by David Green
My heart fills my mouth when I see Rosa tied to a chair behind him. Her eyes are red, skin paler than normal, but she nods to show me she’s hanging in there. I test my arms and discover I’m tied down too. A quick glance around tells me I’m in the cabin. Fire’s blazing, and there’s chalk drawings of dark iconography all over the place.
“Nice place you got here. Marv. Might want to get a real road carved out though. Had to walk the last leg. Give animal control a call too. You taking breakfast orders? Eggs over easy and a side of toast. Don’t skimp on the butter.”
Just can’t help myself sometimes. The quip ain’t just the smart ass in me rearing its head; I’m playing for time, holding out for my brain to kick into gear and figure a way to stop Marv, or for Suraz to join us. Only the forest outside is silent and I don’t think he’s close. A possessed Amarok alone means he’s got his hands full, and there were a lot of missing posters up at the Styx. Can’t bet on the Nephilim to save the day. Even Suraz didn’t sound too confident.
Quick as a viper, Marv’s arm snaps out, fingers squeezing the air from my throat. I struggle, but what can I do? His grip’s like iron.
“I tire of your inanity, Mr. Holleran.” He pulls me closer, and the chair rocks onto its front two legs. I gasp for air as our noses almost touch. “Summon Lucifer. Now.”
He releases me just as my vision goes black around the edges. The burning in my face subsides as my blood starts to flow again. Anyone ever throttle you? Your first instinct is to check your windpipe’s still in one piece. With my hands tied, all I can do is gulp for sweet air.
“You just wanna meet him, Marv? That it? Nah, ain’t buying it.” Damn, my voice sounds pathetic in my ears. Weak and stretched. I snatch another lungful of oxygen. “What’s your angle?”
The tattoos covering Marv’s body twist and writhe. Recognize some. Runes for protection, others for domination of spirits, a couple represent Dagon of all things. Guy’s into—pardon my French— the occult. Deep into it.
“All I wish is to meet the Father,” he says, fever burning behind his hard eyes. “To bask in his presence. To swear myself to him forevermore.”
The Father? Gotcha.
“Which one of those tats is Enochian for ‘daddy issues’? Must be tough, being named after a father you don’t respect. Believe me, I get that. So, should I call you Marvin Clancy…Junior? Because you left that part out when you introduced yourself.”
The muscles in his face go slack. See, some folk react that way when they’re surprised. Poker face, some call it, but when you know the tell it’s just another expression that announces I’ve rattled the bastard. Sometimes, nothing is just as suspicious as something.
In the corner of my eye, I see Rosa glancing around. While Marv’s focused on me, she’s looking for anything we can use to escape. Just hope she finds something soon.
“Do not presume to foist your own weakness on me, Mr. Holleran.”
Right now, if I had my hands free, I’d reach for a cigarette. Take my sweet time in lighting it too. I’d take in a long fucking drag and blow the smoke into Marv’s face. But I don’t got `em free, so I grin instead. That lop-sided, charming smile. Behind Marv, Rosa shakes her head, eyes wide.
“Look, I get it, big guy,” I begin, raising one eyebrow for good measure as I tell him a half-lie. I didn’t mean to dig dirt up on the Devil Worshipper; it just worked out that way. “You’re surprised I looked into you? I’m a P.I., Marv. What’d you exp—”
Bang. His first punch knocks the air right outta me and I only just got my breath back. The second snaps my head aside, knocks a tooth loose, fills my mouth with the taste of hot metal as blood oozes from my split gums. He grips my throat again and squeezes. He bares his teeth, a rictus grin, as he chokes the life outta me with both hands, wringing my neck. The edges of my vision turn black again. My face heats up and a rushing sound fills my ears, like being underwater, though I hear Rosa screaming behind it all. And, somehow, the observational part of my brain, the one I reserve for stakeouts and card games, sees the cabin door open just a slither, then close again. Rosa’s yelling drowns out any sound.
It doesn’t matter. Marv’s killing me. My arms and legs respond, fighting against their restraints, ropes eating into my flesh, but my limbs grow weak.
“Stop!” Rosa screams.
