by Jon F. Merz
“This isn’t Egyptian, you unschooled fool. This is much older than the Egyptians. This one dates back almost a thousand years before the Nile dwellers.”
“So what?”
“This is where my lord will rise. Be reborn on to this plane. Right in here.”
Curran sighed. “And how do you intend to go about doing that?”
Darius eyed him. “Not a believer yet, are you, Curran?”
“Something I’ve been struggling with. I mean, you’ve given me a lot to think about over the course of these past years. But I’m just not entirely convinced this is real. For all I know, you could just be some raving lunatic who thinks he talks to the Devil.”
Darius slapped him across the face. Curran’s head snapped away. He came back tasting copper blood. “Well, put yourself in my position, Darius.”
Darius folded his arms. “Haven’t you figured any of this out? Any of it?
“Don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on and I’ll see if it makes any sense to me.”
“What have you discovered about the people I’ve killed?”
“Nasty bunch of folks,” said Curran. “Most of them are the most evil people I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing about.”
“Most?”
“Well, not all of them counted. The little mouse, the two nuns, Kwon…” His voice trailed off. He’d almost said Lauren. Was she already dead?
“No,” said Darius. “Her role in much more important than you realize.”
“Get back to your victims. Why kill the evil ones? Why not leave them be, why not let them continue creating havoc?”
“All of them are evil,” said Darius. “But not just evil in actions, their very souls are tainted by evil. They breed evil. Their every thought is of evil.”
“How is that possible?”
“Everything exists in balance in our universe. Without good there can be no evil and vice versa. To assume that every single person is inherently good is an atrociously arrogant philosophy. If everyone was inherently good, there would be no evil.”
“Unless evil is a learned concept.”
“But it’s not. No more than good is. And so, for all those inherently good souls, there are also inherently evil souls. In each generation, in every age, there are souls that are blacker than night. They exist to help balance out the good.” He smiled. “And sometimes, they exist for a more special purpose.”
“Bringing the Devil back.”
“It’s been written about throughout the ages. Most religions know about it. That’s why they preach being good so fervently. And for the most part, the evil souls tend to fall through the cracks.”
“What a shame.”
Darius smiled. “Tell me Curran: when you were a little boy, did anyone ever tell you that Satan looks for a reason to come into our lives? That he looks for the small beginnings of evil tendencies and then exploits those tendencies?”
Curran’s mind flashed back to Church. To the smells of the frankincense, myrrh, and other incense. He saw the priests. He saw Joey. He saw the fear. Felt the fear, the urge to vomit as he witnessed his friend being raped. He saw the look in the priest’s eyes as he came for him, hands outstretched.
“Yes.” Darius smiled. “Taste your fears all over again. Almost as if they’re happening right now.”
Curran’s mind drowned under the wash of terror gripping him. No! Run, Joey! Run! His eyes felt hot. Tears ran out of them. He sobbed. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get away.
He could hear Darius chuckling. “You see? You do know what real evil is.” He clucked. “Enough.”
Curran’s mind cleared. The images disappeared.
“I can manipulate you as easily as I breathe, Detective. Your mind is an open book to me.” He looked at Curran again. “Satan lives best through the evil of others.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
Darius eyed him. “Ah, yes, that missionary fellow. Westerly.” He smacked his lips. “Troubling sort. I had to take care of him as well.”
“How many have you killed over the years?”
“Since I’ve been among you pathetic humans? Too many to count.” He shrugged. “Anyway, with each evil deed, my Lord’s presence grows stronger. It draws him.” Darius checked one of the candles and then his watch.
“The problem,” he continued, “is that the focus is scattered. My Lord does not have the ability to simultaneously concentrate on exploiting the evil associated with millions of potential evil people. He could not capitalize on that evil and come back here.”
“Which is his real goal.”
“Naturally.”
Curran nodded. “Makes sense.”
“But, if it was possible to harvest the evil souls of people and gather them in one place, then Satan would be able to open a doorway on to this plane.”
“And you, uh, ‘harvested’ these souls.”
“Like you said, my victims have all been evil.” Darius looked proud. “I am the Soul Eater.”
“So, what do you do with the souls once you get them?”
“I cannot,” said Darius, “hold onto them. I am merely the facilitator of them leaving the body they formerly inhabited. As you no doubt noticed when you unclasped the locks of the sacred vat, it smelled revolting.”
“That’s one word I might use to describe it.”
“It is almost one hundred years worth of vomit, I’m afraid.”
“One hundred years? I thought you’ve been around for eons.”
“I have.” Darius turned away. “Success, however, has only been a recent occurrence in my existence.”
Curran frowned. What did he mean? Had someone else battled him in the past? Had someone else managed to destroy his vat before? How had they done it? Maybe he could be beaten. Curran cleared his mind, aware that the demon could see into it.
“You vomit into that vat and store it?”
“It’s not vomit in the sense that you know it, although it smells just as bad. This vat contains the souls of everyone I’ve killed over the past century.”
