Chapter Seven

Chapter Twelve

Durrell walked around the corner and nearly gasped when he saw the young woman kneeling on the floor. She didn't bear any wounds or outward injuries, but was visibly worn out - kneeling with her hands on her thighs to support her upper body. Her face was hidden by the blonde and brown hair hanging in front of it. Sweat dripped through the strands, presumably from her face, into the small puddle on the tiles beneath her.

"Jennifer," Durrell stammered, stepping toward her.

The woman raised her head, flipping some of the hair from before her face. The rest clung to her cheeks and forehead, seemingly plastered onto her skin. Light brown, weary eyes returned his gaze through the remaining strands. The bottoms of the hairs were blown forward with each exhale released between her lips. She was struggling to take in air as thick as cement.

"Are you alright?" He asked upon nearing her.

She nodded, "Besides feeling like I just finished two hours… on a treadmill – I'm fine."

Smirking, he dropped to his own knees and drew her into his chest. He held on tight, yet was careful to be gentle – content to enjoy the feeling of her body against his own. After spending all that time not only away from her, but in total isolation, he desperately needed this moment.

Jennifer wanted to hug him in return and tell him how much she had missed him. How much she needed him. Her poor condition didn't allow her to, and instead she collapsed in his arms. Better worry about breathing for now, anyway. Although he was probably far from a 100 percent, Durrell easily adjusted to her weight and held her securely.

Time briefly stood still as he tried to clear his mind to savor the moment. The crackling of the flames and the angry voices of his captors remained fresh in his ears. His heart hadn't stopped aching since he had lied on the steps of the temple, wishing he could somehow see Jennifer once more before his death. He'd tried to slip into unconsciousness to flee the mental anguish overtaking him. The darkness beckoning to him had disguised itself as a relief. Voices prompted either by his own paranoid thoughts or by evil spirits, told him that his girlfriend was dead. That Talia had lied to him or been a figment of his imagination. An alternate version of Ahava according to his initial suspicions.

Even if she was alive, they'd whispered, she wouldn't last long alone. She'd run into the cult eventually. If she escaped them and sought refuge outside the building, the birds were waiting to finish what they had started earlier. The demon also was still lurking, somewhere. Stop. Durrell chastised himself, not wanting to let his fears eat away at him again. He might have stayed there on the steps and gotten crushed if he'd listened to them too long. Now they were attempting to rob him of the joy of being reunited with Jennifer.

Sighing, he refocused his attention on the present, and especially the frail form cradled in his arms. Her heartbeat, which he could feel clearly with her chest pressed against his, was beginning to slow. The thumps grew continually weaker at the same time her breathing was returning to normal. She pushed that altar all on her on, Durrell realized, sadly. Saved my life.

He knew he'd never be able to repay her for all she'd done for him that day. Jennifer had practically carried him to the hotel after the crash hours earlier. Most would have thought twice about leaving him on the road. She hadn't. And now she'd tracked him down and risked her life to free him – exhausting herself in the process. That left him with the responsibility of taking care of her until she recovered. She deserved far more, and he couldn't help but feel guilty about not being able to offer it. At the moment, at least. Leaning his head back, he placed his lips on her forehead, which was cool with sweat, and kissed her. Then he whispered a barely audible, "I've got you from here."

She tapped him on the back, which he interpreted to mean, "Let me go." When he complied, she sat back against the wall and drew her knees up into her chest. He glanced in the direction he had come from. No Claire. That gave them a little more time. Taking a deep breath, he sat next to his girlfriend and laid the gun before his feet. Jennifer glanced at the weapon, and then gave him a look.

"Claire gave it to me," He explained, holding his hands up defensively. "Just in case."

Her expression read, Yeah, right.

"I could use it if I had to. Might shoot myself a couple times first, but still. It's the thought that counts."

Jennifer playfully rolled her eyes. "Where is she?" She didn't need to ask if Claire was okay. The detective was tougher than nails.

"She was trying to help one of the cult members. A young woman. That room's not going to last much longer and she didn't want to leave her there, or let her get away. She won't be too much longer."

Jennifer nodded.

A brief pause, and then Durrell asked, "So, that's the one you spoke to on the phone? The one who wanted to meet with us?"

"Yeah. Thank God she turned up. We would both be dead by now without her. How have you held up?"

"I'm alive, and that's enough for me. Can't wait to get out of here."

