Infernal: Emergence

by Ricky Fleet

  I will remember the few moments of unguarded conversation for as long as I live. The drugs were still having an effect and his eyes were glazed when he spoke these words to me.

  “My dreams didn’t lie, all that they have promised is flowing through my veins.”

  I insisted he was delirious and to lay still, but he continued.

  “I doubted I could do it at first, I thought my love made me weak. In the end it proved to be exactly what they desired, you see. By giving of my own flesh I was reborn.”

  I was, by then, aware of his story and called for the detective who had been stationed outside the door. He had gone for a cigarette break and I sent a nurse to retrieve him with utmost haste. He only uttered a single further sentence before the effects of the opiate wore off and he was fully in control of his faculties once more.

  “This world will now fall into darkness. No one can stop us.”

  After this final uttering his defences were up and he played the part of a dutiful husband and father to a tee when the detective returned. The police were unable to use my testimony of his words as they couldn’t be relied on in court. Any lawyer worth his crust would have the judge rule it as inadmissible; simply the drugged ramblings of a distraught patient. I knew that he regretted talking to me because I would often find him glaring while I was in the room. On the fifth day my wife received a visit from two police officers. They suggested if I wanted to ensure the safety of my family I should forget the name Clarence Voight. On the sixth day the same officers were stationed at the door of Mr. Voight and on the seventh he was gone. The inscrutable men claimed they hadn’t seen anything and he couldn’t possibly have got past them, which I knew was a lie. We were on the fourth floor for goodness sake. After making some subtle inquiries with the police station I returned from work to find my home broken into. A picture of my family had been removed from its frame and lay on my pillow, defaced and ruined. After that I did as instructed and forgot the name for over fifty years.

  You can imagine my surprise when after all this time, you came onto the scene with your questions. It would seem the cases are related in some aspects, but polar opposite in others. I found Clarence to be an extremely unpleasant individual, whereas in your experience, Malachi seems to be a reluctant hero. My patient displayed arrogance while your showed modesty. It’s all rather peculiar and I would be delighted to stay in contact over the course of your trials with any advice I can provide. I’m just sorry that I am too frail to make the journey and assist in person.

  Please don’t hesitate to call me with any more queries.

  Yours faithfully,

  Lance.

  Gordon rubbed a hand over his face and sighed with amusement when he left a smear of butter juice. He had been so rapt on the words that he had finished the savoury treat without even realising it. Taking a small handkerchief from his breast pocket he wiped most of it clean and would take care of the rest in the bath later. What was he to make of it all? The spreadsheet held little interest at this point and he found himself doing further searches on Clarence Voight and the mystery surrounding the whole episode. Another hour passed in the blink of an eye until he was interrupted by a ping indicating he had a new email. Bringing up the page, the sender box was blank, which was bizarre enough. Moving to delete it as junk he was shocked to see the mouse pointer ignore his movements, and instead, opened the message.

  GET OUT NOW. THEY ARE COMING.

  “What is this nonsense?” he asked the empty room, although now it didn’t feel like he was alone. He could feel eyes on him, but from where he had no idea.

  Someone had managed to sneak a virus past his protection. He would write a strongly worded email to the company in the morning to express his displeasure. Without warning the mouse pointer moved again and highlighted the text, before circling around the warning in a blur.

  “You’re not getting my details, whoever you are,” Gordon grumbled and turned the power off. The removal of the monitor light plunged him into deeper shadows and he quickly turned on the overhead light to fend off the growing apprehension. In the back of his mind he was going over Dr Olsen’s email. Could it all be connected? If he was truly in danger, then so was his new friend in the states. Frantically trying to calculate the time difference, he decided it was irrelevant; he needed to be warned. Lifting the receiver, he placed it to his ear and flicked the pages in his contact list. It didn’t immediately sink in that there was no dial tone and with growing frustration he pressed the cradle. Nothing. Where was his mobile?

