The Awakening

Chapter Ten

With a cry of denial at the inevitable, Gaby gave the summons free rein. If someone saw her, fuck it. This was no time for subterfuge, not with Luther at risk.

Strength surged through her body. Her legs took over, racing her through the night, past two drugged whores, a homeless man passed out on the sidewalk. She went between parked cat's, down an alley… and there it was, blinding in its dominance, crawling black and blistering red, popping and crackling.

Through the veiling hues of evil, trouble, and illness, Gaby made out the piles of refuse and the pipe on the ground. She smelled the acrid scent of evil as it raped her nostrils and her brain.

And she saw the large slumped body, partially draped over plastic garbage bags and cardboard boxes. Blood oozed from a head wound. A rat investigated.

She recognized the clothes. Luther. Lying so still and bloody and…

No. Not dead, Gaby silently screamed.

"Not that," she whimpered.

He groaned, one hand twitching, and so much relief flooded her system that for once, she could see clearly. Even with the auras dancing in frenetic discourse, Gaby knew that she wasn't too late—and that she was being used.

The cardboard box rustled, revealing her target, filling her with glee…

"Gaby?"

She whirled around, and there stood Mort.

Before she could deal with him, he looked beyond her—and fell back in revulsion.

Gaby didn't need to know what he saw. She knew it wouldn't be pretty.

"Go home, Mort." She couldn't waste time seeing if he obeyed.

She faced the discarnate.

This one stunk of fear and sickness. Naked, it lumbered toward her, giant tumors bulging around the middle, the breasts, and under the throat. The growths pulsed with a life of their own, like a heartbeat, like living masses of sickness.

As old as the other one, but smaller, this evil mewled, stretched its toothless mouth wide, and vociferated in ear-splitting measure.

Closer and closer it got—until, with divine help, Gaby saw what others couldn't.

This being had once been selfish and manipulative enough to poison three husbands to death. Each time she profited from her murders. Each time she took satisfaction in the suffering she caused.

Pure evil. Rank with it. Alive with it.

Rightfully, the torments of hell waged on her cumbersome body in the form of unsightly and life-draining tumors. She deserved no less, but had also been given a life sentence of loneliness. Like the first evil, this body had been without friend or family.

Unfortunately for her, she hadn't been content to suffer her misery alone.

Behind her, lying in his own blood, Luther gave evidence of further misdeeds. Evil bitch.

Gaby didn't back step at the ghoulish approach. Luther needed medical attention, and the sooner she dispatched the ghoul, the sooner he could get it.

Smiling in relish, Gaby slid the knife free of the sheath. The naked being fell forward, and Gaby went with the momentum, rolling to the ground and in the process sinking the knife deep in several key places, twisting in the stomach, grinding it across the throat, and lastly cutting through the perineum. One sharp turn of her blade—and the body began bleeding out.

Gaby pushed to her knees and shoved the nude form away. Her skin crawled in revulsion, her stomach heaved.

And another form appeared, this one missing half a face. The jaw was gone, one eye eaten away. Purplish welts and scabbed lumps covered the upper body. It came forward, dragging one useless appendage that might have been a leg in better times.

Through her perception, Gaby knew that early abuse had depraved this soul, but that couldn't play into Gaby's actions. The abused often went on to abuse. Someone had to stop the cycle.

She would be the one.

A hard kick took out the only stationary knee, and the body slumped to the ground. Gaby half turned and kicked again, driving the vision to its back. Another kick and the body went as flat as something so crippled could.

This soul had perpetuated a different kind of evil. It had robbed people of their livelihoods through fraud, stealing their homes and their life savings. And yep, like the others, it had spent its time alone, without visitors, without caring or concern from any other living soul.

Appropriate.

Satisfied, Gaby raised her foot—and stomped it down hard on the throat.

Life drifted away.

"Gaby?"

Oh shit. No time now to puke.

An awful fear rang in Mort's voice.

Had he seen it all?

Why the hell hadn't he gone back as she'd told him to?

"Gaby, do you hear the sirens?" Above the fear, Mort's tone was oddly gentle. "We need to go. I think Luther must've called in for help before he got hurt."

Sirens? Yes, in the deepest recesses of her mind, she did hear them.

Proving an unrecognized courage, Mort carefully took her arm. "Please, Gaby. We have to go now."

"Luther…" It was an odd thing for her to concern herself with a victim. That wasn't her job, never had been, and she didn't really know what to do about it.

"The sirens are coming for him, I'm sure of it. See his radio out there beside him? He'll be okay."

Yeah, Mort was probably right. But first…

She covered her mouth and ran from the alley to hurl. A garbage can, already filled with vomit, likely from the drunk she'd passed, served as good a place as any.

