Chapter 23
RIP THE FIFTH
The dark man hovered. His cape flapped. Writhing figures and agonized faces appeared in the folds of the cloak. It might have been his eyes playing tricks on him, but it looked real to Spencer, and his bowels trembled.
He gazed up, terrified.
The man came down, and his feet settled on the ground.
“You fear me,” he said.
The voice went through Spencer like wire.
He was going to piss himself.
“Do you know who I am?” said the stranger.
“Jesus, no . . . I never saw a thing, mate.”
The dark man laughed. “You never saw a thing?”
“Nothing. Honest. I’m not a grass.”
“You’ve no steel in you. You’re a coward, I think.”
“I won’t tell. Please let me go.”
The stranger clicked his tongue. “I don’t care who you tell. Tell the world. My name will be known, soon. My legend will again ripple through the streets. How are the streets, by the way? Still bloody? Still grim and desolate? I miss the grim and the desolate.”
Spencer screwed up his face in horror.
The stranger cocked his head and studied him. “You’re not the one, are you?”
Spencer gasped, shaking his head. The one? Whatever it was, he didn’t want to be it. His balls had shriveled to marbles. He was cold and scared and wanted to be safe in his bed.
“The one who’s been doing my work for me,” said the stranger. “The one who came to me years ago. The one who has been preparing the way for this homecoming. You’re not the one, are you?” He scratched his chin, pondering Spencer.
“I’ll . . . I’d do anything,” said the youth.
“You’re squeaking.”
“Anything, mate.”
“I’m not your mate, chap.”
“Are . . . are you the devil or something?”
“Or something, I think’s better.”
Spencer was looking for a way out, his eyes flitting around the gloomy cellar, when he clocked Jay-T. “He’s . . . he’s dead, ain’t he.”
“You killed him for me. His blood freed me. The sacrifice. You know, like goats are sacrificed. Like sheep. Sometimes humans have to be sacrificed. Now what to do with you.”
Killed him? thought Spencer. Killed Jay-T?
The stranger said, “Do you want to die, or do you want me to torment you for the rest of your life?”
“None of them . . . please . . . I can help you. Who are you?”
“Would you kill for me?”
“Kill?”
“One must be ripped.”
“Ripped?”
“One more, and I’ll be free.”
“F-free?”
“Stop repeating what I just said, or I’ll cut your tongue out and eat it.”
Spencer clamped his mouth shut.
The dark man said, “I am a bringer of death. A spreader of dread. A spiller of blood.”
“O . . . o . . . okay . . . ”
“Are you with me?”
Spencer nodded.
The stranger said, “Slave or eunuch, then?”
“S-s-slave?”
“Good. I need to be free of this place. Somewhere, there are things waiting for me—things I need to devour. And a man, too. He’s waiting for me. A killer. The one who has prepared the way. A killer of four. We must bring him to me. And then we find the fifth. Bring ripper and victim together. Rip the fifth. Rip the fifth, and I’m free of these streets. Are you still with me?”
Spencer nodded again. He was scared. The weird man was obviously nuts.
“Have you heard of someone called Troy?” said the stranger.
Spencer shook his head.
“Do you know what seers are?”
Spencer shook his head once more.
“You don’t know much. Seers have very bright souls. They shine brighter than anyone else. Because they shine so brightly, they can shed light on secret things. Things other people can’t see. Things like evil. Things like me. You understand?”
Spencer shrugged.
“You don’t even know who I am,” said the dark man.
“O . . . okay . . . who . . . who are you?”
“I’m Jack. And I’m back.”
The door at the top of the stairs flew open. Spencer wheeled. The Sharpley brothers and Lethal Ellis raced down, shouting, swearing, and threatening to shank him.
Spencer turned, but the stranger had disappeared.
His briefcase remained. It was open. Something glinted inside. Something steel and sharp.