The Angel of the Abyss

by Hank Schwaeble

  The door to the hut swung open. Felicia stood in the doorway, looking serious. “He's awake,” she said.

  Micah was sitting up in the bed when they entered. It had been less than twenty minutes since Amy had dosed him with the epi-pen.

  “What was it?” he said, adjusting himself more upright.

  “Something in the water.”

  Micah nodded. He asked Felicia if she would let them have a word, and she flicked her eyes at Hatcher and Amy then left. A moment later, he gave a toss of his chin in the direction of the table. “Since the epinephrine worked, I'm guessing you're also aware of what that means.”

  Hatcher's mouth pressed into a frown and he dipped his head.

  “What?” Amy said. “I'm not following.”

  “Somebody knew his allergies,” Hatcher said. “Not just that he had some, but what specific things he was allergic to. Someone with knowledge, and opportunity.”

  “And someone who didn't want to use poison,” Micah added. “In case Felicia or someone else drank some.”

  “Jonah,” Hatcher said. “I'm guessing he dissolved a couple of caffeine tablets in the pitcher.”

  “The one who called me?” Amy said. “Or at least the person someone wanted me to think called me?”

  “Oh, it was him,” Hatcher said. “He wanted me out of here, one way or another.” To Micah, he said, “Judging by the way you're reacting, and since you're not exactly the sort of guy who's slow on the uptake, you had to have seen this coming.”

  The man tilted his head, swaying it uncertainly. “I knew he was lacking conviction. I certainly knew he resented me. I expected he would even desert at some point. But when it came to something more, something like this...”

  “You had to see for yourself if he'd actually do it.”

  “Yes,” he said, sighing.

  Amy cleared her throat. “Hatcher, we have that little matter to still deal with.”

  “Yeah, that. I think that may work out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I'll explain it, but first, Amy, meet Micah.” Hatcher took in a breath, let it whistle out between his lips. “Micah's about eleven years old.”

  * * *

  Micah led them to a sturdy door set in a wall that seemed to cover the mouth of a cave. Inside was a room larger than any Hatcher had seen in the park. It had a vintage-corporate look to it. There was a torn cloth couch and matching chairs and a coffee table in the middle. Vinyl tiling on the floor. Sheetrock walls covered in chalky white paint with swishes and scrapes of various colors every few feet.

  “This was the administrative building,” Micah said. “Offices and employee locker rooms. An employee lounge.”

  “It smells like a petting zoo,” Hatcher said, looking around.

  “I have some rescue animals I keep here.”

  Rattling and shuffling noises emanated through a set of open double doors at the back.

  Micah moved to the farthest chair and dropped into it. “Please,” he said. “Sit. We have a lot to talk about.”

  Hatcher looked at Amy. She shrugged and lowered herself onto the sofa. Hatcher sat next to her.

  “If you're right,” she said, looking at Hatcher, “I feel really stupid.”

  “Don't. It all worked out, and all that stuff you told me about is nothing short of incredible. I'm only sure now because of what happened with Jonah. Reasonably sure.”

  “It was all a set-up to get me to leave.”

  “That part, yes, that's my assessment. I'm just not sure who was behind it. Whether Bartlett knew. But, like I told you, coming here locked and loaded with orders to kill me if I interfere isn't his style. He wouldn't act without solid intel, and solid intel would tell him you have unarmed civilians, including women and children. You have to remember, in his mind he's on the side of truth and light.”

  “So it was Sahara? Why would she want me to rush out here?”

  “I don't know that we can answer that question yet. Maybe it was just a story Bartlett cooked up himself. What I do know is, Jonah tried to kill Micah, then left. He also wanted me out of here, one way or another. I don't know what he's up to.”

  “The way you're looking at me,” Micah said. “I take that to mean you think I do.”

  “Do you?”

  Micah lowered his gaze. Hatcher watched it fade, watching something only he could see.

  “Maybe,” he said. “But not in a way I can articulate at this point. He would not have done this on his own. We have to find who he's been aligning himself with. Once we do that, I'll have a better idea of what he was hoping to accomplish, other than simply ridding himself of me. Suffice to say, I fear it has to do with the very reason I came to this place, why all the people with me are here.”

  “When you first showed me this place, you called it 'Armageddon, USA'. Why?”

  Micah held a stare for several beats. “Are you familiar with the biblical basis of Armageddon, Mr Hatcher? We think of it as a synonym for the Apocalypse, but it's actually just a place name. It appears but once in the New Testament, in Revelations. ‘And he gathered them together at a place called in the Hebrew tongue, Armageddon’.”

  “Okay.”

  “Something is coming, Mr Hatcher. Something that sends tremors through a part of me I can only think of as my soul. Something causing me to have the dreams I told you about, dreams that are so real, I wake up wondering if I'm only then slipping into a dream, having been awake.”

  “But why come here and start a...”

  “Cult? As I've already told you, it's not like that. I didn't recruit these people. I think whatever it is that is coming, that is the reason they are here.”

  “But why?” Amy asked, sitting forward in her seat. “What makes them choose this place?”

