As he strode down to the shore, souls began to murmur and to lift their eyes from the fiery waters for a glimpse of the angel who held them prisoner with the keys on his belt. Drawn to him like moths to a flame, the damned struggled against the currents, hoping to reach shore and take the key to their freedom. They had lived in torment for much too long and were eager to find a way out.
Imps and familiars glared at him from their perches in the dead, burned out cities of the underworld, thinking only of escape as he walked past. Souls looked to him for salvation when there was none coming. The obvious thoughts on everyone’s mind down here were of freedom and relief from the burning torment. Sadly, the key around his waist was the only way out. Abbadon could feel the weight of every malicious stare as he weaved his way in and out of columns of flame, careful to keep his wings tucked tightly behind him so as not to burn them and set himself on fire. He knew that he was not welcome down here, and for that he was glad. It would have frightened him just a little bit if the murderers and rapists and child molesters had received him with open arms and homicidal glances. Such was the reasoning behind the double-barreled shotgun and the crucifix that he’d brought with him. While many of the angels still favored the tradition flaming sword and the shielding protection of the almighty word of God, Abbadon had kept up with the times. He needed something with a little range down here, and the shotgun was exactly what was called for. At least with the Mossberg, he wouldn’t have to worry about any of Satan’s imps getting too close to him.
Like insects drawn to the glare of a street lamp, the souls began to stumble up on the shore, eager for a taste of Heaven. Many of them had been confined to the lake of fire for millennia and were tired of the boiling waters that constantly reminded them with each pop and sizzle of the things they had done in life. The gnashing of teeth had only served to make their jaws strong, and after living several lifetimes without anything to sink their teeth into, they were ready to bite down on something.
The crucifix felt like a leaden weight around his neck, but that was only because it made him a target for every soul and fallen angel that lived in smoldering pandemonium. Still, he thought it was a good plan. Other than the key to the gate which he wouldn’t give up under any circumstances, the cross was the only thing he had to bargain with, and he knew that it would bring a high price. It had been so long since the tormented souls down here had gotten this close to any type of relief. Abbadon knew that they would cooperate in exchange for that sort of reward.
The souls were slow in their pursuit of the blood, but the imps and familiars were a little bit quicker. Abbadon nonchalantly shot one of them in the head when it got too close and continued to circumscribe the lakeshore. The familiar with the bullet in its brain writhed on the smoldering charcoal beach, crying out to the dark lord for help. That was when Abbadon’s boots turned heel on their master, pulling him toward the fiery currents of the lake.
While the snakeskin’s posed no serious threat, they were nuisance enough to slow Abbadon down. And that was all the invitation that the imps needed. They were on him, biting and clawing. The boots slid a little in the sand, and the waters rushed up to meet them. Abbadon could feel the sting of the fire as it bit through the snakeskin and into the flesh of his feet. Crying out to God, Abbadon clutched at the cross around his neck as the imps sank their fangs into his angelic skin. He managed to throw a couple of the minor demons off of him long enough to free his arm and was fully prepared to fling the crucifix as far away as possible to get rid of the familiars. That was when the thunder started.
Immediately, the imps scattered to all corners of the great cavern and waited on one of the barons to arrive.
It had been many years since Abbadon had last seen Behemoth, the infernal watchman, and the years certainly hadn’t been kind. The demon looked as bloated as ever from years of gluttonous temptation and scarcely capable of guarding anything.
“You weren’t invited here,” Behemoth said dryly, his large cloven hooves marking a trail in the black sand.
“I’ve come for two souls,” Abbadon replied in as stern a voice as he could manage under the circumstances. “Jack and Jane Gibson. I didn’t need an invitation for that. Now bring them out.”
“Not possible,” the watchman was quick to say, running a tooth hungrily over his black fangs as he smelled the faintest hint of blood.
“Make it happen,” the gatekeeper said forcefully. “I don’t want any trouble.”
Behemoth eyed Abbadon for a moment, his tail swishing behind him to keep the dense cloud of flies from getting too close.
“This isn’t our war, you know? We’re not even involved.”
“I don’t know anything,” Abbadon said, eyeing the demon.
“It’s true. We don’t have anything at stake. We have no desire to retread old ground. Besides, we haven’t even seen our lord for quite some time now. We would have no leader.”
“Lucifer isn’t here?” Abbadon said.
“Like I said, we haven’t seen him.”
“Well, since he’s not here, you shouldn’t have any problem doing what I tell you to. You seem to forget that you’re just as much a prisoner here as the souls of the damned are. You’re really not in any position to resist.”
Abbadon fingered one of the keys on his belt and watched as Behemoth’s eyes grew wide at the sight of it. It unlocked the door to a cavern in the netherworld where bubbling hot tar rained down from the sky in a torrential flesh-melting downpour. Generally, it was reserved for pedophiles and child pornographers and those who preyed on innocence, but Abbadon seemed more than willing to make an exception. Behemoth was no fool and undoubtedly understood the veiled threat that was conveyed in that one small movement. Although he owed his allegiance to Satan, Behemoth wasn’t about to spend any time in that dismal agonizing place if he could help it.
