First Circle Club

by Alex Siegel

  Virgil was closer now, but he still couldn't tell whether the man holding the knife was Daniel. He had the right build at least. The victim was screaming for help, but the audience was ignoring her desperate cries. Bright floodlights shone through a slight haze of smoke or mist.

  A dozen more guards in white suits stood inside the factory. They were spaced at wide intervals along the wall. Their eyes swept back and forth alertly.

  "I don't see any way to take out those guards quietly," Virgil whispered, "so it's time to launch a full assault."

  "What do you mean?" Sara said. "We can't just run in there and shoot everything that moves."

  "No, I was planning to shoot everything that shoots at me. It's a subtle but important distinction."

  She frowned.

  "This is going to be a massacre," Alfred said. "We'll end up fighting all of them, including Daniel."

  "Anybody have a better suggestion?" Virgil said.

  Nobody answered.

  * * *

  Ken Walton was alone in his chamber high above the stage. Circular portals allowed him to see most of the factory floor. Dozens of figures in white were visible, but he could barely hear their chanting. The drum beat did a better job of penetrating the steel walls which surrounded him on all sides.

  Walton sighed with anxiety. He expected the demons to be here by now. Reports from the home of "Sebastian Miller" confirmed they had visited that location. He didn't doubt they had examined the secret library on the top floor. A mere locked door couldn't stop a squad sent by the princes of Hell. The evidence planted in that room would send the demons directly to the Honey Bear Candy Factory.

  Walton checked his watch. Taking into account travel times and traffic, the demons should've arrived fifteen minutes ago. Where are they?

  He looked down at the stage. The girl on the table was squirming and screaming with great enthusiasm. She was under orders to keep it up for as long as necessary. He liked how her nearly naked body twisted one way and then another. It was quite a performance.

  The guy holding the knife wasn't Daniel, of course, but from a distance, he could be mistaken for Daniel. The knife was just for show. Like all the performers on and around the stage, he was a paid professional. The actors would run when the time came.

  The security guards were real though, and they would shoot any intruders. Ordinary bullets couldn't kill demons, but realism was important. If the demons suspected a trap, they might not walk into it. Getting shot would be a very authentic experience. Of course, once the trap was sprung, the guards would run like the rest.

  Walton clucked his tongue nervously. If the trap failed, he would be powerless to intervene. He certainly wasn't going to confront pissed-off demons.

  He forced himself to settle down. The demons would come, and the trap would destroy them. He merely had to wait.

  * * *

  "We don't care about the guards," Sara said. "Let them shoot us. It won't hurt. If we run fast enough, they might not even hit us. I vote we all try to rescue the girl. If that guy on the stage is Daniel, we'll blast him with Furies' Bane, or if that fails, rip him apart with our bare hands. What happens after that isn't so important."

  Virgil pursed his lips. He didn't like the idea of getting shot on purpose, but he couldn't argue with her logic. He looked at Alfred and Lisa, and they nodded in agreement.

  "OK," Virgil said. "We'll try it your way. On the count of three, we go. One... two... three!"

  The four of them took off at a full sprint. They flew across the factory, their feet barely touching the ground. They were half-way to their goal before any of the guards had the presence of mind to shoot his gun. The bullets missed by a wide margin. A moment later, the team was dashing through the crowd around the stage.

  Lisa was a little quicker and got to the target first. She bounded onto the stage and tackled the man with the knife. Her mass and momentum knocked him clean off his feet.

  Virgil arrived an instant later. He ripped the knife out of the man's hand and tossed it away. Then Virgil pulled back his hood. The guy wasn't Daniel, but there were many physical similarities. The likeness was too good to be a coincidence. We were supposed to be fooled, Virgil thought.

  An air horn sounded from up above. He looked at the dark ceiling in confusion. What was that for?

  Virgil looked back at the sacrificial girl on the table. She was pulling her arms and legs free of the ropes on her own. It was clear she had never really been tied up. Sara and Alfred were on the stage, eager to help, but their assistance wasn't necessary.

