Angels of Vengeance

by David Thompson

  "I hope that hurt, fuck nozzle." She wiped her hands and looked around. The man-bun rested in the dirt, bloodied hairs tangled with a bush. She pulled it out, flicking it into space. "Gak. Disgusting."

  She looked around and spotted a shimmering figure of a mature woman not too far away. She walked up to the older woman. "You're good! Need anything else?"

  The figure of Chaz's mother shook her head, then vanished.

  "How the hell did you do that?" Dan was shaking, the images were in his head as if he was there with the two people on the top of the mesa.

  "A small talent of mine, Dan." Gaia smiled. She gave Dan a moment to calm down, with her help. He felt a warmth flow over this body. He visibly relaxed.

  "My daughter Megaera seems to fancy you." She rubbed Dude across the top of his head. The purr was loud.

  "Yeah, saw her. I can't say I actually met her. How many of these 'daughters' are there?" Dan wasn't about to relax. He still had no idea who this woman was, and why Dude was so damned smug right now.

  "Three, thank you for asking. Tisiphone is my eldest. Like your cat, she likes the chase."

  Dude couldn't chase a dust bunny, but Dan wasn't going to point that out. He sighed and took a seat in his recliner. "Alright, what about this eldest daughter?"

  Gaia just smiled.

  More images appeared in Dan's head:

  ***

  Tisiphone

  The small shopping center was located on the fashionable end of the most expensive real estate in southern Florida, South Beach. Off in a corner was a dress shop. The signage announced that this was "Susan's". It's all that's needed in this part of the world; a large declaration of who owns this place.

  Inside, it was closing time. Susan Mortimer, of "Susan's", a thin woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, with a conservative hair style and very conservative clothing. All around her hung conservative clothing. She knew her clientele. Chamber of Commerce Auxiliary members, wives and mistresses of bank presidents, investment brokers and the occasional mistress of a southern evangelical politician. In the back was a special room for the special needs of the various mistresses, but in the main room it was as conservative as one can get in modern times.

  Susan busied herself checking all the racks for proper display, moving a piece to the left or right as it suited her.

  She went to the front door and locked it, moving the kitsch "We're Open" sign to read "Sorry We Missed You!"

  She smiled out the window as the sun began to set over the palm trees between her and the beach. She softly hummed a tuneless melody as she walked to the back of the store to shut off the light. That's when she noticed something out of place.

  She froze and looked at the line of mannequins. Something wasn't right. There, on the far left, that one has dark hair and not the platinum blonde it was supposed to be. Odd, how very odd. Someone had moved her mannequins around.

  She started to walk to the left when the mannequin unexpectedly moved and it stepped off the display pedestal and looked down at herself.

  "Please tell me this comes in other colors. Beige just isn't my color, you know?" Tisiphone looked at Susan. Susan's mouth opened to produce a scream when Tisiphone's form wavered and she was back in her usual leather ensemble. "Oh, this is much better. Basic black. That's me!"

  Her wings unfurled outward in all their midnight black glory. She advanced with clear menace in her bright green eyes.

  "Hiya, sweetie." Tisiphone's smile was pure evil.

  Susan was frozen immobile, her eyes wide, her mouth open in an unheard scream.

  A voice echoed out across the store. An elderly woman's voice, full of anger and accusation. Susan's dead Aunt Ethyl. "Susan! Why, Susan? Why did you do it? I know you did it!"

  Susan spun, trying to find the source of the voice.

  "Why Susan? Why?” An old woman shimmered into existence behind Susan. "Susan! Why?"

  Susan was petrified. Her eyes darted around, then, without thinking, she bolted for the back. Tisiphone laughed and winked at the old woman. "The chase is on, Ethyl!"

  Susan frantically clawed at the back door until it finally opened out into the alley. She dashed to her car, an elegant late model Audi. She jumped in, finger stabbing at the start button.

  A loud throbbing of an engine attracted her attention. Susan looked up and saw a black motorcycle idling next to her. Tisiphone with Aunt Ethyl holding tight on the rear seat. A leather helmet and goggles masked Ethyl's face, but she was grinning like a skull at Susan.

