* * * * *
I followed the tantalizingly hypnotic hips of Faye down the hall, the geezer Killington at my side and his loyal suit Murray at my back. I’ve been in worse situations, yes, but I have never been so ill prepared. I had even been stripped of my switchblade by the goon.
Murray was either stupid or crazy to think I’d try to stab a witch like Faye in the back. She just tossed the Twins around like they were nothing and Kurt had been armed! No, I was going to behave myself…until I could make a break for it.
“You’re an interesting man.” Faye called as she looked over her shoulder, those unnaturally dark irises sending a cold chill through me, “I can’t even recall the last nuisance to have evaded me for over two days. And here you are, going on nearly a full week!”
“You must have a soft spot for me, eh? Sorry Faye but I think your sister is cuter.” I replied, my sarcasm reflex had a horrible habit of operating at full capacity when I was at a paramount disadvantage, “Besides you’re not too graceful on the dance floor.”
A peal of laughter bubbled from Faye’s lips. Her laughter died down as we all followed her around another hallway. This corridor ended at a service elevator, the kind you see in old, black and white movies.
“Oh, that dance was just so I could get close to the man who was intruding on my party. I either own everyone who frequents that club or at least their vices. But not you. You didn’t belong. I could sense it. Besides I needed some of your blood. It’s been very useful in letting me find you.” Faye informed me as she stepped inside the elevator, motioning me to follow with a crook of her finger and a seductive smile, “And I am not the sister with that potential puppet. As I said, Faye is just a mask for me to wear. I am Lorraine and you will address me as such.”
“Far be it from me to argue with some crazy bitch.” I grumbled, stepping into the elevator followed by Killington and Murray, who shut the door and turned the lever to take us up.
My barb was just a desperate coax. Just a tactic to get a feel for my newest opponent. When people respond in anger, they might let their tongue slip. If they are calm and refuse your bait, you know they are totally in control. If they make a weak insult back, they are less confident than they’d like to appear…if they become furious, well then, the situation is probably not going as planned. Of course Faye…er…Lorraine didn’t do any of those things. She just giggled and reached out, grabbing me by the front of my jacket and pulling herself against my chest.
“I promised a hit of Soul Scream to whoever killed you. You were a nuisance and I was rather angry that you’d crash my party.” Lorraine whispered to me, making my stomach knot up, “That man who followed you into the alley that night? He promised to cut out your heart for a single trip on Soul Scream. That’s how loyal he was to my cause. That’s how addicted he was to me.”
I tried to shrink away from the cult leader but there was no place to go with Murray and the old man squeezed inside the cramped elevator as well.
“You know how that turned out,” I growled back at her, “I recall the dumbass falling onto his own knife.”
“Oh that’s true.” Lorraine sighed, making a show of rubbing her breasts against me as those insane eyes locked with mine, “The bartender that night recognized you from some place in the docks. That was all I needed. After you defeated my addict, I sent a follower over to prepare a nice surprise for you…”
“That fuckin’ thing in my office.” I cursed, my ribs and my head throb, reminding me of the painful encounter with the trash-thing.
“Yes but I hate leaving anything to chance. Just to be sure, I decided to use a little of the blood I had been so lucky to dig out of your arm,” She purred, “And planted it after getting rid of that big mouthed brat who was chatting with you. Two birds with one stone. One bird that was circling my domain like a vulture and one that was singing like a lark.”
My stomach churned and not from the elevator suddenly lurching as it started going up. I was sickened by the truth. This…this fucking psycho just confirmed my fears. Iris, that poor misguided youth at the club, had been killed for speaking with me! Then these lunatics used her corpse to try and frame me for her grizzly death!
“You were so pesky!” Lorraine cooed playfully with another peal of laughter, running a hand down my chest, “Avoiding being framed and then avoiding the trap I laid in your office. I figured you must have skipped town by then…only to hear about you making a scene at my club the next day!”
The crazy cult leader pushed herself away from me but only after her hand slithered down past my belt. Either she was high on some of her own products or her hormones were running wilder than any teenager I knew of.
“And it doesn’t even stop there!” Lorraine continued with a heavy and exaggerated sigh, “You followed Dr. Livingstone! Though I should thank you for saving me the trouble of disposing of her. I even placed a bounty on your head but no ruffians seemed able to catch you.”
For the first time, Lorraine’s face and her gaze went from playfully coy to cold, hard killer. Her ebony eyes bore holes in me as she pulled away. This was followed by a semi-silence, only the rattling of the elevator and the wheezing of Mr. Killington to be heard.
“And for what?” Lorraine finally hissed angrily, “Why go through all this?! Because some delusional little trollop couldn’t let her sister go?! You’ve done all of this, all of this work and you don’t even know what we are accomplishing here!”
I licked my lips nervously. I had to keep in mind that this woman was more dangerous unarmed than most thugs were with assault weapons.
“Isn’t this the part where you unveil your evil master plan to take over the world?” I asked, “Or at least give me the option of joining you?”
A smile tugged at the corners of Lorraine’s crimson lips.
“You will be joining us,” Lorraine spoke in a tone that left no room for argument or protest, “I promise you that.”
I swallowed hard. It was time to do what I did best: Bullshit.
“Don’t think you’ve won.” I said, fighting back the cowardly instinct to bargain and grovel, “You can’t possibly beat Zotkin in a gang war. He’ll find you and tear you apart for muscling in on his drug trade.”