  “At work,” he sighed, “You old fool.”

  He hated the contraption and often left it in his drawer, preferring the bulky handsets of old. Now he wished he could magically summon the infernal device. A heavy rapping on the door startled him and he nearly fainted when he saw the face pressed to the office window. A cheerful smile appeared on the lips and he shouted through the glass.

  “Sorry, Dr. Franken, it’s the police, sir. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “At this time of night?” he asked the officer.

  “If you could let us in, we will be out of your hair in no time.”

  “Fine, I’ll meet you at the front door,” he pretended to sigh.

  “Many thanks, sir.”

  When he entered the hallway, he turned left and rushed for the kitchen. Retrieving his key and wallet he figured it would only be a minute at most before the policemen would grow frustrated and search around the perimeter. They may be what they said they were, but Dr Olsen’s message and the inexplicable warning on his computer couldn’t be ignored. He could contact the authorities later to clear up any confusion if it was all above board. Looking back as the knocking increased in frequency, he barged straight into the man waiting outside the back door.

  “That’s funny, Doctor. I could have sworn you said you would meet us at the front door. Are we in a hurry?” Carter smiled coldly, pushing Gordon back into the room.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Gordon demanded.

  “Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” Carter replied, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a hypodermic needle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Walking out into the chilly night air he could see the worried expressions of Chloe and his friends through the window. With a wave he made his way around the vehicle and disappeared from sight. The ambulance doors were opened and his minders helped him inside.

  “Please, lay down,” Dr. Llyod asked, the earlier madness now gone. He was back to the friendly and supportive smile, but Malachi now knew what it concealed. It was a convenient mask to allow him to move among normal people undetected.

  “And if I don’t want to?” Malachi challenged, preparing for a fight.

  “They will hurt us both, and our friends and family,” he answered quietly and Malachi could see it was the truth. He was no less scared than Malachi in the presence of the brutes who moved to climb aboard and he felt a twinge of pity.

  “Ok, fine.”

  Laying down on the trolley, he stared up into Kenny’s face as he tied the restraints. The doctor could see he was tensing, and attempted to calm Malachi before he tried to tear free, hurting himself and the doctor.

  “This is really the best way for everyone,” he whispered, “All you have to do is hear them out.”

  “Hear who out?” Malachi asked. He hated the secrecy, but hoped that perhaps they had some answers for him which could explain the recent events.

  “All in good time,” replied Kenny, tying off the last of the bonds.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Somewhere quiet,” he said.

  “An asylum?” Malachi pressed.

  “Yes and no,” replied the doctor enigmatically.

  “When will I get a phone call or see my friends? They will want to know I’m ok.”

  “That depends on your answers and the decision you make.”

  “Will you stop talking in fucking riddles!” Malachi shouted.

&nbs
p; “I promise that all your questions will be answered soon enough,” said the doctor calmly, reaching into his trouser pocket and retrieving a phone. After dialling he held the phone to his ear, “Mr. Creighton, we have him. We are in transit towards the destination.”

  “Is that who ordered this?” Malachi demanded.

  The two nurses which accompanied them responded to a subtle nod from the doctor and held Malachi down firmly, using a hand to stifle the protests.

  “Yes, sir, I understand. I will see you in a few hours. Thank you, Mr. Creighton.”

  Pulling out a tray, the doctor picked up an item and at the sight of the hypodermic needle Malachi started to thrash and fight for all he was worth.

  Leaning in close, Kenny said, “Malachi, this isn’t to hurt you. They need you to go to sleep for what comes next, that’s all.”

  Seeing his position was hopeless, Malachi opted to ride it out and wait for an opportunity to present itself. Offering his arm, the doctor swabbed the crook of his elbow and slid the needle into the skin with a sting. Malachi’s arm felt cold and heavy as the anaesthetic coursed in his bloodstream.

  “Don’t fight it,” Dr. Llyod said, leaning in closely.

