Into the Breach: Choices can be deadly...

by Lottie M. Hancock

  "It's okay," he assured her. "I'm not going to hurt you." He got to within just a few feet of her when she vanished. Sam was stunned, confused, and more frightened than he would have liked to admit. Behind him, he heard the all too familiar laughter and spun around.

  "Where is she?" Sam demanded.

  "She was delicious!" he proclaimed, smiling. "Most of the young are, of course." The man stood stoically on the lava-encrusted ground just as he had on the grassy park of the play area.

  "You son of a bitch! You ate her? Is that what you plan to do with all these people?" Sam shouted as he spread his arms, indicating the lost souls surrounding them. "With me?"

  "No, no, no, Detective. Not you," the demon taunted. "Where would be the fun in that?"

  "Fun? You call this fun? I am tired of your games, Raptor. Stop with the masquerade."

  "Masquerade? Perhaps, but you should be grateful, you know."

  "Grateful?!" Sam was livid. This monster was playing with him like a new toy and he was tired of it. "Why should I be grateful to you?"

  "Many, many things, my boy," goaded the beast. "First of all, this place." He repeated Sam's open-arm display. "You asked to see it and here you are. No one else has been here. At least, not at their request. Another thing is that I offer myself to be seen by you in a manner you can relate to. Like the jacket? It’s an exact duplicate of yours. Shoes, too. Makes me look like the private dick of your old detective novels, doesn't it?" He laughed softly.

  "And what about that stupid hat?" asked Sam, unimpressed.

  "Oh, you don't like the hat? Too bad. It looks better on me than that poor bloke I killed for it. Took his form too. He kept this body fit. Only ate the best things. I can relate to that. I don't choose just any soul to consume, you know."

  "What is this place?" Sam decided to lead the conversation.

  "My world! You could say, it’s my mind. My Id, if you will. This is where the souls stay until I tire of them. Or like the girl, are just too tasty for me to pass up any longer."

  "Damn you!" Sam charged him. He wasn't going to take any more of this man's guff and arrogance. The raptor didn’t flinch as Sam slammed into an invisible barrier and fell back.

  "Do you really think you can hurt me, Sammy-boy? This is my playing field. You are my guest. Which brings me to another reason you should be grateful." Sam panted angrily, looking up from his hands and knees at the man. "Seeing me in this form is the only thing saving your sanity. These louts won't remember anything from their time here, if they survive, but you? When you return, there won't be much left of your calculating mind. This place is too much for mortals to handle, and if you saw me in my true form, I mean really saw me, it would push you over the edge completely." The thing's laughter raked across Sam's nerves. If he were going to go mad anyway, he would do it on his terms.

  "Try me."

  The man looked at Sam with a cold intellect that would intimidate most people. Sam was not one of those people. Intimidation did come, however. The man’s form twisted and constricted until the facade of the private detective was gone. What remained, was horrifying. The image of a human was replaced by a grotesque being with vague images of limbs and claws that appeared and disappeared. The eyes, if he could call them eyes, were everywhere and nowhere at the same time, blazed in a color Sam could not recognize. Sam was petrified as the image began to slowly move toward him. Knowing death would come did not help the detective when he knew that this killer loved to make the death linger. Sam looked up one last time as the black beast swung down at him.

  19

  S am saw a glimmer of light from the engulfing darkness surrounding him. As he began to focus, familiar lights and shapes appeared in a blurring cascade, and a stranger’s face slowly materialized. A single, small penlight annoyingly flashed repeatedly in his eyes. He was back, apparently, but surrounded by people he did not know.

  "Lay still, Sammy," ordered the familiar voice of his chief. Drew seemed unusually tall in his khaki slacks and bold blue tie. His hands fidgeted nervously in his pockets. Sam did as the chief said since lifting his head made the room distort and spin.

  "What happened," Sam's voice sounded strange to him and his lungs burned. He closed his eyes once again.

  "That's what we wanted to know. You've been out for almost an hour."

