Chapter 5
“What the hell does that mean?”
Another gun barked, this time from behind them near the stairwell. Abigail pushed Haatim farther into their hiding space, rounding a corner out of sight of the stairwell. She leaned over the top and fired back, forcing their pursuer to retreat.
Abigail reached into her pocket and pulled a long and thin vial out. It was filled with a purplish liquid and had black specks floating on the surface. More gunshots hit the area above Haatim, showering fragments of wood and concrete on him.
“This sure as hell wasn’t how I was planning to spend my night,” Abigail bemoaned.
“What did you mean when you said ‘replacement vessel’?” Haatim reiterated.
“I meant exactly what it sounds like. I came here to send the demon Abaddon back to hell, but I guess he has his own contingency plan. These are his followers.”
More bullets thudded into the area around them and Haatim was finding it difficult to concentrate. He was more terrified than he’d ever been before in his entire life. The shots were getting louder, which meant the shooters were getting closer. Abigail leaned over the counter and fired again, but she wasn’t really aiming.
“His followers?”
“The cult. You’re Abaddon’s easy step back into this world, so they’ll do anything to capture you.”
“Demons aren’t real,” Haatim muttered. “They can’t be real.”
“Tell that to the guys trying to shoot us. All they want is your body. Dead or alive, you’re valuable to the cult right now. But don’t worry: you’re worth way more alive.”
She popped the cap off the vial and offered it to Haatim.
“Drink this.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s something to keep you safe,” she said.
“But, what is it?”
“Trust me, Haatim.”
Haatim looked at her for a second and then accepted the vial. He eyed it for a second, and then took a sip. “Ack, that tastes terrible.”
“I know. It’s poison.”
He spit it out in shock. “Poison?”
“So the demon can’t possess you right away,” she said. “With this running in your system, your body will be dangerous for the demon. But don’t worry; it takes several hours for the full effect.”
“To do what?” he asked.
A spasm ripped through his stomach, and he doubled over in pain. He let out a sharp gasp, and it felt like his intestines were being ripped open from the inside. He coughed and saw reddish-purple liquid on his fingers.
“To kill you,” she explained.
Haatim doubled over in pain again. “Oh God, it hurts.”
“That goes away,” she said. Then she added: “Sometimes.”
“What did you do to me?”
“Just think of it this way,” Abigail said. “Your shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”
More bullets ripped into the walls, sending shards of dust into the air. Haatim could hear more shouting, but it sounded distorted now, like listening to it through tinny speakers. The only thing he could focus on was how badly his stomach hurt.
“I can’t get both of us out of here,” Abigail explained. “So I’m going to have to come back for you.”
He groaned, clutching his stomach and making little gasping noises.
“Haatim,” Abigail said, squeezing his arm. “Focus. I need you to focus. They are going to grab you and bring you somewhere. Whatever you do… whatever you do, don’t eat or drink anything. And don’t, under any circumstances, make any deals. You got that?”
“Wha…What?” he asked.
“They’re going to lie and attempt to manipulate you, but you can’t trust them. I’m going to come and get you, but I can’t help if the demon is already in control. The poison will keep you safe until I get there.”
The pain rippled through his body again, and he fell to his knees gasping.
“Oh, God,” he muttered, spitting more purple mucus onto the ground. He could still hear gunshots barking, but they sounded farther away now, like in a dream. “Oh, God.”
“Stay with me. No deals, Haatim!” she said. She grabbed his shoulder. “Hey, focus. Stay with me!”
That was the last thing Haatim heard before falling unconscious for a second time that night.
Frieda was awake and getting dressed when she heard the knock on her door.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened, spilling light from the hotel hallway into her dim room. Her personal assistant, Martha, padded silently into the room, carrying a silver tray and wearing a frown. Martha had worked with Frieda for over ten years as her assistant, but Martha hated being awoken in the middle of the night.
On the tray sat a glass of orange juice, a granola bar, a pair of glasses, and a tablet. Frieda finished pulling up her stockings and skirt, smoothed out her blouse, and then picked up the tablet. She flicked it on and began scanning through the images.
“What do we know?”
“Gunmen broke into the building. Several people are dead, and there is a full police investigation on the scene.”
“This happened on the twelfth floor?”
