‘Nice to see a man who appreciates a good Cuban,’ Teischen commented, blowing his first smoke plumes from a freshly lit cigar.
‘One good thing about these cigar clubs, I suppose. The privacy.’
‘You should come here more often. You get all these business pussies only here because their wives won't let them smoke at home – but it's still a great atmosphere. You get your own personal smoking locker with bag of tricks and...’
Teischen broke off, picking up on the coolness in Alex's eyes. And, beyond the impatience, something else in them too, strangely unnerving. Teischen waved his cigar hand.
‘Okay, Alex. You mentioned on the phone a fresh problem. Tell me?’
‘The air-crash investigation might not sideline John as much as I'd
hoped. Or at least not quickly enough for our plans.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’
‘I'm not sure it would be right for me to 'suggest' anything. After all, he's my brother.’
Teischen smiled slowly, picking up on Alex's sub-text. ‘I didn't know you were the type to believe in karma?’
Alex gently blew out a cigar plume. ‘Let us say it's more a matter of burying any possible traces.’
Teischen lapsed into thought as he sucked harder on his cigar.
‘I too would have to be cautious. Bury any possible traces.’
Alex nodded. He'd got Teischen heading where he wanted.
‘Yes, I daresay you would.’
The next time Ryan and Jessica found themselves together was two nights later. A ‘search and identification’ patrol headed by Josh Eskovitz.
Their black van was parked under a highway overpass, shadows heavy in the last dusk light. Fifty yards ahead, a group of tramps shuffled to keep warm by a makeshift oil-can brazier. Ryan turned to Jessica.
‘My favourite the other day was the goat-man with slimy scales. He had a cute twinkle in his eyes. I don't think he's quite as bad as Mentinck makes out.’
Jessica smiled. ‘Mine was the gargoyle with serpents' dreads. Gave him strong rock-star street creds.’
Ryan joined her in a brief chuckle, then looked again towards the tramps huddled round the brazier.
‘Is this going to be our life from now on? Trawling the city streets at night in search of demons?’
‘Know what you mean. If I'd known, I'd have said I had to wash my hair.’
‘I mean, what are we waiting here for? It's not as if...’
Bang! The sharp sound against the side of their van made them jump.
‘Jeez!’ Ryan exclaimed.
A girl close to that side let out a shriek.
They watched as a tramp in a dark coat emerged from the shadows and staggered into view: he'd knocked a garbage can against the van's side on his way through.
And they saw something else then: a swirling apparition within him take shape, half-monkey, half-rat – though weak and hazy. They had to peer to see it clearly.
‘Why's this one fainter than the one I saw last night?’ Jessica asked.
Josh looked towards the tramp. He couldn’t see the aura himself, but he knew what they’d be seeing.
‘Because it's not as strong a spirit, so its aura – what we term its radiothesis – is correspondingly weaker. Only level nine and ten demons are slice and dice evil. Last night's one was level seven. But below that most mid-level demons are simply mischievous and lead people down the wrong path. Explore their weaknesses.’
A jabbering gaggle of voices could now also be picked up by the pupils, but that was fainter too.
Josh nodded towards the tramp. ‘This one's a level-five demon known as Mabaraymus. Levels four and below, their auras are so weak you won't see them at all.’
They watched the man shuffle towards the other tramps by the brazier.
‘So what's his story?’ Ryan asked.
‘Bill's weakness was gambling. Then later he hit the bottle too.’ Josh grimaced. ‘Lost everything: his home, his job. Finally his wife and three lovely kids – she'd had enough.’ He eased a tired sigh. ‘Within two months he was down here with his only friends these guys and a meths bottle.’
They watched Bill reach a hand out towards another tramp swigging from a bottle of cheap rum. The other tramp grunted and elbowed him away. Bill tried again, but a second elbow jab and a sharp push knocked him to the ground.
Jessica looked on with concern, consumed with a wave of sympathy.
‘That's terrible. Isn't there anything you can do to help him? Maybe help him get his life back on track.’
