by Hopkin, Ben
“Yes!” The pastor’s exclamation was exuberant.
The ground shook, possibly from a semi passing above, the vibrations making the wires on the marble shake.
“He’s coming!” Father John stared down at the ground, reaching his hands below to welcome the Father of Lies in.
The monitor continued moving down to three. Then two. The beeping stopped. Another stray heartbeat, then the LED screen fell completely silent.
Feeling his heart break within him, Darc whipped one hand to the detonator, pinning it in place. The other backhanded the priest away from the altar. Darc dropped the detonator and crushed it underneath his heel.
“It’s already begun!” the fallen reverend screamed.
Darc stripped all the wires off the girl’s body, then threw the monitor against the nearest pillar, shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces. He turned back to the unmoving form on the slab, kneeling over her and beginning compressions on her chest.
More symbols flashed in his inner vision, giving him all the details he needed. The girl had shown him the path. He had only now to follow it. Darc spoke to the form below him.
“Below the age of nine, the brain can go three to four minutes without oxygen.”
“Stop! What are you doing?” The pastor’s tone was shocked, afraid.
“I did not break the hyoid. I know I did not. I put pressure at exactly two and five o’clock.”
“Stop!” The priest grabbed Darc’s shoulder, trying to drag him away from the girl. Darc continued speaking to the form below him.
“I put you into fine ventricular fibrillation. Your heart’s still beating, little one. The rest of your body just doesn’t know it.”
The percentage chance of survival, the exact number of beats per minute necessary to start the heart again, the seconds left until brain damage set in, all floated in front of Darc’s eyes. The pastor stopped pulling at Darc’s shoulder, running off to the side. Moments later he was back, carrying a length of rebar that he swung at Darc’s body, knocking him off the altar as he screamed in rage.
“Never!” He flailed at Darc’s head, apparently seeking to incapacitate the detective to the point that Darc could no longer help the girl. “He will come!”
Darc reached up, stopping the pastor’s swing at its apex, gripping the length of rebar, seeking to wrench it away from the crazed minister. The man of the cloth held on with the strength of his passion and despair, baring and gnashing his teeth inches away from Darc’s face.
Glancing around for anything that might help, Darc noticed the girl’s teddy bear propped against the side of the altar. Symbols that had lain dormant in his mind awoke and spun into place, stunning Darc with their sudden clarity.
“Teddy bear. Death. Dog.”
The priest sneered into Darc’s face. “You think to speak in tongues?”
“Mongoose. Sharp. Teddy bear.”
“Enough!” The pastor jerked the rebar away from Darc, sending him reeling back toward the altar, where the blood-slicked floor took the detective’s feet out from under him. He bashed his head against the corner of the marble structure, flashes of light joining the ciphers dancing inside.
Shaking his head against the sudden pain and disorientation, Darc reached his hand back, encountering the ratted teddy bear. He held it up in front of him.
The minister stepped back in mock disbelief, looking down at his fallen opponent. “No toy will save you, my dear detective.”
“No, but this might,” Darc responded.
As the priest stepped forward, his robe twirling about him, Darc reached inside the toy for the scalpel the girl had placed there for him. It had been drawn in the picture of the bear she had left for him. It was a symbol he had not been able to identify until now. She had damaged her favorite toy to give her hero a fighting chance.
Darc began circling the pastor once more, the priest’s stance and movements registering in Darc’s mind as slashes of light. The man of the cloth was surprisingly agile and skilled, and his madness lent him strength. Darc knew himself to be handicapped by his concern for the girl behind him. The seconds were ticking away on his ability to revive her. The statistics flashed in front of him.
“Fourteen hundred milliamps. One minute, seven seconds.”
“She is gone,” the priest snapped.
“Seven pounds per square inch pressure directly over the zyphoid process.”
