The Jake Helman Files Personal Demons (19 page)

Laddock and Birch ran out of ammunition within a second of each other.

“Fuck!” Laddock said, terror rising in his voice. He cocked his arm and hurled his empty Glock at the intruder, but the metal weapon bounced off a chiseled chest. He looked to his partner for help.

Birch ejected the empty cartridge from his Glock’s grip, allowing it to clatter on the floor. He jammed his left hand into his blazer pocket and fished for a fresh magazine. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up into the eyes of death. Throbbing, grisly fingers closed over his hand and the Glock, fusing them together in a searing blast of pain. He screamed as black smoke curled up from his sizzling flesh.

Laddock stepped back as the intruder turned to him.

The elevator doors opened and Jake stared out at an incredible tableau: an awesome figure stood fifteen feet away, holding the guards above the floor by their faces. Fear spread through Jake like ice water, immobilizing him. The naked, humanoid creature stood seven feet tall, its frame as muscular as a bodybuilder’s. A large penis hung flaccid between his powerful legs, and fiery sinew clung to his ebony skull. Two tiny pinpricks of light pulsed within dark, empty eye sockets, like miniature stars, and a pink brain throbbed beneath the glassy surface of the dark skull. Black light pulsed through the transparent organs and bones in his body, and the blood in his veins glowed like lava.

What had Tower called him?

The Reaper
.

Jake recalled the Anting-Anting, with its image of a warrior slaying a demon. Sweat trickled down his face, and he realized that the temperature had climbed despite the elevator’s air-conditioning.

Laddock and Birch screamed as one, their feet kicking the empty space above the floor. Dark smoke rose from between the Reaper’s fingers as they dug into the guards’ faces, and Jake choked on the stench of burning flesh. The men clawed at the Reaper’s forearms, desperate to free themselves. Paralyzed with fear, Jake allowed the Glock to hang limp at his side. He wanted to flee upstairs, but he couldn’t even raise his hand to press the necessary button, and he could not bring himself to step out of the elevator. He felt puny and insignificant before this monstrous being, and powerless to help his subordinates.

The Reaper spread his arms wide apart, swinging the guards in opposite directions like rag dolls, then swung his hands together in a thunderous clap, smashing the guards’ heads against each other like watermelons. The screaming came to an abrupt stop, replaced by a wet-sounding explosion that showered Jake in blood, brain chunks, and skull fragments. Jake slid to the floor with his back against the elevator’s rear wall.

The Reaper dropped the bodies to the floor, blood gushing out of their caved-in heads. Noticing Jake for the first time, the Reaper twisted his features into a hideous imitation of a grin, his gums and teeth visible through transparent lips. He stepped forward and Jake shuddered.

The monster was coming for him!

The Reaper advanced on him like some great, unstoppable behemoth. Jake felt the muscles in his neck twitch as he strained to raise his gun and failed. The Reaper’s movements slowed, his body trembling as if he were walking against a mighty river’s current. He pressed one shoulder against an invisible wall and tried to knock it over, his features contorting with effort. He swung his fists at the force field, thunderous blows that would have toppled a house. Jake flinched with each impact as the Reaper inched steadily closer to him. Then the Reaper stopped struggling and stepped back, surveying the space before him from floor to ceiling. He opened and closed his fists, the black light within his body pulsating faster. His chest rose and fell, and he narrowed his translucent eyelids.

Staring into the pinpricks of red light that burned within the Reaper’s black eye sockets, Jake saw only death. He wanted to cry out and beg for mercy, but his vocal cords froze. The Reaper raised his right arm and aimed his pointer finger at Jake, who groaned. The monster’s heart glowed fiery red, and flames rippled across his glassy skin. He became a vague outline within the concentrated inferno, then vanished, sucking the flames after him. A sulfuric odor lingered over the carnage in his wake.

Jake gaped at the bloody bodies on the floor, his eyes darting from side to side. How had he managed to escape their fate? Drenched in gore, he looked down at his trench coat, then wiped his face on his sleeves. He pulled himself into a standing position, then shifted his gun from one hand to the other. He peeled off the sticky garment and let it slip to the floor. The elevator doors started to close and he stuck out one arm, forcing them open again, his fingers flexing in the heat. Staggering into the lobby, he slipped in a crimson puddle on the floor but managed to regain his balance. He stared in awe at Birch’s gun, which had become part of the dead guard’s hand. Stepping around the corpses, he saw that the Soul Searchers had departed. But how long ago? He moved forward, heart and mind racing.

Kira’s voice came over the dead guards’ walkie-talkies: “Stop right there, Mr. Helman.”

How did she know—?

He looked up at the camera over the doors, then at the one over the elevators. Their LED lights glowed red.
They must have gone back online as soon as the Reaper disappeared
. Gritting his teeth and raising his right arm, he extended his middle finger so that both cameras picked up his action.
Fuck you
, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get the words to come out.

