by D. C. Gomez
Bartholomew and I made it to the intersection of Pine and Front Streets. Constantine was right. SWAT was on the scene, and the place looked like a hostage negation right out of a movie. Police officers were everywhere. They even had snipers on the roofs. I was pretty sure the witches were not there.
“Impressive, but probably overkill.” Bartholomew was looking out his window.
“You’re getting the same vibe.” I was making a mental note. Texarkana’s rapid-response team was impressive.
“There’s no way they’re going to blast a door to another dimension in the middle of a firefight.”
Bartholomew was right. Before I could put the truck in reverse, someone knocked on my window. I almost jumped out of my seat. I lowered my window slowly.
“What are you two doing here?” Why didn’t Eric ever smile when he was on duty?
“Constantine sent us to find you,” Bartholomew said from his side. “Are they here?” Bartholomew had a way of calming people down.
Eric didn’t seem to mind answering Bartholomew, unlike me. “There are people inside. The snipers have seen several people with guns and hostages.” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Constantine said you had an anonymous call. How do you know it was reliable?” I had no idea why that was bothering me. I didn’t believe in coincidences, and this job was making me question everything.
“Abuelita called me to ask for advice. She made a tracking spell for Angelito, and it led to the station. She wanted to come and find him, but you told her the witches were after her. I told her to call 911 and leave the message.” Eric looked worried. It probably didn’t help that he hadn’t slept in a couple of days.
“Why not have her leave her name?” Bartholomew asked.
“Very hard to explain to the cops that she used a spell to track him here. Nobody would ever take her seriously again. Besides, they wouldn’t come,” I said. I knew it in my heart, because up to a week ago, I didn’t believe in any of this stuff.
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Police don’t believe in magic.” Bartholomew looked so young.
“The average person doesn’t believe in magic. Remember that. You two better get out of here.” Eric was scanning the area. He noticed one of the other cops looking in our direction.
“Let us know if you find Angelito, please.” I was praying that Abuelita was all right.
“I will. Be careful. We’re going to be busy here for a while. If they’re not here, you’re going to have your hands full.” Eric started walking away.
“Thank you, Eric.”
He nodded at us and kept on walking.
I looked at Bartholomew. “They’re not there. This is a distraction.”
“I was thinking the same thing. It’s clever. They have the whole area blocked off, and nobody is looking for them. I think Angelito is in there.” Bartholomew was looking at the building as he spoke.
“I do, too. I also have a horrible feeling that he’s well guarded.”
Bartholomew and I looked at each other.
“Isis, there’s no time. If we try to help, we’ll probably get arrested instead. Besides, if they left magical traps, Eric can handle it. We need to find them.”
Bartholomew was right. There wasn’t much we could do there.
“I know, but I feel bad. They’re going in there blind.” I took a deep breath before putting the truck in gear.
“Blind? Isis, please. Those guys live for this kind of thing. Snipers on the roof, MRAP blocking the way. This is training paradise. If they actually get to shoot somebody and rescue the hostage, that would be one hell of a story. We’re in the way.” He looked at me and smiled. He was a genius for a reason.
“When you put it that way, why ruin their life’s mission?” I made a U-turn and headed back to State Line.
“Thank you. I’m glad you see it my way.” He touched his earpiece to get ahold of Constantine. “Constantine, hostages in the building, but we’re pretty sure no witches. What do you have?”
“I got a couple of thugs hanging out by a fountain. They look heavily armed, so be careful.”
“Got it. We’re on our way.”
I nodded at Bartholomew and headed toward the post office.
“The fountain is on the back side. We’ll need to park on the side and walk the rest of the way. Constantine, can you see anyone else?” I was hoping for a little more information or details.
“That’s the weird part, Isis. It’s just two of them. No car near them or anyone else wandering around. They’re too big and wearing weather-heavy jackets to look natural there.”
“OK, so how do we find this stupid doorway?” I had no idea what I was looking for.
“It’s magic, Isis. Unfortunately, you’re going to need to use your sight.”