‘Maybe.’ Josh said. ‘And you'll cover some of that later with 'containment'. But we discovered Bill only a month back – and right now it's not his time.’
Not his time. Those words echoed in their heads as they contemplated Bill and his empty, desolate life.
Once again Ryan found himself picked out as the class finished and taken aside by Ellis Kendell. Though this time Kendell waited until they were sequestered in his private office before he said anything.
‘That cover story for the hotel altercation we phoned your parents about – police mistaken identity – that go down okay?’
‘Yeah, yeah... it was okay. Looks like they bought it.’ He smiled tautly. ‘The real explanation was more of a stretch in any case.’
Ellis mirrored Ryan's smile for a second, then became more serious.
‘But that incident has given us another related problem. Most here have only seen one apparition, some none – but only a handful, like you, have seen two. With the girl at the café, Tracy Fulton, not a problem. She's in custody.’ Ellis took a fresh breath. ‘But Culverton is another matter. You could be in danger. So we'll need to watch you more than most, plus you'll need some sort of disguise...’
The Blind School canteen was bustling and noisy, so Ryan and Jessica had taken a corner table away from the main throng. Jessica looked at him askew with a grin.
‘So you're special?’
‘Yeah. Or maybe extra-special, given that we're all meant to be a bunch of freaks.’
Jessica studied his face more intently. ‘Black spiky hair, Whitby Wyrm earrings... blood-drops facial tattoo. It'll suit you,’ she teased.
‘Sure. And now straight after telling my parents I might be going blind, I've got to drop the bombshell that I've become a Goth.’
Jessica chuckled. ‘Fact is, before these last couple of days, I hadn't seen any apparitions.’ She paused, reflective for a second. ‘Well, maybe only one. But even then I couldn't be sure. It was so quick.’
Each time she pictured in her mind that hazy apparition across the road junction, perhaps she hoped it would get clearer; but it was always the same replay each time.
Ryan nodded thoughtfully. ‘And what was your parents' reaction when you told them about the hemeralopia?’
‘Just my mum. My dad died a few years back.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
She looked more intently at Ryan for a moment: said with concern, not just mechanically. She shook her head, smiled tautly.
‘Here's me teasing you over the Goth thing. My mom wants me to get a second opinion.’
‘Oh boy. Not good.’
‘Suppose I can hardly blame her, seeing how our family's been hit these past few years. She thinks I'm next in line for the Werner fickled-finger of fate.’
Ryan glanced towards a noisy group a couple of tables away. It was like any other school canteen, except for the dark glasses. They’d been urged to wear them at every opportunity outside the classroom so that they got used to wearing them. He looked back at Jessica, pensive.
‘Because of what happened with your dad?’
‘Not just that. But also what happened with my mom, she...’ Jessica broke off. Though she liked this guy, she'd only just met him. Yet the main reason she never shared the secret with family or friends was because it would probably get back to her mom. At least outside of that it was safe ground, and he did seem genuinely interested. ‘She became ill herself, jus
t a year after my dad. Arthritis was the diagnosis at first.’ She paused, the memory still painful. She took a fresh breath. ‘So there she was battling away as a single mom after my dad's death: going to an office every day to put food on the table for me and my young brother, Ben. But getting tireder and finding it harder to move week by week... Until finally she was at home and could hardly move at all.’
‘How old's Ben?’
‘Only seven.’ She looked down absently for a second, tracing one finger on the table. ‘So now it's mainly me taking care of him and the house – mom can't cope with much. And one day while cleaning up, I found the medical report hidden in a drawer.’ She’d been tidying away some photos scattered on her mom’s dressing table, and only noticed the report as she put them away. ‘I had no idea what the term meant at first – Multiple Myeloma – so looked it up on the net. Incurable blood cancer that attacks the bones. Three year life span. No remission. No Hope. Don't pass go... don't collect the rest of your life.’
