The Undoer

by Melissa J. Cunningham

  In the split second before anything else happens, I imagine in my mind what will come next. She’ll continue to hug him, dramatically mewling into his neck like a kitten, saying something about never leaving him again. They’ll gaze into each other’s eyes like actors in an old, sappy, black-and-white movie, and then he’ll kiss her. Long and deep. Their bodies pressed together in passion.

  My stomach twists, and the ache I feel inside is all consuming. I think I might actually die of a broken heart. Or throw up.

  Before either of them can say anything, I rush to gather my things, to throw them into my pack willy-nilly, not even caring if they break or smear against each other. The pencils roll across the bed and onto the floor, prolonging my agony.

  I know the truth in my heart. He is someone she could love. Someone courageous, valiant, and strong, who doesn’t flinch at killing demons, but goes in with both guns blazing… or runed daggers blazing, whichever the case may be. He’s powerful and passionate on so many levels. The reality of it slaps me in the face.

  I will never be that.

  And that is what she wants.

  Not an artist.

  I can’t be here. Not with Bret, at least. He has changed the whole ambiance of the room. That fast. Like a dark cloud, heavy with rain, he has ruined my day. You can’t paint in the rain.

  “No! Don’t go yet.” Heidi’s eyes entreat me, but it feels too weird, and I feel too pathetic.

  “I’ll come back. Promise.” I give her my best smile as my heart wrenches inside me, trying to keep some semblance of pride as I hurry out the door. I shut it quickly behind me, breathing deeply and taking the stairs two at a time, my shame and humiliation wafting behind me like a stench I can actually smell.

  I know now how she felt being rejected by Bret, putting herself out there and then having him trample her heart. I didn’t do that exactly, but it feels like it. She has to know how I feel. She can’t be that blind. Surely, she is pretending not to know, to spare my feelings. That makes it even worse.

  I slam out of the main door of the building, reliving it all in my mind once again. Their embrace, Bret’s fervent words of adoration… I even add a passionate kiss, just to torture myself a little bit more. I groan out loud, not even paying attention to where I’m going until I crash into the chest of a huge, burly man who catches me by the arms to steady me.

  A wide, slimy smile spreads across his lips as he gazes down at me, not releasing his grip. I recognize him immediately. He had my neck in the crook of his elbow not long ago. We should have never let him go—not that we had much of a choice. The odor of decay permeates around him. His body is already starting to decompose. He must be pushing it hard to make it weaken so quickly, and he isn’t wearing his snazzy business suit today.

  “Hey. I remember you.” His smiles widens, and his hands squeeze tighter on my biceps.

  It’s moments like these when I wish I worked out.

  “Where have you and your hunter friend been hiding?” He draws me closer.

  Once again, I am in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Dude, let go,” I demand, yanking on my arm to no avail. His hold is an iron clamp and his fingers overlap his thumb because they are so long. It can’t be that my arms are so alarmingly thin.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” he drawls. “You have a debt to repay. Your partner killed my friend. Remember?”

  Adrenaline races to my extremities and my pulse pounds in my head, making me feel lightheaded and hyperaware. How could I have been so careless as to let this happen? I yank my arm again and study the face beneath the face. The gray outline of the very thing I’ve run from and refused to kill for the last five years. Even in the bright sunlight, I can see him. The real him. The dead, black holes of his eyes, the slits for his mouth and nose, the grayness of his form.

  Dread seizes me, heavy and thick, right there on the street in broad daylight. What is he doing out during daytime hours anyway? My stomach lurches, and nausea bubbles inside me. I have to get away. I throw a clumsy punch with my free hand and drop my pack, but it’s the least of my worries because Brutus has me by both arms and is dragging me down the street. Like a child in his grasp, it doesn’t seem to matter how much I scream, kick, or punch. It doesn’t faze him.

  And nobody comes to my rescue.

  He shoves me through a service door at the end of a nearby alley. There is no one around to see me slump into near unconsciousness when the guy’s meaty fist slams into my face… three times.

