It was not until two days later when Lucien and Murphy managed to free up their time to go for a quick trip to Pinecrest. And this time, Pyewacket did not need to force his master to let him tag along.
“I really need your help this time, Pye,” Lucien implored as he knelt down and rubbed the scruff of Pyewacket’s neck, who is now in his canine form. “We can’t keep our guard down this time. I have a bad gut-feeling about this guy we’re about to meet. Hunter warned us himself.”
“I would’ve still gone with you even if you don’t ask me to,” said Pyewacket. “After seeing those demons, I couldn’t afford to let you go on your own, even when that guy’s around. He’ll be useless.”
Lucien thought his last remark was unwarranted, but he didn’t want to strike a debate over something so minute. Besides, he could be right.
And so they were back on the road again, this time with Lucien at the wheel. Murphy complained of a migraine and allowed him to drive them to Pinecrest as he settled on the front passenger seat and took a nap for most of the ride.
Lucien enjoyed driving his car. The Range Rover purred along the highway with enough exhaust throb to give him that speed rush. Unlike the Ferrari, he enjoyed the feel of power and its fast response to the accelerator. He thought that if he could buy himself a new car, he would pick this model – although it would surely leave him broke for several years.
And then, his thoughts drifted back to Murphy. He remembered his conversation with Hunter from last night when he offered to share snippets of Murphy’s private life. It would have been the perfect opportunity to get to know the man better, but it just wasn’t the right time to talk about him. He hoped to still be able to get the chance to ask Hunter about him. It sounded selfish, but the spirit was the only one he could turn to when it comes to matters of personal gain.
He stole sidelong glances at Murphy now and then, as he drove toward the interstate. His head was tilted towards the window, sleeping soundly, his mouth slightly agape. Wisps of hair fell about his face; the rest of his hair gathered in a thin black string and fell in a cascade of golden-brown locks over his shoulders and chest. His face looked puffy, perhaps from the lack of sleep. He wondered if he had to pull another all-nighter the night before.
Lucien fought the urge to reach over and stroke the soft hollow beneath his cheekbone. He could stare at this face all day and never get tired of it.
After the Sunday lunch date, they never got another chance to talk in private. It seemed like ages ago, and there were many other things that occupied their minds afterwards. And considering the turmoil they’re currently caught up in, the idea of getting close to Murphy Odenkirk didn’t seem like a sensible thing to do.
He sighed as he shifted his gaze back onto the road.
The trip to Pinecrest was smooth yet almost uneventful. As Lucien made a left turn from the South Dixie Highway and entered Ludam Road, Murphy stirred in his seat.
“We’re here already?” He stretched, scrunched his eyebrows, and rubbed his eyes groggily. He looked outside and said, “Oh, wow. ‘Guess I was more than a little tired.” He then turned to Lucien with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry for being such boring company.”
“It’s okay, I figured you were tired. I didn’t want to disturb you.” Lucien smiled in his direction as he decreased the speed and exited onto the ramp that led them off the highway and into the suburbs.
He was suddenly aware that in a few minutes they’d come face-to-face with another stranger that’s sure to bombard them with questions. He didn’t want the mishap with Blake to happen again, especially when Hunter warned them to be more vigilant around the man they were about to meet.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked Murphy, who straightened up in his seat and checked his watch.
“We’re going to introduce ourselves as Hunter’s relatives. That we haven’t gotten in touch with him for years after he ran away from home.”
Lucien had a pensive look on his face for a few seconds and said, “What if he asks us how we got his home address? We don’t exactly know his relationship with Hunter, do we?”
Murphy rested an elbow on the side of the car and ran his fingers across his lips. “Let’s just say we went through Hunter’s contacts and went to see all the people we thought should be contacted – Cyrus O’Malley included.” He turned to look in the back seat. Pyewacket was alone, laying sound asleep. “Hunter, are you there? We need to clarify a few things with you.”
But there was no answer.
“Hunter?”
Still no answer.
Lucien scrunched up his face. “Must be very convenient for you to not show yourself at the most crucial times, Hunter,” he snapped, eyes narrowing with annoyance. He slowed the car as he pulled into the corner of a street with a sign that read “Marigold Lane”. Apparently, the apartment complex is in a low-rent neighborhood with mostly two-story residences designed with a lack of imagination.
Out on the north corner of the street was an apartment that has seen better days. Now it looked rundown and out of place, and in desperate need of paint. Lucien could make out the cracks and dents in the drainpipes from the sidewalk. The patches of ground were more dirt and grime, than grass. The cars parked on the side of the lane were older models, some rusty while others are begging to be hauled into the junkyard. He decided to park next to a rusty, old, baby-blue Cadillac.
“We probably should’ve come in a less imposing ride,” Lucien muttered as his eyes darted towards curious onlookers peering through windows from safe distances, wariness in their eyes. He shut off the engine and motioned for Murphy to get out of the car.
Murphy then opened the back door to let Pyewacket out, who immediately scrambled to his feet, shook himself, and walked towards Lucien. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?” he asked, sounding a little uncertain.
“Marigold Lane, Apartment 304,” Lucien replied, as he pointed to the two-story house right in front of them, with an apartment number tacked to the door: 304.
Time seemed to have performed irreversible deeds on this house. The bricked walls were dingy and streaked by the drippage from a leaky gutter that ran along its gray peaked roof. Some of the windows had sheets for curtains, while some were boarded up with what appeared to be insulators, to permanently block out the sun.
A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Lucien’s neck. Somehow, his hands shook for reasons unrelated to the cold. He stuffed them into his coat pockets, turned to Murphy and said, “After you.”
Without hesitation, Murphy walked past him and made his way up the porch. “Careful,” he said after a couple of cautious steps, “it’s rickety.”
Lucien and Pyewacket followed and stood behind him. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He waited, knocked again – still nothing. He leaned his ear against the door and heard music playing somewhere in the house. He figured Cyrus O’Malley just couldn’t hear him.
“Mr. O’Malley!” Murphy called out as he knocked on the door a third time. “Mr. O’Malley, we need to talk to you!”
