2 The Judas Kiss (39 page)

             
He had to almost fight it, fight to regain control of his senses as he remembered that he was there for a reason.  He had limited time, he was alone, and he was going to have to fight her, this entity embodying his sister that he had thought long dead.  He was shaking now, as he ran his hand along the crease in the wall.  His fingers felt the depression in the drywall before he realized it, and without warning, the wall gave a pop, and the panel shifted forward, almost knocking Ben off his feet.

             
It shifted forward next, startling Ben, and he gave it a shove with one hand, holding his gun in front of him tightly in the other; positive there would be someone or something waiting in the shadows for him.  There was a staircase, he saw, barely wide enough for a person to walk down, and it was dark.  He wasn’t sure how many stairs descended, but he could barely make out a flicker of light under the doorway at the very end.

             
This was it, he realized.  This was the final moment when either he was going to die, or Nike was going to be stopped and Mark and Judas were going to come home.  Ben forced himself to have confidence that he could take her.  If he got the jump on her, before she was able to use her powers, he could stop her.  He didn’t have to kill Abby in order to so, just incapacitate her long enough to get Mark and Jude out.

             
Toeing off his shoes at the landing, Ben tiptoed down, making no noise as he approached.  He held his breath, praying to any and every deity he could remember, including the ones he was waiting on to show up, that he was still shielded from Nike’s prying mind.  She hadn’t been able to sense him before, but it was possible she knew someone was there.  Someone human.  Someone who didn’t belong.  And now that Ben could feel her, he realized, it was possible she could feel him.  He couldn’t worry about that now, however, because he was there, and it was time.  There was no turning back.

             
Ben took a breath, and with steeled nerves, he gave the door a shove with his hip and stumbled in.  Ben had the advantage of being on his feet, gun pointing, eyes desperately trying to adjust to the dim light of the room, and Nike was there.

             
She looked almost unconcerned at his presence, seated against the wall in an unflattering red dress, legs crossed out in front of her.  She gave a lazy wave of her hand, almost knocking the gun away from Ben, but he had been prepared for her.

             
He held on tight, fighting her power mentally, and though his body went in the direction of the gun, he held fast to it, his eyes fixed on her.  He lost his breath for a moment, as his eyes fixed on the image of his sister.  She was there, she was alive, she was scarred and her hands were trembling, but it was her.  Safe.  Alive.  Abby. 

It’s not Abby, he told himself harshly as he righted his posture.  He couldn’t think of her as the girl he had practically raised.  Of the girl he’d lost, mourned and buried.  He took in a deep breath as she climbed to her feet, wincing as her back gave a loud pop, and he willed himself to separate Abby from the monster controlling the body.

              “Oh look, your rescue team is here.”  She stretched her arms up, groaning, and winked at Ben.  “Army of one, is it?” Nike asked, glancing over at Mark.

             
Ben’s eyes followed Nike over to the man behind the desk, taking a quick assessment of his injuries.  Burned from the explosion, his skin was healing, but not quickly.  His jaw was also swollen, Ben assumed broken or at least fractured, and his hands were trembling from the pain he was clearly in.  He looked weak, his eyes darting to the floor where the crumpled body lay.

             
Judas was in a far worse way.  Blood was caked on his face, his mouth contorted, and every so often his body would jerk with spasms.  He’d clearly been drugged with something vile, as Alex had said, and the man was completely incapacitated.  Ben’s heart sank when he realized he would have to knock Nike completely out of the game if he was going to have any chance of getting the two of them out and away. 

             
He also realized right then, with heavy dismay, Alex had the get-away car, and there was no telling when she would be able to return.  Ben had made a colossal mistake in going in alone.  He almost dropped his gun, but he turned his eyes back to the god inside of his sister, preparing for what he was going to have to do.  If taking her out was the only way, Ben was going to have to be ready for it.  He steadied his hand, leveling the pistol at her face.

