“What sort of material was used for that? It was a huge explosion for such a small bag.”
“A rare little substance called heptanitrocubane. I know a guy who really loves to synthesize and experiment with chemicals, especially ones that give a bigger boom.”
“Wouldn’t that be expensive?”
Lucifer laughed, “Expense is not a matter of worry for me, my friend. You’ll realize this as the day grows long and hours melt together.”
“Will you give me a clue as to who you are? At least give me some kind of hint as to why you chose me.”
“I have watched you for years without your knowledge, and I know that you think life isn’t worth living. You guzzle liquor, wondering why the bottles don’t last longer. Only existing because placing the barrel of a loaded gun in your mouth is a pathetic fool’s way out. I chose you because even with a wife and two kids you knew about, you threw it all away. I am here to give you a reason for living. I am here because you have a specific trait that I’m looking for, and it’ll be up to you at the end of the day if that trait is worth tapping.”
“You are playing god for me.” Azazel giggled quietly.
“Playing? No. I am your god today! Here’s my next task, go to 300 E. Broadway Street Apt. 3, and await my next call.” Lucifer hung up.
Azazel stood in the clock tower for a few more moments, examining the burning buildings in the distance through the fog. The explosions had awakened him, and he just wanted to savor the moment before continuing.
After a few tranquil moments, Azazel finally motivated himself enough to descend the stairs. He revved the Ducati and headed towards the next destination, but detoured towards the Sinai City Bank he had just delivered the package to, out of curiosity. A massive crowd barricaded by police created an amazing amount of mob noise. People were excited by the destruction. Azazel thought to himself how shameful it was, but he couldn’t blame them. He was a spectator just like them but inside the clock tower.
He idled slowly through the street, avoiding all the gathering emergency vehicles and pedestrians. Thoughts of his ex-wife dangling from the bridge started haunting him again as he cruised within a block of that location. Thoughts of his kids being held by a psycho made him feel vulnerability not felt in many years.
He arrived at the address, and found an apartment complex for lower income people. Around the complex, discarded trash was scattered throughout the weed infested gravely asphalt parking lot.
Phone rang. “Hello, Azazel. Do you recognize this place?”
“No. Should I?”
“The reason I have brought you here is because I wanted you to know something, although it is terrible. The reason your wife hid the girl from you was because, even though she was yours, Frank had kidnapped the child. Her name is Alana, and through a chain of events that had nothing to do with you, she was taken into custody by Frank until the incidents that I am sure you remember.”
It had been about twelve years since the last time he talked to his uncle Frank Asmodeus, a man who was convicted of the rape of a ten year old girl. Azazel had a sick stomach when he thought of the gruesome details, and he still couldn’t believe it when they let him go after five short years in Naberius Correctional Center. What surprised him more was that Frank survived in a place where pedophiles were at the top of the hit list.
“Explain further. What is it that I know?” Azazel was fishing for clues.
Lucifer said, “I know you recall him molesting children. I’m sure I don’t have to connect the dots for you on this one. I also won’t give any more details on how that custodial mess never included you, although I think deep down you know.”
“You mean to tell me that he raped my daughter, the daughter I didn’t even know I had?” Rage and confusion were building inside Azazel. It was an unusual feeling just after the serenity he felt moments before. The change in emotions was confusing, but the fury made him see red.
“Look inside the seat of your bike,” Lucifer said.
Azazel reluctantly opened the compartment and found a syringe and an envelope. Looking upon the manila packet with discontent, curiosity got the best of him, and what was inside was exactly what he expected. Pictures of Frank with children, doing unspeakable acts. Azazel’s eyes welled up when he saw one of a child that he recognized, a child he saw with his ex-wife, although it never registered, most likely because he never asked. The picture said “Alana”, written in magic marker at the bottom. He almost couldn’t handle the burning emotion.
“If you have these pictures, why didn’t you stop him when he was doing this shit?”
“I can’t explain that to you right now. It’ll be a story I’ll happily share with you tomorrow, given that you survive.”
