Painted Faces.

The house was silent. The back door opened with - out any fuss, it lay awkwardly on its hinges and hit the wall with a thump. John slipped inside and closed it gently behind him. His hand rested on the gun at his belt. He was ready and armed for whatever lay in the wait. As John edged through the kitchen, blood smears trailed along the walls. The air was thick with its metallic taste and smell. There was a road of red on the floor tiles, and then foot prints leading to the living room.
The couch was in tatters, large chunks were pulled out of the fabric and the stuffing littered the floor. Not only was the chair in bits, almost every other item in the room was shredded or smashed. Or both. As the over whelming smell of decay was caught by John’s nose, he quickly pulled his desert scarf up around his face, retching at the stench.
What is this? He thought, still edging slowly into the room. His gun now held firm in his left hand.
The head lights of a passing car projected shadows on the walls, revealing bloody hand prints and shredded plaster. As if sharp talons had ripped through the hard surface. John is uncomfortably aware of something else in the room with him, not because he can hear it moving, but because he can sense its presence. The smell probably had something to do with it too.
Abruptly, something moved along the ceiling, casting a brief image across the floor. John mechanically raised his gun to the source of shadow and squinted at the darkness trying to see through its thick mask. When the figure moved again, John shot without a second thought.
It shrieked and fell to the floor with a painful thud. But it was not dead. John stepped around the remains of the couch, watching the creature struggling.
“No!” John yelled, he pointed his gun furiously, both hands firmly on the pistol grip, “Stay down!”
“Why’d you fucking shoot me?!” It snapped in a soft cockney accent.
John cocked his head to the side. Although what he had shot was clearly not human, it sounded like one. A male human at a guess and his initial reaction was to lower his weapon, but he quickly discarded the idea and the pistol remained as it was.
“No shit. You put my mate in the hospital!” John’s words came out less frightening than he had intended, instead they sounded unconfident. And that didn’t often happen.
“The priest? No. You have me wrong. I smelt something here and I had to check it out!” It sniffed the air, “Smell that decay? That’s a demon…”
“I know it’s a demon, jackass. That’s how I make a living – No stay on your stomach! I didn’t tell you to move!” It stopped struggling and lay still, “I wasn’t born last week, so don’t try and worm out of this.”
“Have it your way! But I didn’t do this; Hear me out…”
John took a set of police hand cuffs from his coat pocket and keeping the gun between him and the creature, he demanded it get up. He sternly directed it to face the wall, when it had regained balance and its human legs shook under its weight as it moved. John hooked the hand cuffs around it’s wrists, not caring if they were too tight.
“Kinky son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?!” It sneered.
John shoved it against the wall and pushed the barrel of the gun into the small of it’s back.
“You have five minutes to convince me that you didn’t do this.” John retorted
“Ease up Agent Muller…”
“Four minutes.” John pressed the gun brutally into it’s spine.
“Okay. My names Near and I’m just an innocent. A couple of demons took my body and I haven’t been right since. I’ve become a taboo; not a human but not a demon. Somewhere in the middle. ”
The story was so familiar; it was just like Emmets. Taken over by demons and left a shell of anger and brutality, like a time bomb.
“I’ve mastered my instincts pretty well,” Near continued, “I know when enough is enough and I know how to rid the hunger when it strikes. I’m a really peaceful lad, love movies, walks on the beach and what not; you have to believe me.”
The thought had crossed John’s mind that he could be lying, he could be a fully pledged hell demon out on a rampage; but something told him that what he was saying was the truth. John let up on his grip.
“You know what happened here tonight?” He asked.
“Not exactally. I didn’t stand and watch it or anything, but I definitely can sense something here; perhaps something you can’t. The sulphur is just too strong for me to ignore.” Near winkled his nose in disgust and shook his head, so that his shaggy blonde hair fell over his face, “I’m willing to help you. I promise I’ll do everything I can.”
“What makes you think I want your help?” John raised an eyebrow.
“Because if you don’t; me and the taboo you have at home could be hunted down for this.”
*********
Near snapped the seat belt closed and savoured the comfort of the leather seats. His thigh was throbbing and he could feel the metal bullet wedged between his femur and the surrounding flesh. Dark blood oozed onto his torn, straight eco Levi’s, making them stiff and uncomfortable. He said nothing as John settled into the driver’s seat, secured his own seat beat and pulled away from the priest’s home.
