The Empowered

by Craig Parshall

  At the bottom, we caught our breath. I surveyed the area. I could see the traffic on M Street dead ahead between some buildings. Another look back up the staircase. Still no sign of the demon twins.

  I heard Heather shout something and then a short, explosive laugh. She was pointing to a bronze plaque on the wall of the building at the foot of the perilous stairway. I asked her what it said.

  She cried out, “You’ve got to be kidding!” She opened her arms wide and said, “These stairs are called ‘The Exorcist steps.’ They were used in the movie. The part where a priest possessed by a demon throws himself down the stone stairway . . .”

  She never finished, because by then I had looked up the steps one more time and the demon twins were standing at the top, grim-faced, one looking down Prospect Street and the other up Thirty-Sixth Street.

  “Gotta run,” I yelled and waved for her to follow me to M Street.

  When we were almost to the street, I cranked my head around one more time. The twins were sprinting effortlessly down the stone stairs after us.

  We turned onto M and fast-stepped along the sidewalk until we were able to hide ourselves in a crowd of students from Georgetown University.

  I asked Heather where she had parked our rental. Half out of breath, she said it was a side street off the right-hand side of M Street.

  “You carry a makeup compact?” I asked.

  “Okay, so is that some chauvinist comment . . . ?”

  No time to explain. “I need it now,” I snapped.

  She passed it to me and I plucked out the makeup pad, then cupped the mirror in my left hand so I could see behind us without turning around.

  Heather said, “I thought they don’t show up in mirrors.”

  I shot back, “That’s vampires. That’s Hollywood. This is real.” Then I told her, “Don’t look back, but they’re heading this way, on our side of the sidewalk.”

  “How close?”

  “About a block and a half behind us.”

  All of a sudden the college kids halted and bunched up in front of Clyde’s restaurant while one of them strolled in to check the wait time for dinner.

  We shot ahead, pulling into the middle of a large group of tourists who were gathered together chatting. They gave us curious looks and polite nods. I whispered to Heather, “We need to break free right now. Walk fast to the next cross street.”

  “Good. That’s where I’m parked.”

  We almost plowed into a man and a young woman about Heather’s age who were window-shopping. We excused ourselves as the couple nodded back and then entered the store.

  The two of us quick-walked Olympic style until we were almost at the corner. I looked back with the mirror. “They’re closing on us. Don’t know if they see us right now, but we can’t take chances.”

  We took power strides to the corner. Another look in the mirror. “Okay. They were jogging, but now they’re stopped at the window of a shop, looking for us. Maybe they think we went in.”

  We picked up the pace.

  At the corner, one last glance in the mirror. “They’ve started jogging again. I think they’ve seen us.”

  We sprinted down the side street until we reached the rental that she had parked at the curb. “You drive,” I shouted. “I’ve got a plan.”

  She jumped behind the wheel, and I buckled into the passenger seat. I told her to do a U-turn, get back to M Street, and turn left.

  Heather wheeled the car around and pulled up to the red light at M. Seconds ticked by as we sat in the stopped car. I knew that any minute the demon twins would be appearing on the sidewalk from our left. They would run right into our car. We would be sitting ducks. More seconds elapsed. Traffic was snaking slowly past us on M Street.

  I shouted, “Run the red light. Pull onto M.”

  She gunned it and jackrabbited us in between cars coming and going in both lanes, followed by a flurry of blasting horns. But at least we were in the lane heading toward the Key Bridge.

  Except that the twins on the sidewalk were now parallel with us and had us in their sights. They lowered their heads and charged like rhinos. Leaping in front of oncoming cars in the other lane to get to us.

  “Pass!” I yelled.

  “There’s no passing lane!”

  “Make one!”

  She pulled out of the traffic jam and slammed her foot to the floor, speeding us into the oncoming lane of traffic.

  “There’s a spot.” I pointed to the space in front of a seafood delivery truck that had slowed down. She accelerated past it and tucked the car neatly into the space that had opened up in front of the truck.

