by Matthew Buza
Isaac was dazed and rubbed his head. He tried to crawl away in vain.
“We've got work to do.” Jalon grabbed Isaac's shirt and dragged him down the stairs and across the sidewalk to a black Lincoln that idled on the street corner. The door popped open and Isaac fell into the front seat. The street light barely found its way through the tinted windows. The car was pitch black and silent. Isaac's vision was blurry but he could make out a shadow sitting in the driver's seat. The head dipped down and lit a match. The sulfurous smoke lifted to the ceiling as the light briefly flooded the car. Isaac saw the familiar face and leaned back against the seat. Jalon shut the door and tapped twice on the roof.
Lazarus turned his head and looked at Isaac. “I told you, you can't leave.” He shifted the dash into drive. “We have to work, there's a body we need to see.”
It’s Always Cold in the Morgue
The Lincoln pulled into the back alley and Lazarus shifted into park. They had driven for nearly ten miles in complete silence, just two sets of eyes staring out the windshield and the whir of the eight-cylinder engine humming along.
The building was built out of red brick, which was normal for the older sections of town. Next to the loading bay was a brown door with a stair railing that hung dangerously loose. Loose dirt collected in the cracks of the steps leading up to the morgue.
Lazarus broke the silence. “I know this is all a shock to you. I get it. I've been where you were a long time ago. I was in France, very late seventeen-hundreds. In fact, I really can't remember what year it was but I was probably seventeen or eighteen.”
Isaac's head rolled over the leather towards Lazarus. “That would make you nearly two hundred years old, Moses.”
“Almost. Jalon met me in the woods when I was running for my life. Dragged me to a barn and shook my world to its core. I still remember that feeling of hopelessness. It was overwhelming, as if permeating every pore of your skin. I wanted to die, but then they gave me a purpose.”
“You're not kidding about the age?”
“No, it often takes a long time to pay of the debt. I've been at this for almost two hundred years.” Lazarus pointed up to the roof. “They…they give you some extra time.”
“What is this debt?”
“You work off a debt to get into heaven. It's the most Catholic thing I can think of. We bring people to faith, they then go out and either share that faith or are in debt themselves, to be used for other goals in the future.”
“What about your family and friends? How did you explain that?”
“I was fortunate to be on my own. But I've seen how people handle it. They just let their friends fall away, and their family slowly passes onto the other side. The necromancer is then left alone. Well, never alone, but you get what I mean.”
“So I will have to abandon my friends and family.”
“Isaac, are you kidding yourself? Your grandparents are old, your mom is on the outs and you don't have anyone here in Seattle.”
“How the fuck do you know about my family?”
“Calm down tiger. Jalon knows, he shared that with me.”
“What doesn't he see?”
“Isaac, you are dealing with a guardian of the Christ. You have to assume they know everything about your life. How many times you pick your nose in the morning, how many times you've looked at dirty magazines, and they are certainly keeping a tally of your bathroom exploits.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I think they keep numbers on that stuff.”
“Like everything?”
“Yeah, everything. They don't all know what you've done, but they can pull it up when they want. Normally they don't but I think there's a list somewhere.”
Isaac was exasperated. “What the hell have I gotten myself into.”
“You've got a ticket to heaven. Many many people would kill for that. I can tell you this, the other side, the bad side wants that ticket. All around you are people struggling to make meaning of this world. They drift in an eddy without a rudder, just circling around. On the margins are people like us, the occult, demons and angels. You will see it now. You can't miss it. It's everywhere you look, buildings, monuments, the back of the money. One you see the true meaning, not the public meaning meant to keep up appearances, but the private message, the space between the lines. Keep your eyes open, you'll see it where you didn't before.”
There was a long pause.
“Are you ready?” Lazarus asked.
Lazarus shifted in the seat and opened the door and walked around to the stairs. He paused at the bottom step and waited, still looking forward. He stood like a statue expecting something or someone to appear.
Isaac slapped the center console with his hand. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
He got out of the car and stood behind Lazarus.
“Thank you for joining me, it does make things easier.”
Isaac stared hard at Lazarus standing precariously on the steps.
“Why me? Why am I being dragged into this? I didn't ask for any of this, I just wanted a new job so I can continue with my schooling. Now you tell me I'm in debt to Jesus Christ himself?”
“Isaac, you will understand one day that this world around us is as trivial as a child's board game.”
“Is that something to make me feel better?”
“Yes, you have meaning in your life, something beyond paying off a mortgage and raising three children in a suburb of Seattle, while you work fifty hours a week and commute an hour each way. People do not stumble into this blindly. There's a large network of people who are on our side, working, fighting, and guiding. You are just a piece within that effort. Rest assured you were not accidentally thrown into this. People, important people, felt you were an asset and you've been put here for a reason. I trust them in guiding you to me and this job. I needed someone new and here you are. Now are you going to come in or not?”
Isaac rubbed his head, his skin pressing and folding against his fingers. Small dabs of sweat smeared over his skin and gave a sharp sheen in the entrance lighting.
“Well… I don't want Mr. Wings to come back. I've had enough of him for today.”
