The gunshot reflected from the cold walls of the damp cellar in a deafening boom. The flash of gunpowder sparking illuminated the bleak, mutilated faces around them for an instance, and a volcanic splatter of Clyde’s blood landed on Jackson’s cheek and coat.
Jackson released Clyde’s lifeless body and it collapsed in a limp thud. He pulled out the Arm, and blasted a stream of light to the ground at the large body that was sprawled out unconscious. The dust released into a human shape standing still right over the body. He stared at it, scowling and wishing he could fire at it once more. From behind him he heard Aldrich call the demon’s name and in a poof Azazel appeared, grabbing the Dust figure and staring towards Ayres. He smiled one of the largest and most sinister smiles Jackson had witnessed yet.
“Old habits die hard with you,” he said to Ayres with a wink and vanished again.
She looked down at the body beneath her and then back up towards Jackson. Her eyes gave a look that neither he nor Aldrich had seen before: sadness. “I will bring Officer Kurt back to the apartment, then I must go.” With that she knelt down and lifted the large man with little trouble. As Jackson watched her, he thought of how much stronger than him she must truly be. She made her way to the bottom of the old, rotting steps to head up and out onto the street.
“Ayres,” Jackson said, and she halted. “Thank you, wouldn’t have made it out without you,” he looked down beside him at Aldrich, “both of you.”
She looked at him again, with heavy eyes and a far-away stare. All she gave was a nod, and then made her way to the top of the stairs. She was gone before they could even hear the thump of her footsteps.
“Come, let us go, Order,” Aldrich took small steps forward. “The officer should not awaken without us present.”
Jackson followed behind, but before they even began their ascent, he could not help but ask, “What did she mean that she has to go?”
“Ah, I have noticed that anything outside of your own task seems to go unheard,” he said and climbed up to the next step. “She is of Usra, Jackson. She is not permitted to interfere on these romps Azazel enjoys sending you on. The Order of Ascendance are above, even beyond, these petty tasks.”
“You didn’t answer me,” Jackson groaned. He followed up another step and gave a last long stare at the darkness behind him. He took in the rotten smell of dead flesh and dried blood.
“She is going to answer for what she has done,” Aldrich said. He followed it under his breath with, “Again…” which Jackson did not notice.
Aldrich and Jackson looked at each other, and shared, almost telepathically, that they were glad to be out of there. They climbed the steps and into the dark hallway where to their left the night shined through the open front door. Ayres was nowhere to be found as they made their way home.
7
Refuge
“Don’t feel right…” Jackson said in the gloom to Aldrich who sat beside him on the couch.
Officer Kurt’s large, lumbering body lay sprawled on the recliner similar to how Aldrich had the night he first stayed in the apartment. It bent under the weight of his bulky body, and his snore was a lion’s roar with an open mouth that seeped drool from the corner and down his smooth chin. Jackson and Aldrich sat on the sofa with a nearly full pizza in a large, white cardboard box on the coffee table in front of them. While Jackson stared with a blank expression out the window to the side of him, Aldrich reached forward to grab his third hot, stretching slice. Other than the presence of the large, dark man everything else seemed normal with one other exception; Ayres had not returned.
“I wouldn’t worry all that much if I were you,” Aldrich said, with greasy lips. “I am most certain that we will have enough of this meal left for the good officer. Besides,” Aldrich reached into his small jacket pocket and removed a tarnished old leather wallet and tossed it onto the table, “he did pay for it, after all.”
“It’s not that,” Jackson muttered. “It’s Ayres. The entire situation seems fucked. I want answers.”
Aldrich tugged at the fresh slice and pulled it back with his teeth leaving a long, snapping strand of cheese. As he chewed the rich bite, he dabbed his mouth gingerly with a soft cloth handkerchief. “Unfortunately, our dear angel has broken a deep-rooted rule that has been in place for centuries, perhaps even longer.” Aldrich dropped from the couch and wandered toward the window, slice in hand. He stared out of it just as Ayres had done for so many hours in a row. “Their kind are not to interfere with yours outside of what they are told to, I am afraid. Humans, the Un-Ascended such as myself, we are not like the ones who answer to the creator. No, I would theorize we are much more in lined with Azazel than with the creator herself.”
