Khaos

by Louise Manson

  ‘She will be able to trace your credit card.’

  Carmen balked, her eyes wide.

  ‘Don’t underestimate her,' Khaos continued. ‘She will know how to track us. And if not, Loka will.’

  ‘I know! Our snug! Mark and I, we have a snug in Exmoor. It’s in the middle of nowhere, no one knows about it but us. Mark had it built especially.’

  ‘What’s a snug?’

  ‘You’ll see! Turn this car around!

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Two days had passed since they had left the Portabello house. Carmen’s ‘snug’ turned out to be an old stone-built shepherds hut; all on one level, which she and Mark had converted into a very comfortable one bedroom house.

  From the outside, it looked nothing more than an ancient mound of stone, partially obscured by a group of tactically placed trees. Inside, it was a quaint, cute love-nest; the main room dominated by a modern corner stove that burned a romantic orange flame without the inconvenience of smoke. In front of it was a small but comfortable sofa, covered in soft, faux fur throws and pillows, and before that a large thick animal fur, something like deerskin, was spread out on the floor. The other end of the main room held a small kitchenette with a microwave, hob and sink, all brand new and unused. A hotel-sized fridge lay empty but the cupboards contained several emergency tins; baked beans, spaghetti, fruit segments.

  There were two other rooms, one a well-equipped shower room, with all the plumbing and heating in working order, the last a reasonable sized bedroom containing a large wood framed bed covered with plush red silk sheets and an array of decorative cushions of various shapes and sizes. Around the bed were a selection of built in wooden cupboards; Mark’s designers had utilised the space well.

  The whole building was an enormous statement of romance that Khaos could not help but admire, even though she was slightly jealous It really was secluded, at least a mile from the nearest road, and only a single gravel track led up to the little house. Surrounding them was the bleak beauty of the Exmoor countryside, rolling brown and yellow and grey hills stretched out as far as they could see, and in the distance brown and black smudges shuffled occasionally; a semi-wild herd of ponies. Even from this distance, Khaos could see one of the ponies was blacker and larger than the others, and she knew it was Nyx, staying nearby in case she needed his help.

  While Carmen was in the shower, Khaos sat on the sofa alone, watching the flames dancing in the stove, appreciating their warmth and trying to enjoy the quiet of the little house, the sunset outside dyeing the sky pink and orange. Her own thoughts, and the voice of the spirit, plagued her mind intermittently and disrupted what should have been a tranquil setting. Despite this, the warmth of the room and the stillness made her feel drowsy and, slowly but surely, her eyes began to droop…

  Before her, once more, was the man on his knees. This time he was not burnt, but the demon inside him still distorted his face. His eyes were like black holes in his head, two endless voids, his face was skinny and tight, as if he were nearly starved, and his skin grey and purple. Almost a corpse. With hands she did not control, Khaos blasted the man with jets of fire, and he screamed and writhed in agony. She stopped and watched him burn, it was like the most disturbing black and white movie she had ever seen. But what had been screams became a cackling, horrible laugh.

  ‘Is that the best you can do?’

  Khaos felt deep indignant rage at this demon’s mirth. A new power was summoned to her hands. Dust and dirt particles formed at her fingertips, and she aimed once more at the stricken demon.

  ‘Out of the dust you came, and to dust, you return!’ she heard come from her own mouth, like a war cry, and from her hands, a powerful blast of earth particles. He became engulfed in dust, covering him and drying him out, until he was no more than a dried out pillar of earth. Then a crack formed and the pillar crumbled…

  She jolted herself awake. More nightmares. This was one of the more vivid, recurring ones. Why did she keep seeing this man of earth? He wasn’t someone she had supposedly… killed, was he? She tried to remember what the detective had said, while she had been in a coma, but with the drowsiness, and everything else that had happened since then, her memory was a bit of a blur.