As he looked upon the disgusting photographs, Azazel turned his gaze to the syringe. “What is this?” he asked, controlling the emotions as best he could, although obviously distraught.
“Synthesized adrenaline.” Lucifer abruptly hung up.
Azazel laughed to himself. Adrenaline and rage, he was going to do something terrible in a moment. He tied his left arm with a thin rubber tube also found inside the seat of the bike, then uncapped the syringe and injected the substance into the cephalic vein. Azazel waited a moment, and as expected, adrenaline warmed the body. His heart beat hard and the thought process became intensely clear. His target was clear, the place was clear. Everything was incredibly clear, and he shot up the stairs. The apartment was on the second floor and he calmed down enough to knock. His body was trembling with anxiousness as he waited for Frank’s face to appear.
“Who is it?” Frank asked through the door, looking through the peep hole.
Azazel heard the voice and that was all he needed. He couldn’t control himself any longer and kicked the door three times with authority, breaking the frame on the final try. Frank’s eyes were wide open with terror.
“Tom? What are you doing?” Frank gasped.
Frank was 6’, 240 pounds, and Azazel was pushing 5’9”, 170 pounds. Azazel exploded towards Frank, laying punches and kicks at such an immeasurable speed his target was immediately overcome. He gasped and pleaded for help, but the cries would receive no attention. The neighbors knew about Frank’s history and wandering eyes towards their children. The law allowed him to stay even after their protests, but due to their incomes, moving wasn’t an option.
Azazel hammered away with every bit of wrath, smashing Frank’s face in terribly. Never saying a single word, Azazel destroyed Frank, kicking his lifeless head into the ground, cracking the cranium. His final blow was a knee that caved in the skull. Azazel stood above the body, attempting to catch his breath, but he became dizzy. He saw spots and fell to his knees next to Frank, looking upon the bloody mess that he had just created. Azazel calmed his breathing. He was hot and sweaty and his head hurt and ears throbbed from the heavy panting. His hands ached from the cuts on his palms and the knuckle damage.
Taking a quick look around, he saw a computer. Frank had been up to his old games, and Azazel realized this with what was on the screen. Video showed various bathrooms that Frank recorded through the walls. He had also been surfing through the chat rooms of pages obviously made for children. Azazel’s hatred for the man he had just destroyed intensified, and he ran over, kicking the chest again and again. Azazel knew his footmarks could give him away, so he washed his shoes just before leaving.
The phone buzzed. “Clean yourself up. You don’t have to worry about law enforcement here. Remember where you are. Set the place on fire and destroy the evidence.” The phone went dead.
Azazel knew the neighbors would be awake from all the noise, so he didn’t worry about warning anyone. In the kitchen cabinets, two bottles of Everclear 190 proof liquor were found. He drizzled the highly flammable liquid over the body of Frank, as well as around the apartment where he could see his foot marks drenched in blood. Lighting the volatile fuel as he walked out through the balcony, he decided to take the route of least resistance
to escape this terrible place, this dirty place. He jumped the unstable railing and dropped to the ground.
The tinderbox apartment erupted in flames quickly as the discount carpet accelerated the makeshift crematorium. Azazel only wished he had cleaned up better before leaving since he was a bloody mess. The instinct to flee became overwhelming. He didn’t even look back upon the structure where smoke alarms rang into the night and the neighbors rushed out, saving themselves from the arson, only to watch their apartments burn. Cold air made Azazel clear-headed but empty inside. Shivers ran through his body, and he needed a change of clothes, so he headed home. He knew Lucifer wouldn’t call until four o’clock, so that left him with half an hour free.
The drive home was long, lonely, and tiring. Inside the house, Azazel took a short shower, trying to ignore the acts committed thus far. Still surreal, the weight of reality was slowly crashing down on him. He let chilly water spray against his face, blood streaming down the drain. Stinging knuckles accompanied the barbed-wire lacerations in a sonata of pain. Frank’s image haunted Azazel’s mind, torturing him momentarily. He was about ready for a drink, but refrained from touching the Dimitri bottle.
