Chapter Twenty-Four

“Just what is it with blondes and this place?” Stu mumbles, looking out across the stone sentries. Some haven’t been tended to for years, others brightened by flashes of fresh flowers. “You’re number eight.” he pauses, remembering the first two that he loved so much. “Jenny is fortunate to be a brunette, it would seem.” Stu tells her, gazing down at the mound now reclaimed by lush grass. “I don’t know what it is, but you always get caught in the crossfire.”

He looks on, half expecting a response. But she’s never been here, well not in that sense. Instead she has always watched him whenever he’s been in that house. Never said a word since - he can’t remember what her last actual words to him were.

“Please, tell my granddaughter she has to be wary!” Stu turns unexpectedly, noticing a grey old man hobbling his way.

“How come, in death, some of you are still so frail?” Stu calls, annoyed that he’s being bothered by this entity once again. “That’s one thing I’ve never understood about remnants.” The ghost still shuffles forth, uninterested in any other level of conversation. He then stops.

“There is a dark man killing people.” he says, looking squarely at Stu. “She needs your help, and you have to promise me you’ll save her. She cannot die, she is too young!” he pleads, quivering just like he would have done in his later living years. Stu ponders on those words, lingering a little too long. “If only you could help me, help my granddaughter.” Stu looks out across the tombstones again, now seeing an army of grey souls aware of his presence. They all creep forward, just like the souls he escapes from in the black landscape. He can hear some of their listless voices. It sounds like a wailing crescendo of the dead. Again, he gnashes his teeth and walks away from them all. “Please!” the old man yells, his words echoing across the graveyard.

Stu stops instantly, struggling not to answer the ghost. A dark man he thinks. A dark man killing people.

Solani!

Stu immediately turns back. He scans the leathery face staring at him, sensing his crushing pain. The old man must be helped.

“What’s her name?” Stu calls. The response he hears is not what he was expecting.

***

“I’m kind of excited. Maybe nervous if I’m truly honest.” Merrick points, watching his partner drag a neighbouring chair over and sitting next to him.

“This last year has been very trying.” she responds. “It’s not your fault, he could have had us all playing out his hands.”

“Regardless, today is our day. Tell me what properties Baltazar owns.” Dawson produces a hand scrawled note.

“He owns his one bedroom apartment on Tyburn Row outright. That’s all that was in his name. However, his mother ran her own business in the old market district, and that building is still registered to her.”

“Even though she’s been dead six years? I’m surprised he didn’t sell it.”

“Well perhaps he made a tidy sum out of his parents passing away and didn’t need to sell. I drove past there last night and it’s not boarded up, but certainly looks like it’s not been opened in years. It’s covered in flyers, some dating back to 2002. I doubt he’s ever set foot in the place.” Merrick ponders on this.

“Okay, once we have him in, if we don’t yield any decent answers I’ll need you to check the place. See if he’s been getting in via a back entrance. If he doesn’t admit to where the bodies are, then that place is our first destination.”

Dawson nods at him. “What about now? What’s our plan?”

“We’ll go in with a tactical unit, hopefully Mason will let me have fifteen.”

Dawson can hardly contain her excitement now. “Wow, big guns, boss. I never thought of him as that much of a risk.” Merrick just rocks his head without engaging her.

“There’s something different about him, but I don’t know what. I’d rather we had backup, but I would hope he comes quietly.”

“As long as I can cuff him, boss.” she tells him. “I’ll take great delight in assisting him with that.” She’s smiling consistently now, content that Merrick can start to get some sleep back.

“Are we going in now?” she beams.

“Nearly. I need something to eat first - preferably fattening, greasy, and incredibly bad for me.” he laughs, looking her right in the eyes. “I got maybe ten, twenty minutes of sleep last night. I need something!” he tells her, his eyes finally showing just a hint of relief.

Dawson gets up to leave. “I know exactly what to get, boss.” She pauses momentarily once she reaches the door. “It’s good to have you back, sir.”

***

Walking along, Stu gets the sudden urge to reach for his phone, awaking it from slumber to hold down the number two digit on the virtual keyboard. It registers quickly, sending a call through to Mike. He keeps walking, waiting for an answer.

“Alright mate!” comes the voice through the phone.

“How’s it going?” Stu replies.