  What Khaos found even more depressing at this time, was the growing guilty feeling she had at the enjoyment of being here in this romantic, beautiful place, alone with Carmen. Just the two of them. She hated herself for feeling this way, it seemed so wrong, and Carmen was blissfully unaware of the effect she was having on Khaos. She chattered inanely of fashion and Mark and the wedding they were going to plan, and when she was not speaking was tapping endlessly at her mobile, cataloguing different ideas and plans for the big day. Some may have found Carmen’s chatter mindless and irritating, but Khaos relished it, relieved to be distracted not only from the task at hand - protecting Carmen - but from the enormous mountain-like task ahead of her, stretching out to infinity: the task of destroying the demons of the world. She knew that this situation could not go on forever, sooner or later they would be found, or would have to go back. But for the moment, Khaos was actually happy, and dreaded the imminent disruption.

  Her thoughts were broken by the bathroom door opening, and Carmen strolling through in an oversized fluffy dressing gown with her name embroidered on the pocket. She plopped down on the fur rug by the fire.

  ‘The one thing we don’t have is a hairdryer, would you believe?’ she chatted, dabbing at her wet hair with a towel. She glanced up at Khaos. ‘Are you all right? You seem sad.’

  ‘I’m fine, honest.’

  ‘Is your back itching you again?’

  ‘What?’ But Khaos suddenly realised she had been scratching at her scars again, absentmindedly. ‘Uhh, yes. But it’s nothing.’

  ‘Hmm. It didn’t look like nothing. Oh yes, I found the cream I was telling you about, that might help stop the itching. It’s an antihistamine. I brought it with us, but I forgot to tell you.’

  ‘Oh great.’

  Come on, It’ll help.’

  Khaos reluctantly followed her into her bedroom; up until this point she had managed to avoid actually going in there, and had instead been sleeping on the sofa. She perched nervously on the end of the bed, trying to be casual, whilst Carmen rummaged in one of her cases. In nothing but her bathrobe.

  After a moment, she produced a tube for inspection. ‘Do you want me to put some on for you? You probably can’t reach.’

  ‘Erm…Uh… Oh, okay then,’ agreed Khaos, groaning inwardly at the prospect of yet more awkward physical contact.

  ‘Take your top off then.’

  Feeling probably the most embarrassed she had ever felt, Khaos removed the hoodie she was wearing, and then the armour, hoping Carmen would not notice or think it was just a uniform.

  ‘You’re blushing.’ At this, Khaos proceeded to blush even further. ‘You don’t like being touched, do you?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Khaos in a tiny voice.

  ‘Is it me? Or are you just like this all the time?’

  ‘I think it’s all the time.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, stop being so silly. Lie down. Honestly, I was a model for God’s sake. How many half naked women do you think I’ve seen? And not all pretty ones, like you.’ At this point Khaos was sure her face now matched the colour of the sheets, and was glad at least that she was face down at the moment, so Carmen wouldn’t see.

  And then there was the actual putting-on of the cream. There was that electricity again, when skin touched skin. And the turmoil in Khaos’s stomach began once more. The cream was cold, and Carmen went quiet and thoughtful while she was smoothing it on.

  ‘You know, this sounds a bit scary,’ said Carmen, ‘But do you know what this looks like to me?’

  ‘What?’ she hadn’t guessed, had she? Khaos panicked.

  ‘Scabies.’

  Khaos was almost relieved. ‘Scabies?’

  ‘Yeah, Scabies. You know, flies that lay their eggs under your skin?
Disgusting I know. But not uncommon; I saw someone who had it when I was treating patients in Haiti.’

  ‘Why do you think it’s that?’

  ‘Because these scars… they look like something has come out of your back, and then it’s healed over, rather than something being stabbed in. You can tell because of the way the skin is broken. But the only thing I’ve ever see that looks like this is scabies. Sorry to have to break it to you, but you may have a parasite.’

  Khaos managed a wry smile. ‘Oh well. Thank you for your diagnosis, Doctor.’ She turned her face toward the doorway, and thought she saw, in the darkness of the living room beyond, a white face, watching them. ‘Who’s there?’ she jumped up.

  ‘Cam? What’s wrong?’ said Carmen, alarmed at her sudden movement.

