Status: Comment and I update.
Painted Faces.
Chapter 5
Dr Paul Kerry slotted a fifty cent into the coffee vender and waited as the machine worked it’s magic. He leaned against the cool plastic and exhaled.
It had been a long shift. Twenty seven hours, no sleep, two 999 emergencies and what seemed like hundreds of teenagers suffering from fight wounds and alcohol poisoning. From what Kerry had been told, it was all due to a rave which had been discovered, and halted, in an underground club in the city center. Of course Mater Misericordiae Hospital was the nearest emergency hospital to the rave and all the kids came flooding in, with their excuses and pathetic pleas to the doctors, begging them not to tell their parents.
The vender signalled, alerting Kerry that his coffee was ready. He took the plastic cup between his hands and loitered wearily to the rest room. A nurse, whom he had never seen before, walked by, her chart held to her chest and brunette locks trailing behind her. She giggled as he gave her a grin and a ‘Good evening.’
“I still got it.” He thought to himself, a huge smile spread across his face.
At forty three, he still held a boyish charm. His dark brown hair, although kept reasonably short, stuck up at odd angles and he was unshaven. His moss green eyes held a cheeky spark and although he had a French beak, it didn’t alter his obvious attractiveness.
As he walked, his large white coat billowed behind him. He had worked for this coat. Five years in training, first as a foundation house officer, then as a general Specialty register and now as a general surgeon. It showed the pride that he carried. Sometimes too much pride, or so his girlfriend told him. He laughed softly to himself as he thought of her comments, in his opinion you could never have too much pride.
“Good evening Doctor Kerry.” A young nurse stopped in front of him, her golden hair as mass of frizz and bags under her deep brown eyes.
“Good evening Jessica.” He replied, he tried to pass her but she stepped in his way, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to the rest room.” He held up his plastic cup of coffee, “Taking a break with a cup of coffee. Recharging the old batteries and what have you.”
“I hate to be the nurse to take that away from you Doctor, but we have a patient here that needs your attention.” She checked her clipboard, “Father Fagan.”
“Can’t another doctor take care of it?”
“I’m sorry sir, no one else is available or on call.”
Kerry sighed and downed his coffee.
“Okay. Lead the way.”
******
Nurse Jessica Farrell stood by Father Fagan’s bedside, watching Kerry stroke his chin as he read Fagan’s chart. She glanced at the patient, his left arm splinted and casted, a tube producing from the left of his rib cage to drain the fluid from his lung and numerous bruises and open cuts across his body. An oxygen mask was fixed around his mouth and his heart was being monitored. It was no surprise that the man was unconscious.
“Shortness of breath…..pain in chest…..sound of air escaping…..” Kerry murmured to himself, “You have him treated for a collapsed lung I see.”
He glanced up at Nurse Farrell, she nodded.
“We have fitted a Chest tube to drain the fluid, his heart is being monitored and his breathing is being aided.”
Kerry turned to the next page of the chart.
“The left humerous is broken in six places, a comminuted fracture. Open and complete.” He lifted his head, a confused expression on his face, “This sort of fracture is usually only seen in patients who have been in a car accident.”
“I know sir. He must have been hit very hard from the left for his arm to break in such a way and for his lung to collapse.”
“Hmmmm.” Kerry pursed his lips, “Still, it’s extremely unlikely that an average man could cause such damage.”
“The orthopaedic surgeon who fixed his arm said the same.”
Kerry glanced behind him; he spied the police waiting outside the room. They paced the corridor up and down, coffee in their hands and large stomachs expanding over their waistbands.
“The pigs are here? Must be serious.” He turned back to address the young nurse, “Keep on monitoring his heart beat and breathing, drain the chest tube and make sure his airways stay open. I’ll deal with the them.” He nodded his head in the direction of the police officers.
He didn’t wait for a reply; instead he turned on the heel of his Hush Puppies sulphurs and left the room. As the door clicked shut behind him, the officers circled him.
“May I help you gentlemen?” His posh London accent only boosted the authority in his voice.
The biggest officer, at 6’0, well over 200lbs and his skull as bald as a new born, pulled a note book from his pocket.
