Monstrous- The Complete Collection

by Sawyer Black

  Henry was digging through the murderer’s words when Bulldog reached behind his back. Henry heard the hiss of a blade as Bulldog grabbed a knife from an unseen sheath. Before Henry could stop him, or even wonder if he should, the knife made a fresh smile across Bulldog’s neck, spilling blood from its grin.

  Henry screamed and dropped the body in the water. He reeled back, rose to his feet, and spun in a panicked circle, his mind refusing to order him around. He jumped back to the street and ran past the wreckage, sinking into the shadows and shooting his body like a bullet back toward the Burg Spires Church of Hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Henry reached the church just as a cop car scraped the curb, joining countless others, plus more ambulances than he could count.

  Chaos.

  What the hell is happening?

  Where is Sam?

  There were too many emotions for Henry to sift through, each with its own horrible color, surrounding him in a hazy fog.

  Henry felt misery and hungered for more while fighting the desire at the same time.

  He wanted to get closer but couldn’t. Not with so many flashing lights. Cops and paramedics. People flooding in and out. Many crying or in a state of shock, all with racing hearts. Most with whispered prayers.

  Henry dove into a hive of human bees.

  Pain was everywhere, mostly delicious, and it sickened him.

  Henry worked to ignore his urge, focusing on the other thing making him frantic. Finding his missing Samantha.

  He shot himself into a thicket of shadows a few feet from a woman standing in the lights of a news van. She smacked her lips twice, staring into the monitor behind the cameraman. “Let’s roll.”

  The cameraman aimed at her face as she stared into the lens, smoothing her features into practiced sympathy.

  “This is Connie Collins, Channel 7 News, reporting live from a tragic scene at the Burg Spires Church of Hope, where police say masked men stormed inside and opened fire, killing more than twenty people, including several children, during a Thanksgiving play.”

  No.

  God, no.

  He scanned the madness, searching for any sign of Samantha, certain he was on his way to Hell, one way or another.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Henry stared at the chaos in disbelief.

  Flashing lights draped the onlookers in a garish canvas of trauma. Wide-eyed and blinking, bathed in red, blue, and shadows. The shock of atrocity soured the air as Henry braced himself for more tragedy, edging nearer to the church, one shadow at a time.

  He had to know if Death had come to finish the job.

  Police poured in and out of the church, attempting to make sense of the madness and gather the survivors. The sheer number of people, coupled with their escalated sorrow and pain, made it hard for Henry to concentrate. He slipped into his shadow form instead of turning invisible, hoping he could keep it intact as he moved to within twenty yards of the church’s main entrance. Right to the edge of the lights.

  The closer he got to the church, the more intense the misery. The sweeter the accompanying euphoria. It begged him to come inside and bask in the sorrow, and to his disgust, it wanted him to add to the sorrow by murdering others.

  He buried the urges deep inside himself, trying to focus on finding Sam. Her Porsche was still parked in the lot, so she had to be somewhere nearby. Hopefully alive.

  Burg Spires was a beehive, and Henry was too nervous about losing his focus to chance going through the front doors. Instead, he sprinted across several patches of shadow, scampering up the side of the church and onto the roof, racing to the peak, the Spire’s highest point. He stopped at the skylights, staring down where the chaos and sorrow were worst. No less than a hundred people moved in a sea below. Paramedics and survivors. Cops, in uniforms and suits. Their auras — black, red, and orange, — swirled around them in a flotsam of frenetic confusion.

  Henry’s eyes followed the movement, then stopped on the corpses lying bloody on the pulpit. Nearly a dozen dead children, none older than twelve. Another dozen or so dead, children and adults alike, lay sprawled in the nave.

  So much death.

  People he knew. Children who’d been friends with his daughter.

  While the demon inside him lingered on the dead, the human within him wanted to turn away and un-see what he knew he never could. Dead eyes stared up at a God who hadn’t saved them despite their devotion. And now they were staring at him, the fucking demon, instead.

