by Mark Lingane
Angelina had left with a call-me wiggle of her fingers. She sure had embraced her change in criteria, and was enjoying getting her flowers pressed harder than a manic ornamental horticulturist discovering the wonders of Florentine découpage.
The hours had ticked away, pushing hard past the pumpkin hour. My eyes were so tired they burned. I rubbed them with the palms of my hands.
"He's a tough guy," Watcher was saying. "It took a handful of my biggest men to get him in there. And since he's been in there, he's been a wild one, stalking back and forth. He seems afraid of the bars." He gave them a kick and they hummed.
Phoenix snapped his head around and glared at us.
"He tried to touch one, then acted like it was on fire," Watcher said. "Is there such a thing as a metal phobia?"
I shrugged. "It works for me."
The desk sergeant called down the corridor. Watcher signaled back.
"We've been after this guy for decades, but we could never catch him." Watcher kicked the cell bars again. "But we got you now, boyo, haven't we?"
Phoenix jumped up and lunged at him, baring his teeth and roaring. He stopped just short of smashing into the bars. Watcher took a couple of steps back in surprise.
"You can't hold me. No cage can," Phoenix spat.
Watcher gave him a dismissive glance and made his way back down the corridor.
Phoenix stared at me. I stared back. It was definitely the same man who'd been impaled at the church, with the same scar on the neck.
He saw me looking. "You know where I got it from? The scar?"
I shrugged. I didn't really care. I watched him pace back and forth in his cell. It was strange to think that I'd seen him killed twice.
"I saw you die," I said.
"You sure? You sure you hadn't been drinking? You sure you hadn't been drinking a lot? I know about your drinking." He let out a manic laugh.
I turned away, in half a mind to let him rot in the stinking cage. His laugh cut through the air so loud and sharp it nearly hurt. My mind became clouded with dark thoughts, things I'd like to do to him.
He leaped up onto the bars and swung from them like a deranged monkey. His laughing turned into the mock chatter of a gibbon, and he screeched, and screamed, and smoke began to seep out between his fingers. He landed back on the floor, showing me his burned hands. He stepped toward the bars again, and his hand shot out between them, trying to grab my jacket.
I stepped back. He pressed against the bars. He tried to grab my throat with his other hand, the smell of burning flesh drifting up into my nose. His face was flush against the bars and they burned vertical lines into his skin. Finally his burning face made him shriek and he let go.
I struggled for breath, keeping him at bay. I had visions of grabbing him by the throat and squeezing until every drop of life had drained from his sorry existence. Watching his eyes pop out of his skull, slamming his face against the bars and watching him burn. It would be cleansing. The world would be a better place without him. I felt angry and old, as though the world had been dragging me down every moment my mind was awake.
I stood back, horrified at the thoughts in my head.
"Anything coming back to you?" He stood close to the bars again, but without touching them. His red face looked demented in the light. "I'm telling you, as soon as I'm out of here I'll rip you apart. And I don't care who you think you are. Or were. Because from what I see, you ain't even a fraction of the person we all once feared."
My anger flared at his ridiculous comments. He was just a punk with a broken mind, full of self-conceited thoughts and irrelevant nonsense. I cleared my mind and tried Angelina's pure thoughts.
The laughter stopped. Phoenix was staring at me, half in a trance, with death in his eyes. "What are you doing?" he said.
His voice drifted away, as did the feeling of extreme confrontation. There was peace. I no longer felt old, but refreshed as though I had drunk a glass of cold water in the middle of an unbearable night.
Something clicked behind Phoenix's eyes. "The change is coming."
"So I hear."
"Levi has a plan. He's challenging for the top job. The previous boss has broken all her promises."
"The previous boss?"
"Lucy."
He seemed to be a calmer man. He scratched at his burns; skin fell to the floor. Small bugs scurried out to eat the skin. With a blank face, Phoenix stamped down on them until the crunching stopped.
