Merciless (6 page)
But why were he and the others being made to suffer this way? There had to be a purpose to all of this, but he had no idea what it might be.
Grant began to walk. The Secretum fell in behind him at once, whispering among themselves and casting nervous glances at the Loci marching lifelessly behind them.
All of this was Devlin’s doing. And Grant’s. How could Grant have allowed this to happen? He was a smart man; perhaps a little idealistic, but Payton knew him to be decent and noble, and not entirely unclever. Now they were marching as one, in a very long line, and who knew where their walking would come to an end.
Was this all Grant’s fault? Whatever had happened to change him this way . . . had Grant had the chance to turn away from this fate, and refused to do so? Or was he powerless against destiny’s plans, powerless from the very moment of his birth?
Payton thought to himself that he would probably never know. He couldn’t save
or
destroy Grant. He was incapable of doing anything except walking, which his body was doing once again, following Grant.
Payton had no answers, and no hope. But he had his anger, and that was something he knew how to use. He would be the one to stop Grant. Somehow, he would find a way to get free from Grant’s hold. He would stop this
thing
wearing Grant’s body from changing the entire world into whatever he was changing it into. He would kill Devlin and the rest of the Secretum and put a final end to their scheming and plotting.
And he would save his friend Grant Borrows from this fate, by bringing a swift and painless end to the man’s life. Once and for all.
A first hint of rain touched his cheeks. At last, some good news. The suffocating heat that seemed to emanate from Grant would finally meet its match and be forced to cool a little. Those clouds up above, spitting fire and keeping the skies in unending darkness, were good for something after all.
Unable to move or flinch at the cool caress of the water, he didn’t notice its appearance until the liquid began soaking into the clothes of the people around him. The smell was powerful and sickening. Payton recognized it at once. Some of the Secretum members were frightened by what was raining upon them, while others like Devlin turned their heads skyward and outstretched their arms, rejoicing and reveling in the moment.
Grant continued to lead their march up ahead, oblivious to the sky pouring out thick red fluid on them all, soaking their hair and clothes down to the skin.
Somewhere far away in the distance, a terror-filled scream could be heard.
It was raining blood.
“W
HO ARE YOU
?” G
RANT
called out into the darkness.
“I’ve been close to you since the day you were born,” said the voice. He didn’t quite recognize it, but there was something familiar about it.
“I don’t understand,” Grant said.
“Wiser words have never passed beyond your lips,” replied the voice. “For this is the reason you are here: to understand. To see the truth for what it really is.”
“Where am I?” Grant asked. “I need to get out of here! My friends, they’re in danger—”
“No way out,” the voice replied, unconcerned with Grant’s pleas. “You are far outside of mortal existence. It would be easier for you, in the long run, to disconnect yourself now from such concerns.”
“What is this place? What’s happening to me?”
The voice laughed. “Did you think the bottom of that hole led to some sort of bright, shining place full of puppies and rainbows and laughing children? Far from it, Grant. Far from it.”
Grant nearly snapped. He was terrified now, shivering even though there was no sensation of temperature here.
“I believe you are familiar with an object humankind calls ‘the Dominion Stone’?” the voice asked.
“Yes. It predicted . . . well, it predicted me.”
“Indeed. But it predicted a great deal more.
You never read all of it, did you?”
“It was stolen before I had the chance. Then I broke it—”
“No, no. It was broken already, long ago, and then reassembled by your friend Morgan. You merely disassembled the pieces that day you shoved it off of its easel in your grandfather’s presence. The Stone is made of a substance harder than diamond. You couldn’t have broken it, even with the powers you possessed.”
“Then how was it broken?”
“What if I told you I broke it?”
“Then that would tell me that you’re powerful, but I already knew that: You’re talking to me when I’m dead. Now, either tell me what you want with me, or let me out of here,” Grant said.
“There is no ‘out,’ Grant,” replied the disembodied voice. “I’ve already told you this. You’re dead. Your mortal life is over. Regarding what I want . . . I want you to see the truth.”
