Did they believe it could never happen in their lifetimes?
Fools!
At the front of the cab line, a middle-aged couple and their would-be driver stood with the trunk ajar, luggage on the ground. All three stared dumbly toward the erupting volcano. The moment, frozen in time, reminded him of plaster-cast victims of Vesuvius he’d seen at Pompeii. Made from pockets of air where people’s bodies had decomposed within the lava rock, the casts depicted them in various stages of horror, startled realization, or futile attempts to escape—people in their final moment of life.
As far as Stanley was concerned, these fools could end up the same way. Before they realized his bold play, he’d tossed his bags in, slipped behind the wheel, cranked the car into drive, and took off. There was no time to waste; it wouldn’t be long before the streets became filled with desperate people scrambling to escape death. He had to get as far away from the danger zone as fast as possible.
Stanley Hartwell would not become a plaster cast.
He navigated the streets leading to the freeway. At an intersection, a group of youths wearing ripped jeans and soccer jerseys smashed the storefront window of a jewelry store, grabbing the merchandise with both hands. Across the street, a flood of people stormed the corner store tossing the elderly proprietor onto the sidewalk.
Night of Nights is upon us.
Fortunately for Stanley, the airport was north of downtown Naples, the opposite side of Vesuvius. He turned right, descended the on-ramp, and merged with the plodding mass of cars on an already-packed Tangenziale freeway.
- Chapter Forty—
Night of Nights – Lake Arrowhead, California
From the garage, Drew stared out the window at the vacant expanse of land between the house and the tree line. While a blanket of clouds camouflaged most of the falling snowflakes, they appeared at eye-level against the backdrop of the forest, swirling down until they collided with the frozen earth.
Two clicks from the walkie-talkie echoed off the concrete floor and naked walls. Drew pumped the talk button twice, returning the “all-clear” signal to Kat. He reached behind his back and touched the Glock tucked into his pants, a nervous tick that he’d developed over the past couple of hours.
He took one last look into the van at Alexis sleeping beneath multiple blankets. With her cheek resting on a quilted pillow, she looked even more like a cherub than she normally did. After gently pressing the door to the van shut, he slid the keys under the vehicle. It wasn’t the perfect hiding place, but it did add an additional measure of protection.
Without turning on his flashlight, he shuffled across the dirty floor making his way to the side exit. The smell of oil, gasoline, and transmission fluid invaded his nasal pathways. Drew cracked the door open to catch a peek while he waited. Outside, illuminated by extensive flood lights, a light snow continued to dust the ground. It was the kind of snowfall that even Nadia wouldn’t have minded. Her life in Russia had soured her to winter, but just before Christmas, they’d gone skiing not too far from here. The day had been cold enough to paint her cheekbones a frosty red. Once, before embarking down the slope, as a feathery snow drifted down, she’d opened her mouth and attempted to catch the flakes on the tip of her tongue.
Drew took a deep breath and fought off tears. Odd, the images we remember of the dead—rosy cheeks and a tongue in search of snowflakes.
Suddenly, everything outside went black.
The backup generator kicked on and lit a few outside lights. Five clicks on the walkie-talkie relayed the obvious. The enemy had arrived.
He and Kat had discussed dozens of possible attack scenarios to anticipate. Each had assumed that the assassin would approach in stealth mode, but as a pickup truck drove past the garage and then the house, Drew understood. The assassin didn’t care if they knew he was coming. He intended to plow right through the back sliding-glass door.
The truck made a wide arc beyond the house and stopped, engine revving, near the edge of the clearing a hundred yards away. It sat a moment, then lurched and shot toward its target, disappearing from view.
Drew pulled out his gun and ran outside, snow crunching beneath his feet. Echoes of a single rifle blast surrounded him before a discordant symphony of shattering glass and compressing metal drowned them out.
As Drew sprinted toward the house, the front door opened. Kat beckoned him, but never looked in his direction. Her rifle continued to point steadily inside, her eyes never wavering. He entered the house, but she still didn’t look at him.
“No one was in the truck,” she said flatly.