  ‘I thought I saw someone…’ But the face was gone, as suddenly as it had appeared. ‘I…I should go.’

  ‘You can sleep here if you want, I can sleep on the sofa tonight,’ offered Carmen, ever keen to please.

  ‘No, you have done too much for me already. Thank you,’ said Khaos sincerely. She went out into the darkening reception room, which was definitely empty. Satisfied that whoever had been watching them was gone, she went to the sofa and made up her bed for the night.

  In her sleep, Khaos flew again, through an evening sky. Her vision was grey again, a sensation she was becoming accustomed to. Despite the greyness, she could see with incredible clarity, not the usual nonsensical jumble of her dreams. With barely a flutter of her wings, she descended on to the top of an ugly high rise block and folded in her wings. Sensing evil, like a heavy musk in the air, Khaos opened the fire exit door and entered the stairwell, stopping on each level to stand still for a few moments, as if listening for a noise before descending to the next level. Halfway down the block, she stopped. She could sense it. On this floor, she knew, here was the evil. Her senses led her to one of the apartment doors. She extended her arms towards it, palms facing outwards. Power crackled on her fingertips, and a blast of wind as strong as a hurricane blew the door open, smashing the lock to pieces.

  Khaos entered the corridor of a dirty, untidy flat. The stench of unwashed bodies hit her nostrils. And in the background, she could hear the sound of a baby crying. The air was thick with fumes, but through the haze Khaos could see four adults sprawled out on the floor, the evidence of drug abuse on every available surface. Each had their own grimy halo of darkness. They barely looked up as Khaos strode into the middle of the room.

  A deep, destructive rage filled Khaos from head to foot. She threw her arms out to either side, palms upwards, and fire spread out over her hands. She bore down on the sloths, blasting them with jets of fire in a berserk fit of rage. She ignored their screams and their burning, writhing bodies, the room filling up with acrid smoke. Fire alarms started going off all over the building, but Khaos ignored them. The last sleeper cried out for mercy and Khaos hesitated, fireball aimed at his throat.

  ‘Stop! Why are you doing this?! We haven’t done anything!!’ he snivelled.

  ‘Precisely,’ replied Khaos in a stony voice, void of compassion. With one last blast, the man was consumed by the flames, joining his friends in their impromptu demise.

  Without a second glance at the carnage she created, Khaos calmly exited the room, stopping only to gently pick up the crying baby.

  Khaos was rudely awoken by a bright, almost unbearable light, and several rough hands grabbing her and dragging her to her feet. Stunned and disorientated, she barely put up a fight as the strong hands restrained her, pulling her hands behind her back. She thought of reaching for her sword, lying by the sofa. But she thought better of it, the less blood-shed the better.

  ‘You are under arrest for the kidnapping of Carmen Portabello. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be used against you in a court of law. Come with us, please.’

  Roughly, she was shoved out of the little house and into a police car that was waiting outside. She thought of Nyx, wondering if he would follow or try to save her. She couldn’t see Carmen but could hear her voice some way off, demanding to know what was going on. Khaos let them restrain her, glancing back at the little cottage and Carmen standing outside, surrounded by police officers and flashing blue lights.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Detective Heel lay in bed, willing her eyes to close, her body to be still, and sleep to come; but nothing worked for a long time. Even when she finally fell asleep, she could get no solace in her dreams. Her mind was like a birdcage in a pet shop, overfilled with too many thoughts, like little birds flitting erratically from perch to perch, each one chirping as loudly as it could, trying to make itself heard. She shifted back and forth fitfully, eyes open, and then screwed shut, somewhere between asleep and awake, where nonsense makes perfect sense and the ordinary seems insane.

  It seemed that the more she involved she got in this case, the crazier it became. First, there were the unnamed girl’s disappearing wounds. Then there was the unexpected awakening from the coma, and her completely enigmatic disappearance. The ‘flying horse’ explanation should really be passed off as an overactive imagination, but in her fitful state of slumber she thought she saw it flying past the moon, which tonight seemed bigger and brighter, shining through Heel’s window like a floodlight. The twisted, burned corpses popped into her head again, and for a moment she was certain that they were here with her now, moving around her bedroom, groaning in agony, stiffly forcing their crusted arms and legs toward her. The few scuttering clouds in the night sky looked like the dark faces and symbols in tarot cards, looking down on her indifferently. Then, finally, the winged fiend, flying to her bedside with a baby in its arms, its eyes grey and lifeless.

