FORTY-ONE
Shrouded in the foul smelling vapour if its birth, Randall looked down at his latest creation, which was laid, curled up in the foetal position, half hidden amongst the foot high straw like dead grass in the house’s jungle of a front garden. He staggered slightly from the excursion of the creature’s protracted birth.
The energy it had taken out of him, coupled with the constant drain from sustaining the freezing void, (once the process had begun, Randall immediately did away with the creatures wailing and clattering within it, both to conserve energy and to give those trapped inside a faint glimmer of hope) was now threatening to overwhelm the collector. Time was short.
The Banshee had taken longer than Randall had anticipated to reach something close to maturity, a full six hours of concentration. And even now the creature was only partially complete, but it would have to do.
Randall stumbled again, his head suddenly light and he took a faltering step or two back until he rested against the bramble infested hedge. Ishrel was standing nearby, transfixed by the old hag as it lay like a dead dog amongst the weeds.
“Beautiful,” he hissed.
Randall nodded in agreement, the proud Father. She was not perfect by any means, but still, given the circumstances, some of his best work. “Rise,” he ordered leaning back into the hedge like a drunkard.
The Banshee slowly unknotted itself from its foetal position and with great effort stood up in all its glory. As it straightened, its newly formed brittle joints popped and cracked in protest, and even Randall couldn't help but wince at the noise, but the thing itself left no pain. Its rasping breath clouded the air as it hissed through its rotted teeth.
For a new-born, the Banshee looked ancient. Its leathery skin stretched too tight and too thinly over bone and sinew. Its jet black matted hair steamed in the darkness, its eyes, set deep within its death mask of a face darted fitfully around its unfamiliar surroundings until they finally came to rest upon its creator.
Randall met her desolate gaze as best he could. Though she wanted nothing more than to serve him, Randall saw nothing but raw madness in her black eyes. They were so cold that it chilled even the jaded collector to look into them.
It was such a shame that she didn't have more time in her to torment those in the house. Randall could hardly imagine the terror she could induced in those zealots in there given more time. Ishrel had called her beautiful and she was, in her way. The perfect nightmare standing there unashamedly naked and impossibly thin (there wasn't one of her limps thicker than five of inches in diameter). She stood there panting; taking in great lungful’s of air to prepare herself for what was required of her. She knew her terrible life would be short, and was glad to give every second of it in service of her creator.
“Go,” Randall glanced up at the house and to the solitary light source shinning from the upstairs bedroom window. The creature knew instinctively what it was to do and without a moment’s hesitation turned and half ran, half staggered over to the house. Once at the wall, she leaped six feet up and clung onto the brickwork by her fingernails and then began to scuttle up the side of the house and towards the room above her.
What the hell just happened? One minute Peroni was catching up on some much needed sleep. Courtesy of the continued silence from the unseen creatures outside. So, with Lewis taking his turn on watch, she had gratefully curled up next to the bed, which Larry still steadfastly refused to vacate, and sleep had soon claimed her.
She had no idea how long she had been out, but had just now been rudely awakened by what had felt like a kick in the backside. The next thing she was aware of was sitting up and staring straight down the barrel of a pistol. It had taken her a few moments to shake off sleep and tell herself she wasn't still dreaming, then she was able to focus on the figure on the other end of the weapon aiming at her.
“Larry! What the hell are you doing?” She instinctively reached across her chest to her shoulder holster which was empty.
“Stay sat down,” Larry ordered and she saw her own pistol tucked in his belt. It took a second to register, then it hit her like a slap in the face. Larry had both their guns! He was standing over her ready to shoot if she looked at him wrong. She turned to see Lewis, his face like thunder, standing close by with his back against the wall and his hands in the air. Nichols was sitting at the table clutching the box, watching the scene, his eyes wide with fear, but at least everyone looked unhurt.
“Don't you hurt her,” Lewis warned.
“Shut it, dick head,” Larry responded meanly, keeping his aim on Peroni to make sure she did as she was told. Ania held her hands out in submission. “Smart girl,” he said and swung the pistol between her and Lewis.
“Larry, you stupid bastard...” Lewis began but didn't get time to finish as Larry took a step towards him and slapped him hard across the face with the back of his free hand. Lewis' face redden in fury and he looked ready to lunge at McCulloch, but the old crook took a swift step back again and aimed the pistol at Lewis forehead.
