Queen of the Fallen (Second Death Book 2)

by Brian Rella

  “Where are we going?” Nic asked.

  “The rectory at St. Patrick’s Cathedral,” Frank said.

  “What’s there?” Nic asked.

  “It’s where I live…sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?”

  Frank fell silent and felt his shoulders pull together and knot. All the questions were making him uncomfortable. He didn’t like talking. There was a pause in the conversation while they walked, the sounds of the city and the hollow tap of the worn heel of Frank’s black leather boots hitting the cold pavement filled the void until Nic asked another question.

  “What have you got to eat? I’m starving.”

  “Sandwiches,” Frank replied.

  “What kind?”

  “Not sure.”

  Frank had no use for small talk. They had plenty of real things to talk about. What kind of sandwiches is the least of your worries, kid.

  He sensed anger and confusion coming from Nic due to his short answer, but something else underlined the boy’s emotions like an undertow in the ocean of his emotions. All the vibes flowing from the kid had this constant rage undercurrent. Why?

  Frank could tell it wasn’t natural for him. He realized Nic had taken on the role of protector and patriarch; maybe that was it? What sixteen-year-old kid wore that comfortably? Was he pissed his dad left? That he couldn’t have a normal brother? Maybe he won’t have to wear the heavy chains of responsibility much longer. Wait until he sees what his brother can do…

  “You don’t talk much, huh?” Nic asked.

  “No,” Frank said. “Never was any good at it.”

  “That’s fine by me. I was never a talker either. No need to jabber on all the time about nothing.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Frank said under his breath, but he was smiling inside when he said it.

  Their pace quickened, and Frank led them through a winding path, following the changing Walk and Don’t Walk signs on the street corners. The boys buried their hands in their pockets and crossed into mid-town, arriving quickly at the front doors of the rectory on Fifty-first Street and Madison Avenue.

  St. Patrick’s Cathedral and the rectory occupied a square block in the center of mid-town Manhattan from Fiftieth to Fifty-first Street and from Madison Avenue to Fifth Avenue. The first stone had been laid for the Cathedral in 1858. At the time, the city looked nothing like it did today and, in fact, the location was considered too far outside of the city and in near-wilderness when its location was being considered. But the Arch Bishop John Hughes, who had commissioned the Church, had a vision and had seen what others could not: that the massive gothic Cathedral built on the outskirts of the fledgling city would one day sit at the heart of a great one. His vision had been realized by the early 1900s as the city rapidly expanded north.

  Now, the grand Cathedral was sandwiched between massive skyscrapers, and across from one of the biggest tourist attractions in the city: Rockefeller Plaza. Its limestone walls and spires rose over three hundred feet in the air, and had once been the height of the neighborhood. Today, the Church was dwarfed by the colossal buildings of steel and glass around it, its height barely matching the lowest floors of other buildings in its vicinity. Yet somehow the Cathedral fit perfectly right where it was, drawing millions through its doors and thousands into its seats every year.

  The Cathedral and rectory had been restored starting in 2013, and the majesty of both had been returned to their original luster. The outside of the rectory was as magnificent as the Cathedral’s exterior, with four floors of the same limestone the Cathedral was built with, ending in an ornate Gothic roof that was almost as high as the spires behind the church. The windows looked out onto Madison Avenue and Fifty-first Street with a warm glow.

  Inside the Rectory was the Cardinal’s residence, as well as the residence for the clergy that served the fifteen-to-twenty Masses that were held each day. The residence included a library, meeting rooms, a commercial kitchen, and a grand dining room. And that was just aboveground—underneath the Cathedral and the Rectory were the crypts, where eight Archbishops and the family of the patron of the Cathedral were buried.

  And beneath that, stretching even farther and wider than the Church, was the nerve center of the Order on the East Coast of the United States.

  “We’re here,” Frank said, opening the door with a glowing hand. Nic stared up at him, a shocked look on his face.

  “I don’t need a key,” Frank said, smiling. Nic looked skeptical. Jack shifted his gaze to Frank and they locked eyes. “You won’t need a key either, soon enough.”