“Aye mate, ye can.” He cleared his throat, “I’m DC Podge (“More like pudgy” Kerry thought) and my partners name is DC Bell.” A slightly smaller man, about 5’9,180lbs and a full head of red hair nodded.
“Partner? Civil partnership is it?” Kerry joked, a grin painted on his face.
Podge and Bell glanced at each other, and then back to Kerry; they were un-amused.
“Sir. This is no time to joke; this is a very serious matter.” The smaller man commented.
“You’re right. I apologize. As a doctor, you have to try and have a sense of humour. Otherwise the job gets the better of you.” Geez, lighten up. “Now, I assume you have questions for me?”
The men nodded.
“Fire away.”
Podge cleared his throat, “Can you give us a complete diagnosis of the victim’s condition?”
Kerry shoved his hands into his pockets, “Well. His left lung is being drained of fluid using a tube thoracostomy, he has numerous cuts and bruises, some are more serious than others and finally his left humerous is shattered in six places. It required a splint and cast fitted. “
Podge was writing furiously while Bell simply nodded, his hat clasped in his right hand, his other was shoved idly in his jacket. The expression on his face told Kerry that he might as well have spoken Chinese to the officer; it was in one ear and out the other.
“Our detectives are still investigating the scene. His apprentious, a Father Jacob O’Reilly, is due for questioning tomorrow, along with any witnesses that many reveal themselves between now and then. “Bell explained his experience of obvious from how he spoke; clearly he had done this many times before, although the collapsed lung was clearly a first.
“Alright. If anything else shows up be sure to let me know.” Kerry extended his right hand, Podge accepted it without hesitation.
“We’ll keep ya informed Doc.”
“Be careful with this investigation Podge.” Kerry replied softly.
“Oh? Whys that now?”
“I may not know the full story, but one thing that I do know; whatever attacked Fagan, is by no means a human.”
******
John halted the car at the rear of the ‘Crossroads Corner’. Near unbuckled his seat belt, his nose was twitching like a cat and his hands rubbed over his thighs impatiently.
“You’re boys scent is strong.” Near licked his lips, his eyes glittered.
“Hold on there boyo.” John threw his hand across Nears chest, “What’s that look in yer eyes for?”
“I’m sorry. It’s a basic animal instinct, I can smell his scent and he can smell mine. Like a pack of wolves.”
John raised his eyebrows as Near grinned apologetically. He freed Nears chest and climbed out of the car; Near followed suit. They both slipped in through the rear door, ignoring the noisy customers and John waved briefly to Kyle, his part time bartender, before leading Near up the stairs to the flat.
“You own a pub?” Near asked.
“Yeah. Have done for a few years. My son and I live up above, just in here.” John swung open the faded pine door and pulled Near inside by the sleeve of his shirt.
“How Irish.” Near murmured.
“Da. Thank god your home.” Joel paused as he saw his father and Near, he cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows in confusion.
“This is Near. Found him at Fagan’s place…”
“….I’m not here to cause trouble, I swear.” Near interrupted, trying his hardest to make a good impression.
“I suppose saying ‘I don’t give a fuck right now’ would be unprofessional?” Joel snapped, he waved his hands frantically in the air, “Abandons back in Emmet!”
Johns face fell; his eyes grew wide in horror. He pushed by his son and marched to the living room. Near heavily exhaled and swore under his breath before shoving his hands in his pockets and slandering forward.
“This can’t be good.” He thought, “This kid is bound to be nearly turned.Abbodon is a violent bastard and when the infection has taken over, he’ll take no prisoners.”
John was already kneeled beside Emmet, who was sitting up right with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His skin was as grey as cement and, from what Near could see, the left arm was covered in swollen veins. The infection was spreading fast.
“He’s nearly gone.” Near whispered.
Emily looked up at him from an armchair. Her eyes were red rimed as if she had been crying for hours. She threw her strawberry blonde locks back from her face and wiped away the remaining tears with a hankie. Her eyes wandered over Near’s body. He stood casually at roughly 5’11, his hands shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans with his thumbs hooked in the un-occupied belt loops. Pointed, broken and yellowed nails produced from the end of the thumb and the pale, almost grey, skin around his wrist’s had a slightly pink ring where John had tightened the hand-cuffs. Long blonde hair shielded his dark eyes from view but no matter how thick it was it couldn’t hide his demonic ears, one of which had bit’s of flesh missing. His grey cheeks blushed a rosy pink colour when he caught Emily looking at him, he grinned slightly, showing off two sharp (and menacing) canines.