  He strained to see if Sam was among the fallen, but too many people shuffled below, blocking his view.

  Henry would have to go down for a better look. Into the heart of darkness.

  Staring at the bodies and thinking of his daughter, Henry wondered if Amélie would’ve died anyway, even if she had survived the home invasion. In this place that should have provided sanctuary.

  The world wept beneath the skylight. Some parents cried so loud, Henry could hear them on the roof, like screams in his ear. Anguish hung heavy, its weight on the shoulders of police and paramedics below. But he didn’t care about all that now. Henry had only had one thought.

  I have to find Sam.

  After searching the crowd of living and dead, Henry still couldn’t spot Samantha. Or Pastor Owen. If they were still alive, he would unearth them together.

  Find one, find the pair.

  Henry turned from the skylight, about to cross the roof and drop back to the sidewalk to see if the rear of the church was unlocked so he could sneak inside from the other, less clustered end. He stopped short when the familiar burn in his flesh demanded attention.

  He couldn’t see them, but Henry felt the Trackers nearby. The burn wasn’t as bad as before, but there was no mistaking it. They were close. And if he was going find Sam, he had to do it quick.

  At least it’s not daylight. Maybe I’ll see them before they get too close.

  He looked to the sky, spinning slowly, searching for the Trackers, or at least a clue that might tell him where to run. After seeing nothing, he crept to the edge and dropped into a pool of shadows. Still finding nothing after another glance at the sky, Henry turned his gaze through the large windows on the side of the church, the beautiful stained glass reduced to glittering shards on the floor. Henry fell back a step with a gasp. The angels weren’t outside, or in the heavens at all. They had somehow gotten past him and into the church, hovering above the grisly murder scene.

  These weren’t Trackers, though. They wore no armor, only robes, and they were barely visible through the radiant gold nimbus around them. Two dozen angels, male and female, lingered beneath the ceiling, held aloft by giant wings of feathered light.

  Henry stared, frozen as the angels gracefully floated over the crowd, staring at the people below. Though he couldn’t see much of their faces, he could feel the love and concern for the dead radiating from their beings. Even scared of discovery, Henry couldn’t bear to look away. He was drawn toward their beauty, their overabundance of love. So pure, so strong, so raw. It rivaled the euphoria he’d felt from misery tenfold.

  He needed to get closer.

  Henry surfaced from the shadows and went straight toward the entrance. Staying in shadow form, sneaking past the cluster of cops by the door, He found himself inside. Once the angels were out of his line of sight, his head seemed to clear. Sam was either among the dead he hadn’t seen or in the bowels of the church with Pastor Owen.

  He stopped in his tracks, paralyzed by the angels’ splendor. They hovered with yawning arms, as if welcoming the dead below. All at once, colorful lights in the shapes of the fallen rose from their corpses and floated toward the ceiling. Bright colors met the gold of God’s hosts as the heavenly beings seemed to absorb them. An incredible warmth wafted through the room. Henry fell into a deep sadness knowing others were unable to witness the glory and had no way of knowing their loved ones were being ushered into something so pure.

  Henry wondered if this was the way death greeted g
ood people on their way to Heaven. He remembered nothing of his death until waking in Purgatory. Were all souls carried by angels? Did they simply not remember the journey once they reached their destination? Or did some people just wake in an abyss? Now that he was a demon, doing demon shit, Henry was certain he’d never know God’s grace. Or had earned it as a man.

  Had Amélie had been carried by angels only to be deposited in Nowhere for Judgment?

  Heaven intoxicated the room. The angels hummed louder as souls seeped inside them, like a soft current through the air. Another child’s tangerine-and-rose-tinted soul was swallowed by brilliant gold. It turned the angel white hot. For one amazing moment, she turned every color in the universe, then she erupted into a white glow so soft, the lack of color must have been like the first spot of nothing the universe had ever seen.

