Brethren

by Shawn Ryan

  The power flared to unbounded strength inside him, his skin felt as if it would rend itself apart. He had to send it somewhere, so he directed it outward, toward the creatures. Howling, they fell back. At first Jason thought he had miscalculated, that the screams were agony. But after a moment of listening, he realized these weren't sounds of pain.

  At first Jason could detect only confusion in the creatures' cries, sounds of fear in things that should have lost all fear long ago. They did not understand what was happening.

  Perhaps it was just another form of torture, this one more brutally exquisite in its subtlety. Perhaps the freedom being offered would be snatched away at the last second, leaving them empty and barren again.

  But the confusion and fear quickly changed, turning to joy from the soul-dead creatures when they understood they were free. The eons they had spent in captivity were over. Whatever crimes they had committed were forgiven. And Jason had done the forgiving.

  The creatures milled about on the courts, their arms stretched to heaven. Golden light spilled from their skin and their eyes glowed like beacons. With the sound of husks falling away from corn, their bodies collapsed to the concrete, empty containers no longer needed. As the skin fell away, blinding, vaporlike wisps of light fled upward and outward. A rainbow of colors filled the air—vermillion, topaz, plum, viridian—darting and dancing around the inside of the courts. A beautiful keening could be heard as the creatures' souls broke free of their boundaries. Moloch's protective shield around the courts couldn't hold them and they sped upward, toward eternity and peace.

  His head craning backward, Jason felt quite proud of himself. Full of himself and his powers, he watched his handiwork. It was his caring concern, his sympathy, his empathy that had set the minions free. Is this what it was like to be omnipotent? It felt good if it was.

  Enveloped with feeling all-powerful, he let his guard down and the golden aura slowly disappeared.

  Badger, too, was thunderstruck as he watched the soul dance, numbed by his friend's powers, awed by their implications. And yes, scared of their possibilities. Who was this strange and wonderful man standing next to him, the man who just ten minutes before had been only Jazz?

  Neither of them saw Moloch coming up from behind.

  The beast grabbed Badger by the neck and flung him across the tennis courts. Shocked by the surprise attack, Jason was unable to rebuild the sheltering cocoon of golden light around his friend. Unprotected, Badger's head slammed into one of the iron posts holding the tennis nets, knocking him out. A ruby blossom spread across the top of his skull.

  With speed in contrast to its size, Moloch turned its attack on Jason, giving him no time to react. Grabbing Jason by the shoulders, Moloch hoisted him overhead. The golden aura burned his hands, but Moloch ignored the pain. Its hands smoking, Moloch reared back and threw Jason into the fence, where he hit with a metallic clang. Jason's aura remained intact, but the force of the blow knocked the wind out of his lungs and his head landed hard on the concrete. The aura faded as his head swam.

  He rose unsteadily, shaking the fuzz from his mind and eyes, not realizing his protection was gone. His eyes cleared in time to see Moloch's hand sweeping toward him in a wide, powerful arc. It felt as if a hand grenade had exploded in his left side, and he felt himself flying through the air again. He landed on his right side and rolled, his nose striking the pavement several times. Blood once again flowed across his lips and onto his teeth. Blackness threatened to swallow him for the second time that night.

  "No goddammit, no," he said. "Stay awake. Stay awake. Don't lose it."

  It was no good. He felt himself about to pass out. In desperation, he jammed the heel of his hand into his nose. Incandescent pain roared through his body, standing him straight and thrusting his head back. He howled and tears rolled from his eyes. But by God he was awake.

  Moloch's shadow reared over him, arms raised to deliver another crushing blow. Bringing his arms up for protection, Jason threw himself backward into a somersault. Moloch's nails raked across his left forearm and Jason felt an instant of bone-deep pain. The agony made him realize the aura was gone.

  Rolling to his feet, Jason wrapped himself in golden protection and stared boldly at Moloch. His feet felt like lead and his mind still danced dangerously, but be was going to face this beast one-on-one.

  "Okay. This is a little bit more fair," he said. "Do your worst."

