by Hunter Blain
“Dude! I didn’t know I could change the channel just by thinking! I’ve been getting the videos like a philistine this whole time.”
PS stared at me and then pointed, aggressively, to the screen.
“Ah, right.” I concentrated and the scene in the alley popped back onto the screen. Since this place wasn’t real anyway, I manifested some popcorn and began throwing handfuls back while crunching loudly with an open mouth.
“Oh, I like this part,” I said to PS as I prodded his arm with my elbow.
“Ulric,” I started calmly but with a flat undertone, “why did not a single camp have a calendar? A dated scroll?” I looked at him after speaking, awaiting his response. My accent had been British at the time, matching my surroundings.
Ulric sighed then did something I wasn’t expecting; he looked right at me with cold eyes and said in a tone of finality, “Because I removed them before you could figure out that the mortal commander was long since dead, you petulant child.”
That moment still stunned me, my hand freezing in midair with imaginary popcorn falling to my lap. I was vaguely aware of PS growling next to me.
I attacked, forcing all of my rage and fury into a mighty longsword that belonged in an anime. As I soared through the air, Ulric blurred and slammed a fist into my stomach. I was pretty sure he could have grabbed my spine at that moment.
My eye twitched and I willed the scene to replay in slow motion. One moment, Ulric was standing a few yards ahead of me; the next, he was right in front of me.
My eye twitched again and the scene rewound itself. I played it again, even slower this time. Ulric was standing, and then he cut the distance between us in half, culminating with a fist rocketing toward my gut.
Another twitch and I was watching the events play out at a fraction of the first viewing.
Ulric was standing, a frown of concentration appearing on his face, and he began to rush forward, his eyes turning from purple to red like a sunrise over a cloudy morning.
“Okay,” I said to PS. “Now we have an idea of speed. Let’s watch it again at normal pace.”
PS and I leaned forward in our seats, watching the scene. Ulric was standing and began to run toward where we were. It took all our concentration just to keep up with his movements.
“Lilith, he is fast. There’s no way we can match that speed. He’s hundreds of years older than us!” I said to PS without taking my eyes off the screen.
Predatory Self made a movement in the corner of my eye and I turned to see him pointing at his head and then back at the screen.
Almost defeated, we used our brilliant mind and single-handedly defeated Ulric…by luck. The dude had been caught monologuing and gave us the opportunity to fry him…aaaaaannd most of London, but we didn’t talk about that.
“Okay, you’re right. We can’t match his speed or strength, so we need to set up a trap. The only problem is, we have to go to him, right? Any moment now, we will get a call or a knife on the door pinning a letter about where to meet. Then, he will kill both Depweg and us.”
PS nodded in agreement while his eyes shifted to the ground, his gaze becoming heavy.
“We’ll figure it out, man! Don’t worry! I mean, we have Dawson and Joey now, and there’s no way he’ll see that coming.”
PS looked at me, warily. Then he slowly let a bloodrope come out of his palm and slither around his own neck. He pretended to choke and stuck his tongue out.
“Right, we cowed them easily. BUT, they weren’t changed! They still had their man-suits on!” I said with hopeful enthusiasm.
PS thought about this as he let his rope slide back into his palm, and then nodded once in acceptance.
There was a sudden Danny Elfman score that burst through the speakers of the theater, and I was snapped out of my city and back behind my eyeballs, where I still stared into the drain. My cell phone was ringing with the Beetlejuice theme song. I knew who it was before I even turned the water off, grabbed a towel, and stepped to the sink where my phone lay.
Unknown showed on the screen. I picked it up.
“Hello, Ulric,” I said, somberly.
“Please do not hang up. This is not a sales call,” a robotic woman’s voice proclaimed, “Visa-MasterCard has let us know that…” Click.
Lilith, I HATED those calls. I think I could add the people who programmed these calls to my meal requirements and Heaven wouldn’t even bat an eye.
My phone rang again, displaying a local Houston number.
