Soul Taker

by William Massa

  “What’s the significance of the Tarot deck the grave robbers left behind?” Vesper asked, gently nudging the empty glass away from the cards.

  I took a deep breath, my fingers nervously flipping through the old deck of handcrafted Tarot cards. This wasn’t some cheap replica you could purchase at your local game store. The deck was over two hundred years old and had originated in Italy. The cards were crudely hand-drawn, which added to the creepiness of the imagery. No wonder those cards had given me bad dreams as a kid. I’d totally forgotten about the Tarot deck until the other day, when my eyes found them inside my father’s empty coffin. The graverobbers had left a souvenir behind for me.

  The police thought they might be a calling card or signature. I knew better.

  “They’re sending me a message. Now I just need to decipher it.”

  I longingly glanced at the bottle of whiskey gleaming in Malibu’s morning sunlight and resisted the temptation to pour myself another drink. There was no point getting shitfaced before the day even got started.

  “It has to be a copy-cat cult, right?”

  “That would be the most logical explanation.”

  “What do they plan on doing with your father’s, you know, remains?”

  The question hung in the air. I wondered if my new enemies had mastered necromantic spells. Were they hoping to use my father’s bones to revive him?

  Despite the many horrors I’d experienced over the last years—the terrifying birth of a demon from the decaying corpse of a woman being the most recent—my guts twisted with fear at this possibility. The memory of my father was enough to chill my blood. The chance I might come face to face with him soon made my heart beat faster. Suddenly, the walls of my sanctuary seemed to close in on me.

  I had to get out of this house.

  Away from anything connected to my old man.

  Away from the scary-ass Tarot deck splayed out on the antique living room table.

  I took a steadying breath and tapped into all my willpower to resist the call of the bottle.

  If the purpose behind stealing my father’s earthly remains was to throw me off my game, then these assholes were succeeding with flying colors.

  I jumped to my feet. “I think I need to get some fresh air.”

  Vesper eyed me with concern. “Are you sure it’s safe out there?”

  As I mentioned earlier, Vesper is a bit of a homebody. She prefers the treadmill of my home gym over the Solstice Canyon Loop Trail. She thought I made an easy target out there in the mountains, but most of my enemies struck only at night, and I never hit the trails without my weapons. Despite my grim vocation, I refused to live my life in fear. I always carried my father’s sacrificial blade and my Glock, loaded with rune-engraved silver bullets, no matter where I went. My double-shoulder holster system fit snugly under my activewear hoodie.

  To be honest, deep down I wished my enemies might be stupid enough to make a move while I was out there this morning. I was eager to confront whoever was behind the theft of my father’s remains. This latest case wasn’t just another paranormal puzzle I needed to solve.

  This time it felt personal.

  Vesper regarded me for a beat, doing her best to mask her concern. She knew I wasn’t like her. My job meant walking through those doors and facing the monsters that dwelled on the outside. She had also learned that once my mind was set, it was hard to persuade me otherwise.

  “I’ll be back in an hour,” I promised.

  And with those words, I left the mansion. The Solstice Canyon Loop Trail is a 3.2 mile, heavily trafficked loop that features a waterfall and is suitable for all skill levels. If you ever visit, be sure to check it out.

  I usually walked it, but not today. After a five-minute warm-up, my legs pistoned out and I broke into a run. Most days the trail helped me clear my mind. I had cracked many a case by letting my mind sort out the details of a paranormal investigation while navigating the picturesque, shadowed canyon on foot. But I wasn’t using the trail to turn inward this time. I was trying to silence my restless thoughts and get a handle on the fears the theft of my father’s remains had stirred up.

  Fears I thought I’d conquered long ago.

  I started off at a steady clip, but it quickly became punishing. After another five minutes, all my mental energy focused on conquering the trail and propelling my body up the winding mountain. Sweat poured down my face even though it was still early in the morning, and the pleasant haze of the Maker’s Mark had burned off.

  There wasn’t a living soul around, a rarity for this popular hiking spot.

  Another twenty minutes passed without incident. The sun beat down on me as my sneakers slapped the dirt trail and kicked up small plumes of dust. My steady breathing was the only sound to disturb my tranquil natural surroundings.

  I slowed down as I reached the top of the mountain. Zuma Beach hugged the Pacific Ocean, which gleamed and sparkled with sunlight. As I had so many times before, I considered the irony that a man who spent so much time in the shadows would call this sun-drenched paradise home. Perhaps it’s what kept me sane while I fought the forces of darkness.

  I was thanking my lucky stars that my father hadn’t set up shop in some rain-soaked, gloomy part of the world when I heard a growl behind me.

  I grew still as a gust of wind blew over the mountain.

  I slowly turned in the sound’s direction.

  My eyes narrowed as I searched the thick bushes lining the trail. And then a shadow emerged from the sea of green. It was a dog. A black Rottweiler. I grinned to myself. I must be on edge if I mistook a lost dog for a ravening hell-beast.

