Dark Destiny (23 page)

Gabriel lunged forward into a
blink
, right hand cocked and ready, just as the Reaper came to a stop. With no time for Sebastian to react, Gabriel’s hay-maker landed squarely on the tip of Sebastian’s jaw.

The hood absorbed the majority of the impact. But still his jaw hurt. This was bad. He had to find a way to end this quickly.

Sebastian needed to find Sara.

Wednesday, 12:49 am (Purgatorium)

For the past hour, Sara had been wandering in what appeared to be a deserted city. She moved cautiously, probably going no more than a couple of miles. She came across a department store that looked as though it had been looted. Close to the broken entrance, there were some thick coats she wouldn’t have been caught dead in had she been in a normal world, but here in this strange world, they would do. She picked one that may have once been a black bear. Back out in the strange streets, she pulled the thick coat around her tightly. She shivered anyway.

A small brown paper bag rustled through the cold wind, dancing on the ground, making its way to a group of people who appeared homeless standing in front of a bonfire. Their backs were to her as an outline of orange glow danced around them from the flame.

A wave of excitement came over her. These were the first living beings she’d seen since she landed in this bizarre place.

“Hello?” she called out. Maybe they would be able to point her to a payphone. Most land line phones had been removed from Baltimore over the years, but there were still a few in the downtown area. She could call Sebastian, and he could come get her out of this place.

“Hey,” she said, approaching the group. “I was wondering if you guys can help me
—
”

As they turned to face her, she heard the sound of cracking bone. She recoiled in horror at their decaying skin showing through their tattered clothing. One, whose lips were smashed in, moaned at her. Another had long straggly hair and was dressed like an 80’s rocker. He seemed to have glowing eyes. The third was fat and short, with a large belly and stocky arms and legs. His rotten flesh had fallen away in places, exposing bones and yellow, dimpled fat.

“Zombies?” she whispered.

She was definitely in a nightmare and needed to wake up.

The zombies appeared starved and gawked at her with hungry eyes.

“Is that a
human
?” the overweight zombie wondered aloud. “In our world?”

“She is a
Revenant
,” the glowing-eyed zombie replied.

A what?
Sara thought.
What was a ‘Revenant?’

“Raauughhh!” the last one replied.

Sara was positive it would have been a word or a phrase if the zombie had a lower jaw. Only a tongue hung down, flapping at her.

The overweight zombie murmured, “Impossible.”

“Little girl, you need to get out of here before he finds you,” the glowing eyed zombie said.

Sara took a step closer. “What did you say?”

“He’ll be coming s
—”

An explosion blew her backward, landing her on her bottom with a thump. She stared in shock at the spot where, seconds before, the zombie had stood. Fallen zombie chunks littered the ground before evaporating into a ghostly white vapor. The mist made a noise, like steam seeping out of a sewer.

Her eyes shot to the direction from which she thought the source of the explosion had come. It had happened so fast all she’d seen was a flash, like a white fireball made of pure light.

“It’s Morose,” the overweight zombie said. “The Master
—”

“Step aside!” yelled a croaky voice.

To her amazement, the entire city seemed to be walking toward her. All zombies. All carrying torches.

Some were dressed in pure white, with pale faces, white hair and icy blue eyes. Others were like those found in typical zombie movies with tattered dirty clothing and rotting heads. Three of them, females with pale faces wore dark suits with black and white striped ties and black planter’s hats. They walked in a creepy synchronized way just behind the leader but slightly ahead of the group.

A variety of shadows moved in, snaking their ways along walls, slithering back and forth on the mangled asphalt. The horde of zombies were led by a skinny figure wearing a dirty, muscle shirt and a pair of worn jeans. White chain tattoos circled his biceps and neck. His expression was deadly, like a hunter about to kill his prey.

Near the leader was a large figure in a black duster coat holding some sort of black staff. He also had white tattoos that snaked up his arms as flames.

The leader, Morose, or “The Master”, grinned at her, a sinister smile, and said, “Step into my parlor.”

She turned and ran in the opposite direction.

“Bring her to me!” Morose commanded.

Thousands of animated dead followed her en-masse with a sound she never thought she would ever hear. Some shuffled, others lurched, but the majority walked straight and perfectly normal.

Stomp.

Stomp.

Stomp.

The noise grew louder until it became a deafening roar. The sound encompassed everything, like a death shroud. Sara couldn’t hear her own feet smacking on the pavement. She barely heard her own panicked thoughts. The stomping of the zombies drowned out everything.

Usually in the movies, zombies were mindless, only interested in eating brains.
These
zombies, if indeed that’s what they were, seemed able to focus, and unfortunately, they were focused on her.

From the corner of her eye, jerking silhouettes were barely visible in the shadows. Up ahead, four tendrils of mist seeped out of a manhole cover and coalesced into a female form wearing a wedding dress. The half formed figure raised her arms. Swirls of mist flowed around her, working to complete her figure.

Another figure, a zombie woman wearing a cracked baby mask and an old-fashioned nightgown, skipped, child-like, toward her, with long, wild blonde hair flowing around her. Her hand gripped a bloody machete.

A scream lodged in Sara’s throat.

A twisted chorus of moans and footsteps continued to fill the air. Sara’s eyes darted back and forth as she ran. At the entrance to an alley up ahead she saw another figure, a gas mask obscuring its face, making him appear as a giant insect. The man wore a long black coat that fell to his ankles.

Though she couldn’t say why, the man in the gas mask frightened her even more than the weird skipping woman, the shadows, or the horde of zombies. She ran for her life.

