by J B Murray
Garrison’s chest heaves with nervousness. Annalise, sensing his anxiety stays close at his side, holding his hand and giving it the occasional squeeze of reassurance.
“We leave traces of ourselves, you see,” Jakob states. Reynolds looks at him blankly. “Not all traces are unique, but in this corridor, some stand out. Few, other than myself venture these halls. So the trail is rather easy to follow. Each door is a containment of sorts. But they never remain in the same place. And each lead to places you could only comprehend in your wildest dream. Or… rather… nightmare.”
“Like that thing back there?” Annalise asks.
“Yeah, what was that blinding light?” Garrison adds. Jakob looks as if he’s considering the question, then continues.
“Your trace,” he says to Reynolds. “Is on nearly each and every door handle up and down this hall.”
“I was looking for a way out.”
“And be thankful you did not find it. You were lucky enough what lies within did not realize you’d turned the handle on the one back there. These doors are meant to be locked. Remain locked until necessary. This handle here though, holds a different trace. Yours lingers beneath it. But provided no one else has been down this corridor, and I’m most certain that is the case, it means only one other individual came through.”
“Our man.”
“Precisely.”
“But if the doors are meant to be locked-”
“Then how did he manage to open one?”
“Yeah?”
“I fear that answer will lie within the result of finding this perpetrator. There is a heavy magic at work here. Has to be. It would take much planning and someone with such cunning to even begin such a venture. I know of no such being within The Beyond. Was not made aware of the arrival of one as such.”
“So you still don’t know who it might be?”
“We are soon to find out.”
Jakob tilts his head in the direction of the hall leading to the right of the three. A door near the end gives off a sense of vocal radiation. All feel it. Jakob himself, can see it. As they near, the air seems to warm a degree. Jakob walks headlong toward the door, while Garrison and Annalise sidestep with caution. Reynolds takes up the rear, eyes darting about the hallway, poised for anything.
The smell of something burning reaches them from under the door. Garrison’s stomach tightens. Could the room be on fire? Is his brother trapped inside? Jakob holds up a hand for the three to pause. He leans toward the door, placing his palm on it and listens. In moments he seems content. Visual anger rises to his countenance, a stern and wretched look none have seen on him yet. He looks a man about to destroy the world. Reynolds considers how much an affront this situation is on the man. Glad at least, they appear to be on the same side. As that look Jakob wears is enough to make Reynolds wonder if he’d even have a chance against the man.
Jakob straightens himself, then leans his cane in the corner of the wall and door. He reaches for the handle, grips it, and gives it a turn.
5
5.
At first, the man doesn’t hear the door open, his concentration focused on the task at hand. A task nearing completion. The walls of reality are coming down, ripping apart. It’s as if the sound of it tearing rings in his ears, a sweet symphony of success. The reward now, so close at hand. Even with his eyes closed he senses an immortal future on the other side of the Veil. Can smell the earth and all its corporeal offerings. Oh how’s he’s longed for those things again. The pleasures only reality can offer. The smell of fresh air on a Spring day; the warmth of the sun; the satisfying burn of good Scotch; the soft, silken feel of the skin of a lover. All of these seem so close now.
Brent, tied to the chair convulses. His head snaps back and forth, side to side possessed not of demon, but of a soul trapped, trying to escape the clutches of the other which pries the boy apart from the inside, making room for itself. Like a bug it digs deep, gnawing at what remains of Brent. It’s pincers scratch at everything that makes the kid who he is. Bit by tiny bit those pieces crumble and fade, as the bug devours every and any trace within. Eventually, there will be nothing left of the boy. Not on the inside anyway. And the man seated before him, honing his mantra and stealing his soul will have full reign of what remains of the child.
Not a month before his own demise did the man consider eternal erasure. The thought scared him more than anything he’d ever witnessed. Anything he’d ever attempted in the art of magic. He remembered a warning once. It came to him one evening, when he lie awake on the floor of a tomb. That tomb, deep within the caverns of an Egyptian pyramid, held such fascinations. But most fascinating, was the old god he conjured. The old god that spoke of such things. Of no longer being. Wondered what prayers his soul might offer up to thwart such a thing. He didn’t necessarily believe in heaven or hell. Not in the biblical sense. He knew well that all manner of demon and creature existed somewhere beyond this mortal grasp. He’d pulled several from their hiding place a few times in his day. Beckoned them so he might bind them to do his will.
And if such evil existed, then surely an equal and commendable good might also. But he’d never put much faith in the idea of God. Why, if the hells were filled with all manner of demon, should there be only one, true God to see over the heavens? The idea seemed absurd. But in the event there was a place of judgement between, a place where one’s soul might be weighed and measured, he feared his would sink like a stone. Though even if such a trial existed, he’d never have changed his ways. A practitioner at heart, his only pleasure in life remained the pursuing of that which he could control. By magic, or other means.
In his quest for acquiring the answer to that question, what lies between, he’d summoned a most unruly demon. Bound it against its will and bade it tell the information he required. The demon did as requested. That’s where he gained true understanding of what the future held. So he made preparations. And upon his departing of this world, he left behind a small piece of his own soul, in the event it might find harbor. It did.
