Demon Jack (21 page)

“I don’t know.”

“Final answer?” I asked.

“I don't know,” he whined again.

I nodded, and then let him have it. I didn’t swing hard but given the fact that I was about five times stronger than most Olympic weight lifters, barely was hard enough. The bottle smacked against his head with a thud, knocking him to his side. Almost instantly his hand went up, covering the spot where I’d hit him. His other arm went up to shield his head and face should I decide to start raining blows down on him.

“Oh God, oh God, don’t kill me,” he muttered, balling up into a fetal position.

I shook my head, grabbing his arm again and jerking up to his knees. I stopped, staring at the wound on his head, or rather the lack there of. There was no blood, no bruising, no cut, just a dent about two inches deep that perfectly fit the bottle’s corner.

“What the fuck?” I said, more surprised now than anything.

Father Davidson put his hand over his head again, where I’d hit him. His fingers groped at the divot in his head, and his eyes grew even wider.

“Oh Jesus, oh God, oh Christ,” he muttered, tears freely streaming down his face. “What... What? I... oh God.”

I looked over at Alice who simply stared back at me with her typical blank stare and shrugged.

I tossed the bottle aside and crouched down putting myself at eye level with him.

“Padre. What the hell are you?” I asked.

“I... I’m a priest. What do you mean what am I? Why are you doing this?” he looked at Alice, eyes pleading. “Please, help me?”

She smirked.

“Look at me, Padre.”

He turned his eyes back towards me.

“Your head should be cracked all to shit. It’s not. You can see her.” I pointed towards Alice. “What are you?”

He felt at his head again, gingerly touching around the massive dent the bottle had left.

“Look. I’d love to sit here and discuss the semantics of your head trauma and or origins, but I got more important shit to do. So, the girl who’s name was on the paper in your office. Who is she?”

“I don’t know. I told you. I received a call, and was told to pick her up and take her to a private hospital that’s all.”

“Who called you?”

He stared at me blankly. His mouth moved, trying to form words, but all he managed was a choked stutter.

“Padre?”

“I...I...”

“He can’t tell you, Jack.”

I cut my eyes to Alice. She was staring intently at the priest now.

“Padre, talk to me,” I said.

His mouth moved, but all that came out was a wheeze.

“Alice, the fuck you do to him?”

“Not me, Jack.”

“Well, what the fuck is happening.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“He's dying,” she said. “Obviously.”

He let out a loud gagging sound, hands moving to his throat. He was struggling to breath, eyes widening until they were the size of dinner plates. He reached out to me, hand clenching, pleading without speaking. I took a step back. Alice took a step closer, bending over so she was almost eye to eye with the priest. His hand passed through her, her body leaving mist trails that seemed to cling to his sleeve as his arm moved then slipped back in and she resolidified into her form.

The priest fell face down, his legs twitching. One hand grabbed weakly at the ground, fingernails snapping off as they raked across the asphalt. For a long moment he convulsed, looking like he was in the throes of a seizure. Finally, he went still.

“Well, fuck.”

“Interesting,” Alice said, “A construct. Like Prague.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh. He’s a construct, like the one in Prague,” she said and stared at me. “Don’t know that one either do you? You’re hopeless, Jack.”

“So I’m told. Care to enlighten me?”

“Care to get back to the hungry vampire before she eats some poor woman walking her dog?”

“Crap!” I groaned.

“Good boy, Jack, run along.”

I turned and bolted from the alley, heading back to where I had left Lucy. The priest, whatever he was, hadn’t been a human. He was supposed to pick up Maggie, and I could only assume that the reason wasn’t a friendly or fatherly one. I barely slowed down as I approached Lucy, seated in the door of a storefront. Thankfully, she was corpse free, no dead women, dogs or otherwise to be seen.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered.

“We need to get to the hospital, like now,” I said.

“Why, what’s going on? Everything okay?” she asked.

“C’mon,” I said, “I have a feeling something’s going to try to kill Maggie.”

Chapter 19

We sprinted for maybe three blocks before I was able to hail a cab, not that it mattered. The cabbie pulled over, got one look at Lucy, and drove off with squealing tires. Staying public was going to be rough with her in tow.

She watched the cab drive away, the cabbie having not said a word, and a weight seemed to settle over her shoulders. It was something heavy and intangible that threatened to pull her to the ground. Sorrow, grief -whatever you wanted to call it- the reality of her situation was really starting to hit home. A cab was something anyone could do, any time of the day, anywhere. She didn’t have that luxury anymore.

“Sorry,” I said, not putting much stock in the gesture, but not knowing what else to say. The lack of conviction was evident in my voice.

“Don’t patronize me,” she said quietly.

“We have to keep moving,” I said.

She nodded.

We took off at a quick run, using alleys and side streets to circumvent the main roads and, more importantly, any people. It took longer, a lot longer than I wanted, but we managed to wind our way towards the hospital without Lucy taking a chomp outta someone's jugular. It being a public hospital, ambulances and pedestrians made up the majority of the foot traffic outside the doors.

“Scarf,” I said to Lucy.

She looked confused for a moment, and then realization dawning on her, she wrapped the scarf once more over her mouth. We watched the hospital for a few minutes, using the shadows of a nearby building to mask our presence. It wasn’t needed, but given the way my luck had been going, I figured it better not to take chances.

“You okay?” I asked, breaking the few moments of silence.

“Not in the slightest.”

“I wasn’t either,” I said after a pause and slid the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head.

She watched me for a long second.

“You gonna be able to handle this, keep yourself in check?” I asked.

