Trinity of Darkness: The Darkness Unbound Collection

by Glenn Porzig

  You thought wrong…

  "Abigail? You sound different… is that you?"

  Knowing she hadn't abandoned him again should have been reassuring. But she didn't seem herself. He had almost resigned himself to this fate, but Abigail wouldn't have betrayed him. He trusted her. She was his guide, his contact to the other side, to life beyond life.

  It's not Abigail—there never was an Abigail… Mortal, you toy with things beyond the scope of your understanding… I told you what you wanted to hear, and now I'll watch you pay for your trespasses… I imagine it will be a Hell of a show…

  Price's face went white. His whole life had been a lie. He had been tricked. Deceived into spreading a false doctrine, into leading people astray. He thought he'd been helping people. Sure he'd embellished some things along the way, but his heart was in the right place. He had convinced himself he was special, that he was able to speak with the dead. His hubris had led him to consort with a devil in the guise of a little girl.

  His soul was probably already forfeit, and he cringed thinking what they were about to do to his body. His whole life had been a lie, and it would be over soon. He would die down here and no one would ever know what became of him. He hoped his suffering would end soon and that he would be released from the betrayal that weighed heavily on his heart.

  "You bitch!"

  "Now watch your language Mister Price. Never mind, I'll remove the temptation. Renatus! Remove his offending tongue!" The man in silhouette pointed out at Price and the giant reached out at the command and grabbed Price's head with his large gloved hands. Price futilely grasped at the hands, his nails unable to pierce the heavy rubber, he wiggled and struggled to break free. He started to scream but then decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut for once.

  The hands were large enough that the man was able to hold Price's head with one hand as he pried at his mouth with the other. Price felt his mouth forced open wider and wider as the massive hand forced its way inside. It was too much for his skin too take, stretched beyond its limit the flesh on either side of his mouth tore a grotesque smile across his face. The struggle managed to dislodge the dental implants that had secured the spiritualist's dentures in place and they went clattering to the stone floor in a bloody mess.

  Price's body shuddered with convulsions.

  There was a gurgling sound that wanted to be a scream as the hand was withdrawn from Price's mouth, the mangled remains of his tongue firmly in its grasp. The hand that had held his head relaxed. Price dropped to his knees, his fingers clawing at the pain where his face used to be. The face that had graced so many television screens over the years, the voice that had spoken so eloquently. Destroyed in an instant.

  The giant squeezed too hard and the blood slicked tongue went shooting out of his rubber gloved hand. The severed tongue splatted on the floor across the room. Price passed out at the gruesome sight of it.

  ***

  Thomas Baron hated to do the jobs that he felt were beneath him. He had grown up privileged and never had to do distasteful things, never had to get his hands dirty. As he made his way down the dark dirty tunnel he murmured to himself about how unfair it was that he was the one that had to check on the tunnel entrances. The spiritualist had found his way down there somehow, and they needed to be sure that the hidden entrance was secure.

  The tunnel being discovered and leading to their basement wouldn't look too good on his father's campaign, and the last thing he wanted to do was incur his father's wrath. Jackson Baron had a legendary temper, he'd inherited it from his father, and his father's father.

  Thomas would make his way to the entrance, make sure it was secured, and then get back to plotting his next abduction. Only three more girls to go and they would have everything.

  He was go engrossed in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the sounds of someone else in the tunnel. He stopped and listened. He knew these tunnels better than anyone. He had spent countless hours running up and down them playing as a child. Now he would play a different game. A deadly game.

  Drake was moving slowly. There was only one way lit in the labyrinth of tunnels, so he felt fairly secure that he was going the right direction. But his training told him there could be traps set to keep the unwanted out. He had been trained to watch for the sort of traps that drug dealers used to secure their growing operations. Things like shotgun shells taped with nails against their firing pins and buried along the path. One wrong step and you'd lose half of your foot. So he kept a close watch on where he walked.

