The following morning, Karissa woke to the sound of heavy rain pounding on her window. Before she opened her eyes, she reached over to Lewis’ side of the bed. Her eyes widened when she felt nothing there.
“Lewy?” she called out, but there was no reply.
Startled, she quickly got out of bed and went to the bathroom. She noticed his toothbrush was missing. Her eyes caught something else: a small yellow sticky note was slapped to the wall where the bathroom mirror used to be. On it were two words in Lewis’ handwriting:
“I’m sorry.”
*
Bolton was enjoying an egg and cheese sandwich in his car. He was parked on the curb at the airport, waiting for Agent Phil, who was flying in to help with the case. A bit of melted cheese slung out of his mouth onto his black sports coat.
“Ah, damn,” he mumbled around a mouthful.
His phone began to ring. He used his finger to pull the string of cheese away from his mouth and coat and answered the call.
“Hello?” Bolton said, distracted.
“Andrew, I need you.”
Bolton could tell who it was, and he instantly became focused. “Karissa? What’s wrong?”
“Lewis left.”
“Wait, what?” he said, sitting up in his seat.
“I woke up this morning, and he was gone.”
“Okay, I’m coming.” He hung up the call and fastened his seat belt. He could tell she had been crying. As he peeled out of the airport, he called Phil, but there was no answer. He figured Phil was at baggage claim or something like that. He left him a message telling him to get a cab.
When Bolton arrived at the Nelsons’ house, he skirted to a stop and got out. He ran to the door and opened it without knocking.
“Karissa!” he yelled.
She walked out of her bedroom wiping a tear. Bolton noticed a yellow note in her hand. He asked her what was going on.
She didn’t answer.
She just handed him the note and hugged him. She began to bawl. Bolton hugged her back while he looked at the note. Anger filled up his heart. Hearing Karissa cry like that flipped a switch inside of him. He clenched his fists, crumpling the note in the process.
Bolton had had enough. Enough of Lewis. Enough of Commissioner Byrd. Enough of this cult. He was reminded of the Currys—he remembered what happened that day. He released himself from Karissa’s embrace. He grabbed her by the hand and looked her in the eyes.
“Karissa, I need to know. Is there any place he could’ve gone?”
“Iceland…”
“What? Why Iceland?” Karissa didn’t answer at first. “Karissa, why Iceland?” He raised his voice.
“That’s where the cult is,” she said, wiping another tear. “The night after you guys went to the church, Lewis got a note from the cult telling him to meet a man named Reggie at a cabin, and when he got there, the guy told him everything.”
Bolton was shocked and upset by the news, but there was no time for anger. “Okay, where is this guy?”
“Dead. He shot himself after he told Lewis everything.”
“Jesus Christ.” Bolton sat there for a minute, trying to process everything. “Where in Iceland is Lewis going?”
“That, I don’t know,” she said with her head down.
“I need to call the bureau.”
“I’m going after Lewis.”
“Karissa, no. Let me handle this.”
“No! I’m going after my husband!” she screamed, tears flowing down her soft face.
“It’s not safe! I’m going after him!”
“Then come with me,” she said. “We’ll get him together. Get what you need to get, and let’s go.”
“Karissa, it’s not—”
“That’s it, Bolton! You either come with me now, or I’m going myself. It’s your choice.”
“Fine,” he finally said after a minute of contemplation. “It’s no wonder you and Lewis are married; you’re both stubborn as hell.”
*
Agent Phil arrived at the police station around noon, thanks to an officer who picked him up from the airport after Bolton left. When he got there, the first thing on his agenda was to talk to Byrd. He had a few questions.
Phil walked at an intimidating pace through the station until he arrived at Byrd’s door. He didn’t even bother to knock.
Byrd was caught off guard.
“Uh…hello?”
Phil cut him off. “Hello, sir. I’m Agent Phil from the FBI, and I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
Byrd was angry, and Phil could tell. He sat down in the chair across from Byrd’s desk and cleared his throat.
“With the incident regarding the death of Patrick Hopkins, I understand your department closed the case. But because of the work of Detective Bolton, you were forced to reopen it, yes?”
“That’s correct.” Byrd exhaled while adjusting in his seat.
“Can I ask why our very own agent who we sent over here to help tried to speak his mind but was given the cold shoulder by the commissioner in charge?”
“Listen, the investigation was open until the following day, when we eliminated the suspect. Case closed. At least, we thought it was.”
“Exactly,” Phil said immediately. “You thought. Because, if I’m not mistaken, Bolton continued his investigation and found that a cult with sinister intentions had been living in your city, correct?”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Byrd said, obviously irritated.
“And this abandoned chapel, how did you not think to look there, considering it’s been a part of the city for a while? Were you aware of the urban legends surrounding that very chapel?”
Byrd looked down and gritted his teeth. “Those are just stories, and we wished to move on from the case, considering the suspect had been killed on the bridge.”
“Everybody wished to move on from the case? Or you wished to move on from the case?”
Byrd rolled his eyes.
“Another thing—didn’t you lose two officers during the showdown on the bridge that night? What about their families? You didn’t think it was right to get justice for their murders?”
“We did. We killed the thing that killed them.”
“But you couldn’t see the bigger picture. I mean, Bolton said you didn’t even bother to have an investigation, and you tried to stop him from even looking into anything.”
“When something hideous happens in this city, it is my job to calm the citizens down and keep them safe. I thought it best to move on; we’d killed the guy. Bolton decided to get that teacher involved, and they found the abandoned church downtown.”
Agent Phil didn’t know about Lewis being involved, but that didn’t stop his questioning. “So you didn’t even get a little bit suspicious, even after the autopsy results came back ? Are you familiar with the spiral symbol that we’ve been finding? Are you aware that the modifications on the tall men could only have been done by somebody else?” Before Byrd could answer, Phil continued, “Because I’m sure the coroner told you his thoughts on the matter as well, right? Even he made it well aware that he thought there was something bigger. Have you spoken to the coroner, Mr. Byrd?”
Byrd let out a small sigh of annoyance. “Yes.”
“Okay, so you did know that the first suspect’s body alterations, including the absence of eyelids, the carved-up cheekbones, and even the spiral carved into his sternum, were all done by somebody else, correct?”
Byrd didn’t speak.
“I’d like to know,” Phil continued, “why? Given you knew all this information and had an FBI agent trying help with the investigation, which not only included the death of a citizen but the deaths of two of your officers, why would you not want the help?”
“I already told you, damn it!” Byrd’s face turned bright red. “I want you out of my office! I’m sick of you feds! I’m tired of explaining myself over and over again! Get out of my town! I didn’t ask for you to be here!”
Phil remained calm. “Hm, really? Because our records show that your department asked for Bolton specifically. Now, why is that? If you were just going to close the case anyway after you found the suspect, why specifically ask for an FBI agent you aren’t even going to use?”