“In other words, the evil you ‘harvested.’”
“Exactly.”
“Some hobby you got there.”
Curran tested the ropes again by flexing his hands, hoping Darius wouldn’t notice. “Well, tell me this: if you needed to get evil souls, why have you only killed in the United States? Are you saying we have a monopoly on evil people here?”
“Not at all. Evil spreads itself equally throughout the world, just as good does. Remember the balance we spoke of.” He smiled again. “I spent time in other regions of the world. I harvested there and eventually it was time to come to the United States.”
Curran kept flexing his wrists. Was there some give back there? “So, where is Lauren? Or did you kill her already?”
“Kill her? Me?” Darius shook his head. “I would not presume to do such a thing. As I said, her role in this whole process is very important.”
“Is it?”
“Oh yes.” Darius walked back to the sarcophagus. “You see, while the focus of evil souls is one of the largest components of the process, there is another that is almost as important.”
“That being?”
“The host body.”
“Host?”
“It was written thousands of years ago that the host body must be one who is inherently good. They must have repeatedly demonstrated their ability to refrain from evil actions, though they may have indeed been tainted by it in their past. Perhaps they have been scarred. Perhaps they were brutalized in some fashion. And yet, at every turn they are able to rise above the temptation to do evil back, to get any sort of revenge. They adhere to the principles of good no matter what.”
“In other words, they’re role models for the rest of us.”
“For the rest of you,” spat Darius. “I myself would have no cause to consider them as a role model.”
“You’v
e made that abundantly clear.”
“Have I? Good.” Darius patted the sarcophagus. “Your friend Lauren. Your…lover, as she became, is one of the most benevolent souls in the world.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I am about to,” said Darius. He crossed the room and unclasped one of the seals on the vat.
Curran frowned. “That’s gonna stink this place up to high heaven.”
“Tragically, yes, but it will only be temporary.”
“Temporary?” Curran found it difficult to believe fermented vomit would smell only for a short time.
“Long enough to pour the contents out into the sarcophagus.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You wanted to know what I’ve done with Lauren.”
Curran felt his stomach churn. “Yeah.”
“She is in the sarcophagus.”
“Still?”
“You saw her when you first came in, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“Before you realized I’d simply thrown my voice so you would sneak down here and I could come up behind you and disable you.”
Curran sighed. “Right.”
“You did better on the stairs, by the way, than I thought you would. Especially since the third one from the bottom always creaks a terrible amount.”
“I’m thrilled you approve.”
Darius unclasped the other seal. “Honestly, the smell is pretty nasty. But like I said, it will be over fairly quickly once I start the ceremony.”
“Let Lauren go.”
“I can’t do that, Curran.”
“Let me take her place.”
Darius laughed. “You can’t be serious. Your soul is as gray as they come. There is some good in you but there is also some evil. You’ve been scarred before and you hid your resentment deep down there, never working through it. You harbor animosity toward people who have crossed you in the past. You have a lot of issues, Curran.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Your soul is not suitable.”
“And Lauren’s is.”
“Oh yes. Like I started to say before, the evil souls I have gathered must be allowed to inhabit the body of a benevolent soul. In that environment, the evil souls will feast on the goodness of the host body, a sort of spiritual feast, and at that point where the last vestige of good is destroyed, then and only then can Satan come back and inhabit the body.”
“You’re telling me that Satan will be walking around in Lauren’s body?”
“Exactly.”
Curran frowned. “So why am I still alive? Why not just kill me now?”
“Ah, yes, well, you too play an important role in all of this.”
“Yeah?”
“In much the same manner that the evil souls will feast upon the good soul, so too will the physical need nourishing.”
“Nourishing.”
“Yes, my dear homicide detective. You see, you are the first meal that Satan will enjoy when he finally enters this plane. You are to be his midnight snack.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Curran considered this. What the hell, he thought, I never believed I’d come through safe and sound. He looked at Darius who seemed to want to milk the moment.
“What’d you use on Lauren, drugs?”
Darius sniffed. “Please. I wouldn’t presume to contaminate her blood with so earthly a creation as narcotics.”
“So, what? You use your little powers or something?”
Darius shifted and turned to face Curran. His face morphed again, drawing itself out like Silly Putty pressed to a comic. His skin lengthened and darkened. Curran watched as his jaw dropped down, unhinging and yawning like a great snake. He could see the white teeth disappear, only to be replaced by yellowish triangular ones with deep serrations running down the sides. Coarse black hair sprung out of Darius’ head. His nose receded, drawn back toward his misshapen skull while his nostrils turned up giving a porcine appearance.
The rest of his body grew as well. His robes burst at the seams as his flesh expanded and filled three times the space his human body had. His arms lengthened topped with a fearsome looking set of claws.
And all the while he moved closer to Curran.