  “Shut up!” he growls, towing me like a rag doll down a set of cement stairs into a basement cellar, my shoes thumping on each step. A lone, dull lightbulb swings from the ceiling, making me feel like I’m on a roller coaster going around and around and around. Dizziness overwhelms me, and my nausea comes to fruition all over the front of me. He doesn’t care, and at this point, neither do I. My vision is beyond fuzzy and my face throbs.

  He drops me onto a cot in some back room that’s about the size of a closet. The pain in my face blossoms, and blood flows freely over my lips and into my mouth. The metallic taste triggers my gag reflex again.

  “Great,” he mumbles, walking away and trying to wipe his clothes clean. But then he stops by the door and turns, looking at me. The light behind him creates a silhouette, and I only see a gray outline, resembling the demon inside him. “You’ll be a rare treat, boy. A rare treat. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

  “Wait… what?” This can’t be happening. I can’t really be here, held hostage by demons. I roll over and face the wall. A foul odor pervades the room, or maybe it’s the pillow, soured by other sick and bloody victims. I try to breathe through my mouth, but the sick feeling remains… in my stomach and in my heart.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dean

  Waking up is like clawing through a thick web of spider silk. Sticky and difficult, not to mention exhausting. I almost give up my adventures as Frodo and go back to sleep, too tired and in pain to keep trying, but I feel lucky to have woken up at all.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been out, and my face still throbs. I’m sure I have a concussion from the three punches to my face. My nose, which is swollen and tender to the touch, is probably broken.

  I have never been attacked like this before. Ever. Jag has always protected me. I wish he were here now with his strength, bravery, and his ability to find a solution to any situation. The only thing I’m capable of is drawing a picture of this cell, but I’ve lost the tools of my trade. They lie on a sidewalk somewhere outside Heidi’s apartment if they haven’t already been stolen. How will I ever replace them?

  Could this really be chalked up to being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Does my belief that everything happens for a reason still stand in my mind? What reason could there possibly be for this?

  My cell lets in only a minimal amount of light through the small window on the door. There is no handle on the inside, so I’m not getting out unless they want me to. With a colossal amount of effort, I roll from the cot to my feet, almost losing my balance as dark explosions dance in my vision. The pounding in my head reaches a pinnacle of pain.

  Stumbling to the door, I press my face into the opening and strain to see down the hallway in either direction. Darkness shrouds everything at both ends… at least as far as I can tell, which isn’t far. There are no windows, so I have no idea if it’s morning, noon, or night, but my body screams for sleep, so I guess it’s still night.

  There are at least six other doors in the hallway. All of them with a cutout window not big enough to escape through. I’m not sure if the other rooms are occupied, but I hope to find out.

  “Hey!” My voice is rough and scratchy from too much blood and phlegm. Immediately, a coughing fit ensues and the hacking is eye-wateringly painful. Did I get hit in the throat too? I don’t remember. The pain all blurs together, and I yearn for one tiny sip of cool water as I rest my head against the door.

  There’s no answer from the dark rooms in the hall. I’m alon
e. What a dismal thought. Not that I wish this kind of hell on anyone else, but this place looks used, like they bring people here regularly. There’s dried blood and puke on the floor and walls. Some of it is probably mine.

  Why do they bring people here anyway? For torture? For experiments? Once again, I pray for a miracle that Jag will find me. As soon as he notices I’m missing, which will be immediately—because we always hunt together—he’ll set out to find me, although he will have no idea where to look. He’ll try the park first, thinking I’m there, drawing faces of bored old men and demanding children. But I won’t be, and it will get dark. Then he’ll worry.

  With a tightness in my chest that is even more pronounced than before, I make my way back to the cot, falling onto its stiff canvas with a grunt, my brain bouncing off the walls of my skull, new black stars bursting in my vision. Groaning and dizzy, I let my body relax into sleep once again. I don’t have the energy to wonder about tomorrow.

