The Theocracy - The Blackened Cross - 32. Chapter 32

Even while bruised and red-eyed from lack of sleep, Kaufman still looked good in a suit. Regal and poised with his hair combed back. Two dozen faces watched him from around the room. Most of them were silent. Attentive. Maybe more than a little nervous. Not everyone was being quiet. Not everyone was paying attention.

Bazzelthorpe had to grind his teeth together to keep from glaring over his shoulder at the two idiots behind him. The bosswoman stood in the corner of the room, seemingly unaware, though the Astorathian knew she could hear them; all her focus was on the death magician.

“Chagidiel,” Vanus said. He clicked a button on a small black device. On the screen a painting of the death angel appeared. The painting depicted a crowd of naked mortals up a steep, snowy mountain pass. Their arms and legs were shackled to him, their faces drawn with despair and exhaustion. The fools behind Bazzelthorpe stopped laughing. The room went completely still. Unease saturated the air. “The Blood-Stained Patriarch, the Father of Perversion. This is who we are fighting. He is a coward who uses the weakness of others, particularly children, as his weapon. He plans from the shadows. Very rarely will he make a personal appearance.”

“Though he is a coward, do not underestimate him for one second,” Kaufman continued. “He is the master of trickery and will use the truth as a weapon by twisting it until you no longer know what the truth is.”

The screen flickered to a mugshot of a younger Jack Leonidas. “In the Fall of 1993, this man was apprehended by Theocracy agents. He was convicted for a number of arsons including the death of his mother, Elise Leonidas.” The next slide showed a corpse strapped down to an armchair; the body was so charred its gender was unrecognizable. Thinking of the Anderson house, Bazzel shifted uncomfortably. His belly let out a low mewling groan.

“Leonidas was found with this object…” A sketch of Chokmah’s lighter. I’d show you a photo of this object if I had one, but any attempts to take photos of it only destroys the device, so know this is no ordinary Zippo lighter. The lighter was bagged, tagged, and put in evidence. This item serves as a conduit. A storage unit if you will for the Archon, Chokmah’s influence. Initially my partner, Agent Bazzelthorpe and I thought these events were of Chokmah’s doing hence the appearance of his calling card. We learned recently that it is his shadow, the death angel Chagidiel, acting in his stead for reasons yet to be discovered.”

A hand went up. “Is Chokmah aware of this?”

“Dunno. I’d like to reiterate this is not the first time Chagidiel has acted in the guise of another.”

Another hand shot into the air. “Where is the conduit now?”

Kaufman smiled. “Good question. I was getting there. During Leonidas’ very open and shut trial the lighter vanished. No one attempted to steal it, it simply found a new owner.” A snapshot of a teenaged Brad Anderson standing on a soccer ball field. “A confluence of events happened around the vanishing of the lighter. First: Leonidas fell into a coma…a coma he has not woken up from in thirty years. Right now he’s on life support on a very secure ward at Genevieve Hospital. Turn your gaze over to Tootulu and you’ll see a fourteen-year-old boy walking home from school one fall day and he finds a lighter at the exact spot where Leonidas was captured. A boy who has no idea what he’s picked up, a seemingly harmless object that will affect the rest of his life.”

A montage of shots taken of the graves by and near the Anderson property. “Like Leonidas, Chokmah’s lighter fed off him. He killed these animals as unwitting offerings to Chagidiel. As we know offerings and worship of any kind bolsters a death angel’s influence.”

One of the knuckleheads behind Bazzelthorpe guffawed. “Including pigeons? You got to be fuckin kidding me!”

“I’m not fucking kidding,” Kaufman said with a look that said Don’t interrupt me again. “Fortunately Anderson was caught before Chagidiel could truly take hold of him. Anderson was treated at Genevieve Hospital in the residential ward where he was housed until he turned of age. For thirty years the lighter did not resurface until this last week.”

A snapshot of Brad in his early forties with a baby Anne cradled in one freckled arm and his wife in a one-armed bear hug with the other.