“I asked for Detective Bolton because Patrick Hopkins was mutilated. I heard of Bolton’s former endeavors and figured he was the best man for the job. And once he killed the man on the bridge, I felt it was over. Even after the autopsy, and even now, after what we found at the chapel. This city needs to move on. It’s over.”
Agent Phil looked Byrd in the eyes and scoffed. Then he walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him. He then pulled out his phone and called Bolton.
No answer.
He called again.
Nothing.
One last time.
Bolton picked up.
“Bolton, where are you? We need to speak about Byrd. This guy is all the way off.”
“I’m at the Nelsons’ house.”
“The teacher? What the hell are you doing there?”
“Just come over here. We can talk about everything.”
“Damn it, man. I’m on my way; send me the address.”
*
As Agent Phil was driving on the cold, wet, suburban road, he saw Mount Hood peeking through the clouds as rain tapped on his window. He was going over the conversation he’d had with Byrd. He didn’t want to leave any detail out when he got to the Nelsons’.
The phone rang, and without taking his eyes off the road, he told the Bluetooth in his car to answer.
“Agent Phil. This is Detective Carl. I’m stationed in Chicago. I wanted to let you know Claire Fox was found deceased earlier today.”
“Damn it!” Phil’s eyes filled up with anger, and a vein in his forehead began to bulge. “And the suspect?”
“Got away but was described as extremely tall.”
Phil punched his steering wheel. He thanked Carl and hung up. When he came upon the Nelsons’ house, he skidded to a stop and got out of his car in a hurry. He jogged to the door and knocked on it three times.
Bolton answered. Anger radiated off his face. Phil had never seen that before.
“We need to talk,” the detective said in a flat voice.
Bolton led Phil inside and introduced him to Karissa, who was sitting on a brown chair in the living room, lost in thought, tearstains on her rosy cheeks. Bolton told Phil to sit down in the living room while he got everybody some coffee. Well, tea for Karissa. When they all sat down, Phil began.
“Okay, I’ll start. I think Byrd is in on it.”
Both Karissa and Bolton looked at him like he was crazy.
“I know, I know. But hear me out,” Agent Phil continued. “The department specifically asked for you to come help with the Hopkins investigation. We weren’t even interested in the damn thing because it was just another person killed on the street—nothing a police department couldn’t solve. Since you’re a newer agent, the director okayed the request to get you some experience.”
Bolton shook off that new information, as it didn’t matter now.
“However,” Agent Phil began again, “when the autopsy came back and the incident on the bridge occurred, you figured there was more to this case than met the eye. You asked for his help, and he told you no even though two of his officers were killed. You went ahead and got the teacher involved, which is this young woman’s husband, correct?”
They both nodded their heads.
Phil continued. “So, your lead was that it was a cult, and this ‘Lewis’ led you to a small, abandoned church downtown. In doing so, you both hit the jackpot and found more than enough evidence to warrant our involvement. Seems a little convenient, doesn’t it? You both figured it out so easily, and he didn’t. It was so obvious that a college professor who knew about the abandoned church from old urban legends figured it out, so why didn’t the police commissioner even bother to check there? So, to conclude, we have a police chief unwilling to help, a missing professor, bodies turning up everywhere across the country, and also the question of why you specifically were asked for. It doesn’t make much sense.”
They all pondered.
“Unless it does,” Karissa said quietly. “The tall man arrived at our house and only stalked us when he was killing everybody else, right? You think Byrd is in on it because he keeps trying to close the case even though there is an abundance of evidence. I think I know what’s going on.”
Both agents listened to the journalist intently.
“Byrd isn’t just part of it. He has to be a leader of some kind. Or maybe even a scout.”
Both men looked at her with wide eyes.
“Think about it,” she continued. “Who knows more about the people in a city than its police commissioner? Bolton, he asked for you specifically, and now he doesn’t want anything to do with you. What if he was forced to ask you here? I think you’re here for a reason, and whoever told him to get you here wanted you and Lewis to search the abandoned church like you did.”
“Why do you think they want me?” Bolton asked.
“Somebody needs to search his desk or his house or something, because it’s obvious to me,” Karissa said. She then told the story of Lewis and the cabin, and Agent Phil raised his eyebrows. She told him how Lewis was considered the chosen one. She told him how her husband had gone to Iceland, and that she was going after him.
Bolton ran his hands through his hair and said he was going with her.
Phil cleared his throat and looked at Bolton. “So, uh, when were you going to tell me this information?”
Bolton wiped some sweat off his head and said, “I just found out too.”
“So, while you both go after Lewis in Iceland, I am to stay here and look through Byrd’s things?”
Bolton nodded in confirmation. “You can contact the bureau and ask for backup or try to get a search. Give them all of the information we have. The more people we have working on this, the better.”
“You both are going to this cult’s main headquarters, and you’re not taking anything? Let me call the director and see if we can give you any sort of backup.”
“Okay. We’re in agreement then,” Karissa said, biting her lip. “Andrew and I will go to Iceland and find Lewis, while you, Phil, investigate Byrd and shut down his operation here.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Phil said as he shook the reporter’s hand from across the table.
*
It was another cold and brisk day in Portland. Two days had passed since her conversation with Bolton and Agent Phil, and Karissa was getting impatient. Phil had managed to get Bolton and Karissa on a private flight to Iceland, thanks to the FBI. However, a warrant for the search of the personal property of Police Commissioner John Byrd was denied.
Agent Phil decided to do it on his own, as he really didn’t like the guy and thought the situation was fishy.
He took the denial of the search warrant to mean that the cult was more intertwined in the government than he thought. Especially because he’d given such good evidence and reason to search Byrd’s home and office.
When the bureau was so quick to get Karissa and Bolton overseas, it pretty much confirmed that the FBI had been compromised as well. It also confirmed Karissa’s theory of Bolton being a part of the cult’s plan. Bolton wanted to ask the FBI a million questions when they approved the private flight, but he kept his mouth shut, as he was getting what he wanted.
They were being sent over with two handguns, a shotgun, and two other agents for backup. Their so-called mission would be off the record, however, because the FBI did not have jurisdiction in Iceland.
So, while Karissa and Bolton were packing their things to leave that night, Phil was staking out Byrd’s house. He was sitting in a black Camaro with tinted windows a block down the street. The house was in his view.
It was a nice suburban home with big windows. The fog, however, got worse and worse throughout the day, causing Phil to have to get closer and closer. His plan was to break in to Byrd’s house under the cover of night and look around for any confirmation he was working with the cult. He knew Byrd worked constantly and didn’t come home until late, thanks to some scouting the previous two days.
By 2:00 p.m., the fog was so dense nobody could’ve seen five feet in front of them. Phil decided to use this to his advantage and go in. He picked up a backpack from his passenger seat and reached inside. He pulled out a Beretta M9 pistol and checked to make sure it was loaded. He then slid the clip into the gun and put it in his holster.