“Steady now, sparky,” Larry warned. “I will shoot you just for the fucking fun of it.”
“Cock sucker,” Lewis spat.
“You wish,” Larry sneered, and drew Peroni's pistol from his belt. He kept one aimed at Lewis and swung the other in Nichols direction and the priest flinched. “Right,” Larry continued firmly. “Nichols, give me your phone.”
“Larry, for pity's sake stop this,” Nichols implored. “Are you losing you mind?”
“You think I don't see what's been going on here?” Larry said shifting from one foot to the other over and over. “I've heard you all whispering. Yeah, that's right. I know you're been plotting against me.” He had an almost manic look in his eye now.
Peroni stiffly moved to get up, but Larry aimed from Nichols back at her forehead. She winced bringing up her arms to protect herself, for what little good it would do against a bullet if it came. “We're on your side!” She said desperately and waited for the shot that thankfully didn't come.
“Bullshit!” Larry shouted and then took a breath to ensure his twin aims were good. “Right, this is how things are going to work.” He felt on top of the world now that his destiny and the means of his salvation were in his own two hands. “Nichols, you are going to give me that box.”
The priest just looked at him with weary resignation and perhaps a slight shake of the head.
“You saw the way Randall reacted to that thing. And I'm willing to bet he wants it more than he wants me,” he continued. “So I say, let him have it. If he lets me walk that is, and that’s and end to all this as far as I'm concerned.
“And what about us?” Lewis asked.
“You think I give a shit? You live, you die, it's all the same to me.” Larry replied and turned his attention, if not his aim, back to Nichols. “So, do I start shooting or are you gonna give me your phone and the box?” He took a step towards where Nichols was sitting and re-aimed at the priest with his left hand gun, all the while keeping the right swinging between Peroni, who was on her knees now and Lewis. It wasn't ideal but no one in their right mind would try and jump a man with two guns. “Well?” He said to Nichols and was surprised when a look of relief crossed the priests face.
“You are a smart fellow, Larry...” Nichols sounded like he was fighting back tears as he spoke. Perhaps everything had finally caught up with him, Larry thought and half expected him to break down mid-sentence. But Nichols struggled on. “Always one step ahead, always ready to make a deal with the Devil...” He faltered and tears finally sprang to his eyes, his bottom lip trembled like a child's. “Always looking out for number one... No matter who gets hurt.”
“You had better believe it, Padre. You may want to die for some shitty piece of paper in a tacky old box, but I sure as shit don't.” Taking another step, Larry rested the barrel of the pistol on Nichols' forehead and gave serious consideration to shooting him anyway. “We give him the box,” he said slowly and deliberately. “That's the deal.”
Nichols sighed deeply as the tears ran down his face, but he had pity in his eyes, not hate, certainly not fear which unnerved the old crook. “Thank you Larry,” Nichols choked and had to clear his throat before continuing. “This is probably the nicest thing you have ever done for anyone in your life. Even if you didn't mean it as such.”
McCulloch frowned, hardly the response he was expecting. The tears, yes, but thanks? “You really are a fruit cake, Nichols. Y'know that?”
“Perhaps,” Nichols replied with a slight shrug of the shoulders. He wiped his tear stained cheeks with his hands. “But my conscience is clear... Now”
“Give me the box,” Larry said trying to remain calm.
“No,” Nichols replied softly, his eyes downcast.
There is nothing worse, Larry knew from all his years as a villain, than for someone you are trying to intimidate to either; one, think you are bluffing. Or two, they simply don't care if you carry out a threat or not, as they have no regard for their own life. The priest it seemed fitted firmly in the latter, which was a problem. But it was one he had the perfect answer to.
If he didn't care about his own life...
Larry turned his head slowly, and without a word shot Lewis in the stomach. Lewis shuddered slightly and just stood there for a moment with a stupid look on his face, part shock, part outrage. It was the first time Larry had actually shot anyone before. He had threatened the deed many times before but had never pulled the trigger, until now. And he couldn't think of a better man to start with than that sarcastic bastard.
“Oh, no,” Lewis spluttered comically, then as if remembering he had actually been shot with a real bullet, clutched at the ragged whole in his shirt and slid down the wall still gawking at Larry.
