Echoes of the Past (Demon Squad)

by Tim Marquitz

  Thunder rumbled as I made my way back to the living room, and I heard the patter of rain striking the roof. It’d been coming down pretty steadily since the Tree of Life started its recovery from Gabriel’s assault on Heaven, nature doing its best to repair the damage it had wrought. As I turned into the foyer, I could smell the moisture in the air. It’s thick, musky scent was a huge difference from the normally dry, desert air of El Paseo. It was a pleasant change from the oppressive, summer heat.

  A flash of lightning drew my attention to the front door, bright light peeking through the frame and illuminating the wall in a golden sliver. Drops of rain splattered through the crack and wet the floor, and I realized the door was open. I thought Karra might have left it that way when she left, but that didn’t make sense. She would have taken the portal seeing how she was carrying Chatterbox. Hard to slip out unnoticed with a severed zombie head that never shuts up stuffed under your arm.

  My senses not picking up anything in or around the house, I figured the storm had blown it open. Ethan and Jonas had burnt the wards out when they’d come to collect me the first time, so I wasn’t too worried about it, but paranoia runs deep in my blood. I pushed my will out further and scanned the area. There was nothing unusual.

  I peered outside. The night was quiet, and the street empty, unlike the last time I’d answered my door. The slight wind fluttered past me and chilly water splashed against my cheeks, the rain blowing straight toward the front of the house. It felt good. I took another sip of my beer and watched the shower for a minute, standing in the doorway. Lightning crackled in the distance and lit up my front yard, drawing my attention to something reflective on the sidewalk. I stepped off the porch and went to where I’d seen the flicker.

  It was a silver-looking coin, the size of a half-dollar, lying on the ground. Picking it up, it was heavy in my hand and a little rough, as though it were made of pewter. I glanced at the coin and saw it had a design on its face. It was like one of the old Batman TV series sound effect balloons. Jagged edges in tinted red made it look like an explosion. The word Bam! was printed on it in bold, black lettering.

  I looked up to see a flash in the distance, above the rooftops of the house across the street. My mind processed it as lightning, but something more primal screamed a warning.

  A bee sting of agony screamed to life at my forehead. My legs collapsed and I was knocked backwards onto the porch, crashing hard into the ground. Stars swirled before my eyes and I couldn’t see. I tried to get up, but my arms and legs were numb. I couldn’t feel them. My thoughts stumbled all over each other as I tried to think.

  The stars winked out one by one as blackness flooded the edges of my vision. I felt my body convulse…and then I felt nothing.

  Chapter Three

  “I told you he’d survive.”

  A strange, smooth voice filtered through my ears and slid muffled into my brain. I heard the words, but I couldn’t make much sense of them; they sounded almost foreign. Pain flitted at the edge of my senses, muted and nagging more than debilitating, but it was there. Bright dots danced across the screens of my eyelids, but I was afraid to open them. There was a slight sense of motion and pressure inside my skull. It felt like there was a worm wiggling its way out of my brain.

  “Damn. That’s some freaky shit right there,” another voice said from somewhere above me, this one rougher as though it belonged to a lifelong smoker. It sounded clearer than the first.

  Cold and dizzy, I lay there as consciousness bitchslapped me into coherence and chased the pain away. The skin at my forehead twitched and something warm and wet slid down the side of my head, bouncing off my ear and thumping to the floor beside me. Logic and reasonable thought came back, at least as much as I was capable of, and it hit me what happened.

  I’d been shot.

  “What. The. Fuck?” Fury burned my cheeks and filled my veins with adrenaline. I sat up in a rush and opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the barrel of my .45 leveled at my face. My heart stilled in my chest. You think I’d be used to it by now.

  “We both know what kind of bullets are in this, so let’s keep it civil.”

  I glared past the barrel to the hand holding it, then up the black-clad arm to the man behind it. Dressed in what closely resembled a SWAT uniform, though with no identifying markings, the man who held my gun was older, but there was no taking his age for weakness. Shaved bald, his bushy eyebrows only had a sprinkling of black amidst the gray, but they drew my attention to the swirling green of his eyes. Narrowed, they stared at me from a sharp-featured face without expression. The only sign of life was the tiny flicker of the muscle of his jaw beneath his leathered skin. He reminded me a lot of Poe. He held the gun steady.

