by Ricky Fleet
“You said if we got out of here in one piece? It sounds like the fighting has stopped, so who came to our rescue.”
“Some friends.”
“And why are you still so nervous?” Malachi was confused.
“Because if we lost, in a few moments their most fanatical troops will come pouring down that hallway to take us out. If they need to die in the explosion, they will gladly pay that price.”
“Shit,” Malachi whispered, peeking out again.
Amaris pulled him back and crouched low, listening to the sound of running footsteps. Sighting the shadowy doorway, she started to take the tension of the trigger in readiness.
“Amaris, it’s Michael. Are you down here?” shouted a voice from the dark passage.
Visibly relaxing, Amaris released the trigger and holstered the pistols. “We are in here, Michael. I have someone you may want to meet.” Holding a hand out she helped Malachi to his feet and smiled.
Michael hurried through into the room, surveying the carnage and the unholy glyphs on the walls. Coming to a stop directly in front of Malachi, he quickly looked him up and down before hugging him tightly.
“It’s an absolute honour to meet you, Malachi.”
“Er, yeah, you too,” Malachi replied awkwardly, hugging the stranger.
“Told you we had your back, brudda,” said Legacy, entering the room with Desmond.
“Des! Legacy! You did this?” Malachi yelled and ran to the pair. Hugging Desmond tight, he turned to Legacy. What was the etiquette for a gangland kingpin? The fearsome Jamaican grinned and embraced him, settling the quandary.
“Ma boys did me proud,” Legacy said quietly, mourning his fallen.
“But why? I only met you tonight,” Malachi couldn’t make sense of the motives.
“There is something about you, man, we can all feel it in our blood,” Legacy explained, “All the shit we do on the street ends today. If Michael will have us, we be joining his crew.”
Michael and Amaris joined them and she explained, “There is a process, but after what Michael has told me about how your men handled themselves tonight I know we need warriors like yourselves at our back.”
“Dis place is full of dark magic,” Legacy whispered, ignoring the compliment and glancing around the room.
“Bad things happened here for a long time,” Michael said, “I’ll explain everything once we are safe.”
Legacy was still swaying in a trance, “I can hear the screams. So many people.”
“We need to go now,” Amaris insisted and Desmond gently shook his friend.
It took a few moments for the haunted expression to fade and Legacy still glanced around warily as they ran from the evil heart of the asylum up into the lobby. The remaining Yardies had looted the bodies and replaced their empty AK’s with the dropped weaponry.
Legacy’s second in command whispered in his ear and he frowned, deep in thought, “We got company coming. You gotta get outta here.”
“We all need to go, you included,” Michael urged.
“Nah, man. I’ll stay here with ‘alf my men and take the heat.”
Amaris could see the bond between the two disparate men had grown strong, so she pulled Michael to one side.
“If they find all these bodies with no gunmen they will start a massive manhunt and potentially catch us all before we can get clear. The police securing Legacy and his men will buy us a small window to get out of the area. If Malachi is taken into custody he won’t survive the night, you know how far they have infiltrated.”
“Damnit,” Michael kicked at some broken glass, sending it shattering down the hallway, “But what about them?” He pointed at Legacy.
“One man dying while restrained is far easier to explain than a whole gang. We will get the best lawyers on the case as soon as we are safe,” Amaris explained.
“She’s right, man,” Legacy nodded, “We be out on bail in a day.”
The sounds of sirens were faint but closing fast. With a few brotherly embraces and goodbyes Amaris, Michael, Malachi, and four of the surviving gang members jumped across the ditch and set off through the woodland to their vehicles. He had a million questions, but they needed to stay focussed on the task of navigating the pitch black woodland safely. Their night vision goggles had been lost in the gun battle and a torch beam may have alerted any passing police response team of their location. They made good time despite their disadvantage and the wail of sirens continued through the whole journey. Malachi gave up counting after the twelfth emergency vehicle. Nothing was stirring as they looked out on the carpark from the concealment of the trees.
“Clear,” Michael whispered after scanning the carpark until he was satisfied.
“Amaris, you take Malachi in the car. I will go in the van in case we run into anything that needs a battering ram to move. If the rest of you wouldn’t mind following behind in the BMW?”
Desmond and the gangsters nodded their agreement.
“Where are you taking me?” Malachi asked.
“A safe house until we can move you to one of the facilities we own,” Amaris replied.
“Wait just a minute,” Malachi blustered, “When will I be able to go back to my old life? The nice easy life where no one was trying to fucking sacrifice me!”
Michael looked at Amaris and then back at Malachi, “Now they know you exist. Never. They will hunt you from this day forward until either they are all dead, or you are.”
“Well that’s fucking marvellous!” Malachi shouted, starting to feel claustrophobic. The world was closing in, smothering him with a blanket of fear.
“It will be ok, man. We all got your back,” Desmond tried to console him but the laboured breathing became gasps of panic.
“I know it’s bullshit, Malachi, but it is the only way to keep you safe,” Amaris said, holding his face to try and calm him.
Her eyes told a tale of their own loss, and gradually his breathing returned to a safer pace. “What about my friends? Can Des go home?”