“If you hadn’t come, if Ayres had not come, I would be DEAD!” he shouted back to Aldrich at his statement.
“Yes,” Aldrich said coldly as he turned around, snapping another bite. “Just as others had fallen before you, and as others will fall after you. ’Tis the risk that an Order takes on for their duty, I suppose. Though if your run had ended tonight, I would say it was amongst the shortest of all the runs!” He laughed and chewed as he made his way back towards the sofa.
The large, burly man that rested like a boulder beside them began to stir with a few grunts before he flailed out just as his eyes cracked open. He shot up firm and straight in his seat, startled and confused. A blurred vision of Jackson and the boy came into focus, and their faces were familiar, but not comforting. He remembered them through Sandy’s eyes, the memory was like a puzzle missing a few pieces but had just enough to make out the image. He could see Jackson bound to the table, and he recalled vividly the overwhelming sexually charged rage that Sandy held when she was close to a kill. His breathing was heavy and fast, and his heart pounded elephant stomps in his large chest as he grew panicked. His body was his again, and every cell and fiber burst with life. He scanned his new surroundings, the unfamiliar room and the company within it. His only comfort was the lack of one blonde-haired psychopath. Soon his big hand was raised towards his forehead where he rubbed a small sore lump that had formed from the blow of Ayres’s sword handle. He groaned a little at the sharp pain from touching the wound and then shook his head. He pulled himself together enough to begin thinking rationally.
“What… what am I doing here?” he asked in a voice almost familiar to Jackson; Sandy’s voice. “Where are they? Where is he?”
“If you are talking about Clyde,” Jackson said, eyeing the large man carefully, “he is very fucking dead.”
The officer eased up, only a touch, and nodded his head quickly. “Okay,” he said. “Why did you bring me here then?”
“Why, you came for dinner, sir!” said Aldrich sarcastically, swinging his dangling legs over the side of the sofa.
“Couldn’t just leave you there,” Jackson began. “They would have pinned the whole thing on you. Not exactly fair after what you’d been forced to witness. She... Ayres, our friend, had brought you back here for safe-keeping.”
Officer Kurt nodded his head in agreement and recalled some of the events from earlier. “It was… it was like I was watching everything happen right in front of me but I couldn’t stop it.” He grimaced, “I could feel the cold skin of every victim, even smell the rotting flesh and the thick blood. But I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”
He shook his leg rapidly as he continued his deep, quick breaths. His eyes stared out at nothing at all like he was watching the past flash before him on a film reel: Every victim, the way Sandy sliced their faces so calmly while he would scream inside of the empty place within his own body where he resided. Officer Kurt shuttered and tensed as he recalled the distant and animalistic way Clyde would gaze into his eyes while handing the warm, fresh head to Sandy like a birthday gift.
“Not your fault,” Jackson said softly.
“Where is she? The girl in the armor? I should thank her.” He paused. “I should thank you too…”
“Don’t need your thanks,”
he replied. “And... She is gone. I need to find out why.” Jackson paused for a moment, then stood up and walked beside the officer. “Azazel…”
As the smoke burst forward just as before. The officer fell back, flopping into the recliner, startled from the dark clouds and the figure who emerged. He looked nervously at the thin, creepy man with the large grin and boney fingers. Azazel looked back at him, head tilted in bewilderment.
“Coldin Kurt,” he said through his teeth. “Wasn’t expecting ya. Thought you’d be... Well a little more dead.” The smile grew larger and he looked around the quaint apartment. “Ah, see our girl isn’t back yet.”
“Where is she?” Jackson asked furiously as he approached Azazel.
“Paragon, if I had to guess. Usra ain’t gonna come here. Probably took her to a neutral ground. That pizza?”