  “Nice work,” I shouted, then checked my visor mirror. Behind us, the twins were yanking some poor unsuspecting couple out of their vehicle.

  Heather glanced over at the look on my face. I gave her the reason.

  “The chase just got faster.”

  58

  I told Heather to bear left and take the Key Bridge. I half turned to check on our pursuers as we followed the fast-moving traffic across the Potomac River.

  “They’re driving behind us, on the bridge. About five cars back. Here’s my plan: we have to split up.”

  Heather shouted, “No!”

  “It’s the only way. They want me, not you. I’m hoping they’ll tail me and leave you behind.”

  “But there are two of them,” she said. “One for each of us.”

  She had a point.

  “Give me a second,” I said, booting up Google Maps on my phone. “Okay. Get me to the Rosslyn Metro, which is straight ahead, only a few blocks from here. I’ll dash out. You’ll have to backtrack and find the exit to I-66 heading into Washington. You’ll cross another bridge, then get onto Constitution Avenue. A couple of miles down Constitution, you’ll bear left on Louisiana over to Union Station. That’s where we’ll meet. Can you remember all that?”

  “Trevor, I’m a grad student, remember? But what will I do when I get there?”

  “Just keep making your way around Union Station. There’s a circle drive. I’ll be in the front coming out of the building. Meet me in an hour.”

  “Until then?”

  “Lose them if they’re still in the car. Hopefully they’ll both come after me. If not, make it over to the DC side, across the Potomac. Once you’re on Constitution Avenue, you’ll see loads of squads and Metro police. Just pull over, get out of the car, and start screaming that you’re being chased.”

  Heather asked, “What about you?”

  “I’m taking the subway. The Metro rail.”

  We were across the bridge by then, and I told her to stomp on the gas and gun us over to the Rosslyn Metro. A quick look in my side mirror. “They’re only two cars back,” I shouted. “Closing in.” I pointed to the Metro subway sign. “Slam on the brakes!”

  We screeched to a stop, and I tossed the cell phone down on the passenger seat and bolted out of the car as Heather squealed the tires. She was out of sight by the time I hit the lobby of the Metro station, frantically grabbing for my wallet and debit card. Quickly inserting it into the ticket kiosk, yanking out the ticket, and hurrying down the steep escalator crowded with travelers, I glanced back to see if I was being followed. Not yet, but that wasn’t good. I wanted me to be the magnet for the duo, not Heather.

  Silent, rushed prayers for the safety of Heather. For the vanquishing of the dark forces that were at play in this city. For the obliteration of Kuritsa Foks Videoryad, and for the rescue of all those girls who had been captured in that web of torture, terror, and perversion.

  And as for the voodoo cult leader hiding somewhere in Washington who had to be the force behind it all—undoubtedly demonically empowered—I prayed for the searchlight of God to illuminate that twisted monster for me.

  I stepped off the escalator, pressed through the crowd, and searched for the tunnel leading to the Silver Line of the Metro until I found it. Another glance backward to the escalator. I heard the sound of the Metro train rushing up t
o us, and as it pulled to the curb in a long line of conjoined cars, I heard the chimes and the canned announcement telling everyone to step back to allow passengers to exit the car. When the doors slid open, I was about to dash into the nearest car, but looked back to the escalator. The red-shirt twin was now sprinting my way.

  I jumped into the Metro car. Then the double chime and the recorded voice: “Step back. Doors closing.”

  “Yes, good idea, close, close,” I said under my breath.

  I put my face to the glass as the doors slid closed and saw the twin in the red shirt squeeze into the car behind mine.

  The Metro railcar sped forward with a jerk as I prayed for Heather, wherever she was. I had to commit her now to the protection of God.

  I knew I had to transfer to the Red Line at Metro Center in order to get to my destination and rendezvous with Heather, and the red-shirt twin would be only steps behind me when the Metro came to a stop.

