The Theocracy - The Blackened Cross - 38. Chapter 38

Bazzelthorpe woke up to find a familiar face sitting next to his bed; it wasn’t the face he wanted.

The captain looked down at him with a face that was cold and bloodless. The slash of dark red lipstick across her mouth was meant to make her look more friendly and less of a monster, but Bazzelthorpe knew she was only here for one reason and it wasn’t for him.

“Where is he?” she demanded imperiously.

Bazzelthorpe blinked. He felt foggy. He felt light. He felt heavy. He felt all three things at the same time. Humans and their damned drugs, he thought. He did not like this feeling of not being able to see or think, of not being able to keep his head upright. It would be better to deal with the pain without the drugs.

“Where’s who?” he asked.

“Who do you think?” In a lightning flash of movement, the captain was on her feet. She glared down at him, silently promising retribution if he didn’t answer her.

Kaufman. She meant Kaufman. Of course she did. Why else would she be here if not for him? “I don’t know. I’ve been out because of the drugs. I haven’t seen him since…” What time was it? What day was it? “He was just here last night.” Barbs of panic shot through him. Where was the death agent? Why hadn’t he come to check on him? Bazzelthorpe tried not to feel hurt when this thought passed through his mind.

“Kaufman has been taken.”

Those four words were enough to break through the first layer of haze. “Taken? What do you mean taken?”

“An hour ago he called for backup at a cabin ten minutes outside of the city. From what we gathered, Heidi Anderson was staying at her parents’ cabin’s house until the storm blew over. The rest we are just gathering evidence. We…” Gwen’s voice dropped into something that might have been grief or worry or disturbance. “We found two bodies.”

Bazzelthorpe sat up into a sitting position. The vital monitor beeped angrily at him.

The captain held out a hand as if to stop him. “Don’t do that.. You’ll rip out your stitches.”

Bazzelthorpe didn’t care. There was only one thing he wanted to know. “Where’s Kaufman?”

“The two bodies we discovered were of the woman and the girl. They were burned beyond recognition. We think Leonidas has Kaufman…but I wasn’t sure. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t spoken to him first.”

Bazzelthorpe felt his fingers clench into fists. “Instead of wasting time interrogating me you should be looking for him. Get me out of here.”

The captain shook her head. “You’re not ready to be discharged yet. Far from it…”

Climbing out of the bed, the Astorathian stood to his full height. The captain fell in his shadow. "I am fine. It will take more than a few broken stitches to keep me down."

In one of those rare occasions, true emotion showed on the boss woman's face. "This whole situation has gotten completely out of hand…"

Bazzelthorpe glared down at her. "I don't care about your bureaucratic mishaps. Your job is to push papers at a desk, dealing with the press and whatever silly politics you surfacers have created for yourselves. Mine is on the ground with my feet running. Right now my partner is missing. He could be hurt, or killed…" His voice caught on the word killed. Kaufman, he thought despairingly, trying to keep it together with tears of mounting rage and pain and panic burning his eyes. I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help you. I'm so sorry I failed you. "I have to find him and I won't stop until I do. Either you're going to show me the spot where he was taken, or I'll go there myself."

He was being difficult…putting in her a position, bending her over a barrel as the sayings went…but he didn't care. Kaufman's face pulses within his mind like a beating heart. What choice does she have? I'm her last hope of finding him.

"Alright," the bosswoman said. "Alright…"

A half an hour later they reached the crime scene. Wreaths of smoke hung around the cabin. Bazzelthorpe wavered uncertainly on his feet, having to lean against the car to keep his balance. The corners of the world folded in on themselves, threatening to pull him under. The bosswoman said something but her voice sounded far away and weak.

He waved a hand at her dismissively. I'm fine. Just give me a minute.

With the white-coats combing the property it could have been a rendition of the crime scene at the Anderson place. It wasn't, he reminded himself. A mother and her little girl has suffered greatly before being murdered in cold blood. He could see the scorched patches of grass where they'd died. He looked away. Tears sprung to his eyes. Don't you dare cry now, he told himself. Not until you find Kaufman.

