Hold the Light (32 page)

"I know what you went through, you know that?" I continued. "We can work together. Just let her go and we can fight the demon together."

"No - need it back. Veronica's waiting."

"How do you know?"

The convict's face detonated with fury. I had to get my sister out of his hands. He squished across the carpet, mud imprinting behind him as he dangled her out before me. His tattered coat swished about his knees.

"The demon is using us," I continued. "We're just its pawns, forced to play this sick game."

"Does not matter, I need her back." His grip tightened around Amber's neck, turning his putrid fingers white. She gurgled out incompressible sputters, kicking wildly while prying at his grip around her neck.

"It'll deceive you yet again. You've spent centuries working for it and what do you have to show for it? Nothing! It's probably laughing at you right now."

"No. We made a deal. Now give it to me!"

"Ha! You've spent so long looking for this blue ball of light that's inside of me now, that you've lost all sight. Did you ever wonder why the demon just didn't take it from one of us and give it back to you?"

"I had to earn it," the convict sulked, "and I have."

His left hand swung at me. I never saw it leave Amber's neck. I tumbled to the floor in enough time to see it miss by millimeters.

Tumbling forwards in my awkward parry, with his arm fully extended after his miss, I bashed into his gut with a jab filled with all my puny force.

He laughed so loud the neighbors pounded on the walls. Their complaints rapidly halted when he answered them with a ferocious roar that rattled the windows.

Amber was shaking, her face turning blue from his stranglehold. If I didn't save her soon, she'd suffocate.

"I need a goddamn wrecking ball to knock him off his feet," I thought.

The convict's left arm recoiled and dove into the back of his pants.

Dammit, he's reaching for the butcher knife.

With his hand on the knife behind him I barreled into his torso. I caught him off-balance and we rammed into the wall near the broken window. The whole apartment shook and his massive fingers loosened from Amber's neck. She crashed to the ground. Bouncing off the rock that was his chest, I landed next to her. The convict shrieked out again, but this time in agony. He clawed behind him, reaching for the knife that had carved into his lower back. His eyes, peaking ominously just past his sunken brow, bore down solely on me as he wildly searched for a grip on the handle, struggling to tug it out of himself. I was stunned, his eyes never left mine.

Rolling away from the wall, he revealed a bloody mark that smeared along the drywall.

"Aaagh, you...bastard! You are dead," the convict gurgled.

Coughing and hacking, the convict leaned against the white wall, printing more red splotches. I dragged Amber to the furthest side of the room. We had to regroup.

"Do you have anything in the house I could use against him?" I asked Amber.

"Um, no, I don't think," she answered.

"Think Amber!"

The convict writhed, blindly swiping behind him, still maintaining eye contact, and almost pulled the knife out. More blood smeared along the wall along with small chunks of rotted flaps of flesh that slowly slid down the drywall. The abrasions and gashes from when he hit the truck stained his face like a brutal birthmark. As he hobbled he still favored his crotch from the glass shard I rammed into it. I know I can hurt him, but how do I stop him?

Sulfur pervaded my nose and Amber choked on the fetor. We both sat and watched his black mass struggle against the white wall.

"The sword," Amber cried and ran off.

"Come back," I yelled as the convict wrestled most of the blade out, ready to come at me.

"Fool, you should have died the first time," he threatened, freeing the blade from his back.

"Now I will have to get really nasty."

"I did die, you sonovabitch!"

Amber came from her bedroom carrying the sword I had attacked my father with years ago. The very same etched sheath came flying at me. The convict held his butcher knife out in his hand, stained a gleaming red. His blood dripped off as he motioned at me. Then he lunged.

But I was distracted. My head persuaded me that I was in my living room and a teenager again, ready to attack my father. The scene popped up clearly and I was submerged in the reverie. I unsheathed the sword with my left hand as the convict crashed on top of me. His black long coat draped around us as a shroud. He drove the butcher knife down as I raised my hand up to block. It sunk right through my right hand, slicing between my fingers, tearing through the flesh and bone. I screamed. Blood drained down my forearm and splattered onto my face. I toppled over as my other hand held my blood soaked wrist. I stared at the butcher knife wedged into my hand.

