by Riley Mason
“What else is there Bash?” I’m showing calm despite how bad I want to fire this gun in my hand, the real mystery is why I would tell a vampire the secrets inside my head and why he’s loyal enough to keep them hidden from me, all it does is add to an ocean of secrets that slowly dragging me to its bottom.
“LET’S GO!” he says again, the veins in his arms pulse.
I take the gun out, it’s against my better judgement but my time of waiting is long past its expiration but I don’t aim the gun at him, not this time. Instead, I put it to my own temple. “You know I’m the source of a lot of this right, it’s something you know and it’s something that you won’t tell me.”
Now his gun comes up and he aims it at me. “I’ll shoot your fucking hand off, don’t test me, you may be gifted but your still human for now at least.”
“Until they make me kill again?” I ask, I smile, it’s a smile born out of the unbalance that this situation is not because there is a shred of happiness that I can find anywhere inside of me.
“You need protection Arinna,” he says, he must’ve come to some rationalization because he lowers the gun and tucks it back into the waist of his jeans. “Bring the gun down.”
I swing back the hammer. “I need to know Bash, I need to know exactly what you know and there isn’t much more time that I’m willing to wait. These bodies are on you just as much as they’re on me because what you know could help me shield myself from these demons mutilating what I am and what everyone is trying to get at.”
“The time is coming, I can promise you, give me a little more time,” he pleads.
I don’t believe him not fully but there is an instinctual bit of hope inside of me that he’s not just another person playing with my head. That his motives and his goals are mine and not based on whatever this war is going to become.
I lower the gun and put it back in my pocket, while it’s there, I can feel the void in the pill bottle that slides into my fingers. It’s empty and I definitely can’t be without them for much longer.
Chapter 84
I’m sitting in a psychiatrist's office. I definitely don't want to be but part of me is sure that this is the only place that’ll help the need I have. It’s small and its quant, all of them have this striking ability to look like small homes and cozy cutouts of Good Housekeeping. This one is no exception, on the contrary, I’m sure it could've won some kind of award if someone of some importance came in at the right time and started to snap some pictures. The magazines were all up to date, all about dating and men’s health, fresh roses were snipped and placed in elegantly modern vases throughout the room.
I sit there, my legs crossed, I hate doing it but for some reason it feels right now. I’m already thinking about how to put my story in the capacity that this lady that I’m about to speak to doesn't just write me off to some asylum and put me in a strait jacket. The living barely understands the occult, the living and the educated look at it like cancer mixed with Ebola and its airborne and spreading.
This has to work. Right now, I can't trust anyone to get into my mind and start to build up some defenses or at least teach me something. Everyone surrounding me is at the very least dwelling on my past strong enough that it makes me believe that Gabriel wiped out whatever allies I might’ve had in what he made me do in those years that I can't remember. Somehow he made sure that today, in this very situation, I have precisely zero in my corner and every demon worth their weight on the other-side seems content with using me as their prize fighter, I doubt the twins were the only ones that wanted their hand in my mind.
The woman sitting behind a large set of glasses and a high desk, big enough to hide anything that isn’t the top of her hair calls my name. I stand and follow where she tells me to go.
The room itself is just as cozy as it was in the waiting area. There are more flowers, more books, and this one is decorated with half a dozen frames plaques smeared with intense handwriting and the diploma font to honor the graduating honors of whatever the plaque wanted.
There is a couch in the room and there is a chair, I’m not naive, I take the couch and sit back, crossing my legs once again while I wait. I have no idea what to expect, most of what I know about the woman coming in is that she had great yelp reviews, she’s written two books, both of which did decent in the best-seller racket. The only other piece of information is that I know she loves to fuck around on her husband and she’s very no specific about the sex of the person she chooses infidelity for.
She’s an attractive woman as she walks in. I doubt she’s more than a year or a handful of years older than I am. “Hello Arinna,’ she says to me. She does a balancing act with a yellow legal pad and pen as she holds out her hand. I barely get up to shake it.
As she sits, she gives herself her own proper introduction. “My name is Dr. Gordon, is this your first time seeking therapy?” she asks. The smile on her face was well constructed and practiced, I wanted to use my knee to break it.
“First time,” I agree.
I watch as she sits back and her legs cross over one another and she propped her pad in the indent formed so well that I’m sure she’s carved out part of her skin to make sure that pad fit in that exact spot.
“So, we’re would you like to start?” she asks me, the smile is back and in full strength.
I look at her, I know that I’m nowhere near as cheerful as she is, I doubt a double espresso could get me there right now. So, I gamble, that’s the only thing that I’m good at lately is rolling the dice and finding out where it's going to land.
Chapter 85
“Arinna,” Dr. Gordon says to me and it snaps me out of where my mind is going. At least it's going somewhere. “Are you okay?
