The Pale Horseman

Well after over a year and a half I have finally gotten my act together and finished the book.  So far, it is just a 1st draft of sorts, but I am still proud of it nonetheless. Enjoy.

The Pale Horseman

By Eric Doody

The morning was so vivid, cutting through is mind, tearing through his heart.  A picturesque Sunday morning, Paul Harmon, his wife, and two daughters were preparing to head off to breakfast and then church.  The four of them all had dark brown hair, nearly raven’s black if not for when the sun shined so vibrantly on it revealing the tinted hue.  Paul never really combed his hair, but would part it to the side on Sunday’s, because if he didn’t he could always catch Elizabeth’s greenish-blue eyes staring him down.  Elizabeth was not a mean person, nor controlling, but she respected the house of God and expected her family to do so as well.

It was her smile that kept Paul in line, no matter what she asked as long as she gave him even just a smirk; he would be putty in her hands.  The girls got their mother’s smile, the dark hair, and soft-white skin, but it was their eyes and nose that came from Harm.  He had a bridged nose, making him look like a fighter when in fact he was just born with it.  His eyes had the greenish hue, but unlike his wife’s held a brownish tone as well.  He was happy to see neither girl had received the gap in his teeth, the one trait he desired not to pass on.  It was when Paul looked at his family that he would realize how lucky he was.  When they went to church it was always a special occasion when Elizabeth was involved.

  She had always been fond of church and the thought that there was some loving, protective God watching over her family. Paul never really cared for religion, as he saw it if there had been a god it left this fucked up world a long, long time ago.  But, he was happy to do whatever made his wife happy; as he put it, her happiness was his happiness.    

The two girls were impatiently waiting near the car in their finest Sunday dresses.  Mary, only five years of age, was wearing a white dress with roses.  Her little sister Julia, just a couple years younger, was not so happy with getting dressed up and spent more time trying to get the dress off than keeping it on.  Mary kept trying to insist to Julia that dresses were fun.  She would do a spin and a curtsy while softly saying, “I just love my dressy.  Julia you want be pretty lady ‘cause I know I want to be pretty.  Mommy will be much happier if you just try and look nice.” But Julia persisted on trying to pull the bottom of the dress over her head; she giggled each time she got undressed, and she would let out a soft moan of agitation every time her mother got it back on her.

        Paul would always smile before they left for breakfast on Sundays.  He loved to see his family together, cherishing each moment as if it would be their last.  Sadly, this was not such a far fetched idea.

        Everyone got into the car while Paul went to lock the door to their cookie cutter home.  As he neared the car he noticed something in the peripherals of his vision.  A black, rust covered, sedan with broken headlights and a shattered front window was charging through his neighbor’s lawn straight at his family.  He looked closely to see if he recognized the face, but all he could see was a smile.  The rest of the face was covered by long, ratty, black hair, but the smile could be seen for miles.  It was from ear to ear.  He could see the madness, the anarchy, the desire to destroy all that he cared for.  He screamed to his wife, but she did not respond.  Caught up in trying to keep Julia’s dress on, she never lifted her head to see what was wrong; her vision fixated on Julia’s flailing legs.  Reaching for the car door, the black sedan struck the car, throwing Paul backwards and knocking him out cold.

        He awoke in a daze.  His eyes darted from every corner of his vision only to see that the black sedan had driven off. Skid marks covered the road, screams filled the air.  His focus was not on the driver, but on his family that were crying and screaming as the flames from the engine rose.  His senses shut off, overwhelmed by the horror of watching everything he loved burn, and as each sense came back he realized all he could hear were his own screams.  All he could smell was smoke and gasoline.  He got to his feet and as he ran to the car he clenched his left hand into a fist and sent it straight through the driver’s side window.  He reached for his wife’s hand; she was stuck in the car.  Her right leg was wedged in between the car door and her seat.  The children were frozen stiff from the fear, neither could do anything but cry out for their father and mother.  They shrieked and begged for their parents.  Their faces expressed a fear Paul would never comprehend. 

He stretched his body through the broken glass; it ripped through his shirt and skin.  He grasped his wife’s hand and tried telling her everything would be alright…the flames danced across the entire hood, rising and swelling until all he could smell was his own arm smoldering from the heat.  The car exploded an instant later.

Chapter 2

Paul awoke in his bed surrounded by empty bottles of Jack Daniel’s, torn bibles, shattered furniture, and empty cartons of cigarettes that had been piling up and was now covering every corner of his cookie cutter home.  Paul had bandages that went up his entire left arm, scarred from the explosion.  He could still feel the burning, the pain as if the flames from that day would never die inside of him.  Without hesitation and without even lifting his head up, his left arm flailed through the clutter on his desk, searching for the bottle that would let him escape this endless nightmare.  His fingers felt the glass neck and he sat up to take a swig.  It burnt, but it was nothing compared to the constant pain that plagued his shattered life.

Paul had been on leave for a few months.  He had been working at the local morgue, prior to the accident, so he could be with his family more often.  His job as a forensic scientist, a job he had always wanted but somehow found himself doing more hands-on investigations rather than lab work, took up too much of his time and had caused a rift between him and his family.  They tried to woo him back to the force, seeing as he once was the best forensic scientist available, thus making him the small town’s only real detective as well, but he adamantly refused to lose his family over that job. 

The morgue had been quiet and easy to deal with.  People tended to ask him his views on death since his daily life revolved around the deceased.  He would tell them that if they could accept death, then in their last moments of life they would know the rest to follow.  He fooled himself into believing that death was another part of life until death finally followed him home.  He took refuge in that the morgue didn’t have crime scenes, it didn’t have blood stained walls.  You didn’t have to look at the body in its last moment of agonizing pain. 

He did enjoy being around the dead.  It had always been quite calming to know how peaceful a person can be once they leave this world.  He had wanted to get back to work, but after his family’s demise he was told that the morgue would be too stressful since he had been diagnosed as suicidal while he was still in the hospital.  It seemed even the dead didn’t want his company anymore.

He figured if he was really that suicidal he would have killed himself by now.  Although he had tried several times, each time it seemed something just would not let him succeed.  He once had the barrel of his .357 revolver lodged in his mouth and just before he pulled the trigger his wedding song came on the radio, “It’s A Man’s World” by James Brown…..he wept as he pulled it out, saliva dripping off of the end of the gun. 

He tried pills, only to awake hours later in a pool of his own piss and vomit.  He tried to hang himself only to have the rope brake every time.  He spent an entire afternoon sharpening a razor and when he finally placed the edge to his black wrist, the puss that seeped out smelled like shit and only induced vomiting and nausea rather than the sweet release from life.  He no longer contemplated killing himself since he seemed to utterly fail in every attempt at ending it all, so why bother he figured.  Paul moved on to spending his days wallowing in his own misery, drinking away their screams, and destroying the home he once cherished so dearly.

The front yard had become covered in empty bottles and shattered glass, and the tire treads could still be seen leading up to his driveway.  The grass had not been tended to and was slowly dying away, turning from vibrant green to shit brown.  His neighbors pleaded with him once to maintain his home so their neighborhood would not lose its aesthetic, but he simply told them before slamming the door, “You want my yard to look nice and happy?  You fucking vultures…you could care less for my family than for your property value.  I will never tend to my yard.  You want it to look nice, you fucking do it.  And if you ever come to my door again with a request so cold hearted I’ll fucking rip yours out for you and show you how black it is.”  Paul perceived this as a courteous no.

       Paul spent his days listening to old records, looking at family photos, and walking two hours to the liquor store since he would already be wasted before he needed another bottle.  His facial hair had grown into a scraggly beard.  His hair had grown long, black, and oily. His teeth were a nice piss yellow so that when the local sheep tried to talk to him he could just smile and they would turn away.  One could say Paul was not merely interested in maintaining his personal hygiene, or that he was attempting to maintain a level of filthiness that would help repel the townsfolk who said they understood his pain but never had to stare their wife in the eye as she burned alive, or listen to the last cries of their own flesh and blood.  All they had dealt with were the elderly passing away quietly in some shithole nursing home they pawned them off to or the ripples from the days of the riots.

       Today was a Sunday and it was the two month anniversary of his family’s death, so he decided to go to their church to warn people that all the church really did was sell lies to the weak minded.  He first needed to pick up a bottle of Jack to help propel his body and mind into a dizzying drunkenness. The only person he cared to talk to was Murph, the owner of Night Cap.  It was a nice establishment with a walk in freezer and nearly 500 different types of liquors. He stumbled in through the door; he always tripped over the elevated step.  Murph gave him a nod acknowledging his arrival.  It didn’t take Paul long to get his bottle, and before he was even at the register Murph had already rung up his purchase.

       “That’ll be $28.99 Harm.  You did remember to bring the money this time right?”

       “Of course, Murph.  Can you break two twenties?”

       “I think I can handle that Harm.”

Murph made change and presented the money to Paul.

       “No need for the change man.  I owe you anyways; just take it off my tab.”

       “Your tab is up to $200, I don’t think ten bucks is going to make much of a dent.”

       “You gotta start somewhere Murph.”

Murph mumbled underneath his breathe, “Apparently you decided to start at the bottom of the shitter.”

       “What….the fuck” Paul stumbled his words since the last bottle was finally through his entire system, “did you……just say….to me?” as he peered through his mess of hair, barely able to maintain eye contact.

       “Nothing man, don’t worry about it.”

       “I got nothing worth worrying about, so I think I can…..handle that.” he paused to belch, which carried the hint of bile in it, but with a lovely overtone of cigarettes and whiskey.

       As Paul left Murph raised the $11.01 telling him to take it.  Paul made his way to the door clutching onto whatever he could to maintain his balance and as he stepped out of the door he mumbled, “Asshole.” Now off to the church.

Chapter 3

Paul had guzzled down a quarter of his bottle of Jack before he got to the church steps.  St. Mary’s Catholic Church bled into his thoughts for every time he had to look upon the place he was reminded of what he had lost.  Elizabeth had gone to this church since they moved into town, dragging Paul’s ass to church each Sunday to help keep connected with her so-called lord and savior. His disdain for the church had reached a fever pitch ever since his family had been torn away from him.

He stumbled up each step, wary not to trip and fall since he did not want to break his brand new bottle.  He got their about ten minutes before the four o’clock Sunday mass was about to start.  He swigged down whatever he could and then he began his favorite new pastime.  The words always came out so eloquently, “You fucking sheep!” another swig, “Walk forward toward your fairy tales, listen as some old fool rabbles on about times we will never understand.  Do you want to know why man created god? Because fear lives in the hearts of every person and the fear of death trumps everything.  Why think for yourself when some fictional character can protect you from all damnation!?

“Why walk your own path, for they tell you that you must walk his!  Bleed for these leper kings!  Pay homage for god needs your money even though God is supposed to be all powerful!  You are only paying for your salvation; you are only praying that all your evil deeds will be forgotten or forgiven.”…Three more gulps, “All you ants, live in your ant hill, let the queen bark orders and do her bidding!  Bide your time until your last hour…” he covers his mouth as he feels the fumes from the whiskey fill his esophagus.

With his ranting stopped, due to Harm vomiting all over the bushes right next to the steps, Father Patrick grabbed him by his collar and dragged him inside.  This was not the first time that these two men had to deal with one another.  Father Patrick took a deep breath, calming himself, and rationalizing his thoughts, “Paul I cannot have this distraction outside of my church!  I have let you desecrate this property, this house of God, and I have let you tarnish my teachings so you can cope with your loss.  But, enough is enough and the next time you think about doing this outlandish protest remember that I have the right to have you arrested.”

Paul paused and retorted ever some softly, “Fuck off….”

Father Patrick knew that there would not to be any resolution today.  Paul’s eyes were barely open by now since he had somehow sucked down about half of his remaining whiskey.  The father sighed and threw him into a confessional booth, Paul’s normal resting place after he had finished his tirades.  He rolled up into the fetal position and drifted off into sleep.

Another Sunday afternoon well spent he thought before he succumbed and fell into a drunken slumber.

Chapter 4

Father Patrick sat back for a moment, poured a little whiskey into his coffee, and sighed after another day of preaching.  His earlier encounter with Paul had worn him out.  It pained him so to see such a good man fall so far down into despair.  He wiped his brow, cleaning off his gleaming bald head with a handkerchief. Father Patrick’s years of preaching had taken a toll on him, and the wrinkles across his brow were all too apparent.  He was only 60, but his life had been hard and the years spent trying to help those who needed his guidance had made even him question his own faith.

He kept his office rather neat with a nice wooden desk, a small reading lamp as the room’s only source of light, and a bible that rested on top of it.  He kept all of the church’s files in a stack of boxes tucked away in the corner of the room.  He had books that covered all religions, historical findings, and moral values that would allow him a better understanding of those who refused to listen to him.  He had studied not only the Bible, but also the teachings of Islam, Buddhism, Confuscious, and even as far as Native American spiritual practices.  Father Patrick was a good man, not tarnished by the Catholic Church’s reputation.  Yet, he had always felt as if he deserved to die, some martyr in waiting.

As he sipped the last bit of his Irish coffee, he heard his door creak open.  A black hand reached onto the side of the door and Father Patrick quietly called out, “Paul?”

Only a low groan came bellowing out from behind the door, and before he could rise to his feet he saw it.  Yellow piercing eyes, a grin that seemed so psychotic it almost made him chuckle from fear.  A black face appeared and it was something that looked part man, part skeleton, and entirely evil.  Its black skin danced like a flame flickering in the wind, never stagnant, but always intact. The heat from its skin seemed to crackle and singe the wooden floor.  Father Patrick trembled.  Something was not right.  This creature was purely satanic.  He had never believed that demons existed, but he was sure that he was staring straight at one.  Without hesitation he grabbed his cross and began to repeat, “Our father who art in heaven, hallow be thy name….” over and over he said it as the creature crept closer and closer.

He peered up to see what it was doing.  He figured it was going to kill him the instant he looked up, but all it did was stare at him, just stared and smiled.  It was frail, looking more like a shadow that just hung in the dim lighting.  There seemed to be no real muscle, just a shell of a body.  Its fingers were long and frail, no nails but just pointed ends.  It hunched over a little, not lifting its head up to look at the preacher anymore.  It was staring right at his throat, and it was drooling from anticipation. 

The saliva started to fall from the sides of its mouth and Father Patrick sensed the end was near….then it spoke, “Why hello there…..” the words mumbled together, “Having a nice day I hope…. Wouldn’t want you to die without one last prayer…Please continue.” The priest did as he was told and repeated his prayers, “Our father who art in heaven…”

“Hallow be thy name??” the demon finished the verse as if it were a game, “You see father I find your prayers rather dull.  Who really preaches to a deity that no longer watches over its own creations?  Do you actually think your beloved God stayed around to watch you heathens destroy all that was once so sacred and beautiful?  Do you believe that a reckoning will come…that judgment will finally fall upon this world that your sins will be cleansed from this existence?  Because if so, you are looking at it, you are looking at your reckoning, your cleansing, your purification, your eradication.  Now tilt your head back please for this will all be much swifter if you do.”

The priest raised his head to look at the demon again.  It now stood before him although he never heard any footsteps coming closer, all he could hear was a hissing sound that lingered when it stood still.  He began to tremble, the words were merely mumbled underneath his breathe.  He tilted his head back, revealing his throat and he began to cry, “Now, now father there is no need to weep.  I am only here to release you from your burdens.  I wish I could tell you heaven awaits you, but then I would be a liar and I may be many things but I do not lie.  You are pure, so I will let you know that you are going to a better place…it just might not be what you imagined.” Instantaneously it snapped from consoler to killer, “Now, let us begin.” And as its fingers grew longer and sharper, the demon gave a quick slash and blood began to shoot out from the gash.

Father Patrick felt cold immediately; the shock had absolved him of the pain from the wound.  As it grew darker, he felt the demon pull up his shirt and plunge his hand into his stomach….he definitely felt that.  As he passed away the demon sat next to Father Patrick, sitting down in an Indian style and dipped his index finger into the gut.  Once it was drenched in blood he began to scribble onto the floor WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW???

Chapter 5

Paul felt the rush of the crisp, frigid air fill his lungs on the slopes of the Swiss Alps.  He was skiing behind his wife as they attempted their first summit run of the day. The snow flew back into his face from each cut back and forth his wife made as she flew down the slope. The moment was perfect.   The sun was out and they could see mountains and tiny, lightly frosted villages in every direction for miles.  His heart raced, not from shooting down the mountain side, but knowing that they were together finally as man and wife. Paul attempted to reach her, but every time he went into a tuck position to speed up she would just begin to bomb downward. He tried grabbing her, wanting to pull her down into the snow so they could roll around and laugh. Paul always liked to enjoy and cherish moments like these.

As they began to come toward the end of the run which seemed to have lasted for days, they took a sharp turn around a bend and when he came around the other side she was gone. He stopped immediately and threw his skis off to the side of the trail. He ran over to the ledge to see if she had fallen off, but there was nothing to see except the thick growth of trees that littered the valley below.  He began to panic, something was wrong…this never happened. He began to scream out for her, but to no avail. He ran to find help, but realized he had not seen anyone on the mountain that day. He made the decision to jump off the ledge, hoping to find her, hoping she was alright. He pressed himself against the mountain side, gathered his courage, and sprinted toward the ledge. As he lept into the air he felt something jerk him back and forth.

He had barely separated his eyelashes from one another when he was awoken.  His vision was still blurry, as the light burned his retinas from the lingering hangover, “What the, who the fuck woke me up?” As he gained his sight back he saw a blue uniform…cops.

“Harm wake up man. You gotta get up. You’re contaminating a crime scene.  We are currently investigating a murder.”

“A murder?” Harm coughed out along with a few chunks of his resonated lungs.

“Yeah, Father Patrick was found this morning with his throat split open and a huge puncture in his stomach. It’s pretty fucked up man.”

“O’Connor?” an old buddy from the force who was pretty young, only 28, but he was a good cop and a good kid, “Am I a suspect?”

“Sorry to say it man, but you are suspect numero uno right now. You were the only one still at the church during the time of death, and we have witnesses that said you two had another argument yesterday. What happened?”

“I got a bottle of whiskey and happened to speak my mind on the front steps.”

“Jesus man, I thought we told you not to do that. I mean there are so many protests now a days with everyone freaking out over Genesis, we can’t keep you off the steps but if it happens again we were told to arrest you.”

“I’m a suspect for murder right now, I think I’ll worry about my right to protest later. Who’s working the crime scene?”

“Cooper.”

“That fucking ball buster? The guy’s a fucking moron. He can’t solve a murder let alone a crossword puzzle. The guy can barely stand blood.”

“Yeah well he has you pegged as the killer.”

“Figures…lazy bastard never had any imagination in the first place. Any finger prints, hair samples, messages, anything?”

“There’s a message on the floor, but it was carved in and filled with Father Patrick’s blood. Nothing else yet, but we just started the investigation.”

“Alright bring me over to him….”

As O’Connor hand cuffed Paul, he could hear Cooper screaming about someone tampering with evidence. As the two reached the scene, Paul realized what carnage had occurred. Blood everywhere, must have been from the throat wound he figured. Cooper was barking at some beat cop, for no real reason other than that Cooper was just a grade-A asshole. As he going into the cops incompetence he saw Paul in the outer reaches of his vision. A little smirk came over his face and he dismissed the cop.

“Harmon, how good to see you.” he smugly said.

“Can’t say I feel the same way. So I hear you’ve already got everything figured out like always.  Don’t need me to hold your hand and clean your ass anymore I see…Good for you.” Paul was well versed in back handed comments.

“Everything is under control now that you are here.”

“Suspect number one right?”

“Exactly” Cooper replied as he puffed out his chest.

“Well if I killed him then why the hell would I sleep at the crime scene you dumb shit?”

“You were too drunk.”

“That wouldn’t make much sense since if I was drunk how would I have been able to cut his throat so cleanly? Looks like the killer was a pro. Even the stomach looks precise and smooth.”

“Well…um…if you….”

“I mean all your witnesses must say I was shit hammered when I talked to the father yesterday, so put it all together and someone else must have been here.”

“That’s what you’d want us to think.”

“Well I got no gloves on me, so have you found a finger print yet?”

“No…not one…not fucking one. But you could of disposed of them. Maybe you are trying to play us for fools. Maybe….”

As Cooper’s head began to droop downward, the police chief arrived, “Harmon!  Get the fuck over here!”

“Hey there el capitain.”

“You need some mother fucking coffee Harm. Cooper get us two black coffees.” Cooper attempted to gather the courage to argue but the captain shot him a look that Cooper knew not to fuck with.

“Sorry cap, but I think I already brought a drink.  I just happened to leave it back in the confessional.” Paul said with a grin as Cooper dragged his feet as he went to fetch their coffees.

“I need you wide eyed for this one.”

“Huh?”

“Cooper is a fucking four year old in a brothel in this situation. You’re Ron fucking Jeremy on meth when it comes to this shit. I want you on this case now!”

“But captain he’s a suspect!” Cooper whined from the background. The captain turned and stared him down. Cooper walked away slowly like a child who was told to go for a timeout.

Captain Morrow turned back to Paul, “Now get your shit together because I don’t care how emotionally unstable your ass is, we need you on this one.”

Paul was about to say something, but figured what else did he have to do today. He was finally back on the job, and for the first time in months he felt somewhat good again, somewhat.