Amber bellowed in protest as the convict stepped away triumphantly. A hint of some devious plan boiled in his eyes as he watched me.

The sword clanked to the floor and Amber scooped it up immediately. I knew she was ready to strike, but I flashed my left hand behind me and signaled her to halt.

"Wait," I ordered to her.

"Now you're mine," the convict uttered. He wrapped his fingers around my neck and wrenched me up to his decayed face. "Back to the beginning."

The convict sighed and pinched my nose shut. His chest caved in with a huge exhale, his breath was like decades old garbage, and he slammed his lips over mine. I quickly waved Amber on to attack, pointing at my back as a target with my thumb. The convict inhaled massively, pilfering the gift by hastily sucking all the air from my lungs and out my mouth. The grips around my throat and chest began to loose their hold. His gnarly lips moved greedily over mine with an ancient hunger. God, Amber, stab him now!

I waved her on with a hand behind my back. She had to run him through.

"No! I might hit you," Amber pleaded.

I raised my middle finger and then waved with a violent flick for her to strike.

"Now!" I screamed into the carrion hovel of the convict's sucking mouth. It sounded out as a negative grunt. I was amazed it didn't puke but with my nose pinched shut I smelled nothing. I could, however, hear Amber's terrible reluctance as she ran at us, feeble and jittery with the sword at her side as if she were jousting. Her shaky reflection appeared in the jagged upper part of the window. I watched her thrust, trying to only hit the convict, but she had her eyes closed. The sword nibbled into my side, between two of my ribs, and continued on into him with all her awkward momentum.

All three of us screamed. From the corner of my eye I could see the edge of the sword biting into my left side while the rest of the blade rested in the convict's gut.

It only slowed him. He only briefly winced.

I sulked in dismay. I imagined what carnage he would reap and how many more people would die if he took the gift back.

He is taking it back! Do something!

But I was left too weak to react and my window of opportunity was almost closed. The gift had one last tight grip latched onto my throat. It was holding on so tightly, desperately trying to avoid returning to the convict, crying out so loud I could hear its protests. The light screamed like a child being dragged away from its mother, tears gurgling in throat, holding onto me with one last bit of strength.

That's when I reacted. I don't know how, but my bloodied right arm moved.

My twitching fingers cupped a loose grip around the butcher knife's handle that was still nestled in my palm. I jerked the back of my hand at the convict's neck and jabbed the blade awkwardly in. It sank easily into his soft rotten flesh. He wailed into my mouth and lost his breath. Turning his head to continue the shriek, he stopped extracting the gift and let my nose loose. The reek of everything unholy flooded into my nostrils. I instinctively grabbed his coat with my other hand, frightened to fall all the way to the ground, and I hung off him, grinding the back of my hand and his whole blade into his neck. The convict arched back, clasping both his hands around his own knife sunk deep into my hand. He reeled me around in sharp jerks and I went with. Blood gushed out from my hand while he pried at the knife, thrashing all about to yank it out. But I wouldn't budge. Some energy helped me keep my hand pressed at his neck while I flopped around like a fish out of water.

The sword found its way out of my side with his thrashing, but stayed firmly lodged in his belly. My strength vacated and I couldn't hold on any longer. The cleaver slid out of his neck and I crashed to the floor with it still dug deep into my palm, my blood draining quicker than it could march back.

My heart was racing. The clamp of the gift grew tight around my throat and chest; quickly reclaiming its territory. Energy flowed back into me as I rose to my feet and ripped the knife out from my right hand. No pain responded. Must be in shock.

The convict held his neck with his right hand; blood oozing from between his fingers, while his other hand was on the handle of the sword still lodged in his side.

"Come on, you bastard," I sneered.

The convict tugged at the sword. Amber gasped from behind me.

Sirens wailed from just outside the broken window, stories below at street level. The police were coming and he would run again.

"Nowhere to run now," I yelled.