It was a desperate bluff and one that failed miserably.
“I’m so frightened.” Lorraine said with a roll of her eyes.
While the cult leader didn’t seem too concerned, her counterparts were. Mr. Killington’s ragged breath caught in his throat and even Murray looked a little rattled. It was a safe bet that Mr. Killington’s dockside businesses have been paying tribute to Zotkin’s thugs for a while. If I had to guess, I’d even say Murray had worked against or along side someone on Zotkin’s payroll during his years in private security.
Lorraine made a dismissive gesture with her delicate hand, “I don’t believe you understand just how pathetic mortal men are compared to my might. The forces I command, the power I serve…nothing can stop me.”
“You might be able to stop a loaded gun from firing,” I retorted, “But your followers can’t dodge car bombs and drive by shootings forever. Your drug trade is going to lose all of its support! And then where will you be?!”
“That might worry me,” Countered Lorraine with a cold cackle, “If Soul Scream was just a simple narcotic. But it is so much more…”
It took all of my willpower not to rub my chest where the scar tissue still itched. I had experienced first hand what Soul Scream could really do.
“Come now, surely you suspected it?” Lorraine teased, “My drug can guarantee a…spiritual experience, shall we say?”
Ain’t that the truth.
We rode the rest of the way in silence, Lorraine humming to herself like a child. The elevator eventually grinded to a stop. Killington got off first, followed by me (thanks to a strong shove by Murray) and then the crazy cult leader. I officially felt panic welling up inside me as I discovered we were on the top floor of the four story mansion.
Escaping just got a lot harder.
This floor was probably used as a ballroom or perhaps an enormous dining room when a party was invited over. The flooring was hardwood, stretching across the entire length of the ridiculously large room. Though the enormous chandelier kept the room brightly lit, it made the night beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows seem all that darker. Despite the enormity of the room, there were only a handful of us gathered here. Aside from us recent arrivals, several women dressed like gothic punk-rockers milled about. Cultists obviously. Out numbered by the young women were a few more suits, several nodding to Murray as we past them.
In the dead center of the room was the guest of honor I suppose. An older woman, just a few years past attractiveness, sat on a fat cushioned chair, elegantly holding an empty wineglass in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“Darling!” The old woman sang out, her mature voice as smoky as the cigarette she held, “It’s been positively ages since you left! I cannot wait another second! We must carry on!”
“I am sorry for the delay, my dear.” Mr. Killington spoke, wheezing into his oxygen mask, probably because of the smoke, “We just had to clear a few things up. Nothing will ruin our special day.”
The old woman smiled, her heavy makeup struggling to follow the sudden shift of skin as she stood and headed over to us. She walked as if she were on the runway, probably an old habit from the draconian training of her youth. Upon reaching Mr. Killington, she bent at the waist and kissed the top of his shining dome.
My eyes nearly bulged out of my sockets. Not because the display of ancient on ancient affection turned my stomach but because the puffy shoulders of the old woman’s dress had slipped when she bent over…revealing a fresh tattoo of complex, interwoven symbols right along her shoulder blade.
“Soon darling.” The old woman nearly squealed with joy, “We can begin anew! An empire already built and a new lifetime to enjoy it!”
“Yes my dear, yes!” Mr. Killington replied, a new level of vigor cutting through his phlegmy voice, “I could never ask for a more clever and stunning wife throughout all these years! And now, we’ll be together once more! To live another life entirely our own!”
The old woman, Mrs. Killington apparently, cackled gleefully and stood up, instinctively straightening out her dress with one hand before addressing Lorraine.
“Can we begin?” She asked the cult leader, “I’m afraid the excitement will be the death of me!”
I stood there mutely as Lorraine stepped forward. She cast a sharp glance at Murray and the silent command was clear: Make sure I didn’t try anything stupid. The suit reached out and grabbed me by the elbow and hauled me over to the side, out of the way of those milling about.
While the security detail stood stationary around the room, the young women quickly hurried about almost like children on Christmas Eve. There was an almost palpable sense of excited anticipation clinging to the cultists but I couldn’t feel anything but dread in the pit of my stomach.
Lorraine trotted over to the center of the room, the Killington couple on her heels. With a signal from the cult leader, the young women began to flock around them. After a few commands from Lorraine (which I couldn’t hear over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears), the women scattered once again.
“Hurry now, Daughters.” Lorraine finally spoke loud enough for her voice to carry over to me, “Tonight is to be a glorious one!”
The cultists nearly tripped over themselves in their haste to please their leader. They formed a large circle in the center of the room, evenly spaced five feet from one another. Their coordination was dead on, this routine had been practiced dozens of times it seemed.
“If they bring out any Kool-Aid,” I told Murray without looking away from the cultists, “Drink one for me, okay?”
“Shut up.” Snapped Murray, the agitation in his voice telling me more than he’d ever admit.
As the head gorilla around here, I’m sure Murray had always considered himself the one in charge. The big man who protected a couple of millionaire dotards in exchange for a fat paycheck. But tonight he found himself completely out of his element. He was confused and nervous, like the rest of the suits around here. If Murray had half a brain, he would have done the smart thing and fled already. But, hey, what’s better than a loyal hired gun? A stupidly loyal hired gun.