  The tunnel up ahead took a turn to the left. He watched to make sure there were no wires stretched across at ankle level to trigger an IED. His head was down when he saw the blur of motion hurtling at him. He looked up in time to see the handsome features of Thomas Baron curled back in rage as he plunged a knife deep in Drake's shoulder.

  Thomas had been crouching in a small alcove carved out of the earth just past the turn in the tunnel. A perfect place for a lookout… or an ambush. He was surprised to see the detective, but not as surprised as the detective was to feel the blade sink deep in his flesh. The detective called out in pain as he rolled with the momentum and threw Thomas against the tunnel wall.

  Thomas still had the blade, it was crimson with the detective's blood. He licked it, his teeth now coated with the life essence of his enemy. He believed it would give him power. He smiled his mischievous grin.

  Drake gathered his senses. His left shoulder was on fire. His arm hung dead at his side. His Maglite had dropped from his hand and rolled off, swallowed up by the darkness. Thomas was feral, acting on instinct. Drake had training, but the tunnel was so small. This was a death tunnel. One of them wasn't going to make it out alive.

  Thomas had the home field advantage. He knew the tunnels. He had the element of surprise, and he had drawn first blood. But he made one critical error. He had brought a knife to a gun fight.

  Before Thomas could get within striking distance Drake had drawn his .45.

  Reflexes, muscle memory, and training kicked into gear and the automatic was in his hand and firing before he even considered his next move. The gun spit hot lead at the pretty rich boy who had lured three girls to their deaths. He wasn't pretty anymore.

  Blank eyes stared up at Drake from the bloody ruin that had once been Thomas Baron. The grin had been permanently wiped from his smug face.

  ***

  The tunnel came to an end, it opened up into a larger cellar. A wine rack had been rigged to conceal the opening. The detective carefully walked into the pristine room. It was well lit and free of any debris, the complete opposite of the tunnel he had emerged from. He almost felt bad for leaving the trail of blood, but it was flowing down his arm at an alarming rate. He needed help.

  It was much closer to come out this end than backtrack to the abandoned building. If he could make his way upstairs then he could get a signal and call for help. It should be safe now, the 'Heartbreaker' was bloody and broken on the floor of the tunnel. The case was solved. Justice done. Now he just needed to live to tell the tale.

  There was a room ahead with a massive metal door. He approached it. He wasn't prepared for what he found there. Slumped against the wall was Solomon Price… or what was left of him. His expensive white dress shirt was solid red now. His face was a bloody mess. His eyes turned to Drake as he breathed his last, blood gurgling out of the bloody hole in his face. His ragged breath hitched and then stopped. His head dropped limply to his chest.

  Then the dark shape moved. It had been so big, and so out of place, that his mind had failed to register it. It was a man, a very large man. He was in shiny black rubber from head to toe. His features were obscured by a black gas mask. There was blood beaded up on the rubber's slick surface and spattered on the lenses of his mask. He turned and saw the detective.

  A strange malformed roar emanated from within the mask as the hulking creature barreled towards him. Drake was in no condition to stand up against someone of such immense stature. G
ood thing he had his .45.

  The 1911 barked out two deafening blasts, each causing the giant to falter in its stride. At this range a normal man would have been sent flying back from the tremendous impact. But this was no ordinary man. The blood that splattered out the exit wounds was dark and black as it hit the concrete walls, it looked more like the blood of someone long dead. But he didn't have time to contemplate that as the behemoth crashed into him. He felt his ribs give way under the assault. He just hoped that he had avoided a punctured lung.

  He was lifted up by his shoulders and held out in front of the giant. His shoulder and his ribs were pulsing with white hot pain. Then he heard a voice. He couldn't recognize it over the distorted speakers. He struggled to maintain his consciousness.

  "Detective Alexander Drake… fancy seeing you here. I see you've met my son, Renatus…"

  "Your son? I killed your son. His corpse is cooling off in the tunnels that you used to move the bodies of your victims!"

