Immortal Remains: A Tim Reaper Novel

by Sean Cummings

  The ground pitched sharply and my rifle fell out of my hands as I doubled over, clutching my stomach. Thunder rumbled in the distance as a blinding flash of light temporarily blinded me for a moment. I gave my head a shake and blinked as I rolled over to see a pair of pristine bare white feet along with perfectly sculpted calves and a bleached white winged cocoon surrounding the familiar shape of Ezekiel, my former boss.

  I knelt before him knowing full well that if I didn’t, he’d probably take offense and do something really bad like vaporizing me, which wouldn’t have surprised me.

  “Ezekiel,” I said, surprised that he’d showed up. “I didn’t summon you.”

  His wings folded back once again revealing his bare, muscular chest. In his left hand was a glowing orb that sparked and hissed as if it were alive with electricity.

  “I know what you intend to do, death-dealer,” he rumbled. “I know how your mind works – perhaps you’ve forgotten this fact.”

  I continued kneeling as the nausea subsided. “Then you’ll know that I’m trying to find out who is killing your kind. This guy is my only link because he killed that priest.”

  Ezekiel’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps he did – but I cannot allow you to interfere with his part in this.”

  That came as a surprise. Angels aren’t known for direct intervention in human affairs. If anything they’re like Jael; the angel who’d tried to lead that pedophile creep to choose the straight and narrow path.

  “Interfere?” I nearly spat out the words. “This guy shot the hell out of me three days ago, and if you’re all knowing, all seeing, then you sure as shit know that I’m not going to kill him – I need to question him, that’s all.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and regarded me with a look of either disdain or contempt – it was hard to tell. “In my hand is the very thing you’ve sought all these long years, death-dealer. It is that which you covet more than anything in this world or the next.”

  I stared at the orb as its power washed over me. I was immediately bathed in shroud of energy as old as time itself. It whispered to me, beckoning me to reach out and touch it; to feel the stirrings of countless human souls – to feel the endless procession of life and death and become the being that I once was. To offer the touch of death and take a life-lived. It was almost too much to bear; the wailing and tears of families crying out in pain and anguish at the loss of a loved one. I covered my ears and ground my teeth together to block it out.

  I could feel a bead of sweat rolling down the center of my back as I fought against the urge to take hold of what Ezekiel was offering. It would be so easy to touch it and take my place among my kind. To forever leave the human world and all its worries, but I couldn’t. That voice; that pleading voice that said help me. It was still there, as clear and as purposeful as the very first time I’d heard it. Whether it was His voice or the voice of one of His servants in peril, it was my calling. I had to do this – I had to find the killer.

  I rose to my feet and walked right up to Ezekiel. “No,” I said, my voice oozing with suspicion. “You’re tempting me – angels don’t tempt people. I think that you’re playing by someone else’s rules all of a sudden and that ain’t the way it’s supposed to be done. Your little intervention is going tits up, Ezekiel. You will allow me to do what I was chosen to do.”

  He clenched his fist around the orb and it dissolved into a glittering mist that enveloped his entire hand. He pulled it into his chest and then he folded his wings around his body as he stared at me with full blown anger in his eyes.

  “This is not over, death-dealer. You could have rejoined your brethren and taken your place among those whose purpose is fixed by powers greater than you can possibly imagine.”

  Then I did something completely unexpected; I reached out and gave Ezekiel a small shove. Don’t ask me why I did it, but there was a smugness to his voice that made me want to punch his freaking lights out. I pushed him again and he looked at me with shocked surprise. He unfolded his wings and immediately a flaming sword appeared in his right hand. He swung at me in a high arc, missing me by inches, so I lifted my leg and booted him hard in the chest. He toppled backward, the sword falling at my feet.

  “Those powers that are greater than I can possibly imagine are telling me there won’t be any smiting today, asshole,” I growled, as I picked up the sword. “You might want to remember your place because it looks to me like He is siding with me on this one and I’d imagine there’s going to be a shit pile of divine wrath for you to be dealing with if you try to intervene again.”