Silently, one by one, the cultists shed their shirts. Now, I know I should have enjoyed this show; I mean, a bunch of young beautiful women stripping? For free? But I didn’t. A quick glance around the room told me I wasn’t the only one who found this display off-putting. Not even the men in the security detail gave any of the young, half-naked women a second glance, they too sensing something wrong about this whole affair.
I managed to look at the young women but not for the reason you’re thinking. Well, okay maybe I did glance appreciatively at the young toned bodies before me but I focused mainly on their tattoos. Unlike the tattoos on the comatose teens I had stumbled across at the club, these cultists had different ink. These girls had their entire backs covered in swirling, weaving, hypnotic tattoos. From the base of their neck all the way down to their waist, the ink sprawled…I shivered as I thought of all the time under the needle that these girls must have gone through to receive those markings.
I would have studied those tattoos a bit longer (and not just because of the canvas they were on) but as one, the cultists fell to their knees. Once again, coordination was perfect. After that the women drew their elbows to their knees and bowed their heads and slowly began to chant.
The chanting was nothing more than soft murmurs of gibberish that fell from the cultists’ lips and bounced off the hardwood floor. But there was definitely something uncanny to it. It was a language that I had never heard before, almost as if it were being made up on the spot. Despite its absurdity, there was a haunting rhyme to the nonsense that almost had me echoing the chants.
“Bring them in and arrange them in the center.” Lorraine instructed the suits over the chanting.
Murray tensed up as his subordinates hurried to comply with the cult leader’s demands. Yeah, head gorilla had just become head chimp with Lorraine now in charge. The suits jogged over to the far end of the ballroom and ducked into an adjoining room that I couldn’t see from where I stood.
“You will be going first, Mrs. Killington.” Lorraine told the old woman and I had to lean forward a bit to hear the conversation.
“We aren’t…we aren’t doing this at once?” Mr. Killington rasped.
“No,” Lorraine replied sharply, “Be silent! I’ll be sure to uphold my end of our arrangement. Now for my payment...”
Though he didn’t look too pleased, Mr. Killington reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew an envelope. The cult leader snatched it up quickly and pocketed it. Just as this transaction ended, the suits returned, wheeling four rollaway beds between them.
My stomach lurched again.
Two of the beds weren’t empty.
On one of the rollaway beds laid a young woman. I vaguely recalled her as one of the young teens I had inspected during my trespass at Hell Scratch. She lay motionless, her chest not even rising or falling to draw breath. I knew for certain she was under the same spell that I had been; soul ejected from the body, leaving it an empty husk.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this young woman was Kelly, the adoptive daughter of the Killingtons.
Next to her, a young man mimicked the stasis status of Kelly. The young man couldn’t have been a day over nineteen and might have been handsome if he had taken better care of himself…and had been dressed in a long sleeve shirt to cover up the track-marks on his wrists.
At Lorraine’s command an empty bed and the one holding Kelly was maneuvered past the chanting fanatics and placed in the center of the room. The cult leader then turned to Mrs. Killington and gave a nod. With a shiver of excitement, Mrs. Killington hurried over to the empty bed and lay down. As soon as the old woman
and her adoptive daughter were in the center of the circle, the chanting increased. Lorraine clapped her hands excitedly and turned around, flouncing over towards me.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Lorraine purred to me while she stood to my side, glancing at her followers, “So unified so...useful.”
“Listen, I’ve made my rounds at bars and clubs,” I informed Lorraine, “So I know that girls this age will believe just about anything. But how did you convince someone like Dr. Livingstone to go along with…whatever the fuck you’re trying to do? It’s not like a doctor would be willing to howl at the moon like the rest of these misguided sorority girls.”
Making a “tsk tsk” sound as if I were a misbehaving child, Lorraine shot me a predatory gaze and held up the envelop that Mr. Killington had slid her.
“Getting a competent partner was difficult but it is made easier when you have greed aiding you.” Lorraine explained, using one of her sharp nails to slice open the envelope and fish out what was inside, “Money like this…”
Inside the envelope was a simple piece of paper with two rows of numbers punched into it. The top row was a number sequence, the bottom row just a random jumble of numbers and letters. I didn’t need to have Buggy tell me that those numbers represented an identification code and a password.
“Swiss bank account?” I hazard a guess.
“Good,” The cult leader praised, pleased for whatever reason, “Five million dollars was just deposited into this account this morning. That is on top of the million in cash that Murray will help load into my car when we are done here.”
“That still doesn’t answer my question!” I snapped, more out of the want to be an asshole than expecting an actual answer, “Dr. Livingstone was some whiz dermatologist. A pharmacy company was pumping her full of cash. No way she would risk her future and a prison charge while associating with kidnappers and drug peddlers just for some extra folding money.”
Again, Lorraine gave me an approving smile and clapped her hands together.
“So cute and so clever.” Lorraine giggled, “I am growing increasingly fond of you, Sir Broker. In this day and age, brilliance is drowned in mediocrity.”
I sighed and rubbed my temple.
Ah, satisfaction. Lorraine’s lips pursed slightly at my intended insult, as if it weren’t expected. I had the sneaking suspicion that Lorraine was waiting on me to see her point of view, to suddenly understand the “masterpiece” she was creating…or she figured I was just a spineless, pathetic fool who would start agreeing with her to save my own skin.