He stepped out of the car and pulled a mask up over his mouth and nose. He was in all-black clothing and needed to disguise himself since this was completely illegal. As he started walking up to the house, he noticed that, sure enough, there was no car in the driveway.
He was clear to enter.
Phil walked around back and checked to see if the door was locked. It was. Phil hadn’t thought it would be that easy, but he had a motto: “You always gotta check.”
He pulled out a small knife and used it to pick the lock. Once he heard a click, he knew it was open.
When he walked in, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Phil walked through the kitchen and the living room.
Nothing.
Next, the bathroom and bedrooms.
Nothing.
He went upstairs and checked all the rooms up there.
Again, nothing.
There was one more room off to the right side of the hallway. When he walked in, he realized it was Byrd’s bedroom. He could tell because the bed had not been made, and there were clothes on the floor, while the other bedrooms looked like they’d been set up for an open house.
At first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Phil kept looking around.
Still nothing.
He saw a few pictures on Byrd’s dresser and examined them more closely. The first was of a woman. Phil didn’t know Byrd was married. Maybe it was his sister or something? The next photo was of Byrd and another man. The man was skinny and bald. He was wearing all black. There was something off about the guy, and it gave Phil the chills.
He kept looking around and noticed a door that led to Byrd’s closet. When he walked in, he noticed a square hatch with a rope hanging from the ceiling. It clearly led to the attic. He proceeded to open the door, and a ladder dropped down.
Phil climbed it and entered the attic. When he got to the top, he looked around and saw a whole bunch of boxes. They were all very neat, and none of them had even a single dust particle on them.
Phil also noticed that every single box was black and had a cover over it. He decided to open some boxes and see what was inside. The first one he opened was not too big and not too small.
Inside was a black robe. He looked underneath it and noticed another piece of black cloth. He pulled it out of the box, revealing a large, black, pointy hood with two eyeholes.
“Holy shit,” Phil said quietly.
Something else caught his eye. He folded the hood and robe back into the box and put it right back where it was. He walked past the clutter of boxes and toward the color red.
When he was finally close enough to realize what he was looking at, his mouth dropped. It was a bright red robe over a mannequin. It had a tall, pointy hood the matched the robe. In the middle of the hood, right above the eyeholes, there was a black spiral. There were a number of patches on the robe, although Phil had no idea what they meant.
He pulled out his phone and started taking pictures of the red robe and the black boxes.
Karissa was right—Byrd isn’t just a part of this, he’s a MAJOR part of it, he thought to himself.
He walked up to the red robe and noticed a red leather notebook with a black spiral engraved on it. He opened it up and began to read. The first few pages were photos of a large black church. The next page featured a photo of a man standing on an altar, preaching to a crowd of people in black cloaks. However, they were not angels.
They were normal people.
Phil skipped a few pages until he saw a word that caught his eye: “Andrew.”
Phil flipped back and noticed the name Andrew Bolton. He began to read.
The detective has become a nuisance. I don’t know what Calvin sees in him. Word has gotten to me that Reginald has told Lewis about us. It is almost time. Everything is going to plan. However, I do not think that Andrew should be Lewis’ Angel. I personally believe that it should be his wife, Karissa. I know that no angel has been a woman, but their bond may make them unstoppable, and we are entering an era that none of us—including Calvin—have been a part of. He wishes to throw away the bond and have Karissa killed; he thinks it will be the spark that lights Artemis in Lewis. I think it will be much of a waste.
Phil’s eyes widened with fear and shock. He was preparing to take a picture of that page, but a loud noise from downstairs stopped him in his tracks. Instead of taking pictures, he grabbed the book and put it in his jacket pocket, then quickly and quietly walked over to the attic door and closed it from the inside.
He heard footsteps.
Except they were not regular footsteps. They sounded big and lazy.
He sat there in absolute silence and listened intently. The steps got louder and louder. He could then hear another set of footsteps. These were also big and heavy. It was as if each step shook the house. After a few moments, the footsteps got louder and louder, until he knew that whoever it was, was in Byrd’s room.
He then heard the closet door open.
Phil knew he had to move. He took one step, and the floor beneath him creaked loudly.
Phil froze, and the footsteps stopped.
It was quiet for a long moment.
Then, all of a sudden, a huge hand broke through the bottom of the attic and grabbed Phil’s ankle. The assailant pulled him down through the floor with a great crash. Dust filled the air as pieces of the ceiling fell around him.
Phil let out a groan, then looked up to find two extremely tall figures, both in black robes and black pointy hoods. They were both easily over seven feet tall, and the hood added another foot… Angels. Everyone was still for a moment, until Phil decided to make the first move and pull out his pistol. He aimed it at them from the floor, but right before he could pull the trigger, one of the Angels swiped the gun away with great force.
Phil watched the gun fly out of Byrd’s room toward the stairs. He looked back and saw both beings making their way toward him. He was now fully realizing his situation. He tried to get up and run, but one of the Angels grabbed him by the throat.
Phil pulled out the knife he had in his back pocket and jabbed it into the neck of the robed figure who held him in his grasp. Blood spewed from its jugular, and the Angel dropped the agent. Phil hit the ground and immediately took off for the bedroom door, but before he could reach it, a long arm stretched out and clotheslined him, knocking Phil down hard on his back.
The other tall being stood there and looked down at Phil, who was groaning as if he’d run straight into a brick wall. Then Phil looked into the hallway and saw his gun.
The Angel tilted his head in confusion as Phil rolled out of the room. But before he could get to his gun, the Angel grabbed him by the shirt collar, lifted him up, and threw him down the stairs. Phil’s foot thankfully swept the gun down the stairs with him. His head, however, hit the railing and broke it, slicing his skull open. He crashed into the kitchen counter, causing it to break.
Phil looked up and saw the Angel standing at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t in a hurry. It just lazily shuffled down, step by step, its massive hood still on.
It wasn’t a moment later before the other Angel walked out of the room. Blood was still spurting from its neck. Its hood was off, and Phil finally got a look at the face of an Angel. The wide, bulging eyes that could never shut. The smile that was permanently there. The hideous gray color of his skin and the yellowish orange drool that dripped from his mouth. It stood there as if it had not been stabbed in the neck just two minutes ago.
Phil sat there in disbelief.
“Goddamn it,” he said, lowering his head, noticing there wasn’t much he could do.
The undamaged Angel took another slow step down the staircase.
Phil tried to get up, but his body was broken. He pulled his mask off and noticed it was stained with blood. The blood from his head began to enter his eye as it streamed down his face. He sighed, knowing what was about to happen. After he finished examining his mask and essentially calling it quits, he threw it off to the side.
As he did, he noticed his pistol was nearby. His eyes widened as he realized he may still have a chance. Phil quickly worked up the gumption to move, but an immense amount of pain stopped him. He looked down and noticed he had a piece of the wooden staircase stuck in his thigh. He was bleeding from that wound, too, and he could barely move. His injuries wouldn’t allow it.