"People are like bugs," he said. "They don't come back when you crunch them."
I wasn't buying into his shock tactics. "You've got a church."
"Politics demand it. You can't get anywhere if, in the eyes of the public, you don't believe. You own a church, everyone thinks you're pure and great. Little do they know ..."
"Know what?"
"What's really going on there, and what's going to happen there. Tomorrow night: Lucy versus Levi."
As though in some kind of trance state, he punched his fists out with so little effort he would've had trouble punching through paper. He accompanied his efforts with the appropriate sound effects, now looking as dangerous as a kitten. He scratched frantically behind his ear, then twitched.
"We got some dark times coming."
"Are you afraid?"
"Levi is worse than Lucy. She's been sitting in her tower untainted by the evil that men do. Levi has lived among it, swum in the fetid reality." He pulled a face of disgust. "He's learned the worst behaviors, the vilest actions, all from the ordinary people that inhabit this little planet. He is far, far worse. So yes, I am afraid. Everyone should be."
"Where is he?"
Phoenix laughed. "You think you can beat him? He's unstoppable. He will battle, he will win, and then he will challenge Him. And if Him falls, if Levi wins--when Levi wins--it ends badly for anyone not on the winning side. The gates of the night will be opened and he'll reign supreme over the universe for all eternity. When the night comes, you'd better pick which side you're on."
"That's easy. I'm on mine."
A crack of lightning, loud enough to deafen a fanatic, seared down from above, smashing through the wall of the tank. Bricks flew everywhere and steel twisted. I was thrown back against the rear wall, bricks raining down on me. I clawed my way free just in time to see lightning course down into the cell, illuminating and irradiating the room with fierce intensity.
Phoenix screamed in pain and collapsed to his knees. He stared up at me. His skin started to char. "You can't win," he said through clenched teeth.
His yellow eyes glared at me as his skin blackened. The growl of a demented demon rolled out across the darkening sky. The heavens opened and torrential rain fell. There was a crack of thunder so loud it shattered the remaining windows.
The wall collapsed, revealing a sinister form on the road. The figure stood there in his faded set of ex-army pants and old lumberjack shirt hanging open. He had his hair tied back and a large set of cheaters in some failed attempt at disguise. He stared in at me, still as a statue.
"We should stop meeting like this," I shouted through the howling wind and rain.
I clambered awkwardly over the rubble and came face to face with the big man. Well, more like face to chin. His height was still intimidating. But he had a ponytail, so you can only give a man so much credence before he shoots his own foot away if unguided by a decent female. The wind whipped across my face, blowing my hair into my eyes. Maybe his ponytail had a use, after all.
"Maybe we will," he said. "It's all coming to an end, so maybe we meet just once more, tomorrow night."
"You could end it now."
He laughed and shook his head. "No. You could end it now. The choice has always been yours."
"Do you have the rood?"
He nodded in a noncommittal fashion. I didn't know what he was afraid of admitting. It was what he'd wanted all along, and now he seemed hesitant to bask in the glory it afforded him. It had cost a lot of people a lot of things, including their lives. But
he didn't seem to care. Maybe it was all just a bunch of bull and he'd found out the hard way.
But when I looked at the evidence around me--controlled lightning strikes, buildings destroyed--I had to ask myself how often I had to see something before I'd believe it. I could deny the madness that lay outside my head, but I would lose. What if we all moved our tents down the insane line? We either embraced it, or got taken down fighting it. Either way we lost. So how does anyone win?
To beat the demons in our heads we had to fight them on common ground, even if it was their territory. Sometimes we had to visit crazy town, with all its happy villagers, and burn it to the ground.
I went back into the tank, clumsily stepping over the pile of bricks. Phoenix had been replaced by a blackened pile of cinders. The cell had been unlocked. I flicked the opened padlock and sighed. When I kicked the heap of charred remains, it contained nothing living. In the air hung the scent of perfume, one that I knew well. Desire. Subtitle: Damnation.