Spineless? Yes. Pathetic? Sure. But a fool I was not. No way was I going to play the groveling turncoat just yet. My cowardice reflex was begging me to slip into that particular role but I was reasonable enough to foresee the danger of agreeing to work with some cult leading, psycho bitch who could work actual magic.
She might want to sacrifice me on a fucking alter!
“It’s true…Dr. Livingstone wasn’t too tempted by money. But after I showed her a few other gifts I have at my disposal,” The cultist continued on like we were talking about a new trainee at some diner, “She came around. I can be very persuasive, especially when I need something…”
She reached up and ran the back of her hand against my cheek.
“…or someone.” She whispered.
Thanks to the nervousness and plain ol’ fear squirming in my belly, I don’t think I could have gotten aroused even if I popped an entire bottle of ED pills.
“You needed Dr. Livingstone?” I pried, shifting my weight so I pulled slightly away from the deranged Lorraine.
“Why of course.” Lorraine replied, “Without her, I couldn’t have created Soul Scream.”
Wait…what? Dr. Livingstone was just a dermatologist! Sure, she would have had access to the instruments needed to make a drug but surely someone at the hospital would’ve noticed. Besides she wasn’t a chemist! Just a zit doctor for hell’s sake! She studied blemishes, pimples, warts and ringworms…
Ringworm?
My arms tensed as I consciously willed myself not to touch my chest where the scar tissue entwined along my pectoral muscles. In my head, I was watching the flying freak at the Hell’s Scratch lounge and how the enflamed tissue worked itself across his body, weaving into a pattern…
“Mmm, you get it now don’t you?” Lorraine purred, searching my face for recognition, “Dr. Livingstone was a genius, more so then anyone would want to believe. She was able to combined virus and fungus, make it work for her.”
“The scars caused by Soul Scream…” I mumbled, dumbfounded.
“Not scars but a new breed of infection that could be trained to become any shape underneath the skin. The pharmaceutical company wasn’t paying Dr. Livingstone to cure skin conditions but cause them. They had the idea that they could market her discovery, turn it into a new craze for teenagers that would eventually replace tattoos.” The cult leader explained with a haughty laugh, “But I had much bigger plans for such an ingenious product. Together we were able to make Soul Scream, an injection that would become the holy script. Science and sorcery working together.”
“This is all far from holy you crazy bitch!!” I spat, my recent experience with the drug causing anger to flare up deep within me, “Whatever they create, those symbols, are the work of something sinister! I’ve spent a fuckin’ month in Thailand slums! I know sinister!”
Finally, a reaction out of her…but not a pleasant one. Lorraine lashed out, not slapping me but using her sharp nails to slash me across the cheek. I recoiled and swore, but Murray planted his damn banana-hands on my shoulders and held me in place, forcing me to face Lorraine.
“Soul Scream creates beauty!” Hissed Lorraine, her pure black eyes furious, “It makes the holy script of Lord Macula! They are blessed just as our markings are!”
Lorraine pointed to her chanting cultists and though from their prone positions I couldn’t see the tattoos any more, I knew that was what the crazy cult leader was trying to point out.
“Each rune, each symbol is a holy word uttered from His Omnipotence’s lips! With these words we are able to nurse his power, let his succor trickle into our bodies and into our own existence!” Lorraine raved, but then her eyes widened, probably realizing that I had just invoked the reaction I wanted from her.
With a deep sigh, Lorraine flashed me a cold smile.
“But you will see His power in just a moment.” Lorraine informed me with chilling certainty, “Watch…”
She turned her back on me and walked towards the center of the room. This time there was no flirtatious sway of her hips. She just marched right towards her cultists, who, as if sensing her approach, began chanting louder. Their words made the very air vibrate with an unnatural energy.
“My Daughters,” Lorraine called out, her voice cutting through the din in the air like a knife, “We are about to summon a fraction of Lord Macula’s power! United we will channel His essence into our realm!”
Did she really believe some sort of deity was in her corner? Wasn’t that going a bit too far? But even with my skepticism, hardened by years of use, there was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Especially after all the unexplainable bullshit that had been flung my way over these past few days!
The chanting reached it’s climax as Lorraine stepped between Mrs. Killington and the comatose Kelly. The cult leader instructed Mrs. Killington to lie down on the bed, then Lorraine turned around to face the limp body of Kelly. Reaching underneath the mattress the unresponsive teen laid on, Lorraine withdrew a syringe. Even though I was a good ten yards away, I instinctively recoiled from the sight of Soul Scream, earning a shove from Murray.
Adding her own voice to the chanting, creating a crescendo of vile sounding syllables, Lorraine turned towards Mrs. Killington. The old hag was trembling…but whether it was from fear or anticipation was anyone’s guess. Taking Ms. Killington by the hand, the cult leader punctured a vein and emptied the syringe into the hag.
I
had to bite back a shout. I wanted to scream at the Killingtons, warn them of the hell that Soul Scream sends you to. Sheer luck had let me escape that hell but with Mrs. Killington being tattooed with that bizarre symbol that barred one’s soul from their body, was their any chance of her coming out of this alive?
I was suddenly aware of my breathing. The entire room had gone eerily silent. Only the faintest of sounds could be heard; breathing, the ruffle of clothes as someone shifted their weight, or one of the suits nervously clearing his throat.
No one dared speak.