Still no response.
Lucien was starting to grow impatient. He knocked on a couple of windows, calling his name, until finally they heard some movement.
“Jesus Christ, who’s doing that to my windows?!” growled a deep and resonant voice, followed by heavy footsteps pounding a carpeted wooden floor. Lucien scuttled back behind Murphy.
The curtain in the window next to the door was pulled aside, followed by the sound of shuffling and the thunk of a deadbolt being unlocked. The door opened a crack, revealing a pair of dark green eyes and a cigarette. And then, the words “Get the fuck off my porch” followed shortly after, accompanied by a thick billow of smoke just before the door slammed shut.
Lucien stepped around Murphy and knocked again. Again the door creaked open, this time halfway. It revealed a tall, thickset man in a faded gray T-shirt and camo print cargo pants, with unkempt black hair and a bushy beard twined with bits of prematurely gray hair. He was a big man, probably six feet four and at least two hundred and sixty pounds. His size was just enough to fill the door frame.
But it wasn’t only his size that was intimidating. There was a cold and calculating look in his eyes.
Murphy held Lucien by the arm and pressed it lightly, a gesture that told the other he should be the one to do the talking. “Good morning. We’re looking for Mr. Cyrus O’Malley,” he said as he stood his ground.
“Speaking,” the man replied, his deep voice reverberating through Murphy.
‘Where the hell is Hunter when we need him?’ cried Lucien as he looked around, hoping to see Hunter. But there was still no sign of him.
Murphy managed to give him a weak smile. “Hello. My name’s Darren Sommers. And this here is my cousin, Elliot Smith. We’re here to ask some questions regarding someone you know.”
Lucien regarded him with amusement tinged with caution. Somehow, they are both getting better at lying with a straight face.
Cyrus O’Malley’s eyes reflected a sense of unease and suspicion, but the hostile atmosphere about him had subsided. He groaned as he flicked the remains of his cigarette into a puddle near the edge of the porch. “This better not be about that bastard, Reggie. He’s done deal, I’ve already paid him in full.”
Murphy shrugged and shook his head. “Uhm, no. We’re here to ask about Hunter. Hunter Parslowe?”
The name got Cyrus O’Malley’s full attention. The hard angles of his face eased just a bit, and a flash of recognition dawned on him. “Ah, yes. Hunter Parslowe. Haven’t heard that name in a while.”
Murphy stole a glance at Lucien and looked back at Cyrus. “So, you guys really know each other? That’s good news for us, then.”
Cyrus ran his fingers through his beard as he sized up the two men. “Uh-huh. Haven’t seen the guy in years though, but we used to be best buds at work. He was a good fella’, that Hunter.” His demeanor had changed from hostile – probably his usual state in new situations – to friendly yet reserved. And then with a curious look on his face, he asked, “So, what can I do you for?”
“Uhm, can we go inside your house, so we can talk undisturbed?” Murphy suggested as he looked around gingerly.
Cyrus nodded his head slowly and said, “Of course, come in,” as his eyes darted suspicious glances from side to side and to the neighboring houses, before opening the door wide enough to let Murphy and Lucien in. He gave a quick glance at Pyewacket and muttered, “No mutts inside.”
Lucien looked down at Pyewacket and whispered, “You know the drill, Pye,” before following Cyrus and Murphy inside the house.
The interior of the house barely passed as habitable, but it easily gave away Cyrus O’Malley’s bachelorhood. It didn’t have much in it, save for some purely functional furniture and appliances. A small flat-screen television was facing a brown pleather couch that was in dire need of being reupholstered, and a coffee table teeming with tools and several empty cans of beer.
The air in the living room hung thick with a moldy smell from the ancient-looking carpet flooring riddled with countless spots that had worn through the wooden floor. And like the dirty paint on the exterior of the house, the dingy wallpaper that was probably once white, is fading into a yellowing background.
Lucien’s eyes wandered from room to room, which didn’t really take long as the house was small. There was a hallway down the east with rooms on either side, and a separate kitchen up ahead. He felt a little queasy – no, horrified – being in such a tiny, musty space. He almost wanted to get away as fast as possible before the messiness got into them.
Cyrus plopped down on the couch. He turned off the radio and switched on the television, which has a good Keanu Reeves sci-fi movie on. He didn’t offer his guests a seat, simply because the couch was a one-seater. Lucien looked around and found two ladderback wooden chairs under the stairs and dragged them toward the center of the living room. Cyrus gave him a stiff look, as the chairs left impressionable drag marks on the carpet.
“There,” Lucien said, dusting his hands together, “now we’re all settled.” He looked at Murphy as he patted the empty chair beside him, but he shook his head with a faint smile and remained standing.
Cyrus propped his elbow on the armrest, resting his temple against a fisted hand. “Don’t want to rush you fellas but I need to get to the Villas in an hour.”
“You work on a weekend?” Lucien asked.
“Man’s got to earn a living,” he said. “Been working full-time as a laborer since I was 18 – mainly pipefitting. Didn’t Hunter tell you?”
“N – No. But well, the thing is, us coming here was simply a shot in the dark,” Murphy reasoned, trying not to stutter. “We found an old address book among Hunter’s stuff and we found your name in it.” Cyrus nodded silently, urging him to continue. “The thing is, we’ve been looking all over for him. His, uhm, his mother passed away not too long ago. And… the rest of the family just wants to reconnect. See how he is. But we have no idea where to find him after he left home.” He said this while making a mental apology to Hunter’s still well and living mother.
Cyrus’ eyebrows furrowed. “Do you have this address book with you right now?”
“Oh. No, we don’t. Sorry,” replied Murphy, slightly baffled by his question.
Why would that even matter? Lucien wondered. Frankly, you should be asking how your friend is!
“We started our search from the last few entries in the address book, and your name was there, so…”
“And when was the last time you saw Hunter?” Cyrus questioned, his eyes narrowing into slits.
Murphy glanced at Lucien and said, “Five, six years ago? In Tallahassee. We haven’t been able to get in touch with him since.”
