Hell's Vengeance

by Max Jager

  "I was so close. She would have been mine, I know it." He spun the liquid. "And he's been getting more demanding." The carpet looked ruined with how hard his feet struck the floor and tore the hairs out. He put his lips to the cup. "Maybe I should just do it, right now. Fuck it."

  And as the blood came down to him he saw in the corner of his eyes the white bird. Yellow eyed, staring at Aleistar. He was at the window still and did not chirp, did not move even as Aleistar got closer. The bird turned to him, squawked once and flew away, worms in its mouth. Once again he fell to his seat, like the night a few days back and once again he called in the group of idiots at the front. He looked down, put his hands behind his neck and said: He's coming to meet me soon.

  11:23 AM

  He sat removing the contents of his burger. The lettuce first, onions second, tomatoes and finally pickles last which he put in neat piles around the plate. Darr entered the table with his own plate, staring at Ajax. His face convulsed as he looked at the man picking at his food like a confused surgeon. He looked around at the people who stared strangely at them now, to the customers who spilled out of their seats. The smell of grease lingered around them and around the orange and yellow restaurant whose mascot, a hot dog holding an onion ring, looked terribly happy and almost insane.

  Ajax looked out at the statue. You'd have to be insane to work here all day, he thought. Darr sat across from him and ate with giant gulps.

  "We're finally talking? You were gone for a while." Darr said.

  "It's your fault. You didn't listen." Ajax ate a fry. "I told you to wait and what do you do? Rush in. No plan. No anything but a hope to win."

  "I helped two people." Darr ate. He was nearly done with the burger. "If I hadn't come, they'd be in a grave with the freaking bells on top of their coffins."

  "Don't say freaking." Ajax rolled his eyes. "It's such a terrible word. We all know what you mean to say and what you mean to say is 'fucking'. You put the word in our heads, fucking, but you save yourself the guilt of saying it. Terrible."

  "I freaking helped those two." He grunted with the fries sticking out of his mouth. Ajax was just starting on his lettuce pile.

  "And what if we didn't kill that thing? What if we were too impatient and it managed to get away. We'd be dealing with more than two deaths."

  "You already told me this. But I'll tell you again, that didn't happen so why does it matter?"

  "Everything matters." Ajax brought his hammered fist down to the table. Darr looked at him and the eyes that seemed to look into a far reaching memory. "I know exactly what happens when we make mistakes, when we lose control of the situation or ourselves."

  By now the other guests had begun to look around and with their curious eyes peered around the corner of benches and leaned towards the two noisy hunters. A woman came by with the baggy white pants and the bright Colonel Weiner hat that made her seem like a half-peeled orange. She smiled and stood carefully away from the table.

  "Is there an issue?" Her voice was peppy and nearly hummed at the end of her words.

  "No, thank you." Darr smiled. She smiled back.

  "No." Ajax grimaced. Her face fell as she looked at Ajax and she retreated back. They waited a moment for the nosy eyes to look away and in the silence the two forced boredom upon the restaurant.

  "They really sent me some new guy." Ajax shook his head.

  "Who cares man. I held my own, I fought. As far as I'm concerned, I have as much experience as you. I've been practicing this stuff for nearly two decades."

  "There's a difference between studying something in books and living it. I've shadowed under a mentor, I know these fucking things inside out. Their origins might be different, but deep inside, past the blood and guts, they're all the same. It's a mindless violence that grows in them. I can't even call it evil, they're too senseless for that. It's more like instinct. They're animals."

  "You're not as bright as you think you are, I could have told you that. I saw that last night. I know that." Darr said.

  "A one time affair doesn't make you an expert. I have years of this stuff under my belt."

  "Years? We're both twenty-four."

  "Physically, sure. Mentally, we're about a century apart."

  "Forget that, forget you." Darr rose suddenly. He nearly spat and foamed at the mouth. His eyes narrowed to Ajax who was looking around nervously and beginning to feel the grip of attention at his throat. The people scared him more than Darr. His throat became dry.

  "Calm down." Ajax said.

  "Don't tell me to calm down you hypocrite. I won't be lectured by you. I don't need a lesser man who pretends that hiding and letting innocents die is any kind of sound strategy. Yeah, I rushed in and yeah, I'd do it again. A hundred times over, I would help a stranger out." He got the words out and spat with his voracious mouth. The people again stared. The woman behind the counter shook her head and the manager nudged her to talk to them again because he had become nervous now. Darr was now aware of it all, finally and sighed.

  "We should go." Ajax lifted his tray before Darr stopped him.

  "Don't waste food." Darr said.

  None of them could believe it. Darr at the counter carefully putting everything in within the brown bag that soaked with grease at the bottom. He didn't seem to care for everyone who watched, slurping their soda through straws that made an annoying draining sound.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you. You're not emotionally sound." Ajax opened the door for him. They both left, Darr finding the nearest homeless man. A stray who wandered about with a half full cup of pennies. He handed him the bag.