The cultists had risen from their crouched positions, kneeling stiffly. Each of them threw their arms out wide as they tilted their heads back. I was mesmerized by their bodies but not in the manner you’d think. I was transfixed by their tattoos…and the fact that those symbols were moving! It was as if the ink underneath their skin had come alive, curling and writhing under the flesh in sickening patterns.
I tore my eyes from the moving tattoos, my stomach threatening to empty its contents all over my shoes if I didn’t avert my gaze. A quick glance at Murray told me that I wasn’t the only one who was shocked and somehow disgusted by this unnatural display. Even his face was a mask of revulsion, unable to watch the eerie patterns made by the squirming tattoos.
There was a sharp gasp and I refocused my attention. The Soul Scream had begun to take effect. Mrs. Killington’s body went limp, her head lolling to one side and staring at me ominously as a bluish vapor rolled over her lips. Her eyes were vacant and grossly dilated no sign of intelligence beyond them. I knew from personal experience that it was much more than just her eyes that were now vacant her soul had been cast from her body.
Was Mrs. Killington now in that ethereal state, shrieking in horror like I had been? Or was she bawling with rage, realizing that Lorraine had tricked her and that she was now trapped outside her own body? Could that giant, disembodied hand be wrapping its rune-encrusted fingers around her body at this very moment?
My pulse quickened as I waited for something to happen. Was the body going to start levitating and display newfound, paranormal powers? Was a phantom going to appear and attempt to kill us all with its icy touch? Every instinct I possessed was screaming at me to flee but unfortunately I had no where to run.
So I was forced to wait for the impending disaster to strike.
One minute past by…then two…then five minutes of dead silence. My eyes started to ache because the entire time I didn’t dare look away from the cultists. I barely dared to blink. The anticipation was going to give me an ulcer! I was expecting something to happen, something big, unexplainable and potentially dangerous! Seeing as how the suits had their hands on their guns, I wasn’t the only one who felt this way.
It was a full ten minutes before something finally happened.
A supernatural chill swept through the room like an artic microburst. Only the grasp of Dr. Livingstone’s phantom could compete with this sudden freeze. Everyone aside from Lorraine seemed to shiver immediately. A few of the windows cracked and a bulb on the chandelier exploded ominously before the cold dissipated.
Dead silence.
Then with a suddenness that even made Murray jump, the teen’s limp body let out a ragged cough that shattered the stillness in the room. Kelly Killington shot upright, clutching at her throat and sucked in air in deep, greedy gasps. After a moment, her breathing became easier as she calmed. Her eyes darted around the room, confused and disoriented.
Then she smiled.
I can’t describe the smile. It was one of the most unnerving grins I’d ever laid eyes on, a true blend of victory, disbelief and pure, unbridled joy. But it was nothing compared to the laughter. Throwing her head back and howling with mad delight, Kelly ran her hands over her body and face, no part of her left untouched during this self-inspection.
“Darling!” Kelly squealed, nearly breathless as she leapt from the table, “It worked! Oh my god! It worked!”
Mr. Killington went into a coughing fit…no wait, never mind. It was laughter. The two shared a fit of mad laughter as Kelly strode across the room towards the old millionaire who threw his arms wide open to embrace his adoptive daughter.
Wait…
No fucking way.
As I watched Kelly march over to Killington, there was something unmistakable about her step. She had the exact step that Mrs. Killington had. That same, draconian training drilled into her since childhood about how a “proper” lady should walk. You didn’t need eyes as sharp as mine to spot it. Cultural differences in speech and mannerisms were as plain as the nose on someone’s face. Put a New Yorker and a Southern Californian in the same room together and you’ll see what I mean.
Right now it felt as if I were staring at two different people occupying the same space. I saw Kelly, the seventeen year old youth who had been raised in an orphanage and suffered through the harder aspects of life. But the mannerisms and speech were unmistakably that of Mrs. Killington, a woman who had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and groomed to be a proper lady her entire life.
“It worked darling! I feel…I feel…” Kelly was nearly singing, stepping over to Mr. Killington, her laughter bubbly with natural intoxication, “So much! The tenderness of this…of my skin. Oh it’s so...thrilling! The sensation of youth! I can barely contain myself!”
What came next was one of the most disgusting things I had ever witnessed. Kelly sat right down on Mr. Killington’s lap and planted on him the wettest, most passionate kiss ever conceived. Jailbait and ancient fossil a couple do not make. I blanched. Was that the dirty secret? Mr. Killington had been poking his adoptive daughter? No, that’s not it. There was something I was missing here. Something obvious was staring me in the face but my mind would simply not accept it.
“You see?” Lorraine called to me, stepping past her fanatics who panted heavily, as if exhausted from their ritual, “We as the Daughters of All can manufacture rebirth through the glorious boons of Lord Macula!”
The cult leader strode straight towards me, her dark eyes sparkling with an adrenaline high you might see in victorious athletes or gambling addicts on a heater. Her breathing was heavy and she too seemed worn out from the ritual…but she had lost some of the deranged air about her. For once Lorraine seemed completely focused.
Unfortunately that focus was on me.
“What are you talking about?!” I demanded, “Stop speaking in riddles and gospel rants!”
A sharp, dangerous smile spread across Lorraine’s lips as she took a breath to steady herself.
