Do Not Go Gentle

by James W. Jorgensen

  “Well, based on what I’ve seen lady, you deserve a lot worse,” Jamie replied in an even voice. He had been in several confrontations over the years. Jamie knew that he had to stay calm and keep his wits about him if he and his team were to have any chance of survival.

  * * * *

  Other than Jamie, the voices were muffled, but audible. Eileen frowned at her cell phone. She could barely make out Gonzalez’s words, but once Sedecla entered the room and spoke, Eileen could clearly hear both sides of the conversation. After listening for a few moments, Eileen made up her mind—she punched the “end” button on her phone, then called Sully’s home phone. Jamie had told her to call 911, which she would—right after giving Sully a “heads up.” They would still be behind Boston 911, but at least she could get him up and moving. Eileen also knew that Sully would call Frank Griffin. Her heart beating as fast as a Gene Krupa drum solo, Eileen listened to the ringing. She started saying a prayer, half-aloud at first, then only in her mind when she heard a groggy Bob Sullivan answer the phone—“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle— ”

  * * * *

  Sedecla glided to within about a dozen feet of Jamie and his group. Seeing them tense, she laughed. “This is close enough. Trust me. Emilio will open fire at the slightest movement from any of you.” Gonzalez laughed a short, ugly barking sound.

  “So why ain’t we dead already, toots?” Louie asked.

  “Don’t goad her,” Darcelle hissed, poking him in the ribs.

  “Oh, you shall be dead shortly, I can assure you both, Mister Lombardi,” Sedecla replied, inclining her head briefly. “Ms. Lopes—Darcelle, I believe, but then, you two are quite difficult to distinguish.”

  “I shall repeat his question,” Hanrahan rumbled, an imperious, commanding tone in his voice. “What is the purpose to this discussion? You know why we are here.”

  “Oh, I understand why you are here, druid,” Sedecla snapped back. “I understand you all believe that you can somehow defeat me, but you are mistaken. Even if you could, through some impossible trick, find a way to defeat me, what makes you think that my men would let you leave alive?”

  “We have no illusions about the likelihood of our success,” Jamie replied.

  “Then why did you come?”

  Jamie and Sedecla locked gazes, neither looking away from the other. “Because you left me no choice, bitch,” he said in a soft, hard voice.

  After several moments, Sedecla laughed. “Then you leave me no choice either, Detective Griffin.”

  Everyone in the room tensed at her words. Jamie and Sedecla were so focused on each other that neither was aware of anyone else in the room. Both were stunned to see Sedecla’s arms fling outward as if she were throwing something. Jamie saw a small, dark object fly out of her hands.

  “Noooo—” Sedecla shrieked. The object sailed to Jamie, who caught it out of reflex. As Gonzalez’s men raised their guns to shoot, Sedecla gestured for them to stop and cried out, “No shooting. You might hit the shedim. No one shoots unless I command it.” She turned back toward Jamie and his group, and then bowed slightly. “A nice trick, druid,” Sedecla said. “Do you think that only you, the fili, and the cailleach can levitate objects?” Sedecla made an imperious gesture with the index finger of her right hand, extending it toward the statue, then jerking her finger toward her body.

  When nothing happened, Hanrahan bowed in a mocking imitation of Sedecla. “A nice trick, witch. Do you think that only you can erect a shield?”

  Sedecla’s beautiful face contorted in rage, and she thrust both hands out in front of her, a wordless cry of fury erupting from her throat. Golden light arced from her hands and coruscated in hisses and sparks against a teal colored shield that surrounded Hanrahan and his companions. The druid staggered, but Ríordán and Lucy, who now stood on either side of him, kept him from falling by pressing their hands to his back and adding their strength to his own. Hanrahan groaned and held both hands in front of himself. His face twisted in a grimace. “Griffin,” he grated. “You have the witch’s power source. Destroy it before she destroys us. I cannot hold her for long.”

  Jamie looked down at the small object he had caught. It was a small, dark, stone statue. It looked like a hideous cross between a snake and a spider, with four clawed arms and two legs. Just touching it made Jamie’s skin crawl—the statue gave off an oily, nauseating heat and was writhing within his grasp. “How?” he asked Hanrahan, almost in a daze.