So he ran.

C
old air slapped Jake’s face as he plowed through the doors and charged across the sidewalk, dwarfed by the towering buildings around him. He ran through the canyon of limestone, steel, and glass.

Oh, my God
.

Emerging from the shadows of the massive structures, he waited until he had turned onto Twenty-third Street to jam his gun into its holster.

A demon
!

Eyes wild, he dodged pedestrians on the crowded sidewalk. Some stepped out of his way with alarmed expressions, and he realized that he still had blood on his face.

He didn’t care.

A fucking demon!

He ran down the concrete steps of the uptown Number Six subway station at Park Avenue and bought a Metro card at an automated dispenser. As he scooped coins from the change slot, he pictured Laddock and Birch with their heads crushed.

So much blood …

His shaking hands sent the coins rolling across the floor. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that no one—no
thing
—had followed him and he stumbled through a turnstile. The station tilted around him, and his stomach threatened to expel its contents. He wrapped one arm around a steel column and circled it, then paced the grimy platform, waiting for the next train. Black splotches dotted the concrete: discarded chewing gum smeared with filth.

Demon … blood … ghosts …

When a train pulled in and its doors opened, he boarded a car three-quarters full. He moved toward the nearest available seat, but a tiny old Chinese woman carrying four bags of groceries scurried in front of him and took it. Staring straight ahead, she ignored him. Her unblinking eyes reminded him of his first glimpse of Shannon’s corpse in Hell’s Kitchen. The doors chimed and closed, and he moved to the front of the car and sank into a corner seat. He buried his face in his hands as the train surged forward, rocking him from side to side. The lights blinked on and off and metal screeched against metal in the dark tunnel.

Feeling someone’s eyes gazing at him, he spread his fingers and peered through the spaces between them. Two black women with wrinkled faces sat opposite him, sharing the same disgusted expression. He closed his fingers again, shutting out their holier-than-thou stares.

“Blue-eyed devil,” one of them said and the other clucked her tongue.

His stomach constricted and he unleashed a maniacal laugh that would not stop.

S
itting behind his office desk, Tower stared at Kira, who stood silhouetted against the wall of monitors. With his defective eye bandaged, he had little depth perception, which made it difficult to gauge her actual distance from him.

“How did this happen?” he said. “We’re supposed to be protected.”

Kira did not move. On one of the monitors behind her, Pulaski mopped the lobby floor while Graham used a wet vac to suck up the gore. The corpses had already been removed.

“Either the Reaper’s grown stronger,” she said, “or our shield’s grown weaker. I’m having it reinforced now.”

Tower admired her take-charge attitude and it amused him that they thought so much alike. “Did we at least gain any useful information from this attack?”

“The new cameras temporarily shorted out—”

“Damn it!” He pounded the desktop like a petulant child. No matter how much money he poured into developing new technology, the results never met his expectations.

Kira ignored his outburst. “According to our digital thermometer system, the temperature spiked seventeen degrees, even with the air-conditioning on. There are traces of ash on the floor, and both guards suffered severe burns before they expired. It’s a good thing we turned off the sprinkler system or we’d have had police and firefighters all over the Tower.”

Tower smiled with half of his mouth. At least one of their measures had worked to his advantage. “And Helman?”

She circled the desk, her features coming into view. “There’s only one place on earth for him to go.”

Tower chuckled. “What do you make of him?”

Sitting on the edge of the desk, Kira crossed her legs. “He’s a sleazy, corrupt bastard who only thinks of himself.” Her lips formed a smile. “Perfect for our needs.”

Tower studied the curve of her thigh, then slid his hand along it. “I agree.” He looked into her eyes, green tinged with yellow. “You know what needs to be done.”

Flipping her hair out of her face, Kira spread her legs apart. “Of course. I’ll take care of everything.”

Jake disembarked the subway train eight stops later, at Eighty-sixth Street. He bought a pack of Marlboros at a corner newsstand off Lexington Avenue and lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. Nicotine rushed through his body and his knees wobbled like rubber.

Tower knew that the Reaper existed. Did he fear the demon? Had he hired Jake to protect him from the Grim Reaper?

Jake crossed the busy intersection at Third Avenue, plowing through people too stubborn to move out of his way. He passed a movie theater, a bookstore, and two Greek diners before turning right onto a quiet stretch of First Avenue. At the far corner of Eighty-fourth Street, he waited for the traffic light to change, then crossed the avenue. It felt unreal to be back in his home neighborhood. No pedestrians in sight, just cars, a stillness hanging in the air. But he felt safe. He just needed a little time alone in the apartment to gather his thoughts and plan his next move. He stopped in midstep over the curb of the sidewalk on his block, his blood turning cold.

Oh, no
.

Two men stood waiting outside his building, fifty feet ahead of him.

Oh, Christ, no!

One tall, the other bald.

Not them …

Kevin Creed and Oscar Soot.

Dread and Baldy
.