The Crimes of Orphans

by Obie Williams

  Lita got in and buckled up, starting to mentally prepare herself for the harrowing drive and all that was to come after it. Rain stayed a moment longer to gaze out over the scorched earth before them. It brought to mind a quote from a book he had read lifetimes ago.

  “This inhuman place makes human monsters.”

  He slipped back into his seat, shifted gears, and locked eyes with the woman at his side before they started rolling. With fiery hearts and icy resolves, they began their dark descent into the Blacklands.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Rain and Lita quietly approached the Construct on foot, having parked the car behind a sizeable outcrop of rock nearly a mile away. As they neared the coliseum, Rain whispered, “Are you ready for this?”

  Lita adjusted the shoulder strap of the rifle she’d taken off Henrik and checked her handgun silencer for tightness. “Sure am. But I don’t like it. Something about this is too easy. Why the fuck aren’t there any guards posted?”

  “I’m guessing the two palace guards from the cemetery were supposed to be here. Without them, all Cleric has is vampires he probably can’t trust out of his sight and that Visgaer thing. He must be relying on the remote location to keep them safe.”

  “Maybe,” Lita whispered, “but I’d just as soon run into neither a monster nor a horde of vampires, so let’s watch our asses.”

  “I can handle myself,” Rain said as he drew his collapsed staff from inside his coat.

  “I’d still feel a lot better if you carried a gun.”

  “You’d be surprised how many bullets I can take and stay standing.”

  “Yeah, well, Cleric carries a sawed-off twelve-gauge in his coat. One shot from that will blast you in half, so like I said, watch your ass.”

  Rain nodded and started moving close to the side of the coliseum. Lita was right behind him.

  “The way this is built, it looks like there’s an inner and an outer wall,” Rain whispered as they made their way carefully around the large building. “I doubt the inner door is across from the outer one, so we’ll probably have to make our way through a hallway. You watch out behind us, I’ll take the front.”

  “You got it,” Lita replied. “How are we on time?”

  Rain glanced out at the horizon, which was growing lighter blue with each passing moment, then up at the moon, which only had about a quarter-crescent of white left on the edge of the red shadow spilling over it. “Maybe twenty-five minutes.”

  Lita grimaced. “I hate working on a fucking deadline. And you should have brought your sun gear.”

  “This’ll be over well before the sun crests the coliseum wall, one way or the other,” Rain said.

  About a quarter of the way around the coliseum, they came upon a small open doorway. Dim, flickering light spilled out from it, illuminating the cracked, uneven earth at their feet. Rain pressed his back against the outside wall, gripped his staff tightly, and carefully peered around the corner, first to the left, then to the right. Both directions looked the same: bare, stone hallway curving around to disappear, illuminated by a torch in a wall sconce every dozen feet or so.

  “Take your pick,” Rain whispered, nodding to the doorway. Lita dashed across it, backed against the wall on the other side, and took a look for herself.

  “Fuck, I dunno. Left, I guess.”

  Rain nodded and proceeded inside. Lita took up the rear, walking backwards, keeping her gun drawn and aimed at the empty hallway as they moved, quickly but quietly. The corridor had no floor, making it fairly easy to silence their footfalls on the bare dirt.

  After they’d been walking a while, Rain came to an abrupt halt and Lita backed into him with a grunt. Looking over her shoulder and past his arm, she saw why he had stopped and turned to face the obstacle herself. Just ahead, the hallway ended at a single door. It was a simple thing, wooden planks thrown together with a pair of cross boards, held up by barrel hinges. It didn’t even have a knob, just a hole to grab it by.

  Rain’s nostrils flared and he gritted his teeth.

  “What is it?” Lita asked, sensing his tension.

  “Vampires,” he replied. Together, they advanced on the door.

  Slowly reaching for the door, Rain felt a familiar tightening in his stomach. Something about being at the end of a long, dim hallway, opening a mysterious door with the knowledge that danger could creep up behind him at any time. He forced himself to stop breathing, collect himself, and just open the damned thing.

