Protect Bermuda at all costs.
Argyle’s eyes shot open. His stare was of pure focus. Every raindrop that struck the earth clapped loudly like thunder. Every slight twitch of the Legion soldiers rumbled through the air like sonar as his senses heightened.
His mind cleared of everything except death.
Argyle moved.
Whipping round the final tombstone, he instantly shot his Retriever, the blade snaking through the cold air and shattering the shin of the nearest soldier. The chain tightened as the blade imbedded into the bone, and Argyle wrenched it back like a fisherman with a prize catch. With its other foot planted in the mud, the soldier slid forward like a struggling gymnast, its legs split open. Its sword was still in its hand, and Argyle ran and swiftly kicked the handle, the blade flipping into the air, while he simultaneously swung his own blade at waist height.
The blade cleanly took off the soldier’s head, the white mask falling from its face as it bounced onto the mud.
Now reduced to one.
Catching the other sword in the air, Argyle spun under the swinging blade of the final guard before planting the sword in its chest. He quickly followed it with his own blade, the two swords stacked atop one another and sticking out of the dying soldier’s chest like a terrifying dartboard. Grabbing both handles, Argyle let out a roar of anger as he swiftly pulled them outwards, slicing the soldier open, its head and shoulders falling backwards as its body flopped to the ground.
They were the Legion.
They were no more.
Stood in the rain with the two swords held down by his side, Argyle took a moment to catch his breath. Killing his own kind had always weighed heavy on his mind; the banishments he recited as he collected their essences and sent them back to his world were always trying.
This was different.
He would not honour any of those fallen.
Both worlds were better with them gone.
The blood pumped out of the hole in his side and the slice across his arm. The rest of his armour was splattered with the blood of the deceased.
All eight of them.
The sound of brick colliding with brick brought him back and Argyle dropped the second blade, returning his own to his back holster with an expert spin. With careful, measured steps, he approached the doorway to the tomb like an avenging angel of death.
Mandrake, trying his best to remove the collapsed wall from his body, looked up with the resignation Argyle had seen at many an execution.
His former commander had removed some of the bricks, but Argyle could see the damage. His legs had been flattened, the bone to dust, the muscle to paste.
Mandrake would never walk again.
The two soldiers looked at each other for a moment before Mandrake’s face turned into a hideous snarl.
‘Do it!’ he demanded, tilting his head back and presenting his neck.
‘Your men are dead.’ Argyle spoke softly. ‘You are relieved of your command. You will be tried for your crimes against both human and Other, and you will be held to your punishment.’
‘Other?’ Mandrake spat at Argyle. ‘They even have you saying it? You truly are a disgrace.’
Argyle ignored him and continued. ‘For your mutiny of your council, you will be tried for treason. For your murder of Tobias Hendry, you will be tried for murdering a human. Punishable by death.’
‘Kill me then.’ Mandrake again tilted his head. ‘Go on, do it. Kill me, you coward.’
Argyle drew his blade and held it to Mandrake’s face. The crippled commander tensed, ready for the eternal blackness. The blade sliced into the scales on his cheek, three vertical lines that bore the legacy of treachery.
The very scar that Barnaby had worn.
‘You will wear that mark for our kind to know what you did,’ Argyle said, slowly returning the sword to his spine. ‘You will be put to death, but not by me. It is not my duty and you are not mine to kill.’
Argyle turned and headed for the door.
‘But you killed a human too,’ Mandrake snapped after him.
Argyle stopped and turned. ‘Your lies will not save you, Mandrake.’ Argyle dropped the rank. ‘I am sworn to protect these humans, and I will do so with my life.’
‘You killed her. You may not have held the sword, but it was because of you that we had to.’ Mandrake spoke with a sickening pleasure. ‘We didn’t think you would survive.’
‘Survive what?’ Argyle dropped to one knee, grabbing his former commander by the neck of his armour. ‘Who did you kill?’
‘Cynthia.’ Mandrake smirked. ‘Cynthia Blaine.’