“Don’t deny what you’ve just witnessed. You know in your heart what has taken place here. With Lord Macula’s blessing we’ve given the gift of a new life to an old soul!” Lorraine’s smile twisted even further, “It’s usually a gift reserved for the most loyal priestesses. And those who can pay for it, of course. Like the Killingtons for example…”
“You don’t mean…you can’t possibly…” I stammered as everything fell into place.
“Yes! Kelly’s body belongs to Mrs. Killington now! I’ve the power to transfer any soul into any vessel I see fit! The power of immortality and eternal youth are mine to command!” Lorraine announced, nearly breathless with excitement, “Besides, youth is wasted on the young after all…”
Realization hit me like a freight train. She might as well have handed me a fucking flyer with a step by step plan of how the Daughters of All operated…and believe me, even after working with cold blooded murderers, rapists and thieves, this was making my knees weak with fear and disgust. Once I accepted such a phenomenon like body switching was possible, it was easy to break it down into a business endeavor.
The Daughters of All didn’t recruit members. They recruited products. Misguided youths, troubled teens, the sort of girl who was already looking for a different way of life and the kind that the police wouldn’t give a second thought. Girls like Iris and Ellen were lured in with promises of belonging, of being accepted by the cult. Once initiated, the new
recruits probably had their information secretly whored out by Lorraine.
Unknown to any but her inner circle, Lorraine would advertise the new recruits, contacting anyone rich enough and crazy enough to believe what the cult leader was selling. Then buyers would select the…oh god…body or model they wanted to inhabit. It was disgustingly simplistic.
All Lorraine would need to do is brand the selected girls with those horrid tattoos that barred the original soul from entering its own body. Once that was done, slip the victim some Soul Scream which left the body vacant, a perfect vessel for a new soul to occupy. The entire operation was clean. Elegant. Efficient. Monstrous.
A piece of me died when I saw Lorraine’s plan laid out before me. I thought of the dozens of girls we found in the lounge of the Hell Scratch, already emptied of their souls and waiting to become the new vessel of the rich and sadistic.
Just like poor Kelly.
“You understand now don’t you?” Lorraine stated, her pleased tone making my skin crawl, “I’ve been doing this for hundreds of years, jumping from body to body.”
I took a step away from her, paling, “You’re really not Faye are you?”
“Of course not. I am Lorraine the Lost. I was born in West Francia in 842. My witchcraft allowed me to commune with Lord Macula who showed me the path to eternal youth.” Lorraine informed me, stepping closer as I backed away, “It was so much easier back then. I simply had to subdue whomever I wanted and use hot irons to sear our flesh with the holy script.”
Lorraine let out a whimsical sigh.
“Death was so common then, disappearances so easily overlooked. Not any more. Today, everything is documented and recorded.” Lorraine huffed angrily, “Social security numbers, drivers’ licenses, birth certificates! No longer can I just take the body I desire. Now I must…coax those I want, those I need to my side.”
A new level of fear swelled up inside me. I’ve crossed more dangerous people then I care to remember but nothing like this! I’ve blackmailed, backstabbed and outwitted terrorists, mobsters, gangsters, police and the FBI but…but how could I possibly go up against a body-snatching witch with over a thousand years of experience on her side?!
“Of course, when a particular problem arrives…” Lorraine laughed, indicating to herself…or rather, Faye’s body, “Like the pesky reporter I now inhabit, faking your own death is grand. A simple injection of Soul Scream and pay the mortician to leave the body alone. I could dig up my new vessel at my leisure with none the wiser.”
The insane cult leader took a step away from me, much like a cat enjoying a trapped mouse far too much to swiftly deliver the kill. I wanted nothing more than to get as far away from this room as possible, to flee this den of supernatural sadism and never look back.
“You cannot truly appreciate the feeling of getting a brand new start and slipping into a fresh body. After being trapped inside an old husk, youth is the greatest drug of all. The hormones, the sensitivity…But you get to keep the rewards of age as well! All those years wasted, earning wisdom and knowledge are returned!” Lorraine told me in an excited whisper, “I can use someone like you, Sir Broker. A resourceful partner to help deal with this new age I find myself in. I can give you immortality, a new life as it were, in exchange for your loyalty. What say you?”
A new life? A completely fresh start free from all the hardships and debt I’d spent a lifetime racking up? How many people still wanted me dead for past betrayals? How many cops still hunted me for past crimes? How many mistakes could be erased right here and now? It was more than any two-bit conman could ever want…
This was why my answer shocked me so.
“No.” I said quietly before conviction flooded through me, turning my whisper into a shout, “I won’t harvest people like a…a crop!”
Lorraine waved my words away like pesky flies.
“Don’t be so dramatic!” Lorraine sneered at me, “These people are naught but sheep. They should be thankful for the opportunity to be sacrificed to Lord Macula!”
The cult leader crossed her arms as she reached for the bottom of her shirt and lifted it, revealing more midriff than necessary. My eyes immediately focused on what Lorraine was trying to reveal: Her belt. The thick leather strap that hugged her hips had once been adorn with metal studs but the studs had been replaced with glass orbs that seemed to have a faint blue tint to them.
I had seen this belt before…the night Lorraine stole a dance from me at Hell Scratch.
“No one works for free.” Lorraine laughed, “Even in the other planes of existence. Lord Macula demands payment for the services that he provides.”
