by Ted Minkinow
Minor details interrupted my earlier trip with the bagger gang. Little things like maybe a detour into an alternate dimension for me and a live modeling engagement for my pals. It’s a long way of saying I didn’t get the lay of the real Aachen Cathedral and thus had no idea where to find Chucky’s mortal remains.
My eyesight adjusted to the additional darkness with that infra-red kind of thing they did. The better to see you with, my dear, and I didn’t move for a few seconds. The construction motif of No Face’s dimension turned out true to the real thing. Worker platforms stood against most of the walls and temporary plywood enclosures hid building materials and equipment from view. Perhaps the German workers did their thing on both sides of the veil.
I saw the wall that No Face had decorated with the painting of my tortured friends and jogged over to it. No reason for stealth because if alarms existed, I’d already set them off. Something told me I didn’t need to worry about that, though. If someone could unlock the door for me then they could also disarm the security system. It didn’t make sense they’d invest the kind of effort I’d seen thus far only to get me arrested on a trespassing charge.
And stealth wouldn’t fool the bad guys. If Bernard was right, then both of the red teams knew I’d entered the cathedral. I reached the other side and confirmed I still operated in my own world. No painting. If No Face drew me into his place, it would come later. No time to worry about all of that because I’d found Charlemagne’s gold and silver casket.
And a casket rather than a painting meant I’d still need to visit with No Face if things deteriorated to the point requiring a jailbreak for my friends. Deteriorated? When you break into a cathedral to steal a dead person in order to ransom your buddies from an alternate dimension controlled by demons, you’re already past deteriorated.
The casket sat behind glass on a raised platform, and thick metal fencing cordoned off the area. I needed to break through that first, and I couldn’t assume my treacherous benefactors did me the same favor with the alarms they’d performed at the door.
Had I been the one controlling the patsy, it’s how I’d have set it up. Too many things could go wrong at the door, best to get the mark inside quietly as possible. Change at the casket. Apply some pressure on the thief to keep him moving. A smash and grab—just like Bernard and I planned—followed by the mind-numbing stress of a screaming alarm.
Ensuing confusion would drive the thief to retrieve the bones and retreat in haste. Just the sort of situation for a mindless blunder through the door followed by a few hundred hollow-point rounds. Various points of the thief’s body would interrupt the bullets’ flight. I’d have a couple of people nearby assigned to pick up the bones and egress the scene. Getting away from the Polizei would be a preplanned cake walk. It’s how I’d do the mission were I the bad guys. That is, if I had a pygmy available for the brainwork.
Something more than mere willpower held me back from initiating the smash and kicking off the alarm that surely waited. Something, to the point I lost track of why I stood where I was. The sweet aroma of blood outside. Would a man dying of thirst remain in the desert when a cool lake waited within easy reach?
I dropped the bag intended for Chucky’s dry bones and took a couple of steps toward the door. So what if they riddled me with bullets. I could still get my hands on one of them. And when I did…
“Where are you going?”
Was she talking to me? Maybe I didn’t need to wait for my meal. But where was the blood? Not here. Outside. I resumed.
“Stop,” she said. “Turn around.”
I recognized the voice.
“Be right back,” I said. “Need to do something.”
I needed to do something all right. I needed to rip the blood from the first body I encountered. I needed to put my lips to spurting veins and drink. I needed communion, and from the first time until right there in the Aachen Cathedral, it meant someone needed to die.
A hand slipped into mine. But not just a hand, a lifetime experience. My arm exploded in pleasure. Not the blood and guts kind of explosion but the butterflies-and-bumblebees-on-a sunny-hillside thing. The blood lust fled, though I could still sense it hiding in a dark area of my brain. Peaking around the corner, waiting for the all-clear signal.
“Stop,” she said again.
I turned to the voice. Sarah Arias stood behind me. Her hand over mine.
“Vampire,” she said, “You are a warrior.”
This time she didn’t spit the word vampire, but spoke it with a trace of reverence.