“Darn,” Bartholomew said. I totally agreed.
“OK, we’re on our way. Will keep you posted.” I did the sign of the cross. If any time in my life I needed divine protection, this was it. I said a quick prayer for Bartholomew and myself.
Chapter 35
We parked across the street from the post office on Woods Street. Bartholomew did one last check of the cameras and surveillance on his laptop.
“We’ve got sixty minutes on the loop before anyone notices something.” He was typing something on his computer as he spoke.
“That’s great, because we’ve got twenty minutes till sunset, so plenty of time.” I was starting to freak out.
Bartholomew put his computer away. He grabbed a police baton from his backpack. I pulled my M16 from the backseat and attached the machete to my side. I had been wondering why we needed the extended cab. Now I understood—it was easier to grab weapons from. For a cat, Constantine had a great understanding of human needs and logistics. It explained how he had managed to survive all this time. Bartholomew and I grabbed a few more handguns and plenty of ammo. We were ready for war.
We made our way toward the front of the post office. It was weird the way the place was designed. It felt as if the front of the building should be facing State Line and not the back. We stayed close to the building and made our way to the front. I didn’t know why I was surprised when the thugs came around the corner. They were expecting us. Constantine wasn’t kidding—these two were the biggest men I had ever seen in my life. One of the Incredible Hulks grabbed Bartholomew by the shirt and lifted him at least four feet off the ground.
“Let go of me, you punk.” Bartholomew was swinging his legs, but it made no difference. He looked like a baby suspended in the air.
I tried to help by rushing in. That didn’t last long. I was backhanded at least six feet back. What did these guys eat? My face was on fire. Thankfully, my M16 was still strapped to my neck, or it would have blown off. I wasn’t sure if I could take a clear shot. They had Bartholomew hanging like a sack of potatoes. I pulled one of the recorders from my pocket. I wished I’d had time to test it, but Bartholomew was starting to turn purple. I said a quick prayer and turned the thing on.
I was amazed. Two grown men dropped to the ground. They literally fell on the ground as if somebody had knocked them out. The lullaby was soothing, and I felt all the emotions I had poured into it while I was playing it. Bartholomew fell on his butt when the guy dropped him. I had not had time to warn him.
“Sorry about that, Bart. Are you OK?” I rushed over and helped him up.
“Why didn’t you do that at the beginning?” Bartholomew was looking at the thugs in shock.
“I had no idea if it was actually going to work. Here are some earplugs, just in case it starts affecting you. Come on, help me move these two off the street. They’ll draw attention.” Bartholomew plugged his ears and helped me drag the big guys next to the fountain. We sat them on the curb and tried to make them looked as natural as possible. If you believed it was just two drunk guys, it would work.
“Now what?” Bartholomew was looking around the fountain.
“It’s not going to pop up on us. Close your eyes and open your si
ght. We need to get in.”
I did the same thing I had just told Bartholomew to do. I opened my sight slowly. I wasn’t sure what was waiting for us. Thank God nothing and no one was there except for a huge split in the fountain. It was probably eight feet tall by ten feet wide. It wasn’t like a garage door with clean, even lines. This was jagged, like when you cut the corners off bread and missed pieces.
“No wonder they needed the equinox. That thing is huge.” Bartholomew was standing next to me, also staring at the huge hole.
“You’re right. I was expecting a hole like a window or a door, not an underpass.” These nuts were not extravagant. “Are you ready? You can always stay here and guard the hallway here.”
“Right, and let you get killed. No way, Isis. I’m going with you.”
I smiled at the little guy. He had guts.
“In that case, let’s cause some mayhem. Constantine, we’re going in. If we’re not back in thirty, give Death the bad news and close this door up.” I placed the recording next to our sleeping beauties as a safety precaution.
“That is definitely a last resort. Make sure to get out of there, with or without the hostages. Those witches won’t leave here alive.” Constantine’s voice was venomous.