  “Civil? You shot me in the head.”

  “Actually, he did.” He motioned to a man standing behind him in the small, featureless room without taking his eyes, or the gun, off me.

  Also dressed in SWAT regalia, the other guy was easily a foot and a half shorter than the first, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in girth. His arms stretched the fabric of his sleeves to its fullest, like he was smuggling mutant coconuts. The mass of his chest put McConnell to shame, and his short legs were thick as columns running down from the puffed up flak jacket. A little darker than Katon, his brown eyes stared at me from a round face. Even his cheeks were muscular. He held up a sniper rifle and wiggled it, smiling as he did.

  “That’s Captain Emmett Johnson,” the older man told me, once more gesturing to the dwarf. “I’m Colonial Eli Castor, and you are Frank ‘Triggaltheron’ Trigg.”

  “Thanks for telling me who I am.” My eyes drifted to Johnson. “I had forgotten seeing how a chunk of my brain was splattered across the sidewalk.” That seemed to amuse him. His smile grew wider.

  “Well, Mister Trigg, I apologize for our abrasive introduction, but we felt it best to set the tone of our discussion early so we might head off any possible hostility…on your part, of course. I hope you understand,” Castor stated, as he pointed to a chair at my back. “Have a seat, please.”

  “Of course.” Pleasantries aside, I knew a threat when I heard one. I had no idea who the hell these guys were, but they’d made their point by putting a bullet into my skull right outside my own home. They also knew about the DA slayers and my name—all of it—so they were connected to the supernatural world somehow.

  I stood up slowly and dropped into the chair like a good boy as I scanned the room. These guys were human without a hint of magic whiffing off of them. Interesting. My own power flickered inside me. I felt pretty confident I could take them, if I needed to, without getting killed, but I wanted to know who they were and what they wanted first.

  “Okay, you’ve got my attention. What now?”

  “We have a little chat.” Castor handed my pistol to Johnson, who didn’t seem to mind keeping it trained on me. “But first, let me introduce our boss.”

  He went to the reinforced steel door at the front of the room and knocked twice. Pressurized locks hissed and I heard a number of heavy bolts release, one at a time. Once they were done, he pulled the door open.

  The room went cold, my breath misting in the sudden chill.

  Right outside stood a tall, pale woman dressed in the chic equivalent of the SWAT suits, minus the vest. Her pale skin stood out bright against the deep blue of her form-fitting outfit. Purple eyes looked me over as she strolled into the room, her long white hair flowing behind her on an imaginary breeze. Castor shut the door behind her.

  For a second, I thought she might be a revenant as my senses picked up the essence of her power. I let out a wispy sigh when I realized it wasn’t quite at that level. She was too solid for that, too. My puckering asshole relaxed when I caught the faint hint of decay mixed within the drift of her energy. She was undead of a different kind; a wight. I’d only seen a couple of them over the years. Neither had looked anything like this one.

  For a dead chick, she was pretty hot.

&n
bsp; The door closed behind her, the bolts sliding home, as she came to stand before me. “My name is Rebecca Shaw.” She held out her manicured hand.

  I waved it away. “No offense, but I have more than enough frigid women in my life already. I’m not really looking to add another.” I winked and eased back in the seat. “How about you explain why Captain Picard and Bushwick Bill over there shot and kidnapped me.”

  A cruel smile graced her lips. “Shot you?” She ran her cold fingertips across my forehead, sending a shiver down my spine. Her hand came away wet with blood but the wound had already healed. “I don’t see any kind of injury, do you captain, colonial?” she asked her flunkies.

  Both answered with a chuckled, “No, ma’am.”

  “As for kidnapping,” she continued, “we’re well within our rights to bring you in for questioning. It’s hardly abduction. You’re a suspect in a grievous case of crimes against humanity. We’re simply doing our duty.”

