by Tiana Laveen
I am not fucking with that. It could be anything.
His curiosity piqued, he ignored the urge to delve deeper and left the room, closing the door behind him. On a sigh, he went down the winding steps to the first floor. He was temporarily confused as he tried to recall the direction to the kitchen. In some ways, the place seemed to be a mammoth maze. So many levels, twists and turns. Stunning place. The windows in the dining room struck him most, going all the way from the floorboards to the ceiling. It was obvious that whoever had built the house knew what they were doing, and paid careful attention to every minuscule detail.
They don’t make houses like this anymore. This place is old, built to last.
Gathering himself, he concentrated on where he stood until he was able to navigate with assurance.
Oh yeah, that’s right. The kitchen is right over here.
Ira walked into the area and flipped on the light. The stainless-steel appliances, black marble counters, and shiny ivory tiled floor looked state of the art, futuristic. He hadn’t had a chance to really take it all in last night. Things had been so chaotic, a frenzy of love, partying, and affection. He’d overdosed on the attention everyone had showered down on him.
Maybe I will take my brother-in-law’s offer up and stay another day after all. I kinda like it here.
Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed the pitcher of pineapple juice Mama had said she’d made before she went to do her shopping and filled a plastic children’s cup with a panda print on it to the rim.
Let me guess, this is Dakarai’s … maybe Isis’. No, I’m betting Dakarai.
He smiled as he wondered which child he’d borrowed the tumbler from. Taking a sweet sip, he crossed his ankles and leaned up against the counter, the edges of his daydreams soft and free flowing. The smell of breakfast food still perfumed the air, awakening regrets of not taking Mama up on her offer of crispy fried bacon, cinnamon scented strawberry waffles with whipped cream, and her epic spicy scrambled eggs. Suddenly, he recalled how Xenia had said he could use her Lyft account to go wherever he wished.
Yeah, I should get out this morning, visit some places. The rest and relaxation feels great, but I don’t want to waste this time. Besides, I need some new clothes… I could pick up a new snapback, too. I guess I’ll wear that shirt Saint got me today and some jeans, then head out to Times Square, see what it’s like. Maybe go the Statue of Liberty and then catch a movie… I want to pick up some presents for Xenia, Mama, Hassani, Dakarai and Isis, too. A little something before I go…
He contemplated plans until the juice was gone, the last, sweet drop leaving him wanting more. As he turned the water on in the sink to wash the cup, he heard a guttural moan. His muscles tensed. Spinning around, he looked about, wondering where the odd noise had come from.
“Hello? Mama, are you back?” He looked towards the living room, but it couldn’t have come from there. He’d heard the sound too clearly, as if emitted from less than a few feet away. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned back to the running water and turned the damn thing off.
Must’ve been the pipes.
Relaxing a little, he turned the water back on and reached for the yellow dishcloth and liquid soap. He washed the cup thoroughly, taking his time while falling back into his thoughts and making tentative plans for the day.
“COCK SUCKER! POOR ME, I HAD NO DADDY! CUNT BOY!”
“What the fuck?!” Ira leapt up in the air, dropping the cup in the sink with a thud before turning with the speed of light, fists raised and ready to fight, to face whoever had dared to say such a thing … but he saw no one. His heart racing a mile a minute, he turned to and fro, frantic, confused … afraid. Just as in combat, he pulled himself together no matter how his heart flipped about in his chest, and walked around, investigating every nook and cranny of the room, then opening the pantry door, but there was no one there either … not a soul. He made his way back to the sink and took a deep breath as he white-knuckled the edge of the basin.
I know I heard it! Someone was here.
It had been a gravelly voice panting in his ear, so close, it sounded like someone was standing right behind him. Any closer, and they’d have been within him. He could feel their heated breath in that brief moment and the sensation had made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. And yet … he was alone.
“Am I crazy? No … I’m not. I don’t think I am … maybe?” He swallowed before storming out of the kitchen. His jaw began to hurt as it remained tense, his nerves bundled tight and his mind shot for the stars, wishing for answers. He didn’t dare phone anyone; how ridiculous would he sound, talking about this incident?
