DEATH (The Justice Cycle Book 1)

by J W Kiefer

  “So Steve, how long are you going to be in the area?” his mother asked cheerfully, attempting to diffuse the situation. “It’s not often that you get up this way anymore. Judy will be sad if she misses the opportunity to see you.”

  Their younger sister, Judy, was nineteen and in her first year of college. She had opted to go to a nearby Christian university, following in her parents’ footsteps. This, of course, was a matter of great contention with the two boys, especially Steve. They both loved their sister dearly but disliked the fact that she’d always been their parents’ perfect little angel.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Steve said, taking the corn from Jared. “Just till tomorrow. The band and I were returning from a gig down south, and I thought I’d make a quick stop up here to say hi to everyone. But I’ve got to be back in the city by Monday to work on our new project.”

  “What’s the name of your band again?” their dad asked curiously between mouthfuls.

  “Richard Cranium,” Steve mumbled through his roast beef.

  Jared tried to suppress a burst of laughter but managed to spew some food out onto his plate, anyway. He covered up the outburst with an ambiguous fit of coughing.

  Concerned, his mother asked, “Are you okay, honey?”

  “I’m fine,” Jared said gruffly. He drained his glass. “Just went down the wrong tube.”

  His dad glared at him, unconvinced, then turned his piercing gaze on Steve. His eyes bored intensely into him as if they would burn right through him.

  “Do you think that I am stupid?” he asked evenly, his voice not betraying the obvious anger that he felt. “You may think that I am too old or Christian to get the joke, but I have news for you, I do.”

  The room went silent, Jared and his mother not daring to interfere with the running conflict between Steve and his father. Steve shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

  “It’s just a name, Dad,” he finally said. “What does it matter anyway?”

  “What does it matter? Don’t you think that you are talented enough not to have to resort to such vulgar and obviously childish antics?”

  “Dad, it’s just a name!” Steve snapped. “I’m sorry that you don’t approve of it, but we are not a Christian band, you know, and Richard Cranium is just as good a name as any other!”

  His dad huffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I am saying, Steve! Why do you always react to everything I say as if I am judging you?”

  “Because you always are,” Steve growled back. “Nothing I ever do is good enough for you. When I was a kid and I grew my hair long, you didn’t approve. I was a heathen when I moved to the city and started singing in bars, and now the name of my band is offensive to you. So, tell me, Dad, why would I think you are judging me? Huh? Why?”

  His father fell silent and the reticence only added to the tension in the room. Jared and his mother picked at their food, occasionally glancing up at each other, hoping the fight would end soon.

  Neither of them had seen the two go this far before. Steve usually did an adequate job of holding his tongue and his father tried to avoid any deep confrontations. Tonight, however, the strain that had been brewing over the last few years finally exploded.

  “It’s not that I think you are a heathen, Steve. It’s just that you have strayed a long way from what we raised you to believe,” his dad said sadly. “You can’t imagine the pain I feel when I think that there is even a slim chance that one of my children would not spend eternity with me.”

  Steve continued to stare at his plate, refusing to meet his father’s eyes. The room once again fell back into an oppressive silence as Mr. Caddret watched his son expectantly. He had revealed to Steve his greatest fear in hopes that the revelation would help the young man understand how much he truly loved him.

  Steve heaved a sigh and put down the fork he’d been using to prod his food. He placed both hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. Everyone at the table stared at him hopefully.

  “I know you love me, Dad,” he quietly said. “You would still love me even if I were the most horrible murderer to prowl the earth, because that is the kind of person you are. But, no matter how much you love me, I know that you will never approve of the lifestyle I have chosen to live.”

  A lone tear traced down their father’s cheek. “Steve, I will always love and accept you, no matter what you do. You have to know that.”

  “I know that, Dad. But being a Christian is not high on my list of things to do right now. I love being free of the oppressive constraints of religion, and I know that that is something you can never accept. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe in God, I just don’t want anything to do with Him.”

  His dad said nothing in response, but sat there staring at his youngest son, the tears flowing more freely now. His mother’s expression was one of utter heartbreak, and Jared wanted to jump up and slap some sense into his younger brother. How could he deliberately hurt their parents like that?

  Steve turned away from his wounded family and walked quickly to the front door and open it briskly. Before he could make it outside, his dad called out to him.

  “Steve, no matter what you may think, I still love you and am very proud of you,” he declared, choking back his tears. “I may think you are wrong in rejecting what you know to be true, but you will always be my son. Nothing can ever change that.”

  Steve stepped out into the cold night air, and the door thudded shut.

  Fourteen

  The city morgue was a place for the dead and those who tended to the dead. None of the living seemed to be comfortable there. In truth, people only came to the city morgue when something tragic and terrible had happened, and most people found it disturbing and sometimes frightening to come face-to-face with their own mortality. For this reason, even the police and emergency responders disliked coming here.

  The small waiting room in the front of the morgue was closed for the evening, and the room was dark except for a faint light emanating from the door that led deeper into the inner sanctum where the medical examiners performed their grizzly work. It glowed softly but was not strong enough to chase away the shadows that filled the small room. The soft light was barely holding on to life as if it too would soon be overcome by the encroaching darkness.