  Moloch looked at him, but didn't approach. The green veil enveloped the beast's body.

  "Give it up, Medlocke. Your powers are pitiful beside mine."

  "Then why don't you attack? If I'm so weak, you should be able to take care of me without a second thought."

  "I wish to toy with you a bit longer, to prolong your agony," Moloch said. "Killing you would be too quick, too easy. Suffering is what I seek. I will kill you when the time is right."

  He paused.

  "For instance, don't you notice anything different?" Moloch asked. "Something missing?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Where's your father?"

  Jason was jolted. Moloch was right. Until that moment he hadn't noticed that he no longer felt his father's presence.

  "What did you do to him, you slimy fuck?" Jason said.

  "Oh, save the melodrama for someone else," Moloch chided. "Your father has been, shall we say, removed from this scenario. It's just you and me. I'm finally down to the last Medlocke."

  The last Medlocke. Moloch's words brought an unbidden thought to Jason's mind—Alex and his unborn child inside her. He quickly brushed the image away, trying to hide his thoughts, keep them off his face.

  Too late.

  Moloch's expression changed. Its brow furrowed in puzzlement, then understanding.

  "You're not the last Medlocke, are you?" Moloch said. "How can that be? I killed your wife and only child."

  A look of comprehension crossed the beast's face.

  "That woman. The bitch in your room. She's pregnant with your child, isn't she? So there's still another Medlocke in my way. My, my, my, that certainly adds a new twist to things, doesn't it? I believe I'll have to pay her a visit."

  "You leave her alone," Jason warned. "If you think you've inflicted pain on me, that's nothing compared to what I'll do to you."

  Moloch smiled.

  "Large words from a small men," it said.

  "Don't doubt it," Jason said.

  "Oh, I don't doubt you could cause some damage if given the chance. You've already proven that. But I'm not going to give you the chance. Your time is up."

  Moloch pointed two fingers skyward and a violent humming arose. The vibration shook the tennis court and rattled Jason's jaw. Everything in his eyesight danced in a blurry nightmare. The humming moved directly overhead. Looking up, he saw a spiraling column of green plunging rapidly from the shield covering the courts. He tried to jump out of the way, but moved too slowly. Like a boa constrictor, the emerald column wrapped itself around him, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs together. He fell, but couldn't even roll back and forth. The rings began to tighten.

  Desperately, he increased his power, directing it to the aura. A twinge of fear squeezed his stomach into a knot.

  "The rings can't hurt you through your shield," Moloch said. "But they will make you direct all your attention to protecting yourself. I have confidence in you, Medlocke. I think you'll discover a way out of my little snare, but it will take you a while. In the meantime, I'm going to introduce myself to your girlfriend. I'll tell her you said hello."

  "Stay away from her," Jason cried, forgetting about himself for a moment. The green ropes wrapped themselves around him one turn tighter; his ribs wailed under the pressure.

  "I'm not through with you yet, Medlocke," Moloch said. "Your pain has only just begun. You've caused me more pain than any member of your accursed family in five hundred years. I plan to exact complete payment.

  "I'll start with your friend over there," he said, pointi
ng at the limp form of Badger. "Say your farewells now. You won't be seeing him again."

  Moloch walked over and hoisted Badger's body on his shoulder like a human sack of flour. Blood dripped down Moloch's back from the gash in Badger's head. Jason couldn't be sure, but he thought Moloch's skin sucked the blood in thirstily. The green rings tightened a bit more and Jason redirected his thoughts to his more immediate concern.

  Behind him, he heard Moloch speak again.

  "Perhaps I'll take this one, too," the creature said. Jason couldn't figure out whom Moloch meant until he heard a sucking noise, like a horse pulling its hoof out of deep mud. Benton. Jason had forgotten about him. His body must still be in the same spot where it collapsed, held in place through the mayhem by the pool of thick, gluey blood it lay in.

  "I almost hate to lose this one," he heard Moloch say. "He's like a favorite pet or plaything. Oh well, there may be blood in his body that I can use, so it may not be a total waste."