“Remove me from your fucking list before I come down there and fist you like a Muppet!” I yelled into the phone.
“Hello?” a familiar voice asked, unsure about my greeting. “Do I have the right number?”
“Ulric?”
“Yes. Is this John?”
“Yes. I’ve been expecting you,” I said, sighing into the phone as my rage from the spam calls melted into the reality that was despair.
Ulric’s voice grew serious, “Good, boy. It has been a long time, and I have been undying to see you.”
“That’s my joke,” I said flatly and annoyed.
“Share and share alike, John, for we are the last two vampires.”
“Which, by the way, we should probably keep like that.”
“Should we now?” Ulric asked, bemused. “And why is that, child?”
“Long story that you wouldn’t believe even if I told you,” I sighed again into the phone.
“A penance must be paid for the trespass against me.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You have my friend and want me in exchange. You don’t watch a lot of movies, do you?” I asked, rubbing my forehead with my fingers in agitation.
“I have been asleep for some time, child,” Ulric said.
“They are like plays, but better.”
“What?”
“Movies.”
“I understand the concept. Can we continue?”
“Where are we meeting,” I said as much in a statement as in question.
Ulric gave me the exact coordinates.
“That’s really annoying,” I said. “Can’t you give me a cross street or something? And where’s Depweg? How do I even know he’s alive?” I battled with the anger and the feeling of being helpless in my chest.
“You don’t,” Ulric responded, coldly. Helplessness blossomed throughout my being. “Be seeing you, John.”
Before he hung up, I said, “That’s John Wick.”
There was a pause followed by, “Pardon?”
Being the mature adult that I was, I retorted with, “Last word,” before hanging up.
I tossed the phone on the bed—where it bounced and then slid to the floor—when it chimed with a text. I glanced over at it as I put on my Batman boxer briefs and saw an emoji from the same number. It was of a middle finger.
“Figuring things out pretty quickly, I see,” I said as I slid into my black tactical pants and normal 100% cotton socks, which were also black. My mind raced with different responses to the postconversation text as I pulled on my steel-toed Doc Martens boots.
As I stood up and grabbed for my shirt, Da knocked on the door. I could tell by the sound of his little fist.
“Intrude,” I said.
The door opened and Da came in, his eyes being immediately drawn to the gray beanie still spread out on the bed. He tutted at me with pursed lips before turning back to me.
“Made new friends, I see,” Da spoke, referring to the twins who were holding their full stomachs and sitting on the couch. Dawson was eagerly cleaning his teeth with a bone while Joey let out a room-shattering belch.
“Yeah, they were at Val’s, imagine that!” I said mockingly.
“Where’s Lo—”
“Lo…ki? Loki, right? Thanos killed him, remember? We don’t know if he is really dead, though. He’s been dead before,” I deflected as my eyes shifted to the bed and back to him.
“Dude!” Dawson said. “We know Locke is here. We can freaking smell him, alright?”
From under my false bed, I heard a muffled, “HA!”
14
I carried Locke’s, um, body in one hand and my pillow in the other. I set Locke down on the coffee table as I walked to the trash, where I stuffed the pillow into the already overflowing garbage. It stuck out awkwardly as I walked away.
“John,” Da said, “what are the rules for the trash?”
“What?” I replied innocently. “There’s plenty of room in there!” Everyone’s eyes shifted to the can that was leaning precariously. “See?” As if on cue, the trash can toppled over, spilling its contents onto the kitchen floor.
“Right,” Dawson said.
“So why is he here?” Joey asked, motioning at Locke.
“Long story short, he wants to stay hidden from Satan, who might not know he’s haunting his own head, because he is helping us to stop his former master from starting the apocalypse.”
“There’s a little more to the story than those brief synopses,” Locke said.
“Dude. I said ‘long story short.’ I said that, didn’t I?” I asked as I looked around, waving my hands in frustration.
“Hey,” Dawson started with a shit-eating grin, “Simmer down now. Okay? You’re coming to a boil. Simmer down.”
