One Plus One (The Millionth Trilogy Book 3)

by Tony Faggioli

  Meanwhile, the demons nearest Kyle had closed in. He almost panicked before realizing that maybe this was a good thing, because the closer they got the easier they would be to hit. They charged in hard, zigzagging back and forth, and before long they were within twenty feet. Kyle’s first blast incinerated the taller of the two and he puffed out of existence in a spray of orange and red ash. But the second demon, seeing what was coming, stuttered in the air again, a good half dozen times, moving through the dark creases one by one, like a child weaving in and out of the clothes racks in a department store, until he was close enough to reach out and grab Kyle.

  Instinctively, Kyle brought both his hands up to his chest to defend himself, his left hand blocking one of the claws while the blue shot out of his right hand at a downwards angle, disemboweling the creature with a round blue hole about eight inches in diameter.

  Two down, one dead, one still…

  Kyle looked up to see that The Gray Man and the final demon were grappling with each other, the demon stepping back at times to unleash a flurry of blows to The Gray Man’s head, the punches landing clean and hard. The Gray Man would try to back away and get some distance before the creature would charge and grab him again. Kyle was just beginning to wonder what The Gray Man’s strategy was when it became apparent: by retreating and keeping the demon on the attack, he was keeping the creature from splitting itself again.

  Kyle moved to help but was grabbed around the waist by the demon he’d felled. Its claws dug into his sides, the death grip of a dying creature, knocking Kyle to one knee. It died just as it tried pulling itself up to Kyle’s face, its fangs gnashing with wet, bloody spittle.

  Immediately Kyle felt the evil in it trying to pierce through his wounds, to infect him with the germs the creature had carried with it all the way from hell. Reaching down, Kyle ripped the creature’s hands free, screaming as the claws tore at his skin. He was bleeding, badly, which surprised him because the wounds didn’t seem to be that severe. Taking a deep breath and putting one hand over each wound, Kyle cauterized them with the blue, again aware that he was doing things that no one had taught him.

  Looking up, Kyle noticed that the demon The Gray Man had taken out at the knees was beginning to reach up to tear itself apart again. Wasting no time, Kyle blasted it in the chest, just below the throat, and it toppled over with a wide-eyed death stare.

  Meanwhile, the final demon was in the last seconds of its life as well. The Gray Man’s white force pulsed down his wrists and into the forearms of the creature that was gripping him. Kyle watched in awe as the white spread throughout the creature in fine woven lines, like a spider’s web, cutting into and bursting it from the inside out, its limbs exploding in four different directions as its head melted into its chest cavity.

  Kyle ran and half-stumbled his way to The Gray Man, who seemed completely spent by the battle.

  Are you okay? Kyle thought the question.

  Leaning over, The Gray Man nodded but said nothing.

  What now?

  The Gray Man held up a hand, as if asking Kyle to wait, then after a moment he replied, We’ve got to get out of here. The enemy dominates this place to such an extent that we might as well be in hell again. It’s almost worse, I think.

  Worse?

  Yes, the creatures here, there are more of them, various species. I can feel their thoughts. They’re all on their own. There’s no order here, no control. It’s just a plane of madness that’s infected everything.

  Well, what do we do next then? It’s not like I can get us out of here, said Kyle.

  You’re going to have to.

  Kyle was shocked. How?

  You have to learn to traverse.

  What?

  You remember, when we first met. We talked about it.

  We did?

  Yes. The drawing you made in class, the one Victoria noticed. You titled it ‘Traversing the fields,’ remember? You drew it on your note book. It’s a concept that’s been within you from the beginning, Kyle. You knew it. Felt it. What it was. You just didn’t know how to use it.

  Okay. I remember.

  Reach to that moment within you. Pull on it.

  I don’t understand.

  That’s the problem. Quit trying to apply your reason to things. Have faith and apply that, nothing more. Just do it.

  Kyle was about to argue, but instead he slowed his thoughts and took a deep breath. He needed to get this right. The Gray Man needed him this time. It wasn’t the other way around for once and Kyle didn’t want to fail him.

  So Kyle let go again, let himself be seventeen again… in Econ class with his wobbly desk and the prettiest girl in the world sitting right next to him. He’d drawn a road disappearing off into the distance, to a flat line horizon with shadowy edges and…

  Something inside him shifted and brushed against his soul, like an instinct that had been hiding in the shadows, and the blue came alive again, emanating from him in a soft circle, first only around his own body before he willed it to reach out towards The Gray Man. Kyle began to wonder how it all worked, what would happen next, and then noticed that the very act of breaking his concentration made the circle retract, inches at first, then a few feet, so he forced himself to refocus and let the process unfold.

  The Gray Man was leaning on one elbow, nodding encouragingly, and yet there was a look on his face of near surprise, as if he’d expected this process to take longer. Kyle surmised that, once again, he was proving to be quite the gifted student.

  The circle expanded, enveloping The Gray Man, and then held static before it began to hum, softly at first, then louder. Kyle had the distinct impression that he’d grabbed a bull by the horns as the ground began to shake and everything around them, things seen and unseen, from the canyons on the meteor’s surface to the molecules in the air next to his face, began to vibrate rapidly. Gray? he said, his voice trembling.

