Chapter 21

REBORN

Spencer panted and stood over Jay-Ts dead body. Blood seeped from the mangled skull and drizzled down the drain.

The ground trembled.

Spencer came to. He gasped and staggered back.

“J . . . Jay, man, get up,” he said.

But Jay-T stayed still.

The only thing moving was the ground.

It shuddered, making it difficult for Spencer to keep his feet.

“Oh fuck, what have I done?” he said, his voice high pitched.

He felt something in his hand and looked—a brick stained with blood and matted with hair.

He yelped and flung it aside.

He checked his hand. Blood. He screamed and wiped it on his tracksuit bottoms.

The ground shook.

Spencer swayed.

The sound of water rushing grew louder—a torrent, now.

And then the cold voice from Spencer’s head said, “Freedom tastes so good . . . ”

But it wasn’t in Spencer’s head, any more. It was right there in the cellar.

A plume of black smoke drifted up from the drain. Spencer’s insides turned watery. His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees.

The smoke swirled and became a shadow, which grew solid and took the form of a man.

Spencer was frozen with fear.

The figure loomed. It wore black—hat, cape, trousers, boots. But the clothes were damp and covered in dirt and blood. The stranger carried a tattered brown leather briefcase. He grinned, showing rotting teeth. His eyes shone like black pearls. They fixed Spencer like a hawk’s would fix on a mouse.

“You’re mine, little man,” said the figure. “Slave or eunuch, you can choose.”

Spencer said nothing. His voice had abandoned him. His sanity seemed to have made a run for it, too.

I am mad, he was thinking, I am mad.

The figure cocked its head and kept looking at Spencer.

I am mad . . .

The pale, white face shimmered in the gloom.

I am mad . . .