“This could be easier than you think,” Abbadon replied with a smile. “There are lots of benefits to cooperating with me.”
Abbadon jerked the crucifix from his neck and held out his hand. Behemoth eyed the relic hungrily.
Unable to control himself, Behemoth reached for the cross, but Abbadon was too quick, closing his hand up on the icon before the baron could pluck it out.
“Not so fast,” he said, noting with some unease that the damned were creeping closer and closer to him and what he held on to. “You haven’t shown me anything yet.”
Behemoth eyed the hand that held the crucifix and reluctantly snapped his fingers. Immediately, Jane and Jack were standing there in front of the gatekeeper, their eyes filled with anguish, their faces stretched in eternal masks of horror and pain and loss.
“Where were they being held?” Abbadon asked.
“The cavern of suicides,” the fat demon replied, snatching a handful of flies out of the air and throwing them hungrily into his rotten mouth.
Abbadon stepped a little closer to have a look at them, his hand squeezing the crucifix tightly just in case Behemoth let his gluttonous appetites take hold. His eyes scanned father and daughter, looking for that self-inflicted mortal wound that they would carry around with them for eternity. But try as he might, there was nothing.
“Why were they kept there?” he asked angrily, the heroin racing through his veins, making his words sound a little more violent than they normally would have. “They don’t look like they killed themselves.”
“They didn’t,” the demon replied nonchalantly, eyeing the hand that held the cross. “But you’d have to ask Samael why they were there. He’s the one responsible.”
Abbadon nodded his head, feeling foolish for not suspecting it earlier. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a small band of imps creeping toward him, weaving in and out of the smoke, their tails swishing in the hot air, their eyes greedy for the eternal prize that he clutched tightly in one taloned fist.
“I’ll be the one responsible for taking them out of here,” he said, noting the expression of surprise on the demon’s grotesque fa
ce. “You can tell whoever needs to know.”
Behemoth’s eyes narrowed to little slits, the red pupils peering out between the gaps. Although he knew who was in control of this situation, he wasn’t used to anyone telling him the way things were going to be. He considered the cross in Abbadon’s hand and wondered if it was worth the price he would have to pay when Samael found out what he had done. Nonetheless, he knew that this wasn’t the sort of angel he wanted to anger. He imagined the searing pain of bubbling tar splashing down on his skin and realized that he really had no choice except to cooperate. At least the crucifix would be some consolation.
“I guess this is what you’re after,” Abbadon replied confidently, noting with some concern the new legions of dead souls that had washed up on the beach like wounded fish. The imps were also getting dangerously close at this point. “But from the looks of things so are they.”
And with that he heaved the golden crucifix as far as his arm would allow and watched with some amusement as the fat demon hurried toward the spot, cursing the imps as they dared to get near his prize. The souls swarmed on the place where the crucifix had landed like a hive of angry bees. Abbadon listened with some amusement as Behemoth cursed and fought off wave after wave of the condemned.
“I can let myself out,” Abbadon said to no one in particular as he led the two souls back to the gates.
Chapter 37
Dade wasn’t sure how to cope with what he’d just seen. The Zodiac Club had exploded like a cherry bomb on the 4th of July. And Liz had probably been inside.
“She’s gone,” Dade said. “I’ll never see her again. She’s gone and it’s all my fault.” It was all he could do to keep his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel.
“You don’t know that she’s dead,” Leon whispered nervously, afraid that they were going to crash. “She could have escaped. Liz is a tough girl.”
“Or she could have been burned alive,” Rush said, obviously enjoying himself.
Without warning, Dade stopped the car in the middle of the street and pulled his gun.
“Don’t say that again,” he said angrily, pressing the barrel against the child’s lips. “I’m already supposed to kill you. You shouldn’t make it any easier for me. I don’t care if you’re only twelve years old.”
The child pretended to be scared, waggling his fingers and widening his eyes. At that moment, Dade could have pulled the trigger without reservation. It was Leon, however, who took the gun out of Dade’s hand.
“I don’t want you doing something you will regret,” the big man said as Dade pulled into the office parking lot.
“He already has,” Rush said mystically. “He already has.”
******
While Liz had been online in The Ouija Room, Pyriel had been strangely silent, content to sit and wait on her to finish what she had come there to do. That’s why it was such a surprise when he sprang up from the chair, eyes alert, talons bared.
“What’s wrong?” Liz asked, suddenly concerned.
“Somebody else is here,” Pyriel replied, sniffing at the air like a dog on the scent of a criminal.
Liz backed away from the computer silently, listening for any sign of intrusion. She could hear a faint noise coming from one of the rooms behind the office.
And then she heard the sound of car doors slamming outside.
*****
Dade trudged up the stairs with Leon and Rush in tow, expecting to walk into an empty office. He was more than a little surprised to see Liz and an angel that looked well-suited to bounty hunting.
“Liz?” he said uncertainly. “I thought you were dead.”
“Well, it’s good to see you too,” she said just as Dade put his hand over her mouth.
“I think somebody else is here,” he whispered, motioning for everyone to be quiet.
They could hear a wet smacking from the bedroom behind his office. It sounded like someone was eating raw chicken, tearing the flesh away from the bone.