"Ditto. Once we're out, I'm never stepping foot inside a hospital again."

"We can go up to the first floor to wait for her. She mentioned a jeep parked out front. You know the way to it?"

"Yeah. It's right outside the chapel. I guess we'll worry about the birds when we get there. Maybe the guns will scare them off."

"Have you guys seen Talia?" He frowned, not wanting to leave the poor woman behind. Even if she had survived all this time on her own, it seemed the cult's aggression toward her was elevating.

"She told me how to get in there through the back entrance. Claire was going to have her hide in one of the side rooms, so I'm assuming they'll meet us up there together."

"Hope so. I want to get out of here before any more of them show up. The cult."

"According to Claire, they've snuck into just about every important job around here. The cab company, for one. So you're probably right. We don't want to be here when the fire department or the cops show up. That and God only knows if that thing is really dead."

"What thing?" Dread covered Durrell's face.

"Well," Jennifer brushed the wet hair from in front of her eyes. "I thought at first that maybe he had come here looking for us. But it turns out that the thing we met out on the road lives here. Up on the second floor. That's where he takes his victims. I saw the bodies wrapped in the sheets, and…" She blinked away tears. "And Ben was there, too."

In an instant, Durrell was up on his feet holding the gun in one trembling hand. "Where is he?"

"He might be dead. I don't know if you heard the explosion or not. Claire saved my butt earlier. She ruptured an oxygen tank right behind him and he got caught in the explosion. The force threw him from the building – right through the wall. He was covered in fire so I don't know how he could have survived, but it's possible. Could be capable of anything."

The cult was plenty to deal with, without having to worry about that creature. The mere mention of it already had Durrell's heart pounding. He nervously glanced down both hallways, once again seeing nothing out of the ordinary. They were alone, for now. Unless it was lurking somewhere nearby, waiting for an opportunity to strike. If it had survived, it was probably angry. Hurry up, Claire.

"Let's go upstairs," Jennifer reached up for Durrell's hand.

He took it and pulled her to her feet, eyes still roaming the environment. After slipping under her arm, allowing it to rest on his shoulders, he wrapped one of his arms around her waist. Her legs had recovered a little strength. The last time she tried to stand they shook uncontrollably. Though her thighs felt wobbly, it seemed they were almost ready to support her. She leaned lightly on Durrell, putting her weight on his shoulders, and took a step forward.

"You sure you want to go up there?" Durrell asked. "I mean, what if he's…"

"Would you rather stay down here?"

"No."

….

That hurt. Claire came to her senses lying face first on a cold, concrete floor. The air, similarly, was cool and clammy. That was preferable to the practical inferno in the temple room. My one little reprieve. Yet she couldn't enjoy it due to the terrible pain in her back. She'd hit it on some type of hard surface on the way down. The collision was followed by a rough tumble down a slope which ended with her flat on her stomach, kissing the hard floor.

Groaning, she used her left arm to push over onto her right side, fighting through the pain in her lower back. Once there she saw how she had entered what appeared to be an underground tunnel. A wide sewer pipe, its top bumpy and rigid, stretched diagonally up to a large hole in the ceiling twenty feet above. Two fluorescent lights on either side of the pipe lit the room.

Claire turned her head to see a second pair of lights on the opposite wall. No other features of interest. Except you. Her magnum sat on the floor a few feet away, its exterior unharmed. The large weapon served as a silent reminder of her objective. Sitting here wasn't accomplishing anything. She could cry about the pain later.

Reluctantly she climbed to her feet, grabbing the gun on the way up. Finally on her feet, she lifted her arms above her head and stretched, leaning backward. The movement slightly soothed her pain and she held the position, eyes ahead on a doorway. It led into a maintenance tunnel, lit the same way as this room. She glanced behind her to see nothing significant.

Finishing her stretch, Claire entered the tunnel and immediately spotted a notice posted on the wall to the left. The tunnel went on for thirty yards with three or four doors preceding the exit across from the detective. The nearest was ten feet away. Sufficient space for her to check out the note and have plenty of time to thwart an ambush. Keeping her body facing the path ahead – she read.

2/18/90

Michelle Brandon,

Let me start by saying you are performing much better than we expected. The task we've given you is a heavy burden to bear. The priest would not have chosen you if he did not know you were capable. I start with praises so you do not take our suggestions the wrong way. We merely wanted to advise you on your selections for the sake of discretion. The recent questions and concerns many have about the hospital are troubling. Some are speaking of an investigation.

