The Angel of the Abyss

by Hank Schwaeble

  Micah straightened, took a breath. “I trust you saw that.”

  “Not easy to miss. Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine. It smarts, that's all.” Micah touched his mouth, wiped at it. He looked down at his hand. A moment later he excused himself and left the room. Hatcher watched him go. He felt his gaze creep back over to the screen. She was still staring. Still smiling. He crossed the room, moving against the far wall. It was like one of those paintings in a haunted house, but he couldn't be sure if it wasn't just an illusion. He moved back the other way. Same thing. Eyes following him. The smile bothered him even more. It looked completely out of place on a young girl's face.

  Micah returned, carrying a folded cloth. He pressed it to his mouth a few times, dabbing at the wound.

  “I assume you have questions,” he said.

  “An explanation would be nice. You and... whatever she or it is... you're connected somehow.”

  “Yes.”

  “And that's why you can't inflict any harm to it.”

  “Well, not exactly. You're right, that doesn't make it easy. But it's more than that.”

  “What? Are you afraid someone less…” he paused, “experienced than me might end up killing you?”

  “Or put me out of commission, you might say. I can't afford that. Yes, your skills are unusual. And needed. The ability to, as you put it, extract information without inflicting any more harm than necessary. There's no one here, other than myself, I would trust to do that. Jonah, possibly, but he would be too concerned about the harm to me. And there's the other, more significant problem of being exposed to that entity. There's no delicate way to put this, but—”

  “But I'm already going to hell?”

  “Well, yes, but part of the spell is that you exchange a sort of transactional immunity for releasing the demon when you're done. I was speaking more to the issue of psychic fortitude, for lack of a better term. You are far more suited to handling whatever it may throw at you. Mind games, tricks, an entire demonic arsenal of deception.”

  “I still don't know what this is all about. Why do you have a demon trapped in that girl's body? What are you trying to accomplish?”

  “Forces are gathering, Mr Hatcher. Like wolves in the night. I need you to figure out their intentions. I have been unable to.”

  Hatcher let himself chew on that. “Suppose I find something. What are you going to do with the information?”

  “Nothing. At least, not right off. That's the real reason I can't go in there.” Micah turned his head to look at the monitor. Hatcher looked, too. The girl was still staring out through the screen, her face a frozen mask, smiling that same smile. “Because I fear whatever I discover will be communicated to the demon that shares my consciousness.”

  Chapter 19

  Amy lay on her bunk, eyes wide open and seeing nothing, thinking.

  The room was abnormally dark, the kind of dark that comes from no natural light, not even the faint luminescence of the nighttime sky from behind a curtain. Her cot sat in a square box in a row of square boxes, set at the end of a corridor that terminated at a concrete wall. She broke the blackness with an occasional peek at her phone. No bars. No texts. No Internet. The bright image of the time readout would leave a phantom trace of itself in front of her eyes when she'd turn off the screen, fading with each blink.

  She could turn on the light, but that would be like giving up on sleep. And she knew she needed sleep. Her brain just wouldn't let it happen.

  What bothered her most, though, was Bartlett had taken her gun. Rule of the facility, he told her.

  How in the hell did she get here? Who knew how deep underground, in a missile silo? In Arizona? If what Bartlett said was true, Hatcher was on the other side of the country. But how could she possibly be sure of that?

  She couldn't. But what choice did she have? She could leave. Assuming Bartlett would let her go. But then what? Hop on a plane and head out to Connecticut? Look for the abandoned religious theme park? Storm it? She wasn't sure her luck would hold out. Infiltrating the silo had been pretty reckless, but at least she'd been operating with a vague sense of who Bartlett was, pieced together from Hatcher. Not a man who could be trusted, but someone who could be trusted to act in a certain way. A rational way. She had no such perception of this cult, or whatever it was, or whoever ran it. She'd be going in blind. She needed Bartlett's help. That meant she needed to trust him to act in a certain way again.

  The flash of her phone brightened her eyes once more as she checked the time yet again. Mid-morning. She was about to roll to her side, force her lids shut, when there was a knock on the door to the room. Two gentle taps. The door opened before she could get up or even say anything.

  Light spilled in from the hallway, but not much, just the dim overflow from around a corner. The backlit figure in the doorway stepped halfway through.

  “Can we talk?”

  Amy squinted. It was a hushed voice, but she knew it. She sat up in the bunk. “Turn on the light,” she said. “To your right.”

  The shadow moved to the side, Amy could make out the groping. Then the room brightened in fits, florescent bulbs sparking to life. Sahara Doyle immediately closed the door and leaned back with her hands behind her, as if the three-by-seven piece of metal was something she could hide from sight.

  “You need to leave,” she said. “Quickly.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then you can get on a plane and get out to where Hatcher is before General Bartlett's men do.”

  Amy sat up. Did she know what she'd been thinking? No, it was just a coincidence. “Why?”

