Darkest Hour

by Rob Cornell

  “Jess,” he called into the dark. The stairwell seemed to swallow his voice. “I’m turning on the lights.”

  No answer. The silence quickened Lockman’s heartbeat.

  He snapped the light switch at the top of the stairs. A single bulb in the stairwell came on and obliterated the dark. The sudden light forced Lockman to squint. More light came from down in the basement, several other bulbs all tied into the single switch.

  Lockman grabbed the railing and headed down.

  At first glance, he couldn’t find her. A cold wash ran through him. His heart rate cranked up. Then he spotted her, a hint of her leg visible behind the sheet draped over her bed.

  “Jess?”

  He approached the bed, crouched beside it, and lifted the sheet.

  Jessie lay face down underneath the bed, her face buried in her folded arms. She didn’t budge. Even when Lockman poked her in the ribs, she remained perfectly still. Corpselike.

  Oh, god, he got to her. Somehow he got to her.

  In one fluid motion, Lockman gripped the bed frame and lifted, tilting the bed up on its side and against the wall. He scooped Jessie up into his arms, turned her so he cradled her like he would have if he’d been around to carry her to bed when she was a little girl. Gave her a gentle shake.

  Her eyes fluttered open. When her gaze focused on Lockman her brow wrinkled. Her mouth cocked to one side. “What are you doing?” she asked slowly.

  “Are you all right?”

  She looked around, took in the bed propped up against the wall, looked back at Lockman. “I was hiding under my bed.”

  He didn’t like the drunken slur to her voice. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Gabriel.”

  Lockman’s chest squeezed at the sound of the name.

  “I can’t shut him up anymore. I had to force myself to go to sleep. It was the only way to get away. It wasn’t easy.”

  He eased her onto her feet and took her by the shoulders, looked her straight in the eye. “Do you want to get rid of him?”

  “I can’t. He just keeps…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Shut up!”

  “He’s…talking…to you? Right now?”

  She pulled away from him and started to pace. “The guy is a fucking chatter box. I think he’s trying to drive me insane.”

  She might have meant that as a figure of speech, but Lockman figured that might be exactly what Gabriel was trying to do. If he drove her mad, weakened her mind, he might be able to exert even more control over her. Use her like a puppet. A damn powerful one at that.

  “Jess, listen. I’ve talked with a doc in our labs. He thinks we can force Gabriel out of you. Get rid of him once and for all.”

  She stared at him, but looked as though she were listening to something else. Someone in her head perhaps. Her eyes narrowed. “He says you can’t do it.”

  “I wouldn’t expect him to say anything else.”

  “He seems pretty confident. I can usually tell if he’s lying.”

  “I don’t care what he thinks. I’ve got this set up. They’re going to be ready for us in less than an hour. Are you in?”

  She frowned, still with that far away listening look. “He says we should go for it.” Her gaze focused onto Lockman. “If he says we should do it, we definitely should not.”

  “He’s playing games. You have to block him out.”

  “I can’t,” she shouted, baring her fangs. A flash of red sparked in her eyes.

  Lockman shuffled back. His hands curled into fists on instinct. “Easy.”

  She hung her head and covered her mouth with a hand. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled against her fingers.

  Lockman reached out and touched her arm. “It’s okay.”

  “He’s stopped.”

  “Gabriel?”

  “He won’t say a word to me now. Last thing he said was…” Her face scrunched up. “Enjoy Armageddon.”

  The bastard was toying with her, stirring her doubts, her fears. Which could mean he was worried, trying whatever tricks he could to get Jessie to refuse going through with the exorcism because he thought it could work. “He’s just trying to scare you.”

  “He is scaring me.”

  “Then let’s kick his ass out and put Gabriel Dolan to rest once and for all.”