Christ that was loud, Larry thought as his ears began ringing from the report of the weapon, he looked at the still smoking pistol, then turned to Peroni, who had an equally stupefied look of shock on her face. Larry had expected screams of horror from the Italian, but she just stood there opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. Strange, he thought. The priest however was more vocal.
“Larry!” He shouted. “What have you done?” He struggled to his feet still cradling the box. “Oh, dear God, Lewis.”
“Oh, Jesus...” Lewis breathed as blood began to trickle through his fingers.
“Sit down,” Larry ordered and pushed Nichols in the chest with the other pistol until he fell back to sit on the chair once more.
“Oh, God, God, Lewis,” Nichols went on distraught, his eyes fixed on the wounded man. “Why, why?”
“For the hell of it,” Larry replied, cruelly.
Suddenly, Peroni seemed to come to her senses and with a wail of anguish she crawled quickly over to Lewis on her hands and knees, who just looked at her dumbly.
“Where are your fucking quips now, Lewis, huh?” Larry jeered. The guns felt good in his hands, like weapons of the Gods, giving him absolute power over the cowering mortals. But as good as they felt, one in each hand wasn't practical, so he pushed one back into his waist band and convinced Peroni and certainly not Lewis weren't an immediate threat, Larry returned his attention back to Nichols.
The priest was shaking almost uncontrollably his eyes locked on his two comrades. “No, no.” He said over and over.
“Give me the box,” Larry ordered and Nichols tore his gaze away from Lewis and Peroni to look up at Larry. Then much to Larry's surprise, Nichols held out his mobile.
“God help you.” Nichols said.
“God helps those who help themselves. Isn't that right, Padre?” Larry snatched the phone from Nichols. Movement from the mobile’s illuminated screen caught his eye. It was a spinning envelope icon, indicating a text was being sent. Followed by the words; 'Text send'. “What have you done?” He screamed.
Suddenly from behind him, Peroni screamed with rage and Larry just had time to turn to her when she flung herself at him. Her shoulder caught him hard in the chest and despite her size knocked the wind right out of him, Larry gasped and stumbled back a step or two as she rained punch after punch at him. “Bitch!,” He screamed back and brought his elbows up to protect himself from the onslaught until his back hit the window behind him making the glass rattle in its frame.
“You bastard, you bastard!” She screamed in his face as she continued the assault, pummelling him repeated with her fists. One blow connected hard against the bridge of McCulloch's nose and he felt blood spatter his face and was blinded by stars for a moment.
That was when he decided to shoot her then and there. “You fucking bitch!” He pushed her back with all his might and tried to aim the pistol at her face but she grabbed his hand by the wrist just as he squeezed the trigger. BOOM! The bullet went high and wide of its target ripping a hole in the ceiling. The deafening report of the shot made Larry's ears ring, the barrel was so close he saw Peroni's face light up from the muzzle flash and felt the heat from it on his face.
“Jesus!” The shock made him stagger back again, which gave Peroni just enough time to twist his wrist awkwardly until he felt a sharp pain shoot up his arm and a sickening snap. “Fuck!” He screamed in pain as she wrenched the pistol from his hand.
Breathing hard, she aimed at Larry, who spat a mouthful of blood at her but she didn't even flinch. This was it, he could make an attempt to reach for the other pistol in his waist band with his one good hand but he knew he wouldn't even get close.
“Go on then,” he hissed defiantly through bloody teeth and waited for the end.
Then Peroni inexplicably let the pistol drop to her side. It took Larry a moment to take in what she had done, his senses dulled from the duel pain coming from his broken nose and wrist. Was she really that naïve? If so then she was easy prey.
Larry was about to reach for the other pistol when he saw the look of absolute terror on her tear stained face. Her wide eyes were focused, not on him, but on some horror out of the window directly behind him. And even though he had no idea what she was seeing, that look on her face made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. He so wanted to turn around but dreaded what he might see.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God,” Nichols uttered. Larry glanced at him to see he too was transfixed by the nightmare at his back.
'Tap-tap-tap' on the window behind him, followed by nails scraping on glass. Fuck, Larry screwed his eyes tight shut. His broken nose throbbed in time to his racing heartbeat.
