The Theocracy - The Blackened Cross - 18. Chapter 18

“I’m here,” Vanus said in a voice thick with sleep and dreams and ghosts and who knew what else. “Right before it happened.”

Bazzelthorpe sat with his back against the wall. Except for Vanus everything was completely silent. It was as if the building had lost complete interest in them for the time being. It’s probably just waiting, trying to draw us out, the Astorathian thought. “What do you see?” he asked just to distract himself from the slow passage of time. He could feel each second dragging itself along, taking their sweet time. He didn’t think Vanus could hear him in his stupor, but it helped a little to pretend as if he could.

Van’s lips thinned in concentration. His eyes roved beneath the soft flesh of his eyelids. “It’s raining. It’s windy. That’s right, it rained last night.”

Bazzelthorpe felt his spine straighten in surprise. “You can hear me?”

Eyes still closed, the death magician nodded slightly. “I can hear you. Your voice echoes, but it’s there.”

The Astorathian sat forward, forgetting about their current predicament. “Are you in the past?”

“It’s yesterday,” was all Vanus said.

Bazzelthorpe’s heart sped up. “Tell me everything. Tell me everything you see.”

“I’m in the back of a car with someone,” Vanus said. “A man’s sitting in the front seat. I can’t quite see his face because he’s got a hood on. It’s the same man as before, but I know it’s him. There’s someone else sitting in the back seat: another man. He’s shadowed out though, like he doesn’t want to be seen.”

“A spirit?”

Vanus frowned. “Yes…uh, no? I don’t know what he is.” He shook his head in frustration. “He’s not alive, but he’s not dead either. He’s somewhere in between. I can’t get a bead on him.”

“Then don’t pay attention to him. Focus on the man driving the car: He’s the one we’re after. What is he doing?”

Several long seconds passed before the death magician answered. “He’s following someone. A woman. She’s got a paper bag in her hand. I don’t think she knows she’s being followed. They’re heading back towards the building. This building.” He lapsed into silence once more. Several more excruciating seconds passed before he continued. “She’s entering the building. The killer’s watching her talk to another man. She’s talking to him…a security guard.”

He gasped so suddenly it made Bazzelthorpe jump. “What is it?” the Astorathian demanded excitedly.

“It’s Kojac, the spirit who visited me before. He’s here. He was one of the victims who died in the fire. The killer’s crossing the street. The woman’s in the elevator now. The guard sees him. Recognizes him too. Judging from the way he looks at the killer, he doesn't like him. The killer walks past him; he’s going through one of the doors into a hallway. Oh no…”

“What is it? Stay with me, Vanus.” Bazzelthorpe took Van’s hand. The medium felt ice-cold to the touch. Whatever trick it took to put himself in this trance, it was costing him. Fresh blood trickled from his nose. Bazzelthorpe wiped it away gently with his other hand. He didn’t know what was happening; he had less of an idea of what to do. He should be trying to get a hold of someone…backup. He should be trying to bust their way out of here. There were a lot of things he should have been doing, but for now all he could do was hold the man’s hand in the thread-thin hope that he could guide the medium back to the waking world.

“He can see me,” Vanus whispered with the frightened voice of a child.

Bazzelthorpe felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. “Who can see you?”

“The shadow man. The one who’s neither a living man nor a ghost. He’s whispering in the killer’s ear. He’s pointing at me. Oh Good Mother, they’re both looking at me…”

Bazzelthorpe gave his hand a squeeze, careful not to put enough pressure to break bone. “Kaufman,” he said in the most reassuring voice he could muster, “I need you to wake up now. You’ve seen enough.”

Vanus shook his head frantically; his lips peeled back from teeth clenched together in a feral grin of pure terror. “I can’t move, I can’t do anything. It’s like they have me locked up. The killer has something in his hand. It’s glowing with a bright orange light. I can’t make out what it was…”

Before he could finish describing all that he saw, Vanus screamed. The sound was high-pitched and tortured. He clawed at his hair, shooting to his feet. He began slapping at his clothes, his skin, his hair. “Put it out!” he screamed. His eyes bulged from his head unseeing. “Put it out, put it out, put it out! I’m burning!”

Bazzelthorpe seized him by the shoulders. He shook the medium hard enough spit flew from his mouth, shook him until Van’s eyes were open and he was begging the Astorathian to stop. “I’m awake, I’m awake, I’m awake, damn you! Let me go, you bastard!”

This time when Bazzelthorpe released him the death magician flew back, about to topple onto the floor once more. Before his rump could hit the floor the Astorathian pulled him up straight. His breath came out in harsh gasps, his dark hair matted with sweat. “Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You don’t know how unpleasant that was for me.”

“What happened?” Bazzelthorpe had the strange urge to brush back a stray lock that sat atop the medium’s forehead; he resisted it. Where was this urge to touch him all the time come from and when had it begun? Think about it when you get out of this dump, he told himself. Right now you should be thinking about how you’re going to get out of here.

Vanus shook his head, still trying to clear himself of the images he’d seen. “He did something…I don’t know, pyromancy or something. He set me on fire. I was burning and it felt so real. It hurt so bad. To think that’s what they went through. All of them. I have to do something for them. I have to help them.”

Bazzelthorpe gripped his shoulders in the hopes of getting through to him. “You can’t help them if you’re dead. I’m going to see if I can get a hold of the boss woman, get us some backup. You rest.”

