Ash: Return of the Beast

by Gary Tenuta

  “Gotta go,” Ravenwood said, pointing to the clock on the wall.

  The sudden comment jarred Tocho out of his alcohol induced fog. “What? Oh. Yeah.”

  His legs wobbled as he tried to stand. He leaned against the table to steady himself.

  Ravenwood offered her arm. “C’mon, sailor. Let’s get you home.”

  Home, for Tocho, was Sun City, just an hour’s drive from their present location.

  Tocho took her arm and then, in one swift move, he slid his hands around her waist, pulled her to him and kissed her passionately on the mouth. She was taken aback but, for whatever reason, she didn’t immediately resist the embrace. But Tocho’s moment ended all too soon as she gently nudged herself away. Her face was flushed as she brushed back a strand of hair and pretended to smooth out her shirt.

  “Shit. I’m sorry,” Tocho said. He grimaced at the sound of his own voice. “I don’t… that was pathetic.”

  Ravenwood smiled. This time the smile had some life behind it. “No, it wasn’t,” she said.

  Tocho looked surprised. A glimmer of hope lit up his eyes. “It wasn’t?”

  “No, but don’t try it again.”

  The glimmer in his eyes fizzled like a wet match. But the smile was still on her lips as she spoke so he knew she wasn’t angry.

  “Well, that’s kinda why I did it,” he said with a shrug of embarrassment.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I was afraid maybe I’d never see you again. I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re drunk, is what you mean.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that too. A little. Forgive me?”

  She picked up her purse and offered her arm once again. “Nothing to forgive.”

  As they walked out, arm-in-arm, Ravenwood hailed a taxi to take Tocho home. The driver got out and opened the back door of the car. Ravenwood and Tocho stood for a moment, hand in hand, facing each other.

  “Well,” Tocho said, “if I never see you again, I guess––”

  “Shut up and go home.” She squeezed his hand and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “And thank you. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. I owe you. With any luck, the whole damn world will owe you.”

  He shrugged. “We’ll see. Good luck.”

  “Yeah. Now get out of here. I’ve got a plane to catch and a world to save.”

  ***

  9:05 p.m.

  Kane was in the kitchen when the phone rang. He sprinted to the living room to check the caller I.D. It’s about time. He grabbed the phone. “Where the hell are you?”

  “Nice to hear your voice, too. I just got into Seattle. I’m at the Sea-Tac Airport. Gotta make a quick stop and then I’m heading for your place.”

  “All right, hurry up. Shit’s happening.” He almost hung up and then remembered. “Wait. You still there?

  “Yeah.” She thought maybe she was about to get an apology for his rudeness.

  “Don’t take the freeway,” he said. “Some jerk-off tried to cut in front of a semi. Thing jack-knifed. Traffic’s all fucked up.”

  “Thanks. Be there as soon as I can.” The Teddy Bear must be in deep hibernation.

  CHAPTER 64

  Kane’s Apartment

  10:15 p.m.

  When Kane opened the door he barely recognized the woman standing in front of him. She looked like she’d been sleeping in her clothes. Her hair seemed like it hadn’t been washed in a week. She looked older, somehow. The only makeup she had on was some lipstick. Maybe not even that. He couldn’t quite tell.

  “Well,” she said, “are you just going to stand there gawking or invite me in?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” He swung the door open and stepped aside.

  She walked in and took a cursory survey of the place before plopping down on the couch, exhausted. “Nice place.” It was the only thing even close to a normal home that she’d been in since that evening in Tocho’s upstairs flat back in Sky City. It seemed like ages ago. Another lifetime.

  “Look at you,” Kane said, still standing by the door. “What the hell have you been doing? Where have you been?”

  “I’ll tell you if you’ll just shut up and listen.”

