call in backup and raid us you could be going to prison faster than you think,” Desmond cautioned.
“We gangsters, but we ain’t stupid, brudda. The weapons are kept in separate vehicles so only one man is at risk.”
“What do you have?” Kevin asked.
“Don’t you even bloody think about it, you’ll end up blowing your dick off!” Laura shouted and the Yardies all started laughing at the dressing down.
“I was just interested,” he replied, humiliated.
Laura came over and held him close, “You love Mal and so do I. But he wouldn’t want you putting yourself in danger, especially with the kids at home.”
“She is right, man,” Legacy patted him on the back, “Des has told me you a brave mudda fucka, but leave the wet work to us. Once you go through that door, there’s no way back.”
“What can I get you all, drinks are on the house,” Desmond told the room.
“Only soda for my boys, we need to stay frosty,” Legacy ordered and saw the confused look on Kevin’s face, “What? Did you think we would get fucked up first? Some of us were JDF before moving here.”
Laura turned to Desmond, “JDF?”
“Jamaica Defence Force. It’s our armed forces back home,” he explained.
“Where did everyone go, man?” Legacy asked, seating himself at the bar.
“I shut the party down when it all kicked off,” Desmond explained, “I figured we would need some privacy.”
“Good call. What’s the plan?”
“I have no idea; did you make the calls?”
Legacy nodded, “All my runners and road men are looking out for them too.”
“And I’ve spoken to every mental health ward in the city, none of them have admitted Malachi. So where the fuck did he go?” Desmond grumbled in frustration.
As the room erupted in spontaneous discussion, the front door open and two men stepped stealthily inside. Dressed in loose fitting grey tracksuits, they could have been boxers out for a training run. The lack of sweat put paid to that theory. Desmond reached for his bat under the counter and tapped gently on the bar with his other hand to get Legacy’s attention over the din. Nodding toward the door, he turned and slowly the room fell into silence as people noticed the newcomers.
“We’re closed,” Desmond told the pair and when they remained standing at the entrance, Legacy’s men surrounded them, ready to attack.
“We don’t want any trouble,” said one in a gentle voice that didn’t suit his rough look, “We are here to help your friend.”
“What da fuck you know about it?” snarled Legacy, going nose to nose. His men crowded in, concealed blades held in readiness for any order to use them.
“We know he was taken earlier tonight and for that I apologize,” he continued, unfazed by the danger.
“So it was you!” Desmond pulled the bat from under the bar and raced around, barging through the group.
“No, my apology was because we couldn’t get here sooner and get him to safety,” replied the man.
“Who the fuck are you people?” Kevin demanded, adding to the press of flesh surrounding the pair.
“I am Michael, this is Jacob. If you would all sit down, we can explain all that we are permitted to,” Michael offered.
Legacy looked at Des and nodded, “Let them through.”
Several of the gang stood by the door, just in case they made a break for it, but the two men casually seated themselves at the bar as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. They looked at the expectant faces and begun.
“The people who took your friend are our… ‘competitors’, you could say.”
“You make it sound like a business,” Laura remarked.
“In a very loose sense it is,” Michael nodded, “They are trying to recruit him to their cause. From our research into Malachi, we don’t think he will be open to their proposals and, I’m afraid to say, that puts him in mortal danger.”
“No!” cried Chloe, holding her face in her hands.
“And what if you had found him first, would you have tried to recruit him? What if he had said no to you, would that have endangered his life?” Desmond asked.
“Not at all. We believe in free will.” Michael seemed genuinely insulted. “He would be a boon to our cause, of course, but not at the expense of forcing him to comply. We don’t work like that.”
“Who is we?” asked Legacy.
“I can’t divulge that information.”
“Then why should we trust you? You could be working for them.” Legacy pulled a knife and waved it in front of Michaels face. “Maybe we should ask you more persuasively.”
“I can assure you, it wouldn’t make any difference no matter how much you tortured us. If we worked for the others, we wouldn’t be about to tell you exactly where he is being held, would we?” Michael explained.
“Ok, man,” Legacy put the blade away, “Two questions. Where is my brudda, and why waste time talking to us if you know? I know ex-military when I see it, and you have seen a lot of action. It’s in the eyes.”
Michael smiled. He had misjudged the man as a simple thug, but there was more than meets the eye with the dreadlocked gangster, “Question one. He is being held in Springfield Sanatorium…”
Desmond scowled and interrupted, “Why the fuck have they taken him to an abandoned asylum?” The old place was a favoured haunt for ghost hunters and urban explorers.
“It has… significance,” Michael replied, “I can’t say more than that, so please don’t ask. As for the second question, my Jamaican friend, we are here because we need your help.”
“What sort of help?” Chloe asked.
“I won’t sugar coat it, we need guns and men who can use them. We have done some quick research and I know some of you were infantry in the old country.”
“Something I don’t get,�
� Legacy said, “You are mercenaries, and the other men are also mercenaries by Desmond’s reckoning. Where is the rest of your team?”
Michael stared for a few moments, then decided honesty was the best policy, “They are on the way, but won’t make it in time to help save your friend. We used to be soldiers of fortune, that is true enough, but now we fight for something greater.”
Legacy nodded sagely, “I know what you mean, man. Mal has da power, doesn’t he?”
The conversation wasn’t going quite the way Michael thought it would and the people knew a lot more than was expected, “In a manner of speaking, yes. That is what they want from him. If they can’t get it, they will kill him before dawn.”
Laura consoled Chloe who was sobbing uncontrollably. Her hands covered her ears like a child who didn’t want to hear the grisly end of a scary story.
“You can count on us,” Legacy clasped the man’s hand, “Da man has a good soul. If I need to give my life to save his, perhaps The Lord will forgive my sins.”
“I can understand that sentiment,” Jacob agreed, the first words he had spoken. Their deeds were unknown, but their haunted eyes spoke of cruelties beyond imagining.
“Tell us what you need,” Desmond said, ready to do whatever was necessary.
“We have a small cache of weapons, but not enough for all of you,” Michael replied apologetically.
“Don’t sweat it, man. We got pistols, AK’s, a handful of grenades, and a couple of Russian PK’s.” Legacy grinned at Desmond’s open mouth. “Fall of communism, brudda. There is nothing you can’t get from Eastern Europe if you have the money and the contacts.”
“Won’t all that gunfire warn them you are coming?” Kevin challenged, “What’s to stop them killing him the second you open fire?”
“Don’t worry, we have that covered, trust me.” Michael stood up and patted his back.
