by Jon F. Merz
Darius laughed. “Perhaps.” A single hairy finger nudged Curran in the chest. “Lay there then. Be still and I will allow you to witness the resurrection of my Lord.”
Darius turned back to the vat. The contents had stopped boiling when Darius had stopped chanting. Now and then a small bubble would pop on the surface, sending a tiny pocket of putrid air into the room.
But now Darius began chanting again.
Instantly the vat responded. It was as if Darius was calling the evil contained within the vat to become ready for the final metamorphosis.
Curran desperately wished there was some way he could get Lauren to wake up. He didn’t think shouting would do a thing. Especially if the sound of Darius’ chanting hadn’t woken her up yet.
He had to do something!
He flexed again. Tried straining hard to break another bit of the rope. It didn’t work. Curran slumped forward and sighed.
Was this it? Was this how he was doomed to go out? And what about Lauren? Didn’t her life of good count for anything at all?
Darius’ voice grew louder.
The vat was almost rocking in time to his voice.
Curran had never realized how full the vat was. The contents were again boiling, almost overflowing from their containment.
The time seemed close at hand.
Darius bent down by the bottom of the vat and wrapped his arms around it.
Curran frowned. What the hell was he going to do, lift it up and pour in onto Lauren’s body?
Darius hefted the vat.
Curran jerked his body again, trying to get free of the ropes. They held tight. The chair wobbled again.
The Soul Eater looked back and smiled, still chanting. He was obviously enjoying Curran’s frantic attempts to get free. He shook his head and kept chanting.
He held the vat higher now, up by his chest.
Curran shook his head. How Darius could stand the smell that close was beyond him.
Darius lifted the vat higher.
Still chanting.
Popping sounds erupted from the vat now, sounding like zaps of electricity in the cellar air. More pockets of stench filled the room.
Curran gagged again.
Darius held the vat even higher.
Almost over head now, his voice grew louder. The tempo of his chanting increased. The pops of electrical energy increased. The room grew hotter again.
Curran jerked in his chair.
Come on, he thought, just break already!
Darius’ voice grew soft then and Curran knew instinctively that he was too late. That all his efforts had been for nothing. There was no way he could stop Darius. Not now. Not like this. Not tied to some chair in a cellar in the middle of Chestnut Hill.
Not in this lifetime.
Curran hung his head.
Lauren. I’m so sorry.
His head swam with a million images until at last a solitary image of Lauren stood out. Her smile. Her face. Her entire body. She radiated goodness. It zoomed out of her – a white light halo that expanded ever outward toward him.
Was this her?
Curran saw himself reaching out – trying desperately to make the connection. He had to believe he could reach her. He had to believe she could touch him.
He had to –
- believe!
A rope broke.
Another broke a second later.
Curran kept Lauren in his mind. He kept looking at her. He could feel the warmth of her smile wash over him now. It poured strength into his arms, into his body.
Come back to me Lauren. Come back now!
A final rope broke.
“Steve?”
And the voice that filled the room then – the voice that rose above the chanting of the demon…
…belonged to Lauren.
Chapter Forty
Darius – the demon – the Soul Eater - roared.
Curran opened his eyes. His hands were free. He scrambled to his feet. He could see Lauren sitting up in the sarcophagus. She seemed to be regarding the demon standing before her with the vat in his arms.
Lauren’s voice rang out loud and clear. “Stop this now, Darius. Your mission will never succeed.”
Darius’ voice challenged her. “It is too late mortals. Too late! The time is now at hand.”
He lifted the vat high and moved closer to the sarcophagus.
Curran scrambled to his knees and fumbled with the cuff of his khaki pants. He ripped the right cuff up.
Darius lifted the vat up high – his arms fully extended.
Lauren simply looked at him and smiled.
“Don’t do this.”
Darius paused.
Lauren kept smiling.
What the hell was she doing?
“Put that down, Darius.”
Her eyes seemed glassy. Her voice changed now and she began speaking something that sounded like what Darius had spoken.
Curran thought he saw the demon’s arms slack a little.
Was she getting through to him?
And then a cold wind swept into the cellar. Followed by a voice that made the hair on Curran’s neck stand straight up.
“Do it now! I command you! Do it now!”
Darius roared again.
Curran saw the strength flood back into him. Back into his arms. He lifted the vat again. He stood close by the sarcophagus.
Curran ripped his gun out of the holster.
And shouted.
“Darius!”
The demon turned.
Curran flicked the safety off.
He could see the vat beginning to turn – almost ready to empty into the sarcophagus.
He fired.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The bullets slammed into the demon’s chest, ripping small holes of crimson open. Darius grunted as each round impacted. More blood spilled out of him.
And he laughed.
Curran frowned.