  The brilliance was overwhelming, mounting on top of too many things at once. Cops, mourners, bodies, angels in the sky, and most importantly, finding Samantha. Unable to keep up with the stimuli, Henry began to lose grip on his shadow form.

  He flickered.

  While half in and half out of the shadows, doing everything he could to stay within them, Henry saw Samantha, beside the pastor, walking from his office hallway.

  She’s alive!

  Tears streamed down his face as Sam walked into the nave. There was blood on her blouse. Her hair was a mess, her red eyes stared, but she didn’t seem injured.

  The pastor wrapped an arm around her as they passed a pair of officers. They stopped for a moment, speaking with a paramedic as the angels floated up and out through the roof, vanishing into the night.

  As the angels left, so did the pastor and Sam, leaving Henry alone with a room full of death. He felt an immediate deep and stinging loss and wanted to race after Sam. To hug her tight and let her know how much he loved her and how glad he was that she was still alive.

  The room’s turmoil shook his concentration. And he was finding it nearly impossible to slip back into the shadows. Despite the energy he was feeling from the misery and death, something else had drained him almost entirely. He was weak and uncertain how much longer he could hold on to the darkness.

  He had to reach the exit before he lost them.

  Between Henry and the door stood a large cop with a bushy mustache speaking to a man with bloodshot eyes. The man was distraught, his gaze darting back to the pulpit, unable to stop looking.

  One of the fathers, poor bastard.

  Henry finally had the strength, or urgency, to cross from one shadow into the next, aiming for the one beside the open doors. Without enough muscle to make it, he crashed into the cop, then the grieving father, before falling to the floor.

  Henry flickered as the officer looked down. Their eyes met.

  Something went bright in his eyes. Maybe he’d seen inside the hoodie to the monstrous face within.

  Henry scrambled to his feet and ran out the door.

  The officer grabbed at him, his hand catching the back of Henry’s hoodie and yanking it back. As the hood fell, he spun around and growled instinctively, forcing the cop to release him.

  Henry ran into the night.

  The cop, after a shocked pause, gave chase.

  Henry’s fatigue forced him to abandon the shadows. Despite his best efforts, he was barely faster than the cop. He raced through the crowded lot, desperate to find Sam and the pastor. But with the cop hot on his heels, he knew he had to first get away from the church, then double back after he had regained some strength, assuming he was able to. He sprinted from the lot, the cop following. Thankfully the officer wasn’t shooting.

  But he was yelling, “Hey! Stop!”

  That was the last thing Henry was going to do.

  He kept running, turning down a side street full of closed storefronts, panting with cramping legs, pushing himself as the cop pounded the pavement behind him, closing in thirty yards back.

  Henry remembered Boothe telling him that as long as he had a breath inside him, the shadows were his friends. But when he could barely draw breath, he didn’t dare stop to try and hide. Not until he was able to put more distance between himand the cop.

  He grunted with effort, pushing himself to go faster. He gathered speed as he turned down a residential side road, congested with a full row of cars parked on either side. Temporarily clear from the cop’s line of sight, Henry dove behind a truck beneath a giant maple and into the deep shadows, becoming one with the darkness.

  The officer’s footsteps slapped around the corner and stopped a few feet away, in the middle of the street.

  Keep going, keep going.

  The cop paused, whispering his disbelief. “Where the Hell?”

  The cop moved toward the truck.

  Shit.

  Henry’s head grew heavy as he struggled to stay buried in shadows. Another flicker would destroy him, and yet the focus was draining his body. He was on the brink of passing out. Then he’d either be found by the cop or ripped from Earth by an angel. Either way, his time was almost up.

  Henry kept holding his breath through the final few seconds of a world he’d barely been able to know.

  A sudden sound from behind tore at his focus.

  He turned, bracing for impact from an unseen assailant. And then Henry saw the old, familiar face.

  “Come,” Randall held out his open hand.

  “Hey!” the cop shouted.

