Dawn and Quartered

by Hunter Blain

  Chapter 6

  I laid in my newly repaired, iron coffin that was hidden underneath my fake bed in my room. The LED lights were off. My rotation of books closed. This week consisted of a series that centered around a shiny, asshole beer can helping out a group of humans in a stolen space ship. I wasn’t sure who I most identified with; the gullible human protagonist or his sarcastic ancient and powerful A.I. sidekick.

  I could feel dawn approach and I fought the urge to surrender to its will. My head was swimming. My emotions were conflicted. The decisions I would make could forever alter this plane of existence, and with it, all mortal life.

  I knew I was a key piece on the eternal chessboard, but I didn’t know what moves I should, or even what moves I could make. Do I trudge ahead forward and call Mephistopheles’ bluff? Do I retreat backward to my front lines and lay low? What about the other planes in a lateral move? That seems to be the answer for most supes. Then again, I probably don’t want to show my face to them right now. I was still fair game for accidentally showing my powers to the mortals. Moreover, word was bound to get out about me being the suspected cause of the apocalypse. Any rational being would be right in their actions if they were to take me out, like a controlled flame before the big fire.

  My foggy mind drifted to the events of late and to the hooded figure in the limo with glowing eyes who had hired the trio of comedic relief. I felt there was something there. I knew it, like a child knows there is a monster in the closest without any accompanying facts and to the contrary of his parents reassuring words. Without further thought, the answer clicked into place like a key sliding into a lock; I would find Mr. Limo and have a chat.

  My eyelids won their battle and embraced as I yawned, letting my will relax and accepting sleep. Father Thomes’ face was the last thing I saw before being pulled under the waves of consciousness, the light fading as I descended deeper into the ocean of dreams.

  Chapter 7

  I dreamed, and what I dream terrified me. My feet crunched on a blackened earth. Smoke blotted out the stars above. Fires of varying colors danced in the distance. Some from the fires below and others from the flames above. The air was acrid with the smell of sulfur and charred flesh. All around, bones littered all the eye could see. Though they had no faces of flesh, their postures made it clear they died in agony and terror. A skeleton huddled in the corner of a crumbling building, its arms wrapped around a smaller skeleton, which returned the embrace.

  The wind gusted and pulled at my beard and the hair that spilled out from beneath my grey beanie. It felt uncomfortably warm against my exposed skin, like opening the door to an oven that had been preheated to over four hundred degrees. I walked aimlessly, letting my dream be the guide. It was going to show what it wanted to show and I had no say about it. I was but a lone passenger on the roller coaster of fate. Sometimes you’ve got to learn to put your hands in the air and enjoy the ride.

  At that moment of self-surrender, is when I saw them; a gaggle of demons huddled around a fire cooking what I hoped was a human-shaped deer. But I knew it wasn’t. I walked right towards them; ground crunching underfoot.

  One of them must have heard this over the crackle of the fire and looked around, seeking the source. I blurred forward and stood in their circle, looking at the charring man flesh with feigned interest.

  “Hello there,” I said to the group, cheerfully.

  “It’s him!” Said a wiry, Smeagol looking mofo.

  “You were supposed to say General Kenobi,” I sighed as I let blood swords coalesce. “You ruined my dream meme.”

  “Wait! Don’t hurt us!” Another one cried out as his hands went up defensively. They all cowered away from the blades.

  “What kind of big bad demons are you?” I asked, annoyed and disappointed. This was a dream so I had no plausible reason to fear a pack of hells minions.

  “We are what’s left,” said a large, oily skinned humanoid.

  “What’s left of what?” I asked, letting my blades drop to my side while still leaving them out.

  They all looked up at me as if I had asked what year it was and if Elvis was still alive.

  “Of anything,” said the wiry demon. He gestured around, “This is what’s left of the war of eternity.”

  “Who won?” I asked.

  “No one,” he said. “No one won. We all lost. God and Samael were so intent on proving they were right that they didn’t consider the possibility that they were both wrong.”

