The Edward King Series Books 1-3

by Wood, Rick

  “I – I can’t…” he stuttered, shaking his head with a tremble. “I can’t do what you do.”

  “Derek. I asked you if you trust me.”

  He placed his open palm out to Derek, awaiting Derek’s hand in return. Derek had no idea what he would see, but he trusted Bandile. Bandile had guided him well so far. If it weren’t for him, Derek wouldn’t even be aware of the prophecy.

  Which, in a way, would have made life all that much simpler.

  “Derek?”

  Derek knew he was going to have to do it. Suck it up. Be a man. This wasn’t child’s play anymore, not some silly exorcism with some silly demon on a silly kid. This was the real world. And he was about to land smack bang into the middle of it.

  Clamping his eyes shut, he put his hand in Bandile’s, who gripped tightly.

  The wall disappeared. Everything shot past into blurs, like they were firing forward at a million miles per hour; yet Derek felt no movement in himself, no wind passing, no reaction from the elements.

  The world passing him by at superior speed halted. He was in his office.

  Eddie was there. Derek was looking at Eddie, who had his back to him.

  Eddie was wounded. He was hunched over, his posture terrible, with his hand lifted to his mouth. A vile sound of demented sucking emulated from him, something dripping on the floor before him.

  “Eddie?” Derek offered out into the room.

  Eddie froze.

  The sound ceased. Eddie did not move an inch. He remained huddled over.

  Still.

  Empty.

  “Eddie, what are you doing?”

  A deep-pitched groan crackled out of Eddie. It was the kind of groan Derek was used to from a demon possessing its victim. Maybe Eddie was host to something? Maybe Eddie was trying to tell Derek something? What was it?

  “Eddie, what is going on?”

  “I…” croaked Eddie, again in a low pitch and a crackled static in his voice.

  “Eddie?” Derek edged a step closer. As he did, the stench of decay hit him, accompanied by the deep breaths of Eddie’s sizzling throat.

  “I… am not…”

  Derek took another step closer, enough that he could touch Eddie. He held his hand out, but hovered it over Eddie’s back, afraid to make contact.

  “Am not what Eddie?”

  “I… am not… Eddie…”

  With a shot, Eddie spun around and Derek fell onto his back.

  Eddie’s face was an ocean of grey, blackness consuming his pupils and trickling down his face, dark red smeared over his lips.

  “Eddie is not alone…” sang out the peculiar voice from Eddie’s lips.

  Derek’s eyes shot open. He was on the floor in front of the skulls, Bandile standing over him, shouting at him to calm down. Derek’ eyes abruptly readjusted and he saw that he had returned to Cambodia.

  “Bandile!” he gasped.

  Bandile nodded, waiting for Derek to say it.

  “Eddie,” he whispered. “He went to hell to get me, and…”

  “Yes?”

  “He… he came back wrong.”

  12

  Kelly’s eyes shot open. Sweat drenched her forehead, leaving a damp mark on the cushion beneath her. She had only intended to lie down for a short afternoon nap, and had awoken on the sofa from another nightmare.

  It was the same situation. Another memory coming back to her, another nightmare she wished her mind had concealed. She wished the memories weren’t real, but they felt far too lucid to be anything but.

  She felt the animals’ entrails plunging through her fingers into a heap on the floor. She smelled the foul odour of the death surrounding her; pigs, cows, sheep, in piles of reeking, rotten repulsion. She felt their thick blood dripping down her naked breasts.

  But what made her gag most was the memory of the cautious movement she made over the animals, a hard feeling poking inside of her, the sight of a blood-drenched dead head beneath her as she cackled in rhythm to penetrations.

  The recollection was too much. She darted to the bathroom and only just managed to lift the toilet seat before she projectile vomited thick, lumpy blood. The smell reminded her of the odour of rotten animals, and the feelings returned once more.

  She was sick again.

  Remaining poised over the toilet bowl, she willed the thoughts out of her mind. She forcibly numbed her memory, begging the repulsion to return to the back of her mind.

  After around ten minutes, she flushed the toilet and stumbled to her knees. Using the wall to keep her upright, she fumbled her way to the kitchen and filled a pint glass with cold tap water. She gulped it down in one and returned the glass to the tap, filling it and downing it once more.

  She felt her stomach. The queasiness had still not dissipated. She fumbled to the garden and knelt on the grass. Relishing the oxygen, she took continual intakes of breath, feeling the air freshening her lungs, rejuvenating her body.

  Allowing her knees to give way, she dropped to her back and looked up at the sky. Clouds floated past in small puffs of white, the blue of the sky thick and the sun shining brightly.

  She wondered where Eddie was. He was so good when it came to helping her when she felt like this. No expertly educated post-traumatic stress disorder therapist could help her in the way he could. As much expertise as a therapist carried, they wouldn’t have the knowledge of her situation in the way Eddie did.

  He had been to hell and back. Literally. Three times.

  He had fought the devil in the depths of hell itself.

  He had let Balam, one of the princes of the underworld, take his body so he could fight him internally and free his sister’s soul of his claws.

  He understood. And she needed him. Now.

