Immortal Remains: A Tim Reaper Novel

by Sean Cummings

  “Anyone else know about this?” I asked, looking back at Sparks. “You know, other than your boyfriend there?”

  She bristled at my question. “He’s my brother, Reaper. When he found the body he called me – he always calls me.”

  “Nice. Does your brother have a name?”

  “It’s Derek,” he said in a deep, baritone voice. “What the hell is that … that thing?”

  I stood and said, “It’s a dead body. They’re always finding a one or two at Fairview Cove. If you work here, you should be used to that by now.”

  “That don’t look like any dead body I’ve ever seen. It stinks like a sewer … what is that, sulphur?”

  I gave Sparks a knowing look that she immediately picked up on. She took her brother by the hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “Derek – I need you to trust me on this, okay?”

  He nodded. “Okay – I trust you, Carol. Now what the hell is that thing?”

  “Something you don’t need to know about,” she said, sounding like a regular person this time, instead of the by-the-book detective she was. “Something that could probably get you killed if you told anyone. I want you to run interference on the rest of the staff here. Tell them you found another shipping container that’s been vandalized. Can you do that for me?”

  His eyes narrowed. He glanced back at me for half a second. “Who’s that asshole?”

  “I’m the asshole that’s helping your sister on a really complicated case,” I said, mildly annoyed at his tone. “And this thing we’re staring at is a—“

  “It’s a cult killing!” Sparks blurted out. “Derek, just do this for me, will you? This is off the clock, if you know what I mean.”

  He gave me a menacing glare, which was kind of admirable when you think about it. He was protective of his sister, a normal human response. Not that Carol Sparks ever needed protection from anyone in this freaking galaxy.

  “I can buy you about twenty minutes,” he said, finally. “The next shift is getting ready and I’m running the safety meeting today, so I’ll drag it out. I take it you’re going to be bringing whatever the hell that thing is with you, right?”

  “If we can scrape it off the asphalt,” I said. “And seriously, your sister isn’t wrong about us being off the clock, so keep your little discovery this afternoon between the three of us, will you?”

  He let out a throaty grumble, and said, “Fine – Carol, are you going to be okay?”

  She nodded. Then gave him a half smile. “Yes – try not to worry. We’ve got this covered.”

  He grunted his displeasure and trudged off to his tiny pickup. In seconds, he was gone. Sparks still maintained a good distance from the corpse, holding a handkerchief over her face.

  “Derek was right – that thing stinks,” she said. “What the hell am I looking at?”

  “That depends on whether you want to have your mind blown again,” I said, kneeling down in front of the creature’s face.

  The demon’s skin was covered with festering boils, glistening with some kind of unnatural sheen or slime, I couldn’t tell which. Its torso appeared similar to that of a human except it was disproportionate to the rest of its body – as if it had been stretched beyond that of a normal man. One stiff arm reached out, it’s claw-like fingers extended as if the demon had been trying to grab on to something, anything that might save it. A pair of sunken eyes that were little more than inky, black pools stared off into the distance. I wondered for a short moment if that was the direction the killer had gone after he’d slaughtered the monster.

  “It doesn’t look like any angel I’ve ever envisioned — it sure as hell doesn’t look like what we saw in those photos,” said Sparks as she approached the body.

  I shook my head. “That’s because it ain’t an angel — this here sack of shit works for the other guy.”

  “The other guy, as in the Devil?”

  “Bingo,” I replied. “It’s not wearing the regular flesh sack so it can blend in with humans — I’m thinking the killer must have taken it with him. That tar-like stuff is probably the netherworld version of blood, so, you know, try not to get any on you or it might give the guys downstairs an express route to your soul .”

  She stepped back, still covering her face. “This is a lot to take in, Reaper. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying this pretty much confirms that our serial killer isn’t just targeting the good guys on an exclusive basis.”

  “He’s killing both?” She almost choked on the words. “But, how is that possible?”