Chapter 6

As he grasped the door handle he realized something, not once today had Paul even remotely thought about his family.  He had fallen under the spell of his work; analyzing, hypothesizing, evaluating, and trying to crack the code the killer had carved into the floor had left Paul spent.  He was ready to press that sweet bottle up against his lips, maybe roll up a joint and take the edge off.  With two feet in the door, he decided that tonight he would spend it out and about.  Walking around town, even though the nights were still full of civil unrest, would help ease his mind.  So he did what he originally planned on doing by taking a shot of Jack, then he rolled up a tiny jibba, and grabbed his ipod and headphones ready for the night trek.

He stepped outside, pulled a lighter out from his coat pocket, lit the end of the joint and pressed play.  The first song to come up was a personal favorite of his “Acoustic Medley” by Bob Marley.  The songs flowed so softly, caressing his subconscious, helping to ease the horrific sight of the torn apart priest.  If people were looking for a messiah all they needed was to listen to Bob and they’d see the truth.

He couldn’t figure out what was used to carve the message into the ground. It couldn’t have been a knife, it was too thick.  A pick axe would have made sense but no one carries around a pick axe, and it wouldn’t have been such a clean cut either on his throat.  What the fuck did the killer use?

            Paul could have pondered this for hours, just walking and thinking, but then he came near the other church, the church that praised men rather than God, the Church of Science.  The uproar of the crowd swelled as a man with a megaphone was barking out some bullshit about the end of days.  Ever since the Genesis fiasco there had been such a tear in society.  The crowd held picket signs saying, “Only God Can Grant Life” or “God wreaks vengeance on all those who defy him”.  It was the fearful, the weak, those who were too wrapped up in their religious ideals that they’d probably kill their own mother if she disagreed with their viewpoint.  They were not people in these crowds, they were mad dogs.  They barked at one another, no real communication just screams and cheers.  The man with the megaphone, Adam Ulrich, was the Ned Flanders of the town, except this version was a little more wrath of god than praise thy lord type.  He carried a Desert Eagle .50 where ever he went, fearing that some non-believer would try and kill him for just holding onto a different set of beliefs.  Paul would of liked to kill him deep down inside, he could see the fear the man was instilling into the people and how it was only decaying society, rather than helping it.  This world would be better off without men like him.

Ulrich howled out to the crowd with his distinct nasally whine that Paul had been more than happy to bestow upon him.  When Paul first moved to town he never had a problem with Ulrich, the man did not have a purpose yet, he was just another face in the crowd.  He had established himself as a prominent member of the church at the time, with the general consensus looking toward him as an example, a moral compass.  But, none truly understood what lied beneath the pious shell Ulrich had grown.  He was nothing more than another pervert, trying to repent for his fiendish desires. 

Paul had returned from a late shift one night, and as he came around the corner and saw his quaint, little home he could see his angelic wife and a smile came over his face as he saw her putting on an outfit for his arrival.  It would of been a night of sweet, sensual passion, but instead turned into a violent affair.  For as Paul came up onto his home, he saw a figure from across the street crouched behind some bushes, lurking, staring. 

Immediately he threw his car into park and clenched his night stick.  He came up from behind the son of a bitch, and as he approached he could the man’s arm working feverishly.  He placed the gun to the back of the man’s head and sternly asked, “So you think this is a free fucking show?  Put your god damn hands up and put your piece away you sick fuck! Does my wife look like a patron of perverts?  Now turn around you bastard.”

Harm flung the man around to see Ulrich, quietly weeping, biting his lower lip, snot running from his nostrils, “Please Paul, don’t…report…me….” he panted, “I am sorry.  I can’t control it.  I don’t know what to do.  I don’t even know why I do it.  Honestly this is a moment of weakness, nothing more.”

“Oh sure, and manslaughter is a moment of weakness too.  You are coming with me,” and as Paul pulled Ulrich toward his car he fell to the ground kicking and pleading like an infant, “PLEASE I BEG YOU! What would happen to all the people who look up to me?  What would happen if the devout follower of god in this town was found out to be nothing more than a peeping tom?  It would shatter the church community and you know your wife would be devastated!”

“Get off the ground you infantile piece of shit.! I am getting fed up with this shit!  Get up off the god damn ground now!” Paul began to yell, causing lights in the surrounding homes to illuminate the street, giving Harm a good look into the face of Ulrich.  He looked at him sobbing, and he could feel nothing but frustration.  His frustration began to boil over into anger, rage, and hostility as Ulrich flailed around, begging for forgiveness.  So Paul bestowed upon him the only forgiveness, the only way out where Ulrich saved face and Paul vindication.  The beating left Ulrich with a crooked nose and a new voice.  Now, all Paul could hear was that whine as Ulrich bellowed out toward his followers since he was one of the many leaders of The Cloth, a religious extremist group that had waged war on those who praised the Genesis project.

There were two sides to this war, The Cloth and The Enlightened, each fighting to rid the world of the other.  Riots constantly broke out across the world; this was not just an American epidemic, this fight spilled across all borders and waters.  When the government released the details on the Genesis Project, the first successful attempt at cloning a human, people first marveled in the accomplishment of duplicating a life, and the boy was accelerated into his twenties before even opening his eyes.  The child was named Abel, and people hoped he would bring with him a new age of humanity.  One where people could bring back lost loved ones, have endless supplies of organs, and soon master immortality.  The second clone was named Abraham, but he would soon be known as Kane.  Kane did not accept humanity the way his older brother did.

They were physically one and the same, but Kane’s desire to escape the bonds of the laboratory he was spawned in would soon send him into madness unknown to man.  No one knows how, but he built a bomb.  He planted it underneath a stage set up for the 5 year anniversary of Abel’s birth.  He hated his brother and he hated those who made him, and so he waited until the celebration was in full effect.  As Abel took the stage to an uproar from the crowd assembled of the world’s greatest scientific and technological minds.  He was beginning to tell them how grateful he was for all that humanity had done for him, and then anarchy occurred.  The bomb went off killing everyone within a 2 mile radius.  An atomic bomb had not been set off since Nagasaki, but seventy years later the devastation was still the same.  Ever since that day mankind had hit a plateau, unable to create any new breakthroughs or reach any new technological advancement, man was now stuck in a rut.  Kane succeeded, as no longer would humanity be able to challenge him or his weapons.

Kane was never found, and many came to the conclusion that he set off the bomb and somehow escaped the explosion.  Many believed he was hiding in the mountains preparing an army of clones, some believe he was incinerated with everyone else.  No one really cared what he was up to as much as what they believe he had done.  So then the sides formed with those who opposed cloning and those who embraced what it could become.

Paul walked by the congregation and some people noticed him in the background.  A few men began to approach him, barking out whether he believed in the wrath of God and some other bullshit.  Paul grabbed his newly acquired badge from his chest pocket and flashed it toward the men; they turned back and just threw him cold stares on their trot back.  Paul had no real stance on the situation; he didn’t care much for the religious side though so he usually took the stance of The Enlightened.  He was now listening to “Running Away” by Bob Marley and this seemed to bring some perspective to the situation.  As he looked back at the crowd he could see them all running from their fears right into a frenzy of extremist behavior.  He could see how it was easy to run from it all and lay all responsibility on God.  It would be nice to have that leap of faith, to have the comfort of some great being watching over everyone but he couldn’t do it.  Then he thought about how he’d been running from his own problems, how he’d been running away from himself.  As the lines kept repeating, “Can’t run away from yourself, No you can’t run away from yourself, no” he thought he had to do something for closure soon or else his families death would eat away at him. 

He threw the roach of the joint onto the ground, stepped on it to put out the ember and turned around on his way home to bed.  Tonight he might actually have a nice dream for once.

Chapter 7

The Wednesday night air always seemed quieter, calmer, and dead still in anticipation of the predator stalking its prey. Sometimes roles were switched as Margie Hingum would act timid, but wanted to consume what she could of her customers. She was a prostitute in a small town, although she had never wanted this life it seemed she was destined from the start. Molested as a child by her father and motherless and alone, Margie as she was known, fell into the spiraling hole of drugs and sex. She had done everything known to man to try and escape the past that haunted her. She fell victim to the drug dealers and pimps, manipulated to do anything for just another hit. Meth was her drug of choice. The high was incomparable allowing her excessive energy, constant euphoria, and a sex drive to make a rabbit blush. It made work easier and it made life enjoyable if only for an instant.

Tonight she stayed in her normal stomping grounds, the local park, waiting for the next trick to come and pay for her services. The crisp air caused goose bumps to perforate her skin, as she shivered only slightly when the breeze raced up her miniskirt. She wore a white skirt with a frill that looked as if she had hemmed it from a grandmother’s quilt. Her black tang top showed enough cleavage to bring in the tricks, and it hid enough to make them want to pay to see more. She had gotten the clothes out of the kindness of her neighbors, many still clinging to the memory of the girl they once knew. She was a townie, so she had many resources within this area. She knew every face and every person, but tonight she was about to meet someone new.

She parked her bare ass on a bench, looking around for her regular customers. As she lit a cigarette, the end of it made an orange glow that covered her vision since she had laced all her cigarettes with some meth. A sweet rush of serotonin came into her thoughts and then she heard something in the distance. First it sounded like a squirrel scurrying across the park, but then it came closer and it suddenly began to sound much larger. A voice came out through the darkness singing a song that cut her thoughts in half, only the words lingered in her mind, “My girl, my girl, don’t you lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night?”

She called out, “Hellllooo” childishly and playfully hoping it would be a good customer.

            “In the park, in the park, where the sun don’t ever shine…I’ll let you shiver the whole night through.” sang out the voice, the vibrato accentuating the shiver and even caused her spine to shake, making her entire body tremble. She peered around everywhere.  The voice seemed to echo in her head, then dance in the night air. As she looked toward a tree she could see a stained yellow smile and yellow eyes that opened up to stare her down.

            A black foot stepped into the spotlight of the streetlamp light and then the other foot crept into sight. She could see a skinny body, unclothed but she saw no skin. A long frail body came forward and she saw that this could not be a human. She got up and wanted to run away, ever nerve in her body told her to run but she just stood there. It sang out again, “My girl, my girl, don’t you lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night?” as it danced toward her, disappearing into the darkness after every couple of steps.

           She quickly retorted, “I sleep in a lot of places, why the fuck would that concern you?” She tried to play it tough, use to creeps who wanted to fuck and run without paying.

           The demon continued on with the song, “In the park, in the park, where the sun don’t ever shine, I’ll let you shiver the whole night through.”

          She pulled out a can of mace from her pocket book, “I’ll fucking mace you man if you don’t go away. I am not fucking kidding!”

          It approached her and she pushed down to release a mist of burning pain. No reaction from it at all, and then she knew that she was in trouble. The demon stopped 10 feet from her, just staring and tilting its head to the side. It opened its mouth and just sighed, a smile was across its face from ear to ear like a child on Christmas morning. The demon peered down at the ground, and then looked right through her off into the distance, “Have you ever seen the movie Full Metal Jacket? I assume you have since it had a few nice prostitute scenes, I am particularly fond of when the Vietnamese whore refuses to fuck the black soldier.”

          “What the fuck are you babbling about? Yes I’ve fucking scene it so what?”

          “Well there is another scene I am terribly fond of. The one where Joker and Rafterman go to that massacre and see all those dead bodies, it seems so quiet, so surreal. I do find that there is one problem with the scene.”

She responds without hesitation, “What?”

           “Joker says that the dead only know one thing: that it’s better to be alive. I disagree because no human actually knows what death is like. It is impossible for any human to truly understand the after life, or if there even is one. Do you want to find out?” And without hesitation the demon grabbed her throat, somehow its touch burned away her skin. She began to scream, but she knew no one would hear her or even care. The demon stiffened his hand, and punctured her chest and lungs with one quick jab. He released his grip and she fell. Her eyes darted every which way, hoping it disappeared back into the night.  It was then that her fears swelled as it peered down over her back. He smiled as she cried, with small whimpers escaping her lips. She begins to get cold, feeling her body become numb.  Walking away, it started singing the song but from the last verse, “I’ll let you shiver the whole night through. My girl, my girl” and as he walks away she closes her eyes ready to die.

            She lays there without a thought in the world, just a cold feeling rushing through her. She opens her eyes to see the demon within a half foot of her face. He grabs her handbag and reaches in pulling out lipstick. He draws a circle on each cheek and then begins to write on her forehead. She wonders what he is writing and with her last bit of strength she asks, “What are you writing?”

        “Ain’t she a doll…”

Chapter 8

There is a section of the park that crests to become a hill top view. From there, a spectator can see for miles, and as the sun goes down the lights from the town begin to flicker. They dimly light the night sky an orange hue, beaconing out toward the endless black void of space. The earth starts to bend, as the light stretches itself onward through the pull of gravity. This is a place that many couples come to hold one another and gaze off into the distance.

At the top of the hill there are a couple benches scattered about; one made from stone, the other made from planks of wood resting on old tree stumps. The area is mostly clear, except for the two trees that rest on the side of the hill. The trees exist next to one another on the peak if the overlook. A wide stump supports the tree to the right, and its branches stretched straight upward toward the sun. Halfway up, the tree splits in two creating an opening; organized and symmetrical the tree looks like all that is woman. It exudes beauty and a nurturing nature as each leaf is allowed an equal amount of light; s organized, so majestic

The other tree has an erratic, violent growth of branches. It is not as wide as the other tree, and it does not split, but remains intact from the ground up. The branches grew wildly; clawing for light, fighting for food. The tree shoots out of the earth like a neuron from the cerebral cortex, forever trying to touch the sun. The two trees sit next to each other, one as woman and one as man like an old couple passing the days on their front porch. They are the only one’s left, and rightly so as this is Lover’s Lookout and thus only a place for lovers.

Underneath the maternal tree sat a couple. Perched atop the hill on the stone bench, the echoes of life came shouting up at them. Wild dogs, screeching tires, cries of a pain, heart-felt laughter, and all the noises of civilization that went unnoticed surrounds them, bombarding their ears. They neglected to pay attention to the noise, assuming all was safe and sound. Yet, not too far away laid the body of dear Margie, and perched within the branches of the masculine tree sat the demon. Smiling, it waited patiently.

The woman rested in the arms of her lover, lost in the sanctity of his embrace. He nibbled on her ear that hid behind her amber hair, whispering vows of love, “This world is ours, and I will give you everything it has to offer baby.” She smiled, feeling warmth from the words and hugged his arm, “It’s so quiet up here, I feel like we are gods looking down on the world, protected from any harm.”

A voice comes echoing out of the tree, “Oh my dear, but harm has found you.”

The couple jumped up, fearful and caught off guard, the man stood in front of his lover, “Stay behind me Kelly. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Oh, what foolish promises. Are you sure you can keep this promise? If so then I will play a little game with you. If no harm comes to your sweet, sweet Kelly then I will let her live. If I so much as lay one cut on her body then I will hunt you both down until that promise crumbles and dissolves into nothingness.”

The demon hopped down from the tree, and already the man was searching for something to use as a weapon. He broke off a large branch from the maternal tree and barked back, “You try it, you bastard. You fucking come one step closer and I’ll knock out every single tooth. Just fucking try.”

“OK.” Replied the demon and he moved swiftly, jumping from side to side, blurring before the man’s eyes. He knew it was coming for Kelly, “Run…..RUN!” he screamed at her, his sight never leaving the oncoming evil. She kissed the back of his neck to say goodbye, afraid it might be the last time her lips get to caress his skin, or any skin for that matter. Her eyes opened as her lips left his neck, and when she looked forward to see how far the creature was she saw its two yellow eyes staring right at her over the shoulder of her convulsing lover. She looked down and saw a long, sharp finger sticking through his spine. Impossible, simply impossible she kept thinking.

The demon pushed the man off of its finger and turned its head to the side as it just stared at her. Its shoulders began to move as laughter fell out of its mouth. The whining pitch seemed to weigh her down and all she could do was begin to weep, “Please, please, please, please…..please, oh for god’s sake…please, please, please, please don’t kill me.”

“Why do you humans think that a simple plea will save you from what you know is coming. Without any trouble I just killed your love. His life is now lost in a void of emptiness and you think a simple please will release you from the same fate?” ranted the demon, “What fools you are.”

She turned to run down the hill, and as she turned her head back to see if it was still there she could feel something grab onto her shirt. Instead of pulling her back, it shoved her down the slope. She fell forward, tumbling. She hit the ground over and over, and as the trees and sky blurred together she moaned from each thud. As she came to a halt at the bottom, she could feel that her arm was broken. She looked over to see the bone sticking outward and got the visual confirmation she dreaded. Her right leg laid underneath her body, contorted and perpendicular to her body, she could sense she had torn something in her knee. She didn’t cry, she didn’t scream as the adrenaline and shock overtook her system.

She looked back up and saw the moon sitting right on top of the hill. There, silhouetted in the moonlight, stood the dark and frail figure. Like a black wolf out of a nightmare, the demon hunched over onto all fours and slowly made its way down the hillside. She began to plead again, “Please don’t kill me. Please, please….PLEASE!!!” she screamed out from her frustration. Her eyes watered from fear, and she could feel a hand grip her throat, as her eyes remained shut, afraid of what she will see.

“If you make one more plea for your life I will cut your tongue out before I rip out your heart. Do you understand me wench?” demanded the demon. She nodded her head, afraid any word may cause her more harm.

“Good.” it stood up and pulled her body up off of the earth. It held her there staring, slowly moving its long dagger of a finger across her face. It was making little cuts as it slowly traced out each feature, “So it seems that his promise was not so forth right. Never promise someone you love that you can save them when you cannot. It is a burden they shall bear into the afterlife. To believe that there is still hope when they must exist in the world of the damned. That is something I wish upon no soul. So I will make a promise I can keep. I am going to kill you. I promise that I will kill you. I promise you will feel agonizing pain and cry out for me to end it all. I promise you this is not my first killing of the night. I promise you that you will see your lover again, just not in this world. I promise that it will all be over soon.”

Slowly the demon inserted its finger into her throat as it held her in the air still with the other hand, her skin smoldering from its touch. It made a small incision and blood began to drip out, seeping through its fingers. It licked whatever it could get to, its tongue lashing out in the air, trying to catch every drop before it hit the ground. It took its hand and switched its grip from the front of the throat to the back of her neck. Then it slowly pulled her forward, mouth wide open, and all she could do was cry in silence. Weeping she made one last plea, “Please don’t…..”

The demons eyes sharpened, instead of the playful insanity that once resided in the depths of the pale yellow gaze now held anger and disgust. It grabbed the top of her head with the other and begins to pull. Harder and harder it pulled, and she screamed and screamed. The tissue ripped apart and blood spurt out all over the demon. As the demon tore her head from her body, it softly said to itself, “Such fools.” And with one last tug Kelly’s head was separated from her body, and the demon began to feed on her remains. For now, the demon was satisfied… for now.

Chapter 9

There is something to be said about what any creature thinks about before the death blow. Is there a state of enlightenment? Does time slow? Does one’s life really flash before their eyes? Do we see nothing? Is there only regret? Remorse? Do we pray to some unseen god? Do we face our fears or succumb to their enormity? Placing one’s mind into these types of scenarios, these hypothetical lives, it gives insight. It gives connection. An understanding that life is all interconnected, only bundled together, a cluster fuck of possibility. Pain unites everything. Pain knows no bounds, no canyons, nor boundaries.

Sometimes my thoughts claw at me. They tear at my insides, trying to shred apart every inch of my conscience. I feel as though there is a beast, a demon laying dormant, waiting for an opportunity to lash out for the kill. It is boredom that is my battleground. Getting lost, giving in, combing through every aspect of my life, soaring through all spectrums, blindly stepping toward the awaiting ID. ID itself holds too many meanings, too many parallels. Is it identity, is it that Freudian evil that dwells within all, is it idiocy, is it indefinable?

What ticking time bomb is my ID? Is it justice bred through vengeance? Is it a mushroom cloud of animosity? Is it every primal impulse, every lurking sin? My thoughts, my ID, myself can wash over me in an instant. I drown in the flood of my subconscious.

I can see it. I can see the manifestation of evil that I harness. It seems so warm, so caring, so nurturing. Yet, its eyes show its true intentions. The world comforts me for once, coddles me with its embrace. Those teeth smile, casually and calmly, but they bare truth; those canines sharp and made to kill. Just one bite, gnawing on my flesh and the blood loss will be my last Christmas present. I can only hope that its smile is not for me. I prey I am not the pray. I stare back at it, I understand what it intends. Its master plan is not complex, no quandary to solve just destructive, unadulterated, raw carnage. What else would any progeny of evil desire?

The power is tempting, like a woman awaiting your touch. It lures me toward it. It cries out for union. This is no marriage though. This is not some honeymoon or the picturesque home with the white picket fence. This is a torrid alliance, one that would burn the world. But, I want it so. I want to be there and apart of something that could cry havoc throughout the world. I want it all to turn to black, to nothingness, back into the void of time.

Reaching out, giving in, I can see that those eyes have chosen their moment. It lunges toward me, a fever pitch of anticipation the demon calls out like a banshee tearing through my sense of sound. I am immobilized, unable to put up any sort of defense. Its lips retract to present the rows of razor edged teeth. Its arms come out of the darkness. The hands, with their long bony fingers stained with blood, remain open to gain a good grip. My ID attaches itself to my chest. Its feet begin to push through contorting my neck to a ninety-degree angle. It smiles and retracts its head foolishly, almost like an animal or infant that comes across some new found friend. It seems friendly, timid, motherly. The urge to run, to escape, to either fight or flight are erased from my mind. These thoughts will hide themselves away in the recesses of my mind.  I will see no great meaning. I will gain no enlightenment. I will feel no regret. I will look to no god. I will smile awaiting my reunion with my wife and children. I am home at last.