“Yeah, man. Calm down,” Joey continued.
“Calmer than you are,” I said under my breath. “Anyway, Locke, this is Joey and Dawson. They are werewolves. I’m sorry, ‘werwolves,’” I said with finger quotes using the German pronunciation. “Twins, Locke. Locke, twins,” I introduced.
“Sup dude,” Dawson said, extending his fist out for a bump.
“Charmed,” Locke said curtly with a less than amused look on his face.
“How do you wipe your butt?” Joey asked out of left field.
“Well, it’s pretty easy when you lack said butt,” Locke chided.
“Then what’s with all that shit coming out of your mouth,” Dawson said before both twins started laughing while punching each other’s shoulders.
I snickered to myself at Locke’s torment.
“Miss Hell yet?” I asked Locke.
In all sincerity, Locke said, “No.” Not even a smart-ass comment or reply as his eyes went unfocused. Hell must have really messed him up, as one might expect. But you never really understood or even began to fathom the implications until you saw it firsthand. My trust for Locke grew three sizes that day—but so did my weariness. Any man this terrified of something could be a liability if Satan were to get his hands on him again. Maybe he could use him as a spy. Shit, maybe he was using him as a spy. That would help explain how the hell he had gotten into my hideout so easily. It would take some major mojo to see past my defenses.
Or maybe Gabriel had snuck him in all hushlike to help counter Satan’s machinations. I mean, he had just learned exactly where my Batcave was, even the positioning of the coffee table.
FUCK! I yelled inwardly. PS looked over at me in agreement. Three steps forward and three steps back. I didn’t know if I could trust him. Do we kill him? Just to be sure? PS shrugged with indecision. Damn, you’re right. What if Gabe delivered him to us to help defeat the Devil? PS looked at me again and then nodded his head in agreement. You are really of no help, dude.
“John,” Locke said hesitantly. I snapped out of my internal conversation and saw everyone looking at me. I could feel my face scrunched in angry concentration as I looked directly at Locke’s head.
“If you betray me,” I started suddenly and sternly, staring directly into Locke’s worried eyes, “I will submerge what’s left of you into an iron box filled with wet cement, close the lid, wrap it in silver and iron chains, and throw you into the Mariana Trench where no one will ever find you. Ever.” I leaned forward, inching closer to Locke. “Demons have no patience. You think the physical tortures in Hell are bad? Try being completely alone until the end of the universe at the bottom of the deepest ocean with only blackness and silence as your companions. I wonder how many years you’d last before your mind snapped completely.” I placed my palms on either side of his cheeks as his eyes shifted rapidly back and forth between my hands as they lifted him up until we were almost nose to nose. My eyes glowed a fierce red as I willed blood from my palms to slowly start to swallow his entire head. “If you join us completely of your own volition and not because of a lack of options, you will be rewarded. And Locke, to show I mean what I say, in both scenarios, mind you,” a lump caught in my throat as I continued, the blood now covering his entire face, “I forgive you.” A tear slid down my face, disappearing into the mass of my reddish beard.
My blood started to retract, birthing the now unburnt skin of Locke’s face. Da put his hand over his mouth in surprise. Then he looked at me with fatherly pride in his eyes and nodded.
“Cool,” Dawson said as if watching a CGI-filled movie.
“Can you fix my acne?” Joey asked with half sincerity.
Locke’s eyes were screwed shut, and he was holding his breath as if underwater. Letting one eye open, he exhaled and said to the group looking at him in astonishment, “What?”
Joey took out his phone and snapped a picture of Locke, and then he turned the screen around to show him the gift I had given him.
Locke looked at the picture, realization growing in his eyes the longer he looked at his face. His lips quivered, and he attempted to blink away his own tears.
“No one has ever…” Locke started, swallowing the emotions that tried to crawl up his throat, “No one has ever done anything nice for me. I’ve always had to take what I wanted.”
“You were kind of a huge asshole,” I said.