“Who are you?” She asked, her hands grasped nervously in front of her twisting the hankie restlessly between her fingers.
Near twitched his nose; he caught the fear and panic in her sweat.
“I’m Near.” He replied, hoping the faint smile on his face would be enough to convince her that he came in peace. “John and I met at the priest’s house and I’ve come to help you guys out.”
“He’s insisting that he had nothing to do with Fagan’s attack, and for now all I can do is trust him seeing as there’s no evidence.” John sat himself beside Emmet, who gazed hazily up at Near, “Where the blazes is Hannah?!”
“She’ll be back soon Da.” Joel came up behind Near, “So. What are you anyway?”
“I’m a victim. Just like your boy here. But my demons weren’t half as bad as Abbadon.” He shrugged, “Don’t get me wrong, you don’t want to mess with any demon. But mess with Abbadon and you are pretty much messing with the Devil himself.”
Emily let slip an anxious whine and buried her face in her hands, obviously beginning to weep. Joel placed a hand on Near’s right shoulder, the unexpected physical contact tensed his muscles.
“Try and keep the details to a dull roar. Em’s a little apprehensive at the moment.” Joel whispered. He then straightened up and looked to his father, “I’m going to go to the bar, help Kyle out for a bit.”
With that he let go of Near’s shoulder and left the apartment. It suddenly occurred to Near, as he glanced at Emmet hunched into a lifeless fetal position, that there’s nothing that could be done for him now. The ends of his fingers were dark from lack of blood, his nails had become talons, his eyes were lifeless and he could just about make out the small but pointed canines behind his top lip. Even his ears had begun to point at the tip. No signs of his possession would be seen until it was in its final stages.
Again, he twitched his nose and caught John’s scent, a mixture of anxiety and flaming anger, and Emily’s, which had escalated to complete and utter terror. Emmet’s scent smelt of nothing but decay and brimstone, like every other newborn, and later he would adopt his own unique aroma.
He knew, even without seeing her, that Hannah couldn’t help Emmet. On numerous occasions before he had changed, he had tried many a wika, witch, whatever you called them, and none had helped in the slightest. And Mammon hadn’t been half as bad as Abbadon; although he had no doubt in his mind that Abbadon was involved in every possession, but for some unknown reason only chose those he felt worthy enough of his presence to possess personally. It was terrible to live without hope, but he would rather that than create a false truth.
“I think you should call the witch off.” Near sighed and braced himself for what he thought would be anger.
John simply nodded his head, “I know I should. He’s too far gone to come back now.”
Emily hiccupped and gripped the hankie tighter in her hands; her knuckles turned white with the effort. John stared blankly out of the window, his hands grasped in front of him and a pensive expression on his face. In all his years of living, he had never gotten used to that crestfallen look; when the realization of death was more reality than needed. He had seen worse though. I woman he knew back in 1916 threw herself of a bridge when she heard her brother had been killed in the Somme, when really he had just been changed. He couldn’t bear telling her the truth and risking her safety. It was easier to tell a half truth, than a complete lie.
“I’m sorry to ask. But can I maybe rest here for tonight.” Near gestured to his leg, “This bullet wounds a bit ropey.”
John nodded. “Take a seat. I’ll fetch the first aid kit.” He jumped up and trod to the kitchen, only to return a few seconds later, “I’ll fix you up and then you can make yourself at home.”
Near took a seat next to Emily and wearily bridged his injured leg across the coffee table. Emily watched the torn from the flesh wound. Near winced.
“Don’t cry. You’ve had worse I’m sure.” John laughed.
“This is an improvement. Years ago I would have screamed.”
The wound was cleaned, gazed and wrapped in a fresh, cotton bandages.
“There y’ar. Now. I’ll make tea.”