Azazel started thinking about the fact that he hadn’t done anything to show he cared about the kids in years, and couldn’t believe it took a psychopath to make a change. What an eye opening experience. The thing he couldn’t figure out is why his ex-wife never told him about Alana. Lori buried the facts.
4 A.M.: Duke Valefar
Azazel sat in the dark, staring at the wall, waiting for Lucifer’s call. His mind was numb and slightly exhausted, something he was already getting used to. Right on time, the phone buzzed with “Rolling on the River” from Tina Turner, and the song perked him up momentarily. He even subconsciously began singing the lyrics to the chorus.
“Get to the Cain City Boat Club docks,” Lucifer commanded.
“Wait, can I speak to Josh?” Josh was Azazel’s other son.
“He’s sleeping, do you wish for me to wake him up?” Lucifer responded as if he cared.
Azazel thought twice. “No, that’s all right. What do you want me to do at the docks?”
“There’s a boat named Karun. I want you to find it and I’ll call you then.”
“How will you know I’m there?” Azazel fished for more answers.
“You think I’m going to tell you now? I’ll only say that I know where you are at all times.” Click. Phone went dead.
Azazel really wished he could have heard Josh’s voice over the phone. It had been a few weeks since the last time he spent any time with his boys. Both children had been kept away since the alcoholism reached its most aggressive state at his job termination. Azazel still couldn’t believe he had taken everything for granted. Only in the face of real loss did he want to claim a resemblance of life.
Azazel made a vow to never touch alcohol again. All it did was make him miserable, and was actually glad to have been chosen for this ordeal. It was a chance for redemption, and all that was required was to make it through one day. It might be the longest day ever, but it was only one day. He couldn’t remember whole months of time due to being constantly drunk, so how hard could one day be?
He used the Ducati to drive to a small river inlet where the docks along the river were located. The ambient noise of sirens made tonight excessively loud. The entire town was going up in chaos thanks to Lucifer. Upon arrival, Azazel parked the usual two blocks away. He scanned the area for any signs of possible hostility, but the docks were dead, as should be for 4 A.M., so he proceeded.
Thirty vessels were present for Azazel to sort through, a mixture of pontoons and speedboats. He checked each for their names, reluctantly pulling his phone out to use as a flashlight because the darkness made for a difficult search. Finally, just as he saw the name Karun written on the side of a lonely little 16’ Ranger Phantom skiff, the phone buzzed in his hand and the song made him smile again.
“I want you to take this boat, float down the river eastbound, and stop after two miles,” Lucifer commanded. “There will be a vessel, a Sea Ray sport boat. There are no others in that immediate area.”
Azazel rarely spent any time on the river, so he was worried about the accuracy of distance over water. “What do you mean, two miles? I can’t tell that kind of distance in a boat like this.”
“Use the GPS tracker inside a bag on the boat that’ll indicate exactly where to go. There is also another thing that will be needed to complete the mission.”
“Is this another person from my past that I am getting back at?”
“Do I really need to say?” Lucifer hung up.
Azazel was pretty sure he knew who owned the boat, as he had been there once before. It only took a little brainstorming to come up with the answer. His old lawyer, Duke Valefar, who charged a substantial series of fees but didn’t perform the duties he was hired for. By the time Azazel figured this out, Duke had already hustled nearly $10,000. Being the asshole that he was, the lawyer threatened to sue Azazel for more using bogus charges. Azazel retaliated one day by breaking into his home and snatching up some jewelry that he sold to recover some of the costs. Luckily, Mr. Valefar never connected him to the burglary, or was unwilling to push his luck by accusing Azazel.
Azazel took his time as he became acquainted with the skiff. This was the second time ever driving one, and the first time in the dark, adding difficulty to the fidgety controls. He cruised the river, narrowly avoiding random sand bars and large driftwood branches. He closed in on the Sea Ray vessel Lucifer was talking about and docked.
