Rite of Passage

by John Passarella

  She examined the door into Hawthorne’s and discovered the lock had been forced and the hinges damaged. It almost swung open when she grabbed the handle. She paused, reaching into her jacket pocket to mute her phone—not that she’d had a reliable signal all night—but couldn’t find it. Either the phone had fallen out of her loose jacket pocket or she had left it on the passenger seat again. Regardless, she needed to get Ryan away from the others as soon as possible, before the police found them all together.

  Taking a deep breath, she eased the door open and stepped into the dark department store. All the merchandise was long gone, but some broken mannequins remained, like ghosts on eternal guard duty, along with empty clothing racks with plastic and metal hangers. Glass counters remained, but all the cash registers were gone. In the center of the store, the dust-matted up and down escalators crisscrossed each other, forming an X. High above, a long row of skylights, spattered with months of bird droppings, allowed starlight to filter down to her, multiplied by reflections in metal, glass and mirrored surfaces. As she crept deeper into the department store, her eyes adjusted to the darkness well enough to avoid bumping into counters and empty display racks.

  She heard voices coming from what had been the home theater section of the store and peered ahead, straining to penetrate the darkness. As she passed the escalators, she saw flickering candlelight dancing on the walls. A little farther and she saw Ryan standing in profile, recognized his voice and that he was angry.

  “—made me do those—those horrible things!”

  “This is your true nature,” a deep voice replied. “By dawn your transformation will be complete. You will cast aside human weakness and human concerns. Now, we finish the demon gate ritual so that she too will become oni and share our strength.”

  Sumiko froze when she heard a woman sobbing.

  To her right, a dark shape rose from the motionless escalator stairs, hurdled the railing and landed behind her. She shrieked as one powerful forearm wrapped around her neck, the other around her waist. She had glimpsed his familiar face. Even though blood streaked his forehead and cheeks, she recognized Jesse Trumball.

  He lifted her off her feet and carried her bodily toward Hawthorne’s home theater department. She punched and kicked, clawed and screamed, but her awkward blows landed without force and he outweighed her by a hundred pounds. Seconds later, he set her down before the ringleader and Ryan without releasing his hold on her.

  “You were right,” Jesse said to the tall man, “we had a spy.”

  “Soon your third eye will give you the ability to see beyond, too.”

  Before she could fully register the paired horns on their heads, the swollen lump in the center of their brows, or their rows of shark teeth, her gaze was drawn to the dark-haired woman bound with rope to a support column. The woman’s wild eyes darted around frantically without focusing, tears streaked her cheeks and her lips looked raw, as if she’d gnawed on them until they bled. Sumiko feared the woman had gone insane. When she noticed the brass bowl on the floor and the glistening red, fist-sized lump it held, she began to understand why.

  Oh, God, no!

  “For the demon gate ritual, I needed a fresh human heart,” the tall man said. “Now my son brings a beating heart to replace my silent offering. Excellent!”

  Ryan turned to Sumiko. For a moment, he seemed confused, as if he didn’t recognize her, then his gaze locked on her face.

  “Ryan?” she said, her voice quavering with fear. “What’s happening?”

  “No!” Ryan shouted at the oni. “Let her go! She has nothing to do with this.”

  “The moment she walked in here, she forfeited her life,” the oni told Ryan. “You are oni, of my blood. You will do as I command.” With his cane hanging from his belt, the oni took rope from a duffel bag, tossed it on the seat of a molded plastic chair with metal legs and shoved the chair across the floor to Jesse. “Tie her to the chair until I require her heart.”

  Jesse picked up the rope and shoved her down into the chair. As he wrenched one of her arms behind her, she twisted free and flung herself from the chair on to her hands and knees. She tried to push off from that position, but stumbled, her heel sliding on the scuffed tile floor.

  Jesse caught her arm and yanked hard. A bone snapped in her forearm, delivering a sharp burst of pain. She cried out as he hauled her back to the chair.

  Ryan roared and launched himself at Jesse.

  Sumiko saw Jesse pull a knife from the back of his belt.

  “Ryan, no!”