Mort stood beside her, impatient but stoic. When her head cleared, he again took her arm. "We have to get rid of these clothes. And you'll need to hide that knife somewhere just in case anyone saw you."

"The knife stays with me." Confused and sick, Gaby focused on him, "Just what the hell are you doing?"

"Helping you." He looked around to make sure no one noticed them, then started her on her way. "It's okay, Gaby."

Okay? How the hell could anything ever be okay? "Yeah? I'd like to know why you think so."

He put an arm around her, and a small smile appeared on his sallow face. "Because I finally understand. That's why."

Rubbery knees refused to support her. Churning acid continually tried to forge a path from her stomach out her mouth. She wanted to cry—but wouldn't.

"You should get away from me, Morty."

"With those creepy things running around? Forget it. It's safer by you."

He couldn't start thinking of her as his hero. "You're dumber than I thought, Mort."

"I know."

She pierced him with her gaze, but he only looked around, worried and nervous. "We should probably get going."

The enervating effect of the kill waned, but she remained shaky and sick at her stomach. "If you stick by me, and either of us is seen, you're fucked."

"It'd be tough to explain, that's for sure." He peered down a dark alley, then turned back toward her. "Come on. If we go home this way, we're less likely to be seen by the cops."

No one in his right mind traveled the area along the back alleys.

Not if he wanted to live.

"Fine."

Together, they ventured along the rough brick wall to the very back of the narrow way, then traversed a low concrete wall. A skinny lane stretched along the backs of closed or empty businesses. This time of night, with only the muted drone of street noises out front and the occasional scratching of creatures that feasted off refuse, each footstep echoed a hollowed heartbeat.

More buildings, in worse decrepit shape, lurked behind the lane. Ahead of them, yellowed rats' eyes gleamed; druggies shot up; in the worst of the structures, homeless camped out.

It'd be easy to get cornered. It'd be easy for someone to hurt Mort.

If he was alone.

Determined to protect him, Gaby got herself together and took the lead. "Try to be quiet." Obsidian darkness swallowed the sight of doorways and blanketed all sound. Moonlight couldn't find its way between the tall block walls and shingled roofs.

They'd walked in silence for several minutes when Mort asked, his voice shivering, "Do you think more of those things are out here?"

"No." Broken glass crunched under her feet, nearly penetrating her flimsy soles. Something squishy found its way into the sandal and between her toes. With every nerve in her body drawn painfully taut, Gaby continued on. "But there are worse things."

"Worse than those freaks?"

Enraged beyond rational reason, she turned on Mort and slammed him into the nearest brick wall. "They're people" she said from between her teeth. She choked on her impotence, the impossibility of the situation. "Damaged, sick, broken by the foulest disease. But still humans who, if they weren't already tainted by a mangled past, would need our help."

"All right, Gaby."

The soft plea of his voice worked better than a sharp blow. She released him to rub the heels of her palms against her burning eye sockets. Salty tears would ease the pain. And make it worse. "They're sick."

Mort's hand touched her shoulder. "I know, and I'm sorry."

She shook her head and slapped away his hand. "Christ, don't apologize to me when I'm the one attacking you!"

"You've been through a lot."

So had he.

Because of her.

Unbearable. It was all becoming so unbearable.

She turned and started on her way again. But now that he'd touched her with his sympathy, she couldn't contain herself. So low that she could barely hear herself, she whispered, "I've fought monsters, Mort."

"I know."

He had no idea. "The problem now is that…" How to word it? "I killed, and yet, it wasn't the monster I killed. There's a creature, a real fiend, creating these beings and somehow forcing them to act. Or…" As she recalled the first evil being, the way he'd looked at that child, the mingling of pain and lust in his eyes, her thoughts tried to sort it out. "Maybe they're just being allowed to act. Maybe the pain of the sickness has distorted their brains, unleashing something they'd once buried."

"I don't know what you mean, Gaby."

She didn't want to stop again. Whether he comprehended or not, talking eased the conflagration of emotions.

And so she talked on. "Some beings, some… afflictions, can bury their black ways. In the next life, they can't escape retribution, but for this world it helps them survive, to avoid arrest and conviction. No true corruption can ever be fully sequestered, so pain, sickness, can bring out those dormant propensities."

"You think the people you… dealt with tonight, had hidden evil?"

"I know they did. So did that grisly specter that Luther found a few days ago."

"Luther said the body was mangled."

"Yeah."

"That was you?"

She heard no denouncement from him, only curiosity.

"When I'm in the zone, I can't control it. I do what feels right, what I can do, and sometimes it's so bad that the body isn't recognizable."