“That isn’t confirmed,” Martha said. “But, Aram called the meeting and it is the complex where Haatim is living.”
Aram Malhotra was a powerful member of the Council. He had been a member for far longer than Frieda, and he often reminded her of it.
“When was the attack?”
“Forty minutes ago,” Martha answered. “We have operatives on the way, but it’ll be at least three hours to get on scene and start analyzing.”
“Is the rest of the Council assembled?”
“Waiting for you.”
Frieda sighed and handed Martha the tablet. She picked up the glasses and slipped them on. She saw an image flash to life and suddenly the various members of the Council were filling up the room around her, holograms generated by the lenses. Martha tapped the tablet and then nodded, signaling that her mic was live.
“I apologize for my late arrival, but I only just received word about what has happened. Thank you for your quick response to this matter of some urgency,” she said.
“What has happened?” one member asked. “There was no briefing.”
Frieda bit back her annoyance. Aram had called this meeting on behalf of his family, but he was forcing her to deliver the news to the Council. It was technically her responsibility to handle matters like these, but it put her in an awkward position.
Which had, of course, been his intention.
“Forty minutes ago there was an attack on an apartment complex in Phoenix, Arizona,” she continued. “We believe it was orchestrated by the Ninth Circle.”
She heard muttering as she broke the news.
“We are looking into the situation and will send full reports and briefings as soon as we have more information.”
“What about my son?” Aram asked. All of the other Council members fell silent.
“We are looking into the possibility that he was the target of this attack,” Frieda said. “But until we know more—”
“You know he was the target,” Aram interrupted angrily. “And I want to know what you’re planning to do about it.”
“They are targeting us now?” one of Aram’s friends, Frederick Davenport, said. “Our defense network has grown so weak that they feel unchallenged. They are growing more brazen by the day, and our inaction is costing us our families.”
Frieda knew the remarks were targeted at her: she was responsible for the Order of Hunters and maintaining the Council’s security.
“We are looking into the possibility—”
“They should be our top priority,” Frederick interrupted. Frieda knew it was for show and that Aram and Frederick had scripted this out. “We shouldn’t be wasting resources on other endeavors. Not until the Ninth Circle has been eliminated.”
“I agree,” Aram said. “I demand a vote to focus our efforts on the Ninth Circle, and I demand that you send assets to rescue and protect my son.”
Frieda frowned. “The vote has been noted but will be postponed until after this crisis is taken care of. Abigail is in the region, and I will send her to—”
“Abigail Dressler?” Aram interrupted incredulously. “You would put the life of my son in her hands?’
“She is the only asset in the vicinity.”
“I wouldn’t trust her to take out the garbage,” Aram said. “No, I demand that you send someone else.”
Frieda bit back her annoyance. “I can send Oleg Petrov. He is several hours away but could be there by morning.”
“Fine,” Aram said. “Send him. And I expect hourly status updates until my son is safely back with his family!”
“Of course,” Frieda said.
She gestured with her hand to Martha, and the connection went blank. She took off the glasses and tossed them angrily onto the tray. “These are my assets,” she complained.
“I am aware,” Martha agreed.
“I am in charge of the Hunters, not Aram. The nerve of that man, telling me what I will and won’t do with my soldiers.”
“I understand completely, ma’am,” Martha said. “He seemed …disingenuous.”
“I know,” Frieda said. “He’s hiding something, and he knows more than he’s willing to say. I don’t know what game he’s playing, but I need to find out.”
“Shall I contact Oleg?”
“He’s on an operation,” Frieda lamented with a sigh. “But yes, contact him and tell him it is urgent. Fill him in on any questions he might have.”
“Would you like that I contact Abigail as well?”
“No,” Frieda said. “I’ll call Abigail myself.”
Haatim awoke with a start, jerking his body against leather restraints and feeling a burst of panic. His mind was foggy and disoriented, and he struggled vainly to find his bearings. He felt sick to his stomach and ached all over like he’d just finished running a marathon while simultaneously writing a graduate-level term paper.
“Where…where am I?” he muttered. His mouth was dry and tasted of cotton. He swallowed, struggling to open his eyes. It felt unnaturally bright, and he blinked several times. It didn’t help, though, and his vision was still blurry. “Where is this?”
