Into Darkness (The Guardian Book 2)

by Jason Davis

  So, of course, when no one was home, Ally and he had gone through it many times. There were things in there no child should ever see in their parents’ room, and after they had, it could never be unseen. He felt dirty for even knowing something like that existed.

  To his knowledge, Bobby and Mikey had never gone in there. It was the vault that was unopened. Even now, the door was closed.

  Before he thought about it, he ran to the room. Barely turning the handle, he crashed through the door, slamming it against the wall. The window was on the other side of the room. It was closed, just a faint glow of whatever light came from outside, but he didn’t pause as he ran toward it.

  He hurled himself toward the glass. He felt the crushing pressure against his skull, then the sudden release as the glass broke, the painful reality crashing into him like the shards exploding around him. His world spun as he fell out of the house.

  CHAPTER 27

  Rob took a step forward, not sure what he was stepping into. As he did, he felt the cross under his shirt burning cold against his skin. The black mist in front of him receded as he stepped, the store no longer lost to the bleak non-existence. It was still dark, but now looked like a dimly lit room, light filtering in through the window.

  He still didn’t see any tint on the glass, but would he? He only had recent experience with tinting because of high school kids over-tinting their car windows. He wasn’t sure he had seen much tinting of store windows, but from what he knew, even if the window were tinted, it wouldn’t make the room this dark. He took another step, the darkness swirling around him, receding as he stepped in farther. Over his shoulder, he saw the open door fading, disappearing.

  The darkness surrounded him, his fears confirming this wasn’t right.

  “Shit,” he said. He could see his breath, knowing the sudden chill he felt wasn’t his imagination. The room got colder as he stepped into it.

  Here he was, walking into some shit again. Why in the hell did this always happen around him? It sometimes felt like he had been safer in Chicago.

  Ever since they moved out of the city, he’d stepped from one supernatural thing to another. Were all small towns like this? If so, he was surprised more people didn’t pack up and move to the cities. He only had to worry about getting shot there. He had no idea what he had to worry about now, but the danger felt greater than just for his life. Since they had left the city, it had become a continuous fight for his soul, demons constantly after him and his family.

  Damn.

  He reached to where his gun should be…if he were on duty. Of course, it wasn’t there. He wasn’t on duty. He was supposed to meet up with the state trooper who was on duty, and it would have been bad form for him to be carrying.

  Again, you dipshit, you got pulled into some serious shit, and again, you do not have your sidearm.

  If this continued, Rob worried he’d become one of those nuts, always afraid to be without his gun. He would have to name it. He’d call it Elvira, and it would be his mistress. He’d start sleeping with her under his pillow, and would even take a shower with her nearby. Because when something serious went down, his dumb ass was here without a gun once again.

  He took another step, just barely making out a female voice coming from the back room. It was faint, although it didn’t sound like she was whispering. It sounded like a yell, but muffled.

  “Agnon, Desinine, Verata, I call upon the…”

  The voice faded away and became harder to hear as he watched the fog thicken near the door.

  The darkness continued to swirl, pulling itself into the back of the room. He felt it moving. It was impossible to see, the dark so complete, it was just a wall of nothing. He could feel it shift and move, the chill reaching out to take him, then dissipating at his presence.

  It trickled over his skin, tugging at the hairs on his arm. Rob took a step toward it, following in one direction, then another. The room around him grew lighter, but it wasn’t because he walked through it. All the darkness moved past him and through the door, as if sucked in by some force around the edges.

  As he got closer, he could hear the air whistle around the door. Around him, the room grew lighter, but he kept his focus on the door. The whistling grew in intensity as the light was restored. First, a little bit of sunlight came in through the window, warming his skin. Then he could see the cooler to his right and hear the hum of the compressor working to keep the flowers inside a consistent temperature. The wall to his left became visible, and he could see the different inspirational posters, highlighting women being given flowers in various settings.

  There was a squealing hiss from around the door, more air being rapidly pulled through the small space. The pitch of the whistling grew higher, and there was just a haze around the outer edges of the door as Rob stepped in front of it and placed his hand on the knob.

  It was cold to the touch, like ice in his hand. Thoughts of being a child and being warned not to lick the flagpole in the winter resonated with him as the cold metal felt like it stuck to his palm.

  The door wouldn’t open. He put his considerable bulk into pushing on it, and as he did, it opened slowly. It was like time was warped because no matter how hard he pushed, the door moved like it was stuck in gel. The resistance always stayed equal to the pressure he applied.

  As the door finally opened into the room, he saw exactly the same thing as when he opened the front door to the shop…a wall of black. At first, it appeared solid, but as he stood there, he could see shadows flying through the mist. Shapes withered, dark tendrils moving around in a quick, lashing motion. He could feel them as they whipped around him. Some reached out, trying to pull him in; others ignored him and flowed around. The tendrils were so thick, it was hard to see past them and into the room.

  He stepped in, feeling like he was walking in mud. The floor before him felt slippery, not solid, and the world around him clung tightly to him. No, he wasn’t walking through mud, but quicksand, and he tried to pull himself free. It shifted, those cold tentacles rubbing against him as he moved. The heavy air pushed in around him.

