Severed

by Corey Brown

  “What do you mean, not much of a life?” Cody says then holds up a hand, like a traffic cop. “Wait, never mind, I think I know. I’ll worry about that later. So, why me, why am I part of this mess?”

  “I think that should be obvious,” T'biah replies. “Nick Wheaton was your partner. He was closing in on Remy and left you the clues. But that is only one reason. More importantly, you are connected to Todd, Todd is connected to Lucas and Lucas is connected to Remy’s criminal activities through U.S. Auto. Unfortunately, you had to be involved, there was no way around it.”

  “How can Lucas be connected to Remy Malveaux?” Cody says. “You said you killed him thirty years ago. And none of Nick’s data mentioned Remy, a handful of other New Orleans cops, but not Remy. In fact, none of the cops had any rank, not to speak of. They were just detectives and street cops. Nick alluded to some guy in the DEA but…”

  The knowledge hits Cody like a freight train. His eyes go wide and his mouth drops open. Slowly he starts to shake his head, saying, “How can that be? Robert Murdock, the DEA chief Derek is after? Are you saying Murdock is Remy Malveaux?”

  “They are one and the same,” T’biah says. “Remember? Remy’s body was never found. That’s because Remy had a deal with Calí. Well, really, his deal was with Satan and for all his rottenness, the Destroyer keeps his promises. He offered Remy a kind of immortality, or at least that’s what Remy wants to believe. So he was rescued from my revenge and given a new start, a new life. You’ve been wondering how Murdock could pull together such a massive operation? Let me tell you, it’s not that tough when the Ruler of Darkness is doing all the work.”

  Cody considers this then says, “Yeah, I guess not. I’m still not clear about the deal. What exactly did Remy do?”

  “It’s complicated, and a little weird, but basically Remy became a conduit for the Destroyer. It worked something like this: Remy had relations with a demon queen named Calí. Cody, I have to tell you, I’ve seen this creature, I tried to kill her once and to call her ugly is being kind. How she got Remy to even touch her, much less have sex with her is beyond me. But having intercourse with a she-devil is not like with a human woman, different things can happen. And what happened with Remy is her seed became his.” T’biah shakes his head. “No, that’s not right. It’s more like his seed became poisoned with hers. Anyone impregnated by Remy would be poisoned, too.”

  “Celine?” Cody says, quietly.

  T’biah nods, looks away, swallows hard.

  “But,” Cody says. “If Remy took her after you made love to Celine, how did he get her pregnant? I mean, if you got there first.”

  T’biah shrugs and smiles weakly. “Apparently making love to a forty-three thousand year old Aborigine can result in some pretty strange things, too. When one of God’s Regulators and a man with the seed of evil both have sex with a kind, beautiful, wonderful young woman, it seems they both can get her pregnant.” T’biah swallows hard again, wipes a tear from his eyes and says, “You want to hear something funny? I was a virgin when I made love to Celine. Can you believe that? I’ll bet I was the oldest virgin, ever.”

  Cody matches T’biah’s joyless smile. It might have been funny under other circumstances. Another time he might have laughed, but not now. He can see T’biah loved Celine, sees how much losing her hurts. Cody wonders if all the talk of faith and real love relate as much to Celine as to God.

  “Okay,” Cody says, “I understand what Remy got out of the deal, money and power and immortality, but what about Celine? Why get her pregnant? I heard what you said to David about creating someone who was both human and demon but what’s the point?”

  “The Destroyer,” T’biah says, with a sigh. “Is always searching for a way to rule or ruin. Someone once said the smartest thing the Devil ever did was to convince people he didn’t exist. But everyone knows Abaddon prefers domination over destruction, the truth is he wants to rule. And what better way to dominate than re-populate the earth with your own kind? Don’t you see, Cody? There are signs, that’s what all the clues have been about. Three then six then one, John three-sixteen---”

  “He gave his only begotten son,” Cody says, interrupting.