  Sam forced himself upright. His head protested much more than the EMT that was trying to get his vitals. His stomach lurched, but he tried to focus on the chief and his surroundings. Lisa had been sitting on the couch, but moved quickly to kneel by him, her cool hand rested on his face. His disorientation was fading, although not as fast as he would have liked.

  He was on Lisa's living room floor with a cuff on his arm and an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose which he quickly tore off. He inhaled and immediately regretted it as a racking cough sent spasms of pain throughout his body. The EMT tried once again to get him to lay back, but Sam resisted. He remembered.

  He remembered the raptor and his arrogance.

  He remembered the girl crying.

  And he remembered the grotesque true form of the monster.

  "I'm good. I'm good," Sam angrily pushed away the emergency worker's hand bearing the oxygen mask. The man looked up at the chief. With a nod, the EMT crew started to put away their equipment.

  "You will be alright, but we need to take you to the hospital to make sure."

  "No," Sam protested.

  "Sir..."

  "I said no," he reaffirmed. The worker looked toward the chief as if he could change the man's mind, but Drew shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Sam kept silent while the men gathered their things and loaded it on a stretcher that was apparently intended for him. He waited until he could hear the door to the apartment close with a thud.

  "What the Hell happened?" demanded the chief, worry and anger splashed across his face.

  "Are you really alright?" Lisa implored. "I was so scared. I came back when I made the call, but you were unconscious. What did he do to you?"

  Sam took her small hand from his face and held it with both of his own. Damn him. He kept putting her in these positions.

  "I'll be alright," Sam looked up at the chief who offered him a hand. He hobbled back to the couch, and sitting comfortably with Lisa, Sam took another deep breath with better results. "He hits like a truck but I'm still here."

  Faith was standing closely behind the chief. Her red hair clashed sharply with the earth tones of the walls and although her pallor was bleak at first, some color was beginning to show along her cheekbones. Other than the flushing, he couldn't see another mark on her face. He wanted to ask how she covered up the damage made by the reavers but Lisa was focused solely on him. It would wait. The less she knew about this world of his, the better off she would be.

  "Lisa, I have to go file the report on this guy while I can still remember everything," Sam explained. He hated lying to her, but he knew it wouldn't be the last time. "Will you be alright?"

  "Will you come back?" Lisa's eyes begged him not to go.

  "Yeah, you know I will." Sam kissed her gently and started out the door before he could change his mind. To Hell with this, his heart was screaming. Damn it, he deserved some kind of happiness, didn't he? He wanted to get this guy. He wanted him to suffer.

  Walking down the stairs, Drew and Faith followed Sam toward the door. In the corridor, the chief caught Sam by the arm.

  "Damn it, Sam. What the fuck happened?"

  "Great language for an angel." Sam tried to turn back to the door but Drew's grip was like steel.

  "Talk." Drew commanded. Sam knew he wasn't getting out of this building until he told him something.

  "It was the raptor. You were right. He has the souls. Thousands of them."

  "How do you know?"

  "He showed them to me," Sam confessed. "We were talking in the apartment. I demanded to know where the souls were and he took me there."

  The chief and Faith's faces were stone but their eyes showed
their fear.

  "You were just like the others, Sam," Faith broke in. "We thought he took you like he did them."

  "A coma. Thought so when I was watching those poor people in there. That place," Sam began. "is somewhere I never want to go back to."

  "How did you make him show you?" Drew asked, contemplating what he was hearing.

  "Like I said. I told him to tell me."

  "And he just did it? Out of the kindness of his heart?" The chief's sarcasm was dripping like bile. "And he let you come back just like that. How do you explain it?" Sam understood the chief's frustration enough to forgive him for his accusatory tone, but not by much.

  "He said I was important to him and that he did it to earn my gratitude. Can you believe that or am I still under interrogation?" Sam stared his friend down coldly. This was not the time to fall apart. If they did, the raptor would win.

  "I can believe it. I told you the same thing." Drew's voice lost its edge, but his shoulders were rigid.

  "Yeah, I remember. He wanted me to join up with him. I guess he needed a recruiter or something. I don't know. I told him to go to Hell."

