by Anthony Ergo
"Any chance we could talk about this?" I quip.
The giant mute looks me up and down, like a predator sizing up his prey. He raises his huge hands, palms open. I become mesmerised as they heat up like branding irons. One touch would melt my skin. I can't imagine a bigger mismatch than a small, sixteen year old girl versus this fire-breathing giant.
Zara's words flood into my mind: "Everything has a weak point." I look around desperately for a weapon. The only thing close by is a fire extinguisher. And then I remember the car chase in the forest and Aaron telling me that Pyromorphs are vulnerable to water. I'm not even sure extinguishers use water. It seems like a ridiculous idea, but right now it's all I've got.
I yank the canister off the wall and point the nozzle up torward Ludvig's head. Unflinching, he closes the distance between us, his glowing palms outstretched. Squeezing the handle as hard as I can, I aim the powerful jet of foam straight into Ludvig's face. I'm all too aware that it might be my last pathetic act. At least if it doesn't work, it might disorientate him. But it does more than that, way more.
Ludvig recoils like he's been hit with acid. Staggering backward, he claws at the skin on his face, which has begun to bubble and redden as though scalded by acid. For the first time, he makes a sound: a mumbled moan. I keep the spray of foam trained on him and watch as his hands turn from a glowing red to a blistered pink, like raw meat. He writhes in pain, shaking his head in an attempt to rid the froth which burns his skin. I grip down on the nozzle of the extinguisher until the jet of foam dies.
Before I can relax, Ludvig seems to recover. He looks down at his hands as bits of skin falls from his face. The red glow has disappeared from his palms and he shakes with rage. Whatever I've done, it clearly hasn't finished him for good.
He rips open his jacket and reaches inside, pulling out a gun. I had forgotten about the fact he's armed. If his supernatural powers can't kill me, he'll resort to old fashioned human weapons. Nothing I've experienced has scared me as much as looking down the barrel of Ludvig's gun, then up to his cold, callous eyes. They are filled with fury and revenge and I know that he won't hesitate to execute me on the spot. I don't expect mercy from someone who tried to bury me alive. Before I can react, I sense a presence in my peripheral vision.
BANG.
The blast of a single deafening gunshot ricochets off the walls, deafening me. Time seems to stand still and the flash of a yellow raincoat colliding with my body alters the fate that I had accepted.
It's Aaron.
And he has just taken a bullet meant for me.
He lies bent double against the wall, a hand clutching his bloodied left shoulder. It feels like everything is happening in slow motion as Ludvig readjusts his aim and points the gun at Aaron.
"No!" I scream.
But this time there's no deafening shot. The gun falls from Ludvig's grip and bounces on the floor. He looks down at his fingers, stripped of skin and no longer functioning. Flesh melts off his hands like candle wax, and I realise that Ludvig didn't pull the trigger because he can't. He kicks the gun away and approaches Aaron with a sickening snarl on his face, as cold as death.
"Get out of here Sasha," shouts Aaron.
But my legs won't move. I can't leave him after he's been shot. Trance-like, I watch as Aaron kicks upward at Ludvig, landing clean on the side of the Pyromorph's jaw. Bits of charred skin fly from Ludvig's face. To my amazement, Ludvig barely falters; the kick twists his head but his body remains unmoved.
He rotates his head robot-like to face Aaron with a smile, then spits blood. Ludvig's palms start to glow once more, orange to red, like coals in a fire. To my horror, I realise that the effects of the extinguisher have faded and his powers are returning.
"Uh oh," says Aaron, bracing himself for the retaliation.
For a couple of seconds Ludvig doesn't move; he's enjoying the moment. It's as though he's allowing his hands to heat up so he can inflict maximum damage. The spray of water wasn't enough; I need more, but the extinguisher is empty. I throw the heavy metal cylinder at the back of Ludvig's head, but it's a futile effort; it rebounds harmlessly and drops to the floor.
