The door to Janette's apartment is open. I am holding a Glock 19, semi
compact, 9mm as I slide in through the opening. I don't know if it is going
to stop one of us, but I think if I can kill the body I can force it to
leave. The other way would be to get in a priest but it is probably too
much to ask the Father to stop at me afterwards.
I am not going back to hell.
There is also a Sig-Sauer P230 on my shoulder holster. The Glock came from my hip holster. The Glock has more rounds.
I slide into the entrance hall and peer around. Nothing looks out of the ordinary yet. Well, apart from the open door.
The phone in the other room rings and I jump so high I nearly hit the friggen roof. I land with a thump. Everything within three floors of me now knows that I'm here. Thanks Beady. I'm sure it was him.
The ringing dies out. There is a small thump from down the hall.
I haven't been further than the living room, so I don't know the layout. It seemed to come from a room on the left. I skirt down the hallway. My heart is pounding so loud I can hear it. I can't seem to breathe enough air into my lungs.
I point the bad end of my Glock into the lounge room when I reach it. The room is empty, but the couch is turned over and all of the glass in the bar is broken. The room smells like alcohol. Half a dozen different colours of drink have stained into the carpet.
There is a red liquid dripping off the corner of the coffee table, but I don't think it is wine.
This is what I see. Owens is comforting Janette, probably spotting more cleavage. Both of their backs are to the door. The assailant comes in and whoomps Owens from behind. Owens falls forward and smacks his head on the coffee table. Janette screams and backs up to the far corner of the room. Her stalker follows her.
Owens gets up and fires at the guy. He empties his gun, hitting mostly glasswear. If he's lucky he might have wounded the demon. But he has done enough to shift its attention back away from Janette. It probably goes after Owens and gets him. Janette has either run or been taken too. I think it's still here.
It can hear me breathing.
I'm nearly at the doorway that I think it is behind.
"Dalanheim." It is that voice. The voice from the phone. How does it know my name?
"I can feel your fear Dalanheim." It slithers down my spine. The voice is coming from that room. Something slides across the wall right next to me, in the direction of the doorway. It is coming for me.
I am letting this thing get to me too much. I have lived through worse things than it can ever do to me. It is the part of me that is Jack that is afraid.
"I have a bullet with your name on it," I whisper through the wall. I am quenching my fear. That makes it angry.
It bursts out at the end of the hallway. I have to do a minor back pedal, reel in confusion. It looks exactly like me.
Not Jack me. Me me.
I am standing in the hallway, looking at myself. I am as pale as ivory, blonde hair whipping out in silent wind. There are giant, black raven's wings on my back. The eyes are swirls of gray black.
But it is not quite me. It is a me that is tortured beyond all recognition. It is a me that wants only to reap from the living. It is a me that I fear in all my worst nightmares.
I fire the Glock into myself and it just keeps coming.
Hit the heart, hit the heart. Am I doing any damage? Fuck what do I do?
I've emptied seven rounds into my own chest. How's that for twisted.
There's a loud boom from the other end of the hallway. Blood spatters all over the hall. One of my arms has been blown off the rest of my body. There is a hole in my wing big enough to see through. Janette Hastings is on the other side holding a shotgun.
The image of me shatters. A screaming, fiery creature is pelting towards me. It has flaming red hair and skin as black as coal. It is surrounded in fire and it is coming right at me.
I throw myself to the side and it keeps going. It brushes along my side and my skin peels and blisters there. It runs shrieking from the apartment with only one arm.
I turn to Janette Hastings. She drops the gun she is holding and slides down the rear wall. She leaves a bloody mark as she goes.
I stare at her chest. There's not much of it left. Pure adrenalin got her this far. It won't get her much further.
She looks at me with scared eyes because she knows she is dying.
"Where's Owens?"
She opens her lips to reply to me, but she can't get out a word. Janette Hastings just stares at me. She points a finger at the other room.
I have to go. I have to go and see Owens. But he is probably dead, if Janette is anything to go by. If I leave her now she will die alone.
I can't leave her now.
I take her hand in my own, look into her eyes.
I say, "There is nothing to be afraid of." Her eyes go round and liquid. She is on the brink of death and she knows what I am. Her hand tightens in mine. She wants me to take away her pain.
"Do not believe what he says. God loves you. Go in peace." I don't know if it is true, but it seems to make her happy. The light dies in Janette's eyes. I can feel her spirit leaving her body. I am going to let it go.
I take my hand out of hers and bolt into the bedroom. Daniel Owens is crumpled across a flowery bedspread. He is bleeding in so many places I don't know where to press down.
I look for a heart beat. He's not dead yet, he's not allowed to be dead.
I tip his head back, open his mouth, and breathe. I pump on his chest. There is blood all over my hands.
Listen. Repeat the process. Was that a breath? Shit he is breathing. I have just given life, not taken it. That is something new for me.
"Stay with me Owens."
I race into the other room and call for an ambulance. I cannot save Janette Hastings but I am going to save Daniel Owens.