  "That wasn't yours to give. I believe that was my food." Ajax said.

  "And I gave it to those that need more."

  "So you're still pissed at me."

  "This has nothing to do with you, narcissist. I helped him out, fed at least for a day."

  "And he'll be starving the next, you should get him a job application instead."

  "Is that why you brought me here? To make fun of me, of homeless people of all things?"

  "I'm not making fun of anyone." Ajax said. "I came to see if you're willing to work like a professional."

  "Always."

  "So you'll listen to me this time around?"

  "Maybe. If it's morally sound."

  "Morality is flexible. Very few people ever think they're evil. Even the rapists, or the pedophiles, or the murderers." Ajax stopped him at a corner they were turning into. "I've come up with a few leads here and there, you'd be amazed how often evil makes friends with evil. A murderer can know a drug dealer, a drug dealer a corrupt politician, and so on and so forth. You start to wander around the underbelly of the city and you realize it's like a facebook hang out for every piece of shit in a fifty-mile radius."

  "How'd you come up with a name?"

  "If I told you what I did, you wouldn't listen to me because I would not be moral. By your standards at least." Ajax said. Darr was already rolling his head in disbelief and making a turn into the opposite direction.

  "Hey, I don't want you helping me either." Ajax said. "But I believe in getting the job done and I'll take whatever help I can get. I don't have any pride or concern for anything but the job. I'm asking you if you'd like to help, if not, fuck off and go get me someone who will. Otherwise, we'll meet up at our apartment tonight and leave."

  "You wanted to ask me out?" Darr asked. "Send a love letter next time.

  "Is that a yes? Do you want to cooperate?"

  "We're not helping anyone, are we." Darr murmured.

  "Is. That. A. Yes?"

  "Yes. Yes, whatever. The sooner we get this done the sooner I can get away from you."

  "Great. I hope you enjoy clubbing." Ajax said. "I know I don't."

  12:24 PM

  The fire lapsed around him, it swelled and it grew up on the walls, it licked and ate and spread itself in streaks like tendrils, sporadic and gluttonous. He saw the fire grows and nodded to what he heard. His eyes were open wide a
nd they watched as the fire came and went like a giant surf. Then he felt hot, though not for the fire that did not feel much of anything, he felt the heat of excitement.

  "When will you bring her back. Like you promised." Aleistar's voice broke.

  "That's up to you, isn't it?" The voice repeated. Aleistar nodded and watched as the fire began to turn sickly white, like rot. It turned and regressed. Aleistar ran to the table, took out a bag of pink salt and pitched it into the fireplace that spat out like an ill child.

  "When can I see my wife back?" Aleistar asked.

  "When the rapture is brought upon them all."

  "But when? When do I do it? How? When? What do I do while we wait for you?" He said.

  "Wait?" The voice screeched and the fire rode up to the ceiling where the smog seemed to lash out like a storm-ridden sea, the waves crashing about and foaming. "I've never taken you for a passive fool." The sparks spilled and danced on the floor. "Every ritual needs its servants, every moment of worship needs its faith. And every summoning, you know, needs its proper penance. A human hecatomb. I want it, the highest quality lifeblood you can give me."

  "And the hunters?" Aleistar sat on his knees throwing salt into the fire.

  "The hunters?"

  "They ruined the last pact I made. They're here now."

  "I didn't think people like that existed in your world." The voice said.

  "They're Vicars, I've heard rumors about them before. But I thought…with how small a city we are…I thought they wouldn't bother."

  "Hunters…" The voice hummed at the word, amused. Aleistar sat as he heard the voice of the demon chuckle. His eyes were to the floor, his body was prostrate as he waited for an answer. But the voice would not talk back. The demon was mumbling. It seemed distracted for once and Aleistar sat with a growing pain in his legs and in his chest.

  "What do we do?" He coughed.

  "Oh. Yes. Of course." It hummed again. "Give me proper retribution today. I'll help you deal with them."

  "I already a killed a man. What more can I do?" Aleistar slammed his hand against the floor. It seemed painful for him to say - killed - and it grew in him, a stabbing conscious that felt like it was bulging out of his heart. His chest hurt.

  "You killed a criminal. Scum. Shit. And you got shit back. What did you expect? It's an exchange, did you forget? If you want more, give me more. Give me virgin blood, give me nubile souls. That would be proper, those high quality souls."

  "What do you mean high quality?"

  "The price of a man is weighed in his merit and his soul. Give me your best and I'll give you my best. Give me children." It said. There was silence. "If you want help, if you want your wife and your child and me, there, with you, give me your best."

  Aleistar thought about the words and they seemed to bounce off the cavern of his skull. There was nothing there but the words and his brain rattled. His hand fell and stiffened. The pink salt in his grips slipped out and drizzled onto the floor.