"How far out was back up?" he heard himself rumble. Panic seized his heart in a tight, black fist.

"Ten minutes. From what forensics were able to put together, it was close. We were a minute out when things went down," she said in a voice that dropped into something like shame.

"Ten minutes?" The Astorathian rounded on her; this time there was no keeping his emotions at bay. "And then you wonder why your department is on the verge of shut down…"

The bosswoman's eyes flashed with genuine anger, the only genuine emotion he'd seen from her. "That is quite unfair…"

"Is it? Your best agent is missing because of your shitty response time. Heaven help you if anything happens to him."

He had to get away from her before he said or did something he truly regretted. He ambled towards the house, knowing that he would find more signs of struggle, more signs of terror inside. He searched the hallway, hoping to find a sign of the death magician…a whiff of his scent, the slightest psychic trace. Anything.

Kaufman, where are you? Reach out. Give me a sign.

There were no signs to be had. Kaufman was gone. It was as if he'd vanished without a trace.

Hang in there Kaufman. I'll find you. And when I do, I'll bring you home.

                             …

The sound of screams, raised in high-pitched terror, raised in agony. The sound of maddened laughter, of voices raised in benediction. The smell of smoke. These things haunted him.

Vanus should be dead. He knew this as certain as he knew his own name. The thought had crossed his mind more than once over the last several days. Only now he was certain it wasn't due to a particular skill set or talent he possessed. For as long as he could remember he'd always been sought after by one thing or another. Those things would keep chasing him until they caught him or he died.

It was all too tempting to go back under and let the darkness claim him. The pain in his arms wouldn't let him. Cold steel bit into his flesh hard enough to make him bleed. His arms were raised above his head; his feet dangled several inches above the floor. He tried to shift but that only made the shackles pull at his arms painfully - to the point where it felt as if they might pop out of their sockets.

Fuck. I'm stuck.

He hung suspended in the air, feeling like a chicken on a hook. He didn't care. Heidi's screams echoed in his mind. She was dead and so was her little girl. Not only had he failed Anderson, he'd now failed his entire family.

Too late. You're always too late. Are you going to be too late to save me and my little girl? Heidi had asked him.

The answer…was a resounding yes.

Vanus wasn't sure how much time passed before he realized the raw, keening cries he heard was his own. It was the cries of a man who has realized just how futile life is. How pointless it is to always try and do the right thing. He screamed until his throat felt raw and bleeding.

Eventually there were no tears left to cry. He was a rag who'd wrung himself dry. Once he was able to get in a few shaky breaths, he observed his surroundings. Dusty, cobwebby windows. Cobwebs. Shadowed corners. The musty smell of a place that has been abandoned to the elements. Somewhere industrial, a power plant or a factory. How many buildings were there in the city just like it?

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he realized he wasn't alone. Leering faces watched him from atop catwalks and from the shadowy spaces that could lead anywhere. They grinned at him. They rejoiced in his degradation. In his suffering. It's just like being back home, he thought.

Something stirred in the room. A sense of watchfulness. A sense of excitement. How would you feel if this was the first time you'd seen a show in years?

When Anderson and Leonidas appeared in the center of the room like central actors in a play, the room went still. Vanus felt all the attention shift to the center of the room like screws drawn to a magnet. At the sight of Anderson, Kaufman felt something black and despairing and malignant grin. I can still take my pound of flesh, he thought. I'm not powerless yet.

"You sick fuck." He glared at Leonidas, glared at him with all the hate he could muster. He twisted in his chains, trying to break free of them. "I gave myself up to you…I…"

Leonidas walked up to him and struck him across the face with a glancing blow. He struck him hard enough to turn his head to the side. Vanus felt his head bounce back against the wall. He tasted blood in his mouth.

“Hmmm,” Leonidas let out a grunt of satisfaction. “Hitting you sure does feel good, Kaufman. Looks like you’re made for it.”

Vanus laughed. Blood fell from his mouth. ”Yeah, such a big man,” he said to Leonidas. “Hitting a man while he’s down. Must make you feel real big.” He turned his attention to Anderson. “So does killing women and children apparently.”

