by Jeff Orton
I slid the short wrecking tool up the sleeve of my jacket and rode the elevator to the highest floor. I found the only door without a number on it and tried the knob. Unlocked.
I went two flights up a dimly lit stairway and tried the door at the top. No such luck this time. But it was a wooden door, pretty brittle looking. The paint was peeling away where the wood was splintering. I didn’t see any hinges, which meant the door opens outward.
Fuck, I didn’t even need the crowbar. I let it fall to the floor, paying no attention to the clang that echoed in the stairwell. I swung my right leg into the door with a roundhouse kick that popped the doorknob right out of the rotted wood.
The cool air hit my face as I walked out and felt the first light droplets of rain dampen my hair and shoulders. I looked upwards and thought if Hell has a sky, then surely this is what it must look like. The charcoal gray smog choked out the few rogue stars capable of shining through New York’s normal luminescence.
I wasn’t really sure if there was a Hell, or a Heaven, but I figured hey, I’m about to find out. I approached the edge of the roof with slow steps, my shoes crunching into the loose gravel. But the insistent desire to kill myself was beginning to wane. My mind was considering the possibilities. What awaits me after my head splatters onto the asphalt of the street below?
“Depends on who you’ve served,” a voice answered.
I spun around to find the man in black a few yards behind me. My foot slipped on the pebbles and I almost fell over.
“Careful,” he said. The slight grin on his face told me he’d enjoyed sneaking up on me.
“You’re right,” he answered in response to my thoughts, “I take pride in my stealth. I enjoy creeping up on people. Some of my colleagues even nicknamed me Creeper, or sometimes The Creeper. I suppose it’s because they have to call me something, since I refuse to tell anyone my real name.”
“You have an ordinary name?” I asked.
“Of course! I told you I’m a man, same as you. But in the world of magic and sorcery, giving someone your true Christian name is like giving a voodoo witch a lock of your hair or drops of your blood. It gives them a small bit of power over you.”
“You knew all this shit would happen today. Didn’t you?” I accused him, motioning in the direction of Ground Zero.
A fleeting grimace of shame fell across his face as he looked away.
“I’m afraid so,” he replied, “You cannot know how sorry I am for your loss. I know it will offer you little comfort, but today was the day that Desiree was meant to die. I am very powerful, but one thing I cannot do is interfere with fate, and had I told you anything last night that would have prevented her from reporting to work today... well, let’s just say it would have gone very badly for me.”
I stared at him, savoring the rage as it ignited within me.
“You think I give a shit!” I yelled as I charged at him, fists swinging and mouth cursing.
The apparition made no move to block my attack. He stood straight with a blank expression on his face and let my knuckles pound away on his face, chest and stomach. But no matter how hard I struck him, I couldn’t get any part of his body to move. He wasn’t made of steel; his skin was too soft and pliant. It was like I was punching a flesh-covered statue.
As he finally made a move to dodge my last blow, I felt something serpentine wrap itself around my feet. I was then hoisted into the air, hanging upside down.
“I am a man of near infinite patience,” the man in black stated as I dangled in the air before him, “But I don’t take this kind of shit off of anyone, least of all some punk kid. The only reason I’m not ending your life right now is that it would be a shame to waste such potential.”
I looked upwards at my feet which felt as though they were cuffed together by shackles of ice, though nothing visible bound them together. He let me hang there a moment longer, then mumbled something in another language and I was dropped. I winced from the pain as I landed on the right side of my head and neck, my body collapsing onto all those sharp, little pulverized stones.
He stood over me with a solemn face. “I can either be your best friend or your worst enemy. You can decide which later, but for now I just ask that you hear me out. I came here tonight to offer you a gift—a gift that will end all the pain that you feel now... Will you listen to me? You will never feel pain, never feel shame, sadness or humiliation ever again. Will you hear me, Jeshua?”
