The Serpent and the Light

by Bo Luellen

  She thanked him, hung up, and sighed, “I guess we wait.”

  Booth gave an anxious, “No, we should leave.”

  Josh protested, replying, “She has just been through a rough trip, we should wait a few minutes, maybe even an hour.”

  Booth pulled out a long gnarled staff, observing, “If you truly are an apprentice to an Ovate Druid in the Line of Merlin, then you know how rare this is. A mortal having direct communication with Cernunnos is one thing, but he gave her a coherent vision. The Green Man appeared to you here, in my house. That means my path is now intertwined with both of yours, and so your quest is my own.”

  Josh put up his hands and calmed, “Now, wait a minute. You’re a tad dramatic. Let the cops do their jobs. We gave them the lead they wanted.”

  Booth threw a water bottle at Amanda, and berated Josh, “Hey, Paul Hogan, think back to the Druidic training. All doors go both ways. She pierced the Otherworldly, and The Green Man brought her as far as he could into the lair of the Great Dreamer. You don’t spy on the lackeys of Elder Gods without taking their notice. Whatever plans they have, I’m sure they just escalated their time tables. Like it or not, the hourglass has flipped, and the sand is starting to run. So get off your asses, and let's find these bastards!”

  Chapter 13: Henry IV

  Location Unknown – Date Unknown - Time Unknown

  The smell of urine and feces assaulted Henry Jekyll’s nose as he moved into consciousness. He felt like he had cotton in his mouth, and not a hint of light elevated the total pitch black of his surroundings. As he sat up, pain surged through his body, radiating from his back and causing him to freeze in place. He laid on his side and probed his back with a shaky right hand and felt an open wound that was swollen and hot. In a flood of memories, Henry recalled the events from the night before. The dead Uber driver, the people in black tactical gear, and the mysterious stranger who knifed him in the back all processed in his mind.

  Tenderness in his chest spiked as he found his pectoral muscles had a deep painful soreness. Running his hands along his skin, Henry found the angry holes left by the stun guns used by the mysterious men. Rolling onto his belly, he undertook a long and agonizing process of getting to his feet. His back and chest allowed only limited movement, and he was forced to restart several times due to muscle spasms.

  In the darkness, he stood naked and cold, unsure of his surroundings, thinking, whatever they shot me up with must finally be working out of my system.

  He heard an echoed cough come from somewhere out in the void. Henry instinctively scooted backward away from nothing and felt the sting of pain from his lower back in payment for the sudden jump. A second cough came longer and louder, and it gave him an idea that the owner of the sound was no more than a few feet away.

  Henry cried out hoarsely, “Who’s there?”

  A few seconds later, a raspy reply came, “Jim.”

  His heart was beating out of his chest, as he asked, “Hey Jim, I’m Henry. Can you turn on the lights?”

  The man hacked up something from his throat and then answered, “No lights to turn on.”

  Henry felt the floor with his foot and found it was smooth, Concrete floors. There’s got to be a wall.

  He inched away from the direction of Jim’s voice and turned himself. Taking small baby steps, he used his toe to check his path as he moved. It was slow going, and Henry could feel the chill set into his bones.

  He decided to engage his mysterious roommate and asked, “What are we doing here?”

  The voice returned, “Waiting.”

  A few yards away, a massive metal door opened, and sunshine poured in the room. Henry held his hand up to the light and turned his head. The new illumination revealed a large, concrete, bunker-like basement, with various broken-down chairs and couches along the walls. Ten malnourished and strung out occupants leaped from their multiple resting spots and rushed to the doorway. Each of them only had on the barest of underwear, and sores dotted their skin. On various places on their bodies was an IV port, and disposed of syringes littered the floor. Buckets of urine and feces occupied the corners of the room, and flies buzzed around three full trash bags that were stuffed with takeout food bags.

  Collectively the mob shouted a chorus of, “Pick me!”, “I deserve some!” and “Don’t make me wait!”