He peered through the dark house at the crash site. Broken glass, splintered beams, and twisted steel made it look as if a bomb had gone off. Two thirds of the truck, its roof peeled back like the top of a sardine can, had invaded the house. Considering it had destroyed a possible weight-bearing wall, the structure might not remain standing for long.
“Quick, give me your gun and the medallion.” She offered the rifle in trade.
“Huh?”
“Drew, I don’t have time—”
She quickly shifted her gaze from the pickup to him.
“Okay, but what are—”
“When you get a clean shot, take it,” she said taking the gun and medallion from him.
She thrust the rifle in his hands and, before he could aim it, she’d darted across the crunching glass and slipped out through the gaping hole.
“C’mon big man! You afraid to fight a girl?” she shouted.
Clouds of hot breath rose above her head. She planted herself sixty paces from the house, and tossed the handgun high in the air. It landed with a muffled thud.
“C’mon you pussy! Even you can’t be afraid to fight an unarmed girl!”
Drew moved into position at the front bumper of the Dodge. He checked that the safety was clicked off, and tested the scope. Then, he waited for the assassin to emerge from the darkness.
*
*
*
As Tapusscar broke the cover of the trees, he made certain to keep the blonde bitch between him and the crash zone. The guy in the house was a rank amateur. There was no way he’d get a clear shot. Tapusscar charged her before she could move for her weapon.
“About time,” she said, sliding to her left.
He moved with her, cutting off the route to her gun. “You are no match for me. Submit and become my slave.”
“Uh, yeah, okay.” She reversed course to the right, whirled and threw a roundhouse kick to his chest.
The blow caused no pain; he merely slid backward drawing her a few more feet away from the house. She quickly moved again to her left. It was an obvious attempt to get him to flank her. Instead, it gave him the opportunity to lash at her with his good hand. His backhand caught her across the cheek, and she flopped to the ground.
He wasted no time pouncing. He’d not make himself an easy target for her partner in the house. As she tried to crawl away, he grabbed her leg, pulled her to him, and whacked the back of her head with his fist. He lifted her in front of himself like a shield.
“Toss that rifle out or I’ll kill her!”
A voice carried from the hole the truck had made. “Fuck you. You killed my girlfriend!”
It froze him a second. He’d murdered dozens of people, but to be falsely accused, threw him for a loop. But only for a second.
“Do it now or she dies! I only came for the medallions,” he said loudly, trying to obscure the lie.
There was a slight delay before a glint of steel sailed through the darkness. It nestled into a drift not far from an air conditioning unit, making a clunk when it hit the frozen ground below the snow.
In the meantime, his hostage had regained her senses and struggled vainly to escape. He relished her resistance; it turned him on. He pinned one of her arms back, but the other flailed wildly. Her impotent words escaped because she couldn’t.
“You’re full of shit. You intend to kill us all.”
“Shh
h.” He chuckled. “But first, you and I are going to have some fun.” He jammed her feet down onto the ground so he could gain control of her other arm.
“Drew, get Alexis and get the hell out of here!” Kat yelled.
“But here I am, Kat!” the little girl said.
Alexis stood just thirty yards away, on the side of the house. She must have come out the front door. Silhouetted by a distant floodlight, the beam imbued her hair with luminosity. Wrapped in a blanket that trailed behind her in the snow, she looked like miniature royalty.
A loud pop rang out and then reverberated across the clearing.
A gunshot?
Tapusscar felt a burning sting rip through his right shoulder. Involuntarily, he released his hostage.
“You fuck—” he spit out, reeling from the wound.
He’d been tricked. The guy in the house must’ve had two rifles. However, Tapusscar wasn’t concerned; the wound wasn’t fatal.
He searched for the blonde, and felt a warm sensation on his chest. He thought for a second that he’d been shot again, but he was wrong. Under his shirt, the medallion on his chest was glowing and burning.
What happened next could not really have happened, but for Tapusscar it played out in slow-motion. The chain holding his medallion ate into the back of his neck and then snapped. The medallion emitted a gold light as it seared through his shirt, and began floating away. He stared, mesmerized, as the radiant heirloom sailed through midair toward the outstretched hand of the tiny girl.