  I chuckled at this as I sighed and said, “Pride.”

  “Used to be one of my favorites,” said the little one who I was beginning to associate as the leader of this ragtag group of leftover demons.

  “So,” I began, not knowing what question to ask, “Is Heaven…?”

  “Heaven, Earth, and Hell are indistinguishable from one another right now,” he informed me while tearing a strip of meat from the body over the fire. It smelled surprisingly pleasant.

  “Those are some big words for a demon,” I stated.

  “What, you think all demons are big and dumb? That’s a hurtful stereotype. Not all of us gave into our rage when we had the long fall from grace. There are those who kept our minds intact in sacrifice of brawn.”

  Even for a dream, this was helpful information. Whether or not it was true was a completely different matter. But for now, I went with it.

  “I guess it’s true then what they say about being big and dumb. At least in regards to demons.”

  “Mostly,” he said around a mouth full of charred flesh. After swallowing, he continued, “There is the rare occasion where you find those who gave in to their rage while fighting to maintain their minds. They,” he trembled, “are truly terrifying, even for us.”

  “Why’s that? Isn’t there honor among thieves or something?” I asked.

  “Why? Because we are demons? That’s racist you blood-sucking abomination,” he said with a wry smile.

  “The irony of that statement is palpable. But seriously…” I motioned for him to continue while letting my blood swords retract into my palms.

  “The hierarchy in Hell is no different than it is on Earth. At least on paper. Those who can, do. Would you agree that there are those who aren’t, well… weren’t, afraid to slit the throat of their fellow man to climb to the top?”

  “Point taken,” I said while gesturing for one of the demons to move over, allowing me to sit and listen.

  “I know this is a dream and all, but I’m confused why I don’t feel the need to kill you all anymore. Except him,” I said while pointing to a particularly nasty looking beast with tusks, a huge brow, and red eyes. He pointed at himself in surprise, fear somehow evident in his eyes.

  “Just kidding, dude,” I said. “But for real, why hadn’t I ever heard of demons like you.”

  “Garlic,” the leader said.

  “Pardon?” I asked.

  “All the books and stories say vampires are deathly allergic to garlic, correct?”

  “Ah,” I acknowledged. “Got ya.” I pondered for a moment and asked, “So you are just, I guess, the equivalent of normal dudes?”

  “Every plane has their mix of denizens. Keeps things interesting.”

  “Well, how do I know you aren’t trying to trick me right now?” I asked with only half sincerity.

  There was a thundering sound in distance that filled the night.

  “Couple things. First, the apocalypse has happened and the war is already over. What good would it be to try to kill you at this point? Second, it’s your dream, dude.”

  The night reverberated again, louder in a staccato, BANG BANG BANG.

  “Goodbye, John,” the leader said.

  Chapter 8

  “H uh?” Was all I could manage before my eyes blinked open. I was in my coffin. Someone was knocking on my bedroom door. BANG! BANG!! BANG!!! Lifting the hydraulically powered iron lid, I sleepily called out, “What?” before yawning and rubbing my eyes.

  Da entered the room and
said, “It’s been sundown for quite some time now, John. It’s not like you to sleep in except…”

  “Except on Sundays,” we said in unison. “That’s my day,” I said.

  “Yes, we all know that. However, it is not Sunday now is it?” He said as he crossed his little arms.

  “What time is it?” I asked through another yawn, still waking.

  “Half past nine,” Da said while squinting his eyes at me. “Are you feeling well, John? You seem, tired.”

  “I am tired.”

  “Right, and doesn’t that strike you as a tad bit, odd?”

  He was right. Something was off. I dove into my information city and couldn’t locate a time when I wasn’t able to awaken within moments after the sun had retreated and let night take control. Except Sundays when I willed myself to stay asleep.

  “Do,” Da started, “do I make you some coffee?”

  “I appreciate it, dude, but no. I can’t synthesize the caffeine which means I’d only be drinking bean flavored water. Unless we had some enchanted coffee laying around? I mean, we do own our very own warlock now,” I said with a smile. “I am hungry though. Maybe I’ll go hunting.”