He headed to the guest bathroom to take a shower, trying with all of his might to push what had happened out of his mind. He made sure to check the bathroom from top to bottom, then lock the door before he stepped inside the wet enclosure. Better safe than sorry…
3:33 A.M. and the motherfucker made his debut…
The Hudson River was a black, watery grave—the marine home to old automobiles, bicycle parts from yesteryear, broken-hearted and suicidal lovers, dumped furniture from foreclosed homes, and fish that were tougher than the rusty nails they swallowed. The bright white light from the front of the boat shined down onto the water, illuminating the wavy bed of a floating monster. Cruz stood in front of the Ocean Alexander liner next to Jagger, who navigated the vessel in the still of the night. Their bodies were stiff from the cool river air, their minds vigilant, their thirst for spilled blood unquenched. Saint was convinced he’d heard Jagger’s stomach rumble, even over the crush of the waves. They’d decided that Lawrence and Saint would go down and do the dive, seeing as they were the best swimmers in the squad. Nevertheless, Cruz and Jagger stood in their wetsuits, ready to follow behind them at a moment’s notice.
“There.” Cruz pointed up ahead to an odd concave current in the waters as they perused Catskill, New York. They’d left off of Dutchman’s Landing, via Cruz’s sixth sense. “I can feel him.” The man’s psychic nose seemed to be fine-tuned to such things, more so than any of the members of their troop. Like a bloodhound, Cruz led the way, and they followed, soon picking up his keen sense. Saint took inhales and exhales, then once again for good measure.
He’s right. He’s here.
“Does he know we’re here?” Jagger asked as he slowed the boat, preparing to idle.
“Not yet, but he will as soon as Saint jumps in the water. You’ll have to move fast. He’s about twenty feet deep, so he hasn’t been resting long. The longer he sleeps, the deeper he will go. There are pros and cons to that.”
“Such as?” Saint stared at the water. The darkness and mysteries of the river below made his heart beat with excitement. Dread and a surge of trepidation crept within him too, but he kept his concerns to himself.
“It means you’ll get to him faster, but he will rouse faster now, too. If he wakes up as you approach, he’ll fight. He doesn’t want to be taken down by a King Angel Child. It’s considered a great disgrace for a demon, especially one of his level. He’s quite strong. He orchestrates power over acquest demons, who are known to drown humans, and supposedly he also commands over 60 hell-bound legions—so please understand by this that Satan has sent one of the worst of the lot first. This is no slow build up with this guy, so please, be careful.”
“I’m not afraid. We’ve seen the news. He’s been a busy son of a bitch.” Jagger slapped the wheel and grabbed some gear, forcing it down hard. “All of these so called accidental drownings and strange possessions, people murdering one another over jealousy—all his doing. I guess he’s stuffed now and wants to lie down and sleep after hurting civilians, creating a smorgasbord of tormented souls all over the city. You know what?” Jagger looked over at the extra set of fins. “I may need to go too, after all. I think it’s better that three of us go and grab this fucker, and leave Cruz up here to keep watch. I have a feeling he is going to require more manpower.”
Lawrence nodded in agreemen
t as he pulled the diving suit hood over his head. Securing the breathing tube, he then adjusted his goggles.
“Grab, subdue, and behead,” Cruz reminded with a stern tone as he observed them preparing for the dive. “That will force him out of the body he has inhabited and he’ll have to return to Hell, at least for a while. By the way, he’s almost thirty feet deep now.”
“I’ll bring the body back up after we’re done. At least, that way, the family can have a proper funeral for whoever he possessed this last go round.” Saint and Jagger positioned their masks and regulator hoses in place. Saint checked Lawrence and Jagger’s compression air tank and Jagger checked his in turn, giving the thumbs up.
