“What are you doing?”
Ashe raised up on his elbows and opened his eyes. Rogers leaned against the doorjamb. He held a tray with a steaming bowl of something on it.
“Napping. I have a headache.”
“This will make you feel better, a big bowl of tomato soup, with little oyster crackers,” Rogers said.
His tone was playful as if everything going on was some great big game. Ashe sat up and swung his legs off the cot. A sharp pain streaked across his temples. The time he’d spent bent over the engram mechanisms in not so good light had taken its toll on his eyes. With eyestrain came a headache, it was always the way.
“I think Advil and a day off would be better.”
Rogers walked over and handed Ashe the tray. “You should ask Czernobog about that. I’m sure he’d give you a break.”
Ashe swallowed a spoonful of soup with a soggy cracker. “I’d rather not. The less amount of time I have to spend with him the better.”
“You don’t know what he can give you. Anything you want, and pow, it’s yours.” Rogers snapped his fingers. “Look at me.”
“I’ve seen you. I don’t want to be you. The Devil has nothing to offer me.”
“You are a horrible liar, Ashe.”
“Dr. Shrove. Only my friends call me Ashe.”
“I am your friend. I wanted you included in this bottle rocket ride. We can have anything we want. Don’t you understand? We can be the kings of the world.”
“Kings of a world of zombies.” Ashe handed the tray back to Rogers and stood up. “You sold your soul for a good body and sex with my fiancée.”
“And every other woman or man I want. Don’t forget about the fame as well.”
“But for what, Erik? What does it really accomplish?”
“Everyone knows who I am and always will.”
“Don’t you understand that there isn’t going to be anyone left to care? I’m making those things so that everyone around the parade on Tuesday turns into a possessed corpse, just like Marianne, who you’ve been raping.”
“Why are you helping if this is so bad?”
“Because I want Cybil to be safe, and he promised that he would let her go, if I helped him.” Ashe knew he had selfish motives.
“You don’t think he’ll go back on his offer? He is the Devil.”
“If he does, then I’ll go back on mine.”
“Whatever. I’m feeling horny; I think I’ll go get me a piece of zombie Marianne.”
Rogers grabbed his crotch and squeezed then walked out, closing the door behind him. Ashe kicked his cot across the room. It hit the far wall, and one of the legs broke off. He snatched the broken leg from the floor and started smashing things around the room. A small electrical meter flew from a table and slammed against the wall. Pieces of plastic and metal clattered to the floor. An empty glass with milk residue on the sides met the floor and the fate of a thousand pieces. The box with several completed engram recorders sat near the edge of a table. The heretic zombies had left them there for him to troubleshoot.
He swept the box from the table, and the recorders scattered across the floor. Ashe raised his foot to stomp the first one. The tiny blue device that looked like an innocent thumb drive had a picture of Czernobog on it. His mind had produced that image. He eased his foot back down. If those devices didn’t work then Ashe would have reneged on his word and Cybil would be as good as a blow-up doll for Roger’s use. It didn’t matter too much; eventually they’d all be possessed corpses anyway. There was the better plan of using the email from Smalls. He bent down and scooped the little plastic sticks up and put them back in their box. The devil left him a computer to work on. It wasn’t connected to the Internet, but Ashe had his thumb drive with engram algorithms on it. He popped it into the hard drive tower and pulled up the formulas. The string of letters and numbers blurred together. His head hurt, and his eyes wouldn’t stay focused for long at a time, but he had work to do for his own soul’s sake.
Smalls stood in the hall outside of Rogers’ office along with Cooper. He was surprised that she had let him come along after her almost losing it when he took over the interrogation of the Russian. She knew that he had insight into Rogers that others might not and that had won out over her anger.
“Open this thing,” she said.
“I don’t have a key,” Smalls said.
“I didn’t say unlock it. I said open it.”
He decided to take out a little frustration. A hard kick with all the effort he could put into it broke the door away from the jamb. It swung open. Cooper stopped it before it could recoil closed. They stepped inside. The place looked like a bomb had gone off. Smalls knew Rogers well and had never seen him so disorganized. Papers lay everywhere. The trash can was overturned. Empty Diet Coke bottles made a zigzag from the plastic bin. A brown dust covered most of his desk and chair. The whole place smelled faintly of chocolate. Cooper eyed the dust on the desk.