  “Exactly. I gave it to you as a clue, but Satan’s minions twisted the meaning as an insult to me. The Destroyer made his offspring wait until David’s thirty second year before allowing the twin to escape, about the same age Jesus was when he was crucified. Do you see it? The three bloody footsteps David’s twin left at the hospital, three in one, the Trinity.”

  “More insults?” Cody says.

  “Yes. I was trying to lead, they were trying to confuse you.”

  The light trickling from T’biah’s body seems to dissipate and, at the edges, he is becoming fuzzy. Cody hears the sound of approaching voices, they are almost clear.

  “We’re running out of time,” T’biah says. “The slide is going back and the police are on their way. Don’t let them to find you here.”

  “I still don’t understand. What do you mean re-populate the earth? Is that----?” Once more a lightning bolt of understanding punches into Cody’s mind. “The rapes, the miscarriages,” he says. “Doctors Sheldon and Findlay, Doctor Harris’s patients. And those rich women, Tina McGrath, David impregnated all of them?”

  T’biah nods.

  “But why David? And why not Remy, why didn’t he just..?”

  “Biology was still at work in Remy,” T’biah says. “His seed was not genetically poisoned, he would have to keep having sex with Calí. No, it was much simpler to let someone who has evil permanently encoded into their DNA do the job.”

  “But----”

  The voices and sirens outside become crystal clear. There is sudden whoosh and Cody is, once again, in Saint Louis Cathedral. T’biah is nowhere to be seen. Cody turns in a circle looking for him. At the back of the sanctuary, just inside the door, Cody sees six figures dressed in black, four are crouching low. All are carrying semi-automatic rifles. The SWAT team has arrived.

  “Police! Don’t move!”

  The voice does not belong to any one of the six visible SWAT members, but instead a seventh man has spoken, someone just out of sight.

  Cody feels a surge a panic. What now? He turns back toward the altar, hoping to see T’biah, hoping for a way out.

  “Do not move or we will open fire.”

  “Detective Briggs,” Cody shouts. “District One.”

  “Do not move, hands above your head.”

  Goddamn it, Cody thinks, now what?

  Strangely, Cody hears the third man in, put pressure on his trigger. How he knows it is the third SWAT guy and not the fourth or second, he isn’t sure. That he can even hear the sound at all amazes him. But Cody knows. Cody knows it is the third one as surely as he hears the next sound: five more fingers putting pressure on five more triggers. He turns to look at the SWAT team, he hears all six triggers click; Cody sees six streaming bullets unleashed from six M-16 rifles.

  T'biah sees the six shots, too. He looks at Cody, glances back at the half dozen bullets rocketing toward them, takes Cody by the shoulder and says, “Time to go.”

  «»

  The twin leans over, takes a handful of Suzanne’s hair and yanks her head. Pain streams from the back of her skull, he is lifting her entire weight by this wad of hair. Suzanne screams, she claws at him, trying to grab on, to pull against him, to relieve the pain.

  The twin holds her at arm’s length. Suzanne’s back is to the twin, he has her suspended, dangling, mid-air but Suzanne sees something. It looks like a wave or maybe a ripple. Her pain is sharp, breathtaking, and the twin is saying something to her but Suzanne frowns, tries to make sense of what is happening. They are in almost complete darkness, and yet she sees a dimple forming. How can darkness ripple?

  In the next instant, three things happen almost simultaneously. Suzanne hears a thud, like a hammer striking something hollow. On the heels of the thudding sound, the twin grunts then drops her, and Suzanne find
s herself down on hands and knees.

  The third thing will take Suzanne the rest of her life to really understand. Even when it’s explained to her, she will quite be able to get her mind around it. Later, much later, when she’s eating dinner on her seventy-third birthday, Suzanne will be thinking about David, missing him, wondering where he is. She will take a mouthful of vintage Bordeaux, savor its tart dryness, and it will come to her: she will understand how divinity was living, working, in him.

  But right now this third thing exceeds her boundaries of comprehension.

