by N. P. Martin
“Remind me to get some vodka in here,” I said.
“Your mom’s drink.”
God, was I just some sort of carbon copy of my mom or what?
“While we’re on the subject, I have no idea why my mother would give up her soul to save you. Fair enough, she may have felt responsible for getting you killed or whatever, but you know, people die—especially if they chase after monsters all the time—so I don’t understand why she didn’t just accept that, unless of course she had deeper feelings for you.” I paused for a second. “Were you sleeping with my mom, Frank?”
He almost choked on his beer. “No,” he said, coughing and shaking his head. “No.”
My eyes narrowed as I tried to figure out if he was lying. “It just seems a bit much to be giving up your life for someone else if you didn’t love them.”
Frank went and sat down in one of the armchairs by the fire. I joined him in the other chair. “Look,” he said. “Rachel—your mom—had a savior complex. She thought it was her duty to save everyone, no matter the risk to herself. I used to tell her, you gotta look out for yourself as well, but she could never help being a martyr. It was who she was.”
I stared into the fire. It was like my mom had been two different people, the one I barely saw at home—the distant, often preoccupied but still loving parent—and the woman who ran around after monsters, fighting the good fight, saving the world from evil and ready to sacrifice herself if need be; the woman who put her brother-in-law above herself and her own family. That still didn’t make any sense to me. There was obviously more to the story than Frank was willing to reveal.
“So she sacrificed her soul,” I said. “What does that even mean? That her soul is in Hell or something?”
“Yeah.” Frank looked away into the crackling fire. “Her soul is in Hell.”
The thought horrified me. What did that even mean? How did that work? “Please tell me my mom isn’t going to be tortured for all eternity.” Frank gave me a blank look, saying nothing. “Jesus, really?” He nodded. “That’s even worse. She did that, knowing what would happen to her?” I shook my head, still horrified at the thought of my mom being trapped in Hell of all places.
“Let’s not talk about this,” Frank said. “What’s done is done.”
“That’s easy for you to say, you’re alive. You’re not the one suffering in Hell for all eternity.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” he snapped. “There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about it.” He tugged hard on his beer. “If I could go back and change things I would, but I can’t so…”
“Isn’t there anything we can do to get her out of there?” Stupid question, but I had to ask.
Frank shook his head. “No, unless you wanna go down there and get her.”
“That can be done? You can actually rescue someone from Hell?”
“I’ve never heard of it being done. That’s not to say it can’t be done. I’ve been looking for a way for years. Haven’t found one yet.”
So there was a sliver of hope that my mom could be saved. “What about my dad?”
Frank shifted in his seat, crossed his legs. “What about him?”
“Is he in Hell too?”
“No.”
“How’d you know?”
“I asked around. Demons.”
“I saw my mom being taken, you know. Saw the demon take her away.”
“You saw the hell hounds as well?”
So that’s what they were, the long-haired beasts with the red eyes.
“Just one. It killed my dad.”
“I know. They kill anything that gets in their way. Hell hounds are supposed to kill the body and take the soul. In your mom’s case, things were more personal. The demon came for her personally.”
“What demon?”
“The demon she made the pact with. Can we talk about something else now? I really don’t feel like going over all this right now.”
Easy for you to say, I felt like saying to him. You know the whole story. I don’t. But I could see he was finding it painful talking about all that stuff, so I gave him a break. I’d only just returned after walking out on him, after all. Reaching inside my jacket, I took out a joint. “You mind?”
“Is that weed?” he asked, amused.
“It calms me.” I lit the joint by holding it in the flames of the fire for a second, handing it to him after I took a few drags. He hesitated but then took it from me.
“Been a while.” He took three deep drags on the joint, almost coughing as he exhaled the last one.
A few minutes later, the two of us were mildly stoned. Physically I felt more relaxed. Frank looked like he was melting into his seat. “Here’s what I can’t figure out,” I said. “If you were so close to my mom and you were my dad’s brother, how come we never even saw you before?”
“I thought we weren’t going to talk about this,” he said. “Long story short, your dad and I had a falling out before you and your brother were born. We didn’t see each other, didn’t speak.”
“But you saw my mom.”
“Yeah, we worked together sometimes on cases, helped each other out with hunts.”
“Why’d you fall out with my dad?”
“That’s personal,” he said, his tone making it clear that he had no intention of elaborating on that.
I took a few more drags on the joint and handed the rest to him. “Still doesn’t explain why you never adopted me and my brother. We ended up in care.”
“Are you kidding? Me, with the life I lead, looking after two little kids? I couldn’t do it.” He finished the joint and threw the butt in the fire, gazing at it as it turned to ash in the flames.
“Whatever, Frank,” I said after a moment’s silence. “I’m not here to bust your balls or anything. I just want your help getting my brother back. You don’t have to see me or him after that.”