“What is that stuff?” she asked.
Smalls looked on the floor around the desk and under it. He saw a plastic tub and brought up to be viewed. “Just like I thought, protein powder. Chocolate flavored. Erik drinks the stuff like mother’s milk.”
“A bodybuilder?”
“Only recently. After he discovered how to record emotions, he went on this weight loss kick and dropped mega pounds and beefed up a little. I guess he thought fame would be better if he were in shape,” Smalls said.
“Is he always this messy? He makes me look like Good Housekeeping magazine.”
“Never. He likes to keep everything in order so he can find it easily. I think someone has come in here looking for something.” Cooper flipped on the light. The room filled with harsh fluorescent light. She tapped on a filing cabinet. “Look at this.”
Smalls walked over. It looked like the lock on the filing cabinet had been melted away. There was a circle on the side of the cabinet where the lock would have been and a long line of melted metal ran from it like a steel teardrop. Black soot surrounded the hole. He ran his finger around the edge of the hole. It was smooth as if finished by a master metal worker.
“What could have done that?” he asked.
“A blow torch. People use them all the time to get into safes.” He took her finger and put it into the hole. “It’s smooth, too smooth.”
She opened the top drawer. A fireproof box sat in the otherwise empty drawer. The lid was open after the lock mechanism had been burned off just like the one on the filing cabinet.
“What about that?” Smalls ran his finger around that burned area as well.
“I don’t know. Why wouldn’t they just take the box and open it elsewhere?”
“Because he didn’t have to,” Smalls said, lifting the box out of the drawer. A slight smell of sulfur wafted up to him as he did so. “The Devil has great power.”
“Not that again.”
“Smell.” He shoved the box under her nose. “Just like rotten eggs, right? It’s not though. That’s the smell of brimstone. I believe that we are dealing with satanic powers and plots beyond anything we can hope to handle. If we arrest Rogers, it will get worse.”
Cooper looked worried. “At least he may be able to answer some questions.”
“I don’t believe that will happen.” The tone of the voice fell flat.
Cooper jumped, and Smalls turned around. He already knew what he would find standing in the doorway. Sure enough, the man who claimed to be the manager for the Goth Sox filled up the only way out of the room. His face remained steely calm and stone firm. The eyes had as much personality as the flat verbalizations.
“Who are you?” Cooper asked.
“Francisco San Roman.”
“A heretic burned at the stake many centuries ago, am I right?” Smalls asked.
“Heretic is a harsh word. Only those who burn others for their beliefs and practices would use such a word.”
“He looks good to be a long dead heretic,” Cooper said. “Only looks about 45 or so.”
“That’s because the body isn’t that old. The soul is that of Francisco de San Roman,” Smalls said. “Why are you here?”
“My master wants to know the same of you. You do not have the right to be in this place.”
“Where is Dr. Rogers?” Cooper asked. “He’s wanted for questioning about a murder in Pascagoula.”
San Roman cocked his head to one side and seemed to be studying the two of them. To Smalls it appeared that the man had to process who she might be talking about. The large man remained silent for a little too long. It made him seem unreal or at least out of sync with the current reality.
“I do not know of whom you speak.”
“Don’t give me that crap. You know exactly who I’m talking about. Now that I’ve gotten a good look at you, I’m pretty sure you assisted him in the murder of Amanda Moore in the old dock parking lot a few nights ago.”
“I do not know what you are talking about.”
This time San Roman answered too quickly to be truthful. Cooper eyed him just like Smalls expected a seasoned detective to do when dealing with a liar.
“Where’s the man who owns this office?” Smalls asked.
“I will not tell you. My master gave me one duty and that is to eliminate you both.”
“The power and light of God and our Lord Jesus Christ compels you to answer me.” Smalls fished his rosary and crucifix from his pocket. He pushed it out in front of him.
San Roman laughed a deep hollow laugh. It sounded like a corpse laughing. All the joy associated with such an action, even when villainous, was not present in the noise coming from him.
“Although we know of God and the power He has, your petty attempt at evoking that power does nothing to stop me.”