  They stepped inside and Frank led them down the ornate hall toward the kitchen. The walls were paneled with oiled oak. The wood floors were polished and looked like you could eat off of them. The space was warm and airy and had a stately, yet pious feel to it. The boys’ heads swiveled, gaping at the illustrious interior as they passed the lower meeting rooms and outreach offices, and opened the door to the kitchen.

  “This is the kitchen?” Nic said, incredulously. “It’s bigger than our apartment. Where’s the refrigerator?”

  Stainless steel glistened from the overhead lighting. In the center of the kitchen, a long steel prep-table ran the length of the room. Two eight-burner stovetops were to the left, two doubled ovens were next to those, and on the other side, stainless steel cabinets that reached the ceiling. Frank went to the tallest panel at the end and pulled it open. Food lined the shelves almost to the ceiling. He pulled out mayonnaise, some wrapped meat, and grabbed a block of cheese, then went to close the door.

  “Mustard?” Nic asked.

  Frank pulled out the mustard, too, and set everything on the prep table. Next to the huge refrigerator, he pulled open the bread drawer and grabbed a fresh baguette. The rich smells of the cured meat and fresh bread filled the room, making everyone’s stomachs rumble.

  Nic and Jack glanced up at Frank and he could see their mouths watering. “Go for it,” he said, and the boys attacked the food on the table. Savages, he thought, amused.

  Frank had stepped back to let the boys make their sandwiches when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw it was a message from Brennan, saying he was down in the command center and needed to know when Frank would be available. He sent a quick reply that he was eating with the boys, and would be down after he showed them where they were sleeping.

  Maybe he has a lead on Jessie, or something new about Jack? I guess if it were important, he’d have told me to come right away.

  The way the kids were eating, it shouldn’t take long in any case.

  Nic was, in fact, eating like it was his last meal on Earth. “I’m thirsty,” Nic said.

  His sandwich of ham, turkey, cheddar cheese, and mustard was as thick as his fist. He opened his mouth and it looked like a garage door embedded in his face. He stretched his lips to fit the sandwich between his jaws, and took a massive bite. He chomped and moved the wad of sandwich to the left side of his mouth. The meat and bread were balled up in his cheek, making him look like a chipmunk, and a look of satisfaction spread across his face as he chewed. Nic glanced at Jack, whose sandwich was puny in comparison, but even Jack looked content. The boys grinned through their mouthfuls, sharing a brief moment of respite and finding joy in the simplicity of their meal. It reminded Frank of himself and David when…they…he…

  The edges of Frank’s vision darkened and his ears began to ring, blocking out all the other noise. His vision wobbled and dizziness and nausea threatened to send him over the edge and onto the floor. The room wavered, dreamlike, and—

  The air was clean and fresh, filled with the smell of pine and drying leaves of fall.

  “David, let’s head inside. I’m starved.”

  “Okay, Frank, I’ll race you.”

  “Wait—what’s that?”

  Beyond the entrance to the temple, something moved in the woods. A large, dark shadow blocked the light streaming between the leaves and branches to the clearing where the boys were
standing. It moved back and forth ominously, and a sense of foreboding bubbled up in Frank.

  The shadow grew larger, stalking the boys through the trees in the shadows. It was a hulking shapeless shadowy thing that moved slowly, ominously at the edge of his vision…

  It was getting closer…

  “Can I have something to drink please?”

  The shadow eclipsed the sun…

  Screams rang out around him…

  Movement all around…

  Gripping terror…

  The rhythmic cadence of a beating heart…

  Frank put his hands over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Fwanky?”

  David was next to him. He was a toddler. His face began to turn black…and catch fire… He screamed Frank’s name…

  “Are you okay?”

  Darkness…

  Something gleamed off a shiny silver surface…

  “Frank? Are you okay?”

  “Jack, go… Get help, now!”

  The room came back into focus. The ringing in his ears subsided. Frank was back in the kitchen with the boys. Sweat had broken out on his brow and beaded down into his eyes. He blinked and glanced at Nic, then at Jack. They were holding their breath. They looked frightened. Frightened of me.