Chapter 10

Another morning, another tedious beginning to another mundane day. Harm had gotten use to the emptiness. He had succumbed to the mind numbing silence, to the black hole that existed in this desolate home. He awoke startled by the screaming alarm clock he had set for the first time in months. He had a job to do, finally.

First, he needed to wrap his left arm with new bandages. Usually he would find blood seeping through, a menagerie of blotches and spots littered his arm, usually after sleeping on top of it all night. The shower warmed up as he stood in front of the mirror and he began to unravel the bandages, one layer at a time. His disgust grew as each cycle revealed the ghastly, blackened arm. He did not hate having a monstrous appendage.  It was an unavoidable billboard that reminded him of his family’s demise. Being able to accept the deformity was therapeutic to him, something that he faced daily and helped him grasp the hard facts, that this was not just some bad dream he could awaken from.  This was his life.

He jumped in the shower, soaping his body up methodically. He worked from his right arm to his chest, chest to crotch, crotch to right leg, right leg to left, left leg to his left arm, then to his back and finally his ass. Most people disregard a proper washing, seeing it as a chore rather than a cleansing. Each time he reached his left arm, there was always that blind hope that the scarred tissue would fall off, flaking away as he scrubbed, drowning and succumbing to the whirlpool at his feet.

He put on the classical radio station and Radiohead fell out of the speakers. The song was soft, yet dismal. The voice seemed to sweep through the rooms as it made its way to Harm. Music always touched him in a way he never really understood. He was unable to just listen to music. It had to touch him, make him go through some emotional door. This song in particular made him feel like a lost ghost floating from home to home, searching for a way to disappear completely. His father had been a fan and had engrained an appreciation for Radiohead.

Something about them made him feel complete sorrow, but he liked it. Its good to feel every emotion, good or bad, he thought to himself. Just like the scarred arm he had, he hated it but needed it to survive. The doctors had offered amputation or plastic surgery but he refused.

He was preparing his breakfast, a shot of whiskey and an apple, when a knock on his door caught him off guard. No one visited, not since the funeral. He hesitantly opened the door to see a man in a brown sports jacket standing in his doorway. The man had dark hair that seemed to cover up some balding spots. His mustache was very pronounced, the classic 70’s machismo ‘stache, which was most likely compensating for his lost follicles. He stood no higher than 5′5″, and that was being generous. Yet the man looked immovable. A house of a man with broad shoulders and a well built upper body. It was easy to notice since the jacket was barely able to fit around each bicep.

“Can I help you?” Harm politely asked.

“Paul Harmon? I am correct?” said the stout man. Harm nodded his answer, “Exquisite. My name is Gerald Morran. I am here to assist you on the recent murder.”

“It’s just one murder. The department must really think little of me. Why you?” Paul said to him with a raised brow of curiosity.

“Well, I just finished working my way into being a detective and they said you were the best to learn from. Aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t say best, just competent. A fresh soldier from the academy huh? Explains the cheesy 70’s mustache. You’ve watched too many cop movies. You don’t look that young, I mean how old are you?” Paul enquired.

“35. I was hoping this look would help” Gerald replied, as his chest deflated just a bit.

“Sorry, I mean no offense its just new recruits usually are much younger, so you must of felt like this was your life’s calling. Got tired of a desk job?”

“I was an accountant for ten years. Then I got mugged after leaving work and I decided I’d try and stop that from happening to anyone else.”

“A crime-fighter huh? You won’t be seeing much action as a dick, so prepare to enter another world of boredom. Why are you here so early anyways? I am not suppose to be at the precinct till 7.”

“There’s been some new bodies found. Well, two bodies. And one head.”he spat out.

Another fucking grade-A head fuck. The two crime scenes were only a short walk away from one another, but from what they could find it seemed that the two murders happened within minutes of each other. The first one, a hooker with her eyes ripped out, seemed connected to the priest case. It was just another little message, another murderous punch line for the killer. This sick fucking bastard really got off on this stuff thought Harm. The second murder scene was just as morbid, even more so since it looked like the woman’s head they found was not severed. It was ripped off, torn right off of her neck like it was a fucking pen cap. No body to be found, must of been a souvenir.

Since they happened so closely in time it appeared to Paul that this was gang related. This had been rival territory for a few drug dealers. Normally it just resulted in a shooting or beating, not in some Tarantino blood bath.

“Has there been any info on any gang wars escalating recently?” Paul shouted out, not caring who had the answer.

“No sir, nothing new.” said a beat cop. This poor bastard had to cover up the bodies before any civilians saw it. Beat cops in this town don’t see this type of pornographic attack, so it wasn’t a surprise that a few feet from the hooker crime scene was a fairly fresh pile of vomit.

Anyways, Paul thought, if it isn’t a gang war maybe its some new, ultra-violent initiation. Like a horror flick fraternity, where hazing no longer just was chores and paddles, but dead whores and decapitated lovers. What the fuck happened to this town since he took leave Paul wondered. The world was clawing its way up the walls toward total anarchy and the inevitable apocalypse. Well, first things first he decided. He turned toward Gerald, “Let’s get some coffee, then we’ll really wrap our heads around this jigsaw puzzle.”

Chapter 11

Violence cannot be labeled simply as an act of rage, vengeance, or brutishness but also needs to be looked at as art.  When one thinks of art some things that come to mind are metaphorical, emotional, observational, orchestrated, free, and pure.  Do these words not describe a predetermined act of violence?  It is calculated, full of emotion, preaching, and a representation of what one person views humanity as.  So while art may not be violent, violence when thought out is art.

The splatter of blood across a floor or wall, looks of fear that are carved into the faces of the deceased, a moment of purity that many people may not feel is beautiful but then again beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  So when we look at our demon, the vile beast that lives within us all, who has butchered each lost soul he has come across should be compared to Jackson Pollack or Michelangelo.  Just because its canvas is not parchment nor stone does not mean what it has accomplished should not be analyzed as intensely as the greatest painters to have graced this earth. 

It is this type of admiration, a feeling of awe that fills Harm to a point where he begins to smile whenever he gets to gaze upon the next corpse.  He may not feel excited or anxious to see the body like a child on Christmas morning, but he does feel some flicker of enjoyment.  Some small, dark, decrepit crack that exists within his ID giggles with delight at the first sight of a new victim.  The way the head was ripped off, or how the blood was dipped into like a bottle of ink, or how there is not one print on anything that beckons to Harm like the challenge of climbing Kilimanjaro.  He can see his leopard awaiting him. He can see his killer’s smile blossom from the death blow, the feeling of utter excitement, and the rush of dopamine that rushes through the body after the most carnal moments of passion.  What Harm can imagine is what drives him further up into the harsh winds and cold peaks of his awaiting leopard.

The only real problem Harm faces currently is that if he does not find any hard evidence soon he risks being put back on leave.  This was his one last shot to prove that he was no longer in shambles, no longer useless.  His ambition and desire to crack this case nearly gives him a hard on at times.  The blood rushes through him like the current of the rapids funneling toward the waterfall.  Sadly his enthusiasm and desire to solve this mystery was weighed down by his brand new partner.  He was holding his fucking hand on everything.  No matter what he did he could see him jotting down notes, analyzing every thing he touched, constantly asking why he picked up this or that.  No real difference to him what he was examining as long as there was an eventual end to this enigma.

The two men sat at the diner counter awaiting another cup of coffee.  Today the waitress was a bit off, either it was her first day or she’s had a hard days night. Whatever it may be did not matter much, since the two men were just trying to buy some time until an epiphany finally occurred.  Not much to do when you’ve got nothing to work with.  No prints, no hairs, not one drop of blood from anybody but the victims, and that damn sulfur just did not add up.  He felt like he was chasing after the god damned devil himself, which wouldn’t bother Harm since if it was Lucifer he’d finally get the chance to put his hand through that bastard’s heart for what evil was done to his family.  He actually dreamed about it being the devil, since in his mind nothing else could really satisfy as an ending to this wretched nightmare he called his life. 

As the waitress begged for their pardon as she was trying to deal with a hangover, she poured another round of coffee into their mugs.  The steam rose from the fresh cup of black sludge and after adding just a touch of sugar Harm could finally feel the caffeine settling in.  He could sense his hands twitching.  He could notice the movement of his eyes.  Who needed cocaine when you had coffee he thought.  After the government tried to legalize cocaine to gain control over the drug war like they did with marijuana ten years prior proved to the world that Americans could only consume coffee not coke.   There were just too many fights, car accidents, and long lines to the bathroom for any decent citizen to put up with just so the dregs of society could have their Babylon. 

It was then that Harm finally got his eureka.  He didn’t say anything so as to not startle other patrons of the diner, but he gave a look at his partner and just nodded. 

“You got a puzzle piece?” he asked.

“Not as much of a piece, but a direction of where to begin.  Always gotta start at a corner to figure out where everything branches out from.  And our corner, well its a bit far fetched but I think it is time we caught a cab.”

Ch. 12

The two men stood at the corner of Trailmont St. and McGovern Drive.  This was just a couple of blocks from the main drag in town, and Paul liked to conceal himself from any prying eyes.  The town was not a madhouse of humanity, not a congested pig pile of people with their peering eyes, but it had plenty of citizens and everyone likes to spy.  They stood in front of an old pawn shop that could barely afford to keep the broken neon light on.  Paul never saw much need for it anyways since it just flickered constantly, most likely causing more seizures than business.

It was about fifteen minutes before the cab showed up.   In front sat an ogre of a man, with a large curly Irish afro that defied all logic.  He barely fit in the cab, his knees barely touching the wheel.  He was blaring some Led Zeppelin when Paul and Gerald crammed into the back seat.  Paul always got a kick out of the driver’s license that was presented for passenger.  The cab driver glared at whoever took the picture, either to inflict enough fear into his passengers so they would not even contemplate messing with him, or simply because he just always looked that way.

“How goes it Courtney?” Paul asked.  I guess the only guys who can have such a ridiculous name have to be as gargantuan as possible, at least he wasn’t named Sue he would say.  Hard enough being a giant named Courtney without adding on Johnny Cash clichés.

“Same shit man, same days, same life, same town.  Who’s your buddy?” Courtney inquired.

“Name’s Gerald.  I am Paul’s new partner.” Gerald said as he tried to stare down the goliath through his rear view mirror.

“You get partners now Harm?  I figured you to be the loner type.  Where we going today? The packi?”  Paul had seen Courtney a few times since his families death when he needed another bottle and didn’t feel up for the walk.

“Nah, sober day today.  Well at least so far.  Right now we need to throw on some Bird and head over to the watchtower.”  Paul said.

“Listen man, if it is about the murders you know I don’t have connections like that.  People barely take a cab anywhere anymore unless they are a drunk like yourself, no disrespect, or they are a living corpse, too inebriated to form words…let alone sentences.  I mean shit man, you know I don’t run with those crowds anymore.”  Courtney was agitated, and Paul knew what buttons needed to be pushed.

“I believe you man.  But I also know you are full of shit, because we know Margie doesn’t have a car and to get to the park she would of needed a ride.  I mean you use to be protection for those girls.  I figure she must of looked to you for at least a ride.  She say anything to you that night?”  Paul could tell Courtney was holding back, he always drummed the beat when he was nervous.   He must of known a lot more because he was battering that wheel like HE was John fucking Bonum. 

“Yeah, you got me on that.  She called me and I gave her the ride to the park.  But I left right after we said our goodbyes.  I got a new life now.”  Courtney’s voice began to turn into a whine.

“A new life sure.  A new love?  Doubt it.  You fell hard for that whore…”

“SHE IS NOT A WHORE!” he barked, “I told you not to talk about her like that.  I have no problem pulling this car over and beating the living shit out of you if you forget again.” Courtney was blatantly torn up.  He saw something, Paul knew it.

“My apologies Court.  Listen all I want to know is if you stuck around.  Maybe saw something.  I mean from the cigarette butt on the ground, she wasn’t there long.  So what did you actually see?”  Paul was pressing hard now, trying to break through and Court seemed willing to release his burdens.

“Fuck.” Court lit up a cigarette as they came to a stop light.  His arm reached around the back of the passenger seat, and he turned to look them in the eyes when he told his story, “Alright, we had a bit of an argument when I asked her to leave the game.  Obviously she was high off her ass.  I waited a little after she walked toward her spot.  I smoked a butt and I was about to rub out the ember when I heard her scream.  Before I knew it I was standing there, dumb founded by what I saw.  When I showed up she was already dead, her body flailing a bit as something pulled its hand out of her.  I can’t really say for sure what I saw.  All I know is that when IT stood up it had this grin across its face that was sickening.  It stood right above her, laughing as it admired its work…”Court took a drag to catch himself from getting worked up.

“Describe this grin.  What made it so memorable?  Was it ear to ear? Was it maniacal?” Paul quickly shot out to keep Court talking.

“It was…man, like a fucking super villain’s.  This bastard was evil, all black and not much else.  I mean I couldn’t make much out since that park at night is like a black hole.  No light really gets in there ‘cause you know what people do there.  Nobody wants an audience…well some, but shit man it had this giant yellow grin. It looked repulsively satisfied with its kill.” Court tossed the cigarette out of the window. 

Gerald was going to say something but Paul just put a finger up to his lips to keep him quiet.  Paul mouthed let him talk.

“I finally took a step forward, but by my fourth or fifth step it had vanished.  Poof, gone like a fucking bad magic trick.  I mean I’ve seen people fade into darkness, but this shit was instantaneous.  Next thing I know I am holding Margie in my arms and nearly threw up a couple of times from what that butcher had done.  I could barely keep my thoughts together, until I heard another scream and I figured if the cops weren’t coming yet, they were on their way. So I cleaned up whatever evidence there was of me being there and just left it behind.  But, this I can tell you man for sure.  That was no mortal being.  That was the Crimson King himself, and you better beware.  Now that’s all I gotta say so if you wouldn’t mind,” Court pulled the car off to the side of the road and came to a jolting stop,” get the fuck out of my cab.  And have a nice day.” He said with a disingenuous smile.

Gerald and Paul stepped out of the vehicle and Paul could hear the music change from the blaring bebop of Charlie Parker to the melancholy of Mono.  The cab went roaring off into the distance and the two man stood there, about 5 miles from the pawn shop.

“Shit man, what does that tell us?” Gerald asked.

“Not much.   Not much at all.  Well, we are stepping into another world, one where whatever we think we know may be a simple charade.  All I can say for sure is we better start walking.  It’s getting darker and I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Ch. 13

I can feel myself rotting, festering, eating away in this nothingness.  The dark void I call home has no bounds, no pathways, no walls.  It is omnipotent.  It is seamless.  Whether I not I want to call it home is not for me to say.  All I can do is wait.  Sit, waiting, wondering when it all will begin again.  

I wouldn’t say I am truly evil, truly corrupt. There is something in me that only desires endless sleep, with dreams that never have an ending.  A place where my fantasies become my reality.  I can see it now, never knowing, always in control even when the devil grasps me and indulges in another morsel of flesh.  I know that I cannot be harmed, I cannot ever lose.  I am a god.  A being of immortality.  I become my home.  My greatness in my dream world would render me useless.  Only able to watch as the world I create begins to squirm and grow.  This though is just a dream, and not even one at that.  It is merely an idea, a hope, a utopia.  This one thought is what holds back the creature, holds back the monster.  I guess it may not be defined as a monster, but as my madness.  My own torment and suffering from being confined from life.

It is this imprisonment, this masochistic rage that fills me overtime.  At first, only an itch.  Slowly, it begins to make my skin tremble.  I shiver from the rage.  I ache from it.  I twist and contort, trying to scratch at it.  Trying to prod a finger through my eye or ear just to flick it.  Just to make my thoughts stop.  Just to shut it off.  But, it cannot be reached for no matter how hard I try I cannot find my mind.  It is too well hidden, even after tearing through my brain I still would not be able to reach it.  I can hear it, holding that one retched note.  It tears, tears through me.  It is the sound of life, of all the energies of the earth gathering together.  For a moment it eases, for a moment it is silent.

Then it rises to a fever pitch.  It squeezes my psyche.  It rips through whatever sanity I can grasp.   The rage is my strength.  It allows me to punish.  It allows me to have revenge on life itself.  I want to show them that what they treasure so dearly is nothing but shit.  Gone in the instant of my choosing.  They will cherish nothing, and  plunge forward into the darkness.  I will bring them with me.  I will fill this void with enough souls to tear through the walls of my omnipresent prison cell.  I await my precious portal that opens up and lets me run wild in the world, collecting my bounty of souls.

The light comes once I have reunited with myself.  Once I am whole, once I am a god again I can find it.  It is only a small glimmer.  It creeps out, too dim to notice even in a black void.  Light is a tricky thing to find when you forget what it looks like.  It is not light that allows us to see, it is the recognition that there is light that matters.  Once I can recognize it the portal swells until I fall through.  The darkness inverts into the world of the living and I become a shark in a swimming pool, anticipating and patiently searching for my prey.  Oh……you’ll do.    

Ch. 14

Another night, another feast awaits it.  The demon leapt from rooftop to rooftop in search of his next victim.  The black sulfuric skinned ghoul boiled with carnage, like a junkie needing a fix to hold them over for a few more hours.  This creature searched for that one last hit.  The blood of man does not taste sweet like the forbidden fruits of Eden.  The mutilation does not convey some abstract art it wished to portray to the world.  This beast feeds only because it knows nothing else.  It may take solace in the moment of its prey’s last breath, but nothing satisfies its hunger.

Something, someone, somewhere will somehow be the key to its eternal rest, it believed.  Once the flesh of that one victim was found, it could find refuge and peace from the release of warm blood across the pavement.  It could sense it was getting stronger with each kill.  Its senses became heightened and were able to pick up scents that were once lost in the chaos of the world.  Tonight it was sure it had found the trail of breadcrumbs that lead to whatever beckoned it.

The demon came to the downtown district, full of closed down stores and barren restaurants.  This once booming town had fallen victim to the collapse of the tapestry plant that had employed nearly half of its citizens.  Now, the railroad tracks had become overrun by weeds.  The shattered windows let the wind flow in through the scarred buildings, and the street was littered with whatever drug paraphernalia was left behind by the vermin that called this place home.  Yet, still people found the need to walk down these tattered roads, and so the demon perched itself on the corner of a roof, awaiting the pungent odor of its next victim to fill his nostrils. 

Its gaze fell upon a woman.  It had finally found her.  She was barely noticeable in her black cloak, as the street lamps no longer lit the sidewalks.  Her wardrobe was covered by her long garment and only her black work boots stuck out from underneath her robe.  Her skin is a snow white, not pale nor sickly, but soft and glowing.  Her hair fell to the sides of her face, flowing out of her hood.  She did not need to expose her beauty to the world, for it was better kept hidden from wondering eyes. 

The demon became giddy at the sight of her, like an infant rushing towards their mother’s arms.  It jerked and twitched from anticipation.  As she came closer, she looked upward at the rooftops.  The moon silhouetted the demon and he could no longer wait after being unveiled.  Leaping from a crouched position on the side of the roof, it landed right in front of her face.  As it rose to its full posture, it slowly turned its head to the left, its yellow grin stretched across its face.  But, there was no reaction, no tremble, and no hesitation as the woman simply stepped to the side of the demon and continued on her way. 

The demon turned around, infuriated by this meager woman’s unfazed demeanor, and its serrated fingers shot straight toward her spine.  She ducked down and grabbed its arm and tossed it over her shoulder in one swift move.  The demon was thrown straight through the already shattered front window of a clothing store.  It crashed into decapitated mannequins and melted the plastic models as it rose to its feet.  The cloaked woman stood ready for another attack and the demon rushed toward her, causing a loud boom as it broke through the sound barrier.  Yet all it grasped when it finished its bulrush were crumbled bricks, as the woman dodged another onslaught. 

The demon slammed its fists into the wall, jumping up and down as it could not control the frustration and annoyance swelling inside of it.  It whipped its head back around and its yellow eyes stared down this equal foe.

“How!  How can you not be between my hands as a squeeze the air from your lungs!  How can a mere woman challenge my strength?  None of your kind have stood a chance thus far!  NOT ONE!  Who are you and why does your scent call to me!” the demon screamed out, its voice whiny and nasally.

“For I am not a mere woman, you meager parasite.” the woman replied calmly and authoritatively.

“Not a mere woman?  Than what?”

“A complete version of you.”

“Complete?  I am not complete?” the demon said to itself, no longer boiling with rage.

“You are nothing more than a mistake; a manifestation of the corruption of humanity.  You are just another parasite that found its way out into this world.  Do not worry I shall help you.  I will release you from your torment.  No longer will you hunger, no longer will you have to reside in the black void.  Let me end this petty existence and allow you an opportunity to reunite with the your creator.  Let me help you.” as she pulled her hood from her head, she looked like everlasting peace.  Her eyes conveyed the pity for the creature filled her with sorrow.  She stepped toward it as it just stared downward at its hands.

“Incomplete….”it mumbled to itself, as the woman came closer and pulled a large curved blade out from inside her cloak.  The blade was not made of steel, but red sapphire that glistened in the crescent moonlight.  She turned the blade horizontal, preparing to lay the edge on the demon’s throat.  It mumbled to itself again,”Incomplete?”