I rolled over and sat up to a sitting position, leaning against some kind of large metal pipe. The pain in my neck was pulsating. I was pretty sure I’d torn a muscle.
“I’ll listen to you,” I said, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try to kill you later on.”
He threw his head back and laughed out loud, “I like your attitude, kid. I really do.”
Chapter 13
“I’ll begin by saying I am here before you now in the flesh as I was last night, yet all the other times I have appeared to you, you saw only my spiritual projection. I am capable, through the black arts, of leaving this body in a near comatose state and visiting any place on earth I choose. I am very likely the most powerful warlock this world has ever seen. I can command and direct any spirit to do my bidding. I can even fly and hover if I so desire. I am nearly indestructible.”
“So why the hell do you need me?” I asked, annoyed by the egotism dripping from his voice.
Ignoring my question, he continued, “I have acquired this set of powers through the demons I have given my body and soul to. With each demon that takes possession, I am granted new capabilities, new strengths.
“But the higher daemons, the fallen seraphim, refuse to share a body with their lesser brethren. And only one who is gifted with such extreme psychic talents as we share can possibly hope to contain and control such a powerful entity.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at his ridiculous speech. “We are Legion, for we are many,” I croaked, doing my best to imitate Linda Blair’s voice from The Exorcist. The lecturing apparition didn’t seem to find it too funny.
He knelt down and stared into my eyes. His soft brown irises seemed to recede into a total blackness, and I was transported into a long corridor with heavy steel doors on both sides which appeared to stretch to infinity. Animalistic screeches and howls erupted from every jail cell. Twisted, gnarled and burned hands reached towards me from some of the barred windows in these doors.
The floor on which I was standing was slippery. I looked down and noticed the stench. The floor was covered in shit. And not just the normal kind. It appeared as though this prison cell block had been mopped with light brown diarrhea, with traces of red which I assumed were blood.
I could feel the anger emanating from every cell, the rage, the hatred.
I entered back into reality, into the face of the phantom stranger.
“Didn’t like what you saw, did you?” he asked, “The illusion you witnessed is purely figurative, but it really isn’t so far from the actual truth. It’s a representation of a place within my soul where most of my demons reside, until called upon.
“The seraph I wish to call is named Salyssi. If you were to allow him sanctuary in your body, you would be granted unspeakable power. You would never feel pain, physical or emotional, ever again. Your aging process would slow to a turtle’s crawl, and you would be blessed with a preternatural strength and speed. Just think of all the guilty you could punish in your lifetime.”
“You just need me to consent to it,” I finished for him.
Becoming excited, he began to speak more rapidly, “I promise. I can teach you to control this daemon. Through you, I can use him to both our advantages.”
“And if I turn you down?”
“I would be disappointed, of course. But I would not harm you for it. I cannot force you to accept my offer. You must give yourself to Salyssi willingly for the ritual to be a success.”
I shook my head, unable to wrap my mind around it all. “How would any
of this benefit you?”
“I can’t go too deeply into that,” he replied, “Let’s just say I would need your help from time to time, with certain tasks and projects.”
“You make it sound so business-like,” I said, still suffering from the feeling of incredulity that shrouded this whole meeting.
He smiled, “Hmm, I suppose that’s because I’m really just a businessman at heart. I run several large enterprises. I’m worth a fortune by the way. And if you ever need money, just ask. I imagine you probably won’t want to stay in that apartment too much longer. I can get you a luxury suite uptown, if you like?”
I thought it over, then became disgusted with myself that I was even considering this offer. But his proposal was tempting for only one reason. I didn’t care about the money, or a nice place to live. What attracted me was the idea of never again feeling pain, or loss, or humiliation or helplessness.
“I can see that you need some time to think this over,” he said, “I’ll return to you in two weeks. I have to travel home anyways to pick up some things I’ll need for the ritual. Also take care of some business. Can I trust that, in the meantime, you will not try to jump from any rooftops?”
