by David Green
Charging, committed to the attack, Suraz spins and throws out a wing, sheltering Rosa and Diana. The Wendigo Amarok—hacked all to Hell, missing half its snout and a huge chunk of flank, but still kicking—charges up the porch stairs, roaring a fury, and demolishes the cabin’s front as it crashes through the doorway. It mauls Suraz, jaws clamping on his torso and piercing his armor.
The Nephilim cries in rage, twisting and throwing the Amarok through the air. The monster crashes into the wall, knocking out load-bearing timbers and scattering the contents of the fireplace across the room. Marv stands across the blaze from the rest of us.
Suraz, on one knee, jams his blade into the ground to keep his feet. White blood pumps from the holes left by the Amarok’s teeth.
The creature howls. I hear its claws scrabbling in the dirt before it smashes aside more timbers and charges back at Suraz. They collide and fly through the wall, out of the cabin.
Forget animal control. Marv needs an entire construction crew for this place now.
“Out!” I yell, as a beam crashes to the ground not a foot away from me.
“The Wendigo!” Diana screams, voice shrill. “They’re still out there!”
“Marv holds `em in thrall. They’ll die when he does. Until he returns, anyway. Gives us time to skiddaddle.”
Maybe Marv’s death will give us the chance we need to reach the Mustang. He’s doomed now, trapped by the flames, the cabin collapsing around him. If I can make it back to Haven, I might be able to gather more weapons and wait for his ghost. Then I can Expunge his ass.
Unbidden laughter bubbles from my throat. Through the flames, a shadow emerges, the fire caressing his skin but leaving him unharmed.
It’s him.
I remember Charon’s words in the woods. Death lays at the end of your path, Fateless.
The Ferryman may not see my end, but someone’s death has called him here. I won’t let it be Rosa’s. I’ll kill Marv myself, consequences be damned.
The cabin creaks, groans. Wood splinters, debris falls. Marv approaches, face ruined by the crucifix. His unholy tattoos pop from his flesh like a shield. I see the opening and charge.
The stone fireplace topples. I slam into Marv, hit him low and drive him back. My shoulder hits his solar plexus and blows the air out of him. His back hits the hearth and I spin away, a last roll of the dice to avoid a crushing death.
A rafter drops in front of me, just where I stood not one second before. Ol’ Marv ain’t so lucky.
The fireplace crumples as the walls and roof give in. They collapse, burying the bastard in a heap of stone and wood. I see him pulverized by block after block, bursting like a wet sack, bones shattering. Then he’s buried. Gone.
The dust settles, but the fire’s spreading. The cabin continues to groan and burn, and I hope to God that Rosa and the kid got clear. But I’m trapped.
At first, I think it’s my imagination. I half-expect Marv to burst from the rubble, but no one could survive that. Right?
The flames surrounding me slow, so much I can see them flicker one way, then the other. They make no noise now. In fact, it’s like sound’s ceased to exist. The cabin’s not hot or cold, and it should be one or the other with the flames running rampant and the gaping holes everywhere.
From the heap, a vapor rises. Grey, washed-out. It swirls in the air, draws together. From the formless shape, Marvin Clancy Junior reassembles.
I bare my teeth, tell my muscles to move, to grab his spirit before it can do anything, but they don’t listen. I shouldn’t be here. I’m inside a pocket, a reality outside of time, outside of the rules of Hell, a place between life and death. And it’s because of him.
Charon.
The darkness that perverts the light around him floods through me, surrounds me, protects me—I’m certain he didn’t mean it; he doesn’t even seem to realize I’m here—and he steps forward, through me. My skin, my bones, my blood—they flush hot, then cold as winter, as he passes through my body, striding towards Marv’s ghost. Awareness already flickers in the bastard’s eyes.
“Welcome to eternity,” Charon whispers, though I hear his voice reverberate in my head, like I’m thinking the words he speaks. “We met before, many years ago, though most forget my words. I told you then we would meet again, one final time, and your death would hold great meaning. You did not fail me. In fact, you surpassed my wildest expectations with your depravity.”