“Hmm…” Cyrus ran his fingers through his beard once more. At that point, he appeared a bit less uptight but somewhat doubtful and pensive, all in one. In a much gentler tone, he lowered his voice and stared at Murphy with a seriousness that nudged the other into a tell-it-all moment: “How exactly can I help you with your little… family problem?”
Murphy’s gaze lingered on the man so long, he fought the urge not to fidget. “We’d like to know when you last saw Hunter, Mr. O’Malley,” he asked candidly.
Cyrus pushed out air through his nose and grinned. “Eight years ago,” he said without delay. “Almost nine.”
For some reason, hearing him say this sent chills down Lucien’s spine. He felt the tingles on the back of his neck and across the pores of his skin. Suddenly, his chest swelled with suspicion and with an irrational sense of fear. He turned his head slightly in Murphy’s direction as if sensing his thoughts. He, too, looked apprehensive.
Cyrus rose from the couch and made his way towards the kitchen. “’You boys had lunch yet? I’ve a few more beers in the fridge. I can also prepare some sandwiches. Who’s hungry, hmm?”
Murphy cleared his throat. “Uhm, maybe we should just –“ But he stopped midway as Lucien suddenly grabbed him by the hand and pointed towards the hallway.
There, Hunter stood silently and morosely, his body turned towards the room on the left side of the hall. For a moment, Cyrus came face-to-face with Hunter, and then walked straight through him.
“Yes, we’d appreciate it, Mr. O’Malley,” Lucien interjected as he gave Murphy a knowing look. “We actually drove from Miami and didn’t get to grab breakfast before we made the trip.”
“Oh yeah?” said Cyrus. They could hear the fridge opening and caught the faint sound of cutlery and glasses. “You guys must be in a hurry, hmm?”
“Uh, yeah. We still had to see another friend of Hunter’s in a nearby district,” Murphy replied as he watched Lucien slowly standing up from his seat.
This time, Hunter was pointing to the door, almost as if urging them to go inside. Lucien swallowed hard as he took a step forward but this time, Murphy grabbed him by the wrist. In an angry but subdued voice so that only Lucien could hear him, he hissed, “What do you think you’re doing? Stay here. Let me go instead.”
“I told you I’ll do everything I can to help you guys. Let me do this,” Lucien insisted as he loosened Murphy’s grip on his wrist. “Distract Mr. O’Malley for me – “
“Please, don’t. It’s too dangerous.” Murphy was pleading – almost begging. He had him so completely flustered now, but Lucien will have none of it.
“Listen. Stop treating me like some fragile object,” Lucien argued.
“I am not.”
“Then let me go. I can take care of myself.”
“You guys okay in there?” Cyrus hollered from the kitchen.
Hesitation seeped into Murphy’s eyes as he released Lucien’s hand. “Y – Yes, Mr. O’Malley!”
“Give me a few minutes to prepare the sandwiches!” shouted Cyrus. They heard a pan being placed on the stove as he prepared to cook ham and eggs.
“And uh, I like my bread toasted!” Lucien added as he slowly and cautiously crept towards the hall, like a soldier on a mission. His footsteps were light, careful not to make a sound.
Murphy quickly grabbed the remote control off the coffee table and turned up the volume of the television. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. O’Malley!” he said, his eyes never leaving Lucien.
“No problem,” replied Cyrus. “’You a fan of Keenu Reeves, too?”
Murphy tried to keep Cyrus distracted with idle chatter. Meanwhile, Lucien had reached the door from where Hunter stood. “Where have you been all this time?” he snapped at Hunter, who fixed his gaze on the door, unmoving like a statue. “What exactly do you want us to do? I really don’t have a good feeling about this, Hunter…!”
Lucien noticed that the door had a deadbolt to unlock. “What’s in here, anyway?” he demanded as he gave Hunter a dirty look while pulling on the deadbolt’s knob. After a couple of seconds, it gave a faint kachunk sound. He took a sharp breath as his hand closed over the cool brass doorknob. And then he turned it slowly, steadily, until he heard it click.
The door released just a hair and weirdly enough, he felt warm air escaping from the room before him. He pulled the door open, each passing second a taxing effort to keep quiet. He peeked around the corner to see if Cyrus could see him from where he stood. There was no sign of him, he was further back at the kitchen busily cooking ham and eggs.
He then turned his attention to Murphy, who had an even more frantic look on his pale face. He made a waving motion with his hand, urging the other to get into the room fast. Lucien swallowed hard as he turned his attention back towards the room before him.
This was no ordinary room. He realized the door led to a basement.
It was pitch black. The stairway was barely more than a crawl space, Lucien had to hang his head low just to walk in there. It looked like an enormous mouth, ready to swallow him whole into a dark abyss. Fear was with him in that basement.
“Hunter, aren’t you coming with me?” he asked, voice shaking.
But Hunter refused to budge. “I… can’t go in there. I tried to, many times over. But something’s barring me from entering,” he said regretfully.
Great! Just great!
Lucien was beginning to regret ever volunteering for this. He wanted to turn back time, just sit down like a good boy, and let Murphy do the tough work.
But it’s too late. It’s now or never. He stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and slowly walked down the stairs in the dark.
On the landing, he felt for the wall switch to the basement light. Soon, he was bathed in low-level yellow light. He paused in the gloom at the bottom of the stairway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The floor was dirt over bricks, and so were the walls. Lucien held on to the railing as he caught a smell of mold.
Damp. It was nauseatingly damp. He felt dizzy. This basement was beginning to feel more like a bunker.
In a few seconds he could make out some shelves lining two walls, stuffed full of boxes and trunks, and all sorts of odds and ends. On another side there were glass cases, a broken chair, crates and even more boxes, and a blue plastic oil barrel with its lid covered in plastic tarp.
Lucien’s heart started racing like crazy. What exactly does Hunter want him to find down here? Why can’t he come down to guide him? Is he going to die down here, today? What will happen to Murphy?
And then in the darkness behind him, he heard something. At first it was just a garbled voice, then it became a snarl, like a beast that has found its prey. From the corner of his eye he caught the fleeting movement of a dark shadow. It’s the kind of thing that when you try to look straight at it, it disappears, yet when you look away you catch its sudden movement.
