by Corey Brown
What was that?
Derek looks closely at Todd. Was something different about him?
Todd takes in another deep breath, holds it, doubles over and stiffens every muscle in his body. Then in a burst of energy, Todd straightens, expels the air in his lungs and this time instead of a little jump, his body seems to pop. And this time, Derek is certain something is different about Todd.
He is taller, bulkier, and his features seem to have become more angular, chiseled. Derek starts to speak but Todd does it again: he draws a breath, fills his lungs, holds it----Derek can see Todd is no longer working out some new idea. He has identified the thought and is participating, making it happen. Now, instead of bending over, Todd remains erect, his chest expanded, his arms spread wide, fists clenched, and every muscle rippling with tension.
In a loud release, Todd exhales and his body pops again. Derek stares at him, stares up at him. Todd is at least ten feet tall and built like a brick shit house. His biceps must be thirty-one inches around, his thighs all of fifty inches and if he needed a sport coat it would have to be a size eighty-two. His face has the square features of a desert rock formation. Todd’s once hazel eyes are now as black as coal.
Derek continues to stare, takes in the sight and without really knowing it, wonders why Todd’s clothes haven’t torn. They haven’t even stretched tight against his new size but, instead, have grown with him.
“Todd,” Derek says. He coughs, almost choking on the words. “Are you...?”
Todd squints at Cody then looks at Derek and nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m alright.”
Derek hears Todd speak, had expected some kind of Frankenstein voice to go with the huge body and is surprised to hear a thirteen-year old boy speaking.
“Excuse me, Agent Simmons,” Todd says. “I have to get my dad out of Hell.”
Two massive hands clamp onto Calí’s head, as Todd’s fingers reach completely around, touching each other at the nape of her neck. Derek watches, sees Todd’s lips working, he is whispering the phrase in unison with a thousand other voices.
“The Lord is my shepherd,” Todd says, unsure at first but then his voice grows stronger. “I shall not want. Behold, God is my salvation. I will trust in Him and not be afraid. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear nothing, for you are with me. Go out in the midst of her, and deliver this man’s his soul from the fierce anger of the Lord.”
A look of both conviction and defiance spreads over Todd’s face. “Game over, Calí,” he says, looking down at the demon-witch. “You lose, God wins.”
Once more, Todd digs his thumbs into Calí’s mouth and at the same time he applies incredible pressure to the back of her skull. Her face stretches, elongates, and starts to tear apart as the back of her head begins to crush inward.
Derek glances at Todd. His biceps are flexed and huge, stretching his t-shirt, stretching his skin. Derek looks at Calí. She is no longer trying to bite Cody’s arm, instead her eyes have rolled back in the sockets and Derek can see she has given up, she is dead.
Todd squeezes harder, reaches the point of termination then feels a strange sense of pulling. It’s a feeling of expulsion, of ripping apart. He extends his arms and in a single, swift, snapping motion, Todd pushes away just as Calí’s head rends in two, coming apart like a rotting melon. The halves fly away, disappearing into the abyss.
There is a burst of dark energy followed by a gust of hot, fetid wind, or at least something that feels like air blasts into the church. But what has Derek’s immediate attention is the sickening howl escaping Cody’s mouth. Derek flinches, immediately recognizing the tone. He knows what Cody is feeling. It is like sandpaper on burned skin, like an open flame touching an open wound. Hearing his friend suffer like this makes Derek sick to his stomach.
But the splitting of Calí’s head goes beyond what appears to be something physical, beyond a shower of black light or a rush of sour air. A low moan escapes the heart of Hell and rumbles through the small wood building, shaking the structure like an earthquake. The sound is more than physics, more than the resonance of vibrating air. It is a combination of despair and anger, as if both Hell’s prisoners and rulers have suffered a tremendous loss.