  The angel gave me a look of utter shock as he got back to his feet. It was as if someone had knocked the wind out of him. “This … this cannot be!” he cried out in anger as he looked skyward. “I am your servant and you choose to ally yourself with the likes of him? He is nothing … he is a death-dealer! He cannot interfere with what has begun – he cannot be trusted!”

  I grasped the sword tightly as I gazed down at the blade. It looked to be made of gold and was polished to near mirror-like clarity. The pommel was a perfect sphere and the hilt covered my entire closed fist. The blade had to be nearly three feet long and though it should have been heavy, it was as light as a twig in my hand. I swung it around my body, slicing through the air as Ezekiel stared at me, a look of horror on his face.

  “The die is cast, death-dealer,” he hissed. “I came to you this day with an offer to let you rejoin those who came before you and you spat in my face. Let it be known now, here in this place that you chose wrongly.”

  “Maybe,” I grunted. “But I got a cool sword out of the deal and a pretty clear indication that you’re on somebody’s shit list. Not everybody gets a free Holy sword, and my gut tells me I’m going to need it before all this is over.”

  He stomped up to me so that he was no more than an inch from my face and poked his finger into my chest. I rolled my eyes down to look at his finger and then I stared him right in the eye. “You have chosen to remain among mortals,” he said. “But know this … you will experience more loss than you can conceive now that you’ve made your choice. Not every form of pain in the mortal world comes from dealing blows with your enemy. There is another kind of pain the likes of which you cannot possibly imagine, and take heed: I know you better than you know yourself. When you drink from the cup of sorrow remember this day. Remember that you had a choice, death-dealer.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “We done? I’ve got a sniper to take down and there’s still this business of the nasty piece of work that’s killing angels.”

  A sharp gust of wind appeared out of nowhere as Ezekiel slowly spread his wings and then jettisoned skyward. The darkness began to recede as thunder once again carpeted the air with vibrations that I could feel in my fillings. In seconds I was standing alone under that flat grey sky, sword in hand and struck dumb by what had just transpired.

  Ezekiel tried to tempt me.

  An angel had tried to tempt me.

  What … the … hell?

  Maybe Ezekiel was hoping for Holy glory by finding the killer all on his own or maybe he simply detested and distrusted me enough to try to remove me from the scene lest I cause more problems than the Halls of the Holy could manage. Whatever it was, the guy upstairs had just shown his displeasure in Ezekiel’s meddling by giving me a sword of divine origin not to mention the ability to effectively lay the boots to one of his most powerful creations.

  I gazed down at the sword as I slid it inside my rifle case. It was a powerful weapon designed for dealing with near-omnipotent beings … like someone or something powerful enough to kill the shit out of four angels and four demons without breaking a sweat. The very act of divining the sword onto me was a clear message from up on high: at some point in the not-too-distant future, I would be going toe-to-toe with this killer. I only hoped that the sword would give me some kind of edge when push came to shove.

  I glanced out over the boulders in time to see a plume of dust in the distance. I looked at m
y watch – it was nearly eleven o’clock. Sparks was on her way and I had a sniper to catch, so I dropped down into the prone position and peered through my rifle scope. In minutes she was at the bottleneck, so she texted me that she was in position. I texted back for her to stay put and then I looked down the grid road through my scope to see another plume of dust about two miles back.

  He was coming. Just like the message he’d asked Dane Woollcott to pass onto me. I cocked the rifle and took aim.

  “Let him come,” I rumbled.

  18

  I grabbed my binoculars and had another look. The vehicle tearing up the grid road wasn’t anything flashy. As a matter of fact, it was as unassuming to look at as the description Dane Woollcott had given me of the guy who’d been asking for me. It was a plain white crossover SUV — a car that looked like pretty much every other car on the road these days. I kept a close eye on its approach for a few more minutes as Sparks sent me another text message. I glanced at my phone and texted back, “I’m in position – stay there” with my thumb. A light rain started to fall. I peered through the telescopic sight of my sniper rifle as the crossover slowed down to a crawl.