“Lucifer?” Marv gasps, dropping to his knees.
“No,” Charon replies. The darkness that trails him swells, like a wave held back by a dam, and it seeps into me, stops the flames from devouring me, holds the cabin from turning my body to paste. “I am much more than that. Come. The Seal awaits you.”
Dark tendrils rush forward, then spread out, swallowing the flames and Marv’s mist. They fill my sight.
A laugh like crunching gravel. The Seal awaits you all… Charon’s voice blooms in my mind. Next time, your friend will not be here to save your soul. Be seeing you.
Then, silence.
Blinking, my vision returns. Marv’s gone. So’s Charon. The cabin’s a burnt-out ruin. I turn, bones creaking like I haven’t used them in eons.
The Ferryman’s words echo in my mind, the ones from Meadow Park, what seems like an age ago. You think Hell is how you perceive it? Do you believe the dead linger here for no purpose, and only where you observe them? Foolish human.
What a way to back up your words, Charon. It’s clear I understand jack-shit.
“My friend?”
My hand’s cold. Like ice. Diana’s holding it, peering up at me with her hollow eyes.
“I heard him, Nick. But don’t worry, I’ll always be here to save you.”
Behind me, Suraz stands with Rosa, their stares fixed on me. Wonder of wonders, the Nephilim looks away when I meet his eyes. Reckon he saw Charon too. I notice more puncture marks in his armor. He’s taken a real beating, but Marv’s gone. The Wendigo are gone. That Amarok’s fucking dead at last.
Rosa smiles, tears spilling down her cheeks. I gasp, exhausted, and shiver. I almost fall to the floor. The kid takes my other hand and pulls me back up.
I meet that eyeless stare, ignore the crusted blood covering her face, and picture the child she used to be.
“How? I should have died in that fire.”
Diana looks over her shoulder at Suraz. He still won’t meet my eyes. He’s gazing at the spot where Charon disappeared, but I can’t tell if that’s what he’s thinking about. I shouldn’t even try to imagine a Nephilim’s thoughts.
“He told me to grab you, to tell the flames to die, where the debris should fall. I…didn’t know if I could do it, but… I never wanted anything more.”
“You’re special, kid. You know that?”
A smile.
“Let’s go home, Nick.”
“No, kid. Gotta job to do, remember? Gotta lead and I promised you we’d see it through.”
I squeeze her fingers.
“Time for you to get some closure.”
THE END
We drive back to Haven as the night turns to dawn. Rosa sleeps with her head on my shoulder. Feels good. Feels right. Wanted to take her to hospital, or home at least, but she insisted that she come with. I agreed, as long as she waited in the car.
Parking the Mustang, I shift Rosa aside, gentle-like, so she doesn’t wake up. Diana follows. We’re at the Church of St. Francis on Haven’s south side.
“You ready, kid?”
She nods and moves forward. Diana hasn’t said a word since I told her about Zia’s message and the information she gave me.
The church is basic, small. Daffodils grow in the gardens outside, and I ignore the ghosts drifting around. Holy ground’s a nexus to Hell’s spirits, even the Aware ones. They linger, as if they can find a way into Heaven if they stay there
long enough.
Diana walks slow, and I’m grateful. Marv battered me. I’m limping and exhausted, but that’s the least of my worries. In the car, while Diana looked inward and Rosa slept, I thought about Marv, how the Ferryman took his ghost, the words he said, and how I felt like a part of that moment.
Suraz didn’t stick around. He took off before I could corner him and start with the questions.
The Seal. What in Hell is the Seal? And Charon saying Marv ‘surpassed his wildest expectations’? I thought I learned the truth about Hell five years ago. Turns out I’d only scratched the surface. There’s so much more to learn, and I better do it quick. Something’s coming.
But first things first…
We enter the church. The aisle leads to a simple altar, pews on either side, and stations of the cross line the walls. Morning light streams through painted glass, and god rays fall on a priest with his head bowed at the foot of the dais.
“Let me do the talking,” I whisper to Diana.