Frank didn’t respond. The two of us sat, two stoners staring into the fire, lost in reverie—or at least Frank was. The silence was killing me; the weed was not helping my paranoia. I was about to get up to go to the kitchen for some water (the weed had given me cotton mouth and I didn’t want to drink the beer that sat on the floor at my feet), when Frank asked me what was in the bag. His eyes were slightly bloodshot, droopy. He looked wiped by the weed and whatever alcohol he had consumed that day.
“Stuff from my mom’s bat cave,” I said. “Weapons and clothes, mostly.”
“Clothes? You mean her hunting gear?”
Hunting gear?
“Yeah, a few outfits I found in there. I needed clothes, so…”
“What weapons?”
“Two swords, knives and two handguns.”
“You know how to use them?”
“Not really, but that’s partly why I’m here, so you can teach me.”
He stood up, placed his empty beer bottle on the mantle above the fireplace. “Training starts tomorrow then,” he said. “Right now, I need to piss.”
“Good to see you minding your manners in front of a lady.”
“I don’t see any ladies in here, do you?”
I thought he was being serious for a second until he smirked. I smirked back and shook my head. “Whatever.”
That night I slept in the spare bedroom again, though I didn’t sleep very well. I was still shaken by the demon who attacked me at the lockup and thanks to the weed, I was aware of every sound coming from outside the cabin, so whatever sleep I had was shallow and fitful. I lay for most of the night thinking about my mom, about how she was trapped in Hell, about the terrible experiences she must be going through. It wasn’t my fault she was there, but I resolved that I would find a way to save her soul, whatever it took. It seemed I had also inherited her savior complex. That went for Josh too. I would save him, even if it meant sacrificing myself in the process. I would do what I had to. We had looked out for each other our whole lives. I wasn’t about to stop now.
Chapter 8
The
next morning, Frank made us breakfast of bacon and eggs that I devoured because I hadn’t eaten in about two days. Then he took us outside to the front of the cabin, to the edge of the trees where the punching bag was hung. The early morning sun was shining brightly and there was a breeze that gave me goose bumps. The air up on the mountainside was clear and crisp and much more breathable than the dank air in Mercy City down below. I wore a pair of my mom’s black jeans along with combat boots and a black long-sleeved top. Frank said the resemblance to my mom was uncanny. I was getting kind of tired of hearing that, to the point were I felt overshadowed by her, even though she wasn’t around.
Frank was dressed in the same faded blue jeans he had on the day before, as well as a light-colored shirt that was only buttoned half way. With his unruly hair and beard growth, he looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards. “It normally takes years to get a real handle on your powers,” he explained as we stood beside the punching bag. “We don’t have years, so you’re going to have to pick up as much as you can as quickly as you can. The rest you can learn on the job.”
“On the job?”
“Yeah, I have a few cases I’m working on. If I think you’re ready, I’ll take you with me so you can get some experience.”
“I already have experience,” I said. “I was attacked by a demon last night.”
Frank looked surprised and a little miffed. “You never told me that.”
“I told you demons were after me. Anyway, it didn’t go so well. It could have killed me if it wanted. The old guy at the lockup saved me.”
“Hector?”
“Yeah, the creepy old guy, always wants to see my tits.” Frank laughed at that. “He shot the demon and it disappeared. Can they like, teleport or something?”
He was still chuckling to himself over Hector asking to see my tits. “Yeah,” he said. “They can, which makes them hard to fight sometimes.”
“I gathered that.”
“Okay, so listen. Your powers are latent, but you still have to bring them to the surface through training. It takes some people longer than others. If you’re anything like your mom you should be fine.”
Mom again.
“Let’s do it then.” I started bouncing up and down like I was getting ready to run a marathon.
“What are you doing?”
“Warming up.” I was swinging my arms around the way they used to make us do in gym class back in high school.
Frank shook his head. “Forget warming up. You’ll get plenty warm once we start. You go from cold, always. What are you going to do, tell the demons to hold it till you’re ready?”
I stopped jumping around. “No.”
“Well then, start hitting the bag, hand strikes only first.”
I took a few breaths, stood in front of the heavy bag, and started hitting it with my fists, single shots at first and then combinations, trying my best to hit the leather as hard as I could. “That’s it,” Frank coaxed. “Remember—body weight, that’s what counts, not speed but power. Do as much damage as you can with every single shot. And don’t forget to breathe. Breathe out on impact. You feeling the Light Energy yet?”
I stopped hitting the bag. “Light Energy?”
“Some people call it Grace. I’m no angel, so I don’t call it that. It’s the source of our power. It comes from the angel DNA. You should be feeling it inside, coursing through you. Kinda feels like an electric current sometimes.”
“I think I’ve felt it, but more when I’ve been scared or in some kind of danger.”
“It activates by itself when you’re in trouble. You have to learn to control it or it will just take you over. Watch.” Frank went to the punching bag and threw a short punch at it. I was shocked to see white light explode from his fist as it struck the bag, sending the bag swinging backwards with such force that I thought it would fly off into the trees beyond.
“Holy shit!”
“My powers aren’t what they used to be, not since I died and came back, but they’re still there. With practice, you should be able to channel a lot more power than that.”
“I can do that? Awesome!”