He stared at me, absolutely serious. The rain fell a little heavier, wetting down his dark brown hair so that it looked now to be pitch black. The drops rolled down his leather trench coat like falling stars.
“Sure,” I said weakly.
“Good, I’ll see you then. But let me give you something to consider before I go. Remember Halloween four years ago? All that you experienced that night was but a sample of what I have to offer.”
And with that he descended down the stairwell, into the apartment building. I sat where I was for a moment. When I got up, the pace of the throbbing in my neck quickened.
“How does he always know where I’ll be?” I mumbled. It was like he knew what I was going to do before I even knew myself.
I slowly got up and stared down at the street below. The smoke seemed to give the rain a burnt, coppery smell. The urge to jump was no longer present. I was so tired. All I wanted to do now was go be alone and grieve for Des. It was that grief, I realized now, that I’d been avoiding all day. Running around lower Manhattan, walking all the way back home in a semi-conscious trance, even my sudden conviction to commit suicide—it was all an attempt to dam the floodwaters. My life was changed, horribly and forever. I was never going to see Desiree again.
The tears were already welling up as I descended the staircase down into the building. I had to will my chin to stop quivering. I scanned the tenth floor as best I could. I didn’t want anyone seeing me leaving the staircase to the roof especially since the superintendent will probably find the now knobless broken door tomorrow.
When I arrived at my apartment door, I felt something.
(((a man is in there he has a gun he’s scared)))
I was about to back off and leave. Hell, let him take what he wants. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll come back when he’s gone. Probably won’t even bother calling the police.
Then I thought how ironic it was that I was so ready to kill myself earlier and now here I was, shying away from a man with a gun. I didn’t really plan to accept the Stranger’s offer, so why was I running?
“Fuck it,” I whispered as I turned the knob and opened the door I’d left unlocked.
I walked in and looked around the dark living room, at first not seeing anyone. But I felt him. He had taken one of the kitchen table chairs and planted it in the corner of the living room least visible from the door. He was holding his gun straight out with both hands.
In a brazen impulse, my hand hit the light switch.
He wasn’t what I expected. He appeared to be in his late forties, probably pushing fifty.
“So you gonna shoot me or what?” I asked with my slight, ever-developing New York accent. It’s thickness tended to fade in and out.
“Not unless you make me,” he answered, “Sit down.”
“I prefer to stand...” I replied, feeling utterly exhausted. “You know, I’ve had the most god-awful day and I’m really tired and don’t appreciate being fucked with.”
He seemed to consider this for a moment, but then growled, “I think you better sit down. I’ve got a lot of questions for you, and we might be here awhile.”
I compromised a little and leaned on the armrest of the oversized chair, “So what do you want to know?”
Visibly irritated, he responded, “I want to know where your boss is? Where’s he hiding out?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I laughed, “It sounds like you think I work for the mob or some shit.”
But after I said that, a bad feeling developed in the bottom of my stomach. I looked down into the hollow black nozzle of his gun. A 9mm, probably a Beretta I guessed.
“You know exactly who I’m talking about, you little shit. Louis Godwin. Where is he?”
He recoiled when I scanned his thoughts.
“You’re a psychic aren’t you? A telepath?” He asked anxiously. “I figured you might be, if you’re working for him.”
“Yeah,” I whispered as I reviewed some intriguing information I’d plucked from his mind, “Tell me, Special Agent Collins, is this normal FBI procedure? Breaking into people’s homes and interrogating them at gunpoint?”
“Not hardly,” he conceded, “Door was unlocked. I entered without breaking.”
I detected no signs of surprise that I knew his name and profession.
“I know you’re the guy who did the Milton house, so I know you work for Godwin, so you can quit the damn charades.”
I thought for several long seconds about how I was going to respond. It was obvious he wasn’t here on official business, and I didn’t think a confession taken at gunpoint would be admissible in court.