John took a sneaky glance at his passenger, certain that he was more interested in his own talons than if John was watching him. The passing street lamps illuminated Nears pale skin, long blonde hair ventured down to his broad shoulders and dark eyes were rimmed in shadow, no doubt from sleepless nights. John couldn’t be sure but the irises looked silver in the darkness and the auricular cartilage of his ear was pointed. Near’s gauntness was made obvious by his jeans and large white shirt. He didn’t wear any tie, or shoes, or even socks. Deduction: Here was a young man who didn’t spend his time within daily society. Equally he didn’t spend it among demons ether.
As they cruised down the main street, joining the traffic, Near watched out the window, an emotionless expression on his face. He looked relaxed, hands palm down on his thighs and his feet crossed at the ankle.
Near broke the silence as they came to a sluggish stop at a red light, “If you don’t trust me, why did you bring me with you?” He kept his eyes on the world outside the car.
John’s hands tensed on the steering wheel. “You know the saying. Keep your enemy’s close.” He joked.
“I don’t think of myself as your enemy, but by all means you feel free to.” Near replied wryly, “So are you going to hang and quarter me with all your other mates? Or am I getting off with this hole you’ve blasted in my leg?”
“As much as I would like to. I won’t. You could be valuable to my team and I.” John sighed, as much as he hated it; it was true.
Near released a small, satisfied sigh. He lowered his head to stare blankly at the hands on his thighs.
“However, by no means am I suggesting that you think you’re off the hook. You have given me reason to believe you but you have also given me reason to believe that you could be lying.” John said, feeling the need to set Near straight.
“Oh?” Near titled his head slightly towards John, his mouth open and revealing his sharp canines and incisors, “And what reason’s would they be?”
“Well. You have none of Father Fagan’s blood on your body, or your clothes. So you obviously didn’t do the killing. However you could have been an accomplice in it. “John said, “But there is no way for me to condemn you, so I have to keep my guard up.”
“Well. In that case I’ll do what it takes to clear my name. There’s nothing I hate more than being blamed in the wrong.” Near muttered, dropping his head again.
John snatched another quick look at Near before turning his eyes to the road and following the now-moving traffic.
********
Emmet was so absorbed in his own numbness that he barely registered the hollow knocking on the flat door. When there was a second knock, he dozily forced himself into a sitting position. Joel hurried by him, while Emily smoothed out the wrinkles in her clothes. Obviously Hannah had the same intimidating effect on everyone, not just him. Joel let his hand hover over the door handle for a minute before cautiously inching the door open.
“Come on. Come on boy!” Hannah spat with her deep Irish accent. Her voice was harsh and spiteful, “Open the damn door; I’m not here for the good of my health.”
“Sorry.” Joel mumbled as she brushed past him and into the hallway. He followed her into the living room.
Hannah’s voice in no way reflected her appearance. Although her voice was spiteful, she in fact looked no different than your average grandmother; in fact you would expect her to spend her time baking bread in her kitchen and collecting china cats.
She stood at a short 5’5, with long white hair pulled into a ponytail that lay down her back. She was a curvy hour glassed shaped woman and her face was well preserved given that she was 69 years old, (however this was probably due more to the fact that she wore a mask of makeup because the skin on her arms and hands was leathery and worn). But at this age she was in no way senile, she was quicker than most and her magick was hard to beat.
Emily stood up and extended a hand.
“Welcome Hannah.” She said, finding a smile.
Hannah ignored her hand and trotted over to Emmet, who was wrapped tightly in a blanket and staring blankly up at her. She placed her hands on his cheeks, the tips of her crimson nails barely touching his grey skin. He flinched, but she prevented him from pulling his head away, instead he was forced to stare into her pale green eyes. It was a few moments before she let him go, the mesmerising grip she had over him lifted and he slouched disdainfully into the couch.
Emily and Joel exchanged a worried glance as Hannah helped herself to an armchair. She sat forward, her elbows on her knees and her hands in a pensive grip.
“What is it Hannah?” Joel asked cautiously.
She waved a hand at him, indicating he shouldn’t speak. Joel raised his eyebrows and looked at Emily; his expression suggested he was not amused. Instead he retreated to the kitchen to put on the kettle. Hannah untangled her fingers, leaned back in the armchair and crossed her trouser clad legs.
“I need to return home for my tools.” She informed, however she didn’t move.
“Tools?” Emily replied, “Why? What are you going to do?”
