The near-deafening retort of a weapon fired in an enclosed area added to the ringing in Sara's ears but pulled her attention back to business. Jake was on his knees, shoulders shaking a little with the strength of his coughs, but his weapon was still in hand. Sara followed the line of that extended arm but saw nothing.
"Did you hit him?" Sara staggered, still a little punch-drunk, to her partner.
"Yeah," His reply was nearly lost in the harsh coughing. "Center mass. Didn't go down though. Must be wearing a vest."
"Or is hopped up on PCP." Sara wasn't convinced that was the answer, not with the steady burn of the Witchblade on her wrist, but it sounded better than what she was thinking. There was something about those eyes…
"Fits with how hard he hit you," Jake wheezed in agreement. That would make more sense, considering that there was no way he would have missed seeing a vest, not with his shirt shredded like that. Jake had seen an addict take a full clip in the chest once; the guy had kept coming long after anyone else would have dropped.
"Can you stand up? If this guy is Dusted, he won't even notice a few bullet holes and we're between him and the only way out." Sara kept her flashlight moving, hoping to see the bastard before he could get close enough to hit her this time.
"I think so." Jake pushed himself up, got halfway to his feet, overbalanced, and went downward again.
Sara barely grabbed him in time to keep Jake from a painful face plant. He was burning up; the line of his body against hers was like a brand. "You're hot," the observation was more of an accusation.
"You just now noticed? I'm crushed," Jake teased, but it was a weak rejoinder. He was sick and they both knew it.
"Shut up. No, on second thought, call for backup." Sara paused and added, "And an ambulance."
"Tried that while you were down. There's too much interference, couldn't get through."
Swearing under her breath, Sara dragged her partner back toward the ladder. "I don't remember hearing you call it out."
"That's cause you were too busy laying there scaring me. I thought he'd snapped your neck."
Jake's voice held a note of grief, which she decided to ignore in favor of the more pressing question, "How long was I out?"
"Long enough," There was something in his voice that put Sara on alert.
"What happened while I was down?"
"Nothing!" The protest was given too quickly.
"My ass," Sara retorted.
"I saw something… " Jake trailed off, then said more firmly, as if convincing himself, "It had to have been from the fever. I must have been getting sick and the double shift and the cold down here just made it worse."
"Oh no, Detective. You were not sick when you came here, but you are very ill now. Perhaps you will even die." The voice was filled with mock-concern.
Jake stiffened against her, obviously upset at the words. Sara growled, "Don't listen to him. He doesn't know anything."
"I know things to make your flesh hump! To make your hair turn white!" The voice was deeper, harsher now. "I know starving bodies sick, broken babies thick. I know what fresh blood tastes like when it's still warm. The sound a man makes while his skin is peeled away."
The words were horribly familiar. Father DelToro, a true devil in priest's clothing, had said the same thing. Pushing the sudden spike of fear aside, Sara replied with false bravado, "Ooooh, scary. What do you think Jake, did I hit a nerve?"
"Definitely," was all Jake got out before he began shivering. His teeth were chattering, yet, if anything, he was hotter than before.
"Look at his eyes, so yellow." Tones modulated back into false sympathy, "The Fever is taking him fast, isn't it?"
"What are you talking about?" Sara snapped, but a quick glance showed her partner's corneas were no longer white. "What's wrong with his eyes?"
"Yellow Fever, of course."
"Where would he get Yellow Fever from?" Disbelief colored her response. The mosquitoes that carried the disease had been eradicated from the United States at least a hundred years ago.
"Sara, Sara, Sara, I am disappointed in you. How can a born New Yorker not know where she is?"
"Judging from the slant of the stairs we came down, I'd say we're under the edge of the park." Sara said with a shrug of her free shoulder, ignoring Jake's hissed inquiry as to how the other man had known her name. "So what?"
"Twenty two thousand dead of the Fever, lying all around her, and she says so what." He laughed and stepped out of the darkness.
"Yellow Fever doesn't come from corpses, especially not from three hundred year old ones, it comes from mosquitoes."
"Ah yes, my second favorite plague carriers." Dreads bobbled around his face as he nodded reminiscently. "Only rats are more efficient. Had a lovely time with them in the Middle Ages. But it still begs the question of how the mosquitoes were infected with the virus in the first place."
"I'm sure you're just dying to tell me," Sara curled up a lip, trying to hide the cold creeping down her spine.
There was just something wrong with the ratty homeless man speaking with the sophisticated inflections of the very wealthy. For a moment Sara could almost see Kenny's head on top of the tattered figure. Mr. Irons would be appalled by the comparison. She'd have to make a point to share the image with him; he should blow a gasket.
"I am hardly the one that will be dying," The old man cocked his head; eyes turned a solid, gleaming yellow by some trick of the light.
"No, you'll be the one going to jail for a long, long, time." It was difficult to carry off the boast while slowly backing away, but Sara did her best. The effort was mostly for Jake's benefit anyway. Can't look chicken in front of the rookie.
"You threaten me with mortal constraint? I thought you had learned just how effective such things were after the lamentable loss of poor Edward Nolan."
Sara didn't need another vision to understand what was going on. The body might be different, but Sara had no doubt about what she was facing now. The Evil that had worn the face of Father DelToro had returned through a new channel. "Be gone, Satan! O, Inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man's salvation. Be gone!"
"What did I tell you about listening to old wives' tales?" The possessed man smiled, his mouth stretching past anything human. The rest of his face followed suit, twisting into a demonic shape that was all the more disturbing for the remaining elements of humanity.
"Holy shit!" Jake gasped.
"You're half right," Sara muttered darkly. "Can you climb?"
"And leave you down here with that thing?" Jake was appalled.
"I've kicked his ass before. This time won't be any different," Sara gritted her teeth and wedged Jake against the side of the ladder and the wall.
"You what?" Jake's disbelieving stare bounced between Sara and the smiling demon.
Sara bit her lip and wondered how much to say. Jake had already seen things she didn't want him to, and there was only so long she could keep him in the dark completely. Maybe a bit of truth now, in a situation so bizarre that he could never tell anyone about it, and be believed, was the best time to see how he would jump. If he reacted badly, she could always blame anything he remembered on delirium.
"Remember what you said about Father DelToro?" Sara paused to see if he was following her. He was. So far, so good," You were more right than you knew. He was a devil quoting scripture. I took care of him and I can take care of this one too."
"Do you really think that you're a match for me, Sara Pezzini?" The demon chuckled at her naiveté.
"Yeah, I do." Sara said decisively, and then hissed to Jake, "Start climbing."
"No," Jake set his jaw stubbornly. Partners took care of each other. What would happen to her if he left?
"I'm not arguing with you about this. I can't be worried about you and fight at the same time. Up the ladder, McCarty," Sara shot him a look that promised dire things if he disobeyed. "Now!"
Jake put his hands on the rungs, responding automatically to the tone of command. He rested his forehead on the blessedly cool metal and wondered if Sara wasn't right. He was in no shape to fight, and he wasn't even sure how one fought something like this anyway. Demon battling wasn't something taught in Sunday School, and that had been a long time ago anyway.
At least if he got out of here he could call for backup.
With that thought to spur him onward, Jake began the ascent, muscles trembling. He felt so weak. What the Hell was wrong with him? He was not a native, and wasn't at all sure what they had been talking about. The only Yellow Fever he had ever heard of was a spot on CNN about the troubles in Africa. They couldn't possibly be the same thing. Could they?