  He saw a large man step into the doorway and slam a metal baton against the steel door frame. Instantly, the crowd went silent, and all of them cowered down as the person moved down the steps. Henry’s eyes were still adjusting to the light, and all he could make out was a dark blob of a silhouette. The heavy boots the figure was wearing clomped against the stairs as another person followed closely behind and carried a sawed-off pump shotgun. The collection of drug-addled prisoners parted as the pair of men in black tactical gear walked towards Henry.

  As the lead man stopped in front of him, the other reached into a sack, threw out a collection of drugs like Santa Claus at a parade saying, “Here! This will hold you over.”

  The drug addicts flooded the areas where the narcotics had been tossed and lost all interest in anything else. Henry’s vision was clearing, and he could make out the man standing in front of him. He was in his early thirties with a crew cut and a blood-red insignia of the same octopus-like creature he saw on the strip of flesh that was in his backpack.

  The man glanced at the symbol on his jacket and remarked, “You like that? Cool design, right? It’s the symbol for Cthulhu, but the color is the important thing.”

  He slapped his own head with a gloved hand and added, “Wow, how rude. Hey, my name's Bill, Bill Robertson. Let’s get you settled in, and we can talk later. Still light-headed? Yeah, those binding spells can be tough. I mean, besides getting stabbed. Am I right?”

  Bill gave a belly laugh as he gently took Henry by the arm and helped him towards the stairs. His companion flanked them and kept an eye on the other occupants of the room. As he slowly climbed towards the surface, the black-clothed man put a strong arm under his armpits. A few minutes later, Henry was stepping out onto a gravel-covered circle that had three cabins facing it. The round clearing was only twenty feet in diameter but was filled with dozens of other similarly clothed and armed people, each with a Cthulhu pendant around their necks.

  Scanning downwards, he saw his chest was sporting two baseball-sized bruises where the darts had landed. He reached up to touch them again but thought better of it. Pivoting his body, he looked at the knife wound. The liquid coming from it wasn’t blood, but some kind of white foam that was steadily trickling out of the gash. Touching the strange fluid, he rubbed it between his fingers. It felt slick like dish soap.

  He jumped a little as the metal door was slammed shut, causing Bill to yell out, “Hey! Be easy! Our guest could start bleeding at any time.”

  Bill pointed over to the cabin on the right and related, “We’ve got a medical kit in there that can get that wound sealed up. Come on, Henry, let's get you taken care of.”

  As the tall man helped him along, they waved their way through the small army of armed cultists who all stood silently watching them go by. A flash of something shiny caught his eye, and Henry looked up into one of the nearby trees to see a man in full camouflage positioned in a deer stand. He had a bolt action rifle cradled in a Y-shaped rest and aimed straight at him. The feeling of having a gun pointed at him sent a shiver into his stomach that caused him to feel a wave of anxiety. His eyes scanned over the rest of the woods and found two more snipers strategically positioned around him.

  The pair walked gingerly up the stairs and into the small cabin. The walls were made of logs, but the interior had been shaved down to accommodate a black metal wall, which had chalk drawings of strange symbols that Henry couldn’t make out. Rows of cots lined each side, and there were windows to give sunlight. His guard turned on a light switch, and a string of fluorescent lights came to life.

  Bill closed and locked the door as he outlined, "So, Henry, here’s the p
ickle you’re in. I realize the last few days have been… confusing, to put things mildly. You are in the care of the Crimson Brotherhood, a religious organization that is very interested in something you have. Which reminds me, you’ve been named by the police as wanted in connection to the murder of Lewis Turner. It turns out the FBI named you a terrorist for a bomb that went off in your apartment.”

  Henry’s eyes went wide with surprise as his captor gave a chuckle and continued, “Oh, that’s right. You were passed out when we booby-trapped your house. Well, let me get you up to speed on that. Our teams painted your walls with an accelerant gel and put the head of Lewis Turner in your brand new refrigerator. Nice fridge, by the way. Well, and here was the tricky part, we dug out your boss's skull and replaced it with a stick of dynamite with a remote detonator. The Pearce Brothers stayed in that parking lot for hours, waiting for the police to finally catch on to the dead Uber driver being a thread to you. Never underestimate the underwhelming Tulsa Police Department, right?”