  “I’m fine,” Frank said. He noticed his hand was tense. He released it and glanced down at the stainless steel prep-table. He had gripped the edge of it so tightly, he’d left the imprint of his fingers in it. He went to the refrigerator, and pulled a carton of milk out and put it on the counter. He went to the cabinet and grabbed two glasses.

  The boys started breathing again. Nic frowned at Frank. “What just happened to you? It was like you weren’t here.”

  “Just a daydream. I’m fine.”

  Frank pulled a can of Guinness from the fridge, popped it, took a long draw, and then slapped it down on the table.

  "I think I need one of those,” Nic said.

  Frank went back to the fridge and pulled out two more cans, placing them on the counter. He motioned for the boys to take one, and took another draw on his own.

  Jack stared at him blankly.

  “What now?” Frank asked.

  Jack said nothing in reply, but reached for a glass and the carton of milk.

  Frank emptied his beer and reached for the other, the alcohol warming his belly and calming his nerves. He made his sandwich and started eating, the images of his flashback still fresh in his mind, fighting to change his focus from eating to…whatever just happened. There was an uneasy silence at the counter as the three of them stood and ate.

  Frank was conscious of the fact that he’d had another episode. He usually experienced those visions in his dreams, but they were happening more and more when he was awake now. I’ll talk to Brennan about it. Tomorrow, maybe.

  Nic belched and smiled, proud of himself, and returning an adolescent cheeriness to the room. Jack, however, nibbled at his sandwich while staring at his glass of milk.

  Frank munched a hunk of his sandwich, and drew deeply on his Guinness to wash it down. His gaze fell on the top of Jack’s head, watching him go through the motions of eating, but not really making any progress on his sandwich. “Eat up, kid. Long day tomorrow,” Frank said.

  “What are we doing tomorrow?” Nic said.

  “Training,” Frank said through a mouthful of roast beef and cheese.

  Jack turned back to the table, resting his elbows there and bringing the sandwich to his mouth, taking another little bite.

  “We have to go back to the hospital tomorrow,” Nic said, his sandwich midway to his mouth. There was a look of determination on his face.

  “You can go to the hospital if you want, but Jack and I have work to do.”

  Jack glanced at Frank, expressionless.

  “Finish up. You need to get to bed, and I have work to do with Brennan,” Frank said, biting off another chunk of sandwich.

  Nic slammed his can of Guinness down, sloshing brown suds on the counter. “My brother isn’t going anywhere without me,” Nic said.

  Frank stared at him, deadpan. “Then you’re training tomorrow, too.”

  “I want to go to the hospital,” Jack said.

  Frank and Nic were locked in a staring contest.

  Frank frowned. “Your mom’s resting, kid. Nothing you can do there. Finish up your sandwiches and I’ll show you your room. We train tomorrow.”

  “No. We are going to the hospital,” Nic said, putting on his best tough-guy face to Frank. Frank stifled his urge to smile. The kid had balls, that was for sure. Balls and a temper. Dangerous combo without guidance. How do I make them understand what’s at stake? If these boys don’t get with the program, they’re dead.

  Frank emptied his Guinness in one long gulp and slapped the empty can on the table. He looked from one boy to another. “Nic, I get it,” Frank said. “You’re worried about your mom, but listen, if we don’t train, you die. It’s that simple. And so does your mother and a lot of other people. There’s a load of hurt coming our way. End-of-world shit.”

  Nic scoffed, “End of the world? Come on…”

  Frank narrowed his eyes at him, “No joke, kid. This is no game. This is the real deal. The Fallen are coming for all of us, and they’re going to kick your ass if you aren’t ready. And my job is to get you two ready.”

  “Bullshit!” Nic yelled. “I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” Frank said, and squared himself to the boy. He could feel the ire rise in him, the power building with the rage, but he reminded himself Nic was just a kid and forced himself to simmer down.