'Tap-tap-tap, scrape, scrape, scrape.
When Larry opened his eyes again, Peroni was aiming the pistol again. He tensed only to then realise she was aiming over his left shoulder.
“Fuck it,” Larry drew the pistol with his good left hand and in one movement stepped away from the window, over to Peroni's side and turned to aim with her.
His breath caught in his throat and he let out a rasping breath of disbelief at the horrible wizened creature clinging to the window frame outside, peering in at them. The emaciated old witch’s face leered in at them, illuminated by the meagre light. Her rancid breath fogged the window intermittently with each ragged breath.
Despite everything, Peroni, McCulloch and Nichols stood numbly transfixed by the vision of wretchedness at the window. Even the sickening sound of Lewis gurgling his life away on the floor behind them couldn't break the spell.
The Banshee flushed with pride, seeing the look of utter terror on the faces of her captive audience that she herself had so exquisitely induced. The moment was so utterly perfect, even better, surely than her beloved creator could have imagined. She was proud beyond words to be chosen as the instrument of their destruction. How foolish these mortals looked, gawking at her terrible beauty like doomed fish in a bowl.
The Banshee smiled, exposing a set of jagged rotten teeth, and cooed out loud at the response this won from those wide eyed imbeciles inside. Her smile grew impossibly wide now, across her whole face literally from ear to ear, a gaping razor slash of a smile splitting her head in half.
Her life was short, her purpose clear.
Inside, Larry took a faltering step back as the witch outside opened its maw, exposing a darkness in it even deeper and more terrible than the void she had emerged from. He stepped back and his heel inadvertently slipped in the very blood he had spat at Peroni only moments before. His leg shot from underneath him sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap.
It saved his live.
The Banshee had only one purpose and that purpose was clear.
The Banshee screamed.
A split second later the window and the Banshee itself exploded simultaneously from the sheer force of the blast.
The Banshee to dust, the window, frame and all into the room like a hurricane of deadly shattered glass and splintered wood.
Peroni was directly in the path of the murderous debris as it flew into the room in the blink of an eye. She didn't even have time to scream before it ripped mercilessly into her.
Nichols turned away in horror as it did. He was hit himself, caught on the very edge of the icy blast that followed the witch’s scream which filled the room like a shriek straight from hell itself, tiny fragments of glass and wood stung his face but little else, the wounds they inflicted wouldn't even leave a scare in a day or so, unlike Peroni.
With a scream of his own, Larry rolled around on the floor and began to shout and swear, little flecks of blood appeared through his grimy shirt where he had been grazed by shrapnel. But it was Peroni alone who had taken the full brunt of the damage.
The priest had to force himself to look back at her and it made him sick to his stomach with shock and guilt. Peroni had fallen to her knees now with her head bowed as if in prayer, her hands clasped over her ruined face in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood that was flooding through her fingers. Her choking, muffled screams barely audible to Nichols above the ringing in his own ears from the explosion of sound the witch had unleashed.
Then as he watched on, unable to drag himself up to help her, she fell forwards hitting her lacerated head hard on the floor, making her scream all the more.
The pitiful sight finally shook Nichols into action, he got to his feet, but before he could move to help her, Larry scrambled back to his feet, blood streaming from his nose and stood unsteadily in between Nichols and the prone Woman.
“Gimme the box!” Larry screamed, blood spitting out of his mouth with the words.
“God Man,” Nichols implored. “It's too late for that now. Let me help her for pity's sake!” He came at McCulloch but with to real energy and tried desperately to push him aside so he could get to Peroni, but Larry side stepped him and then with surprising speed, pistol whipped Nichols hard across the face sending him crashing to the floor with fireworks exploding in front of his eyes as he went. Somehow he managed to keep a tight grip on the box as he did so, like a rugby player going down from a heavy tackle but refusing to give up possession of the ball.
McCulloch aimed down at Nichols, determined to put an end to his pathetic life once and for all. He was about to squeeze the trigger when he caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye and for a brief moment half expected it to be followed by a clap of thunder. But there was no storm brewing outside, far from it. He chanced a look out of the hole in the wall where the window had been.
The void out there which up until his point had been nothing more than a pitiless black, now seemed to Larry to be lighter somehow, a dark grey. As he looked on a crack of searing bright light sna