*************************
“…Let me go through the motions.” Emmet croaked, his voice was broken and strained, “Then, Kill me.”
No one slept that night. The bar was kept alive all night downstairs and shifts were rotated between John, Emily and Joel. Emmet still reclined on the living rooms couch; his condition had remained generally the same apart from a few minor changes. Near had recounted various accounts of his experiences with demonic possession and habitation within humans, including little of his own heart tugging tale. The stories had done nothing to sever anyone’s fears, but then they weren’t meant to.
“No! We can fix this. An enchanted item…an amulet…” John counted off items on his fingers.
A spark lit in Near’s mind; his ears twitched up right like a dog.
“An amulet. Yes. There is an amulet that can suppress demonic urges,” He pulled down the neck of his shirt, revealing an amulet on a silver chain; A pentagram, much like ‘A devil’s trap’ positioned inside a triangle, the words Primeumation, Anaphaxeton and Tetragrammation around the outside, along with Michael split into three parts. “ This can be made and enchanted. It’s a combined version of Solomon’s Triangle and a Devil’s trap pentagram. It symbolizes submersion.”
"King Solomon created both of course but to combine them both enables more power. Solomon had a different interpretation of demons and seals compared to other demonologist but, from what we can see, every demon ever named is alive and well in Hell. The could be anything between one and one thousand demons for the same sin or purpose, demonologist just couldn't agree on their individual names. It's a mistake many often make. But Solomon's seals are the basis for any suppression or ritual." Near paused and looked around at the indifferent faces, " But I am sure you already knew that."
John had already gotten his mobile phone to his ear; he was on his feet and pacing to the kitchen. Once the door was closed all that was heard was a faint click of the kettle and John’s boots on the tile. He kept his voice low, no doubt, to keep anxiety to a minimum. Emmet sat with his arms draped over his knees and his once strong shoulders slouched forward.
“This is all fucked up.” He ran the discoloured fingers of his right hand through his damp, sandy hair, “No offence. But I’ll bet you any money that you’re never going to be able to make an amulet before I go dark side.”
Near couldn’t help but smile; that is exactually what he was planning on doing. His ‘supplier’ always liked a challenge and he would thrive on this one.
“I’ll take you up on that bet.”
It had been a long shift. Twenty seven hours, no sleep, two 999 emergencies and what seemed like hundreds of teenagers suffering from fight wounds and alcohol poisoning. From what Kerry had been told, it was all due to a rave which had been discovered, and halted, in an underground club in the city center. Of course Mater Misericordiae Hospital was the nearest emergency hospital to the rave and all the kids came flooding in, with their excuses and pathetic pleas to the doctors, begging them not to tell their parents.
The vender signalled, alerting Kerry that his coffee was ready. He took the plastic cup between his hands and loitered wearily to the rest room. A nurse, whom he had never seen before, walked by, her chart held to her chest and brunette locks trailing behind her. She giggled as he gave her a grin and a ‘Good evening.’
“I still got it.” He thought to himself, a huge smile spread across his face.
At forty three, he still held a boyish charm. His dark brown hair, although kept reasonably short, stuck up at odd angles and he was unshaven. His moss green eyes held a cheeky spark and although he had a French beak, it didn’t alter his obvious attractiveness.
As he walked, his large white coat billowed behind him. He had worked for this coat. Five years in training, first as a foundation house officer, then as a general Specialty register and now as a general surgeon. It showed the pride that he carried. Sometimes too much pride, or so his girlfriend told him. He laughed softly to himself as he thought of her comments, in his opinion you could never have too much pride.
“Good evening Doctor Kerry.” A young nurse stopped in front of him, her golden hair as mass of frizz and bags under her deep brown eyes.
“Good evening Jessica.” He replied, he tried to pass her but she stepped in his way, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to the rest room.” He held up his plastic cup of coffee, “Taking a break with a cup of coffee. Recharging the old batteries and what have you.”
“I hate to be the nurse to take that away from you Doctor, but we have a patient here that needs your attention.” She checked her clipboard, “Father Fagan.”
“Can’t another doctor take care of it?”
“I’m sorry sir, no one else is available or on call.”
Kerry sighed and downed his coffee.