‘Cynthia Blaine? Who is she?’
The entire Necropolis froze.
‘Your mother.’
Argyle released Mandrake and stood, staring at the brick wall but seeing nothing. Raised in the dark barracks of Healund, he knew nothing of his lineage. Only that his appearance and very existence was despised by the other soldiers.
By every Other he had ever come across. Mandrake could see him trying to connect the dots and spoke with eagerness.
‘Your mother was human, Argyle. She is the one that Caleb seeks. We took her when she fell pregnant – the first ever human to be impregnated by one of our own. He may have been wearing a human body, but what he put inside her was not. His seed was of our world. Our kind.’
‘No,’ Argyle uttered under his breath, his world slowly dissolving, the drab colours of his surroundings merging into one.
‘We couldn’t allow a hybrid to be born,’ Mandrake continued. ‘A cross-species would lead to a revolution, the chance to merge both worlds that some have taken to extremes. Like Barnaby. There would be several more like him, believing that the worlds could be combined. We took Cynthia through the threshold, back to Healund. Our atmosphere turned her to ash within seconds. But you survived. From the ashes, you were born.’
‘You let my mother die?’ Argyle spoke through gritted teeth.
‘We had to protect our species. What would you know? You fight for just the humans. We took you and decided to train you, to see what you would become, if we could harness your unique structure. You look more human than any of us. You fought with the ferocity of our fathers. But you could do what none of us could. You could walk in both worlds. You didn’t need one of these.’
Mandrake ripped the dark green emerald from his armour and threw the latch stone at Argyle. It bounced off his breast plate and clattered in a dark corner.
‘You were our greatest soldier, Argyle. But you turned on us. You sided with the humans without knowing what you truly were.’ Mandrake shook his head in sorrow. ‘So for that, I am glad I killed your mother.’
Argyle swung a boot, the metal plating knocking out three of Mandrake’s teeth.
The defeated former general chuckled. ‘As for your father, he never got over it. I kept him chained in here like an animal. His mind left a long time ago, Argyle. The idea grew like a seed into a tree of obsession. He will not stop. He will kill again and again. All of your precious humans. Just like your mother.’
Another vicious kick to the face, and this time a spray of blood shot from Mandrake’s mouth. He sloshed some of it round before spitting it at Argyle.
‘He will kill your friend, then as many as you let him. Your father, the murderer. Your mother, the human whore.’ Mandrake sneered. ‘The shame that will hang from you will be heavy.’
Argyle leant down, a mere few inches from his fallen foe’s face. ‘I will send them to collect you and will watch with joy when they put you to death.’
Mandrake’s cockiness fell.
‘You raised me to kill, to be a weapon that I will no longer be. Whatever fate awaits me, I will face it with the conviction that a soldier carries. But I will stop him.’
Argyle stood, towering over the entire Legion, their blood and limbs littering the famous graveyard. Argyle turned, heading for the door and back to the town, to find and protect Bermuda and bring his own father to justice.
As he stepped through the door, he stopped one final time as Mandrake’s voice echoed after him.
‘There is only one way to stop him. You know that as well as I do.’
Argyle grimaced, the thought of agreeing with the vulgar creature sickening him. He marched through the anarchy of his battle, the severed corpses of the Legion littering his path to the streets below.
The entire way to the gate, Argyle gritted his teeth with frustration, ignoring his handiwork as he battled the thought that burrowed into his skull like a ravenous termite.
Mandrake was right.
There was only one way for this to end.
CHAPTER THIRTY
When Bermuda reached the gates of the Necropolis, he stopped. Casting a glance back towards the dark hill, he heard the clanging of metal. Argyle was fighting a heavily trained army to the death.
For him.
For humanity.
Fighting every urge to turn back and run headlong into a brutal slaying, he pushed through the wet metal bars and felt the hard surface beneath his feet. The Necropolis had been churned up by the downpour, the mud welcoming each step and the ground doing its level best to swallow him.