  Releasing Sumiko, Jesse shoved the point of the knife into a strange lump that had formed in the middle of Ryan’s forehead. The blade sank several inches into Ryan’s skull. Sumiko screamed. Jesse twisted his forearm then tugged the knife free. Ryan gurgled and pitched forward, then fell sideways, curling into a fetal position.

  The oni strode forward and caught Jesse by the throat, a murderous look in his eyes.

  “How dare you!”

  Sumiko scrambled to Ryan’s side and lifted his head awkwardly with her good arm. Blood and white fluid trickled across his face. His eyes darted back and forth but gradually stopped tracking, seeming to lose focus. “Ryan!”

  “Miko. So sorry,” he gasped. “I’ve done … terrible things.”

  “It’s okay, Ryan,” she said, her voice breaking as she brushed locks of hair away from his face. Most of the cobalt blue had faded, replaced by natural red. “What happened to you … It’s not your fault.”

  But he was gone, his eyes staring blankly past her.

  Conscious of the oni gripping Jesse by the throat, she backed away on her knees from Ryan’s body as quietly as possible, but her heel struck the chair leg, which squeaked against the floor. In a flash, the oni caught the elbow of her broken forearm and lifted her upright. White-hot pain flared within the already swollen arm.

  “You had no right to kill a son of mine,” he said to Jesse.

  “He was weak,” Jesse said, refusing to cower. “You saw it.”

  “Ryan was stronger than all of you,” Sumiko said defiantly.

  “If she speaks again,” the oni said, “rip out her tongue. I need her heart. Nothing else.”

  Jesse pinned her to the chair.

  The oni approached the bound woman. He sliced open his inner forearm with one of his dark fingernails, creating a cut several inches long. After a few moments of guttural chanting, he held the dripping wound up to the mouth of the woman.

  “Drink of my blood,” he commanded. “Then you will consume the girl’s heart. By dawn, you will be oni.”

  The woman tilted her head forward.

  The oni smiled, nodding encouragement.

  She snarled and sank her teeth into his open wound, almost growling as she gnawed, tearing at his flesh with no intention of letting go. With his free hand, the oni shoved her head backward. The defensive reflex was sudden and entirely too forceful. The back of the woman’s head smashed into the support column and her skull collapsed like the shell of a raw egg dropped on the floor. She died instantly

  That’s what she wanted, Sumiko thought. She had no hope left.

  The oni roared, enraged. He drove his fist into the woman’s face, pulverizing her nose and eye sockets so the bloody mess was no longer recognizable as a human face.

  “My plans,” he lamented. “She ruined everything!”

  “Use her heart,” Jesse suggested. “It’s still warm.”

  “Her heart?” Tora turned to Jesse, who still stood behind Sumiko, his large hands holding her down in the chair. “Her heart! Of course. I need a healthy, adult human female for the ritual. Any female.”

  His gaze dropped to Sumiko and he smiled, revealing his rows of razor-sharp teeth. “How fortunate for me you came here tonight.”

  Dazed and grief-stricken, Sumiko needed a few seconds to comprehend the meaning of his words.

  “No, no, no,” she said. “Not me. I refuse!”

  “Your consent is unnecessary.”


  “But, I’m not healthy,” she said desperately, her mouth suddenly dry. “My arm! It’s broken!”

  “The demon gate transformation will heal your arm,” he said as he approached her, offering his bleeding forearm, “make you stronger. More than human. Better than human.”

  Sumiko screamed.

  Thirty-Four

  Once Bobby had the number of the vice principal of Laurel Hill High School, the man looked up Sumiko’s home contact information. Bobby, using his FBI cover, talked to the girl’s mother, who hadn’t seen her or heard from her since she borrowed the car. Calls to her cell phone went to voicemail or the connection dropped. After the third attempt, Sumiko’s mother remembered a tracking app Sumiko had installed on their phones. She ran the app and located her daughter’s phone. The green indicator dot was stationary but appeared sporadically, forcing her to refresh the display. She gave them the approximate location and Bobby promised to call when they had found Sumiko.

