The Jake Helman Files Personal Demons (33 page)

—and drove it through one side of the killer’s neck and out the other. Gorman’s body quivered, his eyes widening. Rising to his feet with his hand still gripping the knife, Jake pulled the blade toward him, slicing through Gorman’s throat, and hot blood gushed at him.

Baptize me
, he thought.

Marc stared at Helman as his life flowed out of his open throat. His body tingled, hot liquid washing over him, and he could not move. Was this how his victims had felt? Turning away for a moment, Helman shoved the oxygen mask over Marc’s face.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know the incantation
…

He tried to breathe, but failed.

My soul is safe
.

Let’s see how you like it
, Jake thought as he held the oxygen mask over Gorman’s face.
Give up the ghost
.

The plastic bag did not inflate.

He had killed the Cipher.

Standing tall, he looked at his Glock in the sink and the bullet hole in the wall. He’d have to dig the bullet out if he wanted to use the gun again. He looked at his blood-drenched clothes, and the spreading pool at his feet, then wrapped a dish towel around his injured hand.

He had a major cleanup ahead of him.

Darkness
.

Floating, disembodied
.

No tunnel of light
.

Where’s my mother?

A presence, bearing down on me
.

Twin pinpricks of light stare at me like eyes
.

A cold embrace envelops me
.

I’m the Cipher!

Is that laughter?

The presence pulls me screaming toward an opening in starless space
.

My soul …

T
he sky darkened as Jake crossed the street to the Jetta, his left hand bandaged with gauze he had found in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Holding his breath, he scanned the sidewalk for possible witnesses. At the east end of the block, a traffic cop in an orange rain slicker slipped a parking ticket beneath the windshield wiper of a blue Corvette. Jake unlocked the Jetta’s doors with the remote control and slid behind the steering wheel. He closed the door and let out his breath, then jammed his keys into the ignition. He craved a cigarette, but he had to get away first. In the rear-view mirror, he saw the traffic cop making her way toward him, vehicle by vehicle.

I did it
, he thought.
I killed the bastard who murdered Sheryl
. After three years of investigating premeditated homicides, he had committed one himself.
This wasn’t
murder
, he told himself.
It was an execution. Biblical justice
. He pulled into the street and proceeded to the west end of the block, careful not to exceed the speed limit. He stopped at the corner, his spine icing over as a police cruiser passed before him. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the pain in his left hand flaring up as blood seeped through the bandage.

As he drove through Central Park, his right leg shook on the gas pedal and the car sped up and slowed down. He followed Third Avenue, crowded at rush hour, to East End Avenue, where he parked the Jetta. As soon as he got out of the car, he lit a cigarette. The nicotine rush only made him shake more, and his knees wobbled as he crossed the street to Carl Schurz Park.

Tall gas lamps glowed as the sun set on the other side of the city. He passed a homeless man huddled on a bench and followed the winding, flagstone steps beneath rustling trees to the park’s upper level. He flicked his cigarette at cement, then followed a narrow path to the viaduct near Gracie Mansion, where he had once worked a security detail. Torn crime scene tape fluttered in the wind as puddles of rainwater rippled. He entered the dark tunnel and looked around. The ground had been inspected and scrubbed, but bloodstains remained. He pictured Gorman’s photo of Sheryl standing in this very spot, and he imagined her struggling with the Cipher, clawing at his face, her screams echoing.

Stop it
.

The Cipher was dead; he had killed him.

But Sheryl was dead, too.

He thought he sensed her standing beside him, but when he turned around he faced empty air. His eyes teared up again.

Phantom pain
.

Kira leaned over Tower, who appeared weak and frail, his breathing raspy. She removed the oxygen mask from his face and shook him with gentle fingers. His eyes fluttered open and she smiled down at him.

“What happened?” he asked in a strained voice.

“You’ve had a heart attack, but you’re going to be fine.”

He swallowed, pain etching his features. “Where are my damned doctors?”

