On the Far Side of Darkness (11 page)

“No.”

“He said, ‘As you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.’ You’ve been staring at each other for a long time now. What he didn’t mention is that the abyss takes you for its own, eventually. People who deal too much with it are eaten by it. Is this the fate you want, Mandy? To be eaten by the abyss?”

I’ve made a mistake by using her first name.

“Don’t get friendly with me, asshole!” is her snarling rebuke. “I’m the one in control. The abyss does what I tell it, not the other way around. Nothing and no one tells me what to do!”

I look at her then, my eyes cold and my face reflective. She stares back defiantly. Our gazes lock for a long interval of time.

“Very well,” I finally announce. “I’ve tried psychology and philosophy. I guess I’m going to have to use something simple that you can understand. Threats.” I drop my human mask. My skin grows bloodless and I flash my fangs at her.

Mandy gapes and recoils. Her feet jump, pushing her away from me and her chair hits the wall with a loud thump. She hadn’t known exactly what I was, until now.

“So you think you understand about power and manipulation? Stupid human, I have centuries more experience at them than you. I can hurt you when ever I wish, Ms. Richardson.

“Do you have any feelings for Christy? I hope so. It will increase the effect when you wake up one morning and she is cold in your arms, her face filled with exquisite terror.”

Ms. Richardson’s eyes grow wide and the color leaves her face.

“One night, Mrs. Moran will go to the washroom and not come back. You’ll find her sitting on the toilet with her head nearly twisted off.”

Mandy’s mouth goes slack with shock.

“You have a pet? You’ll find it hanging from the hall ceiling, cut open and with its intestines trailing out.

“Replace that with a tank of fish? One morning you’ll discover them dissolving slowly as their water was replaced with battery acid overnight.”

She whimpers and tears start to flow.

“That nice house you’re in will burn one day. Any vehicle you own will be destroyed beyond repair.

“Your parents…”

“Leave my parents out of this!” she squeals.

“Why should I?” I ask her with ice riming my words. “You’re the one who decided to involve innocents.

“Your parents,” I go on, “will be found crucified naked in their living room, burns and shallow cuts caked with salt on every inch of their bodies.”

She pants with terror now.

“Anything and everything of the slightest value will be taken from you in a horrible manner. You’ll have to live with the pain of that and the guilt of knowing it was your fault.

“That will continue until the end of your days.”

Mandy’s huddling for warmth, her chest heaving and eyes flowing. She thought she knew about pain and terror. The fact that she understood so little is more than she can take.

I lean back in my chair, resume my mortal appearance. “So here are my demands.”

She looks up, not comprehending.

“Restore Diane, undo your work on her. Free the rest of your victims, they’ve suffered enough. Live your life as a normal human woman. Never cast another spell again.

“Do that and I’ll keep my threat in abeyance. If you don’t meet my demands, I’ll carry out the campaign against you that I’ve just outlined. You have until tomorrow night,
Mademoiselle
Richardson.
Au revoir
.”

I stand and without looking back, leave her and the library.

* * * *

Hours later, huddled against the chill both inside and out, I am on my bench at Poet’s Walk, desperately trying to subdue my emotions. The battle between man and monster is more intense than it has been for a long time.

My human feelings; sorrow, longing and anger surge through me. Diane and what has happened to her make my mind boil. The fate of Mandy’s other victims adds a little heat.

They slop over to the monster, make its presence intense. It takes all my strength to keep from searching out my student to make her pay in terror and agony.

You don’t have to be a monster, even now,
I tell myself. Ms. Richardson can meet my demands. If she does, our war is over. Like most wars, nothing will be gained, save the freedom of the people damaged by her. To me, that is more important than victory.

I tense as a fluttering sound comes from my right. It sounds as if a large bird is moving nearby, almost. But not quite.

The noise comes again, in front of me and I look to see if I can spot whatever is there. Nothing.

Again the rustling reaches me, left side this time. I recognize the pattern now. Whatever is out there is running a circle around me to check my awareness and for defenses. Which means…

I roll off the bench and something flashes by. It would have landed on my back if I had stayed still. A rank, fetid smell fills the air.

I come to my feet, facing the thing as it lands. For thing it is. It’s shaped vaguely like a whippet, spare and lean. But it’s three times the size of animal it is patterned after. Large wings resembling a bat’s are furled against its back. The body appears to be made out of rotting meat, the surface is scabrous, decomposing in places with maggots dripping from its interior. The eyes are milky but also glow with a dark intent. The jaws contain large, undamaged and very sharp teeth.

I can’t help myself and use a line from a movie I quite enjoyed. “You are one ugly motherfucker.”

A feeling scratches at the edge of my mind. I sense that the hell hound finds me amusing. I’m the first victim in a while who has shown defiance. It likes that, bravado will make my destruction more savory.

During that very short interval of distraction I prepare myself. My fingernails lengthen, thicken and become razor sharp. I pull a fair amount of blood from my stomach and convert it to energy. The sounds around me change in timbre as my speed climbs to far past human limits.

Without a noise it leaps for me. A mortal would die before this aberration’s assault. I take what seems to me a second to consider my response, step straight in and shove the spear point of my hand between its eyes. That’s followed by pivoting to my left like a matador and I hurl the demon into some bushes beyond the bench where I sat. Something black and slimy is wrapped in my fingers, the hell hound’s brain I’m hoping.

It would appear so. The creature in the shrubbery twitches, scrabbles at the air and bursts into blue flame.

So does what I grip in my hand and coats my lower arm.

The pain is enormous, beyond description. My head rolls back and I howl with my suffering. The ululation is utterly bestial. What I try to be is swept away and the monster screams free.