  The rest of the men and women in white were running in all directions as if a bomb were about to explode. Nobody tried to confront Virgil or his teammates. The cult didn't even seem curious about the intruders who had rudely interrupted the secret ceremony. He expected the guards to respond at least, but they were also headed for the nearest exits at a sprint. They obviously knew something Virgil didn't.

  Understanding hit him like a hammer blow. "It's a trap!" he bellowed.

  The lighting suddenly became much brighter. Gleaming metallic sculptures descended from the ceiling on wires, and the intricate shapes were hypnotic. The spinning reflective surfaces captured his attention completely. A strange buzzing filled his ears. A peaceful sensation washed over him and sucked the strength from his limbs.

  "Virgil!" a distant voice yelled. "Virgil! What are you doing? Pay attention!"

  Virgil reluctantly turned away from the beautiful sculptures. Sara was screaming into his face.

  "What's wrong with them?" she said.

  "I don't know," Alfred said. "Lisa is affected to."

  Virgil noticed something peculiar happening to the floor of the factory. Big concrete slabs were dropping away or sliding over. Hidden machinery was reconfiguring the entire surface. A geometric pattern with seven points was becoming visible.

  "Let's go!" Sara yelled.

  She yanked on Virgil's arm. His training and experience as a U.S. Marshal helped him regain his focus despite the feeling of being lost in a dream. He was on a mission, damn it, and nothing would stop him.

  Lisa also appeared to shake off the effects of the sculptures. The team started to move towards the main exit of the factory. Virgil missed the stairs and walked off the edge of the stage, landing on his face. A normal man would've been hurt, but he just got up.

  The changes in the floor had exposed long iron bars. They formed a gigantic star which reminded him of occult symbols he had seen over the last couple of days. Something about the shape made him very anxious.

  A circular moat surrounded the star and was filling with cloudy water. Stragglers from the religious ceremony had to jump the moat or wade through the water. The moat wasn't deep enough to be a real obstacle, and the water had no apparent effect on the people who touched it, so Virgil wondered what it was for.

  Virgil reached one of the iron bars set in the floor. He tried to take another step, but his leg refused to move. An invisible force was holding him back.

  "What's wrong?" Sara said.

  "I don't know!" he said. "I can't go forward!"

  Lisa was also having difficulty, but Sara and Alfred stepped over the iron easily. Virgil wondered if being from Heaven or Hell made the difference.

  He heard fire sprinklers begin to spray. Water rained down from the ceiling.

  Since arriving on Earth, Virgil hadn't felt real pain, but he certainly did now. The water ate into his skin like acid. Clouds of greasy smoke boiled off of him. He knew immediately if he didn't escape the trap, he would soon be destroyed.

  Again, Sara and Alfred appeared to be immune, but Lisa was in the same predicament as Virgil. The former Chicago cop screamed in pain, rage, and frustration. She threw her body against the invisible barrier. Her face twisted as she strained to push through.

  Inspired by her example, Virgil did the same. He remembered all the tough times he had experienced in life, all the obstacles he had overcome. Memories of his loving parents and wife gave
him spiritual strength. The many friends he had made as a U.S. Marshal gave him confidence. He was strong in all the ways that mattered. His demon body was caught in the trap, but his human soul was not so easily defeated. Furthermore, Daniel was still out there, killing innocent young people. Those future victims needed Virgil to save them. Mere iron bars would not stop him.

  Virgil broke through. He looked over and saw Lisa also step over the bars. The water had cut big chunks out of her face and body. Black blood oozed out from scores of ghastly wounds.

  The moat was next. Virgil looked at the cloudy water anxiously.

  "Lisa," he said, "don't touch the water. It can't be good for us."

  Alfred positioned his body across the moat like a bridge. His feet were braced against once side, and his hands pushed against the other.

  "Run across me!" he yelled.

  Virgil somehow found reserves of energy in his rapidly deteriorating body. He stepped on Alfred's back and hopped across to the other side. Virgil reached over and grabbed Lisa's hand as she did the same.