  "Poor Thomas. He never amounted to much. I guess I never really put too much effort into his development, I just tried to keep him fit and healthy. Still, his looks did help lure all those pretty girls here…"

  Drake looked down at the holes oozing the brackish blood from the giant in the black rubber suit. The blood loss didn't seem to be having any effect on the behemoth. He wished he could say the same about himself. He turned his attention back to the shadowy figure in the window.

  "Show yourself!"

  There was a click and the lights went out in the room behind the glass pitching it into darkness. Then a moment later a new light clicked on and lit up the figure of Jackson Baron, sitting in his wheelchair. He was smiling. The sight was chilling.

  "I hadn't had much use for Thomas, your beloved Chief O'Bannon saw to that when he busted up the Circle. But Renatus has proven valuable. A strong right arm doing whatever I needed from the shadows."

  Drake was getting weaker by the minute from blood loss. He decided to strike now while he still had the strength. He pulled his head back and then slammed it as hard as he could into the face of his gigantic captor. The impact shattered one of the lenses of the gas mask. The eye that looked out from behind that fractured lens was grotesque. It was all white and streaked with bulging veins, the skin around it was pale and diseased. A horrible stench of decay wafted out into Drake's face. He struggled not to retch.

  The creature barely flinched. Drake was still helpless in its vice-like grip.

  "This, this thing is your son? How is that possible?"

  "Thomas and Renatus were twins. Unfortunately, Renatus was stillborn. We had to keep up appearances. To avoid the stigma I made sure there was no record of his birth. His mother couldn't stand losing a child, so she took the body to her coven. There they performed rituals and were able to draw a soul back into his body. He was never quite right, so we kept him here in the cellar. But he did grow up to be a big strong boy that his mother was proud of."

  "That's sick…"

  Baron just laughed.

  "Why did you do this… the girls… what did you get out of it?"

  "The accident that took my beautiful wife also robbed me of the use of my legs. I wasn't going to stand for that. I knew the power that the dark arts offered. I would have that power, and take my rightful place as a ruler of men. So I made a pact. Six souls—six pure virgin souls, and my boon would be granted. Riches, power, and most importantly… the health to enjoy it."

  Drake pulled his legs up, his knees pressed to his chest. He planted his feet on the giant's chest and began to straighten his legs, using his most powerful muscles in an attempt to break free.

  "Struggle all you want, Detective. Renatus has never let me down, he is strong, unlike his brother."

  Jackson Baron was right, the giant was unbelievably strong, and Drake was injured. But the struggle had been a ruse that allowed the detective to pull his .357 free from its ankle holster. He took the magnum and emptied it under the chin of the freak in the gas mask. His head was hamburger before his lumbering body hit the floor. Drake was sent sprawling.

  Agony. Drake slammed hard onto the concrete floor. He landed on his injured shoulder. The spike of pain that shot through him almost rendered him incapacitated. He was stunned, struggling to remain conscious, fighting to regain his senses. His vision was pulsing with his heartbeat. Baron rolled into the room.

  'You have really made a mess of things, detective. I never dreamed you'd be this much trouble… I guess it's my fault for underestimating you. It's a shame that they'll never know what became of you. You'll just fade away, and I'll get the rest of my girls and live the life that I was destined to live."

  "I'm not dead yet… and you're in a wheelchair."

  "Oh, this? This is just for sympathy votes. This is just so my opponents underestimate me. I haven't needed this thing for weeks. You see, with each girl's life I've grown stronger…" Jackson Baron rose from his wheelchair and walked over to stare down at Drake and gloat. He pulled his leg back and then kicked the detective in his already broken ribs.

  Despite not wanting to give the attacker the satisfaction of it, Drake cried out in pain. He knew things weren't looking good for him. If he didn't act soon he was going to die here tonight. He looked past Baron and saw his .45 on the floor. Too far.