  Susan's car roared into life and she slammed it into gear, rocketing off in reverse. She slid past a trash dumpster, wheeling the car around to face forward and slamming it into drive. She swung the wheel to avoid hitting an old Mercedes.

  She blasted out onto 41st street and through the crowded side streets. Tisiphone was never more than 2 feet away from her back bumper. She made a frantic left onto Alton and across Dade Blvd in a mad dash to the A1A. Her wild and frantic driving fit right in with the usual late afternoon traffic in Miami.

  She hit A1A and made it to MacArthur Causeway, not slowing down for anyone or anything.

  She sped up as she crossed into the mainland, then slammed to the right and north on 95. Through toll plazas and around slow drivers, she blasted.

  Inside the car, she just kept repeating "Oh My God. Oh My God. Oh My God." Over and over. Her pulse was near 150, and her blood pressure was close to a level never recorded by medical science. She swung across lanes of blaring horns to head west on 75, raising her speeds to well over 90. She glanced up at the mirror.

  The road behind her was empty.

  She slowed. Her heart rate began to moderate. She was shaking as she exited into an empty area of construction, the workers long gone for a bar or Quik Stop for a six-pack of beer and jerky.

  She slowed to a stop, trying to collect herself. She was lost. She grabbed her cell and tried to pull up a map. It was dead. No battery. Frustrated, she tossed it onto the backseat and into Tisiphone's lap.

  "Dead battery? That must suck," Tisiphone observed as she picked up the phone.

  Susan screamed and stomped on the accelerator. The cell rang. Tisiphone looked at it and handed it across to Susan. "It's for you, babe."

  Aunt Ethyl's voice began to be broadcast in the car from the cell phone. "Susan! Susan, honey, you are driving far too fast."

  Tisiphone leaned up against the driver's seat, behind Susan. She cocked her head and whispering into Susan's ear, "Remember how your aunt died? You cut her brake lines. Oh, don't forget your seatbelt, sweetie..."

  Susan looked back up to see swamp and the dead end of the road rushing at her at high speed. Her foot mashed on the brake pedal.

  It had no effect.

  The car blasted through the barricade, slamming up against a cypress tree, bursting into flames.

  Tisiphone was on the road, looking calmly at the fire. Aunt Ethyl appeared beside her and they exchanged "high fives".

  "It's all fun and games until someone melts to the seat of their car," Tisiphone observed, then ate out of a bag of circus peanuts offered by Aunt Ethyl.

  ***

  Dan was still listening to Gaia. He finally stood up. "I just want to know how you are doing that?"

  "I told you. What part of 'Ancient Gods' are you have trouble with, dear?" Gaia smiled.

  "Okay, you know what, I've entertained this long enough. What do you need - some food? Place to stay?" Dan asked as he stood over Gaia.

  "You want to solve Brianna's murder or not?" Gaia snapped.

  "Right, right. OK, what's next?" Dan sat back down and sighed. "So how are these women connected to Brianna's case?"

  "Patience. Just one more daughter. Her name is Alecto."

  More images his Dan, forcing him to sit:

  ***

  Alecto

  It was early evening in the metropolitan suburb of Pasadena, just outside of Houston. A gentle silence had descended upon a quiet street, lined with tall pine and oak trees. Set back from
the street is a classic Craftsman house. Wrap around gallery porch, porte cochere over the driveway. All well kept up and in beautiful condition.

  A brand-new Maserati was parked in the driveway.

  Piano music wafted out into the night air. A jazz number, "Take Five". Movement on the sidewalk by a stand of tall elm trees. Alecto stepped out of the shadows. She stepped silently onto the porch, then peered into the main window.

  A plump man was playing, going over and over the jazz standard. Mike LaFrance. Alecto smiled grimily, then advanced to the door. Her slim finger pressed the doorbell.

  Her outfit morphed from a skin tight maroon jumpsuit into a just-as-skin tight dress, low cut in the back and very high cut in leg. This displayed a pair of legs designed to cause a fatal heart attack in any healthy human, male, or female, of any sexual orientation.

  Inside, Mike stopped playing and looked to the door. Oh! She's here! He took another sip out of the rocks-glass. Swallowed. Paused and then another sip.

  He paused by the mirror by the front entryway, examining himself. Middle age paunch. He tried to suck in his stomach, exhaled and let it out. Not going to happen. What the hell.

