by Bo Luellen
As fate would have it, we were unable to collect the Angel's soul from the Turner Vessel. For some reason, it broke free of the binding enchantment and leaped into you at the morgue. The Medical Examiner you met is one of the members and helped us sort out what happened. At the time, she didn’t make the connection, but she did help put the pieces together later on. Now you might have noticed a few hiccups in your lifestyle? Maybe some gaps in memory, random items showing up in your life, perhaps even some quicker healing? All of that is a byproduct of having this particular demon in you. Trust me, these Fallen Celestials aren’t helpful, but this one is filled with pride and likes to keep its Vessel preened.”
Bill walked in front of him and continued, “It was tough to track Hyde down. We thought we’d lost him, and the whole Sect would have suffered for it. Two nights later, Aaron got the call that the Seers had detected Hyde using the Superbia spell. That is Latin for Pride, Henry. The Fallen Angels use the Seven Deadly Sins as mind-controlling charms on mortals who have evil in their hearts. If they whisper Gluttony, then they might make you drink enough alcohol until you die. They can even make you work for them as servants. Ever seen the movie Dune? It’s like the Bene Gesserit Voice, but less cheesy and more go fuck yourself.”
He pulled out a buck knife from his belt and played with it as he imparted, “Aaron’s job was to move in and take out Hyde. That’s you, Henry. Well, that didn’t happen. I listened to my friend being torn apart on my radio while our team ran to help. It only took a minute, but that was all this creature needed. We found Sergeant Aaron Holland, my friend and comrade in arms, the person who pulled me out of the depths, crucified in the back lot of dirty Wal-Mart. A war hero, a defender of this country, and that is how he ends up.”
Bill's eyes filled up with tears as he poked the first half-inch of the knife into Henry’s left leg, which elicited a muffled scream through the gag. Henry felt the pain in his back flare, as the fresh throbbing in his head started pounding. Another strobe sparked in his mind, and another quick shutter flash of the Study streaked past. Amid the torment, Jekyll heard the faint whisper of someone far away in his head.
Bill’s composure collapsed into an unbridled rage as he shouted, “We laid him to rest just outside these walls! This creature inside you has taken both of our Mentors! When you feel the creature pushing around, seeking to hide, send him to me, Henry! Send him to me!”
Reaching down with both hands, he grabbed the pliers and plucked Henry’s fingernail off in one furious motion. Henry’s screams became more of a high pitched wail as the blood poured out from the fresh wound. A red-faced Bill picked up the leather strap from his collection of tools and beat the bare midsection of his captive. Veins bulged from his neck as the cultist used all his might to rain down repeated cutting slashes with the cowhide. With each strike, the pounding in Henry’s brain sizzled and grey looking vomit shot out of his mouth. In the storm of pain, the obscured voice from the fog of his head was once again speaking out.
The winded tormentor stopped to catch his breath and leaned on a cabinet. Henry felt every inch of the deep cuts in his body, and uncontrollable shivering took over as shock set in. After taking a few more deep inhales, he tossed the bloody strap down on the floor and walked over to a grouping of shelves. With some effort, he pulled free a Teflon container from a second shelf then placed it on the ground. It was holding five gallons of a transparent liquid and had a red safety seal along the top. Bill scooted it slowly and carefully over towards Jekyll, letting out a grunt as he passed over rough spots on the floor. Through the trembling and cold, he managed to focus enough on the label of the container to make out, “Danger - Fluoroantimonic Acid.”
Bill put on a pair of yellow plastic gloves and donned a gas mask, as he informed him, “Safety first. We don’t want your lungs damaged.”
He pulled his dagger free and cut off the zip tie around Henry’s face, then yanked the rag out of his mouth. The cultist placed another gas mask on the head of his victim and tightened the straps. After an inspection of the seals along his jaw, he applied a long strip of duct tape around the respirator and Jekyll’s head to keep it from falling off. Satisfied with his work, he returned to the large container and used his blade to remove the sealed lid. Reaching inside his pocket, he withdrew a tiny glass eyedropper and carefully filled the dropper with the chemical. Carefully, holding it out in front of him, he walked closer to his captive.