Like she has a choice, unless the priest’s like me, but what I really mean is none of that psychokinetic shit. Not until I say the word.
The kid stares at the priest’s back—he ain’t noticed us—before turning to me. She gives a tight shake of her head.
“He deserves death.”
I grimace, glance around to make sure no one sees me chatting with my invisible friend, then place both hands on Diana’s shoulders, ignoring the chill.
“No doubt. Kid, it’s your call, but you know what? Don’t damn your soul. This is vengeance. Take it from me, that’s an eternity’s sentence.”
“You said it yourself, Nick. Charon told you I’m in Hell forever.”
“Bullshit.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of the last few days. “You stole to feed your family. Anyone would do the same. He expects me to believe human courts understand extenuating circumstances, but the Almighty doesn’t? There’s sinning and then there’s folks like Marv...” I point to the priest. “...folks like him. They ain’t the same, and I swear to you, we’ll find a way to make things right, return you to your family. The two of us, remember? We’ll figure things out.”
Diana swings her head towards the priest. “Let’s just do this.”
I sigh, and straighten my back, which is harder than it sounds with the state I’m in. “Sure.”
We approach the priest, dressed in his white cassock. I can already see he’s a bigger guy, about the same size as me. Stocky, thick. Must run in the family.
“Father Clancy?” I call, coming to stand a few paces away. He looks over his shoulder, and I can see why Diana found Marv familiar. Resemblance is uncanny. “Father Marvin Clancy?”
Zia’s text gave me the name and date of birth, October 1st 1947. I knew this wasn’t our Marv, the Devil Worshipper. Too old. But, like I said, I quit believing in coincidences.
Diana’s killer, the one who sparked a riot that claimed the kid’s family and countless others? The man who lived in my apartment, got married and had a child before becoming a priest? Marvin Clancy Junior’s father.
Small fucking world.
“Yes, my child? Have you come for confession?” He pushes himself up. Despite his size, he’s frail. Father Clancy’s face is kind. He smiles at me until he realizes my condition—battered, dirty, crusted with blood—and the congeniality slips. “Are you in trouble, child?”
Beside me, Diana jerks forward. I throw out an arm, holding it against her chest. My forearm flashes with ice.
“Not anymore,” I smile. “Name’s Nick Holleran, P.I. Got asked to work a cold case. Real old. Ran into a couple of people you know.”
Clancy shakes his head, goes to walk away. “I think you must have me mistaken with someone else, Mr. Holleran.”
“Marvin Clancy Junior. Know him? Know how he got his kicks?”
The color doesn’t drain from the priest’s face; it disappears in an instant. Somehow, he looks even older. He sags, staggers a little. A part of me wants to steady him, but I know Diana would never forgive me. Gotta remember the things this old man did, the acts he tried to hide by joining the church, how he thought that absolved him.
“What has he done?” Father Clancy asks, voice flat.
“Just what all the kids are doing these days. Kidnapped a lady, tried to summon the Devil, murdered a whole bunch of people and enslaved their souls. That kind of thing.”
The priest crosses himself. “The police have him?”
I hesitate, glance at Diana. Her jaw’s tight, fists bunched at her sides.
“He’s dead.”
His legs crumple beneath him as he collapses on the stairs, hand on his chest. “Dear God, he’s paid for my sins. Why not me? Why not me? My boy never stood a chance.”
“Enough,” Diana snarls. Her hands shoot out in front of her, pushing Father Clancy up the stairs with the force of her will. He screams, eyes wild, as the unseen force sends him crashing into the altar and pins him there.
“Diana,” I warn, walking beside her as she bears down on the old man, “there’s gotta be another way.”
She scowls. Father Clancy sags a little. Kid’s still got hold of him, but she’s not going to tear him apart or crush him like a soda can under heel. I crouch down in front of Marvin Senior and meet his eyes.
The name haunts his lips. “Diana?”
“You blame yourself for your son’s evil?” I ask. He has the same black stare as his son. Instead of malice, his is filled with regret.
“Who are you?” Clancy asks, mouth slack. “How are you doing this?”