“Not too bad, thanks. Currently enjoying a chicken and bacon sandwich, in fact.”

“Nice. Are you at work?”

“Indeed I am. Only five minutes into my lunch break too.” Mike tells him.

“Cool, mind if I pop over? Will your boss have a problem with that?”

“Not at all. Everything alright?”

“Yea, yea. Just had some time to kill, fancied a catch up.” Stu says.

“Excellent. Come on down, I’ll let Bill know you’re coming in.”

Stu is on the cusp of the Kerry Fields industrial estate. Having walked down a short portion of the canal path that lines the Silenti, he turns off into a long, narrow walkway that splices between two tall brick buildings. There’s a kink halfway down, which leads to a wide road deep in the belly of the estate. Across this road is a large cash and carry alongside one of the city’s main substations, providing more than enough juice for this area. It hums at him sweetly as he enters yet another alley behind the rows of transformers.

At the end of this last passage is a big courtyard with ample space for parking, mostly taken up by empty and splintered wooden pallets. Most prominently though, is the frontage of Mike’s work - Murkwood Tyres. A large, yawning garage door invites him in, leading into a big warehouse piled with various makes and sizes of tyres, fit for small cars all the way up to tractors.

A yellow forklift is parked deep within one long corridor of ten high tyres - the occupant chatting feverishly with a colleague stood alongside it. He recognises the driver as Steve Barrett, a guy that started here the same day that Mike did. He’s much older, but sports perhaps the mightiest moustache either of them have ever come across.

Stu walks the width of the tall building, keeping abreast to a waist height metal barrier that separates him from the tyres beyond. He passes another aisle that has Bill walking up towards him. He calls out to Stu, but he doesn’t hear him. He’s more bothered by the urge to rub his chest as he reaches the small lunchroom, popping the handle and entering.

He stops dead. “At last.” a deep voice calls. Stu’s hands burst into fluctuating bolts of red electricity. He can feel his scar burning now, but he breathes and stays concentrated.

“Where is he?” Stu demands.

“He was never here!” Solani gloats, leaning against the wide window behind him.

“How?” Stu gasps, thinking back to the phone conversation. He looks up at Solani, noticing him press a finger to his temple.

“It doesn’t matter, Mark. You reneged on my offer, so you have to die.” Before Stu can speak again, the door and walls right behind him ignite, causing him to stumble forward and bump into a table. Solani cackles noisily, goading his opponent on. Stu bounds forward, dodging the nearest tables to grab Solani by the front of his shirt. This action sends shocks through Solani, consuming the demon in electricity that covers him from head to toe. Yet he still laughs like a maniac.

Stu spins, hurling the cackling fool into the same wall that is ablaze, the flames creeping closer. His body punches a big crack in the plasterboard, almost exposing the warehouse behind. Solani is quick to stand back up, but finds Stu charging him, ploughing right through him to smash the wall apart, sending them crashing onto the walkway beyond.

Stu is first up, leaning on the metal bars to steady himself. He notices Bill backing away from the fiery door, dropping with a clang the heavy extinguisher he had in his grasp. He is horrified not by two men ploughing through a wall, but that one of them has a head and chest engulfed by flowing grey fire. It exposes a bright white skeleton beneath, hazy amidst the sizzling heat. The flames lick upwards as Solani stands back up, throwing a fierce punch that clocks Stu across the jaw and tips him right over the barrier. He looks at Bill, gnashing those grinning white teeth. Bill tries to take a step back, but is immediately torched telekinetically. His screams are louder than the crackling flames, and he collapses in shock on the spot. Solani, a few slithers of electricity still licking at his flaming torso, turns back to Stu, finding him already back to his feet. He grips the top of the barrier and throws himself forward, catching Solani across the cheek with a bent knee. He lands hard on his thigh, patting the swirling flames from his jeans. He immediately bounces up and delivers a hard uppercut to the demon’s jaw, knocking the mandible loose to spin through the gaping hole in the wall. It immediately flies back the way it shot, re-clicking into place as if never dislodged.