On the edge of earshot I heard a buzzing. I grabbed a sheet off the cot and wrapped it around me, just as a swarm of insects flew straight at me. I pulled the sheet closer around me. I felt them bounce off the fabric. They were concentrating on my head. I swept the sheet up, capturing them, then flung it onto the floor and stamped on it until the buzzing stopped.
"It's time," I said. But it wasn't my voice. "The change is coming."
The remains of Phoenix had gone.
36
I went back upstairs to the tank. The lights were out. I'd never been in the building without its illumination. It was a lot like being unconscious. The place was deserted and deathly silent. Without windows it was pitch black.
Within a few steps I'd crashed into a desk. I fumbled around the edge of it and took it step by step, slowly, feeling my way in the dark. I heard a scuffling sound to my right. I paused, trying to establish its identity. Too big for a rat; too scratchy for a person. I inched forward, sliding my feet along the floor. Something brushed against my trouser leg. I spun around, but couldn't see anything. I waited until my eyes could make out the dim shape in the darkness.
There was a growl behind me. I wheeled around again and came face to face with a dog. Its red eyes glared at me, a deep glow coming from within. It was standing on a desk, hunched forward. Its jaws were at eye level.
I stepped back and knocked against another desk. I ran my hands along the wooden top, feeling for anything sharp, not taking my eyes off the mad beast in front of me.
"Good boy," I muttered. The dog deepened its growl and bared its fangs. "Or would you prefer I called you bad dog?"
It stared at me. I could see drool dripping from its teeth. My hand landed on something long and thin. I whipped it around in front of me and thrust it at the dog. It was a pen. As a weapon it wasn't great. It occurred to me that the only time the pen is mightier than the sword is when you don't have a sword. Or when it's wielded by a bank manager. Most of the time a sword would be my preference.
In the dark you face your fears, and it defines who you are. Sometimes the most personal dark is the one you see when you close your eyes. All those things you've done wrong unroll in your mind, and that's when you have to face your darkest fear: the truth about you and the person you are. But coming a close second is a great big black dog with very sharp teeth.
You face your fears, and it defines who you are.
"Good boy. Look, a squirrel!"
And sometimes you're disappointed with the results.
The dog leaned out from the desk, its muzzle snuffling over my shoulder and face. Its drool trickled down, the smell a mixture of rotting meat and poor dental hygiene. It occurred to me that I might not be smart enough to outwit a dog. We were deep in the quicksand of primal confrontation, and the dog was the dominant player.
I flicked something heavy off the desk and it crashed to the floor, but the dog's eyes remained fixed on me. There was only one option left, the one any weaker opponent has in a confrontation: the element of the stupid surprise attack.
I lunged at the dog. It shrank back momentarily as I roared toward it. Then it recovered and launched forward again. I held up my arm against the attack and felt razor sharp teeth sink into my flesh. The dog had leaped off the desk. I caught it in midair, twisted around, and swung the beast in a wide arc. Its teeth tore from my arm as it sailed across the dark room.
I turned and ran, crashing into desks and throwing chairs to the floor behind me. I tripped up the steps to the entrance and scrambled on all fours toward the front door. I fumbled with the door handle, pushed through, and slammed the door closed.
I was out in the night air. I slumped with my back to the door, with ferocious barking and scratching coming from the other side. And then the pain in my arm introduced itself to my consciousness, which quickly let me know it was not impressed by my foolhardy actions.
Angelina had come to my aid and done some pretty excellent bandaging of teeth marks. Thankfully she had changed her clothing.
"We don't have an angel," I said.
She'd pulled the bandages tight and I winced with the pain and pressure.
"I've been thinking about what you told me," she said. "It's only important to have an angel when you don't know when or where a fallen angel's going to appear. Levi said tomorrow night. We know when, so all we need is to find the place. Phoenix's church."