“Yes.  Incomplete.” and she said as she reached out toward the demon, caressing its face with her free hand, as she brought it around to grab hold of the back of its head.  Before she could get a good grip as the sulfur still burned her skin, the demon launched itself backward, clawing at her face to escape from her blade.  It cut her cheek with one finger nail, and she dropped the blade as she covered her wound.

“Not yet.” the demon said as it stared down at her and leapt back onto the rooftops.  It moved swiftly across the landscape until it stumbled across suburbia, and as the cookie cutter homes sat awaiting its arrival the demon’s grin returned.  It peered around and sat down in the street trying to decide which home to enter.  After that night there would be one less family left in this world.

Ch. 15

Whether or not he wanted to feel his stomach crawl up through his esophagus, Harm had really no other way to react to the splatter art flung around the McCleary’s family room.  The little, one story, four bedrooms, one and a half bath house was common to say the least.  Their color scheme for the outside was a bland egg white with simple navy blue shutters.  Their yard was rudimentary with a few small shrubs that sat below the large front window.  Their ceilings and floors were bague with brown furniture.  Everything was ordinary, plain, simple, and mind numbing.

On this dreary morning though, the McCleary’s house was mind blowing, jaw dropping.  The crime scene dragged the two detective’s inner turmoil through pain, misery, shock, awe, anger, fear, and excitement. The watchful eyes cringed, desperately trying to roll back into the skull, enjoying the sweet abandonment of this sensory overload.  The fear of god came soaring through the medics and police officers who had to clean up and dispose of whatever remnants were leftover from the suburban flagship four person family.  Their muffled groans and gasps gave way to a sight unseen to these managers of morbid disasters.  

These walls were no longer an eye soar, but an eye opener.  The flesh and bone that smeared from ceiling to floor like jelly on toast made the bague backdrop jettison from mundane to maniacal.  The blue shutters splintered across the front yard as a few spare limbs decorated the shrubbery out front.  Some might say the house looked somewhat art-deco, some might say those people are insane.

The only thing that seemed controlled, restrained, human was the message scraped into the wall with the finger of poor Mrs. McCleary.  The bone fragments stuck out from the cracks in the brown paste of the dried blood,” Cower, and prepare to be flung into the abyss of nothingness.  Your psyche is the gateway, and  I am your gatekeeper.”

Harm was not ready for this.  He couldn’t come to grips with the savagery, the carnage.  These people were not hapless victims whose meager lives amounted to vaunted failures.  They were his neighbors.  These simple people were some of the few him and his wife would spend barbeques and warm summer evenings with.  They would seek comfort in the heart felt hello’s and welcoming familiar faces.  Their children had been nearly the same ages except for the oldest McCleary, Tyler being a year older than Mary.  Now Tommy, Kathy, Michael, and Tyler were merely just debris, relics of some human existence. 

After expelling what little food he had in his body, Harm mustered the strength to examine the crime scene.  He stepped toward the main event and took one last breath.  Inhaling strength and exhaling, “Fuck.”  He pulled out his vidpod and began scanning the room with the bright, neon blue, flattened beam that wiped over every crevice of the house.  The children’s rooms were covered with spots of urine as they had apparently awoken before the deed could be done.  Tommy had put up a fight, the broken furniture and gun shots in the walls were clear indicators of that. Harm took solace in knowing that Tommy wouldn’t let his family fall into the clutches of this animal without a fight.

Tommy was not someone who ever went toward violence, but he was certainly prepared for some.  He had a small arsenal of weapons tucked away in his closet.  Since guns were criminalized after the riots, Tommy’s were hidden away, a deep dark secret that Harm and a handful of others were privy to.  He pointed out their location to the officers, a small alcove hidden behind shoe boxes in his closet.  Tommy and Harm use to enjoy a friendly competition at the gun range.  Harm could never let Tommy win because of Tommy’s incessant gloating.  Tommy was no pushover either, regularly hunting with his father throughout his childhood.  So, Harm figured there had to be some blood of the killer.  Tommy would not of let them get out of here unscarred.  But, the vidpod wasn’t picking up a drop of blood; he was baffled, and yet felt as though he expected nothing less. 

All the other murder scenes had been clean, not one soul had laid a finger on this bastard.  But, all those other one’s made sense since the guy could of just gotten a jump on his prey Harm pondered, “The McCleary’s house was enclosed, safe, locked.  So this time the killer would not of been able to get a jump on them.” He said aloud.

The thing that really bothered Harm was that he lived across the street and heard nothing.  He had thrown back a couple glasses of bourbon, but he would of certainly heard the alarms go off in the house, or at least gunshots.  Harm became increasingly disgusted with his inability to protect the handful of people he actually cared about.

Even Margie had been the only girl who still acted kindly to him, even though she was just trying to turn a trick.  Father Patrick allowed his flagrant vocal attacks on the church to go on for far longer than they ever should have.  Ever since the young couple, the attacks seemed so random, so chaotic.  This family could not have provoked anyone to attack them, and they offered little valuables worth killing for, even though that did not seem to be the murder’s intentions ever.  Harm was clearly dealing with a homicidal maniac and that scared him for the first time in a very, very long time.

Harm thought he was callous to these feelings.  Yet, he was overcome again with nausea and proceded to dry heave until he spat up some blood.  He looked around for Gerald, who had been relinquishing himself of whatever bile was left in his system as well.  No one would ever forget what happened to the McCleary’s, especially the media.  Those leeches eventually went on for a week about the gruesome murders of this poor family being dubbed “The McCleary Massacre.” How fitting of a title he had thought.

Harm waved for Gerald to come over, “Pick up anything yet?”

“Nope, not a god damn. I was the first on here since I came to pick you up, and all I’ve found were pieces of people” Gerald frustratingly spat out.

“Well, looks like this bastard may be psychotic, but he is one clean killer.  Impeccably clean.”

“Did you know these people well?  I mean you were neighbors.”

“Yeah, well my house, the one with the shitty lawn and fucked up shutters, was like a second home to his family, and vice versa.  It use to be such a pleasant neighborhood.  It’s hard to even imagine what this place looked like anymore.  With this mess I just don’t know if I can even recall my old self,” Harm said as he walked out the front door, out onto their lawn,” You know we use to have the nicest house on the block?”

Gerald politely nodded, rolling his eyes as Harm began to wonder onto the street.

“Yeah, that’s my little piece of heaven.  Or, at least was.  It’s merely just a shrine now, a place to wallow in my misery.  Thought about moving, but I just felt like a coward.  Running from something rather than baring the burden.”

Harm took a deep breath, trying to collect himself as Gerald was starting to look as if Harm scared him more than the mess behind them, “Sorry, got a bit off topic there…right…the McCleary’s murder…”  

Turning back around a bringing his arm like a game show host about to unveil another shitty, supposedly fantastic prize, “And these fine folks over here, well they happen to be the lucky lotto winners with the grand prize totaling a whopping four dead bodies.  Sorry, for my horridly mocking demeanor, but I honestly don’t know how else I can approach this.” Harm’s face fell to sorrowful, swelling with self-hatred.

“Don’t worry about it man.  We all deal with this shit…differently, naturally.  You might be a cold hearted bastard, but if it keeps you working I couldn’t give two shits.”

“Thanks man, much appreciated. Hey, you pick up anything else.  Any sulfur?”

“Actually I did, I found some small traces on the windowsill of the parents bedroom.” Gerald responded slowly as he tried to deduct sulfur relevance.

Harm immediately shot up the stairs and got his vidpod out.  He changed the color of the beam to highlight any chemical residue.  He then set it down in the center of the room and the device lit up, vibrantly spreading out, reaching every corner.  Footprints and fingerprints filled the walls, and the show had finally begun.  Gerald rolled his head around as the prints were on every surface, ceiling, floor, and wall. 

Harm grabbed the device and ran out of the room, following the prints as the events unfolded in his mind.  He saw how the killer went from old to young, carrying whatever was left down stairs for a night of murderous expression.  Once it was satisfied, the footsteps lead back out through the same window.  The trails lead them to the middle of the street, going back a few houses.  From there the trail went cold.  The prints just appear out of nowhere in the street.  They assume he drove there.  But, why there Harm wondered.  This case was getting closer to him, and it was slowly becoming his entire world; his only reason for waking.

Ch. 16

Unable to move, unable to breathe, Paul Harmon stood before a god.  The colossus that peered down upon his meager flesh caused anxiety, nausea, a sense of overwhelming dread to flood through Harm.  He swallowed hard in acceptance of his own demise.  The crimson skinned deity knelt down, causing the ground to quake and crack.  The rubble beneath Harm opened up, teeth bared, ready to engulf another morsel of life.  As gravity took hold and ripped Harm down into the abyss, the goliath reached down and grasped his flailing body.  The gargantuan hands closed around Paul and the haze of light dimmed and his world turned to darkness.

As the goliath laid his hand flat, and opened it to reveal this supposed hero curled up, shaking, cowering in the fetal position.  A gentle smile came across its face and slowly revealed the yellow, jagged teeth that awaited poor Paul Harmon.  He was saved from the impending doom of the abyss below only to fall into the clutches of this demonic deity.  The saliva dripped from its mouth and its pale skin glistened.  Paul tried to plead for salvation, but his lips would not move.  He was mute.  He then realized he was unaware of any of his senses.  No sound, no sense of touch, no smell, and he slowly began to lose his vision.  The world around him blurred, as the tears filled his eyes and spared him from the ghastly sight of being devoured.  The world he knew was about to come to an end, and a piercing sound overwhelmed Harm as he was relieved that the last sound he’d ever hear was not his own weeping.  Yet, it was not weeping or crying that had filled this realm that was void of any signs of life.   The sound grew, swelled, and crashed down again and again.  Harm’s agitation reached a fever pitch, as did the noise.

A hand came crashing down upon a night stand and the blue cordless phone crashed to the ground.  Paul Harmon laid in the disheveled bedroom he had come to cherish, his only sanctuary, and a voice came screaming through the ear piece.

“Harm you there! Man, its fucking anarchy out here!  Are you asleep!  Fucking answer me man!”

A hand reached downward slowly, still trying to break free from the clutches of slumber, and Paul coughed and mumbled,” Who the hell is this?  And what ant colony?”

“Its Gerald man.  I got called in like three hours ago.  Word got out man, I don’t know how but its finally happened!”

“What’s happened?”

“The ideological war man!  Fucking science versus god man!  Somehow it spread that the McCleary Massacre was the first strike.  The science nuts believe the god-heads were the killers.  You knew the McCleary’s man, stout fucking believers in science, and the message on the walls about how god was going to punish its spawn was not taken so lightly by The Enlightened.  Sides broke out after they burned down a Cloth safe house! The streets are a fucking war zone man, all cars have been called!  Get your fucking ass down here, but watch your back like I said…total fucking anarchy man!  OH FUCK!”

Before Paul had a chance to respond the phone went dead.  He was already clothed since he passed out the night before in his button up black shirt and a pair of khakis.  It was his only clean outfit that was suitable for work.  Must have been the weed he thought, and so he hopped out of bed, wrinkled and worn.  As he stepped toward the door he grabbed the essentials: gun, vidpod, cell phone, badge, wallet, pack of greens with lighter, and a pocket knife just in case.  As he stepped out the front door, he found himself awestruck by what went on during his slumber.  Cars were on fire and flipped over, doors and windows were smashed in, and he hadn’t even noticed his own front window had a gaping hole in it. 

He peered around and saw a group of the Cloth marching toward a small family of four.  The father was screaming at them to stay back as his wife and two boys cowered behind him.  The mob had not accumulated many followers, but the look of intensity in their stare sent Harm sprinting toward the family to help out.  The father barely realized who it was approaching him when he let a shot loose and nearly nailed Harm in the leg.

“WOAH!  I’M ON YOUR SIDE PATTERSON!” Harm screamed, as he began to unholster his gun and turned toward the oncoming mob, “Stay back!  I will not hesitate to shoot! This will be my only warning.”

These people must of have been high, PCP or meth he assumed, since instead of retreating the ten men began sprinting toward them, brandishing knives and chains ready for battle.

Harm let off six shots.  Two shots made contact in the leg and hindered the front of the pack.  One shot hit a man in the stomach; he was bleeding to death before he hit the ground.  Three shots missed and the attackers continued their assault.  Harm reached back toward Mr. Patterson and opened his hand up, motioning for the gun.  Patterson hesitated; given the three man mob were merely a few steps away.  In frustration Harm swung around, slapped his neighbor, grabbed the pistol and let loose three shots.  Each hit their intended targets, but his last shot went high and left a small dime-sized hole in the forehead of the poor son of bitch who was either mad from drugs or drunk on religion.

As soon as he assessed that the family was safe he tossed the gun back to Mr. Patterson and sprinted toward his garage as Mr Patterson pleaded, “You can’t go! There are more of those animals about! Not men! Animals Paul!” 

“Speaking about animals…when did you get your hands on these hand guns?”

“Umm, ahh…they were given to me in my grandfather’s will.  I wasn’t even sure it  was loaded, but I thought they might be scared off if I had it.” Patterson said softly.

Paul did not respond, and rose to his feet to go back toward his house.  He went into the shed in his backyard and kicked the door open.  The small arsenal of weapons he had acquired during the darker days sat ready and waiting.  He looked around and as he reached for a shotgun all he could see was the blood splatter shooting out the back of that son of a bitch’s head.

“No…no guns.” he muttered to himself.  He grabbed the riot gear that had gathered some dust over the years.  He had once hoped to never need to dawn the armor again.  He began to look for whatever non-lethal weapons he had.  He threw on the heavy cargo pants, put the first layer of under armor on, through on the stab proof vest, latched the shin and arm guards, and laced up his boots.  He left the helmet behind, since he figured this was more like guerrilla warfare so he’d need as much of his peripherals as possible.  He stepped forward from the disheveled shed and was ready for the oncoming apocalypse that had overrun this once quaint, quiet town.

Ch. 17

Harm emerged from the garage covered from head to toe in riot gear.  The shield attached to his right arm coiled itself securely around his arm when he was not in a defensive stance; the two batons in his hands had settings for stun and kill for the two charged metal rings that encircled the head of the baton.  The packet of C4 rested on his left quad, while the detonators were tucked away in a small storage compartment attached to the back of his belt.  Paul reached into a cargo pocket, pulling out a pack of Greens.  He pulled the lighter from the pack as well and lit his cigarette, needing to calm his nerves after killing the Cloth radical.  He could still see the blood leaking from the kid’s forehead.  It was the first kill for him in ten years, and it had doubled his total body count.

Murders decreased drastically after the reformed gun laws, and Harm was thankful that he was no longer obligated to carry such a destructive tool.  It had taken weeks just to clean up the streets after any societal eruption.  After all that bloodshed the two sides began to dissipate, slowly turning into small social clubs or terrorist radicals.  These coalitions had created fear of another uprising, which forced the politicians to vote in the gun laws.  In their opinion, society could no longer be trusted.

The streets around Harm’s house had cleared after the gun shots went off.  He began to make his way down the road, inhaling long and hard.  As he reached the end of his street, he saw a bright flash.  He hit the ground quickly trying to avoid any debris from the bomb that went off.  As he lifted his head from cover he could feel small rocks hitting his back.  He opened his eyes to realize that it was merely a storm, the debris merely rain drops.  He peered upwards, gazing in awe of the black ominous cloud that devoured the sky.  The rain began coming down harder and harder, and soon Paul was stuck in a torrential downpour.

“Thank god I didn’t bring my guns.  God damn government made guns always shit the bed in conditions like this.” he mumbled to himself as he tossed the soaked butt to the ground.  He made his way down the street toward the center of town, since that had been ground zero the last time civil war broke out.  He started running as he was shocked to see a stream of blood working its way down the sidewalk.   He could see the black smoke over the tree tops, feeding into the hellish storm cloud above.  Turning down onto Mayberry Road, just a little over a mile from the center of town, he was stopped in his tracks as a police officer in riot gear was on his knees clutching a lifeless body. 

Harm slowly approached, putting his batons away to avoid any confusion, and when he put his hand on the poor bastard’s shoulder, a face all to familiar stared back in complete agony.  Cooper could barely keep his breathing still.  The snot, drool, and tears poured from his face and the rain did its best to wash away his pain. 

“They executed her….they executed everyone….and I watched it happen…”he spat out between heavy sobs, “I just watched in disbelief man.  I never thought shit would go down like this.  I saw them put the blade to her throat.  I saw that fucking bastard Ulrich sentence them to death.   He smiled as the trails of blood reached his feet.”

“Ulrich did this!?” Harm gasped.

“Him and his lackeys.  He had some sick hooded fuck with him too.”

“Didn’t anyone try and stop him?  What happened man!?”

“I came back from the other side of town.  The riots had already started and once I saw the carnage going on over there I knew it was only a matter of time before the Cloth retaliated,” Cooper said calmly, the shock had finally settled in, “I flew through town in my cruiser when I saw the mob following Ulrich cut through some backyards, right onto my street.  Dead bodies were scattered every in the wake of this fucking-purification…of innocent people!  He had his men break into the houses people had barricaded themselves in, and soon every man and woman was dragged out onto their doorstep.  A couple broke free and made a charge for Ulrich, but that hooded fuck quickly disposed of them.  And I don’t mean a quick punch to the jaw.  This guy, this thing, was primal.  Launching himself from one to the other, tearing their limbs off, ripping their throats out.  After witnessing that I couldn’t move, I could barely breathe man.  Ulrich started saying some prayer, talking about how judgment day was at hand.  He told them that God had no place for them in heaven, and then he signaled his men.  They slit their throats; everyone’s throat.  Holly’s throat…”

“What about the children Coop!?”

“He let them go, said they were innocent from their parents decisions.  They all ran into their homes when I came down the street.  They’re fine.”

“Oh thank god.” Paul said.  It was the first time he had uttered those words since his family’s demise.  He felt awkwardly relieved to say it again.

“Thank god?  Fuck God!  It’s ‘cause of some unseen deity that my poor Holly is no more.  And you want to thank GOD!  OF ALL PEOPLE YOU WANT TO THANK GOD!” Cooper looked up at Harm, laying his wife on the street, rising to confront him face to face,” FUCK YOU HARM! FUCK YOU! FUCK GOD! FUCK HUMANITY! FUCK US ALL!  YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA HOW THIS….” Cooper quickly caught himself as he could see Harm’s face begin to shift from relieved to infuriated. 

“Oh I know how it feels.  I felt this way everyday since my family was taken from me.  Since some mad bastard stole my life away from me.  Since the day everyone came to tell me everything would be alright.  You want to know the truth!  Everyday you wake up with it eating away at you, knowing you still have to walk this earth alone.  I KNOW HOW IT FUCKING FEELS BUT RIGHT NOW I CAN’T WORRY ABOUT THAT SHIT, BECAUSE EVERY FUCKING SECOND I STAND AROUND TO MOURN THEM ANOTHER LIFE IS BANISHED FROM THIS EARTH!  I SEARCHED FOR A WAY OUT!  I YEARNED FOR SOMETHING TO LET ME ESCAPE THIS FUCKED UP EXISTENCE! I PUT THE GUN TO MY HEAD AND PULLED THE TRIGGER ONLY TO OPEN MY EYES TO THE PITIFUL SIGHT OF MYSELF” Harm barked at Cooper, the veins pulsing from his forehead, and as he took a deep breath, “I just can’t sit around man.  I can’t.  I got nothing else I can do but try and make sure no one else goes through what I did.  Every three seconds another life is lost.  And right now that number is rising as the streets are torn apart by idealists and radicals.  So get up, get ready to unleash all that fury upon Ulrich and his men.  We’ll even beat the shit out of that Owens mother fucker too, since I am all too sure he has some part in this.  We’ll bury our fists into the skull and redemption will be at hand.  I’ll give you that chance I swear, as long as you are ready to fight rather than mourn your loss.  You want to get a piece back of the hole Ulrich left inside of you, then come with me and let’s finally put that cock sucker where he belongs, in bellows of hell being sodomized by Satan himself.  Revenge will be yours I swear it.  So come with me…” Harm’s head peered downward as he couldn’t watch Cooper weeping at his feet, and he offered up his baton. 

“I’m with you man.  For Holly.  For me.  But, I won’t be needing that,” Harm looked up in confusion as Cooper let a smile come across his face, pulling a large baton out from his belt, and unleashed the mace.  The metallic rings shot out, crackling with electricity,” I’ve got my own.”

Ch. 18

The police cruiser crawled toward the town center.  The epicenter of town holidays and parades that were filled with hymns and marching drums, now resonated with the sounds of war drums.  The streets were littered with bodies.  Beaten, broken, and tossed aside once the extremists had had their fill.  Their faces were petrified with fear.  The beatings had knocked out most of the poor bastards, although the older generations’ bodies laid limp, dead from the stampede of stomping feet. 

As the two men crept closer they could see anyone not involved with the riots trying desperately to flee the area, only to be tracked down and finished off by the beasts.  Harm felt nauseous, yet he could feel the serotonin rushing in, the adrenaline had already begun to disperse through his circulatory system. 

Cooper parked the cruiser in an ally just a block away from the anarchy.  The rain poured down on them, soaking them to the bone the second they stepped foot out of the car.  Each man readied himself and Harm gave the nod to Cooper, “Remember…everyone is guilty today.  There are no innocent bystanders.  Disable them, knock ‘em out, but just try not to kill them with that.” he said as he peered down at the mace head that looked eager to bludgeon whoever fell in its path.