The reverend laughed. “You will not have the—”
Darc lunged with the scalpel, forcing the pastor to dodge, but that was exactly what Darc had planned. While the minister was off balance, Darc sprinted forward and rammed his shoulder into the killer’s side. The pastor went careening off the chancel, falling backward into one of the many torture devices spread about the chapel.
“No!” he screamed as he fell.
This specific device was a pointed iron stake, set at an upward slope that was heated by one of the cauldrons of Greek fire. The iron point skewered the priest right through the abdomen, his intestines spilling out and sizzling on the superheated metal. The pastor screamed frantically, his cries contracting his diaphragm around the stake even further.
Darc threw down the scalpel at the feet of the cleric, turned away from the sight, and raced back to the girl, the priest’s screams following him every step of the way. He leaped up onto the altar, beginning compressions once more.
“Remember the mongoose,” he whispered to the girl.
From off the chancel, the priest’s screams intensified as he flailed about on the stake and managed to kick over the cauldron containing the Greek fire. The fire spread out and up, covering his skin, engulfing his robes.
Darc continued speaking into the girl’s ear. “The shield. Think of the shield.” He pumped faster and faster on the tiny chest of the form beneath him as the screams from the pastor rang about the church.
“Help me! Help—” the reverend cried out. Darc ignored him.
“Fifty compressions per minute,” Darc intoned, thrusting his hands down on the girl’s sternum, compressing her heart, causing the blood to flow. “Get the gradient pressure up to one hundred twenty.”
“Please, please! Release me!” Still the pastor screamed and pleaded, his entire body gradually turning into a human torch. Darc glanced sideways momentarily as the reverend noticed the scalpel just in front of him. The priest reached for the blade but his fingers missed by millimeters.
Pumping his arms faster and faster, Darc did everything he could to kick-start the young girl’s heart. “Once the saturation level in the blood reaches over eighty percent, your brain will jump-start.”
The priest continued to stretch out his hand to grasp the blade. He began to pull himself along the iron bar, his intestines slipping even farther out of the breach in his flesh. His fingers reached the scalpel, but he was unable to grasp it. Screaming in agony, the pastor shoved himself forward one more time…
Only to have Darc’s foot planted squarely over the blade. He spoke to the priest with no inflection in his tone.
“Suicide is a sin, remember?”
Darc kicked the weapon of mercy away, then returned to his compressions, hearing the priest scream behind him.
“No!”
Peering down at the form on the table, Darc murmured encouragement to her. “Seven hundred ninety-seven. We’re almost there.”
One final, gut-wrenching scream from the human torch, and the cleric finally fell silent. Just as the echoes died down, the girl took in a gasping breath.
“Yes. Yes,” Darc encouraged. “Draw the oxygen in.”
The girl took another breath, then another, and finally awoke, looking up into Darc’s face. Her eyes were a brilliant blue-green. Darc had not noticed that fact before.
Beyond the entrance to the cathedral, shouts could be heard calling out. Its timbre and inflection marked the voice as belonging to the captain.
“Darc! Robi!”
Darc returned his attention to the little one in fro
nt of him. She sat up, her eyes never leaving Darc’s face. Before he knew what was happening, she launched herself into his arms, holding him about the waist, her tiny arms not reaching all the way around. She clutched at him with all her young strength, a fierceness in her that Darc could feel all the way through his jacket. Burrowing her head into Darc’s chest, she snuggled in as tightly as she could.
And Darc had no idea what to do.
He sat there, more perplexed than he had ever been before that he could recall. The moment stretched out, with Darc none the wiser. He patted her back awkwardly.
“I am right here. I will not go anywhere.”
That was good, but probably not good enough. What else was he to do? Then he remembered Trey’s rule number nineteen. When a chick hugs you, dude, you hug her back. Seriously. Darc hesitated, then reached his arm around the small form huddled against him. The girl relaxed into him, releasing a sigh of contentment.
And Darc felt a smile spread across his face. It spread and kept spreading.
This was unusual. Darc had, of course, smiled before, but normally it was a calculated thing, designed to navigate the sticky grey areas of his life. But this felt more like what Trey called a grin.