  He opened the door with a huge smile on his face. He examined Alecto; long, glossy black hair, exotic olive skin, almond-shaped eyes. Somehow, Mike was disappointed. The smiled dropped into a frown.

  "Mike?" Alecto asked.

  "Yeah, uh. From the Agency?"

  "Yes. That's me!"

  "They made a mistake. I asked for a blonde not a day over 18," Mike explained. He was expecting a skinny blonde girl. He much preferred children to grown women.

  Alecto pushed her way inside and winked at Mike. "I'll do just fine, trust me."

  Mike stepped back and looked at her. "Ok, but I asked for an all-nighter."

  "Oh, this one will last you the rest of your life," Alecto gave him her small clutch-purse and sniffed. "Pour me a glass of that, it smells yummy."

  Mike tossed the purse onto the couch and rushed to the sidebar and poured a small glass of single barrel bourbon.

  Alecto smiled and followed him into the living room. She went to the piano and sat. "I love classical."

  "Oh, just jazz for me." He sat on the couch, placing her drink next to his. Mike was in awe at how seductive this woman was just sitting down. Very unlike his usual tastes. This might be an improvement.

  Alecto played a short bar of classical, then turned to Mike. She rose and slithered to the couch, perching on the edge. She reached for her glass. Over the top, she examined a framed photo of an elderly woman. Mike looked to where she was staring, reached out and set it face down on the edge of the table.

  Alecto examined Mike as she sipped. She let the liquor flow over her tongue. Of all human vices, she enjoyed their liquors the most.

  He downed his like a sport drink. Smacked his lips and looked at her glass. "Another?"

  "Not just yet."

  Mike leaned in for a kiss, and Alecto deflected nicely by setting her drink.

  "Let's start with little pick me up," Alecto suggested.

  "What do you have in mind." Mike tried to give a seductive smile. The look was closer to that of a cross-eyed crazy person. One eyebrow arched up and the result was enough to make Alecto turn her head.

  "Oh, how about some music and..." Alecto got up quickly and went to the piano. Mike started to get a look of disappointment. "Drugs?"

  Mike perked up at that word. "Oh yes, please."

  Alecto began playing again. A rather disturbing version of her favorite; Clair de Lune. "In my handbag."

  Mike snatched up the small purse and opened it, gazed inside. His tongue peeked out as his hand went in, like a child reaching in a jar for chocolate. His hand felt a small vial. He grinned, grasped it, pulled it from the purse like he'd just found a nugget of gold. He held it up and examined the yellowish powder inside.

  He reached into a drawer on an end table and produced a small mirror. He eagerly opened the bag and spilled a small amount onto the mirror. With a speed and precisions brought on by years of drug use, he had multiple lines ready for use. "All ready, my dear."

  Alecto paused in her playing and turned to watch Mike. "Oh, you go on."

  Mike quickly sniffed up the lines and prepared more. He looked up and blinked. An elderly woman was at the piano, not Alecto. "What?"

  "Smothered me in my sleep. Yes, he did, what a disgusting grandson!"

  Mike blinked. He closed his eyes and when he looked again, Alecto was watching him, one eyebrow arched.

  "Are you doing ok?" She asked.

  Mike nodded and bent to snort the rest of the powder. Alecto returned to playing the odd music.

  Mike watched a pair of reddish, rust colored wings rapidly unfurl from Alecto's back. He began to have trouble breathing.

  Mike clutched his throat, gagging. He dropped to his knees.

  The elderly woman appeared next to Alecto.

  "Trouble breathing, Mike?" Alecto asked. "You know, that powder has an unusual property. It expands and hardens like cement when exposed to moisture. Amazing how much moisture is in one's lungs, isn't it?"

  Grandma just smiled and began playing a counter-part to Alecto's playing. The out of kilter music echoed in Mike's ears as his vision began to dim at the edges and gradually closed in. He was unable to move his chest, his esophagus tightened, panic rose as he clawed at his throat. He rolled back and forth, legs kicking. The coffee table went sliding across the room as Mike's legs jerked and thrashed.

  He was dizzy from a lack of oxygen. His eyes rolled into his head as he collapsed. One hand twitched, then he was still.