“What truth?”
“You have known great power, Grant Borrows. Power beyond that of any mortal man who ever lived and breathed. But now the entire universe has paused, holding its collective breath, watching as the fate of mankind is decided. The world that you know has arrived at a destination that was first charted more than seven thousand of your years ago. And all the power that you once knew has been stripped from you. You cannot stop what is happening, so best to put it out of your mind and focus on what’s in front of you.”
“There isn’t anything in front of me,” Grant replied, confused. He continued turning around and thought he caught a glimpse of a moving figure out of the corner of his eye, but it was gone before he could focus on it.
“Are you sure about that?”
The voice was closer this time. Grant turned, trying to find his sole companion in this empty place. He disliked this newcomer already. “Stop playing games and show yourself!” he demanded.
From his immediate right, a figure strode into view as if walking on ground, even though there was no ground there. He stood before Grant, and Grant took him in fully, not believing his eyes.
“Finally, you’ve asserted yourself,” the other figure replied. “It’s about time.”
A man stood before him, relaxed and observant but also naked. He matched Grant’s stance with a mirror’s precision.
He was Grant.
“What would you like to talk about?” the mirror Grant spoke, while Grant looked on with widened eyes.
“Am I really dead?”
Mirror Grant almost smiled. “You keep asking this, but the answer has not changed. Yes. You are most decidedly no longer among the living.”
“But I can’t be dead . . . I’m not finished! I have to stop the Secretum—”
Grant’s rising feelings of desperation had just reached a new peak when the other man held up a hand to cut him off, a curious expression on his face.
“Why is it, Grant Borrows, that you assume death is the end?”
Ethan trudged up the outdoor steps. There had been nowhere left to go.
His thoughts were so far away, it was a wonder he was able to ascend the steps at all. He’d been to this place only one time before. It was the attic space formerly occupied by the “Upholders of the Crown.” He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here. His feet had just sort of guided themselves in this direction.
In one master stroke, the Secretum had turned the world’s greatest hero into its gravest threat.
The people he’d passed on his way here, confused as they were over the stoppage of time, had no idea what was about to happen to this planet. They were already living in fear, thanks to the machinations of the Secretum: destabilization of the global economy, unleashing countless natural disasters onto the populace, boundaries and governments left in total upheaval. But all of that . . . it was nothing but the warm-up.
Oblivion would bring pain, suffering, and death in unprecedented quantities. For what purpose, Ethan didn’t know. But he knew it was going to be an unmatched event in human history.
Before coming here, he’d tried returning to his new superiors, but one of the quirks of their organization was that it constantly moved from place to place, never staying put for very long. It was one of their methods for keeping the Secretum (and the rest of the world) from knowing that they existed. So of course, Ethan hadn’t found them waiting patiently and helpfully at the last place he’d encountered them.
He had no other way to reach them than a personal meeting; his arrangements with them had been rather vague, but he’d gathered that his relationship would be more of the “don’t call us, we’ll call you” variety. And so far . . . they hadn’t.
Next he’d tried locating some of his contacts in Scotland Yard, but the renowned agency was closed and inaccessible, like most everything else in the big city. All local government installations had closed up shop, fearing it was no longer safe because of the riots in the streets. The whole town had gone crazy in the wake of the “strange weather and geological phenomena” being broadcast all over the news. Not to mention the fact that time had stopped and everyone could feel it—even if no one fully understood it or could put it into words.
Left without options, he’d headed here, hoping that maybe one or two of the Loci might still be there, left behind by Alex’s group when they found the Conveyor under the London Library. Ethan wondered if he might get back to the attic and find the entire building burned to the ground. Thankfully, it was still standing, dark and silent.