  “Smash the gods-damned thing,” the druid shouted.

  As he raised the statue in his right hand, however, Jamie stopped as he looked at Sedecla.

  “Don’t look at her,” Lucy cried. “Avoid her eyes.”

  Too late. Jamie was transfixed and unable to move. Everything and everyone else in the room stopped, like some clockwork toy winding down slowly. Sedecla’s eyes grew until they reached out and swallowed him whole.

  Everything disappeared. Jamie was in a dark place, surrounded by a small circle of golden light. It was quiet, with only the thumping of his heart as he examined the statue still cupped in his right hand. Jamie studied the basalt idol. He felt both repelled by and attracted to the object. It grew alternately lighter and heavier. Rough, then smooth to the touch. Leathery, then slick like marble. Dry, then slimy. Dark, then translucent. Odorless, then putrescent. Hot, then icy cold. The statue’s shape underwent a bizarre series of metamorphoses—while it retained its basis appearance of a spider-snake, it started out with scaly skin, then was covered in rank, filthy fur, then feathered, then hairy like a tarantula, and finally back to its original form. A soft, silky voice interrupted Jamie’s scrutiny.

  “Beautiful, is it not?”

  Jamie turned to see Sedecla approaching him, strolling, into the expanding circle of light to stand a foot away from him. He slowly shook his head. “Not the word I’d use for it.”

  Sedecla laughed a clear, chiming sound. “True—no single word can accurately capture its essence, Detective Griffin. May I call you Jamie?”

  Still shaking his head, not from negation, but quicker now, in an attempt to clear it, he replied, “I don’t care what you call me—I’m destroying this abomination.” He raised his right hand slightly higher.

  “Fine,” Sedecla said, feigning an indifference that Jamie could sense was false even while she held him in this place that was no place. He could not see past the darkness that surrounded the circle of light. Had she teleported him somewhere or was this all an illusion?

  As if he had spoken aloud, Sedecla now shook her head. “This is no illusion, Jamie. This is real—just not the reality you usually inhabit.” She held his gaze, and Jamie realized that he needed to break this staring contest if he was to destroy the statue. “You will only be harming yourself and your family if you destroy my shedim,” she said calmly, indicating the statue Jamie held.

  “Oh, really? How does taking you down harm me or my family?”

  “Let me show you,” Sedecla replied, waving a hand in front of his face.

  Jamie’s mind reeled, and he felt nauseated as the scene around him raced away, replaced by familiar surroundings—he was home. He looked around in confusion—the witch still stood in front of him, and he watched himself seated at the dining room table with Eileen and the girls. They were having a typical evening meal—lively, animated conversation that had been a normal part of their dinners before Jamie became ill. Jamie stared.

  “This isn’t real,” he managed to whisper.

  “No, it is not real,” Sedecla whispered, drawing close to him, “but it could be real—again.”

  Jamie listened to himself recounting a humorous incident from a case he was working. Jamie felt his heart turn to lead within his chest—this was his old life—the side of the bridge that his damned illness had destroyed. This was when he had been happy.

  “You could be happy again,” Sedecla said in a soft, seductive voice. “I can make you well again.”

  Jamie started, turning back from th
e domestic scene. “You lie,” he murmured.

  Sedecla put her arms around Jamie, and he cradled the statue of the shedim to his chest. She strolled behind him and stood at his right side, her hand gesturing back toward the scene. “No, Jamie, I speak the truth. I can heal you. I am one step away from having power beyond my wildest dreams.” Sedecla pulled Jamie’s gaze to hers.