“No, I’m afraid you will have to come with us too. Teams are on the way to collect Chloe, Kevin, and their family right now. Until we can end their schemes, they will use anything they can to weaken you,” Michael added.
“Just who are these people?” Malachi said, feeling very small in the face of their power.
“I promise the people we are taking you to will give you all the answers, but we need to hurry.”
“Ok, I’ll go, on one condition. I want to return home and collect the picture of my parents,” he replied softly, “It’s the only one I have of them.”
“They could be watching your home. It simply isn’t safe,” Michael dismissed the idea out of hand.
“You said yourself that you took them by surprise and they are now on the run. If I was so important do you think they would have posted guards on my home when they already had me?”
Amaris thought for a few moments, “Ok. But you tell me where it is and I get it. You will stay in the car for your own protection. I don’t want to take any chances.”
Michael pulled her to one side and started to whisper angrily, “With all that’s at stake you want to risk it for a picture? Are you crazy?”
Throwing off his hand she snarled back, careful that Malachi couldn’t hear, “If we want him to fight these people, what incentive does he have if we can’t even collect a picture of his parents for him? You know we may not make it in time to save his other friends, so if this picture can be his light in the darkness, then I will die to get it.”
Michael pondered the risks. He knew the horror that awaited the young man on the path laid out before him. If he didn’t go insane when it was explained to him, the picture might prove to be the only talisman capable of warding off the encroaching evil.
“Ok, we do this as quickly as possible before they can regroup,” Michael relented and they climbed into the vehicles. Turning out onto the road in the bulky van, another ambulance blared by, lights flashing red and blue. You
’re too late, thought Michael to himself as they made off into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
“You think this is a fool’s errand don’t you?” asked Malachi, miserably.
Amaris took her eyes from the road for a moment and looked at him. The passing traffic caused his face to bloom into focus and then disappear back into the shadows on a loop. In the past few days his whole life had changed; his friends were gone and he had the added burden of knowing it was all because of his supposed ‘gifts’. The toll it was taking on his mental health would have to be watched closely in the coming weeks.
“Yes and no,” Amaris replied, “I know you are in a world of hurt, so if this picture can help you then it’s worth the journey.”
“Why did this happen to me?” Malachi asked, more to himself than Amaris. “Because of some fucked up healing power and my fucking dreams, all my friends are in danger!”
“I can’t really answer that question. The people I work for deal with the prophesies and when we get you to safety, they will tell you all you need to know.”
“Can’t you at least tell me why they wanted me dead so badly? No one goes through all that organisation without a damned good reason.”
Amaris sighed, he deserved at least the rudimentary facts she had been shown, the rest would come from the Archbishop. “All I know is that you are a warrior, ordained by God.”
“Stop the car,” Malachi ordered, “You’re just as nuts as they are.”
“Listen to me,” she said with as much sincerity as possible, “I know this will be a lot to take in but your healing abilities are only the start of it. I have the same gift only on a much smaller scale and my visions are just snippets, not a full manifestation of the occurrences like yours.”
“What do you mean occurrences?” Malachi stared at her.
“They will answer those questions. In its most simple terms, you are part of a battle between Good and Evil that has raged for millennia.”
“You expect me to buy this bullshit?” Malachi huffed.
“When you see what they have to show you, you will know the truth,” she replied. Communication of the cause had never been her strongest asset and she decided to leave it to those who could explain it with more articulation.
“If this is true, why didn’t they just shoot me in the head as soon as they found out what I was?” Malachi questioned the inconsistency in the tale.
“If they had managed to recruit you in the asylum, it is not an exaggeration to say this world would have been utterly lost. It is believed that they have their own individual with your skills. The two of you together would have been unstoppable,” Amaris said and shivered at the mere thought.
“So I say again, why not just put a bullet in my head when I refused?” Malachi wasn’t convinced with all this religious mumbo-jumbo.
“If you are what we think you are, by sacrificing you it would have increased their power exponentially. You were far too valuable for a simple murder.”
“You all keep talking like this. What is it you think I am? A freak of some kind?” Malachi was getting angry.
“You could be a shroud walker,” she said quietly, respectful of the title.
“What the fuck is a shroud walker?” he laughed sarcastically.
Amaris glared at him, “You shouldn’t mock it. If it is true, you would have the ability to pierce the barriers between realms. You would have powers beyond imagining.”
“The psychos at the asylum said the same shit,” Malachi sighed and turned to look out of the window.
Realising it would take more than her declarations for the truth to sink in, Amaris fell quiet too. As their convoy rolled through the empty streets, she could only pray that he would accept his destiny and fight for all that was good in the world. Time would tell.
“We are nearly there, it’s just around this corner,” Malachi remarked, but it wasn’t necessary.
The lead vehicle knew exactly where to go and pulled into the dingy side road; several of the streetlights were broken and had been for many months. A deprived area like this was often at the back of the queue for allocation of repairs. The patches of gloom were sundered by the headlights of the passing vehicles before being swallowed by darkness once again.
“That one,” Malachi pointed.