  Then the realization struck me. There were multiple stops in between. At each stop, the doors would open. The demonic twin would be in my car in an instant. To avoid that, I would have to dash out at each stop and make it down to another car just before that door was closing. A game of chase-and-dodge, with my life on the line.

  59

  As the subway car slowed down and passed through a station without stopping, I checked the Metro Line map overhead. The Foggy Bottom stop was closed for repair, which meant I would be arriving at the one after that—Farragut West. That gave me an extra minute or two to decide my next move.

  In our crowded subway car there was a huge guy standing close to me—maybe six foot five and must have weighed close to three hundred. He was trying to keep his balance as the Metro car rocked slowly to a stop.

  As the chimes told us the doors were about to open, I stood and took a position—rudely, it must have seemed—directly in front of him.

  The doors slid open effortlessly, and once I felt him hovering behind me, I departed the car and tried to match the big man’s pace exactly, using him as a visual shield from the demon twin to my rear.

  The platform was crowded, and I managed to stride several cars ahead before opening Heather’s compact. In the mirror, the red-shirt twin was charging toward me. I ducked into the car as the door began to slide shut.

  Then it banged open. In an instant the red-shirt twin was inside and dragging me out of the Metro railcar with one hand clasped on my shirt. As I punched wildly at his face with both fists, I began to see the inner creature that occupied him. The human face was fading into another—the image of a hairy, foul-smelling beast with yellowish animal eyes and razor teeth. Behind him, I saw the Silver Line Metro whisking away.

  The monster had me by one hand on the platform. A cop was rushing up to him from behind, but the twin never turned. He didn’t need to. He lifted his free arm, and with a flourish in the manner of a perverse orchestra conductor, he sent the policeman flying back without ever touching him. Passengers were stumbling as they sprinted madly away in all directions.

  The monstrous twin tossed me down onto the platform. Before I could get up, he simply waved his hand, and I felt myself lifted into the air. In a single, bizarre, slow-motion moment he began to move me through the air until I was poised over the far rail. And then I heard the rushing thunder of a Metro liner coming my way. First only the sound off in the distance. Then the deep rumbling.

  On the platform on the other side, two men rushed over and reached out to take hold of me. They searched the air around me, trying to figure out how I was being held up, hovering four feet over the rails.

  They didn’t see the other twin with the yellow golf shirt, who had just appeared on the platform behind them. He moved both of his hands as if performing a magic act and sent the two men tumbling backward along the concrete platform. I dangled in the air, unable to move, as if caught by some dark magnetic force. Heather’s pursuer had joined his twin, one on each side of the rails, double-teaming me. I had two thoughts: They planned to drop me in front of a speeding Metro train. But at least Heather was safe from them.

  The rumbling sensation was growing, and I heard the rushing sound of the Metro rail liner. I would be a bug on its windshield.

  But I saw something else. A square-shouldered soldier in fatigues was standing within arm’s length of the demon twin closest to me. The soldier held his hand over his head, palm outward, toward the twin, who was recoiling and letting loose with a hideous roar. The twin was being overpowered without ever being touched and finally was knocked head over heels by the gesture of the soldier. When he was, I dropped straight down onto the rails in a dead fall. The wind had been knocked out of me and I gasped for air, struggling to get to my feet. As I rose unsteadily, I saw the Metro liner hurtling toward me, just fifty feet away.

  I scampered toward the platform but knew it was too tall for me to pull myself up. With the Metro liner now only five feet away, I shouted out a frantic prayer as I tried to reach the dugout section past the rails where I might be able to hide from the subway train.

  The Metro liner was right on me, engulfing everything. Death was certain.

  Then, inexplicably, I was flying through the air. But not struck. Yanked into the air and off the rails by a powerful hand that had reached down, grabbed my shirt, and brought me up to the safety of the platform as I felt the rush of wind from the Metro liner speeding past.