Vanus opened his mouth to protest. Before he could say a word, Bazzelthorpe nudged him gently towards the wall. “Sit,” he insisted tersely.

Vanus gave him a look but did as he was told.

It took several attempts to reach the bosswoman. When the call came through her voice popped in and out, the words crackling through a sea of static. “Agent Bazzel…” [the loud popping of static] “...where are you…and Agent Kaufman?...Have been trying to reach you all day…”

The call fizzed out.

Bazzelthorpe clenched his teeth together. In a flare of rage his fist closed around the phone. Coils of plastic and wire sprinkled on the floor.

“Well that’s one way of dealing with your anger,” Vanus said lightly. “Do you feel better?”

“Much,” Astorathian said.

“And now you’re short a phone.”

“I don’t see you using yours.”

“Because it’s not doing any good.” Vanus grabbed his staff. Using it as a cane, he climbed to his feet. “We’re going to have to bust our way out of here. Coming here by ourselves was not the best idea. I take full responsibility for that. Do you still have the camera?”

“Yes.”

“Good, we’re going to need it. The entrance is on the floor below us, right? So we don’t have far to go. Just down the hall and then the stairs.” Vanus clapped his hands together as if preparing to give a pep talk. “Right. We got this.”

“I liked you better when you were twitching on the ground,” the Astorathian growled.

“I’m sure many have felt that way.” The sorcerer pressed the end of his staff to the door, breaking the ward. He threw the door open. “Let’s go!”

The dead ambushed them like a mob. They scuttled along the ceiling, the walls, and floor like insects. The whites of their eyes flashed in the luminance from Van’s mana. Sparks of light flashed spat from the end of the medium’s staff. “May you all rest in peace,” he said in a voice that sounded completely calm. He unleashed the charge.

The deafening screams of the dead filled the hallway. Their voice echoed, so loud, so deafening it made every bone in Bazzelthorpe’s body rattle. He slammed the palms of his hands over his ears but it proved no good. The camera fell from his hand, hitting the floor with a clatter. He stooped quickly to pick it up.

Whatever doubts Bazzelthorpe may have had about Van’s abilities were immediately proven wrong. The medium was agile, spinning on his heels like a dancer. Each time his staff flashed the ground shook beneath his feet. Revenants flew apart. Their screams echoed in the air long after they’d disappeared from view before slowly fading out. All Bazzelthorpe could do was watch, dazzled by the halo of silver light that surrounded the magician.

“The way’s clear!” Vanus shouted through coughs as a black cloud of dust billowed down the hallway. Nimble fingers tugged at the sleeve of Bazzelthorpe’s coat. The Astorathian dashed after him towards the stairs.

They made it halfway down the stairs when the floor gave way beneath Bazzelthorpe’s feet and he was falling into endless darkness.

…

One second the Astorathian was there and then he wasn’t. In his place was a giant black hole where the earth had swallowed him whole. Vanus scurried to the pit and fell to his knees. He peered into the depths of the hole; fear gripped his heart like a black fist. The pit went down further than the eye could see. Red light bled up from the darkness. A staircase spiraled down the sides of the pit further than the eye could see.

Sulfur-smelling fumes rose into the air. The furnaces of Inferno. There’s no way he could survive a fall that deep.

An all too familiar sense of panic squeezed in on the death magician from all sides. He couldn’t shake the feeling that time was repeating itself. Another victim had been claimed on his watch; another Astorathian. Despair threatened to engulf him, sending him plummeting into the hole after Bazzelthorpe.

“No,” a voice said aloud. It was his voice and it rung not with despair but determination. “This isn’t happening again. I won’t let it.” I’m going after him. I won’t let him end up like Hellen.

It was insane he knew. The door out of the building was right behind him. He should leave, call for backup, wait for help to come. He would not. Nor would he give up on Bazzelthorpe. He’s alive. He has to be. The bastard’s too stubborn…

Something vibrated in his pocket.

It was his cell phone. It was the captain. “Oh now you work,” he muttered under his breath. “Useless piece of junk. Captain,” he said when he answered the call.

“Agent Kaufman, where are you and Agent Bazzelthorpe?” She didn’t call him by his actual name which meant she meant business.

“We’re at the Wishwood apartments…what’s left of them anyway.”

“What are you doing there?” the captain demanded. “I did not give either one of you permission to be there. Where is Agent Bazzelthorpe right now? Is he with you?”

Vanus barked out a caustic laugh that was equal parts bitterness and hysteria. “He’s indisposed right now. I’m going to go get him.”

“Indisposed? What do you mean indisposed?” Her voice was so loud it made his skull rattle; he pulled the phone away from his ear with a wince. Damn those vampire vocal cords. “Get somewhere safe and remain there until we return. That’s an order, Kaufman.”

Vanus smiled as if she could see it, as if she were standing before him right now. “With all due respect, captain, I’m going to have to respectfully decline. This case is bigger than we thought. It goes all the way down to Inferno, which is where Agent Bazzelthorpe is right now. If he’s still alive, and I think he is, then we don’t have time to wait. I’m going after him.”

He ended the call.

Cautiously he put his foot on the first step leading down into Inferno. The step felt solid beneath his feet. Of course it did, it was made of stone that had been here since the beginning of time. He had a headache. His whole body ached. Already he’d used too much of himself by putting himself in a trance.

None of it matters. I can’t fail. Not again.

With his staff in hand, Vanus started the descent into Inferno.