  A few seconds passed as Jessie stared down at the floor, mulling it over. Then she lifted her chin, nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Doctor Truman led them to a corner of the Quonset where they had installed moveable partitions to create a separate “room” for Father Caruthers’s experiments—or whatever he called what he was doing. The room didn’t look anything like a laboratory. Instead of microscopes, glass jars, test tubes, and textbooks, the space was furnished with a recliner, a couple softly lit floor lamps, a sofa, and a plush throw rug that looked like it could have come off of a bear. There was a single bookcase with a few leather-bound tomes that had probably seen a couple centuries. A gold crucifix hung on the wall. A portrait of Jesus hung on the opposite wall.

  Father Caruthers stood in the center of the room when Jessie, Truman, and Lockman entered. He wore a plain button-down shirt and khaki pants. No priest’s collar. He did hold a rosary in one hand, though, his thumb worrying at the beads.

  He smiled in greeting. “Welcome.”

  Lockman noticed Jessie eyeing the crucifix. It might have been as tall as she was. Lockman didn’t know if size mattered when it came to the effect of religious symbols on vampires. Smaller crucifixes hadn’t bothered her in some time, but maybe a bigger one still held some power.

  “You okay?” he asked her.

  Her gaze stayed locked on the cross. “I feel a little tingly.”

  “Pain?”

  “Just…tingly.”

  The father’s smile twitched. “You are as amazing as they say.”

  Jessie took her eyes off the cross and studied the father. “I don’t think ‘amazing’ is really the word you mean.”

  A little more of Caruthers’s smile crumbled. “How do you do it? This symbol should be driving you mad.”

  Jessie snorted. “Do you even know why religious symbols bother vampires?”

  He glanced at Dr. Truman as if expecting an answer from him. Truman looked as flummoxed as the priest. Not for the first time, Lockman wondered if any of these people who “studied” the supernatural knew a damn thing. Full of a bunch of theories as substantial as hot air.

  “They are representations of faith in a higher power. A benevolent God. Vampires are demons, minions of evil. It makes sense that they would fear God.”

  That got a typical teenager eye roll—an all too human expression that almost belied her vampiric features. Almost. “You don’t have a clue. It’s got nothing to do with God.”

  The father’s smile curled down into a frown. He raised his chin and looked down his nose at Jessie as if she had personally insulted him. “It has everything to do with God.”

  “As the only vampire in the room, I think I’d know better than any of you.” She strolled toward the giant crucifix. With her hands clutched behind her back, she studied it much like a museum patron would admire a Rembrandt. “You people forget that vampires did not start on this plane. Where they come from, symbols like these were used by their natural enemies to strike fear in them, warning them of the torture and agony that awaited them. This enemy has instilled such fear into vampire kind, that the fear has become a part of them, and is passed on to any other being who becomes one of them.”

  A cold rock dropped in Lockman’s gut. First, because of the professorial tone Jessie took on as she spoke. This wasn’t her talking. It was Gabriel. Second, because of the idea that some other kind of creature existed that vampires feared on the level Jessie was talking about. He’d never heard of such a thing. He sure as hell knew he never wanted to see such a thing.

  “That’s preposterous,” Dr. Truman said. “You’re saying this fear is so strong, it carries over t
o vampires who have never even met the enemy who inspired it?”

  Jessie turned away from the cross to face them. “Thanks, Doc. That sums it up about right.”

  “Preposterous,” he said again, though it sounded more like self-denial than an actual stance on the subject.

  Father Caruthers crossed his arms. He looked far less convinced. “I find it hard to believe this so-called vampire enemy used any kind of symbol like the Holy Cross.”

  “Symbols of faith, Father, are universal. And not limited to religion. Those are just some of the more powerful. I bet you didn’t know that some vamps get a little queasy at the sight of the American flag. There’s a lot of blind faith in that symbol, and vampires can feel it.”

  Caruthers and Truman both stared at Jessie with their mouths hanging open.

  Lockman couldn’t take much more of this listening to Jess talk like the evil bastard he’d brought her here to get rid of. “Fascinating stuff, but we’ve got more important things to deal with.”

  The priest cocked his head as if he meant to argue. He took a deep breath through his nose, nostrils flaring, then uncrossed his arms and nodded curtly. “Yes. Very well.”