His voice filled the room, a piece of splintery wood drawn across heavy grit sandpaper. “Tell me human if you don’t still think this is all the ravings of a lunatic. Tell me you don’t believe now what others have told you is truth. Look at me – see what I am – what I can become with mere will – and tell me that I exist only in your pathetic mind.”
Curran’s throat went dry.
Holy crap.
The demon standing before him chuckled and it sounded like all the phlegm in the world was gurgling against the back of his throat. “So, maybe you do believe after all.”
“Are you still Darius?”
“Names are merely labels for humans. You would not be able to pronounce my name in your tongue. Call me what you will for it matters not.”
Curran watched him turn back to the sarcophagus. He strained against the ropes holding him tight. There had to be a way to get out of them.
But even if he was successful, then what? Curran didn’t have near the martial arts skills that Kwon had had. What then?
He knew for sure his pistol was gone. But what about his backup piece? With both his legs free, he tried to rub one against the other. Was that it? He couldn’t be sure if he still felt it there or not.
He needed to get free.
The demon lifted his arms. “The hour grows near. I must begin.”
Curran kept flexing. “You mind if I catch this act some other time?”
The Soul Eater glanced over his bulbous shoulder and eyed him, one opaque orb topped by a yellow and red pupil. Curran had never seen such cold eyes. “It’s time for you to be quiet, Curran. Sit there and say nothing. Your time will come soon enough.”
Curran frowned and flexed his wrists against the ropes again. There was definitely some wriggle room. Not a lot, but there might just be enough.
Darius checked the candles and then moved into the center of the pentagram, raising his arms toward the roof of the cellar. He cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and then began to speak.
His voice deepened, but the words coming out were foreign to Curran. If he’d ever thought about it, this must be what someone talking in tongues would sound like.
While his eyes were closed, Curran continued flexing against the ropes. He figured it must be right close to midnight. He didn’t think the demon would speak for long. Not after waiting for all those years. That didn’t leave much time to get free of the ropes and help Lauren out of that damned coffin.
The demon turned his back to Curran and stood before the vat. He lowered his arms as if to encircle the vessel, his voice dipping into lower monotones. He almost chanted now.
Curran could see something happening to the vat. It almost looked like it was starting to boil.
He frowned.
The evil souls were stirring. At long last, their period of hibernation was coming to an end.
And they’d be hungry.
Curran glanced around the room. Where was his gun? If he could get out of the ropes, he’d need a weapon. At the same time, he didn’t want to alert the demon into somehow spiritually tying him up as well.
He flexed again and felt one of the ropes give.
Darius lifted the lid off of the vat.
A wave of putrid smell washed over the entire cellar. Curran retched and tasted some of his own bile. The stench was incredible. Darius placed the lid at one of the points of the pentagram.
He lifted a black-bladed knife and then slowly drew it across his own scaly palm. Curran watched the blade bite deep into the thick callused skin. A stream of fresh blood rained into the vat. It had an immediate effect. The contents began churning like an angry sea.
Curran tried his best not to inhale, because
every time he did, he wanted to puke all over again. He steadied his mind and flexed again.
Another rope gave.
Darius placed the knife at another point of the pentagram and wrapped his wound in black cloth. Curran saw the fabric immediately turn brighter as the red blood soaked it through.
Darius continued his prayers over the vat.
The contents bubbled now.
Like watching a pot come to a boil, thought Curran.
Darius walked over toward the sarcophagus. Curran fidgeted, straining some more against the ropes. He looked and saw that affixed to the bottom of the sarcophagus were small wheels.
Darius wheeled it toward the vat.
Curran frowned. No! He had to get free!
He flexed again.
Another rope gave.
But more still held his wrists tight.
Darius stopped the sarcophagus and resumed his position in front of the vat. Again, he raised his arms toward the ceiling.
The chanting continued.
Any minute now, he’s going to dump that crap all over Lauren, thought Curran.
He flexed again.
Nothing budged.
Curran chewed his lower lip. The room had grown a lot hotter all of a sudden. It was beginning to happen. Darius was beginning to call Satan forth.
A line of sweat broke out along Curran’s hairline, dribbling down over his forehead and into his eyes, stinging them.
He made a decision.
He jerked himself to the right and fell to the ground, the chair with him. He tried to twist just so, that one side of the chair would impact with the stone floor and hopefully break.
It didn’t.
Curran lay there struggling, trying to escape the ropes that continued to bind him tight.
And suddenly realized the chanting had stopped.
The demon stood in front of him.
“It would be wise, I think, to not interrupt me again. The requirement is only that you be alive for my master when he comes on to this plane.” Darius grinned. “I can easily make you far more submissive.”
“Yeah, but you won’t do that.”
“No?”
“You want me to see this. You need me to see this. After all, this is almost ten years of our lives, isn’t it, Darius? You’ve tormented me for so long already. You aren’t about to let me get out of that kind of torture. You live for this kind of crap. I’ll bet the last time you had this much fun was when you killed Graham Westerly.”