The fragment which remained bound him to the earth, to the known reality of the flesh. All the while allowing him to linger within the folds of The Great Beyond. He became a ghost even to the ghosts there. Decades passed as he lay in wait, knowing the seed of his soul would finally one day join with another’s life spark. On that day he’d have to be more cautious, for that joining would allow others in the Beyond to finally see him. But he wiled away enough time learning every crevice, every hallway, staircase and corridor in the Beyond to make sure he went unnoticed. And he’d remained hidden for the most part. Until recently.
Luring the boy proved to be more difficult than he thought. Not being able to step beyond the Veil made it difficult to premise where the boy was, and how far the boy would have to travel to find the nearest opening. It had been only luck, if he believed in such things, which presented the breach in the Veil in such close proximity. He had his grip on the child, walking him from his home and through the woods. Steered him through the breach and into They Great Beyond; the infinite staircases. But a mishap, a certain soul trying herself to hide, had attracted unwanted attention from Jakob. She unknowingly brought the soul wrangler almost right to his door. So he had to release his hold on the child, leaving the boy lost somewhere in the staircases and scramble to get away; find a place to hide.
In that time, the other two arrived. The older boy and the girl. He cursed them both when he took hold of the boy once more; looked down and watched the two calculate a way to save the child. There remained little he could do, other than wait for the right opportunity to steal him away again. His intention were to lead all three to him, and then take what he wanted. When he had him, he’d rip the boy’s soul from him and pour his own into the newly acquired vessel. He’d walk through that Veil, and assume his role until he’d grown old enough to forge a new life. And in that new life, he’d conjure the means to grant him immortality, forgoing death, forevermore. But once again, the sou
l wrangler interrupted his plans, stealing the three away. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Jakob made the discovery.
“Jesus,” Reynolds whispers.
He pushes into the room directly behind Jakob. His eyes scan the scene though his mind struggles to take it all in. The smell of burning wood and paint and something far sinister stings his nostrils. The room is aflame. It only takes a moment’s notice before he realizes the fire isn’t running rampant. Though this controlled burn is far beyond his comprehension. The sigils marking the walls around the room burn with the deepest, most unnatural, crimson flames he’s ever seen. Looking up, Reynolds nearly faints. He’s immediately gripped by vertigo, the ceiling gone, replaced with a canopy of the same black, light-consuming substance of the breach in the farmhouse. He blinks away his surprise, eyes focusing on the event unfolding before him, the child strapped to the chair.
Garrison is gripped with fear. He pushes in just behind Reynolds, Annalise at his heels. Sees his little brother tied to the chair. Brent’s face is contorted, his body jumping as if electrocuted. The boy’s eyes roll up in his head, which snaps back and forth. He darts forward to help but a hand, Reynold’s, reaches out and holds him back. The man’s palm, flat on his chest gives him a little shove back, an instinctual act. Before Garrison can regain his footing, Reynolds storms toward Brent.
A sturdy grip yanks him by the shoulder, breaking all concentration and sending the man sprawling backward. He tumbles to his side and looks up. At once, his emotions are seized by anger. He can’t fathom this disturbance, especially now, so close to success and looking up into the face of a man he’s never known. The unfamiliarity sets him off-kilter. No, this man moving past him is not the one he’d expected. Not the soul wrangler. He lifts a hand to conjure the first thing which comes to mind, a spell to crush Reynold’s beating heart.
“You,” a voice from behind beckons. His concentration is thwarted a second time. Though this is a voice he knows. He turns his head to meet Jakob’s gaze. He hangs his head a moment, not in defeat, but with indignation. Shakes it, as if he can’t believe it’s come to this after all this time.
He sits up, breathing deeply, before pulling himself to his knees, then feet. He brushes the back of his pants off, then flattens the front. As he stands erect, a smirk plays across his lips. He looks to his right; sees Reynolds holding the boy’s face in his hands. Reynolds pulls up an eyelid, checks for a pulse. Garrison and Annalise rush past the man over to Reynolds.
“Brent,” Garrison cries frantically. “Brent!” He paws at his little brother, tugging at the rope which binds the child to the chair.
“Easy now,” Reynolds says, placing a hand on Garrison’s shoulder. “I think he’ll be all right. Just give him a moment.”
The man ponders the statement. Will the boy be all right? No. Certainly not if he has anything to say about the matter. But for now, there are bigger issues at hand. Namely, Jakob. He turns his attention back to the soul wrangler, dressed sharp as ever, his monocle set neatly in one eye, conveniently covering the charred remains of his eye socket.
“I should have known,” Jakob states flatly.
“Yes, you should have,” Crowley concedes, ever confident.
6
6.
Garrison steps back a little, his heart pounding in his chest, wanting nothing more than to free his little brother. But Reynolds pushes him away a second time. Tells him to calm down. He places both hands on Garrison’s shoulders, reassuring, then goes to work on the ropes binding Brent to the chair. Behind them, Jakob and Crowley stand but a few feet apart, staring each other down, each with their own form of hatred burning in their eyes.
