For Everything a Reason (25 page)

Chapter
Forty-Nine

Yurius stood over Joseph. The weapon levelled at his
head. Joseph began to rise, climbing up slowly, making sure his body stayed
between the Russian and his son. A deep well of anger – pure hatred – boiled to
the surface.

What had this man done to his
family? The agony they’d endured, both at Jake’s taking and Eugene’s loss. And
for what? Nothing. Yurius’s identity was already compromised. By now, almost
every law enforcement agency on the planet would know who and what he was.

Joseph started to shake then.
His hands formed into two solid fists and the muscles of his jaw clenched
tightly. Rage was quickly taking over: a red mist started to form at the
corners of his eyes. It was something he’d never experienced before – such a
torment of emotion. This resentment felt alien to him. Still, Joseph remained
the master of this dark sensation, as it boiled away in the pit of his stomach
– just waiting to be released.

Yurius misunderstood Joseph’s
shaking as a symptom of fear. He smiled now, confident again in his authority.

Joseph reached carefully into
his pocket.

“Hold it,” Yurius ordered.

“I have something for you,”
Joseph replied.

The weapon drew closer, the
cold metal almost touching Joseph’s brow. “Too late for you,” Yurius said.

Joseph maintained eye contact.
His hand appeared holding the crumpled letter that Edward Jones had given him.
“This is from an old friend of Viktor’s.”

The use of his brother’s name
forced Yurius to take a step back. Now, his eyes flicked to the letter, just
briefly, before finding Joseph again.

Joseph brought the letter up
for Yurius to see. “Edward Jones sends his regards.”

Yurius’s eyes widened. Then
they quickly formed into tight, questioning slits. “What is this?”

“Take it,” Joseph said. The
letter had had some impact on the Russian, proving that Edward Jones’ comment
about it being his saviour could be true.

“Take it,” Joseph said again,
thrusting the letter outwards. Like a vampire in terror of a crucifix, Yurius
reared back, bringing his free hand up in front of him, palm out, in a
defensive gesture.

The Russian’s confidence began
to crumble in front of Joseph. His self-assured posture evaporated, leaving
behind it an anxious, unsure mess. Yurius’s hand began to reach out, intent on
taking the letter. At the last moment it returned to his side.

“No more games,” he said,
trying to gather his wits. His arm tensed, and the weapon found its mark once
again.

Joseph understood that this was
it – his time of reckoning. Yurius had not taken the bait by reaching out for
the letter, allowing Joseph to make a grab for the gun or throw a punch. Now he
found himself staring down the barrel. He started to slip, first one way and
then the next. His head bobbed back and forth. This made Yurius almost laugh
out loud.

“Big Bear thinks he can dodge
bullet?” he mocked.

Joseph just continued to slip
from side to side.

It worked.

Yurius started to follow
Joseph’s movements, mirroring them, the weapon trying to follow his progress.
Like a dancing Cobra, Joseph bobbed and weaved. He continued to slip and slide.
Yurius allowed the gun to fall, moving from head height down towards his chest.

Then, with a flash, the barrel
ignited with gunfire. Joseph felt himself hit with the force of a truck. He was
thrown back and the air exploded from his lungs. Another round slammed into
him, forcing him through the air. He landed heavily. The oxygen in his lungs
exited in a violent burst.

He heard a voice cry out from a
faraway distance: Carter’s, maybe?

His eyes fluttered and then
something appeared above him. It blocked out the weak light of the sun.

Yurius fired again and the
darkness around Joseph Ruebins flooded in, covering him in a flood of liquid
shadows.   

***

Carter skidded to a halt. Which way now? He had his
police shield out on view, folded outwards and hanging from his breast pocket.
It gave him immediate credibility, and nearby pedestrians were pointing
directions out to him, help being offered without his asking for it; the savvy
commuters understanding that two men chasing each other was not your average
morning’s activity – not even for New York City.

A businesswoman came towards
him. “They went that way,” she said, raising her arm and using her briefcase to
point towards a narrow alleyway.

“Thanks,” Carter replied,
quickly heading into the tight maze of brickwork.

He stumbled along, breathing
heavily, almost falling over a trashcan that lay in his way. The brick
passageway opened out to reveal a parking lot. There was just one vehicle in
the lot, and two men stood close to it.

Carter watched in horror as the
Russian fired his weapon. The blast reverberated around the parking area.
Joseph’s head rocked back and he back-pedalled, with his arms spinning full
circle. Another shot threw him back and this time he lost his footing. The
Russian fired again, stepping over Joseph and firing at point-blank range.
Joseph jolted violently as the bullet ripped into him.