             
“We both know you’re not going to kill me,” she said, picking at her nails lazily.  “Ben, you’re like this big giant puppy, such a ferocious growl, but such small teeth.”

             
“If I have to kill you,” Ben said through clenched teeth, “I will.”

             
“Funny,” she said and let out a dry chuckle.  “This coming from the man who almost let all of his friends and himself get blown up because he didn’t want to leave poor sissy behind.  Never mind she was already dead from that toxic dose of anti-depressants you gave her.”

             
Ben’s stomach twisted.  “So she is dead.”

             
Nike threw her head back and laughed.  “Oh maybe, maybe not.  Benny boy, just answer me this, are you willing to take that chance?  Kill this body?  What if she’s still in here, Ben? What if she’s crying out inside of me right now?  Save me Ben, please!  Save me!”

             
Ben gripped the gun tighter and tried to take a step forward, but found his feet rooted to the floor.  He grunted, trying to fight against her, but there was no give.  “I’ll take you down if I have to,” he repeated, but in that moment he realized he was only saying that to convince himself.

“You silly little human.  So determined.  It’s almost sad to have to kill you.”

              “Not if I-” but Ben’s words were cut off as strong, fierce hands closed around his neck, crushing against his windpipe.  He hadn’t heard the footsteps behind him, he’d been too caught up with Nike.  He fought desperately to stay conscious, to fight, but it was no use.  His eyes rolled up in the back of his head and his arms went limp as blackness began to envelope him.  His ears rang as he gasped for breath, finding no way to draw air into his lungs.

             
He went calm, suddenly and unexpectedly.  This was it.  He was going to die, and he’d done his best, and this was it.  Ben’s eyes flickered closed and his knees went weak.  He was ready, he was letting go now.  He could hear laughter far off, the sound of his sisters in the distance, a warm light rushing over him, beckoning him.

             
Out of nowhere, air began rushing into his lungs as the hands that had been squeezing his neck were ripped away.  His throat felt constricted, an aching, searing pain coursing through his body, but he was breathing, gasping in air.  He fell to his knees, his arms barely able to support his weight as he gasped and coughed, his vision returning, but blurry.  He was dizzy and out of sorts, and barely registered that the gun was still in his hand, hanging limply from his fingers, but he couldn’t make himself move.

             
He heard the scuffle before he saw it, the frustrated growl of the god, and then a violent snapping as a bone broke.  Ben heard a female voice cry out and he turned his head to see Nike cracking the bones in Alex’s arm and shoulder.

             
A giant beast of a man lay on the ground next to Ben, dead, as whatever had been possessing him was gone.  He had obviously been a comatose man, an empty vessel for the Greeks, the hands that had been around Ben’s neck now lying still on the concrete floor. 

Ben started to shift back, raising the gun as his strength started to return slowly, and as he did, Nike’s
pointed heel kicked backwards, cutting into his hand, sending the gun flying across the room.

             
“Mark,” Ben gasped, desperate for help, but when he looked at Mark, it was clear the writer was glued to his seat.  Ben could see the strain on Mark’s muscles as he attempted to rise from the chair, but he was frozen by Nike’s power.

             
Aching all over, head swimming, Ben struggled across the floor and grabbed the gun, flipping around to use the wall to support his back as he steadied himself.  He closed one eye in an attempt to clear his double vision and he saw Nike with one hand around Alex’s neck and the other on her arm.

             
He could hear the popping as Nike crushed the bones along Alex’s elbow, and Alex’s face was purple as she slowly lost consciousness.  It was a sudden realization that shook Ben; she was going to die, Olivia was going to die and Thor was going to be expelled from the body, and without another host for Thor, Ben would be next.

             
Without any other choice, without a single other option and no time to seek one out, Ben raised his gun and fired it.  His aim was shoddy at best, but the bullet found purchase, lodging in Abby’s back.  Nike let out a short cry of surprise, but before the god could react, Ben fired a second shot into the back of her neck, and Abby’s body crumpled to the ground, Alex falling down on top of her.

