Releasing the Demons (The Order of the Senary)

by L. D. Rose

  “Which one?”

  “Montefiore,” she said easily, even though her heart kicked a little harder. The precinct usually worked with Columbia-Presbyterian since it was closer, so she figured Veronica’s home base was a safe bet. “I need to do something, Deron, otherwise I’ll go crazy. You know that.”

  His lips curved as a wave of relief washed over her. Whew, that was close. “Yeah, I know. Sleep when you’re dead and all that.”

  She grinned at him, punching his arm playfully. “How have you been? How are things at the station?”

  He shrugged. “Same old, same old. You know the routine. It’s definitely boring without you.”

  “Aw, no one to pick on and send obscene emails to?”

  He laughed. “Oh, wait until you get back, your mailbox is chock full of goodies.” His smile faded. “When are you coming back, Val?”

  Valerie pitched a sigh. “I don’t know. Whenever Geoff deems me ‘mentally stable.’” She air-quoted. “I haven’t heard from him and the wound’s still a little raw, so I’m mustering up the courage to meet with him again.”

  “Well, you seem just fine to me. I hate to say it, but I miss your goofy ass.”

  She grinned at him. “I’m touched, Deron. Really.”

  He gave her the evil eye. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Of course.” She shrugged, laughter bubbling up inside her. “When don’t I?”

  He pushed off the Charger and opened the passenger door. “Here I am, spilling my heart out to you.” He lifted a small cardboard box off the seat, abruptly popping her bubbles of laughter. “And you just squash it like a bug.”

  “Oh, please. Get over it.”

  He handed her the box with a grin. “Special delivery.”

  She turned it over in her hands. The station’s address had been handwritten with a black marker in bold neat letters. ATTN: Det. Valerie Medeiros was scrawled on top, with URGENT right below it.

  “You said this passed the Squad check?”

  Deron nodded, all humor draining from his face. “Think it’s evidence?”

  Yes. “For which case?”

  “I don’t know, any of the hundreds we’ve had in the last few days before you left.”

  She pinned him with a glare. “I didn’t leave, Deron.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Packing tape covered the box to the point where she would have to take a blade to it. “It might be. I’ll let you know.”

  He looked insulted. “What, you’re not going to let me watch it with you?”

  “No,” she replied drolly. “What if it’s personal?”

  “What, like a porno?”

  She whacked his arm. “You have work to do anyway, Detective. Stop trying to get out of it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Do you even have a VCR?”

  Valerie nodded, trying to recall where she’d last seen it. She’d used it to watch security tapes during her officer days. “Somewhere in storage, I think. I’ll have to dig it out.”

  “All right, well, keep me posted.” He shut the car door. “Now you’ve got me curious.”

  She smiled, relieved he didn’t insist on seeing it. “I will. Do you want to come in for coffee or something?”

  “Nah, you’re right. I have a shit ton of work to do, but I’ll take a rain check.”

  “Written and signed.” She tucked the package under her arm. “Thanks for stopping by. It’s good to see you.”

  “No problem. And ditto.” Deron stood there awkwardly for a moment, as if he were unsure of what to do. Valerie chuckled and extended her free hand.

  “Oh, come here, you big lug.”

  He let out a laugh and wrapped his arms around her in a friendly embrace. “Take care of yourself, all right?” he said when they broke apart, warmth in his dark brown eyes. “Come back soon.”

  She nodded, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I will.”

  “You better.” He pointed at her in warning as he circled to the driver’s side. “The city is falling apart without their kickass blond superhero.”

  She laughed. “Bye, Deron.”

  They waved to each other as he drove out of the lot and she watched him go. Once the unmarked car vanished from sight, she heaved a sigh and headed for the walkway toward her apartment. So much had happened in the last few weeks, she didn’t even know what to do anymore. She was living a double life. Where to draw the line? For the first time in years, Valerie felt lost. She didn’t know where to start.

  The weight of the package at her side reminded her of its existence as she examined it.

  I take it back. I do know where to start.

  By finding out what the hell was in this damn thing.

  Deron had been right. It was an old black VHS tape with no label. But an unsealed blank envelope with a single sheet of paper nestled inside. In the same neat, bold script, the message read:

  He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

  The quote sent shivers down Valerie’s spine, chilling her bones. She’d heard it before, a long time ago, in one of her philosophy classes. She remembered the author clearly, Friedrich Nietzsche, the German philosopher who’d penned the infamous ‘God is dead.’ The words had stuck and burrowed themselves in her mind, still echoing in her memory until this day. They applied to so many people she knew, since cops fell into that abyss all too often.

  She set the tape and note down on her coffee table. Then walked away from it, shaken.

  She made her way down to her storage space in the complex’s basement, the air filled with the stale, musty smell of a very old building. She walked between the rows of cages loaded with boxes and various paraphernalia, moving past the boilers and the networks of pipes. Dull yellow light glowed from the single bulbs that hung from the exposed wooden rafters. The only access to the basement was from the main floor, since all the bulkheads had been sealed or removed.