Except that this was not a mere shadow.
A pair of red eyes appeared out of one corner where the basement light has failed to reach. It was as though the creature had been there for a long time and had only opened their eyes. A heavy breath swept across the room in the form of an abnormally cold breeze.
Lucien stood frozen under the dim light. He didn’t dare to move, and just watched quietly for a moment.
But not long after the first pair of red eyes appeared, another one emerged in the darkness. Whatever these fiends are, they were slowly approaching Lucien with a threatening and deadly aura.
That was when he screamed out Pyewacket’s name in his head.
A dark and twisted vortex appeared out of nowhere and a figure suddenly jumped out from it, blocking Lucien with its big body.
“Master, are you alright?” Pyewacket asked him, “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I… I don’t think so,” Lucien replied. He swallowed hard and tried to keep from shaking. He was paralyzed with fear, he felt he would vomit at any moment.
There were faceless voices in the dark. At first the words were incomprehensible. But now, slowly, as the words became more audible, Lucien heard one say, ‘It’s planetouched’. The voice grew fainter and he heard another. ‘A halfling, the son of the Prince of Greed. You are not allowed to lay a hand on him.’ He heard the other voice again. ‘But I’m hungry! I am so, so HUNGRY!’ They were speaking over the other, distorted, growing louder and louder.
Just then, something moved from one of the shelves just a short ways behind them. There was a rustle of paper as Lucien turned, and then something dark rushed toward him with much fluidity. A second figure hovered just above the plastic oil barrel. Part of these creatures appeared solid and then proved not to be, shifting and becoming luminous. Lucien strained his eyes for a face, but there were no discernible features beyond the bloodshot eyes.
“Show yourselves, you mongrels,” Pyewacket snarled, his hackles raised, and his teeth bared ferociously as his eyes followed the movements in the dark.
“Oh, look who’s graced us with his presence. It’s Lord Mammon’s watchdog himself.” The voice coming from one of the shelves was much clearer now and when Lucien turned to look, he could finally make out a “face”. It was grotesque, like a giant crow’s head contorted with a horn that twisted around the right side of its head. It seemed to have lost its other horn, with a stump protruding from its left temple.
“Mar’izath,” Pyewacket called out its name. “What are you doing here?”
The one-horned demon stealthily but calmly stepped into the light. It was not taller than four feet, arms so long that its clawed hands seemed to hang loosely close to its disfigured feet. Lucien could barely make out the color of its skin – something close to gray but when touched by light, turns to a dark blue.
“I am here on ‘personal business’”, said the demon in a hoarse, contorted voice. “You know how it is, watchdog. These mortals simply could not give us a break.” The demon looked up at Lucien for a moment, drop its gaze, and bowed its head. “It is an honor to meet the scion of our Lord Mammon. I am but a lowly demon. Mar’izath is the name. League of the Fourth Circle.”
It gave Lucien gooseflesh to be regarded as the son of a demon lord. For him, it was shameful. Utterly disgusting and disgraceful. He desperately wanted to rid himself of that recognition.
“What are these creatures doing here?” he asked his familiar as he watched the demon step back into the darkness.
“They have business here,” replied Pyewacket. “Something foul and sinister has summoned them here. Most likely the work of a mortal.”
“I know what you’re looking for,” hummed the second voice, teasingly. This demon refused to show itself and remained hovering in the air. “We know what you’re looking for.” Its words were followed by a spine-tingling, hair-raising cackle.
“What’s your name, fiend?” Pyewacket demanded.
The demon responded with a humorless chuckle. “This demon is not obliged to tell its name. It belongs to the League of the Sixth Circle. The Prince of Greed’s watchdog is insignificant to it.”
“Asmodeus,” Pyewacket muttered vigilantly, “the Prince of Wrath.”
“Just how many are there?” Lucien wondered as he stood closer to Pyewacket.
“As many as the sins a mortal could commit.”
“… Fuck. Mammon’s already unbearable on his own but, there’s more like him?”
The lesser demons guffawed at his remark. “Don’t worry, young prince. You will get to meet them once you go to Hell.”
“I’d rather not,” Lucien said sharply.
“Master, we’re going to run out of time,” Pyewacket remarked. “Ask them what you need. They might be able to help you.”
“R – Right.” With shaky legs, Lucien took a step forward. “I’m looking for something. A f-friend needs it badly. Otherwise, he won’t – he won’t be able to cross over.”
The pairs of red eyes turned to each other, and then back at Lucien. “You mean to say you’re here to steal our food?” said the fiend with the unknown name, its voice brewing with ire. “He is almost ripe for the picking. We have waited for him patiently, yet you are going to pluck him away just like that? This demon will not allow it.”
Pyewacket let out a threatening growl. “There’s no room for bargaining. Speak now or I will kill you!”
Lucien warned his familiar to keep quiet, as he rubbed Pyewacket’s side to calm him down.
“You need to use brute force against these beings. Otherwise you’ll get nothing from them.”
They heard a long and deep sigh coming from the demon named Mar’izath. “There is no such thing as a ‘bargain’ to begin with, watchdog. This matter is ours to deal with. You will only complicate things if you try to interfere with our business.”
“This involves Lord Mammon’s son. As his familiar, I will do everything in my power to aid him.”
“Yet what you are doing is a direct defiance against his Lord’s will!” Mar’izath bellowed. “Who cares about some halfling if you defy him? You, of all creatures, should understand the consequences that will follow this unacceptable behavior!”
Pyewacket groaned. The demon was right. Mammon is not one to take disobedience and defiance lightly – and they often come with grave consequences. Fear enveloped him like a darkening cloud.
He looked over his master. He could see dread painted across his pallid face, yet there was also a hint of concern. Concern for Pyewacket’s safety. His fear gradually subsided and a comforting warmth came over him as Lucien placed his hands on his back.
He knew then that he had to choose one side in the crossfire.
“Then I am ready to face the consequences,” he said with much conviction.