  Without even looking Henry took Randall’s palm.

  A second later, they blinked away, twisting into the folds of space and time.

  On the other side of wherever they went, Henry passed out.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Henry woke in a graveyard with Randall sitting in the grass beside him, the moon a smudge behind thick clouds above.

  “What happened?” Henry asked, still feeling weak and now dizzy, wondering when the crazy transporting and endless nightmare would finally end.

  “You were nearly caught. I kept you safe.”

  “How did you find me?” Henry tried to stand, but couldn’t. “Where’s Boothe?”

  “I’ve no idea where he is, but I don’t feel him anywhere near. We’re safe, at least for now.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “For now, everything.”

  “How did you find me?” Henry repeated.

  “I didn’t. We’re connected. I had to reach you, not find you.”

  “What do you mean, we’re connected?”

  “When you arrived in Nowhere, Boothe and I were the first souls you met, correct?”

  “Yeah.” Henry nodded, trying to stand again. He almost managed to get both legs straight the second time, but halfway up he fell back down, head spinning as he spilled into the cool grass.

  “You saw us first because we are your custodians, as we are for many who find themselves at the root of the Tree.”

  “Custodians?”

  “We are the caretakers of your soul, Henry. Black and white, if you will. When you passed, your fate was undecided. You lived a gray life. Mostly good, but with an unfortunate number of sins. Not enough to send you to Hell, but your transgressions, when added to your lack of faith, were enough to deny your soul immediate entrance into Heaven. You fell to us instead.”

  “Why you? Who are you and Boothe?”

  “Who we are doesn’t matter. We’re two of a countless many. We don’t control your fate. That is and always has been yours to manage alone. Your choices pave the path in one direction or another, and sometimes in a circle. My way leads to Heaven. Boothe’s … well, you know.”

  “You’re saying I chose wrong?”

  One of Randall’s eyebrows lifted. “What do you think?”

  “So why are you here? Why are you helping me?”

  “Because I don’t believe you’re lost, Henry. I still have faith in you.”

  “Faith? To do what?”

  “To see the right path and find salvation. To turn from Boothe and reject him before it’s too late.”

>   “But I’ve killed so many people, Randall. Are you saying that doesn’t count against me? That God will forgive those sins?”

  Randall shrugged. “God does as he pleases.” He fell quiet, as if weighing his words, then, “The people you killed were evil, right? All either hurting you or in the act of hurting others?”

  “I think so,” Henry said, trying to remember. Most of the mayhem was more haze than memory. Only when questioned by Randall did he realize how little thought he’d given to murdering people. He’d been so enthralled while killing that he’d never stopped to regret, or consider, the lives acquired.

  Henry’s humanity was as broken as his life.

  “Not sure,” Henry said, finally able to stand with wobbly legs. “I sensed them at first, these people doing shit. Like God, or someone, pointed me toward them, wanting me to intervene. They were evil, Randall. All of them deserved what they got.”

  “Led by God? So, you believe God told you to commit bloodshed?”

  “I don’t know if it was God, but I do know the victims weren’t exactly members of the choir. All of them were in the middle of some shit when I found them. That’s why they’re dead.”

  “You mean that’s why you killed them.”

  “Hey, I didn’t make them assholes. God did. They don’t deserve headstones, much less sympathy. I’m glad I did what I was supposed to do.”

  “How did it make you feel? And how are you feeling now?”

  Henry paused, smiling. “I won’t lie, Angel Cake. It felt pretty damned good then and not too bad right now.”

  Randall returned Henry’s grin, though it seemed less than genuine. “That’s because you feed from the misery, Henry. You’re a demon. Like all demons, your fuel comes from the wretched.”

  “I’m saving people,” Henry insisted. “Ending misery.”

  “Yes, but you’re still absorbing the anguish around you, feeding from the sorrow. If you think you’re helping anyone but yourself, you’re a liar. You’re no hero, Henry.”