  They were finally out of range of the fire sprinklers, but the damage was severe. Virgil dropped to his knees as his strength gave out. Alfred pulled Virgil to his feet again. They shuffled forward with Virgil leaning heavily on Alfred with each step. Virgil was as useful as a sack of rocks.

  "Furies' Bane," he murmured. "Where is it?"

  "I got it," Sara said.

  She had the leather bag under one arm. She was also helping Lisa who seemed to be in slightly better shape than Virgil. At least both of Lisa's legs were still moving. Her right arm was a grisly mess though, and the fingers on her right hand had dissolved down to mere nubs. Virgil didn't see how she could heal from such injuries. There just wasn't enough of her left.

  "It was a trap meant for us," he murmured. "They knew we were coming."

  "Shh," Sara said. "Don't talk. Save your strength. We'll discuss this back at headquarters. For now, focus on getting to the car."

  He nodded.

  * * *

  Ken Walton couldn't believe what he had just seen. The trap had utterly failed. Two of the demons had walked out as if it wasn't even there. The special iron and holy water had had no effect on them. The angelic sculptures hadn't distracted them in the slightest. At least the other two demons had suffered severe damage, but even they had escaped. The trap had been designed to destroy any demon aside from Satan himself, and yet it hadn't worked. The huge investment in time and money was wasted.

  Walton unlocked the door of his security chamber and walked out onto the swaying catwalk. The tank full of holy water had finally run dry. Everybody was gone. Silence filled the factory.

  He looked down at the giant seven-pointed star. He still didn't understand what had gone wrong. As far as he could tell, every component of the trap had functioned perfectly. Even the complex machinery under the floor had operated without a hitch. Perhaps the iron or holy water had had an impurity. One of the actors could've unintentionally disrupted the spell. Walton shook his head in dismay.

  He made his way down a metal staircase to the floor. He looked at the trap one last time before he walked out. Black demon blood had splattered the floor. He was unaccustomed to failure, and it tasted very bitter. He wondered if he would get a second chance. He doubted it. All he could do was clean up the mess and hope for forgiveness.

  Walton took a flashlight out of his pocket. It produced a narrow blue beam which would be hard to see from a distance. The light helped him follow the rusty railroad tracks beside the factory. He walked several hundred yards east. He passed through woods and crossed an old bridge along the way. It was a warm night, and a chorus of insects surrounded him.

  He wasn't worried about leaving evidence behind. The "burn crew" was already on its way. The enemy would find no helpful clues.

  Walton finally came to a parking lot. The asphalt had been poured yesterday, and it still smelled like fresh tar. A line of cars was trying to get out through a narrow opening which connected to a country road. The actors had parked here and were going home.

  Walton walked over to his black limousine. Two bodyguards were standing beside the car, and they came forward.

  "Is everything OK, sir?" one man said.

  "No," Walton said. "Everything is certainly not OK. Call for a helicopter. Tell the pilot to pick me up here. I need to get to the Towers tonight, and driving will take too long."

  "Yes, sir."

  * * *

  Walton liked flying over the City of Chicago during the day, but he loved doing it at night. Tens of thousands of street lights and windows glowed beneath him. The famous buildings were still recognizable by their hulking, dark profiles. The Willis Tower was the tallest at over a hundred stories. To the north, the John Hancock Center had a unique, pyramidal design. The Aqua building with its wavy exterior stood near the lake. The Trump International Hotel used curves and oblique angles to break away from the boxy shapes of traditional skyscrapers.

  The twin towers of Walton Enterprises stood in the heart of downtown. They weren't the tallest buildings, but the octagonal floors and golden exterior made them just as notable as the others. Identical towers were fifty stories tall, and flying bridges connected them at ten story intervals.

  The helicopter swooped down and landed on the roof of one building. It was late at night, and he wasn't expecting anybody to meet him, but one of his vice presidents was waiting there. Walton raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  He got out while the helicopter rotors were still slowing down. He jogged across the roof, and a bodyguard followed step for step.