The phone buzzed. “Inside your boat is a tank and a bag. Bring the cylinder up to the back window and cut open a hole in the sliding glass patio door using the cutting tool. He has alarms activated, so don’t open any doors or windows. Once you’ve placed the tank inside the door, light the fuse, return to the boat, and leave.”
“Is that all? I thought this was going to be complex,” Azazel said, sarcastically.
“Very well, smart ass. Inside your vessel is a bat. Before you light the fuse on top of the tank, go ahead and have fun wailing on the car in the front driveway. He made the down payment with the money you spent on him, anyway.” Lucifer chuckled.
Azazel found the Louisville slugger. “Are you serious?”
“Sure, and I hope your hands aren’t damaged too much to grip that wooden wrath bringer.” Lucifer hung up.
Azazel smiled, but felt slightly bad because he barely knew the lawyer guy, and it was years ago. He stopped himself from thinking that way, though. If Mr. Valefar swindled that amount from him, then how many other people did he cheat? Azazel knew deep down this man deserved what was coming, so he wasn’t going to hold back.
He crept through the open back yard and no motion sensitive lights triggered. Figuring it’d be wise to address the window first, using an office as the target, Azazel found a cutting tool that looked like a compass inside the bag. A suction cup held tight to the window as it carved a hole just large enough to allow the fire-extinguisher sized tank passage. Azazel stood it up so it wouldn’t roll away, and faced the unusually long fuse out, crimping it on the window to keep it from falling in. Once Azazel was comfortable with the way everything was set up, he strolled to the front. No gates or fence obstacles, just a convenient sidewalk. A gorgeous Mercedes Benz was sitting in the driveway, black with chrome trim.
Azazel peered upon this beauty and smiled as he took the first swing at the headlights. CRASH! But no alarm sounded. He checked the doors and they were unlocked, so he noisily unleashed hell on the car windows, side panels, tail lights and front grill until the bedroom lit up. Glancing at the address which read as 430, coincidentally being the approximate time, he ran to the back, lit the fuse, and sprinted to the skiff.
Azazel started the motor just in time to hear Duke scream in tandem with the deafening explosion. Car alarms flooded the area with noise, and the firelight brightened the entire back yard. Most likely he had just killed th
e thief lawyer, but he felt strangely unemotional except for a bit of satisfaction. A mile or so away from the lawyers home, Azazel docked but pushed the boat to drift down the river. Emergency sirens wailed and the burning smell filled the air already. He laughed while thinking the emergency crews were really earning their keep today.
5 A.M.: Dr. Moloch
Phone buzzed with “Wrong” From Depeche Mode. Azazel didn’t know this song, but he liked the beat and was curious about the lyrics.
“How’re you doing?” Lucifer asked of Azazel.
“Does it matter?” Azazel answered and paused for a few seconds. “I don’t know what to think right now. That little bit of action was satisfying, but I feel guilty. My body hurts all over, and I’m worried about my kids.”
“It’s nice to hear that last part. I’m glad you now value your children,” Lucifer said.
“Of course I do.”
“Go down to 1777 East Court Street. I’ll call when you arrive.” Click.
Azazel didn’t feel comfortable continuing the series of tasks using the Ducati, so he returned to the parking lot to snatch up the BMW. He sat in the car for a minute after turning on the ignition, trying to recall what was at the new location, and waiting for the windows to defog.
Upon arrival, he saw the Moloch Health Center, with big bold letters across the front of the building. Shivers ran up and down Azazel’s spine. Why could Lucifer have sent him there? Five minutes passed, and he felt awkward waiting in front of the closed clinic for the madman’s call. Why was it taking so long? Lucifer had been on time so far, so what was the hold up? Azazel tried to calm himself, thinking maybe Lucifer was just preparing the itinerary. Ten minutes passed, he nervously looked around, anxiously waiting for the buzz of the phone. Finally, it arrived.
Lucifer said, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
The Djinn Trials: Azazel Page 3