“You have a thing about this bone.” Solani chatters, his voice reverberating into ten, maybe twelve different variations all upon one another. “I hope I wasn’t too obvious.” he adds, tapping his chin. Quickly he lumbers forth and clamps both hands tightly around Stu’s head, instantly bursting into a smoking inferno. But Stu kicks him away, smouldering flesh cooked a bright pink but not blackened. As Solani puts one foot back, Stu rolls back first across the barrier and tries to pull at the nearest tyre from a stack. He struggles at first, not because of the weight, but how perfectly it fits within the one below.

It then slips off unexpectedly, and he throws it with as much power as possible at Solani. It misses by a few feet, harmlessly bouncing down the walkway and into Bill’s crispy cadaver. Solani walks straight through the barrier, melting the steel to merge it with his own shell. Where it’s sliced through, the ends glow a burning amber.

Stu sprints into the aisle, thumping his smouldering mark to try and ease the intense pressure. One of the other workers appears before him round a stack of tyres, and Stu instantly recognises Steve. Almost immediately Stu gets a sudden second wind, spinning back round and charging electricity down his arms. Broken white forks peel away from an unsuspecting Steve, pulsating Stu’s scar as his power increases in vivacity. He quickly thrusts an arm forward, frazzling the impending Solani with a flowing bolt. It makes no difference - the demon continues to stalk him, grinning inanely.

Stu relents, and Steve drops to the floor, disorientated, leaning against the tyres to catch his breath. Stu steps forward, parrying Solani with a punch to the ribs, then one to the chest, then another to the stomach. The demon just grins back, absorbing each blow as if struck with a pillow. Solani flails an arm round and a burning steel whip strikes Stu right across his face, lashing at his flesh to leave congealed blood smoking and at risk of liquefying. Solani then slashes, drawing a flaming claw across Stu that cinders the hairs on his arms. It just catches his chest too, scorching a slash in his t-shirt but not damaging the glowing scar, which sings like glass when hit.

Stu takes a step back, not noticing Solani clap his forearms together, firing a missile of flame straight at him that blows him twenty feet back. Stu tumbles as he hits the concrete and skids to a halt, scolding the skin across his elbow and ripping it away. His t-shirt is on fire and he rips it off, tossing the burning fabric away. His chest is blackened and raw, scorched and exposed. But still the scar gleams white hot. Flickers of red, green and blue spit and fizzle.

Stu gradually gets up, noticing Solani towering over the fallen Steve. The demon lurches forward, clamping onto his cranium and jarring as their skins merge, flesh melting into a malformed Siamese twin. Solani bends forward, biting into his victim’s neck, swallowing whole bones and chunks of flesh. He sucks at whatever he can, consuming a whole adult in a matter of moments. As soon as he stands tall again, his intense grey flames darken to an off black. The flame curling across his head and chest leaks onto his arms and stomach.

Stu, mortified at witnessing such otherworldly cannibalism, can feel his scar burn brighter, sapping the life from his worn body. The heat cascading from his flushed face is taking its toll, feeling the fire overtake his voltage. He takes a moment, assessing what Solani has to do to stay powered, and what effect it ultimately has on his own fragile human shell.

Solani has fed and roars aggressively, turning it into a booming cackle. He snaps his arms back then forward, igniting the entire row of surrounding tyres in one simultaneous instant. Drawing his burning arms inwards, he then forces them straight out to the side, and the columns of tyres tumble away, bouncing off other stacks and setting light to the mass of rubber. Smoke quickly curls up and rotates beneath the ceiling like a black cloud.

It is then that Stu senses the low hum of the giant substation he passed before entering this building. Last time he needed to kill off a belligerent foe, that was his solution. Closing his eyes, he focuses on the buzz in the neighbourhood. He breathes in, out, in, out. He reaches out a hand, keeping the fingers curled up like a goblet. He strains, extended arm shivering as he tickles the pulsating electricity within his grasp. Solani notices what is happening, and suddenly charges.

Thick shards of white electricity thunder towards him, hitting the metal building and electrifying it. The sound of buzzing electricity is deafening, and the shard reappears indoors, slamming into Stu and surrounding him in a deep, heaving ball of throbbing pressure. He strains to control it, bringing his arm down to draw it into his scar. Just as Solani is upon him, Stu punches forward to deliver a crushing blow to the demon’s chest, electrocuting him with a million volts.