“Okay. Lead the way.”
******
Nurse Jessica Farrell stood by Father Fagan’s bedside, watching Kerry stroke his chin as he read Fagan’s chart. She glanced at the patient, his left arm splinted and casted, a tube producing from the left of his rib cage to drain the fluid from his lung and numerous bruises and open cuts across his body. An oxygen mask was fixed around his mouth and his heart was being monitored. It was no surprise that the man was unconscious.
“Shortness of breath…..pain in chest…..sound of air escaping…..” Kerry murmured to himself, “You have him treated for a collapsed lung I see.”
He glanced up at Nurse Farrell, she nodded.
“We have fitted a Chest tube to drain the fluid, his heart is being monitored and his breathing is being aided.”
Kerry turned to the next page of the chart.
“The left humerous is broken in six places, a comminuted fracture. Open and complete.” He lifted his head, a confused expression on his face, “This sort of fracture is usually only seen in patients who have been in a car accident.”
“I know sir. He must have been hit very hard from the left for his arm to break in such a way and for his lung to collapse.”
“Hmmmm.” Kerry pursed his lips, “Still, it’s extremely unlikely that an average man could cause such damage.”
“The orthopaedic surgeon who fixed his arm said the same.”
Kerry glanced behind him; he spied the police waiting outside the room. They paced the corridor up and down, coffee in their hands and large stomachs expanding over their waistbands.
“The pigs are here? Must be serious.” He turned back to address the young nurse, “Keep on monitoring his heart beat and breathing, drain the chest tube and make sure his airways stay open. I’ll deal with the them.” He nodded his head in the direction of the police officers.
He didn’t wait for a reply; instead he turned on the heel of his Hush Puppies sulphurs and left the room. As the door clicked shut behind him, the officers circled him.
“May I help you gentlemen?” His posh London accent only boosted the authority in his voice.
The biggest officer, at 6’0, well over 200lbs and his skull as bald as a new born, pulled a note book from his pocket.
“Aye mate, ye can.” He cleared his throat, “I’m DC Podge (“More like pudgy” Kerry thought) and my partners name is DC Bell.” A slightly smaller man, about 5’9,180lbs and a full head of red hair nodded.
“Partner? Civil partnership is it?” Kerry joked, a grin painted on his face.
Podge and Bell glanced at each other, and then back to Kerry; they were un-amused.
“Sir. This is no time to joke; this is a very serious matter.” The smaller man commented.
“You’re right. I apologize. As a doctor, you have to try and have a sense of humour. Otherwise the job gets the better of you.” Geez, lighten up. “Now, I assume you have questions for me?”
The men nodded.
“Fire away.”
Podge cleared his throat, “Can you give us a complete diagnosis of the victim’s condition?”
Kerry shoved his hands into his pockets, “Well. His left lung is being drained of fluid using a tube thoracostomy, he has numerous cuts and bruises, some are more serious than others and finally his left humerous is shattered in six places. It required a splint and cast fitted. “
Podge was writing furiously while Bell simply nodded, his hat clasped in his right hand, his other was shoved idly in his jacket. The expression on his face told Kerry that he might as well have spoken Chinese to the officer; it was in one ear and out the other.
“Our detectives are still investigating the scene. His apprentious, a Father Jacob O’Reilly, is due for questioning tomorrow, along with any witnesses that many reveal themselves between now and then. “Bell explained his experience of obvious from how he spoke; clearly he had done this many times before, although the collapsed lung was clearly a first.
“Alright. If anything else shows up be sure to let me know.” Kerry extended his right hand, Podge accepted it without hesitation.
“We’ll keep ya informed Doc.”
“Be careful with this investigation Podge.” Kerry replied softly.
“Oh? Whys that now?”
“I may not know the full story, but one thing that I do know; whatever attacked Fagan, is by no means a human.”
******
John halted the car at the rear of the ‘Crossroads Corner’. Near unbuckled his seat belt, his nose was twitching like a cat and his hands rubbed over his thighs impatiently.
“You’re boys scent is strong.” Near licked his lips, his eyes glittered.
“Hold on there boyo.” John threw his hand across Nears chest, “What’s that look in yer eyes for?”