“NOOO!”
Carter yelled.

The Russian looked up. He fired
without pause – two shots almost finding their mark, even from this distance.

Carter dropped to one knee.

The killer leaned forwards to
snatch something out of Joseph’s hand. He fired another shot at the detective
from this position, and then made towards the car.

Carter managed to get two shots
off before the driver’s door slammed shut.

With a screech of rubber the
Ford took off.

Carter tried to memorise the
number-plate. The car disappeared within a matter of seconds. Silence fell and
the two figures lay still. He edged closer. Did he want to see what lay there?
No, absolutely not. Still, his professionalism guided him towards the two
bodies. Legs that seemed to be wading against running water took him closer.

Joseph Ruebins lay rigid, arms
and legs splayed out at odd angles. His son lay curled up in a foetal position.
Both looked like sculptures, as if they’d been chiselled from the rock beneath
Carter’s feet.

The detective concentrated on
the boy. The condition of the boy was unknown. He passed Joseph, for now,
forcing himself to look away.

Hot bile rose in his throat. He
gulped it back, understanding that this was likely to become another crime
scene, another bloodbath, and not a place for him to contaminate.

Treading carefully,
subconsciously looking for spent casings or other evidence, he made his way
towards Jake.

“Jake?” Carter whispered
quietly, not wanting to disturb the dead.

Nothing. Not a sound. He
stepped closer. The boy’s face came into view. Jake looked as if he were
sleeping soundly.

Dead peaceful.

Chapter
Fifty

Joseph found himself once again in the empty void,
where silence ruled absolute. He tried to look around, but the darkness was
everywhere. He waited, half expecting the two rifts to open up, spewing forth
the musical lines, notes and symbols. Nothing happened. No bright tears in the
seamless dark blanket, no clash of guitars – nothing.

He panicked then.

Was this it?

The end!

Although no air could
possibly be found in such a barren place, Joseph felt himself gasping for
breath. His lungs hitched as he tried to force oxygen into them. A thought
burst into his mind: The old man, Edward Jones’ father, lying at his side,
desperately trying to draw a breath. Had Henry Jones come here to rest? Joseph
hoped not. This was nowhere to be. What of the perpetual light that was
supposed to shine down on God’s dearly departed children?

Fear consumed him then –
blind terror, which twisted his heart into tight knots.

Was Jake here, lonely and
lost?

God no!

Joseph forced himself to
look around again. He imagined himself turning his head, first to look one way,
and then the other. Now, he could just about make out the vaguest suggestion of
outlines.

Something with hard edges
lay to his right. A square-shaped ‘something’ that had slightly more density
about it hovered there. A doorway, Joseph noted. No – wait, not a doorway, but
a garage shutter. The darkness gave way to detail, which cut slivers of light
into the void.

What was this?

A grating noise filled the
air. The shutter moved slightly. The squeal of metal rubbing against metal came
again, and a flare of blinding light filled the gap at the bottom. Fingers
appeared then, small digits, which wrapped themselves around the bottom of the
shutter.

The light grew by another
few inches, and then stopped suddenly. A small head appeared.

Jake.

“Dad,” Jake called.
“Hurry..!”

Joseph took a step closer,
now in possession of a solid state and a platform to walk upon. As he drew
closer the shutter began to take on more definition. The metal panels that
formed the doorway became more solid, glinting with a metallic sheen. The
shutter was now fixed within a building and, as Joseph came even closer, the garage
swelled out into a full-sized house.

His house, he realised,
instantly.

“Jake,” he called.

“Dad,” Jake replied. His
little hand appeared, and he used it to wave his father over to him. “Hurry,”
he said again.

“What is it?” Joseph asked,
bending low to see Jake’s worried looking face.

“Mom,” Jake said.

“What?”

“Hurry, mom needs you.”

“Where is she?”

“Upstairs. The thing is
trying to take her…”

“Thing?”

“The bad thing,” Jake said,
tears appearing at both corners of his eyes.

Joseph reached out to take
Jake’s hand. “What bad thing?”

Jake swallowed deeply.
“Mom’s trapped and the dark thing wants her.”     

Joseph had no idea what his
son was saying, but the boy’s panic was obvious. He took a quick step back,
surveying the house. He understood then that this wasn’t an exact replica of
his home; no doors or windows could be seen on either of the two levels.     

“Stand back,” he ordered.

Jake’s head disappeared out
of view.

Joseph wrapped his thick
fingers underneath the shutter’s edge. He took a deep breath, now able to fill
his lungs, and then heaved with all his might. A sharp squeal of protest filled
his ears. He tried again, but the shutter remained tight.

