by Sawyer Black
The boy’s song filled the chamber, winding in and out of the dark chant. Pastor Owen faltered. The questing tentacle paused, stretching out in shock. An oblivious Obisev continued, his worshiping face aimed at the ceiling.
The pastor shook his head as if waking from a stupor. He winced and covered his ears, the knife clanging to the floor. “What is this?”
The tentacle withdrew, and the pastor’s eyes widened in despair. “NO!” He ran to the mirror, sliding on the bloody floor, bracing himself with a hand on either side of the frame.
A rumble in the earth. A tearing in the air, and the roof split open. A Tracker’s light filled the tiny space, blinding and glorious. Obisev dropped to his knees, covering his head in terror.
Henry jerked his claws up with everything he had, and the chains shattered to fill the air with sparkling rust. He lifted his claws above his head as he stood, and drew them down in a swipe that tore Obisev’s arm off in a jet of blood that washed across Henry’s feet.
Another slash, and the man’s head rolled back, held on by only a scrap of flesh from his neck.
His body fell to the side, and blood sprayed the floor in a wave. The pastor danced away, his eyes wide with horror, filled with the glow of the Tracker’s arrival.
Do not be afraid.
Henry dropped down and slashed the ropes holding Adam to the floor. He worked the blackened stump of his left hand under the child’s head, and pulled him to his chest, rocking him back and forth.
“HENRY!” Pastor Owen screamed. “What have you done?”
You are safe now.
“I made a choice, motherfucker!”
The pastor stood up straight, tears streaming down his cheeks. His shoulders hitched with a sob, and he turned away from the Tracker’s light to face the rippling reflection of Hell. He dove into the narrowing portal, and the mirror’s image emptied with a flash of red light and a swirl of inky black smoke. Pastor Owen was gone.
Henry closed his eyes and curled over the child in his arms.
You will suffer no more.
Henry shook with fear. Dread welling up into his stomach. He hugged Adam to his chest, and when the boy squeezed him back, pride swelled to replace the fear.
The Tracker’s net fell on his shoulders, gentle and soothing.
But this time Henry surrendered himself to the angel’s mercy.
CHAPTER 36
Gray light filtered through the branches above Henry’s face. They swayed with a wind he couldn’t feel, and his chest tightened with sorrow. Without a breeze cooling his cheeks, the Tree’s movement seemed so sad.
He took a breath and pushed from the trunk with a stretch. The knuckles of his right hand popped and crackled. His left hand did nothing. He looked at his bandaged stump and sighed, pushing the horror down with an audible swallow.
I’ll never hold a mic the same again.
“We took care of you, Henry, but the hand is gone forever I’m afraid.”
Henry looked up with shocked joy spreading across his face. “Boothe? How the fuck did you make it out?”
Boothe smiled and reached down to help Henry stand. He waved the hand away, and stood on his own.
Boothe’s smile split into a grin. “I have Ramiel to thank for that. He shielded us in his light, and the fight passed over us as if we weren’t even there.”
“What about Ezra?”
Boothe’s face tightened with sorrow. “He didn’t make it. Killed by a bolt of dark energy sent down the hill by the good pastor.”
“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry.”
“Be sorry for yourself. For some reason, he loved you more than me. But I may be starting to see why.”
Henry ducked his head. “Pastor Owen got away.”
“We know.”
“But I saved the boy.”
“Yes, you did, Henry. Mandyel’s faith was not misplaced.”
“Henry!” Adam rocketed into him like he had at Mandy’s store. Henry held him tight against his chest. “Ugh, you’re squishing me.”
“Sorry, buddy.” Henry inspected him. White shirt and shorts, he kicked his bare feet to bounce off Henry's thigh. Not a scratch on his perfect skin. “What have you been up to down here?”
“Randall’s teaching me to play chess.”
“He is?”
“Yeah, and I have his queen in a corner.”
Randall’s voice floated around the tree from the stone table. “A master in the making, Henry.”
Henry nodded, and his relief made his knees shake. His grip loosened, and he covered his emotion by setting Adam down and patting his butt. “You go on back to the game, okay? I need to talk to Boothe.”
“Okay, Henry.” He grinned and ran off, his pale hair flopping.
Henry took a deep breath and turned back to Boothe. “It’s time to get what I’m owed.”
“And so it is, Henry. But there is one more thing you must do.”
He grabbed Henry's arm and guided him to the path leading away from the Tree. He put his hands behind his back and looked up at Henry from the corner of his eye. “The boy tells me you have learned to alter your form. Why walk around in the demon’s skin?”
“Because this is my true self, I guess.” Henry said it like it he’d found the answer in an encyclopedia. He lifted his shoulder in an embarrassed shrug.
Boothe laughed, his teeth gleaming. He shook his head. “You are a strange one, Henry. You have no problems learning what we try to teach you, but only after much argument. Everything on your terms.”