  Baron saw where he was looking. He shook his head.

  "Not going to happen. I've seen what you can do with your guns. I'd be tempted to turn your own gun on you… but that's too impersonal. I think it's time that I got my hands dirty."

  The older man bent down and easily lifted up the detective. Drake was in no condition to fight back. Baron pulled him to his feet and looked in his eyes. "I can see you still have a fire within you, a desire to live. I'll see that extinguished!" The councilman backhanded the detective, sending him hurtling back against the wall where he stumbled over the corpse of the spiritualist.

  Drake scrambled to regain his footing, his shoes failing to find traction on the blood-slicked concrete. He was woozy, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Before he could react the bloodsucking politician was on him again.

  The former councilman's hands wrapped around the detective's throat and began to squeeze the life out of him. The pressure made his windpipe feel like it was about to collapse. His vision was filled with flickering stars as vessels in his eyes burst.

  Suddenly Drake thrust his right hand up under Baron's chin. A look of shock filled the councilman's eyes and blood started to drool from between his lips. He dropped Drake and staggered backwards, groping at his gushing throat. A dagger protruded from under his jaw, the blade going up into his skull.

  Again Drake collapsed to the floor. He watched as Baron stumbled around like a marionette with tangled strings.

  "I thought you'd like to have your son's knife back… as a souvenir." Drake muttered.

  Baron crashed to the floor. Dead.

  Drake imagined the demon that the man had been bargaining with was dragging his soul to Hell now. There he would be reunited with his family. It gave him a warm feeling.

  ***

  "It's been nearly three weeks since the tragic natural gas explosion that took the life of gubernatorial candidate Jackson Baron and his son Thomas. Investigators have confirmed that a third man at the scene was indeed famed spiritualist Solomon Price. Police have yet to identify the fourth man, but do believe he was the 'Heartbreaker'. The knife used in the killing of the three college students was recovered on the scene and has been found to be consistent with the wounds on the girls. That same knife was used in the murder of Jackson Baron."

  Caroline Phipps was recapping the story that had been in the headlines for weeks.

  "The prevailing theory is that Price had followed the killer to the Baron estate and was killed when the 'Heartbreaker' attacked the Baron family. The motive is still unclear, but there is speculation that it was in retaliation for Baron's outspoken criticism of the serial killer."

  The picture went off.
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  "I don't know how you can watch that crap." O'Bannon commented.

  "I'm always eager to hear the latest cover story." Drake replied.

  "Are people really buying that? There's so many holes in it…"

  "Not everyone is an experienced detective. Besides, they want to believe. This way Baron dies a hero, and not a disgrace to his party. This way his donors and backers come out smelling like a rose, instead of going down with the ship."

  "And Underwood went along with it?"

  "Went along with it? He practically wrote the headlines himself. It's all damage control at this point. I wasn't going to let them get away with it… but the bad guys were all dead… that's the important thing. I've been in some hopeless situations, and you just have to know when to step away. Come back and fight another battle that you can win."

  "People deserve to know the truth. To know what kind of nut jobs are running the country!"

  "They do. But they don't want to know. Besides, Underwood told me in a not too veiled fashion that if I kept pushing this, then he'd be forced to compare the ballistics of my guns to the bullets found at the Baron estate. I'd rather not have to explain that."

  "That would be interesting, to see you tell the story you told me about what went down that night if you were under oath." O'Bannon smiled.

  "The 'Heartbreaker' is dead. The city is safe. That's what matters at the end of the day."

  "No, what matters is that you walked away from another one. You need to take better care of yourself."

  "Thanks. It's good to know someone cares, to know that I'm not alone in all this madness."

  ***

  The day had finally arrived. The James Nichols estate sale.

  James Nichols, author of "Bloody Sunday: The Carver Massacre" and "Confession of the Damned" had been killed six months ago, skinned alive by a demonically possessed police officer. Now all his worldly possessions were up for auction.