  He did so very carefully to be sure he didn’t make a sound. When he saw what was inside, his jaw clenched, and he heard Lita take in a sharp breath.

  The room was a worker bunkroom. It had no windows, just six pairs of stacked beds, three per wall to the left and right. Each bed held a ratty military-grade blanket and a pillow without a case. Unlike most such rooms, this one did not smell of masculinity and body odor. It reeked of hollow, decrepit death.

  Rain’s quick eyes counted the piles of dust almost instantly. Three of the lower beds were covered with it, and possibly some of the higher ones as well. They were the first to go, killed before they could even rise. There were four in various spots on the floor. Those had been kicked around and stepped through, their remains disturbed by the ensuing fight. He couldn’t quite tell how many vampires there had been to begin with, but he knew there was only one left intact.

  And he wouldn’t be much longer.

  The Visgaer had its curved back turned towards Rain and Lita, the well-defined spurs of its scraggly spine jutting out as it stood hunched over its final victim. They could not see what it was doing to the vampire, but they could see the vampire’s arms, held splayed out at his sides by some invisible force. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, blood pouring off his fingertips. He was emitting a wet, guttural, choking sound.

  Rain reached out and placed his hand on Lita’s chest, just above her breasts. He pushed softly and glanced at her, nodding as he began to slowly back away from the open doorway. She moved with him. They had retreated a full three steps—were about to turn away, in fact—when the Visgaer suddenly whipped its head around to face them, its bandage-covered eye sockets seeming to stare straight into them. When it turned, they could see the vampire in its grasp. Lita’s stomach turned when she realized that not only had the vampire been eviscerated, but the Visgaer’s long claws were plunged up under his chin and all the way through the roof of his mouth. His lips hung open, blood pouring out over them. His eyes were rolled into the back of his head, his eyelids twitching. Lita was astonished that something could still be moving after all of that, undead or not.

  The Visgaer took in a breath, its thin grey skin pulling even more taut against its emaciated ribs before it released a horrifying screech and used its free hand to tear the vampire’s head clean off with a moist ripping sound. Both pieces of the tortured creature immediately crumbled to dust.

  “Go,” Rain whispered forcefully. “Now!”

  “Fuck that. I’m not leaving you alone with—”

  Rain shot her a quick look, keeping the Visgaer in his periphery. It didn’t make a move for them, only tilted its head slowly to the side like a curious bird, as though it was interested in their conversation.

  “That thing just tore apart a room full of vampires. I’ll be lucky if I can slow it down. Get to Alex and Amelie,” Rain hissed.

  “Oh, I’ll fucking slow it down,” Lita said as she pushed Rain’s hand away. She quickly raised her handgun and fired three shots, each one making a pop as it left the barrel.

  Even Rain’s eyes weren’t fast enough to watch the bullets’ movements clearly, but they could make out a blurred path. He couldn’t be positive, but as he saw the three black lines extend across the room, he could have sworn that they curved away shortly before reaching the Visgaer. The first hit the stone wall to its right, kicking back a cloud of dust. The second went to its left, emitting the same. The third actually arced downward and buried itself in the dirt.

  “No. Fucking. Way,” Lita w
hispered hoarsely.

  “Go!” Rain ordered, pushing her back once more, this time with far greater force. She stumbled backwards a few steps and would have fallen had she not caught herself on the hallway wall.

  Without waiting for an argument, Rain stepped into the bunkroom and slammed the door. He then drew one of his daggers and buried it almost hilt-deep just below one of the hinges, jamming the door so it couldn’t be opened from the outside.

  When he turned around, the Visgaer was looking at him again. Its mouth was open, its long, sharp fangs dripping viscous fluid, its thick black tongue writhing.

  Rain raised his staff, gripping it tightly in both hands. His eyes turned down into a glare and his lips turned up into a smirk. “Shall we?”

  The Visgaer lunged at him.