"You're talking about when that strange thing happens to you?"

When her features contort. The reality of that struck another blow, but Gaby fended it off. So she wasn't as different from the bane of immorality as she'd thought. She'd deal with that as she'd dealt with everything else—the best way she knew how. "I thought that I'd removed the evil, but that was just a creature made by the evil. This isn't something I've dealt with before. I don't know where the next one might be—"

"You're sure there'll be more?"

Gaby nodded. "I don't know where they originate, and that's the key. But there are more."

Though she didn't know how to reassure him, she could feel Mort's fear. "I have to find the maker. I have to find the core of the degeneration."

Mort sidled closer to her, so close she could feel his nervous breath on her nape. "Do you know how to do that? How to hunt it?"

"Not really. I've never had to before. Usually I'm sent to the evil. I don't understand why I'm not being sent now."

Mort fell silent, but not for long. "Maybe the person doing all this is confused, and if he doesn't know what he's going to do, how could you know?"

She said only, "God would know." The raw edge of an exposed, broken pipe gouged the tender flesh above her elbow. Her skin tore; warm blood spilled.

The injury burned, but not enough to distract her. "Careful." She guided Mort around the obstruction, then used her sleeve to mop away the blood.

"Thanks." Mort bumped into her twice before they found another companionable rhythm. "Gaby? Is it at all possible that the people you killed aren't evil? I mean, they were messed up for sure. But maybe they weren't as evil as you're talking about."

"They were." Her thoughts wandered back through time. "Once, when I was younger—"

"You're young now."

If you went by experience, she was older than anybody should ever be. "I was in my late teens, I think, living in this rundown apartment. A woman next door to me killed her husband, and I didn't know it."

"But I thought…"

"I know. You think I'm some superhero or some such crazy shit. But I'm not, Mort, so don't get yourself confused. That woman? She shot her husband for cheating on her. I overheard her telling the police that he'd come home drunk, and he told her she was looking old, that she turned him off. He told her he'd been fooling around with a younger woman. So she got their old thirty-eight pistol and she shot him in the head."

"A woman scorned, huh?"

"I stood there, stunned because I hadn't realized anything was happening. There'd been no pain, no calling. Later I realized it was because what happened was normal."

"You think so?"

"She wasn't evil incarnate. She was just a woman in love who had her pride hurt bad enough that she showed poor judgment. Before the cops took her away, she was already crying for her loss, wishing she hadn't done it."

"So…" He trailed off, then regrouped. "If what you're saying is that you only get that awful way when something truly evil is happening, then that means…"

Gaby glanced back at him.

He swallowed audibly. "Whatever that was after Luther was—"

"The basest of evils. A true depravity."

"Like…" Eyes wide, he whispered, "The devil or something?"

"Worse. A demonic being here on earth." Thanks to the broken pipe, Gaby's arm started a steady ache.

"Then Luther is in real trouble."

"Yeah, I think so. But I'll look out for him."

"How?" Mort practically screeched. "You can't be with him every minute. You can't stand guard over him. Luther isn't the type of man who'd ever allow it, but he's also not a man to believe in—"

"Bogeymen? He's learning."

"He's my friend, Gaby," Mort said with grave depression. "I don't want anything to happen to him."

"Nothing will," Gaby vowed, both to Mort and to herself. "Like I told you, if something really bad comes after him, I'll know and I'll… go to him. Wherever he is. And no, don't ask me how. That's just how it works."

"You instinctively know where to go?"

"Sort of. Somehow, I just get there."

Given the silence, Gaby knew Mort didn't understand, and was starting to ponder her sanity again.

"Look. It's like this. Information gets channeled through me. My body is just a conduit for the purpose. I end up where I need to be, and I do what needs to be done, and then I'm me again. End of story."

"I trust you."

He was such a dupe. "Great. Now take a deep breath. We'll be home soon," she reassured Mort, because she didn't dare reassure herself. "You'll be able to relax then."

"After tonight, I don't think I'll ever relax again."

His voice no sooner faded than they heard an odd but human sound. Flattening back against the wall, her hand already over Mort's mouth, Gaby waited.

A whimper.

Slurping. Silent tears.

Rank commands and foul enjoyment.

She heard it all, and she understood.

Rage, not God's command, stirred her blood. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared through the abyss. "Stay here, Mort."

"Gaby, no, please." Mort's hands grasped at her shirt. "You don't know who it is, if it might be the cops or another of those crazy people—"

"Get a grip," she hissed at Mort, impatient to intercede. "I'll be right back." She brushed him off and crept away, her knife in her hand, the injury in her arm forgotten. Up ahead, a dim glow shone from one building.