  Just when it appeared that the darkness would finally prevail, a brilliant flash of blinding light burst into the room. The darkness was no match for its radiance, and it fled instantly before the light. This was no ordinary illumination, however, and it revealed more than what mortal eyes could see. All around the room, the hiding places of demonic beings were exposed. The demons winced and writhed in pain and screeched in protest at the intrusion of the painful light.

  The blinding glow shivered and contorted, coalescing into an angelic being. The demons shielded their eyes and thundered protests as it passed by them. Ignoring their insults, the angel made its way deeper into the morgue. The demons that were wise fled before it, but those that were foolish enough to defy it were sent screaming back to Hell in explosions of white flames.

  The angel had come to this small forgotten town for a reason. He had been sent here, in fact, to perform a very important task for the Most High Himself, and there was no power in any realm that could hinder him. To the mortal world, the angel appeared as nothing more than blindingly bright light, but in the realm unseen, he was a powerful warrior adorned in bronze armor and brandishing a massive flaming sword. Standing well over seven feet tall and, true to most angelic depictions, he had large feathered wings neatly folded behind him.

  Before long, the angel stood in front of a closed door that read AUTOPSY. Beyond the door, the angel could make out the silhouette of the coroner. A drill hummed, the coroner lost in his work. Then the man quietly dictated what he’d discovered into an electronic recorder that sat on a small table next to the gurney.

  “The official report from the investigating detective states that the body, which appears to be that of an Asian man about fifty years old, wa
s found this morning around ten a.m. Time of death is currently unknown, but the cause of death appears to be from a puncture wound to the chest made by a sharp object. The wound is clean, and the blade seems to have passed directly through the subject, leading to the conclusion that it was most likely made by a sword or very large knife.”

  The angel passed through the door as the man dictated his findings. The coroner was a short balding man in his late fifties with a slight paunch. He wore the usual lab coat of a doctor and it was covered by a blood-speckled plastic poncho. The goggles he had been wearing to protect his glasses sat next to him on the small rolling table he used to hold his instruments. The man seemed bewildered and he ran his fingers repeatedly over his scrunched forehead.

  “Note: I’m not sure if I am just overtired, but I cannot observe any of the usual signs of death. Rigor mortis should have already set in, but the subject’s muscles are still supple and relaxed. Moreover, there are no signs of algor mortis either, as the subject’s body temperature has not dropped even one degree since it was brought in. It is as if the body has been placed in a state of suspended animation. Of course, that is not scientifically possible.”

  The angel smiled, lighting up the antiseptically bright room even more, and he reached out and rested his massive hand on the little man’s shoulder. A wave of serenity washed over the man and he exhaled, visibly relaxing.

  “It is time to take a break, James,” the angel whispered.

  As if on cue, the man stood up. “I think I’ll take a quick break. I’m sure things will make more sense after I get a snack and a quick rest for my obviously tired brain.”

  He turned to the cadaver on the table. “Now, you don’t go getting up and walking out on me, okay? Unless, of course, you are a vampire. Then feel free to get up and leave at your leisure. But if you are not one of the undead, then I promise when I get back, I will do my best to find some clue that will lead us to whoever did this to you.”

  Turning away from the body on the gurney, the coroner gingerly pulled the poncho up and over his head and walked right through the angel standing behind him. Being a creature of the spirit, the angel, though able to affect the physical world, was unseen and incorporeal to most mortal beings, so the man felt nothing as he passed through him. He hung up the poncho near the room and left the angel alone in the room. Well, not entirely alone.

  The body of the ancient warrior was naked and covered by a white sheet. The angel, whose eyes saw everything in both the physical and spiritual worlds, inspected the body searching for anything out of the ordinary. After a few minutes of careful scrutiny, the angel determined that the relic was not there. It had most likely transformed itself and captured the attention of a new bearer. There must have been a worthy successor in the proximity either during or directly after the battle, and the relic had already passed on. Either way, it was gone.

  No matter, the angel had come for the Shogun and did not have the authority to tame the ancient power, anyway. The Lord in His great mercy had allowed him to come for his friend. Let the Blade Tzedakah be about its own business; the angel only cared about Sakanoue.

  “Sakanoue no Tamuramaro,” the angel boomed, his voice resounding like a trumpet’s blare. “Rise.”

  Immediately the body on the table sat up, and the white cloth fell away. Blinding light burst from the man, engulfing the small operating room like an exploding star. When the light receded, where the lifeless corpse had been sat a handsome young man. He glowed with ethereal light, no longer naked but clothed in brilliant white robes. Gone were the nightmare black eyes that had been his duty and his curse for so long. Gone was the darkness, the nightmare over.

  Sakanoue looked up at his friend for the first time in ages with his own sparkling brown eyes. He attempted to blink away the tears that flowed freely down his cheeks. The angel lifted the small man up from the gurney and pulled him into a massive bear hug.