“You see? Your pathetic toy cannot harm me. Watch.” And as Curran watched, the bullet holes closed up one after the other. The blood dried quickly and faded back into the demon’s skin.
Darius moved his head slightly and Curran found himself flung back against the earthen wall of the cellar. Wind jumped out of him as he made contact and he grunted. His pistol clattered away. He slumped to the ground.
Almost unconscious.
“No!”
Lauren’s voice.
Blackness oozed up in Curran’s mind. Reaching for him. It would be so easy, he thought. So easy to give in and let the blackness take the pain away. He could sleep now. Sleep for years and years.
Give in, Steve. Give in and be reborn a new man. Give in.
The darkness clouded his vision. He could see it seeping into his eyesight. He closed his eyes and more darkness rushed for him.
Give in.
“Steve!”
No.
Lauren.
Still in danger – must –
Curran’s eyes shot open. His left hand brushed against the small pistol and clutched it.
Brought it up.
“Soul Eater!”
Darius roared again and turned.
Curran aimed.
Fired another shot.
But not at Darius.
He shot the vat.
The first round struck the ancient pottery dead center.
Flecks of the ceramic exploded.
Darius roared and gripped the vat tighter.
But even as he did so, Curran fired his gun once more.
The vat exploded.
And a wave of the boiling vomitus poured down over Darius’ head.
The Soul Eater shrieked.
Bits of the ancient pottery bit into his scaly skin, tearing it open. Blood rushed out, and the vomit rushed into his wounds. It looked like acid - eating him whole. Curran watched as it ate
through his coarse black hair. It smelled like it was burning. He retched as the stench of it all filled the air.
The demon waved his arms, trying to wipe the gunk out of his eyes. His fingers came away holding his own eyeballs. His mouth spewed more vomit.
His knees buckled.
Curran got to his feet and ran to the sarcophagus – careful to avoid the ever expanding puddle of vomit on the floor.
Lauren!
He heaved her out of the coffin and propped her over one shoulder.
Darius kept trying to wipe the vomit out of his hair, not realizing it was eating through his entire body. As he wiped away, bits of his own flesh came out in chunks, falling to the ground around him.
Blood gushed everywhere.
Curran almost slipped into a pile of the vomit, but managed to keep his footing.
Another gale storm of cold blew into the room. Bits of vomit – the souls of all the evil he’d managed to collect – flew about the room, splattering the stone walls. Some of it landed on the wallboard and began eating its way through to the other side of the room.
Curran gagged.
And kept moving toward the door.
Darius screamed again, his wails echoing off the stone walls filling the cellar with dread and despair. He tried to get to his feet, but his knees had been eaten away by the torrent of acidic evil. He wobbled and fell forward face first into the sea of his own filth.
Curran paused at the entrance to the secret room.
He looked down at his gun.
One round left.
Brought it up.
Sighted down the barrel.
What good would it do?
Did he deserve a quick release?
After all the evil he’d committed?
Don’t do it!
Curran frowned. The voice again. That voice. Inside his head? He shivered.
Don’t do it. Make him suffer. Make him feel the pain he’s caused you all these years. This is your chance for revenge. Embrace it!
Curran shook his head. “No!”
Leave him. Let him suffer.
“Get out of my head!”
Lauren’s voice was soft in his ear. “Steve.”
His mind cleared.
Curran steadied his aim.
And fired his final round.
It smacked into the back of Darius’ skull making a wet squishing sound. Darius flailed once, his arm catching a candle, and then lay still.
The candle fell to the remnants of his tattered black robe at the edge of the pentagram. The flames found the fabric of his black robes and raced along it toward Darius.
Toward the vomit.
It caught like a fuse, zipping all over the room. Flames jumped from one splatter to the next. They roared all over Darius’ body, consuming it whole.
Curran shielded his eyes. The place was an inferno.
A splash of vomit on the fake wall closest to him suddenly erupted in flames.
Thick viscous smoke cloyed at him.
A horrendous wind kicked up, roaring into the cellar. The screams of all the evil souls the Soul Eater had harvested were released by the all-consuming firestorm. They rushed around bouncing off the walls. Curran could see the disembodied faces, the spirits, the swirling masses of energy rushing all around, trying desperately to get out.
Curran’s eye stung and he closed them.
Screams filled his ears, invaded his head.
He felt the fire getting closer.
Heard more screeches.
And then in the midst of all the chaos, he heard Lauren’s voice again. “Run, Steve.”
Curran turned.
Fire flew out of the room, finding the cardboard boxes and quickly eating through them.
The stairs.
Curran raced up as smoke began engulfing the cellar. He coughed and gagged. He reached the kitchen and then the living room.
The front door!
Fire caught in the kitchen. It was spreading too quickly to be natural.