Aldrich motioned with an open hand for Azazel to help himself, which he did. His long fingers crept over the slice like a spider’s legs and he took a large bite of the slice, swallowing it whole as a snake would. He basically pranced over to the couch in excitement, taking Jackson’s spot comfortably. He crossed his legs and took another bite as he looked around the room then back to Jackson. He eyed him intently, taking another bite, as if to mock him.
“She’ll be back, Jackie. Ain’t the first time one of them got involved in business here, won’t be the last. Now... let’s talk more about good old Coldin here,” he said with a snark.
“No,” Jackson said firmly. “Why isn’t Aldrich in any trouble for helping?”
The pair laughed in unison with their gaping, horrid Un-Ascended grins. Coldin was lost, his mind had been so swollen with the fresh memories of his recent life that he was not prepared for all of this. Externally, he braced himself and remained as stern as possibly, but inside his adrenaline and fear kicked in. He was free from serial killers, only to be trapped with new monsters. A broad man in a trench coat who smelled like blood, a child who spoke in an old-world accent, and a thing that sat on the couch who appeared in a cloud of smoke. This was not the world he was used to, and not the cruel company he had grown accustomed to. He had seen hardened criminals every day in the prison, and looked into the eyes of killers just as he would look into the eyes of friends. Then during an execution, and not his first either, he had been possessed. His world had turned on its head, and this time he would not let it win; he would not be taken again.
“Oh, Jackie... Ain’t a thing I could do to the old man here that would be worse than what he goes through daily just for being alive,” Azazel said through his laughter. He calmed himself down and threw his pizza crust over his shoulder. It landed in the hallway behind him, and he did not seem to care.
“Now, Coldin. Officer Kurt? Hmm... no, Coldin. I’ll admit, I’m not an entity who’s easily taken by surprise. Seeing you alive, and here no less, just was not part of the plan. You agree?” he said, and this time there was no smile.
Coldin nodded carefully, and quietly.
“You know, I thought something was up when I didn’t see your Dust cross into the North-Lane. Think you and I should have a talk,” Azazel murmured and drew closer to Coldin.
“Easy,” Jackson said to cut into the tension. “He’s been through enough.”
“Nonsense, Jackie,” Azazel said and stood to his feet, hovering over Coldin. “Me and the big guy have some business to discuss.”
“Hell no.” Coldin said, rising again and making his way toward the door. “I’m out of here. I’m done with this shit, you feel me? DONE!”
Coldin quickly moved passed Azazel in a rush toward the door. The Ender’s face followed him with a growing smirk as he ran for the exit.
He stood in front of the door and turned back to them, “You all don’t know the shit I’ve been through, the shit I’ve seen. Sandy... That crazy bitch. Used me like a damn puppet. I don’t even know how long… how long I have been gone. And I need my life back.” He turned the handle, opened the door.
And there in the hallway, stood Azazel.
“Oh no, Officer. You are gonna stay in this apartment, until we have something made crystal clear. Now take a few steps back,” Azazel said with a stoic face free from the smile that normally adorned its surface. He placed a finger on the barrel chest of Coldin and began to slowly push him back.
The officer’s large and imposing stature, all of his strength, meant nothing opposed to a force beyond any he faced guarding the cell blocks. All it took was a single thin, boney finger pressed against his chest to stop Coldin like a bus colliding with a bulldozer. He took a step back to brace himself, then another, and another, and soon his shoes just slid across the apartment’s carpet until he was far enough in that Azazel could close the apartment door. Coldin struggled in vain, grunting in anger and panic as the Ender pressed a little more forward while flashing his teeth in benevolent delight. After a moment, Coldin stopped and the struggle was over.
Azazel placed one finger on Coldin’s shoulder. The pressure was slow, and built until he was Atlas holding the world. He struggled, but Coldin fell to one knee as Azazel grinned maniacally.
“Coldin Kurt,” said the smiling Azazel. “Your kind don’t normally get to see my beautiful face unless they are getting a personal escort to the life after, consider yourself a lucky, and unlucky man.”
