Depths: Southern Watch #2 (5 page)

“I did what I could,” Hendricks said. “I got one of the demons out of the way right at the start, and that helped limit the damage. I had all three of them between me and the door, so …”

“So pick a better seat next time,” Arch said.

“Well, I was kind of sitting at their table,” Hendricks said, and he realized his lip was swelling, “so I pretty much had to take the last seat that was open.”

“You, uh … you sat down at the table with them?” The deputy’s voice sounded more than a little incredulous.

“It’s not exactly easy to make someone out as a demon an entire room away,” Hendricks replied.

There was a seething silence in the car after that. Hendricks could tell that Arch wanted to let loose on him, but whether it was manners or a lack of a good angle of attack that prevented the deputy from battering away, Hendricks didn’t know. Didn’t care, either. The air conditioning was chilling the glass a little, and Hendricks had a bump on his forehead above his eyebrow. Pressing the bump to the glass was positively bliss for him, or as close as he could get right now without turning off all his nerve endings.

“You want me to drop you back off at your motel?” Arch asked, his voice echoing in the cab of the Explorer.

“Sure, why not,” Hendricks said. He snuck a sidelong glance at the deputy. The man was physically imposing, but he still had his body quartered away from Hendricks. Hendricks had been trying to keep an eye on Arch, had been watching him as they’d worked together this last week. Some words were rattling around in Hendricks’s skull, prophetic ones that had come from the lady who had told him everything since he’d gotten involved in this demon hunting gig. She hadn’t been wrong yet that he knew of.

“Because you look like someone beat you bloody, then came back and did another round of it,” Arch said. Hendricks hadn’t looked in the mirror yet, but he suspected Arch was probably not understating it. “I’m gonna drop you off at Erin’s.”

“What the fuck?” Hendricks’s head came off the window. “Why?”

Arch turned his body now, taking the wheel with both hands. The deputy paused a minute before he started to speak. “You’re all manner of beat up. By all rights you ought to be in a hospital but failing that, you at least need someone to keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t have a concussion. Unless you’d prefer I drive you to the emergency room right now? Let them give you a clean bill of health.”

“Showing up in a police cruiser wouldn’t cause any headaches, I’m sure,” Hendricks said, putting his forehead back against the glass. “I don’t really have a lot of extra money lying around for medical bills, especially not so a doctor can tell me I’ve got a shit ton of bruises and cuts that’ll heal in a few days.”

“You could use stitches for a few of them,” Arch said.

“I’m fine,” Hendricks said. “I’m not even bleeding anymore, that means I don’t need stitches.”

“Now there’s a sound medical diagnosis.” Arch turned his body away again.

Hendricks sat there with his head against the glass. The rain started coming down hard as they drove through the hills, and he caught a glimpse of lights out his window, a strange pattern of them, like a square in a sea of darkness. “What the hell is that?” he asked, trying to make out the shape in the rainy night.

“It’s the Tallakeet Dam,” Arch said, matter-of-factly. “TVA project. Generates power for the whole area and holds back the Caledonia River.”

Hendricks focused, trying to see it through the blur of the rain and one of his eyes swelling shut. “Looks big. Just a bunch of lights in the dark.”

“That’s just the top of it,” Arch said, and Hendricks could tell he was not bothering to look for himself. “It’s no Hoover Dam, but it’s pretty big.”

“Pretty dam big?” Hendricks asked with a wry smile.

Arch didn’t smile, and for some reason that annoyed Hendricks even more. “I’m dropping you off at Erin’s,” the big man said again.

“How am I supposed to explain the state of my face and body, genius?” Hendricks said, tilting his head to look at the deputy. Dumb idea.

“Tell her you were in a bar fight.”

Hendricks had to concede that would probably work, though it wouldn’t make him sound too good. There was another problem though. “I don’t …” he felt his voice get involuntarily lower, “I don’t actually know where she lives.”

Arch whipped around again for this. “Haven’t you been sleeping with her?”

“At my motel, yes,” Hendricks agreed. “A few times, anyway.”

“But you don’t know where she lives?” Arch was staring at him, eyebrow cocked. It would have been an
are-you-fucking-kidding-me?
look, except Arch didn’t swear.