  “I assume you want him to live. That's why.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “They are going to conduct a penetration of the compound. That was the term they used. It did not sound pleasant. They intend to take the leader into protective custody. They believe he may also be a target, like me.”

  “You mean they're doing that without me? Without even telling me? Why? We were supposed to go over the plan this evening, after everyone rested.”

  The woman pursed her lips, looked down.

  “That was just a story. A way to keep you here until it was too late to interfere.”

  “But why would I interfere?”

  “From what I could hear Hatcher is considered a friendly, but expendable. The mission is considered too important to allow him to get in the way. They didn't think you'd be okay with that.”

  “Why would he try to get in the way? He was kidnapped.”

  “I'm just telling you what I know.”

  Amy started to speak several times. Finally, she said, “Is this something you actually heard, or something you had some, you know, vision about?”

  Sahara tilted her head, like she was listening to music drifting in from another room. But her eyes never left Amy's “You don't trust me.”

  It wasn't a question. It wasn't even an accusation. Just a bland observation. “That's not exactly an answer.”

  “It was not a vision. It was nothing psychic at all. I'm telling you, you need to leave, now. His men are already on their way.”

  Amy swung her legs off the bed, sat on the edge. “How long?”

  “They've been gone a few hours, at least. I couldn't risk coming to talk to you until now.”

  A sense of dread dripped into her core, until her mind began to work through the details. “They're driving,” she said. As soon as the words came out, she felt the twin wash of relief and foolishness. Of course they were driving. They needed weapons, electronic and communications gear. Things they couldn't take on a plane. A charter would not only be expensive, it would require vehicles at the other end, a paper trail of flight plans and car rentals. A way to transport their captive. Things that could be overcome, time and money have a way of fixing any problem, but not on this kind of notice.
Sahara had only been there a day longer than she had. They couldn't have been planning this raid very long.

  “If they take shifts and drive straight through, they still won't get there until tomorrow night. I can beat them there.”

  Sahara nodded, but her brow contorted and her mouth shifted to one side.

  “What?” As soon as Amy said it, she knew the answer. She stared at her feet. There were thin dark lines that tracked where the straps to her shoes had pressed. She needed a shower. “But Bartlett isn't just going to let me walk out of here, is he?”

  “I don't see that happening, no.”

  “Is there a guard or something?”

  “There are only two normal ways out. One is the way you came in, the access portal. The other is through a set of stairs that lead to a maintenance access. He's got men on both.”

  “And he made me check my weapon before showing me to the room. Said there were no weapons allowed in quarters. God damn it. That's why he let me keep it when I accompanied him earlier, so I wouldn't think it was a big deal. That I'd get it back. He played me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait a second. You used the word normal. Two normal ways out. That's why you're here, isn't it? You know another.”

  “There an escape hatch in the control center. It leads to a shaft that has a ladder. Rungs that go all the way to the surface.”

  “That's not guarded?”

  “I doubt the general would give it much thought. It's literally a hatch in the wall. He's an Army man. Not Air Force. He admitted as much when he gave me a tour, right after I showed up.”

  “Wait a second. How do you know about it?”

  The woman's mouth peeled back into a toothy grin. “Lucky for you, I keep having visions about things, whether people like you believe them or not. But don't worry, you don't have to believe it to see it. I wandered over and checked it out. It's there.”

  “And it goes all the way up? To the surface?”

  “That part, you'll have to take on faith. I saw you emerging through the surface access, the ventilation shaft. In my vision. So, the answer is yes. But you're going to have to trust in me for that.”

  Amy let the idea simmer. Then she looked at her feet again and rattled her head abruptly. “It still won't work. I gave them back the keys to their vehicle. It's probably a half mile to the road out there, and I have yet to see anyone else driving it, other than these guys. And if I left on foot, they'd set out to find me in a vehicle, which means I'd have to walk miles through rocky desert with cactus and who knows what else I saw growing out there, wearing nothing but those.” She pointed to the pair of wedges on the floor. “I'd break an ankle before I made it a hundred yards.”

  The expression on Sahara's face softened. Her lips tightened but still curled at the edges. She pulled one of her hands out from behind her back. A pair of keys on a simple ring dangled from her finger.

  “I couldn't get to your gun, but they keep these on a pegboard in Bartlett's office. I believe it's to one of the Humvees.”

  Amy stared at them for a few seconds, then took in a breath. She slapped her knees with her palms. “Remember what you were saying about me not trusting you?” she said, slipping off the bunk and reaching down for her shoes. “You must have me confused with someone else. Did I mention I've always been a big fan?”

  Chapter 20

  Hatcher handed the phone back to Micah. “Still no answer.”

  “I'm sorry,” Micah said. “This satellite phone is the only one up here. It's for emergencies. There's no reliable cell service until you get farther down the hill.”

  “I wish your boys would have grabbed my phone when they took my pants and shoes. Then I could at least try a text.”

  “I know, it's definitely old-fashioned.” Micah placed the phone in a cradle charger. “Once you're finished you can try again. You'll reach her.”

