The Demon Within
by Tanya Reed
DEATH FIC WARNING.
Disclaimer: I do not own Relic Hunter and I am making no profit from this story.
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Karen Petrusky sat at her desk diligently working. Around her, the office was quiet and still as it always was when Sydney and Nigel were away. That silence had bothered her in the beginning but after nine months it was just another accepted part of the job.
Having her bosses away was not an excuse for slacking, at least not for Karen. She both liked and admired Sydney and Nigel, and there was no way she was going to do anything to make them disappointed in her.
In fact, she was doing research on the Demon's Heart, the current relic hunt, when the phone rang. It was so unexpected, and the history of the Heart was so creepy, that it made her jump.
She let out a nervous giggle before reaching out and grabbing the receiver. "Ancient Studies."
"Hello. Am I calling the right place?" The voice was soft, with a cultured British accent. "I'm looking for Professor Sydney Fox's office."
"You've reached it, but, I'm sorry, Professor Fox is out of the country right now."
"Yes, yes, I know. I'm looking for Karen. Karen..." There was a slight puase. "Petrusky, I believe."
The voice was unfamiliar, so Karen blurted out a puzzled, "I'm Karen Petrusky."
"Preston. Preston Bailey."
"Nigel's brother?"
"Yes." The man's voice cracked at the word, and an ominous feeling settled like a stone in Karen's belly.
"Has...has something happened to Nigel?"
"I'm afraid so." Now the man's voice sounded close to tears. "Karen, Nigel's dead."
Karen let out a tortured gasp and almost dropped the phone. Nigel couldn't be dead!
"What happened?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice under control even as tears sprang to her eyes.
"I'm not sure. I'll tell you what the Embassy told me. You deserve to know that much. A couple of days ago, a woman showed up at the English Embassy in Endostan. She was carrying my brother's body in her arms. Nigel had been shot. She gave them the name of his murderer and gave implicit instructions to have Nigel sent home to me. They try to question her further, and..."
"And what?'
"She fought her way out and disappeared."
"Sydney," Karen whispered.
"I believe so. Have you heard from her?"
"Not for days. The last time she called, they had zeroed in on the relic."
"They must have found it...and someone must have found them."
"When," Karen had to swallow hard to get the question out, "when is the funeral?"
"The day after tomorrow. I'll ring you again once the details are finalized."
"I'd appreciate that. Thanks, Preston."
As she hung up the phone, a million thoughts whirled through her mind. Where was Sydney? Was she okay? Karen knew how close Sydney and Nigel were...had been, she corrected herself.
That thought made the lump once more come to her throat, and this time she couldn't fight the tears and pain. Nigel was dead. Dear, sweet Nigel. And Sydney was out there, alone and in even more pain than Karen. It was all so unfair.
A sudden cramp in Karen's stomach had her reaching for her garbage can. She just managed to get it under her chin before losing all of her breakfast. Her stomach clenched and heaved until there was nothing left but an empty feeling of grief.
Karen slid to the floor, resting her cheek against the cool wood of her desk. She closed her eyes, trying to force her rebellious stomach into submission. And still, the silent tears dripped down her face, watering the carpet with her pain.
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Sydney sat in her hotel room, her body numb and her mind racing. Using her skills at finding what was lost, she had been able to track Martin as he traveled to three different cities. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to catch up with him, and, like water, he slipped through her fingers.
This only served to feed her anger. Not that it needed to be fed. It was self-sustaining—sometimes raging as hot as a blue-white piece of metal, tinging her vision with red; sometimes banked and smoldering, offering her hours of rational thought. It was in these hours that she thought of Nigel.
She missed everything about him, from the glint in his eye when he was solving a difficult puzzle to the way he wore his shirt. All his quirks and habits were stuck in Sydney's mind, and sometimes that picture of him was so real she could almost reach out and touch him.
It had been only three days, but those three days seemed like a lifetime. Every time she turned around, she expected him to be there, and when he wasn't his death would rip through her all over again.
She had only felt this tearing pain in her gut two other times in her life. The first was when DeViega had murdered Alastair Newell, the second when her mother passed away. Agony ate away at her, trying to overwhelm her and shatter the wall she had so carefully built around her private soul throughout the years. Only one thing kept the hurt at bay—the all consuming rage. Sydney welcomed the rage, fed it, preferring anything over the torture of grief. If she concentrated on hating Victor Martin, she didn't have to think about losing Nigel.