Running one hand along her belt, Lorraine’s fingers encircled one of the orbs and pulled it free. She held her hand flat, the orb balancing on her palm as she held it up to my eyes. Upon closer inspection of the orb, I noticed that the glass had been etched with a none-sense design…the “holy script” that the Daughters of All seemed so fond of.
“I collect my Lord’s tribute as I have been for hundreds of years.” Lorraine whispered to me while I continued my staring contest with the orb in her hand, “I sacrifice the souls that we harvest from the bodies. We get our new body, our new life, and he gets the souls that had once inhabited them. A smooth, beneficial transaction for all. You can’t tell me you don’t want to be apart of an operation so grand!”
My knees threatened to give way. Looking past the rune on the orb, I could see it. Inside the glass, trapped, was a pale blue light so faint it was almost overpowered by the other colors that I was more accustomed to seeing. But it was there. It was impossible to mistake that unique color of light.
The light of a human soul.
“I must offer up my tribute to Lord Macula.” Lorraine told me as she slipped the orb back into the slot on her belt, “Accompany me. After you witness Lord Macula’s power, you will understand. One cannot help but worship Him after seeing such glory! Then you’ll get whatever body you desire and replace Dr. Livingstone as my second in command.”
I was suddenly painfully aware of my every weakness and flaw. If I could slip into another skin, become another person, I would be free of them! Free of everything! Free of the loan shark debts, the constant scrutiny of the law and a lifetime of enemies! I’ve changed who I am before. Several times I’ve fled and started over from scratch. I even remember the day I changed my name to Arthur Broker, buying all the false identification that goes with it. Even when changing cities and identities, there was always the nagging fear of someone recognizing me and bringing back old vendettas into my life. But if I became a different person…the freedom! The possibilities!
“No dice.” I sighed, almost unable to believe that I was turning down such a glorious offer.
Giving me a curious glance, then a pout, Lorraine turned her back on me and began walking over to the Killingtons. Kelly…rather, Mrs. Killington in Kelly’s body, had slithered into Mr. Killington’s lap. She was whispering something into his ear, probably hormone induced promises of what she’d do once he completed the transformation.
“I’m disappointed and frankly surprised, Broker.” Lorraine called to me as she stood next to the Killingtons, “But I promised you that you were going to join us and you will. But no longer will it be on your terms.”
She turned to Mr. Killington, “How would you like his body? Strong and a little more mature…perfect for being taken seriously at business meetings.”
My eyes shot open in shock, “Bitch! You did not just auction me off!”
“Do it.” Mrs. Killington purred through Kelly’s lips, “He’s kind of cute…”
“I don’t care!” Rasped the old fossil, “Let’s just get this over with!”
“That’s the beauty of living in a male society.” Lorraine laughed coldly, “I don’t have to worry about anyone raising too much suspicion when it comes to men. They disappear all the time, walking out on their families or becoming victims of the paths they create…so much easier to abduct than women??
?”
“I’d like to see you try to get those tattoos on me!” I shouted defiantly, clenching my hands into fists.
Lorraine shrugged, “I’ve become very good at placing the markings of our Lord on our victims. With so many lifetimes of practice, I can simply carve them into you…provide it you are held down long enough!”
On cue, the mute and frightened Murray acted, reaching out and clamping his thick hands on my shoulders. Well I wasn’t his fucking prom date to manhandle! I took a quick step forward and crouched, coiling my body up tight. Then, I leapt upwards and backwards, throwing my elbow with as much force as possible. My elbow caught the big bastard right in his Adam’s apple. He instinctively threw up his hands to protect his throat, gagging and coughing.
I was already on the move. Pivoting off my outside foot, I spun around so I was facing Murray’s back. In one fluent motion I reached out and tore his pistol free from its holster while simultaneously kicking the back of his knee. The goon fell to one knee just in time for me to slam the butt of the pistol against his temple. The blow made him crumple to the floor…possibly dead. I didn’t give the damn suit a second glance as I raised the firearm, holding it steady as I trained it on Lorraine.
The other security guards seemed actually relieved to finally have something they were trained to handle occur. Each suit threw open their jackets and drew their own firearms, all aimed right at me.
“Relax,” Lorraine called out, as if having a gun trained on her was nothing more troublesome than spilt milk, “Put your little guns away, boys. You guards are here for the heavy lifting, not for ruining a perfectly good body.”
The suits were hesitant but they slowly lowered their weapons. The cult leader’s grossly dilated eyes were boring holes in me, her mad little smile never leaving her lips. My palm began to sweat, making my grip on the pistol uncomfortable.
“I suggest you lower your weapon as well.” Lorraine hissed at me, holding up one hand, “You know what I can do. Your firearm won’t save you. Just give in and accept your fate!”
I squeezed the trigger.
Now knives were my specialty. I had an affinity with a blade that was almost instinctual but that wasn’t to say I wasn’t good with guns. Habitually, my uncle would take me out to the shooting range when I was younger and we’d fire off a few rounds. It was the closest thing to an actual family outing I ever had. Of course, if I couldn’t score higher than him at the shooting range I’d have to walk home barefoot…after a single fifteen mile trek that left my feet bloody and raw, I got damn good with firearms pretty damn quick.
I had aimed for Lorraine’s right eye…silently whispering an apology to Fiona as I did so. But between saving my client’s sister or myself, I was going to do anything it took to save my hide.
