Mama's Boy and Other Dark Tales (18 page)

"STOP!"

Easy slammed on the brakes, and Donovan jumped out of the vehicle and ran across the street, ignoring the oncoming traffic and blaring car horns. He ran to the corner and looked up at a street sign, Leroy Road. Shielding his eyes, he watched as the busy noon traffic swept by him, kicking up dust in the hot wind.

Suddenly, he turned and ran 20 yards off the road and waited. He closed his eyes, then he heard the crash. Running to the scene of the accident, without hesitation he rushed to the driver's side of the demolished red compact, a light pole nearly shearing the hood in half. The passenger compartment was compressed and the driver was struggling to free his legs.

Donovan yanked the handle and the car door squealed open, hanging broken on its hinges. The young man's face was covered in blood from a gash across his forehead and his leg was trapped under the steering column. When Donovan tried to pull him free, he screamed; his leg was broken.

"You'll never get me out.” The man panted his words. “Help my girlfriend. Please. Is she okay?” He was going into shock.

Other motorists had stopped and were climbing out of their cars, calling for help on their cell phones, but Donovan kept his attention on the young man. He knew that everything hinged on getting him out of the car and stabilizing him enough for him to listen. He reached in and grabbed the young man's pant leg and twisted hard. The leg came free, but the bleeding man fainted from the pain. Donovan pulled him from the car and laid him on the grass at the side of the road.

"Come on.” He patted the young man's cheek, trying to bring him around. “Come on, son. You've got to open your eyes, before it's too late.” But everything was going silent around them. A grip that seared through his jacket yanked him away from the young man's side.

"You again?” said the man in the sunglasses. “You're becoming a bit of a bother, Mister Hunter.” And with an effortless flick of his hand, Donovan went flying into the grass clear of the crash. Like the rest of the bystanders, he was frozen in place. But unlike the others, he heard everything being said, and he would never forget what he was seeing. He'd failed to stop the inevitable exchange. He had failed to find a contract to discover the key and any chance he had of stopping the ORA. He felt betrayed that Dreamcatcher had abandoned him again to a life of imprisonment by the Order of the Red Angel, and worse, they would eventually find Becka and do the same to her.

With a touch from the Contractor, the young man startled into consciousness. His broken leg was bent behind him, but, whimpering in pain, he tried to crawl to the car, toward the lifeless woman still trapped in the car. The Contractor stopped him with a scorching touch and the young man cried out.

Looking impatient, the Contractor began spinning his lies, first pointing his pen at the woman in the car—the only thing visible was her blood-matted red hair—and then at a child standing in the grass, having wandered away from the schoolyard. A teacher nearby was frozen, her face tight with worry, a hand extended as if calling the child back.

As the young man took the pen and looked across the wreckage at the child, Donovan felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. It felt warm and comforting, and the cold stiffness melted from his body. He looked back to see who had released him from the helpless frozen state and he gasped.

The big black man stood tall in his well-tailored suit, sunglasses covering his eyes. He pointed toward the young man with the pen in his hand.

"Hurry."

Donovan ran screaming toward the scene of the accident.

"No,” he shouted. “Please ... please don't sign that. He's lying to you."

The Contractor turned and glared at him. Shaking his head in disgust and still looking directly at Donovan, he said, “Mister Brown, you have thirty seconds to decide."

"Please, listen to me,” said Donovan. “He's lying to you. His lies will ruin your life and everyone you touch. Don't sign."

The young man was weeping, still holding the pen.

"But she's dead. I killed her,” he whimpered.

"Ten seconds, Mister Brown,” said the Contractor, looking at his watch.

"
He
killed her. Not you,” said Donovan.

"But you were the only one who could have made sure she lived, Mister Brown, but sadly, your time is up.” The Contractor snatched back his pen and tucked it neatly inside the breast pocket of his jacket.

"Wait, please. I'll sign,” begged the young man. “Please! I'm sorry."

"We have strict rules, Mister Brown. It's all in the contract. Maybe you could discuss the problem with Mister Hunter here. He's an expert ... or so he thinks. Oh, and by the way, what was your girlfriend's name?"