  Drew ran his fingers through his tawny hair. Faith's face was blank as she stared at the floor. His words shook them to their core.

  "Tell me this," Sam continued. "What makes me so different? With you, I assumed it was our friendship. When Faith fought those things, I could see them. She said the same thing. I was different. Now the raptor saying it. What the Hell makes me so different?"

  "Maybe you’re the Ascendant," a voice from the staircase echoed reluctantly. Startled, the trio turned quickly to find Smitty slowly stepping down the remaining stairs toward them. His eyes were mainly on the floor but occasionally darted from one person to another.

  "Smitty, I don't know what you heard..." began the chief, but Smitty waved him off.

  "I heard plenty. Don't worry, though. I've known for a long time."

  "I don't understand. What are you saying, Smitty?" asked Sam. He could see that his young friend was having trouble with his words, but he also felt in his gut that this was important to all of them.

  "I grew up knowing about them. The angels and demons. Shadows." Smitty's nostrils flared as he leaned against the wall by the door. "This is nothing new."

  "What do you know about this, son?" Drew gently urged.

  "Well, just suppose there was this kid whose dad was a cop and an angel, too. And this cop would get strange calls when he was home. Just suppose this cop didn't come back one night after one of those calls but his kid did alright, grew up without him and became a cop, too. Just suppose."

  Drew, Faith, and Sam stared at Smitty. It was obvious that this was hard for the boy. To Sam, it felt good to have someone else that he could relate to.

  "Your dad was Charles Smith?" Drew asked in disbelief. Smitty nodded without looking up. "Your dad was a good man. I was just a beat cop at the time. Father Donovan told me about the things he did. I can see a lot of him in you." Drew put his hand on his shoulder. "Now, what were you saying about this Ascendant? What is it?"

  "The Ascendant? I'm surprised you didn't know," Smitty started to sound like the cop Sam had taken up with a week before. The shyness was falling away. "Dad talked about it. At first he thought that maybe it was you, Chief, but he said Father Donovan told him no. The idea of it is that occasionally there is a human that is born whose soul is so strong that both Good and Evil wants it. It's like prime rib to them. An Ascendant fighting on either side would be like giving the other side a permanent bloody nose. I don't know much else but I know my dad kept his eyes open for one, just in case. Wouldn't want him to be convinced to fight for the demons, you know."

  Sam shuddered. Now he knew what the raptor was trying to do. What he couldn't figure out was what he could do about it. If it were true that he was Ascendant, he may have a chance at bringing this thing down.

  "So, now what?" asked Faith, breaking the silence.

  "We have to go with the assumption that Smitty is right. For now, it’s our only option," answered the chief. "We will meet up at the padre's house in the morning. He will have some of the answers, I'm sure."

  "Then I had better jet," added Smitty. "Got some reports to fill out and I'm calling it a night, unless you need me for anything." Smitty looked expectantly at the Chief.

  "No, go ahead, Smitty. See you tomorrow. And Smitty," he stopped him as he started to step over the threshold. "Lose the report on this one, okay?"

  They watched the patrolman leave and closed the door behind him. Drew looked down at his hand, still on the doorknob. "You two go home and get some sleep. I will pick you up in the morning, Sam." Drew looked at him with concern. "What you saw in there. I don't envy you." The chief opened the door again and let Faith pass him. Looking back over his shoulder, he glanced up the stairs. "You know, maybe you should go check on her before you leave. Have some coffee or something." Drew shut the door, leaving Sam to think about his words, but only for a moment.

  Sam took the stairs two at a time up to the second-floor apartment and knocked. His heart was racing. Logic said for him to get a grip but he wasn't thinking logically at that moment. The door opened to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

  "Sam? Wha..." Lisa tried to ask.

  "To Hell with the report." Sam stepped in the door and put his arms around her.