  “You sound awfully certain I'm going to do it.”

  “Yes. You'll do it because you can tell I'm not lying. And you want to know.”

  “We're not quite there yet. I want to understand more about how you're connected to this thing.”

  “That makes two of us. Whatever it is, the link seems... indirect. The connection only appears to activate when I get into any sort of proximity to a demon. Even having that down there, this close, separated by granite and stone and earth, I can feel it. Sense it, through whatever it is that I'm linked with. And, as you can see, so does it.”

  Hatcher shifted his gaze to the monitor. Those eyes were still watching. Whatever they were seeing, it was more than a camera.

  “That have something to do with how fast you moved out there?”

  “With how fast it looked to you, yes.”

  “Mind explaining that?”

  The man fixed Hatcher with an intense look, held it for several seconds. But even in those few seconds, Hatcher could sense an intricate set of machinations take place, tiny decisions, compounding upon each other, arriving at an ultimate one. Something about the way his eyes tracked, rapid patterns of movement he could barely detect, more of an impression than a perception. It was like watching a computer look at you as it processed information through its chip.

  “You have to swear to me you will not divulge what I tell you.”

  “That's a hard promise to make when I have no idea what you're going to say.”

  “No, it isn't. You certainly did it with the military. But if it makes you feel any better, it's a secret in order to protect someone.”

  “Fine.”

  “My brother. Jonah. You met him earlier.”

  “Yes.”

  The man glanced away, the subject obviously not pleasant for him. “He was born with a congenital defect. It was discovered when he was around ten. Doctors gave him a few months, surprised he'd made it as long as he had.”

  “He looked fine to me.”

  “Yes. Well, my parents were determined their son would not be taken from them. My mother had gone through a rough child birth. It left her unable to have any more children. Jonah would be their only one.”

  “And you look fine to me, too. Are you adopted?”

  “Not exactly. This is going to sound... hard to believe.”

  “I'm sort of used to that.”

  ”Yes, well, as I said, Jonah would have been my parents only child, and they were fine with that, as far as I know, or at least had accepted it. Then he became quite ill.”

  Micah took a step toward the monitor. He watched the image for several seconds, the girl on the screen staring back, still smiling. “It was congenital, as I said. Inoperable, the doctors told them. The official diagnosis gave him six months. He was nine years old.”

  Hatcher said nothing. The discrepancies were already starting to stack up.

  “But they were not willing to give up. They traveled to Mexico for experimental treatments, visited faith healers, enlisted purveyors of New Age cures by the dozen, anything they could think of. His condition worsened, more or less on schedule. They grew desperate. More desperate, I should say.”

  It was Hatcher's turn to look at the screen. A young girl who seemed not so young and not so girlish with that rictus grin. If his host was to be believed, a demon trapped in a corpse.

  “I get the sense you're going to tell me they cut a deal.”

  “That's exactly what they did. Someone contacted them. Jonah had maybe a few days. They had given up hope, but they hadn't given up their willingness to try anything.”

  “Who was it?”

  “To this day, I'm not sure. All I know is the offer was phrased simply. Agree that your second-born son shall belong to him, and your first born shall live.”

  “Him?”

  “It never got more specific. I doubt they cared. But I'm rather certain they knew what was on the table.”

  “So, they
took the deal, and what?”

  “Jonah made a miraculous recovery. Within a week, he was eating and getting out of bed to use the rest room. Within two weeks, you would have a hard time knowing there'd been anything wrong with him. Ten months later, I was born.”

  “You? Are you saying that kid you introduced me to is your older brother?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what am I supposed to take away from this? That whatever cured him, kept him from aging? Or slowed it down considerably?”

  “No. He's twenty-one.”

  Hatcher had to let that sink in. “That would make you... there's no way.”

  “I was born with a rare disorder. Actually, that's not quite accurate. I was born with a unique form of a rare disorder. Progeria. It causes premature aging. But my particular case is the first and only of its kind. The aging process has been accompanied by relatively normal, though accelerated, growth.”

  “You're saying you're only—”

  “Chronologically, I'm eleven years old. Biologically, I'm in my mid-forties.”

  “That's a little more than simply hard to believe.”

  “I understand. But it's the truth. You wanted to know how I moved so fast? Everything about me, about my physiology, is accelerated. But not necessarily in the way one might think. I'm not going to win any Olympic sprints. My muscles could not likely sustain that kind of repeated exertion. But a thirty yard dash or so? I doubt I could be beaten by a cheetah, let alone a person.”

  Hatcher pictured the man catching his arm, how he hadn't seen him move.

  “I know this is difficult to fathom, but it's not without precedent in nature. Do you know why it's so hard to swat a fly? Because of how fast its brain processes the information from its eyes. By those who study such things, it's called the critical flicker fusion frequency. Think of it like the frame rate of a movie. A fly's brain can register images four times faster than a human's. Other animals have a similar ability. Hummingbirds, even some squirrels. Life moves in slow motion, compared to how you see it.”