He felt his shattered ribs, his slashed face, his impaled thigh, and all the other injuries that couldn’t be classified yet. They were holding him back. The tall beings slowly walked past the halfway point of the staircase as Phil put all of his energy into his next move. He screamed loudly and flipped his body over, allowing him to crawl to the gun. He reached out and grabbed it.
He quickly aimed it at the Angels, who were now at the bottom of the stairs. Phil mumbled softly, “Come on, you bastards.”
He shot three times into the chest of the first one. The Angel stopped for a moment but continued to walk toward him. Phil widened his eyes. “Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me!”
Phil kept crawling toward the back door from which he’d entered. He thought about his options. His clip held twelve bullets, and three were gone. He thought about unloading the clip into one of them, but he realized that every bullet counted. If he used all the bullets on just one of them, the other would still be after him.
He couldn’t finish his thinking, as the first Angel leaned down, grabbed Phil by the ankle, and began to pull him closer. Phil reacted by putting the gun right in front of the Angel’s face and pulling the trigger. Blood and brains exploded out of the back of its head as it dropped to the floor.
Dead.
Phil realized: headshots.
He aimed the pistol at the next one’s head, and he shot three times. The other Angel dropped to the floor in a pool of blood.
Phil lay there still. He let out a loud scream of victory. Then he heard police sirens in the distance.
*
Lewis awoke from his dream to find himself on the plane he’d boarded the night before. He realized how upset Karissa was going to be when she woke up, and for good reason. He thought back to Bolton’s words when he’d told him that he needed to take better care of his wife. Lewis knew he was right.
Why am I doing this? he thought.
He knew that if he’d just stayed with Karissa that night, he would have been fine. But now he was on a journey that could possibly lead to his death, or even something worse. He saw what the Angels looked like; he’d met with Reggie in the cabin, who told him that he was needed and then proceeded to shoot himself in the head. There was no logical reason for Lewis to be going to Iceland, and he knew it.
As soon as he started thinking about turning back, he felt a spasm in the back of his neck. He began to sweat. His hands started to shake, and his face started twitching.
The man sitting next to him stopped watching his movie and asked the professor if he was all right. Lewis yelled out, “I’m fine!” and suddenly a wave of darkness fell over him.
He passed out.
When Lewis awoke a few minutes later, he was surprised to see a flight attendant in front of him, asking if he was okay.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I have narcolepsy,” he said, trying to come up with something fast.
The flight attendant said, “Okay.” She gave him a cup of water. Lewis thanked her, and as she walked away, the intercom turned on, and the pilot’s voice announced that they would be landing soon.
When Lewis exited the plane, he noticed it was a small airport. He hadn’t brought anything other than a backpack filled with an extra set of clothes. He was wearing a black flannel underneath his leather jacket and had on dark blue jeans and combat boots. His brown hair, now in long strands, fluttered in the crisp air.
Dalvik was cold. Much colder than Portland. The sun was out, but there was a large wall of dark clouds over the horizon. Lewis looked around and decided to walk into town. The village was colorful, each building painted in bright reds, blues, and yellows. The smell of fish ran through his nostrils, and the sound of boats in the harbor rang in his ears.
He had no idea where to go, so he figured he would just explore. After a few moments, he saw out of the corner of his eye two women standing behind a small building. They were wearing black clothing and staring at him with wide eyes, as if they knew him.
Lewis put his head down and decided to keep walking. However, the itch in his neck grew stronger with every step that he took away from the women. He kept walking, but the itch turned into a pain like a migraine. The pain became so intense that Lewis started groaning and grinding his teeth. He even started drooling out of the corner of his mouth.
He’d finally had enough, so he turned toward the ladies, and the pain suddenly faded. He saw the women laugh.
“What the hell, man,” Lewis said to himself, stunned by what had just happened. He figured he had no choice but to start walking toward the women.
They never took their eyes off of him. One of them even started twisting the ends of her blonde hair.
“Hello,” he said nervously, followed by a small wave of his hand as he arrived.
One of the women, who was quite beautiful, grabbed his hand and said, “Come.”
She led him to a truck behind a small building. There was a man sitting in the driver’s seat. He was bald and wearing black robes. The pretty woman who led Lewis had him climb in the back of the truck, and she climbed in after him.
Once they were seated, she looked at the other woman, who was still standing by the truck. They both made a fist, put it to their chest, and let out a noise that sounded like a gasp for air. It was quick but terrifying, and it threw Lewis completely off.
The one who was standing then disappeared behind the building as the truck started up and they began to drive away. Lewis, still extremely nervous, was looking around awkwardly, trying not to make eye contact, but the woman just kept staring.
He finally met her gaze.
“What?” Lewis asked.
The woman laughed playfully in return.
It was extremely windy in the back of the truck. Lewis began to shake because he was so cold. He looked at the woman again and asked if she was cold.
She replied with another playful laugh and smile.
They drove for about thirty minutes before the truck slowed down and pulled off onto a dirt road. Lewis’ anxiety began to rise. He looked up and tried to see where the road led, but the wall of gray clouds had made its way to the area, causing snowflakes to begin their descent from the heavens, making it hard to see too far in front of them. He did notice, though, that the dirt road went on for a while and led to the top of a hill.
They were definitely at high elevation—possibly in the mountains, but Lewis couldn’t see.
“Where are we going?” Lewis said while still looking at the road.
“Calvin,” the woman said as she grabbed his ice-cold hand.
Lewis pulled away fast and sat back down. The woman tried to grab his hand again, but the professor pulled it away.
“Uh, no, thank you,” Lewis said, smiling nervously.
The woman’s face twisted into a pout, and she let out a sad noise. Lewis slowly turned his head away to watch the road again.
They started their ascent up the hill.
Lewis noticed a cluster of buildings surrounded by a wall, although the fog and snow didn’t allow much visibility. They kept getting closer until Lewis was able to see what looked like a village.
Tall, dark gates made from wood and stone stood in their path.
The truck came to a stop. Two tall Angels in all-black robes with long, pointed hoods were guarding a gate. This was the first time Lewis had seen them with something covering their faces, but that didn’t stop him from feeling extremely uneasy.
He knew what was under those hoods, and the way they made them seem about a foot taller than they already were sent a thousand chills up Lewis’ spine.
Both of the Angels were holding spears. One of them moved its hand slightly, and the gates opened, revealing a black-and-red sign that read, “Blackgate.”
The first thing that met Lewis’ eyes were the hundreds of people dressed in all-black robes. They were standing on either side of the truck, which began to drive through the village. They all began to clap as they looked at Lewis. The woman in the bed of the truck with him began to clap as well.