  “Saka, oh how I have missed you, my friend!” he said. “As soon as the news of your passing had reached heaven, I petitioned the Almighty for the honor to be the one to come and retrieve you. Of course, it was granted to me.”

  The newly awakened man smiled for what felt like the first time in a thousand lifetimes. His smile was broad, and he laughed heartily as he hugged his dear friend back. After a long moment, the angel returned the ancient warrior to the ground and he placed his massive arm around him. “Come, Saka, Heaven awaits us where there will be feasting and joy beyond measure.”

  Saka didn’t move but stood still his face scrunched in confusion. “Michael, it is strange. I can barely remember anything past that one fateful night. I know that I have walked in shadows for centuries, but it’s as if it was merely a nightmare that has faded away upon waking. I remember you. I remember my children. I remember my wife and I remember all of the joy that I found in this life, but for the life of me, I cannot recall anything else.”

  The angel laughed softly and smiled. “That is by design. The Most High has washed away any memory of grief or pain and left you with only that which has brought you joy.”

  He reached out and opened a tear in the fabric of time and space. Pure light streamed from the opening. Saka squinted into the blinding light, trying to see what lay beyond it, but it was impossible.

  “Come, my friend, this life has ended and the burden you once bore has been lifted from your soul. Let us now pass together into eternity.”

  With that last statement echoing in the air, both men stepped into the light and vanished.

  Fifteen

  He stumbled down the corridor, his katana dragging noisily on the tile floor. Royal guards lay scattered throughout the palace, dead or dying. They had fought honorably and would be remembered well in the halls of their ancestors. He had no time to stop and mourn for them; he must reach the children’s bed chamber. It was all that mattered now.

  His foot struck the wayward spear of one of the dead guards; he stumbled and fell. He hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from his chest. He could not breathe, but choked on the blood flowing up from his damaged lungs. He struggled to rise but found that his arms no longer held strength. He was dying. So close! He was almost to the room of his youngest son. Please, just a few more feet!

  He could hold back the tears no longer, and he wept, coughing and spitting up blood.

  It was too late now. Death would take him. He had failed them, failed them all. So close yet not close enough. He closed his eyes in resignation and relinquished himself to death’s icy grip.

  As he slowly slipped into unconsciousness, he was sure he could hear death’s mocking laughter. It came to him softly as if he was hearing it in a dream. Then a scream snapped him back from the paths of death. He surged back into awareness as another scream split the air around him. He knew that scream as any father would. It was the cry of his sixteen-year-old daughter, Jade.

  He bellowed and, with a strength born of desperation, lifted himself off the ground. The laughter he’d heard had come from the intruder who’d slain his men. It stopped when he’d shouted, and his daughter cried out instead.

  “Otōsan!”

  He pushed past the door. Light flooded into the dark room, revealing a man cloaked all in black and hooded standing over the still body of his youngest son, Yashimi. He held a blood-streaked katana in his hand. Jade cradled her brother, her arms hacked to ribbons and one hand severed at the wrist. She had thrown herself over her younger brother in a desperate attempt to protect him.

  The Ninja glared at the wounded man. “Are you still alive? Shogun, you surprise me with your resilience. You are as hard to kill as a cockroach. No matter. You are mortally wounded and no match for me.” He turned back to look at Jade. “When I am through with your pathetic excuse of a father, I will return to finish with—”

  The Shogun leapt, swinging his sword downward in a vicious chop. The Ninja put up his own sword to parry the strike, but to his surprise, the Shogun’s blade went completely through his own and cut deeply
into his chest. Metal clanged as his sword broke at the hilt and clattered to the floor.

  Confused, the Ninja managed to gurgle, “How?”

  The Shogun growled and thrust his sword forward until half of it was sticking through the assassin’s back. The Ninja coughed and spat blood as he tried to scream. The Shogun yanked the blade out and then, with a heart-wrenching scream, hacked the injured assassin to death. That did not slake the Shogun’s wrath, however, and he continued striking the lifeless body until all of his rage had been spent.

  When he was finished, he painfully stood and faced his children. Gasping for breath, the Shogun could barely stand. Blood and gore covered his armor from head to toe, making him look more like a demon than a man.

  His daughter hunched over her brother, bleeding, pale, unmoving. His rage now spent, he fell to his knees. He crawled over to her and held her in his lap. She still breathed, just barely, so he brushed the damp hair from her face and kissed her brow. Her warm brown eyes opened.

  When he looked into her eyes, he did not see the young woman she had become but the little girl she had been. “It’s okay now, Jade. Daddy is here,” he said through his tears.

  “Daddy?” she asked weakly. “I tried to save Yashimi, but I could not.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and it broke his heart.

  “No. No. My little bear, you did well. Your brother only sleeps. It was all just a bad dream. All is well now, my little one. Go to sleep, and everything will be fine when you wake. You will see. Tomorrow you will run together in the mountains you two love so much.”

  His daughter went limp in his arms, and he wept hard, painful tears. He pulled her close to his chest and buried his head in her hair, rocking her still form.