by Siegel, Alex
A heavy, black hood covered his head. In the darkness nightmarish images drifted through his imagination. He saw fierce animals with brightly colored fur. Disembodied faces screamed gibberish at him, and a laughing baby that was missing its skin haunted him. He desperately wanted sleep, but Doctor Ishii had injected Edward with so many stimulants he was sweating.
Suddenly, the hood was yanked off. Edward winced in the sudden light. He was back in the white hyperbaric chamber that had become his entire universe. He was kneeling on the floor with his hands tied to his ankles.
Smiling gently, Doctor Ishii sat facing him.
"I think we're ready to have another conversation," he said. "You should be in a more cooperative mood after all the treatment you've received. What's your real name?"
"Edward."
"I'm glad to meet to you, Edward. Who do you work for?"
Edward shook his head.
"Here is a hint," Ishii said. "You work for the Devil. I just need to know the name he is currently using."
"No. I work for God."
"You poor, deluded soul. You couldn't be more wrong."
Edward shivered violently.
"You're ability to resist is extraordinary," Ishii said. "I've never seen anything like it, and I've cured many patients. But you will eventually succumb like the rest. I'll make a deal with you. Tell me anything you want. If the information is honest, I'll let you rest a little. Otherwise, I'll give you another ice bath. It's for your own good."
Edward couldn't endure another bath. It hurt too much, especially since his body didn't have the strength to fight off the cold.
"My organization is big," he mumbled. "Thousands of us. All over the world. Very powerful. They'll kill you."
"The Church is far more powerful," Ishii said. "The spirit of the Savior imbues it. I'm not afraid of your little band of heretics and sorcerers."
"You'll be afraid of Ethel."
"Who is she?"
"My boss," Edward said. "She has supernatural speed."
"It sounds like you work for a witch," Ishii said.
Edward was too tired and confused to argue. He wasn't even sure why he should argue at all. Maybe Ishii was right.
"The Luciferian Child was here several days ago," Ishii said. "Did you meet him?"
Edward nodded. "Wesley."
"That's his name? Describe him to me."
"Nice boy. Pretty blue eyes."
"I'm sure he seemed nice. Pure evil lurks behind a veil of beauty. Did he talk to you? Did he tell you what his plans are?"
Edward shook his head.
"Then let's talk about the other people you work with." Ishii took a stack of photos from his pocket. "Who is this?"
Edward squinted at the first photo. His eyes didn't focus properly. Eventually, he recognized reddish blonde hair and a freckled face.
"Marina," he said.
"Tell me about her."
"Crazy woman. Very dangerous."
"Could you be more specific?" Ishii said.
"Loves to kill with sharp knives."
"Hmm. She doesn't sound much like a servant of God. What about this man?" The doctor flipped to the next picture.
Edward stared for a moment. "Aaron. Loves Marina."
"He certainly looks strong. Is he also a vicious killer?"
Edward nodded.
"Do you see the pattern?" Ishii said. "Your people only know death and destruction. That's not the way of the true Lord. Psalm 34:14. Turn from evil and do good; seek peace. Corinthians 13:13. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. Peter 1:3. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ."
Edward fell over from exhaustion. He didn't even have the strength to kneel.
"Go ahead and rest for little while," Ishii said. "You've earned it. I sense growing trust and understanding between us, and it makes me very glad."
He untied Edward's hands and left the chamber. The door closed and locked with a loud clang.
* * *
Aaron knocked on the door of a small, one story house with an iron fence. Trees on all sides provided shade even though half the leaves were still budding. He wished it were sunnier. His blue business suit wasn't quite warm enough for an unexpectedly cool, spring morning.
The door opened. A man in a sweat suit with a cup of coffee peered out. He had white hair and blue eyes.
"Are you Detective Dan Joyce?" Aaron said. "Granite City Police Department?"
The man nodded. "Retired. Who are you?"
"I'm Special Agent Goldsmith, FBI." Aaron took out his wallet and showed fake identification.
Dan shook his hand. "Glad to meet you. What can I do for you?"
"We're interested in a man named Nikolai Serafimovich."
"Never heard of him."
"He was indicted for pandering fourteen years ago," Aaron said. "You were the detective on the case. That was a long time ago, but I was hoping you could make a few calls. See if anybody in your old department can find the file. This is a matter of national security. Any background information we can get about Serafimovich will be invaluable."
"Right now?"
"Yes, sir."
Dan furrowed his brow. "Come in. Sit down. This will probably take a while."
Aaron followed the retired cop into the house and sat on a couch with a paisley cover. The living room was sparsely furnished. There was a picture on the wall of a much younger Dan Joyce with a woman and three children.
Dan went off to another room.
A moment later his wife walked in, and her eyes opened wide. "Hello?" she said. "We weren't expecting company. Who are you?"
Her long, frizzy hair was dyed red. She wore a sun dress with a frilly hem.
"I'm from the FBI, ma'am," Aaron said. "I came to speak to your husband about some police business."
"How exciting. I'm Erin. Would you like something to drink?"
"No, ma'am. I'm fine. I saw the picture of your family. It looks like you have three wonderful kids. How long have you been married?"