  20

  F aith turned the key in the doorknob of her apartment at around eleven. The halls were silent. Old Mrs. O'Leary in apartment 412 was long since asleep and the apartments on either side of her own were dark. One she knew had been empty for the last four months, ever since the students that lived there were asked to leave. Details were sketchy as to why the landlord broke their lease, but with the loud parties and constant parade of people in and out, it didn't leave much for the imagination. On the opposite side of Faith, lived a young Hispanic couple. He was an old-fashioned man who favored the old ways in which to raise a family. His wife did not speak, and his word was law. Faith thought that he worked in construction, but he had never said more than a few words to her in the two years he had lived there, so she wasn't sure.

  The young woman pushed open the door as if it weighed a ton and stood staring into the abyss that was her home. She had lived there for close to ten years and still the word home rarely came to mind. The neighborhood was good, and near the harbor. The building was clean and well cared for, and other than old stick-in-the-mud next door, she had nice neighbors. It was her own home she dreaded returning to.

  Faith flicked on every light as she quickly passed from room to room, flooding it to chase away the shadows. She knew they were there, however. She could feel them , but what she wanted was to stop seeing them at every turn.

  The things wanted her out of commission so they picked on her weaknesses. Every day was a struggle for her, and she forced her way through it.

  Satisfied that there were no dangers lurking about, Faith went into the kitchen for a bite to eat. She opened her fridge to be welcomed by a half-eaten pastrami on rye, a quart of questionable milk, and a lime that she didn't remember buying. Shutting the door, she vowed to make a grocery run soon and looked over her kitchen. She was tidy in here where the rest of the rooms severely needed attention. The kitchen was the heart of the home and she knew that her mother would turn over in her grave if her little girl let it go in disarray. Her mother. Even the thought of her brought chills down her spine. She had loved her mom dearly and cherished her very being, but sometimes, especially after a demon run-in, all she could think of was how she found her.

  Faith realized she was gripping the back of the chair and shaking. 'Damn it, girl, buck up!' She went to the cabinet over the sink and pulled out a bottle of wine and rummaged through her utensil drawer for the corkscrew. Her father would have had a good shot of his Irish whiskey to calm the nerves, but she hadn't had that around in ages so she would settle for what was on hand. She set her loot on the counter and opened the cabinet where she kept her
mother's glasses. There was quite a collection of wine glasses and goblets in neat rows but Faith didn't stop to admire the shine and crystalline qualities of the display. She reached in and grabbed at a single glass of heavily etched lead crystal by the stem, but the back of her hand brushed against two others in her haste. Attempting to catch the glassware, she over-corrected. The shelf shifted and its contents flipped back toward her and out of the cabinet, crashing everything to the floor.

  "Gagh! You klutzy blatherskite!" she screamed as the last glass bounced once before shattering. Unharmed, she furiously sobbed and dropped to the glass strewn floor in frustration.

  "Keep it down!" a harsh male voice shouted as he banged furiously from the other side of the wall. She picked up a half-broken glass and threw it against the wall.

  "Shut up! Just shut the Hell up!" she cried. "A fooking raptor. Why did it have to be a fooking raptor?" Faith buried her face in her hands and let out the wail she had been holding back since learning of what they were up against. There was a time when all she could think about was how much she wanted to face a raptor and destroy it, but now she could see what one of those things could do and her desire to destroy changed to cautious patience. A raptor was nothing to play with and going in unprepared was suicide.

  She was fifteen when she found her mother after school in their two-story colonial home. The windows were burst outward and there were blood trails where something had been dragged across the tile floor. The blood smeared down the hallway to their sitting room. She couldn't speak, nor could she call out to her mom. Her throat was tight, and she felt like the bones would snap under the pressure, but she continued to follow the gory path. She stood at the doorway of their sitting room in shock. She saw the blood end at the feet of her mother. One shoe was off, leaving her stocking foot soaked in her own blood. Apparently, she had pulled herself up into her chair, although haphazardly, before passing. Her mother stared blindly at her shocked daughter, three long gashes slit down her face and neck, ripping open her blue paisley dress at the shoulder. Her arms were slashed where she had put up a struggle and part of her hand was missing. Horrified, she didn’t look away until a man’s voice made her jump.