No use. Reckon Marv don’t hear a thing. His mind’s lost to thoughts of his old man. Yeah, I heard about him. A priest and, as it turns out, a sinner. A piece of shit up to his elbows in blood, who turned to the cloth to hide, like so many of those sonsofbitches do.
Hoped to pay him a visit when this situation resolved itself. Chances are looking slim.
My thoughts drift to my parents. I see them, standing over that makeshift grave in the backyard, all those years ago. I remember their faces when they saw me, just a teenager, arriving when I shouldn’t, and what I saw in that pit behind them. The rage in my mother’s face. The blankness in my father’s eyes. Ancient history.
Funny it’s my last thought, but a thing like that sticks with you forever. Even if it’s something you’d do anything to forget.
It takes me a hot minute to realize Marv’s let go. I still feel the force of his fingers on my throat, but I’m gasping for air, guzzling it into my lungs without thinking. Now he grabs my head, and for a moment I reckon he’s gonna pop it like a grape.
“I could do it, you know? Kill you right now with my bare hands,” he says, soulless eyes boring into mine. I almost pass out. My head lolls to the side when he releases it, the absence of crushing pressure making it spin. And then I see her.
Diana?
I’ve no idea how the fuck she got to the cabin, but right now, I don’t give a single, stinking shit. She’s the one that opened the door, Strengthening more and more all the time. She can get Rosa outta here. The kid creeps up behind her as I try not to give the game away, and Rosa gives a start as the ropes that bind her shift and loosen. She won’t see who’s helping her—God knows what she makes of all this—but I can see her face flood with relief.
I just gotta keep Marv’s attention on me.
“Choking’s a bully’s way to murder, Marv,” I croak, my throat burning. “What, you get your kicks throttling folk while they’re tied down? Big guy like you shouldn’t need ropes to get the job done. How about you let me up and we can go at it, toe-to-toe?”
It’s an idle goad, and I’m hoping he’ll think I’m desperate. If I tried to take Marv in a fistfight, he’d crush me. But he pulls back a little, runs his thick fingers over the row of tally marks cut into his chest.
Fuck me, Marv’s more of a freak than I ever imagined.
“I killed Mother first. I strangled her, but I didn’t tie her down. I had to wear long shirts for weeks, the cuts she left. My fingers cramped from squeezing so hard. It pained me to pry them from her pale throat, I held on so long. My father knew, of course. He prayed for my soul, said his sins reflected on me, that God took his retribution that way. But I knew. God did not gaze on me from above. No, not he. Lucifer called me, welcomed me to his embrace if I could only earn it. And if you are not willing to help me meet my true Father, I will force your compliance. Or did you think Ms. Riberio was only here as bait, Mr. Holleran.”
My eyes flick to her. Diana’s frozen in place behind her. She knows Marv’ll see her as well as I do.
“Wait!” I yell. He pauses, mid-turn. Don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved. “Wait. Okay, yeah. I’ll help. You got it. Me and Lucifer, we got an understanding.”
Marv grips my chair, the muscles beneath the layer of fat pushing their way through, the tendons in his thick neck popping.
“An understanding? You have an understanding with the Father.”
He leers at me, thick lips curving into a smirk. Gut instinct, double down, build a story, a narrative, make him believe. But then he starts laughing.
It reveals his
true madness. A high-pitched, cackling giggle, with tears leaking out of those shark-like eyes, his grip so tight on my chair that the wood splits with a crack. For once, I keep my big fucking mouth shut. The laughter stops, like he’s flicked a switch.
“Why you?” he snarls, the muscles in his cheeks, eyes, and jaw all twitching.
I’ve known Marv’s crazy since the Styx, but the depth of his madness blows me away. His mind broke when he died, whenever that happened. Bastard never recovered and I feel sick when a pang of sympathy prods at me.
“You’re an unremarkable man. A fool muddling his way through Hell, reckless and ignorant, still desperately seeking the approval of the Almighty that forsook us all. I’ve seen you, counseling the victims, advocating for the weak. Why? Because you think Heaven will still take you?” He slaps his chest, sweat and blood flying off it. “That is not the way, Mr. Holleran. Our Father descended from Heaven to walk amongst us. He will bring us salvation. I have sacrificed so many in his honor. I turned my body into a canvas for him, yet you claim he favors you? If the woman means so much to you, I will make you watch as I strip her soul from her mutilated body and bind it to me. Then I will take pleasure in torturing you, and if the Father arrives, I will show my worthiness through the ruination of your fucking corpse.”