  And that’s when the Rottweiler issued another menacing growl, ears pricked, every muscle in his lean, powerful body coiled. Piercing eyes glowered, menacing teeth exposed. I forgot to exhale for a moment, realizing there was no sign of an owner. Laws were strict in this affluent neighborhood. Owners had to use a leash when walking their furry friends, but this feral Rottweiler didn’t look like it had ever been leashed in its life.

  My hand instinctively reached for the double-holster and closed on the butt of my Glock. I hated having to resort to violence against an animal, but being mauled by a wild dog was even less appealing.

  Another growl made my hairs stand on end. Without moving my body, I tilted my head as the second Rottweiler came into view. Then a third dog, a fearsome German Shepherd, joined the first two. The trio regarded me in icy silence. I doubted that some frantic owner was about to appear on their side. Something was not right here.

  Whatever hesitation I might have initially felt dissolved in the face of this threat.

  The Glock came out, my hand steady as I targeted the first dog.

  The creatures merely stood there. The scene was disconcerting even in full daylight. I hesitated, not sure if I should pull the trigger. What if they were someone’s pets?

  I suddenly heard voices to my right. A pair of hikers had arrived on the trail. I shot a quick glance in their direction, then turned back to my new canine friends… only to find them gone.

  The dogs had vanished.

  I swallowed hard and placed my pistol back in the holster before the newcomers on the mountain could spot my weapon. I didn’t want to scare anyone.

  The hikers came into full view. A young Asian couple, they were all smiles as they waved at me. If I looked a little off to them, they weren’t showing it. I returned the wave. A beat later, I was running down the mountain, suddenly eager to end my morning hike before I ran into any other nasty surprises.

  I doubted that the appearance of the three powerfully built dogs had been a coincidence. My enemy had sent me another message. I just didn’t know what it was.

  This time, grueling exercise couldn’t silence the questions plaguing my mind.

  I reached the bottom of the mountain and made my way back to the mansion. I was already looking forward to stepping under the shower. I could almost feel the hot water washing the grime and perspiration away, dr
owning my world in the cloud of steam. But as soon as I set foot in my home, I knew there would be no time for a long shower.

  Vesper met me at the entrance, the urgency in her eyes unmistakable.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

  “Detective Sanchez just called. There’s a situation downtown.”

  Sanchez was my liaison at the LAPD. If I worked a paranormal case locally, chances were good our paths would cross.

  “What sort of situation,” I asked, my voice drained of all emotion.

  “See for yourself.”

  Vesper pointed at her computer in the living room, where a live news broadcast dominated the screen. Onscreen, a police chopper swooped over a downtown L.A. high-rise. A human figure stood on the ledge of what appeared to be a twenty-story building.

  I drew closer, my stomach in a sudden knot. The news camera zoomed in. The face remained hidden in shadow, but I now realized the potential jumper was a woman.

  “The woman is threatening to jump unless she gets to talk to Simon Kane,” Vesper said.

  Chapter Five

  I was out the door a second later. Without pause, I hopped into my black BMW 8 Cabrio convertible, oblivious of the sweaty workout clothes sticking to my skin. I fired up the engine, raced down the PCH, and jumped onto the 10, which would take me to the downtown building where the woman was threatening to throw herself off the edge.

  I reached the building in question in less than half an hour.

  I burst out of the vehicle and stormed toward the building’s lobby. Detective Sanchez, my main contact with the LAPD, spotted me as I drew closer. He shot me a curious look, probably surprised to see me decked out in sweats. I usually favored skinny suits and silk shirts, and many of the cops joked about my stylish attire. Some had even nicknamed me James Bond. Hey, we all have our style, but none of that mattered at the moment. All I cared about was reaching the jumper before she plunged to her death.

  “Thank God you’re finally here. That woman is serious. All efforts by our negotiators to reach out to her have failed. She refuses to talk to anyone but Simon Kane.”

  I peered up at the building for a beat and squinted against the light. I only saw a small black dot, the air pulsing with the throb of the circling helicopters.

  “Let’s head upstairs, then, and see what she has to say.”

  Detective Sanchez nodded and bellowed at the reporters and a crowd of curious onlookers to let us through. The group shrank away from us. Sanchez carried himself with the steely authority of a wartime general. He moved with the energy of a much younger man, even though his eyes were ancient. Like myself, the detective had experienced his fair share of horrors on the streets of L.A. over the years. Not every nightmare plaguing this world was of a supernatural variety, as he liked to remind me from time to time.

  When we’d first met eight years earlier, Sanchez hadn’t really known what to make of “The Paranormalist.” The man was used to going up against gangbangers, not literal monsters. He’d gradually come to recognize that there were certain crimes beyond the purview of regular cops.

  When weird shit went down, it was time to bring in Simon Kane.

  We weren’t exactly friends—I think the detective saw me more as a necessary evil. He respected what I did, but it didn’t mean he had to like me. “The less I know about your world, the easier I rest at night.” That’s a direct quote, by the way. There is only so much darkness any one can take. Dealing with ordinary crime was all Sanchez could handle, but I was glad to shoulder my share of the burden. We were both just trying to make the world a little safer.

  As we headed for the elevator, the dread in my guts intensified. Talking a woman off a ledge was a first for me. Usually, by the time I arrived on a scene the victims were already beyond all help.