And I don't care how powerful it is. I am going to stop the thing that did this to him. I might even go back to hell to do it. But I am going to take it with me.
I am not going back to hell.
There is also a Sig-Sauer P230 on my shoulder holster. The Glock came from my hip holster. The Glock has more rounds.
I slide into the entrance hall and peer around. Nothing looks out of the ordinary yet. Well, apart from the open door.
The phone in the other room rings and I jump so high I nearly hit the friggen roof. I land with a thump. Everything within three floors of me now knows that I'm here. Thanks Beady. I'm sure it was him.
The ringing dies out. There is a small thump from down the hall.
I haven't been further than the living room, so I don't know the layout. It seemed to come from a room on the left. I skirt down the hallway. My heart is pounding so loud I can hear it. I can't seem to breathe enough air into my lungs.
I point the bad end of my Glock into the lounge room when I reach it. The room is empty, but the couch is turned over and all of the glass in the bar is broken. The room smells like alcohol. Half a dozen different colours of drink have stained into the carpet.
There is a red liquid dripping off the corner of the coffee table, but I don't think it is wine.
This is what I see. Owens is comforting Janette, probably spotting more cleavage. Both of their backs are to the door. The assailant comes in and whoomps Owens from behind. Owens falls forward and smacks his head on the coffee table. Janette screams and backs up to the far corner of the room. Her stalker follows her.
Owens gets up and fires at the guy. He empties his gun, hitting mostly glasswear. If he's lucky he might have wounded the demon. But he has done enough to shift its attention back away from Janette. It probably goes after Owens and gets him. Janette has either run or been taken too. I think it's still here.
It can hear me breathing.
I'm nearly at the doorway that I think it is behind.
"Dalanheim." It is that voice. The voice from the phone. How does it know my name?
"I can feel your fear Dalanheim." It slithers down my spine. The voice is coming from that room. Something slides across the wall right next to me, in the direction of the doorway. It is coming for me.
I am letting this thing get to me too much. I have lived through worse things than it can ever do to me. It is the part of me that is Jack that is afraid.
"I have a bullet with your name on it," I whisper through the wall. I am quenching my fear. That makes it angry.
It bursts out at the end of the hallway. I have to do a minor back pedal, reel in confusion. It looks exactly like me.
Not Jack me. Me me.
I am standing in the hallway, looking at myself. I am as pale as ivory, blonde hair whipping out in silent wind. There are giant, black raven's wings on my back. The eyes are swirls of gray black.
But it is not quite me. It is a me that is tortured beyond all recognition. It is a me that wants only to reap from the living. It is a me that I fear in all my worst nightmares.
I fire the Glock into myself and it just keeps coming.
Hit the heart, hit the heart. Am I doing any damage? Fuck what do I do?
I've emptied seven rounds into my own chest. How's that for twisted.
There's a loud boom from the other end of the hallway. Blood spatters all over the hall. One of my arms has been blown off the rest of my body. There is a hole in my wing big enough to see through. Janette Hastings is on the other side holding a shotgun.
The image of me shatters. A screaming, fiery creature is pelting towards me. It has flaming red hair and skin as black as coal. It is surrounded in fire and it is coming right at me.
I throw myself to the side and it keeps going. It brushes along my side and my skin peels and blisters there. It runs shrieking from the apartment with only one arm.
I turn to Janette Hastings. She drops the gun she is holding and slides down the rear wall. She leaves a bloody mark as she goes.
I stare at her chest. There's not much of it left. Pure adrenalin got her this far. It won't get her much further.
She looks at me with scared eyes because she knows she is dying.
"Where's Owens?"
She opens her lips to reply to me, but she can't get out a word. Janette Hastings just stares at me. She points a finger at the other room.
I have to go. I have to go and see Owens. But he is probably dead, if Janette is anything to go by. If I leave her now she will die alone.
I can't leave her now.
I take her hand in my own, look into her eyes.
I say, "There is nothing to be afraid of." Her eyes go round and liquid. She is on the brink of death and she knows what I am. Her hand tightens in mine. She wants me to take away her pain.
"Do not believe what he says. God loves you. Go in peace." I don't know if it is true, but it seems to make her happy. The light dies in Janette's eyes. I can feel her spirit leaving her body. I am going to let it go.
I take my hand out of hers and bolt into the bedroom. Daniel Owens is crumpled across a flowery bedspread. He is bleeding in so many places I don't know where to press down.
I look for a heart beat. He's not dead yet, he's not allowed to be dead.
I tip his head back, open his mouth, and breathe. I pump on his chest. There is blood all over my hands.
Listen. Repeat the process. Was that a breath? Shit he is breathing. I have just given life, not taken it. That is something new for me.
"Stay with me Owens."
I race into the other room and call for an ambulance. I cannot save Janette Hastings but I am going to save Daniel Owens.
And I don't care how powerful it is. I am going to stop the thing that did this to him. I might even go back to hell to do it. But I am going to take it with me.