Ludvig moves torward Aaron, going in for the kill. I have to do something; I have to. I can't lose Aaron now, not like this, not after he just took a bullet for me. I glance around in desperation and notice the fire alarm on the wall over the fire extinguisher bracket. The pipe work overhead has small nozzles, one of which is directly above Ludvig. A sprinkler system? It's worth a try. I smash the glass and hold my breath. One second passes, then water descends from the nozzles in the ceiling. Ludvig stiffens and arches his back as though hit by acid rain. It causes his body to convulse like the effects of an electric shock. The water continues to fall, soaking us all.
With all the energy he can muster, Aaron launches himself at Ludvig and sends him flying backward against the wall. The ground vibrates as the hulking bodyguard crashes from wall to floor, whacking his head on the hard stone slabs and knocking himself out cold.
The ringing starts to fade in my ears and I rush to Aaron's side.
"The uglier they come, the harder they fall," he says with a grimace.
I'm worried about his bullet wound and the blood he's losing. Aaron never looked small to me before, but he does now, with his shoulders slumped and his body collapsing on itself like crumpled paper. His dark, olive skin has turned a paler shade than mine.
"It's just a scratch," Aaron lies through gritted teeth. "A very big, painful, bloody scratch."
"I'll go and get help. . ."
"No," replies Aaron. "I'll be fine. You've got a job to do and you're running out of time."
I'm not ready to leave Aaron injured, alone and in danger.
"What if Ludvig wakes up?" I ask.
"I don't think he's going anywhere."
I glance behind at Ludvig's grisly body. The water from the sprinklers continues to fall as his skin melts away, exposing bits of skull and bone. I turn away to avert my eyes before the sight makes me vomit. Aaron grips my forearm and I focus back on his face.
"Don't do anything stupid in there," he says.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I reply.
He smiles, but it doesn't make it all the way to his eyes. I'm overwhelmed by emotion. I don't know what to say or do to express how I feel. The water from the sprinklers showers down on us, yet I barely notice. I hold his gaze, determined to appear strong. Aaron just laughs, because he's an Empath and he knows exactly how I feel. I always thought falling in love was a dangerous thing to do, but maybe that's the attraction. The second my mind decides I want to kiss Aaron, he reacts.
His arm wraps around me and pulls me into his warm body. When our lips touch, my mind dizzies with momentary pleasure. For a just a few seconds I'm able to force the thoughts of ghosts, monsters and betrayals from my mind and revel in the strength that pours from Aaron. His kiss energises me and breathes a confidence inside me that I've never known before. He leans back and a smile teases his lips. He lifts his finger to touch his own lips and I know that he is just as affected by our embrace as I am. The kiss is what we both needed, just in case it's the last chance we ever get to do it.
"I knew I'd win you around," says Aaron. He places a strong arm on my hip and urges me toward the door. "Now go save your dad, Sasha. I believe in you ─ you can do this."
Reluctantly, I turn away from Aaron and face the door to the torture chamber. Zara and Aaron have done everything they possibly can to get me this far; the rest is up to me.
Chapter 26
Thursday 19 September 11:51pm
Have you ever felt time slow so much that it almost appears to stop? Ever listened to a clock when the next tick seems to take forever to follow the last tock? That's exactly how I feel; lost within a timeless darkness. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything.
I've come to learn that mastery of fear is all about perspective. The first time I faced the Hangman Ghost it was one of the sca
riest things I've ever experienced. Now, preparing to face him once more is not as daunting, because I have done so many more frightening things in the last week; more than most people will ever experience in an entire lifetime. The only difference is that now it's not just my life that's on the line.
As I open the chamber door I'm hit by a cold, damp smell, like a graveyard. I'm soaked to the bone, but thankfully the sprinklers haven't activated in this room. The emptiness makes me shiver more than my wet clothes. I take small, cautious steps forward. Nervousness seeps back into my system as I anticipate what is to come. I close my hands into fists to try and control their shaking. The general fear I've been dealing with condenses into an all consuming terror which threatens to engulf me.