  The last time a vampire had managed to get into the building, Valerie found him down here, hiding behind one of the building supports. She’d disposed of him quickly, but ever since then, she’d never seen the lights off.

  Once she unlocked and entered her storage cage, she hunted down the VCR, finding it in a box with several old movies. Silly romantic comedies and absurd action films were her favorites. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d watched a movie for the simple pleasure of it, rather than the endless training videos and films of death and destruction they showed constantly at the station.

  Not that she thought the tape upstairs would be any better.

  She grabbed the VCR, leaving the movies behind, deciding she didn’t want the memories of when life had been simpler. It would hurt too much right now, and she had to steel herself for what was on that tape.

  Once she locked up, she hauled the player back to her apartment, offering terse greetings to a few of her neighbors in the hallway. She tried to put on her best face, but between her soiled gear and her utter exhaustion, it was obvious she’d had a rough night.

  Evading all conversation, Valerie bolted her door and settled the VCR on the coffee table beside the offending tape. She closed all the shades and drapes, casting the morning into twilight darkness. In no time, she hooked up the VCR to her barely used TV, recalling where all the wires plugged into. Wanting desperately to get out of her gear and into something more comfortable, she opted to shower first.

  However, deep down inside, she was avoiding the inevitable.

  She undressed and turned the shower up to near scalding, hoping to wash away some of the cold dread in her belly. She took her time, savoring the sensation of the hot spray and the familiar scents of her shampoo and body wash. The same shampoo a
nd body wash she’d shared with Blaze.

  Her chest knotted and her throat swelled at the memory of his hands sliding over her body, the backs of her eyes burning with the threat of tears. She missed him, her worries still potent and her fears still raw, even though she would see him soon enough.

  She dried herself off and threw on a pair of gray cotton shorts and a lilac camisole—one of the rare feminine pieces of clothing in her wardrobe. She left her damp hair down to dry, tucking it behind her ears before she pushed the tape into the VCR and took a seat on her box-fresh couch in her IKEA catalogue living room. She picked up the note again and read it one more time. Then she finally turned on the TV and hit ‘play,’ her heart batting like a frantic bird against her ribcage.

  The screen was black at first, the reel flashing an occasional streak of white. Gray static briefly lit up the monitor before everything went black again. A mechanical drone began to sound—low, steady, and absolutely maddening. Then the screen switched to what appeared to be night vision, displaying a sickly green picture.

  The camera showed an elevated diagonal view of an expansive room, recording from the far upper corner. Huge spheres lined the back wall, and it took Valerie a moment to discern that they were old rotary converters. It was hard to see anything else, but it didn’t take long for her to recognize Grand Central Terminal’s M42 subbasement. M42 hadn’t been on the map she’d reviewed before their recent raid, but then again, the secret subbasement had never been on any maps.

  And that’s when she realized this video wasn’t about her at all.

  The seed of dread that had been planted in her belly slowly bloomed into horror as a figure stirred in the lower left corner of the screen. The male was slumped over, his frame long but terribly thin, his longish dark hair covering most of his face. There wasn’t a single tattoo on his emaciated body but Valerie knew it was Blaze.

  He’d been stripped naked, his skin covered in dark smears, his limbs bound by cuffs and chains. He sat against one of the underground concrete supports between a few rows of AC to DC converters like a tossed rag doll in a forgotten room. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he would’ve looked dead.

  Valerie turned up the volume, hearing his ragged breaths. His lungs sounded like torn sails in the wind, struggling to maintain their course. Occasionally, his chest hitched in a sob. The awful sound pierced through Valerie’s heart, making it bleed for him. He clutched his belly with scrawny arms, his dirty hands curled into trembling claws. He looked like he was in terrible pain, unable to move, as if paralyzed with agony.

  A metal door opened on the upper right hand side of the screen. Her mind screamed at her to stop, to turn off the video right now, but she couldn’t. She was frozen in horror, hypnotized by the same morbid fascination of a bad car accident. Someone threw a body into the room before the door slammed shut. Valerie barely got a glimpse of the thrower, but she got a good look at the throw-ee.

  It was a teenager, a high school boy. He landed on his hands and knees, letting out a tattered cry, his breath also shallow and uneven. He too had been stripped, down to his underwear and socks, his body trembling. Valerie didn’t know why, but the socks got to her, somehow making the scenario more real, more disturbing. The boy raised his head, his dark hair falling over his brow, his face contorted with fear through the night vision lens.

  And what happened next tore out Valerie’s bleeding heart.

  Blaze went utterly still as he met the boy’s gaze, predator versus prey. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes gone black, making him look all the more terrifying. One second, he was propped against the support; the next, he was on the boy, wrestling him to the floor as chains and screams shattered the air. The screaming didn’t stop, even when Blaze struck the boy’s throat, hissing like a snake before he sank his fangs into a young carotid.