Placing it just over Henry’s right nipple, Bill told him, “All this pain ends when you let the beast out.”
Two drops fell down on his pink flesh and erupted into bubbling foam and smoke. Henry let out a scream and rocked the chair back and forth in an attempt to get the drops to roll off him. The smell of his own cooking skin filled his nose as plumes of white smoke enveloped his head.
For the first time, he went from scared to angry and yelled, “I’m going to fucking kill you!”
Bill ignored the threat and dropped two beads of the acid onto the young man’s scrotum. The pain dotted his vision with light shards that spun in a circle, and his consciousness pulsed in and out. He jerked uncontrollably as the liquid ate through his left testicle and cooked what was inside.
Bill walked around Jekyll, letting drops fall randomly onto his bare flesh and urged, “Give him to me, Henry! Give him to me! You let him out, and you go to sleep! All the pain stops!”
As the acid reacted to the water molecules in his body, the space above Henry filled with blankets of smoke. The area where the chemical was burning turned to mush, and sections of his skin slid off in pancake-like patches onto the floor. A gurgling noise was coming from Jekyll’s mouth as his mind was being overloaded with pain. The vision of the Study door snapped to his head, and this time, it stayed. He was gnashing his teeth so hard that a front tooth snapped, and blood flowed out from his gums. The taste of blood was in his mouth, and he could smell his own cooking flesh.
A voice from beyond the Study door boomed in his head, You sniveling idiot. Stop holding it in! Let into your rage, or we are both done!
Henry heard the words as clearly as if it were spoken by someone right next to him. He focused through all the agony and, in his mind, reached out for the handle of the Study’s entrance. The knob wasn’t cooperating and resisted his attempts to enter. His rage and suffering fueled his efforts, as he screamed and repeatedly plowed his shoulder into the heavy oak door. On his seventh attempt, it gave way, and he went sailing into the antique-looking Study. Looking up, he saw a nude, slender yet muscular person standing on the other side of the room. The figure was so beautiful, it was hard for Henry to decide if it was a man or a woman. A pair of massive wings unfurled from his back and stretched out over nine feet in both directions. The angelic appendages were decorated with a chaotic mixture of white and black feathers, giving it a salt and pepper look. Henry struggled to his feet, malice and anger overtaking his mind.
He took a step towards the alien-looking being and tried to ask, “What’s going …”
The wings sprang to life, and the dark Angel flew straight to Jekyll, then phased into his body. Henry’s eyes popped open, and he found himself back in the cabin facing Bill. The creature was slowly taking him over, just as it had attempted to do outside his apartment. He felt the thing within him struggling to take over as heat surged through his body, and his eyes turned a deep red color. The pain lessened, and the smoke from the acid trickled to a halt.
Bill stumbled backward and released his eyedropper to fall to the ground saying, “Hyde! It took you long enough! Come out the rest of the way! You’re weak inside these four walls! There’s no escape! There’s only me, Hyde!”
A pounding came from the exterior door, as the other cultist’s voices could be heard yelling for Bill to let them in. The cultist ripped off his own gas mask, turned, and picked up the five-gallon bucket of chemicals from the ground, sloshing some of it onto the floor. Henry felt the exhilaration and chilling delight of the evil fingers creeping up his spine an
d seducing his conscious mind into giving in.
With a savage look in his eye, Bill launched the contents of the white container at Henry. The liquid instantly produced smoke on contact with his flesh as it splashed against his chest and face. His upper lip melted, and strings of slimy flesh webbed together as he opened his mouth and let out a deep guttural cry. Bill staggered back as the vapors erupted off his body, filling the windowless room up with smoke. The fluorescent lights overhead were now engulfed by the chemical fog, and their pulsating created a murky strobe effect inside the room.