At ten, she had been a child; at eleven, she could not fight the disease that ate her mother from the inside out. At thirty-three, she could and would kill the man who had taken her best friend. She would kill him brutally and without mercy. Her knife would slice through his flesh. She would feel the life leave his body as the blood left his veins.
Sydney thoughtfully reached down into her boot and withdrew her knife. She turned it in the evening light shining through the window, watching the glint as the metal caught the sun. With a twisted smile, she slowly drew her thumb along the blade. It was so sharp that a bead of blood followed in its wake. The knife had served her well, but had never taken a life when another option was available.
Until now.
Deep in the back of her mind, she knew that rage was driving her across a line she could never recross. She ignored this part of her, the one trying to be her conscience, as she had often ignored things she didn't want to hear.
Twice before, she had drawn her knife to take a life in cold blood. Two times, rage and hatred had gripped her, awakening an unquenchable need for revenge, and two times she had been given a chance to avenge Newell. Both times, something had stopped her. Nigel. There was no doubt in her mind that if he hadn't been there, believing in her and her ability to follow the right path, DeViega would have been dead at her hand twice over.
But Nigel wasn't here now. She wouldn't have to face his disappointment and disillusionment. Martin had taken him from her—taken her reason, taken her strength, taken her conscience. He had taken everything, and the line between right and wrong was blurred at her feet.
Yes, he had taken everything from her, and all she could take would be his life. But he would die. She would see his blood spill out and feel it wash away her pain. She didn't care what happened to her afterward. It would be enough to know that Nigel's death had been avenged.
Sydney twirled the knife in her fingers, little noticing that the room was growing as black as her thoughts. As twilight darkened to night, she became lost in her thoughts and didn't even bother to get up to turn on a light.
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Karen was growing frantic. It had been over twenty-four hours since Preston's call, and she still hadn't been able to find Sydney. She had tried the cell phone and the satellite phone at least a million times.
It was possible that Sydney didn't have either of the phones with her, but that went against everything Karen knew about the relic hunter. It was also possible that she had whichever was with her turned off or that she had no signal. Whatever the reason was, Karen couldn't reach her.
A cold ball of worry weighed like lead in Karen's stomach. It warred with her grief over Nigel and she didn't know which would collapse her first. Of course, she couldn't really collapse. With Sydney incommunicado, someone had to retain control of the office. If not Karen, who would accept the well wishers, the curious, the morbid, the flowers, and the cards? She couldn't do anything else for Sydney or Nigel, but she could do this. She'd do it if it killed her.
Now, she sat at her desk with eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep and from weeping. The phone and door had finally fallen silent for a moment, and Karen could actually take a breath. It was a shaky one, but she managed to get it in and out of her lungs.
"Sydney, where are you?" she whispered, fighting the impulse to drop her face into her hands and once more begin to weep. She was stronger than that. Who had spent the two years before getting the job as Sydney's assistant taking care of her brother after her mother was killed by a teenage drunk driver? Who still took care of that little boy every day as if he were her own son? If Karen could live through that, she could live through anything—even the loss of Sydney and Nigel. But it hurt. Even though she had only been Sydney's assistant for nine months, it felt like she had lost family.
She sniffled but managed not to cry, though tears pressed against her eyelids. She didn't want any of the people coming to offer condolences to see her cry. Sydney would want her to be strong.
Even so, Karen knew that as soon as her day was over, she would head home fighting tears. Once there, she would make sure Cory had all he needed, then get in the tub. There, she would find her solace, and she would finally let the tears come. Alone in the comforting mist, she would once again have a damn good cry.
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The silence of the graveyard was almost deafening. Not even an animal stirred, and the night was as still as the death that surrounded them. Even a small breeze would have lightened the heavy air, but there wasn't even the hint of one.
The darkness was thick and unrelenting. The tiny sliver of a moon was barely visible through blanketing clouds. What light reached them was feeble at best. Gravestones were grey shadows and their distorted lumps looked like some sculptor's discarded clay. The chill in the air completed the oppression.
Sydney felt uneasy as they threaded their way through the stones. Her stomach was clenched, and she had to fight the urge to keep looking over her shoulder.
Beside her walked Nigel. What she could see of him in the scarce moonlight was pale and drawn. He even seemed to be holding his breath.
Both of them knew something was going to happen.
"I don't like this, Syd," he whispered.
"Yeah," she answered just as quietly.
