The Angel's Knight #16 - Where the Bodes Are Buried

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London, October 15, 2017

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I don't know why I'm doing this. Just because a dying man I once called a friend uttered some nonsense cooked up by his diseased brain? I wouldn't have believed a word he said when he was healthy and sane, why does his maddened ramble matter to me?

The lights of London are barely visible in the distance; most of the city has gone dark in the hour before dawn. Always darkest before dawn, isn't that how the saying goes? I had hoped it would already be morning by the time I got here, but I miscalculated the time difference between New York and London. It's just five hours, not the eight I am used to after living in California for so long. And so it's still dark here.

Why am I doing this? I haven't been back in England for six years and now I am in such a hurry that I couldn't even wait for a flight? I abused my position as third in command of the Angel Foundation by requisitioning a teleportation spell for a purely private affair. Why? It's been 42 years since that night. Surely I could have waited another few hours.

I close my eyes and I see it happening as if it were yesterday. 1975 was the year and we were a group of wannabe-mages that thought the world belonged to them. This abandoned junkyard just outside the city limit was our magical playground. We conjured fireballs and made abandoned cars explode. We floated through the air and made love without ever touching the ground. And then our crowning achievement: Eyghon.

The place looks no different then it did back then. Urban renewal never reached this area, it seems. I wonder if another living soul set foot in here since we buried Randall. Some places where black magic was performed retain something of an echo for years, even decades, and it manifests as a subconscious repellant to everyone who comes close, causing them to go elsewhere. Did the same happen here?

I have no trouble finding the spot where we lit the fire. No marks on the ground, of course. 42 years out in the open have washed everything away until this piece of ground looks no different than any other. I can see it in my memory, though. The fire, the conjuring circle we painted around it. I think I can even point at the exact positions the six of us sat in. Deirdre, Thomas, Philip, Randall, Ethan, and myself.

Crouching down, I place my hand on the spot where I sat. Cross-legged, right on the edge of the circle, preparing to go into a deep sleep. No dreams, just the world slipping away around me until it was replaced by the presence of the demon. Eyghon slipping into my flesh, inducing the most extraordinary high of my life. Nothing in my life before or after could compare to feeling him inside me, his essence rippling through my veins.

We took turns being the host. Every time we summoned him we could feel his anger increase, his strength growing. Eyghon did not like being summoned for our pleasure. He wanted to possess a host for good, not just an hour or two. Even as he grew stronger we grew more careless. Then it was Randall's turn and...

I stand up again and look around. Where did we ... ah, yes. Over there. What was once a slightly dented Mercedes Benz is now nothing but a rusted carcass, but it's still standing in the same place. I walk around it and there is nothing remarkable about the ground behind it. No sign that something is amiss.

No one would be able to tell that a body was buried here 42 years ago.

I close my eyes again, the memories returning unbidden. It was Randall's turn and we had put him to sleep. Ethan and I were the most proficient mages among us and we led the chant that would summon the demon into Randall's body. It was our third summoning for the night and we had all drunk quite a bit, not to mention tiring ourselves out in other ways.

To this day I don't know exactly where we slipped. Maybe we slurred a few words. Maybe one of us accidentally damaged the conjuring circle. Maybe we had just grown too self-assured and didn't put enough willpower into it. It doesn't really matter, does it? The end result is the only thing that does matters and it resulted in Randall's death.

I like to think we tried everything. The moment we realized what had happened we sealed Randall into the circle, preventing Eyghon from escaping. Well, he probably wouldn't have tried to escape. No, he would have killed us all and then walked away to wreck more havoc. We managed to prevent that much at least. The exorcism we tried, though, that failed. Eyghon was bonded to Randall and the only way to end it was to kill our friend.

I remember every second of it. The knife sticking out of Randall's chest, his body already dead but still animated by Eyghon. The demon's taunting, his screams and curses. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the dead body disintegrated, leaving nothing but...

Wait a minute! Randall's body disintegrated. We killed him and Eyghon stayed inside it as long as he could, right until the moment his presence became too much for the dead flesh and reduced it to nothing but slime. There was nothing left of Randall, nothing but that liquid slime that seeped into the ground and was washed away by the next rainfall.

But ... if that is what happened ... what did we bury here?

I look around for anything that might be used as an improvised shovel. I have to know. We buried something here, I'm sure of it. A body, Randall's body. But it can't have been Randall's body because there was no body left. What did we bury here? I have to know.

