THIRTY-SIX
When Randall got outside, he had managed to regain most of his shattered composure. As he stepped out into the bitter morning air he found Ishrel at the gate at the end of the over ground garden path. The demon had managed to shed the humiliating form Randall had chosen for it and had instead of the normal heat haze it had in fact reverted to its preferred form of a deformed imp like creature which Randall hadn’t seen for a good long while.
It looked to Randall like a cross between a lizard and a skinned ape with its black scaly skin and arms and legs just too long for its body, like they had been put through a wringer. Ishrel hopped up to sit precariously on the gate and slapped his spindly hands together excitedly, a toothy grin ripped across his hideous face.
This incarnation was Ishrel's own creation, his sort of default setting as Randall liked to think of it. Out of spite Randall briefly contemplated changing the Demon into something more comical again to lighten his mood, but the truth of it was this form suited Ishrel and although he was loathed to admit it, for all Randall longing for Human company, recent events showed all to clearly that it was company he no longer belong in. There was something strangely comforting being around a good old fashioned looking demon again. He was with his own kind around the creature and maybe he should just accept that fact and stop pining after a life long since lost.
“Christ in a night shirt,” Randall said approaching Ishrel. “Did you feel that thing?”
“And that was just from him opening the box!” Ishrel said still clapping and nodding his head vigorously like a nightmare version of one of those cymbal clashing old monkey toys. “Imagine if the priest has actually recited the verse!” Ishrel's cat-like eyes flashed with perverse excitement.
“Yeah,” Randall replied and lent against the gate next to him. He looked up at the house. “Mynor's fucking poem. Who would have thought it?”
Ishrel nodded and began drumming his hands on his legs as he sat. “Hmm,”
“You could say it complicates things.” Randall said mulling over his next move. At last a challenge, well he had wanted things to liven up and they certainly had.
“It changes everything, forget McCulloch,” Ishrel ordered. “It is now your duty to get that poem.”
Randall cringed inwardly, he knew that was coming.
“It is a prize worthy of the fallen one himself,” Ishrel continued eyes wide as he imagined the potential glory. “We must get our hands on it.”
Our hands? Randall thought there was only one of them who was going to have to get his hands dirty and it wasn't the lizard monkey boy perched on the gate. “Forget it, Ishrel,” Randall said firmly. “My brief is to get McCulloch, that's all. You can keep your ancient games.
“I insist!” Ishrel said and jumped down from the gate. He did his best to square up against the six foot collector, but barely came up to his chest. “I am ordering you to get that poem.”
It was all Randall could do not to laugh down into Ishrel's crumpled face. “I don't care,” he told him in his best condescending tone. “Put it out of your tiny little mind. Now why don't you slide back up there out of the way, and let me think.” Randall said patting the gate. “Better still, pop off and get me some info on how I can fight that thing or at least get round it.”
The demon folded his arms and pouted like a petulant child and waited for Randall to relent. Randall just looked down at him with raised eye brows, until finally Ishrel snorted and spun away in a huff.
“There is no way to fight a poem,” Ishrel said with his back to Randall.
Randall couldn't tell if Ishrel was just being obstructive or if, as he suspected no one really knew how to fight a poem. Myth or no myth that power was real enough, and its presence in the house caused Randall a major headache. Any creature he sent in there would turn tail and run at just a whiff of the power of the poem. He couldn't help but smile, impressed. “Clever, clever priest.” He turned to Ishrel. “Y'know I think I like this guy.”
“Huh! You never were much of a judge of character.” Ishrel said and actually stamped his foot.
“Must be why I like you so much. Still, I can't believe they would let one of those things out of the Vatican with only a three man protection team and a priest. And all for a nobody like McCulloch.”
A conundrum indeed.
THIRTY-SEVEN
In the hour since Randall had left, an uneasy truce had descended on the occupants of the safe house, thought the mood was still one of grim uncertainty. Lewis was back at his post on the landing after looking downstairs from which he had returned to report that yes the living room window, steel shutters and all, was no more, gone the same way as half the side of the house. No one knew how the hell the waking street beyond had not notice the demolition as they made their various way to work of on the school run. But they had all soon decided that was the least strangest thing that had happen this morning.
While Lewis kept is vigil, Peroni and Nichols were discussing their next move in hushed whispers and Larry McCulloch was pacing the room excitedly. He felt like he had dropped twenty years in as many minutes and as if to mirror this change in fortune the sky outside had brightened as the new day, one he now knew he might actually see the end of, finally took hold and the night was banished for another day.
“Did you see that bastard’s face?” Larry said for what must have been the fourth time since Randall's exit and as before to no one in particular. “Not so smug when he scurried out, was he?”
“We are far from out of the woods yet Larry,” Peroni reminded him and moved over to the window.
“See anything out there?” Nichols asked and adjusted the towel he had put back over the box, feeling the shape of it under the material made his head pound.
