Blood Heavy: Ascension

by S. L. J. Shortt

  “They don’t seem to care. They’re still jumping at whatever gig they can find and, I hate to say it but they’re pretty damn good.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Three weeks after Waterloo, they took out a Poltergeist in Hayward, Wisconsin.”

  3 WEEKS AFTER WATERLOO

  Hayward – Wisconsin

  Lights flickered, furniture shook and the house itself growled as Jerry and Goose spread graveyard dirt and holy water around the living room. It was quick and messy but most of the time it worked to boot an angry spirit out of the house.

  Suddenly a kitchen knife flew through the air and missed Goose’s head by about an inch. He hit the deck as the ghost became more and more angry with their presence.

  Jerry headed to the kitchen to cleanse it but before he got to the door and table levitated straight at him and smack him in the chest hard. It sent him flying through the glass window and into the front yard.

  He groaned as he got up, broken shards of glass falling off him.

  “You haunt like a bitch!” he yelled dizzily before heading back into the house just as Goose began drawing an expulsion sigil on the wall.

  About ten minutes later, a great blinding white light shot through the entire house signaling the spirits dissipation. The cleansing had worked to repel the negative paranormal energy. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to come back because this one wasn’t fun.

  Fighting things they couldn’t even see was scary.

  NOW

  St. Cloud – Minnesota

  “Then they took out that wraith about two days ago,” Frankie said. “They've been hitting ghosts and ghouls and other crap in the mean time.”

  “Soph shouldn’t be letting them do this. They don’t have the experience,” Harry groaned.

  “How do you get experience Harry?” Frankie asked rhetorically. “Like it or not, these kids are good at this. They may be young but they’re also smart, organized, driven, armed to the teeth, mean as shit, crazy as hell and looking to kill every nasty thing that goes bump in the night that they can find.”

  “So where are they now, doing algebra homework?” Harry snubbed.

  “Soph said something about them being in hospital,” he said.

  CHAPTER 2 – MIND GAMES

  St. Cloud – Minnesota

  He hated that hospital.

  Looking up at the giant white building gave him a slight chill as he took the last drag of his cigarette. To say that Daniel Jericho had been hardened by his recent experiences would be an understatement.

  All those little things that concern normal people; education, jobs, a mortgage, true love, they no longer applied to him. He shrugged to himself under his heavy black jacket and plain white shirt. He was also wearing torn jeans and biker boots. His dirty black hair flopped slightly in the wind as he rubbed the messy stubble on his jaw.

  He didn't want to have to walk in there again.

  Partly because he’d been there so often but mostly it was because that was where his little ‘miracle’ occurred. He’d been healed by some mysterious force that nobody could seem to identify and was haunted by fractured memories that were in a mental lockbox inside his brain. The only reason he even knew it was for real was because a damn lightning bolt had shaken a tiny part of it out of said lockbox.

  He flicked his cigarette away and walked towards the front entrance of the hospital. This wasn’t very clever considering he had destroyed one of the wards a few months ago but he had to chance it. He had work to do.

  He entered and walked over to the front desk where a receptionist was waiting. Behind her were several nurses and doctors going through files or talking on the phone. A few patients wondered around, going about their business. No one seemed to recognize him.

  “Can I help you?” the receptionist asked. For a second she seemed to stare at his green eyes but quickly glanced away.

  “Yes, I’m here to visit a friend in room four-twelve,” Jerry smiled.

  She typed away on her computer for a few seconds before looking up at him again. “I’m sorry, room four-twelve is empty.”

  “Oh, no problem. He must have discharged himself already,” Jerry said. “You couldn’t point me in the direction of a bathroom could you?”

  “Sure, just down the hall on your right,” she smiled.

  “Thank you.”

  Jerry walked off down the hall and went straight past the bathroom without blinking an eye. He headed for the elevator and pushed the call button. A few seconds later a chime sounded the arrival of the lift and he stepped inside. It was empty. He pushed the button for the fourth floor and the doors closed. As soon as they did, he pulled a USP MATCH .45 from behind his back and began attaching a silencer. He cocked the weapon to make sure that a bullet was chambered then tucked it away again.

  The doors opened and he stepped out onto the fourth floor. It had the same polished plastic looking floors and light colored walls that all hospitals seemed to have. To his right he immediately saw two uniformed police officers standing a few feet away. They turned and looked at him and he started walking towards them.

  “I’m sorry sir, this section of the hospital is off limits,” one of the cops said.

  With one quick, smooth action, Jerry pulled the pistol from his back and shot him in the head. The silencer had turned the gunshot into nothing more than a light popping sound. The second cop went for his weapon but was hit with three bullets in his chest before he could pull it from his holster. Both men dropped to the ground dead and Jerry continued down the corridor without looking twice at them.