  “Don’t wander too far now. We all know how awful you are at managing your time, now don’t we?” Da chided.

  Yawning yet again, I said, “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” I got up, stretched and went into the bathroom. After brushing my teeth to prevent bacterial growth in the warm cavern that is my mouth, I splashed cold water on my face. Looking up into the mirror, I was greeted by someone I didn’t recognize. Water streamed down his face and pooled in his beard, but that wasn’t the odd part. Dark bags were prevalent under the eyes of the person staring back at me. Eyes that were questionably purple instead of unmistakably so, as if they were reverting back to brown. With the cold water still running, I leaned back over the faucet and splashed my face again with vigor. I did it again and again, soaking my shirt and the white granite vanity. Water coalesced on the floor. I could feel it kissing my toes as I forcefully splashed my face, trying to erase the person that had stared back at me.

  With eyes still shut tight, I lifted my head to the mirror, willing my eyes to see my normal, beautiful yet still rugged and manly face. My gaze set upon my old self, albeit covered in water. Droplets were falling from my reddish beard and onto my hands, which held the countertop. I looked down and saw a small crack had formed from the pressure.

  “Shit!” I said as I pulled my hands away. I stepped back and looked at all the water I had thrown around in my controlled frenzy. Surprise and concern tiptoed through my mind and I looked up to see myself staring back with piercing purple eyes. My hands explored my face, tugging my cheeks down to look at the whites of my eyes. The bags had smoothed to young skin again. Nothing seemed out of place. I flexed my canines and let them elongate easily into my preternatural fangs.

  “All the better to drink you with, my dear,” I said to the mirror as I let my teeth return to normal. I grabbed a white cotton towel that hung on a rack and dabbed my face and beard dry. Then I soaked up the water on the vanity, cabinets, and floor. I removed my shirt and let it drop to the ground along with the towel. Let future John deal with that.

  I grabbed a fresh shirt and stepped into the living room where Da sat on the couch reading an article on his iPad.

  “Where’s..,” I started before Da answered my coming questions.

  “Depweg is getting supplies, he waited for you before deciding to leave before the stores closed, and Locke is, elsewhere,” he let the last word hover with a hint of ruefulness.

  “Da,” I said like a father sternly talking to his child, “where is he?”

  “He had a dirty mouth,” Da said without looking up from the screen.

  At that moment, I heard the dishwasher switch from full rinse, to super-heated drying. There was a muffled cry that emanated from the stainless-steel box. I rarely used the thing, as I had no use for dining utensils with my preferred sustenance. I quickly made my way into the kitchen where my hand gripped the handle and pulled on the door. Nothing happened. I jiggled the handle again with some extra gusto.

  “You have to hit pause, John,” Da sighed from the couch.

  I squatted down and looked at the buttons, searching for the correct button to press. I spotted the one that looked like any pause symbol for music or movies, and pressed it. There was a click and the door opened freely as I pulled it again. Steam billowed out as it opened. I could feel it caress my face as it ran to the ceiling, only to dissipate.

  Peering inside I saw Locke’s soaked head. His eyes were ablaze with fury. He tried to speak but all that came out was unintelligible vowels around the ball gag in his mouth. My eyebrows went up in surprise.

  “When did you get a ball gag?” I asked over my shoulder to Da as I slide the top rack out that contained Locke.

  “If you couldn’t tell by the size, it’s not mine,” Da called back from the living room.

  I unfastened the sex toy and held it up for closer inspection. I saw two marks made by fangs and said, “Oh, right. Lily went through this 50 Shades faze and bought all kinds of stuff.” My butt clenched reflexively at one particular memory.

  With his mouth freed, Locke unleashed a torrent of insults directed towards Da. Something about a pretend angel and blah blah.

  “Shh,” I said as I pressed my finger to Locke’s flapping lips. “Don’t think you want to go back in there. Am I right?”