Straddling the edge of the boat, Saint swung his legs over. He took a deep breath, then fell headfirst into the depths of the cold water. His muscles constricted from the cool grasp of the rushing river until he began to pump his legs and arms, tunneling down into the murky depths. He could see bits of light coming from behind him as Jagger and Lawrence drew close, the lights on their gear helping to guide the way. Straight ahead, nothing seemed out of the ordinary—algae, debris, something that resembled a shoe. But a strange heat pulsated through his body, as if a radiator were nearby, turned up to the highest setting.
Narrowing his eyes through the dark current, he made out one, then two, red glowing orbs. He swam faster, working his arms and legs harder. In horror, he realized the orbs were not stationary, but getting smaller and smaller…
Eyes… This son of a bitch is awake, shit!
Jagger eased in front of him while Lawrence stayed a few feet back. Staggering their movements, Jagger zoomed about faster than Saint could ever fathom, going deeper until he disappeared from sight, shrouded briefly in blacker than black shadows. Glimpses of Jagger’s light bounced about frantically until Saint saw the man’s eyes glow, then widen, as if he’d gone into shock. Saint turned his body under the heavy current, and held up his arm to alert Lawrence of the emergency.
Jagger, what the hell is going on?! Saint yelled telepathically.
He and Lawrence were side by side in a matter of seconds. The beast had Jagger by the throat, but Jagger also held on to the fiend’s neck. His energy was draining too quickly. Saint could smell the blood in the water, both from Jagger and the demon, as his friend thrashed about, struggling to stay conscious. Rushing towards him, Lawrence grabbed the demon around the ankles and held on tight as Saint wrapped his arm around the head of the beast and gave him a swift knee kick. Alarm belted from the depths of his soul as the damned quadruped began to violently shake, his mouth splintered wide. His face started to crack in half and a thick fog of light green vapor oozed out his mouth, resembling a thousand swirling snakes made from smolders of Hell. The panic surrounding him seized Saint in his gut, including Cruz’s who was psychically tethered to his every thought and movement.
Saint clumsily fought his own attire to free the knife secured on his hip. It had been blessed by an Angel Child, who was also a Catholic priest that Lawrence knew, specifically for this occasion. His muscles quickly tired from the fight with the current, but his adrenaline propelled him forward. He looked into the red eyes of a twenty-something-year-old man, his burnt orange hair glowing like fire as it flowed from a pale-skinned scalp. Saint’s heart rate slowed when sad thoughts assailed him. This kid had all his life ahead of him, but now will never get to live it…
Baring his teeth, the demon fought all three with a strength Saint had never witnessed. The hellhound thrashed and gurgled as Saint pierced him with his weapon, the tip of the knife slicing into the Adam’s apple and going all the way through to the other side.
Swirls of black blood floated from the wound, smelling of sulfur. Saint opened his mouth, quickly removed his air tube and spit out holy water onto the beast. He said a quick prayer for the boy who, at that moment, lost his life. Grabbing the mop of red hair, he ripped the head off the remainder of the way, separating it from the spine in one fell swoop. Pumping his feet, he raced towards the surface of the water, his heart beating so fast, he thought it might explode. Cruz stood ready, taking the head from Saint’s hand as he raised his arm, revealing the grisly victory.
Moments later, Saint lay on the rocking floor of the boat, breathing hard, his suit zipped halfway down and his heart jogging within him as though in a relay. Jagger placed the body on the opposite side of the vessel and laid a blanket over it, while Lawrence whispered the last rites over the deceased, along with customary Angel Child prayers. All four said little to one another, but they shared the same emotions. No words were needed. The power they’d encountered in those waters had been massive and overwhelming. An ugly, deep, and ancient evil had awakened, spun on its axis, and vomited onto the world.
Saint clutched his chest and slowly closed his eyes as the boat gained momentum, speeding through the Hudson back towards the city. What felt like it had only taken minutes, had in fact taken hours. Opening his eyes again, he ran a shaky hand down his sore jaw from where he’d been clocked a few good times by the hellish bastard. A champagne-colored sun was climbing out from behind a shield of dark clouds.
“Are you okay?” He blinked and looked up to see Cruz standing over him. The man’s long blond hair waved about in the brisk wind, his eyes black as coals and his concern palpable.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Cruz nodded and stepped away.