  Henry balled up his fists, as Bill held up his hand and added, “Now before you get all worked up, let me just say something. I'm the only person within five miles that doesn't want you hurt or killed right now. You might have noticed the collection of my fellow Brotherhood members outside. They all are dying for you to make a wrong move. So as your only true advocate, I'm going to give you some advice. Do as you're told, and this will all be over soon, and you’ll be healthier for it. If you decide to resist or become rebellious you will be punished, which translates to being shocked for one full minute with a stun gun. When you are hit with electricity that long, your muscles tend to pull, and you pass out from the lack of oxygen because everything is locked up and you shit yourself, normally.”

  Bill rested his hand on the yellow stun gun and gave a soothing, “Hey, none of that has to happen. The Master wants to see you, and it’s my responsibility to make sure that you are presentable, alive, and behaving. I've found that taking time with our guests to explain this saves me hassle and time.”

  The tall man sat down on the corner of a desk, took out a cigarette, and outlined, “Let me explain the rules. One, begging won't help and will result in punishment. Two, trying to bargain with me will result in punishment. Three, attacking me will result in punishment and would be stupid because, kid, even drunk with a limp, I could mangle you. Four, running from me will result in punishment. However, twist ending, rule five says that if you do as I say, you will have clothes, food, a place to rest, protection from my friends outside, and drugs, if you want them. There is no reason you and I can't work together to make sure everything stays cool. Now let’s give this a shot.”

  Bill stood up straight, pulled out a handful of zip lines, and praised, “You’re doing great, Henry. Now, take that chair, put it in the middle of the floor facing away from me, and have a seat.”

  Henry complied without a word and happily looked forward to getting off his feet. Slowly, he did as he was told, sat down, and let out a large breath of relief to have the pressure off his cut. He heard a dripping noise from behind him, and Jekyll turned to look. Dotting the floor was a white foam that was pouring from his wound. It bubbled and streamed down his back, and seemed to show no signs of slowing down.

  From behind him, Bill ordered, “Put your hands behind your back. I’m going to restrain you. Remember, rule number five.”

  Again, Henry did as instructed and pulled his wrist around behind the chair. Bill moved up quickly and zip-tied Jekyll’s elbows to the back of the chair and then came around and secured his ankles to the front legs. The plastic bindings cut into his skin but was a distant discomfort considering the hellish pain erupting from his lower back.

  His captor pulled up another chair, sat down in front of Henry, and commended, “Good job, Henry. I know all of this really isn’t your fault. You never asked to be possessed by a Demon, and everything leading up to right now has been the result of that union. So, please believe me that I have true sympathy for you and it does make this next part tough to say.”

  Putting a gloved hand on Henry’s leg, Bill gave a gentle, “Kid, you’re what we call a Vessel. You carry around an entity that lives inside of you. This particular creature, a Fallen Angel named Hyde, has done something I can’t let pass. You see, he killed someone I hold in very high esteem. I need him to come out, so I can exact my revenge upon him. Unfortunately, he is hiding inside you, and to get him to come out, it’s going to take work. So what I’m saying kid is, I’m going to hurt you, real bad. It’s not personal, but you’re the door, and I’m breaking it down.”

  Standing up, he continued, “The Master won’t be happy with it, but really, you only need to be alive for the ritual.”

  Henry raised his head and looked at the man dead in the eye, as something inside of him snapped. The rollercoaster of terror he had been feeling all throughout the last few days turned him numb. He felt a strobe in his mind, and for an instant, he saw the doorway that led into the Study inside his mind, where he had visited earlier to learn Hebrew.

  Henry dryly replied, “I’m not sure what is going on or what ritual you are talking about, but I think there has been a big mistake. I’m a student at Eastland College. I work at a sandwich shop. I’m nobody. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

  The Brotherhood man ignored him and remarked, “The walls of this room are filled with runes that were written in R’lyehian by our Mages. I’m told that it will keep the creature inside you confined to this cabin. Now, if you were to ask me how these spells work, I couldn’t tell you. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in magic and monsters from other dimensions, I’m just piss poor at the craft. What I do know about, what I’m really good at, is administering pain and killing. Before we get too far along, let me introduce you to someone, Henry.”

