by Wood, Rick
Derek’s pointing finger jolted upright, a complex thought striking him.
“What?” Cassy asked.
“There is a way,” Derek announced.
“Okay?” replied Cassy, made anxious by Derek’s tentative look.
“But you’re not going to like it.”
Cassy knew instantly where this was going.
“No, Derek, no,” she insisted, standing and waving her arms. “I am an angel. We fight in heaven’s name. There is no way.”
“What?” Martin asked.
Derek turned to Martin and explained to him, knowing he couldn’t look at Cassy while he suggested what he was about to suggest.
“There is a way to turn a soul into human form that I read about a while ago. Only, it’s… it’s not…”
“Not what, Derek?”
“Not something God would approve of. To turn a soul, something made out of heaven, into a mortal form, goes against the rules of heaven. It could only be done with devil worship.”
“Why doesn’t heaven approve?”
“Because that soul already had its turn in mortal form. It’s not allowed to be returned; it is supposed to pass on.”
“I can’t believe you’re even suggesting this,” Cassy interrupted, feeling her temperature rise and her blood boil. “This is sacrilege! God would not approve.”
“With all due respect, where is your God now?”
Cassy was silenced. As true as his point was, Cassy was not prepared to stand there and entertain the option of using evil in any way.
They would lose far more than just the world if they allowed Satanism into their battle.
“I’m not suggesting that we do it–”
“I don’t give a damn what you are suggesting.”
“Cassy,” Martin tried. “I… I don’t know.” He turned to Derek. “How would we even be able to use hell to do this? I mean, you may not have noticed, but we aren’t really on their side, are we?”
“I don’t know, Martin, to be honest,” Derek answered. “I was just thinking aloud.”
“Well stop it, now!” Cassy demanded. “Stop it, right now! Turning a soul to human form is the devil’s work; it is unnatural to how a soul is created. We find the heavenly way to do this. There must be a way – there must be.”
“And if there isn’t?”
The question hung in the air like poisonous gas.
Cassy’s fists clenched, her head frantically shaking in defiance of Derek’s impertinent question.
“Why don’t we sleep on this?” Derek suggested. “We are all tired. It’s late. We need to clear our minds and think through this with clear thoughts.”
“There is nothing to think of.”
“Then what do you suggest, Cassy?”
Cassy bowed her head. Closed her eyes.
“I will go to Gabrielle tonight,” she decided. “Hope she hasn’t entered heaven’s gate yet. See what she says.”
“Hah!” Derek laughed forcibly. “And how much help has she been, huh?”
“I will talk to her. Ask if there is anything else that can be done, any other way.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Derek answered with seething eyes, more hostile than he had intended.
She went to speak, but chose against it. She turned and left, making her way out of the house and into the street, in disbelief of what they could potentially become.
21
Derek’s house was at peace. A full moon cast a serene glow over the house of tranquillity. The house was still and calm.
Except, it wasn’t.
The silence of the hallway was filled with absent chaos.
Martin rocked back and forth in his bed, unable to sleep, troubled by thoughts sweeping around his mind like a hive of angry bees.
Derek was finally dozing. His mind was cluttered, but he was exhausted, and much in need of the rest. His long absence from rest had finally forced a light sleep.
Neither of them noticed the lock on the front door being picked with silent precision, creaking open into a soundless hallway.
Bandile treaded into the house softly and carefully, wary not to apply pressure to a creaky floorboard or to knock any ornament or artefact balanced carefully on an unsteady piece of furniture.
Dexter and Bagsy swiftly followed. Dexter’s face was full of concentration, obediently following their leader, looking back and forth, observing every shadow and every movement.
Bagsy was less subtle. His grin widened with every step he took, taking sadistic pleasure at the thought of what they were going to do once they found their victims. He secretly hoped that they weren’t cooperative – that way he could torture them more. Maim them. Tear off pieces flesh and watch as he forced them to eat it.
Nothing gave him a bigger thrill than a humiliated and helpless victim. It gave him a buzz of adrenaline that no high could otherwise outdo.
Bandile withdrew an Okapi knife. With its brown handle and large, pointed blade, this was a South African knife he had bought fifteen years ago, initially for hunting. He’d even had his wife’s first name engraved on the blade, though that name had since faded, along with his memory of her. Still, he held it tightly in his grip, treasuring his weapon along with the sentimentality he attached to it.
He placed a soft foot on the bottom step, feeling it creak and withdrawing his foot promptly. Signalling at the other two with his eyes to indicate that they should skip that step, he placed a soft foot on the step above. Slowly, but surely, they made their way up the stairs and onto the landing.
The moon cast a generous light through an opening in the curtains, casting a humble glow down the corridor. There were two closed bedroom doors that Bandile assumed were home to Derek and Martin.
As much as he would have liked to end his history with Derek with a flourish, it was Martin he was after. The only one who could oppose the heir.