I scanned him again as our eyes met in my moment of indecisiveness. He had me and he knew it.
“It’s possible that you’re right about Milton’s, but whatever I do, I do on my own and I’ve never heard of anyone named Godwin.”
He sighed, “I guess you probably don’t know him by his real name.”
Agent Collins took a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to me. I picked it up off the floor and unfolded it. It was a black and white photograph printed from a computer. The man depicted in the printout stared at me as if the paper were nothing but a window.
“Now do you recognize him? He runs a large crime syndicate. They’re not so much into drugs like most cartels. The vice they provide is sex. More specifically, sex with kids. For every internet kiddie porn website of theirs we take down, Godwin will create three more to replace it.
“They’re into sex slaves, child prostitution, videos, magazines. All sorts of sick shit. We know that Godwin’s organization provided those kids to Milton. We know that Milton and Godwin were in bed with each other a long time before Halloween ’97. I think Milton did something that pissed off Godwin. Something bad enough to send you after him with an UZI. Although why he would choose some kid from the suburbs with no criminal record was beyond me. Until now, I—“
“Before I answer any more questions,” I interrupted, “You need to answer a few of my own. And that gun is so unnecessary. I really don’t give a fuck if I live or I die right now; and you’ve roused my curiosity, so I’ll talk to you. Gun or no gun.”
“Yeah, well, I think I’ll keep my weapon pointed in your general direction just the same. For my own peace of mind,” he replied, just a smidgen of sarcasm leaking through.
“I can tell you’re not a mindreader, so how did you know that I was one?”
“I’ve been around enough of you to know when someone’s trying to pick my brain. What it feels like. And it doesn’t surprise me at all that Godwin’s enlisted another one.”
I frowned. “Another one?”
He sighed again. I could feel he didn’t want to divulge his life story to me, but felt he might have to. He was afraid if he gave
away too much information, it would very likely come back to ‘bite him in the ass.’
“Look, I already know your name and that you work for the FBI. You know that I’m the Mansfield Gunman, and for some reason I’m getting the impression you’re the only one in the Bureau who knows that. So it looks like we both got shit on each other. So let’s talk.”
“Louis Godwin used to be friends with my son. They had a falling out. To get revenge, Godwin kidnapped my daughter. Her name’s Tessa. Now answer a question for me.”
“Wait. You said Tessa?”
“Yeah—what? Did you see her?” he asked with hopeful excitement. I saw a mental picture of his daughter float up to the front of his mind as he thought of her.
“Not with my eyes,” I replied, “She was there at Milton’s that night, but I think you already know that. She was the only child there I couldn’t get to.”
“What do you mean get to?”
“I mean rescue. The whole reason I was there was to get those kids out, and waste every man there who was involved. I found three kids in an underground corridor built to look like a dungeon, but they were holding Tessa somewhere else. Two men in a cargo van took her away. I tried to shoot out the tires, but...” I paused, not sure how to explain the rest.
“He stopped you,” Agent Collins finished.
“I think so. Yeah. Somehow he took control of my hand and forced me to shoot what rounds I had left into the lawn.”
A light of understanding flashed in his eyes.
“That explains the patch of bullet holes in the lawn we found next to where you discarded the UZI. No one on the case could figure out why you emptied your clip into the front lawn, or why the hell you just threw away such an expensive weapon for that matter. I mean, sonnuva bitch, it was a fuckin’ UZI!”
I explained, beginning with my encounter at Dan & Bruno’s and ending with my discovery that the apparition, a.k.a. Louis Godwin had murdered a cop that had been trying to pursue me. I laid it out for him just as I had with Desiree, leaving none of the supernatural aspects out of my story. I thought of toning some of it down to make it a little more believable. But as I spoke I felt his instant acceptance of everything I said. None of it even made him blink. I was able to ascertain as I scanned him periodically (and lightly) that his own experiences with Louis had made him a faithful believer in the world of the invisible.