  TWENTY-SIX

  “It’s time,” Michael said. He was standing near the center of the Construct’s arena, staring up at the almost eclipsed moon.

  “Looks like you’re on, kid.” Cleric said as he approached Alex. He and Amelie were still bound to their post, gagged as promised. Between them, their fingers were intertwined, and when Cleric reached down to untie the young man, Amelie squeezed his hands tightly and started to yell indistinctly around her gag. Alex, however, simply sat still and remained silent, watching Cleric work.

  “This will all be over soon, Amelie, I promise,” Michael called.

  After releasing Alex’s ankles, Cleric made quick work of the bonds tying his hands, making sure Amelie’s remained secure in the process. He then removed Alex’s gag and tossed it aside. “Glad you’ve decided to face this like a man,” Cleric said, gesturing for him to stand.

  Alex spat a bit of blood at his captor’s feet. Cleric only chuckled and motioned to him again. When Alex stood, Cleric moved behind him and took tight hold of his upper arms, then began leading the young man towards the center of the arena.

  They had advanced maybe ten feet before Alex suddenly bent at the knees and jumped, throwing his head back as he did. He felt the crown of his skull connect with Cleric’s chin and heard the man grunt as he released his hold. Alex quickly dashed away from him and stooped down to snatch up two grapefruit-sized stones from the ground. Turning to face a slightly dazed Cleric, he took a few steps back and lowered himself into a defensive position, gripping a stone in each hand.

  “I’ll show you how I face things like a man,” Alex said, his lips curling back from his teeth in a snarl.

  Cleric rubbed his jaw and grinned broadly. “You just don’t give up, do you kid? I’m almost ready to start rooting for you. Under different circumstances, you might have made a good hitter.”

  “Come see for yourself,” Alex replied, tightening his grip on his makeshift weapons.

  “You really want to play this game?” Cleric asked. “Just because I can’t kill you, that doesn’t mean I can’t make you bleed.”

  Alex said nothing.

  “Alright, kid. Let’s play,” Cleric said and began to advance on Alex.

  “There will be no games!” Michael yelled. Both men looked to see him standing by Amelie, his sword drawn, the tip pointed at her throat. “Drop the stones and stop trying to resist your role in this, or I will be forced to make her die slowly. Neither of us wants that, I think.”

  “Michael…” Cleric warned in a low tone, his large hands balling into fists.

  “You’re going to kill her no matter what I do,” Alex spat.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Michael replied, “but the other way she will go along with you, and quickly. This way, she suffers, and you will be forced to watch.”

  Cleric looked to Alex, whose eyes moved from Michael to Amelie. She shook her head vehemently, her own eyes wide. Giving her a regretful look, he sighed and released his hold on the stones. As they landed on the bare earth with a thud, he dropped his hands to his sides, defeated.

  Michael sheathed his sword and Cleric approached Alex. “That was impressive. So much so that I’m not even going to hit you in the head,” he said, almost admiringly, before grabbing the young man’s shoulders and ramming a knee into his stomach. Alex released a strangled cry and dropped to his knees, holding himself.

  Not about to give Alex time to recover, Cleric grabbed him by his underarms and dragged him to the center of the arena. There, the two long chains Cleric had been carrying earlier were dangling from opposing pillars of the altar, and at the end of each was a large iron cuff. Cleric yanked Alex to his feet and locked up each of his wrists, then stepped back to survey his work. The young man was chained so that his arms formed a Y and his feet barely held enough purchase on the ground to support him.

  “Is that what you had in mind?” Cleric asked, looking to Michael.

  “Yes, that will do,” Michael said absently, his attention elsewhere. He was standing at a waist-high, unmarked stone slab near one of the rune-inscribed pillars. Upon that slab sat the wooden chest he had kept hidden in his bedchamber study, and he was staring down at it pensively.

  “Are you planning to put that thing on at some point?” Cleric asked.