  I shrugged and pointed to the creature’s shoulders. “With a really sharp knife from the look of these stumps. Where are the wings anyway?”

  “They have wings?” Sparks said. “Wait a minute. Of course they have wings — they used to be angels, if I know my bible.”

  I nodded. “I’m impressed. You probably kicked ass in Sunday School.”

  “Shut up, Reaper — I can’t call this in. So what’s the plan?”

  I glanced at her police cruiser and then back to the body. “The trunk of your car looks like it’ll do nicely. I want to get this thing to the Archdiocese and let them deal with it. You wouldn’t happen to have any work gloves, would you?”

  She gave me a sour look. “I’m a detective, not a longshoreman — hey look at that.”

  “Look at what?”

  Sparks stepped forward and knelt beside the creature’s other hand balled in a fist. She pulled out a Bic pen from her blazer and slipped it into a tiny metal loop sticking out from between the folds in the monster’s skin. She pulled.

  “It’s a chain – like a necklace. The only problem is that it’s stuck and I’m not laying my hands on this thing.”

  I leaned over to get a look at what she was talking about and then reached over and opened the demon’s closed fist until its palm was flat on the pavement. Sparks gave the chain a sharp tug and then stood, the chain dangling from the end of her ballpoint pen. What I saw at the end of the chain surprised even me.

  “A crucifix? What the hell is a demon doing with a freaking crucifix? Holy symbols are toxic to hell spawn.”

  Before I could say another word, a sizzling sound, like someone was frying bacon erupted. I glanced down to see a series of wispy thin smoke tendrils floating into the air from the center of the demon’s back.

  “Reaper, that thing is starting to burn,” said Sparks as she took a step backward. I stepped back, too, and watched as a small glowing ember appeared between the demon’s shoulders. It burned quickly, spreading across the monster’s body as a thick plume of oily black smoke filled the air. The body hissed and spat tiny yellow flashes as I pulled Sparks back toward her Crown Victoria when suddenly there was a flash of orange light followed by a short, intense wave of heat. A plume of white flame shot up a good ten feet in the air and within seconds it was over. All there was left to show that a demon had been murdered was a five-foot circular scorch mark in front of the shipping container.

  Sparks grimaced. “Was that supposed to happen, Reaper?”

  I dangled the crucifix in front of my eyes and furrowed my brow. “Your guess is as good as mine. At least it saves us the trouble of driving around the city with a demonic corpse in the trunk of your car. Good thing it went nuclear here instead of while you were on the Bedford Highway.”

  She pointed to the crucifix. “So, if Holy symbols are toxic to demons, do you think he might have ripped it off the killer?”

  “That, or it was planted on him. I need to have a little chitchat with Father Butler. Want to meet him? He’s an exorcist, so he deals in this kind of stuff.”

  Sparks exhaled. “An exorcist. Well, of course he’s an exorcist. You know, I just want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for including me in this little adventure.”

  I blinked. “Seriously?”

  She gave me a good hard shot in the left shoulder that actually stung for a second. “No, you moron! I’d rather be investigating the three cold cases that have been
sitting on my desk for the past week. Instead, I’m running around chasing ghosts with a guy who claims to be a death spirit. I’ve seen photos of four dead angels and now I’ve been introduced to the concept of a self-immolating demon. My brain says none of this can possibly be real, but what I just saw, it … it—“

  “It doesn’t fit neatly into your analytical mind?” I interrupted. “There’s a lot of evil shit in the world, Sparks. You know this better than anyone. You’re probably thinking that if angels and demons exist, then all those legends and myths that humanity calls superstition are true. Sorry to ruin your day, but we’re dealing with something that has world-ending consequences.”

  “Then why hide, Reaper?” she asked. “If these things exist, why stick to the shadows? I mean, if God exists, then why not come down to earth and kick some ass or something?”

  I snorted. “Because he built the place – when was the last time a building contractor ever cleaned up a mess after building a roof, or a house, or anything?”

  “You’re likening God to a building contractor?” she choked.