  A gale-force wind slammed him back against the wall, just missing the open door. The force blew the air out of his lungs and he was left gasping. As hard as he tried, he could not pull any air in, even though the room was full of it whipping around. He tried to breathe in small gasps, but the pressure on his chest stayed constant.

  He reached out to the wall, hunching against the wind to pull himself along. He wasn't sure when his legs got knocked out from under him. Everything seemed to be spinning. He gasped. There wasn't enough air. He couldn't breathe. He had to get out of there.

  "Clatu...Sini...Definon!" he heard the woman scream. It was some kind of chant, but Rob could only hear brief segments of it as gaps in the swirling vortex came and went. "Hear me... Hear my call for power."

  He finally made it to the door, not realizing he had been thrown so far away. Stars had formed on the corner of his vision. The more he gasped, the more he felt like a fish out of water. His head felt heavy. He wanted to scream out in frustration, take a deep breath to push away all the madness forcing its way into his mind. It grew harder to think through all the chaos in and around him.

  Rob forced himself to look up, having to fight through the exhaustion threatening to take him. A young boy stood in the doorway, his pale skin having a luminescent quality as it glowed. He was covered in dirt, wearing what looked to have once been a blue t-shirt and jeans, but were now just pieces that clung to his frame, large holes exposing the torn flesh underneath.

  Instinctively, Rob pulled back, again reaching for his gun that wasn't there. The thing before him looked like a zombie, and while he knew he wouldn't have a chance, he wasn’t going to let it take him without a fight. He stayed still as the boy turned and looked at him. Rob expected the lifeless pale eyes he had seen before, surprised at the large black orbs looking at him with a hateful glare. Rob could see the malice behind them as they burned daggers into hi
s chest. There was something unnatural about this boy...and something familiar.

  He was relieved when he saw the boy turn his attention away, focusing at the swirling black mass behind Rob.

  "Come...darkness to me...fill...power!"

  Rob still only heard bits and pieces, but what he did hear didn't sound good. He'd stepped into another shitstorm. He really needed to start wearing cowboy boots and a hat with how often it felt like he had to ride in to save the day. At least he could justify the boots with how much shit he walked through, although Robyn would say it was for all the bullshit he liked to spread.

  Robyn... Thinking of her, remembering how much of an ass he had been to her that morning, sent a sudden pang through his chest, then the floodgates opened. He didn't know why he'd been such an asshole the last couple days. She was his everything. He’d run to the end of the world and fight off the zombie horde just to be with her. However, over the last couple days, he'd been thinking of everything but her. No, he'd done more than that. He'd thought of that woman, thinking about how he wanted to go at her, tear her clothes off.

  The sudden thought of the woman who owned the shop came back to him, but he no longer felt a lust after her flesh. He felt sick, not believing he had wanted those fantasies to be real. Just who had he been over the last few days? That had never been him. He knew who controlled his heart. He had given her the keys to that a long time ago when he said two magical words. They were the words that had empowered and completed him.. He had told her, "I do."

  He shook his head, shaking away the cobwebs and focusing on the here and now. He had to do something to stop this, but he wasn't sure what. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw faint glimmers of the woman, the darkness spinning around her. From what he could make out, she wore some kind of dark robe and a red mask. It had horns protruding from the forehead and painted black tears running from the blank eyes. There was nothing for him to identify the woman, but he knew. More than just hearing the voice as it called out, he could feel that she was there. There was a connection pulling him toward her.

  The boy still stood there, having taken a step into the room. He had lost that dark look, now looking worried. His eyes didn’t turn away from the woman, and if Rob didn’t know better, he would say the boy leaned back, like he had to shift his weight to keep from being pulled forward.

  “Bring the darkness to me.”

  Rob heard the woman’s voice as the swirling black started to fade around him. The boy seemed to fight, as whatever pulled Rob to the woman must have also been pulling him.

  So if the boy was being pulled to her, and Rob was being pulled to her, what would happen when they both reached her? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think it would be good. He couldn’t let her get to him, but he couldn’t let her get the boy, either.

  He turned to look back at her. The room started to lighten, the black tendrils streaming around them and flowing toward a long, double-edged knife. It was hard to make out much of it as the darkness flowed into the blade, only occasionally allowing him to see it had some kind of writing.

  An athame…

  He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he was sure that was it. The carvings on the blade, that strange language she chanted. This all had to be some kind of witchcraft.

  Was he ready to believe that? When had his life become so messed up that witchcraft became something real, not just weird shit he watched in movies? Did it matter? She was there, he was there, and she was doing something to his town. She must be the one taking the kids. She had to have killed the chief. Had he seen her doing something? Had the kids?

  The boy was still behind him. He could at least keep her from taking another one. He just had to find a way to stop her.

  Think, think, think. Come on, Rob. What the hell are you going to do?

  He hadn't realized the fog shrouding his thoughts had started lifting. The air wasn't as heavy, so why couldn't he focus? He just kept looking away from her, his eyes roaming the room. He kept seeing her, his mind filling with images of her naked body, her flesh pressed against his, her tongue invading his mouth as she pushed him against the wall.