  "Now you know my price. You do want your wife back, don't you? It's not like you're really killing someone anyway. They're coming home, to me. I'd say you'd be helping them out. I'm sure they'd forgive you when they taste paradise. When the burdens of life are cut and the shackles are thrown."

  Aleistar was still. The flame began to die and he did not bother to fuel it, he let it recede and with it a piece of him. There was nothing left for him to hear. He walked back and stumbled onto a stack of books that collapsed on his feet. He held himself against a book cabinet and held it for fear of his legs giving out. Then he heard a knock, the ravenous knock of his students, the hasty knock that demanded of him a certain composure. He breathed. He evened his hair that had split and run from him throughout the conversation and collected all the bits of himself that seemed to escape or break. Some sanity, some confidence, some goodness. He was trying to make sturdy of this failing body. His body snapped into place on the fifth knock.

  With his face taken back to a dull, assertive expression, he walked to the door. The men were waiting outside and sweating.

  "There. You heard him, didn't you?" Aleistar told them. They were all lucid, drooling and heaving. The mayor was the first to speak.

  "Did you tell him what I wanted? The money, the boat. Did you tell him?" He was shaking Aleistar.

  "No, but he told me what he wanted."

  "Yes, we heard." The police commissioner said. "Children."

  They were all silent and huddled together, their shoulders were in tandem as they thought about it. Who would break it first? Who would show his selfishness first?

  "I know some routes." The paper man said. They all swallowed spit, and one man's courage led to the other, a boulder gaining stride down the incline.

  "I know some men who can work it out." The commissioner added.

  "We'd have to do it after curfew, fewer suspects." The mayor said.

  "No, no. We just need to get the right people. The people no one would mind gone. Would that be considered high quality though, Father?" The commissioner said.

  Aleistar looked at them. He could understand the words. The mayor, a pudgy man with his suit tearing at the seams. The commissioner, tall and proud, thick jawed. The mailman, pious and desperate in his eyes. He could not understand their demeanors or their beings. They wanted this more than him, they loved this more than him and the idea of murder seemed too little a cost for their promised wealth. It was a lottery they felt was too easy to pass up. Aleistar could not believe himself. That he ever convinced these men, that they weren't faking their conceits.

  Was that all it took? Wealth and power and knowledge. Was it because they had finally experienced the demon for themselves? They had never heard the voice of God, though it supposedly lived in all things. But they heard the Djinn, the devils. They knew those to be real now and perhaps that's what they moved them most, a higher power, regardless of what or where it came from.

  Aleistar walked back, he hit the door and felt for the knob.

  His wife was important but this was different and he felt the urge to run, but they all held him. The believers grabbed onto his black coat and pulled themselves closer to him.

  "What do we do?" The lost lambs said in unity. And Aleistar, like a father afraid of his new responsibility, reeled back.

  "Do what you need to do, then! You heard him." He lashed out. They all soaked in the words. Some of them frowned, some of them smiled.

  "Alright then, we'll get on it." The commissioner said. There was no misinterpretation, no language barrier. They knew clearly what must be done and Aleistar ran back inside as he realized it.

  "What have I done?" He asked to no one. He found a seat, opened his drawer and pulled the first drug he could find. A bag cocaine ripped and spilling. Then he pulled something out again, a flask. He ate them like a starved man and rubbed his head with powdered hands. Depressed and awake at the same times, a mind in dissonance with his rapidly beating heart.

  Now he knew how Mrs. Breyer felt. Now he knew that he could not take it back.

  5:22 PM

  They had not sold anything in the two hours they were there and it was enough to make them look into the sky and beg for a falling anvil. The sun was oppressive, though hidden, lurking in the gray waves of clouds like an invisible ray beam pointed directly to the back of their heads. Their brains were frying. Slow. Burning, slow. Their tired eyes wobbled underneath their strained necks. They were small, constantly looking up to the grimaced faces of customers. They were in a parking lot, made into a pseudo-swat meet but there was no one to meet. The littered streets were empty, the plastic bags of trash must have been dumped by ghosts. The frugal were at home, the frightened were at home, Sophie presumed. They must have felt safe in their small wooden homes.

  "Let's go. My feet hurt." Pip said. Sophie looked at him, her eyes went first before her heavy skull followed. She felt sweat in her overalls and her armpits were wet. Looking at Pip's slick, bald head only made the humid feeling worse.

>   "This is all your fault, you know that?" Sophie said.

  "I told you I was sorry, I didn't think the chocolate would melt." He said. She brought her hand down to the box and felt the clay like substance between two finger tips. Like turds, like the sewer was laid out on their small chair. She looked down to the jar of money next to the plastic table they borrowed. She could see the bottom of the glass, where the street ran broken and black.

  "I'm not talking about this." She continued. His head lowered. He rubbed his legs against each themselves and his knees looked just about to collapse. "I'm suspended. You know that?"

  "And I said I'm sorry." His voice was high pitched, and his shaking body was getting angrier. He could feel his stomach knot tighten.