  Truman cleared his throat and moved to Jessie’s side. “Right over here.” He gestured toward the recliner.

  Jessie let the doc guide her over and she took a seat. She gave Lockman a look, raising her eyebrows.

  He shrugged. They were both in the hands of the doctor and the father. They would have to trust the two men knew what they were doing. Which was a trick, since Lockman didn’t trust they knew much of anything. Especially after seeing Jessie give them a lesson in vampire lore. Or was it Gabriel that had actually given the lesson? In either case, Gabriel proved to know a hell of a lot about the supernatural. In any other case, Lockman would have considered keeping him around to pump for intel they could use against the vamps.

  But this was Jessie they were talking about. Lockman didn’t give a damn what Gabriel knew. He wanted him out of his daughter.

  Father Caruthers took up a post beside the recliner. “Try to relax.”

  “If you knew the litany of things getting shouted at me in my own head, you wouldn’t have even bothered suggesting such a thing.”

  “I’m sorry. This will just go a lot smoother if you let me do the work.”

  “I’m committed. Do what you have to do. Just get it over with.”

  Lockman couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “What’s he saying now?”

  Jess scrunched up her face. “Nothing that makes sense. Something about a hundred year reign of darkness.”

  Why did he bother asking? Gabriel was obviously trying to scare them out of going through with the…procedure. That made Lockman all the more certain of their path.

  So long, you son of a bitch.

  The father rested a hand on Jessie’s forehead. “Close your eyes and take deep, even breaths. Try to imagine your muscles turning to warm putty.”

  Jessie closed her eyes, but her face looked pinched, not the least bit relaxed.

  “If you feel like drifting off to sleep, go ahead.”

  Eyes still closed, Jessie quirked up one eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Caruthers scowled. If Lockman could have read his mind at that moment, he guessed the father’s thoughts weren’t the most priestly. The father managed to hold back his ire, though. He sighed heavily and said, “Just try your best. And don’t speak.”

  Jess harrumphed, but left it at that.

  Dr. Truman looked from Jessie to Caruthers like a sugar-stoked six year-old checking out the presents under the Christmas tree. He rubbed his hands together. “Shall I get the holy water?”

  “Holy water?” Lockman asked. “Come on. I thought you said this was like an exorcism. We’re not casting out Satan here.”

  “No,” Jessie said, voice guttural. “Much worse than that.”

  The father and doc exchanged worried looks.

  “No,” Caruthers said slowly. “But as we’ve said, the process is similar enough. The trappings don’t matter. Only the intention. And I intend to rid your daughter of the monster possessing her.”

  Jessie opened her eyes. In her typical voice, she said, “I wouldn’t go as far as possessed. More like occupied.”

  “Please. Do not talk. Keep your eyes closed.”

  She rolled her eyes before closing them again.

  Truman looked at Caruthers expectantly. Caruthers gave him a nod and Truman shot over to the lone bookcase. The shelves only came to his waist. An ornate golden chalice sat on top of the shelf next to a glass decanter half filled with water. Truman poured some of the water into the chalice and then carried the chalice to the father.

  Caruthers took the gold cup in both his hands. He muttered something, eyes closed. A prayer, Lockman figured. Then the father dipped the tips of his fingers of one hand into the water. With his wet thumb he drew a cross on Jessie’s forehead.

  Jessie bucked in the chair. The skin on her forehead turned bright red, as if sun burnt. A strange contrast to otherwise gray pallor. For an instant, that patch of skin looked human again.

  The red faded quickly however. In its place, a darker, bruise-like color remained in the shape of the cross Caruthers had drawn.

  Lockman didn’t know if that reaction was because of her vampirism or part of the exorcism. Wouldn’t Gabriel have taught Jessie how to resist the effects of holy water the same he had silver?

  As if in answer to his question, the dark mark faded right before their eyes. Jessie let out a soft breath and short moan. “You can do that again if you want,” she said. “Shouldn’t bother me now.”