“I sent them back down to Life Support so we could be alone. They were only getting in the way. It’s all up to you now. How do you feel?”

“Helpless,” he said in a whisper.

She touched his cheeks, then his forehead. “It’s almost time. We can’t wait much longer. You have to prepare yourself.”

He gazed at her with unblinking eyes. “I’m frightened.”

“I know you are.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am.”

“Everything is so dark … so empty.”

“Don’t succumb to it. This is the most important deal of your life.”

“I need strength …”

She smiled. “I know what you need.” She removed a metal case from the bedside drawer, opened it, and withdrew a syringe and a tiny bottle of clear blue liquid labeled Deceleroxyn-21. She filled the syringe with the drug and squirted some out, expelling air bubbles. She waved the syringe at him with a seductive smile, then inserted the needle into his arm and pressed the plunger.

Old Nick shuddered and smiled.

Returning to the Jetta, Jake unlocked his door and sat behind the wheel. East End Avenue stretched before him, with the park on his left and tall condominiums on his right. Traffic had diminished. He glimpsed a flash of light in the windshield, as if an oncoming car had aimed its brights at him.

“Hello, Jake.”

The voice came from beside him, inside the car. Jerking the door open, Jake exploded out of his seat. Pressed against the door with one foot on the street, he pulled his Glock from its holster and aimed it inside the car. A tall man with long, golden hair sat on the passenger side of the front seat. He wore a green- and tan-colored duster, and the brim of a white Stetson cowboy hat shaded his eyes.

The car was empty!
Jake thought.

The stranger smiled, his teeth gleaming white. “Relax and get in. I’m not here to hurt you.” His voice sounded like some musical instrument that Jake had never heard before, pure and soothing.

Jake gave him a skeptical look.

The man leaned across the seat, his features serene, and extended his right hand. “Try me.” His voice echoed in Jake’s brain.

Jake looked down at the hand before him, unadorned with jewelry. Shifting the Glock to his left hand, he grasped the stranger’s hand. The man’s skin felt soft and smooth, like an infant’s.

“See? I didn’t melt.”

The man knew about the Soul Searchers.
Dread and Baldy didn’t melt, either
.

“I’m no minion, thank you. Please get into the car. We have a lot to discuss in a short amount of time.”

Jake scanned the neighborhood’s deserted sidewalks, then eased into the front seat and closed the door. Gun still in hand, he faced his uninvited guest. “How did you get in here without me seeing you?”

The man removed his Stetson, and without the shade of its brim, his eyes glowed brilliant blue in the setting darkness. “I created a portal in my dimension that enabled me to materialize here. Does knowing that make you feel better?”

Twisting his body, Jake reached for the door handle again, but the man squeezed his shoulder and golden warmth spread through him like liquid sunshine. In that moment he felt calm and serene. Settling into his seat, he stared at his visitor with incredulous eyes. “Who are you?”

“Names are meaningless where I come from, but you can call me Abel.”

Jake’s heart skipped a beat.
No fucking way
. The world’s first homicide victim. “I guess I met your brother yesterday.”

Abel seemed unsurprised. “Flesh-and-blood relationships are irrelevant in the realms beyond this one.”

Jake studied Abel’s lips as they moved. The strange echo in his head preceded the spoken words by a split second. “You two don’t exactly look alike. Different fathers?”

“Different energies.” Intense white light emanated from within Abel, rendering his clothing invisible and his flesh transparent.

The light reminded Jake of the spheres in Tower’s Soul Chamber, and the energy that had consumed Shannon and Sheryl. Shielding his eyes, he looked out his window. “That’s a little conspicuous.”

The shimmering light faded and a dark-skinned man with long black hair, a beard, and a mustache sat beside him, dressed in a white cloth resembling an oversized diaper. “How about this? We can shoot for historical accuracy.”

Jake glanced around the outside of the car. “I wouldn’t want to be pulled over with you looking like that, either.”