I’ll be whatever you want me to be.
“A warrior,” Sarah Arias repeated, “and a pig.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“What are you doing here?” I said. “Better, how’d you get here?”
My questions chased the smile from her face. And here I’d thought the date was going well.
“Alternate dimension,” I said.
Sarah Arias didn’t respond so I pulled at the thread.
“You and No Face live in the same neighborhood?”
Sarah Arias reacted like I’d insulted her. She dropped my hand and I saw both hurt and anger in her eyes. Her sexy, sea-green bedroom eyes, I might add.
“Is that what you think, vampire?”
Hero to zero in three sentences. I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut. Maybe just let my fingers do the talking.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I do know there’s a demon portal over by that door I came in.”
Sarah Arias looked to where I pointed.
“There is,” she said. “And yes, I used Mestephos’s doorway.”
I wanted to shout “AHA!” But what would be the use? And what did I think Sarah Arias owed me? It’s not like guardian angels sign contracts that stipulate what they’d do and when. I had no right to expect any more out of her than I’d expect from Herr Doktor or his Frau. No right to expect more than I would out of a stranger.
“Don’t be stupid,” she said.
And, hey. She wore anger just as well as disappointment.
“All the universe is open to us.”
The universe. Of course. Why did I get a female guardian? I mean, I needed mine to look like Rambo and shoot like Buffalo Bill. Instead, I get a moody Helen of Troy spouting the typical undecipherable gibberish. On second thought, good thing she didn’t come with a gun.
“Sure it is,” I said. And then I repeated, “What are you doing here, Sarah? What’s your angle?”
Her attitude changed from anger back to concern. That kind of mood swing scares me in the best of situations, but from an immortal female being with immeasurable power? Terrifying.
“Do you remember what I said?”
“That I’m a pig?”
She smiled.
“Not that,” she said. “But you’d do good to cast those ways behind.”
I didn’t think this was a delaying tactic to give the Polizei time to catch their man. That kind of treachery would force me to reconsider asking her out for a third date.
“Do you remember what I said?” she repeated.
I did.
“That I shouldn’t give them what they wanted?”
Sarah Arias smiled, and I swear I could hear little blue birds outside chirping away while they made the perfect gown for a royal ball. I must have passed the test because Sarah Arias began walking toward to other side of the cathedral.
“Wait a second,” I said.
She stopped.
“What happens if I get killed?”
For the second time in less than five minutes my mouth wiped a sexy smile from her face. I have that effect on most chicks.
“If that happens,” she said, “I get assigned a new client.”
My imagination or was somebody’s guardian angel coming across as a bit self-centered?
“Not you,” I said. “I meant what happens to me? What happens to my friends? Our friends?”
Her expression blanked for a moment, and then she seemed to
get the drift.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Free will.”
So there it was again, the free will copout.
I had no more questions as she covered the distance to No Face’s portal. I watched her walk—angel or not, she radiated in those faded jeans. She’d chased away the blood lust for the moment, and at the same time summoned in me another sort of lust less dangerous, but ever present. I’d already known she’d not help with the dirty work. That did nothing to stop the disappointment welling inside my chest. Just before she disappeared she said one more thing.
“Vampire?”
“What?”
“Keep an eye on the doors and try not to get yourself killed.”
As if I needed a heavenly reminder. Fine women do usually come with bossy mouths, though. You need to take the good with the bad. Of course I’d keep an eye on the door. And not getting killed? A prime objective.
“OK.”
“And Vampire,” Sarah Arias said. “This obsession you have with my rear end?”
Uh oh. I didn’t respond.
“Pig,” she said.
Are they really women or do they just come in the female form? If you created the universe and all things in it, would you want to surround yourself with that kind of headache?
Sarah Arias didn’t fade away like the movie ghosts who step into the light. She blinked out in a microsecond. I searched inside myself for the blood lust and found it still cowering in that vacant 90% of my brain. OK, 96%. Either it wanted to make sure Sarah Arias wouldn’t return or my guardian left me a booster shot of willpower to keep my monster at bay while I did the trick with Chucky.