Lewis looked up and noticed a very large and tall black church that stood at the end of the road on top of a hill. The rows of people lined the road all the way up its front doors. Once the truck got to the church, it stopped, and the woman jumped out of the back with a big smile on her face. She grabbed Lewis’ hand and said, “Come!”
Lewis, not pulling his hand away this time, hopped out the back. When he got down, she kissed him on the cheek and ran away laughing. Then she faded into the crowd of people.
There were so many thoughts going through his head, and he barely had time to take everything in, because all of a sudden, the big doors of the church opened up with a loud creak, and everybody stopped clapping.
They all got down on one knee, put their fists over their chests, and bowed their heads. A man led by two Angels in black robes and pointy hoods walked out. The man was tall, about six foot three, and he was as bald as a watermelon. He was in a cherry red robe and wore large rings on his fingers. His face featured a massive scar down one cheek.
He approached Lewis and looked at him with a smile.
“My son,” he said softly. “Our future has arrived!” he said loudly.
The crowd of people cheered as the man grabbed Lewis by the shoulder and led him into the church. The Angels followed and shut the doors behind them. As soon as the doors shut, the cheers immediately stopped, which added another thought to the overwhelming barrage that was already on Lewis’ mind.
Inside the church, Lewis noticed a large Nordic rune that sat above the altar. The stained-glass windows were all red and featured a black spiral or another rune on them. It was dark inside. There were seven other men with red robes and pointy hoods standing by the altar.
“You must have a million questions,” the bald man said to Lewis. And with a wave of his hand, all the men in red robes exited the church. The only people left inside were this strange man, Lewis, and two Angels standing by the large church doors.
“Please, sit,” the man said as he gestured toward the first row of pews. The bald man sat down on the stairs that led to the altar, so they were facing each other.
“First and foremost, let me introduce myself. My name is Calvin Roche. The folks around here, however, know me as the Father of Artemis.”
Lewis just sat there, looking at Calvin blankly. He spoke softly, normally. But there was definitely something off about him. Lewis just couldn’t tell what.
“Well,” Calvin continued, “I have done a great deal to get you here, Lewis. A great deal, indeed.”
“How long have you been doing this?” Lewis finally asked.
“Well, you see, every hundred years, Artemis finds a new Father. Somebody to lead the followers to their purpose until we find the chosen one. Once we do that, we can finally do what our King requires and perform the final ritual; the Cleansing.”
“Wait, you’re a hundred years old?”
“Why, yes, I am,” Calvin said, chuckling. “Things work differently here. We have a book that describes our whole existence and the rules we need to abide by in order to please Artemis. The mighty Herja. It also features an immense number of runes and spells for things like prolonging death and enhancing our people, turning them into our lovely, lovely Angels.”
Lewis sat there stunned. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.
“Okay, I’m going to need you to explain everything to me, because I don’t know what the hell is going on here,” Lewis said.
“Ah, yes. I am aware that receiving this information all at once can be quite daunting.” Calvin then cleared his throat. “Lewis, let’s start from the beginning, shall we? We are the Angels of Artemis. Reggie told you about that, correct?”
Lewis nodded.
“Good. We are here to carry out the will of our King. Artemis demands that we cleanse this world of its toxicity and horrors so that when he returns, the world is as he envisioned it when he left us so many lifetimes ago.”
Calvin paused to make sure Lewis was following along. Once Lewis nodded in confirmation, he continued.
“We’ve been doing this for thousands of years. Everyone here has a job. When that job is completed, they will cleanse themselves, as you saw with Reggie. Most of us stay here and pray to Artemis and make lives for ourselves, as we are the chosen souls, the ones who get to live freely as long as they follow the rules in the Herja that Artemis himself wrote down. The families we have here are almost all born into this, and they stay here forever until they die. They raise their children, teach them the ways, and so on and so forth.”
He paused for a quick moment to lick his lips.
“The ones who go out and complete the harder tasks, they are known as our Angels. I understand you’ve met some of them before. Well, Angels are chosen due to their history. They are not born into this life. They are either taken, or they stumble upon our teachings and wish to learn. Then we modify them with what we call the Dokkur Vefur. The process is extremely painful, not only to the physical body but also the mind. We chose candidates whose pasts have an overbearing weight on them, those whose minds are only held together by a string that connects reality and insanity.”
“My god,” Lewis said quietly.
“You see,” Calvin continued, “we have embedded Angels everywhere in the world, and that one fateful night, one stumbled upon you. Why you were not cleansed was an insane shock to me because of your past, but it showed that you have a deeper meaning. And, boy oh boy, do you.”
“What do you mean?” Lewis asked, feeling the nervous bile grumbling in his gut.
“Well, now you’re here. It is what Artemis demands. The ones who are not modified, like your police commissioner, are there to gain information on who should be cleansed and who shouldn’t be then reports back to us here. We perform our rituals and speak to Artemis and he gives the final word on if that person should be cleansed or not.”
“Like Patrick Hopkins?” Lewis said with an angry look. “What did he do to deserve that?”
“Nothing that I care about,” Calvin said while shrugging his shoulders. “But Artemis demanded it.”
“Artemis demanded it? Okay, so then where is he?” Lewis asked, agitated.
“He is living between the line of life and death. Now he is closer than ever to return—”
Lewis cut him off. “So you told the Angels to kill Patrick and everybody else they’ve killed?”
“Heavens no, Lewis!” Calvin said, laughing. “We cannot communicate with the Angels. When they are modified, a special rune is carved onto them that allows Artemis to speak from the afterlife and give them commands.”
Lewis sat there in disbelief.
“You see, Lewis, we are here to make the world a better place. When Artemis tells us to cleanse someone, we do it. We’ve been doing it for years, hiding in the shadows, as our operation has never been big enough to conquer. However, when you came along, we ran into some…issues.”
“What do you mean?”
“For thousands of years, nobody knew about us except for, well, us. Sure, there were legends that people created when they saw our Angels. Like the Wendigo or Bigfoot. However, they were so far off that we didn’t very much care. Now, with you and Detective Bolton involved, we’ve been struggling to keep us a secret.”
“Wait, what does Bolton have to do with this?”
“Well, every leader in our family needs his Angels. And with you having a bigger role than any of us, it is only right that you receive the best Angel we could find. Andrew is to be yours, as his history makes it hard for his mind to stay intact. It was tough for him to start his family because he feared he would lose them, like what happened in the town that was massacred that day when he was but a boy. That one fateful day that sent him down this path. His destiny.”
“You’re going to capture Bolton and bring him over here to become my… Angel?”
“Only half correct, Lewis. He is coming over here by his own free will right now—with your wife, I should add.”
Lewis stood up fast and slammed his hands on the pew. The Angels behind him, by the door, got into attack position. Lewis noticed but didn’t care.
“YOU LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS!” Lewis screamed.
Calvin waved the Angels off, and they went back to their standing selves.