“This is Anderson as an adult. He became a photographer and assistant working for Jaffe Curry, had a wife and a daughter. He was able to move on from the tragedy that befell him as a child and build a new life. A happy life. But like the worst sexual predator there is, Chagidiel has his favorites.”

Kaufman gulped. His Adam’s Apple bobbed visibly. Bazzel’s heart lurched in his chest. He hated that he couldn’t go to the death magician…he didn’t think Kaufman would want him to do so in a room full of people. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be for him to stand up there.

A montage of images: the burned down Christian church; the Wishwood fire in all its apocalyptic glory; the corpses of Anderson’s parents.

This time when Kaufman spoke his voice was the most grim Bazzel had yet to hear. “Chagidiel is active against and he’s using Anderson has his human vessel. The transformation is too advanced to be reversed. With each building he burns, with every life he takes, he will only grow more powerful. The fires will spread throughout the city until there is nothing left but ash.” He tapped a finger against the man who was only here by projection. “That is no longer a man. He’s already dead. We need to find the creature that’s taken over his body and we need to kill it before it kills anyone else.”

“It’s strange to hear you speak so frankly, Vanus,” the bosswoman said after he’d dismissed everyone from the room. Everyone but Bazzelthorpe who refused to leave the death magician’s side. “I’ve always applauded you for your solution-based focus as opposed to the moronic trigger happy approach of the chaos magicians. Do I need to look over your psych eval again?”

Kaufman grinned humorlessly. “Just trying to learn from past mistakes,” the death magician said through gritted teeth. “We don’t want anymore dead people, do we?”

“We do not. Which is why I am making this case an absolute priority. It’s all hands on deck. Whatever you need to terminate Anderson is at your disposal.

“I want patrols around the hospital day and night,” Kaufman said without taking a breath. “Both inside and outside the building. Anderson has the ability to create bridges that go all the way down to Inferno. I have a feeling he will create one to gain access to the building. Who knows what resources he might have at his disposal at this point.”

“What would his interest in the hospital be?” the bosswoman asked with a permanent frown frozen on her face.

“Leonidas,” Bazzelthorpe rumbled. He felt his tail curl into a tight ball when he said the arsonist’s name.

“What would he do with Leonidas? The man has been in a coma for the past thirty years?”

“Him being in a coma doesn’t mean he’s dead.”

“Do you think Anderson could find a way to resurrect him?”

“At this point do you want to leave it up to chance?” said Kaufman. “The psych ward also happens to be the perfect place for cult recruiting. Suffering and insanity are Chagidiel’s bread and butter. With two potential Incarnates running around it could be the start of something our underfunded department can’t handle.”

“I see your point,” Gwendolyn said. “I’ll give you Dougherty and his squad.”

Kaufman made a face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Is there something wrong with Dougherty?”

“We don’t get along. He’s a cleft-chinned idiot.”

The captain made a face that said this wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. “You’re just going to have to get over your squabbles for the time being, Vanus. I don’t have the funding or the time to get you anyone else. Dougherty and his team are the best we got. So make it work the best you can.”

…

“So,” Dougherty said with a grin that turned the cleft in his chin into a crack, “are we expecting some fun? I hope so. I haven’t had anything good to blow up in a while.”

Kaufman grinned in a way that said he would rather be anywhere else but here in the armored van, crammed in with four chaos magicians and a cranky Astorathian. “Two Incarnates, whatever reinforcements they decide to bring with them, and whatever else. Yeah, sounds like a lot of fun to me. Lots of things to blow up.”

“I would think what happened after the Astorathian Butcher you could use something more straightforward,” Dougherty said.

Bazzelthorpe had to grit his teeth together to keep from growling. Who was this fool to think he could talk to Kaufman in this way? “He is very good at what he does,” he said before he could stop himself. “The best in fact…”

Before he could finish, Kaufman gave him a fractional shake of his head. Let me fight my own battles. The death magician turned back to Dougherty with narrowed eyes. “By more straightforward, you mean…?”

“Something not so intense,” Doughtery said with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders.