  With Dean and Sam in the Monte Carlo and Bobby following solo in his Chevelle, they found the Odyssey empty, parked on the side of the road in a rundown commercial district. Sumiko’s phone had fallen to the driver’s floor mat.

  “She followed them and parked here,” Dean said. “That means the oni are within walking distance.”

  “If you were an oni who wanted to perform a ceremony,” Bobby asked, “where would you hunker down?”

  “Another abandoned building,” Sam said. “No interruptions.”

  They returned to their cars and drove slowly in the direction the Odyssey had been headed. A couple of blocks away, Dean saw Hawthorne’s department store and pulled into the parking lot.

  Near the entrance, he saw a red Durango, inconclusive by itself, but a short distance later, as he followed a curve in the parking lot, Dean spotted another vehicle, hidden from street view, tucked back beside a fenced area for Dumpsters: the blue and white van.

  “Bingo!”

  Their plan was simple and direct. Dean’s favorite kind; less chance of something going sideways. Assuming the holly still protected them from tripping up or tipping their hand, Sam would occupy the oni, attacking with armor-piercing bullets provided by Sergeant McClary. Dean would sneak in close with a crowbar to dislodge the cane-club from the oni’s hand. At that point, Bobby would take the shot with his rifle. If he hit the bull’s-eye—the oni’s third eye—he’d gank the bastard. Ryan and Jesse were wild cards in the plan, but without the protection of an iron club, their third eyes were completely vulnerable.

  As Dean stepped out of the car, a dark shape darted past his legs and disappeared into the shadows.

  “Did you see that?” he asked Sam across the roof of the Monte Carlo.

  Sam shook his head.

  Bobby approached from the Chevelle, carrying his Browning rifle with the light mounted but switched off. Lightning flashed, followed by an encroaching rumble of thunder as dark clouds rolled in, blotting out the stars.

  They approached the Durango carefully. It was empty, but the hood was warm.

  One of the doors into Hawthorne’s had been jimmied and hung open several inches. Dean gripped the handle and eased it open in case the damaged hinges creaked. Again, he saw a shadow dart by his feet. It vanished into the gloomy store.

  “See that?” he whispered.

  Both Sam and Bobby shook their heads.

  Dean was sure he hadn’t imagined it. Whatever it was, it was quiet and much smaller than an oni or a human.

  A raccoon, maybe, he thought. Looking for a trashcan to tip over.

  Once inside the dark department store, they fanned out. Bobby planned to hang back for a clear shot.

  They hadn’t gone far when Dean heard a deep voice talking.

  Then a woman screamed.

  Lightning flashed again, through the skylights, and cast harsh shadows across the skeletal interior of the department store.

  Dean abandoned stealth and rushed toward the voices. Sam angled in from Dean’s right, handgun raised at eye level, braced with his left palm. A glance back revealed Bobby scrambling up the motionless escalator, seeking high ground from which to take his shot.

  Details revealed themselves by candlelight.

  The corpse of a woman was bound to a support column, her face a ruin. They had failed to save Kim Jacobs.

  Once again, Dean thought bitterly, we’re too damn late.

  Sprawled on the floor, forehead bloody, was Ryan’s body. Jesse stood behind Sumiko, pressing down on her shoulders to pin her to a chair. The oni loomed over her, cane in one hand as he held his other forearm, dripping blood, near her face.

  With Kim dead, he’s performing the demon gate ritual with Sumiko.

  Dean looked toward Sam, but his brother had come to the same conclusion and fired two armor-piercing rounds at the oni. Raising his head, the oni peered into the darkness and, a moment later, the folds of flesh on his forehead parted, revealing the third eye. Bobby didn’t fire. The oni still held his protective kanabo.

  Dislodging the club was the only item on Dean’s to-do list.

  Racing forward, he twisted away from a clothing rack lined with hangers without making a sound, which gave him confidence the holly was working. Otherwise, he would have given away his position prematurely.

  As if following a silent command, Jesse released Sumiko and charged into the darkness toward them. Hunched over, he held his forearm like a shield in front of his forehead. Nevertheless, Sam took a shot and jarred Jesse’s elbow. The oni hybrid yelped in pain and veered away from Sam.