  David’s twin is several yards away, flat on his back, groaning, massaging his jaw. His fingertips are red from his split lip, his cheek smeared with blood. Suzanne looks to her right, looks up and there is the real David, there is her brother. She stares, a vertical crease forming between her eyebrows as she frowns.

  “David?” Suzanne practically chokes on his name.

  He is standing over Suzanne, towering over her. David seems to be hundreds of feet tall. And he’s dressed in some kind of weird, gray leather outfit with shin guards. And red hi-tops.

  “Hey,” David says, smiling, holding his hand out to her. “You all right?”

  Suzanne stares up at David. He is a giant, maybe two hundred feet tall and is reaching for her with a hand that is the size of a Volkswagen. He is two hundred feet tall, maybe taller, and all Suzanne can do is stare at him, stare at the enormous hand extended toward her. She wants to take that massive hand, wants David to scoop her up, wrap his life around her, save her. But she hesitates.

  “It’s okay,” David says. “It’s just me.”

  Suzanne looks once more at the giant hand, reaches for it, but when she puts her hand in David’s, he is normal-sized. His hand, his body, everything about David is just as she knows him to be. Suzanne’s eyes narrow in confusion, she opens her mouth to speak but she can only make a croaking sound.

  David helps Suzanne to her feet. Touching her chin, he gently lifts her face, tilts her head back to examine her injuries. Then he holds her at arm’s length and scowls.

  “Did he hurt you?” David says. He turns her palms upward, looks at the raw cuts. Suzanne’s jeans are torn and top is ripped, exposing her bra strap. “He did this to you?”

  Tears puddle in the corners of her eyes and Suzanne throws her arms around him. “Oh David,” she sobs, “I’m so scared. Thank goodness you’re here.”

  David holds her tightly, chokes back his own tears, kisses the top of her head. “You’re safe now.”

  “How did you find me?” Suzanne says.

  “That was easy.” David pulls several strands of her hair to his nose and inhales. “I could smell you. Wherever you went, I could smell you.”

  Suzanne looks up at David, tries to push away. “I don’t understand.”

  “We’ll talk later,” David says. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  “What?” the twin says. “You think it’s gonna be that easy?” He is on his feet, now, rubbing his jaw.

  Still holding his sister, David turns his head to look at the twin. Suzanne struggles to see around David’s shoulder.

  “You really think that’s all there is to it?” The twin says, glaring at David. “You deck me and just leave, like I’m a goddamned schoolyard bully? Think again, asswipe.”

  The twin slowly shakes his head and in his eyes there is an unsettling gleam. “I almost had her once before,” he says. “Jesus, don’t you remember? Back in the limo, the night of the Oscars. Man, I cannot believe you held me back. Maybe if you’d have let me do her back then, things would be different now.”

  Partially letting go of Suzanne, David faces the twin, squares his shoulders.

  “Listen, you piece of----” He bites off the word, and not because he can’t or shouldn’t swear. Rather, the taste of the word rising in his throat is exactly like the word itself. On his tongue, before he’s even spoken it, David can taste shit.

  “Not happening,” David says. “You will never touch her again. Now, we can do this one of two ways and either way you end up dead. But if I take her home first, you get to live a little longer.”

  The twin’s eyes go wide then he tips his head back and howls in laughter. The sound cuts into the stillness of the forest and bounces off the canyon walls, echoes around them. Some distance away dozens of creatures take flight, their wings pumping the air. Almost imperceptibly, the surrounding darkness seems to shrink back just a little, it contracts ever so slightly.

  In a high, nasal voice the twin mimics David, saying, “But if I take her home first, you get to live a little longer.” Then in his own voice, the twin says, “What is that shit? Are you some kind of fucking Boy Scout?”

  “Fine,” David says, interrupting. “Have it your way.” David raises his arm then snaps his elbow and wrist forward. There is a crisp, swishing sound as a twenty-foot long bullwhip pays out its length.

  Suzanne sees it, wonders where did the whip come from? How did he do that?

  The twin sees it coming, too. But he doesn’t move, does not even blink.