Jessica's eyes misted with the memory. She traced her finger absently on the table again. Ryan reached out and gently touched her arm.
‘Oh God. I'm sorry.’
He didn't know what else to say. He felt so inadequate, his own problems with his parent’s split paling in comparison.
‘But the worst thing was feeling so powerless.’ Jessica sighed. ‘I wanted to help, but how could I without my mum knowing that I'd found out? Which would mean confronting her... and then the secret would be out and Ben would know too.’
She looked ahead for a moment – the bustling activity of the canteen lost beyond her gaze.
‘So I kept searching on the net, and finally hit upon something from a German doctor: oral enzymes, used to treat both arthritis and cancer patients. So I grind them into a powder and give them to her in some juice every day.’
Ryan slotted the pieces together. ‘And your mom thinks the treatment's just for arthritis?’
‘Yeah. Like the blind leading the blind.’ She smiled tautly. ‘Sorta fitting with what's meant to be happening with us now.’
Ryan reciprocated with his own pained smile.
‘But you can see why my mom's worried now. She thinks the same might be happening with me: one day it's one thing, then the next...’ Jessica held a hand out. ‘So she's panicking that if anything happens to me, whose going to take care of Ben after she's gone? Or if I'm going blind, how am I going to cope with him?’
Ryan looked at her in wonder, thinking how brave she was juggling all this at her age. And now this new dilemma.
‘You should talk to Ellis about this 'second opinion' problem. He seems to be the man with a plan for every situation.’
Jessica was thoughtful for a second, then nodded.
‘Yeah, yeah. I will.’
FOURTEEN
It had been dark for over an hour, shadows muted under a weak moon, as the three long black vans rolled into the suburban side-street.
They stopped twenty yards short of their target house: a run-down board-frame bungalow, the paint chipped on its green shutters and a hole kicked through the bottom part of its screen door.
Inside the front van sat Ellis Kendell with six Blind School pupils, including Ryan and Jessica. The second van was full of agents, the third empty – only a driver. Ellis looked towards the house.
‘Okay. First practical 'containment' lesson. Inside is a John Doe who regularly beats his wife. But the main reason for that is that he's in the grip of a level-seven fallen angel known as Waldeval. Not a killer or in control of other demons, but more than just mischievous nonetheless.’ Ellis did a steady eye sweep of the group. ‘Now as you already know, fallen angels can't be killed – they can only be 'contained'. And that can happen at only two specific times, one of which is measured from the equinox when they fell from heaven's grace. In other words, when they're at their weakest.’
Ellis looked back towards the house as two agents and a back-up SWAT team got out the van behind and moved towards the house.
‘And for Waldeval, that time is now.’
The two lead agents, a man and woman in suits, rang the bell as soon as the five men in SWAT fatigues were in position behind them.
A porch light came on and seconds later a woman with heavy make-up opened the door. She had dark red hair, and even in the dull porch light the bruise on one cheek could be picked out beneath her make-up.
The female agent stepped forward with her ID.
‘Mrs Burchell. Albany PD. We'd like to speak to you and your husband, if we may.’
The woman looked flustered. ‘I... I suppose.’ She called out behind her: ‘Dougy, some police people here to see us.’
As she turned, the agents used the opportunity to step forward and were already two paces into the hallway as Mr Burchell came out of the front room. They didn’t want to risk him shutting them out.
Heavy-set, shirt open with a T-shirt beneath, his eyes shifted quizzically over the entourage.
‘What’s this all about?’
Inside the van, the Blind School pupils heard Burchell’s voice and saw his reaction on the screen that Ellis pointed to.
‘One of the back-up men has a helmet cam, so you'll be able to follow the progress on here.’
The female agent addressed her answer to both Mr and Mrs Burchell:
‘We've received a domestic dispute complaint, I'm afraid. So we'll need to talk to you separately.’
Mr Burchell's face reddened. He glared at his wife before his eyes shifted back to the female agent.
‘Who from?’
Mrs Burchell silently mouthed “Wasn’t me,” clearly terrified.