Another hit to the abdomen knocked the breath from his lungs. Leonidas didn’t hit like a man who’d been in a coma for the past thirty years. He’s getting stronger, Vanus thought. Judging from the tears he heard around the room he also had the greatest influence in the room; a mad man right at home in his kingdom. Not done yet, not done yet. He sucked in a breath. I still got some fight left in me.

“Yes,” he said, sucking in a breath. He laughed. Not because he found anything funny but because he didn’t care. Hit me as hard as you want. Take what bit of my flesh you can. What does it matter? None of it matters any more. “Hit me some more. Must make you feel like such a man. A real man.”

Leonidas drew his fist back to strike him once more.

“Stop,” Anderson said. “I think you’ve tuned him up enough.”

Leonidas’ fist froze in midair. His eyes widened. Vanus saw the thought pass through his pale blue eyes: Who is this man to tell me what to do? What gives him the right? No one tells me what to do.

“Look at you,” Vanus panted. “You think you’re your own man. Self-made. But you’re just another dog on a leash…just another mongrel doing what he’s told.” He turned his attention to Anderson. Time was running out, he could feel it. I have to use it. I have to use every last second I have even if it’s trying to get through to him. “They’re dead, Anderson. Did you know? He killed them.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Leonidas said. He raised another fist but he did not strike.Vanus again.

That’s alright, bitch, do as you’re told, Vanus thought.

“Killed who?” The first glimmers of confusion appeared in Anderson’s eyes.

The mad were seeping into the room now, a growing audience gathering to watch the show. Once more something stirred in the room. No, not just stirring, building. Something was getting ready to happen. Something big. He tensed, readying himself for it.

“Yes,” a woman sang. She traced a hand up her leg beneath the skirt of her filthy, torn dress. “I give myself to you, the Father of Perversion…”

And so the chant continued, picked up by the voices of others until a hundred voices spoke as one.

“Your wife and your daughter.” Vanus looked Anderson in the eye. “Heidi and Little Annie. Can you still remember who they are or as Chagidiel completely taken over your mind? The woman you married and had a child with. They’re both dead.” He nodded at Leonidas. “He waited until your back was turned and he killed them.”

All the blood drained from Anderson's face. "You're lying…"

"He did!" Vanus insisted, mad with desperation. "He rounded them up and he burned them just like you did to your parents."

And he started laughing. He started laughing, his voice carrying over the chant of, "The Blood-stained Patriarch! We give ourselves to you! We rejoice in your perversion!" He started laughing because he saw that Anderson believed them. He wasn't done yet. Why stop now when he could drive the blade in further, when he could really make it count?

"They're dead because of you!" he screamed. "You were their husband! You were their father! You were supposed to protect them and instead you led the wolves right to their door and now they are dead because of you…"

"No," Anderson. The first cracks of despair appeared on his face. His eyes widened and went glassy. He looked to Leonidas, believing Vanus but not wanting to. "Tell me you didn't go behind my back…"

Leonidas sneered back at him. Those pale blue eyes glittered with joy. In the short time that he'd been out of the coma, Vanus could see that he'd recovered some of his youth. His jowls no longer hung off the bone; many of the wrinkles bracketing his eyes and mouth were gone. Something vital and ominous winked at Vanus beneath his flesh. He held up his hand and in it he held the lighter. The glowing lighter. Every eye in the room fastened on it. The chanting stopped.

"I did you a favor." Leonidas' wheezy voice bounced off the walls of the room. "They were nothing more than a distraction. A liability. So I did what you could not. I sacrificed them to our Lord Chagidiel…"

Anderson's eyes bugged out of his head. This time Vanus did not laugh at him. He recognized the pain in Anderson's face. He'd felt it many times himself. It was the pain of a man who's realized he's doomed and can smell the flames. "Why would you do that? Why would you…? They were my family…"

Leonidas' grin slowly peeled away, revealing the look of deepest loathing. "Anderson, Anderson, Anderson," he said chidingly. Behind him the crowd slowly began to draw closer, drawing blades and weapons. Anderson didn't see them. Anderson was blinded by pain. "You just don't get it. Your family is dead. They're nothing but ash."