Turns out the apology wasn’t needed.
The bullet flew true but didn’t find its mark. Hovering before Lorraine’s eye socket was the small metal slug which I had intended to kill her with. The spent bullet was trapped in a shimmering pocket of air, its potential lethality used up once it came to a stop.
“I haven’t lived this long without mastering a few techniques to help protect my new bodies.” Lorraine laughed, lowering her hand as the shimmering shield disappeared, allowing the slug to drop to the floor, “But this has become rather dull. Give in! Surrender your body and soul to me!”
The cult leader threw out her hands, palms flat and facing me. I wasn’t that well versed (yet) in witchcraft, so I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen. Everything in my field of vision was suddenly distorted, dancing madly about like mirages. I nearly panicked but just as suddenly as the distorting field had cropped up, it vanished.
As soon as Lorraine and the rest of the room came back into focus, I realized by the furious look on the cult leader’s face that something had gone wrong. Whatever spell or magic she had tried to work on me had obviously failed.
“What have you done?!” Lorraine demanded, each word dripping with enough venom to make a king cobra jealous.
I honestly didn’t know so I didn’t reply.
Scowling brutally, Lorraine clenched her outstretched hands into fists. A soft light began to form around her hands, the same light of the deadly phantom. The mysterious energy leapt into the air, becoming a formless blob of light. The cult leader then opened her hands before curling her fingers, making her digits appear claw-like. The blue light responded to her motions, becoming a foot long spike of soul-obliterating energy.
With a two handed shoving motion, Lorraine sent the translucent spearhead shooting forward, spiraling straight for my chest.
I closed my eyes and anticipated the end.
A breathless moment passed…and I didn’t feel any intense cold or pain being driven into each individual cell of my body. Opening one eye, I nearly leapt out of my skin to see that the conjured spike had stopped inches from my chest. The only person more surprised over the attack’s failure than me was Lorraine.
“This isn’t possible!” The cult leader spat, each syllable was wrapped tightly with conviction, “I am the chosen of Lord Macula! No non-believer can stand against me! Faith is my power!”
Those last words rang in my ear and I realized that there was someone far, far more divine and mightier then Lorraine. Someone who was a servant of a truly holy and celestial entity.
Father O’Brawley.
Before I could stop it, I let out a laugh.
With my free hand, I reached past my shirt collar and grabbed the crude metal crucifix that the old priest had given me. Once it was on the outside of my shirt, I sucked in a deep breath and took both a gamble and a step forward. The arcane spike that Lorraine had summoned wavered for a moment then lost form, becoming a shapeless vapor before fading into nothingness.
“If it’s a battle of faith,” I called, feeling a little giddy as hope from my single advantage swelled up in my scarred chest, “Then you will need another thousand years to even come close to my good friend Father O’Brawley!”
“Blasphemy!” Lorraine screamed, “I will not have you speak of your weak God in this house! The Daughters and I have sanctified these walls! All inside belong to Lord Macula!”
“Apparently not!” I laughed, “Now we’re getting somewhere!”
It seemed that Dr. Spriggan had been correct. The crucifix I wore was a direct link with Father O’Brawley and his unwavering faith. That link contested Lorraine’s own faith which seemed to void her magic. Finally! The tables weren’t exactly turned but the playing ground was at least getting a little more even! Now I had a chance against the crazy bitch…
“Someone shoot him!” Lorraine hissed at the security guards.
…if I had remembered to take the suits into account.
“Try not to kill him,” Lorraine instructed, “I want to personally offer his soul up to our Lord.”
“Don’t I get any last requests?” I asked, stalling for a miracle or at least inspiration.
There was a wheezing cough and I looked over at Mr. Killington, who was staring at me smugly through his oxygen mask. He slipped off his mask and raised his rasping voice loud enough to be heard, “If you have any last words, speak up! I’m tired of waiting for my new body!”
Well, no miracle occurred but inspiration sure did. I felt my lips curl into a smile.
“I have two last words.” I practically sang out, “Oxygen tank!”
Before anyone could ponder on what I meant, I raised the pistol and fired. Not at the mystically bulletproofed Lorraine but at the fossil Mr. Killington. The bullet past through the saggy gut of the old man as easily as a knife would have past through cottage cheese.
But my target wasn’t the sadistic old fool.
The bullet exited Mr. Killington’s old body and struck the oxygen tank strapped to the back of his chair. The resulting explosion was instant and awesome. The floor shook and the air was split by artificial thunder. Shrapnel made of the tank’s metal body was thrown in every direction, shredding anything ne
ar it.
Having been thrown from his wheelchair, Mr. Killington now laid face down on the floor, a gaping hole in his back. Mrs. Killington was on the floor beside him, lying perfectly still with several horrid shrapnel wounds covering one side of her new body. Shouts of alarm, screeches of woe and screams of pain filled the room but I didn’t give my handy work any further attention. I was too busy running straight for one of the enormous windows that bordered the room. This was my one and only chance to make a break for it and get out of this crazy cultist shindig.
Squeezing off the remaining rounds while I ran, the bullets punched through the window but it stubbornly refused to shatter. The resulting spider web of cracks informed me that the integrity of the glass had weakened…which was good enough for me. I buried my face into one arm as I ran at full speed before flinging myself through the window.
Only problem was I had forgotten I was on the fourth floor.
* * * * *