  Michael almost seemed to flinch at the question, his wide eyes jolting up towards Cleric. For just an instant, he looked like a startled fawn. Then, in a blink, his countenance became one of annoyance. “Of course I am. I already told you, the gauntlet and its power take a heavy toll on the body. There is no reason for me to needlessly waste energy by putting it on before it is necessary to do so.”

  Just then, everyone in the arena looked to one of the coliseum doors as the Visgaer’s loud screeched echoed through it.

  Michael shuddered. “Cleric, while I take no quarrel with your pet killing off our wretched workforce, does it really have to—”

  “That was a warning cry,” Cleric interjected, throwing open his coat and drawing his shotgun. He took several steps backward, positioning himself such that he could keep an eye on both coliseum doors.

  “Are you saying that someone followed us here?” Michael asked, alarmed.

  “If they did, it doesn’t matter. The Visgaer has them now. And even if they somehow manage to get past him, I’ll be ready.” He waved a hand at Michael. “You just focus on your job. Start as soon as you can.”

  “Of course,” Michael said. He pulled off his rosary and looked down to the key hanging from it. “The time is close now…”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  As the Visgaer moved towards him, its claws and teeth bared, Rain willed himself not to move until the last possible second. Finally, just as it was bearing down on him, he ducked and sidestepped simultaneously, lunging forward with his staff out to the side. He felt it connect hard with something near the Visgaer’s midsection just as its talons hissed past his ear, but as he spun around and took two steps back, he cursed silently, realizing he had only hit a telekinetic buffer guarding the creature’s flesh. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get past the defenses of a creature that could reroute bullets, but he hoped that it was not unlike blocking with a limb, and that perhaps he could still hit flesh he moved faster than the creature could defend. His attacks would have to be quick and surprising, and—worse—delivered from a very close range.

  As he dropped into a ready stance once more, the Visgaer pivoted around and lunged at him. Again, Rain waited until the last second and swung his staff down in a hard arc at the top of its head. He was not nearly fast enough. The Visgaer shot its hand up, stopping the staff inches away from its palm. It lashed out with its other hand, flaying open Rain’s shirt and cutting three deep gashes in his midsection. Rain groaned, but barely had time to truly feel the wound before the Visgaer tightened its telekinetic grip on his staff and whipped both it and him across the room, slamming him hard against the door. It creaked loudly and Rain sank to the floor, his head swimming.

  As he sat there slumped, unmoving, his mind not seizing on anything more than the dancing white orbs in his brief semi-consciousness, he found himself just cognizant enough to notice something interesting. For a moment, the Visgaer looke
d confused. It turned its head to the left and right, seeming to be looking for something. Then, as Rain moved to stand, it turned immediately and looked straight at him, hissing loudly.

  Rain suddenly formed a theory, and he knew just how to test it. He moved again into a ready position and the Visgaer came for him a third time. This time, just before it attacked, Rain sidestepped smoothly but made no move to counter. Instead, he slipped between the nearest bunk bed and the wall and pushed himself back into the corner. He realized immediately that if he was wrong, he might have just gotten himself killed. However, he forced that and every other thought out of his head as he stood perfectly still.

  Emptying his mind was easy for him. Because he never truly slept, at least not the way living creatures do, he had long ago trained himself to shut off his thoughts every day when he lay down in his bed. Like his forced breathing, it gave his existence a semblance of human normalcy. There were times when his demons haunted him so fiercely that he was unable to achieve this state no matter how hard he tried. But somehow, in the midst of this battle, he slipped into it seamlessly.

  And it worked. The Visgaer stood up straight and suddenly began whipping its head back and forth, looking around like a frantic predator who had just lost sight of its prey. Rain was right. If he remained perfectly still, in mind and body, the Visgaer could not see him. It made perfect sense, really. Its sight relied on perception of movement and thought. Without those, it was blind. He wondered briefly how the thing didn’t run into inanimate objects, but when the Visgaer turned on him and hissed, he decided now was not the time to ponder such things.