A draught comes out of the dark as I step forward, stirring the tiny hairs on my neck. Every instinct I possess tells me to run. I brace myself against the fear, as if it's a wave in the sea, and when it passes I venture further into the dark room, ready to face him. My father's words stick in my mind like a fishhook. "Always face your fears head on, Sasha. Fear only has the power you allow it." This is his mantra and his words give me the comfort I desperately need.
The door closes behind me with a resounding clunk. Then I hear a deadbolt shifting into place. In my imagination, it sounds more like the lid of a sarcophagus slamming shut. Now I'm locked inside this room, in the dark. My eyes haven't adjusted so I stare into pure blackness, like the backs of my eyelids. Flight is no longer an option so I square my shoulders to stand, and fight.
My heart is hammering like it will burst through the walls of my chest any second. I've barely eaten or slept properly for days. I haven't stopped for a single moment since the black Mercedes drove me away from my father just a few short days ago. It feels like an eternity has passed since then. Despite all of that, I feel prepared for whatever is about to happen. It's a strange blend of terror and eagerness, unfamiliar until now. Everything I've endured this last week ─ facing up to The Hangman Ghost in the forest, almost dying in the Tyburn tunnel, surviving the car chase and then being buried alive ─ all leads to this moment.
The sound of footsteps indicates a nearby presence. The temperature of the room seems to drop several degrees; it has the cold, stillborn air of death. Somewhere near the roof, the sound of fluttering wings resonates around the room; bats nestling in the eaves. I wheeze in the dusty air and try to suppress a cough. As a preventative measure, I reach into my pocket and take two squirts from my inhaler.
My stomach is trampolining and my heartbeat flutters like the wings of a hummingbird. With Zara and Aaron left behind, only an animal instinct — a deep-rooted desire to find Dad — keeps me going, driving me to place one foot in front of the other. As bleak as things are, I know what I must do… I just don't know how I'll do it.
The darkness is complete. I trip over an uneven slab on the floor. It reminds me of being a young girl, holding my mother's hand as I tried to avoid stepping on the cracks in the pavement. The thought of Mum makes me feel for her Athame, nestled in my back pocket. I flinch at the sounds of leathery wings beating together; I'm as blind as the bats flying around the room. I only have minutes until midnight, leaving Jack Ketch to do in death what he has done so many times in life.
I hear the sound of a switch being flicked, and several lights come on. They provide low-level illumination for the displays within the torture chamber. The room has a vaulted ceiling, its rafters draped with cobwebs that billow like silk curtains in the breeze. On the wall to my right hangs a row of poled weapons, each with its own unique and brutal tip; some have curved blades, others vicious-looking spikes. They're nothing compared to the display to my left: an axe, a chopping block and the noose of the executioner. The tools of The Hangman's trade.
"Strange to think so many people visit such a violent place."
The sickly-sweet voice is unmistakable. Menzies Blake appears from a dark corner, his appearance ridiculously impeccable against the backdrop of the damp dungeon walls. One half of his cleanly shaven face is in darkness, the other illuminated by a lantern on the nearby wall. Light shines against the side of his face, creating shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. The heels of his expensive shoes click on the floor as he walks forward.
"For centuries people have visited London in their thousands to watch public executions."
I'm not exactly in the mood for a history lesson.
"Where's my dad?" I say, relieved to hear that my voice comes out strong.
"Oh, he's here. But you can drop the scared-little-girl act. I know what you are Sasha, even if you don't. I must say I am impressed. I never thought you would get this far."
His words are honeyed with false praise. The scariest thing about Blake is that he is not a maniac; he is perfectly controlled, perfectly poised. I glance down at my watch. It now reads six minutes to midnight. I look back hopefully at the door behind me. Maybe Zara or Aaron will find help in time to save Dad?
"I wouldn't worry about us being disturbed," says Blake, reading my mind. "The door is locked from the inside. It has kept prisoners locked in here for years. Like them, this will also be your final destination. I gave you a choice Sasha; it didn't have to be this way." Blake produces a cardboard folder, the one with my mother's name written on it. "Remember this? I am the only one who knows the truth about your mother and what happened to her on Dystopia Day. . . because I was there."