  “I can't explain it. They just started showing up, saying something told them this is where they needed to be. None of them is even particularly religious, though some pretend to be, probably because they believe it's expected of them. I assume they're here because they want answers, they want to understand what's happening.”

  “Except Jonah,” Hatcher said.

  “Very perceptive of you. Yes. Except Jonah.”

  “He didn't want to be here.”

  Micah shrugged. “He is my brother. But despite his actions, as far as I'm concerned we have more pressing matters to deal with. Without divulging any specifics, tell me about your... interview. Was it productive?”

  Amy's eyes jumped between them. “What interview?”

  From the adjoining room in the back, something let out a screech, which prompted a lot of cage rattling an animal noises – barks and squawks and squeaks.

  “Short version, Micah here managed to trap a demon for me to interrogate.”

  “Wait a second, you mean that's why they grabbed you? To interrogate a demon?”

  Micah inched forward. “I heard about what happened. While I didn't plan it that way, I take full responsibility. I apologize. I didn't mean to cause you any pain.”

  Amy frowned but waved him off. “Tell me about this demon. We're talking about a real demon?”

  “Seemed real enough to me,” Hatcher said, flipping his palms up. “But who the hell knows how much of anything we've dealt with is real, and how much of it is just someone or something screwing with my mind?”

  “And you interrogated it?”

  “More or less.”

  Micah clucked his tongue. “Come now, Mr Hatcher, you're being modest. Remember, even from quite a distance I was almost a part of it. I could feel much of what was happening. It seemed quite intense.”

  “I'm sorry, but could someone please explain to me what the heck you all are talking about?”

  “Right,” Hatcher said. “Sorry.”

  He explained to her about the girl, the link between whatever was
possessing her body and Micah. Micah also weighed in, clarifying several points.

  “Bottom line, I didn't learn very much. Whoever or whatever it was, didn't know a whole lot. Or did a good job of faking it.”

  Micah took a seat, balancing himself on the edge of it. “But I can tell you learned something.”

  “I may have, yes.”

  “Something that explains what's happening?”

  “I'm not sure yet,” he said, not feeling comfortable with the subject. He still wasn't sure how much he could trust this man. I'm saying you can't trust anyone. “And, frankly, I'm more interested in solving this issue with your brother.”

  Micah shook his head, slapping his hands on his knees. “I'm not sure there is one.”

  “He tried to kill you.”

  “So it would appear. It was probably coming for some time. He wanted away, to be free of me, of this, and it's possible he didn't think I'd let him leave. That he'd end up bowing to pressure. Passive aggression, to the extreme. Tell me, why should that concern you so much?”

  “It concerns me because at the same time he was putting you into a coma, he was arranging for me to meet Amy when I was through. He didn't want me to speak to you, and didn't want me to stick around. Doesn't that make you curious as to why?”

  Micah glanced away. “When you put it that way. Are you saying you think he's involved with the same people you're trying to stop?”

  “I don't know. But I think there's more going on with him than just sibling rivalry.”

  The man tented his fingers, tapped his fingertips each against their opposite. He looked at Hatcher for several seconds in silence. “Wait here,” he said, standing.

  He crossed the room to a large black safe and entered a combination. The latch dropped when he tugged it, making a chunky sound, and the door pulled open. Micah peered into it. Something seemed to change in his posture, as if his bones suddenly lost a good deal of mass.

  “The book. The one with the spells,” he said. “It's gone.”

  “The one you used?” Hatcher said, standing. “The one you said was so rare?”

  “Yes. I just don't understand how.” Micah scratched his head. “It was here a few days ago, when I removed the necessary pages.”

  “This book, it had more spells like the one you used to bind that demon?”

  The man blinked. “Yes. I mean, no. Not exactly. There were only three left.”

  Hatcher glanced at Amy, who gave him a why-are-you-looking-at-me frown. “Are you going to make us guess?”

  “It doesn't make sense,” Micah said, staring into the safe.

  “Micah, what were they?”

  He let out a long breath, like trapped air escaping. “One was for healing. One was for loyalty. Only one was even for conjuring at all.”

  “And?”

  “I don't know why he'd take it. I didn't even consider that one viable.”

  “Micah, what was it?”

  The man let out a long, audible breath. “It was a spell for blurring the lines separating this plane from Hell, and for summoning the Devil himself. Rendering him defenseless for a brief interlude. The idea would be to force a bargain to the spellcaster's advantage. I only skimmed the details, given the difficulty of the translation. But it seemed useless.”

  “Why?” Amy asked. “Why was it useless?”

  “Because it carries a steep cost to achieve something that doesn't get you much you can't do other ways. Bargaining spells are some of the most abundant, and not particularly complex. This one, though, this one was very primitive. Like I said, it was long and I only scanned for the details, but I dismissed it when I saw it required a few things that were out of the question. One, the blood of a genuine oracle, fresh and direct, which would be hard enough to procure. Maybe impossible, in this day and age.”

  Hatcher looked at Amy again. This time, her eyes widened. “And the others?”