I needed to smash and grab before the blood lust returned to pull me away for a tiptoe through the virtual tulips on my way to a horror novel’s worth of blood and gore. I needed to stay in the real world and I needed to get moving.
Perhaps I should have studied the problem at hand a bit longer but I don’t think I’d have come up with anything smoother than pulling the iron fence apart, breaking the bulletproof glass, and having a go at Chucky’s gold and silver casket. I did stand there and stare for second or two, but my mind saw Karl sitting in the kitchen, ears alert and head canted to one side while he tried to noodle out the mysteries of the dishwasher
Saying an alarm sounded when I yanked the gate from its foundation and tossed it aside would be like saying the nuclear explosion was noisy. The eruption of screeching nearly made my eardrums explode and my heart vibrate out of my nether regions. The Polizei in Berlin could have heard it.
The wailing stopped me dead in my tracks for a few seconds that felt like hours. In addition to alerting the authorities and waking the dead, the engineers probably designed the alarm that way. Disable with noise. And in a country where honking your horn is illegal.
If I continued my statue routine the German army would find me rooted to the same spot when they showed up with the dive bombers and tanks. I got moving.
Chucky’s casket sat on a platform about head-height. I’d need to jump an additional five feet and land on top of the glass because the case filled the entire platform and left no room for a foothold. No room? No problem. I flexed my legs and ended up on top of everything with no more effort than it takes to retrieve a newspaper from the porch.
I didn’t know how much force it would take to break the glass so I decided to use half strength. All the din served my purposes quite well. Where Sarah Arias’s arrival caused my vampire to retract, the alarm called it back in full potency. I looked at the thick glass below me and snarled as I brought a fist down straight and hard.
The raw power would have shattered a normal guy’s hand and left the bulletproof glass unimpressed. In case I’ve failed to mention it, I’m not a normal guy. The glass didn’t crack. It exploded in millions of tiny shards and I needed to do some quick footwork to land beside Chucky’s casket and not on top of it. Hammer could have learned a thing or two.
I love the arts as much as any other guy. That means I’ll stomach them to score points with a chick. I didn’t stop to admire the thousands of hours dedicated to the casket by the long-dead goldsmiths and silversmiths. I knew people like that back in the 1200’s when this box was made and I can tell you they all came with foibles.
Yes, they could create objects of incredible beauty. But what else did they have to do? No football season. No Super Bowl. No baseball or World Series. No hot babes in beer commercials. I’d almost forgotten how bored we all were back in the years between the fall of Rome and the invention of the hot dog. And these artist guys? Snakes. And magicians too because they could make your date disappear by giving her some small trinket they’d made that day with some of the king’s spare gold.
Probably best to leave the grudges until I could hear my own thoughts. More snaps for the German engineers because the alarm shifted in waves of increasing and decreasing intensity. Lovely. I got that cyclic, post-hard night out feeling. You know. I’m going to puke. No I’m not. Yes I am. No I’m not. And on and on it goes until you throw your guts just to get off the wave.
I didn’t know how much vomit-encrusted bones were worth on the demon market so blocked out the alarm as best I could and I ripped the coffin lid open. Those who value purity in art should shut their eyes and ears for the next few seconds, because I’m about to tell you how badly I bent the metal by removing the lid.
I bent the metal. So deal with it. The squeamish can return.
In deference to art preservation I did prop the lid up against the box rather than flinging it across the length of the cathedral to watch it explode against the stone wall on the other side. The alarm drove me nearly bananas and it took a lot of effort for me to hold back smashing everything within in reach. Like Chucky’s dry bones, for example.
Chapter 35
Who knows what to expect when you open a sarcophagus that’s been sealed for more than a thousand years? A skull, a pile of gray bones, a black cloth—monk’s robe?—and an ornately decorated leather bag. Even in the cacophony I detected an anomaly inside the box.