‘That's not important. We can't divulge that in any case. Now please...’ The agent held one hand towards the kitchen and nodded at Mrs Burchell, then turned to Mr Burchell. ‘And if meanwhile you stay with my colleague.’
The male agent took his cue and stepped forward. They moved down the hallway and he gestured towards the lounge sofa.
‘Uh, yes. If you stay here with us. When Officer Henning is finished with your wife, we'll get your account.’
As Dougy Burchell watched the kitchen door close behind his wife and he was left alone with the other agent and four SWAT men, he became more unsettled. His eyes darted between them, and he started to smell a rat: full-blown SWAT team for just a domestic incident? He thrust a hand out.
‘Like I said: what the hell’s this all about?’
As if in answer, one of the SWAT men took out a taser-like gun and pointed it at Burchell.
Inside the van, Ellis explained what was happening:
‘The gun will give him a reading of whether the time is right – which it should be. If not, they'll just walk away from the situation – come back later.’
Looking at the screen over Ellis’s shoulder, the Blind School pupils could clearly see the Waldeval apparition swirling inside Mr Burchell.
But at that moment Ellis watched it all start to go horribly wrong: the taser-operator paused, as if unsure he'd got sufficient reading.
‘What the fuuuu...’ Dougy Burchell exclaimed, and in that split-second gap he bolted for the front door.
Ellis watched the rampage on screen as the SWAT agents lunged after Burchell. Chairs were overturned, a table lamp sent crashing. But they were still a yard behind Burchell as he reached the front door.
What Burchell hadn’t figured on was the SWAT agent hanging in the shadows just outside the door and another halfway down the path.
Mrs Burchell was alarmed as she heard the commotion. She pushed past the female agent keeping her in the kitchen and ran out.
She got to the front door just after her husband had been creamed and tumbled to the ground by the first SWAT man. The second one moved in to help pin him down. In the half light, she only noticed the taser gun in the agent’s hand at the last second. She watched open-mouthed as he pressed it against her husband’s chest and zapped him.
On screen in Kendell’s van, the teen ‘wat
chers’ observed Waldeval sucked out of him and into the taser.
Yet to Mrs Burchell it appeared simply as if her husband had been tasered. She was in total shock, and moved tentatively towards her husband’s prone body.
But as he came round, he smiled meekly up at her. He looked suddenly like a gentle pussycat, all the aggression gone.
The agents hustled quickly back to the vans, and the last SWAT man passing touched his helmet at her with a tight smile.
‘He'll be no trouble from now on, mam.’
FIFTEEN
The agent with the taser went to the last van in line and plugged it into a side-socket.
As he pressed a button on the taser, the apparition of Waldeval re-emerged inside the van's empty back compartment and was held in a sparking, electricity-forked force-field.
Each action was caught on camera and fed through to the monitoring van screen. Ellis explained to the Blind School pupils what they were seeing:
‘The force-field gun can hold them only four minutes, and the van compartment no longer than another forty-eight hours. Then they have to go somewhere permanent.’
‘Where's that?’ Ryan asked.
‘That's containment lesson three,’ Ellis said. ‘First there's lesson two: the only other time they can be 'contained’.’
‘...Which is when they feel the end is near for the person they're inhabiting – or that person, that vessel, has outdone its 'usefulness',’ Professor Mentinck elaborated.
Before his next lecture, Mentinck had viewed the CD of the previous night’s Waldeval containment session, then picked up where Ellis Kendell left off.
‘And as they prepare to move to another body, once again they're vulnerable.’ He paused and scanned the class. ‘But when they do finally make that jump, they have to be close, no more than thirty yards away. And that person has to be 'susceptible' to being inhabited: weak, vulnerable, or a bad streak that would benefit from an extra dash of pure evil.’
Ellis stayed for a moment watching Mentinck’s lecture through the side glass screen. Josh Eskovitz came out of the main operations and approached along the corridor, his expression heavy.
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