“Okay Kat, I’ve got it.”
She disappeared as soon as his medallion touched her fingers. She was gone, and the medallion was gone.
To the Spatium Quartus? Have I been used just to deliver the little girl to Luzveyn Dred?
A red-hot flow poured down the right side of his neck and chest. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t. He took a wobbly step and, feeling seasick, fell to his knees. A bullet whizzed over his head. He reached to his throat and found a protruding knife handle. Off to the right, the blonde bitch was staring at him.
Everything spun. His head was a bowling ball. Tapusscar felt the icy sting as his face sank down into the snow.
All these years, all my conquests— beaten by two fucking girls.
- Chapter Forty One—
Night of Nights – Rome, Italy
As the sun neared the horizon in the darkening Roman sky, the cab approached the edifice of the basilica. Lopez’s phone rang. He expected it to be Hyde, but the caller ID announced a call from his mountain house. He looked at his watch; it was nearly 3 AM back in California.
“Hector, Alexis has disappeared. We think she was transported to the Spatium Quartus.” Kat’s voice sounded spooked.
As Alfonso directed the driver to wait for them, a report from Naples gushed from the radio. They froze. Vesuvius was erupting.
“It’s happening,” Alfonso said quietly.
Night of Nights
“Alfonso, can you get me to the Spatium Quartus?” Lopez asked.
The old man gazed up at the statues atop the Basilica of Santa Croce.
“Yes, I can get you there from here. I can show you how it’s done.”
Kat’s agitated voice blasted through Lopez’s phone. “Hector, did you hear me about Alexis? We killed the assassin but—”
He cut her off. “Meet me in five minutes at our spot in the S.Q. Kat, you go through NOCTURN, and have Drew link to you if he can. It’s safer for him that way.”
“Hector, I’m not sure if he’s— ”
“Kat, Vesuvius is erupting. This is happening. Prepared or not, get him there. Five minutes.” He hung up.
Lopez and Alfonso entered the church and walked the basilica’s nave beneath the ceiling fresco of Michael’s battle with Lucifer. They hurried to the front, and soon stood in the sacristy. Alfonso went over to the wooden cabinetry along the far wall and motioned Lopez to follow. The unforgiving marble floors echoed every noise.
Alfonso whispered over his shoulder. “Padre Gennaro had this place rigged with many secret compartments. I’m not even sure I know them all.”
Inside the ornamental box that held the priests’ chalices, he groped for something. When his hand emerged, a tiny door slid open at the extreme right-hand side of the cabinet. The drawer he pulled out made a wood-on-wood grinding sound that reverberated through the room, and spilled outside to the place of worship. Lopez half-expected a nun to appear and chastise them with a “shh,” but no such apparition appeared.
Inside the drawer were two medallions. “These were Padre Gennaro’s reserves.”
“How do I get to get to the Spatium Quartus?” Lopez asked.
“It’s similar to process Kat told me you were using to dream link without NOCTURN. I suspect with the draw we are feeling to the S.Q., it will be easy for you to get there wearing a medallion. Once you’re in, I’ll follow. Hopefully together, we’ll put an end to this thing.” He motioned to a chair, and then handed one of Padre Gennaro’s spare medallions to Lopez. “They need an extra, remember?”
Lopez sat on a small wooden chair that creaked with his weight.
“Now, close your eyes,” Alfonso said. “Focus a moment on the medallion you are wearing. Ask God to direct your thoughts, ask Him to use your mind and your body. Ask him to send you to the darkest of dark places, so that you may help others. Ask Him to reconnect the medallion with its source.”
Lopez did as he was instructed.
“Good. Good.” Alfonso said. “Now say an Our Father, and let yourself go to where you’ve asked to be of service.”
Lopez recited the prayer, at first mumbling it aloud, then as he felt himself being transported, merely letting the words run through his mind. Spinning, tumbling, much like he did going to the S.Q. through NOCTURN, he sped toward a black hole. A bone-dry heat overtook him as he prayed the final line.