  “Simply return the statue to me. Give it back to me, and I shall give you back your old life.” She paused, gauging the impact of her words. “I can give you more, if you wish.” Jamie blinked as a rapid stream of images replaced the scene—Jamie and his family, wealthy and living in a larger, nicer house, driving expensive cars and wearing designer clothes. Summering on the Cape and traveling to exotic places, as Eileen had always wished. Himself not only healthy, but able to spend more time with Eileen and the girls. Jamie as Chief of Police, as Senator, as President. Eileen running her own music conservatory. Each of the girls enjoying successful careers, with loving husbands and many children of their own. Scenes darted and dashed before Jamie’s glazed eyes like minnows dancing in a stream. Sedecla’s voice was threaded through each of the scenes—the voice of a friend, a trusted ally, a benefactor, describing in detail the gifts that she could give to Jamie, to his family, to his friends. Jamie barely noticed as Sedecla stepped in front of him, then to his left side. “None of this has to end, not ever,” she whispered, making the words seem like his own. “I have lived for many lifetimes. So can you and yours.” Sedecla walked back around behind Jamie and leaned close to his right ear, her breath warm and heavy. “Return my shedim. A simple thing for you to receive all this in return, is it not?”

  Jamie’s mind roiled in turmoil, emotions washing over him like ocean waves—battering him, breaking him down, and making him doubt himself. I could have my life back. The thought thundered through his head, threatening to pull him under and make him accede to Sedecla’s request. It would be so easy. Who could blame me? Who would know? Yet, even as he felt himself sliding into the abyss, another part of Jamie, deep within himself, hidden from the witch’s view and far beyond her understanding or belief, was resolute. Swinging ponderously open like the reinforced door of a massive bank safe, white light trickled out from Jamie’s inner self. The light flared into blinding brilliance as the door swung open and all of Sedecla’s blandishments shriveled, turned to dust, and blew away by the winds of Jamie’s conscience, principles, and the ethical system by which he had lived his entire life. Back in Sedecla’s amphitheater, Jamie saw his friends and enemies gaping at him and at Sedecla. Both bathed in the brilliance that came from within Jamie.

  Sedecla raised a hand before her face, squinting to maintain her gaze at Jamie. “What are you doing, fool? Would you throw everything away? Would you destroy your life?”

  Jamie felt calmness bubble up from within himself. It warmed him, relaxed him, and stilled his unrest. Faces raced in front of his eyes—his family, his parents, Eileen’s parents, his siblings, his friends. Then he saw Cal and Mario Ramirez, both dead by Sedecla’s hand, and finally, the witch’s mostly faceless victims. “No,” Jamie replied, his voice seeming distant and faraway, as if someone else was speaking through him, for him, or on his behalf. “I would save them all.”

  “Do it soon,” Hanrahan’s gravel voice rang out, each word grating as if it were being ripped from his throat.

  “We—cannot—hold—her—back—any—longer.”

  Jamie saw that the teal sphere surrounding him and his friends had contracted until it was nearly touching them. Hanrahan, Ríordán, and Lucy were all on their knees, pushing with all of their might. Their faces contorted in pain, and Jamie could see that they were indeed almost finished.

  Looking back to Sedecla, Jamie shook his head. His right hand, which had sunk to his side while struggling with the witch, now shot back high over his head.

  “You cannot,” Sedecla shrieked, stabbing out with everything she had—black, red, and gold fire lancing from her hands, her eyes, and her mouth and inundating the druid’s shield.

  “I can,” Jamie whispered in response. He whipped his arm toward the floor, releasing the stone statue. It shattered on the floor.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jamie slowly regained sight and hearing. Although his vision was blurry, Jamie could make out the figures around him—Sedecla sat unconscious ten feet away from him, her back against the door to her ritual chamber. A glance across the room showed Gonzalez and his men beginning to stir. Hanrahan, Ríordán, and Lucy were sprawled on the floor in front of Jamie. Louie had regained one knee, as had Daphné and Darcelle.

  Jamie looked behind him—there were several sets of metal shelving just behind him and his team. He leaned down to Louie and the twins. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?” He could hear his own voice, but it sounded like it was coming from underwater. They all looked at him and nodded. “We have to make some cover before the others regain consciousness.” He pointed at their opponents, then back at the shelving behind them. “Louie, come help me pull these down to make a barricade. Girls, see to the other three and get them back here pronto.”

  Everyone nodded and Louie followed Jamie to the shelves. It was quick work knocking them down, and they had just finished stacking one set of shelves atop the other when Daphné and Darcelle joined them, with Hanrahan and Lucy dragging Ríordán’s unconscious form between them. Jamie looked back and saw Emilio Gonzalez raising his gun, along with several other men who had recovered enough to react. “Everybody down,” Jamie shouted.