  The hand Caruthers had used to draw the cross still hovered over Jessie’s head. It began to tremble. He closed the hand into a fist and pressed it against his lips.

  “You all right, Father?” Lockman asked. The guy looked ready to snap.

  But Caruthers nodded, pried his fist away from his mouth, and set his shoulders with new resolve. He handed the chalice over to Truman, which Truman took with quivering hands of his own.

  Caruthers reached into his pocket and withdrew the rosary he’d held earlier. He dangled the cross over Jessie’s head and began swinging it in a slow circle around her face.

  “Spirit, I call you by name. Gabriel Dolan, do you hear my voice?”

  “He can hear you fine,” Jessie said.

  “Jessie, I need you to remain silent from here on. I only want to speak with Gabriel directly.”

  That set off a spark in Lockman. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The only way to draw out the spirit is to commune with him directly. Now, please. Stop interrupting and let me do this.”

  Lockman crossed his arms and could feel the tension in his biceps. He did not like where this was headed.

  Truman slowly backed away as if afraid sudden movement might set off an explosion. Not exactly comforting behavior from one of the so-called experts.

  The only thing that kept Lockman from calling off the whole thing was the memory of Kate’s face when he told her he was taking Jessie away from her and she could never see her daughter again. A reminder of all the horror he had brought on the two women he loved most in this world. Jessie was a vampire because of him. Gabriel’s soul literally haunted her body because of him.

  If he could do anything to repair some of that damage, he had to try. Evicting Gabriel from her mind would go a long way.

  He set his jaw and let the priest continue his ritual.

  “Gabriel Dolan,” Caruthers said in a deepened voice. “Christ’s power commands that you speak to me.”

  Jessie’s eyes twitched under the lids as if she were in REM sleep. Her hands clawed into the recliner’s arms. Her breath quickened.

  The tendons in Lockman’s neck felt ready to snap. He gritted his teeth and kept silent.

  “Gabriel. Do you hear me?” The rosary swung above her face and cast a moving shadow across her features. “Answer me.”

>   The air took on an electric quality. It smelled like burnt wires. The hair on the back of Lockman’s neck and arms stood on end.

  “Something’s happening,” Truman whispered.

  Caruthers shot him a dirty look, then returned his attention to Jessie. “Christ demands a response.”

  “Then why don’t you fetch him and we’ll talk.”

  The words came from Jessie’s mouth, but sounded nothing like her. Not just the tone or inflections. Somehow her voice had actually changed, as if it weren’t her speaking at all.

  The change wasn’t the strangest part, though. Lockman recognized the voice. It sounded like him.

  The father licked his lips. His voice had the slightest tremor. “The Lord is always with us.”

  “See? That stuff always confused me. I thought we were talking about Jesus, not God.”

  “They are one in the same.”

  Jessie’s eyes snapped open. Her gaze locked onto Caruthers. She grinned. “Mortal religion is so strange.”

  “Gabriel?” the father asked.

  “Who else?”

  Lockman couldn’t hold back. “Get out of my daughter you son of a bitch.”

  Caruthers glared at Lockman. He didn’t say anything, though.

  Jessie grabbed the rosary still swinging above her and jerked it out of the father’s hand. She gave the wooden cross on the end of the bead chain the kind of look a four year-old gives a mound of over-cooked peas. Then she tossed it aside. The beads clicked and skittered across the floor before coming to rest against the far wall.

  Caruthers jerked back as if singed.

  Truman slinked backward another couple steps.

  Then Jessie sat straight and eyed Lockman. “You aren’t taking very good care of my body, Mr. Lockman.”

  “Not yours anymore.”

  She smirked. “Ah, yes. This is my body now.” She ran her hands down her chest and over the tops of her thighs.

  “That one isn’t yours either. You’ve over-stayed your welcome. Time to get out.”

  “Where would I go? Back to you?”

  “I don’t give a damn where you go. To hell would be the best choice.”