I steel myself; I can't get emotional or distracted. Blake knows that this is my weakness; he knows that I long to know more about my mother and what happened to her three years ago. His eyes gleam with malice, and I know that his next words will be chosen to inflict maximum emotional damage.
"Allow me to educate you. I was one of a team of Agents alongside your mother. We were sent on an assignment to America to investigate a Gathering; the dangerous formation of a group of different supernatural entities. That was the day I came to truly understand the power and potential of the paranormal.
"The fallout of what happened resulted in a world-wide blackout; what is now known as the Day of Dystopia. Your mother wanted to destroy the Gathering; I wanted to harness its power. Like you and your father, your mother refused to conform. The full account of Dystopia Day ─ and what happened to your mother ─ is inside this folder."
Blake locks his gaze on me as he dangles the folder in one hand. He pulls out a lighter and runs his thumb across the spark wheel bringing to life the flame that will destroy the contents inside. A flash of blue heat licks up the outer edge of the cardboard folder and he drops it to the floor. I gasp as papers scatter and a glossy photograph of my mother slides out. I see her face briefly before the picture bubbles and curls in the corners, and is then consumed by the flames. Tears well in my eyes as the realisation sets in that I will never fully know what happened to her.
At least I know one thing: Blake was responsible.
He dusts his hands, then reaches into his inside pocket and takes out a mobile phone. When he makes a call, it is answered immediately. His eyes hold my cold stare of hatred as he speaks casually.
"Katalina, prepare the jet for our departure. I will be with you shortly."
My tears turn from pain to anger. Blake has robbed me of both my parents. He used Katalina to spy on us and the call to her can only mean that she overcame Zara. He has finally broken me, and he knows it. He enjoys his moment of victory, mocking me with an ominous laugh.
"The truth will die with you and your father. Now, let the torture begin. . ."
Blake takes a step back and sinister shadows slip into the sockets of his eyes like dark water. He flourishes an arm and makes a half-bow like an evil circus ringmaster. A light comes on, illuminating another display area. A man is bound to the wall by shackles and irons. His head is bowed forward nearly touching his chest and I can tell by the fair hair that it's my father.
"No!" I scream, running torward him and tugging at the chains.
He appears dazed and bedraggled, like a broken puppet. I'm vag
uely aware of Blake laughing as I try to shake Dad to wake him from his semi-conscious state.
"Dad, please, tell me what to do!"
An invisible force throws me across the room. I land hard on the cold stone floor, crushing the inhaler in my pocket. As I pick myself up I'm faced by the ghostly shape of Jack Ketch. I fight the scream building up in my stomach, chest and throat; the scream that fills every part of me. I feel dread and despair clawing inside me, warring with each other for dominance, but terror is stronger than both.
The Hangman Ghost slowly removes the sackcloth hood to reveal a pale, sallow face. It's a face that belongs in a nightmare. His dark eyebrows furrow and his emaciated, gaunt features are framed by long, black hair which cascades down to his shoulders. His teeth are discoloured, his shrivelled gums exposed, and his lips drawn back in an expression of pure hatred. He looks more like a real man than he ever has before, right down to the dirt under his fingernails and the welts on his skin. Only a hazy outline hints at his otherworldly state.
Jack Ketch is silent, although his jaw is creased with lines of malicious laughter. Worst of all are his blank, soulless eyes, like painted stones. When he glares at me, I feel as though those black stones are slipping down my throat, blocking my windpipe.
Menzies Blake waves his arms like an orchestra conductor and Jack Ketch's eyes move slowly to the wall of weaponry. It's only now that I see Blake in his role as a Necromancer; one who commands spirits. Jack Ketch fixes an intense, burning stare onto one of the deadly weapons. I watch as a spear starts to dislodge itself from the wall. Blake is controlling the Hangman Ghost, who in turn is controlling the weapon and I know exactly how he plans to use it.
Instinctively, I pull out the Athame and trace a circle on the floor around me. It's a protective circle; the same as the one Zara told me to use in the forest. As the spear comes hurtling torward me it stops within inches of my face and rebounds as if it has struck an invisible wall.