"No," Anderson sputtered in a burst of tears. "They can't be, not Heidi or Little Annie."

"Dead, dead, dead," Leonidas chanted like a bully on the school playground.

"Dead, dead, dead," the crowd chanted like a symphonic choir.

The lighter pulsed in Leonidas' hand, eclipsing the dimly lit mill in whorls of vivid infernal light. Several voices cried out in ecstacy as one when the light washed over their skin. Vanus watched, dizzy and helpless. Somehow his past had caught up with him, blending in with the present so that he could no longer tell the difference. Was he the child or the adult? The egg or the chicken?

Leonidas and Anderson stood at odds in the center of the light. "You thought you were important," the killer continued taunting Anderson. "You thought you were the glue that would hold everything together. It turns out you are nothing more than an insect: so weak and disgusting, a thing to be crushed under the boot heels of your betters. You're a pawn in a game that's much bigger than you and you've played your part. Did you truly think I would let you stand where I used to stand, in a place of greatness? No."

The crowd had gathered now so that Leonidas and Anderson were trapped in the center of the glowing ring.

"I am the Incarnate not you. I am Chagidiel's true servant. Not you."

Vanus had enough time to let out a weak moan before Leonidas' hand dropped from the air in a commanding wave.

The crowd surged forward as Anderson let out a piercing scream: a scream of regret and terror and fear. Knives, axes, and other bludgeoning instruments rose towards the ceiling before falling with the crackling thunk of breaking bone and the thin fabric-rip sound of torn flesh.

Vanus wasn't sure how much time passed before he realized he could no longer hear Anderson. Leonidas' emerged from the crowd, naked and covered from head to toe in blood. He grinned at the death magician. His eyes glowed not with the pale blue of a serial killer but with the imperious light of Chagidiel. Leonidas had officially become Chagidiel's Incarnate.

The occultists fell on their knees, chanting and humming in low voices. Chagidiel lifted an arm experimentally, breaking in the new body. He grinned with cruel delight. "This isn't the best body, but it will do until I can find myself a better one." He turned back to Vanus. "How do you like my new body, Kaufman?"

Van's tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He couldn't speak. Even if he could, what would he say?

Chagidiel stalked slowly towards him, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm no longer just the monster who dwells in your dreams, Kaufman." He was close enough to Vanus, the death magician could smell his sweat - the stink of the human body. "I can go wherever you go. I can touch you whenever I want." He lifted a hand, snaking his fingers beneath the hem of Van's tattered shirt. With a single, effortless tug he ripped the shirt open so that buttons scattered everywhere like forgotten jewels, exposing the death magician's torso. When his hand touched Van's flesh, Vanus shuddered.

"Too cold?" Chagidiel lifted an eyebrow. "You'll get used to it. I'll make sure of it. I can make the worst pain you've ever felt happen, but I can also reward you with pleasures unlike anything you have yet to experience. Have you ever had an orgasm so powerful you literally leave your body?"

His fingers continued their path down Van's navel to the buttons of his jeans. "I'll keep you as my pet. My slave. My plaything. I'll keep you in a room so dark the light never reaches you. I'll rape you over and over until you're nothing but a hollow husk…"

Van coughed up a phlegmy wad of spit - it was all he could manage - and spat it into the face of the death angel. "Do your worst."

Chagidiel's eyes glittered with cold rage that made the death magician's flesh break out in a fresh spate of goosebumps and his balls to shrivel like raisins. "You're going to regret saying that to me."

When the death angel opened his hand, a cell phone appeared in it. The flashlight shown directly into Van's eyes, blinding him. He was spun around so that his back faced the crowd of onlookers. So that they could see the tattoo of The Blackened Rose on his back.

"Let's see how your beloved Theocracy feels about you when they learn what a traitor you are…when they learn you're not who you say you are."

The death angel began to record him.