Harm approached the end of the ally, peering out onto the brand new battlefield.  Cars were flipped over left and right.  Arrows jutted out of every wall and friends, neighbors, and lovers littered the streets.  The animosity of man moved Harm, like listening to a symphony for the first time.  As he gazed across the landscape he could see the Cloth on the east side of the common and the Enlightened to the west; and, stuck right in the midst of all this shit, the small battalion of riot police unlucky enough to be called into action.  The number of police officers was much smaller than usual, and as Harm peered into the faces of the rioters he could see his coworkers.  They had been lost to the frenzy. 

Harm turned back toward Cooper, “We are diving right into the snake pit.  The rest of the force is stuck in no man’s land and we got to get to them.  Move fast, ht hard, and don’t fucking hesitate for a second.  I don’t care if your great grandma comes charging at you, you put her on her ass.  If you haven’t noticed most of these people look like zombies.  No emotion in their faces, dead to the world.  Once we get to the middle we will assess the situation, and try and figure out a way to cut off the head of the beast.  Ulrich is yours.  I’ll take Beckwalter.”  Cooper kept his mouth shut and gave Harm the nod as he readied his mace in his hands, holding it like a Louisville slugger.

The two men shot out of the alleyway, charging head on into the fray.  Harm could not even feel the rain as he clubbed oncoming rioters left and right.  Cloth and Enlightened swarmed, they flung themselves at the two men, and found themselves on the losing end of their night sticks.  The crack and thuds of skulls drowned out the down pouring rain, and Harm looked down at himself to see the blood splatter being washed away.  He turned around as he heard a harsh scream from Cooper as an arrow had found its way through the back of his right knee.  Harm rushed over to him and threw Cooper’s arm over his shoulder. 

Cooper hopped forward, but Harm saw that soon enough both sides of this riot would converge upon them.  Harm dragged Cooper between two flipped trucks, giving them a moment of cover from the onslaught.  He let Cooper down onto the ground and hastily made a brace out of a t-shirt still in the car and his extra nightstick.  When he tightened the tourniquet Cooper groaned in agony.  He looked up at Harm, his face looked worn and beaten, “Get to the Calvary.  I got cover here, and I got a couple of toys that are still in their packaging.  I’ll be fine.  Just get someone over here soon or else I’ll be fucked four ways to Friday.”

“Right, I should be back in five minutes man.  Stay calm, don’t let your heart race or else you’ll be shooting out blood like Old Faithful.  You’re a good man Coop.”

“You’re still a piece of shit Harm, but I always respected you.  And, make sure if you get your hands on Ulrich that you kick that psychotic smile off his through his fucking face. “

“Your wish is my command.  But, you still got two more wishes and I’ll be back to grant those as long as you don’t pussy out and die on me.”  The two gave a half-hearted laugh and Harm crouched down like a sprinter poised and ready for the gun to fire.

His blood rushed through his system like a meth head through a convenience store, and while he tried to forget about Cooper being swarmed by the rioting heathens, he peered back to see the swarms of the blood hungry Enlightened and Cloth converge on each other.  Some directed toward that poor bastard Cooper, some readying themselves for the massacre awaiting them.  Whatever their intention may have been, Harm knew all too well how the outcome would paint itself.

He redirected his head forward as he bull rushed toward the small battalion of police officers.  His mind ran rampant as he protected himself, tried to keep himself from toppling over from exhaustion, and recalled the crime scene pictures from the riots ten years prior.  The rotting corpses petrified in their last horrifying moments, the trampled children, the nauseating smell of feces from the lifeless citizens all barreled down upon his psyche, and he became overcome with fear.

            A fear of never ending war, a fear of endless sorrow, a fear of the crippling effect it took on society before and how the whole of humanity was on the cusp of complete and utter madness.  His thoughts weighed him down and he saw the angry mob closing in on him.  He could feel the urge to give up crawl up his spine and into his mind.

            A flash followed by a sonic boom.

            Harm came to an abrupt halt, as everyone around him stood stagnant, for a moment, as they gazed upon the fires that were rising from the spot Cooper had taken cover.  The cars were no longer there, and the only evidence that he was looking at the same place was the crater that formed in the ground and the debris of glass, shards of metal, and body parts.  Nothing was distinguishable as the smoke rose and the flames died from the down pouring rain.  Harm took a deep breath and took advantage of the diversion Cooper had given him.  He had his chance to reach his people and he seized it.

            Within moments Harm found himself in the arms of Sgt. Vasquez, a strong but petit female officer who had joined to help during the riots.  Her mother and children had been killed by a suicide bomber when they were caught in a traffic jam. She became a police officer to protect whoever she could.  Her strength came from her burning desire for revenge, and for a time it consumed her.  Her relationship with her husband and remaining children dwindled, and once they walked out the door she never felt a reason to try and go get her family back. 

Harm had toppled over in exhaustion and she supported his weight without even a groan.

            “Holy shit Harm!  People get me some water and some epinephrine!” she barked.

            “Nn….no.  No need.  Just give me a second to catch my breath.  Haven’t had to run like that since I started smoking regularly.  Guess it really does fuck up the whole lung capacity thing.  Fucking surgeon generals and their warnings.” Harm said as he huffed and puffed, “Well on second thought…the epinephrine might help right now.” he said as he peered upward and pointed, “Looks like they followed my bread crumbs.”

            Vazquez saw that Ulrich had focused his mob completely onto their location.  Officer Hartly came rushing over with the epi-pen and gently tilted Harm’s head to the side, giving him a solid entry point into his otherwise completely covered body.  As the needle pulled out of his vein, Harm could feel the drug shooting through the rapids of his circulatory system.  He could feel his pupils close, his rectum tighten, his toes curl, and his mind awaken.

            “Shit’s better than fucking Folgers.” he said as he rose to his feet, slowly trying to make sure he didn’t over do it before the adrenaline had gotten through to his entire body as he still felt weak in the knees.

            “What the fuck should we do Harm!” Vazquez fervently asked as her wariness of the progressing mob caused her to become flustered for the first time in a decade.

            “That’s the chief’s call.  Remember I just got back on duty.” He said.

            “Chief’s dead, Harm.” She softly let out, “We saw him in his civilian clothes.  Looked like he was trying to track down his wife, who I saw a few feet away from him.  She was dead too.  It looked like they were trampled.  Sorry man, but you are the head honcho.”

            A disgruntled groan came out of Harm for he was not yet ready to step forward as the hero; he tried to assess what defenses and weapons they had.  They remained covered from a barricade made up of a statue that had toppled over and the riot tank that the officers had arrived in.  Without any real firearms, only shields and night sticks, Harm picked up a shield left behind by a fallen comrade and turned and faced his troops.

“We’ve only got one real option for survival, to protect ourselves at whatever cost.  Defense will be our mantra and if we hang here long enough the mobs will either destroy each other or die down enough for us to regain control.  Keep your shields close and your heads down.  We need every single one of you.  How many we actually got here?”

“Twelve sir…including you.” Squeaked Officer Hubbard, a scrawny 23-year old who was barely a year into the service.

“Fuck me, this just keeps getting better.” Harm said as he wiped his brow, “Well we got protection on our left and right.  They won’t sneak up on us, but we’ve got to be ready for a frontal assault.  We aren’t facing off against Napolean, and the mobs are pretty much out of control except for the swells surrounding both leaders.  Someone get into that tank and let me know what we are working with.  Vasquez! Get cracking!”

As she darted into the tank, the clanging and rattling echoed out of the vehicle as she feverishly searched for anything of value.  The rest of the officers split into two halves of a circle, covering the two openings to the barricade with a wall of shields.  With the some sort of protective barrier in place, Harm took a deep breath of ease.  Vazquez stepped out of the tank, arms swelling with flash bombs, sonic scramblers, and projectile tazers.

“This is all we’ve got sir.” She said as she dropped the pile onto the ground.

“Good, this just keeps getting better.  Alright, each person grab as many flash bombs as you can.  Hold off on using them until you can feel death’s fingers grab hold of your heart, only then is it time.  If nothing else we can stun them momentarily while a small squad subdues them.  That squad will be me, Vazquez, and Hartley.  Madison, Connor, Hubbard will be the backup squad incase we get knee deep in this shit.  Montano, Woodford, and Seeley will be a main source of cover.  If you see us getting surrounded, you give us a warning yell and start chucking those scramblers.  Finally Kelly, Conway, and Li will be the fail proof.  If things get out of control you come in with those tazers and put those fuckers on the ground.  Everyone else, arm yourself with a night stick and a shield.  We got limited supplies so make ‘em count.  Alright, prepare for the cries of war.  These are no longer friends and family.  The moment they joined a side they became a criminal and as keepers of the peace it is our duty to stop them, at any cost.  I am sorry for what you may have to do in the next few hours, but no mercy.  No fucking mercy.” He said as his eyes sharpened and the intensity and focus he conveyed readied his squadron.

Ch. 19

The rain began to lessen and for a moment Harm could actually feel a bond with other human beings.  His callous, self-destructive, alter ego no longer separated him from the world of the living.  He could see the trust, the faith, and the determination to make it out alive in all of their faces.  Their grit and toughness blossomed before his eyes and he could almost remember why he once loved these people.  He couldn’t see his daughters’ smiles in theirs.  He couldn’t smell his wife in the air.  Harm felt the umbilical cord to life reattach itself to his torso.   The hordes of mindless drones that bore down upon them didn’t cross his mind.  They didn’t bother him at all because he knew that this handful of half-dead heroes would band together and conquer evil.

The only thing Harm could think of next was, “Mother fucker” which then abruptly turned into mind numbing, ear bleeding noise shooting from the sonic detonator released by Officer Seeley.  His smile seemed so sympathetic.  Not to the people convulsing on the ground around him, but to the pain, as he too squirmed in the dirt.  Harm wished nothing more than to snap that bastard’s windpipe and listen to the pitiful last gasps of life. 

He then feared for his own life.  He feared that his last thoughts may be focused on the horrible shrieking and the painful stomping that would be laid upon him by both sides before he watched them rip each other apart.  He feared he wouldn’t be able to think about his wife and children.  He feared that the hell he would be shunned to would separate him even farther from them. 

The shadows draped over him and a thirty year old chemistry teacher came into his view, protected from the detonator by headphones that were converted into a noise canceller.  His glasses reflected flames in the distance and it wasn’t until the light was blocked that Harm truly accepted he may die today.  The man’s eyes widened in excitement, ready for the kill, and all Harm could hear was the thud of his pounding heart.  The man’s attention diverted when he noticed someone nearing them. 

A familiar laugh cut through the carnage still engulfing the center of town and Harm peered up to look at the son a bitch in the eye.

“Feels like your blood was replaced with cement huh?  I remember when I had to let one of the other cadets practice using it.  You know, I always found it funny that the police force always promoted peace while they spent afternoons getting their jollies from stunning each other.  Practicing it!  Even better!  I mean I knew I always wanted to become a cop ever since I was kid.  But my dream, well it was a little less conventional.  I always wanted to get into the force so I could twist it around, control it, fuck with it.”  A body goes limp from a shot to the head and Gerald kneels down to look Harm right in the face, waving the gun about, “Oh, I apologize.  It’s rude to not let people know when their about to die.  I believe ever person deserves one good chance at weeping and begging for salvation.  It gives you, the killer, a little more time to truly hate them.  Loathe every atom.  Then, the kill itself is less a murder and more a massacre.  Like for instance the McCleary’s. “

Harm twitched from rage.  No one else was convulsing, just him.  The rest laid their dead to the world.  A heroine addict on a weekend binge had more energy than his squad.  Gerald had gotten up and trotted about as he continued to talk, unafraid and unaware of anything else, “You see, I took no, you hear me! No joy in doing what I did to that family.  Those children reminded me of my nephews for fuck’s sake.  But, well when there are forces greater than you pushing you in a direction, you got as much choice as a sweatshop worker in what you do.  They say.  You do.  Simple, easy, and to the fucking point.  Shit was sure as hell easy to cover up to.  I could have pissed all over the fucking house and you would of called it a leaky pipe.  Now I’ll admit I am stumped about those other murders, but what the hell man I thought you were the bees-fucking-neez.  Some god damn super cop, Jackie Chan style.  That’s how I figured you after I read your case file.  Not like I really needed to.  My group, well we are a little bit more informed about this world, and they’ve had tabs on your ass since well, you mattered.  People always laugh and shrug off the Big Brother idea’s but they don’t understand we are all just worker ants.  Just fumbling around this damn planet, blind to every else going on.  Shit their have been world wars that went unnoticed.  Revolution in the streets and the classrooms.  Sides being chosen.  They are preparing you know.  Both sides, the Cloth and the Enlightened.  They’ve been saving up.  Preparing for dooms day.  We always thought it would be some great disaster or herald from the heavens that opened the gates to our extinction, when in fact we were the only one’s holding the keys.”

Another shot goes off.  Another fallen hero.

“If you wish to voice your opinion please Paul, speak up…No?  You sure?  Alright well anyways…,”

Another shot.  Another hero.

“Oh.  I am so sorry that one was an accident.  Cross my heart, hope to die sticking needles in my eye.  Now, as I was saying.”

Another shot.  Another hero.

Jumping around, Gerald’s laughter had grown maniacal.  Harm looked him dead in the eyes and could only see the shadow of the soul Gerald once had, “HAHAHAHA.  FUCK that is fun!  I can’t help it, you guys crack me up.  Your like newborns, unable to fend off the air around them.  Seriously though, the next one, I promise I will let them cry first.  Ok, so back to my point.  See we humans have been given gifts through these greater powers ever since we stepped forward into civilization.  Our God, our master, our savior has been with us for eons, not out of choice but out of necessity, living inside certain individuals.  Most often it is mere chance, a horrific twist of fate where the creator and a human being become entwined in their being.  Some people, well they gain a lot from this connection.  Most often they fight in these invisible world wars.  Most often none are left standing.  Then there are some people who are dragged into this bond through pure strategic purposes.  When the troops get low on one side they tend to tip the scales of fate in a completely new direction for these poor bastards.  You were one such person, and you are looking quite,” Gerald’s voice softened as he gently grabbed Harm’s left arm and gazed upon it like a golden egg, “ripe.”

Ch.20

Each layer Gerald removed from the bandage caused his eyes and smile to widen.  Eventually he reached the final layer and as he unwrapped it from around Harm’s left arm, his face turned from glee to awe. The black skin looked nearly flawless minus the discoloration.  Without hesitation Gerald lowered his index finger toward the arm, but before he even touched the unfamiliar flesh he could sense the heat and the shooting pain already overtaking his hand. 

“Un-fucking-believable….”softly left Gerald’s lips as he gripped Harm’s hand that was covered by the tattered bandages, that was disappearing, disintegrating from the acid that perspired from Harm’s arm.

“What’s so fucking amazing?  You’ve never seen a charred piece of flesh.  Yeah it’s disgusting.  I know that! But why don’t you go get a hard on over someone else’s scars.” Harm spat at in disgust as the pools of blood from the murdered officers surrounding them grew and flowed closer to Harm’s face.

“I am sorry to say, but we both know this isn’t any normal scar.  You’ve seen plenty of burn victims from the riots and for the amount of time you’ve had this scar, some tissue should of grown back.  You know what’s inside of you.  You’ve known all along you just couldn’t admit it could you?  You want to know where our villain has been hiding.  You want to know how he could just disappear.  Because the whole time it was a part of you that was killing those people.  Murdering poor Margie, the unlucky couple, and don’t forget your dear Father Patrick.  You may have never been the killer, but you were the harbinger of all of their deaths.  I never expected your arm to be the place of its resting.  I figured it laid there, dormant in your subconscious or inside some pendant or some shit.  But your arm, oh how delightful.  If only I didn’t need you alive right now, I’d hack this sucker off and beat you to death with it.  Sadly though, I cannot for now.  First we must show these lovely citizens the proof they’ve been waiting for.  The answer to that nagging question.  Is there a god?”

“How the hell can you prove that with a fucking disfigured arm!? It’s just an arm you psychotic fuck!  There isn’t anything inside of it but bone, muscle, and blood.  If something existed within me, I’d be the first to know. I mean it has gotta get out of me somehow.”

“Yes this is true, but usually the demon prefers to keep its host in a mini-coma.  All those nights you felt overwhelmed and needed to get to sleep, well that was it telling you it wanted out.  It was time to play.  Too bad your little buddy doesn’t play so nice.”

Gerald turned toward Ulrich first, placing his arms up as a sign to seize the assault.  Then he turned toward Beckwalter and did the same.  Both men beckoned for their sordid soldiers to stop and within moments the bloody massacre that had been the backdrop to Gerald and Harm’s little conversation turned into an audience, gazing upon the two men awaiting their answer.

Gerald stood up and turned his back toward Harm, “Get ready for the performance of a lifetime.”

“My fellow citizens!  I thank you for all that you have done.  The questions that have plagued our society for far too long will soon be answered.  We have lived in a world where science and religion have provided us with both the ability to prevail and the ability to destroy.  We all remember the nuclear blasts!  We all remember the naivety that overcame our world when we felt we finally stood toe to toe with God.  We remember the crushing blow to see our greatest creation as a species become our greatest fear.  Our struggle, our pains, our division, our anger, our animosity toward one another has gone on for far too long.  We are merely pawns in a greater scheme, as you today were merely pawns in your leader’s plot.  For these riots were not just for redemption and revenge, these riots have brought us the one man who can settle this debate!  For at my feet sits a man who fell from the graces of good and wallowed in the depravity of evil, and during this time he has been harvesting something that we have all read about in the papers.  I cannot tell you I will prove to you that God exists or does not exist.  But, what I can provide is a glimpse into the ethereal world we have became estranged from.  For we once existed hand in hand with our creator.  We once thrived under our Lords supervision.  Then we felt we had evolved to a new level.  One that no longer garnered any need for a master.  And so, we cast away our Lord a long time ago, and in that time we forgot.  Our civilizations destroyed any evidence of these fledgling years of our species.  But, our Lord still remains connected to us.  Sometimes that connection becomes a bond.  Sometimes that bond becomes a being.  Sometimes that being becomes our savior, and sometimes that being becomes our reckoning.  INSIDE THIS MAN, PAUL HARMON!….the beast dwells.  AND NOW, I will draw forth this being to show you what we all know to be true.  That our God does exist, and that the creatures we have long forgotten have not forgotten us!”

Harm could feel the fear building up inside of him.  No longer afraid of his death, but afraid that Gerald was right.  That he was the killer indirectly.  That evil had grown inside of him, and had unleashed itself upon people he had sworn to protect.  That it was his fault it existed, and that the mad man who stood before him could prove it.  He feared the truth like a child fears the creatures that lurk beneath their beds.

The onlookers stepped closer and even the leaders of both sides had their mobs inch closer to Harm.  He looked into their eyes and saw that they no longer looked at him like a human, but as a relic, a freak show, a phenomenon.

Gerald reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small leather bound book, which was barely bigger than his own hand.  He then pulled out a small bronze dagger, with a hilt made of silver of an angel and a demon circling each other.  He removed the last of the bandages and held Harm’s palm up.

“Oh Lord! Hear my pleas from this plain I am bound to.  I call upon you to bring forth your dormant child from this man’s skin.  Break the bond and relieve it from its bond to its vessel.  Your children need to feel your presence again.  Your children need to look upon your power.  Your children wish to feel your touch.  Your children have become lost without you.” 

Gerald lowered the dagger toward Harm’s hand and began reciting what sounded like gibberish.  The tip of the blade grew closer and Harm struggled to free himself, but was quickly held down by his surrounding audience.  He shut his eyes as he readied himself for whatever may happen next.  The dagger pierced the center of his palm and black blood oozed from the wound.  Nothing happened and Gerald looked down at his hand in disbelief.  Murmurs start to rise and Gerald could see that the people were quickly loosing their patience.  Their bloodlust still lingered.

Just before Gerald could begin to plead for a little time, Harm shrieked like a banshee as he felt something creeping out from underneath his skin.  His arm had become locked in place.  First a finger, then another, than soon a whole hand reached outward from inside its prison.  Soon an arm extended upward toward the sky, and the moon came out from behind the clouds to shred some light upon the pagan performance. 

The onlookers began to gasp and both Enlightened and Cloth could be seen holding one another as their fears and dreams crawled out from Harm’s hand.   Soon enough both arms were out and it pulled itself out, its eyes came above the skin and it turned its head toward Harm.  He wanted to pass out, but the pain was too much for him to even escape for a second what was happening.  The demon arose from Harm’s palm and stood on one foot while it sat in mid air, the other leg crossed over and both arms folded.  It looked nearly human, well at least its posture did. 

The demon moaned as it surveyed the area, its mouth dripping with saliva. Gerald stepped closer and placed his hand out toward the demon, “I welcome you to our world my Lord.”

The demon tilted its head at Gerald and leaned forward, and as it grew closer to Gerald it turned its head to gaze upon Harm.  The demon stepped down from his palm and politely waved at Harm.  Harm instinctually waved back, and a smile came over both their faces.  Then without hesitation, the demon gripped Gerald’s throat and lifted him into the air, “FoOoL…”

Before Harm could even react, Gerald’s body flailed on the ground gripping his throat, trying to stop the blood from flowing out.  Harm just stared at Gerald.  He lost a connection to the world and what was going on around him.  Bodies were being flung left and right, limbs flew through the air like firecrackers.  He couldn’t move, not because he was restrained anymore for everyone had scattered trying to escape the wrath of the demon, but dumbfounded from what had just happened.  He tried to piece together the truth.  Had a demon just risen from his scarred arm?  Was the God he had grown such disdain for existing within him this whole time? Was this God truly evil or was it his own doing from the months of regret and devastation?  But, before he could really ponder any of these questions he realized the screaming and running had stopped.