  Letting my eyes close, I let thoughts of Heidi envelop me. Maybe, if I let myself dream of her, these walls won’t seem so close and smothering, and my throat won’t feel so dry.

  I picture her sitting beside me on this smelly, old cot, telling me to buck up and stop dwelling on the negative. Her face swims in my mind, her eyes bright, and her mouth close to mine.

  ***

  With a slow and heavy-labored effort, I awake, maybe hours later. I’m not sure. I know right where I am before my eyes even open. An ominous sound has awakened me—a screeching, like an unoiled metal door, or maybe a cot scraping across the cement floor.

  With a groan, I roll over, my bruises screaming in protest. I almost go back to sleep, hoping to forget where I am. But I drag myself to the door. There’s a fresh, new odor I can detect. Metallic. And it coats the back of my throat when I breathe.

  “Hello?” I call, but I get no answer. Someone has to be close by. I didn’t imagine that sound. Still, all the cell doors are closed and the hall is dark.

  Slinking back to my cot, I lie down, folding my arms around me and squeezing my eyes shut. For the millionth time in the last twelve hours, I’m afraid. Bone-deep terrified. What do the demons want with me? Is there any chance of escape? Are they going to just leave me here to starve to death?

  If I know anything about demons, it’s this—they’ll do whatever it takes to break you or watch you scream. They don’t care about killing as much as enjoying death. If they can’t possess, they’ll experiment to figure out what makes you immune to their influence.

  I pray—again—that Jag will find me. It can’t end this way. I can’t die as a plaything for demons.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Brecken

  I strap on my gear, my Nephilim dagger in its sheath, a runed dagger in my boot and another strapped to my thigh. I’m dressed in black, hoping to be harder to spot in the shadows.

  Heidi waits on the other side of the room, also dressed in battle gear. After Dean left, we stared at each other for a moment. She wouldn’t let me explain or apologize. We haven’t discussed the kiss, which is fine by me.

  She has her one runed dagger strapped to her hip. The one she stole from Jag. She faces the windows, staring out at the newly rising moon as she braids her hair into one long, dark plait. It hangs almost to her waist. As much as I hate to admit it, she should cut it off. Jag proved that point pretty well. With a determined expression, she grits her teeth, unaware that I watch her.

  What is going through that complicated mind right now? Is she afraid? Anxious? Excited? As though she can sense my stare, she turns, glancing over at me, one slender eyebrow rising in question.

  Slipping the runed dagger from its sheath on my thigh, I walk over and hold it out to her. “I’d like you to have at least two. You know. One for each hand.”

  Her eyes lift to mine, dark, ocean depths of surprise. “Seriously?” She reaches out reverently and takes the dagger from my fingers, examining its length, the carvings in the blade. “Why?”

  I can’t very well say, because you’re my sister and I worry about you, so I say, “I have a ton. You’ll actually be helping me by taking this one.”

  “Thank you.”

  I shrug it off, trying to act like it’s no big deal. But it is. I can’t stand the thought of her going ninja on a demon. I want to command her to stay home. To stay safe. “Sure. Not a problem.”

  She glances into my eyes, smirking, and then gestures to my weapon-covered body. “Are you sure you can spare it?” She goes about tucking the blade into her belt on her other hip.

  “I’ll manage.” I stand there smiling stupidly at her, our old camaraderie having returned. She forgives easily, which I’m amazed and grateful for. It’s something she didn’t do well when she was younger. I’m proud of who she has become. Not only is she beautiful on the outside, but she has a warm, loving heart on the inside, which, considering her circumstances, is highly unexpected.

  “Ready?” I walk over to the door. My hand is on the knob when a furious pounding from the other side startles me. I actually jump in fright, squeaking in surprise like a little girl. Recovering quickly, I hide my embarrassment by raising my finger to my lips to motion to Heidi to be quiet.

  I slide my Nephilim dagger out and stand to the side of the door. It’s probably an overreaction, and it’s just Dean returning for some unexpected reason, but I’m not about to make a mistake. There are only a couple of people who even know I live here, after all.