“Pye… are you sure this is a good idea?” Lucien asked, his tone laced with uncertainty. “There must be some other way…”
“This is our only chance, Master,” he said, his eyes still fixed on the demon. “Now speak, Mar’izath.”
There was a moment of eerie silence. Perhaps the demon did not expect Pyewacket to choose the other over their Lord Mammon. “You will deeply regret this, watchdog. I am sure you will,” the demon screeched resentfully.
Once again, the creature attempted to take shape within the darkness. With its long, spindly arm it reached out for something from the shelf, and then extended it toward Lucien. He stepped forward with his arms raised and hands stretched out toward the object.
“MAR’IZATH!” The other demon cried out. It was an intense, deafening shriek that made Lucien cover his ears. It attempted to take shape as it raised an arm, which at one time was well-defined, a rotting corpse arm with long, festering nails; and in the next instant appeared to be fleshless, melting bones.
Pyewacket lunged forward to snap at it but a moment later, the arm lost its definition, barely more than a wisp of dark smoke.
The object fell to the ground with a soft thud, as Mar’izath narrowly escaped the other demon’s attack. Lucien stooped to pick it up and ran back to Pyewacket, his breath quickening as he went.
Mar’izath burst into mocking laughter as he turned towards the other demon. “Not in a million years, Argas.” At which the other demon replied with a snarl. And then, its eyes shifted back to Pyewacket. “I hope this is worth your insubordination, watchdog. I did not know you for a fool. Perhaps this mundane world and your master has made you terribly weak.” He sneered at the familiar before adding, “I will see you in the Pit. It will be a sight to behold, and I will enjoy every moment of it.” And then, the pair of red eyes faded, like smoke blown in the wind.
Pyewacket huffed as he turned to Lucien. “It’s gone. You should go back up and leave this place at once.”
Lucien looked down at the object in his hands. It appeared to be a piece of crusty, worn-out clothing, neatly folded into a square. He stepped under the basement light to get a better look at it.
His eyebrows furrowed. “What’s… What’s the meaning of this…?” He was more confused than enlightened now. He hastily unfolded it and as he did, something small and hard dropped to his feet. But before stooping to pick it up, his eyes were transfixed on the cloth, which turned out to be a long-sleeved shirt.
It was soiled with large, coffee-colored stains on the collar and the front side, with a sizeable rip down the center. The shirt looked strangely familiar, but his mind was so fogged up he could not remember where he had seen it before.
But before Lucien could do anything, something cold and wet grabbed him by the ankle. He fell on his feet with a loud crash as his body hit the bottom of the stairs.
For a moment he was stunned. He felt himself completely numbed, his head ringing like a gong. It took a few seconds for his thoughts to solidify. And then, he instinctively grasped the handrail as tightly as he could.
“I will not allow you to snatch away my food. Filthy halfling!” yelled the demon named Argas. With its pale and ghastly hands, it kept a firm grip on Lucien’s ankle, trying to drag him into the darkness.
Lucien’s heart raced; his breath rasped through his teeth. He was too scared to look behind to see the face of this demon. Argas groaned, jerking him back and tripping him onto the ground.
“Did you hear something?” Cyrus O’Malley’s voice echoed from above them. “You boys okay in there?”
Lucien felt his heart drop at the sound of his voice. This time, he was sure Cyrus heard the noise he made when he crashed onto the stairs.
“Give that back! Give that back!” Argas roared as it flipped Lucien onto his back. He dropped the stained shirt as he tried to grab onto the handrail. This time, he saw the demon for what it really was: a twisted, deathly pale creature with dozens of small horns the size of teeth resting on its bald head, and a hole in its chest that had a faint, magma-red glow to it.
Pyewacket swung around and sunk his razor-sharp teeth onto the demon’s throat, tearing Lucien from its grip. The beast let out a yelp, followed by a gurgling sound. But it tore away from Pyewacket and rolled nimbly to one side. It then grabbed the familiar by his hind leg, flipping him around and slamming him to the ground.
“Run!” he yelled at Lucien, who was frozen in place at the edge of the stairs.
Pyewacket’s voice quickly brought Lucien back to his senses. His instincts cried out for him to run. Run away as fast as he could.
‘PYE!’ he screamed in Pyewacket’s head as loudly as he could.
‘Go! I’ll handle this!’ Pyewacket grunted as Argas pounced on him and grabbed his neck in its powerful hands. He gasped as he struggled to tear the demon’s hands off his throat, but its grip was like iron. He kicked and tossed, trying to bite and claw at his attacker.
‘Don’t you dare die on me, Pye! I’ll be waiting for you outside! I’ll wait as long as I could!’
With a silent curse, Lucien quickly picked up the small, flat case that came with the shirt – which was nowhere to be found – and ran up the stairs as swiftly and as stealthily as he could.
The moment Lucien disappeared into the room, Murphy’s heart started beating so fast and so loudly, he was afraid it drowned out the sound of the television. He was enveloped with a sense of dread and doom – something he had not felt in ages.
Lucien had been in the room for more than a couple of minutes now. He was running out of things to say to distract Cyrus. It did not help that he was distracted himself.
Four minutes had passed. He heard Cyrus turning off the stove, followed by the sound of ceramic plates being laid out. Murphy bit his lip so hard, it almost bled.
Lucien. Lucien, where the hell are you?
He made an ultimatum for himself. If Lucien doesn’t come out of that room in another minute, he’ll resort to executing his ‘Plan B’.
But he didn’t have time to finish developing this dreadful thought he was forming in his head because just then, he heard a loud Crash! coming from the room.
“Did you hear something?” Cyrus yelled from the kitchen.
Murphy’s heart sank. His eyes opened so wide, one might have thought they’d pop out of his head. For a moment, he sat still holding his breath.
Cyrus poked his head out from the kitchen. “You boys okay in there?”
His first instinct was to quickly turn up the volume to the television. He leaned around the corner of the hall to look at Cyrus. “Uh, y – yes. Sorry. I – I think there’s something wrong with your remote control. The volume went up by itself,” he stammered, his hands trembling as he pretended to fix the remote control.