"Thirty-five years," Erin said.
"That's tremendous. You must be very happy together."
Aaron had been a student of body language for his entire professional life. Erin took a fraction of a second too long to respond, and the tension around her eyes was telling.
"Every day is a blessing." Her smile was forced.
He didn't have the time or motivation to play marriage counselor, but there was a chance the problem was serious. If this relationship was abusive, he had to act.
He pondered his options for a moment. Everything comes back to Wesley these days, he thought. He's like a magnet for trouble.
"I didn't come alone," he said. "There is a young boy waiting in my van. He's a witness in a case. Do you have some cookies or candy? I'm sure he'd appreciate a treat."
"You left a boy alone?" Erin said.
"Two women are with him. He's always hungry though. You know how boys are."
"Oh. I can probably find something..."
She left the room. A moment later she returned with a slice of apple pie on a plate.
"That looks delicious," Aaron said. "Please, come with me. My van is just down the street."
Erin followed him back to the white rental van. Wesley was sitting in the back seat beside Marina. Yvonne was riding shotgun up front.
Marina opened the sliding side door. "What's up?"
"This is Erin Joyce," Aaron said. "Our young friend needs to talk to her about a problem with her marriage."
"Huh?" Erin gave him a funny look.
"The boy will explain. I have to go."
He hurried back to the house. It sounded like Dan was on the phone in another room. Aaron waited patiently on the couch.
Eventually, Dan finished his conversation and returned to the living room.
"Was my wife in here?" he said. "I h
eard her voice."
"She stepped outside," Aaron said. "What about Nikolai Serafimovich?"
"You were right. I did try to arrest him fourteen years ago, but he got away. At the time he was running one of the larger prostitution rings in Granite City. We did convict one of his hookers though. Bonita Jimenez. If you want background, she's your best bet. Here's some information." Dan handed over a piece of paper.
Aaron shook his hand. "Thank you. I really appreciate you taking the time to help me."
"No problem."
Erin Joyce walked into the house. She stared at the ground and shuffled her feet. She was rubbing her hands together with obvious anxiety.
"Honey?" Dan said. "Is something wrong?"
"I have a confession," she replied in a low voice. She didn't look up at him.
"Oh?"
"I've been having an affair for the last twenty years... with a woman."
Too much information, Aaron thought. He quickly walked out of the house.
Chapter Nineteen
Brother Norbert paced back and forth in the hotel suite where he and Father were staying. Father sat by the window with the sun on his face. His two attendants stood nearby.
"Relax," Father said. "This will be a friendly meeting."
Norbert faced him. "Sir, are you really sure we want help from these people? Maybe we can find other allies who are less... radical."
"Why? We are certainly radical."
Father wore his finest cassock. The fabric was purple brocade with a repeated cross pattern. Golden fringe and piping added a touch of opulence. He clearly wanted to impress his visitors.
There was a knock on the door. Norbert rushed to open it.
Four men stood in the hallway. All of them wore green camouflage hunting garb and leather boots. The man in front was the largest of them. His barrel chest was the same size as his huge gut. His black beard was so dense it almost appeared solid. The rest of his head was bald and deeply tanned.
"I'm Whitey." He put out his hand. "Commander of the Sons of Michael."
Norbert shook his hand. "Brother Norbert of the Brotherhood of the Luciferian Child. We're very glad you could come so quickly. Please enter."
The four men stomped into the room. They stank of sweat and tobacco.
Norbert nodded towards Father. "This is Father Wulfram, formerly of the Vatican clergy."
"Very nice to meet you," Father said.
One of his assistants rolled his wheelchair over to Whitey.
"What going on?" Whitey said. "On the phone you mentioned the Antichrist."
"The child of Lucifer is alive on Earth," Father said. "I saw his face in a vision. We've been chasing him since the day he was born, eight years ago."
"I have visions if I stay out in the sun too long. What makes you think yours was legit?"
"It was an ecstatic experience. But if you want hard evidence, I have it. Everywhere the boy goes, death follows. We know of at least a hundred murders, not including our own substantial losses."
"Hmm." Whitey furrowed his brow. "Sounds like an easy kid to find. Just follow the bodies."
"You would think so," Father said, "but he is a slippery devil. He never stops moving. His parents protected him until we killed them. But then he found new, more powerful allies."
"Who?"
"Satan's own elite assassins. Many of my people have died in this fight. I called you because we need soldiers on our team who are just as fearsome."
Whitey nodded. "You called the right guys. The Sons of Michael are the best."
Norbert had doubts about that statement. The men were big and strong but they carried a lot of weight. Apparently, excessive eating was part of the training regimen.
"How many can you bring?" Norbert said.
"Around twenty I think," Whitey said. "That should be enough to take care of the little punk."
A monk opened the door and entered the suite without knocking. "Sir!" he said. "We found this!" He shoved a red sheet of paper into Father's hands.
Father gave the paper to Norbert. "Do you mind reading this out loud? My eyes aren't what they used to be."
The paper unfolded like a pamphlet. The black lettering was printed in an elaborate Gothic font with skulls in place of dots. A watermark had the shape of a pitchfork.