  "Bye now, Jason," he heard Moloch say. With a bright flash, the green shield surrounding the courts vanished. But the snakelike rings remained, unrelenting in their pressure. The gate to the courts opened and closed with a clank. All was silent.

  Jason lay still. It was hard to breathe though not impossible, but the effort of sustaining his power was exacting a hard toll on his system. He felt himself growing weak and his muscles trembled with exertion. If he was to save Badger, to save Alex, he must figure out something quickly. The thought of Badger in Moloch's arms made Jason groan. His friend was dead if he didn't act soon. So was Alex. And who knew what had happened to his dad?

  Oh God, he said, if you truly exist, help me now.

  No answer. He didn't really expect one.

  Jason lay thinking for a moment, pooling his energies. To destroy the rings, he would have to let down the aura. He couldn't work up the power to protect himself and break himself free, not in his weakened condition.

  He steeled himself for the attempt. He wouldn't get more than one.

  Taking a deep breath and tensing every muscle in his body, Jason dropped the aura. The rings constricted around him instantly, a body-length bear hug trying to squeeze his last breath out of him. His broken ribs moaned. It was worse than he imagined, even less time than he thought.

  With a mighty surge, he turned all his power outward, radiating it from his body. The rings grew progressively tighter and the air in his lungs grew hot and stale. Jason felt himself slipping away. Bright flashes exploded in front of his eyes as his body screamed for oxygen. He honed his concentration to a keener edge. His body heated, his muscles tingling madly as the power grew within them. He felt the rings loosen a tiny amount. This is it. Now or never.

  With a final burst, he thrust his power outward. For a second, he thought he had failed. The power wasn't going anywhere. It stayed within him. Then, with a sound like shattered crystal, the green rings disintegrated. He was free.

  He stood quickly, preparing to sprint after Moloch. But the night's battle was too much. His body could go no further and gave way after one step. He moaned as he crumpled to the pavement.

  Chapter 36

  « ^ »

  Quintard stormed into his office, slamming the door so hard the jam pulled an inch away from the wall. He strode over to his desk, yanked open the drawer, and pulled out the bottle of bourbon. Not bothering to look for a cup, he twisted the top off and turned the bottle up, drinking three large gulps before pulling it away.

  His face clinched as the liquor burned its way down his throat. Then he upended the bottle and emptied it.

  "That goddammed, cocksucking, motherfucking, asshole-licking, sonuvabitching cunt," he swore. "That butt-fucking bastard, I'm going to…"

  He flung the bottle at the wall, where it smashed into the photo of him and Hank Aaron. The glass from the frame sliced the photo in several places, ruining it. Quintard stared at the destruction in tense silence. He would never be able to replace that shot.

  "Goddammit, this is your fault, Medlocke," he screamed, clenching his fists so tightly the nails bit into his palms, drawing blood.

  The county commission meeting was four hours behind him and Quintard had spent most of the time since driving around the county at outrageous speeds, cursing Jason all the while. He stopped at a liquor store, bought a pint of bourbon and finished it on the road. With the liquor fueling his thoughts, he formulated a plan for revenge and came back to his office to drink some more courage and put it into action.

  He dropped himself into his chair with a flop. The alcohol was heating his belly like a blast furnace.

  "I'm going to bring that bastard down," he vowed.

  He picked up the phone and dialed. The phone buzzed a few times on the other end before someone picked up.

  "Yeah?" the voice said.

  "Listen, Frog, you little fuck, this is Quintard. I need another favor."

  "What do you want?" Webster asked nervously.

  "I want an ounce of coke and I want it within the next thirty minutes. I want you to meet me in the Big Star parking lot at the intersection of Singleton Road and Jimmy Carter. Bring the coke with you. You got that?"

  "Man, I can't get that much that quick," Webster cried. "Besides, who'll pay for it? That much stuff will cost more than two grand."