The rumble of this sorrowful moan insinuates itself into Derek’s mind, breaking his heart and scaring the crap out of him. But now something else is at work. Derek cannot ignore what appears to be millions of shimmering wings, pumping, squealing like rusty metal, and coming toward them. For a moment Derek is captivated by the glittering sight then a brain stem notion barges into his thoughts. Somehow, he knows it is not just coming here, it is coming for him.
Todd glances toward the sound, sees the distant glimmer, but the sight is quite different from what captures Derek’s mind. Todd’s eyes seem to have a more spiritual perspective. He doesn’t see shiny, glittering wings. Todd sees the visual equivalent of nails on a chalkboard.
The one look is all he needs. With that, Todd scoops Cody up in his arms, begins to lift him from the baptismal tub.
“Make it stop,” Cody wails. “Please, Todda, oh she urt meeze. Fucks that itch. Its hurting, oh it hurts. Chezzus, it urts.”
Tears flood Todd’s eyes. He wants to stop. Everything in him, every thirteen-year old emotion is telling Todd to put his dad back in that baptismal tub. Maybe that will make the pain stop, maybe that will give his dad some relief. But Todd knows this tub is not safe haven. Todd knows his dad has to come out, has to get clear of the abyss. It is the only way to save him, the only way to close the rift. He knows because his dead grandmother told him so.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Todd whispers, as he hoists Cody out. “I’m so sorry.”
Standing alone on the north side of the church, a Parish deputy who is in his mid-twenties hears a dragging sound. But it is not quite that, it sounds more like something slipping away. The tall grass ripples as if a snake has just slithered past. Startled, the young policeman points his Benelli M4 shotgun toward the sound then he hears a soft thud, like a brick dropping into mud.
He is intrigued, a little worried, but mostly curious. He is almost sure a snake could not make that sound. But what was it?
Waiting, he keeps the Benelli aimed in the direction of the sound. The young deputy listens, hears nothing. A few more moments pass and the lawman relaxes, sets the safety and lays the M4 across his arm. Shining a Maglite into the grass the cop squints then frowns. Something reflects in the flashlight’s focused beam, a glint of metal. The deputy squints harder. There is a black and silver, forty-caliber pistol lying on the ground, only five feet away.
The deputy frowns again, looks around, looks at the pistol and says, “What the hell?”
Determined, walking with purpose, Todd is carrying Cody toward the front door. Derek stands back, staring at Cody’s right arm, it is gray and black like a charred tree limb. He looks at his own hand, the one that was in Calí’s head, the one that was in Hell. A shudder traverses Derek’s spine.
But Todd has one thing on his mind and it has nothing to do with ruined arms or even ruined lives. All he cares about is what is coming toward him. He has to get the three of them out before it arrives.
Too late.
On Todd’s left, filling the expanse of hell, changing the blue-black void into an array of glittering dots of anti-light is the twisting, re-shaping form of the Yaw, the zombie mob of Satan’s imagination.
Todd can see the eerie outline of a huge mouth against the dark backdrop and the once distant metallic whine becomes a piercing scream, like a locomotive locking its brakes. Covering his ears, Derek winces at the sound and turns to look at it. Todd tries to ignore the unholy screech, strains to hear the heavenly voices with which he shares a spiritual, unspoken bond. He can still hear them, but they are hardly a whisper.
“Don’t,” Todd shouts, turning toward Derek. “Don’t look at it, close your eyes.”
Derek half turns away, half looks back at the sight. “What?” He shouts back. �
�What did you say?”
“Do not look at the Yaw.”
Derek swallows, starts to look anyway.
“Agent Simmons, stop!”
Glassy-eyed, Derek gazes at Todd. Over Derek’s shoulder, Todd watches the Yaw reform, losing its shape as a screaming mouth, becoming a wall-like mass that stretches from the edges of Hell’s horizons.
Derek turns to look at it. He is only a few feet from the point of demarcation, just twenty-six inches from where the church floor is erased by the chasm. Twenty-six inches from a billion elements of mindless evil.