Sitting up, Saint sat and brought his knees to his chest. He reflected on the last few hours, on how his brother-in-law had suddenly packed his bags and headed back to L.A. a day early, and how badly his mother-in-law had taken the news, retreating to her room without a word.
Xenia wasn’t sure what to make of all this; she chalked it up to him being homesick for Cali, but deep down he knew the woman suspected differently. Ira had looked him in the eye and told a lie, although, perhaps to him, it was the truth. Something had frightened the young man and made him flee. Ira was not a man who scared easily. As he’d looked at that fella when they’d conversed on the back verandah, he’d seen bits and pieces of his war experiences—terrible occurrences and situations he should have never lived. Those happenings had made his mind a mess, but his heart and instinct for self-preservation remained strong. His brother-in-law’s energy had been a welcome relief, but now he was gone, just like that.
He’d left some presents for the children, all neatly wrapped with a promise he’d return. Saint didn’t believe him…
What drove him away?
The Demon Children couldn’t get in his house, nor could lower ranked demons with little power, such as the one he banished previously, but there was no promise that a full-fledged demon high on the hell-hierarchy totem pole could not gain entry. Some believed they had to be invited in, but who said the person sending out the invitations had to be him?
Someone, or something, had gotten to that man. He hoped Ira would find the strength to tell him one day, the sooner the better. Saint lowered his head and shook it, anger sprouting within him and festering, spreading quickly like a virus. Snapping his knuckles, he stood, finally accepting that he was going to fill the oceans and skies with blood before it was all over.
This is war.
I am going to take each and every one of you motherfuckers out.
One down, six to go…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saint, is that really you?
Seeming as though he’d appeared from a misty fog, Saint appeared stark naked in front of Xenia, startling her. All wet—from the tips of his ebony hair down to his bronze feet. His skin had a strange glow. He tossed some clothing he held—something with a rubbery material—an odd outfit to the side of the room, but kept his sights keenly upon her. The scent of dank moisture and the outdoors filled Xenia’s nostrils. She sniffed, then sniffed the air again. The smell reminded her of when her uncle would return from a long day of fishing at Redondo Beach. Saint’s fingers twitched as he stood in the semi-darkness, glaring at her with glowing purple eyes.
“Saint…” She sa
id his name, almost afraid to speak it. What if her voice alerted the energy inside him to her presence? Perhaps he’d missed her. Something about him was different … foreboding, dangerous.
Her heart stilled as she traced her collarbone with trembling fingers. A chill in the air tiptoed down her bare arms and slid its icy embrace along her limbs, leaving goosebumps down its path. She gasped when he took a step towards her, and then another. Before her next blink, he was on the bed like some panther, purring … hunting. He said nothing as he loomed over her, so close his distinct scent overpowered her. The man opened his mouth and out poured swirls of lavender and red smoke. They beautifully flowed against one another, merging, twisting along each other like outstretched limbs from a lover’s embrace.
He stole her breath away, causing her ribcage to expand and fill as he placed his fingers under her chin, pulled it down, and forced her lips to part. She was speechless, filled to capacity with something that scared her and turned her on at the same time. A hideous bout of lust began to consume her, carnal, ugly and gorgeously addicting. She inhaled the air he exhaled, becoming one with the beast inside him. She slid against the headboard, bunching her satin black gown around her upper thighs, but failed to retreat from his aggressive grasp.
I have to fight this…
But she was lying to herself. Not one bone in her body wished to leave his side.
Saint’s strong hands wrapped around her waist, greedily dragging her down the bed, and then he ripped her gown, making it flee her body like a silken memory. Tossing it aside, Saint slid his tongue between the creases of her pussy, flicking and playing her body like a finely tuned instrument until the first notes of her song were strummed. Hard muscles rippled beneath the golden, inked flesh of his back. Their mutual moans hung heavy in the air, breaking the quiet and fictitious calm. Her eyes fluttered while she came to grips with so many feelings.