“Shh,” a voice said. He felt a hand on his forehead, gently brushing his hair. “Shh. You’re safe now.”
The voice was soft and feminine, hypnotic.
“Where am I?” he asked again.
“You’re in St. Mary’s Hospital,” the woman said. Haatim blinked to clear his vision and saw a young woman standing next to his bed wearing green scrubs. She had red hair and lots of freckles. “Room 222.”
“How did I get here?”
“You were dropped off last night.”
“Why am I tied down?”
“You had a bad reaction to the drugs in your system and became violent. We had to restrain you.”
“The what’s in my system?”
She glanced at a clipboard on a bedside table and smiled at him. “You overdosed on narcotics late last evening. The police found you unconscious in an alley and brought you here.”
She stepped closer and undid the braces holding Haatim’s legs, then she moved to his hands and began unclipping those as well. He could smell her perfume: a sickly-sweet fruity concoction masking something else. Something that smelled vaguely like rotting meat. He couldn’t tell if it was coming from the nurse or something else in the room, though.
After a second, she finished freeing him and stepped back. The smell disappeared, and he wondered if he had imagined it. She smiled at him.
He rubbed his wrists and looked himself over. He was in a green and white hospital gown that looked and felt grimy. He saw his pants and shirt—no less grimy, but at least they were his—resting on a nearby chair.
“Better?” she asked
Haatim nodded. “Much. Thanks. Is it OK if I get changed?”
“Certainly,” she said. “I’ll be in the hall if you need me. Let me know when you have finished.”
“All right,” he said. She stepped out and closed the door. He stripped off the gown and put his own clothes back on. He wished he had something clean to wear, but it was better than nothing.
“I’m done,” he said.
She stepped back into the room and smiled at him. “Great. I just have a couple of questions before we call the doctor. What do you remember from last night?”
“I don’t remember anything, but I definitely don’t do any narcotics.”
“The police believe that a dosage was administered without your knowledge or permission.”
“You mean I was drugged?”
“Yes,” she said. “Do you remember anything that happened yesterday evening?”
Haatim racked his memory but kept coming back to one thing: “I was drugged?” he echoed, shaking his head. It was throbbing and felt like it might explode at any moment. “That doesn’t sound right. Yeah, I remember some things. I mean, I think so…”
He trailed off, trying to piece his memories together. His thoughts were fragmented: he only had bits and pieces.
“I remember going out to the coffee shop, and then…”
He hesitated, remembering Abigail. He’d been following her and had caught up with her; something had fallen out a window, and she had told him something at his apartment and—
He suddenly remembered the attack at his apartment complex. It came back as a flood: he’d been running down the stairs and into the lobby of his apartment with Abigail, and someone had been shooting at them.
“No, I wasn’t drugged,” he said, speaking quickly. “I was poisoned. My apartment was shot up, and we were being chased into the lobby and…”
He trailed off, seeing her puzzled expression.
“Attacked?” she said. “No, I don’t believe so. You seemed rather out of it when they brought you in. Delirious and raving.”
“But my apartment…” he said. “The people chasing us . . . ”
“I can assure you, if something like that had happened, we would have heard about it on the news. Where do you live?”
“At the corner of Rochester and Bixby,” he said.
She looked surprised. “Oh.”
Haatim was used to that kind of response when people found out where his apartment was located. Those units weren’t cheap by any means and catered primarily to wealthy individuals with expensive lofts. He didn’t have a huge apartment, but it wasn’t shabby, either, and it was definitely expensive
But it wasn’t something he paid for. His father footed the bill for his accommodations these last few months. He was furious with Haatim’s decision to return to the States, but he had still rented the apartment for him.
“Well,” the nurse added, finally. “There was certainly nothing on the news about gunshots in that neighborhood, and you’re a long way from home.”
“Where is this?”
“Mohave County,” she replied.
That was nowhere near his apartment. It meant he was, at least, a few hours northwest of home. Haatim shook his head, trying to focus his thoughts and make sense of the situation.
Haatim hesitated. “No, that can’t be right. We were being shot at, and we rushed down the stairs and…”
He trailed off again.
“And?” the woman prompted.
“And I was given something to drink, and I blacked out.”
“That’s the last thing you remember?”