  With a flash of my fingers, I throw the door open, ready for a fight. Jag’s arms are splayed out on either side of the door, his chest heaving with the effort to breathe, as though he dashed here at full speed without stopping. “Is Dean here?”

  The surprise of seeing him stumps me for a moment. I never pictured him coming to my home, or even knowing where it is. His eyes flick to Heidi, who still stands by her bed, her mouth open and ready to speak. In a fraction of a second, Jag surveys our entire living space, ending with the two beds on either side of the studio apartment. His gaze comes back to mine, but I don’t miss the sting in his expression. I don’t understand why he even cares.

  “Dean?” Heidi repeats, her brows pulling down into a frown. “He left a couple of hours ago. He didn’t go back to the church?”

  “Have you seen him?” Jag asks me pointedly, his face pasty white in spite of his exertion.

  I shake my head. “Not for a few hours.”

  “He was supposed to be home a long time ago. We were going hunting. I’ve searched everywhere. He’d never leave like this.”

  “Did you check the park?” Heidi hurries to the door and pushes past Jag to look down over the stairwell. “We should split up and search.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s probably drawing or something.” I’d seen his face when I walked in on him and Heidi. Adoration had been written all over it, too plainly to ignore. He loves her, just like everyone else, and I interrupted whatever had been brewing. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Dean is nice and everything, but I don’t see Heidi ending up with him.

  “He never stays out alone after dark!” Jag shouts at me, panic edging his voice. “Never! He’s afraid of the demons. He can’t even kill them.”

  There’s an undeniable ferocity in his eyes, but not just that. Devastating fear and loss also. However, I still think he’s jumping to conclusions. Dean is probably fine, holed up somewhere, nursing his wounds, thinking I won something he can’t have. It’s ridiculous really.

  There’s a possibility Jag is right though. We live in the hood, and demons prowl these streets at night. But when Dean left our apartment, it was light. What could have possibly happened in broad daylight? The demons hide in their holes until darkness comes. The light actually repels them. I remember the painfully itchy sensation from my old demon days, and a shiver runs through my body at how real and alive those recollections are.

  “He could have gone to visit Doug or Owen, or even other friends,” I suggest. Surely, he has other friends besides the C
azadors. He’s social and vivacious. Positive about life and the future. He’s the only one of us who is.

  “He didn’t. He wouldn’t.” Jag seems to deflate as he says these last words. Hope disappears in his eyes like a lightbulb being flipped off. He falls against the wall, his hands rubbing back through his hair, frustrated. “We have to find him. Please, help me,” he says directly to me, pleading with me, as though he even has to ask.

  “Of course.” I lock the apartment door behind me. Heidi is already a couple of stories down, and we follow her, bursting out of the building’s door together.

  Night has fallen completely, and only a few streetlamps are lit. Most of the neighborhood is quiet; the only sounds are car horns or doors slamming.

  We take off down the street.

  ***

  Three hours later, we’re back on the front porch of the church. Dean has not returned and we’ve searched every park, plaza, and mom-and-pop store that’s open. It’s almost one in the morning, and no one has seen or heard anything. Dean has disappeared. Truly and completely.

  Jag slumps to the front steps, his head between his knees, his hands behind his head, his face hidden. He doesn’t move or even twitch. He barely seems to be breathing, but when he finally lifts his face, it’s twisted in anguish and filled with torment. “We have to find him. Someone took him. I know it.”

  Heidi and I stare down at him, unable to argue. It looks like he’s right. My gut tells me the demons are behind this. Was it an innocent possession or did they know who Dean was and who he travels with? If news has spread of my arrival, I could be their true target, but I keep this information to myself.

  “What should we do?” Owen asks. When they heard about Dean, there was no question who we’d be searching for tonight.

  “Think back,” I say to Jag. “Over the last few weeks, did anything unusual happen? Did you meet anyone strange or someone who might have seemed too interested in you and Dean? Has there been anyone hanging out by the church who you don’t know?”