Limp bodies surrounded him once again, and now the demon stepped toward him, bending down to look Harm straight in the face.  Its smile glistened yellow from the pale moon light, and Harm began to feel a dizziness and exhaustion fall over his head.  He swayed back and forth for a few moments, each time the demon tilted its head left and right in sync with Harm.  The world became blurry and Harm could feel himself passing out.  His head fell back and his body lay down on the ground.  He wasn’t sure if he had just been killed or if he was just unable to accept the situation.  With his eyes closing, he gazed back, getting one last glimpse of the world he once knew.  Perhaps it had turned to shit, but at least it wasn’t filled with fucking demons before he thought.

His vision cleared and blurred, like a lens trying to focus on a distant object and a slender body came forth from the black canvas of the sky.  He squinted to get a glimpse of the poor son of bitch to come upon the demon, and his heart seized as he looked into the eyes of his wife.

Ch. 20:  The Huntress

Slurping and gnawing on the flesh that littered the center of town, the demon giggled and frolicked about enjoying the bountiful spoils.  The towns people scattered in all directions, some lucky enough to not lay their sight on the demon or its slaughter.  Some could be heard weeping from alleyways, the cries echoing off the brick walls out into the desolate, dusk sky.  Some fell victim to the primal wrath of the demon.  They were merely a myriad of morsels in a buffet of human anatomy. 

The demon had become so enthralled in its bounty, it had been unaware of its nemesis approaching.  Her black leather boots were coated with a fine, red mist from the blood that had pooled together on the ground.  Each step closer to the demon she moved her hands closer to the blade at her side.  Her stomach turned as the demon went head first into the stomach of an obese accountant.  The white collared shirt was torn to shreds in the center of the corpse, and the blood spat out as the demon delved deeper and deeper into its meal. 

Her hand tightened around the hilt of the blade and she bellowed, “DEMON! The hour has arrived for this realm to be rid of you.  I do not know what fools let you loose, but you shall not escape me tonight!”

The demon gazed upward toward its foe and gave a grin as it pulled out one last chunk of flesh to swallow.  It licked its finger nails and its tongue cleaned its face off in one swift lick.  It rose to its feet and flashed its claws.  The tips of its fingers grew a couple of inches, extending and thinning out in long knife like extremities. 

“Well hello there Bella Donna.  I see you have come to be my grim reaper, even dawning the black attire, but why so formal?  I appreciate the gesture and your cyber-punk fashion sense, but our last meeting will not repeat itself this evening.  I am well fed.  I can feel the strength I’ve gained from the flesh of these sheep.  And yet, your smell makes my mouth water, I fell as if I have not feasted in a millennia.   What is it about you?  Explain to me to why I desire you more than any other?”

“Because…I am like you.  Because we are one in the same.  You happen to have been born from torment and isolation.  I was born from a pure state, given an opportunity to coexist with these beings.  We are both not of this world.  This I am sure you are aware of.  Why someone wanted you freed?  I cannot say, but it will not matter in a moment.  Prepare demon.  This will be our final battle.”

The two warriors stood ready, waiting for the other to strike.  The wind swept through the town, and the cries from the distance were carried with it.  The setting sun sat below the horizon and as the stars began to shine in the sky, the demon charged forward, screeching like a banshee.  The woman adjusted herself into a widened stance; her right shoulder faced the demon, as she prepared to counter its attack.  She pulled the sword from its sheath and held it in both hands to her side.

Charging toward her, the demon’s hands reached outward, aching to squeeze the life out her.  She stood still, calm, ready for the first blow.  It swiped with its hand at her throat, the demon stumbled past her as she stepped aside giving her an opportunity to end this quicker than she anticipated.  The sword came downward, attempting to split the creature in two, but to no avail as the demon rolled to the side, avoiding the blade.  It lunged backwards, propelling its entire body at her and it gripped onto her arm burning her flesh with the acid that covered its skin.  She cried out, moaning.  The demon’s body had been flung over her from its momentum, and now she was left open to the strike.  She spun around and the demon gripped both her shoulders and inched itself closer to her face, her flesh sizzling beneath its fingertips.

“You do not cry!?  Why do you not cry?  Why do you not plead?  Why do you refuse to fear me!?  Am I not the face of death?  Am I not the manifestation of your darkest fears?, “its annoyance with her grew, as did the frustration in its voice, “Am I not terror?  Am I not fear?  Am I not the demon I know myself to be?  You have seen what I can do.  What is it that drives you?”

She bit down on her lip, trying to focus the pain elsewhere as the acid had breached her epidermis and burned away the muscle in her shoulders, “I…ahhh…I am driven to destroy you….before…. you destroy us all.  I am driven to despise you.  You are the darkness and I am the light.  You are negative and I am positive.  I am driven to destroy you because I am the only one who can!”

Her anger rose with her voice, and she seized her strength for a moment and threw the demon off of her.  She held the sword in one hand, unable to move her other arm over to help grip it.  The sleeves of her shirt had been eaten away, so she tore them off, revealing a series of tattoos that looked like golden rings wrapped around her forearms. 

With its hands on its hips the demon bellowed out a monstrous laugh, “OOH how very stylish of you. At least you will look good as the life is squeezed out of you.   I have grown bored of you.  I have my answers and there is only one thing I can do.  For if you are what must destroy me, then it seems I must also be what must destroy you.  Two sides to the same story.  Well, let’s finish this boring tale.”

The demon flashed its claws, growing longer.  Its head tilted to one side and it smiled, then abruptly threw its hands into the air as it made one last charge.  The woman dropped her sword at her side and widened her stance preparing for the final assault. Launching itself into the air, the demon screamed out and came down upon her.  Just before reaching her, she crossed her arms together and the tattoo on her arms began to glow, unleashing a blinding light.  Before the demon could do anything it hit the light and was launched across the field.

She fell to one knee, one arm holding herself up, the other grasping onto the wound on her shoulder.  She could see smoke rising from its body, and she sat waiting for any signs of life.  She became distracted as a groan came from someone on the ground beside her.  Harm muttered out in a soft, half dead tone, “No…you can’t be….you’re dead.”

“Can’t say I am, and neither are you amazingly enough.  Just rest.  I can’t say if my business is done here.” and she looked up to see if the smoke still rose from the lifeless demonic carcass, only to see nothing.

“Fuck…where’d you go?” she whispered to herself as she peered across the landscape.  A scream came from the distance and her questions were quickly answered.  She rose to chase after the demon, but felt a hand gripping her ankle.  Harm was nearly unconscious, but somehow able to hold her back.  She smiled as she could tell she had found her host.  She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small ear piece.

“Madam, I think I’ve found them both.  But, they are separated from one another.” 

“I must have them together.  Without each other, they will die.  Their time is short and thus so is yours.  Find the demon.  Return it back into its host and bring them here before the week is done.  We may be able to prevent this apocalypse from happening…if he is strong enough.  Complete this task and your services will no longer be needed.  Freedom from the sect will be yours, once the deed is done.”

“Understood Madam,” she said, pulling the ear piece out and putting it in her coat pocket, “Freedom, salvation…everlasting peace.  Soon enough. Soon enough.  Alright…let’s get you somewhere safe you poor bastard.”

She lifted Harm up as if he were an infant.  The moon rose up and more screams could be heard from the horizon.  She knew these would not be the last she would hear, and she knew the bread crumbs the demon would leave behind would be these screeches that bellowed through the night. The cold, lifeless bodies would litter this suburban wasteland, leading her toward her freedom.

Ch. 21 Fates Revealed

Pain.  Sharp, unrelenting, seething pain shoots throughout his body.  A moment of remembrance and a relapse into consciousness, Harm abruptly awakens to find himself unable to move, held down by the weight of the world.  Fingers twitching, eyes jammed shut, he tries to feel where he may be.  Last he could remember he was laying on his back in a crimson colored field as his wife walked toward him.  Could it have been just a mirage, some form of mental breakdown from the stress of the riots.  Was he losing his mind?  He feared for his sanity.  His fears were quickly relinquished as a soft voice he had come so fond of hearing so long ago welcomed him back to the world of the living.

“Good morning sunshine.  Feeling drained I assume.  Don’t try to move, it’s a pointless endeavor.  You won’t be able to do much of anything until I return.”

His eyes opened slightly, revealing a silhouette of a gorgeous woman.  The only thing he could feel was his heart swell with desire, and at the same time his mind berated him with doubt, “Elizabeth?  Are you really here or am I just some shattered psyche that’s finally detached itself from reality?”

“Sorry to say the name isn’t Elizabeth.  I am sure you recognize my voice and face, but I must apologize for the confusion.  Your wife and I, we are somewhat one and the same.”

“Are you a relative? Some long lost twin?”

“No…not twins.  More like carbon copies.  The two of us are the manifestation of something greater than you can comprehend right now.  I cannot explain myself for now for I fear the strain will be to great for you right now.  In time my dear Harm, your questions shall be answered, and your fate will be revealed.  I promise you that.  For now, rest.” she said walking toward the door, her black coat swung back and forth, her sword on her side coming into his sight with each step.

“Wait…how long have I been out?  Where are you going?”

“You’ve been asleep for a little over a day.  I have us lodged up in a motel that was right off the turnpike, in the next town over.  We are not far from your home.  As for where I am going…well, it’s not so much anywhere in particular.  I am on the hunt for the demon you have been harboring.  Once I capture it, we can embark down the rabbit hole and the doors will begin to open.  But, rest for now.”

“What about the town?  What happened to everyone?  Did I really see that thing come out of me?  Is this some sick joke or something?  I mean I’ve taken my fair share of hallucinogens and I can’t say I ever saw anything like that before.”

“Well…your town is no more really.  After I scared off the demon, the mobs returned to clean up their dearly departed.  The whole incident, from what I’ve seen in the papers, was regarded as nothing more than a riot.  They blame the police for escalating things, and I am sorry to say but you have been blamed as the driving force behind the massacre.  They say you went mad, convinced the police officers to use illegal firearms and unloaded upon the citizens.  If you’re wondering, both sides had all the bodies cremated.  Some bullshit about allowing the bodies to either ascend to heaven or return to the earth.  Either way, you are fucked.”

“Can’t say I didn’t see that coming.  So was Gerald the one behind it all?  I mean he’s dead now, I saw him get torn to shreds by that thing….that demon.”  Harm held his breath as he tried to muster the nerve to ask the question that gnawed away at his unconsciousness, “Am I responsible for all those deaths?  Do I bare the blood of my fallen friends?”

“You know you have a very convoluted way of asking things?”

“Too much Confuscious I guess.”

“Well, anyways, if you’re asking if you and the demon are one and the same, then the answer is no.  It departed from your body nightly.  That’s why you always awoke at home, unaware of ever dozing off.  So you never killed anyone.  But…it was your tortured soul, your self-hatred which lead to hating the world that bred the demon.  It does have all of your memories, since that is what it was born from.  You are slightly responsible, but there was no way for you to know.”

“I knew…I knew when my arm never healed.  I knew there was something burrowed deep inside of it.  I just never could have imagined what horrors lied within me.”

“Rest.  You have a lot to accomplish before the week is up.  If I am going to stop this demon, I am going to need you at full strength.  Don’t worry I won’t be long.”

“Wait! One last thing.  What’s your name?”

“Dawn.  That’s all you need to know for now.  Sleep.” she said stepping out through the doorway.  Harm covered his eyes with his black forearm as the light from outside blinded him.  She closed the door behind her and turned off the lights.  Harm laid there pondering whether or not this woman was as crazy as him, but for some reason he could not disobey her.  He could never disobey Elizabeth.

With the thud of the door closing behind her, Dawn prepared herself for the hunt.  Her senses heightened on command.  She felt each piece of granite crumble beneath her feet.  She left her mind blank, allowing every sight and sound to race through her mind as she searched for any sign of the demon’s arrival.  She knew she was close, she could smell the day old blood that stained its mouth.  The night before, while getting Harm into a safe location, she could hear the last sounds of some unfortunate bastard. 

She reached the corner store near the motel and seized a paper, hoping the media had picked up on the murder.  Since murders were uncommon in these quaint suburban towns, she had figured her chances were good enough for her to endure another interaction with such lowly peons.   She flipped through the pages, scanning every headline for any word relevant to a murder.  She saw car crashes, economic meltdowns, civil unrest, and the a-typical babble about the meanderings of society.  No luck, but it wouldn’t be long.  The night time was its favorite time to hunt.  She had followed Harm’s investigations in the local paper.  She questioned the clerk if he knew about any crime scenes or police activity in the area, but the old man was unaware of much of anything outside of his store and was taken aback by her outfit.  She noticed him catching a glimpse of her sword, and before she gave the old-timer a heart attack, she calmly, but hastily exited as the clerk complained underneath his breath that his store was not a library. 

She went to the local diner and found most of the townspeople were the same as the clerk; too content with their lives to care about the outside world.  No one knew of the danger that lurked in their neighborhoods.  The mirage of public safety kept them quiet and controlled.  They were good little sheep awaiting their slaughter.  She sat down and ordered a cup of coffee.  She contemplated threatening the customers and employees.  Perhaps they were holding back any information to an apparent outsider.  Maybe they just did not care to concern themselves with such depressing matters.  Her frustration began to boil up inside of her and soon all she thought about was her disdain for humanity; the lack of life in these people.  They were walking masquerades, even to themselves.  Unable to truly care about anything, their actions were substituted with opinion.  If one of their neighbors were to fall victim to her blade right now, she knew none had enough courage or compassion to avenge their fallen friend. 

“If the Madam did not order for Harm’s return with the demon, I would surely let that savage beast have his way with this disgraceful civilization.” she thought, “Consumption, currency, control is all these people care about.  Their allegiances to whatever god they pay homage to are nothing more than a charade; just empty actions.  They will never understand their connection to a higher power like I do.  Even if I told them all here and now what the truth was, their feeble minds would never be able to comprehend it.  I am a symbol of the truth, walking in their midst and all they can think about is how strange I look.  They will never know they stare into the face of the savior.  They look upon their master.  Fuck this place…” her train of thought broke as cop cars flew by the diner’s front windows and so Dawn instantly jumped up from her chair, threw a dollar onto the counter and shot out of the front door. 

She knew what they had finally found, the remnants of unadulterated hunger.  She sprinted down the road, trying to keep a fix on the cars, while at the same time trying not to show her true abilities.  She did not need her presence to actually be acknowledged.  That was the dynamic beauty of quaint towns.  She was camouflaged in the open simply by not being of any importance to town matters.  For all they were concerned, she could of been a tumbleweed blowing through town.  The flashing red and blue lights were dim in the day light, but she could see where they were.  She could hear the gasps and gags.  She could smell the fowl odor of a decaying corpse.  She could feel their fear.  “Finally” she thought, “they cannot ignore the horrors that lay before them.”  Arriving on the scene, she could barely make out any signs of the direction the demon had run off toward, but when she peered down at the dismembered body of a fourteen year old boy, she felt for the first time in many years sorrow.  She felt compassion for his friends and family.  She felt human. 

Ch. 22

The lights in the convenience store caught the edge of his sunglasses and stretched out across his vision.  The day seemed brighter, stronger, and abrasive.  He felt weak, but with the way things were going he felt lucky to be walking upright.  His stride slowed while he played back his most recent memories and tried making sense of any of it. 

His entire town had torn itself apart and hid it all away before the world could see the blood lust that overwhelmed them all.  He knew that the painful scars from when the riots first broke out still littered their souls.  He knew sides were chosen and the division between the two sides was bad, but everyone had become so cordial.  He became infuriated to think it was all a facade.  Some choreographed dance everyone knew about except him.  Maybe it was because he had been so content with his families own safety, or maybe it got lost in the haze from all the booze and drugs he had flooded himself with.  Harm shook his head as he was getting away from himself.

A demon had risen out of his skin.  He couldn’t come to terms with any of it, there was still not enough info, and he wasn’t even sure if he saw what he really saw.  An acid flashback would not be too far out of the question, although he hadn’t tripped since he was 20.  He felt it though, he was sure of that.  He felt it pull itself out of his flesh.  He peered down at his arm and shuttered at the idea of something so vile, his nightmares incarnate, could have laid dormant inside of him.  The ash white blotches that were scattered across his arm were the only thing that proved to him the demon had left his arm.  He softly ran his hand over the fresh bandages, wondering over and over how long had it been in there.  How come he never felt that pain before?  How come everyone else knew what the fuck was going on?  Too many questions and no answers.  He realized he was staring at a case of pens as if it were the Rosetta stone and decided he would get back to that one. 

Oh and his wife happened to come out of the fires of hell and saved him.  Well at least someone connected to her.  He had spent most of the morning coming up with as many questions that he needed to ask her.  How are they connected?  How was she able to fend of that monster?  How the hell did she know who he was?  He had a list of them written up and was going to bombard her with every single one until he got the answers he wanted.  He wasn’t going to stand back and be the puppet.  He was ready to take control over the strings of fate he dangled from.  It was his right to know.  He kept repeating this to himself as he built up enough confidence to actually say anything to her.  He found himself breathless at just the sight of her, he knew he would need every ounce of conviction in him to get to the truth.

He walked up to the counter with the case of pencils, a pack of mints, and a bottle of chocolate milk.  The clerk had been staring at Harm from the moment he stepped through the door.  The enigma of Paul Harmon’s attire was unsettling, but he shrugged his shoulders, muttered, “Druggies” under his breath, and wished him a good day.  Harm realized how long he had been standing in that store, and how battered he must have looked.  Pale and bruised all over, he had become too caught up in his thoughts to even consider his appearance.

He got back to the hotel and pulled his keys out to unlock the door, only to find it left open.  He pushed the door softly and clenched his fist, awaiting some unholy beast on the other side.

“Dawn…you hungry?  I got….mints.”he said, instantly embaressed by his inability to actually do anything productive.

He stopped in the doorway, his mouth left open by the sight of Dawn curled up in a ball on the bed, clutching a pillow, and weeping.  Her cries sounded like those of his wife’s when she would get overwhelmed by the nightly news reports of death and chaos during the riots.  He threw the bag of random, useless shit on the ground and sat on the side of the bed.  He slowly laid his hand on her back and softly rubbed her in an attempt to comfort her. 

She paid no attention to his presence for a few minutes before her eyes went from a blank stare to pure fear.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I feel weak.” she softly muttered out to him, “I feel scared.  I feel vulnerable.  I feel human.”

“We all get scared.  It’s nothing to fret over.  Everyone has fears.  That’s why god was created.  Everyone needs someone there to watch over them.”

“But, what if you knew your god was too busy with other matters of the universe to even pay a moments notice to you?  What if people knew the truth?” she pleaded.

“Well, thankfully there is no answer to that.  The only way someone can interact with god is after they leave this world, and with them goes any opportunity to answer these questions.  God is merely what we want it to be.  Whether it be a deity, a drug, or a half-baked mantra we all use god to protect us from the dastardly things in this world.  Some look to god to act out upon those they deem worthy of his punishment.  Whatever someone’s god is, doesn’t matter.  It’s all a farce anyways.”

“But, what if you could provide the answer to these questions?  What if every fiber of your being knows and is this truth.  What if you could end all of the wars and the bloodshed caused by a belief?  Would you sacrifice everything to answer those nagging questions?”she said in a raspy, painful voice.  Her words chipped away at him.

“I guess you’d have to.”  It was all he could put together.  Every question weighed down upon him, and he realized these answers were more important than the answers to his previous thoughts.  He became anxious and frantic inside.  He could see the puzzle pieces creep closer together.

He pulled out a joint from his pack and before he could take a second hit she pulled it from his mouth, inhaled deeply, and rubbed out the ember, “Not yet Harm.  There is still work to do.” she said as she sat up from the bed and grabbed her black coat on the bureau, “It’s getting dark, and tonight we hunt the hunter.  Come on, you’ll give me a better feel for it.  If we get close you’ll feel a pain in your hand where it exited.  And anyways time is running short and I’d rather not let you live your last days burrowed up in a hotel room.  Grab your mints and let’s go.”

“Wait.  What do you mean last days?  How do you know this shit?  And what are you trying to say about my breath.  I brushed this morning…I think.” he realized she was out the door before anything even came sputtering out, and he was merely just acting out to himself what he was too afraid to say.  He grabbed his coat, threw the shades on the bed, and rushed out the door after her.

Ch.23

The disheveled sedan hurt to look at.  Its paint was chipping off sporadically, the tires were worn down and missing their hub caps, and when Dawn turned the car on enough black smog shot out of the back that Harm was sure anyone caught behind them would be coughing up the exhaust for a week.  As he approached the car, Dawn rolled down the window with the half broken handle and answered his question before he even opened his mouth.

            “It’s wreckage from the riots.  Figured the owner was either dead or deserted it.  Either way, it’s ours now.”

            “I wouldn’t describe this as a low profile car.  If I saw this coming down the road I know I would follow it just to make sure the car didn’t break down.”

            “Yeah…well you forget you were good at your job.  These towns around here, the police are more caught up with the boy’s murder than tracking down you or I.  Anyways, it still hauls ass and honestly, if things turn out the way I think they will, our major concern won’t be this shitbox.” She said as Harm slammed the door shut, nearly breaking the already cracked passenger side windows.  This should be a blast he thought to himself.