  “Again … He built the place,” I said, gesturing to the sky with my thumb. “Maybe demons and angels and shadowy figures that go bump in the night are all sub-contractors on the public works project known as humanity. The world is far from perfect, Sparks, but in its own warped way, the checks and balances tend to work themselves out.”

  “Is that what you are, Reaper? A system of checks and balances for murderers and serial killers?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe, probably, and who the hell knows? Who knows the meaning in the killings of angels and demons for that matter? I’ve been hired to find whoever is killing these assholes, and the only clue I’ve got is this stupid crucifix and some crime scene photos. I need to call in some markers on this one.”

  She looked at me suspiciously. “More people like you? Supernaturals?”

  I shook my head. “Not entirely. You want to go for a ride? There are some people we need to see.”

  “That thing?” she sneered as she pointed to my beat up F150. “Why don’t you leave it in the parking lot and we’ll take my car.”

  “All right,” I said as I headed for my truck. “And Sparks?”

  “What?”

  “You might not believe this, but I want to thank you for helping me. Does this mean we’re friends now? Because if so, you should know friends never diss their friend’s trucks.”

  “We’re not friends, Reaper,” she called back. “And your truck is a piece of crap.”

  I chuckled as I hopped inside and rolled down the window. “You’re a class act, Carol. I’ll take that as a yes.”

  11

  “Those patron saints from the four churches,” said Sparks as she maneuvered the Crown Victoria through the evening traffic with the skill of a NASCAR driver. “I did manage a bit of research.”

  “What did you find out?” I asked as we roared past a Tim Horton’s double drive-thru with a line-up of cars that stretched out onto Windmill Road.

  “Saint Margaret of Antioch. The Romans threatened her with death unless she renounced the Christian faith, and she refused, so they tried to burn her at the stake. What’s amazing is the flames apparently didn’t kill her. In fact she walked away without a scratch. She was then bound hand and foot and thrown into a cauldron of boiling water, but at her prayer her bonds were broken and she stood up uninjured. They finally did kill her by lopping off her head, though.”

  “That’ll do it every time,” I said as my stomach rumbled. “You hungry?”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’m on my day off – you buying?”

  “Sure – let’s hit the golden arches. I’m craving mechanically deboned chicken morsels.”

  “Alight,” she said, as we pulled onto Nantucket Road and headed up the hill to a McDonald’s.

  I handed her a twenty-dollar bill and said, “Here you go, order anything you like. I’ll have a McNugget combo with a Coke.”

  She grabbed it and spoke to the disembodied voice that was coming out of the menu screen and five minutes later we were parked in a far corner of the near empty lot.

  “The next saint,” she said through a mouthful of Big Mac. “The one from Mexico City.”

  “Saint Catherine of Alexandria Parish – that’s where they found the first angel’s body.”

  She took another huge bite. “Yeah – apparently Saint Catherine pissed off Roman Emperor Maxentius by asking him to lay off on the persecution of Christians. She then converted his wife to Christianity which pissed him off even more, so the Emperor ordered her to be put in prison. When the people who visited her started converting to the new religion, she was condemned to death on the breaking wheel – literally, a wagon wheel where the victim would be bound and every bone in their body would then be broken. According to legend, the wheel itself broke when she touched it, so the Emperor had her beheaded.”

  “They just loved lopping off people’s heads back then. What about the other two?”

  “I haven’t gotten to them yet – my brother called me, remember?”

  I sucked back a mouthful of Coke. “One saint walked away from being burned and then boiled alive without a scratch. Another one has an instrument of torture smashed after she touched it. Sounds to me that divine intervention made them invincible somehow.”

  “Except for the beheading part,” said Sparks.

  I nodded. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there are any relics for those two saints, would you?”

  “Yep – there’s a ring that Saint Catherine wore and it’s at some monastery on Mount Sinai and there’s something called Saint Margaret’s Venerable Hand. An actual hand, Reaper! A bunch of monks in a monastery in Greece have it!”