“I’m sorry. It’s a basic animal instinct, I can smell his scent and he can smell mine. Like a pack of wolves.”
John raised his eyebrows as Near grinned apologetically. He freed Nears chest and climbed out of the car; Near followed suit. They both slipped in through the rear door, ignoring the noisy customers and John waved briefly to Kyle, his part time bartender, before leading Near up the stairs to the flat.
“You own a pub?” Near asked.
“Yeah. Have done for a few years. My son and I live up above, just in here.” John swung open the faded pine door and pulled Near inside by the sleeve of his shirt.
“How Irish.” Near murmured.
“Da. Thank god your home.” Joel paused as he saw his father and Near, he cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows in confusion.
“This is Near. Found him at Fagan’s place…”
“….I’m not here to cause trouble, I swear.” Near interrupted, trying his hardest to make a good impression.
“I suppose saying ‘I don’t give a fuck right now’ would be unprofessional?” Joel snapped, he waved his hands frantically in the air, “Abandons back in Emmet!”
Johns face fell; his eyes grew wide in horror. He pushed by his son and marched to the living room. Near heavily exhaled and swore under his breath before shoving his hands in his pockets and slandering forward.
“This can’t be good.” He thought, “This kid is bound to be nearly turned.Abbodon is a violent bastard and when the infection has taken over, he’ll take no prisoners.”
John was already kneeled beside Emmet, who was sitting up right with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His skin was as grey as cement and, from what Near could see, the left arm was covered in swollen veins. The infection was spreading fast.
“He’s nearly gone.” Near whispered.
Emily looked up at him from an armchair. Her eyes were red rimed as if she had been crying for hours. She threw her strawberry blonde locks back from her face and wiped away the remaining tears with a hankie. Her eyes wandered over Near’s body. He stood casually at roughly 5’11, his hands shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans with his thumbs hooked in the un-occupied belt loops. Pointed, broken and yellowed nails produced from the end of the thumb and the pale, almost grey, skin around his wrist’s had a slightly pink ring where John had tightened the hand-cuffs. Long blonde hair shielded his dark eyes from view but no matter how thick it was it couldn’t hide his demonic ears, one of which had bit’s of flesh missing. His grey cheeks blushed a rosy pink colour when he caught Emily looking at him, he grinned slightly, showing off two sharp (and menacing) canines.
“Who are you?” She asked, her hands grasped nervously in front of her twisting the hankie restlessly between her fingers.
Near twitched his nose; he caught the fear and panic in her sweat.
“I’m Near.” He replied, hoping the faint smile on his face would be enough to convince her that he came in peace. “John and I met at the priest’s house and I’ve come to help you guys out.”
“He’s insisting that he had nothing to do with Fagan’s attack, and for now all I can do is trust him seeing as there’s no evidence.” John sat himself beside Emmet, who gazed hazily up at Near, “Where the blazes is Hannah?!”
“She’ll be back soon Da.” Joel came up behind Near, “So. What are you anyway?”
“I’m a victim. Just like your boy here. But my demons weren’t half as bad as Abbadon.” He shrugged, “Don’t get me wrong, you don’t want to mess with any demon. But mess with Abbadon and you are pretty much messing with the Devil himself.”
Emily let slip an anxious whine and buried her face in her hands, obviously beginning to weep. Joel placed a hand on Near’s right shoulder, the unexpected physical contact tensed his muscles.
“Try and keep the details to a dull roar. Em’s a little apprehensive at the moment.” Joel whispered. He then straightened up and looked to his father, “I’m going to go to the bar, help Kyle out for a bit.”
With that he let go of Near’s shoulder and left the apartment. It suddenly occurred to Near, as he glanced at Emmet hunched into a lifeless fetal position, that there’s nothing that could be done for him now. The ends of his fingers were dark from lack of blood, his nails had become talons, his eyes were lifeless and he could just about make out the small but pointed canines behind his top lip. Even his ears had begun to point at the tip. No signs of his possession would be seen until it was in its final stages.
Again, he twitched his nose and caught John’s scent, a mixture of anxiety and flaming anger, and Emily’s, which had escalated to complete and utter terror. Emmet’s scent smelt of nothing but decay and brimstone, like every other newborn, and later he would adopt his own unique aroma.