He looked like he had dived into a mud bath. The thick, wet earth clung to his clothes. It dotted his face and thick clumps had engulfed his hair. Turning towards the city, he ran without caring. A few passers-by stepped carefully aside as this crazed, mud-covered man sprinted past. Bermuda focused ahead once again commending himself for giving up smoking.
He still wished for a cyclist to approach like the previous evening, but he carried on. As he dashed through the rain, the bright lights of the gothic city soon emerged, beckoning him to the case’s conclusion.
It would end tonight.
Bermuda hoped Argyle was okay, refusing to accept that they had experienced their final goodbye. He turned down the hill where the cars had crashed that fateful night. There was no traffic and Bermuda ran in the middle of the road, pushing through the pain barrier.
His lip had stopped bleeding, but the dirt had caused it to swell.
His spine shook, the bones bruised after colliding with the wall again.
He would heal, he told himself.
He always healed.
Turning onto High Street, Bermuda pushed forward. Soon he would be on George Street, which would lead him straight to the city centre. Someone would know where the bar was. As his breathing became heavier, Bermuda hoped to God he wasn’t too late.
After almost a mile, he stopped outside the front of Queen Street Station, hunched over with hands on his knees. Doing his best to reclaim his breath, he felt the bitterness of the night nip at his skin like a playful puppy. He looked around, reminded of the confrontation he had had with Parker in this very spot.
The hard crack of the concrete on his skull.
The moment he thought he would die.
Argyle saving him at the last second.
As he controlled his breathing, Bermuda asked a young couple walking by where Waxy O’Connor’s was. Understandably cautious due to his appearance, the girl stepped away. The young man pointed over his shoulder and Bermuda offered a half-hearted thanks before he pushed himself forward again, racing as fast as he could to save McAllister’s life.
McAllister had sat smiling for the entire evening, listening to the soothing voice of Kevin Parker. The more she studied him, the more alien he appeared. He seemed slightly off beat as if his movements were too sharp. His words were a struggle at times, overlapping each other as he struggled for cohesion.
He was not human.
McAllister had played along, smiling beautifully and chuckling at his attempts at humour. Every second felt like an hour, the company of a killer causing her spine to tingle like it was her own personal ski slope. When he placed his cold fingers on her arm, every hair stood to attention.
Her stomach turned, and she was almost sick.
Parker didn’t seem to notice, his dark eyes locking onto hers. His gaze was almost hypnotic and McAllister understood the attraction the women felt. As he ordered another drink, she checked her phone.
Nothing from Bermuda.
She was in the process of texting Butler when Parker turned back to her, his eyes flicking to her phone.
‘Who are you contacting?’ His voice was calm, yet oozed menace. McAllister suddenly wished they were in the noisier bar.
‘No one.’
Unconvinced, Parker snatched the phone and read the screen. The plea to Butler was half written, her request for him to bring backup causing Parker’s jaw to tighten. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.
He squeezed.
The phone shattered in his hand, causing McAllister to jump and a few neighbours to turn with interest. Through gritted teeth, he spoke.
‘You will leave with me right now.’ Parker met her terrified gaze with his own. ‘Or I will butcher these people.’
‘Look. Just come with me. I can help you.’
Parker laughed, stepping off his stool and suddenly seeming a lot more imposing. ‘You know who I am and what I must do.’
He looked to the door where a bouncer had noticed his intimidation. The burly man, wearing an ill-fitting black shirt, bounded across the bar, the lights reflecting off his shiny bald head. As he approached, he ignored McAllister’s shake of the head.
‘I think you should be leaving, pal.’ The bouncer spoke threateningly, his mouth a few inches from Parker’s ear. Parker moved so fast he was a blur.
Reaching the back of the man’s skull, he drew it down ferociously, shattering the man’s jaw against the bar. The customers gasped and screamed, all of them leaping from their seats and backing away. The bouncer dropped to the floor, a collection of his teeth falling into the pool of blood. Parker gently rested his foot on the back of his head.