"The Beast has risen from the sea!" Norbert read. "The Antichrist has come at last! He is still young but growing in power every day. His followers shall survive the coming tribulation, and the rest shall fall like wheat before a scythe. Join him while you can! Rise up against the Oppressors! Feel true freedom and pleasure for the first time in your life..." Norbert shook his head. "I can't read any more of this garbage. It goes on and on. A very good sketch of the Child is at the bottom of the page. Apparently, there is a meeting at midnight tonight. I have the address here."
"The Brotherhood will attend," Father said calmly.
"Sir! It's an obvious trap. The enemy is trying to lure us out. Otherwise, why would they make a public announcement and include a picture? They've always been covert before now. This pamphlet was written for us!"
"Good," Whitey said. "We won't disappoint them."
Norbert stared at him. "Are you serious?"
"The Sons of Michael never refuse a battle. The enemy has given us the place and time, and we'll be there."
"We'll be walking into an ambush."
Whitey shook his head. "It's not an ambush if we're expecting it. We'll be careful, of course. My scouts and snipers will lead the way. After we locate the enemy, I'll bring in the main force. We'll take a few prisoners for interrogation and kill the rest. Even if the Antichrist never appears in person, we'll still gain an important victory."
"Pride goes before destruction," Norbert said, "and a haughty spirit before a fall. I think you are underestimating the danger."
"And you are underestimating the Sons of Michael!" Whitey puffed out his chest. "This is what we train for."
Norbert turned to Father. "Sir?"
"We have to go." Father shrugged. "This is an opportunity we can't ignore. The danger is irrelevant."
"Yes, sir." Norbert grimaced.
* * *
Aaron went to the main office of Hoover High School in East St. Louis. The secretary told him how to find Bonita Jimenez, the school's janitor.
Aaron found her pushing a garbage cart in the hallway. Green coveralls hung loosely on her thin body. She was only thirty-five years old, but her sunken features made her look fifty. She limped down the hall with a stiff knee. Her black hair was cut short.
"Bonita Jimenez?" Aaron flashed his fake FBI badge. "Can I speak with you?"
She froze and her eyes widened. "I didn't do anything. I've been clean for years."
"I'm not here to arrest you. I just have a few questions. Do you remember Nikolai Serafimovich? He was your pimp."
"I did my time for that shit! I'm a respectable citizen now. I even paid taxes once."
Aaron sighed. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want you to tell me about Serafimovich."
"Niki?" She relaxed slightly. "Mean as a pit bull. He liked to smack girls with a tennis racket. That damn thing left plenty of marks on my ass."
"Why did you stay with him?"
"The man could hustle. When the money is comin' in, you forget the other shit."
He nodded. "Do you know how I can find him?"
"No." She shook her head.
"This is important." He took out a money roll and gave her a hundred dollar bill. "Any information will be useful."
She held the bill up to the light. "I'm startin' to remember things."
He gave her another hundred.
"Niki never drove himself. I don't think he had a driver's license. A big, nasty fucker called Godzilla did all the driving. Those two were as tight as a new girl's ass. Godzilla held us down when Niki beat us."
"Sounds like a sweetheart," Aaron said. "What was his real name?"
"Never said. They skipped town together."
>
"How does that help me?"
"Godzilla owned a cherry red Cadillac," Bonita said. "Sweet ride. The license plate was B-E-S-T-H-0-5. Get it? Best ho's. Put that in your fancy FBI computer."
He smiled and gave her a third hundred. "Did you tell any of this to the police?"
"Nah. They wouldn't pay me. Cheap bastards."
"They have more rules than I do. Thank you." He walked off.
* * *
Edward's muscles were on fire. Rough ropes held his arms and legs in twisted, unnatural positions. His back was bent so much it felt like it might break. Even his fingers and toes were being forced painfully far apart by strings. Terrible pain saturated his entire body.
He wanted to pass out, but stimulants kept him fully aware. He could only shiver miserably in the darkened chamber and pray for death. He wished he had jumped out of his apartment window when he had had the chance.
* * *
Aaron looked up at a sign that read "Godzilla's Road House." It had a picture of the famous green monster drinking a mug of beer.
"This must be it," he said.
He had used the license plate number Bonita had given him to discover Godzilla's real name. Following that lead had taken Aaron to this address in Collinsville, Illinois. It was a semirural town east of St. Louis. The road house was located at a busy exit from Interstate 55.
"Looks a little sketchy," Marina said.
One of the windows was covered by a piece of plywood, and the rest needed a good wash. The green stucco walls were cracked. Despite the shabby appearances, a good number of cars occupied the parking lot. Loud country music seeped through the front door.
"Good thing you'll be watching my back," Aaron said.
"Me? I can't fight. I'm a pacifist now. Remember?"
He rolled his eyes and turned to Yvonne. She and Wesley were standing behind him in the parking lot.
"Can you talk to her?" Aaron said.
Yvonne shook her head. "Marina is the most stubborn person I know. If she wants to be a pacifist, I can't change her mind."
"What am I supposed to do? I can't take you and leave Wesley with Marina, the useless pacifist."
"Then I guess we're going in together."