He knew, even without seeing her, that Hannah couldn’t help Emmet. On numerous occasions before he had changed, he had tried many a wika, witch, whatever you called them, and none had helped in the slightest. And Mammon hadn’t been half as bad as Abbadon; although he had no doubt in his mind that Abbadon was involved in every possession, but for some unknown reason only chose those he felt worthy enough of his presence to possess personally. It was terrible to live without hope, but he would rather that than create a false truth.
“I think you should call the witch off.” Near sighed and braced himself for what he thought would be anger.
John simply nodded his head, “I know I should. He’s too far gone to come back now.”
Emily hiccupped and gripped the hankie tighter in her hands; her knuckles turned white with the effort. John stared blankly out of the window, his hands grasped in front of him and a pensive expression on his face. In all his years of living, he had never gotten used to that crestfallen look; when the realization of death was more reality than needed. He had seen worse though. I woman he knew back in 1916 threw herself of a bridge when she heard her brother had been killed in the Somme, when really he had just been changed. He couldn’t bear telling her the truth and risking her safety. It was easier to tell a half truth, than a complete lie.
“I’m sorry to ask. But can I maybe rest here for tonight.” Near gestured to his leg, “This bullet wounds a bit ropey.”
John nodded. “Take a seat. I’ll fetch the first aid kit.” He jumped up and trod to the kitchen, only to return a few seconds later, “I’ll fix you up and then you can make yourself at home.”
Near took a seat next to Emily and wearily bridged his injured leg across the coffee table. Emily watched the torn from the flesh wound. Near winced.
“Don’t cry. You’ve had worse I’m sure.” John laughed.
“This is an improvement. Years ago I would have screamed.”
The wound was cleaned, gazed and wrapped in a fresh, cotton bandages.
“There y’ar. Now. I’ll make tea.”
*************************
“…Let me go through the motions.” Emmet croaked, his voice was broken and strained, “Then, Kill me.”
No one slept that night. The bar was kept alive all night downstairs and shifts were rotated between John, Emily and Joel. Emmet still reclined on the living rooms couch; his condition had remained generally the same apart from a few minor changes. Near had recounted various accounts of his experiences with demonic possession and habitation within humans, including little of his own heart tugging tale. The stories had done nothing to sever anyone’s fears, but then they weren’t meant to.
“No! We can fix this. An enchanted item…an amulet…” John counted off items on his fingers.
A spark lit in Near’s mind; his ears twitched up right like a dog.
“An amulet. Yes. There is an amulet that can suppress demonic urges,” He pulled down the neck of his shirt, revealing an amulet on a silver chain; A pentagram, much like ‘A devil’s trap’ positioned inside a triangle, the words Primeumation, Anaphaxeton and Tetragrammation around the outside, along with Michael split into three parts. “ This can be made and enchanted. It’s a combined version of Solomon’s Triangle and a Devil’s trap pentagram. It symbolizes submersion.”
"King Solomon created both of course but to combine them both enables more power. Solomon had a different interpretation of demons and seals compared to other demonologist but, from what we can see, every demon ever named is alive and well in Hell. The could be anything between one and one thousand demons for the same sin or purpose, demonologist just couldn't agree on their individual names. It's a mistake many often make. But Solomon's seals are the basis for any suppression or ritual." Near paused and looked around at the indifferent faces, " But I am sure you already knew that."
John had already gotten his mobile phone to his ear; he was on his feet and pacing to the kitchen. Once the door was closed all that was heard was a faint click of the kettle and John’s boots on the tile. He kept his voice low, no doubt, to keep anxiety to a minimum. Emmet sat with his arms draped over his knees and his once strong shoulders slouched forward.
“This is all fucked up.” He ran the discoloured fingers of his right hand through his damp, sandy hair, “No offence. But I’ll bet you any money that you’re never going to be able to make an amulet before I go dark side.”
Near couldn’t help but smile; that is exactually what he was planning on doing. His ‘supplier’ always liked a challenge and he would thrive on this one.
“I’ll take you up on that bet.”