The Yaw’s very presence is like an untold number of needle jabs into Derek’s mind, but against his body it feels like a thick coating of diesel fuel, choking, smothering him. As before, when his hand was jammed through Calí’s head, Derek feels the underworld creeping into his skin like a virus.
Then he has an odd moment of consideration. He stares at the writhing mass and thinks, I am facing pure evil. What do I do now?
Either out of reflex or some misplaced idea of what he should do, Derek raises his 84 Cheetah and empties the clip into the Yaw. Eight bullets trace out into the void, striking everything, stopping nothing, a volley of projectiles with no consequence.
The last shell exits the chamber and falls to the wood floor. Mechanically and with a strange intensity, Derek thumbs the release, drops the empty clip, pulls another one from his belt and jams it in.
Arm extended, elbow locked, his gun aimed at the Yaw, Derek looks at Todd and says, “Get your dad out of here. I’ll take care of these assholes.”
Ten feet tall, hulking and cradling Cody in his arms like a rag doll Todd stares at Derek, trying to understand what the FBI agent is thinking. Part of Todd wants to laugh at the absurdity of what Derek has just said, another part wants to do just that, wants to turn and run. But he knows the Yaw is beginning to poison Derek’s brain. Then Todd hears it, or at least part of it.
‘…Behold, God is my salvation. I will trust in Him and not be afraid. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me…’
Todd looks at the swirling mass of living satanic consciousness. He shrugs his shoulders, re-adjusts Cody’s weight and finds a sense of calm
“Agent Simmons,” Todd says, softly. “Walk this way.”
Derek hears Todd, struggles to think clearly. His mind seems to stretch in three different directions. In one direction he wants to face down, maybe arrest this host from Hell, but the second, stronger pull is telling him how crazy that is, reminding Derek that he can do nothing against this raging force of evil.
Pulling in a third, very subtle direction, Derek’s mind replays the lyrics to the ’70’s rock song Walk this Way by Aerosmith. He can hear Joe Perry playing that kick-ass guitar solo, he even hears Steven Tyler belting out the chorus…“Walk this way, Walk this way…” He almost starts to sing along then thinks, what the hell am I doing?
His pistol is straight-armed against the Yaw, Derek swallows, wonders what to do.
“Mr. Simmons,” Todd says. “Our part is done. God will finish this business.”
“But…they…”
“I understand,” Todd says. “Now, let’s go.”
Reluctant, grateful, obedient, Derek lets his arm drop, the gun pointing toward the floor. Then he turns toward the front door.
Stepping past Todd, reaching for the doorknob, Derek hesitates. He senses the proximity of the Yaw. They---- it---- seems to have slipped over the line and is now in the real world, hovering at their backs. He swallows. It---- they---- are right behind him, Derek knows this, he can feel it reaching out, preparing to take them.
Todd looks down at Derek and says, “Don’t turn around. Fear no evil, you are with God, he is walking with us in this valley of death.”
Derek looks up into Todd’s face. He nods, reaches for the door, again. Hesitates again. “What about you?” Derek says. “What will they say when they see how…how you are?”
A boyish grin spreads across Todd’s face, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “That will be so cool.”
It takes a second for Derek to process Todd’s point of view. The kid has just saved his dad from a miserable death, found some powerful spiritual insight, discovered the faith that eluded Cody and still eludes Derek. Todd’s new size is imposing, even frightening. He knows all of this, but on the inside Todd is still just a teenager.
Derek laughs and says, “Yeah, you’re right, it will be cool.”
The Yaw is reaching for Derek as he laughs and the sound makes it halt. Just below the surface, Derek can feel it shrink away. He turns the knob and pulls the door open.
Chapter 37
“I think it’s over,” David says. “I haven’t heard anything hit for a while now.”
T’biah looks at David, knowing it really is over then says, “Maybe.”
“Yeah, it seems pretty quiet.” Suzanne adds. “Should we go out? My legs are stiff.”