The car shook from the nearly non-existent shocks and every so often it would kick back and release a mushroom cloud of black smoke in their wake.  Harm tried to get informed on the boy’s murder, but Dawn wouldn’t say more than it happened near the forest and that she was sure it was the demon.  As they flew threw the town, Harm noticed they were going in the opposite direction from the forest.

“Hey, where are we going?  I thought you said it was going to be in the state park?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“First we need to get you some protection from the demon’s skin.  I can handle the burns, but you are not nearly strong enough.  You remember that burning feeling when the demon exited your arm?  Well, lucky for you your left arm is resistant to the acid, but your right one is still human and weak.  We are going to the local hardware store in search of some long rubber gloves.  Those should give you enough protection before the séance is complete.”

Harm impatiently waited in the car while Dawn went to buy the glove.  After a short while he could see her exiting the store.  After just walking just a few feet from the door, he could see the owner come charging out from the store with a rifle in hand.  Harm hastily rolled down the window, and his irritation grew with each jerky rotation of the handle.

“GUN!” he yelled in attempt to give her some forewarning since the man was already locked, loaded, and aiming straight for her head.  Before he could even open the door to try and talk some sense into the guy and figure out what was going on, Dawn had already cut the barrel of the rifle off in one swift move with her katana and turned back toward the car.  The owner couldn’t say anything, bewildered by the sheer speed and precision of her cut.  Harm could see a smirk come across her face, which was the first time he had seen any sign of real positive emotion.

            The car ride was quiet, except for the incessant rattling and banging of the car, to the state park.  By the time they had arrived the police force had dispersed.  Apparently she was right he thought, since he would have had a containment team and a search squad roaming the forest.  Shit stain little towns like this were incompetent, unable to handle anything beyond a speeding ticket or a noise complaint.

Before long, they were a mile into the forest, the car parked right next to the smudged chalk outline.  It was already midday and yet the forest was so thick that the light trickled through the trees, creating thousands of spotlights that lit up an area no bigger than an ant hole.  It was the perfect hiding place for a creature of the night.  At any time of the day there were patches of pitch black, allowing predators and prey the luxury of cover.

After a few miles the pain he felt in his arm grew from a minor nuisance to seething and burning torment.  He tucked his arm inside of his jacket and soon after felt the same pain shooting through his chest.  He finally noticed the heat from his arm was burning through his shirt and yelled out, whipping his arm erratically as if he were trying to put out a flame.

“Stop acting like an infant and calm the fuck down.  We can’t let it know we are close. And, when you arm burns like that it means we are really fucking close.  So grow some balls, act like a man, and deal with it.  Take off the bandages.  It’ll help you feel the connection to him.” she said quietly, yet sternly like a parent trying to discipline their child in public.

            “Oh so you’re telling me I should take off my bandage so I can feel an even more pain.” He said as he unraveled the tattered bandage, muttering underneath his breath, “Fucking sweet…awesome…bitch.”

            “Now hold your arm up and put your hand up as if you were telling someone to stop.  You worked as a crossing guard, you should be use to it.”

            “I was a detective.  I solved crimes.  I didn’t help kids cross the god damn road.” he snapped back at her.

            He raised his arm up and took a deep breath.  She came from behind him and placed her left hand on his wrist, moving the arm around while he kept his eyes closed, trying to focus on any small increase in the pain.  He felt no difference ahead of them.  Turning his body left he felt nothing.  Turning his body to the right, he fell to his knees, his hand still reaching outward.

            “Good.  We’re close.”

            “Oh yeah, falling to my knees from indescribable pain is fucking grand.  Not only that, but I gotta do this shit so we can catch a blood thirsty, acid drenched demon.” he said as he sarcastically threw up his two thumbs, “Super…”

            “Stop whining.  God, I don’t how she could put up with such a pussy.”

            Harm was ready to fire back but realized it was getting them nowhere and rose from his knees and trudged onward.  After a few miles and a few more cutting remarks about how weak he was acting, they finally came to what Harm sensed was its hiding spot.

            “In the small opening to the right beneath the boulders, it’s there. I’m sure of it.”

            “Alright, well put on the glove and get on top of the rocks.  I will call it out.  It should be too hungry to resist a nice chunk of fresh meat.  Once you see it completely emerge from the cave, jump onto it and I will begin the séance.  Do not let go.  I will be completely vulnerable while I complete the ritual.  If all goes well we should be back to the car before sunset.  Just remember…”

            “Yeah…”he said looking up at her in the eyes.

            “Don’t be a pussy.” She said with that smirk slowly emerging across her face.

            “Can do bitch.” he said with a mocking smile and an overly enthusiastic salute.

            While Harm climbed up the backside of the rocks, Dawn began her preparation for the séance.  She took off her jacket, revealing the sleeves of tattoos that covered both arms.  Kneeling down onto the ground, she closed her eyes, held out her hands to her sides, and began softly speaking in tongues.  It was as if she were no longer aware of anything.  Then suddenly, as he perched himself on the edge of the rock, she yelled out, “Creature of sorrow, come forth for a taste of flesh.  Come forth and face your nemesis, for today will be our last meeting.  COME OUT AND FACE ME!”

            Harm paid no attention to the small opening that was beneath him.  He had become captivated by Dawn.  He remembered that feeling over being overwhelmed by his wife.  He could see her so clearly in Dawn’s face.  Before he could fall in love again, the sound of gravel being kicked around brought him back to his senses.

            The ash colored hand that stretched out into the shade, reminded him nothing of the creature’s.  It looked nearly human.  Wrinkled and barely covering the bone structure beneath it, for a moment Harm pitied the creature.  Then, the other hand came out.  Black like the emptiness of space, he was reminded of what they were truly after.

            Fully emerged from its cover, the demon looked like two beings wrapped around one another. Spots and streaks of white littered its body, and only its right leg was untouched by the spreading decay.  It hunched over, huffing and wheezing; unable to muster the strength to attack, Harm thought, “This will be easy.”

            The demon raised its head and stared coldly at Dawn.  Harm could tell it wanted to rip her apart.  It wanted to lunge at her and feast upon every bit of her being, but it was too weak.  Worn down and feeble, the predator had quickly become the prey.  It barely took one step before Harm lunged from a top of the rocks and fell down hard on its back.  He reached around to seize complete control, while Dawn continued to chant softly.

            The demon flailed about in Harm’s arms, enraged and fearful of what was to come.  Its claws ripped at his legs.  Its feet kicked the ground, trying to throw itself backwards.  It gnawed at the air.  It was not going anywhere.  Harm felt confident he could maintain his grasp until he began to feel something bubbling and burning.

            He noticed the smoke rising from the protective glove, and before he had even caught his breath, he could already feel the acid burning the first layer of his skin.  He bit his lip and tried to remain silent, not wanting to disrupt the séance.  He knew they had only one chance.

            The demon continued to whip about, and finally it was able to free one arm.  It threw its hand back and grasped onto the top of Harm’s head.  The serrated, dagger like fingers dug into his skull, and he could feel the entire area burning away.  He nearly let go, lost in complete agony, but was able to maintain control over the creature when he opened his eyes and saw his wife again.  Although he knew they were not the same person, it still gave him strength to believe it.  The demon then slowly dragged its black hand down onto Harm’s face.  Its mere touch threw Harm into complete sensory overload, and he began to loosen his grip.

            The creature threw itself backwards, the two of them hit the ground with a hard, solid thud and Harm released his arms from around the demon.  It pushed itself up and took a step toward Dawn, but Harm threw himself off the ground and grabbed onto its ankle.  The demon hissed down at him and kicked him with its free leg.  He fell onto his back and the demon focused its attention on him.  It leapt onto his chest, perched like a gargoyle on a gothic church.  Its hands reached around his throat.  Squeezing down, Harm tried to scream, but his windpipe was being crushed.  He could merely gasp and kick wildly.  His eyes bulged from his sockets and he couldn’t decide whether he was going to die from suffocation or the acid that was burning through his throat.

            “I can’t kill you…yet.” It hissed at him while raising one hand into the air, its claws growing and swelling.  One quick swipe across his face was followed up by another, and another.  He could feel the gashes that sent streams of blood down his face.  His sight became blurred by the river of red.  Dawn’s chanting grew louder in the background.

The demon raised its hand upward, preparing for one more slash, as Harm’s hand flew up and latched around its throat.  The skin of his palm began to bubble and boil, while his other hand tried to release his throat from its hand that continued to squeeze the life out of him.

             The pain he felt across his entire being had become a mere backdrop as his rage reached a fever pitch.  His animosity made even the demon look humane, as a death rattle shot out from him and he threw himself off the ground and landed on top of the demon.

            He could not recall how he had gained the upper hand or when it let go of his throat, but he was well aware of the feeling of his fists landing repeatedly upon its face. Dawn’s chanting grew louder and Harm couldn’t make out one god damn word she was saying, but he felt as though they were close to the end.  He stopped to catch his breath, while the demon lay limp on the ground.  He could not tell if he had killed it or knocked it unconscious, but either way it was not moving.

            He looked to his side and saw Dawn rise to her feet and walk toward them.  She was shouting at him now, raising her hands up to the sky, “Penetro! Penetro! PENETRO!”

            Harm had become distracted by her chanting and turned back toward the demon.  Somehow, it had escaped from beneath him and was perched a few feet from him, just staring at him.  In its eyes it looked dead, vacant, and unconscious.  He reached his black hand toward its face, as if he knew what he had to do.  The blood continued to fall down his face, but he paid it no recognition.  The moment he laid his hand upon its forehead he could feel it dissolving within his grasp.  He could sense it was reentering.  The union was happening and the white color that had begun to spread across his arm was now changing back into black.  Within moments the demon was no more.  Harm was kneeling on the ground with his hand held outward, holding nothing more than air.

Ch. 24

The ride back from the forest felt long and empty.  No words were said.  No glances crossed.  Harm stared off through the window, trying hard not to notice his disfigured reflection.  He had never felt so self-conscious, so ugly.  He kept touching his face.  Feeling each gash, tracing each wound with his fingers.  He felt like a freak.  His strength was returning though, and he noticed that the white blotches that had littered his blackened arm were no more.  Every so often Dawn would peer over at him, attempting to put some words together to comfort him but she was never good at that sort of thing. All she could do was breathe deeply, frustrated with her lack of compassion.

When they finally returned to the hotel all she told him to do was pack up his things and prepare to leave within the hour.  Their journey was not over just yet.  They were heading toward Portland, Maine.  That was where her Madam awaited them.  “That’s where it will all come to an end,” she told him before she headed out the door to grab a few things. 

Harm made no attempt at packing anything.  His tattered shirt and kaki pants were all he cared to wear.  The splattered blood across his body hardened, remnants of what had just occurred.  He felt wearing anything else would somehow be a way of trying to forget what had just happened.  He couldn’t forget.  He would never be able to, so he would not try to hide it, even with clean clothes.  Although he felt deformed from the holes in his skin and the deep wounds that scarred his face, he felt pride in it.  He had fought off something no one else was able to…besides Dawn.  But, she was not human.  She couldn’t be human he thought.  No person could be so cold, so distant from the world, from humanity, from their-self he thought, until he caught a glimpse of himself.

He turned on the hot water to take a shower.  Even though he would not hide the blood on his clothes, he knew he could not walk around in the public with blood stained skin.  Sitting in the bath he let the cleansing water fall down upon his tattered skin.  The first drops burned and he flinched whenever an open wound was hit by a drop.  He turned up the heat.  He wanted to linger in the pain.  He wanted it to resonate through his being.  He wanted to revel in his misfortune. 

“Why me?” was all that went through his head, “Why?  What have I done to deserve such sorrow, deserve such misery, to deserve such a retched burden?”   He wanted to scream.  He wanted to rip the world apart for the answer.  He wanted vengeance on that grinning bastard.  He had not forgotten.  He could never put it behind him.  His frustrations swelled within him and by the time he stepped out of the shower he was no longer Paul Harmon.  He was something else, just a faint shadow of himself.  He could feel the demon squirming underneath his skin.  He could feel their unbroken bond.  Although the demon lived within him, he could feel himself trapped within it.  He was not the vessel, he was merely the host.  A prisoner to its madness, they were two beings lost within each other. 

When Dawn returned, he stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel.  His disgust in his appearance had turned to pride.  He would wear his battle scars proudly.  “I will never forget…” he thought to himself.

“Well you look much better.” she said as she dropped a plastic bag onto the bed, “Its amazing how quickly you heal when you two are reunited.”

“Healed?” he said with a puzzled look on his face.

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror recently?” she said as she threw a black hooded sweatshirt at him. 

He turned his head toward the mirror with his eyes closed.  As he slowly opened each eyelid he could see the faint marks across his face.   He was awestruck.  He didn’t know what to say, all he could do was trace the minute scars incessantly.  They looked like cat scratches.  Not noticeable at all.

“But how?” he pondered.

“The demon and you are connected.  You share more than just a body.  It stems from a deity of some sort.  So the regenerative abilities of its creator apply to you to.  It wouldn’t let you.  It won’t let you die because it simply cannot. An amazing curse isn’t it?”

“Amazing yes.  A curse certainly…fuck.  So that’s why I couldn’t kill myself.  All those failed attempts.  It wasn’t some divine intervention, it was it.  God damn it.”

“This isn’t Gods fault.  This isn’t your fault.  There is something going on greater than yourself.  Another great war is on the verge of happening and you just happen to be chosen as their gladiator.  Thankfully we got to you before their plan came to fruition.”

“Whose plan?” he said as he turned back away from the mirror and stared menacingly at Dawn, “Who did this to me?  Who is responsible for my self-destruction?”

“Why the fallen angel, the antichrist, the man made apocalypse.  Kane.”

“…Kane…the clone?”

“Yes.  And without you, he will burn this world to nothing more than ash.  He has no intention to conquer, only destroy.  He was the one who had your family killed.  He was the one who sent Gerald.  He is the puppet master.  He is your true enemy.”

“Kane…”he muttered to himself

“Now get dressed.  The Madam will be able to tell you more.  There is much to be done before your vengeance is at hand.”      

Ch. 25

Before even leaving the town the sedan had already broken down.  Harm had put on the black hooded sweatshirt and a long brown trench coat.  The fall weather was already turning to winter, and their breath came fuming out into the brisk midday air. 

Dawn was kind enough to highjack another car.  Although Harm did not agree with her methods of obtaining a new vehicle, he no longer cared for the law.  All he cared about now was figuring how he could squeeze the last breath of air out of Kane.  The owner of the green SUV they used had been dumb enough to let Dawn into the car.  Most likely figuring he could get some benefits from picking up such a lovely stranger, but instead of a warm hand he felt a cold, edge of a blade pointed at his privates.  He rushed to exit the car, but as he stepped out Harm gave him a blow to the back of the head, knocking him out cold.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

“Figured it would give us a little more time before he reported his car stolen.” Harm said with a blank stare.

Dawn could see that things were beginning to weigh down on him in a different way than before.  His face held no emotion, no hint of humanity.  He was changing and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the demon or the truth.  Either way, she thought, he might actually be able to make it out of this whole ordeal.  So they were off, heading north up I-95 for Portland.

The car ride was the same as before, no words said, no glances exchanged.  He was growing cold and distant and reminding Dawn far too much of herself.  She felt sorry for him. She wished that it was someone else who was the host.  She thought about how nice it was to actually interact with someone else regularly.   She started to like him…more than she should.

By the time they got into the Portland the moon had risen and the realization that their time was running out became all too apparent.  If they didn’t rid Harm of the demon within the next two days, she worried what may come of him.  She had always heard about the damned.  The ones whose bodies became a vessel for destruction.  She began to worry whether she could kill him if he failed.  She knew she would have to, but for the first time in a long time she hoped for the best.

The convent sat up on a hill overlooking the harbor.  The moon reflected off of the few boats still on their moorings.  The city was docile that night.  People had not yet become accustomed to the frigid nights.  She loved this city.  She had spent nearly her whole life there.  She never got to go out often, but she always liked watching from up in the bell tower the hustle and bustle of the summer nights.  She could feel tears in her eyes at the thought of this being ground zero for the end of the world if they failed.  Her heart grew cold again.  They would not fail.  She would not fail.

The two were greeted at the front gate by a soft-spoken young nun.  She had only been there for a couple of years, and she bowed her head when she saw Dawn as she still looked at her as a superior.

“Hello Miss Dawn.  Welcome back to Sisters of Saint Jennifer.  Madam Victoria is waiting for you in the library.”

“Thank you Gwen.  This is Mr. Paul Harmon.  He will be staying with us for the next couple of days.”

“Well then, welcome Mr. Harmon.  Please feel free to ask me of anything to assist you.”

“If you could get me a bottle of bourbon I would appreciate it.  That’s all I really need right now.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”Gwen said as Harm and Dawn walked past her and into the convent.

The interior looked like something out of Renaissance Italy.  Soft white marble, tapestries and old paintings filled the walls.  Oddly enough none of the paintings held any Christian symbols.  Not one was of a pope, saint, or even Jesus Christ.  They were portraits of knights, diplomats, and ancient kings.  Harm could tell that this place was a front for something else.  How a convent full of nuns was supposed to defend the world was beyond him.

They walked up to the third floor and entered through two massive oak doors that led into a library that glistened from the stained oak.  The shelves were filled with dust covered books, scrolls of parchment, and even stone tablets.  Harm could barely conceive how such a collection was gathered, but before he could even ask a soft, warm voice answered his query. 

“Years and years of persistence Mr. Harmon.  Or do you prefer Harm?”

“Harm is fine.”

“Suiting too. For you can bring great harm onto the human civilization or you can save it from ever knowing the pains some want to inflict upon it.  We have spent years defending this world from the darkness that resides within all men.  Dawn here is one of countless guardians who have taken it upon themselves to use their gifts for the greater good, even if she never felt compassion for them.  We do nothing more than prepare for such times.  I was once a guardian too, but I never had to face the evils that possess you.”

“You mean I possess?”

“No my dear.  I am sorry to say you were never in control.  You were never the host.  You are merely the vessel, controlled by outside forces.  What Kane has been doing to you went unnoticed for too long.  He infected you, but once the demon was born, you never had control.  You may not have shed the blood of its victims, but you certainly did not save them.  It was your self-loathing, you desire for death, for the destruction of your fellow man that gave it such strength, such a ravenous hunger.  While it grew inside of you, it began to take control.  It fed on you depression.  It grew stronger from your hate.  You had no control over these things, but who could after what was taken from you.

“When you wife held out her hand, when you felt her last embrace, it was in that moment that the demon was first inseminated into you.  Your wife, like Dawn, was not born from the womb of a mother, but manifested from a continuous connection between our dimension and that of our creator.  See long ago, the primates that we eventually evolved from were nearly wiped out.  Only a few scattered groups existed, but would never have been capable of becoming what we are today without our creator.  When he first stepped onto our plane of existence, he searched for a creature that would be able to grow into something greater than itself.  Something already capable of creative thought, but unable to let it grow and learn over time.  After he touched his hand upon a small clan, they began to change at an exponential rate.  Before long, the Neanderthals came to be.  He nurtured them.  He taught them how to create fire.  He showed them how to make clothes, cook food, heal wounds, and maintain a society.  He is the father of mankind.  But, he is not some deity.  He is a being that has existed for eons, one with such great power that he looked at creating man as merely a science experiment.

“Our creator keeps a constant connection to this world by taking small pieces of his own flesh and puts it through a tear in space onto our planet.  That way he can look through the eyes of his children and see what the world has become without interfering with it.  When these pieces of flesh reach our world they turn into an infant child.  These children always look the same, although they are never truly the same thing.  They are just a manifestation of what he perceives as a perfect human.  Men are not perfect for they are destructive and erratic.  Women are the representation of earth, of life, of creation.  That is why they are all girls.  At this convent, and many more, we take these girls in and raise them for a short while.  Eventually they go live with a family to exist within society, unaware of their true purpose.  Your wife was one such being.  Dawn here was not lucky enough to find a loving family, and so she took on the responsibility of becoming the next guardian.  You standing here before me proves that I have taught her well.  We are lucky to have you here in this condition, but I must warn you we are running out of time.”

“I know.  I only have a couple of days before the demon begins to consume me from within.  So what do I have to do?”

“You must defeat it.  In a battle.  In your mind.  That is the only place where you can be equals.  You will have to conquer it.  If you do so, then you will remain human.  If not, then it will take over your body and become something that has not plagued this world for over three centuries.  If that’s the case then there will be no hope for you and we will have to kill you.  I am sorry, but this is how it must be.”

“Alright, I can deal with that. So how do I defeat it?  I mean do I tear it apart?  Do I think it away?  Do I click my heels together?”

“I do not know.  No one has ever won.”

“Fucking great.  Alright well if you don’t mind I believe Gwen has a bottle of bourbon waiting for me.  Do we have anything planned for tomorrow?”

“We will teach you how to enter into your mind and take control of the freedoms granted upon you in the dream world.  After that, you will be free to enjoy the night.  The next day we will perform the séance, and hopefully, rid you of this demon.”

“Ok. Well then…Dawn care to join me for a drink?”

“Sure.”

“Before she can join you I must speak with her. OK Harm?” she said as she grabbed onto Dawn’s shoulder.

“Sure. See you in a few.”

The two tall oak doors closed behind him, and Dawn looks up at the Madam with solemn stare, as if she were trying to wish away what was to be said.