  She sat up, pausing as musky blurs floated in front of her eyes, a shaking dizziness rushing to her head.

  These feelings kept coming back in waves of attacks, reminding her of what she had done when she had shared her body with the worst entity to have ever faced humanity.

  She sniffed. She thought it was just her memory, but it wasn’t; the smell of rotting decay lingered nearby. As she made her way to her feet, she followed it.

  It drew her closer to the shed.

  It grew stronger. It was foul, sickening, and it made her gag once more.

  She placed her hand on the handle to the shed and slowly creaked it open, peering inside. It was too dark to see, but from the strength of the stench she knew this was where it was coming from.

  Kelly fell to her knees. She retched. She was sickened, indignantly despairing with disgust.

  A cat’s head. Attached to the wall of the shed with a single nail. Ripped apart bloody entrails hanging from its open neck. No body attached or in sight.

  Behind it was writing. Kelly recognised it, though she couldn’t translate it. It was Latin. She had written it all over the walls when she was possessed.

  She stumbled backwards against the wall of the house, wrapping her hands over her mouth as she coughed, willing her gagging reflex to go away. She stood far enough back that she could read the writing without having the smell the detestable stink.

  Surge, diabolum

  She had no idea what it meant. She patted herself down for a pen and found one in her back pocket. Squinting against the afternoon sun, she jotted that Latin down on the back of her hand.

  Did I do this? she wondered. I can’t have done…

  Once she had gotten over the initial shock and forced rationalisation back to her mind, she concluded she couldn’t have done it. She and Eddie had moved into this house a month previous. It was around ten months ago that the entity was removed from her. She was no longer capable.

  But if she hadn’t written it, who had?

  Knowing she was no closer to answering that question than she was to translating it, she made her way back into the house and into the living room. Eddie had a book-case full of books about the occult, exorcisms, and all that stuff. She was sure she had seen a Latin
to English dictionary.

  She traced her finger along the rows of books and, sure enough, there it was, on the third row down. She withdrew it and searched the first word.

  Surge.

  She found the correct page and used her finger to trace down the various words. Once she saw the word, she whispered the translation aloud.

  “Rise.”

  She shuffled the pages to D and made her way through to the page, running down words beginning with Di until she found the word she was looking for.

  “Devil.”

  The book dropped from her hands, clattering against the floor in a silent echo.

  Someone had attached a cat’s head, with a nail, to the wall of their shed, with the words written in Latin, with blood:

  ‘Rise, devil.’

  A single tear bled from her eye as she slumped against the wall. The wish that her ordeals were over faded like sun giving way to night.

  What would happen to her if he rose again?

  She buried her head in her hands and didn’t move until Eddie returned home.

  13

  Derek’s feet couldn’t move fast enough through the airport. No matter how much he scuffled quickly forwards, Bandile always seemed to be keeping pace beside him with leisurely strides.

  Once Derek had stood in line at the ticket queue, all the time tapping his wallet against his leg with agitation, and had urgently bought his ticket with thorough impatience toward the woman serving him, he stood with Bandile by the terminal.

  They had ten minutes to wait until Derek’s terminal opened, and to Derek it felt like ten years.

  Questions shot through his thoughts and paraded around his mind: Does Eddie know? What will he do? What is it that’s come back with him? Is it even him?

  Seeing the terror etched over his face, Bandile placed a comforting hand on his shoulder

  “Calm down, Derek,” Bandile spoke, his peaceful, South African accent providing comfort. “There is nothing you will change by worrying.”

  “I just don’t understand. Is it Eddie that has come back?”

  “Why don’t you ask me to explain it?”

  “You mean – you know? You understand what is going on?”

  “When we experience a flash such as we had in Cambodia, my trained eyes see more than yours. I saw into Eddie’s soul. I saw what is inside of him.”

  Bandile took a few small floating steps to a seat and sat down, gesturing toward the seat next to him. Derek’s open jaw and narrowed eyebrows were frozen still. His perplexity had left him rooted to the spot. He shook himself out of his transfixion and took a seat next to Bandile.

  “Where would you like me to start?” Bandile leant toward Derek, his chin propped on his hand. For the first time, Derek felt frustrated by Bandile’s calmness, though knew it was probably better than panicking.

  “Is it still Eddie?”

  “It is still Eddie. But with a bit of the devil.”

  “How?”

  Bandile momentarily shifted as he gathered his thoughts.

  “You say he came to hell to rescue you?” He awaited Derek’s nod of confirmation, then continued. “Well, the devil is not a fool, he is a powerful god, whether we admit it or not. He did this for a reason. I believe this reason – it was to latch onto him. Put a piece of the devil inside of Eddie so that he could return with it.”

  “But why?”

  “To give Eddie a push. A prod – toward his destiny.”

  Derek rubbed his hand through his hair. This wasn’t getting any better.

  “Well then, how come he can’t tell? When we see a person who has part of a demon latched onto them, they suffer. Usually they are aware of it on some level.”

  “Because he already has the devil in him. His fate means the blood of hell’s legacy has been flowing through his veins since he was born. He will not notice any difference. He is already the product of the devil.”