“Fine,” I reply as I’m brought back to reality. There is a lot on my mind, I doubt that I really should be this opposed to this type of treatment. At least after what I’ve seen and done and knowing that most of the horror of my past lay in repressed memories so scared that my mind won’t even pull them up for me. To get to those require a truth, as I look at her I wonder how much her imagination can bend.
“So the purpose of this is really up to you. I let the client decide what their goals are, memories, feelings, inhibitions, strengths, weakness, and what we do from there is we design a program around what your specific goal is. We start to unlock those barriers inside the mind and really dig to a place where the patient can be happy with what they set out to accomplish.”
“And what happens if that goal isn’t reach?” I ask. “The patient becomes worse, ill, suicidal, how do your words quaint that?”
The smile was still there but there was considerable stress that I had just dropped on it. It's not her fault, my personality is toxic at the moment, I’m not even sure how I’m handling it.
“Then there are alternatives. If vocalization does not remedy the individual issue or goal, there are medications, institutions, more permanent care that can be given if that’s what it takes to restore mental fitness.”
“How many institutional cases have returned to full mental health? I ask.
Dr. Gordon's face falls. “Once that becomes an option the likelihood of mental restoration becomes almost non-existent. It’s more about making the patient comfortable and keep them safe from themselves rather than focus on healing any longer.”
“Then I have something for you before we entertain signing me off to an asylum and we get to the point of no return,” I say, yanking in a deep breath. “There are two things I want from you and then I’ll return the favor with two things of my own, is that understood?”
The smile is dead and buried but she isn’t running to the door either. Her hands are clasped and I see that she’s lost interest in writing.
“You’re a very well-respected psychiatrist in your field. You have a laundry list of colleagues that I could’ve prevented this too but your younger than them and you have things to prove. Young woman, married, distinguished. I want a full workup done on my, whatev
er examinations you need to give me, scans, blood, whatever, I need you to check me for mental instability, weakness things that keep my mind from being whole on itself.”
“That takes time, we need to establish baselines before we consider medical interference,” she hesitates. I don’t. Not even for a second.
“This is going to be done first and foremost. Also I need a medicine designed to reduce brain activity, output, whatever you want to call it. An antipsychotic that I can start taking today.”
“And how can you be sure that you need something that severe to start this off?” she asks me.
I look at her, I know she’s still willing to deal despite the fact that she doesn't like the way the conversation is moving. “The two things that I promised you,” I say to her and reach into my pocket and grab my phone. “Your last conference in Pennsylvania had you with two separate guys in the same night, I have evidence of both. Do what I want you to do and your husband will never find out that not only do you double as a lesbian in the city sometimes, but the men that you entertain on these conferences will never be made public. That and you’ll receive a monthly wire transfer of ten thousand dollars to treat me as I see fit and those prescriptions don’t stop, ever, even if I ask you to stop them, is that clear.”
Dr. Gordon laughs, this one is more genuine but nowhere near gentle. She removes the glasses covering her hazel eyes and lowers them. “You have some fucking nerve coming in here with a list of demands and asking for narcotics within five minutes of your first session.”
Now my phone is in my hand. “How do you want the pictures of you and Dr. Nasim sent to your husband, social media, text, email, or I could do it old fashioned and mail it to him, buy you some time.”
I can tell she’s deliberating. “You’re a fucking cunt,” she says to me.
“Don't start with me. Is this deal done or not?” I ask.
I wait while she gets up and goes to her computer. A few things print out of the printer and he put them delicately into a folder and walks back. “Here’s your prescription, I’d imagine we’re not going through insurance on this one so any pharmacy will have it. Take these tests and email them back to me. That’s the start of your mental output.”
A smile crosses my face, first one in a long time. I take the documents and slide them into my messenger bag and thank her.
Chapter 86
Before I’m done at the pharmacy, I wired Dr. Gordon the first ten grand of our arrangement. I know the first thirty days I’m going to be a pain in the ass. Especially while I try and fine-tune a basically self-medicating situation. I’m not even entirely sure artificial drugs will work but I definitely don't trust anyone well enough now to let them into my head. I want it all left up to me and while Bash needed to speak to someone, another Chaser I can guess, he’s probably warning them to leave town knowing what the demon is forcing me to do, I’m alone and this is the only protection that I can think to use.
The fact that Azrael was able to pull out a different version of me altogether by making me drink his blood. I don’t want that. I feel diseased just thinking about it. Like I’m about to die and I don’t want that feeling. With all that I’m about to face and go up against the last thing that I need is the sensation that I’m falling apart from the inside out.
The prescription is for Haloperidol, I’ve seen it before. I rip the bag open and take three capsules and crush them in between my teeth before I even read and confirm how I know them. They’re a first-gen antipsychotic for schizophrenia, not a bad call. Hopefully this and what’s been happening to me can be linked to that disorder. I don’t even care all that much as long as it works.
My phone rings. I look at the screen. It’s Bash, after the call misses I see that this is the thirteenth call that he’s made to me that I’ve missed.