  Just as the knotted tip is about to take out the twin’s right eye, a hand comes out and snags the whip. But it’s not the twin’s hand. Standing next to the twin is a tall, solid figure, impeccably dressed in an olive suit over a starched white shirt with banded collar and brown Hushpuppies. The hand is fitted with a brown, leather weightlifter’s glove, fingertips exposed. An Interceptor.

  For a few seconds, the Interceptor holds the whip taut, the two of them engaged in something like a tug of war. He stares at David, eyes fixed, expressionless. Then he rolls his wrist, wrapping a few inches of the whip around his hand and jerks back sharply, yanking it from David’s grip. The handle skids past the Interceptor’s feet and he tosses the whip away.

  An irritating smirk spreads across the twin’s face. But no one speaks or moves. David can feel the others out in the darkness, more Interceptors surrounding them. Without taking his eyes off the guy in the suit, David tries to calculate how many. Ten, twelve? More?

  Again, the darkness seems to recede, shrink away. Now David can see them, Suzanne sees them, too. At the fringe, forming a circle are seven more Interceptors. Chiseled features, slicked back hair and all dressed in black tuxedos, with black shirts and maroon neckties. Some look more human than others but all are large and muscular, each one stands motionless, hands clasped behind their backs, maroon sunglasses masking their eyes.

  “Do as you please, Master,” says the olive-suited Interceptor. “You are safe now.”

  The twin ignores the Interceptor’s deference, looking at David he says, “You were saying, what? Have it my way? Oh yes, I will have it my way. I will have everything my way.”

  David does not answer. He is looking around, assessing the odds. He turns to Suzanne, puts a hand on her shoulder and gently presses down.

  “Have a seat, big sister,” David says, his voice just a whisper. His arched eyebrows signal her. “It’s better,” he says. “If you stay low. Real low.”

  Suzanne nods, understands that something is about to happen, something she needs to avoid. She kneels low on the cool, hard dirt.

  “All right, then,” David says, looking at the Interceptor in the olive suit. “Ready?”

  Stoic, arms folded, the Interceptor nods. The gesture is almost one of mutuality, a signal of equality.

  “Wait,” David says, holding up one hand. “Why not black?”

  The Interceptor makes a face. “What?”

  “The suit, your hair.” David points at the others and says, “They’re all wearing black on black on maroon, tuxes and ties. They have grease in their hair. But you, you’re wearing Versini, olive and white, no tie. And you have dreadlocks, what’s up with that?”

  “Leadership has its advantages.”

  “You’re in charge?” David says

  The Interceptor shrugs, examines the back of his right hand, the hand that caught the tip of the bullwhip. He turns his palm up and crunches his fingers in tight
, looking at the nails. “Is the question rhetorical?” the Interceptor says, his voice refined, relaxed. “Or are you serious?”

  “Fine, you’re the boss. But why a suit and not a tux, why so different?”

  The Interceptor shrugs. “Why not? Why should I look like these other mokes?”

  “Good point.”

  They are all waiting for it. They all know David is stalling. David resigns himself to this fact then crouches down, compressing himself like a spring. At once he launches skyward.

  Calmly, as if he’d anticipated this, olive suit holds up four fingers, indicating that four of them should jump, too. The rest should stay.

  As David jets upward, a metal boat anchor, chained to his body, drops out of his longcoat. The anchor hits the ground with a thud, kicking up dust. The Interceptors stare at the T-shaped iron implement. They all know what it is, they all know it is an anchor, but none of them can process what it means.

  The chain snaps tight and David is jerked downward. In the few seconds before the Interceptors organize, David hits the ground and pulls his MAC-10.

  «»

  They are on the ground again. It is cooler here, almost cold. The moon is full but its light seems to avoid this spot. Cody can see the outline of pine trees against the night sky, he can smell the forest, he knows this place. He looks right and sees the small, one room structure, flickering yellow light trickles out of the stained glass windows. Seeing movement on the ground just below the window, Cody squints, trying to adjust his eyes.