It has long been a part of our customs to sacrifice only those who are without blemish. In our texts, however, we have learned that those blemishes refer to the physical – not the mental. There are cases where the two are connected, so keep that in mind.

Our nurse has said the patients you should target are those with average to above average physical conditioning, who are suffering from diseases of the mind. Examples would be dementia, depression which manifests to the degree that they are admitted into the hospital, schizophrenia, and similar ailments. Without making it obvious, target those who would be placed in the Crisis Ward. Many children there are fit, healthy, and would provide what our master needs. Remember, the stronger your selections are, the stronger he becomes.

When these types of patients vanish, it is easily explained by their mental conditions. Depressed patients spend their time doing nothing else but attempting to escape, so that they can kill themselves. Those with dementia or schizophrenia can easily have "episodes" and force their way out. I personally propose that you and the others stage such incidents to trick both the staff and other patients. This ought to change the sheriff's mind about launching any sort of an investigation. It will also ease the minds of others, and make our tasks much easier.

Thank you, ahead of time, for your compliance.

Michael Carmody

Mulling the contents of the memo, she removed the pin holding it in place, folded the paper twice, and tucked it into a pocket. The names and date were likely to come in handy. Anyone could type a letter so linking actual people to the crimes was necessary. Claire allowed herself a grin, and continued her walk through the tunnel.

She'd found the piece missing in the puzzle all along. It seemed the cult had covered their tracks well – using an underground compartment to carry out their evil deeds. They were proving themselves to be smarter than she'd thought. Except for them putting any trust in that demon. Be nice if they applied themselves to something meaningful.

She passed a door on her left, paying it no mind. Seconds later, the first on the right caught her attention and she reached for the handle. Unlocked. Why would it be locked, anyway? Once the hospital closed, the underground section had apparently become obsolete. Now they were free to practice their evil deeds in the open without fear.

Claire turned the knob and shoved the door open. It moved reluctantly, its rusty, rarely used hinges creaking the entire way. She peered into the dark room, hoping her eyes would adjust quickly. Her senses told her there was a vast, empty space waiting across the threshold. Shortly afterward her eyes confirmed it. Thirty feet deep, the light pouring in over her shoulders reflected off of horizontally placed steel bars. Roughly eight inches separated them. A little wider than she expected, although no normal human would have a chance of escaping. Behind the bars, the room was divided, forming small cells.

Pulling the door shut, she moved onward. How horrifying to go to a hospital, expecting to be healed, only to be brought down here to await a gruesome death. Locked in a cage like a rabid animal. A part of Claire figured Alexa deserved whatever happened to her. The entire cult did. It was mere justice that they meet untimely demises at the hands of something scarier than themselves. However, her duties remained. Protect and serve. Occasionally, that referred to criminals also.

Upon nearing the door at the end of the hall, she noticed that it was cracked open. Raising her weapon, she pressed her shoulder against the wood, moving it aside. Stepping past it brought her into a little alcove, ten feet in length. At the end it branched off into narrow passageways going left and right. A rushing sound overhead briefly distracted her, and she paused to listen. It sounded like a machine running in the distance or maybe a sink. She figured it was rain. Hopefully it would chase the birds away. Yeah, right.

Taking a deep breath, Claire advanced, staying in the middle of the floor. She wanted to be able to dodge to either side in case he was right around a corner. In preparation, she bent her knees slightly, keeping the rest of her body loose. Ready.

As she inched closer, she caught a glimpse of dark clothing in the path to the left. It lingered for a second and then slipped beyond her vision. Gasping, she stepped to the right side, putting her back on the wall. None of the cultists wore black or any real clothes for that matter—except the priest. It had to be one of them, but what were they doing? Hadn't he heard her already? Doesn't matter, I can end this right now.

Claire sprung into the intersection, gun propped up in both hands. The demon stood five feet away with his back to her, hovering over an unconscious Alexa. Immediately, she fired.

BOOM! The powerful bullet punched right through the coat and the beast's torso. She heard it slam into the wall thirty yards in front of him, hitting in between the rungs of a ladder there. Wow. Earlier the magnum rounds had penetrated his skin, yet failed to go through his flesh. She'd found a soft spot, perhaps.