“You know the itch that you’ve been feeling, Lewis? That is Artemis guiding you. We’ve all felt it. If you don’t follow the itch, it will become something you cannot live with. Nobody has ever been able to ignore Artemis, as he is the true King of the world. That will happen to you, my son. You will not be able to ignore what you must do.”
“I swear to god, I will burn this place to the ground if you lay a goddamn finger on her.”
“We’ll see what Artemis commands, Lewis,” Calvin said with a disgusting smirk. “Now come, I have more to show you.”
Lewis stood up and followed Calvin through the backside of the church. The back door revealed a small graveyard with tombstones that were in almost perfect condition. The snow was falling heavier now. Calvin led Lewis through the cemetery on a cobblestone pathway. It looked as though the path led to a cliff. Lewis was worried Calvin might throw him off for some sacrifice, but he remembered how “the Father” told him he was important for “the Cleansing.”
His anger built up inside of him. This man had threatened Karissa, and Lewis was still following him through some creepy pathway.
Why?
Sure enough, the path led to the edge of a cliff. It was overlooking the sea, and it would’ve been a good view if there wasn’t a large shrine sitting right in front of them. The shrine was made out of stone and surrounded by leaves and other offerings. As Lewis looked closer, he saw the shrine had some stone bowls that lay on its base. They were filled with blood and what looked like fingers and toes.
“This is where Artemis was defiled by those he believed were his family,” Calvin said with a smile. He lifted his hand up—the middle finger of his left hand was missing. “When you join us, you must make an offering to Artemis. It is time.”
“No, no. I’m not cutting off my finger, sorry,” Lewis said, chuckling nervously.
“I don’t believe you have a choice,” Calvin replied, and with a wave of his hand, two Angels appeared out of nowhere and knocked Lewis to the snowy ground. They pinned him there until one of them pulled out a large, rusty knife. Lewis screamed and begged for them to stop.
And with one single hack from the angel, Lewis’ finger dropped into a bowl. Blood squirted out onto the base of the Artemis shrine, melting the freshly fallen snow. Lewis screamed loudly.
“Blessed be our new brother, son, father, and King,” Calvin began. “Artemis shall rule once again!” The Angels let Lewis go. They put their fists to their chests and let out otherworldly groans.
Lewis sat there for a second, reeling from the pain. The words had just registered in his mind. He looked up at Calvin from the snowy ground.
“Wait, did you just call me a King?” he asked intently.
“Why, yes, Lewis. Oh, did I forget to mention? Artemis’ soul is returning to this world, yes, but he needs a physical form in order to do so.”
“Wait. What does that mean?” Lewis asked, groaning.
“Lewis, you will become Artemis,” Calvin said with a large smile.
*
That night, Lewis was treated like a king. The second they got back from the shrine, Calvin gave Lewis a white robe to change into. He was the guest of honor, and Calvin wanted everyone to know it. A few old women helped Lewis with his now-missing finger.
Afterward, they feasted in a large dining hall type building in the village. They served meat, vegetables, ale, and fruit, and after that a platter of different kinds of cakes and desserts.
As Lewis sat there, he realized he wasn’t himself. It was like somebody else was in control of his body, and he was tied down in the back seat.
He didn’t want this.
He wanted Karissa.
He wanted to be back home, but he had dug himself into such a large hole that he didn’t think he’d be able to get out. Calvin snapped him out of his trance and quieted down the feast by pounding on the wooden table.
“Children of Artemis!” he began. “Tonight we celebrate the arrival of our chosen one. Lewis Nelson will be the one who brings Artemis back to the land of the living. To reward him for his sacrifice, Lewis will have the pick of any sister he chooses to bed!” A few women and girls laughed and giggled.
Lewis didn’t want this. All he could think about was his beautiful wife and the life they had before all of this nonsense.
I’m done playing this charade, he thought to himself.
He stood up.
“Uh, yeah, Calvin? I’m going to have to—” Then the pain in the base of his skull returned. His spine contorted and twisted, and his head slammed against the table, causing forks and knives to hit the floor. Then he immediately stood up with a blank expression while blood poured from his nose.
“Never mind,” he said soullessly.
He smiled and walked over to the women. The girl who drove up to Blackgate with him in the truck grabbed his hand and led him outside of the dining hall. Another two young women followed. As they left, everybody else cheered loudly.
When they got outside, they had to shuffle through a bit of snow, as almost five inches had fallen now. The village was just barely lit up by the lanterns outside of each building and house.
Lewis’ eyes widened. He was himself now. He realized what was happening.
“Wait, stop, please,” he said sadly. Nobody could hear him. He was far away from home. From any allies. From Karissa. The pain in his neck shot through his shoulder in a jolting motion.
“Goddamn it, stop, please!” he screamed as he hit the cold ground. His body began to contort. He wasn’t going to betray Karissa without a fight. His arms started bending backward. His neck twisted. He screamed louder and louder.
The girls just stood there and laughed.
The pain was so unbearable that Lewis threw up. He was losing. In his mind, he saw darkness. Pain and suffering. He saw what looked to be Vikings, being tortured and killed in hideous ways. He heard a terrifying voice. It sounded like a volcano erupting in his mind.
“Relax, I am in control now. There is no need to waste your time. I am returning to this world. They will celebrate my arrival. This world will run red with my revenge.”
The vision in his mind continued. Now he saw a strong Viking king. Ruthless. Terrifying. Making sacrifices. Killing women and children during raids. Then, images of sadness from the village. No food. No resources. Then the king being led onto a cliff by his own family. Being stabbed. Dying.
The king was then on his knees, staring up at those he trusted and loved. His back was to the cliff. After a moment, a woman stepped forward and put her foot on his chest. Then she extended her leg, pushing the king off the cliff.
Then the end. He saw the king. He was face-to-face with him. His eyes were glowing red, and he was surrounded by fire. He had a helmet with horns that reached far above his head. He wore a long flowing cloak, and his legs were that of a goat.
He was a demon.
He was Artemis.
“Lewis,” Artemis said, his voice low and evil. “It is pointless of you to keep fighting me. I am a god. I will return to this world and destroy those who are unworthy and flawed like I should’ve done so long ago.”
Lewis looked at him in fear. He was terrified. He didn’t think he would be able to make it out. To fight. He thought this was the end.
But then he closed his eyes. Lewis thought of that night at the party. The night he met Karissa. He thought about brushing her hair behind her ear. He thought about finding love and never letting it go. He thought of this cult and the way it had terrorized her. Threatened her. It had come to his home and attacked his family. The only person he’d ever loved.
He wasn’t going to let that happen. Lewis looked up into Artemis’ glowing red eyes.
“Fuck you,” he said strongly.
Lewis came to on the snow. He stood up as if nothing had happened and followed the girls. They laughed and danced in the snow. Then they entered a home, and one of them began to undress immediately. Lewis smiled and kept going into the bedroom.