  Exhaling slowly, I took aim at the SUV’s right rear tire and squeezed off a round. The bullet hit its mark and a mixture of air and vulcanized rubber flew out from the tire’s sidewall. I squeezed another round and shot out the front right tire. The car pitched sharply as I ran the scope up to the windshield so I could get a look at the guy who’d been tailing me for three days.

  He was just as Dane Woollcott had described. A plain looking man dressed in a neat, grey suit. He sported a grey fedora on his head, a hat that looked like it had been stolen from a vintage 1940s collection, and he wore a crisp, white shirt with a straight black tie. I watched closely as he put the crossover in gear and tried to reverse, but I fired a round straight into his engine block, disabling the vehicle. Mister Shooter wasn’t going anywhere this time.

  I thumbed my cell phone and texted a message for Sparks to cover me and then stuffed the phone into the pocket of my greatcoat, all the while keeping the shooter in my sights. He must have seen my muzzle flash with that last shot, because he reached for his gun. I fired a warning shot right through his windshield. It struck about a foot from his head. A warning: the next round would be his head if he made another move.

  He raised his hands as I spotted Sparks doubling around the bend and straight into the cut line, her Glock at the ready. I grabbed up the sniper rifle and slung the rifle case containing the sword over my shoulder and doubled back to confront the shooter. It took me about five minutes to climb down from my firing position. I emerged through a thicket of diamond willows behind the crossover.

  “Nice to see you, Reaper,” shouted Sparks. “Once this is over we’re going to have a little chat about using police officers as bait.

  “My bad,” I shouted back as I pulled out my Beretta. “How do you feel about trying out some painful interrogation techniques on this guy? I heard the Halifax cops had recently taken up water boarding.”

  The driver’s window rolled down, and he put both hands on the steering wheel. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said in a sharp, almost tin-like voice. “You haven’t a clue about why I came out here today or why I’ve been following you.”

  I pressed the barrel of my Beretta to his temple and cocked the hammer. “Maybe … but I know precisely what’s going to happen next,” I said. “You’re going to climb out of your car and we’re going to go for a walk. You’re going to answer some questions and then I’m going to hand you over to that really pissed off woman over there. Her name is Detective Sergeant Carol Sparks and she hasn’t shot anyone today. That kind of makes her cranky. She’s not a nice person when she’s cranky.”

  He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “You know nothing, death-dealer. Why have these creatures hired you?”

  Death-dealer? Creatures? Okay, scratch my assumption that the shooter was a human being. I grabbed the back of his head and mashed his face against the steering wheel hard enough it bounced.

  “Well, seeing as how you ain’t exactly human, I guess I can do pretty much as I please with you. Sparks, come on over here and meet the second supernatural asshole you’ve seen in as many days. From the smell of this one, I’d say he’s probably working for the guys downstairs. What are you … a hellion? A demon working his way up the ranks? You know, I freaking hate demons … they’re even bigger assholes than angels. But it does explain how you managed that vanishing act inside the crypt after shooting the shit out of me.”

  Sparks approached the passenger window, her Glock poised. “He looks human to me, Reaper,” she said. “What’s that sticking out of your gun case? Is … is that a sword?”

  I reached over my shoulder and pulled the sword out of the case, its blade glinted in the sunlight. The shooter recoiled, shielding his eyes from its glare.

  “Put it away, death-dealer,” he hissed. “Please … put it back!”

  I shook my head and glanced over at Sparks. “I had an encounter this morning with someone from the redemption department of Heavenly Industries Incorporated. Their middle man tried to stop me from whacking fedora boy here, so I kicked his ass and took the sword.”

  Spark’s jaw dropped. “An angel? You took it from an angel?

