Copyright © 2015 by Douglas Wayne. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

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This book is dedicated to my wife and kids. Without your sacrifice these books would have not been possible.

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I wouldn’t necessarily call it a bad thing, but since burning the bar down the street I’ll have to find another way to drown out the screams. I look down at the body at my feet, wondering why this dumb shit had been stupid enough to draw Nalar’s wrath. Nal may be a sick bastard, but he doesn’t have me kill someone without a good reason. Then again, I would rather just kill them outright rather than what he usually wants done.

Nalar considers himself somewhat of a governor of the suburb. He claims to answer to someone higher, but I never cared to ask who. He is a mid level thug who has enough sway to get a few of his plans worked into the boss’ overall scheme. This isn’t the type of guy I exactly like working for, but he only sends me to the targets that really deserve it.

The good ole sheriff got his attention by coming down here and pulling the prostitutes off of the streets. This kind of thing can piss off a guy, but most guys in the business write that off as a cost of doing business.

The real problem was that the sheriff had been kidnapping the girls to start his own business out in the country. If you think the cops were corrupt before, I almost beg to have the old days back. You at least had a fifty-fifty shot of running into one of the good guys back then. You might not have gotten out of a ticket, but at least you didn’t have to fear for your life. All the good Lord left us with now are the corrupt ones. Sure, there may be one or two like me that still fight the good fight, but I’m not going to stake my life on it.

I kneel down, put my gloves on, and pull out the cross and holy water out of my pack. Einuir doesn’t like it when I accidentally get some on my skin and I don’t like having to explain why I’m walking around in my skitters any more than I have to, so I’ll play it safe. Sometimes I regret making a pact with a demon, but if I have to be alive during this shit I am glad he is on my side.

I place the cross on his chest and sprinkle some holy water around him. Normally, I would throw in some salt for good measure, but Eunie made it disappear the last time he took over. Demons like him are why I try to keep as many souls from going to the demented fucks as I could.

Prayers are out of my hands, though. All that would do is guarantee a quick trip to see the big buy. Not worth the price of a few words.

I grab my knife, clean it off on the good sheriff’s shirt, and put it back in my boot. Then I close the bottle of holy water and put it back in my bag. The cross can stay, it may help him go up top. At least he has a better shot than I do.

I turn around, walk out of the room and shut the door, all while noticing the carnage this mark caused. Every building on the right side of the street is in flames. So much for sneaking out in the cover of darkness.

“Put your hands where I can see them.” I hear the voice coming from behind what remained of the steps leading into the tavern.

I raise my hands in the air slowly. The cop was a portly ole guy. And by portly, I mean he hasn’t missed a meal in a long time. And by not missing a meal I mean he never missed double portions at a meal.

“Situation is under control officer. I am sorry about the bar. Really sorry, in fact. Today is payday, and I was looking forward to a beer or six.” I lower my hands and try to take a step.

The sound of a gunshot causes my ears to ring.

Did that fat fuck just take a shot at me? I stop and look over at the pig. His hands are shaking, sweat already starting to pour through his shirt.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I have one wicked dark side that you do not want to anger.”

“Stand still, the sheriff is coming. He is going to take you in.”

I hold back a laugh. “Sheriff’s already here.” I motion my head back towards the place I just left. “I can promise you that he isn’t taking me anywhere.”

I take another step. Piggie takes another shot.

The darkness begins to coarse through my veins. If I don’t get a grasp of this quick, fatty here isn’t going to have any more meals to worry about. I look over at him, raise my left hand slightly and concentrate on the barrel of the gun.

“You win.” I raise my hands in the air. The gun flies out of his hands and up into the air. I pull my arms back into me, bringing the rifle to my hands.

“Lucky for you, I don’t like to kill any more than I have to.” I eject the cartridges out of the gun then throw it on the ground. “Now, get out of here before my dark side decides to object with my preferences.”

I hear sirens approaching from the south. Figures that I would end up pissing off the one police force still around after the Rising.

Three police cars move in and surround me, headlights pointed at my ugly mug.

I can feel the darkness flooding through my body and vertigo is starting to settle in. Not good.

The officers, two per car open their doors and take aim squarely at me.

“On the ground, now” the one in the middle yells.

“Is there a problem, officer?” My whole life I’ve wanted to say that to a cop. Only now would I do it to a cop who has his gun out.

“On the ground!” he says. I can see them talking into the microphones secured on their shoulders. They are too far away for me to make out, but I have good money they are getting ready to put me down.