Something that might have started life as a mudguard is the only thing I find and I start shoveling the dirt away. At the same time I try to make sense of my memories. I remember it all. Philip had left to get shovels that night, as he lived the closest. We dug the hole, the five of us. Philip, Deirdre, Thomas, Ethan, and me. We dug the hole and then dumped the body inside. Randall's body, covered with a sheet from Ethan's car.

Covered so we wouldn't have to see his face.

I try to remember Randall's face, but somehow I can't. There's nothing there. I only see Eyghon's visage, his features imposed upon the human flesh of his host. Why can't I remember Randall's face?

I realize it has started to rain some time in the last few minutes and the ground is turning into mud. My clothes are already soaked, but somehow I don't feel the cold. Nothing matters except what lies underneath all that dirt and mud. Randall. Randall's body is down there, I know it. I helped bury it. Or did I? I'm not certain anymore. The more I try to remember the hazier things seem to get.

Eyghon took over Randall. It was raining that night, too, but it was warm summer rain and we didn't care. At first everything seemed to all right. We celebrated, we drank, we shagged, everything was bright and ecstatic as usual. Then something changed. Randall changed. We could see the change coming over him, could see Eyghon take full control of him. Ethan and me had been the first to react, calling on every magical spell we knew to try and contain him.

No, wait! That isn't completely right. Ethan froze. Yes, I remember. Ethan hesitated, his face full of shock and horror upon seeing what was happening to Randall. I was the first to move, the first to try and conjure a containment spell. Then Ethan came out of his shock and added his power to mine and together we sealed Randall, no, Eyghon into the circle.

Is that what happened? I'm no longer certain.

The mud is sliding back into the hole I'm digging and I feel like Sisyphus, but I can't stop now. I have to find what is buried down there. Who or what did we bury?

Once Eyghon was sealed we tried exorcism. Yes, things had gone wrong, but nothing that could not be fixed, right? We had summoned this creature, surely we could banish it again. But it didn't work. Eyghon had grown too powerful after possessing us. He had a hook in each of our hearts, had seen our fears and weaknesses. We were no match for him. In the end there was nothing we could do but put an end to it. We could not contain Eyghon forever and this monster could not be allowed loose.

I remember that I was the one who buried the dagger in Randall's heart.

Suddenly I freeze, the rain pelting down on me, overcome by the memory. So clear, sharp, and bright. The knife in my hand, thrust forward. I step across the circle, taking the risk of freeing Eyghon because there is no other way. For an endless moment we are face to face, the demon and I, each just heartbeat away from killing the other. Then the gleaming blade penetrates Randall's chest and there is so much pain. Why is there pain? Eyghon did not hurt me; he wasn't fast enough. I killed Randall and stepped back, safely outside the circle again. Randall died and Eyghon howled on in impotence as his host disintegrated all around him.

Why was there pain? Why was there ... blood? There was blood. Blood on my hands from where I stabbed Randall. No, not just from that wound. There is blood all over my chest and it hurts. God, it hurts. Did Eyghon get to me after all? I remember faces full of shock and fear, Ethan looking at me as if his entire world just collapsed.

Why didn't I remember being hurt? I drop my improvised shovel and rip open my soaked shirt. I remember something, a searing pain, right over my heart. There is no scar there, though. I can see the scar where the Knights of Byzantium nearly gutted me. Some leftover marks from when I was at Angelus' tender mercies. A dozen other mementos of battles past. No sign of the kind of wound I now remember, though. Why isn't that wound there?

Lightning flashes overhead, dipping everything around me into stark light. Things begin to swim before my eyes, pictures of the past overlaying the present. I see the others, dancing and singing in the night as the ecstasy of Eyghon's presence takes hold of them. I can see their fear as things start going wrong. The rain is soaking me to the bone and there is a pain in my chest that just won't let go.

Ethan screams my name and I can see him running toward me, hands outstretched, and I know he wants to catch me, to keep me safe. I know he failed. Eyghon destroyed whatever we might have had once; it all came undone in this one night. The havoc we wrought, the life we were forced to take. I see it happening again, but somehow it's different than I remember.

Without conscious effort my hands reach for the improvised shovel again and I start digging into the soaked ground once more. I know that the answer to all my questions is down there, just below the surface. We didn't bury the body that deep. We were all in too much of a shock to give Randall more than a makeshift burial. Despite the mud, despite the rain I soon find something solid in the mud.

