Hell Breaker (Shadow Detective Book 9)

by William Massa

  Hell Breaker

  A Shadow Detective Novel

  WILLIAM MASSA

  Critical Mass Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by WILLIAM MASSA

  Copyright © 2018 by WILLIAM MASSA

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  A bulbous full moon, like the blind eye of a witch, hung over the Cursed City as Archer descended the stairs of the downtown subway station. Stale air filled her lungs when she arrived on the empty platform below. She was alone, the only soul willing to brave the transit system at this hour.

  She scanned the deserted station and the endless tunnels that stretched into the darkness beyond. A yawning silence greeted her, and for a surreal, frightening second, she felt like the last person on Earth.

  What was she doing here?

  The answer was simple—her job.

  Twelve people had vanished over the last week. Men and women, young and old, all races, all creeds. Nothing connected them except for one detail—they had all been last seen boarding the number 9 train in the wee hours of the morning.

  Coincidence? Archer didn’t think so. Nor did she believe the culprit was a human killer. She had experienced too much weird shit to believe in a rational universe. The nightmares were real, and so were the victims.

  Something dwelled within the bowels of the city. Something that had developed a voracious appetite.

  There were no bodies, no blood, no sign of violence. No one had seen or heard anything. But these people hadn’t vanished into thin air. Something had happened to them. And Archer intended to get to the bottom of the mystery.

  Her impressive arsenal matched her steely resolve. She’d brought her three favorite weapons along for the mission: a Glock loaded with blessed silver bullets, the mystical Witch Whip made from a noose used for hanging witches and warlocks, and BloodSlayer, the silver stake feared by both vampires and other supernatural creatures.

  She was ready to face whatever evil had turned the number 9 train into its hunting ground. Or so she tried to tell herself.

  In truth, her stomach churned with anxiety, and a growing sense of dread tugged at her mind. If she was honest with herself, she wished she’d been able to recruit Raven for this monster hunt. But her lover was a tad preoccupied.

  Three weeks had passed since they had battled the Crimson Circle. Even though they’d defeated Morgal, the demon had managed to drag Skulick’s soul into Hell with him. She couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

  Raven had become obsessed with saving Skulick. And who could blame him? She knew he’d do anything to help his partner—even following him into the pits of Hell. It sounded like madness, but Cyon, the demon who was currently hitching a ride inside Skulick’s body, believed it was possible. One thing was for certain. Raven wouldn’t rest until he could break Skulick’s soul free and destroy Morgal.

  Not surprisingly, their relationship hadn’t been his first priority lately.

  She was beginning to understand why Raven had been so reluctant to get closer. The war against the darkness made it impossible to have a personal life. This calling demanded everything from them. She had never held any illusions about her future with Raven, knew a white picket fence wasn’t in the cards for monster hunters. Her eyes welled up, and she furiously blinked the tears away. Dammit, what had gotten into her?

  Hey, you’re just human. You’re allowed to feel lonely from time to time.

  She was determined to make a difference in the war against the darkness but did it have to come at such a high price?

  She shook her head and gritted her teeth, anger replacing sadness.

  Girl, you better cut out this Lifetime channel bullshit.

  The air stirred, and the rumble of an incoming subway train grew audible, thrusting Archer out of her grim thoughts.

  The train rattled into the station with a bone-jarring shriek of metal and ground to a halt. A rush of tunnel air buffeted Archer’s body. The doors hissed open, and Archer boarded. She shared the car with two other passengers. One was an obese man with long hair and bad hygiene busy picking away at a bag of French fries. The other was a middle-aged Hispanic lady in a brown jacket, sporting a vacant, tired expression.

  The man’s gaze lingered on Archer even though she had done her best to downplay her attractiveness. Her hair was pulled back, she wore no makeup, and her black trench coat hid her curves. She didn’t want to attract attention from the wrong type of predator. There were plenty of human scumbags who roamed the subways late at night, searching for easy marks. Thieves, rapists, young males hopped up on drugs and booze, itching for a fight or some sadistic fun. If any of them mistook her for prey, they would be in for a rude awakening.

  For now, she ignored the greasy-fingered creep’s leering grin. On your average day, she would be more than open to teaching some asshole a lesson in manners, but she worried that a confrontation might chase away the real monster. Her plan was to draw out whatever had made those twelve victims disappear.

  The door zoomed shut behind her, and the train lurched into motion, rattling down the dimly lit tunnels again.

  “Hey there,” the long-haired creep began.

  She met his gaze with fire in her eyes, and he turned his attention back to his fries. That’s right. Focus on attainable goals.

  Archer stayed in the car for another three stops. The long-haired man left, and so did the woman. She was alone now.