“I don’t know how familiar you are with the act of coitus,” Hendricks said, “but it doesn’t require you to know the person’s address before you do it. Or even their name, really.”

Arch made a sound like, “Gaaaah,” a noise crossed with exasperation and possibly disgust.

“Don’t get judgy,” Hendricks said, putting his face back against the cool glass. “People don’t like judgy Christians.”

“Sorry if I’m reacting poorly to your revelation that you know very little about the woman you’re sleeping with,” Arch said. “I don’t tend to hang around with people who have a lot of one-night stands. Or any at all, really.”

“You don’t have any friends your own age, huh?” Hendricks was just being snotty now, and he knew it.

“Not any like you,” Arch said. “At least not until now.”

“That’s all right,” Hendricks said, and he shut himself up before he could say,
I never knew any guys that were going to end the world until I started to hang out with you.

* * *

Erin Harris wasn’t at the bar tonight. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to be. It was because her rent check had just cleared and she was about fifty bucks short of broke with three days to go until her next paycheck. That wasn't a margin she was comfortable with, so she stayed in.

Some show was going on the TV, something she’d kind of stumbled onto by accident. It was a movie, maybe, something with a couple guys out after dark, walking a city street looking for trouble. It wasn’t really that interesting, and she half expected a monster to jump out at them. She was sipping half-heartedly on a light beer, the last drink she could find in her fridge, but she wasn’t really into it. The pungent smell of the weak ale was kind of turning her stomach, if she was honest about it. When she took a sip, she made a face. She took another sip anyway.

The TV was blaring, and she was on the verge of turning it off when there was a knock at the door. She got up and grabbed her pistol before she went to answer it, folding her hand around the Glock 19. The plastic checkering on the grip bit into her palm as she walked toward the door. Her career experience told her people who tended to knock on the door at eleven at night didn’t always have pure intentions, even in little ol’ Midian. Better safe than sorry.

Her apartment was small, a one bedroom with shabby carpeting that probably had been there since the nineties. She had minimal furniture in the main room, just a couch and a TV. The walls had a few pictures, and the whole place smelled of the Spaghetti-O’s which she'd eaten earlier. It was the last thing in the pantry. Honestly, though, even if it had been the first thing in the pantry, she’d still have eaten it. She liked Spaghetti-O’s.

She eased up to the door as another knock sounded. She looked out through the peephole, keeping the gun low at hand. She could smell the gun oil off the Glock, even at this range. She kept it pretty well maintained.

As she looked through the peephole, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the cowboy hat. Hendricks.

She pulled back from the peephole and frowned. What was Hendricks doing here?

She opened the door cautiously, peeking her head out. He looked up, raising the wide brim of the hat, and her caution was forgotten. “Jesus Christ!”

“No, I’m an atheist, remember?” Hendricks said, and he had a little hint of a smile on his beat-up face.

“What happened to you?” Erin felt herself sputtered, almost screaming.

“Oh, this?” He gestured to his lips, which were split. One of his eyes was blacked and swollen. “Apparently I got into a bar fight.”

“Well, what the hell did you go and do that for?” She wanted to reach out to him, but she could almost feel her breath catching in her chest. He looked worse than that drunk that had smashed his car into a down by the square tree a couple months ago. Guy lost three teeth on his steering wheel, and his eye had popped out of the socket. By the time they brought him in to booking, the hospital had fixed some of it, but he still looked like a shit sandwich on crap bread. Hendricks maybe looked worse, she decided. His jaw line was bruised up, and he looked like he’d done some half-assed collagen injections, too.

“Can I come in?” Hendricks asked, slurring a little. “Arch was worried I might have a concussion, so he dropped me off here—”

“Why didn’t he take you to a hospital?” In her horror it took her a moment to fully interpret what he’d said. “Wait, Arch saw you like this?”

“Well, yeah,” Hendricks said.

“And he left you in this condition without taking you to the hospital?” She felt a mad-on building.