  “Well, you better hurry up. Cowl, came out of his coma. Halverson’s got him under sedation, but––”

  “I know. You told me on the phone. Now listen. I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Ravenwood gave him the digest version of where she’d been and what she’d been doing. She hoped she’d be able to convince him that this whole thing was absolutely real, erase any doubt that may still be lingering in his mind about the consequences of failing to stop Cowl. She knew Kane was aware of how dangerous Cowl was. But before leaving for New Mexico, she’d sensed that maybe he still had at least a shred of doubt about the reality of the magick and the idea of demons taking over the planet even in spite of the things he’d seen but couldn’t explain. She could hardly blame him. This was her territory. It was her job. She’d lived with it for years. Most people––people like Kane––believe such things only happen in low-budget horror films with wanna-be actors and bad dialog. She fully anticipated Kane’s reaction. But telling her story was all she could do. If he didn’t believe her she would have to live with it and hope he wouldn’t try to stop her from carrying out her plan.

  “So, that’s it,” she said, finishing her story. “I’m sure you don’t––”

  “I believe you.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. I know. You didn’t see that one coming, did you?” He got up and paced the floor while he talked. “Why do you think I’ve been out of my mind wondering where the hell you were and when the hell you’d be back? Now, listen. I’ve got something to tell you.”

  He sat down and told her about Cowl coming out of the coma and the scaring on his head in the shape of the number, 666. He was surprised that she looked shocked. “What?” he asked. “You don’t believe me? That’s a switch.”

  “No, it’s just that…” she paused. “I didn’t see that coming, either. It doesn’t exactly fit the biblical sequence of events for the coming of the Antichrist. But there is a connection. It’s the number ‘nine’ again.”

  She explained how in the book of Revelation, chapter 13, it says the Antichrist will have a head wound and he will reign with authority over the earth for a period of forty-two months. Then she got a pen and paper and showed Kane how the English gematria value of the word ‘nine’ is 42.

  Kane had heard enough. In fact, he’d heard so much that he was practically numb to it by now. He didn’t need any more convincing. “So what do you think we should do now?”

  She didn’t have to think. She’d already come up with a plan. “He has to die. There’s no way around it.”

  “Yeah. I pretty much figured that. But how?”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  Kane’s eyebrows shot up. “You. You’re going murder Rye Cowl.”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “Not really. But how?”

  “Cyanide.”

  “What?”

  “He’s unconscious, right? You said the doctor has him sedated.”

  “Yeah, but that’s the problem. Doesn’t a cyanide pill only work if the person crushes it by biting on it?”

  “I’ll make it work.” She looked at her watch. It was 11 p.m. “We’ve only got an hour get to the hospital and get this done. I’ll drive.”

  “But wait a minute. Where are you going to get the cyanide pill?”

  “I told you I had to make a quick stop on my way here. Remember?”

  He gave her a puzzled look.

  “Don’t ask,” she said, grabbing him by the arm. “We’re wasting time. Let’s go.”

  On the way out the door, Kane suddenly thought about Pastor Pete. It was the same old mixed emotion. If we’re successful, the old bastard will live. Fuckin’ shame. He slammed the door.

  ***

  No one at the Trail’s End
trailer park heard the shot. If they did, they pretended they didn’t. It was none of their business. Pastor Pete’s body, naked under his old gray flannel robe, lay motionless on the crumpled bed covers, his right arm draped lifelessly over the edge of the bed. The pistol was on the floor just inches from his dangling hand. His head was turned to the side, the pillow soaked in blood.

  ***

  11:06 p.m.

  Ravenwood flipped a switch on the dashboard of her black SUV. The red and blue lights behind the grill started strobing. She switched on the siren and gunned the vehicle out onto the empty street. Before they even reached the end of the block Kane hit her with his confession.

  “I know who the next victim is,” he said, looking straight ahead.

  Ravenwood slammed on the brakes, the SUV screeched to a stop and she cut the siren. She turned to him. “What did you just say?”

  Still gazing straight ahead, he took a deep breath. “I know who the ninth victim is.” He turned and looked at her. “My dad.”