  A chill rippled down her back, and dread pooled in her stomach. She drew little reassurance from the rhythmical rocking of the train. For crying out loud, she’d hunted the vampires of the Cursed City to extinction. There was no reason for her to be so unnerved.

  What’s wrong with you, girl?

  She hadn’t been the same since the incident in the church. The cultists had caught her off guard, and if Raven had arrived ten minutes later, she would have died that night. She vividly recalled the leather tail of her Witch Whip wrapping tight around her neck. She could still feel it digging into her windpipe, cutting off her air supply as it pulled her into the air. Morgal had almost hanged her with her own damn whip.

  Despite her training and her weapons, she was only human. A mortal fighting ancient nightmares armed with teeth and claws and powers beyond her imagination. Part of her wondered if she was in over her head.

  No, I can do this, she told herself.

  As if to prove the point, she got up and turned toward the subway door that led to the next car. She ignored the warning sign and opened the door. A gust of cold air rushed up at her from the rails. She welcomed the sensation. It meant she was alive. Determined, Archer stepped into the open space between cars as the train blasted down the tunnel.

  A strange sense of peace overcame her. The wind and the darkness and the sound of metal grinding against metal drowned out her dark thoughts. She almost wanted to linger, but
she had a job to do. People to protect, monsters to slay.

  She gave herself an internal push and entered the next car. A group of club kids on their way home from a night of partying eyed her through a haze of booze and god knows what else. They quickly lost interest in her. A middle-aged bald man sat across from the three twenty-somethings, listening to music on a pair of headphones.

  She flashed the club kids a smile as she brushed past them. For a brief moment, she was reminded of her rookie cop days when she would patrol the trains in her police uniform. She had never forgotten the power of that uniform, how people stopped seeing the person and solely acknowledged the badge. As a plainclothes homicide detective, you could blend in, be just another person until you had to make an arrest or confront a perp. But when you wore a uniform, folks treated you differently. You ceased to be a person and became a symbol. You felt the energy change between people when you glanced in their direction. Their guard went up even if they were law-abiding citizens. Not even the innocent had clean consciences.

  Archer sighed. Those uniformed days seemed like a lifetime ago. And perhaps that was for the best, but she missed the idealist she’d been back then. It was a time in her life unencumbered by the horrors she now chased.

  As she prowled the car, her frustration grew. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. Why would some creature of darkness target one particular train? Could it be a haunting of some sort, a lost spirit lashing out? But then there would be bodies, wouldn’t there?

  The bald man left the subway car at the next stop, and only Archer and the three clubbers remained. The train rocketed into motion again, gaining speed as it blasted through the rotting bowels of the city. Five minutes later, the subway made another stop, but this time no one got in. The journey through the city’s innards continued.

  Archer took a seat and her eyes grew heavy. Great. She better not doze off. She had downed three cups of strong coffee before heading out, but they weren’t doing shit. Her habit of mainlining caffeine must be catching up with her.

  Without warning, a strange heaviness took hold of her, and the air shimmered and swam out of focus for a beat. The subway seemed to elongate and stretch before snapping back to its regular appearance. It all happened so fast that she didn’t know if her imagination had played a trick on her.

  The experience jolted her wide awake. Eyes alert, her fingers strayed toward the silver-loaded Glock.

  The train’s lights buzzed and flickered as it began to slow down.

  The club kids swapped a questioning look with her. Judging by their confused expressions, they had experienced the same strange distortion of reality.

  “What the fuck just happened?” one of the clubbers asked.

  I wish I had the answers, kid.

  Archer sprung to her feet as the train came to a halt.

  The door slid open with a hiss, and a woman’s terrified scream pierced the subway tunnel.

  2

  Archer clenched her jaw as she spotted the screaming figure on the dark platform. From this angle inside the subway car, she couldn’t make out any details. But something was after the desperate woman as she limped toward the subway train.

  Archer whipped out her Glock and Witch Whip while she gave the freaked-out club kids a commanding glare. “Stay put!”

  They nodded weakly, events no-doubt unfolding too swiftly for their alcohol-addled brains to process. A beat later, Archer was on the platform. She still couldn’t detect any signs of the pursuer in the dark, but she finally got a good look at the woman who had been screaming. She had to be in her early twenties, of Asian heritage, and wore a pair of torn, mud-caked jeans and a ripped T-shirt. Blood masked her horrified features. With horror, Archer realized the woman was barefoot, her feet bloodied and raw.

  “Help me,” the woman begged.

  She looked up with saucer eyes as Archer reached out. Words tumbled from her cracked lips.

  “You can’t stop them! No one can! You have to run…run and hide before it’s too late!”