“I told him no,” Hendricks said, shaking his head. “I’m fine, I just need a day or so to recover. I wanted to do it at the motel, but he said—”

She held out her free hand for him to stop, then put it on her head, which was now swirling with about a thousand thoughts. Her first instinct was to drive him to the hospital herself, but he’d already apparently put the kibosh on that. It took her a moment to realize he’d never actually been to her place, that this was something new, and a moment later that gave her a funny feeling of alarm. Which she would have thought would have taken a backseat to her concern for this human being all beaten to hell, standing on her doorstep.

Oddly, it didn’t.

“I … cannot believe this,” she said finally, and it was all she could do to get that out. “You got in a bar fight.”

“They started it,” Hendricks said, almost plaintive. “Otherwise, Arch would have arrested me, you know that.”

Well, that much was true. She put her hand over her face and peered at him through the split in the fingers. It didn’t make him look any better, but at least one of her eyes was covered, so it made him look a little less worse. If that was a thing. He was a pretty handsome guy most of the time, and in good shape. Walked with a little swagger in his step.

Now he was hunched over, looking like an old man the way he was standing, and his face was swollen like he’d just gotten out of the ring with Manny Pacquiáo. “Jesus,” she whispered.

“Can I come in?” Hendricks asked again. She felt sorry for him now; he looked like hell.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, and stepped aside. The crescendo in her stomach grew, though, more than just nerves, and she let him in.

* * *

Gideon had felt the Tul’rore start on their meal. He’d felt the ones before that, too, and they’d been sweet. He’d savored every moment. He could taste the flesh and the terror as the Tul’rore went to work, could hear the screams echo in his ears as the victims began to die. He’d felt the last few that the Tul’rore had devoured, all of them since he’d gotten into town just a couple days ago, and they had been sustaining. A slow trickle of treats to keep him going.

Gideon slipped out of bed, the hotel sheets spotted through with burns like a thin slice of Swiss cheese. He knew others of his kind; death was a call for them. A yearning to be around the end of life, to feed on the misery of the souls leaving it. His kind gravitated toward wars, battlefields, and hotspots like carrion birds to the dead. He was the only one here, though. So far, anyway.

It had been tough to leave Chicago, especially with things going so well in the city. He’d had a steady diet there, enough for his needs. Some of the meals had been truly beautiful, moments of passion he would treasure for all time.

Gideon opened the curtains and left the sheer panel hanging over the window in place. He stared out across the dark parking lot of the Sinbad motel at the street. Rain was coming down, lit by the lampposts lining the roads. He could see the dark ripples hitting the puddles throughout the lot.

He wondered, with the Tul’rore dead, how long he’d have to wait for his next meal. He could sense it when demons got burned, but it was a blissless feeling. It didn’t tantalize and thrill him the way it did when a human went. Demons simply passed through the veil and went back to the nethers; humans could be stopped, could linger and be savored. They had flavor, texture, misery.

He sighed and stared out at the motel parking lot, letting his hand drift lower. He could feel the pressure building inside, but there was nothing to do for it. Not yet. Not without death.

He sighed and went back to sit on the bed, cool sheets against his naked body, the smell of the singed cloth still hanging in the air. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a rumble of thunder and hoped it was a good omen.

* * *

The whole heavens had started to pour down on Arch just as he was pulling into the parking lot of his apartment building. The night was liquid and splattering across the windshield of the Explorer in thick drops, drenching everything around him as he stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He took off at a run for the stairs. Then he cursed himself for a fool and altered his course, toward the ground-level unit on the opposite side of the building. His shoes splashed on the wet ground as runoff started to accumulate in shallow puddles.

He fumbled with his key as he reached the ground-level apartment. It was one of eight in the building, and not the one he’d been living in two weeks ago. Two weeks ago he’d been upstairs, in number six. But that had been before a bunch of meth-head demons had broken down his door and smashed the place to pieces. There were holes in the wall, a sink and countertop shattered. Basically an entire bathroom remodel already underway.

He’d been surprised at the grace with which the landlord, Gunther Sweeney, had taken the whole thing. Sweeney was an older man in his fifties, German, with a thick mustache turned grey. He’d looked around with Arch at his side, pronounced the whole thing
durcheinander
, and submitted the claim to insurance. When Arch had pressed, Sweeney let him move into the unoccupied unit without complaint. It worked.