  “Do we know who she is?” I asked as we stepped into the lift and the doors dinged shut.

  “We’re working on it. I was hoping you might tell me.”

  The wheels behind my eyes were spinning. Why would a jumper want to talk to me, of all people?

  We rode the elevator without saying another word. It felt weird to make small talk while a woman’s life hung in the balance. We had worked together often enough to not feel uncomfortable in shared silence.

  My mind turned to the situation up on the hotel roof. What would I say to the jumper, and how would I comport myself? What could I do to prevent her from taking a dive off the building?

  Almost as if he could read thoughts, Sanchez said, “I know this isn’t what you normally do, Simon. But I’ll be right there with you.”

  “Thanks. Any tips on how to talk someone off a ledge?”

  “Listen to what she has to say, hear her out, and don’t make any sudden moves. That’s all you really can do. If she really wants to jump, she’s going to jump."

  The elevator ground to a halt, and we both got out. A burst of wind greeted us. We walked past three officers who were doing their best to keep the woman from making the greatest mistake of her life.

  She stood on the dizzying ledge, her back turned toward us. Her dress flapped forlornly in the steady breeze. Her arms were well-formed and bare, her brunette hair dancing in the air.

  Another gust of air tousled my beard, and I wondered how the woman maintained her balance while the wind blew in such sharp bursts.

  I was almost upon her, only about fifteen feet separating us, when I finally spoke.

  “You wanted to talk to Simon Kane? Well, I’m here now. Let’s talk.”

  The question hung there for a beat. And then the woman began to turn in my direction.

  The first thing I noticed was the tattoo on her bare shoulder.

  A green image of a snake devouring its own tail, a perfect match for my own tattoo, which seemed to ignite with pain whenever I encountered occult energy. The Ouroboros, a symbol of life and death and constant renewal, which was also the mark of my father’s cult.

  Shock choked the breath right out of my lungs.

  Whatever was happening here, whatever game this woman was playing, things were about to get a lot worse.

  Fifteen years earlier, I’d stumbled into my father’s unholy temple. I vividly recalled making my way through the crowd of robed followers. I would later learn that they called themselves the “Children of the Void.”

  I remember reaching the altar and seeing my father, his face distorted with madness, sacrificial knife in hand.

  And I remembered the victim on the stone slab, silently awaiting the inevitable death blow. Her haunting beauty, her heart-wrenching terror, had been indelibly etched into my mind.

  That same woman who’d almost become my father’s eleventh victim was now staring back me.

  Impossible, I thought. It couldn’t be her. For one, she looked exactly the way she had fifteen years earlier, her features untouched by the heavy hand of time.

  No, I had to be mistaken.

  I stared at the woman, unable to speak. Surprise had silenced my tongue.

  She met my gaze and broke out into laughter. Her eerie sounds of amusement reverberated over the city.

  The cops flanking me traded nervous glances, but I blocked them out, my full attention fixed on the woman who’d lived within my nightmares for over a decade. Sometimes I saved her in those dreams, but more often I arrived too late to prevent my father’s knife from claiming her life.

  I racked my brain, struggling to remember her name. Mary Kinsey. The one victim to survive the cult’s murder spree.

  “Mary,” I said, my voice a dry whisper.

  She smiled at me.

  “The Children of the Void have returned, Simon. Time to embrace your rightful place among us.”

  Detective Sanchez shot me a sharp look. “What is she talking about, Simon?”

  Another burst of air blew across the roof, and for one bloodcurdling moment, Mary struggled to maintain her balance. We all watched with bated breath. Miraculously, she held on. Going by the ashen faces of the
officers next to me, we’d shaved a few months off our lives with that close call.

  “What do you want from me?” I asked.

  “I serve the Void. I wanted you to witness my devotion, experience my dedication. My will is yours to command, master.”

  Master?

  The word landed like a punch to the gut.

  I was no one’s master.

  I wasn’t a crazed cult leader who told people to prove their loyalty by sending them to their deaths.

  I wasn’t my father.

  “The age of reckoning draws near. Accept your legacy and continue your father’s work. The Children of the Void have returned. I await your command.”

  I sure as hell didn’t like the sound of this, but the woman’s words had given me an idea.

  “Then I command you to step away from that ledge. Prove your devotion and kneel before me.”

  As I spoke, I tried to give my voice an authoritarian edge. I imagined how my father would have addressed his flock.

  A beatific smile filled the woman’s face, and I realized with horror that my ploy wasn’t going to work.

  “I must prove myself to you, Simon. We both know what I must do.”

  She turned toward the dizzying abyss once more. Only death held the promise of absolution that this deranged woman sought. It was the only way to show her devotion to my father’s twisted ideology.

  I felt sick to my stomach just thinking about it.

  I knew with absolute certainty that this woman would throw herself off the building. The dark gods she worshiped wouldn’t be satisfied until her frail form shattered on the pavement ten stories below.

  Fuck, I had to do something before it was too late.

  Perhaps I could distract Mary long enough for one of us to reach her and snatch her from the jaws of death?

  “You don’t have to go through with this,” I said. “There are many other ways to prove your devotion.”

  The woman shook her head.