"It's giving me the crepes." This had been an inside joke for them since the adventure with the devil doll, and Sydney was glad that he wasn't too afraid to joke.
"Me too."
"Maybe we should go back."
Sydney stopped and really looked at him. He was shaking slightly, though she didn't know whether it was from the chill air or fear. There was definitely more here to fear than just the darkness; she could feel it too. Something was out there, waiting. The air was fraught with evil expectation, and the further they went, the thicker it got.
Nigel's eyes looked into hers, and she saw pleading there. Sydney wanted to reach out to him and offer some reassurance, but she wasn't sure she could.
If they didn't push on, they would never know what was waiting.
"It'll be all right, Nigel," she said finally, wanting to believe it.
He searched her face for a moment, and then nodded. Sydney found herself almost disappointed that he had given in. His refusal would have given her an excuse to stop.
She wasn't used to feeling such cowardice. Angrily, she pushed it down, and they started forward once more. Nigel walked even closer to her than before, but she pretended not to notice.
After a few moments, Nigel spoke up again, "How much further, do you think?"
"I have no idea."
"Well, I wish we'd brought a torch."
It was strange that they didn't have a flashlight with them. They almost never went anywhere without one. Sydney stopped short, causing Nigel to bump into her.
"Oomph...Sorry, Syd."
"There's something wrong," she told him.
"That's what I've been..."
"No, Nigel, there's something really wrong."
"Like that?" he asked.
He pointed, and her gaze followed his finger. Even in the darkness, she could see the mist rising from the ground and engulfing the stones. If a mist could be said to give off malevolence, this one certainly did. Sydney felt dread grip her as the mist rose and moved swiftly over the ground towards them. It was acting more like water than fog, filling the places it covered with a thick, impenetrable blanket.
"What happens when it reaches us?" Nigel asked in awe.
"Do we really want to find out? Run!"
The two of them turned and ran, tripping over stones both natural and hand hewn. They scrambled when they fell, but kept at a pace with each other. Their going was slow, so it wasn't any surprise that the fog was faster.
Sydney gasped as it suddenly engulfed them, cutting off sight and sound.
"Nigel!" she screamed, reaching for him in the overwhelming greyness.
Her hands felt nothing. Frantically, she flailed around, searching. She called his name again, but got no answer. It was as if the fog were all that existed.
Sydney stumbled around, tripping over rocks and barking her shins on gravestones. She ignored these, her only thought being to find Nigel.
She called his name over and over, straining to hear a reply. Still, there was none. She was alone in a silent grey hell.
Nigel was gone.
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"Nigel!" Sydney jerked awake, sitting up, her arms reaching out, and her heart pounding wildly.
It took several moments for her to realize that her clinging blankets were not a smothering mist and the cheerful sun shining on her face from the window was not an unrelenting gray.
She was not wandering around a creepy graveyard. It was not midnight, and Nigel was not lost to the fog. Nigel was dead.
As the awful dream gave way to an even worse reality, pain stabbed Sydney. It felt as if she'd driven her dagger hilt deep into her chest. She'd woken from one nightmare to be thrown into another. And this one, she could not wake from.
Slowly, Sydney dropped her arms. She was alone, and there was no one there to hold. Her hand made a swipe across her forehead, pushing away hair and wiping away sweat. It was shaking. Sydney lowered the hand and stared at it. Being a relic hunter had filled her unconscious mind with enough scary images for five people, so she was no stranger to nightmares. The only difference was that before she had waking up to look forward to. Now, she felt as if it didn't matter if she ever woke up again.
"Martin."
Saying his name sent a wave of fire through her, burning away fear and sadness and loss. Sydney grabbed hold of the fire, clinging to it with everything she had. When she was satisfied that anger had drown pain, Sydney got out of bed to face the day.
Over the past week, Victor Martin had led her on a not so merry chase through several countries. She always seemed to be just moments behind him, and Sydney didn't know whether it was because he knew she trailed him or he had some specific plan of his own. Either way, it was as annoying as hell. Finally, though, she had a solid lead. One of Victor's known accomplices lived near Sydney's hotel, and if anyone knew who Victor was going to sell the Heart to or where he was going next, it would be Robert Williams.
She took only enough time to shower, dress, comb her hair, and brush her teeth before leaving the hotel. She didn't even bother to eat breakfast; she hadn't had much of an appetite since Nigel's death.
She chose to walk to her destination. It helped to dispel the energy that coursed through her, pushing her to do something—anything.