  “Yep. I got it from Ezekiel,” I said, slipping the sword back into the gun case. “He’s the Angel of Death and Transformation — my former boss.”

  The shooter spun his head around to look at me. “You’ve told this creature about what you are?” he gasped. “It knows the truth about the light and darkness?”

  “Keep calling her a creature and she’s going to take it out on your ass,” I replied. “Get out of the car.”

  The demon slid across the seat and stepped out of the car. He was a good foot shorter than me — about five foot two. His eyes were pale blue, almost milky and I noticed he didn’t have a single hair follicle on his face. It was almost as if the skin he was wearing was a latex suit. Something thrown together to hide his true self – an image that would cause even the most hearty person to empty his bowels should he ever have the misfortune of seeing what a demon looked like up close.

  I pushed him hard across the hood of the car, my gun at the back of his head. “It’s time for some answers. You got a name?”

  He grunted, and said, “Abraxas. My name is Abraxas.”

  “Why did you try to shoot me the other night?”

  “To put you to the test, death-dealer. To see if you have truly become one of these so-called chosen creatures or whether you still carry the essence that is you.”

  “Why did you kill the priest?” Sparks asked.

  I clipped the demon in the back of the head with the pistol grip on my Beretta. “Now answer her nicely, Abraxas. I told you that she was cranky.”

  It was at this point the demon decided to offer a small display of his power. His head rolled around a complete one-hundred-and-eighty degrees amid the sickly sound of grinding bones and stretched flesh. Its thin lips curled up into a hideous grin and it stretched out a long, black tongue, flicking it like a serpent.

  “It’s been done, asshole!” I snarled, as I hit him between the eyes with my gun.

  What happened next took even me by surprise.

  A single shot rang out and the right side of Abraxas’ head disappeared in a mist of black ichor and tissue. I spun my head over to see a thin tendril of smoke coming from the muzzle of Sparks’ Glock. She stared at the demon, wide-eyed, and looked about ready to empty her entire clip into the monster.

  “You shot him?” I groaned. “You freaking shot him, Sparks! I thought that I was a hard-ass prick, but geez, remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  “You’re already on my bad side,” she fired back.

  Abraxas’ head rolled back to its original position and the demon emitted a small sigh of resignation. “For the life of me, I don’t know why Heaven and Hell r
emain mired in a struggle for these pathetic creature’s souls.”

  “I-It’s still alive,” Sparks said. “But, I shot it.”

  “Yeah, he’s a demon, Carol,” I said. “Humans can’t kill them.”

  “But, someone is killing us,” said Abaraxas. “And why it has fallen to you as the one being that can put an end to this is beyond my understanding.”

  I glanced at the gore that had been sprayed all over the hood and windshield of the car, releasing my grip on Abraxas. He slid off the hood onto the ground and fell into a squatting position like a farmer checking his crops. Sparks wheeled to the front of the vehicle, keeping a healthy distance from the demon.

  “Try not to get into a discussion with him, Sparks,” I warned. “He might be weakened because you blew half of his head off, but he’s still a hell spawn. He’ll trick you into something you’ll regret. These pricks know how to hold a grudge.”

  Abraxas lifted his head and gazed at Sparks, clearing the ichor-like blood from his eyes. “Yes, death-dealer, it’s what we do, isn’t it? And she has witnessed her own future. I can see it in her eyes. She knows the time and place of her own death. I can change these things for you human. I can change what will come to pass.”

  I kicked him hard in the ribs and heard a loud crack. “See what I mean, Sparks? Demons are programmed for this kind of shit. Maybe you should head back to your car and let me deal with him.”

  Sparks shook her head. “No, I’ll stay. I can always shoot him again.”

  “That’s the spirit,” I said, firing a single shot into the dirt for effect. “All right, Abraxas, tell me what you know or we’ll use you for target practice.”

  He flashed a toothy smile at Sparks, and I caught a glimpse of hundreds of tiny maggot-like worms squirming through the massive hole where the rest of his head should have been.