This was Bandile’s ticket. His safe ticket through to a high place in hell. His salvation, his promise to the devil that he was worthy of being spared an eternity of torture and torment in their fiery pits. The only way he could ensure that the devil would look kindly upon him. That he would be saved when hell opened and demons swarmed the earth.
He had to prove himself.
Even after all he had done. The Devil’s Three was part of a deal – he needed to do something extra, something that provided true evidence of his loyalty.
Bandile placed a gentle palm against the door handle, delicately pushing it open.
There on the bed, his eyes peacefully closed, lay Derek. He looked to have aged significantly in the short time since the ritual, evidence of grey in his hair and further wrinkles on his face.
He nodded to the other two. They stepped forward to detain Derek, as Bandile turned back into the corridor.
Bandile strode to the other closed door at the end of the corridor, to forcibly gain entry to the room that must contain Martin.
Sweaty in anticipation.
Licking his lips as the door grew near.
He clutched his knife. Flexed his fingers.
One swipe and into the neck of Martin is all it would take.
No hesitation.
No point taking him hostage.
Then the devil would see that he was worthy.
He kicked opened the door and stormed into the room, pulling the duvet back, lifting his knife into the air, and–
The bed was empty.
The boy wasn’t there.
Bandile searched the room, turning the bed upside down, opening the wardrobe, throwing the desk over in a fit of anger.
He burst out the room and into the next, searching everywhere, opening every door, analysing every corner.
The bathroom was empty.
Every damn room in the house was empty.
Bandile marched back into Derek’s room, where the man crouched at the feet of Dexter and Bagsy with a bloody nose.
Bandile tucked his large hand securely around Derek’s neck, lifting him up and p
inning him against the wall. His arm shook with anger, his face curled up into an aggressive sneer, sickened to the gut with fury that the boy he was after was nowhere to be found.
“Where is he?!” Bandile demanded, growling into the face of Derek.
“Where – is – who?” Derek stuttered, struggling for breath under the force of Bandile’s heavy palm.
“The boy! Where is he?!”
“I – have – no – idea…”
Bandile threw Derek to the ground.
“Do what you need to,” he instructed Bagsy, knowing he would enjoy this task most. “Remove every tooth, every nail, and every limb if you have to. Find out where he is!”
Bagsy’s smirk danced upon his face with a fluttering excitement.
“Oh, boss,” he sang in a disjointed tune. “You are too kind…”
22
Turns out having to concentrate on every sight, sound, smell, taste and touch, day in and day out, meant that Martin could tell when something was amiss. A distant shuffle, a barely audible movement, resounded delicately from down the hallway, becoming piercing clang in his ears.
With a curious hesitancy, he crept from his bed and to the door, opening it with a small crack.
Three men. A large black man, a man with a beard, and a man covered in intimidating tattoos. Edging through the hallway, toward Derek’s door.
Martin grew alarmed. His whole body stiffened into fight or flight, his mind rapidly firing through his possible next steps.
Fight them?
Hurt them?
Kill them?
They were not demons. They were humans.
Martin’s powers were not for killing humans.
It was a line Martin had never thought about crossing.
They opened Derek’s door. Led by the large black man carrying a large knife.
Shit.
He looked around himself for a weapon.
Nothing.
He could always get Derek’s revolver.
But it was empty.
No.
I am the weapon.
He could conjure fire. He could throw wind. He could manipulate his surroundings into chaos.
But Derek…
There was no way he could guarantee Derek’s safety if he was to burst out and start a fight.
He was going to need to be more strategic.
He ran to the window, opening it and looking below. It was a steep drop. Though he was pretty sure he could dangle down, out of sight.
But what then?
How would he get back into the house?
Hearing footsteps heading toward his room, he knew he was running out of time. He needed to make a decision; however instinctive it may end up being.
He climbed out of the window and dangled on the ledge, clinging on with the tips of his fingers. He leant his feet against the wall and reached up a spare arm, closing the window behind, being careful to leave a slight gap he could still use.
He looked down.
If he fell from this, he could land on his neck.
Suddenly the vision of numerous nightmare scenarios ran through his mind.
He closed his eyes. Held on tight. Calmed his mind.
Heavy stomping pounded the floor of his room. Doors slammed open and shut. Banging of furniture being upturned and items being thrown bashed against the walls, shaking the ledge Martin loosely hung onto.
He felt his fingers slip.
Hearing the heavy footsteps grow fainter, he lifted himself back up, peering into the room.
It was empty.
He opened the window and crept back inside.
23
Derek blinked the blood out of his eye. He tilted his head, trying to avoid the trail of blood trickling from the top of his head landing in his eye again.
He spat a mouthful of blood to the floor, feeling a tooth dislodge with it. An absent softness announced itself at the back of his lower jaw where the tooth had previously been.
The skinny man with the sadistic grin and devilish inking stomped on his head once more and he saw black.
Absence. A flickering nothing with the heavy close of his eyes.
He came back around again in what he was sure was only a few seconds later. He lay on his back, staring up at a wall that spun in circle after circle.