Cyrus frowned. “Huh? Strange,” he mumbled as he popped back into the kitchen.
Just then, the door to where Lucien had entered, flung open. Murphy gasped as Lucien stepped out, half-staggering, sweat dripping all over his ashen face. Slowly he closed the door behind him. And then, he fell to the floor, trying to catch his breath.
With his eyes glued fearfully to the kitchen right behind Lucien, Murphy quickly ran up to him and pulled him to his feet. Lucien dragged himself to the corner of the hallway and leaned against the wall facing away from the kitchen. “Let’s… Let’s get the fuck out of –“
“Lucien.” Towering above him, Murphy’s face reflected the expression he must have seen on Lucien’s: Absolute dread.
Before he knew it, Murphy enveloped Lucien in a tight embrace, almost knocking the wind out of him. “What the hell happened in there?” He clung to Lucien, shaking almost uncontrollably, his voice low and filled with concern. “I was worried. So, so worried. I thought something horrible has happened to you.” He held Lucien’s gaze as he leaned his forehead against the other’s. “Please. Please don’t do that again. I beg you.”
Now that Murphy was holding him, Lucien gradually felt his fears dissipating. It felt good to feel the warmth of his body.
But even as his fear subsided and his breathing returned to normal, he became aware of something else. “Pye…!” he gasped. “Pyewacket, he’s still – “
“Lunch is ready, boys!” Cyrus announced as soon as Murphy and Lucien hurried back to the living room. He wheeled himself out of the kitchen with bottles of beer in one hand, and a plate of clubhouse sandwiches in the other. “I ran out of turkey so you’ll have to make do with sweet ham.”
Lucien planted himself back on the wooden chair and tried to recompose himself as he fixed his hair and his shirt. He flexed his hands, trying to shake off the remaining tension. “A-Anything will do, Mr. O’Malley,” he said with a shaky voice. “W-We’re already imposing on you as it is.”
Cyrus felt for the light switch on the wall and flipped it to turn on the hall lights. But just as he did, his eyes darted towards the room to his right.
The basement.
As Cyrus approached, he noticed that the deadbolt was unlatched. Strange, he thought to himself as he always left that door locked. He lingered for a moment, wondering if he had just forgotten to lock it that day.
Murphy, who stood next to Lucien, placed a hand on his shoulder and pressed it reassuringly. He could sense the other’s growing fear and his almost-futile efforts to suppress it. “Everything alright, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Hmm, yes,” the man replied as he gave the door a good pull and locked the deadbolt. He went over to the coffee table and quickly cleared a space to make way for their lunch.
Just as he did, a couple of used syringes, candle nubs, and a burnt spoon spilled out onto the floor. On top of the table were small bindles of white powder.
Lucien didn’t even need to be a junkie to know it was cocaine.
Cyrus made no attempt to hide it from his guests. Glancing over them, he gave a furtive smile as he took all the scraps off the table and floor and tossed them in a pedal trash near the television – except for the packets of cocaine which he stuffed into his pant pocket.
“They say I’m an ‘addict’,” the man started with a sigh, as he carried the beer bottles and heaping plate of sandwiches to the coffee table and set it down, “but all I see are pretentious, conformist robots. All these bastards do is follow a set of rules: pay taxes, eat their veggies, be nice to the old lady, ask for a fucking receipt.” He scoffed as he grabbed the one-seater and pushed it up the table. “Are you people even truly alive?”
Murphy and Lucien gave a hushed “Thank you” as they were each handed a bottle of beer and a sandwich wrapped in pristine white paper napkin.
“My former physician and some social workers used to come to me, talking with their sterile, monotone voices. They believe what they’re giving me is well-intended, professional “care”. But scrap all that bullshit. At the end of the day, these folks go home to quench their own addiction with junk food and Netflix. One way or another, we’re all fucking addicts. It just so happens that mine’s a need for intensity of feelings.” He took a swig of his beer and continued, “This is a sterile dystopia we’re living in, boys. And these conformist bastards are like babies being fed with watered down milk. Do you think you two can thrive on that? Surely, I couldn’t.” He took another swig to end that part of the conversation.
For real? How is Hunter friends with this whack job? Much less enthusiastically, Lucien put the bottle to his lips and guzzled down a few of its contents. It went down hard and fast, burning his throat like sour acid.
He knew that, if asked, Cyrus O’Malley would tell them anything they were curious about; but they needed to be very tactful. Clearly the man had become more cautious and calculating from the moment Murphy mentioned Hunter’s name. Since then, he felt that the atmosphere around them wasn’t quite right.
“Listen, Mr. O’Malley,” Lucien started as he absently plucked a soggy bit of lettuce from his sandwich, “we don’t want to take up too much of your time. If you have any idea where Hunter might’ve run off to, then we’d really appreciate it if you tell us now. Any information. At all.”
There was something in the way Cyrus looked that reminded Lucien of mad animals. There was something in his manner that was menacing, almost insidious. The look in his eyes made him feel cold all over. And with that dark, stormcloud-like aura around him, his instincts were screaming at him, telling him to stay well away from this man.
“I told you earlier, he used to be a co-worker back in… I don’t know, 2011? We worked on several construction projects in Coral Springs, as non-union contractual laborers. Hunter was just a part-timer, working to earn some extra cash for a trip.” He thought for a moment and shrugged. “He was planning an overseas trip with someone.” He then placed his half-empty bottle of beer on the floor, along with a couple other empty cans next to the couch. “I haven’t seen the guy since our last gig in Coral Springs.”
So he was close enough to know about Hunter’s personal plans, Murphy said to himself. Then he probably knows a lot more about him during his final months, than anyone else.
For a moment, Lucien thought he saw a shadow of suspicion in the man’s eyes, which made him squint.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Cyrus said grimly. “You’re probably wondering, ‘Why was a goody-two-shoes like Hunter friends with this junkie?’” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Somehow, Lucien felt the man had caught his train of thought. “Well, you’ll never know how good people think. They just… seem to suck at acknowledging the evils in this world, don’t they? I always thought a fella’ like Hunter… was too good for this world.”