I throw the shovel aside and start digging with my bare hands, pulling things out of the mud. Bones. Human bones. Someone was buried here. Randall, it has to be him. But how? There was nothing left of him, so how can there be bones? My nails are chipped, my fingers bleeding, but I keep digging out the remains of a human body that was buried here in this spot 42 years ago. Nothing left expect the bones, no telling whose body this is. It has to be Randall, right? No one else died here that night.

"I'm so sorry I killed you!" That is what Ethan said. Nothing but mad ramblings. Why would he think he killed me? He recognized me, I'm sure of it. So why would he think he killed me? It doesn't make any sense.

More flashes, the past intruding into the present. Eyghon a prisoner in the circle Ethan and I sealed him in. The rest of us are arguing. We tried so many spells, every form of exorcism we knew about. Nothing helped. We know that the circle will not hold Eyghon much longer and once he gets free he will kill us all.

I can see us fighting. Thomas, Philip, and myself, we have realized what we had to do. Randall has to die or we all will. Ethan and Deirdre are not going along with that plan. Ethan is yelling that there has to be another way. Tempers are rising, everyone is screaming. Finally I tear the ceremonial knife from Ethan's hand and step into the circle, Thomas and Philip holding the others back, preventing them from interfering.

Eyghon stares at me from Randall's face, the face I can't remember. I can hear him laughing, can see his clawed hand rising as I cross the safety of the circle, make myself vulnerable to him. I look into his eyes and I see that he doesn't think I have the stones to do it. He thinks I'm bluffing, that I'm hoping that he will abandon Randall if I threaten him with death.

I'm not bluffing. By the time he realizes that the knife is already halfway into his chest. He howls in pain as his host dies, the living flesh that could have held him forever fading all around him. I stumble back, off- balance from the thrust, looking to retreat behind the safety of the circle.

Only I'm too slow.

I cry out as the pain, or the memory of pain, lances through my chest. God, how could I forget a pain like this? I fall to my knees and try to stop imaginary blood from seeping out of a wound that exists only in my head. Someone grabs me, pulling me out of the circle, away from Eyghon. Past and present blur as I see Ethan's face above me, his hair sticking to his forehead from the rain, naked fear in his eyes.

Perspective shifts and it seems as if I'm watching things from outside. I can see my own body on the ground, surrounded by the others, my chest a bloody mess. I can see Eyghon in the circle, laughing as he licks the blood from his claws. He is defeated, his host dying and fading, but he got his revenge.

Ethan surges to his feet, his face a mask of rage and pain, and his eyes turn pitch black as he summons more magical power than either of us has ever attempted to wield. Lightning crackles around his hands as he unleashes forces he has no hope of controlling. The power of Eyghon is still cursing through his veins from the recent possession, there is magic surging through the air, fed by spilled blood and imminent death. I can see my friend's sanity snap.

Then there is nothing but darkness.

When I wake up the rain is gone and the sun has risen, its rays bringing the tiniest bit of warmth to my body. I'm shaking with the cold, my hands almost blue where the mud hasn't covered them. Bloody hell, I could have frozen to death here. What happened to me? What happened that night 42 years ago?

I look down at the bones I pulled from the ground. That much at least was not a memory or hallucination or whatever that was. Someone died here, someone who had a body we could bury. Not Randall. Randall disintegrated.

I close my eyes, trying to get my rapid heartbeat back under control. I don't know what I saw, but it can't have been true. If Eyghon had inflicted that kind of wound on me I would have died that night, but I haven't. I'm here. I'm alive. I can feel my heart beating inside my chest. Someone died here, but it wasn't me, can't have been me.

This place was supposed to supply me with answers, but all I have are more questions. Why didn't I remember being hurt, if I really was? Why is there no scar from that wound? What did Ethan do that night? Who did we bury here?

Pulling off my dirty jacket I improvise a bag and gather the bones together. The answers are here and I have to know them, even as a part of me screams that some things should better be left in the dark. This place, that night 42 years ago, defined my whole life. It made me the man I am today. If something else than what I remember happened to me, to the others, then I need to know.

My cell phone somehow survived the night and I hit the speed dial.

"This is Rupert Giles. I need a transfer to Los Angeles."

TO BE CONTINUED