“Dougherty, I’ve been working on this case for over a week. Since then, I’ve been to Inferno and back.” Kaufman’s smile did not reach his eyes. “I think I can handle it.”

Everyone else in the van was silent. Bazzelthorpe studied the faces surrounding him. The faces of strangers. Two men and two women, all armed with staves. These were the people the captain had sent as backup. Underneath the banter, a black dread clung to the inner walls of the van like ivy. Was this why Dougherty wasted his time making jests at Kaufman? To hide the fact he was scared?

The van turned past a line of trees and there was Genevieve Hospital. Thirteen stories tall, the hospital resembled something from the streets of Inferno. Light from the setting sun framed the building in magenta, towering over the sky so that it seemed to glare at everyone down below. Bazzelthorpe could see the beginning signs of the building starting to wear down: in the way the building itself seemed to sag forward as if it could barely stand. His last visit to the hospital was still fresh in his mind. Being stuck in a cold, white room. Restrained. Unable to move. Confused. Unable to make sense of these things. His hands remained clenched in a tight fist until the van pulled to a stop behind an ambulance.

“Something’s wrong,” one of the chaos magicians said: a woman with dark hair and skin. Bazzelthorpe recalled that her last name was Kahn.

He peered out the window.

“There’s hardly any vehicles in the parking lot,” said another, a man who went by Rodriguez. “No one’s walking in and out of the building either.”

“Don’t start getting your panties in a bunch now ladies and gents.” Dougherty stood up, staff in hand. “Alright, Kaufman, what are we doing?”

“We get inside and assess the situation. Then we find out where Leonidas is and hope we get to him before Anderson does,” Kaufman said in a steady voice that did not sync up with the unsteady gallop of Bazzelthorpe’s heart. “Dougherty, you and your team are on point. My partner and I will be at the rear.'

Dougherty nodded. They’d gathered into a cluster in front of the hospital. The building towered over them, casting the group in its ominous shadow. “You’re the line leader, it’s whatever you say. Chaplin, Rodriguez, and Kahn. You three are with me. Stay on my back!”

Affirming shouts from all around.

Bazzelthorpe looked at Kaufman. Kaufman was looking intently at Dougherty’s back. His jaw was clenched in determination. As long as I’m with you, I know we’ll be okay, Bazzelthorpe tried to tell him with his thoughts. If the death magician didn’t catch it, then sentiment alone would have to do for now. If we survive this case I’ll tell you everyday when you wake up and every night before you go to bed.

The thought died in his head when they reached the front doors of the ER. The doors slid open with a swishing sound, then slid back shut. The team waited a beat, listening to the unnatural silence in the air. Bazzelthorpe sniffed the air.

He smelled blood.

“I smell death,” he whispered to Kaufman.

The death magician nodded gravely. “I feel it. We’re too late.”

The hospital doors slid back open. Bazzelthorpe thought he saw the shape of a bloody handprint on the glass.

“Let’s move,” Dougherty said.

His team marched across the parking lot stealthily with Bazzelthorpe and Kaufman bringing up the rear. They stopped behind Dougherty’s team. Dougherty ticked off three fingers, then waved his team ahead. Like shadows they darted into the recesses of the hospital. Somewhere inside the building, Bazzelthorpe could hear the blaring of several alarms.

“Would I be a fool if I said I was scared?” Bazzelthorpe asked Kaufman.

“No,” the death magician said. He gave the Astorathian a hard look. “I’m scared too. It’s what we do in spite of our fears that matter. Look, I got your back and you got mine. Right? That’s literally all we need.”

“All we need,” Bazzelthorpe agreed.

Dougherty returned five minutes later, his face ashen.

“Something wrong?” Kaufman asked.

“The whole fucking thing’s wrong. Everyone looks like they’re dead so far.”

Something in Kaufman’s face twitched, but somehow he managed to remain calm - Bazzelthorpe didn’t know if he would have been able to do the same in the face of this news. “We need to hurry. Inside, let’s go.”

It was time to follow the death magician into another nightmare.