  "Well, bless his heart," Grandma said as she faded, grinning from ear to ear.

  ***

  Gaia leaned forward to get Dan's full attention. "I trust you understand now?"

  Dan just looked concerned. "Yeah. Really entertaining stories, ma'am. But what do they have to do with Bree's death?"

  "Her killer isn't human," Gaia stated flatly. "Not fully, anyway. He's possessed by a demon. Those marks on her face? A design known as a sigil. The person who carved those symbols was leaving a message, invoking that demon. This demon's calling card, so to speak."

  Dan's mind flashed to the vision in his bathroom: Brianna's face, covered in horrific symbols. In his mind, the symbols began to glow, as if allowing hell fire to break through.

  "But demons don't exist. The killer is fully human."

  "The killer is, but his controller is a demon. One of the most powerful and dangerous demons in all the underworld. His name is Sorath."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dan stared at Gaia. "Sorath? What kind of name is that?"

  He rubbed his face. It was getting late and he still needed to deal with the reports from the grocery store, much less listen to crazy stories from a woman who, quite frankly, disturbed him more than he'd admit.

  "A name given to him by his worshippers, a long time ago. After he was sent to live with the other 'out of favor' Gods, he rebelled. So, he was banished to Tartarus." Gaia continued to stroke Dude's fur.

  "Banished? Okay, by who?"

  "The Furies, of course."

  ***

  First Battle of Tartarus

  Sorath had been worshipped by tribal people for millennia, and when the people of the region forgot, Sorath was left to descend into the Underworld. His people knew him as the Demon Sun God, the dark light. Not the absence of light, but a dim, black light that spread outward. Ancient tales about him eventually entered religious literature, all marking him as "The Beast".

  Hades was welcoming, offering Sorath his own domain and space to live out the rest of eternity. This space was shared by other so-called demons, forgotten pagan gods who were now forced out of the light and into the darkness.

  There, the demonic beings brooded, complaining to anyone who'd listen and generally were quick to share their misery. Sorath, rightfully, felt he deserved an equal share of the Underworld. He felt he was as powerful, once upo
n a time, as any Olympian god. He sent word that he wished an audience with Hades.

  Sorath was received in a manner that was fitting an ancient god of his stature. He was accompanied by several of his fellow demons. Hades met them at his table, filled with succulent dishes from the surface, meats, fish, exotic fruit, and wine, all served by the prettiest nymphs Hades and Persephone could obtain for the evening.

  They feasted. They swapped stories. They watched as the nymphs danced the dances long forgotten by mortal men.

  Then it was time for the audience. Hades listened and agreed that, yes, their fate was unfair, as they were forgotten so easily. Yet, they had to abide by the ancient agreements. Hades did not relish being the ruler of the Underworld, given to him by his brother, Zeus, after he took for himself the surface and all the air above. He was not allowed to set foot on Mount Olympus, he had to remain underground. Yes, the earth bore riches and uncountable wealth, and all the souls of the living were taken to the Underworld, so he controlled the masses as well.

  Sorath demanded equal authority in the Underworld and an equal share in the riches. Hades could keep the souls.

  Hades informed Sorath and his comrades that he would seriously consider the demands and to await word of his decision.

  Hades sent, via the messenger Hermes, that he would not grant Sorath's demands and he had to be happy ruling a small part of Tartarus.

  Hermes barely escaped the wrath of Sorath. Sorath spent the next century recruiting other demons and devils, condemned human souls and disincarnates to join with him in a war of rebellion. They gathered arms, and more and more humans joined the growing demonic army, since war also raged on the surface. So more and more human souls were judged to be an affront to the gods and sent into Tartarus, transforming them into demonic beings.

  Small skirmishes began, as Sorath tested Hades' defenses. Demonic armies engaged the Heroes of Elysian every few months, along the deserted lands between Tartarus, Elysium, and Hades' palace.

  Sorath's demons had bridged the river of fire, Phlegathon, and had marched across the Plain of Judgment, attacking Hades' lands. Demons and Heroes were destroyed in these small battles. Although a spirit cannot be killed, in human terms, a spirit can be destroyed, when their etheric energy becomes depleted, they simply fade out of existence: A fate far, far worse than the death that every mortal fears.