  Bill pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, and brought up a picture of a group of men in tactical gear, posing for a photo. They were in a desert and standing over the bodies of three dark-skinned soldiers whose corpses were riddled with dozens of bullet holes. They all had big smiles on their faces and looked like they were posing over a prize boar.

  Bill pointed at the man in the middle and disclosed, “That man there is Aaron Holland. He was my sergeant in Iraq, the best man at my wedding, the godfather to my firstborn, and the reason I got into this organization. Aaron is what the Brotherhood calls a Mentor or an Elder. This means he has earned enough respect in the eyes of Cthulhu to recruit people into the service of The Old One. Now, when I was first approached, I didn’t like the idea of worshiping some ancient god and being a part of a terrorist organization. I was raised a Christian and was a God-fearing man. After you spend enough time on the battlefield, you start to understand that everyone seems capable of dying for their version of god. I also discovered I was all too willing to kill for mine. When I got back to the States, I had grown a taste for it. I went from murdering for my country and my god to standing at a counter in the mall and trying to sell phones at a kiosk. After two years of that, I tried committing suicide three times. The last one, my wife found me and did CPR until I came back. Do you know I hated her for that?”

  Bill drifted off into a thought before continuing, “You see, the United States government rewards their heroes with a horrible health system. There's a limited resource pool to help with PTSD, and if you are disabled, then you might live out your life, barely getting by. Aaron knew that and gave me a new way to support my family.”

  The man got up and went over to one of the cabinets and pulled out a leather pouch, as he added, “When I was initiated, everything changed for me and mine. Every time we went Hunting on this Preserve, I would find an envelope filled with money lying next to my bunk. Aaron would make sure I had enough to keep my family going. Of course, I kept my job at the kiosk, but just knowing I could kill one of you on the weekend made it easier dealing with little millennial pricks like you.”

  Bill rolled up his sleeve to reveal an identical red tattoo to the one Henry had found in
his backpack and explained, “When The Master took over, my friend Aaron vouched for me. I became a Leviathan, one of four sworn protectors of the Sect’s leader. The ink for this tattoo has Aaron’s blood mixed in with it. Standing next to him on that day was the proudest I’ve ever felt.”

  He laid the satchel on one of the cots and rolled it open. Henry saw all manner of cruel-looking instruments and devices that came from varied fields of medicine and trades. The man took out a pair of red-handled channel lock plyers and adjusted the width while looking down at Jekyll.

  Bill returned to his chair, scooted up and took Henry’s left index finger into his gloved hand. Clamping down on the fingernail, the cultist took a firm hold on his prisoner's wrist with his other hand. He let go, and the weight of the tool pulled his hand downwards and dangled by the delicate nail. Henry let out a scream, as the tool swung its dead weight from the cuticle.

  The cultist leaned back and threatened, “Once we have our little talk, I’m going to yank on that. Have you ever felt what it is like to have a nail ripped out? I’m assuming not. Most people haven’t.”

  Bill pulled out a rag and forced it into Henry’s mouth and then put a zip tie around his face to keep the cloth in place, as he revealed, “I can’t have your screams alerting the others outside. They might try to interrupt my time with Hyde.”

  Henry betrayed his fear with tears, while the man continued, “Henry, I need your help letting Hyde out, and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to give it to me. Your boss was possessed by the same creature that is inside of you. Hyde isn’t his real name, but the Master says it is the one he goes by when dealing with the Mundane. Oh, Ummm … Mundane are people like you and me, Henry. The ones that can’t interact with the mystical world because we have no magical blood or spell training. Anyway, we managed to trap Hyde in Turner’s body by stabbing him with a ceremonial dagger. Like you, we never meant to kill the fat man that night, just wound him and bring him back for the extraction ritual. It was just dumb luck that he managed to fall off the edge and get run over by a train. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Henry. I understand the two of you were close.