These words sent a cold chill to Lucien’s very core. This man was aware they were on to him. Since when? Probably since the very beginning. After all, it would not be too difficult to catch a lie when you’re an expert liar yourself.
Cyrus shifted in his seat, crossed the opposite ankle over one knee. With his right hand he tapped against the armrest as he fixed his gaze on the two men before him. He was calm. Dangerously calm.
“When was the last time you saw Hunter again? Five years?” he asked with a voice devoid of emotions. “Hmm… it would be really nice to catch up with that fella’.”
Suddenly, the atmosphere became oppressive. It felt as though the tables have been turned. Murphy realized he made a huge blunder from the very beginning. He gripped the beer bottle hard, desperately trying to hide the trembling in his hands, knowing that the sooner they could get away from this man, the better.
“We would like that, too. Very much.” He was at a loss for words. He dropped his head to hide the expression in his eyes. “Uhm, I think we should get going now. It’s unfortunate but I think we’ve reached another dead-end.” He tapped Lucien on the shoulder and motioned for him to stand up and prepare to leave. “Perhaps the next guy we’re about to see can give us more information on Hunter’s whereabouts.”
Cyrus rose from the couch. “Oh, leaving already? Not gonna’ finish your lunch?”
“Uhm, we’ll just eat it on the road. Thanks and we’re really sorry for wasting your time, Mr. O’Malley,” Murphy said with a sense of urgency. They put their beer bottles down on the coffee table and made for the front door.
“Let me see you out, then,” Cyrus said, sporting a cold smile as he followed closely behind them.
“If we ever get new information on Hunter, we’ll make sure to let you know, Mr. O’Malley,” Murphy said as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.
“Will you really?” Cyrus muttered.
Lucien’s hand was on the doorknob when the man suddenly slammed his hand on the door, shutting it back with a loud bang. Lucien turned, startled only to find himself trapped between Cyrus’ body and the door. Panic-stricken, his eyes darted towards Murphy, who stood behind Cyrus, stunned as he was.
“What do you think you’re doing? Let him go!” Murphy reproached as he gripped Cyrus by the arm. But the man pushed him away, nearly knocking him down.
“You went into the basement, didn’t you?” Cyrus’ eyes were opened wide, his face contorted with murderous rage. “You think I’m stupid? You sneaky son of a bitch!”
Lucien’s stomach clenched. “I suggest you let us go, Mr. O’Malley,” he said as calmly as he could. He figured it wasn’t a wise move to confront a violent stranger. In fact, they should have thought this through before questioning the man.
Now he only had one choice if things ever took a turn for the worse.
From his peripherals he could see Murphy looking back at him, his hands curled into tight fists. He was ready to hit the man who would obviously overwhelm him in terms of brute strength. He raised a hand to caution Murphy not to do it.
“Do you think I’d let you two bastards get away unscathed? You dare come here to disturb my peace, and expect me to be lenient? You fucking idiots, you should have thought better than to come to me!”
Every feeling of relief in Lucien threatened to flee but as he fixed his gaze on Cyrus O’Malley, he quickly dispelled all his remaining fears and phantoms.
This is not a man before him. This is a monster. And monsters must be vanquished before they could wreak havoc.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again. He was a lot calmer now and this intimidated Cyrus.
“You saw something in there,” Cyrus surmised. “You know what’s in there, don’t you? Who ratted on me? Who ratted on me, huh? Talk!” He grabbed Lucien’s chin with one hand and forced the other to look at him.
In that instance, Lucien’s eyes pierced through the man. This made Cyrus want to look away, but Lucien locked him in a hypnotic trance. With an outstretched forefinger he said, slowly but intently, “Buzz, buzz, bumblebee.”
Cyrus’ arms suddenly fell to his sides, numbed and useless. His whole body went rigid, almost as if an invisible giant snake had pulled him into its constricting coils. He was shocked and terrified, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to buck his body against this unknown and unseen force.
“Y-Y-You m-m-motherf-fucker!” he fumed. “W-What have y-y-ou d-done to me?!””
Lucien smiled mischievously and licked his bottom lip. “Not so tough now, are we?”
For a moment, Murphy stood frozen, staring at them in total confusion. He snapped back to his senses when Lucien signalled him to open the door behind him. His eyes were still fixed on Cyrus whose body seemed to have been frozen in place by invisible hands, struggling to break free but to no avail.
“You better stay still, or I’ll crush you into a pulp.” Slowly Lucien moved himself to the side as Murphy eased to the door and opened it.
Cyrus managed to let out a spiteful laugh as he watched Murphy step out the door, grabbing Lucien by the arm as he went. “You f-f-uckers are i-i-in for a w-wild g-g-g-oose chase! Y-You will n-never be able t-t-to find him!”
Lucien could feel something warm and wet trickling from his nose. Eyes still glued to his attacker, he cupped a hand around his nose as blood seeped through the spaces between his fingers.
Ah, shit. I’m almost at my limit.
The warm and dull sensation in Lucien’s head made him feel dizzy. “You are an evil man, Cyrus O’Malley,” he said as he desperately tried to focus his blurry eyes, blinking them several times. “Soon you’ll have to pay your dues.”
“Lucien, let’s go!” Murphy yelled behind him as he dragged the other out of the house and slammed the door shut behind them. The unseen force loosened its grip on Cyrus, and he fell to the floor.
They shot down the porch and sprinted as fast as they could towards Murphy’s car; Lucien lagging behind as he struggled to stay conscious. “Pye… Pye’s still in there…!” he gasped as he looked back towards the house. Just a few meters behind them, he saw Cyrus emerging from the front door.
Murphy hastily unlocked the car, got Lucien into the passenger seat, and circled to the driver’s side. “Where’s Pyewacket?” he asked frantically as he jumped in and started the engine.
Just then, the familiar’s large frame emerged from behind the apartment house, limping as he ran around to join them, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Lucien felt a great sense of relief and was glad to see Pyewacket alive.
Cyrus stopped dead in his tracks as Pyewacket turned to him and growled threateningly.