  "You'll find it and you'll pay for it," Quintard said. "You owe me, you dick-sucking pile of shit. And if you don't do this for me, I'll find a way to burn you to the ground. Believe me."

  Webster hesitated. When he spoke again, it was with the energy of a whipped pup.

  "Okay, I'll see you at the parking Jot about one."

  "Damn straight," Quintard said. "And after we meet, you're going along with me to do a little job."

  "What kind of job?" Webster asked.

  "A little lockpicking. I know you're good at that," Quintard said. Before Webster could protest, Quintard hung up.

  Thirty minutes later Quintard was on his way to Jason's apartment, an ounce of cocaine tucked away in his glove compartment. In the passenger seat, smoking one cigarette after another, Webster was not a happy man. Tonight his excessive jumpiness was making him more than live up to his amphibious nickname.

  "Shit, I don't like this," he said. "I haven't felt right since coming back from watching Medlocke and his father up at the lake. I'm not up to snuff; my head's fuzzy and I feel fucked up."

  "What in God's name are you babbling about?" Quintard asked.

  "I just want you to know my shit's not together and if we get caught it's going to be my ass. And yours, too. The papers will eat up a story about a county commissioner involved in breaking and entering."

  "Oh, you don't actually think I'm going to be there when you do the breaking in, do you?" Quintard said. "I'll be sitting in the car waiting for you to come back. I can't afford to be seen with the likes of you."

  "You fucking bastard," Webster said. "You're setting me up to take a fall. I want to know what the hell this is all about. Where are we going? Who's the coke for? Who's house am I supposed to get into?"

  "That's none of your goddammed business," Quintard said, fixing Webster with a snakelike gaze. "Let's just say the coke is a present for a friend and I want you to leave it in his apartment as a surprise."

  "Is the guy home?" Webster asked.

  "I don't know. We'll see when we get there. The past few weeks he's been spending a lot of time fucking some cunt in another apartment complex, so there's a chance he won't be."

  "God, I just hope I don't get caught," Webster moaned.

  "All I hope is that I don't get pulled over," Quintard answered. "With all that coke in the dash, we'd really be in the shitter."

  The thought struck him as extremely funny and he laughed until he farted.

  "You sonuvabitch," Webster said, rolling down the window.

  Quintard pulled the car into the Casa Loma complex and drove slowly until he reached Jason's building. He scanned the lot, but didn't see Jason's Toyota.

  "His car'
s not here," he said. Webster untensed a bit.

  Quintard rolled past Jason's apartment to the next building and parked under a tree to block the light from the streetlamp. He told Webster the apartment number and handed him the coke.

  "Go do it," he said. "And don't fuck up."

  Webster quietly opened the car door and scurried across the parking lot. Hands stuffed in his pockets and shoulders hunched, he ambled down the sidewalk to Jason's building then sprinted up the stairs. The fact that the apartment was at the back of the building, out of the light and away from the parking lot, made him feel a little better. When he reached the door and saw just one dead-bolt lock, his spirits went even higher.

  Easy as shit. In and out in a couple of minutes.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small case about the size of a billfold. Opening it revealed a dozen or so small wires, Allen wrenches, and other tools. Webster pulled out a piece of wire about two millimeters thick and four inches long and shoved it into the keyhole on the dead bolt. One minute later he heard a satisfying click. Thirty seconds later the doorknob lock was conquered and Webster was opening the door.

  "Piece of fucking cake," he said under his breath.

  The first thing he noticed after shutting the door behind him was that the apartment was freezing. It was chilly outside, but even worse in here. His fingers started aching from the cold.

  Fuck, this guy has the air conditioning set on South Pole, he thought. I better get this over with or they'll find me frozen like a statue.

  Webster figured the safest bet for the coke was to stick it under a sofa cushion. That way he didn't have to go back into the bedroom, just in case someone was there.

  He took two steps forward and the next thing he knew he was tripping over some large object. He stuck out his hands to break his fall and landed on the glass-topped coffee table, which shattered with a resounding crash. The glass sliced deeply into his hands and he felt something warm and sticky running over his fingers.