Suddenly, Henry’s screams stopped, and the room was left with a sizzling of the burning liquid and the pounding on the door by the desperate cult members outside. The thing that was once Henry Jekyll stood up, bending the steel chair and twisting the metal. He could feel a power he never dreamed of, as the thing he was flexed his arms and snapped off the zip tie restraints. The chair dropped to the floor and bounced. He pulled his hands in front of him and looked at the burned flesh. The veins in his arms had risen, and the muscles in his body were growing. His fingernails changed to a deep black color and grew to sharp points. The missing nail on his index finger regenerated into a similar talon, while his flesh regenerated before his eyes.
Bill fell backward onto the floor and cut himself on the edge of one of the cots, as he exclaimed, “No! That’s impossible! The Mages said… Demon, I order you to sit back down!”
The possessed man made no move to comply, as Bill scooted towards the gun racks and fumbled nervously for some keys in his pocket. Henry noticed a smell that was different from anything else he had ever experienced. The odor hung in the air and acted like a drug that made his senses sharper, keener, and more focused.
Hyde’s voice gave a soothing, That my child is the smell of human fear. Few things compare to it in the universe. Intoxicating, isn’t it?
Henry felt a bone pop in his back, and the distracting sensation stunned him for a second. A tickle came from the center of his spine and started drawing outwards towards his shoulders. Bill looked back at him and stared at whatever was happening on Henry’s back, then frantically attempted to pull a locked shotgun from the rack.
In the smoke-covered flashing fluorescent lights, a pair of salt and pepper colored wings slowly unfurled and stretched from wall to wall. The feathery appendages seemed to move on their own, and opened wide, sending a vortex of smoke funnels about the room. The massive seven-foot-long wings slammed their tips into the ground, like an angry gorilla giving a challenge.
The smell of Bill’s blood was overwhelming him as Hyde egged him on, My child, I’ve given you this man’s life as a gift. Discover how his flesh tastes. Drink the warmth of his blood and fill your stomach.
The wings flapped with raw power that caused Henry to float for a moment and pushed all the cots against the wall. One of the beds hit Bill in the face and knocked him off his feet. Squeezing himself into a corner, the cultist drew a knife, as blood trickled down his forehead.
The smell of the fresh blood hit Henry’s nose and triggered an instinctive response. With one pulse of his massive wings, the two of them were on Bill in less than a second. Henry jammed the man against a wall with an iron grip and with his other hand snatched the cultist’s right wrist. His eyes burned a deep amber, as he applied an ever building squeeze on Bill’s forearm until the mortal dropped his knife.
Hyde’s voice took over Henry’s mouth and menaced, “When I’m done with you, I’ll send you to your Cthulhu. Since both you and your tasty Aaron Holland failed the Dark Lord, I do wonder if he will plunge your soul into the same nightmare as your friend, so you can be together in that way you secretly craved all these years. I’m sure your god will unite you both in endless torment.”
Henry felt the hunger building and dug a taloned thumbnail into Bill’s forearm, causing the hand to expand in pain. Hyde took over his body and snapped their jaws down on the man’s index finger. With a crunch, they bit through the bone and ripped off the digit. The cultist screamed out, as they forcibly turned his head so he could watch them drink the fountain of blood that was pouring out of his wounded limb. Henry’s eyes rolled back as the hot fluid tasted like sweet wine and flared his senses.
He felt Hyde take control of his arms, and they plunged their claws through the man’s clothes and into his chest. A gurgling sound came from Bill, as blood erupted from the mouth and nose. With a single push, Bill’s torso was ripped open, and his ribs popped away from the breastbone like a zipper. The blood leaped out from damaged veins and arteries and coated the delighted Hyde. The dead body of his captor slumped to the ground, and the once-proud Ranger’s last act was to defecate himself.
The Demon thought to Henry, The Mortal wasn’t wrong. This place is unsafe for us. We must leave this building and then get off of The Preserve.
Henry reiterated to Hyde, “He said we’re trapped here and that they had spells to keep us inside.”
The Demon replied, We would be trapped here, if it wasn’t for you. Now that I fully understand who you are, we must leave in order to prepare.