Henry shrugged again, uncomfortable under Boothe’s scrutiny. “Yeah, well, speaking of terms. What else do I have to do?”
“Kill the boy.”
Boothe continued a few more steps before realizing that Henry had stopped. He turned back with his eyebrows lifted in polite attention.
“Is this another of your fucking tricks?” Henry whispered.
“I’m afraid not, Dear Henry. The boy is a threat to God. To all of humanity.”
“He’s just a kid, for fuck’s sake.” He couldn’t think, and the betrayal tasted like salt.
“No, he is a weapon. You saved him from the Pastor’s sacrifice. Eliminated him as a threat. Filled with the boy’s power and Hell’s Army at his back, he would have been nigh unstoppable. Lucifer would have traded anything to see Heaven overthrown. Even command of his realm.”
“How is he a threat?”
Boothe sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand, but there’s been a battle between Heaven and Hell for a very long time. Between God and Lucifer. Adam is a threat to everything. Not just tipping the scales, but removing them altogether. It is not Adam under another’s control that terrifies us so. It is Adam under his own control that defies thought. That is why he must die.”
Henry looked over his shoulder. Adam sat across from Randall, his face still with concentration, the tip of his tongue held between his teeth. He remembered every tiny hug. The understanding look in the boy’s eyes. The moment when he had realized they both were safe. He shook his head and sniffed back his tears. “No fucking way. You kill him.”
“But I can’t, Henry. Only a demon can do it. And you’re the only one he really trusts.”
“Fuck that. He trusts you, too.”
Boothe opened his jacket and slid it off, spinning it over his shoulder to hang behind him. “You still don’t understand, do you?”
A glow behind Boothe’s neck grew as a pair of white wings spread out to wash Henry with the breeze he’d been craving under the tree. Henry staggered back, and his mind emptied of rational thought. Everything he thought resolved now crumbled away.
“Fuck this. Fuck all of this. How did you manage to become an angel?” He spat the last word out with all the disgust he could muster.
Boothe smiled, one eyebrow raising in a confident smirk. “Never underestimate the power of redemption.” His face smoothed to something grave. “And that’s what you’re being given right now. A chance at redemption. Kill the boy and you get
whatever you want. Your daughter. Your life back on Earth. We can even make you an angel, Henry. You can go back like none of this ever happened, but you have to do this. This one little thing.”
“But that little thing is a kid.” Henry’s voice came out in a desperate whine. He didn’t care. The time to give a shit about how he looked or sounded was over.
“No, Henry. He’s already been infected with the seeds of hate.”
“No, you don’t understand. He doesn’t hate. He’s fucking hurting. I’ve spent time with him. He’s only a boy. A good boy. Please …”
“Henry, this is the only chance you’ll have to get your daughter out of Hell. Are you really going to let her suffer for an eternity?”
This angel. This demon. Every moment Henry had tried to convince himself that Boothe deserved an ounce of sympathy … Henry ate it all down, buried it under the black hatred brewing in his heart.
And now to beg?
“Please,” Henry gasped. “There’s gotta be some other way.”
“I’m sorry.” Boothe shook his head, and even looked sorry, but Henry knew better. “This is what must happen.”
Boothe furled his wings and spun his jacket around to slide his arms inside, then shrugging it up to fit. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Heaven’s Blade, the knife Henry had won at the Draconis Arcanum auction.
He held it out, and Henry took it with numb fingers. It seemed to twist away from his touch, and he knew just how it felt. It was repulsive to hold such a thing, knowing its intent. To kill an angel. He looked past the Tree at the crumbling cityscape of the tormented souls lost in the Forgotten. He remembered finding Amélie in there, her ghost flitting among the ruins. Remembered that neither Randall nor Boothe had entered the mist.
Maybe they can’t?
Henry slid the sheath into the bandage surrounding his stump with a grimace. He looked at Boothe and forced his hatred and anger to recede. He drew a calming breath. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Boothe sagged in relief, a nervous smile twitching the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, Henry.”
“At least let me say goodbye, okay?”
“Of course, Henry.”
They walked back to the Tree in silence. His shadow fell across the board, and Adam and Randall looked up in unison. “I lost,” Adam said.
“That’s okay, buddy. You can’t win ’em all.”
Randall caught Boothe’s eye, and God’s newest angel nodded. Randall leaned back, covering his smile against the back of his hand, like a gentleman stifling a yawn. Henry wanted to stab them both in the face.
Henry ruffled the boy’s hair. “Hey, how about you let these guys get back to their own game, and you and me take a walk. I’ve been sitting too long.”
“Okay.” The trust in his expression made Henry want to weep. What would this boy feel when he discovered yet another betrayal?
Henry steered him toward the Forgotten, and Adam explained the game of chess. Henry pretended to listen, but when he felt they were far enough away, he squatted down and grabbed the boy by his shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes.
There was power in the child’s strange gaze. Command, and a light. Raw and untamed.
What will this child become?