Oddly, the demon didn't move or respond. Instead he proudly stood his ground, ignoring her and her assault. She started to shoot again when she realized something was wrong. Somehow, she had a clear picture of the hallway ahead of him through the bullet hole. Blood or gore should have been obstructing her view. It was absent. He was also a lot shorter than he had been when she confronted him upstairs. Lowering her eyes, she saw the bottom of a coat rack on the floor under his coat. Not feet. Alexa was beginning to stir, probably woken by the gunshot.

The door Claire had entered the hall through burst open. Two men and one woman, Alexa's dark haired companion, emerged wielding their battle axes. They all sneered at the detective, except the woman who stared behind her. Her eyes widened and she reeled backward into the door. The identical expressions masking the men's faces betrayed that they saw it, too. She didn't like the dread in their eyes, especially because she knew she wasn't the cause.

Spinning on her heels, aware of the presence before seeing it, she brought the Magnum 460 between herself and the tall ominous figure. The demon had been glaring spitefully at the men. He noticed the movement and snapped his head around to face Claire. His hand immediately reached for the gun as she pulled the trigger. BOOM! His interference misdirected her aim and instead of his left eye, the bullet pounded into his head right above it. The force dislodged a tiny part of his forehead and he roared, staggering back. The enraged howl echoing throughout the area.

The largest of the two cult members charged, lifting his axe high in the air. "Jared, no!" The girl called.

Due to the dangerous reach his long arms gave him, Claire didn't have time to redirect her aim. She rolled backward over her shoulder and landed on one knee, magnum in position. The threat hadn't fazed him and he continued toward her until two black hands appeared underneath his arms. They grabbed his bare chest - sharp talons digging deep into the flesh between the pectoral muscles. Screaming, the man looked down, almost paralyzed with fear and pain. He regretted it when he saw the first joints of the demon's fingers buried under his skin. Then he felt the claws burning inside his flesh.

Jared was lifted up and held a foot and a half above the floor, feet dangling. His eyes found Claire's, filled with the misery and confusion that had gripped him. He was obviously wondering why his "god" had attacked him. Sad. Without warning, the demon spread his arms wide, pulling his hands out to each side, ripping through flesh and muscles. The flesh stayed in the grip of the demon, stretched like bloody, mangled ribbons. Crying out in anguish, Jared sunk to his knees and fell on his side, staring at his shredded torso.

The bravado quickly deserted Claire, as did her desire for revenge. She hadn't witnessed or truly known the extent of his power, his evil. Now he stood watching her with piercing yellow eyes. Gore surrounded his fingertips while thick blood dripped onto the floor from his talons. Her hands were trembling and her heart had melted.

The demon closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and slowly breathed in the air through his nostrils. What are you doing? Upon completing the first inhale, he dropped his chin near his chest, and took a second, deeper whiff, raising his head again. He seemed to be savoring the odor, although Claire certainly didn't smell anything pleasant. His eyes opened abruptly and he bared his fangs, gawking hungrily at the detective. He stepped forward.

Claire fired. Missed by a mile. Her hands were too unsteady despite the close range.

She turned and ran, passing the hoax he had set up and Alexa. Need distance, time. She had to create separation and regroup – calm herself down. He had sensed her fear, it seemed, and enjoyed it. Claire sped out of the hallway and into the larger room beyond it. She glanced back to see that the demon had disappeared, leaving Jared's hideous remains on the floor. Alexa also remained, still moving.

Frowning, Claire turned to the ladder and began scaling it. She kept the cumbersome magnum in her left hand, preferring the discomfort to the idea of leaving herself wide open. Though she hadn't a clue where it led to, anywhere was better than here.

Crouching in the darkest shadows of the room, Kharash followed Claire's form with his eyes, watching her every movement as she ascended the ladder. Her tempting odor continued to sift in and out of his nostrils, prompting his mouth to water. She had something he wanted, just like the other two. Patience. Let her go for now.

Unknowingly, the woman would lead him to her companions so he could take them all at the same time. He'd played around with them long enough, and they'd come to be an annoyance. If he didn't know their odors would haunt him forever, he'd consider letting them go.

A sharp pain above his left eye brought a quiet growl from deep within him. He clenched his teeth to muzzle the sound, controlling himself with the torture he planned to inflict upon Claire. That foolish woman dared to attempt to get him back for her father's weakness. Many had tried throughout the years, and most of them ended up being displayed as trophies in the places he stayed. She'd be no different.