Solani withers as he stumbles backwards, struggling to stay on his feet. His flaming flesh flickers momentarily as he struggles with his composure, finding it quickly and returning to full height. The flames reignite and he flexes his fiery appendages, priming himself for more. Stu, on the other hand, snaps his elbows into his sides and the white current replaces the hot glow of his scar with an intense, blinding red light.

A flaming tyre smacks Stu hard in the face, bouncing off him and throwing him back to the concrete. He chokes as he gets back up, instantly hit by another spinning discus of fire. The smoke is starting to get heavier, clouding his vision. Or was it the double hit of two tyres? He can’t be sure. Stu looks around, trying to re-establish his position. He can see the flaming entity through the smoky haze, and charges a current back down to his palm. The thrusting torrent is more powerful than usual, his arm shaking from such unfathomable force. The bolts lancing through his palm flicker, throbbing through the tints of the three strengths he has at his disposal. They are much darker in hue than usual, the veins protruding down his straining arm glowing with each shade.

Stu throws his weight forward, shooting lightning that hammers into Solani. He doesn’t move his feet but feels compelled to arch back, driven back by such an immense amount of power. Solani sticks an arm out, sending a swirling column of flame back at the enforcer. Stu moves his arm across, tackling the fire to try and force it back. He drops to one knee, feeling Solani’s oppression hammer at his scar. He strains to maintain it, pushing back up to two feet. Holding out his other hand, he can feel intense energy from the wall of fire around him. It calls out to him, like there’s some spark that he can use for his own benefit. Streaks of white flame shoot at him, and he bangs both wrists together. The current intensifies, crackling into a warping tunnel of electrified magma. It drives Solani back unexpectedly, his flaming missile crippled as Stu’s charge just catches him. Solani flails, spinning away, managing to grab the nearest flaming tyre. He senses where he is, and just angrily hurls it at Stu. It catches the Enforcer by surprise given the incredible speed of the motion, belting Stu’s amalgamation upward and into the smoky ceiling. The tyre strikes him across the shoulder, splintering his clavicle. As he tumbles back, his immense attack crackles and dies.

The roof collapses immediately, raining electrified sheets of corrugated steel onto both combatants. Stu sidesteps a tumbling chunk, then rolling away from a stack of huge flaming tyres that topple his way. As he spins, his shoulder pangs in pain, raising his good leftover arm to protect the injury, almost pointlessly. He quickly scrambles to his feet as a long steel splinter punctures the tyre before him, cascading past him as he tries to stay clear of further damage to his already fragile armour. Finding a moment to pause, he can just about see something, or someone through the wall of orange flames. It looks like a withered skeleton, and it’s fleeing the warehouse.

Another part of the roof clangs beside him, and he sprints in the opposite direction as fast as he can. Part of the wall ahead has collapsed, so he hurdles the broken steel and and stumbles into a bed of weeds, tweaking his already damaged shoulder. He’s the wrong side of the building, but can get across a couple of streets and back towards the Silenti. He can feel the exhaustion trying to sap his will, and hot burns tighten his black flesh. He runs hard, knowing which direction he has to head to, one arm flapping uselessly as he paces. As he beats down the long alley with the kink, he dashes past a couple running in the opposite direction, alerted to the orange glow from the warehouse. Reaching the canal, he just dives in, catching his skin on barbed nettles as he flies.

Stu stays underwater for a moment, spearing through the cold nectar and already feeling the wounds heal. He floats to the surface, letting his muscles relax. He is so weak from the fight he can barely swim, but he doesn’t need to right now. He bobs like a bottle lapping up water, head submerged with his arms loose alongside him. His body drifts slightly, tugged by the current. The dried blood and charred chunks of flesh disintegrate and scabs peel away, caught up in the swirling liquid to circle around him. Something tries to pull him under, his body jerking. Whatever it is cannot quite grasp him, and struggles to drown him.

***

Augustus Baltazar is quiet, introverted and tries to keep to himself whenever possible. He is traveling back from a long day of shopping with his parents and girlfriend in the back of his fathers car. The luxurious saloon growls at speed, exhaust roaring when pressured to accelerate. Stu watches the world scream by, cars journeying the way they came quicker than he can identify them. He is wearing a long sleeved t-shirt, jeans, and nearly new black boots.