  “Well, for one, it requires a champion of Hell's choosing to confront an array of demonic vessels, who must be volunteers of the flesh. So even if one were to find such people, the chance of a successful ritual seems minimal. But there was one more requirement that made me dismiss it entirely and, more than that, made it something I would never consider, even if the other requirements weren’t so extreme.”

  Hatcher took a step forward. “Tell us, Micah.”

  “Something I can't imagine Jonah having anything to do with. It requires a human sacrifice. And even if he were capable of such a thing, the sacrifice called for would be just as unlikely to find.”

  He turned to face Hatcher, pausing as if the words were not ones he wanted to pass through his mouth. “An unbaptized male child, not yet twelve, born under a blood moon.”

  Before Hatcher could respond, Micah rocked back, eyes darting from one side to the other as if to follow a thought flashing by, and added, “Boy, do I feel dumb... you don't suppose that could mean me, do you?”

  Chapter 27

  Hatcher surveyed the front of the building. From all appearances, it was abandoned. “How sure are you about this?”

  Amy cocked her head. “This is the place. They can pinpoint it to a few feet.”

  He shifted the car into park and scanned one boarded-up window at a time. He knew exactly how accurate GPS could be; he just wasn't certain tracking a cellphone signal dealt with the same level of precision. Satellite signals could be translated into location because of time, each satellite's signal taking a microsecond longer or shorter than others, allowing a location to be determined to within a few feet. Cell phones could be located by tower triangulation after the fact, a different method than GPS and one that wasn't nearly as accurate. But regardless of the method, most of his doubts came from the fact this location was barely a mile from where they'd been the last time they were in New York – a stone's throw from where Deborah supposedly had an apartment.

  “What I meant was, how do we know he wasn't driving by?”

  “It's the same tracing process 911 operators use. It's pretty reliable. This was the last place the phone had been used. Just a few hours ago. They could tell if it had been moving when the call was made. Phone went dark right after that.”

  The street was draped in shadow. The nearest streetlight didn't appear to work and there was no visible light coming from the building. But given how tight the place seemed to be sealed, that didn't mean there weren't any on inside.

  “Maybe we should just watch it a while,” she said.

  Hatcher nodded, eyes jumping from boarded window to boarded window, peering into the darkness of the alley next to it, studying the line of the roof.

  He heard the chirp of a phone. Incoming text. Amy fished his cell phone from her purse, tapped on the screen.

  “Must be them,” she said, showing him the screen. Hatcher read the text. No nonsense, to the point.

  SITREP – Client secure. CO advised. Will shelter SecFac. Countersign: BLUE FALCON

  “What does Blue Falcon mean?” she said.

  “It's jargon. Sort of an inside joke.” He didn't want to tell her it was military slang for buddy fucker, and he'd intended it as a warning shot. His way of letting Bartlett know he was trusting him, and that the man had better not screw him over.

  But he didn't see what choice he'd had. If Jonah had really tried to kill Micah, and was working with some group that might be part of the whole mess Hatcher was trying to unravel, he could think of no better way to protect him. Amy had told him they were looking to take Micah into protective custody. That had sounded like a good idea to him. Or, at least, better than any other he could think of.

  “So, that's working out,” she said.

  “Maybe.” He slipped the phone into his pocket. He knew she'd been skeptical, but the move had made sense. Armed men guarding him were a lot more protection than Hatcher could offer, and a religious zealout like
Bartlett was just the type to take the job seriously. He'd left Micah with specific instructions. Surrender immediately with no resistance, ask to speak to the ranking member on the scene, relay the specific message Hatcher had given him, and provide them with this phone number. And only give them the countersign after they've talked to Bartlett and made their intentions clear.

  It may not have been ideal, but he just didn't have the time to screw around with Bartlett's men, especially with the clock running and him having no idea about their ETA. Better to put them to use from a distance.

  “Assuming this is the place,” Amy said, turning her attention back to the building. “What do you make of it?”

  Hatcher shut off the headlights, let the car keep idling. He hooked a hand over the back of his neck, moved his head from side to side until he felt a pop. “I have no idea. But the fact it's so close to the last address we had can't be a coincidence.”

  The words sounded false as they passed his lips. He knew what he told her was true, but he also knew there was more to it. Something he wasn't certain how to articulate.

  “You think it's a trap,” she said, as if reading his mind.

  “Maybe. But I tend to think that about everything, as you've so often pointed out.”

  Amy shifted her gaze back to the building. “A trap would mean they knew we'd be coming. How would they know we'd be able to track the phone?”

  “You're a cop,” he said, realizing as he uttered the words he was intentionally blurring the contraction to obscure the tense. “It's not a big leap.”

  “So, what do we do? This is still your party.”

  “You could wait here while I try to see if I can find a way in, check the place out.”

  She rapped his arm with the back of her fist, glaring.

  “It was worth a shot,” he said.

  “Why would you go in there anyway if you think it's a trap?”

  He turned to stare at the building. “Because for one, I don't know that it is, and for two, if it is, they probably won't be expecting me to approach it like one.”