  I opened the passenger window and chucked my now empty soft drink container onto the pavement beside me.

  “That’s littering!” squawked Sparks. “You can’t litter, it’s against the law! You also can’t litter when you’re in an unmarked police car. Go pick it up!”

  I sighed heavily, “Really?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she moved her right hand toward her Glock. “If you don’t pick up that cup in the next ten seconds, I’ll shoot you.”

  “I believe you would,” I said with a grunt, as I opened the door and picked up the cup.

  And that’s when the unmistakable crack of a bullet split the air as it whizzed past my left ear. There was another crack followed by a metallic thump as a bullet struck the right fender of the car. I hit the pavement, my Beretta aimed squarely at where I thought the sound was coming from and Sparks was already pointing her Glock over the right fender returning fire.

  “Stay down, Reaper!” she shouted. “That report was from a high caliber rifle.”

  “No shit!” I snarled, as I scrambled underneath the car, reappearing seconds later beside her.

  “You piss off any hit-men lately?” she said, her eyes peeled on a small copse of trees in the middle of the Anglican cemetery that bordered the McDonald’s parking lot.

  “Who don’t I piss off?” I barked. “There’s a lowlife who’s been looking for me. Long story.”

  “An enemy?”

  “Well my friends don’t shoot at me!” I shouted, as I bolted toward wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery.

  “Reaper, what the hell are you doing! I need to call this in!”

  I shouted back at her. “Don’t bother – the shooter is a professional. He’s probably off the grid!”

  Another shot rang out, kicking up a clump of sod next to my right knee and Sparks immediately returned fire.

  “Cover me!” she shouted, so I pulled out my second Beretta and fired the pair simultaneously at a crypt on top of a small ridge that was about two hundred meters in front of me. In seconds, Sparks was crouched behind a large headstone next to me, her Glock at the ready.

  “I saw a muzzle flash from that last shot,” I said. “It’s coming from that crypt across the cemetery.”

  “He’s too far f
or either of us to get a shot with our handguns. If you keep me covered, I can sprint over to the low ground and try to come up from behind.”

  I shook my head. “He’s not an idiot, Sparks. If he’s a good sniper, he’ll be moving, too.”

  “So what’s your plan?”

  I stood up and started walking calmly across the cemetery and straight toward the crypt.

  “Reaper! What the hell do you think you’re doing!” shouted Sparks, her voice lilting up an octave.

  “Fire straight into the crypt,” I said, aiming both my guns at the doorway. “We’ll keep his head down.”

  “But you’ll be shot!” she barked.

  “Just do it!” I roared, as I started firing into the doorway.

  Another crack rang out, hitting me in the right shoulder. A searing pain shot down my entire right side and it was everything I could do to keep my right gun even with my left. I grated my teeth together, squeezing off shots as I half-sprinted across the cemetery. Another shot rang out, hitting me in the chest. It didn’t hurt like the shot to my shoulder, but it did feel like I’d been hit with a sledgehammer. My vision started to blur as my mouth filled with blood, but I kept on shooting. I could hear Sparks’ Glock firing off from behind me and somewhere in the distance I could hear police sirens wailing into the gathering darkness.

  I’d been shot twice and thankfully the sniper hadn’t shot me in the head or my great plan of smoking him out would have ended with me lying in a heap in the middle of the cemetery. Another shot rang out, this time hitting me in the right leg, but I pushed back the pain and limped forward, firing a round every two or three seconds. I hit the clip release on both guns and ducked behind another large headstone to reload.

  “Reaper!” Sparks shouted. “You’re hit! Just stay where you are, the tactical team is on its way and they’ll whack this asshole!”

  I ignored her and stood up, again firing single shots into the doorway. I hobbled along until I was twenty feet away from the crypt, my shirt and pants were soaked with blood and a deathly chill started to creep up my spine. It wouldn’t be long until I was in shock, so I had to end this or the body I was occupying would become a permanent resident of the cemetery.