“I barely remember it,” he said. “It’s foggy, and I don’t recall anything clearly.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. You were dosed with some pretty heavy sedatives and amphetamines. There’s no telling what you experienced while they were in your system.”
She turned toward the doorway. “Doctor?” she called. A moment later a tall man in a lab coat and blue scrubs strode into the room. She handed him the clipboard, and he walked up to the bed with a small smile. He was gaunt and balding.
“Well, well. Our patient has finally woken up,” the doctor said.
“He’s doing quite a bit better,” the nurse added.
“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked.
“I…” Haatim said. “I’m OK, I guess.”
“That’s excellent,” the doctor said, making a note on the clipboard. “Most excellent. Do you have any residual effects from the drugs you were administered? Any nausea, dizziness, or lightheadedness?”
“No,” Haatim said. “My head is killing me, but otherwise, I feel fine.”
“How about your stomach? Is it OK?”
“I think so,” he said.
“Then are there any other problems to report?”
“Other than the fact that everything I remember from yesterday is hazy,” Haatim began. “No, I don’t think so.”
“It’s somewhat expected with how many different chemicals were in your bloodstream. They can alter your perceptions dramatically.”
Haatim let out a sigh. “Tell me about it.”
The doctor noted on the clipboard again. “In any case, I think we can discharge you in a few hours. All of our tests came back negative, and I think you’re going to be all right.”
“Good,” Haatim said, lying back on the bed. He felt relaxed and sleepy, and all he wanted to do was take a nap.
He found it hard to believe that he’d simply imagined the events of the previous night. But then again they were pretty outrageous when he actually stopped to think about them. Maybe he’d just been on a really bad psychedelic trip and imagined most of it.
It sounded way more plausible than demon’s being real and hunting him. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more reasonable it all sounded. He’d been tracking Abigail, and when he caught up with her she’d drugged him to give him the slip.
“Can you sign this here?” the doctor asked, holding out the clipboard and a pen.
“Sure,” Haatim said, reaching out. As he moved his right arm he felt a sudden burst of pain in his shoulder and cried out. He collapsed back on the bed, groaning. “What was that?”
“An injury,” the doctor said. “Something you sustained last night.”
Haatim felt the wound with his right hand. It was bandaged and hurt like hell. He suddenly remembered the door exploding in his apartment and the feeling of the wet blood as shrapnel ripped through his skin. It was vivid and clear and powerful, and it felt very real.
“How did I get it?” he asked.
“We believe you fell down and struck your shoulder against something sharp.”
Something in Haatim’s mind screamed that wasn’t true. He rubbed the injury, trying to piece things together.
“All right,” he said, not entirely convinced.
The doctor gestured with the clipboard again. “Please sign.”
He hesitated. “Do you mind if I sign a little later. After the pain goes away.”
“We can give you some painkillers—”
“No,” he interrupted, “no more drugs. I just need a few minutes to relax and recover.”
The doctor frowned at him for a second and then nodded. He pulled the clipboard back. “Very well. I believe we’ll have to gather some other paperwork for you as well, so we might as well get it all at the same time and spare your shoulder the worst of it. Nurse…?”
“I’ll grab him his lunch while I get the discharge paperwork ready,” the nurse said.
“Very good,” the doctor said.
The nurse stepped out of the room, and he heard her feet clacking down the hall. The echo was loud as it filtered back to them, a lot louder than he could have expected from a hospital hallway.
The doctor turned back to Haatim. “We were able to pump the drugs out of your stomach, but if we knew what in particular you were administered we could do more to stop what’s already in your system. Do you know what it was?”
“No,” he said.
“She didn’t mention anything before giving it to you?”
“She said…” Haatim started then trailed off. “Wait. How did you know it was a ‘she’?”
The doctor blinked. “Lucky guess,” he said. “I think you must have mentioned that it was a woman while you were raving last night.”
Haatim frowned. “She said it was poison.”
“Ah,” the doctor replied, unfazed. “What kind?”
“I don’t know,” Haatim said. “But it wasn’t. You said it was drugs, right?”
“It is most likely a narcotic of some kind,” the doctor said. “But it could have been mixed with something else. Belladonna, maybe.”
“Nightshade?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What about Agrimony or Hyssop?”