“Don’t get too excited. Use it too much and it’ll drain you, leaving you vulnerable. Use it sparingly and wisely.”
“Okay,” I said, nodding, unable to believe that I had such power in me. “How do I bring it out?”
“You just concentrate, channel it. Try it.”
Standing in front of the black leather bag, I started to focus on the Light Energy that I could feel pulsing through my body like a mild electric current. I breathed deeply a couple of times and then hit the bag with a right cross. The punch felt powerful, but no light exploded from my fist the way it did with Frank’s. “That’s okay,” he said. “Do it again. Try to visualize the light coming from your fist.”
I did as he said, visualized white light coming from my fist as I struck the bag again. I couldn’t help but squeal with delight when a small amount of light came from my hand, sending the bag swinging back farther than I had managed already. “I did it!”
“Yeah, you did,” Frank said, not sharing my excitement. “Now do it again. Try for more energy this time.”
Stoked by my previous success, I concentrated hard and really visualized the white Light Energy exploding out of me. Only this time I also pictured the demon who had attacked me the night before. I replaced the bag with his image so that when I hit the bag it felt like I was driving my fist into the demon’s chest. Even Frank looked shocked when the bag swung back with so much force that it snapped the thick tree branch it was tethered to, both bag and branch sailing back about six feet into the woods. “Oh my God!” I yelled.
“Fuck me,” Frank said in a quiet voice as he stared at the bag in the distance.
The Light Energy was pulsing strongly within me, almost like there was a whole other being of light in me trying to get out. I felt god damn invincible at that point. “Holy fucking shit! That was…awesome!” I could hardly contain my excitement. I’d never felt so powerful.
Frank was looking at me strangely and I asked him what was up. “Nothing,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone hit with that much power. No Nephilim anyway.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean only angels hit like that.”
“So what, I’m an angel now?” I said laughing.
“No, but…I don’t know. Not even your mom was that powerful.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it was just a fluke.”
“Yeah, maybe.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Either way, you still gotta learn to control it. That power is nothing without skill. Demons fight like motherfuckers. You have to learn to fight like a motherfucker too.”
“Like a motherfucker, huh?” I laughed, still high off my recent success.
“Let’s go over here and try some free-fighting.”
I followed Frank into the middle of the grass clearing where we faced off like two gladiators. Well, one gladiator and a girl who barely knew what she was doing. I didn’t much like my odds. “The object here is for you to learn to use your instincts,” he said. “It’s like I told you, everything you need to know has been hardcoded into your DNA. Nephilim are soldiers, it’s why we were made. You need to tap into that programming.”
Tap into the programming. Got it.
I adopted my fighting stance—hands up, fists held loosely, shoulders hunched, chin down. A wave of excitement rippled through my belly. I’d sparred before with Josh, but that was just play-fighting. I got the impression Frank wasn’t into play-fighting.
“Loosen up,” he said. “You’re too stiff.” He assumed a relaxed stance, his arms up but his hands open. “You use your arms to control the space in front of you. Walk towards me.”
I did as he asked and he kept me at a distance with one arm, circling around me as he did. “Always have your arms out front, controlling the space between you and your opponent. Use your lead arm to control and the back one to strik
e.” He threw a lightning quick punch, pulling it just before it smashed into my face. I couldn’t help but flinch. “If it’s a stand off, you hit first, don’t wait on them attacking. Use the element of shock and surprise to gain the upper hand. Hit hard, hit first and keep hitting ‘till the bastard is down. Got it?”
“I got it. Sucker punch them.”
“Yeah, kind of like that, but you have to set them up right. Talk to them, distract them, then strike.” He assumed his fighting stance again. “Alright—attack me.”
Excitement mixed with adrenaline coursed through me. I never got that sparing Josh because I always knew it was just messing around. This was different. This felt like serious training. I advanced towards Frank and threw a few punches to his head, all of which he managed to parry or avoid, seemingly with no effort.
“Again. This time with more intent—but be careful with that Light Energy. I don’t want to end up on the roof of the cabin.”
I smiled at the mental image of Frank flying back through the air and landing with a crash on the roof. I attacked him again, this time more forcefully, pressing forward with punches before switching to kicks. Again, nothing landed. It seemed that Frank was just too experienced to let anything hit him. The frustration and anger built in me and I did my best to keep them down—to try and remain Zen about things—but it was difficult. My aggression wanted to be unleashed. I gritted my teeth, went in again, this time using my lead arm to knock away his guard slightly before snapping a punch into his jaw. “Shit! Sorry Frank.”
He shook his head, moving his jaw around like he was making sure it wasn’t broken.
How many jaws has he broken in his lifetime, I wonder?
“Don’t apologize. Are you going to say sorry to some demon when you hit him?”
I snorted. “No.”
“Then don’t say sorry to me. Now attack me again. This time try to get an index. Try to touch me with your lead hand. If you can touch me you can hit me, even if you’re blind. Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just close them.” I closed my eyes. “Now try to touch me with your lead arm. Once you do, hit me with your other hand.”