It was early enough that the streets were almost empty. Sydney was glad of that; it made less distractions as she steadily made her way to her goal.
Robert Williams owned a small house in a quiet part of the town, cut off from the world by some very ancient trees and some tall bushes. As Sydney opened the gate, she thought it looked more like a fairytale cottage than the home of a known thief. She almost expected to see children playing in the yard and wild deer eating in the nearby garden.
Instead, the place was still. In the early morning gloom, cheery lights shone from the window. Almost as if everything were normal—as if Nigel's death didn't matter.
Sydney clenched her fist. It would matter to him soon enough.
Sydney strode boldly to the door. Without even trying the knob, she aimed a kick at ancient wood. As if it had been waiting for her, the door flew open, banging against the wall beyond.
She strode boldly through the house, looking for her prey. She found him in a small study/library. Williams was a small, rat-faced man with thinning hair and small, dark eyes. He looked up as Sydney entered and his skin paled.
Sydney smiled at him ferally, showing her teeth, and he blanched further.
Rising, he said, "Sydney Fox. To what do I owe this great pleasure?"
"Victor, Bobby. Where is he?"
"Victor?" The man feigned confusion. "Victor who?"
"I don't have time for this."
Sydney stalked closer, heat coming to her cheeks. Williams looked like he wanted to take a step back, but he held his ground.
With only the desk between them, Sydney repeated her question through clenched teeth. "Where is Victor, Bobby?"
"Sydney, I don't..."
She reached quickly out for him, striking like a snake. Before Williams even had a chance to move, she had pulled him forward by his collar until his face was just inches from hers.
"Wrong answer."
"Sydney, be reasonable."
"I am not leaving until you tell me where Victor is...and you are going to tell me, if I have to force you by breaking every bone in your body."
She gave a hard tug, bringing the thief across the desk. With a twitch of her arms, he was lying on the floor at her feet.
"Sydney..."
"He was here, Bobby. I know he was here. I've been following him for a week. The only reason for him to be in town would be to see you. You know where he is."
Williams shook his head, so Sydney punched him. Hard. She felt her knuckle split under the impact of flesh against tooth, but she didn't feel the pain.
"Would you like to try again?"
The blood on his face wasn't only hers. He had fallen backwards from the blow, and Sydney could see a cut on his lip. As he struggled to rise, she saw that his small eyes had widened.
"Are you going to tell me what I want to know, or will I have to start breaking...things?"
He just stared at her, fear dappling sweat across his forehead. Williams had never been a physical person. He preferred to strike by surprise in the dark.
Sydney grabbed him, pulling him up until the desk was biting into his back. Then, she raised one eyebrow.
"He...he was here..."
"Good. Now, we're getting somewhere." She loosed one hand to pat his cheek.
With surprising agility, Williams used this moment to twist away from her and try for the door. He was quick, but Sydney was more so. She whirled, kicking him in the back and dropping him to the floor. He let out a groan and tried to roll away.
Sydney was already at his side, holding him down with her arms and then using her body. They struggled for several moments, but when the scuffle was over, she was sitting on top of him, pinning him to the floor. With one hand, she held his wrists in a grip of iron; the other she was using to hold his jaw. The bones beneath it felt deceptively fragile.
"Are we done playing?" she hissed.
"Sydney, please, please, don't hurt me."
"Then tell me what I want to know."
"Victor...Victor was here."
"I know that much. Where is he going?"
"He had a relic with him. A famous relic...a stone the size of a man's hand."
Sydney nodded and loosened her grip on his jaw slightly.
"Where was he taking it?"
"A private collector in the States has offered him millions for it. He was going there to sell it."
She waited but he didn't offer any more.
"Where in the States? What buyer?" she growled.
He shook his head, her hand had loosened enough to allow it. "They'll kill me."
"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you."
"Sydney, you would not..."
She leaned forward until she was close enough to kiss him if she had wanted to. Very softly, she whispered, "Try me."
"Boudreau," he gasped.
Sydney sat back quickly. "Grant Boudreau?"
"I think so...yes."
"If you're lying to me..."
"No, I'm not. I swear."
She glared at him for several moments, trying to tear the truth from his eyes. She detected no lie.
"Fine," she said. She knew where to find Grant Boudreau.
Then, she lashed out with her fist, her knuckles plowing into Williams's face and ramming his head into the floor. The man went limp under her hands.
"Nice doing business with you."