  As shots rung out, Jamie’s training took over. He forced himself to slow his breathing, and everything crawled as he became hyperaware of his surroundings. Gonzalez and his men had started firing. Before they got off more than a couple of rounds, however, Louie sent them scrambling for cover by opening up with his Uzi. Jamie could tell by the deliberate way Louie handled the gun that he had used it many times before. Automatic weapons always got away from first-time users. Even though it isn’t as accurate as a handgun, the spray forces opponents to take cover, which is exactly what Louie wanted. Jamie heard a scream of pain beside him and snatched a quick glance—he saw Darcelle down on the ground, holding her bleeding head. No. Damn it, no. Jamie thought as he kept returning fire. The three magic workers laid face down and appeared to be uninjured, but Jamie could not tell if Ríordán had regained consciousness.

  The gunfire became one-sided as Jamie and Louie continued firing while Gonzalez and his men sought cover. Jamie managed to clip Gonzalez in the leg, spinning him to the floor, when a piercing shriek from the side of the room brought him and everyone else in the room to a halt. He looked to Sedecla, who was now standing in front of the door to her ritual chamber. The witch stared in wide-eyed horror at a sphere of black and gold, the size of a blue-ribbon pumpkin, hovering over the spot where Jamie had destroyed the statue. Jamie held his hands out, and his team lowered their guns, as did their opponents. By unspoken agreement, everyone stopped to watch the tableaux across the room. Sedecla’s continued screams punctuated the eerie silence, her arms spread out wide before her. As Jamie watched, the black and gold sphere cracked open, and a nightmare crawled out.

  “Madre di Dio,” Louie said. “What the hell is that?”

  Jamie knew and wanted to look away, but could only watch. “It’s the actual demon that Sedecla had imprisoned in her statue,” he replied in a hoarse voice.

  The shedim was much larger than the small basalt statue that Jamie had smashed. The creature wriggled out of the cracked sphere and unfolded itself until it was easily twice the size of any man in the room. Like the statue, the shedim had a flat, cobra-like head and hood tapering into a long neck that descended into a human-shaped body, but with four arms and two legs, all ending in razored claws. The demon’s skin constantly shifted, from sparkling ebony scales, to shaggy matted fur, to pestilent human skin, and back to scales. Large triangular ears, with tufts of black spiky hair sticking out, sat at attention upon each side of the shedim�
�s head, and it had four coal-black eyes, multi-faceted like a spider, and chelicerae on either side of its face.

  “Nobody move,” came a voice from the back of the amphitheater. Jamie and several others glanced quickly at the police that had entered the back of the hall, and then all eyes returned to the witch and the demon.

  “Silence, witch,” ordered the shedim in its buzzing, dissonant voice. It waved a clawed hand in front of Sedecla’s face, and her ragged screaming ceased. Jamie wasn’t sure which was worse—the revolting voice of the demon or the sudden end to Sedecla’s cries. “You knew this was the price of your failure.”

  “We can still— ” Sedecla began.

  A gesture from the shedim silenced her again. “Do not attempt to bargain with me, woman,” it buzzed. “You held me trapped in that statue far too long. Now you must pay.”

  The demon darted forward, impossibly fast for something that large, and Sedecla resumed screaming as the shedim sank its fangs into her neck.

  Jamie and the other horrified onlookers watched the shedim fed on the power left within the witch. While Jamie had dissipated the power held within the statue, thus releasing the demon, Sedecla still retained considerable life force. She crumbled slowly, like a sandstone statue—ancient beyond belief and finally succumbing to its age. Her perfect skin cracked and flaked away, revealing her writhing musculature, which hissed away like sand through an hourglass. Her organs—heart still beating and lungs still breathing—and tendons then dissolved, leaving only a skeleton, somehow still alive and still screaming from a tissueless, tongueless mouth. Sedecla’s eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. At last, her shrieks stopped. Her eyes popped out and the shedim’s serrated mouth inhaled them. Her bones collapsed in a heap of powder, with her skull and some larger bones still intact.

  The shedim glared around the room, but powerless against anyone except she who had summoned and enslaved it, the demon disappeared with a loud bang.

  “Janie Mac and all the saints, I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.”