  He didn't remember her having a bust as large as the images in his head, but they continued to pummel him. He felt himself getting excited, his breath becoming rapid. He thought his mind had started to clear, but it was now cluttered with images of her, images he wanted to be free from as she continued to force her way into his mind, raping his thoughts.

  "Believe. Don't let the darkness pull you in."

  Father William’s voice was loud in Rob's head. He didn't know why he thought of the young priest now, trying to push it away. The harder he tried, the more he focused on the young man standing at his pulpit, casting a prayer among his masses. Rob felt the air around him shifting, avoiding him, twisting around the room.

  He closed his eyes. Sometimes sight just felt like it got in the way, and if not seeing allowed him to clear some of the clutter from his thoughts, maybe that would make it stop. It didn't, but it did seem to silence some of the other noise of his head. He still saw her, but the beautiful woman he imagined was different. As he moved away from her, he could see her skin was more white than tan, wrinkles creasing her forehead and cheek. Her lips were not the luscious, full red lips he had felt pressing against him, but thin and chapped. Her eyes were dark, sunken. Her hair wasn’t blonde, but thin strands of white barely covering a sickly bald head.

  The woman didn't just look old. She was ancient. A fairy tale character reminiscent of a children's book. The beautiful woman had been replaced by the witch from Hansel and Gretel. Rob remembered the story. He used to read it to Jake when he put him to bed.

  With the new image of her, he was able to take another mental step back, no longer seeing the perky breasts. He saw sagging white sacks that were nothing more than hideous ripples of flesh, disgusting him.

  "Expel out the darkness," Father William whispered.

  Before, the priest had told him to believe. Rob really wasn't sure he could do that just yet, but he did know one thing he believed in with every ounce of his heart. He believed in his family, knowing he loved them and they loved him in return. He believed in Robyn and he believed in Jake.

  Rob could feel more of his body. He hadn't realized how numb and cut off from it he had become until he felt his knees, the stabbing pain from still being on the ground and having to move around in such an unnatural way. He wasn't in his twenties anymore, which his body loved to remind him of with different aches and pains, his knees and back just being part of the many.

  He could feel ice against his chest. It was a powerful, intense feeling, like fire against his skin, burning at the hairs. As it spread deeper, he felt it touching his lungs. The cold forced a warmth to flood in, along with deep breaths of air.

  The images drifted away, the fog lifting with them, allowing the world around him to refocus.

  Rob opened his eyes to look up at the woman. He could now see her clearly. She was old. How had he not seen it before? She was dressed in the same clothes he had seen earlier, the tight shirt and jeans, but her skin was a pale, sickly color, and her face was a mass of wrinkles.

  She wasn't paying any attention to him, and he was glad for it. He felt like he was coming out of a trance and didn't know when or if she would notice. Her eyes were transfixed on the darkness as it continued to flow into her athame. If he was going to do something to save himself and the boy, now was the time.

  Damn. I know I'm going to regret this.

  He rushed at her. Sure, he had played some football in high school, but that was a long time ago. Plus, he had never been good at it. No, this was just all out, going in for a tackle. Most days, he would have been worried about hurting someone, and himself in the process.

  He didn't hold back, didn't hesitate. He hit her hard, wrapping his arms around her midsection, slamming her back into the far wall. He heard crashing all around him, glass falling from nearby shelves. He didn't look around as he reached his han
d up to find hers. He had her against the wall, but didn't want her bringing that knife down to stab him in the back. He was glad to feel the knife wasn’t in her hand.

  "You idiot," she yelled, trying to push him away. She was strong, stronger than he expected a frail-looking woman to be.

  Just because she didn't have the knife didn't mean she wasn't dangerous. She wasn’t natural. Who knew of what she might be capable? He wanted to slam her down and ask where the kids were, wanted to arrest her and take her out among the parents, string her to a stake and burn her like the witch she was.

  She was a witch, wasn't she? It made the most sense, and witches burned by fire. That's what the old stories always said. That's what the kids did in the fairy tale. They burned her in an oven.

  He grabbed her wrists and pulled them down, not taking any chances with her flailing arms. When she struggled, he forced her against the wall, shifting to pin her to it. His muscle memory had taken control, years of police training guiding his motions. He spun her around, tugging her arms behind her. He needed to secure them long enough to pull out his handcuffs and subdue her.

  The handcuffs he didn't have with him because he wasn't in uniform.

  Damn it!

  "You bloody fool! You have no idea what you are doing." He didn't recall the crisp English accent before, but ignored it as he pulled her from the wall and crashed her to the floor, positioning his knee in the small of her back. "I'm trying to stop it. I'm trying to—"

  She stopped, no longer struggling to look at Rob. She looked across the room, her eyes focused on the knife, then the boy.

  Rob turned. The black smoke, like essence, billowed out from the athame and swirled around the room. The boy just watched it. Rob couldn't see him clearly through the haze in the room, but he knew he just stood there.