  “Your powers of deduction rival your stupidity,” Locke said.

  “Not sure how to take that.”

  “Further proving my point. Now can you kindly ask your side-kick to treat me with a modicum of respect?”

  “Who are you calling a side-kick, you low-level villain. You’re one of the mini-bosses the game throws at you to make sure you understand the simple mechanics of the game,” Da chided while floating into the kitchen and pointing an aggressive finger.

  “We are all pawns, tiny angel. Some of us just have bigger parts to play,” Locke said while his gaze shifted towards me. Or I assumed it did. His face was plastered with his usually greasy hair as if he had just discovered the emo lifestyle. Annoyed I ran my palm over his face and pushed the hair back over his head, clearing his burned face.

  “Da, please be nice to our guests who are planning to betray Satan and help us stop the apocalypse? Hmm?” I condescended to Da, annoyed that I even had to explain the situation.

  “Well look who has turned the other cheek,” Da said approvingly while giving my shoulder a little punch. Though he was only five inches tall, I now knew that the faerie, Da, hides immense power in his little frame. My thoughts drifted momentarily to the boy in the graveyard. In my injured blood rage, I drained his mother of every ounce of her life force before trying to add him to the dinner menu. Da had miraculously stopped me by throwing me several yards with incredible ease. The icing on the cake was that the boy and his mother were at the grave of his father. I had made the boy into an orphan and surely scared him for life. I take pity in knowing no one would ever believe him that a monster killed his mother. Da had assured me in private that he had taken care of the mother’s body by putting a glamour on her that made it look like she simply died of a heart attack or something else mundane.

  “Da,” I started slowly, hiding emotion that was building, “how’s the boy?”

  “He is taken care of, never you mind,” He assured me aggressively. “If you ask again, the answer will remain the same.” It was clear that he had forgiven but not forgotten about what I had done. Maybe he thought I would try and intervene in the boy’s life out of shame and regret, only to surely make things worse.

  Da interrupted my self-loathing, “Now, are we going to play nice Mr. Potato Head?”

  Locke frowned in displeasure but remained silent out of self-preservation.

  “Good,” I said, “all settled.”

  A shrill whine shot through the air and invaded my ears.

  “The hell?” I asked out l
oud.

  “Motion detectors that Depweg had installed earlier tonight,” Da answered. “He was still concerned about how easily our new, um, friend arrived,” he put emphases on friend, as if trying it on for size.

  “Damn I love that doggo,” I said in reference to my furry companion. “Hey!” I cried out, startling Da and Locke, “He really is my best friend.”

  Da and Locke signed in unison.

  “I’m telling him you made a dog joke,” Da said.

  “Please don’t,” I said.

  As if on cue, Depweg unlocked the front door and entered, holding several reusable bags of various supplies.

  “Did it work?” Depweg asked.

  “What?” I asked.

  “The motion detection system.”

  “Look, we both know it works. You’re just trying to get praise for a job well done.”

  “You want me to change the alert sound, don’t you?” Depweg said.

  “Yes, I do. How about the main theme to Batman?”

  Depweg looked at me in silence, gauging what I had just said. After a moment he concluded, rightfully so, that I was undead serious. “Alright, done.” Depweg’s eyes dropped to Locke’s head that was nestled in the crook of my arms as we spoke. His hair was still dripping as the drying cycle had only just started when I freed him from his clean prison.

  “Um, did I miss something?”

  “Nope!” Da quickly said. “Someone just needed a bath.”

  “Ok then. Here, try this out,” Depweg said, handing me a neck pillow.

  “Thanks, I guess?” I said.

  “Not for you, dummy. For him. It’ll help keep him upright until I can fasten something more permanent.”

  “I’m touched,” Locke said to Depweg.

  I moved the head to eye level and asked, “Where did he touch you? Show me on the doll.”

  “On second thought,” Locke began, “send me back to Hell, please. I don’t know how long I can take these awful jokes.”

  “You get used to them,” both Da and Depweg said in unison.