Darc was grinning.
A shaky voice came from the darkness off to the side. “I’m putting that on the calendar, too.”
It was Trey.
* * *
Well, this was just awesome. Apparently, Trey had missed the whole thing. The bomb was defused, the girl was okay, no one was trying to kill them. The creepy reverend was gone, but there was a smoking corpse impaled over there that hadn’t been there when Trey had been awake.
Okay, maybe he was okay with the fact that he had slept through it all.
He walked over to the altar, his steps woozier than he would’ve liked. Gingerly touching his head, Trey winced as he came into contact with the gash there. That would explain the little nappy-poo.
A bunch of voices, sounding like they were coming right from the entrance, called out.
“Detective Darcmel!”
“Darc!”
“Darcmel!”
Trey slumped against a nearby pillar, groaning. “How about a ‘Trey’? Or a ‘Keane’? Hell, I’d take a ‘hey, other guy.’ Or ‘how’s the runt?’ Just once, ya know? Something different?” Whatever. To be honest, Trey hadn’t really counted on coming out of this thingy alive, so he was riding pretty high right now.
Finally, the police officers, joined by EMTs, rushed in, passing right by Trey, zeroing in on Darc and the girl. Well, that was just rude.
“Yeah, never mind me. Just a near-death experience here.”
Trey watched as Darc tried to keep close to Janey. This was a new one. Apparently, it was just a night for firsts for his partner. Trey couldn’t be more proud.
But Darc got bumped and shoved off to the side while the EMTs checked to make certain she was okay. The captain stepped forward, placing a hand on Darc’s shoulder.
“Take a step back, Darcmel.”
“But I need—” Darc began.
“We all need to get out of here and let the bomb squad clean up.”
“Fine, but I’m going with her.”
An officious-looking woman in a pantsuit that she had somehow kept from getting smudged down here stepped forward, placing herself in between Trey’s partner and Janey. She had a clipboard and a pinched-looking face that didn’t seem capable of smiling.
“I’m Dorothy Lanker from DCFS. I have Dr. Charan’s notes here.” She tapped her clipboard with her pen. “There’s going to be some sorting out to do.”
“But—” Darc tried to interject.
“Until then, the child goes into protective care.”
Ms. Lanker stalked over to the altar and scooped up Janey in her available arm. Janey squirmed and wriggled in the woman’s arms, stretching her arms out for Darc. Darc did what he could to follow, but the captain grabbed his arm, holding him back.
Darc pled, actually pled, with their boss. “I promised that I wouldn’t leave her.”
“Look, Child Services’ panties are in a bunch right now. We’ll smooth the paperwork out over the next week.” The captain’s tone was funereal, as always, but firm.
“No.” Darc was not letting this thing go. “She needs me—”
“I don’t want to get into a pissing match with the state.” Captain Merle’s tone sharpened. “Stand down.”
Trey moved forward to hold Darc back. This was a new one. He’d held his partner back from doing a lot of things before, but never something emotionally connected. There was part of Trey that felt like he was betraying the best thing he’d ever seen in Darc. But he still had to do it. Trey spoke into his partner’s ear as Janey was moved farther away, her arms still straining for her detective.
“Darc, dude, you’ve got to let it go. You mess things up now, you may never have another chance. Come on. Think, dude.”
And then, from close to the entrance of the church, a voice called out. A young voice. A little girl’s voice.
“Darc!”
It was Janey.
Just like that, Darc was out of Trey’s grasp and next to the girl faster than Trey could blink. But the detective didn’t try to grab for her or rip her out of the social worker’s arms. He just held out her ratted teddy bear, placing it gently in her arms. He bent down to her eye level and looked at her intently.
“The mongoose. Remember the mongoose.”
The chick from DCFS had a look on her face like Darc was speaking Chinese. Which maybe wasn’t so far from the truth, although Trey had a little inkling of what his partner might be talking about. But Janey totally got it. She smiled one of the most radiant smiles Trey had ever seen, clutched the bear to her heart, and snuggled right down.