  Archer’s eyes widened as she recognized the face buried beneath a layer of grime and gore. Her name was Parker Wang. She was one of the missing people.

  “Parker? You’re safe now. I’ll protect you…”

  Archer held up her gun for good measure. The young woman eyed her for a second and then shook her head with grave certainty.

  “You can’t stop them,” she proclaimed.

  A keening wail sliced through the station. For a split second, Archer thought it might have been the train, but the sound built with eerie intensity. No machine generated this noise. There was something organic about the bestial shriek, a wet rasp that made Archer’s skin crawl. The sound was both alien and familiar, like something she might have experienced once in a long-forgotten nightmare.

  Goosebumps exploded over her skin as wind whistled through the desolate train station.

  Where was the sound coming from? And what the hell was making it?

  These thoughts were still running through Archer’s mind when an invisible force slammed into her and knocked her off her feet.

  For a disoriented moment, she lay crumpled on the ground. Then she forced herself to get up, eyes scoping the station for her attacker.

  Show yourself, you bastard!

  Archer reached for her whip and realized she’d dropped it during the attack. And that’s when her eyes landed on Parker Wang. The terrified woman had scooped up her whip and held it up like some protective talisman, perhaps instinctively sensing the weapon’s mystical power. Parker Wang lashed out at the shadows, and a deep bellow burst from the darkness. The whip had hurt the creature, whatever it was.

  Good girl.

  Encouraged by her tiny victory, Parker pivoted on her heels and rushed toward the waiting train.

  Archer watched in grim silence as Parker stumbled into the train, the door slamming shut behind her. The club kids looked like ghosts in the subway car, which now seemed a million miles away, frozen in place by the eerie spectacle unfolding in the station.

  Panic gripped Archer, realizing she was about to be left behind.

  Too late! The train groaned and creaked out of the station.

  Archer traded a final glance with Parker. With horror, she saw the woman’s eyes turn into black orbs as the train rumbled into the tunnel.

  What the hell did that mean? Had the subway station’s evil infected her somehow? She prayed the woman didn’t pose a threat to the club kids. Had she doomed them by leaving the car? And what about herself?

  The subway stop looked like it had been abandoned for years, maybe decades. She was stuck in this place, and her gut told her it would be quite some time before another train pulled in this haunted station.

  If ever.

  Archer flinched as the terrifying wail shook the walls of the station again. There was anger in the creature’s voice now. No, more than anger. Unbridled hatred.

  Archer whirled, gun up and ready. At least she still had her trusty Glock and Bloodslayer, which remained strapped to her back.

  Show yourself, goddamnit, she thought.

  The baying sound changed, swelling into ominous laughter. Archer bit her lip, tasted copper. She resisted the impulse to empty her magazine into the encroaching darkness. No point wasting precious ammo. Between the fully loaded Glock and the spare magazine, she had just thirty bullets. She had to make her ammunition last.

  Archer could sense something shifting in the dark. An invisible presence closing in on her, preparing to attack.

  And then the laughter died down, giving way to silence. Somehow, the eerie stillness was even worse. Sweat pearled down Archer’s forehead. Her hands shook. Each ragged breath required greater effort as the seconds ticked away.

  Her finger whitened on the trigger.

  She bit her lips, tasting copper.

  Where the hell are you?

  The silence stretched. A palpable sense of menace filled the air.

  Something lurked in the darkness.
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  Biding its time.

  Waiting to strike…

  “I know you’re there!” Her scream echoed in the desolate station.

  She sensed movement and reflexively fired. The bullet vanished in the dark.

  Reverberated.

  Followed by renewed silence.

  And all at once, the heaviness lifted, and she could breathe again.

  What the fuck just happened?

  The presence had retreated. But why? Why not attack?

  Slowly regaining her equilibrium, Archer processed her surroundings. She tried to read the street name on the station’s sign, but it was covered in dirt. Her searching gaze ticked to the turnstiles. They were shrouded in dust and cobwebs. Definitely abandoned.

  Over the course of the last century, certain stations had fallen into disuse or had been abandoned by the transit authority. These forgotten stops rotted away in the darkness and could only be seen from passing cars. So why had the subway train stopped here in the first place? Had the conductor responded to the screaming woman? Archer doubted he would have been able to pick up Parker Wang’s cries for help over the sounds of the moving train.

  And now the train had left without her, and she was trapped underground.

  Archer chided herself for standing her ground against the unseen presence instead of getting back on the train. That’s what she got for playing hero.

  Jaw set tight, Archer approached the dirt-covered station sign. First order of business was finding out where she was. Then she could worry about getting out.

  She wiped the thick grime from the sign and gasped. It was blank. Who would bother to post an empty sign? It didn’t make any sense. She had to be somewhere.