“He cannot win.  You know this don’t you?”

“I have seen him fight the demon off twice now.  He is stronger than most.”

“He will lose.  You must accept that.  And, you must kill him.” Dawn threw her arms up ready to beg for some other way, but the Madam put her finger upon Dawn’s lips and her hand on her shoulder, and stared directly into her eyes, “You cannot hesitate.  When he awakes he will not be Harm anymore.  He will be death itself.  The Pale Horseman who will ride through this world with the flames of hell following in his path.”

“I understand Madam.  Whatever you wish of me I shall do.”

“Good my dear, for if you don’t I will,” she said as she revealed a dagger in her hand, “Now, go show him one last night of compassion.  He deserves it.”

The tall ceilings of the hallway to Harm’s room made Dawn feel like a child again.  Staring up at the weaving design of branches that stretched from end to end of the hallway, she could see herself being wrapped up by each limb.  She felt anxious; too nervous to look him in the eyes.  There was something brewing inside of her that had long laid dormant.  Unable to break down the callous shell she had built up around herself, Paul had broken through the barrier and she desired for him to set her free.  Perhaps if things go well they could go away somewhere for awhile.  Forget all the nonsense that went along with saving the world.  Maybe they would lay on a beach somewhere.  She could bring him the piece of his life he so dearly missed, and he could give her the first taste of an actual life she had always craved.

The muffled sound of smooth, driving bass lines came through the cracks in the wooden door.  She pressed her ear up to it and closed her eyes to imagine for just a second Harm waiting for her.  She could see him pacing back and forth, fumbling his thoughts together as he awaited her arrival.  She stepped back, took a deep breath, and opened the creaking door.

Harm glanced over at her when she stepped through the door, but instead of finding the bumbling romantic she had hoped for she only saw a stoic face, staring off at the ground.  The fire that dimly lit the room caused the shadows to dance and the walls to come alive; everything seemed surreal, dream like, and yet haunting.  She could feel the frigidness in the air from Harm.  She could sense he was trapped in his dark, dismal world.  The sounds of classic chill jazz did not move him.  They did not grab him.  She took a step forward, putting her hand in an attempt to embrace him, but before she was at an arm’s length from him he softly confessed his fears:

“I am doomed you know.  No matter what happens, I will never go back to being me ever again.  I will lose all of myself after this is said and done.  I cannot help but sift through the memories that have made me who I am.  But, whenever I think of something that once filled my heart with joy, I only find sorrow, knowing it will soon be gone for good.  I use to enjoy the little things in life.  You know the stuff that people always overlooked as daily routines.  I would try and step back, if for just a moment, and relish the nuances of married life.  I remember how I couldn’t wait for the end of the day.  Not because I wanted to stop working, but because every night I tucked my daughters in I knew I had succeeded as a father.  Once they were safe in bed, buried underneath pillows and blankets, I felt a sense of accomplishment.  Then I would walk down the hall, shutting off the lights, ending another day.  That’s when I knew I could escape from what went on outside and sink into the sanctuary of my wife’s arms.  Every morning I woke up next to her, I knew that life wouldn’t be, couldn’t be so bad.  Not when you got to wake up next to your dream girl.  Its funny, I always thought she was perfect.  Never suspected her perfection came from her godliness.  Now all I have to remember them with is this blackened arm and the mental scars from all the times I attempted to join them in the after life.  I never believed in heaven until I needed to, until I had to have a place where I could reunite with them; where I could be whole again.”

He buried his head in his hands and Dawn crept closer as he sobbed softly for a moment.  She placed her hands on his shoulders and wrapped her arms around him.   She didn’t know what to say.  If there was anything she could say.  So she softly kissed the back of his head.  Then the back of his neck.  Then the side of his neck.  As her lips traversed his skin, Harm put his hand on her’s and said,”Please stop.  You don’t know how badly I want this, but you don’t know how hard it can be to look at you.  I can’t…I just can’t.  But thank you.”

Dawn pulled her arms off of him and put her hands over her mouth from shock and shame, “I am sorry.  I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.  Seeing you on the field coming to save me from that creature, well it was the last moment I felt peace inside of me.  It was the last time the world seemed right.  You may not be able to fill the void inside of me, but you have given me the chance to redeem myself.  And for that, I can never thank you enough.  But, if you would like to console me, then would you please just lay with me until I fall asleep.  Will you be my sanctuary for one last night?”

“Of course Harm.  Of course.” she said as she walked over to the bed and slowly undressed.  Harm walked over to the opposite side of the bed and stood there staring, with a half-hearted smile that was weathered from the past year.  He unbuttoned his shirt and took off his shoes.  Dawn laid down first, pulling the covers just above her breasts.  Harm just stood there, staring, smiling.  He laid down, and the room filled with the swelling horns from the jazz record still played.  They embraced each other and he held her tight, kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “I’ve missed you Elizabeth.”

“I’ve missed you too Harm.” she said with her eyes closed as her soul fell through her body and met his in between their bodies.  They were each other’s heaven on earth for that one night.  That one last night.   

Ch. 26

By the time breakfast was served, Harm had gotten to enjoy the sunrise and explore the ground of the convent.  There was a courtyard located out back that hung right on the edge of a cliff over the harbor.  The sun reflected its brilliant hues of orange, pink, and purple.  Harm felt the warmth from not only the sun’s rays, but from the brilliant menagerie of vibrant colors.  Dawn sat next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, and although they both knew what they felt would never work, they continued to embrace their fledgling relationship. 

Gwen brought down a myriad of dishes.  The table could barely fit all the different types of food, but they made room and feasted as if it were their last supper.  Once everyone had finished their meals, although Harm and Dawn barely ate, they made their way out of the dining room and down to the cellar.  At the bottom of the spiraling stone staircase was a small oval room, with a golden domed roof with the same symbols tattooed across Dawn’s arm. 

“So this must be where we will be training I assume?” Harm mumbled to himself as he was still awe struck by the portraits that covered the walls.  Every painting portrayed a different version of Elizabeth from a priestess from the Bronze Age, a heroic knight dawning golden armor, to a portrait of a young nun holding a blade concealed within a cross.

“Is this one you?” he said pointing at the painting.

“Yes.  I am also like your wife.  One of the many guardians who have served humanity behind closed doors.  Since we have existed since man first stood upright, there have been countless others like Dawn and myself.”

“And what about Gwen?  Is she like you?  She reminds me more of my daughter than of my wife.”

“Well you are somewhat correct.  She is the daughter of another one of us.  So retains some traits since her genes hold the creator’s DNA.  Unlike us, she ages like a human while we age at a much slower, gradual rate.  We are not immortal.  Cut us deeply enough and we will die as well. Gwen is here to be the mediator between us during your training.  She is gifted with a heightened awareness that you might compare to telepathy.  In the realms of the mind, she is our strongest guardian.”

“So how are we going to be training?  Am I suppose to meditate and reach some state of nirvana or something?”

“Just empty your mind and Gwen will do the rest.” the Madam said as she walked toward the back of the room to a large red oak cabinet, “First you must drink the blood of our ancestors and then you will be bestowed with a taste of the powers we are truly capable of.  Once you get a hold of everything, Gwen will release you from your trance like state and then we will decide whether you are ready to face the demon or not.”

Walking over to a large stone table, Harm sat down and looked at the group of women, “Usually the doctor puts the construction paper down before I lay on the examining table.” He said to no response.  Apparently guardians were not bestowed with a sense of humor, “Should I take my shoes off or anything?”

Madam Victoria giggled as she walked over and put her hand underneath Harm’s chin, “You are a sweet man.  A bit goofy, but I can see why she cares for you.”

“I guess they are somewhat human” he thought.

Harm peered out of the corner of his eyes only to catch Dawn quickly focusing her gaze down at the ground.  He smiled and thought that if this went well, maybe, just maybe, something good might actually happen to him.  His eyes looked straight at the center of the dome as he laid down, the symbols shined like the rays of the early morning sun, “What are those symbols by the way?  I am just curious.”

“It’s the language of the Creator.  If you were united with the demon the words would begin to make sense.  It says, “Trust in the Creator, and he will entrust onto you the world.”

“Heavy.”

“Well now, drink up.” the Madam said as she raised the bottle to his lips and he took one large gulp before she pulled it away, ” Now close your eyes and think of some fond memory.  Gwen will do the rest.”

“Well there were those twins back in college, but for now I think we’ll go with something with a little more of a G-rating.” Closings his eyes, Harm was immediately projected onto a field, overlooking Newport Harbor.  A picturesque day, the world seemed new and untouched.  Everything seemed brighter and alive.  Every time he took a deep breathe, the world swelled in unison with his lungs.  He laughed to himself.  It reminded him of all those sunny days running around campus tripping on acid or mushrooms.  He could see his friends from school off in the distance as soon as he thought about it.  He began to walk toward them before Gwen came floating down in front of him.

“Now is not the time to play Harm.  We have much to do.  It took me years of mediation and training to grasp this world.  You have one day at best.  So let’s begin.”

Back in the cellar, the Madam placed the bottle back in the cabinet, and then opened up a drawer and pulled out the cross from the portrait.  She then pulled out an ivory blade, with a golden scabbard.   She motions Dawn over to her, and unsheathes the blade from the cross.

“I am sorry my child, but we must be prepared.  When the time comes and Harm faces the demon, no matter what happens he will have to die.  If he is able to merge successfully he would become a god amongst men.  If he fails and becomes possessed, well we can’t have another black plague now can we?”

“No Madam.” she said while grabbing the ivory blade from her, “But, what if he is different?  He has been able to survive longer than most already.  Isn’t there a chance we could purge him?”

“My dear, we will purge him…from this earth.”

“But…”

“This conversation is over. We will give them time.  Gwen should have an answer for us within the hour.  Go and pray my dear.  There is nothing more that can be done.”

Harm pushed himself off the ground, wiping the dirt from himself while Gwen softly hovered above him, covering her mouth as she laughed at his failures, “Floating around is like anything else in this world.  You just have to believe that it can happen and it will happen.  Call it an act of faith.”

“Faith is something I lost a long time ago.  Couldn’t there be some magic word or something?”

“If that makes you more comfortable and will allow you to accept it sure.  Say whatever you want and believe it will make you fly.”

“Ok…umm….hmm…fal…con…”and as the words left his lips, he found himself shooting through the air, dive bombing toward the ground before pulling out into a full three-hundred and sixty degree loop.  He came to a halt on the ground and looked up at the now gargantuan Gwen.

“Silly man.  Don’t imagine being a falcon, just imagine flying.”

When squawking instead of words that came out of he finally made him realized he had turned into a Peregrine falcon.  He closed his eyes and began to imagine himself flying.  Now, when he opened his eyes he saw himself staring down at his feet, fifty feet up in the air.

He looked down when he heard the clapping from Gwen who was grinning from ear to ear yelling out, “Well done! Well done! Now get back down here so we can continue your training.”

The Madam came back down the stairs, her footsteps echoing down into the cellar room with each step.  She came up behind Gwen who was standing over Harm, touching his temples, and laid her hand across the top of Gwen’s head.  Her eyes illuminated the room white light.

“How are things going my dear?”

“Fairly well.  I can’t believe it but he can already fly, transform, and even manifest weapons already.  For a man, he is a quick learner.”

“And where is the demon?”

“Sleeping.  I have separated his mind in two parts.  For now the demon is unaware of what’s going on.  I am afraid to say it, but things are going perfectly.”

As soon as the thought left her mind, a cold, hissing voice came echoing through the connection,”Ooooh I wouldn’t be so sure of that deary.”

“No…” the Madam whispered to herself as she severed the connection.  Before she could call out to Dawn, Gwen began trembling.  She fell to the ground, her hands still firmly pressed on Harm’s temples.

“DAWN!  IT’S TIME!”

Harm couldn’t be happier he thought.  He was shooting the old cannons from Fort Adams into the harbor, launching the tiny motor boats off the horizon.  He giggled each time a boat was struck, almost as if it were being flicked off the face of the earth. 

He turned back to tell Gwen they had to do this again, but before he could say anything he saw her face.  Her mouth left open, her body stiff and lifeless.  Her eyes filled with a black substance that eventually ran down the sides of her face.  He knew what was happening, the demon had come.

Dawn came storming into the room as the Madam threw the blade to her, running around in a flurry as Gwen remained petrified kneeling on the floor.  Her eyes had filled with the black substance and as it poured out of her eyes, it ran up her arms and slithered its way up to Harm’s ears.

“What should I do?”

“Wait…wait.  All we can do is wait.  We will know once the battle is finished by the color of his arm.  Once the black pigment fades away it will be time to end his torment.  Be ready and DO NOT hesitate.”

Ch. 27

The serene landscape that Harm had painted for himself, began to run like wet paint.  The blue sky ran down the horizon and disappeared, only to leave behind a dark red sky that reflected onto a crimson ocean.  He could feel the fear trickling up his spine as his eyes raced around, searching for the demon.  His hands clenched around two newly manifested machetes.  He was ready he thought. He had to be.

The sounds of houses collapsing came roaring from the distance, and before his eyes Harm saw something that quickly turned his confidence into fear.  The colossus that was trampling through the quaint New England city filled the skyline with its black wings and whipping tail.  The creature looked like the fabled griffon.  The head of an eagle, the body of a lion, with wings that could of blotted out the sun if there had still be one in the sky.  Harm’s insides trembled, but he took a running start and leapt from the ground, soaring toward the beast.

His body was now covered in the golden armor worn by the guardian in the portrait.  The machetes had turned into a shield and sword.  If he was going to face a mythical beast, he would do so as the heroes in the myths and fables had done. 

The demon took flight and hovered above the demolished city, laughing to itself.  Harm was nearing the beast, and so he gave out a war cry to catch its attention.  The demon’s eyes locked in on the oncoming warrior and began to soar straight at him.  Readying for battle, the two beings were headed on a collision course for one another, and at the last moment Harm shot upward, avoiding its jaws and softly landing onto the demon’s back. 

Coming down onto the demon, his sword struck first, piercing into its spine, causing an ear bleeding screech.  Harm felt stunned by the sound, but he was reassured it was vulnerable and his confidence began to rise.  The demon plummeted itself toward the ground, and Harm released the shield so he could grasp onto the sword.  Just before the demon reached the earth, it morphed itself into the creature Harm had seen far too many times.  The demon suddenly grew two extra arms in its back that ripped the sword out.

“Bastard…I knew I should have eaten your soul when I had the chance.  You were too much fun though.  All the weeping.  All the sadness.  You were like an all you can eat buffet, except I still haven’t had my fill.”

“It’s time this ended demon.  You have plagued me for far too long.  Havok thee.”

“Havok thee?” the demon said, confused and chuckling.

“You know a better time to say that?”

“Point well-made.”

Harm hesitantly approached the creature.  He knew in this world, it was at home.  He was the visitor in his mind.  He crept closer and closer toward the demon and readying to strike, he became caught off guard as he was staring at Father Patrick.

“Now, Harm haven’t we discussed living under the laws of god.  Thou shalt not kill.”

“Fuck off.   I’ve been told about God, and it has no laws for man.”

Then the face turned to Margie, “What about one last go baby?  You know you’ve missed this ass.  I’ll help you forget everything like always.  I’ll fuck you so good you’ll get amnesia.  No need to worry about this shit when you can’t remember who you are.”

“I can’t forget what you’ve done to me.  To my family.  To my friends.  To my town.  To my life.  So go fuck yourself you disgusting whore!.” he yelled, charging with the sword held firmly above his head, readying the deathblow.  The demon swiftly stepped aside, pushing Harm in the back causing him to tumble over.

“Now Daddy!  That is not very nice of you.  You’re gonna make Julia and I cry.” said little Mary.

Pushing himself off the ground, Harm wiped the dirt from his face, not even looking back at the demon, “You bastard.  How dare you.”

He shot up onto his feet and swung violently, missing with every swipe.  The demon was too fast for such medieval weapons.  The sword turned back into the machetes, and the armor fell to the ground. 

“Oh Daddy.  Stop being such a baby.  If you loved me so much then why did you let me burn?  Why did you let us all die when you could of done something, anything.  You could of saved one of us, but instead you tried to save mommy.  You are the bastard.  You are to blame.”

“I couldn’t save any of you.  I couldn’t do anything.  It was too late.  I barely had time to think, to act.  I tried to save you!  I tried to save myself from this hell!”

Lunging forward Harm closed in on the demon, and he slashed in every direction, trying to find any opening but to no avail.  The demon blocked every swipe, and countered with a blow to his face and stomach each time.  Harm could barely stand after one shot to the gut.  It grabbed the crest of his head and kicked the blades from his hands.

“So weak, so feeble, so human.” it said, shooting its knee up into his jaw, sending Harm straight onto his back, “You see, you need me.  You love me.  I gave you a reason to live again.  I gave you an adventure, something to fight for.  Without me, you’d be black out drunk, trying to figure out whether you want to piss or shit in the confession booth.  I am your purpose in life.  I am your gift from God.  Now, let’s have a look at where this all started.  I do love a good ol’ flash back.  Don’t you?”

Grabbing onto his head, the demon squeezed.  Harm could feel his skull imploding and he grabbed onto its wrists, trying to break its hold.  He screamed out, “STOP! STOP! STOP! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP!”

“Sure why not.”

Harm fell to the ground, curled up in the fetal position, trying to put his head back together.  The demon pulled his hair and lifted his head up.  Harm suddenly realized where they were.  He could see his wife and daughters get into the car.  The green grass of the lawn still blew in the wind.  The neighbors walked up and down the sidewalks, waving at each, unaware of the horrors that were soon to come.  Harm began to weep, seeing himself go back into the house, leaving everything that mattered to him vulnerable to that grinning bastard.

He tried to get to his feet and pull away from the demon, but it pulled him back down onto his knees without any hesitation, “Don’t try and stop it.  It’s a memory, you can’t change it from happening.  So just enjoy the show.  I particularly enjoy the ending.”

“Please, no.  Not this.  Not again… please… please…” Harm wept as the crash of the car sent debris wiping by his face.  The world went silent and he couldn’t even hear his own cries anymore.  He was caught up in the horror that played out before him. 

The heat of the flames, the explosion, Elizabeth’s outstretched hand that remained frozen in black ash were all too much.  No wound, no blow, no cut could hurt him more.  He pleaded for it to stop, “No more…no more…I can’t do this anymore…I can’t bear it…please make it all stop…”

“Is this your wish?  Are you ready to give yourself up to me?  Have you finally grown a pair and accepted your fate?”

“Just fucking do it.” he said as he coughed up the black substance that began to fill his lungs.

Ch. 28

The two women sat patiently, quietly.  Neither said a word.  They held the blades tightly in their hand, staring at his arm, waiting for any sign.  Dawn couldn’t help but look at Gwen, petrified with fear.  Her expression was an inkling of what the demon could do if it prevailed

“Once the arm changes pigment, the merger is complete and they will be mortal.  Well, mortal enough for us to finally end this.”

“It’s not fair.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t deserve to die.  He isn’t like all the others.  They were truly evil, he was merely lost in despair.  He was a pawn.  He never did anything to deserve this, to die.”

“That does not matter.  Whether he deserves to die or whether he deserves to live, no man can have that much power.  He could bring an end to this world.  Is that what you want?”

“Who cares.  We aren’t even apart of this world, we merely protect it.  We do not enjoy the splendor or sorrow like the sheep we tend to.  This world has turned to shit, and yet we sacrifice our entire lives to let it destroy itself.”

“Well, it sounds to me like you have made up your mind.  Well, if you won’t do it, then I…”

Her words are cut short by the sound of the ivory blade tearing through her chest.  The old woman dropped the cross and grabbed onto the hilt of the blade.  She tugged at it until it was finally unsheathed from her chest.  Dropping to the ground, she fell to the side of Gwen, her face frozen in shock, “Why?  After everything I did for you?  Why?”

“I am sorry Madam.  I am truly sorry…but I love him.”

“But will he still love you…”she gasped, before coughing on the blood that was filling her lungs.  The tears begin to swell from Dawn’s eyes, and she fell to her knees, whimpering, “Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.”

Rocking back and forth, her emotions distract her from the body still lying dormant on the table, “He will win.  He will succeed.  He will win.”

“I already did.”

Dawn shot up to her feet, her eyes shut from her tears, throwing her arms around the only person that mattered to her anymore, “I knew it.  I knew it.”

“What happened here?” he said, reaching around to return her embrace.

“Well, she wanted to kill you.  Said you would lose.  Said we had to do it to save the world.  But, I knew you wouldn’t fail.  Not like the others.”

“Oh…sweet, sweet Dawn.  You couldn’t be more wrong.  He did fail.”

Her eyes burst open and for the first time, she looked him in the face.  His entire body was now entirely black.  His eyes had no pigment in them.  It was like staring into the mist.  Her body trembled, and the tears began to fall onto the dead bodies at their feet.

“But…I love you.”

“And I love you.  But, I love you for different reasons.  I love you for the sacrifice you made for this weak and feeble man.  I love you for your stupidity in thinking he could best me in my own world.  I love you for all the strength and knowledge you will bear onto me.  Now, my dear…let’s eat.”

Each step toward the city was a step closer to the end.  Each step from the burning convent was a step toward the purification of the earth.  The mountains will fall.  The cities will burn.  The seas will dry up.  The rivers will run red with blood.  The time of reckoning has come and death itself, the Pale Horseman, walked off into the horizon.  Grinning, with his crooked yellow teeth, Paul Harmon was no more.