Lazarus smiled and opened the door into the morgue. A musty chemical smell poured out from the dimly lit entrance and the two men entered. The walls were covered in a rough plaster with cracks arching out from the creases in the walls. The hallway gave way to an open room with a wall of stainless steel drawers.
Isaac shuddered at the sudden drop in temperature. “It's freezing in here.”
“Should I ask him to warm it up?” Lazarus asked.
“What are we doing here?”
“I know the guy who runs this place and he let me know that something interesting showed up.”
Lazarus walked into the room and placed his hands on one of the tables. He leaned around looking through the office windows trying to find his contact.
He bellowed out, “Hello! Peter?”
A small head popped up from the office. Plastered white hair was pressed firmly against his scalp. Isaac wondered if the man had been sleeping in the office. Peter emerged from the entry and nervously brushed the wrinkles out of his white lab coat. He was very short and wore thin-rimmed glasses. A small pencil-thin moustache hung tight to his upper lip and he walked with a noticeable limp.
The man's voice was high-pitched and nasally. “Good evening Lazarus. So good to see you.”
“Peter, you still look like you are ready to die, what are you ninety now?”
“Funny joke from a necromancer. What are you, two hundred?”
“I'm getting there. I want you to meet my new apprentice. This is Isaac.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you. I'm sorry you got such a shitty mentor. If you ever need any help forget this guy and just come to me. I'll be able to help you out.”
Lazarus jumped in. “He'll tell you what you want to hear and then rob you blind before you know better.”
Isaac smiled and shook the small ma
n's hand. “Well thank you for the offer. That's the nicest thing someone has said to me this week.”
Peter laughed, letting out faint snorts. “I love this kid. Lazarus, you picked a good one. Better than the last in my opinion.”
Lazarus's face went cold. “Not here.”
Isaac asked, “There was another?”
“Nothing we need to talk about now. Peter, you called me about a body?”
“Yes, I was sitting in my office catching up on some reading and I got a delivery. It wasn't from the police or the hospitals this time. Some men in black jumpsuits and an unmarked van.”
“Their name?”
“Seattle Sound Cleanup. They are some crime-scene cleanup company. They had all of the normal paperwork from the police.” Peter slid by the two men and made his way down the rows of stainless steel shelves. “I began to process the body and I found a number of things that were off. So I called you and here we are.”
“Where was the body found?” asked Lazarus.
“It was abandoned down by the port, south of the city.”
Peter pulled out the cold storage drawer. On the stainless steel shelf was a black body bag. A cool draft fell down out of the storage box and sent goosebumps up Isaac's leg. He saw the body in the bag and it sent a nervous chill up his spine. He had seen so many dead bodies over the last few weeks. He expected them to pull back on the zipper and for him to see the woman from the séance or the man from his class. His stomach twisted knowing the smell of formaldehyde was coming.
“Yes, well I was preparing the body and I found some markings and objects embedded.”
Peter pulled a pair of latex gloves over his hands and unzipped down the length of the body. Peter pressed back against the body bag and exposed the old woman. Isaac focused on the corner of the room as the two men stared down. Isaac couldn't bring himself to look.
“She has the markings near her leg.”
“Is this ink?”
“I believe it’s some type of tattoo, but not the normal type. It looks like someone did it by hand with a needle. Looks painful.” Peter motioned towards her thigh. “Rub your hands over the markings. There's something under the tattoo.”
Lazarus felt the markings. “Metal?”
Peter turned quickly and pulled open a drawer on a rolling tool chest. He brought up a small yellow manila folder and handed it to Lazarus. He carefully opened the folder and allowed the items to tumble out onto his hand. The small metal filings collected in his palm. He fingered the items and looked up at Isaac. “Look at these, Isaac.”
Isaac looked away at the far wall.
Lazarus leaned into Isaac. “That girl from the séance was a different thing. I don't know who this woman is or what's going on. So you need to put that behind you and focus.”
Isaac slowly looked down at Lazarus's hand to see the metal filings.
“What are they?” Isaac asked.
Peter looked at the two men. “It would be my guess? Some steel cable.”
Isaac now stared down at the woman for the first time. Her chest was exposed and her sagging breasts fell out over her arms and dropped down between her biceps. Down the center of her stomach was a series of crosses that led down to her shaved crotch. Between her legs were two large eyes tattooed on her thigh that stared back up towards the line of crosses. Between the two eyes were tears in her skin, as if the woman had been burned with an iron prod. Isaac could see additional metal filings protruding from the wounds. Trauma spread out from the cuts in thick black-purple blotches. Each bruise swept out into red, brown and yellow marks.
Isaac pulled back and his face contorted. “It's like someone beat her.”
Peter's hand rubbed his chin. “It doesn't look like a beating. I would say she slid down a steel cable.”
Isaac motioned to the woman's crotch. “So this killed her?”
“No, this was a side effect, her neck broke. But I would imagine this was caused just before her death.”
Lazarus leaned uncomfortably close to the tattoos. “These markings are interesting. The filings are all driven in from her head to her toes. She slid down the cable head first.” He looked at Isaac. “If that was intentional then these crosses are upside down.”