“I don’t know what those are. You can’t find it in the tests?”
“No,” the doctor said. “And we need to know what it was so we can release you.”
Haatim absently rubbed his arm, shaking his head. It took him a second to realize the skin was smooth; the cut was gone, as was any trace he’d ever had a wound there. “What about the scratch that was here?”
“What scratch?”
“The one on my arm,” Haatim explained. “It’s been there for several days.”
“There was no scratch.”
“Are you sure?” Haatim said. “I remember it from before being drugged. It wouldn’t go away.”
“I’m telling you,” the doctor replied. “There was no scratch.”
The nurse stepped back into the room. She was carrying what looked like a prison tray with disgusting looking food slopped into the various compartments. Just looking at it made Haatim’s stomach turn.
“I’m not hungry,” he said.
“Nonsense,” the nurse replied, smiling. “You need to get some food into your stomach to help soak up all the bad things. After you eat this, you’ll feel right as rain.”
“No thanks,” he said.
The nurse looked at him, her smile fading, and then set the tray on the bedside table.
“I’ll leave it here, in case you change your mind,” she said. Then she disappeared out of the room, leaving him alone with the doctor once more.
“She’s right, you know,” the doctor said, still scanning his chart and making notes. “You should eat something.”
“I will once I get out of here,” Haatim said, “but I’m just not hungry right now.”
“It’s understandable,” the doctor replied. “Not many people really enjoy hospital food.”
Haatim shrugged, still groggy and hoping to clear his mind. Something felt wrong about the hospital, but he couldn’t place his finger on exactly what it was.
“How about I make you a deal,” the doctor said suddenly, still looking at the chart.
Haatim felt the hairs stand up on his neck. “Excuse me?”
“A deal,” the doctor said, finally looking up at him. “I’ll pick you up some food from any restaurant you like, but you have to promise you’ll assist me with a few other matters.”
Haatim felt his pulse quicken. The words sounded innocent enough, but something in his mind was screaming at him that they were wrong. Something about this entire situation was wrong.
“What?” he asked, pretending he didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
“What kind of sandwich would you like me to get you? Or maybe a burrito or something else? I can get you whatever you require.”
“I…um…” Haatim stuttered. “Why is it so quiet?”
That was what had been bothering him. It was far too quiet for a hospital. There should have been people talking in the halls, equipment beeping and TVs playing in other patients’ rooms.
Instead, he heard nothing: just silent emptiness.
“What is this?” he asked, sitting up and pulling to the edge of the bed. His body felt sluggish.
The doctor walked casually over and pushed him back down, his expression calm. Then he walked over to a cabinet on the wall and slid it open.
“There is an easy way to do things, Haatim, and a hard way,” the doctor said, pulling out a syringe and bottle. He poked the needle in and started filling it. “And the hard way is considerably more painful.”
Haatim felt a flood of adrenaline and terror. He jumped out of the bed and started running for the exit. Two men appeared in the doorway, blocking his exit. They were the same two who had been chasing him the previous night in the alley. Now, in the hospital lighting, he could see them much more clearly.
The living one had greasy black hair and sallow skin. His eyes looked lifeless, like a doll’s eyes. The other one, though, was what caught Haatim’s attention. The skin of his face was a shade of green, and some of it had sloughed away.
Maggots were crawling in the eye socket and the good one looked dry and dead. The gash on his throat was still there, caked in dry blood with skin hanging loosely on the collar of his coat.
But the smell…that was the worst of it by far. It smelled like Haatim had stepped into a room filled with rotting and burned pork. Flies buzzed around the man, landing unnoticed on his clothes and skin.
Haatim scrambled back, making little panting noises, and bumped against the side of the bed. The doctor appeared next to him and jabbed a needle into his neck.
“This should kick start the effects of the poison and speed up the process. Abigail didn’t give you a very large dose, so it may work its way out of your system on its own. We can complete the ritual once you are recovered.”
Strong hands pushed Haatim back on the bed. He felt the drug starting to work with a burning sensation in his stomach. It built and within seconds had turned into white hot pain. Haatim screamed as agony ripped through his body.
“And if the poison manages to kill you,” the doctor said with a shrug. “Then I’m sure we can still find some use for you.”
Lincoln Cole