Marv’s bellowing into my face, clutching my biceps so tight they bruise, spitting all over me as he crushes me. I understand how sardines feel getting shoved into those little, old tins. He doesn’t even see me anymore as he screams his fury at me.
Just like that, it’s happened, like people always warned me. My mouth’s pushed someone over the edge.
A chair explodes over Marv’s head. Splinters fly. Free of her restraints, Rosa comes through. Marv can take a hit, but he still goes down with a yelp of pain. Blood pours from his head and down the artwork on his back. Diana flows behind me, starts working at the ropes on my leg.
“Don’t wanna sound ungrateful,” I shout to her over my shoulder, eyeing Marv on the floor. “But could you go any faster?”
Rosa whacks him again with the shattered chair, but he’s getting up quick. And he’s pissed.
“You’re lucky I’m here at all,” Diana bites out.
One hand pops free. On instinct, I reach for my Ruger, but it ain’t there. Course it isn’t.
“About that…”
“I was with you the whole time. After you tried to ditch me at the Styx, I followed you back home and got in the trunk.”
“Remind me to tell you off later.”
Marv sweeps Rosa’s legs out and she rolls, slapping out on the cabin floor. Before she can get her feet, he grabs her around the neck and tosses her into the wall. Another of my hands pops free and I throw myself forwards, dragging the chair behind me. I grab Marv around his bull neck and hammer on the wound in his skull with my fist. I kick his knees out, slam elbows into his ribs, hit every weak spot I can think of. I try to choke him—a little revenge would be nice—but his tendons jut and it’s like trying to strangle a streetlamp. I reckon it’s hurting me more than him.
He throws me off with a shrug of his shoulders and I topple backwards, flattening the chair under my ass.
“Enough!” Marv roars.
He seems torn between the three of us—we’ve all defied him—then he glares at Diana and lunges.
The kid screams.
The noise is worse than the sound of the Wendigo. It’s anger, yes. Fear. Pain. Her voice splits the night, and I’m fortunate I’ve got my hands free so I can cover my ears.
But Marv? The cry hits him full-blast. He cannons into the wall and the building shakes as Diana’s emotional tornado pins the sorry bastard there. Her screams fade, and as she walks past me the restraints on my ankles unravel. I scramble to my feet, running to Rosa, who’s nursing a head wound of her own from her collision with the wall.
Diana, hands outstretched, pushes Marv harder against the wall. He grunts in pain, snarls, strains. The force is invisible, but I can feel it. This is beyond Strengthened. This is beyond poltergeist. She isn’t just throwing open doors or moving TV remotes anymore. Marv’s tendons pop all over his torso, but it’s no good. Fucker’s pinned. This skinny, teenage ghost has got this beast of a man wedged against a wall through nothing more than her will, and dear Lord is that will ferocious. I grab Rosa, and she holds me tight.
“You good?” I ask.
“Think so,” she replies, checking her head and pulling away from me. She gawps at Marv, snarling and straining as Diana lifts him off his feet. “What’s doing that to him?”
“Friend of mine.”
“Right,” Rosa says, eyes flicking to the fireplace. Beside it is a table with my Ruger on it, spare magazine and all. “This wasn’t the second date I’d envisioned, but at least it’s memorable.”
Before I can laugh, Diana screams. Not like before. This time, it’s filled with surprise and confusion and anguish. She staggers as Marv drops to the ground. He pulls himself forward, fingernails digging into the floorboards, and Diana backs off. His tattoos are alive, rippling across his bare skin.
I move, throwing myself to the table, my leg, back, stomach, face and neck all protesting, and grab the Ruger. I pop the empty clip and slam the fresh magazine in place. I spin, aiming the gun at Marv.
“Hold it, big guy. It’s over. Reckon a bullet to the head would drop you like it would anyone else.”