Grant had blown the outside door off its hinges that one time—which was only days ago but felt like months—and it hadn’t been fixed yet. But the last time he’d seen it, it was at least propped in the doorway. Now it was lying aside on the kitchen floor, just inside the doorway. Dim lights were on in the large sitting area with the exposed cathedral rafters he remembered from his last time here. And he could hear the sound of voices—voices that carried the distant, tinny sound of coming from a television speaker.
Ethan instinctively drew his pistol and dropped into the lithe, ready-to-spring stance he always adopted when entering an unsecured location. He withdrew a knife with an eight-inch serrated blade from somewhere on his belt, and held it in the same hand with which he steadied the gun, deciding it was best to be prepared for anything.
He stepped lightly, the rubber soles of his black combat boots making no noise on the kitchen’s linoleum floor. Creeping through the small room, he slid to one side of the door that led to the sitting room, and leaned around cautiously to get a closer look inside.
A single lamp was lit at the far corner of the room; it was the only illumination in the room, aside from the flashing television screen, which was facing away from him. Various bags and belongings of Grant Borrows and his friends were situated where he last remembered them, only now most of them were open and their contents scattered about all over the floor.
Blasted looters,
he thought, frowning.
Riots bring them out
of their holes, every time.
He made out no activity inside. If anyone was still here, they must’ve been hiding. The room was sparse, only a sofa and some armchairs for furniture, the television set, lamps, and a few end tables. A hallway to his left led to some kind of sleeping area; he’d head there after checking this room. Gun still readied, Ethan checked under the tables. All were clear. The sofa came last, and as he approached it, he heard the slimmest whimper. Springing around it, he found a young boy crouched on all fours. Without thinking, he yanked the kid to his feet by the hair, and stuck the edge of his knife against the kid’s throat.
“Who are you?” Ethan barked in his best drill-sergeant rage.
The teenager was so frightened he looked sick. He put both of his hands up in surrender, one hand holding a television remote.
It didn’t escape Ethan’s notice that the boy was wearing one of the Rings of Dominion on his right middle finger.
“I-I’m sorry, I was just looking—” the kid stammered.
“I said,
who are you
?” Ethan shouted even louder. He turned loose of the boy’s hair and shoved him against a nearby wall. He withdrew the knife and stepped back, but trained his pistol on the boy, holding the gun even with both hands.
The kid swallowed. “Trevor,” he replied shakily. “I’m Trevor. I’m a friend of Grant Borrows.”
Ethan considered this, then lowered his weapon and returned it to its holster, relaxing. “You probably don’t want to go around announcing that to strangers, son,” he replied. “Being associated with Grant Borrows has just become a very dangerous thing.”
To his surprise, the teenager nodded, nervously. Even though Ethan had relaxed, the boy hadn’t yet calmed down. “I know. I was hoping to find some of his people here . . . b-but they’re all gone.”
“Not all of them,” Ethan grunted.
Trevor nodded again. “Yes, I saw you with him!
Before,
that is.” When Ethan registered a suspicious expression at this, Trevor quickly spoke up again, changing the subject. “Do you know what’s happening? To the world?” He gestured with the remote control to the images flashing on the television set beside them.
“Some of it,” Ethan replied, turning to face the screen, where it seemed that every channel was showing news coverage. Trevor was channel surfing, but he stopped suddenly on one that bore big letters at the bottom of the screen:
Unexplained Time Phenomenon
.
Both man and boy stood still, listening to the newscaster.
“ . . . that despite earlier reports, British authorities are now entertaining the notion that—as odd as it sounds—the problem may lie with the passage of time itself, and not in a more conventional predicament rooted in electrical or mechanical issues. We can confirm that the phenomenon
is
global, but we’re being told that the world’s scientific minds can think of nothing that might cause such a radical shift in one of nature’s most fundamental laws—”
Trevor abruptly changed the channel. It landed on CNN International, which was showing a blurry videotape captured by an amateur photographer on vacation in Ankara, Turkey, according to a headline at the bottom of the screen. The footage showed the spreading fire clouds, slowly cloaking the city in darkness.