“Satanic?” asked Peter.
“Possibly, but definitely demonic. Were there any bruises on her wrists and feet?”
“On both,” said Peter.
“Do you think she was bound when she died?”
“It's possible.”
“How about clothing?”
“They said she was found naked.”
Isaac looked at Lazarus. “What are you getting at?”
“Peter, can you snap a couple of polaroids of the markings and can I have some of the filings?” Lazarus turned to Isaac. “Most groups are benign, playing with spells and maybe even spirits. Like talking with the dead. Then you start to get into sacrifice. We're talking sexual manipulation and violent acts trying to bring forward something evil like a demon.”
Lazarus turned to the body and pulled back the woman's hair. Small flakes of dust flew out and a burning smell permeated the table.
“She fell into a fire. So we have a bound woman, who's bare and tied to a cable and dropped into some type of burning fire. Remember when I told you to keep your eyes open for things?”
“Yeah,” Isaac answered.
“Well this is something that sets my alarms off. I don't have time to let Jalon know, but I think we need to speak to someone, a dealer. See if any top-grade spells were purchased. See if there are any new groups acting up.”
“The spell dealer? You know you're not allowed down there,” said Peter.
“I know the rules Peter, but I don't have a choice.”
Lazarus looked at Isaac. The young man was a nobody downtown. He would be perfect for the job.
The Dark Alleyways of Pike’s Place Market
Even at night, the market at Pike’s Place was active. Sellers lined the walkway calling out to the river of humans that snaked their way down the long corridor. The smell of packed fish, fresh fruit and flowers floated through the air. The market swelled and contracted like a lung breathing the salty air blowing in from Sound. The crowds and iconic neon sign reflected in the tall glass buildings that surrounded the market. The fresh shoppers made their way up the cobblestone street and were covered in a brilliant hue, their eyes reflecting the red neon of the market entrance.
A man with long blonde hair stared down into his guitar case as his fingers blazed over the strings playing an old sixties protest song. Quarters and dimes scattered around a stack of pamphlets with poorly spaced wording. Isaac looked down and read the title, The End Is Coming My Friends.
He looked up at the man and thought, What end?
The man leaned back on the guitar and struck a long chord. His voice bellowed out the end of the song.
Isaac followed closely behind Lazarus as they pushed deep into the mixed crowd. They rounded the corner entry and passed a seafood stand with large salmon stuffed tight with crushed ice. The wet smell of fish permeated the air and caused Isaac's stomach to turn. He pressed down on his belly and wondered when he last ate. It had to have been hours, but it felt like days.
Lazarus pulled over to a side wall and pressed back on Isaac's shoulder. His fingers gripped his shirt pulling him down. His voice was nearly a whisper. “Down that hall.”
“Is who?”
“The man we need to meet, well, more like, you need to meet.”
“He knows who I…” Lazarus paused allowing an older Asian couple to walk by. They were holding a shopping bag with stalks of celery sticking out. “I really don't trust people down here.”
“I can see that. They don't take kindly to your kind?”
“More than you know. This section of town is typically off limits for me. There are groups that run through here. Very well could be the people we are looking for.”
“I don't understand why this matters?”
“Yo
u will learn more, but there are always groups interested in the occult. It's been true for thousands of years. They will run séances, they will cast spells, they will worship people they should not. But in the end, they are relatively harmless. When a group shows up and is willing to expand into sacrifice, then we have a problem. That's when we get involved. That woman was part of some occult ceremony and we need to find out who, and that is why we’re here.”
“Here at Pike's Place Market? You're saying this place has occult people. Between the fishes and flowers and craft shit?”
“Yes, Pikes. Right here.”
“Where?”
“Down that hall and off to the right you will see a small yellow light on the wall. Push that light and you will gain entrance into a small spell shop.”
“A spell shop? For, like, witches?”
“Yes, and occult groups. They like to frequent the shop. It's off the grid.”
“What am I supposed to do when I get in there?”
“Ask about the markings and if they might know where they come from. I also need you to buy a spell. It's called A Fire Hatch.”
“And where are you going to be?”
“I'll be here don't worry.”
“Somehow that doesn't give me the warm and fuzzies. Down the hall and around the corner?”
“Look for the yellow light.”
“And you can’t do this yourself?”
“I'm not welcome here, so you’ll have to do it.”
Isaac looked around, annoyed.
Lazarus passed a small pocket of gold coins. Isaac shoved them into his pocket and turned to find the alleyway entrance. He paused for a moment to allow a stream of shoppers to flow by, their eyes staring up at the hulking figure as they continued their conversation.
Isaac made his way down the poorly lit hallway. Rusted old lamps gave off a dull burnt orange light. Isaac's body cast long shadows that crept up the wooden walls. The market was old and there were many hidden hallways to get lost down. This happened to be one of those unmarked corridors. His heart began to race as he turned the corner and gazed down the pitch black hallway. He couldn't make out the corners of the walls let alone anything or anyone that may be lurking in the shadows. His feet shuffled loudly as he pressed forward into the darkness. He expected any moment to trip over a passed-out homeless man and go crashing into the floor.