“Now,” he continued. “You may think your recent ordeal was a bit harsh, maybe even a little gruesome–”
Coldin stared, defeated but with a strong front to hide the true sense of weakness, helplessness, that ran like rapid rivers through him.
“-but, I’m here to tell you that things can get much worse. So, here is my bargain,” Azazel gave him a playful nod. “I can either show you a life where severed heads and blowin’ killers seems like paradise,” his tone and accent changed for just the remnants of a moment, “or, you can join this… elite few.”
Coldin looked around the room. He was now under eye level of Azazel whose gaze was deep and chilling. Hanging over the rear of the couch, like a curious puppy, was the odd child, Aldrich. Beside him was the ever-stern and imposing Jackson Crowe who just peered at the two of them intently.
“From this day forward, much like the peers who surround you today, you work for me.” Azazel stated, “My existence, and the work the Order back there, stays here. You talk about us? Things get difficult. You screw up a job for him? Things get difficult. You even think of running away?”
“Things get difficult?” asked the now-timid Coldin.
Azazel returned to his eerie smile and creepy stare. “If you need some examples, I’d ask the boy over there ‘bout all of that.” His accent had come back to his old New Yorker style. A dark cloud opened behind him, pouring out thick, black smoke. He stepped backwards into it and just as he began to fade entirely, he said, “Jackie, see you tomorrow for your next case.” Azazel vanished and with him so did the dark smoke clouds.
Coldin stood back up, shaking off his nervousness and turning with a more serious stare towards Aldrich. Jackson also turned towards Aldrich and soon the tension in the room grew, as did the silence. The boy continued to smile, his eyes moving like a pendulum from one man to the other as if sizing them both up. If he were to size them up, he would have named them “Large and Larger.” Coldin’s eyes followed his while making his way around the couch.
The officer pulled himself together, as much as he could for what had happened. He felt trapped, and for the most part he was. He swallowed his saliva as if he was choking down the new reality he lived in, the same mysterious, unnerving one that Aldrich and Jackson had become a part of. As calm as he could, with a tremble in his voice, he said, “Alright kid, tell me about these consequences.”
All was still but the wind over the cobbled streets that night. A middle-aged man stood on the stoop at the front of his townhouse with smoke creeping up from the glossed oak of his pipe. The gray swirls wiggled and squirmed as they ran by the glow of a street lamp. He watched it rise through the small circular lenses of hi
s glasses, which rested on the bridge of a nose that held watch over a curled mustache. His hair slicked to one side over his thin face. The brown, tweed suit was tight over his torso covering a full belly. The lamps gave a light glow that reflected on the surface of the wet brick of the street and sidewalk. Each gave a little of their limited visibility that lit auric circles on the stone roads that squeezed between rows of homes.
This was his favorite time of the day. His work at the pharmaceutical department of the hospital was over; a job he felt was beneath a man of his mind. Dinner with his family had just ended, his wife now tending to the children before he would re-enter his home and tuck them in. Then he would share time alone with his wife, a woman he held higher than any other being, before tending to his other work in the cellar with his eager assistant; a glass of honey laced wine.
“Aldrich, the children are ready for their story!” a feminine voice called from inside. He tucked away his pipe and entered his home.
There was not much to it, but it was enough for them. Before him stood a long row of wood-trimmed steps that led up towards the bedrooms. To his right was his modest living room, decorated with a small fireplace, a large bookshelf, and a plump couch among other items and antiques. Off of that was their kitchen his wife loved to decorate with the styles of southern America, much to his displeasure. Of course there was a single door on the side of the staircase, leading down shoddy wooden steps into a large open room where Aldrich would work.
“One of these days I will join you for a smoke. There are these new tobacco items from America that the store a bit down the abbey carries! Edith swears they’ve been out for twenty years, but they only ju–”
“You know,” Aldrich interrupted softly, “my heart would love that, my love, yet we cannot for The Ripper is still on the loose. And it is out of the question for me to lose you to a monster such as that.” He stroked her pale, tender cheek gently. Their eyes met before she closed them, pressing her hand against the back of his and resting her face against it.
Order of Dust Page 10