  Derek leant his head back and closed his eyes. He wished he could just force it all away, bury his head in the sand, pretend it wasn’t real. In the beginning, it had been oh so simple; he submitted a thesis, got his PhD, was given the opportunity to do his research and teach students.

  How had it come to this?

  “So what will happen to Eddie?”

  “He will do things.” Bandile stroked his chin. “He will do things that are… unusual. He is consciously unaware. He will do them without even registering, and he will not understand why or acknowledge what he has done.”

  “What kind of things?”

  Bandile’s warm smile turned to a sympathetic smile.

  “Bandile, what kind of things? What will he do?”

  Just at that moment, a voice echoed through the speaker: “Terminal five for London Heathrow is now open.”

  Derek didn’t move. He didn’t remove his unfaltering focus from Bandile’s eyes. It was a difficult conversation, Derek knew that; but he was not the kind of person who appreciated being protected. He needed to know.

  Yet there was still a piece of him wishing Bandile would not answer his question.

  “Bandile, what is Eddie capable of?”

  “It is not Eddie that is capable of it. It is the side of him that has been lying dormant all these years, and is starting only now to come to the forefront.”

  “I get it, Bandile, I just need to know – are his friends in danger? Will he… hurt them?”

  Bandile considered Derek’s eyes and Derek looked back. Derek had never seen panic, complacency, or anger in Bandile’s eyes. Bandile was always so calm, so wise, and knew what words he needed to impart on Derek at what time and why.

  But in that moment, Derek willed Bandile to show a negative emotion. Something to show that the urgency and dread Derek was overcome with was present in Bandile as well.

  Eddie was Derek’s best friend. He had guided him to becoming the powerful exorcist the world had known. But in doing so, Derek was also responsible for awakening this side of Eddie; and whatever the consequences, he felt guilty for them.

  Bandile said nothing. He stood. Derek followed, still staring, still awaiting an answer.

  Bandile offered his open palm to Derek, who took it warmly. Their hand shake remained still, present and motionless in a moment of mutual reluctance.

  “Come with me, Bandile.”

  “No, Derek. It is not my time.”

  Derek let go of his hand and picked up his bag, carrying it toward the terminal gate. He turned and looked toward Bandile who, for the first time, had a very slight etching of hesitancy over his face.

  As they shared a moment of eye contact, communicating their worry without words, Derek mulled over what Bandile had just said.

  “It’s not my time.”

  His time for what?

  Thinking nothing of it, he nodded at Bandile and set off on a hurried walk down the terminal.

  It was his turn to save Eddie this time, though he had no clue how.

  And as Bandile watched him leave, he realised what this whole experience had been for. It was the message he had been awaiting for so long.

  Eddie had begun the calling of The Devil’s Three.

  “I’m sorry, Derek,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  14

  Eddie loved catching up with Jenny. With the way adult life was, they could go weeks, sometimes months, without being able to meet up – but when they did, it was like they have never even been apart.

  “Lacy is doing great,” Jenny was telling him. “She’s been saving lives as a nurse, doing all that kind of stuff. Sometimes she comes home talking about a man she resuscitated that day, and I’m excited about having a new stapler in my office.”

  Eddie laughed and took a sip of his coffee.

  “Then there’s you,” she continued, “who saves people from demons.”

  “And you, without whom, I would not have been able to save Derek,” he reminded her. She blushed and smiled at him gratefully. “Don’t put yourself down.”

 
; He looked around her kitchen and peered through the doorway to the living room. It was here that he had faced his first challenge, whilst living as a bum on their sofa bed.

  Things have changed so much, he thought to himself.

  Then he looked to his best friend sitting opposite and thought: Actually, nothing has changed at all.

  “I’d better go.” Eddie finished his last sip of coffee and glanced at his watch. “Kelly is finding it really tough lately, and I don’t want to leave her alone too long.”

  “She still that bad?”

  “Think about what happened to her. She just keeps waking up screaming, remembering horrible things she had done.”

  “Oh man, that sucks. Look, if there’s anything I can do…” she trailed off, taking Eddie’s warm smile as acknowledgement. “We should double date again soon.”

  “I’d love that.”

  Jenny saw him to the door and they hugged, with promises of catching up again soon. He left, content with thoughts of friendship in his mind.

  Walking home, he thought about how he could help Kelly, but concluded he was stuck. He’d experienced having an entity dwelling within his body very briefly when battling Balam, and for even longer as Lamashtu took him over; but had never dealt with the prolonged years of possession she’d had, passed off as a mental condition. Nor had he ever been occupied by something with such overwhelming power as she had.

  He had fought his opponent and won. She was still fighting her battles.

  Do I need to pass by the office for anything? Do we need any milk for the supermarket? Should I get a TV paper?

  He felt a strong stab of guilt in the base of his belly. He was trying to find things to prevent him having to go home, because he didn’t know how to face the issues Kelly was having. Normally, he was the one people brought to their houses for solutions to their demonic problems.

  Not this time.

  As he opened the door to his car he’d had to park around the corner from Jenny’s house, he felt a soft brush against his right shin. Looking down, he saw a ginger tabby cat rubbing its body affectionately against his leg.