Another gust of wind – this time warm - fanned the flames even higher in the house. Curtains caught in other rooms. The crackling sounds of flames eating everything in their path clogged Curran’s ears.
He heaved the font door open.
And felt the cool air outside greet him.
Down the front steps.
Out onto the street.
The first neighbors came running out of their homes.
Curran laid Lauren down against his car.
And turned.
He could hear small explosions erupting from inside the house.
In the distance he could hear the sirens coming.
Flames licked the corners of the windows on the second floor already. Paint bubbled and boiled off the eaves. Shingles blew off the roof.
A huge crack sounded and half the roof sank suddenly. Another crack a few seconds later as the flames ate their way through everything like old newspaper. The roof shuddered once and sank in toward the center of the house.
And then the lower floor exploded, blowing out plaster and wood into the yard. Everyone ducked as bits of debris blew out into the cold November night.
Curran sat down and leaned against the car next to Lauren.
Sighed.
Beside him, Lauren stirred.
Opened her eyes.
She looked at Curran.
Smiled.
“Where am I?”
Curran felt his eyes grow hot and wet. His vision clouded. His voice cracked. He hugged Lauren close to him.
“You’re safe,” he said finally.
And then as an afterthought, “Thank God.”
Epilogue
“Some night.”
Curran smiled. “Some night.”
They sat in the same bookshop on Newbury Street that Lauren favored so much. All around them, people sat enjoying cups of gourmet coffee and reading international newspapers. Intellectuals and beatniks mixed with students and corporate types. Quite a mix, Curran decided.
“You’re not smoking?”
Curran grinned. “Don’t know if I ever will again. Somehow, I don’t feel much like lighting up.”
She stirred her coffee. “You saved my life, Steve.”
“No,” said Curran. “I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
The way she was looking at him, she had an answer in mind already. She wanted him to say it. He actually smiled. “Not really a who. More of a what.”
“Yes?”
“I guess it was faith.” He took a sip of coffee and decided the answer was one he could live with after all.
“Your faith is back?”
“Well, honestly, I don’t think I’ll be a gung-ho church-going cop anytime soon. And I certainly won’t be embracing every new age religion that I hear about.”
“But?”
“But, yeah. Yeah, I think it’s back. When I was trying to get you to wake up, I could see you. But you were different. You were all happy and warm and so incredibly beautiful. I couldn’t do anything but try to reach out to you.”
“You brought me back from wherever Darius had hidden my spirit away. It was your faith – your belief that you actually could get to me – that did it. Not me.”
“I don’t know if I want to take all of the credit for what happened there tonight.”
“Maybe God deserves some of the credit.”
“Maybe. Maybe goodness is its own divine power.”
Curran sighed and thought about Kwon. About how much he owed his best friend. Lauren reached out and touched his arm.
“He’s at peace, Steve.”
“Yeah, I know. I just wonder how long it’ll be before I am.”
“We’re all destined to die, you know. It’s what we do with the time between when we’re born and when our personal destiny comes true that counts.”
“I guess so.”
She fixed him with a stare. “After everything that’s happened - after what y
ou witnessed - there’s no doubt left in you is there?”
“Not a speck.”
“Did he speak to you?”
Curran nodded. “He wanted me to leave Darius alone to suffer rather than shoot him. I’d never heard anything that emanated so much evil. I’d never heard anything that scared me so absolutely. And I hope to God I never hear anything like it again.”
Lauren took another sip and regarded him. “Do you think your last bullet put him out of his misery?”
“I don’t think that was the point. I think…he…wanted to see if he could get me to be evil.”
“But you didn’t give in to the temptation. Even after everything that Darius put you through. After everything he said.”
Curran shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t think he deserved to die like that. He was an evil being, yes. But not like that. I didn’t think of it as doing him a favor. I just wanted to do it.”
“A selfless act. And not at all a gray decision.”
“Guess so.” Curran sighed and stayed quiet for a few minutes while he drank some coffee. “We came pretty close to dying ourselves, huh?”
“Yes. We did.”
Outside the window, the late night city inhabitants crept past. Some dressed for a night on the town, others looking for a warm place to huddle for the night. “Will it happen again?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Curran drank some more. “That’s not exactly the answer I wanted to hear.”
“I know. No one wants to hear that. But one thing Darius said was true. Good and evil can’t exist without the other. And even though good won this battle, there’s still a war being fought. All the time. On many fronts. Sometimes we win.”
“Sometimes we lose?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think happened to Darius?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps he died, but I tend to doubt it. I rather think he’s back in Hell with his master. Who is probably not very pleased with him right now.”
“Will the Soul Eater be back?”
“Hard to say. Part of me thinks he will. Knowing especially that Satan is so determined to break through to this plane. Yes, he’ll probably be back.”