Diana runs over to us. Marv’s focus is once again on me. He climbs to his feet, does it slow, his massive size making the cabin appear tiny. Can’t get over how big the guy is. Even with the beating he’s taken—Rosa’s chair shots, the pummeling I gave him, Diana’s psychokinetic assault, the blood pumping from his head, washing over his tattooed torso—he still looks primed for action.
“You will not kill me,” he snarls, taking a step forward, and he’s right. I don’t want to.
I’ve no way to deal with his ghost. My hope rests on Suraz, but it’s silent outside. If he dealt with the Wendigo, he’d have come by now. But, if he leaves me no choice, I’ll put two hot pieces of lead in his chest and one between his eyes.
I move backward, toward the door, signaling for Rosa and Diana to move with me.
“Killed before,” I grunt, taking another step. “Just a couple of nights ago. It’s how I met your buddy Lucifer.”
I hear faint cries from outside and I pray to God it’s the death throes of a Wendigo, but I’m sure they’re cries of pain. Goddamn it.
Marv rushes forward a step. I snap my arm down, and put a bullet through his thigh. I expect him to collapse as the blood starts pumping. Instead, his eyes narrow to slits.
“The Father made a mistake,” he snarls, uncaring of the smoke curling from the bullet wound in his meaty thigh. “Unlike God, he never claimed to be infallible. But I see now that he does not care for you, and you have wasted my time. I will carve your souls into my chest and enslave your dead friend.”
I shift a foot backwards, and I feel something dig into my thigh through my pocket. The crucifix! I glance at the Satanic tattoos on Marv’s body, recall the Wendigo spirit’s pain when it tried to pass through the holy water into my body, and decide it’s worth a short.
As a scream erupts from outside, I lower my voice and talk fast.
“When I say the word, get outside. Got me? Run, don’t stop, outta the mist.”
I don’t wait for an answer. Thrusting my hand into my pocket, I grab Ruby’s necklace and charge at Marv.
“Now!” I scream, and leap at him.
We collide and tumble to the floor. As we fall, I jam the crucifix against his forehead. It sizzles, burning his flesh. He shrieks, eyes rolling, veins bulging. Unlike the bullet wound, this is more than physical pain, He’s painted evil on his skin and let it into his soul, and the holiness wants to purge it all.
I press my palm against it—the metal white-hot—holdi
ng the iron cruciform in place. My screams rise with his as the flesh under my hand blisters and cracks. Maybe my brush with Lucifer means the cross ain’t too keen on me either. Marv’s fist slams into my ribs, but I hold on. I swallow the agony as he sinks another punch into my torso. A third.
“Won’t you fucking give up?” I snarl, and go to slam the Ruger on his head.
A mistake.
My balance shifts, and Marv unleashes a flurry of hammer blows, forcing me off and sending my gun spinning across the floor. I roll as he kicks me away. With a cry of fury, he rips the crucifix from his head, and throws it into the fireplace. The flames surge and roar when it tumbles through them. He climbs to his feet and I sag against the floorboards, closing my eyes so I don’t see Charon grinning at me.
I know it’s my end. I only hope Rosa and the kid took my advice.
“Does he come?” Marv asks, his voice child-like and small. Almost a whisper, swallowed by the roaring flames. “You are his messenger, are you not?”
I open my eyes. His ruined, half-melted face is filled with wonder as he stares beyond me. I roll on one side with a groan so I can see what’s got Marv so enraptured.
“Took your fucking time,” I grumble, sinking back to the ground.
The Nephilim cometh to save the day.
Suraz stands in the doorway, caked in ichor, black wings of shadow open wide, armor broken and hanging loose in places. He staggers, leaning on his golden sword, obsidian skin and bright eyes standing out against the mist. Even wounded, his presence is undeniable, a weight forcing us all to notice. Rosa and Diana are still inside the cabin—of course they didn’t listen—and they both stare at Suraz, mouth agape.
Even an Unawakened can see a Nephilim in battle-mode.
“You meddle with things beyond your comprehension, Devil Worshipper,” Suraz hisses, hefting his mighty blade. “One such as you is but an insect beneath Lucifer’s boot.”
The Nephilim surges at Marv, and then, through the door, I see it. Disaster approaches. The warning dies in my throat; it don’t even have time to reach my lips.