  Her words jumbled together inside my head like a train wreck of huh? I had no idea what she was talking about, but it was pretty clear she and her minions worked for some kind of government agency. Now I only needed to find out the specifics of who, what, where, when, and why.

  “Who are y’all, and what do you want?” I got straight to the point.

  She wiped her hand on my sleeve, her smile still cracking her narrow face. She had nice teeth. “We work for the Department of Supernatural Investigation; DSI for short. The name is fairly self-explanatory, I would imagine. While the department has been in service for over ten years, the recent disturbance of supernatural energy that devastated the planet seemed to light a fire under the POTUS’ ass. We are now fully funded and authorized to do what needs to be done to end the threat of supernatural incursion.”

  “So, you’re the Ghostbusters? Where’s Chevy and Dan?”

  Johnson growled and took a step forward, but Rebecca stopped him with a look. “Joke if it makes you feel better, Trigg, but know this: We’ve been given every necessary clearance to deal with the problem as we see fit; as I see fit. As long as the bodies don’t float to the surface too often, no one in our government will be dredging the lake to look for them. Do you understand?”

  I just stared at her and grinned. I’ve been intimidated by the best in my life, and she didn’t even begin to qualify.

  She seemed to realize that. “Understand that I’m not trying to scare you. I know your relation to the Devil, and suspect you’ve seen far more frightening things than anyone in this room has ever experienced. However, we are not without resources. We set you up at your home, bagged and tagged you—without incident, I might add—using nothing more than our human element. All that cost less than ten dollars—gas money and a single bullet, if you’d like specifics.” She drew a step closer, a long finger pointing at my chest. “I can’t even go the movies for the amount of cash we spent taking you out. Imagine what we can do when we put our full effort behind something; to you, your friends and family. “

  “Don’t you dare!” Having just lost Abe to similar circumstances, my first instinct was to blast the smug bitch through the wall. I drew my power to me as I stood to face her, but it felt reluctant. It sat stagnant. My anger was tempered by surprise as I realized something in the room blocked me from calling on my magic.

  “You didn’t think we’d only taken away your gun, did you?”

  I had actually, but I kept that revelation to myself.

  She put her hand on my chest and pushed me back into the seat. I didn’t bother to resist. Even as mad as I was, I knew I’d catch a bullet in such a small room if I pushed my luck. I could wait.

  “We’re not quite the low-rent organization you picture us to be, demon, so I suggest you start taking us seriously.”

  “Oh, I will,” I assured her.

  She didn’t bat an eyelid at my hollow threat, getting straight to business. “Why don’t you tell us what you did to bring about the storms?”

  “What I did?” I shook my head. “You want me to take you seriously and then you go and ask a dumbass question like that? You’re able to shut down my magic in a closet, and you really think I have enough horsepower to rain down destruction on a global scale? All you’re doing is playing in the big girl pants, Frosty. You got a long way to go before they actually fit.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Johnson told me.

  “Or what, you’ll shoot me again?” I met his snarl with a chuckle, getting to my feet again. “Go for it. Save me the grief of having to deal with another set of flaming hoops to jump through.”

  His finger twitched over the trigger as he leveled the gun at my face, and I just smiled. Smiled and hoped he didn’t call my bluff. I really, really, really didn’t want to get shot again. For the first time since I was fifteen, I had something—someone—to live for. Things weren’t perfect but damn, having half my head blown off would probably be a hell of a deterrent to getting laid.

  Fortunately, Rebecca called off her dog, pulling him aside. “We have sources that tell us you were involved in what happened in Heaven. Do you deny that?”

  “Involvement is a far cry from causation.” Thank you Court TV. “And for the record, pretty much everyone in the supernatural world, except you apparently, was involved somehow. You had to be hiding under a rock not to be.” I glanced over her head, pinning my eyes on the spot where I felt the cameras would most likely be. If she answered to someone, I wanted them to get the point. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, or where you heard it from, but somebody’s lying to you. My shoulders aren’t broad enough to hold up all that bullshit.”