  Now. Think of where you want to go.

  What?

  Where is it that you want to go, Kyle?

  Shit. Earth I guess.

  No. Not specific enough. We could end up anywhere if you think that, from a ranch in Wyoming to a buoy in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Focus.

  Okay. Tamara. I want to go where Tamara is.

  The Gray Man nodded again, but then began coughing. Kyle realized that he was wounded somehow, and this idea broke his concentration again. The humming began to fade and the glow of the circle pulsed high and low, like a light bulb just before it goes out.

  Kyle!

  I know. I know. I’m focusing again.

  Where Tamara is, her exact location, is being blocked from us, remember?

  Kyle nodded. Yeah. Right. Okay. Then I want to go where she… was.

  Was… last.

  Got it. Was… last. I want to go where my wife was last. Where my wife… and just thinking about Tamara wrenched at his heart, again breaking his concentration, as he worried where she was now, and if she was okay, and if the man that had her was hurting her.

  The circle began to recede again.

  Kyle lowered his head. This was all his fault. All her pain and suffering, what had almost happened to the kids. His heart sank in his chest as guilt and sorrow rode through him like twin trains, rattling the rails of his convictions.

  Somewhere far off in the distance he heard The Gray Man screaming. Kyle! Snap out of it! Kyle!

  Kyle wanted to ignore him, but there was something new to The Gray Man’s voice. Something different: a tone of desperation.

  Kyle lifted his head and opened his eyes just in time to see it cresting over a ridge far off in the distance: a massive black centipede-like creature with red eyes, cruising along the meteor’s surface as if it were swimming towards them, its venomous claws snapping.

  And it was closing fast.

  If he thought hard, if he focused quickly, maybe they could—

  Kyle blinked. It was too late. The circle around them disappeared with a pop, and the look on The Gray
Man’s face now was one that Kyle never imagined he would ever see: terror.

  CHAPTER 17

  SHORTLY AFTER HIS COMMENT about Ben, the mad man went into some sort of trance. Tamara was convinced that he was going to rape her, but instead, in stunned disbelief, she listened as he slowly fell asleep next to her. When she finally allowed herself to breathe again it was in tiny, measured breaths for fear that she would wake him.

  Here was her chance, but it seemed too good to be true. How could he fall asleep and leave her completely untied? Terrified, she glanced at the mirror over the dresser, and her heart sank. The creature in the hat was still there, watching her. She forced her eyes away from his visage, which wasn’t an easy task because his image deadened her mind with a murmuring sound not unlike buzzing bees.

  When she looked away the sound stopped instantly, but when she looked back it would start up again. Whatever that thing was, he emanated ruthlessness and a power that trumped anything she’d encountered thus far, even more than the clown creature under Janie’s bed, with its gnashing teeth, which she would’ve never thought possible.

  But this creature didn’t need teeth. He was powerful enough to make a person eat themselves. One tiny morsel at a time.

  She was shivering, frozen in place, but this was her chance. She had to take it, mirror creature or not. Feeling her breathing becoming too rapid, she calmed herself. Focus. Focus.

  She was clothed, though she had nothing else. They were on the ground floor of the motel. It looked like it was dark outside. If she got past the door she could run to the front desk.

  She rotated her head, ever so slowly, to the right side of the bed, looking past the monster’s face to the nightstand for his keys.

  They weren’t there.

  Using the same slow incremental process, she craned her neck backwards to look at the nightstand behind her. They weren’t there either.

  Or on the dresser. Or the desk. He probably had them in his pocket, or maybe—

  When she saw the small silver glitter on the chair next to the desk her heart leaped. She focused her attention and confirmed that they were keys. Three of them, on a small key chain with what looked like a Chevy logo, cast beneath the desk light in partial shadow.

  She’d have to make her way off the side of the bed without waking him somehow. From there she could probably reach the keys quickly on a dead run for the door. But what were the odds of getting to the car, getting inside and locking it, all before he reached her? Not high. He was a quick, shifty bastard, and he was much stronger than he looked.

  But she could fight back. She would fight back. With all she had. Because more than anything, even more than the fear of what was in that mirror, was the terror of going back into that trunk. How many more times would she see that lid close over her head before it closed for the last time?

  She looked towards the bathroom for a weapon, regretting so instantly as once again the creature in the mirror greeted her, the rags that covered his face in no way hiding the fact that he was staring at her, intently. Regardless, there was nothing in the bathroom or anywhere else in the room that she could use as a weapon. So hand to hand it might have to be.

  It occurred to her to think this out, very carefully. So she began to do so, then realized almost immediately that all her thoughts were trying to talk her out of doing it.

  So, in direct disobedience of her own mind, she sat up, slid off the edge of the bed and ran for the keys.

  The room, the air around her, held still and silent, pregnant with doom. Reaching the chair and grabbing the keys, she laced them in the gaps between her fingers, making a claw fist with which she could gouge out his eyes when the time came. He was behind her, she could feel it, but as she spun to face him she was stunned yet again. He was still on the bed, still sound asleep.