He advanced into the room. Smalls and Cooper retreated a little deeper into the office. The priest fought with himself on the inside. He should not fear something like San Roman. The power of God was with him. As the looming heretic-possessed corpse kept lumbering into the room, Smalls searched through all his knowledge of paranormal religious activities. The email he had sent to Ashe popped to the front of his mind. The Buddhist incantation to make evil spirits and good spirits live in harmony might do the trick.
“I can destroy you,” Smalls said. A look of derision came on San Roman’s face. It surprised the priest. He thought that the reanimated corpse couldn’t have an affective response. “I will if you do not cooperate.”
“I hope that it is better than your last try, priest.”
San Roman grabbed Smalls by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. The hair on the back of Smalls’ neck stood on end. The feel of the other man’s grasp was as unearthly as his countenance. Now the heretic’s other hand reached for his neck.
“Where is Ashe Shrove?” Smalls twisted his head from the hand.
“I do not know of who you speak.”
Smalls began to chant the Buddhist exorcism prayer. He did so in the English translation. A slight tremble from San Roman’s hand ruffled his shirt. The heretic retracted his other hand, and his grip on Smalls slipped. The priest pushed himself away from the heretic. Something was happening. He continued to chant the mantra over and over.
The large man backed up, stumbling over his feet and slamming against the doorjamb. The whites of his eyes became visible as they rolled back into his head. It looked like San Roman was having a seizure. Smalls pressed on with the mantra. The room began to change. Objects elongated as if being pulled toward the door by a strong magnet. The overhead lights blew. One of the fluorescent tubes shattered. Bits of powdery glass showered down on Smalls. He closed his eyes and continued.
San Roman screamed. It sounded like nothing Smalls had ever heard before. He opened his eyes and looked at the man. The whites of the eyes had not just turned black but looked to be blistering as if the thing inside the corpse was being incinerated. Cooper screamed. Smalls had forgotten about her. He had no idea what effect the mantra had on her if any.
More loud pops filled the air, but nothing showered down. Instead a spray of deep red blood spewed from San Roman. The body was hurled against the door by the mantra and crumpled to the floor. The horrible screaming of someone being burned alive ended. Smalls was certain that he saw something like a dark shadow float from the eye sockets of the corpse and disappear like smoke.
“The power of 9mms compels you,” Cooper said.
Smalls looked at her. She held out her service pistol. A hint of blue smoke curled from the barrel. The smell of spent gunpowder wafted to him. He realized that the blood had sprayed him from bullet wounds, not from the mantra. He stopped reciting it.
“Why did you do that?”
“He tried to kill you. I’m a cop. It’s what I do.” She put her gun back into the holster behind her back.
“My mantra was working. It was expelling the spirit.”
“That’s what you were doing?” she said. “I thought he was doing something to your mind. Doesn’t matter, I expelled it.” Her face hardened. “I think I saw it leave the body.”
“I saw it too. You should have let me finish him with the mantra alone. It’s the only way I’m positive it will work without any other kind of intervention. That is the mantra I told Ashe to use to deal with evil spirits. He may try it on the others, and we don’t know if it works at expelling them or if killing the host is necessary for expulsion.”
Cooper walked to the body and bent over it. She sucked in air through her teeth. “Come and look at this.”
He walked behind her. The corpse stared up at them, or would have if it had eyes. The sockets were empty, charred black to the point that the eyebrows were singed off and the skin around the eye blistered.
“My pistol didn’t do that.”
“I think you are right. Do you believe me now about the Devil?”
She rubbed her own eyes as if they were burning. Smalls understood the feeling. The sight made his eyes a bit watery as well. He crossed himself and made a quick prayer for the body of whoever’s soul had occupied it before San Roman possessed it.
“I don’t know about the Devil, but I do know that I’ve never met a murderer that had his eyes do that. I think I ought to get a warrant to search that warehouse.”
“I can go with you when you raid it?”
She looked at him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. That chant is better than a bulletproof vest.”
“Only toward evil spirits,” Smalls said. “It won’t work for actual bullets.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
Smalls nodded. He crossed himself again and said a prayer to purify the room. It was a Buddhist prayer. Although he was a priest, he believed that the power of God and good and the Devil and evil knew no exclusive religion. That room needed good karma to ward off any other problems.