“I’m sure your son told you he could see things.”
“Madness. My boy was sickened. That’s all.”
“How did he die? As a child, I mean. Was that when it started?”
Father Clancy doesn’t answer. Beside me, Diana squeezes her fist. The priest gasps for air, eyes bulging. I hold up my finger, and the kid stops. She’s like Darth fucking Vader. Guess that makes me the Emperor?
“It started long before,” he croaks. “Even God makes mistakes. I’d already turned to Him for absolution. I prayed for my boy’s soul, but he was corrupt. Vile. My wickedness infected him. I should never have brought life into the world. But when he killed his mother,” he wheezes, his words coming in a frenzy, “I pushed him down the stairs. I still recall that sound, the crunch of bone. I thought his neck had broken. I…thought I’d done it. Killed him. Saved us all. But, when he returned to life, raving about ghosts and creatures, I knew the Devil had taken him. Faith was the only way to fight, so I took up the cloth. I devoted my life to Him. To absolution.”
I glance around the silent church, then up at the painted glass above me. This is a place of saints and angels, but the only folk here are three sinners.
“He lies,” Diana growls. “He wanted to smother his son the day he was born, and so many times after. He enjoyed what he did to me and the others. He thinks about it when he pretends to pray.”
Hot anger floods my chest. I tamp it down. Don’t wanna egg the kid on. She’s out for blood.
“What’s it you priests like to say? ‘Confession is the path to forgiveness’? You ever try that?”
“It’s t-too late,” Father Clancy stammers, tears running down his lined face.
“The case I’m working. About a girl who lived at Redwood and Maine…”
The priest grows still, silent. His tears slow to a trickle. Clancy licks his lips, eyes furtive. “Diana…”
“Yes.”
“How? They’re all…”
The priest trails off, and a shadow crosses his expression. He reminds me so very much of his son. The kind look in those black eyes is gone, and a trace of the old predator surfaces.
This sack of shit didn’t change, didn’t turn to God. He hid in a place he thought no one would come looking. Almost got away with it too.
>
“Remember the things your son told you?” I say, raising a finger. “It’s all true.”
I point at Clancy, and Diana forces her will on him, pushing him tighter against the altar. He screams through gritted teeth, the thin flesh on his face rippling like he’s sat on the front seat of a rollercoaster. I touch Diana on the shoulder. She snarls, but relents.
“It’s all a show,” the kid hisses. “I feel him, Nick. That evil… He’s a monster. Worse than his son. The Devil didn’t make him that way; his father did!”
I know better than to doubt Diana’s intuition, so I decide to press harder.
“The girl you killed, Diana Charles. The one you kidnapped, held in your room, tortured, tore her eyes out when she looked at you because of the shame. The one whose entire family died, along with the rest of the souls living at Redwood and Maine, because her momma knew you took her. She’s with me, right now. You think about her a lot, don’t you? Don’t think I didn’t see that look in your eyes when you spoke her name. You remember her just fine.”
“I remember them all!” Clancy screams, eyes bulging. He laughs, a hysterical howl. “The Devil, he made me do it. Whispered to me, all the while, telling me what to do. I tried to change! I did! I swear to you.”
I sock him in the nose. Hard. I grab the front of his cassock and haul him up. “Confess, you sick son of a bitch.”
He giggles, red spittle dribbling down his chin. “Women. Always women, but I liked children most. How they’d scream, how’d they’d shake when I stood over them. Especially the ni—”
I hit him again, splitting my knuckles on his teeth, looming over him like he did to those kids. His mouth overflows. He laughs again.
“I took their eyes when they looked at me. The Devil told me to. He wanted—”
Another punch cuts him off. I pull him close, fist scrunched up in his robe, and stare into those black, feverish eyes. Wish I could kill this bastard myself. But that’s not why I’m here. It’s Diana’s call, and if she decides to put this rabid dog down, I won’t blame her.
“Trash like you are the reason the Devil walks in blood. But he doesn’t ask for it and he sure as shit doesn’t whisper it in your ear. I’m through with you.”