  “Stop,” Jack said to Nic. “What do you mean the Fallen are coming? Who are the Fallen?”

  Frank locked eyes with Jack. “The Fallen are the evil bastards you’ve been seeing in your dreams. The sons of bitches that you have been afraid to talk about.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “How do you know what I dream?”

  Frank took a deep breath. “Because I was you, Jack, and the crap you’re seeing is real, and it’s coming down heavy on all of us. Your nightmares aren’t nightmares at all. Those monsters in your head—they’re real, and they’re coming for you, and your family, and all of us. And only we can stop them. Me, you, Brennan, The Order of the Watchers, we’re the only ones standing in the way of The Fallen’s return. And if they come back here”—Frank waved his hands around, motioning to the items in the kitchen—“all this shit, all of it, is gone forever. That clear? Do you understand what I’m saying to you right now? Because I don’t have time to argue about it. I don’t have time to convince you of things you know are true deep down. These things are real, and they’re coming for us. All of us.”

  “Bullshit,” Nic said.

  Frank’s frustration blazed and he frowned at Nic. His chest heaved and his nostrils flared.

  He felt a hand on his sternum, and a calming touch of energy distracted him from his growing discontent. He glanced down and saw that Jack had his hand on him. Frank could feel the power coming off the kid—it was peaceful and strong, strong enough to influence Frank away from continuing his argument, and forcing him to gaze into the boy’s eyes. And in his head, he saw the images the boy had seen in his dreams, and Frank knew. He knew that Jack understood. He knew that Jack believed.

  “I can feel the frustration in you. My brother doesn’t understand. He doesn’t—”

  “Don’t talk nonsense, Jack. And don’t let this asshole fool you,” Nic said. “This guy’s full of—”

  Jack turned back to Nic. “He’s not. I know he’s not. Can’t you see it in him? He’s not… He’s not messing around, Nic.”

  Nic’s eyes moved from Jack to Frank, and locked onto Frank’s irises. Frank felt his face relax and the tension release. Calm down, man. He’s just a kid. He doesn’t know, not yet.

  “Listen,” Frank said. “I don’t want to argue with you, Nic. We are on the same team. But you gotta trust me. This is for real.”

  “Yeah, well,
I can take care of my family. I don’t need some whack-job priest or psycho’s help,” Nic said.

  “Not with this,” Frank said. “This is different.” He stepped back from the counter. The lights in the kitchen dimmed. An acrid smell and soft hum filled the room. Frank ignited a blue flame in the palm of his hand. Nic’s mouth fell open and he backed away. Jack stared blankly at Frank.

  “You see, Nic, this is real, and I’m telling you the best way to help your mother is to listen to me, and let me train you and your brother to hunt and kill the sons ‘a bitches that are coming for us.”

  The flame in Frank’s hand grew and took shape, forming the head of a demon that floated into the air above them. Nic stumbled backward, and Frank stepped forward in a blur, catching him before he fell. He gazed deeply into Nic’s eyes, and let the soft blue glow of his energy illuminate his face. “Or we’re all gonna die, or worse.” Frank’s eyes flashed—he let go of Nic, gently, and Nic backed away from him. Jack stepped between Frank and Nic.

  “That’s enough,” Jack said. It was the first time Frank had heard him speak above a whisper. “You made your point, okay? He’s scared. We both are.”

  The glow in Frank’s eyes dimmed, and the blue demon hovering above evaporated into the air. The lights in the kitchen came back up. Nic was on the other side of the room, his chest heaving. Jack stepped over and reached out to him, to comfort him.

  “Y…You’re not kidding, man,” Nic stammered.

  Frank’s face was stoic. “I’m not. Finish your dinner. It’s time for bed. Long day tomorrow.”

  19

  ROY

  October 27, 2015

  Beauchamp, Louisiana

  Roy stepped out of the rental car in front of the Hailey house and glanced around. The house was one of many that all looked the same and lined both sides of the dead-end street. The only difference between the Hailey house and the other shitty houses was the wheelchair ramp that led up from the driveway to the front door.