  He turned the corner and saw two more police officers standing nearby. This time he didn’t even bother approaching them. He fired from where he was, hitting one in the stomach then head and the other in the chest. Red pools of blood were already seeping out from under their bodies when he passed them.

  He looked up at the room number on the door where they had fallen. Four-o-five.

  He continued on for a few more steps when suddenly a window exploded next to him. Bullets whizzed past his head as he turned and fired. Behind him were four men in full tactical police gear and sporting MP5’s. He hit one in the chest but the bullet didn’t penetrate his vest. Jerry bolted down the corridor as they opened fire again.

  He rushed around a corner as alarms started blaring all over the hospital. His eyes followed the room numbers as he past them. Four-o-seven, Four-o-eight, Four-o-nine.

  The SWAT team turned the corner and fired again. The rounds connected with the wall leaving holes all around him. He ran as fast as he could as the sound of heavy metal being clamped echoed through the corridor. Suddenly a containment door came from the roof and slammed down in front of him blocking his path. Another fell behind him trapping him in a small section.

  He looked at the door to his left. Four-eleven. He was so close.

  Jerry rushed forward and pressed his face to the heavy plastic that was cutting him off. He could see room four-twelve. He could see through the windows.

  He could see her.

  Late twenties, straight dark hair, cold eyes, legs crossed and wearing that expensive white suit of hers. She was beautiful in a frightening sort of way. Lazily she turned and looked at him and the tiniest curl appeared in the corner of her mouth as her eyes brushed with something that resembled affection. As if she were looking at a kitten.

  It was infuriating.

  “What do you want from me?!” Jerry yelled at her but she just turned away and looked at the person next to her. Lying in the bed, comatose and tubed was Jerry, just as he’d been after Cass had attacked him. Again he was forced to look at himself in that condition.

  Behind him the SWAT members gathered at the containment door and began placing small C4 charged around the edges. They were going to blast it off its hinges to get to him. He was trapped.

  It was over.

  “RACHEL!” he yelled looking up at the ceiling.

  Something grabbed hold of his whole body and pulled so
hard that it felt like his bones were going to be ripped out of his skin. White flashing lights shot through his eyes as he burst out of his own subconscious and back into the real world. It was like being underwater and running out of breath then breaching the surface and taking that first gasp.

  It only took a few seconds to for his senses to return. He was in Sophinia’s mansion, lying on a couch in the library. The endless rows of books lined the walls and the chandeliers above held bright light bulbs. On the large wooden table at the back of the room were a few stacks of books that they'd been going through lately. Ironically the ones he'd been reading had nothing to do with the occult but would definitely come in handy since they were about forensic science and human anatomy.

  Rachel was stood next to him, her hand pulling away from being rested on his head during the attempt. Her groomed blond hair and fashion label cloths seemed more colorful than before. As did Sophinia and Cass’s pale white skin. Somehow all their features seemed amplified for a second and that only made them more beautiful. They always looked great, like they'd had eighty years worth of beauty-therapy experience. Cass, and Soph actually did but Rachel seemed to manage it on sheer auto-pilot.

  Sophinia's caring, awe-inspiring presence was clear as she moved forward because her wings stretched out slightly in concern. She gently brushed her hand across his face, her cold fingers letting him know that he was back. He could see her eyes analyzing every part of him, trying to confirm that he was safe. She was so over-protective sometimes.

  Jerry found it annoying and wonderful. He'd never had a mother before.

  “So, I guess fourth time ain’t a charm either?” Cass asked rubbing her temple with her fingers.

  Jerry shook his head, trying to get his brain working properly again. It was always a bit of a jolt, diving into your own subconscious for a while.

  “Focus Daniel, was anything different?” Sophinia asked carefully. Her wings folded neatly behind her back again and platinum hair was in a bun which was a shame because it was amazing when it was down.

  “No. Everything was exactly the same as last time!” he growled squeezing his eyelids shut before opening them again. “I get to the room, outrun the acid-trip Swat team, the containment door drops right in front of me and she’s there with that smug freakin’ look on her face!”

  “We’ll try again okay?” Rachel said trying to sound supportive.

  “Ahh, what’s the point?! Four times now and nothing. We can’t fool this block into letting me in. We’re gonna have to try something else,” he tried to stop his irritation from hitting the ones around him.

  It had seemed like a good plan at the time. Rachel couldn’t force her way inside the mental barrier that had been left in his head so reconstructing the hospital as an illusion so that Jerry could try and slip in undetected was the best idea he’d heard but it hadn’t worked. The block in his mind seemed to adapt to everything they tried. It created imaginary cops to try and stop him from reaching the room and if they failed, the containment doors dropped.

  It was as if the block had a mind of its own.