Why the purple leather bag?
Better yet, why should I care? I was looking down on what I needed, the bag was just a distraction. Helmet’s web surfing provided a lot of background on Chucky. Legends said he’s sitting in wait to lead the German people in their time of greatest need. False. Chucky was laying in dry heap that even Madonna’s expensive face creams couldn’t moisturize.
I manned up and conquered the icky factor as I scooped Chuck into the three-ply trash bag Bernard provided while we stood behind the sports car. I think I got enough of him to close the deal with both sets of bad guys, though only one could end up with the prize. I planned on giving the losers little more than a sniff to compel them to return what I wanted. Bernard’s planning left much to be desired in that area. Maybe he never expected me to get that far.
As I said, I’d pulled most of Chucky out of his box. Bernard didn’t think to supply me with a battery powered vacuum cleaner so some of Chucky would need to remain behind. It would make the Germans happy because they’d still have part of their hero to worship.
The whole jump, smash, icky-not-want-to-touch-bones-with-my-bare-hands moment, and grab lasted ninety seconds tops. Perhaps I should thank the alarm-manufacturer for the motivation. Speaking of the alarm, my sensitive hearing distinguished a new wavy sound getting louder. This one originated outside the cathedral and indicated the Polizei had ordered their brats to go.
So in addition to my confused urgency supercharged by the screaming alarm I had at least half a dozen cars driven by angry men and women with mustard splotching their shirts speeding toward me. Me and Chucky, if you dwell on technicalities. OK. OK. Chucky and me.
I’d done enough damage to the casket to last the next thousand years, so I decided to leave replacing the lid to the guys with lab coats and cotton gloves. The black robe and purple leather bag caught my eye as I flexed my legs to vamoose. What the heck. I reached into the casket and grabbed them
both.
They came up light and easy and I spent no more time admiring the artwork on the bag than I did the craftsmanship of the casket. And it was artwork. From what I saw in the quick glimpse, a combination of Egyptian-looking hieroglyphs and Hebraic text. Interesting, but not so compelling as to make me lose track of the alarm inside the cathedral as it beat my eardrums to jelly and the sirens outside that indicated a potentially abrupt ending to my bromance with Chucky.
The leather bag was pliable enough, so I loosened my belt and wedged it underneath. Along with the black cloth. Not an ideal situation, but I didn’t care if I lost it in the portal. Chucky’s bones? Different story. I’d keep my hands on him through the entire process. I slung the plastic bag over my shoulder and jumped down from the raised platform and its empty casket.
If entering the building didn’t require stealth then I could apply that double for exiting. The time arrived for full speed ahead, launch the armada, and break out the battering ram. I decided not to pause for opening the door. Instead, I’d run through it like a battleship cuts through water. Perhaps I could surprise the mercenaries waiting outside with my speed and the shower of splinters. They’d only have a second or two to aim and fire before I would be nothing more than a dot on the horizon.
No need to lower my head or lead with my shoulder. I was a two-hundred-pound missile rocketing straight to the door. I shifted Chucky to make sure he wouldn’t absorb any of the impact. Spilling his dry bones across the marketplace when I stood so close to victory would represent the missing ingredient to end a perfect day.
The door stood a few feet ahead. My night vision revealed every bit of it—thick wood and broad iron fittings. Didn’t slow me a bit. If anything, I accelerated the last few feet in anticipation of powdering all that carpentry and maintaining the speed outside for the time I’d be the lone skinny deer in front of a hundred drunken hunters.
I did close my eyes the instant before impact. It’s probably coded in our DNA to do things like that. Involuntary. When I opened them again, I found myself in another world.
Not another world so much as a different dimension. Oh, and I never splintered the wooden door. Architectural historians everywhere can rejoice. I did run face-first into some sort of force field. Hit it hard and bounced back to the ground. I’m thinking the five-inch thick door I intended to crush with my unprotected body would have felt like a pillow in comparison.