As they entered, one of the girls, who was too excited, hit a dresser and knocked a few things over. Lewis noticed. The girls stopped and pulled the white robe off of him. They began touching his body. All three of them went to their knees. Lewis looked at the dresser and noticed a pair of scissors. He looked down to make sure the girls were distracted.
Then he quickly grabbed the scissors and kicked one of the girls with a massive force. The other two jumped up immediately, shocked. Lewis wasted no time before he shoved the pair of scissors into another girl’s neck, spewing blood. The girl from the truck ride was the last one standing. She jumped on Lewis and screamed wildly, knocking him to the floor. She began to scratch him, and her nails cut through his skin.
He kept trying to block her, but he just kept getting cut savagely. He looked around and noticed an old barber’s razor on the ground. He took a scratch to the face, and that sent him over the edge. His anger gave him a second boost of energy as he reached up and grabbed her by her hair. He grabbed the razor with the other hand, pulled her head back, and cut her throat, causing her scream to transform into a gurgle, and then to silence. He got up. The girl he’d kicked was still unconscious. He held on to the razor and stared at her, thinking of what to do next.
But before he could make any decision, Lewis noticed lanterns coming his way through the fogged-up window. Calvin and the other villagers had heard the commotion and come outside the dining hall. Lewis grabbed his robe and ran out the back door. He looked around for a path and noticed a woodcutter’s axe stuck in a log. He pulled it out with a huff and began to run into the cold, dark night, his pursuers hot on his tail.
*
Bolton and Karissa arrived at the airport hangar in Portland. They stepped out of Bolton’s car and grabbed their bags, which included the guns. They were then greeted by two very big FBI agents. They were both bald and wore sunglasses, and one of them had a very full beard.
Bolton greeted the agents before introducing Karissa. The one with the beard was named Agent Gray, and the other was Agent Brock. They seemed very nice, but both Karissa’s and Bolton’s radars were up. They knew they couldn’t trust anybody. Karissa didn’t want to admit it, but a small part of her didn’t trust Bolton either.
She kept asking herself, Why was Bolton asked here? What is his reason for being involved? She also knew she had no other choice but to trust him and only him in order to get her husband back.
When they got on the plane, Agent Brock headed toward the cockpit to say something to the pilot. Karissa caught a brief glimpse inside while she was boarding. She saw that there were two pilots in there. Her initial thought was, We’re outnumbered. They all sat down. Both of the agents went to the back of the plane, while Bolton and Karissa sat across from each other toward the front. Bolton could tell she was nervous and maybe a little scared. He grabbed her hand. She looked up at him in surprise.
“Hey,” he said, looking into her eyes. “It’s going to be okay. I promise. We’ll find him.”
She smiled back and nodded. He let go of her hand and leaned back. They were quiet until Agent Brock stood up and walked over to them.
“Y’all ready to take off?”
Both of them shook their heads, but after a short while, the plane began to move. Brock returned to his seat, and the plane took off on its way to Dalvik, Iceland.
“So,” Karissa began, “did you always want to be an FBI agent?”
“No,” Bolton said. “I, uh, grew up in a small town in Montana, and there were a lot of bad people. One family in particular. They tore up the town, killed people—my parents. I killed the man who did it and became a cop. Long story short, I joined the FBI because it seemed to be the only thing that I’d be good at in this world. Now I realize that’s not even true.”
Karissa looked at him with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. And what do you mean? You’ve helped us so much.”
“Karissa, I needed help from your husband to solve a case. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for it, because he’s a smart guy. But I’ve always done this alone, and without him I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. But now, because I let him help, he’s god knows where, and it’s my fault.”
“No, Andrew, it’s not your fault. My husband is stubborn as hell. When he puts his mind to something, he doesn’t stop until it’s done. If you didn’t let him help, he would’ve tried to do this alone, and that could’ve been worse. Trust me.”
“I appreciate that, Karissa,” Bolton said with kind eyes. “What made you want to become a reporter?”
“Well, I’ve always had this overbearing desire to help people. Maybe it was imprinted on me because of all the late nights I would help out my drunk friends with their problems, but it became a passion of mine. Seeing somebody broken and being able to offer them the help they need to become whole again really makes my heart happy. Being a reporter gives me that same feeling.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” he replied, running his hand through his blonde hair.
“Do you have a family, Detective?” Karissa asked while adjusting the ring on her finger.
“Yes, I do,” Bolton said, nodding his head. “Two little girls and a loving wife.”
“That’s adorable. How did you guys meet?”
“Honestly, by fate,” he said, laughing. “Being in this job, I don’t really have too much of a social life. Hell, I barely have time for my family right now. Imagine trying to make a girl fall in love with you.”
Karissa laughed as he continued.
“One time, when I worked for the sheriff’s office in Casper, I had a domestic violence call at a motel. When I got there, it was a party, and the dispute was over a beer pong game. However, the suspects were passed out when I got there, and so I just checked to make sure everyone was okay. As I was leaving, I saw this one girl staring at me from the kitchen. She had these big, beautiful eyes, and I couldn’t stop looking into them. It was like I was in a trance. Then, before I knew it, she was writing her number down on my notepad, and we hit it off.”
Karissa said, “Aw, that’s amazing.”
Bolton smiled and looked out the plane window. “I promised my little girls that I’d build them a treehouse when I got home. It’s something I wanted to do for them before they were born. Now one’s four and the other is five, and it’s still not done. I swear, this job is not as good as I used to think it was.”
“Well,” Karissa started, “I think when we work, especially when it’s a passion, we tend to focus more on that and lose the importance of life itself. Sometimes we have to remind ourselves that we are here to live our lives. Work is work, sure, but when it becomes your life, that’s when you start to see the time fade.”
Bolton sighed, as he knew she was right. Once this whole endeavor was over, he was going to become a changed man. He was going to build that treehouse for his girls
He looked into Karissa’s eyes. “We will find Lewis and bring him home. I promise you.”
*
Agent Phil was sitting in his hospital bed on his laptop, filing a report on the altercation at Byrd’s house. It was a miracle that he was as well as he was. He only had some cracked ribs and needed stitches on his forehead, as well as the removing the piece of railing in his thigh.
He mumbled some insults under his breath, then heard a quick knock on the door. It was another FBI agent. He was tall and thin and had gray slicked-back hair. However, he was not old.
Phil sat up in his bed. “Oh, thank god. Finally!”
“Phil, you have no idea how much trouble you have gotten yourself in,” the agent said.
“Bobby, you’ll never believe the shit I’ve found, how much of this has been swept under the rug.”
“You heard what I just said, right? You entered a man’s home with no warrant.”
“Yeah, then proceeded to find out he’s part of a cult that’s been killing people for years, one that’s deeply embedded in our society and government. And on top of that, we have two tall jack-o’-lantern-looking bastards who attacked me. Considering what I’ve found, if anybody is in trouble, it’s this cult.”