“…and deliver us from evil.”
Just before he popped into the Spatium Quartus, from far away he heard a gunshot echo off the marble tiles of the Basilica of Santa Croce.
*
*
*
The starless sky provided Drew his first visual of the actual Spatium Quartus. Blurred images overhead enlarged and revealed a confusing array of scenes. Holographic images of people being beaten, whipped, and slapped would, one by one, contort, elongate, and drip from the sky. Simultaneous with impact, a scream would eke across the dark landscape.
Kat stared at him. Her skin and the whites of her eyes glowed as they would under a black light. “They’re nightmares. It’s how Dred and his henchmen snatch people here. The medallions block a person’s dreams from being displayed in this dimension.”
“But Alexis had a medallion.”
“I know, I know.”
She shrugged. Later, Drew would recall that it had been the first time Kat’s eyes betrayed worry. She looked up at the fuzzy images.
Before plummeting, one image displayed a little boy being eaten alive by lizards. Another showed a woman’s face being pummeled until pieces of skin fell off. Both scenes dripped and fell simultaneously, their cries for help eventually dying out.
“It’s how we know where to go to rescue those in peril,” Kat said. “We watch them fall, then run to them and fight off Luzveyn Dred’s goons.”
“How do you know which to…”
“Prioritize?”
During their short time in the Spatium Quartus, half a dozen dreamers had been abducted from the stygian sky. She pursed her lips and scrunched her mouth to one side of her face. “One by one, we do the best we can.”
“Alexis is out there somewhere.”
A tiny cyclone of dust appeared in the middle of an otherwise barren spot a few yards away, causing a rustling, like swirling autumn leaves. With a crackle and a whiff of ozone, Lopez appeared.
“We’ve got to find Alexis!” Drew said neglecting pleasantries.
“We’ll find her,” Lopez said.
He quickly handed a medallion to
Kat. “I can’t get in touch with your dad and I can’t stay. As I was transporting, I heard a gunshot, and if Alfonso is in trouble, I’m in trouble back there.”
“Oh my God,” Drew said.
“Don’t worry. Stay centered.” Lopez spoke rapidly. “Dred needs Alexis for something, so, there’s still a way to stop his plan. More than escaping the S.Q., I think he’s trying to pull our world here, the way dead bodies are sucked here when they’re riddled with too much of the S.Q..”
“Everyone would come here?” Drew asked.
“He’s breaching our world, and sucking us here. Think a collision, a merging—like pouring a bottle of ink into a glass of water. It’s no longer either.”
“Can’t write with it, can’t drink it,” Kat concluded.
Lopez turned to her. “Follow the pull—it will take you to Dred. I’ll keep looking for your dad and catch up to you guys as soon as I can.”
“Okay, you better get out of here,” she said.
Before Lopez could press the medallion to his chest, a number of roars and growls erupted around them. Eight beasts charged. Three fanned out to the left, two to the right. Kat engaged the three bearing directly down on them. Lopez moved to the left flank. Drew defended the opposite side.
The beasts fought much as they had during his training sessions. Their stench had been underrated; the fumes smelled of cat piss mixed with intense body odor. His eyes watered.
Inhuman squeals from behind told him Kat and Lopez were winning. When Kat approached to help, Drew’s attackers fled.
A howl drew Drew’s attention to Lopez, who was pulling his sword from the belly of a falling beast. Once protracted, the sword disappeared. Lopez materialized a crossbow and approached.
“We can’t afford to let them escape,” he said.
A series of quivers dropped the retreating beasts.
Drew was shocked. “I thought that we could only fight with—”
“It’s called knowing which rules will bend, and which rules to break,” Lopez said.
Drew barely heard him. In the excitement of battle, he’d lost awareness of his internal balance. A cold sweat felt clammy on his skin. A tingle ran up his throat, and his stomach convulsed. He tried to swallow, attempted to hold it down, but was unable. He bent over and puked. He locked his hands to his knees, holding himself up, but he felt woozy. It felt as though he were tumbling, falling face first and couldn’t move his legs to rebalance.
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