  Blood spurted like oil, and still that horrific screaming didn’t cease as the boy tried everything in his power to fight Blaze off. Grunting, growling, sucking and slurping soon replaced the screams as they drowned in a sea of wet gasps and gurgles. Eventually the boy stopped fighting, going limp as Blaze drained him dry.

  Valerie sat there, one hand clamped over her mouth, the other wrapped so tightly around the remote it cracked beneath her grip. She gawked at the grisly picture before her, stomach churning as bile rose in the back of her throat. Rapid-fire images flashed before her eyes, of Elise bound and gagged, stripped and bloodied, dark eyes rolled in the back of her head to show her glazed sclera. She was just a kid, so young, like this boy who’d been robbed of his life by the man Valerie trusted, by the man she cared for, by the man she’d made love to.

  God, by the man she loved.

  No, not man. Hybrid. Half-vampire.

  Half-monster.

  The picture blacked out, the final image of Blaze feeding voraciously from the boy’s body searing straight through her mind and branding right into her soul. The teeth-grinding sound of white static followed, the screen flickering harshly, but Valerie didn’t hear it, didn’t see it. The video played ruthlessly over and over again in her mind’s eye, injected with the unforgettable nightmare of her sister’s murder, and all she could hear was that fucking quote, whispering against her skull, echoing through her bones and making the mark between her legs pulse in a macabre reminder of what she’d let inside her.

  Oh God, I’m going to be sick.

  She hadn’t been able to suck in a breath and now she gasped for air, the sound as desperate and harsh as if she’d been down in that hellhole with them. Suddenly the doorbell rang, a shrill cry cutting through the relentless buzz of static, making her nearly jump out of her seat. She fumbled with the remote, almost dropping it before she shut off the TV, plunging everything into silence.

  A loud knock shook the door, a fierce pound that spoke of panic.

  “Val, are you all right? Open the door!”

  The rumbling bass that had once made her knees weak now struck fear into her heart, turning her spine into ice. He’d come early for her after all, probably knowing something was wrong, since he could sense her now, couldn’t he? Because he’d marked her body with the same fangs that had ravaged a boy’s throat, taking what he wanted without mercy or restraint.

  Red-hot fury ignited inside her, filling the gaping hole in her chest and blasting through her veins. She clenched her fists until she felt bright pinpricks of pain, her fingernails digging crescents into the flesh of her palms.

  He pounded harder on the door. “I’ll blow this door off its hinges if you don’t answer right now.”

  The pain she’d inflicted on her palms cleared the red haze long enough to show her what she had to do.

  You have no choice.

  Valerie stood, wobbly on her feet, but the closer she got to her Beretta, the steadier her steps became. She was barely aware of the hot tears burning trails down her cheeks, settling at the corners of her mouth, as she tasted bitter salt on her tongue.

  She checked the clip and racked the slide, loading the first bullet into the chamber with the solid efficiency she’d been bred with.

  Then she unlocked the door, opened it, and pointed the gun at his chest, aiming straight for his heart.

  Blaze didn’t flinch. He didn’t dare move or lift his hands in surrender; he didn’t dare breathe. He stared down the barrel of her nine before his hidden eyes settled on her face. Her beautiful, tear-streaked, angst-ridden face. Her chest rose and fell with panicked breaths, barely covered in a frilly camisole that made his body subconsciously harden. Her skin was flushed with emotion, her demeanor a total contradiction to the iron grip on the gun pointed at his heart.

  He longed to pull her into his arms, to take her jasmine scent into his lungs. To taste her again.

  But something had happened in the short time they’d been apart, something terrible, so bad it turned h
er against him. And he had a feeling he knew exactly what it was.

  She didn’t speak for a full ten seconds, as if she couldn’t find the right words to express what she thought. She just stood there, trembling, precariously balancing the decision of whether to pull the trigger and blow him away. He waited, remaining silent, heart hammering, body still.

  And after what seemed like an eternity, she finally whispered in a shaky breath, “How many?”

  Blaze’s heart cracked down the middle. She knew. God, somehow she knew.

  “Seven,” he murmured, his chest aching as the crack spidered. Black memories threatened to seize his mind as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. “One for every month I was down there.”

  Valerie’s chin quivered but she clenched her jaw tight, stopping it, the tears flowing faster now. “Why?” The simple question was saturated with despair, clogged with anguish.

  He balled his hands into fists at his sides, hating himself now more than he ever had in his entire existence. “I don’t know.”

  “Why?” she shouted, anger tearing through her vocal cords until the word punched like a fist. “God, Blaze, he was so young! He was innocent.”

  Blaze instantly knew who she spoke of, the foggy image of the young man in M42 flashing through his mind. The boy’s eyes were all he could remember clearly; they’d been impossibly wide with the kind of profound fear that came only with certain death. And Blaze had certainly given him that death, swiftly and without remorse.

  Of course, the remorse came later, digging into his soul and burying itself there forever.