He looked up to see if
something blocked the shutter at the top, and found that the metalwork had a distinctive
crease running down the front.

He remembered then how this
had come to be. The basketball game that he and Jake had been playing only
weeks earlier.

His head.

His stupid, thick head had
bent it out of shape.

A noise came to him then, a
desperate shout for help.

“Marianna!” he called.

Her voice came again,
desperate and scared.

Joseph dropped lower,
bringing himself almost to floor level. He pushed himself into the small gap
the shutter had to offer. Beyond the doorway, darkness had now filled every
inch of space.

“Jake?” he called, fearful
that the ‘thing’ had taken him too.

“Dad,” Jake said,
reappearing at the gap. Fear was still visible in his face, but less so now
that his father was nearby.

“Hurry, Dad,” Jake said.

Joseph concentrated on working
his fingers underneath the shutter. He tensed and then heaved with all his
might. The squeal of metal came again, and the barrier held firm.

Jake brought his head as
close to Joseph’s as he could. “
MAN
OF STEEL.”   

“What..?” Joseph asked.

“Remember – Dad. You’re the
MAN
OF STEEL.”

Joseph looked deep into
Jake’s eyes. He found such a mixture of emotion there that its power almost
knocked him to the ground. Pride was in the boy’s eyes, a deep understanding
that Joseph had never seen or thought his son was capable of. Joseph almost
burst into tears then, understanding that this admiration was aimed at him.
Jake not only loved his father, but also revered him. Fear was evident too.
Jake reached out and touched his father’s arm. A sudden surge of panic filled
Joseph to his core. Whatever had Jake spooked had now been transferred to
Joseph. Finally, grim determination and belief shone from the young boy’s eyes.
At that moment, Joseph knew, without doubt, that his son would grow to be a man
who valued integrity and morality in equal measure. They were qualities that
Joseph wanted to see for himself – wanted to experience his son’s rise into
adulthood with his own eyes.

Joseph nodded. “
MAN
OF STEEL.”

“Yes, Dad.
MAN
OF STEEL.”

Joseph looked away from his
son, concentrating on the barrier between him and Marianna. He took a huge
breath and then attacked the shutter with everything he had. The thing was
jammed tight, forcing Joseph to find strength he’d thought had long abandoned
him. His arms bulged with effort and a great roar burst from his lips.

The shutter moved an inch.

Joseph bent his back,
pulling with all his might. Another inch was gained. Marianna’s plea was clear,
coming through the gap loud and distinct.

“Don’t leave me, Joseph,”
she was pleading.

Joseph forced the barrier to
rise a foot higher. Now, he was able to place both shoulders underneath the
shutter’s edge. He felt the sharpness of the metal cutting into the muscles
around his shoulders and neck. No matter – he ignored the agony and redoubled his
efforts. He planted his arms firm and then began to push upwards, as if doing a
push-up. As the shutter rose, the light inside the garage began to grow, and
with each inch gained it intensified. Joseph began to make out individual
items.

The winter tools that he and
Jake had used to shovel away snow were piled untidily in the centre of the
floor. Hand tools that Joseph had never used, and probably never would, hung
shiny and new from pegs that displayed each one in a careful arrangement of
size and shape. Their modest
Sedan
was parked to one side, rust
taking hold around the wheel-arches and patches of paintwork scraped down to
the metal – a symptom of Joseph’s bad parking. A medicine ball, brown and
lumpy, lay in one corner, looking like a ripe pumpkin, shadows casting a
macabre face across its surface. Another ball had bounced underneath a
worktable: Jake’s basketball.

Joseph acknowledged then
that these things – objects that had no real value – were the simple components
of his life: the things that bound his family as one. Their car, unspectacular
in its appearance, had taken them to many places of enjoyment: the zoo, picnics
in summer, ball games and a thousand other places that made up the jigsaw of
their life – their time spent together.

Then, in the next second,
something dark uncoiled from Joseph’s gut. Rage thrashed its way free. Joseph
swelled with hatred and anger: how dare someone – something, anything, threaten
his family! He pushed against the shutter with a force unmatched.

“
MAN
OF
STEEL!” he roared.

A single high-pitched squeal
sounded, and then the shutter gave way, clamouring noisily against the roof of
the garage.

In the next second Joseph
was up and running. He barrelled into the garage and barged his way through the
connecting doorway. His living room came into view. Everything looked as it
should have – no twisting of realities in this alternative universe. Joseph
raced across the room to reach the base of the stairs. Darkness filled the
landing above.