Tiberius, his father, is driving as he always did, perhaps a little too quick for Stu’s liking but always firmly in control. Baltazar sr. always boasted that there was little point in owning a powerful car if you weren’t going to at least use what you had at your disposal. His mother Isabelle, anxious as ever at her husband’s sometimes hotheaded driving, tightens her grip around the lower part of her seat belt, the same invisible warning she always had when perturbed as a passenger. Next to him in the back is the beautiful Anna, his first love, replete with her striking shoulder length blond hair and enormous blue eyes. She is just three days older than him, and turns seventeen tomorrow. He instinctively reaches out for her hand, placed upon the leather between them, and the warmness of her soft hand makes the vision seem like reality. She turns to her boyfriend, smiling with such love and tenderness. His heart skips, a strange feeling he had long forgotten could happen. I love you she whispers, as if it needed to be said.

“Bloody idiot!” Tiberius grunts, briefly jabbing the brakes. Stu and Anna instantly look ahead, disturbed by the jolt. The white van ahead of them speeds up again, as suddenly as he had slowed. “The fool hasn’t got any brake lights!” He curses, keen to keep his distance but aware of the charging 4x4 crowding his rear view mirror. Isabelle looks to her husband, noticing him checking the rearview mirror again and again, eyes locked on whoever is sat behind them.

“What’s wrong?” she mutters, quietly enough to not disturb the kids in the back. Suddenly the van in front has stopped dead - and Tiberius has no time to react. His beloved ‘99 Shadowcat ploughs into the white wall, buckling the front chassis and crumpling the once long, immaculate bonnet. Just as the back end pops up off the road, the skidding 4x4 close behind squashes them completely, twisting the vehicle so forcibly that the embedded front struggles to ping free, transferring terrifying levels of G-Force through the chassis, riddling the occupants with such energy that their bones reverberate like a spinning penny starting to flatten. Limbs sever, skeletons crack, blood spits. The four occupants of the luxury saloon are torn to shreds and flattened within their jagged tomb. A horn drones intermittently from somewhere, tapped by a twitching corpse.

Stu has his eyes locked open. He can see the birds fluttering overhead. One of them is significantly bigger than the others, a swooping black cloak that circles like any other bird. It gets closer, dive-bombing with alarming speed. Stu cannot blink, he cannot look away. His head is stuck, there is no feeling in his limbs. The darkness has him.

Suddenly he juts forward, his chest being wrenched at. He cannot react, but he feels his heart squeezing. His still eyes stare up, unable to see what it is before him. He feels an icy hand throttle his organ, pinching at the valves. The grip tightens and his body jerks one last time. His heart has been torn out, leaving a fist sized hole with ragged edges. He can hear it shrivelling, drained of juice. He can sense it harden, crumble into black ash. His eyes are now lifeless.

***

Stu’s submerged corpse drifts closer to the stone edge that separates the water from the path. His hand suddenly launches forth and clasps tightly, holding his drifting carcass still. His head is still underneath, the wounds almost gone from his muscular frame.

Slowly, he lifts his head free of the Silenti, water pouring from his skin. He stretches his neck to one side, relieved that it was just a memory and not a return to that accident. He bobs there for a moment, content that the nightmare is behind him. That’s what he was, but now he is something better. Something more powerful.

He feels warmth in the scar. Looking down, he can see that it has changed a little, now bearing a fresh horizontal cut that glows amber for a few seconds. As the water laps at it, it stops throbbing and reverts to the same bobbled flesh as the rest of his wound.

Drawing closer to the bank, he places a second hand upon the stone, quickly realising there is someone stood over him. Looking up, he recognises her instantly. It’s the woman always with Merrick; strangely though he still doesn’t know her name. Now is hardly the time for introductions.

He is surprised to see her hand extend toward him, but he gladly uses her help.

“I know you.” Stu tells her, flicking his hands to shed some of the water. She waits until he’s stood up before wrenching his wrist hard, trying to catch his other arm. He whips his arm to loosen her grip, pushing her back with his other. She immediately raises both hands, palm first, warily staring straight at him and not questioning his lack of a top.

“We’ve worked it all out, DI Merrick and I.” she says. Stu’s eyes pinch, his mind trying to assess. “Just come in quietly, and I’ll be nice.” Stu just stares at her. “Look, I’ve got some fast food in the car. The boss won’t be happy if it’s cold.”

