by Riley Mason
I run, in the clothes that I slept in with my shotgun out and in my hands, I run out of my apartment, barely remembering to shut the door. I move through the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time until I’m at the roof access which I kick and separate the pad from the lock and run out to the humid roof.
The air hits me but my eyes are training around me to find what I saw. I walk to the side of the building where my window faces and keep my eyes attached to where I saw the pair of red eyes looking back at me.
I’m breathing shallow despite my heart racing in my chest. My shotgun is drawn and ready, but I have no target. Then I see the hand come over the edge of the building and pull itself up and into the air. It has the same leathered skin as the other creatures but this one is standing nearly ten feet tall with wide red eyes and a long jaw packed with long angled teeth.
I can hear its hiss, its anger bubbling in its stomach and spilling out of its fangs. I hold the weapon out, aim, and fire a deafening shot that cuts rights through its chest.
I see as it's back explodes from the other end of the shell and everything that was carved out splashes on the ground.
I walk over to it and see it on the ground, its arms and legs twisting, the red in its eyes fading. I know what these are but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen one and I know full well that if I know about one of these loose in the city, I won’t be the only Chaser working the case. These are the demons that refuse to take human form.
Back in my apartment, the gun is on the bed, I’m clean, the rest of the demon blood is moving through the highway of pipes that run through Manhattan. I’m clean and changed and there is a triple whiskey in a glass that’s in my hand. I need to relax.
For a second, I turn back to the bathroom. I walk towards it, it’s almost a routine at this point that I want broken but habits rarely die with execution, they’re more for the slow and painful torture. When I’m there, I open the medicine cabinet, the mirror still fogged up so I can’t see the scratches on my face or neck, the scars that are on my body. I’m sure that I’ve learned to tune them out well enough, it’s rare that I even see them anymore.
I open the cabinet and pull out a prescription, it's one of a few that sit on the shelves. It’s rare nowadays that I open this cabinet but for when I do it’s like I have a solution for any problem. Sometimes whiskey alone doesn’t do any justice, sometimes it adds to the pain.
Opening a bottle of antidepressants, I down seven of them with the whiskey in the glass and examine what’s left in the bottle. There’s only two left, that’s not going to be anywhere near enough.
Chapter 13
Gabriel sat there in a black leather chair in an office, screens from the monitor in front of him threw light on his face. He wasn’t tired, he rarely bothered with sleep.
He was tall, just above six-foot, smooth features, dark hazel eyes, and thick black hair that was long, down to his neck and well trained, wide at the shoulder but lean throughout. His mind was fixated on something that he shouldn’t be bothering with. It was focused on Arinna.
Memories slipped back into his head of the time that he had taken her. After the war was over and he had told her that she needed to come with him. He had made sure that she left everything behind, the entire life that she had built for herself the last time the war was fought. All the memories before him were useless, at least the ones that were pleasure. What he did want to make sure was that she was the same trained killer that she was when he had found her.
It didn't take long of their relationship together before he realized that she was something so much more than a Chaser. There were gifts that she had that set her apart from those around her. Watchers were nothing more than drunks and drug addicts with guns and an affinity for disposing of the supernatural. Most of them just snorted pain pills or shot up heroin before a hunt, some of them kept it to coke and weed. The stronger ones loved meth, those were the ruthless killers in the fight but also the ones that killed themselves afterwards. Arinna was elegant, deadly, a master at a profession designed to kill her. It was so good in fact that it could be translated to the human race. She could kill without discrimination of what she was hunting. To her it never really mattered if it was reality or supernatural, killing was her addiction.
Even with his mind inside of hers, with his motivations and emotions pulling her body in the direction that he wanted her to go, so much of her history was still a mystery. She knew almost nothing of who she was and where she came from. Most of her memories started six months before the war had begun and by then she was already a trained assassin and trained Chaser. There was no recollection of who or what did that to her. He was sure even now that she had no idea who crafted her life.
All the same though, he wasn’t entirely sure why she had come back. What she was after or how much she remembered about him. Their parting was difficult even with his control over her, her mind was too strong to hold in captivity for long. He was lucky that he got the years he did out of her. Now, if she got close or if she got curious, he would have to kill her. The sound of a gunshot threw him out of his concentration. Looking over, he took a sip of the drink nearest the computer, replacing it, and then moving to the sound where he had heard the gunshot fired from.
The room that he was in had five men in it, two of them worked for him, two were prisoners, one was dead, a smoking gun in the hand of one of the men that worked for him. “Gentlemen,” he said greeting them.
The three prisoners were Arabic, taken from a mosque down on the lower west end of Manhattan. The Demon-Callers as they referred to themselves were responsible for resurrecting the larger demon hybrids that had been coming out to the island as of late. “And who is this man to you?” Gabriel asked one of them.
“He’s my son,” the man said back, his face was dripping in tears, sweat, and blood.
“Do you love him?” he asked.
“He’s my blood.”
“No, that doesn’t answer my question. Do you love him?”
“I do,” he said, straight faced, his eyes told him that there was no fear in there, that there was no doubt or question.