“I can see him, he's out in the street, bold as you like, by our car.”
“Well as long as he stays out there, that's fine with me.” Lewis shouted through.
“Indeed,” Peroni agreed. As she watched Randall seemed to be talking to himself, or more likely to that creature Father Nichols said that was always with him. Try as she might she could not make out so much as a slight distortion in the air that might indicate the things location. The collector seemed to be fiddling with something in his hands, it was difficult at this distance and in the early morning light. Paper perhaps?
Larry joined her briefly at the window. “We should move,” he said watching Randall. Even at this range the bastard gave him the creeps. “While we still can. He's not going to try anything in broad daylight, is he?” He moved away from the window again as a chill ran down his spine. “Besides, we've got the big guns now.” He motioned to the box.
“Hate to admit it,” Lewis said. “But Larry's right. He can't do anything in the middle of the street. We should get gone. Get Larry to the Vatican and hopefully never see his ugly mug again. No offence Larry.”
“Huh, don't worry about it, the feeling if move than mutual.” McCulloch replied.
Could it be this easy? Nichols wondered, biting his nails. Just a whiff of the poems power and Randall, the great terrible Randall is defeated? No not defeated as such, just a stale mate. But their one true change lay in the fact that Randall and his kind thrived on secrecy. Surely even with all his power Randall couldn't risk an all-out battle right in the middle of this sleepy suburbia. He prayed he wouldn't have to open the box again, there was riding your luck and then there was suicide. He tried to put the thought from his mind.
“Father?” He turned to see Peroni had come away from the window and over to where he was standing deep in thought.
“Yes Ania?”
Her gaze was strangely skittish “May I see the poem?” She asked sheepishly.
“Not a good idea, Ania,” he replied softly. He smiled as reassuringly as he could. “We don't really know the potential of the poem, no one does. Even what prolong exposure to its power might do to us, what if may have done already.”
Lewis poked his head into the room. “If I get cancer, I'm suing the Vatican.” He said impishly then disappeared once more.
Nichols laughed. “Good luck with that!” He said, but the smile faded as he turned back to Peroni who frowned up at him, always so serious. He signed. “Ania, look. That box is lead lined, and that has to be for a reason. I don't want to risk any of you, getting...” He shrugged unable to finish the sentence.
“I understand,” Peroni said clearly disappointed. Then after a moment’s thought said. “I just hate to think of what you happen if one of Randall's kind got a hold of it.”
He took her hands in his and smiled reassuringly. “Let's hope it never comes to that.” He squeezed her hands gently and she forced a smile.
“Heck of a night,” she said.
“Heck of a night, Ania,” he replied.
“Strange bastard,” Larry said. He was back over at the window looking down into the street below.
“What is it?” Peroni asked and moved over to the window where she stood next to Larry and looked out. The car was still there but Randall was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?”
“Larry ran his hand through his thinning hair. “He just looked up at me, waved, then walked off.”
“Walked off, where?” She asked.
“Off down the street,” Larry said and slapped her hard on the back. “He's gone!”
“Peroni looked less than convinced. “Oh, I don't know.”
“Gone,” Larry repeated and nearly danced into the middle of the room. “He's had enough. He knows there's no way he can't get to me here, thanks to that box thing.”
Still at the window, Peroni frantically looked for the collector. But the scene was just one of bland suburban normality. Someone was walking their dog, two school children were running down the street chasing a football. Just a normal Monday morning. She kept desperately trying to find some crack in the illusion, some misplaced dark shadow, a look of malevolence on a passing pedestrians face, bit there was nothing. Larry clapped his hands behind her in delight.
“Can't be over,” she said to herself, but her eyes didn't lie no matter how hard she tried to disbelief them.
“We should go,” Nichols stated firmly. “While we can.”
Peroni spun to face him. Can't be this easy she said to herself, but Nichols eyes had real hope in them. He nodded to her. “Okay,” she said.
“At last, some sense,” Larry remarked. “I'm already packed.”
Ignoring Larry, Peroni checked her watch. Something wasn't right but as yet she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She peered up into the sky, which should by her calculations be nearly fully light by now. It wasn't. The street lights were off, as they had been for a good half an hour now and she could see the sun, which had come out from behind the thin layer of clouds stretching across the sky. So by rights the last of the night should have been chased away by the oncoming day. But it still clung on.
As she watched, the sky began to darken, slowly at first but growing darker by the moment. She screwed her eyes shut and rubbed them with the balls of her hands. She took a beat to compose herself, after all she had been up all night, scared, on adrenalin overdrive waiting for an attack to come at any moment. So it wasn't hard to believe her tired eyes could deceive her. She told herself to remain calm and opened her eyes again. She gasped out loud.