The light and my torture end. As my awareness returns I find I’m on my knees. It takes effort but I manage to focus on my hand. Little remains but a large chunk of charcoal, desiccated digits sticking from it. Without thought, I use my power. I can almost feel the liquid in my stomach gurgle as it’s changed into flesh and bone. My hand goes through a transformation like a movie playing backwards.

Soon I’m whole again, and hungry, ravenous. I’ve had to use nearly all my blood to heal myself.

There is a light touch on my shoulder, a young woman says, “Mister…”

Then my teeth are sunk in her neck. I shiver with pleasure as the delicious liquid fills my mouth and runs down my throat. Her fists pound on my back and her legs kick. I like it. Her fear gives the blood a sweeter savor.

I feed, and feed, and feed. Suddenly the monster lets go, sated and satisfied. I pull my head away from her throat. Our eyes meet, she gives me a puzzled look and she’s gone. Her final breath sighs forth and she slumps in my grip.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, and close her blank eyes. A wave of anguish passes through me. I’ve lost control again, and again an innocent has died. A choke of self-hatred grabs my throat for a second.

But there’s little time for sorrow. I lift her body under one arm. With care and speed I carry it from Poet’s Walk. As I pass the bush the demon landed in, I notice the foliage not the slightest bit singed. Sometimes, being supernatural has disadvantages.

My destination is a small copse of trees in a nearby park. I bend my strength, and my claws, to digging a shallow grave. “I’m sorry,” I tell my blameless victim once more as I lower her into it. Then I cover her up, and scrape the dirt so that the spot is indistinguishable from the rest of the grove. With even the slightest good luck it will be weeks before she is found. By that time there will be not the slightest trace of what killed her. My ass, as North Americans put it, and my kind are still safe.

So, I have received Ms. Richardson’s reply to my demands. It was the wrong one.

There’s little time before dawn. I head for a place of repose. I know my haven is compromised, but I have a bolt hole for such an eventuality. I haven’t survived this long by being careless.

Tomorrow, it ends,
I think as I slip into the night.

* * * *

A low growl rumbles through me as I start awake. I smash free of the trunk I’ve secreted myself and the door of the closet it was in with a single movement. My eyes scan the bedroom of the seedy apartment I’ve rented looking for something to kill. Disappointment twists my face when I find that there isn’t.

With no destruction to wreak the monster withdraws slightly, allowing my intellect to the fore. I manage to slip my human face into place and restrain my rage a bit more. My evening’s routine allows me even more equanimity.

Once finished that, I phone Major Price’s contact. “Report, please.”

Mandy had made another trip the previous night to the place my surveillance team won’t go near. She was there for several hours and returned home shortly there after. Ms. Richardson has stayed indoors since. She has appeared at least once in every window on the first and second floors of her house. Christy left their residence two hours ago and has not yet returned. Another woman arrived an hour later. Her description matches Helen’s. A second person has just entered; a petite, fair skinned woman with rich auburn hair. It takes all my strength not to scream in rage at that information.

“I need one more thing,” I ask the man on the other end of the phone, “directions to the farmhouse that the subject has been using.” His voice shakes as he gives me the information required. It seems that my fury is leaking out.

“Very well,” I tell him then. “The job is done. Pull your team out and thank…” The phone goes dead without another word from my contact. I can’t help but smile in pleasure, knowing I can frighten brave men.

As I prepare I can feel the grim set of my face. A black sweater goes over my torso and similarly colored jeans on my legs. I pull new combat boots on my feet and my final touch is the black leather jacket with Kevlar implants. The garment would be heavy for a human but the extra weight means nothing to me.

I leave my hiding place, using a side entrance and drawing the shadows around me. I head for my enemy’s abode, taking roofs, back streets and alleys. I’m a lot less likely to be spotted that way.

Soon I vault the back fence of Mandy’s yard. With great care, examining the ground closely, I approach the house where our conflict will end. There’s nothing that appears a danger and I can see no one in the windows. The only light shines from the second floor, one room is in use.

On reaching the deck, I check under it. All clear.

I step on the deck and approach the back door. Now I spot a problem. There are squiggles of some obscure pigment drawn on the floor just behind the glass. I can’t recognize if they are a written language, but I can guess their purpose. So instead of trying the door, I examine the kitchen window. The unfathomable runes form a barrier here as well.

With extreme caution, I investigate each side of the house. Every window is similarly warded. I don’t go to the front. It would be too obvious what I was up to if observed and my veil won’t shield me from intense scrutiny.

It’s then I recall what my surveillance had told me earlier. Mandy had warded the floors used for living. She never went near the attic, so far as I know. So I withdraw to a corner, far from the light. It’s only two stories to the roof. So I crouch and jump.

As I land I freeze, waiting for a response from within. None comes. After a five minute wait, I silently slip across the roof to one of the dormers. My surveillance missed something. This spot is warded as well. But I can see that only the windows are so guarded.

I climb to the apex of the roof and move to the center of it, keeping low. Then I lift shingles from it with care. Once the wood underneath is revealed, I dig with my claws. Soon I have an opening big enough to squirm through

The attic is dusty and long unused. Fiberglass insulation lies between the wooden beams that support the ceiling beneath me. I can see the only entrance to the main house from here, a small trap door. The grime on it shows that it has sat undisturbed for quite a while. There is a tiny mound of dust on the pink wool next to the opening, showing where Mandy moved it when she entered earlier. With great care I step from rafter to rafter. Fortunately, they are all solid and no creak sounds to betray my presence.