Agent Bobby just shook his head and sat down.
“Look,” Phil continued, “I’ve been looking all over. There are tons of cases that feature actual spirals on victims who were not just murdered, but brutally mutilated. The victims include people from crooked lawyers to unfaithful partners. People who have not been very honest or morally correct, right? Well, check this out. We haven’t heard about any of this because the towns and cities where this is happening are run by people who are in the cult.”
“How do you even know that, Phil?” Bobby said, shaking his head.
Phil looked around and pulled out a book with a spiral on it. Byrd’s book. Bobby looked shocked.
“I pulled this from the house. Inside is a list of police officers, county and city commissioners, politicians, mailmen, journalists, and even agents of ours who are a part of this thing. Over two thousand corrupt sons of bitches!”
“Why the hell do you have it?”
“Because I’m not letting this book get into the wrong hands. I’m only showing you because your name wasn’t in it.”
Bobby shook his head in amazement and said, “All right, well, I was here for disciplinary reasons, but I don’t think that matters now. What do you need from me?”
“We are going to take down this cult without them even knowing. It’s time to cut the head off the snake.”
*
Lewis ran as fast as he could. He was sluggish and stumbling due to his feet beginning to freeze in the high snow. He tripped and fell into a snowbank, causing the rest of his lightly clothed body to freeze as well.
He laid there still and held on to the axe, ready for anything. The orange glow of torches lit up the dark and snow-covered forest like a ball of fire that was coming right toward him. He crawled a bit until he got behind a tree.
He was so quiet. He knew that any sort of sound could get him killed.
He wanted to listen to what the people were saying, but it was silent. Nothing. Only the sound of the snow crunching under feet. Lewis saw the glow of the torches to his right and turned left, ready to run.
But before he could take off, he was shocked by the glow of torches there too. He crept around the tree and saw the mob had split into groups. He was afraid, unaware of what to do. He then realized it would be better to be ahead of the people than behind them. Being behind meant he only had one way to go—back to Blackgate. And who knew how many angry villagers were waiting for him there.
Going ahead of them meant he could try to outrun them. Best-case scenario, he would get back to town. Worst-case scenario, he’d end up lost in the cold and bitter Icelandic wilderness, dead from hypothermia. Either way, he had to make a decision, as he knew his tracks would soon be found.
Lewis held on to the axe and let out a deep breath to prepare. He stood up slowly, looked straight ahead, and began to sprint.
Faster than he had ever run in his entire life.
He knew breathing in the frigid air was extremely hard on his lungs, but he didn’t care.
Faster. Faster.
No looking back. Just straight ahead.
BAM!!
Lewis was clotheslined, and he flipped and hit the ground hard. He let out a groan of pain but opened his eyes quickly. He saw a large, bald man standing in front of him holding a large shovel. He wasn’t an Angel, just a regular citizen from the town.
The man said nothing and smiled.
Lewis felt around for the axe in the surrounding snow without taking his eyes off the man, who kept getting closer and closer.
The professor felt and grabbed the handle of the axe. The man, now standing over Lewis, lifted his shovel above his head, readying a potentially fatal blow.
Lewis moved faster.
He swung the axe with one hand directly into the side of the man’s skull, instantly killing him. He stood up fast, realizing the Angels and rest of the search party could have heard the commotion and that he didn’t have much time.
Lewis attempted to pull the axe out of the man’s skull, but it was too deep, and there wasn’t enough time to remove it. He turned away and ran fast. He exited the tree line and saw nothing but snow. In fact, the snow began to fall so hard that Lewis couldn’t see anything.
He kept moving and moving until he tripped and rolled into the deep snow. He attempted to put his hand on the ground to get back on his feet, but his hand found nothing. He was on the edge of a cliff. Below him was nothing but the vast wilderness of the Icelandic terrain. Then, he turned around and saw a group of people holding knives, pitchforks, and torches. They were staring at him, not saying a single word.
Calvin emerged from the crowd, his two Angels following him. He looked at Lewis, shook his head in disappointment, and let out a weird grunt. His two Angels stepped forward and grabbed the professor. He tried to fight back. He screamed and kicked, but nothing worked.
He was being dragged back to Blackgate, and he had no idea what sort of hell was waiting for him there.
*
Karissa and Bolton exited the plane, the pilots watching them every step of the way. It was a cool, crisp morning, and the seagulls were cawing. They walked toward the small town of Dalvik, ready for anything.
Bolton turned around and saw the agents who had accompanied them staring hauntingly from the plane. Karissa noticed as well. She looked at Bolton and asked, “So they aren’t coming with us?”
“No.” Bolton paused. “We’re on our own.”
They both figured that the agents were part of the cult, considering the fact that, for starters, the FBI had been so quick to help them get to Iceland in the first place. And when neither of the two agents nor the pilots said anything to them the entire flight, it pretty much confirmed it.
Karissa and Bolton, they were meant to be here, and they knew it.
They kept walking until they reached town, where they saw a small red building and headed in that direction.
“Do you think anybody here even knows where this place is?” Karissa mumbled to Bolton, attempting to stay quiet.
“At this point, I don’t care if they can hear us,” Bolton said. “We are going to come face-to-face with them either way. We just need to make sure it’s on our terms, considering we have no idea what’s waiting for us.”
They entered the small red building and saw a tiny old man behind the counter. He said something in Icelandic, most likely a greeting. Bolton looked around and asked, in English, if he knew where Blackgate was. The man had no idea what Bolton was saying until he heard the word “Blackgate.” Then his eyes lit up, and he began to say a bunch of words in Icelandic. The man was now acting hysterical—he got up and shoved Karissa and Bolton out of his shop. He locked the door behind them.
Karissa looked at Bolton. “Well, I guess we’re in the right place.”
Bolton nodded in agreement. He looked around, attempting to find his next lead. Then, down the street, his eyes caught a person in a black robe. The stranger was staring at him from afar, not even attempting to hide. Bolton felt a small itch at the base of his skull.
“Karissa,” he said softly.
She looked over and noticed the person.
“You ready?” Bolton asked her, still making eye contact with the robed figure.
“Why the hell not?” Karissa replied, taking a deep breath.
They started down the street toward the person. When they got about halfway there, the person turned and walked behind a building.
Karissa started to yell, but Bolton stopped her with his hand. He then gripped the pistol that rested on his hip. They kept walking cautiously, but then, out of nowhere, a black truck peeled out from behind the building up the road, throwing snow and dirt up into the air.
They began to run after it, and once they arrived at the spot where the truck had pulled out, both Bolton and Karissa stopped in their tracks. As they breathed in the cold, Icelandic air, Karissa looked behind the building and noticed another black truck.
It was already running.
They knew what it meant. They got in, buckled up, and sped down the same road. As Karissa looked in the review mirror, she could see a crowd of people behind them, staring as they drove away.