The Hexecutioner
5: The Death Whisperer
WILLIAM MASSA
CRITICAL MASS PUBLISHING
Copyright © 2020 by WILLIAM MASSA
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Raul Ferran/Jun Ares/shutterstock
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Contents
Meet the Hexecutioner
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Also by WILLIAM MASSA
About the Author
Meet the Hexecutioner
Three years ago, FBI Special Agent Jaxon Weylock was the Bureau’s leading expert on violent crime. A renowned profiler, he’d put some of the most dangerous serial killers behind bars. Weylock prided himself as a man who understood the dark side, but he was wrong.
During a horrific murder investigation in New York City, Weylock came face to face with true evil. He soon learned that the latest murderer he was trying to bring to justice wasn’t human.
He was hunting a demon.
Before long, Weylock was fighting for his sanity as the creature took possession of his soul.
In the end, he quit the FBI and ended up at the monastery of the Holy Knight in Italy, a non-denominational spiritual order renowned for treating the victims of demonic possession.
For two long years, Weylock lived a nightmare as he fought an internal battle against the demon. Ultimately, he defeated the creature and seized control of the monster’s black magic power; a feat accomplished only once in a generation.
On that fateful day when Jaxon Weylock won his battle over the demon, he became the Hexecutioner—judge, jury, and executioner of paranormal evil.
The demon doesn’t possess the Hexecutioner; the Hexecutioner possesses the demon.
To help Weylock wield this infernal power, the monks of the Holy Knight covered his entire body in protective religious tattoos that allow him to channel the demon’s magic and turn its infernal power into a weapon for good.
Tapping into the creature’s hellish abilities, the Hexecutioner can conjure force fields, phase through solid objects, fire blasts of raw energy, and transform his thoughts into physical reality.
Unfortunately, these fantastic powers come at a high price. The Hexecutioner controls the beast—for now—but it is a delicate balance, an endless internal war.
Helping Weylock in his supernatural missions of vengeance is his magical book of the dead, the Necrodex. The ancient tome serves as Weylock’s guide and compass in this new war. The restless spirits of the victims of supernatural evil communicate through its yellowed pages and point the Hexecutioner toward the next beast that needs to be tracked down and destroyed.
Over the centuries, many men and women have embraced the role and duties of the Hexecutioner. Champions of both the living and the dead, these devoted souls walk a lonely path, their holy mission of otherworldly vengeance both a blessing and a curse.
These are the tales of the newest supernatural avenger to have inherited the mantle of the Hexecutioner.
This is Jaxon Weylock’s story.
A story that has only just begun.
Chapter One
Detective Jay Hollow was looking forward to having dinner with his wife and son for a change. Over the last two months, he’d become a ghost in his own house.
Jay would get back from work late at night, when everyone was already asleep, and leave at the crack of dawn. He was running on about five hours of sleep, and it was taking its inevitable toll, both physically and psychologically. You could live on caffeine for only so long. At some point, the body just rolls over and cries uncle.
He hoped all these sacrifices were worth it. His investigation into the New York branch of the Russian Mob was progressing nicely. The evidence was coming together, the right people were beginning to talk, and soon, they would have enough of the pieces to build a proper case and make some serious arrests. Jay hated that his obsession came at the price of his family life, but he’d seen what these monsters were doing to the city, and he was determined to stop them.
Jay wanted to make the world a better place for his sixteen-year-old son—and everyone else’s sons and daughters. Taking out some key players in the Russian organized crime syndicate was a step in the right direction, but it came with serious risks.
“You’re not Batman, buddy,” his partner, Tony, had told him the other night. “And last time I checked, you weren’t bulletproof.”
Jay didn’t like it when people pointed out the obvious or discouraged him. Folks had to stand up to injustice and fight back. But he tried to understand where his partner was coming from. Tony had his best interests in mind.
“Alright, I’ll try to remember that,” Jay had said, flashing a plastic grin. “Now shut up. Let’s get to work and catch some bad guys.”
Tonight, however, he listened to his partner for once and went home before dark before his wife forgot what he looked like.
Jay turned a corner in his suburban neighborhood and steered his Dodge Challenger into the driveway of his Long Island property. The sun had just set, and it was only a little past seven o’clock, yet he was home. Hallelujah! Miracles still happened, especially when your partner insists you take a night off. He parked his car in the driveway, got out, and made his way to his modest split-level home.
For a change, the lights were on, and Anne hadn’t locked the door yet. The sound of the TV greeted him as he entered his house.
Jay loved it.
Lately, he’d felt like a burglar sneaking around in his own home, forced to tiptoe around in the darkness while making sure not to wake anyone. It was a nice change of pace to stomp into the foyer and clomp down the hallway.
“Hey, guys, guess who’s home early for a change?” he called out.