The convoy was slowing down, finally coming to a full stop in the middle of the road about forty feet from his building. The lack of brake lights didn’t seem remarkable to Malachi until he turned to face Amaris.
“It’s further down,” he explained and frowned at the dull quality of his voice.
She was looking directly ahead with eyes half shuttered. Her face was masked in shadow so there was nowhere near enough light to provoke a squint.
“Are you ok?”
The words were lifeless and didn’t sound right. Inside the confines of a car, speech would normally rebound with a particular audibility, but it felt like he was talking underwater. The air itself seemed to be muffling the acoustics. Amaris hadn’t moved an inch, not even a faint twitch or flicker of the eyelid.
What the hell was going on? He reached out and touched her face gently, stroking the skin which was still warm and firm. Still no response, not even a murmur of protest. Malachi pressed a little harder and the cheek dimpled at the contact, then remained sunken as if it were made of playdough.
“I’m dreaming,” Malachi laughed, “I’m still in a coma and all this is just a bad dream.”
Although it didn’t feel like any of the dreams he had experienced so far. Squeezing his eyes tightly shut and concentrating with every fibre of his mind, he willed the vision to disappear. Opening one eye, he was still seated in the car with a waxwork imitation of the woman who had recently saved his life.
“I’ve finally fucking snapped,” Malachi whispered.
Was he bound in a padded room again? High on a cocktail of anti-psychotics and dribbling onto his pillow. Could he even escape from this new reality? Fear knotted his guts at the thought of being trapped in this frozen dimension forever. Reaching tentatively for the door handle, it clicked and opened without issue. Stepping onto the pavement, Malachi breathed in deeply. The air smelled of his street, though feeling thicker as it was drawn into his lungs. The communal rubbish bins were all in their normal position, garbage overflowing and laying on the ground ready for the rats which frequented the concealing shadows.
Glancing up, one of the working lamps illuminated a bat poised in mid-swoop about to pluck a moth from the air. Inches separated the omnivore and its prey with the inevitable feast being postponed by the inexplicable pause in time. Fear grew into frustration and Malachi kicked out at an empty beer can. Instead of clattering down the street, it flew a short distance from the kicks’ momentum and then hung at head height, unaffected by the strictures of gravity. It brought back memories of watching bullets being fired in water; the density of the liquid working against the fast moving projectile. In those cases, the lead slug had then sunk, which only confused Malachi further. Pushing at the suspended can, it moved forward by a few inches and then stopped again. To his right, the exhaust of the lead vehicle was belching fumes which hung in the air like a cloud.
“Can I wake up now please?” he screamed into the night.
When the request went unanswered, Malachi tried to apply logic to his predicament. They had all slowed and then stopped, which indicated a gradual cessation of time itself. As utterly impossible as it was, that was the basic premise of the dream. What was this ‘vision’ supposed to represent? In all other nightmares he had witnessed unimaginable horrors, but this one was absent of literally everything. Mind going around in convoluted circles, he was tempted to lay down on the ground until the vision passed or his brain finally gave up. It was only when he turned to his block of flats that he noticed the aberration.
“What the hell?” he gasped at the sight before him.
The ten storey block of cramped apartments was encapsulated in a purple hued sphere. The sh
ell crackled with flickering energy and it appeared liquescent, with shifting, nebulous patterns playing across the surface. Malachi hadn’t noticed the faint hum which emanated from the orb in his confused state until now. Whatever this thing was, it was obviously the key to the dream itself so he left his frozen companions and approached. The pitch of the vibration didn’t increase with proximity and standing before the shell itself, he reached out a finger and touched the surface. A chill shot up his arm, akin to electricity but without the accompanying danger. Instead of the surface being solid, it was incorporeal and provided no resistance to his probing hand.
“Whoa,” Malachi whispered in awe as his hand disappeared up to the elbow.
What else is there to do? He thought to himself and stepped through the flickering skin. The sensation was similar to the irrepressible shudder which accompanied the phrase ‘someone walked over my grave’. Inside the bubble, the motionlessness of the outer world was gone. Music carried through from a ground floor flat and on the eighth floor a window opened, creaking loudly on unoiled hinges.
“Ok, what now?” Malachi asked, trying to divine a purpose in the bizarre scene.
Taking a step backwards replaced the building with the purple barrier and with another forward step he was back at the foot of the building.
“At least I can go and have a lie down,” he conceded with a smile.
Could someone sleep within a dream? He was about to find out and the thought of his soft bed and gloriously cold pillow was enough to get him rushing up the concrete steps to the entrance door. The code released the lock with a loud buzz and he pushed through into the foyer. Numbered letterboxes lined one wall, with a counter on the other. The desk served as a place for people to talk to the building supervisor, except he mostly hid away these days. With requests for general maintenance routinely refused by the landlord, he had put up a noticeboard for people to pin their issues on. When these too were ignored, the tenants started to use more colourful language and now it represented nothing more than a means of venting their dissatisfaction. The curse words were in a range of languages; Mataeusz, a young guy from Poland, had explained some of the phrases and it never failed to make Malachi chuckle.