Bartholomew swallowed and looked at me. My eyes were wide with fear. Mental note: do not make Constantine mad.
“Going in. Safeties off; shoot first; ask questions later.”
Bartholomew took the safety off his 9mm. I did the same with the M16. We nodded at each other and walked through the tunnel.
I was nervous about entering purgatory. The place was so bright, my mind was in pain. I felt as if I were choking to death in a furnace.
Bartholomew screamed next to me, “Close your sight! Hurry!”
It took me some effort to close the sight. The burning sensation stopped, and I could breathe again. I slowly opened my eyes. “Are you OK?”
Bartholomew was on his knees breathing heavily, but he nodded. I gave him a moment to recover. With my normal eyes, I took a look at purgatory. It was a version of Texarkana. Not like the real one; this one was cleaner, as if everything had been power-washed. The colors were brighter, more intense. At home we were getting ready to start fall, and the trees were changing color. The trees here were in full bloom, almost springlike. The weather was cool, and a freeze smelling of fruit filled the air. Even the air smelled cleaner. It was so weird—a permanent spring.
“I guess if I needed to wait for permission to go home, this would not be a bad place to wait,” Bartholomew whispered.
“I wouldn’t mind having weather like this all year long. I just wouldn’t want to get stuck here for eternity.”
“I agree. But where are all the people?”
“If purgatory is only a Catholic belief, I guess you’ll only have the Catholic souls who were living in Texarkana here.” It was an empty town, with no cars or people anywhere—except that stupid black van parked by the Vietnam memorial. “I’ve figured out why they needed the tunnel-size entrance.” I pointed at the van.
We made our way through the empty street. The whole thing looked spooky. Bartholomew and I kept looking over our shoulders, but nobody was around. We reached the memorial. Bartholomew took the right side, and I took the left. The memorial was technically for the Korean and Vietnam Wars. The place was in the shape of a semicircle, with a couple of benches in the middle. The trees around the park were so thick and full, it gave the area the appearance of having a roof. From the road you had the impression the place was more enclosed.
Inside the parklike area, the hostages were lying on the ground. I reached the hostages first. There were at least seven people lying on the brick floor. I reached the hostage closest to me and bent over. It was the woman from the Granary. She looked thinner than I remembered. She had bags under her eyes. I took her pulse. She was still warm. Her pulse was weak, but she was alive. My celebration was short-lived. From the back of the memorial, Angelito’s dear girlfriend, Lily, appeared.
“You really don’t give up, do you?”
I guessed these witches didn’t need any wands like in the movies. She was holding a ball of fire in her hands. I was still holding the M16, and I went for the trigger.
“Do you really want to test who’s faster?” she said.
From my right side, another one of those oversize thugs came out carrying Bartholomew. He had Bartholomew’s gun in one hand and was holding Bartholomew’s wrist in the other. Bartholomew looked pissed.
“Shoot her, Isis. They’re not planning to let anyone live, anyways.” Nobody would ever deny that Bartholomew had spunk.
“Oh, look. You brought us one with lots of years in him. Two for the price of one. I love it.” The crazy witch had the most mocking smile on her face. She was definitely demented. “Too bad your boss won’t be here to take you home.” Demented, and she thought she was funny. Great.
“Aren’t you kind? Drop the ball, and we can do this one-on-one.” I just wanted to knock her teeth out.
“Child, please. After fifty years, I don’t believe in fighting fair. Law-abiding and listening to the order—what did it get us? A dead brother. We were told we can’t go against nature. Bullshit! Those arrogant, self-righteous pigs got rich and happy, and my family died.” Lily was demented, with a revenge motive and lots of years of experience. I was truly out of my league. “What? No witty comeback?”
“Nope. I got nothing for that one. You are demented.” What I needed was a plan to get us out of there. We were facing a psycho witch with lots of power.
“Oh, that’s a shame. Angelito said you were really funny.” She was playing with the ball of fire and looking more evil by the minute.