Having found refuge from the torrent of slaughtered demons in a cave barely four feet high, the three of them are sitting back on their heels listening, waiting. The free jumps through time, the narrow misses, facing off with the twin, scrambling and tumbling into the cave, all of it has left them scraped and bruised and exhausted. Their clothes are torn, faces are dirty and caked with dried sweat.
David brushes a wisp of matted hair from Suzanne’s grimy face. He looks into her green eyes and smiles.
“What?” Suzanne says. “What are you looking at?”
David shakes his head slowly, feeling both wonder and amazement.
“What?” Suzanne repeats. But David just continues to smile.
“He loves you,” T’biah says, his voice almost a whisper.
David and Suzanne both look at him.
T'biah shrugs, looks at David. “That’s what you were thinking, right?” he says. “How much you love her?”
“Yeah,” David says, gripping T'biah’s arm. “But not just her, both of you.”
T’biah looks away, wipes a tear from one eye. Some ending this would be, just when his son discovers who his father is, just when David says that he loves his father, his father evaporates into nothing. T'biah shakes his head at the thought.
“What?” David says. “You don’t think I mean it?”
T'biah exhales and says, “It’s not that.” He swipes at the tears again. Some fifty feet away and up a slight incline, light boils over a ridge near the mouth of the cave. T'biah nods in that direction and says, “Come on, let’s head out.”
First T’biah, then David followed by Suzanne, one at a time they crawl out of the cave. Stiffly, they each stand and take in the sight. T’biah nods, seeing exactly what he expected, knowing how the Master’s warriors take care of business.
But Suzanne and David are stunned. All around them, surrounding them by three hundred and sixty degrees is the planet just as it should be. Except for damage to the plant life and the unusually still air, they have emerged into a beautiful autumn day.
“I…I don’t understand,” Suzanne says. “Where are they? Where did all those demons go?”
At first, T’biah does not answer. He is silent, surveying the landscape. Then he says, “This place was always one of my favorites. I can’t help wondering if the twin knew that, if he chose it on purpose.”
Suzanne opens her mouth to speak but David puts his hand on her shoulder, signaling her to be quiet.
T’biah inhales sharply, taking in the clean, crisp air. At this, Suzanne notices just how fresh the air really is. She wonders why it doesn’t smell like death.
“It’s always like this here,” T’biah says, absently. He points at nothing in particular, saying, “The leaves are always brown and red and gold, always falling. The nights are always cool and clear. Did you know that there are only seventy-one planets in all the universes like Myth, where it’s always autumn?”
“Myth?” Suzanne says. Her voice is soft and gentle.
“Uh-huh. That
’s where we are, the planet Myth. And there are only seventy-one others like it in all of creation.”
T'biah closes his eyes and draws another deep breath. “Fall,” he says. “My favorite season. I came here as often as I could, sometimes just to clear my mind.” He smiles, looks at Suzanne and says, “You should see the Juliannas. Their feathers turn violet in the setting sun, and when a flock breaks out of the underbrush it is the most incredible sight. I will miss this place so much.”
Subconsciously, Suzanne registers the portent. She frowns, trying to work out some unspoken meaning.
Before Suzanne’s mind can identify what her feelings already know, T'biah folds his arms and says, “It’s normal. The demons disappearing, that’s what happens.” His expression is serious, focused.
Suzanne makes a face, still trying to make sense of…of what?
“Well, okay,” Suzanne says. “If there is anything normal about the sky raining demons then I guess having them disappear qualifies, too.”
T’biah holds Suzanne’s gaze but it is David who speaks. “That’s what will happen to you when we leave,” he says. “Isn’t it? You’ll just disappear.”
Glancing at David, T’biah nods. “Yes. You feel it, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Feel what?” Suzanne says. But she has barely spoken the words when she senses the odd tugging sensation, a pull at the center of her being. Not her body, it comes from her soul.