A deep sigh escaped Hannah’s rouge lips. She massaged her temples using her pointing fingers and she lightly closed her eyes in frustration. As if she expected Emily to already know why the tools were needed, as if she too should also be an expert on magick. Emily clenched her teeth together beneath her own lips; only arrogant bitches like Hannah could make her feel this irritated. Every generation had them. The people who looked down on you if you asked questions, thinking that just because they knew something, everyone should. She had attended school with them, she had been bullied and put down by them and she had learnt, after years of experience, to just grin and bear it.
After a short moment of complete silence, Hannah rose from the arm chair and pulled her dark purple scarf tight around her neck.
“I’ll be back in the later with my tools. Place the coffee table to that wall, “She pointed at the north wall which was painted a pale green colour and decorated with framed photographs, “Make sure to remove the pictures and everything on the tables surface.”
Emily nodded and made a mental note. Hannah pouted her lips in thought, before nodding her own head. She reminded Emily, that she would be back later and trotted down the hallway. The front door closed behind her with a gentle click. Joel re-entered the living room.
“Where’d she go?” He asked, poking his head into the hallway.
“She’ll be back later with tools.” Emily was leaning over the coffee table and carefully manovering it to the north wall. When this was achieved, she started to remove the pictures and place them on the sofa.
Joel stood, completely bewildered.
“What are you doing?” He demanded, “There our bloody photographs; put them back!”
“Keep your hair on Joel. Hannah wanted this table moved here and the pictures removed. She must need it for her tools.”
“But-“
“Do you want to help Emmet or not?!”
Joel lowered his head and fell silent. Emmet watched them from the three seated couch, his hands lay loosely on his lap and his head cocked to the side.
“Hannah knows that Abandons awake again.” He hoarsely said.
“Are you sure?” Joel gasped. Emily stopped removing the frames from the wall; she stood motionless with her back to the two men.
“Never been more sure of anyt’ing.” Emmet nodded slightly.
Joel held his breath as he chewed his bottom lip. His dark eyebrows were pulled back in a worried expression and he tapped his fingers nervously on his thighs. Emily sat on the coffee table she had been moving, locked her hands together in front of her chin and studied Emmet.
“Shit, “Joel swore, he started to pace up and down the floor, “Bollocks!”
He continued to curse to himself; his profanity becoming more and more adventurous. Emmet lent his head back against the couch, brought his right arm to his face and hid in the bend of the elbow. It was a disastrous situation and he could barely believe it was happening; had it not been for his aching body and the burning in his gut. It was possibly the worst case of déjà vu he had ever experienced.
“Joel. Just calm the fuck down.” Emily said sternly, Joel fell silent immediately, “If anyone can sort this out, it will be Hannah. “
“But how do you know that. She ‘sorted’” He made air quotes with his fingers, “this out before and look at what is happening. Bloody Abbadon is back.” He clapped his hands mockingly, “Well done Hannah Fucking O’Gara!”
Emily jumped to her feet with her hands balled into fists at her side, “Oh shut up Joel! Can’t you be optimistic at all?!” She gestured a hand towards Emmet, “Don’t worry him anymore than he probably already is!”
As much as Emmet hated to admit it, she was right. Joel’s pacing and cursing only made him feel more and more uneasy.
While the bickering continued between Emily and Joel, Emmet carefully removed the blanket from around his shoulders and ran the fingers of his right hand over the cracked skin on his left arm. It stung more than tickled and he could feel every scar, every piece of broken flesh, under his fingertips. The veins and arteries pumped life through the limb slowly, almost as if something were blocking its way, but despite the obvious effort the blood had begun to hemolyze. Red streaks snaked along the veins and the tips of his fingers were dark with the lack of oxygen. The disease from his arm was spreading to the rest of his body, working its way across his shoulder blades and down his back; He could feel the skin tightening and pulling over his bones as he moved. Shortly, if Abbadon wasn’t subdued by Hannah, the ‘death’ would reach his eternal organs and turn him into the living dead, not the nice demon kind ether but the soulless, emotionless and painless kind. The kind that lives forever, never feeling anything, never thinking, never breathing. Trapped in their own body, like a prisoner in a cell. For eternity.
Emmet sighed heavily, leaned his head against the back of the couch and pinched the bridge of his nose tight between his thumb and first finger. His nail jabbed into his skin; their once smooth edges were now growing dangerously strong and sharp. Much like the talons on an eagle. The process that he had feared the most was already beginning; it was only a matter of time before it was complete.