She nodded.

I shoved my hands in the front pocket of my sweatshirt and keeping my head down, started towards the hospital doors with Lucy a step behind me.

The hospital lobby was stark, bright. Fluorescent lights shone off plastic chairs in an obscene multitude of sunny, mismatched colors. There were signs hanging by a doorway in the corner, pointing out the way to restrooms and vending machines. A large reception desk was built into the corner of the room, the woman behind it busying herself with a magazine.

We slipped through the lobby, sliding into the elevator. I pushed the button that would take us to Maggie’s floor, letting the one floor trip pass in silence. I could see Lucy’s reflection in the mirrored interior back wall of the elevator. Even with the scarf her reflection gave her away, the moment of her death forever written in her mirrored double. A ragged tear rested in the side of her throat, stained crimson. The torn edges shone wetly, a play off the elevator’s interior lighting. She kept her eyes straight ahead. Smart girl.

The elevator opened on a waiting room similar to the first, albeit smaller. A sign directed us towards Maggie’s block of rooms, at the end of a long hallway. Various medical devices on carts stared back at us, their little screens ominous and blank.

The door to her room was open, the TV set to some late night infomercial. The lights were off, casting the whole room in a pale, flickering blue. Maggie lay in the bed, covered by blankets up to her chin. Wires and an IV line ran under the blanket. She was asleep, and in the dim light she looked almost ethereally beautiful. The simple changes of hue in the lighting played off her skin, the dimness of the room muting out its paleness. She looked... peaceful.

“Maggie,” I whispered, gently shaking her shoulder.

Her eyes snapped open, darting between the two of us, one hand coming up under the blanket. A small squeak escaped her lips. Her eyes narrowed, and she settled back against the pillows sighing.

“Yer lucky I didn’t set you on fire,” she said, eyes closing.

“Please don’t,” Lucy said quietly.

“How you feeling?” I asked.

“Like the ball after a Manchester U game,” she said.

“Well, you’re going to really hate me.”

She opened one eye, glaring at me. “I already do, but why?”

“We have to get you out of here. Like, post haste,” I said.

“Why?”

“I still don’t really know. He thinks someone’s coming to get you,” Lucy said, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed.

“Not likely,” Maggie said.

“That they’re coming to get you?”

“That I’ll be able to leave. Self inflicted wounds, I look like a suicide attempt. They’re gonna lock me in with the nutters,” Maggie said, and she was right.

“Shit. Alright, here’s hoping it doesn’t turn into a prison break then. Can you walk?” I asked.

“Can. Don’t really want to.”

“Excellent, for a change I finally get to say your wants are about the least of my concerns,” I said, “Where are your clothes?”

Maggie pointed to a small, two door closet. I opened it and found her things neatly folded in the bottom. I tossed them to her.

“You mind?” she asked, looking at me as she sat up.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” I muttered and turned around.

I stared at the wall for a long moment while she dressed.

“Alright,” she said.

I turned. Maggie was unsure on her feet. Lucy supported her with one hand while she found her balance. Her arms had been wrapped in bandages from wrist to elbow.

“You have a jacket?’

“Did I have one when you left me bleeding in an alley?”

“Touche.”

“They took my bag,” Maggie said.

Lucy slid her jacket off handing it to Maggie. In some unseen, unheard girl language thanks was conveyed, respect earned, and a friendship started. At least that’s what I pictured from the nod that Maggie gave her, and the return nod from Lucy.

“Well, not much can be done about it now,” I said, peering out into the hallway. It was clear, the nurses apparently off doing more important things. I motioned them out.

We made it down the hall and out of the hospital with no incident. Outside, sleet had begun to fall, leaving a rapidly forming sheet of ice over the sidewalks and street. By tomorrow the roads were going to be a freaking horror show. We got across the street, ducking once more in the shadow of the building where Lucy and I had watched the place half an hour earlier.

“Well, that was easy,” Maggie said, still leaning against Lucy.

“Yeah, part one is done.”

“Part one?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah, part two is getting off the streets and holing up for a bit.”

“What about the bus?” Maggie asked, pointing weakly towards a small glass encased bench about a block away.

“Any port in a storm,” I muttered, looking to Lucy. She nodded.

“Alright, let’s go,” I said.

The bus, thankfully, was empty except for the driver. He was a middle-aged black man who kept his eyes on the road and his mouth shut. He practically recoiled when Lucy stepped on, and kept a wary eye on the rear view while driving, but didn’t bolt and run. I was pretty grateful for that. We sat in the back, Maggie reclining as much as she could in the small seats. Lucy hovered beside her, eyes glazed and distant. She was nervous, constantly searching with her eyes at each empty stop. She looked like she was waiting for Adam to jump out of every shadow. Which, to be fair, wouldn’t surprise me in the least.

“Mind telling me what’s happenin' now, Jack?” Maggie asked, once we were rolling.

“I really don’t know to be honest. All the pieces are there, I just can’t put them together.”

“Try,” she said, eyes narrowing.

I related the story back to her, starting with everything after I left her. I told her about the hotel, which was our destination for the moment, about meeting up with Lucy at the Commons, the shelter, and the priest. I told her about Lucy’s dreams, and finding her information on Davidson’s desk. Lucy stayed silent through out the whole thing, content to keep her attention focused on anything but the Maggie, weak and wounded as she was.

“So yer thinkin that someone who works for the church, and is probably friends with Father 'Ernandez, wanted to do something bad to me? You didn’t think, that just maybe, they were lookin' out for their own?”