  Vision blurring, Malachi’s eyelids slowly closed and he fell into a deep well of unconsciousness.

  “How was the meal sweetheart?” asked Malachi.

  “It was exquisite. I just can’t resist their Duck à l'orange,” Chloe replied, thanking the waiter.

  “Shall I bring the dessert trolley, sir?”

  “Can we have five minutes?” Malachi said and the waiter was gone, resuming his position to watch the tables. He was nothing if not attentive with the merest nod bringing him running.

  “Who would have imagined when we met ten years ago that we would be sitting in the Ritz, drinking bottle of Cristal like film stars?” Chloe was buzzing with excitement.

  The restaurant was one of the finest in England. Marble pillars held aloft the opulent ceiling. An oval segment was inset like a jewel and bordered by engraved brass flowers. Blue sky with puffs of cloud had been painted in the center to give a feeling of space and tranquility. Jeweled chandeliers twinkled as they lent gentle lighting to the diners below.

  “It’s all down to our hard work. I always knew we were going to be successful,” Malachi said.

  “Ever since you secured those government contracts, it’s as if we have been blessed,” she gushed.

  A couple of gentlemen in Saville row suits patted him on the back as they passed and congratulated him on the newest deal. Each of the impeccably tailored garments was worth more than the value of their first cars.

  “Who was that?” Chloe whispered.

  “Sir Alistair and Sir Mizen. They work for the government behind the scenes, I suppose you could call them fixers. If you need access to certain members of parliament, they can arrange it.”

  “So they’re powerful men?”

  “Very.”

  “Wow,” Chloe said with awe. They had looked like her grandfather, only with a much better fashion sense.

  “Don’t be intimidated, they are teddy bears once you get to know them. As long as you stay on their good side,” Malachi said with a mischievous grin.

  “And we are on their good side?”

  “Of course. I can give them something no one else can,” Malachi explained with a callous looking smirk.

  “You mean we can?” Chloe didn’t like the tone he had used.

  Just as quickly, the look was gone, “Of course, sweetheart. Our business is going to do great things in the next few years, mark my words.”

  Their waiter politely coughed to get their attention and placed two glasses down on the table.

  “Courtesy of the gentlemen at the bar,” explained the waiter, nodding towards the two knights of the realm who had just walked past, “A Sidecar for the lady, and a Dalmore 62 for the gentleman.”

  Malachi raised his glass of scotch whiskey in toast and the men at the bar raised their own, before swallowing the contents and disappearing through an archway to the side of the bar.

  “That was really kind of them,” Chloe smiled while sipping the cocktail.

  “I should say so, the drinks are about two thousand pounds each,” Malachi replied, tasting the exquisite liquor.

  Chloe nearly choked with surprise and spat the drink over the table, but etiquette prevailed and she swallowed forcefully, “Why on earth would they buy us such expensive drinks?”

  “Because today is a special day,” Malachi said with the same smirk.

  “My goodness, we really are moving up in the world. Do you remember when we first met and we were happy to drink supermarket wine?” Chloe giggled.

  “A lot’s changed since then.”

  “I know,” she replied, starting to feel the effects of the drink, “It seems like a wonderful dream.”

  “Indeed,” Malachi whispered as he watched her eyes glaze over.

  Clicking his fingers another figure hurried over from the archway and helped him to get Chloe to her feet. Making apologies about her overindulgence and excitement the other diners smiled their understanding before gossiping amongst themselves.

  “I think I has drunk a bit much,” Chloe slurred between their supporting arms and neither man acknowledged her.

  Moving through the arch, the waiter pulled a thick curtain across the entrance in their wake before returning to his duties. The corridor was similar to much of the hotel except for the evenly spaced CCTV cameras which tracked their progress. The sumptuously carpeted floor wound away to the left on a downward gradient and between every three cameras were recesses. Fierce looking men and women stood inside the alcoves cradling suppressed Uzi’s, with holsters visible between their jackets carrying side arms. Every one of the hidden figures bowed their head in respect as the trio made their way lower and lower down the spiral walkway. After five minutes the temperature had dropped significantly and their breath fogged slightly with each exhalation.