“Adam, you have to listen to me, okay?”
He nodded, his eyes wide and still full of trust.
“You see the mist we’ve been walking toward?”
Another nod.
“When I tell you, I need you to run there as fast as you can. Into the mist and don’t stop, okay?” From the corner of Henry's eye, he saw Boothe stand and button his jacket. “Adam, please!”
The boy stepped out from under Henry's hands, shaking his head in confusion.
Henry slid the knife from under the bandage, slinging the sheath off to expose the blade. Black motes of power crawled along the edge like ants, and a bone-numbing cold crept up his arm to the elbow.
Adam jumped back with a hiss, flinching from the blade’s dark power. “I don’t understand.”
Tears sprang into the boy’s eyes. Boothe moved toward them.
“They want me to kill you, Adam. With this knife. They want me to do it because I’m the only one who can.”
“You can’t kill me, Henry. You saved me!” He lunged forward, ducking under the knife to grab Henry in a hug that banished the seeping cold from Heaven’s Blade.
“I know,” Henry whispered into his ear. “That’s why you have to run.”
He pushed the boy away, and Adam stepped back, shaking his head. Sobs racked his shoulders. He wanted to stab himself in the neck. Bleed out in the dry grass and never have to disappoint anyone ever again.
Boothe broke into a jog. “Henry?” His voice strident with concern.
Henry leaned forward and shouted into the boy’s face. “Run!”
Adam jumped back, shock freezing his body. Tears pouring down.
Henry pushed the boy away and screamed, “RUN!”
Adam tore off like a shot, his wail of pain trailing over his shoulder.
“Henry!” Boothe shouted. “What are you doing?”
Henry pushed to his feet. He held the knife in his fist and closed his eyes. Imagined it slicing through Boothe’s throat. After all, it was made to kill an angel. He opened his eyes to watch Adam recede into the distance.
The mist parted in front of the tiny sprinter, closing over him as he disappeared into the Forgotten.
Wings thundered behind him, and Henry didn’t bother turning around.
He wrapped himself in the shadows, pulling them from the base of every wilting bush along his path. Every rock casting darkness under the gray sky. Every scurrying creature stuck in Nowhere, a Hell of its own between worlds.
He shot away from the light, rocketing through the black that stretched to fill the spaces between one breath and the next, and he launched into the Forgotten with Boothe’s enraged voice racing behind him.
“HENRY!”
TO BE CONTINUED …
WANT MORE MONSTROUS?
He’ll unleash hell to save his daughter.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
How do you take that first step?
You’ve already convinced yourself there’s nothing you can do, and besides … it’s not your fault. Everything’s a choice. Cookies or carrots. Red or white.
Heaven or Hell.
Henry fascinates me. It seems like he’s always looking for the easy way out. The thing that requires the least amount of effort. The thing that lets him keep his head down. Hiding.
Nope.
Henry does whatever hurts. That’s how he atones for being wrong without having to admit it. He’s good at being a victim because he’s had lots of practice. Then, something changed.
When my granddaughter was born, I remember looking into that perfect little face. Into those eyes that I knew were focused on mine, and I saw myself as she saw me. Not the flaws or the mistakes, but the person she knew me to be. Or the one she knew I could be.
I felt like I could never live up to it. Like I had a lot of work to do, and that was okay. Falling into her pure gaze made me realize that the work was the easy part. The hard part was that first step.
Henry felt something similar when Amélie was born, but the hard part for him was ignoring it. He did it for years, all so he could continue to punish himself, because he didn’t feel worthy of the forgiveness he saw in his baby girl’s eyes.
He was reminded of it when he met Adam, and only after admitting that he only had himself to blame, was he finally able to accept that forgiveness. But, it was his own forgiveness he had been seeking.
Not from Amélie or Adam. Not Sam or even God. Henry Black had to forgive himself.
I mentioned before that I saw a little of myself in Henry, and just like I wanted to be a better man, I wanted Henry to be better, too, but he resisted me at every turn. No matter what, he wanted to fuck everything up.
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I was given the responsibility of continuing Henry’s story, and that stubborn bastard wasn’t cooperating.
He’s not just words on a page to me. He’s alive. He might even be my friend, and like some friends in the real world, sometimes you have to accept them for who they are, even if they hurt you. Even if they hurt themselves.
It was almost like I had to forgive him, too. Sometimes, you take that first step without even knowing it.
Thanks for reading,
SB
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sawyer Black moved from editing field manuals for the U.S. Army to writing work instructions for ISO 9000 certified companies. The entire time, he dreamed of writing fiction. Needing a change in scenery, he left the technical field for a job conducting Duval Street trolley tours in Key West. Lots of sun and cigars later, his dream came true. Now he’s writing dark fiction and character-driven thrillers for Collective Inkwell. With humor and heart, Sawyer explores the depths of human behavior, shining a light on the ever-present darkness that threatens the world. He also likes puppies licking his face.