The end of the alley.

They'd be close to home, but she had work to do yet. No, God hadn't called her for this one.

But damn it, He should have.

As Gaby stepped into the light, she saw a couple at the edge of the alley, in the shadows, but not really hidden. The woman knelt on the rough ground, her blouse mostly torn off, her face and upper arms red, scratched, and bruised.

She was held captive close to the man's body, her face shoved against his belly. Her cheeks hollowed out, her head bobbed.

She sobbed again.

As Gaby took in the scene, the man closed his eyes in release.

Moaning in what Gaby interpreted as harsh pleasure, his body jerked obscenely. The woman tried to pull back, but he cruelly twisted his hand in her ponytail, using the hold like a leash, forcing her to perform on him.

To swallow.

The sight of it all, her comprehension, froze Gaby to the spot.

The man slumped against the wall, his body lax. Released, the woman quickly scampered back.

Tears tracked her cheeks. Her nose bled.

Torn from her stupor, Gaby didn't even stop to think about it; she allowed herself to react.

In an instant, her knife whistled through the air—and sank with satisfying accuracy into the bastard's shoulder.

He contorted on a yelp of surprise, followed by a shout of outrage. He looked at the girl on her knees first, and seeing she wasn't a threat, his gaze swung around until he found Gaby striding toward him. She wasn't done with him, not by a long shot, and he must have sensed that.

Ignoring her knife in his flesh, he tried to charge her.

Good. Even though he was a miserable bully and rapist, he had strength and he wasn't a coward.

She wanted a fight. She wanted this fight.

It felt right. It felt purposeful.

For this, she could almost smile.

"That's right," Gaby taunted. "Tangle with someone who isn't cowed by you."

"Stupid bitch," he thundered. "You'll be damn sorry you—"

He was in midthreat when Gaby's heel connected with his chin. When his head snapped back, her elbow jammed into his throat. As he gurgled and gagged, she retrieved her knife, sliding it out of his dense flesh to press it tight, tight enough to cut, where he'd feel it most.

The girl screamed, scrambling backward on hands and heels like a tipsy crab.

Mort rushed out of the alley. "Gaby!"

With so much fanfare, she wouldn't have been surprised if a spotlight had suddenly shone down on her wretched head.

Face close to the man's, her fist keeping the knife blade snug against his groin. Gaby whispered, "You deserve to lose this, don't you?" She pressed in enough to nick him, making certain he understood.

"You're insane," he garbled, still suffering from the trauma to his throat.

"You betcha. Insane enough that I'll haunt your dreams for the rest of your life."

He looked into her eyes and shriveled back in fear.

His impaired esophagus made him gasp for each shallow breath. Distress for his precious jewels kept his eyes wide and wild. Drool trickled from the side of his trembling mouth.

Gaby enjoyed his reaction.

She enjoyed herself in this role.

"I'll know what you do," she told him. "What you think and what you want. If you ever again use force on anyone or anything, I swear to God, I'll castrate you."

The man prayed, which amused Gaby. God wouldn't help him. Not tonight.

But then Mort grabbed her arm. "Gaby, please. You cut him bad and he's bleeding. He could die."

A fog lifted, and Gaby became aware of everything.

The sobs of the man, the worst sobs of the girl, Mort's palpitating fear.

"He deserves death." But she jerked her knife away from him.

It was really bloody now. And so was she.

"Maybe he does," Mort said, "but you don't deserve his death on your hands."

Gaby caught her breath. Mort had stopped her for her sake?

The man crumpled to the ground, drenched in a combination of sweat, blood, and more disgusting body fluids.

Foul bastard.

Repulsed, Gaby turned to look at the girl.

Homely little thing, with ruined makeup smeared everywhere and a red, snotty nose. "How old are you?"

Her lips quivered. "Twenty."

"Liar." She looked to be in her midteens, maybe seventeen on a stretch. "Go home."

"I… I can't."

Of course not. If she could, she wouldn't be here now, tonight, in this hopeless place. The futility of it all settled in once again, evaporating the elation of triumph. "Then at least get away from here."

The girl nodded, lumbered to her feet and wiped her mouth. More tears leaked out. She pushed hair away from her bruised and dirty face. "Thank you so much."

Fingers curling around her knife hilt, Gaby snarled, "I was too late. He'd already used you."

"No." She shook her head. "You wasn't too late. He wasn't done with me. He would have… he woulda done more. Worse stuff. He told me so. So, thank you."

Hoping she had made a difference, Gaby nodded.

Waiting until after the girl had run off, Gaby dropped to one knee by the man.

Mort panicked again. "What are you doing?"