Jay was grinning ear to ear as he announced his presence. To most of his fellow officers, he was a no-nonsense, hard-assed detective who rarely cracked a smile. But at home, his guard came down, and he allowed himself to be a bit of a goofball.
It hadn’t always been like that. Early on, there had been a rough patch during their marriage when Jay took his work home every night. He’d crack open a beer before kissing his wife, and after dinner he would retreat into the garage to fiddle with his power tools for hours on end while getting loaded. After six months of that behavior, Anne was ready to leave him. Their son, Todd, was only five at the time, and she threatened to take him with her, too.
It had been a wake-up call for Jay—and a turning point. He had to keep his work and his private life separate. So, he made some big changes. He started attending AA and explored meditation and other relaxation techniques. Anything that would help him depressurize from a rough day on the job before he entered his home. Podcasts and audiobooks turned out to be godsends and helped immensely on that front, and none of that true crime shit people were obsessed with. Anything that got his mind off whatever case he was working on.
At first, it was rough going. You don’t break terrible habits overnight. But Jay didn’t
want to lose the two people he cared about the most in the entire world. He’d seen way too many times what happened to cops once they lost their families. He sure as hell didn’t want to become just another broken cop who ate a bullet one night or drank himself to death. No way Todd would grow up without a father.
The thought of Todd growing up without a father helped Jay face his demons. Days without a drop of alcohol became weeks. And his relationship with his wife and son soon improved.
Unfortunately, the challenges of the job never stopped. Sometimes a case would shake him to the core, and the old obsessiveness returned as it had in the last few months. Lately, he avoided any problems at home by simply not coming home. Sneaking into your house so you can catch a few hours of shut-eye on the couch because you don’t want to wake your wife and kid wasn’t healthy. He promised himself that he’d stop just as soon as they took down the mafia bastards.
They were getting so close. Just today, he and Tony dragged in a CI with a crucial piece of info. Jay prayed his life would soon be back to normal.
He owed his family that much.
Out of habit, his eyes flicked to the fridge even though the last time it had contained any beer was for their Fourth of July party—and he’d made it a point to sip sparkling water all day long. Anne had encouraged their guests to take home the leftover bottles, and there wasn’t so much as a hard seltzer in the house.
“Who’s hungry? I brought home pizza from Lorenzo’s,” Jay announced.
The smell of garlic, Italian sausage, and cheese filled his home and made him salivate in anticipation.
He placed the pizza box on the kitchen counter and walked into his living room. Some show about singers in mascot suits competing against each other was on the TV, but strangely enough, no one was watching it. There was no sign of Anne or Todd. Weird. Where was everyone?
“Hey, Anne, Todd? Dinnertime!”
His voice boomed through the house, but no one answered.
Jay scooped up the remote and killed the TV. Silence descended.
“Annie?”
Jay’s voice echoed as he gazed up at the landing. Their bedrooms were on the second floor, but it wasn’t like his wife to take a nap in this early in the evening—and certainly not with the door unlocked. They lived in a decent neighborhood, but his wife was married to a NYC homicide detective. For Anne, crime wasn’t a statistic any longer, and she took personal security seriously.
With the TV muted, Jay should be able to make out footsteps or voices, some hint as to where his family was hiding. They had to be here. Anne would have never left the lights and the TV on; she was adamant about not wasting energy. Her car was parked in the driveway too, so Anne and Todd—or at least one of them—was home. Todd hadn’t mentioned going over to a friend’s house. Jay had made sure of it because he wanted to surprise them with the pizza.
Maybe they’re out in the yard, Jay thought. He did not understand what they’d be doing out there, but it was the only explanation that made any sense. Even if Todd was lost in a videogame with his headphones on, his wife would have heard him by now if she was in the house.
Jay crossed the living room, navigated a small foyer that led to the back of the house and the yard beyond. The oversized driveway and enormous yard had helped convince Jay to purchase the property fifteen years ago. He loved the idea that his son would have a big yard to play in as he grew up, and the driveway meant that friends and family wouldn’t have to worry about parking when they came over to visit.
As the back door creaked open, Jay’s eyes cast around the large back yard. The area appeared deserted.
The anxiety nipping at the back of his mind became a full-blown concern. Something wasn’t right here.
He scanned the yard one last time before stepping back into the house.
His pulse quickened as he returned to the living room. The Masked Singer was still belting out tunes, but the surreal show seemed nightmarish on mute. The pizza sat cooling on the kitchen bar. The smell permeated the house, but Jay had lost his appetite. Anxiety knotted his stomach.
His jaw set tight, fingers on his service revolver, Jay searched his home like it was a crime scene, methodically clearing each room. He quickly determined that no one was on the ground floor, so his next move was to head upstairs.