  “Are you taking me to bed?” Chloe asked dully, “I don’t think I should have had the cocktail.”

  Both Malachi and his companion looked at each other with secret knowledge.

  “How many guards are there?” Malachi asked as they reached what seemed to be a dead end.

  “Including the ones you can’t see, sir? About two hundred in the building itself. In the surrounding area we would be talking close to five hundred more.”

  “Good,” Malachi responded, satisfied.

  “An event like this is treated with the utmost care and planning. Every one of the men and women would lay down their life to protect yours.”

  “And you?” Malachi questioned.

  “Without hesitation,” the man stated with certainty.

  Before more could be said a faint hiss accompanied the solid brickwork sliding to the right via hidden mechanisms. Beyond the entrance electricity was absent and the walls were made of aged stone instead of brickwork. Black candles were mounted on iron holders, flames fluttering at the intrusion of the fresh air. As the door quietly slid closed behind them it looked like they had stepped into a medieval castle.

  “How much further?” Malachi enquired.

  “Not far now, sir. Another minute and we will be there.”

  Malachi noticed the streaks of minerals coating the moist stone and started to feel a sense of claustrophobia. The air itself smelled oppressive, as if it didn’t want to give the life sustaining oxygen it contained. Considering what was about to occur, the anxiety was the stuff of childhood and beneath a man of his power.

  “We are here,” whispered his companion who would not, indeed could not enter the next chamber. It was forbidden.

  “Appreciate the help,” Malachi stated, taking Chloe’s full weight on one arm and shaking the man’s hand.

  “It was an honor to assist you, sir,” he replied and turned away.

  “Just a few more steps,” Malachi told his wife as they parted more thick drapes and entered a small ant
echamber.

  The room was no more than ten feet wide and fifteen feet long, lined with age worn tables covered in powders and poultices. The tops were arrayed with a greater number of candles, giving more light to the dank space. The yellowed brightness of the flames gave prominence to the carved etchings in the stonework around the room. Glyphs and words in a language that were totally alien to Malachi spoke of darkness and evil. He could feel the power radiating from the inscriptions and knew he would soon understand their purpose.

  “We will prepare her,” came a voice from one hooded figure out of three that had joined him.

  The two shrouded people pulled Chloe through the next archway as she fought weakly and called back to Malachi. The drug she had swallowed was designed to void itself quickly after ingestion and leave the person with no side effects.

  “You must put this on,” said the third person; a woman judging by her voice and delicate fingers. The robe was also black, with gold stitching bearing more of the images and lettering from the walls. Solid gold clasps held it in place as he lowered it over his head, letting it sit heavily against him. The garment seemed to caress Malachi, with hidden hands inside the fabric rubbing and stroking his shoulders and back. All tension dissipated and the covered woman beckoned him to enter the next room.

  As he ducked below the curved stone, the room was awe inspiring. Circular, with a high, domed ceiling and nearly fifty feet in diameter. The walls were made of polished black obsidian, but the amount of time and effort that would have been required to create the underground chamber was incalculable. A dozen wooden doors led from the main chamber to unknown destinations and in the center of the high dome, a thin chute drizzled a thick liquid into a font below. The light was weaker in the room and it wasn’t immediately clear what rippled within the bowl.

  “This way,” urged the woman in a whisper.

  Opposite the archway stood a grand mirror ten feet tall. Set in a frame of solid gold filigree, the polished surface reflected Malachi’s form and that of his son and wife who were knelt facing it. Both of his kin looked terrified and it triggered a pang of momentary doubt. The cloak itself seemed to pull tighter and the imaginary hands massaged the hesitation away.