The darkness is getting too thick. My head is spinning.

Must.

Keep.

It.

Together.

Breathe.

Just need to breathe.

I put my hands in the air and start to kneel.

Right knee.

Left.

I start to go to the ground as the officer on the far right walks towards me. As I lay face down in the dirt I can feel the darkness continuing to grow. Moments later, Officer Jackwad places his knee in the small of my back and handcuffs me. Once I’m secured, he grabs the cuffs and lifts me up to my feet rather pleasantly, which I find amazing. Most of the time they like to toss you around like a rag doll, waiting for you to make a wrong move. When you do, they kick the shit out of you and file a resisting arrest charge. It’s nice to find one with some decency.

He walks me over to the front of his squad car and slams me face first into the hood. Guess the pleasantries are over.

“You carrying anything we need to be concerned about?” For some reason, they always like to ask that question. The part I don’t get is why they wait to ask that until after they start copping a feel.

“Just a deep hatred for being slammed into your car,” I say. When he doesn’t get the joke I continue. “Knife in my left boot. Oh, and a lingering darkness in my soul that isn’t promising for my future.”

Officer Jackwad proceeds to rifle through my pockets and finds my gloves. Then the knife. I watch as one of the other officers dumps the contents of my pack on the hood of the car.

“You a holy man, mister?” He grabs the cassock from my collar and throws it with the rest of my stuff.

“When the time calls for it.” Something tells me that time will be very soon.

“I would have thought people would stop believing in God the moment he left us here,” lead cop says, grabbing my Bible.

Another officer walks up to the house and opens the door. The same one one where I left the sheriffs corpse. “You are going to want to see this, Sergeant. It’s Bill.”

Well, this show is about to get a shit-ton more interesting.

Sergeant walks to the door and looks into the room. “Do you know what happens to cop killers, son?” he says, holstering his weapon.

“Let’s see. They get taken to the station and booked, but won’t speak until they get a lawyer. Then they sit in a prison for months while evidence is collected. If they are lucky, a jury will be selected after a year or so. They get found guilty without a doubt. Jury never doubts a cop’s word. Then, they sit on death row for another two decades while the government waffles on whether or not the death penalty is even legal. By then, depending on whatever shit storm God has planned for us here, they’ll probably just jab the needles in their arm themselves.”

“Trial?” The Sergeant laughs. “Son, the only judge you are going to see is Saint Peter. If your beliefs are true.”

It doesn’t take long for the pain to hit. Fists with a side of feet.

Or was it feet with a side of fists?

Doesn’t matter. Eunie isn’t happy. The darkness finally takes over.

I sat in my usual chair, at my usual table at Charlie’s.

I just got through hell week at work. A dozen deadlines for our various products all due back to back to back to friggin’ back. I needed to get out before the next round of bullshit hit.

“I’ll take a Bud,” I told Eve, our normal waitress. She was one of the bright spots of Charlie’s. Her long black hair and amazing smile ensured that this part of the bar was always crowded on a Friday night.

Something tells me when the guys notice she’s been hiding a baby-bump for the last few weeks, things might change.

“You still don’t talk to Carla?” Mike pulled out his wallet.

“Nope. Haven’t had much time if I even wanted to.” I said, grabbing my beer.

Carla was a good woman, and gorgeous. I do still miss her, but I don’t miss her being around every waking moment.

“It’s just weird seeing you without her. How long were you guys together? Two years?”

“Four.” I downed my beer; I didn’t want to think about it.

“Any plans for the weekend? Dave and I are heading down to the lake in the morning. I have plenty of room down at the cabin.”

“I have to catch up on a few things around the house.”

It was only a half-truth.

I don’t want to play fifth-wheel all weekend. The lake was the place they would take their fling-of-the-week in hopes of getting some action. The only action I would be getting was a weekend Netflix binge and I could do that at home. I didn’t have to worry about rejection that way.

Eve walked by handing me my third beer of the night. I pop the cap and scan the crowd. My eyes stopped as I noticed her walking through the door.

She had a few of her friends with her, but they had nothing on her. She had long red hair that flowed halfway down her back and wore those dangling earrings that I would grow to hate, but would endure for another eight lifetimes if I could see her again.

And those eyes, those deep blue eyes.

“You awake Mitch?” Mike punched me in the arm. I nodded, trying to find her again.

Mike laughed. No doubt at my expense. “Guess Carla really isn’t in the picture.”

BOOK: Demontouched: The Demontouched Saga (Book 1)

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