  "Carl!" Walton said. "What are you doing here so late?"

  "Working as usual, sir," the vice president said.

  "I didn't tell anybody I was coming."

  "I left standing orders with security to notify me every time you arrived. You've been a hard man to meet with lately. I don't mean to offend, sir, but it seems running your business isn't your primary concern at the moment."

  Walton's face grew warm. He normally prided himself on outworking everybody else in his organization. He had wanted to set the best possible example for his employees. During the last several weeks, he had failed badly at that goal.

  "You're right," Walton said. "I apologize. My only excuse is my life has been very complicated lately. I trust my skilled executive staff has kept things running smoothly in my absence."

  "Mostly," Carl said, "but there are some important matters which desperately need your attention. The Sato deal is falling apart because they won't budge on the lease default terms."

  "I'll go over the paperwork first thing in the morning."

  "Yes, sir, and Coach Research is suing us again for patent infringement."

  "That's a favorite sport of theirs," Walton said.

  "They claim they have hard evidence this time, criminal evidence, and I believe them. We'd better start negotiating before they turn the case over to the feds."

  Walton sighed. "What else?"

  "The sexual harassment litigation won't go away."

  "I paid off that bitch."

  "Other 'bitches' have come forward, sir," Carl said. "They all want a piece of you. They're threatening to sell their stories of your sexual exploits to the media."

  Walton rubbed his temples. "I really can't deal with this right now. I promise I'll put in a full day at the office tomorrow."

  "If you didn't come here to work, why are you here?"

  "I have a business meeting, but it's with somebody you don't know. If you'll excuse me...."

  Walton walked past Carl, pushed open a door on the roof, and entered the building. The bodyguard followed.

  Walton took an elevator down ten floors. He left the elevator and walked through the quiet hallways of his corporation. Nobody was around. Only every third light was lit to save electricity.

  He crossed over to the twin building using one of the bridges. Windows gave him a view onto the streets five hundred feet below. He glanced downwards
automatically but didn't stop moving.

  Another elevator carried him to the roof of the second tower. He needed a keycard and an access code before the elevator would take him there. He stepped out into a small room with glass walls.

  "Wait here," Walton said.

  "Yes, sir," the bodyguard replied.

  Walton pushed open a glass door and entered a rooftop garden. It was his private sanctuary, the place where he came to think about difficult problems. Only he and a select group of gardeners were allowed to visit.

  Small trees such as dogwoods and junipers created a green perimeter. Flower beds in wooden planters formed interior layers. Lavender bushes were the featured plant, and the little purple flowers were pretty even in the poor light. He could smell them as soon as he stepped outside. Pink and yellow daylilies were also blooming. Two putting greens were at the center of the garden.

  The grass surrounded a shed made entirely of etched glass. Walton walked over and entered the shed. During the day, sunlight passing through angled surfaces filled the interior with rainbows, but that was just an unintended side-effect. The shed was meant to be used at night.

  He looked up through the glass roof at the night sky. Thousands of little lenses shifted the stars around and made the constellations unrecognizable. He stepped from side to side as he searched for the exact right spot. The tolerances were very tight. If he was even an inch off, nothing would happen.

  The stars suddenly aligned and formed an abstract face in the sky. Walton froze so he wouldn't lose the connection.

  "The trap failed," he said, "but I don't know why."

  The face answered in a voice which was distant and hollow. It sounded like wind blowing through a desert canyon.

  "I saw."

  "What went wrong?" Walton said. "I followed all your instructions. The trail of clues led the demons to the right place, and they arrived at the right time. The trap was properly constructed. It should've destroyed them."

  "We made one mistake. They weren't demons. I was very surprised when I realized what was happening."

  Walton swallowed. "They certainly weren't human."

  "Their type doesn't have a name. Supernatural bodies with human souls. A blend of mortal and immortal. Only five such beings have ever existed. Daniel was the first. The Powers of Heaven and the Princes of Hell made four more to catch him. The trap was designed to destroy demons, not those things."