“Unbind him,” Gabriel ordered and when the man was free of his restraints Gabriel handed him the weapon. “Shoot your son,” he advised.
Like the man was taking the gun to aim at a target down a field, he turned the weapon and shot it. It was only after the bullet had done its damage did the father realize what he had done to his son. Tears started to build, and a scream reached into the air. “I don’t want to hear that,” Gabriel said and the crying stopped, the tears did as well.
“I want to know about the ritual.”
Chapter 14
I walk the street about a block and a half away from my apartment, there’s a deli there where I had seen Courtney a handful of times. I need a drink, I can’t really focus without one now. Jesse dying was starting to get to me in a way that I didn’t think that my heart or feelings knew how to react too or handle well for that matter. I had this strange feeling that parts of my past were trying to resurface but something just wasn’t letting them. I wanted them too, but they haven’t listened to me yet, I didn’t think that they would start now.
I have a few spares, prescriptions that I keep in a mixed bag in my messenger bag in one of the pockets next to the shotgun. I buy a six pack and by the time the holder is on the counter, I have one out and I have it twisted open.
Once I open the prescription bottle, I just pour out a small handful.
The pills are fairly divided according to purpose, a mix of antidepressants, anxiety pills, a few other mental strains that the prescriptions are designed to kill, cure, or maintain. Four of them are under my tongue and I use the beer to wash them down. It’s Hell’s Kitchen, the guy behind the counter isn’t seeing anything that he hasn’t seen before and he lets it happen, but he gives me a brown paper bag to hide the beer in.
I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk out, I ignore it but I also remember where I a
m. I suppose that I came here with some sort of purpose in my steps. I thought it was to think but my mind seemed to have another agenda entirely.
The walk back to my building is uneventful. If I said that the suicide didn't’ strike some nerve in me I’d be lying. The beer is good alone, the beer mixed with the pills should be enough to calm me down. I don’t think that I was always like this, I don’t have enough memory to know for sure though. I can’t imagine that I would survive long on a diet of prescription pills and beer though. I suppose from what I’ve seen I can at least confirm that trauma has a tendency to show the road of self-destruction. That’s not what I want, it’s not my goal in all this. I kill things that aren’t supposed to exist, things that other people can’t see, that’s a hard thing to speak about to another human being.
Jesse was one of those. He was a friend though he had expressed at least some interest in moving beyond the boundary, I was firm when I told him that I had no intention. I don’t solely think that a Chaser’s life comes with an oath of abstinence, but I know better than to get involved with my own kind. My kind does one thing good and one thing only. They aren’t the men that are brought home to mom and they aren’t the men that understand monogamy. I can’t blame them, in a life where so much of yourself and your soul is so constantly threatened, it’s hard not to feed into temptations that come your way. For me it’s either male or female, I have no preference and despite the fact that I’ve only had one relationship, I don't let that dissuade from anything casual.
Jesse understood that, I was grateful that he did. He was a person that could listen and listen to me well even though I always had so little to vent about. He had tried a few exercises to try and get my repressed memories to open back up but in the line of work that we shared, we weren’t entirely sure what repressed them. Trauma was only one thing, there were a variety of different species and abilities that could hide the scar of memory. The lore on it was large and lengthy but, in the end, it wasn’t conclusive either.
By the time I’m back in my apartment, three beers are gone, and the mix of pills are finally starting to do their work. Once inside, the beer comes with me to my computer, the gun and the messenger bag lay on my bed in place of me, work will always come before sleep.
The computer is still working on a profile for Gabriel but it’s slim on what I have to go on. Jesse wasn’t exactly filled with particulars or ways to narrow the search. I’m a good researcher, it’s what these Fortune 500 companies pay me to do at their request but I need certain details to work with, an address, place of interest, something to jump start the search. Whoever this Gabriel is seems to have cleared a path behind him, I can’t find much of his digital footprint anywhere.
If it weren’t for the pills that were polluting my blood I don’t know if I would cry. I haven’t done so in a very long time, that’s one of the memories missing in fact, any event where I actually cried. I suppose I have, I would assume that all people cry but I can’t remember ever doing it. If it weren’t for the pills and the alcohol, I might. Jesse was a very close to me despite the years that separated us, he was someone that I could consider family despite the short amount of time him and I actually knew one another.
As I stand there and stare off, a cold beer in my hand, I miss him, I miss knowing that he’ll be there when I need him. I miss knowing that he’ll call me when he has a hunt that he needs help with. I’ll miss that friendship for a lot longer then I think I will.
Chapter 15
The beer is gone, and I’ve upgraded to harder liquor now. I keep checking the window every half hour or so. I look to see what kind of police presence is in front of the girls building. When I got home they were at three, upgraded from the one that was left out overnight. I doubt they would leave one cop there all alone for too long.