The young man sobbed. The Contractor ground his heal into the broken leg. “I
said
, what was her name?” His voice was a dark, resonant growl.

"Rebecca ... Rebecca Dinan,” he said, then vomited from the pain.

Donovan's legs buckled under him and he fell to his knees.

"That's right, Mister Hunter, you let another one of your women die. As far as I'm concerned, the loss of the Bloodline bitch was worth the look on your face.” With a snap of his fingers, a red flame appeared on his palm. He dipped the edge of the contract into the flame and laughed as he watched the heat of the burning paper carry it into the warm afternoon breeze.

He turned to Easy, waiting a few yards away, and popped off a round from his finger gun with a wink.

"Hey, thanks, pal. That was fun. Too bad you blew your cover. You looked good in the sunglasses, too. If only you'd kept your feathers on the right side of the fence. Hey,” his face morphed into Marlon Brando's, “ya’ coulda been a contender.” He chuckled at his joke and walked across the street as the chaos of the accident scene came to life.

Easy crouched down beside Donovan.

"I'm sorry, Hunter."

Donovan didn't have enough energy left even to cry. Feeling the depth of his failure and the well-orchestrated betrayal by the ORA, he simply felt drained of all hope and life. With no one left to protect, no need to provide prey to the beasts, he knew what he would do. He looked over at Easy with the only thing he had left to say.

"So you were Dreamcatcher all along?"

Easy nodded.

"Who are you really? Just tell me that.” He didn't know why he cared anymore. He just had to know.

"I'm the angel Ezekiel, Donovan,” he said. “I infiltrated the Order of the Red Angels centuries ago. I was entrusted with the task of ending the enslavement of the Bloodline."

"All these years together,” Donovan said, mostly to himself. “Why didn't you just tell me?"

"I couldn't risk it. You were our best hope, and I couldn't give them any reason to doubt my allegiance."

"Best hope.” Donovan scoffed at the thought, his self-loathing etched in the lines of his face. “Is it any wonder they beat us, Easy? An angel and a dreamer?” He looked over at the big angel with a smirk. “EZ, is it? Ezekiel?"

Easy nodded, then looked down at a piece of debris that had blown against his ankle. He pulled it loose and his black eyes widened.

"Donovan!” The rumble of his voice shocked Donovan out of his stupor. Easy shoved the piece of charred paper in his hand. The contract, still largely intact.

"What good is this now?” he shrugged. “My daughter's dead."

"Look at it.” Easy poked at the document with his finger. “It's the fine print. These are the details we've been trying to access."

Feeling the weight of his grief and hopelessness, Donovan read what remained of the contract with little interest. He remembered it vaguely from his dream in the limo years ago on the day the ORA captured him.

Terms and Conditions

1a. The life you have chosen to retain will heretofore be exchanged with a death of your choosing. If you are unable to make that choice for any reason, a death will be chosen for you.

...blah, blah, blah...

Liability

1c. The Contractor may not be held responsible for any life circumstances that may arise from your choice of life retention or death choice. Once this document is signed by the Customer and the Contractor, the agreement is final and no changes to this agreement will be considered. [For exceptions please refer to section 22r.]

The contract droned on in his mind as he read, but something in his clouded memory niggled at the edge of his awareness. Then Donovan gasped—
section 22r.

"Oh my god, Easy.” He jabbed at the paper. “Look!"

He ran his finger across the page and read aloud what he found buried in very fine print:

[Exceptions]

22r. A member of the Bloodline may offer to exchange his/her own life for the life of another. In the event this exchange occurs, all past, present and future contracts for the Order will be null and void, providing:

a. the member of the Bloodline is present at the death of the individual with whom the exchange will occur b. the exchange is made within twenty minutes of the exchange recipient's death c. the member of the Bloodline offering the exchange signs the contract d. a member of the Order signs the contract and is witness to the death and the Bloodline signature.

"That's it, Easy. That's it! They never thought in a million years a member of the Order would sign."

"But it's not a complete contract,” said Easy.

"Who gives a fuck. We'll write in the rest. Here's where their precious rules are going to hang them.” He patted his pockets. “Pen ... pen. We need a pen!"