His pistol was now in his hand, blood pulsing in his temples.
A few months ago, MS-13 gang members threatened to stake out the homes of cops in the Long Island area. He’d started switching up his routine at the time, and both Anne and Todd had done the same. They knew to keep their eyes peeled for anything suspicious in the neighborhood.
He suddenly wondered if he’d missed some telltale detail when he pulled up to the house. Had he overlooked something that should’ve set off alarm bells?
Gun up, Jay nudged the bedroom door open. He froze in the doorway and lowered his weapon.
Anne was sprawled out on the bed, still dressed, her blonde hair spread out on the pillow.
It looks like someone conked out early, he mused before noticing the red spot on her green blouse.
Something broke in Jay and he surged toward the bed. He forgot to clear the room, forgot everything except the dawning horror that his wife was not, in fact, asleep.
His finger touched Anne’s icy skin, and an animal noise escaped his throat.
This couldn’t be happening.
As a homicide detective, death was a constant part of Jay’s life. But it had never hit so close to home.
Oh God, Annie…
As the tears filled his eyes, he sensed movement behind him.
Followed by a sharp pain in the back of his head.
After that, Detective Jay Hollow felt nothing.
Chapter Two
The shadows lifted, and bright light assaulted Jay’s senses. He squinted against the blinding glare, eyes struggling to adjust.
Jay groaned and tried to move, only to realize that he was sitting in a chair, hands tied behind his back. As he struggled, pain lit up his now shirtless chest. It was almost as sharp as the pounding in his neck. Blood was dripping down his chest from a large cut and ran all the way to his belly, which had gone to fat in middle age. Eating crappy food at odd hours had not done wonders for his physique, but his arms were still powerful, and his muscles bulged as he strained against the cuffs.
It turned out to be a noble but fruitless endeavor. The desire to break free from his shackles couldn’t conquer steel restraints. After a minute of painful exertion, he cried out in frustration and slumped forward in his chair, his breath coming in defeated bursts.
Fuck.
Contorting his body like that had made the fresh wound on his chest bleed even more. Jay looked up and caught his haunted reflection in the bedroom mirror. Someone had carved what appeared to be a star into his flesh.
Not a star but a pentagram. What the fuck?
Jay’s gaze shifted and once again, he caught sight of his wife sprawled out on the bed. The mirror made the body look like a mannequin, the limbs too stiff to belong to a living person.
Quick newsflash, buddy. She ain’t alive anymore. She’s fucking dead! And so are you!
Jay gritted his teeth, silencing the manic thoughts whiplashing through his crazed mind.
How many years had they shared that bed together?
Tears of grief and rage exploded from his eyes and rolled down his quivering cheeks.
“I know it must hurt to see her like that, but she is in a better place,” said a man’s voice behind him.
Jay whirled toward the speaker who’d snuck up on him. For one moment, Jay could only make out a massive silhouette brandishing a pistol with an attached silencer. Then he snapped, thrashing again against the cuffs.
“You fucking bastard! I will kill you!”
“That’s the spirit. Let it all out.”
Jay roared with rage as the metal of the cuffs bit into his wrists.
Then the man stepped into the light and Jay stopped struggling, s
hocked by what he saw.
The killer was bald, ugly and menacing looking. An ugly scar ran down the side of his exposed scalp like a streak of lightning, and tattoos covered his neck. Jay recognized the ink as prison tats favored by members of the Russian mob.
The man with the gun smiled and gestured at the side of his head.
“The scar is the first thing people notice. I kinda like it. But it makes it easy to ID me, so most times, I wear a wig or a hat and try to cover it up with make-up. But not today. I don’t think there will be any witnesses to worry about.”
Jay glared at the man, rage boiling in his soul. “You better pull the fucking trigger, asshole. If I get my hands on you, that scar will be the prettiest part of what’s left of you.’
“I don’t doubt it, Detective Hollow. Anger can turn all men into beasts. Even a flabby, middle-aged cop.”
“You know I’m a cop,” Jay said as the pieces fell into place. “You work for the Russians.”
“I’m a professional. I work for anyone who can afford my price.” The bald killer eyed Anne’s corpse on the bed. “The bullet that killed your wife came from the pistol in my hand. I’m the guy who pulled the trigger, but it was you, Detective, who killed her. You poked your nose in the wrong places and fucked with the wrong people. Did you really think there would be no consequences?”
Jay roared, his face turning beet red, veins stretched taut against his skin. “You fucking piece of shit!”
“I like your spirit, but this is the end of the road.” The assassin leveled the pistol with one hand and held up a cell phone with the other, a blinking red dot indicating that he was recording. “I’m sorry about your wife and son, but I’m just doing my job.”
The Death Whisperer Page 1