It was now twilight outside and getting darker. “Wait...” she said half-heartedly, to the approaching darkness or her companions she didn't know. They ignored her, scurrying around as they were preparing to leave. The surrounding houses in the street outside were shadows now, by rights, if this were a natural darkness their lights should be on, as should the street lights.
Darker and darker, this was no normal night, the sun was now nothing more than a dull brown stain in the sky, until as he watched on horrified it disappeared altogether, swallowed up with the rest of the outside world.
The light bulb in the room dipped and the room was suddenly pitched into hear darkness before it slowly faded up again, but its light couldn't penetrate the pitch black outside. So much so that Peroni found that she was now staring at her reflection in the window.
“What the shit was that?” Larry cursed and dropped is suitcase so the contents spilled out onto the floor.
“Outside,” Peroni said.
“What the hell's going on out there?” Lewis cried.
Nichols rushed over to the window. “Now what?”
Peroni pointed lamely to the nothingness outside.
The sound of electrical sparking came up from below them, followed by a loud bang of something exploding.
“Shit, the lights are out down stairs,” Lewis shouted, he looked up as the bulb above his head in the landing flickered then died. “Shit,”
“Power cut?” Larry asked. Then remembered the bedroom light was still glowing dimly, now they only source of meagre light.
“It's him,” Nichols said grimly still looking out into the void outside.
“It all just went, dark,” Peroni told him. “Right in front of my eyes.”
“What's going on?” Larry wanted to know, he followed their gaze out the window. “Shit.”
Lewis retreated from the darkness of the landing, gun drawn and lent against the door frame his eyes wide with terror. “Black as pitch down there,” he said.
“Darker,” Nichols said. It was as if someone had thrown a thick blanket over the whole house. “That's no natural darkness.” He added.
A loud crash from downstairs drew then all over to the door. Lewis held out an arm to stop them getting past. “Wait, no point in crowding me, can't see anything beyond the top of the stairs out here. Stay in the room.”
He aimed into the nothingness beyond the weak light coming from the bedrooms solitary light, which barely reached the top of the stairs.
Peroni cocked an ear to listen as more crashing came from downstairs. “Shh, everyone, that's coming from the kitchen. The sound of smashing glass and splintering wood thundered up though the floorboards under their very feet. Directly below them, the kitchen was being taken apart.
“Nichols!” Larry grabbed the priest by the sleeve and pulled him away from the door. “What are you waiting for? Use that thing, all hell’s breaking loose down there!”
“No,” Nichols pulled his arm away from Larry desperate grasp.
“They're down stairs,” Larry pleaded. “They could come up here at any second. You saw how Randall reacted when you just opened that thing.” He made to grab Nichols again but he stepped back, shaking his head vigorously.
“No,” the word came out of Nichols throat as a shrill cry. “Get away from me!” He demanded.
Seeing Nichols panic, Peroni took a step towards him, but he staggered away with his head in his hands. “No, No, No!” he screamed.
She dragged herself away from the scene and moved past Lewis and onto the landing to the very edge of the light.
“Careful Ania,” Lewis warned.
“Cover me,” she said approaching the darkness.
“Cover you? Lewis exclaimed. “There could be a fucking huge monster an inch in front of your face and I couldn’t see it!”
She peered into the void. Good point.
Back in the room, Larry spat a curse at Nichols and took a step towards the box on the table. “Fucking coward!”
He made to grab the box.
“Don't you touch that!” Nichols warned through gritted teeth, his voice was almost a growl now. And he pointed an accusing finger at Larry.
“Fuck you,” Larry pulled away the towel to reveal the gaudy looking life-line. He moved to pick it up but Nichols flew at him and before he could react the priest shoulder barged him away from the table with the strength of a mad man. The blow caught McCulloch sharply in the ribs and sent him sprawling to the floor.
“Larry...” Nichols looked down at McCulloch, his face set in shock at what he had just done.
“Fucker,” Larry snapped and rolled on his back to gawked up at him in stunned outrage. “You bastard!” He screamed and tried to get up but the priest was looming over him like a lunatic, and for one horrible moment, Larry thought he was going to kick him square in the face out of blind rage, and he had a look that said if he started kicking he would not be able to stop himself until he had stomped Larry brains into mush. He desperately looked for support from Peroni or Lewis but the Italian was nowhere to be seen and Lewis had is back to them aiming at something out side. “Shit,” Larry brought his arms up over his head to protect himself from the anticipated onslaught and closed his eyes.
Seeing Larry cowering below him, the rage that was threatening to overwhelm him fled from Nichols in an instant and with it went every ounce of energy he had left. “Oh, dear God, Larry I'm sorry...”
He moved to help Larry up but McCulloch flinched.
“Father!” Peroni came back into the room to see Nichols standing over the prone McCulloch. Both Nichols and Larry stared at her in disbelief, she was about to ask why when she realized she was aiming her pistol at Nichols. She looked down at the gun in her han