Easy pulled one out of his breast pocket. Donovan grabbed it and started writing. In minutes the document was complete; his attorney's eye was still sharp. He scrawled his signature across the bottom.

"Here. Sign it. You're one of them, right?"

"Well, yes, technically.” Easy paused and looked in Donovan's eyes. “Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I've never been more sure in my life. I'd do anything to save Becka.” He was breathless with excitement, but a shade of sadness crept into his voice when he thought of his wife. “I only wish I could have saved my Ally, too."

"She'll be waiting for you, Donovan."

He looked at Easy and realized he knew what he was talking about.

"Sign it, Easy! We've got to hurry."

There was a sudden gust of heat and a loud
crack
in the air.

"A little trouble with the paperwork, I see,” said the man in the sunglasses. The scene around them was once again frozen while the Contractor hovered over Donovan, ready to pluck the contract from his hands.

With a speed Donovan's eye could not follow, Easy seized the Contractor's wrist. A sizzling sound and the stench of the big angel's burning flesh rose from his grip. The Contractor writhed, his face twisting into the hideous beast beneath his cultured mask, knocking the sunglasses from his blazing eyes. He screamed with rage, and Donovan staggered as he watched its clothing tear at the seams, revealing the dark angel beast beneath.

With a sound of rending flesh, ridged horns jutted though its bony skull and the body undulated with maggots and vermin beneath the translucent skin. The beast slathered a long rotting tongue over fangs capped with tarnished gold and gnashed at the great black angel's face. Its oily flesh caused Easy's grip to falter. He bellowed in a deep, cavernous voice, rattling windows and setting off car alarms, adding to the cacophony of the battle. His determination unfaltering, he tightened his grip and pulled the beast closer, clutching its throat with his free hand. He held firm for what seemed an eternity, his great wings unfurled like sails behind him. The red angel thrashed and clawed, and smoke rose from its body as it spit threats and curses in a tongue from another realm. The more the demon resisted, the more brilliant the light of the black angel became. He shined like a nova. Donovan shielded his eyes until the beast roared a final insult and collapsed to its knees before the great angel.

"I submit, Ezekiel,” it said, its voice filled with a raging discord of demons, “but you know your kind cannot triumph. We are too strong."

Ezekiel cocked his head and looked down at the beast, his eyebrow raised.

"Right."

The ground beneath them split with a deafening sound and the form of the angel beast collapsed in Ezekiel's hand, its energy escaping like a blaze of red fire sucked back to hell. Without a moment of hesitation, Easy rushed to Donovan and grabbed the pen in his smoldering hand.

"The contract, Donovan. Hurry ... the time."

He shoved the charred document into the angel's hand and watched him sign. The scene around them suddenly came to life—someone shouted from the passenger side of the demolished car.

"Help. Somebody give me a hand. The woman in the car—she's alive."

A number of people worked to pull the young woman from the wreckage. As they were freeing her, Donovan was on his feet running toward the crowd.

"Oh my god...” He only hoped he could see her face—so like her mother's in the photos—just one time before death took him.

A woman from the group of rescuers wiped Becka's face with a handkerchief.

"Are ya hurt, honey? There's blood in your hair, but I can't find no wound anywhere."

"I feel okay. Just a little shaken up.” Her face looked suddenly stricken. “Where's Billy? He was in the car with me. Billy?” she shouted. She got to her feet, pushing past the woman and the crowd of rescuers and onlookers. “Billy?” She was nearly frantic when Donovan saw her face for the first time in over a decade. All he wanted to do was run to her and hold her in his arms, but she wouldn't know him—his own daughter wouldn't know him—so he did what he could do.

"He's over here,” shouted Donovan, pointing to the young man lying unconscious on the ground. Rescuers were tending to his wounds and waiting for the emergency vehicles to arrive. Becka ran to his side. Donovan admired her tender touch as she stroked the young man's hair.

"Oh, Billy, I'm so sorry I got you into all this.” Her tears were streaming. “I'm sorry."

Donovan's heart broke, seeing her pain and knowing he was responsible for whatever she was running from. He approached the circle of people around her.