“You couldn’t have just arrived,” states Jakob.
“Indeed not. I’ve been here for quite some time.”
“And somehow alluded me.”
“It was not all that difficult,” Crowley boasts.
“How long?” Jakob hisses.
“Oh, I lived a few more decades following our last… engagement.”
“I remember it well,” Jakob bites. Crowley smiles.
“I bet you do.”
“I paid with my life for your incompetence.”
“Incompetence! Incompetence?” Crowley’s smile vanishes in a flash, the insult digging deep. “Let me tell you something about incompetence boy! Had you not interfered-”
“Had I not interfered, my sister would still be writhing within that demon’s grasp.”
“She was well on her way-”
“Well on her way to what? Tell me Crowley.”
“I-”
“Because I’ve had lifetimes to replay those moments in my mind. And the longer I dwell on it, the more I realize you never had any semblance of control. You would have failed. You did fail.”
“And yet, I lived. So did your sister. I see little failure in that.”
“No, no you wouldn’t. But success was not yours. She’s alive because I forfeited my life.”
“And yet I conjured the thing. I pulled it from her! Had I not done that-”
“You’re insufferable.” Crowley pauses before making a reply. The smile returns to his face.
“Very true,” he concedes.
A silence drifts between them. All around, the walls still burn, symbols etched there alight with the magic Crowley bestowed them. Above, the blackness swirls, the pinpricks of light whirl in a macabre dance. If he only had a little more time, Crowley knows he could succeed. But things have changed now. However, escape is still not out of the question. He senses freedom pulsating from above. Surely, if he can slip through unscathed, manage to avoid Jakob’s grasp, he might survive some time on the other side of the Veil. His being there might very well force the Veil to remain open. And as long as it’s open, Crowley would be safe there. His eyes squint in consideration, staring at Jakob, who’s turned to stone, his own gaze unwavering.
“Ah, so there it is. The answer. The resolution,” Crowley says.
“There is no other choice.”
“There is always a choice. I could beg for mercy. Could appeal to that part of you who might still harbor gratification for holding up my end of the bargain.”
“Your end of the bargain,” Jakob states flatly.
“Yes Jakob. My end of the bargain. The demon was removed from your little sister. And I returned her safely home to your mother. Surely I should endure some recompense for that act alone.”
“And yet you stow away all this time, remaining in the shadows so I would not find you. You venture to break the Veil-”
“No Jakob. Succeeded in breaking it.” A silence lingers as Jakob contemplates Crowley’s arrogance.
“How?”
“All too easy,” Crowley boasts. “The Veil is not unlike a game of chess. You just have to know what pieces to position where. Think one step ahead, setting up each and every move before it’s even your turn. And much like chess… this too is a game not of kings or queens. Not of castes or rooks. But rather, one of pawns.” Jakob’s eyes glance over Crowley’s shoulder to Brent. “He is one of many.”
“Have you no conscience?”
“No. None.”
Jakob sneers at Crowley’s boast then, “Well, I would say your recompense has long been forfeit.”
“Very well then,” Crowley shrugs.
He utters a few quick words and thrusts a hand in Jakob’s direction. A crackle breaks between them as Crowley throws an arc of lightning at the other man. Jakob ducks in time to avoid the main collision. His hat singes from the flames though, and he swats it from his head. He rolls along the ground, trying to regain composure, completely overwhelmed with the power the man possesses. Yes, Crowley must have been here for quite some time, building up for his eventual escape. Calling on both the spirit world and the real one, feeding his magic through Brent’s soul. Mastering the dark arts.
As he stands he sees Crowley lift his arms over his head and tilt his chin to the sky. At once, Crowley’s feet lift from the grou
nd. A whirlwind of aired striations envelope the man and hoist him through the Veil above. All around those left, the symbols on the walls, start to sputter. They spit fire in streams. Reynolds fumbles the last of the knots free and scoops up Brent in his arms. Garrison ducks beneath a flaming stream, tugging on Annalise’s hand. All around them the room erupts. The smell of burning wood, metal and plastics fill their nostrils. They choke on it. At the far end of the room Jakob ushers them on.
Reynolds is the first to reach the man. When he turns back, he sees Garrison and Annalise caught between several strands of fire shooting from the walls, and sections of the floor now ablaze. He dumps Brent into Jakob’s arms and rushes into the fray. Scrambling and ducking he makes his way to them. All the while, the heat intensifies. He pulls the boy and girl to their feet and pushes them forward. Another burst of fire and Reynolds shoves Annalise out of the way. She stumbles toward Jakob, crashing to her knees as the stream slams into Reynolds back. He screams, diverting the attention of the others for a moment. They watch the thick tendrils of flame strike the man in his back then erupt from his chest. They snake around his body sizzling clothing and flesh, pulling him from the floor. His body suspends in midair, as if hung on a hook, writhing. His face is a mask of fear and anguish. All at once, his body ignites, a pyre of blues and silvers, bursting. His scream ends abruptly as he blows apart, creating a cloud of smoke and ash.