             
Ben sank further into the floor, the gun still in his hand, and he let out a cry as he watched Abby’s chest rise and fall, only once, and then stop.  He dropped his gun with a piercing metal clang, his hand clapping over his mouth to stop from screaming, and he looked at Mark who was now able to rise from his chair.

             
Falling to his knees, Mark crawled over to the fallen bodies, gently pulling Olivia’s body off of Ben’s sister.  He laid her down gently on the concrete, just a few spaces away from Judas, who was still unconscious, but breathing steadily.

             
There was no numbness, no shock this time as Ben watched the blood pour from his sister’s back and neck, a river across the dark concrete, nearly reaching his shoes.  He wanted to move, he wanted to get up, to do something, anything, but he was frozen to the spot.

             
“Can’t he…” Ben finally managed, looking over at Judas.  “Even if he’s not awake?  Mark?!”

             
Mark shook his head, his face a mask of grief as he touched the side of Abby’s neck.  There was clearly no pulse, Ben expected none, but he needed a miracle.  He couldn’t lose her again.  He wasn’t sure if there was a soul left in her, but he had to try something.  Anything.  He couldn’t let her go, not when he was this close.

             
“I’m sorry,” Mark said, barely able to move his jaw.  “He can’t do anything if he’s not conscious.”

             
“Wake him up then!” Ben cried.  “Just… wake him up!  It can’t end like this Mark!”

             
Mark winced, but then his face lit up and he stared at Ben with wide eyes.  He licked his lips and cleared his throat, forcing his jaw more open as he spoke, despite the obvious agony it caused.  “You might be able to take it, Ben.”

             
Ben frowned.  “What?  What do you mean take it?  Take what?”  He felt on the verge of hysteria as he got up onto his knees, ignoring his pant leg as it trailed into some of Abby’s spilled blood.  “Mark!”

             
“Touch him,” Mark said, nodding at Judas.  “Touch him, hold your hand on his skin.”

             
Ben was shaking, and for some reason found himself obeying Mark without question.  He was desperate, feeling insane, and he was willing to try anything.  Everything.  Something.  He had to get Abby back.

             
In the back of his mind, as he reached out for Jude’s arm, he remembered how that poor hospital boy had done that.  He’d touched Judas and he’d been able to heal that woman who worked in the kitchens.  He’d taken the powers into himself and it had driven him half-insane.

             
The rational part of his brain scoffed at the idea, but that part was so small, suffocated by the grief of having to take his sister down, that he reached out and pressed his open palm to Judas’s feverish, dry skin.

             
Nothing happened.  He sat there, touching the fallen man, and nothing happened.  Ben gave a little cry and his head dropped down, tears pouring from his face, though he hadn’t realized he was crying.  He shifted onto his knees, ready to stand, but as he tried to take his hand away, something happened.

             
It was stuck there, like it had been before when Judas’s impossible powers had healed his brain, and a white light enveloped him.  His fingers tingled, and a buzzing sounded through his ears.  He felt lifted up suddenly, as though he was floating above the floor, and his breath was knocked out of him.

             
Gasping, Ben was thrust back down, suddenly and completely conscious.  He hadn’t moved, but any pain in his throat was gone, and he felt something rushing through his body, crackling at the end of his fingertips.

             
“Touch her,” Mark whispered, holding his jaw tenderly in his hands.  “Just touch her.”

             
Ben held his hands out in front of him, staring at his fingers, half-expecting to see blue, electric sparks coming off the ends, but they looked like hands.  Regular, tired, detective’s hands.  With a thick swallow, Ben looked down at his sister who was so pale she was almost grey, and he reached out.  He laid one hand across her arm, the second across her neck, desperate for a pulse, and for a moment, just like when he’d touched Judas, nothing happened.