“Obviously Angelito is not a good source of information. He fell for your crazy ass.” She actually laughed at that. “So do we just stand here and wait, or do you kill me now? I’m ready for a fight.”
“You are a feisty little intern. No, child. We lost a few specimens setting that little diversion. We’re going to make great use of you. Tie him up and then get her,” she ordered the thug holding Bartholomew.
I looked around the group and realized neither Angelito or Ana were there. That was a blessing.
Lily glanced at the thug. It was barely a second, but it was long enough for the person on the ground to kick her. The witch lost her balance, and I opened fire and marched at her. We were less than twenty feet apart, and I was gaining ground. I wasn’t sure what damage I would inflict. I didn’t care. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough. She raised a shield, and the bullets just got stuck in it. But magic required focus and energy. I had plenty of bullets, and she would get tired. She backed away from me, and I kept pace. I emptied a thirty-round magazine on her.
Lily got ready to attack back, but, unfortunately for the pretty little thing, she had to drop her shield. I ran at her and butt struck her to the head with the M16. She wasn’t expecting actual contact. Did I mention I was tired of getting beaten up? The witch went down like a sack of potatoes, and I kicked her in the ribs just for good measure. I heard a loud grunt from behind me, and I turned, M16 ready and reloaded.
“I didn’t take all those lessons to get beaten up by a giant.” The thug holding Bartholomew doubled over with his hands at his groin. Bartholomew managed to elbow him in the face on his way down.
“Nice job, Bart.” The little man was full of surprises.
“Isis, what are you doing here?”
I turned back to the witch to find my mysterious helper. Thank my lucky stars it was the famous no-last-name Bob.
“Oh, thank the Lord, Bob, you’re alive.” I walked over and helped him up. He was also thinner—but alive. He was also very conscious, unlike the rest of the people.
“You’re the famous Bob. Hi, I’m Bartholomew. How are you awake and everyone else is not?” Bartholomew was talking from his side of the memorial.
“Famous?” He looked at me, confused.
“Yeah, long story. Let’s get these tw
o tied up before they wake up.” I pulled out industrial-size zip ties. Bartholomew did the same.
“Zip ties, Isis? Are you serious? That bitch can do magic.” Bob looked very skeptical.
“Reinforced zip ties, my dear Bob. Cuts off their magic source. The only thing she’ll be able to do with these is get plastic burns. Come on, now. Grab her feet.”
Bob bent over and started helping. “Isis, what’s going on here? Where are we? This is not Texarkana—not exactly.”
I felt bad for Bob. He looked so lost. “No, it’s not. It’s purgatory.” I finished her arms and legs and pulled out duct tape to cover her mouth.
“Isis, I’m not Catholic. Does that mean I’m dead? Are you dead?” He looked as if he was about to lose his mind.
“No, we’re not dead, but we will be if we don’t get out of here soon,” Bartholomew said. “Come help me with this one.”
I moved over to help Bartholomew. The big guy started moving a bit. Bartholomew knocked him out by hitting him over the head with his gun. The boy had a lot of anger. Bob grabbed Bartholomew’s giant.
“Short version: Witches have been kidnapping people in Texarkana to steal their souls and lives. I’m now one of Death’s interns, and my job is to stop them. Simple enough?”
“Oh, wow. I’m not crazy, and this is really happening?” He was looking between Bartholomew and me.
“Mr. Bob, you are not crazy. The world is a lot more complicated than you imagine. The monsters are real. Can you handle that?” Bartholomew was dead serious.
“Everything I saw in the war was real. I’m not crazy.” Bob was talking to himself, almost spaced out. I was afraid he was losing it.
“I have no idea what you saw in the war, but it was probably real. The question is, what are you going to do about it?” Bartholomew looked at Bob patiently.
Bob looked around. “What do you need me to do?”
Bartholomew smiled and handed Bob one of his guns. “Welcome to the team.” Bartholomew had no issues making friends.
“Do you still remember how to use that?” I asked him, a little wary. I didn’t want to get shot by friendly fire.