  “She’s laughing at us,” Jerry murmured darkly.

  “Jerry, it’s a memory not a person,” Rachel reminded.

  “What if it’s not?” he asked angrily.

  Sighing, she brushed Jerry's question off. “If there was someone living inside your head, we’d know.”

  “How?”

  “Because your own mind would fight them for supremacy. You’d develop hallucinations, schizophrenia, duel personalities; I’ve told you this before. You can't play with the human mind like that without there being side-effects.”

  “Right,” Jerry nodded before stretching and yawning. He didn't think he showed any signs of the things that Rachel had just listed so he wasn't concerned. “I'm gonna go stretch my legs.”

  He wondered away from the group still feeling a little on edge. Every time he got close to that damn door the hairs of the back of his neck stood up. Well, his imaginary hairs stood up, or maybe the real ones did too, he couldn't tell, he wasn't conscious.

  The others seemed to pick up on this. Especially Sophinia who turned to Cass, hiding her emotions but using her usual commanding presence. “Be careful with him. He's having a hard time with this.”

  “It's not about knowing how to fight, it's about knowing your enemy,” Cass responded. “You taught me that.”

  “He's not you're enemy.”

  “But he does need a fight. It's the only thing that make him focus. Besides, It'll take his mind of things.”

  “She's right,” Rachel warned, “be gentle though, he's not as strong as we wish he was.”

  “No,” Sophinia smiled. “He's stronger...he just hasn't realized it yet.”

  Jerry had heard them talking but he hadn't really been listening. His mind was already occupied.

  It was truly frustrating that the barrier would let him get so close only to shove him away at the last second. It always put him in a fowl mood so he decided to head for the gym.

  Well, it couldn't really be called a gym. It was a ballroom that had been stripped of just about everything except wallpaper and lights. Where tables and chairs once might have been, now there were punch bags hanging from the ceiling, wooden training weapons on the walls and wrestling mats on the floor.

  He clicked his knuckles before taking a few shots at the bag. It was nothing like punching an unnatural evil freak of course, mainly because they'd either move or hit you back. Usually both. But it served as something for him to purge a bit of anger on.

  The chain clamping it to the roof squeaked as he continued to throw a few more punches into the bag. Anytime he put too much force into a hit, the bag would wobble all over the place and he'd have to steady it. It was good to know that his muscle was increasing.

  Hunting monsters was a hell of a workout.

  He sent another heavy fist into the bag but this time it didn't move and the impact actually hurt his hand a little. Cass had appeared behind the bag and held it so it didn't absorb his hit.

  “That's what it's like punching an Empusa. Damn things are made of stone or something,” she said walking around the bag slowly as Jerry shook the pain out of his hand. As usual she looked incredible, even better than her sister which was saying something. Her hair dangled down to her lower ribs, her curves stood out in the purposely tight cloths she was wearing and her strength made her even more predominant. And of course, she loved it.

  “I know, I've read about them,” he said.

  “But you've never had to fight one. They're one of the nastiest kind of vampires and trying to take em' in a fist fight is suicide for a human. But, if you had no other choice, I'd recommend a sledgehammer.”

  She knew exactly how beautiful she was and exactly how strong she was. Anyone that did tended to gain a bit of vanity from it. Especially since she knew that she could have her face carved to pieces, drink some blood, heal and be just as attractive as she was before in the space of about twenty minutes.

  “The only things that try to fight Empusas hand to hand are other Empusas. People with a few more brain cells just torch em, or blow em up, or shred em with armor piecing bullets.”

  “Ten points. What about a Suangi?”

  “Take their heads off,” Jerry said quickly. “What's with the pop quiz?”

  “Just making sure you're keeping on your toes,” she smirked. “Suangi's are pretty damn fast though. How you gonna keep it still while you decapitate it?”

  “Blow out it's knee caps...or I'll get faster,” he shrugged.

  “Okay,” she said and walked over to the wall where all the training weapons were hung. She grabbed a few wooden bars that were about the same length as the machetes he used. “Let's see how fast you are.”

  “Cass, come on, I'm tired. Can't we do this another day?”

  “Cry me a river sweetheart. You think the nasties are gonna wait until you've slept like a baby?” she threw the two sticks to him which he caught.
She then grabbed two for herself.

  Even though the martial arts form she was teaching him was actually called 'single-stick', she insisted on teaching him to duel wield any and all weapons. Interestingly it was a fighting form that was created for people that had to use a walking stick and was apparently one of Sherlock Holmes many talents. It was also her way of trying to show him that just about anything could be used as a weapon, even a disabled persons instrument.

  “You just wanna get your jollies from hitting me with sticks,” Jerry groaned.

  “Well, it is kinda fun,” she grinned and waited for him to join her on the wrestling mat.