"Well I'm not going to stick him again, if that's what you're thinking. What would be the point?" She set her knife to the side. "I'm seeing if he has a cell phone."

"But… why?"

"So we can get him some help." She found a phone in his loose, drooping pants pocket, but had to wipe the blood away before she could see the numbers. "Like you said, Mort. I don't need his death on my hands. Not if I can help it."

Holding the phone away from her face, Gaby called 911 and calmly gave the address and situation.

"The cops'll get you, bitch," the man muttered in faint aggression. He barely kept himself sitting upright and kept swaying as if ready to topple. One arm hung useless at his side, his hand in his lap over his crotch, and with the opposite hand he tried to stem the sluggish flow of blood from his shoulder.

"Shut up, stupid. You're almost dead, and the cops would be more interested in arresting you than me." She withdrew his wallet and read his name, his address. She leaned down and held the open wallet in front of his face. "Besides, I know you now, who you are and where you live. If you rat me out, or even try to rat me out, you'll regret it. I can promise you that."

New fear smothered his hostility and rendered him mute.

Attention darting this way and that, Mort wrung his hands over Gaby until she'd again wiped the phone—this time to remove her prints—and shoved it back in the man's pocket.

"All right, Mort." Against the man's hair, she wiped the blood from her knife and returned it to its sheath. "Let's go."

Mort hurried after her. "You're okay now?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Better than fine." Damn it, she felt good. Strong. Altruistic. She'd stopped a crime and, maybe, hadn't killed anyone. Until an ambulance reached that clown, she wouldn't place any bets, though. Not that she'd waste pity or regret on any man who'd rape a woman in any way.

Her stride longer and more sure, she headed for the apartment building. "Mort?"

He hustled along beside her, breathing fast from exertion. "Yeah?"

"I get the overall picture, but specifically, what was he doing to her?"

Mort stumbled over his own feet and then had to rush to catch back up with her. "You're kidding."

"No. I mean, I get that it was sexual. But I'm not sure I understand. Spell it out for me, okay?"

"Oh God." He shook his head hard. "Gaby, please, don't ask me stuff like that."

She slanted him a glance. He looked… ill. More so than usual. "Why not?"

"Because I can't answer you, that's why!"

His raised voice was enough to alert the National Guard. "There's no reason to get hysterical about it."

"Hysterical? Of course I'm hysterical! You've got the blood of three people on you. I can hear the sirens of at least two different police cars. We left a man half dead back there." He put both hands in his hair. "I've got good reason to be hysterical."

"Shhh. Calm down, Mort. I'll clean up and it'll all be okay."

"Clean up? Have you looked at yourself?" He took his hands out of his hair so he could wring them together. "You're a mess."

"Peroxide gets blood out, and even if it doesn't, we had animal blood in the stairs today. Anyone will believe it's from that."

"Not if they do all that fancy forensics stuff—"

Dolt. Not that she could blame him for being unfamiliar with police priorities. "The guy in the alley will say he was jumped, and that he doesn't know who did it."

"You're sure?"

"What else can he say? That he was raping a minor and someone defended her?" Gaby snorted. "But even if he didn't, it won't matter. Contrary to popular fiction, the cops don't pull out the expensive tests tor every crime going. Not unless they have a murder victim, and reasonable suspicion on someone, and a lot of other stuff. And before you tell me they'll have a murder victim, let's wait to borrow trouble, okay? Those creatures in the alley might be written off as lunatics or something, and that other jerk might live."

"Three bodies. Three. Oh God." He appeared ready to cry. "We have to hurry."

His attitude nettled. That last thing they did… well, that was right and proper, what any good citizen should do.

Wasn't it?

And just what the hell did she know about good citizens, being a freak and all?

Sullen now, thanks to Mort, Gaby said, "I told you not to get involved."

"It's too late for that, so save it."

A command from Mort?

For her?

Miffed, Gaby stopped at the apartment entrance and leveled a mean look on Mort. He stared back, defiant and nervous, and oddly protective.

Damn it, for such a weaselly little creep, he really got to her sometimes. "All right, Mort. Make yourself useful. Go get me a towel. I'll head straight to the basement and throw my stuff in the laundry. Bring any peroxide you might have. I'll wash up down there, then go upstairs to dress again."

With something constructive to do, Mort motivated. "Right. Got it. Let's go."

To see Mort like this, almost as a sidekick, as a… friend, left her soft inside. He could be a pain in the ass, but right now, she was glad she had him.

Luther, on the other hand… well, she didn't know what to think about Luther.

Was he, like Mort, an ally, a person she could trust, maybe even confide in?

Or would Detective Luther Cross be the man who finally brought her to an end?