Pye, let’s go! Lucien shouted psychically. He quickly opened the back-seat door for Pyewacket, who ran and jumped into the back seat, panting and yelping in pain as he did. Murphy spun the car around on the dirt lane and sped off furiously, the gravel spinning the tires as they swung from left to right, before finally getting a good grip and propelling them forward.
From a distance, they could hear Cyrus grunting and groaning in total fury. Lucien spun around to see him kicking the dirt, creating a small dust cloud. He paced back and forth for a moment, spat on the ground, and kicked the side of the baby-blue Cadillac ferociously, creating a sizable dent on an already decrepit car. He was so mad, he looked like he was going to rip the entire car apart.
Murphy and Lucien picked the wrong person to mess with, but they were on the right track.
Before they fled the scene, Lucien managed to get a glimpse of the Cadillac’s license plate, making a mental note of its year and make. It carried Florida plates with the number 682-NBN. He burned it into his brain so it would be easier for them to track Cyrus down in case he attempts to flee the state.
Lucien straightened up in his seat. Only when he tried to resume breathing normally and to calm down his racing heart – did it occur to him that they might have just narrowly escaped being badly hurt or worse, even killed.
He jolted back to his senses as he became aware of a warm, strong hand wrapping around his.
Murphy and Lucien glanced at each other, and at their hands. Murphy was the first to break the strained silence between them. “Your nose was bleeding really badly. Are you okay? Should we go to a hospital?”
Lucien flinched and snapped a handkerchief out of his pocket as he hastily wiped dried-up blood off his nose. He shook his head and said, “N – No, I’m fine now. We should… we should probably head back home. Or anywhere. Somewhere far away from here. I don’t care.”
And then came the question he so desperately wanted to avoid answering:
“That thing you did earlier… what was it?” Murphy asked, completely baffled at how Lucien managed to keep their attacker at bay without even laying a hand on him.
Lucien bit his lip. “It’s just… something I learned a while back. It’s really difficult for me to explain it right now.”
Murphy shot him a worried look, nodded weakly, and raised his hand to wipe off the blood from Lucien’s cheek. “Okay. You can explain it to me later. Right now, I want you to set your mind at ease. You’re safe now,” he said as he traced his thumb gently down the side of Lucien’s face. “I’ll make sure to keep it that way.”
Lucien didn’t try to push his hand away. Right now, he needed this feeling of warmth and comfort, this sense of security, from Murphy himself. It’s strange because he couldn’t remember seeking out this need towards a person before.
For a moment, he revelled in this alien sensation. But the sound of Pyewacket’s soft whimpering brought him back to reality.
“Pye!” He whirled around and squirmed forward, trying to reach out an arm to touch Pyewacket, who was curled up in a big, black, fuzzy ball. Lucien was horrified to see droplets of fresh blood dripping down the back seat and onto the floor. A large gash on the ridge between Pyewacket’s shoulder bones gaped open, blood continuously oozing from it.
“We need to bring him to a clinic,” Lucien said to Murphy as he gently rubbed his familiar’s ears, hoping it would bring him comfort and ease his pain.
‘I will be fine in a few minutes,’ Pyewacket said to him. ‘This is nothing serious.’ But he failed to conceal the pain as he let out a soft whine when Lucien pressed his fingers on the area near his wound.
‘Nothing serious? You’re clearly in agony!’ his master protested.
‘The wound is closing up, Master,’ he reassured Lucien. ‘It will heal even faster if I take your blood.’
‘Then you can have lots of it later. Just hang in there, okay?’
“What happened to him? Did he get into a fight with some strays? Did Cyrus hit him?” Murphy wondered as he glanced in the rear-view mirror at Pyewacket.
“I – I don’t know…” Lucien answered helplessly. “I’m so sorry about this mess. I’ll make sure to –“
“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. What’s more important now is that we get him to a clinic. That wound looks pretty serious.”
Lucien patted Pyewacket before he sank back in his seat. “Would you mind dropping us home instead? I’m going to call over a vet friend of mine and have Pye checked right away.”
“Are you sure? He looks like he needs some stitches.”
“Yes. This, uhm… this friend of mine owns a mobile clinic, so…”
Murphy hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “… Alright. You better contact her now, then. I’ll drive faster, so buckle up.” He shifted into Drive, stepped on the accelerator, and ploughed forward into the expressway.
Ten minutes into their ride, the arrested silence between Murphy and Lucien was beginning to feel unnerving. Everyone was worn out and in a state of shock, but someone has to talk about what just happened.
“I think we’re pretty clear on one thing now,” Murphy said, finally breaking the ice. “Cyrus O’Malley kept his guard up the whole time. He was a tough nut to crack but… he made a small mistake.” He looked at Lucien inquiringly. “Didn’t you notice it – the way he talked?”
Lucien returned his look with a blank stare.
Murphy tilted his head slightly to one side. “He kept referring to Hunter in the past tense.”
Lucien furrowed his eyebrows at this, failing to recognize its significance. The other man sighed as he focused back on the road. “Lucien, don’t you know what that means?” There was a dramatic pause before he said, “It’s possible he already knows something bad happened to Hunter. That he’s already dead.”
Lucien’s lips parted; realization finally dawning on him. “How’d you know these things? I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise…”
“I thought it’s… common knowledge,” Murphy replied, although he didn’t care to admit that he had learned it from the various crime documentaries he’d been binge-watching. “Please tell me you’re with me on this.”
Lucien remembered the object he had taken from the basement. Suddenly, it felt even more substantial. And the more he realized its significance, the heavier it felt inside his pocket.
“You may be right, because…” His voice trailed off as he brought the object out of his coat pocket and showed it to Murphy. It appeared to be an old, worn-out leather wallet, heavy with cards and yellowed receipts, with deep dark stains on the face of it. “I think… I think this belongs to Hunter.”
A deep, sickening silence permeated the scene.
Indeed, everyone has something to hide. But for Cyrus O’Malley, the truth has finally caught up with him. Now, he was made aware that his doom was sealed, and his days were numbered.