Trey moved to Darc’s side, patting his shoulder. “The high road, Darc. The high road.” He had never been more proud to be this guy’s partner. Truly.
His cell phone rang in his pocket. “Milkshake.” He tried to ignore it. Darc spoke without looking at him.
“You know how she hates it when she goes through to voice mail.”
“Darc, I am so—”
“Just answer it.” Darc’s tone was steady. There was no anger there. Maybe a touch of remorse, but no bitterness.
Trey started to answer the phone, but then felt his knees go out from under him. He felt Darc catch him before he hit the ground. Again. This was becoming a pattern.
“Okay,” Trey croaked. “I think I’ll take that medical attention now…”
The way out of the Underground proved to be a lot easier than their trip down, except for the fact that Trey’s knees kept giving out on him. One of the officers had some sort of schematic that he consulted, and almost before Trey knew what was going on, he had partially walked, partially been carried out to the surface through an old-fashioned candy shop.
Trey found himself perched in the back of an ambulance, getting medical attention from one of the paramedics. He had called Maggie back as soon as he’d gotten a clear signal, and was now doing his best to reassure her.
“No, babe. I’m totally fine.” He placed a hand over the mouthpiece of his cell and spoke to the EMT. “Right? I’m fine, right?”
“Looks like a mild concussion.”
Reassured, he spoke back into the phone. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll call you when they release me.” He flipped the phone closed. Off in the distance, he could see the back of Darc’s head, walking off into the darkness. Captain Merle tried to get his partner’s attention.
“Darc!”
But he was long gone. The captain peered over at Trey, his eyebrow cocking a bit.
“Hey,” Trey waved him off. “Don’t look at me. I’m not running after him this time.”
“Where the hell is he going?”
“Dude,” Trey replied, realizing this was probably the only time he’d ever get to call his boss “dude” and get away with it. “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea.”
> The captain gave him a look that plainly said he didn’t buy it in the slightest, but then looked at the bandages on Trey’s head and just said, “We’ll debrief you at the hospital.”
As Captain Merle stormed off, Trey let his head sink back as he lay down in the gurney. These things were a lot more comfortable than he might’ve thought. He started to close his eyes, then thought of something. Something important.
“Hey!” he called out to the medic. “How about one of those pain shots?”
The EMT rolled his eyes but went to go grab a syringe. At least it would be a comfy ride to the hospital.
* * *
She had Popeye. The bad man was gone. And she was remembering the mongoose like the tall man had told her to. She was safe.
But she was still scared. And sad. Really sad. Now that everything was okay again, nothing was okay. Mommy was gone. Daddy was gone. The pretty lady was gone. This other lady was not so pretty.
The tall man was gone.
She had called out to him. It was hard, but she had said his name. She said it, and he came. He came and gave her back her Popeye. Popeye was glad to be here with her. He said so. He was also acting kinda like a know-it-all or something because he had helped the tall man beat the bad guy. He was pretty proud of that, and there was no way he was going to let her forget it. Daddy called that “being uppity.”
It was scary here. Not so so scary as the bad place with the bad man, but more scary than the monster-behind-the-bookcase kind of scary. She didn’t know this place. Nothing looked right. It didn’t smell right, either.
She hugged Popeye tighter even though he was already complaining. He was what Daddy always used to call a whiner. She told him to hush, then whispered the tall man’s name.
“Darc.”
It made her feel better. It was a lot like when she would draw the badges around herself. She didn’t have any crayons or markers here, and when the not-so-pretty lady had finally figured out what she meant when she was pretending to draw, the lady just said that it was too late and it was time to go to bed.
She didn’t like that lady so much.
There was a noise. A thump and a scrape over there where the window was. She felt the thump-thump of her heart. It was going fast. She made it go slow again, like she had done in the bad place.