  Joy, relief and hope rolled over her in waves as she changed her approach from a chaotic escape to a stealthy one. She crept across the carpet of the room on the balls of her feet, slowly turned the lock on the door and opened it carefully, wincing as it creaked ever so slightly.

  She stepped into the dead of night, the cold air flooding her again in shivers. She turned to close the door for fear the cold air would rush into the room and wake him.

  One last glance: he was still as he was except now she swore she could even hear him snoring.

  Shifting the keys in her hands she felt the small plastic key fob. It was a good idea to close the door behind her, because the sound of the car unlocking could still awaken him. She would get as close to the car as she could before she unlocked it. After pulling the door shut, she turned towards the car with purpose.

  When she saw them she was shocked, but not entirely surprised.

  It had all been too easy.

  And now she knew why.

  Here was more proof that the sermons her father taught under the hot Bolivian sun, all those years ago, of angels and demons being around and among us, were true.

  Except here, now, there were only demons. Five of them.

  The first one, nearest her, was wearing a black trench coat. His face looked like old, dried leather and he had sunken red eyes. He was leaning against the ice machine just outside the room, chewing on the nail of his left index finger, looking at her in a bored sort of way, as if he were a security guard waiting out his shift.

  Two more creatures, with coyote-like faces, long snouts and beady eyes, and with mangled human bodies, were actually at the car: one on the hood, reclining backwards with his shoulders and head against the windshield, as if he were taking a nap, the other seated on the roof with his legs hanging off the side and over the driver’s window. The fourth one was tall, with a wide chest and a face that was almost all teeth, his smile like that of an exaggerated clown’s, stretching from just above his chin and out, nearly touching the base of each ear. He stood at attention, feet spread shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back, his black leather hat shiny beneath the moonlight.

  She noticed a shiny pin on each shoulder and Tamara realized that the creature near the ice machine had them too: SS pins. They were Nazis, and not the pretend kind. They were the real ones, who gassed and carved people up for the fun of it. When he saw Tamara look at him he smiled and licked his lips.

  “You are very perceptive, young lady,” the fifth and final demon said softly. She was leaning against the railing of a nearby stairwell that had rust stains smeared down the sides. It was the old woman from the park, who’d been watching her and the kids that day.

  Tamara stood in defeat. Fighting the monster in the room was one thing, but who could possibly overcome the one in the mirror and these demons whom, she firmly believed, he commanded. Five guards stationed outside their room so that the monster could get some sleep. She was crushed.

  So. Yes. All those sermons were true. Demons and angels roamed the earth.

  But it had been a long time since she’d seen any angels.

  PARKER KNEW the answer but had to ask the question. “Who is this?”

  “It’s me, numb-nuts.”

  Parker smiled. “Where are you? What the hell is going on?”

  “Nice slip of the tongue. Well, I’m not there anymore.” He chuckled. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re with the Fasano kids?”

  “Yeah,” Parker replied, more than a little stunned. “And their… aunt. How’d you know that?”

  Parker heard an audible sigh from the other end of the line.

  “Where are you, Nap?”

  “In a cab on the 2 Freeway, trying to get to your sorry ass.”

  “Me? Why?”

  There was a lengthy silence, where all Parker could hear through the phone was the hum of traffic through a car window before Napoleon spoke again. “Look. I don’t expect you to believe all I’m about to say, but you’ve seen enough, more than most, to believe enough, okay?”

  “Spit it out, Nap.”

  “Okay… screw it, I’ll just say it…
Demons… demons are going to be coming after you.”

  Parker didn’t smile. Instead he looked long and hard at the two men out on the parking lot as his jaw tightened. “Come again?”

  “Listen.” And now his partner’s voice cracked with emotion. “It’s all real, man, all the angels and demons, good and evil stuff? It’s all real, Parker. Real as the day is long. You saw what happened at the Brasco house. You know where I went.”

  He couldn’t believe he was doing it, but Parker was nodding. It was time to just admit it. “Yeah. I know. I believe you.”

  “Thank God.” Napoleon sighed. “They’re after the Fasano kids, Parker.” The way he said it was unsettling.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “Parker. I just do. I’ll explain later, when I get to you. Where are you now?”

  “At a 7-Eleven in Los Feliz. Corner of Rowena and Hyperion.”

  Trudy was looking at Parker as if she were trying to figure out who he was talking to as he listened to Napoleon giving the cabbie directions.

  “Okay, man, I’m on my way. Don’t leave.”

  Parker chuckled, again looking at the two men in the parking lot who were waiting for them to come out. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

  “Why?” Napoleon asked, his voice sounding grave.

  “There are two guys here, out in the parking lot. They watched us on the way in and I think they’re waiting for us to come out.”

  “What do they look like?”

  Parker gave him the descriptions, but when he described the John Deere guy he thought he heard Napoleon audibly gasp. “Watch that fucker,” Napoleon commanded. “He’s a big problem, Parker. We’re on our way. Cabbie says ten minutes tops. Stall. Heat up a few burritos, lose yourself in the lotto section, whatever you gotta do, okay?”