“Funny.” Stu scoffs at her. “You think you’ve worked it out.” He then starts to walks away, leaving her befuddled.

“Are you serious?” she calls, quickening her pace to keep up with him, staying just a few paces behind. “We’ve nailed this. We know what you’ve done. We just need to find the bodies.” Stu immediately stops, catching Dawson by surprise. He turns just his head and torso, figuring it out as he catches sight of her.

“You know nothing.” Stu then walks again. Dawson quietly removes her baton as she follows, extending it but keeping it flat against her thigh. She looks ahead, working out where he’s likely going.

“Isn’t your mother’s shop around here? What did she sell? Wasn’t it vintage clothing? It looks like you might have some jeans from that place. Do you visit it often?” Stu reaffirms her suspicion, heading down a small alley that leads directly to the old market place. “Is there much storage space? Anywhere to hide something you want to forget?” Stu chuckles, but doesn’t reply.

Dawson keeps a distance of about five or six feet from him. She strokes the asp, watching Stu’s movements in anticipation of anything suspicious. It’s then that she notices the squelching of his feet, watching water drip off as he stomps away.

“How about leaving me alone for ten minutes? My bowels ache.” he calls, not looking back at her.

“If you can hold it, the toilets at the station have posh paper.” she replies, checking for how many pedestrians are in the vicinity. If it gets nasty quick, she wants to know how many people could be affected. He walks through a short alley, into a long street with the backs of shops on one side, and a high brick wall on the other. There are numerous wheelie bins and empty goods cages lining the sides, and plenty of fire exits, garages and doors. There is no person visible, and Dawson makes a move.

She skips forward and whacks Stu square across the back of his head, quickly trying to wrestle him to the floor. Finding him difficult to move, Stu then shoves her off, stumbling forward a few steps. He presses the back of his head where she hit him, instinctively checking for blood.

Turning to face her, she’s now back on her feet, standing side on with her knees bent a little. She has the baton primed behind her and one flat palm facing him, readying herself for either attack or defence. They stare at one another, waiting for the other to make their move.

Stu’s hands instantly flare into a twisting surge of electrical energy. Dawson’s eyes widen, her position relaxing as shock starts to freeze her. Before she can fathom a response, Stu throws both fists forwards, slamming untold volts of power into her body. The baton cascades away from her, and she quivers violently. One arm is straight down, hand flat. The other stretches out before her, fruitlessly warding away his attack. Her skin reddens, boils and starts to crack. Her eyes are locked on her attacker, fear stripping away all of her faith in reality.

Stu’s eyeballs start to smoke. He tightens his eyelids, the scar upon his chest glowing so fiercely it spits flame. Red hot lava channels down his arms and he slams his wrists together, firing a boiling vortex of electrical magma at the police officer. Her screams are unheard against the crackling surge. Her clothes start to burn. Her skin blackens. Her flesh drips from her bones like syrup.

Stu relents, taking a step back with his eyes firmly shut, puffs of smoke leaking from beneath the eyelids. His ears are bright red, fingers twitching incessantly. Dawson flops backwards, the solid parts of her body stuck like glue to the liquid that was once her ribcage, spine and pelvis.

This was like when Matt tried to tackle him. That time, he didn’t realise what he was doing. Matt was an unfortunate casualty. This time, she deserved it. Police officer or not, she deserved her punishment.

Dawson’s smoking remnants lay there, one arm raised in a fleeting defence mechanism. What bony fingers are left are splayed apart, leathery remnants of flesh a cooked concoction of black and red sinew. Her gaping jaw screams silently, empty sockets staring at nothing. Pockets of fizzing electricity pop from what is left of her skeleton, cracking as they fall dead. Boiling pools of thick claret sizzle like hot fat.

He stands there, eyes clamped shut. Breathing in, then out, in, then out, his eyes slowly part. The sockets are just as empty as Dawson’s. His eyeballs are gone, hollow crevices burnt out scars.

Suddenly both palms crackle back into life, snaking bolts of red electricity sizzling as they swarm and scurry. The noise deafens, the scar embedded on his chest throbbing a horrible shade of crimson. “Pity,” he booms in his dead language. “But I cannot be stopped.”

Continuandos...