  I crouched on my knees on the concrete platform, looking up into the face of the soldier, whose expression was so calm it seemed to be carved in stone.

  “Thank you,” I breathed to my rescuer.

  Through the windows of the railcar, I looked at the platform on the opposite side of the tunnel, where another soldier in fatigues was standing strong and had vanquished the other demon twin as well. The identical demons sprinted out of sight.

  As the chimes sounded and the Metro train pulled out of the station, I glanced back at the man next to me. But he was gone. And when I looked across the rails, so was the soldier on the opposite platform. Both had vanished into thin air.

  My life had been spared. But the enraged enemy was increasing the attacks. The ferocity of the battle convinced me that I was getting closer to the truth. To the deep, dark center of it all. The place where monsters shriek. No time to lose.

  60

  Night had fallen on Washington, DC. I made my way along the cavernous white marble interior of Union Station, threading through the mob of train travelers and weary end-of-workday Metro passengers, and then outside to the circle drive. Only a few people seemed to notice my ripped sport coat and grease-stained white shirt. I was nursing a painful shoulder that felt like I might have reinjured an older rotator cuff issue. The one I had received from a prior run-in with the dark side.

  The Capitol dome was lighting the evening sky. As I searched for Heather, I wondered at the fact that somewhere below the superficially civil and politically correct surface of Washington bureaucracy, there was a voodoo sadist lurking. His demonic lieutenants had already taken their shot at me in the Metro. But I knew things had to get even worse.

  It didn’t take long before I saw Heather cruising by slowly in the rental car. I flagged her down with my good arm and jumped in.

  She greeted me with a half-grinning, half-shocked expression. “You’re looking pretty rough. What happened?”

  I explained only in vague terms about my tussle with the twins; then I asked about her.

  Heather said she was tailed closely until she reached Constitution, when she pulled up right next to a Metro police squad as I had suggested, and the twin chasing her took a quick U-turn and disappeared.

  It was after eleven when we arrived at the Mandarin hotel. I said I needed a shower and a clean shirt and suggested we meet for a bite downstairs. But Heather nixed the idea.

  “Let’s order room service instead. I’ll ask for a bag of ice for your shoulder. Then we can get down to work.”

  I smiled. “Work, meaning . . .”

  “How we
find Louisa Deidre Baldou.”

  We were mind melding. “Good,” I said. “Dinner to be delivered. Let’s meet in my room. There’s a small conference table. And I’ll need a pot of coffee.”

  I knew that in less than an hour the clock would turn. Another day gone. We had to get to the head of the snake before more girls disappeared.

  I changed into clean clothes, and a little before midnight Heather and I were dining and talking, mostly about the chase through the Metro and my levitation over the rails as the speeding subway train was heading straight for me.

  Heather asked a lot of questions about that, not disputing it, but careful not to endorse the reality of it either. Cautious, yet faced with the increasing possibility of a supernatural world she had never suspected.

  “The soldiers who rescued you . . . you really think they were something more than just military . . . ?”

  “They were part of an army. Just not one that gets its orders from the Pentagon.”

  The beginning of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

  “You think I could hunt down demons without believing in angels? Not the cultural picture you see in art galleries—androgynous figures with fluffy wings. In actuality, they are powerful beings of pure spirit. If you and I saw them in their true magnificence, standing in front of us, we’d fall to our knees. They’re powerful heralds and messengers . . . and warriors, engaged in an ongoing battle with the underworld. And they just saved my life. Once again.”

  From Heather, no debate, no playing the devil’s advocate. Simply listening.

  “So,” I said, “let’s put together a game plan for tomorrow.”

  The missing person poster in New Orleans of a young girl named Peggy Tanner flashed into my head once again. Back there, a family was grieved. And their lawyer, Morgan Canterelle, was counting on me.

  I took out a legal pad and a pen and started talking. “We start with what we know about Louisa Deidre Baldou. What she told us about herself, even indirectly.”