“Thank you, Bagsy,” came a voice Derek recognised. A thick South African accent.
It could only be one man.
A sudden jolt shocked his body into alertness.
“No, it can’t be…”
Bandile Thato knelt beside Derek’s head. Derek turned to look at his old friend/enemy, feeling the muscles in his neck tighten and his jaw stiffen as he did, his body aching from the pain of numerous beatings.
Visions of Bandile imparting wisdom on him filled the front of his mind; wise words guiding him on what he should do with his concerns about Eddie – all the while manipulating him.
“Hello, Derek,” came the thick accent of the man he had once called a confidant.
“You bastard…” Derek muttered, gurgling on a mouthful of blood.
“Where is Martin?” Bandile asked, his voice remaining blank and void of feeling.
“I trusted you…”
“Where – is – Martin?”
“Go to hell…” Derek spluttered, dropping his head away.
Bandile nodded to the one he had called Bagsy.
The scrawny man mounted Derek, holding something high in his hand. Derek tried to make out what it was. It was silver, rusted. Two pieces of metal pressed together, creating a high-pitched ping as they retracted and collapsed. Such a sound had never felt more terrifying.
As Derek’s vision readjusted, he made it out. It was a clamp of some kind.
Bagsy held the clamp over Derek’s two front teeth, pressing it firmly around them, ready to do his worst.
Derek closed his eyes.
He had to endure.
He had to give Martin a chance.
“I will ask you one more time,” Bandile asserted. “Where is the boy?”
Derek scrunched his face up, wincing from the expectation of pain to come. Getting ready. Preparing himself for whatever sacrifice he had to make.
But Bagsy was interrupted.
The door flung open. Martin burst through.
Derek’s heart sank.
No…
He had prayed Martin had made his escape. There was too much riding on his existence.
And a smile raising slowly upon Bandile’s face told Derek just what was at risk.
Taking the opportunity of distraction, Derek lifted his arm and sank his fist into Bagsy’s face, knocking the bony mess onto his side. Derek rolled onto his front, moaning from the pain of the sudden exertion in his increasingly weary state, but managed to push himself to his knees.
Bandile held a knife by his side.
Martin glared at it. Derek could see him concentrating, could see him getting his gift ready.
Derek couldn’t let him do it.
To murder goes against heaven. Derek wasn’t even sure that if Martin committed such a cardinal sin, his powers would even remain.
Martin raised his hands, nursing a ball of fire in each one, glaring intently at the intruders, readying his fiery weapons.
“No, Martin!” Derek cried out.
Martin looked to Derek, confused.
“You cannot kill them,” Derek pleaded. “They are humans, not demons.”
Martin appeared thrown by this, dropping his hands to his side.
The bearded man dove upon Martin, taking him to the floor, punching him in the back of the head until his eyes closed and his face faded into submission.
Bandile took this opportunity to raise his knife, ready to plunge it into his victim’s neck.
24
Cassy marched through paradise, venomous rage in her eyes.
A beautiful landscape encompassed the entry to heaven, fruitful trees waving in a silent breeze, the scent of wildflowers complementin
g the pure air.
Cassy ignored it, staring contemptuously at Gabrielle who appeared from inside the gates to heaven, come to see what the hasty commotion was about.
“Cassy, have you changed your mind?” Gabrielle asked. “I fear it may be too late.”
“I haven’t changed my mind, Gabrielle,” Cassy insisted as she stormed toward her. “I know the gates of heaven are still shut to me; that is not why I am here.”
“Then what are you after?”
“We have a plan to bring Eddie’s soul back, but we need help.”
Gabrielle grew puzzled.
“But – how are they going to manage that?”
“With an exorcism.”
“I don’t think you understand, Cassy – how are they going to carry out an exorcism when they are either dead or condemned?”
Cassy was stumped, taken aback by the nonsensical words of her supposed friend.
“What are you talking about?” Cassy retorted. “They are not dead! And to be condemned they would have to commit an act that went against heaven, and whilst we have spoken about this, we have not–”
“Cassy,” Gabrielle interrupted. “I don’t think you know, do you?”
“Know what?”
Gabrielle waved her arm in a swift, graceful movement, revealing a glimpse of earth.
Cassy saw them.
With a sudden bolt of terror, an entwining twist of her absent guts, she fell to her knees, watching as Derek and Martin were tortured. Hurt. Beaten into bloody messes.
Cassy waved the vision away, unable to take anymore. Her legs felt weak, shaking under the pressure of the burden of what she had seen.
She tried to get back to her feet but fell once more, Gabrielle reaching through the gate to support her.
“And you can just watch this?” she shouted at Gabrielle.
“Cassy, lower your voice; these are the gates of heaven.”
“I don’t give a damn about the gates of heaven!” Cassy roared, throwing Gabrielle’s helpful hands off her.
“Don’t you see, Cassy? They only have two ways out of the situation they are in. Either they die, or they have to kill their captors.”