The convict grimaced; knowing this was another failed attempt to regain what he believed was his life. But a strange smirk dug into the corner of his mouth as the cops banged on the door.

"Open up, open up," they barked. Amber ran to unlock the door.

Two officers burst in, guns drawn on the two of us as the convict and I stood glaring at each other with palpable hate.

"Freeze!" the police yelled in unison, one pushing Amber aside.

"What's that smell?" a cop asked.

The convict turned to them and took a step.

"Stop or I'll shoot!"

The convict leapt at them.

"I said freeze you fucker!" the other officer yelled.

Their guns blasted off round after round into the convict, blasting more holes in his dead body and tearing away black rank cloth from his back as the bullets exited. I dove to the floor. Amber fell to her knees screaming in dread.

With his right hand still clutching his neck, the convict ripped the sword free from his flesh with his left hand, and wielded it through the air. The two cops continued to fire, bewildered at the amount of bullets the convict absorbed without stopping.

The convict landed before them with a smile. He raised the sword and chopped into the neck of one, beheading him, spun, and sliced into the other, cleaving into his shoulder and through his spine. Both uniformed men fell to the floor on top of each other.

Almost immediately, I went into convulsions and stammered into ethereal form to take their souls. The convict slashed his way down the hallway and into the street, killing anyone that got in his way to delay me with a multitude of souls to tend to. I was too occupied to follow him.

After retrieving nearly a dozen souls in not even thirty seconds of work, the convict was long gone. I looked over at Amber and she ran over and scooped me into a hug.

"What the hell was that?" she cried and pulled back from me, "you had a seizure and I swear I saw a blue light shoot out of your mouth. And what's with the big guy?"

"Are you alright, Amber?"

"No, dammit! What the hell was that? Who the hell was that guy?"

All my strength drained again and I crashed into her arms. All of my limbs ached with tenderness. She backed away with her hand to her mouth and I fell to my knees, out of her embrace. My skin tingled as my blood beaded up and rolled towards me. It soaked up from the carpet, poured down my face and jumped into a march to come back into my wounds. Amber watched as the gash in my hand assimilated my blood back and slowly began to heal itself. She watched in awe.

"Come on Amber, I have a lot to tell you, but we have to leave. Now."

Chapter 63

We did the only thing I knew to do. We ran. We spent as much time as possible away from both our places. I completely forgot about work and Amber had enough money for us to live off of. I already had time off for Jessica's funeral, but I never gave my job another thought.

Staying at different motels each night, we hopped about the city, trying to keep from staying anywhere for long. I had to keep moving, it seemed the convict could find me easier than before - but he didn't need to find me when he was always close behind.

My paranoia ran rampant and always lead my eyes over my shoulder. I thought I saw him everywhere. I paid for our expenses when I could, but Amber paid most of the time in cash, after we hit an ATM. We knew the police would be after us since we left were two dead officers in her apartment so we kept our credit cards in our wallets. We'd sign a different name at each hotel, keeping away from security cameras as best we could. At each place we stayed, I'd make sure to tighten every lock and barricade as much as I could, leaving only one window open a crack to keep a constant lookout.

Most of my time was spent spying through the dusty curtains. My sister would fiddle with the ancient television and I'd join her occasionally, but I never let down my guard. The convict always attacked when I wasn't prepared so I would just have to be constant. But a week was all it took to grow intolerably weary of living in unremitting fear. My endless vigils at the windowpane were turning me into an untrusting mess. I obsessed over the substantial advantage the convict had over me, imagining dozens of scenarios in which I always had the high ground, and in the end, he would win every time. Or escape and we would have to be on the move again. Not a single set of circumstances left me with the slightest idea about what to do but sit and be frightened of him lurking around every corner.

Amber would often sit and watch me convulse, studying what I had become. It took some time, but she grew accustomed to the gift and its hold over me. She'd fidget with her long chocolate hair as she listened to all the stories I spilled to pass the time. I told her all about Randy's and Jessica's life and death. I opened up about the fears and feelings I had harbored for so long about our family. But I could still see my father in her. They both had a hard and unbending stubbornness.