  Impossible! It was all nonsense! Heel sat bolt upright in her bed, kneading her forehead, willing her thoughts to cease.

  Then the phone rang. Groggily, she picked it up.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Heel, are you awake?’ It was Donahue’s voice.

  ‘I’m talking, aren’t I?’ she said wryly.

  ‘You had better come down to the station asap.’ He sounded exited, almost gleeful.

  ‘Don, you know I hate it when people say “asap.”’

  ‘Heel, this is serious. You’re not going to believe who we’ve got sitting in a cell right now!’

  Khaos sat in silence in a small windowless interrogation room, staring at her fists, which had been bound together by strong handcuffs that clinked each time she moved, no matter how little. Apart from the small table at which she sat, and the two officers standing by the one door – locked - the room was basically empty. It held no other furniture, no pictures on the walls, nothing to take her mind off her current situation. The blank walls were a drab grey, to match her mood. Above her head, intense fluorescent lights beat down on her unforgivingly.

  She had not had a wink of sleep, and it had seemed to have been an eternity that she had been in the custody of the police, they seemed to never sleep either. First, she had been taken to the local police station in Exmoor, and she had considered trying to escape again, but with her sword confiscated it would be difficult and she did not want tobe defenceless and alone. So she had relented, and let them take her fingerprints.

  Then things changed. There seemed to be a sudden flurry of activity at the police reception; for some reason her fingerprints had sparked a frenzy of excitement between the officers. She was put in a cell, temporarily, with two officers guarding her. She tried to see out the little window, but it only allowed her to see as far as the next cell.

  Then, after about an hour, she was suddenly manhandled out of the cell without explanation, and bundled into another, more serious looking police transport.. They hurried along the road for several hours and what must have been a few hundred miles before they finally stopped. She found herself at another police station, was marched in, and dumped in another cell. By this time she was getting sick of the sight of them.

  Just as she was settling he
re, she was marched out again, in handcuffs, to a small room, and added to a line of other people. All women about her height, Khaos noticed, with dark hair. On one wall was a huge mirror. The more she looked at the other women, the more likenesses she could see between herself and each of them. Then it dawned on her that she was in a line up. Someone, on the other side of the glass, was looking at her, trying to identify a criminal.

  And now here she was, waiting again. Things were definitely going from bad to worse.

  It did not require a brilliant mind to work out why the police had arrested her. Clearly, Marla had realised that Khaos was not going to carry out her orders, and to punish her, had stitched her up, making it sound as though she had kidnapped Carmen. Briefly, she had wondered why she hadn’t just set Loka or one of the bodyguards on them, but Khaos surmised that this way, she was kept at a distance without any trouble. Now nothing stood between Marla and Carmen. The thought of it made Khaos’ stomach turn. But surely Carmen would speak for her? Clear her name?

  Finally, the door opened, and Khaos was faced with a red haired, skinny woman with piercing green eyes, pale skin smattered with freckles, dressed in a smart, understated two piece suit. She looked to be possibly in her mid thirties, and had an air of confidence in the way she moved. In one hand was a file, and the other;a half-consumed cup of coffee.

  ‘So sorry to keep you waiting.’ There was something instantly familiar about her voice, the deep, harshness of it. She sat opposite Khaos, and put her file and coffee down on the table. ‘Can I offer you a tea or coffee?’ she smiled the slightest of smiles, but it did not reach her cold eyes.

  ‘No, thank you,’ replied Khaos.

  ‘Okay then.’ The familiar woman produced a small dictaphone from her pocket. ‘This is Detective Inspector Heel, interrogation of suspect A, Portabello kidnapping. April thirtieth, two-thousand and twelve.’