‘I will not ask you again.’
McAllister held her hands up to placate him, slowly rising from her stool. Parker’s eyes never left her as she stood, collecting her bag and slowly heading towards the exit. Two more bouncers rushed through the door to the bar, but stopped as they saw their damaged colleague. Parker stared at them, the two men allowing them to leave and following a few steps behind to ensure the offender left the premises.
Then he would be the city’s problem.
They stepped out into the street, the cold wrapping itself around McAllister’s bare shoulders and shaking her to her core. Parker pressed his palm on the small of her back, ushering her to the left, towards a dark, secluded street. A few patrons of Waxy’s stood in the roped-off area, clouds of smoke surrounding their curious gaze. The sound of her heels echoed as they marched past a closed Starbucks, the chairs all upturned and shrouded in darkness. They turned left at the NatWest, onto a small road that was framed by Forbidden Planet and the back gates of many establishments. Parker stopped, his hand clasping on her shoulder and spinning her to him.
His eye spilled into the iris, turning it black.
‘You shall be the final one.’ He tilted his head slightly. ‘They promised me.’
‘Who promised you?’ she managed, her voice escaping her through fear.
‘The darkness. The voice.’ Parker’s mind had been shredded – years of the stone walls and one repeated promise. ‘You will bring her back for me.’
McAllister tried to call for help, but the dark street offered the perfect cover. The rain had sent the majority of the public home to their warm homes and rich lives. McAllister felt the cold touch of loneliness; the first steps to mending her life with Ethan would be in vain. Parker shoved her against the wall, pinning her by the shoulder under his powerful hand.
‘SAM?!’ echoed through the night sky.
McAllister and Parker both turned, the voice echoing up the street in the direction from which they had just walked. With the distant thumping of Waxy’s behind him, Bermuda burst onto the street, his cheeks red, his lungs clutching at as much breath as possible.
‘Bermuda!’ she sc
reamed, only for Parker to slam her harder against the stone, driving the air from her and then wrapping his hand over her mouth.
‘Bermuda,’ Parker repeated, remembering his promise. Bermuda would die.
Taking calm and measured steps, Bermuda slowly approached, his hand out as a sign of submission.
‘Caleb,’ Bermuda said carefully. ‘Caleb – that is your name.’
Parker/Caleb shook his head as if wrestling with a painful memory, the confusion spreading across his face like a virus. His hand pressed harder against McAllister’s face, slowly crushing her head to the wall. Her eyes screamed for help as he restricted her throat.
‘Caleb, let her go,’ Bermuda demanded, another cautious step closer.
‘My name is Kevin. It’s Kevin. It’s Kevin,’ Caleb said, staring into the rain-soaked reflection of the nearest car mirror. ‘I must take her.’
‘Let her go, Caleb. It’s over.’
‘One more. I was promised.’
‘There is no promise. There is no return.’ Despite all the slain, innocent women, Bermuda felt a small speck of sympathy for the confused creature. ‘You have been gone a long time, Caleb. It’s time to stop and go home.’
Parker drew his lips back, his teeth grinding together in agony. His eyes were alive with fury, the confusion wrapping around him like a turban.
‘I will kill you, Bermuda.’ He then turned back to McAllister, blood slowly trickling from the side of her head. ‘But after I take what I need.’
Every muscle in Bermuda’s body tensed, knowing that the following assault was going to push his pain threshold beyond anything he had ever experienced.
But maybe, with the added essence of the Otherside pumping through his veins, he might stand a chance at survival.
Parker reached back his hand, primed and ready to snatch McAllister’s still-beating life from her chest.
Bermuda called out through the rain. ‘Cynthia is dead.’
Parker instantly let go of McAllister and turned, his suit clinging to his body. The wet hair fanned across his forehead as his brow furrowed. He marched towards Bermuda. ‘She will be returned to me.’
Bermuda Jones Casefiles Box Set Page 61