  Dean slid low and swung the crowbar below Jesse’s knees. The force of the blow spun Dean around, but he held onto the crowbar and had the satisfaction of watching Jesse perform an involuntary forward flip. Unfortunately, Jesse recovered first. He scrambled up, lunged forward and pounced at Dean, clawed hands reaching for his throat. Dean had witnessed the oni claws in action at the theater— they were like a fistful of box cutters. Before the claws could clamp on his throat, Dean twisted the flat end of the crowbar up. As Jesse fell on top of Dean, the steel tip sunk into Jesse’s mutated forehead, piercing the third eye and sinking into his brain. Jesse writhed in pain above him, claws twitching inches from Dean’s face. Heaving upward, Dean shoved the body off him and yanked the crowbar free.

  Sam was firing round after round.

  “Dean!”

  Dean pushed himself upright and looked toward the candlelight. The chair was empty. Lightning flashed, revealing the dark, hulking shape of the horned oni charging him.

  Backing up, Sam continued to fire, pausing to replace an empty magazine, but the enraged oni shrugged off the impacts.

  Dean tossed a clothing rack in the oni’s path to slow him down, but he swatted it away with the cane. Empty hangers clattered across the floor. A small dark shape raced away from where the clothing rack had been. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Bobby changing position on the escalator stairs, carefully sighting along the rifle barrel in the relative darkness without switching on the mounted light. Ducking under a backhanded sweep of the cane, Dean gripped the crowbar in both hands and waited for an opening to strike the Tora’s wrist. Sam hit the oni with two more rounds as a distraction, but the oni caught Dean’s shoulder in his right hand while holding the cane in his left, safely out of reach of the crowbar.

  Mm-rroww.

  Dean turned toward the unexpected sound as the oni’s grip on his shoulder tightened painfully.

  Near ground level, one glowing yellow eye peered out of the darkness.

  Mm-roww.

  Lightning flashed, revealing Roy’s freaky cat, with his blind, milky-white eye.

  “Obake?” the oni gasped in disbelief. “No. Not here.”

  Sam took another shot and hit the shaft of the cane. Instinctively, the oni yanked the cane closer to his body— and closer to Dean.

  The gloom flowed back, but the oni continued to stare at the cat’s one bright, reflective eye as if hypnotized. Dean swung the crowbar in a short arc. The st
eel smashed into the oni’s hand above his thumb. With a second, quicker blow, closer to the fingers, Dean dislodged the cane from his grasp.

  The oni staggered backward as a rifle shot rang out.

  Bobby switched on the mounted light, revealing the oni’s face.

  A nasty gash had been ripped into the third eye. White liquid and blood trickled down either side of the oni’s nose. He staggered.

  “Impossible …”

  Bobby fired again and the oni’s head whipped backward, still framed in the harsh light.

  Blood and brain matter pulsed out of the gaping hole. The oni dropped to his knees. His mouth sagged open as he reached forward, his trembling hand stretching toward the protective kanabo. Before his fingers could close around the handle, Bobby fired a third shot, widening the hole in the middle of the oni’s forehead.

  Tora swayed slowly from side to side before toppling over backward with a heavy thud. The hand that had reached for the cane twitched once. Then the body lay still.

  Lightning lit up the sky, followed immediately by a crash of thunder. Rain fell in a sudden downpour, drumming on the skylights like the roar of a thousand distant voices.

  Sumiko emerged from a dark corner where she had been hiding since Jesse left her unattended to attack them. Tears streaked her face.

  “Sumiko,” Sam said. “Are you okay?”

  Dean noticed she was cradling her forearm.

  “She’s hurt.”

  “Broken arm,” she said. “Not so bad.”

  Her tears continued to flow.

  Roy’s cat walked up to her and rubbed against her calves, purring.

  Must’ve been in the back of the car all night, Dean surmised. I left the windows open to air out the burnt car seat smell and the cat moved in.

  “He likes you,” he said to Sumiko.

  She dropped to one knee and stroked the cat’s head with her good hand.