“Joseph..!” Marianna
screamed.

He hit the stairs three at a
time, reaching the landing in just four long strides. Instinct guided him
directly to their bedroom. There, he found the door shut tight. He wasted no
time trying to open it conventionally. Instead, he reared back before kicking
it open with his boot. The door flew off its hinges and disappeared into
darkness. Joseph stepped inside.

Marianna was laid out on the
bed. Something terrifying hung above her. A dark monstrosity, with a huge body
and long tendrils for arms, hooked barbs at their ends, was suspended above
her. Joseph watched as she tried to slip from the bed. With the snap of a
bullwhip, one of the arms lashed out. She twisted away and the hook missed her
by mere inches.

“Marianna!” Joseph cried
out.

She turned towards him, her
eyes full of fear. The ‘thing’ scuttled around, using its hooked arms to
manoeuvre. The hideous face of Yurius fixed on Joseph, peering down on him with
blood-red eyes. The body split at the centre, as a gaping mouth opened to
reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth.

Joseph took a faltering step
back. The ‘thing’ grinned, and the gesture was both terrifying and ghastly.

“Big Bear…” the ‘thing’
said, in a rasping wet hiss.

Joseph regained his
composure. “Get away from her, you son-of-a-bitch!”

Yurius’s mouth opened even
wider and a white, ulcerated tongue rolled out. The tip of the organ flicked
towards him. Sickened, Joseph ducked out of the way. He maintained his momentum
and reached the centre of the room.

“Joseph,” Marianna said.

“I’m here,” he announced,
climbing up beside her.

The thing had turned back
towards them. Now so close, Joseph could smell the putrid stench of death
coming from the thing’s open maw. The cavity opened wider, and Joseph caught a
glimpse of something rotten within. Henry Jones, his face bloated and white,
hung at the back of the thing’s throat.

The old man’s eyes were
open, white like dead fish eyes, and they were staring towards him. Joseph
squeezed his eyelids shut.

“Hold on,” Joseph ordered.
He felt Marianna’s arms cut into him. Joseph waited for an opening. The hooks
swept from one side of the room to the other. Occasionally, they caught against
the walls or ceiling, and as they did, the very fabric of existence ripped open
to reveal inky-black darkness beyond.

Joseph saw his chance.

The flailing tentacles split
to find purchase in the ceiling. Barbs dug deep, and a twisting of worms fell
from the resultant tears.

With Marianna clinging to
his back, Joseph leapt to his feet. He catapulted over the writhing worms, his
boots squelching down on a few, and dashed towards the open doorway.

A barb lashed out to catch
Joseph’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. His next step took him
outside. Now on the landing, he moved towards the stairs. But the hook held him
back. He twisted his head and found the barb buried deep into the flesh of his
right shoulder. He couldn’t feel any pain, and so dragged both him and Marianna
away from the bedroom. His skin split to reveal an open wound. He yanked
harder, and the hook pulled clear in a tearing of flesh.

Free now, he bounded towards
the stairs. From behind came a wail of anger and resentment. Joseph ducked his
head down in an attempt to shield his ears from the terrible moaning. He took
the stairs blindly, leaping down them in just three strides, and in the next
second he arrived back in the living room.

He froze.

Jake was over by the door
that connected the main house to the garage. Behind him, with a lethal blade in
hand, stood the young police officer, Gore. A river of blood ran freely from
the wound in Gore’s neck. Blood gushed out over his uniform to gather in a
thick pool around his boots. One of Gore’s hands had Jake by a handful of hair,
while the other held the serrated blade at the young boy’s throat.

Gore’s eyes were like Henry
Jones’ covered by milky films. They focused on Joseph. “Big Bear…” Gore rasped,
in a parody of the Russian killer. Joseph just stood there, immobilised by
fear. The blade at Jake’s throat glinted with intent. Suddenly, from above
them, came a mighty crash of thunder. The plaster split and a tentacle burst
from a hole. Gore’s mouth opened in a silent scream.

The barbed tentacle wrapped
itself around the officer’s neck, squeezing as tightly as an Anaconda. Gore’s
milky-white eyes bulged outwards. The blade slipped from his fingers and then
he was pulled from his feet and swept up towards the open ceiling. Joseph
reached out to snag Jake before he was taken along with the officer. The boy
lost a handful of his scalp, Gore’s bleached fingers holding onto a dark tuft
of hair. Not waiting to see what terrible fate befell Gore, Joseph tucked his
son under one arm and barged into the garage. With Marianna on his back and
Jake under his arm, Joseph hit the shutter head-on, his shoulder ramming it
with a deafening clatter.