Leon took a tentative step toward the door, intent on discovering the source of the disturbance. Dade quickly held up his hand, motioning for the bouncer to stay put while he drew his other .45.
“I’m giving you until the count of three to come out. Then I start shooting,” Dade said, warning whoever was in the next room. After a few seconds, the door swung open and out stepped Jack Gibson. Pyriel’s eyes narrowed at the familiar smell.
“You’ve got the boy,” Jack said. “Good. Now put a bullet in his head.”
“That’s not your father,” Pyriel said.
“Of course it is,” the old man said.
“You’re wasting your time, Samael,” Pyriel said. “The masquerade won’t work anymore.” The look of shock on the death angel’s face was cold and uncalculating.
“My father is dead,” Dade said. “I know you’re not him.”
“That was your last mistake,” Samael replied. “But I’ll tend to that later. For now, I’ll take the boy with me and do what I should have done to begin with.”
“Dade?” Liz said, seeing the way her boyfriend looked at Rush. “Don’t hurt a hair on that boy’s head. Protect him.”
“There’s something not right about him,” Pyriel interjected, sniffing at the air. “I think we’re caught between two opposing teams.”
“We’re wasting time here,” Samael said. His eyes narrowed as he turned on Dade. Dade, however, wasn’t taken aback. He already had the hammer cocked on his .45. Leon did the same. The guns were leveled at the angel’s chest. At this range, they would undoubtedly make quite a mess.
“You’ve been playing me,” Dade said. “I don’t like being used.”
“On the contrary,” Samael said with a fatherly smile. “I wanted to see if you were as good as the demons said you were. And I have to admit that you’re pretty good. You didn’t kill the child, of course. But you did manage to capture him.”
“Don’t move,” Dade growled.
“You seem to forget who you’re talking to here, dear boy. The angel of death isn’t afraid of being shot.”
Dade wavered a minute and then refocused the guns on the seraphim.
“Kill the boy, Dade. This the last time I’m going to tell you.”
“You’re the angel of death and you’re afraid to kill a twelve-year old boy. Maybe you should resign and let someone else fill the position.”
Samael growled and bared his long incisors.
“Ooh, you have teeth,” Dade said.
Samael fearlessly took a step forward, daring Dade to pull the trigger, and the barrage of bullets immediately tore through the feeble husk of a body that he wore like cheap tissue paper. Leon stepped forward to help his friend, squeezing off round after round until Samael fell.
Not really believing that he had just killed death, Dade took a tentative step forward, his hands trembling, his stomach churning from the shock. As he crept closer, the death angel’s predatorial eyes opened slightly.
Like a copperhead coiled to strike, the death angel’s hand shot out and clamped around Dade’s ankle. Realizing his mistake far too late, Dade emptied his gun into Samael and watched him convulse in a mock parody of death. Yet, the death angel’s grip never wavered. Not even when Pyriel and Leon were desperately trying to pry away his cold, black-nailed fingers.
Dade had one clip left in his jacket pocket and he loaded it as quickly as he could. Biting his lip and resisting the urge to scream, he glanced down at the angel that looked like his father and knew that Jack Gibson, despite all the horrid things he had said over the years, wasn’t capable of the kind of hatred that was eating away at that face like a ravenous cancer. Dade aimed the gun, shut his eyes to the pain, and squeezed the trigger until the magazine was empty. The grip on his ankle loosened, and the burning immediately stopped. Before Dade could back away from the danger, Samael had scrambled to his feet and jumped through the window, leaving the skin of Jack Gibson behind like the shroud of some trick-or-treat ghost. What was more, he had take
n Rush with him.
Dade stared numbly at what was left of his father and fell to his knees, throwing his gun haphazardly into the corner like a child’s unwanted toy.
Chapter 38
Once Dade had control of himself, he stood up, retrieved his pistol from Leon and began to think about what they could do. “Where do we go from here?” Leon asked, voicing the question in everyone’s mind. Normally, Dade would have had an answer. But not this time. The answers weren’t so clear cut.
“We go after Samael,” Pyriel said, not needing to think. Everyone looked at him. It was immediately apparent that he was an angel in a room full of humans.
“I don’t care what happens to that boy anymore,” Dade said. “You said yourself that he’s not what he seems to be.”
“There’s more at stake here than that,” Pyriel explained.
“Such as?” Liz asked.
“What is it with you people?” the angel said. “Don’t you realize that what happens in the next world affects this one? The angels are at war over this drug. If Samael gains control of the drug, he’ll have the addicted eating out of the palm of his hand. They will do anything he wants for a hit. With control of the seraphim army, he can stage a revolt the likes of which Lucifer couldn’t have even imagined.”
“There’s no way we can fight seraphim,” Leon interjected. “Besides, doesn’t God have angels to handle this. Aren’t you one of those guys? What have you been up to all this time?”
The shame on Pyriel’s face was immediate. “Even the faithful slip sometimes.”
“This is all very complicated,” Dade said. “But I’ve got other things on my mind.” He pulled out one of the photos of his father and sister that had been left by Louise Hartwell.
Rusty Nails (The Dade Gibson Case Files) Page 12