When she'd finished the nursing stuff I pulled my sleeve down over the bandages and buttoned up the cuff. I looked at her. It amazed me how much she'd changed. She'd faced her fears and come up with something better than Look, a squirrel!
I stood up from the chair and offered her my hand. She smiled and took it, rising up next to me.
"I've got some ideas," I'd said.
Now we had a map from the state library pinned up on the wall of my office. It covered the city and surrounding areas, including the wastelands. Angelina produced an oversized magnifying glass and searched inch by inch over the wasteland areas. She made a note of any building of significance, and the list grew.
The minutes ticked past and we were getting nowhere. My stomach was in knots, and I could feel the frustration boring into me.
"I'm getting nothing," I said, standing back from the wall and rubbing my eyes. I was seeing double. The nights without sleep were beginning to weigh on me.
"Sorry, what was that?" Angelina said, and then ignored me. "But where's the church? There are dozens of them out on the wastelands."
I glanced at my watch and out the window at the setting sun. We were running out of time.
Angelina stood up and wandered over to the window, examining her list.
I stood in front of the map and drew lines, trying to find some direction from the buildings within the city. But there were no clues.
"They're all well-known deities and sanctuaries," Angelina said. "But they all sound so innocuous. Why can't one of them be called Temple of Absolute Evil and Death?"
"It would only attract heavy-metal fans and elementary-school teachers? What sanctuaries?"
"The Animal Liberation Movement, Global and Fauna Spirituality, the Temple of Animal Claim, and the Academy of Biospirituality."
She continued listing other ridiculous names, and her voice disappeared into the background of my thought processes. My subconscious ran over the titles as I stared at the maps.
"Wait." I held up a finger.
"What?"
"Read out those animal sanctuaries again."
She recounted the titles. I closed my eyes and listened. When she came to the temple I held up my hand.
"That's where we're going."
"Where?"
"The Temple of Animal whatever." I grabbed my keys, and indicated for Angelina to get her weapons.
"Animal Claim."
"Animal Claim is an anagram."
"Of what?"
I didn't bother to lock the door. I doubted we'd be back.
"Let's get the others," I said. "This is going to be difficult. It'
s a temple to Mina Camilla."
37
We were halfway down the corridor when the phone rang. I hesitated. Would it be some feckless deadbeat wanting me to chase down his wandering wife, or was it Derek? I couldn't risk it. I turned back and picked up the receiver.
Derek's voice came down the line. He sounded shaken. The news was bad. Laura was fading fast.
I grabbed Angelina, against her protests, and dragged her along with me. Within fifteen minutes, after hijacking another diesel dimbox and pushing it to near destruction, we ran inside Laura's apartment. As we entered, a fierce, intense cold fell over me, chilling me to the bone. Angelina didn't seem to notice. I had one thought: Mina was still missing.
I looked at Laura's face. Her eyes seemed dead. She lay in a pool of sweat that spread out from her shoulders. It looked like she had wings. Her face was clammy, and her hair was stuck to it in uneven clumps.
"Please look at me," I whispered, sitting down on the bed. There was a tiny spark but it faded in an instant. I looked up at Angelina. "Are you sure it'll work?"
She sighed. Her eyes were compassionate. "I won't lie. It's never been done before. We're relying on myth and legend, which are even less substantial than old wives' tales and tax laws. But it's all we can do, and your guess is as good as mine."
"I'll pray for you," Derek said.
Normally I would mock a man for saying such a thing to me, but not today. I nodded a thank-you to him. We all bundled out of the bedroom into the apartment's living room. I held Laura close in my arms. I didn't want to let her go yet.
We all talked over the final aspects of the plan. At least, I tried to talk but images of a fast-fading Laura kept derailing me. In the end, Angelina took over.
Laura began to rouse, and Derek came over to her and took her hand.
"I need a drink before I go," he said. "My nerves are all over the place. Anyone else need to fortify their spirits?"