  He might as well have said it was Santa Claus. It would have made as much sense. She gave her head a quick shake. “What?”

  “Remember the phone call I got when we were at Harlan Bodine’s place? The eighth victim? The guy whose kid committed suicide?”

  Ravenwood nodded. “Yeah. The call you wouldn’t talk about.”

  His eyes turned back to the street. “Yeah. Well, it was my dad. Adoptive dad, actually. A no-good son of a bitch.” He pursed his lips and took a deep breath. “And a preacher.”

  Ravenwood’s eyes grew wide. “Wait. Let me get this straight. Your father––”

  “Adoptive.”

  “Whatever… is a preacher?” She shook her head again.

  “There’s more,” he said. Then he let it all out, told her about being molested, about running away, about the cops finding him and bringing him back home and that he believed the old man had intentionally killed his adoptive mother.

  Ravenwood was silent for a minute, trying to take it all in. Well, that explains a lot, she thought, remembering back to all the little cryptic comments Kane had dropped into their conversations over the past several weeks. Now it made sense. His disdain for religion is rooted in his hate for the man who raised him––and abused him.

  She touched his arm. “My god, Brian. I don’t know what to…” her words trailed off as she withdrew her hand. It was the first time she’d called him by his first name. It just slipped out. She wondered if he even noticed. She could sense the pain and anguish behind his stone cold eyes as he continued looking straight ahead. She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard and tried to gather her thoughts. She pushed her compassion aside and forced herself to shift back into cop mode. “But what makes you so sure he’s the next victim? I mean––”

  He turned to face her. “He has the last Batman coin. It belonged to Rodney Duckworth.”

  Ravenwood was completely dumbfounded. “What?”

  “Drive. I’ll explain on the way.”

  CHAPTER 65

  Virginia Mason Hospital

  11:35 p.m.

  As they rode the elevator up to the second floor, Ravenwood was still trying to process the story Kane had just dumped in her lap. If she had only known about this sooner. Then she realized, no, it wouldn’t have changed anything. Cowl still had to be killed. The only difference now was that she had a clearer picture of what this case was all about, at least as far as Cowl’s involvement was concerned. It was all about revenge and Crowley was using Cowl to achieve his own ends. She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket and fiddled with the small plastic pillbox containing the cyanide capsules. In a few minutes it would all be over.

  The elevator doors slid open and they stepped out only to find the nurse running down the hall toward them. “He’s gone! He escaped!”

  Ravenwood and Kane stopped in their tracks. Kane grabbed the nurse by the shoulders. “Slow down. What do you mean, he’s gone?”

  The nurse was clearly upset. “I…I don’t know… he’s just gone. I was with him in the room and I heard a loud noise outside the door. A crashing sound…I don’t know…I just went out for a minute to see what it was. When I went back into the room, he was gone.”

  Kane pounded his fist on the wall. “Shit. Goddamit. Where the hell is Halverson?”

  “He was summoned to an emergency in the south wing. I just called him moments ago and told him.”

  Kane’s cell phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. “Yeah, what?”

  “Lieutenant, this is Dr. Halverson. Listen, Cowl’s escaped. You’d better get over here, fast.”

  “Yeah, we know. We’re already here.”

  “You’re here? At the hospital? But how did you––?

  “Never mind. How the hell did you let this happen?”

  “Lieutenant, listen. I had––”

  Kane shut off the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He looked at his watch. “Christ. It’s midnight.”

  Ravenwood nodded. “He’s got to be headed for your father’s place.”

  Kane stiffened his back. Here it comes, he thought. Gotta go save the old fuck. He turned to the nurse. “Exactly how long ago did you find him missing?”

  The nurse shook her head. “I don’t know… fifteen minutes, twenty, maybe. His hospital gown was on the floor and his clothes are gone.”

  “You said you were out of the room for only a minute. You’re telling me he got out of the bed, changed his clothes and disappeared with nobody seeing him… all in one minute?”