Storm clouds start swarming me overhead and in seconds, the rain is falling in sheets down on the car so bad that the full setting of the wipers are barely good enough to get me a second of view.
I want a cigarette and I want a drink or at least three drinks especially to wash down the bitter taste leftover from the pills, the bottle after I was done looking at it I stuffed it into my pocket. Then I saw something.
Even through the curtain of rain that was falling on the car, I could see it, at least eight feet tall. It was a demon. It was like the one that I had seen on the rooftop. I didn’t think. I grabbed my gun and got out of the car. Instantly soaked, I ran into the alley where I saw the thing.
It looked back at me with insanely round red eyes, it's hideous face growling whether it meant to be or not. I took aim and fired four shots at it. All four tore in and out of it and it fell from the side of the building that it hung onto.
I feel arms wrap around me and my gun falls to the ground. A hand is at my face covering my mouth and another is around my waist. The man holding me has to be well over six feet tall because as much as I’m kicking and trying to maneuver elbows, I can’t reach any part of him, not that matters anyway.
Eventually, I can smell the chemical on his hand and it floods into my lungs and attaches to my muscles in my body. I fall asleep, the last thing that I hear is the engine of the car I was in turn over and the slamming of the backseat where I was put to rest.
Chapter 87
When I come too I’m in a room sitting in a cracked black leather chair, an end table to the side of me that looks like it had a cup on it recently. There’s a small ring of water left in its place from where it was.
I can hear footsteps somewhere behind me but I can’t really move that well yet. Whatever was used to put me down is still at work somewhere inside of me. It’s either that or the antipsychotics are working their way through my immune system and shutting down everything they come across.
A man rounds the corner, he’s tall at least six feet in change and he’s well built, tattoos cover most of his body as well as his neck and face. He’s wearing what looks like a ripped robe that’s missing the sleeves but it's dragging on the floor behind him. His clothes look slightly of place too, almost like war fatigues or something similar to it.
“How are you feeling?” he asks me. I feel him touch my face but I can’t move well enough yet. When he pulls his hand back there’s blood on his fingertips.
“What happened to me?” I say with the strength I can manage.
“That kill the demon sent you on hurt you worse than you thought. He did well to hide the wounds but in here they won’t stay hidden,” he says, dunking a cloth in a bowl of water that's somewhere behind me. I hear the water drip off as he brings out the towel and then places it to my face. “The serum will help close them.”
“What is this place?” I ask him.
“A hold,” he says back to me, his eyes are horrifically black, I hadn't realized when I first looked at him I recognized them as demon eyes but they only stay black in the mature phases after they’ve gone through red and orange.
“A hold for what?” I ask.
“A hold,” he insists. “I was asked by the Angel to make sure I took you and brought you here,” he said to me.
“The Darkness,” I repeat. The look he gives me is absolute but it has the expression that he has no desire at all to answer questions.
“Imagine this place to be purgatory,” he says. “No past or future, just the now. Your safe here or a time.”
“And what are you then?” I ask him. “The guardian of this place?”
He walks over to me and studies the injuries on my face. I can feel the skin on my face closing, I took more of a beating then I could remember. I give him the towel when he tries to take it from me and he dabs parts of my face that I was ignoring. “I’m something more but I’m allowed in this place.”
“With or without her permission,” I ask.
“She asked me for something, I gave it to her.”
“She can’t control demons on the surface, only on the other side,” I ask curiously.
“I’m not a regular demon,” he
says to me placing the towel back into the bowl. “I’m a demon athari,” he says. “A general in the army of the dark.”
“Why would she have me brought here,” I ask. I’m still confused and what he’s telling me isn’t making much sense.
“She needs to speak to you and your mind is too damaged to make contact without help,” he says as he comes up behind me and puts his hands to the side of my temples. I can feel a glaze wash over my eyes and it's like a drill is being pulled through my skull.
Chapter 88
I’m standing in the cave that I made contact with her before. She was there, sitting in front of nothing, almost like she was relishing in the nothing that was around her.
“Your making this difficult,” she says to me.
I look to my left and can see that the man is still standing next to me. “I don't know the point of what’s happening to me.”
“You weren’t supposed to. You weren’t supposed to agree to kill that Chaser. You weren’t supposed to send those demons back to the other-side.”
“Then what was I supposed to do. My memories are stuck in my head and I have no way to eat them out, how else am I supposed to know how to fight this war.”
“What do you think everyone else is doing. Before a few days ago, you had no idea that I existed. That you would be pulled into purgatory with one of Lucifer’s seven generals. These things, these motivations exist beyond human perception and control. This war is being toyed with by the human race but it has nothing to do with your kind.”
“And what about the last war, the one we won,” I say back to her. “We sacrificed then and…”
“And you freed a prisoner who lost most of her powers of control in the process. I can see things like I used too, the omnipotence that touched me hasn’t changed but my ability to control those events, to change the realities of those around me is dying unless I can find a way to rebuild what I lost.”