  Rebecca stared at me a moment, staying quiet while her flunkies fidgeted behind her. I just waited; wasn’t much else to do. Finally, she broke the standoff.

  “You’re free to go, Mister Trigg, but I suggest you tread carefully. The DSI will do what it must to protect our nation from threats both global and from across the dimensions. If you and Baalth believe you can make another Hell here on Earth, you are sadly mistaken.”

  Great. Not only am I being labeled as some kind of supernatural terrorist, but the woman thinks me and Baalth are in the same jihad club together. I rolled my eyes. For all her bragging, her intel was for shit. Baalth didn’t need me to take over the world, and he wasn’t even around when Heaven was attacked.

  Sadly, all that probably made Rebecca and her organization more dangerous than if she was privy to the truth. She didn’t know the real threats from holes in the ground, so she’d be fucking them all with a giant strap-on until they squealed.

  Yet another wonderful day in the neighborhood, I stood up and gestured toward the exit. “Since I’m free to go, you mind opening the blast door and letting me out? While you’re at it,” I turned to Johnson, “Miss Daisy could use a ride, too.”

  The captain’s muttered response was drowned in the hiss of the locks.

  “Get him out of here,” Gabrielle said. As I walked out the room and into the hall, I heard her call out. “Watch your ass, Trigg, because we’ll be most definitely be watching it.”

  I stuck it out a little and blew her a kiss. Who knew? Maybe I’d get lucky after all.

  Chapter Four

  One of these days I’m gonna have to learn to be more specific.

  Johnson and Castor gave me a ride all right, but it sure wasn’t home. As far away from my house as possible, but still within the city limits, they dropped me off at the very edge of downtown. The fact they stopped short of Old Town was telling.

  Castor barely slowed the van before Johnson pushed me out the side door and onto the sidewalk. I stumbled and nearly fell into a homeless camp, narrowly missing someone’s cardboard mansion before I caught my balance. My graceful dismount earned me a half dozen verbal lashings and one crooked finger raised in my honor. It wasn’t the correct one, but old boy only had two fingers. I couldn’t hold it against him. He got his point across well enough.

  The DSI flunkies roared off, kicking up dust, further pissing off the lo
cal indigents—and of course, Johnson kept my gun. Life wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t lose at least one a week.

  After smoothing things over with the homeless folks, a twenty spot going a long way toward buying peace, I headed off. I’d only managed a few sips off my beer before I was so rudely shot in the head, and I was definitely thinking I could use one now. My plans ruined by yet another unscheduled waylaying, I figured I’d find a halfway decent bar, which didn’t water down their drinks, and see if I could get Karra to come and join me. Far as I knew, she still had no clue I was back. It was time to remedy that and get some welcome home loving.

  It took a while before I found a place that carded the roaches before letting them in, though I didn’t notice whether they charged them cover. Guess it didn’t matter since I wasn’t planning on staying all that long.

  The place was called HoJo’s, but judging from the mural that covered the side wall of the building, which depicted a lanky guy dressed in a purple suit with a gaggle of scantily clad and unnaturally busty women at his feet, you could probably reverse the name and it would fit. It was a charming little establishment, which clearly raised the property values in the neighborhood. It certainly went out of its way to provide its clientele with a comprehensive list of amenities to satisfy their full range of entertainment interests.

  A guy dressed in an extra, extra long sports jersey and bright yellow shorts stood outside peddling drugs while a couple of homely hookers took up residence at the corner. They flagged down all the cars that passed by; all two of them. There was even a payphone on the wall.

  I dug in my pocket for some change and had to make a quick decision as to which of the three services I should buy with the handful of nickels I pulled out. I almost didn’t have enough to use the phone.

  Change in hand, I convinced the druggie I’d smoked my daily ration of crack already and didn’t need any more, and bulled my way past the working girls to the payphone. Best of all, it worked. I popped the coins into the slot and kept my eye on the dealer and the ladies in the reflection of the big glass window, which framed the front of the bar. It was smudged and covered in things I didn’t have the courage to identify, but with a view of the world behind me, I didn’t have to worry about being mugged.