Thursday, 12:24am

A few days had passed since Jared’s disappearance. To Hope, the days felt like years. She spent hours staring intently at her phone, willing him to call. The one person who seemed to know what went on with him wasn’t talking. What was Sebastian’s problem? She deserved to know what was happening with her own brother.

She’d been pacing in her room all evening, periodically taking breaks to check her email, text messages and the odd trip to the window to watch for possible smoke signals. Thus far, no luck. No longer willing to sit on her hands and wait for news, she grabbed her cell and impatiently called Sebastian. After several rings, he picked up.

“Uh, hello?” His voice was faint, like he was out of breath. She could hear the intermittent clanging of metal and loud thumping through the receiver.

“Hey, Sebastian? It’s Hope.” The noises in the background intruded again, “What the heck are you doing? What are those sounds?”

Between wheezes, he answered, “Oh, just playing a little Mortal Kombat. What’s up?”

Hope never understood boys and their video games. His best friend was missing, and instead of looking for him, Sebastian was sitting in front of his Playstation or Xbox or whatever it was, that thingy with the buttons and stuff.

“Can you turn it down? I can barely hear you.”

“Yeah, sure, I think I can do that.” A string of rapid fire thumping preceded a slight reduction in volume. “Is that better?”

“A little. Have you heard from Jared? He still hasn’t contacted me and I’m really worried.”

“No, not recently. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Oh,” she said, not bothering to hide the disappointment in her voice.

An unfamiliar deep voice boomed through the phone, “Get over here!”

“Sebastian, who was that?”

“Oh, you know. Just Scorpion doing his thing.”

She shrugged it off. Though she’d never played the game, Jared and Sebastian made her sit through an awful movie adaptation of the game years prior and she did recognize the name of the character. It was some kind of ninja in a yellow outfit, to the best of her recollection. She only remembered because at the time she was confused as to why a ninja, who relies on stealth, would wear a bright yellow outfit. When she asked them about it, they went all “bro-mode” and simply replied, “She didn’t get it.” She supposed that was true. She didn’t get it.

“Um, do you have time to talk?”

That strange deep voice chimed in again, this time considerably louder, “Finish him!”

“Oh, God! Hope? I’m gonna have to call you back.” The line went dead.

Hope grumbled to herself and pitched her phone onto the bed. There was something about the way Sebastian sounded that irked her. He had to be lying about something. A part of her thought that Jared might be sitting right next to him playing that stupid game. She decided to confront Sebastian in person the following morning. He could lie all he wanted over the phone, but in person, she was certain she could pry the truth out of him.

Thursday, 12:27am (Purgatorium)

The cracked and dirty concrete wall exploded to bits as the Reaper crashed through, slamming into the building across the street. Large chunks of grayish debris showered down into the street and onto the derelict cars parked along the curb. His collision had formed a Reaper-sized indentation in the building’s outer wall, and he found he could sit quite comfortably in it. He pulled an uneven hunk of concrete from beneath him and leaned back with a painful sigh, dangling his legs, the streets far below him. He glanced across the street and saw Gabriel staring at him from the hole he was just thrown from.

I cannot believe you actually answered the phone.

“She’s worried about her brother, okay? What am I supposed to do? Just ignore her?”

I cannot believe . . . you answered that.

“It’s done, what can I say? At least we know it works here, right?”

Gabriel disappeared. “Where did he go?” the Reaper said to himself, though he was relieved the Angel had apparently decided to take a break from the assault. Sebastian took a deep breath.

Per the message I have just intercepted, he has called for reinforcements.

“Reinforcements?
Why?
So far, this fight has been all him.”

I couldn’t make out the details.

Sebastian heard a voice right next to him. “Hey, how are you?”

His head whipped in the direction of the voice. Next to him, standing on a broken chunk of concrete at the edge of the building, was a middle-aged man in a tailored business suit. His clothes, skin and hair were bluish, and a faint aura of the same color light bled from around the edges of his form.

“I—I’m sorry?” the Reaper replied. “How did you . . . ? I mean, who . . .”

“See ya,” the ghost said as he jumped.

“Hey, wait!” shouted the Reaper, as his gaze followed the ghost down. Just as he was about to push off in an attempt to save the ghost, it shimmered away into thin air.

“What was that?” the Reaper asked.

A Soul leaked out of his haunt.

“A
whaaaat
?” the Reaper asked, his voice cracking. “What the heck is a ‘haunt?’ And no goofy-ass answers, okay? Plain and simple.”

There was a slight pause before the Elder started speaking in an even stiffer tone than usual.
The alley in which your friend Jared died has had exactly
eight
deaths over the past twenty-five years. Since Souls must remain where they die until they work out their issues, it would get rather crowded. In order to not have those Souls interacting with each other, Purgatorium creates different ‘haunts’ for each Soul. There are eight versions of the same alley, therefore eight different haunts.

“Like parallel dimensions for solo problem solving.”

Precisely
, the Elder agreed.

“Interesting.”

You should know all of the facts. Purgatorium wants to help these Souls move on in any way it can. This means each Soul has access to ALL of their memories. They can view them as projections if they wish to do so, including how they died. They can view these events repeatedly until they are ready to accept them and move on.

“That’s insane! So, what? They can view their deaths over and over again like some kind of haunted 3D movie?”

If they choose so, yes. This way, they can hopefully find acceptance.

“Okaaaay. Huh.”

And
you
, as the embodiment of Death, know who and what is in each haunt.