There was a decent amount in the usual literature about spirits and other things that would take hearts. I figured this was one of my areas. It was difficult trying to put my attention on a case when the idea of Jesse and what had happened to him and his family was still so fresh in my head, but I figured the work was important to keep my mind moving. I don't know a lot about who I was before I came to Manhattan or who I was even when I first got here. As far as I can tell, my memories start with me fully grown and a Chaser, that’s all I know and I feel that if I let my mind go stagnant that’s when more memories are syphoned off to that place where I can’t find them or see them anymore.
The lock on her building is old and fragile, it’s not hard to cut through the lock and get into the building. I take the stairs up to the third floor where I see all the evidence that the precinct in the area had come through.
The tape was on the door and I take a deep breath. I didn’t know her well, but I did know of her. This was the closest that my work has ever kept me to home. Hell’s Kitchen was not a spot for the supernatural but with this murder and the creature that I killed a few nights back, this could be the start of a new trend especially with the raw-demon on the rooftop and the red eyes in the subway, something has the stench of working itself up.
I step slow, putting my hand on the handle of her front door, careful to not disturb any of the tape that’s there but it's locked. In my bag, I pull out the same tools that I used to bypass the front door.
As I step inside I close the door very gently so that no sound of the lock clicking back into place makes anyone the wiser that there is someone here. Though we look alike, I could always use the excuse that I’m her cousin or some stray family member that came to collect her belongings.
The apartment is full, most of the items weren’t moved into any inventory yet, just her body and I can see a blood outline on the floor, they haven’t let anyone into professionally clean and hollow the place out just yet.
Her apartment isn’t tidy and cozy, I suppose that could be from the police. I’m sure that they went through most of her belongings trying to find some evidence of what took her life. I hope somewhere that they didn't take something that I would need. They spent more than two days in this apartment.
I go to a stack of pictures that’s sitting there by a computer and go through them. I didn't expect to see actual pictures, most people take pictures digitally with their phones and leave them there. I grab the stack and I’m careful not to bleed my own fingerprint on the face of the finish.
The pictures aren’t too surprising. Most of them are old. Some of them look like they’re from a high school graduation, some of them look like they’re pictures from a dinner party that happened. I see the victim with an older man and an older woman, I assume that it’s her parents. They look very happy, the smile on her face stretches along her delicate features, she was a pretty girl, it’s a shame what happened to her. On the back I read something written in cursive, Courtney Salvatore Graduation! Three hearts decorate around the words.
I look through them carefully as I’m walking, I can see that she planned a trip. The photos have some pictures of an airport, some of her on a plane, but then I see one that makes me separate it out from the pile. Its Arabic written on a wall in heavy black ink. I can tell that it’s not something old, it looks pretty fresh and the writing is smeared on a stone wall hidden in shadow, it looks like she used the flash to bring enough light into the room to take the picture in the first place.
It takes my attention until I walk back through her apartment and feel something solid underneath my feet. I put the picture aside for a moment and look down. An area rug is matted on the floor, a light grey with ruffles almost like faux fur lays there. Most of it is impressed with the utility boots of the police force that had swarmed her house during their initial investigation. I can tell that something isn’t quite right. Bending down, I lift the carpet and can see a trap door underneath.
Chapter 16
Carefully, I tuck the picture into my bag and study the trap door. There are no latches but there are incidents where someone would have to put their fingers. Part of me wonders if the police had seen this. I
f they had lifted the door and explored what was buried beneath it. I doubt they would've taken notice to the different sound that escaped during their step with all the other noises polluting the room.
I chance it and tuck my fingers into the slots and lift the door. There’s blackness there but there is also a ladder. Going through my bag I pull out a flashlight, turn it on, and parade the light down into the tunnel that’s hidden in the floor. From what I can see it leads down to the apartment below her. When I had ascended the stairs, I hadn’t seen any caution tape on any of the other doors in the building. It’s worth a guess that the police never found this hold.
I shove the flashlight into my mouth and use my arms and legs to lower myself down into the apartment below, the ladder takes me down to the floor.
It’s dark in there, through the light from the flashlight I look around, I can’t find any light switches or any other light source in the room. The air is stale and cold, I don’t know how recently this room was visited but I can feel my breath steam from my lips and the skin on my hands tighten in the cold. Slowly, I pull my handgun out of my waistline and crisscross it with the light and begin to look around.
I get a strange feeling in here. Almost as if the dark is looking at me. I’m careful with my steps, anyone below might expect this apartment to be empty and I don’t want to send noises downstairs to alert anyone that this place might not be as vacant as they thought.
I can feel my heart start to pick up speed and despite the cold, I feel the first beads of sweat dot my forehead. My head is starting to hurt but I sum it up to the adrenaline no doubt flooding all the veins in my body. I don’t even get this when I hunt but it's enough to make me curious as to what it is that’s causing this reaction in my body.
At the end of the hollowed apartment, there are no separators for bedrooms or bathrooms, I see a tall stand. The stand is covered in candles that aren’t lit but I can see the wicks have been blackened, someone had burned the candles at one point if not recently. I also study the skull at the center of the mantle. It’s human but it's damaged. A fracture runs through the top of it, some of the teeth are missing and the jaw has been broken off from the rest of the bone.