Henry protested, asking, “Wait, what do you mean?! Who am I?!”
The dark spirit within him replied, Because of your bloodline, we will become something more significant than the sum of our two parts. That will take time, and time is something we don’t have. For now, we take to the skies, and I will show you wonders your kind only dreams about in bedtime stories.
Henry got up and walked to the only door, with blood dripping from his hands and forearms as he reached for the lock. With a quick jerk, he yanked it off its hinges, causing a large chunk of the wood frame to go with it. He gripped the door, and a bolt of electricity shot him through the air and against the opposite wall. In response to contact with the spell, the wings on his back retracted, as did his claws and enhanced body features.
As Henry lost consciousness, the words of Hyde drifted in saying, Enochian magic! Damn you, Miniel!
Chapter 14: John IV
Tulsa, OK - Thursday, October 18th, 2018 – 4:05 p.m. CST
John Utterson had a belly full of sitting and waiting on the FBI to get back to him. He glanced at his watch and cursed, as he noticed forty minutes had passed since he gave the tag number Amanda provided to the Special Agent in charge. Utterson jumped as his desk phone finally rang, and he snatched up the receiver, like a snake biting a mouse.
The agent cleared his throat and reported, “The tag you gave us belongs to one Marcus Holmes, who lives with his wife Violet and his daughter Clare, in East Tulsa. He is a respected international antique dealer whose passport and travel logs currently show him to be in East Germany on business. Can you tell us where you got this tip?”
Utterson put his head in his hands and replied, “No, it came to me anonymously.”
The man gave a quick, “Unless further leads come to light, our departments are logging this and moving on to more substantial tips. Thank you for your hard work, and the Bureau will keep you in the loop.”
Frustrated, Utterson slammed the phone and flipped open his laptop. He ran the name, Marcus Holmes, and came up with an East Tulsa address. It took him ten minutes just to get himself and his chair into his car. The pain of the broken rib still pestered him each time he took a breath, and the busted ankle was making everything harder.
On the drive over to the Holmes residence, he thought about the scene in the waiting room with the Johnston family, I deserved what was said and more. David’s death had been meaningless, but Terry’s injuries have a purpose. I’m going to do everything in my power to catch the Crimson Brotherhood and bring Jekyll in, alive.
As he entered into Holmes’s posh neighborhood, he saw the target address on the right. It was a two-story home with twenty acres of land and a beautifully manicured lawn. He turned his car into the driveway and judged the distance between the front door and his vehicle. John sighed at the 20-yard walk and looked down at his crutches that were jammed into the passenger side. He reached in his
glove box and took out a flask of vodka. Utterson popped open his pill bottle and used the alcohol to wash down two Oxycodone. Utterson wiped his mouth, thankful that it might dull the pain in his broken body and looking forward to the mental fog it would bring. Between the speed he was taking and the pain killers, John was able to stay focused on seeing this through.
He squirted breath spray into his mouth, got out of the car, tucked the crutches under his arms, and walked up to the door. The front of the house was all rock with beautiful white trim, and a sign above the entrance read, “It’s all abOUt football.” Hitting the doorbell, he heard voices inside yelling back and forth, arguing over who was going to get it.
A few minutes later, a nine-year-old black girl in overalls came to the door and greeted him with an innocent, “Hello.”
He showed his badge and replied, “Hey, sweetheart. Is your mommy or daddy at home?”
The girl turned and yelled, “Mom! The po-po are here!”
A slender black woman in her thirties came to the door and asked, “Good afternoon, Officer. Can I help you?”
She was dressed in loose black pants and wore a white top that showed off her shapely shoulders. Her long hair was swaying along her chest and back, as the woman wiped her hands with a dishtowel. The inside of the house was clean, and the Detective took notice that most of the furniture looked either antique or African.
He showed his credentials again and identified himself with, “My name is Detective John Utterson with the Tulsa Police Department. Are you Violet Holmes, the wife of Marcus Holmes?”
She looked surprised and inquired, “Yes, what’s this all about?”