“I don’t want to be an asshole anymore,” Locke said with hope. “Can you help me, John?”
Da interjected at that moment with his infinite wisdom, “Eh, maybe not the best teacher for that particular job.”
“Then let’s get Depweg back,” I said, both ignoring and accepting the accurate assessment.
15
Locke and Da shared their plan with the twins and me. I had questions and concerns that Da and Locke patiently cleared up as if explaining to a child why we had to stop at red lights. The twins, on the other hand, accepted their orders with excitement. Though to be fair, their portion consisted of badass werewolf stuff, while my part was more cloak and daggers. I had never been good at that part. Whenever a game said you could be stealthy or run in with guns blazing, I started screaming at the screen while shooting everything I saw with extreme prejudice.
With the plan set in motion, it was time to face my maker one last time, for the last time—but without killing him or else I would start the apocalypse, and stuff. Jeez, this was not going to be fun or easy, or if I was being frank, possible. Good thing I was not Frank, though. I was John, the last of my kind…except for that other guy. You know what? Let’s just get to it.
In the privacy of my room, I held the Home button on my phone until my thumbprint unlocked the screen, where I selected the phone icon. Pressing Favorites, I called Father Thomes and held my breath as I waited for him to answer. When he did, I caught him up on the situation, including the situation with Locke.
“You have allied yourself with a warlock sent by Satan himself?!” Father Thomes all but yelled into the phone. I had to pull it away from my ear, and even looked at the screen to verify I was, in fact, talking to my friend and not a wrong number. Just as quickly as it had come, his anger receded and he said, “Apologies, my son. I will have to pray on whether or not to inform the Church about this new development; and I fear I can anticipate their answer. The clergy was not pleased when the werewolf came into the picture, but at least he is a good man at heart with only a few blemishes on his soul. Locke’s soul, on the other hand, is pitch black and dripping with sin.”
“So don’t tell them. I seem to recall us having the same predicament when we first met almost thirty years ago.” I put on my movie announcer voice and said, “One priest. One
vampire. Teaming up to save the world from evil and kick Satan in his dangly bits. Starring Chris Evans as the super buff vampire and Daniel Day-Lewis as Papa T. Coming this summer.”
Father Thomes chuckled at that.
“Ah! You laughed! That means it’s okay!”
He sighed heavily before saying, “I suppose not wanting to go to Hell or allow Hell to come to Earth are fairly convincing motivators. Very well. But do me one favor, please.”
“What’s that?”
“Watch him. Question everything he says, even if to yourself. If he committed atrocities in the name of Satan and claimed to not have a choice, then what’s to say he isn’t being manipulated now?”
“Already thought about that. I’ll keep a close eye out,” I said somberly.
He prayed for me over the phone and asked the Lord for strength to carry out my mission.
I thanked him for his blessing, pressed the red End button on my phone, and then slid it into my coat pocket.
It was game time.
I slipped into the iron-infused body armor Depweg gave me in that other book, and slapped a magazine into my Glock containing the fresh iron-and-silver rounds. I holstered the Glock before picking up the silver kukri and regarding it at arm’s length.
“What’s that for? I thought we agreed we absolutely could not kill him,” Da said as he floated into my room.
Throwing on my best John Candy impersonation, I said, “Not to kill, no. Just to maim. Take a little off the shoulder. The elbow. Shave a little meat off the ol’ kneecap.”
Da crossed his tiny arms and glared at me, disbelieving.
“Alright, alright, alright. Look, it’s like a condom; it’s better to have one and not use it than to not have one and start the apocalypse. Or something like that. You know how the saying goes.”
“I don’t even know where to begin with that one,” Da replied, rubbing his forehead in annoyance.
“Here’s the deal, Da. I’ll need every advantage against Ulric I can get. And this,” I said, turning the glinting blade over in the light, “is a damn fine advantage. If I can take off even one limb that won’t be able to heal immediately, we might maybe perhaps be able to take him down without killing him. Possibly.”