  The nurse bit her lip, nearly in tears. “Maybe it was longer. I don’t know. It didn’t seem that long. I mean, I never expected––”

  Kane turned to Ravenwood. “He can’t have gotten far if he’s on foot. And how the hell would he know where my father lives, anyway?”

  “He’s not operating on his own, remember. The man is possessed. Crowley is probably feeding him all the information he needs. And if he had money in his pocket he could have taken a cab. Who knows? How far is it to your father’s place from here?”

  “Thirty minutes. Twenty, if we step on it.”

  CHAPTER 66

  Fifteen minutes earlier…

  A black 1974 Plymouth, with the head of Baphomet painted on the hood, squeeled around the corner and pulled up to the curb outside the hospital. Cowl opened the door on the passenger’s side and stepped in. “Perfect timing,” he said.

  Cromwell nodded without turning to look at Cowl. He spoke in a trance-like monotone. “Just doing…what I…”

  “What you were told. Yeah, I know. Let’s go. I don’t have all night.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Interstate 5

  “Next exit, then left,” Kane said, gripping the armrest.

  Ravenwood’s vehicle sped down the off-ramp, lights flashing, siren blaring. She hung a fast left onto Branson Rd. “How far, now?”

  “Not far. Ten minutes. Right, next light.”

  Ravenwood ran the stop, took the turn and swerved to miss a truck that was backing out of a driveway.

  “Follow this road,” Kane said. “Straight shot for about two miles. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

  Kane knew this road well. In the daylight it was a nice drive. A thick forest of towering evergreens lined both sides of the road. Now the trees were a dark blur flying past his window against a black sky.

  “Wait a minute,” Ravenwood said. “This is wrong.”

  Kane’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  Ravenwood shook her head, hit the brakes, and maneuvered the SUV into a one-eighty slide. Before Kane knew what was happening, they were speeding down the road in the opposite direction.

  He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You’re going back where we came from? What the hell are you doing?”

  “Cowl wouldn’t be going to your father’s house.” She shook her head. “God! How could I have been so stupid!”

  “What are you talking about? He’s the ninth target.”


  “Exactly. That’s why he’s not going there.”

  “What?”

  “The ritual. Don’t you get it? Each killing is a ritual sacrifice. Cowl never does it with his own hands. He can’t. He needs––Crowley needs––the Doppelganger to carry out the sacrifice. The Doppelganger is more Crowley than Cowl. Cowl’s just a host, a tool that Crowley is using. The ritual to produce the Doppelganger is always performed at the same place. Cowl’s place. That’s where he’s heading, not your father’s place. Damn it.” Then she added, “Say a prayer that we’re not too late.”

  “Yeah. That’ll help. Shit.”

  ***

  The flames of the candles flared wildly as Cowl sat at the center of the Lucifer Seal, projecting the Doppelganger.

  CHAPTER 68

  Trail’s End Trailer Park…

  Like a parent leaning over a sleeping child, about to gently awaken it with a soft whisper, the Doppelganger leaned over Pastor Pete’s limp body. “Nice try, you pathetic little piece of shit.” The voice, soft and low, was projected telepathically directly into the old man’s half-conscious mind.

  A pitiful moan gurgled up from Pastor Pete’s throat. His suicide attempt had resulted in a bloody chunk being ripped from the side of his head but the bullet hadn’t penetrated the skull. The attempt wasn’t because he preferred death over life. But the unthinkable horror of the torturous death he would suffer at the pleasure of the one who was coming to kill him left him with no option. His eyelids quivered now, struggling to open. Confused and groggy, he wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive. Moments ago he’d been moving, weightless, through a tunnel, gliding toward the light. Now he felt heavy, his head throbbing. He heard the sound again––a low, soft laughter––somehow resonating inside his head. He managed to open his eyes and they widened in terror as the hooded figure, still leaning over him, came into focus. In that single terrifying moment, he found himself awash in a realization he could barely comprehend: not only was he still alive but he was face to face with the Devil himself.